British Workman Vol. 1, No. 5 (1855)


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No. 5.]* ,

PUBLISHED for the Editor by Messrs. PARTRIDGE & Co.; A. W. Bennett; W. Tweedie, London.

[Price One Penny..



By t«IE Rev. J. B. Owen, M.A. St. John’s,Bedford Row, London.

) AVING is a good thing; but I know

^ something that’s

better than saving insuring is better, because insurance makes

the saving

^ )) penny a day a man

& at the age of thirty

may assure his life for .£50, but to raise this sum by putting by the same amount would take him nearly thirty-five years. But he may not live ten—five years, or even one ear. The saving ;then, is uncertain, but he no sooner assures his life, he no sooner has paid one small sum, than he has laid by a comparatively large amount. Suppose he dies suddenly, (as the Newspapers report a Gentleman did lately, as he was actually leaving an insurance office after having paid his first premium, whose family at once received £2000) the poor man’s family receive at once their £50, and that £50 comes home to the broken heart of the widow just when she most wants It, like a posthumous pledge of the affection of the dead. It embalms his memory by the ten- * der reciprocity of his bereaved ones, that leads them to think the more lovingly him, who thus generously thought of them, ’’he man that does not provide according to his means for the future of his family, as well as for the present, does but half his duty by them. It is hut a paltry hand-to-mouth fatherhood—bread to-day, a stone to-morrow, and that a tombstone, on which the thin hungry fingers of his famished children trace a symbol of the cold thoughtless heart that bequeathed them no patrimony but their orphanhood.

The orphan’s fate was there in emblem shown—

They asked for bread, but they received a stone!

The most eligible society of the kind for many of the operative classes, with which I happen to be at all acquainted, is the “ Accidental Death Insurance Company of London.” Working men, in all our leading national trades, especially since the general introduction of machinery and steam power, are constantly liable to frightful mutilations, to noxious vapours, and sudden death. The philanthropic enterprise of the age in the form of such a society as this, has extended the shield of its insurance over the mangled body of the workman; It invites their attention to a set of proposals, which, at the peril of their own interests, they should not disregard. It tells the wci’king classes the insurances that may be effected against loss of employment, wages, salaries, or other income, such loss arising from sudden death or disability caused by an accident. By the payment of eight shillings a year (being only eightpence a month, or little less than twopence a week) the working man may insure himself, in the event of an accident, ten shillings a week while he is disabled, and one pound for medical attendance, or fifty pounds payable to his family should the accident terminate fatally. Or, by the payment of fifteen shillings a year (being only one shilling and threepence per month, ©r less than fourpence per week) he may insure himself double the amount under similar circumstances. You may

insure also a deferred annuity, if you like, (i. e.), a sort of pension, to begin at a certain age, and thence to continue until death. Thus a man at the age of thirty may secure a pension of ten pounds a year, to begin when he reaches the age of fifty, by saving about threepence a day—(i. e.), if a man deny himself a pint of ale a day for twenty years, he will thus

secure himself ten pounds a year as long as he lives. And honourable to such an Annuitant is the pension he has thereby won. Like the medal on the breast of a veteran soldier, it speaks of past services and sacrifices, not a whit less ti’ying some of them, than the perils and privations of the tented field. The valiant wrestler in the sharp fight with poverty and labour, with no song of glory to cheer him on, except the cry of his hungry baii’ns, and no spirit-stirring music, hut the stunning clank of monotonous machinery, wins, as the ancient classics did, a parsley wreath, woven of the humblest among the herbs of the field, but yet a wreath that keeps fresh and evergreen until the manly brow that wore it exchanges it for the turf of the churchyard. Here then you have the principal benefits purposed by friendly societies, conjoined with the still greater ad-vantages accruing from life assurance.

My friends, your country’s resources ought to he your own. That they are not, is your fault, not theirs. They wear a stamp of public application, like the light, air, and water, the grand gratuities of providence, which bid all men welcome to their appropriation. It is a ridiculous objection to reply that all these insurance offices are so many schemes of making money. It is this fact—that their financial calculations do make money that makes them practicable. Is it any discredit to any other trade that its profits are certain? and why disparage insurance offices because the profits which their sound calculations idealise, secure at once their economical management and permanent solvency ? On the contrary, it is in the honourable alliance of philanthropy with trade, that we acknowledge the hand of God in commerce, overruling and directing its mighty energies, like a leviathan engine on our pit-banks, to pump up the depths of penury and sorrow to the surface of society, whence they may be diverted in various channels of mercy, removing out of the way of civil progress, the operations essential to human improvement.

It is the self-supporting principle that realises the moral secret of perpetual motion ; and any system of social amelioration which depends upon extx-insic contributions for its support, carries within itself the seeds of its parasitical mortality. The scheme which pays best will last the longest, and will always command the greatest amount of intelligent patronage.

These then are some of your resources, liberal as the government that adjusts their organisation to the equitable principles of its own constitution, and accessible as well to the highest and lowest of its citizens, like the perfume of the wild flower, which is equally grateful to hill and valley. You see what your country does for you, but all is in vain, unless you do something for yourselves. The widow lives in her almshouse, children in their parents’ house, paupers in a poor house, lunatics in a mad house, vagrants in no house, hut a man should be too manly to live in any house except his own! A very little foresight—a few years of habitual frugality—here and there a hit of self-sacrifice, and a steady, persevering laying by, in some such society as this “ Accidental Death Insurance Office,” where the temptation to touch the deposit, sacred to the comfort and

A prudent man forseeth the evil and hideth himself, hut the simple pass on and are punished.

