To Master ——.

The pleasure which you take in reading, made me solicitous to write a few pages for your amusement, when you wish to unbend your mind from more serious studies. But the want of opportunity, and the frequent interruptions which I met with during the course of them, have rendered the whole less worthy your acceptance vithan I had hoped, when I first formed the design. My affection for you, incites me to wish your improvement in every branch of useful knowledge; and though this little work may be regarded as trifling, yet, the moral which it contains, is worthy your most serious attention. Do not, therefore, be too proud to receive instruction from its contents, because you have commenced acquaintance with Greek or Latin authors. It is from a viisuperficial knowledge either of men or books, that we derive a supercilious contempt of the one, or are critically nice in our judgment of the other. I would wish you, my dear boy, to form your taste on the most perfect models; but to profit by every thing which is praise-worthy in those authors who are less distinguished. Above all, you

should remember, that to improve your temper, and to encrease in virtue as well as knowledge, is the great end viiiof all your studies; nothing which can promote this design, can be too low to merit your attention. That you may each day continue to advance in your progress towards every thing which is great, generous, and manly, till you become an ornament of society, a blessing to your friends, and the delight of your indulgent parents, is the most earnest wish of,

WILLIAM SEDLEY; OR, THE EVIL DAY DEFERRED.

“It is a delightful morning!” said a gentleman to a boy of about twelve years old, as he walked up and down an avenue with high trees on each side, which led to a handsome house. A coach drove, at that moment, out of the court-yard. “What a 10fine day!” repeated the gentleman. “I think, William, the roads will be extremely pleasant.” William made no answer. The tears trickled down his cheeks, which he wiped away with the back of his hand.

A little chimney-sweeper had crept along till he came to the place; and tossing down his bag of soot at the foot of a tree, stood gazing at the cloaths of the young gentleman, and secretly wished he was but as happy. He beckoned to his companion, who sat at a little distance gnawing a stale crust, which he had received from the good-nature of a neighbouring farmer; and as he came forward, “Look, Jack,” said he, “what 11a fine coach that is, with those long tail nags: that boy is going to ride, I warrant; and yet he looks as sad as if he was one of us. I wonder what such fine folks can have to make them uneasy. If I was that boy, and had my belly-full, as he has, and such good cloaths to my back, and might ride in that same coach, I should be as happy as a king. O how I wish I was that boy!”

William turned round at this speech, and smiling at the chimney-sweeper, asked him his name? The poor fellow, with a scrape of his foot, which he meant as a bow of respect, told him, that his name was Tony Climbwell; and 12that he lived at the next village. “Well then, Tony,” replied William, “I would advise you not to envy every one you see; for I would willingly change places with you to enjoy your liberty. I am going back to school, Tony, after a month’s holidays; and if you knew how unhappy I am when there, you would pity my situation; and not envy the joys of it.”

The gentleman before-mentioned, had gone into the house to enquire for his lady, who was to complete the party, and convey his son to school. It was in this interval, that the following conversation passed between the two boys and the young gentleman.

13“Indeed, master,” replied Tony, “if we could change places, you would find you had made but a sorry choice. Our liberty, as you call it, is not to do as we like. To be sure, I am a very poor boy, and have had no learning; for I can neither read nor spell; but if I take it right, liberty means something such as to be your own master, don’t it? at least, I know when Simon Pennyless was sent to goal, people said, “That the next week he would be set at liberty;” and that was, that he was to be let out again. Now we go about every morning sweeping chimnies”——“And walk,” said William, interrupting him, “where you please all the 14rest of the day. At our school we have scarce any time for play, and are confined from six till eight, from nine till twelve, and from two till five o’clock, without any amusement whatever. Don’t tell me, therefore, Tony, that our life is not much more uncomfortable than your’s. Besides which, we have long tasks to learn after school-hours are over; and are thrashed, and scolded, if we cannot say them perfect;

and then to think it will be six months before I see my father and mother!”——William wept again; the thought was too pathetic for his feelings; and he drew his fore-finger across his left eye, and then stroaked it the contrary 15way, to wipe off the drops which stood trembling in his right.—“But I have no father or mother,” replied Tony, “nor a single soul in the world to care what becomes of me, except my mistress, who is the best woman that ever lived; and would give me some victuals if she could; but she dares not for her own sake; for her husband is so cruel, that he would beat her if she did. He makes us work hard; and starves us into the bargain. This poor fellow,” added he, pointing to his companion, “whom we call Little Shock, from his curling locks, is but six years old; and has been bound apprentice this twelvemonth; and I was 16no older myself when I first went to my master, which is near seven years ago; and I love the boy dearly, that I do, as much as if he was my own brother; and frequently do I get the broom thrown at my head, because I

do not beat him when he cries at going up a narrow chimney, or does not sweep it as he should do.” “But is not your master obliged to give you food enough?” said William. “Why don’t you complain to somebody? I would, if I was in your place.” “Ah! Sir,” replied the sooty-faced boy, “you talk like a gentleman, and know nothing of the matter. Whom would you have us complain to? And do not you think 17our master would use us much worse if we did? You wished just now to change places with us; but if you did, you would soon alter your mind.”

