Chapter XII: The Story of Old Maddox

The next morning at breakfast, the two boys entertained their grandpapa and grandmamma with a full account of what they had seen on the preceding day; and both dwelt with particular pleasure on the beauty of the pheasants.

“Did you take notice of Harry Maddox, the old man who has the care of them?” inquired Mr. Mansfield.

The children replied, that he was for some time talking with Mr. Ashley; but that he took no notice of them, and that they had observed nothing particular about him.

“That, man,” said Mr. Mansfield, “shabby and mean as he now appears, was once in possession of considerable property. It was his idleness alone that reduced him to poverty.”

“How so, grandpapa?” inquired Charles. “Pray tell us about him.”

“I was going to do so,” returned Mr. Mansfield, “in the hope that the history of his misfortunes might be a lesson to you, not to fall into the fault that has occasioned his ruin.

“Maddox’s father rented a capital farm, a few miles from this village. Harry was a school-fellow of mine, so that in his childhood I saw a great deal of him. He had some good qualities. He always spoke the truth, and I don’t recollect that he ever did any thing spiteful, or injured another purposely. His great fault was a habit of constant idleness. At play-time, when the rest of the boys were amusing themselves at their different sports, Maddox might always be found sitting on the stump of an old tree, that once overshadowed the playground; and all his employment was to scratch up the earth with a stick. This was so constantly the case, that the stump was called by the boys _Maddox’s seat_; and I have been told that it still goes by the same name; though, most likely, the circumstance that gave rise to it has long been forgotten. You may suppose that in school hours Harry did not gain much credit. He was oftener in disgrace than any boy amongst us. He stood near the bottom of the lowest class, and I do not know that he ever made his way much higher. Indeed, how should he? for all the time that he ought to have spent in learning his lessons, he passed in merely holding the book in his hand, or twisting the corners of the leaves.”

_Charles._ But I should have thought he would have been punished if he could not say his lesson; and he would not like that, I suppose.

_Mr. Mansfield._ Perhaps he did not like punishment; but he liked the trouble of avoiding it still less. Indeed, after a smart caning, he would sometimes sit down to his book, and learn as much in half an hour as most of us could in a whole one. His being able to do so, as our good master used to say, made him so much the more inexcusable. “If, Maddox, you were dull by nature, and could not learn,” I remember his telling him one day, when the boy was crying, and begging not to be flogged, “I should pity you; and, as long as you did your best, should never be angry: but you have really a good understanding, and this idleness is unpardonable, and you need not hope to escape correction.” Correction, however, and encouragement, were equally thrown away upon Maddox; and he left school at fifteen, after having passed a miserable time, scolded by the masters and derided by the boys.

_Arthur._ What became of him then, grandpapa?

_Mr. Mansfield._ His father took him home, intending to bring him up to farming: but he found he could make nothing of him; so he put him apprentice to a brewer in a good way of business.

However, Harry still continued idle, and learned nothing, so that when he was out of his time, his master was very glad to get rid of so useless a hand, and declared he would have nothing further to say to him; notwithstanding he was then in want of a partner, and old Mr. Maddox, the father, had offered to advance a considerable sum, if he would give him a share of the business.

Some time after this, he married; and his father then set him up in a brewery by himself, and gave him all that was necessary to begin trade with.

His success, however, was just what might have been expected. He did not like to give himself trouble; and his beer was so bad, that nobody would buy it. In short, he lost all his customers, and ran into debt; so that every thing he had was taken away to pay his creditors.

The kind father once more received his son, with his wife and family, into his own house; and instead of being angry, he tried to console him for his misfortunes, by telling him, that as long as he had a shilling in the world he should share it with him; and that, by industry and frugality, they might yet do very well. One would have thought that such great kindness, and the distresses he had brought upon himself, would have had some effect on the mind of young Maddox; and indeed they had: for a short time, he went on pretty well, but he soon relapsed into his former habits of indolence. As long, however, as his father lived, he did not know what it was to want. It is true, he was accustomed to lie in bed till noon, and then to doze in an arm chair the greatest part of the day. But his father was always up before the dawn, and continued to attend to the concerns of his farm till after the sun was set; for he found that much additional industry was required, to enable him to support such a large increase to his household. Harry at length lost his excellent parent, and had the misfortune, not long after, to bury his wife.

_Charles._ Ah, poor Maddox! How badly off he must have been then, grandpapa!

_Mr. Mansfield._ He was, indeed, my dear. All good management was at an end, both in the house and in the fields. He took no care of his children himself, nor did he provide any body to look after them for him. His sons, in consequence of this neglect, grew up very wild young men. They were always in company with the most worthless fellows in the neighbourhood; and at last one of them ran away to sea, and never was heard of more. The youngest girl fell into an ill state of health, and perished from want of care and nursing. The eldest daughter, mother to the little Peggy whom you saw at the cottage, was the only one of the children that grew up to be a comfort to herself, or to her family. She married at a very early age, but, unfortunately for Peggy, died some time ago.

_Arthur._ So poor Peggy has no mother! What a sad thing for her!

_Mr. Mansfield._ She has no father neither, my dear: but we will talk more of her by and by, if I have not tired you with my long story.

