Chapter X: Part II (1)

THE WAY TO PLENTY; OR, THE SECOND PART OF TOM WHITE. WRITTEN IN 1795, THE YEAR OF SCARCITY.

Tom White, as we have shown in the first part of this history, from an idle post boy was become a respectable farmer. God had blessed his industry, and he had prospered in the world. He was sober and temperate, and, as was the natural consequence, he was active and healthy. He was industrious and frugal, and he became prosperous in his circumstances. This is the ordinary course of Providence. But it is not a certain and necessary rule. _God maketh his sun to shine on the just and on the unjust._ A man who uses every honest means of thrift and industry, will, in most cases, find success attend his labors. But still, the _race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong_. God is sometimes pleased, for wise ends, to disappoint all the worldly hopes of the most upright man. His corn may be smitten by a blight; his barns may be consumed by fire; his cattle may be carried off by distemper. And to these, and other misfortunes, the good man is as liable as the spendthrift or the knave. Success is the _common_ reward of industry, but if it were its _constant_ reward, the industrious would be tempted to look no further than the present state. They would lose one strong ground of their faith. It would set aside the Scripture scheme. This world would then be looked on as a state of reward, instead of trial, and we should forget to look to a day of final retribution.

Farmer White never took it into his head, that, because he paid his debts, worked early and late, and ate the bread of carefulness, he was therefore to come into no misfortune like other folk, but was to be free from the common trials and troubles of life. He knew that prosperity was far from being a sure mark of God's favor, and had read in good books, and especially in the Bible, of the great poverty and afflictions of the best of men. Though he was no great scholar, he had sense enough to observe, that a time of public prosperity was not always a time of public virtue; and he thought that what was true of a whole nation might be true of one man. So the more he prospered the more he prayed that prosperity might not corrupt his heart. And when he saw lately signs of public distress coming on, he was not half so much frightened as some others were, because he thought it might do us good in the long run; and he was in hope that a little poverty might bring on a little penitence. The great grace he labored after was that of a cheerful submission. He used to say, that if the Lord's prayer had only contained those four little words. _Thy will be done_, it would be worth more than the biggest book in the world without them.

Dr. Shepherd, the worthy vicar (with whom the farmer's wife had formerly lived as housekeeper), was very fond of taking a walk with him about his grounds, and he used to say that he learned as much from the farmer as the farmer did from him. If the Doctor happened to observe, "I am afraid these long rains will spoil this fine piece of oats," the farmer would answer, "But then, sir, think how good it is for the grass." If the Doctor feared the wheat would be but indifferent, the farmer was sure the rye would turn out well. When grass failed, he did not doubt but turnips would be plenty. Even for floods and inundations he would find out some way to justify Providence. "'Tis better," said he, "to have our lands a little overflowed, than that the springs should be dried up, and our cattle faint for lack of water." When the drought came, he thanked God that the season would be healthy; and the high winds, which frightened others, he said, served to clear the air. Whoever, or whatever was wrong, he was always sure that Providence was in the right. And he used to say, that a man with ever so small an income, if he had but frugality and temperance, and would cut off all vain desires, and cast his care upon God, was richer than a lord who was tormented by vanity and covetousness. When he saw others in the wrong, he did not, however, abuse them for it, but took care to avoid the same fault. He had sense and spirit enough to break through many old, but very bad customs of his neighbors. "If a thing is wrong in itself," said he one day to Farmer Hodges, "a whole parish doing it can't make it right. And as to its being an old custom, why, if it be a good one, I like it the better for being old, because it has had the stamp of ages, and the sanction of experience on its worth. But if it be old as well as bad, that is another reason for my trying to put an end to it, that we may not mislead our children as our fathers have misled us."

THE ROOF-RAISING.

Some years after he was settled, he built a large new barn. All the workmen were looking forward to the usual holiday of roof-raising. On this occasion it was a custom to give a dinner to the workmen, with so much liquor after it, that they got so drunk that they not only lost the remaining half-day's work, but they were not always able to work the following day.

Mrs. White provided a plentiful dinner for roof-raising, and gave each man his mug of beer. After a hearty meal they began to grow clamorous for more drink. The farmer, said, "My lads, I don't grudge you a few gallons of ale merely for the sake of saving my liquor, though that is some consideration, especially in these dear times; but I never will, knowingly, help any man to make a beast of himself. I am resolved to break through a bad custom. You are now well refreshed. If you will go cheerfully to your work, you will have half a day's pay to take on Saturday night more than you would have if this afternoon were wasted in drunkenness. For this your families will be better; whereas, were I to give you more liquor, when you have already had enough, I should help to rob them of their bread. But I wish to show you, that I have your good at heart full as much as your profit. If you will now go to work, I will give you all another mug at night when you leave off. Thus your time will be saved, your families helped, and my ale will not go to make reasonable creatures worse than brute beasts."

