The farmer's friend, or The History of Mr. Charles Worthy. Who, from being a poor orphan, rose through various scenes of distress and misfortune, to wealth and eminence, by industry, economy and good conduct. : Interspersed with many useful and entertaining narratives, suited to please the fancy, improve the understanding, and mend the heart. / By Enos Hitchcock, D.D. author of "Memoirs of the Bloomsgrove family." ; Published according to act of Congress.

The farmer's friend, or The History of Mr. Charles Worthy. Who, from being a poor orphan, rose through various scenes of distress and misfortune, to wealth and eminence, by industry, economy and good conduct. : Interspersed with many useful and entertaining narratives, suited to please the fancy, improve the understanding, and mend the heart. / By Enos Hitchcock, D.D. author of "Memoirs of the Bloomsgrove family." ; Published according to act of Congress.

Table of contents

Title page

TO ALL FARMERS, THROUGH THE UNITED STATES,

CONTENTS.

THE FARMER'S FRIEND.

CHAPTER I. Concerning the Design of the following History—Epistle to the Reader.

CHAP. II. Of the Parentage of Charles Worthy—why called Poor Charles—the Death of his Father—the Cruelty of an oppressive Neighbor.

CHAP. III. The Death of Charles' Mother—His Treatment at Mr. Gruff's—his fortunate Escape from that old Churl's.

CHAP. IV. Charles' good conduct—his bravery and humanity in saving a young officer—Lieutenant Smith's letter to his father concerning Charles—is invited to his father's house.

CHAP. V. Some account of Mr. Smith, and his situation—Charles continues there some time—his prudence and improvements.—Anecdote of honest Jonny.

CHAP. VI. Of Timothy Puffum—young Mr. Worthy's marriage, settlement, and pleasing prospects.

CHAP. VII. Mr. Worthy's reflections on his own situation—birth of a son—his humanity—tenderness to animals.

CHAP. VIII. Timothy Puffum turns trader—his ruin.—Story of the Sloth and the Beaver of North and South America.

CHAP. IX. Of Mrs. Worthy—Of old Mrs. Grudges, and her envious and ill natured speeches.

CHAP. X. Further account of Mrs. Worthy—Of Mrs. Straton—Anecdote of her.—Of Mrs. Harris—A wise observation of her's.

CHAP. XI. A visit from a stranger—Mr. Worthy's account of his finding honey in the woods—Fable of the Bear and Bees.

CHAP. XII. Mr. Blanford's letter, descriptive of Mrs. Worthy—her house, children, &c.

CHAP. XIII. Of Farmer Worthy, contrasted with Mr. Slack—A gentleman falls from his horse—Of Mr. and Mrs. Belmont.

CHAP. XIV. Containing Mr. Belmont's letter to Mr. Blanford in praise of a country life.—Anecdote of Sir Philip Sidney.

CHAP. XV. Containing a further account of Mr. Slack—the fatal consequences of intemperance—his death—Mr. Worthy's conduct with respect to him.

CHAP. XVI. Farmer Worthy has a rational scheme for the education of his children—Maxims of education.

CHAP. XVII. Anecdote of little Joseph—Story of Robert and Hugh Hamilton—the good character and prosperity of the former, and the badness and misfortunes of the other.

CHAP. XVIII. Mr. Worthy purchases books for his children—cultivates tenderness and sensibility of heart—an affecting story of Jimmy the Rover.

CHAP XIX. A little rupture takes place in the family—Mrs. Worthy interferes and bears testimony against angry passions—their dangerous tendency illustrated in the story of Cate Smithers.

CHAP. XX. Falshood detected and reproved—instances of the disadvantages of it in Henry Bramble and Jane Barnwell.

CHAP. XXI. The generosity of Charles toward Edward Fleming, who had injured him.—Mr. Worthy's conduct on this occasion, a good model for imitation.

CHAP. XXII. Containing Mr. Worthy's observations on tenderness to animals—an instance of the fatal effects of cruelty—also, of the strength of affection in some animals.

CHAP. XXIII. In our most prosperous state we are liable to sudden changes—a distressful event throws a gloom over Mr. Worthy's house.

CHAP. XXIV. Mr. Worthy visits Mr. Belmont—his reception there—an affecting account of the death of Selina Belmont, by another hand.

CHAP. XXV. Mr. Worthy returns home with tokens of gratitude from Mr. and Mrs. Belmont. They send books to his children, from which he collects useful stories—The story of Lucinda and Almerina.

CHAP. XXVI. Mr. Worthy's observations on the improvement of time, especially on farmers employing their evenings and leisure hours—of establishing social libraries—Mentor's observations on diligence, industry and a proper use of time.

CHAP. XXVII. Mr. Blanford removes to the neighborhood of Mr. Worthy—an agreeable intercourse between the two families—some inconveniencies arise from it, but are gotten over by Mrs. Worthy's prudence—Fable of Labor, Health and Contentment:

CHAP. XXVIII. Mr. Worthy corrects some false notions in his children.—Story of Mr. Lordly—and Mr. Blanford's description of a venerable oak.

CHAP. XXIX. The pleasures and advantages of domestic intercourse and cheerfulness—How to prevent the inconvenience of unavoidable interruptions at school—Pleasant instruction from the scriptures, acquaintance with them recommended, danger of making light of them—Cautions to farmers in a thunder storm.

CHAP. XXX. The feeling heart is touched, in this chapter, by the lively picture of fraternal affection, amidst the changes of fortune, between four brothers, named Asia, Africa, Europe and America.

CHAP. XXXI. A snow storm—a poor man perishes in it—Mr. Worthy's conduct on the occasion—a pathetic discourse on charity—a poem on compassion and charity.

CHAP. XXXII. Mr. Worthy's ideas of economy—maxims concerning it—recommended and exemplified by Dr. Franklin—Fable of Avarice and Liberality.

CHAP. XXXIII. This chapter concludes the history of Mr. Worthy.

§

§

[Page]

[Page]

THE FARMER's FRIEND, OR THE HISTORY OF MR. CHARLES WORTHY. Who, from being a poor ORPHAN, rose through various Scenes of Distress and Misfortune, to Wealth and Eminence, by INDUSTRY, ECONOMY and GOOD CONDUCT. INTERSPERSED WITH MANY USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING NARRATIVES, Suited to please the FANCY, improve the UNDERSTANDING, and mend the HEART.

BY ENOS HITCHCOCK, D. D. Author of "MEMOIRS OF THE BLOOMSGROVE FAMILY."

Published According to Act of Congress.

PRINTED AT BOSTON, BY I. THOMAS AND E. T. ANDREWS, FAUST's STATUE, No. 45. Newbury Street. MDCCXCIII.

TO ALL FARMERS, THROUGH THE UNITED STATES,

[Page]

THE following Sheets, furnished with Materials from the private Character of one who does honor to his Occupation, while it affords an Example of those Virtues wherein their true Dignity principally consisteth, and written with a special View to their Entertainment and Improvement,

ARE RESPECTFULLY Inscribed, BY THE AUTHOR.

Providence, June, 1793.

CONTENTS.

[Page]

CHAPTER I.

CONCERNING the design of the following History—Epistle to the reader, 13

CHAP. II.

Of the parentage of Charles Worthy—why called Poor Charles—the death of his father—the cruelty of an oppressive neighbor, 18

CHAP. III.

The death of Charles' mother—His treatment at Mr. Gruff's—his fortunate escape from that old Churl's, 25

CHAP. IV.

Charles' good conduct—his bravery and humanity in saving a young officer—Lieutenant Smith's letter to his father concerning Charles—is invited to his father's house, 40

[Page] CHAP. V.

Some account of Mr. Smith, and his situation—Charles continues there sometime—his prudence and improvements.—Anecdote of honest Jonny. 49

CHAP. VI.

Of Timothy Puffum—young Mr. Worthy's marriage, settlement, and pleasing prospects, 56

CHAP. VII.

Mr. Worthy's reflections on his own situation—birth of a son—his humanity—tenderness to animals, 63

CHAP. VIII.

Timothy Puffum turns trader—his ruin.—Story of the Sloth and the Beaver of North and South America, 72

CHAP. IX.

Of Mrs. Worthy—Of old Mrs. Grudges, and her envious and ill natured speeches, 79

[Page] CHAP. X.

Further account of Mrs. Worthy—Of Mrs. Straton—Anecdote of her.—Of Mrs. Harris—A wise observation of her's, 84

CHAP. XI.

A visit from a stranger—Mr. Worthy's account of his finding honey in the woods.—Fable of the Bear and Bees, 90

CHAP. XII.

Mr. Blanford's letter, descriptive of Mrs. Worthy—her house, children, &c. 99

CHAP. XIII.

Of Farmer Worthy, contrasted with Mr. Slack—A gentleman falls from his horse—Of Mr. and Mrs. Belmont, 107

CHAP. XIV.

Containing Mr. Belmont's letter to Mr. Blanford, in praise of a country life.—Anecdote of Sir Philip Sidney, 115

[Page] CHAP. XV.

Containing a further account of Mr. Slack—the fatal consequences of intemperance—his death—Mr. Worthy's conduct with respect to him, 124

CHAP. XVI.

Farmer Worthy has a rational scheme for the education of his children.—Maxims of education, 131

CHAP XVII.

Anecdote of little Joseph—Story of Robert and Hugh Hamilton—the good character and prosperity of the former, and the badness and misfortunes of the other, 143

CHAP. XVIII.

Mr. Worthy purchases books for his children—cultivates tenderness and sensibility of heart—an affecting story of Jimmy the Rover, 154

CHAP. XIX.

A little rupture takes place in the family—Mrs. Worthy interferes and bears testimony against angry passions—their dangerous tendency illustrated in the story of Cate Smithers, 162

CHAP. XX.

Falshood detected and reproved—instances of the disadvantages of it in Henry Bramble and Jane Barnwell, 167

CHAP. XXI.

The generosity of Charles toward Edward Fleming, who had injured him.—Mr. Worthy's conduct on this occasion, a good model for imitation, 172

CHAP. XXII.

Containing Mr. Worthy's observations on tenderness to animals—an instance of the fatal effects of cruelty—also, of the strength of affection in some animals, 177

[Page] CHAP. XXIII.

In our most prosperous state we are liable to sudden changes—a distressful event throws a gloom over Mr. Worthy's house, 182

CHAP. XXIV.

Mr. Worthy visits Mr. Belmont—his reception there—an affecting account of the death of Selina Belmont, by another hand, 88

CHAP. XXV.

Mr. Worthy returns home with tokens of gratitude from Mr. and Mrs. Belmont—they send books to his children, from which he collects useful stories—The story of Lucinda and Almerina, 94

CHAP. XXVI.

Mr. Worthy's observations on the improvement of time, especially on farmers employing their evenings and leisure hours—of establishing social libraries—Mentor's observations on diligence, industry, and a proper use of time, 203

[Page] CHAP. XXVII.

Mr. Blanford removes to the neighborhood of Mr. Worthy—an agreeable intercourse between the two families—some inconveniencies arise from it, but are gotten over by Mrs. Worthy's prudence—Fable of Labor, Health and Contentment, 212

CHAP. XXVIII.

Mr. Worthy corrects some false notions in his children—Story of Mr. Lordly—Mr. Blanford's description of a venerable oak, 218

CHAP. XXIX.

The pleasures and advantages of domestic intercourse and cheerfulness—How to prevent the inconveniencies of unavoidable interruptions at school—Pleasant instruction from the scriptures; acquaintance with them recommended; danger of making light of them—Cautions to farmers in a thunder storm, 227

[Page] CHAP. XXX.

The feeling heart is touched, in this chapter, by the lively picture of fraternal affection, amidst the changes of fortune, between four brothers, named Asia, Africa, Europe and America, 235

CHAP. XXXI.

A snow storm—a poor man perishes in it—Mr. Worthy's conduct on the occasion—a pathetic discourse on charity—a poem on compassion and charity, 245

CHAP. XXXII.

Mr. Worthy's ideas of economy—maxims concerning it, recommended and exemplified by Dr. Franklin—Fable of Avarice and Liberality, 254

CHAP. XXXIII.

This chapter concludes the history of Mr. Worthy. 262

THE FARMER'S FRIEND.

[Page]

CHAPTER I. Concerning the Design of the following History—Epistle to the Reader.

THO the following history should be found to contain no remarkable events to amaze the reader, yet it may lead him to attend to the progressive steps whereby others have arisen from obscure poverty, and disastrous conditions, to easy circumstances. Tho no political struggles will arrest his attention, no tragical scenes convulse his heart, yet a sympathetic sigh may heave his generous breast, while he follows an individual struggling with difficulties which for a time seem insurmountable.

[Page] Histories may detail the wasteful scenes of war; or celebrate, in polished periods, the glories of victory and conquest; or describe the rise and fall of states and kingdoms.—I aim not at scenes like these—Be it mine to write of worth, to detail transactions, and unfold virtues which dignify human nature, and extend the blessings of society. I shall endeavor usefully to amuse a winter's evening, or profitably fill up a vacant hour, by the recital of those means whereby that individual successfully struggled with uncommon difficulties, and rose to a degree of worth and consequence, that might excite the envy of little minds, but would provoke the emulation of more noble spirits.

The consequence he gained was not owing to the caprice of fortune, but to the natural operations of well directed industry, uniform sobriety and virtue. The reader will follow the incidents of fortune attending his early days, the progress and means of his improvements; and the events that led to his subsequent condition. He will see an outcast orphan floating on a boisterous ocean, without a friendly hand extended to his relief, directing his little bark to a peaceful shore. He will observe the efforts of genius making improvements without means, and gaining [Page] rank in society without friends. He will mark the first essays of industry encountering the rude wilderness, and follow its steady operations, until he sees the recumbent forest blossoming as a rose, and the quiet possessor enjoying all the pleasures of domestic life, pursuing rural occupations, and inheriting the fruits of his well earned property in the evening shades of life.

To delineate the several parts of a good character, and consider the means that led to the establishment of it, is no less agreeable than useful. To observe the dawnings of genius, and notice the efforts of a well disposed mind to gain knowledge, worth and esteem, opens to us the avenues leading to them. To possess these in the humble cottage, or scanty tenement, affords the possessor more pleasure than all the extensive possessions of the haughty landlord, who is despised by the discerning, and detested by his cringing servile dependents. To enjoy the esteem of others, is desirable; but to deserve it, must give exquisite pleasure.

In order to merit the esteem of others, we must become acquainted with the duties of our particular professions, occupations or stations in life, and discharge the duties of them in the most useful and agreeable manner. [Page] He who possesses real worth may always expect the inward homage of the heart, even tho he does not receive external marks of respect from others; for true dignity of character does not consist in riches, nor in any of those distinctions of rank in society which command external respect. In the present state of human affairs, men may rise to places in civil society which seem to require this external respect, with very little personal merit. Their elevation is so far from dignifying their character, that it makes their want of real dignity but the more conspicuous. The man of real worth and goodness is esteemed for his personal qualities.

If he distinguishes himself as the head of a well regulated family, or as a kind and useful neighbor, he as really possesses preeminence of character as he whose virtues are made more conspicuous by reason of his having a more extensive field to display them in. The man who shines for a while in some dazzling qualities, unfounded in virtue, will, like the falling meteor, sink into obscurity, while the man of real and solid worth lives in the grateful memory of man, when he can no longer exert his virtues for their good—Still they esteem, still they venerate his character. The public esteem and respect [Page] follow him into the last stage of life, and embalm his name in perpetual remembrance.

If the reader should find any amusement for an evening in the following sheets, the writer will feel himself much gratified. If the reader acquire no new ideas, nor any useful impressions, let him ask himself who is in fault. Let him consider for whose improvement they were written, and that will suggest all the apology the writer wishes both for the style and manner in which they appear. If he is not discouraged in the perusal of a few pages, he will in some parts of the narrative see the smiles of new born happiness, the gladsome harvest inspiring the cheerful song, and the glow of manly pride excited by rising wealth and independence.

[Page]

CHAP. II. Of the Parentage of Charles Worthy—why called Poor Charles—the Death of his Father—the Cruelty of an oppressive Neighbor.

CHARLES Worthy was the eldest son of Mr. George Worthy, who lived in the town of B—, a large and respectable town in the county of [...]. Tho he was poor, yet he was industrious and virtuous. He never repined at his situation, but endeavoured to get as good a support for his family as his health would permit; and, altho he fared hard, yet he would often say, with pious submission—"It is better than I deserve." His wife was a very meek, pious woman, and was contented with her condition. She made the best of every thing he brought home. She never had occasion to reproach him either with neglect, or with wasting what he earned; nor did she fret and repine, as many do, because she had not such things as she wished for, and indeed was sometimes destitute even of necessaries. Her heart was sometimes ready to burst with grief, when her children cried [Page] for bread, and she had none to give them. But she would comfort herself with this thought, "God will never leave nor forsake them who trust in him;" that "he will supply the faithful poor with bread." She instructed her children as well as she was able, and clothed them by her industry. Altho Mr. Worthy was not able to do as much for the support of his family as many poor people, on account of his feeble constitution, yet he was kind to his wife, and affectionate in his conduct towards his children. This circumstance, as it endeared him to his family, rendered his death the more afflicting to them, especially as it was occasioned by an act of great cruelty.

It was very unfortunate for Mr. Worthy, that the little spot of land he owned joined to one of those unfeeling wretches who seem to delight in grinding the face of the poor. This oppressive man was an overgrown farmer, who had grown rich upon the spoils of those who fell into his debt. This poor man had been obliged to take of him some necessaries for his family, at a time when he was unable to work. Tho the amount was but small, yet he could not pay it when demanded, and was thrown into prison, by his merciless creditor, in the winter. The great [Page] distress of mind occasioned by the situation of his family, together with a violent cold, threw him into a fever, of which he died in about ten days.

That which added much to the distress of his afflicted widow, was, she found it necessary to part with her children to such places as could be procured for them. But her eldest son, being able to afford her a little assistance, remained with her, and being a very dutiful child, was a great comfort to his mother. He helped to support her, both by his labor, and by going to ask alms of some of the neighbors, whose charitable disposition contributed much to his mother's comfort and support. Charles behaved himself in so modest and clever a manner on all occasions, and especially when he applied to any one for assistance, that he was known in all the neighborhood by the name of POOR CHARLES; for every one who knew him, loved and pitied him, except that hard hearted man who thrust his father into prison, and was so vexed that he could not get Charles into his service, that he took every opportunity to afflict his poor mother. There are some people who seem to think that the earth was created for them alone, and that they have a right to the service of every one [Page] on whom they can lay their hands; and therefore will wring the last farthing from their poor neighbors, without any regard to their distresses, or the calls of a dependent family.

Poor Charles, tho meanly clothed, was always clean, and was a very promising boy. It was fortunate for him that he had been used to work from his infancy, and was therefore a strong healthy boy. He had a great desire to learn; and tho he had little opportunity at school, yet his mind kept pace with his body. It was a great grief to him that he could not go to school and learn, as many other boys did. But his mother, to whom he continued to pay all dutiful respect, observing his great eagerness to learn, was careful to instruct him in reading by the dim torch that glimmered in her solitary abode in the evening. She had been well taught in her early days, and, being a pious woman, had cultivated her mind as much as her situation would admit of, in the knowledge of letters as well as of religious truth. In both of these respects she endeavored to communicate to her son. In this situation this poor woman began to promise herself some comfort in having a son so dutiful and amiable to continue with her. But alas, [Page] how often are we disappointed in that on which we seemed most to rely!

The distresses and disappointments of this poor woman are not yet at an end. They had been many and great, from various causes. But that which reduced her to the last extremity, and indeed was thought to hasten her to the grave, was the further cruelty of that oppressive neighbor, in taking away her cow, to satisfy a demand which she had every reason to believe her poor husband had laboured to discharge while living. But as there were no legal evidence of it, the cow must go to satisfy the demand. This cow was purchased by the savings they had squeezed out of their little earnings, and came lowing at the door every night to supply them with a plenty of milk. This useful and necessary creature was taken from her at a time when her health required the enjoyment of it. But neither the tears of the distressed widow, nor the cries of Poor Charles, whose little heart was ready to burst on the occasion, could procure any lenity from this haughty unfeeling man.

This circumstance deprived her of the little remains of domestic pleasure she had till now enjoyed. As most of the little furniture she had went with the cow, and her [Page] health was declining, she began to think of a place for her son, and to cast herself upon the public for a support. This was a most grievous thing indeed to her. But being a pious woman, she endeavoured patiently to submit to her condition. As every thing on earth looked dark and gloomy, she drew her consolation from the prospects of an inheritance fairer than any that the world could afford. Firmly relying on the wisdom and equity of Divine Providence, however dark and mysterious in some of its operations, she cheerfully committed herself and her children to the care of their heavenly Father; and, "having cast anchor within the vail," she resolved to outride all the storms and tempests that beat on this boisterous shore.

I would only remark here, that a bad neighbor is one of the greatest pests incident to our social state. The unavoidable intercourse of people of the same neighborhood makes their enjoyment of life very dependent on each other. When therefore an individual disturbs the peace of those about him, and vexes those whose quiet and happiness he should study, he becomes an object of hatred, perhaps of dread and detestation [Page] to all about him. This was truly the case with this cruel neighbor. He was beloved by none, hated by most, and despised by all; for he was troublesome to all around him.

[Page]

CHAP. III. The Death of Charles' Mother—His Treatment at Mr. Gruff's—his fortunate Escape from that old Churl's.

IT was not long before the death of Poor Charles' mother, that a distant relation who lived in the town of F—, was passing that part of the country where they lived, and hearing of their situation, called to inquire after their welfare—or, what is more probable, to procure a likely boy for his own convenience, for he had been informed of Charles' good character. This is too often all the charity that actuates people in taking orphan children. They have their own ends to answer; and when that is done, little else is cared for. How few are there who consider the helpless state of such children, and treat them with the tenderness which humanity and christian charity dictate! The language of common conduct is—"They are poor, and if taught to labor well, that is enough. If they learn to read and to write, it is well—if not, it is no matter: As to their morals, let them take care of themselves." This is the practical [Page] language of their guardians. But when they assume the name of guardians, let them act in character. If such children are fed and clothed well, they will do the more service. If well instructed, they will be the more useful; and if their morals are well guarded, they will be the more faithful. Ragged clothes, hard knocks, and hungry bellies, too often constitute the charity shown to orphan children.

No sooner was Poor Charles' mother buried, than he began to experience the kind of charity his patron had in view.

" Poor boy—tho in thy tender years,

Thine eyes are dimm'd with flowing tears,

Thy little heart dissolv'd in grief,

Thou canst not hope from man relief!

O child of sorrow, cease to weep,

Tho in the dust thy parents sleep;

The bands of death thou canst not break,

Nor from the tomb the slumb'rers wake.

An early orphan left alone,

Upon the world deserted thrown!

A mother's love who can supply?

Or watch thee with a father's eye?

Tho all unmindful of thy good,

Forgetful of a brother's blood,

And heedless of thy woful state,

Thy kindred cast thee off to fate.

[Page]

The God who gave to them the power,

To aid thee in his trying hour,

To thee his mercies may extend,

And ever prove thy steadfast friend.

His love thy tender youth may shield;

His hand exhaustless treasures yield;

His wisdom pour the precepts kind

Of life eternal in thy mind.

Cease—child of sorrow, cease to weep,

Tho in the dust thy parents sleep,

The Saviour of the world shall be

A father even unto thee."

He was put to hard labor, and kept incessantly at it. He was meanly clad, and not much better fed. No generous master would have put a slave to the severe drudgery that was demanded of Charles. A boy of so cheerful a disposition, and so ready and willing to do every thing he was called to, ought to be encouraged and kindly treated. But when men are influenced by no motives but personal interest, or capricious passions, the most obedient and faithful of those under them often fare worst. This was literally true in the case of Charles; for the more he endeavoured to please, the more he was abused.

I shall conceal the real name of this person, as I wish to expose his baseness as a warning to others, rather than his name as a [Page] reproach to his surviving friends. That which affected Poor Charles the most, was, that Mr. Richard Gruff, for so I shall call him, would allow him no time for learning, on which his heart was very much set. Mr. Gruff was a wealthy farmer, in the town of F—, and county of M—. He was one of those churlish beings, who, as they cannot enjoy any thing in life themselves, will not suffer those about them to have any enjoyment. He thought it useless to give his children much learning; and much less did he regard the education of a charity boy. Charles was therefore defeated in all his attempts to get learning. His good disposition recommended him to every one who knew him except to Mr. Gruff, who seemed to be insensible to any thing gentle and amiable. Indeed the marks of genius which he discovered, surprized many people who knew him. Already had he learned to read, tho but poorly, under the care of his mother. So that when he could get any little books from the children of the neighborhood, who loved him on account of his good disposition, he would read them whenever he could find any opportunity. This procured him many a scolding, and sometimes a severe whipping from Mr. Gruff, who could [Page] see no advantage from boys reading "worthless books," as he called them.

No arguments could prevail on this ignorant, hard hearted man, to give Charles an opportunity at school to learn writing and arithmetic, tho he was growing fast, and began now to be a large boy, and rendered Mr. Gruff great service. This grieved Charles to the heart, and often made him ashamed when in company with other boys. As he saw no probability of succeeding in his wishes by entreaty, he determined to attempt it by his own ingenuity and application. Having no materials to begin with, and not being able to procure any of Mr. Gruff, nor money to purchase them, he constructed a trap to catch quails and other game, that he might raise money to procure them himself. In the neighborhood of Mr. Gruff there lived a very worthy family by the name of Heathorn. This family had been very kind to Charles, and seemed to compassionate his case. This was a fortunate circumstance for Charles, for when he caught some game, he applied to Mr. Heathorn to send them to market the next time his man went, and to have the effects laid out in paper and an arithmetic book. Ink he could make himself from maple bark boiled [Page] with a little copperas, and quills he could gather without expense. At the time Mr. Heathorn's man was to return from market, Charles went over in the dusk of the evening, high fraught with expectation from the success of the adventure. What then must have been his surprize and mortification, when he was informed that, by an unavoidable accident, his game was lost, and none of the articles were procured. Poor Charles could no longer contain himself, but burst into a flood of tears, and lamented his unhappy fate in such melting strains, that Mr. Heathorn was much affected on the occasion; and encouraged him to make another trial, assuring him that, at all events, the articles should be procured for him the next time he sent to market. He also told Charles that "his son Edward, who understood writing and cyphering very well, would be at home in a few days, and would afford him assistance in learning him."

In the mean time Mr. Heathorn gave Charles a little paper, and lent him a small inkstand till he could make one for himself, for his ingenuity was such, that he would soon make almost any thing of which he had a model. Thus equipt and encouraged, Charles returned home in high spirits, to [Page] make his first attempt at writing. No sooner had he reached home, than, regardless of his supper of sky blue milk, he sat down by a dim candle to make his marks, which he did without interruption this evening, as Mr. Gruff was abroad. In the morning Charles rose earlier than usual, and was pursuing his design with great attention. But the mortifications of this ill fated boy are not yet at an end; when Mr. Gruff got up, and found him at this business, he began a most violent storm, and in order to vent his spleen at Charles for wasting his time, as he called it, he threw the inkstand against the chimney back, and the paper into the fire, and ordered him immediately to the barn to take care of the cattle.

Thus deprived in an instant of what he held most dear and valuable, he went out to execute the orders he had received. His heart was ready to burst on the occasion. Such barbarous treatment almost killed him. But his habits of obedience had been such from infancy, that he went without grumbling, and submitted to this severity with some degree of fortitude. An incident took place on this occasion which shows the folly and danger of indulging violent passions, especially on trivial occasions. Mr. Gruff [Page] paid dear for the indulgence of his passion at this time. Not satisfied with destroying Charles' paper and ink, besides using very abusive language to him, he attempted to give him a blow, as he was going out at the door, but Charles being too spry for him, jumped down the steps out of his reach. The old churl lost the balance of himself in making this effort, and came tumbling after him to the bottom of the steps, much to the injury of his head and shoulders.

As Charles was doing his morning's work, he reflected on his situation as almost desperate. His mind seemed half distracted. He sometimes thought of leaving Mr. Gruff privately, and seeking his fortune in the wide world—Here again a thousand evils met him—No friends to throw himself upon—The shame of running away—The difficulty of procuring subsistence, and many other things crowded in upon the mind. He recollected also the fate of John Shields, a lad who had not long before left his place with Mr. James Furniel. This lad, finding himself beyond the restraints of a master or guardian, fell into many evil practices, and at last was brought into a very disgraceful condition, by means of connecting himself with some bad companions. Charles, tho young, had [Page] consideration enough to think of these things, and to apprehend the danger he might be in from such a measure; and therefore determined to put on resolution to bear whatever should be laid upon him, and to do his duty whether others did theirs or not.

