4. \\. u 
 
 PRINCETON, N. J. ^ 
 
 Presented by A , Q . Ca-;nn e ro-n , PVi.D 
 
 BV 4500 .H6 1843 v.l 
 Hill, Rowland, 1744-1833. | 
 Village dialogues, between 
 Farmer Littleworth, Thomas 
 
/v" 
 
 VILLAGE DIALOaUEl 
 
 FARMER LITTLEWORTH, THOMAS NEWMAN, REV. MR. 
 LOVEGOOP, AND OTHERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. ROWLAND HILL, A. M. 
 
 FHOM THE 
 
 EIGHTEENTH LONDON EDITION, 
 
 ADDITIONAL DIALOGUES. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 HERMAN HOOKER,— 178 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
 1S43. 
 
 ^ 
 
Wm. S. Youwo, Print©?. 
 
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 
 
 Dialogue Page 
 
 I. Cottage Piety} or the good Order of Thomas 
 
 Newman's Family 5 
 
 II. The Subject continued — Sunday Devotions. 14 
 
 III. Account of Thomas Newman's Conversion 
 
 by Mr. Lovegood's Preaching, with his 
 happy Marriage to Betty 22 
 
 IV. The Church defended against false Friends, 
 
 and inward Enemies; in a dispute between 
 the Rev. Mr. Dolittle, Farmer Littleworth, 
 and his Family 39 
 
 V. Conversation between Farmer Littleworth and 
 two Ministers, the Rev. Messrs. Brisk and 
 Smirking, on the evil Nature and Tendency 
 of Stage Plays 61 
 
 VI. The Prodigal's Conversion at Sea, or glad 
 TicHngs from Henry Littleworth, with a 
 Letter to his Father 83 
 
 VII. The Sunday School Examination, with a- 
 
 Character of the Family of the Worthy s. . 100 
 
 VIII. The Prodigal's Return, with his Reception, 
 
 and the Family Rejoicings on the Occasion. 119 
 
 IX. The Evils of the Slave Trade delineated. . 137 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 X. The Evils of the Slave Trade farther deli- 
 neated. . % , . 153 
 
 XI. The History of the Family of the Little- 
 worths, with the Character of Rector Fill- 
 pot, and Mr. Meek, his Welsh Curate. . 168 
 
 XII. A Sunday Evening's Conversation upon 
 the Mercies of God in the Justification 
 and Sanctification of the Ungodly. . . 184 
 
 XIII. On the Evils of the Slave Trade, concluded. 203 
 
 XIV. A Whisper from behind the Door; or the 
 
 Secrets of private Scandal made Public. 226 
 
 XV. Containing the Second Part of the same 
 
 Conversation 240 
 
 XVI. More News from Lower Brookfield, proving 
 the Efficacy of the Gospel on the vilest 
 of Sinners ; or, the Evils of Seduction 
 delineated. . 281 
 
 XVII. The Story of Mrs. Chipman continued. , 297 
 
 XVIII. The Character and Experience of the Chris- 
 tian Minister exemplified. .... 325 
 
 XIX. The Character of three Sorts of Ministers, 
 
 represented in Contrast with each other. 358 
 
 XX. The Contrast; or, conjugal Happiness 
 founded on Chastity, Fidelity, and Af- 
 fection 387 
 
 XXI. The Evils of Seduction farther continued. 414 
 
THE 
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 TO THE SEVENTH EDITION. 
 
 Contrary to the accustomed rule of most authors, 
 no Preface or Introduction has been hitherto thought 
 of by way of recommending these Dialogues to the 
 public notice; they have been entirely left to speak 
 for themselves: and the public attention has been at- 
 tracted by them, far beyond my expectation. As we 
 grow old, it is fit we should grow modest. This 
 edition, therefore, appears more according to the ac- 
 customed form, and modestly asks for a farther hear- 
 ing, especially, as it is to be hoped, that some altera- 
 tions, and many additions will be found as amend- 
 ments to the work. 
 
 The last impression was rendered so tardy in its 
 circulation, by an unfortunate sale of the copy-right, 
 that by many it was deemed to be out of print, so 
 that the present impression will appear like a life from 
 the dead. 
 
 I am happy to be informed by the respectable 
 Bookseller, who now possesses the copy-right, that 
 the price, and manner of publishing the present edi- 
 tion, will render it an easy purchase to the public; 
 and in this, I trust, I shall have my reward. 
 
 For though, as to myself, I neither have, nor wish 
 to have any pecuniary advantage in the sale of the 
 present edition ; yet, having been informed that many 
 of my readers have perused these little dramatic at- 
 tempts, I trust, to their eternal good, I have only to 
 
IV PREFACE, 
 
 express my thanks to the publisher, and to pray lor 
 the continuation of the divine blessing on the publi- 
 cation. 
 
 Nor can a stronger argument be wished for, by 
 way of encouragement for the revival of the work, 
 with all its defects, whether real or supposed, than 
 its former utility to the souls of men. 
 
 Were it, however, in my power to render the pub- 
 lication still more complete, after all my efforts, I 
 should be happy to accomplish it; though I find I 
 should have a task before me, which wiser heads than 
 mine would be ill able to perform; for to please such 
 a variety of critics, and so dissonant in their views 
 on the same subject, would be a task indeed! 
 
 One set of them admires at least my humble at- 
 tempt to fix an appropriate name to the different cha- 
 racters, before they are dressed, that it may be known 
 what is to be expected from each of them, like the 
 running title of a book. Others, not well versed in 
 drama, tell me, that nothing should be discovered by 
 name, because the character is anticipated before it 
 should. Now, it shall be supposed that all these 
 are discontinued, and the mere unsentimental names 
 of Brown, Johnson, Jones, Wilson, &:c. had been sub- 
 stituted, would such a cold conceit have gratified or 
 displeased? 
 
 Some have told me, that all ridicule is inconsistent 
 with th-e temper and spirit which Christianity should 
 inspire. — Others have determined, that it is utterly 
 impossible to be too severe, where folly and wicked- 
 ness are to be exposed; especially where the dramatic 
 dress covers all such attacks from the charge of per- 
 sonal abuse. Some have supposed, that every attempt 
 of pleasantry or wit, are utterly unallowable on a sub- 
 ject which in itself is so solemn and grave. Others 
 have said, that such allies of fancy, if innocent and 
 within correct bounds, recreate the mind, engage 
 
rf. •■ PREFACE. V 
 
 the attention, and cannot be productive of any bad 
 influence whatever; and that the graver language of 
 Scripture^ written under the plenary inspiration of 
 the Holy Spirit, (though even there, such instances 
 are not wanting,) needs not to be the standard to 
 regulate what we write for the instruction of each 
 other. And again; some have supposed, that where 
 a bad minister or character has been held forth as a 
 proper example for reproof; it was meant as a sweep- 
 ing charge, without any discrimination. Others have 
 thought, that if I have lashed characters who are bad, 
 equal respect has been shown, and in the same line 
 to those who are good; and if these different contrasted 
 characters are not so regularly kept up, as might have 
 been deemed requisite in the judgment of some; yet 
 they conceive the quantum of good represented to be 
 in existence, is quite equal to that which circumstances 
 will allow us to suppose, from the depraved state of 
 the world, through the wickedness of the human 
 heart. Still, in some instances I am satisfied, I have 
 been favoured with hints that will improve the work; 
 and these shall be thankfully adopted; and if they 
 appear not so numerous as might have been expected, 
 I conceive I have sufficient apology for this my te- 
 nacity to my own opinion, and that for the following 
 reason. 
 
 I never appear in print, without consulting those 
 who have better brains than myself. It may not, 
 therefore, be amiss, to inform the reader, that pre- 
 vious to these Dialogues being presented before the 
 public, most of them passed under the eye of the late 
 invaluable Mr. Ambrose Serle ; who kindly took upon 
 him the office to be the final editor of the press. 
 
 Under the sanction of such a name, and of one 
 whose publications are deservedly in such high re- 
 pute, I have, as I conceive, but little to fear. 
 
 If, therefore, the amendments are but few, the en- 
 
^' ■RP* PREFACE. V 
 
 largements are more considerable: on these I have 
 attempted with the more caution, as my highly re- 
 spected corrector is no more with us. 
 
 One set of critics, however, I shall entirely disre- 
 gard; and as in no one instance have 1 shown any fa- 
 vour towards them, so shall I expect none in return, 
 T mean the bigot of every party. And while they 
 are so ignorant of their own spirit, as to sanction their 
 sectarian principles by masking their evils under the 
 mild appellations of order, regularit)^, consistency, 
 principle, discipline, steadiness, &c., it would be in 
 vain, were I so inclined, to attack them in return. 
 But into a controversy with them, I forbear to enter, 
 who make the sacrament the exclusive criterion of 
 the sect to which they belong; so contrary to the 
 mind of Christ, and to the nature of that ordinance, 
 in which all his living members are so solemnly di- 
 rected to look upon themselves as one in him. 
 
 This controversy, however, has been so ably dis- 
 cussed in a late masterly publication by Dr. Mason, 
 of New York,* that one would almost conclude, all 
 such minor considerations would dissuade from a spi- 
 rit of schism and division, so contrary to those lovely, 
 uniting tempers, which by the influences of the gos- 
 pel, are brought home to the heart. Long live the 
 author of such an excellent publication, but longer 
 still, the publication itself. R. H. 
 
 Surry Chapel, March, 1817. 
 
 * Reprinted by Gale and Fenner. 
 
VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 DIALOGUE I. 
 
 COTTAGE PIETY; OR THE GOOD ORDER 
 OF THOMAS NEWMAN'S FAMILY. 
 
 FARMER LITTLEWORTH AND THOMAS NEWMAN. 
 
 The Farmer goes after his iMbourers, and finds Tho- 
 mas at his loorky singing. 
 
 Farmer. Well, Thomas, you seem very merry; 
 what are you singing? 
 
 Thomas. Why, sir, I am singing one of the songs 
 of Zion. 
 
 Far. What sort of songs are they? 
 
 Xho. — i am singing his praises who hatli redeemed 
 me by his blood, sanctified me by his Spirit, and 
 leads in'e to his glory: and while I am singing I am 
 cheerful, and then I can work the better. Besides, 
 these good songs keep bad thoughts out of my heart; 
 and you know, sir, bad thoughts are bad things, and 
 bring about bad actions. 
 
 Far. Why, Thomas, 1 wonder how you can be 
 so merry in these hard times? 
 
 Tho. Hard! sir! Why, we never rnind hard 
 times while we can but live with a joyful hope of a 
 happy eternity; we need "be careful for nothing, 
 while with prayer and tlianksgiving we can make our 
 requests known unto God." 
 VOL. I. — 2 
 
6 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Jl^ar. 1 am sure my wife and I have care enough; 
 what between my son, who is gone to sea, and my 
 three daughters, whom I can never keep at home, 
 unless they have twenty gossips, and fine misses 
 with them: though I have such a good farm, yet it 
 all goes as fast as it comes in. 
 
 Tho, sir, you v>'ant a proper housekeeper. 
 
 Far. Nay, Thomas, you should not say so, for 
 my old dame is as good a housekeeper as any in the 
 parish, if my children did not turn out so unto- 
 wardly. 
 
 Tho. The housekeeper I mean, is, Mr. Godlyfear; 
 and I trust, by the blessing of God, I know the 
 worth of that gentleman very vv'ell, he has lived in 
 my house almost ever since Mr. Lovegood has been 
 vicar of our parish; and Mr. Godlyfear charges no- 
 thino- for his wages; though he provides us with 
 more bread and cheese, in these hard times, than ever 
 we had when times were better. And, sir, if so 
 be I may he plain with you, had you and madam 
 the same housekeeper, he might have kept your son 
 from running into wickedness, and then he need not 
 have gone to sea; and he would have made your 
 daughters keep at home and mind the business of the 
 house. 
 
 Far. Why, Thomas, you are not the worse for 
 hearing your parson. I confess he- has made you a 
 better man than when you came home drunk with 
 me from Mapleton fair. 
 
 Tlio. A thousand, and a thousand times I have 
 thought, that we were worse than the hogs we went 
 to buy, and which 1 drove liome the next day. 
 
 Far. Ah! Thomas, that was partly my fault. 
 
 Tho. But, sir, if you think I am the better for 
 hearing our minister, why won't you come and hear 
 him too ? 
 
 Far. Why, if T did, I should be jeer'd at all the 
 
DIALORUE I. / 
 
 market ov^er. You know, Thomas, your cottage is 
 not in our parish; and what would our rector say, if I 
 was to leave our church to hear Mr. Lovegood? for 
 you know he hates him mortally; calls him all sorts 
 of names: says he is a 'Thusiasl; but what he means 
 by it I cannot tell: and I should have as good a peel 
 about my ears from my wife and daughters, as ever 
 I should have from the parson. 
 
 Tho. What of all that, sir, if you could but get 
 good to your soul? for there is no good like it. 
 
 Far. Ah, Thomas! this is fine talk, for if I was to 
 quarrel with our parson, I should never have any 
 peace in the parish, and he would raise my tithes 
 tlirectly. 
 
 Tho. Why since 1 have been blessed with the fear 
 of God, I have been kept from the fear of man; and 
 it has been a thousand times better with me ever since. 
 Now I am a poor man, and had need fear every body, 
 and you have a good farm and need fear nobody. If 
 Mr. Godlyfear had lived in your house, he would 
 have kept from you far enough such fears as these. 
 
 Far. 1 confess, at times I sliould he glad of such 
 a guest, for he seems to have kept your house very 
 well. — How many children have you? 
 
 The. Thank God, sir, Ihave six, and another a 
 coming. 
 
 Far. Why, how do you provide for them all? 
 
 T/io. By prayer and patience. 
 
 Far. I am sure you must have something better 
 than that. 
 
 Tlio. Better, sir! I am directed to pray for my 
 daily bread, and wait with patience till it comes; 
 and the Lord is as good as his promise; for if we 
 "seek first the kingdom of God and his righteous- 
 ness, all these things shall be added unto us.'' If I 
 am poor, and a little pinched at one time, I have 
 plenty at another. To be sure it was to admiratioa 
 
8 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 what a sight of things were sent us, when my wife, 
 the fourth time she lay-in, was brought to bed of 
 twins. Just as we began to mistrust what we should 
 do, when the children came so fast, in came madam 
 Trusty, 'Squire Worthy's housekeeper, with such a 
 nice bundle of baby-linen, and other things for my 
 wife, that she and the children were soon dressed 
 like gentlefolks; and, I am told, the Miss Worthies 
 made these nice clothes with their own hands. Then 
 two days afterwards, two of the young ladies came 
 themselves to our cottage, and gave my wife half-a- 
 crown a piece; and the same day, Mrs. Traffick of 
 the shop, sen,t her such a large pitcherful of nice 
 smoking-hot caudle, it would have done your heart 
 good only to have smelt it; and said, that when the 
 pitcher was empty, we were to send it back, and she 
 would fill it again. Ou;r dear minister too went about 
 and got us money enough to buy coals, to serve us 
 all the winter: and at the christening, he gave us five 
 shillings to help us on: so that I was never better off 
 in all my life; for the faster the children came, the 
 better we were provided for. I will promise you, 
 sir, we had enough and enough to do to praise God 
 for his mercies on these occasions. And thoughl 
 say it that should not, our poor children look as de- 
 cent and as healthy, as any children in our parish, or 
 the next to it. 
 
 Far. Well, Thomas, you had needmind your hits 
 to breed them all up. 
 
 Tho. Wh}', sir, you know the old proverb, "God 
 helps them that help themselves:" for first, I al- 
 ways put the children tovvork as soon as they are 
 able: they either spin or knit; and my second son, 
 Billy, has got a loom, which our wortiiy 'squire gave 
 him; and he weaves very tidily, and my wife always 
 keeps us well mended ; she can put on many a 
 patchj bjLit, she will never let us appear ragged : but 
 
DIALOGUE I. 9 
 
 then, sir, we get all Uiis by living in the fear of 
 God. 
 
 Far. Why, Thomas, you live so orderly, I should 
 be glad to stop a little longer, that I might hear your 
 way of living. 
 
 Tho. Why, sir it would look so much like brag- 
 ging and boasting, were I to tell you about our 
 poor way of serving God in our cottage since he has 
 changed my heart, that I should be quite ashamed of 
 myself. 
 
 Far. Nay, but I must hear it, that 1 may tell it to 
 my wife and daughters; perhaps they may mend their 
 ways, if I tell them of yours. 
 
 Tho. Well, sir, if madam Littleworth and your 
 daughters can get any good by it, and as. you insist 
 upon it, I will tell you how we live, both on week 
 days and on Sundays. When I am called to labour^ 
 as soon as my wife and I are out of bed, I kneel down 
 and go to prayer, by the bed-side; then I go to work. 
 She dresses the children, and sets the house in. order. 
 When I come home to breakfast, the milk porridge, 
 or what my wife can get for us is all read)''; we never 
 have any tea but on Sundays, for it will not do for a 
 hard-working family, and many of our neighbours 
 call it Scandal broth. 
 
 Far. Ah, Thomas, I fear you are right there, for 
 when my wife and daughters have their gossips, and 
 our little Sam the plough-boy, puts on his livery, that 
 we may look like gentlefolks, I hear nothing else. 
 
 Tho. Well, sir, I make m}^ eldest boy ask a 
 blessing, and then the victuals goes down with a 
 blessing: Next 1 make the children say a hymn or 
 some other good lesson- out of the books that our 
 minister gives us. Then one of the other children 
 returns thanks t After that my wife takes dov^n the 
 Bible, and reads a chapter, and I go to prayer; 
 then I go to work, and as you know, sir, take my 
 2^ 
 
10 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 eldest, son, Thomas, with me, and he helps me won-- 
 derfully; and I do think I can do almost double the 
 work, since 1 have had him with me. I really think, 
 sir, your daughters would not be able to spend so 
 fast, if I and my son did not work so hard; but I 
 love to work for a good master. 
 
 Far. Well, Thomas, I shall have no objection 
 against raising your son's wages, for he is a good lad. 
 
 Tlio. Thank you kindly, sir, for the times are 
 very sharp, and my son is a growing, hungry boy. — 
 But I will tell you what we do next. I come home 
 to dinner: now, you know, sir, as we have a bit 
 of a garden, which I dig up at odd times, and we 
 keej) a pig, which we kill for the winter, what be- 
 tween the pickings out of the garden, the acorns 
 which the children pick up out of the 'squire's park, 
 and a little barley meal, it does not cost us much to 
 Jjeep it; so that we can get a slice of bacon, and that 
 relishes the potatoes and garden stuff, and, 1 really 
 think we are as thankful for that, as many a lord is 
 for twenty times as much. Then I make one of the 
 children read a bit of the Pilgrim's Progress, or some 
 other good book, that Mr. J^ovegood gives us, and 
 then 1 go to my work; and, sir, if you please, Pll 
 tell you the thanksgiving hymn, I sing as I walk 
 along. 
 
 Far. Well, Thomas, let us hear it, for I am told 
 you could sing as merry a song as any of us, before 
 Mr. Lovegood came into your parish. 
 
 Tho. Well then, sir, this is m^- song:; — ^ 
 
 My heart and my tongue shall unite in the praise 
 Of Jesus, my Saviour, for mercy and grace; 
 He purchas'd my pardon by shedding- his blood, 
 And bids me inherit the peace of my God. 
 
 My lot may be lowly, my parentage mean, 
 Yet born of my God, there are glories unseen; 
 3urpassing all joys among sinners on earth, 
 Prepared for souls of a heavenly birth. 
 
DIALOGUE li 11 
 
 Redeem'd from a thousand allurements to sin, 
 I find in my cottage my heaven begin ; 
 And soon shall I lay all my poverty by, 
 Then mansions of glory for ever enjoy. 
 
 By the sweat of my brow, while 1 labour for bread, 
 Yet guarded by him, not an evil I dread ; 
 And while I'm possess'd of all riches in thee, 
 My poverty comes with a blessing to me. 
 
 My labouring" dress I shall soon lay aside, 
 For a robe bright and splendid, a dress for a bride; 
 A bride that is married to Jesus, the Lamb, 
 Shall shine in a robe, which is ever the same. 
 
 If my fare shall be scant, while I travel below, 
 Yet a feast that's eternal shall Jesus bestow ; 
 No sorrow, nor sighing, shall ever annoy, 
 The heavenly banquet 1 there shall enjoy. 
 
 If my labouring body goes weary to rest, 
 Yet sav'd by the mercy of Jesus, I'm bless'd ; 
 Fresh strength, for my labour on earth he bestows, 
 And above I shall bask in eternal repose. 
 
 Far. I confess, Thomas, you sing better sort of 
 songs than we sing at our Christmas merry-makings; 
 but let us hear how you end the day. 
 
 Tho. After my work, I return home; down I sit, 
 and all my children come round me. I confess^ 
 sir, I am a little too fond of the twins, they are a. 
 pair of brave children : so I put one on one knee, and 
 the other on the other: then I give them all a kiss,, 
 and my hearty blessing; for I love Ihem dearly, and 
 could work my skin to the bones to, support them. 
 Next I ask them what work they have done, how 
 they have behaved to their mother and to each other: 
 then I make the children read out of some good book,, 
 and I tell them what it means, and instruct tliem as 
 well as I am able. Next we have a bit of supper, as 
 the times afford; and afterwards my wife reaches 
 down the bible, and reads a chapter; then we sing an 
 
X2 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 evening, or some other good hymn, and I go to 
 prayer, after my poor fashion, and then our bed feels 
 sweet to us; for, the Lord be praised! we have no- 
 thing to fear: for poverty keeps the door from thieves, 
 and a peaceable mind soon sets us all asleep. 
 
 Far. You have told how you live: I confess I 
 should be ashamed to tell you how we live; but, 
 Thomas, I do not pretend to be a Saint; yet the 
 house would be all in an uproar if I was to call my 
 family to say their prayers, as often as you do. 
 ' T/io. Many and many a man may say prayers, Sind 
 never pray. 
 
 Far. Ay, true, Thomas; and so I thought when 
 Mr. Dolitlle came to our house, while our daughter 
 Polly was likely to die of a brain fever. I thought 
 it was shocking when he came to say Jiis prayers to 
 her, Ihat the man who could come with Madam Do- 
 little and his children to our house two or three times 
 a year, to supper and cards, (what games and rackets 
 we used to have!) and now he was to say his prayers, 
 which I am sure he would not have done, if Polly 
 had not been sick; but, oh! how it shocked me to 
 hear her ask, for she was out of her mind, after he 
 had done, if they might not have a game at ichist ? 
 Thomas, I think I must have your parson wnth me 
 when I die, if I do not like him so well as I should 
 while I live. 
 
 Tho. But, sir, if I may be so bold, what came 
 of it when Miss Polly recovered ? If you sent for 
 Mr. Dolittle to pray with her when she was sick, did 
 5^ou not send for him when she got -better, to return 
 thanks? 
 
 Far. no: we forgot all that: but the parson sent 
 a card, as my daughters call it, to tell tliem, that he 
 and his family would come and see them upon Polly's 
 recovery ; and such a piece of work there was to make 
 aut a proper card in return! how they should word 
 
DIALOGUE I. 13 
 
 it, and how they should spell it: for my daughters 
 having been bred up in a farmer^s house, and then 
 sent to a boardino;-school, are neither farmer's daugh- 
 ters, nor gentlefolks; but, however, religion was never 
 thought of then. 
 
 Tho. Well, sir, I must not find fault with your 
 parson; and 1 think you cannot find fault with mine; 
 but, by your desire, I am next to tell you how we 
 spend the Sunday. 
 
 Far. Why every day seems to be a Suaday with 
 you, but as you do not then go to work. 
 
 Tho. Bui, sir,, we have something better still on 
 the Sunday. 
 
 Far. [Taking out his watch.] I cannot walk very 
 fast, and I must not stop longer, as it is almost dinner 
 time; but I will be here again to-morrow, and then 
 you shall tell me how you spend your Sundays, and 
 here's a shilling for your boy. 
 
 Thomas's boy. Thank you, sir, and be so good 
 as to thank my young mistresses for the six-pence 
 they gave me, when I brought the band-boxes from 
 Madam Flirt, the milliner's. 
 
 Far. Ah! band-boxes! since my daughters have 
 come home from the boarding-school, they have all 
 turned out such fine misses, that th-e family is all of 
 an uproar. Such new-fangled fashions and customs, 
 I never savv before. 1 rue the day I ever sent my 
 daughters to that boarding-school; but I must go: 
 good day, Thomas. 
 
 Tho, Your servant, sir. 
 
DIALOGUE II 
 
 COTTAGE PIETY ON A.SUNDAY. 
 
 FARMER LITTLE WORTH AND THOMAS NEWMAN. 
 
 Thomas is engaged in clearing ground. 
 
 Farmer. Well, Thomas, you are going on with 
 the job apace. 
 
 T/io. See, sir, what a deal of weeds and rubbish we 
 have got together within these few days; All this 
 puts me in mind of the natural heart of man, that there 
 can be notliing done in it till the weeds and filth of 
 sin are got out of it; and sin has taken deeper root in 
 our hearts, than these briers and weeds have in this 
 ground: and when we have got them all on a. heap, 
 we shall burn them out of the way. May the Lord 
 do the same in all our hearts! 
 
 Far. Why, Thomas, I think Mr. Lovegood will 
 make a parson of you. 
 
 T/io: Thank the Lord for his mercy! I hope he 
 has made a Christian of me; and that is all 1 want. 
 But, sir, I hope all is well at home, as you was not 
 here yesterday, according as you said. 
 
 Far. yes, but I could not get awa)^ from the 
 parish meeting time enough : and there came in Dick 
 Heedless, for relief, because his wife was brought to 
 bed, and though he had but two children before, he 
 declared they were all starving. So I thought I would 
 go and see, and to be sure such ragged children, such 
 a dirty house and bed; such broken windows, and 
 heaps of filth in every corner, I never saw before in 
 all my born days. So I told the vestry, that he had 
 
DIALOGUE II. 15 
 
 better wages than you, as I always gave him task 
 work, otherwise he would not work at all; and he is 
 a strong hearty fellow, and can do a deal of work if 
 he likes it: And when I told him to come to your 
 house, and you would put liim in a better way of 
 living, he swore a great path, and said he would never 
 be of your religion, for he was not bred up to your 
 ivay of thinking. 
 
 Tlio. Ah! when poor labouring men must run 
 away to every idle wake, horse-race, boxing-match, 
 and cock-fight, no wonder that there is nothing left 
 for the family. I am very glad ^squire VVortiiy is 
 determined to put them all dovv^n in our parish, for 
 our minister preached a trimming sermon against 
 them all; and the 'squire thanked him for it in the 
 church yard, before ail the ])coj)le, and promised him 
 there should be no such doings in that parish. I 
 promise you, sir, we never were so well off before; 
 what between the minister and the 'squire, there is 
 not half the wickedness in our parish that there was 
 a few years ago. 
 
 Far. There are not many such 'squires as 'squire 
 Worthy in our parts. 
 
 Tko. The Lord send more of them, sirl for it 
 is wonderful the good our 'squire does in setting- 
 such a good example. Hail, rain, or shine, let who 
 will be away from the church, the 'squire and his 
 worthy family are sure to be there. It does my heart 
 good to see them all come in; especially, when I 
 consider, how man}^ poor people are relieved by 
 them: and it is wonderful, how he takes to our mi- 
 nister, and says all manner of good of him wherever 
 he goes.. 
 
 Far. But, Thomas, I hear from my wife and 
 daughters, how desperately 'squire J31uster of Revel- 
 Hall, has quarrelled with your 'squire, because he 
 has turned out so religious; and how Madam Blus* 
 
16 VILLAGE DiALOCtaES. 
 
 tei* will not even speak to Madam Worthy, because 
 when they went to see thein, instead of having cards 
 after tea, they had Mr. Lovegood there to preachy 
 and say prayers to them, and after that they sung 
 psalms. 
 
 Tho. Why, sir, was there any harm in that? why 
 when the wind sits that way, I hear the bell ring 
 for family prayers every night; and when Mr. 
 Lovegood is not there, it is to admiration how the 
 'squire himself can exhort and go to prayer with his 
 family. 
 
 Far. But you know, Thomas, there are none of the 
 ministers round the country come to see your parson 
 on account of his religion. 
 
 Tho. Why, it is an odd story, if religion keeps other 
 parsons away ffom Mr. Lovegood; but this is a mis- 
 take, sir, for there are Mr. Meek and Mr. Godly- 
 man, and other good ministers besides, that come to 
 see our minister; and then we are sure to hear the 
 bells calling us all lo a sermon in the church after we 
 have done our labour. I love to hear the sound of 
 our church bells to my heart, for whenever they ring 
 we are sure some good is going forward. 
 
 Far. But, Thomas, you must remember your pro- 
 mise, and tell us how you live on the Sunday. 
 
 Tho. Well then, sir, you must know, my wife 
 always contrives on the Saturday to get our clean 
 linen ready for us, and somewhat a little more decent 
 than our common working dress, to go to church 
 in on a Sunday; the house is always done up quite 
 neat and clean, and all our clothes got ready against 
 the Sunday morning: then on the Sunday morning 
 we get ourselves ready, and begin the Sabbath with 
 a chapter out of the bible, a hymn, or psalm, and 
 a prayer; then we all eat our breakfast, and after- 
 wards send the four eldest of our children to the 
 Sunday school, which our minister and 'squire Wor- 
 
DIALOGUE II. 17 
 
 thy have lately set up; after this we all go to church, 
 if we can, unless my wife is obliged to stay at home 
 to nurse the little ones, and then we take it by turns! 
 and I must confess, sir, I sometimes feel a little 
 proud to see such a nice young growing family, and 
 how neat and decent my wife makes us all look, and 
 how orderly my children behave! 
 
 Far, Why, to be sure, Thomas, your wife is a 
 wonderful notable woman. 
 
 Tho. Ah, sir, and she is so loving and good, 
 and kind, 1 would not part with her for the best 
 duchess in the land. Well, and after church we all 
 come home: then I ask the children, one by one,- 
 where the text was, and what they can remember of 
 the minister's sermon, and talk with them of the good 
 things we have been hearing. After we have had 
 such a dinner as the mercy of God provides for us, 
 we have another prayer: then the children go again 
 to the Sunday School, and we all meet again at 
 church in the afternoon; and I think it would do 
 your heart good to hear what pains our dear minis- 
 ter takes with us, how nicely he expounds the chap- 
 ters, and how he tries from the pulpit to make known 
 to us the way of salvation. Whenever he tells us of 
 our evil ways, and evil natures, he seems to pity us to 
 the very heart; and tears, again and again, have I 
 seen drop down his dear cheeks, while he has 
 warned us of these things: but when he tells us of 
 the love of our Lord Jesus Christ to us poor sinners, 
 and what grace and mercy he can show in changing 
 our hearts, he is all alive, and seems to feel every 
 word he says. 
 
 Far. Why, the people say he has it all off by rote, 
 and that he has no book, but the Bible, with him in 
 the pulpit. He must have a wonderful memory! 
 
 Tho. By role, sir! he has it all in his heart; 
 and by the grace of God, he has enough in his heart 
 
 VOL. I, — 3 
 
IS VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 for a thousand sermons; and as it comes from the 
 heart, so it goes to tlie heart. Blessed be God, it 
 comes to my heart! I am sure of that. Well, after 
 sermon we all go home, and then we treat ourselves, 
 for once in the week, with a dish of tea, and again 
 talk over the good things we heard at church. At 
 seven o'clock we go down to the vicarage; and to see 
 how lovingly Madam Lovegood shows it towards 
 us all when we come into the house, would do any 
 one good; how she helps to bring out the forms and 
 chairs, and seats us all comfortably in the kitchen 
 and hall; and when we are ready, our dear minister 
 comes in and repeats to us what he had been preach- 
 ing before, and exhorts us, and prays, and sings to 
 us so charmingly, that there comes such a blessing 
 with it, as makes it feel like a little heaven upon 
 earth. 
 
 Far. Ah! but master Thomas, our rector speaks 
 and preaches desperately against these private meet- 
 ings, and says your parson keeps Si'Venticle; but 
 what he means by it I can't say; I suppose it was 
 some hard word he brought with him from Oxford. 
 
 Tlio. Mr. Lovegood is not the first man that has 
 liad all '^ manner of evil spoken against him," but 
 we are sure it is " falsely, for Christ's name sake;" 
 so that we can all " rejoice and be exceeding 
 glad." 
 
 Far. Well, Thomas, it is to be hoped you have 
 had enough of religion after all this. 
 
 Tko. Enough, sir! why we are obliged to very 
 sharp labour through the six days, it would be a thou- 
 sand pities to lose any part of the only day given 
 us to seek after our heavenly rest: for what is the 
 body to the soul! Blessed be God, we have a little 
 more, after all this: we have some more good talk 
 at supper, a chapter, a psalm, or hymn, and a prayer; 
 and then we throw ourselves into the arms of our 
 
DIALOGUE II. IJ^ 
 
 dear God and Saviour, and sleep on earth as though 
 we were to wake in heaven. 
 
 Far. But, Thomas, does God Ahnighty require all 
 this religion from you? would not less serve? 
 
 Tlw. Why, sir, these things are our delight; we 
 do not serve as slaves, but as sons; we serve, because 
 we love the service: look into the bible, sir, and 
 you will find what my wife and 1 find, that religion 
 is regeneration, and that holiness is heaven: all the 
 Lord's " ways are ways of pleasantness, and all his 
 paths are paths of peace." 
 
 Far. I will look into our great Bible, when I get 
 home; but 1 am ashamed to say, I know more about 
 the christening and burials, that are written in the 
 first leaf, than 1 do of the book itself. But how 
 is it that you are so fond of talking about your 
 wife? 
 
 Tho. Why she is the joy of my heart, and the 
 comfort of my life. 
 
 Far. Where did you meet with her? 
 
 Tiio. At church. 
 
 Far. Why, surely you did not go to church to 
 seek for a wife? 
 
 Tko. After I began to know the value of my soul, 
 I only went there to seek for salvation; but about 
 half a year after I was converted from my sinful 
 courses, I used to see a mighty decent dressing young 
 woman, who came from Mr. Blindman's parish, to 
 our church; and I thought of it; (I hope not too 
 much, when I should have thought of something 
 better,) if I married, that the Lord might intend her 
 for my wife; and as I used to meet her at Mr. Love- 
 good's house, I once plucked up courage and plainly 
 told her what 1 thought about it; but I could get no- 
 thing out of her, but that she could not think of it 
 till she had made it a matter of prayer; then, thought 
 I directly, this is the damsel that will do for me; 
 
20 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 for, the Lord knows, I made it a matter of prayer 
 also, and this made me ask her the same question 
 again and again. 
 
 Far. L — d, Thomas, do your sort of people go to 
 prayer before you are married? 
 
 T/io. sir, if I may be so bold, you should not 
 "take the Lord's name in vain,'' it is a breach of 
 the third command; but we wish to pray upon all 
 such occasions. 
 
 Far. I confess, I am apt to say words I should 
 not; but how did the match go on? 
 
 Tlio. Why a little after this, the young woman 
 went and consulted Mr. Lovegood about my offer, 
 and one evening Mr. Lovegood sent for me to his 
 house, while she was there, and so down I came; 
 and when 1 saw her there, my heart went pit-a-pat, 
 in a manner I never felt it before. We then talked 
 over the matter before him; and he read to us that 
 wonderful good exhortation in the marriage service, 
 showing the duties there would be between us; then 
 he went to prayer with us, after this we promised 
 each other marriage: and as soon as we were out- 
 asked we were married accordingly. They do say, 
 matches are made in heaven, and, I verily think ours 
 was made in heaven, for I have been as happy as a 
 prince ever since: for nothing makes us miserable; 
 we can praise and bless God for every thing. 
 
 Far. Well, Thomas, I am sure you are a happier 
 man since you have taken to this new religion. 
 
 Tho. New religion, sir! why it is as old as the 
 Bible; and, I am sure it is as old as the Common 
 Prayer Book, and the Articles, and Homilies of our 
 Church. 
 
 Far. Why, Thomas, you are quite a scholard; what 
 do you mean by the Articles and Homilies? I never 
 heard any thing about them in our Church. 
 
 Tho. Ah, but Mr. Lovegood tells us about them 
 
DIALOGUE II. 21 
 
 in a very precious manner; and 1 am sure, I shall 
 for ever bless the Lord, for the good I have received 
 from what he has shown us from them, and from the 
 word of God. 
 
 Far. Well, Thomas, I must have another talk 
 with you, for I want to know why you changed your 
 religion. 
 
 Tho. Sir, I will tell you at any time you please, 
 how the Christian religion changed me. 
 
 Far. Then I will come again as soon as I can ; but 
 it begins to rain, and I cannot hobble very fast with 
 my gouty legs. Farewell, Thomas. 
 
 Tho. Your servant, sir. 
 
DIALOGUE III 
 
 THOMAS NEWMAN'S CONVERSION AND 
 HAPPY MARRIAGE. 
 
 FARMER LITTLEWORTH AND THOMAS NEWMAN. 
 
 The Farmer goes into Thomases Cottage, and waits till 
 he comes home to dinner. After some conversation 
 ivith the wife and family, Thomas comes in. 
 
 Thomas. Ah, sir! are you come into our poor habi- 
 tation ? 
 
 Far. Yes; for I was afraid to stand in the field, 
 because of the gout. 
 
 Tho. Well, thank God, by his blessing on my 
 health, I am able to get bread for myself and my 
 poor family too; for 1 know nothing of the gout. 
 
 Thomases Wife. My dear, see what a nice haslet 
 Mr. Littleworth has sent us. I have not boiled any 
 bacon with the potatoes, for I am going to fry a bit of 
 his kind present. 
 
 Far. Why, we killed a pig yesterday, and I sent 
 Sam with a little that you might taste of it. 
 
 Tho. Thank you, sir, a thousand times; for a 
 little fresh meat is very relishable to a hard-working 
 family. [The dinner is prepared.] 
 
 Betty. Come, Billy, my dear, leave your loom, it 
 is your turn to ask a blessing. [They all stand up.] 
 
 Billy. By the bounty alone of our Saviour we live, 
 Ador'd be his name for the food we receive; 
 But, O may our spirits be graciously led 
 To feed on himself— He is heavenly bread. 
 
DIALOGUE III. 23 
 
 Far. There's a good boy; I wish I had taught my 
 girls a few such good things. But, Thomas, while 
 you eat your dinner, you are to tell me about changing 
 your religion. 
 
 Tho. Well, then, sir, I'll tell you as near as I 
 can, how, as 1 said, religion changed me. — My fa- 
 ther, you know, was a poor working man, and died 
 of a consumption; and then my molher went to the 
 workhouse with two children. I was the oldest of 
 them, and was put out apprentice to one old James 
 Gripe, who used to work me morning, noon, and 
 night, and half starved me; and his wife Margery 
 was worse than he. So I ran away from them, and 
 went to the justice about ihem; and his worship 
 questioned me very hard, but got me a better place 
 at farmer Thrifty's, where I had plenty of work, but 
 good victuals and drink. But the farmer was all for 
 the world, and many of the family were desperate 
 wicked; and as I grew up, 1 wonder they did not 
 make me as wicked as themselves. But wicked 
 enough I was, God knows, for 1 scarce ever went to 
 church, unless 1 was to meet some one there, or to 
 show my new clothes when I had any. 1 had no more 
 notion of a Bible, or wliat it meant, than one of the 
 horses I used to drive at plough. 
 
 Far. Why, Thomas, you had a good heart at bot- 
 tom, or you would have followed more of their bad 
 courses. 
 
 Tfio. A good heart indeed! when I never prayed, 
 read my Bible, thought of my soul, or any thing else, 
 but wickedness. But you shall soon hear what a good 
 heart I had: for I well remember, when 1 was about 
 seventeen years old, while we were carrying barley, 
 just as we were going to bind, about half the load 
 slipped off the wagon, threw me down flat on my 
 face, and then rolled upon me. And what thoughts 
 I then had, no mortal can tell I I could neither 
 
24 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 struggle, cry, nor breathe. There I lay till I was 
 quite black in my face, and my breath was almost 
 out of my body; I thought these words sounded like 
 thunder in my ears, ''Lost once, lost for ever!^' — 
 While m)'' senses seemed almost gone from me, and 
 before the barley was taken off, I was quite senseless 
 for awhile; but when the fresh air came to me, I 
 soon began to breathe; and when my senses returned, 
 I remember, 1 could not, but in my blind way, make 
 somewhat of a prayer to God for my preservation; 
 and directly the wagonner and the rest of the men, 
 began to jeer me for my devotions; for I had but just 
 before been singing one of my old foolish songs. But 
 terribly bruised I was, and was obliged to keep my 
 bed for three days, and could not go to work for a 
 full fortnight afterwards. 
 
 Far. It was a very narrow escape indeed, Thomas. 
 But did it not drive you to make some good resolu- 
 tions? I remember, when I had the gout deadly bad 
 in my head and stomach, I vowed many, and many a 
 time, that I would mend my ways: and once I sent 
 for Mr. Doliltle, and he told me, he thought it would 
 be no harm if I did a little more; but the Lord knows 
 to my shame, as soon as 1 began to recover, I forgot 
 all my vows. 
 
 Tlio. Ah, so did I, sir! but I have since found 
 that all our resolutions to mend our ways come to 
 nothing, till God changes the heart: and so it was 
 with me; for directly as I could again get to work, 
 I soon forgot my prayers, and was as light and as 
 thoughtless as ever. For, though I had a little pride 
 in me, not to neglect my work like many others, yet 
 nothing like a fair or a wake for me. I am ashamed 
 to think what a fool I used to make myself while I 
 was dancing at the Golden Lion almost all night, 
 when I was no more fit for such games than one of 
 our cart horses. 
 
DIALOGUE III. 
 
 25 
 
 Far. But surely, Thomas, there can be no harm 
 in a little innocent mirth now and then. 
 
 Tho. Why, I'll tell you, sir, I am never afraid 
 of what 1 do, provided I can but feel prayer while I 
 do it. Now at my labour I can sing and pray with 
 a good conscience all the day long; but I never could 
 ask God's blessing when I went to a wake; or that 
 he would protect me at a horse race. Pray, sir, 
 do you ask a blessing over the card table when peo- 
 ple come a merry-making to your house? 
 
 Far. Ah, Thomas, you come too near home; I 
 must not tell you all we do at our house. 
 
 Tho. But, sir, if you dare not tell all, the Lord 
 knows all. 
 
 Betty. I am afraid, my dear, you press Mr. Little- 
 worth rather too hard. — 1 hope you will excuse him, 
 Sir, for my husband means no harm. 
 
 Far. No, no, Betty, I am sure Thomas means 
 well; I sha'n't be angry; he may go on with his 
 story. 
 
 Tho. Well, on I went year by year, getting worse 
 and worse, till some years afterwards, when our vi- 
 car was removed to some sort of a 'thedral place, as, 
 I think they call it; and then some noble gentleman, 
 Lord Canceller I think it was, gave Mr. Lovegood 
 the living. 
 
 Far. The Lord Chancellor you mean, Thomas. 
 
 Tho. Ay, ay, it may be so: he is a great man, and 
 a mighty man with the king. May God bless him 
 and the king too, a thousand times, for sending such a 
 good minister among us! Well, soon after Midsum- 
 mer our new vicar came, and as it was the first time, 
 a many people there were to hear him. Though we 
 had heard nothing of him till we saw^ him in the 
 church, yet it was to admiration how he read the 
 lessons and prayers; they sounded like new prayers 
 to me — he read them so wonderfully fine. But 
 
26 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 when he got into the pulpit, we did not know what 
 to make of it, for he had no book with him but a 
 little Bible. We thought for sure he had left his ser- 
 mon book behind him, while every moment we ex- 
 pected he would he fast; but on he went for a brave 
 long time: and it is wonderful how lovingly he spoke 
 to us, while he preached from this text, "We preach 
 i40t ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and our- 
 selves, your servants for Jesus' sake." He told us, how 
 he hoped he was sent purely for the good of our 
 souls; and how fervently he had prayed to God that 
 he might come with a blessing among us; that his 
 house, his heart was open to us, even the poorest of 
 us; and that all his time and strength should be given 
 up for our good. Never did any man surely win 
 upon all the people by such a sermon, in coming to 
 a new living, like our minister. 
 
 Far. Hold, master Thomas, not quite so fast; for 
 there was old Mr. Goodenough, the schoolmaster, 
 spoke against him downright at the first sermon: 
 he said publicly, in the church-yard, he had no no- 
 tion of such new-fangled teachers, and that all the 
 parish were good enough already, and he wanted to be 
 no better; and that every tub must stand upon its own 
 bottom: and from that time to this the old gentleman 
 has come to hear J\lr. Dolittle, of our parish, and 
 says, his doctrine suits him best. And again, there 
 was that noted good old lady. Madam Toogood, after 
 the second sermon your parson preached, she went 
 away to Mr. Blindman's church; and a notable story 
 she told at our house when she came to drink tea 
 with my wife and daughters; how he made out all 
 the good people to be as bad as devils; and then she 
 told us all how many times she went to church and 
 sacrament; how often she said her prayers, and that 
 in regard to her giving away to the poor, she was 
 even loo good. — But, Thomas, I'll tell you a secret 
 
DIALOGUE III. 27 
 
 —While jMadam Toogood was cracking and boasting 
 away all the time she was drinking scandal broth, as 
 you call it, her servant, who came to light her home, 
 was telling in the kitchen of all her stingy tricks: — 
 how she made ever so many poor people sick with 
 her dish-wash, which she called Broth; and how, 
 while she was reading the psalms and lessons, and 
 doing her devotions, she would keep scolding all the 
 time: and that once upon a time, when she had made 
 herself up ^ by the Week's Preparation, for the holy 
 Sacrament, after she came to church, she found that 
 it was to be put off. as it was so near Easter; and 
 that then she fell into a terrible passion, and said, 
 "Lord have mercy! have 1 had all this trouble for 
 nothing!" and that she was such a downright scold, 
 that no servant could live with her for six weeks. 
 
 Tho. Well, sir, if this old lady can brag she is 
 not like other people, like the Pharisee: let me come 
 in with the poor Publican, and cry, God be merciful 
 to me a sinner! — his prayers will best suit my case. 
 But if Mr. Goodenough and Madam Toogood did 
 not fear leaving their parish-churches, why should you 
 be afraid, at least once in a way, to leave yours? 
 
 Far. Ah, Thomas, you have me there! But go on 
 with your story. 
 
 Tho. Why, sir, that very sermon which Madam 
 Toogood found such fault with, was the sermon 
 that did my soul more good than all the Sermons I 
 ever heard before; for it was then that faithful ser- 
 vant of God ript up the deadly wound in my heart, 
 which none but Christ could heal. 1 remember well 
 the text, The heart is deceitful above all things and 
 desperately wicked. Who can know it? — And plainly 
 did he show, from the Bible, the rueful state of all 
 mankind: How that, when Adam fell from God, all 
 fell in him: and this he showed w^as the truth, all 
 the Bible over: How that, before the flood the 
 
28 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 wickedness of man was so great upon the earth, and 
 all flesh had so corrupted themselves before God, 
 that there was but one family (that of Noah) in which 
 the fear of God was preserved among the many mil- 
 lions which were upon the earth; and that a merci- 
 ful and righteous God could never have sent down 
 such a judgment, if the great wickedness of man had 
 not deserved it at his hands: and then he showed 
 that such was the hardness and wickedness of man- 
 kind, that as soon as they began to multiply upon 
 earth a second time, they became again as vile as 
 ever: that all the waters of the flood could never wash 
 away the filth of the world : that then he tried the 
 fire of his wrath upon the filthy cities of Sodom and 
 Gomorrah; but still man continued the same most 
 wicked creature: and that even afterwards, when 
 God took one family to himself, that they might be 
 his own peculiar people, as was the case with the 
 Jews, though he was perpetually showing the mira- 
 cles of his power before them, and blessing them, 
 more than any other people, with the gifts of his pro- 
 vidence; yet while the meat was in their mouths, 
 they rebelled against him, and made themselves 
 worse than the heathen who knew him not: and that 
 even when the dear Son of God himself came down 
 from Heaven to save us, the Jews rejected him, and 
 the Gentiles nailed him to the cross. 
 
 Far. Why, Thomas, when I was a school-boy, 1 
 used to read over my Bible then; and I remember, 
 wliat you say is ail very true. 
 
 Tho. Then, why should Mr. Goodenough and Ma- 
 dam Toogood be angry with our minister for telling 
 the truth ? 
 
 Far. To my wa}^ of thinking, people may have 
 as much religion as they, without so much outside 
 show. 
 
 Tho, But, sir, I must tell you how our minister 
 
DIALOGUE III. 29 
 
 went on. From the Bible, he showed us how that 
 j3Cople lived now-a-days, just as they did ever since 
 the world began. And, to be sure, what he said of 
 the abominable lives of all mankind, showed how 
 true the Bible was. How he laid cut the wicked 
 ways of the world in all their public wars and cruel- 
 ties against each other! How he showed, that when- 
 ever people could get together, it was only for all 
 sorts of wickedness, cursing, swearing, fighting, 
 lewdness, and every thing that was bad. Then he 
 told us what miserable creatures sin made us in our 
 own houses ; that malice, anger, pride, cruelty, 
 were the tormentors of every family; while Bibles 
 were banished, prayer neglected, holiness laughed 
 at, and every thing that related to the soul and mat- 
 ters of salvation, were never thought of: and that 
 though, through the grace of God, some were saved 
 from this dreadful state, yet, that the word of God 
 had declared it, That " broad was the gate that led 
 unto destruction, and many there were that went in 
 thereat ;" and that " narrow was the way that led 
 unto life, and few there were that found it." Then 
 the good man stopt, and wept like the rain, as a fa- 
 ther would over a dying child he dearly loved. So 
 I took it; and then, for the first time, I began to 
 weep over my sinful state. 0! thought I, does that 
 dear servant of God love my soul better than I love 
 it myself? while I thought that surely he meant all 
 his sermon against me; for my conscience told me I 
 deserved it, and a thousand times more. There 1 
 sat, with a broken and contrite heart, for the first 
 time; and in the next pew sat Ned Swig, as he was 
 once called, who keeps the Golden Lion; where I 
 Iiad often been in my sinful practices, crying and 
 
 grieving for sin, still more affected than myself 
 
 [Thomas weeps.] 
 VOL. I. — 4 
 
30 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Far. Thomas, why should you cry ? You should 
 not be melancholy, for, I dare say, God Almighty 
 will forgive you. 
 
 Tlio. Why, my dear sir, I know he has forgiven 
 me; and like poor Mary Magdalene, it is fit that I 
 should weep, as she did, out of love to him that loved 
 her so much, because she had much forgiven. 
 
 Far. To be sure, there is a wonderful alteration in 
 Master Swig's way of living; for they say, he once 
 kept a deadly bad house; and that the first time he 
 heard Mr. Lovegood, he went directly home, and 
 pulled down from the walls all the merry songs and 
 pictures which he had bought to please his customers. 
 To be sure, some of them, they say, were enough to 
 make one split one's sides with laughing; and his 
 wife thought for sure he was mad; though since, she 
 has become as strong a follower of Mr. Lovegood as 
 himself; and in about a month afterwards, instead of 
 his merry songs and pictures, it was all about religion : 
 — A journey from Time to Eternity in one place; 
 Mr. Dodd's Sayings in another: and then elsewhere, 
 ever so many parliament acts against tippling and 
 drunkenness, cursing and swearing: and then two 
 fine pictures, called the Higroglyphics,^ or some such 
 word, of the natural and spiritual man: but that is 
 above my reading, Thomas. 
 
 Tho. And it was above mine too, till I heard Mr. 
 Lovegood: but now 1 find, as we pray in the Christ- 
 mas Collect, " That all who are regenerate, and 
 born again, and are daily renewed by God's Holy 
 Spirit," are spiritual men, and bring forth the fruits 
 of the Spirit: and that natural men act according to 
 the natural corruptions of their heart; and that ex- 
 plains the two trees, which are man in two different 
 states. 
 
 Far. Well, I am sure, I wonder Ned had such re- 
 
 * Hieroglyphics, the farmer means. 
 
DIALOGUE III. 
 
 31 
 
 solution to reform : I suppose, he must have lost many 
 and many a golden guinea by his religion: for since 
 he has taken to this new way, they say, he does not 
 draw half the drink; and I wonder how he can keep 
 up his Golden Lion: for it is said, no man can have 
 a drop of drink beyond a pint or two; ami that, from 
 year's end to year's end, not a drunken man is ever 
 known to come out of his house! 
 
 Tho. Now this is all true, and yet Master Edward 
 is provided for in a way wonderfully providential; 
 for the precious word of life, held forth by our dear 
 minister, has drawn many a poor sinner from afar to 
 our church; and then away they all go to the Golden 
 Lion between the services. 
 
 Far. What! from the church to the alehouse. That 
 is as bad as in our parish. 
 
 T/w. Why, sir, if the good people in your 
 parish should go from the church to any of the ale- 
 houses, that they might talk about the sermon, read 
 the Bible, and sing God's praises, while they refresh 
 themselves, I should see no harm in it: but 1 only 
 meant to say, that if Master E'.dward has lost some of 
 his customers, he may have his reward partly in this 
 world: yet certainly he still loses some golden gui- 
 neas; but in the room of these he expects a golden 
 crown. For once he lived by sin, but now he lives 
 by faith; and I am sure while the Bible is true, he'll 
 never starve: "For if we first seek the kingdom of 
 God and his righteousness, all these things are to be 
 added unto us." 
 
 Fai\ I confess, there is not such an alehouse in our 
 town, though there are enough of them. 
 
 Tho. What! are none of the gentlefolks, or justices, 
 or quality of the town, willing to assist in reforming 
 them ? 
 
 Far. Hush, Thomas, I am churchwarden this 
 year; they made me swear a desperate strict oath 
 
S2 VILLAGE DIALOGUES, 
 
 against all these bad ways; and if I was to stir in it; 
 every one would be against me; but I'll promise you, 
 the oath gripes my conscience pretty shar])ly; and 
 I do think if I was to come to your church, I should 
 be in a state of desperation, unless 1 was to mend my 
 ways. 
 
 Tho. Nobody that comes to our church is led into 
 a state of desperation; for as soon as ever our dear 
 minister saw many of us weeping under a sense of 
 sin, he besought us all to come to church in the af- 
 ternoon, as he could not leave us till another Sunday, 
 that we might liear what mercy there was in the Gos- 
 pel for poor sinners: and from that time forward we 
 had an afternoon sermon. 
 
 Far. Yes; and a fine bustle this made among many 
 of the parsons up and down the country, for bringing 
 up such sort of customs of double duty, as they call it, 
 in villages. 
 
 Tho. Why, if Mr. Lovegood had come into our 
 parish on the same footing as you took the lease of 
 your farm, he would have had a right to have made 
 a bargain for his sermons, as you do at market for 
 butter, cheese, cattle, and corn; but, God be praised, 
 he only thought of the salvation of our souls. 
 
 Far. Well, w^ell, our minister wants to make us 
 good too, if he can, for he tells us a deal more of our 
 duty than many of us practise; and we have all his 
 sermons round once a year. I have heard them over 
 nineteen times; and he says we shall liave no new 
 ones till we practise the old ones better; though he 
 has given us two or three famous new ones of late 
 against modern 'Thitslsts, which come round about 
 Whitsuntide. Madam Toogood says, one of them 
 he borrowed from Mr. Blindman; and the text is, 
 "If the blind lead the blind, they shall both fall into 
 the ditch.'' And a trimming sermon it is. 
 
 TliO- Why, I have heard our dear minister these 
 
DIALOGUE III. 33 
 
 seven years, and he has his heart full of sermons, and 
 they are always new. 
 
 Far. Now, Thomas, I think you are very uncha- 
 ritahle; for you condemn all ministers if they don't 
 preach oif-hand. 
 
 Tho. Nay, that is not true, sir ; for there is 
 that dear loving gentleman, Mr. Fearing, he dares 
 not preach as our minister, and some others, with- 
 out his sermon-book; but blessed sermons he reads 
 to us as ever man can write. I love to hear him, 
 dear man. But, sir, if you please, I would rather 
 tell you about the afternoon-sermon, which was such 
 a blessing to my poor bleeding heart, as the time slips 
 away. 
 
 Far. Well, I can sit a little longer. 
 
 Betty. Would you like to eat a little bit with us, 
 in our plain way? I can fry you a fresh bit, if you 
 please, sir. Billy, fetch Mr. Littleworth a clean 
 trencher. 
 
 Far. No, Betty, I thank you; I had rather go hun- 
 gry to my dinner. But let us hear, Thomas. 
 
 Tho. O sir! after my heart had been so deeply 
 cut in the morning, instead of going home to dinner 
 with the family, I took my bread and cheese, and 
 went into the fields, walking about, crying with Job, 
 " Behold, I am vile;" and with the poor publican, 
 " God be merciful to me a sinner!" When I heard 
 the bells ring, away to church I went; and twice to 
 church on the same day, 1 never went before. On 
 the road I met poor Master Edward: 1 began telling 
 him the feelings of my heart; and, instead of an- 
 swering me, he wept; and I wept too. We well 
 remembered how much evil we had done to each 
 other, by being mess-mates in sin; and into the 
 church we went. Our dear minister soon came in; 
 and in the second lesson he read these words: "This 
 is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, 
 4* 
 
34 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 tliat Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.'^ 
 These words so affected him, that he stopt and wept, 
 then wiped his eyes, and read them over a second 
 time. After prayers, he got into the pulpit, and took 
 the same words for his text; and 0, such a sermon, 
 sure, never was preached before. He showed, all 
 the Bible over, that never did any poor sinner sue 
 for mercy but he had it. He told us of Manasseh, 
 of Saul, the Philippian jailer, and the thief upon the 
 cross: tliat all these poor bleeding penitents were at 
 once accepted, without any other righteousness but 
 what was to be found in him who died to justify the 
 ungodly; and tliat whosoever — and again he said it, 
 ^•Whosoever cometh unto him, he will in nowise 
 cast out.'^ what a time of love was this! How 
 Ed^vard looked at me, and I at him, while we both, 
 by faith, looked at Jesus Christ, who died for our re- 
 demption! 
 
 Far. And was this all you did for your salvation? 
 
 Tho. Why, sir, nothing more could be done; for 
 the love of Christ broke our hearts into a thousand 
 pieces: from that moment we felt the chains of sin 
 drop off from the soul, and we were at liberty to 
 love and serve the Lord. Now, for the first time, 
 v/e began to experience what it was to be " made new 
 creatures in Christ Jesus; old things passed away, 
 and all things became new.'' Being thus " made 
 partakers of the divine nature," and ^' renewed in the 
 spirit of our minds," that prayer in the communion 
 service, we trust, was answered now, which vve might 
 have read, but never prayed before: " Cleanse the 
 thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy 
 Spirit, that vve may perfectly love thee, and worthily 
 magnify thy holy name." And when he concluded 
 that blessed sermon with these words from St. Paul, 
 " I beseech you, brethren, by the mercies of God, 
 that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy 
 and acceptable to God, which is your reasonable 
 
DIALOGUE III. 
 
 35 
 
 with a hearty Amen, we at once found 
 that we could give ourselves away to live to his 
 glory. 
 
 Far. Ah! but Master Thomas, all the followers 
 of your Vicar are not sucli saints, for all this: for 
 there is Mr. Feigning, the Squire's steward, though 
 he is a wonderful stickler for your parson, is no bet- 
 ter than he should be: and Mrs. Fairspeech, though 
 she comes with such a wonderful sanctified face, 
 loves a sly drop as well as any of her neighbours, 
 and then scolds her husband for not being of her re- 
 ligion. 
 
 Tho. Yes; and it grieves us to the heart, to think 
 that there should be any " who name the name of 
 Christ, and depart not from iniquity:" but hypocrites 
 there always were, and will be; yet real religion is 
 never the worse for them. But still, you know, sir, 
 the Gospel has done wonders among us. Common 
 swearers, and others, who never prayed before, have 
 been made to pray of late: drunkards have become 
 sober, and their ragged families decently clad: Sab- 
 bath-breakers, who had heart for nothing on that day 
 but vanity and sinful mirth, can now fill the house of 
 God, and find it their heaven upon earth; yea, and 
 families where wrath and anger reigned, are now ruled 
 by love, by "that meekness and gentleness which is 
 in Christ Jesus." Thus have we happily proved 
 " the Gospel to be the power of God to our salvation," 
 by the blessed fruits of righteousness which have been 
 produced thereby. 
 
 Far. I don't wonder that you are so fond of your 
 sort of ministers, while they do you so much good. 
 
 Tho. Why, we care not what sort they are, pro- 
 vided they are but of a godly sort: but you know, 
 sir, how terribly people are hardened in sin, if the 
 lives of the ministers, and other great folks, be in- 
 consistent with the gospel; and how many there are 
 
36 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 novv-a-days who scoff at the Bible itself outright, 
 when such men so mortally wound so good a cause, 
 yea, such men had much better never preach at all, 
 a thousand times, while their lives so belie their 
 words. 
 
 Far. Well, 1 must confess, that I have many times 
 thought that if I were as good as the parson, I need 
 be no better: but is not young Parson Merryman one 
 of your sort of late ? I remember him when he was 
 a strange wild blade; how he used to gallop over my 
 farm, shouting and roaring like a madman, after Lord 
 Rakish's hounds; and how deadly angry be used to 
 be with his uncle, who would have him made a parson 
 of, because there was a good fat living in the family; 
 how he could crack his jokes, how soon he did over 
 his parishioners in the afternoon, that he, and the gen- 
 tlefolks who came to see him on the Sunday, might 
 not be disturbed from dinner and the bottle. 
 
 Tho. Yes, sir; and I dare say you have heard that 
 when our minister was called to preach before my 
 Lord Bishop, and all his clergy, how that worthy 
 young gentleman was so affected at the things he 
 heard about the duty of ministers (what they should 
 preach, and how they should live) that he could not 
 be at rest in his conscience till he came to see Mr. 
 Lovegood; and now every body wonders at what an 
 altered man he is. 
 
 Far. Ay; and it is not above two 3'ears ago, when 
 he came to our town, while the stage-play people 
 were there, and how he romanced with our daughters; 
 and what a racket he kept up, when all of them should 
 liave been in bed and asleep, it would be a shame to 
 tell. 
 
 Tho. Yes; but then he was a minister of man's 
 making; but now he is a minister of God's making. 
 Once he loved his sports, but now he loves the souls 
 of his parishioners: once he loved the fleece, but now 
 
DIALOGUE III. 
 
 37 
 
 he Joves the flock ; once he was for this world, but 
 now he is for the next. sir, what wonders are done 
 by the grace of God on the hearts of sinners! 
 
 Far. Well, Thomas, I believe Mr. Merryman is a 
 true convert; but I must be going; you and your 
 family have picked up the scraps pretty clean. 
 
 Tlw. It is too good to be wasted: thank the Lord, 
 we have had a charming meal. [Thomas to his daugh- 
 ter.] Come, Betsy, my dear, it is your turn to give 
 thanks. 
 
 Betty to the daughter. Don't be ashamed, my good 
 child; but let Mr. Littleworth hear how well you can 
 say your thanksgiving hymn. [The daughter says 
 her hymn.] 
 
 The beasts of the fields, and the fowls of the air, 
 Are kept by thy povv'r, and fed by thy care; 
 Thy merciful providence, faithfully nigh. 
 Sustains the poor ravens whenever they cry! 
 
 But they cannot praise thee; they know not from whom 
 The streams that they drink and their sustenance come: 
 Far wiser may we be, and thankfully own, 
 That all our supplies are from Jesus alone. 
 
 Far. There's a brave girl; here is sixpence be- 
 tween you and your brother, for saying his grace be- 
 fore dinner; and when you lie-in, Betty, I will re- 
 member you. 
 
 Tho. The Lord bless you, sir, with his grace, 
 for your kindness. But you would have me tell you 
 how we live; and, to my mind, you would not think 
 we do right if we were to neglect our chapter and 
 our prayer because you are here. Betty's a good 
 scholar; and I have a little pride in me that people 
 should know how bravely she can read. [Betty 
 takes down the Bible, reads the latter part of the 14th 
 chapter of St. Luke.] 
 
 Thomas to Betty. Can't you remember, my dear, 
 what a wonderful sermon our minister made against 
 all these sad excuses; how that a man could not pur- 
 
38 
 
 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 chase a piece of ground, buy a few cattle, have a 
 little trade, or marry a wife, but out of all these 
 things, innocent in themselves, they could find an ex- 
 cuse to neglect their salvation, and despise the mar- 
 riage-supper of the gospel! 
 
 Thomas then offers up a short prayer: prays for 
 the King, and his favourite, the Lord Chancel- 
 lor, for sending them Mr. Lovegood; and that 
 God would bless his ministry to them: and, af- 
 ter some other petitions, prays affectionately for 
 his master and his family. The Farmer gets up 
 much affected; — turns to the window^ — stifles 
 his concern — wipes his eyes, and says — 
 Far. Thomas, Pd give the world to be as good a 
 man as you are: and that my wife was as good a 
 woman as your Betty. Well, well, I will pluck up 
 courage, and come and hear Mr. Lovegood next 
 Sunday, come what will of it; and Pll try to bring 
 my daughter Nance with me, for she does not seem 
 to be so bad set against Mr. Lovegood as the others; 
 but I know 1 shall hear enough of it from Mr. Do- 
 little and my neighbours. 
 
 Tfio. 1 wonder that gentleman should say such hard 
 things, wherever he goes, against our good minister, 
 and that he should so often preach against him as a 
 hypocrite and over -righteous ^ihusist; surely, it is 
 out of ignorance. The Lord open his eyes! But I 
 am a few minutes beyond the time of labour. Come, 
 Thomas, my boy, let us be gone, Mr. Littleworth 
 wants to be at home. 
 
 Far. Farewell, Thomas. 
 
 Tlio. and Betty. The Lord bless you, sir, for vour 
 kindness. 
 
DIALOGUE IV, 
 
 THE CHURCH DEFENDED AGAINST FALSE 
 FRIENDS AND INTERNAL ENEMIES. 
 
 THE REV. MR. DOLITTLEj FARMER LITTLEWORTH 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 We left the Farmer much struck and aflected by Tho- 
 mas Newman's conversation and prayer. On the 
 next Sunday afternoon, he and his daughter Nan- 
 cy attended at Brookfield Church, after he had 
 been at Mapleton Church on the morning. He 
 received the Word with solemn surprise, and was 
 soon melted into tears. Thomas immediatel}^ 
 caught Mr. Littleworth's eye, and began to mingle 
 the sympathetic tear with his. Mr. Lovegood's 
 looks were directed that way; and he was so 
 overpowered at the scene, that for awhile he could 
 scarcely continue his discourse. Mr. Lovegood's 
 engaging and affectionate style of preaching had 
 frequently a great effect on his auditory; and re- 
 markably so on the Sunday afternoon when the 
 Farmer first attended. Nor was the conversation 
 less affecting between Thomas and his Master 
 when the service was ended. He was at once dis- 
 armed of all his prejudices, and mingled almost 
 every word with a tear. Miss Nancy's mind be- 
 gan also to open to receive the truth, if in a less 
 rapid, yet not in a less gracious manner. 
 
 When he arrived at his own house, Mrs. Littleworth 
 conceived he had heard some very bad news, and 
 begged to know what it was. He said, it was very 
 
40 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 good news. The question was naturally asked, 
 if he had heard any thing about Henry, their son? 
 The Farmer began to explain the nature of the 
 good news, or glad tidings of salvation, he had 
 been hearing at Brookfield Church, mixing each 
 word Avith a tear. The wife and daughters, Nan- 
 cy excepted, began at once to suspect that his 
 brains would be turned; and that the peace of the 
 family would be ruined by his neio religion. 
 
 No opposition from that quarter, however, prevent- 
 ed the Farmer and Miss Nancy from giving all 
 possible diligence to attend the means of grace. — 
 His visits to Thomas Newman were now almost 
 as constant as each returning day; who soon intro- 
 duced him into Mr. Lovegood's company. Mr. 
 Lovegood put into his hands several profitable 
 books for his private instruction; which he read 
 with great attention and diligence, and through 
 his now constant attendance, twice every Sabbatli, 
 and oftentimes on Mr. Lovegood's Week-day Lec- 
 ture, he being a man of an intelligent mind, though 
 but poorly educated, began to grow in grace, and 
 divine knowledge very considerably. 
 
 The family, however, were terribly perplexed at the 
 change: and, after they had said all in their pow- 
 er to dissuade him against his new notions in re- 
 ligion, concluded, it might be the best plan to call 
 in Mr. Dolittle to their aid. Happily, however, 
 for the Farmer, his mind began to be well-settled 
 and grounded in the knowledge of the gospel be- 
 fore this visit took place. Mrs. Littleworth and 
 Miss Polly, however, called at Mr. Dolittle's, one 
 market-day, and invited him to come and see what 
 could be done. Soon afterwards he rode, one af- 
 ternoon, according to his promise, to the Farmer's 
 house; and the conversation, as it then took place, 
 shall next be laid before the reader. 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 41 
 
 J\fr. Dolitlle. Well, Master Littlevvorth, how are 
 you ? I was afraid you were ill of the gout, for I 
 have not seen you at church above these three months. 
 
 Farmer. I am obliged to you, sir, for your kind in- 
 quiries; but, I thank God, of late I have been better 
 than usual. 
 
 Dolit. How is it then, sir, that you have been so 
 remiss in your duty in not attending church? 
 
 Far. Oh, no, sir; I have not neglected church; 
 for 1, and my daughter Nance, have lately been to hear 
 Mr. Lovegood. 
 
 Dolil. So I have heard, sir; and, in a little while 
 longer, I should not wonder if he were to drive both 
 of you mad, by his enthusiastic harangues. 
 
 Far. Why, sir, did you ever hear him? 
 
 JDolit. I hear him! No, sir; noi* shall I ever dis- 
 grace my character by attending such modern se- 
 ducers. 
 
 Far. Did you ever talk to him, sir? 
 
 Dolit. I talk to him! no; nor will any other ra- 
 tional clergyman hold conversation with such sort of 
 fellows. 
 
 Far. " Does our law judge any man before it hears 
 him?" 
 
 Dolit. sir! this is bringing matters to a fine 
 pass; you can quote scripture against your minister 
 already. 
 
 Far. Now, Mr. Dolittle, it is not fit that either you 
 or I should put ourselves out of temper while we are 
 talking about religion: but if yon will be so iiind as 
 to come in and sit down, and drink a dish of tea, I 
 should be glad to talk matters over with you; and, 
 if I am wrong, the Lord direct you to set me right! 
 
 Dolit. No, Mr. Littlevvorth; while j^ou, as church- 
 warden, can act as 3^ou do, and can set such an ex- 
 ample as to leave your own parish-church, and run 
 rambling after such sort of teachers, I shall not think 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
42 VILLAGE DIALOGU., S. 
 
 it proper to darken your doors any more. If you 
 had gone to the meetins; after old Dr. Dronish, it 
 would not have been half so bad; for, I am told, he 
 preaches good, sober, moral sermons; but to run 
 rambling after such wild enthusiasts, is loo bad. 
 
 Mrs. Litlleivorth. But, sir, if you will not drink 
 tea with my husband, yet, I hope, you will stop for 
 my sake, and my daughters; for his new notions in 
 religion are as bad a grief to us as they can be to you. 
 
 Dolit. x\h, Mrs. Littlevvorth, I pity you to my 
 heart! It is amazing how much the peace and com- 
 fort of people's families are broken up by these reli- 
 gious disputes. 
 
 Far. Well, sir, if you won't accept the invitation 
 from me, you are quite as welcome to accept it from 
 my wife and daughters; neither does religion, nor 
 Mr. Lovegood, teach me to be rude or uncivil to my 
 neighbours; so that such disputes cannot be laid to 
 the charge of religion, but on those who oppose it. 
 I should be very glad if you would walk in and sit 
 down, that we may talk matters over in a Christian- 
 like manner; and while I answer for myself, if I should 
 in any wise speak unmannerly, I'll beg your pardon. 
 
 Dollt. Well, sir, this is fair. I am apt to be a little 
 hasty, I confess; but you must not impute this to the 
 badness of my heart. 
 
 Far. Why, sir, to m}?- humble way of thinking, all 
 that comes out of us, which is bad, comes from some- 
 thing that is bad within us. But pray, come in, sir? 
 [calls 'his daughter Polly.] Where is Sam? Tell him 
 to take Mr. Dolittle's horse, put him in the stable, 
 and give him a lock of hay, and a good feed of corn. 
 
 [Mr. Dolittle comes in; a are is lighted in the best 
 parlour, and tea is brought in ; but no one appears 
 but Mrs. Littlevvorth and Miss Nancy to wait on the 
 Rector.] 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 43 
 
 Far. Why, Nancy, where are your sisters? 
 
 iMiss J^fancy. 1'hey jjre gone up stairs to dress. 
 
 Fa7\ To dress! Why, were they not dressed be- 
 fore Mr. Dolittle came? Now, all this they got by 
 going to that boarding-school. They can't make you 
 a dish of tea without putting on some new-fashioned 
 gown, or new-fangled cap, and some other nonsenses. 
 1 hope, sir, you will talk to them for their pride; I 
 cannot see the sense of such ceremonies in our way 
 of living. 
 
 Dolil. Perhaps not, sir, but young ladies will have 
 their foibles. [Their appearance in a gaudy, taudry 
 dress, prevents any farther conversation on that sub- 
 ject.] 
 
 Dalit, continues. Now, sir, I am ready to hear what 
 has made you change your religion, and w^hy you 
 have left your parish-church. 
 
