THE VISIT RETURNED.
Mr. Bragwell, when he returned home from his visit to Mr. Worthy, as
recorded in the second part of this history, found that he was not
quite so happy as he had formerly been. The discourses of Mr. Worthy
had broken in not a little on 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 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 controlled 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 showing him his riches; and he thought it
would raise his credit in the 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. While he was actually engaged abroad indeed, 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, "Soul take thine ease, eat, drink, and be
merry;" yet hardly any man, perhaps, allows himself to say, even in
the most secret moments, I will _never_ retire from business--I will
_never_ repent--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 mind a general
distant sort of resolution, that _some years hence_, when he should
be a _few years older_, a _few_ thousands richer; when a few more of
his _present schemes should be completed_, 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 completed 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 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 principal farmers of that neighborhood together,
some of whom he wanted to meet. And it was on this occasion that Mr.
Bragwell prided himself, that he should show his neighbors 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 daylight.
He saw with pleasure (for he had a warm and generous heart) those
evident signs of his friend's prosperity; but as he was a man of
sober mind, and was a most exact dealer in truth, he never allowed
his tongue the license of immodest commendation, which he used to
say either savored 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
practiced the usual trick of ordinary and vulgar minds, that of
pretending himself to find some 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_ parlor, by way of calling his attention to his
own large one. He repeated the word _snug_, as applied to every
thing at Mr. Worthy's, with the plain design to make comparisons
favorable to his own more ample domains. He contrived, as he passed
by his chair, by a seeming accident, to push open the door of a
large beaufet in the parlor, 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
is 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 poor, I
was always sorry that it could not be made productive enough to be
continued. A man in my middling 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 of these taxes are so much evaded, that new taxes
are continually brought on to make up the deficiencies of the old."
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 old-fashioned
friend at full liberty.
THE DANCE; OR, THE CHRISTMAS MERRY-MAKING; EXEMPLIFYING THE EFFECTS
OF MODERN EDUCATION IN A FARMHOUSE.
As soon as they were gone, Mr. Worthy asked Bragwell how his family
comforts stood, and how his daughters, who, he said, were really
fine young women, went on. "O, as to that," replied Bragwell,
"pretty much like other men's handsome daughters, I suppose, that
is, worse and worse. I really begin to apprehend that their
fantastical notions have gained such a head, that after all the
money I have scraped together, I shall never get them well married.
"Betsy has just lost as good an offer as any girl could desire:
young Wilson, an honest substantial grazier as any in the country.
He not only knows every thing proper for his station, but is
pleasing in his behavior, and a pretty scholar into the bargain; he
reads history-books and voyages of a winter's evening, to his infirm
father, instead of going to the card-assembly in our town; he
neither likes drinking nor sporting, and is a sort of a favorite
with our parson, because he takes in the weekly numbers of a fine
Bible with cuts, and subscribes to the Sunday School, and makes a
fuss about helping the poor; and sets up soup-shops, and sells
bacon at an under price, and gives odd bits of ground to his
laborers to help them in these dear times, as they call them; but I
think they are good times for _us_, Mr. Worthy.
"Well, for all this, Betsy only despised him, and laughed at him;
but as he is both handsome and rich, I thought she might come round
at last; and so I invited him to come and stay a day or two at
Christmas, when we have always a little sort of merry-making here.
But it would not do. He scorned to talk that palavering stuff which
she has been used to in the marble-covered books I told you of. He
told her, indeed, that it would be the happiness of his heart to
live with her; which I own I thought was as much as could be
expected of any man. But miss had no notion of marrying any one who
was only desirous of living with her. No, and forsooth, her lover
must declare himself ready to die for her, which honest Wilson was
not such a fool as to offer to do. In the afternoon, however, he got
a little into her favor by making out a rebus or two in the Lady's
Diary, and she condescended to say, she did not think Mr. Wilson had
been so good a scholar; but he soon spoiled all again. We had a
little dance in the evening. The young man, though he had not much
taste for those sort of gambols, yet thought he could foot it a
little in the old fashioned way. So he asked Betsy to be his
partner. But when he asked what dance they should call, miss drew up
her head, and in a strange gibberish, said she should dance nothing
but a _Menuet de la Cour_, and ordered him to call it. Wilson
stared, and honestly told her she must call it herself; for he could
neither spell nor pronounce such outlandish words, nor assist in
such an outlandish performance. I burst out a laughing, and told
him, I supposed it something like questions and commands; and if so,
that was much merrier than dancing. Seeing her partner standing
stock still, and not knowing how to get out of the scrape, the girl
began by herself, and fell to swimming, and sinking, and capering,
and flourishing, and posturing, for all the world just like the man
on the slack rope at our fair. But seeing Wilson standing like a
stuck pig, and we all laughing at her, she resolved to wreak her
malice upon him; so, with a look of rage and disdain, she advised
him to go down country bumpkin, with the dairy maid, who would make
a much fitter partner, as well as wife, for him, than she could do.
