i 
 
T H E T W O 
 
 WEALTHY FARMERS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The history 
 
 of 
 
 In Seven Parts. 
 
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THE 
 
 TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 
 
 R. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy happened to meet last 
 year at Wevhill 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 neigb.ourhood, 
 to a distant village where he had bought an estate. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell was a substantial farmer 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 hia own interest 
 He understood business, and had a knack of turning almc/t , 
 every thing to his own interest. Fie had that son: of sen^, 
 which good men call cunning, and knaves call wisdom. Her 
 was too prudent ever to do any thing so wrong that tr^e 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 cus- 
 tomers 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 he sold at /air. He scorned 
 to be guilty of the petty frauds of cheating in weights and 
 measures, for he thought that was a beggarly sin ; but'he 
 valued himself on his skill in making a bargain, and fancied it 
 shewed his knowledge of the world to take advantage of trie 
 ignorance of a dealer. 
 
 It was his constant rule fT) undervalue every thing he was 
 about to buy, and to overvalue every thing he Was about to 
 sell; .but as he prided himself on his character he avoided 
 
 299202 a. 
 
^. The Two Wealthy Fanners. 
 
 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 ad- 
 vantage 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 that he had onlv a mind to divert himself with 
 the folly of his neighbour who could be soeasily imported on. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell had one favourite maxim, "namely, that a 
 man's success in life was a sure proof of his wisdom ; and that 
 all failure and misfortune was the consequence of a man's 
 own foil v. As this opinion was hist taken up by him from 
 vanity and ignorance, so it was more and more confirmed 
 by Ins own prosperity. He saw that he himself hadsucceeded 
 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 had the same 
 success in life. His natural disposition was riot particularly 
 bad, but prosperity had hardened his heart. He made his 
 own progressin lite -tl e rule bv which the conduct of all other 
 en was to be judged, without any allowance for their pe- 
 culiar disadvantages, or the visitations of Providence. He 
 thought, for his part, that every man of sense could command 
 uccess on his undertakings, and controul and dispose the 
 C'ents of his own life. 
 
 T }ut though he considered those who had had less success 
 thai, himself, as no better than fools, yet he' did not extend 
 this opinion to Mr. Worthy, whom he looked upon not only 
 as a gou\ but wise man. They had been bred dp when chil- 
 dren in th* same house, but with this difference, that Worthy 
 was the nephew of the master, and Bragwell the son of the 
 servant. 
 
 Brag well's father had been ploughman in the family of 
 Mr. Worthy's uncle, a seasibie man, who farmed a small 
 estate ofhis own, and who having no children, bred up young 
 Worthy as his son, instructcdhirn in thebusiness of husbandry, 
 and at his death left him his estate. The father of Worthy 
 was a pious clergyman whohved with his brother the farmer, 
 in order to help out a narrow income. He had bestowed 
 much pains on the instruction ofhis 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 in this country— that there 
 
The Tico Wealthy Farmers, 5 
 
 were two things with which every man ought to be acquainted^ 
 religion and his own business. While he 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 books and understood them 
 better than most men in his station. His leading, however, 
 had been chiefly confined to husbandry and divinity, the two 
 subjects v/hich were of the most immediate importance to him. 
 
 The reader will see by tins time that Mr. Bragwell and 
 Mr. VV orthy 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. 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 vie in his way of life with men of larger fortune. He did' 
 not see how much this vanity raised the envy of his inferiors, 
 the Lll-wiJI of his equals, and the contempt of his betters. 
 ' H,s ' w /fe 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 her- 
 self the grand cause of his rising in the world, and hence took 
 occasion to govern him most completely. Whenever he 
 ventured to oppose her she took carp to put him in mind that 
 he owed every thing to her, that had it not been for her he 
 might have been stumping after the plough-tail, or serving- 
 hogs m old Worthy's farm-yard, but that it wr.s she who had 
 made a gentleman of him. In order to set about making him 
 a gentleman she had begun by teazing him till he bad turned 
 away all Ins poor relations who had worked in the farm She 
 next drew him off f,om keeping company with his old ac- 
 quaintance, and atlast persuaded him to remove from rh-olace 
 where lie had got his money. Poor woman! she had not 
 sense and virtue enough to see how honourable it is for a. man 
 to raise himself m the world by fair means, and rhen to hclr> 
 torward his poor relations and friends ; engaging their sem^ 
 f unilv 1CSS and endeavouring to k^e/ want out e f the 
 
 A 3 
 
5 The Tuo Wealthy Farmers, 
 
 Mrs. Bragwell was an excellent mistress, according t® her 
 own notions of excellence, tor no one could say that she ever 
 lost an opportunity of scolding a servant, or was ever guilty 
 of the weakness of overlooking a fault. Towards her two 
 daughters her behaviour was far otherwise. In t^em she 
 could see nothing but perfections ; but her extravagant fond- 
 ness for these girls was full as much owing to pride as to 
 affection. She was bent on making a family, and having 
 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 Brag wells ; and in this hope she fool- 
 ishly submitted to any drudgery for their sakes, and bore every 
 kind of impertinence from them. 
 
 The first wish of her heart was to set them above their 
 neighbours: for she used to say, what was the use of having 
 substance, if her daughters might not carry themselves above 
 girls who. had nothing ? To do her justice, she herself would 
 be about early and late to see that the business- of the house 
 was not neglected. She had been bred to great industry, and 
 continued to work when it was no longer necessary, both 
 from early habit, and the 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 willing 
 to be a drudge herself, she resolved to make her daughters 
 gentlewomen on this principle. To be well dressed and to 
 do nothing, or nothing which is or any use, was what she 
 fancied distinguished people in genteel life. And this is too 
 common a notion of a hne education among some people. 
 They do not esteem things by their use, but by their shew. 
 They estimate the value of their children's education by the 
 money it costs, and not by the knowledge and goodness ir 
 bes rows. People of this stamp often take a pride in the ex- 
 pence of learning, instead of taking pleasure in the advantages 
 of it. And the sillv vanity ofletting 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 
 reallv hurtful in their situation ; either by setting them above 
 their proper duties, or by taking up their time in away in*, 
 consistent with theme 
 
The Tico Wealth)] Farmers. 7 
 
 Mrs. B ragwe'U 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 shew that 
 they could spend with tire best ; to keep company with the 
 richest girls in the school, and to make no acquaintance with 
 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* but the ignorance was not taken away . 
 Of relic ion they could not possibly learn any thing, since 
 none was taught, for at that place it" was considered as a part 
 of education which belonged only to charity schools. Of 
 knowledge they 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 
 cxpence of their bringing up, by the looking forward to the 
 pleasure of seeing them become "line ladies, and to the pride 
 or marrying them above their station. 
 
 ^ Their father hoped also that they would be a comfort to 
 him both in sickness and in health* ' He had had no learning 
 himself, and could write but poorly, and owed what skill he 
 had in figures to his natural turn for business. He hoped that 
 his daughters after all the money he had spent on them, would 
 now write his letters 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 having two affectionate children to nurse him. 
 
 When they came home, however, he had the mortification 
 to find, that though he had two smart showy hdies to visit 
 him, he had neither dutiful daughters to nui se him, nor 
 faithful stewards to keep his books, nor prudent children to 
 manage his house. They neither soothed him by kindness 
 wnen he was sick, nor help* i him When he was busy. They 
 thought the maid might take care of him in the gout as she 
 did before. And as to their skill in cyphering he soon found 
 ro his cost, that though they knew how to sp-wl both pounds, 
 killings, and pence, yet they did not know so well bow to 
 cast them up. 
 
 A 4 
 
S The Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 Mrs. Bragwell one day being very busy in preparing a 
 great dinner for the neighbours ventured to request her 
 daughters to assist in making the pastry. They asked her 
 scornfully, whether she had sent them to boarding-school to 
 learn to cook; and added, that they supposed she would ex- 
 pect them next to make puddings' for the hay-makers. So 
 saying, they coolly marched off to their music. When the 
 mother lound her girls were too polite to be of any use, she 
 ^would take comfort in observing how her parlour was set out 
 tvith their fillagree and flowers, their embroidery and cut 
 paper. They spent the morning in bed, the noon in dressing, 
 the evening at the spinner, and the night in reading novels. 
 
 With all these fine qualifications it is easy to suppose, that, 
 as they despised their sober duties, they no less despised their 
 plain neighbours. When they could not get to a horse-race, 
 a petty-ball, or a strolling play, with some company as idle 
 and as smart as themselves, they were driven for amusement 
 to the circulating library. Jack, the plough-bov, on whom 
 they had now put a livery jacket, was employed half his time 
 in trotting backwards and forwards with the most wretched 
 trash the little neighbouring book-shop 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. 
 
 Things were in this state or rather growing worse, for 
 idleness and vanity are never at a stand ; when these two 
 wealthy farmers, Bragwell and Worthy, met at Weyhillfair. 
 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 neighbourhood, I will take a bed at your house, and we 
 will pass the evening in debating as we used to do. You 
 know I always loved a bit of an argument, and am reckoned 
 not to make the worst figure at our club : I had not, to b* 
 3nre, such good learning as you had, because your father was 
 a parson, and you got it for nothing ; but 1 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 gel a good estate \ 
 
The Two Wealthy Fanners, 
 
 9 
 
 if he say^s no, then I 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 into 
 a fuss for me. Don't alter your own plain way, for I am no? 
 proud St. assure you, nor above mv old friends, though I than* 
 God I am pretty well in the world. 
 
 To all this flourishing speech Mr. Worthy coolly answer- 
 ed, that certainly worldly prosperity ought never to make any 
 man proud, since it is God whogiveth strength to get richer, 
 and without his blessing, 'tis in vain to rise up early and to 
 eat the bread of carefulness. 
 
 About the middle of tire next day Mr. Bragwell reached 
 Mr. Worthy's neat and pleasant dwelling. He found every 
 thing in it the reverse of his own. It had not so many or- 
 naments, but it had more comforts. And when he saw his 
 friend'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 daughters' piano forte. Irs'ead of made flowers 
 in glass cases, and a tea-chest and screen too fine to be u$ed f 
 which he saw at home, and about which lie was cautioned, 
 and scolded as often as he came near them, he saw a neat shelf 
 of good books for the service of the family, and a small me'-* 
 tlicine 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 th if 
 Bragwell felt a secret kind of regret that his own daughter* 
 were too genteel to do any thing so very useful. Indeed he 
 he had been always unwilling to believe that an v thing which 
 was very proper and very necessary, could be so extremely 
 vulgar and unbecoming as his daughters were always declaring 
 it to be. And his late experience of the little comfort he 
 found at home, inclined him now still more strongly to expect 
 that things were not so right as he had been made to suppose 
 But it was in vain to speak : for his daughters constantly 
 stopped his mouth by a favourite saying of theirs- — " better 
 be out of the world than out of the fashion." 
 
 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, 
 
The $k>6 Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 BragweJL 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 in their heads as 
 would half maintain my reapers in suet pudding. 
 
 Worthy. Mr. Bragwcll, in the management of rny family. 
 I don't consider what 1 might afford only, though th& is one 
 great point ; but I consider also what is needful and becoming 
 fn a man of mv 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 blessing of a good 
 education myself, I have been able to give the like ad- 
 vantage to my daughters. One of the best lessons IJiave 
 tauo-ht them is, to know themselves ; and one proof that! 
 they have learn this lesson is, that thev are not above any ot 
 the duties of their station. They read and write well, and 
 when my eyes are bad, thev keep my accounts in a very 
 pretty manner. If I had put them 10 learn what you call 
 genteel things, these might either have been of no use to 
 them ; and so both time and money might have been thrown 
 away ; or they mighthave proved worse than nothing to them 
 by leading them into wrong notions, and wrong company. 
 Though we don't wish them to do the laborious parts of the 
 dairy work, yet they always assist their mother in the ma- 
 nagement 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 prna- 
 ments, fluttering among mv cheese and butter. And 1 shoula 
 feel no vanity, but much mortification, it a Stranger seeing 
 tanner Worthy's daughters at church, should ask who those 
 
 fine ladies were. 
 
 BragwelL Now I own I should like to have such a 
 question asked concerning mv .daughters. I hke to make 
 people stare and envy. It makes one feel one-self somebody. 
 But as to yourself, to be sure you best know, what you can 
 afford. And indeed there is some difference between your 
 daughters and the Miss Bragwelis. 
 
 Worthy* For my part, before I engage in any expence, 
 I always'ask mvselfthese two short questions, First, Can I 
 afford it?-— Secondly, is it proper for me ? 
 
Tfic Tko Wcvlthi) Fusmer*. 1 (. 
 
 Bragwell. Do you so ? Now I own I ask myself but 
 one. For if I find I can afford it, I tfcke care to make it pro- 
 per 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 and 
 sense of duty, ought to prevent him fit) Hi citing an improper 
 tiling, aseffectualiy as if there were somebody to hinder them. 
 
 BragwelL Now I think a man is a fool who is hindered 
 from having any thing lie has a mind to: unless, indeed, he 
 is in want of money to pay for it, I'm no friend to debt. A 
 poor man must want on. 
 
 Worthy. But I hope my children have learnt not to want 
 any thing which is not proper for them. They are very in- 
 dustrious, they attend to business all day ; and in tfie cnirg 
 thev sit down to their work or a P-bOd book. I think the r 
 live in the fear of Gob I trust they arc humbie and pious, 
 aud 1 am sure they seem cheerful and hap.:-y. If I am hick k 
 is pleasant to see them dispute which shall wait upon mc, 
 for thev say 4 he maid cannot do it so tenderly as them - 
 selves. 
 
 This part of the discourse staggered Bragwell. Yain as he 
 was, he could not help feeling what a difference a religious 
 and a woildly education made on the heart, and how much 
 the foimer regulated even the natural temper. Another thing 
 which surprised him was, that these girls living a life of &< 
 mestic piety, without any public divertions, should he so very 
 cheerful and happy ; while his own daughters, who were ne- 
 ver contradicted, and were indulged with continual amuse- 
 ments, were always sullen and ill- tempered. That they W&o 
 are more humoured should be le--s grateful and less happv, dis- 
 turbed him much, fie envied YV r orthy the teudernes of bis 
 children, though he would not own it, but turned it off thus: 
 BragwelL But my girls are too smart to fi&fre mopes of, 
 that is the truth. Though ours is such a JoneW vifege. 'tis 
 wonderful to see how soon they get the fashions. What wit hi 
 the descriptions in the magazines, and the pictures in th$ 
 pocket books, they have them in a twinkling, and ou;-Jo 
 their patterns all to in 'tiling. I used to take in the countv 
 journal, becaue it was useful enough to see how oats iyehjt, 
 the time of high water, and the price of stocks. But wheft 
 my ladies came ho ? r«e, forsooth, I was soon wheedled out o£ 
 
12 The Tico Wealthy Fanners. 
 
 that, and forced to take a London papeiythat tells a deal about 
 caps and feathers, and all the trumpery of the quality. When 
 I want to know what hops are a bag, they are snatching 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 as they can get 
 some stuff which they call milk of roses. 
 
 Worthy. But do your daughters never read ? 
 
 Bragiccll. Read! I believe they do too. Why our Jack, 
 the plow-boy, spends half his time in going tea shop in our 
 market-town, where they let out books to read with marble 
 covers. And they sell paper with all manner of colours on 
 the edges, and gim-cracks, and powder- puffs, and wash-bolls, 
 andcards withoutany pips, and every thing in the world that's 
 genteel and of no use. ' Fwas but t'other day I met Jack 
 with a basket full of these books, so having some time to 
 spare, I sat down to sec 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. 
 
 Bragwtll. 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, and the Captain. But I never met with such 
 nonsensical fellows in my life. 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 despair, and 
 heaven, and angels, and torments, and everlasting happiness. 
 But when I got a little on, I found there was no meaning in 
 all these words, or, if any, 'twas a bad meaning. Misery, 
 perhaps, only meant a disappointment about a bit of a letter : 
 and everlasting happiness meant two people talking nonsense 
 together for five minutes. In short, I never met with such 
 a pack of lies. The people talk such 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 any of my 
 acquaintance. They are at home one minute, and beyond 
 sea the next. « Beggars to-day, and Lords to-morrow. Wait- 
 ing maids in the morning, and Duchesses at night. You and 
 I, Master W orthy, have worked-hard many years, and think 
 it very well to have scraped a trifle of money together, yos 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. \ 3 
 
 a few hundreds, I suppose, and I a few thousands. But onr 
 would think every man in these books had the Bank of 
 England in h>$ 'scrutoiie Then there's another thing which. 
 I never met with in true Life. We think it pretty well, you 
 Jcnow. if one has got one thing, and another has got another, 
 I'll tellyouhow \ mean. You are reckoned sensible, our 
 parson is fea'rne t, th~ squire is rich, 1 am rather generous^ 
 one of your daughters is pretty, and both mine are genteel. 
 But in these books, f except here and there one, whom they 
 make worse thnn 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. No- 
 body is middling, or good in one thing, and bad in another, 
 iike my live acquaintance ; but 'tis all up to the skies or down 
 to the dirt. I had rather read Tom Hickathrift, or Jack the 
 Giant Killer,' a thousand times. 
 
