THE FICKLE YOUTH.

JACK WHIRLER was endowed, by nature, with a happy memory, a ripe understanding, and a lively, active, and fruitful imagination. Fortune seemed to ensure the accomplishment of every hope, that could be founded upon so pro­mising qualities, by allotting him parents, whose warmest wishes ever were, to cultivate, in their son, that pregnancy of parts, which he had re­ceived from the hands of nature. An extraor­dinary quickness of apprehension had advanced him, considerably, in his tender studies, at an early period, and he was already eager to unite the ornament of exterior accomplishments, to the more solid acquirement of mental instruction.

It happened, that, on a visit to one of his young companions, he found him engaged in drawing a Roman head, which, from the charac­teristic greatness of the countenance, impressed him with the most lively sentiments of admira­tion. As his friend advanced toward the finish­ing of his portrait, young Whirler felt these sen­timents grow in his mind with additional ardor. Some other pieces, which the room afforded in the same style, completely inspired him with such [Page 10] an enthusiasm as Raphael experienced on first taking the pencil in his hand.

He returned home at full speed, and, meeting his father on the stairs, he threw his arms fond­ly round him, and requested him to go immedi­ately, and engage him a drawing master. His father, charmed with the earnestness that he ex­pressed, was easily induced to gratify this desire. They went, therefore, together, to the most ce­lebrated master in town; and Jack Whirler would have been happy, could he have prevailed on him to give up all his other pupils, and confine his instructions to him alone, from morning to night. As he could not obtain this sacrifice, he insisted, however, that each lesson should conti­nue, at least, two hours every day. He had no conception, how any one could refrain from de­voting every moment of his life, to the cultiva­tion of so divine an art.

His master was not to come until the next day. I will not tell you how many faces he had sketched before night. His port-folio was already full of beads, drawn in every possible variety of character, though you will certainly excuse him, if they did not discover that correctness which is the result of lo [...] practice. There was, perhaps, a large eye, to match a small one, in the same face; the nose was made, sometimes, to rise out from the middle of the forehead, and the ear would come to hear the mouth, or the mouth to bite the ear, across the whole breadth of the cheek: but, except these trifling faults, his performance had all the correctness that could be reasonably expected.

[Page 11] He had, himself, prepared an enormous sheet of paper, the largest that was to be had in town. This was soon found too small to contain the number of eyes, ears, arms and legs, that he had sketched out under the direction of his mas­ter. The hospitals of Greenwich and Chelsea, would here have met with excellent patterns to replace all the lost members of those honest ve­terans who inhabit them. His natural impati­ence was a little fretted by the tedious sameness of those essays, to which, his first lessons were ri­gidly confined, in order to steady his hand. As soon, therefore, as he was alone, he launched out freely, beyond the bounds of this slow pro­cess, aspiring already in idea, to the execution of complete and grand pictures. The garret-walls had been newly white-washed; he formed the design of painting them with the history of Rome, which he was just then reading at school; and, in effect, at the week's end, there appeared drawn upon them, in charcoal, a comely successi­on of heads and busts of tribunes and of con­suls, with dictators a-foot, and emperors on horseback; and I doubt not, that if the names had been placed under their respective figures, in order to render them perfect resemblances, an [...]quary might have found means to bring forth a number of interesting and learned remarks, touching this gallery.

He was proposing to himself to represent, in the same style of execution, the progress of our history, down from the conquest, when he one day found his whole work effaced by the servants, [Page 12] who pretended, that these Roman heroes upon the wall only frightened the cats, but did not drive the mice away. This mishap a little aba­ted the ardor of his passion for drawing: his disappointment at seeing himself still far behind his young friend, whom he had expected at his first attempt to overtake, alienated still more his liking for the art. He presently grew fearful of dirtying his fingers with the chalks, or, of making gaps in his pen-knife, by cutting them. His master, who at first had so much trouble to moderate his eagerness, now found it a more difficult task to re-animate it. In vain, did he enumerate to him the wonderful effects of paint­ing; and the curious anecdotes that are found in the lives of the great artists. He had introduced to him, a pupil of his, just returned from Rome; on purpose to entertain him with an account of the superb paintings that he had seen and studied in Italy. This young gentleman, in expressing his admiration of those performances, made use of Italian words, either as being more ready, or more significant; the founds were new to Jack Whirler's ears; and it struck him in a moment, that to speak so melodious a language was a much finer thing, than to draw heads; which, let them be ever so expressive, could not talk. He ran immediately to communicate this reflection to his father, who, though grieved to see him thus quit an agreeable accomplishment, of which he had before been so passionately desirous, did not however chuse to oppose this new taste of his; and the next day, Jack Whirler had an Italian master, in the room of his teacher in drawing.

[Page 13] I must do Jack the justice thus publicly to de­clare that his progress for the first two or three days kept pace with his resolution. Every gram­matical difficulty gave way to the quickness of his comprehension. He grew fond to enthusi­asm of a language so full of sweetness and har­mony; and was incessantly talking it to the peo­ple of the family, without troubling his head whether they could understand it. He addressed the cockmaid with Vostra Signoria, and called the gardener Cor mio. The Italian translation of ^* Cato became as familiar to him as the original. In examining his father's library for authors in this language, he laid his hands by chance on a Spanish Don Quixote. Don Quixote! the fa­vorite of his earliest studies! Oh! what a plea­sure to be able to taste the droll proverbs of his honest 'squire, when seasoned with all the hu­mour of their native language! Cato's grave so­liloquy was not to be compared to the delectable sallies of Sancho; nor the little senate of Uti­ca, to the council-chamber of the Baratarian go­vernor. This undertaking, however, required courage. Here he was to engage incessantly with strange words, like the knight of the rueful vi­llage with windmills and flocks of sheep. He came off, however, with at least as much honor as the knight in this first campaign. But will you believe me? Before the hero of La Mancha had sallied forth a second time in quest of adven­tures, [Page 14] Jack Whirler had quitted the Spanish to learn French, which he soon gave up in order to study the German. So that at the end of the year he was already a smatterer in four living lan­guages, but so imperfect was he in each, and jumbled them together in his discourse after such a fashion, that he should have had an audience composed of deputies from these different nati­ons, to interpret one to the other the unconnect­ed scraps and phrases that each might happen to understand in his conversation.

Dexterity in exercises of the body seems to lend both help and ornament to a well cultivated mind, and the most extensive knowledge will not atone for awkwardness, in the eyes of the fairer part of society. Jack Whirler had met with a disagreeable proof of this, at a ball which was given by his papa on some particular occasion. In the course of this, Jack, notwithstanding his erudition, had put all the dancers out several times. He therefore resolved to instruct himself in the principles of this agreeable art; but scarce­ly had he begun the minuet steps, when his head ran upon the rigadoon, and nothing else. What he most earnestly wished to learn in each lesson was exactly the part of dancing that he should not be taught as yet. Always eager after what he did not know, and dissatisfied with what he had learned, he could lay up nothing in his me­mory with the least order. Thus he would sometimes figure in when he should cross over, and shuffle when he should sink. He found no diffi­culty in dancing the hays when the company set out with a cotillion, nor had he ever occasion for [Page 15] a change of time in the music to start off him­self in a Scotch reel, while he left his partner moving a minuet.

All this, it may be supposed, produced no small confusion among the young people his companions of the dance; in order therefore to reinstate himself in the favor of the ladies, which he had lost by this absent and volatile dis­position, he set about learning music, that he might be able to accompany either the voice or the harpsichord. But what instrument should he attempt first? To take his word for it, there was nothing easier in the world than to practise them all at once. However his father did not think proper to risk this experiment, and gave him only the liberty of chusing his instrument. While he was uncertain as to this point, the vi­olin seemed a proper one to take in hand by way of trial, and it was not till six months after, that he fixed his choice decidedly on the flute, just as he began to attempt an open shake, and to bow with tolerable steadiness.

In the mean time his father grew somewhat uneasy on observing this unsettled and change­able disposition of his son, though a parent's fond­ness induced him to attribute the fault to youth alone. With a view therefore to advance the improvement of his understanding by observation and experience, he determined to send him upon a tour to the continent. Jack Whirler desired no better than to shift the scene. The narra­tives of travellers had always been a favorite reading with him, and his imagination had a thousand times transported him to the countries [Page 16] which they describe. A young friend of his, who was just returned from France, gave him so favorable an account of the reception that he had found in that country, and drew so pleas­ing a picture of the improved state of arts and society there; described in so warm terms the engaging vivacity and elegance of the ladies, with the frank and open politeness of the men; offered him such flattering letters of recommen­dation to some of the nobility at Paris, equally eminent for exalted talents and amiable qualities; in fine, the happy effects already produced by the commercial union of the two nations, and the prospect opened to both of enriching themselves by a free and reciprocal interchange of their pro­ductions, and of preserving the repose of Europe by the envied example of their happiness, as well as by the terror of their arms; all these ideas, united in description, did so inflame his natural enthusiasm, that he could not contain his desire of visiting that polite nation; nor was it possible to moderate his joy, when the moment arrived that he was to set out, under the direc­tion of a preceptor, equally remarkable for his good sense and attachment to the family of his pupil.

One should have viewed the extensive plains of Picardy, interspersed with the agreeable land­scape of distant hamlets, or sloping hills crown­ed with orchards and hopyards in full bloom, to conceive the impression which this enchanting sight produced on the mind of our young travel­ler. Even the rapidity of his imagination could scarcely keep pace with the succession of striking [Page 17] objects which his tour afforded. A continued rapture of admiration conducted him to the gates of Paris, where it was still further heigh­tened by a view of the superb palaces and other magnificent buildings which adorn that capital. The first few days after his arrival, he spent in viewing every quarter of it. The grandeur of the public edifices, the innumerable concourse of inhabitants, the delicious gardens which abound both in the city and its environs, the splendor and elegance that shone in the dresses of the no­bility, the sightly decorations of their places of public resort, and the unbounded festivity that reigns in their private and convivial circles; all these charms united, might be supposed, with the addition of novelty, to produce sensations pro­portionable to the ardour and susceptibility which young Whirler's imagination possessed.

So they did at first; but the impression, lively as it was, soon vanished. His eager curiosity once satisfied, he felt this passion succeeded by languor and satiety. His tutor perceived it, and proposed to him to visit some of the provinces. Jack Whirler, in the height of his joy, could on­ly answer him by pressing entreaties to engage a post-chaise for that purpose against the next day.

I shall not follow them in the whole of their excursion, for fear of growing tiresome to my young reader; I will only stop with them a mo­ment at Salency, a town celebrated for the per­formance of a ceremony the most affecting and singular, that perhaps the whole world can afford, in this age of degeneracy. There the younger female inhabitants are early inspired with the [Page 18] love, and encouraged in the practice of truth, probity, and innocence. She who is by univer­sal consent pronounced the most virtuous maiden of the village, receives from the hands of its il­lustrious proprietor a crown of roses; which ho­nour is conferred once a year, on a day that is observed as a festival from the public celebration of the custom; and this ornament, simple as it is, bath more powerful and universal effect on the morals of the rising generation, particularly the female part of the peasantry of Salency, than the most laboured or ostentatious panegy­ric, the warmest effusions of popular applause, or in fine, than any other incentive whatsoever, up­on those of their superior; in rank and under­standing. There virtue and merit are habitually revered, and the acquisition of the rose garland, the reward of unblemished same and purity of manners, is viewed with more honest and more justly founded emulation, than trophies of mili­tary prowess, or the tinsel decoration and titles of a statesman, can excite in the bosoms of the great.

Objects attractive and interesting surrounded Jack Whirler in every part of his tour; he found every where a sufficient variety of matter both for instruction and amusement; but it was the misfortune of his disposition never to wish for anything but what was out of his reach, and ne­ver to think any place agreeable, unless he were a hundred leagues distant from it. What most employed his thoughts during this tour in France, was, (as he sometimes termed it in a rapture) his d [...] Italy. In the Louvre at Paris, he looked [Page 19] round for the Roman Capital, or the Temple of the Sun, and was now sighing for the shattered villages of Calabria in the midst of the vineyards of Champagne. His tutor had tried all possible means to cure him of this restlessness, but soon became apprehensive, left his endeavours to that purpose should only serve to throw his pupil into a consumption, and therefore he seconded the re­quest which the latter had made to his father for permission to set out for this same Italy, which he now longed to behold as much as ever the wan­dering Trojans did in the days of yore.

Except in crossing the channel, all Jack Whir­ler's travels had hitherto been upon dry land, and it was now two months since he had begun mea­suring the post-roads of France. This was e­nough to put him out of humour with all tra­velling unless by sea. His tutor conceived hopes of bringing him to a reasonable disposition by a­greeing to the experiment, and pretended to re­lish it as much as he did. They embarked there­fore at Marseilles, on board a vessel bound to Leghorn.

Jack Whirler passed the first day entirely upon deck, where he could not help admiring the waves of the sea, which were gently impelled by the wind, and seemed to come in playful succession sporting round the ship's sides. The next day he was still so clever in his own eyes for having had the courage to undertake this expedition, that his self-complacent reflexions on the subject kept off the approaches of satiety. But the third day, both his agreeable musing on the beau­ties of the sea, and his satisfaction in thinking so [Page 20] highly of himself, quite forsook him. Nothing remained but the wearisome disgust that he felt in the sameness of his voyage. He now longed to be on shore, all the wishes of his heart were directed towards the land: but unfortunately it was too far off to gratify his caprice. Nor did old ocean seem to use any extraordinary haste in transporting him to the term of his wishes, so that he was obliged to be patient, or rather (as his temper inclined him) to be out of patience, until the ship's arrival at her port.

Happy power of imagination, which, through the sweet illusions of hope, steals from us the remembrance of our troubles! Jack Whirler forgot all his at his landing. He was now at length happily arrived in that famous country, the store­house of all the riches both of nature and art. After reposing himself two days at Leghorn, he set out for Florence. He knew that the famous gallery of paintings in that city made it the re­sort of travellers, many of whom, even after continually viewing it for six months, found their curiosity still unsatisfied, and remained in town in spite of their resolutions of departing every day. This did not seem so strange to him at his first casting his eye upon that superb col­lection of master-pieces. Perhaps he would even have remained in the same mind until he had got to the end of the gallery, if it had not been for the idea of St. Peter's at Rome, and the Vatican Library, that just then struck him. These two edifices took up his thoughts the whole day, and presented themselves in unbounded magnificence to his imagination. In order to form a decisive [Page 21] estimate of their splendour and dimensions, he pressed his tutor that same evening to set off for Rome. Never tell me of those tedious travellers that pry without end, and take an age to exa­mine any remarkable object! Jack Whirler, in three days, had seen every thing that was curious in the antient capital of the world, and had even some of that time to spare, which he employed in putting together his baggage for a trip to Na­ples, whither he was already transported in idea. It was not however the particular beauties of this latter place which excited his curiosity so strong­ly; he had lately, it is true, passed through many magnificent cities, but all that he had hi­therto seen were above the surface of the earth, whereas Herculaneum and Pompeia were buried in its bowels. Cities under ground were all that he now thought worth his notice. The roman­tic fruitfulness of his imagination formed to him a thousand pictures of the terrible event which had reduced them to that state. He was sur­prised, on going down amongst their ruins, to find that he had fallen in love with a heap of rub­bish; for he saw nothing more at that time, notwithstanding the many curious remains of antiquity that have been discovered among them. Another would at least have found some consolation in admiring, at Naples, one of the finest harbours in Europe, but Jack Whirler could not help contrasting it with those of Am­sterdam, Portsmouth, or Constantinople; which appeared to him much finer, because they were at a distance. As to that burning mountain which commands the town of Naples, and makes [Page 22] its situation awful, as well as picturesque, by in­cessantly threatening to bury it in ashes and flames; did not all travellers allow AEtna to be far before Vesuvius? Certainly; and the dread­ful effects of its last eruption conveyed to his mind every idea of terror and admiration that a vul­cano can excite. Thus in that dear country which Jack Whirler had so earnestly desired to visit, there remained but one single town, the sight of which could recompense the fatigues of his journey. This was Venice, so singularly different from all the other cities, rising from the middle of a huge morass, with her canals, her gondolas, and her five hundred bridges. To ar­rive there, he must travel, it is true, the whole length of Italy, but his imagination, as it was bold in smoothing every obstacle, so it was clear-sighted in shortening every distance, and he only waited to have his portmanteau packed up, that he might take the road towards Venice.

I am afraid, my young friends, that you have before now suspected his tutor to have been too tamely complaisant, as you have seen him give way to all his pupil's whims. I see that to jus­tify him, I must here discover to you a family se­cret, reposing at the same time the strictest confi­dence in your discretion. During the whole of his tour, Jack Whirler had written home regu­larly to his father, who remarked, that his letters always expressed a sort of disgust for the place from which they were dated, while he seemed in raptures with that which he was next to visit: thus it appeared that every country, though it presented him at a distance with flattering pro­spects, [Page 23] never failed to send him away tired and disappointed. These remarks, confirmed by those of his son's tutor, which after what you have read, you may easily imagine were quite to the same effect, gave him to understand, that his son was not of a temper or frame of mind cal­culated to receive much improvement from tra­velling. However, he did not chuse, by hastily recalling him, to furnish him with a pretext for complaining at a future period, that he had there­by lost the opportunity of improvement. He barely recommended to the tutor not to oppose his son's changeable whims, which would of themselves be sufficient to bring him home in a short time. Thus Jack Whirler, after he had seen Venice, Turin, Switzerland and Flanders, all at full speed, did now, in a fresh fit of incon­stancy, wish for no more than to return to his own fire-side, even before the time which he him­self had stipulated.

A parent never forgets that name: you may imagine, therefore, what Mr. Whirler felt at the return of his son. But why have I not here those transports of joy to describe to you, which possess a father's heart, when a child, worthy of his warmest affection, is restored to him after ab­sence? Why can I not represent them to you, clasped in each other's arms, speechless with joy, and mixing their tears together; the father proud of the new accomplishments that he observes in his son, and the latter happy to shew them to ad­vantage before the eyes of a parent, as the pro­perest return that he could make to his fatherly affection and good wishes? How happy should I [Page 24] have been to lay before you so touching a scene, even though it should lose by my description! You would at least, as well as your parents, have observed in it, with pleasure, the artless expressi­on of those sentiments with which you feel your­selves mutually affected. It was in Jack Whirl­er's power to have made us all thus happy, by a better improvement of the attention that had been paid to his earlier years. Nothing would have been wanting to his education, either as to learning or accomplishments, if he could have had the resolution to conquer the restlessness of his disposition, and confine himself to a more constant and uniform course of application. In­stead of that fickle taste which hurried him from one study to another, wading through the diffi­culties that render the beginning of each dry and disagreeable, and never taking time to enjoy the satisfaction which a more advanced progress affords; instead of those delusions of fancy, which dressed out distant objects in a flattering manner, only to make those which were present, appear in more unfavorable colours; instead of being perpetually disgusted and out of humour with the saint, unsatisfactory ideas, which a close inspection afforded him, of objects that his ima­gination had exaggerated while at a distance; what a fund of sincere pleasing ideas might he have laid up for himself! Not to mention the delight which a youth of spirit feels in outstrip­ping the expectations of his family, how great would have been his satisfaction in this import­ant respect, that the first and strongest principle of nature would have made his improvement the [Page 25] source of happiness to his parents, in the most exquisite degree!

You have seen Jack Whirler, from his child­hood equally fond of learning and agreeable ac­complishments, set out in pursuit of them with the most unbounded eagerness, and thinking to carry every thing at the first attempt, struggle gallantly with the most disheartening difficulties for a while, and then give up the contest at the very moment when he was about to get the bet­ter of them. In addition to his natural desire of knowledge, and the encouraging applause of his parents, had he been endowed with a little more command over himself, he might have ac­quired every thing that would add ornament as well as happiness to his future life. His reason early matured by study, and his taste for agreeable relaxations would have preserved his youth from that restlessness which torments him, and from that wearisome disgust which he conceives to every object that becomes once familiar to him. From his acquaintance with both the principles and practice of the fine arts, he would have looked upon nothing with indifference in the course of his travels. The view of those master­pieces of art which foreign countries afford, while it gratified his curiosity, would have improved his taste. His understanding would have been enlightened by the variety of objects that met his view, his judgment corrected by studying their differences and relations, his knowledge of the world enlarged by observing the manners and characters of men in different countries. Strangers, flattered with the desire which [Page 26] a youth of education testifies to visit their country, conceive the most advantageous pre­judice in his favor, and receive him with the politest attention. Thus admitted into every distinguished circle, he might have done honour to his name and country, by that manly frankness and sincerity of manners which I would recom­mend to my young countrymen as the most essential accompaniment to politeness, inasmuch as it certainly best conciliates friendship, esteem, and respect. He would have returned home re­gretted by those whom he had left, welcomed by his former friends, and doubly so by his parents, to whom he would then have afforded the most reasonable ground of hope for his future success in life.

How far was Jack Whirler from this happy situation, to which his circumstances seemed so naturally to lead him! In all the towns through which he had travelled at full speed, his con­versation was chiefly with the landlords of the hotels where he took a short repose after the fatigues of riding post. His countrymen had little to promise themselves from the feeble stock of information that he had collected; his father saw all his hopes disappointed; and his friends—but his fickleness was inconsistent with such a re­lation—Jack Whirler had no friends. Unhappy youth! I pity him when I think, my dear Ho­ratio, that our friendship was formed at an age as tender; our friendship, which has never since wavered a single moment, and which would now, as in the first warmth of its commencement, lead us to unite our lives and fortunes, and share them [Page 27] for the future equally and inseparably! Sweet moments of our youth! when the same senti­ments and inclinations drew our hearts together by every tie that could bind them. How swiftly did the days glide away between our studies, and the free intercourse of our sentiments! Every pleasure, every pain was felt by both in common. Always together in town, together in the coun­try; for eight years we felt it necessary to our happiness to be so, and what tears did our sepa­ration cost us! At this day, if we chance to wan­der to those charming walks by the side of a pleasant rivulet, or up some romantic hill, where formerly, with a Shakespeare, a Fenelon, or a Goldsmith in our hands, we so oft enjoyed at once the charms of friendship, of poetry, and of nature, how pleasing still to find our mutual sen­timents ever the same, and to repose in a firm confidence that nothing but death can extinguish them in us.

O you, my young readers, who are witnesses to this effusion of my heart, if you have a friend like mine, if you love him, and are beloved by him as I am, you will pardon it. Besides, have I not a right of speaking to you concerning what­ever interests my feelings? Otherwise I should have assumed in vain, the title under which I of­fer you this work. Whatever affects either you or me, can never henceforward be indifferent to the other party. We are united by ties that can never be broken on either side, without a gross want of gratitude. If the care which I take in forming your hearts and understandings have any value in your eyes, I on my side owe you my [Page 28] warmest acknowledgments. Thanks to you, all nature looks gay and smiling round me; for my fancy places me in the midst of your pleasing countenances, on which innocence, chearfulness and candor, are painted so expressively. It is from your own mouths that I catch those artless sallies which make you smile, and those senti­ments of tenderness and generosity that cause your tears to flow, or impress your young breasts with an early sense of honor. Would I could present you to my country, accomplished objects of her warmest hopes!

We have read of wicked men in the accounts of former times, and even of the present; let us hope that the rising age will afford few instan­ces of such. Those wicked men had no FRIEND to conduct them to virtue, by the paths of pleasure; you have one who makes this [Page 29] duty the whole happiness of his life. Forget him not, therefore, but if you would honor him to the extent of his wish, let your remembrance of him live in your virtues.

THE CAVERN IN THE PEAK
Described in the relation of a TRAVELLER.

I HAD left London behind me a hundred and seventy miles, and had crossed several moun­tains and vallies, when at length I saw myself near the end of my journey, being arrived in the wilds of Derbyshire.

The mountains which I had now to climb grew more steep and difficult; and behind them I deserted others still higher, that were totally bate of trees, and presented a surface of heath and greensward, so that at a pretty good distance I could distinguish the flocks feeding upon their sides.

When I had reached the top of one of these mountains, I was all at once surprized with the sight of a delightful valley below me, intersected with rivulets, and surrounded on all sides with lofty hills. At the bottom of this valley is situ­ated the village of Castletown, consisting of a few indifferent cottages, that seem to announce the poverty of their inhabitants.

A narrow road winding down the declivity of the mountain, conducted me to the bottom of the valley, and so into the village, where having stopped a moment at an inn to refresh myself, I took the road towards the Cavern of the Peak, [Page 41] being guided to its entrance by a small stream that runs near it, after having passed through the town.

I stopped now and then in order to indulge my eyes with a more leisurely view of the singu­lar object before me. Between two groves of the finest verdure, an enormous rock, crowned with the ruins of an ancient castle, reared its ton to the very clouds. At the foot of this opened a vast Cavern, which, when viewed from with­out, while the beholder enjoys the light of noon­day, presents to his eyes a huge abyss of dark­ness.

A man soon appeared at the mouth of the Cave, who asked me if I chose to go down. I followed him down an easy descent, the day­light, which came in at the entrance, gradually losing itself in a sort of darkness visible, something like the faint twilight of a November evening.

After we had advanced a few steps, I was much surprized to see on my right hand, a subterrane­ous town under the immense vault of the rock. It happened to be a holiday, and the inhabitants were enjoying a relaxation from their labors, most of them sitting with their children before the doors of their cottages, and amusing them­selves. I guessed the nature of their usual em­ployment to be spinning, from the number of large wheels that were every where to be seen.

As we went farther in, the opening which still admitted the feeble light of day, seemed to nar­row more and more, and soon appeared [...] large hole in the rock, while the rays [...] [Page 42] [...] as they were, gave a tinge to the smoke that rose from those subterraneous cottages which we had left behind. The gloom, however, thick­ened every step, till at length the vault of the rock, and the darkness, both together, seemed to enclose all round.

My guide, who was before me, then opened the door of a small cabin cut in the hollow of the rock, and an old woman, who lived in it, came out and furnished us with lights. Each of us took one, and we continued our march, be­ing obliged however to stoop very low for a con­siderable length of way. But what was my as­tonishment when, at the end of this close pas­sage, I saw the Cavern widen round me all at once, and the vault rise to a height which we could not distinguish by the help of our lights. I passed in silence through the extent of this ca­vity, like a benighted traveller that has lost his way, and arrived at length on the side of a pret­ty broad stream, whose silent waters, when our candles approached their surface, threw all round us a pale reflexion of light, that was still more full of horror than the darkness. A small boat was made fast to the bank, and my guide, bid­ding me enter it, jumped into the water up to his middle, and taking the rope of the boat over his shoulders, began to drag it after him.

The still horror of this place resembled the si­lence of the grave. As I advanced I saw the roof of the rock become gradually lower, like a dark cloud descending towards the earth. My guide cried out to me to lie down on my back; and I had scarcely been a moment in that posture, [Page 43] when I found myself under a part of the vault so low, that stretched as I was at full length in the boat, I could scarcely hold the candle upright by my side. While I was thus buried as it were, I confess the stories of the river Styx, and of Cha­ron's ferry-boat, began to appear not quite so fa­bulous. I seemed as in a dream, going to land in the gloomy regions of Erebus, condemned by an unusual destiny to carry my own funeral torch. Fortunately this dreary vision did not last long, we soon crossed the streights, and I landed alive and well on the opposite side.

The vault over our heads presented us once more in our walk with the same irregular surface, sometimes rising to a prodigious height, and sometimes sinking all at once as if to stop up our way. I perceived all round me a number of plants and small animals petrified, and would willingly have examined them, but I was obliged to decline the gratification of my curiosity, for fear of burning out our candles.

A second piece of water appearing before us, I imagined that we were now arrived at the end of our journey, as I saw no boat. This stream was not so broad as the former; we could easily dis­tinguish the opposite side. My conductor took me upon his back, and carried me safe over.

