[Illustration: TAWNEY RACHEL. ]

STORIES FOR THE YOUNG;

OR, CHEAP REPOSITORY TRACTS:

ENTERTAINING, MORAL, AND RELIGIOUS. 

BY HANNAH MORE AND OTHERS. 

A NEW REVISED EDITION. 

VOL. VI. 

PUBLISHED BY THEAMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 

CONTENTS

VOL. VI. 

Black Giles the Poacher; containing some account of a family who hadrather live by their wits than their work. 

History of Widow Brown's Apple-tree; being Part II. Of Black Giles thePoacher. 

Tawney Rachel; or, the Fortune-teller: with some account of Dreams, Omens, and Conjurers. Being Part III. Of Black Giles the Poacher. 

The Happy Waterman. 

The Gravestone. 

Parley the Porter. An Allegory. Showing how robbers without can neverget into a house unless there are traitors within. 

A New Christmas Tract; or, the Right Way of Rejoicing at Christmas. Showing the reasons we have for joy at the event of our Saviour's birth. 

A New Christmas Hymn. 

Bear ye one another's Burdens; or, the Valley of Tears. A Vision. 

The Strait Gate and the Broad Way; being the Second Part of the Valleyof Tears. 

The Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard. 

BLACK GILES THE POACHER:

CONTAINING SOME ACCOUNT OF A FAMILY WHO HAD RATHER LIVE BY THEIR WITSTHAN THEIR WORK[A]

BY HANNAH MORE. 

PART I

[Footnote A: This story exhibits an accurate picture of that part ofthe country where the author then resided; and where, by herbenevolent zeal, a great reformation was effected among the poorinhabitants of at least twenty parishes, within a circle of thirtymiles. ]

Poaching Giles lives on the borders of one of those great moors inSomersetshire. Giles, to be sure, has been a sad fellow in his time;and it is none of his fault if his whole family do not end theircareer either at the gallows, or at Botany Bay. He lives at that mudcottage, with the broken windows stuffed with dirty rags, just beyondthe gate which divides the upper from the lower moor. You may know thehouse at a good distance by the ragged tiles on the roof, and theloose stones which are ready to drop out from the chimney; though ashort ladder, a hod of mortar, and half an hour's leisure time wouldhave prevented all this, and made the little dwelling tight enough. But as Giles had never learned any thing that was good, so he did notknow the value of such useful sayings as, that "a tile in time savesnine. "

Besides this, Giles fell into that common mistake, that abeggarly looking cottage, and filthy, ragged children, raised mostcompassion, and of course drew most charity. But as cunning as he wasin other things, he was out in his reckoning here; for it is neatness, housewifery, and a decent appearance, which draws the kindness of therich and charitable, while they turn away disgusted with filth andlaziness: not out of pride, but because they see that it is next toimpossible to mend the condition of those who degrade themselves bydirt and sloth; and few people care to help those who will not helpthemselves. 

[Illustration]

The common on which Giles' hovel stands is quite a deep marsh in a wetwinter, but in summer it looks green and pretty enough. To be sure, itwould be rather convenient, when one passes that way in a carriage, ifone of the children would run out and open the gate; but instead of anyone of them running out as soon as they hear the wheels, which would bequite time enough, what does Giles do but set all his ragged brats, withdirty faces, matted locks, and naked feet and legs, to lie all day upona sand-bank hard by the gate, waiting for the slender chance of what maybe picked up from travellers. At the sound of a carriage, a whole coveyof these little scarecrows start up, rush to the gate, and all at oncethrust out their hats and aprons; and for fear this, together with thenoise of their clamorous begging, should not sufficiently frighten thehorses, they are very apt to let the gate slap full against you, beforeyou are half way through, in their eager scuffle to snatch from eachother the halfpence which you may have thrown out to them. I know twoladies who were one day very near being killed by these abominable tricks. 

Thus five or six little idle creatures, who might be earning a trifleby knitting at home, who might be useful to the public by working inthe field, and who might assist their families by learning to gettheir bread twenty honest ways, are suffered to lie about all day inthe hope of a few chance halfpence, which, after all, they are by nomeans sure of getting. Indeed, when the neighboring gentlefolks foundout that opening the gate was the family trade, they soon left offgiving any thing. And I myself, though I used to take out a pennyready to give, had there been only one to receive it, when I saw awhole family established in so beggarly a trade, quietly put it backagain into my pocket, and gave nothing at all. And so few travellerspass that way, that sometimes, after the whole family have lost a day, their gains do not Amount to two-pence. 

As Giles had a far greater taste for living by his wits than his work, he was at one time in hopes that his children might get a pretty pennyby _tumbling_ for the diversion of travellers, and he set abouttraining them in that indecent practice; but, unluckily, the moorsbeing level, the carriages travelled faster than the children tumbled. He envied those parents who lived on the London road, over theWiltshire downs, which downs being very hilly, it enables the tumblerto keep pace with the traveller, till he sometimes extorts from thelight and the unthinking a reward instead of a reproof. I beg leave, however, to put all gentlemen and ladies in mind, that such tricks area kind of apprenticeship to the trades of begging and thieving; andthat nothing is more injurious to good morals than to encourage thepoor in any habits which may lead them to live upon chance. 

Giles, to be sure, as his children grew older, began to train them tosuch other employments as the idle habits they had learned at the gatevery properly qualified them for. The right of common, which some ofthe poor cottagers have in that part of the country, and which isdoubtless a considerable advantage to many, was converted by Gilesinto the means of corrupting his whole family; for his children, assoon as they grew too big for the trade of begging at the gate, werepromoted to the dignity of thieving on the moor. 

Here he kept two or three asses, miserable creatures, which, if theyhad the good fortune to escape an untimely death by starving, did notfail to meet with it by beating. Some of the biggest boys were sentout with these lean and galled animals to carry sand or coals aboutthe neighboring towns. Both sand and coals were often stolen beforethey got them to sell; or if not, they always took care to cheat inselling them. By long practice in this art, they grew so dexterousthat they could give a pretty good guess how large a coal they couldcrib out of every bag before the buyer would be likely to miss it. 

All their odd time was taken up under the pretence of watching theseasses on the moor, or running after five or six half-starved geese;but the truth is, these boys were only watching for an opportunity tosteal an odd goose of their neighbor's, while they pretended to lookafter their own. They used also to pluck the quills or the down fromthese poor live creatures, or half milk a cow before the farmer's maidcame with her pail. They all knew how to calculate to a minute whattime to be down in a morning to let out their lank, hungry beasts, which they had turned over night into the farmer's field to steal alittle good pasture. They contrived to get there just time enough toescape being caught in replacing the stakes they had pulled out forthe cattle to get over. For Giles was a prudent, long-headed fellow;and wherever he stole food for his colts, took care never to stealstakes from the hedges at the same time. He had sense enough to knowthat the gain did not make up for the danger; he knew that a loosefagot, pulled from a neighbor's pile of wood after the family weregone to bed, answered the end better, and was not half the trouble. 

Among the many trades which Giles professed, he sometimes practisedthat of a rat-catcher; but he was addicted to so many tricks, that henever followed the same trade long, for detection will sooner or laterfollow the best-concerted villany. Whenever he was sent for to afarm-house, his custom was to kill a few of the old rats, alwaystaking care to leave a little stock of young ones alive sufficient tokeep up the breed; "for, " said he, "if I were to be such a fool as toclear a house or a barn at once, how would my trade be carried on?"And where any barn was overstocked, he used to borrow a few rats fromthence, just to people a neighboring granary which had none; and hemight have gone on till now, had he not unluckily been caught oneevening emptying his cage of young rats under parson Wilson'sbarn-door. 

This worthy minister, Mr. Wilson, used to pity the neglected childrenof Giles, as much as he blamed the wicked parents. He one day pickedup Dick, who was far the best of Giles' bad boys. Dick was loiteringabout in a field behind the parson's garden, in search of a hen'snest, his mother having ordered him to bring home a few eggs thatnight, by hook or by crook, as Giles was resolved to have somepancakes for supper, though he knew that eggs were a penny apiece. Mr. Wilson had long been desirous of snatching some of this vagrantfamily from ruin; and his chief hopes were bent on Dick, as the leasthackneyed in knavery. He had once given him a new pair of shoes, onhis promising to go to school next Sunday; but no sooner had Rachel, the boy's mother, got the shoes into her clutches, than she pawnedthem for a bottle of gin, and ordered the boy to keep out of theparson's sight, and to be sure to play his marbles on Sunday, for thefuture, at the other end of the parish, and not near the churchyard. 

Mr. Wilson, however, picked up the boy once more; for it was not hisway to despair of any body. Dick was just going to take to his heels, as usual, for fear the old story of the shoes should be broughtforward; but finding he could not get off, what does he do but runinto a little puddle of muddy water which lay between him and theparson, that the sight of his naked feet might not bring on thedreaded subject. Now, it happened that Mr. Wilson was planting alittle field of beans, so he thought this a good opportunity to employDick; and he told him he had got some pretty easy work for him. Dickdid as he was bid; he willingly went to work, and readily began toplant his beans with dispatch and regularity, according to thedirections given him. 

While the boy was busily at work by himself, Giles happened to comeby, having been skulking round the back way, to look over the parson'sgarden wall, to see if there was any thing worth climbing over for onthe ensuing night. He spied Dick, and began to scold him for workingfor the stingy old parson; for Giles had a natural antipathy towhatever belonged to the church. 

"What has he promised thee a day?" said he; "little enough, I daresay. "

"He is not to pay me by the day, " said Dick, "but says he will give meso much when I have planted this peck, and so much for the next. "

"Oh, oh, that alters the case, " said Giles. "One may, indeed, get atrifle by this sort of work. I hate your regular day-jobs, when onecan't well avoid doing one's work for one's money. Come, give me ahandful of the beans; I will teach thee how to plant when thou artpaid for planting by the peck. All we have to do in that case is todispatch the work as fast as we can, and get rid of the beans with allspeed; and as to the seed coming up or not, that is no business ofours; we are paid for planting, not for growing. At the rate thougoest on, thou wouldst not get sixpence to-night. Come along, hurryaway. "

So saying, he took his hat-full of the seed, and where Dick had beenordered to set one bean, Giles buried a dozen; so the beans were soonout. But though the peck was emptied, the ground was unplanted. Butcunning Giles knew this could not be found out till the time when thebeans might be expected to come up; "and then, Dick, " said he, "thesnails and mice may go shares in the blame; or we can lay the faulton the rooks or the blackbirds. " So saying, he sent the boy into theparsonage to receive his pay, taking care to secure about a quarter ofthe peck of beans for his own colt. He put both bag and beans into hisown pocket to carry home, bidding Dick tell Mr. Wilson that he hadplanted the beans and lost the bag. 

In the meantime Giles' other boys were busy in emptying the ponds andtrout-streams in the neighboring manor. They would steal away the carpand tench when they were no bigger than gudgeons. By this untimelydepredation they plundered the owner of his property, withoutenriching themselves. But the pleasure of mischief was reward enough. 

These and a hundred other little thieveries they committed with suchdexterity, that old Tom Crib, whose son was transported last assizesfor sheep-stealing, used to be often reproaching his boys, that Giles'sons were worth a hundred of such blockheads as he had; for scarce anight passed but Giles had some little comfortable thing for supperwhich his boys had pilfered in the day, while his undutiful dogs neverstole any thing worth having. Giles, in the meantime, was busy in hisway; but as busy as he was in laying nets, starting coveys, andtraining dogs, he always took care that his depredations should not beconfined merely to game. 

Giles' boys had never seen the inside of a church, and the fatherthought he knew his own interest better than to force them to it; forchurch-time was the season of their harvest. Then the hens' nests weresearched, a stray duck was clapped under the smockfrock, the toolswhich might have been left by chance in a farm-yard were picked up, and all the neighboring pigeon-houses were thinned; so that Giles usedto boast to tawny Rachel, his wife, that Sunday was to them the mostprofitable day in the week. 

With her it was certainly the most laborious day, as she always didher washing and ironing on Sunday morning, it being, as she said, theonly leisure day she had; for on the other days she went about thecountry telling fortunes, and selling dream-books and wicked songs. Neither her husband's nor her children's clothes were ever mended, andif Sunday, her idle day, had not come about once in every week, it islikely they would never have been washed either. You might, however, see her as you were going to church smoothing her own rags on her bestred cloak, which she always used for her ironing-cloth on Sundays, forher cloak when she travelled, and for her blanket at night: such awretched manager was Rachel. 

Among her other articles of trade, one was to make and sellpeppermint, and other distilled waters. These she had the cheap art ofmaking without trouble and without expense, for she made them withoutherbs and without a still. Her way was, to fill so many quart bottleswith plain water, putting a spoonful of mint-water in the mouth ofeach; these she corked down with rosin, carrying to each customer avial of real distilled water to taste, by way of sample. This was sogood that her bottles were commonly bought up without being opened;but if any suspicion arose, and she was forced to uncork a bottle, bythe few drops of distilled water lying at top, she even then escapeddetection, and took care to get out of reach before the bottle wasopened a second time. She was too prudent ever to go twice to the samehouse. 

THE UPRIGHT MAGISTRATE. 

There is hardly any petty mischief that is not connected with the lifeof a poacher. Mr. Wilson was aware of this; he was not only a piousclergyman, but an upright justice. He used to say, that people whowere truly conscientious, must be so in small things as well as ingreat ones, or they would destroy the effect of their own precepts, and their example would not be of general use. For this reason henever would accept of a hare or a partridge from any unqualifiedperson in his parish. He did not content himself with shuffling thething off by asking no questions, and pretending to take it forgranted in a general way that the game was fairly come at; but he usedto say, that by receiving the booty he connived at a crime, madehimself a sharer in it, and if he gave a present to the man whobrought it, he even tempted him to repeat the fault. 

One day poor Jack Weston, an honest fellow in the neighborhood, whomMr. Wilson had kindly visited and relieved in a long sickness, fromwhich he had but just recovered, was brought before him as he wassitting on the justice's bench. Jack was accused of having knockeddown a hare; and of all the birds in the air, who should the informerbe but Black Giles the poacher. Mr. Wilson was grieved at the charge;he had a great regard for Jack, but he had a still greater regard forthe law. The poor fellow pleaded guilty. He did not deny the fact, butsaid he did not consider it a crime, for he did not think game wasprivate property, and he owned he had a strong temptation for doingwhat he had done, which he hoped would plead in his excuse. Thejustice desired to know what this temptation was. 

"Sir, " said the poor fellow, "you know I was given over this spring ina bad fever. I had no friend in the world but you, sir. Under God, yousaved my life by your charitable relief; and I trust also you may havehelped to save my soul by your prayers and your good advice; for, bythe grace of God, I have turned over a new leaf since that sickness. 

"I know I can never make you amends for all your goodness; but Ithought it would be some comfort to my full heart if I could but oncegive you some little token of my gratitude. So I had trained a pair ofnice turtledoves for Madam Wilson; but they were stolen from me, sir, and I do suspect Black Giles stole them. Yesterday morning, sir, as Iwas crawling out to my work, for I am still but very weak, a fine hareran across my path. I did not stay to consider whether it was wrong tokill a hare, but I felt it was right to show my gratitude; so, sir, without a moment's thought, I did knock down the hare, which I wasgoing to carry to your worship, because I knew madam was fond of hare. I am truly sorry for my fault, and will submit to whatever punishmentyour worship may please to inflict. "

Mr. Wilson was much moved with this honest confession, and touchedwith the poor fellow's gratitude. What added to the effect of thestory, was the weak condition, and pale, sickly looks of the offender. But this worthy magistrate never suffered his feelings to bias hisintegrity; he knew that he did not sit on that bench to indulge pity, but to administer justice. And while he was sorry for the offender, he would never justify the offence. 

"John, " said he, "I am surprised that you could for a moment forgetthat I never accept any gift which causes the giver to break a law. On Sunday I teach you from the pulpit the laws of God, whose ministerI am. At present I fill the chair of the magistrate, to enforce andexecute the laws of the land. Between these and the others there ismore connection than you are aware. I thank you, John, for youraffection to me, and I admire your gratitude; but I must not alloweither affection or gratitude to be brought as a plea for a wrongaction. It is not your business nor mine, John, to settle whether thegame-laws are good or bad. Till they are repealed we must obey them. Many, I doubt not, break these laws through ignorance, and many, I am certain, who would not dare to steal a goose or a turkey, makeno scruple of knocking down a hare or a partridge. You will hereafterthink yourself happy that this your first attempt has provedunsuccessful, as I trust you are too honest a fellow ever to intendto turn poacher. With poaching much more evil is connected: a habitof nightly depredation, a custom of prowling in the dark for prey, produces in time a disrelish for honest labor. He whose first offencewas committed without much thought or evil intention, if he happensto succeed a few times in carrying off his booty undiscovered, growsbolder and bolder; and when he fancies there is no shame attending it, he very soon gets to persuade himself that there is also no sin. Whilesome people pretend a scruple about stealing a sheep, they partly liveby plundering of warrens. But remember, that the warrener pays a highrent, and that therefore his rabbits are as much his property as hissheep. Do not then deceive yourselves with these false distinctions. All property is sacred; and as the laws of the land are intended tofence in that property, he who brings up his children to break downany of these fences, brings them up to certain sin and ruin. He whobegins with robbing orchards, rabbit-warrens, and fish-ponds, willprobably end with horsestealing, or highway robbery. Poaching is aregular apprenticeship to bolder crimes. He whom I may commit as a boyto sit in the stocks for killing a partridge, may be likely to end atthe gallows for killing a man. 

"Observe, you who now hear me, the strictness and impartiality ofjustice. I know Giles to be a worthless fellow, yet it is my duty totake his information; I know Jack Weston to be an honest youth, yet Imust be obliged to make him pay the penalty. Giles is a bad man, buthe can prove this fact; Jack is a worthy lad, but he has committedthis fault. I am sorry for you, Jack; but do not let it grieve youthat Giles has played worse tricks a hundred times, and yet got off, while you were detected in the very first offence, for that would begrieving because you are not so great a rogue as Giles. At this momentyou think your good luck is very unequal; but all this will one dayturn out in your favor. Giles is not the more a favorite of heavenbecause he has hitherto escaped Botany Bay or the hulks; nor is it anymark of God's displeasure against you, John, that you were found outin your very first attempt. "

Here the good justice left off speaking, and no one could contradictthe truth of what he had said. Weston humbly submitted to hissentence, but he was very poor, and knew not where to raise the moneyto pay his fine. His character had always been so fair, that severalfarmers present kindly agreed to advance a trifle each, to prevent hisbeing sent to prison, and he thankfully promised to work out the debt. The justice himself, though he could not soften the law, yet showedWeston so much kindness, that he was enabled, before the year was out, to get out of this difficulty. He began to think more seriously thanhe had ever yet done, and grew to abhor poaching, not merely from fearbut from principle. 

We shall soon see whether poaching Giles always got off sosuccessfully. Here we have seen that worldly prosperity is no suresign of goodness; and that "the triumphing of the wicked is short, "will appear in the second part of the Poacher, containing theentertaining story of the Widow Brown's Apple-tree. 

PART II. 

HISTORY OF WIDOW BROWN'S APPLE-TREE. 

