_The Story of Old Maddox._
The next morning at breakfast, the two boys entertained their grandpapa
and grandmamma with a full account of what they had seen on the preceding
day; and both dwelt with particular pleasure on the beauty of the
pheasants.
“Did you take notice of Harry Maddox, the old man who has the care of
them?” inquired Mr. Mansfield.
The children replied, that he was for some time talking with Mr. Ashley;
but that he took no notice of them, and that they had observed nothing
particular about him.
“That, man,” said Mr. Mansfield, “shabby and mean as he now appears, was
once in possession of considerable property. It was his idleness alone
that reduced him to poverty.”
“How so, grandpapa?” inquired Charles. “Pray tell us about him.”
“I was going to do so,” returned Mr. Mansfield, “in the hope that the
history of his misfortunes might be a lesson to you, not to fall into the
fault that has occasioned his ruin.
“Maddox’s father rented a capital farm, a few miles from this village.
Harry was a school-fellow of mine, so that in his childhood I saw a
great deal of him. He had some good qualities. He always spoke the truth,
and I don’t recollect that he ever did any thing spiteful, or injured
another purposely. His great fault was a habit of constant idleness. At
play-time, when the rest of the boys were amusing themselves at their
different sports, Maddox might always be found sitting on the stump of an
old tree, that once overshadowed the playground; and all his employment
was to scratch up the earth with a stick. This was so constantly the
case, that the stump was called by the boys _Maddox’s seat_; and I have
been told that it still goes by the same name; though, most likely, the
circumstance that gave rise to it has long been forgotten. You may
suppose that in school hours Harry did not gain much credit. He was
oftener in disgrace than any boy amongst us. He stood near the bottom
of the lowest class, and I do not know that he ever made his way much
higher. Indeed, how should he? for all the time that he ought to have
spent in learning his lessons, he passed in merely holding the book in
his hand, or twisting the corners of the leaves.”
_Charles._ But I should have thought he would have been punished if he
could not say his lesson; and he would not like that, I suppose.
_Mr. Mansfield._ Perhaps he did not like punishment; but he liked the
trouble of avoiding it still less. Indeed, after a smart caning, he would
sometimes sit down to his book, and learn as much in half an hour as most
of us could in a whole one. His being able to do so, as our good master
used to say, made him so much the more inexcusable. “If, Maddox, you were
dull by nature, and could not learn,” I remember his telling him one
day, when the boy was crying, and begging not to be flogged, “I should
pity you; and, as long as you did your best, should never be angry: but
you have really a good understanding, and this idleness is unpardonable,
and you need not hope to escape correction.” Correction, however, and
encouragement, were equally thrown away upon Maddox; and he left school
at fifteen, after having passed a miserable time, scolded by the masters
and derided by the boys.
_Arthur._ What became of him then, grandpapa?
_Mr. Mansfield._ His father took him home, intending to bring him up
to farming: but he found he could make nothing of him; so he put him
apprentice to a brewer in a good way of business.
However, Harry still continued idle, and learned nothing, so that when he
was out of his time, his master was very glad to get rid of so useless
a hand, and declared he would have nothing further to say to him;
notwithstanding he was then in want of a partner, and old Mr. Maddox,
the father, had offered to advance a considerable sum, if he would give
him a share of the business.
Some time after this, he married; and his father then set him up in a
brewery by himself, and gave him all that was necessary to begin trade
with.
His success, however, was just what might have been expected. He did not
like to give himself trouble; and his beer was so bad, that nobody would
buy it. In short, he lost all his customers, and ran into debt; so that
every thing he had was taken away to pay his creditors.
The kind father once more received his son, with his wife and family,
into his own house; and instead of being angry, he tried to console him
for his misfortunes, by telling him, that as long as he had a shilling
in the world he should share it with him; and that, by industry and
frugality, they might yet do very well. One would have thought that such
great kindness, and the distresses he had brought upon himself, would
have had some effect on the mind of young Maddox; and indeed they had:
for a short time, he went on pretty well, but he soon relapsed into his
former habits of indolence. As long, however, as his father lived, he did
not know what it was to want. It is true, he was accustomed to lie in bed
till noon, and then to doze in an arm chair the greatest part of the day.
But his father was always up before the dawn, and continued to attend to
the concerns of his farm till after the sun was set; for he found that
much additional industry was required, to enable him to support such
a large increase to his household. Harry at length lost his excellent
parent, and had the misfortune, not long after, to bury his wife.
_Charles._ Ah, poor Maddox! How badly off he must have been then,
grandpapa!
_Mr. Mansfield._ He was, indeed, my dear. All good management was at
an end, both in the house and in the fields. He took no care of his
children himself, nor did he provide any body to look after them for
him. His sons, in consequence of this neglect, grew up very wild young
men. They were always in company with the most worthless fellows in the
neighbourhood; and at last one of them ran away to sea, and never was
heard of more. The youngest girl fell into an ill state of health, and
perished from want of care and nursing. The eldest daughter, mother to
the little Peggy whom you saw at the cottage, was the only one of the
children that grew up to be a comfort to herself, or to her family. She
married at a very early age, but, unfortunately for Peggy, died some time
ago.
_Arthur._ So poor Peggy has no mother! What a sad thing for her!
_Mr. Mansfield._ She has no father neither, my dear: but we will talk
more of her by and by, if I have not tired you with my long story.
