I must needs say, a little hard upon the poor--but never mind; I shall
take to the books in a fortnight's time, and then things will be
better." "But you know, master," said the woman, "if you could but
manage that little job for us, we should hardly trouble the parish at
all." "Well, I'll do what I can," answered the farmer; "my being a
parish-officer, will help." The woman was going to reply, but happening
to see Mr. Stanley, she drew back from the stile, and allowed him to
pass on.
Trifling as the occurrence was, Mr. Stanley happened to mention it to
his friend at the parsonage, as they were sitting together after dinner.
Upon his describing the figure and face of the farmer, "Yes," said Mr.
Hooker, with a smile, "that must have been my parishioner, Farmer
Barton. He is, as you describe him, a good-humoured looking fellow, and
it has always been the height of his ambition to be reckoned a
_good-natured_ man."
"I cannot much blame him for that," replied Stanley; "_good-nature_ is a
most amiable quality, and I heartily wish there was more of it in the
world than there is."
"In that wish I cordially agree with you," said Mr. Hooker; "if by
_good-nature_ you mean a genuine spirit of kindness or Christian
benevolence, which prompts a man to do whatever good he can to the
bodies and souls of all within his reach. The _good-nature_, however, of
Farmer Barton is not exactly of this description. It springs from a love
of low popularity, from a wish to gain by whatever means the good will
and good word of all descriptions of people. This wish leads him to
assent to whatever is said, and to accede to almost every request,
unless it immediately touches his pocket. To that indeed his
_good-nature_ does not always extend. In his fear of being thought
_ill-natured_, he very often loses sight of duty, and his dread of
offending or of contradicting those who happen to be _present_, makes
him not unfrequently forget what is due to those who are _absent_."
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the servant, who
came to tell his master that Farmer Barton wished to speak with him.
"Pray shew him in," said Mr. Hooker; "but I am unable to guess what his
business can be."
The farmer came in, and, upon Mr. Hooker's asking him what he wanted,
replied, "Why, it is only to get you to put your hand to this bit of
paper." "Let us look at it," said Mr. Hooker; and then casting his eye
over it, added, "This I see is an application to the magistrates, to set
up a new public house in the village, and a recommendation of Robert
Fowler as a fit man to keep it." "Yes, Sir," replied the farmer; "poor
Bob since he got the hurt in his arm has never been able to do the work
of another man, and he and Nanny have begged me and some of the
neighbours to help him to set up a public house, as a means of keeping
him off the parish."
"And do you, Farmer Barton, honestly think," said Mr. Hooker, "that we
_want_ a public house here? You know that there is hardly any
thoroughfare through the village; and even if there was, we are but two
miles from a market town, where there are inns and ale-houses in
abundance."
"Why I can't say there is any particular want of it," said Barton. "But
Fowler's family is likely to be a heavy burden to the parish."
"The parish, I am satisfied," rejoined Mr. Hooker, "would be no gainer
in the end. Don't you suppose that many of the labouring men would
often, after their day's work, go to the ale-house, instead of going
home; and spend there, some part of the money which ought to find food
and clothes for their wives and families? A country ale-house is too
often found to be attended with raggedness and hunger in the women and
children; and I know that this is the opinion of the poor women
themselves. Besides, don't you remember, what drunkenness and
quarrelling we used to have before Tomkins's house was put down?"
"Why, I must say, that the men have been more quiet and sober of late."
"As clergyman of this parish," said Mr. Hooker, "I shall never assist in
setting forward a measure, which I think would be hurtful to my
parishioners: and I must own, that I am surprised to see that so many
sensible and respectable men have signed their names to this
recommendation."
"Why a man don't like to seem _ill-natured_," said the farmer.
"We must not," replied Mr. Hooker, "for the sake of assisting one man
or one family, do that which would be prejudicial to the whole parish.
And besides, I thought that Fowler was one of the most drunken, idle
fellows in the village."
"Why to be sure," said the farmer, "he does like drink better than
work."
"And yet you and your brother farmers are here ready to certify that he
is of good fame, sober life and conversation, and a fit and proper
person to be intrusted with a licence! Do you not see that you have all
set your hands to a direct falsehood?"