Proverbs xxii. 3.



* OR,


(See third page./

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respectability of the future, is precluded, by putting it for the time out of your reach, and at last the”result is achieved. While other men, during the same series of improvident years, had been swallowing their houses piecemeal, and here and there a dry brick seemed to stick in their throats and choke them – and the sudden cutting off of the tippler passes on a cup of sorrow to his bereaved household, which they must$ drain to its bitterest dregs, the stouthearted mechanic grows in relative wealth and health to enjoy it. His habits insure his life as well as his premium—he has even a better policy than any office can grant him, &t the Christian policy of “ a peaceable and quiet life in all godliness and honesty.” Avoiding, by the grace of God, the manifold and fearful evils of inebriety, and securing the opposite blessings of provident soberness, the negative and positive lines of the electric influence of heavenly virtue, form their circuit round his daily life, that at once protects him from the obstructions of earthly contact, and keeps him in communion with the skies! I think I see the man, whose eye is dilating with the pride of a conscious prophecy, on the prospect of raising a home, and the humble landlord with it, in the scale of moral architecture. A conviction of the approaching dignity of a living freeholder dawns upon his honest features, like the morning blushes that betray the light which she is expecting shortly. He detects himself resolving now and then whom he shall vote for when he gets the franchise, and gently smiles at the thought of “ counting the chickens before they were hatched,” only he is sure his hopes wont be addled—oh no, the faithful old hen that’s sitting at home will take care of that. She was none of your tatlers and brawlers, always moulting her feathers or other people’s—she never cackled, except it may be when a fresh egg was added to the nest, and the event fairly justified some allusion to it.

I was behind the man’s heels as he strolled leisurely home at tea-time, for his work had been heavy that day, and would have been heavier but for the massive resolution that counterpoised it. A shopmate invites him to a glass of good fellowship, and somehow it seemed just the thing he wanted, and he paused opposite the beer-shop, half inclined to surrender; but then he thought of the bairns that would be waiting their tea, and of their mother that never drank their health even out of the teapot, unless he were by to return thanks for the honour she had done them, unaccustomed as they were to “public” speaking, or beer-shop speaking either—so he resisted and went on; and as he went, he mentally added the price of the glass, which he would have spent, to the sum total of that day’s earnings, and felt himself a better man by threepence, and a wiser one by ten times the money. It paid his week’s assurance within a penny, and many a week’s payment was saved in the same way, till the man wondered how he managed to do without the drink; and weeks, and months of weeks, and even years rolled on, and he learned to wonder how he had formerly managed to do with the drink, for he did so much better without it. It became his hobby to take down his share book and see how his investments stood, and tell up the score of his payments that used to be chalked up against him at the back of the tap-room door; but now they were all on the credit side, morally as well as financially, and that little pay-book grew to be his social thermometer— his self-respect rose with its entries, and was getting up daily nearer and nearer to “set fair.” Old cup-mates that used to jeer at his poverty, now • complimented him by asking loans of money, which he modestly declined. His wife and little ones were neatly dressed, as people should be that were looking forward to occupy a house of their own. Their fare was coarse at times, and its scantiness made it even dainty, for that half-a-crown a week to the building society that was to build their house, doubled their present rent; but they knew it was only doubling it for the thirteen years, to make it none at all for the rest of their lives, so they roughed it on, and wrought, and toiled, and pinched together, only the young urchins asked now and then “ when the new house was to come home?” and mother used to nod mysteriously, arid intimate, with the conscious air of one who was to be her own landlady by and by, that “ the house was building as fast as could be, and they’d see one of those days; ” and the children thought “ it would be a big’un, it was so long in hand—as big as a church, only none of the gloomy graves lying about it.” Their improvident neighbours, it is true, laughed at their pride and folly, insinuating “they did what they liked with their money—they wouldn’t trust it with who knows who—they’d rather spend it themselves, that they would, and know what’s gone of it.” Others, who in former days used to drink with the man, “hoped he’d ask them to the house-warming — thought stone-coping for the windows more genteel like, it didn’t soil the clothes hung out to dry: enquired who was his architect? if he thought of furnishing, as well as building— whether he meant insuring the premises—if there was to be a back door to let the smoke out,” and such like pleasantries; but still, against sneer and snarl, diet and drink, the man held on his way, the more he saved the faster it accumulated —interest upon interest it grew apace, like a snowball, only not so cold, until he was within thirty pounds of his required amount.

But who can insure his living even an hour ? Disaster smote down the poor mechanic, and, as he languished a week a-dying, he was at least spared the final pang of leaving his little ones in abject penury. But how was the widow to meet her weekly payments, now the poor husband, and his wages, were both no more ? “ Is the new

house gone with father?” plaintively asked one of his little ones.

“ We said how it would be,” cried those that had envied him—“ what’s to be done with the house-building now ? ”

“ Sell her share at what it will fetch,” said one.

H And live upon the loss,” said another.

“ Or build with the money as far as it will go;” said another, “ and mortgage it to raise the rest.”

“ And swallow up the lot in law charges and transfers,” said another.

“ What could she do with a house if she’d got it?” they all agreed, and the scheme was unanimously held to have failed.

