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AND FRIEND OF THE
SONS OF TOIL
Published for the Editor by S. W. PARTRIDGE, at the Office of the “British Workman,” No. 9, Paternoster Row, London.
[Price One Penny.
EXTRAORDINARY SAGACITY OF NEWFOUNDLAND DOGS.
A gentleman connected with the Newfoundland fishery was once possessed of a dog of singular fidelity and sagacity. On one occasion a boat and a crew in his employ were in circumstances of considerable peril, just outside a line of breakers, which, owing to some change in wind or weather, had, since the departure of the boat, rendered the return passage through them most hazardous.
The spectators on shore were quite unable to render any assistance to their friends afloat. Much time had been spent, and the danger seemed to increase rather than diminish. Our friend, the dog, looked on for a length of time aware of there being a great cause for anxiety in those around. Presently however he took to the water, and made his way through the raging waves to the boat. The crew supposed he wished to join them, and made various attempts to induce him to come aboard; but no, he would not go within their reach, but continued swimming about a short distance from the boat. After a while, and several comments on the peculiar conduct of the dog, one of the hands suddenly divined his apparent meaning. “Give him the end of a rope,” he said, “that is what he wants.” The rope was thrown, the dog seized the end in an instant, turned round, and made straight for the shore, where a few minutes afterwards boat and crew—thanks to the intelligence of their fourfooted friend were placed safe and sound!
The aptitude evinced by the Newfoundland Dog in taking to the water, and the courage, devotion, and skill which it manifests in the rescue of persons drowning are too well known to be insisted upon; and numerous are the instances on record in which man has owed his life to the intrepidity of this faithful dog. Among others we find the following to our surprise, narrated by M. E. Blaze, and which we know to be substantially true, but which we did not know had ever found its way into print;—Mr. William Phillips was on a visit at Portsmouth for the sake of sea bathing, and on one occasion having ventured out too far, was in imminent danger of drowning. His two daughters perceiving the danger he was in were anxious to send out a boat to his assistance; but the boatmen, taking advantage of their alarm and feelings, began to magnify the importance of their service, and demanded an enormous sum. During this conversation, the unfortunate gentleman was in great extremity, and had barely strength to keep himself up, when suddenly a Newfoundland dog made its appearance, and gallantly dashing into the water, swam out boldly to the assistance of the gentleman, whom he succeeded in bringing safely to shore. The dog belonged to a butcher’s man. Mr. P., filled with gratitude, bought the animal on the spot.
Every year, on the 4th of October, he celebrated his deliverance, surrounded by his family, and to the dog was assigned the place of honour at the table, with a good ration of beefsteaks. Mr. P. had a beautiful picture executed, representing the scene and circumstances of his deliverance this was engraved, and all his friends were presented with a copy. On all his table linen, napkins, &c., made expressly for him in Ireland, this picture was worked in the tissue with this legend, “Virum extuli mari.”
-From Knight’s “History of the Dog.”
One of the magistrates at Harbour Grace, in Newfoundland, had an old dog of the regular web-footed species, peculiar to that island, who was in the habit of carrying a lantern before his master, at night, as steadily as the most attentive servant could do, stopping short when his master made a stop, and proceeding when he saw him disposed to follow. If his master was absent from home, and the lantern being fixed to his mouth, and the command given, “Go fetch thy master,” he would immediately set off and proceed directly to the town, which lay at the distance of more than a a mile from his master’s residence; he would then stop at every house which he knew his master was in the habit of frequenting, and laying down his lantern, growl, and strike the door until it was opened; if his master was not there, he would proceed farther in the same manner until he had found him. If he had accompanied him only once into a house this was sufficient to induce him to take that house in his round.
“Let cavillers deny
That brutes have reason; sure ’tis something more,
’Tis Heaven directs, and strategems inspires
Beyond the short extent of human thought.”
THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG’S REVENGE.
I was always fond of dogs. Goldsmith, in his touching and eloquent plea for the dog, in alluding to a sort of mania for dog killing which prevailed it the time of which he speaks, in consequence of an unreasonable apprehension of hydrophobia, says, among other fine things, that the dog is the only animal which will leave his own kind voluntarily, to follow man.
It is true, and the truth should bind man to be the dog’s protector and friend.
The American brig Cecilia, Captain Symmes, on one of her voyages, had on board a splendid specimen of the Newfoundland breed, named Napoleon, and his magnificent size and proportions, his intelligent head, broad white feet and white-tipped tail, the rest of his glossy body being black, made him as beautiful as his peerless namesake, who would, no doubt, have been proud to possess him.
Captain Symmes, however, was not partial to animals of any kind, and had an unaccountable and especial repugnance to dogs—so much so, indeed, as if all his ancestors had died of Hydrophobia and he dreaded to be bitten like his unfortunate predecessors.
This dislike he one day manifested in a shocking manner; for Napoleon had several times entered his room, and by wagging his great banner of a tail, knocked paper and ink off his desk. On the next occasion, the captain seized a knife and cut the poor animal’s tail off.
The dog’s yell brought his master to the spot, and seeing the calamity and the author of it, without a moment’s hesitation, he felled Captain Symmes to the cabin floor with a sledge-hammer blow, which, had it hit the temple, would have for ever prevented him from cutting off any more dog’s tails.
The result was, that Lancaster was put in irons, from which he, however, was soon released, Captain Symmes repented his cruel deed on learning that Napoleon had once saved his owner’s life.
The white shark, as all my nautical friends are well aware, is one of the largest of sharks. It averages over twenty, and I have seen one twenty-seven and a-half feet long. It is generally considered to be the fiercest and most formidable of sharks.