Barton looked foolish, but added, "Why one don't like to refuse such a
thing--and when others do it, it would look so _ill-natured_."
"And so, for fear of being thought _ill-natured_, you can not only set
your name to a lie, but give a helping hand to a measure, which by your
own acknowledgment would be likely to increase the poverty as well as
the immorality of many of your poor neighbours. Indeed, indeed, Mr.
Barton, an English farmer ought to have had more manliness of character
than this comes to."
"But then poor Bob is such a _good-tempered_ fellow; and besides, you
know, he is half disabled for work!"
"Yes, he received his hurt in the very act of breaking the laws of the
land by poaching, and I do not think _that_ a reason for putting him in
a situation in some respects above that of the generality of cottagers."
Farmer Barton found that he was not likely to succeed in the object of
his visit; and saying with a smile, "Well, Sir, I did not think you had
been so hard-hearted," quitted the room.
"There! Stanley," said Mr. Hooker, "that's the way of the world. Most of
the men who have signed that certificate are, as times go, decent and
respectable men, and would, I doubt not, pretty much agree with me as to
the probability that both poverty and immorality would be increased by
the establishment of an ale-house in the village; but yet for the sake
of being _good-natured_ to an individual, they set forward a measure,
which they think will be generally pernicious; and set their hands to a
lie, rather than refuse an unreasonable request. Their _good-nature_, to
be sure, is not confined to Fowler as its only object. Some of them,
probably, wish to be _good-natured_ to a brother farmer, who is the
owner of the house; and some think that they shall do a kindness to the
brewer, who will supply it with beer."
"But what," replied Stanley, "shall you do in this business?"
"Why, I don't very well know," said Mr. Hooker. "You have been
acquainted with me long enough to be assured, that I would suffer my
hand to be cut off, rather than set it to a palpable falsehood;--and
that I would never take any _active_ step in assisting a measure which
in my opinion will be hurtful to my parishioners.--But perhaps something
of the same sort of weakness which I blame in others, may prevent me
from taking any _active_ measures _against_ it. I am not fond of going
into public, or of encountering the bustle of the justice-room.--Perhaps
I shall be _passive_, and try to quiet my own conscience by saying, that
things must take their course: that it is not for me to come forward in
opposition to the declared wish of most of the respectable part of my
parishioners."
"But surely the magistrates will not set up a new public house without
the signature of the clergyman to the certificate?"
"The new Act requires the signature _either_ of the clergyman, _or_ that
of the majority of the parish officers, together with four reputable and
substantial householders;--or that of eight respectable and substantial
householders. Fowler's certificate has all the parish officers but one,
and other names in abundance, and _good-nature_ will prevent any one
from saying that some of those names are neither respectable nor
substantial. The magistrates will see that the requirements of the Act
are complied with, and they will perhaps feel like me;--they will be
unwilling to incur the odium of opposing the wishes of all those
_respectable_ and _substantial_ personages, and thus _good-nature_ may
induce them to sign the licence."
"At all events," said Stanley, "you will be able to keep Fowler in order
by the penalties of the new Act. The old system of absolutely forfeiting
the recognizance was too severe to be acted on."
"Perhaps," said Mr. Hooker, "now and then, in some flagrant case, by
which some individual is _personally_ injured, these provisions may be
called into play. But how seldom do you hear--in the country at
least--of penalties being enforced from a sense of public duty?
_Good-nature_ is always against it; and the man who from the purest
motives endeavoured to enforce them, would be sure to have all the host
of the _good-natured_ arrayed against him."
Two days after was the licensing day: the _good-natured_ Barton having
undertaken the patronage of Fowler's application, set out in good time
to advocate it at the justice-meeting. He had got about three quarters
of a mile from the village, in his way to Chippingden the market town,
when he was overtaken by Mr. Bentley, one of the magistrates.
"You have a dreadful road here, Farmer Barton," said Mr. Bentley. "Who
is your surveyor?"
"Why, I am at present," replied Barton, "and as we are a little behind
hand with the duty, I am afraid that I shall have to go on for another
year."
