British Workman Vol. 1, No. 15 (1856)


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No. 15.]

Published for the Editor by S. W. PARTRIDGE, at the Office of the “British Workman,” No. 9, Paternoster Row, London.
[Price One Penny.


Thomas Cromwell, the Prime Minister and favourite of Henry VIII., was the son of a blacksmith at Putney. What education he received was in a private school, where all the learning he attained was only reading, writing, and a little Latin.When he grew up, he travelled through the continent and visited Borne, and in his journey to and from that city he learned by heart Erasmus’s translation of the New Testament. Upon his return from his travels, he was taken into the service of Cardinal Wolsey, and afterwards into that of the king, by whom he was advanced in wealth and honour until he became Earl of Essex, and Lord High Chamberlain of England. He was so hospitable and bountiful, that about two hundred persons were served at the gate of his house in Throgmorton Street, London, twice every day, with bread, meat, and drink! From the time he acquired authority in the cabinet, he employed it in promoting a knowledge of the Sacred Scriptures, one of his injunctions in the king’s name being, that a large Bible, in English, should be placed in every church, that the parishioners might have an opportunity of reading it. We are indebted to him, also, for the establishment of parish registers of births, marriages, and burials. He was accused by his adversaries of treason, and beheaded in 1546.

John Ray, one of the most learned naturalists of the 17th century, was the son of a blacksmith in Essex. He was first sent to the grammar school at Braintree, and in 1644 was admitted into Catherine Hall, Cambridge, whence he afterwards removed to Trinity College. His health becoming injured by intense application to study, he was obliged during his leisure hours to take riding or walking exercise in the fields, which led him to the study of plants. With his friend Willoughby, he travelled through various parts of England, Scotland, and the continent, in search of plants and other natural curiosities. He died in 1704, having written several valuable works, one of the most important of which was “The Wisdom of God manifested in the Works of Creation.”

Bartholomew Arnigio, an Italian physician and poet, was born in 1523. His father was a poor blacksmith, with whom he worked until his eighteenth year. He then began to read such books as came in his way, or were lent to him, and with some difficulty was enabled to enter the university of Padua, where he studied medicine, and so was qualified to enter upon the lucrative practice to which he was introduced by an influential friend. He died in 1577.

Quintin Matsys was a blacksmith at Antwerp. When in his twentieth year, he became enamoured of the beautiful daughter of a painter. The damsel returned his passion, but the father was inexorable.

“Wert thou a painter,” said he, “she should be thine; but a blacksmith!— never!”

The young man mused and mused; the hammer dropped from his hand; a thousand glorious conceptions passed like shadows across his brain.

“I will be a painter,” said he. He applied to his new art with so much liking and perseverance, that in a short time he produced pictures which gave a promise of the highest excellence. He gained for his reward the fair hand for which he sighed; and rose ere long to a high rank in his profession. He died in 1529, and a monument was erected to his memory in the cathedral of his native city.

Some of Quintin Matsys’ heads in a Descent from the Cross, at Antwerp, are declared by Sir Joshua Reynolds to be equal to any of Raphael’s. His Two Misers, in the Windsor Gallery, is also much admired. The elegant steel work over the tomb of King Edward IV. in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, is attributed to the workmanship of this celebrated man.

The Hon. H. W. Pepper, a circuit judge, of Tennessee, was once a blacksmith, and by way of joke made with his own hands an iron-shovel, which he presented to the governor, the Hon. Andrew Johnson. In return, Governor Johnson, who had been once a tailor, cut and made with his own hands acoat, and gave it to the judge.

A Royal Blacksmith.—It was the custom of Peter the Great to visit the different workshops and manufactories, not only to encourage his people, but also to judge what other useful establishments might be formed in his dominions. Among the places he visited frequently, were the forges of Miller, at Istia, ninety versts from Moscow. The czar once passed a whole month there: during which time, after giving due attention to the affairs of state, which he never neglected, he amused himself by seeing and examining everything in the most minute manner, and even employed himself in learning the business of a blacksmith. He succeeded so well, that one day, before he left the place, he forged eighteen poods of iron, and put his own particular mark on each bar. The boyars and other noblemen of his suite, were employed in blowing the bellows, stirring the fire, carrying coals, and performing the other duties of a blacksmith’s assistant. When Peter had finished, he went to the proprietor, praised his manufactory, and asked him how much he gave his workmen per pood.

“Three kopecks, or an altina,” answered Muller.

“Very well,” replied the czar; “I have then earned eighteen altinas.”

Muller brought eighteen ducats, and offering them to Peter, told him that he could not give a workman like his majesty less per pood. Peter refused the sum, saying, “Keep your ducats, I have not wrought better than any other man; give me what you would give to another; I want to buy a pair of shoes, of which I am in great need.”

At the same time he showed him his shoes, which had been once mended, and were again full of holes. Peter accepted the eighteen altinas, and bought himself a pair of new shoes, which he used to show with much pleasure, saying, “These I earned with the sweat of my brow.”

One of the great bars forged by Peter the Great, and authenticated by his mark, is still to be seen at Istia, in the forge of Muller. Another similar bar is preserved in the cabinet of curiosities at St. Petersburgh.

Rev. Samuel Marsden was born at Horsforth, near Leeds, towards the end of the last century; and, becoming an orphan at an early age, was taken by his grandfather, who was a blacksmith, to assist him in his employment. He was a thoughtful, lively, energetic youth, and adopted the habit of rising as early as 4 or 5 o’clock in the morning, in order to discharge his duties at the anvil, and gain leisure to attend school and study Latin. The school he attended was conducted by the Rev. Samuel Stones, of Rawden, who took great interest in his village-pupil, and was the means of procuring his admission to the university. While there, he gained such approval by the excellence of his conduct, that he was selected by government as chaplain to the colony of New South Wales, whither he went about the year 1797. He gave himself heartily to his work, and as a clergyman, magistrate, and philanthropist, by his indefatigable labours in the colony, and his earnest representations to the government at home, introduced moral and political changes of which the present generation are reaping the fruits. He was also the honoured pioneer of missions to the savages of New Zealand, in the year 1814, and died in 1837, aged 73.

Thomas Newcomen, a blacksmith of Dartmouth, in Devonshire, lived at the latter end of the seventeenth century, and the beginning of the eighteenth. To this worthy Devonshire blacksmith belongs the merit of having made the first great improvements in steam engines, by forming a vacuum under the piston, thus bringing into action the atmospheric pressure.

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Dr. Lyman Beecher, the father of Mr Harriet Beecher Stowe, the celebrated authoress of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” was the son of an American blacksmith, and fop sever, years worked at his father’s anvil.

