UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPA1QN BOOKSTACKS The person charging this material is re¬ sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN m2 i IAU6Q8 l< * ^ JUL 1 61983 83 3 2006 M 2; * 199$ DEC 0 4 199? 2000 JUN li NOV 0 2003 5 2003 L161—0-1096 CHEAP REPOSITORY TRACTS; ENTERTAINING, MORAL, and RELIGIOUS. A NEW EDITION. LONDON: S’HINTED BY BYE AND 1AW, ST. JOHN’s-SCJU ARE, CLERKENWELLJ AND SOLD BY F. AND C. RIVINGTON, NO. 62, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARDJ J. EVANS, NO. 41 , LONG LANE, WEST-SMITHF1ELD j J. HATCBARD, NO. 190 , PICCADILLY J AND S. HAZARD, BATH. tr [(EntmU at fetationec^lfalU] 1803. These Tracis were firft publiihed and fold ^In monthly numbers, under the patronage of a jlarge and very refpedable body of fubfcribers, i a nd they are now colle&ed into volumes. The ^p ume contains the longer Tales, and >fome Poetry, and is well fuited to the ufe of ^Boarding Schools, as well as private families I . There is another volume containing the- ihorter Stories and Ballads. I j theie is alfo a volume of Sunday Read** ings. Any of thefe volumes may be had feperatdy IV ADVERTISEMENT. The fale of the Cheap Repoiitory Tracis has been exceedingly great, near two millions (bear¬ ing the price of about a halfpenny and a penny each) having been fold within the firft year, be- fides great numbers in Ireland. The luccefs of the plan has been much extended, both by the zeal of individuals, and alfo by the adtive co¬ operation of feme very refpedlable Societies, which have been formed in various towns for this purpofe. Many perfons have exerted their influence, not only by circulating the Tradts in their own families, in fchools, and among their dependants, but alfo by encouraging bookfellers to fupply themfelves with them; by mfpeding retailers and hawkers, giving them a few in the firft inftance, and direding them in the pur- chafe ; alfo by recommending the Tradts to the occupier of a flail at a fair, and by fending them, -to hofpitals, workhoufes, and prifons. The Tradts have alfo been liberally diftributed among Soldiers and Sailors, through the influence of V * their commanders. ADVERTISEMENT. V The great objed had in view in publifhing them, has been to fupplant the multitude of vicious Trads circulated by hawkers, and to fup- ply, inftead of them, fome ufeful reading, which may be likely to prove entertaining alfo. . The profits which may arife from the fale of any of thefe volumes will be applied to the pur- pofe of forwarding the more extenfive circula¬ tion of the individual Trads, which are fold by Mr. Evans, No. 41 and 42, Long-lane, Weft- Smithfield * and alfo by Mr. Hatchard, No* 190, Piccadilly, London. 1 r r i- HE Shepherd of Salilbury Plain The Two Shoemakers. - - 35 The Two Wealthy Farmers; or, the Hiflory of Mr. Bragwell - _ « 123 The Hiftory of Tom White, the Pofb'lion - 247 The Cottage Cook ; or Mrs. Jones’s Cheap Difhes : file wing the Way to do much Good with little Money - - - 288 The Sunday School - 305 The Hiflory of Hefter Wilmot; or, the Second Part of the Sunday School - - » 322 «r The Beggarly Boy. A Parable - - 352 The Pilgrims. An Allegory - - 366 The Servant Man turned Soldier; or the Fair Wea¬ ther Chriflian. A Parable - - 332 The Sorrows of Yamba; or, the Negro Woman’s Lamentation - - - - 396 The Shopkeeper turned Sailor; or, the Folly of going out of our Element « - 403 Vlll CONTENTS. Page The True Heroes; or, the Noble Army of Martyrs - - 423 A New Chriflmas Hymn - - 426 A Hymn of Praife for the abundant Harveft of 1796 ; after a Year of Scarcity - 429 / THE . SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY-PLAIN. IVIR. Johnson, a very worthy charitable Gen¬ tleman, was travelling io me time ago acrols one of thofc vaft Plains which are well known in Wilt-, fhire. It was a fine hummers evening, and he* e ^ j " y coat he might have leifure to admire J* £ n <2 The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain, God in the works of his creation. For this Gentleman was of opinion, that a walk or a ride, was as proper a time as any to think about good things; for which reafon, on fuch occanons, he ieldom thought fo much about his money or his trade, or public news, as at other times, that he might with more eale and fatisfadtion enjoy the pious thoughts which the vifible works of the^ great Maker of heaven and earth are intended to raife in jthe mind. His attention was all of a fudden called off by the barking of a Shepherd s dog, and looking up he fpied one of thofe little huts, which are here and there to be feen on thofe great Downs; and near it was the Shepherd himfelf bufily em¬ ployed with his dog in collecting together his vail flock of fheep. As he drew nearer, he per¬ ceived him to be a clean, well looking, poor man, near fifty years of age. His coat, though at firft it had probably been of one dark colour, had been in a long courfe of years fo often patched with different forts of cloth, that it was now become hard to fay which had been the ori¬ ginal colour. But this, while it gave a plain proof of the Shepherd’s poverty, equally proved the exceeding neatnefs, induftry, and good ma¬ nagement of his wife. His itockings no lefs proved her good houfewifery, for they were en¬ tirely covered with* darns of different coloured worfted, but had not a hole in them; and nis fliirt, though nearly as coarfe as the fails of a fiiip, was as white as the drifted fnow, and was neatly mended where time had either made a fent,. or worn it thin. Tins furnifhes a rule o* The Shepherd of Salifhiiry-Plain, j judging, by which one fhall feldom be deceived. If I meet with a labourer, hedging, ditching, or mending the highways with his ftockings and fhirt tight and whole, however mean and bad his other garments are, I have feldom failed, on vb fiting his cottage, to find that alfo clean and well ordered, and his wife notable, and worthy of en¬ couragement. Whereas a poor woman, who will be lying a bed, or gofliping with her neighbours when fhe ought to be fitting out her hufband in a cleanly manner, will feldom be found to be very good in other refpedts. This was not the cafe with our Shepherd : and Mr. Johnfon was not more flruck with the de¬ cency of his mean and frugal drefs, than with his open, honeft countenance, winch bore ftron rr marks of health, cheerfulnefs, and fpirit. ° Mr, Johnfon, who was on a journey, and fome- what fearful from the appearance of the Iky, that rain was^at no great diftance, accofled die Shep¬ herd with afking what fort of weather he thought it would be o« the morrow.—It will be fuch weather as pleafes me, anfwered the Shepherd. Though the anfwer was delivered in the mildeft and civileft tone that could be imagined, the Gentleman thought the words themfelves rathe? rude and furly, and afked him how that could be? Becaufe, replied the Shepherd, it will be fuch weatner as fhall pleale God, and whatever 3 leafes him always pleafes me, Mr. Johnfon, who delighted in good men and *cod things, was very well iatis tied with bis re- dy. For he juftly thought, that though an hy- B 2 - 4 The Shepherd of Salifbury-Plain. pocrite may eafily contrive to appear better than he really is to a ftranger, and that no one fhould be too foon trufted, merely for having a few good words in his mouth; yet as he knew that “ out of the abundance of the heart the mouth fpeak- eth he always accuflomed himfelf to judge fa¬ vourably of thofe who had a ferious deportment and folid manner of fpeaking. It looks as if it proceeded from a good habit, faid he, and though I may now and then be deceived by it, yet it* has not often happened to me to be lo. Whereas if a man accolls me with an idle, diffolute, vulgar, indecent, or prophane expreflion, I have never been deceived in him, but have generally on inquiry found his charadter to be as bad as his language gave me room to expedl. He entered into converfation with the Shep¬ herd in the following manner:—Tour’s is a trou- blefome life, honeft friend, faid he.—Tobefure, Sir, replied the Shepherd, ’tis not a very lazy life ; but ’tis not near fo toilfome as that which my great Master led for my lake ; and he had every date and condition of hie at his choice, and chofe a hard one; while I only fubmit to the lot that is appointed me.—You are expofed to great cold and heat, faid the Gentleman;—true. Sir, faid the Shepherd; but then I am not ex¬ pofed to great temptations; and fo throwing one thing againft another, God is pleafed to contrive to make things more equal than we poor, igno¬ rant, Ihort-fighted creatures, are apt to think. David was happier when he kept his father’s fheep on fuch a plain as this, and employed in fing- Jng fome of his own Pfalms perhaps, than ever The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain, y he was when he became king of Ifrael and Judah.' And I dare fay we fhould never have had fome of the moft beautiful texts in all thofe fine Pfalms, if he had not been a Shepherd, which enabled him to make fo many fine comparifons and fimilitudes, as one may fay, from country life, flocks of fheep, hills, and vallics, and fountains of water. You think then, faid the Gentleman, that a laborious life is a happy one. 1 do, Sir, and more fo efpecially, as it expofes a man to fewer fins. If king Saul had continued a poor, labo¬ rious man to the end of his days, he might have lived happy and honefl, and died a natural death, in his bed at laft, which you know. Sir, was more than he did. But I fpeak with reverence, for it was divine Providence overruled all that, you know', Sir, and I do not prefume to make com- parifons. Befides, Sir, my employment has been particularly honoured.—Mofes was a Shepherd in the plains of Midian. It was to “ Shepherds keeping their flocks by night/- that the angels appeared in Bethlehem, to tell the belt news, ~the gladded: tidings, that ever were revealed to poor, finful men: often and often has the thought warmed my poor heart in the coldeft night, and filled me with more joy and thankfulnefs than the bed fupper could have done. Here the Shepherd flopped, for he began to feel that he had made too* free, and had talked too long. But Mr. Johnson was fo well pleafed with what he faid, and with the cheerful, contented manner in which he faid it, that he defired him to I - : b 3 6 The Shepherd of Salifbury-Vlain . go on freely, for that it was a pleafure to him to meet with a plain man, who, without any kind learning but what he had got from the Bible, was able to talk fo well on a fubjedt in which all men, high and low, rich and poor, are equally concerned. Indeed I am afraid I make too bold, Sir, for it better becomes me to liften to fuch a Gentleman as you feem to be, than to talk in my poor way ; but as I was faying, Sir, I wonder all working men do not derive as great joy and delight as I do from thinking how God has honoured poverty ! Oh ! Sir, what great, or rich, or mighty men have.had fuch honour put on them, or their con¬ dition, as Shepherds, Tent-makers* Fifhermen* and Carpenters have had ? My honeft friend, faid the Gentleman, I per¬ ceive you are well acquainted with Scripture. Yes, Sir, pretty well, blefifed be God! through his mercy I learnt to read when I was a little boy ; though reading was not fo common when I was a child, as I am told, through the goodnefs of Providence and the generofity of the rich, it is likely to become now-a-days. I believe there is no day for the lafl thirty years, that I have not peeped at my Bible. If we can’t find time to read a chapter, I defy any man to fay he can’t find time to read a verfe; and a fingle text. Sir* well followed and put in practice every day* would make no bad figure at the year’s end ; three hundred and fixty-five texts, without the lofs of a moment’s time, would make a pretty flock, a little golden treafury, as one may fay, from new-year’s day to new-year’s day; and if The Shepherd of Sdijbury-Plain. J children were brought up to it, they would come to look for their text as naturally as they do for their breakfaft. No labouiing man, ’tis true, has fo much leifure as a Shepherd, for while the flock is feeding, I am obliged to be id ill, and at fuch times I can now and then tap a flioe for my chil¬ dren or myfelf, which is a great laving to us ; and while I am doing that I repeat a bit of a chap¬ ter, which makes the time pafs pleafantly in this wild folitary place. I can fay the beft part of the Bible by heart; I believe I fhould not fay the belt part, for every part is good, but I mean the great- eid part. I have led but a lonely life, and have often had but little to eat, but my Bible has been meat, drink, and company to me, as I may fay, and when want and trouble have come upon me, I don’t know what I fhould have done indeed*. Sir, if I had not had the promifes of this book for my flay and fupport. You have had great difficulties then ? laid Mr. Johnfon. Why, as to that, Sir, not more than neighbours’ fare ; 1 have but little caufe to complain, and much to be thankful ; but I have had fome little ftruggles, as 1 will leave' you to judge. I have a wife and eight children, whom I bred up in that little cottage which you fee under the hill about half a mile off. What, that with the fmoke coming out of the chimney f faid the Gentleman. O no, Sir, replied the Shepherd, fmiling, we have fcldorn fmoke in the evening, for we have little to cook, and firing is very dear in thele parts. ’Tis that cottage which you fee on the left hand of the Church, near that little B 4 S The Shepherd of Sdijbury-Plain . tuft of hawthorns. What that hovel with only one room above and below, with fcarcely any chimney ? How is it poffible you can live there with fuch a family f O ! it is very poffible and very certain too, cried the Shepherd. How many better men have been worfe lodged ! how many good chridians have perifhed in prilons and dun¬ geons, in companion of which my cottage is a palace ! The houfe is very well, Sir, and if the rain did not fometimes beat down upon us through the thatch when we are a-bed, I fhouid not defire a better ; for I have health, peace, and li¬ berty, and no man maketh me afraid. Well, 1 will certainly call on you before it be long; but how can you contrive to lodge lb many children ? We do the bed we can, Sir, My poor wife is a very lickly woman, or we fhouid always have done tolerably well. There are no gentry in the pafifh, fo that die has not met with any great abidance in her ficknefs. The good curate of the parifh, who lives in that pretty parfonage in the valley, is very willing, but not very able to aflid us on thefe trying occafions, for he has little enough for himfelf, and a large family into the bargain. Yet he does what he can, and more than many richer men do, and more than he can well afford. Befides that, his prayers and good advice we are always lure of, and we are truly thankful for that, for a man mud give, you know, Sir, according to what he hath, and not according to what he hath not. Are you in any didrefs at prelent, laid Mr. Johnfon ? No, Sir, thank God, replied the Shep¬ herd. I get my fnilling a day, and mod of my The Shepherd of Salijhury-Plain* 9 children will foon be able to earn fomething; for we have only three under five years old. Only ! laid the Gentleman, that is a heavy burden. Not at all; God fits the back to it. Though my wife is not able to do any out-of-door work, yet Hie breeds up her children to fuch habits of in— duftry, that our little maids, before they are fix years old, can firft get a halfpenny, and then a penny a day by knitting. The boys, who are too little to do hard work, get a trifle by keeping the birds off the corn; for this the farmers will give them a penny or two-pence, and now and then a bit of bread and cheefe into the bargain.’ When the feafon of crow-keeping is over, then they glean or pick flones; any thing is better than idienefs, Sir; and if they did not get a farthing by it, I would make them do it juft the fame, for the fake of giving them early habits of labour. So you fee, Sir, I am not io badly off as* many are ; nay, if it were not that it cofts me fo much in ’Potecary’s fluff for my poor wife, I lliould reckon myfelf well off; nay, I do reckon, myfelf well off, for, bleffed be God, he ha® granted her life to my prayers, and I would work myfelf to a ’natomy, and live on one meal a day y to add any comfort to her valuable life ; indeed J have often done the laft, and thought it no great 1 matter neither.- While they were in this part of the difcourfe, a fine plump cherry-cheek little girl ran up out- of breath, with a fmile on her young happy face*? and without taking any notice of the Gentleman. 1 to The Shepherd of Salt,(bury-Plain. cried out with great joy—Look here, father, only fee how much I have got to ! Mr. Johnfon was much ftruck with her fimplicity, but puzzled to know what was the occafion of this great joy. Ori looking at her he perceived a fmall quantity of coarfe wool, fome of which had found its way through the holes of her clean, but fcanty and ragged woollen apron. The father faid, this has been a fuccefsful day indeed, Molly, but don't you fee the Gentleman l Molly now made a curtfey down to the very ground y while Mr. Johnfon inquired into the caufe of the mutual fatisfa&ion which both father and daughter had exprdfed, at the unufual good fortune of the day. Sir, faid the Shepherd, poverty is a great fharpener of the wits.—My wife and I cannot endure to fee our children (poor as they are) without fhoes and ftockings, not only on account of the pinching cold which cramps their poor little limbs, but becaufe it degrades and debafes. them ; and poor people, who have but little re¬ gard to appearances, will leldom be found toi have any great regard for honefly and goodnefs ; J don’t fay this is always the cafe ; but I am fure it is fo too often. Now fhoes and ftockings. being very dear, we could never afford to get them without a little contrivance. I muft fhew you how I manage about the fhoes when you. Ncondefcend to call at our cottage. Sir: as to ftockings, this is one way we take to help to get: them. My young ones, who are too little to do much work, fome times wander at odd hours over the hills for the chance of finding what lictle II The Shepherd of 'Salijhury-Plain . wool the fheep may drop when they rub them- felves, as they are apt to do, againft the bufhes *. Thefe fcattered bits of wool the children pick out of the brambles, which I fee have tom fad holes in Molly’s apron to-day; they carry this v/ool home, and when they have, got a pretty parcel together, their mother cards it; for fhe can fit and card in the chimney-corner, when fhe is not able to walh, or work about houfe. The biggeft girl then fpins it; it does very well for us without dying, for poor people mult not (land for the colour of their {lockings. After this our little boys knit it for themfelves, while they are employed in keeping cows in the fields, and after they get home at night. As for the knitting the girls and their mother do, that is chiefly for fale, which helps to pay our rent. Mr. Jchnfon lifted up his eyes in filent aflo- fiifhmenc at the fhifts which honeft poverty can make rather than beg or ileal; and was furprifed to think how many ways of fubfilling there are which thofe who live at their eafe little fulpedl. He fecretly refolved to be more attentive to his •own petty expences than he had hitherto been ; and to be more watchful that nothing was walled in his family. But to return to the Shepherd. Mr. Johnfon old himy that as he mull needs be at his friend’s r'loufe,; who lived many miles off, that night, he * This piece of frugal induftry is not imaginary, but a real faft. as is the character of the Shepherd, and his uu° ecmmoiv knowledge of the Scriptures, B 6 ? £ c i he Shepherd of Salijbury - Plain , could not, as he wifhed to do, make a vifit to Ins cottage at prefent. But I will certainly do it, laid he, on my return, for I long to lee your wife and her nice little family, and to be an eye-witnels of her neatnefs and good management. The poor man’s tears liar ted into his eyes on hearing the commendation bellowed on his wife ; and wiping them oft with the Peeve of* his coat, for he was not worth a handkerchief in the world, he laid_- Oh, Sir, you juft now, I am afraid, .called me an humble man, but indeed I am a very proud one. Proud ! exclaimed Mr. Johnfon, I hope not— Pride is a great bn, and as the poor are liable to it as well as the rich, 1 o good a man as you feeni to be, ought to guard againft it. Sir, laid he, you are right, but I am not proud of myfelf, God ' knows, I have nothing to be proud of. I am a poor ftnner, but indeed. Sir, I am proud of my wife : the is not only the moft tidy, notable wo¬ man on the Plain, but fhe is the kindeft wife and mother, and the moft contented, thankful chrif- tian that I know. Laft year I thought I fhould have loft her in a violent fit of the rheumatifm, • caught by going to work too foon after her lying- in, I fear j ■ for Tis but a bleak cold ids place, as you may fee, Sir, in winter, and fometimes the inow lies fo long under the hill, that I can hardly make myfelf a path to get out and buy a few neceParies in the next village ; and we are afraid to fend out the children, for fear they fhould be ioft when the fnow is deep. So, as 1 was faying, the poor foul was very bad indeed, and for feveral weeks loft the life of all her limbs except her hands j a merciful Providence fpared her the u-fe 6 The Shepherd of Sal i/bury-Plain. 13 «f thefe, fo that when fhe could not turn in her bed, fhe could contrive to patch a rag or two for her family. She was always laying, had it not been for the great goodnefs of God, fhe might have had her hands lame as well -as her feet, or the pally indead of the rheumatifm, and then fhe could have . done nothing—but nobody had fo many mercies as floe had. I will not tell you what we buffered during the bitter weather. Sir, but my wife’s faith and pa¬ tience during that trying time, were as good a leffon to me as any fermon I could hear, and yet Mr. Jenkins gave us very comfortable ones too, that helped to keep up rny fpirits. One Sunday afternoon when my wife was at the word, as I was coming out of Church, for I went one part of the day, and my elded daughter the other, fo my poor wife was never left alone ; as I was coming out of church, I fay, Mr. Jen¬ kins, the minider, called out to me, and afked me how my wife did, faying he had been kept from coming to fee her by the deep fall of fnow, and indeed from the parfonage-houfe to my hovel it was quite impaffable. 1 gave him all the particulars he afked, and I am afraid a good many more, for my heart was quite full. He kindly gave me a (hilling, and laid he would certainly try to pick out his way and come and fee her in a day or two. While he was talking to me, a plain farmer¬ looking Gentleman in boots, who dood by, lidened to all I faid, but feemed to take no notice. It was Mr. Jenkins’s wife’s father, who was come topafs-the Chridmas-holidays at the parfonage 14 The Shepherd of Salifbury-Plain. houfe. I had always heard him fpoken of as a plain, frugal man, who lived clofe himfelf, bur was remarked to give away more than any of his Hiow- a-way neighbours. > Well ! I-went home with great lpirits at this feafonable and unexpected fupply ; for we had tapped our laft fixpence, and there was little work to be had on account of the weather. ' I told my wife I had not come back empty handed. No, I dare fay not, fays (he, you have been ferving a maker, “ who filleth the hungry with good things, though he fendeth the rich empty away.” True, Mary, fays I, we feldom fail to get good fpiritual food from Mr. Jenkins, but to-day he has kindly fupplied our bodily wants. She was more thankful when I fhe wed her the (hilling, than, I dare fay, lome of your great people are when they get a hundred pounds.v Mr. John foil's heart fmote him when he heard fuch a value fet upon a (hilling; furely, faid he to himfelf, I will never wake another but he faid nothing to the Shepherd, who thus purfued. his kory. Next morning before I went out,, I fent part of the money to buy a little ale and brown fugar to put into her water-gruel; which you know,. Sir* made it nice and nourifhing. I went out to cleave wood in a farm-yard, for there was no- kand mg out on the plain, after fuch. fnow as had: fallen in the night. I went with a lighter heart than ufual, becaufe I had left my poor wife a- little better, and comfortably fupplied for this day,, and I now refolved more than ever to trull' God for the fupplies of the next* When X came - The Shepherd of Salifhury-Plain, i J back at night, my wife fell a crying as foon as Hie faw me. This, I own, I thought but a bad return for the bleffings fhe had fo lately received, and fo I told her. O, faid {he, it is too much, we are too rich ; I am now frightened, not left we fhould have no portion in this world, but for fear we fhould have our whole portion in it. Look here, John ! So faying, fhe uncovered the bed whereon fine lay, and fhewed me two warm, thick, new blankets. I could not believe my own eyes. Sir, becaufe when I went out in the morning, I had left her with no other covering than our littfe old thin blue rug. I was Hill more amazed when fhe put half a crown into my hand, telling me fhe had had a vifit from Mr. Jenkins, and Mr. Jones, the latter of whom had bellowed all thefe good things upon us. Thus, Sir, have our lives been crowned with mercies* My wife got about again, and I do believe, under Providence, it was owing to thefe com¬ forts ; for the rheumatifm. Sir, without blankets by night and flannel by day, is but a baddifh job, efpecially to people who have but little or no fire. She will always be a weakly body; but thank God her foul profpers, and is in health* But I beg your pardon, Svr, for talking on at this rate.—Not at all, not at all, faid Mr. Johnibni I am much pleafed with your flory; you fhali certainly fee me in a few days. Good night. So faying, he flipped a crown into his hand and rode off. Surely, faid the Shepherd, “ gocdkefs and mercy have followed me all the days of my Ufef as be gave the money to his wife when he got home at night. 9 16 The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain. As to Mr. Johnfon, he found abundant matter for h is thoughts during the reft of his journey. On the whole he was more difpofed to envy than to pity the Shepherd. I have feldom feen, faid he, fo happy a man. It is a fort of happinefs which the world could not give, and which I plainly fee, it has not been able to take away. This muft be the true Ipirit of religion. I lee more and more, that true goodnefs is not merely a thing of words and opinions, but a Living Principle brought into every common adlion of a man's life. What elfe could have fupported this poor couple under every bitter trial of want and ficknefs ? No, my honeft Shepherd, I do not pity, but I refpedt and even honour thee ; and I will vifit thy poor hovel on my return to Salifbury with as much pleafure as I am now going to the houfe of my friend. If Mr. johnfon keeps his word in fending me the account of his vifit to the Shepherd’s cot¬ tage, I ft:all be very glad to entertain my readers with ir 0 ’ j ' . - PART II. I AM willing to hope that my readers will not ; be lorry to hear fome farther particulars of their old acquaintance the Shepherd of Salijhury -Plain . 1 They will call to mind that at the end of the firft * part, he was returning home full of gratitude for die favours he had received from Mr. Johnfom, The Shepherd of SaJijbury-Plain. 17 'whom we left purfuing his journey, after having promifed to make a vifit to the Shepherd’s cottage. Mr. Johnfon, after having paded lome time with his friend, fat out on his retnrn to Salifhury, and on the Saturday evening reached a very fmali inn, a mile or two diftant from the Shep¬ herd’s Village; for he never travelled on a Sun- day. hie went the next morning to the Church neared the houfe where he had palled the night; and after taking fuch refrefhment as he could get at that houfe, he walked on to find out the Shep¬ herd’s cottage. His reafon for vifiting him on a Sunday was chiefly, becaufe he fuppofed it to be the only day which the Shepherd's employment allowed him to pafs at home with his family, and as Mr. Johnfon had been firuck with his talk, he thought it would be neither unpleafant nor un¬ profitable to obferve how a man w r ho carried fuch an appearance of piety fpent his Sunday; for though he w r as fo low in the world, this Gentleman was not above entering very clofely into his cha¬ racter, of which he thought he fhould be able to form a better judgment, by feeing whether his practice at home kept pace with his profeffions abroad. For it is not fo much by obferving how people talk, as how they live, that we ought to judge of their characters. After a plealant walk Mr. Johnfon got within fight of the cottage, to which he was directed by the clump of hawthorns and the broken chimney. He wifhed to take the family by furprifej and walking gently up to the houfe, he flood awhile to liften. The door being half open, he faw the iB The Shepherd of Salijhury -Plain* Shepherd, (who looked fo refpeftable in his Sunday coat that he fhould hardly have known him) his Wife, and their numerous young family, drawing round their little table, which was co¬ vered with a clean though very coarfe cloth. There flood on it a large difh of potatoes, a brown pitcher, and a piece of a coarfe loaf. The wife and children flood in filent attention, while the Shepherd, with up-lifted hands and eyes, de¬ voutly begged the blefling of Heaven on their " homely fare, Mr. Johnfon could not help figh- ing to re deft, that he had fometimes feen better dinners eaten with lefs appearance of thankful- nefs. The Shepherd and his wife then fat down with great feeming cheerfulnefs, but the children flood ; and while the mother was helping them, little fredi-coloured Molly, who had picked the wool from the bufhes with fo much delight, cried cut, Father, I wifh I was big enough to fay grace, I am fure I fhould fay it very heartily to¬ day, for I was thinking what mud poor people do who have no fait to their potatoes, and do but look, our difh is quite full.—That is the true way of thinking, Molly, laid the father; in whatever concerns bodily wants and bodily com¬ forts, it is our duty to compare our own lot with the lot of thofe who are worfe off, and this will keep us thankful: on the other hand, whenever we are tempted to let up our own wifdom or goodnefs, we mud compare ourfelves with thofe who are wifer and better, and that will keep us humble. Molly was now fo hungry, and found the potatoes fo good, that fhe had no time to The Shepherd of Salijbury-'Plain, 19 make any more remarks; but was devouring her dinner very heartily, when the barking of the great deg drew her attention from her trencher to the door, and, fpying the ftranger, fhe cried out, Look father, fee here, if yonder is not the good Gentleman ! Mr. Johnfon finding himfelf difeovered, immediately walked in, and 'was heartily welcomed by the honed: Shepherd, who told his wife that this was the Gentleman to whom they were fo much obliged. The good Woman began, as fome very neat people are rather too apt to do, with making many apologies that her houfe was not cleaner, and that things were not in fitter order to receive fuch a Gentleman. Mr. Johnfon, however, on looking round, could difeover nothing but the mod: perfect neatnefs. The trenchers on which they were eating were almoft as white as their linen ; and notwithffanding the number and fm a li¬ ne Is of the children, there .was not the lead: ap¬ pearance of dirt or litter. The furniture was very dmple and poor, hardly indeed amounting to bare necefiaries. It confided of four brown wooden chairs, which, by conftant rubbing, were become as bright as a looking-glafs ; an iron pot and kettle; a poor old grate which lcarcely held a handful of coal, and out of which the little fire that had been in it appeared to have been taken, as foon as it had anfwered the end for which it had been lighted, that of boiling their potatoes. Over the chimney flood an old-fadiioned broad bright candleftick, and a ftil .1 brighter fpit; it was pretty clear that this lad: w r as kept rather for ornament than ufe. An old carved elbow chair. 20 The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain. and a chef!: of the fame date, which (food in the corner, were confidered as the mofb valuable part of the Shepherd’s goods, having been in his fa- mily for three generations. But all thefe were lightly efheemed by him, in comparifon of an¬ other pofTefTion, which, added to the above, made up the whole of what he had inherited from his father; and which lait he would not have parted with, if no other could have been had, for a king’s ranfom : this was a large old Bible, which lay on the window feat, neatly covered with brown cloth, varioufly patched. This facred _ book was moil reverendly preferved from dog’s ears, dirt, and every other injury, but fiich as time and much ufe had made it fufFer in fpite of care. On the clean white walls was palled a hymn on the Crucifixion of our Saviour, a print of the Prodigal Son, the Shepherd’s Hymn, a New Hiftory of a True Book , and Patient Joe, or the Newcaflle Collier*. " After the firft falutations were over, Mr. Johnfon laid, that if they v/ould go on quietly with their dinner, he would fit down. Though a good deal afhamed, they thought it more re- fpeClful to obey the Gentleman, who having call his eye on their (lender provifions, gently rebuked the Shepherd for not having indulged himfeff, as it was Sunday, with a morfel of bacon to relifh his potatoes. The Shepherd faid nothing, but poor Mary coloured and hung down her head, laying, Indeed, Sir, it is not my fault, I did beg my huiband to allow himfelf a bit of meat to-day * Printed for the Cheap Repository, price 2d, each* The Shepherd of Salijhury-Plain. 2x out of your honour’s bounty ; but he was too good to do it, and it is all for my fake. The Shepherd feemed unwilling to come to an expla¬ nation, but Mr. Johnfon defired Mary to go on* So fhe continued; you muft know, Sir, 4 that both of us, next to a fin, dread a debt, and indeed in fome cafes a debt is a fin ; but with all our care and pains we have never been able quite to pay off the dodtor’s bill for that bad fit of rheumatifm which I had laft winter. Now when you were pleafed to give my hufband that.kind prefent the other day, I heartily defired him to buy a bit of meat for Sunday, as I laid before, that he might have a little refrefhment for himfelf out of your kindnefs. But, anfwered he, Mary, it is never out of my mind long together, that we ftill owe a few fhillings to the doeftor (and thank God it is all we did owe in the world). Now if I carry him this money direflly it will not only fhew him our honefty and our good will j but it will be an encouragement to him to come to you another time, in cafe you fhould be taken once more in fuch a bad fit ; for I muff own, added my poor hufband, that the thought of your being fo terri¬ bly ill without any help, is the only misfortune that I want courage to face. JTere the grateful woman’s tears ran down fo fall that flie could not go on. She wiped them with the corner of her apron, and humbly beg¬ ged pardon for making fo free. Indeed, Sir, laid the Shepherd, though my wife is full as unwilling to be in debt as myfelf, yet I could hardly prevail on her to confent to my paying, this money juft then, becaufe fhe faid it was hard 22 The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain. I fhould not have a tade of the Gentleman's bounty myfelf. But for once, Sir, I would have my own way. For you mud know, as I pais bed part of my time alone, tending my fheep, dis a great point with me, Sir, to get comfort¬ able matter for my own thoughts lb that *tis rather felf-intered in me to allow myfelf in no pleafures and no practices that won’t bear think¬ ing on over and over. For when one is a good deal alone you know, Sir, ail one’s bad deeds do rufh in upon one, as I may fay, and fo tor¬ ment one, that there is no true comfort to be had but in keeping clear of wrong doings, and falfe pleafures; and that I fuppofe may be one reafon why fo many folks hate to day a bit by themfelves.—But as I was faying—when I came to think the matter over on the hill yonder, faid I to myfelf, a good dinner is a good thing, I grant, and yet it will be but cold comfort to me a week after, to be able to fay—to be fure I had a nice fhoulder of mutton lad Sunday for dinner, thanks to the good Gentleman* but then I am in debt.™ I had a rare dinner, that’s certain, but the pleafure of that has long been over, and the debt dill re¬ mains. I have fpent the crown, and now if my poor wife fhould be taken in one of thofe fits again, die fhe mud, unlefs God work a miracle to prevent it, for I can get no help for her. This thought fettled all; and I fet off direbtly and paid the crown to the Dobtor with as much cheerful- nefs as I fhould have felt on fitting down to the fatted fhoulder of mutton that ever was roaded. And if I was contented at the time, think how ' much more happy I have been at the remem- The Shepherd of Salijhury- Plain. 