British Workman Vol. 1, No. 4 (1855)


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No. 4.]

Published eor the Editor by S, W. PAETEIDGE; A. W. BENNETT; and W. TWEEDIE, London.

[Price One Penny.


FATHER will have done the great chimney to-night, wont he, mother?” said little Tom Howard, as he stood waiting for his father’s breakfast, which he carried to him at his work every morning.

“ He said he hoped all the scaffolding would be down tonight,” answered his mother, “ and that’ll be a fine sight; for I never like the ending of those great chimneys, it’s so risky; thy father’s to be the last up.”

“Eh, then, but I’ll go and see him, and help ’em to give a shout afore he comes down,’ said Tom.

“ And then,” continued his mother, “if all goes right, we are to have a frolic to-morrow, and go into the country, and take our dinners, and spend all the day amongst the woods.”

“ Hurrah,” cried Tom, as he ran off to his father’s place of work, with a can of milk in one hand and some bread in the other. His mother stood at the door watching him as he went merrily whistling down the street, and then she thought of the dear father he was going to, and the dangerous work he was engaged in, and then her heart sought its sure refuge, and she prayed to God to protect and bless her treasures.

Tom, with light heart, pursued his way to his father, and, leaving him his breakfast, went to his own work, which was at some distance. In the evening, on his way home, he went round to see how his father was getting on.

James Howard, the father, and a number of other workmen, had been building one of those lofty chimneys, which, in our great manufacturing towns, almost supply the place of other architect tural beauty. This chimney was one of the highest and most tapering that had ever been erected; and as Tom, shading his eyes from the slanting rays of the setting sun, looked up to the top in search of his father, his heart almost sunk within him at the appalling height. The scaffolding was almost all down ; the men at the bottom were removing the last beams and poles. Tom’s father stood alone on the top. He looked all round to see that every thing was right, and then waving his hat in the air, the men below answered him with a long, loud cheer, little Tom shouting as heartily as any of them. As their voices died

away, however, they heard a very differed* sound,—a cry of alarm and horror from above, “ The rope! the rope!” The men looked round, and coiled upon the ground lay the rope, which, before the scaffolding was removed, should have been passed over the top of the chimney, for Tom’s father to come down by 1 The scaffolding had been taken down, without their remembering to take the rope up. There was a dead silence. They all knew it was impossible to throw the rope up high enough, or skilfully enough to reach the top of the chimney; or, if it could, it would hardly have been safe. They stood in silent dismay, unable to give any help, or think of any means of safety.

And Tom’s father. He walked round and round the little circle, the dizzy height, seeming every moment to grow more fearful, and the solid earth further and further from him. In the sudden panic he lost his presence of mind, and his senses almost failed him. He shut his eyes,—he felt as if, the next moment, he must be dashed to pieces on the ground below.

The day had passed as industriously and swiftly as usual with Tom’s mother at home. She was always busily employed for her husband and children, in some way or other; and to-day she had been harder at work than usual, getting ready for the holiday to-morrow. She had just finished all her preparations, and her thoughts weic silently thanking God for her happy home, and for all the blessings of life, when Tom ran in; his face was as white as ashes, and he could hardly get his words out: “ Mother ! mother! he canna get down.”

“ Who, lad? thy father?” asked his mother.

“ They’ve forgotten to leave him the rope,” answered Tom, still scarcely able to speak. His mother started up, horror-struck, and stood for a moment, as if paralyzed; then, pressing her hands over her face, as if to shut out the terrible picture, and breathing a prayer to God for help, she rushed out of the house.

When she reached the place where her husband was at work, a crowd had collected round the foot of the chimney, and stood there quite helpless, gazing up with faces full of horror. “ He says he’ll throw himself down,” exclaimed they, as Mrs. Howard came up. “ He’s going to throw himself down.”

“ Thee munna do that, lad! ” cried the wife, with clear, hopeful voice; “ thee munna do that. Wait a bit. Tak’ off thy stocking1, lad, and unravel it, and let down the thread with a bit of mortar. Dost hear me. Jem?” The man made a sign of assent, for it seemed as if he could not speak; and, taking off his stocking, unravelled the worsted thread, row after row. The people stood round in breathless silence and suspense, wondering what Tom’s mother could be thinking of, and why she sent in such haste for the carpenter’s ball of twine.

“ Let down one end of the thread with a bit of stone, and keep fast hold of the other,” cried she to her husband. The little thread came waving down the tall chim. Siey, blown hither and thithe*

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by the wind, but at last it reached the outstretched hands that were waiting1 for it. Tom held the ball of string, while his mother tied one end of it to the worsted thread. “ Now pull it up slowly,” cried she to her husband, and she gradually unwound the string as the worsted drew it gently up. It stopped,—the string had reached her husband. “ Now hold the string1 fast, and pull it up,” cried she, and the string grew heavy, and hard to pull, for Tom and his mother had fastened the thick rope to it. They watched it gradually and slowly uncoiling from the ground, as the string was drawn higher.