A Yorkshire Blacksmith. A clergyman a friend of mine, was recently walking towards Wike, near Bradford, when he stopped at blacksmith’s shop and enquired the way to Wike. The blacksmith cheerfully left his work and directed the inquirer in the right way. Just as my friend was about to proceeed, the blacksmith looked earnestly at him and said, “I think you are a clergyman, are you not, sir?” “Yes, why?” “Because have been trying to learn the Greek grammar sir, and I’m stuck fast with the verbs, and as you are a clergyman, I think you can help me.” “I’ll help you with pleasure,” was the reply. The Greek grammar was brought and the difficulty explained. “Thank you sir, I think I shall now be able to get on, said this worthy son of the forge. The clergyman proceeded on his way toward Wike, and the blacksmith returned to his anvil, both well pleased with their brief interview.—-Communicated by Robert Baker Esq., Inspector of Factories.

Sammy Hick, the celebrated “village blacksmith, was born at Aberford, in the year 1758. He was deeply pious, and a remarkably benevolent man. On one occasion, when I visited an aged widow and gave her sixpence, she appeared very grateful, and the though! suggested itself, “Bless me, can sixpence make a poor creature happy? How many sixpences have I spent on this mouth of mine, in feeding it with tobacco! I will give to the poor whatever I save from it.” On another occasion, when a party of soldiers passing through Micklefield, on a forced march in the height of summer, halted in the neighbourhood of his cottage, he brought out for their refreshment the whole of the provisions his dairy and house could supply; when, on his good wife coming down to prepare breakfast, she found that all had disappeared, and chided him for giving “cream and all away,” “Bless thee, barn,” said he, “it would do them more good with the cream on.”

Some of the officers, on hearing of his generosity, called upon him to remunerate him, but Sammy declined to receive anything, saying, that what he had given, he had given freely, and that the men were welcome to the whole. On the field of Waterloo, the generosity of the Micklefield blacksmith was remembered, and many wishes were expressed for a further supply of “Sammy Hick’s good milk.”

The latter part of his life, when he had an income sufficient to maintain his family in comfort, he spent in doing good, by visiting, and preaching Christ to the poor, so that many had to thank God for Sammy Hick, the pious blacksmith. He died in great peace in the 71st year of his age.

Elihu Burkitt, the learned blacksmith was born in New Britain, Connecticut, December 8th, 1811. His father was a shoemaker, having ten children, of whom Elihu was the youngest. The only school education with which Elihu was favoured prior to being apprenticed to the village blacksmith was about three months’ tuition at the district school. Such however was his thirst for reading that the few books which he could procure from the village library were read two or three times over. This desire for learning became so intense that on the completion of his apprenticeship, he actually became a student for half a year with his brother Elijah, who was a schoolmaster.

During these six months he acquired considerable knowledge of mathematics, Latin and French. Gratified with the progress he had made, he returned to the forge and not-withstanding he engaged himself to labour for 14 hours a day, he yet found time to pursue his favourite study of the languages. The Spanish, Greek, Hebrew, Syriac, Danish, and Bohemian Languages were from time to time added to the list. It will gratify our readers to have the following extract for one of the weeks of 1837 from the diary of this remarkable blacksmith:—

Monday.—June 18th, Headache; forty pages Cuvier’s Theory of the Earth, sixty-four pages French, eleven hours forging.
Tuesday.—Sixty-five lines Hebrew, thirty pages French, ten pages Cuvier’s Theory, eight lines Syriac, ten ditto Danish, ten ditto Bohemian, nine ditto Polish, fifteen names of stars, ten hours forging.
Wednesday.—Twenty-five lines Hebrew, fifty pages of Astronomy, eleven hours forging.
Thursday.— Fifty-five lines Hebrew, eight ditto Syriac, eleven hours forging.
Friday.—Unwell, twelve hours forging.
Saturday.—Unwell; fifty pages Natural Philosophy, ten hours forging.
Sunday.—Lesson for Bible class.

Governor Everett, hearing of the extraordinary talent of the young blacksmith, sent him an invitation to visit Boston. When he arrived there, many kind offers were made to him, and amongst others that he should enter Harvard College, but he courteously declined them all, and returned to his forge at Worcester, where he laboured with his hands and his head even harder than ever. In 1842 he translated several of the Icelandic Legas, as well as a series of Papers from the Samaritan, Arabic, and Hebrew for the American Eclectic Review. During the winter of this year he delivered no fewer than 68 Lectures. In the spring of 1843 he commenced the study of the Ethiopic, Persian, and Turkish languages.

Whilst this worthy son of Vulcan was pondering over the pages of his Hebrew Bible, he was powerfully impressed with the declaration that God made of one flesh all the nations of the earth. Those dire curses, war and slavery, stood out in bold relief before his benevolent mind, and he took up his pen to advocate the cause of peace, and the rights of the poor degraded slave. The former subject was very popular with his countrymen, but the idea of proclaiming liberty to the millions of poor American slaves, was anything but palatable. In 1844, having saved a few hundred dollars, he commenced his paper The Christian Citizen, which he devoted with great ability to the furtherance of religion, peace, the anti-slavery, and ocean penny postage movements.

In June, 1845, Elihu Burritt visited England, and from that time to the present he has devoted his untiring energies in advocating the common brotherhood of the whole family of man. In addition to his American paper, he now publishes a monthly |penny periodical in this country, entitled, the Bond of Brotherhood, which ought to be subscribed for, not only by every blacksmith, but by every one who desires to hasten that happy day when the last link in the chain of slavery shall be torn asunder.

One of Elihu Burritt’s favourite projects is the establishment of international courts of arbitration, to which any disputes that may arise amongst the various governments of the world shall he referred for settlement, instead of having recourse to the sword; this wise and benevolent project the friends of humanity will rejoice to see consummated.

The Ocean Penny Postage movement was orginated and has been ably advocated by Elihu Burritt. Year by year the English, French, and American governments have been gradually drawing nearer and nearer to this great boon, and although they have not yet consented to carry a Letter across the seas for a penny, yet they have recently adopted a most glorious postal convention, whereby we can send a registered Paper, or periodical, to almost every part of the world for a penny. Last month we forwarded upwards of two thousand copies of the British Workman and Band of Hope Review to two thousand English residents in Australia, India, Algeria, Sardinia, Canada, France, Switzerland, the United States, China, &c., postage of which we had only to affix to each packet a Penny stamp!!!

Our readers will find by consulting the large sheet* “Rates for Colonial and Foreign Postage,” which may be seen at any post office, that any registered paper may he sent to almost any part of the world, (if posted within fifteen days of publication, and in a wrapper open at the ends) for a Penny: To Elihu Burritt, the learned blacksmith, and Mr. Rowland Hill, the best thanks of the civilized world are due for this great postal boon.

