What do you want to make me believe that there are two ways of keep­ing the commandments.

No! but there may be two ways of understanding them.

Well! I am not afraid to be put to the proof, I defy any man to say I do not keep at least the four first that are on the left side of the altar piece.

If you can prove that, I shall be more ready to believe you observe those of the other table, for he who does his du­ty to God will be likely to do his duty to his neighbour also.

What! do you think that I serve two Gods? Do you think then that I make graven images, and worship stocks or sto [...]es? Do you take me for a Papist or an Idolator?

Don't triumph quite so soon master Bragwell. Pray is there nothing in the world you prefer to GOD, and thus make an idol of? Do you not love your money or your lands, or your crops, or your cattle, or your own will, and your own way rather better than you love GOD? Do you never think of these with more pleasure than you think of Him, and fol­low them more eagerly than your religi­ous duty?

O there's nothing about that in the 20th chapter of Exodus.

But Jesus Christ has said. "He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me." Now it is certainly a man's duty to love his father and mother, nay, it would be wicked not to love them, and yet we must not love even these more than our Creator and our Saviour. Well, I think on this principle, your heart pleads guilty to the breach of the first and second commandments, let us proceed to the third.

This is about swearing, is it not!

[Page 4] Mr. Worthy, who had observed Brag­well guilty of much profaneness in using the name of his maker, (though all such offensive words have been avoided in wri­ting this history) now told him that he had been waiting the whole day for an opportunity to reprove him, for his fre­quent breach of the third commandment.

Good L—d, I break the third command­ment; said Bragwell, no indeed hardly ever. I once used to swear a little to be sure, but I vow to G—d I never do it now except now and then, when I happen to be in a passion: and in such a case, why good G—d, you know the sin is with those who provoke me and not with me, but, upon my soul, I don't think I have sworn an oath these three months; no not I faith, as I hope to be saved.

And yet you have broken this holy law no less than five or six times in the last speech you have made.

Lord bless me. Sure you mis­take. Good heavens, Mr. Worthy, I call G—d to witness I have neither cur­sed [Page 5] nor swore since I have been in the house.

Mr. Bragwell this is the way in which many who call themselves very good sort of people deceive them­selves. What is it no profanation of the name of God to use it lightly, irreverently and familiarly as you have done? Our Saviour has not only told us not to swear by the immediate name of God, but he has said, swear not at all, neither by hea­ven nor by the earth, and in order to pre­vent our inventing any other irreligious exclamations or expressions, he has even added, but let your communication be yea, yea, and nay, nay, for whatsoever is more than this simple affirmation and denial cometh of evil.

Well, well, I must take a little more care I believe, I vow to hea­ven I did not know there had been so much harm in it, but my daughters sel­dom speak without using some of these words, and yet they wanted to make me believe the other day that it was mon­strous vulgar to swear.

Women, even gentlewomen, who ought to correct this evil habit in their fathers, and husbands, and children, are too apt to encourage it by their own practice. And indeed they betray the profaneness of their own minds also by it, for none who truly venerate the holy name of God, can either profane it in this manner themselves, or hear others do so without being exceedingly pained at it.

Well, since you are so hard upon me I believe I must e'en give up this point—so let us pass on to the next, and here I tread upon sure ground, for as sharp as you are upon me, you can't accuse me of being a sabbath-breaker, since I go to church every Sunday of my life unless on some very extraordinary oc­casion.

For those occasions the gos­pel allows, by saying, "the sabbath was made for man and not man for the sab­bath." Our own sickness or attending on the sickness of others are lawful impe­diments.

Yes, and I am now and then obliged to look at a drove of beasts, or to go a journey, or to take some medi­cine, or perhaps some friend may call up­no me, or it may be very cold, or very hot or very rainy.

Poor excuses Mr. Bragwell, I am afraid these will not pass on the day of judgment. But how is the rest of your Sunday spent?