There was but one coil left. It had reached the top. 64 Thank God! Thank God! ” exclaimed the wife. She hid her face in her hands in silent prayer, and trembling, rejoiced. The rope was up. The iron to which it should be fastened was there all right; but would her husband be able to make use of them ?— would not the terror of the past hour have so unnerved him, as to prevent him from taking1 the necessary measures for his safety ? She did not know the magic influence which her few words had exercised over him. She did not know the strength that the sound of her voice, so calm and stedfast, had filled him with,—as if the little thread that carried him the hope of life once more, had conveyed to him some portion of that faith in God, which nothing ever destroyed or shook in her true heart. She did not know, that as he waited there, the words came over him, “ Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God.” She lifted up her heart to God for hope and strength. She could do nothing more for her husband, and her heart turned to God, and rested on him as on a rock.

There was a great shout. “ He’s safe, mother, he’s safe,” cried little Tom. “ Thou’st saved me, Mary,” said her husband, folding her in his arms.

“ But what ails thee ? Thou seem’st more sorry than glad about it.” But Mary could not speak; and if the strong arm of her husband had not held her up, she would have fallen to the ground, —the sudden joy, after such great fear, had overcome her. “Tom,” said his father, “let thy mother lean on thy shoulder, and we will take her home.” And in their happy home they poured forth their thanks to God for his great goodness; and their happy life together felt dearer and holier for the peril it had been in, and . for the nearness that the danger had brought them i unto God. And the holiday next day,—was it not indeed a thanksgiving day!—S. School Magazine. \


By the late G. Mogridge, Esq.

Experience has shown us the necessity of being prepared for a difference of opinion in our dealings with our fellow-men. When rules are laid down which are equally binding on two parties having business together, angry words and violent quarrels are often avoided.

If you examine the catalogue of an auctioneer who is about to dispose of desirable freeholds, paintings, books and prints, orhouseholdfurniture, you are sure to see legibly printed thereon, “Conditions of Sale.” Should any one make an irregular bidding, or insist upon it in opposition to others, that he is the purchaser of the things sold he is immediately referred by the auctioneer to the “ conditions of sale,” by which he will see that, every bidder must advance at least a certain amount, and if there be any altercation about a lot sold, t’he lot must be put up again for sale. Such an arrangement is very proper.

When subject to abrupt transitions,

There’s nothing like correct conditions.

Perrins the auctioneer is mounted on his rostrum, with his hammer in his hand, and his little desk before him. Below him sits his clerk, who at one moment is casting up his eyes to his master, and the next marking down the lots that he has disposed of.

“ Put up that lamp!” cries one of the company, who has made up his mind to buy it, if he can get it at a reasonable price. “ Put up that lamp!” “ You cannot have the lamp by itself, sir,” says Perrins; “you must have the lot altogether as per catalogue—No. 123. 1 lamp, 1 garden roller, j

and 1 patent mangle.”

“ Well, but I want neither the garden roller nor I the patent mangle.”

“ Cannot help it, sir. Conditions of sale must \ | be observed. If you have the lamp you must have the garden roller and the patent mangle.”

And, think not that this is the case with purchases at auctions only, for it is the same with everything else in life. What is the world but a large auction room, in which in all our transactions, we are subject to “ conditions of sale.” All our earthly possessions are subject to conditions;

And whether we approve them, or deride them,

It little matters, for we must abide them.

“ I like the house very well,” says the coming-in tenant to the landlord who belongs to it; “ but then I don’t like the neighbour’s pig-sty at the back of it, and I don’t like its being opposite a public-house.”

“ I cannot say that I like these things myself,” replied the landlord ; “ but then I can’t alter them.

I can neither move my house, nor pull down the tavern and the pig-sty, so you must decide for yourself. If you take the house, you must have the tavern-keeper for a neighbour, and manage as well as you can with the pig-sty.”

“ lie is a clever and a quick boy,” said Michael Rowe the cornfaetor to the father of one of hie young servants, “ and I’ll give him his due. An honester lad never lived in the world, but then he is so passionate.”

“ But you wouldn’t like a slow, heavy-heeled lad, sir, that would go to sleep instead of going his errands ? ” replied the boy’s father.

“ Indeed, I should not; give me a lad of spirit.”

“ Well, then, sir, you have got one. I hope, with all my heart, that he’ll get the better of his passionate temper, but “ Rome was not built in a day.’ You must take him as he is, sir, and till he mends, put his quickness and his honesty against his angry temper.”

It is clear that he who wished to buy the lamp, the coming-in tenant, and the corn-factor, were all in exactly the same situation ; they wanted to obtain their ends on their own terms; but this could not be done: they all had to conform to the “ conditions of sale.” The agreeable and the disagreeable are mingled together in our common concerns, like shine and shower in the fitful days of April.

In life we cannot choose our weather, [together.

The rough and smooth must go How wise it is, then if we cannot alter our position, to suit ourselves to our circumstances. Were we ever so determined to have summer without winter, day without night, and roses without thorns, we should not be able to obtain them. The man who stays in England must be content without having Alps and Apennines to gaze on; and he who goes to India must be prepared to find tigers in the jungle, boars in the woods, alligators in the rivers, and sun and mosquitoes.

These conditions are arbitrary. The stayers-at-home cannot have the grand sights, and the roamers abroad cannot dispense with the monsters and mosquitoes.