 Far. Well, sir, as near as I can. Til tell you all 
 about it. When my father sent me a courting to my 
 present wife, (Farmer Greedy 's daughter,) after we 
 had made a match of it, we put our fortunes together, 
 and I bought the lease of my farm of the late Lord 
 Rakish, who was as loild a blade as the present Lord 
 that now is; and as he wanted money, they say, his 
 steward received a sly sum of my wife's father, that 
 we might have a better bargain; but of this 1 have 
 no certain knowledge. 
 
 Dollt. I doubt, there are too many of these sly bar- 
 gains made; but what has this to do with your change 
 in religion ? 
 
 Far. Why, having got such a good bargain, no 
 world for m.e like the present; my heart was set 
 upon it. I could be up early and late, about from fair 
 to fair, that. I might buy and sell, and get gain; and 
 this I foolishly called the main chance: but as for my 
 Bible and prayer, and the concerns of my precious 
 
44 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 soul, I had no more regard to these things than a 
 beast 
 
 Dolit. And pray, where was the sin of this? Should 
 not every young man mind what he is at when he 
 takes a large concern ? But if you did not do your 
 duty in saying your prayers^ and attending your 
 church, that was your own fault. 
 
 Far. Yes, sir; these things, as they respect my 
 worldly concerns, "I should have done, and not left 
 the other undone." But that was not my case, for I 
 was as wicked as 
 
 Dolit. Hold, Mr. Littleworth; for it has been told 
 me, that when the Bishop came about to confirm in 
 those days, no young man appeared so decent, and so 
 devout, as you then were; and that, for some time 
 afterwards, you attended church and sacrament very 
 regular]}^; and if, since then, you have been a little 
 remiss in your duty, yet it is to be hoped you will 
 remember in due time, properly to return to it, and 
 that you will die a good man; and it cannot be ex- 
 pected that people should be so strict in religion while 
 they have to rise in the world. 
 
 Far. Ah! 1 well remember, when the old Bishop 
 came round our parts in those days, how Mr. Blind- 
 man, in whose parish I then lived, told us, that our 
 Godfathers and Godmothers were to answer for what 
 we had done before; but that, after we were con- 
 firmed, we were all to stand upon our own bottom: and 
 this frightened me desperate for awhile; and away I 
 went and bought myself the Whole Duty of Man, 
 Nelson's Fast and Festivals, the New Week's Pre- 
 paration, and Taylor's Holy Living and Dying; and 
 for about two months, in my way, I kept to my re- 
 ligion very strict; till just about that time the old 
 Lord Rakish would have a merry-making, because 
 his son came of age: and many a resolution I made 
 that 1 would not go after such nonsenses; but when I 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 45 
 
 was told that young Parson Purblind, JNIr. Blind- 
 man's curate, was riding by with some otl.er young 
 sparks of the day, who were going there, I thought, 
 for sure, parsons must know better than I, and that 
 there could be no great harm if I went too. So, be- 
 cause I would not make myself particular, away I 
 went, and there I got deadly drunk; and as 1 came 
 home, I fell off m}' horse. (Lord have n:iercy on me, 
 had I died in that state!) But, after that, I was 
 ashamed to think of my religion; and as to my books 
 of devotion, I soon laid them all aside; and to this 
 day they are quite as fresh as though they were just 
 bought out of the bookseller's shop: and there was 
 an end to all my religion till 1 heard Mr. Lovegood. 
 Dolit. Well, but Mr. Littleworth, as you have got 
 these good books still by you, why can't you in mo- 
 deralion, again take to religion, and do your duty, 
 without taking up this /leif? way? 
 
 Far. VVh}^, sir, to speak the truth, I have not till 
 of late discovered that the heart, the scat of all my 
 actions, is "deceitful above all things, and desperately 
 wicked;" and that till God sets that right, nothing 
 can or will be right. This has been the cause why 
 this world, which I must now soon leave, was all my 
 delight, while my heart neither knew God, nor de- 
 sired to know him. Sir, I am ashamed to say what a 
 wicked, worldly, negligent sinner I have been all the 
 days of my life! [Farmer weeps.] 
 
 Jllrs. Lit. Now, only see, sir, how mopish and 
 melancholy these new notions in religion have made 
 my husband! I am afraid, at times, he'll lose his 
 senses! 
 
 Dolit. Indeed, Mrs. Littleworth, I am very sorry 
 for your husband; he is a good-hearted man at bottom. 
 Do you never try to divert him ? 
 
 Jlliss Polly. Divert him, sir! Why, when my uncle 
 and aunt, and two of our cousins, came to see us the 
 5* 
 
46 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 other day, (we always used to have a little harmless 
 mirth) only, because my mother, and Patty, and I 
 proposed to have a game or two of cards, away my 
 father and sister Nancy ran out of the house, as 
 thouf^h it had been on fire; and down they went to 
 Mr. Lovegood's and said prayers ! 
 
 Far. Now do, sir, hear me patiently. Thus have 
 I lived, " without God in the world," neglectful of 
 my precious soul, and forgetful of Christ, my only 
 Saviour, till I am turned of sixty. I am ashamed to 
 say what a sinner I have been, and how unfit 1 am to 
 die! 
 
 Dolit. Well, but Mr. Littleworth, why should you 
 run from one extreme to another? you know the 
 old proverb, "Extremes are dangerous;" and there 
 is moderation in all things: and, you know I have a 
 sermon on that text, — " Let your moderation be 
 known unto all men." 
 
 Far. Why, sir, you have been our justice these 
 eleven years; and when bad people are brought be- 
 fore you, I am sure you do much better in your of- 
 fice tlian to preach up to them such sort of modera- 
 tion. You never tell thieves that they should be 
 moderalelif honest; or drunkards (and the Lord knows 
 we have enough of then)) that they should be mo- 
 derately sober; or the many bad people that throw 
 themselves upon our parish, for the support of their 
 base-born children, that they should be moderately 
 chaste; and no such words did I ever hear from your 
 pulpit, as that men should be moderately moral. Now, 
 if this is not to be allowed in morality, how are we to 
 make it out in religion, when we are commanded to 
 " love the Lord with all our heart, mind, soul, and 
 strength ?" Does it mean, that we are to have a mo- 
 derate love to God ? and when we are enjoined to love 
 our neighbour as ourselves, does it mean a moderate 
 love to mankind? And pray, sir, should I repent 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 47 
 
 moderately, pray moderately, and have a moderate 
 trust in God? If so, I really cannot understand the 
 Scriptures, which say, that I ann to " give all dili- 
 gence to nnake my calling and election sure;" that 
 rehgion "is the one thing needful," for which I am 
 to "forsake all that 1 have, that I may be Christ's 
 disciple;" and that I must strive (or, as Mr. Love- 
 good says, it means agonize) to enter in at the straight 
 gate. 
 
 Dolit. You need not be so critical, sir; I only 
 mean, you shall not be so over-zealous in religion. 
 
 Far. Why, 1 confess, as 1 have lately taken to read 
 my Bible, I think it is there said, "It is good to be 
 zealously affected in a good thing." 
 
 Dolit. Now this is too bad, JNIr. Littleworth. Don't 
 you think 1 know the Bible as well as you? Ring 
 the bell, Miss Polly. I sha'n't stop here any longer 
 to be told my duty, when I have been so long minis- 
 ter of this parish. 
 
 Far. Why, sir, I did not know that I was telling 
 you your duty: I only meant to observe, that I could 
 not understand what 5'ou meant about moderation in 
 religion; but if I pressed the point too far, I beg your 
 pardon for it. 
 
 Dolit. Well, sir, I have before said, I'll keep my 
 temper if I can; but this cannot be done, unless you 
 keep up proper manners while you choose to talk to 
 me about your new religion. 
 
 Far. Well, sir, as to my new religion, as you call 
 it, I do really confess, since I have heard Mr. Love- 
 good, my thoughts about these matters are wonder- 
 fully altered; and I will tell you in the most man- 
 nerly fashion in my power, how it came about. You 
 know, I have an honest fellow works with me, Tho- 
 mas Newman; and it is to admiration what a sober, 
 orderly, decent, Christian-like man he is! and his 
 wife is the nicest, tidiest woman 1 ever met with in 
 
48 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 all iny born days: and at different times, wlien I 
 talked to him, 1 found that he had not only religion 
 in his practice, but his Bible nl his finger's ends. How 
 I was ashamed of my ignorance when 1 heard him 
 talk! But ihis made m.e determine to go to hear what 
 sort of a parson he so much admired; for I remem- 
 ber the time when he was wild enough. 
 
 Dolit. Truly, Mr. l^ittleworth, it is a fine compli- 
 ment to me, that j^ou should go to one of your day- 
 labourers to be instructed in religion. 
 
 Far. Why, sir, if I may be so bold as to say, that 
 though learning is a good thing, yet it does not al- 
 ways make a good man; and that a poor man may 
 have the grace of God in his heart, without having 
 much learning in his head. And did not our Lord 
 mean something of the same kind, when he said, " I 
 thank thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that 
 thou hast hid these things from the wise and pru- 
 dent, and revealed them unto babes!" 
 
 Dolit. And so all the time and money that we have 
 been spending at the universit}^, has been of no sort of 
 service; and every ignorant enthusiast that pretends 
 to inspiration, is to tell us the meaning of the Bible. 
 
 Far. M^as! sir, did I speak against human learn- 
 ing? It is well known that Mr. Lovegood is one of 
 the learnedest men for twenty miles round; though I 
 have heartl him say. That human learning, to a man 
 spiritually blind, does no more good than a lighted 
 candle does to a man that is naturally blind: and, I 
 dare say, sir, when you read the Homilies, you re- 
 member these words, *' Man's human and worldly 
 wisdom or sense, is not needful to ihe understanding 
 of the Scriptures, but the revelation of the 
 Holy Ghost, which inspireth the true meaning 
 into them that with humility a>'d diligence 
 DO SEARCH THEREFOR." * — And the Lord grant 
 
 * Homily on reading the Scriptures. 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 49 
 
 that 1 may have a little of that blessed inspiration! 
 for I am sure we need it, ' 
 
 Dolit. Now, 1 am sure, Mr. Littleworth, you must 
 have misrepresented their words; I never can believe 
 that they wrote so enthusiastically as all that. 
 
 Far. No indeed, sir; they are just as fresh, and 
 as pat in my memory, as though I had read them but 
 yesterday. But so it was, sir, that Thomas's good 
 life and talk made me determine to go and hear Mr. 
 Lovegood; and my daughter Nance went with me; 
 and when I came to the church, I prayed to the Lord, 
 that as he had made Thomas so good a man, so I 
 might be made a better man; for I am sure there was 
 room for me to mend: and a fine sermon he made 
 (all off hand) from these words, " You cannot serve 
 God and Mammon." 
 
 Dolit. And pray, sir, why could not my sermons, 
 as well as his, have made you a better man? I know 
 that such extemporaneous effusions please ignorant 
 and vulgar minds, that are fond of gaping after no- 
 velty; but I am not ashamed of the sound and sober 
 sermons I have been preaching among you, ever since 
 I have been your rector. 
 
 Far. Why, sir, did I find fault with you, or any 
 one else] I was only about to tell you how I was struck 
 with Mr. Lovegood's sermon; for I certainly thought 
 he made it all for me: and I actually asked Thomas 
 if he had not been telling him about me. But he 
 declared he could not have been so bold to his minis- 
 ter against his master; and then he said to me, that 
 Mr. Lovegood could tell any one's heart from the 
 knowledge he had of his own, and the word of 
 God. 
 
 Dolif. Why, then, I suppose when all other trades 
 fail, he'll turn fortune-teller ? 
 
 Far. I cannot say as to that, sir, though, I am 
 sure, he told my fortune plain enough that day; for 
 
50 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 I thought he liirnecl me inside out, while he showed 
 me wliat a fallen worldly-minded creaiure I was. 
 
 Dolit. Yes; and all these preachers run on just in 
 the same way. If any of us step a little aside, we are 
 to hear of nothing but hell and damnation; and for 
 every innocent infirmity, man is to be painted out as 
 black as the Devil. 
 
 Far. Wh}', sir, to my way of thinking, both the 
 Bible, and Common Prayer-13ook,and the Articles of 
 Religion, just say the same; and they say, all you 
 clergy subscribe to then^ a many times over before 
 you come to your livings. 
 
 Airs. Lit. Yes, sir, and my husband has brought 
 home such a heap of books and prayers from his new 
 parson about the articles and homkles, I think he calls 
 them, and Common Prayer Book! Then he tells 
 us, that-his is the old religion of the church; and he 
 wants to read all these books over to us. He has 
 got a book of prayers made by an old Bishop,* that 
 he says^ was of his way of thinking: and now wants 
 us to kneel down, to say prayers to us, before we go 
 to bed. But how can we have time for all these de- 
 votions in our way of living.'' 
 
 Dolit. Wh\^, you are very right there, Mrs. Little- 
 worth. If you do your duty well on a Sunday, and 
 have a family prayer on a Sunday evening; and say 
 some good rational prayers to yourselves before you 
 go to ^ed on a week-day, God Almighty, who is very 
 merciful, and forbids us to be righteous overmuch, 
 cannot expect more from you, in your line of life. 
 
 JMiss Polly. There, Father! I hope you will be 
 guided by what Mr. Dolittle says, and not be led so 
 much by your homicles ^nd new religion. 
 
 Dolit. Why, Mr. Littlevvorth, you know I spent 
 many years at Oxford; and there, I'll assure you, I 
 was not inattentive to the study of divinity under Dr. 
 
 * Bishop Hall's Manual. 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 51 
 
 Blunderbuss, a man of approved religion in those 
 days (thoi]o;h since then I have heard of Mr. Bright- 
 inan, and some others, who have adopted your no- 
 tions of religion:) yet it was not only his opinion, 
 but that of many other learned and orthodox divines, 
 thatt though our reformers were well-meaning men, 
 yet they were not over-wise in religion: and that 
 though religion, in Ihe opinion of some, is now less 
 practised, yet it is more improved; for we live in a 
 very learned day. And our clergy now-a-da3's don't 
 confine themselves to a few abstruse notions of those 
 old divines, but make their sermons out of a variety 
 of the most excellent moral writings that ever were 
 composed, from among those we call heathens, but 
 who had a deal of the light of nature, and knew 
 much about natural religion, and they make the 
 Bible much more intelligible. Master Littleworth, 
 if I may give my advice, 1 would not wish you to be 
 over-nice, nor over-wise in your religion. Do your 
 duty as w^ell as you can; and if you fail, trust in the 
 Almighty's mercies. The rational clergy, in our 
 day, know very well that there is a new sect, who 
 puzzle people's minds about the terms original sin, 
 the atontment, regeneration, imputed righteousness, and 
 I know not what notions besides, which 1 am sure 
 you need not mind, provided you do your duty 
 without affecting to be more righteous than your 
 neighbours. However Mr. Lovegood may pretend 
 to be wiser than the rest of us, yet,if you will take our 
 advice, according to the Scriptures, and *•' do justice, 
 love mercy, and walk humbly with your God," I 
 am sure you need not fear. To be sure, sir, you 
 have not forgot my sermon on that text, which I 
 have never failed preaching to you, year by year, 
 ever since I was inducted into the living;. 
 
 Far. Ah! but, sir, that very text cuts me quite 
 iip5 for first, I confess the many tricks and fibs I 
 
52 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 have been guilty of at market; so tliat I have not 
 done justly: and I have been as bad at nrierc}^, for I 
 always loved myself better than my poor neigh- 
 bours: and then, with regard to walking humbly 
 with my God, never did any man strut about at 
 market like a hrai^iradocia more than I have done: 
 and as to humbling myself before God in prayer, or 
 by repentance, I was as ignorant of these things as I 
 am of the learning of an Oxford scholltird. As for 
 our articles, homilies, and prayer book, let folks be 
 ever so wise and learned now-a-days, they seem to me 
 to have been made by men wonderfully knowing in 
 the Scriptures: for they not only explain to us what 
 hearts we have by nature; but how mercifully we 
 poor sinners are to be saved, through Jesus Christ 
 our only Redeemer. And it is all laid out to ad- 
 miration in a little book, given me by Mr. Love- 
 good, called "The Good Old Way;" and it was 
 there that I think I sec my picture just as it is in 
 the 9th article, on the P'all of Man ; where it is said, 
 in a wonderful wise way, that "JEver}^ man, of his 
 own nature, is inclined to evil; and that every per- 
 son born into this world, deserves God's wrath and 
 damnation.'' 
 
 JVlrs. Lit. There, sir; this is the way my husband 
 would be talking, morning, noon, and night, if we 
 chose to hear him, in his uncharitable vvay, about all 
 of us deserving God's wrath and damnation. 
 
 Dolil. But, Mr. Littleworth, if we are not quite so 
 good as we should be in our present laps' d state, we 
 may all make ourselves better, if we please. 
 
 Far. Why, sir, it appears to me that "men choose 
 darkness rather than light, because their deeds are 
 evil;" and that no bad man can have a good clioice, 
 or will, till God changes the heart: and though I 
 cannot say any thing as to the learning of the old 
 men that made our church-books, yet to me it ap- 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 53 
 
 pears sure and certain, as they say in the next ar- 
 ticle, That the condition of man, after the fall of 
 Adam, is such, that he cannot turn and prepare himself 
 by his own natural strength and good works, to faith 
 and calling upon God; wherefore, we have no power 
 to do good works pleasant and acceptable to God, 
 "without the grace of God, by Christ, preventing 
 us, that we may have a good-will, and working with 
 us when we have that good- will.'' And though, I 
 confess, I have not minded the prayers so much as I 
 should have done, yet I remember having heard you 
 say from the desk, "Almighty God, who sceth we 
 have no poicer of ourselves to help ourselves; and that, 
 through the weakness of our mortal natures, we can 
 do no good thing without God; and the frailty of man 
 without God, cannot but faiV And I remember, 
 when my school-mistress taught me the catechism, 
 she used to say to me, " My good child, know this, 
 that thou art not able to do these things of thyself, 
 nor to walk in the commandments of God, and serve 
 him, without his special grace.^^ 
 
 Dolit. VVhy, if you take all these words in such a 
 strict sense, you will make us out to be mere ma- 
 chines! and then it is no matter what we do, for I 
 am sure there can be no merit in our goodness. 
 
 Far. Ah! why, sir, how can there be any merit 
 in such poor services as ours? I can't help thinking 
 with our old folk in the article of the justification of 
 man, that "We are accounted righteous before God 
 only for the merit of our Lord and Saviour Jesus 
 Christ by faith, and not for our own uwrks or de- 
 servings ; wherefore, that we are justified by failli 
 ONLY, is a most wholesome doctrine, and very full 
 of comfort." And then they tell us the sqme in the 
 homily " of the salvation of mankind by only Christ 
 our Saviour,^^ in which the doctrine is more largely 
 expressed: and there they give a deadly stroke at our 
 VOL. I. — 6 
 
54 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 pride in that they say; " Because all men be sin- 
 ners against God, and breakers of his law, therefore 
 can no man, hy his own acts, works, or deeds, seem they 
 never so good, be justified and made righteous before 
 God; but every man of necessity is constrained to 
 seek [or another righteousness for justification: our jus- 
 tification doth come freely of the mere mercy of God, 
 so that Christ is now tJic righteousness of all them thai 
 truly do believe in him, for he paid the ransom by his 
 death, he for them fulfilled the law in his life.'' And 
 then, sir, we may say with a good conscience, " 
 Lord, who seest we put not our trust in any thing 
 that we do." And when I went about two Sundays 
 ago to the holy sacrament, at Mr. Lovegood's church, 
 and (to my shame be it spoken,) old as I am, to the 
 sacrament I never went before, excepting twice after 
 I was confirmed; and then we prayed, that God 
 would not " weigh our merits, but pardon our of- 
 fences;" and here, — [Mr. Dolittle interrupts.] 
 
 Dolit. Stop, Mr. Littleworth, before you tell us any 
 more of the prayers, I must tell you, that Mr. Love- 
 good is liable to a severe ecclesiastical censure for ad- 
 ministering the sacrament to one of my parishioners. 
 And — [Farmer interrupts.] 
 
 Far. But as old Master Goodenough has left Mr. 
 Lovegood's parish to come to your sacrament, I dare 
 say you'll forgive him; and I am sure he'll forgive 
 you. 
 
 Miss Polly. But, sir, my father talks so frivolous 
 and, Hhusiaslically about inspiration, and says, that the 
 Bishops, and all the clergy, have declared, that they 
 were "inwardly moved by tlie Holy Ghost," before 
 they went into orders; and I have heard you preach 
 against such 'thusiasts again and again.* 
 
 * Miss Polly brought home with her several other hard 
 words from the boarding-school, that she never afterwards 
 knew how to digest, or to express. 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 55 
 
 Far. Ah, Polly, you should not talk so pert to your 
 father! When I could bluster about the house as 
 once I did, you did not behave so unmannerly. [To 
 'INIr. Dolitlle.] But you know, sir, how very often 
 we pray for the Spirit of God in the prayer-book, 
 that "God would grant us his Holy Spirit;" that he 
 would " cleanse the thouorhts of our hearts by the in- 
 spiration of his Holy Spirit." We pray for his Ma- 
 jesty, that he may be " replenished with the p;race of 
 the Holy Spirit;" and that "all the bishops and clergy 
 may have the healthful Spirit of God's grace." And 
 at Christmas time, we pray, '• that we being regene- 
 rate and born again, and made God's children by 
 adoption and grace, may be daily renewed by his 
 Holy Spirit:" and in another collect, that "God 
 would send to us his Holy Ghost to comfort us;" and 
 then in the article of our predestination and election, 
 it is said, that '• all the elect feel in themselves the work- 
 ings of the Spirit of Christ," And in the Catechism, 
 that God " sanctifies us, and all the elect people of 
 God." And in twenty more places besides, have we 
 the same sort of words and doctrine. And to me, it 
 seems, it would be even foolish to pray at all, unless 
 we thought that God would inspire into our hearts 
 the good we pray for. 
 
 Dolit. Well, Master Littleworth, if you have done 
 preaching to me, it is high time that I should begin 
 preaching to you. 1 have already observed, that our 
 reformers were good men, but not over-wise; and 
 that they may have expressed themselves unguarded- 
 ly; therefore many of our divines of the present day, 
 and Pll assure you most of them are bishops or deans, 
 or other great dignitaries, have been at a deal of pains 
 to put a proper explanation on their words; and 
 though, I confess, they have hardly as yet settled the 
 matter among themselves, yet it seems to amount to 
 this. Some of them think, that our Reformers had 
 
56 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 a double meaning in all they said, and that they speak 
 both vvays, for and against the same doctrine, at the 
 same time. Others are of opinion, that they had but 
 one meaninf^, which is to be understood just the con- 
 trary to what they say. They who are for the double 
 meaning suppose, that while some are at liberty to 
 take them in one sense, yet others are at liberty also 
 to take them in the opposite sense; and though, to the 
 ignorant and the unlearned, this may appear a flat 
 contradiction and nonsense, yet many learned divines 
 have written very ably on this side of the question; 
 though I confess, in my opinion, it gives too much 
 latitude to those modern preachers that you are now 
 so fond of, to preach up their notions; and very spe- 
 cious things to be sure, they have to say, if we let 
 this interpretation pass. I am rather, therefore, of 
 the opinion of those divines who have proved that 
 our reformers, when they said one thing meant another. 
 And if you please, sir, I'll explain myself on this sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Far. 'Las, sir, you quite stagger me! I don't know 
 whether I stand upon my head or my heels. 
 
 Dalit. Don't say so, sir, for I'll assure you we are 
 serious, and we can prove all this to be very true from 
 the logic some of us brought from Oxford, and others 
 of us from Cambridge. And thus, when we read in 
 the article about original, or birth-sin, " That it is the 
 fault and corruption of the nature of every man that 
 naturally is engendered of the offspring of Adam, 
 whereby man is very far* gone from original righ- 
 teousness;" it is evidently to be made out by the rule 
 of reverse; therefore, according to the opinion of our 
 modern divines, there is a deal of original inherent 
 rectitude in man, if he would but employ his reason, 
 and his conscience, to bring it forth. 
 
 * In the original Latin, Quam longissime, as far as possible. 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 57 
 
 Far. Though I dare not contradict the learned, yet 
 I am sure my hardened conscience and my blinded 
 reason never did me any good. 
 
 JJolit. You should not have interrupted me, sir, 
 till 1 had finished what I had to say; for I must re- 
 mind you of what you said about the necessity of 
 *' special grace;" that we have ^' no power of our- 
 selves, to help ourselves," and therefore "of ourselves 
 we cannot but fall;" that *' we have no power to do 
 works pleasant and acceptable to God without the 
 grace of God by Christ preventing us:" now for want 
 of 01/?' logic, it cannot be expected you can comprehend 
 that these expressions are to be understood by the 
 same rule of reverse; and that noio their proper mean- 
 ing is, that there is a deal of power left in us, though 
 in our lapsed state; and that nothing is wanting, but 
 for God to second our good endeavours; and that, 
 through our own proper resolutions and endeavours, 
 if duly attended to, we shall obtain the favour of the 
 AlmJghty. 
 
 Far. Why, then, sir, when I tell Sam, that he is 
 to fetch the black horse out of the stable, he must un- 
 derstand he is to bring me the gray mare. Why, I 
 am all in amazement at this new sort of laming. 
 
 Mrs. Utile. Nancy, my dear, hand that fresh toast 
 to Mr. Dolittle. [To Mr. Dolittle.] Perhaps, sir, 
 you would like a bit more with your last dish. [Miss 
 Nancy directly takes it into the kitchen^ and comes 
 back without it.] 
 
 jyirs. Liltle. Why Nancy, child, what have you 
 done with the toast? 
 
 J^ancy. As you bade me, mother. 
 
 Mrs. Little. Why, I told you to hand it to Mr. 
 Dolittle. 
 
 JS^ancy. yes, mother; but then by this new rule 
 of reverse, 1 thought 1 was to take it away, and lock 
 it up in the pantry. 
 
 a* 
 
58 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Dolit. 0, but we are not to adopt this rule of re- 
 verse in things temporal, but only in things spiritual. 
 It is upon this principle that our divines have it in 
 their power farther to prove, in the justification of 
 man by faith alone, that it means by faith and good 
 ivorks together; nor should you pretend to be so wise 
 about the matter, but humbly to leave it to your 
 clergy, and believe as they direct you; for it should 
 seem very strange, that after these abstruse divines 
 have puzzled even the most learned among us about 
 " works done beforejustitication,and works done after 
 justification," that you should be able to understand 
 their meaning. 
 
 Far. Why then, sir, when I say I shall go alone 
 to Mapleton market next Thursday, you are to un- 
 derstand that I mean to take my wife and daughter 
 Polly with me. Is this the way in which 1 am to 
 chop this new-fashioned logic? 
 
 Dolit, I am sorry for you, Mr. Littleworth: if you 
 can't "understand, yet at least you should submit to 
 the learning of our university divines. 1 fear you will 
 never be reclaimed, for you mentioned also, among 
 other subjects, the article upon our predestination and 
 election. Now all our learned divines can prove 
 that article also is to be understood in a sense which 
 is directly contrary to its plain meaning; and that, 
 when it is said, " The godly consideration of our pre- 
 destination in Christ is full of sweet, pleasant, and 
 unspeakable comfort to godly persons, and such as 
 feel in ihemselvesthe workingsof the Spiritof Christ;" 
 it means, that it was a very ungodly doctrine, and 
 calculated to encourage the most licentious conduct: 
 that the words "sweet, pleasant,and unspeakable com- 
 fort," now mean every thing that is abominably de- 
 testable and odious, and only held forth by a modern 
 sect, now sunk into general execration. In short, 
 that the predestination of some, means a universal 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 59 
 
 chance given to all. And farther still, when it is said, 
 " that the elect of God feel in themselves the workings 
 of the Spirit of Christ," we are to understand, that 
 there are no such feelings or influences; or that, if 
 there are, according to an expression that we are very 
 fond of using, they must be secret and imperceptible 
 feelings. 
 
 Far. 'Las, sir, where am I ? secret and impercep- 
 tible feelings! — [Farmer to his wife.] Why, dame, 
 when our son Harry would be so wild, and when he 
 went to sea, and you and I used to sob and cry to- 
 gether night after night, ours was not impercej)tible 
 grief. [To Mr. Dolittle.] And when we repent of 
 sin, for 1 am sure we have enough of it, are we to have 
 imperceptible repentance; and when we tell God our 
 wants in prayer, are those to be impercejttible wants? 
 Are we to have imperceptible love to God ? and imper- 
 ceptible faith in Christ ? I should wish to have some- 
 thing better than an imperceptible religion, otherwise 
 I should fear I shall have nothing better than an im- 
 perceptible heaven. Really, sir, I am in such amaze 
 by these new notions, that I know not where 1 am. 
 But as you say, I am to understand all our old folk by 
 the rule of reverse, perhaps I am to understand you 
 by the same rule, and that will turn all matters right 
 round. 
 
 Dolii. Master Liltleworth, it is very cruel and unjust 
 in you to banter us by such language; you know how 
 many people there are against our religion already: 
 First, Dissenters of every party are saying that we 
 subscribe a creed for the sake of our livings, which 
 we never examined or believed. But who would 
 mind what these Schismatics have to say against us ? 
 for all the infidels say just the same; and as for the 
 new sect that you have lately taken to follow, they 
 are worse than any of them. 
 
 Far. Well, then, sir, I must honestly confess, what- 
 
60 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 soever your accusers may be, I wonder thai so many 
 of you gentlemen should again and again subscribe to 
 all these things, as though you had a right to under- 
 stand them in a sense just opposite to their real sense, 
 and thus make nonsense of the whole of it; while you 
 subscribe them as being " articles agreed upon by the 
 archbishops and bishops, and all the clergy," for 
 '^ avoiding diversity of opinions," and " for the esta- 
 blishment of consent touching religion;" and which 
 you say are to be taken in the literal and grammatical 
 sense. Ay, sir, and run down those ministers whose 
 hands and hearts go together, and who will have no- 
 thing to do with those double meanings, and double 
 dealings so contrary to all the common-sense mean- 
 ing of words, as that all we farmer-like country fied 
 folk, cannot but see how little agreement there is be- 
 tween hands and hearts in all these subscriptions. 
 Lord help us! is this the simplicity and godly sin- 
 cerity of the upright Christian? 
 
 Dolit. 0, sir, you seem to be struck with the spirit 
 of devotion; you'll go to prayer with us next. 
 
 Far. no, sir! I would rather leave that with you. 
 Nancy, my child, reach Mr. Dolittle the Bible; it 
 will be more profitable to us all, if he reads a chapter, 
 and expounds it, and goes to prayer with us, and that 
 is the way Mr. Lovegood does when he goes a visit- 
 ing. 
 
 Dolit. I have been now rector of this parish above 
 these nineteen years, and I never was addressed about 
 going to prayer in such a manner before. Sir, this 
 rude treatment compels me to leave your house im- 
 mediately. — Mrs. Littleworth, 1 wish you a good 
 night, — Young ladies, your humble servant. 
 
DIALOGUE V 
 
 Between Farmer Litileworth, Mr. Brisk, {Mr. Dolit- 
 tle^s Curate,) Mr. Smirking {Assistant to Dr. Dro- 
 nish,) and the Farmer^s Family. 
 
 ON THE EVIL NATURE AND EFFECTS OF STAGE PLAYS. 
 
 Sam, the Farmer^ s Foot-hoy comes Home from Maple- 
 ton, in the evening, after an *^^ffray at a Public House. 
 
 Miss JSTancy. Father, here is Sam come home 
 from Mapleton with such a bruised face, bloody 
 handkerchief, and his livery all over dirt. He ap- 
 pears to be half drunk: and the lantern is broken all 
 to bits! 
 
 Farmer. What can he have been at? Why don't 
 he come in ? 
 
 Miss JV. He is only stopping to scrape off some of 
 the dirt, and to wash himself in the back kitchen. 
 [Sam comes in.] 
 
 Far. Why, Sam, in the name of wonder where have 
 you been, to come home in this condition? 
 
 SafJi. sir! if you will forgive me, I'll tell you all 
 about it. 
 
 Far. Forgive you! why, what have you been 
 doing? Tell the "^truth first, and after that I'll tell 
 you whether I shall forgive you. 
 
 Sam. Why, sir, when my young ladies were at 
 Mr. Lightman's the lawyer's, at tea, in came Mr. 
 Brisk and Mr. Smirking, and made an agreement 
 that they should all go to the play. 
 
 Far. Ay; I thought by their whisperings and 
 dressings that they had some such project in their 
 
62 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 heads. But how came you in such a pickle, young 
 man ? 
 
 Sara. Sir, my young ladies gave me sixpence to 
 go to the Nag's Head, that I might not stand out in 
 the cold, while they were all at the play; and there 
 Squire Bluster's footman, and Lord Rakish's genilt- 
 man, did nothing but jeer my young ladies by asking 
 which they understood best, dancing or making but- 
 ter and cheese? And then they sneer'd and jeer'd at 
 their dress. 
 
 I^ar. Why did you not let them sneer and jeer on, 
 and go away about your business ? 
 
 Sam. Why, I thought I must stop and spend my 
 sixpence. And then they began their romance on me, 
 and asked how many more of the plou2;h-boys the 
 farmer had put in livery? And I said to them, as how, 
 they might have been plough-boys once, as well as I. 
 Then they swore desperate oaths at me, and would 
 make me drink; and said, I should run the gauntlet; 
 then they knocked me down; and as soon as I could, 
 I ran away as fast I was able; but they followed me 
 into the street, and would bring me back again, but 1 
 would not come, so they rolled m.e in the dirt, and 
 beat me sadly; and the whole street was in an uproar; 
 and the lantern was broke all to smash. 
 
 Far. Oh, Nancy, my child; what a mercy from 
 God it is, that we are not in '* the broad way that 
 leadeth unto destruction," and that we have now the 
 Bible before us! 
 
 Miss Nancy. A mercy indeed, father! for, till we 
 went to hear Mr. Lovegood, we were all alike. The 
 Lord be praised for his grace! 
 
 [After some other conversation, in come the two 
 ministers and the two daughters.] 
 
 Brisk. Well, sir, we have brought home your 
 daughters quite safe and sound; though I am afraid 
 
DIALOGUE V. 63 
 
 it is a little later than your usual time for supper and 
 bed. 
 
 Far. Ohj no sir; for sometimes I come home al- 
 most as late as this, when I come from the lecture at 
 Mr. Lovegood's church. And for sure, my daughters 
 can have been in no bad ways when they have been 
 with men of your cloth; though Sam has told me a 
 strange story. 
 
 Brisk. Why, I confess, Mr. Littleworth, it was 
 1 that persuaded your daughters to go to the play. 
 1 am sure it is a very innocent and rational amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Far. 1 can't thank you for that, sir; for while you 
 was at the playhouse, Sam, and ever so many other 
 servants were at the alehouse; and he is come home 
 in a fine trim. 
 
 Miss Polly. But, father, mayn't the gentlemen 
 have a bit of supper for their kindness in bringing us 
 home ? 
 
 Far. Ay, ay, child, I have no objection against 
 that. — Dame, see what there is in the pantry. JNancy, 
 help your mother to bring it out. 
 [It is done accordingly.] 
 
 Far. Will one of you gentlemen ask a blessing. 
 [Mr. Brisk says a careless grace.] 
 
 Far. And pray, gentlemen, did you ask a blessing 
 before you went to the play, and took my daughters 
 with you; and can you return thanks to God now 
 you are come away; for " in every thing we should 
 give tlianks." 
 
 Smirki?ig. Why, sir, how came that thought into 
 your head 1 
 
 Far. I had it from the Bible. And for sure, you 
 gentlemen, can't be so ignorant of that book, as not 
 to know, that you ministers are directed to " give 
 yourselves continually unto prayer.'^ And that all 
 of us should " pray always, with all prayer and sup- 
 
64 VILLAGE I lALOGUES. 
 
 plication in the Spirit; that we should " continue in- 
 stant in prayer;" yea, that we should " pray without 
 ceasing." 
 
 Smir. But, sir, if you take these texts in so strict 
 a sense, how is the business of the world to be carried 
 on? 
 
 Far. Why, the sense in which I take these words 
 is, that we should live in such a holy habit and frame 
 of mind, as to be at all times in a fit state for prayer; 
 and that we can be looking up to God in frequent 
 prayer while we are at our daily labour. And I am 
 sure, when this is the case, the world will go on a 
 thousand times better than it does at present. 
 
 Brisk. Well, sir, such a frame of mind is not amiss, 
 especially at the latter end of our lives. 
 
 Far. However you, gentlemen, would advise us to 
 put off these thing's till the latter end of our lives, 
 while God's word directs us to " be always ready;" 
 yet you ministers are instructed to give " yourselves 
 wholly to these things, that your profiting may ap- 
 pear unto all men." Now, pray sir, if any of the 
 people had been taken for death, and had sent for you 
 to pray with them, and to administer the holy sacra- 
 ment to them, how would you have felt in your de- 
 votions, after having heard so much of the profane 
 stuff and nonsense they talk over at these plays? 
 What sort of prayers would yours have been? Could 
 you have drawn " near with a true heart in full as- 
 surance of faith," before a holy God ? 
 
 Smir. I must leave you, Mr. Brisk, to answer that 
 question; for being co-pastor with Dr. Dronish, among 
 the rational Dissenters, we are not in the habit of be- 
 ing called upon on these occasions; but these things 
 should be no bar against a candid and liberal inter- 
 course with each other; for in all the principal points 
 of religion we seem very well agreed. 
 
DIALOGUE V. 65 
 
 Brisk. Why, Mr. Littlevvortli, that is not a pro- 
 bable case. 
 
 Far. But, in my opinion, it is a very probable 
 case. And I did hear of one minister who was called 
 out of a puppet show, to go to prayer with a man 
 who was likely to die; and in every parish there al- 
 ways must be some who are sick, and near their end. 
 If you are not sent for oftener than you are, it is be- 
 cause your negligence has made them as careless as 
 yourselves, even to their d^'ing moments; and no 
 wonder that they think so little of the prayers of 
 suL'h ministers who pray so little for themselves. 
 
 Smir. Mr. Brisk, I believe we had better walk 
 home, for Mr. Littleworth seems quite angry. 
 
 Far. No, no, gentlemen, I am not angry; though 
 I confess I am grieved at heart that my daughters 
 should have been led to such places by gentlemen of 
 your profession, where, I am sure, they could get 
 nothing but wickedness. I always was hospitable to 
 my neighbours; and you are welcome to stop, and I 
 wish you would, that we may talk over matters be- 
 fore my daughters; for to speak plainly, your ex- 
 ample hardens them much in their vain waj-s. 
 
 Smir. Why, truly, sir, I thank you for your civi- 
 lity, but I think, from the dreary notions of religion 
 you have lately adopted, you have taken up such 
 high prejudices against plays as are not just; for, in 
 many plays, there are fine lessons of morality, if we 
 would but attend to them. 
 
 Far. Ah, and they are all the worse for that, as it 
 makes the wicked things in them go down the more 
 glib. And we suppose we have a license to hear all 
 the foolish and lewd stories and. blasphemous ro- 
 mances, because they are messedu^^ with a little mora- 
 lity? Pray, sir, do the people that go to those places, 
 go after religion and m.orality, or after vanity and 
 mirtli ? 
 
 VOL. 1. — 7 
 
66 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Brisk. Why, sir, we go after a little innocent 
 amusement, to be sure. And if we do hear of bad 
 things, we need not practise them. 
 
 Far. But do they, whose hearts are good and up- 
 right, think that they are at liberty to go after things 
 that are bad? Or if I hear tilings which are bad, is 
 that likely to make me good ? Besides, I am directed 
 to "cease to hear the instruction that causeth us to 
 err." Pra}^, did either of you, gentlemen, ever find 
 that wicked people, at any time, were made more 
 moral by following these loose fellows, who go ro- 
 mancing about the country with their plays and 
 morality? 
 
 Smir. I don't know that we have. But they 
 might have been the better, if they would; for 1 still 
 maintain it, that there are plays which contain ex- 
 cellent strokes of morality. 
 
 Far. Well, if I am to go after their nonsense and 
 ribaldry for the sake of their morality, I might also 
 expect to be made a better man, if I should hire some 
 wicked wretch to curse and blaspheme, and use all 
 manner of filthy foolish talk, made up of lewdness, 
 craft, and pride, provided I had one of you gentle- 
 men at my elbow, to give me a little of your m.orality 
 at the same time. But, I should be glad to hear by 
 what law we go, when we attend such abominable 
 pastimes, and use such wicked language. Have either 
 of you, gentlemen, any right to tell us a set of vain, 
 filthy, romancing stories, and every now and then 
 bring out a shocking oath, and then mess it up with 
 a little morality for our instruction? 
 
 Smir. Oh, no, Mr. Littleworth, we did not say so! 
 
 Far. Why, then, did you do right in hiring all 
 these loose blades to do it before you? 
 
 Brisk. Sir, this is very uncharitable; for, if they 
 said these bad words, we did not hire them for that 
 purpose. 
 
DIALOGUE V. 67 
 
 Far. Yes; but you knew they would come in with 
 the general bargain; and all the profane foolish peo- 
 ple, up and down the country, were there to hear 
 them. And how must this harden them in their sins 
 when they saw so many ministers with tliem, at their 
 wretched sport. So that I am sorry to tell you, (for 
 I am an old man and must speak the truth,) you have 
 been " sitting in the seat of the scornful, and attend- 
 ing the councils of the ungodly;'^ and the Lord help 
 me! how grieved I am that my daughters, whom I 
 brought up in such a vain way in my thoughtless 
 state, should have been with you! 
 
 Sniir. 13y your account, sir, one would think 
 these men do nothiilg but curse and swear all the 
 time. 
 
 Far. Pray, sir, do they curse and swear awi^ of the 
 time.^ 
 
 Smir. Yes; I confess, I now and then hear some 
 such expressions. But then they are only meant as 
 embellishments; and after all, with a moral intent to 
 expose the wickedness of such words. 
 
 Far. Expose such wickedness! — Why, what can 
 give it such countenance, when all the people round 
 about come together. Gentlefolks, Justices and Par- 
 sons, attending all the time giggling and laughing 
 while such oaths are swearing. But what did you 
 mean, sir, by ^bellislimentsl I did not understand 
 that hard word? 
 
 Smir. Sir, I meant ornaments. 
 
 Far. Well, this is to admiration, that oaths are 
 ornaments! But you say, these are sworn but now 
 and then. So, you think, we may go to places where 
 people swear but a little. Now, to my way of think- 
 ing, we should be in no company but with such as 
 mind our Lord's words, "Swear not at all." 
 
 Brisk. W^hy, if ever they do swear, they always 
 cover it very decently; they only say damme, gad- 
 
68 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 zounds, and such sort of words. And they mean 
 nothing by it. 
 
 Far. Wh)^, that they mean nothing by the whole 
 of itj for it is nothing better than a pack of^ make-be- 
 lieve nonsense, there is no doubt. But you clergy 
 know, that taking the Lord's name in vain means 
 the making use of his holy name in a vain manner. 
 And, I am sure, it cannot be done in a vainer manner 
 than it is done on the stage; especially in their pro- 
 fane mock devotions, even upon their knees, which 
 are ten thousand times more blasphemous than their 
 oaths. 
 
 Smir. Well, I confess, I wish they would lay aside 
 such exclamations; for these sort of amusements 
 would be quite as good, and as rational, v^dthout them. 
 But where is the harm of the word zounds? it is a 
 word without any nieaning. 
 
 Far. To be sure, that is a famous excuse for them ! 
 for all their words, in a sense, are words without 
 meaning. For all their fine shows are nothing bet- 
 ter than sham and nonsense: but the word zounds is 
 a most desperate profane oath indeed. It means, hy 
 God^s wounds; and I thought, for sure, you gentle- 
 men had sufficient laming to have known that. 
 
 Smir. 0, sir! it is only an old expression, invent- 
 ed in the times of popery, wlien people believed in 
 the divinity of our Saviour, and the atonement; — 
 but these doctrines are now universally exploded 
 among the rational dissenters. And you know, Mr. 
 Brisk, many of the clergy also are of our sentiment 
 in regard to these points. 
 
 Far. The infidel dissenters you mean, sir. 
 
 Miss Polly. L — d, father, how you talk! Surely 
 Mr. Smirking will be affronted. 
 
 Far. Ah! my child, I find you have not been to 
 that wicked school for nothing; for so many times as 
 I have told you of it, yet you still take " the Lord's 
 
DIALOGUE V. 69 
 
 Smir. Well, sir, I can't see that we should give 
 up the fine sentiments, that are generally held out 
 on these occasions ; I still maintain it, that the stage, 
 when properly conducted, is a very rational aniuse^ 
 ment. 
 
 Fa7\ In my vain days, when I attended these 
 places, I know not what I, or any one else, went 
 there for unless to make game, and to kill time, as 
 we most wickedly used to call it. The Lord knows, 
 that bad I went there, and worse, I am sure, I came 
 away, for, as to all the wicked things I heard there, 
 they stuck to my heart like burrs to my worsted 
 stockings; and as to the morality, that all ran oflf as 
 fast as it came on, like fair water from a duck's 
 back. 
 
 Smi7\ 0, but then you did not consider the pro- 
 per intent of them! for they are designed to show 
 the deformity of vice, and lash the follies of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Far. I thought that was the office of you minis- 
 ters; and for sure you cannot want the help of a set 
 of strolling players to assist you in reforming your 
 neighbours. But can either of you, gentlemen, in 
 your consciences think so? When vicious people 
 get exposed and lashed, they are ashamed to face it 
 out; they will never stand their ground. But where 
 do all these sort of people run to? Why, to the 
 play-house. And what do they go there for? Be- 
 cause it feeds and pampers their vanity and pride, 
 while they make a downright merriment of sin. And 
 as to the stories they trump up on these occasions, it 
 is wonderful that any modest woman will go to hear 
 them. 1 am ashamed, to think how many different 
 lewd tricks and projects 1 have heard from them, 
 dressed up almost in every shape. In short, nothing 
 is such nuts for them as that which sets them all a 
 laughing at adultery and whoredom. Thus, ^'foola 
 7* 
 
70 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 make a mock at sin;" and it is a pity such gentlemen 
 as you should *' follow the multitude to do evil." 
 
 JMrs. Lit. Why, though 1 don't like my husband 
 being so over religious, yet I cannot but agree with 
 him, that it would be much better if our daughters 
 would but stay at home and mind their business, and 
 not waste their time in running after such wonder- 
 ments. I do not think my son Harry would have 
 turned out so bad, if he could have been kept away 
 from such sort of company. 
 
 Far. Ah, that was one of the first things which 
 brought on the ruinalion of my boy. It was there 
 he got instructed in all the wicked ways of the world; 
 and being so ignorant and careless myself, as I then 
 was, I could not have the face to correct him. Oh 
 how^ I deserve the punishment of old Eli! For " my 
 son made himself vile, and I restrained him not." — 
 Lord, forgive me, and grant that I may once more 
 see him back again from sea! I hope to the Lord, 
 that I may be able to say something to him for his 
 good, and may God change his heart! 
 
 Miss Nancy. Mother, have you got the key of 
 the back pantry? for Sam is terribly bruised, and we 
 are going to bathe his cheeks and side with some hot 
 verjuice. [Mrs. Little worth gives the key.] 
 
 Far. Now, all this riot and wickedness comes of 
 these abominable pastimes, whether out of doors, or 
 in, it is just as bad; nothing but uproar and confu- 
 sion all the town over. While every 'prentice and 
 servant man and maid is tempted to run away from 
 their families, to which they belong; and then away 
 they go to these schools of wickedness, and come 
 home at dark night, tit for the practice of every abo- 
 minable vice that comes in their way. Thus busi- 
 ness is neglected; the common people are robbed 
 both of their morals and their money, while the 
 pawnbroker and alehouse-keeper live on the spoil. 
 
DIALOGUE V. 
 
 71 
 
 And these are your innocent amusements, gentle- 
 men. 
 
 Smir. Now, after all that you have said, bad peo- 
 ple will make a bad use of every thing: but that don't 
 prove things to be bad in themselves. 
 
 Brisk. I am quite of your opinion, Mr. Smirking, 
 for there is nothing against these things in scripture; 
 nay, there is a time for all things, even a time to 
 dance; and we should regard the scriptures. 
 
 Far. With all my heart, sir, I shall be glad to come 
 to that touchstone. We are commanded to search 
 the scriptures. — Patty, reach the Bible. 
 
 Fatly. Why, father, the gentlemen have scarce 
 done supper; you cannot want the Bible yet. 
 
 Far. Nay, nay, girl, we have been talking all the 
 time, as most people do over their meals, and talking 
 about religion won't choke us any more than about 
 politics and the world. 
 
 Smir. We have both done supper, sir, and it be- 
 gins to be late. 
 
 Far. It is not wholesome to rise so soon after 
 meals; and you love a glass of wine after supper. 
 [Dame, reach us a nice iDoltle of your best currant 
 wine.] (To Mr. Smirking,) Sir, gentlemen in your 
 way love a pipe, shall Patty bring you one? 
 
 S'tnir. No, I thank you, sir; it begins to be late. 
 
 Far. Now, let us have the Bible. (Nancy brings it.) 
 
 Miss Nancy. Father, I can show all the places we 
 turned down, while my sisters and the ministers were 
 at the play; which Mr. Lovegood made use of when 
 he preached against these wickednesses. 
 
 Far. Well, then, let us see: Here is Eph. iv. 29: 
 " Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your 
 mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, 
 that it may minister grace to the hearers." [To the 
 Ministers] — Did the play run in that style to-night, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
72 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Bi'lsk. Go on, sir; we will answer you by and by. 
 
 Far. Why then, it is said, *'That for every idle 
 word men shall speak, they shall give an account in 
 the day of judgment." Why, Nancy, it would not 
 do for you and me to die in a play-house; for there 
 is nothing else but idle words there. And then again, 
 we are forbidden " foolish talking and jesting, which 
 is not convenient." iVnd there we have nothing else 
 but foolish talking and jesting all the way through; 
 ay, and if possible, worse still; for if they present 
 us with any good, they are almost sure to make a 
 scoff at it; and as for pride, anger, revenge, and such 
 like passions, these they dress up in such a manner 
 as though there was little or no evil in them, and as 
 though nobody could live without them. — In a thou- 
 sand instances they represent virtue to be vice, and 
 vice to be virtue, or it would not be so pleasing to 
 the sort of customers who attend them. After this, 
 you know, Mr. Lovegood mentioned that text against 
 "profane and vain babblings;" and their babblings 
 are profane enough, I am sure; and these we are " to 
 avoid." And here it is again; " Let your conversa- 
 tion be as becometh the gospel of Christ." And here 
 again, " Our conversation is in heaven." 
 
 Nancy. And you know, father, it is said, <^ that 
 the righteous soul of Lot was vexed with the filthy 
 conversation of the wicked." And I am sure, in all 
 the plays that you and I have seen, there is enough 
 of the filthy conversation of the wicked. 
 
 Far. But Nancy, we must not forget that text 
 which pins it all down to a point, which Mr. Love- 
 good explained to us against these abominable doings, 
 in Gal. v. 19 — 22, in which, after a long list of 
 wickednesses forbidden to all Christians, " revellings 
 and such like," are mentioned; and these are again 
 forbidden, 1 Pet. iv. 3. Now, Mr. Lovegood told us 
 they meant masked dances and songs, much after 
 
DIALOGUE V. 73 
 
 the fashion of our plays. And then, you know, he 
 told us that all horse-racings, bull-baitings, useless 
 fairs and wakes, cock-fightings and dancings, were 
 all of them revels. And again, he observed, that 
 midnight revels were the worst sort of revels, be- 
 cause it gave a more convenient opportunity to the 
 sons of darkness to practise their works of darkness. 
 And we all know what sort of innocent amusements 
 people are sure to have among themselves at these 
 times, cursing, swearing, fighting, whoring, drunken- 
 ness, and every other abominable evil. Fine sort 
 of sights these for ministers to attend. Gentlemen, 
 have you had supper enough? 
 
 Ministers. No more, we thank you, sir. But we 
 must be moving. 
 
 Far. Why, you would not be running away be- 
 cause the Bible is fetched, that would be strange 
 indeed for ministers. You have been near three liours 
 at the play: We should, at least, spend one hour 
 over the Bible. — Patty, take away every thing but 
 the Bible. Now, gentlemen, can you show us any 
 place in scripture that countenances your sort of pro- 
 ceedings? 
 
 Brisk. Why, did I not mention that the scripture 
 says, there is a time to dance? And did not David 
 dance before the ark? 
 
 Far. Yes; and he danced with holy joy before the 
 Lord, praising and blessing his name all the time; 
 quite in a rapture of thanksgiving for his great mer- 
 cies to Israel. Surely you won't compare your sort 
 of dancings to that of David, where God is quite for- 
 gotten, and thrust out of the question, and all of you 
 make merry in sin. 
 
 Smir. But then, sir, we are forbidden to be " righte- 
 ous over-much." 
 
 Miss Polly. There, father, I am sure that is as much 
 to the point as any of your texts. 
 
74 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Far. Ay, and many a drunken, worldly-minded 
 farmer and grazier has told me of that text before 
 now. As though the Lord was afraid that we, poor 
 sinful creatures, might be too righteous and holy; — 
 lest w^e should repent too much; pray too much; or 
 love God too much. ISow, though I am but a coun- 
 try farmer, yet I can give you a properer meaning to 
 it than tiiat, if ever you choose to make a sermon on 
 it. For it means, don't be too rigorous and over se- 
 vere in your judgment and dealings with your fellow 
 creatures; but let mercy and forbearance be mix^d 
 with judgment. I think this sounds more consistent, 
 than to suppose, that a most righteous God should 
 forbid us to be over-righteous. And would not such 
 notions make the Bible appear to be all contradiction 
 and nonsense? while we are commanded in that 
 blessed book, to be " holy in all manner of conversa- 
 tion;" to "perfect holiness in the fear of the Lord;" 
 and to " be perfect, even as our Father who is in hea- 
 ven is perfect." 
 
 Smir. I suppose, Mr. Littleworth, you are fre- 
 quently going down to Mr. Lovegood's for fresh 
 lectures in divinity, for you can quite outdo us. 
 
 Far. yes, sir, I am with him as often as my bu- 
 siness will permit; and when I heard him the Sunday 
 before last preach his excellent sermon against this 
 ribaldry, that you, gentlemen, have been supporting, 
 1 remember he told us, how much such farcical non- 
 senses were against the spirit and temper of real 
 Christianity. [To his daughter.] Nancy, my child, 
 you know we marked down his proof texts on that 
 head also, as soon as we came home. Let us see 
 which they were. 
 
 JSTancy. Why, the first text was this: "I beseech 
 you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that 
 ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, ac- 
 ceptable to God, which is your reasonable service: 
 
DIALOGUE V. 
 
 75 
 
 and be not conformed to this world, but be ye trans- 
 formed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may 
 prove what is that good and joerfect and acceptable 
 will of God." And he asked, where could be the 
 Christianity of those who were entirely conformed to 
 the world, and who ran after all its vanities; and were 
 " lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God." 
 
 Far. And then, you know, he brought out these 
 texts, "Mortify therefore your members which are 
 upon the earth, fornication, uncleanness, inordinate 
 affection, evil concupiscence," &c. "Love not the 
 world, nor the things that are in the world; if any 
 man love the world, the love of the Father is not in 
 him;" for "the friendship of the world is enmity 
 with God." ^ Now, pray, young gentlemen, to be 
 plain with you, though you are so much more larn- 
 eder than I am, is it possible for any one to be more 
 in friendship with the world tlian you are? And is it 
 possible, that they who attend where you have been 
 to-night, can be among the pure in heart who un- 
 feignedly say, " lead us not into temptation?" and 
 who " watch and pray lest they should enter into 
 temptation," when they seem to tempt the very 
 devil to tempt them ? 
 
 J\Irs. Lit. I am sadly afraid, gentlemen, my husband 
 bears a little too hard upon you. Let me give you 
 another glass of wine. 
 
 Smir. Thank you, madam, but we are in no great 
 fear of an answer, after Mr. Littlevvorth has brought 
 out all his texts, 
 
 JMiss Polly. I am- afraid that will be a long time 
 first; for nothing now goes down with my father but 
 the Bible. For morning, noon, and night, he is al- 
 ways at it; breakfast, dinner, and supper, he must 
 have his Bible. He seems Bible mad. 
 
 Far. You see, gentlemen, my daughter has brought 
 home no great deal of mannerly or Christian-like be- 
 
76 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 haviour to her father, by going with you to the play 
 to-night. We will, however, bring a few more texts 
 to confirm our point; for, pray, when you was with 
 all the giggling thoughtless set that were at the 
 play, were you with those who were " heavenly- 
 minded," and spiritually-minded; who " were led by 
 the Spirit;" who had '' the love of God shed abroad 
 in their hearts by the Holy Ghost, wdiich was given 
 them," who were "giving all diligence before God 
 to make their calling and election sure, lest a promise 
 being left to enter into his rest, any of them should 
 seem to come short;" who were " striving to enter in 
 at the strait gate;" who were "working out their 
 salvation with fear and trembling;" who were " cru- 
 cified to the world, who were even dead to it," "whose 
 lives were hid with Christ in God:" and who have 
 ''Christ dwelling in their hearts by faith?" Were you 
 among those who are panting after God; who are 
 "hungering and thirsting after righteousness;" who 
 are "pressing towards tlie mark, for the prize of the 
 high calling of God in Jesus Christ;" who are "re- 
 deeming the time, because the days are evil;" who 
 are "through the Spirit, mortifying the deeds of the 
 body;" who are " blameless and harmless, the sons of 
 God;" who " let their light shine before men, that 
 they may see their good works and glorify their Fa- 
 ther, which is in heaven?" Were you among those 
 who, "in whatsoever they do in word or in deed, 
 do all in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, giving 
 thanks to God and the Father by him;" and who like- 
 wise, " whether they eat, or whether they drink, or 
 whatsoever they do, do all to the glory of God?" If 
 so, you have all been at the play to the glory of God. 
 Now, gentlemen, this is not the hundredth part of the 
 Bible against such loose amusements; and the Lord 
 make you sensible what you should be, and then you 
 will know where you should be, and what you should 
 do. 
 
DIALOGUE V. 77 
 
 Smir, Well, sir, if you admire nothing else in us, 
 at least, you should admire our patience to hear you 
 say so much; and after all, nothing to the purpose; 
 for all these texts were only designed for primitive 
 times. For, where will you find Christians in this 
 day of such a stamp, excepting a few narrow-minded 
 people of Mr. Lovegood's cast. 
 
 Far. And so, truly, the Bible is to be no more to 
 us now-a-days than an old Almanac. — Mr. Brisk, 
 can't you help Mr. Smirking out, by some proper 
 texts of scripture to prove his point? Here's the 
 Bible for you, sir. 
 
 Brisk, It cannot be expected that my recollection 
 should be sufficiently clear, having but just come 
 from the play. 
 
 Far. No wonder that going to the play should 
 have thickerCd your senses in regard to the Bible; 
 but to my mind, it should seem very odd, that time 
 should alter the mind of God, and that what was 
 necessary, in a way of holiness, a thousand years 
 ago, is not necessary now: and if we go on, as we 
 have done of late, in about five hundred years longer, 
 even by the approbation of God himself, men may 
 be devils outright. Why, gentlemen, where have you 
 been for such doctrine as this? According to this 
 rate, the Bible is nothing better than an old lease 
 that is now run out, and whose covenants and agree- 
 ments can bind no longer; and if this be the case, 
 how are we to come at the truth ? And who is to 
 draw us out a new rule for the present times? I am 
 afraid, if done according to the fashion of the times, 
 it will be a desperate wide one. Well, gentlemen, till 
 you can show me a reason to the contrary, I shall 
 always suppose that good old Book is the standard 
 for my faith and practice; and as God cannot alter in 
 himself, so he cannot alter in that holy word of his, 
 VOL. I. — 8 
 
78 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 which he has given us to make us wise unto salva- 
 tion. 
 
 Smlr. Though I like your arguments very well, 
 Mr. Brisk, of taking these troublesome texts and 
 putting them up, out of the way of these modern 
 enthusiasts, by confining them to primitive times; 
 yet, I think, the same business is better accomplished 
 among rational Dissenters, by calling them strong 
 easlera expressions, and representing them as ab- 
 struse metapliors; that being born again, or being 
 new creatures, only means being brought from the 
 old Jewish religion into the Christian, which was 
 then a new one. And being led by the Spirit, only 
 means, led by a good disposition. And as for all these 
 other strong expressions that Mr. Littleworth seems 
 so fond of, they now only mean, that we. Christians, 
 should not be remiss in the sober practice of virtue 
 and morality. 
 
 Fa7\ Now, gentlemen, if you wish me to believe 
 all this, you must furnish me with a new set of 
 brains: for it was but about three weeks ago that Mr. 
 Dolittle was here, and then 1 was to believe, that all 
 our good old church books were to be understood ac- 
 cording to a double meaning, for and against, or 
 contrary to their meaning. And now all that the 
 Bible means, is to mean nothing. Do any of us think 
 that we are at liberty, after the same fashion, to ex- 
 plain avvay a book of man's making, as we explain 
 away the book of Go'.i ? And now, gentlemen, you 
 must give me leave to speak to you the thoughts of 
 m}' heart in a homely manner. You have been en- 
 couraging a set of these loose fellows, whose lives, 
 you know, are generally wicked, and who are so pro- 
 fane in their conversation that 3'ou would be ashamed 
 to make them your companions, or take them into 
 your houses; and these are the men you hire to play 
 the fool to please you, and spread corruption wher- 
 
DIALOGUE V. 79 
 
 ever they go. Would either of you, gentlemen, have 
 thought it proper to have gone upon the stage, and 
 acted for them, had any of them been sick, and there 
 feigned the character of a filthy whoremonger, or a 
 swearing sailor? Or would it have become you, Mr. 
 Brisk, (for you have a good voice) to have sung one 
 of their nasty foolish songs? 
 
 Brisk. I confess, sir, 1 should not have thought 
 that proper, any more than yourself. 
 
 Far. But, I think, it would have been quite as pro- 
 per for you to have done it yourself, as to hire these 
 strolling buffoons to do it for you. Whether would 
 have been the greater sin in me, to have hired Tho- 
 mas Newman to go and steal a sheep for me off Ma- 
 pleton common, or to have stolen it myself? 
 
 Smirking. I confess, sir, I wish we had not gone 
 to the play to-night, because 3'ou are so offended. 
 
 jP«r. Your having offended such a poor ordinary 
 creature as I am, is of very little consequence in- 
 deed. But should you not both be much concerned 
 that you have offended God? Could but you mi- 
 nisters know, (whether you call yourselves Church- 
 men or Dissenters, is of no consequence,) how people 
 are hardened in sin by your lives; how many laugh 
 at all religion, because they see so little in those who 
 profess it; while they make the duties of religion their 
 burden, and seem never happy but when the}' are 
 acting like others, who know not God. And what 
 must many of your hearers think and feel, when 
 they see the same miin in the pulpit, and perhaps 
 with them at the Sacrament on the Sunday, who 
 was their.companion at the playhouse, or any other 
 foolish amusement, on the week day. If he attempt 
 to hold up the truths of the Bible, he holds them up 
 against himself; he is therefore under the necessity 
 of covering all tliese awful declarations that are so 
 plainly revealed against these ways; and preaching 
 
80 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 up in its stead a bit of a sermon made up of hea- 
 thenish morality: in short, as their lives do not come 
 up to the Bible, they are determined to bring down 
 the Bible to their lives. That this night, gentlemen, 
 you have been attempting to do, and if by our con- 
 versation you are not convinced that you are wrong, 
 I am, through the grace of God, more than ever con- 
 vinced that I am right. God has lately wrought a 
 wonderful change in my heart! And I am sure the 
 Bible does not give us unmeaning metaphors, but 
 tells us of divine realities. Through infinite mercy, 
 poor wicked sinner as I have been till very lately, 
 yet now I know what it is to be "a new creature in 
 Christ Jesus." This has made the Bible to me a 
 delightful book; and now I trust I can say, *^Lord, 
 how 1 love thy law, all the day long is my study 
 therein." Nancy, since then, I trust, is born of 
 God. I pray for my wife, and other children daily: 
 I think they must see I am an altered man, though 
 I seem to be called at the eleventh hour; for time 
 with me must soon be at an end. I confess, 1 have 
 been kept back much from these things by the care- 
 less and neglectful lives of gentlemen of your pro- 
 fession. that you were but better men, for the 
 sake of those precious souls who depend upon the in- 
 struction they receive from you! But I speak it 
 plainly, neither of you can be fit to be the instructers 
 of others till better instructed yourselves. I never 
 could keep my son Harry in any order, after he had 
 been led to those places where you have been taking 
 my daughters this night. Though he was wild 
 enough before, yet it was there that he met with his 
 complete ruination, in this world; and I now begin 
 to fear, I never shall see him any more. And how 
 shall I meet him in the world to come? I am 
 ashamed of the bad example I have set before him. 
 [The Farmer weeps, and adds,] — But blessed b^ 
 
DIALOGUE V. 81 
 
 God that I ever met with that dear man of God, Mr. 
 Lovegood; by him I have been directed to see the 
 evil of sin, and to seek for salvation in Jesus Christ, 
 and that salvation, I bless his name, I now find, and 
 feel in myself. 
 
 Supper being ended, the Farmer asks one of the 
 ministers to return thanks: they are confused and si- 
 lent. The Farmer stands up and prays thus; 
 
 " Holy and merciful Saviour, we bless thee for 
 feeding our vile bodies; but what are our bodies to 
 our souls! feed and save them for thy mercy's 
 sake! My dear wife and children are here before 
 thee; I lift up my eyes and heart to thee for their 
 salvation: turn them, O Lord, and so shall they be 
 turned. Surely thou has already saved the vilest 
 sinner in the family, in all the world, in saving me. 
 Is there not love in thy bleeding heart for them also, 
 my God and Saviour! And if my poor son, that 
 prodigal son as he has been, is still alive, save him, 
 O save him for thy mercy's sake! Hear the prayers 
 of a broken-hearted parent for his ruined child. 
 Thou blessed Shepherd of souls, seek after that poor 
 wandering sheep who is gone so far from thee, so 
 far from thy fold, and from his father's house, and 
 bring him near thyself. Have mercy on these young 
 men, who call themselves thy ministers: m.ake them 
 what they should be, by saving them from the love 
 of the world, and all their vain ways; that they 
 may be thy ministers in deed and in truth. Pardon 
 them, dear Lord, in that my children have been led 
 in such paths of vanity by them; and lead them by 
 thy Holy Spirit, that for the time to come they may 
 be the faithful leaders of ruined souls to the know- 
 ledge of thy great salvation. Grant this, Lord, 
 8 * 
 
82 . VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 for the sake of Christ, our most compassionate Sa- 
 viour and only Redeemer. Amen and Amen." 
 
 The ministers, surprised with such an unexpected 
 treat from the Bihle, and such a prayer, looked at 
 each other under considerable agitation, and, after the 
 usual salutations, retired. 
 
DIALOGUE VL 
 
 THE PRODIGAL'S CONVERSION AT SEA. 
 
 MR. LOVEGOOD, FARMER LITTLEWORTH, SQUIRE WOR- 
 THY, AND OTHERS. 
 
 Mr. Littleioorth comes from Grace-hill farm, near Ma- 
 pleiouy and sits down in the kitchen deeply affected. 
 JMr. Lovegood soon afterwards comes in from visiting 
 his parishioners. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood. Why, Mr. Littleworth, I am sorry 
 to see you so much affected — is all well at home? 
 
 Far. Oh, sir, I cannot stand it; it quite overcomes 
 me. 
 
 Loveg. What overcomes you, sir? We should not 
 be " cast down with overmuch sorrow;" upon every 
 event we should learn to say, " Thy will be done." 
 
 Far. Oh, sir! My son! my son! 
 
 Loveg. What, then, is poor Henry dead? 
 
 Far. Dead, sir! No; blessed be God: "this my 
 son was dead, and is alive again;" he that was lost 
 and, as I thought, for ever lost, is found again, and 
 I trust, found in Christ. Oh, sir, it so overcomes 
 me, that I think I never shall be able to outlive it! 
 But, blessed be God, come what will of it, I can 
 now say, " Lord, now lettest thou thy servant de- 
 part in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salva- 
 tion!" The Lord has not only saved me, a vile old 
 ^sinner, and my daughter Nance, but now, I trust, 
 *my dear Harry is a saved soul. See, sir, what a 
 sweet letter he has sent to me. [The farmer gives 
 
84 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 the letter to Mr. Lovegoocl] Here, sir, take and 
 read it, if you please, for I cannot read it again, it 
 so affects me. I was above an hour before 1 could 
 read it through: 1 cannot stand it again: besides, 
 you can read better than I. [Mr. Lovegood takes 
 the letter, and reads it.] 
 
 ^^ Island of Antigua. 
 "Dear and honoured Father, 
 " It is now full four years since, in a most wicked, 
 disobedient and rebellious state of mind I left your 
 house, and entered as a captain's clerk on board the 
 Rambler. I confess you might have heard from me 
 before, but I was ashamed to write. Whenever I 
 thought of it, guilt flew in my face, while I consi- 
 dered how kindly you treated me as your only son! 
 how you gave me the best education in your power! 
 and which, I am sure you did out of pure love, and 
 to the best of your judgment; though- 1 confess it 
 laid the foundation of that conduct before you and 
 my God, which must have been my eternal ruin, 
 had not such undeserved mercies prevented, as must 
 for ever fill my heart with praise and glory to my 
 most merciful God and Saviour, Jesus Christ. In 
 that school, my dearest father, I met with those who 
 first secretly led me into sin. Even when a school- 
 boy, none but God knows the wicked devices of 
 my heart. And as " evil men and seducers are sure 
 to wax worse and worse," so it was with me. I 
 look upon my abominable and cruel conduct to 
 you, and my dear mother, with perpetual abhor- 
 rence and grief. I pray you both a thousand and a 
 thousand times to forgive me, as I now trust that, vile 
 as I have been, I myself am forgiven of God. I 
 shall for ever bless the most merciful name of God 
 m}; Saviour and Redeemer, if I find you both alive, 
 should I return to my native shore; for again and 
 
DIALOGUE VI. 
 
 85 
 
 again have I done enough to bring your gray hairs 
 with sorrow to the grave. 
 
 " I have oftentimes thought, that by my ungrate- 
 ful silence you must, at least in your imagination, 
 have numbered me with the dead: for indeed I have 
 been in deaths often. But a most gracious God 
 would not suffer me yet to die, because it was his 
 merciful design to change my heart, and constrain 
 me to live the rest of my life, I trust, to the glory 
 of his name. Yes, my most kind father, it was all 
 designed by a gracious Providence, that your poor 
 prodigal son should be for awhile given over to the 
 devices of his wicked iieart, so as that he should be 
 sent far from home, to be brought near to God. I 
 fear the word of life, which has since then been made 
 known to me, is but little known in the neighbour- 
 hood in which I received my birth and education. 
 0, my dear parents, I want now only to live, that I 
 may impart unto you how 1 have been converted 
 from my vile ways, and have been constrained to 
 live to God; and you may rely upon it, while I am 
 enabled to depend on him, that 1 shall never grieve 
 your dear hearts any more. Christ's love to me has 
 made me love him; and now I love 3'ou most dearly 
 for his name's sake. 
 
 *' Your once rebellious, but now affectionate son 
 most humbly requests, that neither you nor my dear 
 mother, would blame yourselves that I had not from 
 you a better example before 1 went to sea. Few in 
 our parts knew or did better, nor yet so well; for I 
 fear the knowledge and love of God was then sadly 
 wanting among us all. Some time before I went to 
 sea, I heard of a Mr. I.ovegood who was presented 
 to the living of Lower Brookfield, and was much ri- 
 diculed for his religious zeal; and I remember we 
 all, especially my sisters, used to join in the general 
 laugh against him. Now as this is the common 
 
86 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 lot of all good men, I Jiope j'ou will find him a faith- 
 ful and upright minister of the gospel. My dear 
 father, do for your own souFs sake, for the Lord 
 Jesus Christ's sake, go and hear him. [Here Mr. 
 Lovegood is so much affected that he joins with the 
 Farmer, and weeps abundantly. After several at- 
 tempts he continues the letter.] Perhaps he may 
 administer to your soul those precious words of the 
 gospel of Christ, which have proved the power of 
 God to my salvation; though once, as you well 
 knou', to the grief of your heart, the vilest, the 
 most abandoned wretch that ever lived on the earth. 
 I should be glad, if 1 had time, to tell you all the 
 most merciful steps in judgment, providence, and 
 grace, that have brought my vile heart to repent 
 and return to God; but the packet is likely to sail 
 every hour, which will take this to England; and 
 it is supposed, in about a fortnight afterwards our 
 little fleet will sail for Portsmouth: so that within 
 a month or five weeks after you receive this, you 
 may expect to see your most undutiful and un- 
 grateful child upon his knees before you, begging 
 pardon for all his base behaviour to you and my dear 
 mother. And though I shall bring home but a very 
 scanty share of prize money; yet, if I can but bring 
 to my dear parents the inestimable prize of the 
 knowledge of Christ, that pearl of great price! how 
 joyful shall I be! As to the small sum tliat may fall 
 to my lot, the moment I see you I shall tell you it 
 must be yours: for, as I have confessed the sin with 
 much grief before the Lord, I now confess it before 
 you; that when I used to go to markets and fairs, 
 unknown to you I too often kept back a part of 
 the price of the things I sold; and in a few other 
 instances the money for which I sold your goods, I 
 entirely kept to myself. I am very happy that it is 
 now a little in my power to make restitution j while 
 
ibiALOGtE VI» 87 
 
 I hope I shall in a measure earn my daily bread by 
 applying myself diligently to the business of your 
 farm as soon as I shall have my discharge, which is 
 promised me on account of the wound I received in 
 my hip, by a splinter from the ship, in an engage- 
 ment with the enemy; whereby I had nearly been 
 sent to stand before the tribunal of my God, in a 
 state most deplorably wicked : and though I may 
 go halting to the grave thereby, yet I bless God for 
 his most merciful correction; for if 1 had not been 
 most severely wounded, and afterwards brought to 
 the very gates of death by a fever that attended, I 
 might have continued the same thoughtless and 
 wicked wretch. blessed, forever blessed be God 
 for that judgment, sent in so much mercy, whereby 
 1 was made willing to attend to the very affectionate 
 advice and prayers of some few, who are Christians 
 indeed in this floating h.U! Though before I could, 
 with others, ridicule them, )^et in the time of my 
 danger, when 1 felt the terrors of the Lord upon 
 my soul, I was made willing to attend that voice 
 of tender mercy, they administered to my de- 
 sponding heart. Since 1 have been on this island, 
 God has wonderfully preserved my health amidst 
 an abundance of sickness. As soon as I landed, I 
 sought after those who knew the converting grace 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, and found it among the 
 people called JVIoravians. I cannot express with 
 what tenderness and love they carried it towards me: 
 and it is wonderful, whenever they saw me down- 
 cast, under a sense of the evils of my past life, how 
 the}^ recommended me to the dying love of the Lord 
 Jesus Clirist, that my poor sinful heart might be 
 comforted in him. 
 