Here he stopped. "You are in right on't, master," said Tom, the thatcher; "you are a hearty man, farmer," said John Plane, the carpenter. "Come along, boys," said Tim Brick, the mason: so they all went merrily to work, fortified with a good dinner. There was only one drunken surly fellow that refused; this was Dick Guzzle, the smith. Dick never works above two or three days in the week, and spends the others at the Red Lion. He swore, that if the farmer did not give him as much liquor as he liked at roof-raising, he would not strike another stroke, but would leave the job unfinished, and he might get hands where he could. Farmer White took him at his word, and paid him off directly; glad enough to get rid of such a sot, whom he had only employed from pity to a large and almost starving family. When the men came for their mug in the evening, the farmer brought out the remains of the cold gammon; they made a hearty supper, and thanked him for having broken through a foolish custom, which was afterward much left off in that parish, though Dick would not come into it, and lost most of his work in consequence.

Farmer White's laborers were often complaining that things were so dear that they could not buy a bit of meat. He knew it was partly true, but not entirely; for it was before these very hard times that their complaints began. One morning he stepped out to see how an outhouse which he was thatching went on. He was surprised to find the work at a stand. He walked over to the thatcher's house. "Tom," said he, "I desire that piece of work may be finished directly. If a shower comes my grain will be spoiled." "Indeed, master, I sha'n't work to-day, nor to-morrow neither," said Tom. "You forget that 'tis Easter Monday, and to-morrow is Easter Tuesday. And so on Wednesday I shall thatch away, master. But it is hard if a poor man, who works all the seasons round, may not enjoy these few holidays, which come but once a year."

"Tom," said the farmer, "when these days were first put into our prayer-book, the good men who ordained them to be kept, little thought that the time would come when _holiday_ should mean _drunken-day_, and that the seasons which they meant to distinguish by superior piety, should be converted into seasons of more than ordinary excess. How much dost think now I shall pay thee for this piece of thatch?" "Why, you know, master, you have let it to me by the great. I think between this and to-morrow night, as the weather is so fine, I could clear about four shillings, after I have paid my boy; but thatching does not come often, and other work is not so profitable." "Very well, Tom; and how much now do you think you may spend in these two holidays?" "Why, master, if the ale is pleasant, and the company merry, I do not expect to get off for less than three shillings." "Tom, can you do pounds, shillings, and pence?" "I can make a little score, master, behind the kitchen-door, with a bit of chalk, which is as much as I want." "Well, Tom, add the four shillings you would have earned to the three you intend to spend, what does that make?" "Let me see! three and four make seven. Seven shillings, master." "Tom, you often tell me the times are so bad that you can never buy a bit of meat. Now here is the cost of two joints at once: to say nothing of the sin of wasting time and getting drunk." "I never once thought of that," said Tom. "Now, Tom," said the farmer, "if I were you, I would step over to butcher Jobbins's, buy a shoulder of mutton, which being left from Saturday's market you will get a little cheaper. This I would make my wife bake in a deep dishful of potatoes. I would then go to work, and when the dinner was ready I would go and enjoy it with my wife and children; you need not give the mutton to the brats, the potatoes will have all the gravy, and be very savory for them." "Ay, but I have got no beer, master, the times are so hard that a poor man can't afford to brew a drop of drink now as we used to do."

"Times are bad, and malt is very dear, Tom, and yet both don't prevent you from spending seven shillings in keeping holiday. Now send for a quart of ale as it is to be a feast: and you will even then be four shillings richer than if you had gone to the public house. I would have you put by these four shillings, till you can add a couple to them; with this I would get a bushel of malt, and my wife should brew it, and you may take a pint of your own beer at home of a night, which will do you more good than a gallon at the Red Lion." "I have a great mind to take your advice, master, but I shall be made such fun of at the Lion! they will so laugh at me if I don't go!" "Let those laugh that win, Tom." "But master, I have got a friend to meet me there." "Then ask your friend to come and eat a bit of your cold mutton at night, and here is sixpence for another pot, if you will promise to brew a small cask of your own." "Thank you, master, and so I will; and I won't go to the Lion. Come boy, bring the helm, and fetch the ladder." And so Tom was upon the roof in a twinkling. The barn was thatched, the mutton bought, the beer brewed, the friend invited, and the holiday enjoyed.

THE SHEEP-SHEARING.

