Tommy.—And did they not beg your pardon for the accident?

Harry.—Accident! it was no accident at all; for they burst out into a fit of laughter, and called me a little clodpole. Upon which I told them, if I was a clodpole they had no business to insult me; and then they came back, and one of them gave me a kick, and the other a slap on the face; but I told them that was too much for me to bear, so I struck them again, and we all three began fighting.

Tommy.—What! both at once? That was a cowardly trick.

Harry.—I did not much mind that; but there came up a fine smart fellow, in white stockings and powdered hair, who it seems, was their servant, and he was going to fall upon me too; but a man took my part, and said, I should have fair play, so I fought them both till they did not choose to have any more; for, though they were so quarrelsome, they could not fight worth a farthing; so I let them go, and advised them not to meddle any more with poor boys who did nothing to offend them.

Tommy.—And did you hear no more of these young gentlemen?

Harry.—No; for I went home the next day, and never was I better pleased in my life. When I came to the top of the great hill, from which you have a prospect of our house, I really thought I should have cried with joy. The fields looked all so pleasant, and the cattle that were feeding in them so happy; then every step I took I met with somebody or other I knew, or some little boy that I used to play with. "Here is little Harry come back," said one. "How do you do; how do you do?" cried a second. Then a third shook hands with me; and the very cattle, when I went to see them, seemed all glad that I was come home again.

Mr Barlow.—You see by this that it is very possible for people to like the country, and be happy in it. But as to the fine young ladies you talk of, the truth is, that they neither love, nor would be long contented in any place; their whole happiness consists in idleness and finery; they have neither learned to employ themselves in anything useful, nor to improve their minds. As to every kind of natural exercise, they are brought up with too much delicacy to be able to bear it, and from the improper indulgences they meet with, they learn to tremble at every trifling change of the seasons. With such dispositions, it is no wonder they dislike the country, where they find neither employment nor amusement. They wish to go to London, because there they meet with infinite numbers as idle and frivolous as themselves; and these people mutually assist each other to talk about trifles, and waste their time.

Tommy.—That is true, sir, really; for, when we have a great deal of company, I have often observed that they never talked about anything but eating or dressing, or men and women that are paid to make faces at the playhouse, or a great room called Ranelagh, where everybody goes to meet his friends.

Mr Barlow.—I believe Harry will never go there to meet his friends.

Harry.—Indeed, sir, I do not know what Ranelagh is; but all the friends I have are at home; and when I sit by the fireside on a winter's night, and read to my father and mother, and sister, as I sometimes do, or when I talk with you and Master Tommy upon improving subjects, I never desire any other friends or conversation. But, pray sir, what is Ranelagh?

Mr Barlow.—Ranelagh is a very large round room, to which, at particular times of the year, great numbers of persons go in their carriages to walk about for several hours.

Harry.—And does nobody go there that has not several friends? Because Master Tommy said that people went to Ranelagh to meet their friends.

Mr Barlow smiled at this question, and answered, "The room is generally so crowded, that people have little opportunity for any kind of conversation. They walk round the room in a circle, one after the other, just like horses in a mill. When persons meet that know each other, they perhaps smile and bow, but are shoved forward, without having any opportunity to stop. As to friends, few people go to look for them there; and if they were to meet them, few would take the trouble of speaking to them, unless they were dressed in a fashionable manner, and seemed to be of consequence."

Harry.—That is very extraordinary, indeed. Why, sir, what can a man's dress have to do with friendship? Should I love you a bit better if you were to wear the finest clothes in the world; or should I like my father the better if he were to put on a laced coat like Squire Chase? On the contrary, whenever I see people dressed very fine, I cannot help thinking of the story you once read me of Agesilaus, king of Sparta.

Tommy.—What is that story? Do let me hear it.

Mr Barlow.—To-morrow you shall hear it; at present we have read and conversed enough; it is better that you should go out and amuse yourselves.

The little boys then went out, and returned to a diversion they had been amusing themselves with for several days, the making a prodigious snowball. They had begun by making a small globe of snow with their hands, which they turned over and over, till, by continually collecting fresh matter, it grew so large that they were unable to roll it any farther. Here Tommy observed that their labours must end, "for it was impossible to turn it any longer." "No," said Harry, "I know a remedy for that." So he ran and fetched a couple of thick sticks about five feet long, and giving one of them to Tommy, he took the other himself. He then desired Tommy to put the end of his stick under the mass, while he did the same on his side, and then, lifting at the other end, they rolled the heap forward with the greatest ease.

Tommy was extremely surprised at this, and said, "How can this be? We are not a bit stronger than we were before; and yet now we are able to roll this snowball along with ease, which we could not even stir before." "That is very true," answered Harry, "but it is owing to these sticks. This is the way that the labourers move the largest trees, which, without this contrivance, they would not be able to stir." "I am very much surprised at this," said Tommy; "I never should have imagined that the sticks would have given us more strength than we had before."

Just as he had said this, through a violent effort, both their sticks broke short in the middle. "This is no great loss," observed Tommy, "for the ends will do just as well as the whole sticks."

They then tried to shove the ball again with the truncheons which remained in their hands; but, to the new surprise of Tommy, they found they were unable to stir it. "That is very curious indeed," said Tommy; "I find that only long sticks are of any use." "That," said Harry, "I could have told you before, but I had a mind you should find it out yourself. The longer the stick is, provided it is sufficiently strong, and you can manage it, the more easily will you succeed." "This is really very curious," replied Tommy; "but I see some of Mr Barlow's labourers at work a little way off, let us go to them, and desire them to cut us two longer sticks, that we may try their effect."

They then went up to the men who were at work, but here a new subject of admiration presented itself to Tommy's mind. There was a root of a prodigious oak tree, so large and heavy, that half-a-dozen horses would scarcely have been able to draw it along; besides, it was so tough and knotty, that the sharpest axe could hardly make any impression upon it. This a couple of old men were attempting to cleave in pieces, in order to make billets for Mr Barlow's fire.

Tommy, who thought their strength totally disproportionate to such an undertaking, could not help pitying them; and observing, that certainly Mr Barlow "did not know what they were about, or he would have prevented such poor weak old men from fatiguing themselves about what they never could perform." "Do you think so?" replied Harry; "what would you then say, if you were to see me, little as I am, perform this wonderful task, with the assistance of one of these good people?" So he took up a wooden mallet—an instrument which, although much larger, resembles a hammer—and began beating the root, which he did for some time, without making the least impression. Tommy, who imagined that, for this time, his friend Harry was caught, began to smile, and told him, "that he would break a hundred mallets to pieces before he made the least impression upon the wood."

"Say you so?" answered Harry, smiling; "then I believe I must try another method;" so he stooped down, and picked up a small piece of rough iron, about six inches long, which Tommy had not before observed, as it lay upon the ground. This iron was broad at the top, but gradually sloped all the way down, till it came to a perfect edge at bottom. Harry then took it up, and with a few blows drove it a little way into the body of the root. The old man and he then struck alternately with their mallets upon the head of the iron, till the root began to gape and crack on every side, and the iron was totally buried in the wood.

"There," said Harry, "this first wedge has done its business very well; two or three more will finish it." He then took up another larger wedge, and, inserting the bottom of it between the wood and the top of the former one, which was now completely buried in the root, began to beat upon it as he had done before. The root now cracked and split on every side of the wedges, till a prodigious cleft appeared quite down to the bottom. Thus did Harry proceed, still continuing his blows, and inserting new and larger wedges as fast as he had driven the former down, till he had completely effected what he had undertaken, and entirely separated the monstrous mass of wood into two unequal parts.

Harry then said, "here is a very large log, but I think you and I can carry it in to mend the fire; and I will show you something else that will surprise you." So he took a pole of about ten feet long, and hung the log upon it by a piece of cord which he found there; then he asked Tommy which end of the pole he chose to carry. Tommy, who thought it would be most convenient to have the weight near him, chose that end of the pole near which the weight was suspended, and put it upon his shoulder, while Harry took the other end. But when Tommy attempted to move, he found that he could hardly bear the pressure; however, as he saw Harry walk briskly away under his share of the load, he determined not to complain.

