Image and PDF Files
[dg new_window=”true” orderby=”name” ids=”703,702,701,700,699″]
Embedded PDF
Navigate using up and down arrows at top or bottom of viewer.
BW1-21Uncorrected OCR Text
Uncorrected OCR-PAGE 81
BRITISH WORKMAN
AND FRIEND OF THE
SONS OF TOIL
No. 21]
Published for the Editor by S.W. PARTRIDGE, at the Office of the “British Workman,” No. 9, Paternoster Row, London. [Price One Penny.
TO OUR READERS.
OUR circulation is upwards of 30,000 below the self-supporting point, so that we have, in addition to time and labour, to sustain a considerable monthly money loss.
May we therefore urge our readers to do what they can to increase the number of regular monthly subscribers.
The following are effective modes of extending the circulation: getting Booksellers to expose copies for sale in their windows; recommending employers to present copies to their men, with the intention of inducing them to purchase the future numbers for themselves; getting parties who are not near any bookseller to join together in ordering a monthly packet, per post, direct from the publisher. See next page.
MAD BULLS.
In the next article we give an amusing account of Old Humphrey’s way of managing a mad bull, and we trust that the perusal thereof will not be without benefit to many.
Simple as Old Humphrey found his method to be with a four-legged mad bull, there are, in most parts of England, Ireland, and Scotland, some two-legged mad bulls who are not so easily managed. We allude to the savage wife beaters, whose disgraceful doings are blackening the records of our police courts and rendering us a bye-word amongst the nations.
How these mad bulls are to be managed is a question which is perplexing some of the wisest heads both in and out of parliament.
We are in communication with several members of the legislature, who are anxious to find out the best method of dealing with these wife-beaters, and we shall be glad to receive any practical suggestions on the subject. Several original modes of punishment have been suggested, some of which we shall notice at length in a future number.
HOW TO MANAGE A MAD BULL.
I was once attacked by a bull, as mad, to all appearance, as rage could make him; but for all this I managed him. He came at me with a rush and a roar; not with a gentle trot or moderate run, setting down one foot and then another, but at full gallop, two feet and two feet together. Many things will be forgotten by me before I forget this attack of the mad bull.
Where there are many men. there are many minds; and certainly I have heard of very different methods of managing a mad bull; but the worst of it is there is some difficulty in the way of all of them.
One method is, to open an umbrella suddenly in the very face of the bull, that he may be taken by surprise, and find himself running off flourishing his tail higher than his back before he is aware. The objection to this course is, that if you do not happen to have an umbrella with you, the animal will decidedly not wait until you fetch one.
Another mode is, when the bull is coming at you, to open your eyes wide and fix them upon him, that he may be overawed by you. But this plan of frightening a bull by outstaring him is not to be relied on, and I tell you why; when a bull comes near enough to do you a mischief, he puts his head so close to the ground that I much question whether he can see your eyes at all. Now. if he cannot see them, he is not at all likely to be frightened at them.
A third way is, calmly to wait the attack of the enraged creature and just at the moment when he is about to toss you, to toss him. There is, however so much real difficulty in this mode, that I advise you never to attempt it. I managed my mad bull in a very different way.
If I had grappled with him, he would have been too strong for me if I had talked to him, his voice would have been louder than mine; if I undertaken to outrun him, it is ten to one but he would have beaten me; and then, I was defenceless while he was armed with strong sharp horns. There happened to be a high gate close to me, so I nimbly mounted over it, and thus managed the mad bull by getting out of his way.
But think not, because my remarks hitherto have been a little humorous, that I mean them to be useless; on the contrary, I hope to turn them to advantage, for there are many things in the world beside mad bulls which can only be managed by getting out of their way.
A fearful thing it is to stand over a precipice, or to go into deep water if we cannot swim, or cross a bog or a quicksand; and multitudes have perished, who, had they kept away from these places would have been secure. Where duty calls we must go; but when this is not the case, the only way to be quite safe is to keep away from the cause of danger. As it is with the quicksand and the bog, the deep water and the precipice, so it is with anger and folly and sin, the only plan to manage them is to get out of their way.
If you think for a moment that you can associate with an angry man and keep your temper, believe me you are under a delusion. Again and again have I fallen into this error. However vigilantly I have been on my guard, one word has brought on another, till, growing warm by degrees, I have felt my face and my heart glow with unchristian emotions. This has afterwards given me pain. “Cease from anger, and forsake wrath,” Psalm xxxvii. 8. “Make no friendship with an angry man, and with a furious man thou shalt not go,” Proverbs xxii. 24. The only mode to manage an angry man is to get out of his way.
Neither can you make a foolish man your companion without smarting for it. At first, it is true, you might be all alive to his folly; but after a time you would regard it with indifference, and in many instances perhaps practise it. The word of God speaks forcibly on this subject, “Let a bear robbed of her whelps meet a man rather than a fool m his folly,” Proverbs xvii. 12. The only method to manage a foolish man is to get out of his way.
But if what I have said of the angry
“A Sea Scene.” See next page.
Uncorrected OCR-PAGE 82
82
THE BRITISH WORKMAN.
man and the foolish man be true, it is especially so of the wicked man. You may as well hope to walk through a quagmire and have clean feet, and to handle pitch and have clean hands, as to make a companion of a wicked man without partaking of sin and sorrow. “Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away,” Proverbs iv. 14, 15. There can be no dealing with a wicked man in safety; the only mode to manage him is to get out of his way.
I have not told you how I managed the mad bull merely for the sake of putting a smile on your faces; I have rather calculated on putting a lesson into your hearts, a lesson, which though not unknown to you, we all require to be reminded of again and again. Think over the points which have been brought before you, humbly and wisely, and fail not to “watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation.” When duty calls you, resist evil boldly and at all hazards, looking up for strength; but at other seasons be not ashamed to turn your backs on sin in every shape. You are never safe when you are near it.