But a few days elapsed after this catastrophe of poor Napoleon, ere he became the hero of a more thrilling occurrence, the very thought of which has often filled me with horror. During the interval the noble beast was not at all backward in exhibiting his wrath at the captain by his growls, whenever he approached, In vain did his master, fearful for the life of his dog, essay to check these signs of his anger. Captain Symmes, however, made the allowance and offered no further harm to him.
One morning, as the captain was standing on the bowsprit, he lost his footing and fell overboard, the Cecilia then running at about fifteen knots.
“Man overboard! Captain Symmes overboard!” was the cry, and all rushed to get out the boat as they saw a swimmer striking out for the brig, which was at once rounded to; and as they felt especially apprehensive on account of the white sharks in those waters, they regarded his situation with the most painful solicitude.
FROM A PAINTING, THE PROPERTY OF T. ROBESON, ESQ., TORRINGTON HALL, FINCHLEY.
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By the time the boat touched the water their worst fears were realized; for at some distance behind the swimmer they beheld advancing towards him, the fish most dreaded in those waters.
“Hurry! hurry, men, or we shall be too late!” exclaimed the mate! “What’s that?”
The splash which caused this inquiry was occasioned by the plunge of Napoleon into the sea. The noble animal, having been watching the cause of the tumult from the captain’s fall, had heard the shout, and for a few moments had vented his feelings in deep growls, as if he was conscious of the peril of his enemy, and gratified at it.
His growls, however, were soon changed into those whines of sympathy which so often show the attachment of the dog to man, when the latter is in danger. At last he plunged, and rapidly made his way toward the now nearly exhausted captain who, aware of his double danger, and being but a passable swimmer, made fainter and fainter strokes, while his adversary closed rapidly upon him.
“Pull, boys, for dear life!” was the shout of the mate, as the boat now followed the dog.
Slowly the fatigued swimmer made his way; ever and anon his head sank in the waves, and behind him the back of the voracious animal told him what fearful progress he was making, while Lancaster, in the bow of the boat, stood with a knife in his upraised hand, watching alternately the captain and his pursuer, and the faithful animal which had saved his own life.
There was a fixed look of determination in his face, which convinced all that should the dog become a sacrifice to the shark, Lancaster would revenge his death, if possible, even at the risk of his own life.
“What a swimmer!” exclaimed the men who marked the speed of the animal. “The shark will have one or both, if we don’t do our best.” The scene was of short duration. Ere the boat could overtake the dog, the enormous shark had arrived within three oars’ lengths of the captain, and suddenly turned over on his back, preparatory to darting on the sinking man and receiving him in his vast jaws, which now displayed their long triangular teeth.
The wild shriek of the captain announced that the crisis had come. But now Napoleon, seemingly inspired with increased strength, had also arrived, and with a fierce howl leaped upon the gleaming belly of the shark, and buried his teeth in the monster’s flesh, while the boat swiftly neared them.
“Saved! if we are half as smart as that dog is!” cried the mate, as all saw the voracious monster shudder in the sea, and, smarting with pain, turn over again, the dog retaining his hold and becoming submerged in the water.
At this juncture the boat arrived, and Lancaster, his knife in his teeth, plunged into the water, where the captain also now had sunk from view.
But a few moments elapsed ere the dog rose to the surface, and soon after Lancaster, bearing the insensible form of the captain.
“Pull them in and give them a bar,” cried the mate, “for that fellow is preparing for another launch.”
His orders were obeyed, and the second onset of the marine monster was foiled by the mate’s splashing water in his eyes. He came again, and but a few seconds too late to snap off the captain’s leg, as his body was drawn into the boat.
Foiled the second time, the shark plunged, and was seen no more, but left a track of blood on the surface of the water, a token of the severity of the dog’s wound.
The boat was now pulled towards the brig, and not many hours elapsed before the captain was on deck again, very feeble, but able to appreciate the services of our canine hero, and most bitterly to lament the cruel act which had mutilated him for ever.
“I would give my right arm!” he exclaimed, as he patted the Newfoundland who stood by his side, “if I could only repair the injury I have done that splendid fellow. Lancaster, you are now avenged, and so is he, and a most Christian vengeance it is, though it will be a source of grief to me as long as I live.”
We continue to receive various suggestions from our readers, as to the best mode of curing those scandalizers of our country—-the Wife Beaters.—-We are informed that the magistrates of one of the northern boroughs have given orders for the parish stocks to be repaired, as they intend in future to punish these drunken characters by exposing them to public scorn. We much fear that this method will be found far from effective in all cases. With some it will only tend to harden, whilst it may drive not a few to despair.
The last time we saw a man in the stocks for drunkenness was in Marygate, in the City of York. The sight was a revolting one. Many of the pot companions of the culprit were constantly bringing to him pipes and pots of liquor, so that before his liberation he became more intoxicated than when he committed the offence for which he was punished!
The stocks may do good in some cases, but we want something far better than these for striking a blow at the root of the evil.
Dr. Guthrie, the great pleader for Ragged Schools, has suggested a novel plan. Many of our readers will have a hearty laugh over it when they see our illustration, and we think that they will all be of opinion that the worthy Doctor has, at all events, hit upon a better and much cheaper mode of punishing the wife-beaters than would be accomplished by either the iron cage or the stocks.
FOUR KINDS OF READERS.
There are four classes of readers. The first may be compared to an hour-glass; their reading being as the sand, it runs in and runs out, and leaves not a trace behind. A second class resembles a sponge, which receives everything, and returns it nearly in the same state, only a little dirtier. A third class are like a jelly bag, which allows all that is pure to pass away, and retains only the dregs. The fourth class may be compared to the workers in the diamond mine, who, casting aside all that is worthless, preserve only the precious gem.