As they were walking in this manner, Mr Barlow met them, and seeing poor Tommy labouring under his burthen, asked him who had loaded him in that manner. Tommy said it was Harry. Upon this, Mr Barlow smiled, and said, "Well, Tommy, this is the first time I ever saw your friend Harry attempt to impose upon you; but he is making you carry about three times the weight which he supports himself." Harry replied, "that Tommy had chosen that himself; and that he should directly have informed him of his mistake, but that he had been so surprised at seeing the common effects of a lever, that he wished to teach him some other facts about it;" then shifting the ends of the pole, so as to support that part which Tommy had done before, he asked him, "if he found his shoulder anything easier than before." "Indeed, I do," replied Tommy, "but I cannot conceive how; for we carry the same weight between us which we did before, and just in the same manner." "Not quite in the same manner," answered Mr Barlow; "for, if you observe, the log is a great deal farther from your shoulder than from Harry's, by which means he now supports just as much as you did before, and you, on the contrary, as little as he did when I met you." "This is very extraordinary indeed," said Tommy; "I find there are a great many things which I did not know, nor even my mamma, nor any of the fine ladies that come to our house." "Well," replied Mr Barlow, "if you have acquired so much useful knowledge already, what may you expect to do in a few years more?"

Mr Barlow then led Tommy into the house, and showed him a stick of about four feet long, with a scale hung at each end. "Now," said he, "if you place this stick over the back of a chair, so that it may rest exactly upon the middle, you see the two scales will just balance each other. So, if I put into each of them an equal weight, they will still remain suspended. In this method we weigh every thing which is bought, only, for the greater convenience, the beam of the scale, which is the same thing as this stick, is generally hung up to something else by its middle. But let us now move the stick, and see what will be the consequence." Mr Barlow then pushed the stick along in such a manner, that when it rested upon the back of the chair, there were three feet of it on one side, and only one on the other. That side which was longest instantly came to the ground as heaviest. "You see," said Mr Barlow, "if we would now balance them, we must put a greater weight on the shortest side; so he kept adding weights, till Tommy found that one pound on the longest side would exactly balance three on the shortest; for, as much as the longer side exceeded the shorter in length, so much did the weight which was hung at that end require to exceed that on the longest side."

"This," said Mr Barlow, "is what they call a lever, and all the sticks that you have been using to-day are only levers of a different construction. By these short trials, you may conceive the prodigious advantage which they are of to men; for thus can one man move a weight which half-a-dozen could not be able to do with their hands alone; thus may a little boy, like you, do more than the strongest man could effect who did not know these secrets. As to that instrument by which you were so surprised that Harry could cleave such a vast body of wood, it is called a wedge, and is almost equally useful with the lever. The whole force of it consists in its being gradually narrower and narrower, till at last it ends in a thin edge, capable of penetrating the smallest chink. By this we are enabled to overthrow the largest oaks, to cleave their roots, almost as hard as iron itself, and even to split the solid rocks." "All this," said Tommy, "is wonderful indeed; and I need not ask the use of them, because I see it plainly in the experiments I have made to-day."

"One thing more," added Mr Barlow, "as we are upon this subject, I will show you." So he led them into the yard, to the bottom of his granary, where stood a heavy sack of corn. "Now," said Mr Barlow, "if you are so stout a fellow as you imagine, take up this sack of corn, and carry it up the ladder into the granary." "That," replied Tommy, laughing, "is impossible; and I doubt, sir, whether you could do it yourself." "Well," said Mr Barlow, "we will, at least try what is to be done." He then led them up into the granary, and, showing them a middle-sized wheel, with a handle fixed upon it, desired the little boys to turn it round. They began to turn it with some little difficulty, and Tommy could hardly believe his eyes, when, presently after, he saw the sack of corn, which he had despaired of moving, mounted up into the granary, and safely landed upon the floor. "You see," said Mr Barlow, "here is another ingenious contrivance, by which the weakest person may perform the work of the strongest. This is called the wheel and axle. You see this wheel, which is not very large, turns round an axle which goes into it, and is much smaller; and at every turn, the rope to which the weight is fixed that you want to move, is twisted round the axle. Now, just as much as the breadth of the whole wheel is greater than that of the axle which it turns round, so much greater is the weight that the person who turns it can move, than he could do without it." "Well," said Tommy, "I see it is a fine thing indeed to acquire knowledge, for by these means one not only increases one's understanding, but one's bodily strength. But are there no more, sir, of these ingenious contrivances, for I should like to understand them all?" "Yes," answered Mr Barlow, "there are more, and all of them you shall be perfectly acquainted with in time; but for this purpose you should be able to write, and comprehend something of arithmetic."

Tommy.—What is arithmetic, sir?

Mr Barlow.—That is not so easy to make you understand at once; I will, however, try to explain it. Do you see the grains of wheat which he scattered in the window?

Tommy.—Yes, sir.

Mr Barlow.—Can you count how many there are?

Tommy.—There are just five-and-twenty of them.

Mr Barlow.—Very well. Here is another parcel; how many grains are there?

Tommy.—Just fourteen.

Mr Barlow.—If there are fourteen grains in one heap, and twenty-five in the other, how many grains are there in all? or, how many do fourteen and twenty-five make?

Tommy was unable to answer, and Mr Barlow proposed the same question to Harry, who answered, that, together, they made thirty-nine. "Again," said Mr Barlow, "I will put the two heaps together, and then how many will there be?"

Tommy.—Thirty-nine.

Mr Barlow.—Now, look, I have just taken away nineteen from the number; how many, do you think, remain?

Tommy.—I will count them.

Mr Barlow.—And cannot you tell without counting? How many are there, Harry?

Harry.—Twenty, sir.

Mr Barlow.—All this is properly the art of arithmetic, which is the same as that of counting, only it is done in a much shorter and easier way, without the trouble of having the things always before you. Thus, for instance, if you wanted to know how many barley-corns were in this sack, you would perhaps be a week in counting the whole number.

Tommy.—Indeed, I believe I should.

Mr Barlow.—If you understood arithmetic you might do it in five minutes.

Tommy.—That is extraordinary, indeed; I can hardly conceive it possible.

Mr Barlow.—A bushel of corn weighs about fifty pounds; this sack contains four bushels; so that there are just two hundred pounds weight in all. Now, every pound contains sixteen ounces, and sixteen times two hundred makes thirty-two hundred ounces. So that you have nothing to do but to count the number of grains in a single ounce, and there will be thirty-two hundred times that number in the sack.

Tommy.—I declare this is curious indeed, and I should like to learn arithmetic. Will Harry and you teach me, sir?

Mr Barlow.—You know we are always ready to improve you. But before we leave this subject, I must tell you a little story. "There was a gentleman who was extremely fond of beautiful horses, and did not grudge to give the highest prices for them. One day a horse-courser came to him, and showed him one so handsome, that he thought it superior to all he had ever seen before. He mounted him, and found his paces equally excellent; for, though he was full of spirit, he was gentle and tractable as could be wished. So many perfections delighted the gentleman, and he eagerly demanded the price. The horse-courser answered, that he would bate nothing of two hundred guineas; the gentleman, although he admired the horse, would not consent to give it, and they were just on the point of parting. As the man was turning his back, the gentleman called out to him, and said, 'Is there no possible way of our agreeing, for I would give you anything in reason for such a beautiful creature?' 'Why,' replied the dealer, who was a shrewd fellow, and perfectly understood calculation, 'If you do not like to give me two hundred guineas, will you give me a farthing for the first nail the horse has in his shoe, two farthings for the second, four for the third, and so go doubling throughout the whole twenty-four, for there are no more than twenty-four nails in all his shoes?' The gentleman gladly accepted the condition, and ordered the horse to be led away to his stables."

Tommy.—This fellow must have been a very great blockhead, to ask two hundred guineas, and then to take a few farthings for his horse.

