The Potters' Common, a tale of idleness and industry.

It is no uncommon thing to hear working-people speaking to this purport:--"If such as we do not know our duty towards God, where is the wonder? We have had no opportunities of instruction; we have had no book-learning; we have been slaves all our lives, and must remain so to the end of the chapter."

Such excuses pass very readily from one poor man to another, but I am much afraid that they will not stand good in that day when the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open; and for this reason, because they are seldom founded in truth. What poor man is there who has learned all he might have learned of his duty towards God and his neighbour? and how few are there of us, whether poor or rich, who have not often said unto the Lord, "Depart from me, for I desire not the knowledge of thy ways!" Let us be quite sure, then, that our ignorance is not wilful, before we trust to it as an excuse in the last day. In order to make my meaning plainer, I shall relate the history of a poor man who used, at one time, like many others, to plead his humble station and manner of life as an excuse for his ignorance; though he was afterwards brought to confess, that it would have been entirely his own fault if he had not acquired as much knowledge as was necessary to salvation.

There is a certain common on the borders of Staffordshire, where are many little huts (undeserving the name of cottages) in the occupation of persons whose business it is to go about the country with asses laden with pottery.

These persons for the most part, I am sorry to say, are little better than thieves and vagabonds. Many of them have no better notion of religion than the beasts of the field. They spend the greater part of their time in travelling with their asses, and selling their commodities; and when they come home it is only to carouse and spend the money which they have earned abroad, in eating, drinking, and idleness. It is the custom of these people, particularly in the summer months, to take their whole families with them when they go out, so that it often happens no persons are left upon the common but such as from age or sickness are not able to tramp after the asses.

Now it happened on one occasion, about twenty years ago, that while the greater part of the inhabitants of this common were absent in pursuit of their calling, two boys, named John Day and William Smith, were left to amuse themselves as they could during all the summer months. John Day was an orphan, and was put to board with an old man on the common, whose business it was to make baskets and panniers for the asses; and William Smith, while his father and mother and five other children were abroad, was left at home in order to bear his grandmother company.

Now the old people who had the care of these children had no notion of keeping them regularly employed, although they might have found plenty of work for them to do; but because they felt it less troublesome to do a job themselves than to make the children do it, their discipline, like that of many other inconsiderate people, consisted in nothing more than railing at the boys from time to time, and calling them all manner of ill names, while they suffered them to persevere from day to day in habits of idleness and worthlessness.

As John Day and William Smith had nothing useful to occupy them, it was no wonder if they often met together to play and do mischief. Not that they had any real regard for each other, since scarcely a day passed in which they did not quarrel; but time hung heavy on their hands, and there was no other company to be had.

A high-road passed over one corner of the common, and by the road-side grew an old elm tree, under which these boys would oftentimes lie half the day, when the heat of the sun made it agreeable to them to seek the shade. It happened one day, as these lads were lying in this place kicking up their heels, that an elderly gentleman came walking briskly along the road with a staff in his hand: when he came opposite the little lads he stopped, and turning aside towards them, and looking about him awhile, he at length sat down upon a stump of the elm tree, which formed a convenient seat. Upon this slight interruption, the boys, who, as I before said, had been some time at their ease under the tree, kicking up their heels, got up to stare at the gentleman; and William Smith winked at John Day, and John Day began to whistle, and they were proceeding to further rudenesses, when the gentleman, whom we shall call Mr. Barclay, drew a handful of gingerbread from his pocket, and offered a piece to each of them.

The little lads thankfully received the gingerbread from the gentleman, and were thus led to hearken to what he had to say to them. He began to speak to them about their souls, and to tell them what they had never heard before, namely, that there is a happy place called Heaven, prepared for holy persons after death. He also spoke of a dreadful Hell, or place of everlasting punishment, into which the wicked shall be turned, and all the nations that forget God.

William Smith observed, that he had heard his father talk of Hell, but he had never heard much about Heaven.

Mr. Barclay also spoke to the little boys about God, and tried to make the doctrine of the Trinity clear to them; that is, as much of it as can be understood by any human being, namely, what our holy church has expressed in her First Article, that "there is but one living and true God, everlasting, without body, parts, or passions; of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness; the Maker and Preserver of all things, both visible and invisible; and in unity of this Godhead there be three Persons, of one substance, power, and eternity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."

The kind gentleman also endeavoured to make them understand what the three Persons of the Godhead had done for them and all mankind: how that God the Father had made man, and, when all men became sinners, had sent his Son to die for them; how God the Son had willingly given up his life upon the cross for this glorious purpose; and how God the Holy Ghost visits the hearts of such as shall be saved, and makes them clean from sin. Moreover, he spoke to these poor boys about the nature of sin, and of the never-ending woe which is the natural consequence of it.

But perhaps it may he said, these were hard subjects to speak of to two poor ignorant lads such as William Smith and John Day; and indeed it is not to be supposed that they were able to understand at once one-tenth part of this gentleman's discourse. Such Mr. Barclay really found to be the case: for although he put all he said into the easiest language he could think of, yet he found at the conclusion that with respect to the improvement they had gained they were nearly where they had begun. However, he was not disheartened by this circumstance, but considering that there must be a suitable time for all things, he hoped that his endeavours would be more blessed if the Lord would give him a further opportunity with the children; so, dropping other matters for the present, he tried to persuade these little lads to come to a school which he had established in a place called Broom Lane, about a mile distant from the common.

It was some time before the boys could be made to understand the nature of his invitation; and, when they did at length comprehend it, they did not appear to be very ready to say that they would accept of it, although they both had sense enough to see that it would be to their advantage; for it is a great mistake to suppose that even the worst taught people do not know what is for their benefit and what is not.

There is no doubt a great deal of ignorance in the world, and many persons are mentally blind; but I fear it will be found that much of this ignorance is the ignorance of those who will not learn, and this blindness, the blindness of those who will not see. When Mr. Barclay had said all he could think of to persuade the little boys to come to his school, he rose up and took his leave, pursuing his journey along the road.

The boys stood on the bank under the elm tree looking at him till he was out of sight; when William Smith, turning to John Day with a look of stupid wonder, said--"Who can he be? but I'll take care he shan't catch me at his school."

John Day made no answer; but what his thoughts were time will shew.

It was some weeks after this occurrence before William Smith thought any more of Mr. Barclay, or of the conversation under the elm tree: for the next morning his father and mother and the children came home with the asses, and stayed as much as a week; and when they were going to set out again, William would not let his father rest till he had consented to leave his younger brother~ at home, and take him in his stead. He accordingly accompanied the family to the north of Staffordshire, and even into Cheshire. While they were out on this journey, William hurt his foot, and was therefore obliged to take the next turn at home with his grandmother. And now, being left again without a companion, he bethought himself of John Day, and sought him under the elm tree, and in different parts of the common where he had been used to find him: but not meeting him in any of their old haunts, he went towards old Robert Brown's house, which was situated at the further end of the common, and stood at the gate till he could see John Day, for he did not dare to go in, as old Robert was very cross, and had more than once warned him off the premises.

Now the old man was working at his baskets in a shed which faced the gate, so William did not dare to stand before it; he therefore sat down under the hedge, now and then venturing to peep over it, but he could see nothing of John Day for a long while. At length his patience was almost gone, and he was bethinking himself of returning home, when he saw a lad coming towards him across the common, whom at first he did not know. This lad was John Day; and the reason why he did not know him was on account of the change in his appearance, for the little boy was decently dressed, and his face washed and his hair combed; also over his back there was a kind of satchel, which it was easy to see contained several books.