Dr. Shepherd happened to say to Farmer White one day, that there was nothing that he disliked more than the manner in which sheep-shearing and harvest-home were kept by some in his parish. "What," said the good Doctor, "just when we are blessed with a prosperous gathering in of these natural riches of our land, the fleece of our flocks; when our barns are crowned with plenty, and we have, through the divine blessing on our honest labor, reaped the fruits of the earth in due season; is that very time to be set apart for ribaldry, and riot, and drunkenness? Do we thank God for his mercies, by making ourselves unworthy and unfit to enjoy them? When he crowns the year with his goodness, shall we affront him by our impiety? It is more than a common insult to his providence; it is a worse than brutal return to _Him_ who openeth his hand and filleth all things living with plenteousness."

"I thank you for the hint, sir," said the farmer. "I am resolved to rejoice though, and others shall rejoice with me: and we will have a merry night on't."

So Mrs. White dressed a very plentiful supper of meat and pudding; and spread out two tables. The farmer sat at the head of one, consisting of some of his neighbors, and all his work-people. At the other sat his wife, with two long-benches on each side of her. On these benches sat all the old and infirm poor, especially those who lived in the work-house, and had no day of festivity to look forward to in the whole year but this. On the grass, in the little court, sat the children of his laborers, and of the other poor, whose employment it had been to gather flowers, and dress and adorn the horns of the ram; for the farmer did not wish to put an end to an old custom, if it was innocent. His own children stood by the table, and he gave them plenty of pudding, which they carried to the children of the poor, with a little draught of cider to every one. The farmer, who never sat down without begging a blessing on his meal, did it with suitable solemnity on the present joyful occasion.

Dr. Shepherd practiced one very useful method, which I dare say was not peculiar to himself; a method of which I doubt not other country clergymen have found the advantage. He was often on the watch to observe those seasons when a number of his parishioners were assembled together, not only at any season of festivity, but at their work. He has been known to turn a walk through a hay-field to good account; and has been found to do as much good by a few minutes' discourse with a little knot of reapers, as by a Sunday's sermon. He commonly introduced his religious observations by some questions relating to their employment; he first gained their affections by his kindness, and then converted his influence over them to their soul's good. The interest he took in their worldly affairs opened their hearts to the reception of those divine truths which he was always earnest to impress upon them. By these methods too he got acquainted with their several characters, their spiritual wants, their individual sins, dangers, and temptations, which enabled him to preach with more knowledge and successful application, than those ministers can do who are unacquainted with the state of their congregations. It was a remark of Dr. Shepherd, that a thorough acquaintance with human nature was one of the most important species of knowledge a clergyman could possess.

The sheep-shearing feast, though orderly and decent, was yet hearty and cheerful. Dr. Shepherd dropped in, with a good deal of company he had at his house, and they were much pleased. When the Doctor saw how the aged and infirm poor were enjoying themselves, he was much moved; he shook the farmer by the hand and said, "But thou, when thou makest a feast, call the blind, and the lame, and the halt; they can not recompense thee, but thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just."

"Sir," said the farmer, "'tis no great matter of expense; I kill a sheep of my own; potatoes are as plenty as blackberries, with people who have a little forethought. I save much more cider in the course of a year by never allowing any carousing in my kitchen, or drunkenness in my fields, than would supply many such feasts as these, so that I shall be never the poorer at Christmas. It is cheaper to make people happy, sir, than to make them drunk." The Doctor and the ladies condescended to walk from one table to the other, and heard many merry stories, but not one profane word, or one indecent song: so that he was not forced to the painful necessity either of reproving them, or leaving them in anger. When all was over, they sung the sixty-fifth Psalm, and the ladies all joined in it; and when they got home to the vicarage to tea, they declared they liked it better than any concert.

THE HARD WINTER.

In the famous cold winter of the year 1795, it was edifying to see how patiently Farmer White bore that long and severe frost. Many of his sheep were frozen to death, but he thanked God that he had still many left. He continued to find in-door work that his men might not be out of employ. The season being so bad, which some others pleaded as an excuse for turning off their workmen, he thought a fresh reason for keeping them. Mrs. White was so considerate, that just at that time she lessened the number of her hogs, that she might have more whey and skim-milk to assist poor families. Nay, I have known her to live on boiled meat for a long while together, in a sickly season, because the pot liquor made such a supply of broth for the sick poor. As the spring came on, and things grew worse, she never had a cake, a pie, or a pudding in her house; notwithstanding she used to have plenty of these good things, and will again, I hope, when the present scarcity is over; though she says she will never use such white flour again, even if it should come down to five shillings a bushel.

