have them enjoy themselves at proper times, and in a proper manner. I
can take pleasure in seeing them engaged in a game at cricket, at
football, at quoits, or any other manly exercise, provided they engage
in it without swearing, or drunkenness, or other vice; but of the
amusement now proposed in the village, I disapprove most decidedly."
The disapprobation of the clergyman, however, was not attended to.
Barton talked of the parson's _ill-nature_ in grudging the poor a little
enjoyment, and said it was all of a piece with his finding fault with
the poor boys for going to play on a Sunday, instead of going to church
or the Sunday school.
The promised day at length arrived. The village was filled with a motley
concourse from all the country round, and the fight took place. The men
were equally matched, and fought with skill and courage. Both got
severely bruised; but one of them received an unfortunate blow under the
ear. He fell into the arms of his second, and it was soon discovered
that the blow was mortal--he never spoke again. This sad _accident_
threw a damp over the amusement of the day, and many repented of the
_good-nature_ which had led them to promote the _pastime_.
We will not, however, dwell upon this melancholy event, but proceed to
the result of the indictment of the roads of the parish of Inglewood.
January came, and the Quarter Sessions. Both parties wished to have the
indictment tried at once, and came prepared--the prosecutor with
witnesses to prove that the road was very bad and unsafe--and Barton
with several _good-natured_ men, who were ready to swear, that it was as
good a road as they wished to travel. The parish, however, was beat;
and it being proved that frequent representations had been made of the
bad state of the road in question, Inglewood was sentenced to pay a fine
of fifty pounds, together with all costs, which amounted to forty more.
Farmer Barton hardly knew which was most _ill-natured_, the prosecutor,
the jury, or the bench of magistrates. Perhaps he was most out of humour
with the _jury_; for consisting, as it did principally, of farmers, they
might, he thought, have put their oaths and their consciences a little
on one side, where brother farmers were concerned. However, there was no
help for it, and the money was to be found before the Easter Sessions.
He returned to Inglewood to console himself with the popularity, which
he acquired in the exercise of the office of overseer. His _good-nature_
led him to accede to almost every application, but his _good-nature_
arose rather from his "fear of offending the importunate, than his
desire of making the deserving happy[k]." The industrious and the modest
remained contented with their former pittance; but the forward, and the
impudent, and the clamorous, were continually urging their claims for
more relief, and seldom urged them in vain.
[Footnote k: Goldsmith.]
"I hope, Farmer Barton," said one woman, "you will give me a little more
allowance: when bread, and candles, and soap are paid for, there's
hardly any thing left for tea and sugar." "Why I suppose then I must
give you a trifle more--the parish can't miss it." One petitioner he
manfully refused, and told her she must be content with what she had.
"And how am I to buy snuff out of that[l]?" The overseer relented: he
loved a pinch of snuff himself. Farmer Oldacre would gladly have filled
a deserving old woman's snuff box at his own expense, but not at the
expense of the parish.
[Footnote l: Fact.]
The liberal allowances granted by Barton, of course, required frequent
rates, which it was not very convenient to the farmers to pay. Those,
however, who happened to have money by them, paid, and allowed
themselves the satisfaction of grumbling. Those who had it not, begged
for time, and kept their grumbling to themselves. Barton's _good-nature_
did not permit him to be very pressing. The consequence was, that, as he
was neither disposed, nor perhaps able, to advance the money from his
own pocket, fresh rates became necessary, and those who _could_ pay made
up for the deficiencies of those who could not.
Farmer Oldacre was one of the former description; and though he often
told his brother overseer, that he was bound in law to levy and expend
one rate before he applied for another; yet when his own pocket seemed
to be concerned, he would not be peremptory.
Another of those who were always ready with their money, and were
consequently entitled to the privilege of grumbling, was Richard
Sterling.