"'I am quite of your mind, miss,' said he, with more spirit than I
thought was in him; 'you may make a good partner for a dance, but
you would make a sad one to go through life with. I will take my
leave of you, miss, with this short story. I had lately a pretty
large concern in hay-jobbing, which took me to London. I waited a
good while in the Hay-market for my dealer, and, to pass away the
time, I stepped into a sort of foreign singing play-house there,
where I was grieved to the heart to see young women painted and
dizened out, and capering away just as you have been doing. I
thought it bad enough in them, and wondered the quality could be
entertained with such indecent mummery. But little did I think to
meet with the same paint, finery, and posturing tricks in a
farm-house. I will never marry a woman who despises me, nor the
station in which I should place her, and so I take my leave.' Poor
girl, how she _was_ provoked! to be publicly refused, and turned
off, as it were, by a grazier! But it was of use to some of the
other girls, who have not held up their heads quite so high since,
nor painted quite so red, but have condescended to speak to their
equals.
"But how I run on! I forget it is Saturday night, and that I ought
to be paying my workmen, who are all waiting for me without."
SATURDAY NIGHT, OR THE WORKMEN'S WAGES.
As soon as Mr. Bragwell had done paying his men, Mr. Worthy, who was
always ready to extract something useful from accidental
circumstances, said to him, "I have made it a habit, and I hope not
an unprofitable one, of trying to turn to some moral use, not only
all the events of daily life, but all the employments of it, too.
And though it occurs so often, I hardly know one that sets me
thinking more seriously than the ordinary business you have been
discharging." "Ay," said Bragwell, "it sets me thinking too, and
seriously, as you say, when I observe how much the price of wages is
increased." "Yes, yes, you are ready enough to think of that," said
Worthy, "but you say not a word of how much the value of your land
is increased, and that the more you pay, the more you can afford to
pay. But the thoughts I spoke of are quite of another cast.
"When I call in my laborers, on a Saturday night, to pay them, it
often brings to my mind the great and general day of account, when
I, and you, and all of us, shall be called to our grand and awful
reckoning, when we shall go to receive _our_ wages, master and
servants, farmer and laborer. When I see that one of my men has
failed of the wages he should have received, because he has been
idling at a fair; another has lost a day by a drinking-bout, a third
confesses that, though he had task-work, and might have earned still
more, yet he has been careless, and has not his full pay to receive;
this, I say, sometimes sets me on thinking whether I also have made
the most of my time. And when I come to pay even the more diligent,
who have worked all the week, when I reflect that even these have
done no more than it was their duty to do, I can not help saying to
myself, Night is come, Saturday night is come. No repentance, or
diligence on the part of these poor men can now make a bad week's
work good. This week has gone into eternity. To-morrow is the season
of rest; working-time is over. 'There is no knowledge nor device in
the grave.' My life also will soon be swallowed up in eternity; soon
the space allotted me for diligence, for labor, will be over. Soon
will the grand question be asked, 'What hast thou done? Give an
account of thy stewardship. Didst thou use thy working days to the
end for which they were given? With some such thoughts I commonly go
to bed, and they help to quicken me to a keener diligence for the
next week."
SOME ACCOUNT OF A SUNDAY IN MR. BRAGWELL'S FAMILY.
Mr. Worthy had been for so many years used to the sober ways of his
own well-ordered family, that he greatly disliked to pass a Sunday
in any house of which religion was not the governing principle.