* A copy may be procured by enclosing a postage stamp to the 1 Secretary, General Post Office, St. Martin’s-le-grand, London.
(Continued from page 54.)
As other duties called me from home, I saw him not again for some days, but left him in charge of some friends, who informed me on my return, that though he was much the same in mind, his friends and family had fears that he would not live, as symptoms of decline had appeared. I remarked, when next approaching his cottage, that even the dogs were improved in their behaviour towards me, for now they came and licked my hands. B— had been informed of my return, and was expecting me. That some great change had taken place in him was very plain. He had a hectic flush on the cheeks of that face, which otherwise was waxy white, his cheeks were fallen, and his eyes sunk. He looked, indeed, quite unlike a sailor, for his hands were bleached, and his nails were grown long. For a moment he seemed pleased to see me, but his pleasure soon passed away, and he looked a grief-worn and care-stricken man. The hardihood which had before marked his person was gone, and he was now a creature of skin and bone. Often have I seen the ravages of consumption, but never had I witnessed so much done by disease in so short a space of time. A month’s illness had reduced him fearfully. He had the Bible in his hand open at that part where the text is, “Let not your hearts be troubled,” and our conversation went on thus. “Well, B—, you hold on then to the word of God.” “Yes, sir, but the people to whom this hook belongs want it, and I have no Bible, I can’t part with this, until I get one of my own. Can you get me a Bible, sir?” “Why, do you read it much?” “Yes, sir, but I don’t understand much, except such places as when I read, ‘the wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.’” “But have you not also read, ‘If any man sin we have an advocate with the Father?” “Yes, that is in 1 John ii. 1. I have turned it down, meaning to ask you what is an advocate.” “When the three women were taken with smuggled liquor last month in court, they had a lawyer to try and get them off, and you remember the squire spoke for the girls to the magistrate, trying to get the fine reduced. Jesus Christ is thus engaged before the bar of God’s Justice, and he advocates, or takes up our cause, offering to place his own righteousness to our account. But remember those girls employed the counsellor to be their advocate, and sent to the squire to entreat him to stand their friend. Christ says, ‘Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver thee.’ We must ask, that we may receive: you must ask Christ to be your friend, and then see whether this storm of despair will not end in the calm of forgiveness.” “ Oh sir, if this should end in my being brought to God, and in the saving of my soul, I shall say with David, Psalm cxix. 7L ‘It is good for me that I have been afflicted.’” “And B—-, I hope you will be able to say with David, also, ‘Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept thy word.’ Psalm cxix. 67.” “I mean to be a different man, sir, to lead a new life, to drop bad ways, bad company, bad words, and a bad trade.” Just then his wife came upstairs to us, and hearing his last words, said, “But thee shan’t, if thee gets better. I’ll make thee go in the free trade again.” “But I wont, wife, I’ll get a place in a coaster, and I am sure one honest pound will go further than three gotten in the old way.” “What?” said the wife, “I suppose thee means to turn methodist. I’ll tell thee what, thee may’st drink and swear, but thee shan’t turn methodist, and I’ll make thee a smuggler;”-—so saying, she left the room and house in a rage. “ Don’t mind her, sir,” said B—, “she means no harm, only a bit of a breeze, which the harder it blows, the sooner it’s over. We have had some talk about the free trade to-day before, and she is a little up. She says religion will spoil me. I have no religion, I only want some, and so does she, it would make us both happy.” “Ay, B—, ‘Godliness with contentment is great gain,’ 1 Tim. vi. 6., and our blessed Saviour has said, ‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness.’ Matt. vi. 33. But are you any more composed in your mind ? or do your fears still stick to you?” “Yes, sir, they do stick to me like the limpets to the rock, like the pitch to the plank.” “But, B—, you know the limpets are to be got off, and the pitch can be removed. If you can only see the Lord Jesus Christ dying for your sins, you will find comfort, but until then your fears will continue. I would therefore, leave you to think over a few passages of Holy Scripture, that I will fold down for you.” “Had you not better stay, sir, and explain them?” “No, I can only point out the bearings. God the Holy Ghost must pilot you, therefore pray for his influences.”

Reader, are you convinced of the truth now declared, that none but God the Holy Spirit can teach to profit? Want of Divine aid may be a doctrine humbling to human pride, but it is a truth of which any careless: man may convince himself, by reflecting how little he has been affected by the word of God, when he has heard or read it.

I left B— with a belief that the hand of the Lord was in the matter, and that his conviction of sin would end in his obtaining, through grace, the glorious liberty of the Sons of God.

On my way home, I made a few inquiries about B—-’s earlier days, and found that his mother had been left a widow, when he was but five years of age. She was a woman of piety and trained up her children in the fear of the Lord.

B— went on very well, till about seventeen, when he became acquainted with the woman he afterwards married, whose friends were all smugglers. By this connection, and to please the object of his choice, he took, as before stated, to that course of life, the results of which were, what we have seen. His mother, with her latest breath, said, “Bole, thee wilt leave this trade, I hope, I know thee can’t be happy, thou art living in sin, thou knows better, and God says, ‘The servant that knows his Lord’s will, and does it not, shall be beaten with many stripes.’ Give it up, and take to honest ways, then I may hope to meet thee in heaven. Remember my words, thou wilt never be happy so long as thou art living in sin.” His mother left him a little property, and after her death he married, when the influence of his wife prevailed, and he ventured all he had in smuggling; thus his house became the resort of smugglers, who in their drunken fits broke the windows, the chairs, and other articles of furniture. He long kept from swearing, but at last was in a most singular and awful way drawn into that vice. A party were carousing at his house one evening, when some talk occurred about a man that some said was a good sailor. “He’ll never be a sailor,” said an old man in the company, “he is too mealy mouthed, he won’t swear, and you Bob, you’ll never be good for any thing, until you open your mouth and swear a bit.” “He’ll never curse,” said a daring young fellow, “until he burns that book,” pointing to a Bible, the one that had been his mother’s, “I had one, and never could get on until I burnt mine.” “Oh, is that the cause?” said a third, “then here goes,” and seizing the Bible, he thrust it into the fire, while the rest held B—- struggling, entreating, and at last cursing when they would not release him to save his Bible. From this time he became a blasphemer, for his companions constantly taunted him with the fact of having sworn, and teased him till they provoked him to repeat the sin, which when done, ended in a laugh against him. Thus Satan first tempts and then accuses: and thus once sinning is often urged as a reason to sin again, until habit conquers fear and shame. This circumstance recounted for the very strong feeling shown when I, for the first time, asked for a Bible.

When I visited him again in a few days, and inquired if the passages I had marked had made any impression on his mind, he said, “I don’t know, sir, only that I feel I am not troubled with those very awful ears I once was. I don’t seem so much under the convoy of Satan, but sometimes feel as if I might weather the storm.” “Do you mean that you think you may go to heaven?” “I do, sir; it will be a great wonder if I should; but I think there is so much love in the heart of Christ, that he t nay forgive me. I can’t find any thing about smuggling in the Bible, sir, but I read that Christ forgave Peter when he swore; and he forgave all his friends who sheered off when he was in trouble. Now, sir, I have sworn, and when I knew good, did evil, and yet if it was not for two or three things, think Jesus Christ might forgive me. I have such a tale to tell you, sir,” and he grasped my arm violently, “sir, I burnt my bible,” and his face was again lighted up by excitement to a painful expression.
(To be concluded in the next number.)