 "Present my affectionate love to my sisters; and 
 as vve have often joined together in sin, so may we 
 live to pray together! I grieve, my dear father, 
 
88 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 to think how ignorant and vain we all were before 
 I went to sea; and I write with many tears, while, 
 with much shame and grief, I acknowledge what a 
 vile sinner 1 once was: but now I can bless his dear 
 name, who has so mercifully softened and changed 
 my polluted nature, as that 1 can from the bottom of 
 my heart, subscribe myself, 
 
 Your most dutiful 
 
 and affectionate son, 
 
 Henry Littleworth." 
 
 [Mr. Lovegood having read the letter, returns it 
 to Mr. Littleworth.] 
 
 Loveg. My dear friend, I enter into all the joys 
 you feel, and can sympathize with you, knowing how 
 much you need divine support, though the event be 
 so blessed and glorious. 
 
 Far. Oh, sir! what mercies God is pouring down 
 upon the family of such a poor old sinner as I have 
 been! that my wife and daughters might live be- 
 fore him! 
 
 Loveg, Well, sir, hope and trust; for nothing is 
 too hard for the Lord. But don't you admire what 
 the grace of God truly is, in that broken and hum- 
 ble spirit the Lord has given to your son? and how 
 true it is, " If any man be in Ghrist, he is a new crea- 
 ture? that old things are passed away, and that all 
 thin2;s are become new?" 
 
 Far. Ah, dear sir, and don't you think I have 
 felt something of the same change upon my poor 
 old sinful heart; and for sure it is a most glorious 
 change! 
 
 Loveg. Yes, Mr. Littleworth, it is truly glorious: 
 as in your son, so on the hearts of all wherein the 
 converting grace of God is felt. Sin, however 
 strongly rooted in our corruj)ted natures, must give 
 way to the omnipotent agency of God's Holy Spi* 
 
DIALOGUE VI. 89 
 
 ritj lind how wonderfully does this appear to be 
 exemplified in the heart and Conduct of poor Henry! 
 He has not language to describe how vile he has 
 been; and you perceive also what tenderness and 
 love he now feels to all, and what affectionate obe- 
 dience he is willing to shoW; how does this prove 
 the truth of that blessed word, "that love is the 
 fulfilling of the law;" and it affords full evidence 
 also, that if we love Christ we shall love to obey 
 him. 
 
 Far, And, oh I what a wicked blade he was be- 
 fore he went to sea. After he had got linked in 
 with Tom Wild, Will Frolick, and that set, there 
 was no keeping him at home 5 and when he found I 
 did not choose that they should keep up theirYacA:e/s 
 at my house, he would .watch every opportunity to 
 be away; and then I should hear of him driving 
 about to every horse-race and fair within twenty 
 miles round. One time I should hear that he had 
 been fighting, then he had been gambling; twice 
 was he before the justice for his drunken frolics, 
 and night after night have my dame and I sat up 
 for him, while sometimes he would be out all the 
 night, and at other times he Would come home at 
 twelve or one o'clock, sUlky, ill-natured, and half 
 drunk; and all this was my own doings; for 1 was 
 wicked and foolish enough to send him to that school 
 where there was nothing of the fear of God; and af- 
 terwards I took him to all sorts of romancing non- 
 senses, such as plays and puppet-shows, by way of 
 diverting him, and that led him into company which 
 brought on his ruin. 
 
 Loveg. Yes, sir, but now a very different scene 
 is before you; your son, I humbly trust, is " born 
 from above;" and such are made "blameless and 
 harmless, the sons of God." " As an obedient child, 
 he will not fashion himself according to the former 
 
 VOL. I. — 9 
 
90 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 lusts in his ignorance;^' but " as he who hath called 
 him is holy, so will he be holy in all manner of con- 
 versation.'^ His hands will no longer be lifted up 
 to strike the mad and angry blow of inward murder 
 and revenge; but with diligence and industry will 
 he learn to labour as Providence shall direct him. — 
 His tongue will be no more employed in the lan- 
 guage of folly, blasphemy, and filthy conversation; 
 but now, his heart being blessed with the grace of 
 God, " his conversation will be as becometh the 
 Gospel of Christ," and such as will be " to the use 
 of edifying, that it may administer grace to the 
 hearers:" and instead of finding him a sulky, ill- 
 natured sot, you will find him '^ sober, temperate 
 in all things," "loving, gentle, easy to be entreat- 
 ed." — The lion is already turned into the lamb, and 
 the disposition of the tiger and the bear shall pre- 
 vail no more; and as to his feet, they will need no 
 fetters to keep them out of those vile paths, in which 
 he once ran with such eager haste. No, dear sir, 
 they will rejoice to walk with you to the house 
 of God, to hear the glad tidings of salvation ; no 
 other house like that will his feet now so delight to 
 tread. 
 
 Far. Dear sir, it quite melts me down! Oh, 
 what joy of heart shall I feel the first time he and 
 I shall walk together to your church, to hear the 
 man we once so wickedly ridiculed in the days of 
 our ignorance, preaching unto us the love of that 
 Saviour, who has " called us out of darkness into 
 his marvellous light." And poor Nancy, oh! what 
 a blessing to her, in having such a brother brought 
 home to the family ! for it is wonderful, how soft 
 and good, and gentle, and humble, that dear girl is 
 become, since she has received the gospel of Christ. 
 And when I consider the grace I have lately felt in 
 my own heart, and how sweetly you deliver these 
 
DIALOGUE VI. 91 
 
 things to us from the pulpit, I wonder that every one 
 who comes to hear you is not converted to God, as 
 well as ourselves. 
 
 Loveg. So it appears to all who have been newly 
 converted by the word of life themselves; but when 
 we consider the hardness and the deceitfulness of 
 the human heart, we shall rather wonder that any of 
 us are renewed. 
 
 Far. Don't you think, sir, by my son Harry's 
 letter, that he is really renewed ? 
 
 Loveg. Indeed, sir, it breathes a most excellent 
 spirit, and I trust he will give you abundantly more 
 joy than ever he has given you grief; but still we 
 must tell him, if we live to see him, that he has but 
 just put on the armour for the battle, and that he 
 must watch unto prayer. 
 
 Far. The l^ord keep both him and me watching 
 and praying; but^ oil, how it affects me to think 
 what we all must feel when he first comes home, and 
 finds his poor old wicked father has been blessed 
 with a new heart] Oh, what a meeting it will be! 
 but how ashamed shall I be of myself on account of 
 the bad example I have set before him: how often 
 have he and 1 neglected our church and sabbath, 
 that we might go on some idle visit, or after some 
 foolish pastime. 1 can't think that he would ever 
 have been so bad in his wicked ways, if I had not 
 first led him into ihem. Weil, I'll confess it to 
 him with shame, and tell him the fault was mostly 
 mine. 
 
 Loveg. It might be better if both of you were not 
 to dwell too much on these things; they were done 
 in the " times of ignorance that God winked at.'' 
 You are both, I trust, now arrived in the new world 
 of grace, and your business will be with him to press 
 forward to the eternal world of glory. 
 
 Far. But 0, sir, when my dear child offers ir^e hi§ 
 
92 VILLAGE DIA.LOGUES, 
 
 prize money, because in the days of his wickedness 
 he robbed me, how can he think I could ever take 
 it from him ? 
 
 Loveg, He does not know the blessed change that 
 has taken place upon your mind, and he hopes 
 much, by his honesty and integrity, to win your 
 soul to Christ; and as he now, doubtless, attends to 
 his Bible, he probably thinks on what Paul promised 
 Philemon on behalf of Onesimus, the servant who 
 robbed his master; and his conscience will surely 
 tell him, that it was worse to rob a father than a 
 master. 
 
 Far. But he says he trusts God has forgiven him, 
 and shall not I forgive himF Dear child! I would 
 not grieve him for a thousand worlds! No, no; I 
 shall want none of his prize-money, while I have 
 in him such a prize as rriy unbelieving heart never 
 expected. It will cut me to the heart when he 
 makes the otfer. 
 
 Loveg. Well, sir, we must contrive to soften mat- 
 ters before you and your son have the first inter- 
 view. 
 
 Far. 1 wish you would, sir, for the thoughts of it 
 are quite too much for me: he talks of begging par^ 
 don on his knees, when I should rather go on my 
 knees to him, for leading my own son astray by send- 
 ing him to such a school, and by the bad example I set 
 before him. If he acts as he says he will, I am sure 
 1 never shall- be able to bear it. [The Farmer again 
 weeps excessively; after he is in a measure recovered, 
 Mr. Lovegood thus addresses him.] 
 
 Loveg. My friend, though I feel for you very ten^ 
 derly, yet your very tears put me in mind of the joys 
 of "the angels in heaven over one sinner that re^ 
 penteth;'^ but I tliink we can contrive matters so as 
 that your minds may be properly prepared for the 
 meeting. 
 
DIALOGUE VI. 93 
 
 Far. Why, it is most likely I can't write to him 
 before I see him, as he will come from Portsmouth 
 directly as he lands. 
 
 Loveg. Yes, but he will certainly travel in the 
 stage that goes through Mapleton to the north, and 
 then you may tell Mr. Vintner, of the George, to 
 direct your son to Mr. Traffick^s of the shop, who is 
 a very sedate worthy man; then you may put a let- 
 ter into his hands that he may give it to your son, 
 and you may tell him what you think proper, and 
 afterwards Mr. Traffick may bring him to his house, 
 and give him farther particulars; and Billy Traffick, 
 who is a very serious young man, will walk with him 
 to your house. 
 
 Far. No, dear child, he is lam«; I must send 
 Thomas Newman to bring him, with a horse for him 
 to ride on, and another horse that he may bring 
 his things with him: but for all that Billy Traffick 
 may come with him, for he is a choice lad; and I 
 must do all I can to put my son into good company: 
 for, oh, what mischief was done to my precious boy 
 by the bad company he kept before he went to 
 sea! 
 
 Loveg. I think, sir, yours is the best plan; and 
 what a feast will this be to poor honest Thomas to 
 bring such a rich treasure home to his master's 
 house! and Thomas, though a plain, yet he is a very 
 sensible man, and will know how to break matters 
 to him. 
 
 Far. And what a feast will this be to me to receive 
 such a treasure in such a son, returned to me again 
 in peace and safety, and with the rich treasure of the 
 grace of God in his heart. the yearnings of a fa- 
 ther's bowels over such a child! 
 
 [A message from Mr. Lovegood's servant] 
 
 Servant. Sir, 'Squire Worthy and his lady, with 
 9* 
 
94 VILLAQE PUI^OGUES. 
 
 two of the young misses, are just come into the 
 hall. 
 
 JMr. Loveg. to Mrs. Loveg. My dear, will you go 
 with them into the parlour? [To the Farmer.] Mr. 
 Littleworth, you mqst go in with me. 
 
 Far. I am afraid if I do it will quite overcome me 
 as bad as ever. But if you think it best, I'll try, and 
 perhaps the 'Squire may give us some advice on this 
 occasion. 
 
 Mr. Worthy. [After the usual salutations.] Why, 
 Mr, Littleworth, I did not expect to see you here. 
 1 came to inquire of our worthy minister if he had 
 heard any tidings of your son, as I see by the news- 
 papers a packet arrived at Falmouth on Wednesday 
 last from the fleet in which he sailed. 
 
 Loveg. Mr. Littleworth has a letter from him, and 
 a blessed one it is I Would you let Mr. Worthy see 
 it, Mr. Littleworth ? 
 
 [Mr. Littleworth again in tears.] 
 Far. Yes; but I cannot read it, it so affects m«. 
 [To Mr. Worthy.] If I had all your honour's estate, 
 it would not have given me half the joy I have felt 
 in receiving that letter. 
 
 [Mr. Littleworth lends it to Mr. Worthy.] 
 Mr. Worthy. Sir, as you say it is so good a letter, 
 if it contains no family secrets, may I read it out, 
 that my eldest daughter, who has a serious turn of 
 mind, may gain some instruction by it? 
 
 Far. yes, sir, you may read it out, but then I 
 cannot stop to hear it again. 
 
 Loveg. I think, Mr. Littleworth, yoy had better 
 not stop, but take a walk in the garden while Mr. 
 Worthy and I read over your son's letter, and con- 
 verse about it. 
 
 Far. Why yes, sir; if the 'Squire will pardon 
 me, I would rather do so, for I cannot stand it 
 again. 
 
DIALOGUE VI. 95 
 
 [The letter is again read over, and the farnner is a 
 second time introduced.] 
 
 Mr. Worthy. Well, Mr. Littleworth, I must not 
 say too much to you in a way of congratulation, as 
 you cannot bear it; but we have been planning, that 
 on the evening your son comes home, Mr. Lovegood 
 had better give you the meeting, and spend the first 
 evening with you. 
 
 Far. [to Mr. Worthy.] To be sure it would be 
 desperate unmannerly to ask such a gentleman as you 
 are to come and meet us; but in our old house I have 
 a hall that would hold twenty such guests, and a heart 
 big enough to hold a thousand more. 
 
 3Ir. Worthy. Thank you, my kind friend; but 
 as Mr. Lovegood will be of the party, you will have 
 quite company enough on that occasion. 
 
 Mrs. Worthy. But Mr. Littleworth, next Wed- 
 nesday three weeks, Mr. Lovegood is to examine 
 the Sunday school children, and preach a sermon to 
 them and their parents at the church, and afterwards 
 Mr. Worthy is to give them all a supper in the ser- 
 vants' hall. Perhaps your son may be returned by 
 that time, and then we shall be happy to see you and 
 all your family to tea, that you may go and hear the 
 sermon. 
 
 Far. Ah, madam, if you and the 'Squire will but 
 put up with our country Jied fashions, to be sure we 
 should be mighty proud to make such a visit; and 
 perhaps my daughters Polly and Patty may hear a 
 sermon that the Lord may bless to their hearts, for 
 they are desperate fond of being with fine gentlefolk' 
 [Mr. Worthy's servant enters the parlour.] 
 
 Servant. Sir, Thomas Newman has brought Mr, 
 Littleworth's horse. 
 
 Far. Tell him I shall be with him presently. I 
 thought as I walked here it would be too much to 
 walk home against the hill, so 1 thought as soon as the 
 
96 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 horses had done plough, Thomas should bring one of 
 them. My knees and ankles are deadly weak; what 
 have I suffered by the gout! but there, the Lord for- 
 give me, it is in a measure through my own wicked- 
 ness, for I have made a god of my belly. 
 
 Loveg. Tell Thomas to put the horse in my stable, 
 and come in and refresh himself. 
 
 Far. no, sir, 1 thank you, I'll be getting home. 
 My wife is mighty fond of Thomas, though she does 
 not like his religion; and he has always victuals 
 enough when he comes to our house; and it was 
 Thomas's good life, that made me think so well of 
 your good sermons. 
 
 Far, to Mr. Worthy. I wish your honour a good 
 day; the same to you, madam. 
 
 Worthy. Farewell, Mr. Littleworth. 
 
 [Mr. Lovegood goes with the farmer to see him 
 mounted.] 
 
 Loveg. Well, Thomas, how do you do ? how is 
 Betty and all the children ? 
 
 Tho. They are all very well, sir, thank the Lord, 
 except little Joseph, and he has been sore bad with 
 the hooping-cough; but madam Worthy sent him 
 some doctor^ s stuff thai has done him an abundance of 
 good. 
 
 Loveg. Let me see, Thomas; Joseph is one of the 
 twins. 
 
 Tho. Ah, sweet child; and I felt him as dear to me 
 as an Isaac, and I should have needed an Abraham's 
 faith to have parted with him. 
 
 Loveg. But have you heard that master Harry is 
 coming back again from sea? 
 
 Tho. Why, sir, I heard that just before I came 
 down, and that my master has been most desperately 
 affected at the news. Lord grant that he may be 
 brought home so as that he may be brought to God. 
 Who can tell, sir? 
 
DIALOGUE VI. P7 
 
 Far. Oh J Thomas, that is done already; praise the 
 Lord, my soul; and all that is within me bless his 
 holy name! 
 
 Tho. What, has master Harry felt the converting 
 grace of God ! 
 
 Par. Oh, Thomas, [Farmer weeps and wipes his 
 eyes,] but I'll tell you as I ride along, and you shall 
 walk by me. 
 
 Loveg. Well, Mr. Littleworth, the Lord bless and 
 support you! 
 
 Far. And you too, sir, a thousand times, for the 
 good you have done my immortal soul. [They go 
 home. The Farmer continues speaking to Thomas.] 
 
 Oh, Thomas, you will be all amazement to hear 
 how broken and humble and contrite my son writes 
 about his wicked courses. 
 
 Tho. Sir, that is a blessed sign; for when once we 
 are made to hate sin, we may be sure there is a divine 
 change. The Lord be praised if master Harry has been 
 saved from his wicked state; for how wild and wicked 
 for sure he was! but, sir, if you and I do but think 
 •what we once were, and what through the grace of 
 God we now are, we need despair of none. Can't 
 you remember what Mr. Lovegood said about three 
 Sundays ago, when he was preaching about Christ 
 being able to save to the uttermost: " Who but a God 
 can tell how far God's uttermost can go ?" 
 
 Far. Why he has no notion how the Lord has con-f 
 verted the heart of such a poor old sinner as I have 
 been. How he will be surprised when he comes 
 home! It (|uite overcomes me to think of it. 
 
 Tho. Had we not better contrive to tell him this 
 before-hand? 
 
 Far* That we have contrived already, and you are 
 to go and meet him at Mapleton, and Mr. Lovegood 
 is to come and sup with us. what a blessed meet- 
 ing it will be! 
 
98 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Tho. And how jnuch more blessed still will be the 
 meeting in heaven ! But, sir^ if I may be so bold, how 
 came it all about ? 
 
 Far. Here, Thomas [lending him the letter,] you 
 shall take this letter home with you, and you and 
 Betty shall read it together; but be sure and take 
 care of it, for I value it more than untold gold. 
 howl shall count the days till my son comes home ! 
 And after supper Mr. Lovegood will give us family 
 prayer, and after that I am determined in my poor 
 fashion to keep it up; for then we shall be quite 
 strong when dear Harry comes home; and who knows 
 but it may be a blessing to my wife and two daugh- 
 ters. 
 
 Tho. Why every body knows what a Christian- 
 like family our 'squire's is; and 1 do think it is all 
 on account of the wonderful good order that is kept 
 up in family prayer. 
 
 Far. Ay, ay, Thomas; and by the blessing of God 
 we'll have family prayer too; and Mr. Lovegood 
 says he will make a hymn on purpose upon the pro- 
 digal's return, and a brave hymn I'll warrant it will 
 be. Thomas, you must be there to pitch the tune; 
 and Mr. Lovegood says you shall be clerk at church 
 next, if any thing happens to old Andrew Snuffle. 
 
 Tho. Ah dear, how shall I feel if ever our minister 
 should make such a poor simple creature clerk of our 
 parish; to be sure it would be a wonderful help to 
 me and my poor dear Betty, to bring up our chil- 
 dren; but I am sadly afraid Mr. Lovegood will not 
 be long mini,«iter of our parish. 
 
 Far. The Lord forbid! but why should you think 
 so, Thomas ? 
 
 Tho. Why I am told our 'squire is to go next win- 
 ter to London to put one of his sons to some place of 
 laming. I hope he wont stop long, for all the poor 
 people in our village are in a sad taking when he is 
 
blALOGUE vi. 99 
 
 away 5 but I am afraid if he was to tell Lord Cancellor 
 what a ^^T)nderful man our minister is, the king (God 
 bless him) Will soon make him lord Archbishop of 
 Canterbury. 
 
 [Thus the Farmer and Thomas went on chatting 
 till his arrival at home. The sequel of some farther 
 events will soon be presented to the reader.] 
 
DIALOGUE VlL 
 
 ^SQUIitE WORTHY, MR. LOVEGOOD, Mfi. 
 LltTLEWdRTHj AND OTHERS. 
 
 Proving the Utility of Sunday Schools. 
 
 Samuel Worthy, Esquire, possesses an ample 
 fortune in the nortii. His father, who was knighted 
 When he took up the county address on the birth of 
 his present majesty, he being then the sheriff, was one 
 of those good old-fashioned gentlemen, who used to 
 live at home among their tenants and neighbours; 
 giving a true sample of the simplicity and generosity 
 known in this kingdom about sixty years ago, when 
 no country gentleman went to London but once in 
 four or five years. His mode of travelling was in a 
 coach and four, the butler and groom riding upon two 
 other coach horses, commonly called helpers. They 
 travelled five miles an hour, and about twenty-five 
 miles a day, and in general were obliged to pass a 
 Sunday upon the road. From the inn he and his fa- 
 mily always went twice to church; and he had no 
 more thought of breaking in on the solemnities of the 
 sabbath, than he had of robbing on the highway. You 
 had always the idea of a funeral procession, passing 
 through the village on the commencement of this 
 journey ; but on his return, every bell in the steeple 
 echoed and re-echoed the joy of the inhabitants; 
 when every grown person stood at the door with a 
 bow or a courtesy, and every child ran out into the 
 
DIALOGUE Vir. 101 
 
 street with a bow down to the ground, close by the 
 coach door, to testify their general joy on his happy 
 return. 
 
 While in London, the family used to take lodg- 
 ings at three pounds a week, in some convenient 
 large house in or near Bond Street, for the sake of 
 country air: even Jirook Street, connected with it, 
 was not then in existence, and assumed its name 
 from an aunt of the writer of these dialogues, who 
 was also herself no distant relation to the family of 
 the Worthies. This ftimily, though once very nu- 
 merous, being found almost in every country, and 
 some of them even of noble blood, yet from a very 
 fatal disease which has of late years prevailed among 
 them, it is feared the}^ will soon become extinct. 
 This unhappy mortalit}^ in the family has taken 
 place since their descendants have been accustomed 
 to attend so many bathing and water-drinking places 
 in the summer, and especially since they have 
 taken up their winter's residence in our great me- 
 tropolis; and may be imputed, partly to the poi- 
 sonous vapours of the former, and the noxious stag- 
 nated air of the latter. The venerable knight (a 
 title in those days honourable) kept a very regular 
 house. Though he was rather /ormaZ than spiriliial 
 in his religion, yet family prayer was regularly at- 
 tended to; nor could any thing but sickness detain 
 the family from church and sacrament on all occa- 
 sions; but, unfortunately for that gentleman, Mr. 
 Deadman was then vicar of the parish. 
 
 His son, Mr, S. Worthy, not less respectable than 
 his father, succeeded to the estate about sixteen years 
 ago. After which Mr. Deadman died of a lethar- 
 gy, and Mr. Lovegood was presented to the living. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Worthy were at first considerably as- 
 tonished at what was called his new doctrine, and felt 
 some degree of irritation, though intermixed with 
 
 VOL. L — 10 
 
102 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 candour. When they first heard, they considered 
 that as all the formality and decency belonging to 
 the character of their most resjiectable predecessor 
 was adopted by them, they were righteous enough 
 already; but, by the wise and good conduct of Mr. 
 Lovegood, their prejudices were soon abated; and 
 after he had delivered a most striking sermon from 
 that text, "Thou hast a name to Vive and art dead," 
 they were determined to examine the Bible for them- 
 selves; and happily for them, (they being bred very 
 strict church people) the}^ found the Bible so well 
 comported with the doctrines of the Common Prayer 
 Book, that they soon discovered old Mr. Dead man, 
 and his cousin-german Mr. Blindman, had preached 
 no more the true doctrine of the Bible, as it relates 
 to salvation by Jesus Christ, than if they had been 
 two of the priests of Jupiter. This truly valuable 
 gentleman, as soon as he received good, promoted it 
 to the utmost of his power, and became a very warm 
 advocate for Sunday Schools. The reader, therefore, 
 shall know what passed while he made a feast for a 
 large assembly of poor children and their parents be- 
 longing to the Sunday School of the parish in which 
 he presided. 
 
 The reader must recollect, that in a former dia- 
 logue Mr. and Mrs. Worthy had invited Farmer 
 Littleworth to attend the meeting, as hopes were 
 then entertained that, by the time intended for the 
 celebration of Ihis kind festival, Henry might arrive 
 from sea: but the Farmer, having heard of many 
 storms and tempests, was strongly agitated with a 
 variety of doubts and fears, whether he should ever 
 be blessed with the sight of a son, now rendered so 
 dear to him by such circumstances as have already 
 been related. Notwithstanding, the invitation was 
 accepted. The farmer rode down to Mr. Worthy's, 
 though with a heavy heart, (to see his son was now 
 
DIALOGUE VII. 103 
 
 all in all to him,) and Miss Nancy rode behind her 
 father. Miss Polly and Miss Patty chose to walk, 
 while Sam carried some new-purchased trappings 
 from Mrs. Flirt's, which were to be put on in Mrs. 
 Trusty's (the housekeeper's) room before they made 
 their appearance in the parlour. Thus, while the 
 affectation of the two misses was noticed with se- 
 cret ridicule and contempt, the unaffected simplicity 
 of Nancy and her father was observed with reverence 
 and respect. 
 
 A little fracas, however, had just before happened 
 between the Farmer and his wife. She was a very 
 prudent thrifty woman, and loved this world better 
 than the next: but now the Farmer's heart was 
 opened. Once he thought of nothing but how to get, 
 now it was in his heart to know how to give. He 
 fixed his eyes on a large flitch of bacon, and after a 
 little controversy with Mrs. Littleworth, who still 
 loved getting more than giving, it was intrusted to 
 Thomas, to be carried to the 'Squire's, there to be 
 catered among the children, as an additional present 
 to tlie parents of those who behaved well. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood first led his family of little ones 
 to the church, where they were seated together, and 
 surrounded by their parents and friends; then chose 
 some lessons very appropriate, and made some afi'ec- 
 tionate and striking observations as he read them. — 
 His sermon, as designed for children, was concise, 
 but impressive; and knowing that little minds must 
 have short lessons, he varied the subject by the fol- 
 lowing little histories. 
 
 First, he told them of a child of a perverse and 
 obstinate turn of mind, who, neither with nor with- 
 out correction would obey her poor mother, v/hose 
 husband had cruelly gone away and left her. This 
 child, after a mild and moderate correction, went 
 out of the house resentful and sulky, and drowned 
 
104 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 herself in the brook; from whence he took an op- 
 jDortunity of warning children against the evil of bad 
 tempers, and of enforcing the "meekness and gen- 
 tleness which was in Christ Jesus/' and is among all 
 real Christians. 
 
 His next story was about a very lovely boy. — 
 Though once inclined to be very wicked, his heart 
 afterwards became so tenderl}'' impressed with the 
 Saviours love to fallen sinners, that he would be fre- 
 quently quite overpowered by the tender feelings of 
 his own mind. He would even ask his parent's leave 
 to part with the shoes from off his feet, and his clothes 
 from off his back, when he saw other poor children, 
 as he supposed in greater want than him.self : and 
 when lie had no money of his own to give, the dear 
 child would even turn beggar to his parents and 
 others to assist them. He never thought of telling 
 a lie, beca-use he dreaded the idea of doing wrong; 
 and only wrong things need to be covered with a 
 lie. And whenever he saw other children do wrong, 
 he would talk to them very gravely and seriously 
 against their evil ways; and even in his play, if any 
 children behaved cruel or unkind, he would grieve, 
 weep, and retire. But this dear child, it seems, was 
 too full of heaven to live on earth. Before he died, 
 he called his brothers and sisters around his bed 
 three times over, on the last three days of his life, and 
 told them all that he was going to his dear Saviour, 
 who had pardoned his sins, and changed his heart; 
 and exhorted them most affectionately to turn to the 
 Lord, and renounce their sins. He even cast his 
 dying arms around the necks of them one by one, 
 praying them to turn to the dear Jesus, insisting, 
 with many tears, that they should promise him they 
 would; and then added, "I could die for you all a 
 thousand times, if that could but save you from dying 
 
DIALOGUE VII. 105 
 
 In your sins. 0! think of a dying Christ! and give 
 him your hearts, that we may meet again in glory!'^ 
 After a most affectionate application to the chil- 
 dren, Mr. Lovegood, addressed the parents, observing 
 that, as a parent, he knew the powers of natural 
 affection; but urged upon them an affection of a far 
 more refined and spiritual nature — an affection for 
 their souls. He said, that correction should never 
 be administered, but in much tenderness and love: 
 that every stripe given by an angry hand, from a re- 
 vengeful heart, increased the evil for which the child 
 was so unwisely and unmercifully corrected. That 
 we should chastise our children as the Lord corrects 
 his; never in wrath, but ever in love. In short, his 
 address to the parents was not less wise and good, 
 than his exhortation to the children was affectionate 
 and kind; while every heart seemed to be melted 
 down under the sweet influence which attended his 
 discourse. Nor was it a less affecting scene to observe 
 with what difficulty INIr. Lovegood, who possessed 
 very tender feelings, got through these stories, and 
 this address! How Thomas Newman nodded at his 
 lovely group of little ones, to excite their more serious 
 attention! How Betty sat with her babe at the breast, 
 praying for a blessing on every word! How Farmer 
 Littleworth wept like the rain, while he heard of the 
 conversion of the child, thinking all the time on the 
 conversion of his own son! How Mr. Merry man, 
 lately recovered from a dissolute life through Mr. 
 Lovegood, looked up to him as to a father, with fixed 
 attention and a watery e^-e; beholding the lovely 
 instrument in the hand of God, by whom he was re- 
 claimed from a life miserable and dishonourable to 
 himself, and destructive to the souls of his parish- 
 ioners: and how Mr. Worthy, with an elevated smile 
 of approbation and delight, rejoiced in the happiness 
 and blessedness of the neighbourhood, among whom 
 10^ 
 
106 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 he lived with aflTectionate patriarchal simplicity of 
 conduct; praising and blessing God for influencing 
 the mind of Lord Cancellor (as Thomas calls him) to 
 send such a man into that parish — so wise, zealous, 
 and kind as dear Mr. Lovegood! what a blessing 
 would Enj;land enjoy, were every parish pulpit 
 adorned with such a minister, sanctioned by men 
 of such affluence and character as good Esquire Wor- 
 thy of Brookrield Hall. Long live the family, and 
 may they never want such a chaplain as Mr. Love- 
 good, to administer among them the blessed word of 
 everlasting life! 
 
 After the sermon Mr. Lovegood gave out the fol- 
 lowing hymn, which was sung b}^ the children, and 
 Thomas Newman pitched the tune. 
 
 What children like us have such cause to be glad! 
 What children such means of instruction have had! 
 Such seasons to hear, and to sing of the Lord, 
 While many know nothing of him or his word. 
 
 We hear how our Maker from heaven came down, 
 
 And willingly left for lost sinners his throne; 
 Then taking our nature, became a poor child, . 
 And us by his suff' rings to God reconcil'd. 
 
 O myst'ry of godliness, wonder of grace! 
 May we without ceasing adore him and praise: 
 O teach us to know what a Saviour we have, 
 To trust him, and love him, and on him believe. 
 
 Next commenced the examination, Mr. Atten- 
 tive, a barber from Mapleton, was the schoolmaster, 
 who was appointed to this office, because he had 
 made a sacrifice of his daily bread, by not following 
 his occupation on the Lord's-day. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood wasthe examiner. Mrs. Fairspeech, 
 who was a professor of that religion which she never 
 possessed, sent her son with others to the Sunday 
 school, and he was the first who was examined. 
 
 Mr. Loveg. Well, Bobby Fairspeech, what do 
 
DIALOGUE VII. 107 
 
 you remember of the sermon 1 have just now been 
 preaching,? 
 
 Boh. I remember the text, sir. 
 Loveg. Let us hearyou repeat it. 
 Bob. " Suffer little children to come unto me, and 
 forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of hea- 
 ven." 
 
 Loveg. And what did I say to you upon that 
 subject? 
 
 Bob. Why, that we were all miserable sinners, and 
 should be ruined if we did not come to Christ. 
 
 Loveg. Then it is to be hoped that you, as a mi- 
 serable sinner, have been taught to come to Christ. 
 Do you knovv what it is to. give him your heart? 
 Bob. Not so much as I should. 
 Loveg. Why, then, I fear you neglect to pray to 
 him. 
 
 Bob. Oh no, sir; for my mother would beat me 
 sadly if I did not say my prayers. 
 
 Loveg. Surelyj child, you must be very wicked 
 if you need to be beaten to say your prayers; but I 
 should hope your mother has a better way of teach- 
 ing you to pray than by beating you to it. I can 
 hardly think that your father, who is a sensible man, 
 though he does not come to church so often as he 
 should, would allow you to be beaten to make you 
 pray. 
 
 Bob. Sir, my father is scarce ever at home when it 
 is my time to go to bed, for he always spends his 
 evenings with Mr. Sobersides the saddler. 
 
 [Mr. Lovegood, prudently forbore asking any 
 more questions, lest he should dive into family secrets 
 before the children: but the truth was, that though 
 Mrs. Fairspeech could appear very soft and saintish 
 before others, yet she was of a turbulent temper, 
 self-willed, insulting, and irritating to her husband; 
 and after she had driven him away from the family, 
 
108 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 would consume three times as much in applying to 
 the gin-bottle as he and Mr. Sobersides did in a pint 
 or two of beer over a pipe of tobacco, while they 
 read the newspaper, and conversed on the politics of 
 the day. As for the faithful and salutary reproofs 
 bestowed on Mrs. Fairspeech, they were all spent in 
 vain; she still continued the perpetual grief of Mr. 
 Lovegood's mind, who hated nothing more than the 
 ca7it and hypocrisy of such false-hearted professors.] 
 
 We now attend to the examination of Jacky 
 Proud 
 
 Loveg. Well, what good have you got by coming 
 to the Sunday school, and attending the church? 
 
 Jacky. A great deal, sir, 
 
 Loveg. What then, do you think you have a good 
 heart? 
 
 Jacky. I hope so, sir. 
 
 Loveg. How is it then that you can say after me, 
 ^'we have done those things which we ought not 
 to have done, and left undone those things which 
 we ought to have done, and there is no health in 
 us?" and how could you pray that God would 
 <' have mercy on you a miserable sinner?" 1 am 
 afraid you are very inattentive to those excellent 
 prayers I read among you Sunday after Sunday; 
 and this is no great proof of the goodness of your 
 heart. 
 
 Jacky. Why, sir, my mother and godmother both 
 say I am a very good child. 
 
 Loveg. But should you not rather believe what 
 God's word says, '^ Behold, I was shapen in iniquity, 
 and in sin did my mother conceive me?" 
 
 Jacky. Sir, I do my duty as well as I can. 
 
 Loveg. What do you mean b3^ doing your duty 
 my child? 
 
 Jacky. I always come to church and say my 
 prayers night and morning. 
 
DIALOGUE VII. 109 
 
 Loveg. But merely saying your prayers is not 
 doing your duty; for many people say their prayers, 
 and never mind their meaning; and instead of doing 
 our duty we commit a very great sin in saying our 
 prayers in a thoughtless and negligent manner. — But, 
 in order that 1 may show you that your heart is not 
 altogether so good as you think, I must ask you a few 
 more questions. — Are you never angry? 
 
 Jacky. Not very often, sir. 
 
 Loveg. I did not ask you how often you are angry: 
 the Bible says all causeless anger is murder; for God 
 judges the secrets of the heart, so that whenever you 
 are angry, you commit an act of murder in your 
 heart before him; and how is it that a child, with 
 such wickedness in his nature, can have a good heart? 
 
 Jacky. I hope 1 shall make myself better by and 
 by. 
 
 Loveg. I am sorry you should talk of making 
 yourself better; for when 1 teach children the cate- 
 chism, I tell them they can do nothing without " God's 
 special grace;" but if you can do it by and by, you 
 can as well do it now; and I am sure you must be a 
 bad child if you don't wish to be better till by and 
 by. But did you never tell a lie? 
 
 Jacky. Why I told one the other day, when I said 
 I was not proud of my new clothes. 
 
 Loveg. Why then, it seems you can not onlj' tell 
 a lie, but be guilty of the sin of pride. I am afraid, 
 my poor child, your heart is much worse than you 
 suppose. 
 
 Jacky. Sir, there are many children much ivickeder 
 than I am, for I never say no bad words. 
 
 Loveg. Do you never, in a careless manner, say, 
 Lord! God! Christ! 
 
 Jacky. Yes, sir; but they are not bad words. 
 
 Loveg, No; the words are good; but are not you 
 
110 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 a very bad-hearted child for ^Uaking the Lord's 
 name in vain," when you are told in the third com- 
 mandment, the "Lord will not hold him guiltless 
 that taketh his name in vain?" No vvonderj while 
 you say your prayers, you forget what they mean; 
 for I fear that even then you "take the Lord's name 
 in vain." [The child is silent. Mr. Lovegood adds,] 
 I hope you will soon know more of the wickedness 
 of your own heart; but I must now talk to Timothy 
 Simple. 
 
 [He was the son of an industrious widow, left with 
 four children, who by washing, weeding in the gar- 
 den, and running of errands, collected by the hand 
 of industry every penny in her power for her indi- 
 gent chikiren; now and then receiving some occa- 
 sional relief from the money given at the sacrament, 
 which was very largely attended at Mr. Lovegood's 
 church, together with some farther support, ever 
 flowing to all known subjects of human wo, who 
 come within the knowledge of the honourable pos- 
 •sessors of Brookfield Hall.] 
 
 Loveg. Well, Timothy, my child, what do you 
 think of your heart? Is it as good as Jacky 
 Proud's? 
 
 Tim. I am afraid I am not so good as I should be; 
 but I hope God will make me better. 
 
 Loveg. Then you believe in what I have frequently 
 taught you, that we can do nothing <' without God's 
 special grace?" 
 
 Tim. Oh yes, sir, for I am afraid my heart is very 
 wicked. 
 
 Loveg. Why do you think so? 
 
 Tim. I am ashamed to tell, sir. 
 
 Loveg. Well, my good child, I am very glad to 
 hear you say you are ashamed of your sins; for, 
 when that is the case, our most merciful Saviour will 
 
DIALOGUE VII. Ill 
 
 not only pardon your sins, but by his grace will 
 change your lieart. 
 
 Tim. I hope he will, sir, for sure I am it is very 
 hard; for when you told that stor}^, though other 
 children cried much, I could hardly cry at all; and 
 yet I should be very glad if the Lord would make 
 me as good a child as he was. 
 
 Loveg. So he will, my child, if you will call upon 
 him in humble prayer. 
 
 Tim. Sir, I always says the prayers out of the little 
 book you gave me, but I am very forgetful while I 
 say them. I wish I was as good as sister Sally, and 
 as my mother wishes me to be. 
 
 Loveg. Is it not a great blessing from the Lord 
 that you have such a good mother and sister? 
 
 Tim. Yes, sir, I thank the Lord for it! for you 
 often tell us, that if it were not for the grace of God 
 we should be all very wicked. 
 
 Loveg. And should you not be very grateful and 
 obedient to your mother, for working so hard, that 
 you may have a little bread, and some decent clothes? 
 
 Tim. yes, sir, and she thanks God Almighty 
 every day for sending you into our parish; for she 
 says she was not a good woman till you came. 
 
 Loveg. But you know, my child, there are many 
 bad people still living in the parish since I have been 
 your minister. How came your mother to be better, 
 while they continue in the same bad state? 
 
 Tim, Why, sir, you often tell us about regenera- 
 tion and a new heart; and that makes my mother a 
 good woman, because she has a new heart. 
 
 Loveg. Then you believe that all people who have 
 new hearts will be good people. 
 
 Thn. Yes, sir; for it is the Holy Spirit of God 
 who gives us these new hearts, that we may, by his 
 grace, love God and keep his commandments. And 
 
112 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 the reason why people are so wicked is, because they 
 have not God's Holy Spirit in their hearts. 
 
 Loveg. Can you prove this by some text of scrip- 
 ture? 
 
 Tim. My memory is very bad, but I remember 
 one. 
 
 Loveg. What is that, my child? 
 Tim. Sir, it is the text you preached from two 
 Sundays ago: "Ye are not in the flesh but in the 
 Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you. 
 Now if any man have not the Spirit of Christ he is 
 none of his.'' 
 
 [The rest of Timothy's answers were in the same 
 st3ie; he was a simple-hearted affectionate child, and 
 his good natural disposition was well cultivated and 
 improved by Mr. Lovegood's diligent attention to 
 the poor children of the parish. Immedialely after his 
 examination, the Esquire thought proper that he should 
 he rewarded with a Bible, which he most gratefully and 
 thankfully received. 
 
 Richard Heedless's child was next examined, 
 
 Loveg. Well, Mr. Attentive, how does this child 
 come on? Though he comes to the Sunday school, 
 I never see his father at church. 
 
 Jlttent. I am afraid, sir, his church is at the Nag's 
 Head in Mapleton. 
 
 Loveg. Well, but if the father acts improperly, 
 that is no reason why the child may not receive 
 good. 
 
 Jlttent. Oh, sir, I cannot get him on at any rate: 
 for all that he receives on the Sunday he forgets on 
 the week days, and I am afraid it is only for the sake 
 of the feast that we see him now. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood to J\*ed Heedless. Why, my child, 
 how is it that 1 hear all this of you? but let us see if 
 you understand any thing. Who made you? 
 
 Md. God Almighty. 
 
DIALOGUE VII. 113 
 
 Loveg. What did he mak^ you for? 
 
 J^Ted. To do my daty, and mind my religion. 
 
 Loveg. But do you do your duty, and mind reli- 
 gion as you ought? 
 
 JS'^ed. 1 do it as well as my father. 
 
 Loveg. i am afraid if you do no better, your duly 
 is miserably done; but tell me who redeemed you? 
 
 JYed. Mr. Littleworth redeemed us last Monday. 
 
 Loveg. to Mr. Littleworth. What can this poor child 
 mean, by saying you redeemed them? 
 
 Littlew. Truly, sir, I cannot tell, unless it is that I 
 stopped his father's wages to redeem his clotlies out 
 of pawn; for after he had been two days drunk at 
 Mapleton revel, he pledged every bit of decent clothes 
 he had to pay his alehouse debts: and when I saw 
 him such a dirty ragged fellow, I told him he should 
 work for me no more till he had taken his clothes 
 from the pawn-broker's. 
 
 Loveg. to Heedless. I fear, Master Heedless, your 
 son's ignorance is to be laid to the charge of your 
 wickedness. 
 
 Heedl. Your honour, it can't be expected that 1 
 should be able to instruct my children, for I was never 
 bred to no laming. 
 
 Loveg. Why thousands and tens of thousands who 
 were never bred to learning have yet been blessed 
 with grace; and you can't suppose you need to be a 
 bad man, because you are a poor man: nor need you 
 be the poor man you now are, if it were not for the 
 wickedness of your heart. Do you ever pray? 
 
 Heedl. Why, sir, morels the pity, I cannot read. 
 
 Loveg. I did not ask you if you could read, but can 
 you pray? 
 
 Heedl I can say the Lord's prayer from top to 
 bottom. 
 
 Loveg. And is this all your religion ? I fear you 
 VOL. i.=^l 1 
 
114 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 are in a dreadful state. Here, Richard, is a book for 
 you, ^^A compassionate Address;" and Thomas New- 
 man, who is almost your next neighbour, can read 
 very well, and I dare say he will be so kind as to 
 read it to you. 
 
 Tho. Why, Richard knows I would be glad to 
 read to him for his good, whenever I can spare time. 
 
 Loveg. Well, Thomas, we will next hear what 
 improvement your boy has made. — [To young Tho- 
 mas.] — By whom were all things created, and by 
 \vhom are they upheld and preserved ? 
 
 Tho. By the Almighty God< 
 
 Loveg. And who is the Almighty God 
 
 Tho. He is a most holy Spirit. 
 
 Loveg. And how should you serve him? 
 
 Tho. "In spirit and in truth." 
 
 Loveg. And do you think you do your duty as 
 God demands; for you know at all times he sees and 
 hears all you say and do. 
 
 Tho. Sir, I know I often forget God, though he 
 knows me much better than I know myself. 
 
 Loveg. What do you mean by saying God is Al- 
 mighty? 
 
 Tho. I believe he is Almighty, because he can do 
 every thing, and that he sees and knows the ways 
 and hearts of all. 
 
 Loveg. What do you mean by saying he is holy? 
 
 Tho. Why, he is holy because he loves nothing 
 but that which is good, like himself. All holy men 
 and holy angels are his delight. 
 
 Loveg. But, my good boy, what do you mean by 
 holiness? 
 
 Tho. It is loving God with all our hearts, with all 
 our minds, and souls and strength, and our neigh- 
 bours as ourselves. 
 
 Loveg. What is sin then, my child ? 
 
DIALOGUE yil. 115 
 
 y/to. Why, whenever we neglect to love and fear 
 and trust in God, and pray to him, and serve him, we 
 sin against him ; and whenever we are angry, unjust, 
 and neglectful in our duty towards our parents, our 
 governors, and our neighbours, we do wrong, because 
 we sin against his holy and just commands. 
 
 Loveg. But if God be so very holy, are not we all 
 ver}^ miserable sinners before him? 
 
 T/io. Yes. The^Bible says, " There is none righte- 
 ous, no not one;" but I think my father and mother 
 are very good, and so are you and 'Squire Worthy. 
 
 Loveg. Well, but you knovv we must all say, "By 
 the grace of God I arn what I am." 
 
 Tlw. Yes, sir; and my father always says such sort 
 of words when he prays with us. 
 
 Loveg. What do you mean by the grace of God? 
 
 Tho. Why, my father has taught me this text, 
 "You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ; 
 though he was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, 
 that we through his poverty might be made rich." 
 
 Loveg. What do you mean by the grace of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ? 
 
 Tho. That he died for us poor sinners on the cross. 
 
 Loveg. What then, are all poor sinners to be saved, 
 because Christ died on the cross? 
 
 Tho. O no, sir, for you tell us from the pulpit, 
 that if we reject Christ, Christ will reject us; and that 
 all sinners who come to Christ will have their hearts 
 changed and purified by his Spirit; and that without 
 holiness no man shall see the Lord. You have been 
 just now saying to us, that every child must know 
 the way of sin to be the high road to hell : but I pray 
 the Lord to convert me by his grace, that 1 may live 
 to his glory. 
 
 Loveg. The Lord bless you, my good boy. I am 
 very glad you have been able to attend so well to the 
 instruction of your father, and that you get so much 
 
116 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 good by coming to the Sunday school: and as our 
 worthy Esquire has given me some Bibles to distri- 
 bute among the children who know how to make a 
 good use of them, I shall give you one of the best of 
 them. [Mr. Lovegood gives him a Bible.] Remem- 
 ber now that this is your own book, and the book of 
 God's, own writing, to make us wise unto salvation. 
 Now turn round and thank the 'Squire for his pre- 
 sent. 
 
 Tho. [With a bow down to the ground.] 1 thank 
 your honour a thousand times. 
 
 The reader is to taKe this as a brief sample among 
 many, how Mr. Lovegood examined some of the 
 children; and as an illustration of v/hat he conceived 
 to be the wisest way to impress the truths of religion 
 on their young minds. He was well convinced that 
 a mere c<atechism enforced upon a child's memory 
 by painful exertions, however good in its place, was 
 likely to produce but a slender effect, without a more 
 familiar method of instruction, administered according 
 to the ability and disposition of each child. After a 
 considerable time being employed in examining se- 
 veral of the girls, as well as the boys, they were all 
 led through tiie park to Brookfield Hall, where they 
 found a bountiful, but plain feast provided for them, 
 vyith plenty of pies and puddings for the children. 
 
 Supper being ended, the following hymn was sung. 
 
 Christ's care for his lambs. 
 
 Let praise to our Shepherd begin, 
 
 VVho tenderly makes us his care; 
 Wlio came to redecni us koiyx sin, 
 
 And guard us from every snare. 
 His pastoral love we adore, 
 
 Who clasps in so dear an embraces^ 
 The souls tliat liis mercy implore, 
 
 To save them by infinite grace. 
 
DIALOGUE VU. 117 
 
 Kor shall the poor lambs of his flock 
 
 Want pasture, or clear-running stream;. 
 Or shadow of sheltering rock, 
 
 Or warmth of enlivening beam: * 
 
 He too in his besom shall bear 
 
 The weary that pant for his rest ; 
 No lamb of thera all but shall shai;e 
 
 A heaven of love in hia b;'east. 
 
 Then helpless and weak as we are, 
 
 O let us for ever abide 
 Close under the eye of his care, 
 
 Feed all the day long at his side ! 
 He will not a moment depart ; 
 
 O why from his side should we rove;. 
 Or grieve his compassionate heart, 
 
 So plenteous in mercy and love! 
 
 After this, young Mr. Merry man, b.y Mr. Love- 
 good's desire, concluded the festivity with a tender 
 and affectionate prayer, while his heart was much 
 impressed with the recollection of what a different 
 course he once pursued, before, by Mr. Lovegood's 
 ministry, he was broug^l^t to know the grace of God 
 in truth. Mr. Littleworth's flitch was next pro- 
 duced, and after such apologies as might be expected 
 from the Farmer to his honour and madam Worthy, 
 it was catered among the children, according to the 
 size of the families: though, when he was carving for 
 young Thomas, it evidently appeared that the Far- 
 mer's knife very favourably slipped aside, through a 
 little partiality on his behalf. 
 
 The Farmer and his family were next ushered into 
 the parlour to tea. Miss Polly and Miss Patty con- 
 tinued to expose themselves by pretending to talk 
 about fashions, and by making use of fine words, 
 which they ill understood, while Mr. Lovegood con- 
 stantly aimed at giving a more profitable turn to the 
 conversation, which was easily done between the 
 Farmer and Miss Nancy. Henry's conversion, and 
 11* 
 
118 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 the fears and hopes concerning his return, still en- 
 grossed the substance of all he had to say; the anxiety 
 of his heart for his beloved Henry being now the 
 lirst subject on every occasion. On their return home, 
 Miss Polly and Miss Patty had enough to do in find- 
 ing fault with each other respecting manners and 
 dress, and such trifling subjects, while the simple, 
 yet profitable, conversation between the Farmer, 
 Miss Nancy, and Thomas, proved their hearts were 
 truly fixed on " the one thing needful." Thomas, 
 however, had abundance of fault to find with him- 
 self, being full of fears lest the condescending fami- 
 liarity of the ^Squire had thrown him ofl* his guard; 
 he being unacquainted with the unaflected simplicity 
 and real courtesy of his own manners, was not sensi- 
 ble that the best Christian is the best gentleman, all 
 over the world, 
 
DIALOGUE VIII. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 
 
 FARMER LITTLEWORTH, HIS SON HENRY, MR. LOVE- 
 GOOD, AND OTHERS. 
 
 Henry Littleworth was detained at sea by con- 
 trary winds three weeks longer than was expected. 
 Many reports having prevailed of storms and ship- 
 wrecks, the Farmer's mind was filled with sad ap- 
 prehensions for the fate of his son; the subject of his 
 daily talk, and now the object of his most affectionate 
 regard. At length he arrived at Mr. Vintner's of 
 the George, and, according to the plan preconcerted, 
 was directed to Mr. Traffick's of the shop, where the 
 following letter from his father, after the usual salu- 
 tations, was put into his hands. 
 
 " MY MOST DEAR CHILD, 
 
 "For sure and certain I never shall be able to 
 thank the Lord enough for your letter. Oh, how I 
 bless his name that he has converted and saved such 
 a wicked sinner as you have been! but you know, 
 my dear Harry, I was a much wickeder sinner than 
 you; and our most merciful Saviour has visited me 
 with his grace; and now how happy and joyful shall 
 we be together as soon as you come home I But I 
 beg and pray af you, my dear child, when we meet, 
 don't tell me how wicked you have been to me, or I 
 must tell you how wicked 1 have been to you, in set- 
 ting you such a bad example. Oh, no! we must 
 
120 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 never talk to each other about these matters;, for this, 
 would cut me to the heart, and kill me outright; for 
 as I write, I can scarcely see to go on, because the 
 tears run down my cheeks so fast while I think of the 
 wonderful love of Christ, which has met with two 
 such vile sinners as we have been: and since he has 
 loved and pardoned us both, how sweetly shall we 
 love and pardon each other! 
 
 "My dear child, that very Mr. Lovegood, which 
 we all used so to ridicule, is the dear man who has 
 brought my soul to God. Nobody can tell what a 
 dear servant of God he is; and I and your sister 
 Nancy go to his church every Sunday, and he is to 
 meet you at our house the first da}^ you come home; 
 and Billy Traffick, a most sweet Christian boy, and 
 who always attends our church, is to come up to 
 our house with you; and as you are lame, I shall 
 send a horse for you; so I need write no more, as I 
 hope to see you so soon. My dear child, from your 
 affectionate father, 
 
 Simon Little wouth." 
 
 The reader must be left to suppose, after Henry 
 had read the letter, what were his feelings on such an 
 unexpected, yet joyful and affecting event. No won-, 
 der that under such circumstances he was too much 
 surprised and affected to speak. After soijie time,. 
 Billy Traffick began the conversation. 
 
 Billy. Come, come; wipe your eyes^ and praise the 
 Lord for his mercies;, see what love and grace he has 
 been pouring down upon your family, and upon many 
 more in these parts since you left us. 
 
 Henry. What! and are my father and my sister 
 Nancy indeed converted to God! And does Mr. 
 Lovegood preach the gospel to poor sinners at Brook-, 
 field church. 
 
 Billy. Yes, indeed, your father, by the grace of 
 
DIALOGUE VHi. 121 
 
 God, for nearly these two years, has been a wonder- 
 fully altered man; and Mr. Lovegood is a most 
 blessed and affectionate minister of Christ. 
 
 Henry. [Still weeping.] My God! what mercies 
 are these to such a vile wretch as I have been! What 
 between joy and grief, how shall I support it ! and 
 how shall I be able to meet my dear father! 
 
 Mr. Traffick. Mr. Henry, your father has desired 
 that I w^ould mention to you not to say any thing 
 respecting matters that are past, as that will affect him 
 too much. You are to go home as if nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 Henry. How can that be ? for, oh, what blessed 
 things have happened since 1, a poor prodigal sinner, 
 left his house near four years ago! But are there no 
 signs of grace upon the hearts of my poor mother and 
 my other two sisters ? 
 
 Traffick. I fear not at present; though I am told 
 your mother is not so vehement against your worthy 
 father as formerly; for Mr. Dolittle and Dr. Dronish 
 at first tried to set all the parish against him. 
 
 Henry. Why, Mr. Traffick, was not you bred a dis- 
 senter ? I thought you always went to Dr. Dronish's 
 meeting. 
 
 Traffick. Yes, Mr. Henry; but since God in his 
 gracious providence has sent Mr. Lovegood into these 
 parts, we have been convinced that it is better to fol- 
 low the gospel, than a party. So we have left the 
 meeting, and do not mean to go there again, unless 
 we should have the same gospel preached there as 
 once was, when old Mr. Trueman was the minister 
 in my father's time; so we all go to Brookfield 
 church, excepting my old uncle, who says he is de- 
 termined to live and die in the religion in which he 
 was bred and born. 
 
 Billy. And we shall hope to see you there next 
 Sunday ; yes, and it is sacrament Sunday, and my 
 
122 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 father and 1 always attend the communion. We don't 
 mind about being bred dissenters, provided we can 
 hold communion with the people of God. 
 
 Henry. Oh! how this again overcomes me! I 
 have had a thousand fears what my poor father would 
 say to me, for my former had conduct; then how he 
 would oppose me on account of religion; for though 
 in all other respects I knew the Lord hath inclined 
 my heart to be as obedient as a lamb; yet on a Sun- 
 day I was determined to travel, lame as 1 am, twenty 
 miles a day, provided I could but reach any place of 
 worship, whether at a church or a meeting of any 
 sort, where 1 could hear the blessed sound of the 
 Gospel; but instead of all my fears, God has provided 
 for me all that my heart could wish, and almost close 
 to the door. Well, there by the help of God I will 
 go, and to the sacrament too, that we may all give 
 ourselves up entirely to the Lord, if Mr. Lovegood 
 will permit me. 
 
 Billy. There is no doubt of that; for your letter, 
 which you sent from Antigua, affected him almost as 
 much as it did your father; and he believes, by the 
 grace of God, your heart is really changed. 
 
 Henry. 0,howlittle I thought of such blessed events 
 as these when I left my father's house, while living 
 in all sorts of sin; and what will my dear father feel, 
 when he sees his poor prodigal kneeling by him, at 
 that most blessed feast of love ? Yes, jLhere I will go, 
 and at once join myself with the dear children of 
 God wherever I can find them; that all may know 
 that, by the grace of God, I am determined to give 
 myself up to lead another life. 
 
 [Mr. Traffick is called into the shop, and Will 
 Frolick comes in.] 
 
 Frolick. [To Mr, Traffick.] Is not Harry Little- 
 worth come from sea ? I hear he is at your house ; 
 mayn't I step in and ask him how he does ? 
 
DIALOGUE VII r. 123 
 
 Traffick. Yes; but you won't find him the same 
 man now as when you and he, and the rest of you, 
 kept our town in a perpetual uproar. 
 
 Frolick. Why, I have heard that he has received 
 a bad wound, and that since then he has taken a 
 mighty religious turn; and I wonder at that, when 
 he was such an admirer of Paine's *^ Age of Rea- 
 son." 
 
 Traffick. Reason ! what do you mean by reason, 
 while you were all living together like so many mad- 
 men ? 
 
 Frolick, Well, though his father has been frequent- 
 ly preac/img about his wonderful conversion at Ma- 
 pleton market, I suppose he is not so grave but what 
 he will shake hands with me, if I go in to see him, 
 for he was a merry fellow when he left us. 
 
 Traffick. You know the old proverb, Mr. Frolick, 
 " Be merry and wise;" but when we were at family 
 prayer, while you, and he, and others, were revelling 
 about the town, you used to disturb us by rapping at 
 our windows and doors; if this was a sign that you 
 were merry, it was no evidence that either you or 
 he, in those days, were wise. But you may go in to 
 him if you please. My son and he are together. 
 [Frolick goes in.] 
 
 Frolick. Well, Harry, how are you ? I am glad to 
 see you home again; for we all began to think you 
 was gone to the bottom. 
 
 Henry. I thank you, William; but you must sup- 
 pose it would have been a terrible sinking to me if I 
 had gone to the bottom ; for you know the horrid 
 state we were both in before I went to sea; neither 
 of us were fit to live in this world or the next. 
 
 Frolick. Why, I am told )^ou are become very re- 
 ligious; but as for my part, 1 confess, I had rather 
 stop a little longer first. 
 
i24 
 
 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 J^illy. Really, it is shocking to hear j^ou talk; it 
 is dreadful, when people can scoff even at death itself. 
 You know it was but the other day that young Cap- 
 tain Rakish, my Lord's second son, died, after about 
 three day's illness, of a stoppage in his bowels; and it 
 is well known in what despair and agony he left this 
 world, and what awful things he said to his father for 
 having encouraged and introduced him into all sorts 
 of sin ; and what he said to another young officer who 
 came to see him just before he died. 
 
 Frolick. Why, what did he say ? 
 
 Billy. " I have been assisting with yOU to conquer 
 the enemies of our king and country, while 1 have 
 madly suffered myself to be conquered by the enemy 
 of souls." And then he (iried, " The battle is 
 fought, the battle is fought, the battle is fought; 
 but the victory is lost for ever." I would not have 
 lived and died as he did for a thousand such worlds 
 as this. 
 
 Frolick. Well, well, for all this I should like to live 
 a merry life while I live ; and be a good penitent when 
 1 come to die; and that is my creed. 1 have no no- 
 tion of being a saint too soon. 
 
 Henry. My dear Williamj let me be serious with 
 you. I confess with shame I have been till of late 
 dmong the number of those "fools who make a 
 mock of sin;" I now grieve to think what a bold, 
 hardened profligate 1 have been; and how I have 
 corrupted you and others by my bad example. I 
 confess, I have had deep sorrow for my sinful con- 
 duct; but never felt any remorse in the blessed ser- 
 vice of God. While I lived, as I fear you live, I tried 
 all 1 could to laugh and joke away my misery; but 
 in all my mirth I carried a gnawing hell within. I 
 was a self-tormentor every moment of my life, and I 
 know that none of us could bear reflection; and in 
 what we called our jovial songs, we could blasphe- 
 
DIALOGUE viir. 125 
 
 mously curse the passing bell for interrupting us, and 
 still continue our rebellious, profane, and filthy con- 
 versation; despising all subordination to the laws 
 of God and man, because, in the height of our wick- 
 edness, we could not bear the least restraint. And 
 what were our reflections when we were in our beds! 
 As to myself, never could I sleep, till 1 was worn 
 out by my rakish conduct. While I slept 1 was tor- 
 mented by dreams; and when I awoke I rose with 
 nothing but discontent and disgust against myself. 
 The sight even of my parents was a horror to me, 
 while the extravagant fruits of my vile conduct I 
 dreaded every moment of my life. From this hell 
 of misery I made for myself, I was madly driven into 
 another hell — a man of war! There I saw sin in its 
 horrid perfection, without any of those earthly grati- 
 fications to comfort me, which I found in my father's 
 house, and which I so ungratefully forsook. I now 
 most humbly implore your forgiveness for the mis- 
 chief I have done you, my dear William, and others 
 by my conduct, and affectionately request you to 
 seek forgiveness from that most merciful Saviour, 
 whose free salvation I must for ever adore in changing 
 the heart, and pardoning the sins of a wretch once so 
 vile. I now live a wonder to myself, that my own 
 wickedness has not procured my eternal ruin. Let 
 one who has been your fellow sinner entreat you to 
 become his fellow traveller in the blessed ways of 
 God. 
 
 [Henry was now so overcome by his own thoughts 
 that he could say no more, till he was interrupted by 
 a message that Thomas Newman had brought the 
 horses, to convey him to his father's house at Grace- 
 hill farm. 
 
 Mr. Traffick comes in from the shop.] 
 Traffick. Mr. Henry, Thomas Newman is come 
 with the horses; you must get yourself ready. 
 VOL. I. — 12 
 
126 VILLAGE DIALOGITES. 
 
 Henry. Thomas Newman ! why is that the poor 
 man who worked for my father, and the same we used 
 to ridicule on account of his reh'gion? 
 
 Traffock. Yes; and a truly good man he is; he is 
 only gone to the butcher's for a joint of veal, to be 
 roasted for supper; for your father says, they must 
 have a piece of the fatted calf, that they may all eat 
 and be merry, because you are come home. 
 
 Henry. Whatjfor such a wretch asl! [Henry weeps 
 and adds,] Oh, what a loving, forgiving, uniting spi- 
 rit does the grace of Christ create among those whose 
 hearts have tasted of his love! 
 
 [Henry is mounted, and rides home with Thomas, 
 and Billy Traffick walks with them.] 
 
 Henry. Well, Thomas, how do my dear father and 
 mother do? 
 
 TliO. Oh, sir, your worthy father is very well, con- 
 sidering; but he takes on wonderfully at the thoughts 
 of seeing you. 
 
 Henry. And well he may, when he receives into 
 his house such an ungrateful wretch as I have been! 
 
 Tho. 0, no, master Henry, that is not the cause; 
 it is because the Lord has so mercifully met with you 
 and changed your heart; ay, and it is wonderful how 
 his heart has been changed by the grace of God since 
 you left us. 
 
 Henry. Why, Thomas, they say Mr. Lovegood 
 is a most faithful and affectionate preacher of the 
 gospel, 
 
 T/io. Ay, that he is, as ever lived: to be sure, he 
 is the finest man in all the world ; and it will do you 
 good to see how your worthy father stands up in the 
 pew, and how, at times, the tears keep running down 
 his cheeks, while he hears him preach the precious 
 word of life among us poor sinners; and you can 
 have no conceivance what a many good people there 
 are up and down the country; and how our church 
 
DIALOGUE Vlil. 127 
 
 IS crowded Sunday after Sunday; and what a many 
 abominable wicked sinners have been converted to 
 God, and how happy and loving we all are together. 
 
 Henry. Why, what you tell me seems quite like 
 a dream: it is like coming out of hell into heaven. — 
 But is not that my father and one of my sisters 
 coming to meet us? 
 
 Tho. Yes; it is your father and JVIiss Nancy. — 
 Dear old gentleman! he is coming out to meet you, 
 as the father came to meet the prodigal in the Gos- 
 pel. How he has been talking about you, and 
 counting the days till you come home, for he ex- 
 pected you full a fortnight or three weeks before 
 this. 
 
 Henry, 0, what shall I do! how shall I meet him! 
 how he lifts up his hands! and how he seems to be 
 affected! Lift me off, Thomas — I am so lame. What 
 a meeting this will be! The Lord support me! 
 
 Under such circumstances the newly converted 
 prodigal and parent met. The conversation was too 
 interrupted to be related. At the door of the house 
 Henry was embraced by his mother. Had he not 
 been prevented, he would have been directly upon 
 his knees to have begged her pardon for having given 
 much severer pains to her heart by his conduct, than 
 ever she felt for him as his mother, when she brought 
 him into the world. Miss Polly all the time com- 
 pletely kept up the character of the elder son in the 
 parable; she would neither baste the veal, nor melt 
 the butter, nor draw the beer, nor even peel a potato; 
 but showed such tempers as exemplified a complete 
 contrast between the spirit of envy, and the spirit 
 which is of God. 
 
 We suppose the course of the dialogue to be dis- 
 conlinued for an hour, and by that time Sam comes 
 
128 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 up in haste from the vicarage, having been sent as a 
 purpose-messenger to Brookfield, to announce the 
 arrival of Henry to Mr. Lovegood. Mr. Lovegood 
 soon follows, and is introduced. 
 
 Far. Harry, my child, this is our dear minister 
 who brought your poor father — [he weeps and adds] 
 to know the Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 Loveg. to Littleworth, My good friend, though 
 I rejoice with you on this happy event, yet you had 
 need of support, that you may rejoice with trembling 
 and with holy moderation. — (to Henry.) My dear 
 youth, we are most heartily rejoiced at this event, 
 and at the good evidence you have given that a di- 
 vine change has been wrought on your heart. 
 
 Henry. I hope and trust it has; for you must 
 know, sir, what a wretch I was before I went to sea. 
 
 Loveg. No matter what has been ; the Lord, I trust, 
 has cast all those sins behind his back. Consider, by 
 the grace of God, what is to be; for in the gospel the 
 grace of Christ is provided for us in time, and the 
 glory of Christ in eternity. 
 
 Henry. Oh, sir, I am ashamed to look you in the 
 face, when, with the deepest contrition, I consider in 
 my wicked wild days what cruel words I have ut- 
 tered against you, and what abominable stories I was 
 glad to hear, and even invent, to expose your inno- 
 cent character. I would beg your pardon a thousand 
 times. 
 
 Loveg. Oh no, sir, we must have no begging of 
 pardons. If God has pardoned us, we can easily 
 forgive each other: but there is nothing new in all 
 this; for Paul, before his conversion, was " injurious 
 and opprobrious :" we therefore, who have been cru- 
 cified with Christ, and who have been made partakers 
 of the power of his spiritual resurrection, are to 
 suppose, that all our former evils are left behind in 
 
DIALOGUE VIII, 129 
 
 the grave from which he arose; they are to be buried 
 and forgotten, as though they had never been. 
 
 Henry. Oh, sir, how glad shall I be to hear you 
 preach concerning these great things, and about this 
 blessed Christ, at Brookheld Church! and William 
 Traffick tells me it is Sacrament Sunday; and will 
 you let me be there, dear sir? — [To his father] and 
 will you, my dear father, forgive me, and let me kneel 
 down by you at that blessed feast of love? 
 
 Far. 0, my dear child! don't talk so; don't talk 
 so; it quite breaks my heart; all is forgotten and 
 forgiven already. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood, finding that the sluices of affection 
 were opened afresh, and remembering that it was 
 the father's design to establish family prayer on the 
 return of his son, and that he was expected to intro- 
 duce that very profitable service into the family, 
 wisely called for the Bible before supper. Once he 
 thought of reading and illustrating the 15th of Luke, 
 on the Prodigal's Return, but discreetly forbore, 
 knowing that the feelings of the family, upon a very 
 similar event, were already excited to the utmost. — 
 He chose therefore the 51st Psalm, as being very 
 congenial to that broken and contrite spirit, which 
 was now exemplified among them. 
 
 After prayer the supper was soon introduced, hos- 
 pitable and plain. Two fowls, and a large fat ham, 
 with plenty of vegetables, puddings and pies, were 
 added to the piece of the fatted calf already brought 
 from Mapleton. For the Farmer having invitecl 
 many of his neighbours to this first family prayer, 
 on such an occasion, chose tiiat the provision should 
 be plentiful for those in the kitchen, as well a^ 
 others in the parlour; for now " they began to be 
 merry." One affecting circumstance, however, hap- 
 pened during the festivity in the parlour. The Far- 
 12* 
 
130 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 mer, seeing his son's plate nearly emptied, loaded it 
 a second time with what would have satisfied a mo- 
 derate man for three meals at least, and then plenti- 
 fully drenched it with melted butter. This act of 
 hospitable affection from the father, again touched 
 the feelings of the son; he looked down on his plate, 
 thus heaped with a Benjamin's mess, and again he 
 wept. Mr. Lovegood called him aside, advising him 
 for awhile to withdraw from the company; and they 
 walked and conversed together for some minutes in 
 a large old hall, while Mr. Lovegood thus attempted 
 the word of consolation. 
 
 LfOveg. My dear youth, it grieves us all to see you 
 so cast down on ah occasion which calls for so much 
 thankfulness and joy. 
 
 Henry. Oh, sir! what an ungrateful and rebellious 
 wretch have I been against my parents, against my 
 God all the days of my life! 
 
 Loveg. Whatever you may have been, yet of this 
 you may most assuredly be persuaded, that now all 
 your past offences your father has entirely forgiven; 
 and has again and again desired me to assure you, 
 that he means to look upon you as if nothing had ever 
 happened to offend him. 
 
 Henry. [Weeping still more abundantly.] 0, sir, 
 that's the very thing which cuts me to the heart; — 
 not that 1 suspect my father to be unforgiving; but 
 that I should have been such an ungrateful wretch to 
 grieve such a kind, tender-hearted parent. 
 
 [After a little while Henry's spirits were recruited, 
 and he and Mr. Lovegood returned to the parlour. 
 While they continued at the. feast, the conversation 
 thus continued.] 
 
 Loveg. Well, Mr. Henry, you can now tell us a 
 little more than what we find in your letter of God's 
 gracious dealings with your soul. 
 
DIALOGUE VIII. 131 
 
 Henry. Why, sir, if all the world had told me that 
 I should have experienced such a blessed change, I 
 could not have believed them. 
 
 Loveg. Were you filled with much despondency 
 when you first saw the evil tendency of sin? 
 
 Henry. Why, sir, I was not so much distressed 
 from an apprehension that there was a hell for sin: 
 what I dreaded was a hell in sin. 
 
 Loveg. Had you no concern about your soul till 
 after you were wounded? 
 
 Henry. Not the least. — I am astonished at my 
 wickedness till I was brought, as I supposed, close to 
 the gates of death. Then I was ever framing to my 
 mind, that an angry God was looking at me, and that 
 he hated me: then sin began to flash upon my con- 
 science, and many evils, which I had forgotten, were 
 brought to my mind, as if I had committed them but 
 the day before. Nothing made me fear hell but sin, 
 and now I saw sin worse than hell itself. 
 
 Loveg. And how did you get relief? 
 
 Henry. While I continued groaning in m}^ ham- 
 mock, some poor, despised, praying seamen ventured 
 to come near me, when all the ship's crew expected 
 lo hear of my death every hour; and when 1 began 
 to tell them of m}' evil heart, and evil plight, they 
 seemed quite to rejoice at it. This appeared strange 
 to me at the first, but they soon gave me to under- 
 stand that there was no coming to Christ but with a 
 wounded conscience. And then I was directed to 
 seek to him for mercy, while his salvation was my 
 only hope. 
 
 Loveg. Indeed, and so it is; for nothing but re- 
 demption will do for a ruined sinner. When we 
 come to know our own hearts, we are soon delivered 
 from trusting in ourselves, and on our own fancied 
 righteousness. 
 
 Henry. Ah, sir, as soon as ever I felt that I was a 
 
132 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 ruined sinner, I was fully convinced that Christ atone 
 must be exalted in my salvation. I had no other hope 
 left, but in him. 
 