2 j brance ! O Sir, there are no pleafures worth the name but luch as bring no plague or penitence after them. Mr. Johnfon was fatisfied with the Shepherd's reaions ; and agreed that though a good dinner was not to be delpifed, yet it was not worthy to be compared with a contented Mind , which (as the 1 Bible truly fays) is a continual Feaft. But come, faid the good Gentleman, what have we got in this brown mug ? As good water, faid the Shep¬ herd, as any in the King’s dominions. I have heard of countries beyond fea in which there is no wholefome water ; nay, I have been myfelf in a great town not far off where they are obliged to buy all the water which they get, while a good 'Providence fends to my very door a fprino- as (dear and fine as Jacob’s well. When tempted to repine that 1 have often no other drink, I call to mind, that it was nothing better than a cup of cold water which the woman of Samaria drew for the greateft gueft that ever vifited this world. Very well, replied Mr. Johnfon; but as your honefty has made you prefer a poor meal to being in debt, I will at leaft fend and get fome- thing for you to drink. I faw a little public houfe juft by the church, as I came along. Let that little roly-faced fellow fetch a mug of beer. So faying, he looked full at the boyfwho did not offer to ftir ; but call an eye at his father, to know what he was to do. Sir, faid the Shepherd, I hope we fhall not appear un¬ grateful, if we feern to refufe your favour * my little boy would, I am fure, fty to lerve you ou 24 The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain. any other occafion. But, good Sir, it is Sunday', and fhould any of my family be feen at a pub¬ lic houfe on a Sabbath-day, it would be a much greater grief to me than to drink water all my life. I am often talking againft theie doings \ to others, and if I fhould fay one thing and do another, you can’t think what an advantage it would give many of my neighbours over me, who would be glad enough to report, that they had caught the Shepherd’s fon at the ale-houfc, without explaining how it happened. Chriftians you know, Sir, muft be doubly watchful, or they will not only bring difgrace on themfelves, but what is much worfe, on-that holy name by which I they are called. Are you not a little too cautious, my honeft friend ? laid Mr. Johnfon. I humbly afk your pardon, Sir, replied the Shepherd, if I think that is impoffible. In my poor notion I no more un¬ derhand how a man can be too cautious, than how he can be too ftrong, or too healthy. You are right indeed, faid Mr. Johnfon, as a general principle, but this hruck me as a very fmall thing.—Sir, faid the Shepherd, I am afraid you will think me very bold, but you encourage me to ipeak out.—’Pis what I wifh, faid the Gentleman. Then, Sir, re¬ fumed the Shepherd, I doubt, if where there is a temptation to do wrong, any thing can be called fmall; that is, in fhort, if there is any fuch thing as a imall, w'ilful fin. A poor man, like me, is feldom called out to do great things, fo that it is not by a few linking deeds his cha- isiler can be judged by his neighbours, but by The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain, 25 the little round of daily cufloms he allows him- felt in.—While they were thus talking, the chil¬ dren who had flood very quietly behind, and had not flirred a foot, now began to (camper about all^ at once, and in a moment ran to the window-feat to pick up their little old hats. Mr. Johnfon looked furprifed at this difturbance j the Shepherd afked his pardon, telling him it was the found of the Church Bell which had been the caufe of their rudenefs; for their mother had brought them up with fuch a fear of bein Sir, faid the Shepherd, and then I think too how bufy I fhould be in preparing my mind, if 1 was goina into the prefence of a great Gentleman, or a Lord, or the King; and fhall the King of kings be treated with lefs refpeft ? Befides one likes to fee people feel as if going to Church was a thing j of choice and pleafure, as well as a duty, and that they were as defirous not to be the latt there, as they would be if they were .going to a tealt, or a fair. * After fervice, Mr. Jenkins the Clergyman, who was well acquainted with the character o Mr. Johnfon, and had a great refpect for him, accofted him with much civility; exprefiing his concern that he could not enjoy juft now lo much of his converfation as he wifhed, as he was obliged to vifit a fick perfon at a diftance, but hoped to have a little talk with him before he left the Village. As they walked along together, Mr. Johnfon made fuch enquiries about the Shepherd, as ferved to confirm him in the high opinion he entertained of his piety, good fenfe, induftry, and felf-denial. They parted, the Cler- ) The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain. 27 gyman promifing to call in at the cottage in his way home. ■The Shepnerdj who took it for granted that Mr. Johnfon was gone to the Parfonage, walked home with his wife and children, and was begin- mng in his nlual way to catechife and inftruft his family, when Mr. Johnfon came in, and in¬ filled that the Shepherd ihould go on with his inftrudtions, juft as if he were not there. This Gentleman, who was very defirous of behm ufe- ful to his own fervants and workmen in the way of religious inftruction, was fometirr.es forry to find, that though he took a good deal of pains, they did not now and then quite underftand him, tor though his meaning was very good, his lan¬ guage was not always very plain; and though die things he faid were not hard to be undet- dood, yet the words were, efpecially to fuch as •vere very ignorant. And he now began to find rot, that if people were ever fo wife and good ' et 11 they had not a fimple, agreeable, and fami- lar way of expreffing themfelves, fome of their dam hearers would not be much the better for hem. For this reafon he was not above liften- ig to the plain, humble way in which this honeft nan taught his family, for though he knew lathe himfelr had rnany advantages over the i j ie pherd, had more learning, and could teach im many things, yet he was not too proud to am even of fo poor a man, in any point where e thought the Shepherd might have the advan¬ ce of him. This Gentleman was much pleafed with the C 2 , 2# The Shepherd of SciUJhury-Pleihi• knowledge and piety which he difeovered in the anfwers of the children; and defired the Shep¬ herd to tell him how he contrived to keep up a fenfe of divine things in his own nnnd, and in that of his family with lo little leifure, an o little reading. 6 as to that. Sir, laid the Shep¬ herd, we do not read much except in one book, to be fire; but my hearty prayer for God s bleffing on the ufe of that book, what little know¬ ledge is needful feems to come of couife, as. it were. And my chief ftudy has been to bring the fruits of the Sunday reading into the week s bufinefs, and to keep up the fame lenfe of God in the heart, when the Bible is in the cupboard as when it is in the hand. In fhort, to app y what I read in the book, to what I meet with in I don’t quite underftand you, faid Mr. John- fon. Sir, replied the Shepherd, I have but a poor gift at conveying thefe things to others, though I have much comfort from them in my own mind; but I am fure that the mo 'o n( f rant and hard-working people, who are in earned about their falvation, may help to keep up devout thoughts and good affedhons-during tie week, though they have hardly any time to loot at a book; and it will help them to keep out bad thoughts too, which is no fmall matter. But then they mull: know the Bible ; they mult have read the word of God diligently; that is a kind of ftock in trade for a Chnftian to fet up with; and it is this which makes me fo. careful in teaching it to my children ; and even in Bor¬ ing their memories with Pialms and Chapters. Th e Shepherd of Salijhury-Plain. 29 This is a great help to a poor, hard-working man, who will fcarcely meet with any thing but what he may turn to fome good account. If one lives in the fear and the love of God, al- moft every thing one fees abroad will teach one to adore his power and goodnefs, and bring to mind fome text of Scripture, which fhall fill the heart with thankfulnefs, and the mouth with praife. When I look upwards, the Heavens de¬ clare the glory of God ; and fhall I be filent and ungrateful ? If I look round and fee the valleys ftanding thick with corn, how can I help blefling that Power who giveth ms all things richly to en¬ joy ? I may learn gratitude from the beafts of the field, for the Ox knoweth his owner , and the Hfs his Majlers crib , and fhall a Chriftian not know, fhall a Chriftian not conftder, what great things God has done for him ? I, who am a Shepherd, endeavour to fill my foul with a conftant re¬ membrance of that good Shepherd, who feedeth me in green pajlures , and maketh me to lie down befide the fill waters , and whofe rod and faff com¬ fort me. You are happy, faid Mr. Johnfon, in this retired life, by which you efcape the corrup¬ tions of the world.—'Sir, faid the Shepherd, I do not efcape the corruptions of my own evil nature. Even there, on that wild folitary hill, I can find out that my heart is prone to evil thoughts. I fuppofe. Sir, that different ftates have different temptations. You great folks that live in the world, perhaps, are ex- 30 The Shepherd of Salifbury-Plain . pofed to fdme, of which fuch a poor man as I am know nothing. But to one who leads a lonely life, like me, eviHhoughts are a chief befetting fin; and I can no more withHand thefe without the grace of God, than a rich gentleman can with- Hand the fnares of evil company, without the fame grace. And I feel that I Hand in need of God's help continually, and if he Hiould give me up to my own evil heart I fhould be loll. Mr. Johnfon approved of the Shepherd's fmcerity, for he had always obferved, that where there was no humility, and no watchfulnefs againH fin, there was no religion; and he faid, that the man who did not feel himfelf to be a Hnner, in his opinion could not be a ChriHian. JuH as they were in this part of their difcourfe, Mr. Jenkins, the clergyman, came in. After the ufual falutations, he laid, Well, Shepherd, I wifh you joy; I know you will be lorry to gain any advanrage by the death of a neighbour; but old Wilfon, my clerk, was fo infirm, and I truH fo well prepared, that there is no reafon to be forry for his death. I have been to pray by him, but he died while I Haul. I have always intended you fhdlild fucceed to his place ; 'tis no great matter of profit, but every little is fomething. No great matter, Sir! cried the Shepherd, indeed it is a great thing to me ; it will more than pay my rent. Bleffed be God for all his goodnefs. Mary faid nothing, but lifted up her eyes full of tears in filent gratitude. I am glad of this little circumHance, faid Mr. Jenkins, not only for your fake, but for the fake The Shepherd of Salifhtry-Plain. 31 of the office itfelf. I fo heartily reverence every religious inftitution, that I would never have even the Amen added to the excellent prayers of our church, by vain or profane lips 3 and if it depended on me, there ffiould be no fuch thing in the land as an idle, drunken, or irreligious Pariffi-Clerk. Sorry I am to fay that this matter is not always fufficiently attended to, and that I know fome of a very indifferent character. Mr. Johnfon now enquired of the Clergyman, whether there were many children in the pariffi. More than you would expedt, replied he, from the feeming fmallnefs of it, but there are fome little hamlets which you do not fee.—I think, re¬ turned Mr. Johnfon, I recoiled that in the con¬ vention I had with the Shepherd on the hill yonder, he told me you had no Sunday School. —I am forry to fay we have none, faid the Mi- nifter3 I do what I can to remedy this misfor¬ tune by public catechifing; but having two or three Churches to ferve, I cannot give fo much time as I wifh to private inftrudion 3 and hav¬ ing a large family of my own, and no affiftance from others, I have never been able to eftablifli a fchool. There is an excellent inftitution in London, faid Mr.’Johnfon, called the Sunday-School Society, which kindly gives books and other helps, on the application of fuch pious Minifters as (land in need of their aid, and which I am fure would have affifted you 3 but I think we ffiall be able to do fomething ourfelves.—Shepherd, continued he, if I were a King, and had it in my power to C 4 2 2 The Shepherd of Salijlury - Plain make you a rich and a great man, with a w r ord fpeaking, I would not do it. Thole who are railed by fome ludden ftroke, much above the ftation in which Divine Providence had placed them, feldom turn out very good, or very happy. I have never had any great things in my power, but as far as I have been able, I have been always glad to aflift the worthy. • I have, however, never attempted or defined to fet any poor man much above his natural condition, but it is a pleafurc to me to lend him fuch aftiftance, as may make that condition more eafy to himfelf, and to put him in a way which fhall call him to the performance of more duties than perhaps he could have per¬ formed without my help, and of performing them in a better manner.—What rent do you pay for this cottage ? Fifty fhillings a year. Sir. . d It is in a fad tattered condition \ is there not a better to be had in the village ? That in which the poor Clerk lived, faid the Clergyman, is not only more tight and whole, but has two decent chambers, and a very large, light kitchen.—That will be very convenient, replied Mr. Johnfon, pray what is the rent ? 1 think, faid the Shepherd, poor neighbour Wil- fon gave fomewhat about four pounds a year, or it might be guineas —-Very well, faid Mr. Johnfon, and what will the Clerk’s place be worth, think you ? About three pounds, was the anfwer. Now, continued Mr. Johnfon, my plan is, that the Shepherd fhoulcl take that houfe imme¬ diately; for as the poor man is dead, there will The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain, 33 be no need of waiting till quarter-day, if I make tip the difference. True, Sir, faid Mr. Jenkins, and I am fure my wife’s father, whom I expe<5t to¬ morrow, will willingly affift a little towards buy¬ ing fome of the Clerk’s old goods. And the fooner they remove the better, for poor Mary caught that bad rheumatifm by deeping under a leaky thatch. The Shepherd was too much moved to fpeak, and Mary could hardly fob out. Oh Sir, you are too good 3 indeed this houfe will do very well. It may do very well for you and your children, Mary, faid Mr. Johnfon, gravely, but it will not do for a fchool; the kitchen is neither large nor light enough. Shepherd, con¬ tinued he, with your good Minifter’s leave and kind afiiftance, I propofe to let up in this pariOi a Sunday School, and to make you the maker. It will not at all interfere with your weekly calling, and it is the only lawful way in which you could turn the Sabbath into a day of fome little probe to your family, by doing, as I hope, a great deal of good to the fouls of others. The reft of the week you will work as ufual. The difference of rent between this houfe and the Clerk’s, I fhall pay myfelf, for to put you into a better houfe at your own expence would be no great ad of kind- nefs. —As for honeft Mary, who is not fit for hard labour, or any out-of-door work, I propofe to en¬ dow a fmall weekly fchool, of which (he ihall be the miftrefs, and employ her notable turn to good account, by teaching ten or a dozen girls to knit, few, fpin, card, or any other ufeful way of get¬ ting their bread j for all this I Ihall only pay he c 5 34 The Shepherd of Salijbury-Plain. the ufual price, for I am not going to make you rich, but ufeful. Not rich, Sir ? cried the Shepherd. How can I ever be thankful enough for fuch bleffings ? And-will my poor Mary have a dry thatch over her head ? and fhall I be able to fend for the doftor when I am like to lofe her ? Indeed my cup runs over with bleffings, I hope God will give me humility.—HI ere he and Mary looked at each other and burft into tears. The Gentle¬ men faw their diftrefs, and kindly walked out upon the little green before the door, that thefe honeft people might give vent to their feelings. As foon as they were alone they crept into one corner of the room, where they thought they could not be feeri, and fell on their knees, de¬ voutly bleffing and praifing God for his mercies. Never were heartier prayers prefented, than this grateful couple offered up for their benefactors. The warmth of their gratitude could only be equalled by the earneftnefs with which they be- fought the bleffing pf God on the work in which they were going to engage. The two Gentlemen now left this happy family, and walked to the Parfonage, where the evening was fpent in a manner very edifying to Mr. Johnfon, who the next day took all proper mea- fures for putting the Shepherd in immediate pof- feffion of'his now comfortable habitation. Mr. Jenkins’s father-in-law, the worthy Gentleman who gave the Shepherd’s wife the blankets, in the firft part of this hiftory, arrived at the Par¬ fonage before Mr. Johnfon left it, and affifted in fating up the Clerk’s cottage. r Ihe Shepherd of Salifbury-Thin. 35 Mr. Johnfon took his leave, promifing to call on the worthy Minifter and his new Clerk once a year, in his fummer’s journey over the Plain, as long as it fhould pleafe God to fpare his life.— We hope he will never fail to give us an account of thele vifits, which we fhall be glad to lay be¬ fore our readers, if they fhould contain inftruftion or amufement, Z, y \ \ / THE Jack Brown and James Stock, were two lads apprenticed at nearly the fame time, to Mr. Williams, a Shoemaker, in a finall town in Ox- fordfhire : thev were pretty near the fame age, but of very different charafters and difpofitions. Brown was eldeff fon to a fairnei in good cir- cumftances, who gave the ufual apprentice fee with him. Being a wild, giddy boy, whom his father could not well manage or inffrin fa, m- inv, he thought it better to fend him out to learn a trade at a diftance, than to let him idle about The Two Shoemakers. 37 at home ; for Jack always preferred bird’s-neft- ing and marbles to any other employment ; and would trifle away half the day, when his father thought he was at lchool, with any boys he could meet with, who were as idle as him felt and never could be prevailed upon to do, or to learn any thing while a game at taw could be had for love or money. All this time Ins little brothers,* much younger than himfelf, were be¬ ginning to follow the plough, or to carry the corn to mill as foon as they were able to mount a cart-horfe. Jack, however, who was a lively boy, and did not naturally want either fenfe or good nature, might have turned out well enough, if he had not had the misfortune of being his mother’s fa¬ vourite. She concealed and forgave all his faults. .—To be fure he was a little wild, fhe would fay, but he would not make the worfe man for that, for Jack had a good fpirit of his own, and fhe would not have it broke, and fo make a mope of the boy. The farmer, for a quiet life, as it is called, gave up all thefe points to his wife; and, with them, gave up the future virtue and happi- nefs of his child. He was a laborious and in- duftrious man, but he had no religion ; he thought only of the gains and advantages of the prefent day, and never took the future into the account. His wife managed him entirely, and as fhe was really notable, he did not trouble his head about any thing farther. If fhe had been carelefs in her dairy, he would have ftormed and fworn; but as fhe only ruined one child by indulgence, and almoft broke the hearts of the reft by un- gg. The Two Shoemakers . kindnefs, he gave himfelf little concern about the matter. The cheefe, certainly, was good, and that indeed is a great point; but fhe was neglect¬ ful of her children, and a tyrant to her fervants. Her hufband’s fubftance, indeed, was not wafted, but his happinefs war not coniulted. His houfe, it is true, was not dirty, but it was the abode of fury, ill temper, and covetoufnefs. And the farmer, though he did not care for drink, was too often driven to the public houfe- in an even- inn:, becaufe his own was neither quiet nor com¬ fortable. The mother was always fcolding, and the children were always crying. Jack, however, notwithftanding his idlenefs, picked up a little reading and writing, but never would learn to caft an account; that was too much labour. His mother was defirous he fhould continue at fchool, not fo much for the fake of his learning, which fhe had not fenfe enough to^ value, but to fave her darling from the fatigue of labour ; for if he had not gone to fchool, fhe knew he muft have gone to work, and fhe thought the former was the leafc tirefome or the two.° Indeed this foolifh woman had fuch an opinion of his genius, that Ihe ufed, from a child, to think he was too wife for any thing but a par- fon, and hoped fhe fhould live to fee him one. She did not wifh to fee her fon a minifter becaufe fhe loved either learning or goodnefs, but becaufe fhe thought it would make Jack a gentleman, and let him above his brothers. Farmer Brown ftill hoped, that though Jack was likely to make but an idle and ignorant farmer,, yet he might make no bad tradesman, The Two Shoemakers . 39 •when he fhould be removed from the indulgences of a father’s houfe, and from a filly mother, whofe fondnefs kept him back in every thing. This woman was enraged when fhe found that fo fine a fcholar, as fhe took Jack to be, was to be put apprentice to a fhoemaker. The farmer, however, for the firft time in his life, would have his own way. But being a worldly man, and too apt to mind only what is falfely called the main chance ; inftead "of being careful to look out for a fober, prudent, and religious matter for his fon, he left all that to accident, as if it had been a thing of little or no confequenee. 1 his is a very common fault ; and fathers who are guilty of it, are in a great meafure anfwerable for the future fins and errors of their children, when they grow up in the world, and fet up for themfelves. If a man gives his fon a good education, a good example, and a good mailer, it is mdeed fojfible that the fon may not turn out well, but it does not often happen ; and when it does, the father has nc blame retting on him ; and it is a great point towards a man’s comfort to have his con- ‘fcience quiet in that refpedl, however God may think fit to over-rule events. The farmer, however, took care to defire his friends to enquire for a fhoemaker who had good bufinefs, and was a good workman; and the mo¬ ther did not forget to put in her word, and “ de- fired that it might be one who was not tooftriff ; for Jack had been brought up tenderly, was a meek boy, and could not bear to be contradicted in any thing,” And this is the common notion If ,ii 40 The Two Shoemakers . of meeknefs among people who know no bet* ter. Mr. Williams was recommended to the farmer as being- the beft fhoemaker in the town in which he lived, and far from a ftricl matter ; and, without farther enquiries, to Mr. Williams he went. James Stock, who was the fon of an honeft labourer in the next village, was bound out by the par ilk in confideration of his father having fo numerous a family, that he was not able to put him out himfelf. James was in every thing the very reverie of his new companion. He was a modeft, induftrious, pious youth 5 and though fo poor, and the child of a labourer, was a much better fcholar than Jack, who was a wealthy far¬ mer's fon. His father had, it is true, been able to give him but very little lchooling, for he was obliged to be put to work when quite a child. When very young he ufed to run of errands for Mr. Thomas, the curate of the parifh ; a very kind-hearted young gentleman, who boarded next door to his father’s cottage. He ufed alfo to rub down and faddle his horfe, and do any other little job for him, in the moft civil, obliging manner. All this fo recommended him to the clergyman, that he would often fend for him in of an evening, after he had done his day’s work in the field, and condefcended to teach him himfelf to write and caft accounts, as well as to inftrud -him in the principles of his religion. It was not merely out of kindnefs for the little good-natured fervices James did him, that he fhewed him this The Two Shoemakers. 41 favour, but alfo for his rcadinefs in the catechifm, and his devout behaviour at church. The firft thing that drew the minifter’s atten¬ tion to this boy, was the following :—He had frequently given him halfpence and pence for holding his horfe and carrying him to water, be¬ fore he was big enough to be further ufeful to him. On Chriftmas-Day he was furprifed to fee James at church, reading out of a handfome new prayer-book ; he wondered how he came by it, for he.knew there was nobody in the parifh likely to have given it to him, for at that time there were no Sunday fchools; and the father could not af¬ ford it, he was fure. Well James, faid he, as he faw him when they came out, you made a good figure at church to¬ day ; it made you look like a man and a chriftian, not only to have fo handfome a book, but to be fo ready in all parts of the fervice. How came you by that book ? James owned modeftly, that he had been a whole year having up the money by fingle halfpence, all of which had been of the minifter’s own giving, and that in all that time he had not fpent a fingle birthing on. his own diver- lions. My dear boy, faid good Mr. Thomas, I am much miftaken if thou dofb not turn out well in the world, for two reafori's firft, from thy having turn and (elf-denying temper ; and next, becaufe thou didft devote the iirft eighteen- pence thou waft ever worth in the world to fo good a purpofe. James bowed and blufhed, and from that time Mr. Thomas began to take more notice of him. 42 The Two Shoemakers . and to inftruft him as I laid above. As James foon grew able to do him more confiderable fer- vice, he would now and then give him fixpence. This he conftantly faved, till it became a little fum with which he bought fhoes and (lockings; well knowing that his poor father, with a hard family and low wages, could not buy them for him. As to what little money he earned him- felf by his daily labour in the field, he conftantly carried it to his mother every Saturday night, to buy bread for the family, which was a pretty help to them. As James was not cver-ftout in his make, his father thankfully accepted the offer of the parifh officers to bind out his fon to a trade. This good man, however, had not, like Farmer Brown, the liberty of choofing a mafter for his fon, or he would carefully have enquired if he was a proper man to have the care of youth ; but Williams the fhoemaker was already fixed on, by thofe who were to put the boy out, and if he wanted a mafter it muft be him or none ; for the overfeers had a better opinion of Williams than he deferved, and thought it would be the making of the boy to go to him. The father knew that beggars muft not be choofers, fo he fitted out James for his new place, having indeed little to give him be- Tides his bleffing. The worthy Mr. Thomas, however, kindly gave him an old coat and waiftcoat, which his mother, who was a neat and notable woman, contrived to make up for him herfelf without a farthing expence, and when it was turned and The Two Shoemakers . ' 43 made fit for his fize, it made him a very hand- fome full for Sundays, and iafited him a couple of years. And here let me flop to remark what a pity it is, that poor women fo feldom are able or willing to do thefe fort of little handy jobs themfelves ; and that they do not oftener bring up their daugh¬ ters to be more ufeful in family work. They are great Infers by it every way ; not only as they are difquaiifying their girls from making good wives hereafter, but they are lofers in point of prefent advantage; for gentlefolks could much oftener afford to give a poor boy a jacket or a waificoat, if it was not for the expence of making it, which adds very much to the coft. To my certain knowledge, many poor women would often get an old coat, or bit of coarfe new cloth given them to fit out a boy, if the mothers or lifters were known to be able to cut it out to advantage, and to make it decently themfelves. But half-a-crown for the making a bit of kerfey, which cofts but a few fhillings, is more, than many very charitable gentry can afford to give— fo they often give nothing at all, when they fee the mothers lo little able to turn it to advantage. It is hoped they will take this hint kindly, as it is meant for their good. But to return to our two young fhoemakers. They were both now fettled at Mr. Williams’s, who, as he was known to be a good workman, had plenty of bufmefs. He had fometimes two or three journeymen, but no apprentices but Jack and James. Jack, who, with all his faults, was a keen* 44 The Two Shoemakers . fmart boy, took to learn the trade quick enough* but the difficulty was to make him flick two hours together to his work. At every noife lie heard in the ftreet, down went the work—the lafl one way, the upper leather another; the foie dropped on the ground, and the thread he drag¬ ged after him, all the way up the flreet. If a blind fiddler, a ballad finger, a mountebank, a dancing bear, or a drum, were heard at a dis¬ tance-—out ran Jack—nothing could flop him, and not a flitch more could he be prevailed on to do that day. Every duty, every promife was forgot for the prefent pleafure—he could not refill the fm a lie ft temptation—he never flopped for a moment to confider whether a thing was right or wrong, but whether he liked it or dis¬ liked it. And as his ill-judging mother took care to fend him privately a good fupply of pocket-money, that deadly bane to all youthful virtue, he had generally a few pence ready to s fpend, and to indulge in the prefent diverfion whatever it was. And what was flill worfe even than fpending his money, he fpent his time too, or rather his mailer’s time. Of this he was con¬ tinually reminded by James, to whom he always anfwered. What have you to complain about ? It is nothing to you or any one elfe; I fpend no¬ body’s money but my own. That may be, re¬ plied the other, but you cannot fay it is your own time that you fpend. He infilled upon it that it was; but James fetched down their inden¬ tures, and there fhewed him that he had folemnly bound himfelf by that inftrument, not to wafte his mafter’s property. Now, quoth James, thy The Two Shoemakers . 45 own time is a very valuable part cf thy mafters property . To this he replied. Every one's time was his own, and he fhould not fit moping all day over his laft—for his part, he thanked God, he was no parijh ''prentice . James did not refent this piece of foolifh im¬ pertinence, as fome filly lads would have clone ; nor fly out into a violent paflion : for even at this early age he had begun to learn of him who was meek and lowly of heart 5 and therefore when he was reviled , he reviled not again . On the con¬ trary he was fo very kind and gentle, that even Jack, vain and idle as he was, could not help lov¬ ing him, though he took care never to follow his advice. Jack’s fondnefs for his boyiih and filly diver- fions in the ftreet, foon produced the effedts which might naturally be expected; and the fame idlenefs which led him to fly out into the town at the found of a fiddle, or the fight of a puppet- fhow, foon led him to thofe places where all thefe fiddles and fhows naturally lead, I mean the ale¬ house. The acquaintance picked up in the ftreet was carried on at the Greyhound; and the idle paftimes of the boy foon led to the deftrudlive vices of the man. As he was not an ill-tempered youth, nor na¬ turally much given to drink \ a fober and pru¬ dent mafter, who had been fteady in his manage- f ment, and regular in his own conduct; who had recommended good advice by a good example, might have made fomething of Jack. But I am forry to fay, that Mr. Williams, though a good workman, and not a very hard or fevere mafter. 4 6 The Two Shoemakers . a was neither a fober nor a fteady man—fo far from it, that he fpent much more time at the Grey¬ hound, than at home. There was no order either in his fhop or family. He left the chief care of the bufinefs to his two young apprentices ; and being but a worldly man, he was at firft dif- pofed to {hew favour to Jack much more than to James, becaufe he had more money, and his father was better in the world than the father of poor James. At firft, therefore, he was difpofed to confider James as a fort of drudge, who was to do all the menial work of the family, and he did not care how little he taught him of his trade. With Mrs. Williams the matter was ftill worfe; {he coaftantly called him away from the bufinefs of his trade to walk the houfe, nurfe the child, turn the fpit, or run of errands. And here I muft remark, that though parifh apprentices are bound in duty to be fubmiftive to both mafter and miftrefs, and always to make themfelves as ufeful as they can in a family, and to be civil and humble ; yet on the other hand, it is the duty of matters always to remember, that if they are paid for inftructing them in their trade, they ought confcientioufty to inftrudl them in it, and not to employ them the greater part of their time in fuch houfehold or other drudgery, as to de¬ prive them of the opportunity of acquiring their trade. Mr. Williams foon found out that his favou¬ rite Jack would be of little ufe to him in the {hop; for though he worked well enough, he did not care how little he did. Nor could he be of the The Two Shoemakers, 47 leaft life to his mafter in keeping an account, or writing out a bill upon occafion, for, as he never could be made to learn to cypher, he did not know addition from multiplication. One day one of the cuftomers called at the fhop in a great hurry, and defired his bill might be made out that minute; Mr. Williams, having taken a cup too much, made feveral attempts to put down a clear account, but the mere he tried, the lels he found himfelf able to do it. James, who was fitting at his laft, rofe up, and with great modefty, afked his mafter if he would pleafe to give him leave to make out the bill, faying, that though but a poor fcholar, he would do his beft, rather than keep the gentleman waiting. Williams gladly accepted his offer, and confufed as his head was with liquor, he yet was able to obferve with what neatnefs, difpatch, and exacl- nefs the account was drawn out. From that time he no longer confideied Tames as a drudp-e, but as one fitted for the higher employments of the trade, and he was now regularly employed to manage the accounts, with which all the cufto- mers were fo well pleafed, that it contributed greatly to raife him in his mafter’s efteem ; for there were now never any of thofe blunders or falfe charges, for which the fhop had before been fo famous. James went on in a regular courfe of induftry, and loon became the beft workman Mr. Williams bad, but there were many things in the family which he greatly difapproved. Some of the journeymen ufed to fwear, drink, and fing very licentious fongs. All theie things were a great 4 3 The Two Shoemakers. grief to his fober mind; he complained to his mailer, who only laughed at him; and indeed, as Williams did the fame himfelf, he put it out of his own power to correct his fervants, if he had been fo difpofed. James, however, ufed always to reprove them with great mildnefs indeed, but with great ferioufinds alfo. This, but dill more his own excellent example, produced at length very good eftedts on fuch of the men as were not quite hardened in fin. What grieved him moil, was the manner in which the Sunday was fpent. The mailer lay in bed all the morning, nor did the mother or her children ever go to church, except there was fome new finery to be fhewn, or a chriftening to be attended. The town’s people were coming to the fhop all the morning, for work which fihould have been fent home the night before, had not the mailer been at the ale-houfe. And what wounded James to the very foul was, that the mailer expected the two apprentices to carry home fhoes to the country cuilomers on the Sun*, dav morning j which he wickedly thought was a having of time, as it prevented their hindering their work on the Saturday. Thefe fhameful practices greatly afflidted poor James; he begged his matter, with tears in his eyes, to excufe him, but he only laughed at his fqueamiih confidence, as he called it. Jack did not diilike this part of the bufinefs, and generally after he had delivered his parcel, waited good part of the day in nutting, playing at fives,' or dropping in at the public-houfe: any thing was better than going to church. / The Two Shoemakers . 4,^ James, on the other hand, when he was com¬ pelled, forely againft his confcience, to carry home any goods of a Sunday morning, always got up as foon as it was light, knelt down, and prayed heartily to God to forgive him a fin which it was not in his power to avoid ; he took care not to lofe a moment by the way, but as he w ^s taking his walk with the utmoft fpeed, to leave his fhoes with the cuftomers, he {pent his time in endeavouring to keep up good thoughts in his mind, and praying that the day might come when his confcience might be delivered from this grievous burthen. He was now par-, ticularly thankful, that Mr. Thomas had for¬ merly taught him fo many pfalms and chapters, which he ufed to repeat in thefe walks with great devotion. He always got home before the reft of the fa¬ mily was up, d re fled himfelf very clean, and went twice to church; and as he greatly difliked the company and practices of his mailer’s houfe, particularly on the Sabbath-day, he preferred /pending his evening alone, reading his Bible, which 1 forgot to fay the worthy clergyman had given him when he left his native village. Sun¬ day evening, which is to forne people fuch a burthen, was to James the higheft holiday. He had formerly learnt a little how to fing a pfalm of the clerk of his own parifii, and this was now become a very delightful part of his evening exercife. And as Will Simpfon, one of the jour¬ neymen, . by James’s advice and example, was now beginning to be of a more fcrious way of M'W D 5 ° The Two Shoemakers . thinking, he often afked him to fit an hour with him, when they read the Bible, and talked it over together in a manner very pleafant and im¬ proving ; and as Will was a famous finger, a pfalm or two fung together, was a very innocent pleafure. James’s good manners and civility to the cuf- tomers drew much bufinefs to the (hop ; and his fkill as a workman was lo great, that every one defired his flioes might be made by James. Williams grew fo very idle and negligent, that he now totally neglefted his affairs, and to hard drinking added deep gaming. All James’s care, both of the fhop and the accounts, could not keep things in any tolerable order; he reprefented to his mafter that they were growing worfe and worfe ; and exhorted him, if he valued his credit as a tradefman, his comfort as a hufband and fa¬ ther, his charatter as a mafter, and his foul as a chriftian, to turn over a new leaf. Williams fwore a great oath that he would not be reftrained in his pleafures to pleale a canting parifh ’prentice, nor to humour a parcel of fqualling brats—that let people fay what they would of him, they fhould jiever fay he was a hypocrite, and as long as they could not call him that, he did not care what elfe they called him. In a violent paftion he immediately went to the Greyhound, where he now fpent, not only every evening, which he had long done, but good part of the day and night alfo. His wife was very dreffy, extravagant, and fond of com¬ pany, and fpent at home as faft as her hufband did abroad fo that all the neighbours laid, if it had The Tzvo Shoemakers. 