 Worthy. You have found out, Mr. BragweJl, that many 
 of these books are ridiculous ; I will go farther, and say that 
 to me they appear wicked also. And I should account the 
 reading of them a great mischief, especially to people in mid- 
 dling 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 h uman life. They teach a contempt for humble and do- 
 mestic duties ; for industry, frugality, and retirement. Want 
 of vouth and beautv, is considered in them as ridiculous. 
 PL) in people like you and me a re objects of contempt. Pa- 
 rental authority is set at nought. Nay, plots and contrivances 
 agonist parents and guardians fill half the volumes. They 
 consider love as the grand business of human life, and even 
 teach that it is impossible to be regulated or restrained, and 
 to the ini-Uilgence of this passion, every duty is therefore sacri- 
 ficed, 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 goaier. Vice is 
 set-off with every ornament which^can make it pleasing and 
 amiable ; while virtue and piety are made ridiculous by tacking 
 to them something that is silly or absurd. Crimes, which 
 would be considered as banging matter at the Old Bailey, are 
 
14 The Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 ■ 
 
 here made to take the appearance of virtue, by being mixed 
 with some wild Sight of unnatural generosity. These crying 
 
 ^Ins, ADULTERY, ^GAMING, DUELS, and SELF-MURDERS, 
 
 are made so familiar, and the wickedness of them is so dis- 
 guised, that even innocent girls get to lose tfielr abherrence, 
 and talk with complacency of things which shaU not be 
 so much as named by them. 
 
 I should not have'said so much on thismischief (continued 
 Mr. Worthy) from which 1 dare say, g* eat folks fancy people 
 m our station are safe enough, if I did not know, and lament 
 that thh corrupt reading is now got down even among some 
 of the lowest class. And it is an evil which is spreading every 
 day. Poor industrious girls, who get their bread by the 
 needle, or the loom, spend half the night in listening to these 
 books. Tims the labour 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, vet their hearts are at that very time polluted 
 ly scenes and descriptions which are too likely to plunge 
 them into it. And I think I don't go too far, when T say, 
 that the vain and shewv manner in which young women 
 who have to work for their bread, have taken to dress them- 
 selves, added to the poison they draw from these books, 
 contribute together to bring them to destruction, more than 
 almost any other cause. Kow tell me, don't you think these 
 vile books will hint your daughters r 
 
 Bragicell. Why' I -do think they arc grown full ot 
 schemes, and contrivances, and whispers, thai's;the truth on t. 
 Eveiy thing 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 not keep com- 
 pany With their equals. They despise trade and farming, 
 and'I own fm for the Stuff} I should not like for them to 
 marry any but a man of substance, if he was ever so smart. 
 Nowthev will hardly sit down with a substantial country 
 dealer. But if thev hear of a recruiting party m our market 
 town, on joes the. "finery— off 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 chance that some 
 Tack-a-napes of an ensign maybe there buying sticking 
 plaster. In short, I do grow a little uneasy, for 1 should not 
 like to see all I have saved thrown away on a knapsaek. 
 
The Tzco Wealthy Farmers. \$ 
 
 So saying, they both rose, and walked out to view th© 
 farm. Mr. Bragwell affected greatly to admire the good 
 order of every thing he saw ; but never forgot to compare it 
 with something larger and handsomer or better of his own. 
 It was easy to see that self vfas his standard of peifection in 
 every th .:ig. All he posesse^ gained some increased value 
 in his eyes from being his ; and in surveying the property of 
 his friend 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 k was clear that the chief pare 
 of the satisfaction he felt in walking over the farm of his friend, 
 was caused by thinking how much larger Ids own was. 
 
 Mr. Worthy who felt a kindness for him, which all Ins 
 vanity could not cure, was on the watch how to turn their 
 talk to some useful point. And whenever people resolve to 
 go into company with this view, it is commonly their own 
 fault if some opportunity of turning it to account dees not 
 ofFer. 
 
 He saw Bragwell was intoxicated wit'K pride, and undone 
 by prosperity, and that his family w r as in the high-road to 
 ruin. He thought that if some means could b*e found to ovvn 
 his eyes to his own character, to which he was now totally 
 blind, it might he of the utmost service to him. The more 
 Mr, Worthy reflected, the more he wished to undertake this 
 kind office. He was not sin e that Mr. Bragwell would be r 
 it, but lie wa.i very sure it was his duty to attempt it. 
 Worthy was very humble, and vciy candid, and he had great 
 patience and forbearance with the faults of others. He felt 
 no pride at having escaped the same errors himself, for he 
 knew who it was that made them to differ. He remembered 
 that God had given him many advantages, a pious father, and 
 a religious education ; this made him humble under a sense 
 of hiswn sins, and charitable towards thesinsof others who 
 had not the same privileges. ' 
 
 Just as he was going to try to enter into a very serious 
 conversatjon with his guest, lie was stopped by the appear- 
 ance of his daughter, who told them supper was ready.— 
 This interruption pjbjigts me to break otT also, and I shall 
 m>erve what follpws for the Second Part of this History. 
 
The Tuo Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 npME first part of this history concluded With the walk ta- 
 il ken by Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy over the grounds 
 of the latter, in which walk Mr. Brag well, though he seem- 
 cd to admire, took care to lower every thing he .saw, bj 
 comparing in with something better which he had of his own. 
 Soon after supper Mrs. Worthy left the room with her daugh- 
 ters, at her husband's desire ; for it was his intention to speak 
 I more plainly to Mr. Bragwell than was likely to be agree- 
 able to him to hear before others. 
 
 The two farmers being seated at their little table, each in 
 a handsome old fashioned great chair Bragwell began : 
 
 It is a great comfort, neighbour Worthy, at a certain time 
 of life, to be got above the world ; my notion is, that a man 
 should labour hard the first part of his days, and that he may 
 then sit down and enjoy for himself theremainder.Now though 
 I hate boasting, yet as you are my oldest friend, 1 am about 
 to open my heart to you. Let me tell you then I reckon I 
 have worked as hard as any man in my time, and that 1 now 
 begin to think I have a right to indulge a little. I have got 
 mv money with a good character, and I mean to spend it 
 • with credit. I pav every one his own, I set a good example, 
 1 keep to my church, I serve God, I honour the King, and 1 
 obey the laws of the land. r, r * 
 
 This is doing a great deal indeed, replied Mr. Worthy : 
 bat, added, he, I doubt that more goes to the making up all 
 these duties than men are commonly aware of. Suppose 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 an argument, and who was not a little 
 vain both of his sense and his morality, accepted the challenge; 
 and save 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 
 
The Tv:d Wealthy Farmers. ] 7 
 
 hzv&jt&M k&&i^mtting<k tliaii this cyder ? I am 
 afraid it will give me a fit of the gout. 
 
 .Mr. Worthy immediately produced a bottle of wine, and 
 another of spirits, saying, though he drank neither spirits nor 
 even wme himself, yet his wife always kept a little of each 
 as a provision* in case of sickness or accidents. 
 
 Farmer Bta^wei] 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 in a way to get foreign nearly as cheap as En- 
 glish. Mr. Worthy replied that he thought that was im- 
 possible. & 
 
 Bragwell O no, there are ways and means— a word to 
 the wise— there is an acquaintance of mine that lives upon 
 the south coast -you are a particular friend, and I will get 
 you a gallon for a trifle. * 
 
 f 0Mf k be smuggled, Mr. Bragwell, though I 
 hould get it for sixpence a bottle.-Ask no questions, laid 
 
 wisei P— And so this is your way of obeying the laws of the 
 
 land saui Mr. Worthy-hcre is a fine specimen of your 
 morality. 1 > ul 
 
 /?)'^r«//. Go;me,come, don't make a fuss about trifles 
 It every one did it indeed it would be another thine, but » 
 
 Wfh gett, " g 3 dr0p ,° f S°° d brand y chea P> ^ that can' 
 |iurt the revenue much. 
 
 Worthy. Pray Mr. Bragwell, what should vou think of 
 gan who would dip his hand into a bag and take out a few 
 
 fofe'sure!^' ' ^ 1 tbat h <« hanged, 
 
 Bra&f U TT S % in the ^ treasury? 
 IfvSS t I 1 "'' 10 kmgS tre ^urv' worse and worse' 
 U 1 ° k ; nfe S trCa , SU '." V ! We!i ' 1 h0 ? e the robber wlli 
 
 S^l^^Sl^l^^ the 
 
I g TJte Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 some money in its way to the treasury, instead of taking it 
 out after it got there ? 
 
 Bragwell. Guilty, Mr. Woithy ; it is all the same in my 
 opinion. If I was a juryman, I should say, guilty, death. 
 
 Worthy. Mark ye, Mr. Bragwell, he that deals in smug- 
 gled hrandy,is the man Who takes to himself the king's money 
 in its way to the treasury, and he as much robs the govern- 
 ment as if he dipt his hands into a bag of guineas in ihe trea- 
 sury chamber. It comes to the same thing exactly. — Here 
 Bragwell seemed a little offended. — What ! Mr. Worthy, do 
 vou 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 ? Sir, I repeat it, I do my duty to God 
 and my neighbour. 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 may 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. 
 
 Worthy. Come then, since you say you keep the com- 
 mandments you cannot be offended if I ask you whether 
 yo'u understand them. 
 
 Bragwell. To be sure I do. I dare say I do : look'ee 
 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 
 1 should have made as good a figure as some other folks, but 
 I hope good sense and a good heart may teach a man his duty 
 without much scholarship. 
 
 Worthy. To come to the point let us now go through 
 the ten commandments, and let us take aleng with us those 
 explanations of them which our Saviour gave us in his ser- 
 mon on the mount. 
 
 Bragwdl. Sermon on the mount ? why the ten com- 
 mandments are in the 20th chapter oi Exodus. Come,come. 
 Mr. Worthy, I know where to find the commandments as 
 well as you do, for it happens that I ana church-warden, ana 
 I can see from the altar- piece where the ten commandments 
 are without your telling me, tor my pew directly faces it. 
 
 Worthy. But I advise you to ^ a d the sermon on the 
 mount, that you may see the full meaning f them. 
 
 Bra«wlL What do you want to make $ n believe that 
 • here ar'e two ways of keeping the com wndmenuj 
 
The T,L-e Wealthy Farmers. 19 
 
 Worthy. No ; but there may be two ways of understand^ 
 ?hg them. 
 
 11. Well ; T am not afraid to be put to the proof; 
 I defy aqv man to say I do not keep at least all the four first 
 that are on, the left side of the alter-piecc. 
 
 Worthy. If you can prove that, \ shall be more ready to 
 believe you observe those of the Other table ; for he who does 
 his duty to God, will be likely to do his duty to his neighbor 
 also. 
 
 Bragxvtll. What ! do you think that I serve two Gods? 
 Do you think then that I make graven images, and worship 
 stock or stones ? Do you take me for a papist or an idolaior? 
 
 IVorthy Don't triumph quite so soon, Master Bragwell. 
 Pray is there nothing in the world you prefer to God, and 
 thus make an idle of? Do you not love your money or your 
 lands, or your crops, or your cattle, or your own will, and 
 your own way rather better than you love God ? Do you 
 never think of these with more pleasure than you think of 
 Him, and follo w them more eagerly than your religious duty? 
 
 Bragwdl. O there's nothing about that in the 20th 
 chapter of Exodus. 
 
 Worthy. But Jesus Christ has said, " He "that loveth 
 lather or mother more than me is not worthy of me." Now 
 it is certainly a man's duty to love his father and mother, nay 
 it would be wicked not to love them, and yet we must not 
 love even these more than our Creator ana our Savior. Weil, 
 I think on this principle, your heart pleads guilty to the 
 breach of the first and second commandments, le: 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, (though all such 
 offensive words have been avoided in writing this history) 
 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.^aid Bragwell, 
 no, indeed, tartly ever. I once used to swear a little to be 
 : sure, but I vow to G — d I never do it now, except now and 
 then, when I happen to be in a passion : and in such a case, 
 i wn J £ ooc * G — d you know the sin is with those who provoke 
 
The Two Wealthy Fawners. 
 
 me, and not with me ; but upon my soul I 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 no le#s 
 than five' or six times in the last speech you h?ve made. 
 
 Bragivcll. L—d 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 tUe name of God to 
 use it lightly, irreverendly, and familiarly as you have done r 
 Our Saviour has not only told us not to swear by the imme- 
 diate name of God, but he has said, « swear not at all, neither 
 by heaven nor by the earth,'' and in order to prevent_ om 
 inventing any other irreligious exclamations or expressions, 
 he has added, " but let your communication be yea, yea, and 
 nay, nay, for whatsoever is more than this simple affirmation 
 and deiv: cometh of evil." • 
 
 Bragwell Well, well, I must take a little more care, 1 
 believe • I vow to heaven I did not know there had been so 
 much harm in it ; but mv daughters seldom speak without 
 using some of these words, and yet they wanted to make me 
 believe the other day that it is monstrous vulgar to swear. 
 
 Worthy. Women, even gentlewomen, who ought to 
 correct this evil habit in their fathers, and husbands, and 
 children, are too apt to encourage it by their own practice. 
 And indeed they betray the profaneness of their own iftmds 
 also by it, for none, who truly venerate the holy name of God, 
 can either profane it in this manner themselves, or hear others 
 do so without being exceedingly pained at it. _ 
 
 Brawell. Well, since you are so hard upon me, I believe 
 I must e'en rive up this point— so let us pass on to the next, 
 LXe I t g read upon sure ground for as *^JK* 
 
 -pp.^p, mr > of bein°" a saboatri- DieaK.ei , 
 
 iinon me. vou can t accuse rriL ui ^iug « 
 
 Se I go to church every Sunday of my hte, unless on some 
 verv extraordinary occasion. 
 
 Worthy For those occasions the gospel allows, by sav 
 J! «' he sabbath was made for man and ^ ^n^orj, 
 sabbath." Our own sickness, or attending on the fedtttM 
 others, are lawful impediments. 
 
Tlie Two Wealthy Fanners. % j 
 
 Smgwell. Yes, and I am now and then obliged to look 
 at a drove of beasts, or to go a journey, or to take some mc~ 
 dicing or perhaps some friend may call upon me, or it may 
 be very cold, or very hot, or very rainy. 
 
 Worthy. Poor excuses, Mr. 'Bragwell ; I am afraid these 
 will not pass oil the day of judgment. But hew is the rest 
 of your Sunday 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 suppose. 
 Bragwell. 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 ; and having nothing to do on that 
 day, one has more leisure to take a cheerful glass ; and all 
 these things will make one a little heavy, you kno^-. 
 
 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 
 air mind just before you go to church with thoughts of 
 them ; and when you come away again don't you settle an 
 account, or write a few letters of business ? 
 
 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 . 
 '» orthy. And how do you pass your Sunday evenings ? 
 Bragwell. My wife and daughters go a visiting of a Sun- 
 day afternoon 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 
 tne smell of tobacco, I ca B venture to smoke a pipe, and drink 
 a sober glass ©f punch with half a dozen friends. 
 
 l\ orthy. Which punch being made of smuggled brandy, 
 and drank on the Lord's day, in very vain, as well as profane 
 worldly company, you are enabled to break both the law of 
 ^od, and that of your country at a stroke : and I suppose 
 when you are got together, you speak of your cattle or of 
 your crops after which perhaps you talk over a few of your 
 neighbours faults, anu then you brag a little 9 f your own 
 wealth, or your own atcheivementaf 
 
 B3 
 
22 The Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 BragwelL 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 muck improve your 
 Christian charitv by that subject ? 
 
 BragwelL Why to be sure we do quarrel 'till we- are 
 very near fighting, 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, flesh and blood can'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 1 read 
 the newspaper ; and as one is generally most tired on the days 
 one does nothing, I go to bed earlier than on other days, that 
 I may be more fit to get up to my business 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 shan'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 since 1 was a bov, so I am clear of that scrape. 
 
 Worthy. There are, however, many relative duties in that 
 commandment: unkindncss to all kindred is forbidden. 
 
 BragwelL O, if you mean my turning off my nephew 
 Tom the plough-boy , 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 quarrelled like dog and cat 
 aboiu it ; and when he was turned away we did not speak 
 
 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 
 obrervance of the fifth commandment. , 
 
 Bragwt lL Well, I long to come to the sixth, tor you 
 don't think I commit murder, I hope. 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. 2$ 
 
 IVorthy. I am not sure of that. 
 BragwtlL What ! kill any body ? 
 
 JVorthy. Why the laws of the land, indeed, and the dis- 
 grace attending it, are almost enough to keep any man from 
 actual murder ; let me ask, however, do you never give way 
 to unjust anger, and passion, and revenge ? as for instance, 
 do you never feel your resentment kindle against some of the 
 politicians who contradict you on a Sunday night ? and do 
 you never push your animosity against somebody that has 
 affronted vou, further than the occasion will justify ? 
 
 BragweH. HarkYe. Mr Worthy, I am a man of sub- 
 stance, and nobody shall offend me without my being even 
 with him. So' as to injuring a man, if he affronts me first, 
 there's nothing but good reason in that* 
 
 IVnrthy. Very well ; only bear in mind that you wil- 
 fully break this commandment, whether you abuse you ser- 
 vant, are angry at your wife, watch for a moment to revenge 
 an injury on your neighbor, or even wrack 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 gibbet 
 to check you, and no fear of disgrace neither, J am not sure 
 where you would stop. 
 