To which class do you belong, reader?
CHIMNEY SWEEPER’S FESTIVAL AT LEICESTER.
Chimney Sweepers form a very important and useful body of our fellow countrymen, But for them, the desolating scourge of fire would much more frequently blight our workshops and homes.
There has, however, been one painful fact in connection with chimney sweeping which has thrown a dark moral stain upon a otherwise honourable occupation. We allude to the inhuman employment of mere children as climbing boys. None but those who have paid special attention to this painful subject, can have any conception of the wretched slavery into which the unhappy climbing boys of this country have been sunk. It is not long ago that a child, seven years old, was forced up a chimney in Goole. The poor little creature fell down into an old flue which communicated with this chimney, at the bottom of which, horrible to relate, the accumulated soot was in a state of ignition! As a matter of course the poor child was soon suffocated, and it was not until the brick work was taken down that his burnt body could be removed.
The employment of climbing boys has a fearfully debasing effect upon the masters; not long ago a gentleman enquired of a chimney sweeper at Knutsford—
“How is it that your little boy does not appear to grow—-he seems the same size as he was three years ago?”
“I do not want him to grow—-I give him gin in a morning to prevent him growing, small boys suit our purpose best,” was the reply.
A poor little climbing boy at Manchester, was recently placed in the scales, by a gentleman, and his weight was found to be only thirty-nine pounds! Mournful fact!
We might go on writing for hours, tales of horror and bloodshed, but we have a brighter side to turn to.
If ever another climbing boy is allowed to ascend a British chimney, the blame will rest rather with the owner, than with the chimney-sweep. A humane and righteous act of the British Parliament has forbidden the future employment of these poor boys, and we are glad to find that the magistrates in many places are rigidly enforcing the same, and inflicting the fine of £5 and costs, for every case of violation of the Chimney Sweepers’ Act.
For several years past, the chimneys in London have been cleansed by the simple, yet ingenious sweeping machines. A climbing boy is not to be seen in the Metropolis. Great was the hostility of the London sweeps to those machines at first, but the Government was firm, and it would now be difficult to find many masters willing to go back to the old and barbarous mode.
The London sweeps are now a respectable and respected body compared with what they were several years ago.
The Act for London having worked so well, several philanthropic men—-first and foremost of whom, should be named, Mr. William Wood, of Bowden, and the noble Earl of Shaftesbury, moved the Parliament to extend the act to the whole nation, and now it is unlawful for a climbing boy to be employed in any part of the country.
We are delighted to find that in several towns, highly influential committees are being formed for the purpose of helping in deserving cases, the master chimney sweepers to purchase the necessary machines, and at the same time, for taking vigilant steps for preventing the Act of Parliament being in any case evaded.
E. S. Ellis, Esq., and several of the leading men of Leicester, formed themselves into a committee, and have been particularly active in the good work, and in the hope, that we shall stimulate other friends of humanity to “go and do likewise,” we give an engraving of an interesting spectacle which the streets of Leicester sometime ago presented.
This Committee having liberally presented a machine to each of the chimney sweepers in the town of Leicester, and finding their gifts valued, they proceeded to extend their liberal hands, and arranged for the holding of a Chimney Sweeper’s Festival to which all the sweeps in the county of Leicester were invited! We are not certain as to the fact, but have heard that there was only one absentee! An excellent and substantial repast was given—-from which all rose perfectly sober, the beverage being wisely drawn from nature’s crystal fountain only.
An excellent address was delivered by Mr. Ellis, prior to the presentation of the machines. A procession was formed, and, preceded by a large banner and band of music, marched round the town. It was the market day, and the “Chimney Sweepers’ Festival” thus became the subject of notoriety far and near.
Leicester has acquitted itself nobly in this great moral movement, and we hope to hear of similar steps being taken in other places.
We shall have more to say on behalf of the poor climbing boys in future numbers.
Written by request, to accompany our illustration on the first page, of “Anxiety,” from the Torrington Park collection.
Thrice the trusty Rollo dived
Where he saw his master sink,
Thrice despairing re-arrived
At that old-pier’s crazy brink;
Thrice he howl’d a requiem drear
As beside the clothes he sat,—
For young Edward should be here
To reclaim his feathered hat.
Bravely leapt the noble boy,
Stoutly battled with the wave,
While good Rollo watch’d with joy
Every stroke the swimmer gave;
Faithful Rollo waited still,
Watch’d the clothes, and patient sat
Docile to his master’s will
By the stripling’s feathered hat.
But, as gallantly he swam,
All at once down went his head!
And from that old wooden dam
Rollo to the rescue sped,—
All in vain! for underneath
Cramp has deeply dragg’d him down
And the bony grasp of death
Dooms the noble boy to drown!
And the weeds among the rocks
Hold him in a slimy chain,
And the sea’s blank surface mocks
Rollo’s sorrowing howl again,
And young Edward’s work is done,
Soon eclipsed in sudden night
Ere his day was well begun,
But—the ways of Heav’n are right!
Look you, Rollo; that fair child
Gone so calmly to his rest
Sleeping pure and undefil’d
Now on holy Jesus’ breast,
Had he lived,—as God knew best,—
He had lived to drown in sin!
Therefore, to be early blest
Mercy’s hand hath dragg’d him in.
– Martin F. Tupper
“For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will give grace and glory; no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.”—Psalm lxxxiv. 11.
SKETCHES OF BEAL LIFE.
BY MRS. C. L. BALFOUR.