The fool in the path of temptation may stay.
But you must act wisely—yet out of the way.
George Mogridge.
VALUE OF A TRADE.
The late Stephen Gerard, of Philadelphia, had a favourite clerk, one who every way pleased, and who, after a term of years’ service, expected Mr. G. to say something of his future prospects, and perhaps, lend him a helping hand in starting in the world. But Mr. G. said nothing.
At length the clerk mustered courage enough to address Mr. G. upon the subject.
“I suppose, sir,” said the clerk, “I am free, and I thought I would Say something to you as to my future course.”
“Yes, yes, I know you are,” said Mr.. G., “and my advice to you is, that you go and learn the coopers’ trade.”
This announcement well nigh threw the clerk off his balance; but, recovering his equilibrium, he said if Mr. G. was in earnest he would do so.
“I am in earnest,” was the reply. The clerk, rather hesitatingly sought one of the best coopers, and agreed with him upon terms of apprenticeship, and went at it in good earnest, and in the course of time made as good a barrel as any body.
He went and told Mr. Gerard he had graduated with all the honors of the craft, and was ready to set up his business, at which the old man seemed gratified, and told him to make three of the best barrels he could. The young cooper selected the best material he could, and soon put in shape and finished three of the best barrels, and wheeled them up to the old man’s counting-house. Mr. G. said the barrels were first rate, and demanded the price.
“Five shillings each,” replied the clerk; “it is as low as I can live by.”
“Cheap enough!” said the employer; “make out your bill and present it.”
And now comes the cream of the whole; Mr. G. drew a cheque for £1000, and handed it to the clerk, closing with these words, “There, take that, and invest it in the best possible way, and if you are unfortunate and lose it, you have a trade to fall back upon, which will afford you a living.”
CLOSING OF PUBLIC HOUSES
ON SUNDAY IN EDINBURGH
The Edinburgh superintendent of police has recently issued some important statistics of crime and drunkenness in that city during the last four years.
The following extract, showing the number of cases of drunkenness, and of apprehensions for crime of persons when drunk, between the hours of 8 o’clock on Sunday morning and 8 o’clock on Monday morning, exhibits the beneficial working of Mr. Forbes Mackenzie’s public house bill.
CASES IN THE FOUR YEARS.
1852 1853 1854 1855
709 648 341 143
A SLAVE-GIRL RANSOMED.
REMARKABLE SCENE IN A CHURCH.
At the conclusion of the sermon on Sunday morning, June 1st., the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher announced to his congregation that he was about to perform an action of a most extraordinary nature, which he would preface by reading a portion of the 12th chapter of Matthew. He accordingly read the 10th, 11th, and 12th verses of that chapter, after which he proceeded to give a sketch of the later history of a slave-girl, Sarah by name, an appeal on whose behalf he had lately received. She was, he said, the daughter of a Southern planter, acknowledged by himself as his own offspring, and reared in his own family, until his other daughters growing up, had treated her so cruelly that she attempted to escape. She was captured and taken back to her paternal master, who made immediate preparations to sell her to the extreme south, refusing to dispose of her to any one who would permit her to remain in the neighbourhood. Many persons in the vicinity, knowing her to be a most faithful, efficient, and therefore valuable piece of property, were anxious to purchase her; but her owner utterly refused to sell her to them, his object being to have her removed to so great a distance that her near relation to the others of his children could occasion them no further mortification. She was, accordingly, sold to a southern man, who held her at 1,500 dollars, but who finally consented to part with her for 1,200 dollars. A slaveholder in Washington, pitying the girl, bought her for the latter sum—-immediately, however, setting on foot a subscription to enable her to purchase her freedom, he himself contributing 100 dollars; another man, also a slaveholder, gave 100 dollars, and 700 dollars were finally obtained. “At this juncture,” said Mr. Beecher, “I received a letter, asking if we could do anything toward making up the rest of the money, to which I replied that I would promise nothing unless we could see her here.”
The reverend gentleman here stepped from his desk, and, with an encouraging “Come up, Sarah,” he led upon the platform a young, intelligent looking mulatto-girl, whom he presented to the crowded audience as the slave-girl in question. She is apparently about 23 years old, probably three-quarters white, of very pleasing and modest appearance. Mr. Beecher seated her in a chair by his side, while he continued his remarks. She was here, he said, on her parole of honour. She had promised to go back, and she must return, either with or without the 500 dollars which were yet necessary to make her a free woman. A collection would be made, and the result would show their verdict.
By this time there was hardly a dry eye in the whole immense congregation of nearly 3,000 people. Men wept and women sobbed-—not shamefacedly, but openly, and without any attempt at concealment. All seemed to be touched to the very heart. In a Christian land, on the Christian Sabbath, in the pulpit of a Christian church, by the lips of a Christian Minister, a trembling, shrinking woman begged from a Christian people money to save herself from a life of slavery and compulsory prostitution.
One gentleman here rose, and announced that the money should be forthcoming to make her free; and that, if necessary, he would be personally responsible for the entire amount. This announcement was received with hearty and long-continued applause, the audience being no longer able to restrain their feelings. Sarah, the slave girl, had, up to this time preserved a tolerable composure, but, when the certainty was declared that she should not go back to a life of slavery, she buried her face in her handkerchief and wept aloud.
As the collectors passed among the audience, the plates were actually heaped up with the tokens of substantial sympathy; one lady even took the jewellery from her person and cast it into the plate. The amount collected on the spot was 784 dollars, which, besides completing the sum necessary for the purchase of Sarah, will also rescue her child, a boy of four years, who is now in bondage.