Many “ go a-soldiering,” and no doubt others would go too, were it not for the conditions, but honour and glory cannot be had alone. The trumpet blast, the red coat, and the prancing-charger, might do very well by themselves, but the empty sleeve and the wooden leg are very unwelcome additions to them; so that if a man be not sword proof, and bullet proof, and cannonball proof, he had better let soldiering alone.

The proud man cannot enjoy his pride alone; there are some weighty conditions to which he must conform. “ Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,” Proverbs xvi. 18. He cannot have his pride without running his risk of a fall and of destruction. The rich man cannot have his wealth without taking with it a portion of care. “ The abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep.” Eccles. v. 12. Willingly would he get


It is important that our readers should at the present time be informed of the facility they possess of forwarding single copies of the “ British Workman” through the post, to their friends in France, and other Countries. The following extract from a letter received from the General Post Office, in reply to an enquiry from us will best explain the matter.

General Post Office, March 1855. Sir,—In reply to your letter, I beg leave to inform you that the British Workman may be sent through the Post, as a ‘Periodical’ to France, Belgium, Holland, Prussia, and the United States, (in covers, open at the ends,—and no writing, except the Address of the party to whom sent,) provided it does not exceed two ounces in weight, for a Postage of One Penny. I beg to add that it may also be sent to Hamburgh and Bremen at the same rate of Postage, by Private Ship.

I am yours, &c.

J. Tilley, Assistant Secretary,

Packets containing eighteen copies of “ The British Workman” may be had post free, to any part of England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, the Channel Islands, the Shetland and the Orkney Isles, by forwarding eighteen pence in postage stamps to the publisher, S. W. Partridge, 9, Paternoster; Row, Londo ..

S. W. Partridge has pleasure in recommending the following publications to the notice of Working Men.

With Four Illustrations.



Or, Facts and Figures for Working Men. One Penny. The wide circulation of this little book amongst the working classes will, it is hoped, deter many from entering within the injurious influence of the public-house.

With Six Illustrations.


An amusing tale in Rhyme. By X Y Z. Price One Penny.


Or, the right side of a Public-house and Play-house. By Mrs. Balfour. One Penny.


Price One Penny. Illustrated.


or, Jack Spar and Ben Bowline. In Bhyme. Price One Penny. Illustrated.

A well written Poetical Dialogue between Jack Spar and Ben Bowline, iri which Jack accounts for the excellence of his attire by his abstinence, and Ben’s ragged condition by his indulgence in potations.

Portsmouth Paper.




T. Pumphrey.—We are o-bliged by your letter. Your plan of placing a copy on a board at your shop door, is excellent.

C. H.—Hints to Servant Girls shall be Inserted.

C. T.—You can order a monthly supply through any Bookseller or News Agent.

W. T. R.—The British Workman is at present got up at a considerable loss. The circulation is not yet quite 20,000.

rid of this heavy tax; but he cannot, he must abide by the conditions.

Many spend their lives in idleness, but in the catalogue of life, idleness is only one part of the lot that must go together. “ An idle soul shall suffer hunger.” Prov. xix. 15. A very awkward appendage this to idleness. Many practise deceit, hoping to profit thereby, altogether forgetting the conditions annexed thereto; “ The hypocrite’s hope shall perish,” Job viii. 13; and “ Bread of deceit is sweet to a man ; but afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel,” Prov. xx. 17.

By these examples it is clear, that often the desirable and the undesirable things of the world go together, and that the attempt would be vain to attain the former without the latter. Let us patiently and gladly submit ourselves to the all-wise decrees of our heavenly Father, humbly believing that all things will work together for good to them that love God. “ The Lord knoweth the way of the righteous but the way of the ungodly shall perish.” J

The lesson of this piece, whe- ^ ther set forth gaily or gravely, „ fljji

is well worth consideration.

Expressed briefly, it says this:

In every act you perform, and in every enterprise in which you engage, you must be con- f

tent to take with it the conse-quences it necessarily involves.

In a word, to go back again to

the language of Perrins the ‘ ‘*■*&**“*”

Auctioneer, “The conditions of sale must be ob-

served ; and if you unU have the lamp, you must have the garden roller and the patent mangle.”


Though hard nay daily labour,

Yet why should I repine ?

I’ve many a worthy neighbour Whose lot is worse than mine :

»Tis better work, however hard,

Than steal, or beg, or borrow ;

And labour, too, hath this reward—

It keeps the heart from sorrow.

Though mean, I’ve many a pleasure Unknown to power and wealth,

I boast earth’s truest treasure—

Food, clothing, home, and health :

None view my lot with longing eyes,

Nor envy my poor calling,

And if I have small hope to rise,

I have no fear of falling.

On Heaven’s kind aid relying,

My work, then, I’ll pursue,

And leave all useless sighing For those wlio’ve nought to do:

In honest toil there’s no disgrace,

Nor e’en the meanest station;

’Tis vice alone, and idleness,

That brand with degradation.

With heart content and cheerful,

And arm inured to toil,

Of labour never fearful,

At future want I smile:

From Heaven’s past mercies, come what ruin An argument I’ll borrow,

While thankful for God’s gifts to-day,

To trust him for to-morrow. S. W. P.


