you a little longer, while I return my acknowledgments to all the family, and take my leave of Harry.' 'Surely,' said Mr. Merton, 'you can entertain no doubt on that subject: and to give you every opportunity of discharging all your duties to a family, to which you owe so much, I intend to take a dinner with Mr. Sandford, whom I now see coming home, and then to return with you in the evening.'

At this instant, farmer Sandford approached, and very respectfully saluting Mr. Merton, invited him to walk in. But Mr. Merton, after returning his civility, drew him aside, as if he had some private business to communicate. When they were alone, he made him every acknowledgment that gratitude could suggest: 'but words,' added Mr. Merton, 'are very insufficient to return the favours I have received: for it is to your excellent family, together with the virtuous Mr. Barlow, that I owe the preservation of my son. Let me, therefore, entreat you to accept of what this pocket-book contains as a slight proof of my sentiments and lay it out in whatever manner you please, for the advantage of your family.'

Mr. Sandford, who was a man both of sense and humour, took the book, and examining the inside, found that it contained bank notes to the amount of some hundred pounds. He then carefully shut it up again, and returning it to Mr. Merton, told him, 'that he was infinitely obliged to him for the generosity which prompted him to such a princely act; but, as to the present itself he must not be offended if he declined it.' Mr. Merton still more astonished at such disinterestedness, pressed him with every argument he could think of; he desired him to consider the state of his family; his daughters unprovided for; his son himself, with dispositions that might adorn a throne, brought up to labour; and his own advancing age, which demanded ease and respite, and an increase of the conveniences of life.

And now Mr. Merton, having made the most affectionate acknowledgments to all this worthy and happy family, among whom he did not forget the honest Black1 whom he promised to

1 A negro who had rescued Tommy from an angry bull.

provide for, summoned his son to accompany him home. Tommy arose, and with the sincerest gratitude, bade adieu to Harry and all the rest. 'I shall not be long without you,' said he to Harry; 'to your example I owe most of the little good that I can boast: you have taught me how much better it is to be useful than rich or fine: how much more amiable to be good than to be great. Should I ever be tempted to relapse, even for an instant, into any of my former habits, I will return hither for instruction, and I hope you will again receive me.' Saying this, he shook his friend Harry affectionately by the hand, and, with watery eyes, accompanied his father home.

NATURE AND ART

MRS. ELIZABETH INCHBALD

CHAPTER I

Ar a time when the nobility of Britain were said, by the poet laureate, to be the admirers and protectors of the arts, and were acknowledged by the whole nation to be the patrons of music — William and Henry, youths under twenty years of age, brothers, and the sons of a country shopkeeper who had lately died insolvent, set out on foot for London, in the hope of procuring by their industry a scanty subsistence.

As they walked out of their native town, each with a small bundle at his back, each observed the other drop several tears: but, upon the sudden meeting of their eyes, they both smiled with a degree of disdain at the weakness in which they had been caught.

"I am sure," said William (the elder), "I don't know what makes me cry."

"Nor I neither," said Henry; "for though we may never see this town again, yet we leave nothing behind us to give us reason to lament."

"No," replied William, "nor anybody who cares what becomes of us."

"But I was thinking," said Henry, now weeping bitterly, “that, if my poor father were alive, he would care what was to become of us: he would not have suffered us to begin this long journey without a few more shillings in our pockets.'

At the end of this sentence, William, who had with some effort suppressed his tears while his brother spoke, now uttered, with a voice almost inarticulate, "Don't say any more; don't talk any more about it. My father used to tell us, that when he was gone we must take care of ourselves: and so we must. I only

wish," continued he, giving way to his grief, "that I had never done anything to offend him while he was living."

"That is what I wish too," cried Henry. "If I had always been dutiful to him while he was alive, I would not shed one tear for him now that he is gone; but I would thank Heaven that he has escaped from his creditors."

In conversation such as this, wherein their sorrow for their deceased parent seemed less for his death than because he had not been so happy when living as they ought to have made him; and wherein their own outcast fortune was less the subject of their grief, than the reflection what their father would have endured could he have beheld them in their present situation; - in conversation such as this, they pursued their journey till they arrived at that metropolis, which has received for centuries past, from the provincial towns, the bold adventurer of every denomination; has stamped his character with experience and example; and, while it has bestowed on some coronets and mitres on some the lasting fame of genius to others has dealt beggary, infamy, and untimely death.

CHAPTER II

AFTER three weeks passed in London, a year followed, during which William and Henry never sat down to a dinner, or went into a bed, without hearts glowing with thankfulness to that Providence who had bestowed on them such unexpected blessings; for they no longer presumed to expect (what still they hoped they deserved) a secure pittance in this world of plenty. Their experience, since they came to town, had informed them that to obtain a permanent livelihood is the good fortune but of a part of those who are in want of it: and the precarious earning of half-a-crown, or a shilling, in the neighbourhood where they lodged, by an errand, or some such accidental means, was the sole support which they at present enjoyed.

They had sought for constant employment of various kinds, and even for servants' places; but obstacles had always occurred to prevent their success. If they applied for the situation of a clerk to a man of extensive concerns, their qualifications were

admitted; but there must be security given for their fidelity; they had friends, who would give them a character, but who would give them nothing else.

If they applied for the place even of a menial servant, they were too clownish and awkward for the presence of the lady of the house; and once, when William (who had been educated at the free grammar-school of the town in which he was born, and was an excellent scholar), hoping to obtain the good opinion of a young clergyman whom he solicited for the favour of waiting upon him, said submissively, "that he understood Greek and Latin," he was rejected by the divine, "because he could not dress hair."

Weary of repeating their mean accomplishments of "honesty, sobriety, humility," and on the precipice of reprobating such qualities, which, however beneficial to the soul, gave no hope of preservation to the body, they were prevented from this profanation by the fortunate remembrance of one qualification, which Henry, the possessor, in all his distress, had never till then called to his recollection; but which, as soon as remembered and made known, changed the whole prospect of wretchedness placed before the two brothers; and they never knew want

more.

Reader Henry could play upon the fiddle.

CHAPTER III

No sooner was it publicly known that Henry could play most enchantingly upon the violin, than he was invited into many companies where no other accomplishment could have introduced him. His performance was so much admired, that he had the honour of being admitted to several tavern feasts, of which he had also the honour to partake without partaking of the expense. He was soon addressed by persons of the very first rank and fashion, and was once seen walking side by side with a peer. But yet, in the midst of this powerful occasion for rejoicing, Henry, whose heart was particularly affectionate, had one grief which eclipsed all the happiness of his new life; — his brother William could not play on the fiddle! consequently, his brother