Richard occupied five or six acres of land, kept three cows, and got on
pretty well by supplying his neighbours with milk. "What, another rate,
Master Barton!--why it seems but t'other day that I paid the last."--"It
can't be helped, Richard;--the poor must be provided for."--"I know they
must," answered Sterling, "and as for those who cannot keep themselves,
and are come to poverty without any fault of their own, I should not
grudge it them if they had more;--but there are some who might as well
help to support me, as I to support them. Pray, what may you give to Tim
Nesbit?"--"Why--perhaps the matter of three and sixpence a
week."--"Three and sixpence a week?--that comes I think to about nine
pounds twelve a-year.--Tim and I were born in the same year; when we
grew up we worked for the same master; we married much about the same
time, and our families are of the same size. The only difference between
us was, that while I tried to put by what I could spare, Tim, whether
single or married, always carried good part of his earnings to the
ale-house. Now is it not a little hard that I must now be forced to help
to maintain him, because he chose to squander away his money? He might
at this present time have been every bit as well off in the world as I
am; but because he chose to be careless and a spendthrift, I am forced
to take bread, as it were, from my own children, and give it to his[m]."
[Footnote m: See a lively dialogue to this purpose in that excellent
little publication, the Cottagers' Monthly Visitor.]
One day, when Barton was going towards his house, he was overtaken by
Ralph the butcher's lad, who accosted him with, "Mr. Barton, I want you
to do me a kindness." "What is it?" said Barton. "Why, you must know,
that I have some thoughts of marrying, and want the parish just to run
me up a bit of a house. Master will give carriage, and I can manage a
good deal of the labour myself, so that it will cost the parish a mere
trifle."
"_You_ going to be married!" said Barton laughing, "why, how old are
you?" "Old enough in all conscience, I shall be nineteen come February."
"It might be as well to wait a few years longer," answered Barton;
"however, I can't wonder at you; and we'll see what can be done."
He accordingly mentioned the subject to his brother overseer, whom he
found in the field near his house. "I must say," replied Oldacre, "that
I am no friend to these early marriages in any class of society. Young
men and women--or rather I should say, boys and girls--take it into
their heads to marry, before they can be supposed really to know their
own minds. They are struck by something in the outward appearance, or
taken by some whim and fancy, and become partners for life, before they
have become acquainted with each other's temper or character, and
before they have considered how to provide for a family. The consequence
too often is, that the marriage turns out unhappily. Among the poor
especially, who look to the parish for every thing, these early
marriages produce a habit of dependence, which lowers their character
and spirit for life."
"What you say, is much about the truth," replied Barton, "but these
young people are bent upon marrying, and then, you know, there's no
stopping them. Of course they must have a place to be in, and I suppose
we may as well run him up a bit of a cottage at once."
"It is a serious thing," said Oldacre, "for farmers at rack-rent to
begin building houses for their poor; but I am against it, for the sake
of the poor themselves."
"Now I'm sure you _must_ be wrong in that opinion," said Barton.
"Do just tell me," answered his brother overseer, "have we already
labourers enough to do all the work of the parish?"
"Enough, and much more than enough. You know how puzzled we are to find
employment for them in the winter. Indeed, excepting just in hay-making
and harvest, we have always some men to be paid for their work out of
the rates."
"Then is not increasing the number a bad thing for the poor themselves,
if they already stand in each other's way? And do you not see, that
building cottages is just the way to increase them? If you built twenty
cottages, you would have them filled in a week's time. We have of late
been forced to _double_ some families, but that must be so uncomfortable
in every way, that people do not like to marry upon such a prospect. But
there are plenty of young men and women quite ready to hasten to the
altar, if they could be sure of a roof to themselves to shelter them at
night[n]. This of course, would make a lasting addition to the poor
rates, would throw a heavy burden on the land, and render it still more
difficult for the poor to find work.
[Footnote n: Townsend.]
"The cottages that we have I wish to see as comfortable as possible, and
would have the poor people who inhabit them take a pride in keeping them
neat and clean, and their gardens in nice order; but I am not for
increasing the number of them. Such increase, I am persuaded, would be
against the interest of the poor themselves."