The blustering wind is howling among the high elm trees of the rookery, and the fitful blast every now and then drives the rain and sleet with violence against the large window-panes of Allerton Hall, where Squire Ringwood is pacing to and fro in the drawing room, with a shadowy scowl upon his brow.

Hark! It is the heavy hammer ringing on the iron anvil of the blacksmith’s smithy. Aaron Arnold is at his lusty labour. He has on his great leathern apron, with a fringe to it. His shirt sleeves are tucked up nearly to his shoulders, and see how heartily he is hammering away at the horse shoe. Close by Aaron Arnold’s anvil are two little children, with rather pale faces, and yet they look happy. Aaron every now and then is speaking kindly and cheerfully to them, blessing their little hearts, and bidding them fear nothing.

Aaron Arnold has no estate, no money in the bank, and no grand house to live in. He has neither carriage, horses, picture gallery, library, nor servants, like Squire Ringwood; what is it, then, that makes him so happy? The night is dark, wet, and stormy, and he has heavy work before him, and yet he looks as cheerful and seems as happy at the anvil, as if he were keeping holiday.

Well may Squire Ringwood be ill at rest, for he has done a cruel deed, he has oppressed the widow and the fatherless. He has made them houseless and homeless, and, for aught that he knows to the contrary, they are now wandering about in this tempestuous night, without a roof to cover them, or lying down huddled together under a hedge or a haystack. Well may Aaron Arnold feel happy, for he has been a friend to the friendless, and assisted those who had no helper. He has opened his heart to the cry of distress, and flung wide his door for the poor and the needy.

Luke Field, a poor, but honest and pious labourer, who had long lived in one of the little cottages by the brook, somehow or other offended Mr. Ringwood, his purse-proud landlord, by whom he was never forgiven. Even after Luke Field had been carried to the churchyard, the Squire persecuted his poor widow; and now, in the midst of her poverty, has driven her from her home.

There is a gracious promise in the holy Scriptures, which says to all godly men, “Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me,” Jer. xlix. 11. Well was it for poor widow Field that Aaron Arnold, who had long known her husband, and regarded him as a friend, lived in the village; for the moment he knew of her extremity, he sent his wife to her. “Madge,” said he, “go and fetch her and her two children here at once, for never shall the widow and children of Harry Field be turned adrift in the world, without Aaron Arnold holding out a hand to he! n them.” Widow Field is now sitting wild the wife of the kind-hearted blacksmith, talking over her troubles; while Aaron Arnold, thinking it would cheer up her children, has taken them into his workshop; he is working willingly, singing blithely, and blowing up with his bellows his smithy fire.

It is midnight. The lamps and lights are extinguished in Allerton Hall; the family and servants are retired, and Squire Ringwood is restlessly tossing on his bed; at last his eyes are sealed in slumber. But though he slumbers, he finds no rest, for a horrid vision is scaring away his repose. He dreams that a fearful storm is abroad, that the rolling thunder is shaking the foundations of his mansion, and that the winged lightnings are commissioned to smite him. He sees the sickly form of Luke Field, such as it was ere the vital spark had fled, and he hears a voice addressed to him, “Thy days are numbered, for thou hast oppressed the orphan and the widow! ”Hark! What a fearful crash! The bolt of heaven has fallen; the roof is broken in; the mansion is in flames. He awakes and leaps from his bed, under the fearful impression that his dream is true. What a tormentor is an accusing conscience!

All is silent and peaceful at the blacksmith’s habitation. The hammer and the anvil are no longer ringing. The widow and her children are asleep, and Aaron Arnold, after working an hour longer than usual, wearied with his labour, is enjoying a sound and sweet repose. No scaring visions are haunting him in his quiet slumber.

The night has passed, the weather is changed, and the sun is striving in vain to shine through the fog that prevails. Squire Ringwood has sent his messengers in haste to find out widow Field, and to establish her once more in her little cottage, which he, in his fear and remorse, has stored with winter comforts. How easily can God set aside the wrath of man! What a light thing it is with Him to lift up the lowly, and to bid the sorrowful spirit sing for joy!

All rich men are not cruel like Squire Ringwood, for many delight in deeds of mercy; neither are all hard-working blacksmiths kind-hearted as Aaron Arnold, for she hearts of some of them are as hard as their anvils. “Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous,” Prov. xxvii. 4. But, “Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy,” Matt. v. 7.—Geo. Mogridge.

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It is a great mistake to use the words school and schoolmaster only with reference to the place and person giving book learning to childhood and youth. Every place is a school where we learn anything, and every person is a schoolmaster or mistress who teaches us anything. So it happened that the Infirmary of Wrencham workhouse was Patty Grant’s school during that long winter, and the poor blind woman was her schoolmistress. But, with the spring, a change came; Patty’s health was improved and she was moved into the school, and as she read very decently, and was, moreover, a quiet painstaking little creature, she was put to help the mistress, and the care of the little children devolved on her.

This change was at first a great grief to Patty; her little lonely heart clung in love to her blind friend. The sorrows of her childhood had made her thoughtful, far beyond her years; and no word of good advice, or kindness, was thrown away upon her. To love and to obey was not with her so much a study, as a delight, and it was a great grief when the doctor said, “This girl is well enough to go into the school.”

Nor was it less a trouble to the inmates of the Infirmary; the child had ministered to many—-her hands had smoothed the pillow and held the cup of water for many a sufferer. More than once, too, she had stood by the bed of the dying, and her gentle words and looks, and more than all, her power to read the Bible had been precious to the spirit just entering the valley of the shadow of death. The blessing of those ready to perish was upon the poor child, and even rough Bess Stamper and her cronies said, “Poor little crooked Pat, we shall miss her.”

“Her soul is straight,” said the blind woman, wiping the tears from her sightless eyes, “and I hope her path in life will be straight, and lead her right on to heaven. Mind that, Patty, my dear,” she called after the child, “and read about the narrow way, and pray for grace to walk in it.”

It was a new trial for Patty, among the rough children, and with a very sharp schoolmistress; and for some days she felt more ill both in mind and body than she had been for many previous weeks; but as soon as she cheered up, and tried to be useful, she became better. The twist in her shoulder became a greater trouble than ever, for the thoughtless children nicknamed her “humpy,” and a strong fire of anger was kindled in her heart against her tormentors, until Sunday came, and then she saw her blind friend, and told her troubles. “Never mind what they call you, Patty; better a crippled shoulder than a crippled temper.” At those words of wise Madam Dark’s, the child dried her tears with a laugh, for it struck her immediately, that some poor creatures have a deformed mind, and that’s the worse hump, thought she.