 BragwtlL 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 am glad to do him a like injury in my 
 turn. I am sure I should wanr spirit if I did not. 
 
 Worthy. I go by the scripture rule, which says, 44 he 
 that hateth his brother is a murderer," and again,' 44 love 
 your enemies, bless them that curse you, and pray for them 
 that despitefully use you and persecute vou." Besides, 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 vou forgive'them that trespass against 
 you.— If, therefore, you do not forgive them that trespass 
 against you, in that ease you pray daily that your own 
 trespasses may never be forgiven. 
 
 Bragwell. Well, come let us make haste and get through 
 these commandments. The next is, 44 Thou shalt not com. 
 rait adultery," thank God neither I nor my family can be 
 % id to break the seventh commandment* 
 
24: The Two Wealthy Fa? 
 
 Worthy. 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 heait." 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 carried things 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. 
 
 . Sragwell ^ Why, upon my word, Mr. Worthy, I don't 
 like these savings of his, which yon 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. 
 
 , Worth?/. I hope you believe in Jesus Christ. I hope 
 you believe that creed of yours which you also boasted of 
 your repeating so regularly. 
 
 Braguell.^WzW, weli, I'll believe any thing you say 
 rather than stand quarrelling with you. 
 
 Worthy. I hope then you will allow, that since it is 
 committing adultery to look at a woman with even an irre. 
 gular thought, it follows from the same rule, that all immo- 
 dest dress in your daughters, or indecent jests and double 
 meanings in yourself; all loose songs or novels ; and all di- 
 versions also which have a like dangerous tendency, are for- 
 bidden by the seventh commandment r for it is most plain 
 from what Christ has said, that it takes in not only the act 
 but the inclination, the desire, the indulged imagination ; the 
 act is only the last and highest degree ©rainy sin, the topmost 
 round as it were of a ladder, to which all the lower rounds 
 are so many steps and stages. 
 
 Brag-xcll. Strict, indeed, Mr. Worthy, but let us go on 
 to the next; you won't pretend to sav I steal. Mr. Brag- 
 well, I trust, was never known to rob on the highway, to 
 break open his neighbour's house, or to use false weights or 
 measures. 
 
 Worthfj. No, nor have you ever been under any temp- 
 tation to do it, and yet there are a thousand ways of breaking 
 the eighth commandment besides aetual stealing; for instance, 
 do you never hide the fauhs of the goods you sell, and 
 heighten the faults of those you buy? Do you never take ad- 
 vantage of an ignorant dealer, and ask more for a thing than 
 
Hie Tko Wealthy Farmers, <25 
 
 it is worth \ Do you never turn the distressed circumstances 
 of a man, who lias something to sell, to your own unfair be- 
 nefit, and thus act as unjustly by him as if vou had stolen ? 
 Do vou never cut off a shilling from a workman's wages, 
 under a pretence which your conscience can't justify ? Do 
 you never pas* off an unsound horse for a sound one ? Dp 
 you never conceal the real rent of your estate from the over* 
 seers, an rhereby rob the poor rates of their legal due ? 
 • Bragwell, Pooh! these things are done every day. I 
 shan't go to set up for being better than my neighbours in 
 these sort of things ; these little matters will pass muster.-— 
 I don't set up for a reformer.— If I am as good as the rest of 
 my neighbours, no man can call me to account; 1 am not 
 worse, I trust, and I don't pretend ro be better. 
 
 Worthy. Yon must be tried hereafter at the bar of God, 
 and not by 3 jury of your fellow-creatm es ; and the scrip- 
 aires are given us in order to shew by what rule we shall be 
 
 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 that we ought rather 
 to take fright, from our being like the common run of peo- 
 ple, than to take comfort from our being so. 
 
 Bragwell. Come, I don't like all this close work— it 
 makes a man feel 1 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 a grig 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. Any one 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 
 nowevcr. 
 
 Worthy, You mean, I suppose, vou would not swear a 
 man s life away falsely before a magistrate, but do you take 
 equal care not to slander" or backbite him ? Do you never re. 
 present a good action of a man you have quarrelled with as 
 it it was a bad one ? or clo you never make a bad one worse 
 taan it ,s, by your manner of telling it ? even when you in- 
 vent no false circumstance, do you never give such a colour 
 to those you relate, as to leave a false impression on the 
 mmd of the hearers ? Do you never twist a story so as to 
 
 vour, £ n a lm l e belter / 01 ' y° ulself - ™d a little worse for 
 youi neighbour, than truth and justice warranto 
 
26 The Two Wealthy Farmers, 
 
 Bragwell. Why, as to that matter, all this fs only na- 
 tural. 
 
 Worthy, Aye, much too natural to be right, I doubt. 
 Well, now we are 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, tor 
 the pleasure ol going through with it, for you condemn 
 without judge or jury, Master Worthy. 
 
 WoYthy. The culprit, I think, has hitherto pleaded guilty 
 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 pro- 
 ceeds to steal, nay, many covet that dare not steal, lest they 
 should suffer for it. 
 
 Bragwell. Why, look'ee, Mr. Worthy, I don't under- 
 stand these new-fashioned explanations ; oneshould not have 
 a grain of sheer goodness left, if every thing one does is to 
 be frittered away at this rate ; I am not, I own, quite so good 
 as I thought, but if what you say were true, 1 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 
 commandments at this rate. 
 
 Worthy, Very rrue. 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 scrip- 
 ture expresses it) " guilty before God." And if guilty, they 
 should own they are guilty, and not stand up and justify 
 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. 
 
 Worthy. 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 pureand spiritual 
 principle of love to God, on this principle, he is upright in 
 his dealings, true to his word, kind to the poor, helpful to the 
 oppressed. In short, if he truly loves God, he must do justice 
 and carCt htlp loving mercy. Christianity is a uniform con- 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 sistent thing. It does 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 can wipe out 
 the spot of another sin. 
 
 BfagwelL Well, but at this rate, I should be always 
 puzzling and blund. ring, and should never know for Certain 
 whether I was right or not, whereas I am bow quite satisfied 
 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 tins ; when we find we have 
 as great a regard to that part of ir, the breach of which does 
 not touch our own interest, as *o that part which does. For 
 instance, a man robs me ; I am in a violent passion with him, 
 apd when it is said to me, doest thou weil tobcam>ry? I 
 answer, I do well. Thou shall not, steal is the law of God, 
 and this fellow has broken that law. Aye, but says consci- 
 ence, 'tis thy own property, 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 mos* 
 grievouly ; or I meet him coming drunk out of an alehouse ; 
 or I find him singing a loose, profane song. If I am not 
 much grieved for this blasphemer, or this drunkard, as I was 
 for the robher ; if I do not take the same pains to bring him 
 to a sense of his sin, which I did to bring the robber to justice, 
 << how dwelleth the love of God in me f" 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 lam more jealous for my own 
 property than for God's law : more careful about my own 
 reputation than his honour, I always suspect I am got upon 
 wrong ground, and that even my right actions are not pro- 
 ceeding from a right principle. 
 
 BragwelL Why what in the world would you have me 
 do ? J 
 
 Worthy. You must confess your sins arc 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 
 
9S The Tico Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 the mercy of a Saviour ; and so as to make it the chief busines s 
 of your life to contend against them, and in the main to for- 
 sake them. And remember thr; if you seek for a deceitful 
 gaiety, rather than a well grounded cheerfulness ; if you prefer 
 a false security to final safety, &nd now go away to your cattle 
 and # your farm, and dismiss the subject from your thoughts 
 iest it should make you uneasy ; I am not sure/ tint this sim- 
 ple discourse may not appear 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. 
 He 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 parting next morning 
 he shook him by the hand more cordially than usual, and 
 made him promise to return his visit in a short time, 
 
 PART III. 
 
 IV Er. BRAGWELL, when he returned home from his 
 visit to Mr. Worthy, found that he was not quite so happy 
 as he had formerly been. The discourses of Mr. Worthy 
 had broken in not a little on his comfort. - And he began, 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 satisfac- 
 tion in the idle gentility of his own daughters, since he had 
 been witness to the simplicity, modesty, and usefulness of 
 those of Mr. Worthy. And he could not help seeing that 
 the vulgar violence of his wife did not produce so much fami- 
 ly 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. Biagwell if he had fol- 
 lowed 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 controuled the force of evil 
 habits in his family. But his convictions were just strong 
 enough to make tsim uneasy under his errors, without driving 
 
TJie Iko Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 29 
 
 him to reform them. The slight impression soon wore off, 
 and he fell back into his old practices. Still his esteem for 
 Mr. Worthy was not at all abated by the plain dealing of thai- 
 honest friend. It it true he dreaded his piercing- eye, He 
 felt that his example held out a constant reproof to himself. 
 Yet such is the force of early affection 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 pleasure of his friend's company; he longed 
 for that favoured triumph of a vulgar mind, an opportunity 
 of shewing him his riches ; and he thought it would raise hik 
 credit in the world, to have a man of Mr. Worthy's character 
 at his house. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell, it is true, still went on w T iththe same eager- 
 ness in gaining money, and tbe same ostentation in spending 
 it. But though he was as covetous as ever, he was not quite 
 so sure that it \va^> 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/ he got his 
 money ; and while he was indulging in festivity with his 
 friends at home, he was easy enough as to the manner hi 
 which he spent it. But a man can neither be making bar- 
 gains, 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 intervals the most world- 
 ly form, perhaps, some random plans of amendment. And' 
 though maoy a one may say in the fulness of enjoyment, 
 " Soul, take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry," yet hardlr 
 any man, perhaps, allows himsel; to say, even 'in the mosjr 
 secret moments, I will ncivr retire from bigness— I will 
 never repent — I will never think of death— Eternity shall 
 never come into my thoughts. The most thnt such an one 
 probably ventures to say is, I need not repent yet : I will 
 continue such a sin a little longer \ it will be lime enough 
 to think on the next world when I am no longer fit for }f the 
 business or the pleasures of this. - 
 
 Such was the case with lfcag#i£fc He set up in his'Wti 
 mind a genera! distant sort of resolution, that some years 
 hence, when he should be a< fen? j/ears older, and k'fei* 
 thousands richer ; when a few more of his present schemes 
 should be completed, he would then think of altering hS 
 
30 The Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 course of life. He would then certainly set about spending 
 a religious old age ; l-.e would reform some practices in bis 
 dealings, or perhaps quit business entirely ; he would think 
 about reading good books, and when he had completed such 
 and such a purchase, 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 far nor 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 
 may sa ve 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 the 
 notice that Mr. Bragwell would have in the course of the 
 week, a piece of land to sell bv 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 neighbourhood together, 
 some of whom he wanted to meet. And it was on this oc- 
 casion that Mr. Bragwell prided himself, that he should 
 shew his neighbours 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 day-iight. fie 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 a sober mind, 
 and was a most exact dealer in truth, he never allowed his 
 tongue the licence of immodest commendation, which he 
 used to say either savoured of flattery or envy. Indeed he 
 never rated mere worldly things so highly as to bestow upon 
 them undue praise. His calm approbation somewhat disap- 
 pointed the vanity of Mr. Bragwell, who could not help 
 secretly suspecting that his friend* as good a man as he was, 
 was not qu ite free fro m envy. He felt, however, very much 
 inclined to forgive this jealousy, which he feared the sight M 
 his ample property, and handsome habitation, must naturally 
 awaJken in the mind of a man whose own possessions we e 
 so interior. He practised the usual trick of ordinary arid 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers* * 31 
 
 vulgar minds, that of pretending himself to find some fault 
 with these things which were particularly deserving praise, 
 when he found Worthy disposed to pass them over in silence. 
 
 When they came in to supper, he affeeted to talk of the 
 comforts of Mr. Worthy's little parlour, by way of calling' 
 Ills attention to his own large one. He repeated the word 
 snug, as applied to every thing at Mr. Worthy's, with the 
 plain design to make comparisons favourable to his own 
 more ample domains. He contrived, as he passed by to his 
 .chair, by a seeming accident, to push open the door of a 
 large bcaufct in the parlour, in which all the finery was most 
 ostentatiously set to view- He protested, with a look of sa- 
 tisfaction which belied his words, that for his part he did not 
 care a farthing for all this trumpery : and then smiling and 
 rubbing his hands, added with an air of no small importance, 
 what a good thing it is though for people of substance, that 
 the tax upon plate is taken off. You are a happy man, Mr. 
 Worthy, you do not feel these things ; tax or no tax, it is all 
 the same to you. He took care during this speech, by a cast 
 c*f his eye, to direct M r. Worthy's attention to a great pro- 
 fusion of Hie brightest cups, salvers and tankards, and other 
 shining ornaments, which crouded the beaufet. Mr. Wor- 
 thy gravely answered ; Mr. Biagwell, it was indeed a. tax 
 which could not afreet so plain aiman 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 continued. A man in my middling situation, 
 who is contented with a good glass of beer , poured from a 
 handsome earthen mug, the glass, the mug, and the beer, all 
 of English manufacture, will be but little disturbed at -taxes 
 on plate or on wine ; but he will regret, as I do, that many 
 of these taxes are so much evaded,, that new taxes are conti- 
 nually brought on to make up the deficiencies of the okl. 
 
 During supper the young ladies sat in disdainful silence, 
 not deigning to bestow the smallest civility on so plain a man 
 as Mr. Worthy.' They left the room with their mamma as 
 soon as possible, being impatient to get away to ridicule their 
 father's friend at full liberty. 
 
The Tao Wealthy Farmers, 
 
 The Dance ; or, the Christmas Merry-making. 
 
 As soon as they were gone, Mr. Worthy asked Bragwell 
 how his family comforts stood, and how his daughters, who, 
 he said, were really fine voung women, went on. O, as to 
 that, replied Brag. veil, pretty much like othermen's handsome 
 daughters, I suppose, that is, worse and worse. I really begin 
 to apprehend that their fantastical notions have gained such a 
 head, that after all the money 1 have scraped together, I shall 
 never get them well mai ried. Betsy has just lost as good an 
 offer as any girl could desire, young Wilson, an honest, sub- 
 stantial grazier as any in the county. He not only knows 
 every thing proper for his station, but is pleasing in his be- 
 haviour, and a pretty scholar into the bargain ; he reads his- 
 tory books, and voyages, of a winter's evening, to his infirm 
 father, instead of going to the card assembly in our town ; he 
 neither likes drinking nor sporting, and is a sort of favourite 
 with our parson, because he takes in the weekly numbers of 
 a fine Bible with cuts, and subscribes to the Sunday School, 
 and makes a fuss about helping the poor 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, T thought 
 she might come round at last ; and so I invited 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 witli 
 
 ' her,which I own I thought was as much as could be expected 
 cf any man. But Miss had no notion of marrying one who 
 
 . was only desirous of living with her. No, no, forsooth, her 
 lover must declare himself ready to die for her, which honest 
 Wilson was not such a fooi as to offer to do. In the after- 
 noon, however, he got a little into her favour 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 spoilt all again. We had a bit of a hop 
 in the evening. The young man, though he had not much 
 taste for those sorts of gambols, yet thought he could foot it a 
 little in the old-fashioned way. So he asked Betsy to bu his 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers, 33 
 
 partner. Bat when he asked what dance they should call, 
 Miss drew up her head, and in a strange gibberish, said she 
 should dance nothing but a Minuet de la Cour, and ordered 
 him to call it ; Wilson stared, and honestly told her she must 
 call it herself, for he could neither spell nor pronounce such 
 outlandish words. I burst out a laughing, and told him, I 
 supposed it was something like questions and commands, and 
 if so that was much merrier than dancing. Seeing her 
 partner standing stock still, and n©t knowing how to get out 
 of the scrape, the girl began bv herself, and fell to swimming, 
 and sinking, and capering, and flourishing, and postering, 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, country-bumokin, with the dairy-maid, who would 
 j make a much fitter partner, as w r ell as wife, for him than she 
 I could do. I am quite of your mind, Miss, said he, with more 
 k spirit than I thought was in him ; you may make a good part- 
 f ner 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 : T had lately a pretty large concern in hay-jobbing, 
 I which took me to London. I waiteda good while in the Hay- 
 Market for my dealer, and to pass away the time I stepped 
 into a sort of 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 
 fcndugh in them, and wondered the quality could be enter- 
 tained with such indecent mummery : but little did I think 
 "to meet with the same paint.. Rnevy, and tricks, irt a farm- 
 house. I will never marry a woman who despises me, nor 
 the station in which I should place her, and so I take my 
 leave. — Poor girl, how she was provoked ! to be publicly re- 
 fused, and turned off, as it were, by a grazier ! But it 'was 
 of use to some of the other giils, who have not held up their 
 heads quite so high since, nor painted quite so red, but have 
 Condescended to speak to their equals. 
 
 ■8 But how I run on ! I iorgQt it is Saturday night, and that 
 I ought to be paying my workmen, who are all waiting for- 
 me without. 
 