In this conduct of Charles we have a striking evidence of the usefulness of early impressions. Had the powers of nature been left like the wild forest without cultivation he would not have reasoned thus. His mother had early imprest his mind both with the duty and the safety of being faithful. She assured him that God would not leave nor forsake those who were true and faithful to their trust—that altho they might be brought to many straits and difficulties, yet if they continued steady in doing what they were set about, and faithful to their trust, they might leave the event. These pious lessons had made a deep impression on Charles' mind, especially as he saw an example of it in her, and being a lad of an enterprizing spirit, he resolved to continue faithful to Mr. Gruff, till he could get out of his hands in a proper way.

Nothing could divert him from the pursuit of the necessary materials for writing [Page] and cyphering. Nor was it long before he obtained them by the assistance of Mr. Heathorn, whose son was now ready to aid his designs by any instruction in his power. But such was Mr. Gruff's watchfulness lest Charles should waste some of his time at this employment, that he was obliged to hide his paper. In order that he might secure it from Mr. Gruff's reach, he hid it in the garret, under the roof of the house, where the stiffened knee of his cruel persecutor could not bend in search for it. Hence this poor lad drew forth his apparatus as it were by stealth, and watching his opportunities, made considerable advances, both in writing and arithmetic. All the money he could get, he laid out for books, paper, &c.—and by his great application and perseverance he acquired a considerable share of knowledge. His thirst for knowledge was not abated by the difficulties he had to encounter; nor could any thing divert him from his pursuit after it. A spirit so enterprizing could not fail of making progress without usual means.

Charles did not forget the good instructions his mother had given him, tho amidst the hurry and confusion of worldly affairs at Mr. Gruff's there was no appearance of religion. He continued to repeat the prayers [Page] his mother had taught, every night and morning; and it was a comfort to him in this unfriended situation, to recollect any thing his mother had taught him. He always went to public worship, and was very attentive while there. Indeed Mr. Gruff was exemplary in this respect. He was seldom absent from public worship, but his conversation, like that of Agricola, was wholly "about the oxen of the field." Charles would often mention, to those to whom he could speak freely, something the minister said, which showed he did not go there to laugh and play, as many boys do; but to hear and regard what was said. The clergyman, who was a kind benevolent man, observed his attentiveness, and took occasion to notice him sometimes. As he knew the character of Mr. Gruff, he endeavoured to alleviate Charles' condition by speaking kindly to him. He encouraged Charles to continue to behave well, with an assurance that such never failed of doing well in the end. This was comfortable language to Charles. When he was relating this part of his history, which he often did in a circle of friends, he could scarcely suppress the tears of gratitude for "the goodness of that excellent clergyman," as he would express it, and for that [Page] of Mr. Heathorn. Their benevolence seemed so disinterested, and so well applied, that it made an impression on Charles' heart that time itself could not efface.

Happy would it have been for Jeremy Demmond, and Mary Jennings, of [...], if some good people had taken compassion on them, before the cruelties they experienceed, and the hard blows they received on their heads, from those passionate people to whose care they were committed, had turned their brains, and made them distracted. They continued a long time, living monuments to all that part of the country, of the dreadful effects of such abuses. It is a reproach upon human nature, that in any instances it should be so lost to feeling as to practice such cruelties upon those helpless orphans, whose misfortunes put them into the power of others. It is a reproach upon society that such cruelties should be suffered in it. How many poor orphan children are daily suffering unmerited abuse from the unrelenting hands they fall into; without a friend in the world to speak for them, or even to look compassionately upon them! Some, no doubt, sink under the weight of these abuses, and find relief only in death. Others have their spirits broken so, that they [Page] become lifeless and incapable of holding up their heads in society; and being dispirited, they have no power to make those exertions which they might otherwise have done. This was not the case indeed with Charles, for there were many who seemed to pity him, and his spirits were proof against all his sufferings.

About this time an event took place that suspended his sufferings for a while; and afforded him an opportunity to give full proof of the goodness of his heart. It must here be observed, that among Mr. Gruff's many faults, covetousness, that detestable vice which degrades men below the animals, was not the least. So extremely did this mean spirit prevail, that he would sometimes endanger his life rather than not have it gratified. It well nigh cost him his life, when on a cold evening he mounted his barefoot horse, for he was too covetous to be at the expense of having him shod, to ride some distance on some business. On his return home, his horse fell on an icy place which a light snow had covered, and ran homeward with all speed, leaving his rider sprawling on the ground. As Charles was returning from Mr. Heathorn's, whether he had taken this opportunity to go for improvement [Page] in writing, &c. the horse came on a full gallop; and Charles perceiving it to be Mr. Gruff's horse without the rider, stopt him, and apprehending that some disaster had happened, led him back by the road he came. Having passed some distance, he thought he heard the groaning of a person in distress, and, following the sound, he arrived at the spot where Mr. Gruff had fallen, and lay in a most deplorable condition. He was so disabled by the fall, that he must have perished on the spot, for it was extreme cold, had it not been for the good offices of Charles, who with great difficulty helped him home.

It was on this occasion, and during his confinement for the greater part of the winter, that Charles discovered the goodness of his own heart. He expressed great concern at the time, for what had happened, and continued the most faithful and careful attention to him, and to all his directions during his whole confinement. This was almost too much for Mr. Gruff to bear. It softened his heart, and made him repent of some of his ill natured treatment of Charles. The death of Mr. Gruff, not a great while after this, put a period to the sufferings of Poor Charles at this place. As he had never been bound to Mr. Gruff, so he considered himself at [Page] liberty to quit a place that was so disagreeable to him, which he did soon after his death. As new prospects now open before him, and the scene begins to brighten, we refer the reader to the next chapter for a further account of him.

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CHAP. IV. Charles' good conduct—his bravery and humanity in saving a young officer—Lieutenant Smith's letter to his father concerning Charles—is invited to his father's house.

THIS was a most fortunate escape for Charles Worthy. It opened the way for him to exert his native powers, and in some measure to gratify his prevailing inclination, to improve his mind. Tho' he discovered such a thirst for knowledge, yet he never betrayed the least disposition to quit the business he had been so far brought up in, that of farming. Indeed, he seemed as ambitious to excel in the art of farming as in the knowledge of letters. His views were not elevated above his employment, which proved a great advantage to him afterwards. He never felt so happy as when conscious of industriously following his occupation, and faithfully discharging the trust committed to him.

Charles was about sixteen years old, when Mr. Gruff died, and of a healthy robust constitution. He had served there several years, [Page] but had very little more than the clothes on his back when he left that place. He was now to cast himself on the wide world, without a friend to assist, or even to advise him. His first object was to go and visit his brothers and sisters, who were scattered about in different places. The older ones had almost forgotten him, for he had never been allowed time to go and see them, and the younger ones scarce ever knew him. They were also almost grown out of his knowledge. But they were no sooner made known to him, than he discovered great brotherly affection for them, and showed them every mark of affection in his power. He was much afflicted to find one of his little brothers in a very low state of health; and was induced to tarry and labor for Mr. Harding, with whom he lived, that he might have an opportunity of affording his brother every assistance in his power, until he died, which was not long after. Charles was very much grieved at the death of his brother, and Mr. Harding was desirous of having Charles continue with him, but he chose to visit his little sister, who was an infant when his father died, and was placed in the hands of a distant relation of his mother, in the town where she lived and died. He [Page] the rather declined Mr. Harding's offer of small wages, as he hoped to find better business at this place. But being disappointed in this respect, and finding his little sister well provided for, he returned to Mr. Harding on the terms he had proposed, which were but small, indeed, but were the best he could then obtain.

Charles had nothing in the world to rely upon but his own character. He seemed sensible of this, and endeavoured to recommend himself by his good conduct. He was not wholly free from the sallies of youth, but he carefully avoided the follies and excesses too common among young men. He was generally sober and grave, and always temperate. By preserving himself in this state, he was always fit for duty and enjoyment. He abhorred falsehood; and never used any bad language, either obscene or profane. His tongue was never polluted with the foul language of profane swearing, and he would often check his companions whom he heard use it. How much more honorable would it be in young men to use the same caution, than to give a loose to their tongues in the manner they often do! What inducement can they have to it? Besides the impiety of this language, it is an unmanly [Page] and useless practice. It also has a most baneful influence on civil society. It affords no evidence of wit or sense, of courage or good breeding. The lowest and most abandoned among men are great adepts in it, and in them it is considered as a mark of depravity. Will decent people practice the same as an evidence of their good breeding? The custom of profane swearing has a tendency to introduce perjury, and otherwise to injure the interests of society. By making oaths familiar on all occasions, it lessens that veneration for the Deity, and that reverence for an oath which makes it useful on proper occasions.

I shall pass over several years of Charles' life, after the death of Mr. Gruff, in which there were no incidents worthy of particular notice. During this period he laid up a small sum of money, which his industry had acquired, and his prudence preserved. He had the good fortune to recommend himself to the esteem of those with whom he lived, and never wanted for employ. At length he was tempted by a considerable bounty to enlist among the troops who were going to the frontiers against the savages. It was during this campaign that Charles had an opportunity of showing himself to be both [Page] brave and generous. His courage had been tried by several skirmishes with the enemy. But about the beginning of October he was in a pretty severe engagement, in which the enemy got the advantage. During this engagement, a young officer by the name of Smith was badly wounded, and left on the ground. Charles perceiving this, flew to his relief, and at the hazard of his own life, rescued him from the hands of the pursuing enemy. In doing this, Charles was slightly wounded in two places, which, tho not deep, bled profusely. But this generous young soldier seemed regardless of himself in his exertions to save this brave young officer, whose wounds were so much worse than his own.

Lieutenant Smith was carried to the fort, where the first dressings were performed, and in a short time was in a condition to be removed to the hospital at [...]. Charles soon recovered of his wounds, so far as to be able to attend Lieutenant Smith, who requested of the commanding officer permission to keep him as a nurse, until he should be recovered. This removal through rough roads did him a great injury, and threw him into a violent fever, which endangered his life. His wounds were painful, and his situation [Page] truly deplorable; but the constant attention and great tenderness of Charles, was a great alleviation of his condition, and endeared Charles very much to him. It was a considerable time before he recovered so far as to write to his friends. During this interval, which seemed very long to them, they could hear nothing of him. Various reports were circulated about him; but none that could be relied on. His parents who lived in the county of [...], were very apprehensive that he was either killed, or made a prisoner of by the savages. What then must be their joy on the reception of the following letter, which he wrote as soon as he was able to hold a pen in his hand?

Hospital at [...], November, &c.

MOST RESPECTED PARENTS,

THIS will assure you that your son is still living—Tho I am still too feeble, in consequence of the wounds I received in the late action, to give you a particular account of that affair, or of my present condition, yet I cannot forbear to embrace this first opportunity to give you this information. I am very sorry to have been the occasion of any pain to the best of parents, and hope before [Page] long to have it in my power to show them how much I prize their happiness. I owe my life, under God, to a young soldier by the name of Worthy. Had it not been for the bravery and generosity of this young man, I must have perished on the spot, or suffered a worse captivity. To his uncommon attention and goodness, I owe much of my recovery thus far. Nothing could give me more pleasure than to have it in my power to reward so much goodness as he has discovered in this whole affair—But I can no more—

Your dutiful son, J. SMITH.

The receipt this letter dispelled a thick cloud that had for some time hung over the family, and spread joy through the house. Mr. Smith prepared to go on immediately to the assistance of his son, and on his arrival found him in a fine way. The arrival of his father afforded one of those affecting scenes which interest the feelings of the heart. It was such as might naturally be expected at the first meeting between an affectionate parent and a long lost son. Nor was the scene much less tender when Lieut. Smith pointed out Charles to his father, as the person of whom he had [Page] written. Mr. Smith caught Charles by the hand, but had no power of utterance.—As soon as he had a little recovered from the first flow of his passions, occasioned by the first sight of his son's deliverer, he thus addressed him—"To you"—the tear starting in his eye—"to you I owe the liberty, the life of my son—to you we owe the future peace and tranquillity of a much distressed family. If aught in my power can contribute to your happiness, name it, and it shall be done." It was on this occasion that Charles conducted with a magnanimity peculiar to himself. He very modestly replied, with a low bow, "If he had been the means of adding to any body's happiness, he was very glad; but what he had done for Lieutenant Smith, was no more than his duty, and nothing could be so great a reward as the consciousness of doing that." During Mr. Smith's tarry at the hospital with his son, he had opportunity of seeing the kind and benevolent disposition of Charles. He was much pleased with him, and inquired of him where he had lived, and what had been his manner of life. Charles informed Mr. Smith that "he had been bred a farmer, and not a soldier;" and modestly related to him some of the hardships and [Page] sufferings he had experienced at Mr. Gruff's, and "the disadvantages he laboured under on account of not being able to get learning." Mr. Smith invited Charles to go to his house, when his son was able to return home, assuring him his assistance in improving his mind, and offering him small wages for the winter. This was very grateful to Charles, whose term of enlistment was now expired, and he knew not which way to turn himself. He therefore accepted Mr. Smith's offer with cheerfulness, and accompanied him and his son to his house. It would be in vain to attempt a description of the joy which their arrival occasioned. Imagination must supply the deficiency of description.

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CHAP. V. Some account of Mr. Smith, and his situation—Charles continues there some time—his prudence and improvements.—Anecdote of honest Jonny.

AS Mr. Smith's house became the place of Charles' residence for sometime, and the theatre of some transactions important to this history, it cannot be thought improper to give a short account of him, and of his situation. Mr. Smith was an extensive landholder, and a very respectable farmer in the town of S—, and county of [...]. His house was a neat and convenient edifice, pleasantly situated on the southern declivity of a hill, and commanded an extensive prospect of well cultivated fields and meadows. His barn and granary were large and capacious; and were generally filled with the produce of his farm. His family and domestics were well fed, and kindly treated. The benevolent owner of this delightful retreat, supported the character of that genuine hospitality which in more modern times may appear romantic. His family were examples of industry, his house the seat of plenty, of peace [Page] and harmony. To the poor he was a daily benefactor. In every project for public good he took the lead; and was an example to all his neighbors, of regular and constant attendance on public worship, with all his numerous family and domestics.

This was a paradise to Charles. He had never before been in so well regulated a family. He so ingratiated himself with Mr. and Mrs. Smith, that he continued with them a considerable time, and daily grew in their esteem, as well on account of his amiable temper, as his faithfulness in their service. It was during his residence here, that he made great proficiency in useful knowledge. The winter evenings, which most other young people passed in a useless manner, if no worse, he spent in reading, writing, arithmetic, &c. This gave him a superiority to most of the young people, both in knowledge and in writing well, and in readiness at figures; and his ready wit, of which he had a good share, made him appear brilliant when he mixed with them. Charles derived many advantages from living in so reputable a farmer's house. Besides the many maxims of domestic economy he learned from Mrs. Smith, with whom he was a favorite, he gathered many maxims from the experience of Mr. Smith, in the husbandry art.

[Page] Having passed several years in this situation, and laid up money enough to purchase a small tract of wild land, Charles began to think of looking for a settlement in life; but he did not think it prudent to take any step, especially so important an one as this, without advising with Mr. Smith about it. This worthy patron approved his design, and offered to lend him money, if he should stand in need of more than he had. In this instance, Charles felt the benefit of a good character, he found the loan of a small sum necessary to purchase a tract of land which was far preferable to that he had before in view. This was a tract in the frontier settlements, which was to be sold on terms very advantageous to the purchaser. By Mr. Smith's advice, Charles went on to view it, in company with a young man who was going on the same design.

It was in this tour that Charles met with the following humorous affair, which deserves a place in the history of his adventures. The affair happened at a Mr. Scammon's, a man of some note in the back settlements, to whom Mr. Smith had recommended Charles for advice. Mr. Scammon's hospitality was well known to many, and Charles reached his house on Saturday [Page] night, and was received with much courtesy on account of Mr. Smith's recommendation. The next day they all went to public worship at some distance, leaving only a Scotch lad to take care of the house. This lad was rather a stranger in that part of the country, and knew but little of the world he lived in. He had been taught, however, to read his bible. When the family were all gone, Jonny, for so he was called, sat down very composedly to reading his bible. He had not been long at this employment, before he was surprized by the arrival of several men who made a strange appearance, but with great familiarity were entering the house. This greatly alarmed the honest Highlander. But being educated in the habits of fidelity, he determined to defend the house that had been left in his care. He therefore fastened the door, and, seizing his broad sword, the only patrimony he enjoyed, put himself into a posture of defence. The Indians, however, regardless of the fright that Poor Jonny appeared to be in on this occasion, burst open the door, and without any ceremony, helped themselves to such things as the house afforded. This so provoked the honest lad, that he rushed into the midst of them, and in the language of his [Page] own country, demanded who they were, and what they wanted. They understood about as much of his question as he did of their answer, which was made in their own language. His passions were now wrought up to such a pitch, that his prudence entirely forsook him. In the violence of his anger, he made a pass at one of them with his rusty sword, but fortunately missed his aim. This produced so terrible a yell among them, that his fortitude instantly deserted him, but his prudence soon returned, and he took to his heels, leaving this horrible crew of infernals, as he supposed them to be, in quiet possession of the field. They were highly diverted at the consternation which their innocent freedom had put this new comer to the country into. He made his way with all possible speed to the meeting house, and running, with his hair all an end, to Mr. Scammons, informed him what was going on at home, and begged him to hasten with him to prevent further destruction. Mr. Scammons informed him that they were his friends, although they used great freedom, yet it was common with that people, and assured him he had nothing to fear from them.

This adventure Charles related to Mr. Smith on his return, and diverted the whole [Page] family greatly with several other anecdotes of Jonny's honesty and simplicity. But what was of much more consequence to Charles Worthy, than the adventures of the Highland lad, was, he had made a purchase of the land he went after. Mr. Smith heartily congratulated him on his becoming a landholder, and told him he did not doubt but that he would one day be a wealthy farmer; that his industry would conquer the roughness of the forest; and his prudence would preserve the property he should acquire. He also informed Charles that he might make his house his home in winter, till he could find one at his own place. This was a kind offer, and was most thankfully accepted by him. At the proper season he went on to fell the trees, and prepare for a future harvest, and to erect the necessary buildings for his accommodation. Here he found many difficulties to grapple with; but his resolution and perseverance carried him through them all, until he had subdued the wildness of the forest, and converted a sufficient part of it into a fruitful field, to make it a desirable place of steady residence. Thus encouraged by the effects of his industry, and prepared for domestic life, by a dwelling suitable to begin life with in the country, he began [Page] now to think of a true saying that "it is not fit for man to be alone." Tho Charles had acted with great discretion with regard to the sex, by avoiding any appearances of attaching himself to one and another, yet they were not all alike indifferent to him. He was not at a loss where to offer himself. All his difficulty was about the manner of doing it with a probability of success. On this occasion he had a most critical, delicate part to act, as will appear by the following circumstances.

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CHAP. VI. Of Timothy Puffum—young Mr. Worthy's marriage, settlement, and pleasing prospects.

YOUNG Mr. Worthy, for so I shall now call him, was a very modest youth, and had a heart of great sensibility and gratitude. These were qualities that would recommend him to the parents of the young woman on whom he had placed his affection. But when he compared his circumstances with their's, he started at the idea of asking their consent to his marrying one of their daughters. He also feared the imputation of ingratitude, and of violating the rights of hospitality, in forming an attachment with a female to whose parents he had been indebted by many acts of kindness. Indeed, every thing seemed to be against him, except the countenance which Margrett, the youngest daughter of Mr. Smith, gave to his overtures. This mutual and growing attachment was a secret to the family, and was scarce known unto themselves until young Mr. Worthy's circumstances enabled him to place this object of his affections in a tolerable [Page] situation. As she had been well educated in a farmer's house, she was the better qualified for a farmer's wife. Young Mr. Worthy was not insensible of her worth; but he had difficulties to encounter that have not yet been named. The personal figure of so blooming a girl had attracted the notice of several young men, and she actually had an offer of marriage with a young man the only son of Mr. Timothy Puffum, a man of large property, but very ignorant of the world, and had trained up his son accordingly. He had several daughters indeed, but as it was not customary for daughters to receive any great share of the estate, Timothy the son was considered as the heir of a large estate.—Happy for daughters, that in modern times fathers are willing to own them as children in the distribution of their estates! However, as things then went, it was thought quite needless to bring up Timothy to any business; for why need one, who was heir to so good a farm, learn to work upon it.—"I observe, said old Mr. Puffum, that your most richest merchants don't bring up their suns to business; and I don't see for my part why our Tim needs be fetcht up as tho'f he was one of the most vulgarest sort of fokes."

[Page] Timothy was trained up agreeably to these sentiments; and as his father had experienced very little advantage from schools when young, he was prevailed upon to keep him from school whenever his wife said "it is too cold or too wet for Timmy to go out; or, the poor boy is not well enough to go to school." Nothing can be more ruinous to children than such indulgence. It makes them peevish, fretful and unhappy. It learns them to be deceitful, and to pretend ill health, till they begin to imagine it real. It interrupts their learning, and discourages them when they see their mates go before them. The consequence of this mode of education was that Timothy Puffum, jun. proves a great blockhead. He could ride a horse well, and perform his part at a race or a shooting match, and the like; but he had very little pretensions to any improvements of mind, nor had he very great pretensions to virtue.

He had but just arrived at the age of manhood when his father died, and left him in possession of the estate, after paying a few legacies. Being now the proprietor of a large well cultivated farm, and considerable money at interest, he thought himself a good match for any lady in the country. What [Page] then must have been his mortification when he found that Margrett Smith preferred a poor laboring young man to one of his fortune? It was this apparent preference that emboldened young Mr. Worthy to broach the affair to her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Smith, both expressed great surprize at the proposal. They raised many objections, and declined for some time giving their consent. But upon finding that the attachment was too strong to be broken, they yielded to the wishes of the young couple; and by consent of parents, young Mr. Worthy called the amiable and sprightly Margrett Smith his wife, the next christmas eve. An event so much wished for on his part, and not objected to on her's, gave a new spring to his spirits, and he resolved that nothing should be wanting on his part to deserve the favor he had obtained. His first object was to conciliate the minds of the parents to an event, to which they had consented with some reluctance; and as they were rational, good kind of people, he happily effected it. Probably they were actuated by the same maxim that Themistocles was, who married a daughter to a poor but deserving man, saying—"I love merit without wealth, better than wealth without merit."

[Page] The spring following their marriage, they bid adieu to their friends, and went to enter upon their new plantation, accompanied by her brother, whom Mr. Worthy had rescued from the Indians, and who had been his friend in the affair or Margrett, and a principal instrument in obtaining the consent of her parents. The scene at parting was most tender and affecting. The mother hung on the neck of the daughter, and with all the fondness of maternal affection, held her to her bosom. While the father bestowed on them a thousand blessings, the children told the greatness of their pain by the profusion of their tears. But they were much relieved by the favorable accounts which young Mr. Smith brought back of their situation and prospects. This account he gave with all that ardor which we feel when we take a decided part in the affairs of another, and are deeply affected by their concerns. Young Mr. Smith had never forgotten his obligation to Mr. Worthy, and felt gratified at having an opportunity to repay some of the debt of gratitude he owed him. Several circumstances occurred in this tour which brought to his mind afresh the whole of that scene, which now led him to view Mr. Worthy as his deliverer and his brother.

[Page] He represented the spot he had chosen as a fertile soil on the banks of a beautiful stream that soon empties itself into a large river, leaving a fine interval, and opening a most enchanting prospect. This situation invited many settlers, both on account of the goodness of the soil, and the convenience of water carriage to market. It was on this chosen spot that Mr. Worthy first felt himself a freeholder, and independent of the caprice of others both for his exertions and his enjoyments. His farm, his house, his barn, were objects which presented new ideas to his imagination. The same objects never before made the same impressions on his mind. Whatever he possessed was his own. The knowledge he had acquired was the effect of his own exertions and persevering application. The property he enjoyed was the fruit of his own labor; and his improvements were the effects of his own experience and observation.

His rural situation was no longer a gloomy solitary retreat. The cheerfulness and prudence of his wife gave a new face to every thing; and he tasted new pleasure in every enjoyment, and in every pursuit. He went forth to his daily business with more alacrity and pleasure than before, because he now saw that he did not labor for himself alone. His [Page] joys were increased by the share that Margret took in them, and his sorrows were lessened by being divided. Often would she go into the field where he was at work, and, as she sat knitting under the shady oak, she would applaud his dexterity, and lighten his labor by seeming to share in it. What substantial felicity must this happy man now enjoy? He had encountered difficulties of various kinds, and been inured to many hardship but now feels himself delivered from them, and enjoying an entire new current of felicity. He owed nothing for his possessions. "He therefore knew no other landlord than the Lord of all land," to whom he professed the sincerest gratitude.

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CHAP. VII. Mr. Worthy's reflections on his own situation—birth of a son—his humanity—tenderness to animals.

THE birth of his first son was an event that almost overwhelmed Mr. Worthy with joy. Various motions of pleasure thrilled through his heart on this occasion. He now felt himself acting in a new sphere, and moved by new obligations to fill up the duties of the relations of husband and father. As the number of their children afterwards increased, a sense of the obligations increased, and with their growth the pleasures of life grew also. What heart felt delight must he have experienced when his little son was able to go with him into the fields, and follow him with his prattle, in the opening furrow? By this practice, the child drew in health with every breath, while he inspired the parent's heart with joy through every vein. The Emperor of China, when ploughing as an example to his kingdom,* could not know the pleasure he experienced.

[Page] Mr. Worthy was not inattentive to the moral uses to which many appearances in the natural world might be applied. The trees which drop their leaves and fruit in autumn, and bud again in the spring, he considered as a lively emblem of the death and reviviscence, or rising again of the human race. The difficulty that attended this doctrine he thought he saw unfolded in the grain springing up after the apparent death of the seed. The myriads of insects that arise from the earth, and play in the milder beams of the setting sun, he thought afforded lessons of industry to short lived man, and of the importance of a diligent improvement of the short space allotted him on earth. The astonishing instinct of animals, which in many of them bears a strong affinity to the boasted reason of man, gave him a high idea of their rights, and a thorough conviction of the moral obligation man is under to treat all animals with tenderness. His humanity was [Page] therefore transferred to them on all occasions. The services of the laboring cattle he would reward by ample refreshments and gentle usage. The strong and greedy he would restrain from oppressing and injuring the weak and timid. Such was his tenderness to animals that he would not suffer the little birds that resorted to his yard through distress of weather, to be molested or injured. He esteemed it a gross violation of the laws of hospitality to take advantage of the confidence they placed in him by taking shelter under his wing.

It is a singular mark of barbarity in man that he should perfidiously take the advantage of the great and affecting distress which has induced these poor innocent birds to come and ask of him that scanty pittance of grain and seeds, which but for them would be lost; and murder them for presuming so far on his clemency. The following affecting anecdote shows both the cruelty and impolicy of it:—"Mr. [...], one of the most famous and extraordinary farmers that has ever done honor to the state of Connecticut, by his timely and humane assistance in a hard winter, saved the quails from being entirely destroyed. They perished all over the country, none of their delightful whistlings were [Page] heard the next spring, but upon this gentleman's farm; and to his humanity we owe the continuation of their music." Every farmer who will use the same humanity, and be at a little pains to cherish the little birds that hover around him in winter, will find himself rewarded for his trouble by their various notes in spring.

The various warblings of the birds which have survived the severities of our climate, or returned from milder regions to serenade us with the return of spring, surpasses description. The pleasure which their tuneful notes afford an attentive ear, is thus beautifully described by an enlightened American farmer:—"I generally rise from my bed about that indistinct interval, which, properly speaking, is neither night nor day; for this is the moment of the most universal vocal choir. Who can listen unmoved to the sweet love tales of our little robins, told from tree to tree? or to the shrill cat birds? The sublime accents of the thrush from on high, always retard my steps that I may listen to the delicious music. The variegated appearance of the dew drops, as they hang to the different objects, must present even to the most clownish imagination the most voluptuous ideas. The astonishing art which all birds display [Page] in the construction of their nests, ill provided as we may suppose them to be with proper tools, their neatness, their convenience, always make me ashamed of the slovenliness of our houses. Their love to their dame, their incessant careful attention, and the peculiar songs they address to her while she tediously incubates, or sits upon their eggs, reminds me of my duty, could I ever forget it. Their affection to their helpless little ones, is a lively precept; and, in short, the whole economy of what we proudly call the brute creation, is admirable in every circumstance; and vain man, though adorned with the additional gift of reason, might learn from the perfection of instinct, how to regulate the follies, and how to temper the errors which this second gift often makes them commit. This is a subject on which I have often bestowed the most serious thoughts. I have often blushed within myself, and been greatly astonished, when I have compared the unerring path they all follow, all just, all proper, all wise, up to the necessary degree of perfection, with the coarse, the imperfect systems of men, not merely as governors and kings, but as masters, as husbands, as fathers, as citizens. If ever man was permitted to receive and enjoy some blessings that might [Page] alleviate the many sorrows to which he is exposed, it is certainly in the country, when he attentively considers these ravishing scenes with which he is every where surrounded."