And so in many daily cares among the workhouse children passed more than two years of Patty’s life. In that time she had learned to write and cast accounts a little, had kept up and improved her reading; and was older far than her age, by the teaching of suffering and the habit of observation. Among the ever shifting throng who came and went, crowding the place in winter, and taking flight in summer, she had heard of the miserable people with whom her childhood passed. Her father-in-law, Toxy, and his old mother drank as hard as ever. He never worked more than three, or at most four days in the week at the foundry. He was very well paid, and he idled away Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and sometimes Wednesday of every week, with drunken companions, and then worked like a slave the remaining time, without having a single comfort of house, clothing, or food. A feast and a fast, a wild revel and a fierce toil was his life. The children fared now as Patty, had once fared; the eldest boy, Tom, had roamed the streets, and literally picked up a living, always on the verge of beggary and a prison; when at length his father took him to work. The two others were fighting in the gutters, or half starving in their home. Though Patty had no kindness to remember, yet she often thought of these poor neglected brothers, and wished she could help them. Once, after long desiring it, she had a holiday, and she went and watched to see that neither Toxy nor the Granny were there, and she set to work and washed the little boys, and cleaned up the place, and spent her whole treasure, a sixpence some one had given her, in buying a loaf, and dividing it with them; and rough little Ned said to the youngest, “Jem, they may call our Pat ‘Humpy’ if they like, but I shall call her ‘Fairy,’ for she’s like the stories Bill Mattler tells.”

It cannot be said that, during the two years, Patty was exactly contented. Madam Dark had told her to be thankful for the food and shelter provided, but she also told her to work hard in return and try to earn her own living. She advised her to learn all as far as she could that would make her a good domestic servant.

“Living on charity, Patty,” the blind woman would say on Sundays, when the child got leave to see her, “is a mean and wretched life to those who have got their limbs and faculties; and while the sick, the old, and the helpless, may and must, poor bodies! take the shelter provided, yet the young and strong should strive hard to get their own honest living by industry.”

So by such words as these, Patty found out that contentment did not mean sitting down with folded hands, and eating the bread of charity, but it meant striving every way to better one’s condition and thanking God for giving strength to strive.

Two vexations greatly tried Patty; one was, that two thirds of the girls who went out to place as servants or as apprentices, came back to the workhouse giving a dismal account of their treatment. Some of these poor things had really been harshly used—-but the most having been born and reared in the workhouse and used to its routine did not like the poor places they were taken to; and did not try to succeed — wished in fact to return, and came back idle, and sometimes dissolute. Her other grief was, that among the tall, strong, healthy girls, she stood no chance of being hired out. The matron and the schoolmistress once or twice had said she was the best girl there; but the people who came to look for “a stout girl always shook their heads and turned from her saying,“she’s deformed—she wont be able for our work.” Thus a great fear came over poor Patty that she should never get out to earn her own living—-at least this very fear emboldened her. A decent motherly woman was brought one day by the matron into the school. Patty was fixing some work for a little child beside her; but she looked up and saw that the stranger was gazing at two great girls who had been twice out, and had returned bitterly grumbling. It was evident that the visitor was not favourably impressed by the look of these, and her glance fell on Patty, who rose instantly and with a low curtsey said, “Try me, Ma’am, please try me — I’ll do my best.” Then suddenly recollecting that it might look bold to speak, she blushed at her own temerity and her eyes filled with tears.

Perhaps this petition would have availed nothing ; for there was her crooked shoulder bearing witness against her. But a little child who had not long been in “The House,” and was not quite subdued to its manner, burst into passionate weeping as she tugged at Patty’s pinafore, and said, “Oh no, Humpy, dear, don’t go, you’re the best of all, don’t leave us.”

The inquirer was a poor mother who wanted help in tending her numerous family, and her heart told her that the child’s grief at the thought of parting with Patty, was the best of all characters for a nurse girl; so she said, “You look weak, I’m afraid my husband wont think I’ve made a good choice, but I’ll try you—that is for a month on liking.” She turned to talk with the matron end schoolmistress, neither of whom looked very pleased, for Patty was useful and would be missed. Meanwhile the poor girl in a strange flutter stammered out her thanks, and turned to hush and comfort the sobbing child who still clung to her.

So it was settled that Patty should go to live at a little sea-port town seven miles off, which we will call Blankthorpe. Her employers were Mr. and Mrs. Jobleigh, who kept a small bookseller’s shop and the post-office. It was Friday when she was hired, and on the following Monday she was in her new home.

On Sunday Patty went to the Infirmary to see her blind friend, and say farewell. The old lady was getting very feeble, but she still sat in her wicker chair ; and during six days of the week the click of her knitting needles was as regular as the tick of a clock.

She both smiled and sighed as Patty told the news of her having a place at last. She repeated all her former good advice and added—

“A small tradesman’s house, Patty, is a place where people must be thrifty, and willing to put up with many little hardships at first. If your mistress is willing to bear with the awkwardness of a young servant who knows very little, you must be willing to rough it at first. ‘Strive and thrive,’ Patty, is a very good saying; speak the truth always; never tattle about the affairs of your master and mistress to any one; be honest even to a pin—and be sober, child! You know what strong drink did in your poor mother’s home—and, my dear, as you can’t do all this in your own strength, look up for help to One above.”

Much more was added before the time came when, with many tears on Patty’s part, and with her blessing in a faltering voice the two friends—one beginning life, the other nearly ending it—parted, the child hoping that she might sometime get a holiday and cheer her kind adviser with a visit. We shall see how it fared with Patty in her new home.
(To be continued.)


“If thou turn away thy foot from the SABBATH, from doing THY PLEASURE on my holy day; and call the sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honorable; and shalt honour him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words:

“Then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord; and I will cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.”

Isaiah lviii. 14.15.

By Mrs. Cameron.

A Dialogue between Elizabeth Martin and Sarah Smith.

Eliz. What is the matter with you this morning, Sarah, you generally look so bright as well as busy on a Monday morning; but you seem neither to-day.

Sarah. Why, I am rather tired, but come in and sit down; perhaps a talk with you will do me good—-it always does.

Eliz. Old people, you know, ought not 1 be busy bodies about other people’s matter but their experience may be of use when is called for; but what has happened to tire you so, is your husband unwell or the children?

Sarah. No, they are all pretty well, but they are tired like me; my husband went later than he ought to his work this morning and not in a working humour neither, and have but just got the children off to school.

Eliz. Have you had bad news from the country, for I am sure something is wrong.

Sarah. Well, I will tell you all; I have often this last week been wishing for you but your street is so far off I have not had time to call, and besides, I have been so puzzled and perplexed I hardly knew what to do.

Eliz. I am glad then I happened to step in this morning, a little business took me out early; and come now, if you have anything; to tell me about which I can be of any use do let me hear it.