As he pronounced these last words, the carriage which had been waiting, drove to a little distance, to make way for another coach, which then arrived. It contained a very venerable looking old gentleman, whom William called his grandfather, and immediately left the chimney-sweepers to welcome; and with great expressions of joy, accompanied him into the house. They were met in the hall by the gentleman and lady before-mentioned, 18whom I shall call by the name of Sedley. After the usual compliments were over, and they had informed their father, Mr. Graves, of their intention to take William to school, he begged a reprieve for him for a few days, as he much wished to enjoy the pleasure of his company. A compliance with this request dissipated the sadness of William’s countenance; and he jumped about with a degree of vivacity that seemed to afford pleasure to all his friends.

Mr. Graves was one of those old men, whose features are always impressed with such marks of good-nature as are pleasing to 19the volatile spirits of youth. Though he was turned of eighty, he would sometimes partake in the diversions of his grandson; and while his instructions commanded respect, his mildness and affability excited the warmest affection. When he had taken his afternoon’s nap in an easy chair, which was placed in one corner of the room for that purpose, he got up, and after shaking his cloaths, stroaking down his ruffles, and adjusting his wig, asked William if he was disposed for a walk.

They sallied out together, the invitation being willingly accepted. The good man taking his 20stick in one hand, and resting the other on the shoulder of his young companion, enquired whether he had had any conversation with the black boys, with whom, at his arrival, he had found him engaged. William repeated the substance of what had passed; and concluded with saying, “He believed he was happier than honest Tony, though it must almost counterbalance all his sufferings to be exempted from the constant uneasiness of learning a task.” “I am sorry,” replied Mr. Graves, “that you have formed such a wrong estimate of your situation in life; and I should have expected, that the striking incident of this 21morning, would have taught you to be contented and thankful with the real happiness of your lot. Though I am a very old man, William, I have not forgotten what were my own troubles at your time of life. Study I often found to be irksome, and confinement the heaviest of all evils; and therefore, I shall not preach to you, that you will never in future be so happy as you

now are; because, if you feel yourself to be otherwise, you will pay little attention to such an assurance: but thus much I will say, and hope you will credit my experience, that all the uneasiness you complain of, may be mitigated, if not entirely overcome, 22by your own diligence and resolution. It is by idleness and neglect, that your difficulties are encreased. The more disagreeable you find your studies, the more you are disposed to postpone the necessary attention which they require. But this, my dear boy, is a very wrong method. The beginning of every attempt will always be irksome; but those who are too indolent to bestow a continued degree of care and assiduity, will never arrive at perfection. My William cannot be destitute of emulation; if he sees others excel, he must wish to equal their attainments. It is the meanest of human minds, that will envy another’s merit; but 23the noblest disposition will endeavour to improve by a good example. Every state has its troubles. When you leave school, the same cares will not perplex you, but others equally severe

may arise, which now you are unacquainted with. Have you not oftentimes been taught, that every period of life has its particular duties; and the duty of your age and station is to attend to the instructions of your masters, and to learn what they desire you, when they require it with cheerfulness?” “Then surely, Sir,” replied William, “Tony is in a happier state than I am, since he has no tasks to get by heart; and his duty of sweeping 24a chimney is easily performed. I should like to sweep a chimney of all things.” “Perhaps you might,” returned his grandfather. “Any thing will give us pleasure when we do it for amusement; but should you like to have the broom thrown at your head when you had done? or should you enjoy going without your meals, and strolling about in all weathers to beg from strangers the miserable supply to your hunger? It is very wrong to wish for a change of situation with any one, since none can be acquainted with the secret uneasiness of his neighbour’s mind. Tony had some reason indeed to wish for your station in life;

25but even he would have been deceived; for had he made the exchange, and been possessed of your inclinations with your fortune, he would still have found himself disappointed; since you esteemed yourself at that moment as the most unhappy being, in the necessity of returning to school, and was prevented by the error of your desires from any enjoyment of your superior advantages. This is a useful lesson, my child, to teach you contentment; for, believe me, though trials and temptations of the poor, are in most cases stronger than you can any ways imagine, if you are inclined, by a love of play, to leave your studies, and desert your 26duty, reflect how often they may be tempted to steal from others those necessary comforts of which they stand in need; and how much they are exposed to the danger of becoming wicked from the example of others and their own ignorance! I should like to see your new chimney-sweeper acquaintance,” continued Mr. Graves, “and though I do not approve of your mixing with such companions, I think you should not have left him without relieving

his wants: perhaps he might have been very hungry, and has not had a good dinner since, as you have, to satisfy his appetite.”

27William was backward and somewhat stupid at his learning, but he wanted not sense; and his tenderness and good-nature were uncommon.

“Poor fellow,” said he, “your arrival, and the joy of seeing you, made me forget him; but I will find out where he lives, and do all I can to make amends for my forgetfulness.—Dear Sir, will you go with me? it is not a long way; we are now in sight of the village.” “Though the distance is not very great,” replied Mr. Graves, “yet the winding path, which leads to it, is farther than I can reach without fatigue. I will therefore rest myself 28upon the stump of this tree, and shall be entertained in your absence with the prospect of the country: the view of which, from this eminence, is delightful.”