A little farther we found a small current which ran parallel with our path. Our ground here became moist and slippery, and our path so nar­row that we could hardly get one foot before the other. Yet, notwithstanding these and such disagreeable obstacles, I followed with pleasure the course of the subterraneous water. Every [Page 44] object that I could discover, in this empire of darkness, appeared to me to carry with it some­thing of the marvellous. My mind was lost in a chaos of agreeable musings, when suddenly a murmur of distant harmony struck my ear.

I stopped my guide, and asked him whence these sounds proceeded, which my fancy (already in a romantic mood) represented to me so delight­ful? He answered me that I would soon satisfy myself. Each step that I advanced, this mur­mur, which at a distance was indistinct and con­fused, grew more articulate. I presently distin­guished a sort of pattering noise, like that made by drops of rain. It was no more than a small water-fall, the stream of which separating as it fell, came down in a thick shower; and the noise of this, prolonged from echo to echo, through the silent vault, formed, by its mingled and gra­dual reverberation, a succession of sounds full of harmony. I could already see these drops spar­kle like diamonds at the approach of our candles, but I did not dare to go too near them, for fear of seeing our candles go out, and of being redu­ced to grope our way back in the dark, perhaps unsuccessfully.

In the sides of the rock, at different places, I observed large openings, which led probably to other caverns. I barely peeped into them, and was sorry that my time would not permit me to explore them thoroughly. My guide, in order to give me an agreeable surprize, bid me shut my eyes, and suffer him to lead me. I gave him my candle, and holding him by the coat, followed him blindfold. He stopped short, and when I [Page 45] opened my eyes, I found myself in an august temple, the dome of which, irregularly suspended upon enormous pillars, possessed all that awful beauty and magnificence, which is seen in the great works of nature. I could not help falling on my knees to adore the majesty of the Almigh­ty, who seemed to have formed even this subter­raneous spot, as a temple where he might be fit­ly worshipped.

I quitted this contemplation with reluctance, in order to continue our expedition, which was now drawing to a period. The faithful stream conducted us to the extremity of the Cavern, where the rock bends down for the last time. Its arch descends to the very waters, where it unites with them, and closes up the passage so complete­ly, that the most adventurous traveller cannot pass the bounds which here set to his curio­sity.

We now therefore turned back, and as I im­agined, were to come out by the same path by which we had penetrated thus far; but I very soon saw my guide turn off to the left, by one of the lateral openings of the rock. He gave me notice that I should find myself much fatigued in this new expedition, and must be satisfied to creep for some length under a part of the rock which nearly touches the ground. As he found me resolved to follow him, he advised me to take good care of my candle.

We were obliged to creep on our hands and feet for a pretty long time, upon a moist sand, the passage being sometimes so streight, that we could hardly squeeze our bodies through. When [Page 46] I rose from this painful posture, I saw a steep hill full before me, the top of which seemed to lose itself like a cloud, among the hardly distinguish­able extremities of the surrounding rock. The ascent was so steep from its moisture, that I fell back at every step. My guide, more active at this exercise, took me by the hand, and at length succeeded in helping me to the top. I shudder­ed at sight of the depths which surrounded me on all sides. He bid me sit down, and requested me to wait for his return. Leaving me there­fore in this solitude, he descended the hill pretty rapidly, and was soon lost to my view. All at once I saw re-appear, not him, but his light, which shone like a spark in an abyss of darkness.

After suffering me to enjoy this spectacle for a moment, my guide returned: I went down with him to the same depth where I had before lost sight of him. He now reascended the hill, and through an opening in the rock, he gave me a view of his candle, while I removed mine. It was to me as if, in the darkest night, I saw a sin­gle star twinkle in the narrow space between two dark clouds.

This part not offering any fresh objects to gratify my curiosity, we re-entered our former creeping passage, in order to arrive once more on the bank of the small stream which now conduct­ed us back. I beheld the wild temple again with the same impression of awe; I heard with the same pleasure, the harmonious murmur of the cascade; but I repassed with less terror beneath the vault which my fancy had before compared [Page 47] to a tomb. I considered myself as Theseus re­turning victorious from his expedition to Hell: and how great was my joy, when, after the vener­able Sibyl had extinguished the remainder of our candles, which we returned to her, I at length discovered the feeble gleam of day! How I bles­sed it, after so long a confinement in darkness!

I now came chearfully forward amidst a very picturesque distribution of light and shade. At every step I saw the veil of darkness gradually unfold. As the opening of the Cavern enlarg­ed, it gave me an idea of Aurora, opening the splendid portals of the dawn. I arrived in the light as in a new world, where the sun now a­waited me on the borders of the West, surround­ed with clouds of purple and gold, to contrast, as it were, by the grandeur of such a spectacle, the gloomy objects which were still pictured in my memory.

THE PEASANT, HIS COUNTRY'S BENEFACTOR.

MR. Stanley, tired with the noise and bustle of the town, had purchased a small coun­tryhouse, in which he promised to himself the en­joyment of rural tranquillity, amidst the study of books and the exercise of benevolence. Being naturally of a pensive turn, he was fond of soli­tude and the amusement of walking, in which he occasionally indulged himself in all the quar­ters round his new habitation. One day, his wandering steps led him to a small valley the sight of which alone was sufficient highly to gratify his contemplative inclination. Surrounded by high hills, the slopes of which presented an agree­able variety of corn fields, groves and cottages, it seemed to be the retreat of rural happiness. The stillness of this retired vale was only inter­rupted by the murmuring found of a rivulet, [Page 52] which falling down a rock, reflected from its broken waters all the colors of the rainbow, as the sun's rays enlightened it at a certain ele­vation. Its froth expanded in white volumes round the bason which it had hollowed out by its fall. The rivulet afterwards divided itself into several smaller ones which intersected the valley in many directions, and freshened the verdure of the meadows by their beneficent con­tributions of moisture.

Yet the most pleasing sensations of Mr. Stan­ley's breast were not occasioned merely by the natural beauties of the spot. The whole extent of the valley was covered with new cottages, each having its small farm annexed, with an orchard and kitchen garden. These parcels of land were only separated by plain gooseberry hedges, which seemed at once to indicate the value of the ground and the mutual confidence of the inha­bitants. Mr. Stanley rejoiced to see that no single person had engrossed to himself the whole of this delicious plain. He was pleased in the reflexion that many families might there enjoy the sweets of ease and tranquillity. While he in his own mind, congratulated the owner of the land, who had a number of so happy tenants, he thought some praise was also due to his bene­ficence, which had certainly, by its encourage­ment and assistance, occasioned the rich speci­men of cultivation that he admired. So wholly was he rapt in meditation upon this interesting subject, that he had not observed the gathering of thick dark clouds that was forming over his [Page 53] head. A shower of rain, accompanied with lightning, soon obliged him to seek for shelter. He ran therefore and knocked at the door of the first cottage, which was opened by a woman far advanced in years, but whose countenance old age had made venerable. She received him in a free and friendly manner. I am very glad, said she, that our cottage happened to be the nearest to you, though, I am pretty sure, our children would have received you kindly too. As the storm surprized you in the middle of the plain, you could hardly miss of applying for shelter to some one or other of our family. But I see, you are quite out of breath. Compose yourself. I will make up a good fire for you, that you may dry yourself by it.

While she was laying on some wood, Mr. Stanley was looking about him very attentively. He observed an appearance of plenty and regu­larity in the disposition of the furniture, that pleased him very much. He had understood, by the good woman's words, that a great part of the habitations of the plain was occupied by her chil­dren. His curiosity was roused by the circum­stance, and he was preparing to ask a few questi­ons in order to satisfy it, when he heard somebo­dy from the inner room say, "I hope, dame, you will make the gentleman welcome." "Yes, yes, gaffer, answered she, never fear."—"That is your husband, then, that speaks to you," says Mr. Stanley. "Yes, Sir, he is within there, in that room."—"Will you give me leave to pay my respects to him?" "And welcome, Sir; you will perhaps be glad to know each other; walk [Page 54] in." Mr. Stanley entered, and perceived an old man lying in a bed, the covering of which was remarkably neat. His head was bare; his locks, white as snow, fell down to his shoulders; his countenance, which time had respected, was ex­pressive of the tranquillity and goodness of his soul; there was a smile upon his lips, and his eyes sparkled with the fire and vivacity of youth. Mr. Stanley, attracted by an exterior so prepos­sessing, approached him.

What is the matter with you, my good man? are you sick?

No, Sir, I thank heaven, I am not. But when one has seen fourscore years, one can hardly count one's self well, though not under any actual disorder. Yet it is not long since I have left off daily labor, and if it were not for fear of grieving my children—But they will not have me work any more.

They are right. You must have purchased this repose pretty dearly.

Though I say it, I think I have earned it sufficiently. How many sheaves of corn have I tied up in the course of my life! How many have I threshed out! I have wearied my poor body sadly, that is certain. Well, in the midst of all these labors and fatigues, I have always carried a chearful countenance and a mer­ry heart; and so I wish still to pass gently through the small remainder of the days that I have to live.

But after so stirring and labori­ous a life, how can you pass a whole day in bed without being tired?

Tired? I'faith, I have somewhat else to do than to be tired. It is only my limbs that are out of [...]; my head is still employ­ed. The thoughts of ten children, and fifty grand children and great grand children, will scarce let my time hang heavy. There are not too many hours in the day to think of so many people. Every one of them gives me an account of his business, and the state of his family, and upon that I must go to work. I have always some of them to marry, and I look twice before I match them. If they have all prospered, they may thank me for [...]. There is not a single one of them settled in [...] [...]orld, who did not take up my thoughts a year beforehand. I have now three marriages to conclude, and I hope that the parties will live as happily as their parents before them.

Then you are satisfied with the situation of your family?

O Sir! it makes me happy to speak of them. Dame, go fetch us a cup of that old ale. It will help me to talk about our young ones.

Have you many of them here?

Only two grand-daughters. I could as soon quarter a regiment as lodge them all. It was not my cabin, but my lands that I wished to enlarge. I thank God, I have been able to give a pretty parcel of land to each of them, without hu [...]ing myself. There was a good deal of ground hereabouts that had been impoverished; it was let to me at a low rent. I took care first to put it into good heart again, and [Page 56] parcelled it off among my daughters for their portions. It brings in money now.

And in this great number of children has none ever caused you any sorrow?

Sometimes, by their sickness; but I have always been able to recover them by re­gular diet and simples with which I am acquaint­ed. In other respects they have always made me happy.

Apparently because you have always given them a good example.

I dare take upon me to say so. When I was young, to be sure, I was all alive, like other folks; I ran about to every wake and revel; but as soon as I had once pronounced the solemn word I will, in church, I left off all those youthful tricks. Happily my wife was hand­some, good-natured and virtuous. That keeps a man in awe. Besides, children began to come on apace. I was not rich at the time, and it I had been sufficiently so for myself, I had affection enough for my family, to wish them also a com­petency. I trained my children up to work ve­ry young. I carried them to the fields as soon as they could walk. The youngest I seated upon the plough, while the rest played round about us. My daughters amused us with singing, while they spun at their wheel. In short, I taught them all to work chearfully for their bread, that they might eat it happily.

And do you see them some­times?

See them Sir? When I was light­er, I used to go my rounds among them once a [Page 57] week, to see that every thing went on well in their families. Now, when I cannot go out, it is their turn to visit me. Every Sunday after pray­ers, my daughters, my grand-daughters, and my daughters-in-law, bring their children here. It would be a good sight to see me in the middle of twenty women, dressed in their Sunday clothes, and as fresh as roses. These all vie with each other in their fondness to me; and their chil­dren have a certain family resemblance that charms me. I have generally a dozen of them in my arms and playing about me. Then there is such a buz, and a chatter, as would stun ano­ther person, but it is music to my ears.

I can easily imagine that it must be a delightful moment for you.

And for them too, I flatter myself. I like to see chearfulness all round me. Behind my barn I have a grass plat on purpose for danc­ing. It is the last spot of ground on which I e­ver worked. I open the ball with my dame, and then every one falls a capering about us. They take care to play some of the old fashioned coun­try dances of my time. Methinks then the ground lifts me up, and I bound as lightly as any of the young folks.

Have you fiddlers then herea­bouts?

None that play for money. But my grandson Arthur can manage a fiddle charm­ingly. The young rogue is only fifteen, and he plays on it so, as to set the whole village in mo­tion. Oh! if I had him here to shew him to you! he is the very model of me, except these [Page 58] wrinkles, and his rosy complexion, which I have no longer in my cheeks. And indeed he is my Benjamin, the darling of my heart. I can tell you so much, Sir, as you are a stranger, but I should not wish that any of the family knew it.

But the time must appear tedi­ous to you when you have not these amuse­ments.

If I have not those, I have others. Having never been from this part of the coun­try, I know it as well as I do my own cabin, and all the inhabitants likewise. I have been at the birth of them all. They come to consult me about laying down their grounds. They have only to bring me a basket of the earth of each farm. I handle it, and taste it, and tell at once what sort of grain it will produce best. If they are poor folks, I lend them seed, which they pay me after the harvest; and I prevail upon those whom I have served, to lend them a day's work, which is all the return that I ask for my services. I have seen the time when every one worked only for himself, and would have thought that he en­riched himself by ruining his neighbour. I con­trived, however, at length, to persuade them, that the richer the country was, the richer each would be in particular; that the fruits of the earth would sell better, and attract manufacturing peo­ple to this quarter, by the plenty of them and their good quality; and that, in order to effect this, they ought to assist each other. According as the season is wet or dry, the crop of the low grounds is more or less forward th [...]n that of the uplands. I prevail upon them to unite and be­gin [Page 59] with the first ripe; thus the whole is got in at its just point of maturity. In fact, you may enquire at the markets all round concerning our grain. The factors strive which shall buy it up. Sometimes they come and take it in the crop, and our corn has been sold before it was put in­to the ground; whereas if there come ten bush­els of bad corn from a parish, it is enough to give all the rest a bad name.

These reflexions are simple, and yet it is seldom that they occur to country peo­ple. How came you to make them?

By degrees, from the experience of each year. Besides I must say, I have been well assisted. Our vicar is a sensible man; I had made him as rich as a dean, by the weddings, the christenings, and the tithes that I brought him. He sometimes touched upon the good ef­fects of my practice, in his sermons. Besides, when our head landlord came down to reside here, he saw his lands quite changed, they let for double the rent; upon which he shewed me marks of his regard. If there was any new ex­periment of agriculture, in your London papers, they will come both of them to consult me. I made the experiment before their eyes, and as soon as it succeeded, it was presently spread. Far­mers follow their old way, and despise any dis­coveries taken from books, but those that I had approved, there was no contradicting. They put them in practice, and found the good effects of them. Besides my doctrine is not very long­winded. I deliver the whole of it in a few [Page 60] words. War with our lands, and peace with our friends.

At this rate, I imagine, you have not enriched the attorney, as much as you have the vicar.

It is true, I have taken many a cause out of his worship's hands. I should be as rich as a judge, if I had only taken a shilling for every dispute that I have settled. There is always some little quarrel, in a country village, upon one subject or another. They come to ask my advice. If one of the parties be at a distance, they take me in a chaise cart, and convey me to the spot. There upon hearing the merits of the cause, I endeavor to accom­modate matters satisfactorily. If they refuse to agree, I invite them to come to my house against next day. I have some excellent old ale, that would soften hearts of stone. They taste it, and as soon as it begins to have its effect upon my disputants, I make them sensible that a law suit would cost them ten times more than the thing in dispute; that they would lose their time, their money, their rest, and the pleasure of being friends. I mention to them the example of those, who, through not taking my advice, have impoverished themselves to make lawyers rich. Before the first mug of ale is finished, they no longer look shy on each other, and the second is scarce half emptied, before they would go through fire to serve each other. Thus I give away my ale, but I get, in return, pleasure and satisfaction in this life, and good hopes for that which is to come.

You must be regarded as a little king in this country.

Why, Sir, I govern here upon my bed, as another upon his throne. But I am not only loved, but feared also. Go nearer to that wall. Do you see there names, with dates of the year, that I have cut with my knife? Some of them are for good actions, but those that you see written backwards, are marks of disgrace. As our head landlord and the vicar are so good as to come sometimes and see me, and as all the vil­lage are constantly flocking to my cabin, this re­gister on the wall, has as much effect, as if the folk's names were put in the newspapers. Your name written backwards up there, is a sort of public infamy. Every body shuns you, even to the children. You must mend your manners, or decamp. If you reform, well and good, I re­verse your name; in the first place, to remove the memory of your disgrace, and then to en­courage you in good behaviour. Of twenty names, in all, that I have thus engraved back­wards, there remain but three which will serve as an example for a long time to come; whereas a name written up there, straight forwards, is al­most enough to make one a gentleman, and to see a single letter turned backwards, would be as dreadful us death to the party, so great is the ad­vantage of a good reputation.

I can conceive that this method, simple as it is, may be very effectual, but what most surprizes me, is, the use that you contrive to make of your ale. It generally sets the villagers a quarrelling, but you make it the minister of peace.

I am much indebted to it for the advantages that I have enjoyed from it in my old age. For these ten years past, it has renew­ed the strength of my stomach, and warmed the blood in my veins. I never drank more of it than was necessary to quench my thirst, and for that reason, I find it now more wholesome. A glass of it is sufficient to give me fresh life, and always makes me young again, for a couple of hours. I don't know whether you are grown dry with hearing me, but I am a little so with speaking. I feel that a drop of it would come very seasonably to me at this moment. But what is the matter with my poor wife? how long she is in coming! Ah! there is a very good reason for it; seventy-five years of age, are a pretty heavy load to carry. But hist! I think I hear her.

Yes, gaffer, I am here.

Come, dame, come, my dear Sukey, fill us out a glass. You smile, Sir; but when the bottle is in hand, I always give her the name of her youth. I need only look at her through my glass, and she appears to me as fresh as fifty years ago. Sukey, your health; Sir, yours.

Well, how do you like it?

Excellent, upon my word. I have drunk more costly liquor, but never with more pleasure.

Because it is sound and genuine as the good will that gives it. But how is this, Sukey, you spare it! Pshaw! there will always be enough of it for us. Let me see it enliven you a little. We warmed it formerly, let it warm us now. I feel it begin to make me young [Page 63] again; I feel myself as fond of you, as when I first went a courting. If you are not married Sir, already, you certainly will marry, if you take my advice, and then be so kind to your wife, that you may always remember the wedding day with pleasure. 'Tis the way never to feel yourself grow old. Ask Sukey. Speak, dame, do you remember our wedding? How lovingly I clasped your hand before the altar! and what a look of kindness you gave me! It touched my very heart; nay, the impression of it is there still. To be sure

that is not so long ago yet. It is only a small matter of sixty years.

Ah! they have passed away very soon. The best of our days are over, my good man.

Nay, are you not as happy as ever? Have not you ease and tranquility, and as good health as you can expect? Let us see, what have you to wish for? A little more strength, perhaps. But heaven has strengthened us within, and given us spirits to enjoy the happiness of a long life. When our bodily strength decays, the grave will open gently to receive us.

Why do you let melancholy thoughts intrude upon this moment of pleasure?

Oh! Sir, I do not fear death. Let him come when he will to knock at my door, I will let him in, without being frightened. Dost think that I have forgot that we must all die? No; as we have begun, we must make an end.

You have found means to make your life so happy! will you not be sorry to quit it.

I should be much more so, had I spent it ill, had I been idle, and a libertine; if I had not done all the good that was in my pow­er, or if I had left a large family in a state of po­verty or vice, through my fault. Instead of such an afflicting retrospect, I look back on fourscore years of useful labor, of lands improved, and friends assisted. I see my sons and grandsons well to live, honest and laborious, united in friend­ship together, beloved and respected by all the country. I leave my eldest son my cottage, he will fill my place in it, and my duties. As head of the family, he will be for his brothers and their children, what I have been for mine. It is sweet to carry this comfort with me to the grave.

But you will hear their sighs at parting with you. How grievous must that se­paration be!

I do believe they will be very sorry to lose me, but I shall endeavor to comfort them. A peasant knows, better than any other, the law of nature and the force of necessity. He sees, every day, old trees replaced by young ones. He sees, every year, the winter devour the produce of the other seasons. I will represent all this to my children, when they shall assemble round my death bed; I will make them sensible that my Maker, after having given me a long and happy old age, crowns all his blessings to me, by taking me from life, before it becomes a burthen by pains and infirmities. I will tell them that I on­ly leave them, to go and join my Heavenly Fa­ther, who holds forth his hand from above to receive me, and that I will never cease to look [Page 65] down upon them with affection, as long as their race continues upon the earth; I will repeat this to them with my last breath, and certainly they will be comforted for my death, when I look up­on it myself as a happiness.

Brave old man! whence have you this firmness?

From a guiltless heart, supported and strengthened by heaven, that heaven which I hope soon to inherit.

You have no fears then as to futurity?

As long as it was in my power to do ill, I had my fears; at present my heart is ca­pable of no other passion, but universal love. O Gracious Lord, after so many blessings as thou hast showered down upon my head, shall I dare to ask thee for one more? Behold the compani­on whom thou hast given me, to share with me the pleasures and the cares of life: we have grown old together, grant that we may die both at once. How should I be able to survive her? Could my trembling hand have strength to close her eye-lids? And again, what would become of her, at so advanced an age, were she to lose me, and no longer hear me answer to her plain­tive call? Were she to be buried in the solitude of this cottage as in a tomb? Permit not death to separate two persons whom nothing has sepa­rated for fifty years. Grant us this request, O Lord, this last request. It is the only one that thou hast left us under the necessity of asking thee. We wish not to prolong our term of life; dispose of us when thou wilt. Let us only die [Page 66] hand in hand, and thus present ourselves before thee, to give an account of our actions. As we have been united through life, let us not, we pray thee, be separated at our latter end.

The old man, who had raised himself up in his bed, to address these words to his Creator, fell back with fatigue as he finished them. Mr. Stanley was terrified, and ran for his wife to assist him. She had fallen on her knees, in a corner of the cottage, at the beginning of his prayer: her hands were still listed up to heaven. He led her, trembling as she was with terror, to the old man, who dispelled the apprehensions of both, by a smile, and by the liveliness of his action, as he waved his hand to them. However, Mr. Stanley judged that repose would be necessary to him, after an emotion so violent, for his age; he therefore thanked these good people for their hospitality, and promised to come again and see them, after a few days.

The storm which had forced him to seek shel­ter in the cottage, was now over. Nature, com­ing forth from her gloomy dress, had once more assumed a radiant cheerfulness. The sun, who was now near setting, seemed to shine with new splendor. These objects brought back the thoughts of the old man to Mr. Stanley's ima­gination. They represented his soul spotless and unsullied, alternately yielding to impressions of tenderness and gaiety; and the strength and fer­vor of his spirit just then blazing forth, when it was going to be finally extinguished. He ima­gined to himself all that one single man, in the most humble station, could do for the advantage [Page 67] of society. Fifty industrious citizens given to the state. His active years employed in bring­ing up his children to honest labor, and his old age dedicated to the maintenance of peace and unanimity among his neighbors. With what freedom, thought Mr. Stanley, did he speak to me of the good that he had done, and the con­fidence which he reposes in the Supreme Being! what tranquility of conscience! how happy a state of assuredness! Who would not prefer the sound old age of this honest peasant, the bene­factor of his country, though allotted to a state of obscurity, proud of his own esteem, and en­joying the truest honor, that of leaving behind him a respectable memory, to the decrepitude of those great men who only use their riches in scattering round them corruption and obloquy, who feel the public contempt fall light upon them, habituated as they are to the contempt of their own souls, and whom even the grave will not have power to rescue from infamy and exe­cration.

But why introduce these images, so afflicting to the virtuous, while there are others so proper to inspire them with consolation and delight? While the portrait of a Howard is at hand, that benevolent traveller who has already several times gone over a great part of Europe, visiting the children of captivity, and who, by his eloquent writings, and the authority of his virtues, has procured more humane treatment to a race of men, often more unfortunate than guilty! or of a Hutton, who crosses the seas at the age of six­ty, [Page 68] and without assuming any other character than that of minister of humanity, treats with those of the state, concerning the exchange of prisoners of war, and returns modestly to his own coun­try, to assist those unfortunate persons of whom he is the friend and supporter. Generous men! you need not my praise to recompense your vir­tues. They find a reward worthy of them, in that very sentiment which inspired them, and in the good that they have produced. More need is, that I endeavor to consecrate them in the memory of tender youth, a shrine suitable to their purity, and to preserve your name as long as I can upon the earth. If the love and rever­ence of humanity can be kindled in the souls of youth, let them owe it to the force and impressi­on of your examples, and to the noble desire of imitating them.

SYSTEM OF THE WORLD.

MRS. Crosby had retired, in the third year of her widowhood, to a small, but com­modious house, at some distance from London. Here she endeavoured to amuse the grief which she felt for the loss of her husband, by attending to the education of a daughter whom she regard­ed as the only remaining pledge of their mutual affection. She herself had been married very young, and her father, when he made an advan­tageous bargain, as it is called, in the disposal of [Page 69] her hand, imagined that the splendor of a large fortune, and a few shewy accomplishments, would enable her to appear in the world with sufficient distinction. As he was always invol­ved in the hurry of business, or engaged in tu­multuous dissipation, he had never reflected, that, in a calmer state of life, his daughter would have any more occasion, than himself, for those re­sources of the heart and understanding, which arise from a proper cultivation of both, or that the better choice he made of a husband for her, the more necessary these advantages would be to her in order to gain his esteem, and preserve his attachment. These considerations, obvious as they were, never once occurred to him, and of all the cares that he felt for the happiness of his daughter, the most useful were, those to which he least attended.

It was not long, before Mrs. Crosby felt and regretted this neglect, particularly as she was now placed in the society of a man, distinguished for delicacy of sentiment, and clearness of under­standing, and who united a large portion of knowledge, to a refined taste. While she sought therefore to supply the deficiency of her own e­ducation, she resolved, above all things, to avoid any such neglect in that of her daughter. The amusements of town had never totally divert­ed her from this project, and the solitude in which she proposed to pass her widowhood, af­forded her there all the leisure necessary for put­ting it in execution. She had already taken advantage of the first years of Emily's childhood, to perfect herself in those things which she pro­posed [Page 70] one day or other to teach her. Her appli­cation and force of memory, her quick and just apprehension, so well fulfilled the views which her affection had suggested, that she was now perfect mistress of ancient and modern history, geography and the elements of mathematicks, and had some general notions of astronomy and natural philosophy. In order to be able by her­self alone to instruct her daughter, she had ac­quired her own knowledge, without any other aid, than good books of introduction to those several sciences. Thus, while she sought for herself the most pleasing and effectual mode of instruction, she studied beforehand that which would be most proper for Emily's understanding, whose acute­ness and vivacity, from an infant, afforded the most favorable hopes; nor did her subsequent improvement disappoint them. Emily, now scarcely thirteen, had already, by her progress in learning, and her dutiful behavior, began to re­ward the pains which her mother had taken in instructing her. Their hours were spent in the purest enjoyment of mutual happiness. The company of a few particular acquaintances in the neighborhood, and the visits which they sometimes received from their friends in town, were the only interruptions to their studies, the variety of which, together with the culture of flowers, and the care of their singing-birds, served as a relaxation to them.