The scene was one of the most remarkable and exciting ever enacted in this country before a religious congregation; and the instantaneous and most satisfactory pecuniary response to the plea for liberty shows that the Anti-Slavery sentiment is ready, when occasion requires, to indicate its sincerity by arguments more tangible and substantial than mere words.—New York Tribune.
AN AMERICAN SLAVE AUCTION.
AMERICAN SLAVE AUCTIONS.
Whilst in one of the London news rooms some time ago, we observed several copies of the New Orleans Semi-Weekly Bulletin on the stand. On glancing over the pages, we read as follows:—
Sale by Auction on April 17, by Beard and May, at Banks’ Arcade, by order of The Hon. J. N. Lea, Judge of the second District Court, the following described real estate and slaves.
A certain lot or portion of land, &c.
The negroes comprise, Mike, aged 25 years, driver and ostler. George, 28, do. Monday, 25, driver. Saunders, 22, do., (now in jail.)
Terms of Sale—For the slaves, Cash.
Another advertisement read as follows—
Valuable Plantations, Negroes, &c., &c. To be sold by Palfrey, and Beard and May, by Public Auction,
A plantation, &c.
There are upon and belonging to the place, 50 slaves, with mules, horses, oxen, sheep, and hogs, and corn in abundance. Catalogue, with a description of the slaves may be had of the auctioneer.
Another advertisement announced the sale by auction of
Jane and her two children. Terms, Cash.
Another,
William, 26 years, house servant. Helen, 24, cook, sickly. Abram, 60. (!) Baldy, 50.
Another, and we could weep over the shame of the “land of the free” as we write it,
The negress Lonterie, aged 12, a house girl. The woman Rose, aged 26, house servant, now pregnant.
Another announced the sale of a long list of our fellow creatures, and amongst them, Bailey, 55 years, field hand, ruptured. Gertrude, 25, field hand, and her daughter Augusta, 3 years. Martonne, 60 years, crazy. Louis, 75 years, (!) Baptiste, 65, field hand, subject to rheumatism.
* * * * *
Many of our readers will be ready to exclaim, “These things took place in the dark ages, hundreds of years ago. surely? Alas, these are now almost daily occurrences in the southern States of America, and even in the northern states the abominable Fugitive Slave law (about which we shall have somewhat to say in a future number) is so far adopted that many a poor escaped slave has within the last year been dragged back to the south, there to end his days in the horrors of slavery.
An eye-witness thus describes one of the American slave auctions.
“At one end was seated the auctioneer, at the other was placed a chair for the negro to stand on, in order to be exposed to the view of the purchasers. All being in readiness, the slaves were brought in, one at a time, and placed upon the chair before the bidders, who handled and inspected them with as little concern as if they had been examining cattle at Smithfield Market. They turned them about, felt them, viewed their shape and their limbs, looked into their mouths, made them jump and throw out their arms, and subjected them to all the means of trial, as if they were dealing for a horse. In the course of the sale, a, tall and robust negro, on being brought into the auction room, approached the table with a fine negress hanging upon his arm. The man was ordered to mount the chair. He obeyed, though manifestly with reluctance; his bosom heaved, and grief was in his eyes. The woman remained in the crowd.
A certain price was mentioned, to set the purchase forward, and the bidding commenced; but on the slave being desired to exhibit the activity of his limbs, and to display his person, he sunk his chin upon his breast, and hung down his head in positive refusal; then, looking at the woman, made signs expressive of great distress. Next, he pointed to her, and then to the chair, evidently intimating that he desired to have her placed by his side. She was his chosen wife, and nature was correctly intelligible. Not obtaining immediate acquiescence, he became agitated and impatient. The sale was interrupted; and as he could not be prevailed upon to move a single muscle, by way of exhibiting his person, the proceedings were at a stand. He looked again at the woman, again pointed to the chair, held up two fingers to the auctioneer, and implored the multitude in anxious suppliant gestures. Upon his countenance was marked the combined expression of sorrow, affection, and alarm. He grew more and more restless, and repeated signs, which seemed to say, ‘Let us be sold together; give me my heart’s choice as the partner of my days, then dispose of me as you please, and I will he content to wear out my life in the heavy toils of bondage.’ It was nature that spoke, and her language could not he mistaken. Humanity could no longer resist the appeal; and it was universally agreed that they should make but one lot. A second chair was now brought, and the woman was placed by the side of her husband. His countenance instantly brightened, he hung upon the neck of his wife, and embraced her with rapture, then folding her in his arms, and pressing her to his bosom, he became composed, and looked round with a smile of complacency, which plainly said. ‘Proceed — I am your’s — your’s—or your’s; let this he the associate of my toils, and I am satisfied.’ The bidding was renewed, and the two were sold together.”
A SAD SEA SCENE.
“Jack, do you remember Bill M’Fillen,” enquired a Liverpool sailor of a comrade.
“Yes, lad, well, he sailed as first mate from our port in the Countess of Wilton for China and the Indian Seas, two or three years ago.”
“Right! did you ever hear of his sad finish?”
“No! if you know, tell us.”
“Poor fellow, he was as good a sailor as ever stepped on deck; he would have made a good captain, although hot tempered, for he was a steady fellow, but he unfortunately sailed under a captain that drank hard. One day, when near the Indian coast, the captain was drunk, as usual, in his cabin; he sent for M’Fillen, and treated him shamefully. M’Fillen had been cruelly treated many times before, when the captain was in liquor, but now he lost all command over himself, and seizing the captain’s cutlass, he killed him on the spot. M’Fillen was put under guard, and the second mate took command. A week after, M’Fillen was crossing the deck, and whilst the guard was looking another way, he made a sudden spring, and overboard he went in a moment. A rope was thrown out, but the poor fellow made not the least effort to save himself. He sank out of sight before either ship could be stopped or boat lowered. It was a sad end, Jack. If there had been no grog on board, both the captain and mate might still have been living. Give me a good ship and a sober captain, Jack.”