_Charles._ Oh, you need not be afraid of tiring us, grandpapa. We like to
hear you very much, and I want to know how Maddox went on with his farm.
_Mr. Mansfield._ Why, he left his farm to take care of itself; and when
the men went to him for directions, he used to tell them to begone about
their business, and do as they would, for he should not trouble himself
about the matter. So perhaps one wanted to sow beans, when another wanted
to sow corn; and then they would get into a quarrel, and not work at
all. By this means, the seed was never put into his fields till after it
had begun to grow up in all the country round: and as he took no care
to keep his land clean, it was always choked with weeds; and, in all
the time he was a farmer, he had not a single good crop. His fences too
were left in the most ruinous state, and his neighbour’s cattle used to
get into his fields through the gaps in the hedges, and do much mischief
among his corn and hay. Then sometimes his own beasts trespassed in the
same manner upon the grounds of other people, and he was obliged to pay
for the damage they did; and if they were sent to the pound, it was some
expense to him to redeem them.
_Arthur._ What do you mean, sir, by saying they were sent to the pound?
_Mr. Mansfield._ A pound is a small spot inclosed with high rails, in
which cattle that go astray may be confined; and the person whose office
it is to keep the pound claims a certain fee when they are sent for by
the owner.
Maddox’s farm belonged to Mr. Ashley; and when the lease was out, his
landlord refused to grant him another. From the time of the old man’s
death, the rents had been very irregularly paid; and besides, Mr. Ashley
did not choose to let any part of his estate to a man who suffered it to
go to ruin.
_Charles._ Indeed, I think he was in the right. I should not like to
have my fields, that might be kept in nice order, like yours, grandpapa,
spoilt from want of proper care. But what became of Maddox, then?
_Mr. Mansfield._ He hired a wretched cottage, and lived for some time
upon the little money he had by him. When that was gone, he was actually
reduced to beggary. He had scarcely a rag to cover him, and could
barely get food to keep him alive. I happened to hear of his miserable
situation, and I called on Mr. Ashley, to consult about what could be
done for him.
_Arthur._ And what did Mr. Ashley say?
_Mr. Mansfield._ He said he was sorry to hear of his distress; and would
be glad to relieve him, if it were in his power. “But,” he added, “what
can I do? It is not proper to maintain a strong, hearty man, like
Maddox, in idleness. He learned so little when he was young, that I know
he can hardly read or write; therefore, I cannot make him my steward.
If I hire him as a labourer, he will not do a day’s work in the year;
and I am sure, for the pains he would take, my deer might all be lost,
or stolen, if I made him deer-keeper.” Soon after this conversation,
however, Mr. Ashley inclosed a part of his park, for keeping pheasants,
and then he resolved to intrust the care of them to Harry Maddox, and
ordered that he should take little Peggy to live with him; for the poor
girl just before had had the misfortune to lose both her parents.
_Charles._ Oh, you promised just now to tell us something about Peggy.
_Mr. Mansfield._ I have only to say, that her character is the very
reverse of her grandfather’s. She is a notable, active girl, and does a
wonderful deal for her age. As Mr. Maddox still continues the same, the
birds would be sadly neglected, if it were not for her care. Mr. Ashley
puts her to school, where she learns to work: and I believe she keeps
both her own and the old man’s clothes in very tolerable order. The
cottage, too, is neat and clean, though there is no one to do any thing
but herself.
“I thought she was a nice girl,” said Charles. “She was at work, you
know, Arthur, yesterday afternoon, when we went there.”
“Yes,” replied Arthur, “and the old man was fast asleep. What a contrast
between them!”
“You see,” rejoined Mr. Mansfield, “though she is but a child, in how
respectable a light her industry makes her appear. She acquires the
esteem of all who know her, and she has the satisfaction of feeling that
she does not live in vain. As for poor old Maddox, I don’t know from
what source his satisfactions can arise. The review of his past life
can afford him no comfort; and if he looks forward to the close of his
present existence, he must be shocked at the account to which he will
then be called, for duties neglected, talents misemployed, and a family
ruined, through his want of care.”
_Arthur._ Well, I have often been told that I ought to be a good boy,
and mind my lessons; but I did not know before, that idleness could lead
to so much mischief. I always thought that, when I was a man, I should
attend to my business as a matter of course.
_Mr. Mansfield._ Ah, my dear child, you are much mistaken, if you suppose
that you will be able to get the better of your faults, only by growing
older. Now is the time for you to acquire good habits of all sorts; and
if you neglect to do so, depend upon it, that when you become a man,
you will find the task only rendered a great deal more difficult, from
having been so long delayed.
“Very true, my dear,” said Mrs. Mansfield. “Besides, little folks should
consider, that it is not their future advantage alone which should lead
them to take pains with their studies—it is one of the absolute duties
of their infant state. God Almighty did not mean that any of us should
be idle at any time; and a child who is idle when he ought to be at his
book, as much transgresses the will of God, as a man who neglects his
trade, or a woman who takes no care of her family.”
“I think,” said Mr. Mansfield, starting up as he looked at his watch,
“that whilst I have been prating away in favour of industry, I seem to
have forgotten that I have a thousand concerns to attend to. But I will
no longer act in a way so contrary to my precepts. And so good morning to
you, I am off till dinner-time.”
[Illustration: _Page 127._
_Chap. XIII._
_A pleasant Ride._
_London. Published by W. Darton Jun. Oct. 1815._]