Whether it was to purge her daughter's heart of every sentiment of vanity, or to rid her house of a load of visitors, Mrs. Crosby had thought proper to conceal her fortune, and assumed as [Page 71] a pretext for her country retirement, the necessi­ty of retrieving her affairs, by strict oeconomy. Thus, while she avoided the tiresome details and useless expense of a great house, she had more time to apply to her labors, and was better able to indulge her generosity by the private be­nefactions which she so liberally dispensed. From the tranquility of so agreeable a life, the satis­faction of seeing her daughter equal her hopes, and a good state of health acquired by exercise, temperance, and regularity, she had contracted an unchangeable serenity of temper, and such a sprightliness in conversation, as made her com­pany highly delightful to little Emily. The feelings of her young heart were wholly dedicated to her mamma, and the memory o [...] her father which Mrs. Crosby took care to keep up, by the example of her own sorrow for his loss, and by the remembrance that she expressed of his good qualities. Emily, brought up in all the freedom of ingenuous innocence, had not a thought, that she needed to conceal from her affectionate friend, and therefore had preserved that amiable simplicity, which is the sweetest [...]ornament of reason. As all her reflections had arisen from what she heard in conversation with her mother, they were of a lively and animated turn, such as the warmth of conversation generally produces, and she delivered her thoughts with equal clear­ness and force, equal correctness and vivacity.

Mr. Glanville, brother to Mrs. Crosby, whom she loved affectionately, from a child, was settled in London, where he held an honourable post under government; and the duties of this, together with the study of natural science, which [Page 72] he cultivated successfully, were his chief employ­ments. Two daughters, as yet under the first cares of their mother, and little George, now twelve years old, made up his family. Amidst the corruption of a capital, his house was a stranger to immorality. His son had never been far from his presence. Born with a lively ima­gination, an ardent and fearless spirit, frankness, generosity and resolution, George was mild, and at the same time susceptible of the most impetuous emotions. He was even, at his age, strongly in love with glory, and whatever was great. When he heard an instance of bravery and generosity related, you would see his breast heave, and the fire sparkle in his eyes. While Mr. Glanville conceived the best hopes, from such a disposition, he was thoroughly sensible of the anxiety that it might cause him. However, his son's tender affection for him, alleviated his fears. He had early accustomed himself to manage him by kind­ness. A cold look would have filled George with terror; a reproach would have been a severe punishment to him.

In consequence of a pressing invitation, which they both received from Emily's hand, though dictated by her mamma, to spend a few days of the summer vacation at her house, they arrived there, as it happened, the day before her birth-day; the addition of this company made it therefore a sort of festival, which Emily adorned by her gra­ces, and George animated by his vivacity. Mrs. Crosby repaid, with tears of joy, the amiable attentions of these charming children; but this happiness was still more increased, when she had an opportunity of discoursing at freedom with [Page 73] her brother, of their projects and expectations concerning their children. Dinner time, which assembled them and their young family, was a new scene of delight. After a long separation, to find themselves once more together, amidst all the beauties of nature, a fine country, and de­lightful weather, and in the presence of objects so mutually interesting! to feel the sweet emotions of parental tenderness, and all the mingled chari­ties ^* of duty and affection! you would have but a faint idea of their happiness, if you could sup­pose that these terms give an adequate description of it.

THE LAWSUIT.

FARMER BLUNT, when he died, left two sons, the one named Roger, the other Hum­phrey. His death put them in possession of farms sufficiently advantageous to afford them a decent competency. Very little was wanting to their happiness. Alas! then, why could they not live in that harmony and good understand­standing which Nature designed should subsist be­tween brothers, when she formed them of the same blood?

[Page 165] Among the possessions left by their father, was a very fine orchard, which he had cultivated in his life time with particular care. As it bore, most years, a prodigious quantity of apples, re­markable for making the best cyder, it appeared to both the brothers a very desirable lot; but, unfortunately, in the partition of their father's lands made by his will, the property of this was left undetermined.

Each, therefore, claimed the possession of it, and obstinately persisted in supporting that claim. They no longer spoke to each other in amicable terms; on the contrary, their mutual obstinacy degenerated on both sides into a confirmed ha­tred. You are not an honest man, said Roger, for claiming what is my property, and you do not deserve to be master of so good a piece of ground. Humphrey, in a rage, would answer, it well becomes you to talk so, lazy fellow as you are: Have you not always made my father un­happy, by your drunkenness? What would be­come of those trees, in your idle hands? In two or three years the orchard would not be worth sixpence.

The curate of the village being informed of their quarrel, went to them, and expostulated with them in the most friendly manner. What are you doing, my friends? said he; wherefore are you weary of living happily together? Shall this orchard be the means of disuniting you? Why not rather join your industry to improve it, and afterwards divide the produce?

[Page 166] I do not intend any such thing, said one, I will have it all to myself. We shall see that, re­plied the other, I think I shall have it.

Well, then, said the clergyman, let the most reasonable of you resign his claim, upon receiv­ing a suitable consideration from the other.

With all my heart, cried they, both at once, let my brother give it up to me. I have most right to it, said the eldest. It belongs to my farm, said the youngest.—Oh, I am resolved to have it, now I have once taken it in my head.—You may take it out again, if you will; I would sooner give you my right hand.

Since you are both so obstinate, said the cu­rate, and cannot agree together, will you leave the decision of the matter to fortune, and dispose of it by lot? No, I will risk nothing, said Hodge. Nor I, neither, said Numps. Last of all, the gentleman proposed to them to sell the orchard, and divide the money; but this proposal also was equally rejected on both sides.

I see, said the worthy clergyman, nothing can overcome your obstinacy: you will soon find the miserable effects of mutual hatred in hearts, which were intended by nature to be dear to each other.

The brothers did not trouble themselves about this prophecy, but each of them went to the man of law whom he thought most capable of setting off his claim to advantage. Thus began a lawsuit, which seemed easy enough to be deci­ded, but was kept on foot, nevertheless, for five whole years; the counsel on both sides being veterans in the business. If one party put in a [Page 167] plea, the other intercepted it with a demurrer. It was, every term, fresh writs, declarations, and re­joinders. The orchard all this while, we may suppose, was not so well cultivated as in the time of honest Farmer Blunt: those fine apple-trees were neglected, and did not produce near their usual quantity. Horses and pigs were suffered to break in and damage them; Humphrey, who had the orchard in his hands, being too much taken up with his lawsuit to attend to the culture of it.

They were both married to very amiable wo­men, and had many children, in whom they would have been perfectly happy, had their minds been more at ease.

Each of their wives would sometimes accost them thus: My dear husband, why are you so uneasy? We have every thing that our hearts can wish; Have we not? You are in very good health, so am I. Our little family goes on charmingly; then we have an excellent farm; and, you know, it is your own fault if you do not make money by it. Why will you not chuse to be happy? Each of them would mutter be­tween his teeth, and answer, How can I be hap­py, while I have such a good-for-nothing bro­ther? His injustice and obstinacy are poison to my happiness.

When, at their return from the field, they saw their children running joyfully towards them, they would cry out to them, before they came near, What do you want with me? Get away. I am not in a humour, now, to mind your tricks; I am too angry: and if the poor children strove [Page 168] to soften them, by their innocent fondness, they would push them away harshly, and sometimes give them very violent blows.

At table, nothing could please them, because their hearts were filled with gall; and, in bed, it was out of their power to sleep, because they were eternally thinking how to hurt each other.

Perhaps you may suppose that I have now told the worst. Alas! no. From ill-will they were carried to slander and calumny: each strove how to blacken the character of his brother the most. If Numps happened to be in company with o­ther farmers, he would strive to persuade them that Hodge was a very bad man, who labored to ruin him first, and would then go to law with every man in the parish. And as Hodge, for his part, was not backward in saying much the same of Humphrey, the end of it was, that people be­lieved them both: so that, in short, they were shunned by every body, as dangerous persons; and there was not one of their neighbours who did not wish to see the village fairly rid of them.

After five years of jarring and brawling at law, judgment was given; and he who gained the cause, saw himself obliged, very soon, to sell not only the orchard, but the greater part of his farms, to pay the expenses of the suit.

I leave you to guess how the loser came off. In fact, the confusion of them both may more easily be imagined than described.

Well, said Numps, we have both of us deser­ved this. It was in our own power to have a­voided it. We might still have had our farms and our money. Instead of all the trouble that [Page 169] we have each caused the other, we should have made one another, as well as our own families, happy, and have gained the friendship and esteem of our neighbors.

See, said Hodge, all this we have lost by our folly. Ah! if things were to begin again!

Marry, said Numps, let us be wiser for the fu­ture. Come, brother, here is my hand, I will never be your enemy as long as I live.

Nor I your's, replied Hodge, taking his hand. So saying, they both shed tears, and the bitter­ness of hatred departed from their hearts.

They very soon found themselves much easier in living upon friendly terms with each other; but the ill effects of their former perverseness they were destined to feel for a long time. They saw their orchard, which had been the possession of their family for some generations, turn to good account in the hands of strangers, while the little that remained to them of their own farms took some time to recover from the ill-manage­ment of five years. Besides, derision was swift to pursue them in the village, while confidence and amity returned to them with a slow pace. The alacrity of their advocates, in receiving the fee, had thinned their purses, while fatigue, fret­ting, and large draughts of unwholesome law, impaired their health. Even their children did not now salute them with the free unconstrained affection which appears in the children of the virtuous and the benevolent. And their wives—Alas! it was some time before they could view their husbands with the tenderness of former years.

LOST TIME RECOVERED.

LORENZO'S parents were so much engaged in the way of business, that they found it impossible to superintend his education them­selves. They had heard of a remarkably good school, where a number of young persons had been bred, who were distinguished for their im­provement in learning, and for the principles of honour which they had imbibed. Though it was upwards of a hundred miles from his house, yet Lorenzo's father sent him thither, recom­mending him, in the strongest terms, to the master. This gentleman, who regarded each of his pupils as his own son, spared no pains to correct his faults, to encourage him to study, and to implant sentiments of honour and generosity in his young breast. The persons also, whom he had chosen to assist him in these labours, ex­erted their utmost to promote the same laudable purposes.

Yet these endeavours, so affectionately under­taken in his favour, were not so successful as might naturally be hoped: Lorenzo was of a rest­less, inconstant disposition, and would forget the sensible advice which was given him, even at the very moment that he received it. In the hours alotted to study, he suffered his thoughts to wander in such a manner, as not to possess the smallest attention for the lessons of his masters. [Page 171] All his occupations were sacrificed to the most frivolous amusements; and he shewed the same negligence in the care of his person and his books. His clothes were always in disorder; and, not­withstanding his agreeable face and figure, one could not approach him, without feeling a certain distaste arise, on seeing so much slovenliness.

It is easy to conceive how prejudicial this in­attention was to his advancement in learning. All his class-fellows left him far behind. There was not one, even to the smallest, who came to the school long after him, who did not look upon him with contempt, as they were, every day, outstripping him. Whenever any strangers of condition visited the house, he was always sent out of the way, left his shabbiness and wild ap­pearance should disgrace his companions. He never appeared in the public yearly examinations that were held in the school: his ignorance would have been considered as a reproach to the esta­blishment.

All these humiliating circumstances made no impression on him: still he continued in the same levity, the same dissipation, the same negligence. His teachers beheld him with a sort of inward regret; and their zeal for his improvement grew, every day, cooler and cooler. They would often say to each other, Poor Lorenzo! how unhappy he will make himself! What will his parents say, when they see him return home so full of ill habits, and so deficient in learning?

Two whole years had thus slipped away, with­out the least profit to his education, when, at [Page 172] the end of that time, he received a parcel, sealed with black: he opened it, and read the following letter:

Lorenzo's giddiness had not suppressed the feelings of nature in him; and this letter awaken­ed them effectually. He burst into tears, wrung his hands, and, in a voice, broken with sobs, he cries, Ah! my father, my father; have I then lost you for ever! Taking the portrait, he presses it to his heart and his lips, and apostrophizes it [Page 173] with these words: O dear author of my being, you have expended so much for my instruction, and I have not profited from it! You were so worthy a man, and I—No, I do not deserve to be called your son.

He spent the whole day in these bitter reflec­tions. At night he went to bed, but in vain he turned himself to and fro: sleep visited him not. His imagination represented before his eyes, the form of his father, who, in an angry and terrible voice, thus rebuked him: unworthy boy, I have sacrificed my repose and my life, to make you happy, and you bring dishonour on my name, by your misconduct. His thoughts would then turn on his mother, and on the distress that he must occasion to her, instead of the con­solation which she expected to receive from his return. What will be her distress, said he, when I shall appear before her, and have none but the most mortifying testimonies of my inattention to shew her, from my instructors! Instead of having cause to be proud of the education that she has given me, I shall force her to blush: she will wish to love me, and I shall deserve but her hatred. O my dear parent! I shall, perhaps, be the cause of her death. Oh, that I had pro­fited better by the instructions that have been lavished upon me! Oh that I could recover the precious time that I have lost!

Thus did he torment himself the whole night, and bathe his bed with his tears. As soon as it was light, he rose in haste, intending to begin an immediate and persevering application to his studies; but meeting the head master, as he de­scended [Page 174] to the school, he fell on his knees before him, and, O Sir, said he, you see here the most unfortunate child upon earth. I have not at­tended to your words. I have learned nothing of what I should now know perfectly. Have com­passion on me; I would not wish to make my mother die of grief.

The master was sensibly touched with this ad­dress: he raised Lorenzo, and embraced him. My dear child, said he, since you see your fault, you may still repair it. You perceive how dread­fully mortifying it is to have cause for self-reproach. Before you had a clear sense of your folly, you were barely blameable; but a con­tinuance of it would be criminal in you now. Two whole years you have entirely lost: you have but another for the finishing of your studies. Judge how you must exert yourself. However, be not discouraged: there is nothing that cannot be accomplished with assiduity and perseverance. Begin, this very moment: it shall not be the fault of my zeal, if you are not very soon as well satisfied with yourself as you now have reason to be otherwise.

Lorenzo could thank him no otherwise, than by taking his hand, and pressing it to his lips. He than ran immediately to his form, and began to study his lesson, and continued to do the same every day following. His masters, astonished at such persevering diligence, sat immediately about cultivating his natural parts, with more care and attention than they had ever used be­fore. His companions, who had conceived a mean opinion of him, were soon obliged to [Page 175] change it, for esteem. Encouraged by all these fortunate circumstances, Lorenzo every day re­doubled his ardour and vigilance. He was no longer that giddy child who neglected every duty, to indulge himself in silly, trifling amusements. Order and cleanliness succeeded to his former slovenly manner; and his teachers were now obliged to force him away from his studies, in order to make him enjoy some relaxation. He would, sometimes, indeed, find himself insensibly relapsing towards his old habits, but he needed only to cast an eye upon his father's picture, to strengthen him afresh in hi [...] [...]dable resolution.

The year which his mother had allowed him for the finishing of his studies, was drawing near a period: it seemed to glide away very rapidly, as he filled up every moment of his time, and therefore found it hardly sufficient for the sub­jects of his application.

At length the hour of departure arrived. The change wrought in his character, had attached his companions to him so affectionately, that the thoughts of parting with him gave them extreme concern. His masters were grieved to see a youth depart, who now began to do credit to their instructions; and he was grieved no less at leaving his masters, whose prudent advice had so well supported him in his resolution: the head master, in particular, who began to felicitate him­self on Lorenzo's progress, as his own proper work, was inconsolable; and his concern ap­peared very strongly expressed, in a letter which he wrote to Lorenzo's mother, rendering her the [Page 176] most advantageous account possible, of her son's behaviour.

During the whole journey, Lorenzo's emo­tions of hope, joy, and expectation, kept him tremblingly alive. His heart throbbed with the idea of re-visiting the scenes of his infancy; nor did he now dread so much to shew himself be­fore his mother, because he was conscious, that for a twelvemonth past, he had neglected nothing that could tend to his improvement. Yet he could not help saying to himself, now and then, Fool that I was! Could I not have done the same thing three [...]ears ago? I should be, at this day, much farther advanced in learning. How many things, of which I am now ignorant, might I not have learned in that interval! Alas, I might have spared myself many sorrowful and mortifying reflections.

His mother had come a part of the way to meet him. With what joy did she behold her dear son once more! The head master's letters had before informed her of his happy reforma­tion: he now brought one from him, the con­tents of which were still more flattering. A mother only wishes for new reasons, to love her son with redoubled fondness. Those reasons she found in the idea that Lorenzo had reformed his conduct, only out of affection for her; and, with a mother's eye, she looked presagingly forward to the happiness of his future life.

Lorenzo did not disappoint these hopes. Af­ter dedicating a few days to the visits of his re­lations and friends, he returned, with fresh ardor, to a life of application. The habit of being al­ways [Page 177] employed, gave strength to his understand­ing, so that he soon acquired every information necessary, to qualify him for putting himself at the head of his family affairs. The manage­ment of them was too laborious for a tender wo­man, already much depressed by her grief; and her son's activity, diligence and skill, soon brought them into a flourishing state. A wealthy establishment, which he formed soon after, and the good order with which he conducted it, pla­ced him in a situation, sufficiently at ease, to ena­ble him to undertake, himself, the education of his numerous children. He endeavored, above all things, to make them thoroughly perceive the inestimable value of time; and to caution them, by his own experience, against ever exposing themselves to the unpleasant regret of having illy employed it.

JASPER AND EMILIUS.

MR. MEANWELL, who had been long absent from his native country, on ac­count of a considerable employment that he held in the East-Indies, was at length returned to his family, in order to enjoy, in their peaceful soci­ety, the ample fruits of his labors. He had but one son, about fourteen years of age, in whom his fondest hopes were centered. It was in or­der to secure to this son the advantages of a [Page 178] splendid fortune, that he had devoted his life to business of the most laborious nature, far from his country and his friends. His views, in this respect, had been gratified beyond the extent of his wishes. He returned, loaded with wealth; but, alas! he very soon perceived how much better the time which he had spent in acquiring it, would have been employed, in personal atten­tion to his son's improvement, and how much more likely such an attention would have been, to ensure him happiness, than all his riches.

Mrs. Meanwell, who was as w [...]k in under­standing as in constitution, had put young Jas­per under the care of a family-tutor, who, in or­der to keep his employment, had only studied to gratify the child's whims, and impose on the blind fondness of a mother, who idolized her son. Intoxicated with the flattery of all about him, Jasper had insensibly grown hardened in all the ill-habits that he had been suffered to con­tract from his infancy. His tutor, whose igno­rance, though tolerably profound, scarce equalled his meanness, frequently gave him to understand, that with the treasures which he was one day to possess, he had no occasion to impair his health by a close application to study; and that For­tune, by the care which she had taken of him, had too favorably distinguished him from the rest of mankind, to subject him to the same labours. These perfidious insinuations accorded so well with the natural weakness and presumption of his pupil, that they effected the complete corrup­tion of his heart and his understanding; Jasper was therefore become a confirmed liar, slothful, [Page 179] insensible to the affections of his fellow-creatures, and so disgustingly conceited, as to look down upon all who were his inferiors in fortune, as if they were no, better than beasts of the field. Of all the stories with which the tutor amused his idleness, he listened only to those that afforded examples of pride and effrontery. Instances of courage, greatness of soul, and humanity, made no impression upon him; nor were his eyes ever moistened with those delicious tears which the recital of a virtuous action draws from the eyes of those who possess true generosity.

This odious character was not long concealed from Mr. Meanwell's observation. What a fa­tal discovery for an affectionate father, who, re­turning from the farthest parts of the earth, with the hopes of one day finding, in his son, the comfort and glory of his old age, saw him al­ready possessed of every quality that [...] unpro­mising and disgraceful. His first care was, to dis­miss the contemptible person, who had been made his instructor. Notwithstanding the bodi­ly infirmities which already began to attack him, he resolved to take upon himself alone, the charge of remedying the faulty education of his son. He imagined, however, that he should succeed better in this undertaking, if he placed near him a child of a good disposition, and nearly his own age, whose behaviour might inspire him with a noble emulation. The choice of such a com­panion, he thought, should not be left to chance. For several weeks he sought ineffectually for such an one, but happening one day to be riding in the country, and earnestly meditating upon his [Page 180] project, he perceived, at the entrance of a village, a number of young boys at play: one of them was possessed of so happy a physiognomy, that, at the first fight, Mr. Meanwell was captivated with him. He approached him, asked him a few questions, in a mild tone of voice, and received answers so replete with candor and simplicity, that they effectually confirmed in his mind the good opinion which the youth's countenance had excited. He learned from him, that he was the eldest of six children, that his father was the apothecary of the village, and barely able to maintain him and the rest of his family in the most limited mediocrity. These particulars hav­ing given Mr. Meanwell some hopes, he begged the boy, whose name was Emilius, to conduct him to his father. He found him to be a sensi­ble man, and one whose abilities, in a more en­larged [...]here, might have procured him the high­est estimation. But, moderate in his desires, he preferred the tranquility of a retired country life, to the noisy bustle of the capital, and contented himself with the happiness of doing good to his poor neighbours, and of fulfilling the duty of a parent, to his numerous children. His wife, who was still young, had adopted his views, and pru­dence seemed to divide, with happiness, the go­vernment of his family. Mr. Meanwell, after having, for some time, discoursed with them con­cerning their children, in order the better to un­derstand the principles which they had followed in their education, soon perceived them to be such as corresponded with his own ideas. In the fullness of his joy, he took the apothecary by the [Page 181] hand, and imparted to him the design that he had in view, with respect to his son, assuring him, that he would bring him up as his own, and that from that day forward he would take upon him the care of his fortune. The well-known integrity of Mr. Meanwell, and the reputation of his wealth and interest, would have induced pa­rents, who were less affectionate, or more ambi­tious, to accept his offers, without hesitation: but the parents of Emilius found a difficulty in parting with a son, who formed their principal happiness; and the boy himself was no less a­verse to the proposal, than they were. However, the more objections they raised to the scheme, the more Mr. Meanwell, actuated by fresh senti­ments of esteem, adhered to it. In short, he redoubled his solicitations so powerfully, that he, at length, shook their resolution. The frequent opportunities which would offer of seeing their son, and the hope that his advancement might, one day, contribute to that of his brothers and sisters, induced them, at length, to yield their consent; and Mr. Meanwell took his leave, filled with the most perfect and heartfelt satisfaction.

Three days were demanded by the parents of Emilius, to prepare him for appearing in town; at the end of that time, Mr. Meanwell appeared at their door. I will not attempt to describe to you the grief occasioned by the departure of a child, so dearly loved by his family. Emilius, who had had the courage to restrain his tears in the presence of his mother, for fear of increasing her sorrow, was no sooner seated in the carriage, than he let fall a flood of tears. Mr. Meanwell [Page 182] did not seek, at first, to interrupt them, otherwise than by silent caresses; but when the first gush of sorrow was over, he took Emilius by the hand, and, kissing him, My boy, said he, be not afflicted; you see in me a second father, who will cherish you with as much affection as the parent whom nature has given you. Be honest, cour­teous, and diligent, and nothing shall ever be wanting to your happiness.

Emilius was something eased by these marks of tenderness and affection. Then you shall be my other father, said he, pressing Mr. Mean­well's hand between his, and I will make myself worthy of your friendship and regard.

Mr. Meanwell introduced Emilius into his house, upon the footing of a son, and ordered all his servants to treat him with the same respect; and his mild and sensible manner, soon gained him the affection of all that approached him. Jasper was the only person of the family, who could not behold him, without an emotion of envy. He soon perceived that the presence of this rival laid him under the necessity of altering his behaviour, and of becoming more diligent in his studies. Not being able to find in his heart any just foundation for hating Emilius, he thought that he might at least reasonably despise him, as the soon of a poor country apothecary. Dread­ing, however, his father's displeasure, he was o­bliged to keep these thoughts to himself, and therefore disguised them under the mask of friend­ship. Emilius, who could not suspect in others a falshood to which his own heart was a stran­ger, grew tenderly attached to him; he endea­voured [Page 183] to assist him in all his exertions, and to facilitate the labours of his study; at the same time, he put up with his pride and capriciousness, as one usually winks at the defects of a beloved friend.

He had already been accustomed, under the immediate direction of his father, to exert his powers of apprehension, so that he met with no­thing, in the course of his study, that was capa­ble of damping his ardour. Endowed with a lively penetration, and a powerful memory, and, especially, animated with the desire of meriting the applause and encouragement of Mr. Mean­well, he made so rapid a progress, that his masters could scarcely believe it possible. He improved himself no less successfully in the exercises of the body; thus his manners became graceful, at the same time that his understanding was enlighten­ed, and his heart expanded with sentiments of honor and generosity. Mr. Meanwell beheld him every day, with renewed affection; and even strangers were seldom twice in his company, with­out feeling a secret prepossession in his favour. Polite, without affectation, attentive, without ser­vility, chearful, without thoughtlessness, he enli­vened, by his presence, the joy and happiness of the whole family. In the midst of these flat­tering circumstances, Emilius, far from suffering the illusions of vanity to steal upon him, became only the more modest. Although he could not be insensible to his own superiority over Jasper, he would have been contented to call it in ques­tion, and still better pleased to have hid it from the observation of others, for fear of mortifying [Page 184] his friend. He was the first to defend him, or to make him appear to advantage [...]. Ah! said he to himself, if my friend had not been so benefi­cent to me, and so powerfully assisted me in eve­ry laudable acquirement, 'spite of the affection­ate cares of my father, I should still be far from knowing even what little I know. Other chil­dren, in my situation, would, perhaps, have pro­fited better from the opportunities indulged me by Providence. Jasper himself would, perhaps, have surpassed me, had he been in my situation, and I in his. He can do without learning, better than I can; the absolute necessity of acquiring it, has done every thing for me.

Eight years passed on thus, during which, E­milius made himself master of every accomplish­ment that is conferred by the most liberal educa­tion. Time and place would fail me, were I de­sirous to particularize to you the various mental acquirements with which he had stored his un­derstanding. As to Jasper, it would be a still longer task, to enumerate all those which he had not. His natural self-sufficiency had persuaded him, that with a few terms of science, which was all that remained to him from his studies, he was a match for some of the ablest masters. His disposition, in the mean time, was, at bottom, very little altered; the fear of his father had, indeed, a little restrained his vicious impetuosi­ties, but, in return, it had bestowed on him hy­pocrisy, as a convenient mask to conceal them.

Mr. Meanwell, whose penetrating eye observed them, even through this veil, would have fallen a victim to the chagrin which he felt on this mor­tifying [Page 185] discovery, if the good behaviour of Emi­lius had not afforded him a pleasing consolation. Nevertheless, when Jasper had reached his twen­tieth year, the apprehensions that he formed to himself of his son's future impropriety of con­duct, overbalanced every other consideration. While his heart was torn with these cruel reflec­tions, he was seized with a violent disorder, which carried him off in a few days, in spite of the affectionate cares and ardent wishes that E­milius testified for his recovery, even to the fatal moment which separated them for ever.

Jasper, freed as he now was from the curb which formerly restrained his passions, had scarce­ly paid the last offices to his father, before he be­gan to shew forth his natural disposition. Un­grateful to the memory of an excellent father, in the person whom he had adopted as a second son, and forgetting the obligations that he him­self bore to the same youth, he furiously shut his doors upon him, and flew down to his paternal [...]eat in the country, there to make himself amends for his former constraint, by indulging a life of savage tumult and unbridled licentiousness.

How different were the emotions which im­pelled the heart of Emilius, who was now re­turned to the mediocrity of his father's house! he grieved, indeed, but not on account of his change of condition. Mr. Meanwell had made him a handsome provision for life; but his in­terest gave him very little concern; it was the loss of his generous benefactor that he felt most sensibly: the recent loss of that friend who had taken care of his youth, whom he was accustom­ed [Page 186] to look upon as a father, and in whom he had found all the affections of one. The sorrow oc­casioned by this loss, brought on a sickness, which had nearly sent him after the friend whom he mourned. In the most violent fits of his deliri­um, he pronounced only the name of Mr. Mean­well. He even called his father by this name, whenever he sat by his bed, as the disorder de­prived him of all knowledge of his relations. They were long apprehensive for his life: in ef­fect, he owed his recovery to the vows and inde­fatigable cares of a family, who all seemed only to exist in him.