I think my readers are so well acquainted with Black Giles thepoacher, that they will not expect to hear any great good, either ofGiles himself, his wife Rachel, or any of their family. I am sorry toexpose their tricks, but it is their fault, not mine. If I pretend tospeak about people at all, I must tell the truth. I am sure, if folkswould but turn about and mend, it would be a thousand times pleasanterto me to write their histories; as it is no comfort to tell of anybody's faults. If the world would but grow good, I should be gladenough to tell of it; but till it really becomes so, I must go ondescribing it as it is; otherwise I should only mislead my readers, instead of instructing them. It is the duty of a faithful historian torelate the evil with the good. 

As to Giles and his boys, I am sure old widow Brown has good reason toremember their dexterity. Poor woman, she had a fine little bed ofonions in her neat and well-kept garden; she was very fond of heronions, and many a rheumatism has she caught by kneeling down to weedthem in a damp day, notwithstanding the little flannel cloak and thebit of an old mat which Madam Wilson gave her, because the old womanwould needs weed in wet weather. Her onions she always carefullytreasured up for her winter's store; for an onion makes a little brothvery relishing, and is, indeed, the only savory thing poor people areused to get. 

She had also a small orchard, containing about a dozen apple-trees, with which, in a good year, she has been known to make a couple ofbarrels of cider, which she sold to her landlord towards paying herrent, besides having a little keg which she was able to keep back forher own drinking. 

Well, would you believe it? Giles and his boys marked both onions andapples for their own. Indeed, a man who stole so many rabbits from thewarren, was likely enough to steal onions for sauce. One day when thewidow was abroad on a little business, Giles and his boys made a clearriddance of the onion-bed; and when they had pulled up every singleonion, they then turned a couple of pigs into the garden, who, alluredby the smell, tore up the bed in such a manner, that the widow, whenshe came home, had not the least doubt but the pigs had been thethieves. To confirm this opinion, they took care to leave the littlehatch half open at one end of the garden, and to break down a bit of afence at the other end. 

I wonder how any body can find in his heart not to pity and respectpoor old widows. There is something so forlorn and helpless in theircondition, that methinks it is a call on every body, men, women, andchildren, to do them all the kind services that fall in their way. Surely, their having no one to take their part, is an additionalreason for kind-hearted people not to hurt and oppress them. But itwas this very reason which led Giles to do this woman an injury. Withwhat a touching simplicity it is recorded in Scripture, of the youthwhom our blessed Saviour raised from the dead, that he was the onlyson of his mother, _and she was a widow_. 

It happened, unluckily for poor widow Brown, that her cottage stoodquite alone. On several mornings together--for roguery gets up muchearlier than industry--Giles and his boys stole regularly into herorchard, followed by their jackasses. She was so deaf that she couldnot hear the asses, if they had brayed ever so loud, and to thisGiles trusted; for he was very cautious in his rogueries, since hecould not otherwise have contrived so long to keep out of prison; forthough he was almost always suspected, he had seldom been taken up, and never convicted. The boys used to fill their bags, load theirasses, and then march off; and if, in their way to the town where theapples were to be sold, they chanced to pass by one of their neighborswho might be likely to suspect them, they then all at once began toscream out, "Buy my coal? buy my sand?"

Besides the trees in her orchard, poor widow Brown had in her smallgarden one apple-tree particularly fine; it was a redstreak, sotempting and so lovely that Giles' family had watched it with longingeyes, till at last they resolved on a plan for carrying off all thisfine fruit in their bags. But it was a nice point to manage. The treestood directly under her chamber window, so that there was some dangerthat she might spy them at the work. They therefore determined to waittill the next Sunday morning, when they knew she would not fail to beat church. Sunday came; it was a lone house, as I said before, andmost of the parish were safe at church. In a trice the tree wascleared, the bags were filled, the asses were whipped, the thieveswere off, the coast was clear, and all was safe and quiet by the timethe sermon was over. 

Unluckily, however, it happened, that this tree was so beautiful, andthe fruit so fine, that the people, as they used to pass to and fromchurch, were very apt to stop and admire widow Brown's redstreaks; andsome of the farmers rather envied her, that in that scarce season, when they hardly expected to make a pie out of a large orchard, shewas likely to make a cask of cider from a single tree. I am afraid, indeed, if I must speak out, she herself rather set her heart too muchupon this fruit, and had felt as much pride in her tree as gratitudeto a good Providence for it; but this failing of hers was no excusefor Giles. The covetousness of this thief had for once got the betterof his caution; the tree was too completely stripped, though theyoungest boy Dick did beg hard that his father would leave the poorold woman enough for a few dumplings; and when Giles ordered Dick inhis turn to shake the tree, the boy did it so gently that hardly anyapples fell, for which he got a good stroke of the stick with whichthe old man was beating down the apples. 

The neighbors, on their return from church, stopped as usual; but itwas--not, alas, to admire the apples, for apples there were none left, but to lament the robbery, and console the widow. Meantime theredstreaks were safely lodged in Giles' hovel, under a few bundles ofhay, which he had contrived to pull from the farmer's mow the nightbefore, for the use of his jackasses. 

Such a stir, however, began to be made about the widow's apple-tree, that Giles, who knew how much his character laid him open tosuspicion, as soon as he saw the people safe in church again in theafternoon, ordered his boys to carry each a hatful of the apples, andthrust them in at a little casement window, which happened to be openin the house of Samuel Price, a very honest carpenter in that parish, who was at church with his whole family. Giles' plan, by thiscontrivance, was to lay the theft on Price's sons, in case the thingshould come to be further inquired into. Here Dick put in a word, andbegged and prayed his father not to force them to carry the apples toPrice's. But all that he got by his begging was such a knock as hadnearly laid him on the earth. 

"What, you cowardly rascal, " said Giles, "you will go and _peach_, Isuppose, and get your father sent to jail. "

Poor widow Brown, though her trouble had made her still weaker thanshe was, went to church again in the afternoon; indeed, she rightlythought that her being in trouble was a new reason why she ought togo. During the service she tried with all her might not to think ofher redstreaks; and whenever they would come into her head, she tookup her prayer-book directly, and so she forgot them a little; and, indeed, she found herself much easier when she came out of the churchthan when she went in--an effect so commonly produced by prayer, thatmethinks it is a pity people do not try it oftener. 

Now it happened oddly enough, that on that Sunday, of all the Sundaysin the year, the widow should call in to rest a little at SamuelPrice's, to tell over again the lamentable story of the apples, and toconsult with him how the thief might be brought to justice. But O, reader, guess, if you can, for I am sure I cannot tell you, what washer surprise, when, on going into Samuel Price's kitchen, she saw herown redstreaks lying in the window! The apples were of a sort tooremarkable for color, shape, and size, to be mistaken. There was notsuch another tree in the parish. 

Widow Brown immediately screamed out, "'Las-a-day! as sure as can be, here are my redstreaks; I can swear to them in any court. " SamuelPrice, who believed his sons to be as honest as himself, was shockedand troubled at the sight. He knew he had no redstreaks of his own; heknew there were no apples in the window when he went to church; he didverily believe these apples to be the widow's. But how they came therehe could not possibly guess. He called for Tom, the only one of hissons who now lived at home. Tom was at the Sunday-school, which he hadnever once missed since Mr. Wilson the minister had set one up in theparish. Was such a boy likely to do such a deed?

A crowd had by this time got about Price's door, among which was Gilesand his boys, who had already taken care to spread the news that TomPrice was the thief. Most people were unwilling to believe it. Hischaracter was very good, but appearances were strongly against him. Mr. Wilson now came in. He was much concerned that Tom Price, the bestboy in his school, should stand accused of such a crime. He sent forthe boy, examined, and cross-examined him. No marks of guilt appeared. But still, though he pleaded _not guilty, _ there lay the redstreaks inhis father's window. 

All the idle fellows in the place, who were most likely to havecommitted such a theft themselves, fell with great vengeance on poorTom. The wicked seldom give any quarter. "This is one of yoursanctified ones!" cried they. "This was all the good thatSunday-schools did! For their parts, they never saw any good come byreligion. Sunday was the only day for a little pastime; and if poorboys must be shut up with their godly books, when they ought to be outtaking a little pleasure, it was no wonder they made themselves amendsby such tricks. "

Another said he should like to see parson Wilson's righteous one wellwhipped. A third hoped he would be clapped in the stocks for a younghypocrite as he was; while old Giles, who thought it was the only wayto avoid suspicion by being more violent than the rest, declared, that "he hoped the young dog would be transported for life. "

Mr. Wilson was too wise and too just to proceed against Tom withoutfull proof. He declared the crime was a very heavy one, and he fearedthat heavy must be the punishment. Tom, who knew his own innocence, earnestly prayed to God that it might be made to appear as clear asthe noonday; and very fervent were his secret devotions on that night. 

Black Giles passed his night in a very different manner. He set off assoon as it was dark, with his sons and their jackasses laden withtheir stolen goods. As such a cry was raised about the apples, he didnot think it safe to keep them longer at home, but resolved to go andsell them at the next town; borrowing without leave a lame colt out ofthe moor to assist in carrying off his booty. 

Giles and his eldest sons had rare sport all the way in thinking, thatwhile they were enjoying the profit of their plunder, Tom Price wouldbe whipped round the market-place at least, if not sent beyond sea. But the younger boy, Dick, who had naturally a tender heart, thoughhardened by his long familiarity with sin, could not help crying whenhe thought that Tom Price might perhaps be transported for a crimewhich he himself had helped to commit. He had had no compunction aboutthe robbery, for he had not been instructed in the great principles oftruth and justice; nor would he, therefore, perhaps have had muchremorse about accusing an innocent boy. But, though utterly devoid ofprinciple, he had some remains of natural feeling and of gratitude. Tom Price had often given him a bit of his own bread and cheese; andonce, when Dick was like to be drowned, Tom had jumped into the pondwith his clothes on, and saved his life, when he was just sinking: theremembrance of all this made his heart heavy. He said nothing; but, ashe trotted, barefoot, after the asses, he heard his father andbrothers laugh at having outwitted the godly ones; and he grieved tothink how poor Tom would suffer for his wickedness, yet fear kept himsilent: they called him sulky dog, and lashed the asses till theybled. 

In the meantime, Tom Price kept up his spirits as well as he could. Heworked hard all day, and prayed heartily night and morning. 

"It is true, " said he to himself, "I am not guilty of this sin; butlet this accusation set me on examining myself, and truly repentingof all my other sins; for I find enough to repent of, though I thankGod I did not steal the widow's apples. "

At length Sunday came, and Tom went to school as usual. As soon as hewalked in, there was a great deal of whispering and laughing among theworst of the boys; and he overheard them say, "Who would have thoughtit? This is master's favorite! This is parson Wilson's sober Tommy! Wesha'n't have Tommy thrown in our teeth again, if we go to get abirdsnest, or gather a few nuts on a Sunday. " "Your demure ones arealways hypocrites, " says another. "The still sow sucks all the milk, "says a third. 

Giles' family had always kept clear of the school. Dick, indeed, hadsometimes wished to go: not that he had much sense of sin, or desireafter goodness, but he thought if he could once read, he might rise inthe world, and not be forced to drive asses all his life. Through thiswhole Saturday night he could not sleep. He longed to know what wouldbe done to Tom. He began to wish to go to school, but he had notcourage--sin is very cowardly: so, on the Sunday morning, he went andsat himself down under the church-wall. Mr. Wilson passed by. It wasnot his way to reject the most wicked, till he had tried every meansto bring them over; and even then he pitied and prayed for them. Hehad, indeed, long left off talking to Giles' sons; but, seeing Dicksitting by himself, he once more spoke to him, desired him to leaveoff his vagabond life, and go with him into the school. The boy hungdown his head, but made no answer. He did not, however, either rise upand run away, or look sulky, as he used to do. The minister desiredhim once more to go. 

"Sir, " said the boy, "I can't go; I am so big I am ashamed. "

"The bigger you are, the less time you have to lose. "

"But, sir, I can't read. "

"Then it is high time you should learn. "

"I should be ashamed to begin to learn my letters. "

"The shame is not in beginning to learn them, but in being contentednever to know them. "

"But, sir, I am so ragged. "

"God looks at the heart, and not at the coat. "

"But, sir, I have no shoes and stockings. "

"So much the worse; I remember who gave you both. " Here Dick colored. "It is bad to want shoes and stockings; but still, if you can driveyour asses a dozen miles without them, you may certainly walk ahundred yards to school without them. "

"But, sir, the good boys will hate me, and wont speak to me. "

"Good boys hate nobody; and as to not speaking to you, to be sure theywill not keep you company while you go on in your present evilcourses; but as soon as they see you wish to reform, they will helpyou, and pity you, and teach you; so come along. " Here Mr. Wilson tookthis dirty boy by the hand, and gently pulled him forward, kindlytalking to him all the way. 

How the whole school stared to see Dick Giles come in! No one, however, dared to say what he thought. The business went on, and Dickslunk into a corner, partly to hide his rags, and partly to hide hissin; for last Sunday's transactions sat heavy on his heart, notbecause he had stolen the apples, but because Tom Price had beenaccused. This, I say, made him slink behind. Poor boy, he littlethought there was _One_ saw him who sees all things, and from whoseeye no hole or corner can hide the sinner; for he is about our bed, and about our paths, and spieth out all our ways. 

It was the custom in that school for the master, who was a good andwise man, to mark down in his pocketbook all the events of the week, that he might turn them to some account in his Sunday eveninginstructions: such as any useful story in the newspaper, any accountof boys being drowned as they were out in a pleasure-boat on Sundays, any sudden death in the parish, or any other remarkable visitation ofProvidence; insomuch, that many young people in the place, who did notbelong to the school, and many parents, also, used to drop in for anhour on a Sunday evening, when they were sure to hear somethingprofitable. The minister greatly approved this practice, and oftencalled in himself, which was a great support to the master, andencouragement to the people. 

The master had taken a deep concern in the story of widow Brown'sapple-tree. He could not believe Tom Price was guilty, nor dared hepronounce him innocent; but he resolved to turn the instructions ofthe present evening to this subject. He began thus: "My dear boys, however light some of you may make of robbing an orchard, yet I haveoften told you there is no such thing as a _little_ sin, if it bewilful or habitual. I wish now to explain to you, also, that there ishardly such a thing as a _single_ solitary sin. You know I teach younot merely to repeat the commandments as an exercise for your memory, but as a rule for your conduct. If you were to come here on a Sundayonly to learn to read and spell, I should think that was not employingGod's day for God's work; but I teach you to read, that you may, bythis means, so understand the Bible and the catechism, as to makeevery text in the one, and every question and answer in the other, tobe so fixed in your hearts, that they may bring forth the fruits ofgood living. "

MASTER. "How many commandments are there?"

BOY. "Ten. "

MASTER. "How many did that boy break who stole widow Brown's apples?"

BOY. "Only one, master; the eighth. "

MASTER. "What is the eighth?"

BOY. "Thou shalt not steal. "

MASTER. "And you are very sure that this was the only one he broke?Now, suppose I could prove to you that he probably broke, not lessthan six out of those ten commandments, which the great Lord of heavenhimself stooped down from his eternal glory to deliver to men, wouldyou not then think it a terrible thing to steal, whether apples orguineas?"

BOY. "Yes, master. "

MASTER. "I will put the case. Some wicked boy has robbed widow Brown'sorchard. " Here the eyes of every one were turned on poor Tom Price, except those of Dick Giles, who fixed his on the ground. "I accuse noone, " continued the master; "Tom Price is a good boy, and was notmissing at the time of the robbery: these are two reasons why Ipresume he is innocent; but whoever it was, you allow that by stealingthese apples he broke the eighth commandment?"

BOY. "Yes, master. "

MASTER. "On what day were these apples stolen?"

BOY. "On Sunday. "

MASTER. "What is the fourth commandment?"

BOY. "Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath-day. "

MASTER, "Does that person keep holy the Sabbath-day, who loiters in anorchard on Sunday when he should be at church, and steals apples whenhe ought to be at prayer?"

BOY. "No, master. "

MASTER. "What command does he break?"

BOY. "The fourth. "

MASTER. "Suppose this boy had parents, who had sent him to church, andthat he had disobeyed them by not going; would that be keeping thefifth commandment?"

BOY. "No, master; for the fifth commandment says, 'Thou shalt _honor_thy father and thy mother. '"

This was the only part in the case in which poor Dick Giles' heart didnot smite him; for he knew he had disobeyed no father--for his father, alas, was still more wicked than himself, and had brought him up tocommit the sin. But what a wretched comfort was this. The master wenton. 

MASTER. "Suppose this boy earnestly coveted this fruit, though itbelonged to another person; would that be right?"

BOY. "No, master; for the tenth commandment says, 'Thou shalt notcovet. '"

MASTER. "Very well. Here are four of God's positive commands alreadybroken. Now, do you think thieves ever scruple to use wicked words?"

BOY. "I am afraid not, master. "

Here Dick Giles was not so hardened but that he remembered how manycurses had passed between him and his father while they were fillingthe bags, and he was afraid to look up. The master went on. 

"I will now go one step further. If the thief to all his other sinshas added that of accusing the innocent to save himself--if he shouldbreak the ninth commandment, by bearing false witness against aharmless neighbor, then _six commandments are broken for an apple_!But if it be otherwise, if Tom Price should be found guilty, it is nothis good character shall save him. I shall shed tears over him, butpunish him I must, and that severely. "

"No, that you sha'n't, " roared out Dick Giles, who sprung from hishiding-place, fell on his knees, and burst out a crying. "Tom Price isas good a boy as ever lived; it was father and I who stole theapples. "

It would have done your heart good to have seen the joy of the master, the modest blushes of Tom Price, and the satisfaction of every honestboy in the school. All shook hands with Tom, and even Dick got someportion of pity. I wish I had room to give my readers the movingexhortation which the master gave. But while Mr. Wilson left theguilty boy to the management of the master, he thought it became him, as a minister and a magistrate, to go to the extent of the law inpunishing the father. 

Early on Monday morning, he sent to apprehend Giles. In the meantime, Mr. Wilson was sent for to a gardener's house, two miles distant, toattend a man who was dying. This was a duty to which all others gaveway, in his mind. He set out directly; but what was his surprise, onhis arrival, to see, on a little bed on the floor, poaching Gileslying, in all the agonies of death! Jack Weston, a poor young man, against whom Giles had informed for killing a hare, was kneeling byhim, offering him some broth, and talking to him in the kindestmanner. Mr. Wilson begged to know the meaning of all this; and JackWeston spoke as follows:

"At four this morning, as I was going out to mow, passing under thehigh wall of this garden, I heard a most dismal moaning. The nearer Icame, the more dismal it grew. At last, who should I see but poorGiles, groaning and struggling under a quantity of bricks and stones, but not able to stir. The day before, he had marked a fine large neton this old wall, and resolved to steal it; for he thought it might doas well to catch partridges as to preserve cherries: so, sir, standingon the very top of this wall, and tugging with all his might to loosenthe net from the hooks which fastened it, down came Giles, net, wall, and all; for the wall was gone to decay. It was very high, indeed, andpoor Giles not only broke his thigh, but has got a terrible blow onhis brain, and is bruised all over like a mummy. 