Patty walked nearly half way to Blankport, and then got a lift in a market cart, driven by a decent woman whom she knew, who began talking about the wedding. “William Flight has had a good miss of Mary Wilson,” said widow Brown, “for they’re a drinking, idle family at the “Angel” beer-shop, and there’s no hope if people take to that.” Patty thought of her own childhood, and said, “No, indeed.” “I should’nt have been a widow this day but for that place,” said the poor woman, “my husband was one who felt very pleased when the Beer Bill was passed, he used to say it was the people’s rights, and when old Joe Wilson took that place and called it the “Angel,”—-Angel, indeed! it’s an angel of darkness, anyhow—-my Brown staid there drinking till it was very late, and he had to return home on a foggy night. Ah, poor fellow! he never reached home, he fell over the cliff, and it was four days before he was found, dashed to pieces! I’ve had a hard fight for a bit of bread for my children ever since—-I never thougt fit Wilson’s place would prosper, and sure enough Joe Wilson drank himself mad, and died in less than a twelve-month, and his widow and girls have been the ruin of many a one since then. The parish rates may well be heavy when they have to keep most of the widows and orphans that such places make, to say nothing of accidents, and worse than all—-of disgrace and shame that happens to young girls in such places—-ah yes, the parish rates may well be heavy!”
“It’s a pity, neighbour Brown,” said Patty, “that there ain’t more of your way of thinking about beer-shops and public-houses.”
“Ah, I was well brought up as to that, child,” answered the widow, “I grew up in a village in Berkshire, that belonged to a good nobleman who would not suffer a public-house to be opened there. But in time I went away to service, and then I took a fancy to a young man, as good a creature as ever lived, but for one fault—-the drink! and I fancied I could cure him of that—I found my mistake, poor fellow!
I bless God that He gave me grace to keep in the sober way in which I had been trained, because, when my husband died, I was’nt quite destitute; and now my advice to my own children is, as I heard a sailor once say, to ‘steer clear of the drink, and the land-sharks that sell it.’”
By this time they were at Blankport, and what was Patty’s surprise on going to Mrs. Vineer’s little shop, to find a strange man behind the counter. He answered roughly that the woman had moved, and named, to Patty’s surprise, a mean place called “Blue Anchor Alley” as her abode.
With wonder in her mind, and sorrow in her heart, Patty went to the place named, and there, in a wretched garret, she found her former mistress and the younger children. The room was nearly empty—-some old bedding was rolled up in one corner, a rough slab of wood was put over a butter tub in the middle of the room for a table, two old chairs and a box were all the seats the room contained. Mrs. Vineer, looking very pale and thin, was making checked shirts, and her two little girls were helping tier. She burst into tears when she saw Patty, and it was some minutes before she could compose herself to say one word in explanation, at length she exclaimed,
“Oh, Patty, my troubles are greater than I can bear—-my poor heart will break, I’m sure it will!” she said, clasping her thin hands tight round her to still the throbbing that impeded her utterance.
“What has happened, my dear mistress!” said Patty, sitting down by the youngest girl, who began to cry as she saw her mother’s grief.
Gradually, and with many tears and sobs, the poor woman explained that her husband had returned secretly some months before, and that he had demanded money of her, which she had given him to the full extent, and far beyond her means. At last she would supply him no longer, and he came openly drunk, made a riot, and sold off everything, and as Mrs. Vineer had a lease
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of the shop, he had underlet it to a drinking companion of his, and she was obliged to take possession of the miserable garret she now lived in, and take in shirts from a slop shop to get a bit of bread to keep the children from starving.
Bad as this account was, there was yet worse behind. Mrs. Vineer had, by her husband’s orders, sent the eldest child Jane, now a fine grown girl of fourteen very tall of her age, to meet her father and take the money to him. He had perverted her mind by telling her fine stories of what she might earn in London, so that Jane had become restless and dissatisfied, and disobedient to her mother, and both William the eldest boy and Jane had gone tramping off with their unprincipled father. “I once thought,” said Mrs. Vineer, “if I could have got you, Patty, to take care of the three youngest children, I would have followed my husband, for I am distracted when I think of Jane being in the care of her father—-her wicked, cruel father. He’s never sober,” she added, “except when he cannot get drink.”
“But why, ma’am,” said Patty, “did’n you get the law to protect you.”
“Law, child! there’s no law to protect wife against her husband unless he batter her to pieces, she may swear the peace against him then; but he may take the produce of her labour, and strip the house of everything to sell it for drink, and deprive her of her children, and she has no remedy none! he is her husband. Ah, many a woman, Patty, has been driven to despair and become a drunkard herself, to bring her torments to an end, by the cruelty of a bad husband.”
The plain good sense of Patty was sadly perplexed to find that there was no remedy or redress for such wrongs. Marriage seemed to her, for the first time, to be indeed a very serious thing. “If,” thought she, “trouble like this may come after, what need of care beforehand.”
Of course, Patty could not possibly undertake the care of the young children; Mrs. Vineer felt that she had been like a drowning wretch catching at a straw when such a thought had entered into her mind, but she was somewhat comforted by having seen and opened her mind to the faithful, humble friend, who had been so true to her in her former troubles; and when Patty said that if she could get leave of Mrs. Drift, she would go to Miss Maitland and relate the sad story, poor Mrs. Vineer dried her tears, and returned to her shirt seam, (alas, it was but little she could earn at that—half-a-crown a dozen, and find her own thread) meanwhile Patty gathered up the few sticks and cinders in the fireplace, and made the kettle boil, and spent her own money to provide for once a comfortable tea for her former mistress.
As soon as the meal, eaten in tearful silence, was over, Patty was obliged to return homeward. She kissed the children, and told them to be good to their mother, and the tears came into her eyes on leaving the room, as she heard the children say to their mother, “Don’t cry—-we wont go away from you, mother.”
