THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 

 
 THE 
 
 SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN, 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 BY 
 
 HANNAH MORE 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET. 
 
 1850.
 
 STERKOTYI'F.I) BY PRINTED I1Y 
 
 Thomas B. Smith, Geo. Russell & Cc 
 
 82 4 84 Btvkman Street. i, ekman St.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 +~*~* 
 
 %xh$ for tire Cfliinon ffflpl*. 
 
 Pagb 
 
 The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain 1 
 
 The Two Shoemakers 41 
 
 The History of Tom: "White, the Post Boy 119 
 
 The Sunday School 152 
 
 The History of Hester Wllmot, being the sequel to 
 
 the Sunday School 1G6 
 
 The History of Betty Brown, the St. Giles's Orange 
 Girl ; with some account of Mrs. Sponge, the Money- 
 lender 191 
 
 Black Giles the Poacher; containing some account of 
 a family who n,\D rather live by their wits than 
 
 TnEiR work 204 
 
 Tawney Rachel, or the Fortcxe-Teller; with some 
 account of Dreams, Omens, and Conjurers 230 
 
 6311:
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Status far firffKJ 0f 1UH.U $xil. 
 
 Pagb 
 
 The History op Mr. Faxtom (the new-fashioned Phi- 
 losopher), and his man William 245 
 
 The Two "Wealthy Farmers; or the History of Mr. 
 Bragwell i 2 176 
 
 'TlS ALL FOR THE BEST 387 
 
 A Cure for Melancholy 405 
 
 gjtlleprns. 
 
 The Pilgrims 423 
 
 The Valley of Tears 437 
 
 The Strait Gate and the Broad "Way 444 
 
 Parley the Porter , *. 456 
 
 The Grand Assizes; or General Jail Delivery 470 
 
 The Servant Man turned Soldiee, or the Fair-weather 
 Christian 479
 
 ' TALES 
 
 FOE THE COMMON PEOPLE. 
 
 " Religion is for the man in humble life, and to raise his 
 nature, and to put him in mind of a state in which the privileges 
 of opulence will cease, when he will be equal by nature, and may 
 be more than equal by virtue." — Burke on the French Revolution.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 To improve the habits, and raise the principles of the common 
 people, at a time when their dangers and temptations, moral and 
 political, were multiplied beyond the example of any former 
 period, was the motive which impelled the author of these volumes 
 to devise and prosecute the institution of the " Cheap Repository." 
 This plan was established with an humble wish not only to coun- 
 teract vice and profligacy on the one hand, but error, discontent, 
 and false religion on the other. And as an appetite for reading 
 had, from a variety of causes, been increased among the inferior 
 ranks in this country, it was judged expedient, at this critical 
 period, to supply such wholesome aliment as might give a new 
 direction to their taste, and abate their relish for those corrupt 
 and inflammatory publications which the consequences of the 
 French Revolution have been so fatally pouring in upon us. 
 
 The success of the plan exceeded the most sanguine expecta- 
 tions of its projector. Above two millions of the tracts were sold 
 within the first year, besides very large numbers in Ireland ; and 
 they continue to be very extensively circulated, in their original 
 form of single tracts, as well as in three bound volun 
 
 As these stories, though principally, are not calculated exclusively 
 for the middle and lower classes of society, the author has, at the 
 desire of her friends, selected those which were written by herself 
 and presented them to the public in this collection of her works, 
 in an enlarged and improved form. •
 
 THE 
 
 SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PUIN. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, a very worthy charitable gentleman, was 
 traveling some time ago across one of those vast plains which 
 are well known in Wiltshire. It was a fine summer's even- 
 ing, and he rode slowly that he might have leisure to ad- 
 mire God in the works of his creation. For this gentleman 
 was of opinion, that a walk or a ride was as proper a time 
 as any to think about good things : for which reason, on 
 such occasions he seldom thought so much about his money 
 or his trade, or public news, as at other times, that he might 
 with more ease and satisfaction enjoy the pious thoughts 
 which the wonderful works of the great Maker of heaven 
 and earth are intended to raise in the mind. 
 
 As this serene contemplation of the visible heavens in- 
 sensibly lifted up his mind from the works of God in nature 
 to the same God as he is seen in revelation, it occurred 
 to him that this very connexion was clearly intimated by 
 the royal prophet in the nineteenth Psalm — that most 
 beautiful description of the greatness and power of God ex- 
 hibited in the former part, plainly seeming intended to intro- 
 duce, illustrate, and unfold the operations of the word and 
 Spirit of God on the heart in the latter. And he began to run 
 a parallel in his own mind between the effects of that highly 
 poetical and glowing picture of the material sun in search- 
 ing and warming the earth, in the first six verses, and the
 
 8 THES HEP HERD 
 
 spiritual operation attributed to the " law of God," which fills 
 up the remaining part of the Psalm. And he persuaded 
 himself that the divine Spirit which dictated this fine hymn, 
 had left it as a kind of general intimation lo what use we 
 were to convert our admiration of created things ; namely, 
 that we might be led by a sight of them to raise our views 
 from the kingdom of nature to that of grace, and that the 
 contemplation of God in his works might draw us to con- 
 template him in his word. 
 
 In the midst of these reflections, Mr. Johnson's attention 
 was all of a sudden called off by the barking of a shepherd's 
 dog, and looking up, he spied one of those little huts which 
 are here and there to be seen on those great downs ; and 
 near it was the shepherd himself busily employed with his 
 dog in collecting together his vast flock of sheep. As he 
 drew nearer, he perceived him to be a clean, welldooking, 
 poor man, near fifty years of age. His coat, though at first 
 it had probably been of one dark color, had been in a long 
 course of years so often patched with different sorts of cloth, 
 that it was now become hard to say which had been the 
 original color. But this, while it gave a plain proof of 
 the shepherd's poverty, equally proved the exceeding neat- 
 ness, industry, and good management of his wife. His 
 stockings no less proved her good housewifery, for they 
 were entirely covered with dams of different colored worst- 
 eds, but had not a hole in them ; and his shirt, though 
 nearly as coarse as the sails of a ship, was as white as the 
 drifted snow, and was neatly mended where time had either 
 made a rent, or worn it thin. This furnishes a rule of judg- 
 * n g» hy which one shall seldom be deceived. If I meet 
 with a laborer, hedging, ditching, or mending the high- 
 ways, with his stockings and shirt tight and whole, how- 
 ever mean and bad his other garments are, I have seldom 
 failed, on visiting his cottage, to find that also clean and
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 9 
 
 * 
 
 well ordered, and his wife notable, and worthy of encourage- 
 ment. Whereas, a poor woman, who will be lying a-bed, 
 or gossiping with her neighbors when she ought to be fit- 
 ting out her husband in a cleanly manner, will seldom be 
 found to be very good in other respects. 
 
 This was not the case with our shepherd : and Mr. John- 
 son was not more struck with the decency of his mean and 
 frugal dress, than with his open honest countenance, which 
 bore strong marks of health, cheerfulness, and spirit. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, who was on a journey, and somewhat fear- 
 ful from the appearance of the sky, that rain was at no great 
 distance, accosted the shepherd with asking what sort of 
 weather he thought it would be on the morrow. " It will 
 be such weather as pleases me," answered the shepherd. 
 Though the answer was delivered in the mildest and most 
 civil tone that could be imagined, the ereutleman thought 
 the words themselves rather rude and surly, and asked him 
 how that could be. " Because," replied the shepherd, "it 
 will be such weather as shall please God, and whatever 
 pleases him always pleases me." 
 
 Mr. Johnson, who delighted in good men and good things, 
 was very well satisfied with his reply. For he justly thought 
 that though a hypocrite may easily contrive to appear bet- 
 ter than he really is to a stranger ; and that no one should 
 be too soon trusted, merely for having a few good words in 
 his mouth ; yet as he knew that out of the abundance of 
 the heart the mouth speaketh, he always accustomed him- 
 self to judge favorably of those who had a serious deport- 
 ment and solid manner of speaking. It looks as if it pro- 
 '■■ eded from a good habit, said he, and though I may now 
 and then be deceive 1 by it, yet it has not often happened to 
 me to be so. Whereas if a man accosts me with an idle, 
 dissolute, vulgar, indecent, or profane expression, I have 
 never been deceived in him, but have generally on inquiry, 
 
 1*
 
 10 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 found his character to be as bad as his language gave me 
 room to expect. 
 
 Ee entered into conversation with the shepherd in the 
 following manner : " Yours is a troublesome life, honest 
 friend," said he. " To be sure, sir," replied the shepherd, 
 " 'tis not a very lazy life ; but 'tis not near so toilsome as 
 that which my Great Master led for my sake ; and he 
 had every state and condition of life at his choice, and chose 
 a hard one ; while I only submit to the lot that is appoint- 
 ed to me." " You are exposed to great cold and heat," said 
 the gentleman. " True, sir," said the shepherd ; " but then 
 I am not exposed to great temptations ; and so, throwing 
 one thing against another, God is pleased to contrive to 
 make things more equal than we poor, ignorant, short- 
 sighted creatures, are apt to think. David was happier 
 when he kept his father's sheep on such a plain as this, and 
 employed in singing some of his own Psalms perhaps, than 
 ever he was when he became king of Israel and Judah. 
 And I dare say we should never have had some of the most 
 beautiful texts in all those fine Psalms, if he had not been 
 a shepherd, which enabled him to make so many fine com- 
 parisons and similitudes, as one may say, from country life, 
 flocks of sheep, hills, and valleys, fields of corn, and fount- 
 ains of water." 
 
 " You think, then," said the gentleman, " that a laborious 
 life is a happy one." "I do, sir; and more so especially, 
 as it exposes a man to fewer sins. If king Saul had con 
 tinuei a poor laborious man to the end of his days, he might 
 have lived happy and honest, and died a natural death in 
 his bed at last, which you know, sir, was more than he did. 
 But I speak with reverence, for it was divine Providence 
 overruled all that, you know, sir, and I do not presume to 
 make comparisons. Besides, sir, my employment has been 
 particularly honored : Moses was a shepherd on the plains of
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 11 
 
 Midian. It was to ' shepherds keeping their flocks by night,' 
 that the angels^appeared in Bethlehem, to tell the best news, 
 the gladdest tidings, that ever were revealed to poor sinful 
 men ; often and often has the thought warmed my poor 
 heart in the coldest night, and filled me with more joy and 
 thankfulness than the best supper could have done." 
 
 Here the shepherd stopped, for he began to feel that he 
 had made too free, and talked too long. But Mr. Johnson 
 was so well pleased with what he said, and with the cheer- 
 ful contented manner in which he said it, that he desired 
 him to go on freely, for it was a pleasure to him to meet 
 with a plain man, who, without any kind of learning but 
 what he had got from the Bible, was able to talk so well on 
 a subject in which all men, high and low, rich and poor, 
 are equally concerned. 
 
 " Indeed I am afraid I make too bold, sir, for it better 
 becomes me to listen to such a gentleman as you seem to 
 be, than to talk in my poor way : but as I was saying, sir, 
 I wonder all working men do not derive as great joy and 
 delight as I do from thinking how God has honored pover- 
 ty ! Oh ! sir, what great, or rich, or mighty men have had 
 such honor put on them, or their condition, as shepherds, 
 tentmakers, fishermen, and carpenters have had ! Besides, 
 it seems as if God honored industry also. The way of duty 
 is not only the way of safety, but it is remarkable how many, 
 in the exercise of the common duties of their calling, hum- 
 bly and rightly performed, as we may suppose, have found 
 honors, preferment, and blessing: while it does not occur 
 to me that the whole sacred volume presents a single in- 
 stance of a like blessing conferred on idleness. Rebekah, 
 Rachel, and Jethro's daughters, were diligently employed 
 iu the lowest occupations of a country life, when Providence, 
 by means of those very occupations, raised them up hus- 
 bands so famous in history, as Isaac, Jacob, and the prophet
 
 »* 
 
 12 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 Moses. The shepherds were neither playing, nor sleeping, 
 but ' watching their flocks,' when they received the news of 
 a Saviour's birth ; and the woman of Samaria, by the labor- 
 ious office of drawing water, was brought to the knowledge 
 of him who gave her to drink of ' living water.' " 
 
 " My honest friend," said the gentleman, " I perceive you 
 are well acquainted with Scripture." " Yes, sir, pretty well, 
 blessed be God ! Through his mercy I learned to read when 
 I was a little boy ; though reading was not so common 
 when I was a child, as, I am told, through the goodness of 
 Providence and the generosity of the rich, it is likely to 
 become now-a-days. I believe there is no day, for the last 
 thirty years, that I have not peeped at my Bible. If we 
 can't find time to read a chapter, I defy any man to say he 
 can't find time to read a verse ; and a single text, sir, well 
 followed, and put in practice every day, would m ike no bad 
 figure at the year's end : three hundred and sixty -five texts, 
 without the loss of a moment's time, would make a pretty 
 stock, a little golden treasury, as one may say, from new- 
 year's day to new-year's day ; and if children were brought 
 up to it, they would come to look for their text as naturally 
 as they do for their breakfast. No laboring man, 'tis true, 
 has so much leisure as a shepherd, for while the flock is 
 feeding I am obliged to be still, and at such times 1 can 
 now and then tap a shoe for my children or myself, which 
 is a great saving to us, and while I am doing that I repeat 
 a chapter or a Psalm, which makes the time pass pleasantlv 
 in this wild solitary place. I can say the best part of the 
 New Testament by heart : I believe I should not say the 
 best part, for every part is good, but I mean the greatest 
 part. I have led but a lonely life, and have often had but 
 little to eat, but my Bible has been meat, drink, and com- 
 pany to me, as I may say, and when want and trouble have 
 come upon me, I don't know what I should have done in
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 13 
 
 deed, sir, if I had not had the promises of this book for my 
 stay and support." 
 
 " You have had great difficulties then?" said Mr. Johnson. 
 " Why, as to that, sir, not more than neighbors' fare ; I have 
 hut little cause to complain, and much to be thankful ; but 
 1 have had some little struggles, as I will leave you to judge. 
 I have a wife and eight children, whom I bred up in that 
 little cottage which you see under the hill, about half a mile 
 off." " What, that with the smoke coming out of the 
 chimney i" said the gentleman. " Oh no, sir," replied the 
 shepherd, smiling, " we have seldom smoke in the evening, 
 for we have little to cook, and firing is very dear in these 
 parts. 'Tis that cottage which you see on the left hand of 
 the church, near that little tuft of hawthorns." "What, 
 that hovel with only one room above an 1 below, with 
 scarcely any chimney \ how is it possible that you can live 
 there with such a family?" "Oli, it is very possible, and 
 very certain too," cried the shepherd. " How many better 
 men have been worse lodged ! how many good Christians 
 have perished in prisons and dungeons, in comparison of 
 which my cottage is a palace ! The house is very well, 
 sir; and if the rain did not sometimes beat down upon us 
 through the thatch when we are a-bed, I should not desire 
 a better; for I have health, peace, and liberty, and no man 
 maketh me afraid." 
 
 " Well, I will certainly call on you before it be long ; but 
 how can you contrive to lodge so many children ?" " We 
 do the best we can, sir. My poor wife is a very sickly 
 woman, or we should always have done tolerably well. 
 There are no gentry in the parish, so that she has not met 
 with any great assistance in her sickness. The good curate 
 of the parish, who lives in that pretty parsonage in the. 
 valley, is very willing, but not very able to assist us on 
 these trying occasions, for he has little enough for himself,
 
 14 THE S-HEP HERD 
 
 and a large family into the bargain. Yet lie does what ho 
 can, and more than many other men do, and more than he 
 can well afford. Besides that, his prayers and good advice 
 we are always sure of, and we are truly thankful for that, 
 for a man must give, you know, sir, according to what he 
 hath, and not according to what he hath not." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Mr. Johnson, " that your difficulties 
 may sometimes lead you to repine." 
 
 "No, sir," replied the shepherd, "it pleases God to give 
 me two ways of bearing up under them. I pray that they 
 may be either removed or sanctified to me. Besides, if my 
 road be right, I am contented, though it be rough and un- 
 even. I do not, so much stagger at hardships in the right 
 way, as I dread a false security, and a hollow peace, while 
 I may be walking in a more smooth, but less safe way. 
 Besides, sir, I strengthen my faith by recollecting what the 
 best men have suffered, and my hope, with the view of the 
 shortness of all suffering. It is a good hint, sir, of the van- 
 ity of all earthly possessions, that though the whole Land of 
 Promise was his, yet the first bit of ground which Abraham, 
 the father of the faithful, got possession of, in the land of 
 Canaan, was a grave." 
 
 " Are you in any distress at present ?" said Mr. Johnson. 
 " No, sir, thank God," replied the shepherd, " I get my shil- 
 ling a-day, and most of my children will soon be able to 
 earn something ; for we have only three under five years 
 old.". " Only !" said the gentleman, " that is a heavy burden." 
 " Not at all ; God fits the back to it. Though my wife is 
 not able to do any out-of-door work, yet she breeds up our 
 children to such habits of industry, that our little maids, be- 
 fore they are six years old, can first get a half-penny, and 
 then a penny a day by knitting. The boys, who are too 
 little to do hard work, get a trifle by keeping the birds off 
 the corn ; for this the farmers will give them a penny or
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 15 
 
 two pence, and now and then a bit of bread and cheese in- 
 to the bargain. - When the season of crow-keeping is over, 
 then they glean or pick stones; any tiling is better than 
 idleness, sir, and if they did not get a farthing by it, I would 
 make l hem do it just the same, for the sake of giving them 
 early habits of labor. 
 
 " So you see^ sir, I am not so badly off as mauy are ; nay, 
 if it were not that it costs me so much iu 'pothecary's stuff 
 for my poor wife, I should reckon myself well off; nay I do 
 reckon myself well off, for blessed be God, he has granted 
 her life to my prayers, and I would work myself to a 'nato- 
 lny, and live on one meal a day, to add any comfort to her 
 valuable life ; indeed I have often done the last, and thought 
 it no great matter neither." 
 
 While they were in this part of the discourse, a fine 
 plump cherry- cheek little girl ran up out of breath, with a 
 smile on her young happy face, and without taking any 
 notice of the gentleman, cried out with great joy — "Look 
 here, father, only see how much I have got !" Mr. Johnson 
 was much struck with her simplicity, but puzzled to know 
 what was the occasion of this great joy. On looking at her 
 he perceived a small quantity of coarse wool, some of which 
 had found its way through the holes of her clean, but scanty 
 and ragged woolen apron. The father said, "This has been 
 a successful day indeed, Molly, but don't you see the gen- 
 tleman ?" Molly now made a courtesy down to the very 
 ground; while Mr. Johnson inquired into the cause of mu- 
 tual satisfaction which both father and daughter had ex- 
 pressed, at the unusual good fortune of the day. 
 
 " Sir," said the shepherd, " poverty is a great sharpener of 
 the wits. My wife and I can not endure to see our children 
 (poor as they are) without shoes and stockings nut only on 
 account of the pinching cold which cramps their poor Utile 
 limbs, but because it degrades and debascf them : and poor
 
 16 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 people who have but little regard to appearances, will seldom 
 be found to have any great regard for honesty and goodness ; I 
 don't say this is always the case ; but I am sure it is too often. 
 Now shoes and stockings being very dear, we could never 
 afford to get them without a little contrivance. I must 
 show you how I manage about the shoes when you conde- 
 scend to call at our cottage, sir ; as to stockings, this is one 
 way we take to help to get them. My young ones, who 
 are too little to do much work, sometimes wander at odd 
 hours over the hills for the chance of finding what little 
 wool the sheep may drop when they rub themselves, as they 
 are apt to do, against the bushes* These scattered bits of 
 wool the children pick out of the brambles, which I see 
 have torn sad holes in Molly's apron to-day; they cany this 
 wool home, and when they have got a pretty parcel together, 
 their mother cards it ; for she can sit and card in the chim- 
 ney corner, when she is not able to wash or work about the 
 house. The biggest girl then spins it ; it does very well for 
 us without dyeing, for poor people must not stand for the 
 color of their stockings. After this our little boys knit 
 it for themselves, while they are employed in keeping cows 
 in the fields, and after they get home at night. As for the 
 knitting which the girls and their mother do, that is chiefly 
 for sale, which helps to pay our rent." 
 
 Mr. Johnson lifted up his eyes in silent astonishment at the 
 shifts which honest poverty can make rather than beg or 
 steal ; and was surprised to think how many ways of sub- 
 sisting there are, which those who live at their ease little 
 suspect He secretly resolved to be more attentive to his 
 own petty expenses than he had hitherto been ; and to be 
 more watchful that nothing was wasted in his family. 
 
 * This piece of frugal industry is not imaginary, but a real fuel, 
 as is the character of the shepherd, and his uncommon knowledge 
 of the Scriptures.
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 17 
 
 But to return to the shepherd. Mr. Johnson told him 
 that as he must needs be at his" friend's house, who lived 
 many miles off, that night, he could not, as he wished to do, 
 make a visit to his cottage at present. " But I will certain- 
 ly do it," said he, " on my return, for I long to see your wife 
 and her nice little family, and to be an eye-witness of her 
 neatness and good management." The poor man's tears 
 started into his eyes on hearing the commendation bestowed 
 on his wife ; and wiping them off with the sleeve of his 
 coat, for he was not worth a handkerchief in the world, he 
 said, " Oh, sir, you just now, I am afraid, called me an hum- 
 ble man, but indeed I am a very proud one." " Proud !" 
 exclaimed Mr. Johnson, " I hope not. Pride is a great sin, 
 and as the poor are liable to it as well as the rich, so good 
 a man as you seem to be ought to guard against it," " Sir," 
 said he, " you're right, but I am not proud of myself, God 
 knows I have nothing to be proud of. I am a poor sinner; 
 but indeed, sir, I am proud of my wife : she is not only the 
 most tidy, notable woman on the plain, but she is the kind- 
 est wife and mother, and the most contented, thankful 
 Christian that I know. Last year I thought I should have 
 lost her in a violent fit of the rheumatism, caught by going 
 to work too soon after her lying-in, I fear ; for 'tis but a 
 bleak, coldish place, as you may see, sir, in winter, and 
 sometimes the snow lies so long under the hill, that I can 
 hardly make myself a path to get out and buy a few neces- 
 saries in the village ; and we are afraid to send out the 
 children, for fear they should be lost when the snow is deep. 
 So, as I was saving, ihe poor soul was very bad indeed, and 
 for several weeks lost the use of all her limbs except her 
 hands ; a merciful Providence spared her the use of these, 
 so that wlnii she could not turn in her beJ, she could con- 
 trive to patch a rag or two for her family. She was always 
 saying, had it not been for the great goodness of God, sho
 
 18 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 might have her hands lame as well as her feet, or the palsy 
 instead of the rheumatism, and then she could have done 
 nothing — but, nobody had so many mercies as she ha I. 
 
 "I will not tell you what we suffered during the bitter 
 weather, sir, but my wife's faith and patience during that 
 trying time, were as good a lesson to me as any sermon I 
 could hear, and yet Mr. Jenkins gave us very comfortable 
 ones too, that helped to keep up my spirits." 
 
 " I fear, shepherd," said Mr. Johnson, " you have found this 
 to be but a bad world." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the shepherd, " but it is governed by a 
 good God. And though my trials have now and then been 
 sharp, why then, sir, as the saying is, if the pain be violent, 
 it is seldom lasting, and if he but moderate, why then we 
 can bear it the longer, and when it is quite taken away, ease 
 is the more precious, and gratitude is quickened by the re- 
 membrance ; thus every way, and in every case, I can al- 
 ways find out a reason for vindicaling Providence." 
 
 " But," s.ii.l Mr. Johnson, " how do you do to support your- 
 self under the pressure of actual want. Is not, hunger a 
 great weakener of your faith ?" 
 
 "Sir," replied the shepherd, " I endeavor to live upon the 
 promises. You, who abound in the good things of this 
 world, are apt to set too high a value on them. Suppose, 
 sir, the king, seeing me at hard work, were to say to me, 
 that if I would patiently work on till Christmas, a fine 
 palace and a great estate should be the reward of my labors. 
 Do you think, sir, that a little hunger, or a little wet, would 
 make me flinch, when I was sure that a few months would 
 put me in possession! Should I not sav to myself frequent- 
 ly — cheer up, shepherd, 'tis but till Christmas ! Now is there 
 not much less difference between this supposed day and 
 Christmas, when I should take possession of the estate and 
 palace, than there is between time and eternity, when I am
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 19 
 
 sure of entering' on a kino-dorn not made with hands ? 
 There is some comparison between a moment and a thou- 
 sand years, because a thousand years are made up of mo- 
 ments, all time being made up. of the same sort of stuff, as 
 I may say ; while there is no sort of comparison between 
 the longest portion of time and eternity. You know, sir, 
 there is no way of measuring two things, one of which has 
 length and breadth, which shows it must have an end some- 
 where, and another thing, which being eternal, is without 
 end and without measure." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Johnson, " is not the fear of death some- 
 times too strong for your faith V 
 
 " Blessed be God, sir," replied the shepherd, " the dark pas- 
 sage through the valley of the shadow of death is made 
 safe by the power of him who conquered death. I know, 
 indeed, we shall go as naked out of this world as we came 
 into it, but an humble penitent will not be found naked in 
 the other world, sir. My Bible tells me of garments of 
 praise and robes of righteousness. And is it not a support, 
 sir, under any of the petty difficulties and distresses here, to 
 be assured by the word of him who can not lie, that those 
 who were in wdiite Tobes came out of tribulation ? But, 
 sir, T beg your pardon for being so talkative. Indeed you 
 great folks can hardly imagine how it raises and cheers a 
 poor man's heart when such as you condescend to talk fa- 
 miliarly to him on religious subjects. It seeirs to be a 
 practical comment on that text which says, the rich, and the 
 poor meet together, the Lord is the maker of them all. 
 And so far from creating disrespect, sir, and that nonsensi- 
 cal wicked notion about equality, it rather prevents i". But 
 to turn to my wife. One Sunday afternoon when she was 
 at the worst, as I was coining out of church, for I went one 
 part of the day, and my eldest daughter the other, so my poor 
 wife was never left alone ; as I was coming out of church,
 
 20 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 T say, Mr. Jenkins, the minister, called out to me and asked 
 me how my wife did, saying he had been kept from coming 
 to see her by the deep fall of snow, and indeed from the 
 parsonage-house to my hovel it was quite impassable. I 
 gave him all the particulars he asked, and I am afraid a 
 good many more, for my heart was quite full. He kindly 
 gave me a shilling, and said he would certainly try to pick 
 out his way and come and see her in a day or two. 
 
 " While he was talking to me a plain farmer-looking gen- 
 tleman in boots, who stood by listened to all T said, but 
 seemed to take no notice. It was Mr. Jenkins's wife's father, 
 who was come to pass the Christmas-holidays at the par- 
 sonage-house. I had always heard him spoken of as a plain 
 frugal man, who lived close himself, but was remarked to 
 give away more than any of his show-away neighbors. 
 
 " Well ! I went home with great spirits at this season- 
 able and unexpected supply ; for we had tapped our last six- 
 pence, and there was little work to be had on account of the 
 weather ; I told my wife I had not come back empty-handed. 
 ' No, I dare say not,' says she, ' you " have been serving a 
 master who filleth the hungry with good things, though he 
 sendeth the rich empty away.'' True, Mary, says I, we sel- 
 dom fail to get good spiritual food from Mr. Jenkins, but 
 to-day he has kindly supplied our bodily wants. She was 
 more thankful when I showed her the shilling, than, I dare 
 say, some of your great people are when they get a hun- 
 dred pounds." 
 
 Mr. Johnson's heart smote him when he heard such a 
 value set upon a shilling; surely, said he to himself, I will 
 never waste another ; but he said nothing to the shepherd, 
 who thus pursued his story : 
 
 " Next morning before I went out, I sent part of the mo- 
 ney to buy a little ale and brown sugar to put into her wa- 
 ter-gruel ; which you know, sir, made it nice and nourishing.
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 21 
 
 I went out to cleave wood in a farm-yard, for there was no 
 standing out on the plain, after such snow as had fallen in the 
 night. I went with a lighter heart than usual, because I 
 had left my poor wife a little better, and comfortably sup- 
 plied for this day, and I now resolved more than ever to trust 
 God for the supplies of the next. When I came back at 
 night, my wife fell a crying as soon as she saw me. This, 
 I own, I thought but a bad return for the blessings she had 
 so lately received, and so I told her, — ' Oh,' said she, ' it is 
 too much, we are too rich ; I am now frightened, not lest 
 we should have no portion in this world, but for fear we 
 should have our whole portion in it. Look here, John !' 
 So saying, she uncovered the bed whereon she lay, and 
 showed me two warm, thick, new blankets. I could not be- 
 lieve my own eyes, sir, because when I went out in the 
 morning, I had left her with no other coverinc? than our 
 little old thin blue rug. I was still more amazed when she 
 put half a crown into my hand, telling me, she had had a 
 visit from Mi 1 . Jenkins, and Mr. Jones, the latter of whom 
 had bestowed all these good things upon us. Thus, sir, 
 have our lives been crowned with mercies. My wife got 
 about again, and I do believe, under Providence, it was 
 owing to these comforts; for the rheumatism, sir, without 
 blankets by night, and flannel by day, is but a baddish job, 
 especially to people who have little or no fire. She will al- 
 ways be a weakly body ; but thank God her soul prospers 
 and is in health. But I beg your pardon, sir, for talking 
 on at this rate." " Not at all, uot at all," said Mr. Johnson ; 
 "I am much pleased with your story ; you shall certainly see 
 me in a few days. Good night." So saving, he slipped a 
 crown into his hand and rode off. Surely, said the shep- 
 herd, goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of 
 my life, as he gave the money to his wife when he got 
 home at night.
 
 22 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 As to Mr. Johnson, he found abundant matter for his 
 thoughts dining the rest of his journey. On the whole, he 
 was more disposed to envy than to pity the shepherd. I 
 have seldom seen, said he, so happy a man. It is a sort of 
 happiness which the world could not give, and which, I 
 plainly see, it has not been able to take away. This must 
 be the true spirit of religion. I see more and more, that 
 true goodness is not merely a thing of words and opinions, 
 but a living principle brought into every common action of 
 a man's life. What else could have supported this poor 
 couple under every bitter trial of want and sickness ? No, 
 my honest shepherd, I do not pity, but I respect and even 
 honor thee ; and I will visit thy poor hovel on my return to 
 Salisbury, with as much pleasure as I am now going to tho 
 house of my friend. 
 
 If Mr. Johnson keeps his word in sending me an account 
 of his visit to the shepherd's cottage, I will be very glad to 
 entertaiu my readers with it. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 I am willing to hope that my readers will not be sorry 
 to hear some further particulars of their old acquaintance, 
 the Shepherd of Salisbury Plain. They will call to mind 
 that at the end of the first part, he was returning home full 
 of gratitude for the favors he had received from Mr. Johnson, 
 whom we left pursuing his journey, after having promised 
 to make a visit to the shepherd's cottage. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, after having passed some time with his 
 friend, set out on his return to Salisbury, and on the Satur- 
 day evening reached a very small inn, a mile or two distant 
 from the shepherd's village ; for he never traveled on a
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 23 
 
 Sunday without such a reason as he might be able to pro- 
 duce at the day of judgment. He went the next morning 
 to the church nearest the house where he had passed the 
 night, and after taking such refreshment as he could get at 
 tha' house, he walked on to find out the shepherd's cottage. 
 His reason for visiting him on a Sunday was chiefly because 
 he supposed it to be the only day which the shepherd's em- 
 ployment allowed him to pass at home with his family ; and 
 as Mr. Johnson had been struck with his talk, he thought it 
 would be neither unpleasant nor unprofitable to observe how 
 a man who carried such an appearance of piety spent his 
 Sunday : for though he was so low in the world, this gen- 
 tleman was not above entering very closely into his char-, 
 acter, of which he thought he should be able to form a 
 better judgment, by seeing whether his practice at home 
 kept pace with his professions abroad : for it is not so much 
 by observing how people talk, as how they live, that we 
 ought to judge of their characters. 
 
 After a pleasant walk, Mr. Johnson got within sight of 
 the cottage, to which he was directed by the clump of haw- 
 thorns and the broken chimney. He wished to take the 
 family by surprise ; and walking gently up to the house he 
 stood awhile to listen. The door being half open, he saw 
 the shepherd (who looked so respectable in his Sunday coat 
 that he should hardly have known him), his wife, and their 
 numerous young family, drawing round their little table, 
 which was covered with a clean, though very coarse cloth. 
 
 There stood on it a large dish of potatoes, a brown pitch- 
 er, and a piece of a coarse loaf The wife and children 
 stood in silent alien, inn, while? the shepherd, with uplifted 
 hands and eyes, devoutly begged the blessing of heaven on 
 their homely fare. Mr. Johnson could not help sighing to 
 reflect, that he had sometimes seen better dinners eaten with 
 less appearance of thankfulness.
 
 24 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 The shepherd and his wife sat down with great seeming 
 cheerfulness, but the children stood ; and while the mother 
 was helping them, little fresh-colored Molly, who had picked 
 the wool from the bushes with so much delight, cried out, 
 " Father, I wish I was big enough to say grace, I am sure I 
 should say it very heartily to-day, for I was thinking what 
 must "poor people do who have no salt to their potatoes ; 
 and do but look, our dish is quite full." " That is the true 
 way of thinking, Molly," said the father ; " in whatever con- 
 cerns bodily wants and bodily comforts, it is our duty to 
 compare our own lot with the lot of those who are worse off, 
 and will keep us thankful : on the other hand, whenever we 
 _are tempted to set up our own wisdom or goodness, we must 
 compare ourselves with those who are wiser and better, and 
 that will keep us humble." Molly was now so hungry, and 
 found the potatoes so good, that she had no time to make 
 any more remarks; but was devouring her dinner very 
 heartily, when the barking of the great dog drew her at- 
 tention from her trencher to the door, and spying the stran- 
 ger, she cried out, " Look, father, see here, if yonder is not 
 the good gentleman !" Mr. Johnson finding himself discov- 
 ered, immediately walked in, and was heartily welcomed 
 by the honest shepherd, who told his wife that this was the 
 gentleman to whom they were so much obliged. 
 
 The good woman began, as some very neat people are 
 rather apt to do, with making many apologies that her 
 house was not cleaner, and that things were not in a fitter 
 order to receive such a gentleman. Mr. Johnson, however, 
 on looking round, could discover nothing but the most per- 
 fect neatness. The trenchers on which they were eating 
 were almost as white as their linen; and notwithstanding 
 the number and smallness of the children, there was not 
 the least appearance of dirt or litter. The furniture was 
 very simple and poor, hardly indeed amounting to bare
 
 K BALIS IS V K V V L A IN . 25 
 
 necessaries. It consisted of lour brown wooden chairs, which 
 by constant ruKbing, were become as bright as a lookiug- 
 glass ; au iron pot and kettle ; a poor old grate, which 
 scarcely held a handful of coal, and out of which the little 
 fire that had been in it appeared to have been taken, as soon 
 as it had answered the end for which it had been lighted — 
 that of boiling their potatoes. Over the chimney stood an 
 old-fashioned broad bright candlestick, and a still brighter 
 spit ; it was pretty clear that this last was kept rather for 
 ornament than use. An old carved elbow chair, and a chest 
 of the same date, which stood in the corner, were consider- 
 ed the most valuable part of the shepherd's goods, having 
 been in his family for three generations. But all these 
 were lightly esteemed by him in comparison of another 
 possession, which, added to the above, made up the whole 
 of what he had inherited from his father : and which last 
 he would not have parted with, if no other could have been 
 had, for the king's ransom : this was a large old Bible, which 
 lay on the window-seat, neatly covered with brown cloth, 
 variously patched. This sacred book was most reverently 
 preserved from dog's ears, dirt, and every other injury but 
 such as time and much use had made it suffer in spite of 
 care. On the dean white walls were i a hymn on the 
 
 Crucifixion of our Saviour, a print of the Prodigal Son, the 
 Shepherd's hymn, a New History of a True Book, an 
 Patient Joe, or the Newcastle Collier.* 
 
 After the first salutations were over, Mr. Johnson said 
 thai if they would go on with their dinner he would sit down. 
 Though a good deal ashamed, they thought it more respect- 
 ful to obey the gentleman, who having east, his eye on their 
 ! mm i- provisions, gently rebuked the shepherd for not hav- 
 ing indulged himself, as it was Sunday, with a morsel of ba- 
 con to relish his potatoes. The shepherd said nothing, but 
 * Printed for the Cheap Repository. 
 2
 
 26 X II E 8 II E 1- II E Rl) 
 
 poor Mary colored ;ui<l hung down her head, saying, "In- 
 deed, sir, it is not my fault; I did beg my husband to allow 
 himself a bit of meat to-day out of your honor's bounty ; 
 but he was too good to do it, and it is all for my sake." 
 The shepherd seemed unwilling to come to an explanation, 
 but Mr. Johnson desired Mary to go on. So she continued : 
 " You must know, sir, that both of us, next to a sin, dread 
 a debt, and indeed in some cases a debt is a sin ; but with 
 all our care and pains, we have never been able quite to pay 
 off the doctor's bill for that bad fit of rheumatism which I 
 had last winter. Now when you were pleased to give my 
 husband that kind present the other day, I heartily desired 
 him to buy a bit of meat for Sunday, as I said before, that 
 he might have a little refreshment for himself out of your 
 kindness. ' But,' answered he, ' Mary, it is never out of my 
 mind long together that we still owe a few shillings to the 
 doctor (and thank God it is all we did owe in the world). 
 Now if I carry him his money directly it will not only show 
 him our honesty and our good-will, but it will be an en- 
 couragement to him to come to you another time in case 
 you should be taken once more in such a bad fit ; for I must 
 own,' added my poor husband, ' that the thought of your 
 ing so terribly ill without any help, is the only misfortune 
 hat I want courage to face.' " 
 
 Here the grateful woman's tears ran down so fastthatshe 
 could nut go on. She wiped them with the corner of her 
 apron, and Imuibly begged pardon for making so free. 
 '"Indeed, sir," said the shepherd, "though my wife is full 
 as unwilling to be in debt as myself, yet I could hardly pre- 
 vail on her to consent to my paying this money just then, 
 because she said it was hard I should not have a taste of 
 the gentleman's bounty myself. But for once, sir, I would 
 have my own way. For you must know, as I pass the b< 
 part of my time alone, tending my sheep, 'tis a great point
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 27 
 
 with rne, sir, to got comfortable matter for my own thoughts ; 
 so that 'tis rather self-interest in me to allow myself in no 
 pleasures and no practices that won't bear thinking on over 
 and over. For when one is a good deal alone, you know, sir, 
 all one's bad deeds do so rash in upon one, as I may say, and 
 so torment one, that there is no true comfort to be had but 
 in keeping clear of wrong doings and false pleasures ; and 
 that I suppose may be one reason why so many folks hate 
 to stay a bit by themselves. But as I was saying — when 
 I came to think the matter over on the hill yonder, said 
 I to myself, a good dinner is a good thing, I grant, and yet 
 it will be but cold comfort to me a week after, to be able 
 to say — to be sure I had a nice shoulder of mutton last 
 Sunday for dinner, thanks to the good gentleman ! but then 
 I am in debt. I had a rare dinner, that's certain, but the 
 pleasure of that has long been over, and the debt still re- 
 mains. I have spent the crown ; and now if my poor wife 
 should be taken in one of those fits again, die she must, un- 
 less God work a miracle to prevent it, for I can get no help 
 for her. This thought settled all ; and I set off directly 
 and paid the crown to the doctor with as much cheerful- 
 ness as I should have felt on sitting down to the fattest 
 shoulder of mutton that ever was roasted. And if I was 
 contented at the time, think how much more happy I have 
 been at the remembrance ! O, sir, there are no pleasures 
 worth tin' name but such as bring no plague or penitence 
 after them." 
 
 Mr. Johnson was satisfied witli the shepherd's reasons , 
 nd agreed that though a good dinner was not to be de- 
 spised, vet it was not worthy to he compared with a con- 
 tented mind, which (as the. Bible truly says) is a continual 
 
 feast. "Bui come," said the g 1 gentleman, "what have 
 
 we got in this brown mug?" "As good water," said the 
 shepherd, "as any in the king's dominions. 1 have heard
 
 28 THE SHEl'UEHD 
 
 of countries beyond sea, in which there is no wholesome 
 water ; nay, I have been myself in a great town not far off, 
 where they are obliged to buy all the water which they get, 
 while a good Providence sends to my very door a spring as 
 clear and fine as Jacob's well. When I am tempted to re- 
 pine that I have often no other drink, I call to mind that 
 it was notliing better than a cup of cold water which the 
 woman at the well of Sychar drew for the greatest guest 
 that ever visited this world." 
 
 " Very well," replied Mr. Johnson ; " but as your honesty 
 has made you prefer a poor meal to being in debt, I will at 
 least send and get something for you to drink. I saw a 
 little public house just by the church, as I came along. 
 Let that little rosy-faced fellow fetch a mug of beer." So 
 saying, he looked full at the boy, who did not offer to stir ; 
 but cast an eye at his father to know what he was to do. 
 "Sir," said the shepherd, "I hope we shall not appear un- 
 grateful if we seem to refuse your favor ; my little boy 
 would, I am sure, fly to serve you on any other occasion. 
 But, good sir, it is Sunday ; and should any of my family 
 be seen at a public house on a Sabbath-day, it would be a 
 much greater grief to me than to drink water all my life. 
 I am often talking: against these doing to others ; and if I 
 should say one thing and do another, you can't think what 
 an advantage it would give many of my neighbors over me, 
 who would be glad enough to report that they had caught 
 the shepherd's son at the alehouse without explaining how 
 it happened. Christians, you know, sir, must be doubly 
 watchful ; or they will not only bring disgrace on them- 
 selves, but what is much worse, on that holy name by which 
 they ate called." 
 
 "Are you not a little too cautious, my honest friend?" 
 said Mr. Johnson. "I humbly ask your pardon, sir," re- 
 plied the shepherd, " if I think that is impossible. In
 
 OP SALISBURV riAR. 29 
 
 my poor notion, I no more understand how a man can be 
 too cautious, than how lie can be too strong, or too 
 healthy." 
 
 " You are right indeed," said Mr. Johnson, " as a general 
 principle, but this struck me as a very small thing." " Sir," 
 said the shepherd, " I am afraid you will think me very 
 bold, but you encourage me to speak out." " Tis what I 
 wish," said the gentleman. " Then, sir," resumed the shep- 
 herd, " I doubt if, where there is a frequent temptation to 
 do wrong, any fault can be called small ; that is, in short, 
 if there is any such thing as a small willful sin. A poor 
 man like me is seldom called out to do great things, so 
 that it is not by a few striking deeds his character can be 
 judged by his neighbors, but by the little round of daily 
 customs he allows himself in." 
 
 "I should like," said Mr. Johnson, ' ; to know how you 
 manage in this respect." 
 
 "I am but a poor scholar, sir," replied the shepherd, 
 "but I have made myself a little sort of rule. I always 
 avoid, as I am an ignorant man, picking out any one single 
 difficult text to distress my mind about, or to go and build 
 opinions upon, because I know (hat puzzles and injures poor 
 unlearned Christians. But I endeavor to collect what is the 
 general spirit or meaning of Scripture on any particular 
 subject, by putting a few texts together, which though I 
 find them dispersed up and down, yet all seem to look the 
 same way, to prove the same truth, or hold out the same 
 comfort. So when 1 »jm tried or tempted, or any thing 
 happens in which 1 am at a loss what to do, T apply f" m\ 
 rule — to tin' law and the testimony. To be sure I can't 
 always find a particular direction as to the very case, be- 
 cause then the Bible must have been bigger than all those 
 great books I once saw in the library at Salisbury pala 
 which the butler told me were acts of Parliament ; and had
 
 30 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 that been the case, a poor man would never have had mo- 
 ney to buy, nor a working man time to read the Bible ; and 
 so Christianity could only have been a religion for the rich, 
 for those who had money and leisure ; which, blessed be 
 God! is so far from being the truth, that in all that line 
 discourse of our Saviour to John's disciples, it is enough to 
 reconcile any poor man in the world to his low condition, 
 to observe, when Christ reckons up the things for which he 
 came on earth, to observe, I say, what he keeps for last. 
 Go tell John, says he, those things which ye do hear and 
 see : the blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, the 
 lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, and the dead are 
 raised up. Now, sir, all these are wonders to be sure, but 
 they are nothing to what follows. They are but like the 
 lower rounds of a ladder, as I may say, by which you 
 mount to the top — and the poor have the Gospel preached 
 to them. I dare say, if John had any doubts before, this 
 part of the message must have cleared them up at once. 
 For it mu t have made him certain sure at once, that a 
 religion wh i h placed preaching salvation to the poor above 
 healing the : ' k, which ranked the soul above the body, and 
 set heaven al ve health, must have come from God." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Johnson, " you say you can generally 
 pick out your p rticular duty from the Bible, though that 
 immediate duty be not fully explained." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," r plied the shepherd, " I think I can find 
 out the principle at least, if I bring but a willing mind. 
 The want of that is the great himlorance. Whosoever doe ih 
 my will, he shall know of the doctrine. You know thai 
 text, sir. I believe a stubborn will makes the Bible hard 
 to be understood than any want of learning. 'Tis corrupt 
 affections which blind the understanding, sir. The more a 
 man hates sin, the clearer he will see his way, and the more 
 he loves holiness, the better he will understand his Bible —
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 31 
 
 the more practical conviction will lie get of that pleasant 
 truth, that the secret of the Lord is with them that fear him. 
 Now, sir, suppose I had time and learning, and possessed of 
 all the books I saw at the bishop's, where could I find out 
 a surer way to lay the axe to the root of all covetousness, 
 selfishness, and injustice, than the plain and ready rule, to 
 do unto all men as I would they should do unto me. If 
 my neighbor does me an injury, can I be at any loss how 
 to proceed with him, when I recollect the parable of the 
 unforgiving steward, who refused to pardon a debt of a 
 huudred pence, when his own ten thousand talents had been 
 remitted to him ? I defy any man to retain habitual self- 
 ishness, hardness of heart, or any other allowed sin, who 
 daily and conscientiously tries his own heart by this touch- 
 stone. The straight rule will show the crooked practice to 
 every one who honestly tries the one by the other." 
 
 " Why you seem to make Scripture a thing of general 
 application," said Mr. Johnson, " in cases in which many, I 
 fear, do not apply." 
 
 " It applies to every thing, sir," replied the shepherd. 
 " When those men who are now disturbing the peace of the 
 world, and trying to destroy the confidence of God's chil- 
 dren in their Maker and their Saviour; when those men, I 
 say, came to my poor hovel with their new doctrines and 
 their new books, I would m ver look into one of them ; for 
 I remember it was the first sin of the first pair to lose their 
 innocence for tin' sake of a little wicked knowledge; be- 
 sides, my own book told me — To fear God and, honor the 
 king — To >n<>>';<'le not with them who are given to change — 
 Not to speak evil of dignities — To render honor to whom 
 honor is due. So that I was furnished with a little coat of 
 mail, as 1 may say, which pr< me, while those who 
 
 had no such armor fell into tin; snare." 
 
 While they were thus talking, the children who had
 
 3L» T II E s li EPH E K D 
 
 stood very quietly behind, and had not stirred a root, now 
 began to scamper about all at once, and in a moment ran to 
 the window-seat to pick up their little old hats. Mr. Johnson 
 looked surprised at this disturbance ; the shepherd asked his 
 pardon, telling him it was the sound of the church-bell which 
 had been the cause of their rudeness ; for their mother had 
 brought them up with such a fear of being too late for 
 church, that it was but who could catch the first stroke of 
 the bell, and be first ready. He hail always taught them 
 to think that nothing was more indecent than to get into 
 church after it was begun ; for as the service opened with 
 an exhortation to repentance, and a confession of sin, it 
 looked very presumptuous not to feel ready to join it ; it 
 looked as if people did not feel themselves to be sinners. 
 And though such as lived at a great distance might plead 
 difference of clocks as an excuse, yet those who lived 
 within the sound of the bell, could preteud neither ignor- 
 ance nor mistake. 
 
 Mary and her children set forward. Mr. Johnson and 
 the shepherd followed, taking care to talk the whole way on 
 such subjects as might fit them for the solemn duties of the 
 place to which they were going. " I have often been sorry 
 to observe," said Mr. Johnson, " that many who are reckoned 
 decent, good kind of people, and who would on no account 
 neglect going to church, yet seem to care but little in what 
 frame or temper of mind they go thither. They will talk 
 of their worldly concerns (ill they get within the door, and 
 then take them up again the very minute the sermon is 
 over, which makes me ready to fear they lay too much 
 stress on the mere form of going to a place of worship. 
 Now, for my part, I always find that it requires a little lime 
 to bring my mind into a state fit to do any common busi- 
 ness well, much more this great and most necessary busi- 
 ness of all." " Yes, sir," replied the shepherd ; " and then
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 33 
 
 I think too how busy I should be in preparing- my mind, if 
 I were going into the presence of a great gentleman, or a 
 lord, or the king ; and shall the King of kings be treated 
 with less respect ? Besides, one likes to see people feel as 
 if going to church was a thing of choice and pleasure, as 
 well as a duty, and that they were as desirous not to be 
 the last there, as they would be if they were going to a feast 
 or a fair." 
 
 After service, Mr. Jenkins, the clergyman, who was well 
 acquainted with the character of Mr. Johnson, and had a 
 great respect for him, accosted him with much civility ; ex- 
 pressing his concern that he could not enjoy just now so 
 much of hit conversation as he wished, as he was obliged 
 to visit a sick person at a distance, but hoped to have a little 
 talk with him before he left the village. As they walked 
 along together, Mr. Johnson made such inquiries about the 
 shepherd, as served to confirm him in the high opinion he 
 entertained of his piety, good sense, industry, and self- 
 denial. They parted ; the clergyman promising to call in 
 at the cottage in his way home. 
 
 The shepherd, who took it for granted that Mr. John 
 was gone to the parsonage, walked home with his wife and 
 children, and was beginning in his usual way to cat 
 and instruct his family, when Mr. Johnson came in, and in- 
 sisted that the shepherd should go on with his instruction 
 just as if he were not there. This gentleman, who was 
 very desirous of being useful 1<> his own servants and work- 
 men in the way of instruction, was sometimes sorry to find 
 that though lie took a good deal of pains, they now and 
 then did not quite understand him; for though liis mean- 
 ing was in ' -1, his language was nut always very jilain; 
 and though the things he said were not hard to be under- 
 stood, yet the ivords were, especially to such as were very 
 ignorant. And he now began to I'm 1 out thai if people 
 
 3*
 
 34 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 were ever so wise and good, yet if they had not a simple, 
 agreeable, and familiar way of expressing themselves, some 
 of their plain hearers would not be much the better for 
 them. For this reason he was not above listening to the 
 plain, humble way in which this honest man taught his 
 family ; for though he knew that he liimself had mauy ad- 
 vantages over the shepherd, had more learning, and could 
 teach him many things, yet he was not too proud to learn 
 even of so poor a man, in any point where he thought the 
 shepherd might have the ail vantage of him. 
 
 This gentleman was much pleased with the knowledge 
 and piety which he discovered in the answers of the children : 
 and desired the shepherd to tell him how he contrived to 
 keep up a sense of divine tilings in his own mind, and in 
 that of his family, with so little leisure, and so little reading. 
 " Oh ! as to that, sir," said the shepherd, " we do not read 
 much except in one book, to be sure ; but with my hearty 
 prayer for God's blessing on the use of that book, what 
 little knowledge is needful seems to come of course, as it 
 were. And my chief study has been to bring the fruits of 
 the Sunday reading into the week's business, and to keep 
 up the same sense of God in the heart, when the Bible is in 
 the cupboard as when it is in the hand. In short, to .apply 
 what I read in the book to what I meet with in the field." 
 
 " I don't quite understand you," said Mr. Johnson. " Sir," 
 replied the shepherd, " I have but a poor gift at conv' 
 these things to others, though I have much comfort from 
 them in my own mind; but I am sure that the most igno- 
 rant and hard-working people, who are in earnest about 
 their salvation, may help to keep up devout thoiiL 
 good affections during the week, though they have had 
 hardly any time to look at a book ; and it will help them to 
 keep out bad thoughts too; which is no small i But 
 
 then they must know the Bible ; they must have read the
 
 OF SALISBURY P1AU. 3f> 
 
 word of God diligently, that is a kind of stock in trade for a 
 Christian to set up with ; and it is this which makes me so 
 careful in teaching it to my children ; and even in storing 
 their memories with Psalms and chapters. This is a great 
 help to a poor bard-working man, who will scarcely meet 
 with any thing in them but what he may turn to some good 
 account. If one lives in the fear and love of God, almost 
 every thing one sees abroad will teach one to adore his 
 power and goodness, and bring to mind some text of Scrip- 
 ture, which shall fill his heart with thankfulness, and his 
 mouth with praise. When I look upward the Heavens 
 declare the glory of God, and shall I be silent and ungrate- 
 ful ? If I look round and see the valleys standing thick 
 with corn, how can I help blessing that Power who giveth 
 me all things richly to enjoy? I may learn gratitude from 
 the beasts of the field, for the ox knoweth his master, and 
 the ass his master's crib, and shall a Christian uot know, 
 shall a Christian not consider what great things God has 
 done for him ? I, who am a shepherd, endeavor to fill my 
 soul with a constant remembrance of that good shepherd, 
 who feedeth me in green pastxircs and maketh me to lie 
 down beside the still tvaters, and whose rod, and staff com- 
 fort me. A religion, sir, which has its seat in the heart, 
 and its fruits in the life, takes up little time in the study, 
 and yet in another sense, true religion, which from sound 
 principles brings forth right practice, fills up the whole timo 
 and life too as one may say." 
 
 "You are happy," said Mr. Johnson, "in this retired life, 
 by which you escape the corruptions of the world." "Sir," 
 replied" the shepherd, "I do not escape the corruptions of 
 my own evil nature. Even there, on that wild solitary hill, 
 I can rind out that my heart is prone to evil thoughts. I 
 suppose, sir, that different states have different temptations. 
 You great folks that live in the world, perhaps, aro exposed
 
 30 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 to some of which such a poor man as I am, knows nothing. 
 But to one who leads a lonely life like me, evil thoughts 
 are a chief besetting sin; and I can no more withstand 
 these without the grace of God, than a rich gentleman can 
 withstand the snares of evil company, without the same 
 grace. And I find that I stand in need of God's help con- 
 tinually, and if he should give me up to my own evil heart I 
 should be lost." 
 
 Mr. Johnson approved of the shepherd's sincerity, for he 
 had always observed, that where there was no humility, and 
 no watchfulness against sin, there was no religion, and he 
 said that the man who did not feel himself to be a sinner, in 
 his opinion coidd not be a Christian. 
 
 Just as they were in this part of their discourse, Mr. 
 Jenkins, the clergyman, came in. After the usual saluta- 
 tions, he said, " Well, shepherd, I wish you joy : I know you 
 will be sorry to gain any advantage by the death of a neigh- 
 bor ; but old Wilson, my clerk, was so infirm, and I trust so 
 well prepared, that there is no reason to be sorry for his 
 death. I have been to pray by him, but he died while I 
 staid. I have always intended you should succeed to his 
 place : it is no great matter of profit, but every little is some- 
 thing." 
 
 " JSTo great matter, sir," cried the shepherd ; " indeed it 
 is a great thing to me, it will more than pay my rent. 
 Blessed be God for all his goodness." Mary said nothing, 
 but lifted up her eyes full of tears in silent gratitude. 
 
 "I am glad of this little circumstance," said Mr. Jenkins, 
 "not only for your sake but for the sake of the office itself. 
 I so heartily reverence every religious institution, that I 
 would never have the amen added to the excellent prayers 
 of our church, by vain or profane lips, and if it depended on 
 me, there should be no such thing in the land as an idle, 
 drunken, or irreligious parish clerk. Sorry I am to say
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 37 
 
 that this inatter is Bot always sufficieBtly attended to, and 
 that I kBow some of a very iBdiffereBt character." 
 
 Mr. JohBson bow inquired of the clergymaB whether 
 there were ruaay children in the parish. "More than you 
 would expect," replied he, " from the seemiBg smallBess of 
 it; hut there are some little hamlets which you do not see." 
 " I think," returned Mr. Johnson, " I recollect that in the 
 conversation I had with the shepherd on the hill yonder, he 
 told me you had no Sunday School." " I am sorry to 
 say we have bobc," said the minister. " I do what I can 
 to remedy this misfortuue by public catechising ; but hav- 
 ing two or three churches to serve, I can not give so much 
 tiuie as I wish to private instruction ; and having a large 
 family of my own, and no assistance from others, I have 
 never been able to establish a school." 
 
 " There is an excellent institution in London," said Mr. 
 Johnson, "called the Sunday School Society, which kindly 
 gives books and other helps, on the application of such pious 
 clergymen as stand in need of their aid, and which I act 
 sure would have assisted you, but I think we shall be able 
 to do something ourselves. Shepherd," continued he, "if I 
 
 re a king, and had it in my power to make you a rich 
 and a great man, with a word sp I would not do it. 
 
 Those who are raised by some sudden stroke, much above 
 the station in which divine Providence had placed them, 
 seldom turn out very good, or very happy. I b 
 had any great things in my power, but as far as I have been 
 able, 1 have been always glad to assist the worthy. I have 
 however, never attempted or desired to set any poor man 
 much above his natural condition, but it, is a pleasure to 
 me to lend him such assistance as may make that condition 
 more easy to himself, and put him in a way which shall call 
 him to the pert'.. nuance of more duties than perhaps ho 
 could have performed without my help, and d* performing
 
 38 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 them in a better manner to others, and with more comfort 
 to himself. What rent do you pay for this cottage ?" 
 " Fifty shillings a year, sir." 
 
 " It is in a sad tattered condition ; is there not a better 
 to be had in the village ?" 
 
 " That in which the poor clerk lived," said the clergyman, 
 "is not only more tight and whole, but has two decent 
 chambers, and a very large light kitchen." " That will be 
 very convenient," replied Mr. Johnson ; " pray what is the 
 rent ?" " I think," said the shepherd, " poor neighbor Wil- 
 son gave somewhat about four pounds a year, or it might 
 be guineas." " Very well," said Mr. Johnson, " and what 
 will the clerk's place be worth, think you ?" " About three 
 pounds," was the answer. 
 
 " Now," continued Mr. Johnson, " my plan is, that the 
 shepherd should take that house immediately ; for as the 
 poor man is dead, there will be no need of waiting till quar- 
 ter-day, if I make up the difference." " True, sir," said Mr. 
 Jenkins, " and I am sure my wife's father, whom I expect 
 to-morrow, will willingly assist a little toward buying some 
 of the clerk's old goods. And the sooner they remove the 
 better, for poor Mary caught that bad rheumatism by sleep- 
 ing under a leaky thatch." The shepherd* was too much 
 moved to speak, and Mary could hardly sob out, " Oh, sir ! 
 you are too good ; indeed this house will do very well." 
 " It may do very well for you and your children, Mary," 
 said Mr. Johnson, gravely, " but it will not do for a school ; 
 the kitchen is neither large nor light enough. Shepherd," 
 continued he, " with your good minister's leave, and kind 
 assistance, I propose to set up in this parish a Sunday School, 
 and to make you the master. It will not at all interfere 
 wiih your weekly calling, and it is the only lawful way in 
 which you could turn the Sabbath into a day of some little 
 profit to your family, by doing, as I hope, a great deal of
 
 OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 39 
 
 good to the souls of others. The rest of the week you will 
 work as usual. ' The difference of rent between this house 
 and the clerk's I shall pay myself, for to put you in a better 
 house at your own expense would be no great act of kindness. 
 As for honest Mary, who is not fit for hard labor, or any 
 other out-of-door work, I propose to endow a small weekly 
 school, of which she shall be the mistress, and employ her 
 notable turn to good account, by teaching ten or a dozen 
 girls to knit, sew, spin, card, or any other useful way of 
 getting their bread ; for all this I shall only pay her the 
 usual price, for I am not going to make you rich, but use- 
 ful." 
 
 "Not rich, sir?" cried the shepherd; "IIow can I ever 
 be thankful enough for such blessings ? And will my poor 
 Mary have a dry thatch over her head ? and shall I be able 
 to send for the doctor when I am like to lose her ? Indeed 
 my cup runs over with blessings ; I hope God will give me 
 humility." Here he and Mary looked at each other and 
 burst into tears. The gentlemen saw their distress, and 
 kindly walked out upon the little green before the .door, 
 that these honest people might give vent to their feelings. 
 As soon as they were alone they crept into one corner of 
 the room, where they thought they could not be seen, 
 fell on their knees, devoutly blessing and praising God for 
 his mercies. Never were more hearty prayers presented, 
 than t: . I couple offered up for their benefactors, 
 
 warmth of their gratitude could only be equaled by 
 the ear ss with which they besought the blessing of 
 
 God on the work in which they were going to engage. 
 
 The two gentlemen now left this happy family, and 
 walked to the' parsonage, where the evening \\;t^ spenl i 
 manner very edifying to Mr. Johnson, who the : 
 took all proper measures fur putting the shepherd in imme- 
 diate possession of his now comfortable habitation. Mr.
 
 40 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 
 
 Jenkins's father-in-law, the worthy gentleman who gave the 
 shepherd's wife the blankets, in the first part of this history, 
 arrived at the parsonage before Mr. Johnson left it, and as- 
 sisted in fitting up the clerk's cottage. 
 
 Mr. Johnson took his leave, promising to call on the 
 worthy minister and his new clerk once a year, in his sum- 
 mer's journey over the plain, as long as it should please 
 God to spare his life. He had every reason to be satisfied 
 with the objects of his bounty. The shepherd's zeal and 
 piety made him a blessing to the rising generation. The 
 old resorted to his school for the benefit of hearing the young 
 instructed ; and the clergyman had the pleasure of seeing 
 that he was rewarded for the protection he gave the school 
 by the great increase in his congregation. The shepherd 
 not only exhorted both parents and children to the indispen- 
 sable duty of a regular attendance at church, but by bis 
 pious counsels he drew them thither, and by his plain and 
 prudent instructions enabled them to understand, and of 
 course to delight in the public worship of God.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS 
 
 Jack Brown and James Stock, were two lads apprenticed 
 at nearly the same time, to Mr. Williams, a shoemaker, in a 
 small town in Oxfordshire : they were pretty near the same 
 age, but of very different characters and dispositions. 
 
 Brown was eldest son to a farmer in good circumstances, 
 who gave the usual apprentice fee with him. Being a wild, 
 giddy boy, whom his father could not well manage or in- 
 struct in farming, he thought it better to send him out to 
 learn a trade at a distance, than to let him idle about at 
 home; for Jack always preferred bird's-nesting and marbles 
 to any other employment; he would trifle away the day, 
 when his father thought he was at school, with any boys he 
 could meet with, who were as idle as himself; and he could 
 never be prevaile 1 upon to do, or to learn any thing, while 
 a game at taw could be had for love or money. All this 
 time his little brothers, much younger than himself, were 
 beginning to follow the plow, or to carry the corn to the 
 mill as soon as they were able to mount a cart-horse. 
 
 Jack, however, who was a lively boy, and did not natu- 
 rally want either sense or goo l-nature, might have turt 
 out well enough, if 1 e had not had the misfortune to be his 
 mother's favorite. She concealed an 1 forgave all hisfaults. 
 To be sure he was a little wild, she would say, but he would 
 not make the worse man for that, for .lack had a good 
 spirit of his own, and she would not have it broke, and so 
 make a mope of the boy. The farmer, for a quiet life, as
 
 42 THE TWO SnOEMAKERS. 
 
 it is called, gave up all these points to his wife, and, with 
 them, gave tip the future virtue and happiness of his child. 
 He was a laborious and industrious man, but had no relig- 
 ion ; he thought only of the gains and advantages of tbe 
 present day, and never took the future into the account. 
 His wife managed him entirely, and as she was really no- 
 table, he did not trouble his head about any thing further. 
 If she had been careless in ber dairy, he would have storm- 
 ed and sworn ; but as she only ruined one child by indulg- 
 ence, and almost broke the heart of the rest by unkinduess, 
 he gave himself little concern about the matter. The 
 cheese, certainly was good, and that indeed is a great point ; 
 but she was neglectful of her children, and a tyrant to her 
 servants. Her husband's substance, indeed, was not wasted, 
 but his happiness was not consulted. His house, it is true, 
 was not dirty, but it was the abode of fury, ill-temper, and 
 covetousness. And the farmer, though he did not care for 
 licmor, was too often driven to the public-house in the even- 
 ing, because his own was neither quiet nor comfortable. 
 The mother was always scolding, and the children were al- 
 ways crying. 
 
 Jack, however, notwithstanding his idleness, picked up a 
 little reading and writing, but never would learn to cast an 
 account : that was too much labor. His mother was desir- 
 ous he should continue at school, not so much for the sake 
 of his learning, which she had not sense enough to value, 
 but to save her darling from the fatigue of labor: for if he 
 had not gone to school, she knew he must have gone to 
 work, and she thought the former was the least tiresome of 
 the two. Indeed, this foolish woman had such an opinion 
 of his genius, that she used, from a child, to think he was 
 too wise for any thing but a parson, and hoped she would 
 live to see him one. She did not wish to see her son a 
 minister because she loved either learning or piety, but be-
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 43 
 
 cause she thought it would make Jack a gentleman, and set 
 him above his brothers. 
 
 Farmer Brown still hoped that though Jack was likely 
 to make but an idle and ignorant fanner, yet he might 
 make no bad tradesman, when he should be removed from 
 the indulgences of a father's house, and from a silly mother, 
 whose fondness kept him back in every thing. This wo- 
 man was enraged when she found that so fine a scholar, as 
 she took Jack to be, was to be put apprentice to a shoe- 
 maker. The farmer, however, for the first time in his life, 
 would have his own way, and too apt to mind only what is 
 falsely called the main chance, instead of being careful to 
 look out for a sober, prudent, and religious master for his 
 son, he left all that to accident, as if it had been a thing of 
 little or no consequence. This is a very common fault ; and 
 fathers who are guilty of it, are in a great measure answer- 
 able for the future sins and errors of their children, when 
 they come out into the world, and set up for themselves. 
 If a man gives his son a good education, a good example, 
 and a good master, it is indeed possible that the son may 
 not turn out well, but it does not often happen ; and when 
 it does, the father has no blame resting on him, and it is a 
 great point toward a man's comfort to have his conscience 
 quiet in that respect, however God may think fit to over- 
 rule events. 
 
 The farmer, however, took care to desire his friends to 
 inquire for a shoemaker who had o-ood business, and was a 
 good workman ; and the mother did not forget to put in 
 li r word, an 1 desired that it might be one who was not too 
 strict, for Jack had been brought up tenderly, was a meek 
 boy, and could not bear to bo contradicted in anything. 
 And this is the common notion of meekness ami 
 pie who do not take up their notions on rational and Chris- 
 tian grounds.
 
 44 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 Mr. Williams was recommended to the farmer as being 
 the best shoemaker in the town in which he lived, and far 
 from a strict master, and, without further inquiries, to Mr. 
 Williams he went. 
 
 James Stock, who was the son of an honest laborer in 
 the next village, was bound out by the parish in considera- 
 tion of his father having so numerous a family, that he was 
 not able to put him out himself. James was in every thing 
 the very reverse of his new companion. He was a modest, 
 industrious, pious youth, and though so poor, and the child 
 of a laborer, was a much better scholar than Jack, who was 
 a wealthy farmer's son. His father had, it is true, been able 
 to give him but very little schooling, for he was obliged to 
 be put to work when quite a child. When very young, he 
 used to run of errands for Mr. Thomas, the curate of the 
 parish ; a very kind-hearted young gentleman, who boarded 
 next door to bis father's cottage. He used also to rub down 
 and saddle his horse, and do any other little job for him, in 
 the most civil, obliging manner. All this so recommended 
 him to the clergyman, that he would often send for him of 
 an evening, after he had done his day's work in the field, 
 and condescend to teach him himself to write and cast ac- 
 counts, as well as to instruct him in the principles of his 
 religion. It was not merely out of kindness for the little 
 o-ood-natured services James did him, that he showed him 
 this favor, but also for his readiness in the cathecism, and 
 his devout behavior at church. 
 
 The first thing that drew the minister's attention to this 
 b«.y, was the following : he had frequently given him half- 
 pence and pence for holding his horse and carrying him to wa- 
 ter before ho was big enough to be further useful to him. On 
 Christmas day ho was surprised to see James at church, read- 
 ing out of a handsome new prayer-book ; he wondered how 
 he came by it, for he knew there was nobody in the parish
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 45 
 
 likely to have given it to him, for at that time there were 
 no Sunday Schools; and the father could not afford it, he 
 was sure. 
 
 " Well, James," said he, as he saw him when they came 
 out, " you made a good figure at church to-day : it made 
 you look like a man and a Christian, not only to have so 
 handsome a book, but to be so ready in all parts of the serv- 
 ice. How can you buy that book ?" James owned mod- 
 estly that he had been a whole year saving up the money 
 by single half-pence, all of which had been of the minis- 
 ter's own giving, and that in all that time he had not spent 
 a single farthing on his own diversions. " My dear boy," 
 said the good Mr. Thomas, " I am much mistaken if thou 
 dost not turn out well in the world, for two reasons : — first, 
 from thy saving turn and self-denying temper ; and next, 
 because thou didst devote the first eighteen-pence thou wast 
 ever worth in the world to so good a purpose." 
 
 James bowed and blushed, and from that time Mr. Thom- 
 as besran to take more notice of him, and to instruct him 
 as I said above. As James soon grew able to do him more 
 considerable service, he would now and then give him a six- 
 pence. This he constantly saved till it became a little sum, 
 with which he bought shoes and stockings; well knowing 
 that his poor father, with a large family and low wages, 
 could not buy them for him. As to what little money he 
 earned himself by his daily labor in the field, ho constantly 
 carried it to his mother every Saturday night, to buy bread 
 for the family, which was a pretty help to them. 
 
 As James was not overstout in his make, his father thank- 
 fully accepted tli«' offer of the parish officers to hind out 
 bis son to a trade This good man, however, had not, like 
 farmer Drown, the liberty of choosing a master for his son; 
 or he would carefully have inquired if he was a proper man 
 to have the care of youth; but Williams the shoemaker
 
 46 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 was already fixed on, by those who were to put the boy 
 out, who told him if he wanted a master it must be him or 
 none; for the overseers had a better opinion of Williams 
 than he deserved, and thought it would be the making of 
 the boy to go to him. The father knew that beggars must 
 not be choosers, so he fitted out James for his new place, 
 having indeed little to give him besides his blessing. 
 
 The worthy Mr. Thomas, however, kindly gave him an 
 old coat and waistcoat, which his mother, who was a neat 
 and notable woman, contrived to make up for him herself 
 without a farthing expense, and when it was turned and 
 made fit for his size, it made a very handsome suit for Sun- 
 days, and lasted him a couple of years. 
 
 And here let me stop to remark what a pity it is, that 
 poor women so seldom are able or willing to do these sort 
 of little handy jobs themselves; and that tliey do not 
 oftener bring up their daughters to be more useful in family 
 work. They are great losers by it every way, not only as 
 they are disqualifying their girls from making good wives 
 hereafter but they are losers in point of present advantage ; 
 for gentry could much oftener afford to give a poor boy a 
 jacket or a waistcoat, if it was not for the expense of mak- 
 ing it, which adds very much to the cost. To my certain 
 knowledge, many poor women would often get an old coat, 
 or a bit of coarse new cloth given to them to fit out a boy, 
 if the mother or sisters were known to be able to cut out 
 to advantage, and to make it up decently themselves. But 
 half a crown for the making a bit of kersey, which costs 
 but a few shillings, is more than many very charitable gen- 
 tly can a I lord to give — so they often give nothing at all, 
 when they see the mothers so little able to turn it, to advan- 
 tage. It is hoped they will take this hint kindly, as it is 
 meant for their good. 
 
 But to return to our two young shoemakers. They were
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 47 
 
 both now settled, at Mr. Williams's who, as he was known 
 to be a good workman had plenty of business — he had 
 sometimes two or three journeymen, but no apprentices 
 but Jack and James. 
 
 Jack, who, with all his faults, was a keen, smart boy, took 
 to learn the trade quick enough, but the difficulty was to 
 make him stick two hours together to his work. At every 
 noise he heard in the street down went the work — the last 
 one way, the upper leather another ; the sole dropped on 
 the ground, and the thread dragged after him, all the way 
 up the street. If a blind fiddler, a ballad singer, a mounte- 
 bank, a dancing bear, or a drum were heard at a distance 
 out ran Jack, nothing could stop him, and not a stich more 
 could he be prevailed on to do that day. Every duty, 
 every promise was forgotten for the present pleasure — he 
 could not resist the smallest temptation — he never stop- 
 ped for a moment to consider whether a thing was light 
 or wrong, but Avhether he liked or disliked it. And as his 
 ill-judging mother took care to send him privately a good 
 supply of pocket-money, that deadly bane to all youth- 
 ful virtue, he had generally a few pence ready to spend, and 
 to indulge in the present diversion, whatever i! was. And 
 what was still worse even than spending his money, he spent 
 his time too, or rather his master's time. Of ihis be was 
 continually reminded by James, to whom he always an- 
 swered, "What have you to complain about? It is nothi 
 to you or any one else; I spend nobody's money but my 
 own." "That may by' replied the other, "hut you can qoI 
 say it is your own lime thai, you spend." He insisted upon 
 it, that it was; bul James fetched down their indent 
 and there showed him that he had solemnly bound himself by 
 that instrument, not to Wi r's property. "Now," 
 
 quoth James, "thy own time is a very valuable part of thy 
 master's property." To this he replied, "every one's time
 
 48 T II E TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 was his own, and lie should not sit inoping all day over bis 
 last — for his part, he thanked God he was no parish 'prentice." 
 
 James did not resent this piece of foolish impertinence, 
 as some silly lads would have done ; nor fly out into a 
 violent passion : for even at this early age he had begun to 
 learn of Ilim who was meek and lowly of heart ; and 
 therefore when he tuas reviled, he reviled not again. On 
 the contrary he was so very kind and gentle, that even Jack, 
 vain and idle as he was, could not help loving him, though 
 he took care never to follow his advice. 
 
 Jack's fondness for his boyish and silly diversions in the 
 street, soon produced the effects which might naturally be 
 expected ; and the same idleness which led him to fly out 
 into the town at the sound of a fiddle or the sight of a pup- 
 pet-show soon led him to those places to which all these 
 fiddles and shows naturally led ; I mean the ale-house. The 
 acquaintance picked up in the street was carried on at the 
 Grayhound ; and the idle pastimes of the boy soon led to 
 the destructive vices of the man. 
 
 As he was not an ill-tempered youth, nor naturally much 
 given to drink, a sober and prudent master, who had been 
 steady in his management and regular in his own conduct, 
 who would have recommended good advice by a good ex- 
 ample, might have made something of Jack. But I am 
 sorry to say, that Mr. Williams, though a good workman, 
 and not a very hard or severe master, was neither a sober 
 nor a steady man — so far from it that he spent much more 
 time at the Grayhound than at home. There was no order 
 cither in his shop or family. He left the chief care of his 
 business to his two young apprentices ; and being but a 
 worldly man, he was at first disposed to show favor to Jack, 
 much more than to James, because ho had more money, 
 and his father was better in the world than the father of 
 poor James.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 49 
 
 At first, therefore, lie was disposed to consider James as a 
 sort of drudge ; who was to do all the menial work of the 
 family, and he did not care how little he taught him of his 
 trade. With Mrs. Williams the matter was still worse ; she 
 constantly called him away from the business of his trade to 
 wash the house, nurse the child, turn the spit, or run of er- 
 rands. And here I must remark, that though parish appren- 
 tices are bound in duty to be submissive to both master and 
 mistress, and always to make themselves as useful as they 
 can in the family, and to be civil and humble ; yet on the 
 other hand, it is the duty of masters always to remember, 
 that if they are paid for instructing them in their trade, 
 l! iey ought conscientiously to instruct them in it, and not 
 to employ them the greater part of their time in such 
 household or other drudgery, as to deprive them of the op- 
 portunity of acquiring their trade. This practice is not the 
 less unjust because it is common. 
 
 Mr. Williams soon found out that his favorite Jack would 
 be of little use to him in the shop ; fur though he worked 
 well enough, he did not care how little he did. Nor could 
 he be of the least use lo his master in keeping an account, 
 or writing out a bill upon occasion, for, as Ik; never could 
 be made to learn to cipher, lie did not know addition from 
 multiplication. 
 
 One day one of the customers called at the shop in a 
 great hurry, and desired liis Mil might be made out that 
 minute. Mr. Williams, having taken a cup too much, made 
 several attempts to pul down a. clear account, but the more 
 he tried, the less he found himself able to do it. James, who 
 was sitting at his last, rose up, and with great mod 
 asked his master if he would please give him leave to make 
 out the bill, saying, thai though but a poorscholar, he would 
 do his best, rather than keep the gentleman waiting. Wil- 
 liams gladly accepted his offer, and confused as bis head 
 
 3
 
 50 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 was with liquor, lie yet was able to observe with what neat- 
 ness, dispatch, and exactness, the account was drawn out. 
 From that time he no longer considered James as a drudge, 
 but as one fitted for the high departments of the trade, and 
 lie was now regularly employed to manage the accounts, 
 with which all the customers were so well pleased, that it 
 contributed greatly to raise him in his master's esteem ; for 
 there were now never any of those blunders of false charges 
 for which the shop had before been so famous. 
 
 James went on in a regular course of industry, and soon 
 became the best workman Mr. Williams had ; but there 
 were many things in the family which he greatly disap- 
 proved. Some of the journeymen used to swear, drink, and 
 sing very licentious songs. All these things were a great 
 grief to his sober mind ; he complained to his master, who 
 ouly laughed at him ; and, indeed, as Williams did the same 
 himself, he put it out of his power to correct his servants, 
 if he had been so disposed. James, however, used always 
 to reprove them, with great mildness indeed, but with great 
 seriousness also. This, but still more his own excellent ex- 
 ample, produced at length very good effects on such of the 
 men as were not quite hardened in sin. 
 
 What grieved him most, w r as the manner in which the 
 Sunday was spent. The master lay in bed all the morning; 
 nor did the mother or her children ever go to church, ex- 
 cept then: was some now finery to be shown, or a christen- 
 ing to be attended. The town's-people were coming to the 
 shop all the morning, for work which should have been 
 seut home the night before, had not the master been at the 
 ale-house. And what wounded James to \}\>; very soul was, 
 that th the two apprentices to carry home 
 
 shoes to tin- <-ii the Sunday morning ; 
 
 which he wickedly thought, was a saving of time, as it pre- 
 vented their hiudering their work on the Saturday. These
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. <Yj 
 
 shameful practices greatly afflicted poor James ; he begged 
 his master with tears in his eyes, to excuse him, but he only 
 laughed at his squeamish conscience, as he called it. 
 
 Jack did not dislike this part of the business, and gene- 
 rally after he had delivered his parcel, wasted good part of 
 the day in nutting, playing at fives, or dropping in at 
 the public house : any thing was better to Jack than going 
 to church. 
 
 James, on the other hand, when he was compelled, sorely 
 against his conscience, to carry home any goods on a Sun- 
 day morning, always got up as soon as it was light, knelt 
 down and prayed heartily to God to forgive him a sin which 
 it was not in his power to avoid ; he took care not to lose 
 a moment by the way, but as he was taking his walk with 
 the utmost speed, to leave his shoes with the customers, he 
 spent his time in endeavoring to keep up good thoughts in 
 his mind, and praying that the day might come when his 
 conscience might be delivered from this grievous burden, 
 lie was now particularly thankful that Mr. Thomas had 
 formerly taught him so many psalms and chapters, which 
 he used to repeat in these walks with great devotion. 
 
 He always got home before the rest of the family were 
 up, dressed himself yery clean, and went twice to church; 
 as he greatly disliked the company and practices of his 
 master's house, particularly on the Sabbath-day ; he preferred 
 spending his evening alone, reading the Bible, which I had 
 forgot to say the worthy clergyman had given him when 
 he left his native village. Sunday evening which is to 
 some people such a burden, was to .lames the highest holi- 
 day, lie had formerly learned a little how to sing a psalm 
 of the clerk <>f hi- own parish, and this was now become a 
 very delightful part of his evening i icercise. And a- \\ ill 
 Simpson, one of the journej men, by .lame-'-, advice and es 
 ample, was now beginning to be of a more serious way of
 
 52 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 thinking, he often asked him to sit an hour with him, when 
 they read the Bible, and talked it over together in a manner 
 very pleasant and improving; and as Will was a famous 
 singer, a psalm or two sung together was a very innocent 
 pleasure. 
 
 James's good manners and civility to the customers drew 
 much business to the shop ; and his skill as a workman 
 was so great, that every one desired that his shoes might 
 be made by James. Williams grew so very idle and negli- 
 gent, that he now totally neglected his affairs, and to hard 
 drinking added deep gaming. All James's care, both of 
 the shop and the accounts, could not keep things in any 
 tolerable order : he represented to his master that they were 
 growing worse and worse, and exhorted him, if he valued 
 his credit as a tradesman, his comfort as a husband and 
 father, his character as a master, and his soul as a Christian, 
 to turn over a new leaf. Williams swore a great oath, that 
 he would not be restrained in his pleasures to please a cant- 
 ing parish 'prentice, nor to humor a parcel of squalling 
 brats — that let people say what they would of him, they 
 should never say he was a hypocrite, and as long as- they 
 could not call him that, he did not care what else they called 
 him. 
 
 In a violent passion he immediately went to the Gray- 
 hound, where he now spent not only every evening, which 
 he had long done, but good part of the day and night also. 
 Bis wife was very dressy, extravagant, and fond of company, 
 and wasted at home as fast as her husband spent abroad, so 
 that all the neighbors said, if it had not been for James, his 
 master must have been a bankrupt long ago, but they were 
 he could not hold it much longer. 
 
 As Jack Brown sung a good song, and played many 
 diverting tricks, Williams liked his company; and often al- 
 lowed him to make one at the Grayhound, where he would
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 53 
 
 laugh heartily at his stones ; so that every one thought 
 Jack was much the greater favorite — so he was as a com- 
 panion in frolic, and foolery, and pleasure, as it is called ; 
 but he would not trust him with an inch of leather or six- 
 pence in money : No, no — when business was to be done, 
 or trust was to be reposed, James was the man : the idle 
 and the drunken never trust one another, if they have com- 
 mon sense. They like to laugh, and sing, and riot, and 
 drink together, but when they want a friend, a counselor, a 
 helper in business or in trouble, they go further afield ; and 
 Williams, while he would drink with Jack, would trust 
 James with untold gold ; and even was foolishly tempted 
 to neglect his business the more from knowing that he had 
 one at home who was taking care of it. 
 
 In spite of all James's care and diligence, however, 
 things were growing worse and worse ; the more James 
 saved, the more his master and mistress spent. One morn- 
 ing, just as the shop was opened, and James had set every 
 body to their respective work, and he himself was settling 
 the business for the day, he found that his master was not 
 yet come from the Grayhound. As this was now become 
 a common case, he only grit wd but did not wonder at it. 
 While he was indulging sad thoughts on what would be 
 the end of all this, in ran the tapster from the Grayhound 
 out of breath, and with a look of terror and dismay, de- 
 sired James would st<>j> over to the public house with him 
 that moment, for that his master wanted him. 
 
 James went immediately, surprised at this unusual mes- 
 sage. When he got into the kitchen of the public house, 
 which he now entered for the first time in his life, though 
 it was just opposite to the house in which he lived, he was 
 shocked at the beastly disgusting appearance of every thing 
 he beheld. There was a table covered with tankards, 
 punch-bowls, broken glasses, pipes, and dirty greasy packs
 
 54 TIIE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 of cards, and all over wet with liquor; the floor was 
 strewed with broken earthen cups, old cards, and an EO 
 table which had been shivered to pieces in a quarrel ; be- 
 hind the table stood a crowd of dirty fellows, with matted 
 locks, hollow eyes, and faces smeared with tobacco ; James 
 made his way after the tapster, through this wretched look- 
 ing crew, to a settle which stood in the chironey-corner. 
 Not a word was uttered, but the silent horror seemed 
 to denote something more than a mere common drunken 
 bout. 
 
 What was the dismay of James, when he saw his miser- 
 able master stretched out on the settle, in all the agonies 
 of death ! He had fallen into a fit ; after having drunk 
 hard best part of the night, and seemed to have but a few 
 minutes to live. In his frightful countenance, was displayed 
 the dreadful picture of sin and death, fur he struggled at 
 onee under the guilt of intoxication, and the pangs of a 
 dying man. He recovered his senses for a few moments, 
 and called out to ask if his faithful servant was come. 
 James weni up to him, took him by his cold hand, but was 
 too much i: »ved to speak. "Oh! James, James," cried 
 he in a broke i voice, "pray for me, comfort me." James 
 spoke kindly t i him, but was too honest to give him false 
 comfort, as it is "oo often done by mistaken friends in these 
 dreadful moment . 
 
 "James," said he, "I have been a bad master to you— • 
 you would have sa/ed me, soul and body, but I would not 
 let you — I have ruined my wife, my children, and my own 
 soul. Take warning, oh, take warning by my miserable 
 end," said he to his stupefied companions : but none were 
 able to attend to him but James, who - bid him lift up his 
 hearl to God, and prayed heartily for him himself. "Oh I" 
 said the dying man, "it is too late, too late for me — but 
 you have still time," said he to the half-drunken, terrified
 
 THE TWO .SHOEMAKERS. 55 
 
 crew around him. " Where is Jack ?" Jack Brown came 
 forward, but was too much frightened to speak, " Oh, 
 wretched boy !" said he, " I fear I shall have the ruin of 
 thy soul, as well as my own to answer for. Stop short ! 
 Take warning — now in the days of thy youth. James, 
 James, thou dost not pray for me. Death is dreadful to the 
 wicked — Oh, the sting- of death to a guilty conscience!" 
 Here he lifted up his ghastly eyes in speechless horror, 
 grasped hard at the hand of James, gave a deep hollow 
 groan, and closed his eyes, never to open them but in an 
 awful eternity. 
 
 This was death in all its horrors ! The gay companions of 
 his sinful pleasures could not stand the sight ; all slunk 
 away like guilty thieves from their late favorite friend — no 
 one was left to assist him, but his two apprentices. Brown 
 was not so hardened but that he shed many tears for his 
 unhappy master ; and even made some hasty resolutions of 
 amendment, which were too soon forgotten. 
 
 "While Brown stepped home to call the workmen to come 
 and assist in removing their poor master, James staid alone 
 with the corpse, and employed these awful moments in in- 
 dulging the most serious thoughts, and praying heartily to 
 God, that so terrible a lesson might not be thrown away 
 upon him ; but that he might be enabled to live in a con- 
 stant state of preparation for death. The resolutions he 
 made at this moment, a- they were not made in his own 
 strength, but in an humble reliance ou Godis gracious help, 
 were of use to him as lung as he lived ; and if ever he 
 for a moment tempted to say, or do a wrong thing, 
 the remembr ' 
 
 and i! li'ul words he uttered, always operated as an 
 
 instant check upon him. 
 
 When Williams was buried, and his affairs came to ho 
 inquired into, they were found to be in a sad condition.
 
 50 T H E 1 WO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 His wife, indeed, was the less to be pitied, as she had con- 
 tributed her full share to the common ruin. James, how- 
 ever, did pity her, and by his skill in accounts, his known 
 honesty, and the trust the creditors put in his word, 
 things came to be settled rather better than Mrs. Williams 
 had expected. 
 
 Both Brown and James were now within a month or two 
 of being out of their time. The creditors, as we said be- 
 fore, employed James to settle his late master's accounts, 
 which he did in a manner so creditable to his abilities, and. 
 his honesty, that they proposed to him to take the shop 
 himself. He assured them it was utterly out of his power 
 for want of money. As the creditors had not the least fear 
 of being repaid, if it should please God to spare his life, 
 they generously agreed among themselves to advance him 
 a small sum of money without any security but his bond ; 
 for this he was to pay a very reasonable interest, and to re- 
 turn the whole in a given number of years. James shed 
 tears of gratitude at this testimony to his character, and 
 could hardly be prevailed on to accept their kindness, so 
 great was his dread of being in debt. 
 
 He took the remainder of the lease from his mistress ; 
 and in settling ail'airs with her, took care to make every 
 thing as advantageous to her as possible. He never once 
 allowed himself to thiidc how unkind she had been to him; 
 he only saw in her the needy widow of his deceased master, 
 and the distressed mother of an infant family; and was 
 heartily sorry it was not in his power to contribute to their 
 support ; it was not only Jahies's duty, but his delight, to 
 return good for evil — for he was a Christian. 
 
 James Stock was now, by the blessing of God, on his 
 own earnest endeavors, master of a considerable shop, and 
 was respected by the whole town for his prudence, honesty, 
 and piety. How he behaved in his new station, and also
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 57 
 
 what befell bis comrade Brown, must be the subject of an- 
 other booh ; and I hope my readers will look forward with 
 some impatience for some further account of tbis worthy- 
 young man. In the mean time, other apprentices will do 
 well to follow so praiseworthy an example, and to remember 
 that the respectable master of a large shop, and of a profit- 
 able business, was raised to that creditable situation, with- 
 out money, friends, or connections, from the low beginning 
 of a parish apprentice, by sobriety, industry, the fear of 
 God, and an obedience to the divine principles of the 
 Christian religion. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE APPRENTICE TURNED MASTER. 
 
 The first part of tins history left off with the dreadful 
 sudden death of Williams, tlio idle shoemaker, who died in 
 a drunken fit at the (Jrayhound. It also showed how James 
 Stock, bis faithful apprentice, by bis honest and upright be- 
 havior, so gained the love and respect of his late master's 
 creditors, that they set him up in business, though he was 
 not worth a shilling of his own — such is the power of a 
 good character! And when we last parted from hira be bad 
 just got possession of his master's shop. 
 
 This sudden prosperity was a time of trial for Janus, 
 who, as he was now become a ere litable tradesman, I shall 
 hereafter think proper to call Mr. James Stock. I say, this 
 sudden rise in life was a time of trial ; for we hardly know 
 what we are ourselves till we become our own masters. 
 There is indeed always a reasonable hope that a good 
 
 3*
 
 58 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 servant will not make a bad master, and that a faithful ap- 
 prentice will prove an honest tradesman. But the heart of 
 man is deceitful, and some folks who seem to behave very 
 well while they are under subjection, no sooner get a little 
 power than their heads are turned, aud they grow prouder 
 than those who are gentlemen born. They forget at once 
 that they were lately poor and dependent themselves, so 
 that one would think that with their poverty they had lost 
 their memory too. I have known some who had suffered 
 most hardships in their early clays, become the most hard 
 and oppressive in their turn : so that they seem to forget 
 that fine considerate reason, which God gives to the 
 children of Israel why they should be merciful to their 
 servants, renumbering, said he, that thou thyself toast a 
 bond-man. 
 
 Young Mr. Stock did not so forget himself. He had in- 
 deed the only sure guard from falling into this error. It 
 was not from any easiness in his natural disposition, for 
 thai only just serves to make folks good-natured when they 
 are pleased, and patient when they have nothing to vex 
 them. James went upon higher ground. He brought his 
 ion into all his actions ; he did not give way to abusive 
 language, because he knew it was a sin. He did not use 
 his apprentices ill, because he knew he had himself a Master 
 in heaven. 
 
 Ee knew he owed his present happy situation to the 
 kindness of the creditors. But did he grow easy and care- 
 less because he knew he had such friends? No indeed. He 
 worked with double diligence in order to get out of debt, 
 and to let these friends see he did not abuse their kindness. 
 Such behavior as this is the greatest encouragement in the 
 world to rich p , lend a little money. It creates 
 
 friends, and it keeps them. 
 
 Ilis shoes and boots were made in the besl manner; this
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 5D 
 
 got him business ; be set out with a rule to tell no lies, and 
 deceive no customers ; this secured his business. He had 
 two reasons for not promising- to send home goods when he 
 knew he should not be ablu to keep his word. The first, 
 because he knew a lie was a sin, the next, because it was a 
 folly. There is no credit sooner worn out than that which 
 is gained by false pretenses. After a little while no one is 
 deceived by them. Falsehood is so soon detected, that I 
 believe most tradesmen are the poorer for it in the long 
 run. Deceit is the worst part of a shopkeeper's stock in 
 trade. 
 
 James was now at the head of a family. This is a seri- 
 ous situation (said he to himself, one fine summer's even- 
 ing, as he stood leaning over the half-door of his shop to 
 enjoy a little fresh air) ; I am now master of a family. My 
 cares are doubled, and so are my duties. I see the higher 
 one gets in life the more one has to answer for. Let me 
 now call to mind the sorrow I used to feel when I was made 
 to carry work home on a Sunday by an ungodly master : 
 and let me now keep the resolution I then formed. 
 
 So what his heart found righ.1 to do,he resolved to do 
 quickly; and he set out at first as he meant to go on. The 
 Sunday was truly a day of rest at Mr. Stock's. He would 
 not allow a pair of shoes to be given out on that day, to 
 oblige the best customer he had. And what did he lose 
 by it ? Why, nothing. For when the people were once 
 used to it, they liked Saturday night just as well. But had 
 it been otherwise, he would have given up his gains to his 
 conscience. 
 
 SHOWING HOW Mil. STOCK BEHAVED TO IKS APPRENTICES. 
 
 When he got up in the world so far as to have appren- 
 tices, he thoughl himself as accountable lor their behavior 
 as if they had been his children, lb 1 was very kind to
 
 60 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 them, and had a cheerful merry way of talking to them, so 
 that the lads who had seen too much of swearing, reprobate 
 masters, were fond of him. They were never afraid of 
 speaking to him ; they told him all their little troubles, and 
 considered their master as their best friend, for they said 
 they would do any thing for a good word and a kind look. 
 As he did not swear at them when they had been guilty of 
 a fault, they did not lie to him to conceal it, and thereby 
 make one fault two. But though he was very kind, he was 
 very watchful also, for he did not think neglect any part of 
 kindness. He brought them to adopt one very pretty 
 method, which was, on a Sunday evening to divert them- 
 selves with wilting out half a dozen texts of Scripture in a 
 neat copy-book wdth gilt covers. You have the same at 
 any of the stationers ; they do not cost above fourpence 
 and will last nearly a year. 
 
 When the boys carried him their books, he justly com- 
 mended him whose texts were written in the fairest hand. 
 "And now, my boys,'' said he, " let us see which of you will 
 learn your texts best in the course of the week ; he who 
 does this shall choose for next Sunday." Thus the boys 
 soon got many psalms and chapters by heart, almost with- 
 out knowing how they came by them. He taught them 
 how to make a practical usi of what they learned: "for," 
 said he, "it will answer little purpose to learn texts if we 
 do not try to live up to them." One of the boys being . 
 to play in his absence, and to run back again to his work 
 when he heard his master's step, he brought him to a sense 
 of his fault by the last Sunday's text, which happened to be 
 the sixth of Ephesians. lie showed him what was meant 
 by being obedient to his master in singleness of heart as 
 unto Christ, and explained to him with so much kindD 
 what it was, not to work with eye-service as men-p7.easers, 
 but doing the will of God from the heart, that the lad said
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. CI 
 
 he should never forget it, and it did more toward curing him 
 of idleness than the soundest horse-whipping would have done. 
 
 HOW MR. STOCK GOT OUT OF DEBT. 
 
 Stock's behavior was very regular, and he was much be- 
 loved for bis kind and peaceable temper. lie had also a 
 good reputation for skill in his trade, and his industry was 
 talked of through the whole town, so that he had soon 
 more work than he could possibly do. He paid all his 
 dealers to the very day, and took care to carry bis interest 
 money to the creditors the moment it became duo. In two 
 or three years he was able to begin to pay oil' a small part 
 of the principal. His reason for being so eager to pay 
 money as soon as it became due, was this : he had observe- 1 
 tradesmen, and especially his old master, put off the day 
 of payment as long as they could, even though they had 
 the means of paying in their power. This deceived them : 
 for having money in their pockets they forgot it belonged 
 to the creditor, and not to themselves, and so got to fancy 
 they were rich when they were really poor. This false no- 
 tion led them to indulge in idle expenses, whereas, if they 
 had paid regularly, they would have bad this one tempta- 
 tion the less: a young tradesman, when he is going to 
 
 ad money, should at. least ask himself, " Whether this 
 money i.s his (iw n c, ' :' 1 This little question 
 
 miglii help to prevenl many a bankruptcy. 
 
 A true Christian always goes heartily to work to find out 
 what is his besetting sin ; and when he has found it (which 
 he easily may if he looks sharp), against this sin he watches 
 narrowly. Now I know it is the fashion amon folks 
 
 (and a bad fashion it is), to fancy that good people have no 
 sin; but this only shows their ignorance. It is not true. 
 That good man, St. Paul, knew better.* And when men do 
 * See Romans, vii.
 
 62 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 not own their sins, it is not because there is no sin in their 
 hearts, but because they are not anxious to search for it, nor 
 humble to confess it, nor penitent to mourn over it. But 
 this was not the case with James Stock. " Examine your- 
 selves truly," said he, " is no bad part of the catechism." 
 He began to be afraid that his desire of living creditably, 
 and without being a burden to any one, might, under the 
 mask of honesty and independence, lead him into pride and 
 covetousness. He feared that the bias of his heart lay that 
 way. So instead of being proud of his sobriety; instead 
 of bragging that he never spent his money idly, nor went to 
 the ale-house ; instead of boasting how hard he worked and 
 how he denied himself, he strove in secret that even these 
 good qualities might not grow out of a wrong root. The 
 following event was of use to him in the way of indulging 
 any disposition to covetousness. 
 
 One evening as he was standing at the door of his shop, 
 a poor dirty boy, without stockings and shoes, came up and 
 asked him for a bit of broken victuals, for he had eaten 
 nothing all day. In spite of his dirt and rags he was a 
 very pretty, lively, civil spoken boy, and Mr. Stock could 
 not help thinking he knew something of his face. He 
 fetched him out a good piece of bread and cheese, and 
 while the boy was devouring it, asked him if he had no pa- 
 rents, and why he went about in that vagabond manner ? 
 " Daddy has been dead some years," said the boy ; " he died 
 in a fit over at the Grayhound. Mammy says he used to 
 live at this shop, and then we did not want for clothes nor 
 victuals neither." Stock was melted almost to tears on 
 finding that this dirty beggar boy was Tommy Williams, 
 the son of his old master. Tie blessed God on comparing 
 his own happy condition with that of this poor destitute 
 child, but he was not prouder at the comparison ; and while 
 he was thankful for his own prosperity, he piti d the help-
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. Gd 
 
 less boy. " Where have you been living of late V said he 
 to hirn, " for I understand you all went home to your moth- 
 er's friends." " So we did, sir," said the boy, " but they are 
 grown tired of maintaining us, because they said that mam- 
 my spent all the money which should have gone to buy 
 victuals for us, on snuff and drams. And so they have sent 
 us back to this place, which is daddy's parish." 
 
 " And where do you live here ?" said Mr. Stock. " 0, sir, 
 we were all put into the parish poor-house." " And does 
 your mother do any thing to help to maintain you?" 
 " No, sir, for mammy says she was not brought up to work 
 like poor folks, and she would rather starve than spin or 
 knit ; so she lies a-bed all the morning, and sends us about 
 to pick up what we can, a bit of victuals or a few half- 
 pence." " And have you any money in your pocket now V 
 " Yes, sir, I have got three half-pence which I have begged 
 to-day." "Then, as you were so very hungry, how came 
 you not to buy a roll at that baker's over the way ?" " Be- 
 cause, sir, 1 was going to lay it out in tea for mammy, for I 
 never lay out a farthing for myself. Indeed mammy says 
 she will have her tea twice a-day if wc beg or starve for it." 
 "Can you read, my boy ?" said Mr. Stock: "A little, sir, 
 and say my prayers too." "And can you say your cate- 
 chism ?" " I have almost forgotten it all, sir, though I re- 
 member something about honoring my father and mother, 
 and that makes me still carry the half-pence home to mam- 
 my instead of buying cakes." "Who taught you these 
 good things ?" "One Jemmy Stock, sir, who was a parish 
 'prentice to my daddy, lie taught me one question out of 
 
 atechism every night, and always made me say my | 
 ers to him before I went to bed. He told me i should go 
 to the wicke ! place if I did not fear Cod. so I am aid 
 
 to tell lies like the other boys. Poor Jemmy gave me a piei 
 of ginger bread every time I learnt weil. but I have no
 
 G4 TUE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 friend now ; Jemmy was very good to me, though mammy 
 did nothing but beat him." 
 
 Mr. Stock was too much moved to carry on the discourse ; 
 he did not make himself known to the boy, but took him 
 over to the baker's shop ; as they walked along he could 
 not help repeating aloud a verse or two of that beautiful 
 hymn so deservedly the favorite of all children : 
 
 " Not more than others I deserve, 
 Yet God hath given me more ; 
 For I have food while others starve, 
 Or beg from door to door." 
 
 The little boy looked up iu his face, saying, " Why, sir, 
 that's the very hymn which Jemmy Stock gave me a penny 
 for learning." Stock made no answer, but put a couple of 
 threepenny loaves into his hand to carry home, and told 
 him to c«Jl on him again at such a time in the following 
 week. 
 
 HOW MR. STOCK CONTRIVED TO BE CHARITABLE WITHOUT 
 
 ANY EXPENSE. 
 