But not so fast, neighbours. In the mean-time, Mother has gathered into a clean cotton handkerchief, printed with the picture of Elisha and the widow’s cruise of oil, her good man’s little bundle of papers; she can’t read them herself, but she knows a friend as is a scholar, for she has often taken money, at odd sums at a time, for her husband, to her friend as is a scholar, and somehow he always made it right between her and her old man when she came back again, for he used to fold up the paper, and lock it up in the little deal box which he kept under the bed, and always said, “ very good,” as he did so; and she bethought her to take back to him the last paper of

the kind he gave her. She knew it by the wood-cut at the top, that represented a collier lying dead, and black as a lump of coal, by the side of a pit’s shaft, and an elderly gentleman, puffing with fat, and his red-hot face running alike with molten perspiration and scalding tears, hard to say which was the warmer, and he, the twenty-stone philanthropist, was whispering in the ears of the collier’s widow, something no doubt about an insurance. So she went to her friend as was a scholar, and up and told him how her good man was dead, and that he was a good man—her John ; and how he’d set his heart upon building a home for the children—poor fatherless creatures, said she; and the thought of them seemed to multiply his loss in the ratio of their bereavement, as well as her own; so that the total was too much for her all at once, and she begged he wouldn’t mind her cryin’ a bit before him, as her was no scholar—she couldn’t help it; but John did wish to put the house up, and, for her part she’d rather do it than not, (if he didn’t mind,) for a sort o’ family monument like to poor John. She thought it ’ud please him, and she’d always tried to make John comfortable, alive or dead, but how could she raise the wind to do it ? she could as soon raise the dead. Perhaps, as he was a scholar, he’d be so good as just to look at John’s papers, and tell her what he thought on’t.

So her friend that was a scholar looked at them, and singling out at once John’s last receipt for premium, told her in a word—“ John’s claim upon our office is for a hundred pounds ! ” The widow didn’t faint, though her joy so overpowered her matronly gravity, that, clasping the office clerk round the neck, she exclaimed, “ I said you was a scholar, and you bin a gentleman too,” and kissed him ! “Yes, ma’am,” said the clerk, disengaging himself—“ that’ll do, it’s table one—one hundred pounds.”

The one hundred pounds were paid, the house built, and a little shop stocked for the family. John’s provision by the “Accidental Death Office,” enabled his widow to complete her payments to the “ Building Society.”

There are men, whose state of health absolutely disqualifies them from admission into any ordinary insurance company, who are not ineligible

on the principle of the “Accidental Death Insurance Company”—who require neither medical I examination nor personal attendance, nor any | reference, except such as may be necessary to identify the insurer. On these peculiar grounds, it prefers peculiar claims to the consideration of the public, and seems to me to justify this special notice of it, which I have thought it well to indite on this occasion.

We think it well to state tha this notice has been inserted without the knowledge of the Company referred to, but haying ascertained that it is well worthy of the support both of working men and employers; we feel pleasure in thus recommending it to our numerous readers.

The address of the “ Accidental Death Insurance Company,” is 7, Bank Buildings, Lothbury, Lon- , dost, where tables of rates &c. may he had. [Ed. B. W.I

Messrs. Partridge, Oakey, and Co. have pleasure in recommending the following publications to the notice of Working Men.

With Four Illustrations.



Or, Facts and Figures for Working Men. One Penny.

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.


An Interesting tale. By Mrs. Gage. Illustrated. Price One ‘ Penny.



The Morning Advertiser of July 7th, 1853, gives an account of the melancholy death of a man named Edward Skey. He had slipped on a piece of orange peel which had been thrown on the flags by some thoughtless passers by. In the fall, his leg was fearfully fractured. He was carried to St. George’s Hospital, where every effort was made to secure his recovery, but without success. Death terminated his sufferings.

This is not the only death that has occurred in London this year through the throwing of orange peel on the flags. Not long ago, a man named Thomas Hebman, in the employ of Mr. Nash, wholesale grocer, of Arthur Street West, was walking along Arthur Street, with a bag of sugar on his head. He accidentally set his foot on a piece of orange peel that was lying on the pavement, which caused him to slip. Owing to the heavy weight on his head the poor man fell very heavily to the ground, by which he fractured his skull in a shocking manner. He was taken to Guy’s Hospital, where every attention was paid to him. Sad to say, lie remained for a few days in a state of insensibility, and then expired.

Could those who threw down the orange peel, over which these poor men fell, know the effects of their thoughtlessness, bitter indeed would be their self-reproachings.

Surely none of our readers who look at- this picture will ever be guilty in future of such a dangerous practice; and we hope that they will never see a piece of orange peel on the pavement without throwing it into the road.

Let us also learn from these painful events the importance of always being ready for death !

Dangers stand thick through all the ground,

To push us to the tomb.

From Cash’s Illustrated Hand Bills, No. 23. May be had through dll Booksellers in Sixpenny packets. Five packets may be had post free, by forwarding half-a-crown in postage stamps to W* (r. Cash, 5, Bishopsgate Street Without, London.





G. Thompson.—The ailments to which some trades are subject, and the various modes of relief shall have notice.

To those Booksellers who have written us expressive of their deep interest in the success of the1 British Workman.’ we return our warmest thanks, Hand Bills and Placards shall be supplied.

P. Etchell.—Shall be inserted.

Any hints and suggestions from correspondents for increasing the circulation in their respective neighbourhoods will be thankfully received.—Address, 3, Cambridge Terrace, Barnsbury Park, London.

C.K. &E.—We have sent the numbers to the London City Mission and County Towns Mission as requested.