Mr Barlow.—The gentleman was of the same opinion; "however, the horse-courser added:—'I do not mean, sir, to tie you down to this last proposal, which, upon consideration, you may like as little as the first; all that I require is, that if you are dissatisfied with your bargain, you will promise to pay me down the two hundred guineas which I first asked.' This the gentleman willingly agreed to, and then called the steward to calculate the sum, for he was too much of a gentleman to be able to do it himself. The steward sat down with his pen and ink, and, after some time, gravely wished his master joy, and asked him, 'in what part of England the estate was situated that he was going to purchase.' 'Are you mad?' replied the gentleman; 'it is not an estate, but a horse, that I have just bargained for; and here is the owner of him, to whom I am going to pay the money.' 'If there is any madness, sir,' replied the steward, 'it certainly is not on my side; the sum you have ordered me to calculate comes just to seventeen thousand four hundred and seventy-six pounds, besides some shillings and pence; and surely no man in his senses would give this price for a horse.' The gentleman was more surprised than he had ever been before, to hear the assertion of his steward; but when, upon examination, he found it no more than the truth, he was very glad to compound for his foolish agreement, by giving the horse-courser the two hundred guineas, and dismissing him."

Tommy.—This is quite incredible, that a farthing just doubled a few times, should amount to such a prodigious sum; however, I am determined to learn arithmetic, that I may not be imposed upon in this manner, for I think a gentleman must look very silly in such a situation.

Thus had Tommy a new employment and diversion for the winter nights—the learning arithmetic. Almost every night did Mr Barlow, and Harry, and he, amuse themselves with little questions that related to numbers; by which means Tommy became, in a short time, so expert, that he could add, subtract, multiply, or divide almost any given sum, with little trouble and great exactness. But he did not for this forget the employment of observing the heavens, for every night when the stars appeared bright, and the sky was unclouded, Harry and he observed the various figures and positions of the constellations. Mr Barlow gave him a little paper globe, as he had promised, and Tommy immediately marked out upon the top his first and favourite constellation of Charles' Wain. A little while after that, he observed on the other side of the Pole-star another beautiful assemblage of stars, which was always opposite to Charles' Wain; this, Mr Barlow told him, was called Cassiopeia's Chair, and this, in a short time, was added to the collection.

One night as Tommy was looking up to the sky in the southern part of the heavens, he observed so remarkable a constellation that he could not help particularly remarking it; four large and shining stars composed the ends of the figure, which was almost square, and full in the middle appeared three more placed in a slanting line and very near each other. This Tommy pointed out to Mr Barlow, and begged to know the name. Mr Barlow answered that the constellation was named Orion, and that the three bright stars in the middle were called his belt. Tommy was so delighted with the grandeur and beauty of this glorious constellation, that he could not help observing it, by intervals, all the evening; and he was surprised to see that it seemed to pass on in a right line drawn from east to west, and that all the stars he had become acquainted with moved every night in the same direction.

But he did not forget to remind Harry one morning of the history he had promised to tell him of Agesilaus. Harry told it in the following manner:—

"HISTORY OF AGESILAUS."

"The Spartans (as I have before told you, Master Tommy) were a brave and hardy people, who despised everything that tended to make them delicate and luxurious. All their time was spent in such exercises as made them strong and active, able to bear fatigue, and to despise wounds and danger, for they were situated in the midst of several other nations that frequently had quarrels with each other, and with them; and therefore it was necessary that they should learn to defend themselves. Therefore all the children were brought up alike, and the sons of their kings themselves were as little indulged as anybody else."

Tommy.—Stop, stop!—I don't exactly understand that. I thought a king was a person that dressed finer and had less to do than anybody else in the world. I have often heard my mamma and the ladies say that I looked like a prince when I had fine clothes on; and therefore I thought that kings and princes never did anything but walk about with crowns upon their heads, and eat sweetmeats all day long.

Harry.—I do not know how that may be, but in Sparta the great business of the kings (for they had two) was to command them when they went out to war, or when they were attacked at home—and that, you know, they could not do without being brave and hardy themselves. "Now it happened that the Spartans had some dear friends and allies that lived at a distance from them across the sea, who were attacked by a great and numerous nation called the Persians. So when the Spartans knew the danger of their friends, they sent over to their assistance Agesilaus, one of their kings, together with a few thousands of his countrymen; and these they judged would be a match for all the forces that could be brought against them by the Persians, though ever so numerous. When the general of the Persians saw the small number of his enemies, he imagined it would be an easy matter to take them prisoners or to destroy them. Besides, as he was immensely rich, and possessed a number of palaces, furnished with everything that was fine and costly, and had a great quantity of gold and silver, and jewels, and slaves, he could not conceive it possible that anybody could resist him. He therefore raised a large army, several times greater than that of the Spartans, and attacked Agesilaus, who was not in the least afraid of him; for the Spartans, joining their shields together, and marching slowly along in even ranks, fell with so much fury upon the Persians, that in an instant they put them to flight."

Here Tommy interrupted the story, to inquire what a shield was. "Formerly," answered Mr Barlow, "before men were acquainted with the pernicious effects of gunpowder, they were accustomed to combat close together with swords or long spears, and for this reason they covered themselves in a variety of ways, to defend their bodies from the weapons of their enemies. The shield was worn upon their left arm, and composed of boards fixed together, and strengthened with the hides of animals, and plates of iron, sufficiently long and broad to cover almost the whole body of a man. When they went out to battle, they placed themselves in even rows or ranks, with their shields extended before them, to secure them from the arrows and weapons of their enemies. Upon their heads they wore a helmet, which was a cap of iron or steel, ornamented with the waving feathers of birds or the tails of horses. In this manner, with an even pace, marching all at once, and extending their spears before them, they went forward to meet their enemies." "I declare," said Tommy, "that an army in full march, in such array, must have been prodigiously fine; and when I have accidentally met with soldiers myself, I thought they made such a figure, walking erect with their arms all glittering in the sun, that I have sometimes thought I would be a soldier myself whenever I grew big enough." "This soldier-spirit of Tommy's brings to my recollection," said Mr Barlow, "a circumstance that once occurred in the French army, which I cannot help relating. After an execution had taken place in Paris, of a nobleman who had been convicted of treason (which was no uncommon thing at that time), the commanding officer of the regiment, who had been in attendance during the tragic scene, ordered his men to their usual place of exercise. While engaged in reviewing the troops, his attention was drawn to a young man, who had been for some time concealed behind a tree; who, coming forward and falling upon his knees, entreated the general, in an imploring manner, to permit him to enter into his regiment, declaring that he had, from a child, felt the most ardent desire to be a soldier. The general gazed intently upon him, and instantly recognised in the young man the child of his own beloved brother, who had been lost for many years, and was supposed to be dead. But I interrupt—let Harry now go on with his story."

"When Pharnabazus (for that was the name of the Persian general) observed that his troops were never able to stand against the Spartans, he sent to Agesilaus, and requested that they might have a meeting, in order to treat about terms of peace. This the Spartan consented to, and appointed the time and place where he would wait for Pharnabazus. When the day came, Agesilaus arrived first at the place of meeting with the Spartans; but not seeing Pharnabazus, he sat down upon the grass with his soldiers, and, as it was the hour of the army's making their repast, they pulled out their provisions, which consisted of some coarse bread and onions, and began eating very heartily. In the middle of them sat King Agesilaus himself, in nowise distinguished from the rest, neither by his clothing nor his fare; nor was there in the whole army an individual who more exposed himself to every species of hardship, or discovered less nicety than the king himself, by which means he was beloved and reverenced by all the soldiers, who were ashamed of appearing less brave or patient than their general.

"It was not long that the Spartans had thus reposed before the first servants of Pharnabazus arrived, who brought with them rich and costly carpets, which they spread upon the ground for their master to recline upon. Presently arrived another troop, who began to erect a spacious tent, with silken hangings, to screen him and his train from the heat of the sun. After this came a company of cooks and confectioners with a great number of loaded horses, who carried upon their backs all the materials of an elegant entertainment. Last of all appeared Pharnabazus himself, glittering with gold and jewels, and adorned with a long purple robe, after the fashion of the East; he wore bracelets upon his arms, and was mounted upon a beautiful horse, that was as gaudily attired as himself.