As she walked out of the town, she thought much of Jane Vineer, and it rose as a sort of apology for her that she had been a great favourite of her father’s—-much spoiled by him in her early days, and that her affections would be likely to bind her to him, bad as he was. The younger children, thought Patty, will be free from his influence. While she was meditating on the scene she had witnessed, she came to the corner of a lane that led out of the main road, and heard a voice she knew say, “If I can get out of the kitchen window when our prim-tabbies are all asleep, I’ll be at the dance at the Angel, Tom! but I can’t stay now, or they’ll miss me, for I slipped out at the back door, unbeknown to ’em.” Surprise kept Patty standing mute, just near the corner sheltered by the hedge; in another second a girl, with a shawl over her head, swung round the corner and brushed past her. It was Jane Flight! Patty had heard and seen for herself what this girl, whom she had taken as a friend, really was. Nothing that anyone could have said would have so convinced her, for Patty was, as we all ought to be, slow to believe evil of anyone, particularly of those she loved. But here was proof of lightness, deceit, and utter want of principle. Patty looked down the lane as she passed along, and saw the same young man slinking off that she had before noticed was intimate with Jane Flight.
With an aching heart she pursued her lonely way, for there is nothing so painful as to find ourselves deceived in those our hearts have clung to. And Patty wanted to save her friend from the ruin into which she was falling, and knew not how to do it. Then, as was natural, she thought about William Flight. His conduct at the wedding made her very unhappy—particularly when she thought of all she had witnessed that day; but still her foolish heart kept pleading for him. “Perhaps he never drank before,”—-“Perhaps Tom Wilson attacked and abused him,”—-“Perhaps he never would drink again,” and a great many “perhaps’s” equally foolish and unlikely. At a turn of the road Patty expected to meet a carrier’s cart that passed near to her mistress’s every evening, but she was too late, so she walked on quite fast, not quite liking the lonely road. She had not gone far, when she saw some one approaching. Her heart beat quickly, for she thought the footstep was familiar to her. Yes! it was the person she was thinking about—-William Flight. They recognized each other at the same moment. Patty noticed that he pulled his glazed hat very low over his face, and she thought that even in the gathering darkness she could discern a patch on his temple, and that his eyes and face were bruised.
She spoke to him coldly and hastily in returning his salutation, and was passing on, when he said, “You are not going in that way Patty! it’s lonely, and I’ll walk with you.”
“No, William, I’d rather you did not, I shall soon get home.”
“Not so soon,” said he, turning and and walking by her side.
“I want to be alone,” said Patty bluntly.
“Hoity toity, what’s this?” replied William.
He continued at her side, and she quickened her pace, but could not, of course, outwalk him: he kept asking an explanation, but she made him no answer—-at last, as he tried to take her arm and draw it into his, Patty confronted him and said,—
“William, I’ve my reasons for wishing to go home alone; if you want to know them, you may call tomorrow night at the cottage, and I’ll tell you all that’s in my mind. I’m sure that you’re not such a coward as to persist in coming with me when I say again, I want to be alone, and besides, there’s a duty you have to do at Blankport. Your sister means to slip out to-night after the family are in bed, and go to a dance at Mrs. Wilson’s. I heard her say so to a young man. If you have a brother’s heart, go to her and forbid it. Yes! prevent it, even if you have to tell the ladies of her plan; anything is better than the shame and ruin she is running into.” Patty was so much in earnest that her words sounded strong and resolute, and William was impressed. He began muttering some plea that he might go on, and after that, would return to Blankport and seek his sister.
“Not a step farther with me,” reiterated Patty, “not a step! I’m near farmer Norris’s, and if you persist in going where I don’t want you to, I’ll call there and ask for Nancy the milkmaid to go home with me.”
With something that sounded in Patty’s alarmed ears very like a curse, William obeyed her. Whether he hovered on her path, and watched her home, she never knew, though she suspected it, but he molested her no more, and in great agitation she walked on swiftly, and reached her home just as Mrs. Drift was very much frightened about her.
That night before she slept, Patty opened her heart and told all her sorrows and anxieties to her venerable friend and mistress. It cost her a great effort to do so; but she very wisely feared her own heart, and felt that she wanted advice in her perplexities.
Now, there are many young people who need advice, but who are not very willing to take it. Indeed, when they ask for it, never mean to adopt it unless it pleases them. Patty was, however, sincere, when she said, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, “I want to act right, ma’am, indeed I do.”
“Well,” said her mistress, “you are tired and sad tonight, Patty, we’ll talk this all over in the morning, so get the Bible, and let us, child, commit our way unto the Lord, and remember that he has promised all things shall work together for good to those that fear him.”
Poor Patty tried to think so, but somehow her spirit was heavy within her, and as she laid her throbbing head on her pillow, and thought of the sorrows of her former mistress from a bad husband, and then returned to the intemperance of William and the conduct of his sister—-the words, “Come ye out from among them, and be ye separate,” seemed to sound a solemn warning in the depths of her heart.
She rose languid and unrefreshed from a sleepless light, and when the morning’s work was over and she sat down to her needlework in the little parlour, with her mistress, she listened meekly to that aged pilgrim.
“Old as I am,” said Mrs. Drift, “ I know and can feel for the trials of a young heart, I wish I could tell you, Patty, that I thought it safe. for you to encourage the addresses of this young man, for my time, I feel, cannot be long here, and I should like very well to see you have a prospect of a comfortable home of your own. But, Patty, let Mrs. Vineer’s case make you cautious. A husband that drinks can make a woman so miserable that she may die a hundred deaths before she can be released from him. Often it’s the ruin of both body and soul, all comfort here and all hopes hereafter. Once married, it’s all over. Therefore the time to make sure is before marriage. Now, this William may be all you say—-a fine young man and a skilful mechanic, earning good wages, but he wants the two main requisites—-faith towards God, practice towards man. If he was religious and perfectly sober, it would be another thing.”