 Stock had abundant subject for meditation that night. 
 lie was puzzled what to do with the boy. While he was 
 carrying on his trade upon borrowed money, he did not 
 think it right to give an; y part of that money, to assist the 
 idle, or even help the distressed. " I must be just," said he, 
 E iiv I am generous.'' Still he could not bear to see tliis 
 fine boy given up to a certain ruin. He did not think it 
 safe to take him into his shop in his preseni ignorant, unprin- 
 cipled state. At last he hi! upon this thought : I work for 
 it' twelve hours in theday. Why shall I not work one 
 hour or two for this boy in the evening .' It will be but for 
 a year, and I shall then have more right to do what I please. 
 My money will then be my own : I shall have paid my 
 debts.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 65 
 
 So he began to put his resolution in practice that very 
 night, sticking to 'his old notion of not puting off till to- 
 morrow what should be done to-day : and it was thought 
 he owed much of his success in life, as well as his growth 
 in goodness, to this little saying: "I am young and 
 healthy," said he, " one hour's work more will do me no 
 harm ; I will set aside all I get by these over-hours, and 
 put the boy to school. I have not only no right to punish 
 this child for the sins of his father, but I consider that 
 though God hated those -sins, he has made them to be in- 
 strumental to my advancement." 
 
 Tommy "Williams called at the time appointed. In the 
 mean time Mr. Stock's maid had made him a neat little suit 
 of clothes of an old coat of her master's. She had also 
 knit him a pair of stockings, and Mr. Stock made him sit 
 down in the shop, while he fitted him with a pair of new 
 shoes. The maid having washed and dressed him, Stock 
 took him by the hand, and walked along with him to the 
 parish poor-house to find his mother. They found her 
 dressed in ragged, filthy finery, standing at the door, where 
 she passed most of her time, quarreling with half a dozen 
 women as idle and dirty as herself. When she saw Tommy 
 so neat and well-dressed, she fell a crying for joy. She said 
 "it put her in mind of old times, for Tommy always used 
 to be dressed like a gentleman." " So much the worse," said 
 Mr. Stock; "if you had not begun hy making him look like 
 agentleman, you needed not have ended by making him look 
 like a beggar." "Oh Jem !" said she (for though it was 
 four yeai-s since she had seen him she soon recollected him), 
 "fiue times for you ! Set a beggar on horseback — you know 
 the proverb. T shall beat Tommy well for finding you out 
 and exnosine- me to you." 
 
 Instead of entering into a dispute with this had woman,' 
 or praising himself at her expense; instead of putting her
 
 OG THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 in mind of her past ill behavior to him, or reproaching her 
 with the bad use she had made of her prosperity, he mildly 
 said to her, "Mrs. Williams I am sorry for your misfor- 
 1 lines; 1 am come to relieve you of part of your burden. 
 I will fake Tommy off your hands. I will give him a year's 
 board and schooling, and by that time I shall see what he 
 is fit for. T will promise nothing, but if the boy turns out 
 well, I will never forsake him. I shall make but one bargain 
 with you, which is, that he must not come to this place to 
 hear all this railing and swearing, nor shall he keep com- 
 pany with these pilfering, idle children. You are welcome 
 to go and see him when you please, but here he must not 
 come." 
 
 The foolish woman burst out a crying, saying, "she 
 should lose her poor dear Tommy forever. Mi Stock 
 might give her the money lie intended to pay at the school, 
 for nobody could do so well by him, as his own mother." 
 The truth was, she wanted to get these new clothes into 
 her clutches, which would have been pawned at the dram- 
 shop before the week was out. This Mr. Stock well knew. 
 From crying she fell to scolding and swearing. She told 
 him he was an unnatural wretch, that wanted to make a 
 child despise his own mother because she was poor. She 
 even went so far as to say she would not part from him ; 
 die said she hated your godly people, they had no bowels 
 of compassion, but tried to set men, women, and children 
 against their own flesh and blood. 
 
 Mr. Stork now almost lost his patience, and for one mo- 
 ment a though! came across him, to strip the boy, cany 
 back the clothes, and leave him to his unnatural mother. 
 "Why," said he, "should I work over-hours, and wear out 
 my strength for this wicked woman ?" But soon he checked 
 'this thought, by reflecting on the patience and long-suffer- 
 ing of God with rebellious sinners. This cured his anger in
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 07 
 
 a moment, and he mildly reasoned with her on her folly 
 and blindness in opposing the good of her child. 
 
 One of the neighbors who stood by said, "What a fine 
 thing it was for the boy ! but some people were born to be 
 lucky. She wished Mr. Stock would take a fancy to her 
 child, he should have him soon enough." Mrs. Williams 
 now began to be frightened lest Mr. Stock should take the 
 woman at her word, and sullenly consented to let the boy 
 go, from envy and malice, not from prudence and gratitude ; 
 and Tommy was sent to school that very night, his mother 
 crying and roaring instead of thanking God for such a 
 blessing. 
 
 And here I can not forbear telling a very good-natured 
 thing of Will Simpson, one of the. workmen. By the by, it 
 was that very young fellow who was reformed by Stock's 
 good example, when he was an apprentice, and who used to 
 sing psalms with him on a Sunday evening, when they got 
 out of the way of Williams's junketing. Will coming home 
 early one evening was surprised to find his master at work 
 by himself, long after the usual time. lie begged so heart- 
 ily to know the reason, that Stock owned the truth. Will 
 was so struck with this piece of '..' , that, he snatched 
 
 up a last, ciying out, " Well, master, you shall not work by 
 yourself, however ; we will go snacks in maintaining Tom- 
 my : it shall never be said that Will Simpson Avas idling 
 about wh< 'ii his master was working for charity." This 
 made the hour pass cheerfully, and doubled the profits. 
 
 In a year or two Mr. Stock, by God's blessing on his 
 labors, became quite dear of the world. Ee now paid off 
 his creditors, but he neverforgol his obligation to them, and 
 found many opportunities of showing kindness to them, and 
 to their children al m. Be now casl about for a prop- 
 
 er wife, and as he was thought a prosperous man, and was 
 very well looking besides, most of the smart girls of the
 
 68 TIIE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 place, with their tawdry finery, used to be often parading 
 before the shop, and would even go to church in order to 
 put themselves in his way. But Mr. Stock when he went 
 to church, had other things in his head ; and if ever he 
 thought about these gay damsels at all, it was with concern 
 in seeing them so improperly tricked out, so that the very 
 means they took to please him made him dislike them. 
 
 There was one Betsy West, a young woman of excellent 
 character, and very modest appearance. He had seldom 
 seen her out, as she was employed night and day in wait- 
 ing on an aged, widowed mother, who was both lame and 
 blind. This good girl was almost literally eyes and feet to 
 her helpless parent, and Mr. Stock used to see her, through 
 the little casement window, lifting her up, and feeding her 
 witji a tenderness which greatly raised his esteem for her. 
 He used to tell Will Simpson, as they sat at work, that 
 such a dutiful daughter could hardly help to make a faith- 
 ful wife. He had not, however, the heart to try to draw 
 her off from the care of her sick mother. The poor woman 
 declined very fast. Betsy was much employed in reading 
 or praying by her, while she was awake, and passed a good 
 part of the night while she slept, in doing some fine works 
 to sell, in order to supply her sick mother with little delica- 
 cies which their poor pittance could not afford, while she 
 herself lived on a crust. 
 
 Mr. Stock knew that Betsy would have little or nothing 
 after her mother's death, as she had only a life income. On 
 the other hand, Mr. Thompson, the tanner, had offered him 
 two hundred pounds with Ids daughter Nancy ; but he was 
 almost sorry that he had not in this case an opportunity of 
 resisting his natural Mas, which rather lay on the side of 
 loving money. " For," said he, " putting principle and put- 
 ting affection out of the question, I shall do a more prudent 
 thing by marrying Betsy West, who will conform to her
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 69 
 
 station, and is a- religions, humble, industrious girl, without 
 a shilling, than by having au idle dressy lass, who will 
 neglect my family and fill my house with company, though 
 she should have twice the fortune which Nancy Thompson 
 would bring," 
 
 At length poor old Mrs. West was released from all her 
 sufferings. At a proper time Mr. Stock proposed marriage 
 to Betsy, and was accepted. All the disappointed girls in 
 the town wondered what any body could like in such a 
 dowdy as that. Had the man no eyes? They thought 
 Mr. Stock had more taste. Oh ! how it did provoke all the 
 vain, idle things to find, that staying at home, dressing plain- 
 ly, serving God, and nursing a blind mother, should do that 
 for Betsy West, which all their contrivances, flaunting, and 
 dancinof, could not do for them. 
 
 He was not disappointed in his hope of meeting with a 
 good wife in Betsy, as indeed those who marry on right 
 grounds seldom are. But if religious persons will, for the 
 sake of money, choose partners for life who have no religion, 
 do not let them complain that they are unhappy : they 
 might have known that beforehand. 
 
 Tommy Williams was now taken home to Mr. Stock's 
 house and bound apprentice. He was always kind and at- 
 tentive to his mother ; and every penny which Will Simp- 
 son or his master gave him for learning a chapter, he would 
 save to buy a bit of tea ami sugar for her. When the 
 other boys laughed at him for being so foolish as to deny 
 "himself cakes and apples to give his money to her who was 
 so bad a woman, he would answer, " It may be so, but she 
 is my mother lor nil that" 
 
 Mr. Stock was much moved at the change in this bey, 
 who turned out a very good youtli. He resolved, as God 
 should prosper bim, thai he would try to snatch other help- 
 less creatures from sin and ruin. "For," said he, " it is
 
 70 THE TWO SHOliMAKERS, 
 
 owing to God's blessing on the -instructions of my good 
 minister when I was a child, that I have been saved from 
 the broad way of destruction." He still gave God the glory 
 of every thing he did aright: and when Will Simpson one 
 day said to him, " Master, I wish I were half as good as you 
 are." " Hold, William," answered he gravely, " I once read 
 in a book, that the devil is willing enough we should ap- 
 pear to do good actions, if he can but make us proud of 
 Hum]." 
 
 But we must not forget our other old acquaintance, Mr. 
 Stock's fellow 'prentice. So next month you may expect a 
 full account of the many tricks and frolics of idle JacV 
 Brown. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE FROLICS OF IDLE JACK BROWN. 
 
 You shall now hear what befell idle Jack Brown, who, 
 being a fanner's son, had many advantages to begin life 
 with. But he who wants prudence may be said to want 
 every tiling, because he turns all his advantages to no 
 account. 
 
 Jack Brown was just out of his time when his master 
 Williams died in that terrible drunken fit at the Grayhound. 
 You know already how Stock succeeded to his master's 
 , and prospered in it. Jack wished very much to 
 eiitei- into partnership with him. liis father and mother 
 too were desirous of it, and offered to advance a hundred 
 pounds with him. Here is a fresh proof of the power oi 
 character! The old farmer, with all his covetousness, was 
 eager to get his son into partnership with Stock, though
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKEltS. 71 
 
 the latter was not worth a shilling ; and even Jack's moth- 
 er, with all her pride, was eager for it, for they had both 
 sense enough to see it would be the making of Jack. The 
 father knew that Stock would look to the main chance; 
 and the mother that he would take the laboring oar, and 
 so her darling would have little to do. The ruling passion 
 operated in both. One parent wished to secure the son a 
 life of pleasure, the other a profitable trade. Both were 
 equally indifferent to whatever related to his eternal 
 good. 
 
 Stock, however, young as he was, was too old a bird to 
 be caught with chaff. His wisdom was an overmatch for 
 their cunning. lie had a kindness for Brown, hut would 
 on no account enter into business with him. " One of these 
 three things," said lie, "I am sure will happen if I do; he 
 will either hurt my principles, my character, or my trade ; 
 perhaps all." And here by-the-by, let me drop a hint to other 
 young men who are about to enter into partnership. Let 
 them not do that in haste which they may repent at leisure. 
 Next to marriage it is a tie the hardest to break ; and next 
 to that it is an engagement which ought to be entered into 
 with the most caution. Many things go to the making 
 such a connection suitable, salt;, and pleasant. There is 
 many a rich merchant need not be above taking a hint in 
 this respect, from James S ock the shoemaken 
 
 Brown was still unwilling to part from him; indeed lie 
 was too idle to look out for business, so he offered Stuck to 
 work with him as a journeyman, but tins he also mildly 
 refused. It butt his good nature to do so ; but he reflected 
 that a young man who baa his way to make in the world, 
 must not only be good-natured, he must be prudent also. 
 "I am resolved," said he, "to employ none but the most 
 sober, regular young men 1 can get. Evil communicatii 
 corrupt good manners, and I should be answerable for all
 
 72 TUE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 the disorders of my house, if I knowingly took a wild, drink- 
 ing young fellow into it. That which might be kindness to 
 one, would be injustice to many, and therefore a sin in my- 
 self." 
 
 Brown's mother was in a great rage when she heard that 
 her son had stooped so low as to make this offer. She 
 valued herself on being proud, for she thought pride was a 
 grand thing. Poor woman ! She did not know that it is 
 the meanest thing in the world. It was her ignorance 
 which made her proud, as is apt to be the case. " You 
 mean-spin ted rascal," she said to Jack, " I had rather follow 
 you to your grave, as well as I love you, than see you dis- 
 grace your family by working under Jem Stock, the parish 
 apprentice." She forgot already what pains she had taken 
 about the partnership, but pride and passion have bad 
 memories. 
 
 It is hard to say which was now uppermost in her mind, 
 her desire to be revenged on Stock, or to see her son make 
 a figure. She raised every shilling she could get from her 
 husband, and all she could crib from the dairy to set up 
 Jack in a showy way. So the very next market day she 
 came herself, and took for him the new white house, with 
 the two little sash windows painted blue, and blue posts 
 before the door. It is that house which has the old cross 
 just before it, as you turn down between the church and 
 the Grayhound. Its being so near the church to be sure 
 was no recommendation to Jack, but its being so near the 
 Grayhound was, ami so taking one thing with the other it 
 was to be sure no bad situation; but what weighed most 
 with the mother was, that it was a much more showy shop 
 than Stock's; and the house, though not half so convenient, 
 was Car more smart. 
 
 In order to draw custom, his foolish mother advised him 
 to undersell his neighbors just at first ; to buy ordinary but
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKER'S. 73 
 
 showy goods, and to employ cheap workmen. In short she 
 charered him to leave no stone unturned to ruin his old 
 comrade Stock. Indeed she always thought with double 
 satisfaction of Jack's prosperity, because she always joined to 
 it the hope that his success would be the ruin of Stock, for 
 she owned it would be the joy of her heart to bring that 
 proud upstart to a morsel of bread. She did not under- 
 stand, for her part, why such beggars must become trades- 
 men ; it was making a velvet purse of a sow's ear. 
 
 Stock, however, set out on quite another set of principles. 
 He did not allow himself to square his own behavior to 
 others by theirs to him. He seldom asked himself what he 
 should like to do : but he had a mighty way of saying, " I 
 wonder now what is my duty to do?" And when he was 
 once clear in that matter he generally did it, always heg- 
 ging God's blessing and direction. So instead of setting 
 Brown at defiance ; instead of all that vulgar selfishness, of 
 catch he that catch can — and two of a trade can never 
 agree — he resolved to be friendly toward him. Instead of 
 joining in the laugh against Brown for making his house 
 so fine, he was sorry for him, because he feared he would 
 never be able to pay such a rent. He very kindly called 
 upon him, told him there was business enough for them 
 both, and gave him many useful hints lor his going on. 
 He warned him to go oftener to church and seldoiner to 
 the Grayhound : put him in mind how following the one 
 and forsaking the 9ther had been the ruin of their poor 
 master, and added the following 
 
 ADVICE TO YOUNG TRADESMEN. 
 
 Buy the best goods ; cut the ivork out yourself ; let the 
 
 of //"' master be everywhere; employ the soberest unu ; 
 
 avoid oil the low deceits of trade ; never lower the credit of 
 
 another to raise your own ; make short jxrymcnfs ; keep 
 
 4
 
 74 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 exact accounts ; avoid idle company, and be very strict to 
 your word. 
 
 For a short time things went on swimmingly. Brown 
 was merry and civil. The shop was well situated for gos- 
 sip ; and every one who had something to say, and nothing 
 to do was welcome. Every idle story was first spread, and 
 every idle song first sung, in Brown's shop, Every cus- 
 tomer who came to be measured w T as promised that his 
 shoes should be done first. But the misfortune was, if 
 twenty came in a day the same promise was made to all, so 
 that nineteen were disappointed, and of course affronted. 
 He never said no to any one. It is indeed a word which it 
 requires some honesty to pronounce. By all these false 
 promises he was thought the most obliging fellow that ever 
 made a shoe. And as he set out on the principle of under- 
 selling, people took a mighty fancy to the cheap shop. 
 And it was agreed among all the young and giddy, that he 
 would beat Stock all hollow, and that the old shop would 
 be knocked up. 
 
 ALL 18 NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS. 
 
 After a few months, however, folks began to be not quite 
 so fond of the cheap shop; one found out that the leather 
 was bad, another that the work was slight. Those who 
 liked substantial goods went all of them to Stock's, for they 
 said Brown's heel-taps did not last a week; his new boots 
 let in water; ami they believed he made his soles of brown 
 paper. Besides, it was thought by most, that this promis- 
 ing all, and keeping his word with none, hurt his business 
 as much as any thing. Indeed, I question, putting religion 
 out of the question, if lying ever answ< rs,< ven in a political 
 view. 
 
 Brown had what is commonly called a good heart ; that 
 is, he had a thoughtless good nature, and a sort of feeling
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 75 
 
 for the moment which made him very sorry wheu others 
 were in trouble. But he was uot apt to put himself to any 
 inconvenience, nor go a step out of his way, nor give up 
 any pleasure to serve the best friend he had. He loved 
 fan ; and those who do should always see that it be harm- 
 less, and that they do not give up more for it than it is 
 worth. I am not going to say a word against innocent 
 merriment. I like it myself. But what the proverb says 
 of gold, may be said of mirth ; it may be bought too dear. 
 If a young man finds that what he fancies is a good joke 
 may possibly offend God, hurt his neighbor, afflict his 
 parent, or make a modest girl blush, let him then be 
 assured it is not fun, but wickedness, and he had better let 
 it alone. 
 
 Jack Brown then, as good a heart as he had, did not 
 know what it was to deny himself any thing. He was so 
 good-natured indeed, that he never in his life refused to 
 make one of a jolly set ; but he was not good-natured 
 enough to consider that those men whom he kept up all 
 night roaring and laughing, had wives and children at 
 home, who had little to eat, and less to wear, because they 
 were keeping up the character of merry fellows, and good 
 hearts at the public house. 
 
 THE MOUNTEBANK. 
 
 One day be saw his father's plow- boy come galloping 
 up to the door in great haste. This boy brought Brown 
 word that his mother was dangerously ill, and that his 
 father had sent his own best hay mare Smiler, that his son 
 might lose no time, but set out directly to see his mother 
 before she died, -lack burst into tears, lamented the danger 
 of so fond a mother, and all the people in the shop extolled 
 bis good heart. 
 
 He sent back the boy directly, with a message that ha
 
 76 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 would follow him iu half an hour, as soon as the mare had 
 baited : for he well knew that his father would not thank 
 him for any haste he might make if Smiler was hurt. 
 
 Jack accordingly set oft', and rode with such speed to the 
 next town, that both himself and Smiler had a mind to an- 
 other bait. They stopped at the Star ; unluckily it was 
 fair-dav, and as he was walking about while Smiler was 
 eating her oats, a bill was put in his hand setting forth, that 
 on the stage opposite the Globe a mountebank was showing 
 away, and his Andrew performing the finest tricks that ever 
 were seen. He read — he stood still — he went on — " It will 
 not hinder me," said he ; " Smiler must rest ; and I shall 
 see my poor dear mother quite as soon if I just take a peep, 
 as if I sit moping at the Star." 
 
 The tricks were so merry that the time seemed short, 
 and Avher they were over he could not forbear going into 
 the Globe and treating these choice spirits with a bowl of 
 punch. Just as they were taking the last glass, Jack hap- 
 pened to say he was the best fives player in the country. 
 " That is lucky," said the Andrew, " for there is a famous 
 match now playing at the court, and you may nevei again 
 have such an opportunity to show your skill." Brown de- 
 clared " he could not stay, for that he had left his horse at 
 the Star, and must set off on urgent business." They now 
 all pretended to call his skill in question. This roused his 
 pride, and he thought another half hour could break no 
 squares. Smiler had now had a good feed of corn, and he 
 would only have to push her on a little more ; so to it he 
 went. 
 
 lie won the first game. This spurred him on ; and he 
 played till it was so dark they could not see a ball. An- 
 other bowl was called for from the winner. Wagers am! 
 bets now drained Brown not only of all the money he had 
 won, but of all he had in his pocket, so that he was obliged
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 77 
 
 to ask leave to go to the house where his horse was, to bor- 
 row enough to discharge his reckoning at the Globe. 
 
 All these losses brought his poor dear mother to his 
 mind, and he marched off with rather a heavy heart to bor- 
 row the money, and to order Smiler out of the stable. The 
 landlord expressed much surprise at seeing him, and the 
 ostler declared there was no Smiler there ; that he had 
 been rode off above two hours ago by the merry Andrew, 
 who said he come by order of the owner, Mr. Brown, to 
 fetch him to the Globe, and to pay for his feed. It was in- 
 deed one of the neatest tricks the Andrew ever performed, 
 for he made such a clean conveyance of Smiler, that neither 
 Jack nor his father ever heard of her again. 
 
 It was night : no one could tell what road the Andrew 
 took, and it was another hour or two before an advertise- 
 ment could be drawn up for apprehending the horse-stealer. 
 Jack had some doubts whether he should go on or return 
 back. He knew that though his father might fear his wife 
 most, yet he loved Smiler best. At length he took that 
 courage from a glass of brandy which he ought to have 
 taken from a hearty repentance, and he resolved to pursue 
 his journey. He was obliged to leave his watch and silver 
 buckles in pawn for a little old hack, which was nothing 
 but skin and bone, and would hardly trot three miles an 
 hour. 
 
 He knocked at his father's door about five in the morn- 
 ing. The family were all up. He asked the boy who 
 opened the door how his mother was? " She is dead," 
 said the boy; "she died yesterday afternoon." Here Jack's 
 heart smote him, and lie cried aloud, partly from grief, but 
 more from the reproaches of his own conscience, tor he 
 found by computing the hours, that had ho come straighl 
 on, he should have been in time to receive his mother's 
 blessing.
 
 78 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 The farmer now came from within, " I hear Smiler's step. 
 Is Jack come ?" " Yes, father," said Jack, in a low voice. 
 " Then," cried the farmer, " run every man and boy of you 
 and take care of the mare. Tom, do thou go and rub her 
 down ; Jem, run and get her a good feed of corn. Be 
 Mire walk her about that she may not catch cold." Young 
 Brown came in. " Are you not an undutiful dog ?" said 
 the father ; " 3011 might have been here twelve hours ago. 
 Your mother could not die in peace without seeing you. 
 She said it was cruel return for all her fondness, that you 
 could not make a little haste to see her ; but it was always 
 so, for she had wronged her other children to help you, and 
 this was her reward." Brown sobbed out a few words, but 
 his father replied, " Never cry, Jack, for the boy told me that 
 it was out of regard for Smiler, that you were not here as 
 soon as he was, and if 'twas your over care of her, why 
 there's no great harm done. You could not have saved 
 your poor mother, and you might have hurt the mare." 
 Here Jack's double guilt flew into his face. He knew that 
 his father vvo.3 very covetous, and had lived on bad terms 
 with his witl- ; and also that his own unkindness to her had 
 been forgiven by him out of love to the horse; but to break 
 to him how Ik- had lost that horse through his own folly 
 and want of f 'ling, was more than Jack had courage 
 to do. The old man, however, soon got at the truth, and 
 no words can desc ibe his fury. Forgetting that his wife 
 lay dead above stairs, he abused his sou in a way not fit to 
 be repeated ; and though his covetousness had just before 
 found an excuse for a favorite son neglecting to visit a dy- 
 ing parent, yet he now vented his rag*; against Jack as an 
 unnatural brute, whom he would cut oil' with a shilling, 
 and bade him never see his face again. 
 
 Jack was not allowed to attend his mother's funeral, 
 which was a real grief to him ; nor would his father ad-
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. ^9 
 
 vance even thedittle money, which, was needful to redeem 
 his things at the Star. He had now no fond mother to as- 
 sist him, and he set out on his return home on his borrowed 
 hack, full of grief. He had the added mortification of 
 knowing that he had also lost by his folly a little hoard of 
 money which his mother had saved up for him. 
 
 When Brown got back to his own town he found that 
 the story of Smiler and the Andrew had got thither before 
 him, and it was thought a very good joke at the Grayhound. 
 He soon recovered his spirits as far as related to the horse, 
 but as to his behavior to his dying mother it troubled him 
 at times to the last day of his life, though he did all he 
 could to forget it. He did not, however, go on at all better, 
 nor did he engage in one frolic the less for what tad passed 
 at the Globe ; his good heart continually betrayed him into 
 acts of levity and vanity. 
 
 Jack began at length to feel the reverse of that proverb, 
 Keep your shop and your shop will keep you. He had 
 neglected his customers, an 1 they forsook him. Quarter- 
 day came round ; there was much to pay and little to re- 
 ceive. He owed two years' rent. He was in arrears to 
 his men for wages. He had a long account with his cur- 
 rier. It was in vain to apply to his father. He had now 
 no mother. Stock was the only true friend he had in the 
 world, and had helped him out of many petty scrapes, but 
 he knew Stock would advance no money in so hopeless a 
 ■ 3e. Duns came fast about him. He named a speedy 
 day for payment ; but a s soon as they were out of the house, 
 and the danger put off to a little distance, he forgot every 
 promise, was as merry as ever, and run the same round of 
 thoughtless gayety. Whenever he was in trouble, Stock 
 did not shun him, because that was the moment to throw 
 in a little good advice. He one day asked him if he alwa; 
 intended to go on in this .course ? "No," said he, "I am
 
 80 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 resolved by and by to reform, grow sober, and go to church. 
 Why I am but five and twenty, man ; I am stout aud 
 healthy, and likely to live long; I can repent, and grow 
 melancholy and good at any time." 
 
 " Oh Jack !" said Stock, " don't cheat thyself with that 
 false hope. What thou dost intend to do, do quickly. 
 Didst thou never read about the heart ffrowinu hardened 
 by long indulgence in sin ? Some folks, who pretend to 
 mean well, show that they mean nothing at all, by never 
 beginning to put their good resolutions into practice ; which 
 made a wise man once say, that hell is paved with good in- 
 tentions. We can not repent when we please. It is the 
 goodness of God which leadeth us to repentance." 
 
 " I am sure," replied Jack, " I am no one's enemy but 
 my own." 
 
 " It is as foolish," said Stock, " to say a bad man is no 
 one's enemy but his own, as that a good man is no one's 
 friend but his own. There is no such neutral character. A 
 bad man corrupts or offends all within reach of his example, 
 just as a good man benefits or instructs all within the 
 sphere of his influence. And there is no time when we 
 can say that this transmitted good and evil will end. A 
 wicked man may be punished for sins he never committed 
 himself, if he has been the cause of sin in others, as surely 
 as a saint will be rewarded for more good deeds than he 
 himself has done, even for the virtues and good actions of 
 all those who are made better by his instruction, his exam- 
 ple, or his writings." 
 
 Michaelmas-day was at hand. The landlord declared he 
 would be put off no longer, but would seize for rent if it 
 was not paid him on that day, as well as for a considerable ■ 
 sum due to him for leather. Brown at last beiran to be 
 frightened. lie applied to Stock to be bound for him. 
 This, Stock flatly refused. Brown now began to dread the
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 81 
 
 horrors of a jail, and really seemed so very contrite, and 
 made so many vows and promises of amendment, that at 
 length Stock was prevailed on, together with two or three 
 of Brown's other friends, to advance each . a small sum of 
 money to quiet the landlord. Brown promising to make 
 over to them every part of his stock, and to be guided in 
 future by their advice, declaring tbat he would turn over a 
 new leaf, and follow Mr. Stock's example, as well as his 
 direction in every thing. 
 
 Stock's good nature was at length wrought upon, and he 
 raised the money. The truth is, he did not know the 
 worst, nor how deeply Brown was involved. Brown joy- 
 fully set out on the very quarter-day to a town at some 
 distance, to carry his landlord this money, raised by the 
 imprudent kindness of his friend. At his departure Stock 
 put him in mind of the old story of Smiler and the Merry 
 Andrew, and he promised to his own head that he would 
 not even call at a public house till he had paid the money. 
 
 He was as good as his word. He very triumphantly 
 passed by several. He stopped a little under the window 
 of one where the sounds of merriment and loud laughter 
 caught his ear. At another he heard the enticing notes of 
 a fiddle and the light heels of the merry dancers. Here 
 his heart had well-nigh failed him, but the dread of a jail 
 on the one hand, and what he feared almost as much, 
 Mr. Stock's anger on the other, spurred him on ; and he 
 valued himself not a little at having got the better of this 
 temptation. He felt quite happy when he found he had 
 reached the door of his landlord without having yielded to 
 one idle inclination. 
 
 He knocked at the door. The maid who opened it said 
 her master was not at home. " 1. am sorry for it," said he, 
 strutting about : and with a boasting air he took cat his 
 money. " I want to pay him my rent : he needed not to
 
 82 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 have been afraid of me." The servant, who knew her mas- 
 ter was very much afraid of him, desired him to walk in, 
 for her master would be at home in half an hour. " I will 
 call again," said he ; " but no, let him call on me, and the 
 sooner the better : I shall be at the Blue Posts." AVhile 
 he had been talking, he took care to open his black leather 
 case, and to display the bank bills to the servant, and then, 
 in a swaggering way, he put up bis money and marched off 
 to the Blue Posts. 
 
 lie was by this time quite proud of his own resolution, 
 and having tendered the money, and being clear in his own 
 mind that it was tbe landlord's own fault and not his that 
 it was not paid, he went to refresh himself at the Blue 
 Posts. In a barn belonging to this public house a set of 
 strollers were just going to perform some of that sing-song 
 ribaldry, by winch our villages are corrupted, the laws 
 broken, and that money drawn from the poor for pleasure, 
 which is w r anted by their families for bread. The name of 
 the last new song which made part of the entertainment, 
 made him think himself in high luck, that he should have 
 just that half hour to spare. He went into the barn, but 
 was too much delighted with the actor, who* sung his 
 favorite song, to remain a quiet hearer. He leaped out of 
 the pit, and got behind the two ragged blankets wdiich 
 served for a curtain. He sumr so much better than the 
 actors themselves, that they praised and admired him to a 
 degree which awakened all his vanity. He was so intoxi- 
 cated with their flattery, that he could do no less than in- 
 vite them all to supper, an invitation which they were too 
 hungry not to accept. 
 
 He did not, however, quite forget his appointment with 
 his landlord ; but the half hour was long since past by 
 "And so," says he, "as I know lie is a mean curmudgeon, 
 who goes to bed by daylight to save candles, it will be too
 
 THE TWO SIIOEMAKEKS. 83 
 
 late to speak with him to-night ; besides, let him call upon 
 me ; it is his business and not mine. I left word where I 
 was to be found ; the money is ready, and if I don't pay 
 him to-night, I can do it before breakfast." 
 
 By the time these firm resolutions were made, supper 
 was ready. There never was a more jolly evening. Ale 
 and punch were as plenty as water. The actors saw what 
 a vain fellow was feasting them, and as they wanted victuals 
 and he wanted flattery, the business was soon settled. They 
 ate, and Brown sung. They pretended to be in raptures. 
 Singing promoted drinking, and every fresh glass produced 
 a new song or a story still more merry than the former. 
 Before morning, the players, who were engaged to act in 
 another barn a dozen miles off, stole away quietly. Brown 
 having dropt asleep, they left him to finish his nap by him- 
 self. As to him his dreams were gay and pleasant, and the 
 house being quite still, he slept comfortably till morning. 
 
 As soon as he had breakfasted, the business of the night 
 before popped into his head. He set off once more to his 
 landlord's in high spirits, gayly singing by (he way, scraps 
 of all the tunes he had picked up the night before from his 
 new friends. The landlord opened the door himself, and 
 reproached him with no small surliness for not having kept 
 his word with him the evening before, adding, that he sup- 
 posed he was come now with some more of his shallow ex- 
 cuses. Brown put on all that haughtiness which is com- 
 mon to people who, being generally apt to be in the wrong, 
 happen to catch themselves doingaright action; he looked 
 big, as some sort of people do when they have money to paj . 
 " You need not have been so anxious about your money," 
 said he,"] was not going to break or run away." The 
 landlord well knew this was the common language of those 
 who are ready to do both. Brown haughtily added, "You
 
 84 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 shall see I am a man of my word ; give me a receipt." 
 The landlord had it ready and gave it him. 
 
 Brown put his hand in his pocket for his black leathern 
 case in which the bills were ; he felt, he searched, he ex- 
 amined, first one pocket, then the other ; then both waist- 
 coat poekets, but no leather case could he find. He looked 
 terrified. It was indeed the face of real terror, but the 
 landlord conceived it to be that of guilt, and abused him 
 heartily for putting his old tricks upon him ; he swore he 
 would not be imposed upon any longer ; the money or a 
 jail — there lay his choice. 
 
 Brown protested for once with great truth that he had 
 no intention to deceive ; declared that he had actually 
 brought the money, and knew not what was become of it ; 
 but the thing was far too unlikely to gain credit. Brown 
 now called to mind that he had fallen asleep on the settle 
 in the room where they had supped. This raised his 
 spirits; for he had no doubt but the case had fallen out of 
 his pocket; he said he would step to the public hoi: 
 search for it, and would be back directly. Not one word 
 of this did the landlord believe, so inconvenient is it to 
 have a bad character. ITe swore Brown should not stir out 
 of his house without a constable, and made him wait while 
 he sent for one. Brown, guarded by the constable, went 
 back to the Blue Posts, the landlord charging the officer 
 not to lose sight of the culprit. The caution was needl 
 Brown had not the least design of running away, so firmly 
 persuaded was he that he should find his leather c 
 
 But who can paint his dismay, when no tale or tidings 
 of the leather ease could be had ! The master, the mis- 
 tress, the boy, the maid of the public house, all protested 
 they were innocent. His suspicions soon fell on the strollers 
 with whom he had passed the night ; and lie now found 
 out for the first time, that a merry evening did not always'
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 83 
 
 produce a happy morning-. He obtained a warrant, and 
 proper officers were sent in pursuit of the strollers. No 
 one, however, believed he had really lost any thing ; and 
 as he had not a shilling left to defray the expensive treat 
 he had given, the master of the inn agreed with the other 
 landlord in thinking this story was a trick to defraud them 
 both, and Brown remained in close custody. At length 
 the officers returned, who said they had been obliged to let 
 the strollers go, as they could not fix the charge on any one, 
 and they had offered to swear before a justice that they had 
 seen nothing of the leather case. It was at length agreed 
 that as he had passed the evening in a crowded barn, he 
 had probably been robbed there, if at all ; and among so 
 many, who could pretend to guess at the thief ? 
 
 Brown raved like a madman ; he cried, tore bis hair, and 
 said he was ruined for ever. The abusive language of his 
 old landlord, and his new creditor at the Blue Posts, did 
 not lighten his sorrow. His landlord would be put off no 
 longer. Brown declared he could neither find bail nor raise 
 another shilling:: and as soon as the forms of law were 
 made out, he was sent to the county jail. 
 
 Here it might have beeu expected that hard living and 
 much leisure would have brought him to reflect a little on 
 his past follies. But his heart was not truly touched. The 
 chief thing which grieved him at first was his having 
 abused the kindness of Stock, lor to him be should appear 
 guilty of a real fraud, where indeed he had been only vain, 
 idle, and imprudent. And it is worth while, here to remark, 
 (hat vanity, idleness, an 1 imprudence, often bring a man to 
 utter ruin both of soul and body, though silly people do 
 not put them in the ealalogue of heavy sins, and those who 
 indulge in them are often reckoned honest, merry fellows, 
 with the best hearts in the world. 
 
 I wish T had room to tell my rea lers whal befell Jack in
 
 86 THE TWO RJIOEMAKER8. 
 
 his present doleful habitation, and what became of him 
 afterward. I promise them, however, that they shall cer- 
 tainly know the first of next month, when I hope they will 
 not forget to inquire for the fourth part of the Shoemakers, 
 or Jack Brown in prison. 
 
 PAKT IV. 
 
 JACK BROWN IN PRISON. 
 
 Brown wan no sooner lodged in his doleful habitation, 
 and a little recovered from his first surprise, than he sat 
 down and wrote his friend Stock the whole history of the 
 transaction. Mr. Stock, who had long known the exceed- 
 ing lightness and dissipation of his mind, did not so utterly 
 disbelieve the story as all the other creditors did. To speak 
 the truth, Stock was the only one among them who had 
 good sense enough to know, that a man may be completely 
 ruined, both in what relates to his property and his soul, 
 without committing Old Bailey crimes. He well knew that 
 idleness, vanity, and the love of pleasure, as it is falsely 
 called, will bring ;i man to a morsel of bread, as surely as 
 those things which are reckoned much greater sins, and that 
 they undermine his principles as certainly, though not quite 
 so fast. 
 
 Stock was too angry with what had happened to answer 
 Brown's letter, or to seem to take the least notice of him. 
 However, he kindly and secretly undertook a journey to the 
 hard-hearted old farmer, Brown's fit her, to intercede with 
 him, and to see if he would do any thing for his son. 
 Stock did not pretend to excuse Jack, or even to lessen his
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 87 
 
 offenses ; for it was a rule of Lis never to disguise truth or 
 to palliate wickedness. Sin was still sin in his eyes, though 
 it were committed by his best friend ; but though he would 
 not soften the sin, he felt tenderly for the sinner. He ■ 
 pleaded with the old farmer on the ground that his son's 
 idleness and other vices would gather fresh strength in a 
 jail. He told him that the loose and worthless company 
 which he would there keep, would harden him in vice, 
 and if he was now wicked, he might there become irre- 
 claimable. 
 
 But all his pleas were urged in vain. The fanner was 
 not to be moved ; indeed he argued, with some justice, that 
 he ought not to make his industrious children beggars to 
 save one rogue from the gallows. Mr. Stock allowed the 
 force of his reasoning, though he saw the father was less 
 influenced by this principle of justice than by resentment 
 on account of the old story of Smiler. People, indeed, 
 should take care that what.appears in their conduct to pro- 
 ceed from justice, does not really proceed from revenge. 
 Wiser men than Farmer Brown often deceive themselves, 
 and fancy they act on better principles than they really do, 
 for want of looking a little more closely into their own 
 hearts, and putting down every action to its true motive. 
 When we are praying against deceit, we should not forget 
 to take self-d< it into the account. 
 
 Mr. Stock at length wrote to poor Jack ; not to offer him 
 any help, that was quite out of the question, but to exhort 
 him to repent of his evil ways; to lay before him the sins 
 of his pasi life, and to advise him to convert the present 
 punishmenl into a benefit, by humbling himself before God. 
 lie offered his interest to get his place of confinement ex- 
 changed for one of those improved prisons, where solitude 
 and labor have been made the happy instruments of bring- 
 ing many to a better way of thinking, and ended by say-
 
 88 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 iug, that if he ever gave any solid signs of real amend- 
 ment he would still be his friend, in spite of all that was 
 past. 
 
 If Mr. Stock had sent him a good sum of money to pro- 
 cure his liberty, or even to make merry with his wretched 
 companions, Jack would have thought him a friend indeed. 
 But to send him nothing but dry advice, and a few words 
 of empty comfort, was, he thought, but a cheap, shabby way 
 of showing his kindness. Unluckily the letter came just 
 as he was going to sit down to one of those direful merry - 
 makino-s which are often carried on with brutal riot within 
 the doleful walls of a jail on the entrance of a new prisoner, 
 who is often expected to give a feast to the rest. 
 
 When his companions were heated with gin ; " Now," said 
 Jack, "I'll treat you with a sermon, and a very pretty 
 preachment it is." So saying, he took out Mr. Stock's kind 
 and pious letter, and was delighted at the bursts of laughter 
 it produced. " What a canting dig !" said one. " Repent- 
 ance, indeed !" cried Tom Grew; " No, no, Jack, tell this 
 hypocritical rogue that if we have lost our liberty, it is only 
 for having been jolly, hearty fellows, and we have more 
 spirit than to repent of that I hope : all the harm we have 
 done is living a little too fast, like honest bucks as we are." 
 " Ay, ay," said Jolly George, " had we been such sneaking 
 miserly fellows as Stock, we need not have come hither. 
 But if the ill nature of the laws has been so cruel a& to clap 
 up such fine hearty blades, we are no felons, however. We 
 are afraid of no Jack Ketch; and I see no cause to repent 
 of any sin that's aot hanging matter. As to those who are 
 thrust into the condemne 1 hole in. Iced, and have but a few 
 hours to live, they must see the parson, and hear a sermon, 
 and such stuff. But I do not know what such stout young 
 fellows as we are have to do with repentance. And so, 
 Jack, let us have that rave new catch which you learnt of
 
 THE 1 W O SHOEMAKERS. 89 
 
 the strollers that merry night when you lost your pocket- 
 book." 
 
 This thoughtless youth soon gave a fresh proof of the 
 power of evil company, and of the quick progress of the 
 heart of a sinner from bad to worse. Brown, who always 
 wanted principle, soon grew to want feeling also. He joined 
 in the laugh which was raised against Stock, and told many 
 good stories, as they were called, in derision of the piety, 
 sobriety, and self-denial of his old friend. He lost every day 
 somewhat of those small remains of shame and decency 
 which' he had brought with him to the prison. He even 
 grew reconciled to this wretched way of life, and the Avant 
 of money seemed to him the heaviest evil in the life of 
 a jail. 
 
 Mr. Stock finding from the jailor that his letter had been 
 treated with ridicule, would not write to him any more. 
 He did not come to see him nor send him any assistance, 
 thinking- it right to let him sutler that want which his vices 
 had brought upon him. But as he still hoped that the time 
 would come when he might be brought to a sense of his 
 evil courses, he continued to have an eye upon him by 
 means of the jailor, who was an honest, kind-hearted man. 
 
 Brown spent one part of his time in thoughtless riot, 
 and the other in gloomy sadness. Company kept up his 
 spirits ; with his new friends he contrived to drown thought ; 
 but when he was alone he began to find that a merry fellow, 
 when deprived of his companions and his liquor; is often a 
 most forlorn wretch. Then it is I hat even a merry fellow 
 says, Of laughter, what is it? and of mirth, it is madness. 
 
 As he contrived, however, to be as little alone as possi- 
 
 1 ble his gayety was commonly uppermost till that loathsome 
 
 distemper, called the jail fever, broke out in the prison. 
 
 Tom Crew, the ring-leader in all their evil practices, was 
 
 first seized with it. Jack staid a little while with his com-
 
 90 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 rade to assist and divert liira, but of assistance he could 
 give little, and the veiy thought of diversion was now turned 
 into horror. He soon caught the distemper, and that in so 
 dreadful a degree, that his life was in great danger. Of 
 those who remained in health not a soul came near him, 
 though he shared his last farthing with them. He had just 
 sense enough left to feel this cruelty. Poor fellow ! he did 
 not know before, that the friendship of the worldly is at an 
 end when there is no more drink or diversion to bo had. 
 He lay in the most deplorable condition ; his body tor- 
 mented with a dreadful disease, and his soul terrified and 
 amazed at the approach of death : that death which he 
 thought at so great a distance, and of which his comrades 
 had so ofted assured him, that a young fellow of five and 
 twenty was in no danger. Poor Jack! I can not help feel- 
 ing for him Without a shilling! without a friend! with- 
 out one comtor; respecting this world, and, what is far more 
 terrible, without one hope respecting the next. 
 
 Let not the young reader fancy that Brown's misery arose 
 entirely from his altered circumstances. It was not merely 
 his being in want, and sick, and in prison, which made his 
 condition so desperate. Many an honest man unjustly ac- 
 cused, many a persecuted saint, many a holy martyr b<y? 
 enjoyed sometimes more peace and content in a prison than 
 wicked men have ever tasted in the height of their pros- 
 perity. But to any such comforts, to any comfort at all, 
 poor Jack was an utter stranger. 
 
 A Christian friend generally comes forward at the very 
 time when worldly friends forsake the wretched. The other 
 prisoners would not come near Brown, though he had often 
 entertained, and had never offended them; even his own 
 father was not moved with his sad condition. When Mr. 
 Stock informed him of it, he answered, " 'Tis no more than 
 he deserves. As he brews so he must bake. He has made
 
 THE TWO 311 O E MAKERS. 91 
 
 his own bed, and let him lie in it." The hard old man had 
 ever at his tongue's end some proverb of hardness, or fru- 
 gality, which he contrived to turn in such a way as to ex- 
 cuse himself. 
 
 We shall now see how Mr. Stock behaved. He had his 
 favorite savings too ; but they were chiefly on the side of 
 kindness, mercy, or some other virtue. " I must not," said 
 he, " pretend to call myself a Christian, if I do not requite 
 evil with good." When he received the jailor's letter with 
 the account of Crown's sad condition, Will Simpson and 
 Tommy Williams began to compliment him on his own 
 wisdom and prudence, by which he had escaped Brown's 
 misfortunes. He only gravely said, " Blessed be God that I 
 am not in the same misery. It is He who has ma le us to 
 diti'er. But for his grace I might have been in no better 
 condition. Now Brown is brought low by the hand of 
 God, it ismy time to go to him." "What, you !" said Will, 
 " whom he cheated of your money ?" " This is not a time 
 to remember injuries," said Mr. Stock. "How can I ask 
 forgiveness of my own sins, if I withhold forgiveness from 
 him ?" So saying, he ordered his horse; and set oft* to see 
 poor Brown; thus proving that his was a religion not of 
 words, but of deeds. 
 
 Stock's heart nearly failed him as he passed through the 
 prison. The groans of the sick and dying, and, what to 
 such a heart as his was still more moving, the brutal merri- 
 ment of the healthy in such a place, pierced his very soul. 
 Many a silent prayer did he put up as he passed along, that 
 God would yet be pleased to touch their hearts, and thai 
 now (during th ckn iss) might he the accepted 
 
 time. The jailor observed him drop a tear, and asked the 
 cause. "1 can nol forget," said he, "that, the most dissolute 
 of these men is still my fellow creature. The same God 
 made them ; the same Saviour died for them; how then
 
 92 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 can I hate the worst of them? With my advantages they 
 might have been much better than I am ; without the bless- 
 ing of God on my good minister's instructions, I might have 
 been worse than the worst of these. I have no cause for 
 pride, much for thankfulness ; ' Let us not be high-minded, 
 but fear? " 
 
 It Avould have moved a heart of stone to have seen poor 
 miserable Jack Brown lying on his wretched bed, his face 
 so changed by pain, poverty, dirt, and sorrow, that he could 
 hardly be known for that merry soul of a jack-boot, as he 
 used to be proud to hear himself called. His groans were 
 so piteous that it made Mr. Stock's heart ache. He kindly 
 took him by the hand, though he knew the distemper was 
 catching. " IIow dost do, .Jack ?" said he, " dost know me ?" 
 Brown shook his head and said, " Know you ? ay, that I do. 
 1 am sure I have but one friend in the world who would 
 come to see me in this woeful condition. O, James ! what 
 have I brought myself to ? What will become of my poor 
 soul ? I dare not look back, for that is all sin ; nor forward, 
 for that is all misery and woe." 
 
 Mr. Stock spoke kindly to him, but did not attempt to 
 cheer him with false comfort, as is too often done. " I am 
 ashamed to see you in this dirty place," says Brown. " As 
 to the place, Jack," replied the other, " if it has helped to 
 bring you to a sense of your past offenses, it will be no bad 
 place for you. I am heartily sorry for your distress and 
 your sickness ; but if it should please God by them to open 
 your eyes, and to show you that sin is a greater evil than 
 the prison to which it has brought you, all may yet be well. 
 T had rather see you in this humble penitent state, lying on 
 this dirty bed, in this dismal prison, than roaring and riot- 
 ing at the Grayhound, the king of the company, with hand- 
 some clothes on your back, and plenty of money in your 
 pocket."
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 98 
 
 Brown wept bitterly, and squeezed bis hand, but was too 
 weak to say much. Mr. Stock theu desired the jailor to let 
 hirn have such things as were needful, and he would pay 
 for them. He would not leave the poor fellow till he had 
 given him, with his own hands, some broth which the jailor 
 got ready for him, and some medicines which the doctor 
 had sent. All this kinduess cut Brown to the heart. lie 
 was just able to sob out, " My unnatural father leaves me to 
 perish, and my injured friend is more than a father to me." 
 Stock told him that one proof he must give of his repent- 
 ance, was, that he must forgive hi* father, whose provoca- 
 tion had been very great. He then said he would leave him 
 for the present to take some rest, and desired him to lift up 
 his heart to God for mercy. " Dear James," replied Brown, 
 " do you pray for me ; God perhaps may hear you, but he 
 will never hear the prayer of such a sinner as I have been." 
 " Take care how you think so," said Stock. " To believe 
 that God can not forgive you Would be still a greater sin 
 than any you have yet committed against him." He then 
 explained to him in a few words, as well as he was able, the 
 nature of repentance and forgiveness through a Saviour, and 
 warned him earnestly against unbelief and hardness of heart. 
 
 Poor Jack grew much refreshed in body with the com- 
 fortable things he had taken ; and a little cheered with 
 Stock's kindness in coming so far to see and to forgive such 
 a forlorn outcast, sick of an infectious distemper, and .locked 
 within the walls of a prison. 
 
 Surely, said he to himself, there must be some mighty 
 power in a religion which can lead men to do such things ! 
 things so much against the grain ;is (o forgive such an in- 
 jury, and to risk catching such a distemper ; but he wasso 
 weak he could not express this in words. He tried to pray, 
 but he could not; at length overpowered with wearim 
 he fell asleep.
 
 94 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 When Mr. Stock came back, he was surprised to find him 
 so much better in body ; but his agonies of mind were 
 dreadful, and he had now got strength to express part of 
 the horrors which he felt. " James," said he (looking wild- 
 ly) " it is all over with me. I am a lost creature. Even 
 your prayers can not save me." " Dear Jack," replied Mr. 
 Stock, " I am no minister ; it does not become me to talk 
 much to thee : but I know I may adventure to say what- 
 ever is in the Bible. As ignorant as I am I shall be safe 
 while I stick to that." " Ay," said the sick man, " you 
 used to be ready enough to read to me, and I would not 
 listen, .or if I did it was only to make fun of what I heard, 
 and now you will not so much as read a bit of a chapter to 
 me." 
 
 This was the very point to which Stock longed to bring him. 
 So he took a little Bible out of his pocket, which he always 
 carried with him on a journey, and read slowly, verse by verse, 
 the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah. When lie came to the sixth 
 and seventh verses, poor Jack cried so much that Stock was 
 forced to stop. The words were, Let the wicked man for- 
 sake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let 
 him return unto the Lord. Here Brown stopped him, say- 
 ing, " Oh, it is too late, too late for me." "Let me finish 
 the verse," said Stock, " and you will see your error ; you 
 w ill see that it is never too late." So he real on — Let him 
 im unto the Lord, and he tvill have mere;/ upon him, 
 and to our God, and he will abundantly pardon. Here 
 Brown started up, snatched the book out of his hand, and 
 cried out, "Is that really there ? No, no; that's of your 
 own putting in, in order to comfort me; let me look at the 
 words myself." "No, indeed," said Stock, "Iwould notfoi 
 the world give you unfounded comfort, or put oil' any no- 
 tion of my own for a Scripture doctrine." "But is it po 
 eible," cried the sick man, " that God may really pardon
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 95 
 
 me? Dost think he can? Dost think lie will?" "1 dare 
 not give thee false hopes, or indeed any hopes of my own. 
 But these are God's own words, and the only difficulty is to 
 know when we are really brought into such a state as that 
 the words may be applied to us. For a text may be full of 
 comfort, and yet may not belong to us." 
 
 Mr. Stock was afraid of saying more. He would not 
 venture out of his depth ; nor indeed was poor Brown able 
 to bear more discourse just now. So he made him a present 
 of the Bible, folding down such places as he thought might 
 be best suited to his state, ami took his leave, being obliged 
 to return home that night. He left a little money with the 
 jailor, to add a few comforts to the allowance of the prison, 
 and promised to return in a short time. 
 
 When he got home, he described the sufferings and 
 misery of Brown in a very moving manner ; but Tommy 
 Williams, instead of being properly affected by it, only 
 said, " Indeed, master, I am not very sorry ; he is rightly 
 served." "How, Tommy," said Mr. Stock (rather sternly), 
 "not sorry to see a fellow creat lire brought to the lowi 
 state of misery ; one too whom you have known so pros- 
 perous?" "No, master, I can't say I am; for Mr. Brown 
 used to make fun of you, and laugh at you for being so 
 godly, and reading your Bible." 
 
 "Let me say a few words to you, Tommy," said Mr. Stock. 
 "In the first place you should never watch for the time of 
 a man's being brought low by trouble to tell of his faults. 
 Next, you should never rejoice ai his trouble, but pity him, 
 and pray for him. Lastly, as to liis ridiculing me for my 
 religion, if I can not stand an idle jest, I am not worthy 
 the name of a Christian. //■ that is its/;,'///'/ of me "ml 
 my word — dost remember whal follows, Tommy?" " ^ 
 master, it was last Sunday's texl — -of him shall the Son <>j 
 Man be ashamed when he shall judge the world"
 
 96 TH E TWO SH O E MAKERS. 
 
 Mr. Stock soon went back to the prison. But lie did not 
 go alone. He«took with him Mr. Thomas, the worthy 
 minister who had been the guide and instructor of his 
 youth, who was so kind as to go at his request and visit 
 this forlorn prisoner. When they got to Brown's door, they 
 found him sitting up in his bed with the Bible in his hand. 
 This was a joyful sight to Mr. Stock, who secretly thanked 
 God for it. Brown was reading aloud ; they listened ; it 
 was the fifteenth of St. Luke. The circumstances of this 
 beautiful parable of the prodigal son were so much like his 
 own, that the story pierced him to the soul : and he stopped 
 every minute to compare his own case with that of the 
 prodigal. He was just got to the eighteenth verse, / will 
 arise and go to my father — at that moment he spied his 
 two friends ; joy darted into his eyes. " Oh, dear Jem," 
 said he, " it is not too late, I will arise and go to my Father, 
 my heavenly Father, and you, sir, will show me the way, 
 won't you ?" said he to Mr. Thomas, whom he recollected. 
 " I am very glad to see you in so hopeful a disposition," 
 said the good minister. "Oh, sir," said Brown, "what a 
 place is this to receive you in ? Oh, see to what I have 
 brought myself !" 
 
 " Your condition, as to this world, is indeed very low," 
 replied the good divine. " But what are mines, dungeons, 
 or galleys, to that eternal hopeless prison to winch your un- 
 repealed sins must soon have consigned you ? Even in the 
 gloomy prison, on this bed of straw, worn down by pain, 
 poverty, and want, forsaken by your worldly friends, an ob- 
 ject of scorn to those with whom you used to carouse and 
 riot; yet here, I say, brought thus low, if you have at last 
 found out your own vileness, and your utterly undone state 
 by sin, you may still be more an object of favor in the sighl 
 of God, than when you thought yourself prosperous and 
 happy ; when the world smiled upon you, and you passed
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 97 
 
 your days and nights in envied gayety and unchristian riot. 
 If you will but improve the present awful visitation ; if you 
 do but heartily renounce and abhor your present evil 
 courses ; if you even now turn to the Lord your Saviour 
 with lively faith, deep repentance, and unfeigned obedience, 
 I shall still have more hope of you than of many who are 
 going Cjii quite happy, because quite insensible. The heavy 
 laden sinner, who has discovered the iniquity of his own 
 heart, and his utter inability to help himself, may be re- 
 stored to God's favor, and become happy, though in a dun- 
 geon. And be assured, that he who from de-ep and humble 
 contrition dares not so much as lift up his eyes to heaven, 
 when with a hearty faith he sighs out, Lord, be merciful to 
 me a sinner, shall in no wise be cast out. These are the 
 words of him who can not lie." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the self-abasement, the grief, 
 the joy, the shame, the hope, and the fear which filled the 
 mind of this poor man. A dawn of comfort at length 
 shone on his benighted mind. His humility and fear of 
 falling back into his former sins, if he should ever recover, 
 Mr. Thomas thought were strong symptoms of a sound re- 
 pentance. He improved and cherished every good disposi- 
 tion he saw arising in his heart, and particularly warned 
 him against self-deceit, self-confidence, and hypocrisy. 
 
 After Biown had deeply expressed his sorrow for his of- 
 fenses, Mr. Thomas thus addressed him. "There are two 
 ways of being sorrj for siu. Are you, Mr. Brown, afraid 
 of the guill of sin becau of the punishment annexed to 
 it, or are you afraid of sin itself 3 l>o you wish to be de- 
 livered from the power of sin? Do you hate sin because 
 you know 11 is offensive to a pure and holy God \ Or are 
 you only ashamed of it because it has brought you to a 
 prison and exposed you to the contempt of the world? It 
 is not said that the wages of this or that particular sin is
 
 98 TUE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 death, but of sin in general ; there is no exception made 
 because it is a more creditable or a favorite sin, or because 
 it is a little one. There are, I repeat, two ways of being 
 sorry for sin. Cain was sorry — My punishment is greater 
 than I can bear, said he ; but here you see the punishment 
 seemed to be the cause of concern, not the sin. David 
 seems to have had a good notion of godly sorrow, when he 
 says, Wash me from mine iniquity, cleanse me from my sin. 
 And when Job repented in dust and ashes, it is not said he 
 excused himself, but he abhorred himself. And the prophet 
 Isaiah called himself undone, because he was a man of un- 
 clean lips ; for, said he 'I have seen the King, the Lord of 
 hosts ;' that is, he could not take the proper measure of 
 his own iniquity till he had considered the perfect holiness 
 of Goth" 
 
 One day, when Mr. Thomas and Mr. Stock came to see 
 him, they found him more than commonly affected. His 
 face was more ghastly pale than usual, and his eyes were 
 red with crying. " Oh, sir," said he, " Avhat a sight have ] 
 just seen! Jolly George, as we used to call him, the ring- 
 leader of all our mirth, who was at the bottom of all the 
 fun, and tricks, and wickedness that are carried on within 
 these walls, Jolly George is just dead of the jail distemper! 
 He taken, and I left! I would, be carried into his room to 
 speak to him, to beg him to take warning by me, and that 
 I might take warning by him. But what did I see ! what 
 did I hear ! not one sign of repentance ; not one dawn of 
 hope. Agony of body, blasphemies on his tongue, despair 
 in his soul ; while 1 am spared and comforted with hopes 
 of mercj and ace < >h, if all my <<M friends at the 
 
 Grayhound could but then have seen Jolly George ! A 
 hundred sermons about, death, sir, clon'l speak s.> home, an. I 
 cut so deep, as the sight of one dying sinner." 
 
 Brown grew gradually better in his health, that is, the
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 99 
 
 fever mended, but the distemper settled ou his limbs, so 
 that he seemed likely to be a poor, weakly cripple the rest 
 of his life. But as he spent much of his time in prayer, 
 and in reading such parts of the Bible as Mr. Thomas 
 directed, he improved every day in knowledge and piety, 
 and of course grew more resigned to pain and infirmity. 
 
 Some months after this, the hard-hearted father, who had 
 never been prevailed upon to see him, or offer him the least 
 relief, was taken off suddenly by a fit of apoplexy ; and, 
 after all his threatenings, he died without a will. He was 
 one of those silly, superstitious men, who fancy they shall 
 die the sooner for having made one ; and who love the 
 world and the things that are in the woald so dearly, that 
 they dread to set about any business which may put them 
 in mind that they are not always to live in it. As, by this 
 neglect, his father had not fulfilled his threat of cutting him 
 off with a shilling, Jack, of course, went shares with his 
 brothers in what their father left. What fell to him proved 
 to be just enough to discharge him from prison, and to pay 
 all his debts, but he had nothing left. ITis joy at being 
 thus enabled to make restitution was so great that he 
 thought little of his own wants. He did not desire to 
 conceal the most trifling debt, nor to keep a shilling for 
 himself. 
 
 Mr. Stock undertook to settle all his affairs. There did 
 not remain money enough after every creditor was satisfied, 
 even to pay for bis removal borne. Mr. Stock kindly 
 sent his own carl for him with a bed in it, made as com- 
 fortable as possible, for he \ weak and lame to be re- 
 moved any other way, and Mis. Stock gave the driver 
 particular charge to be tender and careful of bim, and uot 
 to drive bard, aor to leave the car! a moment. 
 
 Mr. Stock would fain have taken him into his own house, 
 at least for a time, so convinced was he of the smcere ref-
 
 100 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 ormation both of heart and life ; but Brown would not be 
 prevailed on to be further burdensome to this generous 
 friend. He insisted on being carried to the parish work- 
 house, which he said was a far better place than he de- 
 served. In this house Mr. Stock furnished a small room 
 for him, and sent him every day a morsel of meat from his 
 own dinner. Tommy Williams begged that he might al- 
 ways be allowed to carry it, as some atonement for his 
 having for a moment so far forgotten his duty, as rather to 
 rejoice than sympathize in Brown's misfortunes. He never 
 thought of the fault without sorrow, and often thanked his 
 master for the wholesome lesson he then gave him, and he 
 was the better for it all his life. 
 
 Mrs. Stock often carried poor Brown a dish of tea, or a 
 basin of good broth herself. He was quite a cripple, and 
 never able to walk out as long as he lived. Mr. Stock, Will 
 Simpson, and Tommy Williams laid their heads together, 
 and contrived a sort of barrow on which he was often car- 
 ried to church by some of his poor neighbors, of which 
 Tommy was always one ; and he requited their kindness, 
 by reading a good book to them whenever they would call 
 in ; and he spent his time in teaching their children to sing 
 psalms or say the catechism. 
 
 It was no small joy to him thus to be enabled to go to 
 church. Whenever he was carried by the Grayhound, he 
 was much moved, and used to put up a prayer full of re- 
 pentance for the past, and praise for the present.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 101 
 
 PART V. 
 
 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN JAMES STOCK AND WILL SIMPSON, 
 THE SHOEMAKERS, AS THEY SAT AT WORK, ON THE DUTY 
 OF CARRYING RELIGION INTO OUR COMMON BUSINESS. 
 
 James Stock, and his journeyman Will Simpson, as I 
 informed my readers in the. second part, had resolved to 
 work together one hour every evening-, in order to pay for 
 Tommy Williams's schooling. This circumstance brought 
 them to he a good deal together when the rest of the men 
 were gone home. Now it happened that Mr. Stock had a 
 pleasant way of endeavoring to turn all common events to 
 some use ; and he thought it right on the present occasion 
 to make the only return in his power to Will Simpson for 
 his great kindness. For, sajd he, if Will gives up so miu-h 
 of his time to help to provide for this poor boy, it is the 
 least I can do to try to turn part of that time to the pur- 
 pose of promoting Will's spiritual good. Now as the bent 
 of Stock's own mind was religion, it was easy to him to lead 
 their talk to something profitable, lie always took especial 
 care, however, that the subject should be introduced prop- 
 erly, cheerfully, and without constraint. As he well knew 
 that great good may be sometimes done by a prudent at 
 tention in seizing proper opportunities, so he knew that the 
 cause of piety had been sometimes hurt by forcing serious 
 subjects where there was clearly no disposition to receive 
 them. I say he had found out that two things were neces- 
 sary to the promoting of religion among his friends ; a warm 
 zeal to be always on the watch for occasions, and a cool 
 judgment (o distinguish which was the right time and place 
 to make use of- them. To know hoio to do good is a great 
 matter, but to know ichen to do it is no small one.
 
 102 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 Simpson was an honest, good-natured, young man; be 
 was now become sober, and rather religiously disposed. 
 But. be was ignorant ; be did not know much of the grounds 
 of religion, or of tbe corruption of bis own nature. He was 
 regular at church, but was first drawn thither rather by bis 
 skill in psalm-singing than by any great devotion. He bad 
 left off going to tbe Graybound, and often read the Bible, 
 or some other good book on tbe Sunday evening. This he 
 thought was quite enough; bethought the Bible was the 
 prettiest history book in the w T orld, and that religion was a 
 very good thing for Sundays. But he did not much under- 
 stand what business people bad with it on working days. 
 He bad left off drinking because it had brought Williams to 
 the grave, and his wife to dirt and rags ; but not because 
 he himself had seen the evil of sin. He now considered 
 swearing: and Sabbath-breaking as scandalous and indecent, 
 but he had not found out that both were to be left off 
 because they are highly offensive to God, and grieve his 
 Holy Spirit. As Simpson was less self-couceited than most 
 ignorant pe pie are, Stock had always a good hope that 
 when he sho.-Id come to be better acquainted with the word 
 of God, and v. ' h the evil of his own heart, he would become 
 one day a good Christian. The great hinderance to this was, 
 that he fancied ' imself so already. 
 
 One evening Simpson had been calling to Stock's mind 
 how disorderly the house and shop, where they were now 
 sitting quietly at work, had formerly been, and he went on 
 thus : 
 
 Will. How comfortably we live now, master, to what we 
 used to do in Williams's time ! I used then never to be 
 happy but when we were keeping it up all night, hut now 
 T am as merry as the day is long. I find I am twice as 
 happy since I am grown good and sob' r. 
 
 Stock. I am glad you are happy, Will, and I rejoice that
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 103 
 
 you are sober; but I would not have you take too much 
 pride in your own goodness, for fear it should become a sin, 
 almost as great as some of those you have left off. Besides, 
 I would not have you make quite so sure that you are 
 good. 
 
 Will. Not good, master ! Why, don't you find me regular 
 and orderly at work ? 
 
 Stock. Very much so; and accordingly I have a great, 
 respect for you. 
 
 Will. I pay every one his own, seldom miss church, have 
 not been drunk since Williams died, have handsome clothes 
 for Sundays, and*save a trine every week. 
 
 Stock. Very true, and very laudable it is ; and to all this 
 you may add that you very generously work an hour for 
 poor Tommy's education, every evening without fee or re- 
 ward. 
 
 Will. Well, master, what can a man do more ? If all 
 tins is not being good, I don't know what is. 
 
 Stock. All these things are very right, as far as they go, 
 and you could not well be a Christian without doing them. 
 But I shall make you stare, perhaps, when I tell you, you 
 may do all these things, and many more, and yet be no 
 Christian. 
 
 Will. No Christian ! Surely, master, I do hope that after 
 all I have done, you will not be so unkind as to say I am no 
 Christian 3 
 
 Stock. God forbid that I should say so, Will. I hope 
 better things of you. But come now, what do you think it 
 is to be a Chi 
 
 Will. What! why to he christened when one is a child; 
 to learn the catechism when one can read; 1m be con- 
 firmed when one is a youth; and to go to church when one 
 is a man. 
 
 Stock. These are all very proper things, and quite neces-
 
 104* 
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS, 
 
 sary. They make part of a Christian's life. But for all that, 
 ;> man may be exact in them all, and yet not be a Christian. 
 
 Will. Not be a Christian ! ha ! ha ! ha ! you are very 
 comical, master. 
 
 Stock. No, indeed, I am very serious, Will. At this rate 
 it would be a very easy thing to be a Christian, and every 
 man who went through certain forms would be a good man; 
 and one man who observed those forms would be as good 
 as another. Whereas, if we come to examine ourselves by 
 the word of God, I am afraid there are but few compara- 
 tively whom our Saviour would allow to be real Christians. 
 What is your notion of a Christian's practice ? 
 
 Will. Why, he must not rob, nor murder, nor get drunk. 
 He must avoid scandalous things, and do as other decent 
 orderly people do. 
 
 Stock. It is easy enough to be what the world calls a 
 Christian, but not to be what the Bible calls so. 
 
 Will. Why, master, we working men are not expected to 
 be saints, and martyrs, and apostles, and ministers. 
 
 Stock. We are not. And yet, AVill, there are not two 
 sorts of Christianity; we are called to practice the same 
 religion which they practiced, and something of the same 
 spirit is expected in us which we reverence in them. It was 
 not saints and martyrs only to whom our Saviour said that 
 they must crucify the world, with its affections and lusts. 
 We are called to be holy in our measure and degree, as he 
 who hath called us is holy. It was not only saints and 
 martyrs who were told that they must be like-minded with 
 Christ. That they must do all to the glory of God. That 
 they must renounce the spirit of the world, and deny them- 
 selves. It was not to apostles only that Christ said, They 
 must have their conversation in heaven. It was not to a 
 few holy men, set apart for the altar, that he said, They 
 must set their affections on things above. That they must
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 105 
 
 not be conformed to the world. No, it was to fishermen, to 
 publicans, to farmers, to day-laborers, to poor tradesmen, 
 that he spoke when he told them, they must love not the 
 world nor the things of the world. That they must renounce 
 the hidden things of dishonesty, grow in grace, lay up for 
 themselves treasures in Heaven. 
 
 Will. All this might be very proper for them to be taught, 
 because they had not been bred up Christians, but heathens 
 or Jews : and Christ wanted to make them his followers, 
 that is, Christians. But thank God we do not want to be 
 •taught all this, for we are Christians, born in a Christian 
 country, of Christian parents. 
 
 Stock. I suppose, then, you fancy that Christianity comes 
 to people in a Christian country by nature ? 
 
 Will. I think it comes by a good education, or a good 
 example. When a fellow who has got any sense, sees a 
 man cut off in his prime by drinking, like Williams, I think 
 he will begin to leave it off. When he sees another man 
 respected, like you, master, for honesty and sobriety, and 
 going to church, why he will grow honest, ami sober, and 
 go to church : that is, he will see it his advantage to be a 
 Christian. 
 
 Stock. Will, what you say is the truth, but 'tis not the 
 whole truth. You are right as far as you go, but, you do 
 not go far enough. The worldly advantages of pi :v, are, 
 as you suppose, in general great. Credit, prosperity, and 
 health, almosl naturally attend on a religious life, both be- 
 cause a religious life supposes a sober and industrious life, 
 and because a man who lives in a course of duty puts him- 
 self in the way of God's blessing. But a. true Christian has 
 a still higher aim in view, and will follow religion even under 
 circumstances when it may hint his credit and ruin his 
 prosperity, if it should ever happen to he the will of God 
 that he should he brought into such a trying state. 
 
 5*
 
 106 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 Will. Well, master, to speak the truth, if I go to church 
 on Sundays, and follow my work in the Week, I must say I 
 think that is being good. 
 
 Stock. I agree with you, that he who does both, gives 
 the best outward signs that he is good, as you call it. But 
 our going to church, and even reading the Bible, are no 
 proofs that we are as good as we need be, but rather that 
 we do both these in order to make us better than we are. 
 We do both on Sundays, as means, by God's blessing, to 
 make us better all the week. We are to bring the fruits 
 of that chapter or of that sermon into our daily life, and try 
 to get our inmost heart and secret thoughts, as well as our 
 daily conduct, amended by them. 
 
 Will. Why, sure, master, you won't be so unreasonable 
 as to want a body to be religious always ? I can't do that, 
 neither. I'm not such a hypocrite as to pretend to it. 
 
 Stock. Yes, you can be so in every action of your life. 
 
 Will. What, master ! always to be thinking about relig- 
 ion \ 
 
 Stock. No, far from it, Will ; much less to be al> 
 talking about it. But you must be always under its power 
 and spirit. 
 
 Will. But surely 'tis pretty well if I do this when I go to 
 church ; or while I am saying my prayers. Even you, 
 master, as strict as you are, would not have me always on 
 my knees, nor always at church, I suppose : for then how 
 would your work be carried on? and how would our town 
 be supplied with shoes ? 
 
 Stock. Very true, Will. 'T would be no proof of our 
 religion to let our customers go barefoot; but 'twould be a 
 proof of our laziness, anil v..' should starve, as we ought to 
 d(i. The husiiicss of the world must not only be carried on, 
 but carried on with spirit and activity. We haw the same 
 authority for not being slothful in business, as we have for
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 107 
 
 being fervent in spirit. Religion has put godliness and 
 laziness as wide asunder as any two things in the world ; 
 and what God has separated "let no man pretend to join. 
 Indeed, the spirit of religion can have no fellowship with 
 sloth, indolence, and self-indulgence. But still, a Christian 
 does not carry on his common trade quite like another man, 
 neither; for something of the spirit which he labors to 
 attain at church, he carries with him into his worldly con- 
 cerns. While there are some that set up for Sunday Chris- 
 tians, who have no notion that they are bound to be week- 
 day Christians too. 
 
 Will. Why, master, I do think, if God Almighty is 
 contented with one day in seven, lie won't thank you for 
 tb rowing him the other six into the bargain. I thought he 
 gave us them for our own use ; and I am sure nobody works 
 uarder all the week than you do. 
 
 Stock. God, it is true, sets apart one day in seven for act- 
 ual rest from labor, and for more immediate devotion to 
 his service. But show me that text wherein he says, 
 Thou shalt love the Lord thy God on Sundays — Thou shalt 
 keep my commandments on the Sabbath day — To be car- 
 nally minded on Sundays, is death — Cease to do evil, and 
 learn to do well one day in seven — Grow in grace on the 
 Lord's day — Is there any such text ? 
 
 Will. No, to be sure there is not ; for that would be en- 
 couraging sin on all the other days. 
 
 Stock. Yes, just as you do when you make religion a 
 thing for the church, and not for the world. There is no 
 one lawful calling, in pursuing which we may not serve God 
 acceptably. You and I may serve him while we are stitch- 
 ing tl Farmer Furrow, while he is plow- 
 ing yonder field. Betsy West, over the way, while she is 
 nursing her sick mother. Neighbor Incle, in measuring 
 out his tape., and ribands. I say all these may servo God
 
 108 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 just as acceptably in those employments as at church ; I 
 had almost said more so. 
 
 Will. Ay, indeed ; how can that be ? Now you're too 
 much on t'other side. 
 
 Stock. Because a man's trials in trade being often greater, 
 they give him fresh means of glorifying God, and proving 
 the sincerity of religion. A man who mixes in business, is 
 naturally brought into continual temptations and difficulties. 
 These will lead him, if he be a good mau, to look more to 
 God, than he perhaps would otherwise do ; he sees temp- 
 tations on the right hand and on the left ; he knows that 
 there are snares all around him : this makes him watchful ; 
 he feels that the enemy within is too ready to betray him : 
 this makes him humble himself; while a sense of his own 
 difficulties makes him tender to the failings of others. 
 
 Will. Then you would make one believe, after all, that 
 trade or business must be sinful in itself, since it brings a 
 man into all these snares and scrapi , 
 
 Stock. No, no, Will ; trade and business don't create evil 
 passions — they were in the heart before — only now and then 
 they seem to lie snug a little — our concerns with the world 
 bring them out into action a little more, and thus show 
 both others and ourselves what we really are. But then 
 as the world offers more trials on the one hand, so on the 
 other it holds out more duties. If we are called to battle 
 oftener, we have more opportunities of victory. Every 
 temptation resisted, is an enemy subdued ; and he that 
 ruleth his own spirit, is better than he that taheth a city. 
 
 Will. I don't quite understand you, master. 
 
 Stock. I will try to explain myself. There is no passion 
 more called out by the transactions of trade than covetous- 
 ness. Now, 'tis impossible to withstand such a master sin 
 as that, without carrying a good deal of the spirit of religion 
 into one's trade.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 109 
 
 Will. 'Well, I own I don't yet see how I am to be relig- 
 ious when I'm hard at work, or busy settling an account. 
 I can't do two things at once ; 'tis as if I were to pretend 
 to mate a shoe and cut out a boot at the same moment. 
 
 Stock. I tell you both must subsist together. Nay, the 
 one must be the motive to the other. God commands ua 
 to be industrious, and if we love him, the desire of pleas- 
 ing him should be the main spring of our industry. 
 
 Will. I don't see how I can always be thinking about 
 pleasing God. 
 
 Stock. Suppose, now, a man had a wife and children 
 whom he loved, and wished to serve ; would he not be of- 
 ten thinking about them while he was at work ? and though 
 he would not be always thinking nor always talking about 
 them, yet would not the very love he bore them be a con- 
 stant spur to his industry? He would always be pursuing 
 the same course from the same motive, though his words 
 and even his thoughts must often be taken up in the com- 
 mon transactions of life. 
 
 Will. I say first one, then the other ; now for labor, now 
 for religion. 
 
 Stock. I will show that both must go to .1 will 
 
 suppose you were going to buy so many skins of our cur- 
 rier — that is quite a worldly transaction — you can't see 
 what a spirit of religion has to do with buying a few calves' 
 skins. Now, I tell you it has a great deal to do with it. 
 Covetousncss, a desire to ma >od bargain, may rise up 
 
 in your heart. S iii hness, a spirit of monopoly, a wish to 
 get all, in order to distress others; these are evil desires, and 
 must be subdued. .Some opportunity of unfair gain o] 
 in which there may be much sin, and yel little scandal. 
 Here a Christian will stopshorl ; he will recollect, Tlmt he 
 who maketh haste to be rich sJtull hardly be innocent. Per- 
 haps the sin may bo on the side of your dealer — he may
 
 110 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 want to overreach you — this is provoking — you are tempted 
 to violent anger, perhaps to swear ; here is a fresh demand 
 on you for a spirit of patience and moderation, as there was 
 before for a spirit of justice and self-denial. If, by God's 
 grace, you get the victory over these temptations, you are 
 the better man for having been called out to them ; always 
 provided, that the temptations be not of your own seeking. 
 If you give way, and sink under these temptations, don't 
 go and say trade and business have made you covetous, pas- 
 sionate and profane. No, no ; depend upon it, you were so 
 before ; you would have had all these evil seeds lurking in 
 your heart, if you had been loitering about at home and 
 doing nothing, v, ith the additional sin of idleness into the 
 bargain. When you are busy, the devil often tempts you ; 
 when you are idle, you tempt the devil. If business and 
 the world call these evil tempers into action, business and 
 the world call that religion into action too which teaches us 
 to resist them. And in tins you see the week-day fruit of 
 the Sunday's piety. 'Tis trade and business in the week 
 which call us to put our Sunday readings, praying, and 
 church-going into practice. 
 
 Will. Well, master, you have a comical way, somehow, 
 of coming over one. I never should have thought there 
 would have been any religion wanted in buying and selling 
 a few calves' skins. But I begin to see there is a good deal 
 in what you say. And, whenever I am doing a common 
 action, I will try to remember that it must be done after a 
 godly sort. 
 
 Stock. I hear the clock strike nine — let us leave off our 
 work. I will only observe further, that one good end of 
 our bringing religion into our business is, to put us in mind 
 not to undertake more business than we can carry on con- 
 sistently with our religion. I shall never commend that 
 man's diligence, though it is often commended by the world,
 
 THE TWO SHOE MAKERS. Ill 
 
 who is not diligent about the salvation of Lis soul. We are 
 as much forbidden to be overcharged with the cares of life, 
 as with its pleasures. I only wish to prove to you, that a 
 discreet Christian may be wise for both worlds ; that he may 
 employ his bauds without entangling his soul, and labor for 
 the meat that perisheth, without neglecting that which en- 
 dureth unto eternal life ; that he may be prudent for time 
 while he is wise for eternity. 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 DIALOGUE THE SECOND. ON THE DUTY OF CARRYING RELIG- 
 ION INTO OUR AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 The next eveniug Will Simpson being got first to his 
 work, Mr. Stock found him singing very cheerfully over his 
 last. His master's entrance did not prevent his finishing 
 his sono- which concluded with these words: 
 
 "Sin life is no more than a] at best, 
 
 Let us strew the way over with flowers." 
 
 When "Will had concluded his song, he turned to Mr. 
 Stock, and said, "I thank you, master, for first putting it 
 into my head how wicked it is to sing profane and indecenl 
 songs. T never Bing any now which have any wicked words 
 in tlu in. 
 
 Stock. I am glad to hear it. So far you do well. But 
 there are other things as bad as wicked words, nay worse 
 perhaps, though tiny do not so much shock the ear of de- 
 c< ncy. 
 
 Will. Wlie.t is that, master? What can be so bad as 
 wicked words '.
 
 112 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 Stock. Wicked thoughts, Will. Which thoughts, when 
 they are covered with smooth words, and dressed out in 
 pleasing rhymes, so as not to shock modest young people 
 by the sound, do more harm to their principles, than those 
 songs of which the words are so gross and disgusting, that 
 no person of common decency can for a moment listen 
 to them. 
 
 Will. Well, master, I am sure that was a very pretty 
 song I was singing when you came in, and a song which 
 very sober, good people sing. 
 
 Stock. Do they ? Then I will be bold to say that sing- 
 ing such songs is no part of their goodness. I heard in- 
 deed but two lines of it, but they were so heathenish that I 
 desire to hear no more. 
 
 Will. Now you are really too hard. What harm could 
 there be in it ? There was not one indecent word. 
 
 Stock. I own, indeed, that indecent words are particu- 
 larly offensive. But, as I said before, though immodest ex- 
 pressions offend the ear more, they do not corrupt the heart, 
 perhaps, much more than songs of which the words are de- 
 cent, and the principle vicious. In the latter case, because 
 there is nothing that shocks his ear, a man listens till the 
 sentiment has so corrupted his heart, that his ears grow 
 hardened too; by long custom he loses all sense of the dan- 
 ger of profane diversions ; and I must say I have often 
 heard young women of character sing songs in company, 
 which I should be ashamed to read by myself. But come, 
 as we work, let us talk over this business a little; and first 
 let us stick to this sober song of yours, that you boast so 
 much about. (repeats) 
 
 " Since life is no more than a passage at best, 
 Let us strew the way over with flowers." 
 
 Now what do you learn by this ?
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 113 
 
 Will. Whyymaster, I don't pretend to learn much by- 
 it. But 'tis a pretty tune and pretty words. 
 
 Stock. But what do these pretty words mean ? 
 
 Will. That we must make ourselves merry because life 
 is short. 
 
 Stock. Will ! Of what religion arc you ? 
 
 Will. You are always asking one such odd questions, 
 master ; why a Christian, to be sure. 
 
 Stock. If I often ask you or others this question, it is only 
 because I like to know what grounds I am to go upon when 
 I am talking with you or them. I conceive that there are 
 in this country two sorts of people, Christians and no Chris- 
 tians. Now, if people profess to be of this first description, 
 I expect one kind of notions, opinions, and behavior from 
 them ; if they say they are of the latter, then I look for 
 another set of notions and actions from them. I compel 
 no man to think with me. I take every man at his word. 
 I only expect him to think and believe according to the 
 character he takes upon himself, and to act on the princi- 
 ples of that character winch he professes to maintain. 
 
 Will. That's fair enough — I can't say but it is — to take 
 a man at his own word, and on his own grounds. 
 
 Stock. Well then. Of whom does the Scripture speak 
 when it says, Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die? 
 
 Will. Why of heathens, to be sure, not of Christians. 
 
 Stock. And of whom when it says, Let us crown our- 
 selves with rosebuds before they arc withered ' 
 
 Will. O, that is Solomon's worldly fool. 
 
 Stock. You disapprove of b<5th, then. 
 
 Will. To be sure I do. I should not be a Christian if I 
 did not. 
 
 Stock. And yet, though a Christian, you are admiring (he 
 very same thought in the song you were singing. How do 
 you reconcile this?
 
 114 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 Will. O, there is no comparison between them. These 
 several texts arc designed to describe loose, wicked heathens. 
 Now I learn texts as part of my religion. But religion, you 
 know, has nothing to do with a song. I sing a song for my 
 pleasure. 
 
 Stock. In our last night's talk, Will, I endeavored to 
 prove to you that religion was to be brought into our busi- 
 ness. I wish now to let you see that it is to be brought into 
 our pleasure also. And that he who is really a Christian, 
 must be a Christian in his very diversions. 
 
 Will. Now you are too strict again, master ; as you last 
 night declared, that in our business you would not have us 
 always praying, so I hope that in our pleasure you would 
 not have us always psalm-singing. I hope you would not 
 have all one's singing to be about good things. 
 
 Stock. Not so, Will; but I would not have any part 
 either of our business or our pleasure to be about evil things. 
 It is one thing to be singing about religion, it is another 
 thing to be singing against it. Saint Peter, I fancy, would 
 not much have approved your favorite song. He, at least 
 seemed to have another view of the matter, when he said, 
 The end of all things is at hand. Now this text teaches 
 much the same awful truth with the first line of your song. 
 J Jut let us see to what different purposes the apostle and the 
 poet turn the very same thought. Your song says, because 
 life is so short, let us make it merry. Let us divert our- 
 selves so much on the road, that we may forget the end. 
 Now what says the apostle, Because the end of all things is 
 at hand be ye therefore sober and toatch unto prayer. 
 
 Will. Why, master, I like to be sober too, and have 
 left off chinking. But still I never thought that we we 
 obliged to carry texts out of the Bible to try the soundness 
 of a song ; and to enable us to judge if we might be both 
 merry and wise in singing it.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 115 
 
 Stork. Providence has not so stinted our enjoyments, 
 Will, but he has left us many subjects of harmless merri- 
 ment ; but, for my own part, I am never certain that auy 
 one is quite harmless till I have tried it by this rule that 
 you seem to think so strict. There is another favorite c:itch 
 which I heard you and some of the workmen humming 
 yesterday. 
 
 Will. I will prove to you that there is not a word of 
 harm in that ; pray listen now. ( sings.) 
 
 "Which is the best day to drink' — Sunday, Monday, 
 Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday ?" 
 
 Stock. Xow, Will, do you really find you unwillingness 
 to drink is so great that you stand in need of all these in- 
 centives to provoke you to it? Do you not find temptation 
 strong enough without exciting your inclinations, and whet- 
 ting your appetites in this manner ] Can any thing be more 
 unchristian than to persuade youth by pleasant words, set 
 to the most alluring music, that the pleasures of chinking 
 are so great, that every day in the week, naming them all 
 successively, by way of fixing and enlarging the idea, is 
 equally tit, equally proper, and equally delightful, for whatl 
 — for the low and sensual purpose of getting drunk. Tell 
 mo, Will, arc you so very averse to pleasure ? Are you nat- 
 urally so cold and dead to nil pas-ion and temptation, that 
 you really find it necessary to inflame your imagination, and 
 disorder your senses, in order to excite a quicker relish for 
 the pleasure of sin ? 
 
 Will. All this is true enough, indeed ; but I never saw it 
 in this light before. 
 
 Stock. As 1 passed by the Grayhound last night, in my 
 way to my evening's walk in the fields, I caught this one 
 verse of a song which the club were singing : 
 
 "Bring i . the music bring, 
 
 Joy shall quickly find us ;
 
 116 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 Drink, and dance, and laugh, and sing, 
 And cast dull care behind us." 
 
 When I got into the fields, I could not forbear comparing 
 this song with the second lesson last Sunday evening at 
 church ; these were the words : Take heed lest at any time 
 your heart be overcharged with drunkenness, and so that 
 day come upon you unawares, for as a snare shall it come 
 upon all them that are on the face of the earth. 
 
 Will. Why, to be sure, if the second lesson was right, 
 the song must be wrong. 
 
 Stock. I ran over in my mind also a comparison between 
 such sonjTs as that which begins with 
 
 "Drink, and drive care away," 
 
 with those injunctions of holy writ, Watch and pray, there- 
 fore, that you enter not into temptation ; and again, Watch 
 and pray that you may escape all these things. I say I 
 compared this with the song I allude to, 
 
 " Drink and drive care away, 
 
 Drink and be merry ; 
 
 You '11 ne'er go the faster 
 
 To the Stygian ferry." 
 
 I compared this with that awful admonition of Scripture 
 how to pass the time. Not in rioting and drunkenness, 
 not in chambering and wantonness, but put ye on the Lord 
 Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh to fulfill 
 the lusts thereof. 
 
 Will. I am afraid then, master, you would not much 
 npprovo of what I used to think a very pretty song, which 
 begins with, 
 
 "A plaguo on those musty old rubbers 
 Who teach ua to fast and to think." 
 
 Stock. Will, what would you think of any one who
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 1 1 7 
 
 should sit dowH and write a book or a sornj to abuse the 
 clergy ? 
 
 Will. Why I should think he was a very wicked fellow, 
 and I hope no one would look into such a book, or sing 
 such a song. 
 
 Stock. And yet it must certainly be the clergy who are 
 scoffed at in that verse, it being their professed business to 
 teach us to think and be serious. 
 
 Will. Ay, master, and now you have opened my eyes, 
 I think I can make some of those comparisons myself 
 between the spirit of the Bible, and the spirit of these 
 
 songs. 
 
 "Bring the flask, the goblet bring," 
 
 won't stand very well in company with the threat of the 
 prophet: Woe unto them that rise early, that they may 
 mingle strong drink. 
 
 Stock. Ay, Will ; and these thoughtless people who live 
 up to their singing, seem to be the very people described in 
 another place as glorying in their intemperauce, and acting 
 what their songs describe : They look at the wine and say 
 it is red, it moveth itself aright in the cup. 
 
 Will. I do hope I shall for the future not only become 
 more careful what songs I sing myself, but also not to keep 
 company with those who sing nothing else but what in my 
 sober judgment I now see to be wrong. 
 
 Stock. As we shall have no body in the world to come, 
 it is a pity not only to make our pleasures here consist en- 
 tirely in the delights of animal life, but to make our very 
 songs consist in extolling and exalting those delights which 
 are unworthy of the man as well as of the Christian. If, 
 through temptation or weakness, we fall into errors, let us 
 not. establish and confirm them by picking up all the songs 
 and scraps of verses which excuse, justify, and commend 
 sin. That time is short, is a reason given by these song-
 
 118 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 mongers why we should give into greater indulgences. 
 That time is short, is a reason given hy the apostle why 
 we should enjoy our dearest comforts as if we enjoyed them 
 not. 
 
 Now, Will, I hope you will see the importance of so 
 managing, that our diversions (for diversions of some kind 
 we ail require), may be as carefully chosen as our other em- 
 ployments. For to make them such as effectually drive out 
 of our minds all that the Bible and the minister have been 
 putting into them, seems to me as imprudent as it is un- 
 christian. But this is not all. Such sentiments as these 
 songs contain, set off by the prettiest music, heightened by 
 liquor and all the noise and spirit of what is called jovial com- 
 pany, all this, I say, not only puts every thing that is right 
 out of the mind, but puts every thing that is wrong into it. 
 Such songs, therefore, as tend to promote levity, thought- 
 lessness, loose imaginations, false views of life, forgetfulness 
 of death, contempt of whatever is serious, and neglect of 
 whatever is sober, whether they be, love-songs, or drinking- 
 songs, will not, can not bo sung by any man or any woman 
 who makes a serious profession of Christianity.* 
 
 * It is with regret I have lately observed that the fashionable 
 author and singer of songs more loose, profane, and corrupt, than 
 any of those here noticed, not only received a prize as the reward 
 of his important services, but also received the public acknowledg- 
 ments of an illustrious society for having contributed to the happi- 
 ness of their country.
 
 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 THE POST BOY. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Tom White was one of the best drivers of a post-chaise 
 on the Bath road. Tom was the son of an honest laborer 
 at a little village in Wiltshire ; he was an active, industrious 
 boy, and as soon as he was old enough he left his father, 
 who was burdened with a numerous family, and went to 
 live with Farmer Hodges, a sober, worthy man in the same 
 village. He drove the wagon all the week ; and on Sun- 
 days, though he was now grown up, the farmer required 
 him to attend the Sunday School, carried on under the in- 
 spection of Dr. Shepherd, the worthy vicar, and always 
 made him read his Bible in the evening after he had 
 served his cattle ; and would have turned him out of his 
 service if he had ever gone t<> the ale-house for his own 
 pleasure. 
 
 Tom, by carrying some wagon loads of faggots to the 
 Bear inn, at Devizes, made many acquaintances in the 
 stable-yard. Ee soon learned to compare his own cat 
 frock, and shoes thick set with nails, with the smart red 
 jackets, and tighl boots of the post-hoys, and grevs ashamed 
 of his «»'An homelj dress; he was resolved to drive a chaise, 
 to gei money, and t<> see the world. Foolish fellow! he 
 never considered that, though it is true, a wagoner works 
 hard all day, yet he gets a quiet evening at home, and un-
 
 120 THE Hi" STORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 disturbed rest at night. However, as there must be chaise- 
 boys as well as plow-boys, there was no great harm in tho 
 • change. Tho evil company to which it exposed him was 
 the chief mischief. He left Farmer Hodges, though not 
 without sorrow, at quitting so kind a master, and got him- 
 self hired at the Black Bear. 
 
 Notwithstanding the temptations to which he was now 
 exposed, Tom's good education stood by him for some time. 
 At first he was frightened to hear the oaths and wicked 
 words which are too often uttered in a stable-yard. However, 
 though he thought it very wrong, he had not the courage 
 to reprove it, and the next step to being easy at seeing 
 others sin is to sin ourselves. By degrees he began to 
 think it manly, and a mark of spirit in others to swear ; 
 though the force of good habits was so strong that at first, 
 when he ventured to swear himself, it was with fear, and in 
 a low voice. But he was soon laughed out of his sheep- 
 ishness, as they called it ; and though lie never became so 
 profane and blasphemous as some of his companions (for 
 he never swore in cool blood, or in mirth, as so many do), 
 yet he would too often use a dreadful bad word when he 
 was in a passion with his horses. And here I can not but 
 drop a hint on the deep folly as well as wickedness, of being 
 in a great rage with poor beasts, who, not having the gift 
 of reason, can not be moved like human creatures, with all 
 the wicked words that are said to them ; though these 
 dumb creatures, unhappily, having the gift of feeling, suffer 
 as much as human creatures can do, at the cruel and un- 
 necessary beatings given them. Tom had been bred up to 
 think that drunkenness was n great sin, for he never saw 
 Farmer Hodges drunk in his life, and where a farmer is 
 sober himself, his men are less likely t<> drink, or if they do 
 the master can reprove them with the better grace. 
 
 Tom was not naturally fond of drink, yet for the sake
 
 THE POSTBOY. 121 
 
 of being thought merry company, and a hearty fellow, he 
 often drank more than he ought. As he had been used to 
 go to church twice on Sunday, while he lived with the 
 farmer (who seldom used his horses on that day, except to 
 carry his wife to church behind him), Tom felt a little un- 
 easy when he was sent the very first Sunday a long journey 
 with a great family ; for I can not conceal the truth, that 
 too many gentlefolks will travel, when there is no necessity 
 for it, on a Sunday, and when Monday would answer the 
 end just as well. This is a great grief to all good and 
 sober people, both rich and poor; and it is still more inex- 
 cusable in the great, who have every day at their command. 
 Eowever, he kepi his thoughts to himself, though he could 
 not now and then help thinking how quietly things were 
 going on at the farmer's, whose wagoner on a Sunday led 
 as easy a life as if he had been a gentleman. But he soon 
 lost all thoughts of this kind, and in time did not know a 
 Sunday from a Monday. Tom went on prosperously, as it 
 is called, for three or four years, got plenty of money, but 
 saved not a shilling. As soon as his horses were once in 
 the stable, whoever would mighl see them fed for Tom. He 
 had other fish to fry. Fives, cards, cudgel-playing, laying 
 wagers, and keeping loose company, each of which heat 
 first di lil I i I each of which hesoon learned to practice, 
 
 ran away with all his ney, and all bis spare time ; and 
 
 though he was generally in the way as soon as the horses 
 were ready (because if there was no driving there was no 
 I, yet he did not care whether the carriage was clean or 
 dirty, if the horses looked well or ill, if the harness was 
 whole, or the horses were shod. The certainty that the 
 gains of to-morrow would make up for the extravagance of 
 to-day, nude him quite thoughtless and happy; l\>\- he 
 was young, active, and healthy, and uever foresaw thai a 
 
 G
 
 122 THE HISTORY OF TOM >, H I T E , 
 
 rainy da}' might come, when he would want what lie now 
 squandered. 
 
 One day, heing a little flustered with liquor as he was 
 driving his return chaise through Brentford, he saw just he 
 fore him another empty carriage, driven by one of his ac- 
 quaintance; he whipped up his horses, resolving to outstrip 
 the other, and swearing dreadfully that he would be at the 
 Red Lion first — for a pint — " Done !" cried the other, " a 
 wager." Both cut and spurred the poor beasts with the 
 usual fury, as if their credit had been really at stake, or 
 their lives had depended on that foolish contest. Tom's 
 chaise had now got up to that of his rival, and they drove 
 along side of each other with great fury and many impre- 
 cations. But in a narrow part Tom's chaise being in the 
 middle, with his antagonist on one side, and a cart driving 
 against him on the other, the horses reared, the carriages 
 got entangled ; Tom roared out a great oath to the other 
 to stop, which he either could not, or would not do, but re- 
 turned an horrid imprecation that he would win the wager 
 if he was alive, Tom's horses took fright, and he himself 
 was thrown to the ground with great violence. As soon as 
 he could be got from under the wheels, he was taken up 
 senseless, his leg was broken in two places, and his body 
 was much bruised. Some people whom the noise had 
 brought together, put him in the post-chaise in which the 
 wagoner kindly assisted, but the other driver seemed care- 
 less and indifferent, and drove off, observing with a brutal 
 coolness, '• [ am sorry I have lost my pint; I should have 
 beat him hollow, had it not been for this little accident." 
 Some gentlemen who came out of the inn, after reprim 
 ing this savage, inquired who he was, wrote to inform his 
 master, and got him discharged: resolving that neither 
 they nor any of their friends would ever employ him, a.--l
 
 THE POST BOY. 123 
 
 he was long out of place, and nobody ever cared to be 
 driven by him. 
 
 Tom was taken to one of those excellent hospitals with 
 which Loudon abounds. His agonies were dreadful, his 
 leg was set, and a high fever came on. As soon as he was 
 left alone to reflect on his condition,' his first thought was 
 that he should die, and his horror was inconceivable. 
 Alas ! said he, what will become of my poor soul ? I am 
 cut off in the very commission of three great sins : I was 
 drunk, I was in a horrible passion, and I had oaths and 
 blasphemies in my mouth. He tried to pray, but he could 
 not; his mind was all distraction, and he thought he was 
 so very wicked that God would not forgive him ; because, 
 said he, I have sinned against light and knowledge ; I have 
 had a sober education, and good examples ; I was bred in 
 the fear of God, and the knowledge of Christ, and I deserve 
 nothing but punishment. At length he grew light-headed, 
 and there was little hope of his life. Whenever he came 
 to his senses for a few minutes, he cried out, ! that my 
 old companions could now see me, surely they would take 
 warning by my sad fate, and repent before it is too late. 
 
 By the Messing of God on the skill of the surgeon, and 
 the care of the nurses, he however grew better in a few 
 days. And here let me stop to remark, what a mercy it is 
 that we live in a Christian country, where the poor, when 
 sick, or lame, or wounded, are taken as much care of as 
 any gentry: nay, in some respects more, because in hos- 
 pitals and infirmaries there are more doctors and surgeons 
 io attend, than most private gentlefolks ran afford to have 
 at their own houses, whereas there never ivas a hospital hi 
 the whole heathen world. Blessed be God lor this, among 
 the thousand oilier excellent fruits of the < Ihristian religion ' 
 A religion which, like in Divine founder, while its grand 
 object is the salvation of men's souls, teaches us also to re-
 
 124 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 lievo their bodily wants. It directs us uever to forget that 
 He who forgave sins, healed diseases, and while He preached 
 the Gospel, fed the multitude. 
 
 It was eight weeks before Tom could be taken out of bed. 
 This was a happy affliction ; fur by the grace of God, this 
 lung sickness and solitude gave him time to reflect on his 
 past life. He began seriously to hate those darling sins 
 which had brought him to the brink of ruin. He could 
 now pray heartily ; he confessed and lamented his iniquities, 
 with many tears, and began to hope that the mercies of 
 God, through the merits of a Redeemer, might yet be ex- 
 tended to him on his sincere repentance. He resolved 
 never more to return to the same evil courses, but he did 
 not trust in his own strength, but prayed that God would 
 give him grace for the future, as well as pardon for the 
 past. He remembered, and he was humbled at the thought, 
 that he used to have short fits of repentance, and to form 
 resolutions of amendment, in his wild and thoughtless days ; 
 and often when he had a bad head-ache after a drinking 
 bout, or had lust his muney at all-fours, he vowed never to 
 drink or play again. But as soon as his head was well aud 
 his pockets recruited, he forgot all his resolutions. And 
 how should it be otherwise ? for he trusted in his own 
 strength, he never prayed to God to strengthen him, nor 
 ever avoided the next temptation. He thought that amend- 
 ment was a thing to be set about at any time; he did not 
 know that it is the grace of God which bringeih us to re- 
 pentance. 
 
 The case was now different. Tom began to find that his 
 strength was perfect weakness, and that he could do nothing 
 without the Divine assistance, fur which he prayed heartily 
 and constantly. He sent home for his Bible and Prayer- 
 book, which he had not opened for two years, and which 
 had been given him when he left the Sunday School. He
 
 THE POST BOY. 125 
 
 spent the chjef part of his time in reading- them, and de- 
 rived great comfort, as well as great knowledge, from this 
 employment of his time. The study of the Bible filled his 
 heart with gratitude to God, who had not cut him off in 
 the midst of his sins; but had given him space for repent- 
 ance ; and the agonies he had lately suffered with his broken 
 leg increased the thankfulness that he had escaped the 
 more dreadful pain of eternal misery. And here let me 
 remark what encouragement this is for rich people to give 
 away Bibles and good books, and not to lose all hope, 
 though, for a time, they see little or no good effect from it. 
 According to all appearance, Tom's books were never likely 
 to do him any good, and yet his generous benefactor, who 
 had cast his bread upon the waters, found it after many 
 days ; for this Bible, which had lain untouched for years, 
 was at last made the instrument of his reformation. God 
 will work in his own good time, and in his own way, but 
 our zeal and our exertions are the means by which he com- 
 monly chooses to work. 
 