THE LORD’S DAY.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: the Day of Him
Who died our souls to save;
On which, that we might rise again,
He rose up from the grave.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: the day of rest
From worldly work and care;
Sacred to study of God’s word,
With thanksgiving and prayer.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: let rich and poor,
All equal in his sight,
In worshipping his holy Name
With one accord unite.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: and made for man
To spend in gladly doing
Works of necessity and love,
No vain delights pursuing.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: let neither gain,
Nor pleasure, on this day,
Tempt us to profit by man’s work,
Or mingle in man’s play.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: and not our own.
Our work, and rest, and bliss,
Our words and walks, our tunes and songs,
All shall this day be his.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: all is the Lord’s;
Not morning more than noon,
Nor noon than evening: all his own-;
To us his gracious boon.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: his gift to man,
A gift of priceless worth;
To ’mind us of our heavenly home,
Each week we spend on earth.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: hallowed for us,
In token of God’s love;
A foretaste given, to make us long
For better rest above.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: Lord keep it thine;
Guard it, and us, from those
Who seek to rob our weary souls
Of this divine repose.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: ah! surely they
Their vain attempt shall rue,
Who bid us use it as our own:
They know not what they do.
’Tis the Lord’s Day: let all enjoy
Their Sabbaths, Lord, as thine:
Hallowed and cheered by Grace, and Peace,
Faith, Hope, and Love divine!
-C G.
Marylebone, London, May, 1856.
NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.
Mr. Wm. Spriggs. We have received the following gratifying letter from this untiring labourer, whose efforts for the reclamation of the intemperate have been so extensively blessed. The valuable suggestion for promoting our circulation, will, we trust, he adopted by not a few.
Winchester, July 29, 1856. My dear Sir,—Whilst residing at Hitchin in the capacity of temperance missionary at the latter end of last year and the beginning of the present, a kind and influential friend of social and moral improvement, desirous of promoting the circulation of your valuable periodical, suggested the experiment of leaving a single paper for perusal at the abodes of those persons whom the work itself is more directly designed to interest.
I acted upon the suggestion, and in the space of about three months obtained nearly 150 subscribers. On leaving the place, the town missionary, Mr. James Banks (a most worthy character) undertook the delivery, and when I saw him a short time ago, he informed me that the circulation had increased to upwards of 700 monthly, with still improving prospects. I am well pleased to forward you this information, believing the British Workman needs only to be known to be duly appreciated. I am glad to hear from various sources that the work is becoming extensively patronized by the clergy. It is scarcely necessary to add that I am more than willing to embrace every opportunity of promoting the circulation of the British Workman to an extent commensurate with its deserts. With much esteem, I am,
Yours very sincerely,
W. Spriggs.
A Sabbath of quiet, and worship, and rest,
For soul and for body is surely the best;
But a Sabbath of pleasure could scarcely endure,
Ere long ’twould be filched from the labouring poor;
All rest for the workman would vanish away,
Leaving seven days of toil for but six days of pay.
– S. W. P.
Uncorrected OCR-PAGE 83
THE BRITISH WORKMAN.
83
PERSEVERANCE;
OR,
SCENES FROM REAL LIFE.
BY MRS. C. L. BALFOUR.
CHAPTER VIII.
For the first time in her whole life, Patty was now perfectly happy. Her new place, with the kind friend whose words of wisdom had been both a comfort and a guide to the destitute girl, was all that could be desired. It seemed that the son of Patty’s new mistress had had his full share of the trials of a seaman’s life. When quite a boy, he had followed his own inclinations rather than his widowed mother’s wishes in going to sea. He had made long voyages to India, China, and Australia during his youth, and having the benefit of some education, he learned navigation, and became an able and trustworthy seaman. Years passed from the time of his first voyage before he visited the home of his childhood; when he did, he found his only sister married, and his mother living in comfort with her, so that he left his native land with a light heart, and continued to make such progress that after some years upon the rolling deep as mate of a vessel, and seeing many countries and ports, and twice being shipwrecked and reduced to ruin, he became master of a trading vessel, as we have stated. But he was troubled at receiving no letters from his mother. He had heard in his last letter from home that his sister and her husband had gone to Canada, but that his mother did not wish to go with them. He sent money home to her, and as soon as he was able he brought his vessel into Blankport Harbour, intending to visit his mother. To his utter dismay, he found some improvements in the town had swept away the very street where his mother had resided. He enquired at the post-office, and was told that his letters had been fetched by a person from the country ; and sent, they believed, to Canada, where he was induced to believe his mother had joined his sister. This was false information, purposely given by the felon Smug, who met his deserts at the commencement of our narrative. Meanwhile, the Widow Drift was passing through great trials. She had clung to her native land in the hope of seeing her son, but a disease of the eyes came on soon after her daughter’s departure, and to this calamity poverty was added, for the emigrants were not successful, and the remittances they promised did not come. Mrs. Drift was not a person to parade her troubles. She lived on the wreck of her little means as long as she was able, until, becoming totally blind, she was compelled to apply to the Parish, and was passed to Wrencham, where her late husband and herself had been rate-payers for many years. The Matron there knew and respected the unfortunate inmate, whose calamity was of God’s appointment, and when some of the rough people made the name of “Drift,” into “Dark,” it was allowed to pass; for so much of decent reserve was blended with the character of the blind widow, that she shrank from observation, and probably never would have been found but for Patty telling Miss Maitland about her kindness, and that lady going to visit her and learning her real name, and finding it was the same as that of the Captain, Patty’s brother sailed with. To write to the owners of the vessel and enclose a letter for Captain Drift was Miss Maitland’s immediate work, and when the Cholera prevented his unlading at Blankport, he still kept, as we have seen, upon that coast, and with all speed took a pleasant little cot, had it neatly fitted up, and brought his good old mother home with as much joy and triumph as if he was bringing a blooming bride to his dwelling. Much as he loved his profession, he had often in his later years thought of the grief of his mother, and wished with a yearning heart, that his manhood could repay her for the waywardness of his boyhood. For Gods truth had found an abode in his soul, and he knew that real religion does not mean merely repeating texts of scripture, and uttering pious words. The Pharisees of old did that; but it means living humbly and heartily towards God, and honestly and kindly towards man; less than that, he knew was presumption and hypocrisy.