"Then why do you suffer the road to continue in this state? The ruts are
so deep, that it really is hardly safe."
"It is all occasioned by that high hedge," answered the farmer, "which
keeps off both sun and wind.--And besides, from there being no trunk or
tunnel in that gate-way, the water of the ditch is thrown into the road.
To be sure it _was_ pretty dirty in the winter, for all we buried so
many stones in it." "Then why was not the hedge cut, and a tunnel made
in the gateway to carry off the water?" said Mr. Bentley.
"I did once give Farmer Dobson a hint about it," answered Barton, "but
he says, that the hedge is not above nine years' growth, and that he
shall have better poles by leaving it a few years longer."
"But you know very well," replied the magistrate, "that your warrant
empowers you to require him to cut it, and if he refuses, to do it
yourself at his expence."
"I know that well enough," said Barton, "but that would be so
_ill-natured_ and unneighbourly-neighbourly, that I could not bear to
think of it."
"And so," rejoined Mr. Bentley, "the necks and limbs of his Majesty's
subjects are to be endangered, and the whole neighbourhood put to
inconvenience, for the credit of your _good-nature_? A man in a public
office, Mr. Barton, should always execute the duties of that office with
as much civility and kindness as possible; but he must never neglect his
public duty, for the sake of gratifying any private individual
whatever.--And look! what business has this dunghill here? your warrant
tells you that nothing should be laid within fifteen feet of the middle
of the road--and this dunghill is so close, that the road is ruined by
the moisture proceeding from it. And see how the farmer has cut the road
to pieces by drawing out his dung in the wet weather."
"To be sure, what you say is true, but the field won't be ready for the
dung till the spring."
"Another sacrifice of the interests of the public to private
convenience!--And here again--you'll think and call me a troublesome
fellow, Mr. Barton--but why do you suffer these heaps of stones to be so
forward in the road? They are absolutely dangerous."
"Why the men who work on the road like to have them _handy_."
"As they are paid by the day it can make no difference to them, and even
if it did, you must not endanger the safety of travellers from a
_good-natured_ wish to humour your workmen--I suppose the same reason
induces you to allow them to put in the stones without breaking them?"
Barton acknowledged that it was. Mr. Bentley charged him again not to
let his _good-nature_ make him forget his duty to the public--"But,"
added he laughing, "perhaps I must confess that it is some feeling of
the same sort, which keeps me from fining you five pounds, as I might
and ought to do, for these neglects of your duty as surveyor."
They now reached the town, and happening to use the same inn, rode into
the yard together. Fowler and his wife, who were already there, augured
well from this circumstance--and Mr. Bentley was hardly off his horse,
when Nanny accosted him in a wheedling tone, with, "I hope, Sir, you'll
be so kind as to _stand our friend_ about this licence."
"We shall see about that presently," said Mr. Bentley, as he walked off,
wishing to cut short applications of this nature till he got into the
justice-room. He found his way stopped, however, by two or three poor
women from the village near which he resided. "Well!" said he, "and
what brings you all to Chippingden?"
"Why, Sir, we want a little of your kindness."
"My _kindness_! why can you find none of my _kindness_ at home?"
"O yes, Sir, you are always ready to assist a poor person yourself, but
we want you to _stand our friend_, and order us a little more relief
from the farmers."
"That, my good woman, is quite a different story. As a magistrate I must
not be a _friend_ to any one person more than to another; but must
endeavour to act without favour or affection either to rich or poor.
With respect to parochial relief, our business is to consider, as well
as we are able, what the laws require and allow, and to act accordingly.
Poor people often apply to us in great distress, and the relief which we
can order seems but very little. If we listened to our own feelings, our
own _good-nature_ as you would call it, we should often be glad to order
much more, but we must not indulge such feelings at another man's
expense--we must not be _good-natured_ with other people's money."
"But, Sir," said Betty Horseman, "I only wanted about a shilling a week
more, and I'm sure that can't hurt the farmers."
"Whether it is much or little," said Mr. Bentley, "we cannot order more,
than the law, in our opinion, appears to require. Knowingly to order
more than that, is to rob those out of whose pockets the poor rates are
paid. You would not wish me, Betty, to help you in picking a man's
pocket."