All the parish now began to murmur. Farmer Jones was sure the frost had killed the wheat. Farmer Wilson said the rye would never come up. Brown, the malster, insisted the barley was dead at the root. Butcher Jobbins said beef would be a shilling a pound. All declared there would not be a hop to brew with. The orchards were all blighted; there would not be apples enough to make a pie; and as to hay there would be none to be had for love or money. "I'll tell you what," said Farmer White, "the season is dreadful; the crops unpromising just now; but 'tis too early to judge. Don't let us make things worse than they are. We ought to comfort the poor, and you are driving them to despair. Don't you know how much God was displeased with the murmurs of his chosen people? And yet, when they were tired of manna he sent them quails; but all did not do. Nothing satisfies grumblers. We have a promise on our side, that _there shall be seed-time and harvest-time to the end_. Let us then hope for a good day, but provide against an evil one. Let us rather prevent the evil before it is come upon us, than sink under it when it comes. Grumbling can not help us; activity can. Let us set about planting potatoes in every nook and corner, in case the corn _should_ fail, which, however, I don't believe will be the case. Let us mend our management before we are driven to it by actual want. And if we allow our honest laborers to plant a few potatoes for their families in the headlands of our plowed fields, or other waste bits of ground, it will do us no harm, and be a great help to them. The way to lighten the load of any public calamity is not to murmur at it but put a hand to lessen it."

The farmer had many temptations to send his corn at an extravagant price to _a certain seaport town_, but as he knew that it was intended to export it against law, he would not be tempted to encourage unlawful gain; so he thrashed out a small mow at a time, and sold it to the neighboring poor far below the market-price. He served his own workmen first. This was the same to them as if he had raised their wages, and even better, as it was a benefit of which their families were sure to partake. If the poor in the next parish were more distressed than his own, he sold them at the same rate. For, said he, there is no distinction of parishes in heaven; and though charity begins at home, yet it ought not to end there.

He had been used in good times now and then to catch a hare or a partridge, as he was qualified; but he now resolved to give up that pleasure. So he parted from a couple of spaniels he had: for he said he could not bear that his dogs should be eating the meat, or the milk, which so many men, women, and children wanted.

THE WHITE LOAF.

One day, it was about the middle of last July, when things seemed to be at the dearest, and the rulers of the land had agreed to set the example of eating nothing but coarse bread, Dr. Shepherd read, before sermon in the church, their public declaration, which, the magistrates of the county sent him, and which they had also signed themselves. Mrs. White, of course, was at church, and commended it mightily. Next morning the Doctor took a walk over to the farmer's, in order to settle further plans for the relief of the parish. He was much surprised to meet Mrs. White's little maid, Sally, with a very small white loaf, which she had been buying at a shop. He said nothing to the girl, as he never thought it right to expose the faults of a mistress to her servants; but walked on, resolving to give Mrs. White a severe lecture for the first time in his life. He soon changed his mind, for on going into the kitchen, the first person he saw was Tom the thatcher, who had had a sad fall from a ladder; his arm, which was slipped out of his sleeve, was swelled in a frightful manner. Mrs. White was standing at the dresser making the little white loaf into a poultice, which she laid upon the swelling in a large clean old linen cloth.

"I ask your pardon, my good Sarah," said the Doctor; "I ought not, however appearances were against you, to have suspected that so humble and prudent a woman as you are, would be led either to indulge any daintiness of your own, or to fly in the face of your betters, by eating white bread while they are eating brown. Whenever I come here, I see it is not needful to be rich in order to be charitable. A bountiful rich man would have sent Tom to a surgeon, who would have done no more for him than you have done; for in those inflammations the most skillful surgeon could only apply a poultice. Your kindness in dressing the wound yourself, will, I doubt not, perform the cure at the expense of that threepenny loaf and a little hog's lard. And I will take care that Tom shall have a good supply of rice from the subscription." "And he sha'n't want for skim-milk," said Mrs. White; "and was he the best lord in the land, in the state he is in, a dish of good rice milk would be better for him than the richest meat."

THE PARISH MEETING.

On the tenth of August, the vestry held another meeting, to consult on the best method of further assisting the poor. The prospect of abundant crops now cheered every heart. Farmer White, who had a mind to be a little jocular with his desponding neighbors, said, "Well, neighbor Jones, all the wheat was killed, I suppose! the barley is all dead at the root!" Farmer Jones looked sheepish, and said, "To be sure the crops had turned out better than he thought." "Then," said Dr. Shepherd, "let us learn to trust Providence another time; let our experience of his past goodness strengthen our faith."