 Loveg. What, had you no serious apprehensions 
 during the time of the engagement, while your eter- 
 nal state seemed to depend upon the fate of every 
 moment.'* 
 
 Henry. Not the least. And when a poor profane 
 wretch died but a little before, of a mortification 
 through a broken leg, by his falling down the hatch- 
 way, 1 could even hear him all the time curse and 
 swear, because, as he thought, he was not properly 
 attended to, while he lay in his hammock; and when 
 he was told that his leg was in a state of mortifica^ 
 tion, he sunk into despair, and, even to his last mo- 
 ments, used the most horrid imprecations against his 
 own parents for sending him to sea, and for intro- 
 ducing him into all sorts of sin. 
 
 Fa7\ 0, my dear child, what a mercy that my bad 
 example was not the cause of your eternal ruination! 
 
 Henry. But, blessed be God, father, that is not the 
 case; in a way of wonderful mercy the Lord has 
 met with us both. Come, let us be thankful, and 
 bless the Lord together for his love. 
 
 Far. With all my heart, my dear child. [He takes 
 him by tiie hand, and falls upon his neck, and kisses 
 him most affectionately. Mr. Lovegood again inter- 
 rupts him, and adds,] 
 
 Loveg. But, Mr. Littleworth, your son is to tell 
 us the rest of his story. 
 
 Henry. Why, as soon as I began to be better, I 
 joined those praying people, and at once partook 
 with them their lot of ridicule and contempt. We 
 were all despised as the meanest fellows in the ship, 
 though in the time of the engagement they had 
 proved themselves the boldest men among us all. 
 
 Loveg. No wonder at that: living Christians need 
 
DIALOGUE VIII. 133 
 
 not be afraid to die, because they who live and believe 
 in Christ can never die. But when you came to An- 
 tigua, how was it with you there? 
 
 Henry. Sir, the providence of God most favourably 
 and graciously attended me; for as soon as I arrived, 
 I and my comrades in prayer sought after any who 
 were inclined to seek after God; and by a remark- 
 able providence, the town being very full, I found 
 myself quartered at the hut of a poor slave, who 
 knew the grace of God in truth. I could not but 
 from the first admire his mild submission and atten- 
 tion; but before we went to sleep, how was I struck 
 to hear the poor creature say, "My dear Massy, 
 me hope you no be angry if me and my poor wifey 
 and pickaninnies pray to our dear Saviour before we 
 go to bed;'^ and when I told him that I had been 
 lately taught to pray myself, and should be glad to 
 pray with him, he asked me, "What, Massy! you 
 love our dear Saviour too?" and when I told him I 
 hoped I did, for that he had pardoned my sins, and 
 changed my heart, then he ran directly and em- 
 braced me, and said, " my dear Broder, den I love 
 you to de heart, because you love our dear Saviour;" 
 and after this, as you may suppose, we soon got ac- 
 quainted with each other. 
 
 Loveg. I suppose, when you got acquainted with 
 this poor good creature, he soon introduced you to 
 the rest of his brethren. 
 
 Henry. Yes; and I went directly, and told my 
 praying shipmates what a treasure 1 had found in this 
 poor slave; and the night after we all met for prayer 
 in his hut; and when we asked him how he came to 
 know about these good things, he told us the most 
 affecting story I ever heard, of his sufferings before 
 he came from Africa, and how mercifully he was 
 brought to the knowledge of the truth by the zeal 
 and attention of the Moravian missionaries, some 
 
134 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 years after he had lost his liberty, and been sold as 
 a slave. 
 
 Loveg. Well, Mr. Henry, as we shall now, I trust, 
 have frequent interviews with each other, I should 
 be glad if on a future occasion you could recollect 
 some of the most material circumstances of his story, 
 and the narration of them may be profitable to us all; 
 but I dare say, soon after that you got acquainted 
 with their ministers. 
 
 Henry. Why, directly when poor Sancho, for that 
 was his name, could find time, he went and told their 
 minister that there were some huckra sailors that 
 loved the Saviour, and the venerable gray-headed 
 man soon came to see US', and as I was then but lately 
 awakened to a sense and sight of my sins, the remem- 
 brance of them lay very heavy on my conscience; 
 and I bless God for the consolations I soon, began to 
 receive from the affectionate and tender way in which 
 he recommended me to the Son of God for salvation. 
 On the Sunday following all of us went to their 
 Chapel: it was a most affecting sight to behold so 
 large a number of poor blacks, notwithstanding their 
 slavery, rejoicing in the liberty of the Gospel. 
 
 Loveg. Blessed be God, the calamities of a Chris- 
 tian shall always be counter-balanced by his consola- 
 tions: it is the privilege of the believer, notwith- 
 standing all his troubles, to rejoice with joy unspeak- 
 able and full of glory. 
 
 Henry. And so it should seem, sir, for during the 
 week Sancho took us to see a poor woman singing 
 and rejoicing in dying circumstances, in a manner 
 remarkably glorious; crying out, " My dear Saviour 
 is just coming for me — he has loved me — he has 
 given himself for me! how he warms my heart, 
 and blesses me — death is now noting to me: how I 
 long to be dissolved, that I maybe with my precious 
 Jesus! and how I love all of you, my dear broders,^ 
 
DIALOGUE VIII. 135 
 
 because you love him. In heaven, we shall none of 
 us be cruel against each other, but we shall all be 
 like our loving Saviour, and see him as he is, in all 
 his glory." Thus she went on, praising and bless- 
 ing God, and triumphing in the forgiving love of 
 Ghrist. 
 
 Loveg. Well, Mr. Henry, we shall have other op- 
 portunities to talk over these matters; but we should 
 not conclude this J03^ful interview without some 
 praises to God for his great goodness in returning 
 you again to your father's house, and bringing you 
 to the knowledge of yourself. 
 
 Henry. 0, sir! what an ungrateful wretch should 
 I be, to forget my God after such mercies! 
 
 Littlew. My child, you cannot think what a nice 
 hymn Mr. Lovegood has made on your conversion 
 and return. JNancy, call in Thomas Newman, that 
 he may pitch the tune. 
 
 [Thomas comes in, and the hymn is sung; but 
 poor Henry's harp was on the willows; the case ex- 
 pressed in the hymn was so much his own, that 
 every line brought a fresh tear trickling from his 
 eye.] 
 
 THE penitent's SONG OF PRAISE. 
 
 Did ever one of Adam's race, 
 
 Cost thee, dear Lord, such toil and grace. 
 
 Ere this rebellious heart of mine 
 
 Was taught to yield to love divine? 
 
 Vile was my heart, deep plung'd in sin, 
 A dismal den of thieves within; 
 Where ev'ry lust presum'd to dwell, 
 The hateful progeny of hell. 
 
 A deep apostate from my God, 
 I trampled on the Saviour's blood: 
 I scorn'd his mercy, mock'd his pain 
 And crucified mv Lord again. 
 
136 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 How great the pow'r, how vast the sway, 
 That first constrain'd me to obey! 
 How large the grace thou didst impart, 
 That conquer'd sin, and won my heart! 
 
 But, lo! the chief of sinners now 
 Is brought before thy throne to bow: 
 Surely this mighty pow'r from thee, 
 Can conquer all which conquers me. 
 
 Hail, dearest Lord, my choicest love! 
 By pity drawn from realms above! 
 Eternal praise to Love Divine, 
 That won a heart so vile as mine! 
 
 The hymn being ended, Mr. Lovegood offered 
 up another short prayer, and the whole family re- 
 tired. 
 
DIALOGUE IX. 
 
 HEV. Mk. LOVEGOOD AND MR. \\T>RTHY'S 
 FAMILY AT FARMER LITTLE WORTH'S. 
 
 THE EVILS Of the SLAVE TRADE DELINEATED. 
 
 About three weeks after Henry's return, Mr. 
 Worthy, mindful of Farmer Littleworth's invitation, 
 attended, with Mrs. Worthy and their eldest daugh- 
 ter, to drink tea at Gracehill Farm. It has already 
 been noticed, that ^11 correspondence between Mr. 
 Worthy and the family of the Blusters of Revel Hall 
 was completely closed. Nor could he keep up any 
 farther intimacy with Lord Rakish's family, thaii to 
 give them a morning visit after their return from 
 town, or some other places of dissipation. A man of 
 his superior mind, could discover, thM, while tbe 
 scriptures directed him to be courteous, ^yeU knowing 
 that "evil communications corrupt good manners,^' 
 he was also instructed to be cautious. His maxim 
 was "to be civil to the great, but intimate with the 
 good." He therefore never supposed he disgraced 
 himself by a familiar intercourse with persons of in- 
 ferior rank, while they sustained the character of real 
 goodness of disposition and conduct. Mt. Love- 
 good, as we naturally slippose, was inVited to be one 
 of the party. Mrs. Lovegood, ever attentive to her 
 domestic concerns, and burdened with the large care 
 of a little family, though the sincere wish of all par- 
 ties, Could seldom attend on these occasions. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Worthy and Mr. Lovegood made it 
 VOL. I — 13 
 
138 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 a point to come early, as they wished for some con- 
 ■Versation with the newly converted prodigal, as also 
 to ficain some information respecting the poor negroes 
 in Antigua. After the accustomed salutations, they 
 were ushered b}^ the farmer and his wife into the 
 best parlour, where Miss Nancy had been preparing 
 all things for their reception; and thus the conversa- 
 tion began. 
 
 Farmer. Ah, dear! had any one told me, three 
 years ago, that I should have had such an honour as 
 to have our worthy 'squire and his lady at our house, 
 I could never have believed them, when I used to 
 laugh at your honour's religion: but, the Lord knows, 
 it was when I had none of my own. 
 
 Mr, Worthy. Well, but you know, my good friend, 
 we were all nearly alike, till we were better instructed. 
 But where is your son Henry? for we are come to 
 hear something of the gracious providences which 
 have brought about this wonderful change upon his 
 mind; and which have attended him ever since he 
 left these parts in his thoughtless days. 
 
 Far. He is only gone out with Thomas and Sam 
 to see your honour's horses put properly into the 
 stable: but, for sure, it is to admiration what a 
 blessed boy he is, and how loving and good the Lord 
 has made him; it quite overcom.es me when I think 
 of it! we seem to enjoy a little heaven upon earth. 
 
 Lovegood. They who are born again are born to 
 enjoy two heavens instead of one: a heaven of grace 
 here, and a heaven of glory hereafter. But, through 
 the mercy of God, what a wonderful alteration has 
 taken place in your family, when compared to what 
 it was three years ago, when you were all living 
 without God in the world ! 
 
 Far. Ay, so I thought last Tuesday evening, 
 when my son and Billy Traffick, and three or four 
 other young men that frequent our church, came 
 
DIALOGUE IX. 139 
 
 and spent the evening at our house; and Billy Traf- 
 fick brought with him ihe Pilgrim's Progress. What 
 a precious book for sure that is! and they say the 
 man that wrote it was nothing but a poor tinker: 
 ay, and a very wicked sinner, as wicked as ever I 
 was, before the Lord converted him. 
 
 Loveg. Yes, and what a proof is this what the 
 grace of God can do on the vilest of sinners; as also 
 what wisdom God can communicate to his children, 
 independent of human learning, however good that 
 may be in its place: but that book is not less enter- 
 taining than instructive. Happy are they who find 
 they are travelling with the pilgrim towards the 
 celestial city! 
 
 Far. Well, I do ti'ust that some of us have got 
 into that blessed road; though to my mind I hobble 
 as bad spiritually as I do naturally. But how Harry 
 was afiected when he read about Christian's burden 
 falling oiF his back when he came within sight of 
 the cross! Bear child! what a tender heart he has! 
 what would I give if my heart was but as tender as 
 his! and for sure what two sweet prayers we had 
 from Billy Traffick, and my son, before they went 
 away ! 
 
 [Henry's appearance in the parlour prevented any 
 farther conversation on that subject. After some 
 salutations the dialogue recommenced.] 
 
 Wor. Wellj Mr. Henry, we are come somewhat 
 sooner than expected to commemorate the goodness 
 of God in your conversion and return. We shall 
 be very glad soon to despatch the ceremonies of the 
 tea-table, that we may have time to hear of some 
 farther events than what we were acquainted with, 
 before your arrival.— (^ To the Farmer. J But, Mr. 
 Littleworth, where are your other two daughters. 
 Miss Polly and Miss Patty? 
 
 JPar. ^Xvas, sir, I am afraid they think they arp 
 
140 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 not yet dressed fine enough to receive your ho^. 
 nour. Ah dear! how glad 1 should be if they spent 
 but half the time in meditation and prayer they now 
 spend at their twilight? there is no. conceivance what 
 pride there is in all our wicked hearts!. — [Mrs. 
 Worthy and family smile; the Farmer continues'] — 
 Why I thought I should make some blunders in 
 my countrified fashion of talk;, but my daughters 
 have put a sort of petticoat thing round their table, 
 and I thought; they called it a twilight; bu,t my fa- 
 ther loved his money too well to give us uwiohlarning. 
 
 tMrs. Wor. Never mind, my good friend, the 
 mistake of calling^ a toilet a, IwUight: we all under- 
 stand you. 
 
 [Just then Miss Polly and Miss Patty came down 
 from their tioilight, and such curious tawdry figures 
 as might be expected. Miss Polly being the eldest, 
 did tlie honours of the tea table, when she had enough 
 to do to instruct Sam, primed up in his livery, how 
 to conduct himself in his office as footman, the con- 
 versation having been interrupted by their appear- 
 ance, was thus resumed. J 
 
 Z,oveg<, Mr. Henry, we have already been ac- 
 quainted witli many of the circumstainces which first 
 brought about the blessed change that has taken 
 place upon your mind, though we have heard but 
 little from you of what passed when you was in An- 
 tigua, after you became acquainted with the Mora- 
 vians. Besides, Mr. Worthy is a subscriber to their 
 mission, as also to other missionary societies, latelj^ 
 established In oxir own country: he would therefore be 
 glad of a farther narration of what has come to your 
 knowledge respecting these good people, and of their 
 efforts to evangelize the poor slaves. 
 
 Wor. Though I have n,o doubt of the authenticity 
 of the reports we have received from every quarter 
 respecting the cruelties exercised oyer these misera-?. 
 
DIALOGUE IX. 141 
 
 ble creatures, yet I should be glad of your informa- 
 tion concerning th© general state of tbe poor African 
 slaves, so far as it has come within your personal 
 knowledge! 
 
 Hen. 0, sir! the barbarous usage they receive 
 from us is inexpressible. I have seen heaps of them 
 myself bought and sold like a set of beasts in a com- 
 mon market. I believe many more, on an average, 
 than eighty thousand of these poor creatures are an- 
 nually transported out of their own country, to be 
 made the objects of this abominable traffic: and it is 
 amazing what a number of these, amounting to nearly 
 one-third, according to a most brutal expression, die 
 in seasoning; and can it be wondered at, when they 
 are taken from a life of comparative ease and indo- 
 lence, to a life of the most cruel labour, and are kept 
 in perpetual terror under the lash of their drivers 
 all the time, with their hearts ready to break, having 
 been lately torn from their dearest friends and con- 
 nexions, and with no other expectation than to drag 
 on a most miserable existence till, by the hand of 
 death itself, which many of them most anxiously de- 
 sire, they escape the clutches of their tormentors. 
 
 Tf^or. Did you say more than eiglity thousand, 
 Mr. Henry? Are you correct in your information? 
 I thought it was about half that number. 
 
 Hen. Sir, upwards of half that number are cruelly 
 exported from their own country for the use of the 
 British islands alone. I myself saw, in the Kingston 
 Gazette, three thousand of them advertised for sale 
 at one time: the importation for one year only, into 
 difierent islands, amounted to thirty-five thousand; 
 and as the islands belonging to other nations must 
 want at least as many as ourselves, I believe I should 
 have been nearer the mark if I had said one hundred 
 thousand than eighty thousand. 
 
 Wor. VVhat horrid robbery on the persons of our 
 13" 
 
142 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 fellow-creatures, and what dreadful murder of human 
 lives! for the conclusion certainly is, that not less than 
 all that number are wanted to keep iiv the stock, to 
 succeed those^ who, lose their lives by their cruel ba- 
 nisiiment, or who have been killed' off by barbarous 
 treatment and hard labour. For it seems the calcu- 
 lation has been reduced to a nicety, how far it may be 
 most profitable to work them down, as you. would a set 
 of beasts? and buy fresh ones,, ox let them breed among 
 themselves. And it is well known, that, if it were not 
 for the effects of o.ppression and war, the human race, 
 in every part of the globe, would rapidly in,cf ease. 
 
 Hen. Yes, sir; and in ail the plantatio-ns where these 
 poor creatures are treated with any degree of mercy, 
 they never find themselves, under the necessity of 
 resorting to, those horrid markets. 
 
 Wor. It should alsO; seem ^he infamous tricks 
 practised to procure them, are the most treacherous 
 and cruel: none of us can be ignorant of the fact on 
 what frivolous pretences we excite them to war among 
 themselves^ tliat we may gain the advantage of pur- 
 chasing the unhappy oaptives, made by the imnatural 
 contests excited among this poor ill-instructed race 
 of our fellow creatures, who otherwise have a dispo- 
 sition to liv^ in mutual peace a,nd harmony with 
 each othei?. How much more would it become us 
 to civilize and evangelize them, than to do all in our 
 power to add to their natural brutality, that we may 
 afterwards enslave them. I^um, guns, and gunpow- 
 der, it seems, are the general brilies. given to these 
 artless heathens from the artful Christians, (so called 
 in this country.) for the purposes of exciting in- 
 toxication and bloodshed among them, that, at their 
 expense, we may gratify our abominable ambition 
 and pride. 
 
 Hen. O yes, sir! what you say is all very true. 
 I myself was conversing with one who had been 
 
DIALOGUE IX. 143 
 
 engaged in this detestable trade not long ago; and 
 to convince me how many lives are wantonly lost 
 before a few slaves can be procured for the West 
 India Islands, he told me several stories, one of which 
 I well remember:^ — ^'The commander of an African 
 ship sent to acquaint on-e of their kings that he wanted 
 a cargo of slaves: the king, for the sake of gain, pro- 
 mised to furnish him: and in order to do, it, set out, 
 designing to. surprise some towns and make all the 
 people prisoners. Some time afterwards the king 
 sent him word he had not succeeded, having at- 
 tempted to break up two towns, but was twice re- 
 pulsed ; but that l^e stiU hoped for success. He uext 
 met his enemies in the open j&eld. A battle was 
 fought which lasted three days, and the engagemeat 
 was so bloody that four thousand five hundired men 
 were sJain on tfee spot!'^ 
 
 Wor.. One shudders at the very relation of these 
 execrable cruelties. But it seems we have other 
 pretexts to. cover this horrid trade: we buy them as 
 slaves sold for theft and for adultery; and even their 
 superstition and ignorance are to serve for our profit, 
 while, for the supposed crime of witchcraft, many 
 innocent sufferers are doomed to slavery, through 
 life. Thus we not only fill our colonies with the 
 very refuse of the barbarous Africans, as we call them, 
 (though worse barbarians ourselves;) but disgrace our 
 national character hy becoming the executioners of 
 this most abject race 5 and even traverse the sea\S for 
 that purpose, as though we had not enough of the 
 same crimes to punish at home. 
 
 Hen. Yes, sir, and how unjust the punishment of 
 perpetual slavery, and that oftentimes for crimes that 
 scarcely deserve the- name; but till we tempted them 
 with the lure of gain there were no punishments by 
 perpetual slavery. It seems, notwithstanding we 
 choose to cry th.em down as barbarians, that their 
 
144 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 punishments were i4i some measure proportionate to 
 tiieir offences: but is it possible to suppose that near 
 a hundred thousand men, year by year, can deserve 
 such a punishment? 
 
 Wor. It is impossible to tell whether they are pu- 
 nished with justice or otherwise; for there is no 
 doubt they take all that are brought, "asking no 
 questions for conscience' sake." 
 
 Hen. Sir, there are instances in which they go still 
 farther. They not only take the slaves, but even by 
 treachery have seized the very people that have sold 
 them. In short, the whole of this most horrid traffic 
 is made up of every crime that treachery, cruelty, 
 and murder can invent: and if any of the European 
 nations were to act against each other, as we do 
 against these poor creatures, for no other cause than 
 because they are defenceless and ill-instructed, they 
 would be set down as so many monsters instead of 
 men. I think we may safely conclude, that, if we 
 Europeans transport full eighty thousand of these 
 men, we are the cause of murdering as many more 
 before we can procure them. And when we come 
 to calculate on the additions made, year by year, to 
 these miserable beings, it has been proved that not 
 less than half a million of our reasonable creatures in 
 the English islands only, and consequently little less 
 than A WHOLE million, including those belonging 
 to other nations, are at this moment in a state of the 
 most abject slavery, torn from their native lands and 
 dearest connexions; if all, therefore, were to be hanged 
 for committing the same crimes abroad for which 
 they would be sentenced to death at home, I ques- 
 tion, if there would be any left to carry on tliis most 
 infernal trade, 
 
 Loveg. When one hears of such wanton and abo^ 
 minable cruelties, what reason have we to fear that 
 solemji denunciation of divine vengeance; ^' Shall 
 
DIALOGUE IX. 145 
 
 itot my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?^^ 
 hut our harharities in war are hy no means all we 
 have to answer for. Multitudes are confessedly 
 stolen away by mere craft from their own country; 
 and men-stealers are the very worst of thieves.* 
 What a universal uproar it makes in this land if but 
 one poor child be kidnapped from his parents! but in 
 those unhappy climates we may kidnap all we can 
 catch, with the greatest impunit3% 
 
 Hen. 0, sir! they are brought over by these me- 
 thods in great abundance. It is amazing how many 
 poor children are stolen from their parents as soon as 
 they can run alone; and these half-reared children, 
 they always look upon as their most valuable acqui- 
 sitions; but what must their poor parents feel on 
 these occasions? 
 
 Loveg. What can they know of the feelings of 
 others, who have lost all feelings themselves? These 
 the scripture describes as being "past feeling;'^ but 
 I am told the Africans are remarkably fond of their 
 children. 
 
 Hen. Sir, their fondness and tenderness towards 
 their children, is almost to an extreme; though, for 
 want of better instruction, they frequently grow up 
 sulky and revengeful. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Being myself a mother, it is pleasant 
 to hear of their atteiitipn to their offspring. I knew 
 a gentleman in this country, that, out of mere com- 
 passion, received into his house an African girl, who 
 had been kidnapped when she was very young: and 
 she was remarkably affectionate and attentive to the 
 children of her charge, and they loved her inexpres- 
 sibly. Pray, Mr. Henry, what is your opinion of the 
 general disposition of an African? 
 
 * "He that stealeth a man, and selleth him, shall surely 
 ^e put to death." Ex. xxi. 16. 
 
146 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Hen. As far as I could discover, when they are ill 
 used, they become d^rk, sulky, and resentful to a 
 high degree; but if treated affectionately, and with 
 friendship, they are, in return, the most affectionate 
 and kind: a proof of this you have in a variety of in- 
 stances. Where a planter uses them with lenity as a 
 family of his fellow-creatures, though still his slaves, 
 they would fight and die for him. 1 heard of an in- 
 stance of a worthy gentleman, who bought a young 
 slave for his travelling-servant, designing when he 
 came of age to give him his liberty. And when he 
 told him he was no longer his slave, and that he was 
 at liberty to leave him as soon as he pleased, he cried 
 out with many tears, "Me leave you, my dear massey, 
 me no leave you, no never; me no want better wages 
 dan to serve my dear massey; if you turn me out of 
 one door, me come in at de oder; me never leave my 
 dear massey; no never, never." 
 
 Wor. What extreme cruelty, to injure and enslave 
 a race of our fellow creatures, whose minds are ca- 
 pable of such noble and generous sensations! 
 
 Hen. Yes, and farther evidence we have of this 
 in the love they bear towards their ministers, who, 
 with remarkable affection and xittention, preach to 
 them the merciful love of God our Saviour towards 
 mankind, and the tender love we ought to show to- 
 wards each other for the Saviour's sake. In their 
 public meetings they appear to me to resemble a 
 swarm of bees fixing around the queen bee of the 
 hive, all hanging upon her. Her life is their life, 
 and her death is their death. They have an un- 
 common attachment to their ministers, and all of 
 them seem to be drawn by a sort of silken cord of 
 affection, which they have neither power nor incli- 
 nation to resist. They and their ministers with them 
 give you quite the idea of artless shepherds with 
 their harmless flocks. To be sure there is a diffe- 
 
BtALOGUE IX. 147 
 
 rence evidently between them, yet it is amazing the 
 good which has been done among them by the intro- 
 duction of the gospel; and many of the planters see 
 so much of the good effects of it, that they do all in 
 their power to encourage and promote such preach- 
 ing on their plantations, and will give a much greater 
 price for a Christian slave, than for another. 
 
 Loveg. Well, Mr. Henry, and just so we should 
 all cleave around the blessed person of the Chief 
 Shepherd, and then we shall prove the truth of the 
 proverb, "They are well kept whom the Lord 
 keeps:" but some people will say, in vindication of 
 this trade, that the negroes are better off in a state of 
 slavery in the West Indies than in a state of freedom 
 among themselves; though we have but little proof 
 of it from what has hitherto been noticed. 
 
 Hen. Under some accidental circumstances, where 
 their owners are merciful and humane, I confess their 
 situation may be but little worse, if quite so bad, as 
 some of the peasantry in our own country; being al- 
 lowed a decent plat of ground for their own cultiva- 
 tion and support. But they have minds as well as 
 ourselves; and they must still feel thej^ are slaves, 
 and that all their happiness rests merely on the uncer- 
 tain circumstance, whether their master is a man or 
 a brute. In many instances, to my certain know- 
 ledge, their situation is rendered far more miserable 
 than if they were brutes themselves. Their food is 
 so coarse and bad, that nothing but necessity could 
 compel them to eat it; while their labour and their 
 punishments are severe and cruel. They have an 
 expression among themselves, that they are fed with 
 "a fish with one eye:" that is, a herring split asun- 
 der to serve two of them, with the little they can 
 raise among themselves. As to their punishments, 
 I am told, some of them have been tormented with 
 the thumb screw; one was tortured in an iron coffin 
 
148 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 filled with holes, placed close to a fire; another 1 
 heard of, who was suspended in an iron cage, to 
 be eaten by ravenous birds of prey, and lived 
 some days in that misery; and many have been 
 entirely worked and whipped to death by cruel mas- 
 ters. 
 
 Loveg. How 6an a God of mercy bear with a na- 
 tion so completely vile! but I trust there are the 
 t*ighteous among us, who will still save our land. 
 But I was told by a very worthy Moravian minister, 
 who called upon me a few weeks ago in his way to 
 their settlement in Fulneck, that their situation has 
 feeen softened of late. 
 
 Heri' Y6s, sir; as soon as they heard that a vote 
 in parliament had been passed for the abolition of 
 the slave trade, they became less cruel in their pu- 
 nishments, and enacted laws in their favour; but 
 these laws cannot be very well Observed while no 
 ilegro is allowed to give evidence against a white 
 iliart. Nothing could so effectually prevent these 
 Calamities, as an abolition of the trade itself, as it 
 relates to fresh importations; as by this step it would 
 be rendered absolutely necessary to use them with 
 mercy, that they may increase among themselves. 
 And it has been proved to demonstration, that such 
 a step would be not less advantageous to the interest 
 of the nation, than to the cause of humanity. 
 
 fVor. Why, then the very best that Can be said, 
 is, that they are taken out of a bad state and put into 
 another by us Christians, is we are called, abun- 
 dantly vvorse. But what farther proof need we of 
 this, than that, after they have been conquered or 
 kidnapped, they are torn from their families and ten- 
 derest connexions, and shipped on board those horrid 
 prisons provided for their transportation, and there 
 chained, man to man; and, till of late, so closely con- 
 ftned, that many of them were positively killed by 
 
DIALOGUE IX. 149 
 
 their most cruel confinement; and if they do not now 
 die so fast as formerly, by being crowded together,* 
 yet this cannot prevent them from dying of broken 
 hearts; while the survivors, after they are landed, 
 have nothing before them but perpetual slavery, there 
 to receive perhaps no better treatment than what you, 
 Mr. Littleworth, would give to an ox or a horse, be- 
 cause you are afraid of losing your profits by losing 
 your beast. 
 
 Far. Well, now I can assure your honour, that 
 though for many years I have been such a negleclful 
 sinner about the state of my soul, yet I never could 
 bear to see any dumb creature in misery; many and 
 many a time in my youthful days have I set up half 
 the night when a cow was likely to calve. Ay, and 
 the poor oxen, because I love to take notice of them 
 and feed them, and give them a pat when they re- 
 turn from plough, it is to admiration how well they 
 know me, and how fond they seem to be of me; and 
 I have felt more of this since I have known the Lord 
 than ever I did before. 
 
 Mrs. Lillleivorth. To be sure Mr. Littleworth is 
 very tender about dumb creatures, he would not 
 let our old house dog, Watch, be killed for ever 
 so long a time, though he got so dirty and nasty; 
 and then he would send to the doctor^s for some 
 strong sleeping stuffy that he might not know when 
 he died. 
 
 Loveg. Well, Mrs. Littleworth, this is a full proof 
 of the excellency of real Christianity; nothinglike the 
 love of Christ to soften our hard hearts and fill us 
 with universal love, not only towards each other, but 
 also to every creature of God that is innocent and 
 useful in its kind. 
 
 * I am told that the law on this point is now most shame- 
 fully evaded. 
 
 VOL. L — 14 
 
150 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Jlliss Polly. Is your honour's tea sweet enough? 
 (^To Mrs. Worthy and daugliler.J M:idain and Miss, 
 I hope I make it to your lilting. 
 
 JVo7\ yes, Miss Polly, and if, like some good 
 people, I could have conceived that the remedy was 
 in any wise likely to he proportionate to the disease, 
 knowing so well the selfishness of mankind, I had 
 never touched another lump of sugar while I live. 
 (To Henry. J But, Mr. Henry, what farther do you 
 know ahout the situation of these poor slaves during 
 what is called the Middle Passage. 
 
 Hen. Why, sir, while we were l^nng off Jamaica, 
 I saw one of those horrid African traders land its 
 miserable cargo, and afterwards, being in his ma- 
 jesty's service, was permitted to go on board. 
 
 iVor. Why, then you know a deal about it. 
 
 Hen. Sir, 1 have known enough to make my blood 
 run cold. 
 
 War. Did you see these poor creatures landed, and 
 afterwards sold? 
 
 Hen. yes, sir, I saw it! And as far as I could 
 understand it, nothing can equal the art, excepting 
 ti'.e cruelty exercised against these ignominious suf- 
 ferers on that occasion, for the purposes of our 
 luxury and pride. When a ship,/w/Z slaved, as they 
 call it, appears off shore, all are alert. Sometimes 
 they are sold on board, and then, like a set of cri- 
 minals, condemned to be hanged in our own land, 
 who have their irons knocked off before the halter 
 is fixed upon their necks, they are washed, shaved, 
 and dressed, and their skins oiled in order to give 
 them a youthful and healthy look. The tricks of 
 horse jockeys in this country are never to be com- 
 pared to the tricks of the slave jockeys in the West 
 ladies. Every art is used to shave and dress them in 
 such a manner, as to hide every gray hair, and all 
 appearances of age. And^ till of late, a most horrid 
 
DIALOGUE IX. 151 
 
 scramble for these poor creatures used to take place. 
 The general bargain being struck, these prizes of 
 blood are exhibited, and then all are left to avail 
 themselves, at a signal given, to seize the best slaves 
 they can procure. 
 
 Worthy. What must these poor creatures have 
 thought of such a scramble? If they thought of 
 our general character, they must have supposed 
 that Christians are devils, and that Christianit}- 
 was forged in hell. But how are they disposed of 
 now? 
 
 Hen. They are brought on shore, while the most 
 knavish tricks are still practised by these dealers in 
 human flesh. 0, sir, this was a sight that cut me to 
 the heart beyond whatever 1 saw before! 
 
 [Here Henry drops a tear, the Farmer catches 
 the sympathetic flame, and says to Mr. Love- 
 good,] 
 
 Far. Dear sir, what a heart the Lord has given 
 my dear chikl! Who could have thought it, when 
 we all know what a wicked sinner he was but a little 
 time ago? 
 
 [Mrs. Littleworth is also very much affected, and 
 addresses Mr. Lovegood.] 
 
 Mrs. Litllew. Well, sir, I must confess, that Henry 
 is a charming boy since he has taken to religion. I 
 wish, with all my heart, I was like him. (To her 
 husband.) And, husband, if I have been cross with 
 you about religion, I hope you'll forgive me, for I 
 know I have done wrong. 
 
 Littltw. (Quite overcome.) 0, my dear wife, 
 what joy it will be for me to travel with you to- 
 wards the celestial city, as Master Bunyan calls it, 
 now as we are coming towards the latter end of our 
 lives! 
 
152 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 [Mr. and Mrs. Worthy, and Mr. Lovegood were 
 so affected at this turn of the conversation, that for 
 awhile it was discontinued; the writer also having 
 been somewhat affected, as the reporter of these 
 events, begs thus to close the first part of the present 
 Dialogue, which, directly as time permits, he pur- 
 poses, by the blessing of God, to re-assume,] 
 
DIALOGUE X 
 
 The Evils of the Slave Trade farther deUneaied, 
 
 During the interval of silence created by the affec- 
 tionate and sympathetic feelings of the company, the 
 tea-table was cleared, fresh coals were put upon the 
 fire, the hearth was swept up, the curtains were let 
 down, the mould candles, bought on purpose for this 
 occasion, were lighted, INliss Polly having put a very 
 nice piece of fringed paper round the bottoms of them, 
 on account of their fine company; and thus the con- 
 versation recommenced. 
 
 IVor. I am so much interested in this most affect- 
 ing narration, that I should be glad, when your spi- 
 rits are sufficiently recruited, if you could but tell 
 me, how these poor slaves behaved themselves when 
 they were thus exposed to sale, and wdiat you saw 
 on that horrid occasion. 
 
 Hen. Notwithstanding every art to set them off 
 to the best of their power, and to make them look as 
 cheerful as they can, by their flattering promises, 
 yet many of them appeared to me as if their hearts 
 were ready to break with grief and despair, while 
 their purchasers, with the utmost indifference, ex- 
 amined them one after another, as people would a 
 parcel of horses at a fair. Yes, and they talked of 
 a damaged slave, as we do of a damaged iiorse, while 
 some of them wanted working slaves, and others of 
 them breeding slaves; for all the children born in 
 slavery are not, according to the law of nature, the 
 14* 
 
154 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 property of their parents, but of their owners; yes, 
 and when these planters and their overseers have 
 children by these poor negroes, instead of having 
 any regard to the offspring of their vicious passions, 
 they will sufier even these their own children to be 
 bred up in slavery like others. I remember hear- 
 ing a story of this sort which affected rrle exceed- 
 ingly. 
 
 Wor. If it be not an improper question to ask be- 
 fore the company now present, what was the story ? 
 
 Hen. Why, sir, one came to the trader for a breed- 
 ing slave; and he presented him to one who looked 
 very sickly and weak. The trader told him that he 
 could answer for that girl, as she was with child 
 Avhen he bought her; that they were in hopes to 
 have had the husband too, who was a fine young 
 fellow^, but he being terribly resolute in resisting as 
 long as he could, while they were breaking up their 
 town, they were obliged to kill him; that about the 
 middle of the passage the girl miscarried, and that 
 it had been a considerable expense to keep her alive; 
 that she was a strong healthy girl, and would do 
 either for breeding or labour, provided she did not 
 die of the sulks. 
 
 Loveg. Or, in other words, die of a broken heart, 
 through the barbarous usage of these monsters. 
 
 Hen. Yes, sir, it means all that; for take whatever 
 care you will of them, which a captain will natu- 
 rally do for his own interest, it is amazing how many 
 of them die one after another. All attempts to air 
 them upon the deck, to make them dance even by 
 the lash of a whip, against their wills, for the sake of 
 giving them exercise, that their health may be pre- 
 served can be of no avail; they are made quite sick 
 at heart, and even when they have been forced to 
 take food against their wills, they have immediately 
 sickened and again cast it up; and it is supposed 
 
DIALOGUE X. 155 
 
 principally from this cause, one-third of them actually 
 die on the passage. You may judge how miserable 
 they are, when they are obliged to be watched very 
 closely, lest they should destroy themselves to get 
 rid of their misery with their lives, which many have 
 done by throwing themselves overboard, or by other 
 methods, when they had it in their power; but the 
 case of another poor family affected me still more. 
 
 fVor, What was that, Mr. Henry? 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Really, Mr. Henry, your stories are 
 so affecting about these poor creatures, that I do not 
 know if I shall have sufficient resolution to sit and 
 hear them. My poor daughter seems quite over- 
 come by it already. 
 
 Miss Wor. Yes, ma'am, but if you please, I should 
 like to hear it, as it makes me thankful to think 
 how happy we are in this country in comparison of 
 others. 
 
 Wor. But it is by no means to our credit, while 
 we are so tenacious of liberty in our own land, that 
 we should be allowed to entail the curse of slavery 
 upon others; and for no other reason, as I can find, 
 but because the}'^ are of a different complexion to 
 ourselves. All this is sad selfish work. But let ua 
 try if we cannot hear your other story. 
 
 Hen. Why, sir, a man and his wife, each of them 
 I suppose between thirty and forty, and two fine- 
 looking boys, the one about twelve, the other I should 
 judge two years younger, all one family, were taken 
 captives in one of their horrid sham wars. To keep 
 them from having the sulks, it seems it was pro- 
 mised them that they should be all sold in one lot; 
 but the trader liaving met with a rich planter who 
 wanted some hearty boy slaves, finding he could 
 make the best bargain of them by selling them sepa- 
 rate, had them all four at a distance from the rest: 
 
156 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 soon afterwards a conductor^ came to drag the pur- 
 chased children from their parents! As soon as the}?^ 
 perceived this cruel separation was determined, the 
 whole Aimily ran into each other's arms, and em- 
 braced one another in such a manner as that they 
 could scarcely be torn asunder. At length the boys 
 were compelled to go to the destined place of their 
 slavery, while the parents appeared like two crea- 
 tures perfectly distracted with grief; for they had 
 now lost their last miserable consolation through 
 life, that they might only live and die together, 
 though in a state of cruel slavery. But 1 saw ano- 
 ther scene of the like sort that affected me more 
 than either of the former. 
 
 Far. Well, well, to be sure it is most dreadful 
 bad. I wonder that his Majesty does not put it 
 down, for they sa}', (God bless him!) he is as good a 
 sort of a gentleman in himself as ever lived, and that 
 he loves to make every one happy that is about him. 
 It comes to my mind, that when your honour goes 
 to I^ondon, could you but call on the Lord Cancellor, 
 the good gentleman who gave our minister the living, 
 and he was to go and tell the king ihe rights of it, he 
 would soon put it down. 
 
 Loveg. [smiling) but the king cannot act with- 
 out the consent of his parliament, otherwise I dare 
 say, had he his own will in this respect, he would 
 make others as happy as himself. 
 
 Far. Ay, so I dare say, for they say he speaks 
 mighty good nalur'dlij to every body, and that he 
 diverts himself by doing something in our way. 
 Now I like himi wonderfully for that. 
 
 IVor. And so do I too, for I think it bespeaks a 
 simplicity and goodness of disposition, which would 
 be an ornament to the greatest monarch upon the 
 
 * The reader is desired to notice what soft expressions are 
 invented to take off the odium from the agents of this horrid 
 traffic. 
 
DIALOGUE X. 
 
 157 
 
 earth; and why should not a king divert himself as 
 he likes best? I am sure a little farming is both in- 
 nocent and instructive. Indeed I know not what his 
 Majesty could better patronise, as the strength and 
 wealth of the nation so much depend on it. Better 
 be fond of the plough than the play-house. 
 
 Far. Why, but if our Parliament men can put down 
 these bad ways, I wonder they don't see to it. 
 
 Wor. Alas! as it happens, there is a deal of self' 
 interested ness stands in the way. 
 
 Far. Well, I wish with all my heart your honour 
 would but stand to be one of our par/iamenf men 
 for Mapleton. 1 am sure you would do all in your 
 power to put it down. I remember there was a main 
 bustle made against these wicked ways some time 
 ago, but that did not icind up so well as it should. 
 
 iVor. Indeed if it was in my power to remove 
 these evils, it would soon be done,- but as it is a 
 difficult thing to get into parliament with a clear 
 conscience, through the drunkenness and wicked- 
 ness which in general abound at the time of an elec- 
 tion, I had rather spend my days in retirement; and 
 do some little good among my neighbours in the 
 country, than waste half my time in London in at- 
 tending parliament. (To Henry.) But, Mr. Henry, 
 we must see if we cannot muster up courage to hear 
 your other story. 
 
 Hen. Oh, sir, as I was looking on upon these 
 miserable creatures, I saw a poor girl among the rest 
 sobbing and crying in the deepest distress, and at last 
 she quite fainted away. The captain ordered her 
 to be carried off to a distance. A young man slave, 
 who was standing by, was not less affected than her- 
 self; and he, it seems, was brought over from the 
 same country about three years before. Seeing the 
 5^oung woman in that condition, he fell down at the 
 feet of the man who had the care of her, and kissed 
 
158 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 them several times, begojing, as for his life, that he 
 might go and speak to her. At length he was per- 
 mitted. He ran to her with astonishing eagerness, 
 embraced and kissed her several times, crying out, 
 my sister, Ora! my dear sister, Ora! I was so 
 affected by this scene, that I had it upon my mind 
 sleeping and waking for several nights and days af- 
 terwards. 
 
 J^Irs. Wor. Indeed, Mr. Henry, the story seems 
 to have been too much for us all. I am sure it has 
 been too much for me; but do you know what be- 
 came of them afterwards? 
 
 Hen. Why, madam, as soon as the captain's man, 
 who had the care of the young w^oman, perceived 
 that she and the young man were brother and sister, 
 although inured to these scenes of misery, he could 
 not help dropping a tear or two of compassion with 
 the rest of us. After tlie girl was somewhat reco- 
 vered, they were left to converse together. The 
 farther particulars of this history I could not learn, 
 but I'll warrant it was tragical enough. After this, 
 however, the case was made known to the owner, 
 when, according to the true spirit of the trade, lest 
 the brother and sister should both of them take the 
 sulks, so as to endanger their labour, or perhaps the 
 loss of their Jives by their mutual grief for each other, 
 it was determined it should be contrived, if possible, 
 that they might both live together on the same plan- 
 tation. After some difficulty, it seems this was ac- 
 complished, and when they were informed of this 
 event, to see how they leapt for joy, how they em- 
 braced and kissed each other, while they went along 
 arm in arm to the plantation which was to be the 
 destined place of their labour, was not a less affect- 
 ing scene than the former. 
 
 Loveg. But, oh, what must the parents of these 
 two affectionate creatures have felt on the loss of 
 
DIALOGUE X. 159 
 
 such children! {To Mr. Worlhy.) What should 
 you and I {Qe\, sir, if we were to be bereaved of our 
 children in such an unmerciful manner? 
 
 Wor. Oh it is too much to be thou2;ht of. [To 
 Henry.) Indeed, Mr. Henry, I think you must dis- 
 continue your stories, for Mrs. Worthy seems more 
 affected than myself, and my poor daughter is more 
 overcome than either of us; and as to Mr. Love- 
 good, you see how much he feels on the subject, 
 though as yet you have given us nothing of tiie 
 history of poor Sancho, which you say, is as af- 
 fecting as any of the former. I think for the pre- 
 sent we have heard as much as we can bear, and 
 that the rest of it must be deferred till another op- 
 portunit}'. 
 
 Hen. It is not only very affecting, but equally as 
 improving; for he told me a lovely story of his con- 
 version to the knowledge and grace of the gospel by 
 the Moravian Missionaries. 
 
 J\Irs. Wor. What can be the excuse for such dis- 
 graceful and abominable cruelties against our fellow- 
 creatures? 
 
 Hen. Why, madam, we have been frequently told 
 by some that they are scarcely to be esteemed as our 
 fellow-creatures, but a species of beings considerably 
 below us. 
 
 Wor. {fired with holy indignaiion.) Is it possible 
 to admit such a thought for a moment? Can they 
 be worse brutes naturally than ourselves? What a 
 dishonour in us to carry on such an abominable 
 traffic, and for ethers to attempt to vindicate, or 
 even to palliate it, when e\ery principle belonging 
 to it is founded upon incurable injustice! For it ap- 
 pears to me, admitting their argument for the mo- 
 ment, if it can be proved that their natural under- 
 standings are in a small degree inferior to our own, 
 are we from thence to infer ihat we have a right to 
 
160 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 set them at variance among themselves, that we may 
 kidnap, rob, and murder, as we like best? and are 
 we to set the example to all Europe, by being the 
 first and principal transgressors, that we may avail 
 ourselves annually of more than twenty thousand 
 slaves for the sake of our luxuries; and destroy or 
 enslave at least double that number of our fellow 
 creatures, considering the multitudes we are obliged 
 to murder by sham wars, in order that we may pro- 
 cure them, and consequently draw down by our 
 infamous example the same evil on as many more 
 besides? Will reason or conscience for a moment 
 submit to it, when the only pretext which can be 
 given is, that we suppose their understandings are 
 inferior to ours? If so, why not pity and protect 
 them till better instructed? But cowards alone take 
 the advantage of fools, supposing the poor Africans 
 to be such. What then shall we call ourselves, 
 Chnstlans or devils? and can a race of devils act 
 worse against us than we do against them? And, as 
 they have exactly the same right, if they had equal 
 powxr, to plunder us as we have plundered them, 
 how should we bear it, if a fleet of their ships should 
 hover round our shores like a set of vultures after 
 their prey? Would not every principle of self-inte- 
 rested indignation be roused in us? If then it be 
 admitted that their understandings be weaker than 
 ours, yet I am sure of this, that in art and wicked- 
 ness, as it relates both to our principle and practice 
 towards them, we abundantly exceed them. 
 
 jFar. Well, I wish with all my heart, our 'squire 
 was in the thickest of them, he would give it them 
 roundly. 
 
 JMrs. Lit. Patty, my child, ring the bell. 
 
 Miss Polly. No, mother, Patty and Nancy are 
 going out themselves to bring it in. 
 
DIALOGUE X. 161 
 
 [Miss Patty and Miss Nancy went out immedi- 
 ately, and, by way of keeping up an old hospitable 
 custom, speedily returned, Miss Nancy with a heaped 
 plate-full of cake, cut in slices, and Miss Patty with 
 a large waiter, with glasses of wine already poured 
 out.] 
 
 Mrs. Lit. (To Mr. and Mrs. Worthy.) Madam, I 
 hope you and the 'squire will be so kind as to drink 
 a glass of wine, and eat a bit of take, after your tea. 
 
 Mrs. Wor, No, I thank you, Mrs. Littleworth, we 
 seldom take any thing after tea till supper time. 
 
 Far. I hope your honour and madam will be free, 
 and taste a little of the cake that my wife and daugh- 
 ters have been making, and drink a glass of wine. It 
 is outlandish wine, the same as your honour drinks at 
 the hall. My son went for it to Mr. Vintner's of the 
 George. 
 
 JVor. Well, Mr. Littleworth, for once I shall have 
 no objection to taste your wine; and as my wife and 
 daughter have been so much affected at the stories 
 Mr. Henry has been telling us, I hope they will fol- 
 low my example. 
 
 [As the fashion of drinking health was not yet ba- 
 nished from Grace-hill farm, Mr. Worthy drank the 
 family of the Littleworths, then sipped his glass again, 
 and drank his Majesty's good health. On which 
 the farmer observed, in his younger days how his 
 father directed him to drink the Pretender's good 
 health, but that noW he could drink his Majesty's 
 good health, with all his heart. The same glass served 
 to drink success to farming, and the last sip serVed 
 for another toast. — A speedy abolition of the Slave 
 Trade. Mr. Worthy was the toast-master, in which 
 Mr. Lovegood heartily joined him, and thus ended 
 the ceremony of the cake and wine.] 
 
 Jjovegn Well, but Mr. Henry, as it is agreed that 
 
 VOL. I. — 15 
 
162 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 all your stories will be too much for us at the present, 
 and as we must hear about poor Sancho and his bre- 
 thren, may 1 request the favour that the next time 
 this company meet it may be at the vicarage, some 
 Wednesday before the lecture; {to Mr. JVorlhy) but 
 I am afraid, sir, we shall not have that pleasure, for 
 above a fortnight or three weeks, as I hear you are 
 going to take Mrs. Worthy to see her relations iu 
 Lancashire. 
 
 Wor. Directly as we return, I am sure, we shall 
 be all very happy to come and see you, when we 
 shall hope, not only for some profitable conversation 
 about poor Sancho, but a good sermon in the bargain. 
 But shall we not interrupt you, sir, in your medita- 
 tions on that evening? 
 
 Loveg. no, sir; I hope I shall be prepared to talk 
 to the poor people who attend our lecture before you 
 come. Besides, such sort of conversation as we shall 
 then have, I am sure will be no impediment to the 
 sermon: and, by such a kind visit, you will confer a 
 favour on Mrs. Lovegood, who from her attention to 
 her family concerns, is so much confined at home. 
 
 Wor. (to Mr. Lovegood) Having now settled 
 these matters, we can allow you sufficient scope of 
 time for the Bible, a little singing and prayer. 
 
 J^ar. Ay, and what a mercy it is when God sends 
 ministers that know how to pray. I well remember, 
 when I was first awakened to a sense of my evil state, 
 as how when our rector, Mr. Dolittle, came, as he 
 thought, to set me riglit again, when I asked him if 
 he would take the Bible and expound a chapter and 
 go to prayer, poor gentleman, how he jumped about 
 like a parched pea in a frying pan. What a pity 
 it is when the neglectful and blind are sent by blind 
 men to lead the blind. 
 
 [Miss Nancy directly took the hint — ran out im- 
 mediately and brought in her father's large Bible out 
 
DIALOGUE X. 163 
 
 of the kitchen, placed it before Mr. Lovegood, and 
 snufied the candles.] 
 
 Far. Why, Nancy, my dear, you should not have 
 brought in thai Bible. (To Mr. Lovegood) Why, 
 sir, 1 should be quite ashamed if you were to see 
 what marks and notes I have made in it while I sat 
 reading in the kitchen by the fire-side. 
 
 Loveg. Never mind that, my friend. I always 
 love to see a marked Bible; it is, in my opinion, a 
 good evidence that our Bibles do us good, if we can 
 mark and note them while we read them: you know 
 that we pray that we may " read, mark, learn, and in- 
 wardly digest '^ the blessed word of life. 
 
 Far. Amen, I pray God we may. But, with your 
 leave, sir, I had rather you would read out of another. 
 (To his wife J Dame, will you send for that nice fine 
 Bible, with the pictures in it, which your aunt left 
 you as a legacy. It never can be made a better use 
 of than on the present occasion. 
 
 [The fine best Bible was accordingly fetched down 
 out of the curious old chest, or cabinet, in which it 
 was imprisoned, while Mr. Lovegood said, that he 
 wished it might be as much marked and noted as was 
 the other; observing, at the same time, that it was 
 from the kitchen Bible the people got the most good. 
 Mr. Lovegood, however, having been much afiected, 
 begged leave first to walk out for a few minutes into 
 the garden, on which occasion, being a man of a very 
 fruitful and a retentive mind, he composed a hymn, 
 which afterwards was sung at the family service. 
 And now Mr. Lovegood, " like a workman that 
 needeth not be ashamed," opened the precious word 
 of life. The chapter he chose was the 12th of 
 the Romans. He dropped some very pertinent ob- 
 servations while he read the chapter, but his attention 
 seemed peculiarly arrested by the following words: 
 /' Let love be without dissimulation; abhor that which 
 
164 VILLAGE DIALOayES. 
 
 is evil; cleave to that which is good; be kindly af- 
 fectioned one to another with brotherly love, in ho- 
 nour preferring one another." Then he quoted from 
 St. John, " God is love;" and dropped some very wise 
 and rich remarks, how God, our God in Christ, being 
 love, needed no other happiness than what he pos- 
 sessed in his own infinitely lovely existence; and 
 that we were proportionably happy in the enjoyment 
 of our existence also, as we existed in him. He ob- 
 served that the highest indulgence to a graciaus mind 
 w^as to confer that happiness on others, in loving them 
 and doing them good, as through the pardoning love 
 of Christ such infinite good had been done to us by 
 our regeneration and conversion to him. That self- 
 love was the natural principle on which all mankind 
 acted in their fallen state; that the grace of the Holy 
 Spirit was communicated to crucify and mortify this 
 hellish principle in man, and to implant in him ano- 
 ther principle perfectly supernatural, a most solemn 
 and sacred love to God for his own sake, and a most 
 merciful and tender loye to man for God's sake. He 
 strongly remarked how contrary a spirit of tyrann}' 
 and oppression was to the spirit of Christianity; that 
 sin turned men into monsters, rendered them " impla- 
 cable, unmerciful, and without natural affection;" 
 that the grace of the gospel, on the contrary, turns 
 monsters into men, not only directing them to be 
 loving, gentle, and merciful amo.ng themselves, "in 
 distributing to the necessities of the saints, and in 
 being given to hospitality;" but constraining them 
 to go beyond all this, even " to bless our very perse- 
 cutors while we could recompense to n,o man evil for 
 evil; but, if possible, as much as in us lay, to live 
 peaceably with all men;" therefore the Christian, 
 instead of avenging himself, chose rather " to give 
 place unto wrath." If therefore even "his very 
 enemy hungered, he would feed him, if he, thirsted. 
 
DIALOGUE X. 165 
 
 he would give him drink;" thus, instead of being 
 overcome of evil, he was directed, like his Lord and 
 Master, " to overcome evil with good." Thus he 
 went on with the chapter, impressing the same tem- 
 pers and graces on the family as were then before 
 them in the Bible. He then observed how the re- 
 verse of all this was exemplified in the horrid bu- 
 siness of the slave trade; that the whole of its esta- 
 blishment was founded on the "mammon of unrigh- 
 teousness," on a selfish love of the world; and that 
 the result of this infernal traffic could not be other- 
 wise than what it really was, a regular system of 
 wholesale licensed thievery and murder; that instead 
 of supposing the principles of Christianity could for 
 a moment allow such a hellish commerce in human 
 blood, directly as we are made by the power of the 
 gospel what we should be by the letter of the law, 
 we are blessed with the spirit of universal love. We 
 are meek, merciful, loving, "pure in heart," "blame- 
 less and harmless, the sons of God." The furious 
 lion is softened into the lamb, and all that is veno- 
 mous and evil, as in the serpent kind, is powerfully 
 extracted from our natures by "the blood of the ever- 
 lasting covenant," whereby we "draw near to God," 
 and are constrained to live to his glory. 
 
 Next he dropped some delicate hints on the blessed- 
 ness of this religion, as it brought down such happi- 
 ness into families, by making them experience a little 
 heaven in themselves and their houses. The Farmer, 
 Henry, and Miss Nancy felt the application, for they 
 could "set to their seal that God was true," in the 
 glorious influences of the power of converting grace 
 upon their own hearts. 
 
 After the chapter had been thus read and ex- 
 pounded, the following hymn, just before composed 
 by Mr. Lovegood, was given out, and Thomas New-* 
 man pitched the tune: 
 
 15* 
 
166 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Now let the efforts of our praise 
 Arise to him who reigns above ; 
 In whose essential holiness 
 Dwells the eternal flame of love. 
 
 Jesus, our God, thy love we sing, 
 ynknown to sinners of our race, 
 • Till thy compassion brought thee down 
 To save us by thy wondrous grace. 
 
 Then what is heav'n but as we find 
 In thee is all vye wish to be ; 
 And what is hell in man, dear Lord,. 
 3ut as he is devoid of thee? 
 
 Then where is heav'n but in the soul. 
 Who dwells in thee supremely bless'd, 
 And where is hell but on the shore 
 Where mercy finds no peaceful rest.' 
 
 ^oon may this love and mercy reach 
 The swarthy tribes of Afric's shore ; 
 Those slaves of sin thou canst set free,. 
 And bid them go and sin no more. 
 
 We blush with holy shame that men 
 Who bear thy sacred name, our God,, 
 Should dare one single man enslave, 
 Or shed one drop of human blood. 
 
 Kindle the flame of love divine 
 In some kind heralds of thy grace; 
 And bid each distant clime receive 
 The gladsome news of heavenly peace"! 
 
 After the hymn, Mr. Lovegood offered up a very 
 appropriate prayer, first for themselves and the fa- 
 mily, blessing God for the grace already given, and 
 praying for farther vouchsafements where still needed 
 for the rest of the company then present; for the peo- 
 ple of his ministerial charge; for the farther spread 
 of the gospel; for the king and government; and for 
 those objects of human wo who had been made the 
 
DIALOGUE X. 167 
 
 subject of their conversation. — Soon after this the 
 company withdrew; and if the reader be not tired in 
 reading, he must exercise his patience in waiting the 
 return of Mrs. Worthy from Lancashire, before the 
 subject of the slave trade be reassumed in another 
 dialogue, and then concluded. In the interval, how-, 
 ever, the reader will find in the next two dialogues 
 a more minute account of the family of the Little- 
 worths than was at first designed 
 
DIALOGUE XI 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE FAMILY OF THE LITTLE WORTHS, 
 WITH THE CHARACTER OF RECTOR FILLPOT, AND 
 MR. MEEK, HIS WELSH CURATE. 
 
 There lived in the town of Ruckford, about fif- 
 teen miles from Mapleton, a Mr. Nathaniel Steady- 
 man, who had united himself to Farmer Littleworth's 
 family by marrying his younger sister. His occupa- 
 tion was that of a Currier, in which line he did a 
 considerable deal of business, and was in general es- 
 teem among his neighbours for his candour and in- 
 tegnty. 
 
 The family of the Littleworths, however, were 
 unfortunately educated. In point of religion they 
 were tutored in all the high church notions of the 
 day; so that the least deviation from the established 
 church, was, in their esteem, more to be dreaded 
 than a thousand deviations from the common rules 
 of morality; insomuch, that even cursing and swear- 
 ing was a much smaller offence than attending a 
 conventicle, and scarcely any offence at all, provided 
 people exercised their profane talents against the 
 Dissenters. Report also says, that old Mr. Simon 
 Littleworth, with all his family, used to drink the 
 Pretender's health after dinner, and that it was well 
 he did not lose his life in the rebellion in the year 
 1745, for entertaining and encouraging the rebel 
 army when in the North, against the present family 
 upon the throne, by whom our civil and religious 
 
DIALOGUE XI. 169 
 
 liberties were established. Mr. Simon Littleworth, 
 the father of the present Farmer Littleworth, loved 
 getting money to his heart, but could not bear to 
 spend it, even on a decent education for his chil- 
 dren. He died about the year 1776, leaving a fortune 
 among his children of about three hundred and fifty 
 pounds each, entailing also upon them all the preju- 
 dices of an unhappy day and generation, conceiving 
 higher notions of the religion of Dr. Sachevei:eU* than 
 of that of Jesus Christ and his Apostles, 
 
 According therefore to all probable circumstances, 
 Farmer Littleworth would never have submitted to 
 have heard the gospel, if he had not first heard it in 
 a church. But the Farmer, though still a churchman, 
 was now happily delivered from the trammels of his 
 former education, and began to entertain equal love 
 to Christians of all denominations: yet not so the 
 rest of the family, which now consisted only of him- 
 self, and two sisters; his elder brother and a sister 
 having been dead some years ago. 
 
 His elder sister, Polly, was the exact counterpart 
 of Miss Polly, to whom she stood godmother. She 
 was, in her younger days, so self-willed and perverse, 
 that no person could ever venture to ask her the ques- 
 tion, if she chose to alter her state; which also, by 
 general report, will probabjy be the fate of the god- 
 daughter, as well as the aunt. 
 
 The Farmer's sister continued to live in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Mapleton till she was near sixty; but 
 on account of the pressure o,f the times, has lately 
 removed farther north, to make a joint purse with 
 
 * Dr. Sacheverell was the high church champion in the 
 days of Queen Anne. He was impeached by the commons 
 for his seditious high church principles; his sermon was or- 
 dered to be burnt, while he himself was suspended from his 
 ministry for three years. 
 
170 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 another old maiden lady, known by the name of Ma- 
 dam Vixen. And though she was Miss Polly all the 
 time she continued near her brother, yet since her 
 remove she has submitted, though with some regret, 
 to the graver appellation of Mrs. Mary. 
 
 Thus convenience has brought those two old la- 
 dies together; though they are the frequent cause 
 of vexation to each other, yet hereby they are just 
 able to keep a maid servant between them, who is 
 generally changed about six times in the year. 
 
 Madam Vixen is often accustomed to boast that 
 she had a superior education, and therefore attempts 
 to correct Mrs. Mary for her vulgarity of expres- 
 sion ; and also that her family wa& of much better 
 blood than the family of the Littleworths. This 
 is a frequent cause of mortification to Mrs. Mary, 
 who plies her in return for her family pride and 
 self-conceit. Thus alternately they irritate and vex 
 each other, till they make themselves so peevish and 
 fretful thereby, that they scarcely exchange a word 
 for several days together. During these intervals 
 of ill-humour, there are frequent threats of separa- 
 tion, till these little fracas are settled by the neigh- 
 bouring gossips bringing them some new tales of 
 the affairs of the neighbourhood, which they delight 
 to hear, retail, and exaggerate. Then an innocent 
 game at cards again sets them a quarrelling, and 
 makes them guilty of the same sort of conduct 
 against each other. Thus they rub on^ together, 
 from time to time; yet, if their dispositions are dis- 
 similar in some instances, in others they are perfect- 
 ly alike. 
 
 In point of religion they are precisely agreed; 
 for, though they seldom trouble the church but when 
 the weather is very fine, yet they do their duty in 
 reading the Psalms and Lessons at home: while two 
 or three times a year they submit to the pens^nce 
 
DIALOGUE XI. 171 
 
 of a gloomy week of preparation before they re- 
 ceive the holy sacrament; which is seldom done un- 
 less on the great festivals. But in nothing are they 
 more similar than in their belief of various signs, 
 and omens, and prognostications; on which they are 
 ever exercising their minds, and tormenting each 
 other, under the expectation of the most gloomy 
 events. The prognostications of Moore's almanack 
 are always received and read by them with pro- 
 digious avidity and glee; and though they are aware 
 that the first Francis Moore, the original physiciati 
 and astrologer, must long ago have been dead; yet 
 they have no doubt but that the present Francis 
 Moore is as much a real character, and a far wiser 
 astrologer tlian his father; he being also the se- 
 venth son of his father, who was himself a seventh 
 son. How far it was done with a design to im- 
 pose on the credulity of the old ladies might be 
 difficult to say; yet they seem fully persuaded that 
 the present Francis Moore has also a seventh son, 
 who, though but young, is now studying both phy^ 
 sic and astrology in the town of Utopia, in the 
 north of Ireland; and tliey have no doubt but that 
 he is born to possess so supreme a degree of know- 
 ledge, by investigating the Configurations of the 
 stars, that he will be able to read the history of all 
 future events beforehand, both private and publicj 
 as plainly as he can now read his A, B, C; and that 
 he will as far outsliine those great luminaries, 
 Count Swedenburgh, Mr. Brothers, and some other 
 prophesiers on our late public events, as the vast 
 knowledge of a Newton outshines the intellectual 
 powers of a goose.* 
 
 * Nothing can equal the sad disaster that miist have a(« 
 tended the prognostications of this famous astrologer in the 
 esteem of hie admirers, in his politieal predictions on tho 
 
172 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Mrs. Mary, it seems, some years ago, in one of 
 her superstitious fits, and wishing for some fore- 
 sight as it respected herself, sent a guinea to the 
 astrologer that he might cast her nativity; and the 
 prognostication was, that she was to be married to 
 a surgeon. Through this unfortunate circumstance, 
 she set her Cap at every surgeon and apothecary 
 for miles round the neighbourhood. She once went 
 so far as to feign herself sick, that she might have 
 an excuse to send for one of the gentlemen of the 
 faculty: and though she gave him to understand how 
 matters had been predicted respecting her future life; 
 yet, alas! such was the Doctor's incredulity, that not- 
 withstanding the prognostication, he could not be- 
 lieve that he was to be the man. 
 
 No one can wonder that these ladies, who are so 
 fond of hearing and telling "Old wives' fables,'^ 
 and of attending to such absurdities, should also 
 give way to all sort of fears and apprehensions arising 
 from other causes the most superstitious and ab- 
 surd. Hence it is that they are kept in perpetual 
 alarm; at one time by the death-watch, at another 
 time by the croaking of a raven, or the screeching 
 of an owl; then again by Ihe winding-sheet in the 
 candle, and a variety of such other absurdities; as 
 though the all-wise God had given a commission to 
 spiders,* owls, and ravens, and even to tallow can- 
 dles, to instruct mankind in the knowledge of differ- 
 ent future events. 
 
 last two years. On the year 1802, the predictions were all 
 for bloodshed and war; and when war returned, for 1803, all 
 his prophecies ran in favour of peace. In some former edi- 
 tions, these prophecies were presented to the reader more at 
 large; but a page filled with such silly prognpstications would 
 as soon get out of date as the almanacks themselves. 
 
 * Some naturalists are of opinion that the death-watch 
 is not the spider, but another much stnaller insect, found in 
 the wood of old houses. 
 
DIALOGUE XI. 173 
 
 This unfortunate turrt of mind, however, had 
 once proved nearly fatal, not only to the comfort, 
 but the very life of Madam Vixen. She heard, 
 three or four times, her chamber-bell ring, as it was 
 supposed, of its own accord. This brought to her 
 recollection the story of her grandmother's death, 
 which was foretold by some such event three weeks 
 before the time. She therefore positively concluded 
 that within that period she was to depart. This so 
 worked upon her imagination as to bring on a serious 
 illness. The apothecary was sent for only out of 
 form, as she concluded it could be of no avail; the 
 lawyer attended to alter and finish her will; and the 
 poor clergyman, though as ill-liked as the rest of his 
 brethren, was sent for to prepare her for her change, 
 and to fit her for the final reception of the holy sac- 
 rament; which it was her design to have received a 
 day or two before her departure, which seemed for 
 awhile more fully confirmed by another event dread- 
 fully similar to the former. Madam Vixen and her 
 nurse one night evidently heard a bell ring, as 
 though it had been from under the ground; but the 
 fears excited on this account were soon dispersed, as 
 it was only a piece of Mrs. Mary's prudent attention, 
 who muffled the hammer of the bell belonging to the 
 clock, as its shrill-sounding noise was found offen- 
 sive to Mrs. Vixen: and a little while after this 
 
 Then tell all your grannies it is a wood worm, 
 That lies in old wood like a hare in her form; 
 With teeth or with claws it will bite or will scratch, 
 And chamber-maids christen this worm a death-watch; 
 Because like a watch, it always cries click, 
 Then wo be to those in the house who are sick; 
 For sure as a gun they will give up the ghost, 
 If the maggot cries click, when it scratches the post; 
 As soon as they hear it, it shortens their breath, 
 And they speedily die — because f^ighten'd to death-, 
 vol/, I. — 16 
 
174 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 the whole of this supposed melancholy event dis- 
 closed itself: for one night, while the nurse was 
 sitting up, hearkening after death-watches, screech- 
 owls, &c., and feeding upon these strange fears, the 
 kitten stole into the room, (for both the old ladies 
 are very fond of cats) and after the manner of that 
 frisky generation, Puss fixed her eyes upon her old 
 plaything, the tassel of the bell, and consequently 
 gave it a handsome ring. Mrs. Vixen takes the 
 alarm, and asks if the bell did not again ring of itself? 
 The nurse bursts out with laughing, and adds, 
 
 "Why, madam, it is nothing but the cat playing 
 
 with the bell-tassel, and I dare say this was the rea- 
 son why it rang before.'^ However, the ringing of 
 the bell brought Mrs. Mary into the room, who, 
 when she heard of the event, joined with the nurse 
 in a laugh on the occasion; while Mrs. Vixen im- 
 mediately took heart, and consequently began di- 
 rectly to recover. The nurse told the apothecary 
 on his next day's visit, that the cat had done more 
 for her mistress's recovery, by ringing the bell, than 
 he could do with all the drugs in his shop. She 
 then told him the whole of the story, which before 
 was known only to the family. A message also was 
 soon afterwards sent to the minister, that he might 
 be informed a repetition of his visits would not be 
 needed; and the lady herself soon recovered, on 
 the removal of the causes of her disease. 
 
 The reader may suppose that he would not have 
 been presented with a detail of these little events, 
 had it not been with a design to expose the folly of 
 those superstitious fears which are so very injurious 
 to the minds of all who have not sufficient sense 
 and resolution to resist them. Where there is but 
 little real religion, the want of it is too frequently 
 supplied by an abundance of superstition. The hu- 
 
DIALOGUE XI. 175 
 
 man mind is prone to run into extremes on every 
 occasion: some are for believing too much, others 
 for believing too little. Happy are they who, being 
 blessed with "that wisdom which is from above,^' 
 are preserved in the middle path, and saved from 
 every extreme. 
 
 But to return from this digression. Mrs. Steady- 
 man was in some respects of a better mind than her 
 sister: she was of a more conversable and friendly 
 disposition, which she could exercise pretty freely 
 among her neighbours, though but very sparingly 
 to her husband; who originally being but a poor, 
 though very industrious apprentice, found it a con- 
 venient match. Thus, by marrying a foTlune, he 
 had the misfortune to be married to one who con- 
 ceived she had a right to "dictate and usurp au- 
 thority over the husband,"* or, according to the 
 delicate style of the da)-, to wear the small clothes. 
 This, in point of civility, was to be submitted to, 
 at least during the honey-moon; but, to the sad dis- 
 comfiture of Mr. Steadyman, she had contrived to 
 wear them from that time to this. 
 
 Notwithstanding some little offence had been given 
 to Mr. Steadyman's family by the farmer having 
 shown a dislike, (they being on a visit soon after 
 he became serious,) to the introduction of cards 
 and such sort of innocent amusements,^ they felt 
 themselves under the obligation, from their family 
 connexion, to repeat their visit upon their nephew^ 
 Henry's unexpected return, and it was about ten 
 
 * Such should have been the correct translation of Ti- 
 mothy, ch. vi., and if any good woman of the same temper 
 with Mrs. Steadyman should doubt the justice of my criti- 
 cism, T readily refer them to others who understand Greek 
 better than myself. 
 
 I See Dialogue the IVth. 
 
lis VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 days after Mr. Worthy's visit to Gracehill Farm, 
 that this interview took place. 
 
 On the Saturday evening they arrived; as Mr. 
 Steadyman could on the Sunday be best spared from 
 his business. The author is not acquainted with the 
 conversation, as it passed at supper; but what after- 
 wards took place, when the table was cleared, he has 
 collected to the best of his power. 
 
 [Thomas J^ewman is introduced.] 
 
 Thomas. Sir, you was saying you might like 
 to take the covered cart to Brookfield Church to- 
 morrow, as the weather is inclining to be wet; if 
 so, 1 should be glad to get things ready before I go 
 home. 
 
 Farmer. I cannot tell as yet, Thomas. (To Mrs. 
 Steadyman.) Sister, would you like to go with us 
 to Brookfield church? It is hardly two miles from 
 our house, and Mr. Lovegood is a charming man. 
 
 Mrs. Steadyman. no, brother, I did not come 
 here to change my religion; wherever I go, I al=. 
 ways think it best to keep to the parish church. I 
 shall go with sister Littleworth to Mapleton, to hear 
 Mr. Dolittle. 
 
 Mr. Steadyman. Well, brother Littleworth, I'll 
 go with you, for I cannot see that your notions of 
 religion have done you any harm; and I must con- 
 fess my nephew Henry is wonderfully reformed; 
 but you need not have the cart for me, I had rather 
 walk. 
 
 Miss Polly. If my aunt Steadyman won't go, I 
 am sure Patty and I sha'n't. 1 have no notion to go 
 and be crowded, and pushed about at that church, 
 when we can sit so comfortably at our own. 
 
 Miss JSTancy. I don't see, father, that you need to 
 have the cart, if my aunt won't go; you and bro- 
 ther Harry may ride as usual, and I can walk with 
 
DIALOGUE XI. 177 
 
 my uncle, and show him the nearest way over the 
 lieJds. 
 
 Hen. Well, I wish, with all my heart, my aunt 
 would but for once come with uncle: who knoAvs 
 what a blessing might attend il! 
 
 Mrs. Steady. There, — that was the way of talk 
 last time we were here, as though nobody had any 
 religion, unless they were all of one way of think- 
 ing. 
 
 Far. Well, then, Thomas, we won't have the cart 
 unless it should rain. Harry and 1 shall ride as usual, 
 and Nancy and brother will walk. But have you 
 had your supper? 
 
 Tho. Yes, sir; my mistress has been in the pantry, 
 and cut me off a great heaped plate-full of victuals to 
 take home with me. It will make a rare feast for 
 Betty and the children, with a few boiled potatoes. 
 (To Mrs. LiUleworlh.) Thank you, madam, a thou- 
 sand times, {Thomas retires.) 
 
 Mrs. LUtleworth. {To Mr. Steadyman.) I am not 
 so much against my husband's religion as I was, for it 
 has made that poor man an excellent servant; and 
 Henry and Nancy are good children: and though I 
 don't like to leave my parish church, yet I believe 
 Mr. Lovegood is a very good man. 
 
 Mr. Steadyman. Well, and about six miles from 
 our town there is a Mr. Meek, who serves tw^o 
 churches, who is of the same loay of thinking; and 
 oftentimes have I heard him run down; but for what 
 I cannot tell, unless it be because he is a better man 
 than most of his neighbours. 
 
 Mrs. Steadyman. Why, don't you know that his 
 rector threatened to turn him ofi" his curacies the 
 othei' day, because so many people come out of other 
 parishes to hear him, and that he went to the bishop 
 about him ? 
 
 Mr. Steadyman. Well, and much good he got by 
 16^ 
 
178 VILLAGE DIALOGUES.. 
 
 that. How could any one think that the bishop should 
 turn a poor man off his curacies for having a full 
 church. I am sure, if the bishop was to turn off all 
 the parsons that have empty churches, he would have 
 enough to do. 
 