O why I assure you, I often go to church in the afternoon also, and e­ven if I am ever so sleepy.

And so you finish your nap at church I suppose?

Why as to that to be sure we do contrive to have something a little nicer than common for dinner on a Sun­day; in consequence of which one eats you know a little more than ordinary; and having nothing to do on that day, one has more leisure to take a cheerful glass; and all these things will make one a lit­tle heavy you know.

And don't you take a little ride in the morning, and look at your sheep when the weather is good, and so fill your mind just before you go to church with the thoughts of them, and when you come away again don't you settle an ac­count, or write a few letters of business?

I can't say but I do, but that is nothing to any body as long as I set a good example by keeping to my church.

And how do you pass your Sunday evenings?

My wise and daughters go a visiting of a sunday afternoon. My daughters are glad to get out at any rate, and as to my wife, she says, that being ready dressed it is a pity to lose the op­portunity, besides it saves her time on a week day; so then you see I have it all my own way, and when I have got rid of the ladies, who are ready to faint at the smell of tobacco, I can venture to smoak a pipe and drink a sober glass of punch with half a dozen friends.

Which punch being made of smuggled brandy, and drank on the Lord's day in very vain, as well as pro­fane and worldly company, you are ena­bled [Page 9] to break both the law of GOD and that of your country at a stroke: and I suppose when you get together, you speak of your cattle or of your crops, after which perhaps you talk over a few of your neigh­bours faults, and then you brag a little of your own wealth or your own atchiev­ments.

Why you seem to know us so well, that any one would think you had been sitting behind the curtain, and yet you are a little mistaken too, for I think we have hardly said a word for se­veral of our last Sundays on any thing but politics.

And do you find that you improve your Christian charity by that subject?

Why to be sure we do quar­rel 'till we are very near fighting, that is the worst on't.

And then you call names and swear a little I suppose.

Why when one is contra­dicted and put in a passion you know flesh and blood can't bear it.

And when all your friends are gone home what becomes of the rest of the evening?

That is just as it happens, sometimes I read the newspaper; and as one is generally most tired on the days one does nothing, I go to-bed earlier than on other days, that I may be more fit to get up to my business the next morning.

So you shorten Sunday as much as you can, by cutting off a bit at both ends I suppose, for I take it for granted you lie a little later in the morn­ing?

Come, Come. We shan't get through the whole ten to-night if you stand snubbing one at this rate. You may pass over the fifth, for my father and mo­ther have been dead since I was a boy, so I am clear of that scrape.

There are however many re­lative duties in that commandment; un­kindness to all kindred is forbidden.

O if you mean my turning off my nephew Tom, the plowboy, you must not blame me for that, it was all my wife's fault. He was as good a lad as ever lived to be sure, and my own bro­ther's son, but my wife could not bear that a boy in a carter's frock should be about the house who called her aunt. We quarrelled like dog and cat about it; and [Page 11] when he was turned away we did not speak for a week.

Which was a fresh breach of the commandment, a worthy nephew turned out of doors, and a wife not spo­ken to for a week, are no very convin­cing proofs of your observance of the fifth commandment.

Well I long to come to the sixth for you don't think I commit mur­der I hope.

I am not sure of that.

What kill any body.

Why the laws of the land in­deed and the disgrace attending it are al­most enough to keep any man from actu­al murder; let me ask however, do you never give way to unjust anger, and pas­sion, and revenge? as for instance, do you never feel your resentment kindle against some of the politicians who con­tradict you on a Sunday night? and do you never push your animosity against somebody that has affronted you, further than the occasion will justify?

Harkee Mr. Worthy, I am a man of substance, and nobody, shall of­fend me without my being even with him. So as to injuring a man, if he affronts me [Page 12] first there's nothing but good reason in that.