Among other things, they agreed to subscribe for a large quantity of rice, which was to be sold out to the poor at a very low price, and Mrs. White was so kind as to undertake the trouble of selling it. After their day's work was over, all who wished to buy at these reduced rates, were ordered to come to the farm on the Tuesday evening: Dr. Shepherd dropped in at the same time, and when Mrs. White had done weighing her rice, the Doctor spoke as follows:

"My honest friends, it has pleased God, for some wise end, to visit this land with a scarcity, to which we have been but little accustomed. There are some idle, evil-minded people, who are on the watch for the public distresses; not that they may humble themselves under the mighty hand of God (which is the true use to be made of all troubles) but that they may benefit themselves by disturbing the public peace. These people, by riot and drunkenness, double the evil which they pretend to cure. Riot will complete our misfortunes; while peace, industry, and good management, will go near to cure them. Bread, to be sure, is uncommonly dear. Among the various ways of making it cheaper, one is to reduce the quality of it, another to lessen the quantity we consume. If we can not get enough of coarse wheaten bread, let us make it of other grain. Or let us mix one half of potatoes, and one half of wheat. This last is what I eat in my own family; it is pleasant and wholesome. Our blessed Saviour ate barley-bread, you know, as we are told in the last month's Sunday reading of the Cheap Repository,[6] which I hope you have all heard, as I desired the master of the Sunday School to read it just after evening service, when I know many of the parents are apt to call in at the school. This is a good custom, and one of those little books shall be often read at that time.

[6] See Cheap Repository, Tract on the Scarcity, printed for T. Evans, Long-lane, West Smithfield, London.

"My good women, I truly feel for you at this time of scarcity; and I am going to show my good will, as much by my advice as my subscription. It is my duty, as your friend and minister, to tell you that one half of your present hardships is owing to _bad management_. I often meet your children without shoes and stockings, with great luncheons of the very whitest bread, and that three times a day. Half that quantity, and still less if it were coarse, put into a dish of good onion or leek porridge, would make them an excellent breakfast. Many too, of the very poorest of you, eat your bread hot from the oven; this makes the difference of one loaf in five; I assure you 'tis what I can not afford to do. Come, Mrs. White, you must assist me a little. I am not very knowing in these matters myself; but I know that the rich would be twice as charitable as they are, if the poor made a better use of their bounty. Mrs. White, do give these poor women a little advice how to make their pittance go further than it now does. When you lived with me you were famous for making us nice cheap dishes, and I dare say you are not less notable, now you manage for yourself."

"Indeed, neighbors," said Mrs. White, "what the good Doctor says is very true. A halfpenny worth of oatmeal, or groats, with a leek or onion, out of your own garden, which costs nothing, a bit of salt, and a little coarse bread, will breakfast your whole family. It is a great mistake at any time to think a bit of meat is so ruinous, and a great load of bread so cheap. A poor man gets seven or eight shillings a week; if he is careful he brings it home. I dare not say how much of this goes for tea in the afternoon, now sugar and butter are so dear, because I should have you all upon me; but I will say, that too much of this little goes even for bread, from a mistaken notion that it is the hardest fare. This, at all times, but particularly just now, is bad management. Dry peas, to be sure, have been very dear lately, but now they are plenty enough. I am certain then, that if a shilling or two of the seven or eight was laid out for a bit of coarse beef, a sheep's head, or any such thing, it would be well bestowed. I would throw a couple of pounds of this into the pot, with two or three handsful of gray peas, an onion, and a little pepper. Then I would throw in cabbage, or turnip, and carrot; or any garden stuff that was most plenty; let it stew two or three hours, and it will make a dish fit for his majesty. The working men should have the meat; the children don't want it: the soup will be thick and substantial, and requires no bread."

RICE MILK.

"You who can get skim-milk, as all our workmen can, have a great advantage. A quart of this, and a quarter of a pound of rice you have just bought, a little bit of alspice, and brown sugar, will make a dainty and cheap dish."

"Bless your heart!" muttered Amy Grumble, who looked as dirty as a cinder-wench, with her face and fingers all daubed with snuff: "rice milk, indeed! it is very nice to be sure for those that can dress it, but we have not a bit of coal; rice is no use to us without firing;" "and yet," said the Doctor, "I see your tea-kettle boiling twice every day, as I pass by the poor-house, and fresh butter at thirteen-pence a pound on your shelf." "Oh, dear sir," cried Amy, "a few sticks serve to boil the tea-kettle." "And a few more," said the Doctor, "will boil the rice milk, and give twice the nourishment at a quarter of the expense."

RICE PUDDING.

"Pray, Sarah," said the Doctor, "how did you use to make that pudding my children were so fond of? And I remember, when it was cold, we used to have it in the parlor for supper." "Nothing more easy," said Mrs. White: "I put half a pound of rice, two quarts of skim-milk, and two ounces of brown sugar." "Well," said the Doctor, "and how many will this dine?" "Seven or eight, sir." "Very well, and what will it cost?" "Why, sir, it did not cost you so much, because we baked at home, and I used our own milk; but it will not cost above seven-pence to those who pay for both. Here, too, bread is saved."