Here is a large shop at Corinth, where, just about 1800 years ago, a number of people seem very busy making tents. Tents were much used in those days. Who are employed in making them ? We read of three persons, one a Jew, named Aquila, with his wife Priscilla, and the other is Paul. “ Paul departed from Athens and came to Corinth ; and found a certain Jew named Aquila, with his wife Priscilla, and came unto them. And because he was of the same craft, he abode with them, and wrought: for by their occupation they were tentmakers; Acts xviii. 1 to 3. Who was this Paul ? Was it the apostle, who had been preaching so boldly at Athens? Was it that holy man who had been labouring so much for Christ, who had suffered so much for Christ ? Was he a tentmaker, a workman, a man of business? Read what he writes about it to the Thessalonians, “ Ye remember, brethren, our labour and travail: labouring night and day, because we would not be chargeable to any of you,’ and again, “ We wrought with labour and travail night and day, 1 Thess. ii. 9—2 Thess. iii. 8. Let us look again at St. Paul while at Corinth, living as a tentmaker. Was this all that he did ! We read, “ He reasoned in the synagogue every sabbath, persuaded the Jews and the Greeks—he continued there a year and six months teaching the word of God among them, Acts xviii. 4, 11.

Workmen, learn a lesson from St. Paul, and let it be in his own words, “ Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord, Rom. xii. 11. May each one of you have an active body, a fervent spirit, and both consecrated to God. Believe me, he who serves the Lord, will best serve his master; he who works for God will work best at his business, and he who labours for Christ will be most active and most diligent in whatever situation he is called upon to fulfil, as we find St. Paul was, both as a preacher, and as a tentmaker. C. H.


Our attention has been drawn to a long and valuable notice of our paper in the English Presbyterian Messenger, from which the following is an extract.

We know of no broadsheet so w ell calculated to make its way amongst the “Working Classes, as the British Workman, and Friend of the Sons of Toil; nor any from which so much positive good may he effected. Our greatest fear is, that it may prove too good to live long enough. It will be a disgrace to the Christians of England, and especially to Christian employers, if such a publication be allowed to die. hut such a quantity of excellent paper, letterpress, and beautiful—and we may add, expensive-illustrations, cannot be produced without a very extensive circulation—little short of 100,000 copies.

We beg to thank the esteemed editor for thus drawing attention to the importance of aiding in extending our circulation. At present, we have not reached 20,000 monthly, and consequently every No. is issued at a heavy loss, and we have no intention of continuing the paper, unless there is probability of shortly reaching the self-supportingpoint.

We believe, however, that by the esertions of those friends to whom copies have been forwarded, this point will be attained. Cheering letters from all parts have reached us, hut none more encouraging than one from a Bookseller in the manufacturing districts, who, having taken deep interest in-the paper, (naming it to his customers—placing copies in his windows—enclosing circulars in his parcels, &c., &c.) now states, “I already sell 500 copies monthly.”

If the Booksellers wiH kindly lend their helping hand there is no doubt but that the “British Workman ” will live.

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By the late G. Mogridge, Esq.

“ Thou shalt not steal.”—Exodus xx. 15.

The story I relate is somewhat wild,

The tale was told me when I was a child.

An honest farmer of the name of Biggs Was quite unlucky with his sucking pigs;

Do what he would, he could not save his bacon,

For every now and then a pig was taken.

The farmer rose betimes to till his ground,

The day roll’d on and all was safe and sound;

Night came and passed as silent as the dead,

But in the morn another pig had fled, .

“Which proves,” says Ralph, the village wit, so sly, “ Though not a likely bii*d, a pig may fly.”

Hour after hour the farmer rack’d his brain To catch the thief; his efforts all were vain.

It chanc’d, a man, the circumstance was rare,

Came through the village with a travelling bear,

And asked the farmer, meekly, if he might “ Put Bruin in the old barn for the night ? ”

“No 1” said the farmer, in his blunt reply,

“ You take the barn and put him in the sty.”

Thus far, arrangements made for beast and man ; The bear was muzzled well, a prudent plan;

Lest he, perchance, if no restriction bound him, Might make too free with the young porkers round


The night was dark, the whistling wind alone>

Was heard around in sad and dreary tone,

When all at once there rose a fearful cry Of dread surprise, and fear and agony.

Louder and louder still rose cries and moans,

And sound of hasty feet, and growls and groans j As if some hapless wretch, with gasping breath.

Was grappling with his foe for life and death.

Dp rose the farmer then, as well he might ;

Up rose his serving men and sprang a light:

Nor was the bear-ward backward to attend,

He heard the gruff voice of his shaggy friend,

And well he knew, and sore the thought perplex’d him, His beast would play the bear with those who vex’d


With anxious haste and eager, glancing eye,

Directed by the cries they sought the sty,

And there they found, fast in old Bruin’s claws, (’Twas well for him the muzzle seal’d his jaws,} Gasping with pain and terror, Richard Penn,

One of the farmer’s trustiest labouring men,

Who on the bank-side, white-wash’d cottage near. Had creditably lived for many a year.

The man confess’d his guilt, right glad to gO‘

From the rude clutches of his fearful foe,

For he had thought, for certain, that at last The Evil One had fairly got him fast.

The thief was penitent, and farmer Biggs Forgave the trespass, though he lost his pigs;

For what with shame,.and agony and dread,

The sharp remorse, the man was almost dead.