 As soon as he <jot well, and was discharged from the 
 hospital, Tom began to think he must return to get his 
 bread. At first he bad some scruples about going back to 
 his old employ: but, says he, sensibly enough, gentlefolks 
 must travel, travelers must have chaises, and chaises must 
 have drivers; 'tis a very honest calling, and I don't know 
 that goodness belongs to one sort of business more than to 
 another; and he who can be good in a stale of great temp- 
 tation, provided the calling be lawful, and the temptations 
 are not of his own seeking, and he be diligent in prayer, 
 maybe better than another man for aught 1 know: and all 
 
 Hint hrlniiqs to Us is, to do our thlt'l ill I lint st.'fr of llf( 171 
 
 which if shut/ please God to call us J and to leave events 
 in God's hand. Tom bad rubbed up his catechism at the 
 hospital, and 'lis a pity that people don't look at their cate-
 
 126 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 ehism sometimes when tliey are grown up*; for it is full as 
 good for men and women as it is for children ; nay, better; 
 for though the answers contained in it are intended for 
 children to repeat, yet the duties enjoined in it are intended 
 for men and woman to put in practice. It is, if I may so 
 speak, the very grammar of Christianity and of our church, 
 and they who understand every part of their catechism 
 thoroughly, will not be ignorant of any thing which a plain 
 Christian need know. 
 
 Tom now felt grieved that he was obliged to drive on 
 Sundays. But people who are in earnest and have their 
 hearts in a thing, can find helps in all cases. As soon as 
 he had set down, his company at their stage, and had seen 
 his horses fed, says Tom, a man who takes care of his 
 horses, will generally think it right to let them rest an 
 hour or two at least. In every town it is a chance but 
 there may be a church open during part of that time. If 
 the prayers should be over, I'll try hard for the sermon ; 
 and if I dare not stay to the sermon it is a chance but I 
 may catch the prayers; it is worth trying for, however ; 
 and as I used to think nothing of making a push, for the 
 sake of getting an hour to gamble, I need not grudge to 
 take a little p ins extraordinary to serve God. By this 
 watchfulness he soon got to know the hours of service at 
 all the towns on !he road he traveled ; and while the horses 
 fed, Tom went to church ; and it became a favorite proverb 
 with him, that p. ayers and provender hinder no mati'n 
 journey; and I beg leave to recommend Tom's maxim 
 to all travelers ; whether master or servant, carrier or 
 coachman. 
 
 At first his companions wanted to laugh and make sport 
 of this — but when they saw that no lad on the i ad Mas up 
 so early or worked *so hard as Tom, when i >y saw no 
 chaise so neat, no glasses so bright, no harness > tight, no
 
 THE POST BOY". 127 
 
 driver so diligent, so clean, or so civil, tbey found he was 
 no subject to make sport at. Tom indeed was very careful 
 in looking after the linen-pins ; in never giving Lis horses 
 too much water when they were hot ; nor, whatever was 
 his haste, would he ever gallop them up hill, strike them 
 across the head, or when tired, cut and slash them, or gal- 
 lop them over the stones, as soon as he got into town, as 
 some foolish fellows do. What helped to cure Tom cf these 
 bad practices, was the remark he met with in the Bible, 
 that a good man is merciful to his beast He was much 
 moved one day on reading the Prophet Jonah, to observe 
 what compassion the great God of heaven and earth had 
 for poor beasts ; for one of the reasons there given why 
 the Almighty was unwilling to destroy the great city of 
 Nineveh was, because there was much cattle in it. After 
 this, Tom never could bear to see a wanton stoke inflicted. 
 Doth God care for horses, said he, and shall man be cruel 
 to them ? 
 
 Tom soon grew rich for one in his station ; for every gen- 
 tleman on the road would be driven by no other lad if 
 careful Tom was to be had. Being diligent, he got a great 
 deal of money; being frugal, he spent but little ; and hav- 
 ing no vices, he wasted none. Ee soon found out that 
 there was some meaning in thai texl which says, that god' 
 liness hath the promise of the life that now is, as well as 
 that which is to come : for the same principles which make 
 a man sober and honest, hare also a natural tendency to 
 make him healthy and rich ; while a drunkard and spend- 
 thrift can hardly escape being sick and a beggar. Vice is 
 the parenl of mis iry in both worlds. 
 
 Alter a few years, Tom ! ; a holiday, and made a 
 
 visit to his native village; his good cl >r had got 
 
 thither before him. Ee found his father was dead, but 
 during his long illness Tom had supplied him with money,
 
 128 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 and by allowing him :i trifle every week, had had the 
 honest satisfaction of keeping him from the parish. Farmer 
 Hodges was still living, but being grown <»ld and infirm, be 
 was desirous to retire from business. He retained a great 
 regard for bis old servant, Tom ; and finding be was worth 
 money, and knowing be knew something of country busi- 
 ness, he offered to let him a small farm at an easy rate, and 
 promised his assistance in the management for the first 
 year, with the loan of a small sum of money, that he might 
 set out with a pretty stock. Tom thanked him with tears 
 in bis eyes, went back and took a handsome leave of bis 
 master, who made him a present of a horse and cart, in ac- 
 knowledgment of his long and faithful services ; for, says 
 he, I have saved many horses by Tom's care and attention, 
 and I could well afford to do the same by every servant 
 who did the same by me ; and should be a richer man at 
 the end of every year by the same generosity, provided I 
 could meet with just and faithful servants who deserve the 
 same rewards. Tom was soon settled in his new farm, and 
 in less than a year bad got every thing neat and decent 
 about him. Farmer Hodges's long experience and friendly 
 advice, joined to his own industry and bard labor, soon 
 brought the farm to great perfection. The regularity, so- 
 briety, peaceableness, and piety of his daily life, bis constant 
 attendance at church twice every Sunday, and his decent 
 and devout behavior when there, soon recommended him 
 to the notice of Dr. Shepherd, who was si ill living, a pat- 
 tern of zeal, activity, and benevolence to all parish priests. 
 The Doctor soon began to bold up Tom, or, as we must. 
 now more properly term him, Mr. Thomas White, to the 
 imitation of the whole parish, and the frequent and con- 
 descending conversation of this worthy clergyman contrib- 
 uted no less than his preaching to the improvement of his 
 new parishioner in piety.
 
 THE POST BOY. 129 
 
 Farmer White soon found out that a dairy could not 
 well be carried on without a mistress, and began to think 
 seriously of marrying ; he prayed to God to direct him in 
 so important a business. lie knew that a tawdry, vain, 
 dressy girl was not likely to make good cheese and butter, 
 and that a worldly, ungodly woman would make a sad wife 
 and mistress of a family. He soon heard of a young 
 woman of excellent character, who had been bred up by 
 the vicar's lady, and still lived in the family as upper maid. 
 She was prudent, sober, industrious, and religious. Her 
 neat, modest, and plain appearance at church (for she was 
 seldom seen any where else out of her master's family), was 
 an example to all persons in her station, and never failed 
 to recommend her to strangers, even before they had an 
 opportunity of knowing the goodness of her character. 
 It was her character, however, which recommended her 
 to Farmer White. He knew that favor is deceitful, 
 and beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord, 
 she shall be praised : ay, and not only praised, but 
 chosen too, says Farmer White, as he took down his hat 
 from the nail on which it hung, in order io go and wait, on 
 Dr. Shepherd, to break his mind, and ask his consent ; for 
 he thought it would 1»- a very unhandsome return for all 
 the favors he was receiving from his minister, to decoy 
 away his faithful servanl from her place, without his con- 
 sent. 
 
 This worthy gentleman, though sorry to lose so valuable 
 a member of his little family, did not scruple a moment 
 about parting \\ii!i her, when lie found it would be so 
 
 tly to her advantage. Tom was agreeably sui 
 hear slie had saved fifty pounds by her frugality. The Doc- 
 tor married them himself, farmer Hodges being present. 
 
 In the afternoon of the wedding-day, Dr. Shepherd eon 
 desceuded to call on Farmer and Mis. White, to give a few 
 
 6*
 
 130 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 words of advice on the new duties they had entered into ; 
 a common custom with him on these occasions. He often 
 took an opportunity to drop, in the most kind and tender 
 way, a hint upon the great indecency of making marriages, 
 christenings, and above all, funerals, days of riot and excess, 
 as is too often the case in country villages. The expecta- 
 tion that the vicar might possibly drop in, in his walks, on 
 these festivals, of m restrained excessive drinking, and im- 
 proj>er convers, ion, even among those who were not re- 
 strained by hi ter motives, as Farmer and Mrs. White 
 were. 
 
 What the I ;tor said was always in such a cheerful, good- 
 humored wai Jiat it was sure to increase the pleasure of 
 the day, instead of damping it. " Well, farmer," said he, 
 " and you, my faithful Sarah, any other friend might recom- 
 mend peace and agreement to you on your marriage ; but 
 I, on the contrary, recommend cares and strifes."* The 
 company stared — but Sarah, who knew that her old mas- 
 ter Avas a facetious gentleman, and always had some mean- 
 ing behind, looked serious. " Cares and strife, sir," said the 
 farmer, " what do you mean ?" " I mean," said he, " for 
 the first, that your cares shall be who shall please God most, 
 and your strifes, who shall serve him best, and do your duty 
 most faithfully. Thus, all your cares and strifes being em- 
 ployed to the highest purposes, all petty cares and worldly 
 strifes shall be at an end. 
 
 "Always remember that you have both of you a better 
 friend than each other." The company stared again, and 
 thought no woman could have so good a friend as her hus- 
 band. "As you have chosen each other from the best 
 motives," continued the Doctor, " you have every reasonable 
 ground to hope for happiness; but as this world is a soil in 
 which troubles and misfortunes will spring up ; troubles 
 * See Dodd's Sayi
 
 IKE POST BOY. 131 
 
 from which you can not save one another; misfortunes 
 which no human prudence can avoid : then remember, 'tis 
 the best wisdom to go to that friend who is always near, 
 always willing, and always able to help you : and that 
 friend is God." 
 
 " Sir," said Farmer White, " I humbly thank you for all 
 your kind instructions, of which I shall now stand more iu 
 need than ever, as I shall have more duties to fulfill. I hope 
 the remembrance of my past offenses will keep me humble, 
 and that a sense of my remaining sin will keep me watchful. 
 I set out in the world, sir, with what is called a good-natured 
 disposition, but I soon found, to my cost, that without God's 
 grace, that will carry a man but a little way. A good 
 temper is a good thing, but nothing but the fear of God 
 can enable one to bear up against temptation, evil company, 
 and evil passions. The misfortune of breaking my leg, as 
 I then thought it, has proved the greatest blessing of my 
 life. It showed me my own weakness, the value of the 
 Bible, and the goodness of God. How many of my brother 
 drivers have I seen, since that time, cut off in the prime of 
 life by drinking, or sudden accident, while I have not oidy 
 been spared, but blessed and prospered. O, sir, it would 
 be the joy of my heart, if some of my old comrades, good- 
 natured, civil fellows (whom I can't help loving) could see 
 as I have done, the danger of evil courses before it is too 
 late. Though they may not hearken to you, sir, or any other 
 minister, they may believe me because I have been one of 
 them: and I can speak from experience, of the great dif- 
 ference th( re is, ev< n as to worldly comfort, between a life 
 of sobriety and a life of sin. I could tell them, sir, noi 
 a thing 1 have read in a hook, hut as a truth 1 feci in my 
 own heart, tha to fear God and keep his commandments, 
 will not only bring a man peace at last, hut will make him 
 happy now. And ! will venture to say, sir, thai all the
 
 132 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 stocks, pillories, prisons, and gibbets in the land, I hough so 
 very needful to keep bad men in order, yet will never re- 
 strain a good man from committing evil half so much as 
 that single text, How shall I do this great wickedness, and 
 sin against God V Dr. Shepherd condescended to approve 
 of what the farmer had said, kindly shook him by the hand, 
 and took leave. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE WAY TO PLENTY; OR, THE SECOND PART OF TOM WHITE. 
 WRITTEN IN 1795, THE YEAR OF SCARCITY. 
 
 Tom White, as we have shown in the first part of this 
 history, from an idle post boy was become a respectable farm- 
 er. God had blessed his industry, and he had prospered 
 in the world. He was sober and temperate, am], as was the 
 natural consequence, he was active and healthy, lie was 
 industrious and frugal, and he became prosperous in his cir- 
 cumstances. This is the ordinary course of Providence. 
 But it is not a certain and necessary rule. God maketh his 
 sun to shine on the just and on- tin' unjust. A man who 
 uses every honest means of thrift and industry, will, in most 
 cases, find success attend his labors. But still, the race is 
 not ahvays to the swift nor the battle to the stroyuj. God is 
 sometimes pleased, for wise ends, to disappoint all the 
 worldly hopes of the most upright man. His corn may be 
 smitten by a blight; his barns may be consumed by fir.' ; 
 his cattle may he carried off by distemper. And to these, 
 and other misfortunes, the goo 1 man is as liable as the 
 spendthrift or the knave. Success is the common reward
 
 THE POST BOY. 133 
 
 of industry, but if it were its constant reward, the industri- 
 ous would be tempted to look no further than the present 
 state. They would lose one strong ground of their faith. It 
 would set aside the Scripture scheme. This world would 
 then be looked on as a state of reward, instead of trial, and 
 we should forget to look to a day of final retribution. 
 
 Farmer White never took it into his head, that, because 
 he paid his debts, worked early and late, and ate the bread of 
 carefulness, he was therefore to come into no misfortune like 
 other folk, but was to be free from the common trials and 
 troubles of life. He krfew that prosperity was far from be- 
 ing a sure mark of God's favor, and had read in good books, 
 and especially in the Bible, of the great poverty and afflic- 
 tions of the best of men. Though he was no great scholar, 
 he had sense enough to observe, that a time of public pros- 
 perity was not always a time of public virtue ; and he 
 thought that what was true of a whole nation might be 
 true of one man. So the more he prospered the more he 
 prayed that prosperity might not corrupt his heart. And 
 when he saw lately signs of public distress coining on, he 
 was not half so much frightened as some others were, he- 
 cause he though I it might do us good in (he long run ; and 
 he was in hope that a little poverty might bring on a little 
 penitence. The great grace he labored after was that of a 
 cheerful submission, lie used to say, that, if the Lord's 
 prayer had only contained those four little words. Thy will 
 be dene, it would be worth more than the biggest hook k 
 the world without them. 
 
 Dr. Shepherd, th worthy vicar (with whom the farmer's 
 wife had formerly lived as housekeeper), was very fond ot 
 taking a walk with him about his grounds, anil he used to 
 say that be learned as much from the farmer as the farmer 
 did from him. If the Doctor happened to observe, "1 am 
 afraid these long rains will spoil this line piece of oats," the
 
 134 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 farmer would answer, " But then, sir, think how good it is 
 for the grass." If the Doctor feared the wheat would be but 
 indifferent, the farmer was sure the rye would turn out well. 
 When grass failed, he did not doubt but turnips would be 
 plenty. Even for floods and inundations he would find out 
 some way to justify Providence. " 'Tis better," said he, " to 
 have our lands a little overflowed, than that the springs should 
 be dried up, and our cattle faint for lack of water." When the 
 drought came, lie thanked God that the season would be 
 healthy ; and the high winds, which frightened others, he 
 said, served to clear the air. Whoever, or whatever was 
 wrong, he was always sure that Providence was in the 
 right. And he used to say, that a man with ever so small 
 an income, if lie had but frugality and temperance, and 
 would cut oil" all vain desires, and cast his care upon God, 
 was richer than a lord who was tormented by vanity and 
 covetousness. When he saw others in the wrong, he did not, 
 however, abuse them for it, but took care to avoid the same 
 fault. He had sense and spirit enough to break through 
 many old, but very bad customs of his neighbors. " If a 
 thing is wrong in itself," said he one day to Farmer Hod- 
 ges, " a whole parish doing it can't make it right. And as 
 to its being an old custom, why, if it be a good one, I like 
 it the better for being old, because it has had the stamp of 
 ages, and the sanction of experience on its worth. But if 
 it be old as well as bad, that is another reason for my try- 
 ing to put an end to it, that we may not mislead our child- 
 ren as our fathers have misled us." 
 
 THE ROOF-RAISING. 
 
 Some years after he was settled, he built a large new barn. 
 All the workmen were looking forward to the usual holiday 
 of roof-raising. On this occasion it was a custom to give a 
 dinner to the workmen, with so much liquor after it, that
 
 THE POST BOY. 135 
 
 they got so drunk that they not only lost the remaining 
 half-day's work, but they were not always able to work the 
 following da) r . 
 
 Mrs. White provided a plentiful dinner for roof-raising, 
 and gave each man his mug of beer. After a hearty meal 
 they began to grow clamorous for more drink. The farmer, 
 said, " My lads, I don't grudge you a few gallons of ale 
 merely for the sake of saving my liquor, though that is some 
 consideration, especially in these dear times ; but I never 
 will, knowingly, help any man to make a beast of himself. 
 I am resolved to break through a bad custom. You are 
 now well refreshed. If you will go cheerfully to your work, 
 you will have half a day's pay to take on Saturday night 
 more than you would have if this afternoon were wasted in 
 drunkenness. For this your families will be better; whereas, 
 were I to give you more liquor, when you have already had 
 enough, I should help to rob them of their bread. But I 
 wish to show you, that I have your good at heart full as much 
 as your profit. If you wUl now go to work, I will give 
 you all another mug at night when you leave off. Thus 
 your time will be saved, jour families helped, and my ale 
 will not 2:0 to make reasonable creatures worse than brute 
 beasts." 
 
 II. iv be stopped. "You are in right oii't, master," said 
 Tom, the thatcher ; "you are a hearty man, farmer," said 
 John Plane, the carpenter. " Come along, boys," said Tim 
 Brick, the mason : so they all went merrily to work, forti- 
 fi d with a good dinner. There was only one drunken surly 
 fellow that refused ; this was Dick Guzzle, the smith. Dick 
 never works above two or three days in the week, and 
 spends the others at the lied Lion. .He swore, that if the 
 farmer did not give him as much liquor as he liked al roof- 
 raising, lie would not strike another stroke, hut would leave 
 the job unfinished, and he might get hands where he could.
 
 136 THE HIST OR V OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 Farmer White took him at bis word, and paid him oft' di- 
 rectly ; glad enough to get rid of such a sot, whom he had 
 only employed from pity to a large and almost starving fam- 
 ily. When the men came for their mug in the evening, 
 the farmer brought out the remains of the cold gammon ; 
 they made a hearty supper, and thanked him for having 
 broken through a foolish custom, which was afterward 
 much left off in that parish, though Dick would not come 
 into it, and lost most of his work in consequence. 
 
 Farmer White's laborers were often complaining that 
 things were so dear that they could not buy a bit of meat. 
 He knew it was partly true, but not entirely ; for it was be- 
 fore these very hard times that their complaints begat.. 
 One morning he stepped out to see how an outhouse which 
 he was thatching went on. He was surprised to find the 
 work at a stand. He walked over to the thatcher's house. 
 " Tom," said he, " I desire that piece of work may be finished 
 directly. If a -shower comes my grain will be spoiled." 
 "Indeed, master, I sha'n't wo,rk to-day, nor to-morrow 
 neither," said Tom. " You forget that 'tis Easter Monday, 
 and to-morrow is Easter Tuesday. And so on Wednesday 
 I shall thatch away, master. But it is hard if a poor man, 
 who works all the seasons round, may not enjoy these few 
 holidays, which come but once a year." 
 
 "Tom," said the farmer, " when these days were first put 
 into our prayer-book, the good men who ordained them to 
 be kept, little thought that the time would come when holi- 
 day should mean drunken-clay, and that the seasons which 
 they meant to distinguish by superior piety, should be con- 
 verted into seasons of more than ordinary excess. How 
 much dost think now I shall pay thee for this piece of 
 thatch ?" " Why, you know, master, you have let it to me 
 by the great. I think between this and to-morrow night, 
 as the weather is so fine, I could clear about four shillings,
 
 THE POST BOY. 137 
 
 after I have paid my boy ; but thatching does not come 
 often, and other work is not so profitable." "Very well, 
 Tom; and how much now do you think you may spend in 
 these two holidays 1" " Why, master, if the ale is pleasant, 
 and the company merry, I do not expect to get off for less 
 than three shillings." " Tom, can you do pounds, shillings, 
 and pence ?" " I can make a little score, master, behind 
 the kitchen-door, with a bit of chalk, which is as much as I 
 want." " Well, Tom, add the four shillings you would have 
 earned to the three you intend to spend, what does thai 
 make?" "Let me see ! three and four make seven. Seven 
 shillings, master." " Tom, you often tell me the times are 
 so bad that you can never buy a bit of meat. Now here is 
 the cost of two joints at once : to say nothing of the sin of 
 wasting time and getting drunk." " I never once thought 
 of that," said Tom. "Now, Tom," said the farmer, "-if I 
 were you, I would step over to butcher Jobbins's, buy a 
 shoulder of mutton, which being left from Saturday's market, 
 you will get a little cheaper. This I would make my wife' 
 bake in a deep dishful of potatoes. I would then go to 
 work, and when the dinner was ready I would go and en- 
 joy it with my wife and children ; you need not give the 
 mutton to the brats, the potatoes will have all tin' gravy, 
 and be very savory for them." "Ay, but I have got no 
 beer, master, the times iare so hard that a poor man can't 
 afford to brew a drop of drink now as we used to do." 
 
 "Times are bad, and malt is very dear, Tom, and yet both 
 don't prevent, you from spending seven shillings in keeping 
 holiday. Now send for a quart of ale .-is it is to be a feast: 
 and you will even then be four shillings richer than if you 
 had gone to the public house. 1 would have you put by 
 these foui' shillings, till you can add a couple to them; with 
 this I would get a bushel of malt, and my wife should brew 
 it, and you may lake a pint of your own beer at home of a
 
 138 THE HISTORY OP TOM WHITE, 
 
 night, which will do you more good than a gallon at the 
 Red Lion." " I have a great mind to take your advice, 
 master, but I shall be made such fun of at the Lion ! they 
 will so laugh at me if I don't go I" " Let those laugh that 
 win, Tom." " But master, I have got a friend to meet me 
 there." " Then ask your friend to come and eat a bit of 
 your cold mutton at night, and here is sixpence for another 
 pot, if you wnll promise to brew a small cask of your own." 
 " Thank you, master, and so I will ; and I won't go to the 
 Lion. Come boy, bring the helm, and fetch the ladder." 
 And so Tom was upon the roof in a twinkling. The barn 
 was thatched, the mutton bought, the beer brewed, the 
 friend invited, and the holiday enjoyed. 
 
 THE SHEEP-SHEARING. 
 
 Dr. Shepherd happened to say to Farmer White one day, 
 that there was nothing that he disliked more than the man- 
 ner in which sheep-shearing and harvest-home were kept 
 by some in his parish. " What," said the good Doctor, 
 "just when we are blessed with a prosperous gathering in 
 of these natural riches of our land, the fleece of our flocks ; 
 when our barns are crowned with plenty, and we have, 
 through the divine blessing on our honest labor, reaped the 
 fruits of the earth in due season; is that very time to be set 
 a] tart for ribaldry, and riot, and drunkenness ? Do we thank 
 God for his mercies, by making ourselves unworthy and un- 
 fit to enjoy them ? When he crowns the year with his 
 goodness, shall we affront him by our impiety ? It is more 
 than a common insult to his providence ; it is a worse than 
 brutal return to Him who openeth his hand and filleth all 
 things living with plenteousness." 
 
 "I thank you for the hint, sir," said the farmer. " I am 
 resolved to rejoice though, and others shall rejoice with 
 me : and we will have a merry night on't,"
 
 THE POST BOY. 139 
 
 So Mrs. White dressed a very plentiful supper of meat 
 and pudding ; and spread out two tables. The farmer sat 
 at the head of one, consisting of some of his neighbors, aud 
 all his work-people. At the other sat his wife, with two 
 lono- benches on each side of her. On these benches sat all 
 the old and infirm poor, especially those who lived in the 
 work-house, and had no day of festivity to look forward to 
 in the whole year but this. On the grass, in the little 
 court, sat the children of his laborers, and of the other 
 poor, whose employment it had been to gather flowers, and 
 dress and adorn the horns of the ram ; for the farmer did 
 not wish to put an end to an old custom, if it was innocent. 
 His own children stood by the table, and he gave them 
 plenty of pudding, which they carried to the children of the 
 j>oor, with a little draught of cider to every one. The 
 fanner, who never sat down without begging a blessing on 
 his meal, did it with suitable solemnity on the present joy- 
 ful occasion. 
 
 Dr. Shepherd practiced one very useful method, which I 
 dare say was not peculiar to himself; a method of which I 
 doubt not other country clergymen have found the advan- 
 tage. He was often on the watch to observe those seasons 
 when a number of his parishioners were assembled together, 
 not only ai any season of festivity, but at their work. He 
 has been known to (urn a walk through a hay-field to good 
 account; and has been found to do as much good by a few 
 minutes' discourse with a little knot of reapers, as by a Sun- 
 day's sermon, lie commonly introduced his religious ob- 
 servations by some questions relating to their employment ; 
 he first gained their affections by his kindness, and then 
 converted his influence over them to their soul's good. The 
 interest he took in their worldly affairs opened their hearts 
 to the reception of those divine truths which he was always 
 earnest to impress upon them. By these methods too he
 
 140 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 got acquainted with their several characters, their spiritual 
 wants, their individual sins, dangers, and temptations, which 
 enabled him to preach with more knowledge and success- 
 ful application, than those ministers can do who are un- 
 acquainted with the state of their congregations. It was a 
 remark of Dr. Shepherd, that a thorough acquaintance with 
 human nature was one of the most important species of 
 knowledge a clergyman could possess. 
 
 The sheep-shearing feast, though orderly and decent, was 
 yet hearty and cheerful. Dr. Shepherd dropped in, with a 
 good deal of company he had at his house, and they were 
 much pleased. When the Doctor saw how the aged and 
 infirm poor were enjoying themselves, he was much moved ; 
 he shook the farmer by the hand and said, "But thou, 
 when thou makest a feast, call the blind, and the lame, and 
 the halt ; they can not recompense thee, but thou slialt be 
 recompensed at the resurrection of the just," 
 
 " Sir," said the farmer, " 'tis no great matter of expense ; 
 I kill a sheep of my own ; potatoes are as plenty as black- 
 berries, with, people who have a little forethought. I save 
 much more cider in the course of a year by never allowing 
 any carousing in my kitchen, or drunkenness in my fields, 
 than would supply many such feasts as these, so that I shall 
 be never the poorer at Christmas. It, is cheaper to make 
 people happy, sir, than to make them drunk." The Doctor 
 anil the ladies condescended to walk from one table to the 
 other, and heard many merry stories, but not one profane 
 word, or one indecent song : so that he was not forced to the 
 painful necessity cither of reproving them, or leaving them 
 in anger. When all was over, they sung the sixty-fifth 
 Psalm, and the ladies all joined in it; and when they got 
 home to the vicarage to tea, they declared they liked it 
 better than any concert.
 
 THE POST B O ?. 141 
 
 THE HARD WINTER. 
 
 In the famous cold winter of the year 1795, it was edi- 
 fying to see how patiently Farmer White bore that long and 
 severe frost. Many of his sheep were frozen to death, but 
 lie thanked God that he had still many left. He continued 
 to find in-door work that his men might not be out of em- 
 ploy. The season being so bad, which some others pleaded 
 as an excuse for turning off their workmen, he thought a 
 fresh reason for keeping them. Mrs. White was so con- 
 siderate, that just at that time she lessened the number of 
 her liogs, that she might have more whey and skim-milk to 
 assist poor families. Nay, I have known her to live on 
 boiled meat for a long while together, in a sickly season, 
 because the pot liquor made such a supply of broth for the 
 sick poor. As the spring came on, and things grew worse, 
 she never had a cake, a pie, or a pudding in her house ; 
 notwithstanding she used to have plenty of these good 
 things, and will again, I hope, when the present scarcity is 
 over ; though she says she will never use such white flour 
 again, even if it should come down to five shillings a bushel. 
 
 All the parish now began to murmur. Fanner Jones 
 was sure the frost had killed the wheat. Farmer Wilson 
 said the rye would never come up. Brown, the malstcr, 
 insisted the barley was dead at the root. Butcher Job- 
 bins said beef would be a shilling a pound. All declared 
 there would not be a hop to brew with. The orchards 
 w.'fe all blighted ; there would not be apples enough to 
 make a pie; and as to hay there would be none to be 
 had for love or money. "I'll tell you what," said Fanner 
 While, "the season is dreadful ; the crops unpromising just 
 now; but 'tis too early to judge. Don't let us make things 
 worse than they are. We ought to comfort the poor, and 
 you are driving them to despair. Don't you know how
 
 142 THE HISTORY OF TOM 
 
 much God was displeased with the murmurs of his chosen 
 people ? And yet, when they were tired of manna he sent 
 them quails; but all did not do. Nothing satisfies grum- 
 blers. We have a promise on our side, that there shall 
 be seed-time and harvest-time to the end. Let us then hope 
 for a good day, but provide against an evil one. Let us 
 rather preveut the evil before it is come upon us, than sink 
 under it when it comes. Grumbling can not help us ; ac- 
 tivity can. Let us set about planting potatoes in every nook 
 and corner, in case the corn should fail, which, however, I 
 don't believe will be the case. Let us mend our manage- 
 ment before we are driven to it by actual want. And if 
 we allow our honest laborers to plant a few potatoes for 
 their families in the headlands of our plowed fields, o\ 
 other waste bits of ground, it will do us no harm, and be 
 a great help to them. The way to lighten the load of any 
 public calamity is not to murmur at it but put a hand 
 to lessen it." 
 
 The farmer had many temptations to send his corn at 
 an extravagant price to a certain seaport toivn, bat as he 
 knew that it was intended to export it against law, he 
 would not be tempted to encourage unlawful gain ; so he 
 thrashed out a small mow at a time, and sold it to the 
 neighboring poor far below the market-price. He served 
 his own workmen first. This was the same to them as if 
 he had raised their wages, and even better, as it was a bene- 
 fit of which their families were sure to partake. If the pooi 
 in the next parish were more distressed than his own, he 
 sold them at the same rate. For, said he, there is no dis- 
 tortion of parishes in heaven; and though charity begins 
 at home, yet it ought not to end there. 
 
 II • had been used iii gum! times now and then t<> catch 
 a hare or a partridge, as he was qualified ; but he now re- 
 solved to give up that pleasure. So he parted from a couple
 
 THE POST BO V. 143 
 
 of spaniels he Had : for lie said he could not hear that his 
 dogs should be eating the meat, or the milk, which so many- 
 men, women, and children wanted. 
 
 THE WHITE LOAF. 
 
 One day, it was about the middle of last July, when 
 things seemed to be at the dearest, and the rulers of the 
 land had agreed to set the example of eating nothing but 
 coarse bread, Dr. Shepherd read, before sermon in the 
 church, their public declaration, which the magistrates of 
 the county sent him, and which they had also signed them- 
 selves. Mrs. White, of course, was at church, and com- 
 mended it mightily. Next morning the Doctor took a walk 
 over to the farmer's, in order to settle further j)lans for the 
 relief of the parish. He was much surprised to meet Mrs. 
 "White's little maid, Sally, with a very small white loaf, 
 which she had been buying at a shop. He said nothing to 
 the girl, as he never thought it right to expose the faults of 
 a mistress to her servants ; but walked on, resolving to give 
 Mrs. White a severe lecture for the first time in his life. lie 
 soon changed his mind, for on going into the kitchen, the 
 first person he saw was Tom the tBatcher, who had had a 
 sad fall from a ladder; his arm, which was slipped out of 
 his sleeve, was swelled in a frightful manner. Mrs. White 
 was standing at the dresseT making the liitl.- white loaf in-, 
 to a poultice, which she laid upon the swelling in a large 
 clean old linen cloth. 
 
 "I ask your pardon, my good Sarah," said the Doe 
 "I ought not, however appearances were againsl you, to 
 have suspected thai so humble and prudent a woman as 
 you are, would !>•■ I'd either t<> indulge any daintiness of 
 your own, or to fly in the face of your I , by eating 
 
 white bread while they are eating brown. Whenever 1 
 come here, I sec it is not needful to be rich in order to be
 
 144 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 charitable. A bountiful rich man would have scut Tom to 
 a surgeon, who would have done no more for hi in than you 
 have done; for in those inflammations the most skillful 
 surgeon could only apply a poultice. Your kinduess in 
 dressing the wound yourself, will, I doubt not, perform the 
 cure at the exj^ense of that threepenny loaf and a little 
 hoo-'s lard. And I will take care that Tom shall have a 
 good supply of rice from the subscription." "And he 
 sha'n't want for skim-milk," said Mrs. White ; " and was 
 he the best lord in the land, in the state he is in, a dish of 
 irood rice milk would be better for him than the richest 
 meat." 
 
 THE PARISH MEETING. 
 
 On the tenth of August, the vestry held another meet- 
 ing, to consult on the best method of further assisting the 
 poor. The prospect of abundant crops now cheered every 
 heart. Farmer White, who had a mind to be a little jocu- 
 lar with his desponding neighbors, said, " Well, neighbor 
 Jones, all the wheat was killed, I suppose ! the barley is all 
 dead at the root!" Farmer Jones looked sheepish, and 
 said, " To be sure the crops had turned out better than he 
 thought." " Then," said Dr. Shepherd, " let ns learn to 
 trust Providence another time ; let our experience of his 
 past goodness strengthen our faith." 
 
 Among other things, they agreed to subscribe tor a Large 
 quantity of rice, which was to be sold out to the poor at a 
 very low price, and Mrs. White was so kind as to undertake 
 the trouble of selling it. After their day's work was over, 
 all who wished to buy at these reduced rates, were ordered 
 to come to the farm on the Tuesday evening. Dr. Shep- 
 herd dropped in at the same time, and wheu Mrs. White 
 had done weighing her rice, the Doctor spoke as follows : 
 
 "My honest friends, it has pleased God, for some wise 
 end, to visit this land with a scarcity, to which we have
 
 THE POST BOY. 145 
 
 • 
 
 been but little accustomed. There are some idle, evil- 
 minded people, who are on the watch for the public dis- 
 tresses ; not that they may humble themselves under the 
 mighty hand of God (which is the true use to be made of 
 all troubles) but that they may benefit themselves by dis- 
 turbing- the public peace. These people, by riot and drunk- 
 enness, double the evil which they pretend to cure. Riot 
 will complete our misfortunes; while peace, industry, and 
 good management, will go near to cure them. Bread, to 
 be sure, is uncommonly dear. Among the various ways of 
 making it cheaper, one is to reduce the quality of it, an- 
 other to lessen the quantity we consume. If we can not 
 get enough of co irse ftheaten bread, let us make it of other 
 grain. Or let us mix one half of potatoes, and one half 
 of wheat. This last is what I eat in my own family ; it is 
 pleasant and wholesome. Our blessed Saviour ate barley- 
 bread, you know, as we are told in the last month's Sunday 
 reading of the Cheap Repository,* which I hope you have 
 all heard, as I desired the master of the Sunday School to 
 re, id it just after evening service, when I know many of the 
 parents are apt to call in at the school. This is a good 
 custom, and one of those little books shall be often read at 
 that time. 
 
 " My good women, I truly feel for you at this time of 
 scarcity; and I am going to show my good will, as much 
 by my advice as my subscription. It is my duty, as your 
 friend and minister, to it'll you that one half of your present 
 hardships is owing to bad management. I often meet your 
 children without shoes and stockings, with great luncheons 
 of the very whitest bread, and that three times a day. 
 Ealf that quantity, and still less if it were coarse, pat into 
 a dish of good onion or leefc porridge, would make th.au 
 
 * Seo Cheap Eti positoiy, Tract on tho Scarcity, printed for T. 
 Evans, Long-lano, West Smithfield, London. 
 
 7
 
 146 TIIE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 an excellent breakfast. Many too, of the very poorest of 
 you, eat your bread hot from the oven ; this makes the dif- 
 ference of one loaf in five ; I assure you 'tis what I can not 
 afford to do. Come, Mrs. White, you must assist me a 
 little. I am not very knowing in these matters myself; but 
 I know that the rich would be twice as charitable as they 
 are, if the poor made a better use of their bounty. Mrs. 
 White, do give these poor women a little advice how to 
 make their pittance go further than it now does. When 
 you lived with me you were famous for making us nice 
 cheap dishes, and I dare say you are not less notable, now 
 you manage for yourself." 
 
 "Indeed, neighbors," said Mrs. White, "what the good 
 Doctor says is very true. A halfpenny worth of oatmeal, 
 or groats, with a leek or onion, out of your own garden, 
 which costs nothing, a bit of salt, and a little coarse bread, 
 will breakfast your whole family. It is a great mistake at 
 any time to think a bit of meat is so ruinous, and a great 
 load of bread so cheap. A poor man gets seven or eight 
 shillings a week : if he is careful he brings it home. I dare 
 not say how much of this goes for tea in the afternoon, 
 now sugar and butter are so dear, because I should have 
 you all upon me ; but I will say, that too much of this little 
 goes even for bread, from a mistaken notion that it is the 
 hardest fare. This, at all times, but particularly just now, 
 is bad management. Dry peas, to be sure, have been very 
 dear lately, but now they are plenty enough. I am certain 
 then, that if a shilling or two of the seven or eicdit was laid 
 out for a bit of coarse beef, a sheep's heal, or any such 
 thing, it would be well bestowed. I would throw a couple 
 of pounds of this into the pot, with two or three handsful 
 of gray peas, an onion, and a little pepper. Then I would 
 throw in cabbage, or turnip, and carrot ; or any garden 
 stuff that was most plenty; let it stew two or three hours,
 
 THE POST BOY. 14 
 
 H 
 
 and it will make a dish fit for his majesty. The working 
 men should have the meat ; the children don't want it : 
 the soup will be thick and substantial, and requires no 
 bread. 
 
 RICE MILK. 
 
 " You who can get skim-milk, as all our workmen can, 
 have a great advantage. A quart of this, and a quarter of 
 a pound of rice you have just bought, a little bit of 
 alspice, and brown sugar, will make a dainty and cheap 
 dish." 
 
 " Bless your heart !" muttered Amy Grumble, who looked 
 as dirty as a cinder-wench, with her face and fingers all 
 daubed with snuff: "rice milk, indeed ! it is very nice to 
 be sure for those that can dress it, but we have not a bit 
 of coal; rice is no use to us without firing;" "and yet," 
 said the Doctor, " I see your tea-kettle boiling twice every 
 day, as I pass by the poor-house, and fresh butter at thir- 
 teen-pence a pound on your shelf." " Oh, dear sir," cried 
 Amy, " a few sticks serve to boil the tea-kettle." " And a 
 few more," said the Doctor, "will boil the rice milk, and 
 give twice the nourishment at a quarter of the expense." 
 
 RICK PUDDING. 
 
 "Pray, Sarah," said the Doctor, " how did you use to 
 make that pudding my children were so fond of? And I 
 remember, when it was cold, we used to have it in the par- 
 lor for supper." "Nothing more easy," said Mrs. White: 
 "I put half a pound of rice, two quarts of skim-milk, and 
 two ounces of brown sugar." "Well," said the Doctor, 
 "and how many will this dim 1 .''" "Seven or eight, sir." 
 "Very well, and what will it rust .'" " Why, sir, it did not 
 cost you so much, because we baked at home, and 1 used 
 our own milk; hut it will not cost above seven-pence tc 
 those who pay for both. Ilere, too, bread is saved."
 
 148 THE HISTORY OF TOM 
 
 " Pray, Sarah, let me put in a word," said Farmer White : 
 " I advise my men to raise each a large bed of parsnips. 
 They are very nourishing, and very profitable. Sixpenny 
 worth of seed, well sowed and trod in, will produce more 
 meals than four sacks of potatoes ; and, what is material to 
 you who have so little ground, it will not require more than 
 an eighth part of the ground which the four sacks will take. 
 Providence having contrived by the very formation of this 
 root that it shall occupy but a very small space. Parsnips 
 are very good the second day warmed in the frying pan, 
 and a little rasher of pork, or bacon, will give them a nice 
 flavor." 
 
 Dr. Shepherd now said, " As a proof of the nourishing 
 quality of parsnips, I was reading in a history book this 
 very day, that the American Indians make a great part of 
 their bread of parsnips, though Indian corn is so famous ; 
 it will make a little variety too." 
 
 A CHEAP STEW. 
 
 " I remember," said Mrs. White, " a cheap dish, so nice 
 that it makes my mouth water. I peel some raw potatoes, 
 slice them thin, put the slices into a deep frying-pan, or 
 pot with a little water, an onion, and a bit of pepper. 
 Then I get a bone or two of a breast of mutton, or a little 
 strip of salt pork and put into it. Cover it down close, 
 keep in the steam, and let it stew for an hour." 
 
 " You really give me an appetite, Mrs. White, by your 
 dainty receipts," said the Doctor. " I am resolved to have 
 this dish at my own table." " I could tell you another very 
 good dish, and still cheaper," answered she. " Come, let 
 us have it," cried the Doctor. " I shall write all down as 
 soon as I get home, and I will favor any body with a copy 
 of these receipts who will call at my house." ''And I will 
 do more, sir," said Mrs. White, " for I will put any of these
 
 THE POST BOT. 149 
 
 women in the way how to dress it the first time, if they are 
 at a loss. But this is my dish : 
 
 "Take two or three pickled herrings, put them into a 
 stone jar, fill it up with potatoes, and a little water, and let it 
 bake in the oven till it is done. I would give one hint more," 
 added she ; "I have taken to use nothing but potatoe starch ; 
 and though I say it, that should not say it, nobody's linen 
 in a common way looks better than ours." 
 
 The Doctor now said, " I am sorry for one hardship which 
 many poor people labor under : I mean the difficulty of 
 getting a little milk. I wish all the farmers' wives were as 
 considerate as you are, Mrs. White. A little milk is a 
 great comfort to the poor, especially when their chil- 
 dren are sick; and I have known it answer to the seller 
 as well as to the buyer, to keep a cow or two on purpose 
 to sell it by the quart, instead of making butter and 
 cheese. 
 
 " Sir," said Farmer White, " I beg leave to say a word to 
 the men, if you please, for all your advice goes to the wo- 
 men. If you will drink less gin, you may get more meat. 
 If you abstain from the ale-house, you may, many of 3-011, 
 get a little one-way beer at home." "Ay, that we can, 
 farmer," said poor 'fun, the thatcher, who was now got 
 well. "Easter Monday for that — I say no more. A word 
 to the wise." The farmer smiled and went on : " The num- 
 ber of public houses in many a parish, brings on more hun- 
 ger and rags than all the taxes in il, heavy as they are. All 
 the other evils put together hardly make up the sum of that 
 one. We are now making a fresh subscription for you. 
 This will be our rule of giving: We will not give to sots, 
 gamblers, and Sabbath-breakers. Those who do not set 
 their young children to work on week-days, and send them 
 to school and church on Sundays, deserve little favor. No 
 man should keep a dog till he has more food than his fam-
 
 150 THE HISTORY OF TOM WHITE, 
 
 ily wants. If be feeds them at home, they rob bis children ; 
 if he starves them, they rob bis neighbors. We have heard 
 in a neighboring city, that some people earned back the 
 subscription loaves, because they were too coarse; but we 
 hope better things of you." Here Betty Plane begged, 
 with all humility, to put in a word. " Certainly," said the 
 Doctor, " we will listeu to all modest complaints, and try to 
 redress them." "You are pleased to say, sir," said she, 
 " that we might find much comfort from buying coarse bits 
 of beef. And so we might ; but you do not know, sir, that 
 we could seldom get them, even when we had the money, 
 and times were so bad." " How so,. Betty ?" "Sir, when 
 We go to Butcher Jobbins for a bit of shin, or any other lean 
 piece, his answer is, ' You can't have it to-day. The cook 
 at the great house has bespoke it for gravy, or the Docto 's 
 maid (begging your pardon, sir,) has just ordered it for 
 sou]).' Now, if such kind gentlefolk were aware that this 
 gravy and soup not only consume a great deal of meat — 
 which, to be sure, those have^a right to do who can pay for 
 it — but that it takes away those coarse pieces which the 
 poor would I uy, if they bought at all. For, indeed, the 
 rich have bee:i very kind, and I don't know what Ave should 
 have done without them." 
 
 " I thank you for the bint, Betty," said the Doctor, and I 
 assure you I will have no more gravy soup. My garden 
 will supply me with soups that are both wholesomer and 
 better ; and I will answer for my lady at the great house, 
 that she will do the same. I hope this will become a gen- 
 eral rule, and then Ave shall expect that butchers will favor 
 you in the prices of the coarse pieces, if we who are rich, 
 buy nothing but the prime. In our gifts Ave shall prefer, as 
 the farmer has told you, those who keep steadily to their 
 work. Such as come to the vestry for a loaf, and do not 
 come to church for the sermon, we shall mark; and. prefer
 
 THE POST BO!. 151 
 
 those who come constantly, whether there are any gifts or 
 not. But there is one rule from which we never will de- 
 part. Those who have been seen aiding or abetting any 
 riot, any attack on butchers, bakers, wheat-mows, mills, or 
 millers, we will not relieve; but with the quiet, contented, 
 hard-working man, I will share my last morsel of bread. I 
 shall only add, though it has pleased God to send us this 
 visitation as a punishment, yet we may convert this short 
 trial into a lasting blessing, if we all turn over a new leaf. 
 Prosperity has made most of us careless. The thoughtless 
 profusion of some of the rich could only be exceeded by the 
 idleness and bad management of some of the poor. Let us 
 now at last adopt that good old maxim, every one mend one. 
 And may God add his blessing." 
 
 The people now cheerfully departed with their rice, re- 
 solving, as many of them as could get milk, to put one of 
 Mrs. White's receipts in practice, and an excellent supper 
 they had.
 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL 
 
 I promised, in the Cure for Melancholy, to give some 
 account of the manner in which Mrs. Jones set up her 
 school. She did not much fear being able to raise the 
 money ; but money is of little use, unless some persons of 
 sense and piety can be found to direct these institutions. 
 Not that I would discourage those who set them up, even in 
 the most ordinary manner, and from mere views of worldly 
 policy. It is something gained to rescue children from 
 idling away their Sabbaths in the fields or the streets. It is 
 no small thing to keep them from those to which a day of 
 leisure tempts the idle and the ignorant. It is something 
 for them to be taught to read ; it is much to be taught to 
 read the Bible, and much, indeed, to be carried regularly to 
 church. But all this is not enough. To brinff these insti- 
 tutions to answer their highest end, can only be effected by 
 God's blessing on the best directed means, the choice of 
 able teachers, and a diligent attention in some pious gentry 
 to visit and inspect the schools. 
 
 ON RECOMMENDATIONS. 
 
 Mrs. Jones had one talent that eminently qualified her 
 
 to do good, namely, judgment ; this, even in the gay part of 
 her life, had kept her from many mistakes ; but though she 
 had sometimes been deceived herself, she was very careful 
 not to deceive others, by recommending people to fill any 
 office for which they were unlit, either through selfishness
 
 1HE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 155 
 
 or false kindness. She used to say, there is always some one 
 appropriate qualify which every person must possess in or- 
 der to fit them for any particular employment. " Even in 
 this quality," said she to Mr. Simpson, the clergyman, " I 
 do not expect perfection ; but if they are destitute of this, 
 whatever good qualities they may possess besides, though 
 they may do for some other employment, they will not do 
 for this. If I want a pair of shoes, I go to a shoemaker ; 
 I do not go to a man of another trade, however ingenious 
 he may be, to ask him if he can not contrive to make me a 
 pair of shoes. When I lived in London, I learned to be 
 much on my guard as to recommendations. I found people 
 often wanted to impose on me some one who was a burden 
 to themselves. Once, I remember, when I undertook to get 
 a matron for a' hospital, half my acquaintance had some 
 one to offer me. Mrs. Gibson sent me an old cook, whom 
 she herself had discharged for wasting her own provisions; 
 yet she had the conscience to recommend this woman to 
 take care of the provisions of a large community. Mrs. 
 Gray sent me a discarded housekeeper, whose constitution 
 had been ruined by sitting up with Mrs. Gray's gouty hus- 
 band, but who she yet thought might do well enough to 
 undergo the fatigue of taking care of a hundred poor sick 
 people. A third friend sent me a woman who had no merit 
 but that of being very poor, and it would be charity to 
 provide for her. The truth is, the lady was obliged to 
 allow her a small pension till she could get her off her own 
 hands, by turning her on those of others." 
 
 "It is wevy true, madam," Baid Mr. Simpson ; "the right 
 way is always to prefer the good of the many to the good 
 of one ; if, indeed, it can he called, doing good to any one 
 to place them in a station in which they must feel un- 
 happy, by not knowing how to discharge the duties of it. 
 I will tell you how I manage. If the persons recommended
 
 154 TIIE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 are objects of charity, I privately subscribe to their wants; 
 I pity and help them, but I never promote them to a station 
 for which they are unfit, as I should by so doing hurt a 
 whole community to help a distressed individual." 
 
 Thus Mrs. Jones resolved that the first step toward setting 
 up her school should be to provide a suitable mistress. The 
 vestry were so earnest in recommending one woman, that 
 she thought it worth looking into. On inquiry, she found 
 it was a scheme to take a large family off the parish ; they 
 n«ver considered that a very ignorant woman, with a family 
 of young children, was, of all others, the most unfit for a 
 school, all they considered was, that the profits of the 
 school might enable her to live without parish pay. Mrs. 
 Jones refused another, though she could read well, and was 
 decent in her conduct, because she used to send her children 
 to the shop on Sundays. And she objected to a third, a 
 very sensible woman, because she was suspected of making 
 an outward profession of religion a cloak for immoral con- 
 duet. Mrs. Jones knew she must not be too nice, neither; 
 she knew she must put up with many faults at last. "I 
 know," said she to Mr. Simpson, " the imperfection of every 
 thinff that is human. As the mistress will have much to 
 bear with from the children, so I expect to have something 
 to bear with in the mistress ; and she and I must submit to 
 our respective trials, by thinking how much God has to 
 bear with in us all. But there are certain qualities which 
 are indispensable in certain situations. There are, in par- 
 ticular, three things which a good school-mistress must not 
 be without: good sense, activity, and piety. Without the 
 first, she will mislead others; without the second, she will 
 neglect them ; and without the third, though she may civ 
 ilize, vet she will never christianize them." 
 
 Mr. Simpson said, " He really knew but of one person in 
 the parish who was fully likely to answer her purpose :
 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 155 
 
 this," continued he, " is no other than my housekeeper, Mrs. 
 Betty Crew. It will indeed be a great loss to me to part 
 from her ; and to her it will be a far more fatiguing life 
 than that which she at present leads. But ought I to put 
 my own personal comfort, or ought Betty to put her own 
 ease and quiet, in competition with the good of above a 
 hundred children ? This will appear still more important, 
 if Ave consider the good done by these institutions, not as 
 fruit, but seed ; if we take into the account how many 
 yet unborn may become Christians, in consequence of our 
 making these children Christians ; for, how can we calcu- 
 late the number which may be hereafter trained for hea- 
 ven by those very children we are going to teach, when 
 they themselves shall become parents, and you and I are 
 dead and forgotten ? To be sure, by parting from Betty, my 
 j)eas-soup will not be quite so well-flavored, nor my linen 
 so neatly got up; but the day is fast approaching, when 
 all this will signify but little; but it will not signify little 
 whether one hundred immortal souls were the better for my 
 making this petty sacrifice. Mrs. Crew is a real Christian, 
 has excellent sense, and had a good education from my 
 mother. She has also had a little sort of preparatory train- 
 ing for the business ; for, when the poor children come to 
 the parsonage for broth on a Saturday evening, she is used 
 to appoint them all to come at the same time ; and, after 
 she has filled their pitchers, she ranges them round her in 
 the garden, and examines them in their catechism. She 
 is just and fair in dealing out the broth and beef, not mak- 
 ing my favor to the parents depend on the skill of their 
 children; but her own old caps and ribands, -md cast-off" 
 clothes, are bestowed as little rewards on the best scholars. 
 So that, taking the time she spends in working for them, 
 and the things she gives them, there is many a lady who 
 does not exceed Mrs. Crew in acts of charitv. This I
 
 156 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 mention to confirm your notion, that it is not necessary 
 to be rich in order to do good ; a religious upper servant 
 has great opportunities of this sort, if the master is dis- 
 posed to encourage her.'" 
 
 My readers, I trust, need not be informed, that this is 
 that very Mrs. Betty Crew who assisted Mrs. Jones in 
 teaching poor women to cut out linen and dress cheap 
 dishes, as related in the Cure for Melancholy. Mrs. Jones, 
 in the following week, got together as many of the mothers 
 as she could, and spoke to them as follows : 
 
 mrs. jones's exhortation. 
 
 " My good women, on Sunday next I propose to open a 
 school for the instruction of your children. Those among 
 you who know what it is to be able to read your Bible, 
 will, I doubt not, rejoice that the same blessing is held out 
 to your children. You who are notable yourselves to 
 read what your Saviour has done and suffered for you, 
 ought to be doubly anxious that your children should reap 
 a blessing which you have lost. Would not that mother 
 be thought an unnatural monster who would stand by and 
 snatch out of her child's mouth the bread which a kind 
 friend had just put into it? But such a mother would be 
 merciful, compared with her who should rob her children 
 of the opportunity of learning to read the word of God 
 when it is held out to them. Remember, that if you slight 
 the present offer, or if, alter having sent your children a few 
 times you should afterward keep them at home under vain 
 pretenses, you will have to answer for it at the day of judg- 
 ment. Let not your poor children, then, have cause to say, 
 'My fond mother was my worst enemy. I might have been 
 bred up in the fear of the Lord, ami she opposed it for the 
 sake of giving me a little paltry pleasure, For an idle 
 holiday, I Sm now brought to the gates of hell !' My dear
 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 157 
 
 women, which of you could bear to see your darling child 
 condemned to everlasting destruction ? Which of vou could 
 bear to bear him accuse you as the cause of it? Is there 
 any mother here present, who will venture to say, ' I will 
 doom the children I bore to sin and bell, rather than put 
 them or myself to a little present pain, by curtailing their evil 
 inclinations! I will let them spend the Sabbath in ignor- 
 ance and idleness, instead of rescuing them from vanity and 
 sin, by sending them to school V If there are any such here, 
 present, let that mother who values her child's pleasure 
 more than bis soul, now walk away, while I set down in 
 my list the names of all those who wish to bring their 
 young ones up in the way that leads to eternal life, instead 
 of indulging them in the pleasures of sin, which are but for 
 a moment." 
 
 When Mrs. Jones had done speaking, most of tl e women 
 thanked her for her good advice, and hoped that God would 
 give them grace to follow it; promising to send their 
 children constantly. Others, who were not so well-dispose I, 
 were yet afraid to refuse, after the sin of so doing bad ben 
 so plainly *se1 before them. The worst of the women had 
 b | i away from this meeting, resolving to set their faces 
 against the school. Most of those also who were present, 
 as soon as they got home; sel about providing their children 
 with what little decent apparel they could raise. Many a 
 willing mother lent her tall daughter her hat, besl cap, and 
 white handkerchief; and many a grateful father spared his 
 linen waistcoat and bettermost bat, to induce his grown up 
 son to attend; for it is ;i rule with which Mrs. Jones be 
 that she would not receive the younger children out of any 
 family who did not <v\\>\ tin ir elder ones. Too many made 
 excuses that their shoes were old, or their hat worn out. 
 But Mrs. Jones told them not to bring any excuse to her 
 which they could not bring to the day of judgment ; and
 
 158 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 among those excuses she would hardly admit any except 
 accidents, sickness or attendance on sick parents or young 
 
 children. 
 
 SUBSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 Mrs. Jones, who had secured large subscriptions from the 
 *(*itry, was desirous of getting the help and countenance 
 of the farmers and trades-people, whose duty and interest 
 she thought it was to support a plan calculated to improve 
 the virtue and happiness of the parish. Most of them sub- 
 scribed, and promised to see that their workmen sent their 
 children. She met with little opposition till she called on 
 farmer Hoskins. She told him, as he was the richest farmer 
 in the parish, she came to him for a handsome subscription. 
 " Subscription !" said he, " it is nothing but subscriptions, 
 I think ; a man, had need be made of money." " Farmer," 
 said Mrs. Jones, " God has blessed you with abundant 
 prosperity, and he expects you should be liberal in propor- 
 tion to your great ability." " I do not know what you 
 mean by blessing," said he : "I have been up early and 
 late, lived hard while I had little, and now when I thought 
 I had got forward in the world, what with tithes taxes, and 
 subscriptions, it all goes, I think." "Mr. Hoskins," said 
 Mrs. Jones, " as to tithes and taxes, you well know that the 
 richer you are the more you pay ; so that your murmurs 
 are a proof of your wealth. This is but an ungrateful return 
 for all your blessings." " You are again at your blessings," 
 said the farmer ; " but let every one work as hard as I have 
 done, and I dare say he will do as well. It is to my own 
 industry I owe what I have. My crops have been good, 
 because I minded my plowing and sowing." " O farmer !" 
 cried Mrs. Jones, " you forget whose suns and showers make 
 your crops to grow, and who it is that giveth strength to 
 get riches. But I do not come to preach, but to beg." 
 
 "Well, madam, what is the subscription now? Flannel
 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 159 
 
 or French 1 op weavers, or Swiss, or a new church, or laige 
 bread, or cheap rice ? or what other new whim-wham for 
 getting the money out of one's pocket?" " I am going to 
 establish a Sunday School, farmer; and I come to you as 
 one of the principal inhabitants of the parish, hoping your 
 example will spur on the rest to give." " Why, then," said 
 the farmer, " as one of the principal inhabitants of the 
 parish, I will give nothing; hoping it will spur on the rest 
 to refuse. Of all the foolish inventions, and new fangled 
 devices to ruin the country, that of teaching the poor to 
 read is the very worst." " And I, farmer, think that to 
 teach good principles to the lower classes, is the most likely 
 way to save the country. Now, in order to this, we must 
 teach them to read." " Not with my consent, nor my 
 money," said the farmer ; " for I know it always does more 
 harm than good." "So it may," said Mrs. Jones, "if you 
 only teach them to read, and then turn them adrift to find 
 out books for themselves.* There is a proneness in the 
 heart to evil, which it is our duty to oppose, and which I 
 see you are promoting. Ouly look round your own kit- 
 chen ; I am ashamed to see it hung round with loose songs 
 and ballads. 1 grant, indeed, it would be better for young 
 men and maids, and even your daughters, not to be able to 
 read at all, than to read such stuff as this. But if, when 
 they ask for bread, you will give them a stone, nay 
 worse, a serpen!, yours is the blame." Then taking up a 
 penny-book which had a very loose title, she went .on: 
 
 * It was this consideration chiefly, which stimulated the con- 
 ductors of the Cheap Eti pository to send forth that variety of little 
 books so peculiarly suite I io the young. They considered thai by 
 means of Sunday S shools, multitudes were now taught to read, v. 
 would be irrupted by all the ribaldry and profane- 
 
 ness of 1 vicious stories, lly by the new influx 
 
 of corruption arising from jacobinial and atheistical pamphlets, and 
 that it was a bounden duty to counteract such temptations.
 
 1G0 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 "I do not wonder, if you, who read such books as these, 
 think it safer that people should not read at all." The 
 farmer grinned, and said, "It is hard if a man of my sub- 
 stance may not divert himself; when a bit of fun costs only 
 a penny, and a man can spare that penny, there is no harm 
 dune. When it is very hot, or very wet, and I come in to 
 rest, and have drunk my mug of eider, I like to take up a 
 bit of a jest-book, or a comical story, to make me laugh." 
 
 " 0, Mr. Hoskins !" replied Mis. Jones, " when you come 
 in to rest from a burning sun or shower, do you never think 
 of Him whose sun it is that is ripening your corn ? or 
 whose shower is filling the ear, or causing the grass to 
 grow ? I could tell you of some books which would 
 strengthen such thoughts, whereas such as you read only 
 serve to put them out of your head." 
 
 Mrs. Jones having taken pains to let Mr. Hoskins know 
 that all the genteel and wealthy people had subscribed, he 
 at last said, " Why, as to the matter of that, I do not value 
 a crown ; only I think it may be better bestowed ; and I 
 am afraid my own workmen will fly in my face if once they 
 are made scholars ; and that they will think themselves too 
 good to work." " Now you talk soberly, and give your 
 reasons," said Mrs. Jones ; " weak as they are, they deserve 
 an answer. Do you think that either man, woman, or 
 child, ever did his duty the worse, only because he knew it 
 the better V " No, perhaps not," " Now, the whole ex- 
 tent of learning which we intend to give the poor, is only 
 to enable them to read the Bible ; a bonk which brings to 
 us the glad tidings of salvation, in which every duty is ex- 
 plained, every doctrine brought into practice, and the 
 highest truths made level to the meanest understanding. 
 The knowledge of that book, and its practical influence on 
 the heart, is the best security you can have, both for the 
 industry and obedience of your servants. Now, can you
 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 1 fj ( 
 
 think any man will be the worse servant for being a good 
 Christian?" "Perhaps not." "Are not the duties of 
 children, of servants, and the poor, individually and ex- 
 pressly set forth in the Bible ?" " Yes." " Do you think any 
 duties are likely to be as well performed from any human 
 motives, such as fear or prudence, as from those religious 
 motives which are backed with the sanction of rewards and 
 punishments, of heaven or hell ? Even upon your own 
 principles of worldly policy, do you think a poor man is 
 not less likely to steal a sheep or a horse, who was taught 
 when a boy that it was a sin, that it was breaking a com- 
 mandment, to rob a hen-roost, or an orchard, than one who 
 has been bred in ignorance of God's law \ Will your prop- 
 erly be secured so effectually by the slocks on the green, 
 as by teaching the boys in the school, that for all these 
 things God will bring them into judgment? Is a poor 
 fellow who can read his Bible, so likely to sleep or to drink 
 away his few hours of leisure, as one who can not read ? 
 He may, and he often does, make a bad use of his leading ; 
 but I doubt he would have been as bad without it ; and the 
 hours spent in learning to read will always Lave been 
 among the mosl harmless ones of his life." 
 
 " Well, madam," said the fanner, "if you do not think 
 that religion will spoil my young servants, I do not care it' 
 you do put me down for half a guinea. What has farm- 
 er Dobson given ?" " Half a guinea," said Mrs. Jones. 
 "Well," cried the farmer, "it shall never be said 1 do not 
 give more than he, who is only a renter. Dobson half a 
 guinea! Why, he wears his coal as threadbare as a la- 
 borer." " Perhaps," replied Mrs. Jones, " that is one rea- 
 son why he gives so much." "Well, put me down a 
 guinea," cried the farmer ; "as scarce as guineas ar< 
 now, I'll oever be put upon the same footingwith Dobson, 
 neither." "Yes, and you must exert yourself beside, in
 
 162 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 insisting that your workmen send their children, and often 
 look into the school yourself, to see if they are there, and 
 reward or discourage them accordingly," added Mrs. Jones. 
 " The most zealous teachers will flag- in their exertions, if 
 they are not, animated and supported by the wealthy; and 
 your poor youth will soon despise religious instruction as 
 a thing forced upon them, as a hardship added. to their 
 other hardships, if it be not made pleasant by the encourag- 
 ing presence, kind words, and little gratuities, from their 
 betters.'' 
 
 Here Mrs. Jones took her leave ; the farmer insisted on 
 waiting on her to the door. When they got into the yard, 
 they spied Mr. Simpson, who was standing near a group 
 of females, consisting of the farmer's two young daughters^ 
 and a couple of rosy dairy-maids, an old blind fiddler, and a 
 woman who led him. The woman had laid a basket on 
 the ground, out of which she Avas dealing some songs to the 
 girls, who were kneeling round it, and eagerly picking out 
 such whose title suited their tastes. On seeing the clergyman 
 come up, the fiddler's companion (for I am sorry to say she 
 was' not his wife) pushed some of the songs to the bottom 
 of the basket, turned round to the company, and, in a whin- 
 ing tone, asked if they would please to buy a godly book. 
 Mr. Simpson saw through the hypocrisy at once, and in- 
 stead of making any answer, took out of one of the girls' 
 hands a sonof which the woman had not been able to 
 snatch away. He was shocked and grieved to see that 
 these young girls were about to read, to sing, and to learn 
 by heart such ribaldry as he was ashamed even to cast his 
 eyes on. He turned about to the girl, and gravely, but 
 mildly said, " Young woman, what do you think should be 
 done .to a person who should be found carrying a box of 
 poison round the country, and leaving a little at every 
 house ?" The girls agreed that such a person ought to
 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. - 1G3 
 
 be hanged. ".That he should,' 1 said the farmer, " if 1 was 
 upon the jury, and quartered loo." The tiddler and his 
 woman were or' the same opinion, declaring, they would do 
 
 such a wick d thing for the world, tor if they were poor 
 they w< re honest. Mr. Simpson, turning to the other girl, 
 said, " Which is of most value, the soul or the bun}' *" 
 " The soul, sir," said the girl. " Why so ?" said he. " Be- 
 cause, sir, I have heard you say in the pulpit, the soul is to 
 last forever." " Then," cried Mr. Simpson, in a stern voice, 
 tui ning- to the fiddler's woman, " are you not ashamed to 
 sell poison for that part which is to last forever] poison for 
 the -soul?" "Poison?" said the terrified girl, throwing 
 down the I ok, and shuddering as people do who a e afraid 
 they have touched something infectious. " Poison 1" echoed 
 the farmer's daughters, recollecting with horror the ratsbane 
 which Lion, the old house-dog, had got at the day before, 
 and at'ter eating which she had seen him drop down dead 
 in convulsions. " Yes," said Mr. Simpson to the woman, 
 " I do again repeat, the souls of these innocent girls will 
 be poisoned, and may be eternally ruined by this vile trash 
 which you carry about." 
 
 " I now see," said Mrs. Jones to the farmer, " the reason 
 why you think learning to read does more harm than good 
 It is indeed far better that they should never know how tc 
 tell a letter, unless you keep such trash as this out of their 
 way, and provide them with what is good, or at least what 
 is harmless. Still, this is not the fault of reading, but the 
 abuse of it. Wine is still a good cordial, though it is too 
 often abused to the purpose of drunkenness." 
 
 The farmer said that neither of hie maids couldread their 
 horn-book, though he owned he often heard them singing 
 that song which the parson thought so bail, but for his part 
 it made them as merry as a nightingale. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Jones, " as a proof that it is not merely
 
 1G4 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 being able to read which does the mischief, I have often 
 heard, as I have been crossing a hay-field, young girls sing- 
 ing such indecent ribaldry as has driven rne out of the field, 
 though I well knew tbey could not read aline of what they 
 were singing, but had caught it from others. So you see 
 you may as well say the memory is a wicked talent because 
 some people misapply it, as to say that reading is danger- 
 ous because some folks abuse it." 
 
 While they were talking, the fiddler and his woman 
 were trying to steal away unobserved, but Mr. Simpson 
 stopped them, and sternly said, " Woman, I shall have some 
 further talk with you. I am a magistrate as well as a min- 
 ister, and if I know it, I will no more allow a wicked book 
 to be sold in my parish than a dose of poison." The girls 
 threw away all their songs, thanked Mr. Simpson, begged 
 Mrs. Jones would take them into her school after they had 
 done milking in the evenings, that they might learn to read 
 only what was proper. They promised they would never 
 more deal with any but sober, honest hawkers, such as sell 
 good little books, Christmas carols, and harmless songs, and 
 desired the fiddler's woman never to call there again. 
 
 This little incident afterward confirmed Mrs. Jones in a 
 plan she had before some thoughts of putting in practice. 
 This was, after her school had been established a few 
 months, to invite all the well-disposed grown-up youth of 
 the parish to meet her at the school an hour or two on a 
 Sunday evening, after the necessary business of the dairy, 
 and of serving the cattle was over. Both Mrs. Jones and 
 her agent had the talent of making this time pass so agree- 
 ably, by their manner of explaining Scripture, and of im- 
 pressing the heart by serious and affectionate discourse, that 
 in a short time the evening-school was nearly filled with a 
 second company, after the younger ones were dismissed. 
 In time, not only the servants, but the sons and daughters
 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 165 
 
 of the most substantial people in the parish attended. At 
 length many of the parents, pleased with the improvement 
 so visible in the young people, got a habit of dropping in, 
 that they might learn how to instruct their own families ; 
 and it was observed that as the school filled, not only the 
 fives-court and public houses were thinned, but even Sun- 
 day gossipping and tea-visiting declined. Even farmer Hos- 
 kins, who was at first very angry with his maids for leaving 
 off those merry songs (as he called them) was so pleased 
 by the manner in which the psalms were sung at the 
 school, that he promised Mrs. Jones to make her a present 
 of half a sheep toward her first May-day feast. Of this 
 feast some account shall be given hereafter ; and the reader 
 may expect some further account of the Sunday School in 
 the history of Hester Wilrnot.
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 BEING THE SECOND PART OF TUE SUNDAY SCHOOL 
 
 -*-*-+- 
 
 . Hester Wilmot was born in the parish of Weston, of 
 parents who maintained themselves by their labor ; they 
 were both of them ungodly : it is no wonder therefore they 
 were unhappy. They lived badly too-other, and how could 
 they do otherwise ? for their tempers were very different, 
 and they had no religion to smooth down this difference, 
 or to teach them that they ought to bear with each other's 
 faults. Rebecca Wilmot was a proof that people may have 
 some right qualities, and yet be but bad characters, and ut- 
 terly destitute of religion. She was clean, notable, and in- 
 dustrious. Now I know some folks fancy that the poor who 
 have these qualities need have no other, but this is a sad mis- 
 take, as I am sure every page in the Bible would show ; and 
 it is a pity people do not consult it oftener. They direct 
 their plowing and sowing by the information of the Almanac : 
 why will they not consult the Bible for the direction of their 
 hearts and lives ? Rebecca was of a violent, ungovernable 
 temper ; and that very neatness which is in itself so pleasing, 
 in her became a sin, for her affection to her husband and 
 children was quite losl in an over anxious desire to have her 
 bouse reckoned the nicest in the parish. Rebecca was - also 
 a proof that a poor woman may be as vain as a rich one, for 
 it was not so much the comfort of neatness, as the praise of
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 1G7 
 
 neatness, which she coveted. A spot on her hearth, or 
 a bit of rust on a brass candlestick, would throw her into a 
 violent passion. Now it is very right to keep the hearth 
 clean and the candlestick bright, but it is very wrong so to 
 set one's affections on a hearth or a candlestick, as to make 
 one's self unhappy if any trifling accident happens to them ; 
 and if Rebecca had been as careful to keep her heart with- 
 out spot, or her life without blemish, as she was to keep her 
 fire-irons free from either, she would have been held up in 
 this history, not as a warning, but as a pattern, and in that 
 case her nicety would have come in for a part of the praise. 
 It was no fault in Rebecca, but a merit, that her oak table 
 was so bright you could almost see to put your cap on in 
 it; but it was no merit but a fault, that when John, her 
 husband, laid down his cup of beer upon it so as to leave a. 
 mark, she would fly out into so terrible a passion that all 
 the children were forced to run to corners ; now poor John 
 having no corner to run to, ran to the ale-house, till that 
 which was at first a refuge too soon became a pleasure. 
 
 Rebecca never wished her children to learn to read, be- 
 cause she said it would make them lazy, and she herself had 
 done very well without it. She would keep poor Hester 
 from church to stone the space under the stairs in tint' pat- 
 terns and flowers. I don't pretend to say there was an} 
 harm in this little decoration, it looks pretty enough, and it 
 is better to lei the children do thai than nothing. But still 
 these are not things to set one's heart upon ; and besidi s 
 Rebecca only did it as a dap for praise; for she was sulky 
 and disappointed if any ladies happened to call in and did 
 not seem delighted with the flowers which she used to 
 draw with a burnt stick on the whitewash of the chim- 
 ney corners. Besides, all this finerj was often done on a 
 Sunday, and there is a great deal of harm in doing right 
 things at a wrong time, or in wasting much time on things
 
 1G8 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 which are of no real use, or in doing any thing at all out 
 of vanity. Now I beg that no lazy slattern of a wife will 
 go and take any comfort in her dirt from what is here said 
 against Rebecca's nicety ; for I believe, that for oue who 
 makes her husband unhappy through neatness, twenty do 
 so by dirt and laziness. All excuses are wrong, but the ex- 
 cess of a good quality is not so uncommon as the excess of 
 a bad one ; and not being so obvious, perhaps, for that 
 very reason requires more animadversion. 
 
 John Wilmot was not an ill-natured man, but he had no 
 fixed principle. Instead of setting iiimself to cure his wife's 
 faults by mild reproof and good example, he was driven by 
 them into still greater faults himself. It is a common case 
 with people who have no religion, when any cross accident 
 befalls them, instead of trying to make the best of a bad 
 matter, instead of considering their trouble as a trial sent 
 from God to purify them, or instead of considering the fau.ts 
 of others as a punishment for their own sins, instead of this 
 I say, what do they do, but either sink down at once into 
 despair, or else run for comfort into evil courses. Drinking 
 is the common remedy for sorrow, if that can be called a 
 remedy, the end of which is to destroy soul and body. John 
 now began to spend all his leisure hours at the Bell, lie 
 used to be fond of his children : but when he could not 
 come home in quiet, and play with the little ones, while his 
 wife dressed him a bit of hot supper, he grew in time not 
 to come home at all. He who has once taken to drink can 
 seldom be said to be guilty of one sin only ; John's heart 
 became hardened. His affection for his family was lost in 
 self-indulgence. Patience and submission on the part of 
 the wife, might have won much upon a man of John's tem- 
 per ; but instead of trying to reclaim him, his w T ife seemed 
 rather to delight in putting him as much in the wrong as 
 she could, that she might be justified in her constant abuse
 
 THE HIST OUT OK HESTER WILMOT. 169 
 
 fo him. I doubt whether she would have been as much 
 pleased with his reformation as she was with always talking 
 of his faults, though I know it was the opinion of the 
 neighbors, that if she had taken as much pains to reform 
 her husband by reforming her own temper, as she did to 
 abuse him and expose him, her endeavors might have been 
 blessed with success. Good Christians, who are trying to 
 subdue their own faults, can hardly believe that the ungodly 
 have a sort of savage satisfaction in trying, by indulgence 
 of their own evil tempers, to lessen the happiness of those 
 with whom they have to do. Need we look any further for 
 a proof of our own corrupl nature, when we see mankind 
 delighl in sins which have neither the temptations of profit 
 or the allurement of pleasure, such as plaguing, vexing, or 
 abusing each other. 
 
 Hester was the eldest of their five children ; she was a 
 sharp sensible girl, but at fourteen years old she could not 
 tell a letter, nor had she ever been taught to bow her knee 
 to Him who made her, for John's or rather Rebecca's house, 
 had seldom the name of God pronounced in it, except to be 
 blasphemed. 
 
 It was just about this time, if I mistake not, that Mrs. 
 Jones set up her Sunday School, of which Mrs. Betty Crew 
 was appointed mistress, as has been before related. Mrs. 
 Jones finding that none of the Wilmots were sent to school, 
 took a walk to Rebecca's house, and civilly told her, she 
 called to let her know that a school was opened to which 
 she desired her to send her children on Sunday following, 
 especially her oldest daughter Hester. "Well," said Re- 
 becca, " and what will you give her if I do ?" " Give her !" 
 replied Mrs. Jones, "that is rather a rude question, and 
 asked in a rude manner : however, as a soft answer turneth 
 away wrath, I assure you that I will give her the best of 
 learning; 1 will teach her to fear God and keep his rom- 
 
 8
 
 170 THE niSTORV OP HESTER. TTILMOT 
 
 mandments." " I would rather you would teach her to feai 
 me, and keep my house clean," said this wicked woman. 
 "She sha'n't come, however, unless you will pay her for it." 
 " Pay her for it !" said the lady ; " will it not be reward 
 enough that she will be taught to read the word of God 
 without any expense to you ? For though many gifts both 
 of books and clothing will be given the children, yet you 
 are not to consider these gifts so much in the light of pay- 
 ment as an expression of good will in your benefactors." 
 " I say," interrupted Rebecca, " that Hester sha' n't go to 
 school. Religion is of no use that I know of, but to make 
 people hate their own flesh and blood ; and I see no good 
 in learning but to make folks proud, and lazy, and dirty. I 
 can not tell a letter myself, and, though I say it, that should 
 not say it, there is not a notabler woman in the parish." 
 " Pray," said Mrs. Joues mil ily, "do you think that young 
 people will disobey their parents the more for being taught to 
 fear God ?" I don't think any thing about it," said Rebec- 
 ca ; " I sha'n't let her come, and there's the long and short 
 of the matter. Hester has other fish to fry ; but you may 
 have some of these little ones if you will." "No," said 
 Mrs. Jones, " I will not ; I have not set up a nursery, but a 
 school. I am not at all this expense to take crying babes out 
 of the mother's w r ay, but to instruct reasonable beings in 
 the road to eternal life : and it oujdit to be a rule in all 
 schools not to take the troublesome young children unless 
 the mother will try to spare the elder ones, who are capable 
 of learning." " But," said Rebecca, " I have a young child 
 which Hester must nurse while I dress dinner. And she 
 must iron the rags, and scour the irons, and dig the potatoes, 
 and fetch the water to boil them." As to nursing the 
 child, that is indeed a necessary duty, and Hester ought to 
 stay at home part of the day to enable you to go to church ; 
 and families should relieve each other in this way, but as to
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. lVl 
 
 all the rest, they are no reasons at all, for the irons need not 
 be scoured so often, and the rags should be ironed, and the 
 potatoes dug, and the water fetched on the Saturday ; and 
 I can tell you that neither your minister here, nor your 
 Judge hereafter, will accept of any such excuse." 
 
 All this while Hester staid behind pale and trembling 
 lest her unkind mother should carry her point. She looked 
 up at Mrs. Jones with so much love and gratitude as to 
 win her affection, and this good lady went on trying to 
 soften this harsh mother. At last Rebecca condescended 
 to say, " Well I don't know but I may let her come now 
 and then when I can spare her, provided I find you make it 
 worth her while." All this time she had never asked Mrs. 
 Jones to sit down, nor had once bid her young children be 
 quiet, though they were crying and squalling the whole 
 time. Rebecca fancied this rudeness was the only way she 
 had of showing she thought herself to be as good as her 
 guest, but Mrs. Jones never lost her temper. The moment 
 she went out of the house, Rebecca called out loud enough 
 for her to hear, and ordered Hester to get the stone and a 
 bit of -and to scrub out the prints of that dirty woman's 
 shoes. Hester in high spirits cheerfully obeyed, and rubbed 
 out the s!ains so neatly, that her mother could not help 
 lamenting that so handy a girl was going to be spoiled, 
 by being taught godliness, and learning any such nonsense. 
 
 Mrs. Jones, who knew the world, told her agent, Mis. 
 Crew, that her grand difficulty would arise not so much 
 from the children as the parents. These, said she, are ap1 
 to tall into thai sad mistake, that because their children are 
 poor, and have little of this world's goods, the mothers 
 mil-! make it up to them in false indulgence. The children 
 of the gently are much more reproved and corrected for 
 their faults, and bred up in far stricter discipline. He was 
 a king who said, Chasten thy son, and let not thy rod spare
 
 172 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 for his crying. But do not lose your patience ; the more 
 vicious the children arc, you must remember the more they 
 stand in need of your instruction. When they are bad, 
 comfort yourself with thinking how much worse they would 
 have been but for you ; and what a burden they would be- 
 come to society if these evil tempers were to receive no 
 check. The great thing which enabled Mrs. Crew to teach 
 well, was the deep insight she had got into the corruption 
 of human nature. And I doubt if any* one can make a 
 thoroughly good teacher of religion and morals, who wants 
 the master-key to the heart. Others, indeed, may teach 
 knowledge, decency, and good manners ; but those, how- 
 ever valuable, are not Christianity. Mrs. Crew, who knew 
 that out of the heart proceed lying, theft, and all that train 
 of evils which begin to break out even in young children, 
 applied her labors to correct this root of evil. But though 
 a diligent, she was a humble teacher, well knowing that 
 unless the grace of God blessed her labors, she should but 
 labor in vain. 
 
 Hester Wilmot never failed to attend the school, when- 
 ever her perverse mother would give her leave, and her 
 delight in learning was so great, that she would work early 
 and late to gain a little time for her book. As she had a 
 quick capacity, she learned soon to spell and read, and Mrs. 
 Crew observing her diligence, used to lend her a book to 
 carry home, that she might pick up a little at odd times. 
 It would be well if teachers would make this distinction. 
 To give, or lend books to those who take no delight mthein 
 is a useless expense ; while it is kind and right to assist 
 well-disposed young people with every help of this sort. 
 Those who love books seldom hurt them, while the slothful 
 who hate learning, will wear out a book more in a week, 
 than the diligent will do in a year. Hester's way was to 
 read over a question in her catechism, or one verse in her
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 173 
 
 hymn book,^by fire-light before she went to bed ; this she 
 thought over in the night ; and when she was dressing 
 herself in the morning, she was glad to find she always 
 knew a little more than she had done the morning before. 
 It is not to be believed how much those people will be 
 found to have gained at the end of the year, who are ac- 
 customed to work np all the little odd ends and remnants 
 of leisure; who value time even more than money; and 
 who are convinced that minutes are no more to be wasted 
 than pence. Nay, he who finds he has wasted a shilling 
 may by diligence hope to fetch it up again : but no repent- 
 ance or industry can ever bring back one wasted hour. 
 My good young reader, if ever you are tempted to waste 
 an hour, go and ask a dying man what he would give for 
 that hour which you are throwing away, and according as 
 he answers so do you act. 
 
 As her mother hated the sight of a book, Hester was 
 forced to learn out of sight : it was no disobedience to do 
 this, as long as she wasted no part of that time which it 
 was her duty to spend in useful labor. She would have 
 thought it a sin to have left her work for her book; but 
 she did not think it wrong to steal time from her sleep, and 
 to bo learning an hour before the rest of the family were 
 awake. Hester would not neglect the washing-tub, or the 
 spinning-wheel, even to get on with her catechism; but she 
 thought it fair to think over her questions while she was 
 washing and spinning. In a few mouths she was able to 
 read fluently in St. John's Gospel, which is the easiest. But 
 Mrs. Crew di«l not think it enough that her children could 
 read a chapter, she would make them understand it also. 
 It is in a srood desrre i ou in"- to the want of religious knowl- 
 ledge in teachers, that there is so little religion in the 
 world. Unless the Bible is laid open to the understanding, 
 children may read from Genesis to the Revelation, without
 
 1*74 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 any other improvement than barely learning how to pro- 
 nounce the words. Mrs. Crew found there was but one 
 way to compel their attention ; this was by obliging them 
 to return back again to her the sense of whal she ha 1 rea I 
 to them, and this they might do in their own words, if they 
 could not remember the words of Scripture. Those who 
 had weak capacities, would, to be sure, do this but very im- 
 perfectly; but even the weakest, if they were willing would 
 retain something. She so managed, that saying the cate- 
 chism was not merely an act of the memory, but of the 
 understanding; for she had observed formerly that those 
 who had learned the catechism in the common formal way, 
 when they were children, had never understood it when 
 they became men and women, and it remaned in the mem- 
 ory without having made any impression on the mind. 
 Thus this fine summary of the Christian religion is con- 
 sidered as little more than a form of words, the being able 
 to repeat which, is a qualification for being confirmed by 
 the bishop, instead of being considered as really containing 
 those grounds of Christian faith and practice, by which 
 they are to bo confirmed Christians. 
 
 Mis. Crew i ed to say to Mrs. Jones, those who teach the 
 poor must indeod give line upon line, precept upon precept, 
 here a little and there a little, as they can receive it. So 
 that teaching must be a great grievance to those who do 
 not really make it a labor of love. I see so much levity, 
 obstinacy, and ign< ranee, that it keeps my own forbearance 
 in continual exercise, insomuch that I trust I am getting 
 good myself, while 1 am doing good to others. No one, 
 madam, can know till they try, that after they have asked 
 a poor untaught child the same question nineteen limes, 
 they must not lose their temper, but go on and ask it the 
 twentieth. Now and then, when I am tempted to be im 
 patient, I correct myself by thinking over that active proot
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 1*75 
 
 which our blessed Saviour requires of our love to him when 
 he says, Feed my lambs. 
 
 Hester Wilmot had never been bred to go to church, for 
 her father and mother had never thought of going them- 
 selves, unless at a christening in their own family, or at a 
 funeral of their neighbors, both of which they considered 
 merely as opportunities for good eating and drinking, and 
 not as offices of religion. 
 
 As poor Hester had no comfort at home, it was the less 
 wonder she delighted in her school, her Bible, and her 
 church ; for so great is God's goodness, that he is pleased 
 to make religion a peculiar comfort to those who have 
 no other comfort. The God wlm.se name she had seldom 
 heard but when it was taken in vain, was now revealed 
 to her as a God of infinite power, justice, and holiness. 
 What she read in her Bible, and what she felt in her own 
 heart, convinced her she was a sinner, and her catechism 
 said the same. She was much distressed one day on think- 
 ing over this promise which she had just made (in answer 
 to the question which fell to her lot), To renounce the devil 
 and all his works, the pomps and vanities of this wickt d 
 world, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh. I say she was 
 distressed on finding that these were iot merely certain 
 words which she was bound to repeat, but certain condi- 
 tions which she was bound to perforin. She was sadly puz- 
 zled to know how this was to be done, till sin- met with 
 these words in her Bible : My grace is sufficient for thee. 
 But still she was at a loss to know how this grace was to 
 be obtained. Happily Mr. Simpson preached on the next 
 Sunday from this text, Ash and ye shall rec ive, etc. In 
 this sermon was explained to her the nature, the duty, and 
 the efficacy of prayer. After this she open I her heart to 
 Mrs. Crew, who taught her the greal doctrines of Scripture, 
 it) a serious hut plain way. Hester's own hearl led her to
 
 176 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WUMOT. 
 
 assent to that humbling doctrine of the catechism, that We 
 arc by nature bom in sin ; and truly glad was she to be 
 relieved by hearing of That spiritual grace by which we 
 have a new birth unto righteousness. Thus her mind was 
 no sooner humbled by one part than it gained comfort from 
 another. On the other hand, while she was rejoicing in a 
 lively hope in God's mercy through Christ, her mistress put 
 her in mind that that was only the true repentance by 
 which we forsake sin. Thus the catechism, explained by a 
 pious teacher, was found to contain all the articles of the 
 Christian faith. 
 
 Mrs. Jones greatly disapproved the practice of turning 
 away the scholars, because they were grown up. Young 
 people, said she, want to be warned at sixteen more than 
 they did at six, and they are commonly turned adrift at the 
 very age when they want most instruction ; when dangers 
 and temptations most beset them. They are exposed to 
 more evil by the leisure of a Sunday evening, than by the 
 business of a whole week ; but then religion must be made 
 pleasant, and instruction must be carried on in a kind, and 
 agreeable, and familiar way. If they once dislike the 
 teacher, they will soon get to dislike what is taught, so that 
 a master or mistress is in some measure answerable for the 
 future piety of young persons, inasmuch as that piety de- 
 pends on their manner of making religion pleasant as well 
 as profitable. 
 
 To attend Mrs. Jones's evening instructions w r as soon 
 thought not a task but a holiday. In a few months it was 
 reckoned a disadvantage to the character of any young 
 person in the parish to know that they did not attend the 
 evening school. At first, indeed, many of them came only 
 with a view to learn amusement; but, by the blessing of 
 God, they grew fond of instruction, and some of them be- 
 came truly pious. Mrs. Jones spoke to them on Sundav
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 1*77 
 
 evening as follows : " My dear young women, I rejoice at 
 your improvement ; but I rejoice with, trembling. I have 
 known young people set out well, who afterward fell oft'. 
 The heart is deceitful. Many like religious knowledge, who 
 do not like the strictness of a religious life. I must there- 
 fore watch whether those who are diligent at church and 
 school, are diligent in their daily walk. Whether those 
 who say they believe in God, really obey him. Whether 
 they who profess to love Christ keep His commandments. 
 Those who hear themselves commended for early piety, 
 may learn to rest satisfied with the praise of man. People 
 may get a knack at religions phrases without being relig- 
 ious; they may even get to frequent places of worship as 
 an amusement, in order to meet their friends, and may 
 learn to delight in a sort of spiritual gossip, while religion 
 has no power in their hearts. But I hope better things 
 of you, and things that accompany salvation, though I thus 
 speak." 
 
 What became of Hester Wilm«t, with some account of 
 Mrs. Jones's May -day feast for he: p<*hool, my readers shall 
 be told next mouth. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE NEW G V N . 
 
 Hester Wilmot, I am sorry to obscvo, had been by na- 
 ture peevish and lazy; she would, when a child, now and 
 then slighl her work, and when her mother was unreason- 
 able she was too apt to return a saucy answsr; bul when 
 she became acquainted with her own heart, and with the 
 Scriptures, these evil tempers w r ere, in a goo! measure, sub* 
 
 8*
 
 178 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 duod, for she now learned to imitate, not her violent moth- 
 er, but Him who wan meek and lowly. When she was 
 scolded for doing ill, she prayed for grace to do better ; and 
 the on'y answer she made to her mother's charge, "thai re- 
 ligion only served to make people lazy,'' was to strive to do 
 twice as much work, in order to prove that it really made 
 them diligent. The only thing in which she ventured to 
 disobey her mother was, that when she ordered her to do 
 week-day's work on a Sunday, Hester cried, and said, she 
 did not dare to disobey God; but to show that she did not 
 wish to save her own labor, she would do a double portion 
 of work on the Saturday night, and rise two hours earlier 
 on Monday morning. 
 
 Once, when she had worked very hard, her mother told 
 her that she would treat her with a holiday the following 
 Sabbath, and lake her a fine walk to eat cakes and drink 
 ale at Weston fair, which, though it was professed to be 
 kepi on the Monday, yet, to the disgrace of the village, al- 
 ways began on the Sunday evening.* Rebecca, who would 
 on no account have wasted the Monday, which was a work- 
 ing day, in idleness and pleasure, thought she had a very 
 good right to enjoy herself at the fair on the Sunday even- 
 ing, as well as to take her children. Hester earnestly 
 begged to be left at home, and her mother, in a rage, went 
 without her. A wet walk, and more ale than she was used 
 to drink, gave Rebecca a dangerous fever. During this ill- 
 ness Hester, who would not follow her to a scene of disso- 
 
 * This practice is too common. Those fairs which profess to be 
 kept on Monday, commonly begin on the Sunday. It is much to 
 be wished that magistrates would put a stop to it, as Mr. Simpson 
 did at Weston, at the request of Mrs. Jones. There is another 
 great evil worth the notice of justices. In many villages, during 
 the fair, ale is sold at private houses, which have no license, to the 
 great injury of sobriety and good morals.
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 179 
 
 lute mirtli, attended her night and day, and denied herself 
 necessaries that her sick mother might have comforts ; and 
 though she secretly prayed to God that this sickness might 
 change her mother's heart, yet she never once reproached 
 her, or put her in mind that it was caught by indulging in 
 a sinful pleasure. 
 
 Another Sunday night her father told Hester he thought 
 she had now been at school Ions; enouo-h for him to have a 
 little good of her learning, so he desired she would stay at 
 home and read to him. Hester cheerfully ran and fetched 
 her Testament. But John fed a laughing, calling her a fool, 
 and said, it would be time enough to read the Testament 
 to him when he was going to die, but at present he must 
 have something merry. So saying, he gave her a song- 
 book which he had picked up at the Bell. Hester, having 
 cast her eyes over it, refused to read it, saying, she did not 
 dare offend God by reading what would hurt her own soul. 
 John called her a canting hypocrite, and said he would put 
 the Testament into the fire, for that there was not a more 
 merry girl than she was before she became religious. Her 
 mother, for once, took her part ; not because she thought 
 her daughter in the right, but because she was glad of any 
 pretense to show her husband was in the wrong ; though 
 she herself would have abused Hester for the same thin£ if 
 John had taken her part. John, with a shocking oath, 
 abused them both, and went off in a violent passion. Hes- 
 ter, instead of saying one undutiful word against her father, 
 took up a Psalter in order to teach her little sisters ; but 
 Rebecca was so provoked at her for not .joining her in her 
 abuse of her husband, that she changed her humor, said 
 J. dm was in the right, and Hester a perverse hypocrite, who 
 only made religion a pretense tor being undutiful to her 
 parents. Hester bore all in silence, and committed her 
 cause to Him whojudgeth righteoutly. It would have been
 
 1 80 THE HISTORY OF H E S T E R W 1 L M r . 
 
 a great comfort to her if she Lad dared to go to Mrs. Crew, 
 ami to have joined in the religious exercises of the evening 
 at school. But her mother refused to let her, saying it 
 would only harden her heart in mischief. Hester said not 
 a word, but after having put the little ones to bed, and 
 heard them say their prayers out of sight, she went and sat 
 down in her own little loft, and said to herself, '* It would 
 be pleasant to me to have taught my little sisters to read ; 
 I thought it was my duty, for David has said, Come ye chil- 
 dren, hearken unto me, and I will teach you the fear of the 
 Lord. It would have been still more pleasant to have 
 passed the evening at school, because I am still ignorant, 
 and fitter to learn than to teach ; but I can not do either 
 without flying in the face of my mother ; God sees fit to- 
 night to change my pleasant duties into a painful trial. I 
 give up my will, and I submit to the will of my father ; but 
 when he orders me to commit a known sin, then I dare not 
 do it, because, in so doing, I must disobey my father which 
 is in heaven." 
 
 Now, it so fell out, that this dispute happened on the very 
 Sunday next before Mrs. Jones's yearly feast. On May -day 
 all the school attended her to church, each in a stuff gown 
 of their own earning, and a cap and white apron of her giv- 
 ing. After church there w y as an examination made into the 
 learning and behavior of the scholars ; those who were 
 most perfect in their chapters, and who brought the best 
 character for industry, humility, and sobriety, received a 
 Bible or some other good book. 
 
 Now Hester had been a whole year hoarding up her little 
 savings, in order to be ready with a new gown on the May- 
 day feast. She had never •;-..! l^ss than two shillings a week 
 by her spinning, beside working for the family, and earning 
 a trifle by odd jobs. This money she faithfully carried to 
 her mother every Saturday night, keeping back by consent
 
 THE HISTORY O F HESTER WILMOT. 181 
 
 only twopence^ a week toward the gown. The sum was 
 complete, the pattern had long been settled, and Hester had 
 only on the Monday morning to go to the shop, pay her 
 money, and bring home her gown to be made. Her mother 
 happened to go out early that morning to iron in a gentle- 
 man's family, where she usually staid a day or two, and 
 Hester was busy putting the house in order before she went 
 to the shop. 
 
 On that very Monday there was to be a meeting at the 
 Bell of all the idle fellows in the parish. John Wilmot, of 
 course, was to be there. Indeed he had accepted a chal- 
 lenge of the blacksmith to match at all-fours. The black- 
 smith was flush of money, John thoughl himself the best 
 player; and, that he might make sure of winning, he re- 
 solved to keep himself sober, which he knew was more than 
 the other would do. John was so used to go upon tick for 
 ale, that he grot to the door of the Bell before he recollected 
 that he could not keep his word with the gambler without 
 money, ami he had not, a penny in his pocket, so he sul- 
 lenly turned homeward. He dared not apply to his wife, as 
 he knew he should be more likely to get a scratched face 
 than a sixpence from her; but he knew that Hester had 
 received two shillings for her last week's spinning on Sat- 
 urday, and, perhaps, she might no' yet have given it to her 
 mother, of the hoarded sum he knew nothing. He asked 
 her if she could lend him half a crown, and he would pay 
 her next day. Hester, pleased to see him in a good humor 
 after what bad passed the nighi before, ran up and fe 
 down her little' box, and, in the joy of her heart that he I 
 
 lething she could comply with withoul wounding 
 her conscience, cheerfully poured out her whole litl 
 on the table. John was in raptures at th half 
 
 crowns and a sixpence, an 1 eagerly seized it, box an 1 ail, 
 together with a few hoarded halfpence at the bottom,
 
 "182 THE HISTORY OK HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 though he had only asked to borrow half a crown. None 
 but one whose heart was hardened by a long course of 
 drunkenness could have taken away the whole, and for such 
 a purpose. He told her she should certainly have it again 
 next morning, and, indeed, intended to pay it, not doubting 
 but he should double the sum. But John overrated his 
 own skill, or luck, for he lost every farthing to the black- 
 smith, and sneaked home before midnight, and quietly 
 walked up to bed. He was quite sober, which Hester 
 thought a good sign. Next morning she asked him, in a 
 very humble way, for the money, which she said she would 
 not have done, but that if the gown was not bought directly 
 it would not be ready in time for the feast. John's con- 
 science had troubled him a little for what he had done — for 
 when he was not drunk he was not ill-natured — and he 
 stammered out a broken excuse, but owned he had lost the 
 money, and had not a farthing left. The moment Hester 
 saw him mild and kind her heart was softened, and she 
 begged him not to vex, adding, that she would be contented 
 never to have a new gown as long as she lived, if she could 
 have the comfort of always seeing him come home sober as 
 he was last night. For Hester did not know that he had 
 refrained from getting drunk, only that he might gamble 
 with a better chance of success, and that when a gamester 
 keeps himself sober, it is not that he may practice a virtue, 
 but that he may commit a worse crime. 
 
 " I am indeed sorry for what I have done," said he ; " you 
 can not go to the feast, and what will Madam Jones say ?" 
 " Yes, but I can," said Hester ; " for God looks not at the 
 gown, but at the heart, and I am sure he sees mine full of 
 gratitude at hearing you talk so kindly ; and if I thought 
 my dear father would change his present evil courses, I 
 should be the happiest girl at the feast to-morrow." John 
 walked away mournfully, and said to himself, " Surely there
 
 THE HISTORY OP HKSTER WILMOT. 183 
 
 must be something in religion, since it can thus change the 
 heart. Hester was once a pert girl, and now she is as mild 
 as a lamb. She was once an indolent girl, and now she is 
 up with the lark. She was a vain girl, and would do any 
 thing for a new ribbon ; and now she is contented to go in 
 rags to a feast at which every one else is to have a new 
 gown. She deprived herself of the gown to give me tho 
 money ; and yet this very girl, so dutiful in some respects, 
 would submit to be turned out of doors rather than read a 
 loose book at my command, or break the Sabbath. I dt 
 not understand this ; there must be some mystery in it." 
 All this he said as he was going to woik. In the evening 
 he did not go to the Bell ; whether it was owing to his new 
 thoughts, or to his not having a penny in his pocket, I will 
 not lake upon me positively to say; but I believe it was a 
 little of one and a little of the other. 
 
 As the pattern of the intended gown had long been set- 
 tled in the family, and as Hester had the money by her, it 
 was looked on as good as bought, so that she was trusted 
 to get it brought home and made in her mother's absence. 
 Indeed, so little did Rebecca care about the school, that she 
 would not have cared any thing about the gown, if her 
 vanity had not made her wish that her daughter should be 
 the best dressed of any girl at tin- feast. Being from home, 
 as was s:iid before, she knew nothing of the disappointment. 
 On May-day morning, Hester, instead of keeping from the 
 feast because she hail not a new gown, or meanly inventing 
 any excuse for wearing an old one, dressed herself out as 
 neatly as she could in her poor old things, and went to join 
 the school in order to go to church. Whether Hester had 
 formerly indulged a little pride of heart, and talked of i Is 
 gown rather too much, I am not quite sure; certain is is, 
 there was a great hue and cry made at seeing Hester Wil- 
 mot, the neatest girl, the most industrious girl in the school,
 
 184 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT, 
 
 come to the May-day feast in an old stuff gown, when every 
 other girl was so creditably dressed, [udeed, L am sorry to 
 say, there were two or three much too smart for their sta- 
 tion, and who had dizened themselves out in very improper 
 finery, which Mrs. Jones made them take off before her 
 " I mean this feast," said she, "as a reward of industry and 
 piety, and not as a trial of skill who can be finest and out- 
 vie the rest in show. If I do not take care, my feast will 
 become an encouragement, not to virtue, but to vanity. I 
 am so great a friend to decency of apparel, that I even like 
 to see you deny your appetites that you may be able to 
 come decently dressed to the house of God. To encourage 
 you to do this, I like to set apart this one day of innocent 
 pleasure, against which you may be preparing all the year, 
 by laying aside something every week toward buying a gown 
 out of all your savings. But, let me tell you, that meek- 
 ness and an humble spirit is of more value in the sight of 
 God and good men, than the gayest cotton gown, or the 
 brightest pink ribbon in the parish. 
 
 Mrs. Jones for all this, was as much surprised as the rest 
 at Hester's mean garb ; but such is the power of a good 
 character, that she gave her credit for a right iutention, 
 especially as she kuew the unhappy state of her family. 
 For it was Mrs. Jones's way, (and it is not a bad way,) 
 always to wait, and inquire into the truth before she con- 
 demned any person of good character, though appearances 
 were against them. As we can not judge of people's rao- 
 l;\ i, said she, we may, from ignorance, often condemn 
 their best actions, an 1 approve of their worst-. It will be 
 always time enough rably, and let us give 
 
 as long in, and then we in our turn, 
 
 may exp vorable judgment from others, and remem- 
 
 ber who has said, Judge not, that ye be not judged. 
 