34 
 
 The T&o Wealthy Farmers 
 
 Saturday Night ; or the Workmen's Wages. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Bragwcjl had done paying the men, Mr. 
 Worthy said to him, 1 have made it a habit, and I hope not 
 an unprofitable one, of trying to turn to some m >ra1 use, not 
 only all the even's of daily life, but all the employments of it 
 too. And chough it occurs so often, I hardly know oriethat 
 sets me a fn ink nig more seriously than the ordinary business 
 you have been just discharging.— Aye, said Rragwell, it sets 
 me thinking too, and seriously, as you f&f, wKe? I observe 
 how niuchihc price of wages is inpre; ised — Yes, yes, you 
 are ready enough to think of that, said Worthy, but you say 
 not a word of how much the value of your land has increased, 
 and that the more you pay, the more you can afford to .pay. 
 Eut the thoughts I spoke of are quite of anothei cast. When 
 I call in my labourers on a Saturday night, to pav them, it 
 often brings to my mind the great and genera! day of account, 
 T, and you, and all of us, shall be called to our grand 
 and awful reckoning, when we shall go to receive ear wages, 
 master and servant, farmer and laborer. When I see mat 
 . one of my menhas failed of the wages he should nave 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 roieht have earned still more, yet he has been care- 
 less, and has not his full pay to receive, this, I say, sometimes 
 sets me on thinking whether I also have made the most of my 
 *irne \nd when I come to pay even the more dwgem who 
 have worked all the week; when I reflect that even these 
 have done no more than it was their doty to do,_ I cannot help 
 savina to mvself, ni*ht is come; Saturday nignt ts-eptne. 
 No repentance, or diligence on the part of these poor men car, 
 make a bad week's work good. Tins week is gone >nt 
 Jernity. To-morrow is the season of vest ; working time 
 is over My life also will soon be swallowed up tn eternity ; 
 soon the space allied me for diligence, f£ abou^. wdl 
 over. Soon will the grand questton.be asked Wha has 
 thou done ? Didst thou use thy working days to the enfl^ 
 Shh:h they were given ? » With some such thoughts con - 
 monly go to bed, and they help to quicken me to a ke< 
 diligence for the next week. 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. 35 
 Some Account of a Sund ay inMr.BragivelVsFamily. 1 
 
 Mr. Worthy had been for so many years used to the sober 
 ways of his own well-ordered family that he greatly disliked 
 to pass a Sunday in any house of which religion was not the 
 governing principle. Indeed, he 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 un- 
 pleasant, often unsafe. I seldom find I can do them any good, 
 and tiiey may perhaps do me some harm. At least, lam. 
 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 ; M 
 if I do not reprove them, I confirm and strengthen them in 
 «vU. And whether I reprove them or not, I certainly partake 
 of their guilt if I spend it as they do. 
 
 He had, however, so strong a desire to be useful to Mr, 
 Bragweil, that heat 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 should be the casein so industrious a family* 
 •Brag well made some aukwark 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 strictness 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; pud- 
 dings, pie,>, and cakes, to last through the week, as Sunday 
 was the only leisure time she and her maids had. Mr. Wor* 
 thy soon saw an uncommon bustle in the house. All hands 
 were busy. It was nothing but baking, and boiling and 
 li ving, 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 
 fceiself, was resolved to indulge her vanity upon the present 
 
36 The Tzi-o Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 occasion. She was determined td be even with Mrs. Wor- 
 thy, in whose praises Bragwcll had been so loud, and felt no 
 small pleasure in the hope of making her guest uneasy, when 
 he should be struck with the display both of her skill andher 
 wealth. Mr. Worthy Was indeed struck to beheld as large 
 a dinner as lie had been used to -see at a justices meeting. 
 He, whose frugal and pious wife bad accustomed him only 
 to such a plain Sunday's dinner, as could be pressed without 
 keeping any one from chinch, when he surveyed the loaded 
 table of his friend, instead of feeling that envy which these 
 grand preparations were meant to raise, felt nothing but dis- 
 gust at the vanity of his friend's wife, mixed with much 
 thankfulness for the piety of his own. 
 
 After having made the dinner wait a longtime, the Miss 
 Bragwells marched in, dressed as if they weie |bi0g to the 
 assize ball ; they looked very scornful at having been so hur- 
 ried, 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 triumph on Mr. Wor- 
 thy, who felt he had never loved his own humble daughters 
 so well as at that moment. In the afternoon the whole paity 
 went to church. To do them justice, it wns indeed thcir 
 common practice once a day, when file weather was good, 
 and the road was neither dustv nor dirty, when the minister 
 did not -begin too early, when the yoiing H hes had not been 
 disappointed of their new bonnetson the S,: tin day 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 niece 
 of good manners to conform 'to fhe humour of the guests. 
 Hft. dBragwell had this dav forborne to ask any of- his usual 
 -company, well knowing that their vain and worldly conver- 
 sation would only serve to draw on him some new repiimand 
 
 from his friend 
 
 M<-s. Bra^well and tier daughters picked up, as usual, a 
 £Ood deal of acquaintance at church. Many compliments 
 passed, and much of the news of the week was retailed before 
 the sendee began.Thev waited with impatience for the reading 
 the lessons as a licensed season for whispering, and the subject 
 fcecun dirrrflg the Wesson* was finished while they were sing- 
 ing. The young ladies made an appointment for the after- 
 
The Tm Wealthy Fanners, 3 J 
 
 noon with a friend in the next pew, while their nfarama took 
 the opportunity of enquiring the character of a dairy maid, 
 which .she observed with a 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 Brag well, if he did not, on the Sunday night, 
 at least, make it a custom to read and pray with his family. 
 Bragwell told him, he was sorry to sav 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. 
 V/orthy 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 him if he did not believe, 
 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 rut it to your conscience, said 
 he, Mr. Bragwell, whethei 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 
 kindness of masters, who, not daring to set their servants 
 about any public work, allot them that day to folW their 
 own devices, that thev themselves may with more rigour re- 
 fuse them a little indulgence and a reasonable holiday in the 
 working part or the week, which a oood. servant has now and 
 then a fair right to expect. Those .masters who will Hve 
 them half, or all the Lord's day, will not spare them a sinVle 
 hour of a working day. Their work must be done • God's 
 work may be let alone, 
 
 Mn Brag well owned that Sunday had produced many mis- 
 chiefs m his own family That the young men and maids, 
 having no eye u r on them, frequently went to improper " 
 places wuh other servants, turned adrift like themsdves" 
 That m these parties the poor girls were to frequently led 
 ast ay, and the men got to public houses and ft^pl^C 
 
 t [ jT aS n i ne ot hls business t0 watch Aem. His fLilv 
 only did as others do ; indeed it is his wi fe's concern TrS 
 as she was so good a manager on other days, tha^she would 
 
TTfe Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 not spare them an hour to visit a sick father or mother, 
 would be hard, she said, if they might not have Sunday af- 
 ternoon to themselves, and she could not blame them foi 
 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 plea- 
 sure ; but when the difference lay between their going to 
 church and taking their pleasure, 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, be- 
 cause drunkenness is a costly sin ; and to do her justice, she 
 does not care how little they sinjai her expence. 
 
 Well, said Mr. Worthy, I always like to examine both 
 sides fairly, and to see the different effects of opposite prac- 
 tices ; now, which plan produces the greatest share of com- 
 fort to the master, and of profit to the servants in the long 
 run ? Your servants, 'tis likely are very much attached 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 discoid, mutiny, and discontent. And 
 though there is not a better manager in England than, my wife, 
 vet she is'always changing her servants, so that every quaiter 
 day is a sort of gaol delivery at my house, and when they go 
 off, as they often do, at a moment's warning, 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 compliances 
 do not procure vou even worldly happiness. As to my own 
 family, I rake care to let them see that their pleasure is bound 
 up with theif duty, and that what they may call my strictness 
 has nothing in view but their safety and happiness. By this 
 means I commonly gain their love as well as secure their 
 obedience.. I know that with ail my care I am liable to be 
 disappointed, " from the corruption that is in the world 
 through sin." But whenever this happens, so far from encou- 
 raging me in remissness, it only serves to quicken my zeal. 
 If, by God's blessing, my servant turns out a good Christian, 
 
The Tzco Wealthy Fai 
 
 I' have been an humble instrument in his hand of saving a soul 
 committed to my charge. 
 
 Mrs. 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 voung friend, and would not return 
 for a day 01 two. Mr. Bragwell was greatly displeased ; as 
 he knew that young fiend had but a slight character, and 
 kept bad acquaintances. Mrs. Bragtvel] 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 woild to look fot 
 dissipation and vanity ; we can find both in a farm-house. 
 As for me and my house, continued he, we will serve the 
 Lord every day, but especially on Sundays. , It is the day 
 which the Lord hath made: hath made for himself: we will 
 rejoice in ir, and consider the religious use of it not only as a 
 dirty but as a privilege. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 T 
 
 JL r was mentioned in tie last part of this History, that the 
 chief reason which had drawn Mr. Worthy to visit his fnend 
 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 Go den Lion on that day, and he had put off his visit 
 till he had seen the sale advertised in the countv 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 neighbouring market town. As they had time before 
 them, they had agreed to ride slowly, that they mi S ht con- 
 verse on some useful subject; but here, as ysual, they had 
 
 oJLZTfT k Ut the Same thin S- Mr - Bragwell's notion 
 of an useful subject was, something by which money was to 
 
40 The Tito Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 ke got, and a high 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 neighbours* 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 was it 
 the whole concern of the day. Every morning when he rose 
 he remembered that he had a Maker to worship, as well as a 
 family to maintain. Religion, however, never made him 
 neglect business, though it sometimes led him to postpone it. 
 He used to say, no man had any reason to expect God's bles- 
 sing 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 worship. But lie had not the less sense, 
 spirit, and activity, when he was among men abroad, because 
 he had first sei ved God at home. 
 
 As these two farmers rode along, Mr. Worthy took oc- 
 casion, from 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 slid, by degrees, 
 into that important subject : and he observed, that secret prayer 
 was a dirty of universal obligation, which, every man had it 
 In his power to fulfil : and which he seriously believed was 
 the ground-work of all religious practice, and all devout af- 
 fections. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell felt conscious that he was very negligent 
 and irregular in the performance of this duty : indeed he con- 
 sidered it as a mere ceremony, or at least, as a duty which 
 might give way to the slightest temptation of drowsiness at 
 night or of business in the morning, As he knew he did 
 not live in the conscientious performance of this practice, he 
 tried to ward off the subject, knowing what a home way his 
 friend had of patting things. After some evasion, he at last 
 said, he certainly thought private prayer a good custom, es- 
 pecially for people who have time; and those who were sick, 
 or old, or out of business, could not do better ; but that for 
 his pan, he believed much ©f these govt of things was not 
 expected from men in active life. 
 
The T-ao Wealthy Farmers. 41 
 
 Mr. Worthy. I should think, Mr. Bragwell, that those 
 who are most exposed to temptation, stand most in need of 
 prayer.; now there are few, methinks,who arc more exposed 
 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 tins be true, ought we not to prepare our- 
 selves m the closet for the trials of the market, the field, and 
 trie shop { It 1S but putting on our armour before we E o cut- 
 to hattle. ° 
 
 Bragwell. For my part, I think example is the whole 
 ot religion, and it the master of a family is ordeily, and re- 
 gular, and goes to church, he does every thing which can be 
 required of him, and no one has a right to call him to account 
 lor any thing more. ' ' 
 
 . Worthy Give mc leave to say, Mr. Bragwell, that 
 higaly as I rate a good example, still I must set a good prin- 
 ciple 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, I must therefore 
 Play to tafa, ,n private.— To my family i owe a christian 
 example, and for that, among other reasons, I must not foil 
 to go to church. 
 
 Bragwell. You are talking, Mr. Worthy, as if I wer 
 an en emy to Christianity. Sir I am no heathen. Sir, 
 belong to the church; I goto church; I always drink pro- 
 sperity to the church. You yourself, as strict as you are, in 
 
 *LlZ m !? S>r '$ U tW ' Ce a da y> are not a wan » er fijeac! to the 
 Witch than I am. 
 
 u,Z° n rt r V \ Th *\ k t0 Say ' y° u know its va!,iC V an tn-sti- 
 verv ,,' Jr y °" d< ? ri °J f em t0 k,low that » man mav be 
 S2 &$T Tn" thC r b f ( rel ''S i0US """ttKions ; and that 
 c.et, toe most excellent of them are but means of bein* reli- 
 gjous, and are no more religion itself than brick and fSortir 
 |fi^ m p^M- 1 &*ti never think ~ 
 
 h i; , , '"en truly respect the church, who bring 
 home little ol that religion which is taught in it into S 
 o >vn fomihes or their own hearts; or, who make the wtv 
 
 ^rr g y ;° e ,r s,st m their attendance m 
 
42 The Two Wealthi/ Fafmers. 
 
 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 he kept in order without it ; and I am a 
 son of politician, yon 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 rea- 
 son of it as a Christian; depend upon it, if religion be 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 yourself brought 
 the most unanswerable argument why you ought to be re- 
 ligious 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 fliere in favour of any one class of men. The 
 same restraints which are necessary for the people at large are 
 equally necessary for peopleof every order, high and low, rich 
 and poor, bond and free, learned and ignorant. If [ejus 
 Christ died for no particular rank, class, or community, th ere 
 is no one rank, class, or community, exempt from the obe- 
 dience to his laws enjoined by the gospel. May f ask you, 
 Mr. Bragwell, what is your reason for going to church ? 
 
 BragwelL Sir, I am shocked at your question. How 
 can I avoid doing a thing so customary and creditable ? Ngt 
 %o to church, indeed ! What do you take me for, Mr. Wor- 
 thy ? I am afraid you suspect me to be a papist, or a heathen, 
 or of some religion or other that is not what it should be. 
 
 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 he irreligious ma, 
 ters ; and hew 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 religion 
 of another party. It is not irrcligion which such men hate 
 but the religion of the man, or the party, whom they are set 
 against 'now hatred is certainly no part of the religion of the 
 gospel Well, you have told me why you goto church; 
 now pray tell me, why do you confess there on your bended 
 
The Tzoo Wealthy Farmers. - 4« 
 
 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 Ci and that you are 
 a miserable sinner ?" 
 
 Bragwell. 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 pillars of the protestant 
 church. 
 
 Worthy. But have you no other reason ? 
 Bragwell. No, I can't say I have. 
 
 Worthy. When you repeat that excellent form of con- 
 fession, do you really feel that you are a miserable ■simncr I 
 
 Bragwell. No, I can't say I do. But that is no objec- 
 tion to my repeating it, because it may suit the case of msny 
 who are so. I suppose the good doctors who drew ft up- 
 intended that part for wicked people only, such as dnmkarcby 
 and thieves, and murderers ; for 1 imagine they conW no: 
 well contrive to make the prayer quite suit an honest man 
 and a rogue : and so I suppose they thought it safer to make 
 a good man repeat a prayer which suited a rogue, man 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 eveiy respectable person must 
 know they have no particular concern in it. 
 
 Worthy. Depend upon it, Mr. Bragwell, those good 
 doctors you speak of were not quite of your opinion; they 
 really thought that what you call honest men, were grievous 
 sinners in a certain sen^e, and that the best of us stand in 
 need of making that humble confession. Mr. Bragwell, do 
 you believe in the fall of Adam ? - 
 
 Bragwttl. To be sure I do, and a sad tiling for Adam it 
 was; why, it is in the Bible, is it not? It is one of the 
 prettiest chapters in Genesis. Don't you believe it, Mr. 
 W or thy \ 
 
 Worthy. Yet>, truly I do. But I doa't believe it merefij 
 because I read it in Genesis ; tho-?;h 1 know, indeed, that 1 
 am bound to believe every part of the word of God. But T. 
 have still an additional reason for believing in the fall of the- 
 first man. 
 
 Bragwell. Have you, indeed I Now I can't guess what: 
 mat can be. 
 
44 
 
 The Tzco Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 Worthy. Why, my own observation of what is within 
 ^myself teaches me to believe'it. It is not only the third chap- 
 ter of Genesis which convinces mc of the truth of the fall, 
 but 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 1 can never doubt a moment ; first, 
 because, it is abundantly expressed or implied in scripture ; 
 and next, because the consciousness of -the enl nature I carry 
 about with me confirms the doctrine beyond all doubt. Be- 
 sides, is it not said in scripture, that by one man sin entered 
 into the world, and that <c ail we, like sheep have gone 
 astray ;" " that by one man's disobedience many were made 
 sinners;" and so again in twenty more places that I could 
 tell you of? 
 
 Bragivell. Well ; I never thought of this. But is not 
 this a very melancholy sort of doctrine, Mr. W orthy ? 
 
 Worthy. It is melancholy, indeed, if we stop here. But 
 while we are deploring this sadtruih, let us take comfort from 
 another, that ;i as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be 
 made alive." 
 
 Bragivcll. 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 iu 
 
 Worthy. And yet the service pronounced at the burial of 
 all who die' is a solemn admonition t-o all who live. It is 
 there said, as indeed the scripture says also, cc I am the resur- 
 rection and the life; whosoever beheveth 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 fan- 
 cying me an athiest. 
 
 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 sav 1 ever meddled with such subjects before in rny life. 
 But now, what do vou advise a man to do upon your plan of 
 religion. 
 