After devoting a few months to the satisfacti­on which his friends enjoyed in seeing his health re-established, and in admiring his virtues and accomplishments, Emilius returned to the capi­tal, intending to enter upon one of the learned professions, and, in the mean time, resuming his studies with more eagerness and advantage than ever. He had gained the friendship and esteem of many persons of quality, during his residence at the house of Mr. Meanwell, who now united all their interest to procure him an advantageous establishment. The duke of—, having just finished his studies, was about to make the tour of Europe, and Emilius was recommended to his family, as a proper person to accompany him. Though he appeared very young, for such an office, he, nevertheless, impressed them so fa­vourably, with respect to his character and con­duct, that he was judged to be as trusty and in­telligent a governor as they could send with the young nobleman. In the course of this tour, he [Page 187] found numberless opportunities of enlarging and applying the knowledge that he had acquired from study. His sprightly wit and engaging manners, made him a favorite at every court which his pupil visited. There were even some foreign princes, who distinguished him in a very flattering manner, and wished to attach him to their service; but his engagements to the young duke's family, made him decline every offer, how­ever splendid. He was not long, without receiv­ing the reward of his fidelity. He had scarce conducted his pupil home to his native country, when a nobleman of the same family, being ap­pointed ambassador to one of the foreign courts, chose him for his secretary. During a long ill­ness of the ambassador, Emilius managed the principal business of the embassy, which he per­formed with so much ability, that, upon the mi­nister's recommendation, he was entrusted with a very delicate negociation, in which he had the honor, as well as satisfaction, of rendering his country a service of the most important nature.

Jasper, in the mean time, had met with very different fortune: we left him in the country, upon his estate, harassing his game and his te­nants. This way of life gave the finishing stroke to his manners; that is to say, it rendered them those of a brute, and his understanding seemed degraded to the grossest degree of rusticity. A quarrel with a neighboring country gentleman, in which his paltry behaviour covered him with shame and mortification, forced him to quit his country residence, and to come up again to Lon­don: but even thither his infamy pursued him; [Page 188] and being aggravated with the additional im­peachment of fraud, became a subject of the most public notoriety.

Jasper now found himself excluded from all genteel company, where his father's name had formerly procured him a welcome. Unable to find a resource, either in study or reflection, he suffered himself to be carried away by the torrent of vicious example; and gaming soon suggested to him the design of selling his estate, and after­wards furnished him with opportunities of dissi­pating his money, while intemperance and de­bauch, at the same time, made rapid havock with his constitution. In order to elude his creditors, whose importunities now became pressing, he determined to transport himself to the continent, and, by a singular accident, arrived in the very same town where Emilius resided, and where, for his many amiable and respectable qualities, he enjoyed the universal esteem of all parties.

The unhappy Jasper carried with him still his extravagant passion for play: fortune seemed at first to favour him in this new scene; and his ex­pensive manner of living procured him credit. But it was not long, before his affairs fell into confusion; and his creditors, finding that he had treated them with the grossest impositions, sent him to prison, upon his not being able to satisfy their demands. The rumour of such a disgrace happening to one of his countrymen, soon occa­sioned Emilius to come to the knowledge of his name. "Heavens!" cried he, "is the son of my dearest benefactor in a prison?" for he im­mediately forgot Jasper's ungenerous behaviour [Page 189] toward him. He flew, therefore, to the dunge­on where he was confined. But, alas! in what a dreadful condition did he find him! Pale, dis­figured, pining in distress, wasted by pain, har­rowed by remorse, and a prey to all the convul­sions of rage and despair. He strikes off his chains, snatches him from this mansion of hor­ror, carries him to his own house, and there treats him with the most affectionate care and attenti­on. He would have sacrificed all his fortune to restore him to life, and to be the author of his happiness. But heaven had already dealt the a­venging blow. Jasper survived this event but a few days. Emilius was grieved at his death, as much as if he had lost the most affectionate friend. He was inconsolable, that fate had put it out of his power to render to the son of his benefactor the kindnesses which he had received from the father. This reflection depressed his spirits a considerable time. Images of gloomy sadness were ever before his eyes, and haunted him, even in his most collected hours of business; but the alacrity with which he attended to his duty, and the command which he was accustomed to exer­cise over himself, restored him at length to his u­sual serenity of mind; and he continued to per­form the offices of his employ, with a zeal and integrity, that soon advanced him to the exalted station in which we see him at this day.

THE PUNISHMENT OF PRIDE.

RUPERT, the son of an honest laborer, had early testified a strong inclination for the profession of arms. He was continually exerci­sing with his spade, and had scraped acquaintance with every game-keeper in the neighborhood, in order that he might have an opportunity of hand­ling their fowling-pieces. At the age of eigh­teen, he enlisted as a soldier; and being (through the good care which his father had taken of his education) a tolerable proficient in writing and figures, he was very soon made corporal, and, af­ter that, serjeant.

At the commencement of the war, his regi­ment going abroad, he behaved himself so re­markably well, the first ca [...]paign, as to obtain a pair of colours. He had been sent upon several hazardous expeditions, in which he shewed him­self to be equally intelligent and brave; and it was remarked, to his praise, that a soldier had never turned his back, while under his command.

The general, who had been a witness to his bravery, in many engagements, now promoted him to the command of a company, in order to raise the emulation of his troops, by the exam­ple of Rupert's good fortune. And, some cam­paigns after, a very splendid action, that he per­formed in a battle in which most of the elder cap­tains [Page 191] were killed, was the occasion of his being elevated to the post of major.

Honorable mention had frequently been made of his name in the public papers; and his bro­thers were often gratified by their neighbors, with the recital of actions considerably to his praise. It may easily be imagined how proud they were of being so nearly related to him. Whenever they spoke of him, they shed tears of joy. Their affection to him seemed to entitle them to a share in his reputation; and they wished for the hap­py moment of his safe return, that they might embrace a brother who did so much honor to his kindred.

With all these good qualities, however, Ru­pert possessed one which was very odious; his words and actions were marked with the most insupportable arrogance. There was no man in the world (to take his word for it) so sensible, or so intrepid as himself. He spoke of his own va­liant deeds, as a flattering courtier would of those of a sovereign prince, before his face. He arro­gated to himself more glory from them, than was justly due to him; and seemed insensible to the merit of the other officers, whenever they ac­quitted themselves with as much gallantry as him­self.

At the conclusion of the war, his regiment re­turning home, was sent into country quarters, and (as it happened) by a route that led very near his own native village. As soon as ever his bro­thers were apprized of this circumstance, they went off to meet him on the road, accompanied by a few friends, and arrived in a neighboring [Page 192] town, just as the division which he commanded of the regiment had entered, and was forming in the market-place.

My dear Rupert, said the elder brother, how happy I am to see thee, and how happy would our aged father be, were he alive this day! Hea­ven be praised that we behold you safe returned from the dangers of war. For my part, I never felt myself so happy in my life as at this moment. Saying these words, he held out his hand, invi­ting Rupert to a similar demonstration of frater­nal amity. But the major, swelling with shame and indignation, to see a man, in a frize coat, call him brother, rejected his proffered salutation. You had better go home, said he, my friend. I have not time to talk to you at present. How! cried the younger brother, do not you know me neither? Look well at me: I am your brother George. You used to be very fond of me. It was from you that I learned to plow, when I was a boy.

The major now foamed with rage and despite, and having no other means to be rid of his un­welcome relations, he caused his soldiers to make a sudden movement or evolution, which obliged the surrounding populace, and, among the rest, his brothers, to fall back, and retire from the spot of ground where he stood.

The two peasants, who had promised them­selves so much joy and happiness in meeting with a brother that had been absent from them so ma­ny years, returned home, full of grief and resent­ment. They were scarce able to credit their senses, that such had been their indifferent recep­tion [Page 193] with one whom, notwithstanding his unna­tural pride, they found themselves ready still to love as a brother.

The soldiers who were present at this disgust­ing scene, did not, it is true, express their senti­ments of it aloud, but they said to each other, in whispers, A man must have a very bad heart in­deed, to be ashamed of his relations. Does our major think it a disgrace to be the same as we are? He ought, much rather, to be proud of having made his way, in the army, by merit, than to put on the airs of a man of family.

Rupert had not a soul formed for thinking so nobly: instead of remembering that he had once been a private soldier, he thought, by his assumed loftiness, to make his former comrades forget it. He treated them, therefore, with the last degree of contempt; but he appeared, in their eyes, much more worthy of this passion. His prefer­ment, which before had given them so much sa­tisfaction, now only served to mortify them. They obeyed his orders, but with reluctance; and every soldier in the regiment, wished him fairly out of it.

One day, when the corps to which he belong­ed, was passing in review before a general, this officer made some remarks on the manoeuvres performed by the major, with his division, to which the latter replied in terms of the most pointed disrespect. His supercilious deportment had, already, more than once, offended his gene­rals. This fresh breach of military subordina­tion, underwent the severest animadversion; for, as it was too public and gross to be passed over in [Page 194] silence, it became the subject of a general-court-martial, the decision of which compleated his ruin; for, even here, he expressed himself in lan­guage so unguardedly personal against his prose­cutor, and persisted, with such inflexible haughti­ness, in refusing to make a submission, that he was sentenced to be cashiered, to the universal joy of his regiment.

Reduced, by this stroke, to his original pover­ty, he was obliged to embrace the alternative, ei­ther of struggling with indigence and necessity, or of employing means for his subsistence, which, before, he would have spurned, as unworthy of his rank and consequence. He had a small farm (if a piece of ground might be so called, that was scarcely large enough for a cabbage-garden) situated close by his native village. As (by his father's will) he had not the power of selling it, in the life time of his brothers, he had let it to one of them upon his entering the army, but al­ways thought the rent of it, though accumulat­ing, an object of so small importance, particular­ly after he was made an officer, that he had, since that time, in his own mind, almost wholly re­nounced the property of it, as he had the memo­ry of his origin, and the relationship of the per­son who was his tenant. He now found him­self, however, under the necessity of deriving, from this patch of ground, the means of his im­mediate subsistence, by making application to his brother for the rent arising from it. For this purpose, a journey to the place of his nativity was, if not indispensable, at least highly expedi­ent; and then it was when the peasants and vil­lagers, [Page 195] his former acquaintances, saw him come down among them, stripped of his plumes, and reduced to the same state of harmless obscurity with themselves, that they repaid him his former insolence, with usury. However, as he courted the friendship of none, in return none offered him their society. Thus he saw himself depri­ved of one of the greatest blessings that human life can afford, particularly to those who are un­der the pressure of adversity.

If the other inhabitants of the village were of­fended at Rupert's unnatural pride, his brothers had, certainly, the first cause to resent it, having been the more immediate objects of his insult. Perhaps, therefore, you fear, lest they should, in their turn, have slighted him. "We know you not," would have been a just answer to all his applications and advances toward reconcili­ation: but, fortunately for him, the brothers possessed that real greatness of spirit which he wanted. They sought no other satisfaction, than that of conferring kindnesses on him. For this purpose, the renter of his little farm, not only re­stored it to him in good condition, together with the revenues thence accruing, but concerted with the other brother, the means of settling him comfortably, on a moderate farm, if he chose to embrace that way of life. This, as they were thriving, responsible persons, they found no great difficulty to effect; and Rupert returned once more to the happy occupation, from which am­bitious and chimerical dreams of glory, had for­merly seduced him. But he was, by no means, happy in his condition. Every day, as he went [Page 196] about those labours, which he had so long dis­dained, the thoughts of his former elevated hopes and expectations, continually haunted him. How did he suffer, under the mortifying thought, that he owed almost his present existence, to those, whom he, on the contrary, might, comparatively speaking, have made rich men. Accursed pride! he would say, to what a pitiable degree hast thou humbled me!

This cutting reflection filled his hours with bitterness; and he died, in a short time, devour­ed with chagrin, leaving a melancholy example to those whom the same intoxicating passion might tempt to despise the sound admonitions of reason and modesty.

THE INCREASE OF FAMILY.

HONEST farmer Townsend was on a vi­sit to his sister, who had been a few years married, and lived at the distance of nine or ten miles from his habitation. One evening, a little before supper, as he sat with her and her husband beside their cottage door, and discoursed with them concerning family affairs, there passed by a little girl about five years of age, and totally in rags. Townsend remarked the miserable ap­pearance of her whole person, and said to his sister, "There is a poor little girl, very much to [Page 197] be pitied. Not one rag about her seems to af­ford her a covering. It is a disgrace to your pa­rish. Her father must have very little industry, and her mother very little feeling."

Alas! answered his sister, she has no father nor mother, and there are two other children, beside her, of the same family, who are equally wretched. Through some dispute between two different parishes, (each asserting this destitute family to belong to the other) the poor children wander up and down the country, without house or home. They lie, at night, in barns, or under hedges. When hunger becomes trou­blesome, they go and sit down before the doors of cottages. If any body gives them a morsel of bread, they receive it with joy; but they ne­ver ask any thing. Their father, who was a man of spirit, though reduced by sickness, to the m [...]st deplorable state of poverty, forbad them, with his dying lips, to beg.

This recital affected the honest farmer very much. It is shocking, said he, that any poor creatures should be so neglected by the rest of their species: I will take them, added he, under my care, since nobody here wishes to be charged with them. His sister, and her husband, thought it their duty to dissuade him, as strongly as possi­ble, from this undertaking. They told him, that he had children of his own, that he knew nothing about these, that they were, for three months past, accustomed to a lazy vagabond life, and that it was a matter of doubt, whether they would ever turn to good. Then, brother, con­sider, added they, what an addition of trouble [Page 198] they will cause to your wife, and what a burden they will be in your family.

Townsend was not one of those weak men, who suffer themselves to be diverted from the performance of a laudable design, by a few diffi­culties accompanying it. He was not very soli­citous to hear all their objections, and still less to answer them.

He rose, therefore, from his seat, in order to retire to rest: but his scheme of benevolence, in favour of the orphans, kept him long awake, by exciting, in his mind, reflections of a tenderer cast than usual; and the moisture of generous compassion was still upon his eyelids, when they closed in sleep for the night.

The next morning early, he sent for the eldest girl, who was about twelve years of age. I was given, said he, to understand, yesterday, that your father and mother are dead, and I see, by your dress, that they have not left you any great mat­ters of fortune.

No, indeed, we are poor e­nough.

Have you no relations, who would take you home?

Yes, we have some, but they are too poor, as well as ourselves.

Well, would you go with me, and be my child?

Ah! if you would take me.

Come, then, that is settled: but I am going home on horseback, and could not take you all three together. It was the youngest sister that I saw first: I will begin with her. [Page 199] Bring the child to me. Let us be acquainted together.

The youngest girl soon came. She had a countenance so mild, and gained so much upon the farmer, by her little fond caresses, that he looked upon himself already as her father. He took her up, therefore, before him, on his horse; and when they arrived at the farm-house, his wife asked him whose child that was. It is your's, Maria, answered he, and began withal to relate to her, how, the day before, he had seen the little child, and been informed of her wretched and friendless situation; how he had compassion on her, and took her home with him, in order to support her as one of his own children.

During all this relation, the little girl crept close to the farmer's skirt, and shed tears without ceasing. Maria, who was as compassionate as her husband, sympathized with the little orphan; she took her up in her lap, and endeavoured to soothe her with these words: "Since my hus­band has promised to be your father, I will be your mother too. Come then, my dear child, do not cry any more."

But, wife, there are two others be­sides, who are equally worthy of our compassion, the brother and sister of this little one.

Ah! my dear, I see what you mean. Well, we must send for them.

The next day, the farmer put the horse to his chaise-cart, and went for the other two orphans.

Go, said his wife, embracing him at his depar­ture, go, my dear; and that Being, who sends [Page 200] us these children, will not fail to send us, also, bread for their nourishment.

Mr. Justice Garboil, however, thought other­wise. He had been landlord to the father of these unfortunate little ones, and was well appri­ [...]ed of their distress. Hearing the farmer had taken them home to his house, he dispatched his clerk to him, with a peremptory injunction to send the children to their own settlement, (which, it has been observed before, was in litigation) or, in failure thereof, to give security to his own pa­rish, that they should never become chargeable to it.

Farmer Townsend was filled with indignation on receiving such a message. If this, cried he, be his worship's humanity, I would rather be the child of misery, for an age, than accept the con­dition of that overswoln bashaw, during his most self-complacent hour. Let me know, however, what bail is required; I am ready. Poor inno­cents! the more I see oppression endeavour to tread you down, the dearer you become to me, and the more I feel myself interested to protect you.

After the farmer had satisfied every demand of Justice Garboil, he returned to his house, and now, said he, surely these children are mine. No­body will question my being a father to them, by one title or other.

You are anxious, no doubt, my young friends, to know what became of these children, in the se­quel. Luckily, I can inform you, by relating to you a conversation between Farmer Townsend [Page 201] and a person who happened to be travelling in that part of the country, some years afterwards.

All the little family were at play together, one evening, before the farmer's door, while Maria was getting their supper ready. He himself was in the midst of them, partaking of their sport and festivity. The traveller happened to pass by, just at the time, and stopped to gaze on this speci­men of rural happiness.

Are all these children your's, neighbour? said he to the farmer.

Yes, Sir, answered Townsend: I have ten of them alive; seven that Providence bestowed on me, and three that I have purchased.

Purchased? said the traveller, much surpri­zed.

Why, Sir, it was, in some sense, a purchase, replied the farmer, and, upon this, told him the whole story, adding, as he concluded it, thank heaven, neither my wife nor I have, at any time, repented of the action. It was the best bargain that ever I made in my life.

There must be no small ex­pense in the maintenance of such a family.

It seems, at first view, a difficult matter to find bread for them all, without an es­tate; for any one can easily spend the fruits of his own labour: and, unless you were to make a trial, you would scarcely think it possible to be done. I owe, perhaps, to this difficulty, the good management which has ever kept me above want; but when a man is sober, laborious and circumspect, he will always have a trifling super­fluity for the unfortunate.

And your children are not jea­lous of these strangers?

Strangers? There are none here. We are all one family promiscuously. There is no strife, but which will be the most loving and affectionate. I give you leave to guess which are my children by birth; at times I can hardly distinguish them myself.

But I do not see the elder of the girls among them.

No, I dare say not, for she has o­ther business in hand; she must look after her own houshold.

Is she married, then?

Yes, that she is. She fell into the nets of a fisherman, one that hauls them to some account, I promise you, and makes a good liveli­hood by his trade. It is true, I furnished him pretty plentifully with stock.

What, did you give her a por­tion, then?

That' must be done, to get a daughter off your hands. Look you at his boats and fishing-tackle, if they are not the compleatest on this coast.

Still you have no occasion to have done that. She was nothing to you.

No? She made me happier than any of [...]y own has been able to make me as yet, on account of their age. She has a young daughter already, who calls me grandfather.—That sounds so droll!

Farmer Townsend then entertained the tra­veller with the happiness and satisfaction that he [Page 203] enjoyed, in the improvement of the other two orphans.

The youngest girl, says he, is big enough al­ready, to assist my wife in the business of the house. As to the boy, there is not his fellow in the country, for tending a flock. Ah! if you knew how fond they all are of me, and how much I love them in return!

His heart was softened at this recital of his own, and a tear of benevolence moistened his eye. He wiped it away, however, immediately, and said, with an ironical smile, Ah! Justice Garboil, Justice Garboil, you might have had all this happiness, if your heart could have known a duty beyond the letter of the law. You forced me to give bail; but you little thought it was to ensure to me, for life, a happiness to which you have ever been a stranger.

ADVENTURES OF CHARLES II. IN HIS FLIGHT.

AFTER the battle of Worcester, the king left the field, accompanied by fifty horse­men. He kept his escort together, during a flight of twenty-six miles, in order to pro­tect himself, either from the insults of the coun­try people, or against the detachments that Crom­well had sent out in pursuit of him. He then thought proper to separate from them, and only retained about his person, the Earl of Derby, and Lord Wilmot, with whom he arrived at the old monastery of Witlade, the occupier of the lands on which the monastery stood, having for­merly given an asylum to the earl, after the de­feat of his little army. This farmer, whose name deserves to be handed down to posterity, was called Penderel: he had four brothers, men of loyalty, like himself, who had another small farm at Boscobel, in the neighbourhood. He sent for them, and into their hands, the king re­signed his destiny. They cut off his hair, black­ened [Page 309] his face, and conducted him, in an old tat­tered disguise, to cut wood in the forest. They made him lie in a little chapel, upon a straw bed, with a wretched bolster. A woman, whom they were obliged to admit into the secret, brought him milk, butter and eggs. The king was sur­prized at seeing her, and not knowing whether the Penderels had trusted her without reserve, he asked her, in order to assure himself, how she could think of being faithful to one of the king's party. The woman answered, without explain­ing herself further, that she would be faithful to the king as long as she lived. She uttered these words with such an appearance of feeling, that Charles' apprehensions were perfectly quieted, and he made a very hearty meal of the victuals which she had brought him, necessity rendering it, perhaps, the most delicious that ever he made in his life. Charles had scarcely left Witlade, before some of Cromwell's soldiers alighted at the monastery, and searched it all through. Luck­ily a very abundant shower of rain hindered them from leaving it, to scour the neighbourhood; and nothing disturbed the little repose, which ex­cessive weariness, and violent anxiety, suffered the king to enjoy in his dismal lodging.

Informed of this alarm, the next morning, as soon as he awoke, he resolved immediately to go into Wales. He promised himself more security there, until he should be able to make for Lon­don, whither he had sent Lord Wilmot, to wait his coming. He sat out, therefore, at night, with one of the Penderels for his guide. As they passed near a mill, the miller hearing them [Page 310] open a gate at the end of the bridge that crossed his mill-race, sallied out hastily from his mill, and demanded, with a threatening tone, where they were going, at such an unseasonable hour. They continued endeavouring to open the gate, without answering him. The miller ran to­wards them, crying out to them to stop, at which summons Penderel abandoned the bridge, and rushed into the stream: the king followed him, without hesitation, the noise that he made in the water directing his steps, as the darkness prevented him from seeing his guide. Luckily the same darkness, together with the miller's cor­pulence, hindered him from overtaking them.

They arrived, quite wet, at the house of a country-man, named Wolf, an acquaintance of Penderels. Wolf, after having concealed the king as well as he could, went himself to the edge of the river, to prepare a passage for him; but he found the whole bank so covered with sol­diers, that he thought it his duty to dissuade his guest from so dangerous an enterprize. Charles was obliged to return to Boscobel, and from thence to the chapel, where he kept himself con­cealed, while the Penderels examined the coun­try, to discover whether there were any of the parliament's troops in the neighbourhood. One of them, as he went his rounds, met a person, at the sight of whom the king was agreeably sur­prized. His name was Careless, one of those brave warriors, who, in order to let the king gain a larger distance from Worcester, had stemmed every effort of the enemy for a considerable time, at the city gates. Careless was a native of this [Page 311] part of the country, and knew the Penderels, who brought him home to their house. The king having hurt his foot, came hither at night to have it dressed. Careless knew him, and would not quit him afterwards. He re-conduct­ed him to the forest before break of day, and made him climb into a large tree, where they both remained concealed among the thick bran­ches, for near four and twenty hours. They saw several soldiers walk by at the foot of the tree, many of whom expressed the most ardent desire of seizing the king. This tree received the name of the royal oak, and has ever since been honoured with the highest veneration by the people of the country.

Nevertheless, a secret report had been spread, that Charles was somewhere thereabout. One of the Penderels going into a neighbouring vil­lage, found there a number of soldiers very busi­ly engaged in collecting every account possible concerning the king. The officer, who com­manded them, put many questions to Penderel himself, and promised him a great reward if he would give information where Charles lay con­cealed. Penderel did not swerve from his loyal­ty; but his account of this circumstance, indu­ced the king to take the resolution of seeking a­nother retreat.

The guide, whom he had sent with Lord Wilmot, to conduct him to London, returning, informed the king, that his lordship, despairing to reach town, through the crouds of soldiers, who filled all the roads, had stopped short at the house of a gentleman of the royal party, named [Page 312] Witgrave, where he was in safety. Charles con­ceived the design of going to him, and had the good fortune to succeed, in spite of every dan­ger that he was to encounter.

Charles, while he indulged the satisfaction that he felt on seeing Lord Wilmot, had not time to deliberate with him on the course or measures which would be most proper for them to take, when a party of soldiers appeared before Mr. Witgrave's house, with an intention of search­ing it. Resistance would have been unseasona­ble. Witgrave concealed his guests, and, at the same time, opened his door with so much alacri­ty and unconcern, that his visitors were induced to make but a very slight search. It was soon af­terwards understood, that a fresh inspection had been made of Witlade monastery; and that the officer of the party by whom it was searched, had several times held his pistol to Farmer Pen­derel's breast, to oblige him to confess where the king was concealed.

The danger increasing every day, Charles dropped all thoughts of staying any longer in England, and resolved to get as near the sea as he could, in order to embark, with more speed and convenience, the first opportunity. Colonel Lane, a zealous loyalist, who lived at Bentley, a place but a few miles distant, promised to co­operate in effecting this purpose. The king had made his feet so sore by walking in heavy boots, or great shoes, which had not been made for him, that he was obliged to ride. He reached Bently, in company with Lord Wilmot, and the four Penderels, who had always been so faithful [Page 313] to him. Colonel Lane proposed to convey the king to Bristol, where they might hope to find some vessel that would take him on board. This officer had a relation, called Mrs. Norton, who lived about three miles from Bristol, and was then very far advanced in her pregnancy. He obtained a passport (without which, it was im­possible to travel in those troublesome times) for his sister and a servant, under pretence of visiting his relation in the neighbourhood of Bristol. The king, therefore, sat off on horseback, and rode behind Miss Lane's chaise, passing for her servant. Lord Wilmot leading a brace of spa­niels, coupled together, and carrying a hawk upon his wrist, passed for a sporting country gen­tleman of their acquaintance, who had met them on the road.

During this journey, which lasted but three days, the king met with several adventures, most of them sufficient to inspire him with well-grounded terrors. He had only travelled six miles, when his horse having dropped a shoe, he went himself to the nearest blacksmith, to have him shod, as he chose to go through with the character that he had assumed. While he stood by at the operation, the smith asked him what news were going, and if the king was ta­ken. Charles answered, without changing countenance, that he had not heard any thing of it, and that, in all likelihood, his majesty was gone back to Scotland. I do not think so, re­plied the smith; I should rather suppose him to be concealed in England. Wherever he is, I should wish to know his place of concealment. [Page 314] The parliament has published a proclamation, offering a reward of 1000 l. sterling, to whoever will discover him.

This disagreeable conversation being over, the party sat forward again, and continued their route to near Evesham, where, as they were about to pass a ford, they perceived, all at once, a number of horses standing, saddled, at the other side of it. Charles was for going right on, but his compa­ny, less resolute, prevailed upon him, at length, to turn off▪ They found themselves still in the view of the soldiers, whom they had thought to avoid: but the prince shewed so good a counte­nance, and the whole cavalcade appeared so much in nature, as a country family paying a visit in the neighbourhood, that the soldiers, who were, at that moment, busied in seeking him, and him only, conceived not the smallest suspicion of him.

When they came to Mrs. Norton's, Miss Lane told her, that she had brought with her a young man, whom she wished her to take into her service. He was the son, she said, of a poor countryman, in her neighbourhood, and had caught an ague on▪ the road, for which reason, she requested that he might have a room to him­self. Charles retired to it, and did not stir out; but a servant of the house, whose name was Pope, knew him, and, throwing himself at his feet, Is it you, Sire? said he; I have seen your majesty when very young, and therefore was not long recollecting you: if I can serve your ma­jesty, put my zeal to the test, and depend upon my fidelity. Charles was surprized and embar­rassed [Page 315] at this new adventure. He saw an equal risk in discovering himself to a stranger, and in shewing that he distrusted a man, who had it in his power to verify his suspicions. In this di­lemma, the apparent sincerity of the man, de­termined the king to conceal nothing. The e­vent proved that he was right. Pope rendered the king great services, and contributed not a lit­tle to his safety, by pointing out to him, as a safe retreat, the house of Colonel Wyndham, where, in effect, he spent nineteen days, waiting until his friends should find an opportunity for him to embark on board some ship.