"As he approached nearer, and beheld the simple manners of the Spartan king and his soldiers, he could not help scoffing at their poverty, and making comparisons between their mean appearance and his own magnificence. All that were with him seemed to be infinitely diverted with the wit and acute remarks of their general, except a single person, who had served in the Grecian armies, and therefore was better acquainted with the manners and discipline of these people. This man was highly valued by Pharnabazus for his understanding and honesty, and, therefore, when he observed that he said nothing, he insisted upon his declaring his sentiments, as the rest had done. 'Since, then,' replied he, 'you command me to speak my opinion, O Pharnabazus, I must confess that the very circumstance which is the cause of so much mirth to the gentlemen that accompany you is the reason of my fears. On our side, indeed, I see gold, and jewels, and purple, in abundance, but when I look for men, I can find nothing but barbers, cooks, confectioners, fiddlers, dancers, and everything that is most unmanly and unfit for war; on the Grecian side, I discern none of the costly trifles, but I see iron that forms their weapons, and composes impenetrable arms. I see men who have been brought up to despise every hardship, and face every danger; who are accustomed to observe their ranks, to obey their leader, to take every advantage of their enemy, and to fall dead in their places, rather than to turn their backs. Were the contest about who should dress a dinner, or curl hair with the greatest nicety, I should not doubt that the Persians would gain the advantage; but when it is necessary to contend in battle, where the prize is won by hardiness and valour, I cannot help dreading men, who are inured to wounds, and labours, and suffering; nor can I ever think that the Persian gold will be able to resist the Grecian iron.'

"Pharnabazus was so struck with the truth and justness of these remarks, that, from that very hour he determined to contend no more with such invincible troops, but bent all his care towards making peace with the Spartans, by which means he preserved himself and country from destruction."

"You see by this story," said Mr Barlow, "that fine clothes are not always of the consequence you imagine, since they are not able to give their wearers either more strength or courage than they had before, nor to preserve them from the attacks of those whose appearance is more homely. But since you are so little acquainted with the business of a soldier, I must show you a little more clearly in what it consists. Instead, therefore, of all this pageantry, which seems so strongly to have acted upon your mind, I must inform you that there is no human being exposed to suffer a greater degree of hardship; he is often obliged to march whole days in the most violent heat, or cold, or rain, and frequently without victuals to eat, or clothes to cover him; and when he stops at night, the most that he can expect is a miserable canvas tent to shelter him, which is penetrated in every part by the wet, and a little straw to keep his body from the damp unwholesome earth. Frequently he cannot meet with even this, and is obliged to lie uncovered upon the ground, by which means he contracts a thousand diseases, which are more fatal than the cannon and weapons of the enemy. Every hour he is exposed to engage in combats at the hazard of losing his limbs, of being crippled or mortally wounded. If he gain the victory, he generally has only to begin again and fight anew, till the war is over; if he be beaten, he may probably lose his life upon the spot, or be taken prisoner by the enemy, in which case he may languish several months in a dreary prison, in want of all the necessaries of life."

"Alas!" said Harry, "what a dreadful picture do you draw of the fate of those brave men who suffer so much to defend their country. Surely those who employ them should take care of them when they are sick, or wounded, or incapable of providing for themselves."

"So indeed," answered Mr Barlow, "they ought to do; but rash and foolish men engage in wars without either justice or reason, and when they are over they think no more of the unhappy people who have served them at so much loss to themselves."

Harry.—Why, sir, I have often thought, that, as all wars consists in shedding blood and doing mischief to our fellow-creatures they seldom can be just.

Mr Barlow.—You are indeed right there. Of all the blood that has been shed since the beginning of the world to the present day, but very little indeed has been owing to any cause that had either justice or common sense.

Harry.—I then have thought (though I pity poor soldiers extremely, and always give them something if I have any money in my pocket) that they draw these mischiefs upon themselves, because they endeavour to kill and destroy other people, and, therefore, if they suffer the same evils in return, they can hardly complain.

Mr Barlow.—They cannot complain of the evils to which they voluntarily expose themselves, but they may justly complain of the ingratitude of the people, for whom they fight, and who take no care of them afterwards.

Harry.—Indeed, sir, I think so. But I cannot conceive why people must hire others to fight for them. If it is necessary to fight, why not fight for themselves? I should be ashamed to go to another boy and say to him, "Pray go and venture your life or limbs for me that I may stay at home and do nothing."

Tommy.—What if the French were to come here, as they said they were about to do; would you go out to fight them yourself?

Harry.—I have heard my father say that it was every man's duty to fight for his country, if it were attacked; and if my father went out to fight, I would go out with him. I would not willingly hurt anybody, but if they attempt to hurt me or my countrymen, we should do right to defend ourselves; should we not, sir?

Mr Barlow.—This is certainly a case where men have a right to defend themselves; no man is bound to yield his life or property to another that has no right to take it. Among those Grecians, whom you were talking of, every man was a soldier, and always ready to defend his country whenever it was attacked.

Harry.—Pray, dear sir, read to Master Tommy the story of Leonidas, which gave me so much pleasure; I am sure he will like to hear it.

Mr Barlow accordingly read

"THE HISTORY OF LEONIDAS, KING OF SPARTA."

"The king of Persia commanded a great extent of territory, which was inhabited by many millions of people, and not only abounded in all the necessaries of life, but produced immense quantities of gold and silver, and every other costly thing. Yet all this did not satisfy the haughty mind of Xerxes, who, at that time, possessed the empire of this country. He considered that the Grecians, his neighbours, were free, and refused to obey his imperious orders, which he foolishly imagined all mankind should respect; he therefore determined to make an expedition with a mighty army into Greece, and to conquer the country. For this reason he raised such a prodigious army, that it was almost impossible to describe it; the number of men that composed it seemed sufficient to conquer the whole world, and all the forces the Grecians were able to raise would scarcely amount to a hundredth part. Nevertheless, the Grecians held public councils to consult about their common safety, and they nobly determined that, as they had hitherto lived free, so they would either maintain their liberty, or bravely die in its defence.

"In the mean time Xerxes was continually marching forward, and at length entered the territory of Greece. The Grecians had not yet been able to assemble their troops or make their preparations, and therefore they were struck with consternation at the approach of such an army as attended Xerxes. Leonidas was at that time king of Sparta, and when he considered the state of affairs, he saw one method alone by which the ruin of his country, and all Greece, could be prevented. In order to enter the more cultivated parts of this country, it was necessary for the Persian army to march through a very rough and mountainous district, called Thermopylae. There was only one narrow road through all these mountains, which it was possible for only a very small number of men to defend for some time against the most numerous army. Leonidas perceived that, if a small number of resolute men would undertake to defend this passage, it would retard the march of the whole Persian army, and give the Grecians time to collect their troops; but who would undertake so desperate an enterprise, where there was scarcely any possibility of escaping alive? For this reason, Leonidas determined to undertake the expedition himself, with such of the Spartans as would voluntarily attend him, and to sacrifice his own life for the preservation of his country.

"With this design he assembled the chief persons of Sparta, and laid before them the necessity of defending the pass of Thermopylae. They were equally convinced of its importance, but knew not where to find a man of such determined valour as to undertake it. 'Then,' said Leonidas, 'since there is no more worthy man ready to perform this service, I myself will undertake it, with those who will voluntarily accompany me.' They were struck with admiration at his proposal, and praised the greatness of his mind, but set before him the certain destruction which must attend him. 'All this,' said Leonidas, 'I have already considered; but I am determined to go, with the appearance indeed of defending the pass of Thermopylae, but in reality to die for the liberty of Greece.' Saying this, he instantly went out of the assembly, and prepared for the expedition, taking with him about three hundred Spartans. Before he went, he embraced his wife, who hung about him in tears, as being well acquainted with the dangerous purposes of his march; but he endeavoured to comfort her, and told her that a short life was well sacrificed to the interests of his country, and that Spartan women should be more careful about the glory than the safety of their husbands. He then kissed his infant children, and charging his wife to educate them in the same principles he had lived in, went out of his house, to put himself at the head of those brave men who were to accompany him.

"As they marched through the city, all the inhabitants attended them with praises and acclamations; the young women sang songs of triumph, and scattered flowers before them; the youths were jealous of their glory, and lamented that such a noble doom had not rather fallen upon themselves; while all their friends and relations seemed rather to exult in the immortal honour they were going to acquire, than to be dejected with the apprehensions of their loss; and as they continued their march through Greece, they were joined by various bodies of their allies, so that their number amounted to about six thousand when they took possession of the straits of Thermopylae.

