Part 6
At this instant little _Jack_ (whose fear of his master had kept him from visiting his companion, but who had watched him into the field) came running to _Tony_ with information that he might go home, for that his tormentor was gone to the ale-house.—The boy immediately got up, and said, “he would make the best of his way, and take the opportunity of going back; for that his mistress was the kindest creature in the world, and would be glad to see him again.”—_William_ was determined to accompany him; and they soon reached the cottage together.—The poor woman was holding one hand over her eye, the other sustained a little infant whom she was suckling, and who looked up at her every now and then with a smile, while her tears dropped on its innocent face. A girl about two years old was standing by her knee, and crying for some victuals, and to be taken up, mammy. Another child at a broken table, was trying to reach a bit of stale crust covered with soot, that his father had tossed out of his pocket.—Such was the scene young _Sedley_ beheld at his entrance; and which presented a striking contrast to the elegance he had been always accustomed to.—“What is the matter, mistress?” cried _Tony_, in an accent of compassion and concern.—At the sound of his voice, she looked up, and shewed her eye, which was swelled in such a manner she could scarcely see.—“Oh! my poor boy, how are you?” she replied, “I thought you had been killed, and by interceding in your behalf, provoked your master so much, that he gave me a blow so severe I really thought it would have ended all my troubles together.—But who is that young gentleman?” added she.—_Tony_ briefly related the account of their late meeting, as he had before informed her of the occasion of their acquaintance, and that he had lent _William_ the shilling, which had caused them so much trouble.
The children now became more clamorous for food; but she told them she had nothing to give them.—_Tony_, however, shewed the money he had received; and promised if they were good, they should have a quartern loaf. He then dispatched _Jack_ to fetch one, whose speedy return afforded all parties great satisfaction. The eagerness with which they devoured the stale bread, occasioned _Sedley_ the highest astonishment. They each thanked him for his kindness, when told they owed it to him; and he experienced more pleasure in having contributed to their comfort, than any amusement had hitherto afforded him: yet his delight was much damped by the recollection of the pain he had occasioned; and the bruise on poor Mrs. _Blackall_’s eye was an addition to all the other mischief which had attended his fault. He thought it time, however, to take his leave, and wishing them a good night and a speedy recovery, set out on his return home.—_Fanny_ was gone when he arrived; and he was not a little disappointed that he had lost the opportunity of enjoying her company, and still more, that he had forgotten to ask for the rest of the book, which contained the account of Mr. _Active_ and his family; or to return the part which she had lent him. The next morning he sent the servant to deliver it to her at her uncle’s, as he had promised to return it before he went back to school.
Mr. _Graves_ having been rather indisposed the preceding evening, did not breakfast with the family; and his grandson very soon retired to his apartment in order to amuse him with his conversation.—“You are very kind, my dear boy,” said he, “to favor me with your company; but as your holidays are nearly over, I do not wish to confine you to an old man’s room, as I am sensible that more lively entertainments are better relished at your time of life.”—_William_ assured him that his attendance was voluntary; and then informed him of his visit to the poor chimney-sweeper, and all the circumstances which had attended it.—“Unhappy _Tony_!” replied Mr. _Graves_, “his fate is a severe one! and yet, my child, it is but a few days ago, since you wished to be in his situation. Do you not now feel the folly of seeking to change your state in life at a venture, only because you are dissatisfied with some trifling circumstance which disturbs you at the present moment? I would not wish you to be insensible to the grief of parting with your friends. That heart which is destitute of affection and gratitude, is unworthy to be ranked with human beings. But do you consider, that an opportunity of pursuing your studies is a blessing which you ought to value as inestimable; and instead of repining at your fate, you should be thankful that your parents have it in their power to give you this high advantage. Never, therefore, for the future, allow yourself to judge by outward appearance; nor let any agreeable prospect either in the affluent or the indigent, incite you to wish yourself in the condition of another; since you may be assured, _that_ state in which you are placed is the best suited to _you_. Higher wisdom than our’s directs every event; and it is well we are not left to determine our own situation.”