and, with the greatest dexterity, climbing over the pales, these wicked boys safely descended into Mrs. Shirley’s meadow.

When there, they raced the pony, and stoned the geese, till they flew screaming into a large pond in the middle of the field, in what they called a very diverting manner.

Josiah was busy working in the garden (in the cultivation of which he spent most of his leisure hours), when the general outcry from the poultry reached his ears; and, too well acquainted with the cause of their disquiet, he threw down his spade, and ran to the scene of action; and arrived just time enough to save the plumage of a hapless peacock from being entirely demolished in their cruel hands.

“George and William Hope,” said Josiah, mildly addressing himself to the intruders, “desist from such unmanly sport, and leave these poor creatures in the quiet possession of the field.”

This speech was received with loud peals of laughter by the young gentlemen; and George, with mock gravity, replied—

“Verily, friend, you had better leave off preaching, and join our sport.”

“I never could derive any pleasure from cruelty,” returned Josiah. “Humanity forbids me to join in diversions like these: I would I could persuade George Hope to renounce such practices.”

“So you will not play with us,” said George: “and you have the impudence to insult us, with what you term your good advice. Pray, Mr. Consequence, do you remember to whom you are speaking?”

“Perfectly well,” replied Josiah: “I fear I am wasting my words on the sons of a very good man; I wish, for his sake, they were more like their father.”

Enraged at this speech, George darted forward, and struck Josiah such a violent blow on the head, that it knocked him down; and the spiteful boy was in the act of repeating it, when he was suddenly caught from behind, and thrown with fury to the earth.

A large Newfoundland dog, belonging to Shirley, had followed his master to the field; and, seeing him ill-treated, had thus revenged the insult, with tenfold interest; and, keeping his captive fast down to the ground, continued to growl over him in a frightful manner.

William Hope, who wanted much of the audacity of George, fled terrified towards his own home: when the geese, willing to be revenged in their turn, followed, hissing and screaming at his heels, beating him with their broad beaks and wings; whilst the prostrate George called out in a tone of agony:—

“Josiah, my good fellow, call off your dog, or he will certainly kill me!”

“I find other bodies are as little proof against pain as the poor animals they just now so wantonly tormented,” said Josiah, as he raised the crest-fallen George from the ground.

“Remember, George, this lesson for the future; and, when inflicting pain on these helpless creatures, who are too weak to resist our power, be assured that God hears their cries, and will avenge their sufferings on all those who inhumanly delight in their agony.”

He paused, expecting George to make some answer; but the sullen boy hung down his head in obstinate silence; whilst Josiah, still hoping to convince him of the error of his ways, continued:—

“George, I once more entreat thee to take my advice: forsake these idle pursuits, which must end in shame and misery; whilst every effort made towards self-improvement will be crowned with the blessings and esteem of a worthy parent, and the approval of thine own conscience.

“I here freely forgive the injury I just now received, and will be thy friend if thou wilt firmly resolve to renounce such evil courses.”

The noble boy held out his hand as he finished speaking; but George, unable to conquer his false feeling of pride, rudely dashed back the proffered gift, and slowly and sullenly returned to his father’s mansion.

When Mrs. Shirley was informed, by her grandson, of what had passed in the meadow, she wrote a letter to Mr. Hope, couched in the mildest terms, merely requesting him to keep his sons from trespassing in her field for the future, as they insulted her grandson, and ill-used her property.

Mr. Hope was so much displeased at this fresh outrage, that, ordering the culprits into his presence, he not only told them sternly of their fault, but desired his butler to give them the most severe chastisement they had ever received before; the recollection of which, he hoped, would induce them to keep at home for the future.

Now George laid their present correction entirely on Josiah Shirley; and, as the injurer is always the most implacable, because generally in the wrong, he determined to requite the stripes he had received on the unoffending young Quaker.

Full of these unworthy resolutions, the moment he was released from confinement, he went into the stables to consult with a young man, whom his father employed as an under groom; and of whom his thoughtless sons had made a confidant and companion.

As he entered the stables, he was thus accosted by Daniel Simpson:—

“So, Master George, I hear you have been flogged. Nat Smith told me the Squire was in a terrible passion, and ordered him not to spare the whip: how came it all about?”

“Would you believe it, Dan, that spiteful young Quaker informed my father of our frolic,” said George, reddening with passion.

“Well, do not look so crest-fallen; I think it will be very strange if we cannot match the tell-tale, Master George.”

“Simpson, if you will but lend me your assistance to chastise him as he deserves,” said George, “I will give you that new half-sovereign Papa presented me last week.”

“Show me the money first,” returned Dan, “and then I will tell you what is to be done in the case.”

“Well, there it is,” said George, putting the money into Simpson’s hand. “If you can find out a sure method to punish young Shirley, and revenge my present disgrace, you shall have no reason to call me a bad paymaster.”

He looked anxiously up in the groom’s sordid countenance, as he finished speaking; but the stable-helper remained provokingly silent, twirling his hat in his hand, till George, losing all patience, pulled him hastily by the sleeve.

“Had I been as long in giving you my money, as you are in bestowing your advice, I should have been something in pocket.”

“Nay, Master George, if you give yourself any airs,” replied Dan, with a sneer, “I will keep the cash, and tell your Papa of your frolics; and I suppose you would not vastly relish that.”

The burning blush of shame, for a few moments, suffused the countenance of the misguided youth; he bit his lips, and remained for some time silent, till, fearing that Simpson would realize his threat, he used the most abject submission, to hinder him from betraying his wicked schemes to his father; nor would the artful servant pacify his apprehensions, till he had succeeded in frightening him out of every sixpence of pocket-money he was worth.

“Well, Master George,” said the groom, “I have hit upon a notable piece of mischief; but I cannot put it into execution without your assistance.”

“You shall certainly have that, Simpson; but tell me first what your plan is?”

“Young Prim is very fond of his garden,” replied the groom; “and lays out all his money in fine shrubs to ornament his favourite spot of ground. The other day, as I was passing the pales, I stopped to watch him at work; the young prig thought, forsooth, that I was