This was not an easy matter, on account of the precautions taken against receiving strangers. It was even dangerous to propose it, the captains of ships suspecting every body, whom they did not know, to be the king, and dreading the pe­nalties denounced against such as should refuse to discover him. A report of his death had prevailed some time, and would have contributed to render his life serene, had it lasted longer. He learned this, from the ringing of bells, and the public rejoicings that were made, on account of it, in the neighbourhood; but the report fell to the ground too soon, and did not, in the least, diminish the difficulties which opposed his em­barking, notwithstanding all the pains that Co­lonel Wyndham took, in order to forward this object.

A merchant, of the name of Esden, had just conveyed Lord Barclay over sea, whither he sled from the persecution of the parliament. Colo­nel Wyndham, who knew this merchant, went [Page 316] directly to Lyme, where he lived; and entreated him to perform the same kindness for a gentle­man, a friend of his, who would desire to take no more than one servant with him in the whole. Mr. Esden went with him to the village of Car­mouth, where he directed him to a master of a ship, with whom he might make his agreement. It was fixed, that the captain should come the next day but one, and receive his passengers a­board, at a solitary part of the coast. The king was exact to the hour of his appointment, but no ship appeared. They learned, afterwards, that the preceding day, there had been a fair in Lyme, at which the parliament's proclamation, against such as should harbour or conceal the king, was read. The captain's wife being in­formed, by her husband, that he was going to convey to France, certain persons, whom he did not name to her, opposed his design very strong­ly; and, in order to hinder him completely from effecting it, she locked him up in his room, while he was busy getting ready some things ne­cessary for the voyage.

Dreading, lest this incident should become public, Charles was obliged to quit Colonel Wyndham's house, without well knowing where to face. He proceeded, however, towards Dor­chester, accompanied still by Wilmot, Colonel Wyndham, with one of his servants, being their guides. Wilmot's horse losing a shoe, the cir­cumstance was very near occasioning the king's discovery. They had sent the horse to be shod in a village where they had stopped, as night came on. The blacksmith asked the hostler [Page 317] where his guests came from, who answering, that, by their own account, they came from Exeter: they impose upon you, replied the smith, with a countenance full of the important discovery, these shoes were made down in the north. The hostler, from this observation, recollecting that the four horsemen had ordered their horses to remain saddled, and had not bespoke beds for themselves, he concluded, at first, that they were certainly people of quality belonging to the king's army, which had been defeated near Worcester; and afterwards, that it might, very possibly, be the king himself. Upon the strength of this conjecture, he went to the minister of the parish, a violent parliamentarian, and communi­cated his suspicions to him. The minister was, at that moment, engaged in prayer, and would not be interrupted. But the noise of this ad­venture gaining ground, as the blacksmith, on his side, had not failed to circulate it, the mini­ster took fire, and went to a justice of the peace. Immediately the whole town is up in arms, searching for the strangers, and a party is sent off after them, by the read which they were seen to take. The king could not possibly have es­caped them, if, instead of keeping the main road, he had not turned short, and made the best of his way, by cross roads, to Salisbury.

We cannot sufficiently admire his continuing undiscovered during the remainder of his wan­derings. The whole country was full of troops, marching in every direction; at every step he was surrounded by them. He no sooner stopped at an inn, but the soldiers, officers, whole com­panies [Page 318] enter the place. Just as he was going to step into a ship, which had been prepared for him at Southampton, there came up a battalion of soldiers, ordered for Jersey, and took possession of it before his face: at length, a friend contri­ved to procure him a small bark at Shoreham, in Sussex, upon the application of a Mr. Mansell, a rich merchant of that quarter. They met at night, in a house not far from the harbour, and Charles waited on Sir John Wilmot at table, who had kept Mr. Mansell to supper, and the captain of the bark, whose name was Tatter­shall. Supper being over, they were preparing to go aboard; and the king expected now to have no further risks to run, except those of the voyage, when the captain, taking the opportu­nity of his being alone with Mr. Mansell, ad­dressed him thus: You have deceived me, said he, and your enterprizing spirit, might have cost me my life. Mr. Mansell, who appeared igno­rant of the matter himself, used every effort to persuade him, that the idea was without founda­tion; and at length, Sir John Wilmot, over­hearing them, came in, and plied him so strongly with money and promises, that he overcame his resistance. Captain Tattershall ran home im­mediately; and asked his wife for linen and pro­visions. You are in a great hurry, said she, why not wait till to-morrow; and as he continued pressing her to make haste; Well, said she, I see it is for the king. God give you success, and him too. The attempt is hazardous; but pro­vided you save him, I am satisfied to beg my [Page 319] own and my children's bread, all my life. Ani­mated by these words, Tattershall went to give the necessary orders, that his bark should be in readiness to sail the next morning at five o'clock. It took up the king at the appointed place; and his taking leave of his faithful friends, was a very tender scene. Mr. Mansell, approaching him the last, took him by the hand, and kissing it with fervor, I was willing, said he, to have been deceived by your majesty: I pray God, that you may arrive in safety, at your port, and return, very soon, in peace, to these your realms. Charles answered him, smiling, that he would then remember a service which was done him with so good a grace. The bark soon lost sight of the shore, and had so favourable a course the whole day, that they anchored, the same night, at Fescamp, from whence the king sat out for Paris, and arrived there October 30, 1651.

THE HAT.

A COUNTRYMAN came, one day, into a shop, in the city, and laying his hat on the counter, begged the master of the shop, to lend him half a guinea upon it, as a pledge. Do you take me for a madman, said the master of [Page 320] the shop? it is against the law, and if it were not, that shabby hat is not worth two-pence. Such as it is, replied the countryman, I would not give it for five guineas, and yet I have very urgent oc­casion for the sum that I ask. I sold my corn at the market, a week ago, to a mealman, who was to pay me to-day; and I depended upon having it to make up my rent, which has been so long due, that if it is not paid to-morrow, as I promised it should, I expect to be distrained for it. But the poor meal-man is almost broke, he has lately buried his only son, a grown-up youth, and now, this last week, his wife died of grief, so that I cannot be paid until next market-day. As I often come into your shop, to buy things, and you know me to be an honest man, I thought you would not make much difficulty a­bout lending me half a guinea: it is nothing in your pocket, but is a great matter to me: at all hazards, there is my hat, to answer for the mo­ney, and a better security than you think. The tradesman answered him only with a sneer, and, turning upon his heel, attended to other persons who were in the shop.

Sir George Liberal happened to be one of them: he had listened, with attention, to the countryman's discourse, and was struck with the air of honesty, that was apparent in his counte­nance. He approached him gently, and putting half a guinea into his hand, Here is the money that you want, said he, since you find people so loth to oblige you, I will be your friend, without a pledge. With these words, he went out of the shop, eying the master of it with much con­tempt; [Page 321] and his carriage was gone a good dis­tance off, before the countryman had recovered from the emotions of his joy and amazement.

About a month after, as [...]ir George Liberal was going in his chariot, up the Hay-market, he heard somebody call out, several times, to his coachman, to stop, but to no purpose, for the coachman drove briskly on, without paying any regard to him: at the same time, Sir George looking out, saw a man upon the footway, run­ning, with all speed, to overtake the carriage; he, therefore, drew the string, to make the coach­man stop. Immediately, the man springs to the coach-door, crying, I beg your pardon, Sir—I have run myself out of breath, to overtake you; Did not you, Sir, about a month ago, put half a guinea into my hand, in a shop in the city?—Why, yes, I remember something of it—Well, Sir, here is the money, which I return you, with many thanks. You did not give me time to thank you then, much less to ask your name and address; and the man of the shop did not know you. I came to town, every week, with my own hay and corn, in hopes that I might, some time or other, have the good fortune to meet with you: luckily, I saw you as you passed up the street. I should never have been happy, if I had not had the opportunity of paying my ac­knowledgments to you; and may Heaven be­stow upon you the recompense which your ge­nerosity deserves. I am happy, said Sir George, in having obliged so honest a man as you seem to be; but I confess to you, I did not expect to see the money returned me. I intended it as a [Page 322] small present to you.—That is more than I knew, Sir; and besides, I make a conscience of not receiving money that I do not earn. I had done nothing for you, and you had served me sufficiently, by lending me the sum in question. Let me beg you, therefore, to receive it again. No, my good friend, it belongs neither to you nor me, now: Do me the pleasure to buy some­thing with it for your children, and give it to them as a present from me. Sir, your proceed­ing is very genteel, and it would be uncivil in me to refuse your offer. Well, then, say no more, the matter is finished. But pray explain one particular to me, which has not ceased to engage my curiosity, ever since I saw you: How could you have the conscience to ask half a gui­nea on your hat, which was scarcely worth a groat? Ah! Sir, it is worth every thing to me. How so, pray? I will give you the history of it.

Some years since, my landlord's son, sliding on a pool in his father's grounds, fell through the ice. I happened to be at work near the place, and hearing some people cry out, who saw the child sink; I ran to the spot, and throwing my­self into the water with my clothes on, just as I was, I had the good fortune to save the child, and to restore him alive to his father: my land­lord did not forget this service; he gave me a sung farm, in addition to what little land I held under him before, which was not much more than a cabbage-garden, supplied me with stock and utensils of husbandry, and in short set me up completely in my small farm. But this was not [Page 323] all. As I had lost my hat in the water, be placed his own upon my head, saying at the same time, that he could have wished to place a crown upon it. You see, Sir, if I have not reason to be fond of this hat. I never wear it in the country: every thing there reminds me of my benefactor, though he has been dead some time. My children, my wife, my cottage, my land, all seem to speak, as it were, continually of him to my remembrance, But whenever I come to town▪ I always put on this hat, that I may have something about me to put me in mind of him. I am only sorry that it begins to grow old. You see, Sir, it is going; but as long as a bit of it remains together, it shall be inestimable in my eyes.

Sir George felt great pleasure from this recital of the countryman, and taking out his card, here, said he, farmer, take this, it contains my address, I am obliged to quit you now, but shall be glad to see you at my house next Sunday morning.

The countryman did not fail to come, at the time appointed: as soon as the servant carried in his name, Sir George himself came out to receive him, and, taking him by the hand, he said, my worthy friend, you have not, it is true, saved me an only son, but you have, nevertheless, performed me a very considerable service; you have taught me to love mankind better than I did before, by proving to me, that there are still hearts replete with honesty and gratitude. Since hats figure to such advantage on your head, here [Page 324] is one that I wish you to accept as a present: I do not desire, however, that you should leave off that of your benefactor; only when it is in­capable of being worn longer, I beg the reversion of your head for this; and every year, on this same day, you will find a new one here to re­place it.

This was no more than a genteel pretext, which Sir George's delicacy suggested to him, in order to avoid hurting the countryman's pride: he knew, very well, that we should endeavour not to humble those whom we oblige, but to raise them in their own opinion. After having gained his heart by this first tie of friendship, he acquired sufficient ascendancy over him, to assume the right of conferring the most essential benefits on him and his family, and of repairing the losses which they had sustained by unavoidable strokes of fortune. He had finally the satis­faction of seeing them nearly as happy in their gratitude, as he himself was in his generosity.

LITTLE GRANDISON. A Letter from WILLIAM D—to his MO­THER.

O Dear mama! every body here is in the greatest consternation. Charles went out early this morning, on horseback, attended by a servant, in order to pay a visit to a friend five or six miles off and only think, he is not returned yet. His father had desired him to be home be­fore five o'clock, and it is now past nine. Never before, did he disobey the commands of his pa­rents. Something must have happened to him. It is a very dark night, and a dreadful thick fog. Mr. Grandison has just sent off a servant, to make enquiry about his son. How impatiently do I expect his return!

Eleven o'clock.

What distress! The servant is returned from the house where Charles went to spend the day. Charles had left it with his servant, before four o'clock. What can have become of him? Can he have gone astray in the forest, or fallen from his horse? Who can tell? Or have some vil­lains [Page 326] robbed and murdered him? Good heaven! Mrs. Grandison will die, with apprehension. E­mily does nothing but weep. Edward is like one distracted; he runs every moment up stairs, and into the yard. Mr. Grandison endeavours to comfort his wife; but it is easy to see that himself is in the deepest affliction. He has just sent out men on horseback, different ways, to en­deavour to find poor Charles. If it were not for leaving his wife in her present distress; he would, before this time, have hurried out in search of his son. Oh! that I had gone with my friend! I should, at least, have shared all his dangers; but Mrs. Grandison insisted that I should stay at home, on account of a slight cold. Perhaps, if I had entreated her pressingly, she would have suffered me to go with him. I am quite unhap­py. I know not how I support my affliction. I can no longer hold the pen. I do not see what I write.

One o'clock in the morning.

No Charles yet. Not a soul has gone to bed. Indeed, who could rest? The servants wring their hands: Edward and Emily cry incessantly, O, brother! brother! and this increases my un­happiness. I wish it were morning.

Half after six in the morning.

God be praised, mama, we have news of Charles. The servant, who was with him, is just returned. No accident has happened to my friend. It is not his fault that he caused us so much uneasiness: he staid out neither through carelessness nor for pleasure. Far from deserv­ing [Page 327] to be blamed, he is worthy of the highest praise. Oh! when you shall hear his adven­ture! But Mr. Grandison absolutely insists, that we all go and lie down for a few hours, to reco­ver ourselves, after the fatigues and anxiety of the night; and we must obey Farewell, ma­ma, until I awake. My first care shall be to write to you. I will rise two hours the sooner, on purpose.

Nine o'clock.

I will now tell you the whole story, mama, from the account given us by the servant. His young master and himself, had set out before four o'clock, as I mentioned, in order to be at home by the time that Mr. Grandison had fixed for their return. They had scarcely come the fourth part of the way, when it began, all at once, to grow dark. There came on so thick a fog, that one could not distinguish an object at the distance of two yards. Charles, who is naturally cou­rageous, did not make himself the least uneasy. They held on their way, at a full trot, when suddenly they perceived, straight before them, a man, stretched at his full length, on the road. What is here? cried Charles, stopping his horse. I suppose, replied the servant, somebody that has taken a glass too much. Let us go on, master.

No, said Charles, if it be a man in liquor, we must remove him, at least out of the coach way, for fear that some carriage, passing by, should go over him, in the dark. He had not said these words, before he was on the ground: but what was his surprize, when approaching the unfortu­nate [Page 328] stranger, he perceived him to be an old offi­cer, in regimentals. He had a large wound in his head, from which the blood flowed in abun­dance. Charles spoke to him, but he returned no answer.

It is a dead man, cried the servant, who had also alighted.

No, no; he is still alive, said Charles. He is only in a swoon. Heavens! what shall we do?

What can we do? replied the servant; we must go on; then we can call at the first village, and send somebody to his assistance.

How unfeeling you are, John, cried Charles, with vivacity; before the persons that we might be able to send, should arrive here, this poor gen­tleman would be dead. See what a quantity of blood he has lost. Fasten our horses to these trees. We must ourselves give him whatever assistance we can.

How, Sir? said John; sure you are not seri­ous. It will be dark night presently; and we shall never be able to find our way home, in this fog.

Well, then, we will stay here.

And what will master and mistress say? You may guess how uneasy they will be.

Oh! that is very true. I never thought of that.

Charles was going to mount his horse again, but turning his eyes, which were filled with tears, toward the officer, he felt himself held to the spot by a secret power. No, unfortunate soldi­er, cried he, I will not leave you in this deplora­ble [Page 329] situation. My parents cannot be angry with me for it. I will not suffer a fellow creature to perish, without doing every thing in my power to relieve him.

As he said these words, he took off his clothes in haste, and tore his waistcoat in two pieces.

What are you doing there, master?

I must bind up his forehead, to stop the wounds.

But, Sir—

Do not say a word more, but come and assist me.

He then doubled his handkerchief in four folds, and bound the gentleman's head with it, which was still bleeding plentifully, and taking one side of his waistcoat, folded in length, he applied it to keep the bandage on fast, with pins. Afterwards, assisted by John, he lifted the unfortunate strang­er out of the high road, and carried him on the grass.

What shall we do now, Sir? said John.

You must gallop to the first village, and bring some people to convey this poor gen­tleman to a farm house. I will pay them for their trouble, and, in the mean time, I shall wait here for you.

Heaven forbid that I should do as you say. No, Master Charles, I will do no such thing. What, leave you all alone in this solita­ry place? Your father would never forgive me for it.

I take the whole upon myself, and I insist that you obey me.

Well, Sir, since you order me so posi­tively, I have nothing more to say. But remem­ber at least—

I will remember every thing.

John sat off, therefore, as fast as his horse could gallop. A little farther on the road, he found a cottage, in which were two men at work, making wicker baskets, with several women and children. He opened the door, and, addressing himself to the head of the family, he requested him to come, with his eldest son, to the assistance of an old offi­cer, who had fallen on the road, and was welter­ing in his blood. They shewed, at first, some unwillingness to go out, on such a dark night, at the desire of a perfect stranger. But, at length, persuaded by the entreaties of John, and by the sincerity that appeared in his protestations, they went to fetch a sort of bier, and then accompa­nied him.

During all this time, Charles had not quitted the old gentleman's side, a moment, and, by dint of care, had brought him to his senses again.

Shall I take the liberty, Sir, to ask your name, said he, as soon as he saw him open his eyes, and by what accident you came to be in this condi­tion?

My name is Arthur, replied the old man, in a weak, tremulous voice. I am major in the—regiment. I had come from my own house, intending to take a ride. My horse stum­bled on the road, hereabouts, and, in his fall, threw me over his neck. My head struck against a stone. I endeavoured to get up, but what with pain, loss of blood, and the weakness of old age, I [Page 331] fainted away, and cannot tell what happened to me from that moment. But you, amiable child, who so feelingly compassionate my misfortune, is it you, that have dressed my wound, and saved my life?

Yes, Sir, and I am happy to have had; it in my power to serve you. I had a ser­vant with me: him I have sent to the next vil­lage, to procure you lodging, and assistance more effectual than mine.

What, have you had the courage to stay by my side, in this lonely place, notwith­standing the darkness of the night! Young as you are, you have paid the most humane atten­tion to me. What thanks do I owe you!

None, Sir. I have but done my du­ty, and shall count myself happy, if I can be still farther useful to you.

This discourse was interrupted by the arrival of John, with the two men. They placed the major on the bier, on which they had, previously, laid a good mattrass: but, in spite of the pains that they took to convey him gently, the shaking of the bier, as they walked along, revived the pain of his wound, so that he fell again into a fainting fit.

Charles having given his horse to John to lead, walked in silence by the side of the bier, and shewed every sort of attention possible, to the wounded person, in order to make him recover his spirits. When they came to the door of the cottage, he made one of the countrymen mount his horse, and dispatched him, with all speed, for a surgeon.

[Page 332] Nevertheless, John used the most earnest per­suasions to induce his young master to return home, and represented to him the terrors which his parents must feel, on account of his stay.

What, said Charles, should I leave this old man to die in the hands of strangers! You see, he is still insensible. I should have done nothing for him, were I to leave him now. No, [...], I will spend the night by his side.

How, Master Charles! You do not say so?

My resolution is fixed. Do you hasten home to my father and mother; tell them every thing that has happened, that they may not be uneasy on my account. Tell them that I will wait their orders, here, to-morrow.

Really, Sir, it is what I cannot think of doing. My master would receive me finely, if I were to return without you.

It must be so, for all that, replied Charles, in a firm tone of voice. Do not lose time. It is night already.

It was in vain that John protested against what he called the imprudence of his young master: he was obliged to go.

Charles was easier then, supposing that his parents would soon hear of him: but there was another unlucky accident still destined to befall them; the fog grew thicker and thicker, the night grew darker, and John, losing his way in a wood through which he was to pass, and not knowing by what course he was to get out of it, was obliged, after many ineffectual scampers, to seat himself at the foot of a tree, and there [Page 333] to wait for daylight, leaving us, all the while, in the most terrible alarm. The poor man was quite exhausted with cold and weariness, when he came home this morning. Notwithstanding his hurry to come, he was afraid to shew himself, le [...] he should be turned away. I cannot describe to you his surprize, when, after finishing his sto­ry, he heard Mr. Grandison cry out, How much ought I [...]o bless heaven for having given me such a son! And you, John, have done very well, to obey his orders in every respect. Here are two guineas, to make you amends for your bad night. Go, refresh yourself, and take a little sleep, that you may be able to go back to my son. I am not the least angry with him for all the uneasiness that he has caused us. He did every thing in his power to relieve us from it.

But how will my friend be grieved, when he learns from John what we ourselves have suffer­ed! John is set off already. I saw Mr. Gran­dison give him a purse of money for his son, that he may have wherewithal to provide every thing necessary. I am impatient now to know whe­ther the poor major be alive or dead. I hope soon to be able to give you some account of him. Farewell, dear mama, continue to love me, and love also my friend Charles, for his courage, presence of mind, and humanity.

Eleven o'clock.

At last, mama, Charles is returned. With what transport did I embrace him! He appear­ed an angel in my eyes. Thanks to his care, the major is much better. His hurt will soon be cured.

[Page 334] Charles arrived much sooner than we expect­ed. Emily was the first who saw him! She screamed out with joy and surprize, Charles! Charles! and ran precipitately to meet him: they came in, kissing each other. Charles quit­ted her at the door, to fly to his father. He threw himself at his feet, and did not rise from thence, till he perceived his mother hold out her arms to embrace him. I will relate to you, word for word, the discourse that passed between them. I shall never forget it as long as I live.

Can you pardon me, my dear [...]a­rents, for having caused you so much uneasiness?

Pardon you, my son? nay, rather let me embrace you a thousand and a thousand times. You have performed your du­ty to a fellow creature, without forgetting, at the same time, your duty to us. I thought it im­possible for me to love you more than I did. But how was I mistaken!

Your goodness overwhelms me, pa­pa.

Let us say no [...]ore on the subject, my dear. How goes on your patient?

He is much better at present, though a little weak still; but the surgeon assured me, that his hurt was not the least dangerous.

Is he still in the cottage with those poor people? Will they take good care of him?

Oh, mama, do not be uneasy; his son is with him. As soon as he told me where he lived, I sent thither, express, to inform the fa­mily of his misfortune. The eldest of his sons [Page 335] came immediately. What was my satisfaction, when I saw the wounded father in the arms of him whom he held most dear!

And will the major be able to [...] himself every thing that is necessary?

Oh, yes, papa, he is very rich; and [...] is your purse, as you sent it me. I had no occasion to make use of it.

No matter; it is your's my dear.

Mine, papa?

Yes, Charles, I give it to you as a token of my satisfaction: I am sure you will not open it, unless for a good purpose. Con­tinue to be, all your lifetime, such as you have shewn yourself to-day, and never let your heart be hardened against the misfortunes of your fel­low-creatures.

Oh! papa, what can I say? I fear­ed your reproaches, and you overwhelm me with kindness.

But how did you like being in that dismal cabin?

I confess, mama, I did not much mind the place. I had nothing before my eyes, but the poor old man, whom I was afraid of see­ing die, every moment.

Then you have not slept the whole night?

I made them lay some straw by the major's bed side; but my thoughts of the unea­siness that you, my brother, my sister, and my friend, must suffer, and my continual fears for the poor wounded gentleman, all together con­tributed [Page 336] to banish sleep from my eyelids. Oh! if I could have thought that you would have been a whole night, without knowing what was become of me, how would my mind have been tortured! I should have come home, had been obliged to grope my steps all the way in the dark.

Kiss me, my dear boy and again and again: but I will not [...] myself in the pleasure of hearing you any [...] ▪ It is full time for you to go and take a [...].

We were obliged, therefore, to [...] and I accompanied him to his chamber. [...] hap­py am I, said he, squeezing my hand, that my parents are pleased with my conduct! Notwith­standing the satisfaction that I felt in serving the poor major, I should never have enjoyed comfort, had I made them angry.

Dear, amiable friend, cried I, embracing him. It was all that I could say, mama; my eyes were bathed in tears, my breast heaved with sobs; I could not tear myself from his arms. Oh! how sweet are the pleasures of sensibility! and what happiness it is to have a virtuous and affection­ate friend!

NARRATIVE OF A SHIPWRECK.

ON the 17th of November, 1780, I em­barked on board the St. Lawrence brigan­tine, then lying in the bason of Quebec, and bound to New-York, being charged with dis­patches from General Haldimand, commander in chief in that province, to Sir Henry Clinton. The same day, on receiving our sailing orders, we weighed anchor, and dropped down to the harbour called Patrick's Hole, in the island of Orleans, in company with a schooner bound to the same port, on board of which was an Ensign, [Page 6] Drummond, of the [...]44 ^th regiment, with dupli­cates of General Haldimand's dispatches. In this place, we were detained six days by a contrary wind: at the expiration of which time, the frost had sat in with prodigious severity; and the ice was forming fast in all parts of the river. Had the wind continued unfair for a few days longer, we should have been entirely blocked up by it, and had happily escaped the calamities which afterward befel us.

On the 24th, the wind being fair, we got under way, and proceeded down the river St. Lawrence, as far as the Brandy-Pots; islands so called, about forty leagues from Quebec. At this place; the wind veered about to the north­east, which obliged us again to anchor. The weather continued intensely cold; and the vessel being leaky, made so much water, as to render it necessary to keep one pump continually going. A change of wind soon after enabled us to proceed on our voyage, and to make the island of Anti­coste, which is at the mouth of the river St. Law­rence; when the wind coming round again to the eastward, we were obliged to beat off and on, between this island and Cape Roziere for four days; our vessel at the same time increasing her leaks to such a degree, that we were under the necessity of rigging the other pump, and of keeping them both constantly at work. Being now in a higher latitude, the severity of the cold had increased in proportion, and the ice began to form so fast about the ship, as to alarm us ex­ceedingly, lest we should be entirely surrounded [Page 7] by it; which we only prevented, by cutting and breaking vast quantities of the ice from her sides. To this task, with that of keeping the pumps at work, the crew, together with the passengers, were scarcely equal; only nineteen persons being on board, of whom six were passengers, and the remainder very indifferent seamen. As for the master, from whom, in the present emergency we might have expected some degree of exertion, instead of attending to his duty, and the preser­vation of his ship, he remained continually in a state of intoxication in his cabin.

On the 29 ^th the wind came round to the north-west, and we proceeded down the gulf of St. Lawrence, with two feet water in the ship's hold. The wind kept gradually increasing till the 1 ^st of December, when it blew a perfect gale from the north-west quarter; and the ship's crew being now almost overcome with cold and fatigue, seeing no prospect of gaining upon the leak, the water having already in­creased to four feet in the hold, nor a possibility of making any port, they came to the resolution of working no longer at the pumps; which was unanimously agreed to, by all the foremast-men. They accordingly left off working, and declared themselves quite indifferent about their fate; preferring the alternative, of going to the bottom together with the vessel, to that of suffering such severe and incessant labour in so desperate a situation. Their fatigues, it must be confessed, from the 17 ^th of November had been excessive: and though hope might still remain, yet our [Page 8] present circumstances were such, as to exclude at least all probability of saving the vessel. How­ever, by the force of persuasion and promises, together with the timely distribution of a pint of wine per man, which I had fortunately brought on board, they were diverted from this desperate resolution; but with great reluctance, saying, with some truth, as we afterwards experienced, and with more than they themselves were aware of, that whether the vessel filled or not, was a matter of no consequence. This delay, though not exceeding a quarter of an hour, had increased the depth of water another foot; but the men added to their exertions, being encouraged by the wine, which was issued to them every half-hour, succeeded so far, as to reduce the water in the space of two hours, to less than three feet. The▪ captain still remained in his cabin.