“ Yes, I forgive thee,” spake the farmer free,

“ For thou hast been a useful man to me;

“And ne’er till now, though thou hast served me long, “ As I believe, hast ever done me wrong.

“ Thou’st had a lesson, Dick, that I dare say “ Thou wilt remember till thy dying day.

“The Lord of heaven and earth, in righteous part,

“ Hath spoken in thunder to thy sinful heart, “Against his word for lifting up thine heel,

“ ‘I am the Lord thy God,’ ‘ Thou shalt not steal! ,




DELIVERED IN EXETER HALL. (Continued from page 11.)

Now, here is the deceptive influence of the thing. Every man who begins to drink, looks at the drunkard in the ditch as a being who came out of the hands of his Creator utterly destitute of the qualities that the drink has robbed him of. Now, is it so? Let us see for a moment. Are they all fools who become drunkards ? Oh! I thank God that in the temperance enterprise we have been able to i prove to a demonstration that they are not.

i Affecting Incident.

I was once asked to go and see a drunkard; the worst, they said, in the whole town. I said, “ You have no right to ask me to go and see him unless he wishes to see me; if he comes to me I will see him ; or if he wishes me to go to his house I will go.” If I went unbidden he might say, “ Who told you I was a drunkard ? mind your own business and I will mind mine; wait until I send for you.” I have no more right to go into the poor man’s house than into that splendid mansion. The servants would turn me out there; and the working man has as much pride as another man. “ But,” it was replied, “ the man beat a little girl fourteen years of age (and she will carry the marks to her grave) because she went to bed before he went home.” “ I do not want,” I said, “to go to such a man.” “But his wife is very ill with a bilious fever, and the doctor thinks she cannot get over it; the man has not been drinking for some days, and if you could see him now I believe you might do him some good.” Under these circumstances I said I would go, and I went accordingly, and tried to make some excuse for calling. When he came to the door he knew me. “ Mr. Gough,” he said.

Yes,” said I, “ will you give me a tumbler of water, if you please ? ” “0 yes, wont you walk in ?”

I then walked in, and I sat on one side of the table, and he the other. Two little children were playing in the room ; and a door was half-opened which led into another room where the wife was lying ill. I began to talk to the man about everything I could think of, but temperance— [ about trade, the crops, railroads, till I got on to \ drink—then he headed me off1. I began again, ^ and talked about the badness of the roads, travel- % ling, business, drink—he headed me off again, ji I fancied I saw a malicious smile in his eyes, as ) much as to say, “ Young man, you are not up to j; your business yet;” and I thought I must give it | up. Providentially, I thought of the children, j; and I said, “ Pretty looking children those, sir.” | “ Yes, sir,” said he, “ they are pretty good chil- ‘ dren.” “ And you love your children, don’t | you?” “Bless the children,” said he, “to be’ sure I do.” “ And you would do anything in ; the world to benefit them, wouldn’t you ?” 11 asked. Then he looked as if he expected some- I thing else was coming; but he said, “ Yes, to be sure, I ought to be willing to benefit my children.” “ Well,” said I, “ I am going to ask you a plain, simple question—don’t be angry with me —suppose you never drank any more liquor as long as you lived, don’t you think those children would be better off?” “Well,” said he ap- j parently puzzled, “ I own you have got me this ‘ time ; the children would be better off if I were to quit drink.” “And you have a good wife, haven’t you,” I enquired. “Yes, she is as good a wife as ever a xnan had.” “ And you love your wife?” “To be sure I do.” “And would do anything to please her?” “ Well, I ought to.”

“ Now,” said I, “ suppose you should sign the pledge, would that please her?” “ By thunder,

I guess it would; I couldn’t do a thing that would please her like that. If I signed the pledge I believe my old woman would be about her business in two weeks.” “ Then you will do it, wont you?” “I guess I will;” and he at once spread out the paper, squared his yards, and wrote his name.

The Pledge Signed.

The children had been listening with eyes wide open, looking like little saucers, as we were talking about temperance. One said to the other,

“ Father has signed the pledge.” “Oh!” cried the other astonished, “ 1 will go and tell mother,” and away she ran.

f To be continued.)



It is very important, young mother, that your infant should live in a home of cheerfulness and sunshine—a home of love.

The little one should never be a spectator of anger or evil passions. The dear one comes to you with its little mind full of peace, and you should preserve that state of happiness, as long as possible; but this will not be the case, unless you keep your own spirit tranquil, and your heart with “ all diligencefoi there is no doubt but the state o” the mother affects the child she nurses.

Some poor little ones have been known to die in convulsions, as was supposed in consequence of mothers nursing while under the influence of violent passion or emotion.

How important, then, that a mother should have the love of Christ “ shed abroad in her heart,” that she may be kept in peace, and, taking the Bible for her guide, she may be enabled to lead her young charge in the footsteps of Him who was meek and lowly, and who has commanded us to take himself as an example, leaning upon Him for strength to aid us in our important work.

Now that your little one is getting on, you will find that other cares and other persons will claim a larger share of your attention ; but if you put him to crawl on the floor, or settle him to play with a toy, let him still share your smiles; spare a moment, now and then, to have a game witli him, and make him laugh at “mother’s play;” it will do him good, and it will do you good.