{ Concluded from page 15. J

The mother, when she heard it, called out “ Luke, Luke, come in here.” The man went in and took me with him. The wife’s face was ghastly pale, the eye large, and sunk in the sock-‘ et; with her long thin fingers she gripped my hand, and with the other took the hand of her husband ; and her face, sharp as it was, looked radiant in the light that seemed to bathe it, coming from the throne of everlasting love. She then told me what a good husband she had. “Luke,” she said, “is a kind husband and a good father ; he takes care of the family and is very kind to them; but the drink, you know, sometimes makes a little difficulty.” Oh! that little difficulty! God only and the crushed drunkard’s wife know what it is. The man shook like a leaf; then tearing down his wife’s night dress he said, “ Look at that! ” On her white 1 shoulders was a bad looking mark. Again he said, “ Look at that! ” and I saw a bruise on her neck, which made my flesh creep. “ Three days before she was taken sick,” he said, “ I struck her—God forgive me! She has been telling you she has got a good husband. Am I ? am I a good husband? Look at that! God Almighty forgive me.” He bowed over that woman, and I never saw a man cry so in my life; it seemed as if he had gone into convulsions. “ Don’t cry, Luke,” sobbed his wife, “ don’t, please don’t; you would not have struck me if it hadn’t been for the drink ; now you have signed the pledge we shall all be happy again. Don’t cry.”

These are the men you call brutes and fiends. Strip them of the damning influence of drink, and they are men. There is no power on earth that will make a man into a fiend like the power of drink.

Young man, sitting now beside that young girl whom you hope to make your wife. You never dream as you look lovingly in her face, that your hand will ever be dashed into that face, sending the blood spouting from the mouth. It never .will, unless you do it under the influence of drink.

Working men! brethren in trade, I ask you to look at this enterprise. Is there not something noble in it to say, “/ will abstain!” I will exert an influence for others ; I will drop a pebble into the ocean, the centre of which is everywhere, and the circumference nowhere. I will drop it there, praying that the ripple may increase until it shall be like a wave bearing, perhaps, upon its bosom, some souls saved by my instrumentality? We are here in this world to do good, and we cannot do good without its costing us something.

Roll on this glorious car with thanksgiving and songs of praise from those who have been rescued from the power of the destroyer. Will you help us ? That is the question. As a minister once said at the close of his sermon, “ You are ready to exclaim, ‘Is it all doneV No, it is all said; it remains with you to say whether it shall be done.” That God may give you the will, and the desire, and the strength, and the power, to battle against the enemy to the working classes is my sincere and earnest prayer.

Let us stand side by side in this great conflict; let our motto be,—excelsior ! our hope,—there is a better day dawning ; and our prayer,—“ God speed the right!”


Had I a coach horse, would I let him toil When old and feeble, sharing the turmoil Of servitude with steeds of greater might,

Then drive a bargain, selling him outright To some hard jobber, when his strength was o’er, That he might work him harder than before/?

I might, for selfishness is ever strong,

But if I did, the deed were doubtless wrong.

Much rather would I give him, if I could,

A peaceful paddock underneath the wood;

Where he might shelter find amid the blast,

And live in quietude, and at the last

Lay down his weary bones when strength should cease

On the soft, grassy turf, and die in peace.

The desert’s denizen, the Arab wild,

Loves well his steed, and treats him like a child, Shares with his generous beast his scanty hoard,

And makes him partner of his bed and board.

The grateful steed this tenderness repays By useful services, and winning ways;

And bears his master, of his burden vain,

Like winged lightning, o’er the sandy plain.

If such the kindness of the Arab’s heart,

Blush, Christian ! bid thy cruelty depart!

Blush crimson red, and act a kinder part.

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The Dove is spoken of in the Bible as a striking symbol of simplicity, gentleness, innocence, kindness, affection, and fidelity. Is not the Dove, then, a first-rate model for a good -wife?




A Wife, domestic, good, and pure.

Like Snail, should keep within her door ;

But not like snail in silver track,

Place all her wealth upon her back!

Like a Town Clock a wife should be,

Keep time and regularity;

But not like clock harangue so clear,

That all-the town her voice may hear.

A wife should be like Echo true,

And kindly speak when spoken to;

But not like echo, still be heard Contending for the final word.

Cleanliness gives Comfort,—Sobriety brings Health,—Industry yields Plenty,—Honesty makes Friends,—Religion procures Peace of Mind, — Consolation under Afflictions,—the Prospect of God’s Blessing, through Christ, in this Life, and the Assurance of endless Happiness and Glory in the Life to come.



( Concluded from page 15.

Take your little one, while yet a babe, place him on the chair in your room to which you kneel, and, holding it with a mother’s fondness, pour out your heart before God, for the precious immortal creature given to your trust.

You have no idea, if you have not tried the plan, how very soon baby will understand that it is now a solemn time, therefore he must he still.

Ah, yes! very soon the little tottering feet will guide you to that very chair, and put up his little hands in the attitude of prayer, while you ask for blessings on his young head; and then, in after days, when your prayer is exchanged for praise, up in that cloudless land, that chair and that prayer wiH be remembered, and your boy will bless God that he had a praying mother, while he asks for help to enable him to walk in her footsteps, and serve his absent mother’s Redeemer.