The Tzco Wealthy Farmers. ^ 
 
 TV orthy. Why, all this leads me back to the ground from 
 which we set out, I mean the duty of prayer; for $ 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 Saviour to redeem us, 
 we shall be led of course to pray for what wc so much need' 
 and without tills conviction we shall nor be led to pray, 
 
 BragwelL Well; but don't you think, Mr. Worthy,' that 
 you good folks who make so much of j raver, have lower 
 notions than we have of the wisdom of the Almighty ? You 
 think he wants to be informed of the tilings yop tell him- 
 whereas I take it for granted, that he knows them already' 
 and that, Being so g k>3 as he is, he will give me every th : n^ 
 he sees fit#o give me, without n>y asking it. * 
 " °* Hod, indeed, who knows all things knows what 
 we win.' before we ask bi n ; but still has he not said t&at 
 
 prayer and supplication we must make £np wtl our 
 request'- unto him ?" Praver is the way m which God hath 
 said • liar his favour must be sou gat. It is the channel through 
 which he hath declared it is his sovereign will nnd pleasme 
 that his blessings should be conveyed to us\ What ascends 
 gp .in prajrgr 'degge^ again tons in b'essings. It is like 
 tne rain which just n^ fell, and which fradbeen drawn up 
 torn the ground in vapours to the clouds before it descended 
 rom them on the earth in that refreshing shower. Besides 
 raver has a good effect on our minds; It tends to excite a 
 ight disposition towards God in iis and b keep up a con' 
 stant sense of our dependence. But above alt, it is the way 
 o get the good tilings we want. « Ask," savs the script »J 
 " ye shall receive." < 1 * 
 
 BragwM Now that is the very tiling which I was £ Q W 
 o deny For the truth is, men do not always get whatth^v 
 sk ; I believe if I could get a good crop for asking ft A 
 hould pray oftener than I do. * ' 
 
 Worthy, Sometimes, Mr. Bragwell, men « ask and fL 
 cive not, because they ask amiss/' They ask worldly 
 Jessings, perhaps, when they should ask spiritual ones. Now 
 
 ^ anted To H T - S °° d ^ f spoke of, are al w a " 
 panted to those who pray to God for them, though the 
 fo mer are not. I have observed in the case of some worl V 
 fhmg« I have sought tor, that the grant of my praver Sold 
 have caused the misery of my life : \o that God equa 1 con 
 
46 
 
 The Two Wealthy Fanners, 
 
 suits our good in what he withholds, and In what lie be- 
 stows. 
 
 Bragicell. And yet you continue to pray on, I suppose. 
 Worthy. Certainly; but then I try to. mend as to the 
 object ©f my prayers. I pray for God's blessing and favour, 
 which is better thai* riches. 
 
 BragwelL You seem very earnest on this subject. 
 Worlliy. To cut the matter short, T ask then, whether 
 prayer is not positively commanded in the gospel ? When 
 this is the case, we can never dispute about the necessity or 
 the duty of a thing, as we may when there is no such com- 
 mand. Here, however, ler me just add also that a man's 
 prayers may be ruined to no small use in the way of disco- 
 vering to him whatever is amiss in his life. 
 Bragwdl. How so, Mr. Worthy? 
 Worthy. Whv, suppose now, you were to try yourself 
 by turning into the shape of a prayer every practice in which 
 you allow yoiuseif. For instance, let the prayer in the morn- 
 ing be a sort of preparation for the deeds of the dav, and the 
 prayer at night a sort of observation on those deeds. You, 
 Mi\ Bragweii, T suspect arc 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 still more money, though you have 
 already so much that you know not what to do with it. Sup- 
 pose you were to pray in the morning, " O Lord, give me 
 more riches, though those I have are a snare and a temptation 
 to me;" and ask m the same solemn manner to bless all 
 the grasping means you intend to make use of in the day, to 
 add o your substance ? 
 
 Bragicell. Mr. Worthy, I have no patience with you 
 for thinking < could he so wicked. 
 
 Worthy. Hear me out, Mr. Bragweii ; you turned your 
 good nephew, Tona 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 ar shocked at the thought of such a prayer. Well 
 then, would not hearty prayer have kept you from commit* 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. 47 
 
 ting that wicked action : In short, what a life must that be, 
 no action of which you dare beg God to prosper and bless. 
 If once you can bring yourself to believe that it is your 
 bounded duly to pray for God's blessing on your day's 
 work, you will certainly grow careful about passing such 
 a dav as you may safely ask his blessing upon. The remark 
 may be carried to sports, diversions, company. A mar, who 
 once takes up the seri us use of prayer, will soon find him- 
 self obliged to abstain from such diversions, occupations, 
 and societies, as he cannot 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. Bragwcll, 
 I need not ask which of the two he that is a real Christian 
 will give up, sinning or praying. 
 
 Mu Brae well beoan to feel that he had not the best of the 
 argument, and was afraid he was making no great figure m 
 the eyes of his friend.. Luckily, however, he was^ relieved 
 from the difficulty into which the necessity of making some 
 answer must have brought him, by finding drey were come 
 to tire end of their link' journey : and he never beheld the 
 bunch of grapes, which decorated the sign of the Golden 
 Lion, with more real satisfaction. 
 
 part v. 
 
 M R. BRAGWELL and Mr. Worthy alighted at tire 
 Golden Lion. It was market-day: the inn, the yard, the 
 town, was all alive. Mr. Bragwell was quite in his element. 
 Money, company, and good cheer, always set his spirits 
 afloat. He felt himself a principal man in the s^ene. He 
 had three great objects in view, the sale of his land, the 
 letting Mr. Worthy see how much he was looked up toby- 
 so many substantial people, and the shewing these people 
 what a wise man his most intimate friend, Mr. Worthy, was. 
 It was his way to try to borrow a little ctedit from every 
 person, and every thing he was connected with, and by that 
 credit to advance his interest and increase his wealth. 
 
i s The Two Wealthy Fanners. 
 
 The farmers met in a large room, and while they were 
 
 t>-ai-mcthv> their various concerns, those whose pursuits weie 
 the same," naturally herded together. The timocr were 
 dirlwh to one corner, hy the common interest they 
 took in bark and hides. A useful debate was carrying on ai 
 another little table, whether the practices of towing wheator 
 of planting it were most profitable. Another set were dis- 
 puting whether horses or oxen were best for plows, i hose. 
 Who were concerned in canals, sought the company of other 
 CapiUei-s- wbile some, who were interested in tne new bill 
 for inclo'surcs, wisely looked out for such as knew most 
 
 about waste lands. ' , 
 
 Mr Worthy was pleased with all these suojects, and 
 picked up something useful on each. It was a saying of nis, 
 that most men understood some one thing, and that he who 
 was wise would try to learn from every man something on 
 the s^ect he best knew ; bnt Mr. Worthy made a further 
 use of the Whole. What a pity is it, said he, that Christians 
 are not as desirous to turn their time to good account as men 
 of business are ! When shall we see religious persons as 
 anxious to deri ve profit from the experience of otners as tues. 
 farmers? When shall we see them as eager to -turn then t.me 
 M good' account ? While 1 approve these men for not being 
 Orfcful in business, let me improve the hint, by being also 
 
 i SewftSw! much ,dser the children of this generation 
 arc than the children of light. n'MA,'^ 
 When the hurry was a little over, Mr. Bragwcl took a 
 turn on the bowhng-green. Mr. Worthy f< owed htm to 
 '3t W lw the sale of the estate was not brougnt fo. wa.d. Let 
 Sfe auctioneer proceed to business, said he.; the company will 
 be^d to -et heme by day-light. I speak mostly with a 
 P M% tm I donot'think of being a purchaser myself 
 S l now it, said Bragwell, or I would not be sucn a foolas 
 to ! e ca out of th e bag. But is it really possible (pro- 
 gS he with a smile of contempt) that you should think 
 ;,i my estate before dinner ? Mr. Worthy you a, e 
 I ^ „J,t books, and such things , and pernaps can 
 ^Veoutnn account on paper in a handsomer manner than J 
 * T"i but 1 never found much was to be got by hue writing. 
 A- t o hgu es, I carry enough of them in my head to add, 
 
The *ficb Wealth) Farmers. 49 
 
 divide; and- multiply, itorehhoncy than your learning will 
 ever a|ye voir the tfn&fcrmg-Af: 5 You may beat me at a book, 
 b,;rt foil a^very child at 'a' bargain. Sell my lan '.J before 
 'dinner, indeed 1 - 
 
 Mtft Worthy \yas puzzled to guess how a man was to shew 
 more wisdom by 'selling a piece of ground at one horn than 
 at another, and desired an explanation, Bragwell fek ratiier 
 move contempt for his unuers funding than he had ever done 
 before. Look'ee, Mr/Woi "thy, said he, I do not know that 
 knowledge is -of any use to a man unless he has sense enough 
 to turn W to account. Men are my books, Mr. Woi thy, and 
 it is by reading, spelling, and putfing them together to good 
 purpose, that I have got np in the world. I shall give you a 
 proof of this bo-day. These fanners are most of them como 
 to the Liori with a view of purchasing this bit of land of mine, 
 if they should like the bargain, Now, as you -know a thing 
 :an't be any preat barium both to the buyer and the seller 
 :oo ) 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 
 :o 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 
 Ti bit of land to sell, I alwavs give a handsome dinner, with 
 
 Li -I 
 
 plenty of punch and strong beer. W e fill up the morning 
 with other business, and t carefully keep back any talk about 
 the purchase till we have dined. At dinner we have, of course, 
 & bit 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 1 am 
 master of the feast, you know, it would be shabbv in me to 
 Save my liquor, so I 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 what a fine hearty fellow he has 
 ^ deal with, and Mr. Bragwell receives a thousand compli- 
 ments. By this time they have gained as much in good, 
 humour as they have lost in sober judgment, and this is the 
 prtoper'moment for setting the auctioneer to work, and his I 
 commonly do to such good purpose, that I go home with 
 my purse a score or two of pounds heavier than if they had 
 aot been warmed by their dinner. In the morning men are 
 
 D 
 
50 The Two Wealthy Fanners. 
 
 cool and suspicious, and have all their wits about them ; but 
 a chearful glass cures all distrust. And what is lucky, I add 
 to my 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 shewing his wisdom. He was beginning 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 ? Having 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 our class. We have money and power, we live 
 on the fat of the land, and have as good a 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 1 
 willsav, that .ours is a creditable and respectable business. In 
 ancient times, farming was the employment ot princes and 
 patriarchs; and, now-a-days, an honest, humane sensible 
 English yeoman, I will be bold to say, is not only a very 
 useful, but an honourable character. But then, he must no 
 merely .'think of enjoying « you call it, but he mus 
 think of living up to the great ends for which he was sent 
 into the world. A wealthy farmer not only has it in lm 
 power to live well, but to do much good. He is not only 
 the father of his own family, but of his workmen, '»» 
 dants, und the poor at large, especially in these hard time . 
 He has it in his power to raise into cred.t all the parish. offi ,c« 
 which have fallen into disrepute, by getting m to bad _ hand , 
 and he can convert, what have been falsely thought m a 
 offices, into very important ones, by us just and chns ^tian-hk 
 manner of filling them. An upright juryman, a c°nsc.ent.o» 
 constable, a humane overseer, and mdependant elector, 
 active superintendant of a work-house, a just arbitiatoi , 
 
The Two Wealthy Fanners. 51 
 
 public disputes, a kind counsellor in private troubles ; such a 
 one, I say, fills up a station in society no less necessary; and, 
 as far as it readies, scarcely less important than that of a ma- 
 gistrate, a sheriff of a county, or even a member of par- 
 liament. That can never lie a slight or degrading office, on 
 which the happiness of a whole parish may depend. 
 
 Brag well, 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. Aye, very true, Mr. Worthy, 
 said he, you are light ; a leading man in our class ought to 
 be looked up to as an example, as you say ; ill order to which 
 he should do things handsomely and liberally, and not grudge 
 himself, or his friends, any thing, casting an eye of compla- 
 cency 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 set but clumsily 
 upon him. If he lias money, let him spend p'rudently, lay 
 up moderately for his children, and give liberally to the poor. 
 But let him rather seek to dignify his own station, by his 
 virtues, than to get above it by his vanity. If he acts thus, 
 then as long as this country lasts, a farmer of England will 
 be looked upon as one of its most valuable members ; nay, 
 more, by this conduct he mav contribute to make England 
 last the longer. The riches of the farmer, corn and cattle, 
 are the true riches of a nation ; but let him remember, that 
 though corn and cattle enrich a country, nothing but justice 
 integrity, and religion, can preserve it. 
 
 Young Wilson, the worthy grazier, whom Miss Bragwell 
 had turned off because he did understand French dances, 
 thanked Mr. Worthy for what he had said, and hoped he ' 
 ghould be the better for it as long as he lived, and desired his 
 leave to be better acquainted. Most of the otheis declared 
 they had never heard a finer speech, and then, as is usual, 
 .proceeded to shew -the good effect it hat] on them, by loose 
 Conversation, hard drinking, and whatever could counteract 
 all that Worthy had said. 
 
 g Mr. Worthy was much concerned to hear Mr. Bragwell, 
 .after dinner, whisper to the waiter, to put less and less water 
 into every fresh bow! of punch.— This was his way ; if the 
 time they had to sit was long, then the punch was to be 
 «L. D 2 
 
Q2 The Tzeo Wealth/ Farmers. 
 
 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 them as much m a short time 
 as would he required of a greater quantity had the time been 
 longer. This was one of Mr. Bragwell's nice calculations, 
 and rhis was the sort of skill on which he so much valued 
 
 himself. . f , 
 
 At length the guests were properly primed tor business ; 
 iust in that convenient stage of fntoxication which makes 
 men warm and rash, yet keeps short of that absolute drunk- 
 enness, which disqualifies for business, the auctioneer set 
 to woi k. All were bidders, and, if possible, all would have 
 been purchasers, so happily had the feast and the puncti 
 operated. They bid on with a still increasing spirit, till tney 
 had got so much above the value of the land, that Bragwell, 
 with a vvink and a vhisper, said, Who would sell his land 
 Fasting ? Eh ! Worthy ? 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 Wot- 
 thy, Five from fifty, and there remains forty-five. J he din- 
 ner and drink won't cost me five pounds, and I have got fifty 
 more than the land was worth. Spend a shilling to gain a 
 pound, this is what 1 call practical arithmetic, Mr. Worthy. 
 
 Mr. Worthy was glad to get out of this scene ; and seeing 
 that his friend was quite sober, he resolved, as they rode home 
 to deal plainly with him. Bragwell. had found amor, 
 his calculations, that there were some sins which coukdon ; ' 
 be committed by a prudent man, one at a time. Fo insane , 
 • he knew thai a man could not well get rich, and get drua , 
 at the same moment, so that heused to practice oaefW'.«£ 
 . the other alter • but he had found out that ^J' c >£ 
 very eood company together ; thus, while he had watcnM 
 hunself in dr.inSngfiesf he 
 
 his guests were to buy, he had rndulged without measure, > 
 the good dinner he had provided for. ^%2*W e J g 
 hhn able to bear reason, rebuked him for 
 ceedings, with some severity Bragwell bore ^ Wg> rf 
 with that sort of patience which anses from an. opinion 
 one's own wisdom, and a recent flush of piospe.i ty. 1 
 behaved with that gay, good hujnour which giows outo 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. 53 
 
 vanity and good luck. You arc too squeamish, Mr. Wor- 
 thy, said he, I have done nothing discreditably. These men 
 came with their eyes open. There is no compulsion used. 
 They are free to bid, or to let it alone. I make them wel- 
 come and I shall not be thought a bit the worse of bv them, 
 to-morrow, when they are sober. Others do it besides me, 
 and I shall never be ashamed of any thing, as long as 1 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 word custom. It is a. word invented to reconcile 
 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 otten 
 done, is so far from a proof of its being right, that it is the 
 very reason which will set a thinking man to enquire if it be 
 > not really wrong, lest he should be following u a multitude 
 ; to do evil." Right is right, though only one man in a thou- 
 i sand pursues it, and wrong will be for ever wrong, though 
 | it be the allowed practice of the other nine hundred and 
 ninety-nine. If this shameful custom is really common, 
 i which I hardly believe, that is a fresh reason why a conscien- 
 tious 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 
 510 great difference in the eye of conscience, whatever there 
 'may be in the eye of law, between 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 
 or his pocket, if you hadmethim dead drunk in his way home 
 - to-night.- Nay, he who meets a man already tirunk and robs 
 him, commits but one sin, while he who makes him drunk 
 first that he may rob him afterwards, commits two. 
 