Mr. Stanley, during a former visit to Inglewood, had often fallen in
with Mr. Oldacre in his walks, and got into conversation with him: he
happened to come up at the moment, and catching the last words that had
fallen from the farmer, said to him, "I suspect, Mr. Oldacre, that you
are not very friendly to the system of the poor laws."
"I will not by any means say that," replied Oldacre; "I believe that in
every state of society, in a populous and old-inhabited country
especially, there always will, and must, be poor. As the Scripture says,
_The poor shall never cease out of the land_. I am glad, therefore, that
provision is made by law for those who are unable to help themselves.
Private charity, in many places, does a great deal; and if there were no
poor-laws, would do a great deal more. But if all were left to be
provided for by private charity, the kind-hearted would be oppressed by
claims, and often give more than they could afford, while the selfish
and covetous would contribute nothing. It is right that these latter
should be forced to take their share of the burden. In many places
again, if there was nothing but voluntary benevolence to trust to,
multitudes would starve, and no civilized country ought to suffer that,
if it can help it. Indeed, I wish that we were able to give a larger
measure of parochial relief to the aged and infirm, who are reduced to
want through no fault of their own. But then, I must say, though I shall
be thought _ill-natured_ for saying so, that I cannot help seeing that
the poor-laws--whether from bad management, or from the peculiar
circumstances of the times, I will not pretend to say--have in many ways
done no good to the character and the habits of several among the poor."
"I know," said Mr. Stanley, "that many sensible men entertain the same
opinion; but, perhaps, you can give me a few instances which may make
your meaning more clear."
"Many of the poor," replied Oldacre, "have not been hurt by them, but
still preserve the steady, manly, independent character, which becomes
an Englishman. But too frequently dependence on parish rates has
produced very pernicious consequences.
"The connection between a farmer and his labourers--you will say, that I
speak like a farmer, in mentioning that _first_--ought to be
advantageous to both--not merely as a contract, by which the employer is
to receive so much work, and the workman so much money; but as it tends
to produce an interchange between them of kind offices and kind
feelings. By many of the labourers this is still felt as it ought to be
felt, and they take a pride and a pleasure in working year after year
for the same master, and try to obtain his approbation by industry and
good conduct. Some of them, however, have no notion of fixing
themselves. They care little whether their employer is pleased with them
or not, and upon the slightest affront as they call it, or the slightest
difference about wages, they are off directly. If one wont employ them,
another _must_; or, at all events, they _must_ be employed by the
parish.
"Again; the natural affection which subsists between parent and child,
is strengthened and increased in both--as is the case indeed with brute
animals--by the dependence of the children on their parents for
subsistence. But now this dependence is, in many instances, removed from
the parent to the overseer. On the other hand, when the parents grow old
and infirm, the children often might do much to assist them, and if left
to themselves would delight in doing so. But under the present system,
if they do it at all, they do it by _stealth_; for _why_, say they,
_should we favour the parish_? If they happen to have a little matter of
money left them, they are tempted for the same reason to conceal it.
Here again they ask, why should they favour the parish? and they will
not feel, that the receiving of parish relief, when they have any thing
of their own, is a fraud upon the parish, an act of dishonesty.
"Few virtues are more useful in any condition of life than _frugality_
and _foresight_. Upon these, however, the poor laws have certainly made
a sad inroad: unmarried men, or those, who though married have no
families, or whose children have _got out_, while they continue in full
health and vigour, might often contrive to lay by something against old
age. But this few of them think of doing, for _why should they favour
the parish_? The parish must provide for them at any rate, and so they
may as well spend their money as fast as they get it. The _future_
satisfaction of living on their own means, instead of on parish pay, is
not sufficient to stand against the temptation of _present_
pleasure.--Savings banks are an excellent institution, but when once a
man has quartered himself as a pauper upon the parish, he will not make
use of them. Why should he put money into the bank in order to _favour
the parish_?--I shall tire you, Sir, I fear," continued the farmer,
"but you must let me mention one thing more. _Beneficence_ is, we know,
twice blessed; it blesses him that gives, and him that takes; but parish
relief comes sadly in the way of beneficence. When men are forced to pay
so much to the poor through the hands of the overseer, they have neither
the inclination, nor, in fact, the power, to give so largely in the way
of voluntary charity.