It is said that laughing is healthful, and that it is particularly desirable that children should be cheerful at the time of taking food, and we believe in this doctrine.

When we speak of toys, we do not mean the expensive painted toys; these are soon gone, and may, perhaps, do the very little ones some harm, as they generally put every thing presented to them into the mouth.

A few pieces of wood cut into the shape of bricks, with the edges made smooth, will amuse the little creatures a long time and if put into the mouth will do no harm. They will pile them up, and tumble them over, laugh at the noise, then pile them again.

One of the best things we know of to amuse either baby or the other children, for many years, is a bag doll! We know a kind-hearted grandmother who makes rag dolls for all the young ones who visit her; and there never was an expensive doll which gave so much real pleasure as these.

Anybody can make them with rag and bran, and a pen and ink to make “eyes and nose,” as the little ones say. It may be dressed and undressed, knocked about any way; it will get no harm, nor do any harm, even should baby’s head come in contact with it.

We always find that playthings made up to leave the little ones much to imagine about them, are far better than expensive toys; for instance, a few cotton reels, when empty, put on a string, will soon be imagined to be “carts and horses; ” and a little corner of the room, with a stool before it, makes a fine “house and bed” for dolly.

A mother may thus amuse her little ones, and spare herself, in a thousand ways, without any cost, and with very little trouble.

Do the cares of the world vex and discourage you? Are friends unfaithful, and ever disappointing your bright hopes? Well, this will be; we can easily excuse your inquietude: but try not to allow the evils which you have j received from a vexatious world j to distract and injure your young j charge.

Your infant hoy .knows nothing of care and trouble, and the thousand ills which beset his parents’ path. Shield, oh shield him, as long as you can, from the cold atmosphere of a sinful world! i Do you say you cannot always so govern yourself as to throw off ihe sorrows which press upon you from without? Well, we will tell you of a plan; it will cost you no money, nor steal any of your j time.—Mothers’ Friend.

(To be continued, j



“ Do hush, will you !” said Mrs. Marker angrily. “ I hate to hear any one talk so foolishly.”

“ I reckon a man may speak in his own house if he pleases,” retorted Mr. Marker, quite as ill-naturedly as his wife had spoken.

“ Let him talk sense then; and that’s what a man that pours beer and brandy down his throat all day, never does.”

Mr. Marker, who had, after supper, drawn his chair to a table, and seated himself with a newspaper in his hand, started up in a passion and left the house, muttering as he went out,—

“ A temper like that’s enough to drive any man to ruin! ”

Though Mrs. Marker was wrong in speaking to her husband as she did, yet, poor woman! her temper had been sorely tried. When she married Edward Marker, he was an industrious and thrifty mechanic, and for several years, every thing prospered with them, and they were happy. But Edward liked a pleasant glass of liquor, and could see no danger in occasionally indulging his appetite. And so he drank as often as he felt I inclined. Time passed on, and the desire for \ liquor increased. From a glass two or three

I times a week, it became a glass every day, and in the end, two or three times a day. Idleness came with intemperance, and a host of evils fol-| lowed in their train.

I As soon as Mrs. Marker saw the danger in which her husband stood, she began to remon-5 strate with him. Either she did not do this in 5 the right way, or he met her remonstrances in an ? improper manner. Angry words followed, and 5 both were made very unhappy in consequence.

And thus it went on. Marker continued to 1 drink and neglect his work, and his wife kept ! talking to him about his evil doings, and this not i as kindly as she might have done. Whenever ’ she spoke to him, he invariably got angry: and this was not much to be wondered at, for her I words were rarely chosen for their mildness. Mr. j and Mrs. Marker had three children, who were I witnesses, almost daily, of these painful contentions, for, in her thoughtlessness, Mrs. Marker spoke what came first to her tongue, no matter j who was present..

Though intemperate, and, at times idle, Mr. Marker had not wholly given himself up to the evil of drinking. He worked pretty regularly at his trade, and gave the greater part of his earnings to his wife. But he spent at least six shillings a week in liquor, and sometimes more. This sum, added to what might have been earned in the time lost in consequence of intemperate habits, shows a good deal of money wasted, which, if spent in his family, would have given them many comforts.

I In consequence of this, poor Mrs. Marker had to work harder and harder every day, and yet, i their comforts diminished instead of increasing. Not possessing, naturally, much evenness of temper, nor a great deal of fortitude, she was, at times, very impatient and fretful; and she became in the end so much worried by her husband’s conduct, that she hardly ever gave him a pleasant word when he was in the house, and was often the cause of his going out and spending evenings | in the taverns when he felt inclined to remain at I home.

| Mary, their eldest child, was, at the time of

! which we are writing, just eleven years of age. She loved her father very much, notwithstanding | his evil ways; and it often caused her to go off by herself alone, and cry, when angry words passed between him and her mother.