Sarah. Well, then, I must tell you that my husband has got some new acquaintances, who have strange notions about the Sabbath and the way of keeping it, and he has been greatly taken with them, and has been pondering over them for some time, and has been so silent, and as some would say, glum, that I could not tell what to think of it, till last week he told me what he had in his mind, and he said we had been living in the dark, and he was determined to make a change in his way of keeping the Sunday, and have a little freedom and pleasure like others.

Eliz. Well, and did you ask him what he meant; I thought you always did spend a happy Sabbath, at least, of late years.

Sarah. I stared and wondered at first, and then I asked him what change he meant to make; why, said he, we will have an excursion next Sunday, and we will go to one of the fine places about London, and we will take the children with us. What, said I, and not go to church; not keep the Sabbath day holy? surely it will be very wicked.

Eliz. And what did he answer?

Sarah. He said, Pshaw, that’s all women’s stuff; why, people know now that the Sabbath day was only ordered to be kept in that strict way by the Jews, we Christians know better, and we have a right to spend it just for our pleasure; then, he said a great deal more than I could understand; but before he finished, I burst out crying, and repeated again, What! spend a Sunday without going to God’s house? I never did such a thing in my life,, that I can remember, except when I was sick. Well, he answered, I sha’n’t hinder you from going to church, there are places of worship whereever we go, and you may find an opportunity to go to one of them.

Eliz. And did you say any more?

Sarah. Yes, and he too; I cannot tell you all that past between us, but at last he got very angry and said he would have his way, and so I thought he should for once, and that I would see how it answered; for I felt so puzzled with his discourse that I could not tell what was right and what was wrong.

Eliz. Well! go on.

Sarah. Just before he went to his work on Saturday, he said, you must get something ready that we can take out with us to eat, and you must leave some thing for Tom and Mary’s dinner, for I think I shall not take them with us this time. I shall see first what the train costs. Now, you know I have been used since we have had that nice little oven by the fire side, to make a potato pie or something of that sort on the Saturday, and to set it, to bake with a pudding while we were at the morning service on Sunday, and then it was ready and hot for us when we came in; but I was obliged to make a change for our new scheme, a bit for one, and a bit for another. Mary watched me, and she asked me, as children will do, why every thing I did was so different from other Saturdays.

Eliz. And did you tell her?

Sarah. Mary, I said, your father is going out to-morrow, and he wants me to go with him, and the two little ones and you and Tom to remain behind, and there will be some cold dinner for you to eat when you come back from school. What! all by ourselves, Mother, said she, in a sorrowful voice. Then she asked me several other questions, and I could not speak, my voice was so choked; she stood leaning on a chair, and looking hard at me, but finding I did not answer, she turned away and went on with her cleaning.

Eliz. Poor things, I can fancy it all. to Sarah. Well, Sunday morning came, and ‘s, my husband hurried me up almost as soon as it we get up on a working day ; for he said, if we did not make haste to get our breakfast we should be too late for the train; and at a great hurry it was, to get all done and at ourselves drest in our best, I am sure it was like anything but our usual quiet Sunday morning. At last we got to the station, and were soon seated with a number of noisy companions, some smartly dressed, and some very shabby; some laughing and some almost shouting, but all talking; and plenty of nonsense was talked, and often what was worse. Then we whirled along, and oh! what a heavy heart I had; last Sunday, I thought to myself, just about this time, my husband and I were sitting quietly by the fireside, I showing the Picture Bible to the little ones, and he reading to himself and hearkening to the bells to tell us it was time to go to church, and now where are we? and what are we doing? and in spite of myself, the tears ran down my cheeks upon my baby’s little hat.

Eliz. And when did you get to your journey’s end?

Sarah. I can’t quite tell, but I know all the services everywhere must have been begun. As soon as we got out of the train, most of our party made their way to the gardens, and we fell in with the crowd.

Eliz. Did the sight of these fine gardens make up to you for what you had lost?

Sarah. Oh! no, no, no! They would have been pretty enough to see, I dare say, had my heart been light; but I am sure the trees in the park at home, and their tall shadows in the sunshine look sweeter far than all the grand things I saw, for you know we often take a walk in the park, when the afternoon service is over, and the children come out of school; all of us together before we get our tea, or afterwards, just as the season is, and then we enjoy our quiet walk.

Eliz. It is quite impossible to enjoy God’s creation as we ought, if we think we are displeasing Him, who is the creator.

Sarah. After we had walked about a long while, my husband said we should go and call on his cousin, who lives very near the porter’s lodge, and there we should eat our bit of dinner; just as we turned out of the garden, I heard the chime of distant bells. Oh! I said, I don’t care for my dinner, let me go to that church, I heard its bells chiming; but my husband would not hear of it till we had had something to eat, and the little ones too were crying for their dinner, so we turned into the house and several more with us whom we did not know. My husband’s cousin received us kindly, and made every thing convenient for us in her little parlour.

Eliz. And did you get to church at last Sarah. When we had finished our dinner, I asked my cousin if there was any church near, where we could go for afternoon service. Yes, answered she, there is service at that church where you heard the bells when you came in, and I used to go there most afternoons, till these gardens were opened on Sundays, but now one or other of our friends drops in, and I am hindered.

Eliz. Methinks she has not zeal for God’s service.

Sarah. Well, I could not rest till I had made an attempt to go to this church, but my husband would not be persuaded to go with me, one of the party had asked if a little beer was not to be had, and whether the master of the house furnished it, or it was fetched elsewhere I cannot tell, but a large jug of ale and some glasses were set on the table, and several men gathered round it, and pressed my husband to take a glass, so he told me he hated going to church when the service was half over, but I might do as I liked, so I took the little one in my arms, and holding the other by the hand, I made my way to the church.

Eliz. I fear you must have been late.

Sarah. Late, indeed! the sermon was begun, and many eyes turned upon me as I entered; and I felt, and looked, I am sure, as if I was a guilty person. At last I got a seat and tried to find out what the clergyman was preaching about, and I made out the text, and it was this, “I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than to dwell in the tents of ungodliness.” But I must not be too long; when I got back to my cousin’s house, I found the party still sitting found the jug of ale, and I fear they would have sat much longer had not some one reminded them that it was almost time for our train to start; so we all set off together, and I thanked my cousin for her good will to me and the children, and we went to the station in as much haste as we had set off in the morning; and I am sure we had twice the noise then; and as for people talking of the gardens we had seen,

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and making fine reflections on them, which my husband had said, I should find as good as a sermon, I heard very little of that, but much more of just such talk as might have been heard if we had all been returning from a fair!

Eliz. I hope you got home safely at last.