"In a short time Xerxes approached with his innumerable army, which was composed of various nations, and armed in a thousand different manners, and, when he had seen the small number of his enemies, he could not believe that they really meant to oppose his passage; but when he was told that this was surely their design, he sent out a small detachment of his troops, and ordered them to take those Grecians alive and bring them bound before him. The Persian troops set out and attacked the Grecians with considerable fury; but in an instant they were routed, the greater part slain, and the rest obliged to fly. Xerxes was enraged at this misfortune, and ordered the combat to be renewed with greater forces. The attack was renewed, but always with the same success, although he sent the bravest troops in his whole army. Thus was this immense army stopped in its career, and the pride of their monarch humbled by so inconsiderable a body of Grecians, that they were not at first thought worthy of a serious attack. At length, what Xerxes, with all his troops was incapable of effecting, was performed by the treachery of some of the Grecians who inhabited that country. For a great reward they undertook to lead a chosen body of the Persians across the mountains by a secret path, with which they alone were acquainted. Accordingly, the Persians set out in the night, and having passed over the mountains in safety, encamped on the other side.

"As soon as day arose, Leonidas perceived that he had been betrayed, and that he was surrounded by the enemy; nevertheless, with the same undaunted courage, he took all necessary measures and prepared for the fate which he had long resolved to meet. After praising and thanking the allies for the bravery with which they had behaved, he sent them all away to their respective countries; many of the Spartans, too, he would have dismissed under various pretences; but they, who were all determined rather to perish with their king than to return, refused to go. When he saw their resolution, he consented that they should stay with him and share in his fate. All day, therefore, he remained quiet in his camp; but when evening approached, he ordered his troops to take some refreshment, and, smiling, told them 'to dine like men who were to sup in another world.' They then completely armed themselves, and waited for the middle of the night, which Leonidas judged most proper for the design he meditated. He saw that the Persians would never imagine it possible that such an insignificant body of men should think of attacking their numerous forces; he was therefore determined, in the silence of the night, to break into their camp, and endeavour, amid the terror and confusion which would ensue, to surprise Xerxes himself.

"About midnight, therefore, this determined body of Grecians marched out with Leonidas at their head. They soon broke into the Persian camp, and put all to flight that dared to oppose them. It is impossible to describe the terror and confusion which ensued among so many thousands thus unexpectedly surprised. Still the Grecians marched on in close impenetrable order, overturning the tents, destroying all that dared to resist, and driving that vast and mighty army like frightened sheep before them. At length they came even to the imperial tent of Xerxes; and had he not quitted it at the first alarm, he would there have ended at once his life and expedition. The Grecians in an instant put all the guards to flight, and rushing upon the imperial pavilion, violently overturned it, and trampled under their feet all the costly furniture and vessels of gold which were used by the monarchs of Persia.

"But now the morning began to appear, and the Persians, who had discovered the small number of their assailants, surrounded them on every side, and without daring to come to a close engagement, poured in their darts and other missive weapons. The Grecians were wearied even with the toils of conquest, and their body was already considerably diminished; nevertheless, Leonidas, who was yet alive, led on the intrepid few that yet remained to a fresh attack; again he rushed upon the Persians, and pierced their thickest battalions as often as he could reach them. But valour itself was vain against such inequality of numbers; at every charge the Grecian ranks grew thinner and thinner, till at length they were all destroyed, without a single man having quitted his post or turned his back upon the enemy."

"Really," said Tommy, when the history was finished, "Leonidas was a brave man indeed. But what became of Xerxes and his army after the death of this valiant Spartan? was he able to overcome the Grecians, or did they repulse him?" "You are now able to read for yourself," replied Mr Barlow, "and therefore, by examining the histories of those countries, you may be informed of everything you desire."



CHAPTER VI.

The Constellations—Distance from the Earth—The Magnet and its Powers—The Compass—The Greenlanders and their Customs—The Telescope—The Magic Lantern—Story of the African Prince and the Telescope—Mr Barlow's Poor Parishioners—His Annual Dinner—Tommy attempts Sledge Driving—His mishap in the Pond—His Anger.

And now the frost had continued for several weeks, and Tommy had taken advantage of the evenings, which generally proved clear and star-light, to improve his knowledge of the heavens. He had already ornamented his paper globe with several of the most remarkable constellations. Around the Pole-star he had discovered Perseus and Andromeda, and Cepheus and Cassiopeia's Chair. Between these and the bright Orion, which rose every night and glittered in the south, he discovered seven small stars that were set in a cluster, and called the Pleiades. Then, underneath Orion, he discovered another glittering star, called Sirius, or the Dog-star. All these, he continually observed, journeyed every night from east to west, and then appeared the evening after in their former places. "How strange it is," observed Tommy, one day to Mr Barlow, "that all these stars should be continually turning about the earth!"

"How do you know," replied Mr Barlow, "that they turn at all?"

Tommy.—Because I see them move every night.

Mr Barlow.—But how are you sure that it is the stars which move every night, and not the earth itself?

Tommy considered, and said, "But then I should see the earth move, and the stars stand still."

Mr Barlow.—What, did you never ride in a coach?

Tommy.—Yes, sir, very often.

Mr Barlow.—And did you then see that the coach moved, as you sat still, and went along a level road?

Tommy.—No, sir; I protest I have often thought that the houses and trees, and all the country, glided swiftly along by the windows of the coach.

Mr Barlow.—And did you never sail in a boat?

Tommy.—Yes, I have; and I protest I have observed the same thing; for I remember I have often thought the shore was running away from the boat, instead of the boat from the shore.

Mr Barlow.—If that is the case, it is possible, even though the earth should move, instead of the stars, that you might only see what you do at present, and imagine that the earth you are upon was at rest.

Tommy.—But is it not more likely that such little things as the stars and the sun should move, than such a large thing as the earth?

Mr Barlow.—And how do you know that the stars and sun are so small?

Tommy.—I see them to be so, sir. The stars are so small, that they are hardly to be seen at all; and the sun itself, which is much bigger, does not seem bigger than a small round table.

The day after this conversation, as the weather was bright and clear, Mr Barlow went out to walk with Harry and Tommy. As by this time Tommy was inured to fatigue, and able to walk many miles, they continued their excursion over the hills, till at last they came in sight of the sea. As they were diverting themselves with the immense prospect of water that was before them, Mr Barlow perceived something floating at a distance, so small as to be scarcely discernible by the eye. He pointed it out to Tommy, who with some difficulty was able to distinguish it, and asked him what he thought it was.

Tommy answered that he imagined it to be some little fishing-boat, but could not well tell, on account of the distance.

Mr Barlow.—If you do not then see a ship, what is it you do see? or what does that object appear to your eyes?

Tommy.—All that I can see is no more than a little dusky speck, which seems to grow bigger and bigger.

Mr Barlow.—And what is the reason it grows bigger and bigger?

Tommy.—Because it comes nearer and nearer to me.

Mr Barlow.—What, then, does the same thing sometimes appear small and sometimes great?

Tommy.—Yes, sir; it seems small when it is at a great distance; for I have observed even houses and churches when you are at some miles' distance, seem to the eye very small indeed; and now I observe that the vessel is sailing towards us, and it is not, as I imagined, a little fishing-boat, but a ship with a mast, for I begin to distinguish the sails.

Mr Barlow walked on a little while by the side of the sea, and presently Tommy called out again: "I protest I was mistaken again; for it is not a vessel with one mast, as I thought a little while ago, but a fine large ship with three great masts, and all her sails before the wind. I believe she must either be a large merchantman or else a frigate."

Mr Barlow.—Will you then take notice of what you have now been saying? What was first only a little dusky speck became a vessel with one mast, and now this vessel with one mast plainly appears a ship of a very large size, with all her masts and sails, and rigging complete. Yet all these three appearances are only the same object at different distances from your eye.

Tommy.—Yes, sir; that is all very true indeed.

Mr Barlow.—Why, then, if the ship, which is now, full in sight, were to tack about again, and sail away from us as fast as she approached just now what do you think would happen?