On the evening to which we have alluded, in the beginning of our story, Mr. Marker had brought a book home for Mary, which was received by her with great joy. But she had scarcely taken it in her hand, before her mother said, fretfully,-—

1 “ What’s that?” – 1

“ It’s a book that papa has bought me,” replied Mary, holding up her present,

“ He must have plenty of money to throw away,” said the mother, ill-naturedly, for she never could let any opportunity that presented itself pass, without saying something that was unkind to her husband. A man who has been drinking, is never entirely rational; and as Mr. Marker had poured two or three glasses of fiery liquid down his throat, he was not, of course, in a fit state for reason and self-control. As usual on such occasions, he had something to say in return and one remark followed another, until there was a war of words. As soon as this had subsided, the unhappy family went to supper, but

none of them could eat with any relish. After they had left the table, Mr Marker, in sitting down for the purpose of reading, happened to say something that his wife thought silly—and men, after they have been drinking, generally talk very foolishly—when she said to him—

“ Do hush, will you! I hate to hear any one talk so foolishly ! ”

Mary was never happier than when her father remained at home during the evening; and if her mother had taken half the pains to induce him to do so, that she did, he would have been with them four or five evenings every week, instead of in the grog shop, as was generally the case.

Poor child! how sad she felt when she saw her father throw down his paper, and go angrily from the house.

“ If mother would only be kind to him,” she said to herself, “ I am sure he would do better.” The little present he had brought her, showed the affection that was in his heart for Mary, debased as it was, and the child’s feelings were affected with more than a usual tenderness by the token. The stroke of a lash upon her back, could not have hurt her half so much as did the angry words uttered by her mother, and when she saw their effect in fairly driving her father from the house, she could not refrain from weeping. The book, which she had hoped to enjoy for an hour, was laid away out of sight, and she shrunk into a corner of the room with a heavy weight of grief on her young heart. All her thoughts were with her father. She knew where he had gone, and was, alas! too well assured, that when he came home he would be so much intoxicated as scarcely to he conscious of anything.

Mrs. Marker was often sorry for her unguarded and ill-chosen words, after she saw the effect of them. It was so on this occasion. Poor woman ! how heavily did she sigh as she sat down with her sewing after having put the supper things away. The effect of her words had been too marked not to leave a feeling of self-condemnation ; and this feeling is, perhaps of all others, most painful to bear.

Mr. Marker had been gone only a few minutes when Mary arose and left the room. Upon a chair in the passage, lay an old shawl, which she threw over her head, and then glided, noiselessly, from the house.

The night was cold, and Mary shivered when the heavy air first struck upon her thinly clad

Uncorrected OCR-PAGE 16



form. But she soon forgot the wintry atmosphere through which she was passing. A few doors away, was one of those man-traps, called taverns, into which, if any one goes, he is in great danger of being ruined, both in body and soul. To this place, Mary knew that her father went often, and thither she directed her rapid steps. A brilliant gas lamp burned just in front of the tavern, and there was a beautiful transparency in the window. Without, all Rooked attractive; and there was a promise of good cheer within to tempt the unwary. Before the door Mary stood for a few moments, and then entered stealthily, like one who felt that her presence would be unwelcome.

Mr. Marker, on leaving home, felt very much fretted in his temper. Something had occurred during the day to cause him to reflect; and the consequence was, that he had indulged his appetite for drink less frequently than usual. When he returned to his family in the evening, although he had been drinking, he was nearer to being a sober man than he had been for weeks. This, unfortunately, his wife did not perceive, and her harsh language came, therefore, upon certain good resolutions, like wind upon the chaff, and scattered them in the air.

On going from the house in a passion, Mr. Marker went, as his little daughter had supposed, to the tavern. On entering, he called for a glass of ale, and taking it to a table, sat down with a newspaper in his hand. After taking a draught of the liquor, he commenced reading. But he found little, if anything to interest him. His mind was

disturbed; and there —————————

was a picture in his imagination, tnat, f. p ossible, he would have shut out—a picture of home; but he could not. The pleasure that lit up Mary’s face, when he gave her the book he had bought, he saw instantly fade before the unkindly spoken words of her mother, and with a certain bitterness of feeling he clenched his hands uneasily, and set his teeth tightly together. But even while he blamed his wife for her fretful temper, thoughts of his own evil doings and their consequences upon his family, came forcing themselves into his mind, and his feelings smarted under the self-accusations of his own conscience. He had, after running his eye hurriedly over the newspaper, reading a line here and there, but not perceiving any meaning in what he read, thrown it down, and was j ust lifting his glass to take another draught of ale, when he saw Mary enter the door and look timidly around. The glass, before it reached his lips, was returned to the table; so much surprised was he at the appearance of his

child in such a place. ————————

It was a moment or two before Mary saw her father; but as soon as her eyes rested upon him, she wen1 auickly over to where he sat, and taking hold of his hana, aid in a low but very tender voice,—“ Come, Papa!”

Against angry words, the spirit of the man had instantly rebelled ; but his heart turned towards his child, with her loving, gentle tones, and as if led by an angel from amidst a company of evil spirits, he arose and followed her out into the pure cold air. Mary moved on towards their home, and he walked by her side, as passively as if no will of his own remained.

When they reached their cheerless dwelling, both entered, side by side. Mrs. Marker, who until that moment, was not aware that Mary had left the house, looked up from her work with surprise. She was about saying something, when Mary sprung towards her and whispered in her ear, in an earnest, imploring voice, yet so distinctly, that her father heard it,—

“ Oh ! mamma—speak kindly I”

Mrs. Marker’s form drooped over her work as if nearly all strength had left her. Her face bent low to her needle, but still, for the gathering tears she could not see. Her husband sat down a short distance from her, feeling very strange. For a few minutes all was silent. Suddenly Mrs. Marker let her sewing fall, and rising up, went over to where her husband sat with his eyes upon the floor.