5 * not been for James, his mafter muft have broke long ago, but they were fure he could not hold it much longer. o As Jack Brown fung a good fong, and played many diverting tricks, Williams liked his com- pany, and often allowed him to make one at the Greyhound, where he would laugh heartily at his ! ftories ; fo that every one thought Jack was much the greater favourite—fo he was as a companion in frolick, and foolery, and fleajure , as it is called ; but he would not trull him with an inch of lea^ ther, or lixpence in money : No, no—when bu- finefs was to be done, or trull was to be repoled, James was the man: the idle and the drunken never trull one another, if they have common fenfc* They like to laugh, and ling, and riot, and drink together: but when they want a friend, a coun¬ cilor, a help in bulinels or in trouble, they go farther a-field; and Williams, while he would drink with Jack, would trull James with untold gold ; and even was foolilhly tempted to negled his bufmefs the more from knowing that he had one at hom,e who was taking care of it. In fpite of all James's care and diligence, how¬ ever, things were growing worfe and worfe : the more James faved, the more his mailer and mil- :refs fpent. One morning, juft as the Ihop was opened, and James had let every body to their •efpedlive work, and he himfelf was fettling the >ulinefs for the day, he found that his mailer was lot yet come from the Greyhound. As this was tow become a common cafe, he only grieved, but iid not wonder at it. While he was indulging fad D 2 tf, 3 F ILL. U8, £2 s Trie Two Shoemakers . thoughts on what would be the end or all this, in ran the tapfter from the Greyhound out of breath, and with a look of terror and dilmay$ tfefired James would ftep over to the publick- lioufe with him that moment, for that his maker wanted him. James went immediately, lurprifed at this urn ufual meffage. When he got into the kitchen of the public-houfe, which he now entered for the fir ft time in his life, though it was juft op- pofite the houfe in which he lived, he was Ihocked at the beaftly, difgufting appearance of every thing he beheld. There was a table covered with tankards, punch bowls, broken glades, pipes, and dirty, greafy packs of cards, and all over wet with liquor; the floor was ftrewed with broken earthen cups, odd cards, and an EO table fhivered to pieces in a quarrel; behind the table flood a crowd of dirty fellows, with matted locks, hollow eyes, and faces fmeared with tobacco; James made his way after the tapfter, through this wretched looking crew, to a fettle which flood in the- chimney corner. Not a word was uttered, but the filent horror feemed to denote fomething more than a mere common drunken bout. What was the difmay of James, when he faw his miferable maker kretched out on the fettle, in all the agonies of death ! Ele had fallen into a fit, after having drank hard bek part of the night, and feemed to have but a few minutes to live. In his frightful countenance was difplayed the dreadful picture of fin and death ; for he flrucgled at once under the guilt of intoxication. The Two Shoemakers . 53 and the pangs of a dying man. He recovered his fenfes for a few moments, and called out to afk if his faithful fervant was come : James went up to him, took him by his cold hand, but was too much moved to fpeak. Oh! James, James, cried he in a broken voice, pray for me, comfort me. James fpoke kindly to him, but was too honek ro give him falfe comfort, as is too often done by mikaken friends in thefe dreadful mo¬ ments. James, laid he, 1 have been a bad maker to* you—you would have faved my foul and body, but I would not let you—I have ruined my wife, my children, and my own foul. Take warning, oh, take warning by my miferable end, faid he, to his flupified companions; but none were able to attend to him but James, who bid him lift up his heart to God, and prayed heartily for him himfelf. Oh ! faid the dying man, it is too late, too late for me—but you have {till time, faid he* to the half drunken terrified crew around him.’ Where is Jack ? Jack Brown came forward, but was too much frightened to fpeak. O wretched boy, faid he, I fear I fhall have the ruin of thy foul, as well as my own, to anfwer for. Stop fhort!-—Take warning—now, in the days of thy youth. O James, James, thou doll not pray for me. Death is dreadful to the wicked—O the king of death to a guilty confidence !—Here he lifted up his ghakly eyes in fpeechlefs horror, grafped hard the hand of James, gave a deep hollow groan, and clofed his eyes never to open them but in an awful eternity. D 3 54 The 1 wo Shoemakers . This was death in all its horrors ! The gay companions of his finful pleafures could not Hand the fight; all flunk away like guilty thieves from their late favourite friend'—no one was left to afiift him, but his two apprentices. Brown was not fo hardened but that he fhed many tears for his unhappy mailer ; and even made fomc haily refolutions of amendment, which were too foon forgotten. While Brown ilepped home to call the work¬ men to come and afiift in removing their poor mailer, James {laid alone with the corpfe, and employed thofe awful moments in indulging the moil ferious thoughts, and praying heartily to God, that fo terrible a lefTon might not be thrown away upon him; bur that he might be enabled to live in a conilant ilate of preparation for death. The refolutions he made at this mo¬ ment, as they were not made in his own flrength, but in an humble reliance on God’s gracious help, were of ufe to him as long as he lived 5 and if ever he was for a moment tempted to fay, or do a wrong thing, the remembrance of his poor dy¬ ing mailer’s lail agonies, and the dreadful words he uttered, always inilantly checked him. When Williams was buried, and his affairs came to be inquired into, they were found to be in a fad condition. His wife, indeed, was the lefs to be pitied, as ihe had contributed her full fhare to the common ruin. James, however, did pity her, and by his fkill in accounts, his known honeily, and the trufl the creditors put in his word, things came to be fettled rather better than Mrs* Williams expelled* The Two Shoemakers, 55 Both Brown and James were now within a month or two of being out of their time. The creditors, as was faid before, employed James to fettle his late mailer’s accounts, which he did in a manner fo creditable to his abilities, and his honelly, that they propofed to him to take the fhop himfelf. He allured them it was utterly out of his power for want of money. As the creditors had not the leaf: fear of being repaid, if it lhould pleafe God to fpare his life, they gene- roufly agreed among themfelves, to advance him a fmall fum of money without any fecurity but his bond - } for this he was to pay a very reafon- able interell, and to return the whole in a given number of years. James fhed tears of gratitude at this teftimony to his character, and could hardly be prevailed on to accept their kindnefs, fo great was his dread of being in debt. He took the remainder of the leafe from his miltrefs, and in fettling affairs with her, took care to make every thing as advantageous to her as polfible. He never once allowed himfelf to think how unkind fie had been to him, he only faw in her the needy widow of his deceafed maf- ter, and the diflrelfed mother of an infant family ; and was heartily forry it was not in his power to contribute to their fupport; it was not only his duty, but his delight to return good for evil—for he was a Christian. James Stock was now, by the blelfing of God on his own earned: endeavours, mailer of a con- fiderable fhop, and was refpedled by the wdiole town for his prudence, honelly, and piety. How D 4 i •56 The Two Shoemakers. he behaved in his new ftation, and alfo what be- fel his comrade Brown, muft be the fubjecft of another book ; and I hope my readers will look forward with fome impatience for home further account of this worthy young man. In the mean time, other apprentices will do well to follow fo praife-worthy an example, and to remember, that the reipecdable mafter of a large fhop, and a profitable bufinefs, was railed to that creditable fituation, without money, friends, or connections, from the low beginning of a parifh prentice , by fobriety, induftry, the fear of God , and an obedience to the divine principles- of the Chris¬ tian - religion. PART II. THE APPRENTICE TURNED MASTER. If 1 HE firft part of this Hiftory left off with the dreadful fudden death of Williams the idle Shoemaker, who died in a drunken fit at the Greyhound. It alfo fhewed how James Stock, his faithful apprentice, by his honeft and upright behaviour, fo gained the love and refpecft of his late mailer’s creditors, that they fet him up in bufinefs, though he was not worth a (hilling of his own, fuch is the power of a good character ! And when we laft parted from him he had juft got pofit:[fton of his .mafter’s fhop. This ludden profperity v/as a time of trial for The Two Shoemakers . 57 James; who, as he was now become a creditable • tradefman, I fhall hereafter think proper to call Mr. James Stock. I fay, this fudden rife in life was a time of trial ; for we hardly know what we are ourfelves till we become our own mailers. There is indeed always a reafonable hope that a . good fervant will not make a bad mailer, and that a faithful apprentice will prove an honed: tradefman. But the heart of man is deceitful, and fome folks who feem to behave very well while they are under fubjedtion, no fooner get a little power than their heads are turned, and they grow prouder than thole who are gentlemen' born. They forget at once that they were lately poor and dependent themfelves, fo that one would think that with their poverty they had loir their memory too. I have known fome who had fullered moll hardships in their early days, be¬ come the moil hard and oppreffive in their turn; fo that they feem to forget that fine confiderate reafon which God gives to the children of Ifraei why they fhould be merciful * to their fervants, cc remem bring,” faith he, cc that thou thyfelf. wad a bondman.” Young Mr. Stock did not fo forget himfelf. He had indeed the only fure guard from falling into this error. It was not from any eafinefs in his natural difpolition: for that only juft ferves to make folks good natured when they are pleafed, and patient when they have nothing to vex them. James went upon higher ground. He brought his religion into all his actions j. lie did not give way to abulive language, becaufe D 5 , / 5 § The Two Shoemakers. he knew it was a fin. He did not ufe his ap¬ prentices ill* becaufe he knew he had himfelf a Matter in heaven. He knew he owed his prefent happy fituation to the kindnefs of the creditors. But did he grow eafy and carelefs becaufe he knew he had luch friends ? No indeed. He worked with dou¬ ble diligence in order to get out of debt, and to let thefe friends fee he did not abule their kind¬ nefs. Such behaviour as this is the greateft en¬ couragement in the world to rich people to lend a little money. It creates friends, and it keeps them. His fhoes and boots were made in the beft mannerthis got him buttnefs ; he fet out with a rule to tell no lies and deceive no cuttomers ; this Juured his buttnefs. He had two reafons. for not promittng to fend home goods when he knew he fhould not be able to keep his word. The firtt, becaufe he knew a lie was a ttn, the next, becaufe it was a folly. There is no credit fooner worn out than that which is got by falfe pretences. After a little while no. one is deceived by them. Falfehood is fo foon found out that I believe moft. tradefmen are the poorer for it in the long run. Deceit is the. worft part of a. ihop- keeper’s ttock in. trade.. James was now at the head of a. family. This is a ferrous fituation, (faid he to himfelf, one fine hummer's evening, as he flood leaning over the half door of his fnop to enjoy a little fretti air) X am now matter of a family... My cares are doubled, and fo are my duties. I lee the higher one gets in fife the mo*e one has to anfwer for. The Two Shoemakers. ST Let me now call to mind the forrow I ufed to feel when I was made to carry work home on a Sunday by an ungodly mailer; and let me now keep the refolutions I then formed. So what his heart found right to do he refolved to do quickly; and he fet out at fir ft as he meant to go on. The Sunday was truly a day of reft at Mr. Stock’s. He would not allow a pair of ftioes to be given out on that day to oblige the be ft cuftomer he had. And what did he lole by it ? Why nothing. For when the people were once ufed to it, they liked Saturday night juPc as welL But had it been otherwife he would have givers* aip his gains to his confcience. Shewing how Mr. Stock behaved to his Apprentices v When he got up in the world*fo far as to have apprentices, he thought himfelf as accountable for their behaviour as if they had been his chil¬ dren. He was very kind to them, and had a chearful merry way of talking to them,, the lads who had feen too much of fwearing^ re¬ probate mailers, were very fond of him. They were never afraid- of fpeaking to him, they told him all their little troubles,, and confidered their mafter as. their bell friend, for they faid they would do any thing for a good word and : a kind look. As he did not fwear at them when they had been guilty of a fault, they did not lie to him- to conceal it, and thereby make one fault, two. But though he was very kind, he was very watch* £ul alfo, for he did not think negledt any part of D ^ 6 o The Two Shoemakers. kiirdnefs. He brought them to one very pretty method, which was, on a Sunday evening to di¬ vert themfelves with writing out half a dozen texts of Scripture in a pretty copybook with gilt covers. You may have the fame at any of the Stationers ; they do not colt above four pence, and will lafl nearly a year. When the boys carried him their books, he juftly commended him whofe texts were written in the fairefl hand. And now my boys, faid he. Jet us fee which of you will learn your texts belt in the courfe of the week; he who does fhall chufe for next Sunday. Thus the boys foon got many pfalms and chapters by heart, almoft with¬ out knowing how they came by them. He taught them how to make a pradlical ufe of what they learnt; for, faid he, it will anfwer little pur- pofe to learn texts, if we do not try to live up to* them. One of the boys being apt to play in iho abience, and to run back again to his work ’ when he heard his master’s Hep, he brought him to a fenfe or his fault by the lafl Sunday’s text, which happened to be the 6th of Ephefians. Fie fhewcd him what was meant by being obedient to his mailer in finglenefs of heart as unto Chrift, and explained to him with fo much kindnefs wnat it was, not to worie with eye-fervice as men- pleafers, but doing the will of God from the heart, that the lad faid he fhould never forget it, and it did more towards curing him of icTlenefs than the fo undell horfe-whipping would have done. The Two Shoemakers. 61 How Mr. Stock got out of Debt . Stock’s behaviour was very regular, and he was much beloved for his kind and peaceable temper. He had alfo a good reputation for fkill in his trade, and his induftry was talked of through the whole town, fo that he had foon more work than he could poffibly do. He paid all his dealers to the very day, and took care to carry his intereft money to the creditors the moment it became due. In two or three years he was able to begin to pay off a fmall part of the principal. His reafon for being fo eager to pay money as foon as it became due was this :—Fie had obferved tradefmen, and efpe- cially his old mafter, put off the day of pay¬ ment as long as they could, even though they had the means in their power. This deceived them : for having money in their pockets they forgot it belonged to the creditor, and not to themfelves, and fo got to fancy they were rich when they were really poor. This falfe notion led them to indulge in idle expences, whereas, if they had paid regularly, they would have had this one temptation the lefs. A young tradefman, when he is going to fpend money, fhould at lead; afk himfelf whether this money is his own or his creditors’. This little queftion might help to prevent many a bankruptcy. A true Christian always goes heartily to work to find out what is his befetting fm ; and when he has found it, (which he eafily may if he looks fharp) againfl this fin he watches narrowly. Nov/ £ ' / 6 2 ‘ The Two Shoemakers, I know it is the fafhion among Tome folks (and a bad fafhion it is) to fancy that good peo¬ ple have no fin ; but this only (hews their igno¬ rance. It is not true. That good man St* Paul knew better *. And when men do not own their fins, it is not becaufe there is no fin in their hearts, but becaufe they are not anxious to fearch for it, nor humble to confefs it* nor peni¬ tent to mourn over it. But this was not the cafe with James Stock. Examine yourfelves- truly, faid he, is no bad part of the catechifm. He began to be afraid that his defire of living creditably, and without being a burthen to any one, might, under the mafk of honefty and in¬ dependence, lead him into pride and covetouf- nefs. He feared that the bias of his heart lay that way. So inftead of being proud of his fo- briety 5 inflead of bragging that, he never lpent his money idly, nor went to the ale-houfe; in- ftead of boafling how hard he worked, and how he denied himfelf, he drove in fecret that evert thefe good qualities might not grow out of a. wrong root. The following event was of ufe to him in the way of indulging any difpofition to eovetoufnefs: One evening as he was flanding at the door of his fhop, a poor dirty boy without ftockings and ihoes came up and aiked him for a. bit of broken vidluals, for he had eaten nothing all day. In fpite of his dirt and rags he was a very pretty, lively, civil fpoken boy, and Mr. Stock could not help thinking he knew fomething of his face*. * See Romans vii V. The Tz&o Shoemakers . 6j Fie fetched him out a good piece of bread and cheefe, and while the boy was devouring it, afk- ed him if he had no parents, and why he went about in that vagabond manner ? Daddy has been dead fome years, faid the boy, he died in a fit over at the Grey-hound. Mammy fays he ufed to live at this fhop, and then we did not want for cloaths nor vi&uals neither. Stock was. melted almoft to tears on finding that this dirty beggar-boy was Tommy Williams, the fon of his old matter. He blefled God on compar¬ ing his own happy condition with that of this poor deftitute child, but he was not proud at the com- parifon, and while he was thankful for his own profperity, he pitied the helplefs boy.—Where have you been living of late ? faid he to him, for I.underhand you all went home to your mother’s friends. N So we did, Sir, faid the boy, but they are grown tired of maintaining us,, becaule they laid that Mammy Ipent all the money which fhould have gone to buy victuals for us, on finufF and drams. And fo they have fent us back to this place, which is Daddy*s parifh. And where do you live here ? faid Mr. Stock* O Sir, we are all put into the parifh poor-houfe —And does your mother do any thing to help to maintain you f No, Sir, for Mammy fays fhe was not brought up to work like poor folks,, and fhe would rather ttarve than fpin or knit lb (lie lies a- bed all the morning, and fends us, about to pick up what we can, a bit of victuals or a few halfpence. And have you any money in your pocket now ? Yes, Sir, I have got three halfpence which I have begged to-day* Then* G\ The Two Shoemaker's. as you were fo very hungry, how came you not to buy a role at that baker’s over the way ? Be- caufe, Sir, I was going to lay it out in tea for Mammy, for I never lay out a farthing for my- felf,. Indeed Mammy fays fhe will have her tea twice a-dav if we beg or flarve for it. Can you read, ray boy ? faid Mr. Stock: a little, Sir, and fay my prayers too. And can you fay your catechifm ? i have almoft forgot it all, Sir, though I remember about honouring .my father and mother, and that makes me Hill carry the halfpence home to Mammy inftead of buying cakes. Who taught you thefe good things ? One Jemmy Stock, Sir, who was a parifh ’pren¬ tice to my Daddy. He taught me one queftion out "of the catechifm every night, and always made me fay my prayers to him before I went to bed. He told me I fhould go to the wicked place if I did not fear God, fo 1 am dill afraid to tell lies like the other boys. Poor Jemmy gave me a piece of gingerbread every time I learnt well; but I have no friend now; Jemmy was very good to me, though Mammy did nothing but beat him. Mr. Stock was too much moved to carry on the difeourfe ; he did not make himfelf known to tde boy, but took him over to the baker’s (hop; as they walked along he could not help repeating aloud a verfe or two of that beautiful hymn, io defervedly the favourite of all children : ff Not more than others I deferve, “ Yet God hath given me more; “ For I have food while others ftarve, “ Or beg from door to door,” ' The Two Shoemakers. 6 5 The little boy looked up in his face, faying. Why, Sir, that’s the very hymn which jemmy Stock gave me a penny for learning. Stock made no anfwer, but put a couple of three-penny loaves into his hand to carry home, and told him to call on him again at fuch a time in the follow¬ ing week. How Mr. Stock continued to- he charitable without any Expence. Stock had abundant fubjedt for meditation that night. He was puzzled what to do with the boy. While he was carrying on his trade upon borrowed money, he did not think it right to give any part of that money to affifl the idle, or even to help the diftreffcd. I muil be juft, faid he, before I am generous. Still he could not bear to fee this fine boy given up to certain ruin. Pie did not think it fafe to take him into his fhop, in his prefent ignorant unprincipled flate. At laff he hit upon this thought: I work for myfelf twelve hours in the day. Why fhall I not work one hour or two for this boy in the even¬ ing ? It will be but for a year, and I fhall then have more right to do what I pleafe. My mo¬ ney will then be my own, I fhall have paid my debts. So he began to put his refolution in pradlice that very night, flicking to his old notion of not putting off till to-morrow what iliould be done to-day; and it was thought he owed much of his fuccefs in life, as well as' his growth in goodnefs, to this little faying. I am young and healthy, faid he, one hour’s work more will do I 66 The Two Shoemakers: me no harm ; I will fet afide all I get by thefe over-hours, and put the boy to fchool. I have not only no right to punifh this child for the fins of his father, but I confider that though God hated thofe fins, he has made them be inflruments for my advancement. Tommy Williams called at the time appointed. In the mean time Mr. Stock’s maid had made him a tidy little fuit of cloaths out of an old coat of her mailer’s. She had alfo knit him a pair of dockings, and Mr. Stock made him fit down in the (hop, while he himfelf fitted him with a pair of new fhoes. The maid having walked and dreifed him, Mr. Stock took him by the hand and walked along with him to the pa¬ rish poor-houfe to find his mother. They found her dreffed in ragged filthy finery, (landing at the door, where ike palled mod of her time, quar¬ relling with half a dozen women as idle and dirty as herfelf; when fke faw Tommy fo neat and well-dreffed, fke fell a-crying for joy. She faid it put her in mind of old times, for Tommy always ufed to be dreffed like a gentleman. So much the worfe, faid Mr. Stock ; if you had not begun by making him look like a gentleman, you needed not have ended by making him look like a beggar. Oh Jem, laid fire, (for though it was four years fince fke had feen him, Ike foon re- colle&ed him) fine times for you 1 fet a beggar on horfcback—you know the proverb. I fkall beat Tommy well for finding you out, and ex¬ po fing me to you. Inflead of entering into any difpute with this bad woman, or prailing himfeif at her expence ; j The Two Shoemakers. or putting her in mind of her paid ill-behaviour to him, or reproaching her with the bad ufe Ihe had made of her profperity, he mildly faid to her,—Mrs. Williams, I am forry for your mil- fortunes ; I am come to relieve you of pare of your burthen. I will take Tommy off* your hands. I will give him a year’s board and fchooling, and by that time I fhall fee what he is fit for. I will promife nothing, but it the boy turns out well I will never forfake him. I fhall make but one bargain with you, which is, that he mu ft not come to this place to hear all this rail¬ ing and fwearing, nor fhall he keep company with thefe pilfering, idle children. You are welcome to go and fee him when you pleafe, but here he muft not come. The foolifh woman burft out a-crying, faying > Ihe fhould lofe her poor dear Tommy for ever. Mr. Stock might give her the money he in¬ tended to pay at the fchool, for nobody could do fo well by him as his own mother. The truth was, Ihe wanted to get thefe new cloaths into her clutches, which would all have been pawned at the dram-fhop before the week was out. This Mr. Stock well knew. From crying fhe fell to fcolding and fwearing. She told him he was an unnatural wretch, that wanted to make a child de- fpife his own mother becaufe Ihe was poor. She even went fo far as to fay Ihe would not part from him ; Hie faid fhe hated your godly people, they had no bowels of compaftion, but tried to fet men, women, and children againft their own flelh and blood. Mr. Stock now almoft loft his patience, and 63 The Two,Shoemakers . for one moment a thought came acrofs him to ftrip the boy, carry back the cloaths, and leave him to his unnatural mother. Why, faid he, fhould I work over-hours, and wear out my ftrength for this wicked woman ? But he foon checked this thought, by receding on the pa^ tience and long-fufferirig of God with rebellious iinners. This cured his anger in a moment, and he mildly reafoned with her on her folly and blindnefs in oppofing the good of her child. One of the neighbours who ftood by, faid, what a fine thing it was for the boy, but fome people were born to be lugty ! She wifhed Mr. Stock would take a fancyTo her child, he fhould have him foon enough. Mrs. Williams now be¬ gan to be frightened left Mr. Stock fhould take the woman at her word, and fullenly confented to let the boy go, from envy and.malice, not from prudence and gratitude ; and Tommy was fent to fchoo! that very nighty his mother crying and roaring, inftead of thanking God for ftich a Hefting. And here I cannot forbear telling a very good-natured thing of Will Simpfon, one of the workmen. By-the-bye it was that very young fellow who was reformed by Stock's good exam¬ ple when he was an apprentice, and who ufed to fmg pi alms with him on a Sunday evening when they got out of the way of Williams’s junketing. Will coming home early one evening, was fur- prifed to find his maker at work by himfelf, long after the ufual time. He begged fo heartily to know the reafon, that Stock owned the truth. Will was fo ftruck with this piece of kindnefs. The Two Shoemakers. 69 that he (hatched up a lad, crying out, Well, maf- ter, you dial 1 not work by yourfelf however ; we will go fnacks in maintaining Tommy : it dial! never be faid that Will Simplon was idling about, when his mailer was working for charity. This made the hour pafs cheerfully, and doubled the profits. * In a year or two Mr. Stock, by God’s bleding on his labours, became quite clear of the world! He now paid off his creditors 5 but he never for¬ got his obligation to them, and found many op¬ portunities of diewing kindnefs to them, and to their children after them. He now call about for a proper wife, and as he was thought a proi- perous man, and very well looking beddes, mod; ot the ffnart girls of the place, with their tawdry finery, ufed to be often parading before the diop, and would even go to church in order to put themfelves in his way. But Mr. Stock when he went to church had other things in his head, and if ever he thought about thefe gay damfels at all, it was with concern in feeing them io improperly tricked out, fo that the very means they took to pleafe him, made him didike them. 1 here was one Betfy Well, a young woman of excellent chara&er and very modell appear¬ ance. He had feldom feen her out, as die was employed night and day in waiting on an aged widowed mother who was both lame and blind. This good girl was indeed almoff truly eyes and feet to her helplefs parent, and Mr. Stock ufed to lee her, through the little cafement window, lifting her up, and feeding her with a tendernefs which greatly raifed his efteem for her. He ufed *j 0 The Two Shoemakers . to tell Will Simpfon, as they fat at work, that fuch a dutiful daughter could hardly fail to make a faithful wife. He had not, however, the heart to try to draw her off from her care of her fick mother. The poor woman declined very faff. Betfy was much employed in reading or pray ing by her when fhe was awake, and paffed good part of the night while hie hcyt, in doing fome fine works to fell in order to fupply.her fick mo¬ ther with little niceties which their poor pit¬ tance could not afford, while fhe herfelf lived on a cruft. Mr. Stock knew that Betfy would have little op nothing after her mother s death, ns fhe had only a life income. On the other hand Mr. Thompfon, the tanner, had offered him two hun¬ dred pounds with his daughter Nancy . but he was aimoft forry that he had not in this cafe an opportunity of refilling his natural bias, which rather lay on the fide of loving money : For, faid he,' putting principle and putting affedlion out of the queition, I fhall do a more prudent thing by marrying Betfy Weft, who will conform to her ftatton, anti is a religious, humble, induf- trious girl, without a Drilling, than by having an idle, dreffy lafs, who will negleft my family and fill my houfe with company, though fire Ihould have twice the fortune which Nancy Thompfon would bring. , . , At length poor old Mrs. Weft was releafed from ail her fufferings. At a proper time Mr. Stock propofed marriage to Betfy, and was ac¬ cepted, All the difappointed girls in the town wondered what any body could like in fuch 9 The Two Shoemakers . 7 r -dowdy as that. Had the man no eyes ? They thought Mr. Stock had had more take. Oh ! how it did provoke all the vain, idle things- to find, that flaying at home, d re fling plainly,-Serv¬ ing God, aud nurfing a blind Mother, ihoiild do that for Betly Weft, which all their contri¬ vances, flaunting, and dancing, could not do for them. He was not difappointed of meeting- with a good wife in Betfy, as indeed thole who marry on right grounds leldom are. But if religious perfons will, for the fake of money, chufe part¬ ners for life who have no religion, do not let them complain that they are unhappy; they might have known that beforehand. Tommy Williams was now taken home to Stock’s houfe and bound apprentice. He was always kind and attentive to his mother; and every penny which Will Simplon or his maker gave him for learning a chapter, he would fave to buy a bit of tea and fugar for her. When the other boys laughed at him for being fo foolifh as to deny himfelf cakes and apples, to give his money to her who was fo bad a woman, he would anfwcr, It may be fo, but fhe is my mother for all that. Mr. Stock was much moved at the change in this boy, who turned out a very good youth. He refolved, as God fhould profper him, that he would try to fnatch other helplefs creatures from fm and ruin. For, faid he, it is owing to God’s bleffing on the inftruftions of my good minkier when 1 was a child, that I have been faved from the broad way of deftru&ion. He kill gave God 7 2 The Two Shoemakers. the glory of every thing he did aright, and when Will Simpfon one day faid to him, Mafter, I wifli I were half as good as you are':—Hold William, anfwered he gravely, I once read in a book, that the Devil is willing enough we fhould appear to do good adions, if he can but make us proud of them. But we mull not forget our other old acquaint¬ ance, Mr. Stock’s fellow-prentice. So next month you may exped a full account of the many tricks and frolicks of idle Jack Brown, being the third part of the Hiftory of the Two Shoe¬ makers. Z. PART III. You have not, I hope, forgotten your old ac¬ quaintance idle Jack Brown, the fellow-appren¬ tice of James Stock, i gave a little account of him and his wild tricks in the firft part of this hiftory, from which I dare lay you exped to hear no great good of him. The fecond part (hewed how James Stock, from a pa-rifh apprentice, be¬ came a top Shoemaker. You fhall now hear what befel idle Jack, who, being a farmer's fon, had many advantages to begin life with. But he who wants prudence may be faid to want every thing, becaufe he turns all his advantages to no account. Jack Brown was juft out of his time when his itiaftef Williams died in that terrible drunken lit at the Greyhound. You know already how The Two Shoemakers t yj Stock fucceeded to his matter's bufinefs, and profpered in it. Jack wifhed very much to enter into partnerfhip with him. His father and mo¬ ther too were defirous of it, and offered to ad¬ vance a hundred pounds with him. Here is a frefh proof of the power of a good character l d he old farmer, with all his covetoufnefs, was eager to get his fon into partnerfhip with Stock, though the latter was not worth a fhilling, and even Jack’s mother, with all her pride, was eap-er for it, for they had both fenfe enough to fee it would be the making of Jack. The father knew that Stock would look to the main chance; and the mother that he would take the labour¬ ing oar, and fo her darling would have little to do. Stock, however, young as he was, was too old a bird to be caught with chaff. His wifdorn was an overmatch for their cunning. He had a kindnefs for Brown, but would on no account enter into bufinefs with him. One of thefe three things, faid he, I am fure will happen if I do ; lie will either hurt my principles, my character, or my trade; perhaps, all. And here, by the- bye, let me drop a hint to other young men who are about to enter into partnerfhip I et them not do that in hafte which they may re¬ pent at leisure. Next to marriage it is a tie the- haradt to break ; and next to that it is an en¬ gagement which ought to be entered into with the molt caution. Many things go to the mak- lng fuch a connection (ratable. Me, and pleafant. there is many a rich man need not be above E 74 The Two Shoemakers. taking a hint in this refped from James Stock the Shoemaker. Brown was ftill unwilling to part from him,' indeed he was too, idle to look out for bufinefs, fo he offered Stock to work with him as a journeyman; but this he alfo mildly refufed. It hurt his good-nature to do fo; but he reflected that a young man who has his way to make in the world mu ft not only be good-natured, he muft be prudent alfo. I am refolved, faid jie, to em¬ ploy none but the moft fober, regular young men I can get. Evil communications corrupt good manners, and I fhould be anfwetable for all the diforders of my own houfe if I knowingly took a wild drinking young fellow into it. That which might be kindnefs to one, would be in- juftice to many, and therefore a fin in myfelf. Brown’s mother was in great rage when fhe heard that her ion had ftooped fo low as to make this offer. She thought pride was a grand thing. Toor woman 1 fhe did not know that it is the meaneft thing in the world. It was her ignoiance which made her proud, as is apt to be tne cafe. high road to ruin. He thought that if fome means could be found to open his eyes on his own character, to which he was now totally blind, it might be of the utmoft fervice to him. The more Mr. W,orthy reflected, the more he wifhed to undertake this kind office. He was not fare that Mr. Bragweil would bear it, but he was very fare it was his duty to attempt it. Mr. Worthy was very humble, and very candid, and he had great patience and forbearance with the faults of others. He felt no pride at having ' efcaped the fame errors himfcif, for he knew who it was Fid made them to differ. He remembered that God had given him many advantages, a pious father, with a religious education ; this made him humble under a ffinfe of his own fins, and charitable towards the fins of others, who had not the fame privileges. Judas he was going to try to enter into a very ferious converfation with his gued, he was dopped by the appearance of his daughter, who told them kipper w r as ready.—This interruption obliges me to break off alfo, and i fhali referve what follows to the next month, when I promife to give my readers the fecond Fart of this Hiftory. PART II. My readers may remember that the firft part of this hiftory concluded with a walk taken by Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy over the grounds of the latter, in which walk Mr. Bragwell, though he feemed to admire, took care to lower -every thing he faw, by comparing it with fiome- thing ^better which he had of his own, Soon after iupper Mrs. Worthy left the room with her daughters, at her hufband’s defire ; for it was his intention to fpeak more plainly to Bragwell than was likely to be agreeable to him to hear before others. The two farmers being feated at their little ta¬ ble, each in a handfome old-fafhioned 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 fhould labour hard the dr ft part of his days, and that he may then fit down and enjoy himfelf for the remainder. Now though I hate boafting, yet as you are my oldeft friend, I 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 I now begin to think I have a right to indulge a little. 