Every man who lives in a house, especially if the house be his own, should oil all the various parts of it once in two or three months. The house will last much longer, and will be much more quiet to live in. Oil the locks, ~ bolts, and hinges of the street door, % and it will shut gently, with luxurious ease, and with the use of a small amount of force. A neglected lock requires great violence to cause IKIIB it to shut, and with so ranch violence BBI1 that the whole house, its doors, its ,| windows, its very floors and joists, are much shaken, and in time they jj |fM|| get out of repair in all sorts of ways, t)j|| to say nothing of the dust that is dis-lodged every time the place is so shaken. The incessant banging of doors, scrooping of locks, creaking and screaming of hinges, is a great discomfort. Even the bell-wire cranks should sometimes be oiled, and they will act more certainly and with such gentle force that there will be little danger

of breaking any part of them. The castors of fables and chairs should be sometimes oiled, and they will move with such gentle impulse and so quietly that a sleeping child or old man is not awakened. A well-oiled door-lock opens and shuts with hardly -a whisper. Three pennyworth of oil used in a large house, once a year, will save many shillings in locks and other materials, and in the end will save many pounds in even the substantial repairs of a house, and an old wife living and sleeping in quiet repose will enjoy many more years of even temper and active usefulness. Housekeepers, pray do not forget the oil. A stitch in time saves nine, and a dro,p in time saves pounds.—The Builder.

The Rev. John Newton, when his memory svas nearly gone, used to say that, forget what he might, he never forgot two things, 1st. That he was a great sinner—2nd. That Jesus Christ was 2 great Saviour.—Two most important subjects of recollection.

Health, peace, content, and domestic tenderness are the sweets of life; and they often smile more brightly on the humble roof of virtuous industry, than on the mansion of the rich.


Jeffry Jones and Robert Rose were digging in the same field, very near together. Robert worked manfully, Rose was a Christian indeed ; he had been taught the plague of his own heart, and had been led to trust

he seen leaning on his spade, and wasting his time in idle musings. Jeffry was wholly in Christ as his Saviour, and thus possessed, “through the blood of his cross that peace of God

SnorSt of the Srdepravify of the human heart that is not washed in the blood of Christ, nor sanctified by which passeth all understanding. He had rebuked Jeffry more than once for not attending to his work,

sin was a desire after the pleasures of the world, and as he knew these hut it appeared to be in vain. At length Jeffry could no longer keep h18 wishes to himself, and a

could not be obtained without”money, so money was too often the object of his idle speculations. Robert conversation ensued of which the following is the substance.

Jeffry Jones.

Oh! if some one would give me my wish, Robert Rose, How pleasant my moments would fly!

No lark on the wing should more merrily sing,

And no prince be more happy than I.

I would not care a fig for my cot and my pig,

Nor my few scatter’d sheep on tlie wold,

For a purse, deep and wide, should be placed at my side, With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Bobert Bose. –

Come! Come! Jeffry Jones, if you’re wishing again,

You may just as well sit on the style;

It must ^ a bad trade, for you lean on your spade,

And your work it stands still all the while.

Better wish that your heart may be grateful, and strive Contentment and peace to obtain;

For the rich man, I guess, without these, will possess His ten thousand bright guineas in vain

Jeffry Jones.

Ay, Robert, such stuff, it may do well enough For some folks, but you know that I doubt it;

I’m so bold as to think, that if I had the chink,

I should he better off than without it.

Where happiness is to be found, Robert Rose,

People different opinions may hold;

But all that are wise, why they know that it lies In ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Bobert Bose.

How strange are the fancies that rise in your brain,

It would seem that your mind was possest;

For no folly can make a much greater mistake Than that riches can make a man blest.

No ! no ! Jeffry Jones, you’re mistaken indeed,

You might live ’mid your houses and land,

And yet still you might go to destruction and woe.

With ten thousand bright guineas in hand.

Jeffry Jones.

Oh! I wish, Robert Rose, you would tell me at once, Where the shiners my hand may obtain;

And my promise I give, that as long as x live I will ne’er be unhappy again:

But listen a moment and hear what 1 say,

And you’ll own, though you now‘speak so bold,

That a man may get mirth, and. all pleasures on earth, With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Robert Bose.

Well! well! Jeffry Jones, then I’Rlisten awhile,

Yet, I know I shall listen in vain;

Who could e’er put his trust in such glittering dust,

In affliction, or peril, or pain !

Believe me, you’re sadly deceived, Jeffy Jones >

It’s been tried by the young and the old; [bought

And though long it’s been sought, yet peace ne er could be With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Jeffry Jones,

Now the very first thing that I’d do, Robert Rose,

I would get all my comrades around,

And that poor wretched cot, that by labour I got,

I’d burn it,—ay! down to the ground.

Then I’d hold up my head as I walk’d mid the crowd,

And I’d scatter my chinks as I stroll’d;

How the village would stare, when they heard me declare, I’d ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Bobert Bose.

But what joy would it be, Jeffry Jones,, could you see Your cottage in flames on the ground ?

Or what good would arise from your neighbours’ surprise When you scatter’d your riches around?

If thus you begun with your gold, Jeffry Jones,

One may guess what would soon he the end;

Your riches would flee, and no better you’d be,

Though ten thousand bright guineas yon spend.

Jeffry Jones.

The next thing I’d buy me a fine coach and six,

And rattle away o’er the stones;

I would drive through the crowd while they call’d out aloud See! look there! that’s the great Jeffry Jones!

The rich, and the proud, they would all be my friends, When they saw that in riches I roll’d,

I should have at command the first lord in the land,

With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Bobert Bose.

I wonder what next! While the great Jeffry Jones In his chariot was rolling around,

I believe that I’ve made the best use of my spade,

And you see how I get o’er the ground.