"Pray, Sarah, let me put in a word," said Farmer White: "I advise my men to raise each a large bed of parsnips. They are very nourishing, and very profitable. Sixpenny worth of seed, well sowed and trod in, will produce more meals than four sacks of potatoes; and, what is material to you who have so little ground, it will not require more than an eighth part of the ground which the four sacks will take. Providence having contrived by the very formation of this root that it shall occupy but a very small space. Parsnips are very good the second day warmed in the frying pan, and a little rasher of pork, or bacon, will give them a nice flavor."

Dr. Shepherd now said, "As a proof of the nourishing quality of parsnips, I was reading in a history book this very day, that the American Indians make a great part of their bread of parsnips, though Indian corn is so famous; it will make a little variety too."

A CHEAP STEW.

"I remember," said Mrs. White, "a cheap dish, so nice that it makes my mouth water. I peel some raw potatoes, slice them thin, put the slices into a deep frying-pan, or pot with a little water, an onion, and a bit of pepper. Then I get a bone or two of a breast of mutton, or a little strip of salt pork and put into it. Cover it down close, keep in the steam, and let it stew for an hour."

"You really give me an appetite, Mrs. White, by your dainty receipts," said the Doctor. "I am resolved to have this dish at my own table." "I could tell you another very good dish, and still cheaper," answered she. "Come, let us have it," cried the Doctor. "I shall write all down as soon as I get home, and I will favor any body with a copy of these receipts who will call at my house." "And I will do more, sir," said Mrs. White, "for I will put any of these women in the way how to dress it the first time, if they are at a loss. But this is my dish:

"Take two or three pickled herrings, put them into a stone jar, fill it up with potatoes, and a little water, and let it bake in the oven till it is done. I would give one hint more," added she; "I have taken to use nothing but potatoe starch; and though I say it, that should not say it, nobody's linen in a common way looks better than ours."

The Doctor now said, "I am sorry for one hardship which many poor people labor under: I mean the difficulty of getting a little milk. I wish all the farmers' wives were as considerate as you are, Mrs. White. A little milk is a great comfort to the poor, especially when their children are sick; and I have known it answer to the seller as well as to the buyer, to keep a cow or two on purpose to sell it by the quart, instead of making butter and cheese."

"Sir," said Farmer White, "I beg leave to say a word to the men, if you please, for all your advice goes to the women. If you will drink less gin, you may get more meat. If you abstain from the ale-house, you may, many of you, get a little one-way beer at home." "Ay, that we can, farmer," said poor Tom, the thatcher, who was now got well. "Easter Monday for that--I say no more. A word to the wise." The farmer smiled and went on: "The number of public houses in many a parish, brings on more hunger and rags than all the taxes in it, heavy as they are. All the other evils put together hardly make up the sum of that one. We are now making a fresh subscription for you. This will be our rule of giving: We will not give to sots, gamblers, and Sabbath-breakers. Those who do not set their young children to work on week-days, and send them to school and church on Sundays, deserve little favor. No man should keep a dog till he has more food than his family wants. If he feeds them at home, they rob his children; if he starves them, they rob his neighbors. We have heard in a neighboring city, that some people carried back the subscription loaves, because they were too coarse; but we hope better things of you." Here Betty Plane begged, with all humility, to put in a word. "Certainly," said the Doctor, "we will listen to all modest complaints, and try to redress them." "You are pleased to say, sir," said she, "that we might find much comfort from buying coarse bits of beef. And so we might; but you do not know, sir, that we could seldom get them, even when we had the money, and times were so bad." "How so, Betty?" "Sir, when we go to Butcher Jobbins for a bit of shin, or any other lean piece, his answer is, 'You can't have it to-day. The cook at the great house has bespoke it for gravy, or the Doctor's maid (begging your pardon, sir,) has just ordered it for soup.' Now, if such kind gentlefolk were aware that this gravy and soup not only consume a great deal of meat--which, to be sure, those have a right to do who can pay for it--but that it takes away those coarse pieces which the poor would buy, if they bought at all. For, indeed, the rich have been very kind, and I don't know what we should have done without them."