1 have got my money with a good character, and I mean to fpend it with credit. I pay every one his own, I fet a good example, I keep to my church, I ferve God, I honour the king, and I obey the laws of the land. i - - s I * 3 44 7 &? Two Wealthy Farmers, This is doing a great deal indeed, replied Mr* Worthy ; but, added he, I doubt that more goes to the making up all thefe duties than men are commonly aware of. Suppofe then that you and I talk the matter over coolly, we have the evening before us. What if we fit down together as two friends, and examine one an¬ other. Bragwell, who loved argument, and who was not a little vain both of his fenfe and his mora¬ lity, accepted the challenge, and gave his word that he would take in good part any thing that ihould be faid to him. Worthy was about to proceed when Bragwell interrupted him for a moment, by faying,—But flop, friend, before we begin I wifh you would remember that we have had a long w'alk, and I want a little refrefh- inent: have you no liquor that is fironger than 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 fpirits, faying, that though he drank neither fpirits, nor even wine himfelf, yet his wife always kept a little of each as a pro- vifion in cafe of ficknefs or accidents. Farmer Bragwell preferred the brandy, and began to tafte it. Why, faid he, this is no better than Englifh; I always ufe foreign mylelf. I bought this for foreign, faid Mr. Worthy. No, no, it is Englifh fpirits, 1 allure you, but I can put you into a way to get foreign nearly as cheap as Englifh. Mr. Worthy replied, that he thought that was impoffible. Bragwell . O no, there are ways and means— The Two Wealthy Farmers. *45 a word to the wife—there is an acquaintance of mine that lives upon the fouth coafl—you are a particular friend, and I will get you a gallon for a trifle. 1 For thy. Not if it be fmuggled, Mr. Bragwell, though I fhould get it for fix-pence a bottle.— Afk no queflions, faid the other, I never fay any thing to any one, and who is the wifer ?—And fo this is your way of obeying the laws of the land, faid Mr. Worthy,—here is a fine fpecimen of your morality. Bragwell. Come, come, don't make a fufs about trifles. If every one did it indeed it would be another thing, but as to my getting a drop of good brandy cheap, why that can’t hurt the re¬ venue much. Worthy. Pray, Mr. Bragwell, what fhould you think of a man who would dip his hand into a bag and take out a few guineas ? Bragwell. Think ! why I think-that he fhould be hanged, to be fure. f 'Forthy. But fuppofe that bag flood in the king's treafury ? _ Bragwell. In the king's treafury ! worfe and worie ! What, rob the king’s treafury ! Well, I hope the robber will be taken up and executed, for I fuppofe we fhall all be taxed to pay the damage. * -- * Worthy. Very true. If one man takes money out of the treafury, others muft be obliged to pay the more into it j but what think you if the fel¬ low fhould be found to have Hopped fome money ■ i * FT - - ■ ■ • "•v. D\ 146 The Two Wealthy Farmers . in its way to the treafury, inftead of raking it out of the bag after it got there ? Bragwell, Guilty/Mr. Worthy ; it is all the fame, in my opinion. If I was a juryman, I fhould fay guilty, death. Worthy . Hark ye, Mr. Bragwell, he that deals in fmuggled brandy is the man who takes to himfelf the king’s money in its way to the trea¬ fury, and he as much robs the government as If he dipt his hands into a bag of guineas in the treafury chamber. It comes to the fame thing exactly. Here Bragwell ieemed a little offended. -—What, Mr. Worthy, do you pretend to lay I am not an honeft man becaufe I like to get my brandy as cheap as I can ? and becaufe I like to iave a fhilling to my family ? Sir, I repeat it, I do xny duty to God and my neighbour. I fay the Lord’s Prayer moft 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 fay, I do as much as can be expedted of any man. Worthy . Come then, fince you fay you keep the commandments, you cannot be offended iPt afk you whether you under (land them. Bragwell, To be fure I do. I dare fay Ido : 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 parfon, I fancy I Ihould have made as good a figure as fome other folks, but I hope good fenfe and a good he art may teach a man his duty without much fcholarfhip. Two. Wealthy Farmers * *47 Worthy. To come to the point let us now go through the Ten Commandments, and let us take along with us thofe explanations of them which our Saviour gave us in his fermon on.the mount. Bragwell . Sermon on the mount! why the Ten Commandments are in the 20th chapter of Exodus. Come, come, Mr. Worthy, I know where to find the commandments as well as you do, for it happens that I am church-warden, and I can lee from the altar-piece where the Ten Com¬ mandments are without your telling me, for mv pew dire&ly faces it. IFrrthy . But I advife you to read the fermon on the mount, that you mav fee the full meaning of them. ' 0 Bragwell. W hat do you want to make me believe that there are two ways of keeping the commandments ? Worthy.. No; but .there may be two ways of underdanding them. Bragwell. Well; I am not afraid to be put to. dn^, proof; I defy any man to lay I do not keep at lead all the four fird that are on the left fide of the altar-piece. Worthy. If you can prove that, I fhall be more ready to believe you oblerve thole of the other table; for he who does his duty to God, will be likely to do his duty to his ’ neighbour Bragwell What! do you think that I ferve two Gods ? Do you think then that I make graven images, and worfhip docks or dones ? Do you take me for a Papid or an Idolater ? H 2 14$ The Two Wealthy Farmers, » * Worthy. Don’t triumph quite fo loon, matter Bragwell. Pray is there nothing in the world you prefer to God, and thus make an idol of? Do you not love your money, or your lands, or your crops,’ or your cattle, or your own will, and your own way, rather better than you love God ? Do you never think of .thefe with more pleafure than you think of Him, and follow them more eagerly than your religious dutyi 1 Bragwell. O there’s nothing about that in the loth Chapter of Exodus. Worthy. But Jefus Chrift has faid, I will continue fuch a fin a little longer; it will be time enough to think on the next world when I am no longer fit for the bufi- nefs or the pleafure of this. Such was the cafe with BragwelL Fie fet up, in his own mind, a general diftant fort of refolu- tion, that Jome years hence , when he fhould be a few years elder , and a few thoulands richer; when a few more of his prefentfchemes fhould he completed , he would then think of altering his courfe of life. Fie would then certainly fet about ipendihg a religious old age: he would reform fome pradtices in his dealings, or perhaps quit bufinefs intirely j he would chink about reading •good books, and when he had completed fuch and fuch a purchafe, he would even begin to give fomething to the poor, but at prefent he really had little to fpare for charity.- The very reafon why he fhould have given more, was juft the caufe he affigned for not giving at all, namely, the hardnefs of the times . The true, grand fource of charity, felf-denial, never came into his head. Spend lefs that you may Jave more , he would have thought a Ihrewd maxim enough. But Jpend lefs that you may fpare more } never entered into his book of Proverbs. At length the time came when Mr. Worthy had promifed to return his vifit. It was indeed a little haftened by the notice that Mr. Bragwel! would have, in the courfe of the week, a piece of land to fell by audtion ; and though Mr. Wor¬ thy believed the price was likely to be above his pocket, yet he . knew it was an occafion which would be likely to bring the principal Farmers of The Two Wealthy Farmers . 1 6 c that neighbourhood together, fome of whom he wanted to meet. And it was on this occafion that Mr. Bragwell prided himfelf, that he fhould fhew his neighbours fo fenfible a man as his dear friend Mr. Worthy. Worthy arrived at his friend’s houfe on the Saturday, time enough to fee the houfe, and garden, and grounds of Mr. Bragwell by day¬ light. He faw with pleafure (for he had a warm and generous heart) thofe evident figns of his friend’s profperity, but as he was a "man of a iober mind, and was a mod exadl dealer in truth, he never allowed his tongue the licence of im- modeft commendation, which he ufed to lay either favoured of flattery or envy. Indeed he never- rated mere worldly things fo highly as to beftow upon them undue praife. His calm approbation fomewhat difappointed the vanity of Mr. Bra«-- well, who could not help fecretly fufpedling that his friend, as good a man as he was, was not quite free from envy. He felt, however, very much in¬ clined to forgive this jealoufy, which he feared the fight of his ample property, and handfome habi¬ tation, muft naturally awaken in the mind of a man whofe own pofifeflions were fo inferior. He p radii fed the ufual trick of ordinary and vulgar minds, that of pretending himfelf to find fome fault with thofe things which were particularly deferving praife, when he found Mr. Worthy dif- pofed to pafs them over in filence. When they came in to fupper, he affedled to talk of the comforts of Mr. Worthy’s little par¬ lour, by way of calling his attention to his own large one. He repeated the word Jhug, as ap- i 6 6 The Two Wealthy Farmers . plied to every thing at Mr. Worthy’s, with the plain defign to make companions favourable to his own more ample domains. He contrived, as he palled by to his chair, by a Teeming acci¬ dent, to pufh open the door of a large beaufet in the parlour, in which all the finery was moft often- tatioufly fet out to view. He protefled with a look of fatisfa&ion which belied his words, that for his part he did not care a farthing for all this trumpery ; and then fmiling and rubbing his hands, added with an air of no fmall importance, what a good thing it is, though for people of fubftance, that the tax on plate is taken of. You are a happy man, Mr. Worthy, you do not feel thefe things ; tax or no tax is all the fame to you. He took care during this fpeech, by a caft of his eye, to direct Mr. Worthy’s attention tt/a great profufion of the brighteft cups, falvers, and tan¬ kards, and other fhining ornaments, which crowd¬ ed the beaufet. Mr. Worthy gravely anfwered^— Mr. Brag well, it was indeed a tax which could not affeft fo plain a man as myfelf, but as it fell on a mere luxury, and therefore could not hurt the poor, I was always forry that it could not be made productive enough to be continued. A man in my middling fituation, who is contented with a good glafs of beer, poured from a handfome earthen mug, the glafs, the mug, and the beer, all of Englifh manufacture, will be but little difturbed at taxes on plate or on wine; but he will regret, as X do, that many of thefe taxes are fo much evaded, that new taxes are continually brought on to make up the deficiencies of the old* 'fry v The Two Wealthy Farmers. 16 ? During fupper the young ladies fat in difdainful filence, not deigning to beftow the final left civility on fo plain a man as Mr. Worthy. They left th« room with their Mamma as foon as pofilble, being- impatient to get away to ridicule their lather’s friend at full liberty. The Dance: cy, the Chrijlmtis Meryy-tnaking, As foon as they were gone, Mr. Worthy alked Brag well how his family comforts flood, and how his daughters, who, he faid, were really fine young women, went on. O, as to that, re¬ plied Bragwell, pretty much like other men’s handfome daughters, I fuppefe, that is, worfe and worfe. I really begin to apprehend that their fantaftical notions have gained fuch a head, that after all the money I have feraped together, I lhall never get them well married. Betfy has juft loft as good an offer-as any girl could defire, young Wilfon, an honeft, ftibftantial grazier as any in the county. He not only knows every thing proper for his ftation, but is pleafing in his behaviour, and a pretty fcholar into the bargain ; he reads hiftory books and voyages, of a winter’s evening, to his infirm father, inftead of going to the card affembly in our town; he neither likes drinking nor fporting, and is a fort of favourite witn our Parfon, hecaufe be takes in the weekly numbers of a fine Bible with Cuts, and fubferibes to the Sunday School, and makes a fufs about helping the poor, tbefe dear tiroes, as they call them, but I think they are good times for us, Mr. Worthy. Well, for all this, Betfy only r68 The Two Wealthy Farmers . defpifed him, and laughed at him ; but as he is both handfome and rich, I thought (he might come round at lad; and fo I invited him to come and day a day or two at Chridmas, when we have always a little fort of merry-making here. But it would not do. He fcorned to talk that palavering duff which (he has been ufed to in the marble covered books I told you of. He told her, indeed, that it would be the happinefs of his heart to live with her, which I own I thought was as much as could be expe£ted of any man. But Mifs had no notion of marryiug one who was only defirous of living with her. No, no, forfooth, her lover mud declare him!eh ready to die for her, which honed Wilfon was not fuch a fool 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 (he condefcended to (ay, (he did not think Mr. Wilfon had been fo good a fcholar; but he foon fpoilt all again. We had a bit of a hop in the evening. T. he young man, though he had not much tade for thofe fort of gambols, yet thought he could foot it a little in the old-fafhion- ed way. So he a(ked Betfy to be his partner. But when he affeed what dance they (hould call, Mifs drew up her head, and in a drange gib- berifh, faid (he (hould dance nothing but a Menuet de la Cour , and ordered him to call it; Wilfon dared, and honedly told her (lie mud call it her- felf, for he could neither fpell nor pronounce fuch outlandiffi words. I burd out a laughing, and told him, I fuppofed it was feme thing like quedions and commands, and if fo, that was The Two IVealthy Farmers . 169 much merrier than dancing. Seeing her partner Handing Hock Hill, and not knowing how to *?et out of the (crape, the girl began by herfelf, and fell to fwimming, and finking, and capering, and flourilhing, and pofturing, for all the work! juft like the man on the flack-rope at our fair. But feeing Wilfon Handing like a fluck pig, and we all laughing at her,, fhe refolved to wreak her malice upon him ; fo, with a look of rage and difdain, fhe advifed him to go down country bumkin, with the dairy maid, who would make a much fitter partner, as well as wife, for him, than (he could do. I am quite of your mind, Mifs, (aid he, with more fpirit than I thought was in him; you may make a good partner for a dance, but you would make a fad "one to go through life with. I will take my leave of you, Mifs, with this fhort Hory. I load" lately a pretty large concern in hay-jobbing, which took me to London. I waited a good while in the Hay- market for my dealer, and, to pafs away the time, I Hepped into a fort of (inging play-houfe there, where I was grieved to the heart to fee young women painted and dizened out, and capering away juft as you have been doing. I thought it bad enough in them, and wondered the quality could be entertained with fuch indecent mum¬ mery. But little did I think to meet with the fame paint, finery, and tricks, in a farm houfe. I will never marry a woman who defpifes me, nor the Hation in which I (hould place her, and fo I take my leave.—Poor girl, how fhe was pro¬ voked! to be publicly refufed, and turned ofl> I 170 v The Two Wealthy Farmers. * as it weir, by a grazier ! But it was of life to feme of the other girls, who have not held up their heads quite fo high fince, nor painted quite fo red, but have condefcended to fpeak to their equals. But how I run on! I forget it is Saturday night, and that I ought to be paying my workmen, who are all waiting for me without. ■Saturday Night s or the Workmens' Wages. As foon as Mr. Bragwell had done paying his men, Mr. Worthy faid to him, I have made it a habit, and I hope not an unprofitable one, of trying to turn to fome moral ufe, not only all the events of daily life, but all the employments of it too. And though it occurs fo often, I hardly know one that fets me a thinking more ferioufly than the ordinary bufinefs you have been juft dis¬ charging- Aye, faid Bragwell, it fets me think¬ ing too, and ferioufly, as you fay, when I ob- ferve how much the price of wages is increafed. Yes, yes, you are ready enough to think of that, faid Worthy, but you fay not a word of how much the value of your land is increafed, and that the more you pay, the more you can afford to pay. But the thoughts I fpoke of are quite of another caft. When I call in my labourers, on a Saturday night, to pay them, it often brings to my mind the great and general day of ac¬ count, when I, and you, and all of us, fhall be called to our grand and awful reckoning, when we fhall go to receive our wages, mafter and fer- vants, farmer and labourer. When I fee that %, f.. ' ' . ' . » The Two JFealthy Farmers. ijj one of my men has failed of the wages he fhould have received, 'becaufe he has been idling at a fair; another has loft a day by a drinking bout ; a third, confeffes that, though he had talk-work, and might have earned kill more, yet he has been carelefs, and has not his full pay to receive; this, I lay, lornetimes fets me on thinking whe¬ ther I alio have made the moft of my time. And when I come to pay even the more diligent who have worked all the week ; when I reflect that even thefe have done no more than it was their duty to do, I cannot help faying to myfelf, night is come; Saturday night is come. No repent¬ ance, or diligence on the part of thefe poor men can now make a bad week’s work good. This week is gone into eternity. To-morrow is the feafon of reft; working time is over. My life alfo will foon be fwallowed up in eternity; foon the lpace allotted me for diligence, for'labour, will be over. Soon will the grand queftion be afked, ff .what haft thou done ? Didft thou uie- thy working days to the end for which they were given ?” With fome .fuch thoughts I commonly go to bed, and they help to quicken me to a keener diligence for the next week. Some account of a Sunday in Mr % Brag well’s Family « Mr. Worthy had been for fo many years ufeci to the fober ways of his own well ordered family, that he gieatly difliked to pais a Sunday in any houfe of which Religion was not the governing principle. Indeed, he commonly ordered his af- I 2 17 2 The Two Wealthy Farmers . fairs, and regulated his journies with an eye to this objedt. To pals a Sunday in an irreligious family, faid he, is always unpleafant, often unfafe. I feldom find I can do them any good, and they may perhaps do me fome harm. At leaft, I am giving a fandtion to their manner of palling it, if I pafs it in the fame manner. If I reprove them, I fubjedt myfelf to the charge of Angularity, and of being ' .. *■ . ■ ; 'i .'V Ma ... i . o el-a'. ' I . i 111 192 The Two Wealthy-Farmers. PART V. Bragwell in a PaJJion at hearing of his Daughter's Marriage . Mr. BRAGWELL and Mr. Worthy alighted at the Golden Lion. ' It was market-day: the inn, the yard, the town, was all alive. Mr. Brag¬ well was quite in his element. Money, com¬ pany, and good cheer, always fet his fpirits afloat. He felt himfelf the principal man in the fcene. He had three great objects in view, the fale of his land, the letting Mr. Worthy fee how much he was looked up to by fo many fubftantial people, and the fhewing thefe people what a wife *• ‘ N . • The Two Wealthy Fanners* 193 man his moft intimate friend, Mr. Worthy, was* It was his way to try to borrow a little credit from every perfon, and every thing he was connected with, and by that credit to advance his in ter eft and increafe his wealth. The Farmers met in a large room, and while they were tranfadting their various concerns, thole whole purfuits were the fame, naturally herded together. The Tanners were drawn one corner, by the common intereft which they took in bark and hides. A ufeful debate was carrying on at another little table, whether the pradtice of jowing wheat or of planting it were moll profit¬ able. Another fet were difputing whether horfes or oxen were beft for ploughs. Thole who were concerned in Canals, fought the company of other Canallers; while fome, who were interefted in the new bill for Inclofures, wifely looked out for fuch as knew moft about wafte lands. Mr. Worthy was pleafed with all thefe fuh- jedls, and picked up fomething ufeful on each. It was a faying of his, that moll men underftood fome one thing, and that he who was wife would try to learn from every man fomething on the fubjcdt he belt knew j but Mr. Worthy made a further life of the whole. What a pity is it, . ,faid he, that Chriftiansare not as defirous to turn their time to good account as men of bufinefs are ! When IT all we fee religious perfons as anxious to derive profit from the experience of others, as thefe Farmers ? When (hall we fee them as eager to turn their time to good account ? While I approve thefe men for not being doth fid Iv 194 77 ? £ Two H ealthy Farmers. m hufinejs , let me improve the hint, by beingalfo fervent in fpirit. Shewing how much wifer the children of this generation are than the children of light. When the hurry was a little over, Mr. Brag- well took a turn on the Bowling-green. Mr. Worthy followed him, to afk why the fale of the eftate was not brought forward. Let the Auc¬ tioneer proceed to bufmefs, faid he ; the com¬ pany will be glad to get home by day-light. 1 fpeak moftly with a view to others, for I do not think of being a purchaler myfelf.—I know it, faid Bragwell, or I would not be fuch a fool as to let the cat out of the bag. But is it really pofiible, (proceeded he, with a fmile of contempt) that you fhould think I will fell my eftate before dinner? Mr. Worthy, you are a clever man at books, and fuch things ; and perhaps can make out an account on paper in a handfomer manner than I can; but I never found much was to be got by fine writing. As to figures I can carry enough of them in my head to add, divide, and multiply, more money than your learning will ever give you the fingering oh You may beat me at a book, but you are a very child at a'bar¬ gain. Sell my land before dinner, indeed ! Mr. Worthy was puzzded to guefs how a man was to fliew more wifdom by felling a piece of ground at one hour than at another, and defired an explanation. Bragwell felt rather more con¬ tempt for his underftanding than he had ever done before. Look’ee, Mr.. Worthy, faid he, I do not know' that knowledge is of any ufe to a man unlefs he has fenfe enough to turn it to account. The Two Wealthy Farmers , 195 Men are my Books, Mr. Worthy, and it is by reading, fpeiling, and putting them together to good purpofe, that I have got up in the world. I flial! give you a proof of this to-day. Thefe Farmers are mod of them come to the Lion with a view of purchafing this bit of land of mine, if they fhould like the bargain. Now, as you know a thing can’t be any great bargain both to the buyer and the feller too, to them and to me, it becomes me, as a man of fenfe, who has the good of his family at. heart, to fecure the bargain to myfelf. I would not cheat any min, Sir, but I think it fair enough to turn his weaknefs to my own advantage j there is no law againft that, you know ; and this is the life of one man’s having more fenfe than another. So, whenever I have a bit of land to fell, I always give a handfome dinner, with plenty of punch and drong beer. 'We fill up the morning with other b 11 finds, and I carefully keep back any talk about the purchafe till we have djned. At dinner we have, ofcourfe, a bit of politics. This puts mod of us into a paffion, and you know anger is thirdy. Befides* cc Church and King,” naturally bring on a good many other toads. Now, as I am Mader of the Fead, you know, it would be fhabby in me to fave my liquor, fo I pufh about the glafs one ivay, and the tankard the other, till all my com¬ pany are as merry as kings. Every man is de¬ lighted to fee what a fine hearty fellow he has to ' deal with, arid Mr. Bragwell receives a thoufand compliments. By this time they have gained as much in good humour as they have loft h K 2 196 The Two Wealthy Farmers . fober judgment, and this is the proper moment for fetting the Auctioneer to work, and this I commonly do to fuch good purpofe, that I go home with my purfe a {’core or two of pounds heavier than if they had not been warmed by their dinner. In the morning men are cool and fufpicious, and have all their wits about them s but a cheerful glafs cures all diftruft. And what is lucky, I add to my credit as well as my pocket, .and get more praife for my dinner, than blame for my bargain. Mr. Worthy was ft ruck with the abfurd vanity which could tempt a man to own himfelf guilty of an unfair a&ion for the fake of {hewing his wifdom. Fie was beginning to exprefs his dis¬ approbation, when they were told dinner was on table. They went in, and were foon feated. All was mirth and good cheer. Every body agreed that no one gave fuch hearty dinners as Mr. Brag well. Nothing was pitiful wFere he w-as Mafter of the Feaft. Bragwell, who looked with pleafure on the excellent dinner before him, and enjoyed the good account to which he *fhould turn it, heard their praifes with delight, and call an eye on Worthy, as much as to fay, Who is the wife man now ? Flaving a mind, for his own credit, to make his friend talk, he turned to him, faying, Mr. Worthy, I believe no people in the world enjoy life more than men of our chafs. We have money and power, we live on the fat of the land, and have as good a right to gentility as the be ft. As to gentility, Mr. Bragwell, replied Wor¬ thy, I am not fure that this is among the wifeft The Two Wealthy Farmers , i97 of our pretenfions. But I will lay, that ours is a creditable and refpedtable bufinefs. In ancient times, Farming was the employment of Princes and Patriarchs; and, now-a-days, an honed, humane, fenfible, Englilli yeoman,* I will be bold to fay, is not only a very ufeful but an honourable character. But then, he mud not merely think of enjoying life , as you call it, but he mud think of living up to the great ends for which he was lent into the world. A Wealthy Farmer not only has it in his power to live well, but to do much good. He is not only the fa¬ ther of his own family, but of his workmen, his dependents, and the poor at large, efpecially in thefe hard times. He has it in his power to raid into credit all the parifh offices which have fallen into difrepute, by getting into bad hands ; and he can convert, what have been falfeiy thought mean offices, into very important ones, by his jud and Chriftian-like manner of filling them. An up¬ right Juryman, a confcientious Condable, a hu- .mane Overfeer, an independent Eledor, an active Superintendant of a Work-houfe, a jud Arbitrator in public difputes, a kind Coimfellor in private troublesfuch a one I lay, fills up a dation in fociety no Ids neceffary, and, as far as it reaches, fcarcely lefs important than that of a Magidrate, a Sheriff of a County, or even a Me nu¬ mber of Parliament. That can never be a flight or a degrading office, on which the happinefs of a whole parilli may depend. Bragwell, who thought the good fenfe of his. friend refle&ed credit on himfclf, encouraged • k 3 r 98 The Two Wealthy Farmers * Worthy to go on, but he did it in his own vain . way. Aye,, very true, Mr. Worthy, faid he, you are right; a leading man in our clafs ought to be looked up to as an example, as you fay ; in order to which, he fhould do things handfomely and liberally, and not grudge himfelf, or his friends any thing, calling an eye of complacency on the good dinner he had provided. True, re¬ plied Mr. Worthy, he fhould be an example of limplicity, fobriety, and plainnefs of manners. But he will do well, added he, not to affcd a frothy gentility, which will fet but clumfily upon him. If he has money let him fpend prudently, lay up moderately for his children, and give libe¬ rally to the poor. But let him rather feek to dignify his own flation by his virtues, than to get above it by his vanity. If he a6ls thus, then,‘as long as this country lafts, a Farmer of England will be looked upon as one of its moll valuable members ; nay more, by this conduct he may contribute to make England laft the longer. The riches of the Farmer, corn and cat¬ tle, are the true riches of a nation ; but let him remember, that though corn and cattle enrich a country, nothing but juftice, integrity, and reli¬ gion, can preferve it. Young Wilfon, the worthy grazier, whom Mils Bragweli had turned off becaufe he did not un¬ derhand French dances, thanked Mr. Worthy for what he had faid, and hoped he fhould be the better for it as long as he lived, and defired his leave to be better acquainted. Moll of the others declared they had never heard a finer fpeech, and then, as is ufual, proceeded to Ihew The Two Wealthy Farmers . 199 the good effedt it had on them, by loofe conver- fation, hard drinking, and whatever could counter-' act all that Mr. Worthy had faid. Mr Worthy was much concerned to hear Mr. Brag we 11, after dinner, whifper to the waiter, to put lefs and lefs water into every frefh bowl of punch.-—This was his way j if the time they had to fit was long, then the punch was to be weaker, as he law no good in wafting money to make it Wronger than "the time required. But if time prefled, then the f rength was to be encreafed in due proportion, as a fmall quantity mud then intoxicate them as much in a fhort time as would be required of a greater quantity had the time been longer. This was one of Mr. Bragwells nice calculations, and this was the fort of (kill on which he fo much valued himfelf.- At length the gueds were properly primed for bufinefs y juft in that convenient ftage of intoxi¬ cation which makes men warm and rafh, yet keeps fhort of that abfoiure drunkennefs, which di (qualifies- for bufinefs.. The Audtioneer fet to work. All were bidders, and,, if pofhble, all would have been purchafers, fo happily had the fead and the punch operated. They bid on with a dill increafing fpirit, till they had got fo much above the value of the land,, that Bragwell, with a wink and a whifper, faid, Who would fell his land fading ? Eh [ Worthy ? At length thr edate was knocked down, at a price very far above its worth.. As foon as it was fold, Braswell again faid fodly to Worthy, Five from fifty, and there.-re*-* K- 4 The Two Wealthy Farmers . main forty-five. The dinner and drink wont coft me five pounds, and I have got fifty more than the land was worth. Spend a fhilling to gain a pound, this is what I call pradical Arithmetic, Mr. Worthy. Mr. Worthy was glad to get out of this fcerie ; * and feeing that his friend was quite fober, he re- folved, as they rode home, to deal plainly with -him.. Bragwell had found out, among his cal¬ culations, that there were fome fins which could only be committed, by a prudent man, one at a time, Bor inftance, he knew that a man could not well get rich, and get drunk at the fame mo¬ ment, fo that he ufed to pradife one firft, and the other after; but he had found out that fome vices made very good company together 5 thus, while he had watched himfelf in drinking, left he fhould become as unfit to fell, as his guefts were to buy, he had indulged, without meafure, in the good dinner he had provided. Mr. Wor¬ thy, I fay, feeing him able to bear reafon, re¬ buked him for this day’s proceedings, with fome feverity. Bragwell bore his reproofs with that fort of patience which arifes from an opinion of one's own wifdom, and a recent tiufh of prof- perity. He behaveei with that gay, good hu¬ mour which grows out of vanity and good luck. You are too fqueamifh, Mr. Worthy, laid he, I have done nothing difcreditable. Thefe men came with their eyes open. There is no compul- lion ufed. They are free to bid, or to let it alone. I make them welcome, and I fhali not be thought a bit the worfe of by them, to-morrow, when they are fober. Others do it befides me, and I The Two Wealthy Farmers . 201 fliall never be afhamed of any thing, as long as I have cuftom on my fide. Worthy . I am forty, Mr. Bragwell, to hear you fupport fuch practices by fuch arguments. There is not, perhaps, a more dangerous fnare to the fouls of men than is to be found in that word Custom . 41 It is a word invented to recon¬ cile corruption with credit, and fin with fafety But no cuftom, no fafhion, no combination o men, to fet up a falfe ftandard, can ever make a wrong action right. That a thing is often done, is fo far from a proof of its being right, that it is the very reafon which will fet a thinking man to inquire if it be not really wrong, left he fhould be following a cc multitude to do evil.”* Right is right, though only one man in a thoufand pur- fues it, and wrong will be for ever wrong, though it be the allowed practice of the other nine hun¬ dred and ninety-nine. If this fhameful cuftom. is really common, which I can hardly believe, that is a frefh reafon why a confcientious man fhould fet his face a gain ft it. And I muftgo fo far as to fay, (you will excufe me, Mr. Bragwell,) that I fee no great difference in the eye of con- fcience, whatever there may be in the eye of law,, between your making a man firft lofe his reafon,, and then getting fifty guineas out of his pocket,, hecaufe he ha? loft it .and your picking the fifty guineas out of his pocket, if you had met him? dead drunk in his way home to night.. Nay,, he who, meets a man already drunk and robs him,, commits but one fin, while he who makes him. - -; o k 5 . f't'j o. 2 Q 2 The Two Wealthy Farmers, drunk firft, that he may rob him afterwards, com¬ mits two. Eragwel] gravely replied, Mr. Worthy, while I have the practice of people of credit to fupport me, and the law of the land to protect me I fee no reafon to be afhamed of any thing, I do.—- Mr. Bragwell, anfwered Worthy, a truly honed man is not always looking fharp about him, to fee how far cuftom and the law will bear him out; if he be honeft on principle, he will confult the law of his confcience, and if he be a Chriftian, he will confult the written law of God. Notwithdanding this rebuff, Mr. Bragwell got home in high fpirits, for no arguments could hinder him from feeling that he had the fifty guineas in his purfe. As foon as he came in, he gaily threw the money he had received on the table, and defired his wife to lock it up. Jnftead of receiving it with her ufual fatisfaclion, floe burft into a violent fit of paffion, and threw it back to him. You may keep your cafh yourfelf, faid fhe. It is all over : we want no more money. You are a ruined man 1 A wicked creature, fcraping and working as we have done for her ! Bragwell trembled, but durd not afk what he dreaded to hear. His wife' fpared him the trou¬ ble, by crying out, as foon as her rage permitted* Polly is gone off ! Poor Bragwell’s heart funk within him ; he grew fick and giddy ; and as his wife’s rage fwaliowed up her grief* fo, in his grief, he almoft forgot his anger. The purfe fell from his hand, and he caf! a look of anguifh upon it, finding, for the find time, that money could not rcfieve his mifery. The Two Wealthy Farmers • - 203 Mr. Worthy, who though much concerned, was lefs difcompofed, now called to mind, that the young lady had not returned with her mother and lifter the night before he begged Mrs*.. Bragwell to explain this fad ftory. She, inftead of foothing her hufba-nd, fell to reproaching him. It is all your fault, laid fhe, you were a fool for your pains. If I had had my way, the gills never would have kept company with any but men of fubftance, and then they could not have been ruined.. Mrs. Bragwell, faid Mf. Worthy, . if fhe has chofen a bad man, it would be (till a, misfortune,. even though he had been rich. O> that would alter the cafe, faid fhe ; a fat 'for row is better, than a lean one. But to marry a beggar! there is no fin like that.. Here Mils Betfy, who > flood fullenly by, put in a word, and faid, her filler, however,~ had not difgraced herfelf by. having, married a Farmer or a tradefman, - fhe had, at leaft,, made choice of a Gentleman. What marriage! what 1 Gentleman ! cried the affl idled father.. Tell me. the v/orft ! He was > now informed that his darling daughter was gone off'with a-ft rolling-player, who had been adting in the neighbouring villages lately. Mifs Betfy again put in, .faying, he was no ftroller, But a . Gentleman in difguile, who only adled for his own diverfton.. Does he fo ? faid the now furi¬ ous Bragwell, then he. flaall be traniported fort mine. At this moment a letter was. brought him * from his new fon-in-law, who defired .his leave to wait upon him, and implore his forgivenefs. He owned he had been fhopman to a haber- dafher, but thinking his perfon and talents, ought K .6 » 204 The Two JF°,althy Farmers. not to be thrown away upon trade, and beinp* aLo a little behind hand, he had taken to the Itage with a view of making his fortune. That he had married Mils Bragwell entirely for love, and was forry to mention fo paltry a thing as money, which he defpifed, but that his wants were preffing; his landlord, to whom he was in Ciebt,^ having been fo vulgar as to threaten to fend him to prifon. He ended with faying, I have been obliged to fhock your daughter’s deli¬ cacy, by confefhng my unlucky real name; I bencvC I owe part of my fuccels with her to my having aiTumed that of Augufhis Frederic Theo- dofius. She is inconfolable at this confelhon, which, as you are now my father, I muft alfo make to you, and fubfcribe myfelf^ with many biufnes, by the vulgar name of your dutiful Ton, Timothy Incle. O, cried the affli&ed father, as he tore the let¬ ter in a rage, Mifs Bragwell married to a ftrol- Jing ador ! How fhall I bear it ? Why, I would not bear it at all, cried the enraged mother, I would never iee her, I would never forgive her. I would let her ftarve at one corner of the barn, while that rafcal, with all thofe Pagan, Popifh names, was ranting away at the other. Nay, faid Mifs Betfy, if he is only a fhopman, and if his name oe really T imothy Incle, I would never forgive her neither. But who would have thought it by. his looks, and by his monltrous genteel behaviour p no, he never can have fo vulgar a name. Come, come, faid Mr. Worthy, were he really I V The Two Wealthy Farmers . 205 an honeft haberdafher, I fhould think there was no other harm done* except the difobedience of the thing. Mr. Bragwell, this is no time to blame you, or hardly to reafon with you, I feel for you fincerely. I ought not, perhaps, juft at prefent, to reproach you for the miftaken manner in which you have bred up your daugh¬ ters, as your error has brought its punifhment along with it. You now fee, becaufe you now feel the evil of a falfe education. It has ruined your daughter ; your whole plan unavoidably led to fome fuch end. The large fums you fpent to qualify them, as you thought, for a high na¬ tion, could do them nothing but harm, while your habits of life properly confined them to company of a lower ftation. While they were better dreft than the daughters of the firft gentry, they were worfe taught, as to real knowledge, than the daughters of your plowmen. Their vanity has been raifed by exceftive finery, and kept alive by exceftive flattery. Every evil temper has been foftered by indulgence. Their pride has never been controuled ; their felf-will has never been fubdued. Their idlenefs has laid them open to every temptation, and their abun¬ dance has enabled them to gratify every defire. Their time, that precious talent, has been en¬ tirely wafted. Every thing they have been taught to do’is of no ufe, while they are utterly unac¬ quainted with all which they ought to have known. I deplore Mifs Polly's falfe ftep. That Ike fhould have married a run-away fhopman, turned ftroller, I truly lament. But, for what hufband was fhe qualified ? For the wife of a Tfo Two Wealthy Farmers i . farmer fhe was too idle.