 Far. Ay J but, brother, you have only got hold of 
 half the story: for it has been said when Rector Fill- 
 pot, who is some great cathedral man, (and every 
 one knows he loves his bottle better thaa his Bible,) 
 went to the bishop to make it out as though his cu- 
 rate did wrong to have such a full church, he di- 
 rectly said he was heartily glad of it, and wished that 
 every other parson's church was as full. And when 
 Rector Fillpot asked my Lord Bishop what must be 
 done if all the people left their churches to go after 
 these sort of preachers ? he said as how they must 
 out-live and out-preach such men as Mr. Meek, and 
 that was the way to bring them back again. Rector 
 Fillpot must have found it a desperate hard thing to 
 quilt all that; but,, to my way of thinking, this was 
 all a shim sham job; for the rector knows he never 
 could have got another such a curate in his own 
 way, to serve two churches, at the distance of be-- 
 tween three and four miles from each other, and 
 throughout all the summer months to serve each of 
 these churches twice a day, for forty pounds a year. 
 Now you know, brother, I am a farmer, and Mr. 
 Meek must have a horse: for he cannot ride through 
 the air like a loitch on a broomstick^ and that would 
 cost him, to buy it and keep it, near upon twenty 
 pounds out of the forty. 
 
 Mr. Steadym. Poor gentleman! I have often won- 
 dered how he could contrive to live upon so little; 
 and he generally looks more decent in his clothing 
 than one would expect; but he is much beloved, and 
 I am told that many of his neighbours help him 
 out. 
 
DIALOGUE XI. 179 
 
 Far. Ay, and so they need; and I am told also 
 that our 'Squire gave him a new suit of clothes, from 
 top to toe, last Christmas; and that he looked as well 
 dressed of a Sunday as the rector himself, though he 
 never could look so plump. According to his way of 
 living, I wonder hovv he does, with his small in- 
 come, to keep body and soul together; but it is a burn- 
 ing shame that other people should keep Rector Fill- 
 pot's curate for him, or let him be half starved, poor 
 gentleman ! 
 
 Mrs. Stemlym. I dare say the rector would give 
 him more if he was of his own way of thinking; but he 
 is displeased with him on account of his religion. 
 
 Far. Ah, sister, this is a sorry excuse. You make 
 but a poor hand of it, in lifting the lame dog over the 
 stile; but, to my mind, that man has found out the 
 best way of thinking, who has found out the best way 
 of living. Well, well, when we were all honoured 
 to drink tea at our 'Squire's the other day, my son 
 Harry gave a terrible account of the slave trade; 
 but sure I am, the slave trade in England is not ended, 
 when such a man as Rector Fillpot can have so 
 many places of preferment as to bring him in twelve 
 hundred pounds a year, while his poor curate, that 
 he had quite out of Wales, (for that he might come 
 cheap,) should be worked so hard, and have not 
 much more to feed himself than what he wants to 
 feed his horse, which he must have to take him 
 from church to church. And poor Mr. Meek now 
 begins to be an old man. I am afraid these fat 
 rectors don't love their curates half so well as I do 
 my old horses. 
 
 Sleadym. Indeed, brother, it is a sad thing to see 
 those who are our teachers acting in such a manner. 
 We always mind more what a man does, than what a 
 man says; and as to Kector Fillpot, we never hear of 
 his coming^ into our parts but about Easter, and 
 
ISO VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 then every body trembles lest he should come fo 
 screw up his tithes still higher than he has done al- 
 ready; and all that he does for it, perhaps, is to preach 
 one sermon in each of his churches, and then they 
 are sure to see no more of him till that time twelve 
 months. But it seems they talk about making all 
 these rectors reside on their own livings; yet I can't 
 see what good can come of that; for till they send 
 us better men, the more we know of this sort of 
 ministers, the less we shall like them. 
 
 Far. Yes; and when he comes into these parts, 
 he always visits our rector, and gives us a sermon. 
 In the days of my ignorance, how I used to admire 
 him! The last time he preached, it seems, he made 
 a main hustle about the church, and fell aboard some 
 parsons, (I'll warrant he was throwing some scalers 
 at Mr. Lovegood,) who wanted to make themselves 
 popular by being neglectful about their tithes; and 
 that it was the duty of the clergy to see after the 
 ^moliments of the church, (I think he called them,) 
 and that it was the duty of the people to pay the 
 parsons what they called their dues. Well, well; if 
 such a sort of religion will take a man to heaven, I 
 am sure Rector Fillpot will sit far above St. Paul; 
 for every body knows, if he be neglectful of his Jiock, 
 he is eager enough after the fleece; and they say, of 
 late he is got so fat that he can scarcely squeeze him- 
 self into the pulpit, because of his big belly, and his 
 poor curate so thin, that he could almost creep into a 
 mouse hole. 
 
 Jllrs. Littlew. Ay, Mr. Littleworth, I remember 
 what you say is very true. I was there to hear him, 
 and I thought he had better been upon something 
 else. 
 
 Far. Why, if such men as Rector Fillpot are to 
 go to heaven, it is impossible to suppose that Demas, 
 who loved this present evil world, should ever have 
 
piALoauE xi;. 181 
 
 been sent to hell. Why they think we countrified 
 plain folk are so ignorant, as that we don't know a 
 good man from a bad one. But, dame, can you re-- 
 member what was the text? 
 
 Mrs, Littleic. I remember it was a very short one; 
 **The labourer is worthy of his hire," 
 
 Far. Why, then, according to that doctrine, the 
 curate who did all the labour, should have all that 
 the rector gets, and the rector all the curate gets; and 
 I'll warrant this would soon bring down his fat belly 
 for him. 
 
 Hen. Well, well, I must confess nothing hardened 
 me in my wickedness like the conduct of such mi- 
 nisters. When 1 was going on in the most vile ways, 
 and with the most wicked company, we could laugh 
 at all religion, because it was preached by such sort 
 of ministers as we knew had no more of it than our- 
 selves. 
 
 Steadym. Indeed, Henry, I am as much ashamed 
 of such men as you can be. If I had known Mr. 
 Meek had been so good a man, I should have been 
 glad now and then to help him out. 
 
 Mrs. Steadijm. I sha'n't like that, Nathaniel, with- 
 out your letting me know it. I am afraid you'll 
 soon be of brother's religion, and I sha'n't like that 
 neither. I have no notion of chopping and changing 
 about one's religion in this manner. You know that 
 Mr. Dulman, our minister, when he thought you 
 seemed that way inclined, and when he heard you 
 was coming to see brother, c^me on purpose to ad- 
 vise you against all these new notions; for if we are 
 all wrong now, what: is become of our fathers and 
 grandfathers, who went on in the same way as our- 
 selves? But I don't see what business we have to 
 find fault with the clergy. 
 
 Far. Well, well, sister, I shall never think of 
 trusting the concerns of my precious soul to that 
 
182 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 man who takes no care of his own; but no man living, 
 for twenty miles round, can love and honour those of 
 the clergy whose lives properly square with their 
 doctrines more than 1 do; but while we hear both in 
 the Old Testament and the New, how the Lord de- 
 clared his wrath against all the false prophets, and 
 scribes, and pharisees, though we should pity and 
 pray for them, yet I am sure we do wrong to be 
 their followers. You know if the blind lead the 
 blind, we shall all fall into the ditch together. But, 
 brother, would you not like to have another glass of 
 ale? l^To his wife.l Dame, pour out sister another 
 glass of currant wine before we put away the things, 
 and then fetch the Bible, and let us go to prayer; it 
 is best not to sit too long by the drink. 
 
 •Mrs. Steadynin But, brother, mayn't we go up 
 stairs and pray to ourselves, if we like that best? 
 
 tMr. Steadym. It is not so late but that we can stop 
 a little while longer. [Mrs. Steadyman subtnits.] The 
 marked Bible is placed before the Farmer, who read 
 the first part of our Lord's sermon upon the mount, 
 Matthew v., and then said what good minds feel, 
 and are naturally inclined to say, of the blessed state 
 of those real Christians our I^ord describes as thus 
 blessed in him. And as it was the custom of the fa- 
 mil)-, that when Henry read, the Farmer prayed, 
 and when the Farmer read, Henry prayed, so Henry 
 offered up a very suitable and affecting prayer. This 
 so immediately attracted Mrs. Steadyman's notice, 
 that she was not a little surprised how well he could 
 rememt^er to say his prayers without book, and 
 begged to know where the book was to be bought, 
 out of which he had learnt his prayers. The Farmer 
 made answer, that the prayers were written upon his 
 son's heart by the pen of Doctor Experience. The 
 family wished to retire, which prevented all farther 
 inquiries about Doctor Experience, though the com- 
 
Dialogue xi. 183 
 
 mon guest of every humble praying sinner's heart. 
 The writer also, at a late hour in the evening, begins 
 to find his own mind flag, and therefore wishes to 
 conclude the present dialogue, that he may under- 
 take another upon a more profitable and interesting 
 subject, which took place on the Sunday evening after 
 the family's return from Brookfield church. 
 
DIALOGUE XII 
 
 BETWEEN THE FAMILY OF THE LITTLE - 
 WORTHS AND MR. AND MRS. STEADYMAN. 
 
 A SUNDAY evening's CONVERSATION UPON THE MERCIES 
 OF GOD IN THE JUSTIFICATION AND SANCTIFICATION OF 
 THE UNGODLY. 
 
 The Farmer, Henry, and Nancy, with Mr. Steady- 
 man, not having sufficient time to return home be- 
 tween the services, carried their provision with them 
 into Thomas Newman's house, and there partook of 
 it. After the second service, they returned, and sup- 
 per being ended, the following conversation took 
 place: 
 
 Sieadyman. Well, sister Littleworth, I never spent 
 such a Sunday as this before. [To his wife.'] Mis- 
 tress, I wish you had been with us. I never saw such 
 a serious and devout congregation, and never heard 
 such a sermon since I was born. And then we ate 
 our dinners at Thomas Newman's house, the poor 
 man that works for my brother. What a good man 
 he is! and what a charming famil}'- he has got! I 
 counted seven of them, and I think his wife is near 
 her time again;* and what a wonderful prayer he 
 
 * It is now upwards of three years since the farmer became 
 serious. This accounts for the addition of another child since 
 that period, (see Dialogue I.,) and explains at the same time 
 an odd report how the Farmer was overheard "talking to th6 
 devil behind the hedge." The fact was, the Farmer hearing 
 that Thomas's wife had produced another child, went to their 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 185 
 
 made before we all went again to church. We do 
 not serve God in our parts any thing like as they do 
 here. I never saw any thing like religion as I have 
 seen it this day. 
 
 Mrs. Steadym. Why, Nathaniel, what can possess 
 you to talk about religion in this manner? Well, if 
 I did not always suspect what would become of this 
 visit, as well as Mr. Dulman. 
 
 J\Irs. Littlew. I let my husband go his way, and I 
 go mine; and I find I am quite as happy since he 
 has taken to religion as ever we were before. 
 
 Steadym. Well, never did I hear any minister from 
 the beginning to the end lay open the Bible in a 
 manner like him. I am sure I should never stay at 
 home if I could hear at Ruckford a minister like 
 IVIr. Lovegood. If 1 can, I think I shall go to hear 
 poor Mr. Meek, the Welshman, for he is supposed 
 to be the most like him of any man in our parts. 
 But how he explained, as he called it, the way of 
 salvation for ruined sinners by Jesus Christ ! Though 
 I have read so much of it in the Bible, and have 
 heard so much about it, yet I wonder at myself, 
 how 1 could be so ignorant what these things could 
 mean. 
 
 Hen. Why, to be sure, he preached us tvvo ex- 
 cellent sermons, but to me it appears as though every 
 sermon he preached was better and better. O what 
 a blessing we have in that most dear man of God! 
 
 house, and gave the family half a crown. On his return he 
 was overheard grumbling and muttering against himself for 
 his covetousnesS) declaring that the devil his old master should 
 not have his ends. He therefore returned directly to Tho^ 
 mas's house, and said, " Thomas, this won't do, I must have 
 my half crown again." Thomas, not a little surprised at this 
 unexpected demand, restored the gift, and the farmer put a 
 seven shilling piece in the room of it, and it was in this way 
 the farmer conversed with the devil behind the hedge. 
 VOL. I. — 17 
 
186 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 and what a mercy it would be, if in every parish 
 there were such ministers to instruct the ignorant. 
 It is his very heart's delight to go about doing good 
 to the souls of his people. 
 
 Steadym. I must confess, when I heard him in 
 the desk, I liked him wonderfdlly, but in the pul- 
 pit, what a man he is! and with what love and af- 
 fection he preaches! his heart seems to feel every 
 word he says. But I rather wondered at his text, 
 " By the law is the knowledge of sin." How wisely 
 he explained it! I did not know there was such a 
 text in all the Bible. 
 
 Hen. And did you not admire how he set forth 
 the purity and holiness of God, both in his nature 
 and in his law? That as he was. infinitely holy in 
 himself, so he must hate sin, whether committed by 
 apostate men or angels, in an infinite degree; that 
 we had not only to consider our outward actions be- 
 fore man, but the state of our hearts inwardly be- 
 fore God; that it was said, "Blessed are the pure in 
 heart, for they," and they only, "shall see God." 
 
 Steadym. Why, I had always understood that if 
 we were but just and honest before man, it was quite 
 enough. How well he explained that text, "Enter 
 not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord, for in thy 
 sight shall no flesh living be justified!" that though 
 we might be justified by our actions in the sight of 
 man, yet that none of us could be justified in the 
 sight of God, as his holy nature abhorred the inward 
 sinfulness of our hearts. 
 
 Far. Ah, dear brother, how glad I am to hear 
 you talk after (his fashion! Because I did not de- 
 serve to stand before the justice for my wicked 
 deeds, I thought I had righteousness enough to 
 stand before the Lord himself. How could I sup- 
 pose myself a Christian, while I thought no more 
 about the salvation of my soul by Jesus Christ, 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 187 
 
 than the dead folk do in our church-yard at Ma- 
 pleton? 
 
 Hen. But while he pointed out the nature of God, 
 did you not mind, uncle, how he explained to us that 
 every wicked sinner in a state of enmity against God, 
 lived with a hell in his own heart, while he was 
 *' living without God in the world?" 
 
 tSleadym. Yes. And I remember he said, that every 
 sinner was his own tormentor by his wickedness. 
 
 Hen. I suppose you mean that part of his sermon 
 in which he was proving how every person who was 
 tormented with anger, malice, or revenge, ^vas a 
 most cruel self-tormentor; and that covetousness 
 shut up a man's heart not only against all mankind, 
 but against himself, and that therefore he was a 
 self-tormentor. These, he said, were a set of de- 
 vilish self-tormentors. Then he talked of a set of 
 beastly self-tormentors; and all that he said against 
 these evil ways 1 have experienced to be true, most 
 sadly to my own cost. In those days I should not 
 have cared if I had broken my father's and my mo- 
 ther's hearts, if I could but have got their property 
 to have spent it in my wicked projects. \^Henry is 
 affected and iveeps; the Farmer is also muck af- 
 fected, and adds,'] 
 
 Far. See, brother, how wonderfully the grace of 
 God has changed the heart of my dear child! how 
 different he is now to what he was before he went 
 to sea! And you know what a poor, thoughtless, 
 worldly-minded sinner 1 was before 1 took to go and 
 hear Mr. Lovegood. 
 
 Sleadym. Wh3^, I confess, brother, I see somethina; 
 in religion that 1 never thought of before, and all 
 that I have been hearing to-day seems to me to be so 
 true, that there is no disputing against it. 
 
 Hen. Yes, uncle, and I was glad for your sake 
 that you were there; for it appeared to me as clear 
 
188 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 as the light, what Mr. Lovegootl said of the law, 
 that it was the revelation of the mind and will of 
 an infinitely holy God among all his creatures; that 
 therefore the least sin, in the least degree, must put 
 us under the condemnation of that law; that if God 
 could in any measure allow sin, or look over it upon 
 account of our corruption, such sinful actions would 
 be no longer unlawful actions, (and what a contradic- 
 tion that would be) for " where there is no law there 
 is no transgression." 
 
 Sleadym. Indeed, Mr. Henry, it appears to me 
 that I might have gone all the days of my life to 
 hear Mr. Dulman at Ruckford, and still continued as 
 ignorant of the law as if I had been a downright 
 heathen. Nay, as for my part, I do not know that 
 I ever heard any thing farther about the law than 
 what a heathen may practise quite as well as a Chris- 
 tian. At one time we are told we must not get 
 drunk; then that we must not curse and swear; then 
 that we should pay our debts; and then that we 
 must come to church and keep the Sabbath. Now I 
 had never any inclination to do otherwise between 
 man and man; but we never hear any thing to the 
 purpose how the heart of man should be before a 
 pure and holy God. 
 
 jPar. Ay, and just in the same way Mr. Dolittle 
 used to '* daub me over with his untempered mortar;" 
 for though 1 was never so strict and moral, as you 
 have been, brother Steady man, yet as I kept pretty 
 tight to my church, and used to act good-naturedly 
 towards my neighbours, and as our parson used to 
 say of me when he used to hear of me in my tipsy 
 Jits, I had a good heart at hotlom, I thought if I 
 had religion enough to please him, I need not con- 
 cern myself about any thing farther; especially as i 
 thought he could do such wonderful things for me 
 when I came to die, by the assistance of the holy 
 sacrament and his absolutiou. 
 
DIALOGUE xir. 189 
 
 Henry. Ah! but uncle, such sort of notions will 
 never make out what Mr. Lovegood said about the 
 law from the word of God, how it is " the letter that 
 killeth, and the ministration of death and of condem- 
 nation.'' If the law required nothing but outward 
 sobriety and morality, I suppose you never trans- 
 gressed it; and then the Bible is not true, that says 
 '^we have all sinned and come short of the glory of 
 God," and that consequentl}^ "judgment is passed 
 upon all men to condemnation.'' 
 
 Steadym. Why, I have no more a desire to make 
 myself a beast by getting drunk, than I have a desire 
 to go and lie to-night in brother^s hog-stye: and as 
 for outward integrity between man and man, I thought 
 myself almost to be a little god upon that account; 
 because people would say of me, that they would 
 rather trust me upon my word, than believe many 
 others upon their oath. But I did not quite under- 
 stand what Mr. I^ovegood meant by the law being 
 "the ministration of death and of condemnation." 
 
 Henry. Wh}^, you know, when any one commits 
 a capital offence by transgressing the laws of his 
 country, then the law administers condemnation and 
 death to that man; and when he is given over to the 
 executioner he loses his life by the letter of that law, 
 and therefore it is "the letter that killeth." Now, 
 you know, uncle, the first and great command is, that 
 we "should love the Lord our God with all our 
 hearts, and minds, and souls, and strength;" but our 
 blinded consciences think little or nothing of living 
 in the perpetual neglect of love to God; while we are 
 much more alarmed, if we neglect those rules of mo- 
 rality we ought always to observe between man and 
 man. Ifiius we live in entire neglect to the duties 
 of the first table, that tell us what we should be be- 
 fore God, and think that all will be well if we keep 
 up a little outward decency in attending to the duties 
 17* 
 
190 VILLAGE DlALOGtTES. 
 
 of the second table, which direct us how to act among 
 our neighbours, 
 
 Steadym. But how Mr. Lovegood talked about 
 the spirituality of the law, and what a holy frame of 
 mind was needed before ever we could love God, 
 and that we could practise nothing that was truly 
 good before God unless we loved him. That it was 
 impossible that any man could repent of sin till he 
 hated it, and that sin never was hated till God was 
 loved: and how plainly he made it out, that without 
 this love to God we could never pray aright, believe 
 aright, or do any thing aright. 
 
 Far. Ah, brother Steadyman, and so I found it 
 with me directly as I took to go to Brookfield church; 
 for though I had much more reason than ever you 
 had to find fault with the outward wickedness of my 
 actions, yet I now felt the worst of the evil lay in 
 the inward wickedness of my heart; that as 1 knew 
 nothing what it was to love God, so I had no heart 
 nor inclination to do any thing that was good in his 
 sight. Never till then could I say with Job, though 
 so much more holy than any of us, " Behold, 1 am 
 vile!'' what strange foolish creatures we must 
 have been, in the midst of our wickedness to think 
 that we were righteous, when God's word so plainly 
 says, "There are none righteous, no not one." 
 
 Miss J^ancy. Well, as for my part, I never thought 
 whether^ my heart was either good or bad, or any 
 thing about it, only I thought it was wrong to oppose 
 people because they were desirous to be better than 
 myself; but I never saw what a state I was in till I 
 heard Mr. Lovegood preach upon that text out of the 
 Lord's prayer, "Thy will be done," and then I saw, 
 as he explained it, I never did the will of the Lord 
 in all my life-time, and that I never could do it so as 
 to please God, till I had a new heart. 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 191 
 
 Steadym. A new heart ! ay, I heard Mr. Lovegood 
 make use of that expression. 
 
 Hen. Yes, and can't you remember what he said, 
 how that God never wrote his holy law but upon the 
 tables of a new heart; and that every sinner without 
 a new heart was in a condemned and ruined state; 
 and that all we did in such a state was sin, because 
 done from a sinful principle ?* 
 
 Steadym. Well, till this day I always thought 1 
 had as good a chance for heaven as any of my neigh' 
 hours, but 1 never considered the state of my heart 
 before God. 
 
 Far. Ah, brother, there is the gripe. When we 
 think of our actions before man only, though now and 
 then we get ourselves daubed and dirtied, yet we 
 suppose by a little of the white-wash of morality we 
 can soon cover all this. But when we look at the 
 state of our hearts, how can we think of justifying 
 ourselves before him? 
 
 Steadym. Well, I shall never think I shall be able 
 to justify myself before God any more. What the 
 publican said I must say, " God be merciful to me a 
 sinner!" 
 
 Hen. How heartily glad I am, uncle, that you now 
 understand it. '^ By the law," or by the knowledge 
 of the law, " is the knowledge of sin;" for this is the 
 only way we can come by the knowledge of the glo- 
 rious doctrine of salvation by Christ alone. And how 
 wonderfully well our minister preached upon that 
 subject in the afternoon. 
 
 J\Irs. LHllew. Wliy, Patty, child, how you sit yawn- 
 ing! What, are you going to sleep? 
 
 Miss Patty. Why, is not going to church once or 
 twice a Sunday religion enough for any body, with- 
 out having so much of it over and over again after 
 supper? 
 
 * See Article the Xlllth,— Of Works before Justification. 
 
192 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 3Irs. Litllew. Well, well, if you and Polly don't 
 love to hear any more talk about these matters, you 
 had better put away the things into the pantry, for 
 we have all done supper. (To the Farmer.) Mr. Lit- 
 tleworth, shall you want any more drink? 
 
 Far. Oh no, Mrs. Littleworth, you may put it all 
 away: but let us see (The Farmer takes out his watch,) 
 it is not above five minutes after nine by the town- 
 hall clock at Mapleton; and if our poor daughters 
 don't like our conversation, yet I think it will do 
 brother Steadyman, and none of us any harm, if 
 we sit up a little longer to talk about the good 
 things we have been hearing this day at Brookfield 
 church. 
 
 Steadym. I admire that your minister takes such 
 different texts to preach from, to what Mr. Dulman, 
 and such sort of ministers choose to head their ser- 
 mons with; and then when they have taken their 
 text, we hear very little more of the Bible, but only 
 about some moral duty we ought to perform, and 
 against some evil practice that people ought to avoid. 
 I never heard that text preached upon before, which 
 Mr. Lovegood took this afternoon, " that God might 
 be just, and yet the justifier of him that believeth in 
 Jesus," and at first I could not conceive what he could 
 make of it. 
 
 Far. Why it is the sum and substance of all the 
 Bible. 
 
 Steadym. So I thought when he came to open it; 
 what a deal of pains he takes to make the people un- 
 derstand the Bible. 
 
 Far. Whenever he has shown us our ruination in 
 ourselves, he is sure to tell us of our redemption in 
 Christ. 
 
 Steadym. Well, I never thought of any Christ till 
 to-day, but my own good works. 
 
 Mrs. Steadym. Why, Nathaniel, and what can you 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 193 
 
 have better than good works? There is nothing like 
 theni; I am sure; don't tell me: good works are bet- 
 ter than all the faith in the world. 1 am afraid I shall 
 be plagued to death by your new notions in religion, 
 and 1 shall not like that; and if you take to go after 
 parson Meek, you sha'n't be taking him a pocketful 
 of money every time you go there. Don't you know- 
 that we have got a family? 
 
 Mrs. Liltlew. Why, sister, I used to be very cross 
 with my husband when I suspected that he gave 
 away his money to Mr. Lovegood's followers; but, 
 I don't know how it is, we have prospered more of 
 late than ever. 
 
 Far. Ah, sister, we have all enough of this world; 
 it would be well for us if we thought a little more of 
 the next: but I remember the time when I used to 
 keep up a main bustle about my good works, but it 
 was when I did nothing but bad ones. Now I never 
 thought of leading a new life till after God had given 
 me a new heart, and we know that good faith will 
 produce good fruits; but it will never do to turn re- 
 ligion topsy turvey. 
 
 Hen. Let me see; I think I put down something 
 that Mr. Lovegood said this day on that subject, {look- 
 ing at his notes) here it is, he brought these three texts, 
 " Without faith it is impossible to please God."— 
 '^ Faith worketh by love." — " Love is the fulfilling 
 of the law." So that unless we are rooted and 
 grounded in the faith of the gospel, we shall never 
 bring forth any fruit unto God. 
 
 Steadym. Well, well, I now see I have been trust- 
 ing upon the decency of a heathen, without the spi- 
 rituality of a Christian. 0, hrotlier, what shall I do 
 to be saved? 
 
 Far. Why did you not hear at church how "God 
 could be just, while he was the justifier of him that 
 believeth in Jesus?" Was it not worth while to go 
 
194 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 a thousand miles to hear such a cliarming sermon, 
 and so much of the precious love of Christ to such 
 perisliing sinners? 
 
 Sleadym. I was so much affected wliile he ex- 
 plained to us the love of Christ in d3'ing for our re- 
 demption, that I scarce knew where 1 was, it so over- 
 came me. 
 
 Far. Dear brother, how thankful I am that ever 
 you came with us this day to Brookfield church. 
 How this brings to my mind when Thomas first per- 
 suaded me to go there, and Mr. Lovegood was then 
 preaching upon these words, " Ye cannot serve God 
 and Mammon;" and a trimming sermon it was 
 against me, and all my wicked ways, and desperate- 
 ly alarmed I was; but when he preached afterwards 
 upon that text, " Christ died, the just for the unjust, 
 that he might bring us to God;" how was my heart 
 melted down under that sermon; I was all admira- 
 tion how Christ could find it in his heart to save 
 such a wicked wretch; and when poor Thomas saw 
 me so affected, for till then I never dropped a tear 
 about the state of my soul in all my life, he quite 
 cried and sobbed (Farmer drops a tear;) but, bro- 
 ther, they were all tears of joy, because he thought 
 the Lord was then saving my soul, and breaking my 
 hard heart; and when Mr. Los'-egood happened to 
 look that way, and see what a state we were all in, 
 he was as much affected as either of us. How he 
 wept, and preached about the precious promises of 
 the gospel! He was so overcome, that he could 
 hardly go on; and as to myself, I had several times 
 almost swoonded away. 
 
 Steadym. Mr. Lovegood seemed very much af- 
 fected this afternoon. 
 
 Far. I dare say he saw you affected; and it is 
 amazing how glad at heart he is when he can but see 
 such poor creatures as we all are melted down under 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 195 
 
 a sense of the love of Christ our Saviour to such vile 
 sinners. 
 
 Hen. 0, father, can't you remember the first night 
 I came home, at family prayer, how we were all af- 
 fected while he mentioned that text, what "joy there 
 was in heaven over one sinner that repenteth!" What 
 a time of love was that to all our souls! 
 
 J^ancy. Why Mr. Lovegood seemed to look very 
 much our way, especially when he was explaining 
 how the justice of God was glorified in the death of 
 Christ, that the mercy of God might be also glorified 
 in the salvation of sinners. 
 
 Steadijm. W^hat strange conceptions I have had 
 about these things! I used to suppose that nothing 
 was required by Mr. Lovegood 's followers; but that 
 if they had faith in Christ, no matter what they were, 
 or how they lived: but now I begin to see if Christ 
 does not pardon me by the shedding of his blood, I 
 never can be pardoned; and that my heart must be 
 changed, or I shall be ruined for ever. 
 
 Hen. And when we come to compare not only our 
 actions, but our hearts with God's law, " W^ho shall 
 stand when he appeareth?" But this does not remove 
 our obligations to obey the law; and it is from a sense 
 of our obligations to obey it, because it is in itself 
 holy, just, and good, that we are made to be ashamed 
 that we have so transgressed it. 
 
 Far. no, brother; we can never "live in sin that 
 grace may abound;'' for " how shall we who are dead 
 unto sin live any longer therein?" 
 
 Steadijm. Why that used to puzzle me when 1 saw 
 you and Harry and others, that were followers of 
 Mr. Lovegood, so different in your way of living to 
 what you were before. 1 always thought it very 
 strange that such bad doctrines should teach people 
 to live better lives. Mr. Dulman came on purpose 
 to tell us a day or two before we came here, that 
 
196 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 all the people about these parts were for free grace, 
 that they might live as they list. 
 
 Hen. Much he understands what is meant by 
 grace, when he talks in that manner; for the Bible 
 tells us, " sin shall not have dominion over us, for we 
 are not under the law, but under grace;" and that 
 " the grace of God, which bringeth salvation, teacheth 
 us to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live 
 soberly and righteously and godly in this present 
 world;'' for that we now " reckon ourselves to be 
 dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 Steadym. But I remember he contradicted himself 
 the same evening, by saying, he had no notion of peo- 
 ple being so over strict in their religion. I never 
 went much by Mr. Dulman's religion; for his father 
 meant to bring him up to the law, but he soon found 
 he had not sense enough for that, and therefore said 
 he was only fit for a parson; but I am sure I heard 
 no such notions about grace at your church, and from 
 what happened, not a long while since, he seems to 
 me to have no idea at all of the meaning of the Bible; 
 for an old lady who was supposed to have some very 
 odd notions in religion, because she now and then 
 used to attend a little meeting in our town, left him 
 a guinea to preach a funeral sermon, and she said 
 what was to be the text; let me see — there were 
 some such words in it as these: " Not having on my 
 own righteousness, which is by the law." I recollect 
 that much of it; but I remember that some people 
 in our town supposed there was no such text in all 
 the Bible. Brother Littleworth, where is that text? 
 but I hope I shall mind my Bible more than I have 
 done. 
 
 Far. Harry, my child, is it not in the Philip- 
 pians? 
 
 Hen. {Taking out his pocket Bible.) Yes, father, 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 197 
 
 it is in the 3d chapter of the Philippians, and the 
 whole text runs thus: " I count all things as dung that 
 I may win Christ and be found in hin), not having 
 mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that 
 which is through the faith of Christ, the righteous- 
 ness which is of God by faith." 
 
 Steadym. Well, now, all that Mr. Lovegood has 
 been saying, seems to me wonderfully to have ex- 
 plained that text; but poor Mr. Dulman could not 
 make it out at any rate: it is said that he went over 
 on purpose to Mr. Blindnian, to know if he could 
 borrow from him, or any other clergyman, a sermon 
 on that text, and he supposed it was utterly impos- 
 sible that a proper funeral sermon could be made on 
 such a text. 
 
 Far. So I should suppose, according to his way 
 of thinking, when every poor sinner is to be tossed 
 up into heaven by the merit of his own righteous- 
 ness. But, brother, what was the upshot? 
 
 Steadym. Why, when he came to preach the ser- 
 mon, he plainly told the people that he could not 
 understand why the old lady should choose such a 
 text that had puzzled all the divines round about the 
 country; and that as in St. Paul's Epistles there were 
 many things " hard to be understood,^^ he would not 
 himself be so presumptuous as to explain it; but that 
 he would give us the best sermon he had on a funeral 
 occasion. 
 
 Far. Ah! but if Mr. Lovegood had been to han- 
 dle that subject, I'll warrant he w-ould have given 
 us a rare sermon upon it. But you know it is said, 
 "The natural man receiveth not the thinjis of the 
 Spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto him; nei- 
 ther can he know them, because they are spiritually 
 discerned.'' 
 
 Hen. Well, uncle, I hope that text will never 
 puzzle you any more, as it has Mr. Dulman. But 
 VOL. \. — IS 
 
198 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 as to the accusation, that- such ministers have to 
 make against Mr. Lovegood, as though what he 
 preached gave people a license to live in sin, I am 
 sure in himself there is not a better man living; and 
 he is never so happy as when all his hearers live after 
 the same good example as we at all times have from 
 him: but he did not leave us in the dark about this 
 matter in his sermons this day. You know how 
 highly he spoke of the purity, and excellency, and 
 goodness of the law in the morning, and that as we 
 were eternally bound to obey it, so it was most just 
 and righteous in God to punish us for our transgres- 
 sions; but then he did not tell us, that we were par- 
 doned by the death of Christ, that we might live in 
 sin, but that we might be saved from sin. And can- 
 not you remember how he insisted on it in the after- 
 noon, that everyone redeemed from sin by the blood 
 of Christ would have his heart renewed by the grace 
 of the Holy Spirit? and you know, uncle, it is utterly 
 impossible, when our hearts are thus made holy, that 
 our lives should be unholy. 
 
 Steadym. Well, I confess I see things in a very 
 different light from what I ever saw them before. 
 How glad I should be if my business would let me 
 stop over Wednesday, that 1 might hear Mr. Love- 
 good preach another sermon. 
 
 Nancy. Why, father, suppose you and uncle were 
 to go down and talk to Mr. Lovegood to-morrow 
 morning; I am sure he would be very glad to see 
 you. 
 
 Far. Ay, that I am sure he would. 1 never shall 
 forget in what a loving and kind way he first talked 
 to me after I was convinced of my sinful state. Shall 
 we go, brother ? 
 
 Steadym. 1 am quite a stranger to him. 1 should 
 be ashamed to take such a liberty; besides, how I 
 should expose my ignorance! 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 199 
 
 - Far. Nay, but, brother, does any man keep from 
 fire when he is cold, or from victuals when he is 
 hungry? My son Harry can look after the workmen 
 to-morrow, and you and I will ride down to Brook- 
 field. I know from blessed experience how well our 
 minister has been taught, like his blessed Master, " to 
 show compassion to the ignorant, and them that are 
 out of the way." 
 
 Steadym. Well, brother, Pll think of it, and to- 
 morrow morning at breakfast I'll let you know. 
 
 Mrs. Steadym. I say to-morrow morning too! 1 
 think we shall none of us be in bed till to-morrow 
 morning, for at this rate we shall not have done talk- 
 ing about religion to-night. 
 
 Mrs. Littlew. Why, sister, though I cannot take 
 in my husband's religion, yet I never got any good 
 by thwarting him in this fashion. I must say it be- 
 fore both our husbands, they have been very good 
 husbands to us, as husbands in general now go. 
 
 Far. Well, well, dame, as sister is tired, and the 
 girls have put away the things, let us have family 
 prayer and go to bed. 
 
 On this occasion it was Henry's turn to read. He 
 read the two chapters out of which the texts were 
 taken, and afterwards the Farmer went to prayer, 
 but in the middle of his prayer, while he was offer- 
 ing up some humble supplications on behalf of his 
 brother and sister, he was so overwhelmed by a holy 
 anxiety for their salvation, and his speech was so 
 interrupted by his tears, prayer was abruptly con- 
 cluded; this, however, gave an opportunity for an- 
 other act of devotion for the conclusion of the family 
 service. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood having a poetic turn, was in the 
 habit of composing a few verses of a hymn suitable 
 to his subject, which the congregation sang after the 
 
200 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 sermon, and which Henry Littleworth was accus- 
 tomed to take down as Mr. Lovegood gave it out. 
 It was therefore proposed that the hymn sung at 
 church at the afternoon service should be repeated 
 at evening family prayer, of which the following is 
 a copy. 
 
 Dear Jesus, we thy name adore, 
 Our holy Saviour and our King; 
 We own thy sov'reign love and pow'r, 
 And of thy great salvation sing.j 
 
 And shall we then in sin proceed? 
 Ungrateful and rebellious provel 
 Make all thy wounds afresh to bleed; 
 And thus requite thy dying love? 
 
 Forbid it, Lord! May ev'ry soul 
 The hated thought at once disdain; 
 The pow'r of sin thou canst control; 
 No rival lust with thee shall reign. 
 
 Objects that once gave high delight, 
 Through grace, are now detested grown! 
 In vain forbidden joys invite, 
 Since now the vicious taste is gone. 
 
 Dead to ourselves, and dead to sin, 
 In Christ our better hopes revive; 
 Th' immortal pulse now beats within, 
 While, quicken'd by our God, we live. 
 
 Beams of celestial light descend 
 
 To renovate the carnal mind; 
 
 With wings fullstretch'd to God we bend, 
 
 And leave this worthless world behind. 
 
 In free submission low we fall 
 Before our dear Redeemer's throne, 
 To him with joy devote our all, 
 And live and die to him alone. 
 
 On the morrow morning Mr. Steadyman was per- 
 suaded to make the visit to Mr. Lovegood. The con- 
 
DIALOGUE XII. 201 
 
 versation was, we doubt not, edifying and good; but 
 the reader is requested to wait till after the writer's 
 next summer's excursion, when he iiopes to call on 
 Mr. Lovegood, that he may be able more correctly 
 to state the substance of this interview. 
 • The writer, however, has already obtained suffi- 
 cient information of the knowledge of matters at 
 Brookfield, so as to form a conjecture that it is not 
 probable Mr. Steadyman can long attend the minis- 
 try of Mr. Dulman: and that, though Mr. Meek is 
 a man of a good and sound mind, yet not of great 
 preaching ability; and also that he will find his church 
 at too great a distance for his regular attendance, 
 though not for his occasional visits: and that there- 
 fore, when he became inquisitive after the truth of 
 the gospel, he discovered there was in the same town 
 a worthy dissenting minister, whom, in the days of 
 his ignorance, he had overlooked; whose life was 
 exemplary, and who had preached more of the doc- 
 trines of the church of England in his meeting in one 
 sermon, than was to be heard in the parish church 
 for seven years together; and there is no doubt, but 
 when Mr. Lovegood hears this, though in himself from 
 principle and conscience a minister of the established 
 church, he will advise Mr. Steadyman to seek after 
 the word of life wherever he can find it. 
 
 Mr. Lovegood is a man of enlarged and generous 
 mind; knowing, therefore, that the mere reading of 
 the church prayers, however excellent in themselves, 
 is not the general mean of salvation, it is his opinion 
 that a preached gospel should be principally sought 
 for in every Christian church or congregation. 
 
 The writer of these Dialogues also having, at an 
 early stage of his ministry, in a measure been driven 
 from out of that line of the sanctuary service in which 
 Mr. Lovegood is called to labour, confesses that he 
 still retains his partiality for that service; but as he 
 18* 
 
202 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 sees that a gracious God does not all his work in one 
 line, and as he laments how much the members of 
 different societies are cramped by their restrictive 
 laws, he equally abhors that spirit of schism'^ and 
 separation set up by party against party, against the 
 true church of Christ at large, which is so beauti- 
 fully defined in one of our own church articles, as 
 being " a congregation of faithful men in which the 
 word of God is preached, and the sacraments be 
 duly administered according to Christ's ordinance in 
 all those things that of necessity are requisite to the 
 same.'^ 
 
 * That this is the true import of the term " Schism " in 
 the word of God, see an Essay on the subject in the Evan- 
 gelical Magazine, for January, 1804. 
 
DIALOGUE XIII 
 
 BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. LOVEGOOD, MR. 
 MRS. AND MISS WORTHY, THE FARMER, 
 HENRY, AND MISS NANCY. 
 
 On the Evils of the Slave Trade, concluded. 
 
 After the return of Mr. Worthy and family 
 from Lancashire, the engagement with Mr. Love- 
 good was attended to. I'hough the pride of Miss 
 Polly and Miss Patty was considerably gratified by 
 their visit at Mr. Worthy's, yet as Mr. and Mrs. 
 Lovegood were constrained to live in a more humble 
 style, they were glad of some frivolous famil}^ excuse 
 to stay at home. Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Worthy, 
 the Farmer, Henry, and Nancy, were the whole of 
 the party. 
 
 For the sake of brevity the tea-table conversation 
 is omitted; one circumstance alone shall be recorded. 
 Mr. Lovegood's vicarage was by no means lucra- 
 tive, and though he had a wife whose fortune did 
 not annually produce above thirty pounds, and there 
 were four children to be maintained from this small 
 pittance, still it was far from his disposition to ex- 
 tort from his parishioners the utmost penny he could 
 demand by law, knowing well the infinite injury 
 that is done to the cause of religion by such a mer- 
 cenary conduct, in so many of the clerical order; yet 
 he still received much more than an equivalent from 
 the hands of those who knew his worth. Many 
 had experienced that the best of consequences had 
 been the happy result of his ministry among them. 
 
204 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 o 
 
 A temperature of conduct, had, by the grace of God, 
 directed them to be frugal in their personal indul- 
 gences, that they might be liberal to the necessities 
 of others. Such naturally became the real friends 
 of Mr. Lovegood; and thus, while his heart was 
 at all times too tender to receive even his accus- 
 tomed dues from the hard hand of honest industry, 
 while he has been frequently known rather to give 
 than receive, yet others, knowing that "the labourer 
 is worthy of his hire," brought forward their free 
 will offerings in kind abundance. In the list of 
 such contributors, the name of Farmer Littleworth 
 was registered of course. On his arrival, there- 
 fore, from Gracehill Farm, the Farmer pulled out a 
 pound of tea from his great coat pocket, while Miss 
 Nancy took into the pantry a pan of butter salted' 
 down for the winter's service of the family; which 
 presents were the more thankfully received, as it 
 was by the particular wish of Mrs. Littleworth, she 
 having now sufficient evidence that these little to- 
 kens of benevolence were no burden to the family, 
 compared to the extravagance which was among 
 them, when they were all living "without God in 
 the world," 
 
 [Dolly, Mr. Lovegood's maid, the only servant 
 they could afford to keep, having cleared the tea- 
 table, the conversation was thus resumed:] 
 
 Farmer, How glad we all were to hear the bells 
 ring so charmingly, and to see the chimneys smoke 
 so rarely at the hall, on your honour's return last 
 Saturday ! 
 
 Worthy. Why, Mr. Littleworth, we stopped some- 
 what shorter than we designed; for, last Sunday, 
 when we were at Welford church, we found our- 
 selves quite out of our element; the minister seemed 
 to be taking a deal of pains to make out how the 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 205 
 
 secret influences of the Holy Spirit, which he seemed 
 not altogether to deny, were still imperceptible. 
 
 Far. 'Las, sir, what things these lamed clergy will 
 say ! I remember once when 1 had a main bout with 
 Mr. Dolittle on that head. But how can we know 
 or have any perceptions about things that are imper- 
 ceptible, (To Mr. Lovegood.) A'in't I right, sir, 
 in my poor notions on that head? 
 
 Loveg. Why, it appears to me, the best evidence 
 you can have that you are right in that point, will 
 arise from your own experience; and, in this respect, 
 blessed be God for the change which has been 
 wrought upon your mind, and that is the best evi- 
 dence to you that religion is not imperceptible. 
 But let us charitably suppose, that the ministers who 
 make such remarks, are unhappily mistaken respect- 
 ing our interpretation of these glorious truths. They 
 conceive that we are ever preaching up the necessity 
 of feeling a set of wild visionary impulses upon the 
 mind, whereby at one time we are precisely to know 
 the moment we were convinced of sin, and then as 
 precisely tell the moment, by another impression, 
 when we were pardoned. Now, while 1 am sorry 
 for the just ofl'ence which has been given by too 
 many who have submitted to such wild impulses of 
 the imagination; yet to urge the charge of enthusi- 
 asm promiscuously against those who can, according' 
 to the 17th article, seriously say, "They feel in 
 themselves the workings of the Spirit of Christ,'^ 
 or, in other words, the spirit of purity and holiness, 
 which must be felt in all who have it, is utterly un- 
 just. 
 
 Wor. But after all that has been said to the con- 
 trary from the press, and the pulpit, can this be a 
 sufficient apology for those who suppose the offence 
 committed by a few wild-headed visionaries is to be 
 justly urged against all? yea, and to make this a pre- 
 
206 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 tence to deny, or virtually to deny, all those divine 
 influences in which consist the very essence and soul 
 of Christianity. In the name of wonder and com- 
 mon sense, what good can be had from impercepti- 
 ble influences? Is not the mind as much capable 
 of perceptions or feelings as the body, if not more 
 so? And must we not all feel the motives by 
 which we act? And is a man an enthusiast, be- 
 cause by the grace of God he feels himself wise 
 and good, whereas he once jtU himself wiclied and 
 foolish? 
 
 Loveg. I thought the ministers of Welford preached 
 somewhat more consistently with the truth, and the 
 doctrines of the church. 
 
 Wor. At one time you would say, he aims well, 
 and that he would hit the mark; then again he seems 
 to fly off, and appears as wide as ever; but he is a 
 man of a decent and a respectable behaviour, and sets 
 a much better example than many others of the clergy 
 in that neighbourhood. I gave him Venn's Complete 
 Duty of Man, and Witherspoon on Regeneration, and 
 he accepted them very kindly. 
 
 Far. The Lord make the books a blessing to his 
 soul! but when I went to Mapleton church, I re- 
 member Mr. Dolittle used to give us some sermons 
 about all-hallows tide of the same sort; but then to 
 my mind it seems, that whenever they happen to hit 
 upon the truth, it is done all by chance, "as the blind 
 man shot the croio.^' 
 
 Wor. But, Mr. Henry, we came together that you 
 might give us some farther account about the matters 
 in Antigua, and tell us something of the history of 
 poor Sancho. 
 
 Henry. Why, sir, the first thing I have to notice 
 is that real Christianity is the same in all, and there 
 is no difl'erence in any as it respects the grace of 
 God, whatever difference there may be in the colour 
 of our skins. 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 207 
 
 Loveg. Do let us hear what poor Sancho told you 
 respecting his being brought to the knowledge of the 
 truth? 
 
 Hen. He was never so happy as when he was tell- 
 ing us the story of the converting grace of God upon 
 his heart, and amidst all his afflictions that he had 
 undergone, he would ever be crying ^«de best is all 
 to come." 
 
 Wor. But, Mr. Henry, had we not better first be 
 informed of his history from the beginning, and af- 
 terwards hear of his conversion. Your father says 
 it is an interesting story. 
 
 Far. Do my child, tell all about it, as you told it 
 to Billy Traffick the other night at our house. 
 
 Hen. Sir, I'll recollect it to the best of my power. 
 In Africa the men have frequently more wives than 
 one, and no wonder at it, the men not being so nu- 
 merous as the women, on account of so many of 
 them being cut off by this bloody traffic; and poor 
 Sancho's father, it seems, had two wives. For the 
 sake of this horrid plunder their town was, as they 
 call it, broken up, and Sancho's family escaped through 
 the back door of their hut. 
 
 Far. Why, my child, I should never have thought 
 that they had a back door and a fore door, according 
 to their poor way of living. 
 
 Hen. The back door, father, is only designed for 
 their escape when we Christian Europeans, as we are 
 called, invade their land, which they have as good a 
 natural right to as you have to your farm; and that 
 back door they always contrive as the device to es- 
 cape the Hell-hounds that come after them from this 
 country. 
 
 Loveg. Hell-hounds, Mr. Henry! — why, surely 
 that was one of the words you were accustomed to 
 make use of on board of ship before you were in- 
 structed to use milder language. 
 
208 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Hen. Oh, no, sir, either on board of ship or on dry- 
 land, it is the best expression I can think of for that 
 sort of men. I can hardly conceive where such 
 people can get their commission but from Hell itself; 
 and, I believe, you will say the same, when I have 
 told you poor Sancho's story. 
 
 Wor. Well, then, Mr. Henry, go on; but I fear 
 it will be a disgraceful tale. 
 
 Hen. Sir, 1 told you how Saneho's family escaped 
 through this back door when a Liverpool trader came 
 to assist one of their petty kings to break up the 
 town in which they lived. Guns and cutlasses ren- 
 dered them successful in their engagement; and then 
 Sancho well remembers, that women and children 
 had nothing left them but to escape as well as they 
 could from these tigers in human shape. 
 
 Wor. What a scandal to our land, that these 
 licensed tigers should have it in their power to say 
 they are allowed from a land of liberty to entail sla- 
 very, and wantonly to murder so many thousands of 
 innocent sufferers, sacrificed at the altar of our luxury 
 and pride! But I interrupt you, Mr. Henry, in con- 
 tinuing your stor3\ 
 
 Hen. It was not a very probable circumstance, 
 that the escape of poor Saneho's family' could be at- 
 tended with much success; his father having two 
 wives, one of whom was near her time, the other 
 with a sucking child at her breast, and four other 
 little children with them, Sancho being the eldest of 
 the family, and he not more than ten years of age. 
 Poor Sancho says, he well remembers, that the first 
 who was overtaken was his own mother, the woman 
 who was big with child; but as she was at first seized 
 only by a single man, they thought they might res- 
 cue her. Her husband therefore hastily took one of 
 the youngest of his children from off his back, and 
 having placed it upon the ground screaming with 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 209 
 
 misery and fright, he and Sancho ran back to rescue 
 her. This they accomplished, and the family had 
 another run for their lives and liberties^ but having 
 lost much time in the rescue, they were still pursued 
 and overtaken by others. Sancho's father was soon 
 joined by another man, who was trying to make his 
 escape also. They resisted their pursuers as long 
 as they could, that the women and children, if pos- 
 sible, might make their escape into the neighbouring 
 woods. But the pursuers, supposing their lives 
 were in danger, especially by the determined reso- 
 lution of poor Sancho's father, who was a stron^ 
 young fellow, and fearing lest others should come 
 down upon them, fired at him, and killed him dead 
 on the spot. 
 
 Wor. What a horrible scene of misery does all 
 this exhibit before us! But what became of the 
 poor women and children after they saw their only 
 defender drop down murdered before their eyes? 
 
 Hen. sir! Sancho says he well remembers the 
 horrid screams of misery and despair he heard from 
 the women the moment they savv his poor father 
 fall: nor could it be supposed, that while they were 
 thus overcome, and distracted with grief, they could 
 long be out of the hands of the bloody pursuers. 
 Thus they availed themselves of the two women 
 and five children, though they conceived that they 
 were obliged to murder the husband, whom they 
 would have been glad to have spared, as it would 
 have answered more for their interest to have sold 
 him than to murder him. 
 
 JVor. Could any thing be more shocking! Oh 
 that the British parliament would but remember, 
 there was a day in which they once solemnly deter- 
 mined to see to the abolition of this dreadful trade! 
 Trade did I call it; why, it is the greatest disgrace 
 to the name of fair and honourable trade, to give it 
 
 VOL. I. — 19 
 
210 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 such an appellation. But, Mr. Henry, I suppose 
 you have a deal more to tell us about Sancho and the 
 farther calamities of his family. 
 
 Hen. Oh, sir, poor Sancho can scarcely now tell 
 the story, hui he drops a tear, when he recollects 
 how they were all dragged back by the bleeding 
 corpse of his father, asking for liberty to fall upon 
 him and embrace him for the last time, while wel- 
 tering in his blood. But away back to the town 
 that had just been broken up, were they dragged, 
 there to see its inhabitants scattered, and every little 
 comfort they had among themselves, laid waste, 
 and then to bid it an eternal farewell. But it seems 
 they went after the father and mother of the mur- 
 dered man, to see if they answered their purpose. 
 
 Wor. What! and were they also added to the list 
 of their bloody trophies? 
 
 Hen. As far as 1 could learn from Sancho, it was 
 some time before they could find them, but when 
 they discovered the man to be upwards of fifty, and 
 his wife not much less, they mercifully left them 
 behind, because they would not answer the end of 
 their detestable traffic; and it seems, as they call it, 
 they were pretty full slaved already, and mostly 
 with young slaves, which answers their end best, as 
 the old ones are more apt to die with the sulks or 
 hang themselves, as soon as they can get an oppor- 
 tunity after they have been sold. 
 
 Wor. What! is it common for them to put an end 
 to their present existence even after they are sold? 
 
 Hen. Sir, when I was off Jamaica, I myself saw 
 three of them together one morning who had 
 hanged themselves in the night: and I am told this 
 is an event so very common, that a law is likely to 
 pass prohibiting the importation, but under a certain 
 age. 
 
 WoY. A fine story, truly, to be told^ that we better 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 211 
 
 their situation in life, by transporting them from 
 Africa, when it seems they would rather hang them- 
 selves than accept it! But what became of these 
 poor creatures during the middle passage?* 
 
 Hen. Why, Sancho told me, that soon after they 
 were all put on board a slave ship, his mother was 
 taken in labour, and delivered of a dead child. The 
 slave captain having been informed by the ship 
 doctor, that it was next to impossible for her to 
 survive the passage, and considering also that she 
 would only take the room of another who might 
 fetch a better price, they humanely set her adrift to 
 shift for herself, in that wretched condition; and 
 the first dance poor Sancho had upon deck was when 
 he was made to skip and jump about at the lasli 
 of the whip, lest he should die of the sulks, be- 
 cause his poor heart was ready to break at the loss 
 of his father, and afterwards at being for ever se- 
 parated from his mother. However, Sancho says, 
 not a little art was made use of to raise the spirits of 
 the other woman, by promising them that they should 
 all live comfortably together; but grief immediately 
 depriving her of her milk, she had then nothing left 
 but to water her child with her tears whilst she pre- 
 sented it with her dry breasts, and it soon after 
 died in the mother's arms. Still the slave captain 
 supposed he had a good booty in the family, as there 
 were three boys and one girl, all of them between 
 three and ten; and half-reared children, as I have 
 
 * The slave trader makes three voyages; the first from Eng- 
 land to the coast of Africa, where he gets his horrid cargo; 
 then to the West Indies, or other parts ; this is called the 
 middle passage ; and then returns to England to refit. Yet to 
 demonstration, it has been proved, that nothing is wanted but 
 a merciful treatment of the negroes themselves, that they may 
 increase and multiply according to the laws of nature. Thus 
 we should still enjoy our luxuries from the tropical climate, 
 and these wasteful voyages would be at an end. 
 
212 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 before observed, are always supposed best to suit 
 their purpose. It seems, however, that the rest of 
 the unmurdered cargo belonging to this family were 
 all landed; the poor weakly woman was scarcely 
 alive when they were put up for sale. She went 
 only for five pounds, while Sancho sold for seventy, 
 and the other children for nearly the same; but dear 
 Sancho little then knew that he wa&more highly va- 
 lued by our blessed Lord, whose infinitely precious 
 blood was shed for his redemption. 
 
 Loves^. How often have the most wicked de- 
 vices of some been overruled for the salvation of 
 others. 1 remember hearing, when i was curate 
 at Abley in Yorkshire, how a man was determined 
 to find out the wicked tricks of his wife, who occa^ 
 sionally attended a meeting for prayer at a village 
 in that neig;hbourhood: and, as the Lord was pleased 
 to overrule it, one of the company ofiered up a 
 most tender and affectionate prayer for some then 
 under persecution, that the lions of the world might 
 not tear asunder the lambs of Christ's flock, but 
 that by his grace every lion might be turned into 
 a lamb: and there is every reason to believe it was 
 the mean of his conversion to God. But, Mr. Hen- 
 ry, I must not interrupt you: finish your story. 
 
 Hen. Sancho well remembers, that when they 
 were sold, he and the girl, being brother and sister, 
 were sold together; but Sancho knew nothing after 
 that for some years, of the other two children, 
 and the woman who was their mother; and then 
 he found that the woman lived not above a month, 
 and perished in a neglected state, but had the hap- 
 piness to hear that both his brothers constantly at- 
 tended the Moravian ministry, and that there was 
 no doubt but one of them was truly converted to God. 
 
 Wor. Then they were not allowed to live together, 
 according to promise* 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 213 
 
 Hen. Promises from an African slave-trader are 
 very rarely thouglit of afler they are made. But 
 in this respect, they had as much tenderness as is 
 usually granted, to let the mother go with her own 
 children, which, now I am told, is more frequently 
 done than formerly, as it answers begt their own in- 
 terest. 
 
 Loveg, Such sort of mercy reminds me of that 
 passage, <*'The tender mercies of the wicked are 
 cruel ;'^ for what consolation could this be to the wo- 
 man or her poor infants, while she was dying with 
 neglect. But it should seem, upon the whole of this 
 business, that three in one family were virtually mur- 
 dered, that four poor innocent children might be 
 doomed to perpetual slavery, when it was utterly im- 
 possible that they could deserve it. 
 
 JVor. I thinly you sliould also take into the account 
 the poor infant who died through the hard treatment 
 of the mother just before the time of her delivery. 
 
 Far. {To Mr. Worlhy.) If your horwur could find 
 out that any poor parish 'prentice was treated half as 
 bad, 1 am sure you would give thern to know the 
 rights of it; but it is wonderful tome that there is no 
 bringing people to justice for such dreadful doings. 
 
 Hen. Why, father, some of them will tell you 
 that there is no injustice in any of their doings, and 
 that they only take them as lawful captives in war; 
 and that, for aught they know to the contrary, 
 their wars may be as just as ours; while, at the 
 same time, they do all in their power to excite them 
 to these abominable wars, but I never could find 
 what justice had to do with war, excepting for self^ 
 defence. 
 
 IdOveg. Why, the Scriptures have decided that air 
 ready. '^Whence come wars and fightings among 
 you? come they not hence, even from your lusts 
 19* 
 
.i^l4 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 that war in your members?" It is an. ambitious 
 lust of power that has kindled the flames of war in 
 thousands of instances, and it is impossible to cal- 
 culate how many millions have been sacrificed at 
 the altar of our pride thereby; but when we are all 
 brought under the meek, and mild> and loving in- 
 fluences of the Gospel, "nations shaU learn war no 
 qiore." 
 
 [Mr. LovegoocVs eldest daughter, about Jive years old, 
 comes in nil in iears.'\ 
 
 Mrs. Loveg. O, my dear, you should not come into 
 the parlour without leave when there is company. — 
 But what is the matter? 
 
 Child. Mamma, Prettyface will die, — John Cheese- 
 man came to try to make her well again, but he says, 
 he is sure she will die, and then what shall we do, 
 we shall never go a milking any more. 
 
 Wor, Alas, alas! what can be the cause ojf tb^se sad 
 lamentations? 
 
 Mrs. Loveg. 0, sir, our poor cow that you were 
 so kind as to give us, the beginning of last winter, 
 has met with a terrible calamity, by being goaded 
 by some other cows on the common, and we made 
 bold to send to your cow-keeper, to beg him iiO look 
 at her after he had done work: for it used to be a 
 high treat to our little ones to go and feed and milk 
 the cow. 
 
 Wor. (To the child.) Never mind, my dear; there 
 are more cows than one in the country. I dare say, 
 we shall find another Prettyface, who will give her 
 milk to your brothers, and little sister that is in the 
 cradle. 
 
 Mr. Loveg. Oh, sir, I wish the child had not 
 mentioned it. You quite overpower us with your 
 favours. 
 
 Wor. Indeed, while you provide us so plentifully 
 witli "the sincere milk of the word/' at so low a rate, 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 215 
 
 the least that we can do will be to provide you a 
 little milk for your family. — [Should this part of the 
 dialogue be continued, the modesty of the parties 
 might be considerably offended. As, therefore, the 
 author has the highest respect for Mr. Lovegood and 
 Mr. Worthy; and as he would not, upon any account, 
 forfeit the honour and favour of preaching in Mr. 
 Lovegood's church, whenever he goes that way, he 
 begs leave to drop this part of the subject, and pro- 
 ceed.] 
 
 Mrs. fVor. I hope, Mr. Henry, you have npw 
 told us of all the evils poor Sancho has been called 
 to suffer; and, I am sure, you have related enough 
 to cliill one's blood. We shall be glad to hear next 
 what were the merciful providences which brought 
 him to the knowledge of the Gospel. 
 
 Hen. Alas! madam, there was a deal to be undone 
 upon poor Sancho's mind before any thing could be 
 done. He has oftentimes told me of his dread and 
 hatred of the Christian's God, before he knew better; 
 and, to be sure, his ideas on this subject were not 
 less natural than curious. 
 
 J^oveg. What were they, Mr. Henry ? 
 Hen. One night, soon after he was landed in An- 
 tigua, and while he was seekingrestfor his distracted 
 mind, which he rarely could meet with, he verily 
 thought it must be more than a dream, for that he 
 actually saw the Christian's God, and that he was an 
 uncommon tall white* monster, for that he was a god 
 of a very powerful nation; and as his worshippers 
 were always calling upon him, to dmnn and blast and 
 curse almost ever}^ one they spoke to, he supposed 
 him to be a most cruel and mischievous god indeed. 
 No wonder, therefo-re, that Sancho's imagination 
 
 * Men of colour have a peculiar abhorrence of the idea of 
 \Yhite. 
 
216 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 farther represented this large monster to him, though 
 of human shape, yet as having on his shoulders a 
 most horrid tiger's head, with jaws capable of de- 
 vouring fifty or a hundred of our fellow creatures at 
 a meal; that round his head there were an innume- 
 rable quantity of all sorts of serpents and scoi-pions, 
 and of all sizes; that his paunch or maw, was of such 
 an uncommon size, as made him appear a monster in- 
 deed: that he had not only the head, but the paws, 
 of a tiger, both on his arms and legs; and that it was 
 most frightful to see how he could tear up the ground, 
 and all that came in his way with his horrid talons; 
 that he had a tail of sueh an amazing length, with a 
 fiery sting at the end of it, that whenever he whisked 
 i^t about, he did uncommon mischief thereby; that he 
 had all around his immensely large body, a prodigious 
 number of casks of rum and gunpowder, with swords, 
 guns, cutlasses and all other instruments of war in 
 terrible and vast abundance, that were made for him 
 hy the Christians who worship him; and that when 
 he arose to shake himself the noise was most tre- 
 mendous. That this horrid, monstrous, white god 
 of the Christians, had a detestable partiality to the 
 creatures of his own making; and that he frequently 
 strided over the seas, that he might satiate his bloody 
 appetite upon the poor Africans; that thousands of 
 his little white imps were ordered to attend him in 
 the different slave-trade ships; that as soon as they all 
 landed, he had nothing to da but to stand upright and 
 to look all around him, to see if he could find any 
 peaceable, quiet towns, which were ignorant of his 
 arrival, from this his Christian country; that then he 
 would whisk his most tremendous tail over that 
 country, as a signal to all his imps to plunder and 
 murder as fast as they could, distributing among them 
 his casks, arms, and ammunition for that purpose; and 
 then as fast as these captives could be brought to him 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 217 
 
 by his bloody imps, he would swallow them down 
 by scores; that one morning he came over from the 
 Christianas country so hungry, that he devoured "four 
 thousand five hundred at one meal;"* and that he is 
 scarcely satisfied unless his imps procure him a hun- 
 dred thousand year by year; and that when his maw 
 begins to be so full that he can gorge no more, the 
 rest of them he gives over to the care of his buckraf 
 imps, who take them beyond the seas, that they may 
 be kept for him, so that he may send for them, or 
 come after them, whenever he thinks proper to de- 
 vour them. Such was Sancho's idea of the God of 
 buckra men; and the dream, or vision, was so strong 
 upon his mind, that he could scarcely persuade him- 
 self it was not a reality. 
 
 Loveg. Indeed his idea of the Christian's god is 
 not less natural than our crimes are enormous; but 
 what opinion had he of their own gods? 
 
 Hen. He thought that some of their gods were 
 bad enough, but nothing like so wicked as our god; 
 but, blessed be the Lord, Sancho has been bettei; 
 taught since then. He now knows that "God is 
 love." 
 
 Loveg. Yes, Mr. Henry, that is the part of the 
 story we want to hear, how poor Sancho came by the 
 knowledge of the gospel. 
 
 Hell. For some time after poor Sancho was sold, 
 he had reason to groan under his bondage; and all 
 that time he was kept in sad ignorance; but after- 
 ward he had masters who were much more humane; 
 and they encouraged the preaching of the gospel on 
 their plantations: but stiLl Sancho kept up his pre- 
 judice against the Christian's God. The first thing 
 which forcibly struck him was the meek and hum- 
 
 * See Dialogue IX., p. 7. 
 f The negro name for a white man. 
 
i^l8 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 ble deportment of two Christian slaves, a man and 
 his wife, during a hurricane that was in those parts 
 some years ago, and which was fatal to the lives of 
 many. He wondered to hear them talk about their 
 dear loving Saviour all the time their poor cots were 
 blowing about their ears, and their lives in continual 
 danger; nor could he make it out, while he was 
 trembling and quaking under the apprehensions of 
 death, notwithstanding he had met with so many 
 things to sicken him of life, to hear them rejoicing 
 and singing. One little hymn they sung over so 
 often, that Sancho well remembered the words. 
 
 While thunders and tempests are rolling above, 
 I trust in my Saviour, and rest on his love: 
 The thunders of vengeance shall never annoy 
 The peaceable rest which in Christ I enjoy. 
 
 My blood-shedding Jesus I claim as my rock, 
 Wlio carefully screens the poor lambs of the flock; 
 I trust on his mercy, and Uve on his grace. 
 And under his cross is my sweet dwelling-place. 
 
 While Jesus sits smiling above the black cloud, 
 I'll sing to his praises Hosannas aloud; 
 For soon will he take me to regions above, 
 To bask in his presence and feast on his love. 
 
 Then here, my Redeemer, I'll sit at thy feet; 
 Should death overtake me, I humbly submit. 
 Then come the blessed moment in which I'm to die, 
 For Jesus hath loved i?ie, I cannot say why. 
 
 Then the poor man would cry in their broken 
 language, "0 my dear wifey, you and I cast our- 
 selves on de dear Saviour, for ^he careth for us.' 
 what a loving Saviour he is to care for such poor 
 sinful human creatures as we are." Then when 
 another tremendous clap of thunder was intermixing 
 itself in the storm, he would cry, 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 219 
 
 And when thy loud thunders are rolling above, 
 We'll trust in thy mercy, and feast on thy love^ 
 
 Then again he would say, "Our most clear Sa-^ 
 viour is 'a hiding place from de storm and a covert 
 from de tempest, and de shadow of a great rock in a 
 weary land.' De storm cannot hurt us if it should 
 kill us, for den we should go to de dear Saviour, 
 who has been so loving and good to our sinful 
 hearts." Such was the substance of the conversa- 
 tion and behaviour, so far as Sancho recollects it, 
 of these poor creatures during the hurricane; and 
 which was quite new to him, having never seen till 
 now any thing like the holy patience which belongs 
 to the real Christian. 
 
 Loveg. I should suppose, from this circumstance, 
 Sancho began to have a more favourable opinion of 
 the Christian's God. 
 
 IIe?i. Sancho, from that time, began to have an 
 idea that the Christians had two gods; a very dread- 
 ful bad god, and a very merciful and good God. 
 
 Wor. Why really Sancho was not far short of the 
 mark; the god of this world is quite as bad a god as 
 Sancho could suppose him to be; but, 1 hope, he 
 soon after this got acquainted with the good God; 
 for, I am sure, he had suffered enough from the bad 
 god. 
 
 Hen. For a time the poor creature said he " was 
 afraid to serve de good God, because he appeared so 
 much more weak dan de bad god." He observed, that 
 " none of de great buckra men, nor any of deir rich 
 masseys, served de good God, but laughed at all dat 
 did; and dat dey did not like to serve de good God^ 
 because he would not allow dem to get rich by stealing 
 and cruelty; nor to be angry and spiteful, nor to live 
 in drunkenness and lewdness; and dat dere was one 
 great Island about dose parts where all de people 
 
220 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 "Served de great bad god, so dat dey quite devoured 
 up dose dat served de good God."* 
 
 fVor. Poor Sancho's discovery, however, that there 
 was a good God, as well as a had one, might have 
 been of considerable use to his mind, and, doubtless, 
 led him to inquire farther after the truth. 
 
 Loveg. Why, really, he appeared to know more of 
 the truth, even in that state, than many among us. 
 i am positive that Sancho's conceptions of the nature 
 of God were more consistent than what is too gene- 
 rally admitted among ourselves. What loose notions 
 are to be found among many who believe in the unity 
 of the divine existence;-j- as if an allowance of sin 
 could be found in the same holy Being, who from 
 the infinite perfection of his nature, cannot but eter- 
 nally abhor it. 
 
 M7^s. Loveg. But I hope, Mr. Henry, you will let 
 us hear the rest of Sancho's experience. The bells 
 will ring for church in about half an hour, and my 
 husband loves a little retirement before he begins the 
 service. 
 
 Heii. \ have already observed, that Sancho's task- 
 masters began to be much less rigid and severe; and 
 it therefore became more the custom to encourage 
 marriage on the plantation on which Sancho laboured. 
 Against this, however, he always had an objection, 
 lest he should have an offspring to be made as mise- 
 rable as himself; but as he found his own situation 
 much altering for the better, he began to turn his 
 
 * It is probable Sancho has a reference to Jamaica, which 
 is perhaps the nearest resennblance of the gates of hell of any 
 place in the British dominions. 
 
 f The Socinians are very fond of claiming to themselves 
 the title of Unitarians, as if they alone believed in the unity 
 of the Divine Essence. Can this arise from ignorance? They 
 know that we no more believe in the existence of three Gods, 
 th^n themselves. 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 221 
 
 thoughts that way; but still he determined, if ever 
 he did marry, to unite himself to one who served the 
 good God, as he conceived he should be much hap- 
 pier with her than another. He accordingly paid his 
 addresses to two or three young female slaves, while 
 all of them were in one tone: "Me no love you, me 
 no be your wifey, you no love our dear Saviour." 
 All these refusals made Sancho more anxious to make 
 farther inquiries about the dear Saviour, and this 
 was the first thing that induced him to go into the 
 chapels belonging to those good people called Mora- 
 vians. 
 
 Loveg. It appears that this poor artless man had 
 some secret drawings in his mind after good, but that 
 as yet he did not know where it was to be found. I 
 am sure, wherever there is a conviction of that which 
 is wrong, and a holy desire to be right, such persons 
 are not far from the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 Hen. So it appeared with Sancho. For, as soon 
 as he began to hear the praying and singing and 
 preaching of these good people, his eyes were at 
 once fastened on them, and his heart was soon 
 brought to receive the gospel. 0! it was his de- 
 light to tell how his soul was won over to the blessed 
 service of God by hearing of the glad tidings of sal- 
 vation. 
 
 Mrs. Loveg. And 1 hope it will be as delightful 
 to us to hear of it; do make haste, Mr. Henry, and 
 tell us more of it before we go to church. 
 
 Hen. Oh! madam, it was very pleasant to hear 
 with what sweet surprise he was led to attend on 
 their ministry. He was first not a little astonished 
 and softened by their singing, when it came into his 
 mind how different it was from the mad hello wings, 
 roarings, and screamings which are to be found 
 among the wretched slaves of sin; and when com- 
 pared to the execrable shouts of triumph made among 
 VOL. I.— 20 
 
222 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 those cruel tormentors of the human race, who brought 
 him from Africa. 
 
 Far. Ah! Henry, my child, you can now speak 
 from experience. Neither you nor I knew any thing 
 of happiness, till we were blessed with the grace of 
 God upon our hearts, and now God has loved us, sny 
 dear child, how sweetly we love one another! (Far- 
 mer much affected. J 
 
 Hen. Yes, blessed be God, father, that we now 
 know what it is to have that kingdom of God esta- 
 blished in our hearts, which is "righteousness and 
 peace and joy in the Holy Ghost." 
 
 Loveg. None can tell the happiness they enjoy, 
 who are blessed with "the peace of God, which 
 passeth all understanding, and which keeps the heart 
 and mind through Jesus Christ." — But if Sancho was 
 so affected under the singing, how did his mind feel- 
 under the sermon? 
 
 Hen. I was going to tell you, sir. The minister 
 was, it seems, then preaching upon that text, "We 
 have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness 
 of sins, according to the riches of his grace." 
 how Sancho delighted to tell of the effects of that 
 sermon on his heart. 
 
 JVor. Can you give us the particulars, Mr. Henry? 
 
 Hen. Why, sir, he told me, that the minister 
 introduced his sermon by remarking, what a deal 
 of pains was taken in the plantations to destroy the 
 borers that were so injurious to the sugar canes; 
 and he supposed, that no merciful planter could ever 
 wantonly wish to kill these poor insects, while each 
 of them might probably feel as much as though "a 
 giant died," provided he could but instruct them not 
 to injure him any more. Then he asked the question, 
 if there was a planter so wise as .to contrive a plan 
 to instruct them better, as what they did was the 
 cause of their own destruction? Then he observed. 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 223 
 
 that before any planter was capable of instructing 
 these poor borers, of his good will towards them, he 
 must become a borer himself. Then he cried, "0 
 the wisdom and mercy of God our Saviour towards 
 our unmerciful and depraved ^-ace, for that we on 
 earth were no more in the sight of God, than these 
 little insects are in our sight. Yet that he might 
 prove his mercy towards us, and that he might rnake 
 known tlie riches of his love, he appeared as one of 
 our own race, and suftered in our stead all that w-e 
 deserved from the justice of his holy Fath-er, for 
 transgressing against his good and righteous law. 
 This simple, yet beautiful display of the love of God 
 towards man so affected poor Sancho, that he scarcely 
 knew the ground he trod upon; and methinks 1 see 
 him now, just as I then saw him while relating this, 
 part of his story, with his eyes lifted up, each of them 
 filled with a floating tear of gratitude and joy, and 
 then crying, in their language, 
 
 Let all de world fall down and know, 
 Dat none but God such love could show, 
 
 Loveg. What a mercy it is, that the Lord has in- 
 clined the hearts of these good people to labour with 
 so much disinterestedness and holy zeal to bring these 
 abject sinners to the knowledge of the gospel! But, 
 I dare say, Sancho had somewhat farther to say of 
 the particular effect the sermon had upon his heart. 
 