Very well! only bear in mind that you wilfully break this com­mandment, whether you abuse your ser­vant, are angry at your wife, watch for a moment to revenge an injury on your neighbour, or even wreak your passion on a harmless beast; for you have then the seeds of murder working in your breast; and if there were no law, no gibbet to check you, and no fear of disgrace nei­ther, I am not sure where you would stop.

Why Mr. Worthy you have a strange way of explaining the com­mandments, so you set me down for a murderer merely because I bear hatred to a man who has done me a hurt, and am glad to do him a like injury in my turn.—I am sure I should want spirit if I did not.

I go by the scripture rule, which says, "he that hateth his brother is a murderer," and again "love your e­nemies, bless them that curse you, and pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you." Besides, Mr. Brag­well you made it a part of your boast that you said the Lord's prayer every day, [Page 13] wherein you pray to God to forgive you your trespasses as you forgive them that tresspass against you.—If therefore you do not forgive them that trespass against you, in that case, you pray daily that your own trespasses may never be forgiven.

Well, come let us make haste and get through these command­ments. The next is, "thou shalt not commit adultry," thank God neither I nor my family can be said to break the seventh commandment.

Here again, remember how Christ himself hath said, "whoso looketh on a woman to lust after her, hath alrea­dy committed adultry with her in his heart." These are no far fetched expres­sions of mine. Mr. Bragwell, they are the words of Jesus Christ. I hope you will not charge him with having carried things too far, for if you do, you charge him with being mistaken in the religion he taught, and this can only be accounted for by supposing him an impostor.

Why upon my word, Mr. Worthy, I dont like these sayings of his, which you quote upon me so often, and that is the truth of it, and I can't say I feel much disposed to believe them.

I hope you believe in Jesus Christ. I hope you believe that creed of yours, which you also boasted of your re­peating so regularly.

Well, well, I'll believe any thing you say rather than stand quar­relling with you.

I hope then you will allow, that since it is committing adultry to look at a woman with even an irregular thought, it follows from the same rule, that all immodest dress in your daughters, or in­decent jests and double meanings in yourself, all loose songs or novels, and all diversions also which have a like dan­gerous tendency, are forbidden by the seventh commandment; for it is most plain from what Christ has said, that it takes in not only the act but the inclina­tion, the desire, the indulged imagination, the act is only the last and highest degree of any sin, the topmost round as if it were of a ladder, to which all the lower rounds are only as so many steps and stages.

Strict indeed, Mr. Wor­thy, but let us get on to the next, you wont pretend to say I steal. Mr. Brag­well I trust was never known to rob on the high-way, to break open his neigh­bour's [Page 15] house, or to use false weights or measures.

No, nor have you ever been under any temptation to do it, and yet there are a thousand ways of breaking the eighth commandment besides actual steal­ing, for instance, do you never hide the faults of the goods you sell, and heighten the faults of those you buy? Do you never take advantage of an ignorant dealer, and ask more for a thing than it is worth? Do you never turn the distressed circumstan­ces of a man who has something to sell, to your own unfair benefit, and thus act as unjustly by him as if you had stolen? Do you never cut off a shilling from a work­man's wages under a pretence which your conscience can't justify? Do you ne­ver pass off an unsound horse, for a sound one? Do you never conceal the real rent of your estate from the overseers, and thereby rob the poor rates of their legal due?

Pooh! these things are do­ing every day. I shan't go to set up for being better than my neighbours in these sort of things, these little matters will pass muster.—I don't set up for a refor­mer.—If I am as good as the rest of my [Page 16] neighbours no man can call me to account; I'm not worse I trust, and I dont pretend to be better.

You must be tried hereafter at the bar of God, and not by a jury of your fellow-creatures; and the scriptures are given us, in order to shew by what rule we shall be judged. How many or how few do as you do, is quite aside from the question; Jesus Christ hath even told us to strive to enter in at the strait gate, so that we ought rather to take fright, from our being like the common run of people, than to take comfort from our being so.