- For the wife of a I radefman fhe was too expen five. For the wife of a Gentleman . fhe was too ignorant. You yourfelf was mo ft to blame. You expe&ed her to a cl wifely, though you never taught her that fear of God which is the beginning of wifdom. I owe k to you, as a friend, and to myfdf as a Chiiiiian,. to declare, that your practices in the common tranfa&ions of life, as well as your pre-fent misfortune,, are almoft the na- tuial co nfeq uences of thole falfe principles, which I protefted againft when you were at my houfe Mrs. Brag well attempted feverab times* to in¬ terrupt Mr. Worthy,-., but her. hufband would not' permit it. lie felt the force of all his friend faid, and encouraged him to proceed. Mr. Worthy.• thus went on. .It grieves me to fay how much* your own indiferetion has contributed even to * bring on your prefent misfortune. You gave * your countenance to this very company of; ftrol- lers, though you knew they are afling in defiance, to the laws of the land, to lay no worfe.. They go. from town to town, and from barn to barn,. Gripping the poor of their money, the young of their innocehee, and all of their time-. ’D6°you remember with holv much pride you told me that you had befpoke The. Bold Stroke for a, Wife , \ for the benefit of this very Mr. Frederic Theo- dofius ? To this pernicious ribaldry you not. only carried your own family, but wafted I * See Second Part of Two Farmers. The Two Wealthj Farmers . 207' know not how much money in treating your’ workmens’ wives and children, in thefe hard times too, when they have iearcely bread to eat, or a fhoe on their feet. And all this only that: you might have the abfurd pleafure of feeing thole flattering words, By Defire of. Mr. Brag- welly ftuck up in Print at the Public-houfe, on the Blackfimith’s [bed, at the Turnpike-gate,,and on- the Barn-door. Mr.. Bragwell acknowledged that his friend’s- rebuke was but too juft, and he looked fo very contrite as to raife the pity of Mr. Worthy,, who, in a mild voice, thus went om What I have faid is not lo much to reproach you with the ruin of one daughter, as from a. defire to- fave the other. Let Mifs Betly go home with, me* I do not undertake to be her gaoler, but I will be her friend. She will find in my daugh¬ ters kind companions, and in my. wife a prudent guide. I know {he will diflike us at firft, but I do not defpair in time of convincing her that a fober, humble, ufeful, pious life, is as neceflary to make us happy on earth, as k is to fit us for heaven. Poor Mifs Betfy, though fhe declared it would be frightful dull> and monftrous vulgar , and difmal melancholy , yet was fhe fo terrified at the difcontent and grumbling which fhe would have to endure at home, that fhe fullenly confented. She had none of that filial tcndernefs which led her to wifh to flay and footh and comfort her affli&ed father. All fhe thought about was to get out of the way of her mother’s ill humour. lo 8 The Two JVealthy Farmers . and to carry fo much finery with her as to fill the Mifs Worthies, with envy and refped. Poor girl ! fhe did not know that envy was a feelino* they never indulged ; and that fine clothes was the laft thing to draw their refpedt. Mr. Wor¬ thy took her. home next day. When they reached his houfe, they found there young Wilfon, Mifs Betfy’s old admirer. She was much pleafed at this, and refolved to treat him well. But her good or ill treatment now fignified- but little. This young Grazier reverenced Mr. Worthy’s character, and ever fince he had met him at the Lion, had been thinking what a happinefs it would be to marry a young woman bred up by fuch a father. He had heard much of the modefty and difcretion of both the daughters, but his inclination now determined him in favour of the elder. Mr. Worthy, who knew him to be a youno- man of good fenfe and found principles, allowed him to become a vifitor at his houfe, but de¬ ferred his confent to the marriage till he knew him more thoroughly. Mr. Wilfon, from what he faw of the domeftic piety of this family, im¬ proved daily, both in the knowledge and prac¬ tice of religion, and Mr. Worthy foon formed him into a moft valuable character. During this time Mifs Bragwell’s hopes had revived,' but though fhe appeared in a new drefs al~ moft every day, fhe had the mortification of being beheld with great indifference by one whom fhe had always fecretly liked. Mr. Wil¬ fon married before her face a girl who was ¥ The Two Wealthy Farmers. greatly her inferior in fortune, perfon, and ap¬ pearance, blit who was humble, frugal, meek, and pious. Mifs Bragwell now ftrongly felt the truth of what Mr. Wilfon 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 mortification in this life > •whether they were ever brought to a more ferious fenfe of their errors, may be feen in a future part of this hiftory, 9 _ f V.N Tfre l wo Wealthy Fanners, 2\0 PART VL / Mr.BRAGWELL was fo much affixed ajv the disgraceful marriage of his daughter, who ran off with Timothy Incle r the fbollimr-playeiy that he never foliy recovered his fpiriTs, His- c leer u.nc is,, ^ which hail an fen from an high opi- iiion of hunfelr, had been confirmed by a con* Jiant flow of uninterrupted fuccefs; and that is a fort of cheerfulncfs which is very liable to be impaired, oecau'e it lies at the mercy of every accident and crofs event in life. But though his pude was now difappointed, his misfortunes had nor taught him any humility, becaufe he had not uncovered that they were caufed by his own- fault; nor had he acquired any patience or fub- miflion, becaufe he had not learnt that all afflic¬ tion., com... horn the hand of God to awaken us- to a deep fenfe of our fins,, and to draw off our hearts from the perifhing vanities of this life.. Befides, Mr. Bragwell was one of thofe people,, who, even if they would be thought to bear wit 1 tolerable iubmiffion fuch trials as appear to- be lent more immediately from Providence, yet’ think they have a fort of right to rebel at every misfortune which befals them through the fault of a fellow-creature; as if our fellow-creatures were not the agents and inftruments by which Providence often fees fit to try or to punifli us. * nis tttipruoent daughter, Bragwell would not be brou ght to. fee or forgive, nor was the de- 211 The Two Wealthy Farmers . grading name of Mrs. Incle ever allowed to be pronounced in bis hearing. He had loved her with an exceflive and undue affe&ion ; and while fhe gratified his vanity by her beauty and finery, he deemed her faults of little confequence; but when (he difappointed his ambition by a difgrace- ful carriage, all his natural affcbUon only feived to increafe his refentment. Yet, though he re¬ gretted her crime lefs than his own mortincation, he never ceafed in lecret to lament herdofs. She foon found out fhe was undone, and wrote in^a flrain of bitter repentance to afk his forgivenefs. She owned that her hufband, whom (lie had fup- • poled to be a man of fafhion in difguife, was a iow perfon in diftreffed circumflances. She im¬ plored that her father, though he refufed to give her hufband that fortune for which alone it was now too plain he had married her, would at leaf! allow her fome fubfiftence, for that Mr. Incle was much in debt, and fhe feared in danger of a goal. The father’s heart was half melted at this account, and his affeftion was for a time awakened. But Mrs. Bragwell oppofed his lending her any affift- ance. She always made it a point of duty never to forgive; (c for fhe faid it only encouiaged thofe who had done wrong once to do worfe next time. For her part Hie had never yet been guilty of fo mean and pitiful a weakness as to forgive any one ; for to pardon an injury always fhewed either want of fpirit to feel it, or want of power to reient it. She was refolved fhe would never fquander the money for which fhe had worked early and late, on a baggage who had thrown herfelf away on a beggar, while flic had a daughter fingle who:-- <212 l he Two Wealthy Farmers . might raife her family by a great match.” I am lorry to fay that Mrs. Bragwell’s anger was not owing to.the undutifulnefs of the daughter, or the wortnleflnefs of the hufband ; poverty was in her C7es the grand crime. The dodrine offoro-ive- n r A/r aS ^ rcll ^ ous P rinc T Je > made no more a part ° Mr. Bragwell’s fyftem than of his wife’s* but in natural feeling, particularly for this offending daughter, he much exceeded her. In a few months, the youngeft Mifs Brag well deiired leave to return home from Mr. Worthy’s, one had* indeed, only confented to go thither as a lefs evil of the two than flaying in her father’s houfe after her filler’s elopement. But the fa¬ bric ty and fimplicity of Mr. Worthy’s family were ircfome to her. Habits of vanity and idlenefs v/ere become fo rooted in her mind, that any de- giee of reflraint was a burthen ; and though fhe was outwardly civil, it was eafyto fee that fh^lonor- ed to get away. She refolved, however, to profit by her filter’s faults ; and made her parents eafyby alluring them flie never would throw herfelf away on a man who was worth nothing. Encouraged by thefe promifes, which were all that her parents thought they could in reafon exped, her father allowed her to come home. Mr. Vy orthy, who accompanied her, found Mr Bragwell gloomy and dejeded. As his houfe was no longer a fcene of vanity and feflivity, Mr Brag- well tried to make himfelf and his friend believe tnat he was grown religious s whereas he was only Mcorne diicontented. As he had always fancied tnat piety was a melancholy gloomy thing, and as ‘ e 3 own 1Ti ind really gloomy, he was willing ~ 13 The Two Wealthy Farmers . . to think that he was growing pious. Fie had, in¬ deed, gone more conftantly to church, and had taken lefs pleafure in feafting and cards, and now and then read a chapter in the Bible; but all this was becaufe his fpirits were low, and not becaufe his heart was .changed. The outward actions were more regular, but the inward man was the fame. The forms of religion were reforted to as a painful duty \ but this only added to his mifery, while he was utterly ignorant of its fpirit and its power. He {fill, however, referved religion as a loathfome medicine, to which he feared he mult have recourfe at laft, and of which he even now confideredevery abftinence from pleafure, or every exercife of piety as a bitter dofe. His health alfo was impaired, fo that his friend found him in a pitiable ftate, neither able to receive plealure from the world, which he fo dearly loved, nor from religion which he fo greatly feared. He expedted ' to have been much commended by Worthy for the change in his way of life ; but Worthy, who faw that the alteration was only owing to the lofs of animal fpirits, and to the cafual abfence of temptation, was cautious of flattering him too much. - eallhy Farmers. n j • ingly^we live—I lie a-bed almoft all day, and am up ail night: but it is never dark for all that, for we burn i'uch numbers of candles all at once, that the fun would be of no ufe at all in London.— Tnen I am fo happy ! for we are never quiet a moment, Sundays or working-days, nay, I Ihould not know which was which, only that we have moil plea lure on a Sunday, becauie it is the only day in which people have nothing to do but divert them- ielves.—Then the great folks are all fo kind, and lo good, they have not a bit of pride, for they will come and eat and drink, and win my money juft as if I was their equals; and if I have got but a cold they are lo very unhappy that they fend to know how I do; and though I fuppofe they can’t reft till the footman has told them, yet they are fo polite,, that if I have been dying they leem to have forgot it next time we meet, and not to know but they have feen me the day before. Oh! th the Poftilion . and the fantlion of experience on it’s worth. But if it be old as well as bad, that is another reafon for my trying to put an end to it, that we may not miftead our children as our fathers have milled us. THE ROOF-RAISING. Some years after he was fettled, he built a large new barn. All the workmen were looking for¬ ward to the ufual holiday of roof-raifing. On this occafion it is a cuftom to give a dinner to the workmen, with fo much liquor after it that they got fo drunk, that they not only loft the remain¬ ing half-day’s work, but they were not always able to work the following day. Mrs. White provided a plentiful dinner for roof- raifing, and gave each man his mug of beer.— After a hearty meal thev began to grow clamo- rous for more drink. The farmer faid, *My lads, I don’t grudge you a few gallons of ale merely for the fake of laving my liquor, though that is fome confideration, efpecially in thefe dear times, but I never will, knowingly, help any man to make a beaft of himfelf. • X am refolved to break through a bad cuftom. You are now well refrefhed. If you will go cheerfully to your work, you will have half a day’s pay to take on Saturday night more than you would if this afternoon were wafted in drupkennefs. For this your families will be the better : whereas, were I to give you more liquor, when you have already had enough, I fhould help to rob them of their bread. But I wilh to Ihew you, that I have your good at heart full as much Tom White, the Pqftilion, t6'9 as my own own pro fit. If you will now go to ’work, l will give you all another mug at night when you leave off. Thus your time will be laved, your families helped, and my ale will not go to make reafonable creatures worfe than brute beads. Here he flopped. You are in the right on't. Mailer, laid Tom the Thatcher ; you are a hearty man, Farmer, faid John Plane/the carpenter; come along boys, laid Tim Brick the malon 5 fo they all went merrily to work, fortified with a good dinner. There was only one drunken furly fellow that refufed, who was Dick Guzzle the fmith.— Dick never works above two or three days in a week, and fpends the others at the Red Lion,- He fwore, that if the farmer did not leave him D, £ much liquor as he liked at roof raifing, he would not ftrike another ftroke, but would leave the job unfinifhfd, and he might get hands where he could.. Farmer White took him at his word, and paid him offdireftly: glad enough to get rid of Inch a fot, whom he had only employed from pity to a large and almoft flarving family. When the men came for their mug in the evening, the far¬ mer brought out the remains of the cold gammon $ they made a hearty flipper, and thanked him for having broke through a foolifh cuflorn, which was afterwards much left off in that parilh, though Dick would not come into it, and loll moll of his work in confequence. Farmer White’s labourers were often com¬ plaining, that things were fo dear that they could not buy a bit of meat. He knew it was partly true, but not intirely, for it was before thefe very ' N 3 a 70 Tom White , the P oft Hi on. hard times that their complaints began. One morning he kept out to fee how an outhoufe which he was thatching went on. He was fur- prized to find the work at a fkmd. He walked over to the thatcher’s houfe. Tom, faid he, I defire that piece of work may be finifhed direclly. If a fhower comes my grain will be fpoiled. In¬ deed, maker, I (han’t work to-day, nor to-mor¬ row neither, faid Tom. You forget that ’tis Taker Monday, and to-morrow is Taker Tuef- day. And fo on Wednesday I (hall thatch away, maker. But ’tis hard if a poor man, who works all the year, may not enjoy thefe few holidays, which come but once a year. Tom, (aid the farmer, when thefe days were firft put into our prayer-book, the good men who ordained them to be kept, little thought that the time would come when holy-day fhould mean drunken■ day. How much dok think now I fhall pay thee for this piece of thatch ? Why you know, maker, you have let it to me by the great. I think between this and to-morrow night, as the weather is fo fine, I could clear about four (hil¬ lings., after I have paid my boy; but thatching does not come often, and other work is not fo profitable. Very well, Tom; and how much now do you think you may fpend in thefe two holidays ? Why, maker, if the ale is pleafant and the company merry, I do not expe£l to get off for Lels than three kiillings. Tom, can you do pounds, (hillings, and pence ? I can make a little icore, maker, behind the kitchen door, with a bit of chalk, which is as much as I want. Well, Tom, add the four (hillings you would have Tom White , the PcJUUon. 271 earned to the three you intend to fpend, what does that make ? Let me fee ! three and four make (even, Seven • (hillings, maker. Tom, you often tell me the times are fo bad, that vou can _ j * j never buy a bit of meat. Now here is the coft of two joints at once; to lay nothing of the fin of wafting time and getting drunk. I never once thought of that, faid Tom. Now Tom, laid the farmer, if I were you, I would ftep over to but¬ cher J obbins’s, buy a (boulder of mutton, which being left from Saturday's market you will get a little cheaper. This I would make my wife bake in a deep difh full of potatoes. I would then go to work, and when the dinner was ready 1 would go and enjoy it with my wife and children; you need not give the mutton to the brats; the pota¬ toes will have all the gravy, and be very favor/ for them. Aye, but Fve got no beer, mafter ; the times are fo hard that a poor man can't afford to brew a drop of drink now as we ufed to do. Times are bad, and malt is very dear, Tom, and yet both don’t prevent you from fpending feven (hillings in keeping holiday. Now fend for a quart of ale as it is to be a feaft ; and you will even then be tour fnillings richer than if you had gone to the publick houfe. I would have you put by thefe four (hillings, till I could add a couple to them ; with this I would get a bulhel of malt, and my wife (hould brew it, and you may take a pint of your own beer at home of a night, which will do you more good than a gallon at the Red Lion. I have a great mind to take your ad¬ vice, mafter, but I (hall be made fuch fun of at N4 27 2 Tom White> the Voftilion , the Lion! they will fo laugh at me if I don’t the Toftilion, Dodtor ; I ought not, however appearances were againfl: you, to have fufpedted that fo humble and prudent a woman as you are, would be led either to indulge any daintinefs of your own, or to fly in the face of your betters, by eating white bread while they are eating brown. Whenever I come here, I fee it is not needful to be rich in order to be charitable. A bountiful rich man would have fentTom to a furgeon, who would have done no more for him than you have done ; for in thofe inflammations the moft fkilful furgeon could only apply a poultice. Your kindnefs in drefling the wound yourfelf, will, I doubt not, perform the cure at the expence of that three-penny loaf and a little hoff’s lard. And I will take care that Tom S-J ___ fhali have a good fupply of rice from the fub- fcription.—And he fhan’t want for fkim-milk, faid Mrs. White ; and was he the bed lord in the land, in the date he is in, a difh of good rice milk would be better for him than the riched meat. THE PARISH MEETING. On the tenth of Augud, the vedry held ano¬ ther meeting, to confuit on the bed method of further afliftingthe poor.' The profpedt of abun¬ dant crops now cheared every heart. Farmer White, who had a mind to be a little jocular with his defponding neighbours,. faid, Well, neighbour Jones, all the wheat was killed, I fuppofe ; the barley is all dead at the root.—Farmer Jones looked fheepifh, and faid, to be fure the crops had turned out better than he thought, —Them, Tom White , the Toft Hi on. 279 faid Dr. Shepherd, let us learn to trull Providence another time ; let our experience of his pall good- nefs lirengthen our faith. Among other things they agreed to fubfcribe for a large quantity of rice, which was to be fold out to the poor at a very low price, and Mrs. White was fo kind as to undertake the trouble of felling it. After their day’s work was over, all who wifhed to buy at thefe reduced rates, were ordered to come to the farm on the Tuefday even¬ ing. Dr. Shepherd dropped in at the fame time, and when Mrs. White had done weighing her rice, the dodfcor fpoke as follows : My honeft friends, it has pleafed God for fome wife end, to vifit this land with a fcarcity, to which we have been but little accuflomed. There are fome idle evil-minded people, who are on the watch for public diflrelfes; not that they may humble themfelves under the mighty hand of God (which is the true ufe to be made of all troubles), but that they may benefit themfelves by diliurbing the public peace. Thefe people, by riot and drunkennefs, double the evil which they pretend to cure. Riot will complete our misfortunes, while peace, induftry, and good ma¬ nagement, will go near to cure them. Bread, to be fure, is-uncommonly dear. Among the vari¬ ous ways of making it cheaper, one is to reduce the quality of it, another to leffen the quantity we confume. If we cannot get enough of coarfe wheaten bread, let' us make it of other grain. Or let us mix one half of potatoes, and one half o£ wheat. This laft is what I eat in my own fa¬ mily j. it is pleafant and wholefome. Our blelfed Tom White , the Poftilion . Saviour ate barley bread., you know, as we are told in the lad month’s Sunday Reading of the Cheap Repository*, which I hope you have ail heard; as I defired the mader of the Sunday-fchool to read it juft after evening-fervice, when I know many of the parents are apt to call in at the fcnool. This is a good cuftom, and one of thofe little books lhall be often read at that time. . good women, I truly feel for you at this time of icarcity ; and I am going to {hew my good-will, as much by my advice as my fubfcrip- tion. It is my duty, as your friend and minider, to tell you, that one half of your prefent hardfhips is owing to bad management. I often meet your children without {hoes and dockings, with great luncheons of .the very whited bread, and that three times a day. Half that quantity, and dill lefs if it were coarfe, put into a diih of good onion or leek porridge, would make them an ex- ' cellent breakrad. Many too, of the very poored of you, eat your bread hot from the oven this makes the difference of one loaf in five ; I adure you dis what I cannot afford to do. Come, Mrs. White, you mud affid me a little. I am not very knowing in thefe matters myfelf; but I know that the rich would be twice as charitable as they are, if the poor made a better ufe of their bounty. Mrs. White, do give thefe poor women a little advice how to make their pittance go further than it now does. When you lived with me, you were famous for making us nice cheap difhes # * See Cheap Repertory,- Traft on the Scarcity, printed for T. Evans, Long-Lane, Weft Smithfiold, London, Tom White, the Poftilion. 281 and I dare fay you are not lefs notable now you manage for yourfelf. Indeed,.neighbours, faid Mrs. White, what the good do61 or fays is very true. A halfpenny worth of oatmeal, or groats, with a leek or onion, out. of your own garden, which cods nothing, a bit of fait, and a little coarfe bread, will breakfafl your whole family. It is a great miftake at any time to think a bit of meat is fo ruinous, and a great load of bread fo cheap. A poor man gets feven or eight fhillings a week > if he is careful he ■ brings it home. I dare not fay how much of this goes for tea in the afternoon, now fjgar and but¬ ter are fo dear, bccaufe I fhould have you all upon me ; but I will fay, that too much of this little goes even for bread, from a miftaken notion that it is the harddl fare. This, at all times, but particularly juft now, is bad management. Dry peas, to be lure, have been very dear lately ; but now they are plenty enough. I am certain then, that if a fhilltng or two of the feven or eight was laid out fora bit of coarfe beef, a fheep’s head, or any fuch thing, it would be well bellowed. I would throw 1 a couple of pound of this into the pot, with two or three handfuls of grey peas, an onion, and a little pepper. Then I would throw in cabbage or turnip, and carrot; or any garden fluff that was moft plenty; let it flew two or three hours, and it will make a difh fit for his Majcfty. The working men fhould have the meat 5 the children don’t want it ; the foup will be thick and fubftantial, and requires no bread. 2.82 lorn Whitt , the Pc/l Hi on. RICE MILK. .i , i ou who can get fkim-milk, as all our work¬ men can, have a great advantage. A quart of this, and a quarter of a pound of the rice you have juli bought, a little bit of all-fpice, and brown fugar, will make a dainty and cheap difh. Bids your heart 1 muttered Amy Grumble, who looked as dirty as a cinder-wench, with her face and fingers all daubed with fnuff; rice milk, indeed 1 it is very nice to be fure for thofe who can drefs it, but We have not bit of coal; rice is of no ufe to us without firing ; and yet, laid the Debtor, I fee your tea-kettle boiling twice every day, as I pafs by the poor-houfe, and frefh butter at eleven-pence a pound on your fhelf. O dear, fir, cried Amy, a few flicks ferve to boil the tea¬ kettle. And a few more, laid the Dobtor, will boil the rice milk, and give twice the nourifhment at a quarter of the expence. RICE PUDDING. Pray, Sarah , Paid the Debtor, how did you ufe to make that pudding my children were lo fond of? And I remember, when it was cold, we ufed to have it in the parlour for fupper. Nothing more eafy, Paid Mrs. White. I put half a pound of rice, two quarts of ikim milk, and two ounces of brown fugar. Well, faid the Dobtor, and how many will this dine ? Seven or eight, fir. Very well, and what will it coft ? Why, fir, it did not coll you fo much, becaufe we baked it at Tom White, the P oft Hi on. 283 home ; and I ufed our own milk : but it will not coil above feven-pence to thofe who pay for both. Here, too, bread is faved. Fray, Sarah, let me put in a word, faid farmer White. I advife my men to raife each a large bed of parfnips. They are very nourifhing, and very profitable. Six-penny worth of feed, well fowed, and trod in, will produce more meals than four lacks of potatoes; and what is material to you who have fo little ground, it will not require more than an eighth part of the ground which the four facks will take. Parfnips are very good the fecond day warmed in the frying-pan, and a little rafher of pork, or bacon, will give them a nice flavour. Dr. Shepherd now faid, As a proof of the nou¬ rifhing quality of parfnips, I was reading in a hiflory book this very clay, that the American Indians make a great part of their bread of parf¬ nips, though Indian corn is fo famous: it will make a little variety too. A CHEAP STEW. I remember, faid Mrs. White, a cheap difh* fo nice that it makes my mouth water. I peel fome raw potatoes, (lice them thin, put the flices into a deep frying-pan, or pot, with a little wa¬ ter, an onion, and a bit of pepper. Then I get a bone or two of a bread of mutton, or a little drip of fait pork, and put it into it. Cover it down clofe, keep in the deam, and let it dew for an hour. You really get me an appetite, Mrs. White, by •284 Tom While , //^ Poftilion ,. your dainty receipts, (aid the Doctor. I am refolved to have this diih at my own table. I , could tell you another very good dilh, and ft ill cheaper, anlwercd fhc. Come, let us have it, cried the Do&or. I fhall write all down as foon as I get home, and I will favour any body with a copy of thefe receipts who will call at my houfe. And I will do more, Sir, laid Mrs. White, for I will put any of thefe women in the way how to.drefs it the firft time, if they are at a lofs. But this is my diffi. Take two or three pickled herrings, put them into a (tone jar, fill it up with potatoes, and a little water, and let it bake in the oven till it is done-. I would give one hint more, added flic ; X have taken to ufe nothing but potatoe (larch ; and though 1 fay it, that fhoukl not iky it, no¬ body's linen in a common way looks better than curs. The D obi or now laid, I am forry for one hard- fhip which many poor people labour under, X mean the difficulty of getting a little milk. I wifh all farmers’ wives were as confiderate as you are, Mrs. White. A little milk is a great comfort to the poor, efpecially when their children are lick; and I have known it anfwer to the feller as well as to the buyer, to keep a cow or two on purpofe to fell it out by the quart, inftead of making butter and cheeie. Sir, faid farmer White, I beg leave to fay a word to the men, if you pleafe, for all your ad¬ vice goes to the women. If you will drink lefs gin, you may get more meat. If you abftain from the ale-houfe, you may many of you, get a Tom White, the Poflilion. 285 little one-way beer at home. Aye, that we can, farmer, laid poor Tom, the Thatcher, who was now got well. Eafter Monday for that—I fay no tnore. A word to the wile. The farmer frniled, and went on. The number of public houfes in many a parifh brings on more hunger and rags than all the taxes in it, heavy as they are. All the other evils put together hardly make up the fum of that one. We are now railing a frelli lublcription for you. Tins will t*** our rule of giving. We will not give to fots, gamblers, and fabbath-breakcrs. Thofe who do not fet their young children to' work on week¬ days, and lend them to Ichool on Sundays, delerve little favour. No man fhould keep a dog till he has mote food than his family wants. If he feeds them at home, they rob his children; if he ftarves them, they rob his neighbours. We have heard in a neighbouring city, that fome people carried back the fubfcription loaves, becaufe they were too coarfe; but we hope better things of you. Here Betty Plane begged, with all humi¬ lity, to put in a word. Certainly, faid the Doftor, we will liften to all model!: complaints, and try to redrefs them. You are pleafed to fay, fir, faid Hie, that we might find much comfort from buying coarfe bits of beef. And lb we might; but do you not know, fir, that we could leldom get them, even when we had the money, and times were not fo bad. How fo, Betty ? Sir, when we go to butcher jobbins, for a bit of Ihin, or any other lean piece, his anfwer is, You can’t have it to day. The cook at the great houfe has befpoke it for gravy, or the Doctor’s maid. 2$6 Tom White, the Toftilion. (begging your pardon, fir,) has juft ordered it for foup. Now, fir, if fuch kind gentlefolks were aware, that this gravy and foup not only conlume a great deal of meat, (which, to be fure, thofe have a right to do who can pay for it,) but that it takes away thofe coarfe pieces which the poor would buy, if they bought at all, I am lure they would not do it. For, indeed, the rich have been very kind, and I don’t know what we fhould have done without them. I thank you for the hint, Betty, faid the Dodtor, and I allure you I will have no more gravy foup. My garden will fupply me with foups, that are both wholefomer and better; and I will anfwer for my lady at the great houfe, that fhe will do the fame. I hope this will become a general rule, and then we lhall expedi that butchers will favour you in the prices of the coarfe pieces, if we who are rich buy nothing but the prime. In our gifts we fhall prefer, as the farmer has told you, thofe who keep fteadily to their work : fuch as come to the veftry for a loaf, and do not come to church for the fermon, we lhall mark ; and * prefer thofe who come conftantly whether there are any gifts or not. But there is one rule from which we never will depart. Thofe who have been feen aiding, or abetting any riot, any attack on butchers, bakers, wheat-mows, mills, or mil¬ lers, we will not relieve ; but with the quiet, contented, hard-working man, I will lhare my laft morfel of bread. I lhall only add, though it has pleafed God to fend us this vifitation as a punifhment, yet we may convert this Ihort trial into a lafting blelftng, if we all [turn over a new \ Tom White , the PojlWon* 287 leaf* Profperity had made mofl of us carelels. The thoughtlefs profufion of fome of the rich could only be exceeded by the idlenefs, and bad management of fome of the poor. Let us now, at laft, adopt that good old maxim, every one mend one . And may God add his blefling i The people now chearfully departed with their rice, refolving, as many of them as could get milk, to put one of IVIrs, White’s receipts in practice that very night; and a rare fupper they had. I hope foon to give a good account how this parifli improved in eafe and comfort, by their im¬ provement in frugality and good management. * • 7 t [ V THE COTTAGE COOK, OR * Mrs. JONES’s CHEAP DISHES. SHEWING THE WAY TO DO MUCH GOOD _ t WITH LITTLE MONEY. IVArS. JONES was a great merchant's lady. She was liberal to the poor, in giving them money ; but as fhe was too much taken up with the world, fhe did not fpare fo much of her time and thoughts about doing good as fhe ought, fo that her money was often ill-bellowed. In the late troubles, Mr. Jones, who had lived in a grand manner, failed; and he took his misfortunes fo much to heart, that he fell fick and died. Mrs. Jones retired, on a very narrow income, to the fmall village ofWefton, where fhe feldom went out except to church. Though a pious woman, fhe was too apt to indulge her forrow; and though fhe did not negleCt to read and pray, yet fhe gave up a great part of her time to melan¬ choly thoughts, and grew quite inactive. She well knew how finful it would be for her to leek a cure for her grief in worldly pkafures, which is a way many people take under afflictions s but 7 he Cottage Cook, 2S9 Hie was not aware how wrong'it was to weep away .that time which might have been better (pent in drying the tears of others. . lt was ha PPy for her, that Mr. Sknpfon* the vicar of Weftori, was a pious man. One Sunday ne happened to preach on the Good Samaritan. . v/as a charity fermon, and there was a collec¬ tion at the door. He called on Mrs. Jones after church, and found her in tears. She told him fo £ been much moved by his difcourfe, and ihe wept becaufe illc had lo little to give to the plate; for though die felt very keenly for the poor in thefe dear times, yet die could not affift them. Indeed, dr, added die, I never fo much regretted the lofs of my fortune, as this afternoon, when you bade us go . and do likezvife. —You do not, replied Mr. Simpfon, enter into the fpirit of our Saviour’s parable, if you think you cannot go and do Ukewije without being rich. In the cafe of the Samaritan, you may obferve, that charity was afforded more by kindnefs, and care, and medi¬ cine, than by money. You, ,madam, were as much concerned in mv fermon as Sir John with his great eftate; and, to fpeak plainly, I have been fometimes furprifed that you diould not put yourfelfin the way of being more ufeful. Sir, laid Mrs. Jones, I am grown diy of the poor fince I have nothing to give them. Nothin^ J riiadam, replied the clergyman, do you call your time, your talents, .your kind offices, nothing? I will venture to fay that you might do more good than the ficneft man in the parifh could do by merely giving his money. Inftead of fitting here. 29O *tbe Cottage Cook. bfoodirlg dver your misfortunes, which are pad: ■remedy, beftir yourfelf to find out ways of doing much good with little money; or even without any money at all. You have lately ftudied osco- nomy for yourfelf; inftfuft your poor neighbours in that important art. They want it almoft as much as they want money. You have influence with the few rich perfons in the parifh; exert that influence. Betty, my houfekeeper, fhall afllft you in any thing in which fhe can be ufeful. Try this for one year, and if you then tell me that you ihould have better fhewn your love to God and man, and been a happier woman had you conti¬ nued gloomy and inactive, I fhall be much fur- prifed, and fhall content to your refuming your prefent way of life* The fermon and this difcourfe made fo deep an imprefhon on Mrs. Jones, that fhe formed a new plan of life, and let about it at once, as every body does who is in earned:. Her chief aim was the happinefs of her poor neighbours in the next world ; but fhe was alio very defirous to promote their prefent comfort. The plans fhe purfued with a view to the latter objedl, fhall be explained in this little book. Mrs. Tones was much re- fpedted by all the rich perfons in Wetlon, who had known i\er in her proiperity. Sir John was thoughtlefs, lavifh, and indolent. 1 he Squire was over-frugal, but active, fober, and not ill- natured. Sir John loved pieafure, the Squire - loved money. Sir John was one of thole popu¬ lar fort of people who get much praife and yet do little good; who fubfcribe with equal readinefs to a cricket match, or a charity fchool; who taiee The Cottage Cook, zft it for granted that the poor are to be indulged with bell-ringing and bonfires, and to be made drunk at Chfidmas j this Sir John called being kind to them ; but he thought it was folly to teach them, and madnefs to think of reforming them. He was, however, always ready to give his guinea j but I queftion whether he would have given up his hunting and his gaming to have cured every grievance in the land. On the other hand, the Squire would a Hi ft Mrs. Jones in any of her plans if it cod him nothing ; fo fhe fhewed her good fenfe by never afking Sir John for advice, or the Squire for fubfcriptions, and by this pru¬ dence gained the full fupport of both. Mrs. Jones refolved to fpend two or three days in a week in getting acquainted with the date of the parifh, and fhe took care never to walk out without a few little good books in her pocket to give away. This, though a cheap, is a moil im¬ portant aft of charity ; it has various ufes; it fur- nifhes the poor with knowledge, which they have no other way of obtaining ; and it is the bed in¬ troduction for any ufefui converfation which the giver of the book may with to introduce. She found that among the numerous wants, fhe met with, no frriall diare was owing to bad ma¬ nagement, or to impofition : Ihe was druck with the fmall fize oi the loaves. Wheat was not now* very dear, and Hie was fore a good deal of blame reded with the baker. She fent tor a (hilling’loaf, to the next great town where the mayor often fent to the bakers’ drops to fee that the bread was pro¬ per weight. She weighed her town loaf againfr O o 2 The Cottage Cook, her country loaf, and found the latter two pounds lighter than it ought to be. This was not the fort of grievance to carry to Sir John ; but luckily the Squire was alfo a magistrate, and it was quite in his way. He told her he could remedy the evil if fom'e one would lodge an information againil the Taker. , t . • i I k i • , / THE INFORMER. She dropt in on the blackfmith. He was at dinner. She enquired if his bread was good.