Tommy.—It would grow less and less every minute, till it appeared a speck again.

Mr Barlow.—You said, I think, that the sun was a very small body, not bigger than a round table?

Tommy.—Yes, sir.

Mr Barlow.—Supposing, then, the sun were to be removed to a much greater distance than it is now, what would happen? Would it appear the same to your eyes?

Tommy considered some time, and then said, "If the ship grows less and less, till at last it appears a mere speck, by going farther and farther, I should think the sun would do the same."

Mr Barlow.—There you are perfectly right; therefore, if the sun were to depart farther and farther from us, at last it would appear no bigger than one of those twinkling stars that you see at so great a distance above your head.

Tommy.—That I perfectly comprehend.

Mr Barlow.—But if, on the contrary, one of those twinkling stars were to approach nearer and nearer to where you stand, what do think would happen? Would it still appear of the same size?

Tommy.—No, sir. The ship, as it came nearer to us, appeared every moment larger, and therefore I think the star must do the same.

Mr Barlow.—Might it not then appear as big as the sun now does, just as the sun would dwindle away to the size of a star, were it to be removed to a still greater distance?

Tommy.—Indeed I think it might.

Mr Barlow.—What, then, do you imagine must happen, could the sun approach a great deal nearer to us? Would its size remain the same?

Tommy.—No; I plainly see that it must appear bigger and bigger the nearer it comes.

Mr Barlow.—If that is the case, it is not so very certain that the earth we inhabit is bigger than the sun and stars. They are at a very great distance from us; therefore, if anybody could go from the earth towards the sun, how do you think the earth would appear to him as he journeyed on?

Tommy.—Really I can hardly tell.

Mr Barlow.—No! Why, is it not the same thing, whether an object goes from you, or you from the object? Is there any difference between the ship sailing away from us, and our walking away from the ship?

Tommy.—No, sir.

Mr Barlow.—Did you not say that if the sun could be removed farther from our eyes, it would appear less?

Tommy.—To be sure it would.

Mr Barlow.—Why, then, if the earth were to sink down from under our feet, lower and lower, what would happen? Would it have the same appearance?

Tommy.—No, sir; I think it must appear less and less, like the ship that is sailing away.

Mr Barlow.—Very right, indeed; but now attend to what I asked you just now. If a person could rise slowly into the air, and mount still higher and higher towards the sun, what would happen?

Tommy.—Why the same as if the earth were to sink from under us; it would appear less and less.

Mr Barlow.—Might not the earth then at least appear as small as the sun or moon does?

Tommy.—I can hardly conceive that, and yet I see it would appear less and less the farther we went.

Mr Barlow.—Do you remember what happened to you when you left the island of Jamaica?

Tommy.—Yes, I do. One of the blacks held me upon the deck, and then I looked towards the island, and I thought that it began to move away from the ship, though in reality it was the ship moving away from the land; and then, as the ship continued sailing along the water, the island appeared less and less. First, I lost sight of the trees and houses that stood on the shore; and then I could only see the highest mountains; and then I could scarcely see the mountains themselves; and at last the whole island appeared only like a dark mist above the water; and then the mist itself disappeared, and I could see nothing but a vast extent of water all round, and the sky above.

Mr Barlow.—And must not this be exactly the case if you could rise up into the air, higher and higher, and look down upon the earth?

Tommy.—Indeed it must.

Mr Barlow.—Now, then, you will be able to answer the question I asked you a little while ago: Could a person travel straight forward from the earth to the sun, how would they both appear to him as he went forward?

Tommy.—The earth would appear less and less as he went from it, and the sun bigger and bigger.

Mr Barlow.—Why, then, perhaps it would happen at last that the sun appeared bigger than the earth.

Tommy.—Indeed it might.

Mr Barlow.—Then you see that you must no longer talk of the earth's being large and the sun small, since that may only happen because you are nearer the one and at a great distance from the other; at least, you may now be convinced that both the sun and stars must be immensely bigger than you would at first sight guess them to be.

As they were returning home they happened to pass through a small town on their way, and saw a crowd of people going into a house, which gave Mr Barlow the curiosity to inquire the reason. They were told that there was a wonderful person there who performed a variety of strange and diverting experiments. On Tommy's expressing a great desire to see these curious exhibitions, Mr Barlow took them both in, and they all seated themselves among the audience.

Presently the performer began his exhibitions, which very much diverted Tommy, and surprised the spectators. At length after a variety of curious tricks upon the cards, the conjuror desired them to observe a large basin of water, with the figure of a little swan floating upon the surface. "Gentlemen," said the man, "I have reserved this curious experiment for the last, because it is the most wonderful of all that I have to show, or that, perhaps, was ever exhibited to the present hour. You see that swan, it is no more than a little image, without either sense or life. If you have any doubt upon the subject, take it up in your hands and examine it." Accordingly, several of the spectators took it up in their hands, and, after having examined it, set it down upon the water. "Now," continued he, "this swan, which to you appears totally without sense or motion, is of so extraordinary a nature that he knows me, his master, and will follow in any direction that I command." Saying this, he took out a little piece of bread, and whistling to his bird, ordered him to come to the side of the basin to be fed. Immediately, to the great surprise of all the company, the swan turned about and swam to the side of the basin. The man whistled again, and presently the swan turned himself round and pursued the hand of his master to the other side of the basin.

The spectators could hardly believe their eyes, and some of them got little pieces of bread, and held them out, imagining that he would do the same to them. But it was in vain they whistled and presented their bread; the bird remained unmoved upon the water, and obeyed no orders but those of his master.

When this exhibition had been repeated over and over again, to the extreme delight and astonishment of all present, the company rose and dispersed, and Mr Barlow and the little boys pursued their way home.

But Tommy's mind was so engaged with what he had seen, that for several days he could think and talk of nothing else. He would give all that he had in the world to find out this curious trick, and to be possessed of such a swan. At length, as he was one day talking to Harry upon this subject, Harry told him with a smile, that he believed he had found out a method of doing it, and that, if he did not mistake, he would the next day show him a swan that would come to be fed as well as the conjuror's. Accordingly, Harry moulded a bit of wax into the shape of a swan, and placed it upon a basin of water. He then presented to it a piece of bread, and, to the inexpressible delight of Tommy, the swan pursued the bread, just as he had seen before.

After he had several times diverted himself with this experiment, he wanted to be informed of the composition of this wonderful swan. Harry therefore showed him, within the body of the bird, a large needle, which lay across it from one end to the other. In the bread with which the swan was fed, he also showed him concealed a small bar of iron. Tommy could not comprehend all this, although he saw it before his eyes; but Mr Barlow, who was present, taking up the bar of iron, and putting down several needles upon the table, Tommy was infinitely surprised to see the needles all jump up, one after another, at the approach of the bar, and shoot towards it, as if they had been possessed of life and sense. They then hung all about the bar so firmly, that, though it was lifted into the air, they all remained suspended, nor ever quitted their hold. Mr Barlow then placed a key upon the table, and putting the iron near it, the key attached itself as firmly to the bar as the needles had done before. All this appeared so surprising to Tommy, that he begged an explanation of it from Mr Barlow. That gentleman told him, "that there was a stone often found in iron mines, that was called the loadstone. This stone is naturally possessed of the surprising power of drawing to itself all pieces of iron that are not too large, nor placed at too great a distance. But what is equally extraordinary is, that iron itself, after having been rubbed upon the loadstone, acquires the same virtue as the stone itself, of attracting other iron. For this purpose they take small bars of iron, and rub them carefully upon the loadstone, and when they have acquired this very extraordinary power, they call them magnets. When Harry had seen the exhibition of the swan, upon revolving it over in his mind, he began to suspect that it was performed entirely by the power of magnetism. Upon his talking to me about the affair, I confirmed him in his opinion, and furnished him with a small magnet to put into the bread, and a large needle to conceal in the body of the bird. So this is the explanation of the feat which so much puzzled you a few days past."

Mr Barlow had scarcely done speaking, when Tommy observed another curious property of the swan, which he had not found out before. This bird, when left to itself, constantly rested in one particular direction, and that direction was full north and south.