 Hen. He next told me, as he expressed himself, 
 ^^ that when all de broders and sisters dat stood near 
 him saw dat our dear Saviour was breaking his 
 heart," they all began to smile and weep for joy; 
 and after the service was over they came round him 
 like a swarm of bees; saying one after another, " 0, 
 my dear broder, how glad we are dat hearing of de 
 death and sufferings of our dear Saviour has made 
 
224 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 you feel de grace of a broken heart. Now, broder, 
 he will make you happy, and he will come and live 
 in your heart while you Heat his cross. how wel- 
 come is de poor sinner to de loving Saviour." He 
 afterwards told me, that he was soon persuaded to 
 visit the good man he had heard preach; and when 
 poor Sancho began telling him what a wicked heart 
 he now found he had, he was a little surprised to hear 
 him say all that was very good; and when he began 
 to complain still deeper, he was yet more surprised 
 when he said, that was better still; and when he far- 
 ther told him that he was so very wicked, that he 
 must be rained for ever, if our blessed Saviour would 
 not save him as the chief of sinners, he was quite 
 astonished when the minister joined in saying, "0 
 my dear broder, that is best of all; how glad 1 am 
 that you have received the grace to know your great 
 need of the blood-shedding and atonement of our 
 blessed Lord." Soon after this, Sancho, beginning 
 to find the conflict within himself common to all 
 Christians, came and told the minister of a discovery 
 he had made, that he had two souls, a good one, and 
 a very bad one; the minister explained to him from 
 whence his mistake arose, and that he had not two 
 souls, but two very different principles in one and the 
 same soul. Upon a farther discovery of the truths 
 of the gospel, Sancho, however, quickly found him- 
 self a much happier man than ever he had been be- 
 fore; he walked in the love and fear of the Lord, 
 and was soon baptized, and admitted to communion 
 among these good people. And after that, was mar- 
 ried to one of the women who would have nothing 
 to do with him because he did not then love de dear 
 Saviour. 
 
 Loveg. Why these good people have a dialect pe- 
 culiar to themselves! but, notwithstanding some pe- 
 culiarities of expression, they are most affectionately 
 
DIALOGUE XIII. 225 
 
 and warmly attached to the essential truths of the 
 gospel: and I am sure, wherever that is the case, 
 mere modes of expression are of very little conse- 
 quence; they have set an example to all the world 
 in their zeal for the salvation of sinners, which never 
 can be sufficiently admired. 
 
 Far. Henry, my chi'.d, I wish you could have 
 brought Sancho and his family with you. How de- 
 lighted I should have been to have had them all to 
 work at our farm. I dare say we could have done 
 very well by them, for Christians love to be diligent. 
 
 Hen. Ah! father, you don't understand matters. 
 A slave in those parts is as much his master's pro- 
 perty, as your hogs and stock of cattle are a part of 
 your property. 
 
 Far. The more's the pity, my child, a thousand 
 and a thousand time's over. 
 
 [The bells striking up for church, Mr. Lovegood 
 retires to his study; the Farmer, Henry and Mr. 
 Worthy, take the opportunity to walk out to see if 
 there could be any thing done for poor Pretty face; 
 and thus ends the dialogue on the Slave Trade.] 
 
 2Q* 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 
 
 A WHISPER FROM BEHIND THE DOOR; OR THE SECRETS 
 OF PRIVATE SCANDAL MADE PUBLIC I BEING, 
 
 A WINTER Evening's conversation over a Dish of 
 Tea and a Game of Cards, at old Madam Toogood's, 
 of Lower Brookfield, (mentioned in Dialogue III. 
 who lived on an annuity of 150/. a Year;) between 
 the good old Lady, 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Spiteful, Master of the Free 
 Grammar School, in Envy Lane, Mapleton, who had 
 whipped away all his Scholars but one or two, that 
 he might live at his Leisure, and still enjoy the Pro- 
 fits of the Endowment, availing himself of other Ad- 
 vantages by his occasional Services among the neigh- 
 bouring Clergy; 
 
 Mr. WisEHEAD, a Bookseller in the same Town, a 
 strict Attendant on Dr. Dronish, and his Assistant 
 the Rev. Mr Smirking; 
 
 Mr. (/Onsiderate, one of the Aldermen of Ma- 
 pleton, who possessed a few Houses in the Town, 
 and a small freehold in the neighbourhood, and who 
 had lately given more regular attendance on Mr. 
 Lovegood, with his Wife and Daughter, who bad 
 been constant attendants some time before; 
 
 Miss Prate APACE, a young woman, who was an 
 Apothecary's Daughter, one of Madam Toogood's 
 God-daughters, and an apprentice of Madam Flirt, 
 the Milliner; and 
 
 Miss Polly Little worth. 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 221 
 
 Miss Patty was also expected, but both the young 
 Ladies could not attend, as it was Washing Week at 
 Gracehill Farm. 
 
 The conversation was thus introduced. Mi^ Polly 
 comes in, all in a bustle. 
 
 Miss Polly. I am perdigiously sorry, ladies and 
 gentlemen, if I have made you wait, but my mother 
 wanted me to call at Mr. Traffick's, of the shop, as 
 I was coming this way, for some grocery and other 
 shop goods. I protest I have walked so fast that I 
 am all in a state o[ prosperation — {The tea is called for 
 and introduced.) 
 
 Spiteful. I wonder that every body should be run- 
 ning to that shop, to support such a schismatical en- 
 thusiast, as though there were no other shops but his. 
 I would turn my servant away, if he should dare to 
 go there for a hap^ worth of sand. 
 
 Mr. Considerate. Now really, sir, you do no good 
 by such vehemence. If a man acts conscientiously 
 in his business, I don't see what we have to do with 
 his religion; and, I believe, on all hands, it is ac- 
 knowledged, that Mr. Traffick is very just in all his 
 dealings. 
 
 Miss Polly. Sir, my father insists upon it, that we 
 must all run galloping to that shop. I hardly think 
 he would let our Sam wear a livery if he did not 
 send there for all the trimmings: and when I was 
 there, to be sure how he held forth behind the coun- 
 ter, as though he had been in a pulpit, about the mi- 
 raculous conversion of my brother, as he called it. 
 I am sure, of late, we are quite suffocated* with re- 
 ligion in our house. 
 
 Mr. Spiteful. Yes, conversion is a mighty word 
 with them; for it seems that not only such men as 
 
 * Miss Polly probably meant surfeited. 
 
228 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 your brother, who was once so wil-d, and is now be^ 
 come so sanclified, but every one who steps a little 
 aside from their strict notions of religion, they sup- 
 pose to be no better than heathens, and they must 
 all be converted or be damned. Mr. Wisehead, you 
 are a man of reading, and I dare say you admit the 
 justice of my remark against these enthusiasts. 
 
 Wisehead. In my opinion, sir, it is very injudicious 
 to bring forward the words conversion and regenera- 
 tion, as though they could be in any sense applicable 
 among us Christians in the present day. They were 
 only designed for primitive times, when people were 
 brought over from being Jews or Pagans to be of 
 our holy religion: but how can any of us be con- 
 verted to the Christian religion, when w'e are Chris- 
 tians already. 
 
 Mr. Consid. What then, sir, do you think that 
 Henry Little worth was a Christian when he and his 
 comrades kept our town in a perpetual uproar; and 
 when (5ne evening they got from your barber one 
 of your old wigs, and put it on an ass's head, and 
 then drove him down the town, and into your shop, 
 saying Mr. Wisehead was come to sup with his bro- 
 ther? 
 
 Wiseh. Certainly, sir, these w^ere very unwise and 
 irrational steps in that giddy youth; notwithstanding 
 it were the highest reflection upon the Supreme Be- 
 ing to suppose we have not within ourselves, from 
 the principles of 7iatural religion, sufficient powers to 
 reform ourselves from our vicious courses; for what 
 purpose has the Almighty given to every man both 
 reason and conscience, if these were not adequate to 
 the reformation of mankind? 
 
 Consid. Why really, sir, . I can't' see what great 
 matters reason has ever done in the reformation of 
 mankind; slie seems to' stand aside, and let nine- 
 tenths act by mere passion and appetite; and as for 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 
 
 229 
 
 conscience, I am sure, among thousands, that acts 
 like an unfaithful and intoxicated watchman, without 
 either eyes or brains. I believe that my wife's mi- 
 nister is' quite right in his doctrine, that all the facul- 
 ties of the human mind are exceedingly vitiated and 
 depraved; and till God mends reason and conscience, 
 they will never mend us. 
 
 Wiseh. But, sir, if mankind are vicious, it is their 
 own fault; for we may be all good if we will. 
 
 Consid. Certainly so. {To Mrs. Toogood.) See, 
 madam, how your cat is a licking and cleaning herself 
 all over. 
 
 Madam Toogood. Oh, sir, she is a lovely delicate 
 creature! 
 
 Consid. {To Mr. TFisehead.)— Then I suppose 
 she has a will to be clean, and she proves the point, 
 she may be clean if she z^eV/. (To Miss Folly.) Now, 
 Miss Polly Littlevvorth, did you ever see any of 
 your father's hogs sit upright, and wash and clean 
 themselves with their fore feet like that cat? and they 
 certainly may if they will; but, alas, they want the 
 will. 
 
 Spiteful. Well, such a thought, had I lived a thou- 
 sand years, would never have entered my brains; but 
 pray, are we to be compared to hogs and cats? 
 
 Consid. Why, in the Bible, men have been com- 
 pared to brutes before now: to lions, bears, tigers, 
 or leopards, wolves, foxes, and dogs, and to birds 
 also, not less ravenous than such sort of beasts, to 
 eagles, vultures, ravens, and others; yes, and to the 
 worst of reptiles, to vipers themselves. But I only 
 ask, if there ever was found that creature, either 
 among men or brutes, that could will contrary to 
 his inclination or disposition? What then can we 
 mean -by saying, we may all be good if we will? 
 who in their senses ever denied it? Just so bad men 
 will be bad, and good men will be good. Is not 
 
230 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 every one's will regulated by his disposition? Such, 
 however, is the glib nonsense of the day. 
 
 JViseh. I hope, sir, you do not think, that we ra- 
 tional dissenters talk nonsense: but according to 
 your notions (and I would not wish to misunderstand 
 you, as I believe you have a good heart, and mean 
 well) man is a mere machine — and there is an end to 
 all distinction between virtue and vice in man, if we 
 are obliged to act according to our- dispositions, and 
 have no power to correct them. 
 
 Madam Toogood. Oh! shocking, shocking, Mr. 
 Considerate, I never thought you could believe in 
 such bad notions of religion. I am very sorry to 
 hear, that of late you have been such a strict follower 
 of Lovegood. I am sure he preaches very wicked 
 doctrines. 
 
 Spile/. Yes, madam, and such are the tenets held 
 forth at Brookfield church. I suppose that Atheism 
 will be preached there next. 
 
 Consid. Now I beg, sir, you would be a little 
 more dispassionate and give me a calm answer to the 
 following question: supposing you should ask any 
 of the wild sparks in our tow^n the reason why they 
 gave way to such courses, what do you think would 
 be their answer? Why, that they Were overpowered 
 by temptation and inclination before they submitted 
 to such ways. 
 
 Spile/. I suppose they might, sir; but what of 
 that? 
 
 Consid. Then it seems they wanted strength or 
 power to resist, and that reason and conscience did 
 them no good, and that they were conquered by the 
 wicked inclinations and corruptions of their hearts. 
 
 Spile/ But if you make it out that these people 
 acted against their wills in what they did, I can see 
 no harm in any of their wicked tricks. 
 
 Consid. Stop, sir, you go on too fast: did I sup-- 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 231 
 
 pose that tho}^ acted against their wills, when they 
 acted according to their inclinations? Is not every 
 man's will -and inclination virtually the same? And 
 are not all people, with bad inclinations, wilfully 
 wicked, while others, with good inclinations are 
 willingly pious? I think, Mr. Wisehead, the will is 
 nothing but theservant of the understanding and in- 
 clinations. 
 
 IViseh' ( Giving his forehead a grave and judicious 
 scratch.) Really, sir, your question is so intricate 
 and important, I would rather take some time to 
 consider that point. Before I venture upon an an- 
 swer, I should like to talk to our ministers. The 
 Doctor .and Mr. Smirking, I'll assure you, sir, are 
 very rational and able divines, and as you are in the 
 habit of calling at our shop to read the news, in a 
 day or two hence I hope 1 shall be able to give you 
 a satisfactory answer: and then, sir, we can step into 
 our back parlour, and have a few words farther on 
 this subject. 
 
 Spitef. [All in a hurry.) Why, v/here is the diffi- 
 culty of answering that question ? . What has the un- 
 derstanding or the inclination to do with the will? 
 Have we not all a free will to act as we like best? 
 Had not I a free will to come here, and must I not 
 have a free will to go home again? 
 
 Consid. Pray, sir, have you a free will to throw 
 yourself into the fire, or jump into the water, or to 
 go to Brookfield church next Sunday? 
 
 Spitef. How can a man have a free will to do those 
 things which he naturally hates? 
 
 Consid. Why then, having no inclination to throw 
 yourself into the fire or water, or to go to Brookfield 
 Church, there would be no getting you to do these 
 things but by force. Now I always thought, witli 
 you, ever since I have considered, this point, that 
 every man's will must be free to follow his inclina- 
 
232 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 tions and dispositions; and that is the reason why the 
 world live so wickedly, because they like it best. 
 And I think if you had attended a little more to the 
 feelings of your own mind, and the minds of others, 
 you would have found it out that all people act ac- 
 cording to their inclinations and dispositions, whether 
 good or bad, and that the understanding debates ac- 
 cording to the object set before it; next comes the 
 choice, and the will at last determines to pursue the 
 object that is suggested by the inclinations, digested 
 by the understanding, and prefetTed by the choice: 
 [io Miss Polly, '\ and I dare say. Miss Polly, if your 
 worthy father was one of the party, he would at once 
 see that all this talk about free will was but putting 
 the cart before the horse: for of this I am persuaded, 
 we never act but as we are acted upon, and that good 
 or evil are the result of all actions according to the 
 habit of the mind* 
 
 Spitef. Then we are all like pumps, or wheel-bar- 
 rows, and not rational creatures. I am for rational 
 religion with Mr. Wisehead. 
 
 Consid. And so am I too, sir; but though rational 
 creatures make machines, yet there is no rationality 
 in the machine itself. Now I believe every man ex- 
 ercises his reason according to his nature and disposi- 
 tion; and when I suppose the pure and holy word of 
 God is proposed to the choice of all, they who reject 
 it do it with the utmost freedom of the will, because 
 they dislike it, and that all good men have exactly 
 the same freedom of will in the choice of good; " for 
 if the Son shall make us free, then we are free indeed;" 
 and when we are commanded " to work out our sal- 
 vation with fear and trembling," that we may pro- 
 perly work at all, we are told, "it is God that worketh 
 in us to will and to do of his good pleasure," and that 
 we are made " his willing people in the day of his 
 power." So that instead of being an enemy to ra- 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 233 
 
 tional religion, I cannot see hovV there can be any re- 
 ligion that is not rational. 
 
 Spitef. Where, sir, in the name of wonder, did you 
 get all these cramp expressions from? 
 
 Consid. Why, sir, from a book 1 am ashamed I 
 have paid so little attention to, till of late,^-the Bible: 
 and while you and Mr. Wisehead are attempting to 
 explain away all those fine strong expressions of 
 ^' conversion, regeneration, a new creation,^' and the 
 like, I have of late setn that a peculiar wisdom and 
 glory belongs to them; and that it is no unmeaning 
 abstruse metaphor, but a plain downright matter of 
 fact, that " except a man be born again, he cannot 
 enter the kingdom of God." 
 
 Spitef. I always thought it would come to this, 
 since you have lately taken to follow your wife and 
 daughter to Brookfield church: it seems to me as if 
 all the people were running mad together. 
 
 Consid. I acknowledge 1 had my secret prejudices, 
 yet I could scarcely tell why, against my wife and 
 daughter when they first took to go to Brookfield 
 church; but I was satisfied, anger and opposition 
 could answer no good end whatever. And when they 
 requested that jVlr. Lovegood might give us a visit at 
 our house, soon after our great family trial, 1 confess 
 I was not a little struck with his behaviour: and 
 though I took an opportunity to dispute every inch 
 of ground, I thought (from mere prejudice) I could 
 rhaintain; yet such was the force of truth, and such 
 was the tender, gentleman-like and affectionate way 
 in which he treated me, while I rather had a design 
 to expose him, by holding him at arm's length before 
 my wife and daughter, that I found myself entirely 
 disarmed; and frOm that time I determined to go and 
 hear him more constantly; for I discovered him to 
 
 * See Dialogue XXIX. 
 
 VOL. 1.-^21 
 
234 VILLAGE DIALOGllESi 
 
 be a man of uncommonly good understanding, and of 
 a truly Christian spirit. 
 
 SpUef. And thus, sir, you have told us how you 
 have been seduced from your regular attendance at 
 your parish church by one of these artful modern re- 
 formers. Hang them all ! They will be the ruin of 
 our nation. 
 
 Madam Toog. Ladles and gentlemen, is your tea 
 sweet enough? 
 
 Consid. Quite so, I thank you, ma'am; but I think 
 a few lumps more of sugar in Mr. Spiteful's tea would 
 not be amiss, for there seems to be somewhat very 
 bitter upon his palate that wants sweetening. 
 
 Madam Toog. Why, Mr. Spiteful, at times, has 
 complained that sugar is apt to turn sour on his sto- 
 mach. 
 
 Consid. To be sour as well as bitter at the same 
 time must be a terrible calamity. Would it be amiss, 
 Mr. Spiteful, if you were to come with us next Sun- 
 day to Brookfield church for some of Mr. Lovegood's 
 elixir? he has an excellent recipe to cure sour sto- 
 machs and bitter palates. I have known many peo- 
 ple that have been diseased in the same way, who 
 were afterwards cured by attending at Brookfield 
 church. Pray, sir, do any of the doctors in your 
 way perform such cures? 
 
 Spitef. Upon my word, sir, I sha'n't put up with 
 all this banter. I beg you would be less free with 
 your skits and jokes. What is it to you what cures 
 we perform ? 
 
 Wiseh. Really, Mr. Spiteful, in my opinion, Mr. 
 Considerate has quite as much reason to be displeased 
 with you for your disrespectful speeches against his 
 friend Mr. Lovegood, as you have to be displeased 
 with him for a few innocent humorous turns. I be- 
 lieve, Mr. Lovegood, in his way, may be a very good 
 man; notwithstanding his notions in religion are so 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 235 
 
 widely different from ours. We should be better 
 able to carry our point, if you could deliver your sen- 
 timents with less heat and more deliberation. 
 
 Spitef. How can I help it? What, is no allowance 
 to be made for a man's disposition? 
 
 Consid. I thought you said a little time ago, we 
 may do what we will, notwithstanding our disposi- 
 tions or inclinations. Pray, sir, which side of the 
 question do you mean to take after all — that men 
 may will, if they willy contrary to their dispositions 
 and inclinations; or, that as we are disposed and in- 
 clined, so we will and act? 
 
 Spitef. Really, sir, I wish you would drop these 
 abstruse metaphysical discussions. I came here for 
 a little innocent chat, and not to enter into a debate 
 upon such a curious subject as this. 
 
 Consid. With all my heart, sir; but then it is to 
 be hoped we are not all to be called fools and mad- 
 men, because we suppose it necessary for a man to 
 have the grace of God in his heart, so that our evil 
 dispositions may be rooted out, and that we may feel 
 ourselves inclined or made willing to obey. I don't 
 think we pray like enthusiasts when we pray to the 
 Lord after each command, in our church service, that 
 he would " incline our hearts to keep his law." 
 
 Miss Polly. Well, I declare I don't think I should 
 have come here this evening if I thought I was to 
 hear nothing but this talk about religion. I was in 
 hopes we were to have had a little harmless chat and 
 a game of cards. 
 
 Spitef. I dare say Mr. Considerate has lately got 
 so sanctified that he would not touch a card for all the 
 world. 
 
 Consid. Why, truly, sir, I cannot find what good 
 we get by such sort of amusements, that are only 
 calculated to tempt us to kill time, when we are di- 
 rected to redeem it; and how far we can or cannot 
 
236 VII.LAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 have " our conversation always for the use of edify 
 ing, that it may administer grace to the hearers," 
 while we are so engaged, I suppose is easy to be de- 
 termined. 
 
 Spitef. What, then, are we to be always saying 
 our jjrayers, and are we to have no innocent recrea- 
 tions? 
 
 Consid. Yes, sir, you know I am fond af a gar- 
 den, and I have this day been recreating myself by 
 pruning and training a peach tree; and I felt it all 
 the time entirely an innocent recreation: but I al- 
 ways found these games of hazard and chance were 
 unhappily calculated to excite a spirit of emulation 
 and gambling, which have a tendency to promote the 
 worst of tempers; and though some may play with 
 as much comparative innocency as I feJt in pruning 
 a fruit tree, yet there is a certain bewitchery belong- 
 ing to this sort of games, which renders them at all 
 times very dangerous in themselves, and very de- 
 structive in their consequences. 
 
 Madam Toog. Oh, Mr. Considerate, this is going 
 too far. I really cannot see that we need be quite so 
 strict, I love an innocent game at cards as well as any 
 body; but then I always give my winnings to the 
 poor; but I am very sorry I must not be one of the 
 party to-night, as it happens to be the week before 
 sacj-ament, and then I never touch a card. Thank 
 the Almighty, I never neglect my duty.. 
 
 Miss Pratcap. Well,vvell, I dare say, ma'am, you 
 don't think it necessary that we young folks should 
 wear old heads on our shoulders. I am for being 
 neither saint nor sinner. You know, ma'am, my mo- 
 ther was a clergyman's daughter, and if the clergy 
 cannot tell what is right, I don't know who should, 
 and she never brought us up with such strict notions 
 of religion. I see no harm in a game of cards, and a 
 little cheerful chit-chat; God-amighty never gave us 
 our tongues for nothing. 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 237 
 
 Madatn Toog. Yes, miss, 1 am quite of your way 
 of thinking; but then while we are using our tongues 
 in a way of harmless chat, we should not neglect, 
 upon proper occasions, to use them for the purposes 
 of our religion, in doing our duty, and saying our 
 prayers; and I hope, my dear, you'll take your god- 
 mother's advice till after you are confirmed ; and pro- 
 perly prepare yourself for that before the bishop 
 comes round next time. 
 
 Miss Polly. I hope it will not be necessary to 
 submit to all this trouble for the salvation of my soul 
 till I am a deal older. 
 
 Madam Toog. no, miss; we must make some 
 allowance for youth; when I was a lass, I confess I 
 did not think it necessary to take to religion so 
 strictly as I have done of late. I know that it re- 
 quires a deal of resolution to submit to " the trials, 
 and troubles, and discipline of a virtuous life.''"^ 
 
 Consid. Why my wife and daughter have for above 
 these four years trudged away to Mr, Lovegood's 
 almost all weathers, and it is a long walk there and 
 back again; and when I used to tell her the trouble 
 she took, till I found it was a pleasure to go with her 
 myself, her answer was, his " yoke is easy, and his 
 burden h'ght,'* and that " his ways are ways of plea- 
 santness, and all his paths are paths of peace." 
 
 Madam Toog. 0, sir, but I love to mortify my- 
 self m my religion. 
 
 Consid. Well, I am sure my wife does not mortify 
 herself in her religion; for she is always as happy as 
 she well can be, whenever she has a journey to Brook- 
 field. -^Pray, madam, do you mortify yourself wh^n 
 
 * This expression, in its original form, is to be found in the 
 writings of l)r. Priestley ; so that all the absurdities deducible 
 from it are not to be charged on the Old Lady, but on the 
 Doctor, the oracle of the rational Dissenters of the day, 
 
 21* 
 
238 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 you are honest, just, or sober, or when you tell the 
 truth ? 
 
 tMadam Toog. 0, no, sir, I hope I know my duty 
 better than all that. 
 
 Consid. Why then, madam, how is it that you 
 mortify yourself when you serve God? 
 
 Spitef. Don't answer him, ma'am, I perceive he is 
 upon the catch. If I had a wife and daught^er who 
 ran about at this rate, neglecting their duty at home, 
 I would sooner break their legs than suffer it. 
 
 Consid. Why, sir, my wife never neglected her 
 duty at home: a good wife she was before she went 
 to Brookfield church, and a better ever since. 
 
 Mss Polly. Well, well, I see we shall have no cards 
 if we are to talk about religion after this fashion. If 
 you, Mrs. Toogood, and Mr. Considerate don't like 
 to play, I can't see why the rest of us mayn't sit 
 down to a game at whist, for we have all done tea. 
 
 Madam Toog. Becky Prateapace, my dear, will 
 you ring the bell, that Nelly may take away the tea 
 things, and bring the cards. 
 
 J]liss Prateap. That I will, madam, with alL my 
 heart, and I'll have Mr. Wisehead for my partner, 
 and you shall play with Mr. Spiteful, Miss. Polly. 
 
 Miss Polly. I don't care who I play with, provided 
 1 may but have a game at cards. 
 
 [The cards are consequently introduced^the parties 
 settle to the work, while the old lady and Mr. Con- 
 siderate hold a tele-a-iele at one corner of the room. 
 The reader would be little entertained at the idle 
 frivolous conversation of the card table^ the substance 
 of which was from the fertile genius of Mr. Spiteful, 
 who continued his occasional invectives, especially 
 between the deals, against modern seducers and en- 
 thusiasts; and among other things was running them 
 down for their pretended pharisaic sanctity for doing 
 so much more than their neighbours. This, Mr. 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 239 
 
 Considerate overhearing, asked Mr. Spiteful how 
 many scholars he had left at his free grammar school? 
 and what he had year by year for the slight attend- 
 ance he gave to two or three children, jqst by way of 
 keeping up the name of a school? and whether it was 
 not as great a crime for some to do too little, as for 
 others to do too much? and whether it would be con- 
 sistent to charge an honest hard-working day-labourer 
 with such crimes because he would do three times 
 the work of an idle careless fellow, who scarcely 
 would do any work at all? This so irritated Mr. 
 Spiteful that it threw him off his guard, and rendered 
 him quite inattentive, when Miss Polly, as his part- 
 ner, had also to lecture him for his negligence, de- 
 claring she had lost eighteen pence by him already, 
 w^hile the grave Mr. Wisehead Was profiting by his 
 folly; declaring she would play with him no more, 
 unless he would mind his cards. Mr. Considerate 
 joined with them, that there might be no more quar- 
 relling, there had better be no more playing. The 
 hint was accordingly taken; and as Miss Polly said 
 she was quite out of luck, the cards were cleared 
 away. The two misses and the old lady retired to 
 one corner of the room for a little cheap talk in 
 their way, and in the next Dialogue, the concluding 
 part of the conversation will be presented to the 
 reader.]. 
 
DIALOGUE XV 
 
 CONTAINING THE SECOND PART OT THE SAME CON- 
 VERSATION, WHICH WAS THUS INTRODUCED BY MR. 
 CONSIDERATE. 
 
 Consid. I SHOULD be glad to know, if any farther 
 dispute should arise between us, how far we are to 
 settle the controversy by the Bible: for I understand 
 your notions of the Bible are very loose — at least as 
 I suppose. 
 
 Wiseli. Just so far, sir, as it is consonant with rea- 
 son, and no farther; I nqver can believe that whicii 
 contradicts my reason. 
 
 Consid. Indeed, sir, if this be the case, we are 
 likely to be terribly misguided; while reason, among 
 our ignorant and benighted race, appears to be so 
 much under the influence of prejudice and passion. 
 If twenty men of different persuasions be called to- 
 gether, however flatly they may contradict each 
 other, they would all tell you they are guided by 
 reason, 
 
 Spitef. Well, sir, for all that, I am quite of Mr. 
 Wisehead's opinion, that we have no business with 
 the Bible, when it flatly contradicts our reason, 
 though in all points we may not understand it. It 
 would be a fine thing, surely, if we were* to believe 
 what we cannot comprehend, or else go to hell and be 
 damned ! 
 
 Consid. Why, then, sir, am I so to understand 
 you and Mr. Wisehead, as to suppose you are 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 2^1 
 
 Atheists, for you cannot comprehend the incom- 
 prehensible attributes of God ; or that you do not 
 believe your own existence, because you cannot un- 
 derstand the nature of that existence? If you and 
 Mr. Wisehead are only to believe the Bible so far 
 as you can comprehend it, that book, in your 
 opinion, is nothing better tlian a mere history of un- 
 certain events; and then, notwithstanding revelation, 
 we have nothing left us but to guess at religion as 
 well as we can. 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, I believe the book, which we gene- 
 rally call the Bible, is but little more than the works 
 of good men, subject to the same infirmities with 
 ourselves: who, though they might have written ac- 
 cording to the best of their judgments, were still 
 frequently warped by their national prejudices in 
 favour of their own religion.* 
 
 Consid. Indeed, gentlemen, if the word conver- 
 sion should be inapplicable to young Mr. Henry 
 Littleworth, yet it cannot be unsuitable to either of 
 you; for Jews and Pagans believe a part of the 
 Bible as well as yourselves, while neither you nor 
 they give any more credit to it, as the Book of 
 Revelation, than I do to the History of Robinson 
 Crusoe. 
 
 Spitef. Why, really, Mr. Wisehead, 1 begin to 
 be afraid we are going rather too far; this is making 
 out the Bible to be but little better than an old ill- 
 written ecclesiastical history. Though I don't ap- 
 prove Lovegood's notions at all the more for that. 
 
 Wiseh. Indeed, sir, if you wish to know more 
 correctly ^-^my opinion, what a Christian is bound 
 to believe, with respect to the Scriptures, I am not 
 afraid to answer, that the books, which are univer- 
 
 * See Priestley and other Socinian writers, passim. 
 
242 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 sally received as authentic, are to be considered as 
 faithful records of past transactions." — "No Chris- 
 tian is answerable for more than this, the writers 
 of the books of Scripture were men, and therefore 
 fallible: but all that we have to do with them, is 
 in the character of historians and witnesses of what 
 they heard and saw; of course, their credibility is 
 to be estimated like that of other historians, viz. 
 from the circumstances in which they wrote, as 
 with respect to their opportunities of knowing the 
 truth of what they relate, and the biasses to which 
 they might be subject. Like all other historians 
 they are liable to mistakes with respect to things of 
 small moment, because theif might not give sufficient 
 attention to them; and with respect to their reason- 
 ing, we are fully at liberty to judge of it as well as 
 that of other men, by a due consideration- of the pro- 
 positions they advance and the arguments they al- 
 lege."— "And if such men have even communica- 
 tions with the Deity, it by no means follows that 
 they are, in other respects, more wise and knowing 
 than other men."* This point, I suppose to be 
 proved by the ^^a^ne account ''-f Moses has given of 
 the creation and fall of man, having not the means 
 of exact information; so that, to suppose ^'the books 
 of Scripture were written by particular divine inspi- 
 ration, is a thing to which the writers themselves 
 make no pretensions : it is a notion destitute of all 
 proof, and that has done great injury to the evidence 
 of Christianity.":]: As to Paul's Epistles, therefore, 
 and the other Epistles, I never can admit that the 
 authors of them were immediately inspired for th 
 purpose of writing them. 
 
 t See Priestley's Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever, 
 Part n. Pref. p. xiii. and Let. V. 
 t Priestley. 
 I Priestley's Letters, p. 58. 
 
DIALOGUE XIV. 243 
 
 Considi Well, sir, this is speaking out with a wit- 
 ness. I don't think one Deist in ten would have 
 spoken more decidedly against the Scriptures. Pray, 
 sir, if such be your judgment on the Epistles, what 
 are we to think of the Gospels? 
 
 Wiseh. 0, sir, I have no doubt but all the four 
 evangelists, as they are called, were very honest 
 men, and that they wrote the "history of Jesus'^ 
 according to the best of their judgment; though 
 we suspect their genuine histories have been inter- 
 mixed with many interpolations; and, it appears, 
 that "some texts of the Old Testament have been 
 improperly quoted by writers of the New," who it 
 seems were sometimes ^'misled by Jewish pre- 
 judices."* Surely, therefore, it must be owned 
 that " some obscurity " is left in the Scriptures 
 themselves, which might mislead readers full of 
 Heathen prejudices, and so left, it should seem, to 
 whet human industry and the spirit of inquiry;"! 
 and "the Bereans are commended for not taking 
 the word even of an apostle, but examining the 
 Scriptures for themselves; whether the doctrine 
 which they heard was true, and whether St. Paul's 
 reasoning was just." J Such, sir, are the sentiments 
 of all our great divines who have written on this 
 subject. 
 
 Consid. Are we then to suppose that the Bereans 
 searched the Old Testament Scriptures under any 
 other idea but that their decisions were definitive? 
 I should have thought, when they searched the 
 Scriptures, they referred to them as an infallible 
 guide. If they had only to look into the lame ac- 
 count Moses gives of matters, 1 do not know that 
 
 * Theological Repository. See Fuller's Systems, p. 238. 
 
 t Lindsey's Apology, ch. 2. 
 
 i Belsham's Sermon on the Importance of Truth, p. 39. 
 
244 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 any thing but confusion could be the result of their 
 diligence. 
 
 Wiseh. Well, well, sir, I cannot give up the point: 
 we must be guided by our reason as it respects re- 
 velation. 
 
 Consid. Allow me then, sir, to ask you this plain 
 question. If we are to be guided alone by our reason, 
 while we are at liberty to doubt every word of Re- 
 velation; are we to call this Infidelity or Christianity? 
 or is not Deism far more rational and consistent than 
 such sort of Christianity? 
 
 Wiseh. 0, sir, we are still beliievers in the Chris- 
 tian religion. 
 
 Consid. Why, then. Christian believers are at li- 
 berty to doubt th6 certainty of every truth of Re- 
 velation itself; even Jews and Mahommedans believe 
 a part of the Bible, but deny the rest. I beg leave, 
 therefore, farther to ask, if this be Christianity, what 
 is Infidelity? 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, the question is easily answered; some 
 few infidels doubt, whether there ever was such a 
 person as Jesus Christ; and others of th'em think 
 there is no future state; but we all believe there 
 will be a future state, and that there w^as such a 
 person as Jesusy the son of Mary; but then we do 
 not conceive ourselves bound to believe the story of 
 his miraculous conception, or his pre-existenee, as 
 it is called, or the strange inconsistent mysterious 
 doctrine of the Trinity: and, among other ^» cor- 
 ruptions of Christianity," contrary to what we es- 
 teem the rational and "the true Gospel of Christ," 
 we reject what is commonly called the doctrine of 
 the atonement:" " in every shape and under every 
 modification of it, it is unfounded in the Christian 
 revelation."* Nor can we believe, that there is 
 
 * Belsham's Caution against Popular Errors, p. 15. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 245 
 
 any such being as the Holy Spirit. Consequently 
 we have nothing to do with the abstruse notion of 
 regeneration, or, as it is called, the work of the Spi- 
 rit; we believe that such sort of expressions are to 
 be taken as oriental figures^ or as 'Hropical language;-' 
 and, that it only means a good disposition. 'We, 
 therefore, consequently, deny the popular doctrine 
 of original sin,* as there is quite as much virtue as 
 vice in the world: we have no doubt at all, as to the 
 devil, that he is entirely a fabulous character; and as 
 to what is said concerning tiiose who were possessed 
 of the devil, it were irrational to suppose, that it could 
 mean any thing farther than that "they were m.ad, 
 or had hysteric fits:^' as to the existence of angels, 
 "though there are frequent allusions to it in the New 
 Testament," yet it is "a doctrine that cannot be proved 
 or made probable from the light of nature;" and 
 
 *Mr. Belsham, in his discourse ag-ainst what he calls Po- 
 pular Errors, and from which Mr. VVisehead is now making 
 extracts, speakin^^ against original sin, insinuates, as though 
 we believed in the damnation of infants. Can he be so ig- 
 norant of matters of fact as not to know that the insinuation 
 is utterly false?* I think he must know liow universally it 
 is admitted among the people he thus slanders, that the 
 imputation of the tirst Adam's guilt is utterly done away, by 
 the imputation of the second Adam's righteousness, among 
 all those, who have not sinned wiltAiliy or deliberately, after 
 the similitude of Adam's transgression. We shall presently 
 see other methods adopted, to evade the awful truth of man's 
 depravity, as held forth in Scripture, and evidenced by uni- 
 versal experience; but, I think, the reader will not be a little 
 struck with horror and surprise, when he notes the following 
 extract from the above-mentioned sermon: " This abomina- 
 ble doctrine [Original Sin] represents the ivise and righ- 
 teous Governor of the universe, as a more savage tyrant, 
 than the most merciless despot that ever cursed the human 
 race,^^ p. 19. Such is the horrid language of one of those 
 gentlemen who wish to be famed for their moderation ! ! ! 
 
 * See " Infant Salvation," an Essay, &.c. 
 VOL. I. .22 
 
246 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 what have we got to do with the New Testament, 
 while it contradicts the light of nature? Notwith- 
 standing, therefore, the allusion, we choose to say, 
 "this is no where taught as a doctrine of revelation. 
 A judicious Christian, therefore, will discard it from 
 his creed; and, that, not only as a groundless, but as 
 a useless and pernicious tenet, which tends to diminish 
 our regard to the omniscient, omnipotent, and omni- 
 present God, and to excite superstitious respect to, 
 and unreasonable expectations from, imaginary and 
 jiciilious beings.'^* When, therefore, we hear how 
 Jesus was tempted of the devil in the wilderness, it 
 was, (for we always talk very rationally in our way,) 
 only an allusion to a fictitious being; and the proper, 
 and most rational meaning is, that he was fighting 
 with some good and bad thoughts which alternately 
 possessed him; but such were the Eastern metaphors 
 and Oriental figures then in use. 
 
 Consid. Then, sir, might it not have sounded still 
 more rational had you made it out that he was fight- 
 ing with two Eastern metaphors, or Oriental figures? 
 that when the angel spoke to Zacharias about the 
 birth of John, the forerunner of our Lord, he should 
 not have said, "1 am Gabriel," but "I am an Oriental 
 figure?" and that it was nothing but an Oriental figure 
 that spoke to Mary on the same subject? and that 
 Eastern metaphors, or Oriental figures appeared unto 
 the shepherds, and sang "Glory to God in the high- 
 est, on earth peace, good will towards men;" and 
 then again, that our Lord had another meeting of 
 these Eastern metaphors and Oriental figures in the 
 mount of transfiguration? that an Eastern metaphor 
 opened the prison in which Peter was confined, and 
 that an Oriental figure knocked off his fetters? that 
 Paul was converted at the sight of these Eastern 
 
 * Belsham's Caution, p. 21, 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 247 
 
 metaphors? that Stephen saw somewhat of the like 
 sort when he was stoned? and that an Eastern meta- 
 phor stood by Paul when near shipwrecked? And 
 if these be not enough, I could give you some farther 
 lucubrations on your rational way of explaining these 
 Eastern metaphors.* 
 
 * The Socinians suppose they have a right to take such 
 preposterous liberties on this subject, because these spiritual 
 existences are described as being "powers and virtues;" 
 therefore they are not real existences, but figurative allusions. 
 We will produce a few more passages where the real exist- 
 ence of such spirits is positively mentioned, and then we 
 shall see how far common sense will befriend them in their 
 rational religion. 
 
 Beelzebub, tiie prince of the devils — the prince of the eastern 
 metaphors. 
 
 Unto which of the Angels (oriental figures) said he at any 
 time, This day have I begotten then? Let all the angels of 
 God (eastern metaphors) worship him? 
 
 Our Lord cast out a whole legion of eastern metaphors 
 from the man among the tombs, and the same set of eastern 
 metaphors drove the swine into the sea. 
 
 " Whether there be thrones, dominions, principalities, and 
 powers?" All tropical language — only eastern metaphors. 
 
 Christ ''spoiled principalities and powers:" he spoiled 
 eastern metaphors and oriental figures. 
 
 The ministering spirits ** sent forth to minister to those 
 who shall be heirs of salvation," these are also to be under- 
 stood as nonentities or oriental figures. 
 
 "The angels (oriental figures) who kept not their first 
 estate." 
 
 '* There was fire prepared for the devil and his angels," 
 (for an eastern metaphor and his oriental figures) — But 
 enough of this from the New Testament, by way of giving a 
 fair specimen of the wisdom of those who can bestow such 
 high compliments on themselves, and on the rationality of 
 their religion, 
 
 A few instances from the Old Testament shall also be 
 given as farther embellishments of these rational evasions. 
 
 An angel appeared to Manoali, foretold the birth of Samuel, 
 and instructed him respecting his education: his appearance 
 was very terrible or glorious; he did wondrously, and in the 
 flame of a sacrifice ascended into glory. All this was done 
 by an eastern metaphor. 
 
24S VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, all our great divines are not quite of 
 the same way of thinking, concerning these matters; 
 for some of them have thought, that St. Paul, when 
 he conceived he saw the vision, was under a tempo- 
 
 An angel was commissioned to punish Israel with a tre- 
 mendous plague, when David numbered the people; it is said, 
 "the angel of the Lord stretched out his hand." N. B. East- 
 ern metaphors have got hands; and again, the Angel of the 
 Lord stood between the earth and the heaven, having a drawn 
 sword in his hand. N. B. Tropical figures carry drawn 
 swords. We are farther told, " The angel of the Lord stood 
 by the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite." N. B. These 
 standings, and movings, and actings, were all accomplished 
 by an eastern metaphor. 
 
 The angel of the Lord that encamped around his people, 
 when he brought them out of Egypt, first stood before them, 
 and then went behind them. Strange, that nothing but a 
 tropical figure should have had such an influence on Pharaoh 
 and all his hosts ! , 
 
 Again, Abraham had a visit from three of these eastern 
 metaphors, and he was so sure of their positive existence, 
 that he prepared an entertainment for them. While the plen- 
 tiful repast was all in the eastern style; and very properly, 
 for he had to entertain three eastern metaphors. There was 
 also a long conversation held between these eastern meta- 
 phors, and Abraham, Sarah, and Lot; and we are told of the 
 great care they all took to deliver that righteous man out of 
 Sodom. This is a notable proof what a wonderful book will 
 be exhibited before the world, when their rational comment 
 upon the Scriptures shall appear to illuminate the human 
 mind. 
 
 The last instance which we will produce, out of a large 
 variety, shall be taken from the history of Balaam. The ass 
 of the soothsayer was thrice opposed by the angel of the 
 Lord, that is, by an eastern metaphor, and by this°means he 
 crushed his foot against the wall. The Lord spoke to him, 
 as through the mouth of the dumb ass, and thus " forbade the 
 madness of the prophet." What a strange timid ass must 
 Balaam's ass have been, to have been so afraid of a tropical 
 figure; or what stupid asses must those be who thus interpret 
 the word of God? or what brainless asses we all must be to 
 abide by interpretations so preposterous and absurd? And 
 if this be not sufficient to expose the folly of the saddusaic 
 spirit of the day, nothing is. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. .249 
 
 rary derangement; and, perhaps, Stephen might have 
 had a short phrensy-fit like Paul ; and as for the stor}'- 
 of the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness, that has 
 been supposed to be nothing more than the narrative 
 of a vision, — or ''a scenical exhibilion of images upon the 
 mind of the entranced prophet."^ 
 
 Considx So that it is to be supposed, that Christ 
 slept forty days and forty nights, and afterwards re- 
 lated his dreams. 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, such is the way our divines have solved 
 the difficulty. 
 
 Consid. Do you mean, by all this, to prove that 
 your system, if it deserve the name, has nothing to 
 do with infidelity ?•}■ 
 
 * Harwood's New Testament. 
 
 f Had Mr. Considerate entered more deeply into the contro- 
 versy by arguing from the authority of the Scriptures against 
 the sentiments of Mr. Wisehcad, according to his new notions 
 of the volume of inspiration, it could have been of no avail; 
 for if men of such sentiments cannot succeed, by quirks and 
 quibbles, and by the aid of the most unnatural far-fetched in- 
 terpretations, the next business is to invalidate the book it- 
 self, agreeably to the samples above given : so that it is im- 
 possible to deal with a Socinian, but as you would with a 
 Deist. The arguments, therefore, taken up by Lardner on 
 the Credibility of the Gospels, and again lately brought for- 
 ward against the Deists by Paley,* will prove the best answers 
 against the Socinian notions of the Bible. And I think those 
 modern perverters of Christianity must know how widely 
 they differ from the primitive Christians as it relates to the 
 authority of the sacred volume. Brevity allows me to men- 
 tion only some of the expressions during the first ages of the 
 church, as they are to be found in Paley, p. 230 — 282. Theo- 
 philus, Bishop of Antioch, says, " these things the holy Scrip- 
 tures teach, and all who were moved by the Holy Spirit/' — 
 " Concerning, the righteousness which the law teaches, the 
 like things are to be found in the Prophets and the Gospels, 
 
 ♦Though no man has written better respecting the authenticity of revela- 
 tion, yet few have gone so far in giving up many of the divine truths therein 
 contained. His later publications, however, evidently manifest a nearer ap- 
 proach to the essential doctrines of the Gospel. 
 
 22* 
 
250 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, we disown the charge, we are not such 
 infidels as to deny tlie divine mission of Jesus; though 
 we believe he is in himself to be considered "as a 
 mere man, and naturally as fallible and peccable, 
 as Moses or any other prophet;* yet, that he was 
 commissioned by the Supreme Being, to instruct 
 mankind in the pure principles of morality, so far 
 as he understood them; for, "though we admit that 
 Jesus taught the truth in a popular way, yet we very 
 much doubt, whether, in some instances, he properly 
 and accurately understood it!!!f 
 
 Consid. Is this the voice of Mr. Wisehead, or the 
 ghost of some departed infidel, that is uttering such 
 dangerous and profane insinuations against the per- 
 son and character of our blessed Lord? If this be 
 
 because that all being inspired, spoke by one and the same 
 Spirit!" They are therefore frequently called the divine 
 Scriptures — "the sacred fountain of truth:" and Origen 
 (against Celsus,) declares, that both Jewish and New Testa- 
 ment Scriptures are believed in the churches to be divine. 
 
 Novatus says, that " Christ is not only man, but God also, 
 is proved by the sacred authority of the divine writings.— The 
 divine Scripture easily detects and confutes the frauds of he- 
 retics;" and he calls them "the heavenly Scriptures which 
 never deceive.^' Farther, in all the controversies between 
 the Arians, Athanasians, and the admirers of Origen's plato- 
 nic notions, however some of them differed from the truths 
 contained in the Scriptures, yet they always acknowledged 
 their decision was definitive: That they were the certain guide 
 to truth, given for that purpose by God himself: " The di- 
 vinely inspired Scriptures." I therefore observe, that the 
 modern notion of the Bible, as it is now before us, presents 
 us with one of the boldest attacks yet ever made on its sacred 
 authority, and it is unsupported by all writers almost in every 
 age of the church, nor can they produce in support of such 
 sentiments any other argument than bold unqualified asser- 
 tions from their own authority. Had they searched into an- 
 tiquity, they would have been more modest and better taught. 
 
 * Priestlsy's Letters to an Unbeliever, p. 33—35. 
 
 t Priestley on Necessity. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 251 
 
 his just character, what good can we get by following 
 such an uncertain leader? and what can we expect 
 from the Bible itself; but that it will distract and 
 puzzle the minds of all who read it? 
 
 Wiseh. Dear sir, I am sorry you should be so 
 alarmed, but 1 only meant to soften matters by show- 
 ing you, that it is no wonder if those well-intentioned 
 men, who became the followers of Jesus, who was a 
 fallible and peccable man, and had only a popular way 
 of preaching what he did not properly and accurately 
 understand: I say it cannot be wondered at, if they 
 also blundered, and mistook matters still more fre- 
 quently than their master. 
 
 Mrs. Toogood. Why, Mr. Wisehead, you quite 
 shock me; it appears as though you believed next to 
 nothing about our Blessed Saviour, or that there is 
 scarcely either God or devil — though I don't join in 
 with Mr. Lovegood, and his followers, in running 
 down all man's merits; yet, I am sure, I don't know 
 what we should do without our Saviour's merits also, 
 to make up our deficiencies, after we have done our 
 duty as well as we can. 
 
 Consid. Wiiy, madam, I am not a little alarmed, 
 as well as j-ourself; for, according to this, almost the 
 whole of Christianity, allowed by reason, is, whether 
 Jesus Christ was a good man or an impostor, and 
 even that is a matter of doubt, for now it seems he 
 \s peccable as well as fallible. 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, 1 think I can make it out, that Jesus 
 was actually peccable as well as fallible, though you 
 seem to be so shocked at our "true Gospel," and 
 rational notions of religion; and of this, I will give 
 you an instance. He frequently accommodated his 
 doctrine to the vulgar errors of the day: and I have 
 before observed, that the doctrine of angels and devils 
 was a pernicious tenet, and which tended to diminish our 
 regard to the omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent 
 
252 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 God; and though Jesus icas his mere servant, yet "he 
 seems to use the word soul, as though expressive of 
 something distinct from the body; but if he did, 
 which, however, is not certain, he might do it in con- 
 formity with the prevailing opinion of the times, in the 
 same manner as he applies being possessed of demons 
 to madmen, and speal<s to madmen as if they were 
 actuated by evil spirits, though he certainly did 
 not believe the existence of such demons.^' 
 
 Consid. I think, sir, you have now done the bu- 
 siness completely. 
 
 Spitef. Though I hate Lovegood's enthusiasm, yet 
 I think you are almost as far gone in infidelity as 
 he is in enthusiasm. I really did not suppose that 
 your rational religion would have brought you to all 
 this! 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, I am only "removing the rubbish, 
 which loads and disgraces the foundation/^-f- 
 
 Consid. It appears to me, as if you were not. only 
 clearing away what you call rubbish, but foundation 
 and all; but have you done, sir? 
 
 Wiseh. No, sir; I confess there are other errone- 
 ous and irrational notions which we equally disap- 
 prove: for instance, "The doctrine of an intermedi- 
 ate state, or a state of conscious existence between 
 death and the resurrection;" this must be "discarded, 
 if we are desirous to regulate our faith by the standard 
 of reason, of truth, and of Christianity.'':): 
 
 Consid. Of Christianity! why did not Christ say 
 to the thief, "This day shalt thou be with me in 
 Paradise?" 
 
 Wiseh. Oh, sir, but you have not considered the 
 proper rational interpretation of that text, as given 
 by our learned divines; they only just alter the stop, 
 
 * Priestley on Matter and Spirit. f Belsham's Caution. 
 J Belsham's Caution. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 253 
 
 and then it reads — "Verily I say unto thee this day; 
 — thou shalt be with me in Paradise." 
 
 Consid. A capital proof indeed this, of the rationa- 
 lity of your divines! but do they mean this as an 
 argument or a joke? for, according to this, I might 
 say to a poor man who was half starving, "Verily 1 
 say unto you this day; — 1 will give you a loaf of 
 bread;" and when, for several days I delay my pro- 
 mise, and he accuses me of a breach of my word, 1 
 have nothing to do but to say, he did not understand 
 my stops; and that I was not bound to fulfil my pro- 
 mise for a month after 1 had made it." And again, 
 if a physician says — "To-day I say; I'll visit such a 
 poor man, ill of a fever;" but still delays till his 
 patient dies, and is accused of cruelty; yet all this 
 arose from their neglect, in not observing to mind 
 where the physician designed to have made his stops; 
 and the same sort of joke, (for I cannot call it argu- 
 ment.) has been played off by your divines, on the 
 words of Thomas, when he said, "My Lord and my 
 God;" as if it was said in a fit of sudden surprise^ 
 and meant nothing. The exclamation can, therefore, 
 only be accounted for, on the profane principle of 
 ^'taking the Lord's name in vain." But it is well 
 known that the Jews, even with a superstitious awe, 
 abstained from mentioning the Lord's name, lest at 
 any time they should take his sacred name in vain. 
 
 Wiseh. 0, sir, if you do not like this interpretation, 
 you should remember, that I have already proved, 
 that Jesus was hoih fallible and peccable; so that, in 
 this respect also, he might be under the necessity 
 ("though I do not think that our Lord or his apos- 
 tles rightly understood the doctrine of necessity,"*) 
 of saying something he did not believe, in conformity 
 to the prevailing opinion of the times. 
 
 * Priestley on Necessity. 
 
254 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Consid. Ah! sir, what shocking language is this! 
 Did then our holy Redeemer not only preach lies, 
 but even die with a lie in his mouth? And is all this 
 to prove you are no infidel? Could any infidel upon 
 earth advance a doctrine more abominable and pro- 
 fane? and can you wonder that so many of your sen- 
 timents make such an easy transition into downright 
 infidelity itself? But have you any more rubbish to 
 clear away ? 
 
 Wiseh. Yes, sir, the obligation of sabbatical insti- 
 tutions. 
 
 Consid. Is that rubbish also? 
 
 Wiseh. Rubbish, sir, it is all Jewish rubbish, "that 
 one day should be more holy than another ; or that 
 any occupation whatever, that is morally lawful on 
 one day, should be morally unlawful on another, is 
 a distinction unfounded in reason, wholly unautho- 
 rized by Jesus and his apostles, and unknown in the 
 primitive and purest ages of the church."* 
 
 Consid. Why, then there would be no great harm 
 directly as your Doctor, or Mr. Smirking, gets out 
 of the pulpit, if all three of you were to run together 
 to the play-house. But what a wonderful knack 
 you gentlemen have of proving your point, by bold 
 unqualified assertions, provided you bring your ra- 
 iionality to support them! According to my read- 
 ing, however, the abstinence from menial labour that 
 we might devote ourselves to God one day in seven, 
 was ordained from the very creation of the world; 
 and is therefore no new institution belonging to the 
 Jewish economy; and this which also was from the 
 very first, has been as invariably observed through 
 the Christian dispensation. I am not a little sur- 
 prised at the quick riddance you make of what you 
 gentlemen call rubbish. 
 
 * Belsham's Caution, p. 26. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 255 
 
 JVisch. Sir, I have only followed a great author 
 in our way, in what has been called rubbish; and, 
 remember the last thing he mentioned as rubbish 
 was, "the plenary inspiration of all the books, both 
 of the Jewish and Christian Scriptures^ which he es- 
 teems an error, that an inquisitive and judicious Chris- 
 tian will see abundant reason to discard."* 
 
 Consid. I think that has been plentifully settled 
 already. If the greatest prophet in all the Bible 
 was but a fallible and peccable man, no wonder that 
 we had nothing i)etter than a lame account of matters 
 from the rest of them ; so that, from the Bible it- 
 self, the worst of errors have originated. Millions 
 have positively been misguided thereby. Where 
 one person is set right, at least a hundred have been 
 led wrong, by the same book, and in a variety of 
 instances; and so grossly misguided, as that a mere 
 man is almost universally worshipped as the eternal 
 God; and con^sequently, such have fallen into the 
 grossest idolatry by the ill-judged language of its 
 mistaken authors. Is not this making out the Bible 
 to be the worst-written book in the world, which is 
 only to be understood by a set of the most extrava- 
 gant and far-fetched interpretations, invented by a 
 set of men, who are pleased to set themselves up as 
 being more rational than the rest of their neigh- 
 bours? But have you now done with your rubbish, 
 sir? 
 
 Wiseh. Not quite, sir; for another admired writer 
 of ours speaks about some strange and irrational no- 
 tions respecting heaven, as being rubbish. 
 
 Consid. What then, are our expectations of heaven 
 and glory to be esteemed rubbish? 
 
 Wiseh. Why, sir, you know there are some vi- 
 sionary notions about intellectual happiness swim- 
 
 ♦ Belsham's Caution, p. 27. 
 
256 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 ming upon the surface of some people's brains, about 
 a heaven independent of a material existence; and as 
 our reason will not allow us to suppose there is any 
 existence, but that which is material; so we conse- 
 quently expect a material heaven, made up at least 
 of some of the same enjoyments we have in our pre- 
 sent state. We have no notion of that super-angelic 
 state of happiness which some people are so fond of 
 talking of. 
 
 Consid. Then it should seem your notion of hea- 
 ven is very nearly similar to that of another great 
 divine in the east, from whence the metaphors come, 
 doctor Mohammed, who was also in many other 
 points of your way of thinking; and he was quite as 
 much a believer in Jesus, as a great prophet, as your- 
 selves. Count Swedenborg has also diverted his ad- 
 mirers with the same sort of speculation respecting 
 his views of a material heaven. Sir, will you enter- 
 tain us a little longer with a farther descant on i/our 
 m.aterial heaven? 
 
 Miss Polly (overhears.) Well, I confess I should 
 like such a sort of heaven as yours best; I should 
 not like to be psalm-singing and serving God to all 
 eternity. 
 
 Miss Praleapace. And 1 should like the same sort 
 of heaven as you do. Miss Polly. I should be 
 afraid heaven would be a strange, melancholy and 
 mopish place, if we had nothing better than reli- 
 gion. 
 
 Consid. But, ladies, I hope you won't interrupt 
 Mr. Wisehead in giving us a farther description of 
 his expected heaven; I ratlier suppose he'll make it 
 out to be a very curious place. 
 
 Wisch. Sir, though you seem to ridicule my no- 
 tions of a future state, yet I shall not be afraid to 
 give you a full view of the happiness expected after 
 the resurrection by those of our denomination, in 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 257 
 
 the words of one of our wisest and most rational di- 
 vines: "The change of our condition by death, says 
 this author, may not be so great as we are apt to 
 imagine. As our natures will not be changed, but 
 only improved, we have no reason to think that the 
 future icorld (which will be adapted to our merely 
 improved nature) will be raaterlally different from 
 this. And indeed why should we ask, or expect any 
 thing more? If we should still be obliged to pro- 
 vide for our subsistence by exercise, or labour; is 
 that a thing to be complained of by those who are 
 supposed to have acquired fixed habits of industry", 
 becoming rational beings, and who have never been 
 able to bear the languor of absolute rest, or indo- 
 lence? Our future happiness has with much reason 
 been supposed to arise from an increase of know- 
 ledge. But if we should have nothing more than 
 the means of knowledge furnished us as we have 
 here, and be left to our own labour to find it out, 
 is that to be complained of by those who will have 
 acquired both a love of truth, and a habit of inquiring 
 after it] To make discoveries ourselves, though 
 the search may require time and labour, is unspeak- 
 ably more pleasing than to learn every thing by the 
 information of others. If the immortality that is 
 promised to us in the Gospel should not he necessary 
 and absolute, and we should only have the certain 
 means of making ourselves immortal, we should 
 have much to be thankful for. What the scriptures 
 inform us concerning a future life is expressed in 
 general terms, and often in figurative language. A 
 more particular knowledge of it is wisely concealed 
 from us."* 
 
 J\Irs. Toog. 'Las, sir, I think you must be of the 
 Sadducees' religion; for when I was reading the 
 
 * Priestley's Sermon on the Death of Mr. Robinson, p. 18. 
 VOL. I.— 23 
 
258 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 psalms and lessons the other day, I minded how out 
 Lord contradicted the wicked notion of the Saddu- 
 cees ahout heaven; how that we then shall "neither 
 marry nor be given in marriage, but be as the angels 
 of God." 
 
 Wiseh. Our great divine, madam, has not settled 
 that point; but the busixiess about angels has been 
 completely settled; they are only allusions to imagi- 
 nary beings; so that the fallible and peccable man 
 Jesus, either through ignorance mistook, or through de- 
 sign misled, the people into one of the popular errors of 
 the day. 
 
 Ms. Toog. Why, Mr. Wisehead, this talk is as 
 bad as common cursing and swearing. 
 
 Consid. I think, madam, it is much worse than 
 common cursing and swearing; for what is said on 
 these occasions to prove our blessed God and Sa- 
 viour was a fallible and peccable man, has been done 
 after the most mature and deliberate consideration; 
 and such serious charges against him must be the 
 most blasphemous and profane ; while, at the same 
 time, it is urged, from those who pretend to serve 
 a fallible and peccable man as the great prophet of 
 the Christian church. I should certainly prefer rea- 
 son to the Bible, if it can be proved that such a man 
 who has wilfully and deliberately deceived the people, 
 contrary to his own judgment, is supposed to be the 
 principal character of that book. I am sure, that 
 downright Deism is much preferable to such sort of 
 Christianity; but, I think, you are now nearly ar- 
 rived at the end of your journey ; nothing is left but 
 that you should positively deny the miracles of our 
 Lord, and the resurrection, which, in my opinion, is 
 still more beyond the reach of reason than any other 
 doctrine of revelation; and then you will be as com- 
 plete a Deist as Hume, Gibbon, or the blasphemous 
 Tom Paine. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 259 
 
 Wiseh. Why, sir, I hope you do not think me so 
 far gone from the Christian religion as all that? 
 
 Cons'td. Why have not the Jews themselves ac- 
 knowledged that you have renounced the Christi- 
 anity their soul abhors?* and are not infidels your 
 admirers? Thus, while we are left to the mere 
 guidance of reason and nature, see what we get by 
 attempting to correct the supposed errors of the 
 Bible: and into what a labyrinth we are led by at- 
 tempting to bring that book to our reason, instead 
 of submitting our reason to the Bible. But while 
 you conceive yourself at liberty thus to triumph in 
 the powers of reason over the truths of revelation, 
 let me ask you, how far you can farther triumph on 
 the effects of such preaching over the hearts and con- 
 duct of the multitude of notorious sinners that abound 
 in our land? 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, that is not our fault, but the fault of 
 those who won't come to hear our ministers. Though 
 we are sure our religion is rational, yet we lament it 
 is not popular. But 1 hope, sir, we shall always make 
 it evident, that we have too much respect to our 
 characters to court the applause of the vulgar, in order 
 that our ministers may be registered among the po- 
 pular preachers of the day. 
 
 Spitef. Well said, Mr. Wisehead. Though I don't 
 like you in all points, yet I do in this. 1 should be 
 ashamed to be followed by such a mob as have taken 
 to run after Lovegood, for the sake of hearing his 
 extemporaneous rant. Why, they say his parish is 
 made like a horse fair on a Sunday, by a set of people 
 galloping after him from every quarter. 
 
 Consid. Ah! Mr. Spiteful, you never need fear 
 the contempt of being a popular preacher! 
 
 Wiseh. A wise and judicious preacher never can 
 
 * See Levi's Letters to Priestley, 
 
260 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 expect to be popular, as the common people are not 
 likely to understand him. I don't think it is a proof 
 that a man is a good preacher because he is popular, 
 or that a man is a bad preacher because he is not fol- 
 lowed by the inconsiderate multitude. 
 
 Consid. What then, is it a sign that a man is a 
 good preacher because he has scarcely any one to 
 hear him? and is a man a bad preacher because he 
 is well attended ? Pray, sir, what is the end of 
 preaching? I should suppose, to instruct the igno- 
 rant. But if the ignorant can't understand the 
 preacher, and will not even give him a hearing, be- 
 cause of his supposed wisdom and learning, where 
 can be the good of it. It is said of our Lord himself, 
 that *'the common people heard him gladly:" and 
 no wonder at it; "for he taught as one having au- 
 thority, and not as the scribes:" and it is said of the 
 preaching of John the Baptist, that "Jerusalem and 
 all Judea, and the regions round about went after 
 him." Were they bad preachers because they were 
 popular ? Is not that man the best preacher who does 
 the most good ? The question therefore has not been 
 answered, but rather evaded, as it respects the utility 
 of such a mode of preaching. 
 
 Wiseh. Really, sir, our Doctor and Mr. Smirk- 
 ing do their best endeavours, and if they have not 
 been successful in reclaiming the vicious from the 
 error of their ways; yet we hope that others who 
 are already virtuous are kept in the ways of vir- 
 tue. 
 
 Consid. It should seem, then, that your way of 
 doing good, is that you do no harm; and it would 
 be strange indeed, if by all your lectures against 
 the deformity of vice, and on the beauties of mo- 
 rality, the people should lose the little they already 
 possessed. But when you talk of the best endea- 
 vours being exerted, why is it that they are exerted 
 
DIALOGUE XV. -61 
 
 all in vain, as it respects the salvation of man from 
 sin! I think, sir, I can tell you the cause of it. All 
 Bible truths and Bible language are kept out of the 
 question. Of what avail was all the moral philoso- 
 phy among the heathens? and of what avail is all 
 the heathenish bare-weight morality among too many 
 professing Christianity in the present day, where 
 the preaching of the Gospel, which alone is " the 
 power of God unto salvation," is omitted? 
 
 Wiseh. "The power of God unto salvation!" 
 Upon my word, sir, that sounds like a very odd ex- 
 pression. What am I to understand by it? 
 
 Cousid. Why, sir, it is one of the odd expressions 
 found in St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans; but as 
 those epistles are so low in your esteem, no wonder 
 that such expressions sound in your ears so odd and 
 uncouth. But in my opinion, it is an expression of 
 peculiar wisdom, dignity, and strength. I am not 
 afraid to assert it, that all true religion is nothing less 
 than the power or influence of God himself on the 
 heart. And must there not be a principle before 
 ever there can be a practice? can any persons be re- 
 formed before they are renewed ? and after all, can 
 much of the preaching of the present day be even 
 called moral preaching? How often are we told 
 how much less is required of us in our lapsed state 
 than was originally demanded by the law! and how 
 many apologies are at times brought forth to palliate 
 the vices and deep corruptions of the human mind! 
 Is this preaching morality, or the quintessence of 
 antinomianism?* 
 
 Wiseh. 1 really think, sir, you strain matters a 
 deal too hard, and that your ideas are much too 
 gloomy as they respect the human race. That there 
 are some among whom the protuberances and excres- 
 
 * This expression is derived from the Greek, and means 
 that which is against the law. 
 
 23* 
 
262 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 cences of vice are very predominant^ we cannot but 
 admit: but still 1 suppose it is the virtuous habit that 
 principally prevails, and we should not depreciate 
 the virtues of mankind on account of their vices. 
 A great divine of our denomination has given it as 
 his opinion, that "there mai/ be a considerable pre- 
 ponderance of virtues even in characters justly es- 
 timated as vicious: and likewise that the qua7itity 
 of virtue in the world may far exceed that of vice; 
 though the number of virtuous characters may he 
 less than that of vicious ones:" and again, "few cha- 
 racters are flagrantly wicked; and perhaps, even in 
 the worst of m.en^ good habits and actions are more 
 numerous than the contrary. Certainly they are 
 so in the majority of mankind, and preponderant vir- 
 tue is almost universal;"* and if there be a small de- 
 gree of troublesome vice in the world, another able 
 divine, who is the glory of our denomination, in a 
 very learned treatise he wrote on the doctrine of ne- 
 cessity, hassettledthe business completely, by proving 
 that " God is the author of sin, and may do evil, pro- 
 vided good may come."| 
 
 * Belsham's Review of Wilberforce, p. 39. 
 
 f On Necessity, p. 117 — 121. Now would any one think 
 it, that those very people who have taken such an astonishing 
 alarm at the frightful doctrines of Calvinism, have actually 
 found their refuge in the sentiments of the worst of infidel 
 philosophers, making it out, that God himself is the author 
 of sin; and that is their way of getting rid of what God has 
 revealed, that he " made man upright," but man has " sought 
 out " for himself " many inventions." Thus, by contradicting 
 the Bible account of the fall, which lays all the evil of sin to 
 the charge of n)an, they bring it home against God himself, 
 with this reserve only — provided that good may result from 
 it in the end; which is making the Divine Being to speak and 
 act like the worst of men, who say, " Let us do evil that good 
 may come;" whose damnation is just. Let such a deity be 
 adored by these sons of reason as long as they choose; but 
 let my wisdom lie low before the altar of revelation: — " O 
 Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself, but in me is thy help." 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 263 
 
 Consid. Why, then, vice is not only to be little 
 thought of, but seems almost allowable, provided, 
 according to your conceit, virtue preponderates; or 
 according, I must call it, to your blasphemous pro- 
 position, that God can be the author of evil. But 
 can you for a moment suppose that the least vice 
 should be admitted before our most holy God, when 
 it is said, " that for every idle word man shall speak 
 he shall give an account thereof in the day of judg- 
 ment;" yea, that he will bring " every thought into 
 judgment?" as every lascivious thought before him 
 is adultery, and every angry thought not less than 
 murder in his sight. Shall we try how this rule will 
 bear between man and man? Suppose Mr. Dolittle, 
 our Justice, were to say of the thief when brought 
 before him. He generally pays for his goods as he 
 purchases them, though now and then he is under 
 the necessity of stealing to make his payments good: 
 so that when he acts the part of a knave, it is with 
 an honest and virtuous design. Therefore, we must 
 not be too severe with him ; for he is an honest fel- 
 low, on the whole; and his honest actions outweigh 
 his thievish ones. And again; should the mad 
 drunkard say, I never got drunk above twice in the 
 week, and then all the rest of my time I am verj^ 
 sober: surely, you'll not call me a drunkard upon 
 that account, as I hope my sober fits are more than 
 my drunken ones. Or shall we suppose the com- 
 mon reprobate to plead his cause, by saying, I don't 
 swear near half my time, and these are but thought- 
 less words; and words can hurt nobod}': and let me 
 swear ever so often, I say more good words than bad 
 ones, and scarcely ever neglect saying my prayers be- 
 fore going to bed. Now should we suppose, for the 
 sake of argument, that there is more virtue than vice 
 in the world, which I really doubt, notwithstanding 
 your low notions of virtue being no higher, as far as 
 
264 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 I can make them out, than a little morality or good 
 manners, or just and civil behaviour between man 
 and man; yet are you not alarmed at your own sen- 
 timents, that the same sort of ideas of justice is sup- 
 posed to exist in God, as would turn all things into 
 confusion among men? Such, however, have been 
 the dreadful effects of lessening the eternal obliga- 
 tions of the law, in order that we may obey it just 
 so far as we like best; and such are the antmomian 
 principles of all the pharisees and formalists on the 
 earth. 
 
 Spitef. Sir, though 1 cannot altogether go with Mr. 
 Wisehead, yet your strict notions of religion are 
 enough to drive us all into despair. I am for just 
 such a religion as Mr. Archdeacon Smoothtongue 
 preached to us before the corporation the other day. 
 You remember his text, sir: — " Men shall be lovers 
 of their own selves.'^ I am sure, sir, it was an ad- 
 mirable sermon. 
 
 Wiseh. Yes, sir, I admired it much. I thought it 
 an excellent rational discourse; for though I should 
 not like to be a conformist to the established church, 
 by subscribing to the "horrid dogmas of Calvin," 
 which are to be found in such plenty in the Articles 
 and Liturgy of the Church of England; yet 1 am not 
 such a bigot as to neglect an opportunity of hearing 
 a good sermon in either church or meeting. 
 
 Spitef. We had better not touch upon that point, 
 Mr. Wisehead; as that would bring on a controversy 
 which, I am sure, we sliould not end to-night. But 
 I know all you Dissenters are of opinion, that none 
 but Lovegood's followers give us the true meaning 
 of the doctrines of the church of England; but this 
 is thinking very hard of the clergy. 
 
 Wiseh. Sir, I confess this is the universal opinion 
 among all Dissenters; but I should not. wish to touch 
 you in a sore place. 
 
DIALOGUE XV, 265 
 
 ConsicL From what has transpired this evening, it 
 would be rather dangerous, in my opinion, to touch 
 Mr. Spiteful in any of his sore places, as at times he 
 is very apt to wince; but, I must confess, I differ with 
 both you gentlemen very widely, respecting the 
 goodness of Mr. Archdeacon Smoothtongue's ser- 
 mon. First, I think when a man takes a text, he 
 should explain the meaning of it. Now that text, 
 as it stands in the Bible, evidently was designed to 
 show the evils of self-love, that it is a vicious princi- 
 ple in itself, and productive of evil in all its conse- 
 quences; whereas the preacher turned it right about, 
 and made it speak for a doctrine, which, according 
 to the word of God, it was his duty seriously to op- 
 pose. 
 
 Spitef. Well, sir, and did not the Archdeacon say 
 that the extreme of self-love might be a vicious prin- 
 ciple, though ill moderation it was necessary for the 
 benefit of mankind? 
 
 Consid. Yes, sir, I heard all he had to say, and 
 with a considerable degree of attention: but really, 
 1 believe it will be with some difficulty that 1 can be 
 persuaded to give up a point, on which the interest 
 of holiness, and the glory of God so much depend. 
 In my opinion the ultimate end of every action should 
 arise from a supreme love of God; and all subordi- 
 nate love to ourselves and our fellow creatures is vi- 
 cious and corrupted, but as it centres in our love 
 towards him: likewise all the wickedness and op- 
 pression there is in the world arises from this cor- 
 rupted principle of self-love. When men love 
 themselves, independent of God and godliness, they 
 must be little better than devils of course. Such, 
 however, is the avowed principle of that thorough- 
 paced French infidel, Volney; and in order to make 
 the world twenty times more wicked than before^ he 
 
266 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 has reduced it to a system : and we all know what 
 has been the result of that doctrine in his own nation 
 at large. To speak plainly, I look upon it, that such 
 sort of preaching is nothing better than infidelity in 
 disguise; and as a proof of it, how nearly the Arch- 
 deacon appears to be of the same stamp, 1 don't know 
 that he quoted a single passage out of the Bible after 
 he had taken his text. 
 