Patty’s duties in her new place were to manage the house, and take care of her mistress. There were but five rooms—-a parlour, and kitchen, and three bedrooms above, with a little flower garden in front, and a plot for vegetables at the back. Farmer Woodruff, where Patty’s second brother lived, used to send a man very often to keep the garden in order, and a more trim snug-little dwelling within and without it would not be easy to find, to say nothing of the view over the wide sea, and the light-house on the rock in the distance, that stood like a grim sentinel, frowning over Blankport Harbour. As soon as Captain Drift had seen his mother comfortably settled in her pleasant home, and with her faithful servant, he went off to sea, taking some warm flannel jackets, and knitted woollen socks, of her own work from Patty to her brother Tom, to these were added, a Bible from Mrs. Dark, and Patty slipped in a little paper containing references to passages that she thought the young sailor might be impressed by.
And now the Autumn was waning fast, and the long winter evenings were coming on. It was well that Patty, by teaching Mrs. Vineer’s children had kept up her reading, for she and her mistress would have been very dull but for that great enjoyment. Miss Maitland kindly supplied them with books, and all the housework being neatly and thoroughly done, on the good maxim, “A place for every thing, and every thing in its place,” “A time for every thing, and every thing in its time.” The evening found Patty at leisure to sit with her good mistress, and read aloud to her. Oh, it was a cosey place, and a pleasant sight, that little homely parlour shining with cleanliness, the glowing fire reflected from the bright irons and fender, and the soft ripple of Patty’s gentle voice sounding through a room so quiet that the click of Mrs. Drift’s knitting needles, the calm purr of the cat, and the tick of the clock, with the hollow murmur of the distant sea, seemed but to add to the hush and tranquillity of the abode.
There too might be duly heard the voice of praise and prayer from grateful spirits—-for the widow’s heart had been made to sing for joy, and yet both the widow and the orphan often rejoiced with trembling, for when the winds swept wildly over the sea, and lashed the waves into foam, and sent them thundering on the Light-house rock, the thoughts of the mariners exposed to the storm, brought an earnestness into the mother’s prayer that formalists and triflers would have wondered at.
And so Patty was happy after her many struggles, and her little brothers were doing well; but just at this season of peace and security, evil was at hand; is it not often so in this world? Hitherto we have seen the orphan meekly but constantly striving with her difficulties, and overcoming them by patience, and industry, and good sense—-now a temptation arrived likely to overcome her.
(To be continued.)
HAY AND HARVEST WORK.
CHEERING indications are appearing of a great and important change in the habits and condition of the agricultural labourers in many parts of the country. During the last few months we have had several pleasing accounts of the closing of beer-houses, the opening of village Coffee and Reading-rooms; the establishment of Village Libraries; Perambulating Libraries; and the sending out of Colporteurs for the sale of books and periodicals in the rural districts.
We are also glad to state, that some of the largest and best farmers in the country, have not only succeeded in abolishing the drunken scenes connected with “Harvest Homes,” but are extensively adopting the plan of substituting coffee, tea, milk, and bread for the old allowance of beer, and we are assured that the result is most gratifying to both employers and employed. Mr. Wm. Linton, of Sheriff Hutton, near York, one of the first farmers in Yorkshire, informed us some time ago, that for several years past all his hay and harvest work had been done on the above principle with manifest advantage. “When we gave beer,” said Mr. L., “we seldom had a harvest without some quarrelling, especially amongst the Irish; now we seldom have an angry word.” Mr. Saunders, of Lelling, near York, hears a similar testimony for the last two years.
Joseph Tucker, Esq., of Pavenham Bury Park, one of the magistrates of the County of Bedford, thus writes, “I have generally had four men to mow from forty-five to fifty acres of grass and clover, and twelve to sixteen men and boys haymaking. The mowers have each one quart of tea or coffee, milked and sugared, at eleven and three o’clock, in addition to which I pay them 6d. an acre extra instead of beer. The haymakers have each a pint of tea or coffee sent out to them at eleven and three, and also 4d. per day extra instead of beer, and boys 3d. and 2d. according to age, &c., and if they work late, either in field or stacking, we send them another pint or more (to the stackers) about five o’clock, with a good piece of bread and butter to all.
“I have also harvested about forty acres of wheat and about thirty acres of other kinds of grain, all on the same principle, and I am not aware that beer has ever been brought into the field for the last three years.
“The result has been most satisfactory, both to myself and the men. Many, who at first declared it to be impossible to mow or reap without ale, have, after trying, declared that they can do either as well or better without, provided they have a good meal, with some meat. These men have also said that they sleep much better after a hard day’s work, with tea, &c., than with beer, and that they are much fresher and better able to begin again in the morning. There is, also, the absence of quarrelling, swearing, &c., &c., so-frequently the painful result of drinking in the hay and harvest field.”