William Smith stood up and looked at John with amazement, and when he came up quite close to him, he said--"Well, and now I'll be hanged if you don't go to Broom Lane school!"

"To be sure I do," returned John Day, "and have been there six weeks."

"More fool you," replied William Smith.

"Eh, how do you make that out!" asked John Day.

"Who patched your coat?" enquired William Smith.

"Neighbour Jones," answered John Day, "she gave me a comb too, and all because she saw me going backwards and forwards to school."

"Who put it into your head to go to school?" again asked William.

"Why, who should it be?" replied John. "I wonder you of all folks should ask the question. Was it not the gentleman himself, when he met us under the tree?"

"And does he keep the school himself?" asked William.

"No," said John, "but he visits it often, and he has given me a spelling-book, and a psalter, new out of the shop;" and so saying, he tossed his bag with a whirl round from his shoulder, and opening it, was going to display his books; but William turned off with a whistle, and John, hastily tying up his bag, and restoring it to its place on his back, followed him as he walked away, beginning to use such arguments to persuade his old companion to go with him to school, as might be expected from a boy of his age. "And if you will but go with me, William," he proceeded, "you will get a half-penny every Monday morning, that is if you behave well through the week; and we are to have a dinner at Christmas, and as much plum-pudding as we can eat: and besides all this, when Mr. Barclay comes, he is seldom without gingerbread. I think he has given me gingerbread as much as six times, not reckoning that time under the elm tree; and do you know, he bought all Betty Jones's plums off her plum tree, which hangs over the hedge by our school, and brought them into the school to divide among us boys. I had four large plums to my share!

In this way little John Day endeavoured to tempt William Sc go with him to school, but he could not prevail William Smith would not listen to him nor be persuaded, even by plums, and gingerbread, and halfpence, to give up his play for his profit; so shaking John Day's hand off, which he had put on his arm in order to detain him while ho talked to him, away, he ran. A year after this, William's grandmother died, and from that time he went regularly with the family in all their journeys up and down the country, thus continuing to lead the life of a gipsy more than that of a Christian, till he had reached the ago of fourteen years.

It happened at this period, that, one fine summer evening, old Smith with his family, in the way of their trade, as sellers of pots and pans and other Staffordshire ware, arrived with their asses at a place called the Broad Heath, a common which lies somewhere on the borders of Staffordshire, though exactly on which side I cannot tell. Here, because there was no convenient place near for spending the night under cover, they were obliged to lie in the open air; for this purpose they took the panniers from their asses, and ranged then on the ground in a kind of circle, within which the children were to sleep. They then set the asses free to feed on the common, and the children began to busy themselves to gather wood to make a fire, for the mother said she would have a hot supper, and for this purpose prepared to boil some potatoes, with a fowl which she brought out of one of the panniers, ready killed and plucked. Whence this fowl came no one made it their business to ask; but as there was no fear of God in this family, we are left to suppose that the woman did not come by it in a very honest way.

By the time the fire was lighted, and the pot was put to hang over it upon the cross sticks set there for the purpose, it was night, and the moon was rising over the hills: the air was calm, and the family gathered round the fire to talk over the earnings of the past day, and to settle whither they should proceed on the following morning. While they were employed in this way, they heard the step of a foot traveller on the road; and soon after a man came up, carrying something like a pedlar's box on his back.

He spoke to the poor people before him, telling them that he was a traveller, and had lost his way, and asking leave to spend the night beside their fire.

Old Smith answered, that he was welcome to the convenience of their fire, but they had nothing else to offer him, being very poor themselves, and having nothing in their kettle but a few potatoes and a little offal meat.

It happened that this traveller was a pious man, employed by a certain Christian Society in selling and dispersing tracts and other godly books up and down the country; and it was with the view of putting some good book into their hands, or of saying some word in season, that he on this occasion sought the society of these poor people. Accordingly he thanked them for their civility, and took his place in the circle round the fire. And now being seated among them, he lost no time in entering into profiable discourse with them. And first he told them that he had a great many excellent volumes in his box, and that he should have great pleasure in giving each of the young folks a little book, provided they would make use of his present.

Young Smith answered sullenly, that "they were obliged to him, but that he must carry his books to another market, for none of them knew how to read."

"But," rejoined the Hawker, "if you do not yet know how to read, surely it is not too late to begin. I have some pretty little books in my pack with the A, B, C, and words of one or two syllables, and shall be glad to give you one of these, if you will but set to and learn."

Old Smith answered, "that book-learning was not necessary in their way of life, and that they could do quite as well without it."

"What you say would be true enough, my good man," returned the Hawker, "if you were to live in this world for ever, and to be employed in driving your asses about the country to all eternity. But is there not another world into which we must enter in a very short time? and would it not be wise, think you, to take some thought for that unseen state as well as for this?"

"And what's the learning to do," asked the old man, "towards making us fit to die?"

"Nothing more nor less than this," returned the Hawker, "that from books a man may learn to know what Christ has done for him. Moreover, from books we learn how Christ is found of them into whose hearts the Lord has put the desire of seeking him."

"Seeking him!" repeated old Smith, "how are folks to seek him?"

"O, in many ways," replied the Hawker: "first, by prayer. That way lies open to all people. What, I would ask, is to hinder but that we should at this moment seek our God in prayer? It is written, the Lord is no respecter of persons, and he would, no doubt, be as ready to hear us as if we were the first people of the land: that is, if we were to approach him in his own appointed way, through the merits and mediation of Christ.

"Then," continued the Hawker, "he is to be sought not only m private and family prayer, but in his public ordinances. His houses for public worship are open through all this kingdom, and whether a man is on a journey, as you may be now, or at home in his own village, it is hard if he cannot find some place of public worship at a convenient distance, which he may attend on the Sabbath-day. And then there is His Holy Book, in which all that can be known in this world respecting Him is to be found. And what should hinder, provided one of your young ones could read, if, on occasions like this, when you are all sitting down to rest, you should be regaled and comforted by a few chapters from the Bible?"

"O, all this is very fine talking," replied old Smith, "and sounds mighty well in your mouth, whoever you be; but in real life, folks like us have something else to do than to mind these kind of things. When I am at home I am as much as a mile and a half from the nearest church, and when I am out upon business, we have no opportunity of attending anywhere on Sundays. What, I ask, would become of our asses, if wife and I were to be running in and out of every place of worship which lies in our way? And then as to reading, I had never any means of having any book-learning in my life, nor my children neither; and I am sure it cannot be expected of such folks as we, that we should be scholars, and it is very hard indeed if a man is to be despised for his ignorance in this world, and condemned to burn in hell for it in the next."

"But suppose his ignorance is wilful, what say you then, my friend?" asked the Hawker.

"Wilful!" repeated the other warmly, "what do you mean by wilful? Do you know whom you are talking to, man? Do you take me for a Squire or a Parson? I am a poor fellow and earn my bread by driving asses round the country, and trying to sell a little hardware, and what opportunity have I or my poor children to gain book-learning? I do not know who you are, but I trust I shall be judged by a more merciful judge than you, or woe be to me at the last day?"