Tommy inquired the reason of this, and Mr Barlow gave him this additional explanation: "The persons who first discovered the wonderful powers of the loadstone, in communicating its virtues to iron, diverted themselves, as we do now, in touching needles and small pieces of iron, which they made to float upon water, and attracted them about with other pieces of iron. But it was not long before they found out, as you do now, another surprising property of this wonderful stone; they observed, that when a needle had once been touched by the loadstone, if it was left to float upon the water without restraint, it would invariably turn itself towards the north. In a short time they improved the discovery farther, and contrived to suspend the middle of the needle upon a point, so loosely that it could move about in every direction; this they covered with a glass case, and by this means they always had it in their power to find out all the quarters of the heavens and earth."

Tommy.—Was this discovery of any great use?

Mr Barlow.—Before this time they had no other method of finding their way along the sea, but by observing the stars. They knew, by experience, in what part of the sky certain stars appeared at every season of the year, and this enabled them to discover east, west, north, and south. But when they set out from their own country by sea, they knew in which direction the place was situated which they were going to. If it lay to the east, they had only to keep the head of the ship turned full to that quarter of the heavens, and they would arrive at the place they were going to; and this they were enabled to do by observing the stars. But frequently the weather was thick, and the stars no longer appeared, and then they were left to wander about the pathless ocean without the smallest track to guide them in their course.

Tommy.—Poor people! they must be in a dreadful situation indeed, tossed about on such an immense place as the sea, in the middle of a dark night, and not able even to guess at their situation.

Mr Barlow.—For this reason they seldom dared to venture out of sight of the shore, for fear of losing their way, by which means all their voyages were long and tedious; for they were obliged to make them several times as long as they would have done, could they have taken the straight and nearest way. But soon after the discovery of this admirable property of the loadstone, they found that the needle, which had been thus prepared, was capable of showing them the different points of the heavens, even in the darkest night. This enabled them to sail with greater security, and to venture boldly upon the immense ocean, which they had always feared before.

Tommy.—How extraordinary that a little stone should enable people to cross the sea, and to find their way from one country to another! But I wonder why they take all these pains.

Mr Barlow.—That you need not wonder at, when you consider that one country frequently produces what another does not; and therefore, by exchanging their different commodities, the people of both may live more conveniently than they did before.

Harry.—But does not almost every country produce all that is necessary to support the inhabitants of it? and therefore they might live, I should think, even though they received nothing from any other country.

Mr Barlow.—So might your father live, perhaps, upon the productions of his own farm, but he sometimes sells his cattle to purchase clothes; sometimes his corn to purchase cattle. Then he frequently exchanges with his neighbours one kind of grain for another, and thus their mutual conveniency is better promoted than if each were to confine himself to the produce of his own land. At the same time, it is true, that every country which is inhabited by men, contains within itself all that is necessary for their subsistence, and what they bring from other countries is frequently more hurtful than salutary to them.

Harry.—I have heard you say that even in Greenland, the coldest and most uncomfortable country in the world, the inhabitants procure themselves necessaries, and live contented.

Tommy.—What! is there a part of the world still colder than Lapland?

Mr Barlow.—Greenland is still farther north, and therefore colder and more barren. The ground is there covered with eternal snows, which never melt, even in the summer. There are scarcely any animals to be found, excepting bears, that live by preying upon fish. There are no trees growing upon any part of the country, so that the inhabitants have nothing to build their houses with, excepting the planks and trees which the sea washes away from other countries and leaves upon their coast. With these they erect large cabins, where several families live together. The sides of these huts are composed of earth and stones, and the top secured with turf; in a short time the whole is so cemented with frost, that it is impenetrable to the weather during the whole winter. Along the sides of the building are made several partitions, in each of which a Greenlander lives with his family. Each of these families have a small lamp continually burning before them, by means of which they cook their food, and light themselves, and, what is equally necessary in so cold a country, keep up agreeable warmth throughout their apartment. They have a few deer, which sometimes visit them in the summer, and which the Greenlanders kill whenever they can catch them; but they are almost entirely destitute of all the vegetables which serve as nourishment to man, so that they are obliged to be continually upon the sea, in order to catch fish for their maintenance.

Tommy.—What a dreadful life that must be in a country which is so cold!

Mr Barlow.—In consequence of that extreme cold, those northern seas are full of such immense quantities of ice, that they are sometimes almost covered with them. Huge pieces come floating down, which are not only as big as the largest houses, but even resemble small mountains. These are sometimes dashed against each other by the winds, with such immense force, that they would crush the strongest ship to pieces, and with a noise that exceeds the report of a cannon. Upon these pieces of ice are frequently seen white bears of an enormous size, which have either fallen asleep upon them, and so been carried away, or have straggled over those ice hills in search of fish.

Tommy.—And is it possible that the inhabitants of such a country can find enough in it for all their necessities?

Mr Barlow.—The necessities of life are very few, and are therefore to be found even in the most rugged climates, if men are not wanting to themselves, or deficient in industry. In plentiful countries like this, and in most of the more temperate climates, great numbers are maintained in idleness, and imagine that they were only born to live upon the labour of others; but, in such a country as Greenland is described to be, it requires continual exertion to procure the simplest support of human life; and therefore no one can live at all who will not employ himself in the same manner as his neighbours.

Tommy.—You said that these people had neither flesh nor corn; do they then clothe themselves with the skins of fish, as well as live upon them?

Mr Barlow.—There is in those seas a peculiar species of animal called a seal. He is nine or ten feet long, and has two small feet before, on which he is able to walk a little upon the shore, for he frequently comes out of the sea, and sleeps, or amuses himself upon the land or ice. His body is very large, and full of oil, and behind he has two legs which resemble fins, with which he swims in the water. This animal is the constant prey of the Greenlander, and furnishes him with all he wants. The flesh he eats, the fat serves him to feed his lamp, which is almost as necessary as food itself in that cold climate. With the skin he makes clothes that are impenetrable to the water, or lines the inside of his hut to keep out the weather. As this animal is so necessary to the existence of a Greenlander, it is his greatest glory to chase and take him. For this purpose he places himself in a small narrow boat, the top of which is covered over with the skins of seals, and closes round the middle of the fisher so tight as entirely to exclude the water. He has a long oar, or paddle, broad at both ends, which he dips first on one side, then on the other, and rows along with incredible swiftness over the roughest seas. He carries with him a harpoon, which is a kind of lance or javelin, tied to a long thong, at the end of which is fixed a bladder, or some other light thing that sinks with difficulty. When the fisherman is thus prepared, he skims lightly along the waters, till he perceives at a distance one of these animals floating upon the surface. The Greenlander then approaches him as softly as he is able, and, if possible, contrives that the animal shall have the wind and sun in his eyes. When he is sufficiently near he throws his harpoon, and generally wounds the creature, in which case he instantly hurries away, and carries with him the thong and bladder. But it is not long before he is compelled to rise again to the surface of the water to breathe; and then the Greenlander, who has been pursuing him all the time, attacks him anew, and dispatches him with a shorter lance, which he has brought with him for that purpose. He then ties his prey to his boat, and tows it after him to his family, who receive it with joy, and dress it for their supper. Although these poor people live a life of such continual fatigue, and are obliged to earn their food with so much hardship, they are generous and hospitable in the management of it, for there is not a person present but is invited to partake of the feast; and a Greenlander would think himself dishonoured for life, if he should be thought capable of wishing to keep it all to himself.

Tommy.—I think it seems as if the less people had the more generous they are with it.

Mr Barlow.—That is not unfrequently the case, and should be a lesson to many of our rich at home, who imagine that they have nothing to do with their fortune but to throw it away upon their pleasures, while there are so many thousands in want of the common necessaries of life.

Tommy.—But, pray, sir, have you no more particulars to tell me about these Greenlanders? for I think it is the most curious account I ever heard in my life.

Mr Barlow.—There is another very curious particular indeed to be mentioned of these countries; in these seas is found the largest animal in the world, an immense fish, which is called the whale.

Tommy.—Oh dear! I have heard of that extraordinary animal. And pray, sir, do the Greenlanders ever catch them?