"On seeing me, sir, poor Giles cried out, 'Oh, Jack, I did try to ruinthee by lodging that information, and now thou wilt be revenged byletting me lie here and perish. '

"'God forbid, Giles, ' cried I; 'thou shalt see what sort of revenge aChristian takes. ' So, sir, I sent off the gardener's boy to fetch asurgeon, while I scampered home, and brought, on my back, this bit ofa hammock, which is indeed my own bed, and put Giles upon it: we thenlifted him up, bed and all, as tenderly as if he had been a gentleman, and brought him in here. My wife has just brought him a drop of nicebroth; and now, sir, as I have done what I could for his poorperishing body, it was I who took the liberty to send to you to comeand try to help his poor soul, for the doctor says he can't live. "

Mr. Wilson could not help saying to himself, "Such an action as thisis worth a whole volume of comments on that precept of our blessedMaster, 'Love your enemies: do good to them that hate you. '"

Giles' dying groans confirmed the sad account Weston had just given. The poor wretch could neither pray himself, nor attend to theminister. He could only cry out, "Oh, sir, what will become of me? Idon't know how to repent. O my poor wicked children! Sir, I have bredthem all up in sin and ignorance. Have mercy on them, sir; let me notmeet them in the place of torment to which I am going. Lord, grantthem that time for repentance which I have thrown away!" He languisheda few days, and died in great misery--a fresh and sad instance, thatpeople who abuse the grace of God, and resist his Spirit, find itdifficult to repent when they will. 

Except the minister and Jack Western, no one came to see poor Giles, besides Tommy Price, who had been so sadly wronged by him. Tom oftenbrought him his own rice and milk or apple-dumpling; and Giles, ignorant and depraved as he was, often cried out that "he thought nowthere must be some truth in religion, since it taught even a boy to_deny himself_, and _to forgive an injury_. " Mr. Wilson, the nextSunday, made a moving discourse on the danger of what are called"petty offences. " This, together with the awful death of Giles, produced such an effect, that no poacher has been able to show hishead in that parish ever since. 

PART III. 

TAWNEY RACHEL;

OR, THE FORTUNE-TELLER. WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF DREAMS, OMENS, AND CONJURERS

BY HANNAH MORE. 

Tawney Rachel was the wife of poaching Giles. There seemed to be aconspiracy in Giles' whole family to maintain themselves by tricks andpilfering. Regular labor and honest industry did not suit their idlehabits. They had a sort of genius at finding out every unlawful meansto support a vagabond life. Rachel travelled the country with a basketon her arm. She pretended to get her bread by selling laces, cabbage-nets, ballads, and history-books, and used to buy old rags andrabbit skins. Many honest people trade in these things, and I am sureI do not mean to say a word against honest people, let them trade inwhat they will. But Rachel only made this traffic a pretence forgetting admittance into farmers' kitchens, in order to tell fortunes. 

She was continually practising on the credulity of silly girls; andtook advantage of their ignorance to cheat and deceive them. Many aninnocent servant has she caused to be suspected of a robbery, whileshe herself, perhaps, was in league with the thief. Many a harmlessmaid has she brought to ruin by contriving plots and events herself, and then pretending to foretell them. She had not, to be sure, thepower of really foretelling things, because she had no power of seeinginto futurity; but she had the art sometimes to bring them aboutaccording as she had foretold them. So she got that credit for herwisdom which really belonged to her wickedness. 

Rachel was also a famous interpreter of dreams, and could distinguishexactly between the fate of any two persons who happened to have amole on the right or the left cheek. She had a cunning way of gettingherself off when any of her prophecies failed. When she explained adream according to the natural appearance of things, and it did notcome to pass, then she would get out of that scrape by saying, that"this sort of dreams went by contraries. " Now, of two very oppositethings the chance always is, that one of them may turn out to be true;so in either case she kept up the cheat. 

Rachel, in one of her rambles, stopped at the house of farmer Jenkins. She contrived to call when she knew the master of the house was fromhome, which indeed was her usual way. She knocked at the door. Themaids being out haymaking, Mrs. Jenkins went to open it herself. Rachel asked her if she would please to let her light her pipe. Thiswas a common pretence, when she could find no other way of gettinginto a house. While she was filling her pipe, she looked at Mrs. Jenkins, and said she could tell her some good fortune. The farmer'swife, who was a very inoffensive, but a weak and superstitious woman, was curious to know what she meant. Rachel then looked about verycarefully, and shutting the door with a mysterious air, asked her ifshe was sure nobody would hear them. This appearance of mystery was atonce delightful and terrifying to Mrs. Jenkins, who, with tremblingagitation, bade the cunning woman speak out. 

"Then, " said Rachel in a solemn whisper, "there is to my certainknowledge a pot of money hid under one of the stones in your cellar. "

"Indeed, " said Mrs. Jenkins, "it is impossible; for now I think of it, I dreamed last night I was in prison for debt. "

"Did you indeed?" said Rachel, "that is quite surprising. Did youdream before twelve o'clock, or after?"

"O, it was this morning, just before I awoke. "

"Then I am sure it is true, for morning dreams always go bycontraries, " cried Rachel. "How lucky it was you dreamed it so late. "

Mrs. Jenkins could hardly contain her joy, and asked how the money wasto be come at. 

"There is but one way, " said Rachel; "I must go into the cellar. Iknow by my art under which stone it lies, but I must not tell. "

Then they both went down into the cellar, but Rachel refused to pointat the stone, unless Mrs. Jenkins would put five pieces of gold into abasin, and do as she directed. The simple woman, instead of turningher out of doors for a cheat, did as she was bid. She put the guineasinto a basin, which she gave into Rachel's hand. Rachel strewed somewhite powder over the gold, muttered some barbarous words, andpretended to perform the black art. She then told Mrs. Jenkins to putthe basin quietly down within the cellar; telling her, that if sheoffered to look into it, or even to speak a word, the charm would bebroken. She also directed her to lock the cellar-door, and on nopretence to open it in less than forty-eight hours. 

"If, " added she, "you closely follow these directions, then, by thepower of my art, you will find the basin conveyed to the very stoneunder which the money lies hid, and a fine treasure it will be. " Mrs. Jenkins, who believed every word the woman said, did exactly as shewas told, and Rachel took her leave with a handsome reward. 

When farmer Jenkins came home, he desired his wife to draw him a cupof cider; this she put off doing so long that he began to bedispleased. At last she begged he would drink a little beer instead. He insisted on knowing the reason, and when at last he grew angry, shetold him all that had passed; and owned that as the pot of goldhappened to be in the cider-cellar, she did not dare to open thedoor, as she was sure it would break the charm. "And it would be apity, you know, " said she, "to lose a good fortune for the sake of adraught of cider. "

The farmer, who was not so easily imposed upon, suspected a trick. Hedemanded the key, and went and opened the cellar-door; there he foundthe basin, and in it five round pieces of tin covered with powder. Mrs. Jenkins burst out a crying; but the farmer thought of nothing butgetting a warrant to apprehend the cunning woman. Indeed, she wellproved her claim to that name, when she insisted that the cellar-doormight be kept locked till she had time to get out of the reach of allpursuit. 

 * * * * *

Poor Sally Evans. I am sure she rued the day that ever she listened toa fortune-teller. Sally was as harmless a girl as ever churned a poundof butter; but Sally was ignorant and superstitious. She delighted indream-books, and had consulted all the cunning women in the country totell her whether the two moles on her cheek denoted that she was tohave two husbands, or only two children. If she picked up an oldhorseshoe going to church, she was sure that would be a lucky week. She never made a black-pudding without borrowing one of the parson'sold wigs to hang in the chimney, firmly believing there were no othermeans to preserve them from bursting. 

She would never go to bed on Midsummer-eve without sticking up in herroom the well-known plant called Midsummer-men, as the bending of theleaves to the right or to the left, would not fail to tell her whetherJacob, of whom we shall speak presently, was true or false. She wouldrather go five miles about than pass near a churchyard at night. Everyseventh year she would not eat beans, because they grew downward inthe pod, instead of upward; and she would rather have gone with hergown open than have taken a pin of an old woman, for fear of beingbewitched. 

Poor Sally had so many unlucky days in her calendar, that a largeportion of her time became of little use, because on these days shedid not dare set about any new work. And she would have refused thebest offer in the country if made to her on a Friday, which shethought so unlucky a day, that she often said what a pity it was thatthere was any Friday in the week. Sally had twenty pounds left her byher grandmother. She had long been courted by Jacob, a sober lad, withwhom she lived a fellow-servant at a creditable farmer's. HonestJacob, like his namesake of old, thought it little to wait seven yearsto get this damsel to wife, because of the love he bore her, for Sallyhad promised to marry him when he could match her twenty pounds withanother of his own. 

Now, there was one Robert, a rambling, idle young gardener, who, instead of sitting down steadily in one place, used to roam about thecountry, and do odd jobs where he could get them. No one understoodany thing about him, except that he was a down-looking fellow, whocame nobody knew whence, and got his bread nobody knew how, and neverhad a penny in his pocket. Robert, who was now in the neighborhood, happened to hear of Sally Evans and her twenty pounds. He immediatelyconceived a longing desire for the latter. So he went to his oldfriend Rachel, told her all he had heard of Sally, and promised if shecould bring about a marriage between them, she should go shares in themoney. 

Rachel undertook the business. She set off to the farm-house, and fellto singing one of her most enticing songs just under the dairywindow. Sally was so struck with the pretty tune, which was unhappilyused, as is too often the case, to set off some very loose words, thatshe jumped up, dropped the skimming dish into the cream, and ran outto buy the song. 

While she stooped down to rummage the basket for those songs which hadthe most tragical pictures--for Sally had a most tender heart, anddelighted in whatever was mournful--Rachel looked steadfastly in herface, and told her she knew by her art that she was born to goodfortune, but advised her not to throw herself away. "These two moleson your cheek, " added she, "show you are in some danger. "

"Do they denote husbands or children?" cried Sally, starting up, andletting fall the song of the Children in the Wood. 

"Husbands, " muttered Rachel. 

"Alas, poor Jacob, " said Sally mournfully; "then he will die first, wont he?"

"Mum for that, " quoth the fortune-teller; "I will say no more. "

Sally was impatient, but the more curiosity she discovered, the moremystery Rachel affected. At last she said, "If you will cross my handwith a piece of silver, I will tell you your fortune. By the power ofmy art, I can do this three ways: by cards, by the lines of your hand, or by turning a cup of tea-grounds; which will you have?"

"O, all, all, " cried Sally, looking up with reverence to this sunburntoracle of wisdom, who knew no less than three different ways of divinginto the secrets of futurity. Alas, persons of better sense than Sallyhave been so taken in; the more is the pity. 

The poor girl said she would run up stairs to her little box, whereshe kept her money tied up in a bit of an old glove, and would bringdown a bright queen Anne's sixpence very crooked. "I am sure, " addedshe, "it is a lucky one, for it cured me of a very bad ague lastspring, by only laying it nine nights under my pillow, withoutspeaking a word. But then you must know what gave virtue to thissixpence was, that it had belonged to three young men of the name ofJohn; I am sure I had work enough to get it. But true it is, itcertainly cured me. It must be the sixpence you know, for I am sure Idid nothing else for my ague, except indeed taking some bitter stuffevery three hours, which the doctor called bark. To be sure, I lostmy ague soon after I took it, but I am certain it was owing to thecrooked sixpence, and not to the bark. And so, good woman, you maycome in if you will, for there is not a soul in the house but me. "This was the very thing Rachel wanted to know, and very glad she wasto learn it. 

While Sally was above stairs untying her glove, Rachel slipped intothe parlor, took a small silver cup from the beaufet, and clapped itinto her pocket. Sally ran down lamenting that she had lost hersixpence, which she verily believed was owing to her having put itinto a left glove, instead of a right one. Rachel comforted her bysaying, that "if she gave her two plain ones instead, the charm wouldwork just as well. "

Simple Sally thought herself happy to be let off so easily, nevercalculating that a smooth shilling was worth two crooked sixpences. But this skill was a part of the black art in which Rachel excelled. She took the money, and began to examine the lines of Sally's lefthand. She bit her withered lip, shook her head, and bade her, poordupe, beware of a young man, who had black hair. 

"No, indeed, " cried Sally, all in a fright, "you mean black eyes, forour Jacob has got brown hair; 'tis his eyes that are black. "

"That is the very thing I was going to say, " muttered Rachel; "I meanteyes, though I said hair; for I know his hair is as brown as achesnut, and his eyes as black as a sloe. "

"So they are, sure enough, " cried Sally; "how in the world could youknow that?" forgetting that she herself had just told her so. And itis thus that these hags pick out of the credulous all which theyafterwards pretend to reveal to them. 

"Oh, I know a pretty deal more than that, " said Rachel, "but you mustbe aware of this man. "

"Why so?" cried Sally with great quickness. 

"Because, " answered Rachel, "you are fated to marry a man worth ahundred of him, who has grey eyes, light hair, and a stoop in theshoulders. "

"No, indeed, but I can't, " said Sally; "I have promised Jacob, andJacob I will marry. "

"You cannot, child, " returned Rachel, in a solemn tone; "it is out ofyour power; you are _fated_ to marry the grey eyes and light hair. "

[Illustration]

"Nay, indeed, " said Sally, sighing deeply, "if I am fated, I must; Iknow there is no resisting one's fate. " This is a common cant withpoor deluded girls, who are not aware that they themselves make theirfate by their folly, and then complain there is no resisting it. 

"What can I do?" said Sally. 

"I will tell you that too, " said Rachel. "You must take a walk nextSunday afternoon to the churchyard, and the first man you meet in ablue coat, with a large posy of pinks and southernwood in his bosom, sitting on the churchyard wall, about seven o'clock, he will be theman. "

"Provided, " said Sally, much disturbed, "that he has grey eyes, andstoops. "

"O, to be sure, " said Rachel; "otherwise it is not the right man. "

"But if I should mistake, " said Sally; "for two men may happen to havea coat and eyes of the same color. "

"To prevent that, " replied Rachel, "if it is the right man, the twofirst letters of his name will be R. P. This man has got money beyondsea. "

"Oh, I do not value his money, " said Sally, with tears in her eyes, "for I love Jacob better than house or land; but if I am fated tomarry another, I can't help it; you know there is no strugglingagainst my fate. "

Poor Sally thought of nothing and dreamed of nothing all the week butthe blue coat and the grey eyes. She made a hundred blunders at herwork. She put her rennet into the butter-pan, and her skimming dishinto the cheese-tub. She gave the curds to the hogs, and put the wheyinto the vats. She put her little knife out of her pocket, for fear itshould cut love; and would not stay in the kitchen, if there was notan even number of people, lest it should break the charm. She grewcold and mysterious in her behavior to faithful Jacob, whom she trulyloved. But the more she thought of the fortune-teller, the more shewas convinced that brown hair and black eyes were not what she wasfated to marry, and therefore, though she trembled to think it, Jacobcould not be the man. 

On Sunday she was too uneasy to go to church; for poor Sally had neverbeen taught, that her being uneasy was only a fresh reason why sheought to go thither. She spent the whole afternoon in her littlegarret, dressing in all her best. First she put on her red ribbon, which she had bought at last Lammas fair; then she recollected thatred was an unlucky color, and changed it for a blue ribbon, tied in atrue lover's knot; but suddenly calling to mind that poor Jacob hadbought this knot for her of a pedlar at the door, and that she hadpromised to wear it for his sake, her heart smote her, and she laid itby, sighing to think she was not fated to marry the man who had givenit to her. 

When she had looked at herself twenty times in the glass--for one vainaction always brings on another--she set off, trembling and quakingevery step she went. She walked eagerly towards the churchyard, notdaring to look to the right or left, for fear she should spy Jacob, who would have offered to walk with her, and so have spoiled all. Assoon as she came within sight of the wall, she spied a man sittingupon it. Her heart beat violently. She looked again; but alas, thestranger not only had on a black coat, but neither hair nor eyesanswered the description. She now happened to cast her eyes on thechurch-clock, and found she was two hours before her time. This wassome comfort. She walked away and got rid of the two hours as well asshe could, paying great attention as she went not to walk over anystraws which lay across, and carefully looking to see if there werenever an old horseshoe in the way, that infallible symptom of goodfortune. 

While the clock was striking seven, she returned to the churchyard, and, O the wonderful power of fortune-tellers, there she saw him!there sat the very man: his hair as light as flax, his eyes as blue asbuttermilk, and his shoulders as round as a tub. Every tittle agreed, to the very nosegay in his waistcoat buttonhole. At first, indeed, shethought it had been sweet-briar, and glad to catch at a straw, whispered to herself, It is not he, and I shall marry Jacob still; buton looking again, she saw it was southernwood plain enough, and thatof course all was over. The man accosted her with some verynonsensical, but too acceptable compliments. Sally was naturally amodest girl, and but for Rachel's wicked arts, would not have hadcourage to talk with a strange man; but how could she resist her fate, you know? After a little discourse, she asked him with a tremblingheart, what might be his name. 

"Robert Price, at your service, " was the answer. 

"Robert Price! that is R. P. As sure as I am alive, and thefortune-teller was a witch. It is all out; it is all out! O thewonderful art of fortune-tellers!"

The little sleep she had that night was disturbed with dreams ofgraves, and ghosts, and funerals; but as they were morning dreams, sheknew those always went by contraries, and that a funeral denoted awedding. Still, a sigh would now and then heave, to think that in thatwedding Jacob could have no part. Such of my readers as know the powerwhich superstition has over the weak and credulous mind, scarcely needbe told, that poor Sally's unhappiness was soon completed. She forgotall her vows to Jacob; she at once forsook an honest man whom sheloved, and consented to marry a stranger, of whom she knew nothing, from a ridiculous notion that she was compelled to do so by a decreewhich she had it not in her power to resist. She married this RobertPrice, the strange gardener, whom she soon found to be very worthless, and very much in debt. He had no such thing as "money beyond sea, " asthe fortune-teller had told her; but, alas, he had another wife there. He got immediate possession of Sally's £20. Rachel put in for hershare, but he refused to give her a farthing, and bade her get away, or he would have her taken up on the vagrant act. He soon ran awayfrom Sally, leaving her to bewail her own weakness; for it was thatindeed, and not any irresistible fate, which had been the cause of herruin. To complete the misery, she herself was suspected of havingstolen the silver cup which Rachel had pocketed. Her master, however, would not prosecute her, as she was falling into a deep decline, andshe died in a few months of a broken heart, a sad warning to allcredulous girls. 

 * * * * *

Rachel, whenever she got near home, used to drop her trade offortune-telling, and only dealt in the wares of her basket. Mr. Wilson, the clergyman, found her one day dealing out some very wickedballads to some children. He went up with a view to give her areprimand; but had no sooner begun his exhortation than up came aconstable, followed by several people. 

"There she is, that is she, that is the old witch who tricked my wifeout of the five guineas, " said one of them. "Do your office, constable; seize the old hag. She may tell fortunes and find pots ofgold in Taunton jail, for there she will have nothing else to do. "

This was that very farmer Jenkins, whose wife had been cheated byRachel of the five guineas. He had taken pains to trace her to her ownparish: he did not so much value the loss of the money, but he thoughtit was a duty he owed the public to clear the country of such vermin. Mr. Wilson immediately committed her. She took her trial at the nextassizes, when she was sentenced to a year's imprisonment. 

In the meantime the pawnbroker to whom she had sold the silver cup, which she had stolen from poor Sally's master, impeached her; and asthe robbery was fully proved upon Rachel, she was sentenced for thiscrime to Botany Bay; and a happy day it was for the county ofSomerset, when such a nuisance was sent out of it. She was transportedmuch about the same time that her husband Giles lost his life, instealing the net from the garden wall, as related in the second partof Poaching Giles. 