Sarah. Yes, we did, but we found a comfortless home, the children had been returned some time from the Sunday school, but Tom had gone out for a walk or a game of play with some other boys, and Mary had fallen asleep in her father’s great chair, I had to shake her well before I could wake her up; and then the fire was almost gone out and no kettle boiling for tea, and the little ones were clamouring for their supper. At last we got things in order, the fire burnt up and the kettle boiled, and Tom was come in, and we all sat down to tea; but oh! how unlike our pleasant cheerful tea hour on our usual Sundays. My husband scarcely spoke, and I could scarcely hold my head up, the little ones were tired out, and the two eldest were not a bit like themselves ; however, I got the great Bible out and read a chapter with them, when the little ones were in bed, but my husband would not join with us, he said he was too tired to read; and that his head ached. I feared I could guess why it ached, for you know he never could bear ale in his life, and when I asked him to join with us in the evening hymn, for he has a beautiful voice, he said no in such a positive tone, and went off to bed. I saw the children look earnestly at him, but they said nothing. So at last this sorrowful Sunday came to an end, and I cried for a long while after I was in bed, thinking to myself, Oh! is this what the world calls pleasure and improvement? oh! am I come to this? and I believe I fell asleep with the clergyman’s text in my mouth, “I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of the Lord than to dwell in the tents of ungodliness,” and this morning I am so unhappy, I cannot tell what to think of all that has happened.

Eliz. Why, think this, Shall man be wiser than his Maker? shall the Creator, the Lord of hosts, give his creatures a day wherein they shall have time to attend in his courts to bow before his footstool, to enquire of his blessed will and of their own glorious hopes; shall they be promised an inheritance in the land that is very far off, and to have a glimpse of the king in his beauty; shall all these privileges be afforded them; and shall they think scorn of them and invent for themselves such delights as they of their own fleshly wisdom reckon to be better ? What would our earthly queen think of a man, who would refuse to go to court when invited, and say that he was better pleased to dine in a cellar with beggars.

Sarah. But my dear, kind old friend, can you give me any advice what to do?

Eliz. It is quite plain that you must obey God rather than man, and you must pray to be directed aright in your difficulty, and I will pray too for you; and there is one thing however, which does occur to me, in which I might perhaps help you; I believe your husband has a great regard for me, as being his mother’s oldest friend living, and I will if I am able come down some evening this week, and have a little talk with him.

Sarah. And oh, may God’s blessing be upon the wise discourse which I am sure you will have with him.
(To be continued.)



The following letter has been received by us from Miss Nightingale:—

Barrack Hospital, Scutari.

Jan. 21 st, 1856.


I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 1st January, and to thank you for the packets containing the yearly parts of the British Workman, and the Band of Hope Review.

As you kindly offer me a choice of a further supply of yearly or monthly numbers, I beg to say that I should prefer the monthly numbers.

With my best thanks to yourself, and to the friends who are kindly joining in this contribution, I have the honour to be, sir,

Your obedient servant,


Several contributions having been placed in the hands of the gratuitous fund committee of the Band of Hope Review, for the purpose of transmitting copies of that periodical, and the British Workman to Miss Nightingale, for the wounded soldiers, a letter (to which the above is a reply) was sent to that lady, offering her the choice of yearly parts or monthly numbers. A parcel containing 3000 copies of the two publications has since been forwarded through Messrs. Hayter and Howell, and a further supply will be forwarded monthly to Miss Nightingale if the funds will allow.

Any of our readers who may be desirous of aiding this object can forward their contributions to the treasurer, Henry Ford Barclay, Esq., of Walthamstow, Essex, or the Rev. Josh. Kingsmill, M.A., Chaplain to the Government Model Prison, Pentonville, London.

Sums above £1 can be paid (if more convenient) to the bankers, Messrs. Barclay, Bevan, Tritton, & Co., 54, Lombard Street, London.

“I heartily concur in the commendations which have been bestowed on the British Workman, and I beg you will place my name on your subscribers’ list. The artistic taste with which it is got up, and its excellent moral tendency, make it eminently calculated to produce an elevating and beneficial effect on the labouring classes of England.”—Earl of Albemarle.

“The British Workman I have read with great pleasure. It seems to me to be exactly the kind of publication which should be encouraged by the working classes, and by all who are interested in their welfare.”—Robert Baker, Esq., Sub-Inspector of Factories, Leeds.

Bad books are the public fountains of vice.
“The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.”—Psalm ix. 17.
Hasty words often rankle the wound which injury gives, but soft words assuage it, forgiving cures it, and forgetting takes away the scar.—Dillwyn.



Fellow Workmen! Let no delusive daydream of pecuniary advantage seduce you into the surrender of your own—-your only day. Beware of the spirit of encroachment; though it steals along with woollen feet, it strikes at last with iron hands.

It requires no lynx-eyed scrutiny of the existing condition of society to perceive that, were the Sabbath numbered with our days of toil, diverted from sacred to secular purposes, the effect of the transformation upon the labour market of Great Britain would be equivalent to what a sudden addition of one-seventh to the number of the working population would exert upon it.—Thomas Brown, Glasgow.

The working classes themselves, as well as every other grade in society, have good grounds for entertaining an anxious solicitude for the Sabbath, and to eye with extreme suspicion any pretext for the smallest innovation; one concession strengthens the demand for another, and one innovation affords a pretext and an argument for another, so that the security of any portion of the day depends in a great measure upon the maintenance of every portion of it. The proposal to throw open public places of amusement and resort, or to carry on means of conveyance, whether by sea or land, on that day, can be regarded in no other light than as a manifest and unreasonable encroachment on the poor man’s day.—Thomas Brown, Tailor, Anstruther, Fifeshire.

As we love our country, and would wish to transmit to posterity the institutions that have made her great, let us regard the Sabbath as the sacred repository of our privileges, and inscribed with “Holiness to the Lord.” Let us cherish it as life, guard it as our own birthright, and bequeath it to our children as an inalienable inheritance.—John Brown, Joiner, Greenock.

But what would the Sabbath be, if it were not religious? Would it be a day of mere amusement and pleasure to the working man? Beware, working men, lest it prove to be a day of “rigour” indeed, by becoming a seventh day of unbroken labour. Remove the religious sanction and object of the day, and what is to prevent every manufacturer from opening his mill, every merchant his warehouse, and every tradesman his shop? And then what would be the fate of labour? My belief is that the working man would find himself under a necessity of working,—-not a legal necessity, but a necessity imposed upon him by the circumstances in which he is placed, and which would only leave him the option of working on the Sabbath or losing his work on the week-days. Moreover, I am persuaded that he would work this seventh day for no wages. At first he might obtain an advance, but in the end competition would bring down the wages to the old standard.

I am happy to believe that the working men of England will not generally consent to change the Sabbath of their God and their fathers, for a Sabbath which would begin without religion, and probably end without even rest.

Of all classes, you, working men, are most deeply interested in the maintenance of the Sabbath, and would be the greatest sufferers from its loss or secularization. Speak, then, with a clear voice, now that this great question is mooted, and say that no power on earth shall take from you the Sabbaths which you reverence and love. Edw. Baines, Leeds Mercury Office.