“Is it impossible for him to become so?” said poor Patty.
“No, nothing is impossible. If he loves you as a good industrious girl deserves to be loved, he will change his whole conduct. He will be regular at the house of God, give up the public-house altogether, and continue in that course for such a time as shall fully convince you he is really in earnest and totally changed. That’s what you should require of him, and less than that would be ‘hasty folly to be repented of at leisure.’ When he has done that—-then, and not till then, should you think of him as a husband.”
“If, then, he asks me for the explanation I promised him, should I tell him that, ma’am?”
“Yes!” said Mrs. Drift, “and now, Patty, what do you mean to do about Jane Flight?”
“I pity her,” said Patty, “but until she alters very much, I shall never call her my friend again.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Drift, “you are clear about that.”
Patty felt very angry with herself when she reflected how much more decided she had been to give up an unworthy friend, than an unworthy lover. But she went to the strong for strength, and prayed for grace to follow good advice and to act as became a Christian. When the evening came, and she heard William’s footstep, she compelled herself to appear calm as she let lim into the little kitchen. She was strengthened in her resolution by observing that he looked not only cross, but flushed with drink.
(To be concluded in our next.)
A lady writes us, “Last summer I had some hours to stay in Taunton, waiting for a coach to take me to a little town seven miles off. I employed the time in strolling with friends in the fields to see the haymakers. I was struck with the intelligent countenance of one man who seemed an overlooker or foreman, and I asked him the question, “Do you think strong drink needful for the haymakers or harvesters?”
“They want drink,” he said, “for working in the heat makes them very thirsty, but not ‘strong drink,’ for that, instead of quenching thirst, adds to it. Coffee, tea, milk and water, or butter milk, are far more refreshing than beer and ale,” was the reply of the hale strong man.
Thursday, October 1st, was a day of festivity in the village of Pavenham, in celebration of the harvest home at the Bury Farm. All the men employed, with their wives, sat down with Mr. Tucker, his family and friends, about sixty in number, to an excellent dinner of roast beef and plum pudding, in the school room at three o’clock, followed by tea at six, after which several gentlemen addressed the company, strongly urging on the men the importance of religion, education, temperance, industry, &c. Several of the men expressed their hearty satisfaction with the arrangements which had been made for their comfort in the field. Every man during the harvest was allowed one quart of tea or coffee at eleven, and the same quantity at three; and when stacking, an additional supply of tea, with bread and butter, at five, besides a sum of money equal to the usual allowance of beer. This is the third season the harvest has been got in on this plan, and the result is most satisfactory. Many who thought it impossible to mow or reap without beer now declare they can do either as well or better without, provided they have a supply of good food and cooling beverages.
In the fields there was no quarrelling, swearing, or rude behaviour; the work went quietly on, to the satisfaction both of the employer and employed, and there is no lack of men able and willing to work on these terms.—From a Correspondent.
TWO HARVEST HOME SUPPERS
Two large and influential farmers, residing near the ancient city of York, held their “Mell Suppers” on Monday evening, the 22nd September, 1856. One of them, whose name we are glad to mention with honour, Mr. Earle of the Roans, determined, that whilst he would give his Harvesters a first rate and bountiful repast, that the intoxicating cup should be forbidden from the hospitable board. The justice which was done to the roast beef and pudding, tea, coffee, and other good things by the guests—-their happy and orderly conduct, and their freedom from, head and heartaches the next morning, testified to the wisdom of Mr. Earle in substituting unintoxicating for intoxicating beverages. At the same hour, the other farmer held his Mell supper; he also had a similar supply of good provisions, but he discarded the tea and the coffee, and set before his guests ale and spirits, which, like the fly in the ointment, spoilt the whole. They drank and drank again, for there is a cruel tyranny in the drinking customs which carries many a man step by step down the inclined plane, who never intended to slide. Amongst the guests was a boy aged 14, a scholar in the Sheriff Hutton Sunday School. He sat next to the waggoner who gave the lad his glass of gin and water. “Drink again, my lad,” and again the boy partook of the fiery compound. The temptation had not to be offered a third time, for now the boy, half frenzied, snatched the glass and drank deeply. He was soon unable to stand, and was carried like a log on the shoulder of a man, to his father’s cottage and there laid on the floor. He spake not! The doctor was sent for, but it was too late-—the vital spark had fled—-the little active fellow who had talked so merrily to his father at noon, was now a corpse—-a victim to the drinking customs of his country!
A BAD SUNDAY’S WORK.
Passing one morning the door of Marylebone workhouse, I saw to my surprise, among the crowd of poor creatures waiting there for relief, a woman in a dirty widow’s cap, whom I had known as the wife of a skilful mechanic.
“Mrs. G—–” I said, “I am grieved to see you here.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, following me a few paces to the street corner, her lips quivering, and the tears starting in her eyes, “I’m a widow and destitute. James has been dead nearly a year, he fell overboard a steamer one Sunday when we had been to Gravesend. Poor fellow! he had been drinking, and it was getting dark, and there was a great rush to the last boat, and somehow he lost his footing, and there was a cry of ‘a man overboard!’ before I noticed that he was not at my side. Ah! me, it was a bad Sunday’s work for me!”
I inquired about her children.
“There’s three of ’em,” she answered, and I’ve bit by bit, been obliged to sell everything, for though my poor husband earned good wages, he and I too loved pleasure, and Sunday was the only day we had to take it, and so our money went, and now I am come to the worst, for I’m obliged to go into the workhouse.”