Indeed, he commonly ordered his affairs, and regulated his journeys
with an eye to this object. "To pass a Sunday in an irreligious
family," said he, "is always unpleasant, often unsafe. I seldom find
I can do them any good, and they may perhaps do me some harm. At
least, I am giving a sanction to their manner of passing it, if I
pass it in the same manner. If I reprove them, I subject myself to
the charge of singularity, and of being righteous over-much; if I do
_not_ reprove them, I confirm and strengthen them in evil. And
whether I reprove them or not, I certainly partake of their guilt,
if I spend it as they do."
He had, however, so strong a desire to be useful to Mr. Bragwell,
that he at length determined to break through his common practice,
and pass the Sunday at his house. Mr. Worthy was surprised to find
that though the church bell was going, the breakfast was not ready,
and expressed his wonder how this could be the case in so
industrious a family. Bragwell made some awkward excuses. He said
his wife worked her servants so hard all the week, that even she, as
notable as she was, a little relaxed from the strictness of her
demands on Sunday mornings; and he owned that in a general way no
one was up early enough for church. He confessed that his wife
commonly spent the morning in making puddings, pies, syllabubs, and
cakes, to last through the week; as Sunday was the only leisure time
she and her maids had. Mr. Worthy soon saw an uncommon bustle in the
house. All hands were busy. It was nothing but baking, and boiling,
and stewing, and frying, and roasting, and running, and scolding,
and eating. The boy was kept from church to clean the plate, the man
to gather the fruit, the mistress to make the cheese-cakes, the
maids to dress the dinner, and the young ladies to dress themselves.
The truth was, Mrs. Bragwell, who had heard much of the order and
good management of Mr. Worthy's family, but who looked down with
disdain upon them as far less rich than herself, was resolved to
indulge her vanity on the present occasion. She was determined to be
even with Mrs. Worthy, in whose praises Bragwell had been so loud,
and felt no small pleasure in the hope of making her guest uneasy,
in comparing her with his own wife, when he should be struck dumb
with the display both of her skill and her wealth. Mr. Worthy was
indeed struck to behold as large a dinner as he had been used to see
at a justice's meeting. He, whose frugal and pious wife had
accustomed him only to such a plain Sunday's dinner as could be
dressed without keeping any one from church, when he surveyed the
loaded table of his friend, instead of feeling that envy which the
grand preparations were meant to raise, felt nothing but disgust at
the vanity of his friend's wife, mixed with much thankfulness for
the piety and simplicity of his own.
After having made the dinner wait a long time, the Misses Bragwell
marched in, dressed as if they were going to the assize-ball; they
looked very scornfully at having been so hurried, though they had
been dressing ever since they got up, and their fond father, when he
saw them so fine, forgave all their impertinence, and cast an eye of
triumph on Mr. Worthy, who felt he had never loved his own humble
daughters so well as at that moment.
In the afternoon the whole party went to church. To do them justice,
it was indeed their common practice once a day, when the weather was
good, and the road was neither dusty nor dirty, when the minister
did not begin too early, when the young ladies had not been
disappointed of their bonnets on the Saturday night, and when they
had no smart company in the house, who rather wished to stay at
home. When this last was the case, which, to say the truth, happened
pretty often, it was thought a piece of good manners to conform to
the humor of the guests. Mr. Bragwell had this day forborne to ask
any of his usual company, well knowing that their vain and worldly
conversation would only serve to draw on him some new reprimand from
his friend.
Mrs. Bragwell and her daughters picked up, as usual, a good deal of
acquaintance at church. Many compliments passed, and much of the
news of the week was retailed before the service began. They waited
with impatience for the reading of the lessons as a licensed season
for whispering, and the subject begun during the lessons, was
finished while they were singing the psalms. The young ladies made
an appointment for the afternoon with a friend in the next pew,
while their mamma took the opportunity of inquiring aloud, the
character of a dairy maid, which she observed, with a compliment to
her own good management, would save time on a week-day.