Few men who have devoted their time to labor, have discovered a more contemplative turn of mind than Mr. Worthy. Indeed, it is too much the case that men who labor on the earth, do not endeavor to soar sufficiently above it in their minds, though the wonders they every day behold might excite useful thoughts and reflections, did they properly attend to them: To these Mr. Worthy was particularly attentive; and the pleasure he derived from the many wonderful things which his occupation led him to observe in the natural world, was very great. Besides the moral uses and advantages he derived from his observations on the operations of nature, they assisted him in making progress in his business as a farmer. But his attention began now to be called to the education of his children. He considered them, as committed to his care for instruction as well as provision for their support; and that he was answerable before him who gave them, for the discharge of his duty, and in some measure answerable for their future character. [Page] Being deeply impressed with these sentiments, he watched with all parental attention the gradual unfolding of their reason, and studied their different tempers with great care. For their little faults he would contrive little punishments, and small encouragements for their good actions, with a variety of expedients dictated by the occasion. The country being thinly settled, it was some years before they could enjoy the benefit of a school. Mr. Worthy was under the necessity therefore of assisting his wife in teaching them to read, which he faithfully attended to, though the improvement of his farm and the variety of his business called him constantly to attend to other things. But he was at length relieved from this by the establishment of a school in the town, for which he had been long striving.

It is a melancholy reflection that so little care is taken of the rising generation in many of our new settlements. Many, it is to be feared, grow up literally "like the wild asses colt." This is laying a wretched foundation for the settlement of a new country. Remote from the power of good example, and the check of shame, they too often partake of the wildness of the forest; and of the [Page] dissoluteness of men unrestrained by religion, by law, or by the opinion of others. In this situation men are apt to become turbulent and factious. Ignorance and its destructive attendants follow in gloomy train, and render a settlement wretched, which with due cultivation might have been flourishing and happy. Where the means of knowledge are neglected, and the rising generation grow up in ignorance, the means of religion are usually neglected also. Where this is the case, men presently become rude in their manners, as well as vicious in their practice. It is an undoubted truth, that the forms of public worship regularly and decently attended, have a most happy effect in civilizing society, as well as in cherishing devotion in the minds of pious men. Mr. Worthy was so fully convinced of this that he did not spare any expense or exertions in his power to induce those about him to unite their efforts to erect a house for public worship, and to establish a minister among them. This was effected after some time; and Mr. Worthy found himself very happy in being able to accompany his wife and little family steadily to the duties of public devotion. How did his heart swell with joy to see the [Page] people flocking from various parts of a late howling wilderness to the gates of Zion, and to hear the late desert become vocal with the praises of the Lord?

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CHAP. VIII. Timothy Puffum turns trader—his ruin.—Story of the Sloth and the Beaver of North and South America.

WHILE things were going on thus prosperously with Worthy, and he was enjoying with his wife the peaceful fruits of virtuous and industrious lives, the case was very different with Timothy Puffum. The way in which this young man had been suffered to grow up has already been related, and the estate which fell into his hands at the death of his father. The farm which came to him in good order, soon began to go out of repair, and as he had not been brought up to labor, nor even to the knowledge of any business, he knew not by what means to put it into order. Those who understand the least of business themselves are the most troublesome to do business for; and are most apt to be peevish and fretful at those whom they employ. This was the case with young Mr. Puffum. Having the common disease of those who have very little acquaintance with the affairs of husbandry, he conceited [Page] he was master of the business; and being humored in every thing when he was a boy, he was so peevish and ill humored that there was no pleasing of him. He carried this to so great a length, finding fault and quarreling with his workmen, that it became difficult for him to hire laborers. It was on this account that Hodge, a faithful man who had the care of his farm, left him; and he was obliged to sell some of his stock to pay the arrears of wages due to Hodge, and to settle with the dairy woman, who left him on the same account. So that his affairs were in a worse train than ever.

A circumstance that hastened his ruin very much, was his marriage with a vain young girl of no good character, and who had nothing to recommend her but a tolerable outside figure, of which she was sufficiently vain, and cared for little else but dress and amusement. He was obliged to make sale frequently of stock and other things to gratify her gay fancy. His embarrassments became so great after a while that he scarcely knew which way to turn himself. At length he thought of a plan to get rid of all his difficulties, and to put himself into a fine way of living. He saw others flourish and prosper in trade, and thought it an easy thing to get [Page] a genteel living without any trouble. This was very pleasing to his wife. She thought this was a great deal more better way than to be nothing but farmers, and to be obliged to work. Then, said she, we can get every thing we want without paying for it, and how much more cleaverer that will be than to have to go to the shops to lay out our money, and then have to sell something or other to pay for it. Oh! I wish we had them now. I am tired of this dull poor way of scrubbing along. I hope you will get a good parcel of the most finest ribbons and fathars so that a body can have eno of them. These is the best things to sell, for I want a good many now."—A fine customer indeed!

But Mr. Puffum did not need much persuading. He was therefore easily induced to go and contract with a merchant for a quantity of goods, for the payment of which he pledged his farm. But what can he do with a shop of goods, who could not take care of the affairs of a farm? He was unacquainted with accounts, and knew not either the quality or value of goods, nor did he consider the necessity of being punctual in his payments, but grew more careless and extravagant than before. He and his wife were their own steadiest customers, and were [Page] every day consuming their farm without perceiving it; and it was not long before dress, company and frolics had wasted the goods he had been entrusted with, and not much payment made for them. The debt still hung over him. He had no way to raise money to discharge it, but by selling his farm, which he was obliged to do at a great disadvantage, so that it would not pay the debt. All their fine prospects were now at an end, and they had no means of living left them, but were reduced to extreme poverty and distress. He had no resource within himself, was not accustomed to labor, and was habituated to idleness and dissipation. To their other distresses they added that of strife and contention. They accused each other as being the cause of all the evils that they now labored under. But this only made a bad matter worse. After living some time in this dreadful situation, he turned horse-jockey. Intemperance and gaming followed. Being poor and vicious, he become friendless and wretched. He continued in the practice of many ruinous and disgraceful vices, till at length he died miserably in a loathsome jail.

These effects of idleness, extravagance and folly, may be usefully contrasted with [Page] industry, in the following story, with which I shall conclude this chapter. The Sloth is an animal of South America, and is so ill formed for motion that a few paces are often the journey of a week, and so indisposed to move, that he never changes his place but when impelled by the severest stings of hunger. He lives upon the leaves, fruit and flowers of trees, and often on the bark itself, when nothing besides is left for his sustenance. As a large quantity of food is necessary for his support, he generally strips a tree of all its verdure in less than a fortnight; and being then destitute of food, he drops down like a lifeless mass, from the branches to the ground. After remaining torpid or senseless, sometime, from the shock received by the fall, he prepares for a journey to some neighboring tree, to which he crawls so slowly that his motion can hardly be perceived. When he has arrived, he ascends the tree, and being half starved, soon devours whatever the branches afford. By consuming the bark, he soon destroys the life of the tree; and thus the source from which his subsistence is derived, is lost, and he has nothing lest to support him. Such is the miserable state of this slothful animal. How different are the comforts and enjoyments of the industrious [Page] Beaver. This creature is found in the northern parts of America, and is about two feet long and one foot high. The figure somewhat resembles that of a rat. In the months of June and July the Beavers assemble and form a society, which generally consists of more than two hundred. They always fix their abode by the side of a lake or river; and in order to make a dead water, they erect, with incredible labor, a dam, perhaps eighty or a hundred feet long, and ten or twelve feet thick at the bottom. When this dike or dam is completed, they build their several apartments, which are divided into three stories. The first is below the level of the mole, and is for the most part full of water. The walls of their habitations are perpendicular, and about two feet thick. If any wood project from them, they cut it off with their teeth, which are more serviceable than saws; and by the help of their tails, they plaister all their work with a kind of mortar, which they prepare of dry grass and clay mixed together. In August or September, they begin to lay up their stores of food; which consists of the wood of the birch, the plane, and of some other trees. Thus they pass the gloomy winter in ease and plenty.

[Page] These two American animals, contrasted with each other, afford a most striking picture of the blessings of industry, and the penury and wretchedness of sloth."

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CHAP. IX. Of Mrs. Worthy—Of old Mrs. Grudges, and her envious and ill natured speeches.

HITHERTO I have said but little of Mrs. Worthy; but as she is [...] to bear an important part in the management of his domestic affairs, I think a more particular account of her character and management, necessary to this history. What has already been related shows her wisdom in the choice of a husband; for while Mr. Puffum, and his foolish vain wife, were squandering away an estate in idleness and vanity, Mr. and Mrs. Worthy were reaping the fruits of their industry and economy in the increase of their estate, and in the peace and tranquillity of their house. They saw new beauties every day in their children, and had the satisfaction of seeing that their care and instruction were not lost upon them, but bestowed to good purpose. Mrs. Worthy agreed with her husband in the general plan of educating their children, which made this important branch of duty go on with more ease.

[Page] In the personal appearance of Mrs. Worthy there was something extremely pleasing and interesting. It was such as made impressions favorable to her character at first view, and gave you the idea of a respectable country gentlewoman. Her countenance was the index of a cheerful, modest, contented mind. It bespoke the sensibility and benevolence of her heart. Such indeed was her character. Tho she had many difficulties to grapple with at their first setting out in the world, yet she was always cheerful, and never repined at any thing. Some will make a bad matter worse by fretting, and so create many unnecessary evils by refusing to be patient under those which are unavoidable: and will not enjoy any thing because they cannot have every thing. But Mrs. Worthy had more prudence and goodness than thus to disturb her own, and her husband's peace of mind. Indeed she had such an example of it in her neighbor, Mrs. Grudges, and of the ill effects of it in their family, that this, if nothing else, was enough to make her sick of it. But Mrs. Worthy would often say—" If I can discharge my duty, I am not anxious about my condition, nor do I think it worth while to pine for what I have not, since I have enough to satisfy all [Page] my real wants, and doubt not but by our industry and prudence we shall have things comfortable about us after a while."

She was a person of great sensibility, and took great pleasure in helping the poor and needy. Touched with the distresses of others, she would spare no pains to relieve them. She would go by day and by night among her sick and distressed neighbors. The poorer sort of them often experienced the effects of her benevolent heart in their sickness, by the comfortable things she would prepare and carry to them, for she never went among them on such occasions bare handed. In this respect she was a blessing highly to be prized. How much does such a neighbor, who is kind and helpful, contribute to lighten the burden of life, and to promote its enjoyment? Such was the conduct of Mrs. Worthy, that all the neighbors who had any gratitude were loud in her praise. There are some to be found in most places who have envious dispositions, who cannot bear to see others prosper, nor to hear them spoken well of. They seem to think it is a reflection upon themselves, and therefore will say hard things of them. This was remarkably the case with their neighbor Grudges, whom I had occasion to mention before. She was not [Page] fretful, but envious to a great degree, and indeed I am inclined to think that they both proceed from the same cause. This old virago would always rail at Mrs. Worthy whenever she heard others speaking in her praise. "For my part, she would say, I don't know as how she's any better than some other foks. Some people loves to go galloping about from one place to another, so they can get a little praise, but others are obliged to stay to home, and keep to work. For my part I an't agoing to say nothing about any nabors. She may be well enough and good enough—but then—I know what I know." These oblique hints and flings are no uncommon things among envious and restless people. They are like dark clouds that only show their grim edge above the horizon when they send forth distant flashes of lightning, and muttering thunder. Her speeches had no more effect on Mrs. Worthy, than such distant thunder has on our spirits. Whenever she heard of Mrs. Grudge's foolish talk (and there are tale bearers enough in every place to carry such intelligence) she would only reply that "She was but doing her duty in endeavoring to serve her neighbors, and the more good it was in her power to do them, the [Page] better and happier she felt. Mrs. Worthy's goodness was not to be restrained, or diverted, by the folly of this ill humored woman, for when she fell sick of a fever and stood in need of the assistance of her neighbors, Mrs. Worthy was among the first to visit her, and to do every thing she could for her relief and comfort. This was rendering good for evil, and heaping coals of fire upon her head, which was the best possible retaliation. By this kind of revenge, we gain the most effectual and most honorable conquest over our adversaries.

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CHAP. X. Further account of Mrs. Worthy—Of Mrs. Straton—Anecdote of her.—Of Mrs. Harris—A wise observation of her's.

IF we now take a view of Mrs. Worthy's domestic character, we shall find that her kind and obliging manners abroad were not the effects of ostentation, nor a desire to gain a character abroad that she did not support at home. This is too often the case both with men and women. They show their good or ill breeding abroad, but their good or ill nature they show at home. She was indeed one of Solomon's virtuous wives, whose excellencies he beautifully describes in the thirty first chapter of Proverbs. "She looked well to the ways of her household, and did not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband also, and he praised her." Mr. Worthy was the happy man who found the inestimable prize which royal wisdom says "is above rubies." He had sense enough to discern it, and goodness enough to acknowledge it too, which is not always the [Page] case with men who have good wives. Mrs. Worthy carried cleanliness to the highest pitch. She was of a very opposite opinion to those who say that sluts make the best butter. Every thing was in place—no confusion—no disorder; every thing was bright and clean. This nice method and arrangement in her house enabled her to go on with her business to the best advantage. The want of this method is the occasion of that hurly burly and confusion which we see in some houses. There was an extraordinary instance of it in Mrs. Straton's house. Here every thing was out of place, and the house up in arms. It was in all respects a contrast to Mrs. Worthy's.

I shall say nothing of her person, because it had become so disgusting to her husband on account of her careless, sluttish appearance. Before marriage her outside appearance was as good as any one in the circle of her acquaintance; but after marriage, she grew very careless about her person, and from that to downright sluttishness. This is a very imprudent thing in a female, because it digusts the man whose affections and esteem she should always study to preserve; and by preserving them, she secures an influence over him which she can't acquire by [Page] any other means. There are many instances of men being driven to taverns, and excesses, which they never would have gone into, had they not found their own houses become so disagreeable to them through the imprudence of their wives. This was not the case, indeed, with Mrs. Straton's husband. He was a man of too much virtue, and had too much regard for his children to give way to these vices. But it was always a sore mortification to him that his wife was such a slattern. A friend of his called upon him one day when he was absent from home. Mrs. Straton came to the door in her usual dishabille. Though well acquainted with her husband, he had no knowledge of her, and supposing her to be the servant maid, he asked her if Mr. Straton was at home. She said he was not. "Will you desire Mrs. Straton to come to the door?" said the gentleman. "I am she, instead of a better," replied Mrs. Straton, with an aukward curtesy. Her personal appearance was a true picture of the house within. Here every thing was at sixes and sevens. Her kitchen and parlour were nearly akin to the earth, and all things were of a piece. It was her misfortune that she had not been trained to neatness when a child, nor accustomed to [Page] order and method when young. In that gay period, her outside appearance was as her house now is, painted without, but unclean within. Her dairy room* was of a piece with the rest, and almost spoiled whatever was put into it. Her husband kept a large number of cows, but could have but little benefit from them, as the most of whatever went into the house was squandered away and lost. Her husband would sometimes complain that he had not as much butter and cheese for market as some of his neighbors who had fewer cows. This would set her [Page] scolding at the children and maid for wasting the milk and butter. Her children were dirty and ragged. They were taught nothing but by hard blows. Their meals were never regular, and seldom in season, and when brought on table, they appeared fitter for some other kind of animals than for rational creatures.

I will now turn from so disgusting a sight to a character more deserving attention. Mrs. Harris, a native of Ireland, came over with her parents when quite young. Her parents acquired a decent living in the western part of New Jersey, where they settled at their first coming over. They were good sort of people, and endeavored to bring up Nelle, their only daughter, as well as they possibly could. At the age of about two and twenty, she married Mr. J. Harris, a wealthy farmer in New England, and was remarkable for good management. It was a maxim with her, that "to know the true character of the mistress of the house, you must go into her garret and cellar." This worthy woman lived to a great age, an example of piety to her maker, of good order in her affairs, and of kindness to her fellow creatures. She lived much respected, and died greatly lamented by all who knew her.

[Page] Mrs. Worthy practised upon Mrs. Harris's maxim, and was never ashamed to have any part of her house visited by the best judges of good economy and cleanliness at all times. Nor was she ashamed to appear if her friends called suddenly upon her at any time. Her dress was always neat though plain, and indeed she gloried in being dressed in the manufacture of her own hands. I shall reserve for the next chapter an account of an incident which represented her in an amiable point of light, and brought to view many good qualities which were well described in a letter to a friend.

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CHAP. XI. A visit from a stranger—Mr. Worthy's account of his finding honey in the woods—Fable of the Bear and Bees.

ON a certain day when the sun shone with uncommon brightness, and every thing seemed placid and serene, a stranger rode up to the door and dismounted. Mr. Worthy was in the field attending to his business there. Mrs. Worthy was employed at the same time about her dairy, and was dressed suitably to her employment. The gentleman who was well drest, knocked at the door, but without waiting for any ceremony, went in, and observing the door open that led into the kitchen, he went directly for that. Here he found Mrs. Worthy engaged in the employment just mentioned. Such a visitor coming in so unexpectedly, and quite a stranger, seemed a little to disconcert and embarrass her at first, for she was a very modest woman. However, she soon recollected herself, and considered that she was doing her duty, and was drest in character; [Page] and said to the gentleman, who inquired after Mr. Worthy, "if you will please to walk into the other room, sir, I will send for Mr. Worthy, who is not far off," and told Dilla, her maid, to show the gentleman to the parlour. "If you please, Madam, said he, I will sit here a little while, your kitchen is clean enough for me, and I have a curiosity to see the operation of this business, for I have never seen a cheese made in my life."

Mrs. Worthy went on with her work, and he sat till she had completed it, asking many questions about it without discovering his name, and she had too much modesty and good breeding to ask* it of him. At length he said to her "I perceive Madam, that I am quite a stranger to you; but as I am about to purchase a farm, that I may retire from the noise and hurry of the town, I have made a journey to this part of the country, of which we hear great fame; and as far as I have seen, I think it answers the description given of it. I have called to take advice of Mr. Worthy, and hope to have the happiness to live not far from you." She could not all this time discover who he was. [Page] She again desired him to walk into the other room, which he did; and stepping into an adjoining room, she adjusted her clothes, and soon appeared with great propriety. He then inquired whether she did not recollect a distant relation of her father who lived at [...], who was the bearer of the letter by which they received the first account of her brother's being wounded in an action with the Indians, and on the recovery. Mrs. Worthy replied that "she remembered it perfectly well, and never should forget the joy which was spread through the house on that occasion; and that she now recollected him by the scar in his forehead, which he had received in the early part of that campaign." A number of years, which alters every thing, had passed over since that time, and Mrs. Worthy had no other knowledge of him afterwards except that she had heard that he was a merchant of some distinction at [...]. After expressing her pleasure at seeing him again, and mutual inquiries after each others' welfare, he proposed to take a view of her house if it was agreeable, saying, "he perceived they had gotten things well about them." There are few women who could conduct with more dignity on such an occasion. She seemed conscious [Page] that there could not be any thing in the plain stile of their house that could gratify the taste of a person of his figure, but without making any apologies, which the weakness of pride often dictates, she calmly told him "that they had nothing but what was in a farmer's stile, and if it would be any gratification to him she would with pleasure go over the house and show him the few conveniencies they enjoyed." When they had gone through, and returned to the sitting room, he gave Mrs. Worthy high applause for the order, simplicity and neatness which appeared through the whole; and was delighted with the many conveniences which Mr. Worthy's ingenuity had added to his house. Mrs. Worthy observed to him "that as to wine they did not pretend to it; but that she could give him some mead, of her own make, from the honey of bees which Mr. Worthy had taken in the woods. He accepted a little of it, and declared to her that he thought it the finest he had ever tasted in his life. Mr. Worthy happening to come in at this time, and being introduced by Mrs. Worthy to Mr. Blanford, for that was his name, the conversation turned on other subjects for a while. But Mr. Blanford, who had been asked to renew his [Page] draught of the mead, inquired how it was made, and in what manner the honey was taken of which it was made. Mr. Worthy cited him to his wife for an account of the manner of making the mead; and gave him the following account of the manner in which he took the bees in the woods.

"At the time when the cells are fullest of honey, I prepare the necessary material for discovering their retreat, and gathering their rich and useful stores, which are much more profitable than is generally thought for; and though fatiguing, yet I am commonly rewarded for my labor. Besides the provision I carry for my own use, and a small pocket compass to direct my course, I take with me some wax and honey. With these articles I go into the woods, where I generally discover some bees in motion. I observe the course they steer, and follow them; and sometimes discover their lodgment in this way, among large old trees. If I see no bees, I endeavor to draw their attention to me by burning some wax on a hot stone; the flavor of the wax will soon bring a number of them together. When these have loaded themselves they fly off to make a deposit of what they have gathered. They return for more, and so on till they have taken all the [Page] bait I have laid for them. I am particular in observing their different courses; and by these means I seldom fail of finding their store houses. Thus I sometimes find several swarms in one excursion, and mark the trees which contain them, that I may return home, and bring proper assistance for conveying the honey to my own house. The quantity, said Mr. Worthy, that is contained in some of these large limbs, or trunks of trees, is truly astonishing, and leaves me no doubt but this is the most profitable game our farmers can hunt for, who live near to the woods. To shew you, continued he, the prolific and beneficial effects of this little industrious creature, I can assure you that the first swarm I ever found in the woods was by accident, in the month of April, in a large hollow limb, which I sawed off and placed it in the same position at home, and from that I had five swarms that year."

Mr. Blanford was pleased with this account, and observed that tho man was able by stratagem, to detect them in their retreat, yet that the industry, good order and subordination of the bees were admonitions to man for his disposition to idleness, and his inattention to order and regularity at home, and his want of submission to government [Page] abroad. But, like man, continued Mr. Blanford, they are liable to be corrupted, and become indolent when placed in a situation where industry is not necessary to their preservation.

He then related the story of "A Dutch merchant who was settled at Batavia, a large and flourishing town in the island of Java, and the capital of all the Dutch settlements in the East Indies. This gentleman sent for a hive of young bees from Poland, a kingdom far to the northward, to this warm and fertile place. This he did with a view to multiply the breed of this industrious insect, and regale himself with honey prepared under his own inspection. The bees were placed in a large and beautiful garden, furnished with the richest profusion of fragrant herbs and flowers. Plenty soon corrupted their disposition to labor, and the stock of honey which they collected, during the first months of their settlement, was of little value.—The expected winter did not ensue, and as they continued to enjoy abundance in this happy climate, they became improvident of futurity, and were no longer at pains to store their cells with that food which bountiful nature at all seasons provided for them. Thus unfavorable was excessive [Page] abundance to the admired virtues of the bee. And no less injurious to many a well formed youth, is that affluence which hath been heaped together by parental toil, to gratify parental ambition; but which serves either to nourish sloth, by superseding the necessity of application; or to promote dissipapation and profligacy of manners, by giving a false direction to activity." The danger of this, Mr. Blanford assured Mrs. Worthy, was with him a very powerful reason for wishing to retire from a great and luxurious town, to the enjoyment of the more innocent and peaceful pleasures of a country life. This gentleman was so pleased with what he saw at Mr. Worthy's, that he gave a particular description of it in a letter to his friend, which shall appear in the next chapter.

The following humorous FABLE OF THE BEARS AND THE BEES, has so fine a moral as to deserve a place here.

AS two young Bears in wanton mood,

Forth issuing from a neighboring wood,

Came where th' industrious Bees had stor'd

In artful cells their luscious hoard;

O'erjoy'd they seiz'd with eager haste

Luxurious on the rich repast.

Alarm'd at this, the little crew

About their ears vindictive flew.

[Page] The beasts, unable to sustain

Th' unequal combat, quit the plain;

Half blind with rage, and mad with pain,

Their native shelter they regain;

There sit, and now discreeter grown,

Too late their rashness they bemoan;

And this by dear experience gain,

That pleasure's ever bought with pain.

So when the gilded baits of vice

Are placed before our longing eyes,

With greedy haste we snatch our fill,

And swallow down the latent ill;

But when experience opes our eyes,

Away the fancy'd pleasure flies.

It flies, but, oh I too late we find

It leaves a real sting behind.

MERRICK.

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CHAP. XII. Mr. Blanford's letter, descriptive of Mrs. Worthy—her house, children, &c.

WHEN Mr. Blanford had accomplished his purpose in calling on Mr. Worthy, he took his leave of the family, with many thanks for their civilities, and returned home. Soon after his return, he wrote a very descriptive letter to a friend of his, who had ridiculed his idea of exchanging the pleasures of the city for those of the country. This letter contains so many useful observations and sentiments, as to merit a place here, notwithstanding his going into many minute circumstances that may not appear of importance.

Having made some very judicious remarks on the different modes of living and enjoyment in the town and in the country, he goes on to say—"In the tour I lately made into the country I met with many pleasing scenes, and innocent enjoyments; but I think none of them equalled what I saw at Mr. Worthy's.

The neatness of Mrs. Worthy's person was but a sample of the neatness of her house. Such order and regularity in the family, [Page] such clean floors and utensils, such fragrance through the house, from the fresh flowers which decorated the chimnies, and from the neighboring fields, which were now in a high state of cultivation, made me in love with a farmer's life, and confirmed me in my resolutions soon to enjoy it. I am so charmed with Mrs. Worthy's economy and good housewifry, that I am tempted to give you a particular account of the house and furniture.

Mr. Worthy's house consisted of a commodious kitchen, with a good pantry and wash house adjoining, and an excellent dairy room. The parlour was a neat middle sized room. The dining, or family room, was large and convenient, ceiled up at the sides, and ornamented with clean white tables, and with chairs bottomed with the inner bark of elm, which Mr. Worthy informed me was more durable than flag. The cupboard, which was filled with the common utensils of the family, was plain, but clean. The kitchen, with every thing in it, appeared clean as our parlours. Her best room was as pleasant as it was neat. The two windows, that looked into the garden, were ornamented on the outside with a honeysuckle, a sweetbrier, a rose tree and a jessamine. The curtains were of a handsome [Page] red and white check, which Mrs. Worthy had made in the house. The shovel, tongs and handirons, were all of a piece with the rest. Under the window stood a large maple table, which for its bright polish resembled the looking glass which hung over it. On the other side was a cane couch, with cushions of patch work, made out of the bits which Mrs. Worthy had sewed together while she was young, and six chairs of the same kind. Several cheap prints hung round the room. Mr. Worthy was of opinion that the heart might be more or less affected by them. He therefore had procured those that represented our Saviour's birth and passion, the prodigal son, &c. In the other room he had the industrious apprentice, and pictures representing sheep-shearing, a farm yard and a harvest field. These served at least for amusement to the children. The parlour chamber was much in the same stile of the parlour, with the addition of a bed of furniture check. There was no toilet at which our ladies spend so much of their time, but a little white table covered with a napkin. The other chambers contained nothing worthy of notice, except the plain neatness that appeared there.

[Page] You will, my dear sir, naturally expect me to ascend from these less important matters to Mrs. Worthy's children. The eldest, a daughter, named Dorcas, about fourteen, was gone to the weaver's with yarn of her own spinning, for a piece of diaper. The second, a son about twelve years old, was in the field with his father. He was named Henry Smith. The third, a son in his eleventh year, was weeding in the garden. The fourth, a daughter, almost nine, was assisting her mother. The fifth, a daughter, about seven, was sitting on a form, knitting. The sixth, a son about five, was sitting by his sister with a little book in his hand, and appeared much engaged in reading. Thus were they all employed, and each one seemed steady and intent upon their respective employment. As I was sitting, and observing the little brood acting under maternal direction, I saw the little boy whispering to his sister, and had the curiosity to listen to what he was telling her, and was delighted with the following dialogue between them. "Sister, sister, said he, I am glad my name is Joseph." "Why are you glad of that Jose," said the little sister? "Because, said he, Joseph was a good man, and did a great deal of good. He was just like my Daddy, [Page] he gave away his corn to the poor folks who had'nt got any, and kept a great many poor little children from starving." This speech almost brought tears in his little sister's eyes, and she replied with considerable emotion, "Well, I am glad my name is Mary too, for Mary was a very good woman, and said her prayers every night and every morning. She loved every body that was good, and never did any wicked things, and she took good care of poor sick folks, as Mamma always does." I perceived by this conversation, that he was reading an abridgement of the history of Joseph, and on inquiry I found the little girl had been reading some account of Mary. They were both imprest with the characters of which they had been reading, and were desirous of being like them. "Sister, said the little boy, if you are good now, you will be as good as she was when you are grown up to be a woman; for Mamma says, the way to be good when we are grown up, is to be good when we are little—Think I shall ever be as big as Joseph was?" "It is no matter, the little Mary replied, whether you ever be as big or not, if you are but as good as he; for I have heard Mamma say, that folks may be very good if they are not grown so big as other folks. She says that Mary Dosset, the poor [Page] little old woman that comes here sometimes▪ is a good woman; and therefore that we must not laugh at her because she is deformed, and is'nt as big as other folks."