— Aye, good enough, miflrefs, for you lee it is as white as vour cap, if we had but more of it.— Here's a frxpenny loaf, you might take it for a penny role ! He then heartily curled Crib, the baker, and faid, he ought to be hanged. Mrs. Jones now told him what fhe had done, how (he had detected the fraud, and affured him the evil (liquid be redrafted on the morrow, provided he would appear and inform. I inform! faid he, with a (hocking oath, hang an informer! I fcorn the office. You are nice in the wrong place, friend, replied Mrs. Jones, for you don't fcorn to abufe the baker, nor to be in a paffion, nor to fwear, though you fcorn to redrefs a public injury, and to increafe your childrens’bread. Let me tell you, there is nothing in which you ignorant people miftake more than in your notions about informers. Informing is a lawful way of obtaining redrefs; and though it is a mifchievous and a hateful thing to go to a juftice about every trifling matter, yet laying an information on important cccafions, without malice, or bitternefs of tiny 5 The Cottage Cook. 29 'j kiridj is what no honed man ought to be aihamed 1 of. The fhame is to commit the offence, not to inform againd it. I, for my part, fhould perhaps do right if I not only informed againd Crib, for making light bread, but againd you for fwearing at him. Well, but madam, faid the fmith, a little ibftened, don’t you think it a fin and a fhame'to turn informer ? So far from it, when a man’s motives are good, faid Mrs. Jones, that in fuch dear cafes as the prefent, I think it a duty and a virtue. If it is right that there fhould be laws, it mud be right that they fhould be put in execu¬ tion ; but how can this be, if people will not in¬ form the magidrates when they fee the laws bro-- ken ? An informer by trade is commonly a knave 5 a rafh, malicious, or pa [donate informer is a fire¬ brand; but honed and .prudent informers are al~ mod as ufeful* members of fbciety as the judges of the land. If you continue in your prefent mind on this fubje even in the gay part of her life, had kept her from mapy midakes; but though fhe had fome tiroes been deceived herfelf, fhe was very careful not to deceive others, in recommending people to fill any office for which they were unfit, either through felfiffinefs or falfe kindnefs. She ufed to fay, there is always fome one appropriate quality which every perfon mud poffefs, in order to fit them for any particular employment. Even in this quality, faid fire to Mr. Simpfon, the clergy¬ man, I do not expecd perfection ; but if they are diditute of this, whatever good qualities they may poffefs befides, though they may do for fome other employment, they will not do for this. If I want a pair of dices, I go to a fhoemaker; I do not go to a man of another trade, however in¬ genious he may be, to afk him if he cannot con - trive to make me a pair of (hoes. When I lived in London, I learned to be much on my guard as. The Sunday School . 307 to recommendations. I found people often wanted to impofe on me fome one who was a burthen to themfelves. Once I remember, when I under¬ took to get a matron for an hofpital, half my ac¬ quaintance had fome one to offer me. Mrs. Gib- Ion fent me an old cook, whom fhe herfeif had difcharged for wafting her own provisions, yet fhe had the confcience to recommend this woman to take care of the provifions of a large community. Mrs. Grey fent me a difcarded houfekeepcr, whole conftitution had been ruined by fitting up with Mrs. Grey's gouty hufband, but who fhe yet thought might do well enough to undergo the fatigue of taking care of an hundred poor Tick people. A third friend fent me a woman who had no merit but that of being very poor, and it would be charity to provide for her. The truth is, the lady was obliged to allow her a fmall pen- fion till fhe could get her off her own hands, by turning her on thofe of others. . It is very true, madam, faid Mr. Simpfon, the right way is always to prefer the good of the many to the good of one ; if, indeed, it can be called doing good to any one to place them in a ftatjon in which they muft feel unhappy, by not knowing how to difcharge the duties of it. I will tell you how I manage. If the perions recommended are objects of charity, I privately fubfcribe to their wantsi I pity and help them, but I never promote them to a ftation for which they are unfit, as I fhould by fo doing hurt a whole community to help a diftreffed individual. Thus Mrs. Jones refolved, that the firft ftep towards letting up her fchool fhould be to pro- jo8 The Sunday School . vide a fuitable midrefs. The vedry were fo ear¬ ned in recommending one woman, that fhe thought it worth looking into. On enquiry, fhe found it was a fcheme to take a large family off the parifli ; they never confidered that a very ' ignorant woman, with a family of young children, was not fit for a fchool; all they confidered was,, that the profits of the fchool might enable her to live without parifli pay. Mrs. Jones refilled an¬ other, though fhe could read well, and was decent in her condudt, becaufe fhe ufed to fend her chil¬ dren to the (hop on Sundays. And fhe objected' to a third, a very fenfible woman, becaufe fhe was fufpeded of making an outward profeflion of religion a cloak for immoral condudt. Mrs. Jones knew' fhe mud not be too nice neither ; fhe knew fhe muff put up with many faults at lad. I know, faid fhe to Mr. Simpfon, the imperfection of every thing that is human. As the midrefs will have much to bear with from the children, fo X expedt to have fomething to bear with in the midrefs; and fhe and I mud fubmit to our re- fpedtive trials, by thinking how much God has to bear with in us all. But there are three things which a midrefs mud not be without; goodJenJe , activity , and pety. Without the fird fhe will miflead others; without the fecond fhe will negledt them ; and without the third, though fhe may ci- -vilize, yet fhe will never chridianize them. Mr. Simpfon faid, he really knew but of one perfon in the parifli who was fully likely to an- fwer her purpofee this, continued he, is no other than my houfekeeper, Mrs. Betty Crew. It will indeed be a great lofs to me to part from her^ I The S mid ay School. jog and to her it will be a far more fatiguing life than that which fhe at prefent leads. But ought I to put my own perfonal comfort, or ought Betty to put her own eafe and quiet, in competition with the good of above an hundred children ? This will appear Bill more important, if we confider the good clone, not as a fruit but feed; if we take into the account how many yet unborn may be ¬ come Chriftians, in confequence of our making thefe children Chriftians. For how can we cal¬ culate the number which may be hereafter trained for heaven, by thole very children we are going to teach, when they themlelves foall become pa¬ rents, and you and { are dead and forgotten ? To before, by my parting from Betty, mypeas-foup will not be quite fo well flavoured, nor my linen fo neatly got up; but the day is fafr approaching when all this will fignify but little ; but it will not figiAfy a littie whether one hundred immortal fouls were the better from my making this petty facrifice. Betty Crew is a real Chriftian, has ex¬ cellent fenfe, and had a good education from my mother. She has alfo had a little fort of training for the bufinefs; for when the poor children come to the parfonage for the broth on a Satur¬ day evening, Betty is ufed to appoint them all to come at the fame time, and after foe has filled their pitchers, foe ranges them round her in the garden, and examines them in their catechifm. She is juft and fair in dealing out the broth and beef, not making my favour to the parents depend on the fkill of tneir children. But her own old caps, and riobons, and call off cloaths, are be- ftowed as little .rewards on tne beft fcholars. So 2io The Sunday School. that taking the time llie fpends in working for them, and the things ike gives them, there is many a lady who does not exceed Betty in ads of charity: this I mention to confirm your notion, that it is not neceffary to be rich in order to do good > a religious upper iervant has great oppor¬ tunities of this fort, if the mailer is difpofed to encourage her. My readers, I trail, need not be informed, that this is that very Mrs. Betty Crew who affifted Mrs. Jones in teaching poor women to cut out linen and drefs cheap diihes, as related in the Cottage Cook. Mrs. Jones, in the following week, got together as many of the mothers as fhe could, and fpoke to them as follows: . mrs. jones's exhortation. My good women, on Sunday next I propolc to open a fchool ror the inflrudion of your chil¬ dren. Thofe among you, who know what it is to be able to read your Bible, will, I doubt not, rejoice that the fame bleffing is held out to your children. You who are not able yourfelves to read what your Saviour has done and buffered tor you, ought to be doubly anxious that your chil¬ dren fhould reap a bleflirig which you have loll. Would not that mother be thought an unnatural moniler, who fhould Hand by and (hatch out of her child’s mouth the bread which a kind friend had juft put into it ? But fuch a mother would be merciful, compared with her who fhould rob her children of the opportunity of learning to read the word of God when it is neld but to them, i ■ - The Sunday School. j T t member, that if you flight the prefent offer, or if after having fcnt your children a few times, you fhould afterwards keep them at home under vain pretences, you will have to anfwer for it at the P' ° judgment. Let not your poor children. then have caule to fay. My fond mother was ray woilt enemy. I might have been bred up in the ear of the Lord, and line oppofed it, for the fake of giving me a little paltry pleafure.-For an idle ftohday, [ am now brought to the gates of hell» My dear women, which of you could bear to fee your darling child condemned to everlafting de- itrudhon ? Which of you could bear to hear him accufe you as the caufe of it? Is there any mother Jiere preierit, who will venture to fay_I will doom the child I bore to fin and hell, rather than put them or myfdf to a little prefent pain, by curtailing their evil inclinations ! I will let them /* . . in ignorance and idlenefs, in- ftead of refcumg them from vanity and fin, by encing tnem to ichool! Let that mother, who values her child's pleafure more than his foul, now walk away, wnile I fet down in my lift the names of all thole who TOfh to bring their young ones ■ ! , ? the cl ? at ]ead s to eternal life, inftead of indulging them in the pleafures of fin, which are but for a moment. \\ hen Mrs. Jones had done fpeaking, mod of che women thanked her for her good advice, and ncped tnat God would give them grace to follow ; promiung to lend their children conftantly. Utheis, who were not fo well difpofed, were vet "tV?" ,l " fi “ had belli 10 plainly fet before them. The worft of the' 3 i 2 The Sunday School women had kept away from this meeting, reviv¬ ing to fet their faces againft the lchool. Moll of them who were prefent, as foon as they got home, fet about providing their children with what little decent apparel they could raife. Many a willing mother lent her tall daughter her hat, bed cap, and white handkerchief; and many a grateful fa¬ ther fpared his linen waidcoat and bettermoft hat, to induce his grown up fon to attend; for it was a rule with which Mrs. Jones began, that die would not receive the younger children out of any family who did not fend their elder ones. Too many made excufes that their dioes were old, or their hat worn out. But Mrs. Jones told them not to bring any excufes to her which they could not bring to the day of judgment; and among thofe excufes fire would hardly admit any except accidents, ftcknefs, or attendance on dck parents, or young children. SUBSCRIPTIONS. Mrs. Jones was very defirous of getting the help and countenance of the farmers and tradef- people, whofe duty and intered die thought it was to fupport a plan calculated to improve the virtue and happinefs of the paridi. Mod of them iub- fcribed, and promifed to lee that their workmen fent their children. She met with little oppodtion till die called on farmer Hofkins. She told him, as he was the riched farmer in the paridi, die came to him for a handfome fubfcription. Sub- fcription ! faid he ; it is nothing but fubfcrip- tions, I think ; a man had need be made of mo- The Sunday School ncy.—Farmer, laid Mrs. Jones, God has blelTed mu a k. l ' nd ‘ lnc prosperity, and he expefts you JhcniLd be liberal in proportion to your great abi- f • ) \ 1d ° il0t I think.—Mr. Holkins, for o 11 * S J on ^ s > d ‘is is but an ungrateful return for ah your bleffings.—You/are again at your biddings, faid the farmer, but let every one work as hard as I have done, and I dare fay he will do have " lJ C 13 t0 m f ° Wn , induftl 7 1 owe what I have. My crops have been good, becaufe I P lou S hln g and Sowing.—O, farmer ! ed Mis. Jones, you forget whofe funs and lowers made your crops to grow ; but I do not P ™ b ’ b f t0 beg—Well, madam, what ‘ ltn °w. Mannel or trench? or weavers, ora iiew cnurch, or large bread, or cheap rice ? or what other new whim-wham for getting the mo- Tlmt ofo f’ s pocket I am going to eftablifh a Sunday School, farmer; and I am come to you as one or the principal inhabitants of the parilh, hoping your example will fp Ur on the left to give—Why then, laid the farmer, as one of the pnnc.pal inhabitants of the parilh, I will give no- W thereft to refufe. . all the foohlh inventions, and new-fangled de¬ vices to rum the country, that of teaching the pool to read is the very word.—And I, fanner taink that to teach good principles to the lower c a es, is the mod likely way to five the countrv. P 21 a. 7 he Sunday School. Now, in order to this, we mull teach them to read.—Not with my confent, nor my money, faid the farmer ; for I know it always does moie harm than good.—So it may, faid Mrs. Jones, if you only teach them to read, and then turn them adrift to find out books ior themielves *. d here is a pronenefs in the heart to evil, which it is our duty to oppofe, and which I lee you are promoting. Only look round your own kitchen I am afhamed to fee it hung round with loofe fongs and ballads. I grant, indeed, it would be better for your men and maids, and even your daughters, not to be able to read at all than to read fuch fluff as this. But if, when they afk for bread, you wifi give them a (tone, nay worfe, a ferpent, your s is the blame. Then taking up a penny book which had a very loofe title, fhe went on—I do not wonder, if you who read fuch books as thefe, think it lafer that people fhould not read at all. The farmer grinned, and faid, It is hard if a man of my fub- liance may not divert myfelf ; when a bit of fun cofls only a penny, and a man can fpare that penny, there is no harm done. When it is very hot, or very wet, and I come in to reft, and have drank my mug of cider, I like to take up a bit of a jeft book, or a comical ftory, to make me * It was this confideration chiefly, which ftimulated the conductors of the Cheap Repofitory to fend forth that variety of little books fo peculiarly fuitable to the young. They con- jidered, that by means of Sunday Schools, multitudes were now taught to read who would be expofed to be corrupted by all the ribaldry and profanenefs of loofe fongs, and vicious ftories; and that'it was a bounden duty to counteract fuch temptations. $ I The Sunday School. 3 ^§ laugh ! O, Mr. Hofkins, replied Mrs. Tones when you come in to reft from a burning fun or mower, do you never think of him whofe fun it is that is ripening yoUr corn ? or whofe fhower is fi hng the ear, or caufmg the grafs to grow ? I could tell you of fome books which would rengthen fuch thoughts, whereas fuch as you lead only ierve to put them out of your head. Mrs. Jones having taken pains to let Mr. Holkins know that all the genteel and wealthy people had u fcribed, he at laft laid. Why, as to the matter' 01 that, 1 do not value a crown ; only I think it might be better beftowed, and I am afraid my own workmen will fly in my face if once they are mat.e lcholars; and that they will think them- , s too good to work.—Now you talk foberly, and give your realons, faid Mrs. Jones, weak as they are, they deferve an anfwer. Do you think tnat either man, woman, or child, ever did his duty the worfe, only becaufe he knew it the better —No, perhaps not.—Now, the whole ex¬ tent of learning which we intend to give the poor, is omy to enable them to read the Bible; a book which brings to us the glad tidings of ialvaiionJ in which every duty is explained, every doftrine lougit into practice, and the higheft truths made evel to the meaneft underftanding. The know- e ge of that book, and its practical influence on ,he heart, is the beft fccurity you can have, both or d ie mduftry and obedience of your fervants. Mow can you think any man will be the worfe ervant for being a good Chriftian ?—Perhaps iot.—Are not the duties of children, of fervants' P 2 2! 6 The Sunday School. and the poor, exptefsly fet forth in the Bible ? - Yes._Do you think any duties are likely to be fo well performed from any human motives. Inch as fear or prudence, as from thefe religious mo¬ tives, which are backed with the fandtion of re¬ wards and punifhments, of heaven or hell ? Even upon your own principles of worldly policy, do you think a poor man is not lefs likely to ileal a fheep or a horfe, who was taught, when a boy, that it was a fin to rob ahen-rooft or an orchard, than one who has been bred in ignorance ? Vv ill your property be fecured fo effe&ually by the flocks on the green, as by teaching the boys in the fchool, that for all thcje things God will bring them into judgment ? Is a poor fellow who can read his Bible, fo likely to deep or to drink away his few hours of leifure*, as one who cannot read ? He may, and he often/does, make a bad ufe of his reading, but I doubt he would have been as bad without it. And the hours fpen.t in learning to read will always have been among the moll harm- ids ones of his life. Well, madam, faid the farmer, if you do not think that religion will fpoil my young fervants, 1 do not care if you do put me down for half a „uinea. What has farmer Dobfon given ?—Halt a guinea, faid Mrs. Jones. Well, cried the far¬ mer, it fhall never be faid I do not give more than he, who is only a renter. Dobfon give half a guinea ? Why he wears his coat as thread-bare 'as a labourer.—Perhaps, replied Mrs. Jones, that Is one reafon why he gives lo much. Well, put me down a guinea, cried the farmer ; as fcarce <-.s auineas are'juft now, I’ll never be put upon the 3 3 r 7 The Sunday School. fame footing with Dobfon neither. Yes, and you mu ft exert yourfelf befides, in infifting that your workmen fend their children, and often look into the fchool yourfelf to fee if they are there, and reward or difcourage them accordingly, added Mrs. Jones. The mod zealous teachers will flag in their exertions, if they are not animated and fupported by the wealthy; and your poor youth will foon defpife religious inftrudion as a thing forced upon them, if it be not made pleafant by the encouraging prefence, kind words, and-little gratuities from their betters. Here Mrs. Jones took her leave; the farmer infilled on waiting on her to the door. When they got into the yard, they fpied Mr. Simp¬ lon, who was Handing near a little group of females, confiding of the farmer's two young danghters, and a couple of rofy dairy-maids, an old blind fiddler, and a woman who led him* The woman had laid a bafket on the ground, out of which fhe was dealing fome fongs to the girls* who were kneeling round it, and eagerly picking out fuch whofe titles fuited their taftes.. On fee¬ ing the clergyman come up, the fiddler’s compa¬ nion (for I am forty to fay fhe was not his wife) pufhed fome of the fongs to the bottom of the bafket, turned round to the company, and in a whining tone afked if they would pleafe to buy a godly book. Mr. Simpfon few through the hy- pocrify at once, and inftead of making any an- lvver, took out of one of the girl’s hands a fong which the woman had not been able to fnateta away. He was fhocked and grieved to fee that, P 3 3 i8 The Sunday School . thefe young girls were about to read, to fing, and . to learn by heart fuch ribaldry as he was afhamed even to call his eyes on. He turned about to the girl, and gravely, but mildly laid, Young woman, what do you think lhould be done to a perion who lhould be found carrying a box of poifon found the country, and leaving a litrle at every houfe ? The girls all agreed, that fuch a perfon ought to be hanged. That he lhould, faid the farmer, if I was upon the jury, and quartered too. The fiddler and his woman were of the fame opi¬ nion 5 declaring they would not do fuch a wicked thing for the world, for if they were poor they were honed:. Mr. Simpfon, turning to the other girl, faid. Which is of moll value, the foul or the body?—The foul, fir, faid the girl.—Why fo ? faid he.—Becaufe, fir, I have heard you fay in the pulpit, the foul is to lad: for ever.—Then, cried Mr. Simpfon, in a ftern voice, turning to the fiddler’s woman, are you not afhamed to fell poifon for that part which is to lad for ever ? poifon for the foul ? Poifon ! faid the terrified girl, throwing down the book, and fhuddering as people do who are afraid they have touched fome- thing infectious.— Poifon ,! echoed the farmer’s daughters, recollecting with horror the ratfbane which Lion, the old houfe dog, had got at the day before, and after eating which fhe had feen him drop down dead in convuldons. Yes, faid Mr. Simpfon to the woman, I do again repeat, the fouls of thefe innocent girls will be poifoned, and may be eternally. ruined, by this vile trafh which you carry about. I now fee, faid Mrs. Jones to the farmer, the The Sunday School. 319 reafbn why you think learning to read does more harm than good. It is indeed far better that they fhould never know how to tell a letter, unlefs you keep fuch trafh as this out of their way, and pro¬ vide them with what is good, or at leafl what is harmlefs. Still this is not the fault of reading, but the abufe of it. Wine is dill a good cordial, though it is too often abufed to the purpofe of drunkennels. The farmer laid that neither of his maids could read their horn-book, though he owned he often heard them Tinging that long which the parfon had thought fo bad, but for his part it made him as merry as a'nightingale. Yes, faid Mrs. Jones, as a proof that it is not merely being able to read which does the mil- chief, I have often heard as I have been eroding a hay-field, young girls Tinging fuch indecent ri¬ baldry as has driven me out of the field; though I well knew they could not read a line of what they were Tinging, but had caught it from others. So you fee you may as well fay the memory is a wicked talent becaufe Tome people mifapply it, as to fay that reading is dangerous becaufe Tome folks abufe it. While they were talking, the fiddler and his woman were trying to Ileal away unobferved, but Mr. Simpfon flopped them, and flernly laid. Woman, I Jfhall have Tome farther talk with you. I am a magiflrate as well as a miniller, and if I know it, I will no more allow a wicked book to be fold in my pari Hi than a dofe of poifon. The girls threw away all their Tongs, thanked Mr* P 4 I \ 3 20 " The Sunday School . Simpfon, begged Mrs. Jones would take them into her fchool after they, had done milking in the evenings, that they might learn to read only what was proper. . They promifed they would never mope deal with any but fober, honeft hawkers, iuen as fell good little books, Chriftmas carols, and harmiefs longs, and defired the fiddler’s wo¬ man never to call there again. • Tins little incident afterwards confirmed Mrs. Jones in a plan fhe had before fome thoughts of putting in practice. This was, after her fchool had been eftablifhed a few months, to invite all the well-difpofed grown up youth of the parifh. to meet her at the fchool an hour or two on a Sunday evening, after the neceflary bufinefs of the dairy, and of ferving the cattle was over. Both Mrs.. Jones and her agent had the talent of making this time pafs fo agreeably by their man¬ ner of explaining feripture, and of imprefling the heart by ferious and affectionate difeourfe, that in a fhort time the evening fchool was nearly filled with a. fecond company, after the younger ones were difmiffed. In time, not only the fervants, but the ions and daughters of the moil fubftantial people in the parifh attended. At length many of the parents, pleafed with the improvement fo vifible in the young people, got a habit of drop¬ ping in, that they might learn how to inftrudl their own families. And it was obferved that as the fchool filled, not only the fives-cour-t, and public houfe were thinned, but even Sunday gof- fiping and tea vifiting declined. Even Farmer Hofkins, who was at firft angry with his maids for leaving off thofe merry longs, (as he called The Sunday School . 321 them), wus To pleafed by the manner in which the pfalms were fung at the fchool, that he pro- mifed Mrs. Jones to make her a prefent of half a Iheep towards her firft May-day fealh.> Of this feaft fome account {hall be given hereafter y aad the reader may expect fome further account of the Sunday School next month in the hiftory of J Heller Wilmot, V THE HISTORY OF HESTER WILMOT; OR, THE SECOND PART of the SUNDAY SCHOOL, HESTER WILMOT was born in the parifh of Wefton, of parents who maintained themielves by their labour j they were both of them ungodly, it is no wonder therefore they v/ere unhappy. They lived badly together, and how could they do ctherwife, for their tempers were very different, and they had no religion to fmooth down this dif¬ ference, or to teach them that they ought to bear with each other’s faults. Rebecca Wilmot was a proof that people may have fome right qualities, and yet be but bad charadters, and utterly defti- tute of religion. She was clean, notable, and in- duftrious. Now I know fome folks fancy that the poor who have thefe qualities need have no other, but this is a fad miffake, as I am lure every page in the Bible would ihew ; and it is a pity people do not confult it oftener. They diredt their plow¬ ing and lowing by the Almanack, why will they not confult the Bible for the diredtion of their hearts and lives ? Rebecca was of a violent, un¬ governable temper; and that very neatnefs which The Hifiory of Hefter JVilmot. 3 23 is in itfellTo pleafing, in her became a fin, for her - affedtion to her hufband and children was quite loft in an over-anxious defire to have her houfe reckoned the niceft in the parifh. Rebecca was alfo a proof that a poor woman may be as vain as a rich one, for it was not fo much the comfort of neatnefs, as the praife of neatnefs, which fhe co¬ veted. A fpot on her hearth, or a bit of ruft on a brafs candleftick, would throw her into a violent paftion. Now it is very right to keep the hearth clean and the candleftick bright, but it is very wrong fo to fet one's aftedlions on a hearth, or a candleftick, as to make one’s felf unhappy if any trifling accident happens to them : and if Rebecca . had been as careful to keep her heart without fpot, . or her life without blemifh, as Are was to keep her fire-irons free from either, fire would have been held up in this hiftory, not as a warn¬ ing, but. a pattern, and in that cafe her nicety would have come in for a part of the praife. It was no fault in Rebecca, but a merit, that her oak table was fo bright you could alrnoft fee to » put your cap on in it ; but it was no merit but a fault, that when John, her hufband, laid down his. cup of beer upon it fo as to leave a mark, Hie would fly out into fo terrible a paflion that all the children were forced to run to corners ; now poor John having no corner to run to, ran to the ale- houfe, till that which was at firft a refuge, too foon became a pleafure. Rebecca never wifhed her children to learn to read, becaufe fhe laid it only ferved to make them lazy, and fhe herfelf had done very well P 6 3 24 The Hiflory of Refer Wilmot. without it. She would keep poor Heller from church to flone the fpace under the chairs in fine patterns and whim-whams. I don’t pretend to fay there was any harm in this little decoration ; it looks pretty enough, and it is better to let the children do that than do nothing. But ftill thefe are not things to let one’s heart upon, and befides Rebecca only did it as a trap for praife ; for fhe was fulky and difappointed if any ladies happened to call in and did not feem delighted with the flowers which ihe ufed to draw with a burnt flick on the white wafh of the chimney corners. Be¬ fides, all this finery was often done on a Sunday, and there is a great deal of harm in doing right things at a wrong time, or in wafting much time on things which are of no real life, or in doing any thing at all out of vanity. Now I beg that no lazy ftattern of a wife will go and take any com ¬ fort in her dirt from what is here faid againft Re¬ becca’s nicety ; for I believe, that for one who makes her hufband unhappy through neatnefs, twenty do fo by dirt and lazinefs. All exceftes are wrong, but the excefs of a good quality is not fo common as the excefs of a bad one. John Wilmot was not an ill-natured man, but he had no fixed principle. Inftead of fetting him- felf to cure his wife’s faults by mild reproof and a good example, he was driven by diem into flill greater faults himfelf. It is a common- cafe with people ivho have no religion when any crofs ac¬ cident befals them, inftead of trying to make the befl of a bad matter, inftead of confidering their trouble as a trial fent from God to purify them, ■or inftead of confidering the faults of others as a The Hi ft or y of Hefler Wilmot . 3 23 punifhment for their own fins, what do they do but either fink down at once into defpair, or xlk v run for comfort into evil courfes. Drinkino- is the common remedy for forrow, if that can be called a remedy > the end of which is to deftroy foul and body. John now began to fpend all his leifure hours at the Bell. He ufed to be fond.of his children, but when he could not come home in quiet, and play with the little ones, while his wife d re bed him a bit of hot fupper, he grew in time not to come at all. He who has once taken to drink, can feldom be faid to be guilty of one fin only. John’s heart became hardened ; his affec¬ tion for his family was loft in lelf-indulgence. Patience and fubmillion, on the part of his wife, might have won much upon a man of John’s tem¬ per ; but inftead of trying to reclaim him, his wife leemed rather to delight in putting him as much in the wrong as fhe could, that fhe might be jufti- fied in her conftant abufe of him. I doubt whe¬ ther fhe would have been as much pleafed with his reformation as fhe was with always talking of his faults, though I know it was the opinion of°the neighbours, that if fhe had taken as much pains to reform her hufband by reforming her own tem¬ per, as fhe did to abufe him and expofe him, her endeavours might have been blefted with fuccefs. Good chriftians, who are trying to fub due their own faults, can hardly believe that the ungodly have a fort of favage fatisfadlion in trying-, by indulgence of their own evil tempers, to "leffen tne happinefs of thofe with whom they have to do. Need we look any farther for a proof of our own. corrupt nature, when we fee mankind delight in 326 Ihe Hifkory of Hefter Wilmot. fins which have neither the temptation of profit or pleafure, fuch as plaguing, vexing, or abufing each other, Hefter was the eldeft of their five children, fhe was a fharp, .fenfible girl; but at fourteen years old, fhe could not tell a letter, nor had fhe ever been taught to bow her knee to him who made , her, for John's, or rather Rebecca’s houfe, had feldom the name of God pronounced in it, except to be blafphemed. It was juft about this time, if I mi (lake not, that Mrs. Jones fet up her Sunday School, of which Mrs. Betty Crew was appointed miftrefs, as was related laft month. Mrs. Jones finding that none of the Wilmots were fent to fchool, took a walk to Rebecca’s houfe, and civilly told her lhe called to let her know that a fchool was opened,- to which (he defired her to lend her children on the Sunday following, efpecially her eldeft daughter Hefter. Well, laid Rebecca, and what will you give her if I do ? Give her ! re¬ plied Mrs. J ones, that is rather a rude queftion, and a.fked in a rude manner: however, as a loft anfwer turneth away wrath, I afture you that I will give her the beft of learning; I will teach her to fear God and keep his commandments . I would rather you would teach her to fear me, and to keep my houfe clean, faid this wicked woman.— She (han’t come, however, unlefs you will pay her for it. Pay her for it I laid the lady, will it not be reward enough that fhe will be taught to read the word of God without any expence to you ? For though many gifts both of books and cloath- The Hiftory of Hefter TVilmot. ftiy ing will be given the children, yet you are not to conlider thefe gifts in the light of payment as an expreflion of goodwill in your benefactors. I fay, interrupted Rebecca, that Heller {han’t go to fchool. Religion is of no ufe that I know of but to make people hate their own flefh and blood ; and I fee no good in learning but to make folks proud, and lazy, and dirty. I cannot tell a letter myfelf, and, though I fay it, that fhould not fay it, there is not a notabler woman in the parifh.—- Pray, faid Mrs. Jones, mildly, do you think that young people will difobey their parents the more for being taught to fear God ! I don’t think any thing about it, faid Rebecca; I {han’t let her come, and there’s the long and {hort of the mat¬ ter. Heller has other fifh to fry; but you may have fome of thefe little ones if you will. No, faid Mrs. Jones, I will not; I have not fet up a nurfery but a fchool. I am not at ail this expence to take crying babes out of the mother’s way, but to inflruCl reafonable beings in the way to eter¬ nal life; and it ought to be a rule in all fchools, not to take the troublefome young children unlefs the mother will try to fpare the elder ones, who are capable of learning. But, faid Rebecca, I have a young child which Heller mull nurfe while I drefs dinner. And fhe mull iron the rags, and fcour the irons, and dig the potatoes, and fetch the water to boil them. As to nurfing the child, that is indeed a neceffary duty, and Heller ought to flay at home part of the day to enable you to go to church; and families fhould relieve each other in this way, but as to all the reft they are no reafons at all, for the irons need not be fcoured fo 3 2 £ The Hijlory of Hefter TVilnm . often, and the rags ffiould be ironed, and the po¬ tatoes dug, and the water fetched on the Saturday, and I can tell you that neither your minifter here, nor your judge hereafter, will accept of any fuch excufes. All this while Hefter {laid behind, pale and trembling, left her unkind mother fhould carry her point. She looked up at Mrs. Jones with fo much love and gratitude as to win her aftedtion, and this good lady went on trying to foften this harfh mother. At laft Rebecca condefcended to . fay. Well, I don’t know but I may let her come now and then when I can fpare her, provided I find you make it worth her while. All this time V fhe had never afkecl Mrs. Jones to fit down, nor had once bid her young children be quiet, though they v/ere crying and fquailing the whole time. Rebecca fancied this rudenefs was the only way fhe had of fhewing fhe thought herfelf as good as her gueft, but Mrs. Jones never loft her tem¬ per.. The moment fhe went out of the houfe, Rebecca called out loud enough for her-to hear, and ordered Hefter to get the ftone and a bit of fand to ferub out the prints, of that dirty, woman’s fhoes. Hefter in high fpirits chearfully obeyed, and rubbed out the ftains fo neatly, that her mo¬ ther could not help lamenting that fo handy a girl was going to be fpoiledby. being taught gpdlinefs, and learning, and fuebmonfenfe. Mrs.. Jones, who knew the world, told her agent, Mrs. Crew, that her grand difficulty would arife not fo much from the children as the parents. Thefc,. faid fhe, are apt to fall into that fad mif- take,, that becaufe their children are poor and The Hiftory of Hefter Wilmot . 329 have little of this world’s goods, the mothers mud: make it up to them in falfe indulgence.— The children of the gentry are much more re¬ proved and corrected for their faults, and bred up in far finder difcipline. He was a king who faid, chaften thy fon> and let not thy rod ftp are for his crying. But do not lofe your patience ; the more vicious the children are, you mud: remem¬ ber the more they ftand in need of your infiruc- tion. When they are bad, comfort yourfelf with thinking, how much worfe they would have been but for you ; and what a burthen they would be¬ come to fociety if thefe evil tempers were to .re¬ ceive no check. The great thing which enabled Mrs. Crew to teach well, was the deep infight fhe had got into the corruption of human nature.