In the South of England this plan is also making progress. Mr. C. Henwood of Ruislip, near Uxbridge, has sent us an interesting statement relative to the mode adopted by some of the ‘gangs’ of hard-working men in that locality who are engaged in felling timber, bark peeling, and also harvest work. He says, “for the use of others who may wish to know how they manage where there is a ‘gang’ on piece-work, I should state, that they employ a lad, at five shillings a-week, on purpose to attend the fire. Some take their own coffee ready made, but most club together and make it in the following way. They drive two forked sticks into the ground, and place another stick on the top horizontally. On this they hang their kettles or pans, (generally one for coffee, another for tea, and a third for water.) When the water boils, they put one ounce of tea to six quarts of water, with nine or ten ounces of sugar. This makes a good beverage, costing about sixpence halfpenny for the six quarts. Of coffee they put in one ounce to the same quantity of sugar. By this simple plan they have a constant supply of tea or coffee, from early dawn till night.”
SYDNEY SMITH ON TIPPLING.
I don’t like that red nose, and those blear eyes, and that stupid downcast look. You are a drunkard. Another pint, and one pint more; a glass of gin and water, rum and milk, cider and pepper, a glass of peppermint, and all the beastly fluids which drunkards pour down their throats. It is very possible to conquer it, if you will but be resolute. I remember a man in Staffordshire who was drunk every day of his life. Every farthing he earned went to the ale-house. One evening he staggered home, and found at a late hour his wife sitting alone, and drowned in tears. He was a man not deficient in natural affection; he appeared to be struck with the wretchedness of the woman, and with some eagerness asked her why she was crying. “ 1 don’t like to tell you, James,” she said, “but if I must, I must; the truth is, my children have not touched a morsel of anything this blessed day. As for me, never mind me; I must leave you to guess how it has fared with me. But not one morsel of food could I beg or buy for those children that lie on that bed before you; and I am sure, James, it is better for us all we should die, and to my soul I wish we were dead.” “Dead!” said James, starting up as if a flash of lightning had darted upon him; “dead, Sally! You, and Mary, and the two young ones dead! Look ye, my lass, you see what I am now,—-like a brute. I have wasted your substance—-the curse of God is upon me—-I am drawing near to the pit of destruction—but there’s an end; I feel there’s an end. Give me that glass, wife.” She gave it him with astonishment and fear. He turned it topsy-turvy; and, striking the table with great violence, and flinging himself on his knees, made a most solemn and affecting vow to God of repentance and sobriety. From that moment to the day of his death he drank no fermented liquor, but confined himself entirely to tea and water. I never saw so sudden and astonishing a change. His looks became healthy, his cottage neat, his children were clad, his wife was happy; and twenty times the poor man and his wife, with tears in their eyes told me the story, and blessed the evening of the fourteenth of March, the day of James’s restoration, and have shown me the glass he held in his hand where he made the vow of sobriety. It is all nonsense about not being able to work without ale, and gin, and cider, and fermented liquors. Do lions and carthorses drink ale? It is mere habit. If you have good nourishing food, you can do very well without ale. Nobody works harder than the Yorkshire people, and for years together there are many Yorkshire labourers who never taste ale.
– Life of Rev. Sidney Smith,
There is no readier way for a man to bring his own worth into question than by endeavouring to detract from the worth of other men.
A SECRET WORTH KNOWING.
Most people are fond of discovering secrets, and the reader of these lines is probably of the number. If so, I shall tell him of one which is really worth knowing, and the knowledge – of which will benefit him, not only in time, but through eternity.
The secret which I refer to, is contained in the fourteenth verse of the twenty-fifth Psalm, and is thus expressed, “The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, and he will shew them his covenant.”
“The secret of the Lord ” here mentioned is that mysterious operation of the Holy Spirit, whereby a sinner, convinced of his lost and ruined state by nature, his need of a Saviour, and the all-sufficiency of that salvation which was purchased by the blood of Christ, is led with his whole heart to embrace that Divine person as the very Saviour of whom he stands in need, and to find peace in the assurance that Christ’s work is a finished work, and Christ’s righteousness a perfect righteousness.
This event, so important in the history of every converted man, is called a “secret,” because at the moment of its occurrence, it is known only to God and the convert. It may take place in the crowded church under the preaching of the word, or it may happen in the solitary chamber during the reading of the Scriptures; it is all the same; at the time of its occurrence it is known only to the God who pardons and the sinner who receives the pardon. Even on the memorable day of Pentecost, when three thousand converts were added to the infant church, not one individual in all that heart-stricken assembly knew what was passing in the breast of his neighbour, until the piercing inquiry burst forth of “Men and brethren, what shall we do?”
No sooner, however, is the work of grace accomplished, and the sinner delivered from the guilt and burden of sin, than the change becomes perceptible to all around. The convert is emphatically “a new man.” He hates sin, and avoids the company of the transgressor; he loves Christ, and seeks in society of his followers; and often, in the fulness of a grateful heart, he is constraint to cry out, “Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul!”
Reader, have you been made by divine grace, savingly and experimentally acquainted with this “secret of the Lord?” If so, happy are you. “Go,” like the Ethiopian eunuch, “on your way rejoicing.” But, at the same time, conscious of your own weakness, “ he not high-minded, but fear; ’ remembering that you are surrounded by manifolel temptations, “be jealous ovei yourself with a godly jealousy;” and in prayerful dependence on divine aid, “hold fast that which you have, that no man take your crown.”