Mr Barlow.—The whale is of such a prodigious size, that he sometimes reaches seventy or eighty, or even more than a hundred feet in length. He is from ten to above twenty feet in height, and every way large in proportion. When he swims along the seas, he appears rather like a large vessel floating upon the waters than a fish. He has two holes in his head, through which he blows out water to a great height in the air, immense fins, and a tail with which he almost raises a tempest when he lashes the sea with it. Would you not believe that such an animal was the most dreadful of the whole brute creation?

Tommy.—Indeed, sir, I should! I should think that such a fish would overset whole ships, and devour the sailors.

Mr Barlow.—Far from it; it is one of the most innocent in respect to man that the ocean produces, nor does he ever do him the least hurt, unless by accidentally overturning vessels with his enormous bulk. The food he lives upon is chiefly small fish, and particularly herrings. These fish are bred in such prodigious shoals amid the ice of those northern climates, that the sea is absolutely covered with them for miles together. Then it is that the hungry whale pursues them, and thins their numbers, by swallowing thousands of them in their course.

Harry.—What numbers indeed must such a prodigious fish devour of these small animals!

Mr Barlow.—The whale, in his turn, falls a prey to the cruelty and avarice of man. Some indeed are caught by the Greenlanders, who have a sufficient excuse for persecuting him with continual attacks, in their total want of vegetables, and every species of food which the earth affords. But the Europeans, who are too nice and squeamish to eat his flesh, send out great numbers of ships, every year, to destroy the poor whale, merely for the sake of the oil which his body contains, and the elastic bones which are known by the name of whalebone, and applied to several purposes. When those who go upon this dangerous expedition discern a whale floating at a distance, they instantly send out a large boat to pursue him. Some of the men row along as gently as possible, while the person that is appointed to attack the fish stands upon the forepart of the boat, holding in his hand a sharp harpoon, with which he is prepared to wound his prey. This is fastened to a long cord which lies ready coiled up in the boat, so that they may let it out in an instant, when the fish is struck; for such is his prodigious force, that, should the least impediment occur to stop the rope in its passage, he would instantly draw the boat after him down to the bottom of the sea. In order to prevent these dangerous accidents, a man stands constantly ready to divide the rope with a hatchet, in case it should happen to tangle; and another is continually pouring water over it for fear the swiftness of the motion should make it take fire. The poor whale, being thus wounded, darts away with inconceivable rapidity, and generally plunges to the bottom of the sea. The men have a prodigious quantity of cord ready to let out, and when their store is exhausted there are generally other boats ready to supply more. Thus is the poor animal overpowered and killed, in spite of his immense bulk and irresistible strength; for, gradually wearied with his own efforts and the loss of blood, he soon relaxes in his speed, and rises again to the top of the water. Then it is that the fishers, who have pursued him all the time with the hopes of such an opportunity, approach him anew, and attack him with fresh harpoons, till in the end his strength is entirely exhausted, the waves themselves are tinged with a bloody colour from his innumerable wounds, and he writhes himself about in strong convulsions and unutterable pain. Then the conflict is soon at an end; in a short time he breathes his last, and turning upon his back, floats like some large vessel upon the surface of the sea. The fishers then approach, and cut off the fins and other valuable parts, which they stow on board their ships; the fat, or blubber, as it is often called, is received into large hogsheads, and when boiled, to purify it, composes the common oil, which is applied to so many useful purposes. The remains of this vast body are left a prey to other fish and to the Greenlanders, who carefully collect every fragment which they can find, and apply it to their own use. Sometimes they go to pursue the whale themselves, but when they do, it is in large numbers, and they attack him nearly in the same manner as the Europeans do, only, as they are not so well supplied with cord, they fix the skins of seals, which they have inflated with air, to the end of the thongs which are tied to their harpoons, and this serves both to weary out the fish, who drags them with him under the water, and to discover him the instant he approaches to the surface.

Harry.—I cannot help pitying the poor whale that is thus persecuted for the sake of his spoils. Why cannot man let this poor beast live unmolested in the midst of the snows and ice in which he was born?

Mr Barlow.—You ought to know enough of the world to be sensible that the desire of gain will tempt men upon every expedition. However, in this case you must consider that the whale himself is continually supported by murdering thousands of herrings and other small fish; so that, were they possessed of reason, they would welcome the Europeans, who came to destroy their enemies, as friends and benefactors.

Tommy.—But pray, sir, how do the little boys amuse themselves in such a dismal country? Do their fathers take them out a-fishing with them?

Mr Barlow.—When the men come home all covered with wet and icicles, and sit down comfortably in their huts to feast upon the prey, their common conversation is about the dangers and accidents they have met with in their expedition. A Greenlander relates how he bounded over the waves to surprise the monstrous seal; how he pierced the animal with his harpoon, who had nearly dragged the boat with him under the water; how he attacked him again in closer combat; how the beast, enraged with his wounds, rushed upon him in order to destroy him with his teeth; and how, in the end, by courage and perseverance, he triumphed over his adversary, and brought it safe to land. All this will he relate with the vehemence and interest which people naturally feel for things which concern them nearly; he stands in the midst of his countrymen, and describes every minute circumstance of his adventures; the little children gather round, and greedily catch the relation; they feel themselves interested in every circumstance; they hear, and wish to share in the toils and glory of their fathers. When they are a little bigger they exercise themselves in small skiffs, with which they learn to overcome the waves. Nothing can be more dangerous, or require greater dexterity than the management of a Greenlander's boat. The least thing will overset it, and then, the man who cannot disengage himself from the boat, which is fastened to his middle, sinks down below the waves, and is inevitably drowned, if he cannot regain his balance. The only hope of doing this, is placed in the proper application of his oar, and, therefore, the dexterous management of this implement forms the early study of the young Greenlanders. In their sportive parties they row about in a thousand different manners. They dive under their boats, and then set them to rights with their paddle; they learn to glide over the roughest billows, and face the greatest dangers with intrepidity, till in the end they acquire sufficient strength and address to fish for themselves, and to be admitted into the class of men.

Harry.—Pray, sir, is this the country where men travel about upon sledges that are drawn by dogs?

Tommy.—Upon sledges drawn by dogs! that must be droll indeed. I had no idea that dogs could ever draw carriages.

Mr Barlow.—The country you are speaking of is called Kamtschatka; it is indeed a cold and dreary country, but very distant from Greenland. The inhabitants there train up large dogs, which they harness to a sledge, upon which the master sits, and so performs his journey along the snow and ice. All the summer the Kamtschatkans turn their dogs loose to shift for themselves, and prey upon the remains of fish which they find upon the shore or the banks of the rivers (for fish is the common food of all the inhabitants); in the winter they assemble their dogs and use them for the purposes I have mentioned. They have no reins to govern the dogs, or stop them in their course, but the driver sits upon his sledge, and keeps himself as steady as he is able, holding in his hand a short stick, which he throws at the dogs if they displease him, and catches again with great dexterity as he passes. This way of travelling is not without danger, for the temper of the dogs is such, that when they descend hills and slippery places, and pass through woods where the driver is exposed to wound himself with the branches and stumps, they always quicken their pace. The same is observed in case their master should fall off, which they instantly discover by the sudden lightness of the carriage, for then they set off at such a rate that it is difficult to overtake them. The only way which the Kamtschatcan finds, is to throw himself at his length upon the ground, and lay hold on the empty sledge, suffering himself to be thus dragged along the earth, till the dogs, through weariness, abate their speed. Frequently in their journeys these travellers are surprised by unexpected storms of wind and snow, which render it impracticable to proceed farther. How ill would an European fare, to be thus abandoned, at the distance perhaps of a hundred miles or more, from any habitable place, exposed, without shelter, in the midst of extensive plains, and unable to procure either wood or fire. But the hardy native of these cold climates, inured from his infancy to support difficulties, and almost superior to the elements, seeks the shelter of the first forest he can find; then, wrapping himself round in his warm fur garment, he sits with his legs under him, and, thus bundled up, suffers himself to be covered round with snow, except a small hole which he leaves for the convenience of breathing. In this manner he lies, with his dogs around him, who assist in keeping him warm, sometimes for several days, till the storm is past, and the roads again become passable, so that he may be able to pursue his journey again.