But go on, Jeffry Jones, let us know all the rest,

For, I see, I must work all alone;

On what next would yon fix, with your fine coach and six, And ten thousand bright guineas your own?

Jeffry Jones.

My dogs and my horses should be of the best;

I’d be blest all the days of my life;

The house that was mine, like a palace should shine,

And I’d marry a beautiful wife.

Then, drest in gold lace, I would visit each place,

And see aU my eyes could behold,

And I’d spend like a lord; this I weU could afford,

With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Robert Rose.

Aina! Jeffry Jones, what a life would you lead,

And how little enjoyment you’d find;

For the things that you say, were they all yours to-day,

I Would not add to the peace of your mind.

Your dogs might run mad, and your horses might die,

Your beautiful wife be a scold;

Your splendid attire, and your house be on fire,

With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Jeffry Jones.

Robert Rose, you’re determined to try all you can To torment me, but do your endeavour;

If my house were on fire, you’d be nothing the nigher, For I’d build me one bigger than ever.

If my dogs and my horses were dead at my feet,

My kennel and stud Pd uphold,

As they feR I’d buy more, without wasting my store Of ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Robert Rose.

And what is to keep you in health, Jeffry Jones,

And your money from wasting away ?

For where pleasures abound, many dangers are found, And many a tax you must pay.

But, suppose that you lived a long life free from care, You know that a man must grow old;

You would then and in vain, amid sorrow and pain. Your ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

„ Jeffry Jones.

To keep me in health, all the days of my life,

I’d have doctors, by dozens, at hand;

A part of my store, laid out well, would bring more,

And add to my houses and land.

You talk about getting in years, Robert Rose,

And, it’s true that a man must grow old:

But my days, I’ll engage, would be blest in old age,

With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Robert Rose.

But while, Jeffry Jones, you are spending your wealth, Your life will depart like a breath;

There’s another thing yet, that you seem to forget,

And that is, the day of your death;

With all things around, that your heart could desire, When your health and your strength were no more,

I should like then to know, what enjoyment would flow From ten thousand bright guineas in store.

Jeffry Jones.

Robert Rose, I’U agree that there must be an end Of all pleasure on this earthly hall;

For life hastens so fast, we shall all die at last,

And the rich and the poor they must fall. .

But a man should ne’er trouble his head about pain, While he pleasure and mirth can behold;

Though in death, I weR know, I shall feel rather low, With ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Robert Rose.

When stretched on your death-bed, all sickly and pale, Your friends would get round with a sigh;

And with every hope past, e’en your doctors at last. Would pronounce that their patient must die.

And perhaps, then, the question would rise in your mind, While the heart, in the bosom grew cold,

What a course have I run!—and what good have I done With ten thousand bright guineas of gold ?

Jeffry Jones.

You are right, Robert Rose, aud that question in death Would, perhaps, make one feel rather queer;

In expending my pelf aR alone on myself,

I’ve but foolishly acted, I fear:

For I own where misfortunes are known to abound.

And a tale of distress shall be told,

If he’s got it to spare, that a man ought to share His ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Robert Rose.

’Tis a sin against God when we more would obtain Than a servant of God should require,

And many and dread are the texts that are spread In his word against sinful desire.

The terrors that dwell in the law of the Lord,

O’er their head in a flood shall be roll’d Who their Maker deny, and his threatenings defy For ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Jeffry Jones.

Robert Rose, I believe you are right in the main,

Yet in this you don’t seem to be clear,

For you say that I sin, when to wish I begin,

But, pray, how can you make it appear?

What harm could be done by my thoughts, Robert Rose, Though I wished the whole world to be mine,

With its cattle and sheep, and a purse wide and deep, Where ten thousand bright guineas might shine.

Robert Rose.

You were taught, Jeffry Jones, in the days of your youth, To learn the commandments at length,

That yon might not depart from your God with your heart. With your mind, or your soul or your strength.

But how, Jeffry Jones, can yon think upon God,

Or his righteous commandments uphold,

When your breast’s all on fire with sinful desire,

For ten thousand bright guineas of gold ?

Jeffry Jones.

That is true, Robert Rose, and I wRl not deny I went wrong in the road that I trod,

But, indeed, Robert Rose, I did not suppose That in wishing I sinn’d against God.

Now I see that I do not delight in his laws;

Or obey what the Scripture has told;

How could I seek his face, while I put in his place Ten thousand bright guineas of geld!

Robert Rose.

Then seek His forgiveness; acknowledge your sin, Through faith in the Saviour, 0 flee !

■ And to God pour the prayer, in the hour of despair,

“ In thy Mercy, have mercy on me! ”

His grace can impart truer joy to your heart,

Than your riches ten thousand times told,

Though the gems you command, of the sea and the land, And ten thousand bright guineas of gold.

Abridged from a Tract published by the Religious Tract Society.


The tens of thousands of female domestics throughout our land are chiefly the daughters of Working Men ; we feel therefore, that by occasionally devoting a portion of our space to this interesting and important class or our countrywomen, we shall have the hearty approval of our readers.




There is no place in the world where female servants are exposed to so many snares and temptations as in London. Thousands have been ruined when out of place, by yielding to the solicitations of designing people, who under the pretence of friendship have offered them lodgings, which in too many cases have proved houses of Infamy. A committee of influential ladies have generously taken some practical steps, not only for providing a comfortable home on reasonable terms, for female servants whilst out of place, but also to assist in procuring them suitable situations.

We earnestly recommend all such to apply to the Matron of the Female Servants’ Home Society, 110, Hatton Garden, London.