 Bragwell gravely replied, Mr Worthy, while I have the 
 practice 01 people of credit to support me, and the law of the 
 land to protect me, I see no reason to be ashamed of any 
 thing I do. -Mr. Bragwell, answerel Worthy, a truly honest 
 man is not alwavs looking sharp about him, to see how far 
 custom and the law will bear him out; if he be honest on 
 principle he will consult the law of his conscience, and if lie 
 be a Christian, he will consult the lav/ of GocL 
 
 O 3 
 
54 The Tzco Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 Notwithstanding this rebuff, Mr. Bragwell got home in 
 high spirits, for no arguments could hinder him from feeling 
 that he had fifty guineas in his purse. As soon as he came 
 in, he gaily 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 tit of pas- 
 sion, and threw it back to him. You may keep your casli 
 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 dreaded to hear. His wife spared him 
 the trouble, by crying out, as soon as her rage permitted, 
 Polly is gone off! Poor Bragwell's heart sunk within him ; 
 lie grew sick and giddy, and his wife's rage swallowed up 
 her grief; so, in his grief, he almost forgot his anger. The 
 purse fell from his hand, and he 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 had not 
 returned with her mother and sister the night before : he 
 begged Mrs Bragwell to explain this sad story. She, instead 
 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 never would have kept company 
 with any but men of substance, and then they could not have 
 been ruined. -Mrs. Bragwell, said Mr. Worthy, if she had 
 chosen a bad man, it would bestill a misfortune, eventhough 
 he had been rich. — O, that would alter the case, said she, a 
 fat sorrow is better than a lean one. But to marry a beg- 
 gar ! 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 trades- 
 man, 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 neighbouring villages lately.^ Miss Betsy again 
 put in, saying, he was no stroller, but a gentleman in disguise, 
 who only acted for his own diversion.— Does he so ? said 
 the nowfurious Bragwell, then he shall be transported 
 
Tlie Two Wealthy Farmers. 55 
 
 mine. At this moment a letter was brought him from his 
 new son-in-law, who desired his leave to wait upon him and 
 implore his forgiveness. He owned he had been shopman 
 to a haberdasher, hut thinking his person and talents ought 
 not to be thrown away upon trade, and being also a little 
 behind hand, 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 pressing ; 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 daughter's delicacy, by con- 
 fessing my unlucky real name ? I believe I owe part of my 
 success with her to my having assumed that of Augustus 
 Frederic Theodosius. She is inconsolable at this confession, 
 which, as you are now mv father, [ must also make to you, 
 and subscr ibe 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 stolling actor ! How shall I bear 
 it ? — Why I would not bear it at all, cried the enraged mother, 
 1 would never see her; I would never forgive her. I would let 
 her starve at one corner of the barn, while that rascal, with 
 all those pagan, popish names, was ranting away at the other. 
 Nay, said Miss Betsy, ifhe is only a shopman, andif his name be 
 really Timothy Incle, I would never forgive her neither. But 
 who would have thought it by his looks, and by his monstrous 
 genteel behaviour ? no, he can never have so vulgar a name. 
 
 Come, come, said Mr. Worthy, were he really an honest 
 haberdasher, I should think there was no other "harm done, 
 except the disobedience of the thing. Mr. Bragwell, this is 
 no time to blame you, or hardly to reason with you. 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 pu- 
 nishment along with it. You now see, because you now 
 feel the evil of false education. It has ruinecby our daugh- 
 ter ; your whole plan unavoidably led to some such end. The 
 large sums you spent to qualify them, as you thought, for a 
 high station, could do them nothing but'harm, while your 
 habits of life properly confined them to company of a lower 
 
5 6 The., ,Tm i Wealthy ^ Fat ma % ■ 
 
 s tation. While they were better drest than the daughters<ol 
 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 lias been fosteied by indulgence. Their 
 pride has never been controuled ; their self- will has never 
 been subdued. Their idleness has laid them open to every 
 temptation, and their abundance has enabled them to gra- 
 tify every desire. Their time, that precious 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. ,1 deplore Miss Polly's 
 false step. That she should have married, a run-away shop- 
 man, turned stroller, I truly lament. Bert, for what husband 
 was she qualified.? For the wife of a fanner she was too idle, 
 For the wife of a tradesman she was too expensive* For |he 
 ■wire of a gentleman she was top ignorant., You yourself 
 was most to blame. You expected her to act wisely, though 
 you never taught her that fear of Gad which is the beginning 
 of wisdG?n. I owe it to you as a friend, and to myselr as a 
 Christian, to declare, that your practices in the common 
 transactions of life, as well as your present misfortune, are 
 almost the natural consequences of thoce false principles, 
 which I protested against when you were at my house. . 
 
 Mrs* Bragweil attempted several times to interrupt Mr. 
 Worthy, but her husband would not permit it. FJe felt the 
 force of all his friend said, and encouraged him to proceed, 
 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 countenance to this 
 very company of strollers, though you knew they were acting 
 5n defiance cf the laws of the land, to say no worse. . They 
 go from town to town, and from barn to barn, 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 Theodosms i Jo the 
 pernicious ribaldry vou not only carried your own family, but 
 wasted I know not how much money in treating your work- 
 men's wives and children, and these hard times too,whentney 
 have scarcely bread to eat, or a shoe on their feet. Anu ah 
 
TJie T:zo J Veal f h i/ Farmers. 5/ 
 
 this only that you might have the absurd pleasure of seeing 
 those flattering words, Bij Desire of Air. 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 
 but 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 
 gaoler, but I will be her friend. She will find in mv daup-h- 
 
 T»-i • . J Ci , - 
 
 teis kmc! companions, and m my \vi f e a prudent gukie. I 
 know she will dislike us u< first, but I do not despair in 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. 
 
 I Poor Miss Betsy, though she declared it would be fright- 
 \ fid dull, and monstrous rulfrar, and dismal melancholy \ 
 yet was she so terrified at the discontent and grumbling which, 
 she would have to endure at home, that she sullenly con- 
 \ scnted. 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 mo- 
 uther's ill humour, and to carry so much finery with her as 
 to fill the Miss Worthy's with envy and respect. ..Poor girl f 
 IShe did not know that envy was a feeling they iu-**/' indulged; 
 and that fine cloaths was the last thing to draw Their respect. 
 Mr. Worthy took her home next day. When they reached 
 pis 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 signified but 
 little. -This young grazier reverenced Mr. Worthy's cha- 
 racter, and ever since he had met him at the Lion, had been 
 thinking what a happiness it would be to marry a young 
 woman bred up by such a father. He had heard much of 
 the modesty and discretion of both the daughters, but his in- 
 clination now determined him in favour of the elder. 
 
 Mr. W ol thy, who knew him to be a young man of good 
 sense and sound principles, allowed him to become a visitor 
 at his house, but deferred his consent to the marriage till h« 
 l;nc\v him rnoie thoroughly. Mr. Wilson, from .what he 
 
58 The Two Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 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 though she 
 appeared in a new dress almost every day, she had the mor- 
 tification of being beheld with great indifference by one whom 
 she had always secretly liked. Mr. Wilson married before 
 her face a girl who was greatly her inferior in fortune, per- 
 son and appearance, but who was humble, frugal, meek, and 
 pious. Miss Biagwell 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 
 one for life. 
 
 Hitherto Mr. Bragwell and his daughters had only learnt 
 to regret their folly and vanity, as it had produced them mor- 
 tification in tins life ; whether they were ever brought to a 
 more serious^aense of their errors, may be seen in the follow- 
 ing parts. 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 M R. BRAGWELL was so much afflicted at the dis- 
 graceful marnage 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 an hiph 
 opinion of himself, had been confirmed by a constant flow 
 of uninterrupted success ; and that is a sort of cheerfulness 
 w r hich is very liable to be impaired, because it lies at the 
 mercy' of every accident and cross event in lite. But though 
 his pride was now disappointed, his misfortunes had not 
 taught him any humility, because he had not discovered 
 that they were caused by his own fault 5 nor had he acquired 
 any patience or submission, because he had not learnt that 
 all afflictions came from the hand of God to awaken us to a 
 deep sense of our sins, and to draw off our hearts from the 
 perishing vanities of this life. Besides, Mr. Bragwell was 
 one of those people, who, even if they would be thought to 
 bear with tolerable submission such trials as appear to be 
 
The Tuo Wealthy Farmers. 5g 
 
 sent more immediately from Providence, yet think they 
 have a sort of right to rebel at every riiisformne which he- 
 fals 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. This 
 imprudent daughter Bragwell would not be brought to see or 
 forgive, nor was the degrading name of iVlrs. Incle ever 
 allowed to be pronounced in his hearing. He had loved 
 her with an excessive and undue affection 5 and while she 
 gratified his vanity by her beauty and finery, he deemed her 
 faults of little consequence ; but when she disappoined 
 his ambition by a disgraceful marriage, all his natural 
 affection only served to increase his resentment. Yet, 
 though he regretted her crime less than his own mortifica- 
 tion, he never ceased in secret to lament her loss. She soon 
 found out she was undone, and wrote in a strain of bitter re- 
 pentance to ask his 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 
 had married her, would at least allow her some subsistance, 
 for that Mr. Inclc was much in debt, and she feared in 
 danger of a gaol. The father's heart was half melted at 
 tins account, and his affection was for a time awakened. 
 But Mrs. Eragwell opposed his sending her any assistance. 
 She always made it a point of duty never to forgive ; for 
 she said it only encouraged 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 shewed either want of 
 spirit to feel it, or want of power to resent it. She was re- 
 solved she would never squander the money for which she 
 had worked early and late, on a baggage who had thrown 
 herself away on a beggar, while she had a daughter single 
 who might raise her family by a great match. I am sorry 
 to say that Mrs. Bragwell's anger was not owing to the un- 
 dutifumess of the daughter, or the worthlcssness of the 
 iiushand—poverty was in her eyes the grand crime. The 
 doctrine of forgiveness, as a religious principle, made no 
 more a part of Mr. Bragwell's system than of his life's, but 
 
60 T? lc Ttzo Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 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 
 staying in her father's house after bar 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 burthen, and though she was outwardly civil, it was 
 easy to see that she longed to get away. She resolved how* 
 ever, to profit by hei sister's faults ; and made her parents easy 
 by assuring them she never would throw herself away on a 
 man who teas worth nothing. Encouraged by these pro- 
 mises, which were all that her parents thought they could 
 in reason expect, her father allowed 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 that he was grown religious ; whereas 
 he was only become discontented. As he 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 con- 
 stantly to church, and had taken less pleasure in feasting and 
 cards, and now and then read a chapter in the bible ; but all 
 this w r as because his spirits were low, and not because his 
 heai t was changed. The outward actions were more re* 
 gular, but the inward man was the same. The forms of re- 
 ligion were resorted to as a painful duty ; but this only added 
 to his misery, while he was utterly ignorant of its spirit and 
 its power. He still, however, reserved religion as a loath- 
 some medicine, to which he feared he must have recourse 
 at la^t, and of which he every now considered every ab- 
 stinence from pleasure, or every exercise of piety as a s bitter 
 dose. His bealih also was i mpaired, so that his friend found 
 him in a pitiable siate, neither able to receive pleasure from 
 the world, which he so dearly loved, nor from religion, 
 which he so greatly reared. He expected to have been much 
 commended by Worthy for the change in the way of life ; 
 "but Worthy, who saw that the alteration was otilv owin£ 
 
The Two Wealthj Far rncrs. gj 
 
 to the loss of animal spirits, and to the casual ^bsefrsd of 
 temptation, was cautious of flattering him too much.. I 
 thought Mr. Worthy, said he, to have received more 
 comfort from you. I v/as told too, that religion was full of 
 comfort, but I do not much find it. You were told -the 
 truth, replied Worthy ; religion is full of comfort, but yow 
 must first he brought into a state fit to receive it before it can 
 become so ; you must he . brought to a deep and humbling 
 sense of sin. To give you comfort while you are purled up 
 with high thoughts of yourself, would be to .give you a 
 strong cordial in a high fever. Religion keeps hack her cor- 
 dials till the patient is lowered and emptied ; emptied of self, 
 Mr. Bragwell. If vou had a wound it must he examined 
 and cleansed, aye, and probed too, before it would be safe to 
 put on a healing piaistcr. Curing ir to the outward eye, 
 while it was corrupt at bottom, would only bring on a mar-* 
 tification, and vou would be a dead man while you trust \1 
 that the plaister was curing you. You must be, indeed, a 
 Chrisian, before you can be entitled to the comforts of 
 Christianity. — J am a Christian, said Bragweil, many of my 
 fiiends are Christians, but I do not see it has done us much 
 good.— Christianity itself, answered Worthy, cannot make 
 us good unless it is, applied to our hearts. Christi.m privi- 
 leges will not make us Christians unless We m.'ke use of 
 them. On that shelf I see stands your medicine. The 
 doctor ordered you to take it. Have you taken it ? — Ye$,> 
 replied Bragwell. Are you the better for it ? said W 01 thy. 
 | — I think I am, he replied — But, added Worthy, are you the 
 better because the doctor has ordered it merely, or because, 
 you have aluo taken it ? — What a foolish question, cried 
 Bragwell'. . Whv, to be sure the doctor might be the best 
 doctor, and his physic the best physic in the world ; but if 
 it stood for ever on the shelf, I could not expect to be cured 
 by it. My doctor is not a mountebank. He does not pre- 
 tend 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 Worthy, explained undesignedly the reason why re- 
 ligion does so little good in the world. It is not a mounte- 
 bank ; it does not work by a charm ; but offers to cure your 
 worse corruptions by wholesome, though sometimes bitter ? 
 prescriptions. But you will not take them; you will not 
 
6% 7*2 Tko Wealthy Farmers, 
 
 apply to God with the same earnest desire to be healed with 
 which you apply to the doctor; you will not confes you 
 Sim to the one as honestly as you tell vour symptoms to the 
 other, nor read your bible with the same faith "and subm ! 
 sion with winch you take your medicine. In readme it, 
 however, you must take care not to apply to yourself the 
 comforts winch 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 
 the effe ; c ? f ^or\d\y disappointment, is not that eodlv 
 wrrow which worketh repentance. Besides, while vou 
 have been pursuing all the gratifications of the world, do not 
 complain that you have not all the comforts of religion too 
 Could you live m the full enjoyment of both the bible would 
 not be true. 
 
 Bragwell now seemed resolved to set about the matter Jo 
 earnest, but he resolved in his own strength ; and, unluckily, 
 the very day Mr. Worthy took leave, there happened to ll 
 a grand ball at the next town, on account of the assizes. An 
 assize ball is a scene to which gentlemen and ladies periodi- 
 cally resort to celebrate the crimes and calamines of their 
 te low-creatures by dancing and music, and to divert them 
 selves in feasting and drinking, while unhappy wretches 
 are receiving sentence of death. 
 
 To this ball Miss Bragwell went, dressed out with a double 
 portion of finery, pouring out on her own head the whole 
 band-box of feathers and flowers her sister had left behind her 
 While she was at the hall her father formed many plans of 
 religious 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 infirmary ■ 
 though, on second thoughts, he concluded he need not be in 
 a hurry, but leave it in his will; but to 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 tel- 
 ling how she had danced with 'Squire Squeeze the great corn 
 contractor v and how many fine things he had said to her, 
 Mr. Bragwell felt the whole spirit of the world return in its full 
 force. A marriage with Mi . Dashall Squeeze, the contractor,, 
 
The Tzeo Weakly Farmers. r.g 
 
 was beyond his hope, for Mr. Squeeze was supposed from a 
 very low beginning to have got rich during the war. As 
 tor Mr. Squeeze he had picked up as much of the history of 
 his partner between the dances as he desired ■ he was con- 
 vinced 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 he was too much used to advantageous 
 contracts to let this slip. As he was gaudily dressed, and 
 possessed all the art of vulgar flattery, Miss Bragwell eagerly 
 caught at the proposal to wait on her father next day 
 Squeeze was quite a man after Bragwell's own heart, a genius 
 at getting money, a fine dashing fellow at spending k: Hi 
 told his wife that this was the very sort of man for his daugh- 
 ter, 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 enquire. Mrs. Bragwel! was 
 not so run away with by appearances, but she desired ber 
 husband to be careful and quite sure that it was therio-ht Mr 
 Squeeze, and no impostor. But being assured thai Betsy 
 would ceitainiy keep her carriage, she never gave herself one 
 thought with what sort of man she was to ride in it To 
 nave one of her daughters drive in her own coach, filled uo 
 all her ideas of human happiness. The marriage was cele- 
 brated witn great splendor, and Mr. and Mrs. Squeeze set 
 off for London, where they had a house. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell now tried to forget that he had any other 
 
 £l and ' f S ° me tho , l .'g. hts of *e resolutions he l3 ££ 
 or cntc ing on a mare religious course would sometimes force 
 themselves upon lum, they were put off, like the repents* 
 ofFehx to a more convenient season ; and finding hfSS 
 J.kely to have a grandchild, he became more woifd* and 
 
 boi etThoii" cve v ftM^ a just p,etence «85fii 
 
 noase to house, and held to held ; and there is no stratagem 
 
 e cp 7 1 m l ft? deC£ive themse,v " ^an when 
 even unborn children a pretence for that rapine or Jkg 
 Wh„ g , of which their own covetousness is the , e n o e 
 Whenever he ventured to write to Mr. Worthy about ?!- 
 
 mt faithful friend honestly reminded him of the vanity * ,1 
 V rtainty of worldly greatness, and the error he ,3 
 g">by of m marrymg Ins daughter before he had taken H 
 
g4 The Two Wealihy Farmers. 
 
 to enquire into thereal character of the man, saying, that he 
 coulcl not help r oreboding that the happiness of a match made 
 at a ball migh. have an end. Notwithstanding, Mr. Brag- 
 well had paid down a larger fortune than was pruderN. for 
 fear Mr. Squeeze should flv off, yet 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 
 purcha^-: which he must lose for want ot money- Brag well 
 was sugared and refused to comply ; hut his wife told him 
 he mustaoi ve shabby to sue h a gentleman as 'Squire Squeeze, 
 for that she h ndon all sides such accounts of their grandeur, 
 their feasts, their carriages, and their liveries, that she and het 
 husband ought even to deny themselves comforts to oblige 
 such a generous son, who did all this in honour of their 
 daughter ; besides, i£ he did not send the money soon, they 
 miorht be obliged to lay down their coach, and then she should 
 never be able to shew \ er fape again. At length Mr. Brag-- 
 well lent him the money on his bond : he knew Squeeze's 
 income was large, for he had carefully enquired into this par* 
 ticular, and for the rest lie took his word. Mrs. Squeeze also 
 got great presents from her mother, by representing to her 
 how expensively they were forced to live to keep up then 
 credit, and what honour she was conferring on the tamily of 
 the Bragvv ells by spending their money in such grand company. 
 Among many other letters she wrote her the following 
 
 " To Mk.s. Bragwell. 
 << You can't imagine, dear mother," how charmingly we 
 live— I lie a-bed almost ail dav, and am up all night; but it 
 is never -dark for all that, for we burn such numbers of can- 
 dles all a t 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 snould not 
 know which was which, only that we have more pleasure on 
 a Sunday because it is the only day in which people have 
 
 So do but divert themselves Then the great folks 
 aie 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 
 iust as If I were their equals ; and if I have got nut a cod, 
 
 h y ar so very unhappy that they send to know how I do 
 and though I suppose they can t rest till the footman ha* 
 
The Tii-o Wealthy Farmers. 65 
 
 told them, vet they arc so polite, that if I have been dying 
 they seem to have forgot it next time we meet, and not to 
 know but they have seen me the day before. Oh ! they argj 
 true frittids ; and for ever smiling, end so fond of one 
 another, that they like to meet and enjoy one another's com- 
 pany by hundreds, and always think the more the merrier. 
 
