The Friends (Illustrated)

In one of the pleasant villages in the beautiful county of Kent, was situated a boarding-school of considerable celebrity. It had, for many years, been distinguished for possessing an excellent master, in the person of the Rev. Dr. Harris, who, by his amiable manners and sound knowledge, had obtained the friendship of the surrounding gentry; while his fatherly interest in behalf of the affairs of the poor, caused him to be universally beloved. He was curate of [4]the parish, as well as school-master; and his parishioners and scholars were alike the objects of his tender regard and anxious solicitude.

His family consisted of a wife and two daughters, who were equally respected by all who had the pleasure of their acquaintance. Mrs. Harris was, indeed, every way worthy of her amiable partner; and her greatest pleasure consisted in doing good. Although frequently herself in a very weak state of health; yet, neither the inclemency of the weather, nor the distance, deterred her from going, in person, to visit, to comfort, and to assist those of her fellow-creatures who were in distress. It was quite enough for her to know that any of her poorer neighbours were in want, to command her immediate aid; and, by thus setting them a good Christian example, she was better enabled [5]to assist her amiable husband in enforcing the mild and wholesome doctrines of religion.

Her lovely daughters, too, Juliana and Eliza, were of sufficient ages to be her companions in these charitable visits; and their hearts panted for the power to do good, and longed to receive and to deserve such blessings as were bestowed, with grateful lips, upon their beloved mother, whenever she passed the cottages of the poor. They pitied their wants and sufferings, and participated and rejoiced in their happiness; and frequently expressed a desire for riches, to enable them to relieve their misfortunes. Upon such occasions, Mrs. Harris never failed to impress upon their young minds this valuable truth: that wealth does not always afford the best means of doing good. She used to say, that those children who sincerely wish to do an [6]act of charity, seldom want the means of doing something to relieve the necessities and soothe the afflictions of those who are pining in wretchedness; for even a kind consoling word, with a very little personal attention, was often esteemed more valuable, and even proved to be more useful, than money, to those whose spirits as well as bodies were pressed down by distress. Added to this advice, this excellent lady seldom let an opportunity pass of enforcing the most strict and pious attention to their religious duties. Her motto was:

"Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see:
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me."
The school was at the extremity of the village, and attached to the parsonage-house. [7]The situation was retired and beautiful. At a little distance stood the village church, in all its ancient simplicity, except that it had, for some years, been nearly covered with ivy; the most pleasing decoration that it is possible for Nature to bestow upon a country place of worship. Its green and glossy leaf, whether viewed by the soft glow of moon-light, or by the broad glare of sun-shine, is always an object of admiration.

The number of scholars was about forty; and in this, as in other schools, boys of various dispositions were to be found. Some possessed all the good temper and vivacity that could be wished; and their faults were seldom of so serious a nature as to demand more than a slight reproof: while others were morose, passionate, envious, and disobliging; imposing upon their [8]younger school-fellows at every opportunity, and perplexing those of their own age by frequent interruptions in their sports and lessons.

Amongst the number of those who were generally beloved by their school-fellows, were Henry Wardour and George Harrington, the sons of two respectable tradesmen, who were partners in a very lucrative business in London. George had been so unfortunate as to lose his mamma when he was scarcely five years of age; and as he was the only child, Mrs. Wardour, who had always entertained great esteem for his parents, requested of his papa to allow her the pleasure of instructing him with her son Henry. To an offer so kind and advantageous, Mr. Harrington could have no objection; but fearing that the task would become irksome, and be too great an exertion for his [9]friend, he endeavoured to persuade her from her purpose; when she replied: "The trouble, Sir, I beg you will not think about: it will be nothing. While teaching my own son, I shall feel a pleasure in imparting the same instruction to yours. Besides, I promised my dear friend Mrs. H. when on her death-bed, that I would be a parent to her son; therefore, Sir, I beg you will grant my request." Mr. Harrington consented,