"I am sure, fellow-traveller," said the Hawker, "it was my last thought to offend you, or to give you any pain: but now I have gone so far, I wish you would let me just speak one or two more words on the subject. Here, now, is a young lad, who has, perhaps, a long life before him; he is, to be sure, the son of a poor man, and it would be unreasonable to expect from him what one should from the son of a gentleman. But I do not see wherefore, because he is a poor man's son, he should be content to sit down in total ignorance of his duty. If a man makes use of the means and lights he has (however little they may be) to the very best of his power, he is not accountable, nor to be blamed, if the Lord does not think it fit to give him more light; but if he will not make use of the means and the light which he has, I say his ignorance is wilful, and he must not be surprised if at the last day he finds himself condemned for it."

"Well," returned William, sulkily, "what would you have me do?"

"First," said the Hawker, "pray for light and help."

"And what then?" asked the boy.

"Use the means God appoints," replied the Hawker.

"What are those?" said the boy.

"Learn to read, my lad," returned the Hawker: "I have a spelling-book at your service, and if you will tell me whereabout you live, I will call on you a few months hence, and bring you another book."

"We live," said old Smith, "on what the folks call the Potters' Common, if you know such a place, on the Cheshire side of our county. But you will lose your labour if you take any pains to call on us, for I am sure my lad there has no time for the book."

"I know the place well," replied the Hawker, "and you have as godly a minister as ever broke bread within two miles of you. I mean the Rev. Mr. Barclay, of whom you must have heard; and if you will but attend his ministry, though you cannot read, you will be in the way of the best instruction."

"I never trouble myself with those things, and it would be as well if you did the same," remarked the old man; "and now, wife, see if the pot boils, and hand us out the trenchers."

A scramble for the supper then followed, which prevented further conversation; and while the potters were taking their meal, the Hawker regaled himself with a dry crust and cheese, after which, having previously retired to a little distance to pray, he sought repose with the rest of the party in sleep. By day-dawn the travellers awoke, and the Hawker, having first prayed for a blessing, again endeavoured to put in a word for the cause of religion; but, finding his companions less willing to hear him than they were even the night before, he bade them adieu, and directed his way northward, where his business lay, while they turned the heads of their asses toward the south.

I finished my last chapter with an account of a meeting between old Smith and his family and a pious Hawker, with whom they became acquainted, on a common in the north of Staffordshire.

I now proceed to say that this ungodly family soon forgot the Hawker, or remembered him only to scoff at him. Several years were passed in their usual way, and William Smith grew up to be a man; and a very wicked young man he was, being an enemy to godliness, and shutting his ears to every kind of instruction.

It happened when William Smith was about two and twenty years of age, that the family were resting one Sunday evening at the door of a barn in the outskirts of a little town in the north of Staffordshire, when a young man came along the road, carrying a fine game-cock under his arm.

"Where are you taking that bird, my lad?" enquired old Smith, calling after the youth.

"Where should I be taking him," replied the young man, "but to the wake at the next village, where we are to have a brave batch of it to-morrow? and I'll bet ten to one that this bird won't find his equal among them."

William Smith was particularly fond of cock-fighting; he, therefore, no sooner heard that there was sport of that kind likely to be going forward so near him, than he told his father he might drive the asses home if he would without him, for nothing should hinder his seeing the fun.

The father grumbled and cursed, and the mother scolded; but the graceless son, regarding neither the one nor the other, rose up, stretched himself, and, nodding at his mother, walked carelessly after the young man who carried the game-cock.

It was nearly dark before young Smith arrived at the place of expected entertainment, where he found a number of people gathered together about a large alehouse, the main buildings of which, with the stables and out-houses, occupied three sides of a square, in the centre of which swung the sign of the house, elevated on a pole, and exhibiting the bold and majestic figure of a Lion Rampant. The house was full of company, as appeared from the lights in the several apartments, and many persons were sitting outside on a large stone horse-block.

Among the people assembled, it was no difficult matter for William Smith to find such companions as he liked. He first took his station on the horse-block, where he called for ale, and afterwards he made his way into the kitchen, where he spent the greater part of the night in drinking, smoking, and swearing.

The ale was handed to him by a ruddy homely girl, who was the maid of the inn; and in this person he was pleased to find an old acquaintance, who was born and bred on the Potters' Common. Accordingly, many coarse jests passed between William Smith and this young woman; but at length, upon his saying something to her which she did not quite relish, she told him he had best hold his tongue, for he was nothing like so tight a lad as John Day.

"John Day!" repeated William; "and what do you know of John Day?"

"Know of him," she replied, "why he does not live a quarter of a mile from this, down in the village. And I'll tell you what," added she, "I reckon he would be ashamed to be seen with such a one as you."

Here the discourse was interrupted by a cry for more drink; and William Smith swallowed another draught of ale, to stifle, if possible, the pain he felt in being told that his old companion John Day', was a much tighter and more creditable lad than himself.

Most people wish to be thought creditable, though some do not like to take the trouble of really becoming so.

William Smith spent the remainder of the night in drinking, and towards morning he went into an out-house, where falling asleep upon some straw, he remained till mid-day. He then came tumbling out of his place, and having taken his morning draught of strong ale, he went into the back-yard, where he found a party of young men, disputing about the match of cock-fighting, which was to begin in about an hour.

The young man who had been the means of tempting William Smith to leave his parents' company, was vaunting the bird which he had brought with him, and betting ten to one upon its carrying the day. A stout weather-beaten young man in a smock-frock said he was ready to take up the odds against him, and declared that the bird so much boasted of was nothing to many he had seen; and he even went so far as to say that he would not give a brass farthing for his chance of winning.

It is easy enough to understand, when many hot spirits met together, how soon high words may arise between them, and how words lead on to blows. The stout man in the smock-frock was a famous bruiser in those parts, and one who, relying on his strength and dexterity, was ever ready to pick quarrels with his associates. Accordingly, on the present occasion, he became so free and abusive in his assertions as to give great offence, so that, at length, a young man in the company was provoked to strike him. This attack he lost no time in returning, and shortly drove his enemy out of the yard. And now, William Smith, who was never content when he was well, must needs take up the quarrel, though by no means fit for it; and though many of the company called upon him to let the conqueror alone, yet he would not be persuaded, but to blows he went with him, and that with such strength and spirit, that the bruiser was obliged to mind what he was about.

The combatants had given each other several severe blows, and fetched blood on either side, when the bruiser, enraged to think he should be put to so much trouble by a young lad whom he had despised at the onset, dealt William Smith such a severe blow on the stomach, that he reeled back several paces, and then fell with dreadful force against the pavement of the yard, his back-bone striking against a stone trough used for water.

There he lay for some moments without stirring, insomuch that they who stood by believed that he was killed: and the landlord and landlady came running out, saying that their house would be ruined and undone for ever if such work was allowed to go on in it.

"You are come too late, landlord," said one of the people in the yard; "if you had had a mind to stop mischief, you should have come sooner."

By this time some of the people had lifted up the poor young man, who opened his eyes just as they were raising him, and shrieked out in agony, saying, his back was broken, and he should be a cripple for ever.

The landlord then directed that he should be laid upon some straw in an out-house, and the landlady ran for a dram, which she poured down his throat, saying, she hoped no harm would come of this accident; but if it did, her husband could not help it.

When William Smith's back was examined, it was found to be so dreadfully injured that it was needful to send for a doctor, to which the innkeeper at first objected, declaring, that it would bring an ill name on his house if it was to be said that anyone was so much hurt in it as to want a doctor's help."