I was delighted with this dialogue, which had been carried on in so loud a whisper as to attract our attention, and with so much earnestness that they did not perceive our noticing them until it was ended, when they returned to their respective employments: How happy must these parents be? They see virtue blooming in the early spring of life. They behold in their children that which will be the consolation of declining years to their parents; and the perpetual source of satisfaction to themselves. They perceive their hearts forming to virtuous sentiments, and hopeful characters.

Thus have I given you some faint description of farmer Worthy's domestic state. If you enjoy the description as much as I did the sight, your pleasure is very great. I have long mixed in the bustle and hurry of the town. I have moved in polite circles, and in many of the gay scenes of life; but till now I never discovered the resort of peace, the residence of contentment, and of true felicity. Here, in a calm retreat, far removed from noise and tumult, resides rural felicity [Page] and domestic bliss.*—Here we behold industry without servility, neatness without anxiety, order without an over rigid discipline—every thing good and amiable without any ostentation."

As an evidence of his good opinion of Mrs. Worthy, he made her his almoner, by leaving a considerable sum of money in her hands, to be distributed among some poor families who had been driven in from the frontiers by the savages, and were just arrived in their neighborhood, whose distressful circumstances Mrs. Worthy had represented in the course of conversation, in a very pathetic manner. No sooner had Mr. Blanford taken his departure, than Mrs. Worthy went to visit those scenes of distress, and to afford relief to the sufferers. She heartily rejoiced with them in the seasonable relief which that gentleman's bounty enabled her to bestow upon them. Nor was she satisfied with being the bearer of his bounty to them, but [Page] added something of her own to it. Nothing could have been more opportune to those in distress, than this unexpected succour, nor more pleasing to Mrs. Worthy, than to be made the instrument of it.

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CHAP. XIII. Of Farmer Worthy, contrasted with Mr. Slack—A gentleman falls from his horse—Of Mr. and Mrs. Belmont.

IT is now time to take a more particular view of farmer Worthy in the management of his family and affairs. He pursued his occupation with great industry; and every spring he had the satisfaction to see his grass grow thicker by means of the manure and tillage he bestowed upon the ground; and it is an old saying that "he is the best man in the kingdom who can make two spears of grass grow where but one grew before." He saw his stock encreasing, and every thing about him growing into better order and greater plenty. So that he could now guard against the evils of a drought by the remaining stores of a former crop. His circumstances were flourishing and prosperous; but his prosperity had not the effect which it too often produces. It makes some haughty and proud, others again it fills with covetous, avaricious desires, while it makes a third sort fond of living too freely; they [Page] run into luxury and extravagance, and so become negligent of their affairs. But it would be difficult to describe with what gratitude farmer Worthy, and his wife, received the numerous blessings which a bountiful Providence showered down upon them. They ever expressed their thankfulness to the giver by an increasing zeal in his service. They delighted more and more in keeping his sabbaths, in setting a good example, in worshipping God with their household, and in teaching them to know and fear the giver of all good things.

The case was very different with Mr. Slack who had been a farmer of considerable prosperous circumstances while he continued industrious and prudent. But when he had got into a good way for living, he began to grow vain and notional, and thought himself above labor. So that he presently bebecame as negligent of his affairs out of the house as his wife was within; and the people he hired soon became as careless and negligent as himself. The consequence of this was, that his affairs all went into confusion in a short time. His fences became bad, his cattle destroyed his corn and meadows and did great damage to his neighbors' fields. He would patch up his fence saying, [Page] "That will do for the present." But this was only a trap and a snare. By these means he lost his grain, and injured his neighbors', insomuch that his crops made a poor appearance, while farmer Worthy's came in plentifully. This apparant difference raised the envy of Mr. Slack; and his wife's envy was excited by the notice that was taken of Mrs. Worthy who passed that way, while she and her husband were despised by all ranks of people. They incurred the contempt and ridicule of the most sensible and fashionable people by their affecttation of grandeur, and the hatred of many of the poorer but virtuous people by their injustice and want of kindness, for they were as careless about paying their debts as they were inattentive to their own affairs. They withheld the wages of the labourer, and ground the face of the poor. This was a very wicked thing in him, because the laborer is worthy of his hire; and he needs it who depends on his daily labor to furnish his daily bread. Under the Jewish economy it was a divine ordinance that the wages of a laboring man should not be detained over night. "At this day thou shalt give his hire, neither shall the sun go down upon it, for he is poor."*

[Page] In farmer Worthy we see every thing different. His affairs were all in the exactest order, and he lost nothing by carelessness. His hired men were well treated and punctually paid, his fields and meadows were put into the best order, his fences were seasonably repaired, so that neither his own nor his neighbors' grain suffered by his cattle. They were well fed and tenderly used, for he was a very humane as well as honest man, and delighted in seeing every creature about him happy. He used often to say that "he thought it was very necessary to have laws for the protection of the dumb beasts from the tyranny of cruel men, for that they were not given to us that we might vent our passions upon them in abuses and ill usage." Those who lived in his house, and labored in his fields, never failed to go away pleased with the treatment they received both from him and Mrs. Worthy. They were always pleased with the order that run through the family, and particularly so with his management among them.

An incident that gave Mr. Worthy an opportunity of discovering the goodness of his heart, and opening the way to a more thorough knowledge of his domestic character, deserves notice in this place. A gentleman [Page] by the name of Belmont met with a most terrible fall from his horse as he was journeying near Mr. Worthy's. The affrighted horse drew the rider some distance by the stirrup, till that giving way left him in the road. Mr. Worthy, who had been witness to the disaster, run with all speed to his relief. He was much injured by the fall, and at first seemed breathless, but on being carried into the house and laid on a bed, he began to discover signs of life, and by the aid of some cool water, and chafing in the hands, he so far recovered by the time the physician came, as to inform who he was and from whence he came.

It is remarkable that Mr. Belmont, who had always lived in the town, conceived a very unfavourable opinion of the country people; he thought them ill natured and incapable of humanity; and had therefore endeavoured to dissuade Mr. Blanford from any thoughts of a country life. An unfortunate event had now thrown him into the hands of a man whose highest ambition it was to merit the style of farmer, and where he was likely to be detained some time to experience the hospitality of a farmer's house. As this was the case, he proposed to Mr. and Mrs. Worthy, sending for his wife, if agreeable [Page] to them. To his proposal they cheerfully consented, saying, "that they were but plain farmers, and if Mrs. Belmont could put up with their way of living they should be glad to see her." She was accordingly sent for, and in due time she arrived. It was an unfortunate circumstance that Mrs. Belmont was wholly unacquainted with a country life. Being somewhat of a haughty woman too, and but little disposed to conform to the manners of others, she discovered signs of dislike on her arrival and looked awry at every thing she saw.—"Such stuff," she would say of the salt beef and pork, &c. that was brought upon table for dinner, "may do well enough for people in the country who work for their living, but it is enough to kill those who have been used to delicate living."

Mr. Belmont bore the pain of his wounds, and the operation of dressing them, with great patience; but the follies of his wife were insupportable. She had enough of that kind of breeding which taught her to move gracefully in a polite circle, but had not sense enough to know that true politeness consisted in behaving well to every body. Mr. Belmont began by this time to loose his former prejudices against country [Page] people and farmers. He experienced so much hospitality from Mr. and Mrs. Worthy that he endeavoured to solve their feelings by gentle words and grateful acknowledgments. Being a well bred man, he knew how to make allowances for the difference in the manners of people and of their living. Things continued in this way for some time, till at length Mr. Belmont had so far recovered of his wounds as to think of endeavouring to return home. He therefore desired Mr. Worthy to let him know what compensation he should make them for the trouble he had occasioned, and the many civilities he had received during his confinement.—"I have no demand upon you, Sir, said Mr. Worthy; I consider it my duty to regard with care the distresses of others. By serving you Sir, I have had no view to my own benefit. It is not in your power to add any thing to the pleasure I feel from having had it in my power to afford you relief." Mr. Belmont was amazed at the nobleness of his spirit and the dignity of his attitude on this occasion; but could not prevail on him to accept any thing as a compensation. And as to Mrs. Belmont, she was quite overcome by this act of generosity. Her own follies recurred upon [Page] her mind with redoubled force, and quite put her to the blush. Every thing being prepared for their journey, they took an affectionate leave, with ideas of the farmers very different from those they entertained before this event took place. Mrs. Belmont could not help being affected, touched and impressed, by the unaffected hospitality with which they had been treated, and sent Mrs. Worthy some handsome presents. The different sentiments both of them entertained of the farmers in general, and the high opinion they formed of Mr. Worthy and family, are expressed by Mr. Belmont, in a letter to Mr. Blanford, soon after his recovery.

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CHAP. XIV. Containing Mr. Belmont's letter to Mr. Blanford in praise of a country life.—Anecdote of Sir Philip Sidney.

DURING Mr. Belmont's confinement he had opportunity for many reflections, and being out of the noise of the town, they took a turn different from what they probably would have done if he had been surrounded by his friends in the gay scenes of life. In this calm retreat he would contemplate things in a more cool and rational light. To a mind thus at liberty to judge of things as they really are, there are many things in the fashionable circles of great towns which will appear foolish and vain. The reason of their not appearing so to those who are in the giddy round is, that they do not stop long enough at any one point to view them in a cool and deliberate manner. Mr. Belmont seems to have been brought to a stand long enough for this purpose, and to have turned his mind to this subject with some attention, and his observations on this subject appear to be pertinent and good.

[Page] In our towns, said he, where parade and show are every thing, fashionable dress is considered as one of the most important things in life. There are few who seem to pay any regard to the distinction of characters as they respect virtue and understanding. In this sentiment our young men are confirmed by most of the young ladies with whom they converse. But whatever may be the ideas of the fashionable part of the world about these things, and about the useful virtues of life, such as industry, sobriety and economy, I am convinced that the human species can only be supplied with food and necessaries by a constant assiduity in cultivating the earth, and providing for their mutual wants. By labor every thing is produced; without labor the most fertile fields would soon be overrun with forests, the finest meadows become stagnant waters, or wild and unyielding thickets, the flocks would run wild and be useless. I therefore conclude that labor is the first and most indispensible duty of man, from which no one can have a right entirely to withdraw himself. If therefore there is any difference between one human being and another, that part of them must be the most valuable who cultivate the ground, and provide necessaries [Page] for all the rest.* This may seem strange language from one who has lived as I have done. But I find that a retired and contemplative view of the fashionable world, gives me an opinion of it very different from that which we possess while mixing in it. When I see those caressed as polite people, who trouble themselves little about their understandings, and less about their morals, are passionate, haughty, capricious, ungrateful to their friends, disobedient to their parents, every thing indeed which to plain sense appears frivolous or contemptible, without incurring the least imputation, provided they dress and appear fashionably, and their politeness is not impeached by the ladies—when I see these things through the cool eye of reflection, I become more and more sick of the fashionable follies of the town, and more in love with the plain uncorrupted sincerity, and genuine hospitality of the country.

[Page] The late experience I have had of this, at Mr. Worthy's, has taught me a new lesson, and given me a specimen of native goodness and undistinguished philanthropy. As I was on my return from viewing my estate in the west, my horse took a sudden fright, and went from under me so quick that I could not recover the saddle. My left foot slipped into the sturrips, and I was dragged a considerable distance. The first thing that I can recollect after this dreadful fall, is that I was surrounded by a family whose compassionate looks made a very deep impression on my mind. The children were bathed in tears, at the sight of a man torn and bloody as I was. One of the children, indeed, lay very sick at the time; but they seemed to forget their own distresses for the present, and to be wholly absorbed by mine, which appeared so much greater. The noble spirited exertions of Mr. Worthy on this occasion, convinced me that true elevation of mind might be found among farmers; and reminded me of the conduct of Sir Philip Sidney, in the battle near Zutphen, in the Low Countries. He was one of the brightest ornaments of Queen Elizabeth's court, and was a person of equal bravery and politeness. In the above mentioned action, he [Page] discovered [...] courage. Having lost two horses under him, as he was mounting the third, an unlucky shot from the enemy's trenches broke his thigh. He returned to the camp, which was some distance off, on horseback. Being faint and parched with thirst through fatigue and the loss of blood, he called for some water, which was presently brought him; but just as he was raising the vessel to his mouth to drink, a poor wounded soldier, who happened at that instant to be carried by, looked up to it wishfully; the gallant generous Sidney took the cup from his mouth before he had tasted the water, and gave it to the suffering soldier, saying, "Thy necessities are greater than mine."*

This was an example, not only of the greatest virtue and humanity, but also of [Page] that elevated method of thinking which constituted the true gentleman, whether he be a farmer or a professional man. For what is it that gives a superiority of manners, but the inclination to sacrifice our own pleasures and interests to the well being of others? An ordinary person might have pitied the poor soldier, or would have assisted him, when he had first taken care of himself; but who, in such a dreadful extremity as the brave Sidney was reduced to, would be capable of even forgetting his own sufferings to relive another, unless he had acquired the generous habit of always slighting his own gratification for the sake of his fellow creatures?

In Farmer Worthy I found all the marks of this same elevation of mind, which I think probable would have carried him to as great lengths of humanity and generosity in similar circumstances. The goodness of his heart was expressed by an uninterrupted scene of kind actions, performed in so obliging a manner as seemed to double their value. But I do not intend to give you a detail of actions which related to myself only. The regularity of his proceeding in his family merits particular notice, and is worthy of the imitation of every one.

[Page] No man could be more attentive to business than Mr. Worthy, yet this never interfered with the care of his children, nor the exemplary devotion of his house. In all his proceedings he observed method. This enabled him to have every thing move in its place and to preserve peace in his family. In order to this he found it necessary to rise early in the morning. In the winter season the family were all up so as to unite in family devotions as soon as he could see to read in a large bible by day light. There was a dignity in his manner of attending this service, far above what would have been expected from a man of his education and manner of life, and a fervency in its performance which shewed that it was not a matter of habit, but of choice and pleasure. To this very proper and useful exercise succeeded breakfast, and to that the business of the day, to which every one went as they were directed. No difficulty or opposition ever arose among any of them about the services assigned them that I ever saw or heard. In the evening Mr. Worthy generally employed some time in reading, of which I perceived he was very fond. Sometimes he would employ one of the children in reading for the common benefit. His [Page] books I observed were all of a moral nature and tendency. The stories and characters they read would affect their minds and leave good impressions upon them. As Mr. Worthy began the day with God, so he closed it by acknowledging him before his family. This practice, besides its being a suitable expression of piety to God, had a good effect on the minds of his family, both by leading them to be pious, and by promoting affection and harmony among them. It tended also to inspire benevolence for others, and especially for the afflicted and distressed, for whom he always prayed most fervently. It had a good effect also in keeping the family more together than they otherwise could have been, for the young people of the family were never out beyond that hour except on special occasions. The same steady course carried him through the year, and all things prospered well with him. The sabbath was also observed with great order and propriety. It was strictly a day of rest from all unnecessary labor. Every thing was so adjusted at the close of the week as that the sabbath might be observed in such a manner as best to answer its design. Indeed, my dear Sir, I left this hospitable house with ideas of a farmer's house, and the advantages of [Page] a country life, very different from those I entertained before, and am persuaded that true enjoyment depends not so much on any place or outward circumstances as on the temper and disposition of the mind, and the good habits which we cultivate. In this happy dwelling I found the poet's lively description of the happiness of a virtuous country life, so exactly verified, that I will close my lengthy epistle with it."

"No sordid views deprive the soul of rest;

No passions here disturb the laboring breast;

Save grief that sickens at another's woe,

And bids the melting sorrows sweetly flow.

Far from the maddening people's strife,

Far from the anxious cares of busy life,

Beneath this unadorned roof, this humble cell,

Calm peace, and friendship pure, delight to dwell.

And when retir'd to rest, soft dreams employ,

Their slumbering thoughts, and tune the soul to joy,

Which rapt in bliss, thro' airy regions flies;

Quits the dull earth, and claims her native skies."

I am Yours, &c.

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CHAP. XV. Containing a further account of Mr. Slack—the fatal consequences of intemperance—his death—Mr. Worthy's conduct with respect to him.

IT was by means of this established order, steady industry and frugality, that Mr. Worthy was able now to encrease his property from the produce of his farm; his children grew up as olive plants round about him, and in all things he prospered well. In the mean time Mr. Slack became unsuccessful in almost every thing. His produce was much of it lost for want of being attended to in season. In winter his cattle and sheep died for want of care. His interest wasted away by degrees, till he got into debt, and this involved him in many difficulties. From these embarrassments he might have extricated himself by industry and frugality; but instead of pursuing these measures to get out of his troubles, he began to drink hard. He would seldom pass a tavern without stopping to drink; and to spend [Page] his time and money, with idle and foolish people who followed a similar practice. Sometimes he would come home quite in disguise with liquor, and frequently at a late hour too, which made great confusion in the house. His wife would find fault with him, and very justly too, for neglecting his business and wasting his substance; and for disguising himself so too. He in turn would rail at her for dessing so fine. So that they rendered each other very unhappy. The consequence was, that their children grew up like the wild asses' colt, and all their household were at loose ends. The sabbath was regarded only as a day of idleness, and often produced scenes of intemperance. Their children and hired people got into a habit of gaming and drinking; from those they soon proceeded to quarrelling and fighting. They would ride the horses most cruelly to taverns and frolicks, and when they came home late at night, would turn them out to shiver in the cold without any proper care. Mr. Slack kept one horse for his own use, in better order than the rest. But when he is in his cups he would whip and spur him to show his spirits, and would ride him on such occasions very hard. It happened, as he was putting [Page] his horse in spirits when going to a tavern where he expected to meet several tavern haunters, his horse stumbled over a rolling stone, as he was in full gallop, whereby the rider was brought to the ground. Unfortunately for Mr. Slack, the horse rolled over him and broke his thigh very badly. The horse sprang up and ran home with all speed; but Mr. Slack lay in a most terrible situation for some time. At length Mr. Worthy, who was on his way home from Mr. Jones', who was very sick, and to whose necessities he had been administering, came to the place where Mr. Slack lay groaning in a most bitter manner. Mr. Worthy was much surprized to find him in this situation, and like the good Samaritan came to his relief. But as he could not do any thing alone he rode with great haste to the nearest house for help to assist in carrying him home. He groaned out many ill speeches against the horse, without recollecting the unprovoked blows and spurs he had given the poor creature. Mr. Worthy endeavored to soothe him, and to convey him along in the easiest manner he possibly could. Mr. Slack was much surprized at his tenderness towards him, for he was conscious of having done Mr. Worthy many injuries. [Page] But Mr. Worthy never suffered anger to lodge in his breast. If he was at any time reviled, he did not revile in return, but would do good to those who did evil to him.

Mrs. Slack was very much afflicted at seeing her husband brought home in such a plight. But Mr. Worthy comforted her by telling her that though it appeared to be a bad wound, yet that he hoped that it was not dangerous. He tried to assist the surgeon in setting the bone; and during the time of his confinement both Mr. Worthy and his wife showed great kindness by frequently visiting, and by assisting in every way they could. They did not stand aloof as Mr. Emmons did, and forbid any of his family going near them because he was offended at Mr. Slack. He seemed rather to rejoice at what had taken place than feel any sympathy for him. Mrs. Slack now saw the error of her conduct toward Mr. and Mrs. Worthy, and was ashamed of it. She saw that their humanity and tenderness were not pretended but real virtues, and that they were not to be defeated by any injuries they had received.

Mr. Slack continued to grow worse till the surgeon found it absolutely necessary to [Page] cut off the limb in order to prevent a mortification. Tho this terrible operation was performed skillfully, yet a fever, occasioned by the bad state his blood was in through intemperance, seized him, and threatened his life. Mr. Worthy visited him every day, and finding his fever rage to a high degree, he proposed to Mr. Slack to send for Mr.—, the clergyman, to converse and pray with him. But what can the presence of a minister avail toward the salvation of a poor creature who has spent his days in vice and intemperance? Mr.—, however, came to visit Mr. Slack, but found him in so broken a state of mind as to be incapable of much conversation. He would attempt to say something, but his distress and agony was so great that he was interrupted and broken. He would frequently cry out—"O that I had served my Maker as faithfuly as I have my own lust and appetites! that I had kept his sabbath as good people do! how much better should I have been at this time?" His conscience was awake to reflection, and filled him with most dreadful horror. Every thing he saw reminded him either of omissions of duty or commissions of sin—"Your kindness, said he to Mr. Worthy, is almost too much for me. It reminds me of my [Page] unkindness to you, of the hard things I have said, and the ill things I have done to you. I now see my folly, and am distressed more than I can express about all my sins." Mr. Worthy assured him that he need not give himself any trouble or uneasiness on his account, for that he had not laid up any thing against him, but wished it was in his power to render him more service. Mr. Worthy happened to be present when the agonies of death came on, and continued with him in that dreadful condition until death closed the horrid scene. He was greatly affected by the unhappy end of a man who had lived in so loose and irregular a manner. When he considered the account which all rational creatures must give of the improvement of their time, and talents, he could scarcely help trembling for those who waste their time, precious time, and abuse their rational powers, at taverns, and in the company of loose and profane people. Mrs. Slack doubtless thought of these practices, and recollected by what means her husband was brought to his end. She therefore gave way to the violence of her passions, and was almost beside herself with grief. Mr. Worthy endeavored to comfort her and to reconcile her to what had taken place, as it was the [Page] will of God. She seemed at length to be more composed; but her tranquillity was not of long continuance. Trouble of another kind came upon her. The estate was seized by the creditors, and she was left in a poor and destitute condition. This is what every one may expect will be the case with their families, who follow gaming and drinking, to the neglect of their business.

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CHAP. XVI. Farmer Worthy has a rational scheme for the education of his children—Maxims of education.

THERE are few who consider consequences, or trace effects up to their causes, so as to gain suitable instruction and influence from them. Mr. Slack could see the consequences of conduct like his in other people, but did not consider them in his own case. If he had looked forward, and considered what must be the effects of his loose, vague manner of living, he would have shuddered at the thought of being the occasion of ruin and distress to his family. He was not destitute of regard to his wife, nor of affection for his children; and yet he pursued practices directly tending to their ruin, and which, in their consequences, not only reduced them to the utmost distress, but disqualified his children for life. In order to prepare children to live in the world, it is necessary to train them up in the knowledge of business, and in the habits of industry; [Page] but if examples of a contrary nature are set before them, all instruction is vain and useless. Childhood and youth may be considered as a term of apprenticeship in which they are to be exercised in those employments whereby they are to live. They are not only to be made acquainted with business as a practical science, but to be taught self government, and to be trained to the exercise of all those amiable qualities whereby they will become good and agreeable, useful and happy.

Farmer Worthy appeared to have a just sense of these things upon his mind, and endeavored to practice accordingly. His views were not confined merely to the tillage of the land, but he devoted his mind to more rational objects, the care of his family, and his own immortal interest. Indeed, he attended to the cultivation of the earth as a professional calling, which he deemed an honorable occupation, because necessary to man; and as it was the employment of Adam in innocence. He felt his dependence upon the Providence of God for every thing he enjoyed, and never failed to seek his blessing upon all his endeavors. But the education of his children was a matter that lay with great wait upon his mind. When he looked [Page] around and saw how little attention many farmers paid to the minds of their children, he was shocked at the idea of having his children grow up with minds so uncultivated. He would compare them to the forest that remains in its rude state without cultivation. He thought it the indispensible duty of every parent to cultivate the minds of his children in knowledge and in the principles of virtue. This duty he endeavored to practise in an uniform manner. In order to do it most effectually, he studied very attentively the different tempers and dispositions of his children, and endeavored to govern them accordingly. This difference of disposition appears at an early period, and any extremes ought to be corrected whenever an opportunity occurs. In a domestic state, opportunities are frequently occurring. It is but to watch those with care, and the work is done. Mr. Worthy seems to have had a rational scheme of managing his children, which he had digested well in his own mind; and which may be reduced to the following maxims, or leading principles of education.

First impressions on the senses produce lasting effects on the mind. They should therefore be such as will be favorable to virtue.

[Page] Children, when very young, are taught by signs. These should be such as to convey the best impressions—Look grieved, not angry, at their bad actions—joyful at their good ones, and compassionate at their troubles or pains.

To imitate others is a natural propensity in childhood—teach them to avoid danger, by avoiding it yourselves—remove fear where there is no danger, by coolness and cheerfulness—accustom them from infancy to go in the dark, and they will never be affraid of it.

Those are their worst enemies, who talk to children of ghosts, and apparitions, &c.—Suffer no such person to tarry in your house.

Stubbornness is an attempt to usurp their authority. Let it be subdued by a steady tone of voice and manner of treatment. If the child will not eat what is offered, let it have nothing, hunger will bring it to. If it refuses to do as bidden, deprive it of a favorite thing.

To hear frequent complaints from children, tends to beget jealousies and ill will among them.—If then you would preserve harmony between them, suffer them not to complain one of another.

[Page] Indulge not your children to excess—this would be giving them the authority over you, that you should preserve over them.

Cruelty to insects and animals generates cruelty to men—correct this disposition with care—say with concern, "poor thing, it is capable of feeling pain as well as you, how would you like to be tortured so?"

In the life they are just beginning they will be exposed to many accidental evils—early enure them to bear these with firmness. "A young Spartan who had been trained to this, suffered a fox which he had stolen, to eat into his bowels rather than disclose the theft."

Industry and virtue are as nearly allied as industry and riches. Let the plays of children be connected with industry—give sons a spot to till for their own amusement and profit—to daughters, a little bed in the garden, or a lamb to bring up for themselves; and by various other ways unite industry and economy with amusement.

Industry preserves good humor.—Let childhood be occupied with some employment—nothing has a better effect on the disposition, or better fits them for usefulness and enjoyment in life.

[Page] Idleness begets ill nature and peevishness. It is the parent of many vices—cure children of this disposition by active diversions, and by making industry necessary to their subsistence. "He that will not work, let him not eat."

Benevolence is the basis of many good and amiable qualities—Let this be cherished by example, and by every method of encouraging charity in children. The practice of doing good cannot fail of improving a benevolent disposition.

To be kind and beneficent, is to imitate the greatest of all beings.—Convince your children that they cannot be more honorably employed than in relieving the indigent, not only with money, but by many kind offices.

The happiness of our present state depends much on the treatment we receive from others, and as we give we may expect to receive—fail not then to teach your children civility to all, poor as well as rich.

"Knowledge, said a great man, is as grateful to the understanding, as light to the eyes."—Discourage not the curiosity of your children, but encourage their inquiries after knowledge.

The appetites and desires of children gather strength by indulgence. They will [Page] soon become tyrants if too often gratified; but will make useful subjects under due regulation—restrain them by authority when quite young, and as reason dawns explain to them the folly of unrestrained indulgence.

Habits of integrity will make children trust worthy.—Would you have your children faithful to a trust, early commit things to them in confidence, and require a faithful account.

A frank disposition is as beautiful in character as it is useful in society—gain the confidence of children by gentle treatment, and they will not think of dissembling.

Children feel unhappy when they have committed a fault, until they confess it. Let a confession procure pardon, they will confess to relieve their minds; this will lessen the number of their faults, and increase their confidence in their parents.

Children are apt to think that happiness consists in a fine house or in riches.—To cure this error point out instances to the contrary, and show them that the heart is the seat of happiness, and that no one can be unhappy who is contented with his lot.

Selfishness* is a low mean vice, to which many children are prone, and which grows [Page] for want of care.—If your child discovers this disposition, oblige it to give away what it is fondest of; and when it can understand, represent man as a social creature, liable to common wants and having in some respects a community of interests—speak of selfishness as a contracted spirit altogether unworthy of a rational being.

Of all the passions, anger is the most mischevious, and most difficult of restraint—Let children be early taught, and by example too, to moderate this passion, to impose silence on themselves till they can reflect, to consider that what is said in a passion is never prudent, seldom just.

Justice in dealing is a duty of such universal obligation, that it cannot be too early imprest on the mind. Yours and mine is early heard among children; show them how mutual justice arises out of these claims, and habituate them to the practice of that excellent rule—"whatsoever ye would that others should do unto you, do ye even so unto them."

Morals inspired by religion, is like a body animated by a soul—early impress the mind with sentiments of piety.