I have thought it my duty to print this little history, as a kind ofwarning to all young men and maidens, not to have any thing to say tocheats, impostors, cunning women, fortune-tellers, conjurers, andinterpreters of dreams. Listen to me, your true friend, when I assureyou that God never reveals to weak and wicked women those secretdesigns of his providence, which no human wisdom is able to foresee. To consult these false oracles is not only foolish, but sinful. It isfoolish, because they are themselves as ignorant as those whom theypretend to teach; and it is sinful, because it is prying into thatfuturity which God, in mercy as well as wisdom, hides from men. 

God indeed _orders_ all things; but when you have a mind to do afoolish thing, do not fancy you are _fated_ to do it. This is temptingProvidence, and not trusting him. It is, indeed, "charging God withfolly. " Prudence is his gift, and you obey him better when you makeuse of prudence under the direction of prayer, than when you madly runinto ruin, and think you are only submitting to your fate. Never fancythat you are compelled to undo yourself, or to rush upon your owndestruction, in compliance with any supposed fatality. Never believethat God conceals his will from a sober Christian who obeys his laws, and reveals it to a vagabond gypsy, who runs up and down, breakingthe laws both of God and man. King Saul never consulted the witch tillhe had left off serving God. The Bible will direct us what to do, better than any conjurer; and no days are unlucky but those which wemake so by our own vanity, folly, and sin. 

THE HAPPY WATERMAN

A gentleman and lady walking on the bank of the river Thames, spied asmall ferry-boat, with a neatly-dressed waterman, rowing towards them;on his nearer approach, they read on the stern of his boat thesewords, THE HAPPY WATERMAN. Without taking any notice of it, theydetermined to enter into conversation with him; and inquiring into hissituation in life, they found that he had a wife and five children, and supported also an old father and mother-in-law by his own labor. The gentleman and lady were upon this still more surprised at thetitle he had given himself, and said, "My friend, if this is your situation, how is it that you callyourself 'the happy waterman'?"

"I can easily explain this to your satisfaction, " answered the youngman, "if you will give me leave;" and they desiring him to proceed, hespoke as follows: "I have observed that the greatest blessings in lifeare often looked upon as the greatest distresses, and are, in fact, made such by means of imprudent conduct. My father and mother died afew years ago, and left a large family. My father was a waterman, andI was his assistant in the management of a ferry-boat, by which hesupported his family. On his death, it was necessary, in order to payhis just debts, to sell our boat. I parted from it, even with tears;but the distress that I felt spurred me on to industry, for I said, 'I will use every kind of diligence to purchase my boat back again. 'I went to the person who had bought it, and told him my design; he hadgiven five _guineas_ for it, but told me, as I was once the owner, that I should have it whenever I could raise five _pounds_. 'Shall theboat be mine again?' said I; and my heart bounded at the thought. 

"I was at this time married to a good young woman, and we lived at aneighboring cottage; she was young, healthy, and industrious, and sowas I, and we loved one another. What might we not undertake? Myfather used to say to me, 'Always do what is right; labor diligently, and spend your money carefully, and God will bless your store. ' Wetreasured up these rules, and determined to try the truth of them. 

"My wife had long chiefly supported two aged parents: I loved them asmy own; and the desire of contributing to their support was anadditional spur to my endeavors to repurchase the boat. I enteredmyself as a day-laborer in the garden of our squire; and my wife wascalled occasionally to perform some services at the house, andemployed herself in needle-work, spinning, or knitting at home. Nota moment in the day was suffered to pass unemployed. We spared forourselves, and furnished all the comforts we could to the poor aboutus; and every week we dropped a little overplus into a fairing-box, to buy the boat. If any accident of charity brought us an additionalshilling, we did not enlarge our expense, but kept it for the boat. The more care we took, the more comfortable we felt, for we were thenearer the possession of our little boat. Our labor was lightened bylooking forward to the attainment of our wishes. 

"Our family indeed increased, but with it our friends increased also;for the cleanliness and frugality which furnished our cottage, and thecontent and cheerfulness that appeared in it, drew the notice of ourrich neighbors--of my master and mistress particularly, whose rule wasto assist the industrious, but not to encourage the idle. They did notapprove of giving money to the poor, but in cold winters, or deartimes, allowed us to buy things at a cheaper rate; this was _money tous_, for when we counted our little cash for the week's marketing, allthat was saved to us by our tickets to purchase things at reducedprices, went into our 'little box. ' If my children got a penny atschool for a reward to buy gingerbread, they brought it home, theysaid, to help me to buy the boat--for they would have no gingerbreadtill father had got his boat again. Thus, from time to time, ourlittle store insensibly increased, till one pound only was wanting ofthe five, when the following accident happened. 

"Coming home one evening from my work, I saw in the road a smallpocketbook: on opening it, I found a bank-note of ten pounds, whichplainly enough belonged to my master, for his name was upon it, and Ihad also seen him passing that way in the evening: it being too late, however, to return to the house, I went on my way. When I told myfamily of the incident, the little ones were thrown into a transportof joy. 

"'My dears, ' said I, 'what is the matter?'

"'Oh, father, the BOAT! the BOAT! we may now have two or three boats!'

"I checked them by my looks, and asked them if they recollected whosemoney that was. They said, 'Yours, as you found it. ' I reminded themthat I was not the real owner, and bade them think how they would allfeel, supposing a stranger was to take our box of money, if I shouldhappen to drop it on the day I went to buy back the boat. 

"This thought had the effect on their young minds that I desired; theywere silent and pale with the representation of such a disaster, and Ibegged it might be a lesson to them never to forget the golden rule of'doing as they would wish others to do by them;' for by attention tothis certain guide, no one would ever do wrong to another. I also tookthis opportunity to explain to them, that the possession of the boatby dishonest means would never answer, since we could not expect theblessing of God upon _bad deeds_. "

[Illustration]

"To go on with my story: The next morning I put the pocketbook into mybosom, and went to my work, intending, as soon as the family rose, togive it to my master; but what were my feelings when, on searching inmy bosom, it was nowhere to be found! I hasted back along the road bywhich I came, and looked diligently all the way, but in vain; therewas no trace of any such thing. I would not return into my cottage, because I wished to save my family the pain I felt; and in the hope ofstill recovering the book, I went to my work, following another pathwhich I recollected I had also gone by. On my return to thegarden-gate, I was accosted by the gardener, who, in a threateningtone, told me I was suspected; that our master had lost a pocketbook, describing what I had found, and that I being the only man absent fromthe garden at the hour of work, the rest of the men also denying thatthey had seen any such thing, there was every reason to conclude thatI must have got it. 

"Before I could answer, my distressed countenance confirmed thesuspicion; and another servant coming up, said I was detected, forthat a person had been sent to my house, and that my wife and familyhad owned it all, and had described the pocketbook. I told them thereal fact, but it seemed to every one unlikely to be true; everycircumstance was against me, and--my heart trembles to look back uponit--I was arrested, and hurried away to prison. I protested myinnocence, but I did not wonder that I gained no credit. 

"Great grief now oppressed my heart; my poor wife, my dear children, and my grey-headed parents, were all at once plunged into want andmisery, instead of the ease and happiness which we were expecting; forwe were just arriving at the height of our earthly wishes. I had, however, one consolation left--that I knew _I was innocent_; and Itrusted that by persevering in honesty, all might come right at last. My resolution was, as I had certainly been the cause, though withoutany design, of the second loss of the property, that I would offer thewhole of our little store, to make it good as far as in my power; andI sent for my wife to give her this sad commission, but she informedme that even this sacrifice could be of no avail; 'for, ' said she, 'my master has been at the cottage, when I told him freely how you hadfound the note, but, unfortunately, had lost it again; and I added, that I was sure both I and my husband would make the best return inour power; after which I produced our little fairing-box, and beggedhim to accept the contents, which had been so long raising, as all wehad to offer. ' But, sir, " said the waterman, "conceive my agony, whenshe added, that my master angrily refused, saying, that our being inpossession of all that money was of itself the clearest proof of myguilt; for it was impossible, with my large family, and no greateropportunities than my neighbors, that I could come honestly by such asum; therefore he was determined to keep me in jail till I should paythe whole. 

"My unhappiness was very great; however, my mind by degrees began to bemore easy, for I grew confident that I should not trust in God and myown innocence in vain--and so it happened: one of my fellow-laborersproved to be the person who had picked up the note after I had droppedit, having come a few minutes after me along the same road to his work, and hearing that the suspicion had fallen altogether upon me, he wastempted to turn the accident to his own advantage, and conceal theproperty; which having kept in his own box for a few weeks, till hethought no suspicion would rest upon him, he went and offered the notefor change, and being then suspected, my master had him taken up, andI was released. 

"The second change, from so much misery to happiness, was almost toomuch for us. My master sent for me, and with many expressions of concernfor what had passed, made me give him an account of the means by which Ihad collected the little fund that fixed his suspicions so strongly uponme. I accordingly related the history of it as I have now done; and whenI came to that part where I checked my children for their inconsideratejoy on finding the note, he rose with much kindness in his looks, andputting the bank-bill into my hand, he said, "'Take it; the bank-note shall be theirs. It is the best and onlyreturn I can make you, as well as a just reward of your honesty; andit will be a substantial proof to your children of the goodness ofyour instructions, for they will thus early see and feel the benefitof honesty and virtue. '

"This kind and worthy gentleman interested himself much in thepurchase of my boat, which, in less than a week, I was in fullpossession of. The remainder of my master's bounty, and the additionaladvantage of the ferry, has placed me in comfortable circumstances, which I humbly trust God will continue to us as long as we continueour labor and honest diligence; and I can say from my long experience, that the fruit of our own industry is always sweetest. I have now alsothe pleasure of being able to help others; for when a rich passengertakes my ferry, as my story is well known in the neighborhood, heoften gives me more than my fare, which enables me to let the nextpoor person go over for half price. "

The lady and gentleman were extremely pleased with the waterman'sstory, and willingly joined in calling him the happy waterman. Theypassed over in his ferry-boat for the sake of making him a handsomepresent. And from this time becoming acquainted with his family, theydid them every service in their power, giving books and schooling tothe little ones, and every comfort to the old father and mother-in-lawas long as they survived. They were very desirous of knowing whatbecame of the unfortunate fellow-laborer, who had so dreadfully goneaside from the principles of honesty, and they learned that he was, after a short imprisonment, set at liberty by his master at theearnest entreaty of the honest waterman, as he said it was partlythrough his carelessness in losing the note, that the temptation hadfallen in his fellow-laborer's way; he had, moreover, a very largefamily. His master also was so good as to consider that he was a manwho had not been blessed with a good education in his youth; so thathaving little fear of God before his eyes, and having a greattemptation in his way, he had been the more easily led to commit thisvery wicked action, by which he would have enriched himself at theexpense of an innocent man. 

I have great pleasure in adding, that the thought of what he had done, together with the generosity of the waterman, had so strong an effectupon this poor fellow, that he afterwards had it written upon hiscottage door, DO AS YOU WOULD BE DONE UNTO. And he has resolved tofollow this rule himself in future, and also taught it to all hischildren. Indeed, it became a rule well known over the whole parish;for every little child having been informed of this story, was toldthat he ought to consider, before he did any action, whether he wouldlike his brother, or sister, or school-fellow to do the same by him;and if not, that the action was wrong, and not to be done, let theprofit be ever so great. Surely, then, those who have lived long, andseen much of life, and have had much religious instruction also, should never depart from this simple and certain rule. And it is thesame to all ranks--it requires neither learning nor abilities to "doas you would be done unto;" nor can any station, however great, no, nor any circumstances, however trying, excuse men from giving theirconstant attention to this golden rule. 

THE GRAVESTONE. 

 Here rests in peace a Christian wife, Safe from the cares and ills of life; Taught by kind Heaven's afflicting rod, She well had learned her way to GOD. Once a gay girl, she trod the green, The foremost in the festive scene; 'Twas then she followed all her will, And wedded William of the hill. No heart had he for prayer and praise, No thought of God's most holy ways: Of worldly gains he loved to speak, In worldly cares he spent his week; E'en Sunday passed unheeded by, And both forgot that they must die. 

 While thus by Satan quite beguiled, The God of mercy smote her child: Bereft of one sweet infant dear, She shed the mother's mournful tear; A second next she tried to save, Then bore the second to the grave; Both on one day the parent led To silent mansions of the dead. There, while she wept her children's fate. She learned to feel her mortal state; Stood pondering all her errors past, As if that day had been her last;

 And as she held the mournful bier, Dropt for herself a secret tear. Once she believed her sins were few, But this one moment cleared her view; Then first she felt a Saviour's need, Sinner in thought, and word, and deed. Of her own worth she ceased to dream, For Christ's redemption was her theme. Henceforth her ways were ordered right, She "walked by faith, and not by sight;" She read God's word, believed it true, And strove to practise what she knew. 

 Her husband saw the mighty change, And thought at first her humor strange; Deemed his own worldly ways the best-- But soon his error stood confessed. Ceased is the noise, the jarring strife, For now how humble is the wife! He proudly feels each cross event, While she, poor sinner, is content; No more she has her stubborn will, Returns him daily good for ill; And though her love is still the same. She loves him with a purer flame. Oft would she pray the God of grace His lofty spirit to abase;

 Upward his grovelling thoughts to raise, And teach him humble prayer and praise. Heaven heard her voice: the youth so gay, The thoughtless sinner, learned to pray; Sad sickness too, with pain and smart, Was sent to soften all his heart. She followed next her husband's bier, She wiped his last repenting tear; She heard him mourn his former pride, She heard him thank her when he died. Here, then, in hope of endless life, Rest both the husband and the wife; Here too, the babes whom God hath given, And such, we trust, shall enter heaven. 

ADDRESS TO PERSONS ATTENDING A FUNERAL. 

 Ye mourners, who in silent gloom Bear your dear kindred to the tomb, Grudge not, when Christians go to rest; They sleep in JESUS, and are blest. Call then to mind their faith, their love, Their meetness for the realms above; And if to heaven a saint is fled, O mourn the living, not the dead; Weep o'er the thousands that remain, Deep sunk in sin, or racked with pain; Mourn your own crimes and wicked ways, And learn to number all your days; Gain wisdom from this mournful stone, And make this Christian's case your own. 

PARLEY THE PORTER. 

AN ALLEGORY. SHOWING HOW ROBBERS WITHOUT CAN NEVER GET INTO A HOUSEUNLESS THERE ARE TRAITORS WITHIN. 

BY HANNAH MORE. 

There was once a certain gentleman who had a house, or castle, situated in the midst of a great wilderness, but inclosed in a garden. Now there was a band of robbers in the wilderness, who had a greatmind to plunder and destroy the castle; but they had not succeeded intheir endeavors, because the master had given strict orders to "watchwithout ceasing. " To quicken their vigilance, he used to tell themthat their care would soon have an end; that though the nights theyhad to watch were dark and stormy, yet they were but few; the periodof resistance Was short--that of rest would be eternal. 

The robbers, however, attacked the castle in various ways. They triedat every avenue; watched to take advantage of every careless moment;looked for an open door, or a neglected window. But though they oftenmade the bolts shake and the windows rattle, they could never greatlyhurt the house, much less get into it. Do you know the reason? It was, because the servants were never off their guard. They heard the noisesplain enough, and used to be not a little frightened, for they wereaware both of the strength and perseverance of their enemies. But whatseemed rather odd to some of these servants, the gentleman used totell them, that while they continued to be afraid, they would be safe;and it passed into a sort of proverb in that family, "Happy is he thatfeareth always. " Some of the servants however, thought this acontradiction. 

One day when the master was going from home, he called his servantsall together, and spoke to them as follows: "I will not repeat to youthe directions I have so often given you; they are all written down inthe book of laws, of which every one of you has a copy. Remember, itis a very short time that you are to remain in this castle; you willsoon remove to my more settled habitation, to a more durable house, not made with hands. As that house is never exposed to any attack, soit never stands in need of any repair; for that country is neverinfested by any sons of violence. Here, you are servants; there, youwill be princes. 

"But mark my words, and you will find the same truth in the book of mylaws: Whether you will ever attain to _that_ house, will depend on themanner in which you defend yourselves in _this_. A stout vigilance fora short time will secure your certain happiness for ever. But everything depends on your present exertions. Don't complain and takeadvantage of my absence, and call me a hard master, and grumble thatyou are placed in the midst of a howling wilderness, without peace orsecurity. Say not, that you are exposed to temptations without anypower to resist them. You have some difficulties, it is true; but youhave many helps and many comforts to make this house tolerable, evenbefore you get to the other. Yours is not a hard service; and if itwere, 'the time is short. ' You have arms if you will use them, anddoors if you will bar them, and strength if you will use it. I woulddefy all the attacks of the robbers without, if I could depend on thefidelity of the people within. If the thieves ever get in and destroythe house, it must be by the connivance of one of the family. _For itis a standing law of this castle, that mere outward attack can neverdestroy it, if there be no traitor within. _ You will stand or fall asyou observe this rule. If you are finally happy, it will be by mygrace and favor; if you are ruined, it will be your own fault. "

"When the gentleman had done speaking, every servant repeated hisassurance of attachment and firm allegiance to his master. But amongthem all, not one was so vehement and loud in his professions as oldParley the porter. Parley, indeed, it was well known, was alwaystalking, which exposed him to no small danger; for as he was theforemost to promise, so he was the slackest to perform. And, to speakthe truth, though he was a civil-spoken fellow, his master was moreafraid of him, with all his professions, than he was of the rest, whoprotested less. He knew that Parley was vain, credulous, andself-sufficient; and he always apprehended more danger from Parley'simpertinence, curiosity, and love of novelty, than even from thestronger vices of some of the other servants. The rest, indeed, seldomgot into any scrape of which Parley was not the cause, in some shapeor other. "

I am sorry to be obliged to confess, that though Parley was allowedevery refreshment, and all the needful rest which the nature of hisplace permitted, yet he thought it very hard to be forced to be soconstantly on duty. 

"Nothing but watching, " said Parley; "I have, to be sure, manypleasures, and meat sufficient; and plenty of chat in virtue of myoffice; and I pick up a good deal of news of the comers and goers byday; but it is hard that at night I must watch as narrowly as ahousedog, and yet let in no company without orders, only because thereare said to be a few straggling robbers here in the wilderness, withwhom my master does not care to let us be acquainted. He pretends tomake us vigilant through fear of the robbers, but I suspect it is onlyto make us mope alone. A merry companion, and a mug of beer, wouldmake the night pass cheerfully. "

Parley, however, kept all these thoughts to himself, or uttered themonly when no one heard--for talk he must. He began to listen to thenightly whistling of the robbers under the windows with rather lessalarm than formerly; and he was sometimes so tired of watching, thathe thought it was even better to run the risk of being robbed once, than to live always in fear of robbers. 