"But I'll tell you what, landlord," said the same person who had spoken before, "it will bring a worse name on your house if it should be said of it that a man died in it for want of a doctor."

The landlord was obliged to submit, and a boy was sent for the parish doctor, who lived about three miles off. In the meanwhile poor William lay groaning in the out-house in dreadful anguish, and no one came near him but the maid-servant of the house, who, being his country-woman, slipped out of the kitchen under pretence of feeding the fowls, and hastily ran to condole the poor wretch who was moaning there upon the straw.

After asking him how he felt, and receiving no answer but deep groans, she said to him, "And why don't you send for John Day? Mayhap he would take you to his house and lodge you there:-- surely it would be better than lying here, in this dismal hole, and no one to look after you."

When he heard the name of John Day, the young man lifted up his eyes with a look which had something of pleasure in it, and said, "It would be a great charity, Jenny, if you would run and call him."

"Run and call him!" she repeated, "and the house so full of company as it is! No, indeed, that I cannot do; but I will see for one who will do as much for you."

Jenny was as good as her word. She ran over the way to a cottage, and despatched a little girl to fetch John Day, who was a wheelwright, and possessed a comfortable little habitation in the village.

John was working in his shop, which stood right opposite his house, when the girl came to call him. The message the girl brought was a very confused one; but John was able to make out that some poor man who was very ill at the Lion wanted to speak with him: he therefore called over the way to his wife, to say that he was going out for a short time; and, requesting her to speak to any one who might come on business during his absence, he hastened up to the inn.

When John Day came into the inn-yard, he was told by the maid servant who it was that wanted to see him.

The first meeting between John Day and his former companion, William Smith, was a very touching one.

"How are you, my lad?" enquired John Day, kneeling down on the straw by his side, "and what can I do for you? Do tell me how I can serve you."

It had not often happened in his life that poor William Smith had been spoken to in a way so kind, and he was quite overcome by it. He could scarcely utter a syllable for some moments, and when he did speak, he said, "Don't leave me, John; I pray you don't leave me to die here in this dull place."

"Die!" repeated John Day, "I hope you will not die at this time; but I won't forsake you, never fear. Nay, if you wish it, you shall be carried to my house; and though we have no spare room, we have a better out-house than this, a much better, with a window in it, and we will make you a comfortable bed in it, and my wife's mother shall take care of you, and she is surprisingly tender to anybody who is sick."

Poor William seemed quite revived by this, and, grasping John's hand, he said, "When will you take me to your house? let me go now: don't leave me, Oh, don't leave me."

"I promise you," returned John Day, "that I will only go to my house and get things ready for you, and then I and my workman will fetch you down: so be easy till I come back; I will not deceive you."

William Smith could hardly be persuaded to let John Day go, and he lay groaning and crying in the most distressing manner till he returned. In less than hour, however, John Day came back, accompanied by a workman and two neighbours. They brought with them a hurdle, covered with straw, and, having lifted poor William on this simple litter, they carried him down to the village, where they put him on a comfortable bed, which had been hastily prepared in the out-house, situate at one end of the shed where John Day was accustomed to work.

By the time that the poor invalid was placed in bed, John Day's mother-in-law came in with a bason of gruel, for which William was very thankful, having had nothing to eat for many hours. The doctor had not yet arrived; and the bruises which William had received on his back gave him such great pain that he could not enter into any discourse with those who were about him, but lay groaning and crying pitifully.

Towards evening, however, the doctor came, but he did not bring much comfort; for he said that he suspected that the poor young man had received some severe hurt within, in consequence of his dreadful fall. He nevertheless promised to do what he could; and, having dressed the wounds, he ordered some medicine to keep down the fever which the pain had occasioned.

After the doctor left him, William fell asleep and lay quiet for some hours; but towards morning he awoke and cried so loudly, from extreme pain and anguish, that his friend heard him and got up and came to him.

John Day found the poor young man in great trouble, both of mind and body; he therefore strove to sooth and comfort him, and when he was a little easier, he sat down by his bedside and entered into discourse with him. "To be sure, William," said he, "this is a severe trial. Yet you have great reason to be thankful that you did not meet with this misfortune in a strange country where there was no friend at hand to take care of you. Surely, William, here is cause for gratitude to Providence. I am always for finding out the kindness of our heavenly Father In everything."

"Ah, John," said William, "you have had instruction and opportunity to learn and know your duty, and you understand the Lord's Providences and can speak of them to some purpose; but I am a poor ignorant wretch, and have never had any opportunity of learning: and the Lord I hope will have pity on me, and allowances will be made for me if I have not done my duty like those who knew better."

"Ah, William, William," replied John, "take my advice; don't trust to bringing your ignorance forward as an excuse at the day of judgment. Such an excuse might sound better in the mouth of a poor black negro, living among his own savage brethren; but as to folks talking of their ignorance in this country, and trusting to it as an excuse for their bad behaviour, I tell you it will not do."

"Will not do!" returned William; "why, John, what means have I ever had of learning my duty? My father cannot read, neither can my mother tell a single letter, and I have never been to school; and always tramping up and down the country after the asses, to get victuals, as I have been, with scarcely a rag to my back, how was I to become a scholar?"

"Why, I say of you, as I would of every man in this Christian country," replied John Day, "that you might have known your duty if you would. And had the same pains been taken to lead you to accept a crown of gold as have been taken to induce you to seek a heavenly crown, you would have been a king of long standing by this time."

"Why, now, John Day," said William, "how you talk! Who ever took any pains to teach rue my duty, or to lead me to heaven? I never in all my life, that I can remember, was in company with any one who spoke to me of religion but that gentleman we met one day under the elm tree; and once after that an old Hawker who came across us one night on a heath up in the north."

"A Hawker!" exclaimed John Day. "What was his name?"

"I cannot say," replied William; "but he was an old man, and had white hair, and went hawking books about the country."

"The very same," said John; "I know him, and will tell you more about him by and by: but now I wish to put a question to you. By your account, you have met with two messengers from the Lord, who would have led you the right way if you had been willing to go. Now I wish to know how many messengers would have been necessary to have called you to a rich feast, or to take possession of a great treasure? I tell you, brother, it is not ignorance which keeps men from God in this country; it is not ignorance, but sin, which makes us unwilling to come to the Lord."

"Sin!" repeated William Smith, "what do you mean by that, John? I do not understand you. No man can say that I have been more sinful than other men. I have followed my trade as industriously, and have striven to get my bread as honestly as any poor man could do; and though to be sure I do not say but that I have my faults, (for who is without them?) yet I reckon that where one is better than I am, that is, among the ordinary sort, there are twenty worse."

"I do not dispute that matter, my lad," returned John; "far be it from me to judge either you or any other man; but I wish, if possible, dear William, to make you sensible of the great truth of man's natural corruption, for until we are aware of the sin of our nature, we cannot properly understand the dealings of the Almighty with respect to us--we can neither know how to appreciate his mercies, nor can we profit by his chastisements. God made man upright, but through the malice of Satan, who tempted our first parents to eat the forbidden fruit, man became corrupt, and hence all of the children of Adam, who have been born in the course of time, are utterly vile. Now it is this sin of our nature which I wish you to understand, my dear lad. It is this sin which ought to humble us and make us lie low in the dust. It is this sin which we ought to consider as that which makes us fit only for hell, although it may not have broken out in any grievous and open offences against society."