“I wish,” I said, with a sigh, “you knew what true pleasure is.”
“Ah,” replied the poor woman,” I remember you lent me good books, and told me to keep the Sabbath. I wish I had. Oh, I wish I had, for then, perhaps, this ruin would not have come upon me”—-at that moment the door opened, and she rushed to enter, but the heart-stricken way in which she spoke, thrilled through me. Oh reader, the Scripture says, “Every wise woman buildeth her house, but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands.” B.
SONGS FOR THE PEOPLE.
THE WORKMAN’S SABBATH.
Respite from the shop and loom,
Respite from the toiler’s doom,
From the ceaseless whirl of wheels,
From the anvil’s iron peals,
From the fierce unkindly strife,
From the bonds of week-day life.
Now the engine stays its roar,
The machinery’s whirl is o’er,
Now no mill-bell loud and deep,
Wakes the little ones from sleep,
And no crowd of workmen waits
Shivering at the factory gates.
From the pit-shaft spring to light,
Men whose week is one long night;
Buried in earth’s caverns vast,
They the six long days have passed;
Now their weary work is done,
How they smile to see the sun!
On the fruitful upper soil
Now the peasant leaves his toil;
Creeps no more the burdened wain,
Down the peaceful country lane,
And the labourer, with free hands,
In the Sabbath sunlight stands.
What a change one day has made!
All the teeming haunts of trade
Are deserted by the crowd,
And the week-day tumult loud,
In the market and the square,
Troubles not the Sabbath air.
From the tower and steeple tall,
The sweet bells to worship call,
Through the porch, and open door
Go alike the rich and poor;
Sabbaths bring them side by side,
Whom the week has scattered wide.
LABOUR’S THANKSGIVING HYMN.
That I must work I thank thee, God!
I know that hardship, toil, and pain,
Like rigorous winter in the sod.
Which doth mature the hardy grain,
Call forth in man his noblest powers;
Therefore I hold my head erect,
And amid life’s severest hours,
Stand stedfast in my self-respect.
I thank thee, God, that I must toil!
Yon ermined slave, of lineage high.
The game-law lord, who owns the soil,
Is not a man so free as I!
He wears the fetter of his clan;
Wealth, birth, and rank, have hedged him in;
I heed but this—that I am man,
And to the great of mind akin.
Thank God, that, like the mountain oak,
My lot is with the storms of life;
Strength grows from out the tempest’s shock,
And patience in the daily strife.
The hardened hand, the furrowed brow,
Degrade not, howe’er sloth may deem;
’Tis this degrades—to cringe and bow,
And ape the vice we disesteem.
Thank God for toil, for hardships, whence
Come courage, patience, hardihood;
And for that sad experience
Which leaves our bosoms flesh and blood;
Which leaves us tears for others’ woe.
Brother in toil, respect thyself,
And let thy stedfast virtues show
That man is nobler far than pelf.
Thank God for toil! nor fear the face
Of wealth nor rank—fear only sin;
That blight which mars all outward grace,
And dims the light of peace within.
Give me thy hand, my brother give
The hard yet honest hand to me;
We are not dreamers—we shall live
A brighter, better day to see.
“Coffee, tea, milk and water, or butter milk are far more refreshing.”
Uncorrected OCR-PAGE 92
THE BRITISH WORKMAN.
It is often said of persons who get drunk that they “drink like beasts.” There is no propriety in such an expression. Beasts drink water when they are thirsty. It is not often they can be induced to drink anything else. If all men and women would do as well as the beasts in this respect, we should not have one drunkard in our country.
NOTICES OE PUBLICATIONS.
Matthew Henry’s Commentary. Pictorial Edition. Part I. Partridge & Co. We have examined this first Part of Matthew Henry’s great work with some attention, and are greatly pleased to find how very attractive, economical, and complete this edition is. It is just the work we should like to see on the book shelf of every workman in the three kingdoms, and we know no reason why it should not be, now it can be had in three-halfpenny numbers.
The British Messenger. This most valuable monthly religious broadsheet, which is published by the well-known Mr. Peter Drummond, of Stirling, has attained the large circulation of ninety thousand copies. We regard it as one of the most useful periodicals ever published in this or any other country.
PUBLICATIONS FOR THE SUPPRESSION OE INTEMPERANCE.
A Packet of the following 14 publications (12 of them illustrated) sent post free on receipt of eighteen postage stamps by S. W. Partridge, No. 9, Paternoster Row, London.
1. The Sailor’s Home. 9. The Unfaithful Steward.
2. The Goose Club 10. Let every Man mind his
3. The Man in the Well. own Business.
4. The Leather Almanac. 11. Cold Water Boy.
5. The Door in the Heart. 12. Speak Kindly.
6. The Ox Sermon. 13. What are Bands of Hope?
7. The Press Gang. and How to Form them.
8. Water is Best. 14. Two Christmas Days.
We have pleasure in calling the attention of our readers to the above publications; an extensive circulation of them prior to the approaching Christmas, will, we doubt not, prevent many cases of intemperance.
THE BULLET IN THE BIBLE.