There were certain bounds in which the gentleman allowed his servantsto walk and divert themselves at all proper seasons. A pleasant gardensurrounded the castle, and a thick hedge separated it from thewilderness, which was infested by the robbers. In this garden theywere permitted to amuse themselves. The master advised them always tokeep within these bounds. "While you observe this rule, " said he, "youwill be safe and well; and you will consult your own safety, as wellas show your love to me, by not venturing even to the extremity ofyour bounds. He who goes as far as he dares, always shows a wish to gofarther than he ought, and commonly does so. "

It was remarkable, that the nearer these servants kept to the castle, and the farther from the hedge, the more ugly the wilderness appeared. And the nearer they approached the forbidden bounds, their own homeappeared more dull, and the wilderness more delightful. And this themaster knew when he gave his orders, for he never either did or saidany thing without a good reason. And when his servants sometimesdesired an explanation of the reason, he used to tell them they wouldunderstand it when they came to _the other house_; for it was one ofthe pleasures of that house, that it would explain all the mysteriesof this, and any little obscurities in the master's conduct would bethen made quite plain. 

Parley was the first who promised to keep clear of the hedge, and yetwas often seen looking as near as he durst. One day he ventured closeup to the hedge, put two or three stones one on another, and tried topeep over. He saw one of the robbers strolling as near as could be onthe forbidden side. This man's name was Flatterwell, a smooth, civilman, "whose words were softer than butter, having war in his heart. "He made several low bows to Parley. 

Now Parley knew so little of the world, that he actually concluded allrobbers must have an ugly look, which should frighten you at once; andcoarse, brutal manners, which would, at first sight, show they wereenemies. He thought, like a poor ignorant fellow as he was, that thismild, specious person could never be one of the band. Flatterwellaccosted Parley with the utmost civility, which put him quite off hisguard; for Parley had no notion that he could be an enemy who was sosoft and civil. For an open foe he would have been prepared. Parley, however, after a little discourse, drew this conclusion, that eitherMr. Flatterwell could not be one of the gang, or if he was, therobbers themselves could not be such monsters as his master haddescribed, and therefore it was a folly to be afraid of them. 

Flatterwell began, like a true adept in his art, by lulling allParley's suspicions asleep, and instead of openly abusing his master, which would have opened Parley's eyes at once, he pretended rather tocommend him in a general way, as a person who meant well himself, butwas too apt to suspect others. To this Parley assented. The otherthen ventured to hint by degrees, that though the gentleman might be agood master in the main, yet he must say he was a little strict, and alittle stingy, and not a little censorious. That he was blamed by thegentlemen in the wilderness for shutting his house against goodcompany, and his servants were laughed at by people of spirit forsubmitting to the gloomy life of the castle, and the insipid pleasuresof the garden, instead of ranging in the wilderness at large. 

"It is true enough, " said Parley, who was generally of the opinion ofthe person he was talking with; "my master _is_ rather harsh andclose. But, to own the truth, all the barring, and locking, andbolting, is to keep out a set of gentlemen who he assures us arerobbers, and who are waiting for an opportunity to destroy us. I hopeno offence, sir, but by your livery I suspect you, sir, are one of thegang he is so much afraid of. "

FLATTERWELL. "Afraid of me! impossible, dear Mr. Parley. You see I donot look like an enemy. I am unarmed; what harm can a plain man likeme do?"

PARLEY. "Why, that is true enough. Yet my master says, that if we wereonce to let you into the house, we should be ruined, soul and body. "

FLATTERWELL. "I am sorry, Mr. Parley, that so sensible a man as youare so deceived. This is mere prejudice. He knows we are cheerful, entertaining people; foes to gloom and superstition; and therefore, heis so morose, he will not let you get acquainted with us. "

PARLEY. "Well, he says you are a band of thieves, gamblers, murderers, drunkards, and atheists. "

FLATTERWELL. "Don't believe him: the worst we should do, perhaps, is, we might drink a friendly glass with you to your master's health, orplay an innocent game at cards just to keep you awake, or sing acheerful song with the maids; now is there any harm in all this?"

PARLEY. "Not the least in the world. And I begin to think there is nota word of truth in all my master says. "

FLATTERWELL. "The more you know us, the more you will like us. But Iwish there was not this ugly hedge between us. I have a great deal tosay, and I am afraid of being overheard. "

Parley was now just going to give a spring over the hedge, but checkedhimself, saying, "I dare not come on your side; there are peopleabout, and every thing is carried to my master. "

Flatterwell saw by this that his new friend was kept on his own sideof the hedge by fear rather than by principle, and from that moment hemade sure of him. "Dear Mr. Parley, " said he, "if you will allow methe honor of a little conversation with you, I will call under thewindow of your lodge this evening. I have something to tell yougreatly to your advantage. I admire you exceedingly. I long for yourfriendship; our whole brotherhood is ambitious of being known to soamiable a person. "

"O dear, " said Parley, "I shall be afraid of talking to you at night;it is so against my master's orders. But did you say you had somethingto tell me to my advantage?"

"Yes, " replied Flatterwell, "I can point out to you how you may be aricher, a merrier, and a happier man. If you will admit me tonightunder the window, I will convince you that 'tis prejudice, and notwisdom, which makes your master bar his door against us; I willconvince you, that the mischief of a 'robber, ' as your masterscurrilously calls us, is only in the name--that we are your truefriends, and only mean to promote your happiness. "

"Don't say we, " said Parley, "pray come alone, I would not see therest of the gang for the world; but I think there can be no great harmin talking to _you_ through the bars, if you come alone; but I amdetermined not to let you in. Yet I can't say but I wish to know whatyou can tell me so much to my advantage; indeed, if it is for my good, I ought to know it. "

"Dear Mr. Parley, " said Flatterwell, (going out, but turning back, )"there is one thing I had forgot, I cannot get over the hedge at nightwithout assistance. You know there is a secret in the nature of thathedge: you in the house may get over to us in the wilderness of yourown accord, but we cannot get to your side by our own strength. Youmust look about and see where the hedge is thinnest, and then set towork to clear away here and there a little bough for me; it wont bemissed: and if there is but the smallest hole made on your side, thoseon ours can get through; otherwise, we do but labor in vain. "

To this Parley made some objection through the fear of being seen. Flatterwell replied, that "the smallest hole from within would besufficient, for he could then work his own way. "

"Well, " said Parley, "I will consider of it. To be sure, I shall eventhen be equally safe in the castle, as I shall have all the bolts, bars, and locks between us; so it will make but little difference. "

"Certainly not, " said Flatterwell, who knew it would make all thedifference in the world. So they parted with mutual protestations ofregard. Parley went home charmed with his new friend. His eyes werenow clearly open as to his master's prejudices against the "robbers, "and he was convinced there was more in the name than in the thing. 

"But, " said he, "though Mr. Flatterwell is certainly an agreeablecompanion, he may not be so safe an inmate. There can, however, be noharm in talking at a distance, and I certainly wont let him in. "

Parley, in the course of the day, did not forget his promise to thinthe hedge of separation a little. At first he only tore off a handfulof leaves, then a little sprig, then he broke away a bough or two. Itwas observable, the larger the breach became, the worse he began tothink of his master, and the better of himself. Every peep he tookthrough the broken hedge increased his desire to get out into thewilderness, and made the thoughts of the castle more irksome to him. 

He was continually repeating to himself, "I wonder what Mr. Flatterwell can have to say so much to my advantage? I see he does notwish to hurt my master, he only wishes to serve me. " As the hour ofmeeting, however, drew near, the master's orders now and then cameacross Parley's thoughts; so, to divert them, he took the book. Hehappened to open it at these words: "My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not. " For a moment his heart failed him. "If thisadmonition should be sent on purpose, " said he; "but no, 'tis abugbear. My master told me that if I went to the bounds, I should getover the hedge. Now I went to the utmost limits, and did not getover. " Here conscience put in, "Yes, but it was because you werewatched. " "I am sure, " continued Parley, "one may always stop whereone will, and this is only a trick of my master's to spoil sport; so Iwill even hear what Mr. Flatterwell has to say so much to myadvantage. I am not obliged to follow his counsels, but there can beno harm in hearing them. "

Flatterwell prevailed on the rest of the robbers to make no publicattack on the castle that night. "My brethren, " said he, "you now andthen fail in your schemes, because you are for violent beginnings;while my soothing, insinuating measures hardly ever miss. You comeblustering and roaring, and frighten people, and set them on theirguard. You inspire them with terror of _you_, while my whole scheme isto make them think well of _themselves_, and ill of their master. If Ionce get them to entertain hard thoughts of him, and high thoughts ofthemselves, my business is done, and they fall plump into my snares. So, let this delicate affair alone to me. Parley is a softly fellow:he must not be frightened, but cajoled. He is the very sort of man tosucceed with, and worth a hundred of your sturdy, sensible fellows. With them we want strong arguments and strong temptations; but withsuch fellows as Parley, in whom vanity and sensuality are the leadingqualities--as, let me tell you, is the case with far the greaterpart--flattery, and a promise of ease and pleasure, will do more thanyour whole battle array. If you will let me manage, I will get you allinto the castle before midnight. "

At night the castle was barricaded as usual, and no one had observedthe hole which Parley had made in the hedge. This oversight arose thatnight from the servants neglecting one of the master's standingorders--to make a nightly _examination_ of the state of the castle. The neglect did not proceed so much from wilful disobedience, as fromhaving passed the evening in sloth and diversion, which often amountsto nearly the same in its consequences. 

As all was very cheerful within, so all was very quiet without. Andbefore they went to bed some of the servants observed to the rest, that as they heard no robbers that night, they thought they might soonbegin to remit something of their diligence in bolting and barring. That all this fastening and looking was very troublesome, and theyhoped the danger was now pretty well over. It was rather remarkable, that they never made this sort of observations, but after an eveningof some excess, and when they had neglected their private businesswith their master. All, however, except Parley, went quietly to bed, and seemed to feel uncommon security. 

Parley crept down to his lodge. He had half a mind to go to bed too. Yet he was not willing to disappoint Mr. Flatterwell; so civil agentleman. To be sure, he might have bad designs. Yet what right hadhe to suspect any body who made such professions, and who was so verycivil. "Besides, it is something for my advantage, " added Parley. "Iwill not open the door, that is certain; but as he is to come alone, he can do me no harm through the bars of the windows. And he willthink I am a coward, if I don't keep my word; no, I will let him seethat I am not afraid of my own strength; I will show him I can go whatlength I please, and stop short _when_ I please. " Had Flatterwellheard this boastful speech, he would have been quite sure of his man. 

About eleven Parley heard the signal agreed upon. It was so gentle asto cause little alarm. So much the worse. Flatterwell never frightenedany one, and therefore seldom failed of any one. Parley stole softlydown, planted himself at his little window, opened the casement, andspied his new friend. It was pale starlight. Parley was a littlefrightened, for he thought he perceived one or two persons behindFlatterwell; but the other assured him it was only his own shadow, which his fears had magnified into a company. "Though I assure you, "said he, "I have not a friend but what is as harmless as myself. "

They now entered into earnest discourse, in which Flatterwell showedhimself a deep politician. He skilfully mixed up in his conversationa proper proportion of praise on the pleasures of the wilderness, ofcompliments to Parley, of ridicule on his master, and of abusivesneers on the book in which the master's laws were written. Againstthis last he had always a particular spite, for he considered it asthe grand instrument by which the master maintained his servants inallegiance; and when they could be once brought to sneer at thebook, there was an end of submission to the master. Parley had notpenetration enough to see his drift. "As to the book, Mr. Flatterwell, " said he, "I do not know whether it be true or false;I rather neglect than disbelieve it. I am forced, indeed, to hear itread once a week; but I never look into it myself, if I can help it. ""Excellent, " said Flatterwell to himself; "that is just the samething. This is safe ground for me. For whether a man does not believein the book, or does not attend to it, it comes pretty much to thesame, and I generally get him at last. "

"Why cannot we be a little nearer, Mr. Parley?" said Flatterwell;"I am afraid of being overheard by some of your master's spies, thewindow from which you speak is so high. I wish you would come downto the door. "

"Well, " said Parley, "I see no great harm in that. There is a littlewicket in the door, through which we can converse with more ease andequal safety. The same fastenings will be still between us. " So downhe went, but not without a degree of fear and trembling. 

The little wicket being now opened, and Flatterwell standing close onthe outside of the door, they conversed with great ease. "Mr. Parley, "said Flatterwell, "I should not have pressed you so much to admit meinto the castle, but out of pure, disinterested regard to your ownhappiness. I shall get nothing by it, but I cannot bear to think thata person so wise and amiable should be shut up in this gloomy dungeon, under a hard master, and a slave to the unreasonable tyranny of hisbook of laws. If you admit me, you need have no more waking, no morewatching. "

Here Parley involuntarily slipped back the bolt of the door. 

"To convince you of my true love, " continued Flatterwell, "I havebrought a bottle of the most delicious wine that grows in thewilderness. You shall taste it; but you must put a glass through thewicket to receive it; for it is a singular property in this wine, thatwe of the wilderness cannot succeed in conveying it to you of thecastle, without you hold out a vessel to receive it. "

"O here is a glass, " said Parley, holding out a large goblet, which healways kept ready to be filled by any chance comer. 

The other immediately poured into the capacious goblet a large draughtof that delicious intoxicating liquor with which the family of theFlatterwells have, for near six thousand years, gained the hearts anddestroyed the souls of all the inhabitants of the castle, wheneverthey have been able to prevail on them to hold out a hand to receiveit. This the wise master of the castle well knew would be the case, for he knew what was in men--he knew their propensity to receive thedelicious poison of the Flatterwells; and it was for this reason thathe gave them the book of his laws, and planted the hedge, and inventedthe bolts, and doubled the locks. 

As soon as poor Parley had swallowed the fatal draught it acted likeenchantment. He at once lost all power of resistance. He had no senseof fear left. He despised his own safety, forgot his master, lost allsight of the house in the other country, and reached out for anotherdraught as eagerly as Flatterwell held out the bottle to administerit. "What a fool have I been, " said Parley, "to deny myself so long. "

"Will you now let me in?" said Flatterwell. 

"Aye, that I will, " said the deluded Parley. Though the train was nowincreased to near a hundred robbers, yet so intoxicated was Parley, that he did not see one of them, except his new friend. Parley eagerlypulled down the bars, drew back the bolts, and forced open the locks, thinking he could never let in his friend soon enough. He had, however, just presence of mind to say, "My dear friend, I hope you arealone. " Flatterwell swore he was. Parley opened the door--in rushed, not Flatterwell only, but the whole banditti, who always lurk behindin his train. The moment they had got sure possession, Flatterwellchanged his soft tone, and cried out in a voice of thunder, "Downwith the castle; kill, burn, and destroy. "

Rapine, murder, and conflagration by turns took place. Parley was thevery first whom they attacked. He was overpowered with wounds. As hefell, he cried out, "O my master, I die a victim to my unbelief inthee, and to my own vanity and imprudence. O that the guardians of allother castles would hear me with my dying breath repeat my master'sadmonition, that _all attacks from without will not destroy, unlessthere is some confederate within_. O that the keepers of all othercastles would learn from my ruin, that he who parleys with temptationis already undone. That he who allows himself to go to the verybounds, will soon jump over the hedge; that he who talks out of thewindow with the enemy, will soon open the door to him; that he whoholds out his hand for the cup of sinful flattery, loses all power ofresisting; that when he opens the door to one sin, all the rest fly inupon him, and the man perishes as I now do. "

[Illustration]

A NEW CHRISTMAS TRACT;

OR, THE RIGHT WAY OF REJOICING AT CHRISTMAS, SHOWING THE REASONS WEHAVE FOR JOY AT THE EVENT OF OUR SAVIOUR'S BIRTH. 

There are two ways of keeping Christmas: some seem to keep it much inthe same way in which the unbelieving Jews kept their feast in honorof the calf which they had made. "And they made a calf in Horeb inthose days, and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up toplay. " But what a sad sort of Christianity is this! I am no enemy tomirth of a proper kind, and at proper seasons; but the mirth I nowspeak of, is the mirth of inconsideration and folly, and is oftenmixed with much looseness of conduct and drunkenness. Is this, then, the sort of mirth proper for Christians? Let us suppose, now, that aman should choose a church as the place in which he was to sit andsing his jolly song, and to drink till he was intoxicated; surely thiswould imply that he was a person of extraordinary wickedness. Butthis, you will say, is what nobody is so bad as to be guilty of; well, then, let us suppose, that instead of choosing a church as the place, he should choose Christmas as the time for the like acts of riot anddrunkenness: methinks this must imply no small degree of the samekind of wickedness; for, as he that should get intoxicated in achurch, would insult the church, so he that gets intoxicated atChristmas, which is the season for commemorating the birth of Christ, insults Christ and his religion. 

I know it may be said, that those who take these liberties atChristmas do not mean to insult Christ, and that they act frominconsideration: to which I answer, that they are very guilty in beingso inconsiderate; for I would just remark by the way, that thesepeople who are so very inconsiderate in some things, are apt to bevery considerate in others. For instance, they are very considerateabout their pleasures, but very inconsiderate about their duty. Theyare often, perhaps, very considerate about this world, always veryinconsiderate about eternity; very considerate for themselves, andvery little so about other people; extremely considerate on their ownside of a bargain, but as inconsiderate about the side of the otherparty; and when they have committed a sin, they are apt to be veryconsiderate in finding excuses for it, but very inconsiderate intracing out the guilt and mischief of their wickedness. In short, then, let it be remembered, that inconsideration is often neither morenor less than another word for wickedness, and that the inconsiderateway of spending Christmas which has been spoken of, is only, in otherwords, the wicked way of spending it. 

But now let us come to the true way of keeping it. 

First, then, in order to know how the time of Christ's birth ought tobe remembered by us, I would observe, that it is necessary tounderstand well _who Christ was, and for what purpose he came onearth_. How absurd would it be to celebrate the fifth of November, without knowing, that on that day the houses of parliament were savedfrom fire, and our happy constitution, as well as our religion, waspreserved to us. Again, how absurd would it be for any man tocelebrate the king's birthday, or coronation-day, who did not feelwithin his heart loyalty and affection towards his sovereign, and whodid not think that any blessings were derived from our kinglygovernment. 

Let every one, therefore, who wishes to spend Christmas aright, getacquainted with the _benefits_ which have followed from Christ'scoming into the world. We will endeavor, now, to show very brieflywhat these benefits have been. The world, at the time of Christ'sappearing, was divided into Jews and Gentiles. The word Gentilessignifies nations, that is, all the nations except the Jews. Let usspeak of the Gentiles first, and of the Jews afterwards. 

The Gentiles were worshippers of false gods; some of one kind, some ofanother. They all, however, agreed in this, that they thought one godas good as another, and no one among them had any anxiety to bring hisneighbor over to his religion, which is a plain proof that they had notrue religion among them; for whoever is possessed of true religion, is possessed of a great comfort and blessing, which he will thereforebe glad to convey to other people also. It was the custom of some ofthese Gentiles to worship stocks and stones; others bowed down toliving animals, such as bulls, or goats, or lizards; and others paidtheir stupid adoration to the sun, instead of the Author of it. Manyof them worshipped their deceased fellow-creatures; and the dead menwho were thus turned into gods had been, in general, some of the mostwicked and abominable of the human race. 