"Well, well," said William Smith, impatiently, "this may be all very true; but I tell you I don't understand it. You know, John, as I said before, I have had no opportunities of learning, being forced to be up and down the country with the asses all my time."

"As to the opportunities you have had of learning, William," answered John, "we will speak about them another time; but, as I was saying, let us now consider the subject on which I was speaking, namely, the corruption of man's heart. It is this corruption, William, depend upon it, which keeps men in the state of gross ignorance in which many in this Christian country remain until death. The first thing which Adam did when he had committed sin, was to hide himself among the trees of the garden from the presence of God; and in the same manner all Adam's children hide themselves, as it were, from the presence of their Almighty Father: they not only do not know him as he is, but will not know him. It is this alienation and aversion to our Heavenly Father which constitutes the sin of our nature, William; and it was precisely this wicked spirit which manifested itself when Mr. Barclay came to us while playing on the common. You well know, William, how you shut your eyes and ears against instruction at that time; and I can say this for myself, that had not the good old gentleman tempted me as he did with gingerbread and apples, I should not have cared if I had never seen his face again."

"I wish," said William, "that you would let this matter drop now, John; my back is a little easier, and I think I could sleep awhile; and in the meantime you might be going about your usual business."

On hearing this, John Day took his leave, hoping to find his friend in a better frame for listening when next he should find leisure to converse with him.

When John Day returned to William Smith, about an hour after the conversation which I related in my last chapter, he found him in a better state of mind than that in which he left him.

"I have been thinking a good deal of what you said to me this morning," observed the suffering man, "and I cannot but suppose that there is much truth in it. Nevertheless, I cannot help thinking that you are somewhat too hard upon me. You have had so many chances before me, and have got so forward in the world that you have forgotten how to make allowances for such a poor wretch as I am. We began the world together; but I still remain a poor wanderer, while you are a decent housekeeper: and does not this shew your good fortune and my ill luck? But, as my mother says, some folks are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, while others can scarcely get one sixpence to rub against another."

"The Lord has been good to me far beyond my deserts," replied John Day, "for I know myself to be the chief of sinners; but then, brother, whatever my faults are, I would beware of placing them to the account of my ignorance: for although I have had no extraordinary means of acquiring knowledge, and of learning my duty, yet I am well aware that I might have known more than I do, had I made use of such opportunities as I have had."

"There again," Interrupted William, "to hear you talk! Why, you will not pretend to say that you have had no opportunities of learning? Why, you can read, can't you? and write too, and cast accounts? or how could you carry on your trade?"

"I can do all these things," answered John Day, "though in a poor way: and where did I learn these things?"

"Where?" repeated William, "why at Parson Barclay's school, to be sure."

"Well," replied John, "and had not you the very offer which I had of being received into that school? Were we not two idle, wicked little lads, playing together under the same tree, when Mr. Barclay came up, and invited us both to come to the school?"

"To be sure," answered William; "but I did not choose to go."

"Well, that was not the fault of him that asked you," returned John; "he gave you the chance as well as me; and he could not help your not accepting it. At any rate, you cannot say that you were not asked."

"Well, but that's over," replied William; "and I can't help it now."

"Surely not," replied John, "nobody says you can; but then, don't say you have had no opportunities; and don't say, if you are ignorant, you could not have helped it."

"Ah, but you have had other opportunities of getting on besides the school," said William.

"No," returned John, "none but what I met with by attending that school. I went there as much as three years, and learned to read, and write, and cast accounts; and then Mr. Barclay had me put prentice to the wheelwright who lived here before me, and who was my wife's father."

"And how came Mr. Barclay to trouble himself so much about you," asked William, "as to put you prentice?"

"Why, because the Lord put it into his heart to be kind to me," replied John; "and also put it into mine to cling and hold fast to him, and to take his advice on all occasions: and there were other boys to whom he proved as good a friend as to me."

"And so you came to this wheelwright, and became his prentice; and I suppose he was very kind to you?" said William.

"I came to him, and was his prentice, it is true," answered John; "but I was no great favourite at first, for I was very unlucky, and plagued him a great deal, so that he grew very harsh with me."

"And what was the end of that?" enquired William.

"Why, I do not know what the end would have been," said John, "had not the Hawker you spoke of come about that time to sell Religious Tracts in our village. I happened one evening to fall into discourse with him, and I told him how unhappy I was with my master, and that I had half a mind to run away from him, and take to a seafaring life: but the good man then took occasion to talk to me in such a manner about my duty to my master, pointing out, with so much wisdom and piety, how my faults had occasioned his displeasure, that I was brought, by God's blessing, seriously to consider my ways. Accordingly, I soon recovered my master's favour; and he became so fond of me, that before he died he gave me his daughter to wife, and turned over his business to me. Thus this good old man, the Hawker, was, next to Mr. Barclay, my best friend."

John Day finished speaking, and William Smith looked very gravely at him for some moments: at length he remarked, "And so you think it is no excuse to say, I have had no opportunity of knowing my duty?"

"No good excuse, surely, William," said John Day; "for, only to compare yourself with such a poor creature as I am, you have had the very same chances as myself; and yet, ignorant as I am, you are even behind me as to knowledge. But suppose you had never had an offer of being taken into Mr. Barclay's school, and had never heard the discourse of that pious old man the Hawker-- yet, have you not had other repeated opportunities of improvement? is there not a place of worship, and sometimes more than one, open every Lord's Day, in every parish throughout the kingdom? and, surely, he that can hear the Lord's word every seventh day of his life, has no right to plead ignorance!"

"I can hardly tell what to make of all this," replied William Smith, "but this I know, that you have the advantage of me in talk. I reckon, however, that you mean me well; else why did you bring me here? and why do you and your family take such pains to tend me?"

"Mean you well? to be sure I do," said John, "and if I talk to you about your ignorance, it is because I hope, with God's help, to put you in a better way before you go hence. Depend upon it, my friend, that the sons of Adam live in darkness, not because there is no light in the world, but because they choose darkness rather than light, their deeds being evil. But' as soon as a man's heart is changed, and turned to the Lord, he finds means of instruction in everything around him: he who before knew nothing of God, begins to see his power and glory, not only in his Book, but in his works; and he likewise perceives his hand displayed in all events, both with regard to himself and his neighbours."

John Day was now called away to his business;--and William Smith was left alone till about noon, when John Day's mother-in-law brought fresh dressings for his bruises, which she applied with much tenderness; after which, she made his bed as easy as she could, and fetched him his dinner.

While this good woman was waiting upon him, William Smith was occupied with his reflections. "Why do these people show me all this kindness?" said he to himself; "what have I ever done for them, or what am I ever likely to do? Surely it must be because they fear God, and for his sake that they do this!"

John Day's mother-in-law was so kind as to wait upon poor William Smith all day; and in the evening, when the day's work was done, John Day himself came and sat by the sick man, and had much talk with him. "How are you by this time?" said he, as he held out his hand to William; "mother tells me that the fever has kept off all day, a sign, we hope, that there is no hurt within--blessed be the Lord for all his mercies! You must expect to lie by for a time, my lad; but no matter--you are among friends; and I have a great idea that you will find this accident the best chance you ever lighted on in your life."

"I don't know how that can be, John," replied the invalid; "it is a misfortune, and as such- I count it, though things have, to be sure, been ordered better than I could have expected, for I am lodged here like a prince, and waited on better than ever I was in my life; and all owing to your kindness; and I hope I shall live to return the favour in some way."