— And I doubt if any one can make a thoroughly good teacher of religion and morals who wants this mafter-key to the heart. Others indeed may teach knowledge, decency, and good manners; but thole, however valuable, are not Chriftianity. Mrs. Crew, who knew that out of the heart pro¬ ceed lying, theft, and all that train of evils which begin to break out even in young children, applied her labours to correct this root of evil. But though a diligent, fhe was an humble teacher, well knowing that unlefs the grace of God blefied her labours, die fhould but labour in vain. Heller Wilmot never failed to attend the fchool, whenever her perverfe mother would give her leave, and her delight in learning was fo great, that fhe would work early and late to gain a little time for her book. As fine had a quick capacity, fhe learned foon to fpetf and read, and Mrs. Crew 3jo The Hifiory of Hefter Wilmot . obferving her diligence, ufed to lend her a book to carry home, that fhe might pick up a little at odd times. It would be well if teachers would .make this diftinction. To give, or lend books to thofe who take no delight in them is an ufelefs ex¬ pence ; while it is kind and right to aftift well- difpofed young people with every help of this fort. Thofe who love books feldom hurt them, while the flothful, who hate learning, will wear out a book more in a week than the diligent will do in a year. Hefter’s way was to read over one queilion in her catechifm, or one verfe in her hymn book, by fire light before fhe went to bed ; this fhe thought over in the night ; and when fhe was dreffing herfelf in the morning fhe was glad to find fhe always knew a little more than-fhe had ,done the morning before. It is not to be believed how much thofe people will be found to have gained at the end of the year, who are accuftomed to work up all the little odd ends and remnants of leifure ; who value time even more than money; and who are convinced that minutes are no more to be wafted than pence. Nay, he who finds he has wafted a (billing may by diligence hope to fetch it up again ; but no repentance, or induftry, . can ever bring back one wafted hour. My good young reader, if ever you are tempted to wafte an hour, go and ,afk a dying man what he would give for that hour which you are throwing away, and according as he anlwers, fo do you abb. As her mother hated the fight of a book, Hef¬ ter was forced to learn out of light: it was no dilobedience to do this, as long as fhe wafted no part of that time which it was her duty to fpend The Hiftory of Hefter Wihnot, 331 in lifeful labour. She would have thought it a Tin to have left her work for her book ; but fhe did not think it wrong to ileal time from her deep, and to be learning an hour before the reft of the family were awake. Hefter would not negleft the wafhing-tub, or the fpinning-wheel, even to get on with her catechifm; but fhe thought it fair to think over her queftions, while flie was waihing and fpinning. In a few months fhe was able to read fluently in St. John’s gofpel, which is the eafleft. But Mrs. Crew did not think it enough that her children could read a chapter, fhe would make them underftand it alfo. It is in a good degree owing to the want of reli¬ gious knowledge in teachers, that there is fo little religion in the world. Unlels the Bible is laid open to the underftanding, children may read from Genefis'to the Revelation, without any other improvement than barely learning how to pro¬ nounce the words. Mrs. Crew found there was but one way to compel their attention ; this was by obliging them to return back again to her the fenfe of what fhe had read to them, and this they might do in their own words, if they could not remember the words of fcripture. Thofe who had weak capacities would, to be fure, .do this but very imperfectly; but even the weakeft, if they were willing, would retain fomething. She fo managed, that faying the Catechifm was not merely an aft of the memory, but of the under¬ ftanding; for fhe had obferved formerly, that thofe who had learned the Catechifm in the com¬ mon formal way, when they were children, had never underftood it when they became men and « 33‘ 2 The Hiftory of Hefter JJllmot. women, and it remained in the memory withbut having made any impreffion on the mind. Thus this fine lummary of the chriftian religion is corl- fidered as little more than a form of words., the being able to repeat which is a qualification for being confirmed by the bifhop, in head of being confidered as really containing thofe grounds of chriftian faith and practice, by which they are to ' be confirmed chriftians. - Mrs. Crew ufed to fay to Mrs. Jones, Thofe who teach the poor muft indeed give line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little, as they can receive it. So that teaching muff be a great grievance to thofe who do not really make it a labour of love. I fee fo much - levity, obftinacy, and ignorance, that it keeps my own forbearance in continual exercife, fo that I • truft that I am getting good myfelf while Lam doing good to others. No one. Madam, can know till they try, that after they have afked a poor untaught child the fame queflion nineteen times, they muft not lofe their temper, but go on andafk it the twentieth. Nowand then, when I am tempted to be impatient, I correct myfelf, by thinking over that ahtive proof which our bleiTed Saviour requires of our love to him when he fays, “ Feed my lambs F Hefter Wilmot had never been bred to go to church, for her father and mother had never thought of going themfelves, unlefs at a chriften- ing in their own family, or at a funeral of their neighbours, both of •which they confidered merely as opportunites for good eating and drinking, and not as oiHces of religion. The liift ory of Refer JVihnct. 333 As poor Heder had no comfort at home, it was the iefs wonder die delighted in her fchool, her Bible, and church, for fo great is God's good- nefs, that he is pleafed to make religion a peculiar comfort to thole who have no other comfort.— The God whofe name fhe had fcldom heard but ■when it was taken in vain, was now revealed to her as a God of infinite power, judice, and holi- nefs. What fhe read in her Bible, and what floe felt in her own heart, Convinced her fhe was a dinner; and her catechifm faid the fame. She was much diftredfed one day on thinking over this promife which fhe had jud made, (in anfwer to the quedion which fell to her lot) “ To renounce the devil and all his works, the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and all the finful luds of the fiefhf’ I fay die was didreffed on finding that thefe were not merely certain words which die was bound to repeat 5 but- certain conditions which die was bound to perform. She was fadly puzzled to know how this was to be done, till fhe met with thefe words in her Bible : My grace is Jujfcient for thee . But dill fhe was at a lofs to know how this grace was to be obtained. Hap¬ pily Mr. Simpfon preached on the next Sunday from this text, £C Aft and ye Jhall have ft &c.— In this fermon was explained to her the nature, the duty, and the efficacy of prayer. After this die opened her heart to Mrs. Crew, who taught her the great dodlrines of Scripture, in a ferious, but plain way. Heder’s own heart led her to affent to that humbling dobfrine of the catechifm, that during this illnefs, Hefter, who would not follow her to a feene of diffolute mirth, attended her night and day, and denied herfelf neceffaries that her Tick mother might have comforts. And though fhe fecretly prayed to God that this lick- nefs might change her mothers heart, yet fhe never once reproached her, or put her in mind, that it was caught by indulging in a finful pleafure.—■ Another Sunday night her father told Hefter, he thought fhe had now been at fchool long enough 1 for him to have a little good of her learning, fb he defired fhe would ftay at home arid read to him. Hefter cheerfully ran and fetched her Tes¬ tament. But John fell a laughing, called her a fool, and laid, it would be time enough to read the Teftament to him when he was going to die^ bur at prefent he muft have fomething merry,— 1 • "** * This practice i& too common, Thofe tairs which pro., fefs to be kept on Monday, commonly begin on the Sunday, It is much to be wifhed that inagiftrates would put a flop to it, as Mr. Simpfon did at Wellon, at the requeft of Mrs, Jones. 1 here is another great evil worth the notice of Juf- tices. In many villages, during the fair, ale is fold at private houfes, which have no licence, to the great injury of fobriety and good morals, c> 3 3 $ The Hiftory of Hefter JVilmot . So faying, he gave her a fong-book which he had picked up at the Bell. Hefter having call Her eyes over it, refilled to read it, faying, fhe did not dare offend God by reading what would hurt her own foul. John called her a canting hy¬ pocrite, and faid, he would put the Teftament in the fire, for that there was not a more merry girl than fhe v/as before fhe became religious. Her mother for once took her part, not becaufe fhe thought her daughter in the right, but becaufe fhe was glad of any pretence to fhew her hufband was in the wrong though fhe herfelf would have abufed Hefter for the fame thing if John had taken her part. John, with a fhocking oath, abufed them both, and went off in a violent paf- fion, Hefter, inftead of faying one undutiful word againft her father, took up a Pfalter in order to teach her little fillers, but Rebecca was fo pro¬ voked at her for not joining her in her abufe of her hufband, that flic changed her humour, faid John was in the right, and Hefter a perverle hypocrite, who only made religion a pretence for being undutiful to her parents. Hefter bore all in ftlence, and committed her caufe to Him “who judgeth righteouf}y. ,, It would have been a great comfort to her if fhe had dared to go to Mrs. Crew, and to have joined in the religious exercifes of the evening at fchool. But her mother refufed to let her, faying, it would only harden her heart in mifehief. Hefter faid not a word, but after having put the little ones to bed, and heard them fay their prayers out of fight, fhe went and fat down in her own little loft, and faid to herfelf, it would be pleafant to me to have The Hijlory of Hejler WilmoL 339 taught my little fillers to read, I thought it was my duty, for David has faid, fC Come ye children, hearken unto me, I will teach you the fear of the Lord.” It would have been Hill more pleafant to have palfed the evening at fchool, becaufe I am Hill ignorant, and fitter to learn than to teach ; but I cannot do either without flying in the face of my mother ; God fees fit to-night to change' my pleafant duties into a painful trial. I give up my will, and I fubmit to the will of my father ^ but when he orders me to commit a known fin, then I dare not do it, becaufe, in fo doing, I muff difobey my father which is in heaven. Now it fo fell out, that this difpute happened on the very Sunday next before Mrs. Jones’s yearly feaft.— On May-day all the fchool attended her to church, each in a fluff gown of their own earning, and a cap and white apron of her giving. After church there was an examination made into the learning and behaviour of the fcholars; thofe who were moft perfed in their chapters, and who brought the belt character for induftry, humility, and fobriety received a Bible, or fome other good book. Now Hefter had been a whole year hoarding up her little favings, in order to be ready with a new gown on the May-day feafl. She had never 2jot lefs than two {hillings a week by her fpinning, jelldes working for the family, and earning a rifle by odd jobs. This money fhe faithfully :arried to her mother every Saturday night, keepi¬ ng back, by confent, only two-pence a week owards the gown. The fum was compleat, the 340 The Hiftory of Hefter Wilmot. pattern had long been fettled, and Heller had only on the Monday morning to go to the fhop, pay her money, and bring home her gown to be made. Her mother happened to go out that morning early to iron in a gentleman's family, where fhe ufually llayed a day or two, and Heller was bufy putting the houfe in order before ihe Went to the fhop. On that very Monday there was to be a meet¬ ing at the Bell, of all the idle fellows in the parifh. John Wilmot of courfe was to be there. Indeed he had accepted a challenge of the blackfmith to a batch at all-fours. The blackfmith was flulh of money; John thought himfelf the bell player; and that he might make fure of winning, he re- folved to keep himfelf fober, which he knew was more than the other would do. John was fo ufed to go upon tick for ale, that he got to the door of the Bell before he recolledled that he could not keep his word with the gambler without money, and he had not a penny in his pocket, fo he fullenly turned homewards. Fie dared not apply to his wife, as he knew he fhould be more likely to get a fcratched face than a fix-pence from her; but he knew that Heller had received two Ihillings for her lafb-week's fpinning on Satur¬ day, and perhaps Ihe might not yet have given it to her mother. Of the hoarded fum he knew nothing. He alked her if Ihe could lend him half-a-crown, and he would pay her next day.— Heller, pleafed to fee him in good humour, after » what had palled the night before, ran up and fetched down her little box, and, in the joy of her heart that he now defired fomething Ihe The Hiftory of Hejler JVilmot . 342 could comply with, without wounding her con¬ fidence, cheerfully poured out her whole little ftock upon the table. John was in raptures at the fight of three half-crowns and a fixpence, and eagerly feized it, box and all, together with a few hoarded halfpence at the bottom, though he had only afked to borrow half-a-crown. None but one whofe heart was hardened by a long courfe of drunkennefs could have taken away the whole, and for fuch a purpofe. He told her Ihe fhould certainly have it again next morning, and, indeed, intended to pay it, not doubting but he fhould double the fum. But John over-rated his own fkili, or luck, for he loft every farthing to the blackfmith, fneaked home before midnight, and quietly walked up to bed. He was quite fober, which Hefter thought a good fign. Next morning fhe afked him, in a very humble way, for the money,' which fhe faid fhe would not have done, but that if the gown was not bought di- redtly it would not be ready in time for the feaft, John’s confidence had troubled him a little for what he had done, for when he was not drunk he was not ill-natured, and he Hammered out a broken excufe, but owned he had loft the money, and had not a farthing left. The moment Hefter faw him mild and kind, her heart was foftened, and fhe begged him not to vex: adding, that fhe would be contented never to have a new gown as long as fhe lived, if fhe could have the comfort of always feeing him come home as fober as he was laft night. For Hefter did not know that he had refrained from getting drunk, only that he 0.3 34- . The Hiftory of Refer JVilmot , might gamble with a better chance of fuccefs, and that when a gamefter keeps himfelf fober, it is not that he may praflife a virtue, but that he may commit a worfe crime. I am, indeed, forry for what I have done, faid he ; you cannot go to the feafl, and what will madam Jones fay ? Yes, but I can, faid Heller, for God looks not at the gown, but at the heart, and fm lure he fees mine full of gratitude at hearing you talk fo kindly ; and if I thought my dear father would change his ' prefent evil courfes, I fhould be the happieft girl at the feafl to-morrow. John walked away mournfully, and faid to himfelf, Surely there mud: be fomething in religion, lince it can thus change the heart. Heller was a pert girl, and now fhe is as mild as a lamb. She was an indolent girl, and now fhe is up with the lark. She was a vain girl, and would do any thing for a new ribbon; and now fhe is contented to go in rags to a feall at which every one elfe will have a new gown. She deprived herfelf of her gown to give me the money, and yet this very girl, fo dutiful in fome things, would fabmit to be turned out of doors, rather than read a loofe book at my command, or break the Sabbath, I do not underftand this ; there mull be fome myllery in it.—All this he faid as he was going to work. In the evening he did not go to the Bell; whether it was owing to his new thoughts, or to his not having a penny in his pocket, I will not take upon me politively to fay, but I believe it was a little of one and a little of the other. * As the pattern of the intended gown had long been fettled in the family, and as Heller had the The Hifiory of Hejier JVilmot, 343 money by her, it was looked on as good as- bought, fo that fhe wastrufted to get it brought home, and made in her mother’s abfen-ce. In¬ deed, fo little did Rebecca care about the fchool, that file would not have cared any thing about the gown, if her vanity had not made her wifh that her daughter ihould be the bed dre fifed of any girl at the head. Being from home, as wasRaid before, fhe knew nothing of the difappointment. On May-day morning, Hefter, inftead of keeping from the feaft, becaufe fhe had not a new gown, or meanly inventing any excufe, drefifed herfelf out as neatly as fhe could in her poor old things, and went to join the fchool in order to go to church. Whether Hefter had formerly indulged' a little pride of heart, and talked of this gown rather too much, I am not quite fure; certain it is, there was a great hue and cry made at feeing Hefter Wilmot, the neateft girl, the mod induf- trious girl in the fchool, come to the May-day feaft in an old fluff gown, when every other girl was fo creditably dreft. Indeed, I am lorry today, there were two or three much too fmart for their ftation, and who had dizened themfelves out in very improper finery, which Mrs. Jones made them take off before her. I mean this feaft, faid flie, as a reward of induftry and piety, and not as a trial of fkill who can be fineft, and outvy the reft in fhow. If I do not take care, my feaft will become an encouragement, not to virtue, but to vanity. I am fo great a friend to decency of apparel, that I even like to lee you deny your appetites, that you may be able to come decently CL 4 ' 4 3 44 'Tfie Hiftory of Hefter JVilmct. dreileci to the houfe of God. To encourage you to do this. I like to fet apart this one day of inno¬ cent pleafure, againft which you may be preparing all the year, by laying afide fomething every week towards buying a gown out of your little favings. But, let me tell you, thatmeeknefs and an humble fpirit is of more value in the fight of God and good men, than the gayeft cotton gown, or the brightell pink ribbon in the parifh. Mrs. Jones, for all this, was as much furprifed as the reft, at Heller’s mean garb: but fuch is the power of a good character that fhe gave her credit for a right intention, efpecially as fbe knew the unhappy Hate of her family. For it was Mrs. Jones’s way (and it is not a bad way) always to wait, and enquire into the truth, before fhe con¬ demned any body of good character, though ap¬ pearances were againft them. As we cannot judge of peoples’ motives, faid fhe, we may, from ignorance, often condemn their bell adlions, and approve of their worft. It will be always time enough to judge unfavourably, and let us give others credit as long as we can, and then we, in our turn, may expedt a favourable judgment from others, and remember who has faid, “judge not, that ye be not judged.” Heller was no more proud of what fhe had done for her father, than fhe was humbled by the meannefs of her garb : and though Betty Stiles, one of the girls whofe finery had been taken away, fneered at her, Hef¬ ter never offered to clear herfelf, by expofing her father, though fhe thought it right fecretly to in¬ form Mrs. Jones of what had pall. When the examination of the girls began, Betty Stiles was The Hiftory of Hefter TVilmot. 345 aiked fome queftions on the fourth and fifth com¬ mandments, which fhe anfwered very well.— Hefter was afked nearly the/ame queftions, and, though ftie anfwered thei^^g better than Betty had done, they were all fiirprifed to fee Mrs. Jones rife up and give a handfome’Bible to Hef¬ ter, while fhe gave nothing to Betty. This girl cried out rather pertly, Madam, it is very hard that I have no book ; I was as perfect as Hefter. —I have often told you, faid Mrs. Jones, that re¬ ligion is not a thing of the tongue but of the heart. That girl gives me the belt proof that Ihe has learned the fourth commandment to good purpofe, who perfifts in keeping holy the Sab¬ bath-day, though commanded to break it by a parent whom fhe loves. And that girl beffc proves that fhe keeps the fifth, who gives up her own comfort, and cloathing, and credit, “ to honour and obev her father and mother,” even though they are not fuch as Die could wifh.— Betty Stiles, though fhe could anfwer the quef¬ tions fo readily, went abroad laft Sunday, when fhe fhould have been at fchool, and refufed to nurfe her fick mother, when fhe could not help herfelf. Is this having learnt thefe two com¬ mandments to any good purpofe ? Farmer Hofkins, who flood by, whifpered to Mrs. Jones, Well, Madam, now you have con¬ vinced even me of the benefit of religious in- flrudlion ; now I fee there is a meaning to it. I thought it was in at one ear and out at the other* and that a fong was as well as a pfalm \ but now I have found the proof of the pudding is in the Q .5 34 & The Hiflory of Refer TVilmot . eating. I fee your fcholars muft do what they hear, and obey what they learn. Why, at this rate they will all be the better fervants for being really godly, and fo I will add a pudding to next year’s feaft. The pleafure Heller felt in receiving a new Bible, made her forget that die had on an old gown. She walked to church in a thankful frame ; but how great was ^er joy when fhe faw, among a number of working men, her own fa¬ ther going into church ! As die pad: by him, fhe call on him a look of fo much joy and affedtion, that it brought tears into his eyes,- efpecially when he compared her mean drefs with that of the other girls, and thought who had been the caufe of it. John, who had not been at church for fome years, was deeply ft ruck with the fervice. The confeflion with which it opens went to his heart. He felt, for the firft time, that he was a miferable dnner, and that there was no health in him.” He now’ felt compundlion for fin in genera], though it was only his ill behaviour to his daughter which had brought him to church. The fermon was fuch as ferved to ftrengthen the imprefilon which the prayers had made; and when it was over, inftead of joining the ringers (for the belfrey was the only part of the church John liked, be caufe it ufually led to the alehoufe) he quietly walked back to his work. It was, indeed, the bed: day’s work he ever made. He could not get out of his head the whole day the firft words he heard at church : f< When the wicked man turneth away from his wickednefs, and doth that which is law- The Hiflory of Refer JVihnot. y 347 ful and right, he fliall fave his foul alive.** At night, inftead of going to the Bell, he went home, intending to alk Heller to forgive him; but as foon as he got to the door, he heard Re¬ becca rating his daughter for having brought fuch a difgrace on the family as to be feen in that old rag of a gown, and infilled on knowing what fhe had done with the money. Heller tried to keep the fecret, but her mother declared Hie would turn her out of doors if fhe did not tell the truth. Heller was at laft forced to confefs Hie had given it to her father. Unfortunately for poor John* it was at this very moment he opened the door.— The mother now divided her fury between her guilty hulband and her innocent child, till from words Hie fell to blows. John defended his daughter, and received fome of the flrokes in¬ tended for the poor girl. Tills turbulent fcene partly put John’s good refolutions to flight, though the patience of Heller did him almoH as much good as the fermon he had heard. At length the poor girl efcaped up Hairs, not a little bruiled, and a fcene of much violence palled be¬ tween John and Rebecca. She declared fhe would not fit down to flipper with fuch a brute, and fet off to a neighbour’s houfe, that Hie might have the pleafure of abufing him the longer.— John, whofe mind was much diHurbed, went up Hairs without Ills flapper. As he was palling by HeHer’s little room lie heard her voice, and as he concluded fhe was venting, bitter complaints he Hopped to < liHen, rt her. Tie Hopped agaiint ner unnatural parents, ' refolving to go in and comfo a 6 34 $ The Hiftory of Hejler JVilmot . at the door, for, by the light of the moon, he faw her kneeling by her bedfide, and praying fo ear- neftly that Ihe did not hear him. As he made fure fhe could be praying for nothing but his* death, what was his furprife to hear thefe words, an d put on, as it were, the livery of Chrift, as his acknowledged. fervant, and after fpending the ffiort period of his life on earth in a ftate of comfortable and willing obedience to his Deliverer and Redeemer, he is then told to expert that he fhall be raifed to Heaven, and that he fhall be made happy for ever and ever. How aftoniffiing is this piopofal ! What then is the next diffi¬ culty ? It is this; that the worldly man will not believe the truth of the promife which is held out to him : like the offer to this beggarly boy, it feems too good to be true, or rather, it is too vaft to be conceived by him. Why ffiould this great gentleman trouble himfelf to think of me, or to do fo much to ferve me ? faid the foolifn boy in the fable. v and turn out the poor fhivering, helpiefr tenant, naked, to that far country for which he had made- no provifion. Sometimes, in order to quicken the Pilgrim in his preparation, the Lord would, break down the tenement by How degrees, fame-- times he would let it tumble by its own.natural decay, for as it was only built to lad a certain term, it would fometimes grow fo uncomfortable bv increafins dilapidations, even before the ordi- nary leafe was our, -that the lodging was hardly^ worth keeping, though the tenant could feldom* be periuaded to think fo, but fondly clung to it- to the lad. Fird the thatch on the top of the.; tenement changed colour, then it fell off and left, the roof bare ; then, fc the grinders ceafed becaufe, they were, few f ther*. the windows became fa, darkened that the owner could fcarcely fee through them i then one prop fell away, then another^ then the uprights became bent, and the whole fabric trembled and tottered, with every other, fy mp tom of a tailing houfe. On fome occaffons 5 » the Lord ordered his meffengers, of which he.: ‘ • ' • - R S 37° Pilgrims. had a great variety, to batter, injure, deface, and almoft demolifh the frail building even while it feemed new and ftrong; this was what the land¬ lord called giving warning ; but many a tenant would not take warning, and was fo fond of flay¬ ing where he was, even under all thefe inconve¬ niences, that at lafl he was call out by ejedlment, not being prevailed on to leave his dwelling in a proper manner, though one would have thought the fear of being turned out would have whetted his diligence in preparing for a better and a more enduring inheritance . For though the people were only tenants at will in thefe crazy tenements, yet, through the goodnefs of the fame Lord, they were allured that he never turned them out of thefe habitations before he had on his part pro¬ vided for them a better, fo that there was not fuch another landlord in the world; and though their prefent dwelling was but frail, being only (lightly run up to ferve the occafion, yet they might hold their future poffefTion by a mofl certain tenure, the word of the Lord bimfeif, which was entered in a covenant, or title-deed, confiding of many fheets, and becaufe a great many good things were given away in this deed, a book was made of which every foul might get a copy. This indeed had not always been the cafe, becaufe, till a few ages back, there had been a fort of monopoly in the cafe, and “ the wife and prudent/* that is, the cunning and fraudful, had hid thefe things from the “ babes and fucklings,” that is, from the low and ignorant, and many frauds had been pradlifed, and the poor had been cheated of their right; fo that not being allowed to read and judge for 6 The Pilgrims . 37 \ themfelves, they had been fadly impofed upon; but all thefe tricks had been put an end to more than two hundred years when I palled through the country, and the meaned man who could read might then have'a copy, To that he might fee himfelf what he had to trull to, and even thofe who could not read, might hear it read once or twice every week at lead, without pay, by learned men whofe buiinefs it was. But it furprifed me to fee how few comparatively made ufe of thefe valt advantages. Of thofe who had a copy,, many laid it carelefsly by, exprelfed a general be¬ lief in the truth of the title-deed, a general fatis- fadlion that they fhould come in for a lhare of the inheritance, a general good opinion of the Lord whofe word it was, and a general diipofition to take his promife upon trull ; always, however, intending, at a convenient feafon, to inquire farther into the matter; but this convenient feafon lei— dom came, and this negledt of theirs was con- ftrued into a forfeiture of the inheritance. At the end of this country lay the vad gulf mentioned before; it was lhadowed over by a broad and thick cloud, which prevented the pil¬ grims from feeing in a diftindt manner what was doing behind it, yet fuch beams of brightnefs now and then darted through the cloud as enabled thofe who ufed a telefcope provided for that pur- pofe, .to fee the Juhftance of things hoped for ; but it was not every one who could make ufe of this telefcope; no eye indeed was naturally difpofed to it; but an earned defire of getting a glimpfe of the invifible realities, gave fuch a ftrength and R 6 37 2 The Pilgrims. fleadinefs to the eye, as enabled it to diicern many things which could not be feen by the natural light. Above the cloud was this inscription, The things which are Jeen are temporal, hut the things which are not feen are eternaL Of thefe laft many glorious defcriptions had been given, but as thofe fplendors were at a didance, and as. the pilgrims in general did not care to ufe the telefcope, thefe diftant glances made little impreffion. The glo¬ rious inheritance which lay beyond the cloud, was called. The things above , while a multitude of trifling objects, which appeared contemptibly final! when looked at through the telefcope, wete called, The things below. Now as we know it is nearnefs which gives iize and bulk to any objedt, it was not wonderful that thefe ill-judging pil¬ grims were more dr lick with thefe baubles and - trifles, which, by lying clofe at hand, were viflble and tempting to the naked eye, and which made up the fum of 'The things below , than with the re¬ mote glories of The things above: but this was chiefly owing to their not making ufe of the telefcope, through which, if you examined thoroughly The things below , they feemed to - Hi rink almoft down to nothing, while The things, above appeared the more beautiful and vad, the more the telefcope was ufed. But the furprifing part of the dory was this, not that the pilgrims were captivated at flrft fight with The things below, for that was natural enough, but that'when they had tried them all over and over, and found themfelves deceived and difappointed in almod everyone of them, it did not at all ldlen their fondnefs, and they grafped at diem again with The .PilgrimK 37'j; the fame eagernefs as before. There were fome gay fruits which looked alluring, but on being opened indead of a kernel they were found to contain rottennefs, and thofe which feemed the fulled often proved on trial to be quite hollow and empty. Thofe which were mod tempting to the eye were often found to be wormwood to the tade, or poifon to the do roach,. and many dowers that feemed mod bright and gay had a worm gnawing at the root. Among the chief attractions of The Things be¬ low , were certain little lumps of yellow clay, on- which almod every eye and every heart was fixed. When I faw the variety of ufes to which this clay could be converted, and the refpeff which was fhewn to thofe who could ferape together the greated number of pieces, I did not much won¬ der at the general defire to pick* up fome of them. But when 1 beheld the anxiety, the wake- fulnefs, the competitions, the contrivances, the tricks, the frauds, the feuffiing, the pufhing, the turmoiling, the kicking, the fhoving, the cheat¬ ing, the circumvention, the envy, the malignity, which was excited by a defire to poffefs this article; when I faw the general fcramble among thofe who had little to get much, and of thole who had much to get more, then 1 could not help- applying to thefe people a. Proverb in ufe among us, that gold may he bought too dear.— Though I lav/ that there - were various forts of baubles which engaged the hearts of different travellers, inch as an ell of red or blue ribbon,, for which fome were content to forfeit their future inheritance, the fin of Efau without Jiis 374 - 7 ) 5 * Pilgrims . temptation of hunger; yet the yellow clay I found was the grand objed for which moft hands fcrambled and moft fouls were rilked. One thing, was extraordinary, that the nearer thefe people were to being turned out of their tene¬ ment, the fonder they grew cf thefe pieces of clay, fo that I naturally concluded they meant to take the clay with them to the far country; but I loon learnt this clay was not current there, the Lord having declared to thefe Pilgrims, that as they had brought nothing into this world , they could carry nothing out. I inquired of the different people who were raifrng the various heaps of clay, fome of a larger, fome of a fmailer fize, why they difcovered fuch unremitting anxiety, and’ for whom ? Some, whofe piles were immenfe, told me they were heaping up for their children; this I thought very right, till on cafting my eyes round, I ob- ferved many of the children of thefe very people had large heaps of their own. Others told me it was for their granchildren; but on enquiry, I found thefe were not yet born, and in many cafes there was little chance that they ever would.— The truth, on a clofe examination, proved to be, that the true genuine heapers really heaped for themfelves; that it was in fad neither for friend or child, but to gratify an inordinate appetite of their own. Nor was I much furprifed after this to lee thefe yellow hoards at length canker , and the ruft of them become a witnejs againfl the hoarders , and eat their fiejh as it were fire . Many, however, who had fet out with a high heap of their father's raifing, before they had got The Pilgrims . 37$ one third of their journey had fcarcely a fingle piece left. As I was wondering what had caufed thefe enormous piles to vanifh in fo fhort a time, I fpied fcattered up and down the country all forts of odd inventions, for fome or other of which the vain polfeffors of the great heaps of clay had trucked and bartered them away in fewer hours than their anceftors had fpent years in getting them together. O what a ftrange unaccountable medley it was ! and what was ridiculous enough, I obferved that the greateil quantity of the clay was always exchanged for things that were of no ufe that I could dicover, owing I fuppofe to my ignorance of the manners of that country. In one place I faw large heaps exhaufted in order to fet two idle pampered horfes a running; but the worft part of the joke was, the horfes did not run to fetch or carry any thing, but merely to let the gazers fee which could run fafteft.— Now this gift of fwiftnefs, exercifed to no one ufeful purpofe, was only one out of many in- fiances, I obferved of talents ufed to no end. In another place I faw whole piles of the clay fpent to maintain long ranges of buildings full of dogs, on provifions which would have nicely fattened fome thoufands of pilgrims who faaly wanted fattening, and whofe ragged tenements were out at elbows, for want of a little help to repair them* Some of the piles were regularly pulled down once in feven years in order to corrupt certain needy pilgrims to belie their confciences. Others were fpent in playing with, white ftiff bits of paper painted over with red and black fpots, in which I thought there muft be fome conjuring, becaufe The Pilgrims , the very touch of thefe painted paReboards made the heaps fly from one to another, and back again to the fame, in a way that natural caufes could not account for. There was another proof that there muft be rome magic in this bufinefs,. which was, that if a pafteboard with red fpots fell into a hand which wanted a black one, the perfon- changed colour, his eyes Rallied fire, and he dis¬ covered. other fymptoms of madnefs, which Shewed there was fome witchcraft in the cafe.