(a word to servants out of place.)

A good servant! A good Mistress ! These are two good things which should always go together. But “how shall we manage this ?

You are a servant. Well, then, I am sure you wish to be the first, and have the last of the two. The first thing to be done, of course is to be a good servant yourself. If one good thing be missing, the two cannot be complete.

Now are yon a good servant? Perhaps you are; perhaps you are not; perhaps you don’t know which you are. Two simple marks will help you to find out. First, a good servant understands her business. Second, a good servant serves the Lord Christ in that business.


Anger begins with folly, and ends with repentance.

An inflexible temper has much to suffer and little to gain.

Argue not with those who delight in quarrels.

As modesty is the brightest ornament of woman, the want of it is the greatest deformity.

A gentle disposition is like an unruffled stream.

An evil conscience is a most unquiet companion.

A mutual endeavour to please insensibly polishes the mind.

A clear conscience fears no accusation.

Be honest; seek humility; practise economy; love fidelity.

• Affectation in dress implies a flaw in the understanding.

A flatterer is a most dangerous enemy.

A friendly admonition is a special. mark of true friendship.

Without the first mark, you cannot be a good servant, yet, if willing to learn, you may become so presently. Without the second mark, your principles are fixed on no sure and lasting ground, and you cannot be expected to stand upright in the storm of any strong temptation.

But have you these two marks ? Then you are “a good servant now let us try to find “a good master” for you. You are “out of place,” but you are “ in search of a place.” One rule includes everything. Pray and try. Pray, for you want, and God can give. He knows numbers of Christian masters wanting Christian servants, and He can “direct your paths” so as to lead you to them. And try; for this is the way to shew that you are in earnest when you pray, and are looking out for God’s answer. Be diligent, then, in making enquiries for a suitable “ place.” And when you come to apply for one, and seem likely to get it, be not ashamed to ask whether the means of grace will be given or denied you. You have no right to grumble afterwards if you take no pains to enquire beforehand.

Pray and try, and your Master in Heaven

will direct your steps to some earthly home, which, as soon as you have entered it, will contain “ two good things,” and two great blessings to each other. —A good servant, and a good mistress. [Sent by C. H.]

The oldest and best book in the world says, “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.” Look to the twenty-second chapter of Proverbs for the remainder of the verse.

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It is a most significant and gratifying fact that since the new Hackney Coach Act came into operation, upwards of 1,000 London cabs have got “ six day plates;” that is, they are licensed to run on the six working days of the week, but never come out on the Sabbath. About 3,000 cabs are still employed in the metropolis on the Sabbath. Let us rejoice that already 1,000 men and horses have a day of rest.

The six-day cabs are readily distinguished from the others by being numbered


and upwards. Any cab having jive figures on the plate, (10,000 and upwards) does not run on the Sabbath.

“ I can generally tell,” said a gentleman, “ the six-day cabmen from the seven-day men on a Monday morning, without even looking at the numbers of their cabs! ” “ How so ? ” enquired a

friend. “They look so much fresher and happier after their Sunday’s rest, than the seven-day men. Both they and their horses are more lively,” was the reply.


A correspondent says, “ I have been in the habit for years of riding into the city (although but a distance, for me, of about three-quarters of a mile) for which 1 have paid fourpence each fare. When the new cab rates of sixpence per mile commenced, I heard that many complaints of ‘hard times’ were made by the cabmen, and I resolved to pay sixpence each journey to them instead of paying fourpence, as heretofore, for the omnibus. This would have cost me five pounds a year additional, but I thought I would try to save it in some other way. Instead however of thanks I got nothing but surly looks and ill-natured remarks, until at length I was glad to return to the omnibus, and thus instead of spending fifteen pounds a year amongst cabmen, they do not get a penny of it, and I pocket my five pounds a year! ”


Some people have a habit of trying to turn little things to good account, and Old Humphrey is one among them, though he does not always succeed. You shall hear of one of his little adventures that occurred last summer.

It was near sunset when I found myself at no great distance from a cottage, which had attached to it a piece of waste ground, partly surrounded with a fence of high boards. While looking up at the many coloured clouds in the direction where the sun was declining in the sky, my attention was arrested by the sound of repeated blows, which appeared to be struck on a soft substance. Blow followed blow in such a regular manner, that they reminded me of men threshing in a barn with a couple of flails, only the sound was much duller than that made by threshers.

All at once the blows ceased, and then I heard a man cry out, *c Rap him again sharply, for he has a deal of dust in him yet. The moment I came to the end of the high fence, I saw a large carpet, stretched on a rope between two poles, and two men beating it with all their might. The mystery was now made plain, and I no longer wondered at the words, “ Rap him again sharply, for he has a deal of dust in him yet.”

Now, the thought may be considered a little fanciful, but it did occur to me that most of us have required, in our time, as hearty a drubbing as the carpet had received. “Yes,” said I, “ we all need to be tried, and chastised, and humbled, for we are proud, and selfish and worldly-minded; we think much of earth, and little of heaven ; much of ourselves, and little of our heavenly Father and beating is not more necessary to a dusty carpet, than trial is to those whose hearts are cleaving to the dust. ,

Now, considering the matter in this light, the wonder is, not that we are beaten, but that we are not always being beaten. Not that we should have affliction, but that we should ever be free from affliction, for we bring it upon ourselves by our transgressions.

No earthly power can ward the coming blow,

Sorrow and sin through life together go.