Old Dr. John Evans, in one of his sermons to the young said:—“Shall I be allowed to preface this discourse with relating a passage concerning an acquaintance of mine, who has been many years dead, but which I remember to have received when young, from himself? When he was an apprentice, the civil war began; his inclination led him into the army, where he had a captain’s commission. It was fashionable for all the men of the army to carry a Bible along with them; this, therefore, he and many others did, who yet made little use of it, and hardly had any sense of religion. At length he was commanded, with his company, to storm a fort, wherein they were for a short time exposed to the thickest of the enemy’s fire. When over, he found that a musket-ball had lodged in his Bible, which was in his pocket upon such a part of his body that the shot must necessarily have proved mortal had it not been for this seasonable and well-placed piece of armour. Upon a nearer observation, he found the ball had made its way so far in his Bible, as to rest directly upon that part of the first unbroken leaf, where the words of my text are found. It was Eccles. xi. 9: “Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart; and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.” As the surprising deliverance, you may apprehend, much affected him, so a passage, which his conscience told him was very apposite to his case, and which Providence in so remarkable a way pointed to his observation, made the deepest and best impression on his mind; and, by the grace of God, he from that time attended to religion in earnest, and continued in the practice of it to a good old age, frequently making the remark with pleasure, that the Bible had been the salvation both of his body and his soul.”
The late Joseph Agar Esq. of York, who rose from the ranks of working men, and became one of the wealthiest and most liberal men in that ancient city—-a man well known for his keen observation and sound judgment, once said to us, “London is the best or the worst place in the world for a young man to go to; for a young man of fixed religious principles, and industrious habits, there is no place where he can learn so much within so short a time, as in London, but for a young man of unstable habits, and without religious principles, there is no place where he will be so soon ruined,” Tens of thousands can bear testimony to the truth of this observation. Every year, young men are coming up to London from all parts of the country,for instruction in various trades and professions, which they have chosen, and it is important for such to know, that, although the metropolis abounds with dangers to youth, there are not a few agencies at work for their special benefit. There is one Institution which deserves to be made known to every parent and youth throughout the land—-The Young Men’s Christian Association. (165 Aldersgate Street.) We have heard the most delightful testimonies from young men, of this Institution, having proved to them “a harbour of refuge” amid the storms of London temptations. We have a special object in penning this notice, as we desire to do honour to our highly esteemed friend, T. H. Tarlton, Esq., whose untiring labours during the past ten years have raised the Young Men’s Christian Association, step by step, from a very small beginning, until it now ranks amongst the most important institutions in this Christian country. It richly merits the warmest support of all classes.
The merry bells of the fine old abbey church at Malvern, recently announced that a wedding had just taken place. The numerous assemblage that lined the path from the old abbey to the vicarage, and the flowers they had scattered, told that the bridal pair were those whom the people delighted to honour. It was the Honorary Secretary of the Young Men’s Christian Association, with his happy bride—half-an-hour ago Miss Tatham, but now Mrs. T. H. Tarlton, well known to many of our St. John’s Wood readers, as the ward of the worthy Vicar of Malvern. Mr. Tarlton is about to enter the church, and we heartily join with the tens of thousands of young men who have benefitted by his counsel and Bible Class teachings, in the earnest prayer that his future labours in the pulpit, may, like his past labours amongst the young men of London, be signally owned and blessed by God.
THE DYING ATHEIST.
Some years ago, I was invited by a pious lady to visit her dying son, who was an avowed atheist. On approaching the couch on which he was reclining the following conversation took place:— “Pray, sir, what is your object in visiting me?”—-“To see my young friend, if I can say any thing that can comfort you in your affliction.”
“If you wish to do me a kindness, sir, take me up and dash my brains out against the wall.”
“Allow me, I pray you, to put to you the important question, are you quite ready to leave this world, and prepared for all that awaits you in the next?”
“Oh, I suppose you think that I shall then be punished for my sins. But first of all, I do not believe that there is a God, and then admitting that there were, I cannot think that it would be just for him to punish me as I have only acted in accordance with the faculties and the disposition which I received from him and consequently am no more responsible for my conduct than a piece of mechanism is for the manner in which it acts.”
“As to your disbelief in the being of a God, why your own existence is explicable only on the ground that there is an uncreated Great First Cause. And as to man not being responsible for his conduct, I have no doubt that you yourself deem it right to punish others for their crimes. Should you, for instance, meet a man who, like Burke the assassin, cares not what pain he inflicts on others, so that he may attain his own selfish ends, you would turn your back upon him and have no connection with him, and thus show your disapprobation, if not your abhorrence, of his conduct; and in so acting you in effect would punish him. And yet he could vindicate his innocency on the very ground taken by yourself, namely, that he acted only in accordance with the faculties and disposition which were given him.”
“Yes, what you say is true; but how light the punishment that I should thus inflict in comparison with that which Christians say will be awarded to unpardoned sinners in the future world.”
“Granted. But the question returns, why should Burke, if according to your principles, he was entirely innocent, and in no degree answerable for his conduct, be punished at all? Upon your principles, you ought to regard Burke, the murderer, and Howard, the philanthropist, as perfectly on a par, and be as friendly to the one as to the other.”
The youth at once perceived that the ground on which he had been resting was quite untenable. He made no reply, but listened to Christian truth and counsel, and to a prayer offered on his behalf.
A few days after, he died, calling on God for mercy in the name of Jesus Christ.—-Rev. H. Townley.
CONSOLATION IN TRIAL.
I once knew a worthy old man named Anthony Simpson, of Spaldington, who, by the bankruptcy of a brother, became penniless, and who, but for the charity of a kind hearted farmer, must have ended his days in the workhouse. He cheerfully employed himself in carrying milk and refreshments to the labourers, and in other similar offices on the farm. Although reduced from plenty to penury, I never heard him murmur, and on enquiring how this was, he replied, “God has permitted me to be tried, but I can trust him where I cannot trace him—-I believe that when I get to glory, I shall then see that this sore trial has been amongst the “all things” working together for my good. The consolations of my Bible are doubly precious to me, now that my earthly treasures are gone.”
Reader, has it ever occurred to you why so many when they fall into trouble commit suicide? Is it not because they lack the consolations of religion, which were the support of Anthony Simpson in his hour of trial? Thank God, there is the same succour for you.—S