Worthy. Well I hope you there found what was likely to improve your daughters, and teach them the true use of time? Bragwell. Oh, as to that, you are pretty much out. I could make neither head nor tail of it: it was neither fish, flesh nor good red-herring; it was all about my Lord, and sir Harry, and the Captain. But I never met with such nonsensical fellows in my life. Their talk was no more like that of my old landlord, who was a lord you know, nor the captain of our fencibles, than chalk is like cheese. I was fairly taken in at first, and began to think I had got hold of a godly book; for there was a deal about hope and despair and death, and heaven, and angels, and torments, and everlasting happiness. But when I got a little on, I found there was no meaning in all these words, or, if any, it was a bad meaning. Eternal misery, perhaps, only meant a moment's disappointment about a bit of a letter; and everlasting happiness meant two people talking nonsense together for five minutes. In short I never met with such a pack of lies. The people talk such wild gibberish, as no folks in their sober senses ever did talk; and the things that happen to them are not like the things that ever happen to me or any of my acquaintance. They are at home one minute and beyond sea the next; beggars to-day and lords to-morrow; waiting-maids in the morning, and duchesses at night. Nothing happens in a natural gradual way, as it does at home; they grow rich by the stroke of a wand, and poor by the magic of a word; the disinherited orphan of this hour is the overgrown heir of the next: now a bride and bridegroom turn out to be brother and sister, and the brother and sister prove to be no relations at all. You and I, master Worthy, have worked hard many years, and think it very well to have scraped a trifle of money together; you a few hundreds I suppose, and I a few thousands. But one would think every man in these books had the Bank of England in his 'scrutore. Then there is another thing which I never met with in true life. We think it pretty well, you know, if one has got one thing, and another has got another. I will tell you how I mean. You are reckoned sensible; our parson is learned; the squire is rich; I am rather generous; one of your daughters is pretty; and both mine are genteel. But in these books, (except here and there one, whom they make worse than Satan himself,) every man and woman's child of them are all wise, and witty, and generous, and rich, and handsome, and genteel; and all to the last degree. Nobody is middling, or good in one thing and bad in another, like my live acquaintance; but it is all up to the skies or down to the dirt.-I had rather read Tom Hickathrift, or Jack the Giant-killer, a thousand times. Worthy. You have found out, Mr. Bragwell, that many of these books are ridiculous; I will go farther, and say, that to me they appear wicked also: and I should account the reading of them a great mischief, especially to people in middling and low life, if I only took into the account the great loss of time such reading causes, and the aversion it leaves behind for what is more serious and solid. But this, though a bad part, is not the worst. These books give false views of human life. They teach a contempt for humble and domestic duties; for industry, frugality, and retirement. Want of youth and beauty is considered in them as ridiculous. Plain people, like you and me, are objects of contempt. Parental authority is set at nought. Nay, plots and contrivances against parents and guardians fill half the volumes. They consider love as the great business of human life, and even teach that it is impossible for this love to be regulated or restrained; and to the indulgence of this passion every duty is therefore sacrificed. A country life, with a kind mother or a sober aunt, is described as a state of intolerable misery: and one would be apt to fancy from their painting, that a good country-house is a prison, and a worthy father the gaoler. Vice is set off with every ornament which can make it pleasing and amiable; while virtue and piety are made ridiculous, by tacking to them something that is silly or absurd. Crimes which would be considered as hanging matter at our country assizes—at least, if I were a juryman, I should bring in the whole train of heroes, "guilty, death"-are here made to take the appearance of virtue, by being mixed with some wild flight of unnatural generosity. Those crying sins, adultery, gaming, duels, and self-murder, are made so familiar, and the wickedness of them is so disguised by fine words and soft descriptions, that even innocent girls get to lose their abhorrence, and to talk with complacency of things which should not be so much as named by them. I should not have said so much on this mischief (continued Mr. Worthy), from which, I dare say, great folks fancy people in our station are safe enough, if I did not know and lament that this corrupt reading is now got down even among some of the lowest class. And it is an evil which is spreading every day. Poor industrious girls, who get their bread by the needle or the loom, spend half the night in listening to these books. Thus the labour of one girl is lost, and the minds of the rest are corrupted; for though their hands are employed in honest industry, which might help to preserve them from a life of sin, yet their hearts are at that very time polluted by scenes and descriptions which are too likely to plunge them into it and