God is the first object of all religious regard—just sentiments of him are requisite [Page] to render religion a reasonable service. Children should have their minds seasonably impressed with ideas of his goodness to them—that he is their friend and heavenly father—that they should pray to, and praise him, and that they should do his will by doing all the good they can. Tell them that he is every where present, and that nothing can be hid from him. Let him always be described as the most benevolent of all beings, and that whatsoever he does, it is all for the good of his creatures—that he is a friend to the good, an enemy only to the wicked.

Love to God and love to man are the great principles which comprehend all the duties we owe our maker and our fellow creatures—inspire their minds with those principles, and they will not be bigots to any modes of religion; their religion will consist in the joint exercise of charity with piety, and of morality with devotion. This will be an honorable evidence that they are the true disciples of Christ. Teach them to observe outward ordinances in obedience to the will of God, and that he who does that sincerely will be accepted.

Let children grow up in the habit of doing good, and of being religious, because [Page] God commands it; and they will always have a reason at hand for avoiding sin and doing their duty.

The same reason (it is the will of God) will teach them patience in adversity, and submission to the evils of life, and help them to derive consolation from the consciousness of such pious sentiments.

As a support to their minds in their present condition, lead their thoughts to a state of immortality—teach them that as they live but to die, so they die but to live.

This doctrine can only be ascertained by revelation. To this they should be led as soon as reason can comprehend something of the subject.

"Christianity, said a writer of great eminence, claims our attention on several accounts—it is the religion of our fathers—it has a show of evidence—if it be true, it is a truth of high concern.

"Many of the objections to christianity are owing to misrepresentation of it. Let the testament be consulted. Does it ascribe to God a character worthy the creator of the universe and father of men? Does it clear and extend the view of wisdom and benevolence? Does it make the way to communion with him more plain and pleasant?

[Page] "Is the appointment of a mediator analogous to the ways of divine providence, expressive of divine condescension, and suited to human nature? Is it consoling to the heart under a sense of guilt, to be assured of pardon? Does moral excellence, made perfect by suffering, seem to be a sacrifice which God will accept? Is it natural to the mind of man to feel admiration and love at the view of moral excellence, and yield to its transforming influence?

"Take a view of man in his low estate. Think if it be godlike to send glad tidings to the poor—if it be godlike to console the miserable, and if the sympathy of an affectionate and powerful friend be a strong consolation. Man is mortal, and he passed before us through death, not with an awful sensibility which leaves the unfeeling heart behind.

"Does the doctrine of a resurrection fall in with our predilection for these bodies, and open as it were to the eyes of sense the prospect of immortality? and does the doctrine of judgment accord with the natural feelings that we are accountable?

"Do the sufferings of Christ, and the glory which followed, illustrate and ratify [Page] his important doctrine of a state of trial preparatory to a state of retribution?

"Judge Christianity by its effects. Does it kindle love to God and love to man, and establish the authority of conscience, and reconcile you to their lot?

"If your child be satisfied that Christ is a teacher sent from God, and is willing to be his disciple, it is meet to confess him before men. The celebration of his death is a proper testimony of regard. Such a benefactor deserves to be had in everlasting remembrance.

"The hearts of the young, when first introduced to communion with the faithful, are accessible and soft. Parents might avail themselves of this season to reveal their dedication to God, to explain the wisdom and love through which they have been made to pass, to foretel its influence on their future conduct, to anticipate the time when that conduct shall be judged, and to devolve the care of it on themselves."

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CHAP. XVII. Anecdote of little Joseph—Story of Robert and Hugh Hamilton—the good character and prosperity of the former, and the badness and misfortunes of the other.

AFTER so much dry matter, I think a story founded on fact, which Mr. Worthy promised little Joseph upon a certain occasion, will be acceptable to the young reader. If properly regarded, it will be serviceable to him also. The occasion of this promise was this. Mr. Worthy's little son Joseph, as he was at play with some little boys, heard one of them, who was a new comer into the place, speak bad words; and when his brother told him that he would tell his master if he did not leave off speaking such wicked words, this bad boy replied, that "he did not care for his master. He would play truant when he had a mind to." This speech so shocked the mind of little Joseph, that he ran directly home and told his mother that he would not play with Billy Hiller any more, because he spoke bad words, [Page] and was a very wicked boy. Mrs. Worthy was so pleased with this piece of conduct in her little son that she related every circumstance of it to Mr. Worthy as soon as he came home. He called Joseph a good boy for doing as he had done, and as a reward for his good conduct told him, that he would relate to him a story of two boys, which would show him the happy effects of behaving well, and the fatal conscequences of being wicked when young. But as the story was something lengthy and it was now time for Joseph to go to bed, Mr. Worthy told him that he would reserve it till the next evening. This delay was a great trial to Joseph's patience, for his curiosity was greatly raised. But being accustomed to obedience, he went directly to bed without any marks of impatience. The next evening Mr. Worthy, who was always careful to fulfil his promises to his children, took care to be at home in such season as to discharge his engagement to Joseph before his bed time. No sooner was Mr. Worthy seated in the house than Joseph reminded his daddy of his promise, and he immediately related as follows.

In the town where Mr. Belmont lives, there lived, not many years ago, a gentleman by the name of Hamilton. This gentleman came [Page] over from Scotland and got a great estate by trading in that town. He had several children, but lost them all except two sons. Their names were Robert and Hugh. Their parents were so affraid that something would happen to deprive them of these, that they had scarcely any comfort, and watched over them with great care. They were so fond of them also, that they indulged them in every thing that they wished for. They never could see any fine thing but they wanted it; and then it must be bought for them. "O daddy, cried Joseph, I wish I could have all I want, I would soon have such a fine gold laced hat as Mrs. Belmont said her little George has got, and such a little sword too as she said he had." "Stay Jose, said Mr. Worthy, hear how they came out before you wish for such foolish things." Robert, tho naturally a good tempered boy, was much injured by being so much indulged. He would frequently be out of humor, but was very fond of his book, and had a great desire to learn. It was by means of this that his parents were able to keep him steady at school. But Hugh, who was naturally cross, was very troublesome and unmannerly. He hated his books and did not care whether he learnt to read or not. He [Page] often played truant. His parents did not correct him for it; nor would they suffer his master to do it. He grew worse and worse, till he would speak all manner of bad words, and fight with the boys, and made every body hate or despise him. At last his master became quite tired of being troubled with such an illnatured base boy, and desired his father to send him somewhere else, for he could do nothing with him. This was a dreadful trouble to his parents. But they were obliged to send him to a school in the country, where they hoped he would do better. They began now to see their error in indulging him too much, and endeavored to be more strict with him. He behaved better for a little while, but they indulged him in coming home too often. In short, he was so bad a boy that no body loved him where he now was. He was so fretful and ill natured that he made more enemies than friends. When Mr. Hamilton found he did not learn, he blamed the master, and threatened to remove his son to another place. This was very good news to the master, and to all the scholars, for he was very troublesome to both, and would not attend to his book; and always chose to play with the worst boys that he could find, [Page] because their wickedness afforded him some countenance.

In the mean time Robert was very studious, and learnt so well that he got before most of the boys of his own age. He behaved so mannerly and pleasant to every body, that every one who knew him loved him, and spoke well of him. This was a great comfort to his parents; but the conduct of Hugh gave them great pain. When they had arrived at such an age as to be put to business, Robert was put to a merchant in the same town, where he continued to recommend himself by his good conduct. But what to do with Hugh they knew not. At last they received a letter from an uncle of his in Scotland, who was of the same name. This gentleman informed Mr. Hamilton that he had just buried his only son; and understanding that he had one of the same name, he had written for him to come over and live with him. This appeared to be a fine opening both to new motives to behave well, and to be made an heir to a great estate. Hugh was accordingly sent to his uncle; but he was soon surprised and mortified to find what a dunce he was. He was still more vexed when he discovered him to be an ill natured, mischievous and wicked [Page] boy. Indeed, it was some time before his uncle discovered how base and vicious a lad he was, for he continued a good while to deceive him; but at last threw off all restraint. He kept the worst company he could find, was frequently out all night, drinking and gaming, and at all the vilest houses that there was. Thus did Hugh conduct tho' his uncle offered to do every thing for him if he would behave well, that he would not only make him a man a business but give him a great part of his estate. But he had grown so hardened and abandoned that he cared not for any thing that could be said. Mr. Hamilton, hearing of the ill conduct of his son, wrote to him repeatedly to endeavor to reclaim him, and make him behave well.—"I am sure, said Charles, he must be a very wicked boy indeed, daddy, if neither his uncle, money, nor his father's commands, could make him better." Yes, my son, continued Mr. Worthy, but it is no more strange than true, nothing could reclaim him, he had become so bad, and was so much under the influence of his base companions. This conduct of a son, so tenderly beloved, broke his mother's heart; and his father was so affected by her death and his conduct, both together, that [Page] his health began to decline, and before Hugh was twenty one years old his father died, leaving the most of his estate to Robert. This train of events seemed to have a good effect on Hugh for a little while, which gave his uncle so much hope of his reformation that he gave him five hundred pounds to do business with; but his bad companions soon made him spend it all. He came over to America not long after this, for his uncle would have no more to do with him.

Robert had all this time been improving his mind, and had began to encrease his estate considerably. He was esteemed more and more by those who knew him, both for his good nature and his honesty. Indeed he was good and kind to every body, and helped poor folks all he could. It was in this prosperous state of Robert's affairs, that Hugh arrived in America. His pride was too great to suffer him to go directly to his brother for assistance. He therefore went to his old practice of gaming; but with such poor success that he soon lost the few shillings that he had. His brother knew nothing of his return yet.—"O no, I dare say he did not know it, daddy, said, the little Mary, who had been all this time listening [Page] with great attention, for if he had known how poor he was he would have given him something tho' he was wicked."—Yes, my dear, said Mr. Worthy, he certainly would, for people must have something to live upon if they are bad, that they may have opportunity to grow better."—This poor unhappy creature was now reduced to the last farthing, and knew not which way to turn to get any thing to eat. In this dreadful condition he thought he would go and make himself known to his brother, who he knew had plenty of every thing. But he determined to try his luck once more, at one of those low houses where wicked people resort to game and drink and carouse all night. He had not been here long before he had a dreadful quarrel with one of his wicked companions, his spirits being raised by liquor. They soon went from words to blows, but his antagonist was too mighty for him and gave him such a bruising that he ran into the street, and cried out murder! murder! Robert, who happened to be passing in that part of the town, just at this time, hearing this outcry, went that way, and seeing several people rush out of the house, he seized the first person he could catch, and draged him to a light. [Page] He was so dirty and bloody that Robert did not know who he was, nor did he once think that his brother was in this country. But as soon as they came to the light, Hugh knew him, by a mark across his chin by the kick of a horse when he was a child, and instantly cried out, Oh my brother, my brother!—Robert was surprised to hear the voice of his brother Hugh, which he perfectly recollected, tho he had not seen him for many years. He took him immediately to his house, and sent for a surgeon to dress his wounds. He soon got well of those by the great care and tenderness of his brother. His kindness had a good effect on Hugh for a while, and he was in hope that it might reform him.—"Did not he grow good, daddy, said the little Joseph, after his brother was so good to him?"—"You will hear presently my son, replied Mr. Worthy, what effect it had upon him; but I can assure you Jose, that if it is hard making bad boys become good, it is still harder making bad men become better, because they have been bad so long, that they can hardly ever be turned away from their bad courses, and therefore it is very dangerous being bad boys."

[Page] "Mr. Robert Hamilton was doing a great deal of business at this time, and wanted an assistant. He told his brother Hugh that he he should be welcome to continue in his house; and that he would give him good wages if he would forsake his wicked companions, and be steady to business. He seemed pleased with the offer, and promised fair. His brother furnished him with good clothes, and some money. But it was not long before he returned to his old ways, and became worse than ever. His brother often talked to him about his conduct, advised him to have more regard to his reputation, to consider the consequences of his conduct both in this world and in that which is to come. He would not regard the good advice of his brother nor any of his friends, but became tired of their dry preaching, as he called it, and determined to return to Scotland again, in hopes that his uncle, who was now dead, had left him some part of his estate. He embarked on board a ship as a private hand. They had a bad storm on the passage, when they thought that every soul would have pershed. Hugh was in dreadful distress, and reproached himself bitterly for his conduct, which had driven him away from a place where he might have been very happy. The storm [Page] abated, and the sea was again calm; but the storm in his mind continued, and he was terribly agitated to think what a life he had lived. His trouble was renewed, and encreased several days afterwards, for when they had gotten near to the place where they were going, a worse storm than the other arose, and it being very dark the ship struck the rocks, and poor Hugh Hamilton was dashed to pieces among them." Joseph's little heart was ready to burst at the conclusion of the story; and he said he was resolved never to play with Billy Hiller any more.

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CHAP. XVIII. Mr. Worthy purchases books for his children—cultivates tenderness and sensibility of heart—an affecting story of Jimmy the Rover.

FARMER Worthy used to say in the circle of his neighbors, "we farmers know that the ground must be tilled, and good seed must be sown, if we expect to reap a crop. The same thing is true, said he, of our children. If we expect them to bear good fruit when they are grown up, we must give them good instruction, and govern them well now, while the seeds of future conduct are sowing in their hearts." The observation was very just and well applied. He accordingly took care to use various methods of instructing and impressing the minds of his children with virtuous principles. The method which he found most pleasing, as well as useful, was to furnish them with books containing stories of a moral tendency. These, he observed, often left deep impressions on the mind, because they interest [Page] the feelings of the heart, while the narrative inclines them to read. He therefore never begrudged the money he laid out for books, but purchased many. From these he could collect a variety of useful and entertaining stories, suited to the different ages of his children. These he would sometimes read to them, sometimes cause them to read; and at other times would repeat such stories as had come to his knowledge, which had a tendency to take hold of the heart. To these narratives his children would listen with great attention. Sometimes the tear of sensibility would steal down their little cheeks at the tale of woe. At other times their hearts would dilate with joy, and the eye sparkle with pleasure on a change of the scene. By taking hold of their fine feelings in this manner, the heart was preparing for the discharge of that great christian precept—"Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep them that do weep."

One evening, as several of the children returned from a visit to a neighbor's children at some distance, they found their father reclining on the settle which stood near the kitchen door, much fatigued with the labor of the day. They flocked around him, eager to relate what they had seen. That [Page] which had excited their curiosity most of all, was the pranks, and strange talk of one Peggy Cummin, an Irish girl, who lived at Mr. Spencer's where they had been. Peggy had been a girl of good character, but being visited by a young man who wickedly pretended that he was very fond of her, and as soon as he could get into a way to live, would marry her, she inadvertently gave way to his insinuations, and then he left her in a situation truly deplorable. This took such deep hold on her mind that she became delirious, and the town engaged Mr. Spencer to take care of Peggy and her child. The children seemed greatly affected at the sight of her, and could hardly tell how she talked, and acted, and sobbed, without shedding tears. When Mr. Worthy had heard them out, he said that if he were not so very much fatigued, he would relate to them the story of Jimmy the Rover, who run crazy, and lived in the cave of Vanhine, in the back parts of Pennsylvania. He told them, however, that they must be patient with him till the next evening, and then he would gratify them with his affecting story.

The next evening, being reminded of his promise, he related the following account of James Mackormick, who came to this country [Page] to seek his fortune. "He was industrious, and prospered so well that he married a very worthy deserving girl, who had lived sometime with Mrs. Vanhime, a very charitable gentlewoman, who lived in a little town on the banks of the Delaware. He afterwards removed to another part of the country, where he hoped to do better for himself, than where he then was. He succeeded quite well for some time, but meeting with several misfortunes, and his family fast encreasing, he got involved, and the heirs of his creditor, who happened to die about this time, thrust him into a loathsome jail. This happened at a time when his wife was ill, and in consequence of it became very dangerously sick. She went beside herself, and died not long after. To her death followed the death of his two youngest children, one of them but an infant. These misfortunes drove him into a state of distraction, and they released him from confinement. He said, "I have no home—the earth is my home. I will go up and down in it, till I find a cave where human foot will not come." He stiled himself Jimmy the Rover. He wandered about from place to place, with his two remaining children, whom he called Venona and Penelope.—At length, in his [Page] wanderings, he discovered a deep cave under some rocks. This was not a very great distance from the place where he had married his lovely Sylvia, as he always called his wife, when he spoke of her. Here he determined to take up his abode. He called it the cave of Vanhime, after the name of the gentlewoman with whom his wife had lived. The pass into this cave was narrow. It was only large enough to contain him and his two children, and his faithful dog, who had long been the companion of his poverty. He would frequently wander all day about in the woods, while the children went to the little town not far off, to beg some provision for their poor old daddy and themselves. In the night they would lodge by their hapless father." "What, stay there all night daddy, said Henry?" "Yes, I believe they did, said the little Joseph. I am sure I would not leave my daddy alone if he was poor and sick." "nor I neither, said Dorcas," "nor I, nor I, said they all."—Venona and Penelope were dutiful children, continued Mr. Worthy, and could not be persuaded to leave him. One day they went to the place where the gentlewoman lived, that I mentioned before, not knowing any thing of her themselves, but the dog knew her, though [Page] he had not been that way for many years. She inquired their names, and found their place of retirement. This good lady furnished them with many necessaries, and asked them if they would come and live with her. They thanked her, but said their daddy would be left alone if they did, and they could not leave him.—"Good children, said the good lady, you must take good care of your daddy." She sent for him to come to her house. He came, but was not to be persuaded out of his way of life. The small pox came about. His two children caught it. They were carried to an hospital—they died—he saw them gasping for breath—yes, he saw them expire—he wrung his hands—he could not speak—he could not shed a tear, his heart was too full.

After his children were buried, he visited their graves daily. Here he poured out tears and lamentations to no purpose. Curso, his dog, always accompanied him in these gloomy visits. "Curso, said Jimmy, will never leave me." His spirits began to fail him. He grew melancholy, and seldom went further than the little town on the margin of the river. He would look at the river and say, "so runs life as the water flows down." He called on Mrs. Vanhime. She would [Page] have relieved him, but he would give to his dog whatever she gave him for his own subsistence. Curso was unfortunately killed by an ill natured man who did not care whom he injured, nor how much he tortured animals. This was the last stroke that could befal poor Jimmy the Rover. He betook himself to his cabin. Mrs. Vanhime kindly visited him. She wept with him as he tried to relate his troubles—he grew more rational and calm. She offered him some nourishment—he would have taken it, but nature was too much exhausted. He said to her, with a serene countenance, "Madam, I thank you for your goodness—you have been kind to me—you was so to my dear Sylvia—she is gone, I am going—God is just—we shall both be happy." Having spoke this, he expired without a groan.

When Mr. Worthy had finished this narrative he looked round and saw all his little audience in tears; and pleasantly said to them, that though they might weep at the troubles and distresses of poor Jimmy; yet they had reason to rejoice in the happy exchange he made, by dying in so calm a manner. This composed them in a good measure; and a little affair took place soon after, which gave birth to new instructions, [Page] while it showed, how easily the passions will change their ground, and with what care they ought therefore to be watched, as we shall see in the next chapter.

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CHAP XIX. A little rupture takes place in the family—Mrs. Worthy interferes and bears testimony against angry passions—their dangerous tendency illustrated in the story of Cate Smithers.

AFFECTING as the story of Jimmy the Rover was, a little affair took place not long after, which occasioned a rupture between the two youngest sisters. This contest was about a trifle, indeed; but they discovered so much anger that Mrs. Worthy interposed, and by her prudent management soon settled the dispute. They looked very much ashamed, when they come to think what they had been doing, and would gladly have gone out of sight of the family. But Mrs. Worthy said to them, in an affectionate manner, I perceive you are both ashamed of your folly, and I am glad to see it. I pity you because you punish yourselves. Had you, my dear, addressing herself to the elder of the two contending sisters, given way to your little sister's humor, there [Page] would have been propriety in your conduct. You would have shown that being older, you were wiser also. Then turning to the younger she said, My father used to say—"He that gives a blow does not begin an affray, but he that returns it."—If you had given up what you thought was your's, when your sister contended for it, you would have shown that you had a mind superior to her, though you are younger. I hope, continued Mrs. Worthy, that neither of you will be guilty of the same folly any more; and added, that the fate of Cate Smithers was enough to convince any body of the folly and danger of indulging angry passions. She lived in a town where my father used to be called on business sometimes; and I will take an opportunity to tell it to you as he used to do to us."

Mr. Worthy was all this time silent, but was much pleased with what his wife said on this occasion, and also with the manner in which she treated the subject. But as Mrs. Worthy had undertaken to root out this vicious passion, he did not interfere. She accordingly took a favorable opportunity to relate to her children what her father had formerly told to his family of one Cate Smithers, a remarkable ill natured girl, who [Page] made herself and every body about her unhappy, by means of her ill humor and angry passions. As her children were all around her one evening, when the moon shone bright and the air was remarkably serene, supper being just cleared away, she related the following circumstances concerning her.

Cate, said Mrs. Worthy, was not only an only daughter, but an only child. Her fond mother would not suffer her to be contradicted in any thing. Cate was not very good humored naturally, but her temper and disposition were made ten times worse by indulgence. Being always used to have every thing give way to her humor, she could not bear any inconvenience or contradiction. She would fly into a most violent passion if she could not have every thing she wanted. When she was quite a child, if she fell down, her mother would beat the floor. This taught her to revenge, and to strike and kick every thing that stood in the way. She could not look pretty because her spirits were so often stirred up by every trifle, that she looked sour and cross. So that Cate Smithers, who might have been very handsome, was very homely, by reason of her being so often angry; and no body liked her. She was forever fretting and complaining. Every [Page] thing appeared wrong to her because she was not right herself. Her anger would take fire on every trivial occasion, and she kept the house most of the time in a broil. This was a great trouble to her mother; but her passions had now so got the upper hand, that there was no stopping them. At length her doating mother began to find her health decline. The weight of evils brought upon her by the ill humor of Cate, made her grow worse and worse.—"O mamma, said Margrett, what a wicked girl must she be to afflict her poor mother so?" "Girls are always naughty, said Mrs. Worthy, when they afflict their mothers by any bad conduct, especially by indulging themselves in anger." Margrett felt the reproof and said no more. "Cate's mother, continued Mrs. Worthy, fell under the weight of those evils. She died, lamenting that her poor unhappy daughter had not died at the breast.

What would not Cate have given now that she could undo the evil she had occasioned? She was left without a friend in the world. She was hated by all who lived in the house; but did not long survive her mother to suffer the wretchedness of her condition in this world. It was very difficult [Page] with all her money, of which she had enough, to prevail with any nurse to take care of her in her last sickness, because she was so often angry with them. No body regretted▪ her death. Not a tear was shed at her grave; and the only benefit her memory can be to the world is to warn every body against indulging angry passions."

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CHAP. XX. Falshood detected and reproved—instances of the disadvantages of it in Henry Bramble and Jane Barnwell.

IT was by these gentle and instructive measures, that Mrs. Worthy settled the little disputes which at any time arose in the family; so that there was no noise or tumult, as is the case in many families when a little jarring takes place between the children, which will be the case in all families. Mr. Worthy guarded the morals of his children with equal care, and when he discovered a disposition in any of them to violate the truth, or to be unfaithful, he endeavored to make them ashamed of it. He had been abroad on a certain occasion for a few days, and on his return home he found some mischief had been done. When he came to inquire into it, he discovered a disposition in one of his sons, whom he supposed was in fault, to evade the truth; and though he did not tell a positive falshood, yet he attempted to deceive. This was very displeasing to Mr. [Page] Worthy, who always practised and enjoined the strictest integrity. He ceased therefore to inquire any further into the matter for the present; but took an early opportunity to speak to his children on the importance of speaking the truth. He dwelt on the baseness of all attempts to deceive. "An attempt to make another believe what was not true, he said, constituted the crime of falshood, and was very offensive to him who knows every thing that passes in the human heart." He spoke with such warmth, and great indignation, on the subject of deceiving, by which he said he meant falshood, that it was not long before the guilty boy discovered his guilt by blushing, and an evident perturbation of mind. When Mr. Worthy spoke so pointedly of the baseness of lying, and of its dangerous tendency both in this world and in that which is to come; he could not help discovering an uneasiness that marked him to be the guilty one. "I am glad," said Mr. Worthy, addressing himself to him—"I am glad to perceive this confusion which a consciousness of your guilt has thrown you into."—The lad burst into tears, and confessed the fact.—Mr. Worthy ceased to say any thing more directly to him. But went on to observe to his children, that [Page] "to speak the truth, always was noble and honorable; that truth was like good coin, it would pass every where; and that falsehood was like counterfeit money that would soon be detected, and would not pass any where."

This truth, he said, might be established by many instances; but one he particularly alluded to was, the unfortunate Henry Bramble, who suffered so much from the habit of telling falsehoods that he was obliged to leave it off for his own safety. One day as he passed his father's field, he saw a number of cattle breaking into it. He ran to call some boys, who were going to the river to swim, to assist him in driving them out; but the boys would not go, saying "we don't believe a word of it; he is only going to make fools of us." He continued to say that it was true, and persisted in it with so much earnestness that at last he prevailed on them to go with him, but he had been so long in gaining credit with them, that the cattle had nearly destroyed the corn. He suffered great disadvantage on several accounts; for he became so notoriously bad at length, that his master could not believe one word he said, and forbid the boys of the school to play with him. This made him ashamed of himself, and seemed to effect some reformation; [Page] but that which brought him to be sensible of the danger of such practices was the conduct of John Briggs, a stout boy, who was offended at Henry for some falsehoods he had told about him. John took the opportunity to waylay Henry as he was going to school, and gave him a sound flogging. Henry was no match for John, and therefore did not attempt to return the blows, but threatened to tell the master—"Tell him, tell him, says John, if you dare, and he will flog you for lying."—John took the advantage of this part of Henry's character to gratify his revenge upon him several times. Henry bore it with as much patience as he could, for some time. At last he made complaint to his father of the abuses he received from John Briggs. Henry's father went to John's parents to complain of the abuses his son received. Without ever inquiring into the truth of the case, they told him that "there was no believing one word that Henry said." This was indeed a very painful reply, but it was all he could get; and John continued beating Henry till he had obtained full satisfaction for the injury he had received from him. After this Henry grew more cautious of speaking falsehood; and continued to tell the truth till he recovered [Page] his character, and found by his own experience, that truth was not only more natural and easy, but also more pleasing and delightful than falsehood." He also reminded them of the story of Jane Barnwel, who was always inventing false stories. If she had broken any thing, she would lay it to the cat or the dog, if it were any mischief that they could do, and they were beaten for her faults. Sometimes she would lay it to the servants, and they must suffer for her falsehoods. This made them hate her, and she was despised by all who knew her, for such conduct.

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CHAP. XXI. The generosity of Charles toward Edward Fleming, who had injured him.—Mr. Worthy's conduct on this occasion, a good model for imitation.

NOTHING could be more pleasing to Mr. Worthy or to his wife, than to see their children avoiding those vices which tarnish human nature, and acting on those good principles which they had instilled into their minds. How highly then must they have been gratified at the generous conduct of their son Charles, toward Edward Fleming, who was a very great rogue, and lived in the same town. He was called Rogue Ned, by all the boys, on account of his being full of roguish tricks. His mother was a widow, and unable to manage him. It was a great grief to her that he did not incline to learn at school, nor to go with her to public worship. This boy was about the age of Charles Worthy, who was a lad of a noble, generous mind, and scorned a little thing. Though Ned sometimes treated [Page] him basely, and stole his things, yet Charles never troubled his mother with any complaints against him. One day as Charles was passing where Ned was throwing stones and playing the fool, he threw a stone at Charles, probably not with an intention to injure him, but to gratify his roguish humor. The stone however struck him near the temple, and though the wound was not deep, yet it bled profusely, and gave him some pain. Charles hurried home, and coming in all bloody, affrighted his mother exceedingly. But Charles endeavored to make light of it, and said, "he did not think that Ned meant to hurt him; and he did not doubt but it would soon be well," and so it proved.

It happened not long after this affair, that, as Charles was passing a piece of woods on his way to mill, he heard a sudden outcry, and a rattling among the limbs of the trees. He was frighted at first, but hearing somebody call, as if in distress, he jumped from his horse and ran towards the place, where he found Ned in a dreadful situation. This arch rogue was sent on an errand by his mother, but instead of going as he was directed, he went after bird's eggs. In this wicked departure from his duty, he met with this disaster, for having ventured too far out upon [Page] a limb after a bird's nest, the limb broke and down came the hapless boy much to his injury. Charles, like a humane, tender hearted lad, showed great concern for his misfortune, and with much difficulty helped him to get upon his own horse, and carried him home to his mother. Mrs. Fleming was so affected with the situation of her undutiful son, and with the generosity of Charles, that she well nigh fainted away. The afflicted mother could not help exclaiming, "This is really doing good for evil." On Charles's arrival home he related what had passed, and in the most compassionate strain begged his father to send something for the relief of the poor woman, and for Ned too. Mr. Worthy highly applauded this generous conduct of his son; and assured him that to do good for evil, was the best retaliation in the world; and that the consciousness of having done a benevolent action, would always be the best cordial for every painful sensation.