Now this ignorance of the true God was followed--as all ignorance ofhim is apt to be--by great wickedness in their practice. They were"given over" on this account, as St. Paul, the inspired apostle, declares, "to a reprobate mind; to work all uncleanness withgreediness. " They learned to confound good and evil; vices were thencommonly practised, such as are not named among Christians. Falseprinciples and false maxims of every kind abounded. Slavery prevailed, even in the most civilized lands; for almost all servants were slavesin those days. The earth was filled with violence. He that had killedthe greatest number of his fellow-creatures got usually the greatestpraise. "Wars were carried on with dreadful ferocity, and multitudeswere massacred at the public games, in battles fought for theamusement of the people. Humanity, kindness, and benevolence, weremade of no account; and such a thing as a hospital was not known. Revenge was both practised and recommended; and those excellentChristian graces, humility, universal charity, and forgiveness ofinjuries, were considered as weaknesses and faults. "

I shudder to think of the dreadful state of mankind in those days. God grant that the same evils may never return. They are the naturalconsequences of being without Christianity in the world; for whenChristianity is gone, there is no rule to go by. Every man may thenset up a false goodness of his own. Morals, of course, grow worseand worse; a fierce and proud spirit comes in the place of Christianmeekness and benevolence, and claims the name of virtue; and theSaviour of the world, with all his works of mercy, being forgotten, man becomes cruel, and unjust, and selfish, and implacable, andunmerciful; for all the violent passions of our nature are let loose. 

If we inquire also into the character of the Jews who lived beforethe coming of our Saviour, we shall find them to have been deplorablycorrupt, though they expected his coming, and were, in some measure, acquainted with true religion. The little knowledge which they hadseems to have been perverted through the wickedness of their hearts;and the Scriptures assure us, that "both Jews and Gentiles were allunder sin. " Such was the state into which the world was sunk beforethe time of our Saviour's appearance in it. 

Let us describe, next, who Christ was, and what were the consequencesof his coming. He is called in Scripture, "the Son of God;" and insome places, "God's only Son;" which shows that there is no otherbeing like unto him. We know that a son, by his very birth, derivesprivileges from his father which belong to no other person; that hepartakes of the same rank and inheritance with his father; and thathe possesses also, in an especial manner, his father's favor, andaltogether differs from a stranger or a servant. Christ, then, is tobe considered, in all such senses as these, as the Son of God. It istrue, he is called also the Son of man, for he was born of a woman, namely, of the virgin Mary, and he took upon him our nature, dwellingon earth for thirty years. We should take great care, however, thathis appearance among us as a man, does not lead us to form any low andunworthy notions of him. 

Suppose, now, that the son of a king was to travel, in the dressof a private subject, on some merciful and condescending errand toa distant and obscure part of his territory. Surely it would be veryungenerous and ungrateful, if the poor villagers, whom he came toserve, were to deny to him the honors of a king's son merely becausethey could not believe that so great a person could stoop so low asto come among them, especially if he brought proofs of his power andgreatness along with him. 

Just so, methinks, are all those persons ungenerous and ungratefulwho refuse to Christ that divine honor which belongs to him, merelybecause he condescended to be made flesh and blood, and to dwell amongus. Let us, then, receive with simplicity and humility the scripturetestimony concerning him. It speaks of him in terms that are quiteastonishing. "His name, " says the prophet, foretelling his birth, "shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the mighty God, theeverlasting Father, the Prince of Peace; and the government shall beon his shoulders. " The evangelist John tells us, that "the Word, "meaning Christ, "was with God", and the "Word was God. " "By him, " itis said in the Hebrews, "God made the world;" and again, "Let all theangels of God worship him. " "All power hath been given him, both inheaven and earth, " and God "hath committed all judgment to the Son. ""The hour also cometh when they that are in the graves shall hear thevoice of the Son of man, and shall come forth: they that have donegood, to the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, tothe resurrection of damnation. "

Such are a few of the expressions used in Scripture concerning Christ. Let us learn from these to adore his divine Majesty, and trust hispower, as well as to fear his wrath, and to account him able to fulfilall the purposes of his coming. 

But let us next describe _what these purposes were_. It may be said ingeneral, that "it was for us men, and for our salvation, that he camedown from heaven;" or, as the Scripture expresses it, "The Son of mancame to seek and to save that which was lost, and to give his life aransom for many. "

The world, as hath already been shown, was sunk in sin, and not in sinonly, but in condemnation also. Ever since the fall of our firstparent Adam, man had been a sinful creature. But as in Adam all died, even so in Christ were all who would receive him, "to be made alive. "Christ, then, was the second Adam: as Adam was the destroyer, soChrist was the restorer of our race. The devil, who is called thePrince of darkness, had, as we are told in Scripture, become the godand the prince of this world. Christ, therefore, came into the world, as a conquerer comes, to recover an empire that was lost, and to bringback the rebels to their obedience and to happiness. He came tooverthrow that kingdom of darkness which, through the power of thedevil and the corruption of man, had been set up. "For this purposethe Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of thedevil. " He came "to redeem us from all iniquity, and to purify untohimself a peculiar people, zealous of good works. "

But how does Christ fulfil his purpose of delivering us? First, Iwould observe, that he lived a most holy life, hereby setting us anexample that we should tread in his steps. He went about doing good:never was any one so kind and gracious to all who came to him asJesus Christ. I would here observe also, that he preached the gospelto mankind; he told us what we must believe and do, in order to enterinto the kingdom of heaven. Through him also the Holy Spirit of God isgranted to us. And, to crown all, he died for us. He was nailed to thecross, and suffered a cruel death for our sakes, bearing the wrath ofGod in our stead. "Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that heloved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. "Christ is that Lamb of God "which has been offered up as a sacrifice, "and "which taketh away the sins of the world. " Now, then, let usrejoice, and say triumphantly, with the prophet of old, "Unto us achild is born, unto us a son is given. " "Behold, " said the angels, "I bring you good tidings of great joy; for unto you is born this day, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. " "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will towards men. "

Oh, how many thousands have had reason to bless the season which weare now commemorating--the season of the birth of Jesus Christ. Theworld, it is true, is still wicked, for there are many who do notbelieve in this Saviour; and there are not a few who think theybelieve in him, and who do not. Nevertheless, even the world ingeneral has been the better for his coming, for the thick darknessis past, and the true light now shineth. Through Christ's coming, iniquity has been lessened even among unbelievers; for realChristians, though few, have held up to view the nature of truegoodness, and even bad men have, in some measure, been constrained toimitate them; they have also grown more ashamed than they otherwisewould have been of their vices. 

But who can calculate the blessing which Christianity hath been tothousands of true believers? How many lives have been made holy hereon earth; how many hearts have been cheered and comforted by it; howmany deaths, which would otherwise have been most gloomy, have beenrendered joyful and triumphant; and, above all, how many immortalsouls have been saved and made happy to all eternity, through faith inthis blessed Redeemer. "My sheep, " says Christ, "hear my voice, andthey follow me, and I give unto them eternal life; and they shallnever perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand. " "I go toprepare a place for them, that where I am there they may be also. "

And now, reader, what are your thoughts on the subject of ourSaviour's appearance on this earth of ours? If you are a trueChristian, your language will be such as the following: "It is throughthe coming of Christ into the world that I have learned to knowmyself, and to know the God who made me. I am by nature blind andignorant; I am also sinful and undone; I am utterly without hope, except through the mercy of my Saviour; and even though I have beenborn in a Christian land, I can trace back, in my recollection, manyproofs of this my natural ignorance and corruption and hardness ofheart. I was once like a sheep going astray, but I am now returned tothe Shepherd of my soul. I followed the bent of my own foolish will, but the grace of God in Jesus Christ has changed my sinful heart; theknowledge of my corruption has humbled me; the thought of my Saviour'sdying for me has stirred up gratitude within me, and that acquaintancewith his gospel which I have gained has changed my whole views oflife. 

"Christ's character delights me: I read the history of his humblebirth, his painful death, and his glorious resurrection, as it isrecorded in Scripture, with hope and joy, and with holy confidence andtrust. How shall I sufficiently bless God for Jesus Christ? Whateverchange has been wrought in me, I trace to Christ's coming into theworld. If Christ had never come, how corrupt should I be at thismoment; how blind, how dark, how ignorant, how different from what, through the grace of God, I now am. How miserable, in comparison of mypresent happiness. I am engaged, indeed, in a sharp conflict with mysins; but, through my Saviour's help, I hope to gain ground againstthem. I have, occasionally, doubts and fears; but in general, I feelconfident that the promises of God are sure and certain in ChristJesus; for I know in whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that heis able to keep that soul which I have committed to him till the greatday. "

A NEW CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

 O how wondrous is the story Of our blest Redeemer's birth! See, the mighty Lord of glory Leaves his heaven to visit earth. 

 Hear with transport, every creature, Hear the gospel's joyful sound: Christ appears in human nature, In our sinful world is found!

 Comes to pardon our transgression, Like a cloud our sins to blot; Comes to his own favored nation, But his own receive him not. 

 If the angels who attended To declare the Saviour's birth, Who from heaven with songs descended, To proclaim good will on earth;

 If, in pity to our blindness, _They_ had brought the pardon needed; Still, Jehovah's wondrous kindness Had our warmest hopes exceeded!

 If some prophet had been sent With salvation's joyful news, Who that heard the blest event Could their warmest love refuse?

 But 'twas He to whom in heaven Hallelujahs never cease; He, the mighty God, was given-- Given to us a Prince of peace. 

 None but he who did create us, Could redeem from sin and hell; None but he could reinstate us In the rank from which we fell. 

 Had he come, the glorious stranger, Decked with all the world calls great-- Had he lived in pomp and grandeur, Crowned with more than royal state--

 Still, our tongues, with praise o'erflowing, On such boundless love would dwell-- Still, our hearts, with rapture glowing, Speak what words could never tell. 

 But what wonder should it raise, Thus our lowest state to borrow! O the high mysterious ways-- God's own Son a child of sorrow!

 'Twas to bring us endless pleasure, He our suffering nature bore; 'Twas to give us heavenly treasure, He was willing to be poor. 

 Come, ye rich, survey the stable Where your infant Saviour lies; From your full, o'erflowing table, Send the hungry good supplies. 

 Boast not your ennobled stations, Boast not that you're highly fed; Jesus, hear it all ye nations, Had not where to lay his head. 

 Learn of me, thus cries the Saviour, If my kingdom you'd inherit: Sinner, quit your proud behavior; Learn my meek and lowly spirit. 

 Come, ye servants, see your station Free from all reproach and shame; He who purchased your salvation, Bore a servant's humble name. 

 Come, ye poor, some comfort gather, Faint not in the race you run; Hard the lot your gracious Father Gave his dear, his only Son. 

 Think, that if your humble stations Less of worldly food bestow, You escape those strong temptations Which from wealth and grandeur flow

 See, your Saviour is ascended; See, he looks with pity down: Trust him, all will soon be mended; Bear his cross, you'll share his crown. 

BEAR YE ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS;or, THE VALLEY OF TEARS. A VISION. 

BY HANNAH MORE. 

Once upon a time methought I set out upon a long journey, and theplace through which I travelled appeared to be a dark valley, whichwas called the Valley of Tears. It had obtained this name not onlyon account of the many sorrowful adventures which poor passengerscommonly meet with in their journey through it, but also because mostof these travellers entered it weeping and crying, and left it in avery great pain and anguish. This vast valley was full of people ofall colors, ages, sizes, and descriptions; but whether white, orblack, or tawney, all were travelling the same road, or rather, theywere taking different little paths which all led to the same commonend. 

Now it was remarkable, that notwithstanding the different complexions, ages, and tempers of this vast variety of people, yet all resembledeach other in this one respect, that each had a burden on his back, which he was destined to carry through the toil and heat of the day, until he should arrive, by a longer or shorter course, at hisjourney's end. These burdens would in general have made the pilgrimagequite intolerable, had not the Lord of the valley, out of his greatcompassion for these poor pilgrims, provided, among other things, thefollowing means for their relief. 

In their full view, over the entrance of the valley, there werewritten in great letters the following words:

 BEAR YE ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 

Now I saw in my vision, that many of the travellers hurried on withoutstopping to read this inscription; and others, though they had onceread it, yet paid little or no attention to it. A third sort thoughtit good advice for other people, but very seldom applied it tothemselves. In short, I saw that too many of these people were of theopinion, that they had burdens enough of their own, and that therewas therefore no occasion to take upon them those of others; so eachtried to make his own load as light, and his own journey as pleasantas he could, without so much as once casting a thought on a pooroverloaded neighbor. 

Here, however, I have to make a rather singular remark, by whichI shall plainly show the folly of these selfish people. It was soordered and contrived by the Lord of this valley, that if any onestretched out his hand to lighten a neighbor's burden, in fact henever failed to find that he at that moment also lightened his own. Besides, the obligation to help each other, and the benefit of doingso, were mutual. If a man helped his neighbor, it commonly happenedthat some other neighbor came, by and by, and helped him in his turn;for there was no such thing as what we call _independence_ in thewhole valley. Not one of all these travellers, however stout andstrong, could move on comfortably without assistance; for so the Lordof the valley, whose laws were all of them kind and good, hadexpressly ordained. 

I stood still to watch the progress of these poor wayfaring people, who moved slowly on, like so many ticket-porters, with burdens ofvarious kinds on their backs, of which some were heavier, and somewere lighter; but from a burden of one kind or other, not onetraveller was entirely free. 

THE WIDOW. 

A sorrowful widow, oppressed with the burden of grief for the loss ofan affectionate husband, would have been bowed down by her heavy load, had not the surviving children with great alacrity stepped forward andsupported her. Their kindness, after a while, so much lightened theload, which threatened at first to be intolerable, that she even wenton her way with cheerfulness, and more than repaid their help, byapplying the strength she derived from it, to their future assistance. 

THE HUSBAND. 

I next saw a poor old man tottering under a burden so heavy, that Iexpected him every moment to sink under it. I peeped into his pack, and saw it was made up of many sad articles: there were poverty, oppression, sickness, debt, and what made by far the heaviest part, undutiful children. I was wondering how it was that he got on even sowell as he did, till I spied his wife, a kind, meek, Christian woman, who was doing her utmost to assist him. She quietly got behind, gentlylaid her shoulder to the burden, and carried a much larger proportionof it than appeared to me when I was at a distance. She not onlysustained him by her strength, but cheered him by her counsels. Shetold him that "through much tribulation we must enter into thekingdom;" that "he that overcometh shall inherit all things. " Inshort, she so supported his fainting spirit, that he was enabled to"run with patience the race that was set before him. "

THE KIND NEIGHBOR. 

An infirm blind woman was creeping forward with a very heavy burden, in which were packed sickness and want, with numberless other of thoseraw materials out of which human misery is worked up. She was so weakthat she could not have got on at all, had it not been for the kindassistance of another woman almost as poor as herself; who, though shehad no light burden of her own, cheerfully lent a helping hand to afellow-traveller who was still more heavily laden. This friend hadindeed little or nothing to give; but the very voice of kindness issoothing to the weary. And I remarked in many other cases, that it wasnot so much the degree of help afforded as the manner of helping, thatlightened the burdens. 

Some had a coarse, rough, clumsy way of assisting a neighbor, which, though in fact it might be of real use, yet seemed, by galling thetravellers, to add to the load it was intended to lighten; while Iobserved in others, that so cheap a kindness as a mild word, or evenan affectionate look, made a poor burdened wretch move on cheerily. The bare feeling that some human being cared for him, seemed tolighten the load. 

But to return to this kind neighbor. She had a little old book in herhand, the covers of which were worn out by much use. When she saw theblind woman ready to faint, she would read her a few words out of thisbook, such as the following: "Blessed are the poor in spirit; fortheirs is the kingdom of heaven. " "Blessed are they that mourn; forthey shall be comforted. " "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. ""For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh out forus a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;" and one ofthese little promises operated like a cordial on the sufferer. 

THE CLERGYMAN. 

A pious minister sinking under the weight of a distressed parish, whose worldly wants he was totally unable to bear, was suddenlyrelieved by a good widow, who came up, and took all the sick andhungry on her own shoulders. The burden of the parish thus dividedbecame tolerable. The minister being no longer bowed down by thetemporal distresses of his people, applied himself cheerfully to hisown part of the weight. And it was pleasant to see how those twopersons, neither of them very strong, or rich, or healthy, by thuskindly uniting together, were enabled to bear the weight of a wholeparish; though singly, either of them must have sunk under theattempt. And I remember one great grief I felt during my whole journeywas, that I did not see more of this union and concurring kindness, bywhich all the burdens might have been easily divided. It troubled meto observe, that of all the laws of the valley, there was not onemore frequently broken than the law of kindness. 

THE NEGROES. 

I now spied a swarm of poor black men, women, and children, amultitude which no man could number; these groaned, and toiled, andsweated, and bled under far heavier loads than I had yet seen. Butfor a while no man helped them; at length a few white travellerswere touched with the sorrowful sighing of those millions, and veryheartily did they put their hands to the burdens; but their number wasnot quite equal to the work they had undertaken: I perceived, however, that they never lost sight of these poor, heavy-laden wretches; and asthe number of these generous helpers increased, and is continuallyincreasing, I felt a comfortable hope, that before all the blacks gotout of the valley, the whites would so apply themselves to the burden, that the loads would be effectually lightened. 

Among the travellers, I had occasion to remark, that those who mostkicked and struggled under their burdens, only made them so much theheavier; for their shoulders became extremely galled by these vainstruggles. The load, if borne patiently, would in the end have turnedeven to the advantage of the bearers--for so the Lord of the valleyhad kindly decreed; but as to these grumblers, they had all the smartand none of the benefit. But the thing that made all these burdensseem so very heavy was, that in every one, without exception, therewas a certain inner packet, which most of the travellers took pains toconceal, and carefully wrap up; and while they were forward enough tocomplain of the other part of their burdens, few said a word aboutthis, though in truth it was the pressing weight of this secret packetwhich served to render the general burden so intolerable. 

In spite of all their caution, I contrived to get a peep at it. Ifound, in each, that this packet had the same label: the word _sin_was written on all as a general title, and in ink so black that theycould not wash it out. I observed that most of them took no smallpains to hide the writing; but I was surprised to see that they didnot try to get rid of their load, but the label. If any kind friendwho assisted these people in bearing their burdens, did but so much ashint at the secret packet, or advise them to get rid of it, they tookfire at once, and commonly denied that they had any such article intheir portmanteau; and it was those whose secret packet swelled to themost enormous size, who most stoutly denied they had any such packetat all. 

I saw with pleasure, however, that some who had long labored heartilyto get rid of this inward packet, at length, by prayers, and tears, and efforts, not made in their own strength, found it much diminished, and the more this packet shrunk in size, the lighter was the otherpart of their burdens also. 

Then, methought, all at once, I heard a voice as it had been the voiceof an angel, crying out, and saying, "Ye unhappy pilgrims, why are yetroubled about the burden which ye are doomed to bear through thisValley of Tears? Know ye not, that as soon as ye shall have escapedout of this valley, the whole burden shall drop off, provided yeneglect not to remove that inward weight of _sin_ which principallyoppresses you? Study, then, the whole will of the Lord of this valley. Learn from him how the heavy part of your burdens may now be lessened, and how at last it shall be removed for ever. Be comforted. Faith andhope may cheer you even in this valley. The passage, though it seemslong to weary travellers, is comparatively short; for beyond it thereis a land of everlasting rest, 'where ye shall hunger no more, neitherthirst any more; where ye shall be led by living fountains of waters, and all tears shall be wiped away from your eyes. '"

THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAY:

BEING THE SECOND PART OF THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 

BY HANNAH MORE. 