"But it is so little that I ask for," said Betty, still harping upon the
same string.
"We may not pick a man's pocket of sixpence, any more than of a hundred
pounds. Your application shall be heard presently, Betty, and we will
give it the best attention we can. If we think that you ought to have
more, we will order it.--But you must remember, that if you have a
shilling a week more, every family in the like circumstances will expect
the same, which will make your shilling a week a pretty round sum. In
short, I am always glad as far as I can to help a poor person out of my
own pocket, but must consider well before I help him out of the pockets
of other people."
Mr. Bentley now joined his brother magistrates in the justice-room. The
licensing business came on first; and the licences to the old
established houses having been renewed, the applications for _new_
houses were taken into consideration. Fowler produced his certificate.
"This certificate," said Mr. Hale the chairman, "has not the clergyman's
name; how happens that?"
Farmer Barton was at Fowler's elbow, and immediately answered, "Mr.
Hooker has laid down a rule not to set his hand to an application of
this sort, and could not break through it--but I'm sure he has no
objection."
"And besides," said one of the justices, "if my memory does not deceive
me, there was a man of that name in your parish who was a noted
poacher."
"Why, I must confess," said the farmer, "that some time back the poor
man was led by distress to go out once or twice; but he has, long ago,
given it up, and is now quite an altered character.--When a man has seen
his fault, and turned over a new leaf, I am sure, gentlemen, that you
are too _good-natured_ to bring it up against him."
The justices still hesitated; but Barton and two or three of the farmers
of the village represented to them that there always used to be a public
house; that it was in many respects inconvenient to be without one; and
that in this instance, it would give occupation and maintenance to a
poor family. At length the magistrates said, that in general they were
not disposed to increase the number of ale-houses, but that they would
give way to the declared wish of almost all the leading men in the
parish. In a case of doubt, they naturally leant to the side of
_good-nature_. Accordingly the licence was granted.
Fowler was overjoyed at his success, and after making his
acknowledgments, set off, first to the carpenter, and then to the
painter, to give directions for a sign and its appendages. After these
matters of business, he could not think of returning without drinking
the health of the magistrates at the Red Lion.
Several friends dropped in to congratulate him; and when he thought
about going home, he was not quite able to walk straight. The butcher's
boy, who had made one of the party at the Red Lion, offered to give him
a lift in his cart. They set off in high glee, and the exalted state of
their spirits induced them to urge on the horse. Though the night was
dark and the horse sometimes swerved to one side of the road and
sometimes to the other, yet the light colour of the road served for a
guide, and they felt that as long as they kept to that they were safe.
They were mistaken, however. They were within a mile of Inglewood, and
had got the horse almost into a gallop, when all at once the wheel came
upon one of the heaps of stones, which had been shot down in the
_quartering_, and the cart was overturned. Peter, the butcher's boy,
called out that he was killed; but having got up and shaken himself, and
found that he had received no sort of injury, he burst into a loud fit
of laughter.
Poor Fowler, however, lay groaning in the road, unable to stir. He was
severely bruised, and both the bones of his right leg were broken. Peter
scratched his head, and was quite at a loss what to do, when luckily
Farmer Barton and one of his neighbours came to the spot, in their way
back from market. They extricated the horse, which, having put his foot
in the deep rut, had fallen with the cart, and then raised the cart
without difficulty. It was not, however, so easy a matter to get Fowler
into it. He cried out from pain every time that they took hold of him,
and sometimes begged that they would leave him to die where he was. At
last, however, they succeeded, and at a slow pace he was conveyed to his
humble cottage, which was soon to assume the dignity and importance of a
public house.
His wife helped to get him to bed, though not without reproaching him
with some asperity for staying so long at the Red Lion after he had sent
her home. Having taken as much care of him, as in her opinion he
deserved, she hastened down stairs to comfort herself with some tea, of
which two or three of her neighbours, who had been brought to the house
by the tidings of the accident, were invited to partake. The condolences
and lamentations were soon over, and they fell into the usual train of
village gossip. The hardness of the times, of course, was one of the
topics of conversation. "Well, Hannah," said one of the party, "and
what did you get from the justices?"