During the 2d and 3d of December, the gale seemed to increase rather than diminish. The ice formed so thick on the ship's sides, as to im­pede her way very much through the water; which furnished us with a new labour, that of cutting it off, as fast as it formed, with saws and axes. The leak continued to gain ground. The schooner that was in company, far from being able to afford us any assistance, was in as leaky a condition as our own vessel, having struck upon some rocks at the island of Coudres, through the ignorance or neglect of her pilot. A heavy snow beginning to fall, it was with the utmost difficulty we could get sight of each other, though at no great distance, and, [Page 9] in order not to part company, fired every half-hour. The schooner, at length, made no answer to our guns; whence, we concluded, she had foundered; nor were we wrong in our suppo­sition. There were sixteen persons on board, every one of whom perished.

On the following day the gale increased pro­digiously, and the sea began to run high, with a heavy fall of snow, so as to prevent our seeing twenty yards a-head of the vessel. The men being excessively fatigued, the water had risen to its usual quantity, of between four and five feet. The mate, whom I have not yet taken notice of, an intelligent young man, and well acquainted with his profession, judged, from the distance we had run, that we could not now be far from the Magdalen Islands, which lie about mid-way in the gulf of St. Lawrence. These islands are nothing more than a cluster of rocks, some ap­pearing above, and others hidden under the water, and have been fatal to many vessels. Seamen wish often to make them in fine weather, as they serve to take a new departure from; but in foggy or blowing weather they, as studiously avoid them. The mate's conjecture was but too well founded; for in less than two hours, we heard the sea breaking upon the rocks; and soon after discovered the principal island, called the Deadman, close under our lee; the point of which, it was with the greatest difficulty that we weathered. Having happily cleared the main island, we were still far from thinking ourselves secure; for being unable, on account of the [Page 10] heavy fall of snow, to see many yards a-head of the vessel, and, being in the midst of the small islands, there appeared very little probability that we should pass clear of them all in the same man­ner. Not being able to distinguish any one, in time to avoid it, we were obliged to leave the vessel to the direction of Providence, and fortunately, I might say almost miraculously, ran through them all, without damage. The anxiety and per­turbation of mind that the crew and passengers were in, while in the midst of these rocks, may be easily conceived: and now, that the danger was over, it turned out to be a fortunate occur­rence for us; for, by this time, the sailors being ready to sink under the accumulated distresses of cold and fatigue, and depressed by the little hopes they had of saving the vessel, had nearly deter­mined, a second time, to quit the pumps; and leave the vessel to her fate: when acquiring fresh spirits from the danger we had escaped, and, as the vulgar are generally inclined to superstition, attributing what was perhaps accident alone, to the immediate interposition of Providence, they agreed to continue their efforts a little longer; towards which, they were likewise not a little encouraged, by the wine which I distributed to them occasionally.

During the night, the gale continuing, and the sea running very high, we were apprehensive of being what seamen call pooped, or having the stern or poop of the vessel beaten in by the waves; which happened in fact as we appre­hended: for about five in the morning of the [Page 11] 5 ^th, a large wave broke on the ship's quarter, which stove in our dead-lights, filled the cabin, and washed the master out of his bed, where he had remained ever since the commencement of the gale. This accident, was attended with worse consequences than we at first imagined; for we soon discovered, from the increase of the leaks, that the stern-post had been started by the impulse of the sea. Having nothing in the after-hold, no other resource was left but that of at­tempting to stop the leaks with beef, which we cut into small pieces for that purpose: but this expedient we soon found ineffectual, and the water continued to gain on us faster than ever. The sailors finding all their labours fruitless, and the leak, which was constantly increasing be­fore, now rendered by our late misfortune en­tirely irreparable, abandoned themselves totally to despair; and again refused to work at the pumps any longer. They had not however long remained inactive, before we contrived once more to persuade them, to make another effort to clear the vessel; when, to our great surprise and consternation, we found the pumps so hard frozen, that it was impossible to move them.

All endeavours now to keep the ship clear were ineffectual, so that in a very short time she filled to the water's edge. Having no longer, as we imagined, the smallest foundation for hope, we resigned ourselves, with as much fortitude as possible, to our fate, which we expected every moment, to be that of going to the bottom. Notwithstanding, when the vessel was quite full, [Page 12] we observed she was very little deeper in the wa­ter than before; and, then recollecting a circum­stance, which the trouble and confusion we had been in had almost obliterated, namely, that we had a quantity of lumber on board, imme­diately accounted for the phenomenon of her not sinking beyond a certain depth in the water; and began to recall hopes of saving our lives, at least, if we could but prevent her from overset­ting, till we could make the island of St. Johns, or some other islands in the gulph. Having no guns on deck, (and not much lumber) to render the ship top-heavy, we contrived to prevent her from oversetting, by steering directly before the wind; though not without some difficulty, as, from the little way she made through the water, the waves frequently washed clear over the decks. Besides taking care to keep the vessel steady, we used every precaution, to secure our boat from being washed overboard, the loss of which would, in our present circumstances, be a dreadful mis­fortune. The cabin, being raised above the level of the main deck, was tolerably clear of water, and afforded us some little shelter from the severity of the weather. Thither we re­tired, leaving only one man upon deck to govern the helm, who was fastened by a rope, to pre­vent his being carried away by the waves, which, at times made a free passage over us.

[Page 13] The gale still continued, without remission, the snow falling so thick, at the same time, as to prevent our seeing to the mast-head. We knew, from the distance we had run, that we could not be far from land. The captain imagined, from our course, during the night, and since the ship filled in the morning, that we must be near the island of St. John's, which lies between the Mag­dalen islands, and the Gut of Canso. This gave us hopes of saving our lives, in case we could run ashore on some sandy part of it, till they were dashed, by the further information we had from he captain, that the north-east side of the island, was nothing but a continued reef of rocks, from one end to the other, and that there was but one harbour where ships could put in, which he recollected, was on the opposite side of the island. In a few hours after, we observed the waves grew shorter and break higher, which is always found to be the case on approaching the shore; and likewise, a number of gulls and ducks flying about, a further sign we could not be far distant from it.

We now concluded that we were about to run upon the rocks, which, the captain informed us, skirted the north-east side of the island, and on approaching the land, laboured under greater dread and apprehension, than amidst all the dan­gers we had before experienced, the idea of be­ing cast upon those tremendous rocks, being more terrifying than that of being buried, as our companions were, in the bosom of the ocean. The ship had still made considerable way through the water, though full, and with no other sail [Page 14] set, but a close-reefed fore-top-sail, which was the only one we could display; and the canvass being new, it had hitherto stood the gale. The captain proposed bringing the ship too, to keep her off the land; which I opposed, as well as the mate, urging the probability that, we should overset her in the attempt; and that moreover, should we be able to effect it, she must, after all, drive ashore, as in her present state, it was im­possible to make any way to windward. Our opinion, however, was rejected, and an attempt was made to brace about the fore-yard; but it was found impracticable, the ropes and blocks being covered with ice. We were, therefore, obliged to let it remain as before; and the wa­ter having suddenly changed its colour, we ex­pected the ship to strike every instant. Small as our expectations were of saving our lives, I thought it incumbent on me, to take every pre­caution to save the dispatches I was charged with, and therefore ordered my servant to open my trunks, and collect all the letters they contained, which I put into a handkerchief, and fastened a­bout my waist. He, at the same time, offered me the money he found in them, to the amount of one hundred and eighty guineas, which I de­sired him to dispose of as he thought proper, thinking it, in the present emergency, rather an incumbrance, than a matter worthy of preserva­tion. My servant, however, thought otherwise, and took care to secure the cash, which was, af­terwards, of more service to us, than at that time I could possibly have imagined.

[Page 15] The weather continued thick, as usual, till a­bout one o'clock, when suddenly clearing up, we discovered the land, at about three leagues dis­tance. This sight gave us no small satisfaction, taking it, at first, to be the island of St. John's, which, being inhabited by several French and English families, we might have expected some assistance from them; but, on a nearer view, found, from the plans we had on board, that it had not the least appearance of that island, there being no such mountains and precipices laid down, as we discovered. On drawing nigher, we observed the sea break high, and have a very dismal appearance, about three miles from the land. As it was necessary for us to pass through those breakers, ere we could gain the shore, we expected that our fate would be determined there; but, contrary to our expectations, there was a considerable depth of water, so that we went over the reef without touching, though not without shipping many heavy seas, which, had not the vessel's timbers been strong, and her loading light, must infallibly have dashed her to pieces. The land now began to have a dread­ful appearance, seeming, at the distance we were off, to be high and rocky; but, on approaching within a mile of it, we had the pleasure of de­scrying a fine sandy beach, and a bold shore. The sea ran high, but not to such a degree as on the reef we had already passed. As we advan­ced, the water continued to have a depth beyond our most sanguine wishes, so as to allow us to come within fifty or sixty yards of the beach be­fore we struck. Now was the time for every [Page 16] man's apprehensions to be on the rack, as we might expect, on touching the shore, that the ship would go to pieces. At length she ground­ed, with a violent concussion. On the first stroke the main-mast went out of the step, and on the second, the fore-mast; but neither of them fell over the side, the deal boards in the hold being stowed so close together that the masts had no room to play below; at the same time the rud­der was unshipped, with such violence, as to be near killing one of the sailors. As soon as the ship had grounded, the sea began to beat over her in every part, each wave lifting her four or five feet nearer the shore. In a short space of time the stern was beat in by the sea; and then, having no shelter in the cabin, we were obliged to go upon deck, and hang by the shrouds, lest we should be washed overboard. In this un­comfortable situation we remained, till the vessel was beat so high by the waves, that we could venture to walk upon deck. We now perceived that the ship's keel was broken, which we ima­gined would occasion her to go to pieces: this, however, did not happen for the present; which I can only attribute to the boards in the hold being so interwoven with each other, and frozen together by the ice, as to give a degree of soli­dity to the vessel.

Our first care now was to get out the boat; which was not be accomplished, without difficul­ty, on account of the quantity of ice that was in and about it, and our reduction in number of effective hands by the intoxication of several of the crew, who had thought that the most effec­tual [Page 17] method of getting rid of the apprehensions they laboured under. Our vessel had, from the violence of the waves dashing against her, broach­ed too, with her broadside to the wind, so that afforded some shelter for the boat to the leeward. Having, with much labour, cleared the boat of ice, and prepared her for launching, I ordered some liquor to be distributed to those who were yet sober, and then asked, if any were willing to embark with me in the boat, and make the at­tempt to gain the shore. The sea running so high, that it appeared scarcely possible for the boat to live in it for a minute, very few were willing to make an experiment so full of risk; so that all who offered themselves, were, the mate and two sailors, together with my servant, and a boy, who was a passenger on board. What gave us the greatest embarrassment in this under­taking, was, the surf which broke over us every moment, and the intenseness of the cold, which froze every drop of water immediately, so as to cover our clothes with a sheet of ice. At length we got the boat into the water, and having thrown into it an axe and a saw, I leaped in, followed by my servant and the mate. The boy followed us, but not springing far enough, fell into the water: he did not, however, sink im­mediately; and we contrived to drag him into the boat, but not without difficulty; our fingers being so benumbed with the cold, that we had scarcely the power of using them: and this ac­cident was, in the issue, by the chill it gave him. of fatal consequence to the unfortunate youth. The two sailors, who had agreed to go with us, [Page 18] next leaped into the boat; and all the rest seem­ed ready, notwithstanding their former hesitation, to follow the example, when I found it necessary to shove her off from the ship's side; for, being very small, she certainly would have sunk, had so many persons crowded in together. The ship was lying about forty yards from the shore; but, before we got half-way to it, we were over­taken by a wave that almost filled the boat, and the next drove us on the dry sand.

To find ourselves once more safe upon the land, gave us no small satisfaction, though in so destitute a state: the joy at having escaped those dangers, which so long had been the chief objects of our dread, made us, for a few moments, for­get that we were snatched from them, merely to be exposed to others more inevitable; that we had escaped one species of death, probably to undergo another, more lingering and painful. What most affected us, was, the distress of our companions, whom we had left on board, whose lamentations, and cries for help, we could hear very distinctly. But it was impossible for us, however anxious, to afford them any assistance. Our boat being beat high upon the sand, could now be of no use, either to us or to them, while the sea was running to such a degree, that it was not in the power of a human being to relieve them.

The night was now approaching, and we had not long remained in this situation, ere we found ourselves getting stiff with cold; and the gale continuing as severe as ever, we were obliged to made, with extreme difficulty, up to our waists [Page 19] in snow, to the shelter of a thick wood, about two hundred and fifty yards from the beach. This afforded some relief from the piercing north-west wind; yet a fire was still wanting, to warm our frozen limbs, and we had not where­withal to kindle one. We had, indeed, taken the precaution to put a tinder-box in the boat, but the water had rendered it totally useless. Freezing, as we stood, there was nothing to be done, but to keep the blood in motion by exer­cise: I, therefore, recommended it to the men, to move about, being better acquainted with the nature of cold climates, and that of frost, than any of my companions. My advice was strict­ly adhered to, for about half an hour, when the young passenger, whom I have already mention­ed, being overcome with the severity of the wea­ther, threw himself down, in order to sleep; for extreme cold always occasions a sleepy sensation, that is not easily to be resisted. I used my ut­most endeavours, both by persuasion and force, to rouse him, and make him stand on his legs, but all to no purpose; so I was obliged to let him pursue his inclination. After walking about for half an hour longer, during which time, I felt such a strong desire to sleep, that I should have lain down myself, had I not been aware of the fatal consequences attending it, I went to the place where the boy lay, and, putting my hand on his face, and finding it quite cold, I observed to the mate, who was close by, that I believed he was dead. To which the youth answered, im­mediately, that he was not yet dead, but would be so very shortly; and requested I would write, [Page 20] if I survived, to his father, at New-York, and inform him of the circumstances of his son's misfortune. In about ten minutes, we found that he had expired, and, as I imagined, without any pain whatever, at least without any acute sensation of it. These trivial matters would be unworthy of notice, but as they serve to shew the effect of intense cold on the human body, and to prove, that freezing to death, is not al­ways attended with so much pain as is common­ly supposed.

The death of the boy could not deter the rest of my fellow-sufferers from giving way to this drowsy sensation; and three of them lay down, in spite of my repeated exhortations to the contrary. Finding it impossible to keep them on their legs, I broke a branch, and, desiring the mate to do the same, our employment, during the remainder of the night, was to prevent them from sleeping, by beating them continually with the branches. This was an exercise useful to ourselves, at the same time that it preserved the lives of our companions. The day-light, which we looked for with such anxious expectation, at length appeared, when I desired the men to pull down their stockings, and let me examine their legs, as they observed they had no feeling in them. As soon as I cast my eyes on them, I perceived, very clearly, that they were frozen, at least, half way up; and desired they would im­mediately rub them with snow, which they did for a considerable time, but to little purpose; for it was impossible to restore them to their feel­ing.

[Page 21] I then went with the mate, down to the beach, to see if we could discover any traces of the ship, and our companions, whom we had left on board, and, to our great surprise and satisfaction, found she had not yet gone to pieces, though the wind continued with unabated severity. My first study, now, was, how to get them ashore, our own safety, as well as their's, depending on it. I was almost stiff with cold, but found feel­ing in every part, and was therefore certain I could not be frozen. What seemed greatly to facilitate the undertaking, was, that the vessel had, by this time, beat much nigher the shore, so that the distance was but very small at low water. It was high flood, when we arrived on the beach; we were therefore obliged to wait till the tide was out, when we advised the people on board, to fasten a rope to the jib-boom, by which they might swing themselves, one by one, toward the shore. They accordingly adopted this expedi­ent, and, by watching the motion of the sea, and seizing the opportunity of swinging themselves, as the waves retired, they all got safe on the land, except a carpenter, who was a passenger in the vessel. He did not think proper to venture, in this manner, or was unable, having, the night before, made rather too free with the bottle. We were happy, however, to get so many of them on shore, every one of whom, a few hours be­fore, we concluded must have perished.

The captain had, fortunately, before he left the ship, put some materials for striking a light, in his pocket. We therefore went to work in [Page 22] cutting wood, and gathering the branches that lay scattered upon the ground, of which we made a fire, with all possible expedition, and were hap­py, for some time, in hovering about it, and warming our benumbed limbs. Considering the extreme cold we had endured for such a length of time, no luxury could be equal to that of the fire; but this gratification was, like many others, to several of my companions, followed by the most excruciating pain, as soon as their frozen parts began to thaw. Several of those who had remained all night in the vessel, as well as those who came ashore with me in the boat, had been frozen in different parts of their mem­bers. The distress that was now painted in the faces of these unfortunate men, from the tor­tures they underwent, was beyond expression: this I knew would be the case, before I heard them complain; but, as there was no remedy, did not think it necessary to give them any inti­mation of it.

When we came to examine into our numbers, I observed that a Captain Green, a passenger, was missing; and was informed, that he had fallen asleep on board the vessel, and had been frozen to death. We were rather uneasy about the man who still remained on board, yet had some hopes of saving his life, in case the ship did not go to pieces, at the return of low water: but it being too difficult to undertake in the night, we were under the necessity of waiting till the following day. This night we passed a little better than the last; yet, notwithstanding we had a good fire, we found extreme inconve­niency [Page 23] from the total want of covering, as well as from hunger, a new misery, that we had hi­therto been unacquainted with. Besides which, the greatest part of our number were in the most wretched state imaginable, from the sores occasi­oned by the frost.

The next morning, as many of us as were able, went to the beach, to contrive some means to extricate the carpenter, whose voice we heard on board the vessel. The sea still running with the same violence as before, we could not put out the boat to his assistance, and were, therefore, obliged to wait the return of low water, when we persuaded him to come on shore in the same manner as the others had done; but this he ac­complished with much difficulty, being very weak, and frozen in different parts of his limbs. We still remained without any kind of provisi­ons, and began to be reduced in strength, for want of nourishment.

The 7th and 8th, the gale continued as bois­terous as ever; and, in the night, between the 8th and 9th of December, the ship went to pieces, from the stern to the main-mast, from the extreme violence with which the sea broke against her. By this part of her going to pieces, we ob­tained some provisions, which washed on shore, viz. some pieces of salt beef, likewise some fresh meat, that hung over the stern, and a quantity of onions, that the captain had on board for sale. This relief was very seasonable, it being now the fourth day since we had eaten any kind of pro­vision whatever. Having no utensils, we dressed our meat in the best manner we could, and made [Page 24] what we thought a most delicious repast. The sense of hunger being assuaged, we set to work in collecting all the provisions we could find scat­tered upon the beach, being apprehensive that we should not soon get a supply from any other quarter. This done, our next care was to get ourselves under cover, and form some kind of shelter from the pier­cing blast. This task was not an easy one, so many of our company being unable to move, and of the remainder, none but the mate and myself capable of any active exertion, being all more or less bitten by the frost; and our number reduced to seventeen, by the loss of two persons, as al­ready mentioned. A quantity of deals had float­ed on shore from the wreck: of these we carried about two hundred and fifty into the wood, and by ten at night completed a kind of house, about twenty feet long and ten wide; which was con­structed in the following manner. We cut two poles of the abovementioned length, and, having no nails, tied them at a proper height on the outside of two trees, at the distance of twenty feet from each other: the interval between the poles, which was equal to the breadth of the trees, served for the smoke of our fire to go through; the fire itself being laid in an oblong position, extending itself nearly the whole length of the house. Against these cross poles we placed boards with a slope of about sixty degrees to­wards the ground, which constituted the two principal sides. The two other sides were com­posed of boards placed perpendicular, the trunks of the trees being taken in, and forming part of each side, on one of these sides, that looked to­ward [Page 25] the south-east, we left a vacancy for the entrance.

This business being over, we examined the quantity of provisions we had collected, and had the satisfaction to find that we had in store, be­tween two and three hundred pounds of salt beef, and a considerable stock of onions. As to bread, we had none; for, when the vessel went to pieces, the casks were stove, and the bread lost. Economy and good management, were now highly necessary, to make our little stock last as long as possible, it being quite uncertain when we could get any relief; and, in consequence, it was determined, that each man, whether sick or well, should be confined to a quarter of a pound of beef, and four onions per day, as long as the latter should last. This wretched allowance, but just enough to keep a man from starving, was the utmost we thought it prudent to afford ourselves, lest we should be in an uninhabited country; for as yet, we were rather uncertain on what coast we were cast away; though afterwards, on com­paring circumstances, we concluded it must be on the island of Cape Breton.

On the 1 [...] ^th of December, being the sixth day after we landed, the gale abated, and gave us an opportunity to launch our boat, and get on board what remained of the vessel. Three of us accordingly embarked, having, with much la­bour, launched the boat, and cleared her of the sand and ice. As soon as we got on board the wreck, we went to work at opening the hatches, and having but one axe, and the cables being fro­zen over them in a solid lump of ice, it took the [Page 26] whole day to accomplish it. The next day, the weather being still moderate, we went again on board, and having cleared away the remainder of the cable, we cut up part of the deck, in order to make room to get out two casks of onions, with a small barrel of beef, containing about one hundred and twenty pounds, and three barrels of apples, shipped by a Jewish merchant, of Que­bec. We like wise found a quarter cask of po­tatoes, a bottle of oil, which proved very service­able to the men's sores, another axe, a large iron pot, two camp-kettles, and about twelve pounds of tallow candles. With much difficulty we got this great supply on shore. On the 13th, we made it our business to get our provisions stowed away in a corner of the hut, when, on opening the apple-casks, we found their contents, to our great surprise, converted into bottles of Canadi­an balsam, a more valuable commodity, to be sure, than apples, but what we could gladly have exchanged, in our present situation, for something more friendly to the stomach than to the consti­tution. This disappointment, as may be sup­posed, extorted a few hearty good wishes to­wards the Jew; yet we found, afterwards, some use for his Canadian balsam, though somewhat different from what he intended it should be ap­plied to.

The considerable supply we got from on board the wreck, enabled us the next day to add four onions to our daily allowance. We went on board once more on the 14th, and cut as much of the sails as possible from the bowsprit, with part of which we covered our hut, and made it [Page 27] tolerably warm and comfortable, notwithstand­ing the severity of the weather. By this time the sores of the men, who had been frost-bitten, began to mortify, and caused their toes, fingers, and other parts of the limbs affected, to rot off, their anguish being at the same time almost into­lerable. The carpenter, who came on shore after the others, had lost the greatest part of his feet, and on the 14th, at night, became delirious, in which unhappy state he continued, till death released him the following day from his miserable existence. We covered him with snow and branches of trees, having neither spade nor pick­axe to dig a grave for him; nor would it have been possible, if we had been provided with them, the ground being in this climate so hard frozen during the winter, as to be almost impenetrable. Three days after, our second mate died in the same manner, having been delirious some hours before he expired. We felt but very little con­cern at the death of our companions, either on their account or our own: for, in the first place, we considered it rather a happiness than a mis­fortune, to be deprived of life, in our present wretched situation, and, in the second, because there became the fewer mouths to consume our little stock of provisions: indeed, had not some paid the debt of nature, we should in the end have been reduced to the shocking necessity of killing and devouring one another. Though not yet reduced to this necessity, our condition was so miserable, that it seemed scarcely possible for any new distress to make a sensible addition to it. Besides the prospect of perishing, through [Page 28] want, in that desolate place, and the pain arising from a perpetual sense of hunger and cold, the agony that the greatest part were in, from the sores occasioned by the frost, was beyond ex­pression, while their groans were almost equally distressing to the remainder—but what affected me more than all our other miseries, was, the quantity of vermin, proceeding from the men's sores, and continually increasing, which infested us in every part, and rendered us disgusting even to ourselves. Several, however, who had been but slightly frozen, recovered in a short time, with the loss of a few toes and fingers; no one having entirely escaped the frost, but myself. On the 20th another sailor died, after having been, like the others, some time in a delirium, and was buried, or rather covered, in the same man­ner. Our number was now reduced to fourteen persons; yet we did not think it prudent to in­crease the allowance of provisions, but still kept it at the rate originally fixed on, of a quarter of a pound of beef per diem.

The mate and I had frequently gone out to­gether, since we were shipwrecked, to try if we could discover any traces of inhabitants, but, hi­therto, without success. About a fortnight after we had fixed ourselves in the hut, we took the opportunity of a fine day to walk ten or twelve miles up a river, upon the ice, where we ob­served many tracks of moose-deer and other animals, some of which we might have killed, had we been provided with arms and ammuni­tion. In our progress up the river we discover­ed [Page 29] several trees cut on one side, as we imagined, by an axe, which gave us reason to think there might he Indians near at hand. On going up to the place, we could plainly perceive, that there had been some there lately, by their wigwam, which still remained with some fresh bark about it. We likewise found the skin of a moose-deer hanging across a pole. We travelled a good way further, in hopes of making some more dis­coveries of this nature, but to no purpose. It gave us, nevertheless, some satisfaction to find, that we were in a place where inhabitants had been lately, as it was probable they might again return there. In case this should happen, I cut a long pole, and stuck it in the ice, upon the river; then with my knife, which I always took care to preserve, as it was the only one among us, cut a piece of bark from a birch tree, and forming it into the shape of a hand, with the fore-finger extended, and pointing toward our hut, fixed it on the top of the pole, and took away the moose-skin, in order that they might perceive that some persons had been on the spot since they left it, and the route they had taken on their return. We then pursued the way to our habitation, and communicated this agreeable information to our companions, who were not yet able to move about: trifling as the hopes were, which we could in reason derive from this discovery, yet it gave them considerable satis­faction. Twenty days being elapsed since our shipwreck, and our provisions being very much reduced, I began to entertain a suspicion, that there was some foul play during my absence at [Page 30] different times from the hut, in search of inha­bitants. I was therefore determined to find out the truth, if possible, by keeping a constant watch at night; by which means I at length discover­ed, that the depredators were no other than the captain and two sailors, who had consumed no less than seventy pounds, besides a quantity of onions, in so short a space of time. To prevent such unfair practices for the future, the mate and I never went out together, one of us constantly remaining in the hut.

We continued in a state of suspense, from our last discovery, for some days, when giving up, at length, all hopes of seeing any Indians or inhabi­tants in this place, having provisions only for six weeks longer, and a few of our men, together with the captain, being recovered, I proposed leaving our habitation, with as many as could work in the boat, in search of inhabitants. This proposal was unanimously assented to; but when we came to think how it was to be put in execution, a new difficulty started itself, namely, that of repairing the boat, which had been beat in such a manner by the sea upon the beach, that every seam was open. We first attempted to stop them with dry oakum, but soon found that it would not answer the intended purpose, and having saved no pitch from on board the wreck, we began to despair of the possibility of repairing them. I, at length, thought of making a kind of succedaneum for pitch, of the Canadian balsam, which, as I before mentioned, had been shipped f [...]r apples, and had been by us brought on shore under that deception. We accordingly went to [Page 31] work in making the experiment, and boiled a quantity of the balsam in the iron kettle we had saved, and frequently taking it off the fire to cool, we soon brought it to a proper consistence. A sufficient quantity of it being prepared, we turned up the boat, and having cleaned her bot­tom, gave her a coat of the balsam, which effec­tually stopped up all crevices for the present. This done, we got a small sail rigged to a mast, which shipped and unshipped occasionally; and then pitched upon the persons who were to go with me in the boat.