Agreeably to Mr. Worthy's usual practice, when he knew of any one in distress, he went to see what assistance Mrs. Fleming needed, and to visit the wicked boy, in hopes of making some good impressions on his mind, by means of his bodily sufferings. Mr. Worthy had [Page] tried before to reclaim him, but his attempts had hitherto been in vain. In hopes that he could now soften his heart, he carried him some comforting things, such as his present state required. His goodness was received with gratitude by Mrs. Fleming. She was loud in the praises of his son Charles, and said she would give the world if Edward possessed the same temper. Mr. Worthy took the opportunity to say many things to him on the subject of being dutiful to his mother, and of behaving well to every body. After saying what he thought proper to Edward, he returned home. It was on this occasion that his heart overflowed with gratitude to heaven for the domestic blessings he enjoyed; for when he came in, he found Mrs. Worthy surrounded by her children, who were employed in working or reading. He offered up an ejaculation at the pleasing sight, and blest the God of the families of the earth, for his unspeakable goodness in granting him so many lovely and dutiful children. Seating himself in the midst of his domestic circle, he spoke to them concerning the duty and pleasure of humanity and charity. "What pleasure, says he, does it afford, to relieve our fellow creatures in distress, to see their sorrow turned into joy? [Page] The duty, he observed, was founded in the common nature of man, and their common relation to the Creator, and the necessity of discharging it, he said, arose from the liableness all are in to the same disasters." He particularly mentioned that "this was a duty that should be exercised not only to friends and acquaintance, but to all without distinction. However disagreeable others may be to us, or however unthankful, yet when troubles come upon them, we are bound to pity and relieve them."

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CHAP. XXII. Containing Mr. Worthy's observations on tenderness to animals—an instance of the fatal effects of cruelty—also, of the strength of affection in some animals.

THE transition from humanity, to tenderness to animals, is so easy and natural, that Mr. Worthy renewed the subject, after being interrupted a while, and observed that tenderness to animals was connected with generosity and humanity. It is, said he, an old saying, that—"a merciful man will be merciful to his beast." This is a duty that we can't get rid of, for the scriptures command us to be followers of God as his children. Since our heavenly father takes care of the young ravens, of all the animal creation, and provides them with the necessaries for their subsistence, we ought to imitate his goodness by being kind and tender towards them. They and we, continued Mr. Worthy, are his creatures, both dependent on him for the continuance and preservation of life; and, if we have any claim of [Page] superiority to them, we should always show it by imitating their and our common Creator in tender usage and kind treatment."

These observations and many others of a like nature, which Mr. Worthy made, were very just, and showed him to be a man who thought and reflected a great deal; they were founded in nature, and were agreeable to the scripture. Other animals only think of themselves; but man is allowed to retrace the image that God first implanted in him. He feels the warmth of devotion, of which the animals appear to have no sense. He feels a generous love unfelt by them. Every part of creation affords an exercise for virtue, and consequently a source of pleasure to him.—Insects, birds, and animals, all enjoy what their beneficent Creator gives them. As they receive their existence and support from the same fountain from which we derive our's, it must be our duty to avoid hurting them, to thank him for what we receive, and to imitate him in doing good.

Then shall we prove that we are sincere, when we pray to him; but we only affront him when we pray to him, and do not strive to imitate his perfections, which he every where displays for our imitation, that we [Page] may grow better and happier. Mr. Worthy, who had treasured up many useful observations from his own knowledge, as well as many anecdotes from books, observed that "at Mr. [...]'s they seem to take pleasure in tormenting every thing that falls in their way. Those must surely have a bad heart who can delight in such things, in hurting and afflicting every creature that comes within their power. Such people can't be capable of much humanity. Indeed, continued Mr. Worthy, I have either read or heard of a man who was punished in his own way for indulging this base temper. He not only practised cruelty to animals to a high degree, but also on his own family. He seemed to delight in nothing so much as in tantalizing them, and seeing them miserable. He neglected the education of his children, and was an example of cruelty before them. The consequence was, that when he became old and unable to help himself, they neglected him. He grew old and feeble, but found no relief nor support from them; nay, they had no pity for him. He went staggering about under the weight of his infirmities, which were the effect of his vices, especially his cruelty, till at length he fell [Page] into a ditch, and expired in a most miserable condition.

"The strength of affection that appears in some animals toward their young, Mr. Worthy further observed, shows the baseness of cruelty toward them. This, said he, is illustrated in a most striking manner, in the following instance:—A dog which had all her litter taken away from her and drowned, (which, indeed, seems the easiest way of dispatching them when it is necessary) found out where they were thrown, and brought them one by one, and laid them at the feet of her cruel master—she looked affectionately at them for some time, in dumb anguish, then turning her eyes on the destroyer—she expired."

The heart of a child, who is early bred to treat animals with tenderness, will be humanized at the period when, like wax, it takes every impression. Such an heart will be prepared to be an instrument of much good to the world, when ripened by age. A child who is taught never wantonly to tread on an insect, nor to disregard the expressive complaints of the speechless beast, will not be able when grown up, to refuse bread to the hungry, nor comfort to the afflicted. Thus, while they are patronizing [Page] the animal world, they are rendering themselves more useful to their fellow creatures, and laying in store for themselves a good foundation against the time to come.

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CHAP. XXIII. In our most prosperous state we are liable to sudden changes—a distressful event throws a gloom over Mr. Worthy's house.

MR. Worthy filled up every page of life with something useful. While he taught his children, his grain was growing, and his herds were feeding; for he had not neglected any portion of that time which was necessary to put these in their proper train. His early days had been attended with great difficulty, and every thing seemed to go against him. But the scene had been changed with him for a long time, and his prosperity seemed so fixed that he might begin to think with a good man of old, "that his mountain stood so strong that it never could be moved." This is too commonly the effect of continued prosperity. It makes men secure. They are apt to think that tomorrow will be as today. It is possible that this was the case with Mr. Worthy, and that it was necessary that he should be reminded of the falibility of his condition. [Page] Be this as it may, he was taught by a severe stroke, how frail he and his dearest earthly enjoyments were. In the midst of his prosperity, as he was smoothly sailing down the current, a melancholy event took place which tried his fortitude as a man, and his resignation as a christian—an event that spread melancholy through the house, and would have overwhelmed him and his wife with insupportable grief, had they made no other provision for an evil day than what worldly possessions could afford. But to a good man nothing is evil but sin. The heart that is guarded by the exercises of piety, is defended against the sharp arrows of affliction; and the tidings of evil, however sudden, do not surprise it, because it "is fixed, trusting in God."

Charles, now in the bloom of youth, as he was attempting to cross a mill pond fell in, and was drowned. The body was recovered with some difficulty; but there were no signs of life. The tidings flew to his father and mother, who were thrown into great distress. How then were they cut to the heart to see their beloved Charles brought in a lifeless corpse? No language can paint their distress—no heart conceive it, but such as have experienced the like! When they [Page] found every effort they made to recover him was in vain, they acquiesced in the painful event, saying, "The will of the Lord be done." They endeavoured to comfort their children, who were crying ready to break their hearts. This rational conduct of the parents had a good effect on the children, who followed their example in being quiet. Their conduct under this affliction was an example to all their neighbors. They were sensibly affected, indeed, by the death of so amiable and promising a son; but they considered it as an event taking place under a wise Providence that ruleth over all, and as a proper trial of their christian temper; and as they considered submission to the will of God to be a great christian duty, so they endeavored to be an example of it to all who saw them.

The solemnity with which the funeral was attended, was such as left a deep impression on the minds of all who were present on the occasion, especially the youth. Well might they be affected at the sight of so fine a flower cut down, and withering beneath the stroke of death! They saw that life is but a vapour that appeareth for a little while and then vanisheth away. They heard the voice of Providence speaking to them in [Page] language louder than sevenfold peals of thunder—"Be ye also ready, for the son of man cometh at an hour ye think not of." The improvement which Mr. and Mrs. Worthy desired to make of this breech upon their family, was to pay the more attention to their remaining children, to be more careful than ever to "bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." This resolution Mr. Worthy suggested to the clergyman, when on on a visit to his house in consequence of this affliction, who in reply to it, after saying many comfortable things, observed, that to season the passions of youth with devotion is a most important article in their education. This is a spark, which if kindled in the mind at an early period, and constantly fanned by parental care, will seldom expire but with life. It may, indeed, appear to be extinguished for a time by the heats of youth, the allurements of vice, or the cares of the world; but will generally discover itself again, when age or misfortunes restore the mind to reflection and consideration. Without devotion, what are the virtues of temperance, sobriety and justice, but qualities necessary to our present state, and which men will practise no longer than their own present convenience [Page] dictates? "Devotion," continued Mr. Villars, "opens the mind to great conceptions, fills it with sublime ideas, and extends it far beyond the regions of the most exalted science, and swells the soul with the purest pleasures. The mind being early inspired with just and high ideas of the majesty of God, and of his universal presence, and often reimpressed with this sense, will feel the full force of moral obligation. As naturally as the springs that descend from the neighboring hills and spread on the plains below, will produce fruit for the use of man; the child, thus trained, will feel its obligation to parents and to society. Where the foundation is thus laid, said he, the superstructure may be easily raised. Its rise and growth will be observed with delight. The child, thus trained, will be prepared to be incorporated into the body of men, whom it has been taught to treat with honor and respect; and will be able to discharge the duties of that state of life to which he may be called in society. As they are prepared in the best manner for the duties and enjoyments of life by a pious education, so are they also prepared for death. That is, the parents have done all in their power to have their minds in [Page] readiness for sudden death, should it please that God to whom they have been dedicated, to take them away in that manner by death."—Mrs. Worthy melted into tears at this observation. Mr. Villars, observing her trouble, only said, "Whatever may be their lot in the world, they must be good, and endeavor to do good, if they would be happy either here or hereafter."

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CHAP. XXIV. Mr. Worthy visits Mr. Belmont—his reception there—an affecting account of the death of Selina Belmont, by another hand.

THE tranquillity of the house being restored, and the minds of the family composed, Mr. Worthy made a journey to—, where Mr. Belmont lived. As his business led him to this place, he resolved on making Mr. Belmont a visit, this being the first time of his going there since that gentleman's misfortune at his house. Mr. Worthy had no doubt of a kind reception from him, but was not so certain with regard to Mrs. Belmont. He was made acquainted with her haughty spirit, while at his house, and supposed that a plain farmer, coming into her fine house on a visit, might not be very welcome. But as he had received a very pressing invitation from Mr. Belmont, both when he left his house, and by letter afterwards, he ordered his business so as to make a tarry of a day or two in town. When he found a little leisure from business, he took the opportunity to call on Mr. Belmont, who received him with the greatest [Page] hospitality, and what surprised him, was that Mrs. Belmont seemed equally glad to see him. The welcome was so friendly that he could have no doubt of its sincerity. Tho they received him in the most courteous manner, yet Mr. Worthy observed a melancholy appearance to which they were not accustomed. This accorded to his own feelings at this time. It recommended Mrs. Belmont to him very much; for her mind was cast in a milder form than when he saw her last. Their conversation was of a tenor different from what he expected, for their hearts had been taught to feel by one of those strokes, which never fail to soften every passion, as well as to teach the most useful lesson.

After cond [...]ing with Mr. Worthy on account of the untimely death of his amiable little son, Mr. Belmont told him that he was not alone in affliction. "Its arrows, said he, are thrown at others, and their sharp points, pierce the heart with many a pang. No situation in life is exempt from this; and if the effects of our grief were as lasting as they are deep and affecting, their influence would cease but with life itself. But altho the effects from the consideration of death are not constant and prevailing, yet [Page] these thoughts will frequently press upon the imagination, however little influence they may have on the mind in their recess." But, he observed, that he had no need of the aid of imagination, that he felt all he said; and you may this day, said he, be taught by a sympathetic enjoyment, that "it is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting." Saying this, he invited Mr. Worthy to go with him into another room. On opening the door of a large hall, which was darkened by the window shutters, there appeared in the centre of the room, a shrouded corpse—Mr. Worthy, who had not been made acquainted with the melancholy circumstance, stood amazed at it, and at the striking contrast between the elegance of the room, and the humilitating state of death.—"There," said Mr. Belmont—a tear suddenly starting in his eye, and his voice faltering—"There are the remains of the best, the loveliest child that ever lived to bless, or died to afflict a parent's heart."—He would have proceeded, but fullness of grief prevented his utterance—Mr. Worthy stood motionless, and gazed with silent astonishment.—When Mr. Belmont had recovered himself so far as to go on, he observed to Mr. Worthy— [Page] "This is the dear child of whom you heard us so often speak when at your house. It is the lovely Selina—my only daughter! But the will of the lord is done, and she is no more!"—He ceased, and turned from the affecting sight.—To behold a young lady of her accomplishments, torn from the arms of her doating parents in the bloom of youth and beauty, was a sight that overpowered the manly fortitude of Mr. Worthy. He turned away; and as he walked along, the tear of sympathy ran down his cheek. He seemed for a while to forget his own affliction, and to be swallowed up in that of Mr. and Mrs. Belmont. The following account of her character and death, with moral reflections upon it, was given by another hand.

"On the twenty second instant, at three o'clock in the morning, departed this life, Miss Selina Belmont, in the twenty first year of her age.—To the beauty of her person, and the excellence of her natural disposition, parents equally indulgent and attentive, had done the fullest justice. Nothing had been spared that could have any tendency to accomplish her person, or cultivate her mind. The attempts of her parents had been attended with that success which they commonly meet when not prevented by mistaken [Page] fondness, or untimely vanity. She received admiration with a grace, and received it from all who knew her. Notwithstanding the polish of her education, and her admirable personal accomplishments, she appeared to the ignorant, unassuming, and to the plainest people, unaffected. Her death may be ascribed to the excess of her benevolence. A violent fever, occasioned by her unremiting attention to a sick friend, cut off her parent's hopes in a few days—hopes which were ripening to reward all their care! Such domestic distresses open the passage to the keenest sensibility. They touch the heart in the tenderest manner. The parents were looking forward to more advanced age, when Selina's virtues would be their comfort. But, alas, Selina is no more! She died at a time when every tongue was eloquent in her praise. In her, centered the admiration of the fashionable, and the esteem of the virtuous. She combined gracefulness with dignity in her deportment, in such a manner as to appear superior to those with whom she mixed; yet this superiority was so tempered with modesty as not to excite either envy or jealousy. The transition was so great and sudden, that it seemed like the painting of a dream. But, alas, the melancholly [Page] truth stood confest in a shrouded corpse—Selina is no more! What faith, what piety, what resignation are necessary on such an occasion, to compose the heart of doating parents, bending over the grave of a darling child? What is the language of such an event, but that we look back on this world with pity rather than envy, and forward to the next, with humble hope of that immortality which is brought to light by the gospel."

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CHAP. XXV. Mr. Worthy returns home with tokens of gratitude from Mr. and Mrs. Belmont. They send books to his children, from which he collects useful stories—The story of Lucinda and Almerina.

THE heart was now softened by affliction, and gave scope to the exercise of the natural principles, unobstructed by pride and vanity. It was on this occasion, that Mrs. Belmont discovered the operation of the natural sentiments of gratitude. Besides the declaration of her sense of his goodness to her husband, and herself, while at his house, in which he was very lavish, she begged his acceptance of a present to his wife. He took it and thanked her for her politeness. They also presented him several books from their daughter's library, for the children, besides some other little matters. On his arrival home he was received by his wife and children, with that open hearted cheerfulness, which is the best evidence of [Page] affection. This always afforded him the greatest pleasure and satisfaction. When he had disposed his affairs, so as to sit down with his family, he related over what he had seen. When he came to tell of his reception at Mr. Belmont's, it was very grateful to his wife. But when he came to the melancholly account of what he had seen, Mrs. Worthy listened with a tearful attention; and the children were bathed in tears, at hearing about the death of poor Miss Selina Belmont.

When Mr. Worthy came to open the budget for his wife, he found it to be a silk gown, which she accepted thankfully. The books, and little matters for the children, were brought forth, and presented them from Mr. and Mrs. Belmont. These they received with many thanks. They were delighted with their presents; but Mrs. Worthy appeared most gratified by the books. She observed, that "the other things were designed to adorn the outside, but books will help the understanding; and, for my part, said she, I shall be much better pleased with having your heads furnished well within, than adorned without. [Page] To behave well, to study to know your duty to God and man, to love one another, and to be industrious, she said, she preferred to all the adorning in the world without it."

While a lengthy dialogue was carrying on among the children, and between them and their mother, Mr. Worthy was looking over the books he had brought home. In one of them he happened to meet with a story that applied to the observation Mrs. Worthy made, concerning improving the mind in knowledge and virtue, rather than adorning the body. "In order to convince you more thoroughly of the truth of these things, said Mr. Worthy, I will read you a pretty story of a good lady who had two daughters, one of whom was very fond of gay dress, the other was very differently disposed. He then read as follows, while they listened with great eagerness.

"There lived in the city of Fair Haven, a very good lady, who besides several sons, had two daughters. These were possessed of very different dispositions. She early taught them that, "a meek and quiet spirit" was the true ornament of a female. It [Page] gave her pain to find that notwithstanding all her instructions, Lucinda, her eldest daughter, had a growing fondness for gay dress, and for fine things; but it afforded her great pleasure to find that Almerina, her youngest daughter, was a good little girl, and had rather give her money, and even all the clothes she could spare, to the poor, than buy fine things to adorn her person. This good lady observing these things, began to think by what means she could cure her eldest daughter of this foolish disposition, and inspire her with the same kind and benevolent disposition that generally actuated Almerina. In order to effect so desirable an end, she took them both with her to visit a poor distressed woman, who had called at her door for charity. This poor woman was so wasted with poverty that she could afford but little nourishment to her infant, which seemed half starved. This charitable woman found that she lived in a small tenement not far off, and that her husband had got reduced through misfortune. Mrs. Goodwin, for that was the name of this charitable lady, took pains to inform herself as to the character of this poor woman, and her husband, and the causes of their poverty. [Page] When she was convinced that it was the misfortune, and not the faults of her husband, that had reduced them, she went the more cheerfully to their relief. Having obtained this satisfaction, Mrs. Goodwin and her two daughters followed the poor woman through a dark alley into a cold dark half cellar, where the cheerful rays of the sun never came. The husband, pale and wan through pain and poverty, sat on a form near a few cinders, the only fuel they had. Two half naked children sat shivering by his side. The last morsel of bread was gone, and wretchedness in the extreme, stared them in the face.

The sight of so much poverty greatly affected Mrs. Goodwin. She could not conceal the tear that stole down her check on this occasion. Her daughters, whose little hearts were touched with the tenderest compassion, burst into tears. It was on this occasion, that Lucinda first felt the sense of shame for throwing away her money for the meerest trifles, when there were so many suffering for want of food and raiment. Her mortification was much increased when she saw how much joy Almerina's presents occasioned in this abode of distress. Lucinda [Page] begged her mamma to permit her to give the children some of her fine things; but she was informed that her fine clothes could do them no good. This visit afforded much relief to the distressed family, but Lucinda had the mortification of coming away without having contributed in the least towards it. She saw the poor little children thanking her mamma and her sister for the good things they gave them, and heard the poor man and his wife bestowing their benedictions upon them as the authors of their support and comfort, while they looked shy at her, and seemed to sheer off from her.

When they had left this dreary abode, and were on their return home, Mrs. Goodwin asked Lucinda which she thought afforded the greatest enjoyment, the pleasure of relieving the distressed, or that which fine clothes gave. But without waiting an answer, she replied to her own question—"I know your sentiments already. I saw your feelings. I am sure you wished your ornaments further, that you might have had somthing to bestow on these poor children. You saw, my dear, how thankful they were, and how much pleasure your sister enjoyed [Page] in relieving them." To all this Lucinda consented by a blush and a tear. Her mother assured her that she had great pleasure in hoping that this visit would have a lasting good effect upon her mind, and told her that there were multitudes of poor creatures in as bad a condition as those whom they had seen. Mrs. Goodwin assured Lucinda that prodigality and generosity could not be indulged together; that in order to be generous and charitable, we must use economy with what we have; and that we may be able to relieve others, it is necessary to deny ourselves. When we have done good to our fellow creature, and given relief to the distressed, we may thank God that he has made us his instruments of mercy to others, and commit ourselves to sleep with a satisfaction that trifles never can afford. That is a narrow mind indeed that saves only for itself, to gratify the fancy and indulge the appetite. The benevolent curb both, that they may give scope to the noble feelings of the heart. Those who squander away their money, defraud the poor of their portion, and deprive themselves of the pleasure of doing good. Those who wish to be useful, must govern their desires, and must [Page] not wait for objects of charity to come to them, but must sometimes search them out. In the country, where we live in the summer, poverty is not usually attended with such circumstances of distress as we have this day been witness to; but in great towns, many families may be found in a situation similar to theirs. How many of our fellow creatures are there pining away in poverty and sickness, in dark and wretched places, for the want of those things which the finery of others would procure?"—Lucinda wept at this last expression, recollecting the misery she had seen, and that having laid out all her money for fine clothes, it was not in her power to afford the sufferers any relief—"Yes, continued Mrs. Goodwin, there are many secluded from the public eye, groaning with pain, emaciated by sickness, and made wretched by poverty, who might be relieved, and rendered happy by the money which the taudry finery of many cost, over and above decent and good dress." The story being finished, the tear of sensibility started from the eyes of the children, and they exclaimed, as though actuated by one soul—"I could work all day to relieve them, and give them poor folks my best clothes rather than they should be distressed." It [Page] was not long before they had the strength of their benevolence tried, by an affecting event that happened not far from them, as we shall relate in its proper place.

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CHAP. XXVI. Mr. Worthy's observations on the improvement of time, especially on farmers employing their evenings and leisure hours—of establishing social libraries—Mentor's observations on diligence, industry and a proper use of time.

I WOULD not be understood to suggest that either Mr. or Mrs. Worthy were wholly without faults in the management of their children, or in the government of their own passions. They often erred in both respects. But it would be an unpleasant task to relate the foibles of those who are constantly endeavouring to correct themselves. It was their uniform wish that their children might "be as plants grown up in their youth, and come forward on the stage of action under the influence of such impressions as would make them the most useful members of society, and most happy in themselves. They are certainly entitled to much credit for the exertions they used to effect their wishes, and if they erred at any time it was [Page] not for want of good intentions. They had watched, with parental care and anxiety, the dawn of their children's minds, and according to the best of their judgment, had endeavoured to instruct, impress, and regulate them. They now began to see the good effects of their exertion in the eldest, who were advancing towards that period in which more manly exercises were required, as their conduct appeared to be the effect of more mature judgment. The youngest still required the attention proper for children.

To vary the mode of treatment towards children in the several stages, from eight to eighteen, and make it suitable to all the intermediate periods, and also to accommodate it to the different sexes, is a task that requires great watchfulness, and constant exertion. These parents were fully sensible of the difficulty. They often conversed upon it between themselves, and observed it to others; and found that they were not alone in the opinion. Difficult as the task may seem, yet in justice to them, it must be said, they managed it with great skill. To keep them out of idleness, and give them proper sentiments of the value of time, and a careful improvement of it, was considered [Page] an object of great importance both to their virtue and happiness. Their ideas on this head extended not only to diligence in the usual hours of labor, but to a proper use of those hours which we call leisure. There is much time lost under the notion of leisure hours. The diligent and industrious economist of time will find but few such hours.

"Tho the shortness of life, said Mr. Worthy, is often a subject of great complaint by many people, yet there are very few, who make a just estimate of time. He who considers its value, and is desirous to employ it to the best advantage, will find that he has none to lose in idleness; nor will it hang heavy on his hands. There are many leisure hours in a farmer's life, in which he could make considerable improvements, were they employed in a way which his occupation seems to point out. The very business of the farmer leads him out of the way of much information, except what arises from his own observation. There are seasons also which his business naturally affords for his improvement in knowledge. Tho these may be considered as a small portion, when compared with the whole, or even with that part which many others have, yet the intervals of rest and leisure which every farmer has, would amount to [Page] more time, and afford a greater opportunity than may be thought of by many. "If, said he, the farmers devote their long evenings, some to dozing, and others to useless amusements, they loose the only season that seems to be assigned them by the very nature of their occupation for improvement." These were observations which Mr. Worthy made to a neighboring farmer, who was often complaining of the shortness of life. They were so just that he felt the force of them, and ceased grumbling for a while. Much of the uneasiness and discontent that appears in many, arises from ignorance, and the want of resource within themselves. How much easier would labor seem, were the farmers to employ their leisure hours in furnishing their minds with materials necessary to carry on reflection and meditation while at labor. The mechanic labors, and the student applies to his literary pursuits, many more hours in the twenty four than the farmer does in his business. The labor of the latter is generally the most fatiguing to the body, but less so to the mind. It is a truth, however, established on experience, that "much study is a wearisomeness to the flesh." But when the husbandman retires from the labors of the field, his mind with [Page] his body is at rest. If his mind was employed in some pleasing pursuit, it might contribute greatly to the relief of the body. It is an old saying, dictated by wisdom, and found true by experience, that "a cheerful heart does good like a medicine," and it is an observation of equal truth, that knowledge is as grateful to the mind, as light to the eyes. How soothing then must a book of sentimental improvement and entertainment, be to one fatigued by labor. While the pleasant light of the rising sun of knowledge, was exhilirating the spirits by a mechanical operation on the system, the fatigue of the body would be forgotten in the midst of brighter scenes.

The establishment of social libraries in our towns and parishes would have a happy tendency to encourage reading, and cultivating the mind and manners of our fellow citizens. It is a fact that must afford peculiar pleasure to every well wisher to society, to arts, or to religion, that these are already encreasing in our country.

These might easily be established in every town, by the exertion of a few individuals, first to collect small contributions from those who would be disposed to associate for that purpose. This would bring together a collection [Page] of books, to the use of which each proprietor would have an equal right under certain regulations. The advantage of having access to a variety of books, greater than any individual could own, would soon be felt. The entertainment from books would be encreased; and the time now spent in useless and costly amusements, would much of it be employed in reading. The savings by this piece of economy would soon reimburse the expenses of the library, and make yearly additions to it. This would surely be a very happy change in the mode of expenses, and probably in the course of a few years would be found to be a great saving of them. In order to make reading a general thing, and to induce young people profitably to fill up their vacant hours, it is necessary to furnish children with books suitable to their age, with which the world abounds, and train them up in the habit of reading them. If they are accustomed to improve their time well, they will read for the sake of employment, rather than be idle, and when reading has become a habit, the pleasure of it will encrease.

"Diligence and industry, said Mentor to his young friend, are material duties of the young. To no purpose are they endowed [Page] with the best abilities, if they want activity for exerting them. Unavailing, in this case, will be every direction that can be given them, either for their temporal or spiritual welfare. In youth, said he, the habits of industry are most easily acquired—in youth the incentives to it are strongest, from ambition and from duty, from emulation and hope, from all the prospects which the beginning of life affords. If, deaf to those calls, you already languish in flothful inactivity, what will be able to quicken the more sluggish current of advancing life? Industry is not only the instrument of improvement, but the foundation of pleasure. Nothing is so opposite to the true enjoyment of life as the relaxed and feeble state of mind in the indolent. He who is a stranger to industry, may possess, but he cannot enjoy. It is labor only which gives the relish to pleasure. It is the appointed vehicle of every good to man. It is the indispensable condition of our possessing a sound mind in a sound body. Sloth is so inconsistent with both, that it is hard to determine whether it be a greater foe to virtue or to health and happiness. It not only saps the foundation of every virtue, but pours upon you a deluge [Page] of crimes and evils.—Fly, therefore, said Mentor, fly from idleness, as the certain parent both of guilt and ruin. I mean, continued Mentor, under the head of idleness, to include all that circle of trifling occupations in which too many saunter away their youth, perpetually engaged in frivolous society, or in useless amusements; in the labors of dress, or in the ostentation of their persons.—Is this the foundation, my young friend, which you lay for future usefulness and esteem? By such accomplishments, do you hope to recommend yourself to the thinking part of the world, and to answer the expectations of your friends and your country? Amusements, indeed, are allowable, they are necessary for youth as the relaxation, but culpable as the business of life. They then become the gulph of time, and the poison of the mind. They ferment bad passions. They weaken the manly powers. They sink the native vigor of youth into contemptible effeminacy and unmanliness.