“ Edward,” said she, in a low, serious, voice, “Do what you will. I’ll never speak unkindly again.”

“And I’ll never drink another drop!” he replied in an animated voice, springing to his feet.

In a moment they were in each other’s arms, and, in tears, gave pledges for a new and a better life.

Mr. Marker signed the temperance pledge on the very next day, and faithfully has he kept it since. Than his, few happier homes are now to be found; and none in that home is happier than Mary.

Oh ! there is a wonderful power in



There is now an old man in an Alms House in Bristol, who states that, for sixty years, he spent sixpence a day in drink, but was never intoxicated.

A gentleman who heard this statement was somewhat curious to ascertain how much this sixpence a day, put by every year at 5 per cent, compound interest, would amount to in sixty years.

Taking out his pencil he began to calculate ; putting down the first year’s saving (365 sixpences) £9 2s. 6c?., he added the interest 9s. 1 id., and thu3 went on year by year until he found that in the sixtieth

year the sixpence a day reached the startling sum of

£3,225 16s. 8d.

Judge of the old man’s surprise when told that had he saved his sixpence a day, and allowed it to accumulate at compound interest, he might now have been worth the above noble sum; so that i; .stead of taking refuge in an Alms house, he might have comforted himself with a house of his own, costing £700, and fifty acres of land, worth £50 per acre, and have left the same as a legacy amongst his children and grandchildren !

Good counsel is above all price.


In the year 1609, Hudson the Dutchman sailed up the river in North America which now bears his name. He was anxious to trade with the natives for the fine furs which they collected in hunting.

In the first conference which the voyager had with the Indians, he produced a supply of that which has since proved the poor Indian’s curse, Fire Water. Hudson first partook of the spirits, and then handed the cup to the Indian chiefs. One after another the “red men of the woods” smelled it, but refused to taste.

Hudson drank again, and with a smack of ths lips pronounced it “ good.” A second time he held the tempting liquor to the poor Indians; and at length, one of the chiefs, more daring than the rest, declared that it would be an insult to their guest, if, when he had partaken of it, they refused to do so; and accordingly, he drank off the fiery liquid. He shortly became dizzy and stupid, and his fellow chiefs thought that he would never awaken, but he at length came to his senses. He had scarcely done so, before he asked for more. The other chiefs were induced to follow his example, and the first party of drunken

—————————– American Indians lay

stretched at the feet of the tempter.

A melancholy tale remains to be told. From the fatal day when ardent spirits were thus introduced, the doom of the poor North American Indians seems to have been sealed. Ship after ship visited the settlement, each bringing supplies of the destructive drink, which were given to the natives in exchange for their furs and other commodities. Tribe after tribe has been reduced from tens of thousands down to hundreds, and several of the finest races are now almost entirely extinct.

Catlin, the celebrated traveller, gives a woeful picture of the havoc produced by the cruelty of Americans and Englishmen who have tempted these poor aborigines to drink the poison cup.

Maungwadaus, one of the fine Red Indian chiefs who came over to this country a few years ago, said to us, ________________________ “ Before your countrymen did bring ‘fire water,’ many of our people did live a hundred years; but very few do now live even sixty years! ” Woe unto him that giv-eth his neighbour drink. Hab. ii. 15.


“ Hudson first partook of the spirits, and then handed the cup to the Indian chiefs.”


It is estimated that during the year 1854, the sum expended in the United Kingdom in cigars and tobacco, and afterwards “lost in smoke,” exceeded £8,000,000 sterling.

This enormous sum exceeds the gross amount levied for the Poor Kate of the entire nation, and is about ten times as much as all the Missionary and Bible Societies put together raised in the same period !


In life’s broad journey keep within the fence By scripture reared, and owned by common sense. Two roads invite you, one the thorny path,

Where drunkards go, and heaven expends its wrath; The other smiles, the safe, the sober way,

Which crowns with healthful sleep the toilsome day.

Tread you the first? At once your fame is gone, Your friends forsake you, and your peace is flown. There gleams no hope to cheer you at your toil,

No health pervades the breeze, no wealth the soil; Bereft of credit and your own esteem,

Your life’s a fever, and your sense a dream;

Yet onward still the hapless drunkard reels,

Disease and debt and famine at his heels.

Tread you the other? Soon you learn with pride The joys, the transports of your own fireside.

There smiles your partner, still intent to please, There cling your children to their parents’ knees ;

A sober plenty crowns your frugal board,

Your house with comfort and abundance stored ;

In health confirmed, sedate in every plan,

You walk erect and feel yourself A man !

O, British Workman I can you fail to choose,

When there’s so much to gain, so much to lose ?

No ! come at once, and join the patriot band,

Whose only object is to save the land.

With single aim, a hallowed war we wage Against the master-mischief of the age.

Love is our watchword, temperance our rule,

Our sword the Bible, and our spear the School.

With us you’re safe, our earnest call obey;

There’s danger, nay, destruction in delay!

Dr. Hum