Truly we have all been dealt with very tenderly; what mercy is mingled with the seeming severity of the words of the Holy One, when speaking of his peopleIf they break my statutes, and keep net my commandments ; then will I visit their transgression with the rod, and their iniquity with stripes. Nevertheless, my loving-kindness will I not utterly take from him, nor suffer my faithfulness to fail.” Psa. lxxxix. 31—33.

As I returned from my pleasant walk, at the very moment that I repassed the cottage and the high fence, the same voice which I had heard before, cried out, “ There ! let us take him down now, for he look’s all the better for his beating.”

“•Well,” thought I, “ the beaten carpet was not at all likely to be forgotten by me before, but now it is pretty sure to be retained in my memory. That it looks the better for being beaten, I have no doubt at all. My evening walk has not been in vain, for I have at least obtained a subject of reflection.”

If we all more steadily believed that the rod is meant to purify us, or in other words, to get the dust out of us, we might then sit more quietly under the merciful corrections of our heavenly Father. How does this apply to you, my readers ? Have you been beaten, and are you the better for it ? Have any of you been visited with trouble, and can you say, “ Before I was afflicted, I went astray; but now have I kept thy word …. It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes,” Psalm cxix. 67» 71.

Look up ! look up! when troubles frown,

That God may send a blessing down.

Hardly do I think that any of us reflect sufficiently on the value of our daily cares, which are, perhaps, after all, as necessary as our daily bread. When they draw us to our heavenly Father, we have, indeed, reason to be thankful for them. Sweet it is in the day of calamity, and the hour of trial, to be able to cast all our cares on Him who careth for us.

Sweet in the confidence of faith To trust His firm decrees;

Sweet to lie passive in His hands,

And know no will but His.

Oh, the buffetings and beatings through which many of God’s people have passed! Look over a small part of the “bill of fare,” if I may so call it, of St. Paul’s afflictions:—“ Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one. Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep ; in journeyings often, in perils of

waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils ip the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren; in weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.” Yet all these were blessed to him.

You must think over this subject, and see if you cannot turn it to more advantage than I have done. The words of holy writ are very encouraging: “ My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him: for whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he received,” Heb. xii. 5, 6. And again: “No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous : nevertheless, afterward it yielded the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.” Heb. xii. 11.

This little adventure of the beaten carpet often occurs to my remembrance, and especially so, when any expected evil is overruled for good, or when my heart is humbled by any passing trouble. Again and again do the words appear to sound in my ears, at one time producing a smile, and at another an emotion of a much deeper kind: “ Rap him again sharply, for he has a deal of dust in him yet;” and “ There! let us take him down now, for he looks all the better for his beating.”

The folio icing letter from



Dear Sir, Lambeth, May 15th.

I have to thank you for making me acquainted with the 11 British Workman a publication which seems to be admirably suited to its purpose, if it can possibly be supported ; but it is got up in a style so far superior to its price, that I am afraid that the projector will be obliged to discontinue it before it has reached the circulation which it ought to attain. I hope that so much promise may not be nipped in the bud, and am, Dear Sir, Your faithful Servant,

Rev. J. B. Owen, M.A. J. B. CANTUAR.

*** It affords us great pleasure and encouragement to find that so influential a personage as the Primate of all England, regards our humble efforts as worthy of his commendation. With respect to the fear expressed by the Archbishop, we avail ourselves of the opportunity of again urging our readers to give us their hearty co-operation in raising the circulation up to the self-supporting point. One of our most practical correspondents says, “ I am grieved to read in your valuable paper, the < British Workman,’ that you will not be able to continue it unless its circulation is greatly increased. It already circulates 20,000 !

I believe, but cannot be carried on without a circulation of 100,000. May I suggest that an appeal be made to all those who already take it in, to persuade others to follow their example, and if all will but adopt this plan, the circulation required for its continuation will be secured.” If our readers carry out this suggestion, we shall soon be relieved from the present heavy loss. Much may be done by the expenditure of a few postage stamps in forwarding copies to friends. Four or five copies (not exceeding )-lb.) of the “ British Workman ” may now bo sent by post to any part of the three kingdoms for a penny stamp.


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 eighteenpence in postage stamps to the publishers, Messrs. Partridge, Oakey, and Co., 34, Paternoster Row, London.

We hope that many of our readers will order packets to be sent to their friends in order to make the paper more extensively known.

The “ British Workman is sold by Oliphant & Son, Edinburgh; Gallie and Scottish Temperance League, Glasgow; Robertson, Dublin; Bremner, Heywood, Manchester; Dewar, Thomson, Liverpool; White and Pike, Birmingham; and may be had through all Booksellers.


A gentleman was walking across a meadow a few years ago, when he overtook a beggar bending under the weight of three-score years and ten, carrying a bundle of sticks on his back. “ Well, my friend,” said the gentleman, “ where do you think you will be in twenty years.”

“ In heaven, I hope, sir,” cheerfully replied the poor old man. On further conversation the gentleman found that this beggar teas rich in faith, and rejoiced, even in poverty, having a believing trust in Christ.

Surprised at the clear scriptural views of salvation expressed by the poor man, the gentleman inquired where he had got all his knowledge. “ I will tell you,” said he. “About nine or ten years ago, I was begging at one of the houses in the Royal Crescent, at Brighton. After waiting for some time, as no one gave me anything, I turned and walked away; a servant then came after me, and said that a lady had sent me a penny and a little tract, which she desired I would read. It was that little book, sir, which taught me about faith, and about being born again.”