 TViseh. sir! you know there are a great num- 
 ber of expressions in the Bible that now sound in 
 these tnodcrn days of Christianity, very barbarous 
 and uncouth; and I really think, that those gentle- 
 men who have the care of educating the young men 
 of our denomination for the ministry, do w^ell in ad- 
 vising them not to interlard their sermons with too 
 raany texts of Scripture, as it could not but prove 
 greatly detrimental to the elegance of their composi- 
 tions; and if we can but reform the depraved taste of 
 the day, by attending to our compositions, we have 
 no doubt, but that we shall be as popular as any of 
 our opponents. 
 
 Spitef. Really, sir, I am afraid you will quite over- 
 shoot the mark; you seem to make next to nothing 
 of the Bible. You are giving Mr. Considerate a sad 
 handle against yourself. 
 
 TViseh. Why you may be assured of this, Mr. 
 Spiteful, that you never will be able to get the better 
 of Mr. Considerate in point of argument, if he sup- 
 pose he carries the question by quoting the epistles 
 of Paul and the " histories of Jesus.'^ And I can 
 give you a proof of this, which is quite to the point. 
 A gentleman in the present parliament, and who is 
 also nearly related to the family of the Worthies in 
 this neighbourhood, thought proper to turn author in 
 divinity, and took it in his head to bring forward a 
 iong string of such antiquated iiotioas in religion as 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 267 
 
 are now entirely exploded among all rational divines; 
 and as you may suppose, in order that he might sup- 
 port his cause, his arguments were deduced from St. 
 Paul's, and the rest of the Epistles.* Some weakly 
 attempted to shake the ground he had taken, by ar- 
 guing against him from the same authority: but an 
 able divine of our denomination^ stept forward and 
 did the business completely, by showing that no con- 
 clusive argument could be drawn from a set of letters 
 which were no farther worthy of estimation, than as 
 letters written by good men, who were still liable to 
 err as well as ourselves. Thus he battered down the 
 place of defence, in which our author supposed himself 
 impregnable, and turned him forth to fight us in the 
 open field of reason and speculation; and there, Pli 
 assure you, as you may suppose, he had him com- 
 pletely; but while you make so much of the Bible, 
 and while you suppose the authors of it were all in- 
 spiredj you'll never be able to deny the truth of Mr. 
 Lovegood's doctrine. 
 
 Spitef. What, then, am I to believe that all their 
 strange notions of grace and faith without works, are 
 contained in the Bible? that man has no free will; 
 and that if a man be one of the elect, let him do 
 whatever he will, he sha'nH he damned; and if he be 
 a reprobate he must go to hell and he damned, if he is 
 ever so good, and strives to be saved as much as ever 
 he can ? 
 
 Madam Toog. shocking, Mr. Spiteful! Is it pos- 
 sible that any one can preach such bad doctrines as 
 all that? 
 
 Consid. Mr. Spiteful, madam, is fond of hio;h co- 
 
 * Wilberforce's Practical View, &c. 
 t See Belsham's Review — For a full answer to this perni- 
 cious book, and a defence of Mr. VVilberforce, see Williams' 
 Vindication of the Calvinistic Doctrines, &c. 8vo. 
 
268 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 louring; but I perfectly agree with him that we may 
 look into the Bible for sentiments like these, and 
 never find them. 
 
 fViseh^ Though I can by no means admit Mr. 
 Lovegood's notions in religion to be rational, yet it 
 cannot be said that he or his followers carry matters 
 so far as you represent them: and as to Mr. Love- 
 good, I believe him to be a good-hearted man, though 
 his sentiments in theology so widely differ from 
 mine. 
 
 Consid. {to Mr. Spiteful) Now, sir, 1 am sure Mr. 
 Lovegood never holds forth justification without its 
 fruits, as you seem to represent him. I myself heard 
 him explain matters quite otherwise, but a fortnight 
 ago: and very much to my satisfaction. He always 
 tells us, that, as there are none righteous, so none can 
 be justified by their righteousness; and that though 
 we are justified and saved by the merits and death of 
 Jesus Christ only, yet that we are not to " continue 
 in sin that grace may abound." He observed on that 
 occasion that the king never pardons a thief, that he 
 may iiave a license to cheat and steal as long as he 
 lives; and that all such crimes committed after a par- 
 don are deemed twenty times worse than those com- 
 mitted before. Besides, he talks much of the need 
 and necessity of the Holy Spirit to change our hearts: 
 and have you never ridiculed him on that score? 
 Pray, sir, what do you yourself think we mean by 
 that doctrine? 
 
 Spitef. How should I know, sir? It is strange in- 
 deed, that you should ask me about your meaning, 
 as though 1 should know better than yourself, when 
 you are so fond, with your wife and daughter, of 
 gadding about after Lovegood. But I heard that he 
 should have said, but a few Sundays ago, from one 
 that heard him, "Now we conclude a man is justi- 
 fied by faith only, without the deeds of the laio.^' 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 269 
 
 What do you think of that, sir? A fine fellow truly, 
 to make such consequential conclusions^ while he 
 holds forth such abominable doctrines! 
 
 Consid. Why, sir, it is very unfortunate, that you 
 should have blundered upon the express words of 
 scripture, and suppose them to be the words of Mr. 
 Lovegood, and especially as you have been just vin- 
 dicating the Bible, I wonder that you should be so 
 ignorant of its contents. 
 
 Spilef. Sir, it is impossible. I say it is impossi- 
 ble, (To Mrs. Toogood.) Mrs. Toogood, madam, 
 lend me your Bible; {To Mr, Considerate) and then, 
 sir, you shall find them if you can. 
 
 Madam Toog. L — d, sir;* you canH want the 
 Bible, now you have just done playing at cards. 
 
 Wiseh. Really, Mr. Spiteful, I would not have 
 you put it to the test, for I remember reading some 
 such words not very long ago; and 1 recollect it 
 shocked me, when 1 thought of it, what a bad use 
 vulscar minds would be liable to make of such sort of 
 expressions. 
 
 Consid. Yes, sir, I believe you'll find the passage 
 in the third of the Romans; but I don't think we 
 need to be shocked at the consequences of free for- 
 giveness, when it is always connected with the idea 
 of holiness; *' that we may live unto his glory who 
 hath called us out of darkness into his marvellous 
 light/^ 
 
 Spitef. And 1 suppose, sir, that you think the 
 horrid notions of predestination are also to be found 
 in the Bible; but I am sure they are not. 
 
 Consid. I am sure they are not as well as yourself, 
 as you have represented them; nor yet where you 
 
 * These sort of religious old ladies are very apt to take 
 the Lord's name in vain. 
 
 VOL. I. — 24 
 
270 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 have placed them, in the brains of good Mr. Love- 
 good. I have heard in the word of God of "an elec- 
 tion according to the foreknowledge of God the Fa- 
 ther, through sanctification of the Spirit unto obedi- 
 ence j^^ and that "we are predestinated to be con- 
 formed to the image of God's dear Son:" but an 
 election /y'om sin, that we may live in sin, is a doc- 
 trine as much abhorred by jVIr. Lovegood, as it 
 can be by you. No^ sir! Mr. Lovegood is better 
 taught to distinguish between causes and effects; 
 and he always insists upon it, that the eflfect of 
 our election is, that we may " live unto God;" and 
 as to his opinion relative to the freedom of the 
 will, I hope we have had enough upon that score 
 already. 
 
 Wiseh. I am sure we hslve^ sir: for it has given 
 me such a head-ache, that I have felt it ever since. 
 {To Mrs, Toogood.) Can you give me a pinch of 
 your cephalic snuff, madam? 
 
 [The snuffbox is handed; Spiteful continues.'] 
 
 Spitef. I have no sort of doubt, but that Love- 
 good knows how to gloss over his abominable tenets. 
 He is an artful fellow; and if all be true, as wicked as 
 any of us, — 'and no wonder at it, from the doctrines 
 he preaches. There is a fine story gone all round 
 the country about him^ and I'll warrant it is all 
 true. 
 
 Consid. What is that, sir? I have heard it re- 
 ported, that my wife is too intimate with the parson. 
 Is that the story you have got hold of? But instead 
 of being jealous on that score, I wish her to be yet 
 more intimate. I am sure she cannot have a more 
 excellent and instructive acquaintance; and I now 
 mean to go myself with her and my daughters, much 
 oftener than I have done ; though, being one of the 
 corporation, 1 am expected at Mapleton church 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 271 
 
 more than I could wish. — But, pray what is the 
 story ? 
 
 Spitef. Why, have you not heard how Parson 
 Lovegood has persuaded a lady to leave her husband; 
 because he would not be converted to his religion, 
 as well as herself; and that she would not live with 
 him, because he was a carnal man, according to 
 their canting way of talk: while, madam, with all 
 her pretended sanctity, is carnal enough to admit the 
 parson to come and see her as often as he likes; and 
 there he keeps her at JS''ed Swiggs, at the Golden 
 Lion ; and some say Mr. Worthy, with all his re- 
 ligion, is admitted to pay her the same sort of visits; 
 and that ^Irs. Worthy is quite jealous upon the 
 occasion. 
 
 Madam Toog. shocking! shocking! Well, I 
 always thought Lovegood must be a very bad man 
 at heart, from the first sermon I ever heard him 
 preach; for no one, I am sure, could have made 
 out all people to be so very wicked, if he had not 
 been a very wicked man himself: and from that time 
 I was determined never to hear him no more. 
 
 Consid. Why, madam, I think we had all better 
 have been at cards, though it is the week before 
 sacrament, than talk scandal against the innocent; 
 but I have heard, from my wife and others, a very 
 different story to what is now made out. 
 
 Spitef. Ay, ay, they give it out that the lady 
 was the gentleman's mistress; and that, when she 
 saw the evil of her ways, by one of Lovegood's 
 preachments, she would not live with him any long- 
 er; but he swore again and again by his Maker, 
 that she was his lawful wife, and that he would soon 
 prove it. 
 
 Consid. You know the old proverb, "they that 
 swear will lie;" and I have no doubt but the up 
 
272 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Tightness of Mr. Lovegood's conduct will soon ap- 
 pear. 
 
 Spitef. They may preach up their innocence as 
 long as they like; but Mr. Bluster, of Revel Hallj. 
 knows the family very well; and Mrs. Scandal, his 
 aunt, says, she could take her oath of it, that it is a 
 fact. 
 
 Madam Toog. Yes, and she was going to tell 
 me all about it one morning, when she met me at 
 Friday prayers; but 1 bad not time to stop to hear 
 it all. 
 
 MisB Praleapace. Yes, and Mrs. Tittletattle was 
 at our house the other day to tea, and told us a great 
 deal about it ; I am sure, Lovegood must be a very 
 wicked man if it is true. 
 
 Consid. Am3, I am sure, you are all acting a very 
 wicked part if it is false. 
 
 Spitef. False! how can it be false? are they not 
 always prating and preaching about faith without 
 works, though you pretend to deny it? and what 
 can be expected among those who hold such loose 
 notions of religion? Why, to be sure, a conduct as 
 loose as their religion: every body knows it is all 
 free grace with them, that they may live as they list. 
 I am afraid these abominable fellows will soon over- 
 turn both church and state. 
 
 Consid. Why, Mr. Spiteful, what can ail you to- 
 night, to run on at this rate? 
 
 Spitef. Why, have you not seen Bishop Bluster's 
 Charge against these mock reformers, proving that, 
 under the mask of a great zeal for religion, they are, 
 notwithstanding, Infidels and Atheists?^ 
 
 Consid. How can you, in your conscience, think 
 so, while, by Sunday schools, and every possible 
 
 * It seems, a charge not very dissimilar to Bishop Bluster's, 
 made its appearance about this time. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 273 
 
 exertion these people are doing all they can for the 
 reformation of mankind? 
 
 Spitef. Fine reformers, truly! when, under the 
 pretence of a reformation, their design is by their 
 seditious machinations, to throw all things into 
 anarchy and confusion : and the Bishop says, this he 
 knows to be a matter of fact. I wonder government 
 does not stop their progress! 
 
 Consid, What! is it a matter of fact, that some 
 attempt to make people infidels and atheists, by di- 
 recting them to read their Bibles, and attend on the 
 public worship of God? and as to the charge of se- 
 dition, majice can say any thing, but stops to prove 
 nothing. 
 
 Wiseh. Bishop Bluster, sir ! who is Bishop Blus- 
 ter? Being a dissenter I am not so well acquainted 
 with the names of the bench of bishops. 
 
 Spiief. Why, sir, he is not only a man of very 
 high blood, for he is cousin german to Mr. Bluster 
 of Revel Hall, but a very learned man, I will assure 
 you. 
 
 Consid. As for hjs learning, that 1 shall not at- 
 tempt to dispute; but if a person wilfully, delibe^ 
 rately, and publicly, bears false witness against his 
 neighbours, by urging such cruel charges without 
 any evidence to substantiate the fact, while he can 
 thus directly transgress the ninth command, it is 
 no proof of his integrity: suppose any one should 
 wantonly charge him in return, that he was a com- 
 mon swearer, a liar, a gambler, a Sabbath-breaker, 
 and register him among the meanest of common 
 swindlers, as running into every one's debt, and pay- 
 ing nobody till compelled by law, and all without 
 the least evidence to substantiate the fact, how would 
 he like it? 
 
 JViseh. Though I do not like Mr. Lovegood and 
 
 his doctrines, yet I do not think either he or any of 
 
 24^. 
 
274 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 his sect are quite so t^d as you make them out; he 
 certainly is very charitable in his parish. 1 wonder 
 how he can do so much, for they say his living is but 
 very small; and he has an increasing family. 
 
 SpiteJ. Ah! but Pll warrant it is Mr. Worthy's 
 purse that helps him out; they don't mind their 
 money, provided they can but bribe people to be of 
 their religion. • 
 
 Consid. Why is it, then, sir, that you cannot get 
 Mr. Bluster to bribe some people, after the same 
 manner, to be of your religion ; for whenever you 
 preach, it seems yours is but a very little flock. 
 
 Spitef, I do not mind your sneers, sir, but I have 
 not half done yet; for there is Mr. Feigning, Mr. 
 Worthy's steward, a rascal; and then I have heard 
 a fine story of Mrs. Fairspeech, a drunken sow, 
 
 Consid. Sir f you need not spend your breath on 
 such subjects: for hypocrites there always were, and 
 always will be; but nothing can be more cruel and 
 unjust than to charge the crimes of hypocrites on 
 those who are upright and sincere. 
 
 Thus Mr. Spiteful was proceeding in the most 
 vehement manner, and in which he would probably 
 have proceeded for a considerable while longer, had 
 he not been interi'upted by his servant, who was sent 
 after him from his house at Mapleton to Madarn 
 Toagood's, with the following letter: 
 
 u Rev. Sir, Wednesday Mon. 
 
 With great difficulty, I yesterday came from 
 Revel H^llin Mr. Bluster's chaise. On Sunday after 
 the second service, I went to his house, according 
 to appointmeat, that I might be present on Monday 
 at the coursing match. My mare, you know, is 
 rather spirited, and eve^y now and then the young 
 s])arks that were there, smacked their whips and gave 
 
DIALOGUE XY. 275 
 
 her a cut; and, you know, if we, of our order, choose 
 to keep company with the great, we must submit to 
 such rubs as these. However so it was, that while 
 we were all on the full speed, on a chase,, my mare 
 with the rest of the company, attempted to clear a 
 wide ditch, but missed her aim, and left me behind 
 her. I unfortunately fell head-foremost, and must 
 soon have been suffocated in the mud and water, had 
 not the game-keeper, with the assistance of others, 
 with great difficulty pulled me out. It was a fortu- 
 nate circumstance that the bottom of the ditch was 
 so soft, otherwise I must have been more severely 
 bruised by the fall ; but I still feel myself so much 
 hurt, about the neck and shoulders, that I can 
 scarcely sit upon my bed to, write these few lines, to 
 request you to undertake my duty for me, till 1 am 
 recovered; or till the return of my curate, Mr. Brisk, 
 who is gone with Ltord Rakish to Gambleton races, 
 and who has some hopes of preferment from that 
 quarter. I expect him to return in about a week or 
 ten days, when I shall release you from all farther 
 trouble. 
 
 I was engaged this evening to. give the sacrament 
 to Mrs. Formal, who is not likely to live many 
 days: if you will call upon her and p.erform that 
 office for me, you will much oblige your humble 
 servant. 
 
 Rich. Dolittle. 
 
 P. S. I could avail myself of the assistance of Mr. 
 Goodman; but, as I have reason to believe, he has 
 of late had a strong bias in favour of Mr. Love- 
 good's notions in religion, I should be much afraid 
 to lend him my pulpit.'^ 
 
 Mr. Spiteful having read the letter to himself, ex- 
 claims : 
 
276 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Oh, poor Mr. Dolittle, he has met with a dreadful 
 fall from his horse, and he wants me to administer 
 the sacrament to Mrs. Formal, who is supposed to be 
 near death. — What can I do? I must go away di- 
 rectly. 
 
 Madam Toog. Why, sir, you are not prepared: 
 you can't go away from the card table to administer 
 the holy sacrament. 
 
 Spitef. Well, I cannot help it, 1 must take it as 
 I find it; I wish I had been at something else. 
 
 [Mr. Wisehead, twisting his thumbs one over the 
 other, sat and said nothing.] 
 
 Madam Toog. But, 1 hope, sir, nothing material 
 has happened to Mr. Dolittle: do stop awhile and 
 tell us before you go: if it is not too bold, I should 
 be glad to know what he says of this unfortunate ac- 
 cident. 
 
 Spitef. Well, well, as the whole of it must soon 
 be known, far and wide, you may take and read it, 
 if you like, 
 
 [The letter is handed to Madam Toogood, and she 
 gives it to Miss Prateapace.] 
 
 Madam Toog. Becky Prateapace, my dear, will 
 you read it? My eyes are got very dim, and I don't 
 like to read by candle light. [The letter is read 
 out.] 
 
 Madam Toog. 0, poor gentleman! but Mr. 
 Spiteful, did you not hear of it before you left 
 Mapleton? 
 
 Spitef. I heard that he had a bad fall from his 
 horse. 
 
 Consid. Hear of it, madam? I suppose it is all over 
 the town by now. But as Mr. Spiteful had so 
 much to say against Mr. Lovegood, I thought I 
 would have the less to say against Mr. Dolittle; 
 especially, as you so much admire him as a mi- 
 nister. 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 277 
 
 Madam Toog. Why, to be sure, sir, he is an ex- 
 cellent man in the pulpit. 
 
 Consid. A thousand pities, madam, if that be the 
 case, but that he should always be kept in it, and 
 never let out again, when he is once found there. 
 In my opinion, however, a bad man out of the pulpit 
 can never be a good man in the pulpit. 
 
 Madam Toog. I am very sorry Mr. Dolittle should 
 have been so let down. 
 
 Consid. Why, by all acounts, he has been com-, 
 pletely let down, and let down more than once on 
 the same unfortunate day ; for after the Rector 
 was with some difficulty heaved out of the ditch, 
 neither his hat nor wig could be found for a con- 
 siderable time, as they were both driven so deep in- 
 to the mire. 
 
 Madam Toog. Dear sir, I hope the Rector was 
 not obliged to ride home without his hat and wig. 
 
 Consid. Why, ma'am, it happened just then, that 
 there was an old woman gathering some sticks up 
 and down the hedge, and after she had lent a help- 
 ing hand to scrape off some of the dirt, she next 
 kindly took her red cloak from off her own back, 
 and put it round Mr. Dolittle's head and shoulders: 
 but as for his riding home, that was quite out of 
 the question; for as soon as his mare found herself 
 at liberty, she took to her heels, and soon arrived at 
 her own stable door at Mapleton : and that first gave 
 the alarm to the town, to see the mare return with 
 her saddle and bridle, and without her master. Be- 
 sides, had the mare stopped for her master, he was 
 too much bruised to mount her again. 
 
 Madam Toog. Poor gentleman, how did he get 
 home ? 
 
 Consid. Why, if not in a very creditable, yet as it 
 then proved a very convenient carriage. It was in a 
 dung cart, madam, which happened just then to be 
 
278 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 employed in carrying dung into some of the neigh- 
 bouring fields. 
 
 Madam Toog. dear! why did they not send to 
 Mapleton for a chaise? or why could not Mr. Bluster 
 have sent home for his chaise? I would have sooner 
 parted with twenty pounds out of my pocket than 
 that he should have been carried in that manner. 
 
 Consid. Why, madam, would you have had him 
 to have continued trembling and quaking all over 
 mud and dirt, in the cold till a chaise could have 
 been brought? How could they do better, under 
 such circumstances, than to put the Rector in the 
 cart, and then drive him home as fast as he could 
 bear it? though to be sure, liad he been brought home 
 in a chaise, he would have escaped his second let 
 down. 
 
 Madam Toog. Dear sir, what was that? it quite 
 frightens me. Becky Prateapace, reach me my 
 smelling bottle. [The old lady takes a snift.] 
 
 Consid. Why, you know, madam, calamities of 
 this sort seldom come alone, and so it happened now; 
 for the Rector was first hoisted into the cart and 
 seated on the old woman's bundle of sticks, while 
 she sat on the one side, and Mr. Bluster's servant on 
 the other as his supporters. Thus he rode to Revel 
 Hall, shivering with cold, and groaning with pain, all 
 the time; but through the carelessness of the plough 
 boy, who drove the cart, which was made to tilt the 
 dung into the field, (not having properly attended 
 to the p'm) while they were preparing to heave the 
 Rector out, they were all tilted down together; and 
 what between the groanings of the Rectqr, and the 
 laughing of the spectators, to see him and the old 
 woman, with her bundle of sticks, and the servant, 
 all sprawling together on the ground, such a sight, 
 I suppose, was never exhibited in that yard before. 
 
 Madam Toog. I am afraid this will make a sad talk 
 
DIALOGUE XV. 279 
 
 about the town, especially as Mr. Dolittle made such 
 a fine sermon, last Sunday, proving that our clergy 
 were the successors of our Saviour and his apostles. 
 
 Spitef. Ay, and all this will be nuts for Love- 
 good and his schismatical crew. 
 
 Consid. Indeed, sir, you ill know the character of 
 that good man ; no person can be more grieved at 
 the improper conduct of the pretended ministers of 
 the Gospel than himselfj and if all acted as he does, 
 I am sure, the blessed cause of Christianity would 
 not suffer half the jeer and contempt it now sustains 
 on account of the bad lives of its professors, espe- 
 cially of its professing ministers, however denomina- 
 ted; and, instead of a set of people belonging to any 
 church, urging the foolish boast that they are the 
 successors of our Lord and his apostles, it would be 
 much more to the point, if they would but preach 
 their doctrines, and imitate their examples. Good 
 and bad there will be of all parties; but these things 
 prove to me, the reality of the Christian dispensation, 
 since nothing but its own native simplicity and pu- 
 rity could have preserved it in existence, while placed 
 in the hand of such teachers, whose lives are so con- 
 trary to its holy designs. 
 
 [Mr. Spiteful being w^anted at Mapleton, rose up 
 in haste, and sought for his hat and cane. The cane 
 being mislaid, he scolded Madam Toogood's maid, 
 and according to an accustomed expression of his, 
 called upon the devil* to know where it was, and 
 
 * A very favourite mode of speech with Mr. Spiteful. See 
 the Anti-Jacobin Review, passim. 
 
 The reader may easily judge from this hint and from the 
 spirit and temper of the Rev. Mr. Spiteful, who had a deal of 
 leisure time, that he was a very great scribbler for the Anti- 
 Jacobin Review, the Orthodox Churchman's Magazine, the 
 
280 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 when found, trudged off to administer the sacrament 
 to Mrs. Formal, as fit for the office as was another of 
 the same stamp, who was called from a puppet show 
 on a similar occasion. After this the rest of the com- 
 pany speedily dispersed.] 
 
 Porcupine, and some other publications of the same stamp; 
 and any one may naturally suppose, from the low and scur- 
 rilous style of his conversation, that his productions were 
 greatly admired by all the editors of that class of periodical 
 publications. 
 
DIALOGUE XVI 
 
 BETWEEN MR. WORTHY, MR. LOVEGOOD, 
 EDWARD, AND MRS. CHIPMAN. 
 
 MORE NEWS FROM LOWER BROOKFIELD, PROVING THE EF- 
 FICACY OF THE GOSPEL ON THE VILEST OF SINNERS ; OR, 
 THE EVILS OF SEDUCTION DELINEATED. 
 
 Edward, the landlord of the Golden Lion, whose 
 conversion was noticed in a former Dialogue, comes 
 to Mr. Lovegood, and begs his advice. 
 
 Edward. Sir, if I don't interrupt you, I should be 
 glad to lay before you the case of an unfortunate, but, 
 I believe, a really penitent young woman, now at 
 our house. 
 
 Lovegood. You know, Edward, I always love to 
 attend to every circumstance relative to poor peni- 
 tents. — Sit down, and tell me your story. 
 
 Edw. Why, sir, you may have heard that a gen- 
 tleman, at least by his looks, took lodgings, at a pri- 
 vate house in our village, with a very fine gay-look- 
 ing young woman, and every one thought she was 
 his wife. They came about a fortnight ago to our 
 church; and, a few days after that, she came to our 
 house in much distress, and without the gentleman 
 with whom she lived. This made me think it ne- 
 cessary to tell her, that we were very cautious who 
 we took into our house, and then pointed her to our 
 rules. She looked at a few of them, threw herself 
 back in the chair and quite fainted away. 
 
 Mrs. Loveg. Oh! my dear, how I was struck, at 
 
 VOL. I. — 25 
 
282 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 her appearance, when she first came to our church! 
 You no sooner began to preach, than she was all at- 
 tention; and was oftentimes melted into tears; and 
 since then, though she lias come without the gentle- 
 man, she has constantly attended; even last Wed- 
 nesday she was there at the lecture, though it rained 
 so hard. I cannot but hope, that God has sent a 
 signal blessing home to her heart! liow thankful I 
 am, that the Lord continues to make your ministry 
 such a blessing among us. 
 
 LovcP"' Why, my love, you know 1 have often 
 said, that, independent of the preacher, however 
 feeble his abilities may be, nothing is attended with 
 such a glorious efficacy as the simple preaching of 
 the Gospel of Christ. (7b Edward.) But, Edward, 
 what is her story? 
 
 Edw. sir, she tells me the most affecting story 
 lever heard in all my life: how she was seduced 
 from her husband, by the artful wicked man who 
 has brought her into these parts; and as soon as 
 she was convinced of her evil ways, he left her; and 
 she has been at my house ever since, crying, and 
 sobbing enough to break one's heart, and when my 
 wife attempts to comfort her, she begins weeping 
 again, twice as much as before; and says, you have 
 been a faithful wife to a kind and an affectionate 
 husband; but, 0! what a wicked and ungrateful 
 monster I have been! She will then ask us if she 
 can do any thing for us, if it was only to work at her 
 needle, stand at the washing-tub, or even weed in 
 the garden, as she fears, since the gentleman lias left 
 her, she shall not be able to pay for her board ? But, 
 with your leave, sir, she wishes she ma}^ lay her un- 
 happy case before you; as she much desires your ad- 
 vice. 
 
 Loveg. With all my heart, Edward, but it will 
 be necessary to have other evidence, to hear what 
 
DIALOGUE XVI. 283 
 
 slie may have to relate on such a story; and I have 
 no doubt but Mr. Worthy, always ready for every 
 good word and work, will attend and assist me with 
 his wise and good advice. I will call upon him to- 
 morrow morning, and send you word directly when 
 she shall attend. But what is her name? 
 
 Edw. Her proper name, it seems, is Chipman, 
 though she came into these parts under the name of 
 Lady Dash; but if ever that name is mentioned to 
 her, she cries, 0, let me never hear of the horrid 
 name of Dash any more. 
 
 Loveg. Well, Edward, in a day or two you shall 
 hear from me again; in the interval present her with 
 this book for her perusal. [Mr. Lovegood gives him 
 " Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the 
 Soul,^^ and retires. 
 
 On the following day she was sent for to Mr. 
 Lovegood's. Mr. Worthy attended: the young wo- 
 man was introduced by Edward, agitated and in deep 
 distress.] 
 
 Loveg. Come in, my unfortunate fellow-sinner, sit 
 down until your mind is a little composed, and tell 
 us of your calamities. 
 
 [She falls into strong hysterics, and at intervals 
 cries: my dear husband, his heart will be broken! 
 my level}' forsaken babe! what a brute! my 
 most dear and tender father! what a monster! She 
 afterwards a little recovers, and cries. How can 
 you admit so vile a wretch into 5'our doors? what 
 an ungrateful monster have I been before God and 
 man!] 
 
 Loveg. But the vilest of sinners may be saved. — 
 Be calm; and let us hear the cause of your distress. 
 [After several attempts Mrs. C. thus begins her 
 story.] 
 
 J\Trs. Chipman. Ah, sir, I have grieved the best of 
 parents; forsaken the tenderest of husbands; have 
 
284 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 left my dear babe behind me; and all through the 
 pride and wickedness of my own heart, in suffering 
 myself to be seduced by the worst of men. 
 
 Loveg. But if you are not somewhat more parti- 
 cular in relating your calamities, I feel it will scarcely 
 be in our power to assist you with our advice. 
 
 Chipm. Sir, my father, whose name is Reader, was 
 the best of husbands to my mother, the kindest of 
 parents to his children; and a man of strict integrity 
 among his neighbours. He was, by profession, a 
 school-master in a small town called Locksbury, in 
 the West of England; and, being well-informed him- 
 self, he gave me a good education. But his family 
 afflictions have been very severe: for my eldest bro- 
 ther was born an idiot, my next brother took a very 
 wild turn indeed, and my father does not know 
 whether he is dead or alive, as he went abroad and 
 has not been heard of these four years, and I was the 
 next, and oh, what a wretch have I been! 
 
 [She is again too much overcome to continue her 
 story; after she recovers, she is addressed by] 
 
 J[Ir. Worthy. Mrs. Chipman, you may depend upon 
 it, you are conversing with your real friends and best 
 advisers. {Mr. Lovegood adjoins) — Yes; and with 
 such friends also as rejoice over you in the depth of 
 all your sorrows; trusting in God, that you are now 
 blessed with repentance unto life. — But continue your 
 story. 
 
 Chipm. After my birth, it was near seven years 
 before my mother had another living child; but her 
 constitution having been broken by different miscar- 
 riages, she did not long survive the birth of my sister. 
 Before I was seduced, by that man who has left me 
 to curse my folly, it was my greatest consolation to 
 alleviate my father's sorrows, and to be my husband's 
 joy. And, when but a child, I could, in those days, 
 with the greatest tenderness, wait on my dear mo- 
 
DIALOGUE xvr. 285 
 
 ther till I closed her e3'es in death; and, if all the 
 world had told me, that I should have heen such a 
 monster of iniquity I could not have believed them! 
 
 Loveg. Yes; but then you did not know the de- 
 ceitfulness and wickedness of your sinful heart: you 
 had nothing proposed to you, which was calculated to 
 draw forth its evil propensities into action. 
 
 Chipm. No; nor for some time afterwards could I 
 have believed that I should have turned out so vile a 
 creature. Though so young as I then was, I cannot 
 tell how much I was affected at my mother's death ; 
 and how I wept while I followed her to the grave; 
 and afterwards how glad 1 was to wait on my dear 
 father, who would never marry again because his fa- 
 mily was already too large; and what diligence did 1 
 then show, though so young, to my poor brother and 
 my sickly sister! 
 
 JVor. And what became of your sickly sister? 
 
 Chipm. Sir, from her birth she continued in an ill 
 state of health; grew quite deformed; and, when she 
 was about thirteen years of age, died of a decline. I 
 followed her to the grave, and saw her laid upon my 
 mother's cofHn, who had been buried about twelve 
 years before. — Surely I am the most abominable 
 wretch that ever lived upon the earth. 
 
 Wor. But we wait to hear more of your story: 
 especially that part of it whereby you were led into 
 3'our j)resent unhappy situation of distress. 
 
 Chipm. Oh, sir, the nearer I come to that part of my 
 most vile conduct, the more I feel myself ashamed 
 to relate it. 
 
 Loveg. But the more you are ashamed of 5"our 
 conduct, the better we shall be inclined to assist and 
 relieve you. Tell us the whole without reserve. 
 
 Chipm. Sir, there lived a young man in our town, 
 whose name was Chipman, he was an early scholar 
 of my father; and from his attention and good disposi- 
 25^ 
 
286 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 tion, he much esteemed him. He was by occupa- 
 tion a carpenter and joiner, and having an oppor- 
 tunity to do some business for himself, he again re- 
 turned to my father for some farther instructions in 
 drawing and arithmetic. It was from that time a 
 connexion w^as formed between us. After he was 
 somewhat established in business, he mentioned to 
 my father his attachments and inclinations towards 
 xne; and I also was happy to confess my real af- 
 fection towards him. — 0, how it cuts my heart to 
 tell, how my dear father acted on this occasion! He 
 called me his dearest right hand; I was his dear Je- 
 mima, the name he gave me; his only earthly com- 
 forter, after all his most severe family afflictions; 
 but, however ill he could spare me from his family, 
 yet, as he had no fortune to give me, he would not 
 prevent so good an offer for mj^ future settlement in 
 life ; as Mr. Chipman was a very sober and indus- 
 trious man, and advancing in a good line of business. 
 Soon afterwards we were married. \_She again weeps 
 and then adds,] and I shall never, never forget when 
 my dear father gave me away at the church, after 
 the service, how he embraced and kissed me; then, 
 how he embraced me and my husband both together, 
 entreating him to be tender and affectionate to the 
 best of daughters, and me to be obedient and loving 
 to the very worthy man that was now become my 
 husband ! 
 
 JVor. By what you have hitherto related, if some 
 parts of your conduct may have been highly culpa- 
 ble, yet we rather feel for you as an object of com- 
 miseration than of contempt. But when you have 
 given us a farther narration of those circumstances, 
 which have brought you into this present state of em- 
 barrassment, we'shall be better able to give you our 
 advice. 
 
 Chipm. 0, sir, there never lived a happier pair 
 
DIALOGUE XVI. 287 
 
 than Mr. Chipman and I were. For above eighteen 
 months after our marriage, it seemed to be our whole 
 study to please and oblige each other, and when 1 be- 
 came pregnant, he was doubly attentive to make me 
 the happiest woman upon earth; and how have I re- 
 warded him by my brutal conduct! I have done 
 enough to send the best of husbands with a broken 
 heart to the grave. [*^gain her grief is excessive.] 
 
 Loveg. Let not these exclamations against yourself 
 interrupt your story; we serve the God of patience, 
 and with much patience and forbearance we wish to 
 hear you farther. 
 
 Chipm. About a year and a half after our marriage, 
 that artful vile man. Sir Charles Dash, who has an 
 estate in our parts, though he seldom lives there, be- 
 gan to lay his plans for my ruin. In the midst of his 
 filthy and frothy conversation, I too often gave him a 
 smile when 1 should have treated him with disgust; 
 though for awhile 1 treated all other familiarities with 
 the abhorrence they dese^wed. Mr. Chipman, my 
 husband, now began to get into a considerable way of 
 business in the building line; and was frequently 
 called, at a distance from home, to undertake the alte- 
 rations and repairs of gentlemen's houses in the neigh- 
 bourhood; and, for awhile, 1 could count the hours 
 with anxiety until his return ; until I had the folly to 
 suffer that vile wretch to entangle me in his affections, 
 who took every opportunity to accomplish my ruin, 
 through my husband's necessary long absence from 
 home. 
 
 fVor. But this accidental circumstance must be 
 considei'ed as an alleviation of your crime. 
 
 Chipm. no, sir, for I should have been disgusted 
 at every word he said; and, while I continued for a 
 season to resist his vile designs, he would laugh at 
 my prudish formality, and ask me, how I could con- 
 Lne myself to be the drudge of a carpenter, when I 
 
288 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 had sufficient charms to manage the person and for- 
 tune of the first man of jDleasure in the land? {To 
 Mr. Lovegood.) 0, sir, had I been possessed of the 
 real influence of that religion, which, since then, I 
 have heard you preach, the empty flattery of this vile 
 seducer would never have been my ruin. 
 
 Loveg. Had you, then, no religious impressions to 
 guard your heart against the horrid purposes of this 
 artful man? 
 
 Chipm. 0, sir, I am sorry to say, they were so 
 faint, tiiat 1 knew not how, either to answer his flat- 
 teries or resist his importunities; while on every 
 occasion he would treat the religion of the Bible 
 with the utmost ridicule and contempt. 
 
 Lovep". Then, to the eternal reproach of infidelity, 
 it seems, he ever declared himself to he one of that 
 stamp; and knew that he could never accomplish his 
 vile designs to ruin you and the peace of your family, 
 until he could persuade you that the pure holy reli- 
 gion of the Bible was not worth your minding.* 
 
 * The reading of Sir Charles was entirely limited to the 
 writings of the modern infidels of the day; from them he had 
 collected the following passages, which he would quote with 
 an air of impious triumph: "The God of the philosophers, of 
 the Jews, and the Christians, is nothing more than a chimera 
 and a phantom." He was /ooZ enough to conceive, from ano- 
 ther Atheist, that "the wonders of nature are far from pro- 
 claiming a God, and that they are but the necessary effects 
 of matter prodigiously diversified ;" so that according to these 
 fools, there is infinite wisdom, contrivance, and order in dead 
 matter. In the midst of all his wickedness he would say, 
 "there is no means of knowing, whether there be a God or 
 not] whether there be any difference between good and evil?" 
 and, if God be the author of evil according to Dr. Priestley, 
 Sir Charles's notions ar^ nearly right; and a Socinian and an 
 Atheist are no very distant relations. And Sir Charles was 
 so near a brute, he could not bear the thoughts of life without 
 his body; he would therefore say, that "the immortality of the 
 soul was a dogma of barbarians, gloomy and disheartening." 
 The only two books on divinity, therefore, he ever read or ad- 
 
DIALOGUE XVI. 289 
 
 Chipm. Sir, he was ever telling me, that the in- 
 junctions of a strict adherence to the marriage con- 
 tract, was nothing but an artful design of the priests, 
 and calculated only to restrain our natural passions, 
 which all had a right to indulge as they chose best. 
 
 Loveg. And could you give credit to all this abo- 
 minable and beastly talk ? 
 
 Chipm. Credit to such talk! — 0, no, sir; but in- 
 fatuated by his enchanting promises, and by the 
 splendour of his appearance in life, my ruin was ac- 
 complished. — What could possess me to be so beastly 
 and so vile? (She weeps excessively.) 
 
 Wor. (To Mr. Lovegood.) As this unhappy young 
 woman has told us the substance of her story, it ap- 
 pears to me, that, notwithstanding her indiscretion 
 in an unguarded hour, it is not impracticable to re- 
 store her to her former connexions, and to render her 
 future life a comfort to herself. 
 
 Chipm. Sir, it is utterly impossible. 
 
 War: Why should you say so? 
 
 Chipm. I shall be eternally ashamed again to enter 
 a town, in which I must live the contempt, the ab- 
 horrence, and the disgrace of all who knew me. 
 
 mired, were, Priestley on Necessity, and on Matter and Spirit : 
 the latter book brought things so nearly to his own mind, that 
 there was no existence but that which is material ; that he 
 found one step farther, a denial of the doctrine of the resur- 
 rection would bring them to the same point; that "death is 
 an eternal sleep." He was highly pleased with the philoso- 
 phy which taught, that " virtue and probity in private life is 
 but the habit of actions personally useful;" and he was 
 charmed beyond any thing at the sentiments of Volney, that 
 " personal interest is the only and universal criterion of the 
 merit of human actions;" and as to all chastity, as it respects 
 the marriage contract, he would say, that " modesty in the 
 female sex was but refined voluptuousness, and morals have no- 
 thing to fear from the generous passion of love." SucTi were the 
 adopted sentiments of Sir Charles; no wonder that a man of 
 his vile principles was so vile in every part of his conversation. 
 
290 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 TVor. Yes; but when they see you an humble pe- 
 nitent, the compassions of the people will be excited, 
 and the reproach cast upon your character will, by 
 degrees, wear off. 
 
 Chipm. 0, sir, the cruel way in which I treated 
 that worthy man, to whom I was united, after I be- 
 came connected with Sir Charles, must for ever have 
 done away all his former friendship and love towards 
 me; and then the scandalous manner in which we 
 were, in a measure, driven out of the town, and the 
 disgraceful uproar made throughout the neighbourhood 
 by my vile conduct, shame entirely forbids me to re- 
 late. 0, sir, I am completely ruined, and must for 
 ever be abhorred by all that ever knew me ! But if, 
 by taking in needle work, keeping a school, or by go- 
 ing out to any sort of labour, I can but earn myself a 
 iDorsel of bread, for I was always used to an active life, 
 1 shall most thankfully and willingly submit to it. 
 
 Wot. What, then, do you think it would be of no 
 avail, if your father should be written to, informing 
 him, that your connexion with Sir Charles is now at an 
 end? and might he not be a successful advocate with 
 your husband, when he is given to understand, how 
 grieved you are at your past conduct towards him? 
 
 Chipm. I can have no objection, that my dear fa- 
 ther and husband should be informed how much 
 ashamed I am of my most vile and base conduct to- 
 wards them. [To Mr. Lovegood.) But, dear sir, if 
 I might, I had rather live on bread and water where I 
 am, than again grieve my dear father and husband by 
 my return; or be removed at a distance from your 
 ministry, by which, through the mercy of God, I have 
 been reclaimed from my most abominable ways! 
 
 Wor. Perhaps it will be an encouragement to our 
 worthy minister, if you tell us how your mind was 
 first impressed when you came to Brookfield church? 
 
 Chipm. Sir, I am ashamed to acknowledge, that it 
 
DIALOGUE XVI. 291 
 
 was veiy little more than mere curiosity wliich first 
 induced me and Sir Charles to come to church; for, 
 I confess, that public worship had, before then, been 
 too much neglected by me; and entirely so when I 
 became connected with Sir Charles. 
 
 Loveg. I am afraid, then, that a neglect of public 
 worship was one of the causes of your present mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 Chipm. No, sir, wlien I lived v/ith my father, and 
 even for some time after our marriage, we attended 
 public worship, if not constantly, yet more regularly 
 than most of our neighbours; but, with us, public 
 worship had been brought into very general neglect, 
 for we knew nothing of our non-resident rector, but 
 as he came upon the business of his tithes; and as for 
 his curate, he was much more noticed as being the 
 best sportsman and the cleverest dancer, than for the 
 conscientious discharge of the duties of his office. — 
 0, sir, had we been blessed with such a minister as 1 
 have found in you, I humbly trust, I should not have 
 been given over to such a wicked course! 
 
 JVor. I confess, as you sat at no great distance from 
 our pew, I saw you considerably affected, while Sir 
 Charles appeared not a little irritated and displeased. 
 Chipm. 0, sir, when I first came into Brook field 
 church, I was immediately struck with solemn sur- 
 prise. — It appeared to me, as though I had never been 
 at church before. With us, going to church was no- 
 thing but a matter of form, and the few who attended 
 seemed to have little more to do than to settle the 
 visits for the week; but, as to real devotion, I con- 
 fess, I never knew what it meant, until I came into 
 your church. ! sir, how was I struck to see a coun- 
 try village attended as on a fair day, by people from 
 every quarter, all occupying their accustomed seats, 
 with so much devotion, decency, and order; and, 
 how I was farther struck, when you and your large 
 
292 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 family, and that dear worthy man of God and his fa- 
 mily, followed to complete the most devout and seri- 
 ous congregation I ever beheld with my eyes. 
 
 Wor. But, during the time of divine service, what 
 part of it proved the most impressive upon your mind? 
 
 Chipm. 0, sir, when that awful sentence from the 
 second lesson was read against me, with so much so- 
 lemnity, "Marriage is honourable in all, and the bed 
 undefiled; but whoremongers and adulterers God 
 will judge;" — what I then felt I cannot express; and 
 it is impossible to tell with what an indignant and 
 contemptuous sneer I was treated by Sir Charles, im- 
 mediately as he perceived my confusion and remorse. 
 
 Wor. No wonder, that a man of his vile character 
 should treat you as he did, under such circumstances. 
 But was there nothing in the sermon that particularly 
 impressed your mind? for, I think, on that Sunday, 
 our minister, though not knowing your character, 
 was most providentiall}^ led to the choice of a text 
 which was remarkably striking, as being so imme- 
 diately applicable to your unhappy situation. I think 
 the words were these: "Can a woman forget her 
 sucking child, that she should not have compassion 
 on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet I 
 will not forget thee." 
 
 Chipm. Sir, immediately as the text was men- 
 tioned, I was so remarkably struck, that, for awhile, 
 in the midst of my confusion, all my recollection 
 failed me; and as soon as I was a little recovered, I 
 heard Sir Charles muttering in my ear the most cruel 
 taunts and blasphemous invectives, for my weakness 
 and superstition, as he called it. [To Mr. Lovegood.) 
 But, sir, was it possible for me not to feel, hard- 
 hearted wretch as I have been, when you gave such 
 a character of the monster who could forsake her 
 sucking child, and when that very monster was then 
 before you. (Mrs. Chipman weeps.) 
 
DIALOGUE XVI. 293' 
 
 Lovcg. We esteem all your tears and sorrows as a 
 matter of thankfulness before God: while we trust, what 
 you are now led to feel of the evil and bitter conse- 
 quences of sin, will prove to your eternal good. But, 
 if Sir Charles behaved so cruelly towards you, even 
 when in the church, I should suppose, when you re- 
 tired home to your lodgings, his conduct must have 
 been more abundantly cruel and severe. 
 
 Chipm. 0, sir, it is impossible I could meet with 
 more than I deserved: it was fit that I should reap 
 the fruits of my own misconduct. How could I ex- 
 pect to be served better by him, when I consider 
 how I had served my husband, my babe, my father, 
 and my God! But, after we left the church, he first 
 began more in the way of flattery than abuse; won- 
 dering that 1 was not more upon my guard than to 
 be overcome, as he called it, by the cant of a wdiining 
 and an artful priest: and that, though I had been ex- 
 posing him and myself, by sufTering my passions to 
 be overcome, by my superstitious reverence for re- 
 ligion, yet that he was still inclined to make me a 
 happy woman, provided I would but follow tlic dic- 
 tates of reason and nature, which allowed and directed 
 every one to be happy in the way that ihey liked best. 
 0, sir, I am ashamed farther to tell you with what 
 blasphemous contempt he spoke against the Christian 
 religion; and, with what ridicule your character was 
 treated by him, on account of those faithful admoni- 
 tions which brought home to my heart a conviction 
 of my evil ways. 
 
 Loveg. But, 1 suppose, he soon discontinued his 
 flattery, when he perceived that it was of no avail? 
 
 Chipm. Sir, 1 was so affected, that I fell dov/n upon 
 my knees; beseeching him to show compassion to a 
 ruined and most afflicted wretch, who dared not any- 
 longer continue a conduct so disgraceful and abomi- 
 nable before God and man. Directly he spurned me 
 VOL. I. — 26 
 
294 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 from him; swore at me in the profanest manner; 
 treated me in terms the most vulgar and cruel; then 
 called for the servant that waited on us, crying, " See 
 what this religion has done for this superstitious fool: 
 1 shall go and take lodgings for three days at Maple- 
 ton, and if in that time, she gets rid of her religious 
 qualms, she may write a line and send it up to the 
 George; but, if not, 1 shall leave her to her own su- 
 perstitious folly: such whining hypocrites will never 
 do for me." 
 
 Loveg. After this, I suppose you saw nothing of 
 Sir Charles? 
 
 Chipm. Yes, sir, he came the third day down to 
 our lodgings, and at the sight of him I quite fainted 
 away; and thus he has left me the most disconsolate 
 creature that ever lived on the earth. 
 
 JVor. Well, at all events, your father shall be 
 written to; it will be highly proper that the good 
 man should know of these circumstances. (To Mr. 
 Lovegood.) Will you undertake the office? 
 
 Loveg. With all my heart, sir, as I do not know 
 that the young woman can give us any farther infor- 
 mation. With your leave, I will retire and write di- 
 rectly, and bring it to your house to-morrow, to see 
 if it meets with your approbation. 
 
 Wor. Well, sir, then 1 will walk home and expect 
 to see you to-morrow morning. {To Edward.) But, 
 Edward, you must not let this poor unfortunate crea- 
 ture want; I shall be answerable for all expenses un- 
 til these matters are settled. 
 
 Edw. Poor thing! she does not put us to much ex- 
 pense: the grief of mind she suffers, almost prevents 
 her from taking any food. If your honour pleases, 
 I shall be very glad to give her all she wants. 
 
 Chipm. 0, what tenderness to such a wretch! this 
 is Christianity indeed! 0, that I had known more 
 of such Christianity before I had known that wretched 
 man! 
 
DIALOGUE XVI. 295 
 
 Wor. But, Mr. Lovegood, on an occasion like this, 
 1 suppose you will not let us part without offering up 
 a prayer. 
 
 [Mr. Lovegood immediately acquiesces, and the 
 following prayer is offered up: 
 
 thou God of infinite compassion! we, thy most 
 vile and sinful creatures, approach the throne of thy 
 grace, trusting alone in that mercy of thine, pro- 
 cured even for the chief of sinners, through the re- 
 demption that is in Christ Jesus our Lord ! We have 
 all sinned against heaven and before thee; and, in- 
 stead of being worthy to be numbered among thy 
 children, we humbly acknowledge how justly we 
 might have been given over to suffer the penalties of 
 eternal death: but blessed be God that we have been 
 brought upon our knees in thy sight, that each may 
 cry for himself, <'God be merciful to me a sinner!" 
 Yea, and blessed, for ever blessed be God, that we are 
 seeking mercy through his atonement, who is «able 
 to save, to the uttermost, them that come to God 
 through him!" And 0, most holy Redeemer, thou 
 hast "loved us and given thyself for us;" thy most 
 precious blood is of infinite value for our redemption ! 
 thou hast "put away sin by the sacrifice of thyself!" 
 and, thou hast given us the word of thy promise, that 
 "whosoever cometh unto thee, thou wilt in no wise 
 cast out:" and, now with weeping eyes and broken 
 hearts, we humbly cry. Save, Lord, save us for 
 thy mercies' sake. And in an especial manner be- 
 hold the poor contrite sinner before thee; till now 
 ignorant of thee; ignorant of the deceitfulness and 
 desperate wickedness of her own heart! We lament, 
 how awfully she has been seduced, and misled by the 
 vile treachery of others, and by the corruptions of her 
 Qwn nature, But^ lo ! the poor penitent now humbles 
 
296 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 herself before thee, and cries, "Behold, lam vile!'^ 
 And while she thus repents and abhors herself in dust 
 and ashes, as in thy sight, 0, thou most tender wit- 
 ness of the weepings and wailings of her broken and 
 contrite spirit, fulfil thy protiiise; let thy free for- 
 giving love be her portion, and mercifully prevent 
 her from being overwhelmed by the miseries and 
 sorrows of her own mind! Heal the deep wounds 
 which have been made on her heart, by the hateful 
 and deceitful consequences of sin I restore her by thy 
 blessed Spirit; imprint thy dear image upon her, and 
 bid her go and sin no more. Let thy most merciful 
 pity be vouchsafed to her disconsolate husband and 
 afflicted parent! that her unhappy departure from 
 thee, might be made the providential event in th}^ 
 wise hands, of bringing them near to thy blessed self; 
 that all of them, being united to thee, may feel the 
 restoration of that endearing union towards each 
 other, which is the happy privilege of all those who 
 have been blessed with thy love, and tasted of thy 
 salvation. Grant this, most merciful Father, alone 
 for thy Son's sake, our most gracious Mediator, and 
 compassionate Redeemer.] 
 
 [After this prayer, Mrs. Chipman being very much 
 affected, departed with Edward to the Golden Lion; 
 Mr. Lovegood retired to his study to write to Mr. 
 Reader, and Mr. Worthy went home to Broqkfield 
 Hall.] 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 
 
 MR. WORTHY AND MR. LOVEGOOD. 
 
 THE STORY OF MRS. CHIPMAN CONTINUED. 
 
 The day following Mr. Lovegood waited on Mr. 
 Worthy with the letter designed for Mr. Reader; 
 this, having met with his approbation, was immedi- 
 ately sent by the post to the disconsolate parent of 
 the unhappy Mrs. Chipman. A copy of which I 
 have next to present the reader. 
 
 " Sir, 
 "Though I truly sympathize with you in the loss 
 you must have sustained, by the unhappy elopement 
 of your daugliter from her husband; yet, I can bless 
 our most merciful God, that I have it in my power 
 to relate to you a circumstance which, I trust, will 
 be a considerable alleviation of your distress. Sir 
 Charles Dash, the gentleman by whom your daugh- 
 ter was most cruelly seduced, thought proper to rest 
 a few days in the pleasant vale, in which our village 
 is situated, in his way to Newmarket. During his 
 stay here, I fear no better principle than mere curi- 
 osity led him to the church. In the progress of my 
 duty, being minister of the parish, that chapter was 
 read in which are these words, " Whoremongers and 
 adulterers God will judge;" and, in the course of 
 my sermon, without knowing any thing of the cha- 
 racters who attended, I made some observations, 
 which have been so impressed upon her mind, as 
 to produce;, I humbly trust, that "repentance which 
 will never be repented of." After being thus con* 
 26* 
 
298 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 vinced of her evil conduct, she presently became 
 the object of perfect hatred to the man by whom she 
 had been so treacherously misled; and he has now 
 most unmercifully left her a stranger, in a strange 
 country, without a shilling for her subsistence: such 
 have been the effects of his brutal love, and such the 
 unhappy state to which your daughter has beem re- 
 duced thereby. One alleviation, however, of her 
 sufferings is, that she is in the hands of those, who, 
 having obtained mercy from God our Saviour them- 
 selves, love to manifest the same to others. A most 
 respectable gentleman, of an ample fortune and a 
 liberal mind, has, for the present, engaged to supply 
 her wants, and has employed me to enter into this 
 correspondence with you, that we may know how 
 far it will be practicable again to restore her to her 
 family connexions. She has already communicated 
 to us the principal circumstance of her former situa- 
 tion in life; and, while justice demands it of me, I 
 am happy to observe, that it is impossible for any 
 one to discover greater tenderness of mind or deeper 
 contrition of spirit. She cannot speak of you, dear 
 sir, but a flood of tears immediately bursts from her 
 eyes, while she execrates her vile ingratitude to the 
 best of parents, and a parent also, whose family af- 
 flictions have been so severe. The like character 
 she also gives of her affectionate and attentive hus- 
 band, and has not language to express how she ab- 
 hors herself for grieving the heart of one so worthy 
 of her affections, for the sake of another in every 
 point of view so worthless and so vile. Being my- 
 self both a husband and a father, I know what I 
 must have felt, had it been my unhappy lot to have 
 met with such an afflictive dispensation in my fami- 
 ly; it is, therefore, with the greater tenderness, that 
 I can sympathize with you. But, dear sir, may I 
 hope and trust, that it will not be in vain to request 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 299 
 
 you to bestow forgiveness on your once most obedi- 
 ent, though afterwards ungrateful, yet now, truly pe- 
 nitent and afflicted daughter; whose heart is so se- 
 verely broken, that it truly breaks our hearts to be- 
 hold her daily and nightly grief: and, indeed, she is 
 so completely overwhelmed with shame and remorse 
 for her sins, before God and man, that it is a question 
 with us, if she can long survive the sorrows of her 
 own mind. For the sake, therefore, of that blessed 
 Saviour, whose mercies are so free to the vilest of 
 our penitent race, pass by those unguarded hours of 
 your daughter's life; let the principal blame rest 
 upon the head of the vile seducer, and restore to your 
 recollection what she was in her chaster days, when 
 it was the joy of her heart to show the most filial 
 obedience, and afiectionate attention to a parent she 
 still so dearly loves, and so highly reveres. I confess, 
 I find it is to me a much greater difficulty to decide, 
 how far it becomes me to be her advocate with her 
 husband as well as with her father. She confesses 
 the bond of her marriage connexion is dissolved; and 
 she humbly acknowledges, that were she doomed to 
 spend the residue of her days in a state of the most 
 pensive widowhood, it would be the least punish- 
 ment she deserves; nor can she ever suppose herself 
 again worthy to embrace her dear child, which she 
 unnaturally left when it still needed the fostering 
 care of a mother's arms. 
 
 "Under these considerations I determined, that it 
 might be the most prudent step not to correspond 
 with her husband, but with her father, on this most 
 unhappy event; and to leave you to converse with 
 your son-in-law, and then to transmit your answer 
 to this address. 1 have already mentioned, that al- 
 most every circumstance, relative to this unhappy 
 affair, has been communicated to us by her; but an 
 event, about a public disturbance, which, she says, 
 
300 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 originated in her misconduct, and, on account of 
 which, she conceives she will be for ever forbidden 
 to make her appearance any more in your neighbour- 
 hood, she has not fully explained. If you think it 
 proper, confidentially, to relate the particulars of that 
 event, you may depend upon it, the only advantage 
 I shall take of it will be to exert myself still farther 
 to assist and console, by every effort in my power, a 
 poor unfortunate young woman, originally dear to 
 you, by the purity and simplicity of her affectionate 
 obedience, and now not less dear to me, as an humble 
 penitent won to God our Saviour by the ministry of 
 "Your unknown friend, 
 
 and servant, for Christ's sake, 
 
 Lower Brookfield, ,^ x , , 
 
 near Mapleton. BeNJAMIN LoVEGOOD. 
 
 About a fortnight after the above letter was sent, 
 Mr. Reader returned the following answer: 
 
 "Rev. Sir, 
 *' I conceive myself unutterably obliged to you, 
 for your very great kindness and attention manifested 
 towards my unfortunate daughter. No doubt, but 
 you find yourself sufficient!}^ repaid by the approba- 
 tion of your own mind, for the great goodness you 
 have testified on this occasion, while you have still 
 to look forward to a future day, in which you will 
 receive a full reward at the hands of the Almighty 
 for that uprightness of heart you have manifested 
 towards one, that I thought might have been suffi- 
 ciently guarded from such evils, by the virtuous 
 principles, which, from her childhood, I conceived 
 it my duty to impress upon her mind. Amidst 
 the deep grief I have sustained at the revolt of my 
 dear child, from the paths of virtue and morality, I 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 
 
 301 
 
 am happy she is now convinced of her error; and 
 sincerely pray, that she may abide by the good re- 
 solutions she has been able to re-assume. 1 at once 
 submit, kind sir, to the requisition you make on my 
 daughter's behalf. Assure her, therefore, that I 
 freely forgive her, and shall again receive her, with- 
 out the most distant token of my displeasure, as I 
 trust her repentance has proved a sufiicient atonement 
 for her crimes: and, indeed, her former good con- 
 duct, before she was seduced by that wicked man, 
 ever gave me such evident demonstration of the na- 
 tural goodness of her heart, that it were highly un- 
 charitable, not to suppose that her repentance is 
 sincere; these unhappy days of her folly and indis- 
 cretion, I shall therefore bury in eternal oblivion. 
 Assure her, therefore, I shall be much grieved and 
 affected, if the unhappy fracas, which, she says, she 
 is ashamed to relate, should prevent her from ac- 
 cepting this, my affectionate invitation for her return; 
 and, as you wish to understand that circumstance, 1 
 am free to relate it. My worthy son-in-law, a man 
 of most excellent natural inclinations, who had un- 
 fortunately too much proof of the evil propensities 
 of my daughter, from her uncivil and unkind beha^ 
 viour, by first thwarting him upon all occasions, and 
 then embracing every opportunity to receive the ad- 
 dresses of Sir Charles, had soon too much reason to 
 suspect his vile intent. He therefore for once feigned 
 a necessary absence from home on his business, and 
 returned at an unexpected hour. By this stratagem, 
 he detected that wicked man in his abominable de- 
 signs: and not having sufficient property to avenge 
 himself in course of law, can you wonder, sir, if Mr. 
 Chipman should have exceeded the rules of modera- 
 tion in the revenge he was excited to take against 
 the man, from whom he had received such cruel in- 
 juries? Armed with horse-^whips, he and one of his 
 
302 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 men, by force entered the chamber, where they dis- 
 covered m}^ daughter and this libidinous wretch: 
 thus armed, they gave him one of the severest flageU 
 lations man could well receive. But could it be se- 
 verer than such a brutal and treacherous conduct de- 
 served at his hands? Being thus driven out of the 
 house, he was followed with no less severity through 
 the town. He was thrown into the kennel by a mob 
 of children in the streets, while the people at large 
 eagerly testified their approbation of Mr.'Chipman's 
 metiiod, if not of legal, yet of laudable revenge, in 
 their general outcry against a man so deservedly 
 detested, as the destroyer of the peace of one of the 
 most happy families in the town. At length, how- 
 ever. Sir Charles, with great difficulty got to his 
 lodgings; soon afterwards he was followed thither by 
 my daughter; they both made an early elopement 
 together the next morning, and, after that, what be- 
 came of them was a matter entirely unknown to us 
 until your letter was received. 
 
 "As, with much delicacy, you ask my advice, 
 how far it may be practicable to attempt a reconci- 
 liation between my daughter and her husband; so 1 
 find as much difficulty in giving my advice. You 
 say, my daughter is so true a penitent, and is now 
 so deeply affected at her past offences, that you have 
 your fears, whether she can survive her grief; and it 
 hiuch concern^ me to observe, that the revival of 
 her affection to her husband, must be attended with 
 additional grief to her mind, when she is informed, 
 that Mr. Chipman has been so deeply affected at this 
 unhappy event, that he sunk under melancholy and 
 dejection of spirit. This brought on a bilious fever, 
 which, for several days, we thought would have 
 terminated in his death: and, though he is reco- 
 vered from the most dangerous crisis of the disease, 
 yet, f fear, the effects of it he will not long survive. 
 
DIALOGUE XVll. 303 
 
 lie has no spirits left; his business he totally neg- 
 lects; and, whenever he thinks of my dauo;hter, or 
 beholds the dear little infant she has cruelly left be- 
 hind, he is again overwhelmed with grief and floods 
 of tears; and though I and Mr. Fribble, the curate of 
 our town, do all we can to divert him by reading 
 the news, or by an innocent game at cards, 1 fear, 
 that detestable seducer will be the death of one who, 
 I believe, was naturall}^ as good-hearted as most that 
 are to be met with in the present day. 
 
 "Think, kind sir, what a painful task it was to 
 me, to read your letter to my son-in-law-, in a state 
 so debilitated and weak; and, though 1 did it with 
 all possible tenderness and attention to his feeling 
 mind, yet it opened the sluices of his affection be- 
 yond what I can possibly express, and it was with 
 much difficulty, that at length, he cried, <Tell 
 my wife, I freely forgive her; but, though a dying 
 man, how can I forgive the wretch, who has destroyed 
 the peace of my mind, and torn my darling from 
 my bosom !' 
 
 "I leave it with you, sir, to break these painful 
 circumstances to my unfortunate daughter as you 
 may judge best. So far as her conduct has been a 
 grief and injury to me, again I repeat it, I freely 
 forgive her from the bottom of my heart; but, from 
 the declining state of her husband's health, I have 
 deferred writing for above a week. I fear he will 
 soon forget all his sorrows, in being speedily laid in 
 the silent grave. He is, how^ever, a man naturally 
 of a very good mind, and is now endeavouring to 
 fortify himself against that solemn event, by making 
 his peace with God, according to the best of his abili- 
 ty and knowledge. I am, Rev. Sir, with many thanks, 
 for your great kindness and attention to my daughter, 
 "Your most obedient humble servant, 
 LocksburyjMay 15^ James Reader/' 
 
304 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Immediately upon the reception of the above let- 
 ter, Mr. Lovegood consulted Mr. Worthy how they 
 had best act upon it. They not only had to lament 
 the strange dark conceptions of Mr. Reader's mind, 
 as it respected his knowledge of the Gospel, though 
 in himself a well-intentioned man, but were very 
 apprehensive of the effects it must have on Mrs. 
 Chipman's feelings. They were both, however, of 
 the same judgment, that the contents of the letter 
 could not be kept back from her, whatever painful 
 sensations might be created thereby. 
 
 They conceived also that a second interview simi- 
 lar to the former, would be more painful to her feel- 
 ings, under this new circumstance of the dying situ- 
 ation of her husband. It was at length judged best 
 that Mr. Lovegood should send her father's letter, 
 for private perusal, together with another letter 
 from himself, preparing her for its trying contents. 
 This he wrote with much tenderness and discretion, 
 begging her to prepare her mind, by prayer and 
 resignation to God, to say on this event, "Thy will 
 be done." 
 
 Edward was accordingly sent for and directed 
 how to act, and afterwards to inform Mr. Lovegood 
 and Mr. Worthy of the result. Edward wishing to 
 have some one else in his house, on this occasion, 
 requested Henry Littleworth would be there; who, 
 though once such a profane and dissipated rake, was 
 now the admiration of the neighbourhood, for the 
 wisdom, and goodness, and purity of his life. He, 
 with his sister Nancy, came down, therefore, from 
 Gracehill Farm, that they might be there while 
 Mr. Reader's letter was laid before his daughter: 
 and, as the case of Mrs. Chipman was in some 
 measure his own, he would naturally enter into her 
 feelings with much tenderness and sympathy of 
 mind. The consequences of this interview will no^ 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 305 
 
 be presented to the reader, in the conversation which 
 took place at Mr. Lovegood's, where Henry and 
 Edward went to report the result of this event. 
 
 Edw. Sir, Mr. Henry Littleworth and I are come 
 to tell you how Mrs. Chipman received the letter. 
 
 Loveg. Well, and how did the poor creature bear 
 it? 
 
 Edw. Why, sir, at first, as you directed me, I 
 gave her your letter. While she attempted to read it 
 she wiped her eyes several times, admiring your 
 tenderness to such a wretch, as she always calls her- 
 self. She then said, By the latter end of Mr. Love- 
 good's letter, I find you have another letter from 
 my father; and, when I gave it her, she trembled 
 like an aspen leaf. I then begged her to go up 
 stairs and read it by herself. She had not been long 
 there, before we heard her scream violently; my 
 wife and 1 ran up, and found her in strong hyste- 
 rics. 
 
 Loveg. I was afraid the letter would be too much 
 for her. Her affections having been withdrawn from 
 the worthless fellow who seduced her, since the bless- 
 ed change, which, I trust, has really taken place upon 
 her mind, it is no wonder, that they are strongly 
 restored to their proper object: and ihe thoughts of 
 his death by her misconduct, I know must be like a 
 dagger to her heart. — But how long did she con- 
 tinue in that state? 
 
 Edio. I believe, sir, it was full half an hour. We 
 desired Mr. Henry and his sister would walk up, 
 while my wife went down to bring something for her 
 refreshment, and when she seemed a little recovered, 
 Mr. Henry went to prayer with her. 
 
 Loveg. (To Henry.) Well, and how did her mind 
 seem after prayer? 
 VOL. I.— 27 
 
306 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Hen. 0, sir, she sat the picture of misery and 
 grief; calling herself, monster, murderer, wretch, 
 and the vilest sinner out of hell. Then I began to 
 tell her, that she could not be worse than 1 was in 
 my thoughtless days; but there was a precious word 
 of promise given for me and for her: "This is a faiths 
 ful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus 
 Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I 
 am the chief." "No,"shedirectly cried,"! am chief, 
 and I shall have the murder of my dear husband soon 
 to answer for before the bar of God. 0, how I ab- 
 hor myself, how ashamed am I of this most polluted 
 soul, and, if possible, still more polluted body before 
 God." Thus she went on exclaiming against her- 
 self. 0, sir, what misery and mischief has sin brought 
 into the world, and what a mercy, that God ever 
 stopped me in my mad ways! 
 
 Love"-. Yes, Mr. Henry, none of us can be suffi- 
 ciently thankful for the power of that divine grace, 
 which saves from a thousand evils. But could you 
 discover from Mrs. Chipman's conversation, what 
 were her future. designs? 
 
 Ediv. Sir, she could hold no conversation with us 
 whatever. 1 am afraid she will lose her senses, or 
 her life. 
 
 Loveg. Let us hope for the best, Edward. We 
 cannot be surprised at the strength of her feelings on 
 receiving such tidings respecting her poor husband; 
 the grace of God always restores tenderness to the 
 mind. But this, for the present, makes it a more 
 melancholy event; as almost whatsoever is said to 
 her, can have no other tendency than to add to her 
 grief; and, how to advise her, as to the steps she 
 should take under present circumstances, is a rnost 
 difficult task. Were she to accept of her father's in- 
 vitation and return home, the sight of her dying 
 husband might bo the cause of her death also; for 
 thousands of people have been killed by grief. 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 307 
 
 Hen. 0, sir, when it first pleased God to awaken 
 me to a sense of my sins, nothing so affected me as 
 the thought, that my vile conduct might have sent 
 my dear parents with broken hearts to the grave. 
 
 Edw. But, sir, if you could come to our house, 
 and say something, by way of comforting the poor 
 creature, we should esteem it a great kindness. We 
 really do not know what to do with her, and she 
 pays great attention to what you say. Till the let- 
 ter came, about her husband's illness, she began now 
 and then to look a little cheerful; she took a deal of 
 notice of what you said yesterday was se'nnight in 
 your sermon, as how God could overrule the wicked 
 purposes of mankind to bring about the eternal good 
 of themselves and others: though sin was not the less 
 abominable on that account. 1 daresay, sir, you re- 
 member what you said about Onesimus, who was 
 permitted to rob and then run away from his master, 
 that he might be brought to the knowledge of the 
 truth. She seemed to take a deal of notice of that 
 observation, 
 
 Loveg. Well, Edward, if it be your wish, I shall 
 have no objection. I have an hour to spare, and will 
 go with you directly. 
 
 [Mr. Lovegood, Henry, and Edward, walk to the 
 Golden Lion. On the road Edward observes:] 
 
 Edw. Sir, I believe, I must lay aside public-house 
 keeping. My wife and 1 think out of our little farm, 
 (you know our squire is very moderate in his rents,) 
 and by making a little malt, we can keep ourselves 
 very well, especially since we buried our last poor 
 little girl; we have but three children now left. 
 
 Loveg. no, Edward, by no means; for, as soon 
 as you give over, some ope else will be starting up, 
 especially as the turnpike road lies through our 
 village, and then it is probable, that nothing but riot 
 and drunkenness will be brought into our parish 
 and one public-house is quite enough for this place. 
 
308 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 EdiD. Why, sir, did you not hear, what a riot we 
 were likely to have had at our house, last Tuesday 
 evening, from a set of drovers that came along this 
 way? 
 
 Loveg. No, not I. — 1 never hear of riots at your 
 house. 
 
 Edw. Why, sir, after I had put their beasts into the 
 field, they came into the house, and began cursing 
 and swearing; and as I thought it might answer best 
 to speak to them with as much good temper as I 
 could, as generally that goes farthest with such sort 
 of people, I told them, that ours was a very regular 
 house; and that for the sake of good order, I thought 
 it best, that we should all swear by turns, and that 
 it was my turn to swear next; and thus we should 
 all prove, one by one, where was the good of it, and 
 what advantage comes by it; therefore, for the sake 
 of good manners, I begged they would stop till after 
 they had heard me swear. One of them having cast 
 his eyes on what I had painted in large letters over 
 the mantel-piece, swear not at all, directly said, 
 with a great oath, that he should burst if he was 
 kept from swearing at that rate. I then told them, 
 I would do any thing in reason to oblige them, if 
 they would but oblige me; and that made them quiet 
 for awhile. 
 
 Loveg. Well, if that was the case, your end was 
 answered, and who knows what may be the future 
 good effects of such a testimony against their pro- 
 fane conversation. 
 
 Edio. But, sir, it did not end here; for, it seems, 
 they had been la^^ing wagers as they came along 
 the road, and they had engaged to spend it in drink 
 before they went to bed: and when I told them 
 they could have no more liquor in my house than 
 what was really good for them; for I had not suf- 
 fered a person to get drunk within my doors for 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 309 
 
 above these seven years; immediately they began 
 cursing and swearing at me, and abusing my d — d 
 religion, as they called it, in the most outrageous 
 manner. 1 directly told them, if they did not be- 
 have quietly I should go to the gentleman^ who was 
 my landlord and a justice of peace, and who would 
 allow none of these doings in our village, and that he 
 would make them pay for every oath they swore. 
 They then began to be so noisy, that I thought I ac- 
 tually should be obliged to send to the 'squire for a 
 warrant; but, at last, after I had promised them a 
 pint of beer before supper, and two pints after supper, 
 as it had been a very hot day, provided they did not 
 swear over it, they became pretty orderly, and one 
 of them suffered me to talk to him very seriously; 
 and I gave him some of the religious tracts our 'squire 
 wished me to put into the hands of travellers who 
 come our road. 
 
 Loveg. This is no proof that you should give up 
 your public house; but just the contrary; for had 
 they gone but two miles farther, to Mapleton, there, 
 I fear, they might have made themselves wicked 
 enough; at least they were restrained for awhile; and 
 now they have heard something they may remember 
 another day. Besides, I am told, that a great many 
 decent sober travellers have lately found their way 
 to your house, for the sake of the quiet and orderly 
 accommodations they find there; and where are the 
 people to go to on a Sunday if you shut up your 
 public house? I am persuaded you are as much in 
 the way of duty in your public house as I am when 
 in the pulpit; and I am sure, your excellent landlord, 
 Mr. Worthy, is of the same opinion. He will never 
 suffer you to pull down your Golden Lion, for a few 
 rubs of this sort. 
 
 EdiD. But, sir, had some of my sober customers 
 27* 
 
310 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 happened to have been there: how I should have been 
 ashamed of myself ! 
 
 Loveg. Ashamed of yourself — for what? I am sure, 
 they would never have thought the worse of you, or 
 religion, on that account; besides, I think I can give 
 you a remedy for this evil, at a very small expense; 
 wait a few days, and see if I cannot. 
 