From such dangerous waste of time, therefore, redeem your time, and seek to fill it with employments which you may review with satisfaction. The acquisition of knowledge is one of the most honorable occupations of youth. The desire of it discovers a [Page] liberal mind, and is connected with many accomplishments, and many virtues. But though your train of life should not lead you to study, the course of education always furnishes proper employment to a well disposed mind. Whatever you pursue be emulous to excel. Generous ambition, and sensibility to praise, are among the marks of virtue, especially at your age.

"No rank or condition of life can exempt any one from the duties of application and industry. Industry is the law of our being; it is the demand of nature, of reason, and of God. Remember always, my young friend, that the years which now pass over your head, leave permanent memorials behind them. They form an important part of the register of your life; and will hereafter bear testimony either for or against you.—Whether your future course is destined to be long or short, after this manner it should commence; and if it continue to be thus conducted, its conclusion, at what time soever it arrives, will not be inglorious or unhappy."

The youth dropped the tear of gratitude for Mentor's friendly counsel, and by a respectful nod, shewed that he saw the truth, and felt the importance of what he had been saying.

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CHAP. XXVII. Mr. Blanford removes to the neighborhood of Mr. Worthy—an agreeable intercourse between the two families—some inconveniencies arise from it, but are gotten over by Mrs. Worthy's prudence—Fable of Labor, Health and Contentment:

MR. Blanford, of whom I had occasion to speak before, was so pleased with the country, that he resolved on making a purchase when a fair opportunity should offer. To gain a settlement in the neighborhood of Mr. Worthy, was an object with him. When, therefore, he heard that Mr. Slack's farm was upon sale, he went to take a view of it. He purchased the place, and as soon as he could put his affairs in order, he took possession of it. The arrival of such a neighbor, was nosmall acquisition to Mr. Worthy, and Mr. Blanford afterwards owned to his friends that, "had it not been for Mr. Worthy, he knew not how he should have carried on his first attempts at farming." An acquaintance commenced between them, [Page] and their families, which grew into intimacy, and became the bond of permanent friendship. This intimacy was useful to both, by affording each an opportunity to assist the other in those things wherewith he was most acquainted.

Mr. Worthy was not only acquainted with agriculture but with the several branches of the husbandry* art, which he had studied as a practical science. He was therefore able to afford Mr. Blanford the advice which he frequently needed in carrying on his business to the best advantage. The families also, besides the usual offices of neighboring kindness, were mutually beneficial to each other. The young ladies who came from town being unacquainted with the business of their present situation, were desirous of knowing something of it. While Mrs. Worthy's daughters could assist them in learning some of those necessary employments, they were ready to lend the aid of their instruction in some of the finer parts of needle [Page] work, and in giving their dress a little more fashionable air, which was very pleasing to the young Miss Worthys. But this intercourse between these two families, too convenient and agreeable on many accounts, was not without its inconveniencies. Mrs. Worthy, perceiving that the gayer dress of the Miss Blanfords made her daughters uneasy with their plain dress, permitted them to send some cloth of their own make to procure the necessary articles of female attire. She did not, however, gratify them as far as they wished, but as far as she thought proper. In this Mrs. Worthy discovered great prudence; for on the one hand, if she had wholly denied them this female gratification, they would have been mortified and discouraged; and on the other, an unlimited indulgence would have been a great disadvantage, as the things they made were much more useful and durable than those they bought; and besides, it is more respectable for a farmer's family to be clothed in their own manufacture than in that which comes from abroad. Mrs. Worthy reconciled the minds of her daughters by these arguments, and by reminding them that the young ladies, whose appearance had excited their ambition, had been bred [Page] up in town, where fashionable dress was much more attended to, than in the rural state wherein they lived; and also that Mr. Blanford could afford it much better than they. Mrs. Worthy pointed out many poorer families, whose dress was as much plainer than theirs, as theirs was plainer than the Miss Blanfords; telling them at the same time, that all judicious people would look upon them the better for appearing according to their station and employment, and for suiting their dress to the place where they lived. The Miss Blanfords were delighted with Mrs. Worthy. They were loud in her praises to their friends in the the town, on account of her agreeable manners as a country gentlewoman, and also on account of the serene and placid mind which she always discovered. They often added to the little domestic circle that surrounded Mrs. Worthy in the afternoon or on a pleasant evening. It was on one of those occasions, as she was surrounded by her daughters, and their young friends, when the placid beams of the rising moon had soothed all their feelings, and the distant cascade gently murmured on their ears, that Mrs. Worthy pleasantly instructed them by the following fable.

[Page] "Labor, the offspring of Want and the mother of Health and Contentment, lived with her two daughters in a little cottage, by the side of a hill, at a great distance from town. They were totally unacquainted with the great, and had kept no better company than the neighboring villagers; but having a desire to see the world, they forsook their companions and their habitation, and determined to travel. Labor went soberly along the road with Health on her right hand, who by the sprightliness of her conversation and songs of cheerfulness and joy, softened the toils of the way, while Contentment went smiling on the left, supporting the steps of her mother, and by her perpetual good humor encreasing the vivacity of her sister.

"In this manner they travelled over forests, and through towns and villages, till at the last they arrived at the capital of the kingdom. At their entrance into the city, the mother conjured her daughters never to loose sight of her; for it was the will of Jupiter, she said, that their separation should be attended with the utter ruin of all three. But Health was of too gay a disposition to regard the counsels of Labor; she suffered herself to be debauched by Intemperance, and at last died in child birth of Disease. [Page] Contentment, in the absence of her sister, gave herself up to the enticement of Sloth, and was never heard of after; while Labor, who could have no enjoyment without her daughters, went every where in search of them, till she was at last seized by Lassitude in her way, and died in misery."

The young ladies expressed the gratification they felt from the amusing fable; and were delighted with the engaging manner in which Mrs. Worthy introduced it. It was by her gentleness and good advice, and by encouraging their industry with due applause, showing those young ladies when there on a visit, her daughters nice work, that they gained the ascendency of themselves so far, as to be able to see their finery without an uneasy feeling, or even a wish to sacrifice interest and convenience for the sake of obtaining it. The Miss Blanfords, on the other hand, began to be more and more desirous to imitate, and if possible to equal, those samples of industry and ingenuity which the Miss Worthys exhibited. As this disposition encreased, it was observable that their regard for gay dress lessened; and it was not long before they could give some good specimens of their improvement.

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CHAP. XXVIII. Mr. Worthy corrects some false notions in his children.—Story of Mr. Lordly—and Mr. Blanford's description of a venerable oak.

A SIMILAR spirit began to make its appearance among Mr. Worthy's sons. Of this spirit he endeavored to cure them by many useful lessons. As they were passing a beautiful meadow that abounded with various flowers, which were pleasing to the eye, he asked his little sons if they did not think that a pleasant place to work in. "O yes, say they, it is so smooth and beautiful, that it must be easier to work there than in our field, where it is rough and hard; and besides, how charming must them flowers make it?"—"My children, replied Mr. Worthy, you do not consider that there are many poisonous weeds lurking about under those flowers, which would destroy your health, and give you pain. Just so it is with many who are rich; their circumstances look fair and pleasant, and they seem to live [Page] at ease; but under this appearance oftentimes lurk many evil weeds which poison all their enjoyments. They often envy the contentment that poor people enjoy. So true it is, "that man's life does not consist in the abundance which he possesseth." He recommended to them, contentment in their condition; and never to despise the poor, or covet the rich man's condition, because both are liable to temptations and infelicities; and neither of them destitute of enjoyments. This truth, he said, was fully proved in the story of Mr. Lordly, who was a rich, but envious man, and oppressed his neighbor Penury to a very great degree. As they had now reached their own field, Mr. Worthy said that he would take an opportunity soon to rehearse it to them.

When the sun began to scorch them by its heat, and their fatigue required them to retire to the spreading oak, where they went to seek rest in the cooling shade, Mr. Worthy renewed the subject, and told his children and the other laborers that as a reward for their diligence and exertions, and to relieve them from their fatigue, he would relate to them the story he had mentioned.—"In a distant part of the country, and not many years ago, there lived a rich man who [Page] was possessed of all the means of satisfaction and enjoyment, that the world could give, without the power of enjoying any thing. His wealth made him haughty and insolent, and indolence made him fretful and peevish. He was troubled with many pains which arose from the manner of his living, and which made him very impatient. I shall conceal his real name, and call him Lordly. There was a poor man whom I shall call Penury, who lived not far from him. Mr. Penury was a harmless inoffensive man, and went singing, or whistling, by Mr. Lordly's, to his daily labor. The health and happiness this poor man appeared to enjoy, excited the envy of Mr. Lordly, who determined to destroy the little means of subsistence that his family enjoyed. They were, like himself, robust and healthy, having no means of luxury, and being obliged to labor. He accordingly ordered his people to let loose his great mastiff dog upon the only cow the poor man owned, and from which his family drew much of their nourishment. The dog chased her into a quagmire, where she died, and then turned and devoured the cosset lamb that followed her where ever she went. It was all the lamb the poor man owned." Little Joseph, who was all attention to such [Page] stories, could not contain himself any longer. He exclaimed against that rich man, who could be so cruel to Mr. Penury; and "wished somebody had killed that great ugly dog before he had killed that poor little lamb." When each one had made his observation on the baseness of such conduct, Mr. Worthy continued the story.—

"It happened that a war with the western savages broke out about this time. Mr. Penury, who suffered many other cruelties from Mr. Lordly, was willing to risque any thing, rather than continue to live near so unjust and cruel a man. He enlisted among the troops raised for the defence of the frontier settlements. Leaving the small bounty he received with his family for their support and comfort, he went forward and joined his company. It so happened that in the first attack of the enemy Mr. Penury was taken prisoner and the troops were routed. The news of this defeat alarmed Mr. Lordly, who began now to apprehend himself in danger, for the enemy poured down toward that part of the country where he lived. He determined to seek his safety by flight. But by attempting this across the country, he fell in the way of a party of bold warriors, who had ventured far down [Page] into the country. They made him their prisoner, and carried him into their own country, where the savages had carried Mr. Penury a little before.

"They were not treated with those acts of cruelty which often take place in such cases; but were put immediately to do their drudgery. Lordly, who had lived an idle life, made a poor figure at this business, while Penury, who had been accustomed to labor and hard fare, did his duty well, and pleased his new masters very much. He grew daily in their esteem, and was obliged to help his more unfortunate fellow prisoner, to save him from the many severities with which they threatened him. They made him a kind of servant to the other, and obliged him to obey him. Penury treated his new servant with great lenity and kindness, during the whole time they were in this situation. At last they were redeemed. But Penury had so ingratiated himself with them that it was with difficulty his release could be obtained. Returning to their native country, Mr. Lordly was fully convinced of the injustice of his former conduct, and of the equity of divine providence in his captivity, and sufferings. As a compensation for the injuries he had formerly done to Mr. Penury, and [Page] as an acknowledgment of the noble spirit he discovered during their distressful captivity, he offered to support him ever after in ease. To which Mr. Penury replied, that he had been bred up to hard labor and coarse fare—that as to idleneness and riches he should not know what to do with them; he had been very happy and contented without them, and that he desired nothing more than to be placed in his former situation, in which, by the blessing of God and a good conscience, he could enjoy himself undisturbed. Mr. Lordly was surprised at so much generosity in so poor a man. He could not help reflecting, that many a princely soul might be found in cottages, and many a philosopher following the plough. He was made much wiser than he ever was before, and probably than ever he would have been, had he not have been made so by misfortune. He saw, and acknowledged, the hand of providence in all he had been called to pass through, and resolved for the future on a life of piety and charity."

Just as Mr. Worthy had finished the above narrative, Mr. Blanford arrived at the shady oak, where this little group of farmers were refreshing themselves, and passed the remainder of their tarry under it, in [Page] conversation suited to his new employment. Observing their cheerfulness and alacrity, which was renewed by the manner in which they had been passing their time, he made several ingenious observations, in a letter to Mr. Belmont, on the physical effects of reading and conversation on the animal spirits, or the natural connection between amusement and improvement of the mind, and recovery from bodily fatigue. In this letter he said many things highly applauding Mr. Worthy's manner of proceeding in this respect, and observed, that altho he accomplished a great deal of business, yet that there was never any hurry about it, nor were any in his service ever overdone with hard labor; and he could not account for it in any other way, than that of his taking so much pains to renew their spirits by those sentimental amusements which drew their attention from labor, and animated them, by inspiring them with a generous emulation for good and worthy actions.

Among many other things, he gave Mr. Belmont the following description of the venerable oak, under whose cooling shade he found them at the above amusing employment.—This old and lofty oak, says he, answers [Page] the description we have of that huge tree, at Huntingfield, in Suffolk, called Queen Elizabeth's Oak. This is said to be "eleven yards in circumference, at the height of seven feet from the ground; and from the condition of other trees of the same sort in different parts of the kingdom, whose age has been ascertained pretty well from historical circumstances, this must be adjudged to be not less than five or six hundred years old." Though this oak, which gave shade and shelter to Mr. Worthy, was not of so princely a size, nor can I determine precisely its age; yet this oak, like Queen Elizabeth's tree, still retained some degree of vigor, though many of its boughs were broken off, and those which remained, were approaching to decay. The principal arm, now bald with dry antiquity, shoots up to a lofty height, and being hollow, with several cracks resembling loop holes, through which the light shines in its cavity, it gives us an idea of the winding staircase in a lofty gothic turret, which, detached from the other ruins of some venerable pile, hangs tottering to its fall, and affects the mind of a beholder after the same manner, by its greatness and sublimity."

"And having peopled wide the rich domain,

With her tall progeny, subdued by age,

[Page] When the huge trunk, whose bare and forked arms

Pierc'd the mid sky, now prone shall bud no more,

Still let the massy ruin, like the bones

Of some majestic hero, be preserv'd

Unviolated and rever'd—

Whilst the grey father of the vale, at eve

Returning from his sweltering summer task,

To tend the new mown grass, or raise the sheaves

Along the western slope of yon gay hill,

Shall stop to tell his listening sons, how far

She stretch'd around her thick leaf'd pondrous boughs,

And measure out the space they shadow'd."—

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CHAP. XXIX. The pleasures and advantages of domestic intercourse and cheerfulness—How to prevent the inconvenience of unavoidable interruptions at school—Pleasant instruction from the scriptures, acquaintance with them recommended, danger of making light of them—Cautions to farmers in a thunder storm.

THE story being ended, and it being time to quit the shade, they all went cheerfully to their labor, which seemed now to pass on lightly. They continued to labor and rest alternately, until the setting sun invited them to quit the field of labor for the peaceful abode of the beloved family, where they found Mrs. and the Miss Blanfords on a visit. When they had washed and put on suitable clothes, they were all introduced to the company of their new friends; and each expressed, either by words or by the vivacity of their countenance, the pleasure they felt on this occasion. The visitants [Page] were equally pleased with the neatness of their appearance and the propriety of their manners, which were free from that roughness which many times is to be seen among laboring young men. There was a mildness and gentleness in their manners which made them appear very amiable, and recommended them very much to Mrs. Blanford, who was high in their praises to her husband. As she was a lady of excellent understanding and discernment, it was much in their favor to be so well approved of by her. When the visitors were gone, Henry related the substance of the story they had been entertained with, to his sisters, which amused them for the evening. This was a kind of intercourse which Mr. and Mrs. Worthy always encouraged their family to maintain among themselves. If one was possessed of any thing entertaining and agreeable, it was communicated to the rest. They did not live together as too many families do, without seeming, to have any affection for one another, or having any agreeable society together; but they conversed together, and were never more delighted than in their own domestic circle. This often occasioned a sight that made the parental breast heave with joyful sensations, when they beheld [Page] their family listening to the tale of woe, or to the rehearsal of a more pleasing scene, which one would exhibit while the rest attended. At other times, the parent's heart is dilated with joy, while the playful tricks and innocent mirth of the children, relax their minds, and prepare them for more vigorous application, or contribute to health and vivacity. The pleasures of domestic life may be greatly encreased by these innocent amusements. This kind of intercourse serves to soften the rougher mind and manners, and to create a cement of affection, and a tender sympathy that can expire but with life.

In order to remedy the inconvenience arising from the frequent interruption of boys at school, which is unavoidable in a farmer's business, Mr. Worthy would always either find a little leisure to hear them read at home, or take a small book in his pocket, that they might do it while resting under the shady oak. At other times, and as they were more advanced, he helped their recollection of the scriptures by inquiring concerning the character of the patriarchs and good men, of whom they give an account, and what was the influence of their character on their outward condition. He amused his children [Page] by describing more particularly the dress and manners of those people—telling them how they lived—"Not in such houses as we do, but in tents, and under the shade of trees as we now are." He not only amused them by a description of the rural manner of their life, but instructed them by relating their transactions, how they conducted in particular circumstances, their obedience to the commands of God, and how well they prospered when they obeyed, and how severely they were punished for their disobedience when they were guilty of it. This made them well acquainted, and greatly pleased with the historical part of the Old Testament; it afforded them amusement, while it conveyed useful sentiments to the heart. In the same way he recommended the New Testament, which they read with growing pleasure, as their minds opened to comprehend more and more of its excellent doctrines, and to see new beauties in the life and character of our Lord, and of his Apostles.

"I don't know, said Mr. Worthy to his sons, as they were resting the next day, of any thing more favorable to a young man's character than his being fond of his bible. That contains a most glorious plan of grace— [Page] the best rules for conducting, with the strongest motives to virtue. When he begins to think and speak lightly of that, it is an evidence that he is losing his principles of moral action; and he is in danger of being led astray by vicious and unprincipled people. Having let go his hold of this grand pillar, he is liable to fall. So long as he reads his bible, he will be likely to mind something of what it contains. If he does not read it, and disregards what it says as an idle tale, he will be like a vessel that is driven from its fastening, and floats on a wide and boisterous sea. There is a connection, continued Mr. Worthy, between attention to this and prosperity in the world—at least, comfort and happiness in it. This is the good man's richest treasure, his greatest delight. There is not a truer saying to be found than that of the wise man—"He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely."* It is the surest way to success in our affairs; and whether we be rich or poor, it is the safest way. I knew a person, said he, and I doubt not but there are thousands beside, who always kept his bible by his bed side, when a young man, and after reading a chapter, would offer up prayers and praises [Page] to God. This was his constant practice. He was obliged to labor all day. This was almost the only time he could find for reading. By a constant use of this opportunity, short as it was, he became well acquainted with the scriptures. He was kept out of bad company by the influence of this practice. He had only his hands to begin the world with. He began it with virtue, with industry, and a reliance on divine providence. He lived to bring up a large family of children well by the strength of his own industry—was beloved and respected by all who knew him, and found by his own happy experience that "the ways of wisdom were ways of pleasantness"—I would therefore recommend it to you, my dear children, to make the same experiment."

A sudden gust of wind, with the appearance of a cloud at the westward, indicating a shower, induced them to go immediately to the field to finish what they were doing; but it was not long before the violence of the tempest drove them from it. Mr. Worthy called on all hands to fly to yonder copse of wood for shelter, which they accordingly did. This place afforded them but an imperfect cover from the rain and hail, which came down like a torrent, accompanied [Page] with sharp lightning, and heavy thunder. They were very wet, and some of his people were much frightened, and began to complain that they were not under the great oak. But Mr. Worthy composed them by saying they were much more secure where they now were, especially from the effects of the lightning. He told them of the many instances of persons being killed by repairing to tall trees for a cover from a thunder shower—that he was always aware of danger from them, but that he had never been so fully convinced of it as he was now, since so many persons had been killed that season by flying to a large tree in the open field for shelter. "When, said he, they are caught in a shower, they escape from the open field to a large tree that stands in the middle of it, hang up their scythes, or other tools made of iron, and sit or stand directly under the point. The tree, being alone and a taller object than any near it, takes the lightning, the iron attracts it, and conveys it to the man, and he is instantly lifeless, without knowing himself to be in danger. And besides, said Mr. Worthy, I begin to fear lest this high wind should blow down the old limb that towers so high, though it should not be struck by the lightning." They [Page] seemed satisfied with what Mr. Worthy said on the subject; but, how much more reason had they to be thankful, when in going home after the shower was over, they found the limb broken off, which, in its fall, had unfortunately killed one of the cows who had fled thither for safety.—This, said Mr. Worthy, is purely providential—you see that God has given to man more knowledge than to the beasts of the field. Had we resorted hither for safety, this might have been the lot of some of us. You see we are in the hands of a kind preserver, who directs our way for us." On their return home there was great mourning for the poor cow; but the consideration of their escape from the danger, was a matter of so great consolation that they soon forgot their misfortune.

Mr. Worthy's sentiments about avoiding the highest trees in an open field, were very just, and deserve the attention of his brother farmers; and particularly that of hanging up their scythes, &c. over their heads. This is found to be more dangerous in a flat open country, than in forests and among hills. It is observable that most of the accounts of persons killed by lightning in the country, are in the above situation, during the time of harvest and mowing.

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CHAP. XXX. The feeling heart is touched, in this chapter, by the lively picture of fraternal affection, amidst the changes of fortune, between four brothers, named Asia, Africa, Europe and America.

STORIES, founded on fact, or on circumstances which might easily be supposed to happen in real life, may be made very useful in families. The moral virtues may be taught and inculcated on the heart more effectually by examples, where its tenderest feelings are interested, than by any other means. It was wisely contrived by Mr. Worthy to engage the attention of his children by these, while others were losing the same hours in play. The following story was often repeated with pleasure amongst them. This was sent to Charles by Mr. Belmont as a mark of particular regard to him. It did not arrive soon enough for that unfortunate youth to see. It was laid up as a kind of precious treasure, to be a memorial of the goodness of that amiable child, whose blossoming virtues [Page] had so highly recommended him to Mr. Belmont's discerning mind. The strong and permanent attachment of those brothers, and their generous conduct, are worthy of imitation by all, and therefore deserve to be recorded here, that they may be preserved from oblivion.

"A reputable merchant, by the name of Weatherly, who lived in Nansemond, had four sons; being somewhat singular in his turn, he named them Asia, Africa, Europe and America.* These four brothers were trained up by their mother during childhood with great care. They lived together in remarkable good humor and harmony, tho somewhat different in their natural temper and disposition. But, before they were either of them fit for business the eldest died, to the great grief of their parents. He was a promising youth, but, alas, ere the virtues of his mind ripened into fruit, he was cut off! The opening flower closed up, it faded away and was seen no more!" Mrs. Worthy could never read this without a tear. It afforded her a kind of luxurious grief, which she delighted once in a while to indulge, that she might not loose the pleasing impression of her beloved Charles. "The [Page] death of the eldest son made Mr. and Mrs. Weatherly more attentive than ever to further the education and good morals of the others. In her early care of them, she had so balanced their opposite defects as to produce the utmost harmony and brotherly affection and condescension. She accustomed them to treat their elders with respect. This had a good affect in preventing any childish contests for the preference, as each knew, and was contented with his own rank; and always waited his proper turn. It also made them behave with good manners to strangers, be their condition in life what it might. They were never known to treat a beggar with insult or abuse, but were always disposed to charity.

Mr. Weatherly, being a man of a literary turn, determined too give his sons a learned education. It was not long after they were sent to the university, that he met with such heavy losses in his business that he was obliged to take the benefit of the bankrupt act. This made his situation so disagreeable that he determined on a voyage to America to collect some debts for the support of his family, which he promised to remit as fast as he could collect them. His wife and children were inconsolable at his [Page] leaving them; but how were their sorrows encreased, when on the return of the ship, they not only had no remittances, but heard nothing of him. They soon had little left for enjoyment but brotherly love, which rather encreased than abated; nor any thing to recommend them to notice and esteem but their good conduct. In this they succeeded well. As they heard nothing from their father it became necessary for them to quit the university, and seek some employment that would afford them a living. Africa had so far improved himself at the university as to get recommended as a private tutor in a family, where he received a salary more than sufficient for himself. He now felt himself happy in being able to afford his mother some assistance. Europe obtained a place with a merchant; with whom he continued the term agreed on, and being a faithful active youth the merchant took him into partnership at the expiration of his apprenticeship. America, tho young, embraced the offer of Mr. Thornton, an old friend of his father, to take a voyage with him to sea. As nothing better offered, he continued in that way until he was appointed mate of a ship up the Baltic." "Where is the Baltic daddy, said one of the children, [Page] as he was reading." "It is, said he, a great gulph or sea in Europe, that lies between Germany and Poland on the south, and Sweden on the north; from which run several other gulphs. It is remarkable that this sea never ebbs nor slows, and yet there is a current that sets through the sound into the ocean, and it is generally frozen over three or four months in the year." Notwithstanding his youth, continued Mr. Worthy, the owners of the ship determined to give him the command of one of their large ships on the first vacancy.

"They had not yet been able to obtain any intelligence concerning their father. The success that had hitherto attended them, compensated in some measure the great loss they sustained by his absence. But the patron of Africa, happening to die about this time, deprived him of the means of further support. A train of unfortunate circumstances embarrassed the affairs of Europe, and after sometime they became desparate. In these reduced circumstances he was mortified to live among his old acquaintance, and foolishly retired to a remote part of the country to seclude himself from society. While he was in this retired state there came along a company of strolling players. [Page] He was over persuaded to join them and go about the country acting with them. Previous to these misfortunes, America, who had made several voyages up the Baltic, was invited home to a more profitable employment in the service of his brother and company. Having been absent several years without seeing his brothers, he embraced the offer the more cheerfully, as it would give him an opportunity not only of seeing but of being frequently with them, as he supposed. The consideration of this renewed all the feelings of his early days, and got the better of every other consideration. He immediately left his employers without knowing what had happened to his brother, or even reflecting on the possibility of it, and arrived just in season to be witness to his brother's misfortunes.—So transitory is every prospect in life!

"Being all reduced to circumstances alike precarious, they had nothing left to comfort themselves, or one another, but their mutual affection and brotherly love, which remained unbroken by separation, or by misfortune, or by the death of their mother, which happened during the progress of these events, and which was a great trial to them. But the strength of their affection was soon to be [Page] put to a severe trial another way. This trial brought forth some instances of generosity, which ought to be rescued from the moth of time, and should be preserved as an example to others.

We must now go back and take a view of Mr. Weatherly, whom we last saw taking leave of his family for America; but finding his prospects all fore closed he determined for the East Indies, where he hoped in a little time to retrieve his circumstances. He also determined that his family should not hear any thing from him, till he was able to relieve them from that poverty, and all those distresses, he knew his absence must have occasioned. In the course of a number of years, during which time his family supposed him to be dead, he effected his purpose; and was now returned to make them rejoice in a participation of the fruits of his long absence. No sooner did Mr. Weatherly reach his native shore, than he had the unspeakable mortification of seeing his eldest son in this disgraceful situation of strolling comedian. Tho long absent, yet he recognised him by a certain mark in his forehead, which left no doubt of its being his son. Rage and despair seized him, and suddenly leaving the place, he hastened [Page] to find his other children, for he had already been informed of the death of his wife.

He soon found where Africa, his second son was, who, like an affectionate child, flew to his father's arms, on hearing that he was still alive, and had arrived in that part of the world. After relating something of his adventures, and the success that had accompanied them, he lamented the unfortunate circumstances, and as he thought, disgraceful conduct of his eldest son, and assured Africa that his brother Europe should be cut off from enjoying any share in the wealth he had acquired; but that he should immediately divide a large proportion of it between him and his younger brother. On finding his father thus determined to disinherit his eldest brother, Africa was much affected, but respectfully thanked his father for his intended goodness to him. He said many things by way of apology for Europe, and endeavored by every method in his power to abate his father's resentment; and nobly added, that his affection to his brother was such, that he could not think of accepting any fortune in which his brother was not to be a sharer. Mr. Weatherly was no less vexed than astonished at this reply, which carried such an air of seriousness as left no room to doubt of its being his fixed determination.

[Page] The arrival of his younger brother at this juncture, was very fortunate. He had just arrived from sea, and hearing of the return of his long lost father, he flew to the place where he then was, and entered just as his brother was respectfully taking leave of his father. The scene was truly affecting; and Mr. Weatherly, after many expressions of affection for so fine a son, as he was pleased to stile him, and after a great deal of conversation, assured America, "that he should inherit all his earnings, for that his brother Europe had rendered himself unworthy any part of his fortune, by his indiscretion, and his other brother by his weakness and folly." America, with all the plainness and generosity of a seaman, plumply refused accepting a farthing of it unless his brothers were allowed to come in for shares. He declared to his father that although his elder brother might have erred, yet that he had an honest heart and a generous disposition; and that, under his circumstances, men were liable to do those things they would not justify in a different situation. There was something so noble and frank in the manner in which America addressed his father, and at the same time he spoke so feelingly, that it produced a favorable effect upon him. Mr. Weatherly [Page] could no longer retain any resentment against an unfortunate son, but declared that the generous manner in which his two sons, and especially America, had behaved, evinced to him that they were worthy of his favor, and also that they looked upon their brother Europe as deserving the same.