"I want no returns of the sort you mean, William," observed John Day. "What I am able to do for you I do with all my heart, as for an old playmate, considering that I can do no less; but one thing I have to ask--if you will let me talk a little bit to you on religious matters while we are together, it would be a great comfort to me; and to you too, I should hope, by and by."

William Smith made no answer, and John Day went on to the following purport.

"I suppose, William," said he, "you have some notion of the chief points of our religion? You have learned the Creed?"

"What, the Belief?" replied William; "that is what some folks say with their prayers."

"You know it then?" asked John.

"No," answered William, "I can't say I do; that is, I could not say it from end to end, though I think I should know it if I was to hear it."

"But though you can't say the Belief, William," proceeded John, "yet you believe in out holy Lord God?"

"To be sure I do," replied William. "What do you take me for?" Finding then that William was as ignorant as any poor Negro might be, who had never seen a Christian face in his life, John Day set himself to explain, as clearly as he could, the plan or outline of the Christian religion. And, first, he told William, that there is one blessed Lord God, and that this God is a spirit, and everywhere present though we cannot see him.

He also remarked, that in this one God there are three persons: namely, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, and that these three Persons are equal in glory and power; although, to use the language of men, each has chosen to perform a distinct work in man's redemption.

He likewise observed, that this glorious Lord God is the Maker of all things; but that he himself has existed from all eternity, never having been made or created.

Then proceeding to speak of the Angels and Evil spirits, he explained that the former are glorious and happy spirits made by God, while the latter, who once were Angels, having rebelled against God, were cast out of heaven, and are now become Devils, reserved unto judgment.

The next subject which John Day introduced was the creation of man showing that the Lord made the first pair perfectly innocent; but, being persuaded by the Devil to eat the forbidden fruit, they thus brought upon themselves the wrath of their Maker. John Day then took occasion to say a great deal about sin, which entered into the world when the first pair disobeyed God; and he spoke of its horrible nature and tendency, and how it separated man from the Supreme Good.

And now, having represented the condition into which mankind were brought by disobedience, he proceeded to speak of our beloved Saviour. And, first, he told William Smith, that God the Son, one with God, and equal with God, forseeing man's sin and misery, purposed to give himself up to die as a Sacrifice for the sins of the world, even before the world was made; whence he is called "the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world." John Day also related from Scripture the manner and time in which this blessed Saviour entered into the world, how he "went about doing good," and, at length, was crucified, died and was buried; and, after three days, how he broke the bonds of death, and rose from the grave; after which, he ascended into heaven in the presence of many of his disciples, where he now sits at the right hand of God, to make intercession for penitent sinners, and whence he will come at the day of judgment, to judge the quick and the dead.

John Day likewise spoke of God the Holy Spirit, who is the third person in the Godhead, pointing out that this Holy Spirit is neither before nor after the other persons of the blessed Trinity, but is equal and co-eternal with them.

He also showed that the work of the Spirit is to enter the heart of man, which is by nature utterly vile and unclean, and to make that heart pure and holy; and it is his office also to instruct the ignorant.

"It is the Holy Spirit," said John Day, which opens the Bible to us. No man can properly understand the Bible without the help of the Holy Spirit, and this help is particularly promised to the ministers of the Gospel."

"Do you mean by the ministers, the parsons, or preachers?" said William Smith, interrupting him; you don't mean to say that all our preachers are taught by the Spirit of God? I am not much acquainted with parsons, but I know some of them who have as little of God about them as I have, that is, according to my way of thinking."

"Ministers are men, William, as well as we," replied John Day; "and it would be strange indeed if all of them were godly men; but it is quite enough to distinguish those who are, from those who are not. A true minister of Christ is one who holds fast to the doctrines of the Gospel, and lives according thereunto. And such ministers as these, William, are now to be found in most parts of England; and I hope, if it please God to restore your health, that you will seek them out, and that you will attend the divine ordinances, and endeavour to make yourself acquainted with the Bible."

"Oh, John! John!" returned William, "I fear it is too late for me now ever to think of learning."

"Don't despair, William," observed John. "Let us make use of what advantages we have; and the Lord will add more to us if he think right."

"Why surely," said William, "you would not have me set to and learn to read at my age?"

"Yes, I would," replied John Day, "and I have a mind to teach you myself."

"No, no," said William, "that won't do neither."

"We shall see that," answered John, smiling, "in a day or two." Such was the manner in which John Day was wont to talk with his friend while he lay on his bed during his long illness. Poor William's sufferings from the bruise in his back were, indeed, very great; but as it proved, after a while, that he had met with no inward hurt, the doctor said ho hoped he should be able to make a good job of his cure, though it proceeded slowly.

When the patient got a little better and easier, John Day would take no denial, but insisted that he should learn to read; so he put a Spelling-Book into his hand, and gave him instruction by snatches, three or four times every day. And as William had nothing else to do, being confined to his bed by the hurt in his back, he got on faster in his reading than might have been expected: and though he was a little sullen and sulky over it at first, yet after a while he took a better view of the matter, and then it was surprising how rapidly he improved.

The invalid was kept lying many weeks in his bed, during which time John Day supported him altogether, without help from his friends or the parish, and was as kind as if he had been his own brother.

William Smith must have had a heart as hard as a stone had he not felt this kindness; and sure enough he did feel it. And though he had not much notion of good manners, yet he thought he could do no less than attend to John's religious conversation, and his reading and prayers. So he listened at first out of civility; but after a while the Lord shed a blessing on John's words, and poor William began to hearken with more pleasure: thus, by little and little, his mind became more and more reconciled to religious subjects. In the degree in which he acquired a knowledge of religion, the Holy Spirit gave him an insight into the vileness of his own heart, and he was at length led to regard himself as a lost creature in need of a Saviour. Religious thoughts had been prevailing in his mind for several days before he began to pray; that is, before he earnestly lifted up his heart to God in solemn petitions for mercy, grace, and salvation He had, indeed, joined with his lips in the family worship every night and morning: but now, his prayer was from the heart: and no man prays in that way without the divine assistance. As soon as this poor man was brought by the Spirit of God to lift up his heart in holy supplication, he became as it were a new creature; his heart grew soft and tender: and after this, when John Day was teaching him, it was like teaching a little child; so docile and humble was he become in comparison with what he had been before.

But not to make this story too long, suffice It to say, that William Smith, by the divine blessing, became a new man, and had reason ever afterwards to bless God for that affliction by which he was confined so long a time under the roof of a Christian friend.

In the meantime as much as four months had run away, and William was still very weak and low, when his father and mother came, one day, with the asses to take him home.

William was almost sorry when he saw his mother's old red cloak as she passed the door, and heard her shrill voice asking after him, and enquiring if he was ready to go back with them.

"And so, lad," said the old woman, as she came into the outhouse in which William had been so long confined, "you have had a rare spell of it! Fine idle work this! leaving us for months together, to get on as we could, without being able to do us so much as a hand's turn--and all this coming of your undutifulness; for both I and your father called after you, and told you that no good would come of your going to the cock-fighting."

William Smith might have retorted, that he probably should not have gone to this wicked amusement had he not been brought up in. the love of such things; but being now, through the instrumentality of John Day, influenced by a better spirit than that which guideth the natural man, he replied no otherwise than by saying--

"Mother, I am prepared to be up and moving as soon as you are ready. At the same time, I hope you will please to say something to my friend John Day, for his kindness; without which, I have reason to think, I should have been a dead man long ago."