Now I had a second vision of what was passing in the Valley of Tears. Methought I saw again the same kind of travellers whom I had seen inthe former part, and they were wandering at large through the samevast wilderness. At first setting out on his journey, each travellerhad a small lamp so fixed in his bosom, that it seemed to make a partof himself; but as this _natural light_ did not prove to be sufficientto direct them in the right way, the King of the country, in pity totheir wanderings and their blindness, out of his graciouscondescension, promised to give these poor wayfaring people anadditional supply of light from his own royal treasury. 

But as he did not choose to lavish his favors where there seemed nodisposition to receive them, he would not bestow any of his oil onsuch as did not think it worth asking for. "Ask, and ye shallreceive, " was the universal rule he laid down for them. Many wereprevented from asking through pride and vanity, for they thought theyhad light enough already; preferring the feeble glimmerings of theirown lamp, to all the offered light from the King's treasury. 

Yet it was observed of those who rejected it as thinking they hadenough, that hardly any acted up to what even their own natural lightshowed them. Others were deterred from asking, because they were toldthat this light not only pointed out the dangers and difficulties ofthe road, but by a certain reflecting power it turned inward onthemselves, and revealed to them ugly sights in their own hearts towhich they rather chose to be blind; for those travellers "chosedarkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. " Now it wasremarkable that these two properties were inseparable, and that thelamp would be of little outward use, except to those who used it asan internal reflector. A threat and a promise also never failed toaccompany the offer of this light from the King: a promise, that tothose who improved what they had, more should be given; and a threat, that from those who did not use it wisely, should be taken away evenwhat they had. 

I observed that when the road was very dangerous, when terrors anddifficulties and death beset the faithful traveller, then, on theirfervent importunity, the King voluntarily gave large and bountifulsupplies of light, such as in common seasons never could have beenexpected; always proportioning the quantity given to the necessity ofthe case: "As their day was, " such was their light and strength. 

Though many chose to depend entirely on their own lamp, yet it wasobserved that this light was apt to go out, if left to itself. It waseasily blown out by those violent gusts which were perpetually howlingthrough the wilderness, and indeed it was the natural tendency of thatunwholesome atmosphere to extinguish it; just as you have seen acandle go out when exposed to the vapors and foul air of a damp room. It was a melancholy sight to see multitudes of travellers heedlesslypacing on, boasting they had light enough, and despising the offer ofmore. 

But what astonished me most of all was, to see many, and some of them, too, accounted men of firstrate wit, actually busy in blowing outtheir own light, because, while any spark of it remained, it onlyserved to torment them, and point out things which they did not wishto see. And having once blown out their own light, they were not easytill they had blown out that of their neighbor's also; so that a goodpart of the wilderness seemed to exhibit a sort of universal_blind-man's-buff_, each endeavoring to catch his neighbor, while hisown voluntary blindness exposed him to be caught himself, so that eachwas actually falling into the snare he was laying for another; till atlength, as selfishness is the natural consequence of blindness, "catchhe that catch can, " became the general cry throughout the wilderness. 

Now I saw in my vision, that there were some others who were busy instrewing the most gaudy flowers over the numerous bogs, precipices, and pitfalls, with which the wilderness abounded; and thus makingdanger and death look so gay, that the poor thoughtless creaturesseemed to delight in their own destruction. Those pitfalls did notappear deep or dangerous to the eye, because over them were raised gayedifices with alluring names. These were filled with singing men andsinging women, and with dancing, and feasting, and gaming, anddrinking, and jollity, and madness. But though the scenery was gay, the footing was unsound. The floors were full of holes, through whichthe unthinking merrymakers were continually sinking. Some tumbledthrough in the middle of a song, many at the end of a feast; andthough there was many a cup of intoxication wreathed with flowers, yet there was always poison at the bottom. 

But what most surprised me was, that though no day passed over theirheads in which some of these merry-makers did not drop through, yettheir loss made little impression on those who were left. Nay, insteadof being awakened to more circumspection and self-denial by thecontinual dropping off of those about them, several of them seemed toborrow from thence an argument of a directly contrary tendency, andthe very shortness of the time was only urged as a reason to use itmore sedulously for the indulgence of sensual delights. "Let us eatand drink; for to-morrow we die. " "Let us crown ourselves withrose-buds before they are withered. " With these, and a thousand othersuch little mottoes, the gay garlands of the wilderness weredecorated. 

Some admired poets were set to work to set the most corrupt sentimentsto the most harmonious tunes: these were sung without scruple, chiefly, indeed, by the looser sons of riot, but not seldom also bythe more orderly daughters of sobriety, who were not ashamed to sing, to the sound of instruments, sentiments so corrupt and immoral, thatthey would have blushed to speak or read them; but the music seemed tosanctify the corruption, especially such as was connected with love ordrinking. 

Now I observed, that all the travellers who had so much as a spark oflife left, seemed every now and then, as they moved onwards, to castan eye, though with very different degrees of attention, towards theHappy land, which they were told lay at the end of their journey; butas they could not see very far forward, and as they knew there was adark and shadowy valley, which must needs be crossed before theycould attain to the Happy land, they tried to turn their attentionfrom it as much as they could. The truth is, they were notsufficiently apt to consult a map which the King had given them, andwhich pointed out the road to the Happy land so clearly, that the"wayfaring man, though simple, could not err. " This map also definedvery correctly the boundaries of the Happy land from the land ofMisery, both of which lay on the other side of the dark and shadowyvalley; but so many beacons and lighthouses were erected, so manyclear and explicit directions furnished for avoiding the one countryand attaining the other, that it was not the King's fault, if even onesingle traveller got wrong. But I am inclined to think, that in spiteof the map, and the King's word, and his offers of assistance to getthem thither, the travellers in general did not heartily and trulybelieve, after all, that there was any such country as the Happy land;or at least, the paltry and transient pleasures of the wilderness sobesotted them, the thoughts of the dark and shadowy valley sofrightened them, that they thought they should be more comfortable bybanishing all thought and forecast. 

Now I also saw in my dream, that there were two roads through thewilderness, one of which every traveller must needs take. The firstwas narrow, and difficult, and rough, but it was infallibly safe. Itdid not admit the traveller to stray either to the right hand or tothe left, yet it was far from being destitute of real comforts orsober pleasures. The other was a _broad and tempting way_, aboundingwith luxurious fruits and gaudy flowers to tempt the eye and pleasethe appetite. To forget the dark valley, through which every travellerwas well assured he must one day pass, seemed, indeed, the object ofgeneral desire. To this great end, all that human ingenuity couldinvent was industriously set to work. The travellers read, and theywrote, and they painted, and they sung, and they danced, and theydrank as they went along, not so much because they all cared for thesethings, or had any real joy in them, as because this restless activityserved to divert their attention from ever being fixed on the _darkand shadowy valley_. 

The King, who knew the thoughtless temper of the travellers, andhow apt they were to forget their journey's end, had thought of athousand little kind attentions to warn them of their dangers. And aswe sometimes see in our gardens written on a board in great letters, "Beware of spring-guns"--"Man-traps are set here;" so had this Kingcaused to be written and stuck up, before the eyes of the travellers, several little notices and cautions, such as, "Broad is the way thatleadeth to destruction;" "Take heed, lest ye also perish;" "Woe tothem that rise up early to drink wine;" "The pleasures of sin are butfor a season. "

Such were the notices directed to the _Broad-way_ travellers; but theywere so busily engaged in plucking the flowers, sometimes before theywere blown, and in devouring the fruits, often before they were ripe, and in loading themselves with _yellow clay_, under the weight ofwhich millions perished, that they had no time so much as to look atthe King's directions. 

Many went wrong because they preferred a merry journey to a safe one, and because they were terrified by certain notices chiefly intendedfor the _Narrow-way_ travellers, such as, "Ye shall weep and lament, but the world shall rejoice;" but had these foolish people allowedthemselves time or patience to read to the end, which they seldomwould do, they would have seen these comfortable words added: "Butyour sorrow shall be turned into joy;" also, "Your joy no man takethfrom you;" and, "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. "

Now I also saw in my dream, that many travellers who had a strongdread of ending at the land of Misery, walked up to the Strait gate, hoping, that though the entrance was narrow, yet if they could onceget in, the road would widen; but what was their grief, when onlooking more closely they saw written on the inside, "Narrow is theway:" this made them take fright; they compared the inscriptions withwhich the whole way was lined, such as, "Be ye not conformed to thisworld"--"Deny yourselves, take up your cross, " with all the temptingpleasures of the wilderness. 

Some indeed recollected the fine descriptions they had read of theHappy land, the Golden city, and the river of Pleasures, and theysighed; but then, those joys were distant, and from the faintnessof their light they soon got to think that what was remote mightbe uncertain; and while the present good increased in bulk by itsnearness, the distant good receded, diminished, disappeared. Theirfaith failed; they would trust no farther than they could see: theydrew back and got into the Broadway, taking a common but sad refugein the number and gayety of their companions. 

When these faint-hearted people, who yet had set out well, turnedback, their light was quite put out, and then they became worse thanthose who had made no attempt to get in; "for it is impossible, " thatis, it is next to impossible, "for those who were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and the good word of God, andthe powers of the world to come, if they shall fall away, to renewthem again to repentance. "

A few honest, humble travellers, not naturally stronger than the rest, but strengthened by their trust in the King's word, came up by thelight of their lamps, and meekly entered in at the Strait gate. Asthey advanced farther they felt less heavy, and though the way did notin reality grow wider, yet they grew reconciled to the narrowness ofit, especially when they saw the walls here and there studded withcertain jewels called _promises_, such as, "He that endureth to theend shall be saved;" and, "My grace is sufficient for thee. "

Some, when they were almost ready to faint, were encouraged by seeingthat many niches in the Narrow-way were filled with statues andpictures of saints and martyrs, who had borne their testimony at thestake, that the Narrow-way was the safe way; and these travellers, instead of sinking at the sight of the painted wheel and gibbet, thesword and the furnace, were animated by these words written underthem: "Those that wear white robes came out of great tribulation;"and, "Be ye followers of them who through faith and patience inheritthe promises. "

In the meantime there came a great multitude of travellers, all fromLaodicea: this was the largest party I had yet seen; these wereneither cold nor hot; they would not give up future hope, they couldnot endure present pain; so they contrived to deceive themselves byfancying, that though they resolved to keep the Happy land in view, yet there must needs be many different ways which led to it, no doubtall equally sure without being all equally rough; so they set on footcertain little contrivances to attain the end without using the means, and softened down the spirit of the King's directions to fit them totheir own practice. 

Sometimes they would split a direction in two, and only use that halfwhich suited them. For instance, when they met with the followingrule, "Trust in the Lord, and do good, " they would take the firsthalf, and make themselves easy with a general sort of trust, thatthrough the mercy of the King all would go well with them, though theythemselves did nothing. And on the other hand, many made sure that afew good works of their own would carry them safely to the Happy land, though they did _not_ trust in the Lord, nor place any faith in hisword: so they took the second half of the spliced direction. Thus someperished by a lazy faith, and others by a working pride. 

A large party of Pharisees now appeared, who had so neglected theirlamp that they did not see their way at all, though they fanciedthemselves to be full of light; they kept up appearances so well as todelude others, and most effectually to delude themselves with a notionthat they might be found in the right way at last. In this dreadfuldelusion they went on to the end, and till they were finally plungedin the dark valley, never discovered the horrors which awaited them onthe dismal shore. It was remarkable, that while these Pharisees wereoften boasting how bright their light burned, in order to get thepraise of men, the humble travellers, whose steady light showed theirgood works to others, refused all commendation, and the brighter theirlight shined before men, so much the more they insisted that theyought to glory, not in themselves, but their Father which is inheaven. 

I now set myself to observe what was the particular let, molestation, and hinderance, which obstructed particular travellers in theirendeavors to enter in at the Strait gate. I remarked a huge portlyman, who seemed desirous of getting in, but he carried about him sucha vast provision of bags full of gold, and had on so many richgarments which stuffed him out so wide, that though he pushed andsqueezed like one who had really a mind to get in, yet he could notpossibly do so. Then I heard a voice crying, "Woe to him that loadethhimself with thick clay. " The poor man felt something was wrong, andeven went so far as to change some of his more cumbersome vanitiesinto others which seemed less bulky; but still he and his pack weremuch too wide for the gate. 

He would not, however, give up the matter so easily, but began tothrow away a little of the coarser part of his baggage; but still Iremarked, that he threw away none of the vanities which lay near hisheart. He tried again, but it would not do; still his dimensions weretoo large. He now looked up and read these words: "How hardly shallthey who have riches enter into the kingdom of God!" The poor mansighed to find that it was impossible to enjoy his fill of bothworlds, and "went away sorrowing. " If he ever afterwards cast athought towards the Happy land, it was only to regret that the roadwhich led to it was too narrow to admit any but the meagre children ofwant, who were not so encumbered by wealth as to be too big for thepassage. Had he read on, he would have seen that "with God all thingsare possible. "

Another advanced with much confidence of success; for having littleworldly riches or honors, the gate did not seem so strait to him. Hegot to the threshold triumphantly, and seemed to look back withdisdain on all that he was quitting. He soon found, however, that hewas so bloated with pride, and stuffed out with self-sufficiency, thathe could not get in. Nay, he was in a worse way than the rich man justnamed, for _he_ was willing to throw away some of his outward luggage;whereas this man refused to part with a grain of that vanity andself-applause which made him too big for the way. The sense of his ownworth so swelled him out, that he stuck fast in the gateway, and couldneither get in nor out. 

Finding now that he must cut off all those big thoughts of himself, if he wished to be reduced to such a size as to pass the gate, he gaveup all thoughts of it. He scorned that humility and self-denial whichmight have shrunk him down to the proper dimensions: the more heinsisted on his own qualifications for entrance, the more impossibleit became to enter, for the bigger he grew. Finding that he mustbecome quite another manner of man before he could hope to get in, hegave up the desire; and I now saw, that though when he set his facetowards the Happy land he could not get an inch forward, yet theinstant he made a motion to turn back into the world, his speed becamerapid enough, and he got back into the Broad-way much sooner than hehad got out of it. 

Many, who for a time were brought down from their usual bulk by someaffliction, seemed to get in with ease. They now thought all theirdifficulties over; for having been surfeited with the world duringtheir late disappointment, they turned their backs upon it willinglyenough. A fit of sickness perhaps, which is very apt to _reduce_, hadfor a time brought their bodies into subjection, so that they wereenabled just to get in at the gateway; but as soon as health andspirits returned, the way grew narrower and narrower to them; theycould not get on, but turned short, and got back into the world. 

I saw many attempt to enter who were stopped short by a large burdenof worldly cares; others by a load of idolatrous attachments; but Iobserved that nothing proved a more complete bar than that vast bundleof prejudices with which multitudes were loaded. Others were fatallyobstructed by loads of bad habits which they would not lay down, though they knew they prevented their entrance. Some few, however, ofmost descriptions who had kept their light alive by craving constantsupplies from the King's treasury, got through at last by a strengthwhich they felt not to be their own. 

One poor man, who carried the largest bundle of bad habits I had seen, could not get on a step; he never ceased, however, to implore forlight enough to see where his misery lay: he threw down one of hisbundles, then another, but all to little purpose, still he could notstir. At last, striving as if in agony--which is the true way ofentering--he threw down the heaviest article in his pack: this wasselfishness. The poor fellow felt relieved at once, his light burnedbrightly, and the rest of his pack was as nothing. 

Then I heard a great noise as of carpenters at work. I looked to seewhat this might be, and saw many sturdy travellers, who, finding theywere too bulky to get through, took into their heads not to reducethemselves, but to widen the gate: they hacked on this side, and hewedon that; but all their hacking and hewing and hammering was to nopurpose, they got only their labor for their pains: it would have beenpossible for them to have reduced themselves, but to widen theNarrow-way was impossible. 

What grieved me most was, to observe that many who had got onsuccessfully a good way, now stopped to rest, and to admire their ownprogress. While they were thus valuing themselves on their attainment, their light diminished. While these were boasting how far they had leftothers behind, who had set out much earlier, some slower travellers, whose beginning had not been so promising but who had walkedcircumspectly, now outstripped them. These last walked, "not as thoughthey had already attained, " but "this one thing they did, forgetting thethings which were behind, they pressed forward towards the mark for theprize of their high calling. " These, though naturally weak, yet by"laying aside every weight, finished the race that was before them. "

Those who had kept their "light burning, " who were not "wise in theirown conceit, " who "laid their help on One that is mighty, " who had"chosen to suffer affliction rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sinfor a season, " came at length to the Happy land. They had indeed thedark and shadowy valley to cross; but even there they found "a rod anda staff" to comfort them. Their light, instead of being put out bythe damps of the valley of the Shadow of Death, often burned withadded brightness. 

Some, indeed, suffered the terrors of a short eclipse; but even thentheir light, like that of a dark lantern, was not put out, it was onlyhid for a while; and even these often finished their course with joy. But be that as it might, the instant they reached the Happy land, alltears were wiped from their eyes; and the King himself came forth andwelcomed them into his presence, and put a crown upon their heads, with these words: "Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thouinto the joy of thy LORD. "

THE PARABLE OF THE LABORERS IN THE VINEYARD. 

The kingdom of heaven is compared by our Saviour to "a householderwhich went out early in the morning to hire laborers into hisvineyard. And again he went out about the third hour, and saw othersstanding idle in the market-place, and said unto them, Go ye also intothe vineyard: and they went their way. And he went out about the sixthand ninth hour, and did likewise. And about the eleventh hour he wentout, and found others standing idle, and saith unto them, Why stand yehere all the day idle? They say unto him, Because no man hath hiredus. He saith unto them, Go ye also into the vineyard; and whatsoeveris right, that shall ye receive. "

By the _householder_ here spoken of, our Saviour himself is intended;and by the _laborers_ _hired into the vineyard_, those persons aremeant who enter into his service. These laborers are said to be found_standing idle in the market-place_; for the gospel finds men idle, that is, not employed in God's service. They are working busilyenough, perhaps, for themselves; for men will rise up early, and go tobed late, for the sake of getting money, or following pleasure; butthen their diligence is of a wrong kind. They are not diligent in theway of duty to their Maker. They may be likened to a certain kind ofservants, who though they may seem busy, and may get from ignorantpersons some credit for being so, are nevertheless merely running ontheir own errands, and doing their own work, so that they are nobetter than idle in respect to the work which they ought to be doingfor their householder or master. 

But when they become true Christians they are no longer like thoseidle fellows who are always sauntering about with their arms folded, in the market-place, pretending that they are in want of employment, no man having as yet hired them: they may now be compared to a set oflaborers in the vineyard or garden, who, whenever you look at them, are sure to be seen either digging, or planting, or watering, ordoing, in short, whatever is most wanting in the place where they areworking; and they have always an eye, moreover, to the honor andinterests of the great Householder their Master. 

The householder is said to _go out at different hours of the day_ tohire these servants. This signifies that the light of revelation wassent at different periods of the world to the different people in it, and in particular to the Jews at one period, and the Gentile nationsat another. The Jews had been much offended at seeing Christ addresshimself to the Gentiles, who, as they thought, not having been calledinto the church or vineyard of God at an early period of the world, ought not to be received at a later hour. Our Saviour, therefore, makes use of this parable, or story, as a convenient means of showinghow unreasonable these Jewish prejudices were. 