—“I,” said Master _Sedley_, “as I am now convinced, have indeed _reason_ to be satisfied; but sure _Tony_, exposed to the world without a friend, left to the savage cruelty of an inhuman master, obliged to _labour_ for his _bread_, and to _starve_ when he has earned it,—surely, Sir, _he_ may wish to change, and not be blamable for being discontented.” “No one, my dear,” returned Mr. _Graves_, “can stand excused for murmuring against Providence when we know that the world is not left to the confusion of chance. We have reason to be easy under the most afflictive circumstances. _Tony_ wished to be in your place on _Monday_; and had he been metamorphosed in person and situation, with the remembrance of his former state in his mind, he would probably for some time have been much happier. But supposing him to have had _your_ ideas, he would have been, as you then stiled yourself, _the most miserable creature in the world_; and even wished for that very state which now excites all your compassion. The miseries of poverty are great: they call for your pity: they have a right to expect your relief. But this world is not the _only_ hope of the _good_. Riches are not to be considered as your _own_ property. They are _lent_ you to be well bestowed. Every one is accountable for his portion, be it great or small. You have now only a few shillings, or it may be a guinea at your disposal. As you use the little you have at present, in all probability in the same manner you will bestow the possessions you will have in future. Accustom yourself, therefore, to consider you should lay by a part of your small stock to relieve the poor _now_, and you will find increasing pleasure in the power of being more liberal hereafter. Our _vices, William_, in every state will be productive of misery. No situation is necessarily unhappy. If the _rich_ are _wicked_, they can have no enjoyment; and the same cause will add double distress to _poverty_. _Tony_’s master is drunken, passionate, and prodigal. He wastes his small gains at the ale-house, beats his apprentice without reason, abuses his wife, and injures his children. This causes misery to himself and to his whole family. But these evils are not to be reckoned as attendant upon poverty: they would equally destroy the felicity of the man of fortune. A bad temper spoils the relish of every enjoyment: a good one sweetens the toils of labour; nay, can mitigate sorrow, sickness, and want.—I called the day before yesterday on a poor family who live in a cottage adjoining to _Tony_’s master. Mr. _Scrapewell_, just risen from a neat but shabby bed; was placed in an old wicker chair on one side the door, to feel the refreshment of the air; while his eldest daughter, a girl of about fifteen years of age, appeared busy in putting the room in order; and when I entered was sweeping the sand on the floor with a little heath broom. Another girl was picking some parsley, which she put into a bason of water, or pipkin I believe they call it, for it had yellow stripes and black spots upon it, and I should not have noticed it, if I had not afterwards thrown it down by accident and broke it. Three or four other children were playing about; and the youngest, near six months old, was asleep in a cradle, which he rocked every now and then with his foot. They placed a seat for me, and I enquired how large a family he had?” “O! Sir,” replied he, “we have nine; and that is my eldest. We struggle hard; for it is a great many to maintain. My first four put us almost out of heart, as my wife had them very fast, and used to grieve, and fret, and vex herself to think where we should get bread; but I told her God would fit the back to the burden, or the burden to the back; and I tried to comfort her all I could, and used to say, Why _lookee_ now, _Beckey_! when we were _alone_ we did but live, and when we had _one_ child we could do no more; so I trust if we have a dozen we shall do as much. But yet, Sir, I own my own heart failed me, when I thought how _fast_ money _went out_, and how _slow_ it _came in_, though I worked, and worked my fingers to the bone. Yet I prayed God to bless us, and hitherto, though we have been driven to many a hard pinch, thanks to his mercy, we have kept out of the workhouse; and often when I have been at my last farthing, and we have lived within an inch of starving, he has raised us up some unexpected friend, and we have jogged on again much as usual. So this has taught me _never_ to despair; and I am determined to put the best foot forward, and hope we shall do again yet, though I have been laid up with an ague and fever these six weeks.”—As he finished this account, his wife returned from the field with her gown on her arm, her green stays left open on account of the heat, and her cap tied up over her head. She looked hot indeed; and dropping me a curtsy as she entered, affectionately enquired after her husband: then taking up the infant, kissed it, suckled it, and gave it to one of the girls to nurse, while she went back again to her labour, after eating a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese. Love, harmony, neatness, good-humour, civility, and kindness, dwell in their little cot, and yet, _William_, their riches are not greater than the chimney-sweeper’s. Virtue and œconomy only make the difference. While the one squanders his small gain at the ale-house, the other is laying up every farthing as a provision for his children; and his good conduct ensures him assistance and protection from all who know him. Add to this one consideration, which is more than all the rest, that the blessing of Heaven will attend the good, and keep that mind in peace which is staid on its support.