 Ilester was no more proud of what she had done for her
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 185 
 
 father, than she was humbled by the meanness of her garb : 
 and notwithstanding Betty Stiles, one of the girls whose 
 finery had been taken away, sneered at her, Hester never 
 offered to clear herself, by exposing her father, though she 
 thought it right, secretly to inform Mrs. Jones of what had 
 passed. When the examination of the girls began, Betty 
 Stiles was asked some questions on the fourth and fifth 
 commandments, which she answered very well. Hester 
 was asked nearly the same questions, and though she an- 
 swered them no better than Betty had done, they were all 
 surprised to see Mrs. Jones rise up, and give a handsome 
 Bible to Hester, while she gave nothing to Betty. This 
 girl cried out rather pertly, " Madam, it is very hard that 
 I have no book: I was as perfect as Hester." "I have 
 often told you," said Mrs. Jones, " that religion is not a thing 
 of the tongue but of the heart. That girl gives me the best 
 proof that she has learned the fourth commandment to good 
 purpose, who persists in keeping holy the Sabbath day, 
 though commanded to break it, by a parent whom she 
 loves. And that girl best proves that she keeps the fifth, 
 who gives up her own comfort, and clothing, and credit, to 
 honor and obey her father and moth \ n though they are 
 not sue! i as he could wish. Betty Stiles, though she could 
 answer the questions so readily, went abroad last Sunday 
 when she should have been ,-it school, and refused to nurse 
 her sick mother, when she could not help herself, is this 
 having learned those two commandments to any good pur- 
 pose ?" 
 
 Farmer Hoskins, who stood by, whispered Mrs. Jones, 
 " Well, madam, now you have convinced even me of the 
 benefit of a religious instruction; now I see th 
 meaning to it. I thought it was in at one ear and out at 
 tb.' other, and that a song was as well as a psalm, but now 
 1 have found the proof of th'' pudding is in the eating. I
 
 .80 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 see your scholars must do what they hear, and obey what 
 they learn. Why at this rate, they will all be better ser- 
 vants for being really godly, and so I will add a pudding to 
 next year's feast." 
 
 The pleasure Hester felt in receiving a new Bible, made 
 her forget that she had on an old gown. She walked to 
 church in a thankful frame : but how great was her joy, 
 when she saw, among a number of working men, her own 
 father going into church. As she passed by him she cast 
 on him a look of so much joy and affection that it brought 
 tears into his eyes, especially when he compared her mean 
 dress with that of the other girls, aud thought who had 
 been the cause of it. John, who had not been at church 
 for some years, was deeply struck with the service. The 
 confession with which it opens went to his heart. He felt, 
 for the first time, that he was a miserable sinner, and that 
 there was no health in him. He now felt compunction for 
 sin in general, though it was oidy his ill-behavior to his 
 daughter which had brought him to church. The sermon 
 was such as to strengthen the impression which the prayers 
 had made ; and when it was over, instead of joining the 
 ringers (for the belfry was the only part of the church 
 John liked, because it usually led to the ale-house), he 
 quietly walked back to his work. It was, indeed, the best 
 day's work he ever made. He could not get out of his 
 head the whole day, the first words he heard at church : 
 Wlien the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness, 
 and doelh that which is lawful and right, he shall save his 
 soul alive. At night, instead of going to the Bell, he went 
 home, intending to ask Hester to forgive him ; but as soon 
 as he got to the door, he heard Rebecca scolding his 
 daughter for having brought such a disgrace on the family 
 as to be seen in that old rag of a gown, and insisted on 
 knowing what she had done with her money. Hester tried
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WI1MOT. 187 
 
 to keep the secret, but her mother declared she would turn 
 her out of doors it' she did not tell the truth. Hester was 
 at l.isi forced to confess she hud given it to her father. 
 Unfortunately for poor John, it was at this wry moment 
 that lie opened the door. The mother now divided her 
 fury between her guilty husband and her innocent child, til^ 
 from words she fell to blows. John defeade.l his daughter 
 and received some of the strokes intended for the poor girl. 
 This turbulent scene partly put John's good resolution to 
 flight, though the patience of Hester did him almost as 
 much good as the sermon he had heard. At length the 
 poor girl escaped up stairs, not a little bruised, and a scene 
 of imieh violence passed between John an 1 Rebecca. She 
 declared she would not sit down to supper with such a 
 brute, and set off to a neighbor's house, that she might 
 have the pleasure of abusing him the lon*> - er. John, whose 
 mind was much disturbed, went up stairs without his supper. 
 As he was' passing by Hester's little room he heard her 
 voice, and as he concluded she was venting bitter complaints 
 against her unnatural parents, he stopped to listen, resolved 
 to go in and comfort her. He stopped at the door, for, by 
 the light of the moon, he saw her kneeling by her bedside, 
 and praying so earnestly that she did not hear him. As In; 
 made sure she could be praying lor nothing but his death, 
 what was her surprise to hear these words : " Lord have 
 mercy upon my dear father and mother, teach me to love 
 them, to pray for them, and do them good ; make me more 
 dutiful and more patient, that, adorning the doctrine of God, 
 my Saviour, I may recommend his holy religion, and my 
 dear parents may be brought to love and far thee, through 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 Poor John, who would never have been hard-hearted if 
 he had not been a drunkard, could not stand this ; he fell 
 down on his knees, embraced his child, and be"--. ,1 her to
 
 188 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 
 
 teach him how to pray. He prayed himself as well as ho 
 could, and though he did not know what words to use, yet 
 his heart was melted ; he owned he was a sinner, and beg- 
 ged Hester to fetch the prayer-book, and read over the con- 
 fession with which he had been so struck at church. This 
 was the pleasantest order she had ever obeyed. Seeing him 
 deeply affected with a sense of sin, she pointed out to him 
 the Saviour of sinners ; and in this manner she passed 
 some hours with her father, which were the happiest of her 
 life : such a night was worth a hundred cotton^or even silk 
 gowns. In the course of the week Hester read over the 
 confession, and some other prayers to her father so often 
 that he got them by heart, and repeated them while he was 
 at work. She next taught him the fifty-first psalm. At 
 length he took courage to kneel down and pray before he 
 went to bed. From that time he bore his wife's ill-humor 
 much better than he had ever done, and, as he knew her to be 
 neat, and notable, and saving, he began to think, that if her 
 temper was not quite so bad, his home might still become 
 as pleasant a place.to him as ever the Bell had been ; but 
 uuless she became more tractable he did not know what to 
 do with his long evenings after the little ones were in bed, 
 for he began, once more, to delight in playing with them. 
 Hester proposed that she herself should teach him to read 
 an hour every night, and he consented. Rebecca began to 
 storm, from the mere trick she had got of storming; but 
 finding that he now brought home all his earnings, and that 
 she got both his money and his company (for she had once 
 loved him), she began to reconcile herself to this new way 
 of life. In a few months John could read a psalm. In 
 learning to read it he also got it by heart, and this proved 
 a little store for private devotion, and while he was mowing 
 or reaping, he could call to mind a text to cheer his labor. 
 He now went constantly to church, and often dropped in at
 
 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. 189 
 
 the school on a Sunday evening to hear their prayers. He 
 expressed so much pleasure at this, that one day Hester 
 ventured to ask him if they should set up family prayer at 
 home ? John said he should like it mightily, but as he could 
 not yet read quite well enough, he desired Hester to try to 
 get a proper book and begin next Sunday night. Hester had 
 bought of a pious hawker, for three half pence,* the Book 
 of Prayers, printed for the Cheap Repository, and knew she 
 should there find something suitable. 
 
 When Hester read the exhortation at the beginning of 
 this little book, her mother who sat in the corner, and pre- 
 tended to be asleep, was so much struck that she could not 
 find a word to say against it. For a few nights, indeed, she 
 continued to sit still, or pretended to rock the young child 
 while her husband and daughter were kneeling at their 
 prayers. She expected John would have scolded her for 
 this, and so perverse was her temper, that she was disap- 
 pointed at his finding no fault with her. Seeing at last that 
 he was very patient, and that though he prayed fervently 
 himself he suffered her to do as she liked, she lost the spirit 
 of opposition for want of something to provoke it. As her 
 pride began to be subdued, some little disposition to piety 
 was awakened in her heart. By degrees she slid down on 
 her knees, though at first it was behind the cradle, or the 
 clock, or in some corner where she thought they would not 
 see her. Hester rejoiced even in this outward change in 
 her mother, and prayed that God would at last be pleased 
 to touch her heart as lie had done that of her father. 
 
 As John now spent no idle money, he had saved up a 
 trifle by working over-hours; this he kindly offered to Hes- 
 ter to make up for the loss of her gown. Instead of accept- 
 ing it, Hester told him, thai as she herself was young and 
 
 * These prayers may bo had also divided into two parts, one lit foi 
 private persons, the other for *amilies, price one halfpenny.
 
 190 THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT. * 
 
 healthy, she could soon be able to clothe herself out of her 
 own savings, and begged him to make her mother a present 
 of this gown, which he did. It had been a maxim of Re- 
 becca, that it was better not to go to church at all, than go 
 in an old gown. She had, however, so far conquered this 
 evil notion, that she had lately gone pretty often. This 
 kindness of the gown touched her not a little, and the first 
 Sunday she put it on, Mr. Simpson happened to preach 
 from this text, God resisteth the proud but giveth grace to 
 the humble. This sermon so affected Rebecca that she 
 never once thought she had her new gown on, till she came 
 to take it off when she went to bed, and that very night in- 
 stead of skulking behind, she knelt down by her husband, 
 and joined in prayer with much fervor. 
 
 There, was one thing sunk deep in Rebecca's mind ; she 
 had observed that since her busband had grown religious 
 he had been so careful not to give her any offense, that he 
 was become scrupulously clean; took off his dirty shoes be- 
 fore he sat down, and was very cautious not to spill a drop 
 of beer on her shining table. Now it was rather remarka- 
 ble, that as John grew more neat, Rebecca grew more indif- 
 ferent to neatness. But both these changes arose from tl e 
 same cause, the growth of religion in their hearts. John 
 grew cleanly from the fear of giving pain to his wife, while 
 Rebecca grew indifferent from having discovered the sin 
 and folly of an over-anxious care about trifles. "When the 
 heart is once given up to God, such vanities in a good de- 
 gree die of themselves. 
 
 Hester continues to grow in grace, and in knowledge. 
 Last Ch list m as-day she was appointed under teacher in the 
 school, and many people think that some years hence, if 
 any thing should happen to Mrs. Crew, Hester may be pro- 
 moled to be head mistress.
 
 BETTY BROWN, 
 
 THE ST. GILES'S ORANGE GIRL: 
 
 WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF MRS. SPONGE, THE MONEY-LENDKB, 
 
 5 
 
 Betty Brown, the orange girl, was born nobody knows 
 where, and bred nobody knows how. No girl in all the 
 streets of London could drive a barrow more nimbly, avoid 
 pushing against passengers more dexterously, or cry her 
 " fine China oranges" in a shriller voice. But then she 
 could neither sew, nor spin, nor knit, nor wash, nor iron, nor 
 read, nor spell. Betty had not been always iu so good a situa- 
 tion as that in which we now describe her. She came into 
 the world before so many good gentlemen and ladies began 
 to concern themselves so kindly, that the poor girl might 
 have a little learning. There was no charitable society 
 then as there is now, to pick up poor friendless children in 
 the streets,* and put them into a good house, and give 
 them meat, and drink, and lodging, and learning, and 
 teach them to get their bread in an honest way, into the 
 bargain. Whereas, this now is often the case in London; 
 blessed be God, who has ordered the bovnds of our habita- 
 tion, and cast our lot in such a country ! 
 
 The longest thing thai Betty can remember is, thai she 
 used to crawl up out of .a night cellar, stroll about tin- 
 streets, and pick cinders from the scavengers' carts, 
 
 * The Philanthropic.
 
 192 * BETTV BROWN 
 
 Among the ashes she sometimes found some ragged 
 gauze and dirty riband'..; with these she used to dizen 
 herself out, and join the merry bands on the first of May. 
 This was not, however, quite fair, as she did not lawfully 
 belong either to the female dancers, who foot it gayly 
 round the garland, or to the sooty tribe, who, on this happy 
 holiday, forget their year's toil in Portman square, cheer- 
 ed by the tender bounty of her whose wit has long enliven- 
 ed the most learned, and whose tastes and talents long 
 adorned the most polished societies. Betty, however, often 
 got a few scraps, by appearing to belong to both parties. 
 But as she grew bigger and was not an idle girl, she always 
 put herself in the way of doing something. She would 
 run of errands for the footmen, or sweep the door for the 
 maid of any house where she was known ; she would run 
 and fetch some porter, and never was once known either to 
 sip a drop by the way, or steal the pot. Her quickness and 
 fidelity in doing little jobs, got her into favor with a lazy 
 cook-maid, who was too apt to give away her master's cold 
 meat and beer, not to those who were most in want, but to 
 those who waited upon her, and did the little things for her 
 which she ought to have done herself. 
 
 The cook, who found Betty a dexterous girl, soon em- 
 ployed her to sell ends of candles, pieces of meat and 
 cheese, the lumps of butter, or any thing else she could 
 crib from the house. These were all carried to her friend, 
 Mrs. Sponge, who kept a little shop, and a kind of eating- 
 house for poor working people, not far from the Seven Dials. 
 She also bought as well as sold, many kinds of second-hand 
 things, and was not scrupulous to know whether what she 
 bought w r as honestly come by, provided she could get_ it 
 for a sixth part of what it was .worth. But if the owner 
 presumed to ask for its real value, then she had sudden 
 qualms of conscience, instantly suspected the things were
 
 the st. Giles's orange girl. 193 
 
 stolen, and gave herself airs of honesty, which often took 
 in poor silly people, and gave her a sort of half reputation 
 among the needy and ignorant, whose friend she hypocriti- 
 cally pretended to be. 
 
 To this artful woman Betty carried the cook's pilferings ; 
 and as Mrs. Sponge would give no great price for these in 
 money, the cook was willing to receive payment for her eat- 
 ables in Mrs. Sponge's drinkables; for she dealt in all kinds 
 of spirits. I shall only just remark here, that one receiver, 
 like Mrs. Sponge, makes many pilferers, who are tempted to 
 commit these petty thieveries, by knowing how easy it is to 
 dispose of them at such' iniquitous houses. 
 
 Betty was faithful to both her employers, which is extra- 
 ordinary, considering the greatness of the temptation and 
 her utter ignorance of good and evil. One day she ventured 
 to ask Mrs. Sponge, if she could not assist her to get into a 
 more settled way of life. She told her that when she rose in 
 the morning she never knew where she should lie at night, 
 nor was she ever sure of a meal beforehand. Mrs. Sponge 
 asked her what she thought herself fit for. Betty,*with fear 
 and trembling, said there was one trade for which she 
 thought herself qualified, but she had not the ambition to 
 look so high — it was far ahove her humble views — that was, 
 to have a barrow, and sell fruit, as several other of Mrs. 
 Sponge's customers did, whom she had often looked up to 
 with envy, little expecting herself ever to attain so independ- 
 ent a station. 
 
 Mrs. Sponge was an artful woman. Bad as she was, she 
 was always aiming at something of a character ; this was a 
 great help to her trade. While she watched keenly to 
 make every thing turn to her own profit, she had a false 
 fawning way of seeming to do all she did out of pity and 
 kindness to the distressed ; and she seldom committed an 
 extortion, but she tried to make the persons she cheated 
 
 9
 
 194 BETTY BROWN, 
 
 believe themselves highly obliged to her kindness. By thus 
 pretending to be their friend, she gained their confidence; 
 and she grew rich herself, while they thought she was only 
 showing favor to them. Various were the arts she had 01 
 getting rich ; and the money she got by grinding the poor, 
 she spent in the most luxurious living; while she would 
 haggle with her hungry customers for a farthing, she would 
 spend pounds on the most costly delicacies for herself. 
 
 Mrs. Sponge, laying aside that haughty look and voice, 
 well known to such as had the misfortune to be in her debt, 
 put on the hypocritical smile and soft canting tone, which 
 she always assumed, when she meant to natter her superiors, 
 or take in her dependents. " Betty," said she, " I am re- 
 solved to stand your friend. These are sad times to be sure. 
 Money is money now. Yet I am resolved to put you in a 
 handsome way of living. You shall have a barrow, and 
 well furnished too." Betty could not have felt more joy or 
 gratitude, if she had been told that she should have a coach. 
 " O, madam," said Betty, " it is impossible. I have not a 
 penny in the world toward helping me to set up." " I will 
 take care of that," said Mrs. Sponge ; " only you must do 
 as I bid you. You must pay me interest for my money ; 
 and you will, of course, be glad also to pay so much every 
 night for a nice hot supper which I get ready quite out of 
 kindness, for a number of poor working people. This will 
 be a great comfort for such a friendless girl as you, for my 
 victuals and drink are the best, and my company the mer- 
 riest of any in all St. Giles's." Betty thought all this only so 
 many more favors, and curtseying to the ground, said, " To 
 be sure, ma'am, and thank you a thousand times into the 
 bargain. I never could hope for such a rise in life." 
 
 'Mrs. Sponge knew what she was about. Betty was a 
 lively girl, who had a knack at learning any thing ; and so 
 well looking through all her dirt and rags, that there was
 
 the st. Giles's orange girl. 195 
 
 little doubt she/would get custom. A barrow was soon pro- 
 vided, and five shillings put into Betty's bands. Mrs. 
 Sponge kindly condescended to go to show her how to buy 
 the fruit ; for it was a rule with this prudent gentlewoman, 
 and one from which she never departed, that no one should 
 cheat but herself ; and suspecting from her own heart the 
 fraud of all other dealers, she was seldom guilty of the 
 weakness of being imposed upon. 
 
 Betty had never possessed such a sum before. She 
 grudged to lay it out all at once, and was ready to fancy she 
 could live upon the capital. The crown, however, was laid 
 out to the best advantage. Betty was carefully taught in 
 what manner to cry her oranges; and received many useful 
 lessons how to get off the bad with the good, and the stale 
 with the fresh. Mrs. Sponge also lent her a few bad six- 
 pences, for which she ordered her to bring home good ones 
 at night. Betty stared. Mrs. Sponge said, " Betty, those 
 who would get money, must not be too nice about trifles. 
 Keep one of these sixpences in your hand, and if an ignor- 
 ant young customer gives you a good sixpence, do you 
 immediately slip it into your other hand, and give him the 
 bad one, declaring that it is the very one you have just re- 
 ceived, and be ready to swear that you have not another 
 sixpence in the world. You must also learn how to treat 
 different sorts of customers. To some you may put off, 
 with safety, goods which would be quite unsaleable to others. 
 Never offer had fruit, Betty, to those who know better; 
 never waste the good on those who may be put off with 
 worse ; put good oranges at top to attract the eye, and the 
 mouldy ones under for sale" 
 
 Poor Betty had not a nice conscience, for she had never 
 learned that grand, but simple rule of all moral obligation, 
 Never do that to another which you would not have another 
 do to you. She set off with her barrow, as proud and as
 
 196 BETTY BROWN, 
 
 happy as if she had been set up in the first shop in Covent 
 Garden. Betty had a sort of natural good temper, which 
 made her unwilling to impose, but she had no principle 
 which told her it was sin to do so. She had such good 
 success, that when night came, she had not an orange left. 
 Willi a light heart she drove her empty barrow to Mrs. 
 Sponge's door. She went in with a merry face, and threw 
 down on the counter every farthing she had taken. " Bet- 
 ty," said Mrs. Sponge, " I have a right to it all, as it was 
 got by my money. But I am too generous to take it. I 
 will therefore only take a sixpence for this day's use of my 
 five shillings. This is a most reasonable interest, and I will 
 lend you the same sum to trade with to-morrow, and so on ; 
 you only paying me sixpence for the use of it every night, 
 which will be a great bargain to you. You must also pay me 
 my price every night for your supper, and you shall have an 
 excellent lodging above stairs; so you see every thing will 
 now be provided for you in a genteel manner, through my 
 generosity." * 
 
 Poor Betty's gratitude blinded her so completely, that she 
 had forgot to calculate the vast proportion which this gener- 
 ous benefactress was to receive out of her little gains. She 
 thought herself a happy creature, and went in to supper with 
 a number of others of her own class. For this supper, and for 
 more porter and gin than she ought to have drunk, Betty 
 was forced to pay so high that it ate up all the profits of 
 the day, which, added to the daily interest, made Mrs. 
 Sponge a rich return for her five shillings. 
 
 Betty was reminded again of the gentility of her new 
 situation, as she crept up to bed in one of Mrs. Sponge's 
 garrets, five stories high. This loft, to be sure, was small and 
 
 * For an authentic account of numberless frauds of this kind, see 
 that very useful work of Mr. Colquhoun on the " Police of the Me- 
 tropolis of London."
 
 the ST. Giles's orange girl. 197 
 
 had no window, but what it wanted in light was made up 
 in company, as it had three beds and thrice as many lodg- 
 ers. Those gentry had one night, in a drunken frolic, 
 broken down the door, which happily had never been re- 
 placed ; for since that time, the lodgers had died much 
 seldomer of infectious distempers, than when they were close 
 shut in. For this lodging Betty paid twice as much to her 
 good friend as she would have done to a stranger. Thus 
 she continued with great industry and a thriving trade, as 
 •poor as on the first day, and not a bit nearer to saving mo- 
 ney enough to buy her even a pair of shoes, though hei 
 feet were nearly on the ground. . , 
 
 One day, as Betty was driving her barrow through a 
 street near Holhorn, a lady from a window called out to 
 her that she wanted some oranges. While the servant went 
 to fetch a plate, the lady entered into some talk with Betty, 
 havino- been struck with her honest countenance and civil 
 manner. She questioned her as to her way of life, and the 
 profits of her trade ; and Betty, who had never been so 
 kindly treated before by so genteel a person, was very com- 
 municative. She told her little history as tar as she knew 
 it, and dwelt much on the generosity of Mrs. Sponge, io 
 keeping her in her house, and trusting her with so large a 
 capital as five shillings. At first it sounded like a very 
 good-natured thing; but the lady, whose husband was one 
 of the justices of the new police, happened to know more 
 of Mrs. Sponge than was good, which led her to inquire 
 still further. Betty owned, that to he sure it was not all 
 clear profit, tor that besides that the high price of the sup- 
 per and I'ed ran away with all she got, she paid sixp 
 a-day for the use of the five shillings." " And how long 
 have you done this?" said the lady. "About a year, 
 madam." 
 
 The lady's eyes were at once opened. " My poor girl,"
 
 198 BETTY BROWN, 
 
 said she, " do you know that you have already paid for that 
 single five shillings the enormous sum of £7 10s.? I be- 
 lieve it is the most profitable five shillings Mrs. Sponge ever 
 laid out." "O no, madam," said the girl, " that good gen- 
 tlewoman does the same kindness to ten or twelve other 
 poor friendless creatures like me." " Does she so V said 
 the lady ; " then I never heard of a more lucrative trade 
 thau this woman carries on, under the mask of charity, at 
 the expense of her poor deluded fellow-creatures." 
 
 " But, madam," said Betty, who did not comprehend 
 this lady's arithmetic, " what can I do ? I now contrive 
 to pick up a morsel of bread without begging or stealing. 
 Mrs. Sponge lias been very good to me ; and I don't see 
 how I can help myself." 
 
 " 1 will tell you," said the lady ; " if you will follow my 
 advice, you may not only maintain yourself honestly but 
 independently. Only oblige yourself to live hard for a little 
 time, till you have saved five shillings out of your own 
 earnings, (•'we up that expensive supper at night, drink 
 only one pint of porter, and no gin at all. As soon as 
 you have scr.sped together the five shillings, carry it back 
 to your false 1" iend ; and if you are industrious, you will, at 
 the end of the year, have saved £7 10s. If you can make 
 a shift to live now, when you have this heavy interest to 
 pay, judge how things will mend when your capital be- 
 comes your own. You will put some clothes on your back ; 
 and, by leaving the use of spirits, and the company in which 
 you drink them, your health, your morals, and your con- 
 dition will mend." 
 
 The lady did not talk thus to save her money. She 
 would willingly have given the girl the five shillings ; but 
 she thought it was beginning at the wrong end. She wanted 
 to try her. Beside, she knew there was more pleasure, as 
 well as honor, in possessing five shillings of one's own sav-
 
 the st. Giles's orange girl. 199 
 
 ing, than of another's giving. Betty promised to obey. 
 She owned she had got no good by the company or the 
 liquor at Mrs. Sponge's. She promised that very night to 
 begin saving the expense of the supper ; and that she 
 would not taste a drop of gin till she had the five shillings 
 beforehand. The lady, who knew the power of good habits, 
 was contented with this, thinking, that if the girl could 
 abstain for a certain time, it would become easy to her. 
 She therefore, at present, said little about the sin of drink- 
 ing, and only insisted on the expense of it. 
 
 In a very few weeks Betty had saved up the five shillings. 
 She went to carry back this money with great gratitude to 
 Mrs. Sponge. This kind friend- began to abuse her most 
 unmercifully. She called her many hard names, not fit to 
 repeat, for having forsaken the supper, by which she swore 
 she herself got nothing at all ; but as she had the chanty 
 to dress it for such beggarly wretches, she insisted they 
 should pay for it, whether they eat it or not. She also 
 brought in a heavy score for lodging, though Betty had 
 paid for it every night, and had given notice of her intend- 
 ing to quit her. By all these false pretenses, she got from 
 her, not only her own five shillings, but all the little capi- 
 tal with which Betty was going to set up for herself. All 
 was not sufficient to answer her demands — die declared she 
 would send her to prison ; but while she went to call a con- 
 stable, Betty contrived to make off. 
 
 With a light pocket and a heavy heart she went back to 
 the lady; and witli many tears told her sad story. The 
 lady's husband, the justice, condescended to listen to Betty's 
 tale, lb- said Mrs. Sponge bad long been upon bis books 
 as a receiver of stolen goods. Betty's evid en :e strengthened 
 his bad opinion of her. " This petty system of usury," said 
 the magistrate, " may bo thought trilling ; but it will no 
 longer appear so, when you reflect that if one of these fe-
 
 200 BETTY BROWN, 
 
 male sharpers possesses a capital of seventy shillings, 01 
 £3 10s., with fourteen steady regular customers, she can 
 realize a fixed income of one hundred guineas a year. Add 
 to this the influence such a loan gives her over these friend- 
 less creatures, hy compelling them to eat at her house, or 
 lodge, or huy liquors, or by taking their pawns, and you 
 will see the extent of the evil. I pity these poor victims : 
 you, Betty, shall point out some of them to me. I will en- 
 deavor to open their eyes on their own bad management. 
 It is not by giving to the importunate shillings and half- 
 crowns, and turning: them adrift to wait for the next acci- 
 dental relief, that much good is done. It saves trouble, in-' 
 deed, but that trouble being the most valuable part of 
 charity, ought not to be spared ; at least by those who have 
 leisure as well as affluence. It is one of the greatest acts 
 of kindness to the poor to mend their economy, and to give 
 them right views of laying out their little money to advan- 
 tage. These poor blinded creatures look no further than 
 to be able to pay this heavy interest every night, and to ob- 
 tain the same loan on the same hard terms the next day. 
 Thus they are kept in poverty and bondage all their lives ; 
 but I hope as many as hear of this will go on a better plan, 
 and I shall be ready to help any who are willing to help 
 themselves." This worthy magistrate went directly to Mrs. 
 Sponge's with proper officers ; and he soon got to the bot- 
 tom of many iniquities. lie not only made her refund poor 
 Betty's money, but committed her to prison for receiving 
 stolen goods, and various other offenses, which may, per- 
 haps, make the subject of another history. 
 
 Betty was now set up in trade to her heart's content. 
 She had found the benefit of leaving off spirits, and she re- 
 solved to drink them no more. The first fruits of this reso- 
 lution was, that in a fortnight she bought her a pair of new 
 shoes ; and as there was now no deduction for interest, or
 
 the st. Giles's orange girl. 201 
 
 for gin, rier earnings became considerable. Tbe lady made 
 her a present of a gown and a hat, on the easy condition 
 that she should go to church. She accepted tbe terms, at 
 first rather as an act of obedience to the lady than from a 
 sense of higher duty. But she so on began to go from a 
 better motive. This constant attendance at church, joined 
 to the instructions of the lady, opened a new world to Betty. 
 She now heard, for the first time, that she was a sinner ; 
 that God had given a law which was holy, just, and good ; 
 that she had broken this law, had been a swearer, a Sab- 
 bath-breaker, and had lived without God in the world. All 
 this was sad news to Betty ; she knew, indeed, before, that 
 there were sinners, but she thought they were only to be 
 found in the prisons, or at Botany Bay, or in those mournful 
 carts which she had sometimes followed with her barrow, 
 with the unthinking crowd, to Tyburn. She was deeply 
 struck with the great truths revealed in the Scripture, 
 which were quite new to her ; her heart smote her, and 
 she became anxious to flee from the wrath to come. She 
 was desirous of improvement, and said, "she would give up 
 all the profits of her barrow, and go into the hardest ser- 
 vice, rather than live in sin and ignorance." 
 
 "Betty," said the lady, "I am glad to sec you so well 
 disposed, and will do what I can for you. Your present 
 way of life, to be sure, exposes you to much danger ; but 
 the trade is nol unlawful in itself, and we may please God 
 in any calling, provided it be not a dishonest one. In this 
 great town there must be barrow-women to sell fruit. Do 
 you, then, instead of forsaking your business, set a good 
 example to those in it, and show them, thai though a dan- 
 gerous trade, it need not be a wicked one. Till Providence 
 points out some safer wmv of getting your bread, lei your 
 companions see that it is possible to bo good even in this. 
 Your trade being carried on in the open, street, and your 
 
 9*
 
 202 BETTY BROWN, 
 
 fruit bought in an open shop, you are not so much obliged 
 to keep sinful company as may be thought. Take a garret 
 in an honest house, to which you may go home in safety 
 at night. I will give you a bed, and a few necessaries to 
 furnish your room ; and I will also give you a constant 
 Sunday's dinner. A barrow-woman, blessed he God and 
 our good laws, is as much her own mistress on Sundays 
 as a duchess ; and the church and the Bible are as much 
 open to her. You may soon learn as much of religion as 
 you are expected to know. A barrow-woman may pray as 
 heartily morning and night, and serve God as acceptably 
 all lay, while she is carrying on her little trade, as if she 
 hs'd her whole time to spare. 
 
 " To do this well, you must mind the following 
 
 RULES FOR RETAIL DEALERS. 
 
 " Resist every temptation to cheat. 
 
 " Never impose bad goods on false pretenses. 
 
 " Never put off bad money for good. 
 
 " Never use profane or uncivil language. 
 
 " Never swear your goods cost so much, when you know 
 it is false. By so doing you are guilty of two sins in one 
 breath, a lie and an oath. 
 
 " To break these rules will be your chief temptation. 
 God will mark how you behave under them, and will re- 
 ward or punish you accordingly. These temptations will 
 be as great to you, as higher trials are to higher people ; 
 but you have the same God to look to for strength to resist 
 them as they have. You must pray to him to give you 
 this strength. You shall attend a Sunday School, where; 
 you will be taught these good things; and 1 will promote 
 you as you shall be found to deserve." 
 
 Poor Betty here burst into tears of joy and gratitude, 
 crying out, " What ! shall such a poor friendless creature
 
 the st. Giles's orange girl. 203 
 
 as I be treated so kindly, and learn to read the word of 
 God too? Oh, madam, what a lucky chance brought me 
 o your door." "Betty," said the lady, " what you have 
 just said shows the need you have of being better taught ; 
 there is no such thing as chance ; and we offend God when 
 we call that luck or chance which is brought about by his 
 will or pleasure. None of the events of your life have hap- 
 pened by chance ; but all have been under the direction of 
 a good and kiud Providence. He has permitted you to 
 experience want and distress, that you might acknowledge 
 his hand in your present comfort and prosperity. Above 
 all, you must bless his goodness in sending you to me, not 
 only because I have been of use to you in your w r orldly af- 
 fairs, but because he has enabled me to show you the dan- 
 ger of your state from sin and ignorance, and to put you in 
 a way to know his will and to keep his commandments, 
 which is eternal life." 
 
 How Betty, by industry and piety, rose in the world, till 
 at length she came to keep that handsome sausage shop 
 near the Seven Dials, and was married to that very hackney- 
 coachman, whose history and honest character may be 
 learned from that ballad of the Cheap Repository which 
 bears his name, may be shown hereafter.
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME ACCOUNT OP A FAMILY WHO HAD RATHER LIVE BT 
 THEIR WITS THAN THEIR WORK. 
 
 -*•♦-*- 
 
 PAET I 
 
 Poaching Giles lives on the borders of those great 
 moors in Somersetshire. Giles, to be sure, has been a sad fel- 
 low in his time ; and it is none of his fault if his whole family 
 do not e,nd their career, either at the gallows or Botany- 
 Bay. He lives at that mud cottage with the broken win- 
 dows, stuffed with dirty rags, just beyond the gate which 
 divides the upper from the lower moor. You may know 
 the house at a good distance by the ragged tiles on the 
 roof, and the loose stones which are ready to drop out from 
 the chimney ; though a short ladder, a hod of mortar, and 
 half an hour's leisure time, would have prevented all this, 
 and made the little dwelling: tight enough. Bui as Giles 
 had never learned any thing that was good, so he did not 
 know the value of such useful sayings, as, that " a tile in 
 time saves nine." 
 
 Besides this, Giles fell into that common mistake, that a 
 beggarly looking cottage, and filthy ragged children, raise. 1 
 most compassion, and of course drew most charity. But as 
 cunning as he was in other things, be was out in his reck- 
 oning here ; for it is neatness, housewifery, and a decent 
 appearance, which draw the kindness of the rich and chari-
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 205 
 
 table, while theyturn away disgusted from filth and lazi- 
 ness ; not out of pride, but because they see that it is next 
 to impossible to mend the condition of those who degrade 
 themselves by dirt and sloth ; and few people care to help 
 t In >se who will not help themselves. 
 
 The common on which Giles's hovel stands, is quite a 
 deep marsh in a wet winter : but in summer it looks green 
 and pretty enough. To be sure it would be rather con- 
 venient when one passes that way in a carriage, if one of 
 the children would run out and open the gate ; but instead 
 of any one of them running out as soon as they heard the 
 wheels, which would be quite time enough, what does Giles 
 do, but set ail his ragged brats, with dirty faces, matted 
 locks, and naked feet and legs, to lie all day upon a sand 
 bank hard by the gate, waiting for the slender chance of 
 what may be picked up from travelers. At the sound of a 
 carriage, a whole covey of these little scare-crows start up, 
 rush to the gate, and all at once thrust out their hats and 
 aprons; and for fear this, together with the noise of their 
 clamorous begging, should not sufficiently frighten the 
 horses, they are very apt to let the gate slap full against 
 you, before you are half way through, in their eager scuffle 
 to snatch from each o her the halfpence which you have 
 thrown out to them. I know two ladies who were one day 
 very near being killed by thi se abominable tricks. 
 
 Thus five or six little idle creatines, who might be earn- 
 ing a trifle by knitting at home, who might lie useful to the 
 public by working in the field, and who might assist their 
 families by learning to gel their Bread twenty honest way-, 
 arc suffered to lie about ail day, in the hope of a lew chau • 
 halfpence, which, after all, they are by no means sure of 
 getting. Indeed, when the neighboring gentlemen found 
 out that opening the gate was ;i family trade, they soon let 
 off giving any thing. And I myself, though I used to take
 
 206 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 out a peuny ready to give, had there been only one to re- 
 ceive it, when I see a whole family established in so beg- 
 garly a trade, quietly put it back again in my pocket, and 
 give nothing at all. And so few travelers pass that way, 
 that sometimes after the whole family have lost a day, their 
 gains do not amount to two-pence. 
 
 As Giles had a far greater taste for living by his wits than 
 his work, he was at one time in hopes that his children 
 might have got a pretty penny by tumbling for the diver- 
 sion of travelers, and he set about training them in that in- 
 decent practice ; but unluckily the moors being level, the 
 carriage traveled faster than the children tumbled. lie 
 envied those parents who lived on the London road, over 
 the Wiltshire downs, which downs being very hilly, it en- 
 ables the tumbler to keep pace with the traveler, till he 
 sometimes extorts from the light and unthinking, a reward 
 instead of a reproof. I beg leave, however, to put all gentle- 
 men and ladies in mind, that such tricks are a kind of ap- 
 prenticeship to the trades of begging and thieving ; and 
 that nothing is more injurious to good morals than to en- 
 courage the poor in any habits which may lead them to 
 live upon chance. 
 
 Giles, to be sure, as his children grew older, began to 
 train them to such other employments as the idle habits 
 they had learned at the gate very properly qualified them 
 for. The right of common, which some of the poor cot- 
 tagers have in that part of the countiy, and which is doubt- 
 less a considerable advantage to many, was converted by 
 Giles into the means of corrupting his whole family ; for 
 his children, as soon as they grew too big for the trade of 
 begging at the gate, were promoted to the dignity of thieves 
 on the moor. Here he kept two or three asses, miserable 
 beings, which if they had the good fortune to escape an 
 untimelv death by starving, did not fail to meet with it by
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 207 
 
 beating. Some -of the biggest boys were sent out with these 
 lean and galled animals to carry sand or coals about the 
 neighboring towns. Both sand and coals were often stolen 
 before they got them to sell; or if not, they always took 
 care to cheat in selling them. By long practice in this art, 
 they grew so dexterous, that they could give a pretty good 
 guess how large a coal they could crib out of every bag be- 
 fore the buyer would be likely to miss it. 
 
 All their odd time was taken up under the pretense of 
 w r atchin<>- their asses on the moor, or running after five or 
 six half-starved geese : but the truth is these boys were only 
 watching for an opportunity to steal an old goose of their 
 neighbor's, while they pretended to look after their own. 
 They used also to pluck the quills or the down from these 
 live creatures, or half milk a cow before the farmer's maid 
 came with her pail. They all knew how to calculate to a 
 minute what time to be down in a morning to let out their 
 lank hungry beasts, which they had turned over night into 
 the farmer's field to steal a little good pasture. They con- 
 tiived to get there just time enough to escape being caught 
 replacing the stakes they had pulled out for the cattle to get 
 over. For Giles was a prudent long-headed fellow ; and 
 whenever he stole food for his colts, took care never to steal 
 stakes from the hedges at the same place. He had sense 
 enough to know that the gain did not make up for the 
 danger; he knew that a loose fagot, pulled from a neigh- 
 bor's pile of wood after the family were gone to bed, answered 
 the end better, and was not half the trouble. 
 
 Among the many trades which Giles professed, he some- 
 times practiced that of a rat-catcher ; but he was addict I 
 to so many tricks, that he never followed the same trade 
 long; for detection will, sooner or later, follow the best con- 
 certed villany. Whenever he was sent for to a farm house, 
 his custom was to kill a few of the old rats, always taking
 
 208 BLACK OH 28 T II K l'OACHEK. 
 
 care to leave a little stock of young ones alive, sufficient to 
 keep up the breed ; " for," said lie, " if I were to be such a 
 fool as to clear a house or a barn at once, how would my 
 trade be carried on ?" And where any barn was over- 
 stocked, he used to borrow a few rats from thence, just to 
 people a neighboring granary which had none ; and he 
 might have gone on till now, had he not unluckily been 
 caught one evening emptying his cage of rats under parson 
 Wilson's barn door. 
 
 This worthy minister, Mr. Wilson, used to pity the 
 neglected children of Giles, as much as he blamed the 
 wicked parents. He one day picked up Dick, who was far 
 the best of Giles's bad boys. Dick was loitering about in a 
 field behind the parson's garden in search of a hen's nest, 
 his mother having ordered him to bring home a few eggs 
 that night, by hook or by crook, as Giles was resolved tc 
 have some pan-cakes for supper, though he knew that eggs 
 were a penny a-piece. Mr. Wilson had long been desirous 
 of snatching some of this vagrant family from ruin ; and his 
 chief hopes were bent on Dick, as the least hackneyed in 
 knavery. He had once given him a new pair of shoes, on 
 his promising to go to school next Sunday; but no sooner 
 had Rachel, the boy's mother, got the shoes into her 
 clutches, than she pawned them for a bottle of gin ; and 
 ordered the boy to keep out of the parson's sight, aud to be 
 sure to play his marbles on Sunday for the future, at the 
 other end of the parish, and not near the churchyard. Mr. 
 Wilson, however, picked up the boy once more, for it was 
 not his way to despair of any body. Dick was just going 
 to take to his heels, as usual, for fear the old story of the 
 shoes should be brought forward ; but finding he could not 
 get off, what does he do but run into a little puddle of 
 muddy water which lay between him and the parson, that 
 the sight of his naked feet might not bring on the dreaded
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 209 
 
 subject. Now it happened that Mr. Wilson was planting 
 a little field of beans, so he thought this a good opportunity 
 to employ Dick, and he told him he had got some pretty 
 easy work for him. Dick did as he was bid ; he willingly 
 went to work, and readily began to plant his beans with 
 dispatch and regularity according to the directions given 
 him. 
 
 While the boy was busily at work by himself, Giles hap- 
 pened to come by, having been skulking round the back 
 way to look over the parson's garden wall, to see if there 
 was any thing worth climbing over for on the ensuing night. 
 He spied Dick, and began to scold him for working for the 
 stingy old parson, for Giles had a natural antipathy to what- 
 ever belonged to the church. " What lias he promised thee 
 a day ?" said he; "little enough, I dare say." " He is not 
 to pay me by the day," said Dick, " but says he will give 
 me so much when I have planted this peck, and so much 
 for the next." " Oh, oh ! that alters the case," said Giles. 
 " One may, indeed, get a trifle by this sort of work. I hate 
 your regular day-jobs, where one can't well avoid doing 
 one's work for one's money. Come, give me a handful of 
 beans, I will teach thee how to plant when thou art paid 
 for planting by the peck. Ail we have to do in that case 
 is to dispatch the work as fast as we can, and get rid of the 
 beans with all speed ; and as to the seed coming up or not, 
 that is no business of ours; we are paid for planting, not 
 for growing. At the rate thou goest on thou wouldst not 
 get six-pence to night. Come along, bury away." So say- 
 insr he took his hatful of the seed, and where Dick had been 
 oidered to sot one bean, Giles buried a dozen; of course 
 the beans were soon out. But though the peek was emptied, 
 the ground was implanted. But cunning Giles knew this 
 could not be found out till the time when the beans might 
 be expected to come up, " and then, Dick," says he, "the
 
 210 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 snails and the mice may go shares in the blame, or we car. 
 lay the fault on the rooks or the black-birds." So saying, 
 he sent the boy into the parsonage to receive his pay, taking 
 care to secure about a quarter of the peck of beans for his 
 own colt. He put both bag and beans into his own pocket 
 to carry home, bidding Dick tell Mr. Wilson that he had 
 planted the beans and lost the bag. 
 
 In the meantime Giles's other boys were busy in empty- 
 ing the ponds and trout-streams in the neighboring manor. 
 They would steal away the carp and tench when they were 
 no bigger than gudgeons. By this untimely depredation 
 they plundered the owner of his property, without enrich- 
 ing themselves. But the pleasure of mischief was reward 
 enough. These, and a hundred other little thieveries, they 
 committed with such dexterity, that old Tim Crib, whose 
 son was transported last assizes for sheep stealing, used to 
 be often reproaching his boys that Giles's sons were worth 
 a hundred of such blockheads as he had ; for scarce a 
 night passed but Giles had some little comfortable thing for 
 supper which his boys had pilfered in the day, while his 
 undutiful dogs never stole any thing worth having. Giles, 
 in the meantime, was busy in his way, but as busy as he 
 was in laying his nets, starting coveys, and training dogs, 
 he always took care that his depredations should not be 
 confined merely to game. 
 
 Giles's boys had never seen the inside of a church since 
 they were christened, and the father thought he knew his 
 own interest better than to force them to it ; for church- 
 time was the season of their harvest. Then the hen's nests 
 were searched, a stray duck was clapped under the smock- 
 frock, the tools which might have been left by chance in»a 
 farm-yard were picked up, and all the neighboring pigeon- 
 houses were thinned, so that Giles used to boast to tawny 
 Rachel, his wife, that Sunday was to them the most profit-
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 211 
 
 able day in tlie week. With her it was certainly the most 
 laborious day, as she always did her washing and ironing 
 ou the Sunday morning, it being-, as she said, the only leisure 
 day she had, for on the other days she went about the 
 country telling fortunes, and selling dream-books and 
 wicked songs. Neither her husband's nor her children's 
 clothes were ever mended, and if Sunday, her idle day, had 
 not come about once in every week, it is likely they would 
 never have been washed neither. You might however see 
 her as you were going to church smoothing her own rags 
 on her best red cloak, which she always used for her iron- 
 ing-cloth on Sundays, for her cloak when she traveled, and 
 for her blankel at night; such a wretched manager was 
 Rachel] Among her other articles of trade, one was to 
 make and sell peppermint, and other distilled waters. 
 These she had the cheap art of making without trouble 
 and without expense, for she made them without herbs and 
 without a still. Her way was, to fill so many quart bottles 
 with plain water, putting a spoonful of mint water in the 
 mouth of each ; ihese she corked down with rosin, carrying 
 to each customer a phial of real distilled water to taste by 
 way of sample. This was so good that her bottles were 
 commonly bought up without being opened ; but if any 
 suspicion arose, and she was forced to uncork a bottle, by 
 the few drops of distilled water lying at top she even then 
 escaped detection, and took care to get out of reach before 
 the bottle was opened a second time. She was too prudent 
 ever to go twice to the same house. 
 
 THE UPRIGHT MAGISTRATE. 
 
 There is hardly any petty mischief that is not connected 
 with the life of a poacher. Mr. Wilson was aware of this; 
 he was not only a pious clergymau, but an upright justice. 
 He used to say, that people who were really conscientious,
 
 212 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 must be so in small things as well as in great ones, or they 
 would destroy the effect of their own precept, and their ex- 
 ample would not be of general use. For this reason he 
 never would accept of a hare or a partridge from any un- 
 qualified person in the parish : he did not content himself 
 with shuffling the thing off by asking questions, and pre- 
 tending to take it for granted in a general way that the 
 game was fairly come at ; but he used to say, that by re- 
 ceiving the booty he connived at a crime, made himself a 
 sharer in it ; and if he gave a present to the man who 
 brought it, he even tempted him to repeat the fault. 
 
 One day poor Jack Weston, an honest fellow in the 
 neighborhood, whom Mr. Wilson had kindly visited and re- 
 lieved in a long sickness, from which he was but just re- 
 covered, was brought before him as he was sitting on the 
 justice's bench ; Jack was accused of having knocked down 
 a hare ; and of all the birds in the air, who should the in- 
 former be but black Giles the poacher ? Mr. Wilson was 
 grieved at the charge ; he had a great regard for Jack, but 
 he had still a greater regard for the law. The poor fellow 
 pleaded guilty. He did not deny the fact, but said he did 
 not consider it as a crime, for he did not think game was 
 private property, and he owned he had a strong temptation 
 for doing what he had done, which he hoped would plead 
 his excuse. The justice desired to know what this tempta- 
 tion was. "Sir," said the poor fellow, "you know I was 
 given over this spring in a bad fever. I had no friend in 
 the world but you, sir. Under God you saved my life by 
 your charitable relief; and I trust also you may have helped 
 to save my soul by your prayers and your good advice ; 
 for, by the grace of God, I have turned over a new leaf 
 since that sickness. 
 
 " I know I can never make you amends for all your good- 
 ness, but I thought it would be some comfort to my full
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 213 
 
 heart if I could but once give you some little token of my 
 gratitude. So I had trained a pair of nice turtle doves for 
 Madam Wilson, but they were stolen from me, sir, and I do 
 suspect black Giles stole them. Yesterday morning, sir, as 
 I was crawling out to my work, for I am still but very weak, 
 a fine hare ran across my path. I did not stay to consider 
 whether it was wrong to kill a hare, but I felt it was right 
 to show my gratitude ; so, sir, without a moment's thought 
 I did knock down the hare, which I was going to carry to 
 your worship, because I knew madam was fond of hare. I 
 am truly sorry for my fault, and will submit to whatever 
 punishment your worship may please to inflict." 
 
 Mr. Wilson was much moved with this honest confession, 
 and touched with the poor fellow's gratitude. What added 
 to the effect of the story, was the weak condition, and pale 
 sickly looks of the offender. But this worthy magistrate 
 never suffered his feelings to bias his integrity ; he knew 
 that he did not sit on that bench to indulge pity, but to ad- 
 minister justice ; and while he was sorry for the offender, 
 he would never justify the offense. "John," said he, "I 
 am surprised that you could for a moment forget that I 
 never accept any gift which causes the giver to break a law. 
 On Sunday I teach you from the pulpit the laws of God, 
 whose minister I am. At present I till the chair of a magis- 
 trate, to enforce and execute the laws of the laud. Between 
 those and the other there is more connection than you are 
 aware. I thank you, John, for your affection to me, and I 
 admire your gratitude ; but I must not allow either affec- 
 tion or gratitude to be brought as a plea for a wrong ac- 
 tion. It is not your business nor mine, John, to settle 
 whether the game laws are good or bad. Till they are re- 
 pealed we must obey them. Many, I doubt not, break 
 these laws through ignorance, and many, I am certain, who 
 would not dare to steal a goose or a turkey, make no
 
 214 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 scruple of knocking down a hare or a partridge. You will 
 hereafter think yourself happy that this your fir.st attempt 
 has proved unsuccessful, as I trust you are too lionest a fel- 
 low ever to intend to turn poacher. With poaching much 
 moral evil is connected ; a hahit of nightly depredation ; a 
 custom of prowling in the dark for prey produces in time 
 a disrelish for honest labor. He whose first offense was 
 committed without much thought or evil intention, if he 
 happens to succeed a few times in carrying off his booty 
 undiscovered, grows bolder and bolder: and when he fancies 
 there is no shame attending it, he very soon gets to persuade 
 himself that there is also no sin. While some people pre- 
 tend a scruple about stealing a sheep, they partly live bv 
 plundering of warrens. But remember that the warrener 
 pays a high rent, and that therefore his rabbits are as much 
 his property as his sheep. Do not then deceive yourselves 
 with these false distinctions. All property is sacred, and as 
 the laws of the land are intended to fence in that property, 
 lie who brings up his children to break down any of these 
 fences, brings them up to certain sin and ruin. He who be- 
 gins with robbing orchards, rabbit-warrens, and fish-ponds, 
 will probably end with horse-stealing or highway robbery. 
 Poaching is a regular apprenticeship to bolder crimes. He 
 whom I may commit as a boy to sit in the stocks for kill- 
 ing a partridge, may be likely to end at the galleys for kill- 
 ing a man. 
 
 " Observe, you who now hear me, the strictness and im- 
 partiality of justice. I know Giles to be a worthless fellow, 
 yet it is my duty to take his information ; I know Jack 
 Weston to be an honest youth, yet I must be obliged to 
 make him pay the penalty. Giles is a bad man, but he can 
 prove this fact ; Jack is a worthy lad, but he has committed 
 this fault. I am sorry for you, Jack ; but do not let it 
 grieve you that Giles has played worse tricks a hundred
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 215 
 
 times, and yet got off, while you were detected in the very 
 first offense, for that would be grieving because you are not 
 as great a rogue as Giles. At this moment you think your 
 good luck is very unequal ; but all this will one day turn 
 out in your favor. Giles it not the more a favorite of 
 heaven because he has hitherto escaped Botany Bay, or 
 the hulks ; nor is it any mark of God's displeasure against 
 you, John, that you were found out in your very first at- 
 tempt." 
 
 Here the good justice left off speaking, and no one could 
 contradict the truth of what he had said. Weston humbly 
 submitted to his sentence, but he was very poor, and knew 
 not where to raise the money to pay his fine. His charac- 
 ter had always been so fair, that several farmers present 
 kindly agreed to advance a trifle each to prevent his being 
 sent to prison, and he thankfully promised to work out the 
 debt. The justice himself, though he could not soften the 
 law, yet showed Weston so much kindness that he was en- 
 abled before the year was out, to get out of this difficulty. 
 He began to think more seriously than ho had ever yet 
 done, and grew to abhor poaching, not merely from fear, 
 but from principle. 
 
 We shall soon see whether poaching Giles always got off 
 so successfully. Here we have seen that worldly prosperity 
 is no sure sign of goodness. Next month we may, perhaps, 
 see that the "triumph of the wicked is short;'' fur I then 
 promise to give the second part of the Poacher, together 
 with the entertaining story of the Widow Brown's Apple- 
 tree.
 
 216 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 HISTORY OF WIDOW BROWN'S APPLE-TREE. 
 
 I think my readers got so well acquainted last month 
 with black Giles the poacher, that they will not expect this 
 month to hear any great good, either of Giles himself, his 
 wife Rachel, or any of their family. I am sorry to expose 
 their tricks, but it is their fault, not mine. If I pretend to 
 speak about people at all, I must tell the truth. I am sure, 
 if folks would but turn about and mend, it would be a 
 thousand times pleasanter to me to write their histories ; 
 for it is no comfort to tell of any body's faults. If the 
 world would but grow good, I skoidd be glad enough to 
 publish it : but till it really becomes so, I must go on de- 
 scribing it as it is ; otherwise, I should only mislead my 
 readers, instead of instructing them. It is the duty of a 
 faithful historian to relate the evil with the good. 
 
 As to Giles and his boys, I am sure old Widow Brown 
 has good reason to remember their dexterity. Poor 
 woman ! she had a fine little bed of onions in her neat: 
 and well-kept garden ; she was very fond of her onions, 
 and many a rheumatism has she caught by kneeling down 
 to weed them in a damp day, notwithstanding the little flan- 
 nel cloak and the bit of an old mat which Madam Wilson 
 gave her, because the old woman would needs weed in wet 
 weather. Her onions she always carefully treasured up for 
 her winter's store ; for an onion makes a little broth very 
 relishing, and is indeed the only savory thing poor people 
 are used to get. She had also a small orchard, containing 
 about a dozen apple-trees, with which in a good year sho 
 had been known to make a couple of barrels of cider,
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 217 
 
 which she sold to her landlord toward paying her rent, be- 
 sides having a little keg which she was able to keep back 
 for her own drinking. Well ! would you believe it, Giles 
 and his boys marked both onions and apples for their own ; 
 indeed, a man who stole so many rabbits from the warrener, 
 was likely enough to steal onions for sauce. One day, 
 when the widow was abroad on a little business, Giles and 
 his boys made a clear riddance of the onion bed; and 
 when they had pulled up every single onion, they then 
 turned a couple of pigs into the garden, who, allured by 
 the smell, tore tip the bed in such a manner, that the 
 wi low, when she came home, had not the least doubt but 
 the pigs had been the thieves. To confirm this opinion, 
 they took care to leave the latch half open at one end 
 of the garden, and to break down a slight fence at the other 
 end. 
 
 I wonder how any body can find in his heart not to pity 
 and respect poor old widows. There is something so for- 
 lorn and helpless in their condition, that methinks it is a 
 mil on every body, men, women, and children, to do- them 
 all the kind services that fall in their way. Surely their 
 having no one to take their part, is an additional reason for 
 kind-hearted people not to hurt and oppress them. But it 
 was this v.ry reason which led Giles to do this woman an 
 injury. With what a touching simplicity is it recorded in 
 Scripture, of the youth whom our blessed Saviour raised 
 from the dead, that he was the only son of his mother, and 
 she was a widow ! 
 
 It happened unluckily for poor Widow Brown that her 
 cottage stood quite alone. On several mornings together 
 (for roguery gels up much earlier than industry) Giles an 1 
 his boys stole regularly into her orchard, followed by their 
 jack-asses. She was so deaf that she could not hear the 
 asses if they had brayed ever so loud, and to this Giles 
 
 10
 
 218 BLACK GILES THE POACHER, 
 
 trusted ; for be was very cautious in his rogueries, since he 
 could not otherwise have contrived so long to keep out of 
 prison; for, though he was abnosi always suspected, he had 
 
 seldom been taken up, and never convicted. The boys 
 used to fill their bags, load their asses, and then march off; 
 and if, in their way to the town where the apples were to 
 be sold, they chanced to pass by one of their neighbors who 
 might be likely to suspect them, they then all at once be- 
 gan to scream out, " Buy my coal ! Buy my sand !" 
 
 Besides the trees in her orchard, poor Widow Brown had 
 in her small garden one apple-tree particularly fine ; it was 
 a red streak, so tempting and so lovely, that Giles's family 
 had watched it with longing eyes, till at last they resolved 
 on a plan for carrying off all this fine fruit in their bags. 
 But it was a nice point to manage. The tree stood directly 
 under her chamber window, so that there was some danger 
 thai she might spy them at the work. They, therefore, de- 
 termined to wait till the next Sunday morning when they 
 knew she would not fail to be at church. Sunday came, 
 and during service Giles attended. It was a lone house, as 
 1 said before, and the rest of the parish were safe at church. 
 In a trice the tree was cleared, the bags were filled, the 
 asses were whipped, the thieves were off, the coast was 
 clear, and all was safe and quiet by the time the sermon 
 was over. 
 
 Unluckily, however, it happened that this tree was so 
 beautiful, and the fruit so fine, that the people, as they used 
 to pass to and from the church, were very apt to stop and 
 admire Widow Brown's red-streaks; and some of the 
 farmers rather envied her that in that scarce season, when 
 they hardly expected to make a pie out of a large orchard, 
 she was likely to make a cask of cider from a single tree. 
 1 am afraid, indeed, if I must speak out, she herself rather 
 set her heart too much upon this fruit, and had felt as much
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 219 
 
 pride in her tree as gratitude to a good Providence for it ; 
 but this failing of heis was no excuse for Giles. The cov- 
 etousness of this thief had for once got the better of his 
 caution ; the tree was too completely stripped, though the 
 youngest boy, Dick, did beg hard that his father would 
 leave the poor old woman enough for a few dumplings ; and 
 when Giles ordered Dick, in his turn, to shake the tree, the 
 boy did it so gently that hardly any apples fell, for which 
 he got a good stroke of the stick with which the old man 
 was beating down the apples. 
 
 The neighbors, on their return from church, stopped as 
 usual, but it was not, alas ! to admire the apples, for apples 
 there were none left, but to lament the robbery, and console 
 the widow. Mean time the red-streaks were safely lodged 
 in Giles's hovel under a few bundles of new hay which he 
 had contrived to pull from a farmer's mow the night be- 
 fore for the use of his jack-asses. Such a stir, however, 
 began to be made about the widow's apple-tree, that Giles, 
 who knew how much his character had laid him open to 
 suspicion, as soon as he saw the people safe in church again 
 in the afternoon, ordered his boys to carry each a hatful of 
 the apples and thrust them in a little casement window 
 which happened to be open in the house of Samuel Price, 
 a very honest carpenter in that parish, who was at church 
 with his whole family. Giles's plan, by this contrivance, 
 was to lay the theft on Price's sons in case the thing should 
 come to be further inquired into. Here Dick put in a word, 
 and begged and prayed his father not to force them to 
 carry the apples to Price's. Put all he got by his begging 
 was such a knock as had nearly laid him on the earth. 
 "What, you cowardly rascal," said Giles, "you will go and 
 'jpeach, I suppose, and get your father sent to jail/' 
 
 Poor Widow Brown, though her trouble had made her 
 ptill weaker than she was, went to church again in the af
 
 220 BLACK GILES THE POACHER, . 
 
 ternoon ; indeed she rightly thought that her being in 
 trouble was a new reason why she ought to go. Duricg 
 the service she tried with all her might not to think of her 
 red-streaks, and whenever they would come into her head, 
 she took up her prayer-book directly, and so she forgot 
 them a little ; and, indeed, she found herself much easier 
 when she came out of the church than when she went in ; 
 an effect so commonly produced by prayer, that methiuks 
 it is a pity people do not try it oftener. Now it happened, 
 oddly enough, that on that Sunday, of all the Sundays in the 
 year, the widow should call in to rest a little at Samuel 
 Price's, to tell over again the lamentable story of the apples, 
 and to consult with him how the thief might be brought to 
 justice. But oh, reader ! guess, if you can, for I am sure 
 I can not tell you, what was her surprise, when, on going 
 into Samuel Price's kitchen, she saw her own red-streaks 
 lying on the window ! The apples were of a sort too re- 
 markable, for color, shape, and size, to be mistaken. There 
 was not such another tree in the parish. Widow Brown 
 immediately screamed out, " Alas-a-day ! as sure as can be, 
 here are my red-streaks ; I could swear to thorn in any 
 court." Samuel Price, who believed his sons to be as hon- 
 est as himself, was shocked and troubled at the sight. He 
 knew he had no red-streaks of his own, he knew there weie 
 no apples in the window when he went to church ; he did 
 verily believe these apples to be the widow's. But how 
 came they there he could not possibly guess. He called for 
 Tom, the only one of his sons who now lived at home. Tom 
 was at the Sunday School, which he had never once missed 
 since Mr. Wilson, the minister, had set up one in the parish. 
 Was such a boy likely to do such a deed ! 
 
 A crowd was by this time got about Price's door, among 
 which were Giles and his boys, who had already taken care 
 to spread the news that Tom Price was the thief. Most
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 221 
 
 people were unwilling to believe it. His character was 
 very good, but appearances were strongly against him. 
 Mr. Wilson, who had staid to christen a child, now came 
 in. He was much concerned that Tom Price, the best boy 
 in his school, should stand accused of such a crime. He 
 sent for the boy, examined, and cross-examined him. No 
 marks of guilt appeared. But still, though he pleaded not 
 guilty, there lay the red-streaks in his father's window. All 
 the idle fellows in the place, who were most likely to have 
 committed such a theft themselves, were the very people 
 who fell with vengeance on poor Tom. The wicked seldom 
 give any quarter. " This is one of your sanctified ones !" 
 cried they. " This was all the good that Sunday School 
 did !" For their parts they never saw any good come by 
 religion. Sunday w r as the only day for a little pastime, and 
 if poor boys must be shut up with their godly books, when 
 they ought to be out taking a little pleasure, it was no won- 
 der they made themselves amends by such tricks. Another 
 said he would like to see Parson Wilson's righteous one 
 well whipped. A third hoped he would be clapped in the 
 stocks for a young hypocrite as he was; while old (Jilts, 
 who thought, the only way to avoid suspicion was by being 
 more violent than the rest, declared, " that he hoped the 
 young dog w r ould be transported for life." 
 
 Mr. Wilson was too wise and too just to proceed against 
 Tom without full proof. He declared the crime was a very 
 heavy one, and In- feared that heavy must be the punish- 
 ment. Tom, who knew his own innocence, earnestly 
 prayed to God that it might be made to appear as clear as 
 the noon-day; and very fervent were his secret devotions 
 on thai night. 
 
 Black <iilcs passed his night in a very different manner. 
 He set off, as soon as it was dark, with his sons and their 
 jack-asses, laden with their stolen goods. As such a cry
 
 222 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 was raised about the apples, he did not think it safe to keep 
 them longer at home, but resolved to go and sell them at 
 the next town, borrowing, without leave, a lame colt out of 
 the moor to assist in carrying off his booty. 
 
 Giles and his eldest sons had rare sport all the way in, 
 thinking that, while they were enjoying the profit of their 
 plunder, Tom Price would be whipped round the market- 
 place at least, if not sent beyond sea. But the younger 
 boy, Dick, who had naturally a tender heart, though hard- 
 ened by his long familiarity with sin, could not help crying 
 when he thought that Tom Price might, perhaps, be trans- 
 ported for a crime which he himself had helped to com- 
 mit. He had had no compunction about the robbery, for 
 he had not been instructed in the great principles of truth 
 and justice ; nor would he therefore, perhaps, have had 
 much remorse about accusing an innocent boy. But 
 though utterly devoid of principle, he had some remains of 
 natural feeling and of gratitude. Tom Price had often 
 given him a bit of his own bread and cheese ; and once, 
 when Dick was like to be drowned, Tom had jumped into 
 the pond wit': his clothes on, and saved his life when he 
 was just sinl ing ; the remembrance of all this made his 
 heart heavy. I le said nothing ; but as he trotted barefoot 
 after the asses, he heard his father and brothers laugh at 
 having outwitted the godly ones; and he grieved to think 
 how poor Tom would suffer for his wickedness, yet fear kept 
 him silent ; they called him a sulky dog, and lashed the 
 asses till they ble !. 
 
 In the in an time Tom Price kept up his spirits as well 
 as he could, lie worked hard all day, and prayed heartily 
 night and morning. " It is true," said he to himself, " I am 
 not guilty of this sin ; but let this accusation set me on ex- 
 amining myself, and truly repenting of all my other sins'
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 223 
 
 for I find enough to repent of, though, I thank God, I did 
 not steal the Widow's apples. 
 
 At length Sunday came, and Tom went to school as 
 usual. As soon as he walked in there was a great deal of 
 whispering and laughing among the worst of the boys ; and 
 he overheard them say, " Who would have thought it ! 
 This is master's favorite ! This is Parson Wilson's sober 
 Tommy ! We sha'n't have Tommy thrown in our teeth 
 again if we go to get a bird's nest, or gather a few nuts on 
 a Sunday." " Your demure ones are always hypocrites," 
 says another. " The still sow sucks all the milk," says a 
 third. 
 
 Giles's family had always kept clear of the school. Dick, 
 indeed, had sometimes wished to go ; not that he had much 
 sense of sin, or desire after goodness, but he thought if he 
 could once read, he might rise in the world, and not be 
 forced to drive asses all his life. Through this whole Sat- 
 urday night he could not sleep. He longed to know what 
 would be done to Tom. He begin to wish to go to school, 
 but he had not courage — sin is very cowardly. So on the 
 Sunday morning lie went and sat himself down under the 
 church wall. Mr. Wilson passed by. It was not his way 
 to reject the most wicked, till he had tried every means to 
 bring them over, and even then he pitied and prayed for 
 them. lie had, indeed, long left off talking to (Giles's sons; 
 but seeing Dick sitting by himself, he once more spoke to 
 him, desired him to leave off his vagabond life, and go with 
 him into the school. The boy hung down his head, but 
 m ide no answer. Hedi i not, however, ■ i her rise upandiuu 
 away, or 1 ok sulky, as be used to do. The minister de- 
 Bired him once more to go. " Sir," sai 1 the boy, " I can't, 
 go; I am so big I am ashamed." '• T!i r you are 
 
 the less time you have to lose." " But, sir, I can't read." 
 " Then it is high time you should learn." " I should be
 
 224 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 ashamed to begin to learn my letters." " The shame is not 
 in beginning to learn them, but in being content never to 
 know them." " But, sir, I am so ragged !" " God looks at 
 the heart, and not at the coat." " But, sir, I have no shoes 
 and stockings." " So much the worse. I remember who 
 gave you both. (Here Dick colore!.) It is bad to want 
 shoes and stockings, but still if you can drive your asses a 
 dozen miles without them, you may certainly walk a hun- 
 dred yards to school without them." " But, sir, the good 
 boys will hate me, and won't speak to me." " Good boys 
 hate nobody, and as to not speaking to you, to be sure they 
 will not keep your company while you go on in your pres- 
 ent evil courses ; but as soon as they see you wish to reform, 
 they will help you, and pity you, and teach you ; and so 
 come along." Here Mr. Wilson took this dirty boy by the 
 hand, and gently pulled him forward, kindly talking to him 
 all the w r ay, in the most condescending manner. 
 
 How the whole school stared to see Dick Giles come in ! 
 No one, however, dared to say what he thought. The busi- 
 ness went on, and Dick slunk into a coiner, partly to hide 
 his rags, and partly to hide his sin ; for last Sunday's trans- 
 action sat heavy on his heart, not because he had stolen the 
 apples, but because Tom Price had been accused. This, I 
 say, made him slink behind. Poor boy ! he little thought 
 there w r as One saw him who sees all things, and from whose 
 eye no hole nor corner can hide the sinner : " For he is 
 about our bed, and about our path, and spieth out all our 
 ways." 
 
 It was the custom in that school, and an excellent custom 
 it is, for the master, who was a good and wise man, to mark 
 down in his pocket-book all the events of the week, that he 
 might turn them to some account in his Sunday evening 
 instructions ; such as any useful story in the newspaper, 
 any account of boys being drowned as they were out in a
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 225 
 
 pleasure boat on Sundays, any sudden death in the parish, 
 or any other remarkable visitation of Providence ; inso- 
 much, that many young people in the place, who did not 
 belong to the school, and many parents also, used to drop 
 in for an hour on a Sunday evening, when they were sure 
 to hear something profitable, The minister greatly ap- 
 proved this practice, and often called in himself, which was 
 a great support to the master, and encouragement to the 
 people who attended. 
 
 The master had taken a deep concern in the story of 
 Widow Brown's apple-tree. He could not believe Tom 
 Price was guilty, nor dared he pronounce him innocent ; 
 but he resolved to turn the instructions of the present 
 evening to this subject. He began thus : "My dear boys, 
 however light some of you may make of robbing an orch- 
 ard, yet I have often told you there is no such thing as a 
 little sin, if it be wilful or habitual. I wish now to explain 
 to you, also, that there is hardly such a thing as a single 
 solitary sin. You know I teach you not merely to repeat 
 the commandments as an exercise for your memory, but as 
 a rule for your conduct. If you were to come here only to 
 learn to read and spell on a Sunday, I should think that 
 was not employing God's day for God's work ; but I teach 
 you to read that you may, by this means, come so to 
 understand the Bible and the Catechism, as to make every 
 text in the one, and every question and answer in the other, 
 to be so fixed in your hearts, that they may bring forth in 
 you the fruits of good living." 
 
 Master. Eow many commandments are there? 
 
 Boy. Ten. 
 
 Master. How many commandments did that boy break 
 who stole Widow Brown's apples! 
 
 Boy. Only <>ne, master; the eighth. 
 
 Master. What is the eighth ? 
 
 10*
 
 226 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 
 
 Boy Thou shalr 1 not steal. 
 
 Master. And yv,J are very sure that this was the only 
 one he broke ? N»w suppose I could prove to you that he 
 probably broke not less than six out of those ten command- 
 ments, which the great Lord of heaven himself stooped 
 down from his et^'-nal glory to deliver to men, would you 
 not, then, think ; ' a terrible thing to steal, whether apples 
 or guineas ? 
 
 Boy. Yes, master. 
 
 Master. I will put the case. Some wicked boy has rob- 
 bed Wdow Brown's orchard. (Here the eyes of every one 
 were turned on poor Tom Price, except those of Dick Giles, 
 who fixed his on the ground.) I accuse no one, continued 
 the master; Tom Price is a good boy, and was not missing 
 at th i time of the robbery ; these are two reasons why I pre- 
 sum that he is innocent ; but whoever it was, you allow that 
 by s ;aling these apples he broke the eighth commandment ? 
 
 / yy. Yes, master. 
 
 . aster. On what day were these apples stolen ? 
 ■>y. On Sunday. 
 raster. What is the fourth commandment ? 
 
 Boy. Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath-day. 
 
 Master. Does that person keep holy the Sabbath-day 
 who loiters in an orchard on Sunday, when he should be at 
 church, and steals apples when he ought to be saying his 
 prayers ? 
 
 Boy. No, master. 
 
 Master. What command does he break ? 
 
 Boy. The fourth. 
 
 Master. Suppose this boy had parents who had sent him 
 to church, and that he had disobeyed them by not going, 
 would that be keeping the fifth commandment ? 
 
 Boy. No, master ; for the fifth commandment says, Thou 
 shalt honor thy father and thy mother.
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 227 
 
 This was the^ only part of the case in which poor Dick 
 Giles's heart did not smite him ; he knew he had disobeyed 
 no father ; for his father, alas ! was still wickeder than him- 
 self, and had brought him up to commit the sin. But what 
 a wretched comfort was this ! The master went on. 
 
 Master. Suppose, this boy earnestly coveted this fruit, 
 though it belonged to another person, would that be right? 
 
 Boij. No, master ; for the tenth commandment says, thou 
 shalt not covet. 
 
 Master. Very well. Here ai"e four of God's positive 
 commands already broken. Now do you think thieves 
 ever scruple to use wicked words ? 
 
 Boy. I am afraid, not, master. 
 
 Here Hick Giles was not so hardened but that he re- 
 membered how many curses had passed between him and 
 his father while thev were nlliiiix the bao-s, and he was 
 afraid to look up. The master went on. 
 
 I will now go one step further. If the thief, to all his 
 other sins, has added that of accusing the innocent to save 
 himself, if he should break the ninth commandment, by 
 bearing false witness against a harmless neighbor, then six 
 commandments are broken for an apple. But if it be other- 
 wise, if Tom Price should be found guilty, it is not his good 
 character shall save him. I shall shed tears over him, but 
 punish him I must, and that severely. " No, that you 
 sha'n't," roared out Hick Giles, who sprung from his hiding 
 place, fell on his knees, and burst out a crying; " Tom Price 
 is as good a boy as ever lived ; it was father and I who 
 stole the apples ?" 
 
 It would have done your heart good to have seen the joy 
 of the master, the modest blushes of Tom Price, and the 
 satisfaction of every honest boy in the school. All shook 
 hands with Tom, and oven Hick got some portion of pity. 
 I wish I had room to give my readers the moving exhoru>-
 
 228 BLACK GILES THE POACH Ell. 
 
 tion which the master gave. But while Mr. Wilson left 
 the guilty boy to the management of the master, he thougl t 
 it became him, as a minister and a magistrate, to go to the 
 extent of the law in punishing the father. Early on the 
 Monday morning he sent to apprehend Giles. In the mean- 
 time Mr. Wilson was sent for to a gardener's house two 
 miles distant, to attend a man who was dying. This was a 
 duty to which all others gave way in his mind. He set 
 out directly; but what was his surprise, on his arrival, to 
 see, on a little bed on the floor, poaching Giles lying in all 
 the agonies of death ! Jack Weston, the same poor young 
 man against whom Giles had informed for killing a hare, 
 was kneeling by him, offering him some broth, and talking 
 to him in the kindest manner. Mr. Wilson begged to know 
 the meaning of all this ; and Jack Weston spoke as follows : 
 " At four in the morning, as I was going out to mow, 
 passing under the high wall of this garden, I heard a most 
 dismal moaning. The nearer I came, the more dismal it 
 grew. At last, who should I see but poor Giles groaning, 
 and struggling under a quantity of bricks and stones, but 
 not able to stir. The day before he had marked a fine large 
 net on this old wall, and resolved to steal it, for he thought 
 it might do as well to catch partridges as to preserve cher- 
 ries ; so, sir, standing on the very top of this wall, and tug- 
 ging with all his might to loosen the net from the hooks 
 which fastened it, down came Giles, net, wall, and all ; for 
 the wall was gone to decay. It was very high, indeed, ami 
 poor Giles not only broke his thigh, but has got a terrible 
 blow on his head, and is bruised all over like a mummy. 
 On seeing me, sir, poor Giles cried out, 'Oh, Jack! I did 
 t v y to ruin thee by lodging that information, and now thou 
 wi t be revenged by letting me lie here and perish.' ' < rod 
 forbid, Giles !' cried I ; ' thou shalt see what sort of rev 
 a Christian takes.' So, sir, I sent off the gardener's boy
 
 BLACK GILES THE POACHER. 229 
 
 to fetch a surgeon, while I scampered home and brought 
 on my back this bit of a hammock, which is, indeed, my 
 own bed, and put Giles upon it : we then lifted him up, 
 bed and all, as tenderly as if he had been a gentleman, 
 and brought him in here. My wife has just brought him 
 a drop of nice broth ; and now, sir, as I have done what 
 I could for this poor perishing hody, it was I who took 
 the liberty to send to you to come to try to help his poor 
 soul, for the doctor says he can't live." 
 
 Mr. "Wilson could not help saying to himself, " Such an 
 action as this is worth a whole volume of comments on that 
 precept of our blessed Master, Love your enemies ; do good 
 to them that hate you.' 1 ' 1 Giles's dying groans confirmed the 
 sad account Weston had just given. The poor wretch 
 could neither pray himself nor attend to the minister. He 
 could only cry out, " Oh ! sir, what will become of me ? 
 I don't know how to repent. <\ my poor wicked children! 
 Sir, I have bred them all up in sin and ignorance. Have 
 mercy on them, sir; let me not meet them in the place of 
 torment to which I am going. Lord grant them that time 
 for repentance which 1 have thrown away !" He 1 inguished 
 a few days, and died in great misery : — a fresh and sad 
 instance that people who abuse the grace of God, and resist 
 his Spirit, find it difficult to repent when they will. 
 
 Except the minister and Jack Weston, no one came to 
 see poor Giles, besides Tommy Price, who had been so sadly 
 wronged by him. Tom often broughl him his own rice- 
 milk or apple-dumpling ; and Giles, ignorant and depraved 
 as be was, often cried oHt, "That he thought now there 
 must be some truth in religion, since it taught even a boy 
 to d ny himself, and to forgive an injury. .Mr. Wilson, the 
 nexi Sunday, made a moving discourse on the danger of 
 what are calle I petty offenses. This, together with the aw- 
 ful death of Giles, produced such an effect that no poacher 
 has been able to show his head in that parish ever since.
 
 TAWNEY RACHEL; 
 
 OR, THE FORTUNE TELLER; 
 
 WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF DREAMS, OMENS, AND CONJURORS. 
 
 Tawney Rachel was the wife of poaching Giles. Thera 
 seemed to ho a conspiracy in Giles's whole family to main- 
 tain themselves by tricks and pilfering. Regular labor and 
 honest industry did not suit their idle habits. They had a 
 sort of genius at finding out every unlawful means to sup- 
 port a vagabond life. Rachel traveled the country with a 
 basket on her arm. She pretended to get her bread by 
 selling laces, cabbage-nets, ballads, and history books, and 
 used to buy old rags and rabbit-skins. Many honest people 
 trade in these things, and I am sure I do not mean to say a 
 word against honest people, let them trade in what they 
 will. But.Rachel only made this traffic a pretense for get- 
 ting admittance into farmers' kitchens in order to tell 
 fortunes. 
 
 She was continually practicing on the credulity of silly 
 girls ; and took advantage of their ignorance to cheat and 
 deceive them. Many an innocent servant has she caused 
 to be suspected of a robbery, while she herself, perhaps, was 
 in league with the thief. Many a harmless maid has she 
 brought to ruin by first contriving plots and events herself, 
 and then pretending to foretell them. She had not, to be 
 sure, the power of really foretelling things, because she had
 
 TAWNEY RACHEL. 281 
 
 no power of seeing into futurity ; but she had the art some- 
 times to bring them about according as she foretold them. 
 So she got that credit for her wisdom which really belonged 
 to her wickedness. 
 
 Rachel was alsoa famous interpreter of dreams, and could 
 distinguish exactly between the fate of any two persons who 
 happened to have a mole on the right or the left cheek. 
 She had a cunning way of getting herself off when any of 
 her prophecies failed. When she explained a dream ac- 
 cording to the natural appearance of things, and it did not 
 come to pass; then she would get out of the scrape by 
 Baying, that this sort of dreams went by contraries. Now 
 of two very opposite things, the chance always is that one 
 of them may turn out to be true ; so in either case she kept 
 up the cheat. 
 
 Rachel, in one of her rambles, stopped at the house of 
 Farmer Jenkins. She contrived to call when she knew the 
 master of the house was from home, which indeed was her 
 usual way. She knocked at the door ; the maids being in 
 the field haymaking, Mrs. Jenkins went to open it herself. 
 Rachel asked her if she would please to let her light her 
 pipel This was a common pretense, when she could find 
 no other way of getting into a house. While she was fill- 
 ing her pipe, she looked at Mrs. Jenkins, and said, she 
 could tell her some good fortune. The farmer's wife, who 
 was a very inoffensive, but a weak and superstitious wo- 
 man, was curious to know what she meant. Rachel then 
 looked ah.-ii! carefully, and shutting the door with a mys- 
 terious air, asked her if she was sure nobody would hear 
 them. This appearance of mystery was at once delightful 
 and terrifying to Mrs. Jenkins, who, with trembling agita- 
 tion, hid the cunningwoman speak out. "Th n," said Ra- 
 chel in a solemn whisper, "there is to my certain knowle 
 a pot of money hid under one of the stones in your cellar.'"
 
 232 TAWNEY RACHEL; 
 
 "Indeed! 1 ' said Mrs. Jenkins, "it is impossible, for now 1 
 think of it, I dreamed lust night I was in prison for debt." 
 "Did you really?" said Rachel; " that is quite surprising. 
 Did you dream this before twelve o'clock or after ?" " O it 
 was this morning, just before I awoke." " Then I am sure 
 it is true, for morning dreams always go by contraries," ciied 
 Rachel. " How lucky it was you dreamed it so late." Mrs. 
 Jenkins could hardly contain her joy, and asked how the 
 money was to be come at. " There is but one way," said 
 Rachel : " I must go into the cellar. I know by my art 
 under which stone it lies, but I must not tell." Then they 
 both went down into the cellar, but Rachel refused to point 
 out the stone unless Mrs. Jenkins would put five pieces of 
 gold into a basin and do as she directed. The simple wo- 
 man, instead of turning her out of doors for a cheat, did as 
 she was bid. She put the guineas into a basin which she 
 gave into Rachel's hand. Rachel strewed some while pow- 
 der over the gold, muttered some barbarous words, and 
 pretended to perforin the black art. She then told Mrs. 
 Jenkins to put the basin quietly down within the cellar; 
 telling her that if she offered to look into it, or even to 
 speak a word, the charm would be broken. She also di- 
 rected her to lock the cellar door, and on no pretense to 
 open it in less than forty-eight hours. " If" added she, " you 
 closely follow these directions, then, by the power of my art, 
 you will find the basin conveyed to the very stone under 
 which the money lies hid, and a fine treasure it be !" Mrs. 
 Jenkins, who firmly believed every word the woman said, 
 did I as she was told, and Rachel took her leave with 
 
 a handsome reward. 
 
 When Farmer Jenkins can!..- home he desiiv.l his wife to 
 draw him a cup of cider ; this she put off so long that he 
 began to be displeased. At last she begged he would besc 
 good as to drink a little beer instead. lie insisted on know-
 
 OK, THE FORTUNE TELLER. 233 
 
 ing the reason, and when at last he grew angry, she told 
 him all that bad passed ; and owned that as the pot of gold 
 had happened to be in the cider cellar, she did not dare open 
 the door, as she was sure it would break the charm. " And 
 it would be a pity you know," said she, " to lose a good for- 
 tune for the sake of a draught of cider." The farmer, who 
 was not so easily imposed upon, suspected a trick. Lie de- 
 manded the key, and went and opened the cellar door ; 
 there he found the basin, and in it five round pieces of tin 
 covered with powder. Mrs. Jenkins burst out a-crying; 
 but the farmer thought of nothing but of getting a warrant 
 to apprehend the cunning woman. Indeed she well proved 
 her claim to that name, when she insisted that the cellar 
 door might be kept locked till she had time to get out of 
 the reach of all pursuit. 
 
 Poor Sally Evans ! I am sure she rued the day that ever 
 she listened to a fortune teller. Sally was as harmless a 
 girl as ever churned a pound of butter; but Sally was 
 credulous, ignorant, and superstitious. She delighted in 
 dream books, and had consulted all the cunning women in 
 the country to tell her whether the two moles on her cheek 
 denoted that she was to have two husbands. <>r two children. 
 If she picked up an old horse-shoe going to church, she was 
 sure that would be a lucky week. She never made a black 
 pudding without borrowing one of the parson's old wigs to 
 hang in the chimney, firmly believing there was no other 
 means to preserve them from burning. She would never 
 goto bed on Midsummer eve without sticking up in her 
 room the well-known plant called Midsummer-Men, as the 
 bending of the leaves to the right or to the left would nol 
 fail to tell her whether Jacob, of whom we shall speak pres- 
 ently, was true or false. She would rather go live miles 
 about than pass near a church-yard at night. Every 
 seventh year she would not eat beans because they grew
 
 234 TAWNEY RACHEL; 
 
 downward in the pod, instead of upward ; and, though a 
 very neat girl, she would rather have gone with her gown 
 open than to have taken a pin from an old woman, for fear 
 of being bewitched. Poor Sally had so many unlucky days 
 in her calen lar, that a large portion of her time became of 
 little use, because on these days she did not dare set about 
 any new work. And she would have refused the best offer 
 in the country if made to her on a Friday, which she 
 thought so unlucky a day that she often said what a pity it 
 was that there were any Friday in the week. Sally had 
 twenty pounds left her by her grandmother. She had long 
 been courted by Jacob, a sober lad, with whom she lived 
 fellow servant at a creditable farmer's. Honest Jacob, like 
 his namesake of old, thought it little to wait seven years to 
 get this damsel to wife, because of the love he bore her, for 
 Sally had promised to many him when he could match her 
 twenty pounds with another of his own. 
 
 Now there was one Robert, a rambling idle voun«T o-ar- 
 dener, who instead of sitting down steadily in one place, 
 used to roam about the country, and do odd jobs where he 
 could get them. No one understood any thing about him, 
 except that he was a down-looking fellow, who came no- 
 body knew whence, and got his bread nobody knew how, 
 and never had a penny in his pocket. Robert, who was 
 now in the neighborhood, happened to hear of Sally Evans 
 and her twenty pounds. He immediately conceived a long- 
 ing desire for the latter. So he went to his old friend Rachel 
 the fortune teller, told her all he had heard of Sally, and 
 promised if she could bring about a marriage between them, 
 she should go shares in the money. 
 
 Rachel undertook the business. She set off to the farm- 
 house, and fell to singing one of her most enticing songs 
 just under the dairy window, Sally was so struck with the 
 pretty tune, which was unhappily used, as is too often the
 
 OR, THE FORTUNE TELLER. 235 
 
 case, to set off some very loose words, that she jumped up, 
 dropped the skimming dish into the cream and ran out to 
 buy the song. While she stooped down to rummage the 
 basket for those songs which had the most tragical pictures 
 (for Sally ha.l a tender heart, and delighted in whatever 
 was mournful) Rachel looked stedfastly in her face, and told 
 her she knew by art that she was born to good fortune, but 
 advised her not to throw herself away. " These two moles 
 on your cheek," added she, " show you are in some danger." 
 " Do they denote husbands or children V cried Sally, start- 
 ing up, and letting fall the song of the Children in the 
 Wood. "Husbands," muttered Rachel "Alas! poor Ja- 
 cob!" said Sally, mournfully, " then he will die first, won't 
 he ?" " Mum for that," quoth the fortune teller, " I will say 
 no more-" Sally was impatient, but the more curiosity she 
 liscovered, the more mystery Rachel affected. At last, she 
 said, " If you will cross my hand with a piece of silver, I 
 will tell your fortune. 15y the power of my art I can do 
 ihis three ways ; first by cards, next by the lines on your 
 hand, or b\ turning a cup of tea grounds ; which will you 
 have?" "O, all! all!" cried Sally, looking up with rever- 
 ence to this sun-burnt oraele of wisdom, who was possessed 
 of no less than three different ways of diving into the secrets 
 of futurity. Alas ! persons of better sense than Sally have 
 been so taken in ; the more is the pity. The poor girl said 
 she would run upstairs to her little box where she kept her 
 money tied up in a bit of an old glove, and would bring 
 down a blight queen Anne's sixpence verycrooked. "I am 
 sure," added she, "ii is a lucky one, for it cured me of a 
 very bad ague last spring, by only laying it nine nights un- 
 der my pillow without speaking a Word. But then you 
 must know what gave the virtue to this sixpence was, that 
 it had belonged to three young nien of the name of John ; 
 I am sure I had work enough to get it. But true it is, it
 
 236 TAWNEY RACHEL ; 
 
 certainly cured me. It must be the sixpence you know, for 
 I am sure I did nothing else for my ague, except by taking 
 some bitter stuff every three hours which the doctor called 
 bark. To be sure I had no ague soon after I took it, but I 
 am certain it was owing to the crooked sixpence, and not to 
 the bark. And so, good woman, you may come in if you 
 will, for there is not a soul in the house but me." This was 
 the very thing Rachel wanted to know, and very glad she 
 was to learn it. 
 
 While Sally was above stairs untying her glove, Rachel, 
 slipped into the parlor, took a small silver cup from the 
 beaufet, and clapped it into her pocket. Sally ran down 
 lamenting that she had lost her sixpence, which she verily 
 believed was owing to her having put it into a left glove, 
 instead of a right one. Rachel comforted her by saying, 
 that if she gave her two plain ones instead, the charm would 
 work just as well. Simple Sally thought herself happy to 
 be let off so easily, never calculating that a smooth shilling 
 was wortli two crooked sixpences. But this skill was a part 
 of the black art in which Rachel excelled. She took the 
 money and began to examine the lines of Sally's left hand. 
 She bit her withered lip, shook her head, and bade her 
 poor dupe beware of a young man who had black hair. 
 " No, indeed," cried Sally, all in a fright, " you mean black 
 eyes, for our Jacob has got brown hair ; 'tis his eyes that 
 are black." " That is the very thing I was going to say," 
 muttered Hachel ; "I meant eyes, though I said hair, for I 
 know his hair is as brown as a chestnut, and his eyes as 
 black as a sloe." " So they are, sure enough," cried Sally ; 
 "how in the world could you have known that?" forget- 
 ting that she herself had just told her so. And it is thus 
 that these hags pick out of the credulous all which they 
 afterwards pretend to reveal to them. " O, I know a pretty 
 deal more than that," said Rachel, " but you must beware
 
 OR, THE FORTUNE TELLER. 237 
 
 of this man." " Why, so," cried Sally, with great quick- 
 ness. " Because," answered Rachel, " you are fated to 
 many a man worth a hundred of him, who has blue eyes, 
 light hair, and a stoop in the shoulders." " No, indeed, but 
 [ can't," said Sally; "I bave promised Jacob, and Jacob I 
 will marry." " You can not, child," returned Rachel in a 
 solemn tone ; " it is out of your power, you are fated to 
 marry the blue eyes and light hair." "Nay, indeed," said 
 Sally, sighing deeply, " if I am fated, I must ; I know there's 
 no resisting one's fate." This is a common cant with poor 
 deluded girls, who are not aware that they themselves make 
 their fate by their folly, and then complain there is no re- 
 sisting it. "What can I do ?" said Sally. " I will tell you 
 that, too," said Rachel. " You must take a walk next Sun- 
 day afternoon to the church-yard, and the first man you 
 meet in a blue coat, with a large posey of pinks and south- 
 ern-wood in his bosom, sitting on the church-yard wall, 
 about seven o'clock, he will be the man." " Provided," 
 said Sally, much disturbed, " that he has blue eyes and 
 stoops." " It to be sure," said Rachel, " otherwise it is not 
 the right man." "But if I should mistake," said Sally, 
 "for two men may happen to have a coat and eyes of the 
 same color?" "To prevent that," replied Rachel, "if it is 
 the right man, the two first letters of his name will be R. P. 
 This man has got money beyond sea." "0, I do not value 
 money," said Sally, with tears in her eyes, "for I love Ja- 
 cob better than house or land ; but if I am fateJ to many 
 another, I can't help it; you know there is no struggling 
 against my fate." 
 
 Poor Sally thought of nothing, and dreamed of nothing, all 
 the week but the blue coat and the blue eyes. She made a 
 hundred blunders at her work. She put her rennet into the 
 butterpan, and her skimming-dish into the cheese-tub. She 
 gave the curds to the hogs, and put the whey into the vats.
 
 238 TAWNEY RACHEL, 
 
 She put her little knife out of her pocket for fear it should 
 cut love, and woul 1 uot stay in the kitchen if there was not 
 
 an even number of people, lest it should break the charm. 
 She grew cold and mysterious in her behavior to faithful 
 Jacob, whom she truly loved. But the more she thought 
 of the fortune teller, the more she was convinced that brown 
 hair and black eyes were not what she was fated to marry, 
 and therefore though she trembled to think it, Jacob could 
 not be the man. t 
 
 On Sunday she was too uneasy to o-o to church ; for poor 
 Sally had never been taught that her being uneasy was only 
 a fresh reason why she ought to go thither. She spent the 
 whole afternoon in her little garret, dressing in all her best. 
 First she put on her red riband, which she had bought at 
 last Lammas fair; then she recollected that red was an un- 
 lucky color, and changed it for a blue riband, tied in a true 
 lover's knot ; but suddenly calling to mind that poor Jacob 
 had bought this knot for her of a pedlar at the door, and 
 that she had promised to wear it for his sake, her heart 
 smote her, and she laid it by, sighing to think she was not 
 fated to marry the man who had given it to her. Wnen 
 she had looked at herself twenty times in the glass (for one 
 vain action always brings on another) she set off tremb- 
 ling and shaking every step she went. She walked eagerly 
 toward the church -yard, not daring to look to the right or 
 /eft, for fear she would spy Jacob, who woul 1 have offered 
 to walk with her, an 1 so have spoilt it all. As soon as she 
 came within sight of the wall, she spied a man silling up- 
 on it : her heart beat violently. She looked again ; but 
 alas ! the stranger not only had on a black coat, but neither 
 hair nor eyes answered the description. She now happened 
 to cast her eyes on the church-clock, and found she was 
 two hours before her time. This was some comfort. She 
 walked away and got rid of the two hours as well as she
 
 OR, THE FORTUNE TELLER. 239 
 
 could, paying great attention not to walk over any straws 
 which lay across, and carefully looking to see if there were 
 never an old horse-shoe in the way, that infallible symptom 
 of good-fortune. While the clock was striking seven, she 
 returned to the church-yard, and O ! the wonderful power of 
 fortune tellers ! there she saw him ! there sat the very man ! 
 his hair as light as flax, his eyes as blue as butter-milk, and 
 his shoulders as round as a tub. Every tittle agreed, to the 
 very nosegay in his waistcoat button-hole. At first, indeed, 
 she thought it had been sweet-briar, and glad to catch at a 
 straw, whispered to herself, It is not he, and I shall marry 
 Jacob still ; but on looking again, she saw it was southern- 
 wood plain enough, and that of course all was over. The 
 man accosted her with some very nonsensical, but too ac- 
 ceptable, compliments. She was naturally a modest girl, 
 and but for Rachel's wicked arts, would not have had cour- 
 age to talk with a strange man : but how could she resist 
 her fate you know ? After a little discourse, she asked him 
 with a trembling heart, what might be his name ? Robert 
 Price, at your service, was the answer. " Robert Price, 
 that is R. P. as sure as I am alive, and the fortune teller was 
 a witch ! It is all out ! O the wonderful art of fortune 
 tellers 1" 
 
 The little sleep she had that night was disturbed with 
 dreams of graves, and ghosts, and funerals, but as they 
 were morning dreams, she knew those always went by con- 
 traries, and thai, a, funeral denoted a, wedding. Still a sigh 
 would now and then heave, to think that in that wedding 
 Jacob would have no part. Such of lny readers as know 
 the power which superstition has over the weak and cred- 
 ulous mind, scarcely need be told, that poor Sally's hap- 
 piness was soon completed, she forgot all ber vows to 
 Jacob ; she at once forsook an honest man whom she loved, 
 and consented to marry a stranger, of whom she knew
 
 240 TAWNEY RACHEL ; 
 
 nothing, from a ridiculous notion that she was compelled to 
 do so by a decree which she had it not in her power to re- 
 sist. She married this Robert Price, the strange gardener, 
 whom she soon found to be very worthless, and very much 
 in debt. He had no such thing as " money beyond sea," as 
 the fortune teller had told her ; but alas ! he had another 
 wife there. He got immediate possession of Sally's twenty 
 pounds. Rachel put in for her share, but he refused to give 
 her a farthing and bid her get away or he would have her 
 taken up on the vagrant act. He soon ran away from Sally, 
 leaving: her to bewail her own weakness ; for it was that 
 indeed, and not any irresistible fate, which had been the 
 cause of her ruin. To complete her misery, she herself was 
 suspected of having stole the silver cup which Rachel had 
 pocketed. Her master, however, would not prosecute her, 
 as she was falling into a deep decline, and she died in a few 
 months of a broken heart, a sad warning to all credulous 
 girls. 
 
 Rachel, whenever she got near home, used to drop her 
 trade of fortune telling, and only dealt in the wares of her 
 basket. Mr. Wilson, the clergyman, found her one day 
 dealing out some very wicked ballads to some children. He 
 went up with a view to give her a reprimand ; but had no 
 sooner begun his exhortation than up came a constable, fol- 
 lowed by several people. " There she is, that is the old 
 witch who tricked my wife out of the five guineas," said 
 one of them ; " do your office, constable, seize that old hag. 
 She may tell fortunes and find pots of gold in Taunton jail, 
 for there she will have nothing else to do !" This was that 
 very Farmer Jenkins, whose wife had been cheated by Rachel 
 of the five guineas. He had taken pains to trace her to 
 her own parish : he did not so much value the loss of the 
 money, as he thought it was a duty he owed the public to 
 clear the country of such vermin. Mr. Wilson immediately
 
 OR, THE FORTUNE TELLER. 241 
 
 committed her. She took her trial at the next assizes, 
 when she was sentenced to a year's imprisonment. In the 
 mean time, the pawnbroker to whom she had sold the silver 
 cup, which she had stolen from poor Sally's master, im- 
 peached her ; and as the robbery was fully proved upon 
 Rachel, she was sentenced for this crime to Botany Bay ; 
 and a happy day it was for the county of Somerset, when 
 such a nuisance was sent out of it. She was transported 
 much about the same time that her husband Giles lost his 
 life in stealing the net from the garden wall, as related in 
 the second part of poaching Giles. 
 
 I have thought it my duty to print, this little history, as 
 a kind of warning to all young men and maidens not to 
 have any thing to say to cheats, impostors, cunning women, 
 fortune tellers, conjurors, and interpreters of dreams. Lis- 
 ten to me, your true friend, when I assure you that God 
 never reveals to weak and wicked women those secret de- 
 signs of his providence, which no human wisdom is able to 
 foresee. To consult these false oracles is not only foolish, 
 but sinful. It is foolish, because they arc themselves as 
 ignorant as those whom they preten 1 to teach ; and is sin- 
 ful, because it is prying iiro that futurity which God, in 
 mercy as well as wisdom, hides fiom men. God indeed or- 
 ders all things; but when you have a mind to do a foolish 
 thing, do not fancy you are fated to do it. This is tempt- 
 ing Providence, and not trusting him. It is indeed charg- 
 ing God with folly. Providence is his gift, and you obey 
 him better when you make use of prudence, under the di- 
 rection of prayer, than when you m idly run into ruin, and 
 think you are only submitting to your fate. Never fancy 
 that you arc compelled to undo yourself, or to ru h upon 
 your own destruction, in compliance with any supp ised fa- 
 tality. Never believe that God conceals his will from a s. .ln-r 
 Christian who obeys his laws, and reveals it to a vagabond 
 
 11
 
 242 TAWNEY RACHEL. 
 
 gypsy who runs up and down breaking the laws both of 
 God and man. King Saul never consulted the witch till he 
 left off serviu£ God. The Bible will direct us what to do 
 better than any conjuror, and there are no days unlucky 
 but those which we make so by our own vanity, sin, and 
 folly.
 
 STORIES 
 
 FOIl PERSONS OF THE MIDDLE RANKS.
 
 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 (the new fashioned philosopher,) 
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 
 
 Mr. Fantom was a retail trader in the city of London. 
 As he had no turn to any expensive vices, he was reckoned 
 a sober decent man, butlie was covetous and proud, selfish 
 and conceited. As soon as he got forward in the world, his 
 vanity began to display itself, though not in the ordinary 
 method, that of making a figure and living away; but still 
 he was tormented with a longing desire to draw public 
 notice, and to distinguish himself. He felt a general dis- 
 content at what he was with a general ambition to be 
 something which he was not ; but this desire had not yet 
 turned itself to any particular object. It was not by his 
 money he could hope to be distinguished, for half his ac- 
 quaintance had more, and a man must be rich indeed to be 
 noted for his riches in London. Mr. Fantom's mind was a 
 prey to his vain imaginations. lie despised all those little 
 acts of kindness and charity which every man is called to 
 perforin every day; and while he was contriving grand 
 schemes, which lay quite out of his reach, he neglected the 
 ordinary .duties of life, which lay directly before him. 
 Selfishness was his governing principle. He fancied he was 
 lost in the mass of general society ; and the usual means 
 of attaching importance to insignificance occurred to him ;
 
 246 THE HISTORY OF MR. 
 
 that of getting into clubs and societies. To be connected 
 with a party would at least make hiui known to that party, 
 be it ever so low and contemptible ; and this local import- 
 ance it is which draws off vain minds from those scenes of 
 general usefulness, in which, though they are of more value, 
 they are of less distinction. 
 
 About this time he got hold of a famous little book, 
 written by the New Philosopher, whose pestilent docti ines 
 have gone about seeking whom they may destroy ; these 
 doctrines found a ready entrance into Mr. Fantom's mind ; 
 fi mind at once shallow and inquisitive, speculative and 
 vain, ambitious and dissatisfied. As almost every book was 
 new to him, he fell into the common error of those who 
 begin to read late in life — that of thinking that what he 
 did not know himself, was equally new to others ; and he 
 was apt to fancy that he and the author he was reading 
 were the only two people in the world who knew any thing. 
 This book led to the grand discovery ; he had now found 
 what his heart panted after — a way to distinguish himself. 
 To start out a full grown philosopher at once, to be wise 
 without education, to dispute without learning, and to make 
 proselytes without argument, was a short cut to fame, which 
 well suited his vanity and his ignorance. He rejoiced that 
 he had been so clever as to examine for himself, pitied his 
 friends who took things upon trust, and was resolved to as- 
 sert the freedom of his own mind. To a man fond of bold 
 novelties and daring paradoxes, solid argument would be 
 flat, and truth would be dull, merely because it is not new. 
 Mr. Fantom believed, not in proportion to the strength of 
 the evidence, but to the impudence of the assertion. The 
 trampling on holy ground with dirty shoes, the smearing 
 the sanctuary with filth and mire, the calling prophets and 
 apostles by the most scurrilous names was new, and dash- 
 ing, and dazzling. Mr. Fantom, now being set free from
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 247 
 
 the chains of slavery and superstition, was resolved to show 
 his zeal in themsual way, by trying to free others ; but it 
 would have hurt his vanity had he known that he was the 
 convert of a man who had written only for the vulgar, who 
 had invented nothing, no, uot even one idea of original 
 wickedness ; but who had stooped to rake up out of the 
 kennel of infidelity, all the loathsome dregs and offal dirt, 
 which politer unbelievers had thrown away as too gross 
 and offensive for the better bred readers. 
 