"Many other instances I could give of the unfavourable effect which the
poor laws have had upon the characters, and consequently upon the
happiness, of the poor[o]. I do not blame the poor:--many, who would
otherwise keep off the parish, are driven to it by the low rate of
wages, which has been occasioned, I suppose, partly by an oversupply of
hands, and partly by irregularities in our currency.
[Footnote o: See the eloquent and forcible Pamphlets of Townsend,
Bicheno, and Jerram; and particularly the judicious and well-arranged
Sermon on "the Immoral Effect of the Poor-Laws," by Dr Richards of
Bampton.]
"As I said before, I am glad that a legal provision is made for the
poor, but I wish that more than half the money we now pay in rates was
paid in wages, and that wages were such that a man in health, and with a
good character, might always be pretty well able to provide for a
moderate-sized family by his own exertions. The parish pay should be
kept chiefly for unforeseen calamities, for the orphan and for the
widow. We should then be able to give _them_ a better allowance. Now
there are so many claimants, that we cannot give _much_ to any, and the
able, bodied and strong are the means of lessening the pittance of the
sick and the helpless."
Lady-day was now approaching, and with it the time when Barton was to go
out of office. His _good-nature_ had lavished so much of the public
money upon clamorous applicants, that many parish bills were still
unpaid. The fine too imposed upon the inhabitants of Inglewood upon the
indictment of the road, and the legal costs attending it, were also now
to be cleared off, so that altogether a very considerable sum was to be
made up. It was well known, that many of the rates were much in arrears;
and the farmers who had hitherto paid with some degree of punctuality,
grumbled more and more at the neglect of the acting overseer in not
levying them. Most of them expressed their determination to pay no more,
till all arrears were cleared up. One large farm was about to change its
occupier, and the in-coming tenant declared--as he had a good right to
declare--that he would have nothing to do with the debts of the parish
incurred before his coming into it. Strong hints also were thrown out,
that Barton should take the consequences of his own neglect upon
himself, and should make up all deficiencies out of his own pocket.
These threats answered the purpose of alarming Barton, whose
_good-nature_, great as it was, had never been able to stifle his regard
for his own interest. He accordingly set actively to work to collect the
arrears.
Those who had been unable to pay _one_ rate, were not likely to pay
_four_, which had now become due, together with the heavy addition
occasioned by the indictment. Some of the defaulters blamed the
overseer, for having let it run on so long; and all found fault with him
for having brought so serious an expense upon the parish by his neglect
about the roads.
_All_, I should not say;--for the poor widow Wildgoose uttered not a
word of reproach or complaint against any one, but when asked for her
arrears of rates, passively replied that she had no money, and that the
parish must take her goods.
She had never held up her head since the death of her eldest son. When
she first set up her shop, she dealt a good deal for ready money, of
course selling to ready-money customers at a much lower rate. From the
time of her son's death, however, her activity and attention to business
had deserted her. She suffered many of the poor to run deeply in her
debt, and if she hinted any thing about payment, they pretended to be
affronted, and took all their ready money to the other shops. Farmer
Barton, too, thought that it would be _good-natured_ to give the poor
widow the _credit_ of his custom and protection, and had almost all his
shop-goods and grocery from her house. Unfortunately, however, neither
his _good-nature_, of which he had so much--nor his sense of justice, of
which he had but little--ever led him to recollect to pay her. She was
too much depressed--too _meek-spirited_--to urge, or even to ask for,
payment, and the consequence was, that she was just approaching to utter
ruin, which was of course likely to be accelerated by her goods being
distrained for poor rates. Her surviving children were in service in
creditable places, and would have helped her in a moment; but she could
not bear to tell them of her difficulties. Now, however, one of her
neighbours contrived to let them know the situation, in which their
mother was. Immediately they made up out of their wages a sum
sufficient not only to pay off her arrears, but to give her a trifle for
her present wants. And soon after she received by the post a blank cover
addressed to her, inclosing a five pound note. She had no guess who
could have sent it, but it was soon discovered that it came from Lucy
Wilmot, a young woman to whom her eldest son had been attached. Her
second son Sam lived with a kind-hearted lawyer in London, who, upon
hearing of the distress of the poor widow and its cause, not only sent
her some assistance in money, but promised to take an early opportunity
of looking into her affairs, and of taking measures for compelling those
of her debtors who were able, to pay what they owed her.