The generous America, flew to inform his brothers of the happy change in his father's temper. It is not easy to describe the joy that this information gave them; and the honest seaman felt more than he could express. Their arrival in a harmonious and brotherly sort, at their father's lodgings, banished every prejudice from his mind, and inspired the parent's heart with lively joy; while transports of pleasure filled the late unfortunate Europe. Every thing being now amicably settled to mutual satisfaction, they continued to live together in prosperity, and on terms of affection and amity, strengthened by their late misfortunes."

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CHAP. XXXI. A snow storm—a poor man perishes in it—Mr. Worthy's conduct on the occasion—a pathetic discourse on charity—a poem on compassion and charity.

THE following winter was remarkably severe, and proved fatal to several persons, who ventured too far in their attempts to beat through violent snow storms. Many people are too venturesome in this way. It is the more dangerous, as the cold soon lessens those powers of exertion which they at first possess, and their efforts to save themselves diminish as the necessity for making them encreases; great care should therefore be had by those who are exposed to be out at all seasons. They are often admonished by the fate of others. About christmas, in the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy nine, a man belonging to the state of Rhode Island, left Boston after a violent snow storm had come on; the snow was drifted, and the whole atmosphere was so filled with it, that he could not see his way. [Page] After struggling in vain against the violence of the tempest, and in vain attempting to beat through the drifts of snow that were every moment encreasing, he, together with all his cattle, perished on Boston neck, and the next morning were found standing in a great snow bank, nearly covered up. This alarming instance, near so large a town, should make those very cautious who live in a more thinly settled country. People may be induced to run great risques in order to save expenses, but they should consider how dearly they may pay for the experiment, either by freezing partially, and so being maimed, or by perishing. The first alarming symptoms are a lascitude or indisposition to action, and a drowsiness which inclines persons in this situation to lay down under a fence or any place of defence against the wind or storm.—Here they insensibly doze away into the sleep of death! Whenever any one is unavoidably reduced to this alarming situation, he should keep himself in motion, though he make no way ahead. The first approach of sleepiness should alarm, him with apprehensions of death, which must inevitably follow if he gives way in the least to it. Instead of doing this, he should walk back and forth in a little parade which he may make, even [Page] if the snow is deep, often beating his hands, and otherwise exerting himself in different motions.

This being the first winter after Mr. Blanford removed into the country, it appeared terrible to him; but he endeavored to make it as agreeable as possible by often visiting at Mr. Worthy's. He happened to be caught there in a storm of snow, against the violence of which he returned home with great difficulty. The next morning he was called upon, among others, to the relief of a family whose distresses he describes in a pathetic manner in a letter to a friend:—"Hard by a copse of wood, and under the covert of a raggid cliff, stood the hut of an industrious peasant, whose early misfortunes, and numerous family, entailed poverty upon him. This poor man, taking his eldest son with him, went some distance into the woods in quest of prey, to supply the wants of a needy family, while another lad was dispatched to procure a little meal to make a cake. This luckless man wandered far from his lonely cottage before he could obtain any game. There was already some snow on the ground, which, with the encreasing storm that came on heavily towards night, made it impossible to follow his track back again. [Page] The cold, which encreased with the storm, benumbed them so as to make their motions languid. They wandered about this way and the other, endeavoring to face the storm, as that gave them some direction towards home, till the darkness of the night prevented their being able any longer to keep any particular course. They endeavored to beat against it without knowing which way they went, or being able to make much way ahead. Here they wallowed about half buried in the snow banks, exerting their weary and enfeebled limbs, to reach the wished for home, while the anxious wife prepares the best repast the humble roof afforded, to warm and refresh them at their return. But, alas, how vain is all her care! While she is thus employed for their comfort, the blood chills and grows stagnant in their veins! The darkness of the night brings on gloomy apprehensions lest some evil may have befallen her husband and her son. As the evening advances, her distress rises to half distraction. The little ones hang about her, and, crying, ask a father's return—"Why don't Daddy come—where is Dickie gone?"—Often does she fly to the rattling wicket to receive him welcome—as often is she deceived by the trembling of the door, before the violence of the storm.

[Page] In this distressful situation does she pass the night. The howling tempest without, and the more violent agitation within, formed a scene that baffles all description. In the morning, the storm being over, she sent information to the nearest house, that her husband and son were missing. Many people were soon out scouring the woods. They searched every place that seemed probable, and at last they found the son apparently just expiring on the stiffened corps of the father. It is unnecessary to attempt a description of the poor woman's distress on this occasion; it was such as imagination may figure to itself, as the natural effect of so dreadful a catastrophe! A circumstance that relieved her in some measure, from the first shock, was, that her son, who was in the dozing state already mentioned as a prelude to death, soon revived, on proper applications, so as to give hope of his recovery. It was on this occasion that my friend Worthy discovered a generosity, and delicacy of mind, that indicates true greatness of soul, and convinces me that not only many a philosopher, but many a divine, and many a saint, follows the plough. He addressed the widow in language of tenderness and sympathy; and assured her that she might make herself easy [Page] with regard to a present supply for her family; and that he would cause her son to be transported to his own house, where every thing should be done to effect a total restoration of the injured parts. The funeral of the unhappy victim, which was made at common expense, principally by Mr. Worthy's influence, was attended with great solemnity. A sermon was given on the occasion by Mr. Villars. It was short, but pertinent and pathetic. It was on this occasion, that this worthy and truly pious clergyman, displayed with great force of language and warmth of expression, the vanity of the present state, and its liableness to disappoint all our hopes and expectations; the frailty of man, and the numberless accidents to which he is here exposed. From a consideration of the vanity and transitory nature of all sublunary things, he urged the importance of securing an interest in a better state, and dwelt on the consolation that the prospect of such a state affords to mourners. On this part of the subject he could dwell with propriety, for the poor man who had fallen before the piercing cold, though very poor, had a regard for religion, and whenever he could, he went to public worship, though at the distance of several miles. This rendered him happier [Page] while he lived, and rendered him fitter for the sudden death that had overtaken him.

Mr. Villars also took occasion to explain and recommend charity to the poor, and relief to the distressed, as a great christian duty, without which all pretensions to religion were vain and foolish. "Men, said he, may appear to be devout, and may talk religiously without expense; but the calls of charity bring them to the test, and will presently decide the question, whether God or the world, duty or interest, preponderates." Mr. Villars was accustomed to view the miseries of his fellow creatures with great tenderness and humanity, and to relieve the distresses of those who fell within his reach, as far as his own means would allow. He could therefore with good grace recommend to his hearers to "diffuse a gleam of cheerfulness over the sufferings of the solitary widow, and the needy fatherless, and to alleviate their distressful condition, by such necessaries as they could spare. How hard, said he, is the lot of the poor? How pitiable the state of our fellow creatures, when destitute of every circumstance that can alleviate, that can mitigate the severe pangs of affliction, and afford common necessaries to the calls of a surrounding, dependent family? [Page] How indispensible then is the obligation to exert ourselves in assisting our fellow creatures to render life at least supportable?" This pathetic address had a good effect on the humane, if not on the moral feelings of the audience. The distressed family received great relief, and places were provided for several of the children. Mrs. Worthy took one of those children to bring up, and highly applauded the cheerfulness of her children, particularly of her daughters, in parting with some articles of their own clothing for the poor girls who were deprived of their father.

"I cannot close my letter, continued Mr. Blanford, without repeating to you those excellent sentiments by Dr. Enfield, on compassion to the poor."

"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door,

Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh! give relief, and heaven will bless you store.

These tattered clothes my poverty bespeak,

These hoary looks proclaim my lengthen'd years,

And many a furrow in my grief worn cheek

Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,

With tempting aspect drew me from my road;

For plenty there a residence has found,

And grandeur, a magnificent abode.

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Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!

Here, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread,

A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,

To seek an shelter in a humble shed.

Oh! take me to your hospitable dome;

Keen blows the wind and piercing is the cold!

Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,

For I am poor, and miserably old.

Should I reveal the sources of my grief,

If soft humanity e'er touched your breast,

Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,

And tears of pity would not be represt.

Heaven sends misfortunes; why should we repine?

Tis heaven has brought me to the state you see;

And your condition may be soon like mine,

The child of sorrow, and of misery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn;

But ah! oppression forc'd me from my cot,

My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter, once the comfort of my age,

Lur'd by a villain from her native home,

Is cast abandoned on the world's wide stage,

And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, sweet soother of my care!

Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,

Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair,

And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door,

Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh! give relief, and heaven will I less your store."

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CHAP. XXXII. Mr. Worthy's ideas of economy—maxims concerning it—recommended and exemplified by Dr. Franklin—Fable of Avarice and Liberality.

"LET nothing be lost," was a motto and constant injunction with Mr. Worthy. "It is is an old saying, that a penny saved, is as good as a penny earned." "I will venture to affirm, Mr. Worthy would say, it is better; for the same economy that teaches how to save a penny, will teach us also to make the best, and most advantageous use of it." This saving the effects of industry from the devouring jaws of carelessness and squandering, does not imply the least degree of parsimony or stinginess; but the most prudent use and application of what we have acquired. "In most of our houses, said Mr. Worthy to Mr. Blanford, when both their families were present, there is enough lost, and thrown away, of some one article, which if it were saved with care, might purchase some other useful article for [Page] the family. I will instance, said he, in that of paper. I have no doubt but every family might supply itself with paper every year for necessary uses, from the rags which are swept out of doors and lost, or thrown into the fire and burnt." Here one of the Miss Blanfords blushed like crimson, for she had just thrown a handful of linen shreds into the fire. Mr. Worthy observing the blush, relieved her, and diverted them all with the story of Dr. Franklin's whistle.—"I recollect, said he, the story of Dr. Franklin, who when he was a small boy, had his pockets filled with coppers on a holiday. Possessed of this treasure, he sallied forth to a toy shop to part with his coppers and please his fancy. Being charmed with the sound of a whistle, in the hands of a boy he met on the way, he voluntarily offered all his money for one. Returning home, he went whistling about house, to the great annoyance of all the family, who understanding the bargain, told him he had given four times as much for it as it was worth. This put him in mind of what good things he might have bought with the money he had lost. They laughed at him so much that he cried for vexation; and the reflection on what he had needlessly lost, gave [Page] him more pain than the whistle gave him pleasure. This want of economy, however, was of great use to him afterwards, for when he was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, he would say to himself "Dont give too much for the whistle," and so he saved his money; and when he came on the stage and observed the conduct of others, he saw many giving too much for their whistles. When, on the other hand, he saw a man giving up every kind of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow citizens, and the joys of friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth; or, on the other, sacrificing health, fortune, and whatever is valuable in life, to pleasure, he would say, "Such men pay too dear for their whistles." The story amused the company, and relieved Miss Blanford from the confusion of mind into which the incident had thrown her; but it afforded a very instructive lesson ever afterwards.

Mr. Blanford replied, "that he considered economy as holding a middle rank between avarice and prodigality; and that though it had no great brilliancy, and is by many considered as a tame indifferent quality, [Page] yet that it is the way to wealth, and has employed the pens of some of the ablest writers. Dr. Franklin, whose name will long live an honor to his country, employed many of his hours, even when occupied with national politics, in studying maxims of prudence and economy. Those subjects indeed occupy a large proportion of his miscellaneous writings. They are on that account of unspeakably greater advantage to the world than if he had always soared in the higher regions of science. Writings which are on a level with the public mind, are most extensively useful. He therefore, who advances the most maxims and best suited to the exigencies of society, does the most benefit with his pen. Certain it is, continued Mr. Blanford, that great part of the miseries of mankind are brought upon themselves by the false estimate they have made of the value of things, and by their giving too much for their whistles."

Mr. Worthy was as careful to save by economy as to acquire by industry. This gave him a great advantage over many who in their hurry about somethings forget many others, and so bring little to pass. They may be industrious in gathering, but [Page] kick over with their feet what their hands have gathered; while they are doing one thing, they undo another, and in their hurry bring nothing to pass. They run here and there, do a little of one thing, and a little of another, keep themselves in a fret, their house in a tumult, and at last leave every thing at sixes and sevens. Mr. Worthy often said of such people, that they "let out at the spile what they put in at the bung." He was never idle, and seldom in a hurry. His business was well planned, and deliberately executed. He laid out no more than could be finished in season; never destroyed what he had done by eagerness to do more than could be effected. He attended minutely to his affairs, and when the day closed he dismissed his cares with it. Whatever happened, he was serene and temperate. He was thankful for prosperity; but never discomposed by cross accidents, because he had taken proper care to guard against them. He never suffered himself to be out of humor for what could not be prevented, nor anxious about events that were beyond the reach of human control. He was successful in his business because he observed method, and by his economy he [Page] saved an ample portion for the poor, whose blessing, every day came upon him.

The following fable confirms Mr. Blanford's definition of economy, and shows it to stand on a middle line between solicitude and profuseness. "In old time, when some grew rich and heaped up great stores, while others squandered away what they had gotten, there lived by the side of a great field one of those beings who never think of any thing but hoarding up great stores of goods, and of having their coffers filled with gold. His name was Avarice. He owned all that vast field which descended quite to the river on the south and extended to the mountainous country to the west. His granaries merely groaned under the oppression of his vast crops. He better knew how to collect than to improve. Care seized his breast, and deprived him of the happiness he might otherwise have enjoyed.

Not far from him, on the summit of a beautiful rise, lived a maiden of uncommon beauty, in the bloom of youth. Her name was Liberality. Mild and gentle in her disposition, she was easily wrought upon by the appearance of want or distress in others. Her house was the seat of hospitality. Hither resorted people of all classes. Here [Page] the weary pilgrim would be sure to find shelter and rest. Her doors were open to all who were passing, and the best the house afforded was brought forth and set before them. She profusely scattered the blessings of her hand, and multitudes felt the effect of her generosity. But the extent of her fortune, though very great, was not equal to the extent of her generosity. Sad experience taught her that the objects of charity and of hospitality should not be universal, but selected with care; for that instead of entertaining angels by an indiscriminate reception of all, she might sometimes entertain harpies, and oftentimes give to the undeserving. This discovery was made too late to recover her circumstances. Her fortune was gone, and with that her friends. As she sat one day reflecting on herself for the incautious manner in which she had parted with her interest, Avarice called to upbraid her for the folly of which she had been guilty. But when he entered the room where she was setting alone and solitary, he was struck with the beauty of her form, the gracefulness of her mein, and the placid amiableness of mind shining in her countenance. Instead of blaming, he proposed marriage to her, assuring [Page] her that he had more than he knew what to do with, and could not enjoy it alone. She modestly consented, on condition of his allowing her a certain proportion of it to be at her own disposal. The conditions settled, the nuptials were celebrated with joy and festivity; and they go on joyfully together. Avarice began to taste the pleasures of generosity; and Liberality to learn some of the caution of Avarice. The consequence of this marriage was the birth of a beautiful little daughter in due time. It was, as the poet says,

"A little maid of matchless worth.

Her face was mix'd of care and glee,

They christened her ECONOMY!

And stil'd her fair discretion's queen,

The mistress of the golden mean.

Now LIBERALITY confin'd,

Is perfect easy in her mind;

She loves to give, yet knows to spare,

Nor wishes to be free from CARE."

[Page]

CHAP. XXXIII. This chapter concludes the history of Mr. Worthy.

THOUGH Mr. Worthy followed his own maxims of economy, yet he never denied himself any of the necessaries, nor even the decent conveniences of life, that were within the compass of his means; and while he taught his sons the maxims of frugality and prudence, which regulated his own conduct, his wife instructed her daughters in the same art of making the most of every thing. The knowledge of this art became the more necessary for them, as they were now advancing towards that state wherein they would have occasion every day to practice it for themselves. There is no one quality that unites so many useful and necessary properties in the female character as this. It was on account of Mrs. Worthy's eldest daughter possessing this knowledge to a high degree, that Mr. and Mrs. Blanford highly esteemed her. Previous to their removing to the farm where they now [Page] resided, their son George had conceived a strong inclination for a seafaring life. He was absent at the time of their removal, and continued absent for some time afterwards. He was attended by a variety of fortunes, having been several times cast away; and though more fortunate at others, yet he suffered so much that on his return, he was glad to quit the seas, and retire with his father on the farm. He soon became remarkably contented and satisfied with his situation, considering he had been so much abroad. He began to enter into all the pleasures of their little circle of friends. Though their situation was rural, and their enjoyments of a nature suited to the country, he partook of them with encreasing cheerfulness and delight. He scarcely knew the cause of his growing attachment to a scene, so different from any thing to which he had been accustomed, till he sound his affections fixed on Mr. Worthy's eldest daughter. He was enamored with her, not merely on account of the beauty of her person, though that was pleasing, but on account of the amiableness of her disposition, the sprightliness and vivacity of her mind, and the excellent manner in which she had been educated. The affair was communicated to her parents, and their [Page] permission to visit Miss Worthy was asked. There appeared no other objection to the young gentleman's proposal, than that his education had been so different from her's. Mr. Worthy feared that his habits in the first part of life would be injurious to him in the country, and as a farmer. This difficulty, however, was lessening every day, by his encreasing love of a country life. The affection was mutual between young Mr. Blanford and Miss Dorcas Worthy, and the consent of their parents was obtained. But previous to their being married, he was under the necessity of making a voyage to the West Indies to collect some debts, which he had left in bad hands, who had several times deceived him about payment. He set sail for Martinico, where he completed his business, after a detention of several months, and a great deal of perplexity, and embarked for home in the first vessel bound to his native town. Several other passengers were on board the same vessel, among whom were an English lady and her only daughter, a young lady of very elegant accomplishments. The agreeable company on board the vessel, and the pleasing prospect of being soon restored to his beloved Dorcas, together with a fine wind, lightened his spirits, and made the [Page] time he had been absent, appear now but very short. They had nearly gained their passage, when there came on a violent storm, which continued for some time. They were driven back again many leagues, and at last, by the violence of the wind, they were overset. It was on this occasion that young Mr. Blanford discovered great fortitude and generosity. In the confusion of affairs, when each one seemed absorbed in the care of himself, the two ladies and their waiting woman were left below in the cabin, from whence Mr. Blanford made an attempt, at the risque of his own life, to rescue them. In this attempt he was so happy as to be successful, though Mrs. Farley, the mother of the young lady, was considerably injured in being pulled out of the cabin. They all remained on the side of the vessel for several hours, tossed about by the boisterous waves. At length the masts gave way, and the deck being cleared of all incumbrances, the vessel righted up. They were now a mere wreck, floating about at the mercy of the wind and waves. In this distressful situation, they continued more than fifty hours, when they discovered a ship to which they made signs of distress. These being at length discovered by the people on board the ship, the [Page] Captain, who was a humane man, ran directly down for them, and took them all on board his own ship, with every thing he could get from the wreck. Mr. Blanford was so fortunate as to save his chest, which contained the principal part of the interest he had on board. The ship was bound to Halifax, where they all arrived safe in about twelve days. Young Mr. Blanford having been gone much longer than his friends expected, and hearing nothing of him, they grew extremely uneasy about him. Mr. Blanford, who knew better about the nature of the business he went upon than the rest of the friends, was less uneasy about his son. But a letter from a friend, informing that his son had sailed from the West Indies some time since, gave him great alarm. He set out immediately for—, where he made every inquiry after intelligence about his son, but could gain no more than that he had sailed a number of weeks before, but had been heard nothing of since. In these distressful circumstances, with a heart ready to burst with grief, Mr. Blanford was about returning home with the melancholy probability that his son was buried in a watery grave. In the morning, when he was going out of town, he met an old acquaintance who informed [Page] him that a vessel had just arrived from Halifax with some passengers on board, who, as he was informed, had been taken from a wreck at sea. Mr. Blanford went immediately to make inquiry, when to his joy and surprise, the first person he met coming from the ship, was his lost son. I need not attempt to describe the mutual happiness of this meeting, nor the tide of joy which arose in the family on their arrival home, after sixteen months absence. During this long absence, and the fears that agitated her mind with regard to his safety, Miss Worthy behaved with a modesty becoming her sex; but was not able wholly to conceal the agitation of her mind. His unexpected arrival at a time when the apprehensions of his being lost were most lively, was an incident too mighty for her. Immediately on his arrival at his father's, he flew to relieve her of those apprehensions.—It was too much for her—the tide rose too high—she fainted at the sight of so unexpected a visitant, but was soon recovered. Those incidents of fortune which had tried the sincerity of their mutual affections, served but to strengthen their attachment to each other; and on the next new year's eve, their nuptials were celebrated in presence of a number of their friends, who [Page] gave every testimony of their mutual joy and satisfaction.

Mr. and Mrs. Worthy, whose chief happiness it had been to see their children taking to good courses, rewarding all their care by behaving well, and making themselves esteemed and beloved, now enjoyed the fruit of all their care and attention in seeing them forming good connexions, and being able to acquit themselves therein with honor and advantage. Young Mr. Blanford, setting out in life with the advantage of a small farm given him by his father, and the still greater advantage of a wife, who was perfect mistress of the business of her department, soon began to flourish as a farmer, and in process of time, became a wealthy farmer, and a respectable citizen. This connexion rendered the intercourse between the two families, more frequent and agreeable. It was not interrupted by those jealousies and competitions which sometimes arise between neighbors, and which excite envyings, strife and contentions. Their evenings, which were frequently spent together, were never contaminated by foul breath of scandal and evil speaking of others, as is too commonly the case; but in useful and pleasant conversation—in observations on the gradual [Page] progress of their settlements, and the advances of agriculture—how the howling swamp was converted into a pleasing and useful meadow, and the rough ridge into a fine fruitful field. While the jocund discourse goes round, the young people participate in the pleasure which their parents seem to enjoy in recounting their toils, and the success attending them; and in turn, indulge themselves in youthful mirth. Mrs. Worthy would mix with them in their amusing scenes in so graceful a manner, that she seemed to be on a footing with them, and even to give life to their amusements, without letting down her dignity, or losing a proper influence over their minds, so as to restrain them from every excess.

This intimacy between the families was productive of another effect, which was little thought of at first, as the parties were quite young; but it was not long concealed from their parents, that Mr. Worthy's eldest son, Henry Smith, was strongly attached to Miss Theodosia Blanford. Their youthful hearts were united by a bond too strong to be broken, and their marriage was celebrated a few months after the birth of a second child, to young Mr. Blanford. This being a son, it was the occasion of great joy to all their friends.

[Page] Mr. Worthy, who now saw his children settling about him, conceived it proper to make a will, that no difficulty might arise to alienate the affections of his children from each other after his decease. In his will he made an equal distribution of his interest among all his children, and charged each one with whatever he gave them at their settlement. Thus, "setting his house in order, as he often expressed it, that he might be so far ready to receive his master's call." Mr. Worthy was much employed in offices in the town, wherein he acquitted himself much to his honor and their benefit; for he was truly a benevolent man and studied the good of others. He modestly declined all public employment, and public offices. To have the best cultivated farm, and be considered in the first rank of the primary occupation—to lighten the labors of his wife, and render her comfortable and happy—to have the best regulated family, and to see his children well settled, virtuous and happy, enjoying the effects of his care in the fruits of their own industry, formed the principal objects of his ambition, and engaged his uniform attention.—Thankful to God for the portion of good allotted him, he envied no man's prosperity.—Satisfied with his condition, [Page] and resigned to the will of divine providence, he only wished to live to see his children possessed of the same temper, and enjoying the blessings of health, a good conscience, and well settled on farms which their own industry might bring to a good state of cultivation—the most fortunate situaation they could be placed in!—Who can be happier than an independent American farmer, under the smiles of his heavenly patron, and the auspices of a government arising out of the majesty of the people, and shedding its blessings over a peaceful soil?—That the agricultural part of this great community, may long, long enjoy these blessings, is the most ardent wish and humble supplication of THE FARMER'S FRIEND.

May the long race of virtuous heirs succeed

Lords of the soil, to beautify those scenes;

But chiefly to glad the heart of industry,

And feel the blessings seven fold return'd,

In plenteous harvest and domestic peace.

FINIS.

Notes

*

The Emperor of China is obliged to appear in the field at the head of his laborers in the season of ploughing; and with his own hand hold the plough as an example of industry to the people of his kingdom. The Chinese are said to be an industrious people, and to understand the vegetable system of nature better than any others. Their veneration for agriculture certainly appears in this annual custom of their Emperor's becoming a husbandman every spring, in the encouragement given to it by their laws, and in the honors conferred on those who excel in cultivating the ground.

↵

*

Dr. Deane, in his excellent treatise on husbandry, entitled "The New England Farmer," has given some directions on this head, which are worthy the attention of all farmers. The occupation of making butter and cheese from milk, he justly considers as a critical part of the farmer's business: and that unless his wife or house keeper is very diligent and industrious, and sees minutely to the dairy herself, it will prove unprofitable. The cows must be milked at an early hour, and the utmost cleanliness observed. In order to preserve the temperature of the air in the dairy room, our ingenious author observes, "A room in the cellar may be kept so nearly of an equal coolness, that the milk will neither grow sour in summer nor freeze in winter; so that nothing will obstruct the rising of the cream. There should be windows on the northern side. These should be opened in the coolest of the mornings in summer to let in fresh air. The room should be plaistered and whitewashed, to increase the light and prevent insects. Every part should be extremely clear and sweet, and nothing should enter into it which can corrupt the air."

↵

*

The practice of asking strangers their names is said to▪ be peculiar to New England; and it is the subject of much▪ ridicule among foreigners—who are probably guilty of some other practices as ridiculous.

↵

*

"No gilded roofs here strain the gazer's eye:

No goblets flow with anxious luxury;

Sleep, balmy sleep, here rests his downy wings,

Nor waits the purple pomp of gorgeous coverings;

No gems here dazzle the offended sight;

No trilling airs inspire unchaste delight:

No servile band with crouching necks appear.

Not flatt'ry's self can find admission here."

↵

*

Deut. xxvi. 15.

↵

*

"Those who labor in the earth, are the chosen people of God, if ever he had a chosen people, whose breasts he has made his peculiar deposit for substantial and genuine virtue. It is the focus that keeps alive that sacred fire which otherwise might escape from the face of the earth. Corruption of morals in the mass of cultivators, is a phenomenon of which no age nor nation has furnished an example."—Notes on Virginia, 175th page.

↵

*

"Sir Philip was conveyed to Anhelm, and attended by the principal surgeons of the camp. During sixteen days, great hopes were entertained of his recovery; but the ball not being extracted, and a mortification ensuing, he prepared himself for death with the utmost piety and fortitude, and expired on the seventeenth of October, 1586, in the thirty second year of his age. He is said to have taken leave of his brother in these affecting terms.—Love my memory, cherish my friends, their fidelity to me may assure you that they are honest. But above all, govern your will and affections by the will and word of your Creator; in me beholding the end of this world, with all her vanities."

↵

*

By selfishness is intended a person's regard to himself without any regard to others. It is opposed to the exercise of benevolence.

↵

*

Tho the word husbandry is commonly used as if it were perfectly synonymous with agriculture, it is in strictness, a word of larger signification. It includes not only the business of tillage, and the care and management of vegetables, but extends to the rearing of cattle, swine, poultry, &c. and indeed, to every branch of rural economy."—Dr. Deane.

↵

*

Prov. x. 9.

↵

*

There is now living in the State of Massachusetts a family bearing these names.

↵

Information about this book

Title statement

The farmer's friend, or The History of Mr. Charles Worthy. Who, from being a poor orphan, rose through various scenes of distress and misfortune, to wealth and eminence, by industry, economy and good conduct. : Interspersed with many useful and entertaining narratives, suited to please the fancy, improve the understanding, and mend the heart. / By Enos Hitchcock, D.D. author of "Memoirs of the Bloomsgrove family." ; Published according to act of Congress.

Hitchcock, Enos, 1745-1803.

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Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

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Ann Arbor, MI :

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2007-10.

ID [DLPS]

N19625

ID [TCP]

N19625

ID [STC]

Evans 25609

ID [NOTIS]

APW5973

ID [IMAGE-SET]

25609

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99012104

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Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 25609.

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— The farmer's friend, or The History of Mr. Charles Worthy. Who, from being a poor orphan, rose through various scenes of distress and misfortune, to wealth and eminence, by industry, economy and good conduct. : Interspersed with many useful and entertaining narratives, suited to please the fancy, improve the understanding, and mend the heart. / By Enos Hitchcock, D.D. author of "Memoirs of the Bloomsgrove family." ; Published according to act of Congress., Hitchcock, Enos, 1745-1803..

Extent

xii, [1], 14-271, [1] p. ; 18 cm. (12mo)

by I. Thomas and E.T. Andrews, Faust's Statue, no. 45, Newbury Street.,. Printed at Boston, :: MDCCXCIII. [1793]. (Running title: The history of Charles Worthy.)

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