 Mr. Fantom, who considered that a philosopher must set 
 up with a little sort of stock in trade, now picked up all 
 the common-place notions against Christianity, which have 
 been answered a hundred times over: these he kept by 
 him ready cut and dried, and brought out in all companies 
 with a zeal which would have done honor to a better cause, 
 but which the friends to a better cause are not so apt to 
 discover. He soon got all the cant of the new school. He 
 prated about narrowness, and ignorance, and bigotry, and 
 prejudice, aud priestcraft on the one hand ; and on the 
 other, of public good, the love of mankind, and liberality, 
 and candor, and toleration, and above all, benevolence. 
 Benevolence, he said, made up the whole of religion, and 
 all the other parts of it were nothing but cant, and jargon, 
 and hypocrisy. By benevolence he understood a gloomy 
 and indefinite anxiety about the happiness of people with 
 whom he was utterly disconnected, aud whom Providence 
 had put it out of his reach either to serve or injure. And 
 by the happiness this benevolence was so anxious to pro- 
 mote, he meant an exemption from the power of the laws, 
 and an emancipation from the restraints of religion, con- 
 science, aud moral obligation. 
 
 Finding, however, that he made but little impression on 
 his old club at the Cat and Bagpipes, he grew tired of their 
 company. This club consisted of a few sober citizens, who
 
 248 THE HISTORY OF MK. FANTOM, 
 
 met of an evening for a little harmless recreation after busi* 
 ness ; their object was, not to reform parliament, but their 
 own shops ; not to correct the abuses of government, but 
 of parish officers ; not to cure the excesses of administra- 
 tion, but of their own porters and apprentices ; to talk over 
 the news of the day without aspiring to direct the events 
 of it. They read the papers with that anxiety which every 
 honest man feels in the daily history of his country. But 
 as trade, which they did understand, flourished, they were 
 careful not to reprobate those public measures by which it 
 was protected, and which they did not understand. In such 
 turbulent times it was a comfort to each to feel he was a 
 tradesman, and not a statesman ; that he was not called to 
 responsibility for a trust for which he found he had no 
 talents, while he was at full liberty to employ the talents he 
 really possessed, in fairly amassing a fortune, of which the 
 laws would be the best guardian, and government the best 
 security. Thus a legitimate self-love, regulated by prudence, 
 and restrained by principle, produced peaceable subjects 
 and good citizens ; while in Fantora, a boundless selfishness 
 and inordinate vanity converted a discontented trader into 
 a turbulent politician. 
 
 There was, however, one member of the Cat and Bag- 
 pipes whose society he could not resolve to give up, though 
 they seldom agreed, as indeed do two men in the same class 
 an 3 habits ot life could less resemble each other. Mr. 
 Trueman was an honest, plain, simple-hearted tradesman of 
 the good old cut, wdio feared God and followed his business ; 
 he went to church twice on Sundays, and minded his shop 
 all the week, spent frugally, gave liberally, and saved mod- 
 erately. He lost, however, some ground in Mr. Faatom's 
 esteem, because he paid his taxes without disputing, and 
 read his Bible without doubting. 
 
 Mr. Fantom now began to be tired of every thing in
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 249 
 
 trade except the profits of it ; for the more the word benev- 
 olence was in 'his mouth, the more did selfishness gain 
 dominion in his heart. He, however, resolved to retire for 
 a while into the country, and devote his time to his new 
 plans, schemes, theories, and projects for the public good. 
 A life of talking, and reading, and writing, and disputing, 
 and teaching, and proselyting, now struck him as the only 
 life ; so he soon set out for the country with his family ; 
 for unhappily Mr. Fantom had been the husband of a very 
 worthy woman many years before the new philosophy had 
 discovered that marriage was a shameful infringement on 
 human liberty, and an abridgement of the rights of man. 
 To this family was now added his new footman, William 
 Wilson, whom he had taken with a good character out of a 
 sober family. Mr. Fantom was no sooner settled than he 
 • wrote to invite Mr. Trueman to come and pay him a visit, 
 for he would have burst if he could not have irot some one 
 to whom he might display his new knowlo I"'e ; he knew 
 that if on the one hand Trueman was no scholar, yet on 
 the other he was no fool; and though he despised his pre- 
 judices, yet he thought he might be made a good decoy 
 duck ; for if he could once bring Trueman over, the whole 
 club at the Cat and Bagpipes might be brought to follow 
 his example \ and thus he might see himself at the head of 
 a society of his own proselytes ; the supreme object of a 
 philosopher's ambition. Trueman came accordingly. He 
 soon found that however he might be shocked at the im- 
 pious doctrines his friend maintained, yet that an important 
 lesson might be learned even from the worst enemies of 
 truth ; namely, an ever wakeful attention to their grand 
 object. If they set out with talking of trade or politics, 
 of private news or public affairs, still Mr. Fantom was ever 
 on the watch to hitch in his darling doctrines ; whatever 
 he began wdth, he was sure to end with a pert squib at the 
 
 n*
 
 250 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 Bible, a vapid jest on the clergy, the miseries of superstition, 
 and the blessings of philosophy. " Oh !" said Trueman to 
 himself, " when shall I see Christians halt' so much in earn- 
 est ? Why is it that almost all zeal is on the wrong side P 
 "Well, Mr. Fantom," said Trueman one day at breakfast, 
 " I am afraid you are leading but an idle sort of life here." 
 " Idle, sir I" said Fantom, " I now first begin to live to some 
 purpose ; I have indeed lost too much time, and wasted 
 my talents on a little retail trade, in which one is of no 
 note : one can't distinguish one's self." " So much the 
 better," said Trueman ; " I had rather not distinguish my- 
 self, unless it was by leading a better life than my neigh- 
 bors. There is nothing I should dread more than being 
 talked about. I dare say now heaven is in a good measure 
 filled with people whose names were never heard out of 
 their own street and village. So I be^ leave not to distin- 
 guish myself!" " Yes, but one may, if it is only by sign- 
 ing one's name to an essay or paragraph in a newspaper," 
 said Fantom. " Heaven keep John Trueman's name out ot 
 a newspaper," interrupted he in a fright, "for if it be there, 
 it must either be found in the Old Bailey or the bankrupt 
 fist, unless, indeed, I were to remove shop, or sell off my 
 old stock. Well, but Mr. Fantom, you, I suppose, are now 
 as happy as the day is long ?" " Oh yes," replied Fantom, 
 with a gloomy sigh, which gave the lie to his words, " per- 
 fectly happy ! I wonder you do not give up all your sordid 
 employments, and turn philosopher !" " Sordid indeed !" 
 said Trueman, " do not call names, Mr. Fantom ; I shall 
 never be ashamed of my trade. What is it has made this 
 country so great ? a country whose merchants are princes ? 
 It is trade, Mr. Fantom, trade. I can not say indeed, as 
 well as I love business, but now and then, when I am over- 
 worked, I wish I had a little more time to look after my 
 soul ; but the fear that I should not devote the time, if I
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 
 
 had it, to the best purpose, makes me work on, though 
 often, when I am balancing my accounts, I tremble, lest I 
 should neglect to balance the great account. But still, 
 since, like you, I am a man of no education, I am more 
 afraid of the temptations of leisure, than of those of busi- 
 ness ; I never was bred to read more than a chapter in the 
 Bible, or some other good book, or the magazine and news- 
 paper ; and all that I can do now, after shop is shut, is to 
 take a walk with my children in the field besides. But if 
 I had nothing to do from morning to night, I might be in 
 danger of turning politician or philosopher. No, neighbor 
 Fan torn, depend upon it, that where there is no learning, 
 next to God's grace, the best preservative of human virtue 
 is business. As to our political societies, like the armies in 
 the cave of Adullam, 'every man that is in distress, and 
 every man that is in debt, and every man that is discon- 
 tented, will always join themselves unto them.' ' 
 
 Fantom. You have narrow views, Trueman. What can 
 be more delightful than to see a paper of one's own in 
 print against tyranny and superstition, contrived with so 
 much ingenuity, that, though the law is on the look-out 
 for treason and blasphemy, a little change of name defeats 
 its scrutiny. For instance ; you may stigmatize England 
 under the name of Rome, and Christianity under the name 
 of Popery. The true way is to attack whatever you have 
 a mind to injure, under another name, and the best means 
 to destroy the use of a thing, is to produce a few incontro- 
 vertible facts against the abuses it. Our late travelers have 
 inconceivably helped on the cause of the new philosophy, 
 in their ludicrous narratives of credulity, miracles, indul- 
 gences, and processions, in popish countries, all which they 
 ridi 'ule under the broad and general name of Religion, 
 Christianity, and the Church. "And are not you ashamed 
 to defend such knavery ?" said Mr. Trueman. " Those
 
 252 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 who have a great object to accomplish," replied Mr. Fan- 
 tom, " must not be uice about tbe means. But to return 
 to yourself, Trueman ; in your little confined situation you 
 can be of no use." " That I deny," interrupted Trueman ; 
 " I have filled all the parish offices with some credit. I 
 never took a bribe at an election, no not so much as a treat ; 
 I take care of my apprentices, and do not set them a bad 
 example by running to plays and Saddler's Wells, in the 
 week or jaunting about in a gig all day on Sundays ; for I 
 look upon it that the country jaunt of the master on Sun- 
 days exposes his servants to more danger than their whole 
 week's temptation in trade put together." 
 
 Fantom. I once had the same vulgar prejudices about 
 the church and the Sabbath, and all that antiquated stuff. 
 But even on your own narrow principles, how can a think- 
 ing being spend his Sunday better (if he must lose one day 
 in seven by having any Sunday at all) than by going into 
 the country to admire the works of nature. 
 
 Trueman. I suppose you mean the works of God : for I 
 never read in the Bible that Nature made any thing. I 
 should rather think that she herself was made by Him, 
 who, when He said, " thou shalt not murder," said also, 
 " thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath day." But now 
 do you really think that all the multitude of coaches, 
 chariots, chaises, vis-a-vis, booby-hutches, sulkies, sociaoles, 
 phaetons, gigs, curricles, cabrioles, chairs, stages, pleasure- 
 carts, and horses, which crowd our roads ; all those country ■ 
 houses within reach, to which the London friends pour in 
 to the gorgeous Sunday feast, which the servants are kept 
 from church to dress; all those public houses under the 
 signs of which you read these alluring words, an ordinary 
 on Sundays; I say, do you really believe that all those 
 houses and carriages are crammed with philosophers, who 
 go on Sunday into the country to admire the works of
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 253 
 
 nature, as you call it ! Indeed, from tbe reeling gait of 
 some of them, when they go back at night, one might take 
 them for a certain sect called the tippling philosophers. 
 Then in answer to your charge, that a li;tle tradesman 
 can do no good, it is not true ; I must tell you that I be- 
 long to the Sick Man's Friend, and to the Society for reliev- 
 ing prisoners for small debts. 
 
 Fantom. I have no attention to spare for that business, 
 though I would pledge myself to produce a plan by which 
 the national debt might be paid off in six months ; but all 
 yours are petty occupations. 
 
 Trueman. Then they are better suited to petty men of 
 petty fortune. I had rather have an ounce of real good 
 done with my own hands, and seen with my own eyes, than 
 speculate about doing a ton in a wild way, which I know 
 can never be brought about. 
 
 Fantom. I despise a narrow field. Oh, for the reign of 
 universal benevolence ! I want to make all mankind good 
 and happy. 
 
 Trueman. Dear me ! sure that must be a wholesale sort 
 of a job ; had you not better try your hand at a town or a 
 parish first ! 
 
 Fantom. Sir, I have a plan in my head for relieving the 
 miseries of the whole world. Every thing is bad as it now 
 stands. I would alter all the laws ; and do away all the 
 religions, and put an end to all the wars in the world. I 
 would every where redress the injustice of fortune, or what 
 the vulgar call Providence. I would put an eud to all 
 punishments; I would not leave a single prisoner on the 
 face of the globe. This is what I call doing things on a 
 grand Bcale. " A scale with a vengeance,'' said Trueman. 
 "As to releasing the prisoners, however, I do nol so much 
 like thai, as it. would be liberating a tew rogues at tie' ex- 
 pense of all honest men ; but as to the rest of your plans,
 
 254 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 if all Christian countries would he so good as to turn Chris- 
 tians, it might be helped on a good deal. There would be 
 still misery enough left indeed ; because God intended this 
 world should be earth and not heaven. But, sir, among all 
 your oblations, you must abolish human corruption before 
 you can make the world quite as perfect as you pretend. 
 You philosophers seem to me to be ignorant of the wry 
 first seed and principle of misery — sin, sir, sin : your system 
 of reform is radically defective ; for it does not comprehend 
 that sinful nature from which all misery proceeds. You 
 accuse government of defects which belong to man, to indi- 
 vidual man, and of course to man collectively. Among :ill 
 your reforms you must reform the human heart ; you are 
 only hacking at the branches, without striking at the root, 
 Banishing impiety out of the world, would be like striking 
 off all the pounds from an overcharged bill ; and all the 
 troubles which would be left, would be reduced to mere 
 shillings, pence, and farthings, as one may say." 
 
 Fantom. Your project would rivet the chains which mine 
 is designed to break. 
 
 Trueman. Sir, I have no projects. Projects are in gen- 
 eral the offspring of restlessness, vanity, and idleness. I 
 am too busy for projects, too contented for theories, and, 1 
 hope, have too much honesty and humility for a philos- 
 opher. The utmost extent of my ambition at present is, to 
 redress the wrongs of a parish apprentice who has been 
 cruelly used by his master; indeed I have another little 
 scheme, which is to prosecute a fellow in our street who has 
 Mill red a poor wretch in a workhouse, of which he had the 
 care, to perish through neglect, and you must assist me. 
 
 Fantom. The parish must <lo that. You must nol apply 
 to me for the redress of such petty grievances. I own that 
 the wrongs of the Pules and South Americans so fill my 
 mind as to leave me no time to attend to the petty sorrows
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 250 
 
 of workhouses and parish apprentices. It is provinces, em- 
 pires, continents, that the benevolence of the philosopher 
 embraces ; every one can do a little paltry good to his next 
 neighbor. 
 
 Trueman. Every one can, but I do not see that every one 
 does. If they would, indeed, your business would be ready 
 done at your hands, and your grand ocean of benevolence 
 would be filled with the drops which private charity would 
 throw into it. I am glad, however, you are such a friend 
 to the prisoners, because I am just now getting a little sub- 
 scription from our club, to set free our poor old friend, Tom 
 Saunders, a very honest brother tradesman, who got first 
 into debt, and then into jail, through no fault of his own, 
 but merely through the pressure of the times. We have 
 each of us allowed a trifle every week toward maintaining 
 Tom's young family since he has been in piison ; but we 
 think we shall do much more service to Saunders, and, in- 
 deed, in the end, lighten our expense, by paying down at 
 once a little sum to restore him to the comforts of life, and 
 put him in the way of maintaining his family again. We 
 have made up the money all except five guineas 5 1 am al- 
 ready promised four, and you have nothing to do but give 
 me the fifth. And so for a single guinea, without any of 
 the trouble, the meetings, and the looking into his affairs, 
 which we have had ; which, let me tell you, is the best, and 
 to a man of business, the dearest part of charity, you will 
 at once have the pleasure (and it Is no small one) of help- 
 ing to save a worthy family from starving, of redeeming an 
 old friend from jail, and of putting a little of your boasted 
 bm.evolenee into action. Realize ! Master Fantom — there is 
 in thing like realizing. " Why, hark ye, Mr. Trueman," said 
 I atom, stammering, aDd lookingvery black ; "do Dot think 
 I value a guinea ; no, sir, I despise money ; is is trash ; it is 
 dirt, and beneath the regard of a wise man. It is one <>(
 
 256 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 the unfeeling inventions of artificial society. Sir, I could 
 talk to you for half a clay on the abuse of riches, and on 
 my own contempt for money." 
 
 Trueman. 0, pray do not give yourself the trouble ; it 
 will be an easier way by half of vindicating yourself from 
 one, and of proving the other, just to put your hand in your 
 pocket and give me a guinea, without saying a word about 
 it ; and then to you, who value time so much, and money 
 so little, it will cut the matter short. But come now (for I 
 see you will give nothing), I should be mighty glad to know 
 what is the sort of good you do yourself, since you always 
 object to what is done by others ? " Sir," said Mr. Fan- 
 torn ; " the object of a true philosopher is to diffuse light 
 and knowledge. I wish to see the whole world enlight- 
 ened." 
 
 Trueman. Amen ! if you mean with the light of the 
 gospel. But if you mean that one religion is as good as 
 another, and that no religion is best of all ; and that we 
 shall become wiser and better by setting aside the very 
 means which Providence bestow T ed to make us wise and 
 good ; in short, if you want to make the whole world 
 philosophers, why they had better stay as they are. But 
 as to the true light, I wish to reach the very lowest, and I 
 therefore bless God for charity-schools, as instruments of 
 diffusing it among the poor. 
 
 Fantom, who had no reason to suspect that his friend 
 was going to call upon him for a subscription on this ac- 
 count, ventured to praise them, saying, " I am no enemy to 
 these institutions. I would, indeed, change the object of 
 instruction, but I would have the whole world instructed." 
 
 Here Mrs. Fantom, who, with her daughter, had quietly 
 sat by at their work, ventured to put in a word, a liberty 
 she seldom took with her husband, who, in his zeal to make 
 the whole world free and happy, was too prudent to include
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 257 
 
 his wife among - the objects on whom he wished to confer 
 freedom and happiness. " Then, my dear," said she, " I 
 wonder you do not let your own servants be taught a little. 
 The maids can scarcely tell a letter, or say the Lord's Prayer, 
 and you know you will not allow them time to learn. Wil- 
 liam, too, has never been at church since we came out of 
 town. He was at first very orderly and obedient, but now 
 he is seldom sober of an evening ; and in the morning, 
 when he should be rubbing the tables in the parlor, he is 
 generally lolling upon them, and reading your little manual 
 of the new philosophy." " Mrs. Fantom," said her husband, 
 angrily, " you know that my labors for the public good 
 leave me little time to think of my own fami y. I must 
 have a great field ; I like to do good to hundreds at once." 
 
 " I am very glad of that, papa," said Miss Polly ; " for 
 then I hope you will not refuse to subscribe to all those 
 pretty children at the Sunday Scdiool, as you did yesterday, 
 when the gentlemen came a begging, because that is the 
 very thing you were wishing for ; there are two or three 
 hundred to be done good at once." 
 
 Trueman. Well, Mr. Fantom, you are a wonderful man 
 to keep up such a stock of benevolence at so small an ex- 
 pense. To love mankind so dearly, and yet avoid all op- 
 portunities of doing them good ; to have such a noble zeal 
 for the millions, and to feel so little compassion for the 
 units ; to lon^ to free empires and enlighten kingdoms ; and 
 yet deny instruction to your own village, and comfort to 
 your own family. Surely none hut a philosopher could in- 
 dulge so much philanthropy and so much frugality at the, 
 same time. But come, do assist me in a partition I am 
 making in our poor-house ; between the old, whom I want 
 to have better fed, and the young, whom I want to have 
 more worked.- 
 
 Fantom. Sir, my mind is so engrossed with the partition
 
 258 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 of Poland, that I can not bring it down to an object of 
 such insignificance. I despise the man whose benevolence 
 is swallowed up in the narrow concerns of his own family, 
 or parish, or country. 
 
 Trueman. Well, now I have a notion that it is as well 
 to do one's own duty as the duty of another man ; and 
 tliat to do good' at home is as well as to do good abroad. 
 For my part, I had as lieve help Tom Saunders to freedom 
 as a Pole or a South American, though I should be very 
 glad to help them too. But one must begin to love some- 
 where ; and to do good somewhere ; and I think it is as 
 natural to love one's own family, and to do good in one's 
 own neighborhood, as to any body else. And if every man 
 in every family, parish, and country, did the same, why 
 then all ihe schemes would meet, and the end of one parish, 
 where I was doing good, would be the beginning of an- 
 other parish where somebody else was doing good ; so my 
 schemes would jut into my neighbor's; his projects would 
 unite with those of some other local reformer ; and all would 
 fit with a sort of dove-tail exactness. And what is better, 
 all would join in forming a living comment on that practical 
 precept; "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
 heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." 
 
 Fantom. Sir, a man of large views will be on the watch 
 for great occasions to prove his benevolence. 
 
 Trueman. Yes, sir ; but if they are so distant that he can 
 not reach them, or so vast that he can not grasp them, he 
 may let a thousand little, snug, kind, good actions slip 
 through his fingers in the meanwhile ; and so between the 
 great things that he can not do, and the little ones that he 
 will not do, life passes and nothing will be done. 
 
 Ju6t at this moment Miss Polly Fantom (whose mother 
 had gone out some time before) started up, let fall her 
 work, and cried out, " O, papa, do but look what a mon-
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 259 
 
 strous great fire there is yonder on the common ! If it were 
 the fifth of November I should think it were a bonfire. 
 Look how it blazes." " I see plain enough what it is," 
 said Mr. Fantom, sitting- down as;ain without the least emo- 
 tion. " It is Jenkins's cottage on fire." " What, poor John 
 Jenkins, who works in our garden, papa ?" said the poor 
 girl, in great terror. " Do not be frightened, child," an- 
 swered Fantom ; " we are safe enough ; the wind blows the 
 other way. Why did you disturb us for such a trifle, as it 
 was ho distant ? Come, Mr. Trueman, sit down." " Sit 
 down !" said Mr. Trueman ; " I am not a stock, nor a stone, 
 but a man, made of the same common nature with Jenkins, 
 whose house is burning. Come along — let us fly and help 
 him," continued he, running to the door in such haste that 
 he forgot to take his hat, though it hung just before him. 
 " Come, Mr. Fantom — come, my little dear ; I wish your 
 mamma was here ; I am sorry she went out just now ; we 
 may ail do some good ; every body may be of some use at 
 a fire. Even you, Miss Polly, may save some of these poor 
 people's things in your apron, while your papa and I hand 
 the buckets." All this he said as he ran along with the 
 young lady in his hand, not doubting but Fantom and his 
 whole family were following close behind him. But the 
 present distress was neither grand enough nor far enough 
 from home to satisfy the wide-stretched benevolence of the 
 philosopher, who sat down within sight of the flames to 
 work at a new pamphlet, which now swallowed up his 
 whole soul, on Universal Benevolence. 
 
 His daughter, indeed, who happily was not yet a philos- 
 opher, with Mr. Trueman, followed by the maids, reached 
 the scene of distress. William Wilson, the footman, re- 
 fused to assist, glad of such an opportunity of being re- 
 venged on Jenkins, whom he called a surly fellow, for pre- 
 suming to complain because William always purloined the
 
 260 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 best fruit for himself before he set it on his master's table.' 
 Jenkins, also, whose duty it was to be out of doors, had re- 
 fused to l< j ave his own work in the garden to do Will's work 
 in the house while he got drunk, or read the Rights of Man. 
 
 The little dwelling of Jenkins burned very furiously. 
 Mr. Trueman's exertions were of the greatest service. He 
 directed the willing, and gave an example to the slotliful. 
 By living in London, he had been more used to the calam- 
 ity of fire than the country people, and knew better what 
 was to be done. In the midst of the bustle he saw one 
 woman only who never attempted' to be of the least use. 
 She ran backward and forward, wringing her hands, and 
 crying out in a tone of piercing agony, " Oh, my child ! 
 my little Tommy ! will no one save my Tommy ?" Any 
 woman might have uttered the same words, but the look 
 which explained them could only come from a mother. 
 Trueman did not stay to ask if she were owner of the house, 
 and mother of the child. It was his way to do all the good 
 that could be done first, and then to ask questions. All he 
 said was, " Tell me which is the room ?" The poor woman 
 now speechless through terror, could only point up to a 
 little window in the thatch, and then sunk on the ground. 
 
 Mr. Trueman made his way through a thick smoke, and 
 ran up the narrow staircase which the fire had not reached. 
 He got safely to the loft, snatched up the little creature, 
 who was sweetly sleeping in its poor hammock, and brought 
 him down naked in his arms: and as he gave him to the 
 half-distracted mother, he felt that her joy and gratitude 
 would have been no bad pay for the danger he had run, 
 even if no higher motive had set him to work. Poor Jen- 
 kibs, half stupefied by his misfortune, had never thought of 
 his child ; and his wife, who expected every hour to make 
 him father to a second, had not been able to do any thing 
 toward saving little Tommy.
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 261 
 
 Mr. Trueman now put the child into Miss Fantom's apron, 
 saying, " Did uof I tell you, my dear, that every body could 
 be of use at a fire?" He then desired her to carry the 
 child home, and ordered the poor woman to follow her; 
 saying, he would return himself as soon as he had seen all 
 safe in the cottage. 
 
 When the fire was quite out, and Mr. Trueman could be 
 of no further use, he went back to Mr. Fantom's. The 
 instant he opened the parlor door he eagerly cried out, 
 " "Where is the poor woman, Mr. Fantom ?" " Not in my 
 house, I assure you," answered the philosopher. " Give me 
 leave to tell you, it was a very romantic thing to send her 
 and her child to me ; you should have provided for them at 
 once, like a prudent man." "I thought I had done so," 
 replied Trueman, " by sending them to the nearest and best 
 house in the parish, as the poor woman seemed to stand in 
 need of immediate assistance." " So immediate," said Fan- 
 torn, " that I would not let her come into my house, for 
 fear of what might happen. So I packed her off, with her 
 I'hild in her arms, to the workhouse ; with orders to the 
 overseers not to let her want for any thing." 
 
 " And what right have you, Mr. Fantom," cried Trueman 
 in a high tone, " to expect that the overseers will be more 
 humane than yourself! But is it possible you can have sent 
 that helpless creature, not only to walk, but to carry a naked 
 child at such a time of night, to a place so distant, so ill 
 provided, and in such a condition ? I hope at least you 
 have furnished them with clothes; for all their own little 
 stores were burnt." " Not I, indeed ;" said Fantom. " What 
 is the use of parish officers, but to look after these petty 
 things?" 
 
 It was Mr. Tnieman's way, when he began to feel v ry 
 angry, not to allow himself to speak, "because," he used to 
 say, "if I give vent to my feelings, I am sure, by some
 
 262 THE HISTORY OF MB. FANTOM, 
 
 hasty word, to cut myself out work for repentance." So 
 without making any answer, or even changing his clothes, 
 which were very wet and dirty from having worked so hard 
 at the fire, he walked out again, having first inquired the 
 road the woman had taken. At the door he met Mrs. Fan- 
 torn returning from her visit. He told her his tale : which 
 she had no sooner heard, than she kindly resolved to ac- 
 company him in search of Jenkins's wife. She had a wide 
 common to walk over before she could reach either the 
 workhouse or the nearest cottage. She had crawled along 
 with her baby as far as she was able ; but having met with 
 no refreshment at Mr. Fantom's, and her strength quite 
 failing her, she had sunk down on the middle of the com- 
 mon. Happily, Mr. Trueman and Mrs. Fantom came up 
 at this very time. The former had had the precaution to 
 bring a cordial, and the latter had gone back and stuffed 
 her pockets with old baby linen. Mr. Trueman soon pro- 
 cured the assistance of a laborer, who happened to pass by, 
 to help him to carry the mother, and Mrs. Fantom carried 
 the little shivering baby. 
 
 As soon as they were safely lodged, Mr. Trueman set off 
 in search of poor Jenkins, who was distressed to know what 
 was become of his wife and child ; for having heard that 
 they were seen going toward Mr. Fantom's, he despaired of 
 any assistance from that quarter. Mr. Trueman felt no 
 small satisfaction in uniting this poor man to his little 
 family. There was something very moving in this meeting, 
 and in the pious gratitude they expressed for their deliver- 
 ance. They seemed to forget they had lost their all, in the 
 joy they felt that they had not lost each other. And some 
 disdainful great ones might have smiled to see so much 
 rapture expressed at the safety of a child born to no inher- 
 itance but poverty. These are among the feelings with 
 which Providence sometimes overpays the want of wealth.
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 263 
 
 The good people also poured out prayers and blessings on 
 their deliverer, who, not being a philosopher, was no more 
 ashamed of praying with them than he had been of work- 
 ing for them. Mr. Trueman, while assisting at the fire, had 
 heard that Jenkins and his wife were both very honest, and 
 very pious people ; so he told them he would not only pay 
 for their new lodmno-s, but undertook to raise a little sub- 
 scription among his friends at the Cat and Bagpipes toward 
 rebuilding their cottage ; and further engaged that if they 
 would promise to bring up the child in the fear of God, he 
 would stand godfather. 
 
 This exercise of Christian charity had given such a cheer- 
 ful flow to Mr. Trueman's spirits, that long before he got 
 home he had lost every trace of ill-humor. "Well, Mr. 
 Fantom," said he gayly, as he opened the door, " now do 
 tell me how you could possibly refuse going to help me to 
 put out the fire at poor Jenkins's ?" " Because," said Fan- 
 torn, " I was engaged, sir, in a far nobler project than put- 
 ting out a fire in a little thatched cottage. Sir, I was con- 
 triving to put out a fire too ; a conflagration of a far more 
 dreadful kind — a fire, sir, in the extinction of which uni- 
 versal man is concerned — I was contriving a scheme to ex- 
 tinguish the fires of the Inquisition." " Why, man, they 
 don't blaze that I know of," retorted Trueman. " I own, 
 that of all the abominable engines which the devil ever in- 
 vented to disgrace religion and plague mankind, that In- 
 quisition was the very worst. But I do not believe popery 
 has ventured at these diabolical tricks since the earthquake 
 at" Lisbon, so that a bucket of real water, carried to the real 
 fire at Jenkins's cottage, would have done more good than 
 a wild plan to put out an imaginary flame which no longer 
 burns. And let me tell you, sir, dreadful as that evil was, 
 God can send his judgments on other sins besides supersti- 
 tion ; so it behoves us to take heed of the other extreme
 
 264 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 or we may have our earthquakes too." " The hand of God 
 is not shortened, sir, that it can not destroy, any more than 
 it can not save. In the meantime, I must repeat it ; you 
 and I are rather called upon to serve a neighbor from 
 perishing in the flames of his house, just under our own 
 window, than to write about the fires of the Inquisition; 
 which, if fear, or shame, or the restoration of common 
 sense had not already put out, would have hardly received 
 a cheek from such poor hands as you and I." 
 
 "Sir," said Fantom, "Jenkins is an impertinent fellow; 
 and I owe him a grudge, because he says he had rather for- 
 feit the favor of the best master in England than work in 
 my garden on a Sunday. And when I ordered him to read 
 the Age of Reason, instead of going to church, he refused 
 to work for me at all, with some impertinent hint about 
 God and Mammon." 
 
 " Oh, did he so ?" said Mr. Trueman. " Now I will stand 
 godfather to his child, and made him a handsome present 
 into the bargain. Indeed, Mr. Fantom, a man must be a 
 philosopher with a vengeance, if when he sees a house on 
 fire, he stays to consider whether the owner has offended 
 him. Oh, Mr. Fantom, I will forgive you still, if you will 
 produce me, out of all your philosophy, such a sentence as 
 ' Love your enemy — do good to them that hate you — if 
 thine enemy hunger, feed him ; if he thirst, give him 
 drink ;' I will give up the blessed gospel for the Age of 
 Reason, if you will only bring me one sentinent equivalent 
 to this." 
 
 Next day Mr. Trueman was obliged to go to London on 
 business, but returned soon, as the time he had allotted to 
 spend with Mr. Fantom was not yet elapsed. He came 
 down the sooner indeed, that he might bring a small sum 
 of money which the gentlemen at the Cat aud Bagpipes had 
 cheerfully subscribed for Jenkins. Trueman did not forget
 
 AND HIS MAN "WILLIAM. 2Go 
 
 to desire his wife to make up also a quantity of clothing for 
 this poor family, to which he did not neglect to add a 
 parcel of good books, which, indeed, always made a part of 
 his charities ; as he used to say, there was something cruel 
 in the kindness which was anxious to relieve the bodies of 
 men, but was negligent of their souls. He stood in person 
 to the new-born child, and observed -with much pleasure, 
 that Jenkins and his wife thought a christening, not a season 
 for merry-making, but a solemn act of religion. And they 
 dedicated their infant to his Maker with becoming serious- 
 ness. 
 
 Trueman left the cottage and got back to Mr. Fantom's, 
 jusl as the family were going to sit down to dinner, as he 
 had promised. 
 
 When they sat down, Mr. Fantom was not a little out of 
 humor to see his table in some disorder. William was also 
 rather more negligent than usual. If the company called 
 for bread, he gave them beer, and he took away the clean 
 plates, and gave them dirty ones. Mr. Fantom soon dis- 
 covered that his servant was very drunk; he flew into a 
 violent passion, and ordered him out of the mom, charging 
 thai he sliouM nut appear in his presence in that condition. 
 William obeyed ; hut having siepi an hour or two, and got 
 about half sober, he again made his appearance. His mas- 
 ter gave him a most severe reprimand, and called him an 
 idle, drunken, vicious fellow. " Sir," said William, very 
 pertly, "if I do get drunk now and then, I only do it for 
 the good of my country, and in obedience to your wishes." 
 Mr. Fantom, thoroughly provoked, now began to scold him 
 in words not fit to be repeated; and asked him what he 
 meant. " Why, sir," said William, "you an- a philosopher 
 you know; and 1 have often overheard you say to your 
 company, that private vices are public benefits; and so I 
 thought that getting drunk was as pleasant a way of doing 
 
 12
 
 266 THE HISTORY OF MR. FAN TOM, 
 
 good to the public as any, especially when 1 could oblige 
 my master at the same time." 
 
 " Get out of my house," said Mr. Fantom, in a great rage. 
 " I do not desire to stay a moment longer," said William, 
 " so pay me my wages." " Not I, indeed," replied the 
 master ; " nor will I give you a character ; so never let me 
 see your face again." William took his master at his word, 
 and not only got out of the house, but went out of the coun- 
 try too as fast as possible. When they found he was really 
 gone, they made a hue-and-cry, in order to detain him till 
 they examined if he had left every thing in the house as he 
 had found it. But William had got out of reach, knowing 
 he could not stand such a scrutiny. On examination, Mr. 
 Fantom found that all his old port was gone, and Mrs. Fan- 
 tom missed three of her best new spoons. William was 
 pursued, but without success ; and Mr. Fantom was so 
 much discomposed that he could not for the rest of the day 
 talk on any subject but his wine and his spoons, nor ha- 
 rangue on any project but that of recovering both by bring- 
 ing William to justice. 
 
 Some days passed away, in which Mr. Fantom, having 
 had time to cool, began to be ashamed that he had been 
 betrayed into such ungoverned passion. He made the best 
 excuse he could ; said no man was perfect, and though he 
 owned he had been too violent, yet still he hoped William 
 would be brought to the punishment he deserved. " In 
 the meantime," said Trueman, "seeing how ill philosophy 
 has agreed with your man, suppose you were to set about 
 teaching your maids a little religion?" Mr. Fantom coolly 
 replied, " that the impertinent retort of a drunken footman 
 could not spoil a system." "Your system, however, and 
 your own behavior," said Trueman, " have made that foot- 
 man a scoundrel, and you arc answerable for his offenses," 
 " Not I, truly," said Fantom ; " he has seen me do no
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 267 
 
 harm ; he has neither seen me cheat, gamble, nor get 
 drunk ; and I defy you to say I corrupt my servants. I am 
 a moral man, sir." 
 
 " Mr. Fantom," said Trueman, " if you were to get drunk 
 every day, and game every night, you would, indeed, en- 
 danger your own soul, and give a dreadful example to your 
 family ; but great as those sins are, and God forbid that I 
 should attempt to lessen them ! still they are not worse, 
 nay, they are not so bad, as the pestilent 'doctrines with 
 which you infect your house and your neighborhood. A 
 bad action is like a single murder. The consequence may 
 end with the crime, to all but the perpetrator ; but a wicked 
 principle is throwing lighted gunpowder into a town ; it is 
 poisoning a river; there are no bounds, no certainty, no 
 ends to its mischief. The ill effects of the worst action may 
 cease in time, and the consequences of your bad example 
 may end with your life ; but souls may be brought to per- 
 dition by a wicked principle after the author of it has been 
 dead for aws." 
 
 Fantom. You talk like an ignoramus who has never read 
 the new philosophy. All this nonsense of future punish- 
 ment is now done away. It is our benevolence which 
 makes us rejecl pour creed ; we can no more believe in a 
 Deity who permits so much evil in the present world, than 
 one who threatens eternal punishment in the next. 
 
 Trueman. What ! shall mortal man be more merciful 
 than God ? Do you pretend to be more compassionate 
 than that gracious Father who sent his own Son into the 
 world to die for sinners ? 
 
 Fantom. You take all your notions of the Deity from the 
 vulgar views your Bible gives you of him. "To be sure I 
 do," said Trueman. " Can you tell me any way of getting 
 a better notion of him? I do not waul any of your far- 
 thing-candle philosophy in the broad sunshine of the gos-
 
 268 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 pel, Mr. Fantom. My Bible tells me that ' God is love ;' 
 not merely loving, but love. Now, do you think a Being, 
 e very essence is love, would permit any misery among 
 his children here, if it was not to be, some way or other, or 
 sonic where or other, for their good ? You forget, too, that 
 in a world where there is sin, there must be misery. Then, 
 too, I suppose, God permits this very misery, partly to ex- 
 ercise the sufferers, and partly to try the prosperous ; for by 
 trouble God corrects some and tries others. Suppose, now, 
 Tom Saunders had not been put in prison, you and I — no, 
 I beg pardon, you saved your guinea ; well, then, our club 
 and I could not have shown our kindness in getting him 
 out ; nor would poor Saunders himself have had an oppor- 
 tunity of exercising his own patience and submission under 
 waut and imprisonment. So you see one reason why God 
 permits misery is, that good men may have an opportunity 
 of lessening it." Mr. Fantom replied, " There is no object 
 which I have more at heart ; I have, as I told you, a plan 
 in my head of such universal benevolence as to include the 
 happiness of all mankind." " Mr. Fantom," said Trueman, 
 " I feel that I have a general good will to all my brethren 
 of mankind ; and if I had as much money iu my purse as 
 love in my heart, I trust I should prove it. All I say is, 
 that, in a station of life where I can not do much, I am 
 more called upon to procure the happiness of a poor neigh- 
 bor, who has no one else to look to, than to form wild plans 
 for the good of mankind, too extensive to be accomplished, 
 and too chimerical to be put in practice. It is the height 
 of folly for a little ignorant tradesman to distract himself 
 with projecting schemes which require the wisdom of schol- 
 ars, the experience of statesmen, and the power of kings to 
 accomplish. I can not free whole countries, nor reform the 
 evils of society at large, but I can free an aggrieved wretch 
 in & workhouse ; I can relieve the distresses of one of my
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 209 
 
 journeymen ; and I can labor to reform myself and my own 
 family." 
 
 Some weeks after this a letter was brought to Mr. Fan- 
 torn from Lis late servant, William, who had been turned 
 away for drunkenness, as related above, and who had also 
 robbed bis master of some wine and some spoons. Mr. 
 Fautoin, glancing bis eye over tbe letter, said, " It is dated 
 from Chelmsford jail ; tbat rascal bas got into prison. I 
 am glad of it with all my heart ; it is tbe fittest place for 
 such scoundrels. I hope he will be sent to Botany Bay, if 
 not hanged." " O, ho ! my good friend," said lineman ; 
 " then I find that in abolishing all prisons you would just 
 let one stand for the accommodation of those who would 
 happen to rob you. General benevolence, I see, is compat- 
 ible with particular resentments, though individual kindness 
 is not consistent with universal philanthropy." Mr. Fantom 
 drily observed that he was not fond of jokes, and proceeded 
 to read the letter. It expressed an earnest wish that his 
 late master would condescend to pay him one visit in his 
 dark and doleful abode, as he wished to say a few words to 
 him before the dreadful sentence of the law, which had al- 
 ready been pronounced, should be executed. 
 
 "Let us go and see tbe poor fellow," said Trueman ; " it 
 is but a morning's ride. If he is really so near his end it 
 would be cruel to refuse him," " Not I, truly," said Fan- 
 tom ; " he deserves nothing at my hands but the halter he 
 is likely to meet with. Such port is not to be had for 
 money ! and the sjiomus — part of my new dozen !" " As to 
 the wine," said Trueman, " I a:n afraid you must give that 
 up, but the only way to get any tidings of the spoons is to 
 go and hear what he has to say ; I have no doubt but he 
 will make such a confession as may be very useful to others, 
 which, you know, is one grand advantage of punishments ; 
 and, besides, we may afford him some little comfort." "As
 
 270 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 to comfort, be deserves none from me," said Fantom ; " and 
 is to Lis concessions, they can be of no use to me, but as 
 they give me a chance of getting my spoons ; so 1 do not 
 much care if I do take a ride with you." 
 
 When they came to the prison, Mr. Trueman's tender 
 heart sunk within him. He deplored the corrupt nature of 
 man, which makes such rigorous confinement indispensably 
 needful, not merely for the punishment of the offender, but 
 for the safety of society. Fantom, from mere trick and 
 habit, was just preparing a speech on benevolence, and the 
 cruelty of imprisonment ; for he had a set of sentiments 
 collected from the new philosophy which he always kept 
 by him. The naming a man in power brought out the 
 ready cut and dried phrase against oppression. The idea 
 of rank included every vice, that of poverty every virtue ; 
 and he was furnished with all the invectives against the 
 cruelty of laws, punishments, and prisons, which the *iew 
 lexicon has produced. But his-mechanical benevolence was 
 suddenly checked ; the recollection of his old port and his 
 new spoons cooled his ardor, and he went on without say- 
 ing a word. 
 
 When they reached the cell where the unhappy William 
 was confined, t: ey stopped at the door. The poor wretch 
 had thrown himself on the ground, as well as his chains 
 would permit. lie groaned piteously, and was so swallowed 
 up with a sense of his own miseries, that he neither heard 
 the door open nor saw the gentlemen. He was attempting 
 to pray, but in an agony which made Ins words hardly in- 
 telligible. Thus much they could make out — "God be 
 merciful to me a sinner, the chief of sinneis!" then, sud- 
 denly attempting to start up, but prevented by his irons, he 
 roared out, " O, God ! thou canst not be merciful to me, for 
 I have denied thee ; I have ridiculed my Saviour who died 
 for me ; I have broken his laws ; I have derided his word ;
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 2*71 
 
 1 /ave resisted his Spirit ; I have laughed at that heaven 
 ■« «ich is shut against me ; I have denied the truth of those 
 torments which await me. To-morrow! to-morrow! 
 foi a longer space for repentance ! O for a short reprieve 
 fhui hell !" 
 
 Mr. Trueman wept so loud that it drew the attention of 
 the criminal, who now lifted up his eyes, aud cast on his 
 late master a look so dreadful that Fantom wished for a 
 moment that he had given up all hope of the spoons, rather 
 than have exposed himself to such a scene. At length the 
 poor wretch said, in a low voice that would have melted 
 a heart of stone, " 0, sir, are you there ? I did indeed wish 
 to see you before my dreadful sentence is put in execution. 
 O, sir, to-morrow ! to-morrow ! But I have a confession to 
 make to you." This revived Mr. Fantom, who again ven- 
 tured to glance a hope at the spoons. " Sir," said William, 
 " I could not die without making my confession." " Ay, 
 and restitution, too, I hope," replied Fantom. " Where are 
 my spoons ?" " Sir, they are gone with the rest of my 
 Avretched booty. But oh, sir ! those spoons make so petty 
 an article iu my black account, that I hardly think of them. 
 Murder ! sir — murder is the crime for -which I am justly 
 doomed to die. O, sir, who can abide the anger of an of- 
 fended God? Who can dwell with everlasting burnings?" 
 As this was a question -which even a philosopher could not 
 answer, Mr. Fantom was going to steal off, especially as he 
 now gave up all hope of the spoons ; hut William called 
 him back : " Stay, sir, I conjure you, as you will answer it 
 at the bar of God. You must hear the sins of which you 
 have been the occasion. You are the cause of my being 
 about 10 sutler a shameful death. Yes, sir, \on made me 
 a drunkard, a thief, and a murderer." "How dare you, 
 William," cried Mr. Kautom, with great emotion, "accuse 
 me of being the cause of such horrid crimes ?" " Sir,"
 
 272 THE HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 answered the criminal, "from you I learned the prinoiples 
 which lead to those crimes. By the grace of God I should 
 never have fallen into sins deserving of the gallows, if I 
 had not overheard you say there was no hereafter, no ju !g- 
 meut, no future reckoning. O, sir, there is a hell, dreadful, 
 inconceivable, eternal!" Here, through the excess of an- 
 guish, the poor fellow fainted away. Mr. Fantom, who did 
 not at all relish this scene, said to his friend, " Well, sir, we 
 will go, if you please, for you see there is nothing to be 
 done." 
 
 " Sir," replied Mr. Trueman, mournfully, " you may go 
 if you please, but I shall stay, for I see there is a great deal 
 to be done." " What !" rejoined the other, " do you think 
 it possible his life can be saved ?" " No, indeed," said True- 
 man, " but I hope it possible his soul may be saved !" "I 
 do not understand these things," said Fantom, making 
 toward the door. " Nor I, neither," said Trueman, u but as 
 a fellow-sinner, I am bound to do what I can for this poor 
 man. Do you go home, Mr. Fantom, and finish your trea- 
 tise on universal benevolence, and the blessed effects of 
 philosophy ; and, hark ye, be sure you let the frontispiece 
 of your book represent William on the gibbet ; that will be 
 what our minister calls a practical illustration. You 
 know I hate theories ; this is realizing ; this is philosophy 
 made easy to the meanest capacity. This is the precious 
 fruit which grows on that darling tree, so many slips of 
 which have been transplanted from that land of liberty of 
 which it is the native, but which, with all your digging, 
 planting, watering, dunging, and dressing, will, I trust, never 
 thrive in this blessed land of ours." 
 
 Mr. Fantom sneaked oil to finish his work at home, and 
 Mr. Trueman staid to finish his in the prison. He .passed 
 the night with the wretched convict ; he prayed with him 
 and for him, and read to him the penitential psalms, and
 
 AND HIS MAN WILLIAM. 2*73 
 
 some portions of the gospel. But lie was too humble and 
 too prudent ajnan to venture out of his depth by argu- 
 ments and consolations which he was not warranted to use; 
 this he left for the clergyman — but he pressed on William 
 the great duty of making the only amends now in his power 
 to those whom he had led astray. They then drew up the 
 following paper, which Mr. Trueman got printed, and gave 
 away at the place of execution : 
 
 THE LAST WORDS, CONFESSION, AND DYING SPEECH OF WIL- 
 LIAM WILSON, WHO WAS EXECUTED AT CHELMSFORD, FOR 
 MURDER. 
 
 " I was bred up in the fear of God, and lived with credit 
 in many sober families, in which I was a faithful servant ; 
 but being tempted by a little higher wages, I left a good 
 place to go and live with Mr. Fantom, who, however, made 
 good none of his fine promises, but proved a hard master. 
 Full of fine words and charitable speeches in favor of the 
 poor ; but apt to oppress, overwork, and underpay them. 
 In his service I was not allowed time to go to church. 
 This troubled me at first, till I overheard my master say, 
 that going to church was a superstitious prejudice, and only 
 iin ant for the vulgar. Upon this I resolved to go no more, for 
 I thought there could nol be two religions, one for the master 
 and one for the servant. Finding my master never prayed, I, 
 too, left off praying ; this gave Satan great power over me, so 
 that I from that time fell into almost every sin. I was very 
 uneasy at first, and my conscience gave me no rest: but I 
 was soon reconciled by overhearing my master and another 
 gentleman -ay. that death was only an eternal sleep, and hell 
 andjudgmenl were bul an invention of priests to keep the poor 
 in order. I mention this as a warning to all master- and mis- 
 tresses to take care what they converse about while servants 
 are waiting at table. They can not tell how many souls 
 
 12*
 
 274 THE HISTORY OF MR.'FANTOM, 
 
 they have sent to perdition with such loose talk. The crime 
 for which I die is the natural consequence of the principles 
 I learned of my master. A rich man, indeed, who throws 
 off religion, may escape the gallows, because want does not 
 drive him to commit those crimes which lead to it ; but 
 what shall restrain a needy man, who has been taught that 
 there is no dreadful reckoning ? Honesty is but a dream with- 
 out the awful sanctions of heaven and hell. Virtue is but 
 a shadow, if it be stripped of the terrors and promises of the 
 gospel. Morality is but an empty name, if it be destitute 
 of the principle and power of Christianity. O, my dear 
 fellow servants ! take warning by my sad fate ; never be 
 tempted away from a sober service for the sake of a little 
 more wages ; never venture your immortal souls to houses 
 where God is not feared. And now hear me, O my God ! 
 though I have blasphemed thee ! Forgive me, my Sav- 
 iour ! though I have denied thee ! O Lord, most holy ! 
 God, most mighty ! deliver me from the bitter pains of eter- 
 nal death, and receive my soul, for His sake who died for 
 sinners. 
 
 " "William Wilson." 
 
 Mr. Trueman would never leave this poor penitent till he 
 was launched into eternity, but he attended him with the 
 minister in the cart. This pious clergyman never cared to 
 say what he thought of William's state. When Mr. True- 
 man ventured to mention his hope, that though his peni- 
 tence was late, yet it was sincere, and spoke of the dying 
 thief on the cross as a ground of encouragement, the min- 
 ister with a very serious look, made this answer : " Sir, 
 that instance is too often brought forward on occasions to 
 which it does not apply : 1 do not choose to say any tiling 
 to your application of it in the present case, but I will 
 answer you in the words of a good man speaking of the
 
 AND HIS MAS WILLIAM. 275 
 
 penitent thief : ' There is one such instance given that no- 
 body might despair, and there is but one, that nobody might 
 presume.' " 
 
 Poor William was turned off just a quarter before eleven ; 
 and may the Lord have mercy on his soul !
 
 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS, 
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 
 
 PART I.— THE VISIT. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy happened to meet last 
 year at Weyliill fair. They were glad to see each other, as 
 they had but seldom met of late ; Mr. Bragwell having re- 
 moved some years before from Mr. Worthy's neighborhood, 
 to a distant village where he had bought an estate. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell was a substantial fanner and grazier. He 
 had risen in the world by what worldly men call a run of 
 good fortune. He had also been a man of great industry ; 
 that is, he had paid a diligent and constant attention to his 
 own interest. He understood business, and had a knack of 
 turning almost every thing to his owu advantage. He had 
 that sort of sense which good men call cunning, and knaves 
 call wisdom. He was too prudent ever to do any thing so 
 wrong that the law could take hold of him ; yet he was 
 not over scrupulous about the morality of an action, when 
 the prospect of enriching himself by it was very great, and 
 the chance of hurting his character was small. The corn 
 he sent home to his customers was not always quite so good 
 as the samples he had produced at market; and he now 
 and then forgot to name some capital blemish in the horses
 
 THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAG WELL. 211 
 
 he sold at fair. He scorned to be guilty of the petty fraud 
 of cheating in weights and measures, for lie thought that 
 was a beggarly sin; but he valued himself on his skill in 
 making a bargain, and fancied it showed his superior knowl- 
 edge of the world to take advantage of the ignorance of a 
 dealer. 
 
 It was his constant rule to undervalue every thing he 
 was about to buy, and to overvalue every thing he was 
 about to sell ; but as he seldom lost sight of his discretion, 
 he avoided every thing that was very shameful ; so that he 
 was considered merely as a hard dealer, and a keen hand at 
 a bargain. Now and then when he had been caught in 
 pushing his own advantage too far, he contrived to get out 
 of the scrape by turning the whole into a jest, saying it was 
 a good take in, a rare joke, and he had only a mind to 
 divert himself with the folly of his neighbor, who could be 
 so easily imposed on. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell, however, in his way, set a high value on 
 his character: not indeed that he had a right sense of its 
 worth ; he did not consider reputation as desirable because 
 it increases influence, and for that reason strengthens the 
 hands of a good man, and enlarges his sphere of useful- 
 ness : but he made the advantage of reputation, as well as 
 of every other good, center in himself. Had he observed 
 a strict attention to principle, he feared he should not have 
 got on so fast in the world as those do who consult expe- 
 diency rather than probity, while, without a certain degree 
 of character, he knew also, that he should forfeit that con- 
 fidence which put other men in his power, and would set 
 them as much on their guard against him, as he, who 
 thought all mankind pretty much alike, was on his guard 
 against them. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell had one favorite maxim ; namely, that a 
 man's success in life was a sure proof of his wisdom : and
 
 278 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS, 
 
 that all failure and misfortune was the consequence of a man's 
 own folly. As this opinion was first taken up by him from 
 vanity and ignorance, so it was more and more confirmed 
 by his own prosperity. He saw that he himself had suc- 
 ceeded greatly without either money or education to begin 
 with, and he therefore now despised every man, however 
 excellent his character or talents might be, who had not 
 the same success in life. His natural disposition was not 
 particularly bad, but prosperity had hardened his heart. 
 He made his own progress in life the rule by which the 
 conduct of all other men was to be judged, without any al- 
 lowance for their peculiar disadvantages, or the visitations 
 of Providence. He thought, for his part, that every man 
 of sense could command success on his undertakings, and 
 control and dispose the events of his own life. 
 
 But though he considered those who had had less success 
 than h mself as no better than fools, yet he did not extend 
 this opinion to Mr. Worthy, whom he looked upon not 
 only as a good but a wise man. They had been bred up 
 when children in the same house ; but with this difference, 
 that Worthy was the nephew of the master, and Bragwell 
 the son of the servant. 
 
 Bragwell's father had been plowman in the family of 
 Mr. Worthy's uncle, a sensible man who farmed a small 
 estate of his own, and who, having no children, bred up 
 young Worthy as his son, instructed him in the business 
 of husbandry, and at his death left him his estate. The 
 father of Worthy was a pious clergyman, who lived with 
 his brother the farmer, in order to help out a narrow in- 
 come. Ho had bestowed much pains on the instruction of 
 his son, and used frequently to repeat to him a saying, which 
 he had picked up in a book written by one of the greatest 
 men this country ever produced — That there were two 
 things with which every man ought to be acquainted,
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 279 
 
 Religion, and his own business. "While lie therefore took 
 care that his son should be made an excellent farmer, he 
 filled up his leisure hours in improving his mind : so that 
 young Worthy had read more good books, and understood 
 them better, than most men in his station. His reading, 
 however, had been chiefly confined to husbandry and di- 
 vinity, the two subjects which were of the most immediate 
 importance to him. 
 
 The reader will see by this time that Mr. Bragwell and 
 Mr. Worthy were as likely to be as opposite to each other 
 as two men could well be, who were nearly of the same 
 age and condition, and who were neither of them without 
 credit in the world. Bragwell indeed made far the greater 
 figure ; for he liked to cut a dash, as he called it. It was 
 his delight to make the ancient gentry of the neighborhood 
 stare, at seeing a crazier vie with them in show, and exceed 
 
 '00 ' 
 
 them in expense. And while it was the study of Worthy 
 to conform to his station, and to set a good example to 
 those about him, it was the delight of Bragwell to eclipse, 
 in his way of life, men of larger fortune. He did not see 
 how much his vanity raised the envy of his inferiors, the 
 ill-will of his equals, and the contempt of his betters. 
 
 His wife was a notable stirring woman, but vain, violent, 
 and ambitious ; very ignorant, and very high-minded. She 
 had married Bragwell before he was worth a shilling, and 
 as she had brought him a good deal of money, she thought 
 herself the grand cause of his rising in the world ; and 
 thence took occasion to govern him most completely. 
 Whenever he ventured to oppose her, she took care to put 
 him in mind that lie owed every thing to her; that had it 
 not been for her, he might still have been stumping after a 
 plow-tail, or serving bogs in old Worthy's farm-yard ; but 
 that it was she who made a gentleman of him. In order 
 to set about making him a gentleman, she had bo^un by
 
 280 THE TWO WEALTH V FARMERS', 
 
 teasing him till lie had turned away all his poor relations 
 who worked on the farm ; she next drew him off from 
 keeping company with his old acquaintances, and at last 
 persuaded him to remove from the place where he had got 
 his money. Poor woman ! she had not sense and virtue 
 enough to see how honorable it is for a man to raise him- 
 self in the world by fair means, and then to help forward 
 his poor relations and fiiends; engaging their services by 
 his kindness, and endeavoring to turn his own advancement 
 in life to the best account, and of making it the instru- 
 ment of assisting those who had a natural claim to his pro- 
 tection. 
 
 Mrs. Bragwell was an excellent mistress, according to her 
 own notions of excellence ; for no one could say she ever 
 lost an opportunity of scolding a servant, or was ever guilty 
 of the weakness of overlooking a fault. Toward her two 
 daughters her behavior was far otherwise. In them she 
 could see nothing but perfections, but her extravagant 
 fondness for these girls was full as much owing to pride as 
 to affection. She was bent on making a family, and hav- 
 ing found out that she was too ignorant, and* too much 
 trained to the habits of getting money, ever to hope to 
 make a figure herself, she looked to her daughters as the 
 persons who were to raise the family of the Bragwells ; 
 and to this hope she foolishly submitted to any drudgery 
 for their sake s and bore every kind of impertinence from 
 them. 
 
 The first wish of her heart was to set them above their 
 neighbors ; for she used to say, what was the use of having 
 substance, if her daughters might not carry themselves 
 above girls who had uothing '. To do her justice, she her- 
 self would be about early and late to see that the business of 
 the house was not ueglected. She had been bred to great 
 industry, and continued to work when it was no longer ne-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 281 
 
 cessary, both from early habit, and tli 3 desire of heaping 
 up money for >her daughters. Yet her whole notion of 
 gentility was, that it consisted in being- rich and idle ; and, 
 though she was williniv to bo a drudge herself, she resolved 
 to make her daughters gentlewomen on this principle. To 
 be well dressed, to eat elegantly, and to do nothing, or 
 nothing which is of any use, was what she fancied dis- 
 tinguished people in genteel life. And this is too common 
 a notion of a fine education among a certain class ; they 
 do not esteem things by their use, but by their show. 
 They estimate the value of their children's education by 
 the money it costs, and not by the knowledge and goodness 
 it bestows. People of this stamp often take a pride in the 
 expense of learning, instead of taking pleasure in the advan- 
 tage of it. And the silly vanity of letting others see that they 
 can afford any thing, often sets parents on letting their 
 daughters learn not only things of no use, but things which 
 may be really hurtful in their situation ; either by setting 
 them above their proper duties, or by taking up their time 
 in a way inconsistent with them. 
 
 Mrs. Brae-well sent her daughters to a boarding-school, 
 where she instructed them to hold up their heads as high 
 as any body ; to have more spirit than to be put upon by 
 any one ; never to be pitiful about money, but rather to 
 show that they could afford to spend with the best ; to keep 
 company with the richest and most fashionable girls in the 
 school, and to make no acquaintance with the farmers' 
 daughters. 
 
 They came home at the usual age of leaving school, with 
 a large portion of vanity grafted on their native ignorance. 
 The vanity was added, l>ut the ignorance was not taken 
 away. Of religion they could not possibly learn an\ thing, 
 since none was taught, for at that place Christianity was 
 considered as a part of education which belonged only to
 
 282 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 charity schools. They went to church indeed once a Sun- 
 day, yet effectually to counteract auy henefit such an at- 
 tendance might produce, it was the rule of the school that 
 they should use only French prayer-books ; of course, such 
 superficial scholars as the Miss Bragwells would always be 
 literally praying in an unknown tongue ; while girls of bet- 
 ter capacity and more industry would infallibly be picking 
 out the nominative case, the verb, and a participle of a 
 foreign language, in the solemn act of kneeling before the 
 Father of Spirits, " who searcheth the heart and trieth the 
 reins." During the remainder of the Sunday they learned 
 their worldly tasks, all except actual needle- work, which 
 omission alone marked the distinction of Sunday from other 
 days ; and the governess being a French Roman Catholic, 
 it became a doubtful point with some people, whether her 
 zeal or her negligence in the article of reliirion would be 
 most to the advantage of her pupils. Of knowledge the 
 Miss Bragwells had got just enough to laugh at their fond 
 parents' rustic manners and vulgar language, and just 
 enough taste to despise and ridicule every girl who was not 
 as vainly dressed as themselves. 
 
 The mother had been comforting herself for the heavy 
 expense of their bringing up, by looking forward to the 
 pleasure of seeing them become fine ladies, and the pride 
 of marrying them above their station ; and to this hope she 
 constantly referred in all her conversations with them ; as- 
 suring them that all her happiness depended on their future 
 elevation. 
 
 Their father hoped, with far more judgment, that they 
 would be a comfort to him both in sickness and in health. 
 He had no learning himself, and could write but poorly, and 
 owed what skill he had in figures to his natural turn of bus- 
 iness. He reasonably hoped that his daughters, after all the 
 money he had spent on them, would now write his letters
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 283 
 
 and keep his accounts. And as he was now and then laid up 
 with a fit of the gout, he was enjoying the prospect of hav- 
 ing two affectionate children to nurse him, as well as two 
 skillful assistants to relieve him. 
 
 When they came home, however, he had the mortifica- 
 tion to find, that though he had two smart showy ladies to 
 visit him, he had neither dutiful daughters to nurse him, nor 
 faithful stewards to keep his books, nor prudent children to 
 manage his house. They neither soothed him by their 
 kindness when he was sick, nor helped him by their indus- 
 try when he was busy. They thought the maid might take 
 care of him in the "out as she did before; for they fancied 
 that nu:sin_c was a coarse an 1 servile employment; and as 
 to their skill in ciphering he soon found, to his cost, that 
 though they knew how to spend both pounds, shillings, and 
 pence, yet they did not know how so well to cast them up. 
 Indeed it is to he regretted that women in general, especi- 
 ally in the middle class, are so little grounded in so indis- 
 pensable, solid, and valuable an acquirement as arithmetic 
 
 Mrs. Brag we II being one day very busy in preparing a 
 great dinner for the neighbors, ventured to request her 
 daughters to assist in making the pastry. They asked her 
 with a scornful smile, whet her she had sent them to a board- 
 ing school to learn to cook; and added, that tiny supposed 
 Bhe would expect them next to make hasty-puddings for 
 the hay-makers. So saying, they coolly marched off to their 
 music. When the mother found her girls too polite to be 
 of any use. she would take comfort in observing how her 
 pailor was set out with their filagree and flowers, their 
 embroider} and cut paper. They spent the morning in bed, 
 the noon in dressing, the evening at the harpsicord, and the 
 night in reading novel-. 
 
 With all these fine qualifications it is easy to suppose, 
 that as they despised their sober duties, they no less de-
 
 284 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 spised their plain neighbors. When they could not get tu 
 a horse-race, a petty-ball, or a strolling play, with some com- 
 pany as idle and as smart as themselves, they were driven for 
 amusement to the circulating library. Jack, the plow-boy, 
 on whom they had now put a livery jacket, was employed 
 half his time in trotting backward and forward with the 
 most wretched trash the little neighboring bookshop could 
 furnish. The choice was often left to Jack, who could not 
 read, but who had general orders to bring all the new 
 things, and a great many of them. 
 
 It was a misfortune, that at the school at which they had 
 been bred, and at some others, there was no system of educa- 
 tion which had any immediate reference to the station of life 
 to which the girls chiefly belonged. As persons in the mid- 
 dle line, for want of that acquaintance with books, and with 
 life and manners, which the great possess, do not always see 
 the connection between remote consequences and their caus- 
 es, the evils of a corrupt and inappropriate system of edu- 
 cation do not strike them so forcibly ; and provided they 
 can pay for it, which is made the grand criterion between 
 the fit and the unfit, they are too little disposed to consider 
 the value, or rather the worthlessness, of the thing which is 
 paid for : but literally go on to give their money for that 
 which is not bread. 
 
 Their subsequent course of reading serves to establish all 
 the errors of their education. Instead of such books as 
 might help to confirm and strengthen them in all the vir- 
 tues of their station, in humility, economy, meekness, con 
 tentment, self-denial, and industry; the studies now adopted 
 are, by a graft on the old stock, made to grow on the habits 
 acquired at school. Of those novels and plays which are 
 so eagerly devoured by persons of this description, there 
 is perhaps scarce one which is not founded upon princi- 
 ples which would lead young women of the middle ranks
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 285 
 
 to be discontented with their station. It is rank — it is 
 elegance — it is-beauty — it is sentimental feelings — it is sens- 
 ibility — it is some needless, or some superficial, or some 
 hurtful quality, even in that fashionable person to whom the 
 author ascribes it, which is the ruling principle. This qual- 
 ity transferred into the heart and the conduct of an illiter- 
 ate woman in an inferior station, becomes absurdity, becomes 
 sinfulness. 
 
 Things were in this state in the family we are describing, 
 or rather growing worse; for idleness and vanity are never 
 at a stand ; when these two wealthy farmers, Bragvvell and 
 Worthy, met at Weyhill fair, as was said before. After 
 many hearty salutations had passed between them, it was 
 agreed that Mr. Bragwell should spend the next day with 
 his old friend whose house was not many miles distant. 
 Bragwell invited himself in the following manner : " We 
 have not had a comfortable day's chat for years," said he ; 
 " and as I am to look at a drove of lean beasts in' your 
 neighborhood, I will take a bed at your house, and we will 
 pass the evening debating as we used to do. You know I 
 always loved a bit of an argument, and am not reckoned tc 
 make the worst figure at our club. I had not, to be sure, 
 such good learning as you had, because your father was a 
 parson, and you got it for nothing ; but I can bear my part 
 pretty well for all that. When any man talks to me about 
 his learning, I ask if it has helped him to get a good estate ; 
 if he says no, then 1 would not give him a rush for it ; for 
 of what use is all the learning in the world, if it does not 
 make a man rich ? But as I was saying, I will come and 
 see you to-morrow ; but now don't let your wife put herself 
 in a fuss for me : don't alter your own plain way ; for T am 
 not proud, I assure you, nor above my old friends; though 
 I thank God, I am pretty well in the world." 
 
 To all this flourishing speech Mr. Worthy coolly an-
 
 280 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS', 
 
 swered, that certainly worldly prosperity ought never make 
 any man proud, since it is Cod who giveth strength to get 
 riches, and without his blessing, 'fo's in vain to rise up early, 
 and to tat the bread of carefulness. 
 
 About the middle of the next day Mr. Bragwell reached 
 Mr. Worthy's neat and pleasant dwelling. He found every 
 thing in the reverse of his own. It had not so many orna- 
 ments, but it had more comforts. And when he saw his 
 fiiend's good old-fashioned arm-chair in a warm corner, he 
 gave a sigh to think how his own had been banished to 
 make room for his daughter's piano-forte. Instead of made 
 flowers in glass cases, and tea-chests and screens too flue to 
 be used, which he saw at home, an 1 about which he was 
 cautioned, and scolded as often as he came near them ; his 
 daughters watching his motions with the same anxiety as 
 they would have watched the motions of a cat in a china 
 shop. Instead of this, I say, he saw some neat shelves of 
 good" books for the service of the family, and a small med- 
 icine chest for the benefit of the poor. 
 
 Mrs. Worthy and her daughters had prepared a plain but 
 neat and good dinner. The tarts were so excellent that 
 Bragwell felt a secret kind of regret that his own daughters 
 were too genteel to do any thing so very useful. Indeed 
 he had been, always unwilling to believe that any thing 
 which was very proper and very necessary, could be so ex- 
 tremely vulgar and unbecoming as his daughters were al- 
 ways declaring it to be. And his late experience of the 
 little comfort he found at home, inclined him now still more 
 strongly to suspect that things were not so right there as 
 he had been made to suppose. But it was in vain to speak ; 
 for his daughters constantly stopped his mouth by a favor- 
 ite saying of theirs, which equally indicated affectation and 
 vulgarity, that it was better to be out of the world than out 
 of the fashion.
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 281 
 
 Soon after dinner the women went out to their several 
 employments ; and Mr. Worthy being left alone with his 
 guest, the following discourse took place : 
 
 BragwelL You have a couple of sober, pretty looking 
 girls, Worthy ; but I wonder they don't tiff off a little more 
 Why, my girls have as much fat and flour on their heads 
 as would half maintain my reapers in suet pudding. 
 
 Worthy. Mr. Bragwell, in the management of my family, 
 I don't consider what I might afford only, though that is 
 one great point ; but I consider also what is needful and 
 becoming in a man of my station ; for there are so many 
 useful ways of laying out money, that I feel as if it were a 
 sin to spend one unnecessary shilling. Having had the bless- 
 ing of a good education myself I have been able to give 
 the like advantage to my daughters. One of the best les- 
 sons I have taught them is, to know themselves ; and one 
 proof that they have learned this lesson is, that they are not 
 above any of the duties of their station, They read and 
 write well, and when my eyes are bad, they keep my ac- 
 counts in a very pretty manner. If I had put them to learn 
 what you call genteel things, these might have been of no 
 use to them, and so both time and money thrown away; or 
 they might have proved worse than nothing to them by lead- 
 ing them into wrong notions,and wrong company. Though 
 we do not wish them to do the laborious parts of the dairy 
 work, yet they always assist their mother in. the managment 
 of it. As to their appearance, they are every day nearly as 
 you see them now, and on Sunday they are very neatly 
 dressed, but it is always in a decent and modest way. There 
 are no lappets, fringes, furbelows, and tawdry ornaments; 
 no trains, turbans, and flounces, fluttering about my cheese 
 and butter. And I should feel no vanity, but much morti- 
 fication, if a Btranger, seeing Farmer Worthy's daughters at 
 church, should ask who those fine ladies were.
 
 288 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS", 
 
 Bragwell. Now I own I should like to have such a ques- 
 tion asked concerning my daughters; I like to make people 
 stare and envy. It makes one feel one-self somebody. I 
 never feel the pleasure of having handsome things so much 
 as when I see they raise curiosity ; and enjoy the envy of 
 others as a fresh evidence of my own prosperity. But as 
 to yourself, to be sure, you best know what you can afford ; 
 and iudeed that there is some difference between vour dauo;h- 
 ters and the Miss Brag wells, 
 
 Worthy. For my part, before I engage in any expense, I 
 always ask myself these two short questions ; First, can I 
 afford it ? Secondly, is it proper for me ? 
 
 Bragzvell. Do you so ? Now I own I ask myself but one ; 
 for if I find I can afford it, I take care to make it proper 
 for me. If I can pay for a thing, no one has a right to 
 hinder me from having it. 
 
 Worthy. Certainly. But a man's own prudence, his love 
 of propriety and sense of duty, ought to prevent him from 
 doing an improper thing, as effectually as if there were 
 somebody to hinder him. 
 
 Bragwell. Now, I think a man is a fool who is hindered 
 from having any thing he has a mind to ; unless indeed, he 
 is in want of money to pay for it. I am no friend to debt. 
 A poor man must want on. 
 
 Worthy. But I hope my children have not learned to 
 want any thing which is not proper for them. They are 
 very industrious ; they attend to business all day, and in 
 the evening they sit down to their work and a good book. 
 I take care that neither their reading nor conversation shall 
 excite any desires or tastes unsuitable to their condition. 
 They have little vanity, because the kind of knowledge they 
 have is of too sober a sort to raise admiration ; and from 
 that vanity which attends a little smattering of frivolous 
 accomplishments, I have secured them, by keeping them in
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 289 
 
 total ignorance of all such. I think they live in the fear of 
 God. I trust they are humble and pious, and I am sure 
 they seem cheerful and happy. If I am sick, it is pleasant 
 to see them dispute which shall wait upon me; for they 
 say the maid can not do it so tenderly as themselves. 
 
 This part of the discourse staggered Bragwell. An in- 
 voluntary tear rushed into his eye. Vain as he was, be 
 could not help feeling what a difference a religious and a 
 worldly education made on the beart, and how much the 
 former regulated even the natural temper. Another thing 
 which su prised him was, that these girls living a life of 
 domestic piety, without any public diversions, should be so 
 very cheerful and happy ; while his own daughters, who 
 were never contradicted, and were indulged with continual 
 amusements, were always sullen and ill tempered. That 
 they who were more humored, should be less grateful, and 
 they who were more amused less happy, disturbed him 
 much. He envied Worthy the tenderness of his children, 
 though he would not own it, but turned it off thus : 
 
 Bragwell. But my girls are too smart to make mops of, 
 that is the truth. Though ours is a lonely village, it is 
 wonderful to see how soon they get the fashions. What 
 with the descriptions in the magazines, and the pictures in 
 the pocket-books, they have them in a twinkling and out-do 
 their patterns all to nothing. I used to take iu the Coun- 
 try Journal, because it was useful enough to see how oats 
 went, the time of high water, and the price of stocks. But 
 when my ladies came home, forsooth, I was soon wheedled 
 out of that, and forced to take a London paper, that tells a 
 deal about the caps and feathers, and all the trumpery of 
 the quality, and the French dress, and the French undress. 
 When I want to know what hops are a bag, they are snatch- 
 ing the paper to see what violet soap is a pound. And as 
 to the dairy, they never care how cow's milk goes, as long 
 
 13
 
 290 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS", 
 
 as they can get some stuff which they call milk of roses. 
 Seeing them disputing violently the other day about cream 
 and butter, I thought it a sign they were beginning to care 
 for the farm, till I found it was cold cream for the hands, 
 and jessamine butter for the hair. 
 
 Worthy. But do your daughters never read \ 
 
 Brag well. Read ! I believe they do too. Why our Jack, 
 the plow-boy, spends half his time in going to a shop in 
 our market town, where they let out books to read, with 
 marble covers. And they sell paper with all manner of 
 colors on the edges, and gim-cracks, and powder-puffs, and 
 wash-balls, and cards without any pips, and every thing in 
 the world that's genteel and of no use. 'Twas but the other 
 day I met Jack with a basket full of these books ; so having 
 some time to spare, I sat down to 6ee a little what they 
 were about. 
 
 Worthy. "Well, I hope you there found what was likely 
 to improve your daughters, and teach them the true use of 
 time. 
 
 Bragwell. O, as to that, you are pretty much out. I 
 could make neither head nor tail of it ; it was neither fish, 
 flesh, nor good red-herring; it was all about my lord, and 
 Sir Harry, ami the captain. But I never met with such 
 nonsensical fellows in my lite. Their talk was no more like 
 that of my old landlord, who was a lord you know, nor the 
 captain of our fencibles, than chalk is like cheese. I was 
 fairly taken in at first, and began to think I had got hold 
 of a godly book ; for there was a deal about hope and de- 
 spair, and death, and heaven, and angels, and torments, and 
 everlasting happiuess. But when I got a little on, I found 
 there was no meaning in all these words, or if any, it was a 
 bad meaning. Eternal misery, perhaps, only meant a 
 moment's disappointment about a bit of a letter ; and ever- 
 lasting happiness meant two people talking nonsense to-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 291 
 
 gether for five minutes. In short, I never met with such a 
 pack of lies. ' The p*eople talk such wild gibberish as no 
 folks in their sober senses ever did talk; and the things that 
 happen to them are not like the things that ever happen to 
 me or any of my acquaintance. They are at home one 
 minute, and beyond sea the next ; beggars to-day, and lords 
 to-morrow ; waiting-maids in the morning, and dut chesses 
 at night. Nothing happens in a natural gradual way, as it 
 does at home ; they grow rich by the stroke of a wand, and 
 poor by the magic of a word ; the disinherited orphan of 
 this hour is the overgrown heir of the next ; now a bride 
 and bridegroom turn out to be brother and sister, and the 
 brother and sister prove to be no relations at all. You and 
 I, master Worthy, have worked hard many years, and think 
 it very well to have scraped a trifle of money together ; you, 
 a few hundreds, I suppose, and I a few thousands. But one 
 would think every man in these books had the bank of En- 
 gland in his 'scrutoire. Then there is another thing which 
 I never met with in true life. We think it pretty well, you 
 know, if one has got one thing, and another has got an- 
 other. I will tell you how I mean. You are reckoned sen- 
 sible, our parson is learned, the squire is rich, I am rather 
 generous, one of your daughters is pretty, and both mine 
 are genteel. But in these books (except here and there 
 one, whom they make worse than Satan himself), every 
 man and woman's child of them, are all wise, and witty, 
 and generous, and rich, and handsome, and genteel ; and 
 all to the last degree. Nobody is middling, or good in one 
 thing, and bad in another, like my live acquaintance ; but 
 it is all up to the skies, or down to the dirt. I had ratlin 
 read Tom Hickathrift, or Jack the Giant Killer, a thousand 
 times. 
 
 Worthy. You have found out, Mr. Bragwell, that many 
 of these books are ridiculous ; I will go further, and say,
 
 292 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 that to me they appear wicked also; and I should account 
 the reading of them a great mischief, 'especially to people in 
 middling and low life, if I only took into the account the 
 great loss of time such reading causes, and the aversion it 
 leaves behind for what is more serious and solid. But this, 
 though a bad part, is not the worst. These books give 
 false views of human life. They teach a contempt for hum- 
 ble and domestic duties ; for industry, frugality, and retire- 
 ment. Want of youth and beauty is considered in them as 
 ridiculous. Plain people, like you and me, are objects of 
 contempt. Parental authority is set at naught. Nay, plots 
 and contrivances against parents and guardians fill half the 
 volumes. They consider love as the great business of 
 human life, and even teach that it is impossible for this love 
 to be regulated or restrained; and to the indulgence of this 
 passion every duty is therefore sacrificed. A country life, 
 with a kind mother or a sober aunt, is described as a state 
 of intolerable misery; and one would be apt to fancy from 
 their painting, that a good country-house is a prison, and a 
 worthy father the jailor. Vice is set off" with every orna- 
 ment which can make it pleasing and amiable ; while virtue 
 and piety are made ridiculous, by tacking to them some- 
 thing that is silly or absurd. Crimes which would be con- 
 sidered as hanging matter at our county assizes — at least 
 if I were a juryman, I should bring in the whole train of 
 heroes, Guilty — Death — are here made to the appearance 
 of virtue, by being mixed with some wild flight of unnatural 
 generosity. Those crying sins, adultery, gaming, duels, 
 and self-murder, are made so familiar, and the wickedness 
 of them is so disguised by fine words and soft descriptions, 
 that even innocent girls get loose to their abhorrence, and 
 talk with complacency of things which should not be so 
 much as named by them. 
 
 I should not have said so much on this mischief, con-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 293 
 
 tinued Mr. Worthy, from which I dare say, great folks fancy 
 people in our station are safe enough, if I did not know and 
 lament that this corrupt reading is now got down even 
 among some of the lowest class. And it is an evil which is 
 spreading eveiy day. Poor industrious girls, who get their 
 bread by the needle or the loom, spend half the night in 
 listening to these books. Thus the labor of one girl is lost, 
 and the minds of the rest are corrupted ; for though their 
 hands are employed in honest industry, which might help 
 to preserve them from a life of sin, yet their hearts are at 
 the very time polluted by scenes and descriptions which are 
 too likely to plunge them into it; and when their vain weak 
 heads compare the soft and delicious lives of the heroines in 
 the book, with their own mean garb and hard labor, the 
 effect is obvious ; and I think I do not go too far when I 
 say, that the vain and showy manner in which young 
 women, who have to work for their bread, have taken to 
 dress themselves, added to the poison they draw from these 
 books, contribute together to bring them to destruction, 
 more than almost any other cause., Now tell me, do not 
 you think these wild books will hurt your daughters? 
 
 Bragwell. Why I do think they are grown full of 
 schemes, and contrivances and whispers, that's the truth 
 ou't. Every think is a secret. They always seem to be 
 on the look-out for something:, and when nothing: comes 
 on't, then they are sulky and disappointed. They will keep 
 company with their equals; they despise trade and finn- 
 ing ; and I own I'm for the stuff. I should not like them 
 to marry any but a man of substance, if lie was ever so 
 smart. Now they will hardly sit down with a substa 
 country dealer. But if they hear of a recruiting party in 
 our market-town, on goes tho finery — oft' they are. Some 
 flimsy excuse is patched up. They want something at the 
 book-shop or the milliner's ; because, I suppose, there is a
 
 294 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 chance that some Jack-a-napes of an ensign may be there 
 buying sticking plaster. In .short, I do grow a little un- 
 easy ; for I should not like to see all I have saved thrown 
 away on a knapsack. 
 
 So saying, they both rose and walked out to view the farm. 
 Mr. Bragwell affected greatly to admire the good order of 
 every thing he saw ; but never forgot to compare it with 
 something larger, aud handsomer, or better of his own. It 
 was easy to see that self was his standard of perfection in 
 every thing. All he himself possessed gained some in- 
 creased value in his eyes from being his ; and in surveying 
 the property of his fiiend, he derived food for his vanity, 
 from things which seemed least likely to raise it. Every 
 appearance of comfort, of success, of merit, in any thing 
 which belonged to Mr. Worthy led him to speak of some 
 superior advantage of his own of the same kind ; and it was 
 clear that the chief part of the satisfaction he felt in walking 
 over the farm of his Mend, was caused by thinking how 
 much larger his own was. 
 
 Mr. Worthy, who felt a kindness for him, which all his 
 vanity could not cure, was always on the watch how to turn 
 their talk on some useful point. And whenever people re- 
 solve to go in o company with this view, it is commonly 
 their own fault, if some opportunity of turning it to account 
 does not offer. 
 
 He saw Bragwell was intoxicated with pride, and undone 
 by success ; and that his family was in the high road to 
 ruiu through mere prosperity. lie thought, that if some 
 means could be found to open his eyes on his own charac- 
 ter, to which he was now totally blind, it might be of the 
 utmost service to him. The more Mr. Worthy reflected, 
 the more he wished to undertake the kind office. He was 
 not sure that Mr. Bragwell would bear it, but he was very 
 sure it was his duty to attempt it. As Mr. Worthy was
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRiGWELl. 295 
 
 very humble himself, he had great patience and forbearance 
 with the faults of others. He felt no pride at having es- 
 caped the errors into which they had fallen, for he knew 
 who it was had made him to differ. lie remembered that 
 God had given him many advantages; a pious father aud 
 a religious education : this made him humble under a sense 
 of his own sins, and charitable toward the sins of others, 
 who had not the same privileges. 
 
 Just as he was going to try to enter into a very serious 
 conversation with his guest, he was stopped by the appear- 
 ance of his daughter, who told them supper was ready. 
 This interruption obliges me to break off also, and I shall 
 reserve what follows to the nexth month, when I promise 
 to give my readers the second part of this history. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 A CONVERSATION. 
 
 Soon after supper Mrs. Worthy left the room with her 
 daughters, at her husband's desire ; for it was his intention 
 to speak more plainly to Bragwell than was likely to be 
 agreeable to him to hear before others. The two farmers 
 being seated at their little table, each in a handsome old- 
 fashioned great chair, IJragwell began : 
 
 " It is a great comfort, neighbor Worthy, at a certain 
 time of life to be gol above the world: my notion is, that 
 a man should labor bard the first part of his days, that he 
 may then sit down and enjoy himself the rem tin ler. Now, 
 though I hate boasting, yet as you are my oldest friend, I 
 am about to open my heart to you. Let me tell you then
 
 29G THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 I reckon I have worked as hard as any man in my time, 
 and that I now begin to think I have a right, to indulge a 
 little. I have got my money with character, and I mean 
 to spend it with credit. I pay every one his own, I set a 
 good example, I keep to my church, I serve God, I honor 
 the king, and I obey the laws of the land." 
 
 "This is doing a great deal indeed," replied Mr. Worthy ; 
 " but," added he, " I doubt that more goes to the making 
 up all these duties than men are commonly aware of. Sup- 
 pose then that you and I talk the matter over coolly ; we 
 have the evening before us. What if we sit down together 
 as two friends and examine one another." 
 
 Bragwell, who loved argument, and who was not a little 
 vain both of his sense and his morality, accepted the chal- 
 lenge, and gave his word that he would take in good part 
 any thing that should be said to him. Worthy was about 
 to proceed, when Bragwell interrupted him for a moment, 
 by saying, " But stop, friend, before we begin I wish you 
 would remember that we have had a long walk, and I want 
 a little refreshment; have you no liquor that is stronger 
 than this cider ? I am afraid it will g-ive me a fit of the 
 gout." 
 
 Mr. Worthy immediately produced a bottle of wine, and 
 another of spirits ; saying, that though he drank neither 
 spirits nor even wine himself, yet his wife always kept 
 a little of each as a provision in case of sickness or ac- 
 cidents. 
 
 Farmer Bragwell preferred the brandy, and began to 
 taste it. " Why," said he, " this is no better than English ; 
 I always use foreign myself." "I bought this for foreign," 
 said Mr. Worthy. "No, no, it is English spirits, I assure 
 you ; but I can put you into a way to get foreign nearly as 
 cheap as English." Mr. Worthy replied that he thought 
 that was impossible.
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 297 
 
 Bragwell. Oh no ; there are ways and means — a word 
 to the wise — {here is an acquaintance of mine that lives 
 upon the south coast — you are a particular friend and I will 
 get you half-a-dozen gallons for a trifle. 
 
 Worthy. Not if it be smuggled, Mr. Bragwell, though I 
 should get it for sixpence a bottle. "Ask no questions," 
 said the other, "I never say any thing to any one, and who 
 is the wiser V " And so this is your way of obeying the 
 laws of the land," said Mr. Worthy, " here is a fine speci- 
 men of your morality." 
 
 Bragwell. Come, come, don't make a fuss about trifles. 
 If every one d"id it indeed it would be another thing ; hut 
 as to my getting a little good brandy cheap, why that can't 
 hurt the revenue much. 
 
 Worthy. Pray Mr. Bragwell, what should you think of a 
 man who would dip his hand into a bag and take out a few 
 guineas ? 
 
 Bragwell. Think ? why I think that he should be hanged, 
 to be sure. 
 
 Worthy. But suppose that bag stool in the king's 
 treasury ? 
 
 Bragwell. In the king's treasury! worse and worse! 
 What! rob the king's treasury! Well, I hope if any one 
 has done it, the robber will be taken up and executed ; for 
 I suppose we shall be taxed to pay the damage. 
 
 Worthy. Very true. If one man takes money out of 
 the treasury, others must be obliged to pay the more into it. 
 But what think you if the fellow should be found to have 
 stopped some money in its way to the treasury, instead of 
 taking it out of the hair after it got there? 
 
 3 & CD 
 
 llragvoell. Cuilty, Mr. Worthy ; it is all the sain.' in my 
 opinion. If 1 were judge I would hang him without benefit 
 of clergy. 
 
 Worthy. Hark ye, Mr. Bragwell, he that deals in sniug< 
 
 13*
 
 298 
 
 glel brandy is the man who takes to himself the king's 
 money in its way to the treasury, and he as much robs the 
 government as if lie dipped his han Is into a bag of guineas 
 in the treasury chamber. It comes to the same thing 
 exactly. Here Bragwell seemed a little offended, and ex- 
 claimed, " What, Mr. Worthy ! do you pretend to say I am 
 not an honest man because I like to get my brandy as 
 cheap as I can ? and because I like to save a shilling to my 
 family 1 ? Sir, I repeat it ; I do my duty to God and my 
 neighbor. I say the Lord's prayer most days, I go to 
 church on Sundays, I repeat my creed, and keep the ten 
 commandments ; and though I now and then get a little 
 brandy cheap, yet upon the whole, I will venture to say, I 
 do as much as can be expected of any man, and more than 
 the generality." 
 
 Worthy. Come then, since you say you keep the com- 
 mandments, you can not be offended if I ask you whether 
 you understand them. 
 
 Bragwell. To be sure I do. I dare say I do : look ye, 
 Mr. Worthy, I don't pretend to much reading, I was not 
 bred to it as you were. If my father had been a parson, I 
 fancy I should have made as good a figure as some other 
 folks, but I hope good sense and a good heart may teach a 
 mau his duty without much scholarship. 
 
 Worthy. To come to the point ; let us now go through 
 the ten commandments, and let us take along with us those 
 explanations of them which our Saviour gave us in his ser- 
 mon on the mount. 
 
 Bragwell. Sermon on the mount ! why the ten com 
 m andments are in the 20th chapter of Exodus. Come, 
 come, Mr. Worthy, I know where to find the command- 
 ments as well as you do ; for it happens that I am church- 
 warden, and I can see from the altar-piece where the ten
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 299 
 
 commandments are, without your telling me, for my pew 
 directly faces ik 
 
 Worthy. But I advise you to read the sermon on the 
 mount, that you may see the full meaning of them. 
 
 Bragwell. What ! do you want to make me helieve 
 there are two ways of keeping the commandments ? 
 
 Worthy. No ; hut there may he two ways of under- 
 standing them. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, I am not afraid to he put to the proof ; 
 I defy any man to say I do not keep at least all the four 
 first that are on the left side of the altar-piece. 
 
 Worthy. If you can prove that, I shall be more ready 
 to believe you ohserv r e those of the other table ; for he who 
 does his duty to God, will be likely to do his duty to his 
 neighbor also. 
 
 Bragwell. What ! do you think that I serve two Gods ? 
 Do you think then that I make graven images, and wor- 
 ship stocks or stones ? Do you take me for a rjapist or an 
 idolater ? 
 
 Worthy. Don't triumph quite so soon, Master Bragwell. 
 Pray is there nothing in the world you prefer to God, and 
 thus make an idol of? Do you not love your money, or 
 your lands, or your crops, or your cattle, or your own will, 
 or your own way, rather better than you love God ? Do 
 you never think of these with more pleasure than you 
 think of him, and follow them more eagerly than your re- 
 ligious duty ? 
 
 Bragwell. Oh ! there's nothing about that in the 20th 
 chapter of Exodus. 
 
 Worthy. But Jesus Christ has said, " He that loveth 
 father or mother more than me is not worthy of me." 
 Now it is certainly a man's duty to love lii- father and his 
 mother ; nay, it would he wicked not to love them, and yet 
 we must not love even these more than our Creator and our
 
 300 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 Saviour. Well, I think on this principle, your heart pleads 
 
 guilty to the breach of the first and second commandments 5 
 lei us proceed to the third. 
 
 Bragwell. That is about swearing, is it not ? 
 
 Mr. Worthy, who had observed Bragwell guilty of much 
 profaneness in using the name of his Maker (1 hough all 
 such offensive words have been avoided in writing this his- 
 tory), now told him that he had been waiting the whole 
 day for an opportunity to reprove him for his frequent 
 breach of the third commandment. 
 
 " Good L — d ! I break the third commandment !" said 
 Bragwell ; " no indeed, hardly ever ; I once used to swear a 
 little, to be sure, but I vow I never do it now, except now 
 and then when I happen to be in a passion : and in such a 
 case, why, good G — d, you know the sin is with those who 
 provoke me, and not with me ; but upon my soul, 1 don't 
 think I have sworn an oath these three months ; no, not I, 
 faith, as I hope to be saved." 
 
 Worthy. And yet you have broken this holy law not 
 less than five or six times in the last speech you have 
 made. 
 
 Bragwell. Lord bless me ! Sure you mistake. Good 
 heavens, Mr. Worthy, I call G — d to witness, I have neither 
 cursed nor swore since I have been in the house. 
 
 Worthy. Mr. Bragwell, this is the way in which many 
 who call themselves very good sort of people deceive them- 
 selves. What ! is it no profanation of the name of your 
 Maker to use it lightly, irreverently and familiarly as you 
 have done ? Our Saviour has not only told us not to swear 
 by the immediate name of God, but he has said, "swear 
 not at all, neither by heaven nor by the earth," and in order 
 to hinder our inventing any other irreligious exclamations 
 or expressions, he has even added, " but let your communi- 
 cations be yea, yea, and nay, nay ; for whatsoever is more
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAOWELL. 301 
 
 than this simple affirmation and denial cometh of evil." 
 Nay, more, so greatly do I reverence that high and holy 
 name, that I think even some good people have it too fre- 
 quently in their mouths ; and that they might convey the 
 idea without the word. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, well, T must take a little more care, I 
 believe. I vow to heaven I did not know there had been 
 so much harm in it; but my daughters seldom speak with- 
 out using some of these words, and yet they wanted to 
 make me believe the other day that it was monstrous vulgar 
 to swear. 
 
 Worthy. Women, even gentlewomen, who ought to cor- 
 rect this evil habit in their fathers, an 1 husbands, and chil- 
 dren, are too apt to encourage it by their own practice. 
 And indeed they betray the profaneness of their own minds 
 also by it ; for none who venerate the holy name of God, 
 can either profane in this manner themselves, or hear others 
 do so without being exceedingly pained at it. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, since you are so hard upon me, I be- 
 h< ve I must e'en give up this point — so 1"; us pass on to 
 the next, and here 1 tread upon sure ground ; lor as sharp 
 as you are upon me, you can't accuse me of being a Sab- 
 bath breaker, since I go to church every Sunday of my life, 
 unless on some very extraordinary occasion. 
 
 Worthy. For those occasions the gospel allows, by say- 
 ing, ''the Sabbath was made for man, and not man tor the 
 Sabbath." Our own sickness, or attending ou the sickness 
 of others, are lawful impediments. 
 
 Bragwell. Yes, and I am now and then obliged to lo k 
 at a drove of beasts, or to go a journey, or take some me , i- 
 cine, or perhaps s< >me friend may call upon me, or it may 
 be very cold, or very hot, or very rainy. 
 
 Worthy. Poor excuse ! Mr. Bragwell. Do you call these 
 lawful impediments ? I am afraid thev will not pass for such
 
 302 TUE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 on the day of judgment. But how is the rest of your Sun- 
 day spent ? 
 
 Bragwell. O, why, I assure you I often go to church in 
 the afternoon also, and even if I am ever so sleepy. 
 
 Worthy. And so you finish your nap at church, I sup- 
 pose. 
 
 Brag well. Why, as to that, to be sure we do contrive to 
 have something a little nicer than common for dinner on a 
 Sunday : in consequence of which one eats, you know, a 
 little more than ordinary ; aud having nothing to do on 
 that day, has more leisure to take a cheerful glass ; and all 
 these things will make one a little heavy, you know. 
 
 Worthy. And don't you take a little ride in the morning, 
 and look at your sheep when the weather is good ; and so 
 fill your mind just before you go to church with thoughts 
 of them ; and Avhen the weather is bad, don't you settle an 
 account? or write a few letters of business after church. 
 
 Bragwell. I can't say but I do ; but that is nothing to 
 any body, as long as I set a good example by keeping to 
 my church. 
 
 Worthy. And how do you pass your Sunday evenings ? 
 
 Bragwell. My wife aud daughters go a visiting Sunday 
 afternoons. My daughters are glad to get out, at any rate ; 
 and as to my wife, she says that being ready dressed, it is a 
 pity to lose the opportunity ; besides, it saves her time on a 
 week day ; so then you see I have it all my own way, and 
 when I have got rid of the ladies, who are ready to faint at 
 the smell of tobacco, T can venture to smoke a pipe, and 
 drink a sober glass of punch with half a dozen friends. 
 
 Worthy. Which punch, being made of smuggled brandy, 
 and drank on the Lord's day, and very vain, as well as 
 profane and worldly company, you are enabled to break 
 both the law of God, and that of your country at a stroke : 
 and I suppose when you are got together, you speak of your
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAG WELL. 303 
 
 cattle, or of your crops, after which perhaps you talk over 
 a few of your neighbors' faults, and then you brag a little 
 of your own wealth or your own achievements. 
 
 B rag well. Why, you seem to know us so well, that any 
 one would think you had been sitting behind the curtain ; 
 and yet you are a little mistaken too ; for I think we have 
 hardly said a word for several of our last Sundays on any 
 thing but politics. 
 
 Worthy. And do you find that you much improve your 
 Christian charity by that subject? 
 
 Bragwell. Why to be sure we do quarrel till we are veiy 
 near fi» - hti:i<>f, that is the worst on't. 
 
 Worthy. And then you call names, and swear a little, I 
 suppose. 
 
 Bragwell. Why when one is contradicted and put in a 
 passion, you know, and when people especially if they are one's 
 inferiors, won't adopt one's opinions, flesh and blood won't 
 bear it. 
 
 Worthy. And when all your friends are gone home, what 
 becomes of the rest of the evening? 
 
 Bragwell. That is just as it happens ; sometimes I read 
 the newspaper; and as one is generally most tired on the 
 days one does nothing, I go to bed earlier on Sundays than 
 on other days, that I may bemore fit to get up to my busi- 
 ness the next morning. 
 
 Worthy. So you shorten Sunday as much as you can, by 
 cutting off a bit at both ends, I suppose ; for I take it for 
 granted you lie a little later in the morning. 
 
 Bragwell. Come, come, we sha'n't get through the whole 
 ten to-night, if you stand snubbing one at this rate. You 
 may pass over the fifth ; for my father and mother have 
 been dead ever since I was a boy, so I am clear of that 
 scrape 
 
 Worthy. There are, however, many relative duties in-
 
 304 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 eluded in that commandment; unkindness to all kindred is 
 forbidden. 
 
 Brag well. O, if you mean my turning off my nephew 
 Tom, the plowboy, you must not blame me for that, it 
 was all my wife's fault. He was as good a lad as ever lived 
 to be sure, and my own brother's son ; but my wife could 
 not bear that a boy in a carter's frock should be about the 
 house, calling her aunt. We quarreled like dog and cat 
 about it ; and when he was turned away she and I did not 
 speak for a week. 
 
 Worthy. Which was a fresh breach of the command- 
 ment ; a worthy nephew turned out of doors, and a wife 
 not spoken to for a week, are no very convincing proofs of 
 your observance of the fifth commandment. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, I long to come to the sixth, for you don't 
 think I commit murder, I hope. 
 
 Worthy. I am not, sure of that. 
 
 Bragwell. Murder ! what, I kill any body ? 
 
 Worthy. Why, the laws of the land, indeed, and the 
 disgrace attending it, are almost enough to keep any man 
 from actual murder ; let me ask, however, do you nevei 
 give way to unjust anger, and passion, and revenge ? as for 
 instance, do you never feel your resentment kiudle against 
 some of the politicians who contradict you on a Sunday 
 night ? and do you never push your animosity against some- 
 body that has affronted you, further than the occasion can 
 justify ? 
 
 Bragwell. Ilark'ee, Mr. Worthy, I am a man of sub- 
 Btance, and no man shall offend me without my being even 
 with him. So as to injuring a man, if he affronts me first, 
 there's nothing but o-ood reason in that. 
 
 Worthy. Very well ! only bear in mind, that you will- 
 fully break this commandment, whether you abuse your serv- 
 ant, are angry at your wife, watch for a moment to revenge
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAG WELL. 305 
 
 an injury on your neighbor, or even wreak your passion on 
 a harmless beast'; for you have then the seeds of murder 
 working in your breast ; and if there were no law, no gib- 
 bet, to check you, and no fear of disgrace neither, I am not 
 sure wher / " _,ou would stop. 
 
 Bragxull. Why, Mr. Worthy, you have a strange way 
 of explaining the commandments ; so you set me down for 
 a murderer, merely because I bear hatred to a man who has 
 done me a hurt, and sm glad to do him a like injury in my 
 turn. I am sure I cijould want spirit if I did not. 
 
 Worthy. I go by the Scripture rule, which says, " he 
 that hateth his brother k a murderer," and again, " pray 
 for them that despitefulh 4§e you and persecute you." Be- 
 sides, Mr. Bragwell, you made it a part of your boast that 
 you said the Lord's prayer every day, wherein you pray to 
 God to forgive you your trespasses as you forgive them that 
 trespass against you. If therefore you do not forgive them 
 that trespass against you, in that case you daily pray that 
 your own trespasses may never be forgiven. Now own the 
 truth ; did you last night lie down in a spirit of forgiveness 
 and charity with the whole world ? 
 
 Bragwell. Yes, I am in charity with the whole world in 
 general ; because the greater part of it has never done me 
 any harm. But I won't forgive old Giles, who broke down 
 my new hedge yesterday for firing — Giles, who used to be 
 so honest. 
 
 Worthy. And yet you expect that God will forgive you 
 who have broken down his sacreds laws, and have so often 
 robbed him of his right — you have robbed him of the hon- 
 or due unto his name — you have robbed him of his holy day 
 bv doing your own work, and finding your own pleasure in 
 it — you have robbed his poor, particularly in the instance ■ I 
 Giles,by withholding from them, as overseer, such assistance 
 as should prevent their being driven to the sin of stealing.
 
 306 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS, 
 
 Bragwell. Why, you are now charging ine with other 
 men's sins as well as my own. 
 
 Worthy. Perhaps the sins which we cause other men to 
 commit, through injustice, in consideration, and evil exam- 
 ple, may dreadfully swell the sum of our responsibility in 
 the great day of account. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, come, let us make haste and get through 
 these commaudments. The next is, " Thou shalt not com- 
 mit adultery." Thank God, neither I nor my family can he 
 said to break the seventh commandment. 
 
 Wbrthy. Here again, remember how Christ himself hath 
 said, " whoso looketh on a woman to lust after her, hath 
 already committed adultery with her in his heart." These 
 are no far-fetched expressions of mine, Mr. Bragwell, they are 
 the words of Jesus Christ. I hope you will not charge him 
 with having carrried this too far ; for if you do, you charge 
 him with being mistaken in the religion he taught ; and this 
 can only be accounted for, by supposing him an impostor. 
 
 Bragwell. Why, upon my word, Mr. Worthy, I don't 
 like these sayings of his which you quote upon me so often, 
 and that is the truth of it, and I can't say I feel much dis- 
 posed to believe them. 
 
 Worthy. I hope you believe in Jesus Christ. I hope 
 you believe that creed of yours, which you also boasted of 
 repeating so regularly. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, well, I'll believe any thing you say, ra- 
 ther than stand quarreling with you. 
 
 Worthy. I hope then, you will allow, that since it is 
 adultery to look at a woman with even an irregular thought, 
 it follows from the same rule, that all immodest dress in 
 your daughters, or indecent jests and double meanings in 
 yourself; all loose songs or novels ; and all diversions also 
 which have a like dangerous tendency, are forbidden by the 
 seventh commandment ; for it is most plain from what
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 
 
 307 
 
 Christ Las said, that it takes in not only the act, but the in- 
 clination, the desire, the indulged imagination ; (he act is 
 only the last and highest degree of any sin ; the topmost 
 round, as it were, of a ladder, to which all the lower rounds 
 are only as so many steps and stages. 
 