 " Your dutiful daughter, 
 
 * c Betsy Squeeze. " 
 
 The style of her letters, however, altered in a few months. 
 She owned that things went on gayer and grander than ever, 
 vet she hardly ever saw her husband, except her house was 
 "ull of company, and cards, or dancing was going on; that 
 e was often sxbusv he could not come home ail night ; that 
 -ie kH ays borrowed the money her mother sent her when he 
 vas going out on this nightly business j and thac the last time 
 he had asked Mm for money, her cursed, and swore, and bid 
 ler apply to the old fanner and his rib, who were ma4e of 
 noney.Thisletter Mrs.Bragwell concealed frorh her husband. 
 
 At length, on some change of public affairs, Mr. Squeeze, 
 tyho had made an overcharge of somethousand pounds in one 
 article, lost his contract ; he was found to owe a large debt 
 to government, and his accounts must be made up immediately. 
 SThis was impossible; he had not only spent Ids la.je income 
 Without making any provision for his family, hut had con- 
 tracted heavy debts by gaming and other vices. His creditors 
 poured in upon him. He wrote to Uragwell to borrow 
 another sum ; but without hinting at the loss of his contract. 
 These repeateddemands 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 misgave him. He got to Mr. 
 Squeeze's house about eleven at night, and knocked gentjy, 
 concluding that they must needs 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. 1 his affronted h : m : he 
 refused, saying, I am not ashamed of my name, it will pass 
 for thousands in any market in the West of England. Ts this 
 your London manners, not to let a man of my credit in with- 
 out knowing bis name indeed! What was' his amazement* 
 
 E 
 
66 
 
 The Two Wealthy Fanners. 
 
 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 reproached himself for his 
 suspicions, thought nothing too good for them, and resolved 
 secretly to give Squeeze another five hundred pounds to help 
 to keep up so much grandeur 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 were 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 that, he was not 
 well. Mr. Bragvvell said he would go up himself, and look 
 for his daughter, as he could not speak so freely to her before 
 all that company. He went up and knocked at the chamber 
 door, and its not being opened, made him push it with som* 
 violence. He heard a bustling noise within, and again made 
 a fruitless attempt to open the door. At this the noise in* 
 creased, and Mr. Bragwell was struck to the heart at ths 
 sound of a pistol 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 fit, and Mr. Squeeze 
 dying by a sht>t 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 company, 
 all heard it and all ran up to this 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 fevv| 
 who could be trusted, to watch the stakes, while those who 
 had a prospect of losing, profited by the confusion and thre\rl 
 up their cards. All was dismay and terror. Some ran for* J 
 surgeon, others examined the dying man,whilesome removed j 
 Mrs. Squeeze to her bed, while poor Bragwell could neitherl 
 see, nor hear, nor do any thing. One of the company took! 
 up a letter which lay open on the tabie, addressed to him.- 
 they read it, hoping it might explain the horrid mystery. K 
 was as follows : 
 
 "To Mr. Bragwell. 
 
 " Sir, > i . I 
 
 M £ etch home your daughter, I have ruined her, myself 
 gn,d the child, to which she e very hour expects to be a mother! 
 
The Tn'o WwWiy Fat 
 
 I have lost my contract. My debts are immense. You refuse 
 me money: I must die then j but I will die like ft&n ot 
 spuity They wait to take me to prison ; I have two execu- 
 tions in my house ; but I have ten card-tables in it. I would 
 die as L have lived. I invited all tins company, and have 
 drank hard since dinner to get primed for the dreadful deed. 
 My wife refuses to write to you for another thousand, and 
 .she must take the consequences. Vanity has been my ruin. 
 It has caused all my crimes. Whoever i's resolved to live be- 
 yond his income is liable to every sin. He can never say to 
 himself, thus far shalt thou go and no farther. Vanity led 
 rne to commit acts of rapine, that I might live in splendor : 
 vanity makes me commit self-murder because I will not live 
 in poverty. The new philosophy savs, that death is an eter- 
 nal sleep ; but the new philosophy lies. Do you take heed • 
 it is too late for me. The dreadful gulph yawns to swallow 
 me— I plunge into perdition. There is no repentance in the 
 grave, no hope in hell. Your's, 
 
 ~ T ii,, "Dashall Squeeze. " 
 
 1 he dead body was removed, and Mr. Bragwell remaining 
 almostwuhoutspeech, ormotion, thecompany began tothink 
 ot retiring, much out of humour at having thcirpartyso dis- 
 agreeably broken up ; they comforted themselves, however 
 tnat as it were so early, for it was now scarcely twelve, they' 
 could finish their evening at another party or two ; so com! 
 pletely do habits of pleasure, as it is called, harden the heart 
 *nu steel it not only against virtuous impressions, hutWnst 
 natural feelings. Now it was, that those who had n^klv 
 rioted at theexpence of those wretched people were the fir/r 
 to abuse them. Not an offer of assistance was made to 
 this poor i foriorn woman ; not a word of kindness, or 'of 
 pity, notmng but censure was now heard. Whvmust tW 
 upstarts ape people of quality ? though as Jong as these upslars 
 could - cast them, their vulgarity and their bad clmract^ had 
 never been produced against them, » As long as thou do t 
 well unto thyself, men shall Sj ,eak good of \hcJ> n 
 guest who, unluckily had no other house to go to, 
 said, as he wa ked off-Squeeze might as well have p ° J 
 shooting himself till the morning. It w is -mimr. 
 roking that he could not wait afeu! Z two US ^ 
 
 E 2 
 
68 
 
 The Two Wealthy Farmers, 
 
 As every thing in the house was seized, Mi. Bragwell 
 prevailed on his miserable daughter, weak as she was, next 
 morning, to set out with him for 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 a 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 r?VA,carried 
 to the land where all things are forgotten. Mrs. Bragwell's 
 grief, like her other passions, was extravagant ; and poor 
 Brag well's sorrow was rendered so bitter by self-reproach, 
 that he would quite have sunk under it, had he not thought 
 of his old expedient in distress, that of sending for Mr. Wor- 
 thy to comfort him. It was Mr. Worthy's way, to warp 
 people of those misfortunes which he saw their faults must 
 needs bring on them, but not to reproach, or desert them 
 when the misfortunes came. He had never been near Brag - 
 well during the short, but flourishing, reign of the Squeeze's ; 
 for he knew th at prosperity made the ears deaf, and the heart 
 hard to good counsel ; but as soon as he heard his friend was 
 in trouble he set out to go to him. Bragwell buist 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. W orth) 
 kindly took him by the hand, and when he was a little con^ 
 posed, said, I will tell you a short story. There was in an- 
 cient times a famous man who was a slave. His master, who 
 was very good to him, one day gave him a bitter melon, and 
 bade him eat it ; he eat 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? The slave ieplied, My 
 good master, I have receive! so many favours from your 
 bounty, that it is no wonder if I should once in my life eat one 
 bitter melon from your hands. This generous answer so 
 struck the master, that the history says, he gave him his 'li- 
 berty. With such submissive sentiments, my friend, should 
 man receive his portion of sufferings from God, from whom 
 he receives so many blessings. You in particular have re- 
 ceived much good at the hand of God, shall you not receive 
 
 evil also ? 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. 69 
 
 Mr, Worthy, said Bragwcll, this blow is too heavy for 
 me, I cannot survive this shock . I do not desire it. I only 
 desire to die. — We are very apt to talk most or dying when 
 we are least fit for it, said Worthy. This is not the language 
 of that submission which makes us prepare for death, but of 
 that despair which makes us out of humour with life. O, 
 Mr, Bragwell, you are indeed disappointed of the grand ends 
 which made life so delightful to you ; but rill your heart is 
 humbled, till you are brought to a serious conviction of sin, 
 till you are brought to see what is the true end of life, you 
 can have no hope in death. You think you have no businesa 
 on earth because those for whose sake you too eagerly heaped 
 up riches aic no more. But is there not under the canopy of 
 heaven some afflicted being whom you may yet relieve, some 
 modest merit which you may bring forward, some helpless 
 creature you may save by your advice, some perishing chris- 
 tian 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 service, 
 the committing his late gay and beautiful daughter to dark- 
 ness, 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 dust, had brought down Mr. 
 BragwelPs 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 beginning to 
 seize the favourable moment for fixing these serious impres- 
 sions, when they were unseasonably interrupted by the parish 
 officer, who came to ask Mr. Bragwell what he was to do 
 with a poor dying woman who was travelling the country 
 with her child, and was . 'ken in a fit under the church-yarci 
 wall ? At first they thought she was dead, said the man, but 
 finding she still breathed, they have cai ried her into the work- 
 house till she- could give some account of herself Mr. 
 Bragwell was impatient at the intciuption, which was indeed 
 
 E 3 
 
The Tzco Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 unseasonable, and told the man he was at that time too much 
 overcome by sorrow to attend to business, but he would give 
 him an answer to-morrow. But my friend, said Mr. Wor- 
 thy, the poor woman may die to night ; your mind is indeed 
 not in a frame for worldly business, but there is no sorrow 
 too great to forbid our attending the calls of duty. An act 
 of -christian charity will not distuib but improve the serious- 
 ness of your spirit, and though you cannot 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 Ins friend 
 drew him to the workhouse, 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 they all, white they all, 
 according to custom, pushed so close upon her that it was 
 impossible she should get any. A fine boy or 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 bv the arm: in order to give her air he untied a 
 large black bonnet which hid her face, when Mr. Brngwell, 
 at that moment casting his eyes on her, saw in this poor 
 stranzer the face of his own run-away daughter Mrs. Incle. 
 He groaned, but could not spe ^.k, and as he Was turning away 
 to conceal his anguish, the little boy fondly caught hold ot 
 his hand, lisping out— O stay, and give mammy some > bread. 
 His heart yearned towards the child, he grasped his little ham. 
 in his, while he sorrowfully said to Mr, Worthy, It is too 
 , much, send away the people. It is my dear naughty child, 
 mu Vanishment is greater than I can hear. Mr. Worthy 
 desired the people to go and leave the stranger to them ; but 
 by tin's time she was no stranger to any of them, ra.e ana 
 meao-re as was her face, and poor and shabby as was her dress, 
 thepmudand 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, forali 
 the airs and insolence they had once endured from her. Fnde 
 must have a fall, said one. I remember when she was too 
 good to speak to a poor body, said another ; where are ne 
 flounces and *er furbelows now ? It has come home to -be 
 jSasi . Her child looks as if he would be glad of the Worst 
 bit she formerly denied us. * 
 
The T-ao Wealthy Farmers. 7? 
 
 In the mean time Mr. Bragwell had sunk in an old wicker 
 chair which stood behind, ami groaned our. Lord forgive my 
 Hard heart ! Lord subdue my proud heart, 4 * create a clean heart, 
 O God, and renew aright spirit within me." This was perhaps 
 the first word of genuine prayer he had ever offered up in his 
 whole life. Worthy overheard it, and 1 ' ac rejoiced, but thS 
 was not a time for talking bur doing. Me asked Bragwell 
 what was to be done with the unfoj tunate woman, who now 
 Seemed to recover fast, but she did nor see them, for they 
 were behind. She embraced her boy, and- faintly said, My 
 chtfd what shall I dor / with arise and go to ray father, 
 and say unto him, father, 1 hare sinned ago insi heaven and 
 before thee. This was a joyful sound to Mr. Worthy, who 
 began to hope that her heart might be as much changed for 
 the better as her circumstances were alte red 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, i>o be good to 
 mammy. Mrs. Inclc looking round, now perceived b^r 
 father; she fell at his feet, saying, O forgive your guilty 
 child, and save your innocent one from starving." Bragwell 
 sunk down by her, and prayed God to forgive both her and ' 
 himself in terms of genuine 'sorrow. To hear words of real 
 penitence and heart-felt prayer from this once high-minded 
 father and vain daughter, was music to Worthy's ears, who" 
 thought this moment of outward misery was the only joyful 
 one he had spent in the Bragwell family. He was resolved 
 not to interfere, but to let the father's own feelings work out 
 the way m 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. 
 Bragwell s heart was not changed, but sorrow had weakened 
 her powers of resistance, and she rather suffered her daughtt* 
 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 h tie re 
 
 £ 4 
 
72 The Tzeo Wealthy Farmers, 
 
 covered, Mr. Bragwell desired his daughter to tell him how 
 she happened to be at that place just at that time. 
 
 I, a weak voice she began: My tale, Sir, is shprt, but 
 mournful. — 
 
 PART VII. 
 
 1 LEFT your house, my 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 had put on that disguise to obtain 
 mv hand. Judge then what I felt to had that lie was a 
 needy impostor, who wanted my money but did not care for 
 mc This discovery, though it mortified, did not humble 
 ine I had neither affection to bear with the man who had 
 deceived me, nor religion to improve by the disappointment. 
 I have found that change of circumstances does not change 
 the bean till God is pleased to do it. My misfortunes only 
 taught me more to rebel against him. I thought God unjus: 
 I accused my father, I was envious of my sister, 1 hated 
 my husband ; but never once did I blame myself. My hus- 
 band picked up a wretched subsistence by joining himself to 
 any low scheme of idle pleasure that was going on He 
 would follow a mountebank, carry a dice-box or fiddle a i 
 fair. He was always taunting me for that gentility on which 
 I so much valued myself. If I had married a poor working 
 tirl, said he, she could now have got her bread ; but a fine 
 fkdy -vithout money, is a burthen to her husbana and 
 plague to society. Every trial which affection might have 
 2ehVhter,We doubled by animosity; at length _my bus- 1 
 Kd was dc'tected in using false dice; he fought with Ins 
 accuser, both were seized by a press-gang, and sent to , 
 lZ new left to the wide work!, and miserable as I 
 
 : c myself before, I soon found that there were h.ghe 
 A ree of mi.erv. I was near my time, without bread fo 
 d % T 3 my child. I set out on foot in search of 
 SH Ua?e Xe°i r hXard my husband say hisfriends live 
 It was a severe trial to my proud heart to stoop to those low 
 
The Tzvo Wealthy 'Farmers. 73 
 
 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 labour ; yet 
 j was welcome to share their hard fate, for they trusted that 
 God Who sent mouths would send meat also. They gave me 
 a small room in their cottage, 'and m;..ny necessaries, which 
 thev denied themselves. 
 
 O, my child, interi uptcd Brag well, 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 [ own, continued Mrs. Incle, that all this, good- 
 ness could no.t soft'eri my heart!, tot God had not yet touched 
 in I received all their kindness ti& a favour done to them. 
 When mv father broucnt me home anv little dainrv which 
 he could dick up, and my mother kindly dressed it Fpr 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 behaviour was 
 not likely to gain their affection, it was plain rhey did not love 
 me; and as I had no notion that there wercany other motives 
 to good actions but fondness, or self-interest, I was puzzled 
 to know what made 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 1 s 
 Rise and J^rogress of Beligion in the Soul. But all those 
 books were addressed to sinners ; now as I knew I was not 
 a sinner, I threw them away in disgust. Indeed they were 
 ill suited to a taste formed by novels, to which reading I chiefly 
 trace my ruin, for, vain as f was, I should never have been 
 guilty of so wild a step as to run away, had not my hear:, 
 been tainted, and my imagination inflamed, by those pernio 
 cio us books. 
 