William set off, with a degree of swiftness that promised a speedy return; but he had not proceeded far, when he was met by a Jew, who sold trinkets of various sorts; as buttons, watch-chains, pencils, and such like things. He offered his wares to William, who at first refused to purchase them; but the man telling him he might as well look at, if he did not buy them; he was tempted to ask the price of an ivory bilberkit, for which he 29paid a shilling. A small looking-glass, was a thing he had long wished for; and as that was the same expence, he debated for a considerable time before he could determine which of the two to make choice of. One moment he began, to play with the toy, and the next surveyed himself in the glass. Alternatively taking them up and laying them down, till the owner, who saw his eagerness for both, persuaded him to have them.

He was walking slowly on, with his purchase in his hand, when a butcher’s boy, and a lad who was driving some cows from the field to be milked, overtook 30him with a nest of blackbirds, in which were four young ones. William asked what they would take for their prize? which they at first refused to sell; but afterwards said, he should have it for a shilling. He objected that it was too much; and taking out his money, found that he had only half a guinea, which had been given him to take to school, and which, therefore, he did not chuse to change, and nine-pence half-penny, for which the boys agreed at last he should have the blackbirds.

Once more then he proceeded in his journey to look for Tony. He soon found the house, and his 31black acquaintance with a young child, whom he was teaching to walk. They renewed their intimacy, and William told him the design of his visit; but coloured with confusion when he recollected the situation of his money, which he had never thought of when he was making his bargains. He did not at all like to own the true state of the case, nor did he know what method to pursue. He wished to keep his gold for many reasons, and he had beside, neither silver nor copper. His conscience urged him to give Tony something; but he had pleased himself greatly with the thought of having a half-guinea in his pocket, which he 32could call his own. His sensibility represented the wants of the orphan boy but the pride of having a piece of gold in his possession, overcame every consideration of pity. “If you will call to-morrow at our house, Tony,” said he, “you shall have some bread and meat.—Good bye, I cannot stay any longer!” And away he went, with the uneasy consciousness of having behaved

wrong.

He was on his return to his grandfather, when Jeffery Squander and his sister, who were taking a walk, met him as he was crossing by the end of a lane. They had stopped to buy some 33plum-cakes of a man with one leg, who made it his business to carry them about. Jeffery and William were neighbours and school-fellows, and immediately saluted each other; the former inciting the other to follow his example. He refused at first, because he had no money; but was very unwilling to make known his real reason. Upon being pressed still farther, he said, “he had nothing but gold about him, which he supposed Jonathan, the cake man, could not give him change for, otherwise he should be glad to eat some.” Jonathan felt in a leathern bag, which was fastened before him, and divided in the middle to 34hold silver and halfpence, and said, “he had money enough for the purpose.” William was sadly disappointed; but as he could urge no farther objection, gave up his dear half-guinea with regret, and eat three plum-cakes with a worse appetite than usual.

Mr. Graves, in the mean time, had walked onward in quest of his grandson, whose stay began to give him some uneasiness. He came up with him just as he was finishing his last mouthful, and gently blamed him for the length of his absence, at the same time inviting his companions to join him, and to return to Mr. Sedley’s. They politely 35declined his offer, as they were engaged to spend the evening with an uncle.

As soon as they had taken leave, Mr. Graves enquired after the success of William’s visit. “You made me quite uneasy,” said he, “I hope you have done a great deal of good. How much did you give honest Tony? or had you as much money as you wanted? I forgot to make that enquiry, you set off in such a hurry.”—William blushed, hung down his head, slackened his pace, and slunk behind his grandfather in silent confusion.—Mr. Graves turned round, and taking his hand, “What has happened, 36my boy,” said he, “to cover that open countenance with the suspicious appearance of guilt? Or do I injure you, my noble child, and is it only the blush of your modesty at the enquiry of your generosity?” “Indeed, Sir,” said William, “I feel the keenness of your reproof. But if my honesty in confessing can excuse my fault, you shall be acquainted with the whole truth. I went from you with a full design to relieve poor Tony; but I soon overtook a Jew pedlar, and I was so weak as to spend my money in the purchase of this glass, and that bilberkit. Nine-pence I had still left; and

nine-pence would have been something 37for the chimney-sweeper; but this bird’s nest which I have in my handkerchief, I am ashamed of myself, Sir, but I gave that to the boys for the birds.” “And was that all your money?” said Mr. Graves. “Did you not pay for the cakes you were eating?” “Yes, Sir,” replied William. “Then why had you nothing for the boy?” again enquired his grandfather. “Because,” returned William, blushing still more, “I did not like to change half a guinea: nor should I have done it, had not Squander seemed to think it mean of me, and I was afraid he would laugh at my stinginess when we return to school: for he has always so 38much money, that he does not care how much he spends.” “The frankness of your acknowledgment,” replied Mr. Graves, “must entirely shield you from reproof; and you seem to be so sensible of your error, that I need not, perhaps, point it out with any further aggravations. I would not tire you with my advice, and yet I feel such an interest in your happiness, as makes me wish to observe the improvement which