when their vain weak heads compare the soft and delicious lives of the heroines in the book, with their own mean garb and hard labour, the effect is obvious; and I think I do not go too far when I say, that the vain and showy manner in which young women, who have to work for their bread, have taken to dress themselves, added to the poison they draw from these books, contribute together to bring them to destruction, more than almost any other cause. Now, tell me, do not you think these wild books will hurt your daughters? Bragwell. Why, I do think they are grown full of schemes, and contrivances, and whispers; that's the truth on't. Every thing is a secret. They always seem to be on the look-out for something; and when nothing comes on't, then they are sulky and disappointed. They will not keep company with their equals; they despise trade and farming; and I own I'm for the stuff. I should not like them to marry any but a man of substance, if he was ever so smart. Now they will hardly sit down with a substantial country dealer. But if they hear of a recruiting party in our market town, on goes the finery-off they are. Some flimsy excuse is patched up. They want something at the bookshop or the milliner's; because I suppose there is a chance that some jackanapes of an ensign may be there buying sticking-plaster. In short, I do grow a little uneasy; for I should not like to see all I have saved thrown away on a knapsack. So saying, they both rose, and walked out to view the farm. Mr. Bragwell affected greatly to admire the good order of everything he saw; but never forgot to compare it with something larger, and handsomer, or better, of his own. It was easy to see that self was his standard of perfection in everything. All he himself possessed gained some increased value in his eyes from being his; and in surveying the property of his friend, he derived food for his vanity, from things which seemed least likely to raise it. Every appearance of comfort, of success, of merit, in anything which belonged to Mr. Worthy, led him to speak of some superior advantage of his own of the same kind: and it was clear that the chief part of the satisfaction he felt in walking over the farm of his friend, was caused by thinking how much larger his own was. Mr. Worthy, who felt a kindness for him which all his vanity could not cure, was always on the watch how to turn their talk to some useful point. And whenever people resolve to go into company with this view, it is commonly their own fault if some opportunity of turning it to account does not offer. He saw Bragwell was intoxicated with pride, and undone by success; and that his family was on the high-road to ruin through mere prosperity. He thought that if some means could be found to open his eyes on his own character, to which he was now totally blind, it might be of the utmost service to him. The more Mr. Worthy reflected, the more he wished to undertake this kind office. He was not sure that Mr. Bragwell would bear it, but he was very sure it was his duty to attempt it. As Mr. Worthy was very humble himself, he had great patience and forbearance with the faults of others. He felt no pride at having escaped the errors into which they had fallen, for he knew who it was had made him to differ. He remembered that God had given him many advantages; a pious father, and a religious education: this made him humble under a sense of his own sins, and charitable towards the sins of others who had not had the same privileges. Just as he was going to try to enter into a very serious conversation with his guest, he was stopped by the appearance of his daughter, who told them supper was ready. PART II. A CONVERSATION. Soon after supper, Mrs. Worthy left the room with her daughters, at her husband's desire; for it was his intention to speak more plainly to Bragwell than was likely to be agreeable to him to hear before others. The two farmers being seated at their little table, each in a handsome oldfashioned great chair, Bragwell began. "It is a great comfort, neighbour Worthy, at a certain time of life, to be got above the world: my notion is, that a man should labour hard the first part of his days, that he may then sit down and enjoy himself for the remainder. Now, though I hate boasting, yet as you are my oldest friend, I am about to open my heart to you. Let me tell you then, I reckon I have worked as hard as any man in my time, and that I now begin to think I have a right to indulge a little. I have got my money with character, and I mean to spend it with credit. I pay every one his own, I set a good example, I keep to my church, I serve God, I honour the king, and I obey the laws of the land." "This is doing a great deal indeed," replied Mr. Worthy; "but, added he, "I doubt that more goes to the making up all these duties than men are commonly aware of. Suppose then that you and I talk the matter over coolly. We have the evening before us: what if we sit down together as two friends, and examine one another?" Bragwell, who loved argument, and who was not a little vain both of his sense and his morality, accepted the challenge, and gave his word that he would take in good part any thing that should be said to him. Worthy was about to proceed, when Bragwell interrupted him for a moment, by saying, “But stop, friend: before we begin, I wish you would remember that we have had a long walk, and I want a little refreshment; have you no liquor that is stronger than this cider? I am afraid it will give me a fit of the gout." Mr. Worthy immediately produced a bottle of wine, and another of spirits; saying, that though he drank neither spirits nor even wine himself, yet his wife always kept a little of each as a provision in case of sickness or accidents. Farmer Bragwell preferred the brandy, and began to taste it. "Why," said he, "this is no better than English; I always use foreign myself." "I bought this for foreign," said Mr. Worthy.