 Brag well. Strict indeed ! Mr. Worthy ; but let us go on 
 to the next ; you won't pretend to say / steal ; Mr. Brag- 
 well, I trust, was never known to rob on the highway, to 
 break open his neighbor's house, or to use false weights or 
 measures. 
 
 Worthy. No, nor have you ever been under any tempta- 
 tion to do it, and yet there are a thousand ways of break- 
 ing the eighth commandment besides actual stealing. For 
 instance do you never hide the faults of the goods you sell, 
 and heighten the faults of those you buy ? Do you never 
 take advantage of an ignorant dealer, and ask more for a 
 thine: than it is worth ? Do vou never turn the distressed 
 circumstances of a man who has something to sell, to your 
 unfair benefit ; and thus act as unjustly by him as if you 
 had stolen ? Do you never cut off a shilling from a work- 
 man's wages, under the pretense which your conscience 
 can't justify ? Do you never pass off an unsound horse for a 
 sound one ? Do you never conceal the real rent of your 
 estate from the overseers, and thereby rob the poor-rates of 
 their legal due ? 
 
 Bragwell. Pooh ! these things are done every day. I 
 sha'n't go to set up for being better than my neighbors in 
 these sort of things; these little matters will pass muster — ■ 
 I don't set up for a reformer — if 1 am as good as the 
 rest of my neighbors, no man can call me to account: I am 
 not worse, I trust, and don't proton I to be better. 
 
 Worthy. You must be tried hereafter at the bar of (Jod, 
 and not by a jury of your fellow-creatures; and the Scrip- 
 tures are given us, in order to show by what rule we shall
 
 308 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 be judged. How many or how few do as you do, is quite 
 aside from the question ; Jesus Christ has even told us to 
 strive to enter in at the strait gate; so we ought rather to take 
 fright, from our being like the common run of people, than 
 to take comfort from our being so. 
 
 Bragwell. Come, 1 don't like all this close work — it 
 makes a man feel I don't know how — I don't find myself so 
 happy as I did — I don't like this fishing in troubled waters ; 
 I'm as merry as the day is long when I let these things 
 alone. I'm glad we are got to the ninth. But I suppose I 
 shall be lugged in there too, head and shoulders. Anyone 
 now who did not know me, would really think I was a great 
 sinner, by your way of putting things ; I don't bear false 
 witness, however. 
 
 Worthy. You mean, I suppose, you would not swear 
 away any man's life falsely before a magistrate, but do you 
 take equal care not to slander or backbite him ? Do you 
 never represent a good action of a man you have quarreled 
 with, as if it were a bad one ? or do you never make a bad 
 one worse than it is, by your manner of telling it ? Even 
 when you invent no false circumstances, do you never give 
 such a color to those you relate, as to leave a false impres- 
 sion on the mind of the hearers ? Do you never twist a 
 story so as to make it tell a little better for yourself, and a 
 little worse for your neighbor, than truth and justice war- 
 rant? 
 
 Bragwell. Why, as to that matter, all this is only natural. 
 
 Worth/. Ay, much too natural to be right, I doubt. 
 Well, now we have got to the last of the commandments. 
 
 Bragwell. Yes, I have run the gauntlet finely through them 
 all ; you will bring me in guilty here, I suppose, for the 
 pleasure of going through with it ; for you condemn with- 
 out judge or jury, Master Worthy. 
 
 Worthy. The culprit, I think, has hitherto pleaded guilty
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 309 
 
 to the evidence brought against him. The tenth command- 
 ment, however, goes to the root and principle of evil, it dives 
 to the bottom of things ; this command checks the first 
 rising of sin in the heart ; teaches us to strangle it in the 
 birth, as it were, before it breaks out in those acts which 
 are forbidden : as, for instance, every man covets before he 
 proceeds to steal ; nay, many covet, knowing they can do it 
 with impunity, who dare not steal, lest they should suffer 
 for it. 
 
 Bragwell. Why, look'ee, Mr. Worthy, I don't understand 
 these new fashioned explanations ; one should not have a 
 grain of sheer goodness left, if every thing one does is to be 
 fritted away at this rate. I am not, I own, quite so good as 
 I thought, but if what you say were true, I should be so 
 miserable, I should not know what to do with myself. 
 Why, I tell you all the world may be said to break the com- 
 mandments at this rate. 
 
 Worthy. Very true. All the world, and I myself also, 
 are but too apt to break them, if not in the letter, at least 
 in the spirit of them. Why, then, all the world are (as the 
 Scripture expresses it) "guilty before God." And if guilty, 
 they should own they are guilty, and not stand up and just- 
 ify themselves, as you do, Mr. Bragwell. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, according to my notion, I am a very 
 honest man, and honesty is the sum and substance of all re- 
 ligion, say I. 
 
 Worth;/. All truth, honesty, justice, order, and obedience 
 grow out of the Christian religion. The true Christian 
 acts at all times, and on all occasions, from the pure and 
 spiritual principle of love to God and Christ. On this 
 principle he is uprighl in his dealings, true to his word, 
 kind to flu' poor, helpful to the oppressed. In short, if lie 
 truly loves God, he must do jus! ice, and canH help loving 
 mercy. Christianity is a uniform consistent thing. It doea
 
 310 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 not allow us to make up for the breach of one part of God's 
 law, by our strictness in observing another. There is no 
 sponge in one duty, that c;m wipe out the spot of another 
 sin. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, but at this rate, I should be always puz- 
 zling and blunderingf, and should never know for certain 
 whether I was right or not ; whereas I am now quite satis- 
 fied with myself, and have no doubts to torment me. 
 
 Worthy. One way of knowing whether we really desire 
 to obey the whole law of God is this ; when we find we 
 have as great a regard to that part of it, the breach of 
 which does not touch our own interest, as to that part which 
 does. For instance, a man robs me ; I am in a violent pas- 
 sion with him, and when it is said tome, doest thou well to 
 be angry ? I answer, I do well. Thou shalt vol steal is a 
 law of God, and this fellow has broken that law. Ay, but 
 says conscience, 'tis thy own ])roperty which is in question. 
 He has broken thy hedge, he has stolen thy sheep, he has 
 taken thy purse. Art thou therefore sure whether it is his 
 Violation of thy property, or of God's law which provokes 
 thee ? I will put a second case : I hear another swear most 
 grievously ; or I meet him coming drunk out of an ale- 
 house ; or I find him singing a loose, profane song. If I am 
 not as much grieved for this blasphemer, or this drunkard, 
 as I was for this robber ; if I do not take the same pains to 
 brine him to a sense of his sin, which I did to brine the 
 robber to justice, ''how dwelleth the love of God in me?" 
 Is it not clear that I value my own sheep more than God's 
 commandments ? That I prize my purse more than I love 
 my Maker? In short, whenever I find out that I am more 
 jealous for my own property than for God's law ; more 
 careful about my own reputation than his honor, I always 
 suspect I have got upon wrong ground, and that even my 
 right actions are not proceeding from a right principle.
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 311 
 
 Bragwell. Why, what in the world would you have me 
 do ? It would distract me, if I must run up every little 
 action to its spring, in this manner. 
 
 Worthy. You must confess that your sins are sins. You 
 must not merely call them sins, while you see no guilt in 
 them ; but you must confess them so as to hate and detest 
 them ; so as to be habitually humbled under the sense of 
 them ; so as to trust for salvation not in your freedom from 
 them, but in the mercy of a Saviour ; and so as to make it 
 the chief business of your life to contend against them, and 
 in the main to forsake them. And remember, that if you 
 seek for a deceitful gayety, rather than a well-grounded 
 cheerfulness ; if you prefer a false security to final safety, 
 and now go away to your cattle and your farm, and dismiss 
 the subject from your thoughts, lest it should make you un- 
 easy, I am not sure that this simple discourse may not ap- 
 pear against you at the day of account, as a fresh proof 
 that you " loved darkness rather than light," and so increase 
 your condemnation. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell was more affected than he cared to own. 
 lie went to bed with less spirits and more humility than 
 usual. He did not, however, care to let Mr. Worthy see 
 the impression which it had made upon him ; but at part- 
 ing next morning, he shook him by the hand more cordially 
 than usual, and made him promise to return his visit in a 
 short time. 
 
 What befell Mr. J Jragwell and his family on his going 
 home may, perhaps, make the subject of a future part of 
 this historv.
 
 812 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS? 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE VISIT RETURNED. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell, when he returned home from his visit to 
 Mr. Worthy, as recorded in the second part of this history, 
 found that he was not quite so happy as he had formerly 
 heen. The discourses of Mr. Worthy had broken in not a 
 little on his comfort. And he hegan to suspect that he 
 was not so completely in the right as his vanity had led him 
 to believe. He seemed also to feel less satisfaction in the 
 idle gentility of his own daughters, since he had been wit- 
 ness to the simplicity, modesty, and usefulness of those of 
 Mr. Worthy. And he could not help seeing that the vul- 
 gar violence of his wife did not produce so much family 
 happiness at home, as the humble piety and quiet diligence 
 of Mrs. Worthy produced in the house of his friend. 
 
 Happy would it have been for Mr. Bragwell, if he had 
 followed up those new convictions of his own mind, which 
 would have led him to struggle against the power of evil 
 principles in himself, and to have controlled the force of 
 evil habits in his family. But his convictions were just 
 strong enough to make him uneasy under his errors, with- 
 out driving him to reform them. The slight impression 
 soon wore off, and he fell back into his old practices. Still 
 Ids esteem for Mr. Worthy was not at all abated by the 
 plain-dealing of that honest friend. It is true, he dreaded 
 his piercing eye : he felt that his example held out a con- 
 stant reproof to himself. Yet such is the force of 'early af- 
 fection and rooted reverence, that he longed to see him at 
 his house. This desire, indeed, as is commonly the case, 
 was made up of mixed motives. He wished for the pleas-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. B R A G W E L L . 313 
 
 ure of his Mend's company ; he longed for that favorite tri- 
 umph of a vulgar niiud, an opportunity of showing him his 
 riches ; and he thought it would raise his credit in the 
 world to have a man of Mr. Worthy's character at his 
 house. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell, it is true, still went on with the same 
 eagerness in gaining money, and the same ostentation in 
 spending it. But though he was as covetous as ever, he 
 was not quite so sure that it was right to be so. While he 
 was actually engaged abroad indeed, in transactions with his 
 dealers, he was not very scrupulous about the means by 
 which lie got his money; and while he was indulging in 
 festivity with his friends at home, he was easy enough as to 
 the manner in which he spent it. But a man can neither 
 be making bargains, nor making feasts always ; there must 
 be some intervals between these two great objects for which 
 worldly men 'may be said to live; and in some of these in- 
 tervals the most worldly form, perhaps, some random plana 
 of amendment. ' And though many a one may say in the full- 
 ness of enjoyment, " Soul take thine ease, eat, drink, and be 
 merry ;" yet hardly any man, perhaps, allows himself to say, 
 evenin the most secret moments, I will never retire from bus- 
 iness — I will never repent — I will never think of death — 
 eternity shall never come into my thoughts. The most that 
 such a one probably ventures to say is, I need not repent 
 yet ; I will continue such a sin a little longer ; it will be time 
 enough to think on the next world when I am no longer fit 
 for the business or the pleasures of this. 
 
 Such was the case with Bragwell. He set up in his mind 
 a general distant sort of resolution, that some years hence, 
 when he should he afew years older, afew thousands rich- 
 
 ; when a few more of his present schemes should be com- 
 pleted, he would then think of altering his course of Hie. 
 He would then certainly set about spending a religious old 
 
 14
 
 314 THE TWO "WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 age; be would reform some practices in his dealings, or 
 perhaps, quit business entirely ; he would think about read- 
 ing good books, and when he had completed such a pur- 
 chase, he would even begin to give something to the poor ; 
 but at present he really had little to spare for charity. The 
 very reason why he should have given more was just the 
 cause he assigned for not giving at all, namely the hardness 
 of the times. The true grand source of charity, self-denial, 
 never came into his head. Spend less that you mav save 
 more, he would have thought a shrewd maxim enough. 
 But spend less that you may spare more, never entered into 
 his book of proverbs. 
 
 At length the time came when Mr. Worthy had promised 
 to return his visit. It was indeed a little hastened by no- 
 tice that Mr. Bragwell would have in the course of the week 
 a piece of land to sell by auction ; and though Mr. Worthy 
 believed the price was likely to be above his pocket, yet he 
 knew it was an occasion which would be likely to bring the 
 principal farmers of that neighborhood together, some of 
 whom he wanted to meet. And € it was on this occasion 
 that Mr. Bragwell prided himself, that he should show his 
 neighbors so sensible a man as his dear friend Mr. Worthy. 
 
 Worthy arrived at his friend's house on the Saturday, 
 time enough to see the house, and garden, and grounds of 
 Mr. Bragwell by daylight. He saw with pleasure (for he 
 had a warm and generous heart) those evident signs of his 
 friend's prosperity; but as he was a man of sober mind, and 
 was a most exact dealer in truth, he never allowed his 
 tongue the license of immodest commendation, which he 
 used to say either savored of flattery or envy. Indeed he 
 never rated mere worldly things so highly as to bestow up m 
 them undue praise. His calm approbation somewhat dis- 
 appointed the vanity of Mr. Bragwell, who could not help 
 secretly suspecting that his friend, as good a man as he was.
 
 O R 
 
 THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 315 
 
 was not quite free from envy. He felt, however, very much 
 inclined to forgive this jealousy, which he feared the sight 
 of bis ample property, and handsome habitation must natu- 
 rally awaken in the mind of a man whose own possessions 
 were so inferior. He practiced the usual trick of ordinary 
 and vulgar minds, that of pretending himself to find some 
 fault with those things which were particularly deserving 
 praise, when he found Worthy disposed to pass them over in 
 silence. 
 
 When they came in to supper, he affected to talk of the 
 comforts of Mr. Worthy's little parlor, by way of calling 
 his attention to bis own large one. He repeated the word 
 snug, as applied to every thing at Mr. Worthy's, with the 
 plain design to make comparisons favorable to his own 
 more ample domains. He contrived, as be passed by his 
 chair, by a seeming accident, to push open the door of a 
 large beaufet in the parlor, in which all the finery was most 
 ostentatiously set out to view. He protested with a look 
 of satisfaction which belied bis words, that for his part he 
 did not care a farthing for all this trumpery; and then 
 smiling and rubbing his bauds, added, with an air of no 
 small importance, what a good thing it is though, for peo- 
 ple of substance, that the tax on plate is taken off. " You 
 are a happy man, Mr. Worthy ; you do not feel these 
 tilings ; tax or no tax, it is all the same to you." He took 
 care during this speech, by a cast of his eve, to direct Mr. 
 Worthy's attention to a great profusion of the brightest 
 cups, salvers, and tankards, and other shining ornaments, 
 which crowded I lie beaufet. Mr. Worthy gravely answered 
 Mr. Bragwell, "It was indeed a tax which could not affect 
 so plain a man as myself; but as it fell on a mere luxury, 
 and therefore could not hurt the poor, I was always sorry 
 that it could not be made productive enough to be con- 
 tinued. A man in my middling situation, who is contented
 
 316 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 with a good glass of b er, poured from a handsome earthen 
 mug, the glass, the mug, and tbe beer, all of English manu- 
 facture, will be but little disturbed at taxes on plate or on 
 wine ; but be will regret, as I do, tbat many of tbese taxes 
 are so much evaded, tbat new taxes are continually brought 
 on to make up the deficiencies of tbe old." 
 
 During supper the young ladies sat in disdainful silence, 
 not deigning to bestow the smallest civility on so plain a 
 man as Mr. Worthy. Tbey left the room with their mam- 
 ma as soon as possible, beiug impatient to get away to ridi- 
 cule their father's old-fashioned friend at full liberty. 
 
 THE DANCE; OR, THE CHRISTMAS MERRY-MAKING; EXEMPLI- 
 FYING THE EFFECTS OF MODERN EDUCATION IN A FARM- 
 HOUSE. 
 
 As soon as tbey were gone, Mr. Worthy asked Bragwell 
 how bis family comforts stood, and how bis daughters, who, 
 he said, were really fine young women, went on. "O, as 
 to that," replied Bragwell, " pretty much like other men's 
 handsome daughters, I suppose, that is, worse and worse. 
 I really begin to apprehend that their fantastical notions 
 have gained such a bead, tbat after all tbe money I have 
 scraped together, I shall never get them well married. 
 
 "Betsy has just lost as good an offer as any girl could 
 desire : young Wilson, an honest substantial grazier as any 
 in tbe country. He not only knows every thing proper for 
 his station, but is pleasing in his behavior, and a pretty 
 scholar into tbe bargain ; he reads history-books and voyages 
 of a winter's evening, to bis infirm father, instead of going 
 to the card-assembly in our town ; he neither likes drinking 
 nor sporting, and is a sort of a favorite with our parson, 
 because he takes in the weekly numbers of a fine Bible with 
 cuts, and subscribes to tbe Sunday School, and makes a fuss 
 about helping the poor ; and sets up soup-shops, and sells
 
 OB, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 317 
 
 bacon at an under price, and gives odd bits of ground to his 
 laborers to help them in these dear times, as they call them; 
 but I think they are good times for us, Mr. Worthy. 
 
 " Well, for all this, Betsy only despised him, and laughed 
 at him ; but as he is both handsome and rich, I thought 
 .she might come round at last ; and so I iuvited him to come 
 and stay a day or two at Christmas, -when we have always 
 a little sort of merry-making here. But it would not do. 
 He scorned to talk that palavering stuff which she has been 
 used to in the marble-covered books I told you of. He told 
 her, indeed, that it would be the happiness of his heart to 
 live with her ; which I own I thought was as much as could 
 be expected of any man. But miss had no notion of marry- 
 ing any one who was only desirous of living with her. No, 
 and forsooth, her lover must declare himself ready to die for 
 her, which honest Wilson w T as not such a fool as to offer to 
 do. In the afternoon, however, he got a little into her 
 favor by making out a rebus or two in the Lady's Diary, 
 and she condescended to say, she did not think Mr. Wilson 
 had been so good a scholar ; but he soon spoiled all again. 
 We had a little dance in the evening. The young man, 
 though he had not much taste for those sort of gambols, 
 yet thought he could foot it a little in the old fashioned 
 way. So he asked Betsy to be his partner. But when he 
 asked what dance they should call, miss drew up her head, 
 and m a strange gibberish, said she should dance nothing 
 but a Menuetde la Cour, and ordered him to call it. Wil- 
 son stared, and honestly told her she must call it herself; 
 for he could neither spell nor pronounce such outlan lish 
 words, nor assist in such an outlandish performance. I 
 burst out a laughing, and told him, I supposed it something 
 like questions ami commands; and if so, that \\.-.> much 
 merrier than dancing. Seeing her partner standing stock 
 still, and not knowing how to get out of the scrape, the girl
 
 318 THE TWO WEALTHY" FARMERS: 
 
 began by herself, an 1 fell to swimming, and sinking, and 
 capering, and flourishing, and posturing, for all the world 
 just like the man on the slack rope at our fair. But seeing 
 Wilson standing like a stuck pig, and we all laughing at 
 her, she resolved to wreak her malice upon him ; so, with a 
 look of rage and disdain, she advised him to go down coun- 
 try bumpkin, with the dairy maid, who would make a much 
 fitter partner, as well as wife, for him, than she could do. 
 
 "'I am quite of your mind, miss,' said he, with more 
 spirit than I thought was in him ; ' you may make a good 
 partner for a dance, but you would make a sad one to go 
 through life with. I will take my leave of you, miss, with 
 this short story. I had lately a pretty large concern in 
 hay-jobbing, which took me to London. I waited a good 
 while in the Hay-market for my dealer, and, to pass away 
 the time, I stepped into a sort of foreign singing play-house 
 there, where I was grieved to the heart to see young women 
 painted and dizened out, and capering away just as you 
 have been doing. I thought it bad enough in them, and 
 wondered the quality could be entertained with such in- 
 decent mummery. But little did I think to meet with the 
 same paint, finery, and posturing tricks in a farm-house. 
 I will never marry a woman who despises me, nor the sta- 
 tion in which 1 should place her, and so I take my leave.' 
 Poor girl, ]k>\y she was provoked ! to be publicly refused, 
 and turned "If, as it were, by a grazier ! But it was of use 
 to some of the other girls, who have not held up their heads 
 quite so high since, nor painted quite so red, but have con- 
 descended to speak U) their equals. 
 
 "J Jut how I run on ! I forget it is Saturday night, and 
 that I ought to be paying my workmen, who are all wait- 
 ing for me without."
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 319 
 
 -i 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT, OR THE WORKMEN S WAGES. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Bragwell had done paying Lis men, Mr. 
 Worthy, who was always ready to extract something useful 
 from accidental circumstances, said to him, " I have made 
 it a habit, and I hope not an unprofitable one, of trying to 
 turn to some moral use, not only all the events of daily life, 
 but all the employments of it, too. And though it occurs 
 so often, I hardly know one that sets me thinking more 
 seriously than the ordinary business you have been dis- 
 charging." "Ay," said Bragwell, "it sets me thinking too, 
 and seriously, as you say, when I observe how much the 
 price of wages is increased." " Yes, yes, you are ready 
 enough to think of that," said Worthy, uk but you say not a 
 word of how much the value of your land is increased, and 
 that the more you pay, the more you can afford to pay. 
 But the thoughts I spoke of are quite of another cast. 
 
 " When 1 call in my laborers, on a Saturday night, to 
 pay them, it often brings to my mind the great and general 
 day of account, when I, and you, and all of us, shall be 
 called to our grand and awful reckoning, when we shall go 
 to receive our wages, master and servants, farmer and la- 
 borer. When I see that one of my men has failed of the 
 wages he should have received, because he has been idling 
 at a fair; another has lost a day by a drinking-bout, a third 
 confesses that, though he had task-work, and might have 
 earned still more, yet he has been careless, and has not his 
 full pay to receive; this, I say, som stimes sets me on think- 
 ing whether 1 also have made the must of my time. And 
 when I come to pay even (he more diligent, who have 
 worked all the week, when I reflect that even these have 
 done no more than it was their duty to do, I can not help 
 saying to myself, Night is eome, Saturday night is come. 
 No repentance, or diligfince on the part of these poor men
 
 320 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 can now make a bad week's work good. This week lias 
 gone into eternity. To-morrow is the season of rest; work- 
 ing-time is over. ' There is no knowledge nor device in the 
 grave.' My life also will soon be swallowed up in eternity ; 
 soon the space allotted me for diligence, for labor, will be 
 over. Soon will the grand question be asked, 'What hast 
 thou done ? Give an account of thy stewardship. Didst 
 thou use thy working days to the end for which they were 
 given V With some such thougths I commonly go to bed, 
 and they help to quicken me to a keener diligence for the 
 next week." 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A SUNDAY IN MR. BRAGWELL's FAMILY. 
 
 Mr. Worthy had been for so many years used to the sober 
 ways of his own well-ordered family, that he greatly dis- 
 liked to pass a Sunday in any house of which religion was 
 not the governing principle. Indeed, be commonly ordered 
 his affairs, and regulated his journeys with an eye to this 
 object. "To pass a Sunday in an irreligious family," said 
 he, " is always unpleasant, often unsafe. I seldom find I 
 can do them any good, and they may perhaps do me some 
 harm. At least, I am giving a sanction to their manner of 
 passing it, if I pass it in the same manner. If I reprove- 
 them, I subject myself to the charge of singularity, and of 
 being righteous over-much ; if I do not reprove them, I con- 
 firm and strengthen them in evil. And whether I reprove 
 them or not, I certainly partake of their guilt, if I spend it 
 as they do." 
 
 lie had, however, so strong a desire to be useful to Mr. 
 Bragwell, that he at length determined to break through 
 his common practice, and pass the Sunday at his house. 
 Mr. Worthy was surprised to find that though the church 
 bell was going, the breakfast was not ready, and expressed 
 his wonder how this could be the case in so industrious a
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BEA6WE1L, 321 
 
 family. Bragwell made some awkward excuses. He said 
 his wife worked her servants so hard all the week, that even 
 she, as notable as she was, a little relaxed from the strict- 
 ness of her demands on Sunday mornings ; and he owned 
 that in a general way no one was up early enough for 
 church. He confessed that his wife commonly spent the 
 morning in making puddings, pies, syllabubs, and cakes, to 
 last through the week ; as Sunday was the only leisure time 
 she and her maids had. Mr. Worthy soon saw an uncom- 
 mon bustle in the house. All hands were busy. It was 
 nothing but baking, and boiling, and stewing, and frying, 
 and roasting, and running, and scolding, and eating. The 
 boy was kept from church to clean the plate, the man to 
 gather the fruit, the mistress to make the cheese-cakes, the 
 maids to dress the dinner, and the young ladies to dress 
 themselves. 
 
 The truth was, Mrs. Bragwell, who had heard much of 
 the order and good management of Mr. Worthy's family, 
 but who looked down with disdain upon them as far less 
 rich than herself, was resolved to indulge her vanity on the 
 present occasion. She was determined to be even with 
 Mrs. Worthy, in whose praises Bragwell had been so loud, 
 and felt no small pleasure in the hope of making her guest 
 uneasy, iu comparing her with his own wife, when he 
 should be struck dumb with the display both of her skill 
 and her wealth. Mr. Worthy v. as indeed struck to behold 
 as large a dinner as he had been used to see at a justice's 
 meetmcr. II ■, whose frugal and pious wife had accustomed 
 him only to such a plain Sunday's dinner as could be 
 dressed withoul keeping any one from church, when he 
 surveyed the loaded table of his friend, instead of feeling 
 that envy which the grand preparations were meant to raise, 
 felt nothing but disgust at the vanity of his friend's wife, 
 
 14*
 
 322 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 mixed >vith much thankfulness for the piety and simplicity 
 of his own. 
 
 After having made the dinner wait a long time, the 
 Misses Bragwell marched, in, dressed as if they were going 
 to the assize-hall ; they looked very scornfully at having 
 been so hurried, though they had been dressing ever since 
 they got up, and their fond father, when he saw them so 
 fine, forgave all their impertinence, and cast an eye of tri- 
 umph on Mr. Worthy, who felt he had never loved his own 
 humhle daughters so well as at that moment. 
 
 In the afternoon the whole party went to church. To 
 do them justice, it was indeed their common practice once 
 a day, when the weather was good,' and the road was neither 
 dusty nor dirty, when the minister did not begin too early, 
 when the young ladies had not been disappointed of their 
 bonnets on the Saturday night, and when they had no 
 smart company in the house, who rather wished to stay at 
 home. When this last was the case, which, to say the 
 truth, happened pretty often, it was thought a piece of good 
 manners to conform to the humor of the guests. Mr. Brag- 
 well had this day forborne to ask any of his usual company, 
 well knowing that their vain and worldly conversation 
 would only serve to draw on him some new reprimand from 
 his friend. 
 
 Mrs. Bragwell and her daughters picked up, as usual, a 
 good deal of acquaintance at church. Many compliments 
 passed, and much of the news of the week was retailed be- 
 fore the service began. They waited with impatience for 
 the reading the lessons as a licensed season for whispering, 
 and the subject begun during the lessons, was finished while 
 they were singing the psalms. The young ladies made an 
 appointment for the afternoon with a friend in the uexi pew, 
 while their mamma took the opportunity of inquiring aloud, 
 the character of a dairy maid, which she observed, with a
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 823 
 
 compliment to her own good management, would save time 
 on a week-day. 
 
 Mr. Worthy, who found himself quite in a new world, 
 returned home with his friend alone. In the evening he 
 ventured to ask Bragwell, if he did not, on a Sunday 
 night at least, make it a custom to read and pray with his 
 family. Bragwell told hitn he was sorry to say he had no 
 family at home, else he should like to do it for the sake of 
 example. But as his servants worked hard all the week, 
 his wife was of opinion that they should then have a little 
 holiday. Mr. Worthy pressed it home upon him, whether 
 the utter neglect of his servants' principles was not likely 
 to make a heavy article in his final account ; and asked 
 hi in if he did not helieve that the too general liberty of 
 meeting together, jaunting, and diverting themselves on 
 Sunday evenings, was not often found to produce the worst 
 effects on the morals of servants and the good order of 
 families ? " I put it to your conscience," said he, " Mr. 
 Bragwell, whether Sunday, which was meant as a blessing 
 and a benefit, is not, as it is commonly kept, turned into 
 the most mischievous part of the week, by. the selfish kind- 
 ness of masters, who, not daring to set their servants about 
 any public work, allot them that day to follow their own 
 devices, that they themselves may, with more rigor, refuse 
 them a little indulgence, and a reasonable holiday, in the 
 working part of the week, which a good servant has now 
 and then a fair right to expect. Those masters who will 
 give them half, or all of the Lord's day, will not spare them 
 a single hour of a working day. Their work must be 
 done ; God's work may be let alone. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell owned that Sunday had produced many 
 mischiefa in his own family. That the young men and 
 maids, having no eye upon them, frequently went to im- 
 proper places with other servants turned adrift like them-
 
 324 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 selves. That in these parties the poor girls wore too fre- 
 quently led astray, and the men got to public houses and 
 fives-playing. But it was none of his business to watch 
 them. His family only did as others do ; indeed it was his 
 wife's concern ; and as she was so good a manager on other 
 days, that she would not spare them an hour to visit a sick 
 father or mother, it would be hard, she said, if they might 
 not have Sunday afternoon to themselves, and she could 
 not blame them for making the most of it. Indeed, she 
 was so indulgent in this particular, that she often excused 
 the men from going to church, that they might serve the 
 beasts, and the maids, that they might get the milking done 
 before the holiday part of the evening came on. She would 
 not, indeed, hear of any competition between doing her 
 work and taking their pleasure ; but when the difference 
 lay between their going to church and taking their pleas- 
 ure, he must say that for his wife, she always inclined to 
 the good-natured side of the question. She is strict enough 
 in keeping them sober, because drunkenness is a costly sin; 
 and to do her justice, she does not care how little they sin 
 at her expense. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Worthy, " I always like to examine 
 both sides fairly, and to see the different effects of opposite 
 practices ; now, which plan produces the greater share of 
 comfort to the master, and of profit to the servants in the 
 long run ? Your servants, 'tis likely, are very much at- 
 tached to you, and very fond of living where they get their 
 own way in so great a point." 
 
 " O, as to that," replied Bragwell, '" you are quite out. 
 My house is a scene of discord, mutiny, and discontent. 
 And though there is not a better manager in England than 
 my wife, yet she is always changing her servants, so that 
 every quarter-day is a sort of jail delivery at my house ; 
 and when they go off, as they often do, at a moment's warn-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BKAGWEL1. 325 
 
 ing, to own the truth, I often give them money privately, 
 that they may not carry my wife before the justice to get 
 their wages." 
 
 " I see," said Mr. Worthy, " that all your worldly com- 
 pliances do not procure you even worldly happiness. As 
 to my own fami y, I take care to let them see that their 
 pleasure is bound up with their duty, and that what they 
 may call my strictness, has nothing in view hut their safety 
 and happiness. By this means I commonly gain their love, 
 as well as secure their obedience. I know that, with all my 
 care, I am liable to be disappointed, 'from the corruption 
 that is in the world through sin.' But whenever this hap- 
 pens, so far from encouraging me in remissness, it only 
 serves to quicken my zeal. If, by God's blessing, my serv- 
 ant turns out a good Christian, I have been an humble instru- 
 ment in his haud of saving a soul committed to my charge." 
 
 Mis. Bragwell came home, but brought only one of her 
 daughters with her; the other, she said, had given them the 
 slip, and was gone with a young friend, and would not re- 
 turn for a day or two. Mr. Bragwell was greatly dis- 
 pleased, as he knew that young friend had but a slight char- 
 acter, and kept bad acquaintances. Mrs. Lragwell came 
 in, all hurry and bustle, saying, if her family did not go to 
 bed with the lamb on Sundays, when they had nothing to 
 do, how could they rise with the lark on Mondays, when 
 so much was to be done. 
 
 Mr. Worthy had this night much matter for reflection. 
 "We need not," said he, "go into the great world to look 
 for dissipation and vanity. We can find both in a farm- 
 house. ' As fur me and my house,' continued he, 'we will 
 serve the Lord' every day, but. especially on Sunday. ' It i 
 the day which the Lord hath made ; hath ma de for him- 
 self; we will rejoice in it,' and consider th • religious use of 
 it, not only as a duty, but as a privilege." 
 
 s
 
 ,526 THE TWO "WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 The next morning Mr. Bragwell and his friend set out 
 early f r the Golden Lion. AVhat passed on this little jour- 
 ney, my readers shall hear soon. 
 
 PAKT IV. 
 
 THE SUBJECT OF PRAYER DISCUSSED IN A MORNING'S RIDE. 
 
 It was mentioned in the last part of this history, that the 
 chief reason which had drawn Mr. Worthy to visit his 
 friend just at the present time was, that Mr. Bragwell had 
 a small estate to sell by auction. Mr. Worthy, though he 
 did not think he should be a bidder, wished to be present," 
 as he had business to settle with one or two persons who 
 were expected at the Golden Lion on that day, and he had 
 put off his visit till he had seen the sale advertised in the 
 county paper. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy set out early on the Mon- 
 day morning, on their way to the Golden Lion, a small inn 
 in a neighboring market-town. As they had time before 
 them, they had agreed to ride slowly that they might con- 
 verse on some useful subject, but here, as usual, they had 
 two opinions about the same thing. Mr. Bragwell's notion 
 of a useful subject was, something by which money was to 
 be got, and a good bargain struck. Mr Worthy was no 
 less a man of business than his friend. His schemes were 
 wise, and his calculations just ; his reputation for integrity 
 and good sense made him the common judge and umpire 
 in his neighbors' affairs, while no one paid a more exact at- 
 tention to every transaction of his own. But the business 
 of getting money was not with him the first, much less
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAG "WELL. 327 
 
 was it the whole concern of the day. lie sought, in the 
 first place, 'the kingdom of God and his righteousness.' 
 Every morning when he rose, he remembered that he had 
 a Maker to. worship as well as a family to maintain. Re- 
 ligion, however, never made him neglect business, though 
 it sometimes made him postpone it. He used to say, no 
 man had any reason to expect God's blessing through the 
 day who did not ask it in the morning ; nor was he likely 
 to spend the day in the fear of God who did not begin it 
 with his Avorship. But he had not the less sense, spirit, and 
 activity, when he was among men abroad, because he had 
 first served God at home. 
 
 As these two farmers rode along, Mr. Worthy took occa- 
 sion, fiom the fineness of the day, and the beauty of the 
 country through which they passed, to turn the discourse 
 to the goodness of God, and our infinite obligations to him. 
 He knew that the transition from thanksgiving to prayer 
 would be natural and easy ; and he, therefore, sliding by 
 degrees into that important subject, observed that secret 
 prayer was a duty of universal obligation, which every man 
 has it in his power to fulfill, and which he seriously believed 
 was the ground-work of all religious practice, and of all 
 devout affections. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell felt conscious that he was very negligent 
 and irregular in the performance of this duty; indeed, he 
 considered it as a mere ceremony, or at least, as a duty 
 which might give way to the slightest temptation of drow- 
 siness ai night, or business in the morning. As he knew he 
 did not live in the conscientious performance of this prac- 
 tice, he tried to ward off the subject, knowing what a home 
 way his friend had of putting things. After some e\ 
 he at last said, he c< rtainly thought private prayer a good 
 custom, especially tor people who had time ; and that those 
 who were sick, or old, or out of business, could not do bet-
 
 328 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 ter ; but that for his part, he believed much of these sort 
 of things was not expected from men. in active life. 
 
 Worthy. I should think, Mr. Brag-well, that those who 
 are most exposed to temptations stand most in need of 
 prayer ; now there are few, methinks, who are more ex- 
 posed to temptation than men in business ; for those must 
 be in most danger, at least from the world, who have most 
 to do with it. And if this be true, ought we not to pre- 
 pare ourselves in the closet for the trials of the market, the 
 field, and the shop ? It is but putting on our armor before 
 we go out to battle. 
 
 Bragivell. For my part, I think example is the whole of 
 religion, and if the master of a family is orderly, and regu- 
 lar, and goes to church, he does every thing which can be 
 required of him, and no one has a right to call him to an 
 account for any thing more. 
 
 Worthy. Give me leave to say, Mr. Bragwell, that highly 
 as I rate a good example, still I must set a good principle 
 above it. I know I must keep good order, indeed, for the 
 sake of others ; but I must keep a good conscience for my 
 own sake. To God I owe secret piety, T must, therefore, 
 pray to him in private ; to my family I owe a Christian ex- 
 ample, and for that, among other reasons, I must not fail 
 to go to church. 
 
 Bragwell. You are talking, Mr. Worthy, as if I were an 
 enemy to religion. Sir, I am no heathen — Sir, I am a 
 Christian ; I belong to the church ; I go to church ; I always 
 drink prosperity to the church. You yourself, as strict as 
 you are, in never missing it twice a day, are not a warmer 
 friend to the church than 1 am. 
 
 Worthy. That is to say, you know its inestimable value 
 as a political institution ; but you do not seem to know that 
 a man may be very irreligious under the best religious insti- 
 tutions ; and that eveu the most excellent only furnishes the
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 329 
 
 means of being religious, and is no more religion itself 
 than brick and mortar are prayers and thanksgivings. I 
 shall never think, however high their profession, and even 
 however regular their attendance, that those men truly re- 
 spect the church, who bring home little of that religion 
 which is tauarht iu it into their own families or their own 
 hearts ; or, who make the whole of Christianity to consist in 
 a mere formal attendance there. Excuse me, Mr. Bragwell. 
 
 Bragwell. Mr. Worthy, I am persuaded that religion -is 
 quite a proper thing for the poor; and I don't think that the 
 multitude can ever be kept in order without it ; and I am 
 a sort of a politician, you know. We must have bits, and 
 bridles, and restraints for the vulgar. 
 
 Worthy. Your opinion is very just, as far as it goes ; but 
 it does not go far enough, since it does not go to the root 
 of the evil ; for while you value yourself on the soundness 
 of this principle as a politician, I wish you also to see the 
 reason of it as a Christian ; depend upon it, if religion he 
 good for the community at large, it is equally good for 
 every family ; and what is right for a family is equally 
 right for each individual in it. You have therefore your- 
 self brought the most unanswerable argument why you 
 ought to be religious yourself, by asking how we shall keep 
 others in order without religion. For, believe me, Mr. 
 Bragwell, there is no particular clause to except you in the 
 gospel. There are no exceptions there in favor of any one 
 class of men. The same restraints which are necessary for 
 the people at large, are equally necessary for men of every 
 order, high and low, rich and poor, bond and free, learned 
 and i'»-norant. It' Jesus Christ died for no one particular 
 rank, class, or community, then there is no one rank, class, 
 or community, exempt from the obedience to his laws en- 
 joined by the gospel. May 1 ask you, Mr. Bragwell, what 
 M your reason for going to church ?
 
 330 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 JSragwell. Sir, I am shocked at your question. How 
 can I avoid doing a thing so customary and so creditable? 
 Not go to church, indeed ! What do you take me for, 
 Mr. Worthy ? I am afraid you suspect me to be a papist, 
 or a heathen, or of some religion or other that is not Chris- 
 tian. 
 
 Worthy. If a foreigner were to hear how violently one 
 set of Christians in this country often speak against another, 
 how earnest would he suppose us all to be in religious mat- 
 ters : and how astonished to discover that many a man has 
 perhaps little other proof to give of the sincerity of his own 
 religion, except the violence with which he hates the relig- 
 ion of another party. It is not irreligion which such men 
 hate ; but the religion of the man, or the party, whom we 
 are set against ; now hatred is certainly no part ot the re- 
 ligion of the gospel. Well, you have told me why you go 
 to church ; now pray tell me, why do you confess there on 
 your bended knees, every Sunday, that " you have erred 
 and strayed from God's ways ?" " that there is no health in 
 you ? that you have done what you ought not to do ? and 
 that you are a miserable sinner ?" 
 
 JSragwell. Because it is in the Common Prayer Book, to 
 be sure ; a book which I have heard you yourself say was 
 written by wise and good men ; the glory of Christianity, 
 the pillars of the Protestant church. 
 
 Worthy. But have you no other reason ? 
 
 JJragwell. No, I can't say I have. 
 
 Worthy. When you repeat that excellent form of 
 confession, do you really feel that you are a miserable 
 sinner ? 
 
 JSragwell. No, I can't say I do. But that is no objec- 
 tion to my repeating it : because it may suit the case of 
 many who are so. I suppose the good doctors who drew it 
 up, intended that part for wicked people only, such as
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BEAGWELL, 331 
 
 drunkards, and thieves, and murderers ; for I imagine they 
 could not well contrive to make the same prayer quite suit 
 an honest man and a rogue ; and so I suppose they thought 
 it better to make a good man repeat a prayer which suited 
 a rogue, than to make a rogue repeat a prayer which suited 
 a good man ; and you know it is so customary for every 
 body to repeat the general confession, that it can't hurt the 
 credit of the most respectable persons, though every respect- 
 able person must know they have no particular concern in 
 it ; as they are not sinners. 
 
 Worthy. Depend upon it, Mr. Bragwell, those good doc- 
 tors you speak of, were not quite of your opinion ; they 
 really thought that what you call honest men were grievous 
 sinners in a certain sense, and that the best of us stand ir 
 need of making that humble confession. Mr. Bragwell, do 
 you believe in the fall of Adam ? 
 
 Bragwell. To be sure I do, and a sad thing for Adam it 
 ivas; why, it is in the Bible, is it not? It is one of the 
 orettiest chapters in Genesis. Don't you believe it, Mr. 
 Worthy ? 
 
 Worthy. Yes, truly I do. But I don't believe it merely 
 because I read it in Genesis; though I know, indeed, that 
 I am bound to believe every part of tin- word of God. But 
 I have still an additional reason for believing in the fall of 
 the first man. 
 
 Bragwell. Have you, indeed ? Now, I can't guess what 
 that can he. 
 
 Worthy. Why, my own observation of what is within 
 myself teaches me to believe it. It is not only the third 
 chapter of Genesis which convinces me of the truth of the 
 fall, hut also the sinful inclinations which I find in my 
 own heart corresponding with it. This is one of those 
 leading truths of Christianity of which I can never doubt 
 a moment : first because it is abundantly expressed or im-
 
 332 THE TWO WEALTHY 
 
 plied in Scripture ; and next, because the consciousness of 
 the evil nature, I cany about me confirms the doctrine 
 beyond all doubt. Besides, is it not said in Scripture, that 
 by one man sin entered into the world, and that " all we, 
 like lost sheep, have gone astray ?" " that by one man's dip- 
 obedience many were made sinners ?" and so again in twenty 
 more places that I could tell you of? 
 
 Bragwell. Well ; I never thought of this. But is not 
 this a very melancholy sort of doctrine, Mr. Worthy ? 
 
 Worthy. It is melancholy, indeed, if we stop here. But 
 while we are deploring this sad truth, let us take comfort 
 from another, that " as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall 
 all be made alive." 
 
 Bragwell. Yes ; I remember I thought those very fine 
 words, when I heard them said over my poor father's grave. 
 But as it was in the burial of the dead, I did not think of 
 taking it to myself; for I was then young and hearty, and 
 in little danger of dying, and I have been so busy ever 
 since, that I have hardly had time to think of it. 
 
 Worthy. And yet the service pronounced at the burial 
 of all who die, is a solemn admonition to all who live. It 
 is there said, as indeed the Scripture says also, " I am the 
 resurrection and the life ; whosoever believeth in me shall 
 never die, but I will raise him up at the last day." Now 
 do you think you believe in Christ, Mr. Bragwell ? 
 
 Bragwell. To be sure I do ; why you are always fancying 
 me an atheist. 
 
 Worthy. In order to believe in Christ, we must believe 
 first in our own guilt and our own unworthiness ; and when 
 we do this we shall see the use of a Saviour, and not till then. 
 
 Bragwell. Why, all this is a new way of talking. I 
 can't say I ever meddled with such subjects before in my 
 life. But now, what do you advise a man to do upon your 
 plan of religion ?
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 333 
 
 Worthy. Why, all this leads me back to the ground 
 from which we' set out, I mean the duty of prayer; for if 
 we believe that we have an evil nature within us, and that 
 we stand in need of God's grace to help us, and a Savioui 
 to redeem us, we shall be led of course to pray for what 
 we so much need ; and without this conviction we shall not 
 be led to pray. 
 
 Bragwcll. Well, but don't you think, Mr. Worthy, that 
 you good folks who make so much of prayer, have lower 
 notions than we have of the wisdom of the Almighty ? 
 You think he wants to be informed of the thing you tell 
 him ; whereas, I take it for granted that he knows them 
 already, and that, being so good as he is, he will give me 
 every thing he sees fit to give me, without my asking it. 
 
 Worthy. God, indeed, who knows all things, knows what 
 we want before we ask him ; but still has he not said that, 
 " with prayer and supplication we must make known our 
 requests unto him ?" Prayer is the way in which God has 
 said that his favor must be sought. It is the channel 
 throuo-h which he has declared it his sovereign will and 
 pleasure that his blessings should be conveyed to us. What 
 ascends up in prayer, descends to us again in blessings. It 
 is like the rain which just now fell, and which had been 
 drawn up from the ground in vapors to the clouds hefore it 
 descended from them to the earth in that refreshing shower. 
 Besides prayer has a good effect on our minds ; it tends to 
 excite a right disposition toward God in us, and to keep up 
 a constant sense of our dependence. But above all, it is 
 the way to get the good things we want. " Ask," says the 
 Scripture, " and ye shall receive." 
 
 JBragwell. Now, thai is the very thing which I was going 
 to deny: for the truth is, men do not always get what they 
 ask; I believe if I cojild gel a good crop for asking it, I 
 would pray oftener than I do.
 
 334 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 Worthy. Sometimes, Mr. Bragwell, men "ask and re- 
 ceive not, because they ask amiss;" "they ask that tli • 
 may consume it on their lusts." They ask worldly U - 
 . perhaps, when they should ask spiritual ones. Now, 
 the latter, which are the good things 1 spoke of, are always 
 granted to those who pray to God for them, though the 
 former are not. I have observed in the case of some 
 worldly things I have sought for, that the grant of my 
 prayer would have caused the misery of my life ; so that 
 God equally consults our good in what he withholds, and 
 in what he bestows. 
 
 Bragwell. And j T et you continne to pray on, I suppose ? 
 
 Worthy. Certainly ; but then I try to mend as to the 
 object of my prayers. I pray for God's blessing and favor, 
 which is better than riches. 
 
 Bragwell. You seem very earnest on this subject. 
 
 Worthy. To cut the matter short ; I ask then, whether 
 prayer is not positively commas led in the gospel ? When 
 this is the case, we can uever dispute about the necessity or 
 the duty of a thing, as we may when there is no such com- 
 mand. Here, however, let me just add also, that a man's 
 prayers may be turned into no small use in the way of dis- 
 covering to him whatever is amiss in his life. 
 
 Bragwell. How so, Mr. Worthy ? 
 
 Worthy. Why, suppose now, you were to try yourself 
 by turning into the shape of a prayer every practice in 
 which you allow yourself. For instance, let the prayer in 
 the morning be a sort of preparation for the deeds of the 
 day, and the prayer at night a sort of retrospection of those 
 deeds. You, Mr. Bragwell, I suspect, are a little inclined 
 to covetousness ; excuse me, sir. Now, suppose after you 
 have been during a whole day a little too eager to get rich ; 
 suppose, I say, you were to try how it would sound to beg 
 of God at night on your knees, to give you still more
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 335 
 
 money, though jrou have already so much that you know 
 not what to do with it. Suppose you were to pray in the 
 rnorning, "O Lord, give me more riches, though those 
 I have are a snare and a temptatiou to me ;" and ask him 
 in the same solemn manner to bless all the grasping means 
 you intend to make use of in the day, to add to your sub- 
 stance ? 
 
 Bragwell. Mr. Worthy, I have no patience with you foi 
 thinking I could be so wicked. 
 
 Worthy. Yet to make such a covetous prayer as this is 
 hardly more wicked, or more absurd, than to lead the life 
 of the covetous, by sinning up to the spirit of that very 
 prayer which you would not have the courage to put into 
 words. Still further observe how it would sound to confess 
 your sins, and pray against them all, except one favorite 
 sin. " Lord, do thou enable me to forsake all my sins, ex- 
 cept the love of money ;" " in this one thing pardon thy 
 servant." Or, " Do thou enable me to forgive all who 
 have injured me, except old Giles." This you will object 
 against as a wicked prayer, it must be wicked in practice. 
 It is even the more shocking to make it the language of 
 the heart, or of the life, than of the lips. And yet, because 
 you have been used to see people act thus, and have not 
 been used to hear them pray thus, you are shocked at the 
 one, and not shocked at the other. 
 
 Bragivell. Shocked, indeed ! Why, at this rate, you would 
 teach one to hate one's self. 
 
 Worthy. Hear me out, Mr. Bragwell ; you turned your 
 good nephew, Tom Broad, out of doors, you know ; you 
 owned to me it was an act of injustice. Now, suppose on 
 the morning of your doing so you had begged of God, in 
 a solemn act of prayer, to prosper the deed of cruelty and 
 oppression, which you intended to commit that day. I see 
 you are shocked at the thought of such a prayer Well,
 
 330 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS: 
 
 then, would not hearty prayer have kept you from commit- 
 ting that wicked action ? In short, what a life must that be, 
 no act of which you dare beg God to prosper and bless ? 
 If once you can bring yourself to believe that it is your 
 bouuden duty to pray for God's blessing on ) 7 our day's work, 
 you will certainly grow careful about passing such a day as 
 you may safely ask his blessing upon. The remark may be 
 carried to sports, diversions, company. A man, who once 
 takes up the serious use of prayer, will soon find himself 
 obliged to abstain from such diversions, occupations, and 
 societies, as he can not reasonably desire that God will 
 bless to him ; and thus he will see himself compelled to 
 leave off either the practice or the prayer. Now, Mr. Brag- 
 well, I need not ask you which of the two he that is a real 
 Christian will give up, sinning or praying. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell beii'an to feel that he had not the best of 
 the argument, and was afraid he was making no great figure 
 in the eyes of his friend. Luckily, however, he was re- 
 lieved from the difficulty into which the necessity of mak- 
 ing some answer must have brought him, by finding they 
 were come to the end of their little journey : and he never 
 beheld the bunch of grapes, which decorated the sign of 
 the Golden Lion, with more real satisfaction. 
 
 I refer my readers for the transactions at the Golden 
 Lion, and for the sad adventures which afterward befell Mr. 
 Bragwell's family, to the fifth part of the History of the 
 Two Wealthy Farmers.
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 33*7 
 
 PART V. 
 
 THE GOLDEN LION. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy alighted at the Golden 
 Lion. It was market-day : the inn, the yard, the town was 
 all alive. Bragwell was quite in his element. Money, com- 
 pany, and good cheer always set his spirits afloat. lie felt 
 himself the principal man in the scene. He had three 
 great objects in view ; the sale of his land ; the letting Mr 
 Worthy see how much he was looked up to by so manv 
 substantial people, and the showing these people what a 
 wise man his most intimate friend, Mr. Worthy was. It was 
 his way to try to borrow a' little credit from every person, 
 and every thing he was connected with, and by the credit to 
 advance his interest and increase his wealth. 
 
 The farmers met in a large room ; and while they were 
 transacting their various concerns, those whose pursuits 
 were the same naturally herded together. The tanners 
 were drawn to one corner, by the common interest which 
 they took in bark and hides. A useful debate was carrying 
 on at another little table, whether the practice of sowing 
 wheat or of planting it were must profitable. Another set 
 were disputing whether horses or oxen were best for plowing. 
 Those who were concerned in canals, sought the company 
 of other canalers ; while some, who were interested in the 
 new bill for inclosures, wisely looked out for such as knew 
 most about waste lands. 
 
 Mr. Worthy was pleased with all these subjects, and 
 picked up something useful on each. Itwasasaying of his, 
 that most men understood some one thing, and that he who 
 was wise would try to learn from every man something on 
 
 15
 
 338 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 the subject lie best knew ; but Mr Worthy made a further 
 use of the whole What a pity is it, said he, that Christians 
 are not so desirous to turn their time to good account as men 
 of business are ! When shall we see religious persons as 
 anxious to derive profit from the experience of others as these 
 farmers ? When shall we see them as eager to turn their 
 time to good account ? While I approve these men for not 
 being slothful in business, let me improve the hint, by being 
 also fervent in spirit. 
 
 SHOWING HOW MUCH WISER THE CHILDREN OF THIS GENE- 
 RATION ARE THAN THE CHILDREN OF LIGHT. 
 
 When the hurry was a little over, Mr. Bragwell took a turn 
 on the bowling-green. Mr. Worthy followed him, to ask why 
 the sale of the estate was not brought forward. " Let the 
 auctioneer proceed to business," said he ; " the company will 
 be glad to- get home by daylight. I speak mostly with a 
 view to others; for I do not think of being a purchaser my- 
 self." " I know it," said Bragwell, "or I would not be such a 
 fool as to let the cat out of the bag. But is it really possi- 
 ble," proceeded he, with a smile of contempt, " that you should 
 think I will sell my estate before dinner ? Mr. Worthy, you 
 i clever man at books, and such things ; and perhaps 
 can make out an account on paper in a handsomer manner 
 than I can. But I never found much was to be got by fine 
 writing. As to figures, I can carry enough of them in my 
 head to add, divide, and multiply more money than your 
 Learning will ever give you the fingering of. You may beat 
 me at a book, but you are a very child at a bargain. Sell 
 my land before dinner, indeed !" 
 
 Mr. Worthy was puzzled to guess how a man was to 
 show more wisdom by selling a piece of ground at one hour 
 than another, and desired an explanation. Bragwell felt 
 rather more contempt for his understanding than he had
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 33'J 
 
 ever done before. " Look'ee, Mr. Worthy," said he, " I do not 
 think that knowledge is of any use to a man, unless he ha? 
 sense enough to turn it to account. Men are my books, Mr. 
 Worthy ; and it is by reading, spelling, and putting them 
 together to good purpose, that I have got up in the world. I 
 shall give you a proof of this to-day. These farmers are most 
 of them come to the Lion with a view of purchasing this bit 
 of land of mine, if they should like the bargain. Now, as 
 you know a thing can't be any great bargain both to the 
 buyer and the seller too, to them and to me, it becomes me 
 as a man of sense, who has the good of his family at heart, to 
 secure the bargain to myself. I would not cheat any man, 
 sir, but I think it fair enough to turn his weakness to my 
 own advantage ; there is no law against that, you know ; and 
 this is the use of one man's having more sense than another. 
 So, whenever I have a piece of land to sell, I always give 
 a handsome dinner, with plenty of punch and strong beer. 
 We fill up the morning with other business ; and I carefully 
 keep back my talk about the purchase till we have dined. 
 At dinner we have, of course a slice of politics. This puts 
 most of us into a passion, and you know anger is thirsty. 
 Besides ' Church and King' naturally brings on a good 
 many other toasts. Now, as I am master of the feast, you 
 know it would be shabby in me to save my liquor; sol 
 push about the glass one way, and the tankard the other, 
 till all my company are as merry as kings. Every man is 
 delighted to see whai a fine hearty fellow he has to deal 
 with, and Mr. Bragwell receives a thousand compliments. 
 By this time they have gained as much in good humor as 
 they have lost in sober judgment, and this is the proper mo- 
 ment for setting the auctioneer to work, and this I com- 
 monly do to such good purpose, that I go home with my 
 purse a score or two pounds heavier than '■• they had not 
 been warmed by their dinner. In the morning men are
 
 340 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 cool and suspicious, and have all their wits about them ; but 
 a cheerful glass cures all distrust. And what is lucky, I 
 add to rny credit as well as my pocket, and get more praise 
 for my dinner than blame for my bargain." 
 
 Mr. Worthy was struck with the absurd vanity which 
 could tempt a man to own himself guilty of an unfair 
 action for the sake of showing his wisdom. He was be- 
 ginning to express his disapprobation, when they were told 
 dinner was on the table. They went in, and were soon seated. 
 All was mirth and good cheer. Every body agreed that no 
 one gave such hearty dinners as Mr. Bragwell. Nothing 
 was pitiful where he was master of the feast. Bragwell, 
 who looked with pleasure on the excellent dinner before 
 him, and enjoyed the good account to which he should turn 
 it, heard their praises with delight, and cast an eye on 
 Worthy, as much as to say Who is the wise man now ? Hav- 
 ing a mind, for his own credit, to make his friend talk, he 
 turned to him saying, " Mr. Worthy, I believe no people in 
 the world enjoy life more than men of our class. We have 
 money and power, we live on the fat of the land, and have 
 as good right to gentility as the best." 
 
 "As to gentility, Mr. Bragwell," replied Worthy, "I am not 
 sure that this is among the wisest of our pretensions. But 
 I will cay, that ours is a creditable and respectable business. 
 In ancient times, farming was the employment of princes 
 and patriarchs ; and, now-a-days, an honest, humane, sens- 
 ible, English yeoman, I will be hold to say, is not only a 
 very useful, but an honorable character. But then, he 
 must not merely think of enjoying life as you call it, but he 
 must think of living up to the great ends for which he was 
 sent into the world. A wealthy farmer not only has it in 
 his power to live well, but to do much good. He is not 
 only the father cf hi< own family, but his workmen, his de- 
 pendants, and the poor at large, especially in these hard
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OP MR. BRAGWELL. 341 
 
 times. He has in his power to raise into credit all the 
 parish offices which have fallen into disrepute by getting 
 into had hands; and he can convert, what have been 
 falsely thought mean offices, into very important ones, by 
 his just and Christian-like manner of filling them. An 
 upright juryman, a conscientious constable, a humane 
 overseer, an independent elector, an active superintendent 
 of a work-house, a just arbitrator in public disputes, a 
 kind counselor in private troubles ; such a one, I say, fills 
 up a station in society no less necessary, and, as far as it 
 reaches, scarcely less important than that of a magistrate, 
 a sheriff of a county, or even a member of parliament. 
 That can never be a slight or degrading office, on which the 
 happiness of a whole parish may depend." 
 
 Bragwell, who thought the good sense of his friend re- 
 flected credit on himself, encouraged Worthy to go on, but he 
 did it in his own vain way. " Ay, very true, Mr. Worthy," 
 said he, " you are right ; a leading man in our class ought to 
 be looked up to as an example, as you say ; in order to 
 which, he should do things handsomely and liberally, and 
 not grudge himself, or his friends, any thing ;" casting an 
 eye of complacency on the good dinner he had provided. 
 "True," replied Mr. Worthy, " he should be an example of 
 simplicity, sobriety, and plainness of manners. But he will 
 do well," added he, "not to affect a frothy gentility, which 
 will sit but clumsily upon him. If he has money, let him 
 spend prudently, lay up moderately for his children, and 
 give liberally to the poor. But let him rather seek to dig- 
 nity his own station by bis virtues, than to get above it by 
 bis vanity. If be acts thus, then, as long as bis country 
 lasts, a farmer of England will be looked upon as one of its 
 most valuable members ; nay more, by this conduct, lie may 
 contribute to make England last the longer. The riches of 
 the fanner, corn and cattle, are the true riches of a nation;
 
 342 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 but let him remember, that though corn and cattle enrich a 
 country, nothing but justice, integrity, and religion, can 
 preserve it." 
 
 Here one of the company, who was known to be a man 
 of loose principles, and who seldom went to public worship, 
 said he had no objection to religion, and was always ready 
 to testify his regard to it by drinking church and king. On 
 this Mr. Worthy remarked, that he was afraid that too 
 many contented themselves with making this toast include 
 the whole of their religion, if not of their loyalty. " It is 
 with real sorrow," continued he, " that I am compelled to ob- 
 serve, that though there are numberless honorable instances 
 to the contrary, yet I have seen more contempt and neglect 
 of Christianity in men of our calling, than in almost any 
 other. They too frequently hate the rector on account of 
 his tithes, to which he has as good a right as they have to 
 their farms, and the curat e on account of his poverty ; but 
 the truth is, religion itself is often the concealed object of 
 their dislike. I know too many, who, while they affect a 
 violent outv, ird zeal for the church, merely because they 
 conceive its security to be somehow connected with their 
 own political a 1 vantages, yet prove the hollowness of their at 
 tachment, by s! owing little regard to its ministers, and less 
 to its ordinance-." 
 
 Young Wilson, the worthy grazier, whom Miss Bragwell 
 turned off because lie did not understand French dances, 
 thanked Mr. Worthy for what lie had said, and hoped he 
 should be the better U-.v it as long as he lived, and desired 
 his leave to be better acquainted. Most of the others de- 
 clared they had never heard a finer speech, and then, as i? 
 usual, proceeded to show the good effect it had on them, 
 by loose conversation, hard drinking, and whatever could 
 counteract all that Worthy had been saying. 
 
 Mr. Worthy was much concerned to hear Mr. Bragwell,
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 3-13 
 
 after dinner, whisper to the waiter, to put less and less wa- 
 ter into every fresh howl of punch. This was his old way ; 
 if the time they had to sit was long, then the punch was to 
 be weaker, as he saw no good in wasting money to make it 
 stronger than the time required. But if time pressed, then 
 the strength was to be increased in due proportion, as a 
 small quantity must then intoxicate tbem as much in a 
 short time as would be required of a greater quantity had 
 the time been longer. This was one of Mr. BragwelFs nice 
 calculations ; and this was the sort of skill on which he so 
 much valued himself. 
 
 At length the guests were properly primed for business ; 
 just in that convenient stage of intoxication which makes 
 men warm and rash, yet keeps short of that absolute drunk- 
 enness which disqualifies for business, the auctioneer set to 
 work. All were bidders, and, if possibly, all would have 
 been purchasers ; so happily had the feast and the punch 
 operated. They bid on with a still increasing spirit, till 
 they got so much above the value of the land, that Brag- 
 well with a wink and a whisper, said : "Who would sell his 
 land fasting ? Eh ! Worthy V At length the estate was 
 knocked down, at a price very far above its worth. 
 
 As soon as it was sold, Bragwell again said softly to 
 Worthy, " Five from fifty and there remain forty-five. The 
 dinner and drink won't cost me five pounds, and I have got 
 fifty more than t lie, land was worth. Spend a shilling to 
 gain a pound! This is what I call practical arithmetic, 
 Mr. Worthy." 
 
 Mr. Worthy was glad to gel out of this scene; and see- 
 ing that his friend was quite sober, he resolved as theyrode 
 home, to deal plainly with him. Bragwell had found out, 
 among his calculations, thai there were some sins which 
 could only be committed, by a prudent man, one al a time. 
 For instance, he knew that a man could not well get rich
 
 344 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS', 
 
 and get drunk at the same moment ; so that he used to 
 l>ni „ice one first, and the other after; hut he had found 
 out that some vices made very good company together ; 
 thus, while he had watched himself in drinking, lest he 
 should become as unfit to sell as his guests were to buy, he, 
 had indulged, without measure, in the good dinner he had 
 provided. Mr. Worthy, I say, seeing him able to bear 
 reason, rebuked him for this day's proceedings with some 
 severity. Bragwell bore his reproofs with that sort of 
 patience which arises from an opinion of one's own wisdom, 
 accompanied by a recent flush of prosperity. He behaved 
 with that gay good humor, which grows out of united van- 
 ity and good fortune. " You are too squeamish, Mr. 
 Worthy," said he, " I have done nothing discreditable. 
 These men came with their open eyes. There is no com- 
 pulsion used. They are free to bid or to let it alone. [ 
 make them welcome, and I shall not be thought a bit tlie 
 worse of by them to-morrow, when they are sober. Others 
 do it besides me, and I shall never be ashamed of any thing 
 as long as I have custom on my side." 
 
 Worthy. I am sorry, Mr. Bragwell, to hear you support 
 such practices by such arguments. There is not, perhaps, 
 a more dangerous snare to the souls of men than is to be 
 found in that wok! custom. It is a word invented to recon- 
 cile corruption with credit, and sin with safety. But no 
 custom, no fashion, no combination of men, to set up a false 
 standard can ever make a wrong; action right. That a 
 thing is often done, is so far from a proof of its being right, 
 that it is the very reason which will set a thiuking man to 
 inquire if it be not really wrong, lest he should be following 
 " a multitude to do evil." Right is right, though only one 
 man in a thousand pursues it ; and wrong will be forever 
 wrong, though it be the allowed practice of the other nine 
 hundred and ninety-nine. If this shameful custom be really
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BBAflWELL. 345 
 
 common, which I can hardly believe, that is a fresh reason 
 why a conscientious man should set his face against it. 
 And I must go so far as to say (you will excuse me, Mr. 
 Bragwell) that I see no great difference, in the eye of con- 
 science, whatever there may be in the eye of the law, be- 
 tween your making a man first lose his reason, and then 
 getting fifty guineas out of his pocket, because he has lost 
 it, and your picking the fifty guineas out of his pocket, if 
 you had met him dead drunk in his way home to-night. 
 Kay, he who meets a man already drunk and robs him, 
 commits but one sin ; while he who makes him drunk first 
 that he may rob him afterward, commits two. 
 
 Bragwell gravely replied : " Mr. Worthy, while I have 
 the practice of people of credit to support me, and the law 
 of the laud*to protect me, I see no reason to bo ashamed of 
 any thing I do." " Mr. Bragwell," answered Worthy, " a 
 truly honest man is not always looking sharp about him, to 
 see how far custom aud the law will bear him out ; if he 
 be honest on principle, he will consult the law of his con- 
 science, and if he be a Christian, he will consult the writ- 
 ten law of God. We never deceive ourselves more than 
 when we overreach others. You would not allow that you 
 had robbed your neighbor for the world, yet you are not 
 ashamed to own you have outwitted him. I have read this 
 great truth in the works of a heathen, Mr. Bragwell, that 
 the chief misery of man arises from his not knowing how 
 to make right calculations." 
 
 Bragwell. Sir, the remark does not belong to me. I have 
 not made an error of a farthing. Look at the account, sir — 
 
 right to the smallest fraction. 
 
 Worth)/. Sir, L am talking of final accounts; spiritual 
 calculations; arithmetic in the long run. Now, in this, 
 your real ( ihxistian is the only true calculator ; he has found 
 out that we shall be richer in the end, by denying, than by 
 
 15*
 
 346 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 indulging ourselves. He knows that when the balance 
 comes to be struck, when profit and loss shall be summed 
 up, and the final account adjusted, that whatever ease, pros- 
 perity, and delight we had in this world, yet if we have lost 
 our souls in the end, we can not reckon that we have made 
 a good bargain. We can not pretend that a few items of 
 present pleasure make any great figure, set over against 
 the sum total of eternal misery. So you see it is only for 
 want of a good head at calculation that men prefer time to 
 eternity, pleasure to holiness, earth to heaven. You see if 
 we get our neighbor's money at the price of our own in- 
 tegrity ; hurt his good name, but destroy our own souls ; 
 raise our outward character, but wound our inward con- 
 science ; when we come to the last reckoning, we shall find 
 that we were only knaves in the second instance, but fools 
 in the first. In short, we shall find that whatever other 
 wisdom we possessed, we were utterly ignorant of the skill 
 of true calculation. 
 
 Notwithstanding this rebuff, Mr. Bragwell got home in 
 high spirits, for no arguments could hinder him from feel- 
 ing that he had the fifty guineas in his purse. 
 
 There is to a worldly man something so irresistible in the 
 actual possession of present, and visible, and palpable pleas- 
 ure, that he considers it as a proof of his wisdom to set 
 them in decided opposition to the invisible realities of 
 eternity. 
 
 As soon as Bragwell came in, he gayly threw the money 
 he had received on the table, and desired his wife to lock it 
 up. Instead of receiving it with her usual satisfaction, she 
 burst into a violent fit of passion, and threw it back to him. 
 "You may keep your cash yourself," said she. "It is all 
 over — we want no more money. You are a ruined man ! 
 A wicked creature, scraping and working as we have done 
 for her!" Bragwell trembled, but durst not ask what he
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 347 
 
 dreaded to hear, His wife spared him the trouble, by cry- 
 ing out as soon as her rage permitted : " The girl is ruined ; 
 Polly is gone off !" Poor Bragwell's heart sunk within 
 him ; lie grew sick and giddy, and as his wife's rage swal- 
 lowed up her grief, so, in his grief, he almost forgot bis 
 anger. The purse fell from his hand, and be cast a look of 
 anguish upon it, finding, for the first time, that money could 
 not relieve his misery. 
 
 Mr. Worthy, who, though much concerned, was less dis- 
 composed, now called to mind, that the young lady bad not 
 returned with her mother and sister the night before ; be 
 begged Mrs. Bragwell to explain this sad story. Sbe, in- 
 stead of soothing her husband, fell to reproaching him. " It 
 is all your fault," said she ; " you were a fool for your pains. 
 If I had had my way the girls would never have kept com- 
 pany with any but men .of substance, and then they could 
 not have been ruined." " Mrs. Bragwell," said Worthy, 
 " if she has chosen a bad man, it would be still a misfortune, 
 even though be bad been rich." "O, that would alter the 
 case," said she, "a, fat sorrow is better than a Ion one. But 
 to marry a beggar, there is no sin like that," Here Miss 
 Betsy, who stood sullenly by, put in a word, and said, her 
 sister, however, had not disgraced herself by having married 
 a farmer or a tradesman ; she had, at least, made choice of 
 a gentleman. " What marriage ! what gentleman !" cried 
 the afflicted father. " Tell me the worst ;" He was now 
 informed that his darling daughter was gone off with a 
 strolling player, who had been acting in the neighboring 
 villages lately. Miss Betsy again put in, saying, he was no 
 stroller, hut a jfentlemau in disguise, who only acted for his 
 own diversion. *"Does he so," said the now furious Brag- 
 well, "then lie shall be transported for mine." 
 
 At this moment a letter was brought him from his new 
 pon-in-law, who desired his leave to wait upon him, and im-
 
 348 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 plore his forgiveness. He owned he had been shopman to 
 a haberdasher ; but thinking his person and talents ought 
 not to be thrown away upon trade, and being also a little 
 behindhand, he had taken to the stage with a view of 
 making his fortune ; that he had married Miss Bragwell 
 entirely for love, and was sorry to mention so paltry a thing 
 as money, which he despised, but that his wants were press- 
 ing : his landlord, to whom he was in debt, having been so 
 vulgar as to threaten to send him to prison. He ended 
 with saying : " I have been obliged to shock your daugh- 
 ter's delicacy, by confessing my unlucky real name. I be- 
 lieve I owe part of my success with her, to my having as- 
 sumed that of Augustus Frederic Theodosius. She is in- 
 consolable at this confession, which, as you are now my 
 father, I must also make to you, and subscribe myself, with 
 many blushes, by the vulgar name of your dutiful son, 
 
 " Timothy Incle." 
 
 " O !" cried the afflicted father, as he tore the letter in a 
 rage, " Miss Bragwell married to a strolling actor ! How 
 shall I bear it ?" " Why, I would not bear it at all," cried 
 the enraged mother ; " I would never see her ; I would 
 never forgive her ; I would let her starve at the comer of 
 the barn, while that rascal, with all those pagan, popish 
 names, was ranting away at the other." " Nay,' said Miss 
 Betsy, " if he is only a shopman, and if his name be really 
 Timothy Incle, I would never forgive her neither. But 
 who would have thought it by his looks, and by his mons- 
 trous genteel behavior 1 no, he never can have so vulgar a 
 name." 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Worthy, " wete he really an 
 honest haberdasher, I should think there was no other barm 
 done, except the disobedience of the thing. Mr. Bragwell, 
 this is no time to blame you, or hardly to reason with you.
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 349 
 
 I feel for you sincerely. I ought not, perhaps, just at 
 present, to reproach you for the mistaken manner in which 
 you have bred up your daughters, as your error has brought 
 its punishment along with it. You now see, because you 
 now feel, the evil of a false education. It lias ruined your 
 daughter ; your whole plan unavoidably led to some such 
 end. The large sums you spent to qualify them, as you 
 thought, for a high station, only served to make them 
 despise their own, and could do them nothing but harm, 
 while your habits of life properly confined them to company 
 of a lower class. While they were better dressed than the 
 daughters of the first gentry, they were worse taught as to 
 real knowledge, than the daughters of your plowmen. Their 
 vanity has been raised by excessive finery, and kept alive 
 by excessive flattery. Every evil temper has been fostered 
 by indulgence. Their pride has never been controlled ; their 
 self-will has never been subdued ; their idleness has laid 
 them open to every temptation, and their abundance has 
 enabled them to gratify every desire ; their time, that pre- 
 cious talent, has been entirely wasted. Every thing they 
 have been taught to do is of no use, while they are utterly 
 unacquainted with all which they ought to have known. I 
 deplore Miss Polly's false step. That she should have mar- 
 ried a runaway shopman, turned stroller, I truly lament. 
 But for what better husband was she qualified I For the 
 wife of a farmer she was too idle ; for the wife of a trades- 
 man she was too expensive'; for the wife of a gentleman she 
 was too ignorant. You yourself was most to blame. You 
 expected her to acl u i«ly, though you never (aught her 
 that fear of God which is the beginning of wisdom. I owe 
 it to you, as a friend, and to myself as a Christian, to de- 
 dal.', I hat your practices in the common transactions of 
 life, as well as your present misfortune, are almost the nat-
 
 350 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 ural consequences of those false principles which I protested 
 against when you were at my house."* 
 
 Mrs. Bragwell attempted several times to interrupt Mr. 
 Worthy, but her husband would not permit it. He felt 
 the force of all his friend said, and encouraged him to pro- 
 ceed. Mr. Worthy thus went on : "It grieves me to say 
 how much your own indiscretion has contributed even to 
 bring on your present misfortune. You gave your counte- 
 nance to this very company of strollers, though you knew 
 they were acting in defiance of the laws of the land, to say 
 no worse. They go from town to town, and from barn to 
 bam, stripping the poor of their money, the young of their 
 innocence, and all of their time. Do you remember with 
 how much pride you told me that you had bespoke The 
 Bold Stroke for a Wife, for the benefit of this very Mr. 
 Frederic Theodosius ? To this pernicious ribaldry you not 
 only carried your own family, but wasted I know not how 
 much money in treating your workmen's wives and chil- 
 dren, in these hard times, too, when they have scarcely 
 bread to eat, or a shoe on llieir feet ; and all this only that 
 you might have the absurd pleasure of seeing those flatter- 
 ing words, By desire of Mr. Bragwell, stuck up in print at 
 the public house, on the blacksmith's shed, at the turnpike- 
 gate, and on the barn-door." 
 
 Mr. Bragwell acknowledged that his friend's rebuke was 
 too just, and he looked so very contrite as to raise the pity 
 of Mr. Worthy, who, in a mild voice, thus went on : " What 
 I have said is not so much to reproach you with the ruin 
 of one daughter, as from a desire to save the other. Let 
 Miss Betsy go home with me. I do not undertake to be 
 her jailor, but I will be her friend. She will find in my 
 daughters kind companions, and in my wife a prudent guide. 
 I know, she will dislike us at first, but I do not despair in 
 
 * See Part II.
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 351 
 
 time of convincing her that a sober, humble, useful, pious 
 life, is as necessary to make us happy on earth, as it is to fit 
 us for heaven." 
 
 Poor Miss Betsy, though she declared it would he fright- 
 ful dull, and monstrous vulgar, and dismal melancholy, yet 
 was she so terrified at the discontent and grumbling which 
 she would Lave to endure at home, that she sullenly con- 
 sented. She had none of that filial tenderness which led 
 her to wish to stay and sooth and comfort her afflicted 
 father. All she thought about was to get out of the way 
 of her mother's ill humor, and to carry so much of her fin- 
 ery with her as to fill the Misses Worthy with envy and 
 respect. Poor girl ! she did not know that envy was a 
 feeling they never indulged ; and that fine clothes were the 
 last thing to draw their respect. 
 
 Mr. Worthy took her home next day. When they reached 
 his house they found there young Wilson, Miss Betsy's old 
 admirer. She was much pleased at this, and resolved to 
 treat him well. But her good or ill treatment now signi- 
 fied but little. This young grazier reverenced Mr. W< <ri hy's 
 character, and ever since he had met him at the Lion, had 
 been thinking what a happiness it would be to many a 
 young woman bred up by such a father. J If had heard 
 much of the modesty and discretion of both the daughters, 
 but his inclination now determined him in favor of the 
 eliler. 
 
 Mr. Worthy, who knew him to be a young man of good 
 sense and sound principles, allowed him to become a visitor 
 at his house, hut deferred his consent to the marriage till 
 he knew him more thoroughly. Mr. Wilson, from what he 
 saw of the domestic piety of this family, improved daily, 
 both in the knowledge and practice of religion; and Mr. 
 Worthy soon formed him into a most valuable character. 
 During this time Miss Bragwell's hopes had revived; but
 
 352 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 though she appeared in a new dress almost every day, she 
 had the mortification of being beheld with great indiffer- 
 ence by one whom she had always secretly liked. Mr. 
 Wilson married before her face a girl who was greatly her 
 inferior in fortune, person, and appearance ; but who was 
 humble, frugal, meek, and pious. Miss Bragwell now 
 strongly felt the truth of what Mr. Wilson had once told 
 her, that a woman may make an excellent partner for a 
 dance who would make a very bad companion for life. 
 
 Hitherto Mr. Bragwell and his daughters had only learned 
 to regret their folly and vanity, as it had produced them 
 mortification in this life ; whether they were ever brought 
 to a more serious sense of their errors may be seen in a fu- 
 ture part of this history. 
 
 PAKT VI. 
 
 GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell was so much afflicted at the disgraceful 
 marriage of his daughter, who ran off with Timothy Incle, 
 the strolling player, that he never fully recovered his spirits. 
 His cheerfulness, which had arisen from a high opinion of 
 himself, had been confirmed by a constant flow of uninter- 
 rupted success ; and that is a sort of cheerfulness which is 
 very liable to be impaired, because it lies at the mercy of 
 every accident and cross event in life. But though his 
 pride was now disappointed, Ids misfortunes had not taught 
 him any humility, because lie had not discovered that they 
 were caused by his own fault ; nor had he acquired any pa- 
 tience or submission, because he had not learned that all 
 afflictions come from the hand of God, to awaken us to a
 
 OK, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 353 
 
 deep sense of pur sins, and to draw off our hearts from the 
 perishing vanities of this life, Besides, Mr. Bragwell was 
 one of those people who, if they would be thought to bear 
 with tolerable submission such trials as appear to be sent 
 more immediately from Providence, yet think they have 
 a sort of right to rebel at every misfortune which befalls 
 them through the fault of a fellow-creature ; as if our fellow- 
 creatures were not the agents and instruments by which 
 Providence often sees fit to try or to punish us. 
 
 In answer to his heavy complaints, Mr. Worthy wrote 
 him a letter in which he expatiated on the injustice of our 
 impatience, and on the folly of our vindicating ourselves 
 from guilt in the distinctions we make between those trials 
 which seem to come more immediately from God, and those 
 which proceed directly from the faults of our fellow-crea- 
 tures. " Sickness, losses, and death, we think," continued 
 he, " we dare not openly rebel against ; while we fancy we 
 are quite justified in giving loose to our violence when we 
 suffer by the hand of the oppressor, the unkindness of the 
 friend, or the disobedience of the child. But this is one of 
 the delusions of our blinded hearts, [ngratitude, unkind- 
 ness, calumny, are permitted to assail us l>y the same power 
 who cuts off ' the desire of our eyes at a stroke.' The fi iend 
 who betrays us, and the daughter who deceives us, are in- 
 struments for our chastisement, sent by the same purifying 
 hand who orders a fit of sickness to weaken our bodies, or 
 a storm to destroy our crop, or a fire to burn down our house. 
 And we must look for the same remedy in the one case as 
 in the other; I mean prayer and a deep submission to the 
 will of God. We must leave off looking at second causes, 
 and look more at Him who sets them in action. We must 
 try to find out the meaning of the Providence, and hardly 
 dare prav to be delivered from it till it has accomplished iu 
 us the end for which it was sent."
 
 354 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 His imprudent daughter Bragwell would not be brought 
 to see or forgive, nor was the degrading name of Mrs. Incle 
 ever allowed to be pronounced in his hearing. He had 
 loved her with an excessive and undue affection, and while 
 she gratified his vanity by her beauty and finery, he deemed 
 her faults of little consequence ; but when ahe disappointed 
 his ambition by a disgraceful marriage, all his natural af- 
 fection only served to increase his resentment. Yet, though 
 lie regretted her crime less than his own mortification, he 
 never ceased in secret to lament her loss. She soon found 
 out she was undone, and wrote in a strain of bitter repent- 
 ance to ask him for forgiveness. She owned that her hus- 
 band, whom she had supposed to be a man of fashion in 
 disguise, was a low person in distressed circumstances* She 
 implored that her father, though he refused to give her hus- 
 band that fortune for which alone it was now too plain he 
 married her, would at least allow lier some subsistence ; for 
 that Mr. Incle was much in debt, and, she feared, in danger 
 of a jail. 
 
 The father's heart was half melted at this account, and 
 his affection was for a time awakened ; but Mrs. Bragwell 
 opposed his sending her any assistance. She always made 
 it a point of duty never to forgive ; for, she said, it only en- 
 couraged those who had done wrong once to do worse next 
 time. For her part she had never yet been guilty of so 
 mean and pitiful a weakness as to forgive any one ; for to 
 pardon an injury always showed either want of spirit to feel 
 it, or want of power to resent it. She was resolved she 
 would never squander the money for which she worked early 
 and late, on a baggage who had thrown herself away on a 
 beggar, while she had a daughter single, who might yet 
 raise her family by a great match. I am sorry to say that 
 Mrs. Bratrwell's anwr was not owinc: to the undutifulness 
 of the daughter, or the worth! essness of the husband ; pov-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BUAGWEL1, 355 
 
 erty was in her eyes the grand crime. The doctrine of for- 
 giveness, as a religious principle, made no more a part of 
 Mr. Bragwell's system than of his wife's ; but in natural 
 feeling, particularly for this offending daughter, he much 
 exceeded her. 
 
 In a few months the youngest Miss Bragwell desired leave 
 to return home from Mr. Worthy's. She had, indeed, only 
 consented to go thither as a less evil of the two, than stay- 
 ng in her father's house after her sister's elopement. But 
 the sobriety and simplicity of Mr. Worthy's family were 
 irksome to her. Habits of vanity and idleness were become 
 so rooted in her mind, that any degree of restraint 
 was a burden ; and though she was outwardly civil, it was 
 easy to see that she longed to get away. She resolved, 
 however, to profit by her sister's faults ; and made her pa- 
 rents easy by assuring them she would never throw herself 
 away on a man xvlio was worth nothing. Encouraged by 
 these promises, which her parents thought included the 
 whole sum and substance of human wisdom, and which was 
 all, they said, they could in reason expect, her father al- 
 lowed her to come home. 
 
 Mr. Worthy, who accompanied her, found Mr. Bragwell 
 gloomy and dejected. As his house was no longer a scene 
 of vanity and festivity, Mr. Bragwell tried to make himself 
 and his friend believe thai he was grown religious; where- 
 as he was only become disconte ited. As ho had always 
 fancied that piety was a melancholy, gloomy thing, and as 
 he felt his own mind really gloomy, he was willing to think 
 that he was growing pious. He had, indeed, gone more 
 constantly to church, and had taken less pleasure in feast- 
 ing and cards, and now and then read a chapter in the Bi- 
 ble ; but all this was because his spirits were low, and not 
 because his heart was changed. The outward actions were 
 more regular, but the inward man was the same. The
 
 356 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 forms of religion were resorted to as a painful duty ; but 
 this only added to liis misery, while he was utterly ignorant 
 of its spirit and power. He still, however, reserved relig- 
 ion as a loathsome medicine, to which he feared he must 
 have recourse at last, and of which he even now considered 
 every abstinence from pleasure, or every exercise of piety 
 as a bitter dose. His health also was impaired, so that his 
 friend found him in a pitiable state, neither able to receive 
 pleasure from the world, which he so dearly loved, nor 
 from religion, which he so greatly feared. He expected to 
 have been much commended by Mr. Worthy for the change 
 in his way of life ; but Worthy, who saw that the alteration 
 was only owing to the loss of animal spirits, and to the 
 casual absence of temptation, was cautious of flattering him 
 too much. " I thought, Mr. Worthy," said he, " to have 
 received some comfort from you. I was told, too, that re- 
 ligion was full of comfort, but I do not much find it." 
 " You were told the truth," replied Worthy ; " religion is 
 full of comfort, but you must first be brought into a state 
 fit to receive it before it can become so ; you must be 
 brought to a deep and humbling sense of sin. To give you 
 comfort while you are puffed up with high thoughts of your- 
 self, would be to give you a strong cordial in a high fever. 
 Religion keeps back her cordials till the patient is lowered 
 and emptied — emptied of self, Mr. Bragwell. If you had a 
 wound, it must be examined and cleansed, ay, and probed 
 too, before it would be safe to put on a healing plaster. 
 Curing it to the outward eye, while it was corrupt at bot- 
 tom, would only bring on a mortification, and you would 
 be a dead man, while you trusted that the plaster was cur- 
 ing you. You must be, indeed, a Christian before you can 
 be entitled to the comforts of Christianity." 
 
 " I am a Christian," said Mr. Bragwell ; " many of my 
 friends are Christians, but I do not see as it has done us much
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 357 
 
 good." " Christianity itself," answered Worthy, " can not 
 make us good, unless it be applied to our hearts. Christian 
 privileges will not make us Christians, unless we make use 
 of them. On that shelf I *see stands your medicine. The 
 doctor orders you to take it. Have you taken it ?" " Yes," 
 replied Bragwell. " Are you the better for it ?" said Wor- 
 thy. " I think I am," he replied. " But," added Mr. Wor- 
 thy, " are you the better because the doctor has ordered it 
 merely, or because you have also taken it ?" " What a fool- 
 ish question," cried Bragwell ; " why to be sure the doctor 
 might be the best doctor, and his physic the best physic in 
 the world ; but if it stood forever on the shelf, I could not 
 expect to be cured by it. My doctor is not a mountebank. 
 He does not pretend to cure by a charm. The physic is 
 good, and as it suits my case, though it is bitter, I take it." 
 " You have now," said Mr. Worthy, " explained unde- 
 signedly the reason why religion does so little good in the 
 world. It is not a mountebank ; it does not work by a 
 charm; but it offers to cure your worst corruptions by 
 wholesome, though sometimes bitter prescriptions. But you 
 will not take them ; you will not apply to God with, the 
 sanw earnest desire to be healed with which you appjy to 
 your doctor ; you will not confess your sins to one as hon- 
 estly as you tell your symptoms to the other, nor read your 
 Bible with the same faith and submission with which 
 you take your medicine. In reading it, however, you must 
 take care not to apply to yourself the comforts which are 
 not suited to your case. You must, by the grace of God, 
 be brought into a condition to be entitled to the promises, 
 before you can expect the comfort of them. Conviction is 
 not conversion ; that worldly discontent, which is the effect 
 of worldly disappointment, is not that godly sorrow which 
 worketh repentance. Besides, while you have been pursuing 
 all the gratifications of the world, do not complain that you
 
 358 THE TWO WEALTHY 
 
 have not all the comforts of religion too. Could you live 
 in the full enjoyment of both, the Bible would not be true" 
 
 JBragwell. Well, sir, but I do a good action sometimes; 
 and God, who knows he did not make us perfect, will ac- 
 cept it, and for the sake of my good actions will forgive my 
 faults. 
 
 Worthy. Depend upon it, God will never forgive your 
 sins for tbe sake of your virtues. There is no commutation 
 tax there. But he will forgive them on your sincere repent- 
 ance for the sake of Jesus Christ. Goodness is not a single 
 act to be done ; so that a man can say, I have achieved it, 
 and the thing is over ; but it is a habit that is to be con- 
 stantly maintained ; it is a continual struggle with the op- 
 posite vice. No man must reckon himself good for any 
 thing he has already done ; though he may consider it as 
 an evidence that he is in the right way, if he feels a constant 
 disposition to resist every evil temper. But every Christian 
 grace will always find work enough; and he must not fancy 
 that because he has conquered once, his virtue may now sit 
 down and take a holiday. 
 
 ' Mragwell. But I thought we Christians need not be 
 watchful against sin; because Christ, as you so often tell 
 me, died for sinners. 
 
 Worthy. Do not deceive yourself : the evangelical doc- 
 trines, while they so highly exalt a Saviour, do not diminish 
 the heinousness of sin, they rather magnify it. Do not 
 comfort yourself by extenuation or mitigation of sin ; but 
 by repentance toward v God, and faith in our Lord Jesus 
 Christ. It is not by diminishing or denying your debt ; but 
 by confessing it, by owning that you have nothing to pay, 
 that forgiveness is to be hoped. 
 
 Bragwell. I don't understand you. You want to have 
 me as good as a saint, and as penitent as a sinner at the 
 same time.
 
 OE, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 359 
 
 Worthy. I expect of every real Christian, that is, every 
 real penitent, that he should labor to get his heart and life 
 impressed with the stamp of the gospel. I expect to see 
 him aiming at a conformity in spirit and in practice to the 
 will of God in Jesus Christ. I expect to see him gradually 
 attaining toward the entire change from his natural self. 
 When I see a" man at constant war with those several pur- 
 suits and tempers which are with peculiar propriety termed 
 worldly, it is a plain proof to me that the change must have 
 passed on him which the gospel emphatically terms he- 
 coming " a new man.'' 
 
 JBragwell. I hope then I am altered enough to please 
 you. I am sure affliction has made such a change in me, 
 that my best friends hardly know me to be the same man. 
 
 Worthy. That is not the change I mean. 'Tis true, from 
 a merry man you have become a gloomy man ; but that is 
 because you have been disappointed in your schemes : the 
 principle remains unaltered. A great match for your single 
 daughter would at once restore all the spirits you have lost 
 by the imprudence of your married one. The change the 
 gospel requires is of quite another cast: it is having "a 
 new heart and a right spirit ;" it is being " God's workman- 
 ship ;" it is being " created anew in Christ Jesus unto good 
 works;" it is becoming "new creatures;" it is u old things 
 being done away, and all things made new;" it is by so 
 11 learning the truth as it is in .Ions — to the putting oil' the 
 old man, and putting on thenew, which after Godis created 
 in righteousness and true holiness;" it is by "partaking of 
 the divine nature." Pray observe, Mr. Bragwell, these are 
 not my words, aor words picked out of any fanatical book; 
 they are the words of that gospel you profess to believe; 
 it i not a new doctrine, it is as old as our religion \\ 
 Though I can not but observe, that men are more reluctant 
 in believing, more averse to adopting this doctrine than al-
 
 3G0 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 most any other : and indeed I do not wonder at it ; for 
 there is perhaps no one which so attacks corruption in its 
 strongholds ; no one which so thoroughly prohibits a lazy 
 Christian from uniting a life of sinful indulgence with an 
 outward profession of piety. • 
 
 Brairwell now seemed resolved to set about the matter in 
 earnest ; but he resolved in his own strength : he never 
 thought of applying for assistance to the Fountain of Wis- 
 dom ; to Him who giveth might to them who have no 
 strength. Unluckily the very day Mr. Worthy took leave, 
 there happened to be a grand ball at the next town, on ac- 
 count of the assizes. An assize-ball, courteous reader ! is 
 a scene to which gentlemen and ladies periodically resort to 
 celebrate the crimes and calamities of their fellow-creatures, 
 by dancing and music, and to divert themselves with feast- 
 ing and drinking, while unhappy wretches are receiving 
 sentence of death. 
 
 To this ball Miss BraVwell went, dressed out with a 
 double portion of finery, pouring out on her head, in addi- 
 tion to her own ornaments, the whole band-box of feathers, 
 beads, and flowers, her sister had left behind her. While 
 she was at the ball her father formed many plans of relig- 
 ious reformation ; he talked of lessening his business, that 
 he might have more leisure for devotion ; though not just 
 now, while the markets were so high ; and then he began 
 to think of sending a handsome subscription to the Infirm- 
 ary ; though, on second thoughts he concluded that he 
 needed not be in a hurry, but might as well leave it in his 
 will ; though tB give, and repent, and reform, were three 
 things he was bent upon. But when his daughter came 
 home at night so happy and so fine ! and telling how she 
 had danced with Squire Squeeze, the great corn contractor, 
 and how many fine things he had said to her, Mr. Bragwell 
 felt the old spirit of the world return in its full force. A
 
 OR, THE- HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 361 
 
 marriage with Mr. Dashall Squeeze, the contractor, was 
 beyond his hopes ; for Mr. Squeeze was supposed from a 
 very low beginning to have got rich during the war. 
 
 As for Mr. Squeeze, he had picked up as much of the 
 history of his partner between the dances as he desired ; he 
 was convinced there would be no money wanting ; for Miss 
 Bragwell, who was now looked on as an only child, must 
 needs be a great fortune, and Mr. Squeeze was too much 
 used to advantageous contracts to let this slip. As he was 
 gaudily dressed, and possessed all the arts of vulgar flat- 
 tery, Miss Bragwell eagerly caught at his proposal to wait 
 on her father next day. Squeeze was quite a man after 
 BragwelFs own heart, a genius at getting money, a fine dash- 
 ing fellow at spending it. He told his wife that this was the 
 very sort of man for his daughter ; for he got money like a 
 Jew and spent it like a prince ; but whether it was fairly 
 got or wisely spent, he was too much a man of the world 
 to inquire. Mrs. Bragwell was not so run away with by 
 appearances but that she desired her husband to be careful, 
 and make himself quite sure it was the right Mr. Squeeze, 
 and no impostor. But being assured by her husband that 
 Betsy would certainly keep her carriage, she never gave 
 herself one thought with what sort of a man she was to 
 ride in it. To have one of her daughters drive in her own 
 coach, filled up all her ideas <>f human happiness, and drove 
 the oilier daughter quite out of her head. The marriage 
 was celebrated with great splendor, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Squeeze set off for London, where they had taken a house. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell now tried to forget that he had any other 
 daughter; and if some thoughts of the resolutions he had 
 made of entering on a more religious course would some- 
 times force themselves upon him, they were put off, like 
 the repentance of Felix, to <> more convenient season ; and 
 finding he was likely to have a grandchild, lie became 
 
 1G
 
 362 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS', 
 
 more worldly and more ambitious than ever ; thinking this 
 a just pretense for adding house to house, and field to field. 
 And there is no stratagem by which men more fatally de- 
 ceive themselves, than when they make even unborn chil- 
 dren a pretense for that rapine, or that hoarding, of which 
 their own covetousness is the true motive. Whenever he 
 ventured to write to Mr. Worthy about the wealth, the 
 gayety, and the grandeur of Mr. and Mrs. Squeeze, (hat 
 faithful friend honestly reminded him of the vanity and un- 
 certainty of worldly greatness, and the error he had been 
 guilty of in marrying his daughter before he had taken 
 time to inquire into the real character of the man, saying, 
 that he could not help foreboding that the happiness of a 
 match made at a ball might have an untimely end. 
 
 Notwithstanding Mi-. Bragwell had paid down a larger 
 fortune than was prudent, for fear Mr. Squeeze should fly 
 off, vet he was surprised to receive very soon a pressing 
 letter from him. desiring him to advance a considerable 
 sum, as he had the offer of an advantageous purchase, 
 which he must lose for want of money. Bragwell was 
 staggered, and refused to comply ; but his wife told him he 
 must not be shabby to such a gentleman as Squire Squeeze ; 
 fur that she heard on all sides such accounts of their grand- 
 eur, their feasts, their carriages, and their liveries, that she 
 and her husband oucfht even to deny themselves comforts 
 to oblige such a generous son, who did all this in honor of 
 their daughter ; besides, if he did not send the money soon, 
 they might be obliged to lay down their coach, and then 
 she would never be able to show her face again. At length 
 Mr. Bragwell lent him the money on his bond ; he knew 
 Squeeze's income was large ; for he had carefully inquired 
 into this particular, and for the rest he took his word. 
 Mrs. Squeeze also got great presents from her mother, by 
 representing to her how expensively they were forced to
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 363 
 
 live to keep up their credit, and what honor she was con- 
 ferring on the family of the Bragwell's, by spending their 
 money in such grand company. Among many other letters 
 she wrote her the following : 
 
 TO MRS. BRAGWELL. 
 
 " You can't imagine, dear, mother, how charmingly we 
 live. I lie a-bed almost all day, and am up all night ; but 
 it is never dark, for all that, for we burn such numbers of 
 candles all at once, that the sun would be of no use at all 
 in London. Then I am so happy ; for we are never quiet a 
 moment, Sundays or working-days ; nay, I should not know 
 which was which, only that we have most pleasure on a 
 Sunday ; because it is the only day on which people have 
 nothing to do but to divert themselves. Then the great 
 folks are all so kind, and so good ; they have not a bit of 
 pride, for they will come and eat and drink, and win my 
 money, just as if I was their equal ; and if I have got but a 
 cold, they are so very unhappy that they send to know 
 how I do ; and though I suppose they can't rest till the foot- 
 man has told them, yet they are so polite, that if I have 
 been dying they seem to have forgotten it the next time we 
 meet, and not to know but they have seen me the day be- 
 fore. Oh ! they are true friends; and for ever smiling, and 
 so fond of one another, that they like to meet and enjoy 
 one another's company by hundreds, and always think the 
 more the merrier. I shall never be tired of such a delight- 
 ful life. 
 
 "Your dutiful daughter, 
 
 " Betsy Squeeze." 
 
 The style of her letters, however, altered in a few months. 
 She owned that though things went <>n gawr and grander 
 than ever, yet she hardly ever saw her husband, except her
 
 864 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 house was full of company, and cards or dancing was going 
 on ; that he was often so busy abroad he could not come 
 borne all night ; that be always borrowed tbe money her 
 mother sent her when he was going out on this nightly bus- 
 iness ; and that the last time she had asked him for money 
 he cursed and swore, and bid her apply to the old farmer 
 and his rib, who were made of money. This letter Mrs. 
 Bragwell concealed from her husband. 
 
 At length, on some change in public affairs, Mr. Squeeze, 
 who had made an overcharge of some thousand pounds in 
 one article, lost his contract ; he was found to owe a large 
 debt to government, and his accounts must be made up im- 
 mediately. This was impossible ; he had not only spent his 
 large income, without making any provision for his family, 
 but had contracted heavy debts by gaming and other vices. 
 His creditors poured in upon him. Lie wrote to Bragwell 
 to borrow another sum ; but without hinting at the loss of 
 his contract. These repeated demands made Bragwell so 
 uneasy, that instead of sending him the money, he resolved 
 to go himself secretly to London, and judge by his own 
 eyes how things were going on, as his mind strangely mis- 
 gave him. Lie got to Mr. Squeeze's house about eleven at 
 night, and knocked gently, concluding that they must be gone 
 to bed. But what was his astonishment to find the hall was 
 full of men ; he pushed through in spite of them, though to 
 his great surprise they insisted on knowing his name, saying 
 they must carry it to their lady. This affronted him ; he 
 refused, saying, " It is not because I am ashamed of my 
 name, it will pass for thousands in any market in the west 
 of England. Is this your London manners, not to let a man 
 of my credit in without knowing his name indeed !" What 
 was his amazement to see every room as full of card- tables 
 and of fine gentlemen and ladies as it would hold. All was 
 so light, and so gay, and so festive, and so grand, that he
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OP MR. BRAGWELL. 365 
 
 reproached himself for his suspicions, thought nothing too 
 good for them, and resolved secretly to give Squeeze an- 
 other five hundred pounds to help to keep up so much grand- 
 eur and happiness. At length seeing a footman he knew, 
 he asked him where were his master and mistress, for he 
 could not pick them out among the company ; or rather his 
 ideas became so confused with the splendor of the scene, 
 that he did not know whether they were there or not. The 
 man said, that his master had just sent for his lady up 
 stairs, and he believed th^t he was not well. Mr. Brag- 
 well said he would go up himself and look for his daughter, 
 as he could not speak so freely to her before all that com- 
 pany. 
 
 He went up, knocked at the chamber door, and its not 
 being opened, made him push it with some violence. He 
 heard a bustling noise within, and again made a fruitless 
 attempt to open the door. At this the noise increased, and 
 Mr. Bragwell was struck to the heart at the sound of a pis- 
 tol from within. He now kicked so violently against the 
 door that it burst open, when the first sight he saw was his 
 daughter falling to the ground in a tit, and Mr. Squeeze dy- 
 ing by a shot from a pistol which was dropping out of his 
 hand. Mr. Bragwell was not the only person whom the 
 sound of the pistol had alarmed. The servants, the com- 
 pany, all heard it, and all ran up to the scene of horror. 
 Those who had the best of the game took care to bring up 
 their tricks in their hands, having had the prudence to leave 
 the very few who could be trusted, to watch the stakes, 
 while those who had the prospect of losing profiled by the 
 confusion, a i nl threw up their cards. All was dismay and 
 terror. Some ran for a surgeon, others examined the dying 
 man; some remove. 1 Mrs. Squeeze to her bed, while poor 
 Bragwell could neither see, nor hear, nor do any thing. One 
 of the company took up a letter which lay open upon the table,
 
 366 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 and was addressed to him ; they read it, hoping it might 
 explain the horrid mystery. It was as follows : 
 
 " TO MR. BRAGWELL. 
 