 At length my little George was born. This added to the 
 burthen I hud brought on this poor family, but it did not di- 
 mmish their kindness, and we continued to share their scanty 
 Fate without any upbraiding on [heir part, or any gratitude 
 on mine. Even this poor baby did not soften my heart j I 
 wept over him indeed day and'night, but they \Vere tears of 
 despair ; I was always idle, and wasted those hours in sinful 
 niuunurs at his fate, which I should have employed in trying 
 
74 The 7\vo Wealthy Far men. 
 
 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 mi- 
 series, to which 1 fear was added, a sullen joy to think that 
 you, Sir, and my mother, would he plagued to hear of my 
 death when it wouU 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 thus perish in my sins. My poor 
 motheivin-law sent for a good clergyman, who pointed out 
 to me the danger of dying in that hard and unconveited state 
 so forcibly, that L shuddeied to find cm what a dreadful pre- 
 cipice I stood. He prayed with me, and forme, so earnestly, 
 that at length God, who is sometimes pleasevi to magnify 
 his own gl*ry 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. 1 saw myself a sinner, and 
 prayed to be delivered from the wrath of God, in com- 
 panion of which the poverty and disgrace I now suffered 
 appealed as nothing. To a soul convinced 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 learnt to condemn myself, to adore that God. who had 
 x not cut me off in my ignorance, to pray for pardon for the 
 past, and grace for the lime to come. I now desired to submit 
 to penurv and hunger in this world, so that I might but live 
 in the fear of God here, and enjoy his favour in the world to 
 come. I now learnt to compare my present light sufferings, 
 the consequence of my own sin, with those bitter sufferings 
 of my Saviour which he endured for my sake, and I was 
 ashamed of murmuring. But self-ignorance, conceit, and 
 vanity, were so rooted in me, that my 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 it 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 learnt how 
 to pour out the fulness of my hearr, while in the gospel I re- 
 joiced to see what great things God had done for my soul.^ 
 I now took down once more from the shelf Doddridge's 
 Rise and Progress, and, Oh ! with what new eyes did I read 
 it ! I now saw clearly, that not only the thief, ; and m* 
 
The Tzco Wealthy Farmers, 7^ 
 
 Irunkard, the murderer, and the adulterer, are sinners, for 
 Ihat I knew before ; but 1 found that the unbeliever, the 
 lelhsh, the proud, the worldly- minded, all, in short, who live 
 Without God in the world, are sinners. I did not now apply 
 'the reproofs I met with, to my husband, or my father, v£ 
 jother people as 1 used to do, but brought them home to my- 
 self. In this book I traced, with strong emotions, and close 
 selr-application, the sinner through all his course ; his first 
 awakening, his convictions, repentance, joy, sorrows, back- 
 sliding, and recovery, despondency, and delight, to a trium- 
 phant death-bed ; and God was pleased to make it a chief in- 
 strument in bringing me to himself. Here it is, continued 
 Mrs. Incle untying her little bundle, and taking out a book, 
 accept it my dear 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 regretted the- 
 evenings 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 aix] 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, we honored 
 our son more than God, and God has smitten us for it. We 
 shewed him 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 those outward things. He soon 
 got above our management, and became vain, idle, and ex- 
 travagant, 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 becomeitsown punishment. Timothy 
 grew worse and worse ; till he was forced to abscond for a 
 misdemeanor ; after which we never saw him, but have heard 
 of him changing from one idle way of life to another, unstable 
 
g The Tn'O Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 as -water : . he lias been a footman, a soldier, a shopman, and j 
 a strolling actor. With deep sorrow we trace back his vices to I 
 ourungovernccl fondness ; that lively and sharp wit, by which 1 
 he has been able to carry on such a variety of wild schemes, I 
 might,, if we had used hirn to reproof in hp youth, have en- 1 
 abledhim to have done great service for God and his country. I 
 But our fhuterv made him wise in his own conceit, and there I 
 is more hope of a fool than of him. We indulged our own I 
 vanity, and have destroyed his soul. 
 
 Here Mr. Worthy stopped Mrs. Incle, saying, that when- 1 
 over he heard it lamented that the children of pious parents! 
 often turned out so ill, he could not help thinking that there \ 
 must be Frequently something of this sort of error in the I 
 bringing them up: he knew, indeed, some instances to the! 
 contrary, in which the best means had failed ; but he believed, j 
 that from Eli the priest, to Incle the labourer, more than half I 
 the failures of this sort might be traced to some mistake, or J 
 vanity, or bad judgment, or sinful indulgence in the parents. 
 
 I now looked about, continued Mrs. Incle, in order to see 
 in what way 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 trv to wash. — You wash' 
 exclaimed Bragwell, starting up with great emotion, Heaven 
 forbid that with such a fortune and education, Miss Bragwell I 
 should be seen at a wasl ing-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 I 
 and, as to her education, you see it had not taught her to d)| 
 any thing better. I am sorry you did not see, in this instance, | 
 the beauty of Christian humility. For my own part, I setaj 
 greater value on such an active proof of it, than on a whole! 
 volume of professions. Mr. Bragwell did not quite understand ■> 
 this, and Mrs. Incle went on. What to do to get a penny 1 1 
 knew not. Making of fill agree, or fringe, or card-purses, or 
 cutting 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 clergyman coulil| 
 have got me a nursery-maid's place, if I could" have dontf 
 plain- work. I made some aukward attempts to learn to spbj 
 
 or ■ 
 
The Tico Wealthy Farmers. > 77 
 
 Uiul knit, when my mother's wheel or knitting lay by, but I 
 {spoilt both through my ignorance. At lastl luckily thought 
 Lpon the fine netting I used to make for my trimmings, and 
 Hi struck me that I might turn this to seme Utile account. I 
 ^procured some twine, and worked early and late to make pels 
 tor fishermen, and cabbage nets. I was so pleased that I had 
 m last found an opportunity to shew my good-will by this 
 
 mean work, that I regretted my little George was not big 
 ' €n ough to contribute his share to our support by travelling 
 
 about to sell my nets. 
 
 I Cabbage nets ! exclaimed Bragwell ; there is no bearing 
 this.— Cabbage-nets ! My grandson hawk cabbage-nets i 
 : How could you think of such a scandalous tiling | — Sir, saki 
 Mrs. Incle mildly, I am now convinced that nothing is scan- 
 lialous which is not wicked. Besides, we were in want ; an i 
 .necessity as well as piety, would have reconciled me to tnh 
 mean trade. Mr. Bragwell groaned, and 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 ma- 
 ternal 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 likelv 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 ana* selfish- 
 iiess in him, I should make him a happier man than if I hai 
 thousands to bestow on him ; and I trusted, that T should be 
 rewarded for every painful act of present self-denial, by the 
 future virtue and happiness of my child. Can you believ e it, 
 .my dear father, my days now passed not unhappily ? 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 the bible to my parents, whose eyes now 
 began to fail them. We then thanked God over our frugal 
 supper of potatoes, and talked over the holy men of old, the 
 taints, 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 husbaad were 
 
7S 3% T:co Wealth)/ Farmers. 
 
 never forgotten, ami went to rest in charity with the whol* 
 world, and at peace in our own souls. 
 
 Oh ! my forgiving child ! interrupted Mr. Brag well, sob- 
 bing, and didst thou really pray for thy unnatural father, and 
 lie^own 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-lawhad worked beyond his strength, 
 in order to support me and my child, I know not, but he wa's 
 taken dangerously ill. While he lay in this state, we 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 preparing 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 en- 
 abled to glorify Go \ by my activity and my submission, 
 Though the sorrows of my heart were enlarged, I cast my 
 burthen 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, without a murmur; my greatest grief was, lest I should 
 bring away the infection to my dear boy. 1 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 duty. So I offered up my child to him who is the 
 father of the fatherless, and he spared him to me. 
 
 The chearful piety with which these good people breathed 
 their last, proved to me, that the temper of mind with winch 
 the pious poor commonly meetdcath, is the grand compen- 
 sation made them by Providence for all the hardships of then 
 inferior condition. If they have had few joys and covhfbrts 
 in life already, and have still fewer hopes in store, is not a!! 
 fully made up to them by their being enabled to leave this 
 world with stronger desires of heaven, and without thas* 
 'bitter regrets after the good things of this life, which add to 
 the dying tortures of the worldly rich ? To the forlorn arf 
 
t The Two IVealihy Farmers, j$ 
 
 I destitute death is not terrible, as it is to him who sits at east 
 I in his possessions, and who fears that night his soul shall \ 
 required of him. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell felt this remark more deeply than his daiigfe 
 ter meruit he should. He. wept and bade her proceed. 
 
 I folio wed my departed parents to the same grave, and wept 
 r over them, but not as one who had no' hope. They had nei- 
 ther houses nor lands to leave me, but they 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 ejects, consisting of some po ). 
 I household goods, and some working tools, hardly sufficed 
 to pay their funeral expences. 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 cluing- 
 | e d. I now saw eternity in a more awful light than I had 
 t. 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 humbled on account of m\ 
 I * in > yet, through the grace of God, T saw death stripped of 
 I n is sting, and robbed of his terrors, through him rcho laved 
 I *me, and had given himself for vu ; and in the extremity of 
 j pain, my soul rejoiced in God my Savior. 
 
 I recovered, however, and was chiefly supported by the 
 \ Tdnd clergyman's -charity. When I felt myself nourished 
 •\ and cheered by a little tea or broth, which he daily ;-nt ir,- 
 ••fiom his own slenj.er provision, my heart smote me, to 
 '-think how I had daily sat down at home to a plentiful dinner, 
 . without any' sense of thankfulness for my own abundance* 
 ror without enquiring whether 'my poor sick neighbours weic 
 ^starving r and 1 sorrowfully remembered, that what mv poor 
 f sisterand I used to waste through daintiness, would now have 
 ^comfortably fed mvseif and child. Believe me, my dear 
 jnother, a-laliouring man, who has* been brought low by a 
 feVer, might often he restored to his work someweeks sooner, 
 tftfon his recovery he was nourished and strengthened bv a 
 'good bit from a farmer's table, Less than is often thrown to' 
 ja ravounte spaniel would suiTice, 'so that the expence would 
 ,be ahnost nothing to the giver, while to the receiver it wouk* 
 < #nng. health, afitf strength, and comfort. .. m 
 
gQ The 1 ico Wealthy Farmers* 
 
 By the time I was tolerably recovered, I was forced to 
 leave the house. I had no human prospect of subsistence, 
 I humblv asked of God to direct my steps, and to give rnc 
 entire obedience to his will. Tthcn cast rny eyes mournfully 
 on mv child,, and tljougb pvayer had relieved my heart of a 
 load which without it would have been intolerable ; my teat- 
 flowed fast, while 1 cried out in the bitterness of my soul, 
 How many hired servants of my father have bread enougli, 
 and to spare, and I parish with hanger. The text appeared 
 a kind of answer to my prayer, and gave me courage to make 
 one more attempt to soften you in my favour. I resolved to 
 set out directly to find, you, 10 confess my disobedience," and 
 to beg a scanty pittance, with which I and my child might 
 be meanly supported in some distant country, where we 
 should not disgrace our more happy relations. We set out 
 and travelled as fast as my weak health and poor Gcorgt 
 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 sul sisted on the road. — I hope, interrupted Brag- 
 well, there were no cabbage-nets in it ? — At least, said her 
 mother, I hope you did not sell them near home. — No; I 
 had none left, said Mrs. Incle, or I should have done it. I 
 got many a lift in a waggon for my child and my bundle, 
 which was a great relief to me. And here I cannot help 
 saying, I wish drivers would not be too hard in their demands, 
 if they help a poor sick traveller on a mile or two ; it fcroy.es 
 a great relief to their bodies and naked feet ; and such little 
 cheap charities may be considered as the cup of eold water, 
 which, if given on right grounds, shall not lose its reward, 
 Here Bragwell sighed, to think that when mounted on his 
 fine bay mare, or driving his neat chaise, it had never once 
 crossed his mind that the poor way-worn foot traveller was 
 not equally at his ease, or that shoes were a necessary ae« 
 commodation. Those who want nothing are apt to forget 
 how many there are who Wantevery tiling.— Mrs. Incle went 
 on : I got to this village about seven this evening, and while 
 I sat. on the church-vard wall to rest and meditate howl 
 should make myself known at home, I saw a funeral ; I en- 
 quired whose it was, and learnt it w r as my sister's. This was 
 to© much for me. I sunk down in a fit, and knew noting 
 
The Two Wealthy Farmers. 81 
 
 6hat happened to me from that moment, till I found myself 
 In the workhouse with my father and Mr. Worthy. 
 
 Here Mrs. Incle stopped. Grief, shame, pride, and remorse, 
 liacl quite overcome Mr, Bragwell. He wept like a child ; 
 4nd 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 
 llegin to feel an expression in the sacrament which I used to 
 repeat without thinking it had any meaning, the remembrance 
 %f my sins is grievous, the burthen of them is intolerable. 
 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 pro- 
 sperity, 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 vie it has been the fiuitful 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 daugh* 
 ters were undone by vanity, though it only wore the more 
 harmless shape of dress, idleness, and dissipation. The hus- 
 hand of my daughter Incle it destroyed, by leading him to 
 live above his station, and to despise labour. Vanity ensnared 
 the souls even of his pious parents ; for while it led them to 
 wish to see their son in a better-condition, it led them to allow 
 him 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 imagination be brought 
 into obedience to the Son of God. If you set a value on finery, 
 look into that grave ; behold the mouldering body of my Betsy, 
 who now says to Corruption, thou art my father, and 'to 
 the xeorm, thou art my mother and sister. Look at the 
 bloody and brainless head of her husband. O ! Mr. Worthy, 
 how does Providence mock at human foresight ! I have been 
 greedy of gain, that the son of Mr. Squeeze mighc be a great 
 *nan; he is dead; while the child of Timothy Incle, whom 
 I had doomed to beggary, will be my heir. Mr. Worthy, to 
 you I commit this boy's education. Teach him to value his 
 immortal soul more, and the good things of this life less, than 
 
88& The Tzco Wealthy Farmers. 
 
 I have done. Bring him tip in the fear of God and in the 
 government of his passions. Teach him that unbelief and] 
 pride are the root of all sin. I have found this to my 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 thesel 
 things God imuld bring vie to judgment. I am not sure that| 
 I believed in a judgment. 
 
 Bragwell at length grew better, but he never recovered hisl 
 spirits. The conduct ofMi;s. 1-ncle 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] 
 saving, it did not become one who professed penitence to 
 return to the gaieties of life. Mr. Brag-well did not oppose 
 tins ; not that he had fully acquired a just notion of the self.] 
 denying spirit of religion, but having a head not very clear! 
 at making distinctions, he was never able, after the sight oil 
 Squeeze's mangled body, to think of gaiety and grandeur;' 
 without thinking at the same time, of a pistol and blood] 
 brains ; for, as his first introduction into gay life had pre- 
 sen e l him with all these objects at one view, he never after] 
 wards could separate them in his mind, He even kept his 
 fine beaufet of plate always shut, because it brought to liij 
 mind the grand unpaid-for sideboard that he had seen laid on 
 for, Mr. Squeeze's supper, to the remembrance of which M 
 could not help tacking debts, prisons, executions, and selfj 
 jRiujder. 
 
 Mr. Bragwell's heart had been so buried in the love of th 
 world, and evil habits were become so rooted in him, tin' 
 the progress he made in religion was very slow; yet M 
 earnestly prayed and struggled against vanity : and whenM 
 unfeeling wife declared she could not love the boy, unless fj 
 was called bv their name instead of Incle, Mr. Bragw 
 would never consent, saying, he stood in need ot cvefj 
 help against pride. He also got the letter which Squeez 
 
 rote just before he shot himself framed and glazed; this 
 hung up in his chamber, and made it a rule to go and re 
 it as often as he found his heart disposed to vanity. 
 
 F1NI S. 
 
THE FOLLOWING 
 
 TRACTS 
 
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 HOWARD and EVANS. 
 
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 Prayers to be used by a Young Person, by a Grown Per» 
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 The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain. 
 Black Giles the Poacher, in Two Parts. 
 
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 Watts's H3^mns for Children, complete, with Prayeri* 
 The History of Mary Wood. 
 
 Mr. Fantom. 
 
 The Labourers in the Vineyard, 
 The Valley of Tears, in Two Parts. 
 The Judgment Day. 
 
 Hints to all Ranks on the Scarcity of 1795. 
 
 Price One Penny. 
 
 The Good Mother's Legacy; 
 
 The Two Soldiers. 
 The Thunderstorm, 
 'Tis all for the Best. 
 The Cottage Cook. 
 The Sunday School. 
 Hester Wilmot, Part I. II. 
 
 The Beggarly Boy. 
 Noah's Flood. 
 The Troubles of Life* 
 The Harvest Home. 
 Sorrowful Sam. 
 
 The Sacrament of the Lord's j Tawney Rachel. 
 
 Charles Jones, the Footman. 
 General Resurrection and Day 
 of Judgment. 
 
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 A new Christmas Tract. 
 Good Friday Tract. 
 Parley the Porter. 
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 The Black Prince. 
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 Betty Brown. 
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 Onesimus 
 Patient Joe, Wild Robert, 
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