"I thank you for the hint, Betty," said the Doctor, "and I assure you I will have no more gravy soup. My garden will supply me with soups that are both wholesomer and better; and I will answer for my lady at the great house, that she will do the same. I hope this will become a general rule, and then we shall expect that butchers will favor you in the prices of the coarse pieces, if _we_ who are rich, buy nothing but the prime. In our gifts we shall prefer, as the farmer has told you, those who keep steadily to their work. Such as come to the vestry for a loaf, and do not come to church for the sermon, we shall mark; and prefer those who come constantly, whether there are any gifts or not. But there is one rule from which we never will depart. Those who have been seen aiding or abetting any riot, any attack on butchers, bakers, wheat-mows, mills, or millers, we will not relieve; but with the quiet, contented, hard-working man, I will share my last morsel of bread. I shall only add, though it has pleased God to send us this visitation as a punishment, yet we may convert this short trial into a lasting blessing, if we all turn over a new leaf. Prosperity has made most of us careless. The thoughtless profusion of some of the rich could only be exceeded by the idleness and bad management of some of the poor. Let us now at last adopt that good old maxim, _every one mend one_. And may God add his blessing."

The people now cheerfully departed with their rice, resolving, as many of them as could get milk, to put one of Mrs. White's receipts in practice, and an excellent supper they had.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.

I promised, in the _Cure for Melancholy_, to give some account of the manner in which Mrs. Jones set up her school. She did not much fear being able to raise the money; but money is of little use, unless some persons of sense and piety can be found to direct these institutions. Not that I would discourage those who set them up, even in the most ordinary manner, and from mere views of worldly policy. It is something gained to rescue children from idling away their Sabbaths in the fields or the streets. It is no small thing to keep them from those to which a day of leisure tempts the idle and the ignorant. It is something for them to be taught to read; it is much to be taught to read the Bible, and much, indeed, to be carried regularly to church. But, all this is not enough. To bring these institutions to answer their highest end, can only be effected by God's blessing on the best directed means, the choice of able teachers, and a diligent attention in some pious gentry to visit and inspect the schools.

ON RECOMMENDATIONS.

Mrs. Jones had one talent that eminently qualified her to do good, namely, judgment; this, even in the gay part of her life, had kept her from many mistakes; but though she had sometimes been deceived herself, she was very careful not to deceive others, by recommending people to fill any office for which they were unfit, either through selfishness or false kindness. She used to say, there is always some one appropriate quality which every person must possess in order to fit them for any particular employment. "Even in this quality," said she to Mr. Simpson, the clergyman, "I do not expect perfection; but if they are destitute of this, whatever good qualities they may possess besides, though they may do for some other employment, they will not do for this. If I want a pair of shoes, I go to a shoemaker; I do not go to a man of another trade, however ingenious he may be, to ask him if he can not _contrive_ to make me a pair of shoes. When I lived in London, I learned to be much on my guard as to recommendations. I found people often wanted to impose on me some one who was a burden to themselves. Once, I remember, when I undertook to get a matron for a hospital, half my acquaintance had some one to offer me. Mrs. Gibson sent me an old cook, whom she herself had discharged for wasting her own provisions; yet she had the conscience to recommend this woman to take care of the provisions of a large community. Mrs. Gray sent me a discarded housekeeper, whose constitution had been ruined by sitting up with Mrs. Gray's gouty husband, but who she yet thought might do well enough to undergo the fatigue of taking care of a hundred poor sick people. A third friend sent me a woman who had no merit but that of being very poor, and it would be charity to provide for her. The truth is, the lady was obliged to allow her a small pension till she could get her off her own hands, by turning her on those of others."

"It is very true, madam," said Mr. Simpson; "the right way is always to prefer the good of the many to the good of one; if, indeed, it can be called doing good to any one to place them in a station in which they must feel unhappy, by not knowing how to discharge the duties of it. I will tell you how I manage. If the persons recommended are objects of charity, I privately subscribe to their wants; I pity and help them, but, I never promote them to a station for which they are unfit, as I should by so doing hurt a whole community to help a distressed individual."

Thus Mrs. Jones resolved that the first step toward setting up her school should be to provide a suitable mistress. The vestry were so earnest in recommending one woman, that she thought it worth looking into. On inquiry, she found it was a scheme to take a large family off the parish; they never considered that a very ignorant woman, with a family of young children, was, of all others, the most unfit for a school, all they considered was, that the profits of the school might enable her to live without parish pay. Mrs. Jones refused another, though she could read well, and was decent in her conduct, because she used to send her children to the shop on Sundays. And she objected to a third, a very sensible woman, because she was suspected of making an outward profession of religion a cloak for immoral conduct. Mrs. Jones knew she must not be too nice, neither; she knew she must put up with many faults at last. "I know," said she to Mr. Simpson, "the imperfection of every thing that is human. As the mistress will have much to bear with from the children, so I expect to have something to bear with in the mistress; and she and I must submit to our respective trials, by thinking how much God has to bear with in us all. But there are certain qualities which are indispensable in certain situations. There are, in particular, three things which a good school-mistress must not be without: _good sense_, _activity_, and _piety_. Without the first, she will mislead others; without the second, she will neglect them; and without the third, though she may civilize, yet she will never christianize them."