Mr. Worthy, who found himself quite in a new world, returned home
with his friend alone. In the evening he ventured to ask Bragwell,
if he did not, on a Sunday night at least, make it a custom to read
and pray with his family. Bragwell told him he was sorry to say he
had no family at home, else he should like to do it for the sake of
example. But as his servants worked hard all the week, his wife was
of opinion that they should then have a little holiday. Mr. Worthy
pressed it home upon him, whether the utter neglect of his servants'
principles was not likely to make a heavy article in his final
account; and asked him if he did not believe that the too general
liberty of meeting together, jaunting, and diverting themselves on
Sunday evenings, was not often found to produce the worst effects on
the morals of servants and the good order of families? "I put it to
your conscience," said he, "Mr. Bragwell, whether Sunday, which was
meant as a blessing and a benefit, is not, as it is commonly kept,
turned into the most mischievous part of the week, by the selfish
kindness of masters, who, not daring to set their servants about any
public work, allot them that day to follow their own devices, that
they themselves may, with more rigor, refuse them a little
indulgence, and a reasonable holiday, in the working part of the
week, which a good servant has now and then a fair right to expect.
Those masters who will give them half, or all of the Lord's day,
will not spare them a single hour of a working day. _Their_ work
_must_ be done; God's work may be let alone."
Mr. Bragwell owned that Sunday had produced many mischiefs in his
own family. That the young men and maids, having no eye upon them,
frequently went to improper places with other servants turned adrift
like themselves. That in these parties the poor girls were too
frequently led astray, and the men got to public houses and
fives-playing. But it was none of his business to watch them. His
family only did as others do; indeed it was his wife's concern; and
as she was so good a manager on other days, that she would not spare
them an hour to visit a sick father or mother, it would be hard, she
said, if they might not have Sunday afternoon to themselves, and she
could not blame them for making the most of it. Indeed, she was so
indulgent in this particular, that she often excused the men from
going to church, that they might serve the beasts, and the maids,
that they might get the milking done before the holiday part of the
evening came on. She would not, indeed, hear of any competition
between doing _her_ work and taking their pleasure; but when the
difference lay between their going to church and taking their
pleasure, he _must_ say that for his wife, she always inclined to
the good-natured side of the question. She is strict enough in
keeping them sober, because drunkenness is a costly sin; and to do
her justice, she does not care how little they sin at her expense.
"Well," said Mr. Worthy, "I always like to examine both sides
fairly, and to see the different effects of opposite practices; now,
which plan produces the greater share of comfort to the master, and
of profit to the servants in the long run? Your servants, 'tis
likely, are very much attached to you, and very fond of living where
they get their own way in so great a point."
"O, as to that," replied Bragwell, "you are quite out. My house is a
scene of discord, mutiny, and discontent. And though there is not a
better manager in England than my wife, yet she is always changing
her servants, so that every quarter-day is a sort of jail delivery
at my house; and when they go off, as they often do, at a moment's
warning, to own the truth, I often give them money privately, that
they may not carry my wife before the justice to get their wages."
"I see," said Mr. Worthy, "that all your worldly compliances do not
procure you even worldly happiness. As to my own family, I take care
to let them see that their pleasure is bound up with their duty, and
that what they may call my strictness, has nothing in view but their
safety and happiness. By this means I commonly gain their love, as
well as secure their obedience. I know that, with all my care, I am
liable to be disappointed, 'from the corruption that is in the world
through sin.' But whenever this happens, so far from encouraging me
in remissness, it only serves to quicken my zeal. If, by God's
blessing, my servant turns out a good Christian, I have been an
humble instrument in his hand of saving a soul committed to my
charge."
Mrs. Bragwell came home, but brought only one of her daughters with
her; the other, she said, had given them the slip, and was gone with
a young friend, and would not return for a day or two. Mr. Bragwell
was greatly displeased, as he knew that young friend had but a
slight character, and kept bad acquaintances. Mrs. Bragwell came in,
all hurry and bustle, saying, if her family did not go to bed with
the lamb on Sundays, when they had nothing to do, how could they
rise with the lark on Mondays, when so much was to be done.
Mr. Worthy had this night much matter for reflection. "We need not,"
said he, "go into the great world to look for dissipation and
vanity. We can find both in a farmhouse. 'As for me and my house,'
continued he, 'we will serve the Lord' every day, but especially on
Sunday. 'It is the day which the Lord hath made; hath made for
himself; we will rejoice in it,' and consider the religious use of
it, not only as a duty, but as a privilege."
The next morning Mr. Bragwell and his friend set out early for the
Golden Lion. What passed on this little journey, my readers shall
hear soon.