Of the other defaulters, some contrived to procure the necessary money;
some were summoned before the magistrates, and then, finding that they
had no remedy, found a friend to advance the money; against others
warrants of distress were issued.
No case excited more commiseration than that of Michael Fielding.
Michael had been a remarkably industrious and prudent labourer, and had
managed to save a considerable sum of money. He married a young woman
of similar character, and being naturally anxious to get forward in the
world, they had ventured, seven or eight years before, to take a small
farm. The rent was moderate when they took their lease, but they had
felt the change of times severely. The property was in the hands of
trustees, who did not feel justified in making a diminution of rent; and
consequently poor Michael, every year, saw his means growing less, while
his family grew larger. He was at work early and late, his wife gave all
the help she could in the farm, and mended the children's clothes as
long as they would hold together; and the hard-earned bread, upon which
the family lived, was so coarse, that many of the labourers in the
village would have turned from it in disdain. Michael was naturally of a
cheerful disposition, and not apt to murmur or complain; sometimes,
however, he could hardly suppress a sigh, when he thought of his own
children, and of the hard fare to which they were accustomed, and saw in
the parish-books the large sums that were given by the _good-nature_ of
Barton to idle and worthless characters[p]. Now and then he had
ventured gently to remonstrate upon the hardship of being obliged to
contribute so large a portion of his limited means towards the
maintenance of men, who had begun the world with the same advantages
with himself, and who, but for their own improvidence, might have lived
without being a burden to any one. The comparative smallness of his
farm, however, and his former situation in life, prevented his
remonstrance from being of much weight. He was now nearly insolvent.
Several persons, to whom his character was known, would have been happy
to have assisted him, but he was too high-minded to acquaint them with
his difficulties. All the money, that by his utmost exertion he could
scrape together, was just gone for rent, and he had nothing at all left
to meet the demand for the arrears of rates, and for his portion of the
expenses of the indictment. Barton, in spite of his _good-nature_, felt
obliged to distrain. This brought other creditors upon poor Michael, and
he was obliged to sell off every thing.
[Footnote p: Townsend.]
Barton, however, was enabled to make up his accounts, and had got them
passed at the vestry, though there certainly was among his brother
farmers a little grumbling. Barton defended himself as well as he could,
and added, that at all events he had got the _good-word_ of the poor;
that he always had borne, and always hoped to bear, the character of a
_good-natured man_. Farmer Oldacre could not suffer this to pass without
observation. He had been a little irritated by some things which he had
witnessed at the vestry, and felt deeply for poor Michael, who had
formerly worked upon his farm, and whom he had always loved and
respected. "Come, come, neighbour Barton," said he, "let us hear no more
of your _good-nature_, for which we all have to pay so dear. Your wish
to obtain the _good-word_ of the poor has not really benefitted them,
and has done serious injury to the rest of your neighbours. Your
_good-nature_ about the licence has increased the immorality and the
poverty of the parish;--and your _good-nature_ to the road-workmen has
given Fowler a broken leg;--your _good-nature_ to farmer Dobson, in not
making him cut his hedge, and do his statute-duty, has cost us ninety
pounds;--and your _good-nature_ as overseer has made the parish less
able to pay that sum, and has helped to complete the ruin of two or
three deserving families. And--if I may venture here to mention so
serious a consideration--your _good-nature_ would have allowed a sinner
to go on towards eternal destruction without warning, and, for the sake
of avoiding uneasiness of mind _here_, would have suffered him to incur
everlasting punishment _hereafter_.