By the 1st of January, with much difficulty and fatigue, we got our boat in tolerable condi­tion, so that she could swim, without making much water; likewise our mast and sail rigged, in case we should happen to get a fair wind, which we could not often expect on this coast, at the present season of the year; for, during the winter months, it blows almost constantly from west to north-west, which is immediately on the land. We could not expect, therefore, to have much occasion for our sail; nevertheless, it might sometimes be serviceable, and afford some relief to the rowers. We had agreed to take six in the boat, viz. the captain and mate, two sailors, myself and servant: of the others, none were so far recovered as to be judged equal to the fatigues we might expect in this expedition. Our shoes being all nearly worn out, my em­ployment, during the whole of the next day, was, to make a kind of mowkisins, or Indian shoes, of canvass. My needle was nothing more than the handle of a pewter spoon, which I had [Page 32] fashioned, as well as I could, for the purpose, and the same canvass supplied me with thread. As soon as I had made twelve pair, which was two for each man in our party, we divided the pro­visions that remained, into fourteen equal parts, which amounted only to a quarter of a pound of beef per day, for six weeks; those who were to stay behind, sharing as much as we who were to go in the boat, notwithstanding the great fa­tigue which we had every reason to expect. Eve­ry necessary preliminary being adjusted, we pro­posed setting off the next day; but the wind blowing fresh at north-west, were obliged to re­main where we were, till the fourth. By this time, the ice, floating in prodigious quantities on the coast, and in some places collecting, and blocking up the bays, rendered our undertaking extremely hazardous; yet we thought it more adviseable, to face any danger, and to encounter any hardship, than to remain in our present situ­ation, with a certainty of starving.

In the afternoon of the 4th, the wind moder­ating, we got our provisions, and whatever little matters might be of service to us, into the boat; and, having taken leave of our companions, sat off on our expedition. Having got about eight miles from the place of our shipwreck, the wind began to increase, and blow very hard at south­east, which was immediately off the shore. The boat, as well as the oars, being none of the best, we were on the point of being blown out to sea, but by dint of rowing, made shift to get in­to a deep bay, about a mile a-head, where we [Page 33] thought we might pass the night with safety. Having got every thing on shore, we hauled our boat up as high as our strength would permit, so as to prevent the sea from doing her any more damage. This done, we set to work in lighting our fire, and cutting our wood for the night: we likewise cut some pine-branches, the smaller of which served us to lie on, and the larger, in the form of a wigwam, to shelter us from the inclemency of the weather.

The place we had landed on, was a fine sandy beach, with little or no snow on it. Having ob­served some small pieces of wood cast on shore by the tide, that had formerly been cut with an axe, and a number of long poles scattered along the edge of the bank, which had likewise been cut in the same manner, I thought it likely there might be some inhabitants near at hand; and proposed, as soon as we had taken a little re­freshment, to go along the beach to a high point of land, at about two miles distance, which was clear of wood, and appeared to be cultivated; thinking from thence we might make some use­ful discoveries. I accordingly sat out, soon after, with two of the men; and, before we had pro­ceeded a mile, saw the remains of a shallop, or Newfoundland fishing-boat, almost covered with sand, which seemed to have been set on fire. This gave us hopes of discovering something else to our satisfaction, and we proceeded, as fast as we could, to the point of land. Having gain­ed the top of it, we descried, to our inexpressible joy, a few houses, about half a mile distant, to­ward which we directed our course, having no [Page 34] doubt but that we should now meet with some relief; but, on coming up to them, found they were only the remains of some old store-houses, which had been built there for the curing of cod-fish; and, to all appearance, had been aban­doned some years before.

This was a mortifying disappointment to us. We determined, however, to make the most of our discovery; and, observing a number of old casks lying about, in different parts, we searched them, as well as the houses, very minutely, in hopes of finding some provisions; but to no purpose. As we walked along the point, we ga­thered about a quart of cranberries, some of which we are, preserving the remainder for our companions. Having reconnoitred every part of this point, without any further success, we return­ed to our boat, and communicating the discove­ries we made to our companions, gave them their share of the berries we had gathered. Even these discoveries gave us much satisfaction, as they tended to confirm our hopes of finding some inhabitants in the course of our voyage along the coast.

In the mean time, the wind came round to the north-west, and blew with such violence, as to prevent us from proceeding on our voyage. It continued so for two days, when, happening to get up in the middle of the night, I was asto­nished on observing, while the wind continued blowing as hard as ever, that the sea was entire­ly without agitation. I immediately awoke the mate, to inform him of this extraordinary phoe­nomenon: and going down to the beach to­gether [Page 35] to know the cause, we found the sea all covered with ice, nothing but a large sheet of it being to be seen for leagues around. This was an alarming circumstance, as it seemed to pre­clude all possibility of proceeding any farther, and might give us cause even to regret having left our habitations; for, though we were so near, it was impossible to return by land, besides other impediments, on account of the depth of snow, which was impassable, unless with snow-shoes.

The wind continued to blow from the same quarter for two days longer; and at length, on the 9th, it became perfectly calm. Next morn­ing the wind came round to the south-east, which was directly off the land, and in a short time blew extremely hard, so that by four o'clock in the afternoon, there was not a piece of ice to be seen along the coast, the whole of it being blown out to sea. This was a very pleasing sight to us, as it gave us a prospect of being extricated from our present dreary situation. However, the violence of the wind prevented us from mov­ing till the 11th of January, when the weather being moderate, and a fine light breeze blowing along the coast, we launched our boat with much difficulty, being greatly reduced in strength, for want of a due degree of nourishment. Hav­ing got round the clear point of the land, we hoisted our sail and put before the wind.

The weather being very moderate, and little or no sea running, we made tolerable way, and had not proceeded far, before we descried an ex­tremely high point, about seven leagues a-head, [Page 36] with a continued precipice along the coast, so that it was impossible for us to land on any part of it, before we came to that headland. This made it very dangerous to attempt the passage; for if the wind should happen to come round to the north­west, we must infallibly have perished among the rocks. But danger was no longer an object to be considered by us; so we got out two oars, not being able to use any more, as the boat had been so much damaged, that two men were constantly employed in keeping her clear of water, and, with the assistance of a fair wind, made the point about eleven o'clock at night; but finding no place that we could possibly land on, we were obliged to keep along the coast till two in the morning, when the wind increasing, and a stony beach appearing, on which we should not have thought it expedient to land, had the wind been moderate, we were obliged to put ashore, and immediately got our provisions out of the boat. The beach was of some height from the surface of the water, the sea having beat the gravel up into a kind of bank; which rendered it impossible for us to haul our boat up. We were therefore obliged to leave her to the mercy of the sea.

The place where we landed, was a beach of about four hundred yards in length, bounded at the distance of about fifty yards from the water's edge, by a precipice of at least one hundred feet in height, which inclosed it on all sides. If the wind should come round to the north-west, we knew that we should be entirely deprived of shel­ter, yet, as it blew too fresh for us to attempt [Page 37] putting to sea again, we were obliged to remain there, notwithstanding these inconveniences.

On the 13th the wind came round to the north-west, and blowing very hard, the sea beat with such violence against the shore, as to drive our boat twenty yards higher than she was, and to beat several holes in her bottom. Now was the time for us to feel all the miseries of our present situation; fo [...], being surrounded by pre­cipices, which prevented us from sheltering our­selves in the woods, and having so little covering, and no firing, but what we collected from some pieces of timber, which floated accidentally upon the shore, we could but just keep ourselves from absolute freezing. The same weather continued for eight days, with a prodigious fall of snow, a circumstance that added to our other incon­veniences. At length, on the 21st, the weather became more moderate, and the snow ceased, having in the course of this last week, fallen to the depth of three feet, perpendicular. This gave us an opportunity of cooking our provisions, which we had done but once, since our landing. Even this was a great loss to us, as the water that the meat was boiled in, afforded us almost as much nourishment, as the meat itself.

Next day we contrived, with much labour, to turn our boat half way over, in order to examine the damage she had received, which we found considerable; the coat of balsam being entirely rubbed off, and several holes made in her bot­tom. We expected the ice would go to sea, as it had done once before, whenever the wind should come round to the southward; and [Page 38] therefore thought, if we could but get our boat repaired, that we might still have some chance of meeting with inhabitants. But the great difficulty was, how to repair it; for we had no pitch or balsam left, and but little dry oakum, which was of no service to us, without the form­er. After trying various methods, we at last gave it up as a thing entirely impracticable, and began to turn our thoughts toward some other means, of getting out of this bleak and barren place, to search for relief, in an uninhabited country.

Though it was impossible for us, to climb the precipice, by which we were encompassed, yet, if we were determined to abandon our boat, we imagined, that we might easily get into the woods, by walking along shore upon the ice, which still covered the sea, and had strength sufficient to bear any weight. In fact, the mate and I, proposed walking a few miles on it, in order to make the experiment. We accordingly sat out, and had not proceeded far, before we came to the entrance of a river, and a fine sandy beach, where, had our good fortune directed us to land, we might have lived more comfortably, and have preserved our boat. But what was to be done now, that we could get into the woods? We could not think of walking across them, in search of a cultivated country: besides, that we should be entirely ignorant, how to direct our course; the depth of snow, which had, by this time, increased to six feet, in the wood, rendered it impossible for us to travel, without snow-shoes. After consulting together, we at last [Page 39] came to a resolution, of taking, the next day, what provisions we had, upon our backs, and coasting along the ice, till we could discover some inhabitants; expecting, from its present ap­pearance of strength, that it would remain for some time longer: and the wind having drifted the greatest part of the snow off it, we compu­ted that we should be able to walk about ten miles a day, even in our present weak and re­duced condition.

This being fully resolved, we were to set out the morning of the 24th; but on the night preceding it, the wind came round to the south­east, and blew hard, attended with snow and rain; so that in the morning, as I already ap­prehended would be the case, that whole sheet of ice, which the night before looked so firm, was demolished, or driven out to sea. Thus were all our schemes frustrated—neither ice to walk on, nor boat to carry us through the water; not even a possibility of moving from this place, where we were embayed, and sur­rounded by insurmountable precipices. Thus circumstanced, we were again obliged to turn our thoughts toward some scheme for repairing our boat: upon that our only hope depended. We had plenty of oakum to stop up the holes and seams, but nothing to substitute in the room of pitch, to prevent the water from penetrating. I at length thought of a plan, which I imagined might have the wished-for effect, namely, that of throwing water over the oakum, and letting it freeze into a cake of ice. As soon as day ap­peared, I resolved to put this scheme to the test, [Page 40] and having cleared the boat of snow and gravel, immediately went to work. The men in gene­ral made light of my undertaking, and assisted, with much reluctance, thinking that they were throwing away their labour. However, I soon convinced them to the contrary▪ for, by four o'clock in the afternoon, by continually throw­ing water over the oakum, we froze up every seam and hole, in such a manner, that not a drop of water could enter, as long as the weather con­tinued freezing, as at present.

On the 27th of January, the weather being moderate, and a light breeze directly off the shore, we got our boat very carefully launched, and sat off early in the morning from this ill-omened bay. We had the pleasure to observe that the boat made little or no water, so that we were enabled to keep our four oars continually at work. As we advanced along the coast, we found it still bordered by nothing but barren pre­cipices, with every four or five miles perhaps a small sandy beach.

The weather continued very moderate all the day of the 27th, so that, by six o'clock in the e­vening, we computed that we had rowed about twelve miles from where we departed in the morning. This indeed would be but an indif­ferent day's work for people in health and vi­gour, but a great deal for those in our circum­stances; not only being extremely weakened and reduced, but the boat itself being very heavy and unwieldy, from the quantity of ice in it. We put ashore about six o'clock, upon a small sandy beach, and, by placing oars under our boat, [Page 41] dragged her carefully some yards from the water, so that she lay very safe, while the wind continu­ed as it then was. We next cut some branches, and having made a fire, sheltered ourselves, as well as possible, in the wood. Our tinder being nearly consumed, I was obliged to furnish a fresh supply, by cutting away the back part of my shirt, which I had worn ever since we left the ship.

A shower of rain, the next day, unfortunate­ly melted all the ice off our boat: we were, therefore, prevented from going any farther, till a return of the frost, and had the mortification to lose the benefit of a fine day, in the course of which, we might have proceeded, with a good boat, several leagues more on our journey. What made the matter worse, was, that our provisions were now reduced to two pounds and a half of beef for each man. On the morning of the 29th, the mate having wandered a little distance from our fire, returned in haste to inform me, that he had discovered a partridge perched on the bough of a tree, which he thought I might possi­bly devise some method of catching. I imme­diately went to the place where he had seen it, and found it in the same situation as before. Ob­serving that the bird was very tame, and not a­bove fourteen feet from the ground, I cut down a long pole, and taking part of the rope-yarn that fastened my canvass shoes, made a running loop of it, and fixed it to the end of the pole; then walking softly under the tree, and lifting the pole gently up, I fixed the loop about the partridge's neck, and giving it a sudden jerk, closed the loop, [Page 42] and secured the bird. The mate, as well as my­self, as soon as I had caught it, laughed very heartily, for the first time that either of us had any inclination to smile since our shipwreck. We then went toward the fire with our prize, and boiled it in some melted snow, together with a little salt water, to give the broth a relish: hav­ing divided it, when dressed, into six equal parts, and cast lots for the choice of each, we sat down to what we found a delicious meal; the only one, excepting the quart of cranberries, for which we were indebted to chance, or providence, since we had been cast upon the island.

On the afternoon of the 29th, it began to freeze hard, when we took the advantage of the frost, to stop the boat's leaks, as before; and the wind still continuing moderate, we launched her, as soon as that business was completed, and put to sea. The day being almost spent, before we sat off, we could not make above seven miles, to a sandy beach and thick wood, which seemed to afford a tolerable shelter. In this place we passed the night; and the next day, the weather being still favorable, we launched our boat betimes in the morning, in order to get, before night, as far as possible on our journey; but we had not pro­ceeded above six miles, before the wind freshen­ing up from the south-east, obliged us to put a­shore, and haul up our boat.

A heavy fall of rain, which continued the whole day, rendered our situation extremely un­comfortable, and melted again the icy caulking of the boat. We were therefore to console our­selves, as well as we could, in the certainty of re­maining [Page 43] here till the return of the frost, and mean while, proposed to reconnoitre, as far as our reduced state would allow us, into the coun­try. In this, however, we were prevented by the quantity of snow which still lay on the ground, and was not yet sufficiently frozen, to bear our weight, without rackets, or snow-shoes. Toward the spring of the year, in these cold climates, they may, for the most part, be dispensed with, when the snow has become more condensed by its own weight, the influence of the sun, and the rains, which began to fall at this season. The frost then returning, after the thaw, forms a kind of incrustation on the surface, that will bear a man's weight, without sinking. Had this season been arrived, we should have abandoned our cra­zy boat, and, taking the little provision we still possessed, have made an attempt to discover in­habitants, by a march into the heart of the country; perhaps it was fortunate we could not attempt it, as in all probability, we should have perished in the woods.

Not having it in our power to wander toward any other part, we walked along the shore as far as we were able, and saw nothing that could at­tract our notice, but some stumps of trees, from which the trunks might have been cut some years before: from this circumstance, we could collect no very sanguine hope of being near an inhabi­ted country. Soon after, the wind coming round to the north-west, and bringing the frost along with it, we were once more enabled to repair our boat, and to prepare for launching it, as soon as the wind should abate its violence. This hap­pening, [Page 44] in some degree, on the 1st of February, we immediately embarked, and pursued our coasting voyage; but the severity of the cold having formed a quantity of ice, it was with ex­treme labour that we contrived to get five miles before night, one of our party being employed in breaking the ice with a pole, and clearing it from the bows of the boat.

The following day, the wind blowing fresh from the north-west quarter, prevented us again from proceeding any farther, till the 3d, when, coming round to the west, which is directly along the shore, and the most favourable that could blow for us, we were enabled to embark, and pursue our voyage. Our boat, notwithstanding all our diligence in caulking, made now so much water, that we were obliged to keep one man constantly at work in baling it out with a camp-kettle. The wind, however, was as fair as we could wish, and being neither too slack nor too violent, we, for some time, went at the rate of four miles an hour, with the assistance of our oars; but soon after, the wind increasing, we laid in our oars, and ran under our sail alone, at the rate of about five miles an hour.

After having run above sixteen miles, we dis­covered an exceeding high land, about six leagues distant, with several other mountains and large bays between us; and, it being yet early in the day, a fine wind, and no great sea, we were in hopes, if the wind should not increase too much, that we should be able to reach it before night. As we proceeded along the coast, we found it in every part high and rocky; which made us very [Page 45] uneasy, lest the wind should rise, before we could make the head-land. About two o'clock in the afternoon, when we supposed we were within three leagues of it, we discovered an island about twenty miles from the main; and, on compar­ing circumstances, we concluded that the island must be that of St. Paul, and the high land, the north point of Cape Breton. The prodigious height of the land, led us into an erroneous com­putation of its distance; for, notwithstanding we had supposed that we were within three leagues of it, when we first discovered the island of St. Paul, we found, before we reached it, that we had run near five leagues.

It was almost dark by the time we reached the North Cape; where, finding no place to land, we were obliged to double the Cape, and conti­nue our journey. The wind now began to freshen, and we had a heavy sea from the north­east to encounter, as soon as we came opposite to the Cape. After having doubled it, our course lay in a very different direction from what it had been in the morning; so that we were obliged to strike our sail, and take to the oars. The wind, at the same time, blew so hard off the high lands, that it was with the utmost difficulty we could keep along the coast: had we not been as­sisted by a heavy swell, that came from the north­east, we must certainly have been blown out to sea.

Finding no place to land during the night, we continued rowing as close as we could to the rocks, till about five in the morning; when, hearing the sea run on the shore very long and [Page 46] heavy, we imagined that we must be off a sandy beach. We accordingly rowed toward the land, and, at the distance of fifty yards, for it was yet dark, were able to discern a beach at least four miles in length. It was not, however, a conve­nient place for us to put in, on account of the surf, and a long and heavy sea that rolled on it; yet being so much fatigued with rowing, that we were incapable of proceeding any farther, we were obliged to attempt a landing. This we ef­fected with more ease than we looked for, and suffered no other inconvenience, but that of hav­ing our boat nearly filled with water on the beach. Having landed, our first care was to haul up the boat, that she might meet with no further da­mage from the sea. We then got into the woods, which lay close to the shore; and, as I had taken the precaution to put our tinder-box in my bo­som, before we landed, to preserve it from the water, we contrived to kindle a fire; a refresh­ment we had much occasion for, having got wet in landing, and being in so weak and reduced a condition, that it was with the greatest difficulty we could keep ourselves awake for a few minutes, when before the fire; so that we were under the necessity of watching in turn, lest, all being asleep together, the fire should go out, and we should be frozen to death. Having now time to consi­der every circumstance, and finding, as soon as day-light appeared, that the land still continued to have an opposite bearing to that on the other side of the point, we had no doubt remaining, but that we were upon the north cape of the island of Breton, which, together with Cape [Page 47] Roy, on the island of Newfoundland, marks the entrance of the gulph of St. Lawrence.

Our provisions were now entirely consumed, and having not the most distant prospect of get­ting any more, we were ready to abandon our­selves to despair. As we were certain of being on an inhabited island, we might have flattered ourselves with the hopes of getting relief, by persevering in our dilatory progress, had we wherewithal to provide for our immediate sub­sistence. Having weighed the necessity of the case, and the misery of perishing by hunger, I was of opinion, as well as the mate, that it would be most adviseable to sacrifice one, for the preservation of the rest; and that the most pro­per method would be, by casting lots, which should be the unfortunate victim. But this shocking, though prudent, resolution, we agreed to put off to the last extremity.

We had not been able to secure our boat so effectually, but that the sea had beat her higher up on the beach, and filled her with sand. We were obliged, therefore, to set two of the men to work in clearing her, and afterwards in stopping the leaks, as already described; while the re­mainder of our party was detached by different routes along the shore, to see if they could find any kind of provision. The mate and myself travelled along the sandy beach, till we were pre­vented from going any farther, by an inlet of wa­ter, when we were a good deal surprised, to ob­serve the tide ebb and flow every ten minutes. We were not, however, at present, in a disposi­tion to pay much regard to this or any other ex­traordinary [Page 48] appearance of nature; and seeing a great quantity of oyster-shells lying upon the shore, we searched them diligently, in hopes of finding some that were full; but without suc­cess. This again made us curse our destiny, that we should have been cast away on so barren and miserable a country, and in such an unluc­ky time of the year, when we were not only de­prived of the relief we might have got, at any other season, from the natural productions of the earth, but when even the animals, inhabitants of both elements, had retired to their holes and hi­ding places, to shield themselves from the intense cold which prevails during the winter, in this in­hospitable climate.

We still continued our search, notwithstand­ing the ill success we had hitherto experienced, and contrived, at length, to gather about two quarts of hips, or wild rose-buds, by throwing up the snow, and searching in different parts of the bank. Having, with this sorry food, allayed, in some degree, the keen sense of hunger, and the wind having become somewhat more moder­ate, we got into our boat, and pushed off, the day being already drawing toward a conclusion. Our progress was, however, soon impeded by the quantity of ice that floated upon the water; which obliged us to put ashore on another part of the same beach. In landing, I had the mis­fortune to let the tinder-box fall from my bosom into the water, by which means we were unable to kindle a fire; and being exceedingly wet, as was generally the case, when we landed, we were, in this place, in a most uncomfortable situ­ation, [Page 49] and suffered much from the cold. We therefore, thought it best to get into our boat a­gain as fast as possible, and return to the spot from whence we came, in hopes of finding some fire still remaining.

It was with the greatest difficulty we got back, being the whole way under the necessity of breaking through the ice, which had, by this time, formed almost into a solid sheet. We were very anxious, lest our fire should mean­while, have gone out, and thought it a lucky circumstance, we had not been able to go any farther from it. On our arrival at the place, we had the satisfaction to find, it was not totally extinguished: had this been the case, we must have perished in the course of the night. The fire being repaired, I cut up the remainder of my shirt to make some more tinder; and, as the damage it got had nearly proved fatal to us, was resolved to be more particular in my care of it for the future.

On the 8th of February, the wind came round to the south-west, which cleared off the ice, and enabled us to leave this place by ten o'clock in the morning. As we proceeded a­long the shore, we found it was not quite so rocky as it had been on the other side of the north cape. We were therefore able to land this night, without difficulty, within a large rock, by which we were sheltered from the wind and sea. We were here very comfortably situ­ated, in every respect, except our want of provi­sions. The next day, the weather continuing moderate, we had again proceeded about eight [Page 50] miles on our journey, when the wind beginning to blow so hard as to raise a considerable swell, we were obliged to steer to the snore; and in landing, had the misfortune to lose two of our oars, which were washed overboard by the surf.

On the following day, the wind lulled; and we immediately took the advantage of it, to put to sea. We had now but two oars remaining; which being double-manned, we contrived to get about six miles before night. This was a very hard day's work, considering our present weak condition; for, having been a length of time without tasting any kind of nourishment, we were so much reduced in strength, that when we got on shore, we could scarcely walk for fifty yards together.

The weather being unfavourable on the 11th, we were under the necessity of remaining the whole day in the same resting-place; and, hav­ing leisure to search about the shore, we were fortunate enough to find a few rose-buds, which we esteemed at present a great delicacy. Had we not met with this supply, it would have been absolutely requisite to put our beforementioned scheme into execution. We thought ourselves extremely unlucky, in not having found, in the course of our wanderings, so much as the body of any dead animal: nor, except the partridge, did we see any live one, that we had the smallest chance of capturing. At different times, we had hopes of catching some of the others that we frequently saw on the ice, particularly on the small rivers and inlets: but we never found them at any distance from the holes, which they [Page 51] continually kept open, to give themselves a free passage in and out of the water. We likewise discovered, at different times, some beaver's houses; but could not insnare any of the ani­mals.

On the 12th, the wind became moderate, and we proceeded, once more, on our journey. The coast seemed to diminish in height as we passed along it, which made us hope we were now ap­proaching the cultivated part of the island. Next day the weather got milder, with a fall of rain: so that it was with difficulty we could get our boat to swim, the ice thawing gradually off the bottom. This obliged us to put ashore long be­fore night; and when we had landed, and made a fire, we found no other immediate want but that of provisions, having consumed all the hips or rose-buds that we had gathered at our last landing-place.

Having reconnoitred, very carefully, all around, and searched in every part under the snow, we were not able to procure ourselves even that mi­serable sustenance. Being now driven to the last extremity, we were obliged to sacrifice our pro­spect of travelling any farther, to the immediate preservation of our lives. About a dozen tal­low candles remained, which we had hitherto employed in stopping the leaks of our boat, as fast as she sprung one in any particular place. Of these we divided a small part among us; which gave us some relief for the present. The two following days we coasted for a few miles, search­ing for a place where we could meet with some hips; but our search proved ineffectual. This [Page 52] was the only kind of food we could now expect; and had we discovered any place that abounded with them, it was our intention to draw up the boat there, and remain till they were consum­ed.

We began now to be fully sensible of our des­perate situation, and to expect that our fate would be that of perishing with hunger. Notwith­standing that idea was horrid enough, yet, what gave me the most uneasiness, was, that my friends would probably forever remain uninformed of our wretched catastrophe. It may appear to those, who have not been in similar circum­stances, that this would take up but a small part of one's reflection, in comparison with the dread of such a death; yet, however it might have been with the rest of my companions, it was that idea that chiefly preyed upon my spirits. In or­der to prevent it, as far as possible, I took every occasion of cutting out my name on the bark of the largest trees. The fatigue of cutting it, as well as the preservation of my knife, which I observed before, was the only one among us, would not allow me to be more particular. But on the walls of the store-houses, which we had discovered in the beginning of our progress, I wrote a short account of our disasters in English and French, and requested, if any person should fall in with it, that they would transmit it to my father at Quebec.

On the 17th, we made another division of a part of the tallow candles that yet remained; and on the following day, the wind being fa­vourable, we proceeded about five miles: where, [Page 53] finding a flat country, and a sandy beach, that extended for a considerable way, and being so much debilitated, that we knew it would be im­possible for us to go much farther, we put on shore, with a determined resolution to perish on this place, unless some unforeseen accident should bring us relief. To attempt drawing up our boat, would, in our present weak condition, be a vain undertaking, so we were obliged to leave her, exposed to the mercy of the sea. All that we could preserve was our axe, a saw, and the sail of the boat, which we generally made use of as [...]covering.

As soon as we landed, we made it our busi­ness to clear away the snow from a particular spot in the entrance of the wood, where we in­tended to remain; and having cut some small branches of pine to lie upon, together with some larger to serve for a shelter, which we stuck into the bank of snow that surrounded us, we made our fire. This done, we all went in search of hips, and had the good fortune to find about a pint of them, which, boiled up with a couple of tallow candles, afforded us a tolerable meal.

The next day we passed without any kind of provisions, and being apprehensive that our little remaining strength would soon desert us, we em­ployed ourselves in cutting and piling as much wood as we were able, to supply the fire. Mean while, the waves had beat our boat so high upon the beach, as to be quite dry as soon as the wind subsided, and to deprive us of the power of put­ting to sea again: had we been disposed to do it: [Page 54] for our strength was by no means equal to the task of moving her a single foot.

We again employed the whole day of the 19th in search of hips; but it was not attended with any success. Our tallow candles were, there­fore, the only resource we had left, and by this time they became reduced to two. We found ourselves so much weakened the following day, that we could make no further use of our axe, and were under the necessity of creeping about in our turns, to gather for our fire the rotten branches of trees, that lay scattered upon the ground. As we had not a proper quantity of fuel, the fire that we kept up was but just suffi­cient to preserve us from freezing: for, though the season was so far advanced toward the spring, yet, excepting some particular days, the weather was as cold as in the month of December.