Come, I don't like all this close work—it makes a man feel I don't know how—I don't find myself so happy as I did—I don't like this fishing in trou­bled waters—I'm as merry as a grig when I let these things alone—I'm glad we are got to the ninth. But I suppose I shall be lugged in there too head and shoulders. Any one who did not know me, would really think I was a great sinner, by your way of putting things; I dont bear false witness however.

You mean, I suppose, you would not swear away a man's life false­ly [Page 17] before a magistrate, but do you take equal care not to slander or backbite him? Do you never represent a good action of a man you have quarrelled with, as if it were a bad one? or do you never make a bad one worse than it is, by your man­ner of telling it? even when you invent no false circumstance, do you never give such a colour to those you relate, as to leave a false impression on the mind of the hear­ers? Do you never twist a story so as to make it tell a little better for yourself, and a little worse for your neighbour, than truth and justice warrant.

Why as to that matter, all this is only natural.

Aye much too natural to be right I doubt. Well now we are got to the last of the commandments.

Yes, I have run the gaunt­let finely through them all, you will bring me in guilty here I suppose, for the plea­sure of going through with it, for you con­demn without judge or jury, master Worthy.

The culprit I think has hi­therto pleaded guilty to the evidence brought against him. The tenth com­mandment however, goes to to the root [Page 18] and principle of evil, it dives to the bot­tom of things, this command checks the first rising of sin in the heart, teaches us to strangle it in the birth as it were, before it breaks out in those acts which are for­bidden: as for instance, every man co­vets before he proceeds to steal, nay ma­ny covet who dare not steal left they should suffer for it.

Why lookee, Mr. Worthy, I don't understand these new fashioned explanations; one should not have a grain of sheer goodness left, if every thing one does is to be frittered away at this rate, I am not I own quite so good as I thought, but if what you say were true, I should be so miserable, I should not know what to do with myself. Why, I tell you, all the world may be said to break the com­mandments at this rate.

Very true, all the world, and I myself also, are but too apt to break them, if not in the letter at least in the spirit of them. Why then all the world are (as the scripture expresses it) "guil­ty before God." and if guilty they should own they are guilty, and not stand up and justify themselves as you do, Mr. Brag­well.

Well according to my no­tion, I am a very honest man, and hones­ty is the sum and substance of all religion say I.

All truth, honesty, justice, order and obedience, grow out of the christian religion. The true christian acts, at all times and on all occasions, from the pure and spiritual principle of love to God; on this principle, he is upright in his dealings, true to his word, kind to the poor, helpful to the oppressed. In short, if he truly "loves God," he must "do justice," and can't help, loving mercy. Christianity is an uniform consistent thing. It does not allow us to make up for the breach of one part of GOD's law by our strictness in observing another. There is no sponge in one duty, that can wipe out the spot of another sin.

Well, but at this rate, I should be always puzzling and blunder­ing, and would never know for certain whether I was right or not, whereas I am now quite satisfied with myself, and have no doubts to torment me.

One way of knowing whether we really desire to obey the whole law of God is this; when we find we have as great [Page 20] a regard to that part of it, the breach of which does not touch our own interest as to that which does. For instance, a man robs me; I am in a violent passion with him, and when it is said to me, "doest thou well to be angry?" I answer, "I do well." Thou shalt not steal is a law of God, and this fellow hath broken that law. Aye, but says conscience, 'tis thy own property which is in question.—He has broken thy hedge—he has stolen thy sheep—he has taken thy purse. Art thou therefore sure whether it is his violation of thy property, or of GOD's law which provokes thee? I will put a second case—I hear another swear most grievously: or I meet him coming drunk out of an alehouse; or I find him singing a loose prophane song. If I am not as much grieved for this blasphemer, or this drun­kard, as I was for the robber; if I do not take the same pains to bring him to a sense of his sins which I did to bring the rob­ber to justice, "how dwelleth the love of GOD in me?" Is it not clear that I value my own sheep more than God's commandments? That I prize my purse more than I love my Maker? In short, whenever I find out that I am more jea­lous [Page 21] for my own property than for GOD's law; more careful about my own reputa­tion than his honour, I always suspect I am got upon a wrong ground, and that even my right notions are not proceed­ing from a right principle.