 " Sir — Fetch home your daughter ; I have ruined her, my- 
 self, and the child to which she every hour expects to be a mo- 
 ther. I have lost my contracts. My debts are immense. You 
 refuse me money ; I must die then ; but I will die like a man 
 of spirit. They wait to take me to prison ; I have two exe- 
 cutions in my house ; but I have ten card-tables in it. I 
 would die as I have lived. I invited all this company, and 
 have drank hard since dinner to get primed for this dread- 
 ful deed. My wife refuses to write to you for another thou- 
 sand, and she must take the consequences. Vanity has 
 been my ruin ; it has caused all my crimes. Whoever is 
 resolved to live beyond his income is liable to eveiy sin. 
 He can never say to himself, Thus far shalt thou go and no 
 further. Vanity led me to commit acts of rapine, that I 
 might live in splendor; vanity makes me commit self-mur- 
 der, because I will not live in poverty. The new philosophy 
 says that death is an eternal sleej) ; but the new philosophy 
 lies. Do you take heed ; it is too late for me : the dreadful 
 gulf yawns to swallow me ; I plunge into perdition : there 
 is no repentance in the grave, no hope in hell. 
 
 "Yours, etc. 
 
 " DASHALL SQUEEZe." 
 
 The dead body was removed, and Mr. Bragwell remaining 
 almost without speech or motion, the company began to 
 think of retiring, much out of humor at having their party 
 so disagreeably broken up : they comforted themselves how- 
 ever, that it was so early (for it was now scarcely twelve) 
 they could finish their evening at another party or two ; so 
 completely do habits of pleasure, as it is called, harden the
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. B R A G W E L L . 3G7 
 
 heart, and steel jt not only against virtuous impressions, but 
 against natural feelings ! Now it was, that those who had 
 nightly rioted at the expense of these wretched people, were 
 the first to abuse them. Not an offer of assistance was 
 made to this poor forlorn woman ; not a word of kindness 
 or of pity ; nothing but censure was now heard, " Why 
 must these upstarts ape people of quality ?" though as long 
 as these upstarts could feast them, their vulgarity and their 
 bad character had never been produced against them. " As 
 long as thou dost well unto thyself, men shall speak good of 
 thee." One guest who, unluckily, had no other house to go 
 to, coolly said, as he walked off, " Squeeze might as well 
 have put off shooting himself till morning. It was mon- 
 strously provoking that he could not wait an hour or two." 
 
 As every thing in the house was seized Mr. Bragwell pre- 
 vailed on his miserable daughter, weak as she was, next 
 morning to set out with him to the country. His acquaint- 
 ance with polite life was short, but he had seen a great deal 
 in a little time. They had a slow and sad journey. In 
 about a week, Mrs. Squeeze lay-in of a dead child ; she her- 
 self languished a few days, and then died; and the afflicted 
 parents saw the two darling objects of their ambition, for 
 whose sakes they had made too much haste to be rich, car- 
 ried to the land where all things are forgotten. Mrs. Brag- 
 well's grief, like her other passion-, was extravagant; and 
 poor BragwelPs sorrow was rendered so bitter by self-re- 
 proach, that he would have quite sunk under it, had he not 
 thought of his old expedient in distress, that of sending for 
 Mr. Worthy to comforl bim. 
 
 It was Mr. Worthy's way, to warn people of those misfor- 
 tunes which he saw their faults must Deeds bring on them ; 
 l»ut not to reproach or desert them when the misfortunes 
 came He had aever been near Bragwell during the short 
 but flourishing reign of the Squeezes : for be knew that
 
 369 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 prosperity made the ears deaf and the heart hard to counsel ; 
 but as soon as he heard his friend was in trouble, he set out 
 to go to hirn. Brag-well burst into a violent fit of tears 
 when he saw him, and when he could speak, said, " This 
 trial is more than I can bear." Mr. Worthy kindly took 
 him by the hand, and when he was a little composed, said, 
 "I will tell you a short story. There was in ancient times 
 a famous man who was a slave. His master, who was very 
 good to him, one day gave him a bitter melon, and made 
 him eat it : he ate it up without one word of complaint. 
 ' How was it possible,' said the master, ' for you to eat so 
 very nauseous and disagreeable a fruit V The slave replied, 
 'My good master, I have received so many favors from 
 your bounty, that it is no wonder if I should once in my life 
 eat one bitter melon from your hands.' This generous an- 
 swer so struck the master, that the history says he gave him 
 his liberty. With such submissive sentiments, my friend, 
 should man receive his portion of sufferings from God, from 
 whom he receives so many blessings. Y.ou in particular 
 have received ' much good at the hand of God, shall you 
 not receive evil also?' " 
 
 " O ! Mr. Worthy !" said Bragwell, " this blow is too heavy 
 for me, I can not survive this shock : I do not desire it, I only 
 wish to die." " We are very apt to talk most of dying when 
 we are least fit for it," said Worthy. " This is not the lan- 
 guage of that submission which makes us prepare for death ; 
 but of that despair which makes us out of humor with life. 
 ! Mr. Bragwell ! you are indeed disappointed of the grand 
 ends which made life so delightful to you ; but till your 
 heart is humbled, till you are brought to a serious convic- 
 tion of sin, till you arc brought to see what is the true end 
 of life, you can have no hope in death. You think you 
 have no business on earth, because those for whose sake you 
 too eagerly heaped up riches are no more. But is there not
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OP MR. BRAG "WELL. 369 
 
 under the canopy of heaven some afflicted being whom you 
 may yet relieve, some modest merit which you may brino- 
 forward, some helpless creature you may save by your advice, 
 some perishing Christian you may sustain by your wealth ? 
 When you have no sins of your own to repent of, no mercies 
 of God to be thankful for, no miseries of others to relieve, 
 then, and not till then, I consent you should sink down in 
 despair, and call on death to relieve you." 
 
 Mr. Worthy attended his afflicted friend to the funeral 
 of his unhappy daughter and her babe. The solemn serv- 
 ice, the committing his late gay and beautiful daughter to 
 darkness, to worms, and to corruption ; the sight of the 
 dead infant, for whose sake he had resumed all his schemes 
 of vanity and covetousness, when he thought he had got 
 the better of them ; the melancholy conviction that all 
 human prosperity ends in ashes to ashes, and dust to duai. 
 had brought down Mr. Bragwell's self-sufficient and haughty 
 soul into something of that humble frame in which Mr. 
 Worthy had wished to see it. As soon as they returned 
 home, he was bemnninff to seize the favorable moment for 
 fixing these serious impressions, when they were unseason- 
 ably interrupted by the parish officer, who came to ask Mr. 
 liragwell what he was to do with a poor dying woman who 
 was traveling: the country with her child, and was taken in 
 a fit under the church-yard wall ? "At first they thought 
 she was dead," said the man, "but finding she still breathed, 
 they have carried her into the work-house till she could give 
 some account of herself." 
 
 Mr. lira-well was impatient at the interruption, which 
 was, indeed, unseasonable, and told the man that lie was at 
 that time too much overcome by sorrow to attend to busi- 
 ness, but he would give him an answer to-morrow. " But, 
 my friend," said Mr. Worthy, "the poor woman may die to- 
 night ; your mind is indeed not in a frame for worldly busi-
 
 370 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 nviss ; but there is no sorrow too great to forbid our attend- 
 ing the calls of duty. An act of Christian charity will not 
 disturb, but improve the seriousness of your spirit; and 
 though you can not dry your own tears, God may in great 
 mercy permit you to dry those of another. This may be 
 one of those occasions for which I told you life was worth 
 keeping. Do let us see this woman." Bragwell was not 
 in a state either to consent or refuse, and his friend drew 
 him to the work-house, about the door of which stood a 
 crowd of people. " She is not dead," said one, " she moves 
 her head." " But she wants air," said all of them, while 
 they all, according to custom, pushed so olose upon her 
 that it was impossible she could get any. A fine boy of 
 two or three years old stood by her, crying, " Mammy is 
 dead, mammy is starved." Mr. Worthy made up to the 
 poor woman, holding his friend by the arm ; in order to 
 give her air he untied a large black bonnet which hid her 
 face, when Mr. Bragwell, at that moment casting his eyes 
 on her saw in this poor stranger the face of his own run- 
 away daughter, Mrs. Incle. He groaned, but could not 
 speak ; and as he was turning away to conceal his anguish, 
 the little boy fondly caught hold of his hand, lisping out, 
 " O stay and give mammy some bread." His heart yearned 
 toward the child ; he grasped his little hand in his, while 
 he sorrowfully said to Mr. Worthy, " It is too much, send 
 away the people. It is my dear naughty child ; ' my 
 •punishment is greater than I can bear.'' " Mr. Worthy de- 
 sired the people to go and leave the stranger to them ; but 
 by this time she was no stranger to any of them. Pale and 
 meager as >ras her face, and poor and shabby as was her 
 dress, the proud and flaunting Miss Polly Bragwell was 
 easily known by every one present. They went away, but 
 with the mean revenge of little minds, they paid themselves 
 by abuse, for all the airs and insolence they had once en-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 3"Z1 
 
 dured from her. " Pride must have a fall," said one, " i 
 remember when' she was too good to speak to a poor body," 
 said another. " Where are her flounces and furbelows 
 now 1 It is come home to her at last ; her child looks as 
 if he would be glad of the worst bit she formerly de- 
 nied us." 
 
 In the mean time Mr. Bragwell had sunk into an old 
 wicker chair which stood behind, and groaned out, " Lord, 
 forgive my hard heart ! Lord, subdue my proud heart ; 
 create a clean heart, God ! and reneio a right sjririt tvithin 
 me? These were perhaps the first words of genuiue prayer 
 he had ever offered up in his whole life. Worthy overheard 
 it, and in his heart rejoiced ; but this was not a time for 
 talking, but doing. He asked Bragwell what was to be 
 done with the unfortunate woman, who now seemed to 
 recover fast, but she did not see them, for they were behind. 
 She embraced her boy, and faintly said, " My child, what 
 shall we do ? / will arise and go to my father, and say 
 unto him, Father, I have sinned, against heaven and before 
 thee." This was a joyful sound to Mr. Worthy, who was 
 inclined to hope that her heart might be as much changed 
 for the better as her circumstances were altered for the 
 worse ; and he valued the goods of fortune so little, and 
 contrition of soul so much, that he began to think the 
 change on the whole might be a happy one. The boy then 
 sprung from his mother, and ran to Bragwell, saying, " Do 
 be good to mammy." Mrs. Incle looking round, now per- 
 ceived her lather ; she fell at his feet, saying, "O forgive 
 your guilty child, and save your innocent one from starv- 
 ing." Bragwell sunk down by her, and prayed God to 
 forgive hut] i her and himself, in terms of genuine sorrow. 
 To hear words of real penitence and heart -('fit prayer 
 from this once high-minded father and vain daughter, was 
 music to Worthy's ears, who thought this moment of out
 
 372 THE TWO WKALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 ward misery was the only joyful one lie had ever spent in 
 the Bragwell family. 
 
 He was resolved not to interfere, but to let the father's 
 own feelings work out the way into which he was to act. 
 
 Bragwell said nothing, but slowly led to his own house, 
 holding the little boy by the hand, and pointing to Worthy 
 to assist the feeble steps of his daughter, who once more 
 entered her father's doors ; but the dread of seeing her 
 mother quite overpowered her. Mrs. BragweU's heart was 
 not changed, but sorrow had weakened her powers of resist- 
 ance ; and she rather suffered her daughter to come in, 
 than gave her a kind reception. She was more astonished 
 than pleased ; and even in this trying moment, was more 
 disgusted with the little boy's mean clothes, than delighted 
 with his rosy face. As soon as she was a little recovered, 
 Mi\ Bragwell desired his daughter to tell him how she hap- 
 pened to be at that place at that time. 
 
 In a weak voice she began : " My tale, sir, is short, but 
 mournful." Now, I am very sorry that my readers must 
 wait for this short, but mournful tale, a little longer. 
 
 PART VII. 
 
 MRS. INCLE's STORY 
 
 " I left your house, dear father,''* said Mrs. Incle, " with 
 a heart full of vain triumph. I had no doubt but my hus- 
 band was a great man, who put on that disguise to obtain 
 my hand. Judge, then, what I felt to find that he was a 
 needy impostor, who wanted my money, but did not care 
 for me. This discovery, though it mortified, did not hum-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 373 
 
 ble Hie. I had neither affection to bear with the man who 
 had deceived me, nor religion to improve by the disappoint- 
 ment. I have found that change of circumstances does not 
 change the heart, till God is pleased to do it. My mis- 
 fortuue only taught me to rebel more against him. I 
 thought God unjust; I accused my father, I was envious of 
 my sister, I hated my husband ; but never once did I blame 
 myself. 
 
 " My husband picked up a wretched subsistence by join- 
 ing himself to any low scheme of idle pleasure that was 
 going on. He would follow a mountebank, carry a dice- 
 box, or fiddle at the fair. He was always taunting me for 
 that gentility on which I so much valued myself. ' If I 
 had married a poor working girl,' said he, ' she could now 
 have got her bread ; but a fine lady without money is a 
 disgrace to herself, a burden to her husband, and a plague 
 to society.' Every trial which affection might have made 
 lighter, we doubled by animosity ; at length my husband 
 was detected in using false dice ; he fought with his ac- 
 cuser, both were seized by a press-gang, and sent to sea. 
 I was now left to the wide world ; and miserable as I had 
 thought myself before, I soon found there were higher de- 
 grees of misery. I was near my time, without bread for 
 myself, or hope for my child. I set out on foot in search 
 of the village where I had heard my husband say his friends 
 lived. It was a severe trial to my proud heart to stoop to 
 those low people ; but hunger is not delicate, and I was 
 near perishing. My husband's parents received me kindly, 
 saying, that though they had nothing but what they earned 
 by their labor, yet I was welcome to share their hard fare ; 
 for they trusted that God who sent mouths would send meat 
 also. They gave me a small room in their cottage, and 
 furnished me with many necessaries, which they denied 
 themselves."
 
 374 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS', 
 
 " O ! my child !" interrupted Bragwell, "every word cuts 
 me to the heart. These poor people gladly gave thee of 
 their little, while thy rich parents left thee to starve." 
 
 " How shall I own," continued Mrs. Incle, " that all this 
 goodness could not soften my heart ; for God had not yet 
 touched it. I received all their kindness as m, favor done to 
 them ; and thought them sufficiently rewarded for their 
 attentions by the rank and merit of their daughter-in-law. 
 When my father brought me home any little dainty which 
 he could pick up, and my mother kindly dressed it for me, 
 I would not condescend to eat it with them, but devoured it 
 sullenly in my little garret alone, suffering them to fetch 
 and carry every thing I wanted. As my haughty behavior 
 was not likely to gain their affection, it was plain they did 
 not love me ; and as I had no notion that there were any 
 motives to good actions but fondness, or self-interest, I was 
 puzzled to know what could make them so kind to me ; for 
 of the powerful and constraining law of Christian charity I 
 was quite ignorant. To cheat the weary hours, I looked 
 about for some books, and found, among a few others of the 
 same cast, ' Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in 
 the Soul.' But all those sort of books were addressed to 
 sinners ; now as T knew I was not a sinner, I threw them 
 away in disgust. Indeed, they were ill suited to a taste 
 formed by plays and novels, to which reading I chiefly trace 
 my ruin ; for, vain as I was, I should never have been guilty 
 of so wild a step as to run away, had not my heart been 
 tainted and my imagination inflamed by those pernicious 
 books. 
 
 " At length my little George was born. This added to 
 the burden I had brought on this poor family, but it did 
 not diminish their kinduess, and we continued to share their 
 scanty fare without any upbraiding on their part, or any 
 gratitude on mine. Even this poor baby did not soften my
 
 OK, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 375 
 
 heart ; I wept over him, indeed, day and night, but they 
 were tears of despair ; I was always idle, and wasted those 
 hours in sinful rnurruurs at his fate, which I should have 
 employed in trying to maintain him. Hardship, grief, and 
 impatience, at length brought on a fever. Death seemed 
 now at hand, and I felt a gloomy satisfaction in the thought 
 of being rid of my miseries, to which I fear was. added a 
 sullen joy, to think that you, sir, and my mother, would be 
 plagued to hear of my death when it would be too late ; and 
 in this your grief I anticipated a gloomy sort of revenge. 
 But it pleased my merciful God not to let me tbus perish in 
 my sins. My poor mother-in-law sent for a good clergy- 
 man, who pointed out the clanger of dying in that hard and 
 unconverted state, so forcibly, tbat I shuddered to find on 
 what a dreadful precipice I stood. He prayed with me 
 and for me so earnestly, tbat at length God, who is some- 
 times pleased to magnify his own glory in awakening those 
 who are dead in trespasses and sins, was pleased of his free 
 grace, to open my blind eyes, and soften my stony heart. 
 I saw myself a sinner, and prayed to be delivered from the 
 wrath of God, in comparison of which the poverty and dis- 
 grace I now suffered appeared as nothing. To a soul con- 
 vinced of sin, the news of a Redeemer was a joyful sound. 
 Instead of reproaching Providence, or blaming my parents, 
 or abusing my husband, I now learned to condemn myself, 
 to adore that God who had not cut me off in my ignorance, 
 to pray for pardon for the past, and grace for the time to 
 come. I now desired to submit to penury and hunger, so 
 that I might but live in the fear of God in this world, and 
 enjoy his favor in the next. I now learned to compare my 
 present light sufferings, the consequence of my own sin, 
 with those bitter sufferings of my Saviour, which lie en, lured 
 for my sake, and I was ashamed of murmuring. Bui self- 
 ignorance, conceit, and vanity were so rooted in me, that my
 
 376 
 
 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 progress was very gradual, and I had the sorrow to feel how 
 much the power of long bad habits keeps down the growth 
 of religion in the heart, even after the principle itself has 
 begun to take root. I was so ignorant of divine things, 
 that I hardly knew words to frame a prayer ; but when I 
 got acquainted with the Psalms, I there learned how to 
 pour out the fullness of my heart, while in the gospel I 
 rejoiced to see what great things God had done for my 
 soul. 
 
 " I now took down once more from the shelf ' Dod 
 dridge's Rise and Progress ;' and oh ! with what new eyes 
 did I read it ! I now saw clearly, that not only the thief 
 and the drunkard, the murderer and the adulterer are sin- 
 ners, for that I knew before ! but I found out that the un- 
 believer, the selfish, the proud, the worldly-minded, all, in 
 short, w r ho bve without God in the world, are sinners. I 
 did not nov- apply the reproofs I met with to my husband, 
 or my father, or other people, as I used to do ; but brought 
 them home to myself. In this book I traced, with strong 
 emotions and close self-application, the sinner through all 
 his course ; his first awakening, his convictions, repentance, 
 joys, sorrows, backsliding, and recovering, despondency, 
 and delight, to a triumphant death-bed ; and God was 
 pleased to make it a chief instrument in bringing me to 
 himself. Here it is," continued Mrs. Incle, untying her 
 little bundle, and taking out a book ; "accept it, my deal 
 father, and I will pray that God may bless it to you, as He 
 has done to me. 
 
 " When I was able to come down, I passed my time with 
 these good old people, and soon won their affection. I was 
 surprised to find they had very good sense, which I never 
 had thought poor people could have ; but, indeed, worldly 
 persons do not know how much religion, while it mends 
 the heart, enlightens the understanding also. I now regret-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 377 
 
 ted the eveninge I had wasted in my solitary garret, when 
 I might have passed them in reading the Bible with these 
 good folks. This was their refreshing cordial after a weary 
 day, which sweetened the pains of want and age. I one 
 day expressed my surprise that my unfortunate husband, 
 the son of such pious parents, should have turned out so 
 ill : the poor old man said with tears, ' I fear we have been 
 guilty of the sin of Eli ; our love was of the wrong sort. 
 Alas ! like him, roe honored our son more than God, and 
 God has smitten us for it. We showed him by our ex- 
 ample, what was right ; but through a false indulgence, we 
 did not correct him for what was wrong. We were blind 
 to his faults. He was a handsome boy, with sprightly 
 parts : we took too much delight in these outward things. 
 He soon got above our management, and became vain, idle, 
 and extravagant ; and when we sought to restrain him, it 
 was then too late. We humbled ourselves before God ; but 
 he was pleased to make our sin become its own punish- 
 ment. Timothy grew worse and worse, till he was forced 
 to abscond for 5. misdemeanor, after which we never saw 
 him, but have often heard of him changing from one idle 
 way of life to another ; unstable as water, he has been a 
 footman, a soldier, a shopman, a gambler, and a strolling 
 actor. With deep sorrow we trace back his vices to our 
 ungoverned fondness ; that lively and sharp wit, by which 
 he has been able to carry on such a variety of wild schemes, 
 might, if we had used him to bear reproof in his youth, 
 have enabled him to have done great service for God and 
 his count rv. But our flattery made him wise in his own 
 conceit; and there is more hope of a fool than of him. 
 We indulged our own vanity, and have, destroyed his 
 soul.' " 
 
 Here Mr. Worthy Btopped Mrs. [nele, saying, that when- 
 ever he heard it lamented that the children of pious parents
 
 378 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS 
 
 often turned out so ill, he could not help thinking that there 
 must be frequently something- of this sort of error in the 
 bringing them up ; he knew, indeed, some instances to the 
 contrary, in which the best means had failed ; but he be- 
 lieved, that from Eli, the priest, to Incle, the laborer, much 
 more than half the failures of this sort might be traced to 
 some mistake, or vanity, or bad judgment, or sinful indulg- 
 ence in the parents. 
 
 " I now looked about," continued Mrs. Incle, " in order 
 to see in what I could assist my poor mother ; regretting 
 more heartily than she did, that I knew no one thing that 
 was of any use. I was so desirous of humbling myself 
 before God and her, that I offered even to try to wash." 
 " You wash !" exclaimed Bragwell, starting up with great 
 emotion, " Heaven forbid, that with such a fortune and 
 education, Miss Bragwell should be seen at a washing-tub." 
 This vain father, who could bear to hear of her distresses 
 and her sins could not bear to hear of her washing. Mr. 
 Worthy stopped him, saying, " As to her fortune, you know 
 you refused to give her any ; and as to her education, you 
 see it had not taught her how to do any thing better ; I am 
 sorry you do not see in this instance, the beauty of Chris- 
 tian humility. For my own part I set a greater value on 
 such an active proof of it, than on a whole volume of pro- 
 fessions." Mr. Bragwell did not quite understand this, and 
 Mrs. Incle went on. " What to do to get a penny I knew 
 not. Making of filagree, or fringe, or card-purses, or cut- 
 ting out paper, or dancing and singing was of no use in 
 our village. The shopkeeper, indeed, would have taken 
 me, if I had known any thing of accounts ; and the clergy- 
 man could have got me a nursery-maid's place, if I could 
 have done good plain work. I made some awkward at- 
 tempts to learn to spin and knit, when my mother's wheel 
 or knitting lay by, but I spoiled both through my ignor-
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 379 
 
 «mce. At last I luckily thought upon the fine netting I 
 used to make for my trimmings, and it struck me that I 
 might turn this to some little account. I procured some 
 twine, and worked early and late to make nets for fisher- 
 men, and cabbage-nets. I was so pleased that I had at 
 last found an opportunity to show my good will by this 
 mean work, that I regretted my little George was not big 
 enough to contribute his share to our support, by traveling 
 about to sell my nets." 
 
 " Cabbage-nets !" exclaimed Bragwell ; " there's no bear- 
 ing this. Cabbage-nets ! My grandson hawk cabbage- 
 nets ! How could you think of such a scandalous thing ?" 
 " Sir," said Mrs. Incle, mildly, " I am now convinced that 
 nothing is scandalous which is not wicked. Besides, we 
 were in want ; and necessity, as well as piety, would have 
 reconciled me to this mean trade." Mr. Bragwell groaned, 
 md bade her go on. 
 
 " In the mean time my little George grew a fine boy ; 
 and I adored the, goodness of God who in the sweetness of ^ 
 maternal love, had given me a reward for many sufferings. 
 Instead of indulging a gloomy distrust about the fate of 
 this child, I now resigned him to the will of God. Instead 
 of lamenting because he was not likely to be rich, I was 
 resolved to bring him up with such notions as might make 
 him contented to be poor. I thought if I could subdue all 
 vanity and selfishness in him, I should make him a happier 
 man than if I had thousands to bestow on him; aud I 
 trusted that I should be rewarded for every painful act of 
 self-denial, by the future virtue and happiness of my child. 
 Can you believe it, my dear lather, my days now passe I 
 not unhappily 1 I worked hard all day, and that alone is a 
 source of happiness beyond what the idle can guess. After 
 my child was asleep at night, I read a chapter in tin' Bible 
 to my parents, whose eyes now began to fail them. We
 
 380 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS', 
 
 then thanked God over our frugal supper of potatoes^ -and 
 talked over the holy men of old, the saints, and the martyrs 
 who would have thought our homely fare a luxury. We 
 
 . compared our peace, and liberty, and safety, with their 
 bonds, and imprisonment, and tortures ; and should have 
 been ashamed of a murmur. We then joined in prayer, in 
 which my absent parents and my husband were never for- 
 gotten, and went to rest in charity with the whole world, 
 and at peace with our own souls." 
 
 " Oh ! my forgiving child !" interrupted Mr. Bragwell, 
 sobbing ; " and didst thou really pray for thy unnatural 
 father ? and didst thou lay thee down in rest and peace ? 
 Then, let me tell thee, thou wast better off than thy mother 
 and I were. But no more of this ; go on." 
 
 " Whether my father-in-law had worked beyond his 
 strength, in order to support me and my child, I know not, 
 but he was taken dangerously ill. While he lay in this 
 state, he received an account that my husband was dead in 
 
 ^the West Indies of the yellow fever, which has carried off 
 such numbers of our countrymen ; we all wept together, 
 and prayed that his awful death might quicken us in pre- 
 paring for our own. This shock joined to the fatigue of 
 nursing her sick husband, soon brought my poor mother to 
 death's door. I nursed them both, and felt a satisfaction in 
 giving them all I had to bestow, my attendance, my tears, 
 and my prayers. I, who was once so nice and so proud, so 
 disdainful in the midst of plenty, and so impatient under 
 the smallest inconvenience, was now enabled to glorify God 
 by my activity and by my submission. Though the sor- 
 rows of my heart were enlarged, I cast my burden on Him 
 who cares for the weary and heavy-laden. After having 
 watched by these poor people the whole night, I sat down 
 to breakfast on my dry crust and coarse dish of tea, with- 
 out a murmur : my greatest grief was, lest I should bring
 
 OR, THE HISTORT OF MR. BEAGWELL. 381 
 
 away the infection to my dear D03 7 ; for the fever was now 
 become putrid. I prayed to know what it was my duty to 
 do between my dying parents and my helpless child. To 
 take care of the sick and aged, seemed to be my first duty ; 
 so I offered up my child to Him who is the father of the 
 fatherless, and He in mercy spared hirn to me. 
 
 " The cheerful piety with which these good people 
 breathed their last, proved to me that the temper of mind 
 with which the pious poor commonly meet death, is the 
 grand compensation made them by Providence for all the 
 hardships of their inferior condition. If they have had 
 few joys and comforts in life already, and have still fewer 
 hopes in store, is not all fully made up to them by their 
 being enabled to leave this world with stronger desires of 
 heaven, and without those bitter regrets after the good 
 things of this life, which add to the dying tortures of the 
 worldly rich ? To the forlorn and destitute, death is not so 
 terrible as it is to him who sits at ease in his possessions, 
 and who fears that this night his soul shall be required of 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Bragwell felt this remark more deeply than his 
 daughter meant he should. He wept, and bade her pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 " I followed my departed parents to the same grave, and 
 wept over them, but not as one who had no hope. They 
 had neither houses nor lands to leave me, but they had left 
 me their Bible, their blessing, and their example, of which 
 I humbly trust I shall feel the benefits when all the riches 
 of this world shall have an end. Their few effects, consist- 
 ing of some poor household goods, and some working-tools, 
 hardly sufficed to pay their funeral expenses. I was soon 
 attacked with the same fever, and saw myself, as I thought, 
 dying the second time ; my danger was the same, but my 
 views were changed. I now saw eternity in a more awful
 
 382 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 light than I had done before, when I wickedly thought 
 death might be gloomily called upon as a refuge from every 
 common trouble. Though I had still reason to be humble 
 on account of my sin, yet, by the grace of God, I saw 
 death stripped of his sting and robbed of his terrors, 
 through him who loved me, and gave himself for me ; and 
 in the extremity of pain, my soul rejoiced in God my 
 Saviour. 
 
 " I recovered, however, and was chiefly supported by the 
 kind clergyman's charity. When I felt myself nourished 
 and cheered by a little tea or broth, which he daily sent me 
 from his own slender provision, my heart smote me, to think 
 how I had daily sat down at home to a plentiful dinner, with* 
 out any sense of thankfulness for my own abundance, or 
 without inquiring whether my poor sick neighbors were 
 starving : and I sorrowfully remembered, that what my 
 poor sister and I used to waste through daintiness, would 
 now have comfortably fed myself and child. Believe me, 
 my dear mother, a laboring man who has been brought 
 low by a fever, might often be restored to his work some 
 weeks sooner, if on his recovery he was nourished and 
 strengthened by a good bit from a farmer's table. Less 
 than is often thrown to a favorite spaniel would suffice ; so 
 that the expense would be almost nothing to the giver, 
 while to the receiver it would bring health, and strength, 
 and comfort, and recruited life. And it is with regret I 
 must observe, that young women in our station are less at- 
 tentive to the comforts of the poor, less active in visiting 
 the cottages of the sick, less desirous of instructing the 
 young, and working for the aged, than many ladies of 
 higher rank. The multitude of opportunities of this sort 
 which we neglect, among the families of our father's dis- 
 tressed tenants and workmen, will, I fear, one day appear 
 against us.
 
 OE, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 383 
 
 " By the time I was tolerably recovered, I was forced to 
 leave the house. I had ho human prospect of assistance. 
 I humbly asked of God to direct my steps, and to give me 
 entire obedience to his will. I then cast my eye mourn- 
 fully on my child; and, though prayer had relieved my 
 heart of a load wbich without it would have been intoler- 
 able, my tears flowed fast, while I cried out in the bitterness 
 of my soul, How many hired servants of my father have 
 bread enough, and to spare, and I perish with hunger. 
 This text appeared a kind of answer to my prayer, and 
 gave me courage to make one more attempt to soften you 
 in my favor. I resolved to set out directly to find you, to 
 confess my disobedience, and to beg a scanty pittance with 
 which I and my child might be meanly supported in some 
 distant county, where we should not, by our presence, dis- 
 grace our more happy relations. We set out and traveled 
 as fast as my weak health and poor George's little feet and 
 ragged shoes would permit. I brought a little bundle of 
 such work and necessaries as I had left, by selling which we 
 subsisted on the road." " I hope," interrupted Bragwell, 
 " there were no cabbage-nets in it ?" " M least," said her 
 mother, " I hope you did not sell them near home V\ " No ; 
 I had none left," said Mrs. Incle, " or I should have done it. 
 I got many a lift iu a wagon for my child and my bundle, 
 which was a great relief to me, as I should have had both 
 to cany. And here I can not help saying, I wish drivers 
 would not be too hard in their demands ; if they help a poor 
 sick traveler on a mile or two, it proves a great relief to 
 wary bodies and naked feet ; and such little cheap charities 
 may be considered as the cup of cold water, which, it given 
 on right grounds, shall not lose its reivardr Here Brag 
 well sighed to think that when mounted on his fine bay 
 mare, or drivinn- his neat chaise, it had never once crossed 
 his mind that the poor way-worn foot traveler wa* not
 
 384 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 equally at his ease, nor had it ever occurred to him that 
 shoes were a necessary accommodation. Those who want 
 nothing are apt to forget how many there are who want 
 every thing. Mrs. Incle went on ; "I got to this village 
 about seven this morning ; and while I sat on the church- 
 yard wall to rest and meditate how I should make myself 
 known at home, I saw a funeral ; I inquired whose it was, 
 and learned it was my sister's. This was too much for me, 
 and I sank down in a fit, and knew nothing that happened 
 to me from that moment, till I found myself in the work- 
 house with my father and Mr. Worthy." 
 
 Here Mrs. Incle stopped. Grief, shame, pride, and re- 
 morse, had quite overcome Mr. Bragwell. He wept like a 
 child, and said he hoped his daughter would pray for him ; 
 for that he was not in a condition to pray for himself, though 
 he found nothing else could give him any comfort. His deep 
 dejection brought on a fit of sickness. " O ! said he, I now 
 begin to feel an expression in the sacrament which I used 
 to repeat without thinking it had any meaning, the remem- 
 brance of my sins is grievous, the burden of them is intoler- 
 able. O ! it is awful to think what a sinner a man may be, 
 and yet retain a decent character ! How many thousands 
 are in my condition, taking to themselves all the credit of 
 their prosperity, instead of giving God the glory ! heaping 
 up riches to their hurt, instead of dealing their bread to the 
 hungry ! O ! let those who hear of the Bragwell family, 
 never say that vanity is a little sin. In me it has been the 
 fruitful parent of a thousand sins — selfishness, hardness of 
 heart, forgetfulness of God. In one of my sons vanity was 
 the cause of rapine, injustice extravagance, ruin, self-murder. 
 Both my daughters were undone by vanity, thought it only 
 wore the more harmless shape of dress, idleness, and dissi- 
 pation. The husband of my daughter Incle it destroyed, 
 by leading him to live above his station, and to despise
 
 OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 385 
 
 labor. Vanity insnarecl the souls even of his pious parents, 
 for while it led fhem to wish their son in a better condition, 
 it led them to allow such indulgences as were unfit for his 
 own. O ! you who hear of us, humble yourselves under 
 the mighty hand of God ; resist high thoughts ; let every 
 imao-ination be brought into obedience to the Son of God. 
 If you set a value on finery look into that grave ; behold 
 the moldering body of my Betsy, who now says to Cor- 
 ruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my 
 mother, and my sister. Look to the bloody and brainless 
 head of her husband. O, Mr. Worthy, how does Providence 
 mock at humau foresight ! I have been greedy of gain, 
 that the son of Mr. Squeeze might be a great man ; he is 
 dead ; while the child of Timothy Incle, whom I had doomed 
 to beggary, will be my heir. Mr. Worthy, to you I com- 
 mit this boy's education; teach him to value his immortal 
 soul more, and the good things of this life less than I have 
 done. Bring him up in the fear of God, and in the govern- 
 ment of his passions. Teach him that unbelief and pride 
 are at the root of all sin. I have found this to ray cost. I 
 trusted in my riches ; I said, ' To-morrow shall be as this 
 day and more abundant.' I did not remember that for 
 all these things God would bring me to judgment. I am not 
 sure that I believe in a judgment: I am not sure that I be- 
 lieve in a God." 
 
 Bragwell at length grew better, but he never recovered 
 his spirits. The conduct of Mrs. Incle through life was 
 that of an humble Christian. She sold all her sister's finery 
 which her father had given her, and gave the money to the 
 poor ; saying, " It did not become one who professed pen- 
 itence to return to the gayeties of life." Mr. Bragwell did 
 not oppose this; uot that he had fully acquired a just no- 
 tion of the sell-denying spirit of religion, but. having a 
 head not very clear at making distinctions, he was never 
 
 11
 
 386 THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 
 
 able after the sight of Squeeze's mangled body, to think of 
 gayety and grandeur, without thinking at the same time of 
 a pistol and bloody brains; for, as his first introduction into 
 gay life had presented him with all these objects at one 
 view, he never afterward could separate them in his mind. 
 He even kept his fine beaufet of plate always shut ; because 
 it brought to his mind the grand unpaid-for sideboard that 
 he li.id seen laid out for Mr. Squeeze's supper, to the remem- 
 brance of which he could not help tacking the idea of 
 debts, prisons, executions, and self-murder. 
 
 Mr. Brao-well's heart had been so buried in the love of 
 the world, and evil habits had become so rooted in him, that 
 the progress he made in religion was very slow ; yet he 
 earnestly prayed and struggled against sin and vanity ; and 
 when his unfeeling wife declared she could not love the 
 boy unless he was called by their name instead of Incle, 
 Bragwell would never consent, saying he stood in need of 
 every, help against pride. He also got the letter which 
 Squeeze wrote just before he shot himself, framed and glaz- 
 ed ; this he hung up in his chamber, and made it a rule to 
 go and read it as often as he found his heart disposed to 
 
 VANITY.
 
 'TIS ALL FOR THE BEST.* 
 
 " It is all for the best," said Mrs. Simpson, whenever any 
 misfortune befell her. She had got such a habit of vindi- 
 cating Providence, that instead of weeping and wailing 
 under the most trying dispensations, her chief care was to 
 convince herself and others, that however great might be 
 her sufferings, and however little they could be accounted 
 for at present, yet that the Judge of all the earth could not 
 but do right. Instead of trying to clear herself from any 
 possible blame that might attach to her under those mis- 
 fortunes which, to speak after the manner of men, she might 
 seem not to have deserved, she was always the first to justify 
 Him who had inflicted it. It was not that, she supersti- 
 tiuusly converted every visitation into a punishment ; she 
 entertained more correct ideas of tliat (Jod who overrules 
 all events. She knew that some calamities were sent to ex- 
 ercise her faith, others to purify her heart ; some to chas- 
 tise her rebellious will, and all to remind Ixt that this " was 
 not her rest;" that this world was not the scene for the full 
 and final display of retributive justice. The honor of God 
 was dearer to her than ber own credit, and her chief desire 
 was to turn all events to bis glory. 
 
 * A profligate wit of A neighboring country having attempted to 
 turn Hiis doctrine into ridicule, under the same title here assumed, 
 it occurred to the author that it might not be altog -eless to 
 
 illustrate the same doctrine on Christian principles.
 
 388 'tis all for the best. 
 
 Though Mrs. Simpson was the daughter of a clergyman, 
 and the widow of a genteel tradesman, she had been re- 
 duced by a succession of misfortunes, to accept of a room 
 in an almshouse. Instead of repining at the change ; in- 
 stead of dwelling on her former gentility, and saying, "how 
 handsomely she had lived once ; and how hard it was to be 
 reduced ; and she little thought ever to end her days in an 
 alms-house" — which is the common language of those who 
 were never so well off before — she was thankful that such 
 an asylum was provided for want and age ; and blessed God 
 that it was to the Christian dispensation alone that such 
 pious institutions owed their birth. 
 
 One fine evening, as she was sitting reading her Bible on 
 the little bench shaded with honey-suckles, just before her 
 door, who should come and sit down by her but Mrs. Betty, 
 who had formerly been lady's maid at the nobleman's house 
 in the village of which Mrs. Simpson's father had been min- 
 ister. Betty, after a life 'of vanity, was, by a train of mis- 
 fortunes, brought to this very alms-house ; and though she 
 had taken no care by frugality and prudence to avoid it, she 
 thought it a hardship and disgrace, instead of being thank- 
 ful, as she ought to have beeu, for such a retreat. At first 
 she did not know Mrs. Simpson ; her large bonnet, cloak, 
 and brown stuff gown (for she always made her appearance 
 conform to her circumstances) being very different from the 
 dress she had been used to wear when Mrs. Betty had seen 
 her dining at the great house ; and time and sorrow had 
 much altered her countenance. But when Mrs. Simpson 
 kindly addressed her as an old acquaintance, she screamed 
 with surprise. " What ! you, madam ?" cried she ; " you in 
 an alms-house, living on charity ; you, who used to be so 
 charitable yourself, that you never suffered any distress in 
 the parish which you could prevent ?" " That may be one 
 reason, Betty," replied Mrs. Simpson, " why Providence has
 
 'tis all for the best. 389 
 
 provided this refuge for ray old age. And my heart over- 
 flows with gratitude when I look back on his goodness." 
 " No such great goodness, methinks," said Betty ; " why, 
 you were born and bred a lady, and are now reduced to 
 live in an alms-house." " Betty, I was born and bred a 
 sinner, undeserving of the mercies I have received." " No 
 such great mercies," said Betty. " Why, I heard you had 
 been turned out of doors ; that your husband had broke ; 
 and that you had been in danger of starving, though I did 
 not know what was become of you." " It is all true, Betty, 
 glory be to God ! it is ail true." 
 
 " Well," said Betty, " you are an odd sort of a gentlewo- 
 man. If from a prosperous condition I had been made a 
 bankrupt, a widow, and a beggar, I should have thought it 
 no such mighty matter to be thankful for : but there is no 
 accounting for taste. The neighbors used to say that all 
 your troubles must needs be a judgment upon you ; but I 
 who knew how good you were, thought it very hard you 
 should suffer so much ; but now I see you reduced to an 
 alms-house, I beg your pardon, madam, but I am afraid 
 the neighbors were in the right, and that so many misfor- 
 tunes could never have happened to you without you had 
 committed a great many sins to deserve them ; for I always 
 thought that God is so just that he punishes us for all our 
 bad actions, and rewards us for all our good ones." " So 
 he does, Betty ; but he does it in his own way, and at his 
 own time, and not according to our notions of good and 
 evil ; f<-r his ways are not as our ways. God, indeed, pun- 
 ishes the bad, and rewards the good ; but he does not do it 
 fully and finally in this world. Indeed he* does not set such 
 a value on outward tilings as to make riches, and rank, and 
 beauty, and health, the reward of piety ; that would be act- 
 ing like weak and erring men, and not like a just and holy 
 God. < >ur belief in a future state of rewards and punish-
 
 390 'tis all for the best. 
 
 ments is not always so strong as it ought to be, even now ; 
 but bow totally would our faith fail, if we regularly saw 
 every thing made even iu this world. We shall lose noth- 
 ing by having pay-day put oft". The longest voyages make 
 the best returns. So far am I from thinking' that God is 
 less just, and future happiness less certain, because I see the 
 wicked sometimes prosper, and the righteous sutler in this 
 world, that I am rather led to believe that God is more just 
 and heaven more certain : for, in the first place, God will 
 not put off his favorite children with so poor a lot as the 
 good things of this world ; and next, seeing that the best 
 men here below do not often attain to the best things ; why 
 it only serves to strengthen my belief that they are not the 
 best things in His eye ; and He has most assuredly reserved 
 for those that love Him such ' good things as eye has not 
 seen nor ear heard.' God, by keeping man in Paradise 
 while he was innocent, and turning him into this world as 
 soon as he had sinned, gave a plain proof that he never in- 
 tended the world, even in its happiest state, as a place of 
 reward. My father gave me good principles and useful 
 knowledge ; and while he taught me by a habit of constant 
 employment to be, if I may so say, independent of the 
 world ; yet he led me to a constant sense of dependence on 
 -God — " " I do not see, however," interrupted Mrs. Betty, 
 " that your religion has been of any use to you. It has 
 been so far from preserving you from trouble, that I think 
 you have had more than the usual share." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Simpson ; " nor did Christianity ever 
 pretend to exempt its followers from trouble ; this is no 
 part of the promise. Nay, the contrary is rather stipulated : 
 ' In the world ye shall have tribulation.' But if it has not 
 taught me to escape sorrow, I humbly hope it has taught 
 me how to bear it. If it has taught me not to feel, it has 
 taught me not to murmur. I will tell you a little of my
 
 TIS ALL FOR THE BEST. 391 
 
 story : as my father could save little or nothing for me, he 
 was desirous of* seeing me married to a young gentleman in 
 the neighborhood, who expressed a regard for me. But 
 while he was anxiously engaged in bringing this about, my 
 good father died." 
 
 " How very unlucky," interrupted Betty. 
 
 " No, Betty," replied Mrs. Simpson, " it was very provi- 
 dential ; this man, though he maintained a decent character, 
 had a good fortune, and lived soberly, yet he would not 
 have made me happy." "Why, what could you want 
 more of a man ?" said Betty. " Religion," returned Mrs. 
 Simpson. "As my father made a creditable appearance, 
 and was very charitable ; and as I was an only child, this 
 gentleman concluded that he could give me a consider- 
 able fortune ; for he did not know that all the poor in his 
 parish are the children of every pious clergyman. Finding 
 I had little or nothing left me, he withdrew his attentions." 
 " What a sad thing !" cried Betty. " No, it was all for the 
 best ; Providence overruled his covetousness for my good. 
 I could not have been happy with a man whose soul was set 
 on the perishable things of this world ; nor did I esteem 
 him, though I labored to submit my own inclinations to 
 those of my kind father. The very circumstance of being 
 left penniless produced the direct contrary effect on Mr. 
 Simpson : he was a sensible young man, engaged in a pros- 
 perous business. We had long highly valued each other; 
 but while my father lived, he thought me above his hopes. 
 We were married ; I found him an amiable, industrious, 
 good-tempered man ; he respected religion and religious 
 people; but with excellent dispositions, 1 had the grief to 
 find him less pious than I had hoped. lie was ambitious, 
 and a little too much immersed in worldly schemes; 
 and though I knew it was all done for my sake, yet that 
 did not bliod me so far as to make me think it right. He
 
 3t>2 'tis all for the best. 
 
 attached himself so eagerly to business, that he thought 
 every hour lost in which he was not doing something that 
 would tend to raise me to what he called my proper rank. 
 The more prosperous he grew the less religious he became : 
 and I began to find that one might be unhappy with a hus- 
 band one tenderly loved. One day as he was standing on 
 some steps to reach down a parcel of goods, he tell from 
 the top and broke his leg in two places." 
 
 " What a dreadful misfortune !" said Mrs. Betty. " What 
 a sigual blessing !" said Mrs. Simpson. " Here I am sure 1 
 had reason to say all was for the best ; from the very hour 
 in which my outward troubles began, I date the beginning 
 of my happiness. Severe suffering, a near prospect of 
 death, absence from the world, silence, reflection, and above 
 all, the divine blessing on the prayers and Scriptures I read to 
 him, were the means used by our merciful Father to turn my 
 husband's heart. During his confinement he was awakened 
 to a deep sense of his own sinfulness, of the vanity of all 
 this world has to bestow, and of his great need of a Sav- 
 iour. It was many months before he could leave his bed ; 
 duiing this time his business was neglected. His principal 
 clerk took advantage of his absence to receive large sums 
 of money in his name, and absconded. On hearing of this 
 great loss, our creditors came faster upon us than we could 
 answer their demands ; they grew more impatient as we 
 were less able to satisfy them ; one misfortune followed an- 
 other, till at lengh Mr. Simpson became a bankrupt." 
 
 " What an evil !" exclaimed Betty. " Yet it led in the 
 end to much good," resumed Mis. Simpson. "We were 
 forced to leave the town in which we had lived with so 
 much credit and comfort, and to betake ourselves to a mean 
 lodging in a neighboring village, till my husband's strength 
 should be recruited, and till we could have time to look 
 •about us and see what was to be done. The first night we
 
 'tis all for the best. 393 
 
 got to this poor dwelling, my husband felt very sorrowful, 
 not for his own sake, but that he had brought so much 
 poverty on me, whom he had so dearly loved ; I, on the 
 contrary, was unusually cheerful, for the blessed change in 
 his mind had more thau reconciled me to the sad change 
 in his circumstances. I was contented to live with him in 
 a poor cottage for a few years on earth, if it might contrib- 
 ute to our spending a blessed eternity together in heaven. 
 I said to him, ' Instead of lamenting that we are now re- 
 duced to want all the comforts of life, I have sometimes 
 been almost ashamed to live in the full enjoyments of them, 
 when I have reflected that my Saviour not only chose to 
 deny himself all these enjoyments, but even to live a life of 
 hardship for my sake ; not one of his numerous miracles 
 tended to his own comfort ; and though we read at differ- 
 ent times that he both hungered and thirsted, yet it was not 
 for his own gratification that he once changed water into 
 wine ; and I have often been struck with the near position 
 of that chapter in which this miracle is recorded, to that in 
 which he thirsted for a draught of water at the well in Sa- 
 maria.* It was for others, not himself, that even the hum- 
 ble sustenance of barley-bread was multiplied. See here, 
 we have a Bed left us (I had, indeed, nothing but straw to 
 stuff it with), but the Saviour of the world " had not where 
 to lay his head.'' ' My husband smiled through his tears, 
 and we sat down to suppr-r. It consisted of a roll and a 
 bit of cheese which I had brought with me, and we eat it 
 thankfully. Seeing Mr. Simpson beginning to relapse into 
 distrust, the following conversation, as nearly as I can re- 
 member, took place between us. lie began by remarking, 
 that ii was ,-i mysterious Providence thai lie bad been less 
 prosperous since he had Kirn less attached to tin' world, 
 and that his endeavors had not been followed by that suc- 
 * See John, chap. ii. ; and Johu, chap. iv.
 
 394 'tis all for the best. 
 
 cess which usually attends industry. I took the liberty to 
 reply : ' Your heavenly Father sees on which side your 
 danger lies, and is mercifully bringing you, by these disap- 
 pointments, to trust less in the world and more in himself. 
 My dear Mr. Simpson,' added I, ' we trust every body but 
 God. As children, we obey our parents implicitly, because 
 we are taught to believe all is for our good which they 
 command or forbid. If we undertake a voyage, we trust 
 entirely to the skill and conduct of the pilot ; we never tor- 
 ment ourselves in thinking he will carry us east, when he has 
 promised to carry us west. If a dear and tried friend makes 
 us a promise, we depend on him for the performance, and 
 do not wound his feelings by our suspicions. When you 
 used to go your annual journey to London, in the mail- 
 coach, you confided yourself to the care of the coachman 
 that he would carry you where he had engaged to do so ; 
 you were not anxiously watching him, and distrusting and 
 inquiring at every turning. When the doctor sends home 
 your medicine, don't you so fully trust in his ability and 
 good will that you swallow it down in full confidence '. 
 You never think of inquiring what are the ingredients, why 
 they are mixed in that particular way, why there is more 
 of one and less of another, and why they are bitter instead 
 of sweet ! If one dose does not cure you, he orders an- 
 other, and changes the medicine when he sees the first does 
 you no good, or that by long use the same medicine has lost 
 its effect ; if the weaker fails, he prescribes you a stronger ; 
 you swallow all, you submit to all, never questioning the 
 skill or kindness of the physician. God is the only being 
 whom we do not trust, though He is the only one who is 
 fully competent, both in will and power, to fulfill all his 
 promises ; and who has solemnly and repeatedly pledged 
 himself to fulfill them in those Scriptures which we receive 
 «s his revealed will.'
 
 'tis all for the bejt. 395 
 
 i 
 
 " Mr. Simpson thanked me for my little sermon, as he 
 
 called it ; but' said, at the same time, that what made my 
 exhortations produce a powerful effect on his mind was, the 
 patient cheerfulness with which he was pleased to say I 
 bore my share in our misfortunes. A submissive behavior, 
 he said, was the best practical illustration of a real faith. 
 When we had thanked God for our supper, we prayed to- 
 gether ; after which we read the eleventh chapter of the 
 epistle to the Hebrews. When my husband had finished 
 it, he said, ' Surely, if God's chief favorites have been mar- 
 tyrs, is not that a sufficient proof that this world is not a 
 place of happiness, no earthly prosperity the reward of vir- 
 tue ? Shall we, after reading this chapter, complain of our 
 petty trials ? Shall we not rather be thankful that our af- 
 fliction is so light V 
 
 " Next day Mr. Simpson walked out in search of some 
 employment, by which we might be supported. He got a 
 recommendation to Mr. Thomas, an opulent farmer and fac- 
 tor, who had large concerns, and wanted a skillful person to 
 assist him in keeping his accounts. This we thought a fortu- 
 nate circumstance, for we found that the salary would serve 
 to procure us at least all the ncees-aries of life. The farm- 
 er was so pleased with Mr. Simpson's quickness, regular- 
 ity, and good sense, that he offered us, of his own accord, 
 a neat little cottage of his own, which then happened to be 
 vacant, and told us we should live rent free, and promised 
 to be a friend to us." " All does seem for the best now, 
 indeed," interrupted Mrs. Betty. " We shall see," said 
 Mrs. Simpson, and thus went on : 
 
 " I now became very easy and very happy ; and was 
 cheerfully employed in putting our few things in order, and 
 making every thing look "to the best advantage. My hus- 
 band, who wrote all day for his employer, in the evening 
 assisted me in doing up our little garden. This was a
 
 396 'tis all for the best. 
 
 source of much pleasure to us ; we both loved a garden, and 
 we were not only contented but cheerful. Our employer 
 had been absent some weeks on his annual journey. He 
 came home on a Saturday night, and the next morning sent 
 for Mr. Simpson to come and settle his accounts, which 
 were got behind-hand by his long absence. We were just 
 going to church, and Mr. Simpson sent back word that he 
 would call and speak to him on his way home. A second 
 message followed, ordering him to come to the farmer's di- 
 rectly ; he agreed that he would walk round that way, and 
 that my husband should call and excuse his attendance. 
 
 "The farmer, more ignorant and worse educated than his 
 plowman, with all that pride and haughtiness which the 
 possession of wealth, without knowledge or religion is apt 
 to give, rudely asked my husband what he meant by send- 
 ing him word that he would not come to him till the next 
 day ; and insisted that he should stay and settle the accounts 
 then. ' Sir,' said my husband, in a very respectful manner, 
 ' I am on my road to church, and I am afraid shall be too 
 late.' ' Are you so V said the farmer. ' Do you know 
 who sent for you ? You may, however, go to church, if 
 you will, so you make haste back ; and, d'ye hear, you may 
 leave your accounts with me, as I conclude you have brought 
 them with you ; I will look them over by the time you re- 
 turn, and then you and I can do all I want to have done to- 
 day in about a couple of hours, and I will give you hoin<; 
 some letters to copy for me in the evening.' 'Sir,' 
 answered my husband, ' I dare not obey you ; it is Sunday.' 
 ' And so you refuse to settle my accounts only because it 
 is Sunday.' ' Sir,' replied Mr. Simpson, ' if you would 
 give me a handful of silver and gold I dare not break the 
 commandment of my God.' ' Well,' said the farmer, ' but 
 this is not breaking the commandment ; I don't order you 
 to drive my cattle, or to work in my garden, or to do any
 
 'tis all for the best. 897 
 
 thing which you might fancy would be a bad example.' 
 'Sir,' replied my husband, 'the example indeed goes a 
 great way, but it is not the first object. The deed is wrong 
 in itself.' ' Well, but I shall not keep you from church ; 
 and when you have been there, there is no harm in doing a 
 little busiuess, or taking a little pleasure the rest of the day.' 
 ' Sir,' answered my husband, ' the commandment does not 
 say, thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath morning, but the 
 Sabbath day." 1 ' Get out of my house, you puritanical 
 rascal, and out of my cottage too,' said the farmer ; ' for if 
 you refuse to do my work, I am not bound to keep my en- 
 gagement with you ; as you will not obey me as a master, 
 I shall not pay you as a servant.' ' Sir,' said Mr. Simp- 
 son, 'I would gladly obey you, but I have a Master in 
 heaven whom I dare not disobey.' 'Then let him find 
 employment for you,' said the enraged farmer ; ' for I fancy 
 you will get but poor employment on earth with these scru- 
 pulous notions, and so send home my papers, directly, and 
 pack off out of the parish.' 'Out of your cottage,' said 
 my husband, ' I certainly will ; but as to the parish, I 
 hope I may remain in that, if I can find employment.' 'I 
 will make it too hot to hold you,' replied the farmer, ' so you 
 had better troop off bag and baggage : for I am overseer, 
 and as you are sickly, it is my duty not to let any vagabonds 
 stay in the parish who are likely to become chargeable.' 
 
 "By the time my husband returned home, for he found 
 it too late to go to church, I had got our Utile dinner ready ; 
 it was a better one than we had for a long while been ac- 
 customed to see, and I was unusually cheerful at this im- 
 provement in our circumstances. 1 saw his eyes full of 
 tears, and oh! with what pain did he bring himself to tell 
 me that it was the last dinner we must ever eat in this house. 
 I took his hand with a smile, and Only said, ' the Lord gave 
 and the Lord taketh away, blessed- be the name of the
 
 398 'tis all for the best. 
 
 Lord.' 'Notwithstanding this sudden stroke of injustice,' 
 said my husband, ' this is still a^happy country. Our em- 
 ployer, it is true, may turn <is out at a moment's notice, be 
 cause it is his own, but he has uo further power over us ; 
 he can not confine or punish us. His riches, it is true, give 
 him power to insult, but not to oppress us. The same laws 
 to which the affluent resort, protect us also. And as to our 
 being driven out from a cottage, how many persons of the 
 highest rank have lately been driven out from their palaces 
 and castles ; persons too, born in a station which he never 
 enjoyed, and used to all the indulgences of that rank and 
 wealth we never knew, are at this moment wandering over 
 the face of the earth, without a house or without bread; 
 exiles and beggars ; while we, blessed be God, are in our 
 own native land ; we have still our liberty, our limbs, the 
 protection of just and equal laws, our churches, our Bibles, 
 and our Sabbaths.' 
 
 " This happy state of my husband's mind hushed my 
 sorrows, and I never once murmured ; nay, I sat down to 
 dinner with a degree of cheerfulness, endeavoring to cast 
 all our care on ' Him that careth for us.' We had begged 
 to stay till the next morning, as Sunday was not the day on 
 which we liked to remove ; but we were ordered not to 
 sleep another night in that house ; so as we had little to 
 carry, we marched off in the evening to the poor lodging 
 we had before occupied. The thought that my husband 
 had cheerfully renounced his little all for conscience s.ike, 
 gave an unspeakable serenity to my mind ; and I fit thank- 
 ful that though cast down we were not forsaken : nay I felt 
 a lively gratitude to God, that while I doubted not he would 
 accept this little sacrifice, as it was heartily made far his 
 sake, he had graciously forborne to call us to greater trials." 
 
 "And so you were turned adrift once more? Well, 
 ma'am, saving your presence, I hope you won't be such a
 
 'tis all foe the best. 2'")9 
 
 fool as to say all was for the best now." " Yes, Betty : He 
 who does all things well, now made his kind Providence 
 more manifest than ever. That very night, while we were 
 sweetly sleeping in our poor lodging, the pretty cottage, out of 
 which we were so unkindly driven, was burned to the ground 
 by a flash of lightning which caught the thatch, and so com- 
 pletely consumed the whole little building that had it not 
 been for "the merciful Providence who thus overruled the 
 cruelty of the farmer for the preservation of our lives, we 
 must have been burned to ashes with the house. ' It was 
 the Lord's doing, and it was marvelous in our eyes.' ' O 
 that men would therefore praise the Lord for his goodness, 
 and for all the wonders that he doeth for the children of 
 men !' 
 
 " I will Hot tell you all the trials and afflictions which 
 befell us afterward. I would also spare my heart the sad 
 story of my husband's death." " Well, that was another 
 blessing too, I suppose," said Betty. " Oh, it w T as the se- 
 verest trial ever sent me !" replied Mrs. Simpson, a few tears 
 quietly stealing down her face. "I almost sunk under it. 
 Nothing but the abundant grace of God could have carried 
 me through such a visitation ; and yet I now feel it to be 
 the greatest mercy I ever experienced ; ho was my idol ; 
 no trouble ever came near pay heart while he was with me. 
 I got more credit than I deserved for my patience under 
 trials, which were easily borne while he who shared and 
 lightened them was spared to me. I had indeed prayed and 
 struggled to be weane I from this world, but still my affec- 
 ti.'ti for him lied me do.WD to the earth with a strong cord : 
 an 1 though I <lid earnestly try to keep my eyes fixed on the 
 eternal world, yel I viewed it with too feeble a faith; I 
 viewed it al too gr< a listance: I found it difficult to re- 
 alize it — I had deceived myself. I had faneie 1 thai I bore 
 my troubles so well from the pure love of God, but I have
 
 400 'tis all for the best. 
 
 since found that my love for my husband had too great a 
 share in reconciling me to every difficulty which I under- 
 went for him. I lost him ; the charm was broken, the cord 
 which tied me down to earth was cut, this world had noth- 
 ing left to engage me. Heaven had now no rival in my 
 heart. Though my love of God had always been sincere, 
 yet I found there wanted this blow to make it perfect. But 
 though all that had made life pleasant to me was gone, I 
 did not sink as those who have no hope. I prayed that I 
 might still, in this trying conflict, be enabled to adorn the 
 doctrine of God my Saviour. 
 
 " After many more hardships, I was at length so happy 
 as to get an asylum in this alms-house. Here my cares are 
 at an end, but not my duties." " Now you are wrong 
 again," interrupted Mrs. Betty ; "your duty is now to take 
 care of yourself: for I am sure you have nothing to spare." 
 " There you are mistaken again," said Mrs. Simpson. " Peo- 
 ple are so apt to fancy that money is all in all, that all the 
 other gifts of Providence are overlooked as things of no 
 value. I have here a great deal of leisure ; a good part of 
 this I devote to the wants of those who are more distressed 
 than myself. I work a little for the old, and I instruct the 
 young. My eyes are good : this enables me to read the 
 Bible either to those whose sight is decayed, or who were 
 never taught to read. I have tolerable health ; so that I 
 am able occasionally to sit up with the sick ; in the inter- 
 vals of nursing I can pray with them. In my younger 
 days I thought it not much to sit up late for my pleasure ; 
 shall I now think much of sitting up now and then to 
 w.it.'h by a dying bed ? My Saviour waked and watched 
 for me in the gar leii and on the mount ; and shall I do noth- 
 ing fir his suffering members? It is only by keeping his 
 sufferings in view that we can truly practice charity to oth- 
 ers, or exercise self-denial to ourselves."
 
 'tis all for the best. 401 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Betty, " I think if I had lived in such 
 genteel life as you have done, I could never be reconciled to 
 an alms-house ; and I am afraid I should never forgive any 
 of those who were the cause of sending me there, particu- 
 larly that farmer Thomas who turned you out of doors." 
 
 " Betty," said Mrs. Simpson, " I not only forgive him 
 heartily, hut I remember him in my prayers, as one of those 
 instruments with which it has pleased God to work for my 
 good. Oh ! never put off forgiveness to a dying bed ! 
 When people come to die, we often see how the conscience 
 is troubled with sins, of which before they hardly felt the 
 existence. How ready are they to make restitution of ill- 
 gotten gain ; and this perhaps for two reasons ; from a 
 feeling conviction that it can be of no use to them where 
 they -are going, as well as from a near view of their own 
 responsibility. We also hear from the most hardened, of 
 death-bed forgiveness of enemies. Even malefactors at 
 Tyburn forgive. But why must we wait for a dying bed 
 to do what ouo-ht to be done now ? Believe me, that scene 
 will be so full of terror and amazement to the soul, that we 
 had not need load it with unnecessary business." 
 
 Just as Mrs. Simpson was saying these words, a letter 
 was brought her from the minister of the parish where the 
 farmer lived, by whom Mrs. Simpson had been turned out 
 of the cottage. The letter was as follows : 
 
 " Madam — I write to tell you that your old oppressor, 
 Mr. Thomas, is dead. I attended him in his last moments. 
 O, may my latter end never be like his ! I shall not soon 
 forget his despair at the approach of death. His riches, 
 which had been his sole joy, now doubled his sorrows ; for 
 he was going where they could be of no use to him ; and 
 he found too late that lie had laid up no treasure in 
 heaven. He felt great concern at his past life, but for noth-
 
 402 'tis all for the best. 
 
 ing more than his unkindne'ss to Mr. Simpson. He charged 
 me to find you out, and let you know that by his will he 
 bequeathed you five hundred pounds as some compensation. 
 He died in great agonies, declaring with his last breath, 
 that if he could live his life over again, he would serve 
 God, and strictly observe the Sabbath. 
 
 " Yours, etc. 
 
 " J. Johnson." 
 
 Mrs. Betty, who had listened attentively to the letter, 
 jumped up, clapped her hands, and cried out, " Now all is 
 for the best, and I shall see you a lady once more." " I 
 am, indeed, thankful for this money," said Mrs. Simpson, 
 " and am glad that riches were not sent me till I had 
 learned, as I humbly hope, to make a right use of them. 
 But come, let us go in, for I am very cold, and find I have 
 sat too long in the night air." 
 
 Betty was now ready enough to acknowledge the hand 
 of Providence in this prosperous event, though she was 
 blind to it when the dispensation was more dark. Next 
 morning she went early to visit Mrs. Simpson, but not see- 
 ing her below, she went up stairs, where, to her great sor- 
 row, she found her confined to her bed by a fever, caught 
 the night before, by sitting so late on the bench, reading 
 the letter and talking it over. Betty was now more ready 
 to cry out against Providence than ever. " What ! to catch 
 a fever while you were reading that very letter which told 
 you about your good fortune ; which would have enabled 
 you to live like a lady as you are. I never will believe this 
 is for the best ; to be deprived of life just as you were be- 
 ginning to enjoy it !" 
 
 "Betty," said Mrs. Simpson, "we must learn not to rate 
 health nor life itself too highly. There is little in life, for 
 its own sake, to be so fond of. As a good archbishop used
 
 'tis all fob the best. 403 
 
 to say, "tis but the same thing over again, or probably 
 worse : so many more nights and days, summers and win- 
 ters, a repetition of the same pleasures, but with less relish 
 for them ; a return of the same or greater pains, but with 
 less strength, and perhaps less patience to bear them.' ' 
 " Well," replied Betty, " I did think that Providence was 
 at last giving you your reward." " Reward !" cried Mrs. 
 Simpson. "0, no! my merciful Father will not put me 
 off with so poor a portion as wealth ; I feel I shall die." 
 " It is very hard, indeed," said Betty, " so good as you are, 
 to be taken off just as your prosperity was beginning." 
 " You think I am good just now," said Mrs. Simpson, " be- 
 cause I am prosperous. Success is no sure mark of God's 
 favor; at this rate, you, who judge by outward things, 
 would have thought Herod a better man than John the 
 Baptist ; and if I may be allowed to say so, you, on your 
 principles, that the sufferer is the sinner, would have be- 
 lieved Pontius Pilate higher in God's favor than the Saviour 
 whom he condemned to die, for your sins and mine." 
 
 In a few days Mrs. Betty found that her new friend was 
 dying, and though she was struck at her resignation, she 
 could not forbear murmuring that so good a woman should 
 be taken away at the very instant which she came into 
 possession of so much money. " Betty, said Mrs. Simpson 
 in a feeble voice, " I believe you love me dearly, you would 
 do any thing to cure me ; yet you do not love me so well 
 as God loves me, though you would raise me up, and He 
 is putting a period to my life. He has never sent me a 
 single stroke which was not absolutely necessary for me. 
 You, if you could restore me, might be laying me open to 
 some temptation from which God, by removing, will deliver 
 me. Your kindness in making this world so smooth for 
 me, I might forever have deplored in a world of misery. 
 God's grace in afflicting me, will hereafter be the subject of
 
 404 'TI8 all for the best. 
 
 my praises in a world of blessedness. Betty," added the 
 dying woman, "do you really think that I am going to a 
 place of rest and joy eternal ?" " To be sure I do," said 
 Betty. " Do you firmly believe that I am going to the 
 assembly of the first-born ; to the spirits of just men made 
 perfect, to God the judge of all ; and to Jesus the Mediator 
 of the new Covenant ?" " I am sure you are," said Betty. 
 "And yet," resumed she, "you would detain me from all 
 this happiness ; and you think my merciful Father is using 
 me unkindly by removing me from a world of sin, and sor- 
 row, and temptation, to such joys as have not entered into 
 the heart of man to conceive ; while it would have better 
 suited your notions of reward to defer my entrance into the 
 blessedness of heaven, that I might have enjoyed a legacy 
 of a few hundred pounds ! Believe my dying words — all 
 
 IS FOB THE BEST." 
 
 Mrs. Simpson expired soon after, in a frame of mind which 
 convinced her new friend, that " God's ways are not as our 
 ways."
 
 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY.* 
 
 SHOWING THE WAT TO DO MUCH GOOD WITH LITTLE MONET. 
 
 •» ♦ » 
 
 Mrs. Jones was the widow of a great merchant. She 
 was liberal to the poor, as far as giving them money went ; 
 but as she was too much taken up with the world, she did 
 not spare so much of her time and thoughts about doing 
 good as she ought ; so that her money was often ill be- 
 stowed. In the late troubles, Mr. Jones, who had lived in 
 an expensive manner, failed ; and he took his misfortunes 
 so much to heart, that he fell sick and died. Mrs. Jones 
 retired, on a very narrow income, to the small village of 
 Weston, where she seldom went out, except to church. 
 Though a pious woman, she was too apt to indulge her sor- 
 sow ; and though she did not neglect to read and pray, yet 
 she gave up a great part of her time to melancholy thoughts, 
 and grew quite inactive. She well knew how sinful it 
 would be for her to seek a remedy for her grief in worldly 
 pleasures, which is a way many people take to cure afflic- 
 tions ; but she was not aware how wrong it was to weep 
 away that time which might have been better spent in dry- 
 ing the tears of others. 
 
 It was happy for her, that Mr. Simpson, the vicar of 
 Weston, was a pious man. One Sunday he happened to 
 oreach on the good Samaritan. It was a charity sermon, 
 
 * Thia was first printed under the title of The Cottage Cook.
 
 400 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 
 
 ;md there was a collection at the door. He called on Mrs. 
 Jones after church, and found her in tears. She told him 
 she had been much moved by his discourse, and she wept 
 because she had so little to give to the plate, for though she 
 felt very keenly for the poor in these dear times, yet she 
 could not assist them. " Indeed, sir," added she, " I never 
 so much regretted the loss of my fortune as this afternoon, 
 when you bade us go and do likewise." " You do not," 
 replied Mr. Simpson, "enter into the spirit of our Saviour's 
 parable, if you think you can not go and do likewise with- 
 out being rich. In the case of the Samaritan, you may ob- 
 serve, that charity was bestowed more by kindness, and cart 1 , 
 and medicine, than by money. You, madam, were as much 
 concerned in the duties inculcated in my sermon as Sir 
 John with his great estate ; and, to speak plainly, I have 
 been sometimes surprised that you should not put yourself 
 in the way of being more useful." 
 
 " Sir," said Mrs. Jones, " I am grown shy of the poor 
 since I have nothing to give them." " Nothing \ madam ?" 
 replied the clergyman ; " Do you call your time, your 
 talents, your kind offices, nothing ? Doing good does not 
 so much depend on the riches as on the heart and the will. 
 The servant who improved his two talents was equally 
 commended by his Lord with him who had ten ; and it 
 was not poverty, but selfish indolence, which drew down so 
 severe a condemnation on him who had only one. It is by 
 our conformity to Christ, that we must prove ourselves 
 Christians. You, madam, are not called upon to work 
 miracles, nor to preach the gospel, yet you may in your 
 measure and degree, resemble your Saviour by going about 
 and doing good. A plain Christian, who has sense and 
 leisure, by his pious exertions and prudent zeal, may, in a 
 subordinate way, be helping on the cause of religion, as 
 well as of charity, and greatly promote, by his exertions
 
 A CURE FOK MELANCHOLY. 407 
 
 and example, the labors of the parish minister. The gen- 
 erality, it is true^ have but an under part to act ; but to all 
 God assigns some part, and he will require of all whose lot 
 is not very laborious, that they not only work out their own 
 salvation, but that they promote the cause of religion, and 
 the comfort and salvation of others. 
 
 " To those who would undervalue works of mercy as 
 evidences of piety, I would suggest a serious attention to 
 the solemn appeal which the Saviour of the world makes, 
 in that awful representation of the day of judgment, con- 
 tained in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew, both to those 
 who have neglected, and to those who have performed such 
 works ; performed them, I mean, on right principles. With 
 what a gracious condescension does he promise to accept 
 the smallest kindness done to his suffering members for his 
 sake. You, madam, I will venture to say, might do more 
 good than the richest man in the parish could do by merely 
 giving his money. Instead of sitting here, brooding over 
 your misfortunes, which are past remedy, bestir yourself to 
 find out ways of doing much good with little money ; or 
 even without any money at all. You have lately studied 
 economy for yourself ; instruct your poor neighbors in that 
 important art. They want it almost as much as they want 
 money. You have influence with the few rich persons in 
 the parish ; exert that influence. Betty, my house-keeper, 
 shall assist you in any thing in which she can be useful. 
 Try this for one year, and if you then tell me that you 
 should have better shown your love to God and man, and 
 been a happier woman, had you continued gloomy and in- 
 active, I shall be much, surprised, and shall consent to your 
 resuming your present way of life." 
 
 The sermon and this discourse together made so deep an 
 impression on Mrs. Jones, that she formed a new plan of 
 life, and set about it at once, as every body does who is in
 
 108 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 
 
 earnest. Her chief aim was the happiness of her poor 
 neighbors in the next world ; but she was also very desirous 
 to promote their present comfort ; and indeed the kindness 
 she showed to their bodily wants gave her such an access 
 to their houses and hearts, as made them better disposed tc 
 receive religious counsel and instruction. Mrs. Jones was 
 much respected by all the rich persons in Weston, who had 
 known her in her prosperity. Sir John was thoughtless, 
 lavish, and indolent. The squire was over frugal, but 
 active, sober, and not ill-natured. Sir John loved pleasure, 
 the squire loved money. Sir John was one of those popular 
 sort of people who get much praise, and yet do little good ; 
 who subscribe with equal readiness to a cricket match or a 
 chanty school ; who take it for granted that the poor aro 
 to be indulged with bell-ringing and bonfires, and to be 
 made drunk at Christmas ; this Sir John called being kind 
 to them : but he thouo-ht it was follv to teach them, and 
 madness to think of reforming them. He was, however, 
 always ready to give his guinea ; but I question whether 
 he would have given up his hunting and his gaming to 
 have cured every grievance in the land. He had that sort 
 of constitutional good nature which, if he had lived much 
 within sight of misery, would have led him to be liberal; 
 but he had that selfish love of ease, which prompted him to 
 give to undeserving objects, rather than be at the pains to 
 search out the deserving. He neither discriminated be- 
 tween the degrees of distress, nor the characters of the dis- 
 tressed. His idea of charity was, that a rich man should 
 occasionally give a little of his superfluous wealth to the 
 first object that occurred ; but he had no conception that it 
 was his duty so to husband his wealth and limit his ex- 
 penses, as to supply a regular fund for established charity. 
 And the utmost stretch of his benevolence never led him to 
 suspect that he was called to abridge himself in the most
 
 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 409 
 
 idle article of- indulgence, for a purpose foreign to his own 
 personal enjoymenr. On the other hand, the squire would 
 assist Mrs. Jones in any of her plans if it cost him nothing ; 
 so she showed her good sense by never asking Sir John for 
 advice, or the squire for subscriptions, and by this prudence 
 gained the full support of both. 
 
 Mrs. Jones resolved to spend two or three days in a week 
 in getting acquainted with the state of the parish, aud she 
 took care never to walk out without a few little good books 
 in her pocket to give away. This, though a cheap, is a 
 most important act of charity ; it has its various uses ; it 
 furnishes the poor with religious knowledge, which they 
 have so few ways of obtaining; it counteracts the wicked 
 designs of those who have taught us at least one lesson, by 
 their zeal in the dispersion of wicked books — I mean the 
 lesson of vigilance and activity ; and it is the best introduc- 
 tion for any useful conversation which the giver of the book 
 may wish to introduce. 
 
 She found that among the numerous wants she met with, 
 no small share was owing to bad management, or to impo- 
 sition; she was struck with the small size of the loaves. 
 Wheat was now not very dear, and she was sure a good 
 deal of blame rested with the baker. She sent for a shilling: 
 loaf to the next great town, where the mayor often sent to 
 the bakers' shops to see that the bread was proper weight. 
 She weighed her town loaf against her country loaf, and 
 found the latter two pounds lighter than it ought to be. 
 This was not the sort of grievance to carry to Sir John ; but 
 luckily the squire was also a magistrate, and it was quite in 
 his way ; for though he would not give, yet he would coun- 
 B I. calculate, contrive, reprimand, and punish. He told her 
 he could remedy the evil if some one would lodge an in- 
 formation against her baker; but that there was no act of 
 justice which he found it so difficult to accomplish. 
 
 18
 
 410 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 
 
 THE INFORMER. 
 
 She dropped in on the blacksmith. He was at dinner. 
 She inquired if his bread was good. " Ay, good enough, mis- 
 tress ; for you see it is as white as your cap, if we had but 
 more of it. Here's a sixpenny loaf; you might take it for 
 a penny roll !" He then heartily cursed Crib the baker, 
 and said he ought to be hanged. Mrs. Jones now told him 
 what she had done ; how she had detected the fraud, and 
 assured him the evil should be redressed on the morrow, 
 provided he would appear and inform. " I inform," said 
 he, with a shocking oath, " bans? an informer ! I scorn the 
 office." " You are nice in the wrong place," replied Mrs. 
 Jones ; " for you don't scorn to abuse the baker, nor to be 
 in a passion, nor to swear, though you scorn to redress 
 a public injury, and to increase your children's bread. Let 
 me tell you there's nothing in which you ignorant people 
 mistake more than in your notions about informers. In- 
 forming is a lawful way of obtaining redress ; and though 
 it is a mischievous and a hateful thing to go to a justice 
 about every trifling matter, yet laying an information on im- 
 portant occasions, without malice, or bitterness of any kind, 
 is what no honest mau ought to be ashamed of. The shame 
 is to commit the offense, not to inform against it. I, for 
 my part, should perhaps do right, if I not only infoiined 
 against Crib, for making light bread, but against you, for 
 swearing at him." 
 
 "Well, but madam," said the smith, a little softened, 
 " don't you think it a sin and a shame to turn informer ?" 
 " So far from it, that when a man's motives are good," said 
 Mrs. Jones, "an 1 in clear cases as the present, I think it a 
 duty and a virtue. If it is right that there should be laws, 
 it must be right that they should be put in execution ; but 
 how can this be, if people will not inform the magistrates
 
 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 411 
 
 when they seethe laws broken ? I hope I shall always be 
 afraid to be an offender against the laws, but not to be an 
 informer in support of them. An informer by trade is 
 commonly a knave. A rash, malicious, or passionate in- 
 former is a firebrand ; but honest and prudent informers 
 are almost as useful members of society as the judges of 
 the land. If you continue in your present mind on this 
 subject, do not you think that you will be answerable for 
 the crimes you might have prevented by informing, and 
 thus become a sort of accomplice of the villains who com- 
 mit them." 
 
 " "Well, madam," said the smith, " I now see plainly 
 enough that there is no shame in turning informer when 
 my cause is good." " And your motive right ; always 
 mind that," said Mrs. Jones. Next day the smith attended, 
 Crib was fined in the usual penalty, his light bread was 
 taken from him and given to the poor. The justices re- 
 solved henceforward to inspect the bakers in their distiict ; 
 and all of them, except Crib, and such as Crib, were glad 
 of it ; for honesty never dreads a trial. Thus had Mrs. Jones 
 the comfort of seeing how useful people may be without 
 expense ; for if she could have given the poor fifty pounds, 
 she would not have done them so great, or so lasting a 
 benefit, as she did them in seeing their loaves restored to 
 their lawful weight : and the true light in which she had 
 put the business of informing was of no small use, in giv- 
 ing the neighborhood right views on that subject. 
 
 There were two shops in the parish ; but Mrs. Sparks, at 
 the Cross, had not half so much custom as Wills, at the 
 Sugarloaf, though she sold her goods a penny in a shilling 
 cheaper, and all agreed thai they were much better. Mrs. 
 Jours asked Mis. Sparks the reason. "Madam," said the 
 shopkeeper, "Mr. Wills will give longer trust, l'.esides 
 his wife keeps shop on a Sunday morning while I am at
 
 412 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 
 
 church. Mrs. Jones now reminded Mr. Simpson to read 
 the king's proclamation against vice and immorality next 
 Sunday at church ; and prevailed on the squire to fine any 
 one who should keep open shop on a Sunday. This he 
 readily uudertook : for while Sir John thought it good- 
 natured to connive at breaking the laws, the squire fell into 
 the other extreme, of thinking that the zealous enforcing 
 of penal statutes would stand in the stead of all religious 
 restraints. Mrs. Jones proceeded to put the people in mind 
 that a shopkeeper who would sell on a Sunday, would be 
 more likely to cheat them all the week, than one who went 
 to church. 
 
 She also labored hard to convince them how much they 
 would lessen their distress, if they would contrive to deal 
 with Mrs. Sparks for ready money, rather than with Wills 
 on long credit ; those who listened to her found their cir- 
 cumstances far more comfortable at the year's end, while 
 the rest, tempted, like some of their betters, by the pleasure 
 of putting off the evil day of payment, like them, at last 
 found themselves plunged in debt and distress. She took 
 care to make a good use of such instances in her conversa- 
 tion with the poor, and by perseverance, she at length 
 brought them so much to her way of thinking, that Wills 
 found it to be his interest to alter his plan, and sell his 
 goods on as good terms, and as short credit as Mrs. Sparks 
 sold hers. This completed Mrs. Jones's success ; and she 
 had the satisfaction of having put a stop to three or four 
 great evils in the parish of Weston, without spending a 
 shilling in doing it. 
 
 Patty Smart and Jenny Rose were thought to be the 
 two best managers in the parish. They both told Mrs. 
 Jones, that the poor would get the coarse pieces of meat 
 cheaper, if the gentlefolks did not buy them for soups and 
 gravy. Mrs. Jones thought there was reason in this : so
 
 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 413 
 
 ■ 
 
 away she went to Sir John, the squire, the surgeon, the at- 
 torney, and the steward, the only persons in the parish who 
 could afford to buy these costly things. She told them, 
 that if they would all be so good as to buy only prime 
 pieces, which they could very well afford, the coarse and 
 cheap joints would come more within the reach of the 
 poor. Most of the gentry readily consented. Sir John 
 cared not what his meat cost him, but told Mrs. Jones, in 
 his gay way, that he would eat any thing, or give any 
 thing, so that she would not tease him with long stories 
 about the poor. The squire said he should prefer vegetable 
 soups, because they were cheaper, and the doctor preferred 
 them because they were wholesomer. The steward chose 
 to imitate the squire ; and the attorney found it would be 
 quite ungenteel to stand out. So gravy soups became 
 veiy unfashionable in the parish of Weston ; and I am 
 sure if rich people did but think a little on this subject, 
 they would become as unfashionable in many other places. 
 When wheat grew cheaper, Mrs. Jones was earnest with 
 the poor women to bake large brown loaves at home, in- 
 stead of buying small white ones at the shop. Mrs. P> stty 
 had told her, that baking at home would be one step to- 
 ward restoring the good old management. Only Betty 
 Smart and Jenny Rose baked at home in the whole parish ; 
 and who lived so well as they did ? Yet the general ob- 
 jection seemed reasonable. They could not bake without 
 yeast, which often could not be had, as no one brewed, ex- 
 cept the great folks and the public houses. Mrs. Jones 
 found, however, that Patty and Jenny contrived to brew as 
 well as to bake. She sent for these women, knowing that 
 from them she could gel truth and reason. " Bow comes 
 it," she said to them, "that you two are the only two poor 
 women in the parish who can afford to brew a small cask 
 of beer ? Your husbands have no better wages than other
 
 414 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 
 
 men." " True, madam," said Patty, " but they never set 
 foot in a publit house. I will tell you the truth. When I 
 first married, our John went to the Checkers every night, 
 an 1 I had my tea and fresh butter twice a-day at home. 
 This slop, which consumed a deal of sugar, began to rake 
 my stomach sadly, as I had neither meat nor rice; at last 
 (I am ashamed to own it) I began to take a drop of gin to 
 quiet the pain, till in time, I looked for my gin as regularly 
 as for my tea. At last the gin, the ale-house, and the tea 
 began to make us both sick and poor, and I had like to 
 have died with my first child. Parson Simpson then talked 
 so finely to us on the subject of improper indulgences, that 
 we resolved, by the grace of God, to turn over a new leaf, 
 and I promised John, if he would give up the Checkers, I 
 would break the gin bottle, and never drink tea in the after- 
 noon, except on Sundays, when he was at home to drink it 
 with me. We have kept our word, and both our eating 
 and drinking, our health and our consciences are better for 
 it. Though meat is sadly dear, we can buy two pounds of 
 fresh meat for less than one pound of fresh butter, and it 
 gives five tin: -s the nourishment. And dear as malt is, I 
 contrive to keep a drop of drink in the house for John, and 
 John will make me drink half a pint with him every even- 
 ing, and a pint a-day when I am a nurse. 
 
 PUBLIC HOUSES. 
 
 As one good deed, as well as one bad one, brings on an- 
 other, this conversation set Mrs. Jones on inquiring why so 
 many ale-houses were allowed. She did not choose to talk 
 to Sir John on this subject, who would only have sail, " let 
 them enjoy themselves, poor fellows : if they get drunk 
 now and then, they work hard." But those who have this 
 false good-nature forget that while the man is enjoying 
 himself, as it is called, his wife and children are ragged and
 
 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 415 
 
 starving. True Christian c;ood-nature never indulges one at 
 the cost of many, but is kind to all. The squire who was 
 a friend to order, took up the matter. He consulted Mr. 
 Simpson. " The Lion," said he, " is necessary. It stands 
 by the roadside ; travelers must have a resting-place. As 
 to the Checkers and the Bell, they do no good, but much 
 harm." Mr. Simpson had before made many attempts to 
 get the Checkers put down, but, unluckily, it was Sir 
 John's own house, and kept by his late butler. Not that 
 Sir John valued the rent, but he had a false kindness, which 
 made him support the cause of an old servant, though he 
 knew he was a bad man, and kept a disorderly house. The 
 scpiire, however, now took away the license from the Bell. 
 And a fray happening soon after at the Checkers (which 
 was near the church) in time of divine service, Sir John 
 was obliged to suffer the house to be put down as a nui- 
 sance. You would not believe how many poor families were 
 able to brew a little cask, when the temptation of those 
 ale-houses was taken ouc of their way. Mrs. Jones, in her 
 evening walks, had the pleasure to see many an honest man 
 drinking his wholesome cup of beer by his own fire-side, 
 his rosy children playing about his knees, his clean cheerful 
 wife singing her youngest baby to sleep, rocking the cradle 
 with her foot, while, with her hands she was making a 
 dumpling for her kind husband's supper. Some few, I am 
 sorry to say, though I don't chose to name names, still pre- 
 ferred getting drunk once a week at the Lion, and drinking 
 water at other times. Thus Mrs. Joues, by a little exertion 
 and perseverance, added to the temporal comforts of a whole 
 parish, and diminished its immorality and extravagance in 
 the same proportion. 
 
 'Idic good women being now supplied with yeas! from 
 each other's brewings, would have baked, bul two diffi- 
 culties still remained. Many of them had no ovens ; for
 
 416 A CURE FOE MELANCHOLY. 
 
 since the new bad management Lad crept in, many cottages 
 have been built without this convenience. Fuel also was 
 scarce at Weston. Mrs. Jones advised the building a large 
 parish oven. Sir John subscribed to be rid of her impor- 
 tunity, and the squire, because he thought every improve- 
 ment would reduce the poor's rate. It was soon accom- 
 plished ; and to this oven, at a certain hour, three times a 
 week, the elder children carried their loaves which their 
 mothers had made at home, and paid a half-penny, or a 
 penny, according to their size, for the baking. 
 
 Mrs. Jones found that no poor women in Weston could 
 buy a little milk, as the farmers' wives did not care to rob 
 their dairies. This was a great distress, especially when 
 the children were sick. So Mrs. Jones advised Mrs. Sparks, 
 at the Cross, to keep a couple of cows, and sell out the 
 milk by halfpennyworths. She did so, and found, that 
 though this plan gave her some additional trouble, she got 
 full as much by it as if she had made cheese and butter. 
 She always sold rice at a cheap rate ; so that, with the help 
 of the milk and the public oven, a fine rice-pudding was to 
 be had for a trifle. 
 
 CHARITY SCHOOLS FOR SERVANTS. 
 
 The girls' school, in the parish, was fallen into neglect; 
 for though many would be subscribers, yet no one would 
 look after it. I wish this was the case at Weston only : 
 many schools have come to nothing, and many parishes are 
 quite destitute of schools, because too many gentry neglect 
 to make it a part of the duty of their grown-up daughters 
 to inspect the instruction of the poor. It was not in Mr. 
 Simpson's way to see if girls were taught to work. The 
 best clergyman can not do every thing. This is ladies' busi- 
 ness. Mrs. Jones consulted her counselor, Mrs. Betty, and 
 they went every Friday to the school, where they invited
 
 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 417 
 
 mothers, as weH as daughters, to come, and learn to cut out 
 to the best advantage. Mrs. Jones had not been bred to 
 these things ; but by means of Mrs. Cowper's excellent cut- 
 ting-out book, she soon became mistress of the whole art. 
 She not only had the girls taught to make and mend, but 
 to wash and iron too. She also allowed the mother or el- 
 dest daughter of every family to come once a week, and 
 learn how to dress one cheap dish. One Friday, which was 
 cooking day, who should pass but the squire, with his gnn 
 and doffs. He looked into the school for the first time. 
 " Well, madam," said he, " what good are you doing here ? 
 What are your girls learning and earning ? Where are your 
 manufactures? Where is your spinning and your carding ?" 
 " Sir," said she, " this is a small parish, and you know ours 
 is not a manufacturing county ; so that when these girls 
 are women, they will be not much employed in spinning. 
 We must, in the kind of good we attempt to do, consult the 
 local genius of the place : I do not think it will answer to 
 introduce spinning, for instance, in a country where it is 
 quite new. However, we teach them a little of it, and still 
 more of knitting, that they may be able to get up a small 
 piece of household linen once a year, and provide the family 
 with the stockings, by employing the odds and ends of their 
 time in these ways. But there is another manufacture* 
 which I am carrying on, and I know of none within my own 
 reach which is so valuable." " What can that be ?" said 
 the squire. " To make good wives for working men" said 
 she. " Is not mine an excellent staple commodity ? I am 
 teaching these girls the arts of industry and good manage- 
 ment. It is little encouragement to an honest man to work 
 hard all the week, if his wages are wasted by a slattern at 
 home. Most of these girls will probably become wives to 
 the poor, or servants to the rich ; to such the common arts 
 of life are of great value : now, as there is little opportunity 
 
 18*
 
 418 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 
 
 for learning these at the school-house, I intend to propose 
 that such gentry as have sober servants, shall allow one of 
 these girls to come and work in their families one day in a 
 week, when the house-keeper, the cook, the house-maid or 
 the laundry-maid, shall be required to instruct them in their 
 several departments. This I conceive to be the best way of 
 training good servants. They would serve this kind of reg- 
 ular apprenticeship to various sorts of labor. Girls who 
 come out of charity-schools, where they have been employ- 
 ed in knitting, sewing, and reading, are not sufficiently pre- 
 pared for hard or laborious employments. I do not in 
 general approve of teaching charity children to write, for the 
 same reason. I confine within very strict limits ray plan of 
 educating the poor. A thorough knowledge of religion, and 
 of some of those coarser arts of life by which the community 
 may be best benefitted, includes the whole stock of instruc- 
 tion, which, unless in very extraordinary cases, I would wish 
 to bestow." 
 
 " What have you got on the fire, madam ?" said the 
 squire ; " for your pot really smells as savory as if Sir John's 
 French cook had filled it." " Sir," replied Mrs. Jones, " I have 
 lately got acquainted with Mrs. Whyte who has given us an 
 account of her cheap dishes, and nice cookery, in one of the 
 Cheap Repository little books.* Mrs. Betty and I have 
 made all her dishes, and very good they are ; anil we have 
 got several others of our own. Every Friday we come here 
 and dress one. These good woman see how it is done, and 
 learn to dress it at their own house. I take home part for 
 my own dinner, and what is left I give to each in turn. I 
 hope I have opened their eyes on a sad mistake they have 
 got into, that we think any thing is good enough for the 
 poor. Now, I do not think any thing good enough for the 
 poor which is not clean, wholesome, and palatable, and 
 
 * See the Way to Plenty for a number of cheap recipes.
 
 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 419 
 
 what I myself would not cheerfully eat, if my circumstances 
 required it." 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Betty," said the squire, " oblige me with a 
 basin of your soup." The squire found it so good after his 
 walk, that he was almost sorry that he had promised to buy 
 no more legs of beef, and declared, that not one sheep's head 
 should ever so to his kennel ao-aiu. He begged his cook 
 might have the recipe, and Mrs. Jones wrote it out for her. 
 She has also been so obliging as to favor me with a copy 
 of all her recipes. And as I hate all monopoly, and see no 
 reason why such cheap, nourishing, and savory dishes 
 should be confined to the parish of Weston, I print them, 
 that all other parishes may have the same advantage. Not 
 only the poor, but all persons with small income may be 
 glad of them.' 
 
 " Well, madam," said Mr. Simpson, who came in soon 
 after, " which is best, to sit down and cry over our misfor- 
 tunes, or to bestir ourselves to do our duty to the world ?" 
 " Sir," replied Mrs. Jones, " I thank you for the useful lesson 
 you have given me. You have taught me that an excessive 
 indulgence of sorrow is not piety, but selfishness ; that the 
 best remedy for our own afflictions is to lessen the afflictions 
 of others, and thus evidence our submission to the will 
 of God, who perhaps sent these very trials to abate our own 
 self-love, and to stimulate our exertions for the good of 
 others. You have taught me that our time and talents are 
 to be employed with zeal in God's service, if we wish for his 
 favor here or hereafter ; and that one great employment of 
 those talents which he requires, is the promotion of the 
 present, and much more the future happiness of all around 
 us. You have taught me that much good may be done 
 with little money; and that the heart, the head, and the 
 hand are of some use as well as the purse. I have also 
 learned another lesson, which I hope not to forget, that
 
 420 A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Providence, in sending these extraordinary seasons of scarcity 
 and distress, which we have lately twice experienced, has 
 been pleased to overrule these trying events to the general 
 good ; for it has not only excited the rich to an increased lib- 
 erality, as to actual contribution, but it has led them to get 
 more acquainted with the local wants of their poor brethren, 
 and to interest themselves in their comfort ; it has led to 
 improved modes of economy, and to a more feeling kind of 
 beneficence. Above all, without abating any thing of a just 
 subordination, it has brought the affluent to a nearer knowl- 
 edge of the persons and characters of their indigent neigh- 
 bors ; it has literally brought ' the rich and poor to meet 
 together;' and this I look upon to be one of the essential 
 advantages attending Sunday-schools also, where they are 
 carried on upon true principles, and are sanctioned by 
 the visits as well as supported by the contributions of the 
 wealthy." 
 
 May all who read this account of Mrs. Jones, and who 
 are under the same circumstances, go and do likewise.
 
 ALLEGORIES,
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 -*-♦-*- 
 
 Methought I was once upon a time traveling through a 
 certain land which was very full of people ; but, what was 
 rather odd, not one of all this multitude was at home ; they 
 were all bound to a far distant country. Though it was 
 permitted by the lord of the land that these pilgrims might 
 associate together for their present mutual comfort and 
 convenience ; and each was not only allowed, but com- 
 manded, to do the others all the services he could upon 
 their journey, yet it'was decreed, that every individual trav- 
 eler must enter the far country singly. There was a great 
 gulf at the end of the journey, which every one must pass 
 alone, and at his own risk, and the friendship of the whole 
 united world could be of no use in shooting that gulf. The 
 exact time when each was to pass was not known to any; 
 this the lord always kept a close secret out of kindness, yet 
 still they were as sure that the time must come, and that at 
 no very great distance, as if they had been informed of the 
 very moment. Now, as they knew they were always liable 
 to be called away at an hour's notice, one would have 
 thought they would have been chiefly employed in packing 
 up, and preparing, and getting every thing in order. But 
 this was so far from being the case, that it was almost the 
 only thing which they did not think about. 
 
 Now, I only appeal to you, my readers, if any of you are set- 
 ting out upon a little common journey, if it is only to London
 
 424 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 or York, is not all your leisure time employed in settling 
 your business at home, and packing up every little neces- 
 sary for your expedition ? And does not the fear of neg- 
 lecting any thing you ought to remember, or may have 
 occasion for, haunt your mind, and sometimes even intrude 
 upon you unseasonably ? And when you are actually on 
 your journey, especially if you have never been to that place 
 before, or are likely to remain there, don't you begin to 
 think a little about the pleasures and the employment of 
 the place, and to wish to know a little what sort of a city 
 London or York is ? Don't you wonder what is doing there, 
 and are you not anxious to know whether you are properly 
 qualified for the business or the company you expect to be 
 engaged in ? Do you never look at the map or consult 
 Brooke's Gazetteer ? And don't you try to pick up from 
 your fellow-passengers in the stage-coach any little informa- 
 tion you can get ? And though you may be obliged, out 
 of civility, to converse with them on common subjects, yet 
 do not your secret thoughts still run upon London or York, 
 its business, or its pleasures ? And above all, if you are 
 likely to set out early, are you not afraid of over sleeping, 
 and does not that fear keep you upon the watch, so that 
 you are commonly up and ready before the porter comes to 
 summon you ? Reader ! if this be your case, how surprised 
 will you be to hear that the travelers to the far country 
 have not half your prudence, though embarked on a jour- 
 ney of infinitely more importance, bound to a land where 
 nothing can be sent after them, in which, when they are 
 once settled, all errors are irretrievable. 
 
 I observed that these pilgrims, instead of being upon 
 the watch, lest they should be ordered off unprepared ; in- 
 stead of laying up any provision, or even making memo- 
 randa of what they would be likely to want at the end 
 of their journey, spent most of their time in crowds, eithe»
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 425 
 
 in the way of traffic or diversion. At first, when I saw 
 them so much engaged in conversing with each other, I 
 thought it a good sign, and listened attentively to their talk, 
 not doubting but the chief turn of it would be about the 
 climate, or treasures, or society, they should probably meet 
 with in the far country. I supposed they might be also dis- 
 cussing about the best and safest road to it, and that each 
 was availing himself of the knowledge of his neighbor, on 
 a subject of equal importance to all. I listened to every 
 party, but in scarcely any did I hear one word about the 
 land to which they were bound, though it was their home, 
 the place where their whole interest, expectation, and inher- 
 itance lay ; to which also great part of their friends were 
 gone before, and whither they were sure all the rest would 
 follow. Instead of this, their whole talk was about the busi- 
 ness, or the pleasure, or the fashion of the strange but be- 
 witching country which they were merely passing through, 
 in which they had not one foot of land which they were sure 
 of calling their own for the next quarter of an hour. What 
 little estate they had was personal, and not real, and that 
 was a mortgaged, life-hold tenement of clay, not properly 
 their own, but only lent to them on a short, uncertain lease, 
 of which three-score years and ten was considered as the 
 longest period, and very few indeed lived in it to the end of 
 the term ; for this was always at the will of the lord, part 
 of whose prerogative it was, that he could take away the 
 lease at pleasure, knock down the stoutest tenement at a 
 single blow, and turn out the poor shivering, helpless inhab- 
 itant naked, to that far country for which he ha 1 made no 
 provision. Sometimes, in order to quicken the pilgrim in his 
 preparation, the lord would break down the tenement by 
 slow degrees; sometimes he would let it tumble by its own 
 natural decay ; for as it was only built to last a certain term, 
 it would often grow so uncomfortable by increasing dilapi-
 
 426 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 dations even before the ordinary lease was out, that the 
 lodging was hardly worth keeping, though the tenant could 
 seldom be persuaded to think so, but finally clung to it to 
 the last. First the thatch on the top of the tenement 
 changed color, then it fell off and left the roof bare ; then 
 the grinders ceased because they were few ; then the win- 
 dows became so darkened that the owner could scarcely see 
 through them ; then one prop fell away, then another, then 
 the uprights became bent, and the whole fabric trembled 
 and tottered, with every other symptom of a falling house. 
 But what was remarkable, the more uncomfortable the house 
 became, and the less prospect there was of staying in it, the 
 more preposterously fond did the tenant grew of his pre- 
 carious habitation. 
 
 On some occasions the lord ordered his messengers, of 
 which he had a great variety, to batter, injure, deface, and 
 almost demolish the frail building, even while it seemed new 
 and strong ; this was what the landlord called giving warn- 
 ing, but many a tenant would not take warning, and so fond 
 of staying where he was, even under all these inconve- 
 niences, that at last he was cast out by ejectment, not being 
 prevailed on to leave the dwelling in a proper manner, 
 though one would have thought the fear of being 1 turned 
 out would have whetted his diligence in preparing for a bet- 
 ter and more enduring inheritance. For though the people 
 were only tenants at will in these crazy tenements, yet, 
 through the goodness of the same lord, they were assured 
 that he never turned them out of these habitations before he 
 had on his part provided for them a better, so that there 
 was not such a landlord in the world, and though their 
 present dwelling was but frail, being only slightly run up 
 to serve the occasion, yet they might hold their future pos- 
 session by a most certain tenure, the word of the lord him- 
 self. This word was entered in a covenant, or title-deed,
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 427 
 
 consisting of many sheets, and because a great many good 
 things were given away in this deed, a book was made of 
 which every soul might get a copy. 
 
 This indeed had not always been the case, because, till a 
 few ages back, there had been a sort of monopoly in the 
 case, and "the wise and prudent, " that is the cunning and 
 fraudful, had hid these things from " the babes and suck- 
 lings;" that is, from the low and ignorant, and many frauds 
 had been practiced, and the poor had been cheated of their 
 right; so that not being allowed to read and judge for 
 themselves, they had been sadly imposed upon ; but all 
 these tricks had been put an end to more than two hundred 
 years when I passed through the country, and the meanest 
 man who could read might then have a copy ; so that he 
 mitiht see himself what he had to trust to; and even those 
 who could not read, might hear it read once or twice every 
 week, at least, without pay, by learned and holy men, whose 
 business it was. But it surprised me to see how few com- 
 paratively made use of these vast advantages. Of those 
 who had a copy, many laid it carelessly by, expressed a 
 general belief in the truth of the title-deed, a- general satis- 
 faction that they should come in for a share of the inherit- 
 ance, a general good opinion of the lord whose word it 
 was, and a getteral disposition to take his promise upon 
 trust, always, however, intending, at a convenient season to 
 inquire further into the matter; but this convenient season 
 seldom came ; and this neglect of theirs was construed by 
 their lord into a forfeiture of the inheritance. 
 