In answer to this, the old woman looked sharply around her, and said-- "Be sure, young man, I shall say all that's proper. Poor as I am, I hope I am not altogether such a stranger to good manners as some think. But, after all, what has John Day done more than he ought to have done! surely he could not have let an old friend lie and die among strangers. But I say, William," added the old woman, "is that house over the way, and you garden, and all these premises belonging to John Day? Well, to be sure, how some folks rise in the world, while others are born to die as it were in slavery!" So saying, she drew up her upper lip, and telling her son she would be ready in a few minutes, walked out of the shed.

Old Smith and his wife were not the characters which decent persons would covet as visitors; John Day's wife therefore left them sitting by the roadside, just by the shed where their son had lain for so many months; although she took care that they should be provided with a good meal in the place where they sat: in return for which, she received such thanks as their envy and ill-will would allow them to bestow. However, the old people feasted heartily on what was given them; taking occasion to put the remains of their meal in a corner of their bags; after which, having rested a while, they gave notice to their son that they were ready for their journey.

While old Smith and his wife were regaling themselves under the window of the shed in which their son had been lodged, William was engaged within packing up in a pocket-handkerchief a hymn-book and a Bible and some tracts, together with a change of linen, kindly bestowed him by his friend; after which, being still weak, he lay down on his bed, where be overheard the no very agreeable conversation which passed without between his parents--consisting of sundry murmurs and grumblings on the part of the old woman, and oaths mingled with curses on that of the old man.

It would be hard to describe poor William's feelings all this time, when he considered what his friend Day had been teaching him for so many weeks past, and the peace and happiness this good young man enjoyed in connection with religion, and compared the state of his own family with that of his friend's. He was full of these sad comparisons when he heard his parents call to say that they were ready; and, at the same time, John Day came in with his family to take leave of him.

"Should you travel this way again, William," said John, "you will not forget us, I am confident; you know that we shall be glad to share such at we have with you; and so good-bye, and God be your friend."

William Smith shook the hand which was offered him, and replied, "John, I shall never forget you; but as to paying you for what you have done for me, it will never be in my power."

"I don't know that," returned John; "for there is one means by which you could give me a much greater pleasure than I was ever able to give you!'

"Name but in what way," answered Smith; "only point out what I can do for you, and I will travel the kingdom over to bring it to pass"

"Read your Bible, William," replied John Day looking earnestly at his friend, the tears starting from his eyes at the same time; "be found of Him who seeks you, run after Him who now draws you. Love your Saviour, be honest in your dealings, blameless in your calling, and you will do me a greater favour than if you were to bestow on me a hundred pounds in hard gold."

On hearing this, William Smith changed colour, and his lip trembled like one who felt much, yet strove to hide his feelings; and, being summoned by the repeated calls of his parents, he shook hands with John Day and his wife, and the good old woman who had attended him during his illness; and, rubbing the tears from his eyes, he rushed out of the shed, mounted the ass, and was driven down the lane by his father; his mother following with another ass laden with pottery.

William Smith had no small difficulty in keeping his seat on the ass till they got home, though they travelled very slowly; and when they arrived at Potters' Heath, his mother was glad to get him into bed, for he groaned with pain.

He lay for some days in his bed, suffering much; but after a while he became more easy: the weakness in his back, however, continued to incapacitate him for exertion; so that more than twelve months elapsed before he was able to follow his old way of living. During this period he was left much alone while the family were away with the asses; and he found this leisure very profitable to him, for then he had time to think of the good instruction he had received from John Day, and also had opportunity to improve himself in his reading. Thus the year went round, and it was the best year that William had ever spent. In the meantime he saw little of his own family, for they were with him to-day and gone to-morrow, and the little time they spent at home gave him no opportunity for discourse with them, because they were in such a bustle preparing to start again. About the end of the year, however, finding his strength restored, he resolved to go with his father on his next journey; a step which seemed the more desirable because the old man had long complained that the way of living was too hard for him, and now threatened that he must throw up his work and have recourse to the parish if his son could not help him.

Accordingly, William Smith set off with his parents and the rest of the family in pursuit of their calling.

It was as much as a year and a half since old Smith and his wife had had their son's company in their Journey; and there was now so great a change in him that it soon appeared they could not keep together long unless the one or the other party altered their ways. They had not travelled together a mile before he began to speak to his younger brothers and sisters, checking them whenever they dropped an evil word. The lads and lasses abused him for his over-goodness, as they called it, and his father bade him hold his tongue and let his brothers alone: so William was silent, and they proceeded together without more altercation till they came to a narrow lane where a fine pear tree hung over the way-side. Here the young people were disposed to help themselves to some of the fruit, whereupon William could not refrain from speaking his mind and pointing out the sin of stealing. Upon this the old people both upbraided him, and plainly told him that they did not want to hear so much of religion. William, however, considered it right to stand firm; and took occasion to speak at large upon those subjects, respecting which John Day had instructed him

The old man and woman listened to him with wonder, and were not a little vexed to hear him run on after such a manner; but be being their eldest son, and, as it were, the hope of the family, they did not choose to break out into an open quarrel with him; remembering likewise that in the days before he had become religious his temper had been very violent. So the old man called the young folks away from the pear-tree and went grumbling on, saying, that the world was come to a fine pass, indeed, when such as they set up for religion.

But I am not going to trouble my reader with a narration of all the disputes which took place between old Smith and his son on the subject of religion; the sum of the matter being this--that William stood his ground and would not lend his help or concurrence in stealing, cheating, or any other breach of the law; and, after a while, he reaped the fruits of his firmness; for his father and mother, knowing that they must very soon depend on him for their support, or fly to the parish, gave way to him, and often stood quietly by while he prevented the younger part of the family from engaging in mischief. William, however, did not rest satisfied with merely keeping his brothers and sisters from stealing and saying bad words: he was continually mindful of the need poor sinners have of a Saviour; and was fully sensible that Ignorance is not a safe excuse for a man in this Christian country he was therefore very anxious to remove the ignorance of his relatives, and so lead them by degrees into the paths of truth and holiness. When they stopped at night he was not content to retire for the night without reading aloud a chapter or two of the Bible; after which, he caused the family to join in prayer, not excusing any one from regular attendance. And now that William Smith earnestly sought opportunities of improvement for himself and his family, it is wonderful how the way seemed to open before them. In the course of their trade, these poor people had been in the habit of taking the same route, and stopping at the same villages, for some years, so that they were well known on the roads, and many persons dealt with them, not so much because they respected them, as because they were used to see their faces. The truth was, indeed, that they had but a sorry character throughout the country, and old Smith was con8idered a man of very rough tongue. But when religion began to exercise its gentle influences in the family, it immediately produced better manners among them; and William, especially, spoke so well, and was so upright in his dealings, that one or two godly persons, at the houses where they called, entered into discourse with him, and finding that he was trying to instruct his brothers and sisters, they gave him some very good books, some for himself and some for the children, informing him also where the most pious ministers were to be found in the districts they visited. The family were thus encouraged to attend divine service at the different towns and villages where their business called them; and by this means they had the advantage of hearing many sweet and godly discourses.

Old Smith and his wife, as was to be expected, were unable to undertake many more journeys; and accordingly they soon turned over the whole of their business to their son.