"Oh! there's no use in a poor person's going to them," said Hannah,
"they're all for the farmers?"
"I wonder to hear you say that," said Nanny, who was naturally disposed
to be in good humour with the magistrates, who had just granted a
licence to her husband; "I wonder to hear you say that, for as I was
going out of the room, I fell in with two or three overseers, who were
saying just the contrary. They were complaining that the justices were
ready to hear all the idle stories of the poor about wanting relief, and
that they were much too apt to order some little addition. In fact, they
said, that they were all in favour of the poor; and the farmers could
not stand it."
"If the poor complain that they were in favour of the farmers, and the
farmers that they favoured the poor," said an old man sitting in the
chimney corner, "I dare say they pretty nearly did the thing that was
right between both parties."
"Well," said Hannah, "if I was a justice, I could'nt bear that the poor
should think me _ill-natured_. Be it how it would, I'd take care to have
_their_ good word, even if I did now and then order a trifle more than
was quite right."
"What should you say, Hannah," said the same old man, "of a justice who
acted contrary to law for the sake of a sum of money?"
"What! a bribe! Why I'd have him turned out before he was a day older."
"And is not acting contrary to law for the sake of any one's good will,
or good word, pretty much the same as doing so for a bribe? A magistrate
is sworn to do justice, according to law, to the best of his knowledge."
All the women, however, consoled themselves with the near approach of
the time, when the poor would have to apply for their weekly allowances
to Farmer Barton instead of Farmer Oldacre; it being the custom of the
parish that the overseers should divide the year between them, each
taking the trouble of the office for six months.
"Yes, indeed," said Hannah Bolt, "it will be a happy day for us poor
creatures, when Mr. Barton takes the books;--Farmer Oldacre was always
a hard man to the poor."
"Farmer Oldacre a hard man to the poor!" said old John Truman, who came
in at the moment from the sick man's room--"Farmer Oldacre a hard man to
the poor! I'm sure you're an ungrateful woman for saying so; as I should
be an ungrateful man, if I allowed you to say it without taking you to
task.--I've worked for him now these seventeen years, and a better or a
kinder master cannot be. Did'nt I see you, Hannah, day after day, when
your little boy was ill, going to his house, sometimes for a little
milk, sometimes for a little made wine, and did he ever refuse you? did
he ever refuse _any_ poor person, who was really in want, any thing that
he was able to give?"
"I can't say but that he's ready enough to help a poor body with any
thing he has himself; but then if one asks him for a little more parish
relief, he's so terrible particular, and asks so many questions, that
it's quite unpleasant, and perhaps we can get nothing after all."
"In short," said John, "you mean to say that he is liberal and kind in
giving from his own pocket, but careful and cautious how he makes free
with the pockets of other people. And then again--who employs so many
men as Farmer Oldacre? I'm sure I have often known him in the winter try
to find out jobs for the sake of keeping the men at work; and after all
I believe, that he feels the change of times as much as any man, and
that he and his family allow themselves little beyond bare necessaries.
And even with respect to parish relief, I believe that the _old_ men and
women, who are really past work, are better off when Farmer Oldacre has
the books, than at any other time."
"But then," answered Hannah, "Farmer Barton is so _good-natured_ when we
go to him. He says that a shilling or two cannot signify to the farmers,
and is not worth thinking about."
"I believe it would be better for all parties," replied Truman, "if the
able-bodied poor thought less of running to the parish, and more of
depending, under God's blessing, on themselves. When I was young, a man
would have been ashamed of begging for parish relief. Indeed, the law
was, that those who were relieved were to be marked by a badge. I know
that I contrived to bring up a family of seven children without being
beholden to any body. For a few years it was certainly hard work, but
God helped us on."
"But wages," said Nanny Fowler, "were better in those days."
"Compared with what they would buy, perhaps they were, but their being
low now is, I take it, partly owing to the poor rates."
"Why how can you make that out?" cried the whole party.
"In the first place, can you tell me, why wheat is so cheap just at
present? It was, you know, ten shillings the bushel, and indeed
sometimes a great deal more--it is now less than five."