Mr. Simpson said, "He really knew but of one person in the parish who was fully likely to answer her purpose: this," continued he, "is no other than my housekeeper, Mrs. Betty Crew. It will indeed be a great loss to me to part from her; and to her it will be a far more fatiguing life than that which she at present leads. But ought I to put my own personal comfort, or ought Betty to put her own ease and quiet, in competition with the good of above a hundred children? This will appear still more important, if we consider the good done by these institutions, not as _fruit_, but _seed_; if we take into the account how many yet unborn may become Christians, in consequence of our making these children Christians; for, how can we calculate the number which may be hereafter trained for heaven by those very children we are going to teach, when they themselves shall become parents, and you and I are dead and forgotten? To be sure, by parting from Betty, my peas-soup will not be quite so well-flavored, nor my linen so neatly got up; but the day is fast approaching, when all this will signify but little; but it will not signify little whether one hundred immortal souls were the better for my making this petty sacrifice. Mrs. Crew is a real Christian, has excellent sense, and had a good education from my mother. She has also had a little sort of preparatory training for the business; for, when the poor children come to the parsonage for broth on a Saturday evening, she is used to appoint them all to come at the same time; and, after she has filled their pitchers, she ranges them round her in the garden, and examines them in their catechism. She is just and fair in dealing out the broth and beef, not making my favor to the parents depend on the skill of their children; but her own old caps and ribands, and cast-off clothes, are bestowed as little rewards on the best scholars. So that, taking the time she spends in working for them, and the things she gives them, there is many a lady who does not exceed Mrs. Crew in acts of charity. This I mention to confirm your notion, that it is not necessary to be rich in order to do good; a religious upper servant has great opportunities of this sort, if the master is disposed to encourage her."

My readers, I trust, need not be informed, that this is that very Mrs. Betty Crew who assisted Mrs. Jones in teaching poor women to cut out linen and dress cheap dishes, as related in the _Cure for Melancholy_. Mrs. Jones, in the following week, got together as many of the mothers as she could, and spoke to them as follows:

MRS. JONES'S EXHORTATION.

"My good women, on Sunday next I propose to open a school for the instruction of your children. Those among you who know what it is to be able to read your Bible, will, I doubt not, rejoice that the same blessing is held out to your children. You who are _not_ able yourselves to read what your Saviour has done and suffered for you, ought to be doubly anxious that your children should reap a blessing which you have lost. Would not that mother be thought an unnatural monster who would stand by and snatch out of her child's mouth the bread which a kind friend had just put into it? But such a mother would be merciful, compared with her who should rob her children of the opportunity of learning to read the word of God when it is held out to them. Remember, that if you slight the present offer, or if, after having sent your children a few times you should afterward keep them at home under vain pretenses, you will have to answer for it at the day of judgment. Let not your poor children, _then_, have cause to say, 'My fond mother was my worst enemy. I might have been bred up in the fear of the Lord, and she opposed it for the sake of giving me a little paltry pleasure. For an idle holiday, I am now brought to the gates of hell!' My dear women, which of you could bear to see your darling child condemned to everlasting destruction? Which of you could bear to hear him accuse you as the cause of it? Is there any mother here present, who will venture to say, 'I will doom the children I bore to sin and hell, rather than put them or myself to a little present pain, by curtailing their evil inclinations! I will let them spend the Sabbath in ignorance and idleness, instead of rescuing them from vanity and sin, by sending them to school?' If there are any such here present, let that mother who values her child's pleasure more than his soul, now walk away, while I set down in my list the names of all those who wish to bring their young ones up in the way that leads to eternal life, instead of indulging them in the pleasures of sin, which are but for a moment."

When Mrs. Jones had done speaking, most of the women thanked her for her good advice, and hoped that God would give them grace to follow it; promising to send their children constantly. Others, who were not so well-disposed, were yet afraid to refuse, after the sin of so doing had been so plainly set before them. The worst of the women had kept away from this meeting, resolving to set their faces against the school. Most of those also who were present, as soon as they got home, set about providing their children with what little decent apparel they could raise. Many a willing mother lent her tall daughter her hat, best cap, and white handkerchief; and many a grateful father spared his linen waistcoat and bettermost hat, to induce his grown up son to attend; for it is a rule with which Mrs. Jones began, that she would not receive the younger children out of any family who did not send their elder ones. Too many made excuses that their shoes were old, or their hat worn out. But Mrs. Jones told them not to bring any excuse to her which they could not bring to the day of judgment; and among those excuses she would hardly admit any except accidents, sickness or attendance on sick parents or young children.

SUBSCRIPTIONS.