Why what in the world would you have me do?

You must confess that your sins are sins. You must not merely call them sins, while you see no guilt in them; but you must confess them so as to hate and detest them; so as to be habitually humbled under the sense of them; so as to trust for salvation not in your freedom from them, but in the mercy of a Saviour; and so as to make it the chief business of your life to contend against them, and in the main to forsake them. And remem­ber that if you seek for a deceitful gaiety, rather than a well grounded cheer­fulness, if you prefer a false security to final safety, and to go away to your cattle and your Farm, and dismiss the subject from your thoughts lest it should make you un­easy; I am not sure that this simple dis­course may not appear against you at the day of account, as a fresh proof that you [Page 22] "loved darkness rather than light" and so increase your condemnation.

Mr. Bragwell was more affected than he cared to own. He went to-bed with less spirits and more humility than usual. He did not however care to let Mr. Wor­thy see the impression which it had made upon him; but at parting next morning, he shook him by the hand more cordially than usual, and made him promise to re­turn his visit in a short time.

Mr Bragwell when he returned home from his visit to Mr. Worthy found that he was not quite so happy as he had for­merly been. The discourses of Mr. Worthy had broken in not a little upon his comfort. And he began to suspect that he was not so completely in the right as his vanity had led him to believe. He seemed also to feel less satisfaction in the idle gentility of his own daughters, since he had been witness to the simplicity, mo­desty, and usefulness of those of Mr. Wor­thy. And he could not help seeing that the vulgar violence of his wife did not produce so much family happiness at home, as the humble piety and quiet di­ligence [Page 23] of Mrs. Worthy produced in the house of his friend.

Happy would it have been for Mr, Bragwell, if he had followed up those new convictions of his own mind, which would have led him to struggle against the power of evil principles in himself, and to have controuled the force of evil habits in his family. But his con­victions were just strong enough to make him uneasy under his errors, without dri­ving him to reform them. The slight impression soon wore off, and he fell back into his old practices. Still his esteem for Mr. Worthy was not at all abated by the plain dealing of that honest friend. It is true he dreaded his piercing eye. He felt that his example held out a con­stant reproof to himself. Yet such is the force of early affection and rooted rever­ence, that he longed to see him at his house. This desire, indeed, as is com­monly the case, was made up of mixed motives. He wished for the pleasure of his friend's company; he longed for that favorite triumph of a vulgar mind, an op­portunity of shewing him his riches; and he thought it would raise his credit in the [Page 24] world to have a man of Mr. Worthy's character at his house.

Mr. Bragwell, It is true, still went on with the same eagerness in gaining mo­ney, and the same ostentation in spending it. But though he was as covetous as ever, he was not quite so sure that it was right to be so. At Christmas, indeed, while he was actually engaged abroad in transactions with his dealers, he was not very scrupulous about the means by which he got his money; and while he was in­dulging in festivity with his friends at home, he was easy enough as to the man­ner in which he spent it. But a man can neither be making bargains nor making feasts always; there must be some inter­vals between these two great objects for which worldly men may be said to live; and in some of these intervals the most worldly, form perhaps some random plans of amendment. And though many a one may say in the fullness of enjoyment, "to-morrow shall be as this day, and more abundant;" yet hardly any man perhaps allows himself to say, even in his most secret moments, "I will never retire from business—I will never repent [Page 25] —I will never think of death. Eternity shall never come into my thoughts." The most that such a one probably ventures to say is, "I need not repent yet. I will continue such a sin a little longer, it will be time enough to think on the next world when I am no longer fit for the business or the pleasures of this."