But, reader, is this “secret of the Lord” still to you a “hidden thing?” Are the riches of his grace “hidden riches” to you? If so, your danger is unspeakably great, and it is all the greater that you do not perceive it. If you die as you are, your soul is lost for ever. For ever? Yes, for ever. “There is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou goest.” But the gate of divine mercy is still open. Thank God that it is so, and enter it while you may. Delays are proverbially dangerous things, in spiritual matters they are unutterably so. Come, then, at once, to the cross of Christ. There, alone, are true peace and safety to be found; and there, if you are in earnest, your reception is sure. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall be saved.”
– Dr. Huie.
NOTICES OF NEW PAMPHLETS.
The Literature of Labour. By Rev. Robt. Steel, Salford. D. F. Oakey, London. 3d.
Lecture on the Knowledge of Common Things. By Rev. J. B. Grant. Hall, Virtue, & Co., London. 4d.
These two lectures are amongst the very best for working men we have ever read. They are just the tidings that are wanted for advancing the physical and social welfare of the sons of toil.
FOR WIVES & MOTHERS.
WHAT THE LOVE OF FLOWERS PROVES.
The work was all carefully cut out, and the most difficult parts neatly hasted, and Mrs. Marshall, who was unable to leave the house, handing it to her husband, said, “If Mrs. Carlton cannot do it, oblige me by giving it to some other poor woman; for there are so many needy ones, especially at this season, that I would not leave it at the shops.”
“I hardly think Mrs. Carlton is able to do it at present, but you’ll give her just as much as the pay would amount to, so where’s the difference? but I’ll be all obedience to your commands, and leave it with her or some other needy body.”
Precisely as the house clock chimed the hour of twelve, the punctual Mr. Marshall re-entered his dwelling, and proceeded to the dining-room, when the last dish was just placed upon the table.
In the course of the meal, Mrs. Marshall inquired if Mrs. Carlton could do the work, and being answered in the negative, asked who was to do it. Her husband had forgotten the long new name, but described the tenement where the woman resided whom he had engaged. Mrs. M. sighed when she heard the dilapidated and ruinous condition of the premises, and expressed no little doubt as to the capacity of any one living in such a place to do her work properly and as she wanted it. Mr. Marshall replied, “I think it will he executed neatly, for she had a stand of flowers by the window.”
Mrs. Marshall’s brow brightened, and her fears were somewhat subsided.
And when the work returned, and she examined piece after piece, Mrs. Marshall exclaimed, “None but a lover of flowers could have done it so tastefully.”
The result was, that the ricketty old tenement was soon vacated, and the once needy, distressed occupants were placed where not only their flowers met more air and sunshine in which to expand, but where their own spirits, long bowed by poverty, were able to rise in strength and beauty to the morning light.
And all because of their love of flowers, whose silent language awoke sympathy in the generous hearts of other lovers of the purest and sweetest of material things.
God made not the glow-worm nor blue bell in vain—the tiniest flower that lifts its eyelid heavenward points man also thither, and who would slight their ministering? There can but be some good in hearts that heed it, and the benevolent Mr. and Mrs Marshall judged rightly of human nature.
FLOWERS IN WINDOWS.
“Consider the lilies of the field, how they glow; they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you. That even Solomon in his glory, was not arrayed like one of these.
We have much pleasure in extracting the following paragraph from the Builder.
We strongly recommend all our readers who can do so, to adopt the excellent suggestion of our esteemed contemporary. His efforts for the improvement of the homes of the working classes are beyond praise.
FLOWERS IN WINDOWS. There are few tests of a happy home within than the flower-decorated window, and neatly-kept garden; and there is no occupation for the leisure hours more calculated to keep it so, or to soothe the mind. It yields pleasure without surfeit; the more we advance, the more eager we become. And, how unlike this is to most of our worldly engagements! To those blessed with children how delightful it is to bend their young minds to a pursuit so full of utility and intellectual instruction, combined with the advantages usually accompanying industry; and in children, carefulness and thought about their plants will lead to the same feelings respecting other matters.—Builder.
There is a lesson in each flower,
A story in each stream and bower,
In every herb on which you tread,
Are written words, which, rightly read,
Will lead you from earth’s fragrant sod,
To hope, and happiness, and God.
– Allan Cunningham.
VISIT TO THE HAGGERSTONE COAL HEAVERS.
We are reluctantly compelled to postpone the conclusion of this notice until our next, when we shall give another illustration.
Uncorrected OCR-PAGE 84
84
THE BRITISH WORKMAN,
TALES OF THE SEA.
BY LUKE LONGYARN.
No. I.
Ah! she’s a true British Queen bless her!”
Theses were the hearty words of a rough seaman, who, standing on the beach of Cowes harbour, watched the “Fairy,” the beautiful steam yacht of our beloved Queen that had just left the royal pier at Osborne, and was dancing over the sparkling waves of the Solent Sea, as if proud to bear the ocean monarch. The Queen, very plainly dressed, a brown straw hat shading her face from the sun, stood on the deck, surrounded by her children, evidently enjoying the breeze that curled the waves. It was not a state occasion, but merely a cruise of a few hours for pleasure, and the seaman whose remark we have recorded, as he continued to watch the vessel till it disappeared, went on to say to his companion, “I mind how, that brave lady, ever from her childish days, has had a kind heart for poor Jack tar. Why, in her walks about the coast years agone, with the Duchess of Kent, many’s the time she’s listened to a poor sailor’s yarn about his shipwrecks, his troubles, ay, and his joys, for there’s fair weather as well as rough. My old comrade, Timber Tough, as we call him, now in Greenwich Hospital, told me that once upon a time, when the Princess Victoria was at Dover, and used to walk about the cliffs, he and his son Jim the fisherman was mending their nets in a sheltered cove, when all of a sudden a grand lady, and a bright looking little Missy, and another lady, and two menservants at a distance, came round the point of the cliff right afore them. A camp stool was brought for the lady with the grand look, and Timber Tough, who knew a bit of manners, made a sign for his son to gather up the nets, and meant to go away, but the lady said very sweetly, ‘Don’t let us disturb you,’ and the little Missy added, ‘You need not go away;’ and somehow they got to asking about nets and fishing, and then about the sea, and p’raps the young lady had been reading about the perils of the great deep, for she asked, ‘Have you ever been shipwrecked?’ ‘Yes, miss! that I have,’ says Timber Tough, ‘upon a desolate island, too.’