_Charles._ Oh, you need not be afraid of tiring us, grandpapa. We like to hear you very much, and I want to know how Maddox went on with his farm.

_Mr. Mansfield._ Why, he left his farm to take care of itself; and when the men went to him for directions, he used to tell them to begone about their business, and do as they would, for he should not trouble himself about the matter. So perhaps one wanted to sow beans, when another wanted to sow corn; and then they would get into a quarrel, and not work at all. By this means, the seed was never put into his fields till after it had begun to grow up in all the country round: and as he took no care to keep his land clean, it was always choked with weeds; and, in all the time he was a farmer, he had not a single good crop. His fences too were left in the most ruinous state, and his neighbour’s cattle used to get into his fields through the gaps in the hedges, and do much mischief among his corn and hay. Then sometimes his own beasts trespassed in the same manner upon the grounds of other people, and he was obliged to pay for the damage they did; and if they were sent to the pound, it was some expense to him to redeem them.

_Arthur._ What do you mean, sir, by saying they were sent to the pound?

_Mr. Mansfield._ A pound is a small spot inclosed with high rails, in which cattle that go astray may be confined; and the person whose office it is to keep the pound claims a certain fee when they are sent for by the owner.

Maddox’s farm belonged to Mr. Ashley; and when the lease was out, his landlord refused to grant him another. From the time of the old man’s death, the rents had been very irregularly paid; and besides, Mr. Ashley did not choose to let any part of his estate to a man who suffered it to go to ruin.

_Charles._ Indeed, I think he was in the right. I should not like to have my fields, that might be kept in nice order, like yours, grandpapa, spoilt from want of proper care. But what became of Maddox, then?

_Mr. Mansfield._ He hired a wretched cottage, and lived for some time upon the little money he had by him. When that was gone, he was actually reduced to beggary. He had scarcely a rag to cover him, and could barely get food to keep him alive. I happened to hear of his miserable situation, and I called on Mr. Ashley, to consult about what could be done for him.

_Arthur._ And what did Mr. Ashley say?

_Mr. Mansfield._ He said he was sorry to hear of his distress; and would be glad to relieve him, if it were in his power. “But,” he added, “what can I do? It is not proper to maintain a strong, hearty man, like Maddox, in idleness. He learned so little when he was young, that I know he can hardly read or write; therefore, I cannot make him my steward. If I hire him as a labourer, he will not do a day’s work in the year; and I am sure, for the pains he would take, my deer might all be lost, or stolen, if I made him deer-keeper.” Soon after this conversation, however, Mr. Ashley inclosed a part of his park, for keeping pheasants, and then he resolved to intrust the care of them to Harry Maddox, and ordered that he should take little Peggy to live with him; for the poor girl just before had had the misfortune to lose both her parents.

_Charles._ Oh, you promised just now to tell us something about Peggy.

_Mr. Mansfield._ I have only to say, that her character is the very reverse of her grandfather’s. She is a notable, active girl, and does a wonderful deal for her age. As Mr. Maddox still continues the same, the birds would be sadly neglected, if it were not for her care. Mr. Ashley puts her to school, where she learns to work: and I believe she keeps both her own and the old man’s clothes in very tolerable order. The cottage, too, is neat and clean, though there is no one to do any thing but herself.

“I thought she was a nice girl,” said Charles. “She was at work, you know, Arthur, yesterday afternoon, when we went there.”

“Yes,” replied Arthur, “and the old man was fast asleep. What a contrast between them!”

“You see,” rejoined Mr. Mansfield, “though she is but a child, in how respectable a light her industry makes her appear. She acquires the esteem of all who know her, and she has the satisfaction of feeling that she does not live in vain. As for poor old Maddox, I don’t know from what source his satisfactions can arise. The review of his past life can afford him no comfort; and if he looks forward to the close of his present existence, he must be shocked at the account to which he will then be called, for duties neglected, talents misemployed, and a family ruined, through his want of care.”

_Arthur._ Well, I have often been told that I ought to be a good boy, and mind my lessons; but I did not know before, that idleness could lead to so much mischief. I always thought that, when I was a man, I should attend to my business as a matter of course.

_Mr. Mansfield._ Ah, my dear child, you are much mistaken, if you suppose that you will be able to get the better of your faults, only by growing older. Now is the time for you to acquire good habits of all sorts; and if you neglect to do so, depend upon it, that when you become a man, you will find the task only rendered a great deal more difficult, from having been so long delayed.

“Very true, my dear,” said Mrs. Mansfield. “Besides, little folks should consider, that it is not their future advantage alone which should lead them to take pains with their studies—it is one of the absolute duties of their infant state. God Almighty did not mean that any of us should be idle at any time; and a child who is idle when he ought to be at his book, as much transgresses the will of God, as a man who neglects his trade, or a woman who takes no care of her family.”

“I think,” said Mr. Mansfield, starting up as he looked at his watch, “that whilst I have been prating away in favour of industry, I seem to have forgotten that I have a thousand concerns to attend to. But I will no longer act in a way so contrary to my precepts. And so good morning to you, I am off till dinner-time.”

_Chap. XIII._

_A pleasant Ride._

_London. Published by W. Darton Jun. Oct. 1815._]