I mean here, however, to accommodate the parable to the purpose ofshowing in what manner the gospel often addresses itself _to men indifferent periods of life_, calling one at an early age, and one muchlater, into the same vineyard of Christ. We are in no danger oferring exactly as the Jews did, by raising objections to Christ'scalling the great body of the Gentile nations into his church. We maybe in great danger, however, of acting much in the same spirit withthe Jews, and if we do so, that spirit is most likely to show itselfin our objecting to extend the privileges of the gospel to some pooroutcasts or aged sinners among ourselves. 

First, then, I will put the case of one who is brought to obey thegospel _in the morning of life_, and is one of the youngest of thelaborers in our Lord's vineyard. He sets out well, as I will suppose, and goes on well through all the following stages of life; even hismost early prayers are not a mere matter of form, but they spring outof a persuasion already rising up in his mind, that he is entirelydependent on God, and needs the help of his Holy Spirit. It pleasesGod, in answer to his infant prayers, to strengthen this child againsthis early temptations, so that he does as Christ commands, and not aswicked children may require or expect of him. Such a child as thiswill also be diligent in learning his lessons, and improving his time;for he will be like the laboring men in the vineyard, spoken of inthe parable, and not like the idle ones in the market-place. 

Now what a vast quantity of good may such a person be the means ofdoing in the course of a long life on earth. First of all, he is ablessing to his young connections and school-fellows, for he willoften reprove vice and irreligion in them, even though it should bemuch against the modesty of his own natural inclinations. Then hegrows up to be a bold witness for God in the face of all the gay andunthinking young men or women among whom he is thrown in early life. Next, he proceeds to do good about the village or town where he issettled. After this, perhaps, he marries, when his wife, and allher connections, and his own offspring also, have the advantage ofobserving him. They remark his humble, candid, pious, and affectionatespirit, and his diligent and self-denying life, and they profit bothby his kind services and his example. 

Now, too, his income very probably increases through his goodcharacter and industry, and hence he is able to assist the poor, thefatherless, the widow, and to pay for the instruction of the ignorant;for he spends little on himself. Having no vices he has few wants, and his family, being trained to religious habits, and preserved fromthe gay and expensive customs of the world, have few wants also. Thusis happiness of all kinds spread abroad. He explains, also, as he hasopportunity, those Christian doctrines which have led him into thislife of usefulness, and is a great promoter of the gospel, so that alittle world of Christians is continually gathering together aroundhim, and even a new generation is coming forward, which shall, by andby, rise up and call him blessed. 

In the midst of all this usefulness, however, he is very modest andlowly. He gives God the praise of every good thing he does, and he issincerely pained when flattering and inconsiderate people load himwith their extravagant commendations; for he sees a thousand faults inhimself which he is much engaged in overcoming, though others perceivethem not. He is conscious of neglecting many an opportunity of doinggood, and of failing to suppress sufficiently many an evil thought;and though some irreligious people may fancy that he already carriesthings too far, as they absurdly term it, yet there is nothing ofwhich he is himself more sure than that he falls short in everyduty, and especially in those things of which they least see theimportances--in zeal for religion, in the duties of prayer and praise, and in all the feelings and expressions of gratitude to his Creatorand Redeemer. 

But while we are thus describing the amiable character of a Christian, let it be remarked also, that he meets with various difficulties, andis exposed to not a few misrepresentations, His virtuous singularity, for instance, is considered by some, who do not understand hisprinciples, to be unnecessary preciseness, and is thought to arisefrom a conceited or disobliging spirit. His courage in reproving vice, if unsuccessful, is called, by those whom he reproves, impertinence. His activity in doing good is not seldom ascribed to forwardness. Evenhis extraordinary liberality is accounted for, by those who do notcare to follow his example, by saying that it is mere vanity, orlavish imprudence. And, above all, his piety is apt to be thought, bythe impious and irreligious, to be mere hypocrisy, or at best a poor, pitiable sort of weakness. 

Thus, then, while the Christian has many peculiar hopes, and joys, andconsolations on the one hand, he experiences many trials and hardshipson the other. Nevertheless, he bears up under them all; many of them, indeed, appear light to him in comparison of what they seem to othermen, and grow more and more light as he becomes used to them. He goeson, therefore, cheerful and contented: he labors much, he suffersmuch, he renounces much, he contends much in the cause of Christ;and he does this in every place to which he moves, in every changingsituation and circumstance, and in every season of life through whichhe passes. 

And now at last, after a long life, death closes in upon him; he lookswith thankfulness back to what is past, and with composure to theimportant and decisive hour that is approaching. He trusts, indeed, not in himself, but in his Saviour, for, after all, he is but "anunprofitable servant, having done no more than it was his duty to do;"but he has much comfortable proof that his Christian faith has notbeen a mere name; and he is able to take up the same language with theapostle, and to say, with a measure of the same confidence, "I havefought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith;henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which theLord the righteous Judge shall give me at that day. " This then is oneof those who, to borrow the phrase in the parable, may be said to have"borne the burden and heat of the day. "

There is another class of persons who may now be spoken of as enteringinto the vineyard of Christ at a somewhat later hour; at the age, wewill suppose, of _twenty-five or thirty_. These have lost an hourindeed; they have idled away one precious season of life. Alas, it isalso to be feared, that during the heat and self-confidence of youth, they have done much evil, as well as neglected to do good. Perhaps ithas also happened that they have already formed some rash connection, and established themselves on some irreligious plan; but now theyrepent; they break through all difficulties; they turn away fromthe path in which they had set out in life, and they turn intothe vineyard of Christ. They become humble, diligent, and usefulChristians; for even those also give a good part at least of theirhealth and strength to the cause of their Saviour, and with grief andshame at having been thus far idle, they become fellow-laborers withthose happier persons already spoken of. 

But let us come to a class of persons who repent somewhat later still;I mean at the age of _forty or fifty_. How affecting is the conditionof such persons when it is well considered. They now discover thatthey have been all their lives living, as it were, to no purpose; thatthe whole of these forty or fifty years has been idly thrown away, orif spent in labor, it has been mere labor in vain. For even thoughthey may have been diligent, yet they have been merely diligent indoing their own will, and not the will of God; they have been workingin their own vineyard, and not in the vineyard of Christ; they havebeen year after year pushing their own fortune, building up their owncredit, exalting their own consequence, indulging their own ease, following their own pleasure, caring about their own interest, orfamily interest, while the great interests of the kingdom of Christhave been quite out of the question. 

Now, therefore, they have to repent perhaps of the very things theyhave been the most proud of. They have also to resist many sinfulhabits which have become, as it were, a second nature; they have todisentangle themselves from a multitude of irreligious connections, whose opinions have hitherto ruled over them; they have to unteacheven their own children many a false principle which they had taughtthem. With many a weary and painful step, they have to measure backthe whole ground which they have been treading; and they have to undo, as it were, every thing which for fifty years they have been doing. When more than half of life is over, they have to enter upon the workwhich they were sent into the world to do; but at length they hirethemselves into the vineyard of Christ, and he receives them, thoughit is the ninth hour: and now they husband well their time, and beginto be fruitful in every good work; and whatever they do, they do allto the glory of God: they perform what he commands, and simply becausehe commands it: they become a part of the church of Christ, and arenumbered among the laborers in his vineyard. 

But if the case of such as were last spoken of is affecting, whatshall be said of those _aged persons_ whom it still remains for us todescribe? Some there are--but, alas, it is to be feared, that it isthe case of very few--who even at seventy, or more than seventy yearsold, repent, and become the servants of Christ When scarcely an hourof life remains, when the evening is closing in, and the "night comethin which no man can work, " then it pleases God to send his gracepossibly to a few of these also, and they go for the short hour thatremains into the same vineyard of Christ. 

How mournful is the view which we have now to take of such an agedsinner's condition. Here is a person, the whole term of whose earthlyexistence, one poor uncertain hour excepted, has been spent in asinful course. How plain is it in his case, that there can be no suchthing as merit, and that if ever he is saved, it must be through themere mercy of God--a doctrine, indeed, which is equally true in thecase of all. Let us run over the woful tale of his wicked life, andas before we thought fit to describe an eminent and distinguishedChristian, so now, by way of making the difference more particularlystriking, let us draw the picture of one who, though no thief ormurderer, and therefore not accounted one of the most abandoned ofmankind, yet is lying under a load of much more than ordinary guilt. Those persons who feel themselves guilty of any part of the crimes weshall enumerate, should take their share of the reproof, and if theyhave not repented, so as to enter into the vineyard of Christ, theyshould remember, that though they may be criminals of a smaller size, yet they are still remaining under condemnation. 

To a perverse and disobedient childhood has succeeded, as we willsuppose, a wild and vicious youth, and then a proud and ambitiousmanhood, and after this a fretful or covetous old age. In the course ofhis long life many temptations have broken in upon him, and by turns hehas yielded to them all. Many different situations have been filled byhim, and in each, as he now sees, he has either neglected or betrayedhis trust. He has been a negligent and bad father, an unreasonable, nay, secretly an unfaithful husband, a careless inattentive brother, a hollow, flattering, and designing friend; perhaps, also, a meantime-serving politician, and even a mischievous common acquaintance. Do you ask what has been the turn of his common conversation? Instead ofbeing pious, useful, benevolent, candid, and sincere, it has at one timebeen proud and passionate, at another vain and flourishing, at anotherslanderous and revengeful; now again, it has been selfish, crafty, anddissembling, often also daringly impious and profane, and not seldomexceedingly polluting and impure. Do you ask what have been the sinfuldeeds he has done? O what a dreadful variety has there been in them! Atone time he has been trying to overreach his fellow-trader; at another, he has been endeavoring to seduce some unhappy maiden: at one time he isseen quarrelling with his neighbor; at another, he falls out with one ofhis own family, after which he grows mad with every one around him, and, at last, equally mad and out of humor with himself. He has been selfish, griping, and avaricious on all occasions, and what he has saved orgained by oppression and fraud, he has spent on his profligacy: he hasgot drunk with the money which he has acquired by dishonesty, and he haspaid for his debauchery at night by the sum which he has contrived inthe morning to keep back from the poor. At the same time he has beenturbulent, factious, and complaining--always talking of what is amiss inothers, and very sudden and severe in judging them, but very proud andconfident in himself, disdaining even the smallest blame. Would you getinto favor with him, you must flatter him at every word; and you willplease him best by doing it grossly and to his face, for he is quiteused to praise: he has long lived among those who look up to him astheir patron, or gape at him as their principal wit, or glory in him astheir chief songster, possibly as the chairman of their drinking club, and as their merry leader in debauchery. 

To all these sins he adds that of being the decided enemy of everyreligious man. Is the gospel preached at his very door, he stands inthe front rank of its enemies; he denies its efficacy, makes a joke ofits doctrines, reviles its followers, and is the avowed hinderer ofits progress. Christianity, indeed, is against him, and therefore itis no wonder that he is against Christianity. Hence it is, that thereligion of every man around him, however pure and excellent, if it isbut zealous and fervent, is declared, without distinction, to be merehypocrisy, enthusiasm, bigotry, and cant. 

But let us look a little also to the various _consequences_ of hislife of sin. Who can trace a thousandth part of the miseries whichhave arisen even from one single source; I mean from the levity andinconsideration which have made one leading feature in his character?Who can calculate the effects of all those evil principles which hehas scattered at random, reaching even to distant places andgenerations? Who can calculate the mischief which he may have causedeven in one of his light convivial hours? View the inscription on thatgravestone, which is now almost overgrown with thorns. Ah, it is thename of an old companion, an ale-house friend, who once used to singwith him, in one joyful chorus, "the praises of the flowing bowl, " andwho thus was encouraged in those habits of intemperance which led tothat untimely grave. 

Let us open one other source of no less painful reflection. Beholdthat miserable female, once the gay partner of his guilty pleasures, whom if he has not been the first to seduce, he has at least carriedon and confirmed in a life of sin, and whom he has left afterwards tosink in want, to grow loathsome through disease, and to become anuisance to the village or the town. He has helped to ruin but not todeliver her; he has soon left her to the tender mercies of some of herown sex as hardened as herself, among whom she has sunk, and groaned, and died. 

Which way, then, shall this aged sinner turn his eyes? Every scene, every place, every month and day of his life, which he can call toremembrance, reminds him of some sin. Shall he look to some of hismore reputable actions? Alas, even when his conduct has been mostcreditable, his motives have been unchristian and impure. "True, Ihave had some character, " he now says to himself, "but I have had notitle to it. Men have not known me; or if a few have known me, and yetpraised me, they have praised me because they have wanted to carrysome point of their own by pleasing me: nay, my companions have evenpraised me for what was evil, for the same people seem now, methinks, to blame me in proportion as they discern any thing in me that isgood. " Thus the recollection of the applauses he used to receive fromthese wicked men is one aggravation of his pain. 

But shall he look to his more innocent and early years? Alas, thereview of his infancy only serves to remind him how naturally and howsoon he went astray; how soon "he forsook the guide of his youth, andforgot the covenant of his God. " Thus, if he looks backward, all ismisery, and horror, and despair. Shall he then look forward andcomfort himself by thinking how effectually he will repair all theevil he has done? But how shall he now repair it? Of those whom he hascorrupted many are dead, and of the survivors very few can now befound. Go, then, and bring these few back to God. Alas, one will mock, another will dissemble, a third will despise. Go, try to reclaim eventhe children of thine own loins, who are all trained through thy meansin an evil course. Nay, even these also will scoff at thy rebuke, andsay, "Our old father is grown troublesome and peevish through age; heis turned religious only because he has just done with this life, andhas one foot in the grave. "

What then, I say, can this aged sinner do to remedy the evils he hascaused? He can only abhor himself for what is past, and repentsincerely of all that he has done. See him then at length abhorringhimself, and "repenting in dust and ashes. " See him retiring to hischamber, and, for the first time, communing seriously with his ownheart. See him reviewing the whole of his past life, from the firstdawn of reason to the present hour, endeavoring to survey withexactness his thoughts, words, and actions, and all his most secretpractices, intentions, and inclinations. See him meditating also onhis numberless omissions, taking the law of God for his rule, andbeginning now, for the first time, to discover what manner of personhe has been. How does he stand amazed at his own former stupidity andblindness and hardness of heart, and how astonished also at thepatience of God, which has so long borne with him. 

And now his heart relents, the tears of penitential sorrow begin toflow; the lion also is changed into a lamb, and the same person whobefore might have been compared to the woman in the gospel, "out ofwhom there went seven devils, " or to "Saul breathing out threateningsand slaughter, " may now be likened to the Magdalen weeping at the feetof Jesus, or to Paul trembling and astonished, and crying out, as helay on the ground, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" or to thesame Paul, when it was afterwards said of him, "Behold, he prayeth. "With trembling limbs, and with a body bowed down with age, behold thenthis repenting sinner walking to that public worship which he had solong neglected; with weak and failing eyes he opens the scripture; atthe age of seventy he begins to inquire with childlike simplicity intothe nature of the gospel, and knowing how short his time is, he makeshaste to obey it. 

And now, perhaps his old companions deride him; for as he once sneeredat others who were religious, and called them all hypocrites, so is henow sneered at, and called a hypocrite in his turn: he becomes thescoff of the drunkard and the merry jest of the profane, and they that"sit in the gate make songs of him. " Now also the very sins of hisyouth, which had been scarcely mentioned before, are brought forwardby his former favorites and friends as present evidence against him;his crimes are even aggravated, and are all blazed abroad; but it isone proof of his sincerity, that even these cutting reproaches do notshake him from his purpose, nor induce him to turn back to his oldcompanions. No, they may laugh, they may smile at what they call hispretended sanctity, but in truth he is no hypocrite. 

 "The tear That drops upon his Bible is sincere. "

He is disposed to doubt, indeed, for a time, his own sincerity; forhis guilt is so great, and the blessings of the gospel, including asthey do the gift of eternal life, appear so large in his eyes, thathe cannot at once raise his hopes so high. His sincerity is proved, however, by his proceeding to repair, as far as he has opportunity, each evil that he has done; by his mourning over what he cannot cure, and by the determination of his mind, through the help of divinegrace, to walk for the future in newness of life. In short, he feelsthat if his life were prolonged a thousand years, and youth and healthwere restored to him, he should choose to spend his strength and theutmost length of his days in the service of the same Master, and to bea laborer in the same vineyard. 

But here, methinks, some objector rises up, and says, "What then, shall this man be accepted of God, like him who has been moral andorderly all his days, or like the first person you mentioned?" Weshall now answer this objection by proceeding with the parable. 

The Jews are there represented as _murmuring against the good man ofthe house_, on account of his rewarding the more late and earlylaborers, the ancient Jews and the newly converted Gentiles, by givingeach of them a penny, "saying, These last have wrought but one hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, who have borne the burden andheat of the day. But he answered one of them, and said, Friend, I dothee no wrong: didst not thou agree with me for a penny? Take thatthine is, and go thy way: I will give unto this last even as untothee. Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own?" It wasno injury to the Jews that the poor Gentiles were admitted, though ata later hour, into the church, and the Jews had therefore no right tocomplain; on the contrary, they ought to have rejoiced at it. In likemanner, it can be no injury to those among us who may have servedChrist from our youth, that any poor outcast should be admitted tothe same Christian privileges with ourselves; and we also ought torejoice, as the angels of God are said to do, over one sinner thatrepenteth. Again it may be remarked, that even the first calling ofthe Jews arose not from any superior merit in them, but from thesovereign goodness of God. Surely, therefore, it was most unreasonablein those people to complain of God's extending the same mercy to theGentiles. Much in the same manner, it may be remarked in respect tothe present day, that the salvation even of the best of men arisesnot from any merit of their own, but merely from God's free mercy inChrist; and surely, therefore, one pardoned sinner among us ought notto complain of the extension of the same pardon to another. 

But the parable, in the two last verses of it, proceeds a stepfurther, for it is there added by our Saviour, "Is thine eye evilbecause I am good?" which is as if he said, "What, do you take offencethen at my being so merciful? Does it provoke your envy to see a vileGentile called at the eleventh hour, and made equal to yourselves, whoprofess to have been the people of God from the beginning, and to haveborne the whole burden and heat of the day?" Some very awful words arethen added, wherein it is implied, that they who are ready to makethis objection, brought thereby their own religious character intosuspicion; and that these very penitents of the eleventh hour, whomthey now presumed to despise, should hereafter even take place abovethem--for it is said, "So the first shall be last, and the last first;for many are called, but few chosen. "

These words appear to be a prophecy of our Judge, which relates to thegreat day of judgment. Then many a popular but irreligious character, many a one who has been praised to the stars in this ignorant andmisjudging world, and whose supposed virtues have both deceivedhimself, and dazzled all around him, shall sink at once intoeverlasting shame and disgrace; while many a poor, despised, yetrepenting sinner, shall come forward and receive his crown of glory. 

O, what a wonderful change in many of the appearances which we nowsee, shall we witness on the day of judgment. Let us not fail toremark, that then also many a false though flaming professor of thegospel, many a vain, forward, and conceited teacher, many aself-confident enthusiast, and many a narrow-minded and fiery bigot, who has spent his life in little else than in judging and condemningothers, shall be brought forward in the face of the assembled world, and shall receive his own condemnation. Then also many a diffident andtrembling believer, and many a meek and lowly Christian, who has beenlaboring with little noise in some obscure corner of his Lord'svineyard, and on whom the bigots, not seeing him among their party, have presumptuously dealt damnation, shall take that prize which hasbeen denied to those who set themselves up as judges over him, andshall be bid to enter into the joy of his Lord. "So the first shallbe last, and the last first; for many are called, but few chosen. "