Will the industrial millions not rally in defence of the only day they are freed from obligation to their employers, and in which they are permitted to stand erect, and commune with their common Parent? No; from the heart of British industry shall go forth the response, “The Sabbath is ours, and, with the blessing of God, we will keep it entire.” — Walter Smith Currie, Plane Maker, Glasgow.

If I were an operative of any description, not caring a whit for religion, nor yet for the claims of humanity, but looking to my own personal interest, and that of my children after me, I should feel that every encroachment on the Sabbath was, so far, an invasion of my rights as an Englishman, which would in course of time, as in other countries has happened, infallibly take from me, or them at least, that one day of rest in seven, and, from the growth of terrible competition, exact, it might be, at last, the work of seven days for the wages of six. If this be a probable result of break-ing in upon the Sabbath, let work-people consider whether to add one day more for work in the week, is not just the same in effect as to bring into a workshop another pair of hands where six have been employed, and (unless where there is an excess of work, as in occasional times of great prosperity) to divide the work and wages of six amongst the seven.—Pamphlet on the Sabbath by Rev. J. Kingsmill, M.A., Chaplain, Pentonville Prison.
“Ye bring more wrath upon Israel by profaning the sabbath day.” Nehemiah xiii. 18.



We, the undersigned Blacksmiths, cheerfully testify that we have performed our labours during the years understated without the use of spirituous or malt liquors. We get through our work better without such beverages than with them, and we strongly recommend our brother Blacksmiths to follow our example, as we feel assured that they will thereby he, like ourselves, better in health, heavier in pocket, and happier in mind.


John Gerrard, Bolton, Lancashire…………… 22
C. Firby, Hull………………………….. 18
Peter Hunter, Darnick, Melrose…………….. 15
Peter Finch, Norwich……………………… 15
John Dean, Morley, near Leeds ……………. 15
James Hendrie, Airdrie…………………… 2
David Melvin, Alloa ……………………… 16
John Calder, Broxbourn…………………… 16
John Delph, Norwich……………………… 16
William Burn, Lilliesleaf, by Selkirk………. 16
Charles McBryde, Port Glasgow ……………. 18
Telford Martin, Airdrie………………….. 17
James D. Hunter, Morningside, Edinburgh ……. 17
James Webster, Bolton, Lancashire………….. 18
Peter Harrower, Gifford, Haddington……….. 15
Thomas Denton, Featherstone, Pontefract……. 12
John Campbell, Girthow, near Gatehouse…….. 18
William Stoker, Netherwitton………………. 3
Alexander Ferrier Cook, Dumbarton…………. 16
George Pringle, Prestonpans………………… 6
James Kennedy, Ettrick Bridge ……………… 5
James Davie, Tillicoultry …………………. 6
William Milne, Keith……………………. 3
Thomas Allan, Hawick …………………… 17
James Ovens, do…………………………. 13
William Kirk, do…………………………. 3
James Pow, do……………………………. 1
Alexander Walker, do………………………. 4
James Wells, do………………………… 1
William Waugh, do………………………… 5
William Chisholm, do……………………… 1
Joseph Wilkinson, Selby…………………… 1
Thomas Duneanson, Grangemouth………………. 5
James Macnab, do. ………………. 2
Peter Buchan, Grangemouth………………… 5
George Murray, Gourock ………………….. 5
William Hutchinson, Gatewood, near Alnwick…. 3
Alexander Hutchinson, do…………………. 3
John Henderson, do…………………3-1/2
William Lacy, Hessle, Hull…………………. 8
Johnson Ramsey, do…………………. 3
George Mallison, do…………………. 8
William Kerr, Jun., New Street, Beith ……… 2-1/2
James Docherty, Ardrossian ………………. 5
John Elliott, do…………………… 1
Joseph Parker, Accommodation Road, Leeds…… 18
George Nelson, Duke Street, do……… 12
Walter Ward, Hill’s Yard, do……… 3-1/2
John Carreton, Meadow Lane, do……… 4
Alfred Chanels, do. do……… 5
William Blackburn, Bowman Lane, do…………. 6
William Ward, Meadow Lane, do……… 6-1/2
Alexander Lawson, Low Valley Field, by Culross .. 9
Thomas Robertson, Oakley, Dunfermline……… 1-1/2
Robert Campbell, Corrock…………………. 1-1/2
Samuel Crillay, Oakley …………………… 1
James Parsell, Oakley……………………. 9
John Parsell, Oakley……………………… 5
Robert Fairbairn, St. Boswells …………… 2
James Lowrie, St. Boswells ……………….. 5
George Henderson, Manton …………………. 2
Samuel Williams, do………………………. 6
John Hope, Kelso…………………………. 6
James Alcorn, Newtown…………………….. 2
Joseph Isherwood, Bolton, Lancashire………. 21
Richard Tabbern, do. , 20
John Ridings do. 19
Henry Lancaster do. 14
William Ridings, do. 14
William Blackburn, do. 13
Edward Wilson do. ………. 11
George Peacock, do. 7
George Owen, Craigs, Stirling ……………. 16
Matthew Firby, High St., Hull ……………. 19
Samuel Williams, Hull…………………….. 5
T. Williams, do………………………….. 6
James Alston, West Calder……………….. 12
William Gardner, Linlithgow ……………. 14
William Dempster, Kirkbean, Dumfries ……… 13
Douglas Dempster, do. 5
William Foote, Hiltiown, Dundee …………… 8
James Wight, Queen St. do…………………. 18
James Nicoll, do…………………. 2
Alexander Low, do……………….. 2
David Melville, do…………………. 2
David Lindsay, do…………………. 6
Robert Scouler, Cowlairs, near Glasgow . ……. 4
David Scouler, Finnicston, Glasgow …………. 2
David Rutherford, Braco……………………. 4
James Rutherford, do………………………. 4
William Hall, Eaglesham…………………… 1-1/2
William Andrew, College, Crossgates…………. 4
William Andrew, jun., do…………….. 1
Matthew Gray, Travent …………………….. 2
William Swift, Blackburn …………………. 12
Edward Quinton, Leiston, Suffolk ………….. 3-1/2
George Johnson, do. 4
John Holt, Rochdale ……………………… 12
Benjamin Richardson, Boston ……………… 19
George McGregor, Glasgow…………………… g

How to secure Monthly Packets of the BRITISH WORKMAN delivered at your own door, post free.

To give every facility to workmen &c., in remote districts, desirous of being supplied with the “British Workman,” the publishers will forward packets to every part of the United Kingdom, post free, according to the following scale. The amount being paid in advance by post office order, or if under 10s., in postage stamps, to Mr. S.W. Partridge, No. 9, Paternoster Row, London.
A packet of s. d. £ s. d.

*4 copies for 0 4 or for one year 0 4 0
8 0 8 0 8 0
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50 „ 4 2 „ 2 10 0

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