It was a happy time for the family when William became master of it: he settled his father and mother at home, and brought them, from time to time, as much of his earnings as would support them comfortably; one of his sisters he placed with his mother, and the other he got his friend John Day's wife to keep as a little servant; while he took his two brothers with him on his journeys; and I have heard those say, who knew him well, that he was as good as a schoolmaster to his brothers as any that could be hired for money. During his confinement after his sickness, he had learned all the hymn-book which John Day had given him, from beginning to end; and, as he and his brothers were following the asses, he used to teach them these hymns by word of mouth; and in the evening, when they stayed to rest, he taught them to read. He had much trouble with them at first, for they were two as mischievous lads as were to be found throughout the country; but as William was stronger than they, and carried the purse, he soon proved more than master of them, and, after a while, the struggle between them ceased, and the lads submitted to him to the full extent of his wishes.

It was surprising to observe how the family prospered after they took up better ways, and how respected William Smith became up and down the country, after a few years. As he would, on any occasion, rather incur a loss than speak an untruth, his word, after a while, was as good to him as money; and it was astonishing how many conveniences and accommodations he met with on account of his good character. In former times, people were fearful of having the Smiths and their asses in the neighbourhood; and I have heard a farmer say that some of his family have been forced more than once to stay at home from divine service to watch the premises, lest the lads should be at his fruit-trees or fowl-yard, or engaged in other mischief. But now matters were quite different: the very same farmer, some years after William's change of character, very willingly admitted the asses into his yard during service-time, and locked up the panniers in the barn, in order to give William and his brothers an opportunity to go to church; and it was seldom that he did not send them a plate of hot meat to their dinner on Sundays, when they happened to be on his premises. Thus godliness is found to be profitable in reference to things temporal, as well as to those which are eternal.

The last account I heard of William Smith was through the Hawker, of whom mention has been made more than once in the course of this story.

This good man was travelling one day in company with John Day, between two small towns in Staffordshire, upon some business which concerned them both; and as the Hawker thought that he was well acquainted with the country, he ventured to turn out of the main road, and attempt a shorter out over the fields; but as the cleverest folks are liable to err, so the Hawker lost his way, and night came upon them when they were a little more than half way between the one town and the other.

It was an uncommonly dark night, and the Hawker at length stood still, saying he could go no further, for he could not even see the hand before him.

"Well then," said John Day, "we must sit down here, and wait for more light."

"And that," remarked the Hawker, "is what pilgrims are often compelled to do."

"Yes," replied John, "and in worse places than that in which we now are."

Accordingly, they sat down, and were preparing to spend a few hours of the night in this solitary condition, when suddenly they spied a light, not far distant from them, apparently twinkling through trees.

John Day and the Hawker no sooner saw this light than they got up and endeavoured to walk towards it; and making their way through a long stubble field, for it was just after harvest time, they at length came to a stile, beyond which they espied a hovel, or shed, from which the light proceeded. Having crossed the stile, the Hawker suggested that they should walk softly, and find out, if they could, before they showed themselves, what kind of company they were likely to meet with, "for," observed the old man, "if we should light on a pack of thieves, or gipsies, we should be worse off than when we were quite alone."

John approved of his friend's counsel, and they went softly forward till they were come close enough to hear and see all that was passing in the shed.

Around the entrance were several asses, some standing and others lying down; there was also a row of panniers; and within were a man and two boys, busied in setting out their supper on the ground, by the light of a lantern. The man had a book in his hand, and he was just calling to the boys to make haste to settle everything to order, that they might finish their reading.

The Hawker touched John Day's arm and whispered, "We shall be able to judge what sort of folks these are when the book is opened." So John Day and his companion waited a minute, and the brown bread and cheese being set before them, the man began to read while the two lads were eating.

"It is the Bible," remarked the Hawker, "it is the Bible! Well this is a goodly sight; and the best of it is, there's no fear of finding hypocrisy here, for these folks don't know there is anyone to look on and admire."

"Come," said John Day, "let us join this goodly company."

"Stop a moment," whispered the Hawker, "the poor man is going to speak, let us not interrupt him."

The man, it seems, had been reading the ninth chapter of John, which gives an account of a man, who was born blind, being restored to sight; and when he came to these words, "One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see," he shut the book, and spoke as follows. "My lads," said he, "this verse applies as much to you, and to me, and to all sinners who are brought to Christ, as to the blind man who then received his sight. We are all spiritually blind and dark by nature, and are as unable to discern spiritual things as a blind man is to discern natural things.

"But when it pleases the Lord, by his divine power, to cure us of our spiritual darkness, then we find divine instruction in everything which surrounds us.

"If we happen to be bewildered and lost in a dark night, then we are led to think, if this darkness, which endureth only for a night, is so perplexing, how dreadful must the state of those be, to whom, as St. Peter says, the mist of darkness is reserved for ever?

"When we see the sun shining gloriously in the heavens, we remark that it is an emblem of Christ, the heavenly Bridegroom; for the sun is 'as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and as a strong man to run a race; his going forth is from the end of the heavens, and his circuit unto the ends of it, and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.'

"In the waning and waxing moon, too, we see an emblem of the Christian, who, according to the degree of his faith, is either full by light, shining out on all around him, or else is comparatively dark and useless.

"Nature has likewise a thousand other beautiful emblems for the spiritually-minded; so that a poor travelling man, who knows his Bible, is reminded of parts of it wherever he turns his eye. In the lamb that feeds in the meadow, he sees the type of Him that taketh away the sins of the world; in the running brook he finds an emblem of the comforts and refreshments of the Holy Spirit; in the filthy sow or the dog, he sees a representation of the unconverted man: and the fair flower of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, reminds him of the shortness and uncertainty of man's life on earth. And thus, my dear lads, it is found, that when a poor man's heart is turned to the Lord, and a thirst for instruction is given to him, a thousand ways of improvement are opened, of which he had no notion before; and where ever he goes, he is able to glean up something which makes an addition to his stock of knowledge.

"But," continued the speaker, "he whose mind is the slave of sin, and who knows not the converting power of the Holy Spirit, must remain in darkness unto the end."

Now, long before the man in the hovel had ceased to speak, John Day and the Hawker had made out that he was no other than William Smith, although it was as much as three years since John Day had seen William, and the Hawker had indeed never seen him but once, and that many years before. They were so pleased, however, with the subject of his discourse, that they would not by any means interrupt him; but when he ceased to speak, they came forward and made themselves known to him; and never was a happier meeting.

After the first words of greeting had been exchanged, William Smith made them sit down, and partake of such provisions as he had to offer; and when they had supped and the young lads had lain down to sleep, these three pious men spent a great part of the night in discoursing on religious subjects, specially remarking the wonderful means which their heavenly Father had used to call them from death unto life.

The Hawker, from whom I derived this story, told me, when speaking of the night which he had spent under the shed with John Day and William Smith, that, in all the course of his long life, (and he was a very old man) he had never enjoyed few hours s~ thoroughly. He was much astonished, too, as he owned, at the spirituality of William Smith, especially when he considered that he was continually a wayfaring man, enjoying, as it would seem, so few opportunities of improvement. But, he observed, he had seldom seen a man so truly humble; and he remarked, that his experience had taught him, that those who are the most humble always make the greatest improvement, "insomuch," said he, "that when I hear of an ignorant man, I generally suppose him to be at heart a proud one too."

Some years have now gone by since I heard anything respecting either John Day or William Smith; but as they have, no doubt, walked in the strength of the Lord, and not in their own strength, I feel satisfied, that unto the end they will run and not be weary, and walk and not faint.