-"No, no, it is English spirits, I assure you; but I can put you into a way to get foreign nearly as cheap as English." Mr. Worthy replied that he thought that was impossible. Bragwell. O no; there are ways and means—a word to the wise-there is an acquaintance of mine that lives upon the south coast-you are a particular friend, and I will get you half-a-dozen gallons for a trifle. Worthy. Not if it be smuggled, Mr. Bragwell, though I should get it for sixpence a bottle." Ask no questions," said the other, "I never say thing to any one; and who is the wiser?"- "And so this is your way of obeying the laws of the land?" said Mr. Worthy; "here is a fine specimen of your morality." Bragwell. Come, come, don't make a fuss about trifles. If every one did it, indeed it would be another thing; but as to my getting a little good brandy cheap, why, that can't hurt the revenue much. Worthy. Pray, Mr. Bragwell, what should you think of a man who would dip his hand into a bag, and take out a few guineas? Bragwell. Think! why, I think that he should be hanged, to be sure. What, rob the king's treasury! Well, I hope if any one has done it, the robber will be taken up and executed; for I suppose we shall all be taxed to pay the damage. Worthy. Very true. If one man takes money out of the treasury, others must be obliged to pay the more into it. But what think you if the fellow should be found to have stopped some money in its way to the treasury, instead of taking it out of the bag after it got there? Bragwell. Guilty, Mr. Worthy; it is all the same, in my opinion. If I were judge, I would hang him without benefit of clergy. Worthy. Hark ye, Mr. Bragwell, he that deals in smuggled brandy is the man who takes to himself the king's money in its way to the treasury, and he as much robs the government as if he dipped his hands into a bag of guineas in the treasury chamber. It comes to the same thing exactly. Here Bragwell seemed a little offended, and exclaimed,-" What, Mr. Worthy! do you pretend to say I am not an honest man, because I like to get my brandy as cheap as I can? and because I like to save a shilling to my family? Sir, I repeat it; I do my duty to God and my neighbour, I say the Lord's prayer most days, I go to church on Sundays, I repeat my creed, and keep the ten commandments; and though I now and then get a little brandy cheap, yet, upon the whole I will venture to say, I do as much as can be expected of any man, and more than the generality. Worthy. Come, then, since you say you keep the commandments, you cannot be offended if I ask you whether you understand them. Bragwell. To be sure I do. I dare say I do look'ee, Mr. Worthy, I don't pretend to much reading; I was not bred to it as you were. If my father had been a parson, I fancy I should have made as good a figure as some other folks, but I hope good sense and a good heart may teach a man his duty without much scholarship. Worthy. To come to the point; let us now go through the ten commandments, and let us take along with us those explanations of them which our Saviour gave us in his sermon on the mount. Bragwell. Sermon on the mount! why the ten commandments are in the 20th chapter of Exodus. Come, come, Mr Worthy, I know where to find the commandments as well as you do; for it happens that I am churchwarden, and I can see from the altar-piece where the ten commandments are, without your telling me, for my pew directly faces it. Worthy. But I advise you to read the sermon on the mount, that you may see the full meaning of them. Bragwell. What! do you want to make me believe that there are two ways of keeping the commandments? Worthy. No; but there may be two ways of understanding them. Bragwell. Well, I am not afraid to be put to the proof; I defy any man to say I do not keep at least all the four first that are on the left side of the altar-piece. Worthy. If you can prove that, I shall be more ready to believe you observe those of the other table; for he who does his duty to God, will be likely to do his duty to his neighbour also. Bragwell. What! do you think that I serve two Gods? do you think then that I make graven images, and worship stocks or stones? do you take me for a papist or an idolater? Worthy. Don't triumph quite so soon, master Bragwell. Pray, is there nothing in the world you prefer to God, and thus make an idol of? Do you not love your money, or your lands, or your crops, or your cattle, or your own will, and your own way, rather better than you love God? Do you never think of these with more pleasure than you think of Him, and follow them more eagerly than your religious duty? Bragwell. O! there's nothing about that in the 20th chapter of Exodus. Worthy. But Jesus Christ has said, "He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me." Now, it is certainly a man's duty to love his father and mother; nay, it would be wicked not to love them, and yet we must not love even these more than our Creator and our Saviour. Well, I think, on this principle, your heart pleads guilty to |