Having now no more than two tallow candles remaining, and finding no longer a possibility of gathering any hips, being too weak even to search for them, we thought it likely that we might de­rive some degree of nourishment from the kelp-weed, of which there was a quantity lying upon the shore. We accordingly collected a little of it, and with melted snow boiled it for a few hours in a kettle; but, at the conclusion, found it very little tenderer than at first. We then melted one of our tallow candles in the liquor, and having supped it up, and eat a quantity of the weed, our appetite became somewhat satia­ted: but in about two hours time, we were all affected with a very uneasy sensation, and were soon after seized with a fit of vomiting, without [Page 55] being able to bring the offending matter entirely off the stomach. This fit of vomiting having continued for about four hours, we found our­selves tolerably easy, but, at the same time, ex­ceedingly exhausted.

On the 22d we made use of some more kelp-weed and our last tallow candle. It still opera­ted in the same manner, but not to so violent a degree as it had done before. The next day the wind blew very moderate from the north-west, and brought a severe frost along with it. We had now an opportunity to repair our boat; and, if our strength had been sufficient to launch into the water, we should have changed our resolu­tion, and have quitted the place. We made, in­deed, a faint attempt to launch the boat; but, on finding that we could not move her an inch from where she lay upon the shore, we were o­bliged to give over the design. Our candles be­ing all consumed, we were under the necessity of boiling the kelp-weed, without the mixture of tallow, which, however nauseous at any other time, afforded us, then, not only some kind of nourishment, but even an exquisite relish.

Having, for three days, tasted no other food but the kelp-weed, we began to swell to an alarming degree. This we were at a loss whe­ther to attribute to the kelp-weed, or to the cold (for we were not able to keep a sufficient fire): however, I thought then, and do still believe, that it proceeded from the former; for, notwith­standing we had often before been exposed to the utmost severity of the frost, and sometimes with­out any shelter whatever, yet we had never found [Page 56] ourselves affected with this extraordinary symp­tom; but, on the contrary, were as much redu­ced in bulk as we were in strength: whereas in a few days, the swelling had increased to such a degree all over our bodies, that, notwithstanding the little flesh we had upon our bones, we could sink our fingers two inches deep on the skin; the impression of which remained visible for a­bove an hour after. Hunger, nevertheless, still obliged us to make use of the kelp-weed. I have never since consulted with any naturalist or phy­sician about the extraordinary effects of this weed; yet doubt not but they may be accounted for from natural causes.

We passed a few days more in the same man­ner; at the expiration of which, we were so much swollen, as to be almost deprived of our sight, and so reduced in strength, that it was with the utmost difficulty we could keep our fire in by crawling about in turn, and breaking the rotten branches that lay scattered upon the snow. The time was now arrived, when I thought it highly expedient to put the plan beforemention­ed into execution; but, on feeling the pulse of my companions, found, that some of them were rather averse to the proposal; the desire of life still prevailing above every other sentiment, not­withstanding the wretched condition they were in, and the impossibility even of preserving it by any other method.

I thought it an extraordinary instance of in­fatuation, that men should prefer the certainty of a lingering and miserable death, to the distant chance of one more immediate and less painful. [Page 57] However, on consulting with the mate, what was to be done, I found, that, though they objected to the proposal of casting lots which should be the victim, yet, all concurred, in the necessity of some one being sacrificed for the preservation of the rest. The only question was, how it should be determined; when, by a kind of reasoning more agreeable to the dictates of self-love than of justice, it was agreed on, that, as the captain was now so exceedingly reduced, as to be evidently the first who would sink under our present com­plicated misery; as he had been the person to whom we considered ourselves, in some mea­sure, indebted for all our misfortunes; and fur­ther, as he had, ever since our shipwreck, been the most remiss in his exertions towards the ge­neral good, he was, undoubtedly, the person who should be the first sacrificed.

I must confess, that I thought, at that time, there was some colour of truth in this conclusi­on: yet, I was not a little shocked at the cap­tain's intended fate, although I had more reason than any one else to be incensed against him, not only on account of his neglect of duty, and his mal-practices at the [...]ut in purloining our provi­sions, but for another reason likewise. After our shipwreck, I had discovered, by some papers, which had been washed on shore, that, though the captain's pretended destination was to New-York, yet his real one was to the West-Indies, if he could possibly effect it Thus would he have baffled General Haldimand's intentions, in sending me with dispatches, that might be of the [Page 58] first consequence to this country; and not only have disappointed, but also have defrauded me of the money which I paid him for my passage.

The determination now made, was kept secret from the captain; and it would have been im­possible for us to live many days longer, without putting it into execution, had we not happily met with relief from a quarter whence we little expected it. On the 28th of February, as we were all lying about our fire, we thought that we heard the sound of human voices in the woods; and soon after discovered two Indians, with guns in their hands, who did not seem yet to have perceived us. This sight gave us fresh strength and spirits: so, getting up, we advanced towards them with the greatest eagerness imagi­nable.

As soon as we were perceived by the Indians, they started back, and seemed fixed for a few moments to the ground with surprise and horror. This, indeed, is not to be wondered at, when it is considered, that, besides the amazement they must naturally have felt, on suddenly meeting with white men in this uninhabited part of the island, our appearance itself, was enough to alarm the most intrepid: our cloaths being almost en­tirely burnt off, so that we were bare in several parts of our bodies, our limbs swollen to a pro­digious bulk, our eyes, from the same cause, al­most invisible, and our hair in a confused and dishevelled state about our heads and shoulders, particularly of those who wore it long; for we had not been able to comb it since our shipwreck. As we advanced toward the Indians, some of us [Page 59] wept, while others laughed through joy. Being a little recovered from their surprise, they did not shew much inclination to accost us, till I got up to one of them, and took him by the hand; when he shook it for some time very heartily; the usual mode of salutation among the Indi­ans.

They began, at length, to shew marks of com­passion at our distressed appearance; and I ima­gine, their shyness at first proceeded from the re­pugnance which it naturally inspired: for, these Indians being converted to Christianity, I will not attribute it to a motive so contrary to that doctrine, as the idea of the trouble they might expect, without any compensation, in relieving us. They then walked with us to our fire, and, sitting down by it together, one of them, who could speak a little broken French, desired we would inform him whence we came, and the particulars of the accident that brought us there. I accordingly gave him as concise an account as possible, of the disasters and fatigues we had un­dergone: during the relation, he seemed to be very much affected at our sufferings.

Having finished my narration, I asked the In­dian, if he could furnish us with any kind of provisions: to which he answered in the affir­mative. Observing that we had very little fire, he suddenly started up, and took our axe in his hand; when, looking at it, and laughing hearti­ly, I suppose at the badness of it, he threw it down again, and taking his tomahawk from his side, which is a small hatchet that the Indians al­ways carry about them, he went, and, in a short [Page 60] time, cut a quantity of wood, which he brought, and threw upon our fire. This done, he took up his gun, and, without saying a word, went off with his companion.

This would have been a very alarming cir­cumstance to persons ignorant of the Indian manners; but I was so well acquainted with the humour of these people, who seldom speak when there is not an absolute occasion for it, that I doubted not, but they were gone for some provi­sions, and that we should see them again very shortly. Notwithstanding the length of time we had been without nourishment, I must con­fess, that I felt but little inclination to eat: the fire which the Indian had made, was the great­est refreshment to us, as we had been many days without a good one.

After about three days had elapsed, during which interval, some of our party were not without anxiety, lest the Indians should never return, we perceived them coming round a point, at a small distance, in a bark canoe. Being ar­rived, and landed upon the beach, they took out of their canoe some smoked venison, and a blad­der of seal oil; which they brought up to our fire-place: having put some of the meat into our kettle, they boiled it in melted snow; and then gave each of us a very small quantity of it, together with some oil. I knew very well their reason for being so sparing of their meat; for, eating a quantity of gross food in our present state, might be attended with the most fatal con­sequences. It gave me no small pleasure to find that the Indians were so careful of us.

[Page 61] This light repast being ended, the Indians de­sired three of us to embark in their canoe, that being all she could carry at a time, and proceed from this place to their hut, which lay five miles farther by water, and about a mile from the shore, in the middle of the woods. We were received at the sea side by three other Indians, and about twelve or fourteen women and chil­dren, who had been there waiting our arrival. Having landed from the canoe, we were conduc­ted by these last to their habitation in the wood, which consisted of three huts or wigwams, there being that number of families among them: meanwhile, the same two Indians who had brought us, went back in their canoe for the three re­maining men of our party. On arriving at the but, we were treated, with the greatest humanity by these people; they gave us some broth to sup, but would not suffer us to eat meat, or any kind of substantial food whatever.

The two Indians being come back with our companions, and having all received a tolerable refreshment I was desired, at the request of a very old woman, who appeared to be mistress or mother of the families present, to give them an account of our transactions since the day of our shipwreck. I accordingly gave a more particular account, than I had done before in French to the Indian, whom I have already mentioned; and he explained it in his own language to the other Indians. In the course of my relation, I could perceive that the old woman was exceedingly affected, at certain parts of it; which gave me much satisfaction, as I thence derived hopes, [Page 62] that they would continue, to treat us with the same humanity. As soon as I had done speaking. the old woman rose up, and after supplying us with some more broth, desired the interpreter to explain to us, the shipwreck of the famous French partisan St. Luc Lacorne, on his passage from Canada to France.

He informed me, that this gentleman, of whose shipwreck I had already heard something, was cast away directly upon the North-Cape; that a great number of persons, perished on the occasion, amongst whom, were two of Mr. St. Luc's children, who were drowned in his arms, as he was attempting to carry them on shore. He likewise informed me, that after his having remained five days there, and suffered much from cold and hunger, he himself had relieved him, and conducted him to Louisbourg; for which service, he said, Mr. St. Luc was indebted to him thirty pounds, which he promised to remit from Halifax, but had never performed it. Whether this part of the Indian's story be true or not, it is impossible for me to determine: the gentleman himself, is best acquainted with it. But this I am certain of, that the poor Indians must have earned the money very dearly, in con­ducting him so far, at the season of the year in which the journey was performed.

These people did every thing in their power, to reduce the swelling from our limbs; which they at length accomplished, after much diffi­culty. Having provided for our own immediate wants, our thoughts recurred to those unfortu­nate men, whom we had left by the wreck. We [Page 63] were under much anxiety for them, lest by this time they might have perished with hunger. However, in case they should be still alive, I was determined, no means should be omitted for their preservation; and, having described to the Indi­ans the part of the island we were cast away upon, asked them, if it was possible to go to their relief?

From the description I gave the Indians of the situation of the river, and of a small island that lay nearly opposite, they said, that they knew the place perfectly well; that it was above one hundred miles distant, through very difficult paths, over rivers and mountains; and that, if they undertook the journey, they must expect some compensation for their trouble. This in­deed was but reasonable: for it could not be ex­pected, that the Indians should leave their hunt­ing, by which alone they subsisted their wives and families, to undergo a fatigue of that kind through pure benevolence: and as to their ac­count of the distance, I could easily give credit to it, as I knew we had come above one hun­dred and fifty miles by water. I then informed them, for the first time, for in fact it did not oc­cur to me before, that I had some money, and that, if it would be any object to them, I would pay them for their trouble. They seemed much pleased when I told them that I had money, and desired me to let them look at it. Then taking the purse from my servant, I shewed them the hundred and eighty guineas that it contained; and observing an eagerness in their countenances at the sight of the coin, which I had little ex­pected [Page 64] among Indians, and that the women, in particular, seemed to have taken a strong fancy to it, I presented them with a guinea each; for which they expressed their satisfaction, by laugh­ing, the only method among the savages of dis­playing every sentiment of that nature.

However, I was determined, at all events, to save the people, if any of them remained alive, though the Indians should be ever so exorbitant in their demands; and made an agreement with them, at last, that they should set off the next day, which was the second of March, and that they should receive twenty-five guineas at their departure, and the same sum on their return. This being adjusted, they immediately went to work in making a proper number of mawkisins and snow-shoes, for themselves and for the men; and three of them went off the next morning, having received the sum of money agreed for.

After these people knew that I had money, my situation among them was not near so comfort­able as before; for they became as mercenary as they had hitherto been charitable, and exacted above ten times the value, for every little neces­sary they furnished for myself and the rest of my companions. Besides which, I was under con­stant apprehension, lest they should be incited, by this extraordinary passion for money, to plunder us, and leave us in the same destitute condition in which they found us. The only circum­stance, on which I founded my hope of better treatment from them, was their religion: for, as I mentioned before, they were Christians, and rigid Catholics, having been converted by the [Page 65] French, before we got possession of the island. But, perhaps, it was this very circumstance of their communication with Christians, that had inspired them with that vehement love of money. They shewed, indeed, every mark of attachment to their faith, being very assiduous at their devo­tions both night and morning; and frequently gave us cause to wish they had not been quite so devout, by disturbing us with their psalm-singing the whole night. I was very much afraid, at times, if they had learnt that tenet of their sect, of keeping no faith with heretics, that their profession of Christianity would be of little service to us. My servant, being an Irish Ca­tholic, they were exceedingly fond of him, and heaped their favours upon him very profusely. He joined them, for the most part, in their roar­ing, for I cannot, with propriety, call it singing, and in their prayers; though he did not under­stand a word of either. Indeed, I question much whether they themselves understood them, for they were the most confused jargon I ever heard, compounded of their own and the French lan­guage, with the mixture of a few broken Latin phrases, which they had picked up from their converters, the Jesuits.

These insular savages bore, in general, an ex­act resemblance, in their persons and manners, to those on the continent of America. The principal points in which they differed were, in having their hair long, which is peculiar to the women alone among the continental Indians, and in wearing caps and breeches. Their lan­guage was very different from that of those na­tions, [Page 66] or tribes, which I was acquainted with; though I doubt not but it might have a resem­blance to some other upon the continent. I found afterwards, when we got into a part of the island where it was to be had, that they had the same strong propensity to spirituous liquor, so universal among the Indians.

It was some time before we had recovered any degree of strength, or could digest any substantial food: The only kind we could get from the Indians, was the flesh of moose-deer, and seal oil; on which they subsist entirely, during the time of hunting. Notwithstanding that we found ourselves, after our late miseries, pretty comfortably situated among those savages, yet I was anxious to get away, on account of the dis­patches I was charged with, which I thought might be of the utmost consequence to his ma­jesty's service; particularly, as I knew that the duplicates were lost. I continued, however, in so weak a condition, that it was impossible for me to move for some time; and found, as well as my fellow sufferers, that such a shock to the constitution, was not easily to be repaired.

After being absent near a fortnight, the Indi­ans arrived with three men, who were the only survivors of the eight, who had been left behind at the hut. They were in a very reduced and miserable condition, and informed me, on en­quiring the particulars of their transactions from the time we left them, that, after having con­sumed all the beef, they lived, for some days, on the skin of the moose-deer, which we had left entire, not thinking it worth while to make a [Page 67] partition of it. This being consumed, three of them died, in a few days, of hunger, and the o­thers, were under the necessity of subsisting on the flesh of the dead men, till they were relieved by the Indians. One of the remaining five was so imprudently ravenous, when the Indians came to their assistance, as to eat such a quantity of meat, that he expired in a few hours, in the greatest agonies imaginable; and another, soon after, shot himself, accidentally, with one of the Indian's guns. Thus was our number, which originally consisted of nineteen persons, reduced to nine; and I rather wonder, how so many persons could, for the space of three months, go through such complicated distresses, from exces­sive cold, fatigue, and hunger.

We all remained another fortnight among the Indians, during which, I was obliged to pay, as before, a most exorbitant price for our diet, and for every necessary that we were provided with. By this time, my health being somewhat re-established, and my money, at the same time, very much reduced, I was resolved to postpone my own convenience, to the good of the service, and [...]o proceed, as fast as possible, with General Haldimand's dispatches, though it was now the most unfavourable season of the year for travel­ling. I therefore made an agreement with the In­dians, to conduct me to Halifax; for which I was to pay them forty-five pounds, and to fur­nish them with provisions, and all necessaries, at every inhabited place, on our way.

It was settled, that I should depart on the 2d of April, with two Indians, for Halifax, accom­panied [Page 68] by Mr. Winslow, a young gentleman who had been a passenger on board the vessel, and was one of the three survivors at the hut, together with my own servant. The Indians were to conduct the remainder of our party, to a set­tlement on Spanish river, about fifty miles dis­tant, where they were to remain till the spring, when an opportunity might offer for them to get by sea to Halifax. Previously to parting, I gave the captain cash for a bill on his owner at New-York, to provide for the immediate subsistence of himself and the sailors; which bill was af­terwards protested by the owner, on the pretence, that the ship being lost, neither master nor crew were entitled to any wages.

We accordingly sat off on the day appointed, each carrying four pair of Indian shoes, or maw­kisins, a pair of snow-shoes, and provisions for fifteen days. The same day, we got to a place called, by the English, Broad-Oar, where we were detained, the following day, by a snow­storm. On the 4th, we again proceeded through the woods about five leagues; and, on the 5th, arrived at a place named Broad-Deck, which lies at the entrance of a very fine salt water lake, called Lake St. Peter. This lake communicates, by a narrow inlet, with the sea, from which it is distant about sixteen leagues. At this place, we met with two families of Indians, who were hunting there, and purchased of them a bark-canoe, for five pounds; the Indians having in­formed me, that some parts of this great lake are never frozen, and that it was requisite to have a canoe to pass over those places; and as [Page 69] we were to travel over the ice in other parts of it, I was obliged to purchase two Indian sleighs, in which we were to place the canoe, and drag it after us.

Having remained two days in this place, and provided ourselves with a few other necessary ar­ticles, we proceeded on the 7th, for a few miles along the lake; but the ice being bad, we were soon obliged to take to the wood. A thaw com­ing on soon after, with rain, made the snow, which lay to the depth of six feet in the woods, so soft and heavy, that we could travel no long­er on our snow-shoes, the snow sticking to them in large quantities. We were therefore obliged to make a fire, and remain here; and the thaw continuing for the space of four days, made us very apprehensive lest the ice should give way al­together: for the spring was now too far advan­ced, to travel any longer upon the snow, unless during a frost. We should then have been un­der the necessity of waiting till the ice was en­tirely cleared off the lake; which would have taken at least a fortnight or three weeks from the time of its breaking up; in which case, we might have been reduced to a condition, equally distressed, with that we had been in after our shipwreck, except that we were provided with arms and ammunition.

However, the frost returned on the 12th, and the next day we sat off, and travelled about six leagues; sometimes on floating pieces of ice, and at others, in our canoe, where the lake was open. On the 14th, our provisions being nearly ex­hausted, I proposed going in search of some [Page 70] game, as the country abounded with deer: for the Indians, in general, never think of provid­ing for the next day's wants, but eat on, without reflection, whilst they have a morsel of food re­maining. I accordingly went with one of the Indians into the woods. We had not been three hours on the hunt, before we discovered a very fine moose-deer; and the Indian shot him in a­bout an hour after. We skinned this animal, which weighed about six hundred pounds, load­ed ourselves with some of the best parts of its flesh, as well as the blood, which the Indian took care to collect, putting it in the bladder of the beast: and returned to our canoe. We then sent the other Indian, Mr. Winslow, and my servant, for some more of the meat, of which they brought about an hundred pounds.

Being now well stocked with provisions, we had no reason to apprehend that we should want, in case a return of mild weather should render it impossible for us to travel either upon the lake or in the woods. On the 15th, we sat out ve­ry early in the morning, and pursued our jour­ney about six leagues, in the same manner as be­fore. The greatest inconvenience that we felt, was the want of bread, which the Indians of this country never make use of whilst they are hunt­ing; and being now much wearied with travel­ling, our strength having been greatly exhausted by our past fatigues, we agreed to make a halt for a day or two, in the woods. What renders the travelling through the woods, in these cold climates, more tolerable than might be supposed during the winter season, is the number of pine-trees, [Page 71] and other ever-greens, which are intersper­sed in different parts; the branches of which serve, not only to lie upon, but also as a shelter from the severity of the weather. We chose a spot abounding with these trees; and it is almost inconceivable, in how short a time the Indians made us a comfortable habitation of the boughs, called in their language, a wigwam. Their method of constructing them is as follows; having chosen the spot for their fire, they first clear off the snow, throwing it up into a bank in a circular form, leaving a vacant space, or pas­sage, to leeward: and it is to be observed, that the more snow there is on the ground the bet­ter, as it makes the best part of the shelter. They then cut branches of pines, of a proper length, and placing the thicker ends of them in the bank of snow, bend and interweave them to­ward the top. These branches are crossed by others, and interwoven with smaller ones, in such a manner, as to afford a sufficient shelter from the wind, and from the fal [...]ing snow. The fire is made in the middle of the wigwam, and the smoke of it goes out by the passage to lee­ward. The wigwams thus made, are very comfortable, even in the coldest weather, and are proof against any thing but a heavy rain; beside which, a change of wind is the only in­convenience they are liable to.

We proceeded again on our journey, on the 18th, and, during that and the following day, travelled several miles, without meeting with any thing remarkable. I had now leisure to observe the beauties of this lake, which was one of the [Page 72] finest I ever saw in America; though at this sea­son of the year, it could not appear to the best advantage. As far as I could judge, it is about twenty leagues in length from north to south, and eight wide from east to west. A number of small islands are scattered about in different parts of it, and give it somewhat the appearance of the lake of Killarny, and other fresh-water lakes in Ireland. These islands have never been settled on: yet appear to be very fruitful, and must be a most delightful residence in sum­mer, except for the want of fresh water; which, perhaps, may be the reason they have never been inhabited. Had the lake been properly frozen, we might have saved ourselves the trouble of travelling several leagues, by crossing over from point to point, and from one island to another: but, this not being the case, we were obliged to travel round the greatest part of the bays on one side of it.

On the 20th, we arrived at a place called St. Peter's, where there are four or five French and English families settled. I was here received very politely, and entertained at the house of a Mr. Cavanaugh, a merchant, who was so good as to take my draught for two hundred pounds upon my father, though I was a perfect stranger to him. To this harbour vessels of the greatest burthen can come with safety, and a considera­ble fishery was formerly carried on here, till, on the breaking out of the present war, the Ame­rican privateers put a stop to it. The force of these privateers, even taken collectively, is but trifling; and it is much to be regretted, that go­vernment [Page 73] cannot spare a vessel or two of force, to cruize about here, and protect the fisheries; which, together with some other branches of trade, might be carried on with as much vigour, and much more benefit, than before the war. This Mr. Cavanaugh, but a short time before I arrived, was plundered, to the amount of three thousand pounds, by two privateers from Boston; who came in at their leisure, and took what they wanted out of his stores. These American pri­vateers have likewise driven all the settlers away from Louisburg, who had also subsisted by the fishery; and it is somewhat remarkable, that this place, which was, during the two last wars, such a bone of contention between us and the French, has not, at the present moment, so much as a single inhabitant.

I should have taken a shallop or fishing-boat from this place, and gone to Halifax by sea, but that there was almost a certainty of being taken by some privateer along the coast. This lake, St. Peter, is but half a mile from the ocean; to which, we were to carry our canoe through the woods, and to proceed, by water, to the gut of Canceau. While the French were in possession of the island, they had formed a design of cutting through this narrow neck of land, and opening a communication on that side, between the ocean and the lake, in order to bring in their large ships of war, to lie during the winter, in the lake of St. Peter; for there is a sufficient depth of water in the harbour of St. Peter, for the largest ships of the line to ride in, though there is not water enough in the inlet, by which the [Page 74] lake communicates with the ocean, to enable them to pass up to the harbour.

After stocking ourselves, therefore, with as much provisions, and other necessaries, as we had occasion for, we sat off, on the 22d, in our bark canoe, and arrived the same day at a place called by the French, Grand Grave; where there is a family or two of that nation. The wind blow­ing hard, we were obliged to remain here all night; and, on the 23d, proceeded along the coast to a settlement called Discousse, where we were detained another day, by some floating ice.

On the 25th, we got to a place called Nar­rashoc; where we were as hospitably entertai­ned as we had been at St. Peter's. I here ex­changed the remains of my regimental coat, for a brown suit of clothes, intending to pass for the master of the ship, in case I should happen to be taken by any of the American privateers at Canceau; and as the inhabitants of this place gave me to understand, that the people of Can­ceau were very much disaffected to government, I took every precaution to disguise the appear­ance of an officer.

We proceeded in our canoe, on the 26th, to the point of Isle-Madame; intending to cross the great passage of Canceau. This passage is called the Gut of Canceau, from an Acadian settlement of that name on the continent; and separates the Island of Cape-Breton from Aca­dia, or, as it is now called by the English, No­va-Scotia. The island of Madame lies in the middle of the Gut, but rather nearer to Cape-Breton [Page 75] than to the main; and the passage to this island is called the Small, that from the Island to Canceau, the Great Passage. On mak­ing the point of Isle-Madame, we found that there was still a great quantity of floating ice in the Great Passage, and, not thinking it prudent to venture in our frail vessel among it, we re­turned to Narrashoc, in order to procure a small sloop or vessel that could resist the ice.

Having accordingly provided one, we embar­ked our little canoe in it, and, on the 27th, the wind being as favourable as we could wish, got across the passage, which is eight leagues, in three hours. The men, who navigated the ves­sel to the other side, were very apprehensive of some American privateers lying in the harbour of Canceau, having seen several is the bay two days before. Upon this intelligence, I gave my dispatches and papers to one of the Indians, knowing well, that they never attempt to search or plunder any of these people. We were, how­ever, so fortunate, as to see no privateers on en­tering the harbour.

On landing at Canceau, I went to the house of a Mr. Rust, who is the principal man at this place, and acts as a justice of the peace under go­vernment for which he receives about 100 l. per annum. The inhabitants on the other side, as well as the people who brought us over, having informed me, that this gentleman always supplied the New-England-cruizers with every necessary that his stores could afford; I was determined, to be very cautious in every thing I said, in his pre­sence. Having paid the person who brought us [Page 76] over the gut, and thanked him for his private intelligence, I was conducted to the house of this Mr. Rust, to whom I passed myself for the captain of the ship. He asked me a number of questions, the tendency of which I could easily perceive; and therefore, gave him as evasive an­swers as possible. I found that he had a brother-in-law, who was a first-lieutenant on board a sixteen-gun-brig, belonging to Boston, which had gone out of the harbour of Canceau the day before.

We remained in this place till three o'clock the next morning, when, being apprehensive of treachery, on the part of our pretended friends; we sat off, without any intimation of it to Mr. Rust. Prom this gentleman I had purchased a piece of sa [...] pork, and about eight pounds of biscuit, which he said was as much as he could spare, and for which, I was obliged to pay him at least thrice its value. We were now to proceed in our canoe, along the coast to Halifax, and had reason to fear that we should be again distressed for provisions. However, we were so lucky as to find, as we coasted along, plenty of lobsters and other fish, which the Indians caught with prodigious dexterity, killing the flat fish with a pointed pole, and the lobsters with a cloven one. We were ten days going from Canceau to Hali­fax: during which interval, we did not meet with any settlement, and saw nothing worth mention­ing, except a number of picaroons on various parts of the coast.

The Indians remained, for a few days, at Ha­lifax; when, having received the balance due to [Page 77] them, they took their departure for the island. I was obliged to continue here for two months longer, till an opportunity served for a passage in the Royal-Oak, to New-York; where I deliver­ed my dispatches (in a very ragged condition) to Sir Henry Clinton.

The rest of my fellow-sufferers in the ship­wreck, soon after arrived at Halifax, in a shallop from Spanish-River. The captain, conscious of the reception he would meet with, did not think proper to go to his owner at New-York, to give an account of the loss of his vessel; but took his passage in a ship from Halifax to London, and now serves as a pilot on the Thames. The mate was, on account of his good conduct du­ring the whole of our transactions, appointed, by a gentleman in Halifax, to the command of a ship bound to the West-Indies.