I remember a circumstance of this sort, which Sir William Thompson told my father with tears in his eyes, and it is so affecting that I shall never forget it: STORY OF SIR WILLIAM THOMPSON. “When Sir William Thompson was in the plantation abroad, one of his friends told him he had an indentured servant whom he had just bought, that was his countryman and a lusty man; ‘but he is so idle,’ says he, ‘that I cannot get him to work.’ ‘Aye,’ says Sir William, ‘let me see him.’ Accordingly they walked out together and found the man sitting on a heap of stones. Upon this Sir William, after enquiring about his country, asked why he did not go out to work. ‘I am not able,’ answered the man. ‘Not able?’ says Sir William, ‘I am sure you look very well; give him a few stripes.’ Upon this the planter struck him several times, but the poor man still kept his seat. “Then they left him to look over the plantation, exclaiming against his obstinacy all the way they went; but how surprised were they, on their return, to find the poor man fallen from off the place where he had been sitting, and dead! ‘The cruelty,’ says Sir William, ‘of my ordering the poor man to be beaten while in the agonies of death lies always next my heart. It is what I shall never forget, and will for ever prevent my judging rashly of people who appear in distress. How do we know what our children may come to? The Lord have mercy upon the poor, and defend them from the proud, the inconsiderate, and the avaricious.’” But we return to Whittington: who would have lived happy in this worthy family had he not been bumped about by the cross cook, who must be always roasting or basting, and when the spit was still employed her hands upon poor Whittington! ’till Miss Alice, his master’s daughter, was informed of it, and then she took compassion on the poor boy, and made the servants treat him kindly. Besides the crossness of the cook, Whittington had another difficulty to get over before he could be happy. He had, by order of his master, a flock-bed placed for him in a garret, where there were such a number of rats and mice that often ran over the poor boy’s nose and disturbed him in his sleep. After some time, however, a gentleman, who came to his master’s house, gave Whittington a penny for brushing his shoes. This he put into his pocket, being determined to lay it out to the best advantage; and the next day, seeing a woman in the street with a cat under her arm, he ran up to know the price of it. The woman (as the cat was a good mouser) asked a deal of money for it, but on Whittington’s telling her he had but a penny in the world, and that he wanted a cat sadly, she let him have it. This cat Whittington concealed in the garret, for fear she should be beat about by his mortal enemy the cook, and here she soon killed or frightened away the rats and mice, so that the poor boy could now sleep as sound as a top.