“‘Indeed! where?’
“‘The Island of Antacosta, in the Gulf of St. Lawrence,’ says he, and as the little lady seemed interested, Timber Tough took courage, and told her how it was, something in this way:
“‘In 1814, that’s some years, I take it, afore you was born, miss! there was a bit of a brush with the Yankees. I was aboard the Leopard, 50, Captain—-, and we was a taking out troops; we had on board a regiment of the Scotch Greys, and very crowded we was. I’m sorry to say there was a deal of drinking among us, and drink’s the enemy most to be feared by the sailor; no foe like that. Howsomever, I didn’t think so once, but I was taught that truth arterwards,’ says Tough, ‘to my sorrow. We had a pretty fair voyage, and was thinking of land, and one night we had a carouse; it was a birthday of one of the Royal family, or the officers, I forget which, but we’d most on us had a double allowance of grog; and when we turned in, the officer that belonged to the mid watch wasn’t sober, nor the men neither; and an ugly fog came on. At three bells, ladies! there was a shock went through the ship, and knocked many of the men out of their berths. We all knew what it was ; we had struck on a rock, when we believed ourselves safe in deep water. As to the screeches of the soldiers’ wives, and the running to and fro, I wont pretend to tell you that. The captain’s voice soon restored order, for it was a matter of life and death. The hatches were closed to keep the frightened women, and the soldiers, from coming on deck. Ay, and it was ordered that a file of marines should stand over the hatches, and fire at any one that tried to get out. Oh, ’twas a dreadful scene, the fog like a black pall blinding us, as it were, the straining of the ship, the dull moaning of the breakers around! At last ’twas found that, as the weather was not rough, we could get boats through the surf; but how long the ship would hold together was uncertain, and so all hands were employed making rafts, and as the fog slightly cleared, a certain number of troops were put on each raft, and in the course of twelve hours the women, the soldiers, and some casks of provisions, were landed ; and then the sailors, when nothing more could be done, left the wreck, just as she went to pieces, the captain being the last man to take to the boat.’
“‘At first I must say—I hope I war’nt ungrateful to Providence — the land looked almost as bad as the water; ’twas a swamp! We put up tents made of the ship’s sails, and cut trenches round them, that filled with water as we cut them, and many a poor fellow lay down in the mud and was racked with pain and sickness for many a day after. Twenty-eight days—that’s four weeks, you know, we was in that place afore a ship came and took us off. It seemed to me like four years. We knew what hunger was, and what sickness was, in that time, I can testify; though, by good management, our biscuit was eked out, and by fishing and birding, we kept clear of famine point.’
“‘We had one service there I shan’t soon forget. We’d a christening on that island, a baby belonging to a soldier’s wife was called John Antacosta.’
“‘It was then, ladies! I thought how bad a foe the drink had been. How hard it had served us. And I thought so more than ever when our officers was tried for the loss of the ship, and our Lieutenant, who was the officer of the watch, had his sword broke over his head and was dismissed the service. I’ve fought shy of grog ever since,’ said Timber Tough in conclusion.
“The ladies looked pleased, asked him many questions, and smiled on my old comrade as they went away.
“Next day he saw the folks running to look at a carriage going to Walmer Castle, and in it there were the very ladies he had seen the day afore, and Timber Tough felt rayther queer when he found he’d been holding forth to the princess. But I’m thinking that it’s having spoken with and known, and lived among her people, that makes our Sovereign such an out and out good Queen—God bless her!”
THE RUINED HOME.
“You are sentenced to six months’ imprisonment,” said the magistrate.
“I’m ruined, then, and all belonging to me,” was the reply of the culprit as he was removed from the bar of Bow Street police office. Alas! his was a sad and yet a common case, B—– F—- and his wife put their children into the care of a neighbour, and went off in a van to spend the Sunday at Hampton Court. The day was hot and dusty, and they and their companions drank freely; coming home there was a quarrel in the van, the wife and husband took different sides, and came to high words. When late at night they reached their home, one of the children had hurt itself seriously, and the rest had been mischievously breaking the things; all were crying and quarrelling. This exasperated the parents still more, neither of them were sober, from words they came to blows, until “the man, in his rage hardly knowing his own strength, threw his wife down stairs; she was picked up insensible, and carried to the hospital. The man was taken by the police and sentenced as we have seen. His words were true; he was ruined by the consequences of that Sabbath’s profanation. The wife was seven weeks in the hospital, the children went to the workhouse, the goods were seized for rent. Boot and branch the home was broken up, and the household scattered.
“Verily, my sabbaths ye shall keep; for it is a sign between me and you throughout your generations. Ye shall keep the sabbath therefore, for it is holy unto you.” Exodus xxxi. 13, 14. C. L. B.
THE RUINED HOME. BOW STREET POLICE OFFICE INCIDENT.
TELLING THE PRINCESS VICTORIA (ENGLAND’S PRESENT QUEEN) AND THE DUCHESS OF KENT, HIS TALE OF THE SEA.