 At the end of this country lay the vast gulf mentioned 
 before ; it was shadowe 1 over by a broad and thick cloud, 
 which prevente I the pilgrims from seeing in a distinct man- 
 ner what was doing behind it, yet such beams of bright- 
 ness now and then darted through the cloud, as enabled 
 those who used a telescope, provided for that purpose, to
 
 428 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 see the substance of things hoped for ; but it was not every 
 one who could make use of this telescope ; no eye indeed 
 was naturally disposed to it ; but an earnest desire of get- 
 ting a glimpse of the invisible realities, gave such a strength 
 and steadiness to the eye which used the telescope, as en- 
 abled it to discern many things which could not be seen by 
 the natural sight. Above the cloud was this inscription: 
 " The things vjhich are seen are temporal, but the things 
 which are not seen are eternal." Of these last things many 
 glorious descriptions had been given ; but as those splendors 
 were at a distance, and as the pilgrims in general did not 
 care to use the telescope, these distant glories made little im- 
 pression. 
 
 The glorious inheritance which lay beyond the cloud, was 
 called " The things above" while a multitude of trifling ob- 
 jects, which appeared contemptibly small when looked at 
 through the telescope, were called " the things below." Now 
 as we know it is nearness which gives size and bulk to any 
 object, it was not wonderful that these ill-judging pilgrims 
 were more struck with these baubles and trifles, which by 
 laying close at hand, were visible and tempting to the naked 
 eye, and which made up the sum of the things beloiv, than 
 with the remote glories of the things above ; but this was 
 chiefly owing to their not making use of the telescope, 
 through which, if you examined thoroughly the things be- 
 low, they seemed to shrink almost down to nothing, which 
 was indeed their real size : while the things above appeared 
 the more beautiful and vast, the more the telescope was 
 used. But the surprising part of the story was this ; not 
 that the pilgrims were captivated at first sight with the 
 tilings below, for that was natural enough ; but that when 
 they had tried them all over and over, and found themselves 
 deceived and disappointed in almost every one of them, it 
 did not at all lessen their fondness, and they grasped at
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 429 
 
 them a"\iin with the same eagerness as before. There were 
 some gay fruits which looked alluring, but on being opened, 
 instead of a kernel, they were found to contain rottenness ; 
 and those which seemed the fullest, often proved on trial to 
 be quite hollow and empty. Those which were the most 
 tempting to the eye, were often found to be wormwood to 
 the taste, or poison to the stomach, and many flowers that 
 seemed most bright and gay had a worm gnawing at the 
 root ; and it was observable that on the finest and brightest 
 of them was seen, when looked at through the telescope, 
 the word vanity inscribed in large characters. 
 
 Among the chief attractions of the things below were 
 certain little lumps of yellow clay, on which almost every 
 eye and every heart was fixed. When I saw the variety of 
 uses to which this clay could be converted, and the respect 
 which was shown to those who could scrape together the 
 greatest number of pieces, I did not much wonder at the 
 general desire to pick up some of them ; but when I be- 
 held the anxiety, the wakefulness, the competitions, the con- 
 trivances, the tricks, the frauds, the scuffling, the pushing, 
 the turmo'ling, the kicking, the shoving, the cheating, the 
 circumvention, the envy, the malignity, which was excited 
 by a desira to possess this article ; when I saw the general 
 scramblo among those who had little to get much, and of 
 those who had much to get more, then I could not help ap- 
 plying to these people a proverb in use among us, that gold 
 may be bought too dear. 
 
 Though I saw that there were various sorts of baubles 
 which ersrasred the hearts of different travelers, such as an 
 ell of red or blue ribbon, for which some were content to 
 forfeit their future inheritance, committing (he sin of Esau, 
 without his temptation of hunger; yet lie 1 yellow clay I 
 found was (he grand object for which mosl hands were 
 scrambling, and most souls were risked. One thing wasex-
 
 430 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 traordinary, that the nearer these people wero to being 
 turned out of their tenements, the fonder they grew of these 
 pieces of clay ; so that I naturally concluded they meant to 
 take the clay with them to the far country, to assist them 
 in their establishment in it ; but I soon learned this clay 
 was not current there, the lord having further declared to 
 these pilgrims that as they had brought nothing into this 
 world, they could carry nothing away. 
 
 I inquired of the different people who were raising the 
 various heaps of clay, some of a larger, some of a smaller 
 size, why they discovered such unremitting anxiety, and for 
 whom? Some, whose piles were immense, told me they 
 were heaping up for their children ; this I thought very 
 right, till, on casting my eyes around, I observed many of 
 the children of these very people had large heaps of their 
 own. Others told me it was for their grand-children ; but 
 on inquiry I found these were not yet born, and in many 
 cases there was little chance that they ever would. The 
 truth, on a close examination, proved to be, that the true 
 genuiue heapers really heaped for themselves; that it was 
 in fact neither for friend nor child, but to gratify an inordi- 
 nate appetite of their own. Nor was I much surprised 
 after this to see these yellow hoards at length canker, and 
 the rust of them become a witness against the hoarders, and 
 eat their flesh as it were fire. 
 
 Many, however, who had set out with a high heap of 
 their father's raising, before they had got one third of their 
 journey, had scarcely a single piece left. As I was wonder- 
 ing what had caused these enormous piles to vanish in so 
 short a time, I spied scattered up and clown the country all 
 sorts of odd inventions, for some or other of which the 
 vain possessors of the great heaps of clay had trucked and 
 bartered them away in fewer hours than their ancestors had 
 spent years in getting them together. O what a strange
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 431 
 
 unaccountable medley it was ! and what was ridiculous 
 enough, I observed that the greatest quantity of the clay 
 was always exchanged for things that were of no use that I 
 could discover, owing I suppose to my ignorance of the 
 manners of the country. 
 
 In one place I saw large heaps exhausted, in order to set 
 two idle pampered horses a ruuniug ; but the worst of the 
 joke was, the horses did not run to fetch or carry any 
 thing, and of course were of no kind of use, but merely to let 
 the gazers see which could run fastest. Now, this gift of 
 swiftness, exercised to no useful purpose, was only one out 
 of many instances, I observed, of talents employed to no 
 end. In another place I saw whole piles of the clay spent 
 to maintain long ranges of buildings full of dogs, on pro- 
 visions which would have nicely fattened some thousands of 
 pilgrims, who sadly wanted fattening, and whose ragged 
 tenements were out at elbows, for want of a little help to 
 repair them. Some of the piles were regularly pulled down 
 once in seven years, in order to corrupt certain needy pil- 
 grims to belie their consciences, by doing that for a bribe 
 which they were bound to do from principle. Others were 
 spent in playing with white stiff hits of paper, painted over 
 with red and black spots, in which I thought there must be 
 some conjuring, because the very touch of these painted 
 pasteboards made tin- heaps fly from one to another, and 
 back again to the same, in a way that natural causes could 
 not account for. There was another proof that there must 
 be some magic in this business which was that if a paste- 
 board with red spots fell into a hand which wanted a black 
 one, the person changed color, his eyes flashed fire, ami he 
 discovered other symptoms of madness, which showed the 6 
 was some witchcraft in the case. These clean little paste- 
 boards, as harmless as they looked, had the -wonderful pow 
 er of pulling down the highest piles in less time than al
 
 432 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 the other causes put together. I observed that many small 
 piles were given in exchange for an enchanted liquor which 
 when the purchaser had drank to a little excess, he lost 
 the power of managing the rest of his heap without losing 
 the love of it ; and thus the excess of indulgence, by mak- 
 ing him a beggar, deprived him of that very gratification 
 on which his heart was set. 
 
 Now I find it was the opinion of sober pilgrims, that 
 either hoarding the clay, or trucking it for any such pur- 
 poses as the above, was thought exactly the same offense in 
 the eyes of the lord ; and it was expected that when they 
 should come under his more immediate jurisdiction in the 
 far country, the penalty annexed to hoarding and squan- 
 dering would be nearly the same. While I examined the 
 countenances of the owners of the heaps, I observed that 
 those who I well knew never intended to make any use at 
 all of their heap, were far more terrified at the thought of 
 losing it, or of being torn from it, than those were who were 
 employing it in the most useful manner. Those who best 
 knew what to do with it, set their hearts least upon it, and 
 were always most willing to leave it. But such riddles 
 were common in this odd country. It was indeed a very 
 land of paradoxes. 
 
 Now I wondered why these pilgrims, who were naturally 
 made erect with an eye formed to look up to the things 
 above, yet had their eyes almost constantly bent in the other 
 direction, riveted to the earth, and fastened on things below, 
 just like those animals who walk on all fours. I was told 
 they had not always been subject to this weakness of sight, 
 and proneness to earth ; that they had originally been up- 
 right and beautiful, having been created after the image of 
 the lord, who was himself the perfection of beauty ; that he 
 had, at first, placed them in a far superior situation, which 
 he had given them in perpetuity ; but that their first an
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 433 
 
 cestors fell from it through pride and carelessness ; that 
 upon this the freehold was taken away, they lost their orig- 
 inal strength, brightness, and beauty, and were driven out 
 into this strange country, where, however, they had every 
 opportunity given them of recovering their original health, 
 and the lord's favor and likeness ; for they were become so 
 disfigured, and were grown so unlike him, that you would 
 hardly believe they were his own children, though, in some, 
 the resemblance was become attain visible. 
 
 The lord, however, was so merciful, that, instead of giv- 
 ing them up to the dreadful consequences of their own 
 folly, as he might have doue without any impeachment of 
 his justice, he gave them immediate comfort, and promised 
 them that, in due time, his own son should come down and 
 restore them to the future inheritance which he should pur- 
 chase for them. And now it was, that in order to keep up 
 their spirits, after they had lost their estate through the 
 folly of their ancestors, that he began to give them a part 
 of their former title-deed. He continued to send them por- 
 tions of it from time to time by different faithful servants, 
 whom, however, these ungrateful people generally used ill, 
 and some of whom they murdered. But for all this, the 
 lord was so very forgiving, that he at length sent these 
 mutineers a proclamation of full and free pardon by his son. 
 This son, though they used him in a more cruel manner 
 than they had done any of his servants, yet after having 
 finished the work his father gave him to do, went back 
 into the far country to prepare a place for all them who 
 believe in him ; and there he still lives ; begging and plead- 
 ing for those unkind people, whom he still loves and for- 
 gives, and will restore to the purchased inheritance on the 
 easy terms of tfieir being heartily sorry for what they have 
 done, thoroughly desirous of pardon, and convinced that he 
 
 19
 
 434 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 is able and willing to save to the uttermost all them that 
 come unto him. 
 
 I saw, indeed, that many old offenders appeared to be 
 sorry for what they had done ; that is, they did not like to 
 be punished for it. They were willing enough to be de- 
 livered from the penalty of their guilt, but they did not 
 heartily wish to be delivered from the power of it. Many 
 declared, in the most public manner, once every week, that 
 they were sorry they had done amiss ; that they had erred 
 and strayed like lost sheep, hut it was not enough to declart 
 their sorrow, ever so often, if they gave no other sign of 
 their penitence. For there was so little truth in them, tha 
 the4ord required other proofs of their sincerity beside theii 
 own word, for they often lied with their lips and dissembled 
 with their tongue. But those who professed to be penitents 
 must give some outward proof of it. They were neither al- 
 lowed to raise heaps of clay, by circumventing their neigh- 
 bors, or to keep great piles lying by them useless ; nor must 
 they barter them for any of those idle vanities which re- 
 duced the heaps on a sudden ; for I found that among the 
 grand articles of future reckoning, the use they had made 
 of the heaps would be a principal one. 
 
 I was sorry to observe many of the fairer part of these 
 pilgrims spend too much of their heaps in adorning and 
 beautifying their tenements of clay, in painting, white- 
 washing, and enameling thorn. All those tricks, however, 
 did not preserve them from decay ; and when they grew 
 old, they even looked worse for all this cost and varnish. 
 Some, however, acted a more sensible part, and spent no 
 more upon their moldering tenements than just to keep 
 them whole and clean, and in good repair, which is what 
 every tenant ought to do ; and I observed, that those who 
 were most moderate in the care of their own tenements, 
 were most attentive to repair and wami the ragged tene-
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 435 
 
 merits of others. But none did this with much zeal or ac- 
 ceptance, but those who had acquired a habit of overlook- 
 ing the things below, and who also, by the constant use of 
 the telescope had got their natural weak and dim sio-ht so 
 strengthened, as to be able to discern pretty distinctly the 
 nature of the things above. The habit of fixing their eyes 
 on these glories made all the shining trifles, which compose 
 the mass of things below, at last appear in their own dimin- 
 utive littleness. For it was in this case particularly true, 
 that things are-only hig or little by comparison ; and there 
 was no other way of making the things below, appear as 
 small as they really were, but by comparing them, by means 
 of the telescope, with the things above. But I observed 
 that the false judgment of the pilgrims ever kept pace with 
 their wrong practices; for those who kept their eyes fasten- 
 ed on the things below, were reckoned wise in their genera- 
 tion, while the few who looked forward to the future glories, 
 were accounted by the bustlers, or heapers,' to be either fools 
 or mad. 
 
 Most of these pilgrims went on in adorning their tene- 
 ments, adding to their heaps, grasping the things below as 
 if they would never let them go, shutting their eyes, instead 
 of using their telescope, and neglecting their title-deed, as 
 if it was the parchment of another man's estate, and not of 
 their own; till one after another each felt his tenement 
 tumbling about his ears. Oh ! then what a busy, bustling 
 anxious, terrifying, distracting moment was that ! What a 
 deal of husinrss was to be done, and what a strange time 
 was this to do it in! Xow, to see the confusion and dismay 
 occasioned by having left every thing to the last minute. 
 First, some one was sent for to make over the yellow heaps, 
 to another, which the heaper now found would be of no use 
 to himself in shooting the gulf; a transfer which ought to 
 have been made while the tenement "was sound. Then
 
 436 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 there was a consultation between two or three masons at 
 once perhaps, to try to patch up the walls, and strengthen 
 the props, and stop the decays of the tumbling tenement ; 
 but not till the masons were forced to declare it was past 
 repairing (a truth they were rather too apt to keep back) 
 did the tenant seriously think it was time to pack up, pre- 
 pare and begone. Then what sending for the wise men 
 who professed to explain the title-deed ! And oh ! what 
 remorse that they had neglected to examine it till their 
 senses were too confused for so weighty a business ! What 
 reproaches, or what exhortations to others, to look better 
 after their own affairs than they had done. Even to the 
 wisest of the inhabitants the falling of their tenements was 
 a solemn thing; solemn, but not surprising; they had long 
 been packing up and preparing ; they praised their lord's 
 goodness that they had been suffered to stay so long ; many 
 acknowledged the mercy of their frequent warnings, and 
 confessed that those very dilapidations which had made the 
 house uncomfortable had been a blessing, as it had set them 
 on diligent preparation for their future inheritance ; had 
 made them more earnest in examining their title to it, and 
 had set them on such a frequent application to the telescope, 
 that the things above had seemed everyday to approach 
 nearer and nearer, and the things below to recede and vanish 
 in proportion. These desired not to be unclothed but to be 
 clothed upon, for they knew that if their tabernacle was 
 dissolved, they had an house not made with hands, eternal 
 in the heavens.
 
 THE VALLEY OF TEAKS. 
 A VISION; 
 
 OR, BEAR YE ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 
 
 4 * » 
 
 Once upon a time methought I set out upon a long jour- 
 ney, and the place through which I traveled appeared to 
 be a dark valley, which was called the Valley of Tears. It 
 had obtained this name, not only on account of the many 
 sorrowful adventures which poor passengers commonly meet 
 with in their journey through it ; but also because most of 
 these travelers entered it weeping and crying, and left it in 
 very great pain and anguish. This vast valley was full of 
 people of all colors, ages, sizes and descriptions. But 
 whether white or black, or tawny, all were traveling the 
 same road ; or rather they were taking different little paths 
 which all led to the same common end. 
 
 Now it was remarkable, that notwithstanding the different 
 complexions, ages, and tempers of this vast variety of peo- 
 ple, yet all resembled each other in this one respect, that 
 each had a burden on his back which he was destined to 
 carry through the toil and heat of the day, until he should 
 arrive, by a longer or shorter course, at his journ v*> en I. 
 These burdens would in general liave made the pilgrimage 
 quite intolerable, had not the lord of the valley, out ui' his 
 great compassion for these poor pilgrims, provided, among 
 other things, the following means for their relief.
 
 438 THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 
 
 la their full view over the entrance of the valley, there 
 were written, in great letters of gold, the following words: 
 
 BEAR YE ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 
 
 Now I saw in my vision that many of the travelers hur- 
 ried on without stopping to read this inscription, and others, 
 though they had once read it, yet paid little or no attention 
 to it. A third sort thought it very good advice for other 
 people, but very seldom applied it to themselves. They 
 uniformly desired to avail themselves of the assistance which 
 by this injunction others were bound to offer them, but sel- 
 dom considered that the obligation was mutual, and that 
 reciprocal wants and reciprocal services formed the strong 
 cord in the bond of charity. In short, I saw that too many 
 of these people were of opinion that they had burdens 
 enough of their own, and that there was therefore no occa- 
 sion to take upon them those of others ; so each tried to 
 make his own load as light, and his own journey as pleasant 
 as he could, without so much as once casting a thought on 
 a poor ove. loaded neighbor. Here, however, I have to 
 make a rather singular remark, by which I shall plainly 
 show the folly of these selfish people. It was so ordered 
 and contrived by the lord of this valley, that if any one 
 stretched out hi ; hand to lighten a neighbor's burden, in 
 fact he never failed to find that he at that moment also 
 lightened his ow.i. Besides the benefit of helping each 
 other, was as niutu .1 as the obligation. If a man helped 
 his neighbor, it commonly happened that some other neigh- 
 bor came by-and-by and helped him in his turn ; for there 
 was no such thing as what we called independence in the 
 whole valley. Not one of all these travelers, however stout 
 and strong, could move on comfortably without assistance, 
 for so the lord of the valley, whose laws were all of them 
 kind and good, had expressly ordained.
 
 THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 439 
 
 I stood still to watch the progress of these poor wayfar- 
 ing people, who moved slowly on, like so many ticket- 
 porters, with burdens of various kinds on their backs ; of 
 which some were heavier and some were lighter, but from 
 a burden of one kind or other, not one traveler was entirely 
 free. There might be some difference in the degree, and 
 some distinction in the nature, but exemption there was 
 none. 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 A sorrowful widow, oppressed with the burden of grief 
 for the loss of an affectionate husband, moved heavily on, 
 and would have been bowed down by her heavy load, had 
 not the surviving children, with great alacrity, stepped for- 
 ward and supported her. Their kindness, after a while, so 
 much lio-htened the load which threatened at first to be in- 
 tolerable, that she even went on her way with cheerfulness, 
 and more than repaid their help, by applying the strength 
 she derived from it to their future assistance. 
 
 THE HUSBAND. 
 
 I next saw a poor old man tottering under a burden so 
 heavy, that I expected him every moment to sink under it. 
 I peeped into his pack, and saw it was made up of many 
 sad articles : there were poverty, oppression, sickness, debt, 
 and, what mad.' by far tin- heaviesl part, undutiful children. 
 I was wondering how it was thai he got on even so well as 
 he did, till I spied his wife, a kind, meek, Christian woman, 
 who was doing her utmost to assist him. She quietly got 
 behind, gently laid her shoulder to the burden, and carried 
 a much larger portion of it than appeared to me when I 
 was at a distance It was not the smallest pari of the hen- 
 fit that she was anxious to conceal it. She not only sus- 
 tained him by her strength, but cheered him by her coun- 
 sels. She told him, that " through much tribulation wo
 
 440 THE V A. LLEY OF TEARS. 
 
 must enter into rest;" that "lie that overcometh shall in- 
 herit all things." In short, she so supported his fainting 
 spirit, that he was enabled to " run with patience the race 
 which was set before him." 
 
 THE KIND NEIGHBOR. 
 
 An infirm, blind woman was creeping forward, with a 
 very heavy burden, in which were packed sickness and 
 want, with numberless other of those raw materials out $f 
 which human misery is worked up. She was so weak that 
 she could not have got on at all, had it not been for the 
 kind assistance of another woman almost as poor as herself, 
 who, though she had no light burden of her own, cheerfully 
 lent a helping hand to a fellow-traveler who was still more 
 heavily laden. This friend had indeed little or nothing to 
 give, but the very voice of kindness is soothing to the 
 weary. And I remarked in many other, cases, that it was 
 not so much the degree of the help afforded, as the manner 
 of helping that lightened the burdens. Some had a coarse, 
 rough, clumsy way of assisting a neighbor, which, though 
 in fact it might be of real use, yet seemed, by galling the 
 traveler, to add to the load it was intended to lighten ; while 
 I observed in others that so cheap a kindness as a mild 
 word, or even an affectionate look made a poor burdened 
 wretch move on cheerily. The bare feeling that some hu- 
 man being cared for him, seemed to lighten the load. But 
 to return to this kind neighbor. She had a little old book 
 in her hand, the covers of which were worn out by much 
 use. When she saw the blind woman ready to faint, she 
 would read her a few words out of this book, such as the 
 following : " Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the 
 kingdom of heaven." " Blessed are they that mourn, for 
 they shall be comforted." " I will never leave thee nor for- 
 sake thee." " For our light affliction, which is but for a
 
 THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 441 
 
 moment, worketh out for us a far more exceeding and etep 
 nal weight of glory." These quickened the pace, and sus- 
 tained the spirits of the blind traveler ; and the kind neigh- 
 bor, by thus directing the attention of the poor sufferer to 
 the blessings of a better world, helped to enable her to sus- 
 tain the affliction of this, more effectually than if she had 
 had gold and silver to bestow on her. 
 
 THE CLERGYMAN. 
 
 A pious minister, sinking under the weight of a dis- 
 tressed parish, whose worldly wants he was totally unable 
 to bear, was suddenly relieved by a charitable widow, who 
 came up and took all the sick and hungry on her own 
 shoulders as her part of the load. The burden of the par- 
 ish, thus divided, became tolerable. The minister being no 
 longer bowed down by the temporal distresses of his peo- 
 ple, applied himself cheerfully to his own part of the weight. 
 And it was pleasant to see how those two persons, neither 
 of them very strong, or rich, or healthy, by thus kindly 
 uniting together, were enabled to bear the weight of a 
 whole parish ; though singly, either of them must have 
 sunk under the attempt. And I remember one great grief 
 I felt during my whole journey was, that I did not see more 
 of this union and concurring kindness — more of this act- 
 ing in concert, by which all the burdens might have been 
 so easily divided. It troubled me to observe, that of all 
 the laws of the valley there was not one more frequently 
 broken than the law of kindness. 
 
 TnE NEGROES. 
 
 I now spied a swarm of poor black men, women, and 
 children, a multitude which no man could number; these 
 groaned, and toiled, and sweated, and hied under far heav- 
 ier loads than I have yet seen. But for a while no man, 
 
 19*
 
 442 .THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 
 
 helped them ; at length a few white travelers were touched 
 with the sorrowful sighing of those millions, and very heart- 
 ily did they put their hands to the burdens ; but their num- 
 ber was not quite equal to the work they had undertaken. 
 I perceived, however, that they never lost sight of these 
 poor heavily-laden wretches ; though often repulsed, they 
 returned tigain to the charge ; though discomfited, they re- 
 newed the effort, and some eren pledged themselves to an 
 annual attempt till the project was accomplished ; and as 
 the number of these generous helpers increased every year, 
 I felt a comfortable hope, that before all the blacks got out 
 of the valley, the whites would fairly divide the burden, and 
 the loads would be effectually lightened. 
 
 Among the travelers, I had occasion to remark, that 
 those who most kicked and struggled under their burdens, 
 only made them so much the heavier, for their shoulders 
 became extremely galled by these vain and ineffectual strug- 
 gles. The load, if borne patiently, would in the end have 
 turned even to the advantage of the bearers, for so the lord 
 of the valley had kindly decreed ; but as to these grum- 
 blers, they had all the smart, and none of the benefit ; they 
 had the present suffering without the future reward. But 
 the thing which made all these burdens seem so very heavy 
 was, that in every one without exception, there was a cer- 
 tain inner packet, which most of the travelers took pains to 
 conceal, and kept carefully wrapped up ; and while they 
 were forward enough to complain of the other part of their 
 burdens, few said a word about this, though in truth it was 
 the pressing weight of this secret packet which served to 
 render the general burden so intolerable. In spite of all 
 their caution, I contrived to get a peep at it. I found in 
 each that this packet had the same label — the word sin was 
 written on all as a general title, and in ink so black that 
 they could not wash it out. I observed that most of them
 
 THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 443 
 
 took no small pains to hide the writing ; but I was sur- 
 prised to see that they did not try to get rid of the load but 
 the label. If any kind friend who assisted these people in 
 bearing their burdens, did but so much as hint at the se- 
 cret packet, or advise them to get rid of it, they took fire 
 at once, and commonly denied they had any such article in 
 their portmanteau ; and it was those whose secret packet 
 swelled to the most enormous size, who most stoutly denied 
 they had any. 
 
 I saw with pleasure, however, that some who had long 
 labored heartily to get rid of this inward packet, at length 
 found it much diminished, and the more this packet shrunk 
 in size, the lighter was the other part of their burden also. 
 I observed, moreover, that though the label always remained 
 in some degree indelible, yet that those who were in earnest 
 to get rid of the load, found that the original traces of the 
 label grew fainter also ; it was never quite obliterated in 
 any, though in some cases it seemed nearly effaced. 
 
 Then methought, all at once, I heard a voice, as it had 
 been the voice of an angel, crying out and saying, " Ye un- 
 happy pilgrims, why are ye troubled about the burden 
 which ye are doomed to bear through this valley of tears ? 
 Know ye not, that as soon as ye shall have escaped out of 
 this valley the whole burden shall drop olf, provided ye neg- 
 lect not to remove that inward weight, that secret load of 
 sin which principally oppresses you ? Study, then, the 
 whole will of the lord of this valley. Learn from him how 
 this heavy part of your burdens may now be lessened, and 
 how at last it may be removed forever. Be comforted. 
 Faith and hope may cheer you even in this valley. The 
 passage, though it seems long to weary travelers, is compar- 
 atively short, for beyond there is a land of everlasting rest, 
 where ye shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; 
 where ye shall be led by living fountains of waters, and all 
 tears shall be wiped away from your «yes."
 
 THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAY. 
 
 ■* » *■ 
 
 Now, I had a second vision of what was passing in the 
 Valley of Tears. Methought I saw again the same kind of 
 travelers whom I had seen in the former part, and they 
 were wandering at large through the same vast wilderness. 
 At first setting out on his journey, each traveler had a small 
 lamp so fixed in his bosom that it seemed to make a part of 
 himself; but as this natural light did not prove to be suf- 
 ficient to direct them in the right way, the king of the 
 country, in pity to their wanderings and blinlness, out of 
 his gracious condescension, promised to give these poor 
 wayfaring people an additional supply of light from his own 
 royal treasury. But as he did not choose to lavish his 
 favors where there seemed no disposition to receive them, 
 he would not bestow any of his oil on such as did nut think 
 it worth asking for. " Ask and ye shall have," was the 
 universal rule he laid down for them. But though they 
 knew the condition of the obligation, many were prevented 
 from asking through pride and vanity, for they thought 
 they had light enough already, preferring the feeble glim- 
 mering of their own lamp to all the offered light from the 
 king's treasury. Yet it was observed of those who had re- 
 jected it, as thinking they had enough, that hardly any 
 acted up to what even their own natural light showed them. 
 Others were deterred from asking, because they were told 
 that this light not only pointed out the dangers and diffi-
 
 THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAY. 445 
 
 culties of the -road, but by a certain reflecting power, it 
 turned inward on themselves, and revealed to them ugly 
 sights in their own hearts, to which they rather chose to be 
 blind ; for those travelers were of that j>reposterous num- 
 ber who " chose darkness rather than light," and for the old 
 obvious reason — " because their deeds were evil." Now, it 
 was remarkable that these two properties were inseparable, 
 and that the lamp would be of little outward use, except to 
 those who used it as an internal reflector. A threat and a 
 promise also never failed. to accompany the offer of this 
 light from the king : a promise that to those who improved 
 what they had, more should be given; and a threat, that 
 from those who did not use it wisely, should be taken away 
 even what they had. 
 
 I observed that when the road was very dangerous ; when 
 terrors, and difficulties, and death beset the fervent traveler ; 
 then, on their faithful importunity, the king voluntarily 
 gave large and bountiful supplies of light, such as in com- 
 mon seasons never could have been expected : always pro- 
 portioning the quantity to the necessity of the case'; "as 
 their day was, such was their light an 1 strength." 
 
 Though many chose to depend entirely on their own orig- 
 inal lamp, vet it was observed that this light was apt to go 
 out if left to itself. It was easily blown out by those violent 
 gusts which were perpetually howling through the wilder- 
 ness ; and indeed it was the natural tendency of that un- 
 wholesome atmosphere to extinguish it, just as you have 
 seen a candle go out when exposed to the vapors and foul 
 air of a, damp room. It was a melancholy sight to see mul- 
 titudes of travelers heedlessly pacing OD boasting they had 
 light enough of their own, and despising the offer of mor . 
 
 But what astonished me most of all was, to see many, 
 and some of them too accounted men of first rate wit, ac- 
 tually busy in blowing out their own light, because whila
 
 446 THE STRAIT GATE 
 
 any spark of it remained, it only served to torment them, 
 and point out things which they did not wish to see. And 
 having once blown out their own light, they were not easy 
 till they had blown out that of their neighbors also ; so that 
 a good part of this wilderness seemed to exhibit a sort of 
 universal blind mail's buff, each endeavoring to catch his 
 neighbor, while his own voluntary blindness exposed him 
 to be caught himself ; so that each was actually falling into 
 the snare he was laying for another till at length, as self- 
 ishness is the natural consequence of blinduess, " catch he 
 that catch can," became the general motto of the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 Now I saw in my vision, that there were some others who 
 were busy in strewing the most gaudy flowers over the 
 numerous bogs, and precipices, and pitfalls with which the 
 wilderness abounded ; and thus making danger and death 
 look so gay, that poor thoughtless creatures seemed to de- 
 light in their own destruction. Those pitfalls did not ap- 
 pear deep or dangerous to the eye, because over them were 
 raised gay edifices with alluring names. These were filled 
 with singing men and singing women, and with dancing, 
 and feasting, and gaming, and drinking, and jollity, and 
 madness. But though the scenery was gay, the footing was 
 unsound. The floors were full of holes, through which the 
 unthinking merry-makers were continually sinking. Some 
 tumbled through in the middle of a sons? ; more at the end 
 of a feast ; and though there was many a cup of intoxica- 
 tion wreathed round with flowers, yet there was always 
 poison at the bottom. But what most surprised me was 
 that though no day passed over their heads in which some 
 of the most merry-makers did net drop through, yet their 
 loss made little impression on those who were left. Nay, 
 instead of being awakened to more circumspection and 
 self-denial by the continual dropping off of thpse about
 
 AND THE BROAD WAY. 44'/ 
 
 them, several o,f them seemed to borrow from thence an 
 argument of a direct contrary tendency, and the very short- 
 ness of time was only urged as a reason to use it more 
 sedulously for the indulgence in sensual delights. " Let us 
 eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." " Let us crown our- 
 selves with rose-buds before they are withered." With 
 these and a thousand other such like inscriptions, the gay 
 garlands of the wilderness were decorated. Some admired 
 poets were set to work to set the most corrupt sentiments to 
 the most harmonious tunes ; these were sung without scru- 
 ple, chiefly indeed hy the looser sous of riot, but not seldom 
 also by the more orderly daughters of sobriety, who were not 
 ashamed to sing to the sound of instruments, sentiments so 
 corrupt and immoral, that they would have blushed to speak 
 or read them ; but the music seemed to sanctify the corrup- 
 tion, especially such as was connected with love or drinking. 
 Now I observed that all the travelers who had so much 
 as a spark of life left, seemed every now and then, as they 
 moved onward, to cast an eye, though with very different 
 degrees of attention, toward the Happy Land, which they 
 were told lay at the end of their journey : but as they oeuld 
 not see very far forward, and as they knew there was a dark 
 and shadow// valley which must needs be crossed before 
 they could attain to the Happy Land, they tried to turn 
 their attention from it as much as they could. The truth is, 
 they were not sufficiently apt to consult a map and a road- 
 book which the King had given them, and which pointed 
 out the path to the Happy Land so clearly that the " way- 
 faring men, though simple, could not err." This map also 
 defined very correctly the boundaries of the Happy Land 
 from the Land of Misery, both of which lay on the other 
 side of the dark and shadowy valley ; but SO man\ teacons 
 and lighthouses were erected, so many clear and explicit 
 directions furnished for avoiding the one country and attain-
 
 448 THE STRAIT GATE 
 
 ing the other, that it was not the King's fault, if even one 
 single traveler got wrong. But I am inclined to think that, 
 in spite of the map and road-book, and the King's word, and 
 his offers of assistance to get them thither, that the travel- 
 ers in general did not heartily and truly believe, after all, 
 that there was any such country as the Happy Land ; or 
 at least the paltry and transient pleasures of the wilderness 
 so besotted them, the thoughts of the dark and shadowy 
 valley so frightened them, that they thought they should be 
 more comfortable by banishing all thought and forecast, and 
 driving the subject quite out of their heads. 
 
 Now, I also saw in my dream, that there Ave re two roads 
 through the wilderness, one of which every traveler must 
 needs take. The first was narrow, and difficult, and rough, 
 but it was infallibly safe. It did not admit the traveler to 
 stray either to the right hand or the left, yet it was far from 
 being destitute of real comforts or sober pleasures. The 
 other was a broad and tempting way, abounding with luxu- 
 rious fruits and gaudy flowers, to tempt the eye and please 
 the appetite. To forget this dark valley, through which 
 every traveler was well assured he must one day pass, 
 seemed the object of general desire. To this grand end, all 
 that human ingenuity could invent was industriously set to 
 woi'k. The travelers read, and they wrote, and they paint- 
 ed, and they sung, and they danced, and they drank as they 
 went along, not so much because they all cared for these 
 things, or had any real joy in them, as because this restless 
 activity served to divert their attention from ever being fix- 
 ed on the dark and shadowy valley. 
 
 The King, who knew the thoughtless tempers of the trav- 
 elers, and how apt they were to forget their journey's 
 end, had thought of a thousand kind little attentions to 
 warn them of their dangers: and as we sometimes see in 
 our gardens written on a board in great letters, Beware o$
 
 AND THE BROAD WAY. 449 
 
 SPRING GUNS — -MAN TRAPS ARE SET HERE I SO had this tin ST 
 
 caused to be written and stuck up before the eyes of the 
 travelers, several little notices and cautions ; such as, 
 "Broad is the way that leadeth to destruction." — "Take 
 heed, lest you also perish." " Woe to them that rise up 
 early to drink wine." "The pleasures of sin are but for a 
 season," etc. Such were the notices directed to the broad- 
 way travelers ; but they were so busily engaged in plucking 
 the flowers sometimes before they were blown, and in devour- 
 ing the fruits often before they were ripe, and in loading them- 
 selves with yelloio clay, under the weight of which millions 
 perished, that they had no time so much as to look at the 
 king's directions. Many went wrong because they preferred 
 a merry journey to a safe one, and because they were terri- 
 fied by certain notices chiefly intended for the narrow-way 
 travelers ; such as, " ye shall weep and lament, but the 
 world shall rejoice ;" but had these foolish people allowed 
 themselves time or patience to read to the end, which they 
 seldom would do, they would have seen these comfortable 
 words added, "But your sorrow shall be turned into joy ;" 
 also "your joy no man taketh from you ;" an !. i- thjey that 
 sow in tears shall reap in joy." 
 
 Now, I also saw in my dream, that many travelers who had 
 a strong dread of ending at the Zand of Misery walked up to 
 the Strait Gate, hoping that though the entrance was narrow, 
 yet if thev could once get in, the road would widen; but 
 what was their grief, when on looking more closely they 
 saw written on the inside, "Narrow is the way ;" this made 
 them take fright; they compared the inscriptions with 
 which the whole way was lined, such as. " Be ye QOf eon- 
 formed to this world ; deny yourselves, lake up your cross," 
 with all the tempting pleasures of the wilderness. Some 
 indeed recollected the tine descriptions they had read of the 
 Happy Land, the Golden City, and the River of Pleasure,
 
 450 THE STRAIT GATE 
 
 and they sighed ; but then those joys were distant, and from 
 the faintness of their light, they soon got to think that what 
 was remote might be uncertain, and while the present good 
 increased in bulk the distant good receded, diminished, dis- 
 appeared. Their faith failed ; they would trust no further 
 than they could see; they drew back and got into the 
 IJroad Way, taking a common but sad refuge in the num- 
 ber, the fashion, and the gayety of their companions. When 
 these faint-hearted people, who yet had set out well, turned 
 back, their light was quite put out, and then they became 
 worse than those who had made no attempt to get in. 
 "For it is impossible, that is, it is next to .impossible, for 
 those who were once enlightened, and have tasted of the 
 heavenly gift, and the good word of God, and the powers 
 of the world to come, if they fall away to renew them again 
 to repentance. 
 
 A few honest, humble travelers not naturally stronger 
 than the rest, but strengthened by their trust in the king's 
 word, came up, by the light of their lamps, and meekly en- 
 tered in at the Strait Gate ; as they advanced further they 
 felt less, heavy, and though the way did not in reality grow 
 wider, yet they grew reconciled to the narrowness of it, 
 especially when they saw the walls here and .there studded 
 with certain jewels called promises, such as : " He that 
 endureth to the end shall be saved ;" and " my grace is suf- 
 ficient for you." Some, when they were almost ready to 
 faint, were encouraged by seeing that many niches in the 
 Narroio Way were filled with statues and pictures of saints 
 and martyrs, who had borne their testimony at the stake, 
 that the Nan-ow Way was the safe way ; and these travel- 
 ers, instead of sinking at the sight of the painted wheel and 
 gibbet, the sword and furnace, were animated with these 
 words written under them, " Those that wear white robes, 
 came out of great tribulation," and " be ye followers of
 
 AND THE EROAD "WAY. 451 
 
 those who through, faith and patience inherit the prom- 
 
 ises." 
 
 Iq the mean time there came a great multitude of travel- 
 ers all from Laodicea ; this was the largest party I had yet 
 seen ; these were neither hot nor cold, they would not give 
 up future hope, and they could not endure present pain. 
 So they contrived to deceive themselves, by fancying " that 
 though they resolved to keep the Happy Land in view, yet 
 there must needs be many different ways which lead to it, 
 no doubt all equally sure, without all being equally rough ; 
 so they set on foot certain little contrivances to attain the 
 end without using the means, and softened down the spirit 
 of the king's directions to fit them to their own practice. 
 Sometimes they would split a direction,™ two, and only 
 use that half which suited them. For instance when they 
 met with the following rule* on the way-post : " Trust in 
 the Lord and be doing good," they would take the first half, 
 and make themselves easy with a g#ueral sort of trust, that 
 through the mercy of the king all would go well with them, 
 though they themselves did nothing. And on the other 
 hand, many made sure that a i'cw good works of their own 
 would do their business, and carry them safely to the Hap- 
 py Land, though they did not trust in the Lord, nor place 
 any faith in his word. So they took the second half of the 
 spliced direction. Thus some perished by a lazy faith, and 
 others by a working pride. 
 
 A large party of Pharisees now appeared, who had so 
 neglected their lamp that they did not see their way at all, 
 though they fancied themselves to be full of light ; they 
 kepi up appearances so well as to delude others', and most 
 effectually to delude themselves with a notion that they 
 might In- found in the right way at last. In this dreadful 
 delusion they went on to the end, and till they were finally 
 plunged in the dark valley, never discovered the horrors
 
 452 THE STRAIT GATE 
 
 which awaited them on the dismal shore. It was remark- 
 able that while these Pharisees- were ofteu boasting how 
 bright their light burned, in order to get the praise of men, 
 the humble travelers, whose steady light showed their good 
 works to others, refused all commendation, and the brighter 
 their light sinned before men, so much the more they in- 
 sisted that they ought to glorify not themselves, but their 
 Father which is in heaven. 
 
 I now set myself to observe what was the particular lot, 
 molestation and hinderance which obstructed particular 
 travelers in their endeavors to enter in at the Strait Gate. 
 J remarked a huge portly man who seemed desirous of 
 getting in, but he carried about him such a vast provision 
 of bags full of geld, and had on so many rich garments, 
 which stuffed him out so wide, that though he pushed and 
 squeezed, like one who had really a mind to get in, yet he 
 could not possibly do so. Then I heard a voice crying, 
 " Woe to him who loadeth himself with thick clay." The 
 poor man felt something was wrong, and even went so far 
 as to change some of his more cumbersome vanities into 
 others which seemed less bulky, but still he aud his pack 
 were much too wide for the gate. He would not, how- 
 ever, give up the matter so easily, but began to throw away 
 a little of the coarser part of his baggage, but still I re- 
 marked that he threw away none of the vanities which lay 
 near his heart. He tried again, but it would not do ; still 
 his dimensions were too large. He now looked un and 
 read these words, " How hardly shall those who have riches 
 enter into the kingdom of God." The poor man sighed to 
 fin 1 that it was impossible to enjoy his fill of both worlds, 
 and " went away sorrowing." If he ever afterward cast 
 a thought toward the Happy Land, it was only to regret 
 that the road which led to it was too narrow to admit anv 
 but the meager children of want, who were not so incum-
 
 AND THE BROAD WAY. .453 
 
 bered by wealth as to be too big for the passage. Had he 
 read on, he would have seen that " with God all things are 
 possible." 
 
 Another advanced with much confidence of success, for 
 having little worldly riches or honor, the gate did not seem 
 so strait to him. He got to the threshold triumphantly, 
 and seemed to look back with disdain on all that he was 
 quitting. He soon found, however, that he was so bloated 
 with pride, and stuffed out with self-sufficiency, that he 
 could not get in. Nay, he was in a worse way than the 
 rich man just named ; for he had been willing to throw 
 away some of his outward luggage, whereas this man re- 
 fused to part with a grain of that vanity and self-applause 
 which made him too large for the way. The sense of his 
 own worth so swelled him out that he stuck fast in the 
 gateway, and could neither get in nor out. Finding now 
 that he must cut off all these bisf thougdits of himself, if 
 he wished to be reduced to such a size as to pass the gate, 
 he gave up all thoughts of it. He scorned that humility 
 and self-denial which might have shrunk him down to the 
 proper dimensions; the more he insisted on his own quali- 
 fications for entrance, the more impossible it became to 
 enter, for the bigger he grew. Finding that he must be- 
 come quite another manner of man before he could hope 
 to get in, he gave up the desire ; and I now saw that though 
 when he set his face toward the Happy Land he could not 
 get an inch forward, yet the instant he made a motion to 
 turn back into the world, his speed became rapid enough, 
 and he got back into the Broad Way much sooner than lie 
 got out of it. « 
 
 Many, who for a time were brought down from their 
 usual bulk by some affliction, seemed i<> gel in with ease. 
 They now tho'ughl all their difficulties over, for having been 
 surfeited with the world luring their late disappointment,
 
 454 THE STRAIT GATE 
 
 they turned their backs upon it willingly enoigh, and 
 fancied they were tired of it. A fit of sickness, perhaps, 
 which is very apt to reduce, had for a time brought their 
 bodies into subjection, so that they were enabled just to get 
 in at the gateway ; but as soon as health and spirit re- 
 turned, the way grew narrower and narrower to them ; and 
 they could not get on, but turned short, and got back into 
 the world. I saw many attempt to enter who were stopped 
 short by a large burden of worldly cares ; others by a load of 
 idolatrous attachments ; but I observed that nothing proved 
 a more complete bar than that vast bundle of prejudices 
 with which multitudes were loaded. Others were fatally 
 obstructed by loads of bad habits, which they would not lay 
 down, though they knew it prevented their entrance. 
 
 Some few, however, of most descriptions, who had kept 
 their light alive by craving constant supplies from the king's 
 treasury, got through at last by a strength which they fell 
 not to be their own. One poor man, who carried the 
 largest buudle of bad habits I had seen, could not get on a 
 step ; he never ceased, however, to implore for light enough 
 to see where his misery lay; he threw down one of his 
 bundles, then another, but all to little purpose ; still he 
 could not stir. At last striving as if in agony (which ]g 
 the. true way of entering) he threw down the heaviest ar- 
 ticle in his pack ; this was selfishness ; the poor fellow felt 
 relieved at once, his light burned brightly, and the rest of 
 his pack was as nothing. 
 
 Then I heard a great noise as of carpenters at work. I 
 looked what this might be, and saw many sturdy travelers, 
 who, finding they were too bulky to get through, took it 
 into their heads not to reduce themselves, but to widen the 
 gate ; they hacked on this side, and hewed on that ; but all 
 their hacking, and hewing, and hammering was to no pur- 
 pose, they got their labor for their pains. It would have
 
 AND THE BROAD WAY. 455 
 
 been possible for them to have reduced themselves, had they 
 attempted it, but to widen the narrow way was impossible. 
 What grieved me most was to observe that many who 
 had got on successfully a good way, now stopped to rest 
 and to admire their own progress. While they were thus 
 valuing themselves on their attainments, their light dimin- 
 ished. While these were boasting how far they had left 
 others behind who had set out much earlier, some slower 
 travelers, whose beginning had not been so promising, but 
 who had walked meekly and circumspectly, now outstripped 
 them. These last walked not as though they had already 
 attained ; but this one thing they did, forgetting the things 
 which were behind, they pushed forward to the mark, for 
 the prize of their high calling. These, though naturally 
 weak, yet by laying aside every weight, finished the race 
 that was before them. Those who had kept their "light 
 burning," who were not " wise in their own conceit," who 
 " laid their help on one that is mighty," who had chosen 
 to suffer affliction rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sin 
 for a season," came at length to the Happy Laud. They 
 had indeed the Dark and Shadowy Valley to cross, but 
 even there they found a rod ami a staff to comfort them. 
 Their light instead of being put out by the -lamps of the 
 Valley and of the Shadow of Death, often burned with add- 
 ed briofhtness. Some indeed suffered the terrors of a short 
 eclipse; but even then their light, like that of a dark 
 lantern, was not put out; it was only turned for a while 
 from him who carried it, and even these often finished their 
 course with joy. But be that as it might, the instant they 
 peached the Happy Land, all tears were wiped from their 
 eyes, and the king himself came forth and welcomed them 
 into his presence, and put a crown upon their heads, with 
 these words, " Well done, good and faithful servant, entei 
 thou into the joy of thy Lord."
 
 PARLEY, THE PORTER: 
 
 SHOWING HOW ROBBERS WITHOUT CAN NEVER GET INTO A HOUSB^ 
 UNLESS THERE ARE TRAITORS WITHIN, 
 
 There was once a certain nobleman who had a house or 
 castle situated in the midst of a great wilderness, but in- 
 closed in a garden. Now there was a band of robbers in 
 the wilderness who had a great mind to plunder and destroy 
 the castle, but they had not succeeded in their endeavors, 
 because the master had given strict orders to " watch with- 
 out ceasing." To quicken their vigilance he used to tell 
 them that their care would soon have an end : that though 
 the nights to watch were dark and stormy, yet they were 
 but few ; the period of resistance was short, that of rest 
 would be eternal. 
 
 The robbers, however, attacked the castle in various ways. 
 They tried at every avenue, watched to take advantage of 
 every careless moment ; looked for an open door or a neg- 
 lected window. But though they often made the bolts 
 shake aud the windows rattle, they could never greatly hurt 
 the house, much less get into it. Do you know the reason ? 
 It w T as because the servants were never off their guard. 
 They heard the noises plain enough, and used to be not a 
 little frightened, for they were aware both of the strength 
 and perseverance of their enemies. But what seemed 
 rather odd to some of these servants, the lord used to tell 
 
 •
 
 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 4,57 
 
 while they continued to be afraid they would be 
 safe; and it passed into a sort of proverb in that family, 
 "Happy is he that feareth always." Some of the servants, 
 however, thought this a contradiction. 
 
 One day, when the master was going from home, he 
 called his servants all together, and spoke to them as fol- 
 lows : "I will not repeat lo you the directions I have so 
 often given you ; they are all written down in the book of 
 laws, of which every one of you has a copy. Remember, 
 it is a very short time that you are to remain in this castle ; 
 you will soon remove to my more settled habitation, to a 
 more durable house, not made with hands. As that house 
 is never exposed to any attack, so it never stands in need 
 of any repair ; for that country is never infested by any 
 sous of violence. Here you are servants ; there you will 
 be princes. But mark my worsts, and you will find the 
 same in the book of my laws, whether you will ever attain 
 to that house, will depend on the manner in which you de- 
 fend yourselves in this. A stout vigilance for a short time 
 will secure your certain happiness forever. But every 
 thing depends ou your present exertions. Don't complain 
 ami take advantage of my absence, and call me a hard 
 master, and grumble that you are placed in the midst of 
 a howling wilderness without peace or security. Say not, 
 that you are exposed to temptations without any power to 
 resist them. You have some difficulties, it is true, but you 
 have many helps and many comforts to make this house 
 tolerable, even before you get to the other. Yours is not 
 a hard service ; and if it were, ' the time is short.' You 
 have arms if you will use them, and doors if you will bar 
 them, and strength if you will use it. I would defy all the 
 ai tacks of the robbers without, if I could depeud on the 
 fidelity of the people within. U the thiei es ever get in and 
 destroy the house, it must be by the connivance of one of 
 
 20
 
 458 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 
 
 the family. For it is a standing law of this castle, that 
 mere outward attack can never destroy it, if there be no con- 
 senting Jtr ait or within. You will stand or fall as you will 
 observe this rule. If you are finally happy, it will be by my 
 grace and favor ; if you are ruined, it will be your own fault." 
 
 When the nobleman had done speaking, every servant 
 repeated his assurance of attachment and firm allegiance to 
 his master. But among them all, not one was so vehement 
 and loud in his professions as old Parley, the porter. Par- 
 ley, indeed, it was well known, was always talking, which 
 exposed him to no small danger ; for as he was the fore- 
 most to promise, so he was the slackest to perform : and, 
 to speak the truth, though he was a civil-spoken fellow, his 
 lord was more afraid of him, with all his professions, than 
 he was of the rest who protested less. He knew that Par- 
 ley was vain, credulous, and self-sufficient ; and he always 
 apprehended more danger from Parley's impertinence, curi- 
 osity, and love of novelty, than even from"the stronger vices 
 of some of his other servants. The rest indeed, seldom got 
 into any scrape of which Parley was not the cause in some 
 shape or other. 
 
 I am sorry to be obliged to confess, that though Parley 
 was allowed every refreshment, and all the needful 'rest 
 which the nature of his place permitted, yet he thought it 
 very hard to be forced to be so constantly" on duty. "Noth- 
 ing but watching," said Parley. "I have, to be sure, many 
 pleasures, and meat sufficient; and plenty of chat, in virtue 
 of my office, and I pick up a good deal of news of the 
 comers and goers by day, but it is hard that at night I must 
 watch as narrowly as a house-dog, and yet let in no com- 
 pany without orders ; only because there is said to be a few 
 straggling robbers here in the wilderness, with whom my 
 master does not care to let us be acquainted. He pretends 
 to make us vigilant through fear of the robbers, but I sus-
 
 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 459 
 
 pect it is only to make us mope alone. A merry companion 
 and a mug of beer would make the night pass cheerily." 
 Parley, however, kept all these thoughts to himself, or ut- 
 tered them only when no one heard, for talk he must. He 
 began to listen to the nightly whistling of the robbers un- 
 der the windows with rather less alarm than formerly, and 
 was sometimes so tired of watching, that he thought it was 
 even better to run the risk of being robbed once, than to 
 live always in the fear of robbers. 
 
 There were certain bounds in which the lord allowed his 
 servants to walk and divert themselves at all proper seasons. 
 A pleasant garden surrounded the castle, and a thick hedge 
 separated this garden from the wilderness which was in- 
 fested by the robbers ; in this garden they were permitted 
 to amuse themselves. The master advised them always to 
 keep within these bounds. " While you observe this rule," 
 said he, "you will be safe and well; and you will consult 
 your own safety and happiness, as well as show your love 
 to me, by not venturing over to the extremity of your 
 bounds; he who goes as far as he dares, always shows a 
 wish to go further than he ought, and commonly does so." 
 
 It was remarkable, that the nearer these servants kept to 
 the castle, and the further from the hedge, the more uoly 
 the wilderness appeared. Anil the nearer they approached 
 the forbidden bounds, their own home appeared more dull, 
 and the wilderness more delightful. And this the master 
 knew when he gave his orders ; for he never either did or 
 said any thing without a good reason. And when his 
 servants sometimes desired an explanation of the reason, he 
 used to tell them they would understand it when they came 
 to the other hoii.se ; for it was one of the pleasures of that 
 house, thai it would explain all the mysteries of this, and 
 any little obscurities in the master's conduct would be then 
 made quite plain.
 
 460 PAULEY, THE PORTER. 
 
 Parley was the first who promised to keep clear of the 
 hedge, an 1 yet was often seen looking as near as he durst. 
 One day he ventured close up to the hedge, put two or three 
 stones one on another, and tried to peep over. He saw one 
 of the robbers strolling as near as he could be on the for- 
 bidden side. This man's name was Mr. Flatterwell, a smooth, 
 civil man, " whose words were softer than butter, having 
 war in his heart." He made several low bows to Parley. 
 
 Now, Parley knew so little of the world, that he actually 
 concluded all robbers must have an ugly look which should 
 frighten you at once, and coarse brutal manners which would 
 at first sight show they were enemies. He thought, like a 
 poor ignorant fellow as he was, that this mild, specious per- 
 son could never be one of the band. Flatterwell accosted 
 Parley with the utmost civility, which put him quite off his 
 guard ; for Parley had no notion that he could be an enemy 
 who was so soft and civil. For an open foe he would have 
 been prepared. Parley, however, after a little discourse 
 drew this conclusion, that either Mr. Flatterwell could not 
 be one of the gang, or that if he was, the robbers them- 
 selves could not be such monsters as his master had de- 
 scribed, and therefore it was a folly to be afraid of them. 
 
 Flatterwell began, like a true adept in his art, by lulling 
 all Parley's suspicions asleep ; and instead of openly abus- 
 ing his master, which would have opened Parley's eyes at 
 once, he pretended rather to commend him in a general way, 
 as a person who meant well himself, but was too apt to sus- 
 pect others. To this Parley assented. The other then ven- 
 tured to hint by degrees, that though the nobleman might 
 be a good master in the main, yet he must say he was a 
 little strict, and a little stingy, and not a little censorious. 
 That he was blamed by the gentlemen of the wilderness for 
 shutting his house against good company, and his servants 
 were laughed at by people of spirit for submitting to the
 
 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 461 
 
 gloomy life of the castle, and the insipid pleasures of the 
 garden, instead of ranging in the wilderness at large. 
 
 " It is true enough," said Parley, who was generally of 
 the opinion of the person he was talking with, " my master 
 is rather harsh and close. But to own the truth, all the 
 barring, and locking, and bolting, is to keep out a set of 
 gentlemen, who he assures us are robbers, and who are 
 waiting for an opportunity to destroy us. I hope no offense, 
 sir, but by your livery I suspect you, sir, are one of the 
 gang he is so much afraid of." 
 
 Flatterwell. Afraid of me ? Impossible, dear Mr. Parley. 
 You see, I do not look like an enemy. I am unarmed ; 
 what harm can a plain man like me do ? 
 
 Parley. Why, that is true enough. Yet my master says, 
 if we were to let you into the house, we should be ruined 
 soul and body. 
 
 Flattenvdl. I am sorry, Mr. Parley, to hear so sensihle a 
 man as you are, so deceived. This is mere prejudice. He 
 knows we are cheerful entertaining people, foes to gloom 
 and superstition, and therefore he is so morose he will not 
 let you get acquainted with us. 
 
 Parley. Well ; he says you are a ban:! of thieves, gam- 
 blers, murderers, drunkards, and atheists. 
 
 Flatterwell. Don't believe him ; the worst we should do, 
 perhaps is, we might drink a friendly glass with you to your 
 master's health, or play an innocent game of cards just to 
 keep you awake, or sing a cheerful song with the maids ; 
 now is there any harm in all this .' 
 
 Parley. Not the least in the world. Ami I begin to 
 think there is not a word of truth in all my master says. 
 
 Flatterwell. The more you know us, the more yon will 
 like us. But I wish there was not this ugly hedge between 
 us. I have a great deal to say, and I am afraid of being 
 overheard.
 
 462 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 
 
 Parley was now just going to give a spring over the 
 hedge; but checked himself, saying, "I dare not come on 
 yonr side, there are people aboul, and every thing is carried 
 to the master." Flatterwell saw by this that his new friend 
 was kept on his own side of the hedge by fear rather than 
 by principle, aud from that moment he made sure *>f him. 
 "Dear Mr. Parley," said he, "if you will allow me the 
 honor of a little conversation with you, I will call under the 
 window of your lodge this evening. I have something to 
 tell you greatly to your advantage. I admire you exceed- 
 ingly. I long for your friendship ; our whole brotherhood 
 is ambhious of being known to so amiable a person." " O 
 dear," said Parley, "I shall be afraid of talking to you at 
 night. It is so against my master's orders. But did you 
 say you had something to tell me to my advantage ?" 
 
 Flatterwell. Yes, I can point out to you how you may be 
 a richer, a merrier, aud a happier man. If you will admit 
 me to-night under the window, I will convince you that it 
 is prejudice and not wisdom, which makes your master bar 
 his door ag.inst us ; I will convince you that the mischief 
 of a robber, i s your master scurrilously calls us, is only in 
 the name ; th t we are your true friends, and only mean to 
 promote your happiness. 
 
 " Don't say w ," said Parley, "pray come alone ; I would 
 not see the rest of the gang for the world ; but I think 
 there can be no g<jeat harm in talking to you through the 
 bars, if you come alone ; but I am determined not to let 
 you in. Yet I can't say but I wish to know what you can 
 tell me so much to my advantage ; indeed, if it is for my 
 gO( d I ought to know it." 
 
 Flatterwell. (goiuj/ out, turns back.) Dear Mr. Parley, 
 there is one thing I had forgotten. I can not get over the 
 hedge at night without assistance. You know there is a 
 secret in the nature of that hedge ; you in the house may
 
 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 463 
 
 get over it, into>the wilderness of your own accord, but we 
 can not get to your side by our own strength. You must 
 look about to see where the hedge is thinnest, and then set 
 to work to clear away here and there a little bough for me, 
 ?t won't be missed ; and if there is but the smallest hole 
 made on your side, those on ours can get through, other- 
 wise we do but labor in vain. To this Parley made some 
 objection, through the fear of being seen. Flatterwell re- 
 plied, that the smallest hole from within would be sufficient, 
 for he could then work his own way. " Well," said Parley, 
 " I will consider of it. To be sure I shall even then be 
 equally safe in the castle, as I shall have all the bolts, bars,- 
 and locks between us, so it will make but little difference." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Flatterwell, who knew it would 
 make all the difference in the world. So they parted with 
 mutual protestations of regard. Parley went home charmed 
 with his new friend. His eyes were now clearly opened as 
 to his master's prejudices against the ro'ibers, and he was 
 convinced there was more in the name than in the thinsr. 
 "But," said he, " though Mr. Flatterwell is certainly an 
 agreeable companion, he may not be so safe an inmate. 
 There can, however, be no harm in talking at a distance, 
 and I certainly won't let him in." 
 
 Parley, in the course of the day, did no* forget his prom- 
 ise to thin the hedge of separation a little. At first he 
 only tore oil' a handful of Leaves, then a little sprig, then he 
 broke away a bough or two. It was observable, the larger 
 the branch became, the worse lie began to think of Ins 
 master, and the better of himself. Every peep he took 
 through the broken !:■■ Ige increased hi ■ t out into 
 
 the wilderness, and made (he thoughts <»i the castle mo 
 irksome to him. He was continually repeating i" himself, 
 ''1 wonder what Mr. Flatterwell can have to say s. . much to 
 my advantage ? I see he does not wish to hurt my master,
 
 464 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 
 
 he only wishes to serve me." As the hour of meeting, 
 however, drew near, the master's orders now and then came 
 across Parley's thoughts. So to divert them, he took up 
 the book. He happened to open it at these words : " My 
 son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not." For a mo- 
 ment his heart failed him. " If this admonition should be 
 sent on purpose ?" said he ; but no, 'tis a bugbear. My 
 master told me that if I went to the bounds I should get 
 over the hedge. Now I went to the utmost limits, and did 
 not get over. Here conscience put in : " Yes, but it was be- 
 cause you were watched." " I am sure," continued Parley, 
 " one may always stop where one will, and this is only a 
 trick of my master's to spoil sport. So I will even hear 
 what Mr. Flatterwell has to say so much to my advantage. 
 I am not obliged to follow his counsels, but there can be no 
 harm in hearing them." 
 
 Flatterwell prevailed on the rest of the robbers to make 
 no public attack on the castle that night. " My brethren," 
 said he, " you now and then fail in your schemes, because 
 you are for violent beginnings, while my smooth, insinuat- 
 ing measures hardly ever miss. You come blustering and 
 roaring, and frighten people, and set them on their guard. 
 You inspire them with terror of you, while my whole 
 scheme is to make them think well of themselves, and ill 
 of their master. If I once get them to entertain hard 
 thoughts of him, and high thoughts of themselves, my bus- 
 iness is done, and they fall plump into my snares. So let 
 this delicate affair alone to me : Parley is a softly fellow, he 
 must not be frightened, but cajoled. He is the very sort of 
 a man to succeed with ; and worth a hundred of your stur- 
 dy, sensible fellows. With them we want strong arguments 
 and strong temptations ; but with such fellows as Parley, 
 in whom vanity and sensuality are the leading qualities (as, 
 let me tell you, is the case with far the greater part) flat-
 
 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 4G5 
 
 tery and a promise of ease and pleasure, will do more than 
 your, whole battle arrray. If you will let me mauage, I will 
 get you all into the castle before midnight." 
 
 At night the castle was barricadoed as usual, and no one 
 had observed the hole which Parley had made in the hedge. 
 This oversight arose that night from the servants' neglect.- 
 ing one of the master's standing orders — to make a nightly 
 examination of the state of thing's. The neglect did not 
 proceed so much from willful disobedience, as from having 
 passed the evening in sloth and diversion, which often 
 amounts to nearly the same in its consequences. 
 
 As all was very cheerful within, so all was very quiet 
 without. And before they went to bed, some of the serv- 
 ants observed to the rest, that as they heard no robbers tli.it 
 night, they thought they might now begin to remit some- 
 thing of their diligence in boltiug and barring : that all this 
 fastening and locking was very troublesome, and they hoped 
 the clanger was now pretty well over. It was rather re- 
 markable, that they never made these sort of observations, but 
 after an evening of some excess, and when they had neglected 
 their private business with their master. All, however, ex- 
 cept Parley, went quietly to bed, and seemed to feel uncom- 
 mon security. 
 
 Parley crept down to his lodge, lie had half a mind to 
 go to bed too. Yet he was not willing to disappoint Mr. 
 Flatterwell. So civil a gentleman ! To be sure he might 
 have had bad designs. Yet what right had he to suspect 
 any body who made such professions, and who was so very 
 civil ? " Besides, it is something for my advantage," added 
 Parley. "I will not open the door, that is certain ; but ■ - 
 he is to come alone, he can do me no harm through the 
 bars of the windows: and he will think I am a coward if I 
 don't keep my word. No, I will let him see thai I am not 
 afraid of my own strength ; I will show him I can go what 
 
 20*
 
 466 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 
 
 length I please, and stop short when I please." Had Flat- 
 terwell heard this boastful speech, he would have been quite 
 sure of bis man. 
 
 About eleven, Parley heard the signal agreed upon. It 
 was so gentle as to cause little alarm. So much the worse. 
 Flatter well never frightened any one, and therefore seldom 
 failed of any one. Parley stole softly down, planted him- 
 self at his little window, opened the casement, and spied his 
 new friend. It was pale starlight. Parley was a little 
 frightened ; for he thought he perceived one or two persons 
 belaud Flatterwell ; but the other assured him it was only 
 his own shadow, which his fears had magnified into a com- 
 pany. "Though I assure you," said he, " I have not a 
 friend but what is as harmless as myself." 
 
 They now entered into serious discourse, in which Flat- 
 terwell showed himself a deep politician. He skillfully 
 mixed up in his conversation a proper proportion of praise 
 on the pleasures of the wilderness, of compliments to Par- 
 ley, of ridicule on his master, and of abusive sneers on the 
 book in which the master's laws were written. Against 
 this last he had always a particular spite, for he considered 
 it as the graud instrument by which the lord maintained his 
 servants in their allegiance ; and when they could once be 
 brought to sneer at the book there was an end of submis- 
 sion to the lord. Parley had not penetration enough to see 
 his drift. "As to the book, Mr. Flatterwell," said he, "I 
 do not know whether it be true or false. I rather neglect 
 than disbelieve it. I am forced, indeed, to hear it read once 
 a week, but I never look into it myself, if I can help it.' 
 "Excellent," said Flatterwell to himself, " that is just the 
 same thing. This is safe ground for me. For whether a 
 man does not believe in the book, or does not attend to it, 
 it comes pretty much to the same, and I generally get him 
 at last."
 
 THE PORTER. 407 
 
 " Why can not we be a little nearer, Mr. Parley," said 
 Flatterwell ; " I am afraid, of being overheard by some of 
 your master's spies. The window from which you speak is 
 so high ; I wish you would come down to the door." 
 " Well," said Parley, " I see no great harm iu that. There 
 is a little wicket in the door through which we may con- 
 verse with more ease and equal safety. The same fastenings 
 will be still between us." So down he went, but not with- 
 out a deoree of fear and trembling. The little wicket being: 
 now opened, and Flatterwell standing close on the outside 
 of the door, they conversed with great ease. " Mr. Parley," 
 said Flatterwell, " I should not have pressed you so much 
 to admit me into the castle, but out of pure disinterested 
 regard to your own happiness. I shall get nothing by it, 
 put I can not bear to think that a person so wise and ami- 
 able should be shut up in this gloomy dungeon, under a 
 hard master, and a slave to the unreasonable tyranny of 
 his book of laws. If you admit me, you need have no 
 more waking, no more watching." Here Parley involunta- 
 rily slipped back the bolt of the door. " To convince you 
 of my true love," continued Flatterwell, vi L have brought a 
 bottle of the most delicious wine that grows in the wilder- 
 ness. You shall taste it, hut you must put a glass through 
 the wicket to receive it, for it is a singular property of this 
 wine, that wo of the wilderness can not succeed in convey- 
 ing it to you of the castle, without you hold out a vessel to 
 receive it." " here is a glass," said Parley, holding out a 
 large goblet, which he always kept ready to be filled by any 
 chance-comer. The other immediately poured into the 
 capacious goblet a large draught of that delicious intoxi- 
 eating liquor, with which the family of the Flatterwells have 
 for neai' six thousand \ ea 's g lined the hearts, and destroj i 1 
 the souls of all the inhabitants of the castle, whenever they 
 have been able to prevail on them to hold out a hand to re-
 
 468 PARLEY, THE PORTER. 
 
 ceive it. This the wise master of the castle well knew 
 would he the case, for he knew what was in men ; he knew 
 their propensity to receive the delicious poison of the Flat- 
 terwells ; and it was for this reasoa that he gave them the 
 book of his laws, and planted the hedge and invented the 
 bolts, and doubled the lock. 
 
 As soon as poor Parley had swallowed the fatal draught, 
 it acted like enchantment. He at once lost all power of 
 resistance. He had no sense of fear left. He despised his 
 own safety, forgot his master, lost all sight of the home in 
 the other country, and reached out for another draught as 
 eagerly as Flatterwell held out the bottle to administer it. 
 "What a fool have I been," said Parley, " to deny myself 
 so long!" "Will you now let me in ?" said Flatterwell. 
 "Ay, that I will," said (he deluded Parley. Though the' 
 train was now increased to near a hundred robbers, yet so 
 intoxicated was Parley, that he did not see one of them ex- 
 cept his new friend. Parley eagerly pulled down the bars, 
 drew back the bolts and forced open the locks ; thinking 
 he could never let in his friend soon enough. He had, 
 however, just presence of mind to say, "My dear friend I 
 hope you are alone." Flatterwell swore he was — Parley 
 opened the door — in rushed, not Flatterwell only, but the 
 whole banditti, who always lurked behind in his train. 
 The moment they had got sure possession, Flatterwell 
 changed his soft tone, and cried in a voice of thunder, 
 " Down with the castle ; kill, burn, and destroy." 
 
 Rapine, murder, and conflagration, by turns took place. 
 Parley was the very first whom they attacked. He was 
 overpowered with wounds. As he fell he cried out, " O my 
 master, I die a victim to my unbelief in thee, and to my 
 own vanity and imprudence. O that the guardians of all 
 other castles would hear me with my dying breath repeat 
 my master's admonition, that all attacks from without will
 
 THE PORTER. 4G9 
 
 not destroy unless there is some confederate toithin. that 
 the keepers of all other castles would learn from my ruin, 
 that he who parleys with temptation is already undone. 
 That he who allows himself to go to the very bounds will 
 soon jump over the hedge ; that he who talks out of the win- 
 dow with the enemy, will soon open the door to hi n : that 
 he who holds out his hand for the cup of sinful flattery, 
 loses ail power of resisting; that when he opens the door 
 to one sin, all the rest fly in upon him, and the man perish- 
 es as I now do."
 
 THE GRAND ASSIZES, ETC.; 
 
 OR, GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 
 
 There was in a certain country a great king, who was 
 also a judge, lie was very merciful, but he was also very 
 just ; for he used to say, that justice was the foundation of 
 all goodness, and that indiscriminate and misapplied mercy 
 was in fact injustice. His subjects were apt enough, in a 
 general way, to extol his merciful temper, and especially 
 those subjects who were always committing crimes which 
 made them particularly liable to be punished by his justice. 
 This last quality they constantly kept out of sight, till they 
 had cheated themselves into a notion that he was too good 
 to punish at all. 
 
 Now it had happened a long time before, that this whole 
 people had broken their allegiance, and had forfeited the 
 king's favor, and had also fallen from a very prosperous 
 state in which he had originally placed them, having one 
 and all become bankrupts. But when they were over head 
 and ears in debt, and had nothing to pay, the king's son 
 most generously took the whole burden of their debts on 
 himself; and, in short, it was proposed that all their affairs 
 should be settled, and their very crimes forgiven (for they 
 were criminals as well as debtors), provided only they would 
 show themselves sincerely sorry for what they had done 
 themselves, and be thankful for what had been done for
 
 THE GRAND ASSIZES, ETC. 471 
 
 them. I should, however, remark, that a book was also 
 given them, in which a true and faithful account of their 
 own rebellion was written ; and of the manner of obtain- 
 ing the king's pardon, together with a variety of directions 
 for their conduct in time to come ; and in this book it was 
 particularly mentioned, that after having lived a certain 
 number of years in a remote part of the same king's coun- 
 try, yet still under his eye and jurisdiction, there should be 
 a, grand assizes, when every one was to be publicly tried 
 for his past behavior ; and after this trial was over, certain 
 heavv punishments were to be inflicted on those who should 
 have still persisted in their rebellion, and certain high pre- 
 miums were to be bestowed as a gracious reward upon the 
 penitent and obedient. 
 
 It may be proper here to notice, that this king's court 
 differed in some respect from our courts of justice, being 
 in.leed a sort of court of appeal, to which questions were 
 carried after they had been imperfectly decided in the com- 
 mon courts ! And although with us all criminals are tried 
 (and a most excellent mode of trial it is) by a jury of their 
 peers, yet in this king's country the mode was very differ- 
 ent ; fof since every one of the people hail been in a certain 
 sense criminals, the kin-- did not think it fair to make them 
 judges also. It would, indeed, have been impossible to 
 
 follow in all res] ts the customs which prevail with us, for 
 
 the crimes with which men are charged in our courts are 
 mere overt acts, as the lawyers call them, thai is, acts which 
 regard the outward behavior; such as the acts of striking, 
 maiming, stealing, and so forth. But in this king's court 
 it was not merely outward sins, hut si is of the heart also 
 which were to he punished. Many a 
 which was never heard of in the courl of K Bench, or 
 
 at the Old Bailey, and which indeed could not he cogniza- 
 ble by these courts, was here to be brought to light, and
 
 472 THE GRAND ASSIZES, ETC.; 
 
 was reserved for this great day. Among these were pride, 
 and oppression, and envy, and malice, and revenge, and 
 covetousness, and secret vanity of mind, and evil thoughts 
 of all sorts, and all sinful wishes and desires. When covet- 
 ousness, iudeed, put men on committing robbery, or wheii 
 malice drove them to acts of murder, then the common 
 courts immediately judged the criminal, without waiting for 
 these great assizes ; nevertheless, since even a thief and 
 murderer would now and then escape in the common 
 courts, for want of evidence, or through some fault or other 
 of the judge or jury, the escape was of little moment to the 
 poor criminal, for he was sure to be tried again by this great 
 king ; and even though the man should have been punished 
 in some sense before, yet he had now «i further and more 
 lasting punishment to fear, unless, indeed, he was one of those 
 who had obtained (by the means I before spoke of) this 
 great king's pardon. The sins of the heart, however, were by 
 far the most numerous sort of sins, which were to come be- 
 fore this great tribunal ; and these were to be judged by this 
 great king in person, and by none but himself; because he 
 alone possessed a certain power of getting at all secrets. 
 
 I once heard of a eertain king of Sicily, who built a 
 whispering gallery in the form of an ear, through which 
 he could hear every word his rebellious subjects uttered, 
 though spoken ever so low. But this secret of the king of 
 Sicily was nothing to what this great king possessed ; for 
 he had the power of knowing every thought which was 
 conceived in the mind, though it never broke out into 
 words, or proceeded to actions. 
 
 Now you may be ready to think, perhaps, that these 
 people were worse off than any others, because they were 
 to be examined so closely, and judged so strictly. Far from 
 it ; the king was too just to expect bricks without givi-.g 
 them straw ; he gave them, therefore, every help that ti»vo
 
 OR, GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 473 
 
 needed. He gave them a book of directions, as I before 
 observed ; and because they were naturally short-sighted, 
 he supplied them with a glass for reading it, and thus the 
 most dim-sighted might see, if they did not willfully shut 
 their eyes : but though the king invited them to open their 
 eyes, he did not compel them ; and many remain stone 
 blind all their lives with the book in their hand, because 
 they would not use the glass, nor take the proper means 
 for reading and understanding all that was written for them. 
 The humble and sincere learned in time to see even that 
 part of the book which was least plainly written ; and it 
 was observed that the ability to understand it depended 
 more ou the heart than the head ; an evil disposition 
 blinded the sight, while humility operated like an eye- 
 salve. 
 
 Now it happened that those who had been so lucky as 
 to escape the punishment of the lower courts, took it into 
 their heads that they were all very good sort of people, an 1 
 of course very safe from any danger at this great assize. 
 This grand intended trial, indeed, had been talked of so 
 much, and put off so long (for it had seemed long at least 
 to these short-sighted people) that many persuaded theuv 
 selves it would never take place at all ; and far the greater 
 part were living away therefore, without ever thinking 
 about it ; they went on just as if nothing at all had bet n 
 done for their benefit; and as it' they had no king to 
 please, no king's son to be thankful to, no book to guide, 
 themselves by, and as if the assizes were never to come 
 about. 
 
 ]>ut with this king a tkousnid years lucre as a day, for 
 he was not slack concerning I/is promises, as some men count 
 slackness. So at length the solemn period approached. 
 Still, however, the people did not prepare for the solemnity, 
 or rather, they prepared for it much as some of the people
 
 474 
 
 THE GRAND ASSIZES, ETC.; 
 
 of our provincial towns are apt to prepai'e for the annual 
 assize times ; I mean by balls and feastiogs, and they saw 
 their own trial come on with as little concern as is felt by 
 the people in our streets when they see the judge's proces- 
 sion enter the town ; they indeed comfort themselves that 
 it is only those in the prisons who are guilty. 
 
 But when at last the day came, and every man found 
 that he was to be judged for himself; and that somehow 
 or other, all his secrets were brought out, and that there 
 was now no escape, not even a short reprieve, things began 
 to take a more serious turn. Some of the worst of the 
 criminals were got together debating in an outer court of 
 the grand hall; and there they passed their time, not in 
 compunction and tears, not in comparing their lives with 
 what was required in that book which had been given 
 them, but they derived a fallacious hope by comparing 
 themselves with such as had been still more notorious of- 
 fenders. 
 
 One who had grown wealthy by rapine and oppression, 
 but had contrived to keep within the letter of the law, in- 
 sulted a poor fellow as a thief, because he had stolen a loaf 
 of bread. " You are far wickeder than I was," said a citi- 
 zen to his apprentice, " for you drank and swore at the ale- 
 house every Sunday night." " Yes," said the poor fellow, 
 " but it was your fault that I did so, for you took no care 
 of my soul, but spent all your Sabbaths in jaunting abroad 
 or in rioting at home ; I might have learned, but there 
 was no one to teach me ; I might have followed a good 
 example, but I saw only bad ones. I sinned against less 
 light than you did." A drunken journeyman who had 
 spent all his wages on gin, rejoiced that he had not spent a 
 great estate in bribery at elections, as the lord of his manor 
 had done, while a perjured elector boasted that he was nc 
 drunkard like the journeyman ; and the member himself
 
 OR, GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 475 
 
 took comfort that lie Lad never received the bribes which 
 he had not been ashamed to offer. 
 
 I have not room to describe the awful pomp of the court, 
 nor the terrible sounding of the trumpet which attended 
 the judge's entrance, nor the sitting of the judge, nor the 
 opening of the books, nor the crowding of the millions, 
 who stood before him. I shall pass over the multitudes 
 who were tried and condemned to dungeons and chains, 
 and eternal fire, and to perpetual banishment from the 
 presence of the king, which always seemed to be the sad- 
 dest part of the sentence. I shall only notice further, a few 
 who brought some plea of merit, and claimed a right to be 
 rewarded by the king, and even deceived themselves so far 
 is to think that his own book of laws would be their justi- 
 fication. 
 
 A thoughtless spendthrift advanced without any contri- 
 tion, and said, " that he had lived handsomely, and had 
 hated the covetous whom God abhorreth ; that he trusted 
 in the passage of the book which said, that covetousness was 
 idolatry ; and that he therefore hoped for a favorable sen- 
 tence." Now it proved that this man had not only avoided 
 covetousness, but that he had even left his wife and chil- 
 dren in want through his excessive prodigality. The judge 
 therefore immediately pointed to that place in the book 
 where it is written, he that provideth not for his household 
 is worse than an infidel, die that liveth in pleasure is dead 
 while he liveth ; " thou,'' said he, " in tin/ lifetime, receiv- 
 ed.st thy good things, and now thou must be tormented.' 1 ' 1 
 Then a miser, whom hunger and hoarding had worn to skin 
 and bone, crept forward, and praised the sentence passed 
 on the extravagant youth, "and surely," said be, "since he 
 is condemned, I am a man that may make some plea to 
 favor — I was never idle or drunk, I kept my body in sub- 
 jection, I have been so self-denying that I am certainly a
 
 4*76 THE GRAND ASSIZES, ETC.; 
 
 saint : 1 have loved neither father nor mother, nor wife nor 
 children, to excess, in all this I have obeyed the book of 
 the law." Then the judge said, " But where are thy works 
 of mercy and thy labors of love ? see that family which 
 perished in thy sight last hard winter while thy barns were 
 overflowing ; that poor family were my representatives ; 
 yet they were hungry, and thou gavest them no meat. Go 
 to, now, thou rich man, weep and howl for the miseries that 
 are come upon you. Your gold and silver is cankered, and 
 the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall 
 eat your flesh as it were fire" 
 
 Then came up one with a most self-sufficient air. lie walked 
 up boldly, having in one hand the plan of a hospital which 
 he had budt, and in the other the drawing of the statue 
 which was erecting for him in the country that he had just 
 left, and on his forehead appeared, in gold letters, the list 
 of all the public charities to which he had subscribed. He 
 seemed to take great pleasure in the condemnation of the 
 miser, and said, " Lord when saw I thee hungry and fed 
 thee not, or in prison and visited thee not 1 I have visited 
 the fatherless and widow in their affliction." Here the 
 judge cut him short, by saying, " True, thou didst visit the 
 fatherless, but didst thou fulfill equally that other part of 
 my command, ' to keep thyself unspotted from the world.' 
 No, thou wast conformed to the world in many of its sinful 
 customs, "thou didst follow a multitude to do evil; thou 
 didst love the world and the things of the world ; and the 
 motive to all thy charities was not a regard to me but to 
 thy own credit with thy fellow-men. Thou hast done 
 every thing for the sake of reputation, and now thou art 
 vainly trusting in thy deceitful works, instead of putting all 
 thy trust in my son, who has offered himself to be a surety 
 for thee. Where has been that humility and gratitude to 
 him which was required of thee ? No, thou wouldest be
 
 OR, GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 477 
 
 thine own surety: thou hast trusted in thyself: thou hast 
 made thy boast of thine own goodness ; thou hast sought 
 after and thou hast enjoyed the praise of men, and verily I 
 say unto thee, ' thou hast had thy reward.' " 
 
 A poor, diseased, blind cripple, who came from the very 
 hospital which this great man had built, then fell prostrate 
 on his face, crying out, " Lord be merciful to me a sinner !" 
 on which the judge, to the surprise of all, said, "Well done, 
 good and faithful servant." The poor mau replied, "Lord, I 
 have done nothing !" " But thou hast 'suffered well :' said 
 the judge ; " thou hast been an example of patience aud 
 meekness, and though thou hadst but few talents, yet thou 
 hast well improved those few; thou hadst time, this thou 
 didst spend in the humble duties of thy station, and also in 
 earnest prayer ; thou didst pray even for that proud founder 
 of the hospital, who never prayd for himself; thou wast in- 
 deed blind and lame, but it is no where said, My son give 
 me thy feet, or thine eyes, but Give me thy heart ; and even 
 the few faculties I did grant thee, were employed to my 
 glory ; with thine ears thou didst listen to my word, with 
 thy tongue thou didst show forth my praise : ' enter thou 
 into the joy of thy Lord.' " 
 
 There were several who came forward, and boasted of 
 some single and particular virtue, in which they had been 
 supposed to excel. One talked of his generosity, another 
 of his courage, and a third of his fortitude; but it proved 
 on a close examination, that some of those supposed virtues 
 were merely the effect of a particular constitution of body ; 
 the others proceeded from a false motive, and that not a 
 few of them were actual vices, since they were carried to ex- 
 cess ; and under the pretense of fulfilling one duty, some 
 other duty was lost sight of; in short, these partial virtues 
 were none of them practiced in obedienee to the will of the 
 King, but merely to please the person's own humor, or to
 
 478 THE GRAND ASSIZES, ETC. 
 
 gain praise, and they would not, therefore, stand this day's 
 trial, for " lie that had kept the whole law, and yet had will- 
 fully aud habitually offended in any one point, was declared 
 guilty of breaking the whole." 
 
 At this moment a sort of thick scales fell from the eyes 
 of the multitude. They could now no longer take com- 
 fort, as they had done for so many years, by measuring their 
 neighbors' conduct against their own. Each at once saw 
 himself in his true light, and found, alas ! when it was too 
 late, that he should have made the book which had been 
 given him his rule of practice before, since it now proved to 
 be the rule by which he was to be judged. Nay, every one 
 now thought himself even worse than his neighbor, because, 
 while he only saw and heard of the guilt of others, he felt 
 his own in all its aggravated horror. 
 
 To complete their confusion they were compelled to ac- 
 knowledge the justice of the judge who condemned them : 
 and also to approve the favorable sentence by which thou- 
 sands of other criminals had not only their lives saved, but 
 were made happy and glorious beyond all imagination ; not 
 for any great merits which they had to produce, but in eon- 
 sequence of their sincere repentance, and their humble 
 acceptance of the pardon offered to them by the King's son. 
 One thing was remarkable, that whilst most of those who 
 were condemned, never expected condemnation, but even 
 claimed a reward for their supposed innocence or goodness, 
 all who were really rewarded and forgiven wCre sensible 
 that they owed their pardon to a mere act of grace, and 
 they cried out with one voice, " Not unto unto us, not ua, 
 but unto thy name be the praise !"
 
 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER; 
 
 OR, THE FAIR- WEATHER CHRISTIAN. 
 
 William was a lively young servant, who lived in a great, 
 but very irregular family. His place was on the whole 
 agreeable to him, and suited to his gay and thoughtless 
 temper. He found a plentiful table and a good cellar. 
 There was, indeed, a great deal of work to be done, though 
 it was performed with much disorder and confusion. The 
 family in the main were not unkind to him, though they 
 often contradicted and crossed him, especially when things 
 went ill with themselves. This, William never much liked, 
 for he w r as always fond of having his own way. There was 
 a merry, or rather a noisy and riotous servants' hall ; for 
 disorder and quarrels are indeed the usual effects of plenty 
 and unrestrained indulgence. The men were smart, but 
 idle; the maids were showy but licentious, and all did 
 pretty much as they liked for a time, but the time was com- 
 monly short. The wages were reckoned high, but they 
 were seldom paid, and it was even said by sober people, 
 that the family was insolvent, and never fulfilled any of 
 their flattering engagements, or their most 1 ositive prom- 
 ises; but still, notwithstanding their real poverty, things 
 went on with just the same thoughtlessness and splendor, 
 and neither master nor servants looked beyond the jollity 
 of the present hour.
 
 480 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER; 
 
 In this unruly family there was little church-going, and 
 still less praying at home. They preteuded, indeed, in a 
 general way, to believe in the Bible, but it was only an out- 
 ward profession ; few of them read it at all, and even of those 
 who did read still fewer were governed by it. There was 
 indeed a Bible lying on the table in the great hall, which 
 was kept for the purpose of administering an oath, but was 
 seldom used on any other occasion, and some of the heads 
 of the family were of opinion that this was its only real use, 
 as it might serve to keep the lower parts of it in order. 
 
 William, who was fond of novelty and pleasure, was apt 
 to be negligent of the duties of the house. He used to stay 
 out on his errands, and one of his favorite amusements was 
 going to the parade to see the soldiers exercise. He saw 
 with envy how smartly they were dressed, listened with 
 rapture to the music, and fancied that a soldier had nothing 
 to do but to walk to and fro in a certain regular order, to 
 go through a little easy exercise, in short, to live without 
 fighting, fatigue, or danger. 
 
 O, said he, whenever he was affronted at home, what a 
 fine thino- it must be to be a soldier ! to be so well dressed, 
 to have nothing to do but to move to the pleasant sound 
 of fife and drum, and to have so many people come to look 
 at one, and admire one. O it must be a fine thing to be a 
 soldier ! 
 
 Yet when the vexation of the moment was over, he found 
 so much ease and diversion in the great family, it was so 
 suited to his low taste and sensual appetites, that he thought 
 no more of the mattter. He forgot the glories of a soldier, 
 and eagerly returned to all the mean gratifications of the 
 kitchen. His evil habits were but little attended to by 
 those with whom he lived ; his faults, among which were 
 lying and swearing, were not often corrected by the family, 
 who had little objections to those sins, which only offended 

 
 OR, THE FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIAN. 481 
 
 God and did not much affect their own interest or property. 
 And except that William was obliged to work rather more 
 than he liked, he found little, while he was young and 
 healthy, that was very disagreeable in this service. So he 
 went on, still thinking, however, when things went a little 
 cross, what a fine thing it was to be a soldier. ! At last one day 
 as he was waitingat dinner, he had the misfortune to let fall 
 a china dish, and broke it all to pieces. It was a curious 
 dish, much valued by the family, as they pretended ; this 
 family were indeed apt to set a false fantastic value on 
 things, and not to estimate them by their real worth. The 
 heads of the family, who had generally been rather patient 
 and good-humored with William, as I said before, for those 
 vices, which though offensive to God did not touch their 
 own pocket, now flew out into a violent passion with him, 
 called him a thousand hard names, and even threatened to 
 horsewhip him for his shameful negligence. 
 
 William in a great fright, for he was a sad coward at bot- 
 tom, ran directly out of the house to avoid the threatened 
 punishment ; and happening just at that very time to pass 
 by the parade where the soldiers chanced to be then exer- 
 cisiner, his resolution was taken in a moment. He instant- 
 ly determined to be no more a slave, as he called it; he 
 would return no more to be subject to the humors of a ty- 
 rannical family : no, he was resolved to be free ; or at least, 
 if he must serve, he would serve no master but the king. 
 
 William, who had now and then happened to hear from 
 the accidental talk of the soldiers that those who serve. 1 
 the great family he had lived with, were slaves to their tyr- 
 anny and vices, had also heard in the same casual man- 
 ner, that the service of the king was perfect freedom. 
 Now he hail taken it into his head to hope that this might 
 be a freedom to do evil, or at least to do nothing, so he 
 thought it was the only place in the world to suit him. 
 
 •2\
 
 482 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER; 
 
 A fine likely young man as William was, had no great 
 difficulty to get enlisted. The few forms were soon settled, 
 he received the bounty money as eagerly as it was offered, 
 took the oaths of allegiance, was joined to the regiment and 
 heartily welcomed by his new comrades. He was the hap- 
 piest fellow alive. All was smooth and calm. The day 
 happened to be very fine, and therefore "William always 
 reckoned upon a fine day. The scene was gay and lively, 
 the music cheerful, he found the exercise very easy, and he 
 thought there was little more expected from him. 
 
 He soon began to flourish away in his talk ; and when he 
 met with any of his old servants, he fell a prating about 
 marches and counter-marches, and blockades, and battles, 
 and sieges, and blood, and death, and triumphs, and victo- 
 ries, all at random, for these were words and phrases he had 
 picked up without at all understanding what he said. He 
 had no knowledge, and therefore he had no modesty ; he had 
 no experience, and therefore he had no fears. 
 
 All seemed to go on swimmingly, for he had as yet no 
 trial. He began to think with triumph what a mean life 
 he had escaped from in the old quarrelsome family, and 
 what a happy, honorable life he should have in the army. 
 O there was no life like the life of a soldier ! 
 
 In a short time, however, war broke out ; his regiment 
 was one of the first which was called out to actual and hard 
 service. As William was the most raw of all the recruits, 
 he was the first to murmur at the difficulties and hardships, 
 the cold, the hunger, the fatigue and danger of being a sol- 
 dier. O what watchings, and perils, and trials, and hardships, 
 and difficulties, he now thought attended a military life ! 
 Surely, said he, I could never have suspected all this miseiy 
 when I used to see the men on the parade in our town. 
 
 He now found, when it was too late, that all the field- 
 days he used to attend, all the evolutions and exercisos which
 
 OR, THE FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIAN. 483 
 
 lie had observed the soldiers to go through in the calm 
 times of peace and safety, were only meant to fit, train and 
 qualify them for the actual service which they were now 
 sent out to perform by the command of the king. 
 
 The truth is, William often complained when there was 
 no real hardship to complain of; for the common troubles 
 of life fell out pretty much alike to the great family which 
 William had left, and to the soldiers in the king's army. 
 But the spirit of obedience, discipline, and self-denial of the 
 latter seemed hardships to one of William's loose turn of 
 mind. When he began to murmur, some good old soldier 
 clapped him on the back, saying, Cheer up lad, it is a king- 
 dom you are to strive for, if we faint not, henceforth there 
 is laid up for us a great reward ; we have the king's word 
 for it, man. William observed, that to those who truly be- 
 lieved this, their labors were as nothing, but he himself did 
 not at the bottom believe it ; and it was observed, of all the 
 soldiers who failed, the true cause was that they did not 
 really believe the king's promise. lie was surprised to see 
 that those soldiers, who used to bluster and boast, and de- 
 ride the assaults of the enemy, now began to fall away ; 
 while such as had faithfully obeyed the king's orders, and 
 believed in his word, were sustained in the hour of trial. 
 Those who had trusted in their own strength all fainted on 
 the slightest attack, while those who had put on the armor 
 of the kings providing, the sword, and the shield, and the 
 helmet, and the breast-plate, and whose feet were shod ac- 
 cording to order, now endured hardship as good soldiers, 
 and were enabled to fio-ht the good fight. 
 
 An engag< tnent was expected immediately. The men 
 were ordered to prepare for battle. While the rest of the 
 corps were so preparing, William's whole thoughts were 
 bent on contriving how he might desert. But alas ! he was 
 watched on all sides, he could ool possibly devise any means
 
 484 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER; 
 
 to escape. The danger increased every moment, the battle 
 came on. "William, who had been so sure and confident be- 
 fore he entered, flinched in the moment of trial, while his 
 more quiet and less boastful comrades prepared boldly to 
 do their duty. William looked about on all sides, and saw 
 that there was no eye upon him, for he did not know that 
 the king's eye was everywhere at once. He at last thought 
 he spied a chance of escaping, not from the enemy, but 
 from his own army. While he was endeavoring to escape, 
 a ball from the opposite camp took off his leg. As he fell, 
 the first words which broke from him were, While I was in 
 my duty I was preserved ; in the very act of deserting I 
 am wounded. He lay expecting every moment to be tramp- 
 led to death, but as the confusion was a little over, he was 
 taken off the field by some of his own party, laid in a place 
 of safety, and left to himself after his wound was dressed. 
 
 The skirmish, for it proved nothing more, was soon over. 
 The greater part of the regiment escaped in safety. Wil- 
 liam in the mean time suffered cruelly both in mind and 
 body. To the pains of a wounded soldier, he added the 
 disgrace of a coward, and the infamy of a deserter. O, 
 cried he, why was I such a fool as to leave the great family 
 I lived in, where there was meat and drink enough and to 
 spare, only on account of a little quarrel ? I might have 
 made up that with them as we had done our former quar- 
 rels. Why did I leave a life of ease and pleasure, where I 
 had only a little rub now and then, for a life of daily discip- 
 line and constant danger ? Why did I turn soldier ? 
 what a miserable animal is a soldier ! 
 
 As he was sitting in this weak and disabled condition, 
 uttering the above complaints, he observed a venorable old 
 officer, with thin gray locks on his head, and on his face, 
 deep wrinkles engraved by time, and many an honest scar 
 inflicted by war. William had heard this old officer highlv
 
 OK, THE FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIAN. 485 
 
 commended for his extraordinary courage and conduct in 
 battle, and in peace he used to see him cool and collected, 
 devoutly employed in reading and praying in the interval of 
 more active duties. He could not help comparing this off! 
 cer with himself. I, said he, flinched and drew back, and 
 would even have deserted in the moment of peril, and now 
 in return, I have no consolation in the hour of repose and 
 safety. I would not fight then, I can not pray now. O 
 why would I ever think of being a soldier ? He then be- 
 gan afresh to weep and lament, and he groaned so loud that 
 he drew the notice of the officer, who came up to him, 
 kindly sat down by him, took him by the hand, and in- 
 quired with as much affection as if he had been his brother, 
 what was the matter with him, and what particular distress, 
 more than the common fortune of war it was which drew 
 from him such bitter groans? "I know something of sur- 
 gery," added he, "let me examine your wound, and assist 
 you with such little comfort as I can." 
 
 William at once saw the difference between the soldiers 
 in the king's army, and the people in the great family ; the 
 latter commonly withdrew their kindness in sickness and 
 trouble, when most wanted, which was just the very time 
 when the others came forward to assist. He told the offi- 
 cer his little history, the manner of his living in the great 
 family, the trifling cause of his quarreling with it, tho 
 slight ground of his entering into tho king's service. 
 " Sir," said he, " I quarreled with the family and I thought 
 I was at once fit for the army : I did not know the qualifi- 
 cations it required. I had not reckoned on discipline, ami 
 hardships, and self-denial. I liked well enough to sing a 
 loyal song, or drink the king's health, but I find I do not 
 relish working and fighting tor him, though I rashly prom- 
 ised even to lay down my life for his service if called upon, 
 when I took the bounty money and the qatb of allegiance,
 
 486 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER; 
 
 In short, sir, I find that I long for the ease and sloth, the 
 merriment and the feasting of my old service ; I find I can 
 not be a soldier, and, to speak truth, I was in the very act of 
 deserting when I was stopped short by the cannon-ball. So 
 that I feel the guilt of desertion, and the misery of having 
 lost my leg into the bargain. 
 
 The officer thus replied : " Your state is that of every 
 worldly irreligious man. The great family you served is a 
 just picture of the world. The wages the world promises 
 to those who are willing to do its work are high, but the 
 payment is attended with much disappointment ; nay, the 
 world, like your great family, is in itself insolvent, and in 
 its very nature incapable of making good the promises 
 and of paying the high rewards which it holds out to tempt 
 its credulous followers. The ungodly world, like your fam- 
 ily, cares little for church, and still less for prayer ; and con- 
 siders the Bible rather as an instrument to make an oatli bind- 
 ing, in order to keep the vulgar in obedience, than as containing 
 in itself a perfect rule of faith and practice, and as a title-deed 
 to heaven. The generality of men love the world as you 
 did your service, while it smiles upon them, and gives them 
 easy work and plenty of meat and drink ; but as soon as it 
 begins to cross and contradict them, they get out of humor 
 with it, just as you did with your service. They then think 
 its drudgery hard, its rewards low. They find out that it is 
 high in its expectations from them, and slack in its payments 
 to them. And they begin to fancy (because they do not 
 hear religious people murmur as they do) that there must 
 be some happiness in religion. The world, which takes no 
 account of their deeper sins;, at length brings them into dis- 
 credit for some act of imprudence, just as your family over- 
 looked your lying and swearing, but threatened to drub you 
 for breaking a china dish. Such is the judgment of the 
 fork! ! it patiently bears with those who only break the
 
 OR, THE FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIAN. 487 
 
 laws of God,' but severely punishes the smallest negligence 
 by which they themselves are injured. The world sooner 
 pardons the breaking ten commandments of God, than even 
 a china dish of its own. 
 
 " After some cross or opposition, worldly men, as I said 
 before, begin to think how much content and cheerfulness 
 they remember to have seen in religious people. They 
 therefore begin to fancy that religion must be an easy and 
 delightful, as well as a good thiug. They have heard that, 
 her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are 
 peace; and they persuade themselves, that by this is meant 
 worldly pleasantness and sensual peace. They resolve at 
 length to try it, to turn their back upon the world, to en- 
 gage in the service of God and turn Christians ; just as you 
 resolved to leave your old service, to enter into the service 
 of the king and turn soldier. But as you quitted your place 
 in a passion, so they leave the world in a lmfF. They do 
 not count the cost. They do not calculate upon the darling 
 sin, the habitual pleasures, the ease, and vanities, which they 
 undertake by their new engagements to renounce, no more 
 than you counted what indulgences you were going to give 
 up when you quitted the luxuries and idleness of your place 
 to enlist in the soldier's warfare. They have, as I said, seen 
 Christians cheerful, and they mistook the ground of their 
 cheerfulness; they fancied it arose, not because through 
 grace they had conquered difficulties, but because they had 
 no difficulties in their passage. They fancied that religion 
 found the road smooth, whereas it only helps to bear with 
 a rough road without complaint. They do not know 
 that these Christians are of good cheer, not because the 
 world is free from tribulation, but because Chris!, their cap- 
 tain, has overcome the world. But the irreligous man, who 
 has only seen the outside of a Christian in his worldly in- 
 tercourse, knows little of his secret conlliets, his trials, his
 
 488 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER; 
 
 self-denials, his warfare with the world without ; and with 
 his own corrupt desires within. 
 
 " The irreligious man quarrels with the world on some 
 such occasion as you did with your place. He now puts on 
 the outward forms and ceremonies of religion, and assumes 
 the badge of Christianity, just as you were struck with the 
 show of a field-day ; just as you were pleased with the 
 m;isic and the marching, and put on the cockade and red 
 coat. All seems smooth for a little while. He goes 
 through the outward exercise of a Christian, a degree of 
 credit attends his new profession, but he never suspects there 
 is either difficulty or discipline attending it ; he fancies re- 
 ligion is a thing for talking about, and not a thing of the 
 heart and the life. He never suspects that all the psalm- 
 singing he joins in, and the sermons he hears, and the 
 other means he is using, are only as the exercise and the 
 evolutions of the soldiers, to fit and prepare him for actual 
 service ; and that these means are no more religion itself, 
 than the exercises and evolutions of your parade were real 
 warfare. 
 
 "At length some trial arises: this nominal Christian is 
 called to differ from the world in some great point ; some- 
 thing happens which may strike at his comfort, or his 
 credit, or security. This cools his zeal for religion, just as 
 the view of an engagement cooled your courage as a soldier, 
 lie finds he was only angry with the world, he was not 
 tired of it. He was out of humor with the world, not be- 
 cause he had seen througn its vanity and emptiness, but 
 because the world was out of humor with him. He 
 finds that it is an easy thing to be a fair-weather Christian, 
 bold where there is nothing to be done, and confident where 
 there is nothing to be feared. Difficulties unmask him to 
 others; temptations unmask him to himself; he discovers, 
 that though he is a high professor, he is no Christian ; just
 
 OR, THE FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIAN. 489 
 
 as you found -out that your red coat and your cockade, your 
 shoulder-knot and your musket, did not prevent you from 
 being a coward. 
 
 " Your misery in the military life, like that of the nom 
 inal Christian, arose from your love of ease, your cowardice, 
 and your self-ignorance. You rushed into a new way of 
 life without trying after one qualification for it. A total 
 change of heart and temper were necessary for your new 
 calling. With new views and principles the soldier's life 
 would have been not only easy, but delightful to you. But 
 while with a new profession you retained your old nature 
 it is no wonder if all discipline seemed intolerable to you. 
 
 "The true Christian, like the brave soldier, is supported 
 under dangers by a strong faith that the fruits of that vic- 
 tory for which he fights will be safety and peace. But, alas ! 
 the pleasures of this world are present and visible ; the re- 
 wards for which he strives are remote. He therefore fails, 
 because nothing short of a lively faith can ever outweigh 
 a strong present temptation, and lead a man to prefer the 
 joys of conquest to the pleasures of indulgence. 
 
 fEE END.
 
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