— Thefe clean little pasteboards, as harmlefs as they looked, had the wonderful power of pulling down the higheft piles in lefs time than all the other caufes put together. I obferved that many fmall piles were given in exchange for an enchanted liquor, which when the purchafer had drank to a> little excefs, he loft all power of managing the reft of his heap without lofing the love of it. Now I found it was the opinion of fober pil¬ grims, that either hoarding the clay, or trucking it for any fuch purpofes as the above, was thought exadlly the fame offence in the eyes of the Lord, and it was expedled that when they Should .come under his more immediate jurifdi&ion in the far country, the penalty annexed to hoarding and 1 fquandering would be nearly the fame. While I examined the countenances of the owners of the heaps, I obferved that thole who 1 well knew never intended to make any ufe at. all of their heap, were far more terrified at the thought of lofing it, or of toeing torn from it, than thofe were who were employing it in the moft ufefuf manner. Thofe who beft: knew what to do with it, fet their hearts leaft upon it, and were always The Pilgrims . mod willing to leave it. But fuch riddles were common in this odd country. Now I wondered why thefe pilgrims, who were naturally made ere 61 with an eye formed to look up to The things above , yet had their eyes almoft conftantly bent in the other diredfion riveted to the earth, and fattened on things below , juft like thofe animals who walk on all-fours. I w T as told they had not always been fubjedt to this weaknefs of fight and pronenefs to earth : That they had originally been upright and beautiful, having been created after the image of the Lord, who was himfelf the perfedtion of beauty ; that he had, at fir ft, placed them in a far fuperior fituation, which he had given them in perpetuity; blit that their firft anceftors fell from it through pride and carelefthefs ; that upon this the freehold was taken away, they loft their original ftrength, brightnefs, and beauty, and were driven into this ftrange country; where however they had every opportunity given them of recovering their health* ' and the Lord's favour and' likenefs; for they were become fo disfigured, and were grown fio unlike him, that you would hardly believe, they were his own children, though, in fome, the re- femblance was become again viable. The Lord, however, was fo merciful, that inftead of giving them up to the dreadful confequences of their own folly, as he might have done without any impeachment of his juftice, that he gave them immediate comfort, and promiled them, that in due time his own Son fhould come 'down and reftore them to the future inheritance which he fhould purchafe for them. And now it was that in order to keep up their fpirits, after they had 37$ The Pilgrims: | loft their eftate through the folly of their anceft tors, that he began to give them a part of their former Title Deed. He continued to fend them portions of it from time to time by different faithful fervants, whom, however, thefe ungrate¬ ful people generally ufed ill, and fome of whom they murdered. But for all this the Lord was fo very forgiving, that he at length fent thefe muti¬ neers a Proclamation of full and free pardon by his Son, who though they ufed him in a more cruel manner than they had done any of his ler- vants, yet after bavin gfinifbed the work his Father had given him to do , went back into the far country to prepare a place for all them who believe in him 5 and there he iff 11 lives; begging and plead¬ ing for thole unkind people whom he Hill loves and forgives, and wifi reftore to the purchafed inheritance on the eafy terms of their being heartily forty for what they have done, thoroughly dehrous ©f pardon, and con vinced that He is able and willing to five to the utmoft all them that come unto him. I law, indeed, that many old offenders appeared to be forry for what they had done; that is, they did not like to be puniflhed for it. They were willing enough to be delivered from the penalty of their fin, but they did not heartily wifh to be delivered from the power of it. Many declared, in the moft public manner, once every week, that they were very forry they had done amifs; that they had erred and ft rayed like loft ftoeep ; but it was not enough to declare their forrow ever fo often, if they gave no other fign of their peni¬ tence. For there was fo little truth in them, that the Lord required other proofs of their fincerity The Pilgrims . 379 be fide their own word,, for they often lied with their lips and dilfembled with their tongue. But thofe who profefifed to be penitents were neither allowed to raife heaps of clay, by circumventing their neighbours, or to keep great piles lying^by them ufelefs; nor muft they barter them for any of thofe idle vanities which reduced the heaps on a fudden: for I found that among the grand ar¬ ticles of future reckoning, the ufe they had made of the heaps would be a principal one. I was lorry to obierve many of the fairer part of thefe Pilgrims fpend too much of their heaps in adorning and beautifying their tenements of clay, in painting, white-walhing, and enamel¬ ing them. All thofe tricks, however, did not preferve them from decay, and when they grew old, they even looked worfe Ibr all this coffc and . vamilh. Some, however, adfed a more feofible part, and fpent no more upon their mouldering tenements than jolt to keep them whole and clean, and in good repair, which is what every tenant ought to do ; and I obferved that thole who were moderate in the care of their own te¬ nements, were molt attentive to repair and warm the ragged tenements of others. But none did this with much zeal or acceptance, but thofe who had acquired a habit of overlooking the things below , and who alfo by the conftant ufe of the Telefcope, had got their natural weak and dim fight fo (lengthened, as to be able to dilcern pretty diftin&ly the nature of the things above , The habit of fixing their eyes on thefe glories made all the fhining trifles, which compofe the mafs of things below, at laft appear in their own 3 60 The Pilgrims . diminutive littleqefs.* For it was in this cafe particularly true, that things are only big or little by.companion; and there was no other way of making the things below appear as final! as they ready were, but by comparing them, by means of the Telefcope, with the things above. But I obferved that the falfe judgment of the Pilgrims ever kept pace with their wrong prac¬ tices,^ for rhofe who kept their eyes faflened on tne things below , were reckoned wife in their ge¬ ne lation, while the few who looked forward to the future glories, were accounted by the buftTers, or heapers, to be either fools or mad. Well molt of thefe Pilgrims w r ent on in adorning their tenements, adding to their heaps, grafping the things below as if they would never let .them go, (hutting their eyes inftead of ufing their Telefcope, and neglecting their Title Deed, as * r t was the Parchment of another man’3 eftate, and not their own; till one after another each felt his tenement tumbling about his ears.—• Oh ! then what a buiy, budding, anxious, terrify¬ ing, diffracting moment was that I What a deal or bufinefs was to be done, and what a 11 range time was this to do it in ! Now to fee the confu- fion and difmay, occasioned by having left every thing, to the lad minute. Fir ft fome one was lent for, to make over the yellow heaps to ano¬ ther, .wnich the heaper now found would be of no ufe to himfelf in (hooting the gulf; a transfer which ought to have been made while the tene¬ ment was found. Then there was a confutation between two or three rnafons at once, perhaps to try to patch up the \£alls, and ftrengthen the X 1 he Pilgrims. props, and (lop the decays of the tumbling te¬ nement ; but not till the mafons were forced to declare it was pad repairing, (a truth they were rather too apt to keep back) did the tenant feri- oufly think it was time to pack up, prepare, and be gone. Then what fending for the wife men who profelfed to explain the Tide Deed; And oh,, what remorfe that they had negle&ed to ex¬ amine it till their fenfes were too confufed for fo weighty a bufmefs ! What reproaches, or what exhortations to others to look better after their own affairs! Even to the wifeft of the inhabi¬ tants the falling of their tenements was a folemn thing; folemn, but not furprizing; they had long" been packing up and preparing ; they praifed their Lord’s goodnefs that' they had been buffered to day fo long ; many acknowledged the mercy* of their frequent warnings, and con felled that thofe very dilapidations which had made the houfe uncomfortable had been a bldfing, as it had fet them on diligent preparation for their future in- heritance; had made them more earned in exa¬ mining their title to it, and had fet them on fuch a frequent application to the Telefcope, that The things above had feemed every day to approach nearer and nearer. Thefe defired not to be un¬ ci oathed but to be cloathed upon, for they knew that if their frail Tabernacle was diffolved, they had an houfe not made with hands , eternal in the heavens. Z. ( ) A- _ * • V . -• ' t - . ; . ; 7 • . . - ' * v - * * IK - ;• *0 THE Servant Man turned Soldier; OR, The Fair Weather Chriftian. A PARABLE. William was a lively young fervant, who lived in a great but very irregular family . His place was, on the whole, agreeable to him, and fuited to his gay thoughtlefs temper. He found a plentiful table and a good cellar. . There was, indeed, a good deal of work to be done, though it was performed with much diforder and confu- fion. The family in the main were not unkind to him, though they often contradidled and eroded him, efpecially when things went on ill with them- feives. This, William never much liked, for he was always fond of having his own way. There was a merry, or rather a noify and riotous fervants’ hall; for diforder and quarrels are in¬ deed the ufual effe&s of plenty and unreflrained indulgence. The men were fmart, but idle, the rfiaids were fhowy, but licentious, and all did pretty much as they liked for a time, but the time was commonly fhort. The wages were reckoned high, but they were feldom paid, and it was even faid by fober people, that the mailer The Servant Man turned Soldier . 38j was infolvent and never fulfilled any of his flattering engagements, or his moil pofitive pro- mifes ; but ftill, notwithftanding his real poverty, things went on with juft the lame thoughtie finefs and fplendor, and neither mafters or lervants looked beyond the jollity of the prefent hour. In this unruly family there was little church going, and. ftill lefs praying at home. They pretended, it is true, in a general way, to believe in the Bible, but it was only an outward pro- feflion ; few of them read it at all, and even of thofe who did read it ftill fewer were governed by its laws. There was indeed a Bible lying on the table in the great hall, which was kept for the purpofe of adminiftering an oath, but was feldom ufed on any other occafion; and fome of the heads of the family were of opinion that this was its only real ufe, as it might ferve to keep the lower part of it in order. William, who was fond of novelty and plea- fure, was apt to be negligent of the duties of the houfe. He ufed to ftay out on his errands, and one of his favourite amufements was going to the parade to fee the foldiers exercife. He^faw with envy how fmartly they were drefted; liftened with rapture to the mufic, and fancied that a fol- dier had nothing to do but to walk to and fro in a certain regular order, to go through a little eafy exercife ; in fhort, to live without fighting, fatigue, or danger. O, faid he, whenever he was affronted at home, what a fine thing it muft be to be a foldier! to be fo well drefled, to have nothing to do but to move to the pleafant found of fife and drum, and ; 9 t 38.4 The Servant Man turned Soldier . * % * ■ to have fo many people come to look at one,. and admire one ! 0 it muft he a fine thing to he a. foldier! Yet when the vexation of the moment was ov.ee, he found fo much cafe and diverfion in his maker’s houfe, fo limed to his low take and fen- fual appetites, that he thought no more of the matter. He forgot the glories of a foldier, and eagerly returned to all the mean gratifications of the kitchen. His evil habits were but little at¬ tended to by thofe with whom he lived ; his faults, among which were lying and fwearing, were not often corrected by the family, who had little objection to thofe fins, which only offended God, and did not much affect their own intereft ^ * or property. And except that William was obliged to work rather more than he liked, he found little, while he was young and healthy, that was very difagreeable in this fervice. So he went on, kill thinking however, when things went a little crofs, what a fine thing it was to be a foldier 1 At lak one day as he was waiting at dinner, he had the misfortune to let fall a china clitli, and broke it all to peices. It was a curious d'ifh, much valued by the family as they pre¬ tended ; this family were indeed apt to fet a falfe fantakic value on things, and not to ekimate them bv their real worth. The heads of the ¥ family, who had generally been rather patient and good-humoured with William, as I faid before, for thofe vices, which though offenfive to God, did not touch their own pocket, now fiew out into a violent paffion with him, called him a thou- 3 The Servant Man turned Soldier . 38$ fand hard names, and even threatened to horfe- whip him for his fhamefui negligence. William, in a great fright, for he was a fad coward at bottom, ran dire&ly out of the houfe to avoid the threatened punifhmeht, and happen¬ ing juft at that very time to pafs by the parade where the foldiers chanced to be then exercifing, his refolution was taken in a moment. He in- ftantly determined to be no more a flave, as he called it; he would return no more to be fub- je6l to the humours of a tyrannical family ; no, he was refolved to be free, or at leaft, if he mud ferve, he would ferve no mafter but the King. William, who had now and then happened to hear from the accidental talk of the foldiers, that thofe who ferved the great family he had lived with, were flaves to their tyranny and vices, had alfo heard, in the fame cafual manner, that the fervice of the King was 'perfect freedom. Now he had taken it into his head to hope that this might be a freedom to do evil, or at leaft to do nothing, fo he thought it was the only place in the world to fuit him. A fine likely young fellow as William was had no great difficulty to get enlifted. The few forms were loon fettled, he received the bounty- noney as eagerly as it was offered, took the oaths ff allegiance, and was joined to the regiment, tnd heartily welcomed by his new comrades. He yas the happieft fellow alive. All was fmootli md calm. The day happened to be very fine, .nd therefore William always reckoned upon a ine day. Thefcene was gay and lively, the mu- £ cheerful > he found the exercife very eafy, and S 3 86 The Servant Man turned Soldier, he thought there was little more expefed from him. He foon began to flourifh away in his talk ; and when he met with any one of his old fellow- fervants, he fell a prating about marches and counter-marches, and blockades, and battles, and fieges, and blood, and death, and triumphs, and.^ vi&ories, all at random, for thefe were words and phrafes he had picked up without at all underftanding what he faid. He had no knowledge, and therefore he had no modefty; he' had no experience, and therefore he had no fears. All feemed to go on fwimmingly, for he had had as yet no trial. He began to think with tri¬ umph what a mean life he had efcaped from in the old quarrelfome family, and what a happy, honourable life he fhould have in the army. O there was no life like the life of a foldier ! In a fhort time, however, war broke out, his regiment was one of the firft which was called out to ahlual and hard fervice. As William was the moft raw of all the recruits, he was the ftrflt to murmur'at the difficulties and hardfhips, the cold and hunger, the fatigue and danger, of being a foldier. O what watchings, and perils, and trials, and hardfhips, and difhculties, he now thought attended a military life ! Surely, faid he, I could never have fufpeded all this mifery when I ufed to fee the men on the parade in our town. He now found, when it was too late, that all the field-days he ufed to attend,,all the evolu¬ tions and exercifes which he had obferved the foldiers to go through in the calm times of peace The Servant man turned Soldier. 387 and fafety, were only meant to fit, train, and qualify them for the adlual fervice which they were now fent out to perform by the command of the King. The truth is, William often complained when there was no real hardship to complain of; for the common troubles mf life fell out pretty much alike to the great family which William had left, and to the foldiers in the King's army. But the fpirit of obedience, difcipline, and felf-denial of the latter feemed hardfhips to one of William’s loofe turn of mind. When he began to murmur, lome good old foldier clapped him on the back, faying, cc cheer up lad, it is a kingdom you are to drive for, if we faint not; henceforth there is laid up for us a great reward, we have the King's word for it, man.” Wfilliam obferved that to thofe who truly believed this, their labours were as nothing, but he himfelf did not at the bottom believe it; and it was obferved of all the foldiers who failed, the true caufe was, that they did not really believe the King's promife; He was fur- prifed to fee that thofe foldiers, who ufed to binder, and boad, and deride the adaults of the enemy, now began to fall away while fuch as had faithfully obeyed the King's orders, and Be¬ lieved in his wordy were fudarned in the hour of trial. Thofe who had traded in their own drength all fainted on the flighted attack, while thofe who had put on the armour of the King's providing, the f wordy and the fhieldy and the helmet y and the hreaft-flatey and whofe feet were food according to order, now cf endured hardfhip as good fol- diefs, and were enabled to fight the good fight.” S 2 388 The Servant Man turned Soldier , An engagement was expected immediately. The men were ordered to prepare for battle. While the reft of the corps were fo preparing, William's whole thoughts were bent on con- tnving how he might defert. But alas ! he was watched on all fides; he could not poftibly devife any means to efcape. The danger increafed every moment: the battle came on. William, who had been fo fure and confident before he entered, flinched in the moment of trial, while his more quiet and lefs boaftful comrades prepared boldly to do their duty. William looked about on all fides, and faw that there was no eye upon him, for he did not know that the Kings eye was always every where at once. He at iaft thought he fpied a chance of efcaping, not from the enemy, but from his own army. While he was endeavouring to efcape, a ball from the oppofite camp took off his leg. As he fell, the firft words which broke from him were Alas 1 while I was in my duty 1 was preferved, but in the very a 61 of deferring I am wounded. He lay expedl- ing every moment to be trampled to death, but as foon as the confuflon was a little over, he was taken off the field by fome of his own party, laid in a place of fafety, and left to himfelf, after his wound was d re fled. The fkirmifh, for it proved nothing more, was foon over. The greater part of the regiment efcaped in fafety, while the few who fell, rejoiced that they fell in their duty. William, in the mean time, buffered cruelly both in mind and body. To the pains of a wounded foldier, he added the difgrace of a coward, and the infamy The Servant Man turned Soldier *. 3%9 of a deferter, O, cried he, why was I fuch a fool as to leave the great family I lived in, where there was meat and drink enough and to fpare, only on account of a little quarrel ? I might have made up that with them as we had done our former quarrels. Why did I leave a life of cafe and pleafure, where I had only a little rub now and then, for a life of daily difcipline and conftant danger ? Why did I turn foldier ? O, what a miferable animal is a foldier ! As he was fitting in this weak and difabled condition, uttering the above complaints, he ob- ferved a venerable old officer, with thin grey locks on his head, and on his face deep wrinkles engraved by time, and many an honeft fear in- Aided by war. William had heard this old officer highly commended for his extraordinary courage and condud in battle, and in peace he ufed to fee him cool and colleded, devoutly em- ployed in reading and praying in the interval of more adive duties. He could not help com¬ paring this officer with himfelf. I, laid he, flinched and drew back, and would even have , deferted in the moment of peril, and now in return, I have no confolation in the hour of repofe and fafety. I would not fight then, I cannot pray now. O why would 1 ever think of being a foldier ? He then began afreffi to weep and lament, and he groaned fo loud that he drew the notice of the officer who came up to him, kindly fat down by him, took him by the hand, and inquired with as much affedion as if he had been his brother, what was the matter with him, and what particular diftrefs, more 39° The Servant Man turned Soldier . than the common fortune of war, it was which drew from him fuch bitter groans ? I know fome- thing of forgery, added he, let me examine your wound, and affift you with fuch little comforts as I can. William at once faw the difference between the foldiers in the King's army, and the people in the great family ; the latter commonly with¬ drew their kindnefs in ffeknefs and trouble, when it was mod wanted, and this was juft the very time when the others came forward to affift. He told the officer his little hiftory, .the manner of his living in the great family, the trifling caufe of his quarrelling with it, and the flight ground of his entering into the King's iervice. Sir, faid he, I quarrelled with the family, and I thought I was at once fit for the army : I did not know the qualifications it required. I had not reck¬ oned on difcipline, and hardfhips, and felf-de- nial. I liked well enough to fing a loyal long, or drink the King’s health, but I find I do not relifh working and fighting for him, though I rafhly promifed even to lay down my life for his fervice if called upon, when I took the bounty /money and the oath of allegiance. In fhort, fir, I find that I long for the eafe and floth, the mer¬ riment and the feafting of my old fervice; I find I cannot be a foldier, and, to fpeak truth, I was in the very ad of deferting when I w r as flopped fhort by the cannon ball. So that I feel the guilt of deferting, and the mifery of hav¬ ing loft my leg into the bargain. The officer thus replied,—Your ftate is that of every worldly, irreligious man. Th z great family you ierved is a juft pidure of the world. The The Servant Man turned Soldier . 391 wages the world pro'mifes to thofe who are wil¬ ling to do its work are high, but the payment is attended with much difappointment; nay, the world, like your great family, is in itfelf in- folvent, and in its very nature incapable. of making good the large promifes, and of paying the high rewards, which it holds out to tempt its credulous followers. The ungodly world, like your family, cares little for church, and kill lefs for prayers ; and confiders the Bible rather as an inftrument to make an oath binding, in order to keep the vulgar in obedience, than as containing in itfelf a perfect rule of faith and p raft ice, and as a title-deed to heaven. The generality of men love the world as you did your fervice, while it fmiles upon them, and gives them eafy work, and plenty of meat and drink ; but as foon as it begins to crofs and contradift them, they get out of humour with it, juft as you did with your fervice. They then think its drudgery hard, its rewards low. They find out that it is high in its expectations from them, and flack in its payments to them. And they begin to fancy (becaufe they do not hear religi¬ ous people murmur as they do) that there mu ft be fome happinefs in religion. The world, which takes no account of their deeper fins, at length brings them into difcredit for fome aft of imprudence, juft as your family overlooked your lying and fwearing, but threatened to drub you for breaking a china difh ; fuch is the judg¬ ment of the world ; it patiently bears with thofe who only break the laws of God, but feverely punifhes the fmalleft negligence by which its own 39 2 The Servant Man turned Soldier. property is injured. The world fooner pardons the breaking ten commandments of God, than even a. china difh of its own. f 0I ? e cro * s or °Ppofition, worldly men, as I fed! before, begin to think how much con¬ tent and cheerfulnefs they remember to have e.en ln religious people. They, therefore, be- gin to fancy that religion muft be an eafy and de¬ lightful, as well as a good thing. They have beard that “her ways are ways of pleafantnefs, and all her paths are peace and they perfuade them fe Ives, that by this is meant worldly plea¬ fantnefs and fenfual peace. They refolve at length to try it, to turn their back upon the world, toen- gage in the fervice of God, and turn chriftians; jult as you relolved to leave your old fervice, to enter into the fervice of the King, and turn fol. ciier. But as you quitted your place in a paffion, io they leave the world in a huff. They do not count the coft. They do not calculate upon the darling _ fins, the habitual pleafures, the eafe and vanities which they undertake, by their new engagements, to renounce, any more than you counted what indulgences you were going' to give up, when you quitted the luxuries and idle- nefs of your place, to enlift in the loldier’s war- fare. They have, as I faid, feen chriftians cheerful, and they miftook the ground of their cheerfulnefs; they fancied it arofe not becaufe, through grace, they had conquered difficulties’ but becaufe they had no difficulties in their paffage. They fancied that religion found the road fmooth, whereas it only helps the fufferer to bear with a rough road without complaint. The Servant Man turned Soldier . 393 They do not know that thtfe Chriflians are of good cheer, not becaufe the w'orld is free from tribulation, but becaufe Thrift, their captain, has c< overcome the world.’* But the irreligious man, who has only feen the outfide of a Chrif- tian in his worldly intercourfe, knows little of his lecret conflicts, his trials, his lelf-denials, his war¬ fare with the world without, and with his own cor¬ rupt defires within. The irreligious man quarrels with the world, on fome fuch occafi.on as you did with your place. He now puts on the outward forms and ceremo¬ nies of religion, and affumes the badges of Chris¬ tianity, jufl as you were ftruck with the fhows of a field day; juft as you were pleafed with the mufic and the marching,'and put on the cockade and the red coat. All fee ms fmooth for a little while. He goes through the outward ex- erciles of a Chriftian, a degree of credit attends his new profcffion, but he never fuipedts there is either difficulty or difcipline attending it; he fancies religion is a thing for talking about, and not a thing to engage the heart and the lire. He never fufpe&s that all the pfalm-finging he joins in, and the fermons he hears, and the other means he is ufing, are only as the exercifes and the evolutions of the foldiers, to fit and prepare him for adtual fervice; and that thefe means are no more religion itfelf, than the exercifes and evolutions of your parade were real warfare. At length fome trial arifes. This nominal- Cbriftian is called to differ from the world in fome great point;, fomething happens which may ftrike at his comfort, or his credit, or fecular s 5 V 3 94 The Servant Man tamed Soldier. fecurity. This cools his zeal for religion, juft as the view of an engagement cooled your courage as a foldier. : He finds he was only angry with the world, he was not tired of it; he was out of humour with the world, not becaufe he had feen through its vanity and emptinefs, but be¬ caufe the world was out of humour with him. He finds that it is an ealy thing to be a fair- weather Chriflian, bold, where there is nothing to be done, and confident where there is nothing to be feared. Difficulties tinmafk him to others ; temptations unmafk him to himfelf; he dilcovers, that though he is a high profeffior, he is no Chriflian; juft 'as you found out that your reel coat, and your cockade, your ffioulder-knot, and your mufket, did not prevent you from being a coward. Your mifery in the military life, like that of the nominal Chriflian, arofe from your love of eafe, your cowardice, and your felf-ignorance. You ruffied into a new way of life without try¬ ing after one qualification for it. A total change of heart and temper were necefifary for your new calling. With new views and new principles the foldier’s life would have been not only eafy but delightful to you.* But while, with a new pro- feffion, you retained your old nature, it is no wonder if all -difcipline feemed intolerable to yon. ; ‘ The true Chriflian, like the brave foldier, is fuppd’r’ted under dangers by a• ftrong faith, that "the fruits of that vi£lory for which he fights will be fafety, peace," and " glory. But,-alas ! the pleafures of this world are prefent and vifible; 9 The Servant Man turned Soldier . 391 the kingdom and the crown for which he drives are remote ; becaufe they are diftant, he is apt to think them uncertain. He is therefore apt to fail, becaufe nothing fhort of a lively faith can out- weigh the prefent temptation, and teach him to prefer the future joys of conqueft to the prefent pleafures of floth. Whether William went back to his old fervice, or was received again into the army, may be known hereafter. Z, & ■ SORROWS OF YAMBA OR, THE: Negro Woman’s Lamentation, To the Tune of Hojter’s GhoJi % 1 N St. Lucie’s difont ifle. Still with Afric’s love I burn; Parted many a thoufand mile. Never, never to return. Come, kind Death 1 and give me reft; Yamba has no friend but thee ; Thou canft eafe my throbbing breaft; Thou canft fet the Priloner free. Down my cheeks the tears are dripping* Broken is my "heart with grief; Mangled my poor ftefh with whipping. Come, kind Death l and bring relief . Born on Afric’s golden coaft,. Once I was as bleft as you $ Parents tender I could boaft, Huiband dear, and children too* Whity man he came from far. Sailing o’er the briny flood Who, with, help of Britifh Tar, Buys up humanfldh and blood. / The Sorrows of Tamba. With the baby at my bread (Other two were deeping by) In my hut I fat at reft, With no thought of danger nigh. From the bufh at even-tide, Rufh’d the fierce man-dealing crew ; Seiz’d the children by my fide. Seiz’d the wretched Yamba too. Then for love of filthy gold. Straight they bore me to the fea, Cramm’d me down a Slave-fhip’s hold. Where were hundreds ftow’d like me. Naked on the plat--form lying. Now we crofs the tumbling wave ; Shrieking, fickening, fainting, dying; Deed of fhame for Britons brave ! At the favage Captain’s beck, Now, like brutes, they make us prance Smack the cat about the deck. And in fcorn they bid us dance. Naufeous horfe-beans they bring nigh. Sick and fad we cannot eat; Cat mud cure the fulks, they cry, Down their throats we’ll force the meat. I, in groaning pafs’d the night. And did roll my aching head ; At the break of morning light. My poor child was cold and dead.. Happy, happy, there file lies; Thou fiialt feel the lafh no more ; Thus full many a Negro dies, Ere we reach the dedin’d fhore. 39 $ The Sorrows of Yamba. Thee, Aveet infant, none fhail fell ; Thou haft gain’d a vvatry grave j Clean efcap’d the tyrants fell, W hile thy mother lives a Have. Driven like cattle to a fair. See, they fell us, young and old , Child from mother too they tear. All for love of filthy gold. I was fold to Mafia hard ; Some have Mafia’s kind and good; And again my back was fcarr’d, Bad and ftinted was my food. Poor and wounded, faint and Tick, All expos’d to burning fky, Mafia, bids me grafs to pick. And I now am near to die. What, and if to death he fend me. Savage murder tho’ it be, Britifh laws /hall ne’er befriend me. They protect not flaves like me. Mourning thus my wretched ftate^ (Ne’er may I forget the day) ; Cnee in dufk of evening late. Far from home I dat’d to ftray. Dar’d, alas 1 with impious hafte, Tow’rds the roaring feato fiy j Death itfelf I long’d to tafte. Long’d to caft me in and die. There I met upon the Strand, Englifh- Miftionary good ; He had Bible book in hand; Which poor me no underftood* I The Sorrows of Tamha. 399 Led by pity from afar, He had left his native ground 5 Thus, if fome indict a fear, Others fly to cure the wound. Straight he pull’d me from the lb ore, Bid me no felf-murder do ; Talk’d of flate when life is o'er, All from Bible good and true. Then he led me to his cot, - Sooth’d and pitied all my woe3 Told me ’twas the Chriflian’s lot. Much to fuffer here below. Told me then of God’s dear Son, (Strange and wond’rous is the ftory) What fad wrong to him was done, Tho’ he was the Lord of Glory. Told me, too, like one who knew him, (Can fuch love as this be true ?) How he died for them that flew him. Died for wretched Yamba too. Freely he his mercy proffer’d. And to Sinners he was fent ! E’en to Mafla pardon's offer’d ; O, if Maffa would repent 1 Wicked deed full many a time. Sinful Yamba too hath done ; But flie wails to God her crime. But flie truils his only Son. , • N 0 O, ye flaves whom Mafias beat. Ye are ftain’d with guilt within ; As ye hope for mercy fweet. So forgive your Maffas’ fln. 400 The Sorrows of Yamba. And with grief when finking: ]ow, Mark the road that Yamba trod ; Think how all her pain and woe Brought the Captive home to God. Now let Yamba, too, adore Gracious Heaven's myfterious plan ; Now I’ll count my mercies o’er. Flowing through the guilt of man. Now I’ll blefs my cruel capture, (Hence I’ve known a Saviour’s name) Till my grief is turn’d to rapture. And I half forget the blame. Buttho’ here a Convert rare. Thanks her God for Grace divine j Let not man the glory (hare ; Sinner, Fill the guilt is thine. ~ w \ ~ HR ’ Here an injur'd Slave forgives, There a holt for vengeance cry \ Here a fingle Yamba lives. There a thoufand droop and die> Duly now baptiz’d am I* By good Miflionary man :: Lord, my nature purify. As no outward, water can l All my former thoughts abhorr’d. Teach me now to pray and praife^ Joy and glory in my Lord, Trull and ferve him all my days. Worn* indeed, with grief and pain, Death I now will welcome in : 0, the heavenly prize to gain ! O, to Tcape the power of Sin ! The Sorrows of Tamba . 40 1 True of heart, and meek, and lowly. Pure and blamelefs let me grow l Holy may I be, for holy Is the place to which I go. But tho 1 death this hour may find me. Still with Afric's love I burn ; (There fve left a fpoufe behind me) Still to native land I turn. And when Yamba finks in death. This my lateft prayer /ball be, While I yield my parting breath, O y thatAfric might be free l Ceafe, ye Britifh Tons of murder ! Ceafe from forging Afric’s chain r Mock your Saviour’s name no further, Ceafe your favage lufb of gain. Ye that boaft “ Ye rule the waves f Bid no Slave-fhip foil the fea ; Ye, that cc never will be Jlavesf' Bid poor Afric’s land be free. Where ye gave to war its birth. Where your traders fix’d their den. There go publifh .; ; O HOW wonTrousis the dory n Of our bled Redeemer’s birth ! See the mighty Lord of Glory Leaves his heaven to vifit earth l Hear with tranfport every creature. Hear the Gofpel’s joyful found $ Ohrid appears in human nature. In our finful world is found ! Comes to pardon our tranfgredion. Like a cloud our fins to blot ; Comes to his own favour’d nation, But his own receive him not. If the angels who attended To declare the Saviour’s birth. Who from heaven with fongs defcended. To proclaim Good-will on earth * If, in pity to our blindnefs, They had brought the pardon needed, Still Jehovah’s wond’rous kindnefs Had our warmed hopes exceeded ! A New Chriftmas Hymn . If fome Prophet had been fent With falvation’s joyful news. Who that heard the bleft event Could their warmeft love refufe ? But ’twas He to whom in Heaven Hallelujahs never ceafe ; He, the mighty God, was given. Given to us a Prince of Peace. None but he who did create us Could redeem from fm and hell $ None but he could re-inftate us In the rank from which we fell. Had he come, the glorious Granger, Deck’d with all the world calls great. Had he liv’d in pomp and grandeur, Crown’d with more than royal ftate ; Still our tongues with praife overflowing. On fuch boundlefs love would dwell. Still our hearts with rapture glowing, Speak what words could never tell. But what wonder Ihould it raife Thus our loweft Hate to borrow ! O the high myfterous ways, God’s own Son a child of forrow ! 5 Twas to bring us endlefs plcafure. He our fuflering nature bore, 3 Twas to ^ive us heavenly treafure He was willing to be poor. 42 8 A New Chriftmas Hymn* Come ye rich, furvey the liable Where your infant Saviour lies ; From your full o-erflowing table Send the hungry good fupplies.* Bead not your ennobled Nations, Boall not that you’re highly fed; Jesus, hear it all ye nations, Had not where to lay his head, % -5 * ' Learn of me, thus cries the Saviour, If my kingdom you’d inherit; Sinner, quit your proud behaviour^ Learn my meek and lowly fpirif. Come ye fervants lee your llation. Freed from all reproach and lhame \ He who purchas’d your falvation. Bore a fervant’s humble name. Come ye poor, fome comfort gather, Faint not in the race you run. Hard the lot your gracious father Gave his dear, his only Son. Think, that if your humble Rations Lefs of worldly food bellow. You efcape thole llrong temptations Which from wealth and grandeur flow. See your Saviour is afeended ! See he looks with pity down ; Trull him all will loon be mended. Bear his crofs you’ll fhare his crown. .» : ' wrrf OF PRAISE ,FO,R THE .ABUNDANT HARVEST OF 179.6. AFTER A YEAR OF SCARCITY. Great God ! when Famine threaten’d late To fcourge our guilty land, O did we learn from that dark fate To dread thy mighty hand ? jo A Hymn of Praije, Did then our fins to mem’ry rife ? Or own’d we God was juft ? Or rais’d we penitential cries •? Or bow’d we in the duft ? Did we forfake one evil path ? x Was any (in abhorr’d ? Or did we deprecate thy wrath,. And turn us to the Lord ? ’Tis true we fail’d not to refine. But did we too repent ? Or own the chaftifement divine In awful judgment fent ? ' ! .✓ V Tho’ the bright chain of Peace is broke And war with ruthlefs fword Unpeoples nations at aftroke, Yet who regards the Lord ? But God, who in his ftrid decrees Remembers mercy ft ill. Can, in a moment, if he pleafe. Our hearts with comfort fill. . He mark’d our angry fpirits rile, Domeftic hate increafe j And for a time withheld lupplies, To teach us love and peace. Pie, when he brings his children low. Has bleflings frill in ftore ; And when he ftrikes the heavieft blow. He does but love us more. I / for the abundant Harveji of 1796. 4^1 Now, Frost, and Flood, and Blight no more Our golden harvefts fpoil; See what an unexampled ftore Rewards the Reapers toil! As when the promis’d harveft fail’d. In Canaan’s fruitful land ; The envious Patriarchs were affaiI’d By famine’s preffing hand I The angry brothers then forgot Each fierce and jarring feud; United by their adverfe lot, - They lov’d as brothers fhou’d, Sojiere, from Heaven’s correcting hand^ Tho' famine fail’d to move ; Let Plenty now throughout the land Rekindle peace and love. Like the rich fool, let us not fay. Soul ! thou haft goods in ftore ! *But ihake the overplus away, To feed the aged poor. Let rich and poor, on whom are now Such bounteous crops beftow’d, Raife many a pure and holy vow In gratitude to God ! vAnd while his gracious name we praife For bread fo kindly given ; Let us befeech him all our days. To give the bread ofheav’n. s 432 H Hymn of Praife, &c. In that bleft Prayer our Lord did frame. Of- all our prayers the guide, We afk that “ hallow'd be bis name/’ And then our wants fupplied. For grace he bids us fir ft implore. Next, that we may be fed ; We lay, cc Thy will be done,” before We afk fC our daily bread.”- Printed by Bye and Law, St. John’s Square. * l