Such was the case with Bragwell. He set up in his own mind a general distant sort of resolution, that some years hence, when he should be a few years older, and a few thousands richer; when a few more of his present schemes should be compleat­ed, he would then think of altering his course of life. He would then certainly set about spending a religious old age; he would reform some practices in his deal­ings, or perhaps quit business entirely; he would think about reading good books, and when he had compleated such and such a purchase, he would even begin to give something to the poor, but at present he really had little to spare for charity. The very reason why he should have gi­ven more, was just the cause he assigned for not giving at all, namely, the hard­ness of the times. The true grand source [Page 26] of charity, self-denial, never came into his head. Spend less that you may save more, he would have thought a shrewd maxim enough. But spend less that you may spare more, never entered into his book of Proverbs.

At length the time came when Mr. Worthy had promised to return his visit. It was indeed a little hastened by notice that Mr. Bragwell would have in the course of the week, a piece of land to sell by auction; and though Mr. Worthy be­lieved the price was likely to be above his pocket, yet he knew it was an occasi­on which would be likely to bring the the principle Farmers of that neighbour­hood together, some of whom he wanted to meet. And it was on this occasion that Mr. Bragwell prided himself, that he should shew his neighbours so sensible a man as his dear friend Mr. Worthy.

Worthy arrived at his friend's house on the Saturday, time enough to see the house and garden and grounds of Mr. Bragwell by day-light. He saw with plea­sure for he had a warm and generous heart, those evident signs of his friend's [Page 27] prosperity, but as he was a man of a so­ber mind, and was a most exact dealer in truth, he never allowed his tongue the licence of immodest commendation, which he used to say either savoured of flattery or envy. Indeed he never rated mere worldly things so highly as to bestow upon them undue praise. His calm ap­probation somewhat disappointed the va­nity of Mr. Bragwell, who could not help secretly suspecting that his friend, as good a man as he was, was not quite free from envy. He felt, however, very much inclined to forgive this jealousy, which he feared the sight of his ample property, and handsome habitation, must naturally awaken in the mind of a man whose own possessions were so inferior. He practised the usual trick of ordinary and vulgar minds, that of pretending himself to find fault with those things which were particularly deserving praise, when he found Worthy disposed to pass them over in silence.

When they came in to supper, he af­fected to talk of the comforts of Mr. Worthy's little parlour, by way of calling his attention to his own large one. He [Page 28] repeated the word snug, as applied to every thing at Mr. Worthy's, with the plain design to make comparisons favour­able to his own more ample domains. He contrived, as he passed by to his chair, by a seeming accident, to push open the door of a large beaufet in the parlour in which all the finery was most ostentati­ously set out to view. He protested, with a look of satisfaction which belied his words; that for his part he did not care a farthing for all this trumpery; and then smiling and rubbing his hands, added with an air of no small importance, "what a good thing it is, though for people of substance, that the tax on plate was taken off. You are a happy man, Mr. Worthy, you do not feel these things, tax or no tax it is all the same to you." He took care during this speech, by a cast of his eye, to direct Mr. Wor­thy's attention to a great profusion of the brightest cups, salvers, and tankards, and other shining ornaments which crowded the beaufet. Mr. Worthy gravely an­swered, "Mr, Bragwell, it was indeed a tax which could not affect so plain a man as myself, but as it fell on a mere luxury, and therefore could not hurt the [Page 29] poor, I was always sorry that it could not be made productive enough to be con­tinued. A man in my midd [...]ng situation, who is contented with a good glass of beer, poured from a handsome earthen mug, the glass, the mug, and the beer, all of English manufacture. will be but little disturbed at taxes on plate or on wine, but he will regret, as I do, that many old taxes are so much [...]aded, that new ones are continually brought on to make up the deficiencies of the former."

During supper the young ladies sat in disdainful silence, not deigning to bestow the smallest civility on so plain a man as Mr. Worthy. They left the room with their Mamma as soon as possible, being impatient to get away to ridicule their father's friend.