As Mr. _Graves_ concluded this sentence Mr. _Sedley_ softly opened the door. “I thought you had been asleep, Sir,” said he, “or I should have been with you sooner. I am afraid this young man has disturbed you.” “O! not at all,” returned the old gentleman, “his company is always a cordial to me. I forget the infirmities of age when I see my children and grand-children round me; and I am sorry we must so soon part from _William_ as you mentioned this morning.” “He must go to school this week,” said his father. “We shall all grieve to lose him; but his learning cannot be neglected. He will not wish, I hope, to waste this most important part of his life without its due improvement; and now is the time to lay the foundation for every future excellence.” “But is not the culture of the _heart_ then,” replied the melancholy _Sedley_, “is not that the most essential point? and I am sure if I improve in the knowledge of the classics, I do not in the science of Virtue: and pray of what use is it to learn the metamorphoses of _Ovid_? that _Arachne_ was converted into a spider,—_Narcissus_ transformed to a flower,—that _Pyramus_ and _Thisbe_ were turned into mulberry-trees,—and the rest of the fabulous stories of the poets? What is it to me that _Æneas_ went to _Carthage_,—that _Dido_ stabbed herself when he departed thence; or that he afterward, conquered in the engagement with _Turnus_; and the rest of the history with which we are plagued in _Virgil_? And as to the care of my _morals_ I am under much greater temptations, from the bad examples of my school-fellows, and from wanting the kind advice of my friends, than I could be at home. And as I am not designed either for a clergyman or counsellor, I do not see any great necessity for my learning so _very_ much.” “I am sorry to see you thus averse to study,” said his father, “as it is of the utmost consequence to your appearance in life. Do you consider, that without a cultivated understanding, a thorough knowledge of history, and an acquaintance with _Homer_, _Virgil_, _Terence_, _Ovid_, and those authors who you seem so much to despise; you can never make an agreeable companion to men of sense. By the perusal of history you will learn to distinguish truth from fable, and to know what part is founded on fact, and what on the imagination of the poet. These authors will store your mind with images the most sublime and beautiful, assist your judgment, and form your taste; since their works have been esteemed the model for composition in all succeeding times. Without a constant attention, therefore, to improve in reading and understanding them, you will be ignorant of those subjects which every author refers to; which are frequently the foundation of conversation, and which afford hints to the sculptor and the painter for their finest pieces. You will stare with stupid wonder at every object of this kind that you meet with, unknowing to what they refer, or what they mean to represent. Besides, as the Heathen Mythology, or account of their Gods, is connected with this study, it is absolutely necessary you should be acquainted with it. Many things that now appear absurd in the account of their worship, had in their original a deeper moral: this though idle boys may not understand or search for, it would much improve you to be taught. When you read that _Minerva_ the Goddess of wisdom was produced out of _Jupiter_’s brain; the poets intended to represent by it, that the wit and ingenuity of man did not invent the useful sciences, which were for universal advantage derived from the brain of _Jupiter_; that is, from the inexhausted fountain of the _Divine Wisdom_, from whence not only the arts and sciences, but the blessings of knowledge and virtue also proceed. The helm, the shield, and all the different symbols which belong to her character have each their particular meaning: to instance to you only in one of them. The owl, a bird supposed to see in the dark, was sacred to _Minerva_, and painted upon her images, as the representation of a wise man, who scattering and dispelling the clouds of ignorance and error, is clear sighted when others are stark blind. So you, who take all the fictions of the poets for nonsense and folly, would, if you had learning to comprehend their meaning, not only be entertained with their beauties, but improved by the moral they contain. The more you know, and the greater proficiency you make in study, the higher pleasure will it afford you; but while you consider your lessons as _tasks_ which you are to get by heart, and what will be of no use to you in future, you defeat the purpose of your education, are unhappy now, and will be despised and contemned hereafter. A _gentleman_ should be still more superior by his _merit_ than his _fortune_: his knowledge should be more general and diffusive than is required for any profession whatever. He ought to be acquainted with the great authors of ancient and modern times, understand the constitution and laws of his own country; and by the contemplation of every noble character, learn to form his own to perfection. Do not, therefore, entertain so mean an opinion of yourself, or your future consequence, as to rely on your _estate_ alone for respect. Let religion be your guide and chief study; but let history, poetry, with every branch of polite and useful learning, be considered as _essential_ to your education.”—
Here ceased Mr. _Sedley_, and his son looked down in timid silence, fearful he had offended his friends by the indifference he had expressed for his exercise. Mr. _Graves_, however, encouraged him, by kindly adding, “When you have mastered the first steps, you will mount upward with alacrity. The beginning of every attempt is difficult; but be of good courage; persevere, and you will find it afterwards pleasant, easy, and agreeable.”
During the foregoing conversation, _Jeffery Squander_ had called to invite _William_ to dine with him, and afterwards to return to school in his father’s coach; and Mrs. _Sedley_ now introduced the young gentleman up stairs. The offer was so convenient (as it was before intended he should go back the next morning) that it was accepted with satisfaction by all but the person whom it most concerned. Yet poor _Sedley_ was ashamed to express his reluctance while in company with his school-fellow; and made no opposition to the proposal. The tears, however, which he endeavoured to suppress, would officiously start into his eyes.—His father patted him on the back, and said, “it would make but a few hours difference.”—His grandfather stroaked his cheek as he turned round towards the window to hide his emotion. This affected him still more, and his mother letting fall her scissars, he picked them up; but as she was stooping for them at the same time, he saw that her eyes shewed equal concern; which, unwilling to have observed, she had not immediately wiped away, and he received a tear upon his hand.—It was necessary he should immediately retire to prepare for his departure. He was spared the pain of taking leave of his brother and sister, they happening to be from home; a circumstance which he much regretted, as they would not return till the evening.
When he had given a little indulgence to his grief in private, he returned to his friends, and endeavoured to assume a more cheerful countenance than suited the affliction of his mind. But he remembered the _chimney-sweeper_, and tried to be satisfied. At length his companion being impatient, he was obliged to take a hasty leave of his beloved relations, and followed by their affectionate wishes for his welfare, accompanied _Jeffery Squander_ with a melancholy heart to dinner, and to SCHOOL.
THE END.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Page Changed from Changed to
128 putting it his pocket: “if you putting it in his pocket: “if you
200 into a spider,—_Narcissus_ into a spider,—_Narcissus_ transform- to a flower transformed to a flower
● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. ● The caret (^) serves as a superscript indicator, applicable to individual characters (like 2^d) and even entire phrases (like 1^{st}).