 [The Golden Lion is a little snug clean place situ- 
 ^ed on the brook from whence the village takes its 
 name; it had a nice old-fashioned porch before the 
 door. Mr. Worthy immediately contrived a plan to 
 adorn the brook with some weeping willows, and the 
 front of this porch in a captivating tasty style, though 
 consistent with its original simplicity, making it still 
 more like a neat summer-house, by sending his gar- 
 dener to plant some honey-suckles and flowering 
 shrubs about the porch, and on the little green before 
 the door. On a tablet on the front of the porch thus 
 adorned, the following lines were soon afterwards 
 painted : 
 
 Let the kind trav'Uer of a friendly mind 
 Step in, and all he wants he here shall find; 
 A grateful welcome and a wholesome bed, 
 A peaceful pillow for a sober head. 
 
 While moderation makes the mild request, 
 He has whate'er he needs before his rest; 
 The hostess waits with an attentive hand, 
 To serve with cheerfulness at his command. 
 
 'Tis here the constant law of kindness reigns; 
 Her rightful sceptre here she well maintains ; 
 No sons of midnight riot dare molest 
 The sweet repose the weary find in rest. 
 
 'Tis here tranquillity and peace combine, 
 To shed their grateful influence all divine; 
 Here Love has fix'd her constant fond abode 
 For all who love themselves, and love their God. 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 311 
 
 Thus adorned by the elegant taste of Mr. Worthy, 
 and the poetic genius of Mr. Lovegood, stands the 
 Golden Lion in the parish of Lower Brookfield, 
 situate in a vale which exhibits the most enchanting 
 scenery the eye of man can well behold. While it 
 beautifully opens itself to the south, it is screened 
 from the northern blast by a chain of rocky hills, the 
 most magnificent and wild. Here the meandering 
 stream, which afterwards runs through the village, 
 and adorns the pleasure grounds of Brookfield-hall, 
 finds its retired channel under a ridge of those rocks, 
 which in many places project in fine bold perpendi- 
 cular forms, and which being covered with an abun- 
 dance of stately trees, the growth of ages, projecting 
 forward in different points of view, exhibit to your 
 imagination the ruins of such ancient castles, as might, 
 in former ages, have filled the world with astonish- 
 ment and surprise. 
 
 This part of the scenery has been in possession of 
 the family of the Worthys for many generations. 
 Other parts of the same landscape belonging to Lord 
 Rakijih are not less enchanting, if less romantic; all 
 of them fine rising hills, beautifully broken and richly 
 picturesque. Nearly on the summit of one of them 
 stands the village of Upper Brookfield, while a vari- 
 ety of cottages are found to rest on difl'erent broken 
 brows, adding a pleasing vivacity to the neighbour- 
 hood at large. 
 
 It is, however, to be lamented, that this part of the 
 scenery has, in a measure, been deprived of a share 
 of its original beauties: through the extravagance of 
 Lord Rakish, created by a life of dissipation, many a 
 fine wide-spreading oak has been felled to the ground. 
 Not so the estates belonging to the family of the 
 Worthys. Throughout several generations, every 
 tree is sure to stand, but as it is cut down for neces- 
 sary repairs, and its successors are provided for gene- 
 
312 
 
 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 rations yet to come. Durable as the everlasting hills 
 and mountains which surround them, may the family 
 long survive, while it is of little consequence what 
 becomes of the family of such worthless lords, whose 
 boasted ancestors were, perhaps, only the sycophants 
 of some corrupted court, and whose conduct is of no 
 better tendency than to spread contagion in the vici- 
 nage wherein they live. 
 
 Which of my readers, whoever he may be, after 
 such a description of the situation of the Golden Lion, 
 and its honest occupier, will not thank me whenever 
 he may travel that road, if I recommend him there 
 to seek his necessary accommodations? There he 
 will find a host truly pious; a hostess neatly indus- 
 trious and attentive; a clean-scoured table, not co- 
 vered with damask linen, but with a cloth delicately 
 white; a plain, but plentiful repast, neatly served up; 
 and every other accommodation at a reasonable rate, 
 that any man of tranquillity and moderation, and 
 blessed with the fear of God, would wish to enjoy. 
 By this design at the entrance of the porch, no such 
 unwelcome visitants, as before mentioned, now pre- 
 sume to interrupt the guests, nor is any thing farther 
 heard after the door is closed at the evening of the 
 day, but the still voice of reading the Bible and Fa- 
 mily Prayer in a back parlour; while none of the 
 customers are prohibited from enjoying the same 
 privilege with the family, (if they request it,) which 
 they enjoy among themselves. But the reader's at- 
 tention shall no longer be interrupted from Mrs. 
 Chipman's narrative. The conversation, started by 
 Edward, was scarcely concluded when they reached 
 the Golden Lion.] 
 
 Edw. (To his wife, called Prudence. J Well, Pru- 
 dence, how is Mrs. Chipman? 
 
 Prud. I think, she seems a little more composed, 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 313 
 
 though she is very low. (To Mr. Love good.) Your 
 servant, sir, she will be very glad to see you; she 
 often talks about you. 
 
 Loveg. I should be happy to do her any service, 
 poor thing, but her situation is so truly perplexing, 
 that I know not how to deal with her; it appears to 
 me as though her life almost depended on every word 
 that is said to her. Is she up stairs ? 
 
 Prud. If you please, sir, Pll call her down, as the 
 house is free from company. 
 
 [She comes down, faint, trembling, and very hys- 
 terical] After awhile, Mr. Lovegood takes her by 
 the hand, and said, My friend, pray for submission 
 and resignation to the will of God. 
 
 Chipm. Of sir, how can you call a murderer your 
 friend ? 
 
 Loveg. When you made that unhappy step, you 
 by no means intentionally designed to be a murderer. 
 
 Chipm. But had I thought at all, what could I have 
 expected otherwise? What a wretch have I been to 
 break the heart of such a man; I deserve to be hated 
 by all who know me. 
 
 Loveg. Yes; 1 admit that your thoughtless mo- 
 ments were the cause of all your present calamities: 
 and then pride and passion, doubtless, prevailed, and 
 rendered you inconsiderate: and no wonder that, 
 when given over to such guides, that such conse- 
 quences followed. But admitting the charge against 
 yourself, even murderers are not beyond the reach 
 of divine mercy. How justly might you have been 
 given over to insensibility and hardness of heart; but 
 now you are brought to your recollection, you feel 
 your folly. 
 
 Chipm. Yes, sir, and a thousand times worse than 
 folly. 0, how it cuts my heart to think what my 
 dear husband's feelings must have been before I could 
 have brought him to such a state. What would I 
 
514 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 give to restore him from the grave, if he should never 
 love me any more! What shall I do; how shall I 
 act? Dear sir; shall I go directly to him? If it 
 were in my power to walk on foot, every step of the 
 way, how gladly would 1 take the journey; if each 
 step would but bring me nearer to heal the heart of 
 that worthy man, who is now dying through my 
 most vile and ungrateful conduct. 
 
 [She is again extremely affected, while all present 
 join to mingle the tear of sympathetic grief with hers; 
 then she adds:] 
 
 Chipm. But what is become of my dear child ? I 
 hear nothing of him, that innocent miserable orphan, 
 that has, perhaps, by now lost its affectionate father, 
 while it has been forsaken by its brutal mother! 
 
 Loveg. We have heard nothing as it respects the 
 health or situation of your child ; we trust it still lives, 
 and that your mind will be so composed, as that you 
 may live to bring it up in "the nurture and admoni- 
 tion of the Lord." 
 
 Chipm. 0, sir, your text, " Can a woman forget her 
 sucking child!" 
 
 [She again gives way to excessive grief of mind; 
 Mr. Lovegood catches an opportunity, during the 
 intervals of her grief, to add] 
 
 Loveg. But should you not recollect, how God can 
 bring good out of evil; God, we trust, has already 
 accomplished in you the good of repentance, which 
 was indirectly brought about through the horrid evil 
 of seduction. 
 
 Chipm. [After some recollection, a little more calm.] 
 Well, well, if ever I am saved, I shall be the greatest 
 monument of mercy upon earth ; but, if God forgives 
 me, 1 never, never can forgive myself. 
 
 Loveg. There are as great monuments of grace al- 
 ready in glory. — Mary Magdalene, out of whom the 
 Lord cast seven devils. Saul, and many others. Hope 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 3l5 
 
 for the best. I think, I see a plan of good before us, 
 in all these calamitiej^, which gives nrie reason to be- 
 lieve, that God will get himself more glory by your 
 misguided steps, than might have been the case, had 
 these events never taken place. 
 Chipm. 0, sir, is it possible? 
 
 Loveg. Was ever any thing more glorious than 
 what God accomplished, by permitting the base con- 
 duct of Herod, Pontius Pilate, and Judas Iscariot, 
 to betray, and sell, and crucify our Lord? 
 
 Chipm. 0, sir, but these were all wicked, and 
 were punished for their wickedness. And shall I 
 escape? 
 
 Loveg. Joseph's brethren, you know, meant evil 
 against him; but God, notwithstanding, overruled it 
 for good to save much people alive: so that, even 
 their evil ways were permitted for their own future 
 good; and you remember, how God brought about 
 matters for the salvation of a thievish Onesimus. 
 Who knows, but your father and your husband may 
 be brought to the knowledge of the gospel, by the 
 same unhappy steps, which, under the management 
 of Divine Providence, have brought you to JBrook- 
 field? 
 
 Chipm. 0, would to God it might! I think it is 
 that event alone, which will prevent my dying of a 
 broken heart. 
 
 Loveg. Well, I have a plan before me, that may, 
 by the blessing of God, be the cause of as great joy 
 to you as present circumstances have made you mi- 
 serable. You know how unhappily ignorant your 
 father is of the way of salvation, made known in the 
 Bible by Jesus Christ. Poor man, he has no other 
 confidence, but that of a heathen in his own morality: 
 now I n)ean to send him a very serious letter upon 
 this subject, and recommend him to read some such 
 books as may lead him to the knowledge of the truthj 
 
316 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 and, who knows what a blessing it may be to his 
 soul! 
 
 Chipm. And, 0, dear sir, do, for the Lord's sake, 
 write upon the same subject to my dear husband: 
 what good can he get from the visits of Mr. Fribble? 
 Shall I go myself and beg his pardon, again and 
 again, that he may forgive me before he dies, and 
 explain to him the little that 1 know about the mat- 
 ter, since 1 have seen my folly, and been made to 
 abhor my ways? 
 
 Loveg. I really think you had better leave all this 
 to others. A meeting of that sort, under present 
 circumstances, would be too much for you both. 
 But are there no serious people about that neigh- 
 bourhood? 
 
 Chipm. 1 remember there were a few people who 
 used to meet in some back room, in a lane in our 
 town, and as they were ridiculed, just as you are, I 
 have already thought they might be good people; but 
 then my father was very much prejudiced against 
 them, and m}' husband was entirely guided by him 
 in religion. 0, dear sir, what would I give if my 
 father and husband could but meet with some one 
 who knows about that Christianity, which has wound- 
 ed my heart, under a conviction of the evil nature 
 of sin, and has made me to abhor myself for my most 
 abominable conduct. 
 
 Hen. Sir, I feel so much interested on this subject, 
 though I am so young in grace, yet I could almost 
 venture to say, I would ask my father, if he could 
 spare me to go with your letters and the books. I 
 think Locksbury is not above seventy miles from 
 Mapleion; I could get there in two days: and our 
 harvest will not come on these six weeks. 
 
 Loveg. Why, Henry, could I leave my charge, 
 I should be happy to go with you; but if you could 
 be spared, such a visit might be attended with most 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 317 
 
 blessed consequences; and if your father has not 
 a horse to spare, fit for the journey, I can almost 
 answer for it, Mr. Worthy will be very happy to 
 accommodate you with one, if your lameness should 
 not prove an impediment. 
 
 Hen. I thank God my hip is much strengthened 
 since I have returned home. 1 feel very little in- 
 convenience when I ride. I will go home and con- 
 sult my father, and then I will call on you again. 
 
 Soon after this the conversation terminated with 
 a prayer from Mr. Lovegood. Henry went home 
 to consult with his father about the journey. He 
 was, with some difficulty, persuaded to part with his 
 much beloved son, who was now made so dear to 
 him by the uniting ties of the Gospel, while Mr» 
 Lovegood attended to his engagement, to write a 
 very serious and appropriate letter to Mr. Reader; 
 and to select a few books, such as might be the most 
 conducive to give him a proper view of the Gospel 
 dispensation; and if the reader will but wait, till 
 after Henry's return, he may probably hear of some 
 farther events which were the result of this interest- 
 ing visit. This dialogue, therefore, shall close by- 
 laying before the reader two letters; the one from 
 Mr. Lovegood to Mr. Reader, the other from Mrs. 
 Chipman to her dying husband. 
 
 ^^(^ ^'TO MR. READER. 
 
 '< We all feel ourselves so deeply interested in 
 your family afflictions as to excite us to show you 
 every possible attention for the alleviation of your 
 distress. By the peculiar wish of your daughter, and 
 by the benevolent assistance of Mr. Worthy, a pur- 
 pose messenger waits upoa you with this, and with 
 some other tokens of our sympathy and respect. 
 VOL. L— 28 
 
318 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 " Mr. Henry Littleworth, the young man who 
 is so kind as to he our messenger on this occasion, 
 though once unhappily of a profane and dissolute 
 turn, is now, by the grace of God, become remark- 
 ably serious and devout. This makes him feel more 
 tenderly for your daughter, as her case, in some 
 respects, is so similar to his own. Since he has ex- 
 perienced the converting power of divine grace upon 
 his heart, he has considerably cultivated a good 
 understanding, by reading and serious meditation 
 upon useful and profitable subjects. To him there- 
 fore, 1 shall refer you, for all you wish to know, 
 as it respects your daughter's mind; while, at the 
 same time, I have no doubt, but that you will find 
 him capable of advising with you, as it may respect 
 what future steps should be taken, either upon the 
 death or recovery of Mr. Chipman. 
 
 "But, dear sir, with the greatest tenderness, at 
 least, as it relates to the feelings of my own mind, I 
 wish to obviate those mistakes, in which you con- 
 ceive so highly respecting any applause I can take to 
 myself, or any meritorious claim 1 can ever make be- 
 fore the bar of a just and holy God. Surely, sir, it is 
 beyond the power of an angel to give him more 
 obedience than is due to his infinitely holy name; 
 therefore even their perfect services appear before 
 him, as having no meritorious claim, when all the 
 ability must first be received from him, ere any ser- 
 vice they perform can be deemed acceptable in his 
 sight. 
 
 "Were Gabriel himself to presume to boast, and 
 were the Lord to answer him, "Take that which is 
 thine, and go thy way," would he not sink into 
 nothing before his God ? No wonder, therefore, that 
 while they are performing their highest acts of obe- 
 dience, they are described as veiling their faces, 
 and giving all the glory to Him, who has made 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 319 
 
 them what they are, and who still upholds them by 
 the arm of his almighty power. If then the proud 
 boast of merit be inconsistent even with Angels 
 themselves, what should our language be, when 
 sinners of our depraved race shall be called to stand 
 in his holy presence, who is of purer eyes than to 
 behold iniquity, but with infinite detestation and 
 eternal abhorrence? 
 
 " Not to depreciate that which may be praise^ 
 worthy in you, dear sir, or in any one else, as it re- 
 spects our outward conduct between man and man; 
 but surely as it relates to the inward state of our 
 minds, before a Being of infinite purit}^ Who can 
 stand when he appeareth? Never was one whose 
 righteous character before man shone so bright as 
 that of Job; but when his eye saw God, or in other 
 words, when the eye of his mind saw into the na- 
 ture of the infinite purity of God, with what solemn 
 surprise does he cry, "Behold, I am vile!" And 
 how humiliating was his language, as it farther re- 
 spected himself: " Therefore I abhor myself, and 
 repent in dust and ashes." Not less surprised was 
 the prophet Isaiah, when the Seraphims' voices cried 
 to each other, '' Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord of 
 Hosts!" Then said he, " Wo is me, for 1 am un- 
 done." If the most holy and exalted of the saints 
 of God thus humbled themselves in the dust before 
 him; instead of our boasting of the merit of our righ- 
 teousness, how much more have we cause to lie in 
 the dust on account of the demerit of our sinfulness. 
 If, therefore, you will allow me to speak plainly the 
 feelings of my mind on this subject, whatever dif- 
 ference subsists between me and the vilest sinner 
 upon earth, my language must ever be like that of 
 St, Paul: "By the grace of God I am what I am:" 
 while, amidst my highest acquirements, I feel my- 
 self a sinner still; and indeed in every attempt to serve 
 
320 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 God, I am sensible I fall short of my duty, and of 
 his glory. And though I may not have been guilty 
 of the Publican's practice, yet sure I am, I need to 
 adopt the Publican's prayer, " God be merciful to 
 me a sinner." 
 
 "Once, dear sir, these things were hid from my 
 eyes ; while I was ignorant of God I was ignorant 
 of myself. But, when I began to read my Bible 
 with attention, I soon discovered, it was God's own 
 account of a very depraved and fallen race; and, that 
 the sentence of a just and holy law had pronounced 
 eternal death againstall mankind, as "all had sinned:" 
 and, that it was now in vain for me any longer to 
 make the Pharisee's plea, " I thank thee, I am not 
 as other men;" while I was foolishly " trusting in 
 myself, that I was righteous, and despised others;" 
 saying in the pride of my heart, "Stand by, for I am 
 holier than thou.'' 
 
 " But what sinner can ever be said to be righ- 
 teous? Not more absurd is it to say, the guilty are 
 innocent. The law has positively said, " The soul 
 that sinneth shall die," that "the wages of sin is 
 death;" yea, and that " if we offend in one point, we 
 are guilty of all;" for it matters not in what point 
 we transgress, as the sentence goes forth by pro- 
 nouncing, " Cursed is every one that continueth not 
 (during his whole life) in all things written in the 
 book of the law to do them." 
 
 " Thus by the knowledge of the purity and holi- 
 ness of the law, the proud notions of merit were 
 soon banished far from my mind, and no other hope 
 was left for me, but the hope of the Gospel; salva- 
 tion for our ruined race, from his mercy alone, who 
 came to "put away sin by the sacrifice of himself." 
 1 am now satisfied, " that there is no other name 
 given among men whereby they can be saved, but 
 the name of Jesus Christ our Saviour." Thus, 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 
 
 321 
 
 sir, I had been living on the false hope of a mere 
 heathen, and never knew it, till divine mercy con- 
 vinced me of the purity of God's law, and the im- 
 purity of my own nature. While the name of Christ 
 had been sounded in my ears, I had no concep- 
 tion of the need of his salvation in my heart; it was 
 on my own goodness, not on his grace, that 1 fixed 
 my dependence. But now 1 feel and know. He alone 
 is my peace and salvation; and that without the 
 shedding of his blood, I never can be redeemed from 
 the curse of the law: so that, in point of my accep- 
 tance and justification before God, I have no other 
 ?lea left, but his obedience unto death on my behalf, 
 confess myself a sinner; and while I abhor every 
 comparative idea of merit above others of my fellow 
 sinners, (for we have all sinned, and fallen short of 
 his glory) I trust alone on his mercy for my salva- 
 tion. 
 
 "I was not less ignorant of the nature of that holi- 
 ness possessed by every true believer, who is thus 
 accepted in the Beloved. I mistook decency for de- 
 votion, and morality before man for spirituality be- 
 fore God. Never till I knew the evil of sin as a 
 transgression against God's good and holy law, did I 
 desire to be delivered from its inward dominion and 
 power. I now know "I must be born again," or in 
 other words, "be renewed in the spirit of my mind:" 
 and, of this I am persuaded, the pardoned believer 
 has no inclination to live in sin, that grace may 
 abound; for, he knows, that being justified by the re- 
 demption that is in Christ, he is dedicated unto God 
 thereb}^, that he may live to'his glory. 1 had not thus 
 dwelt on my own experience so long, had 1 not con- 
 ceived, that you also have been unhappily misled from 
 the glorious hope of the Gospel, by the same mistake. 
 I have, therefore, taken tlie liberty to transmit to you 
 a few books upon the evangelical, yet not less prac- 
 28* 
 
322 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 tical truths of the Gospel; and, I am sure, most 
 thoroughly consistent with the articles and liturgy of 
 that church, of which I am happy to confess myself 
 a minister, and of which also I suppose yourself to be 
 a member. 
 
 "Though it grieves us all to see your daughter so 
 excessively overcome by the dangerous state of Mr. 
 Chipman's health; it, notwithstanding, presents us 
 with a most pleasing sensation, as it respects the ten- 
 der and blessed state of mind, to which, by the grace 
 of God, she seems most graciously to be restored. 
 
 "As the most worthy and excellent young man, 
 the bearer of this, will take an opportunity of con- 
 sulting with you, on w^hat steps may be necessary to 
 be taken on this unhappy event, I shall shorten this 
 address by subscribing myself, 
 
 "Your real friend and servant for Christ's sake, 
 
 "Ben. Lovegood.'^ 
 
 Brookjield. 
 
 MRS. chipman's letter. 
 
 "My Dearest Husband, 
 "If you can admit a wretch, so treacherous and 
 vile, to address you in such terms, will you allow me 
 to implore your pardon, in the most submissive lan- 
 guage? Nothing but guilt and confusion fills my 
 heart, exciting, at the same time, tears of the deepest 
 contrition from my eyes; while I thus request you 
 to forgive the worst of women, who has been so 
 treacherous and cruel to the best of husbands; and, 
 who has behaved so unnaturally, as to forsake her own 
 offspring also. My most dear and injured husband, 
 I could not have presumed on this address if I had 
 not been taught by divine mercy, to abhor myself 
 for my crimes; but, as I am now seeking forgiveness 
 
DIALOGUE XVII. 323 
 
 of God, I feel I never can be happy until I am fa- 
 voured with your forgiveness also. I am told, with 
 inexpressible grief, by a letter from my father, that 
 you are a dying man, through my most hateful con- 
 duct towards you. Is it possible for you to believe, 
 after all that has passed, that 1 speak the truth when 
 1 say, I now feel, since a most merciful God has, I 
 trust, changed my vile heart, a love to you stronger 
 than ever 1 felt before? And, I could travel a thou- 
 sand miles to heal your heart: the pleasure I should 
 take in each painful step for such a purpose 1 cannot 
 express. Yet, consider, I beseech you, your once 
 dearest Jemima; and recollect how happy we were 
 in the chaster days of our connexion; while I could 
 keep your accounts, post your books, and wait upon 
 you with the most affectionate attention. I cannot 
 tell you how I execrate myself for having forsaken 
 such an office, and for grieving the heart of such a hus- 
 band. I beg you not, however, to suppose I mean 
 hereby an excuse for my crimes; they cannot be 
 lessened by any excuse whatever. Yet, I trust, 
 having received that grace which makes me shudder 
 at my former conduct, you will remember what once 
 a poor Magdalen felt, when she washed our Saviour's 
 feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hairs 
 of her head. And, though I scarcely dare presume 
 to hope that he will forgive a wretch that has been 
 so vile; yet, let me humbly request you to consider, 
 what that most aflfectionate young man has to say to 
 you, who brings you this letter, and who was not, 
 until a merciful God changed his heart, much less 
 wicked and hateful than myself then, let it be 
 believed, that nothing in a way of mercy is impos- 
 sible with God; and, surely, that mercy is needed 
 by us all, when we consider what sinful hearts we 
 have before him! who is infinitely holy. Oh! how 
 then shall such a wretch as I have been appear be- 
 
324 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 fore him ! My only hope is from what Mr. Love- 
 good, the excellent minister of the parish in which I 
 now am, has advised me to read, which is still to be 
 found in our old Common Prayer Books, in the la- 
 mentation of a sinner: 
 
 Mercy, good Lord ! mercy I ask, 
 
 This is the total sum ; 
 For mercy, Lord, is all my suit, 
 
 Lord, let thy mercy come. 
 
 " Receive these few lines from your truly penitent, 
 and as truly affectionate, 
 
 "Jemima Chipman." 
 
 Lower Brookfield, near Mapleton. 
 
 Having thus laid the two letters before my readers, 
 they will naturally conclude, that something inte- 
 resting may be the result of Henry's return; and as 
 these events will be detailed in the succeeding Dia- 
 logues, I hope they may prove not less instructing 
 than any of the former. 
 
DIALOGUE XVIIL 
 
 MR. WORTHY AND FAMILY, MR. LOVEGOOD, 
 AND MR. MERRYMAN. 
 
 THE CHARACTER AND EXPERIENCE OF THE CHRISTIAN 
 MINISTER EXEMPLIFIED. 
 
 As Henry Littlevvorth, from a variety of circum- 
 stances, was detained some weeks at Locksbury on 
 Mrs. Chipman's affairs; a detail of other events, 
 during that interval^ may not be unacceptable to the 
 reader. 
 
 There were a few serious and godly clergymen, 
 about the neighbourhood of Brookfield, who were in 
 the habit of associating together in rotation, at each 
 other's houses, for the purpose of mutual edification 
 in their sacred work. A meeting of this sort, was 
 held at Mr, Lovegood's, during the time that Mrs. 
 Chipman's affairs were in agitation. At these meet- 
 ings one of the ministers always preached in his turn. 
 This office now fell to the lot of Mr. Merry man; and 
 an admirable and affecting sermon he preached, in 
 some respects not less suitable to his own experience 
 than to that of Mrs. Chipman, from the following 
 text: "And such were some of you; but ye are 
 washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in 
 the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our 
 God." This sermon was not less grateful to the mind 
 of Mr. Lovegood, than consolatory to the wounded 
 conscience of the unhappy Mrs. Chipman. They say 
 also, that the sermon was blessed to Mr. Gauger, 
 
326 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 the exciseman of the Parish, who being himself an 
 ignorant and giddy youth, and having heard that 
 Mr. Merryman was, till of late, one of his own stamp, 
 was struck with his warm and affectionate address 
 from the above-mentioned text, and that he now lives 
 to God, as being himself also " alive from the dead." 
 Mr. Merryman, who was supposed to have some se- 
 cret inclination towards Miss Worthy, continued after 
 this meeting, principally the guest of Mr. Worthy, 
 for some days. A Sabbath intervening, an exchange 
 of labour was mutually agreed upon between Mr. 
 Lovegood and Mr. Merryman, while such a friendly 
 and Christian intercourse proved of equal advantage 
 to botli their congregations. Mr. Worthy found him- 
 self very happy with such a guest in his house, as his 
 domestic chaplain; and if in deep thought and con- 
 templative religion, he was inferior to Mr, Love- 
 good, yet he was possessed of a lively zeal, which 
 rendered him a very useful Minister to many of his 
 neighbours, and a most pleasant companion to all 
 who knew him. 
 
 Under a sanctified use of his natural vivacity, and 
 constitutional courage, he was ever ready to impress 
 on others the same blessed truths, by the knowledge 
 of which, a change so glorious had been accom- 
 plished on his own mind. Thus, while at Mr. Wor 
 thy's, he would go round his pleasure grounds, and 
 talk to all his labourers: if he stepped into the stable- 
 yard, or into any of the neighbouring cottages, he 
 would have some instructive hints to drop, or some 
 religious tracts to distribute, that he might leave a 
 savour of the Gospel wherever he went; and this he 
 did in such a cheerful and engaging style, as fre- 
 quently rendered him very successful in his attempts. 
 
 In the days of his ignorance he was light, frothy, 
 and vain; but as soon as he was made a partaker of - 
 the grace of God, though he retained all that be- 
 
DIALOGUE XVilf. 327 
 
 longed to his natural disposition, yet he had cheer- 
 fulness without levity, and became not less profita- 
 ble, than lovely and pleasant in his deportment. It 
 is, however, a very supposable event, that persons of 
 such natural vivacity should fall into some innocent 
 mistakes; and an instance of this kind was exhibited 
 by Mr. Merry man, during this visit. 
 
 One morning he called at Thomas Newman's, 
 with whose compan}^ and conduct he was much de- 
 lighted: while there, old Susan Dowdy, an honest 
 shoemaker's wife, called in with a pair of shoes for 
 Betty, and with others belonging to the children; 
 which had been carefully cobbled. Thomas being 
 remarkably laborious, could not live without his 
 rest; and being as remarkably honest, he could not 
 rest if he was in debt: while he was therefore pre- 
 paring to pay the demand, Mr. Merry man very af- 
 fectionately discharged it for him. Upon the de- 
 parture of old Dowdy, Mr. Merryman having dis- 
 covered that she knew something of the blessed re- 
 alities of the Gospel, mentioned to Thomas, that his 
 next visit should be to see her and her husband. 
 "Ah!'' said Thomas, "I believe she is a precious 
 old dame; but it was Dowdy's money made the 
 match." Betty adjoins, " My dear, that is nothing 
 to us; all have a right to settle those matters as they 
 like best:" and Mr. Merryman being frequently a 
 little absent, dropped all farther investigation of the 
 subject. 
 
 On the next day the promised visit took place. 
 As soon as Mr. Merryman entered the house, he 
 saw an active young man most diligently occupied 
 at his stall; a young woman as industriously en- 
 gaged in the household affairs; and the notable old 
 woman at her spinning-wheel, with the spectacles 
 over her nose, pulling and tugging awa}^ as fast and 
 as hard as she could; and her husband's grandfather, 
 
5i38 VILLAGE DIALOGtTES. 
 
 sitting in the chimney corner, quite decrepit with 
 age. Alas for Mr. Merrynian! he first began con- 
 versing with the husband's grandfather,as the husband 
 of old Dowdy; next with the husband as her son, and 
 then with the other young woman as the young man's 
 wife, though she proved to be Dowdy's daughter by 
 a former marriage: still supposing himself perfectly 
 correct. The family kept silen-ce, not being willing 
 to expose themselves: and the prayer with which he 
 concluded his visit, was a distinct echo of all these 
 Unfortunate mistakes. 
 
 On the evening of the day at Mr. Worthy's, he 
 gave th6 history of his visits: the family knovving the 
 preposterous match which had taken place between 
 old Dowdy, who had an annuity of twelve pounds 
 annually, and her young husband; joined in a gene- 
 ral laugh at the expense of Mr. Merryman's blunder, 
 —a blunder not to be corrected by any apology what- 
 ever. However, all agreed, that as good men do 
 good, even by their innocent mistakes, it might 
 answer as an excellent reproof, to the parties con- 
 cerned; as all such preposterous matches, are very 
 contrary to that decency and propriety of conduct we 
 should be careful to maintain in our social and rela- 
 tive connexions through life; especially if we pro- 
 fess to be under the regulation of the pure and holy 
 word of God. 
 
 However, it will at once be admitted, that such 
 blunders were no blemishes in the character of one, 
 whose natural simplicity and undisguised integrity, 
 and whose uncommon tenderness and humanity, 
 Were of late become so very conspicuous. Still, 
 whatever Mr. Merryman did, it was all done in his 
 own way. A specimen of this was exhibited during 
 his present visit to Mr. Worthy. 
 
 On the Thursday after the Sabbath, he went on a 
 Jittle business to Mapleton Market A bustle was 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 329 
 
 created by the anxiety of a cow, in attending upon 
 her calf, while driven about the market; and in the 
 JDUstle, a board on which an old woman had placed 
 her oranges, apples, and gingerbread, &c. was upset: 
 a rabble of children attempted to avail themselves of 
 this misfortune, and began a scramble for her goods. 
 This lovely Mr. Merryman humanely considered that 
 her little all was then at stake, and that if she was per- 
 mitted to be robbed of her slender stock in trade, 
 the calamity would be deeply felt. Immediately he 
 snatched an oaken stick out of the hands of a gaping 
 peasant who stood by: drove away the unruly mob, 
 and theu gave his helping hand to collect the ^oor 
 woman's scattered commodities, and to replace them 
 on the board. He next gave the clown a sixpence, 
 for the use of his cudgel, who doffed his hat and 
 thanked his honour for his kindness; next he gave 
 half a crown to the poor old woman, as much of her 
 barley-sugar was so broken as to be unfit for sale. 
 She then begged leave to reward Mr. Merryman's 
 kindness with one of her best oranges, which he ac- 
 cepted; rewarding her with another shilling for her 
 gratitude, and then departed: she sending after him 
 a thousand blessings for the kind protection she had 
 received in the hour of her distress. Her next in- 
 quiry was, who the young gentleman could be who 
 treated her with such kindness, and when she was 
 told that it was Mr. Merryman, the rector of San- 
 dover, she remarked that she was sure he must be a 
 good Christian-hearted gentleman; that she had heard 
 many people say, that though he was a sad wicked 
 blade once, yet of late he had been wonderfully re- 
 formed ; and that since then, he had become a brave 
 man in the pulpit; and vowed she would strive hard 
 but that she would go and hear him. And w^ho 
 knows, the old woman's heart having been softened 
 VOL. I.— 29 
 
S30 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 by this kind event, but that when she was able to 
 put her resolution into effect, the word of life she 
 heard nriight have become " the power of God to the 
 eternal salvation of her soul?" 
 
 Perhaps the reader may judge by another instance 
 of Mr. Merryman's way of doing good, what was 
 the real style and spirit of his character. 
 
 He was in the habit of giving an occasional visit 
 to Mr. Meek; and was, as we may naturally suppose, 
 registered among the list of his contributors, that 
 the good man might not suffer a. state next to starva- 
 tion, from the cruelty and meanness of the redoubta- 
 ble Rector Fillpot. 
 
 On Mr. Merryman's return from this visit, when 
 he was within three miles of Sandover, he observed 
 a poor disbanded soldier, who could scarcely totter 
 along the road, sustaining the burden of a heavy 
 knapsack, although in a deep decline, and travelling 
 home for parochial relief. The few shillings which 
 were given him upon his discharge were now ex- 
 hausted : and the weather being warm, he could afford 
 himself no better beverage than a draught of water 
 from a ditch on the road-side. While he made this 
 attempt he fell down, and had not power to arise. Mr. 
 Merryman at first supposed he might be intoxicated, 
 as he observed many passing by without taking the 
 least notice of him. However, he thought he would 
 ride up to him, and inquire into the real state of the 
 case; and as soon as he discovered himto be the ob- 
 ject of such commiseration, his heart began to melt: 
 immediately, wiping the sympathetic tear which was 
 preparing to start from his eye, he placed him upon 
 his own beast, and led him to Sandover, with the 
 greatest attention and care. 
 
 If ever humanity rode triumphant, it was on this 
 occasion; when a youth who, till of late had been so 
 dissipated and careless, having obtained mercy him- 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 331 
 
 self, began to exemplify it in such kind abundance 
 to others. Thus, as Mr. Merryman's heart was teem- 
 ing with compassion, all the time the poor soldier 
 was beholding, with astonishment and surprise, the 
 tenderness and love of his most kind conductor; 
 while so many others could pass by, without showing 
 even the most distant inclination to give him the 
 least relief. 
 
 As soon as they arrived at Sandover, Mr. Merry- 
 man provided the poor man a lodging in a decent 
 public-house, left him half a crown for his present 
 necessities, and promised on the next day to repeat 
 his visit. It was Mr. Merryman's intention to have 
 sent the poor soldier home to his own connexions, 
 in a style more consistent with humanity; but this 
 was soon found to be entirely impracticable: the 
 progress of his disease becoming very rapid. How- 
 ever, he lived a sufficient length of time, to give good 
 evidence, that he was brought to deep repentance 
 under a sense of the evil of sin, his former life having 
 been dissolute; and he died with an humble confi- 
 dence in " the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ unto eternal life;" which afterwards he im- 
 proved in an admirable manner from the pulpit, it is 
 hoped to the good of many souls. 
 
 This lovely instance however of humanity exhi- 
 bited by Mr. Merryman, in having thus turned foot- 
 man to the poor soldier, made a considerable talk; 
 and bore such an odd appearance, especially in the 
 eyes of the prudish and the formal, though so near a 
 resemblance of what our Lord applauded in the mer- 
 ciful Samaritan, that it naturally subjected him to 
 some ridicule and contempt. Mr. Spiteful said, he 
 always thought him a low, mean fellow; and that he 
 was much fitter to be the helper of a groom in a sta- 
 ble-yard, than to mount the pulpit. And it seems 
 Mr. Archdeacon Smoothtongue's objection w?is, that 
 
332 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 it was letting down the dignity of the clerical cha- 
 racter; and that it was all affectation, and a sort of 
 Quixote righteousness, that all the orderly clergy 
 should be ashamed of; though, it is to be feared, the 
 Archdeacon himself had no better righteousness than 
 that of priestly pomp, while Mr. Merryman's friends 
 and neighbours well knew the integrity of his heart. 
 All he did, in his free and easy manner, appeared 
 lovely in their sight; especially when they consi- 
 dered the principle of divine grace whereby he was 
 thus constrained to act. 
 
 After the above observations and anecdotes,! should 
 suppose the reader might wish to know still more of 
 Mr. Merry man, and how it was that so blessed a change 
 had been wrought upon his mind. The following 
 Dialogue shall therefore give the reader the informa- 
 tion he wishes to receive. 
 
 The decorations designed for the Golden Lion 
 have already been noticed: and these having been 
 speedily accomplished, as the spring was now ad- 
 vancing, Mr. Worthy and family, Mr. Lovegood and 
 Mr. Merryman, one week-day evening walked thi- 
 ther to examine their effects; and in order to give pro- 
 per encouragement to the worthy publican, directed 
 that tea should be brought out, the weather being then 
 remarkably fine and serene, under a large spreading 
 pear-tree. While Mr. Worthy's game-keeper was 
 directed to bring a casting-net, that they might take 
 some trout out of the meandering brook from whence 
 the village is named, for the use of the family, and 
 as a present for Mr. Lovegood; during this innocent 
 amusement, properly so called, the following conver- 
 sation took place. 
 
 Wor. I suppose you have heard what Mr. Spiteful 
 has reported respecting Mrs. Chipman's affairs. 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 333 
 
 Loveg. Mr. Considerate told me some of his charges, 
 that our designs towards her were not less criminal 
 than those of Sir Charles Dash. 
 
 Mer. Well, I should never have thought you would 
 have been charged with such sort of crimes. 
 
 Loveg. It is of very little consequence what he 
 says, his ravings are too bad to hurt any one but 
 himself, as nobody can believe them. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Nor need he have any farther chastise- 
 ment for his wicked spirit, than what he has from 
 his own disposition. When he was in the habit of 
 coming into our house, I used to dread his visits, for 
 he was sure to entertain us with every scandalous 
 tale he could pick up; he would be telling of every 
 one's faults but his own. But directly after we were 
 favoured with your visits, we were soon released from 
 his. 
 
 Mer. I remember, a very intruding chap in our 
 neighbourhood used to come and visit my father of» 
 tener than he liked, and he discovered that he had a 
 peculiar aversion to the smell of toasted cheese: in 
 order, therefore, to get rid of his impertinent visits, 
 the cheese-toaster was sure to be set at work. 
 
 Wor. There was no need of a cheese-toaster when 
 you were with us; he would be off like a pistol. 
 
 Miss Wor. What a blessing to be delivered from 
 such a disposition! May it not be said that what fits 
 for hell, in a measure is hell? 
 
 Loveg. Indeed it is; and if we expect any other 
 heaven, than what is found in love, we know nothing 
 of heaven. How wonderfully God suits our punish- 
 ment to our crimes ! I suppose no people are so 
 tortured as those who are possessed of such satanic 
 minds. 
 
 Mr. Wor. — I was delighted to hear you urge so 
 strongly the necessity of these tempers. "Be kindly 
 affectioned one to another, in honour preferring one 
 29* 
 
334 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 another." I am surprised that any should suppose 
 themselves to be Christians without them. 
 
 Mer. Before 1 knew any thing of the power of 
 divine grace, there were seasons in which my hasty 
 tempers would get the upper hand of me. But — 
 
 Miss Wor. [interrupts] I don't like to hear you 
 charge yourself on that score; if you were once dis- 
 sipated and wild, I never heard that your tempers 
 were bad. 
 
 J\Ier. I am ashamed when I recollect, for near two 
 years after I was ordained, what a disgrace I was to 
 my profession. I do not know that my tempers led 
 me to be spiteful, malicious, and sulky, though at 
 times I was hasty. I was entirely captivated . by 
 other evils: a more thoughtless dissipated creature, 
 never lived upon the earth. 
 
 Wor. Why I am afraid, Mr. Merryman, you never 
 were in the way of good, till you heard Mr. Love- 
 good at the visitation. 
 
 Mer, Indeed, sir, from my childhood, 1 never had 
 any thing placed before me, but what was calculated 
 to feed the corrupt propensities of my heart. My 
 poor father had but a small fortune, with a large fa- 
 mily: and though he was in the law line, he did not 
 get much by his profession; for there were too many 
 lawyers in our town: and they were in general 
 such greedy sharks, that they stuck at nothing; so 
 that people thought it necessary to submit to any 
 thing, sooner than employ a lawyer. 
 
 Wor. I am afraid then you had but a bad example 
 at home. 
 
 Mer. I cannot recollect that there was much out- 
 ward immorality practised in our house, excepting 
 that my father was much given to swearing; and he 
 never went to Church, and my mother very seldom. 
 
 Loveg. How then did your father spend his time 
 on a Sunday? 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 335 
 
 J\ler. Mostly in his office, and in his business. He 
 did all in his power to avoid the expense and trouble 
 of keeping a clerk. 
 
 Loveg. Then there was no outward sign or cere- 
 mony kept up in your family, from which you might 
 gather the existence of a God? 
 
 J[Ier. It grieves me to say, I w^as bred up in perfect 
 ignorance. We had not even with us the decent form 
 of asking a blessing over our meals. 
 
 Wor. Then how came your parents to think of 
 breeding you up to the Church, as it is called? 
 
 Mer. sir! though it was my father's design to 
 have educated me in his own profession, yet from 
 my infancy I never could fix on any thing. And the 
 dry study of the law was so contrary to my natural 
 inclinations, that my father could never get me to 
 submit to it at any rate. While 1 was fagging at the 
 office, I would make any excuse to go and shoot the 
 sparrows oflf the peas and fruit in the garden. In the 
 summer 1 would run away and show all possible tricks 
 and fancies as an expert swimmer and diver; and in 
 the winter, during a hard frosty he could never keep 
 me off the ice; while I was as proud and vain of my 
 ability as a skater, as I was gratified and pleased with 
 the admiration of the spectators. 
 
 Wor. But it must be acknowledged, these are 
 among the more innocent of the diversions of youth; 
 though it is a difficult matter to correct young minds 
 in the excess of them; and when the inclinations 
 are captivated by them, no wonder if such should be 
 given over to an idle and dissipated frame of mind, 
 all the days of their lives. 
 
 Mer. I don't know tiiat I first pursued these plea- 
 sures with what may be called an immoral design: 
 but from the unguarded levity of my mind, I soon 
 found that this disposition grew up with me; and that 
 I was entirely captivated and overcome by them: so 
 
336 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 that after I was ordained, I am ashamed to think, how 
 much more I was wedded to my sports, than to the 
 Church. And though I did all in my power to put 
 on a little decency, in not running after them quite 
 so eagerly on a Sunday as on a week-day; yet not- 
 withstanding the day, if I heard of a hare, or a covey 
 of partridges being near my house, I was sure to be 
 after them. And as for skating, I was no sooner out 
 of the church, than I was on the ice. And I remem- 
 ber one Sunday, while I was skating, an old gentle- 
 man, who was a justice of peace, who is since dead, 
 sent a constable after me, begging that I would not 
 break the Sabbath, but set a better example to my 
 parishioners. As for other idle amusements, such as 
 cricket matches, hunting and coursing, 1 was at all 
 times a ringleader in these sports. And after I had 
 done with my out-of-door diversions, the rest of my 
 time was sure to be spent at a playhouse, or in a ball 
 or billiard room, or at a card table. Even such a low, 
 paltry amusement as a puppet-show, a country wake 
 or revel, would captivate my attention, and draw me 
 aside. I am quite ashamed of myself, to think how 
 giddy and foolish I have been. In short, I was cap- 
 tivated by every vain amusement but those of cock- 
 fighting, and bull-baiting: these abominable exhibi- 
 tions of cruelty, even at that period, were very dis- 
 gusting to me. 
 
 Wor. But did it not strike you that hunting, and 
 especially horse-racing, were but very little less cruel 
 than bull-baiting or cock-lighting? 
 
 Mer. Yes, thoughts of that sort would at times 
 occur; but it was in my heart to "run with the mul- 
 titude to do evil:" and 1 have since experienced, 
 that we know nothing of the real tenderness which 
 possesses the Christian, till the living power of Chris- 
 tianity has been communicated to our hearts. 
 
 Loveg, Then you must have been sadly out of your 
 element when you got into orders. 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 337 
 
 Mer. Indeed I was, excepting when I turned sol- 
 dier; and got a captain's commission during the war. 
 And when the salutary advice of the Bishops came 
 out against us, to support by our conduct and advice 
 our excellent civil constitution, but not to turn our 
 black coats into red ones, I confess I very much dis- 
 liked it. For nothing but worldly motives was I sent 
 into the Church, and while I hated my black coat, I 
 hated equally my contemptible inconsistency all the 
 time I wore a red one. 
 
 Wor. Alas! how much it is to be lamented, that 
 matters of such infinite importance should be given 
 over into such hands J In this instance, what man did 
 as evil, God has overruled for good. But you have 
 not yet told us, while you were in such a thoughtless 
 state, how you came to think of the Church. 
 
 Mer. Indeed* sir, that never was a thought of mine. 
 But when my father and uncle, who had the family 
 estate, were together, he used to swear (though I never 
 liked his reprobate language) that I was so thought- 
 less and inattentive, that I should never get my bread 
 by law, physic, or trade; and that I should be fit /or 
 nothing hut a parson. My uncle therefore promised 
 him, that if he would send me to the University, as 
 he had two livings belonging to his estates, he would 
 give me one of them, provided none of his own chil- 
 dren chose to take orders. And as all my cousins 
 were much fonder of the sea and army than of the 
 Church, 1 was obliged to submit to the penalty of 
 being turned into a parson, for the sake of a living. 
 And when the living of Sandover became vacant, my 
 uncle gave it to old Mr. Mumble, who was between 
 seventy and eighty years of age, and in bad health, 
 on condition that I should be his curate; and I had 
 not been his curate above nine months before he 
 died, and then my uncle presented me with the 
 living. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. I thought it was common to put mi- 
 
338 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 nisters into possession of livings, on condition of a 
 resignation. 
 
 Mer. Yes, but my father, as a lawyer, knew that 
 no law whatever could compel any minister to resign 
 his living, if he chose to keep it; so he supposed that 
 was the safer way. 
 
 Wor. What terrible merchandise is made of the 
 souls of men by such a traffic; and how ruinous is it 
 in its consequences to real religion in the Church! 
 
 Mer. I am sure this had nearly proved my ruin; 
 for after this matter was determined upon, I was to 
 be packed off to a public school, where every thing 
 like religion was as much out of the question, as it 
 well could be, excepting that we were all compelled 
 to go to church on a Sunday. 
 
 Loveg. When I received the first rudiments of my 
 education at the free grammar school at Beachly, we 
 had never the least intimation given us, even in a 
 formal way, about religion; but in my time, I found 
 it much worse at the University, than at Beachly. 
 
 Mer. I am sure the state of too many of the clergy 
 can never be wondered at, when we consider the 
 method of their education for the ministry; — though 
 in those days, I was so loose and wild, that I thought 
 nothing about the matter. 
 
 fVor. Why 1 thought our Universities were in ge- 
 neral repute; and that all who applied might avail 
 themselves of an excellent education ; at least I found 
 it so when I was there. 
 
 Loveg. Sir, your remark is perfectly just; but I am 
 sorry to add, at least as it was in my days, leaving re- 
 ligion out of the question. You are frowned upon if 
 you are over righteous, or over wicked; but as to real 
 spiritual religion, though I confess I am but a poor 
 judge how matters then stood, yet I fear it is very 
 little thought of. However, I remember that there 
 were some reproachful sneers circulated against a few. 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 339 
 
 that since then I have heard were really serious; but 
 they were oblig;ed to keep themselves very close, 
 "for fear of the Philistines." But I must confess, 
 that though I was kept correctly moral and attentive 
 while at college, yet I knew nothing of real spiritu- 
 alily, till about three months after I was curate of 
 Abley. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. I think, sir, you have told us before 
 now, that the first serious impressions you ever felt, 
 were when you began to try to make your own ser- 
 mons. 
 
 Loveg. Though I had my qualms when at college, 
 that all was not right, yet, madam, it was in a great 
 measure so; for as I was accustomed to make the 
 exercises for the boys at school, and was frequently 
 occupied in the same way at the University, I thought 
 after all this, it would be quite scandalous for me to 
 go about to buy, beg, and borrow sermons, after I was 
 admitted into orders. 
 
 JUrs. Wor. Dear sir, as your coming into these 
 parts was such a blessing to our family, and many 
 more besides ourselves, if you don't interrupt Mr. 
 Merryman we should be glad if you would proceed 
 on a subject so interesting to us all. 
 
 Loveg. Why, madam, when I began to try to com- 
 pose my own sermons, it came into my mind, that I 
 should make ihem somewhat like the Bible. The 
 Bishop, when he ordained us, said we should not 
 always be preaching mere moral essays; but that at 
 limes we should dwell on the evangelical truths of the 
 Bible. 
 
 IVor. Well, sir, that was good advice. 
 Loveg. It proved excellent advice to me; for it 
 immediately set me on the study of the New Testa- 
 ment: but alas! I soon found the spiritual eye was 
 wanting, whereby spiritual truths alone can be dis- 
 cerned: for as to many things 1 found in the gospel, 
 
340 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 I had enough to do even to make them out; but when 
 I came to the epistles, I soon discovered myself to be 
 quite out of my depth, as the few pre-conceived 
 notions I had of religion, seemed to be entirely con- 
 tradicted by them. And when 1 had procured some 
 of the fashionable commentators of the day, such as 
 Whitby, Locke, and Zachary Pearce, formerly Bishop 
 of Rochester; all I got from them confused me but 
 the more; as it always struck me that the comment 
 contradicted the text, and that instead of explaining 
 matters, they seemed to be explaining them away. 
 Some things were to be confined to primitive times, 
 and others restricted to the Christians, as just coming 
 from under the Jewish dispensation; and much of 
 the Bible was to mean next to nothing, because it 
 was figurative and metaphorical; but when I came 
 to look at Zachary Pearce's comment on that striking 
 passage, "One thing is needful;'^ notwithstanding 
 all his learning, that completely did for him in my 
 esteem. 
 
 Wor. Why, what did he make of it? 
 
 Loveg. That one dish was enough for supper. 
 
 Wor. Is it possible? what a strange letting down 
 of such a fine expression! 
 
 J\Ier. Yes, and I remember with shame, in our 
 difierent carousings with each other, in our profane 
 mirth, how we used to laugh at the interpretation, 
 by saying, neither one dish nor one bottle would be 
 enough for us. 
 
 Loveg. Well, well, I bless God, I could get no sa- 
 tisfaction from these lame interpreters, for with all 
 their learning, they appeared to me to be so incon- 
 sistent with themselves. And one evening, how was 
 J struck, when seeking for a text? my eyes were fixed 
 on those words of St. Paul, in his epistle to the Co- 
 lossians — "Ye are dead, and your life is hid with 
 Christ in God." For a time I could make nothing 
 
DIALOGUE xviir. 341 
 
 of the expression, till others, very similar, forcibly 
 entered my mind, about being "crucified with 
 Christ;" being "dead and buried with him;" and of 
 our "being risen with him;" and then that passage in 
 our church catechism, as it relates to what is required 
 of all baptized Christians, "a death unto sin, and a 
 new birth unto righteousness." It struck me, that I 
 had been directed to instruct children in a doctrine 
 which was unknown to my own heart, and that I was 
 a "blind leader of the blind." At that moment I 
 fell down on my knees, and wept excessively; and 
 prayed, I think from the bottom of my heart for the 
 first time, that I might not presume to continue to be 
 the pretended instructer of the ignorant, while so ig- 
 norant myself. 
 
 Wor. I suppose after this, the tenor of your preach- 
 ing was immediately altered. 
 
 Loveg. Sir, the change was still gradual. T knew 
 I was wrong, but 1 did not know how I could be set 
 right. But herein the providence of God wonderfully 
 favoured me. 
 
 J\Ier. I have often heard you explain the nature of 
 our conversion from sin to God; but I never heard 
 you explain so particularly the nature of your own 
 conversion. — I wish you would proceed. 
 
 Loveg. When I first came to my curacy, I was 
 told that five or six people went regularly, Sunday 
 after Sunday, to hear the Rev. Mr. Slapdash, who 
 has a small living in those parts. You know he is an 
 animated, bold preacher, and is attended by a large 
 congregation ; and I never could hear but that his zeal 
 is tempered with prudence; and that he is a good 
 man: and that though he has a strong, rapid, hasty 
 way of expressing himself, yet what he delivers is en- 
 tirely consistent with the sound truths of the gospel. 
 Still their absenting themselves from the church gave 
 considerable ofience to the pride of my heart, not 
 VOL. 1. — 30 
 
342 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 knowing that it was my ignorance which drove them 
 at a distance. 
 
 However, one Sunday, these youns; men, contrary 
 to their usual custom, stopt at home to hear me. It 
 was soon after that text of scripture so impressed my 
 mind. Ignorance of my Bible, and consequently, un- 
 jfitness for my office, intermixed with our workings 
 of corruption, from the pride and anger of my heart 
 on account of my dark preconceived notions in reli- 
 gion, having been so contradicted by the word of 
 God, affected me not a little. In this state of mind I 
 was obliged to preach as well as I could; and I re- 
 member I was remarkably low and affected, on the 
 Sunday these young men stopt to hear me. And 
 while! was preaching, I saw them nodding and 
 smiling, first at me, and then at each other, in such 
 an uncommon manner, that I could not conceive but 
 that they meant to be laughing at me all the time for 
 my ignorance; especially as it was reported, that the 
 man they went to hear was quite a madman: and 
 upon this I went the next day, to converse with them 
 on what I conceived to be their odd conduct at 
 church. My mind being much perplexed, and my 
 spirits very low; and having determined to speak to 
 them with much mildness, I no sooner began to open 
 my mouth, but tears started from my eyes. I told 
 them they should not have laughed at me before all 
 the congregation, on account of what they thought of 
 my ignorance, for that I did my best; and that I 
 hoped and prayed to God, if I was not right, he would 
 set me right. 
 
 Wor. Well, and what effect had this upon the 
 young men? 
 
 Loveg. sir! the good young men were as much 
 affected as myself, at my misconceptions of them. 
 They told me that their smiles and nods were the 
 effect, not of sneering contempt, but of approbation 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 343 
 
 and joy; for they were now fully persuaded that I 
 should soon become a faithful minister of the gospel: 
 and that they never went to church while young Mr. 
 Wanton was the curate, yet as they saw me so diffe- 
 rent from him, and as it was reported that I was 
 likely soon to be mad with melancholy, they thought 
 I might be under some serious impressions respect- 
 ing the state of m}^ soul : and if I continued to preach 
 as I had done, they should soon discontinue hearing 
 Mr. Slapdash, though he was a very powerful and 
 lively preacher, as they called him, and a very good 
 man. 
 
 Wor. Then you discovered that these young men 
 were truly serious and good. 
 
 Loveg. Yes, and two of them I found to be useful 
 and profitable companions to me, having good under- 
 standings, which they had well improved b}^ reading 
 among themselves various religious authors. And I 
 was much struck before we parted, at the great mo- 
 desty with which they expressed themselves, wishing 
 I would but read some of their books which they read 
 among themselves, that they might have my opinion 
 how far I approved of them. They then showed me 
 their little library; and one of them particularly re- 
 quested me to read the Pilgrim's Progress, with very 
 precious notes, which they said, by way of recom- 
 mending it, were written by a very learned man, and 
 which I was the more willing to do, as I remembered 
 reading it as a novel when a child. Among other 
 books,! saw they had Brown's self-interpreting Bible, 
 and as I began to be entirely sick of my old commen- 
 tators, I begged to borrow it. This they very readily 
 consented to; so I put the Pilgrim's Progress in one 
 pocket, and Boston's Four-fold State in the other, 
 and went home: and when I took my leave of them, 
 I was very much surprised at their humble and affec- 
 tionate farewell ; following me with a thousand bless- 
 
344 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 ings, and thanking me most cordially for my visit. 
 Soon afterwards I found one of them at my heels 
 with Brown's Bible, which they wished me to keep 
 as long as I chose. 
 
 Wor. Well, this was a kind Providence. But how 
 did you seem to like your new authors? did you 
 much admire their choice of books for you? The 
 Pilgrim's Progress, I confess, is an inimitable drama, 
 and beautifully describes the state of the real Chris- 
 tian in his spiritual progress; yet Bunyan, in the ge- 
 neral way, happens to be the humble treasure of di- 
 vinity in the poor man's cottage; and I fear is not so 
 often to be found in the study of a contemplative di- 
 vine. 
 
 Loveg. Sir, if God had conferred on me the ho- 
 nour of being the author of the Pilgrim's Progress, 
 I should have been tempted to be the proudest man 
 upon earth. However, the simplicity and affection 
 of the good people I went to see, led me to cast my 
 eyes over that book a second time, very much to my 
 profit. For on the same day 1 shut myself up in my 
 study, and began to read. Page after page, my at- 
 tention was arrested: and as I pursued the subject, 
 light continued to break in upon my mind, while it 
 brought me upon my knees again and again. I now 
 began to see, somewhat clearly, the plan of the gospel 
 salvation alone by Jesus Christ. Every paragraph I 
 read was intermixed with a tear of thankfulness and 
 surprise; and night after night, I was happy to be 
 sleepless, that I might pursue the pilgrims on their 
 road, as I now began to find I could travel with them, 
 while every step appeared plain before me. 
 
 J\Ier. It is a lovely work, when we can read and 
 meditate under such a frame of mind. I remember 
 how I used to hate to read the Bible, merely because 
 I could not understand it; but as soon as I could 
 enter into its meaning, I found no book like it, I 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 345 
 
 recollect, some time ago, in the library at my house, 
 I laid my hands upon a book written by Bishop 
 Patrick, called the Parable of the Pilgrim, but 1 found 
 it a heavy performance. 
 
 Loveg. Yes, sir, 1 have heard of it. It is a large 
 lumpy volume, though the Bishop was a serious and 
 respectable man; yet while Bunyan keeps you awake, 
 Patrick lulls you asleep. 
 
 Mer. It seems then, that the Tinker was a wiser 
 man than the Bishop. 
 
 Loveg. Why no man gets either brains or grace, 
 by education or title: many gifts of this sort we may 
 receive as the gifts of the God of nature, or of pro- 
 vidence; but a sanctified use of these blessings, 
 comes only from the God of grace. Bunyan was 
 certainly a very eminent man in his plain way. — 
 Once, it seems, he was very profligate, but after- 
 wards not less serious: and though he had none of 
 the advantages of education, yet he was possessed of 
 a very good natural understanding, a deep knowledge 
 of the word of God, and of the human heart, and at 
 the same time very rich and chaste powers of in- 
 vention. Such was the character of the author of 
 the Pilgrim's Progress; and, to the last moment of 
 my life, shall I bless God for that book. 
 
 Mer. But if this form.erly wicked tinker became 
 so good a man, and such an excellent preacher and 
 writer, is it not to be lamented that some of our pre- 
 sent preachers were not turned into tinkers, provided 
 we could get such another set of tinkers to be turned 
 into preachers? 
 
 Wor. I perceive Mr. Merryman will be Mr. Mer- 
 ryman still. But we interrupt Mr. Lovegood in his 
 story. 
 
 Loveg. Why, I bless God, that I immediately 
 found myself not less charmed with my Bible, than 
 with the Pilgrim's Progress: its glorious contenti 
 30* 
 
346 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 began to open surprisingly to my mind, and the truths 
 which before displeased me, I not only could receive 
 without controversy, but with supreme approbation 
 and delight. 
 
 Mrs, Wor. You have also told us, what great ad- 
 vantage you received from Mrs. Goodworth, after 
 you became acquainted with her; perhaps Mr. Mer- 
 ryman does not know that circumstance. 
 
 Mer. Who was Mrs. Goodworth? 
 
 Loveg. She was the aged widow of a Dissenting 
 Minister; and when I first came into the parish, I was 
 told that she was such an ill-natured, cross-grained, 
 dissenting bigot, that she would sooner seethe church 
 pulled down than enter within the doors. But a few 
 days after my visit to the young men, they went and 
 informed her of the result of our conversation, and 
 the next Sunday, to my great surprise, I found her 
 added to the number of my congregation; and as 
 much delighted and affected as the young men were, 
 the Sunday before. On the Monday I thought it 
 my duty to return the visit. I found the old lady 
 nursing her grandchildren: she took me into a little 
 back parlour, and immediately burst into tears of joy, 
 telling me, that through the straitness of her circum- 
 stances, she was obliged to live with her married 
 daughter; mentioning how much it had affected her, 
 having been under the necessity of leaving the means 
 of grace, by living at a distance from the meeting 
 where her husband preached; and that since she 
 could not go after the gospel, she humbly trusted 
 that in answer to her fervent prayers, the gospel was 
 now sent after her: that she never kept from the 
 church out of bigotry, but only because she feared 
 Mr. Wanton, my predecessor, was very impure, and 
 consequently a very improper man to administer the 
 word of life to others; being himself *'dead in tres- 
 passes and sins;" but that now she not only meant 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 347 
 
 to come to church, but to sacrament if I would per- 
 mit her. She then asked me to go to prayer: this 
 was new work to me, and put me to the blush. 
 However, as I had lately in private found my way 
 to a throne of grace, I did not refuse, though if it 
 had not been for shame I should rather have put 
 that office upon the old lady: as I am sure I needed 
 her prayers for my growth in grace, and for my in- 
 crease in divine knowledge. The next time the com- 
 munion was administered, she was with us at the 
 table; and 1 well remember, when I gave her the 
 elements, how affectionately she looked up at me, 
 and wept so plentifully that she even bedewed my 
 hands with her tears. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. What a sweet proof this was of the 
 loving and uniting spirit of the gospel, among all 
 who love the Lord Jesus in sincerity! 
 
 Wor, I have no doubt, but your acquaintance with 
 the good old lady, was very profitable. 
 
 Loveg. Yes, sir; and still more so, as I got ac- 
 quainted with her library: for though she had sold 
 some of her husband's books, yet others of them she 
 had preserved. Among these, I found many of the 
 writings of Owen, Flavel, President Edwards, Gur- 
 nall's Christian in complete Armour, Archbishop 
 Usher on the Sum and Substance of the Christian 
 Religion, Bishop Downham on Justification, Bishop 
 Hall's Works, and others. These she used to call her 
 Sunday company; and to these I had at all times free 
 access: and about three years afterwards, when she 
 found herself in dying circumstances, she gave me 
 several of them as keepsakes. 
 
 Mer. The loss of this good old lady, must have 
 considerably afiected you. 
 
 Loveg. Yes; but then her death was so glorious! 
 On my last visit she cried, "This is not dying; be- 
 lievers never die: I am just going to enter the pre- 
 
348 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 sence chamber of my Lord.'' And then she sung, 
 or rather attempted to sing, with peculiar melody of 
 heart, that verse from Dr. Watts, (whose hymns she 
 frequently quoted in her last sickness,) 
 
 Jesus can make a dying bed 
 
 Feel soft as downy pillows are; 
 While on his breast I lean my head, 
 
 And breathe my life out sweetly there. 
 
 Then she paused and said, taking me by the hand, 
 affectionately, here 1 lie, just going to gloryj and 
 then repeated another verse: 
 
 A guilty, weak, and helpless worm, 
 
 On thy kind arms I fall; 
 Be thou my strength and righteousness, 
 
 My Jesus and my all. 
 
 Then she would cry out, "0! this precious believ- 
 ing in the Son of God!" "Eye hath not seen, nor 
 ear heard, neither have entered the heart of man, the 
 things which God hath prepared for them that love 
 him;" "He hath loved me, and given himself for 
 me;" and "he sheds abroad this his most precious 
 love in my heart;" and " I feel it like a warm coal of 
 living fire, while I am struggling in the cold arms of 
 death." Thus she went on, blessing and praising 
 God, and triumphing in the redeeming love of Christ, 
 to the latest moments of her life; repeatedly saying, 
 "0 Death! where is thy sting? grave! where is 
 thy victory?" sir! it is a glorious sight, to see be- 
 lievers departing in the triumphs of faith, and with 
 " a hope full of immortality." 
 
 PVor. No doubt, but that your acquaintance with 
 all these good people, proved a considerable help, 
 though they were inferior to you in point of educa- 
 tional knowledge. 
 
 Loveg. Yes; but 1 found myself much inferior to 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 349 
 
 them in point of experimental knowledge. No earth- 
 ly wisdom, however good in its place, will do as a 
 substitute for " that wisdom which is from above." 
 But 1 soon got acquainted with two very excellent 
 clergymen in those parts, and with a worthy dissent- 
 ing minister, whose name was Peaceful; and who was 
 in the habit of calling on Mrs. Goodworth, though 
 they all lived at some distance from us. 
 
 Wor. We should be glad if you would tell us how 
 that was brought about. 
 
 Loveg. Why, sir, the next Sunday, only two of the 
 young men attended the church, and I suspect they 
 went over to Mr. Slapdash; for about a fortnight after, 
 1 received an anonymous, though an affectionate let- 
 ter, signed '^Faucis inter Clerum,"^ mentioning their 
 exceeding joy on the report which had been com- 
 municated to them, declaring at the same time, that 
 they sought my acquaintance from the purest mo- 
 tives of Christianity, and from a desire of cultivating 
 the most affectionate intimacy with all the spiritual 
 and evangelical ministers of their own community. 
 Interwoven in this letter, there was a great number 
 of very strong and animated expressions, warning 
 me against the fear of man ; and charging me to preach 
 the gospel, and the gospel only, faithfully, and di- 
 rectly to the sinner's heart and conscience, as far as 
 divine light broke in upon my mind; so that it im- 
 mediately struck me, that Mr. Slapdash was the prin- 
 cipal composer of the letter. 
 
 Wor. Well, sir, and there is no doubt but this 
 proved a gracious circumstance in your favour. 
 
 Loveg. Sir, it proved a gracious circumstance in- 
 deed: for I immediately wrote an answer to their 
 truly affectionate letter, and a few days after, Mr. 
 Slapdash came over to my lodgings; and how the 
 
 * From a few among the clergy. 
 
350 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 dear man rejoiced over me to find me in such a frame 
 of mind ! Indeed, all things considered, he proved the 
 best, and most suitable companion 1 ever met with. 
 You know I am naturally timid; Mr. Slapdash is al- 
 together Lutheran and bold, yet not less loving and 
 afi'ectionate; and though, perhaps, every word he ad- 
 vances may not be within the severer rules of mo- 
 deration, yet I believe that his bold strokes, and wild 
 notes are more serviceable for the good of his neigh- 
 bours, than all the fine set music, we may have about 
 the country besides. 
 
 J\Ier. How long, sir, did you continue in that cu- 
 racy ? 
 
 Loveg. Not much more than four years: for when 
 I began to be serious, and to preach the salvation of 
 Christ, my Rector was soon informed of it, and wrote 
 me several letters on my "new notions of religion," 
 as he called them, which brought on a long epistolary 
 correspondence. But when he heard that I had 
 preached a funeral sermon on the death of Mrs. Good- 
 worth, and that I walked with Mr. Peaceful, as a 
 brother minister, to the grave, his patience was quite 
 exhausted, and he gave me warning to quit. 
 
 Wor. Why, where could be the harm of that? 
 
 Loveg. Sir, my Rector had imbibed all the strange, 
 wild, high-church notions of Mr. Daubeny and 
 others, in such an extravagant manner, that he sup- 
 posed I had been guilty of the most enormous crime, 
 in preaching a funeral sermon over one that had re- 
 ceived schismatical baptism, and had lived in schism 
 almost all the days of her life. 
 
 Mer. Why, did not your preaching bring her back 
 again to the church? 
 
 Loveg. Yes, but all that operated against me: he 
 supposed me to be at least half a schismatic myself, 
 since such a set of schismatical people ran after me. 
 And again, he had heard from the neighbouring 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 351 
 
 clergy, that I drew away people from their regular 
 attendance at their own parish churches: thus, for 
 having a full church, and for bringing Dissenters to 
 the communion, I lost my curacy. 
 
 Wor. I am afraid that many others of the clergy 
 are much more worthy of the blame charged on you; 
 who, by their false doctrine and improper conduct, 
 drive churchmen to be dissenters by thousands. — 
 But though you have often told us what a painful 
 dismissal this was to you, when you were compelled 
 to leave a congregation so seriously impressed, and 
 being also the first-fruits of your ministry; yet it 
 proved a happy event for us. 
 
 Loveg. Sir, "God's ways are not as our ways." 
 What man designs as evil, he frequently overrules 
 for good; and I bless his name, I was not sent there 
 but for gracious purposes. For after I had been in 
 my curacy about three years, I thought it a call in 
 providence, that 1 should marry the* sister of one of 
 the young men who visited me, and who was a cre- 
 ditable farmer's daughter, having a small freehold of 
 his own; so that I got in the parish of Abley, two of 
 the greatest hlessings in life, a good wife, and the 
 knowledge of the gospel. 
 
 Mer. It is a great mercy, when we can leave all 
 things in the hands of God: "he doeth all things 
 well." 
 
 Loveg. In many instances I found this to be the 
 case; for being thus dismissed from my curacy, the 
 pity of many was excited towards me; though from 
 that hour to this, I never could discover who it was 
 that represented my case to the notice of the Chan- 
 cellor, when I received the presentation to the vicar- 
 age of this parish. All 1 know is, that a short, kind 
 letter was sent, asking me the question, that as the 
 Chancellor had heard of my character and situation, 
 he wished to know if the living of Lower Brookfield 
 
352 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 would be worth my acceptance. I was happy to 
 embrace the kind offer immediately. Our first 
 child was born about three weeks before this event 
 took place; and just when we began to harbour un- 
 believing fears about how we could subsist upon our 
 scanty income, this merciful event in providence took 
 place. 
 
 Wor. Alas, sir! the living of Brookfield is still but 
 a scanty maintenance for 5''ourself and family. 
 
 Loveg. Why, sir, my curacy was but sixty pounds 
 a year, so that the living of this parish has above 
 doubled my income, besides the privilege of being 
 independent in the discharge of my duty, which wai 
 never the case while I was curate of Abley. MyRec- 
 tor was always saying, that I was feeding my own 
 vanity, in affecting to be more abundantly zealous 
 than others; and as this sort of conduct indirectly re- 
 flected upon the rest of the clergy, who were con- 
 tented to do no more than what was regularly ex- 
 pected from them, he could by no means allow his 
 curate to do more than others, 
 
 Mer. Ah, sir! it would have been well for me, if 
 my living had been no better than yours; but as it 
 is, I suppose, about four times the value, I found my- 
 self quite at liberty to run after that which I liked best. 
 Thus from the income of my living, which 1 received 
 for spiritual purposes, I could procure for myself all 
 that my carnal heart could wish to enjoy. 
 
 Wor. Well, sir, you now know the worth of the 
 gospel since you have felt its power, and when our 
 hearts are converted to God, we shall dedicate our 
 property to his glory. But there is a sad inequality 
 in church preferment, and that is frequently sadly 
 disposed of. 
 
 JVfrs. Wor. Now, Mr. Merryman, we shall be glad 
 to hear you again. You have told us enough of the 
 worst part of your story, but nothing of the better: 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 353 
 
 will you next favour us with the latter part of your 
 narrative? No doubt but that it will be much more 
 pleasing than the former. 
 
 Mer. Why, madam, there has been with me so 
 much of the bad and so little of the good, that I am 
 sorry to say, you will soon hear all I have got to ad- 
 vance on that subject: though I must relate, to my 
 shame, more of the bad, before 1 tell you any thing 
 of the good. 
 
 Jl^'frs. Wor. Had you then no serious impressions 
 before you heard our minister at the visitation? 
 
 Mer. Madam, till that time, I was acting as the 
 vainest puppy that ever lived; always aflfecung the 
 easy air of the conceited gentleman, and as much 
 ashamed of my professional character as I well could 
 be; yet 1 by no means found myself happy in my 
 light, frothy state of mind. 
 
 Loveg. No wonder that you were ashamed of your 
 professional character while you acted as you did. 
 
 Mer. Yes, but while I was engaged in my office 
 many a stinging conviction was brought home to my 
 mind: for while I was reading the prayers, and ac- 
 knowledging sin, in language in itself so humble and 
 just, saying that "I had done those things which I 
 ought not to have done, and that I had left undone 
 those things which I ought to have done, and that 
 there was no health in me;" and that "God would 
 not despise the sighings of a contrite heart, or the de- 
 sire of such as are sorrowful:" I used to think what 
 profane mockery and hypocrisy it all was. How 
 1 was ashamed of myself, when I considered what 
 people must think of me, while I was reading such 
 prayers, and leading such a life! — But in nothing was 
 I more disgusted with myself, than by the frequent pe- 
 titions I was obliged to make use of for the grace and 
 influence, and inspiration of God's Holy Spirit; espe- 
 cially while I used to hear many of the clergy, who 
 VOL. I — 31 
 
354 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 were no better than myself, ridicule every idea of di- 
 vine influences; and when I also had in the bundle of 
 my sermons, that I had either bought, borrowed, or 
 begged, three that were designed to expose such pre- 
 tensions to divine operations as being nothing better 
 than downright enthusiasm. In short, sir, I could 
 neither bear my office, nor bear myself on account of 
 my office; and no one can tell, what I used to feel, 
 when I was under the necessity of administering the 
 sacrament, and how I used to dread and hate the re- 
 turn of those days, when I had to repeat these words, 
 '' the remembrance of our sins is grievous unto us, 
 and the burden of them is intolerable:'^ my conscience 
 would tell me, that I was uttering before God, an 
 intolerable lie, and was about to take the sacrament 
 with this abominable lie in my mouth. Then again, 
 I was forcibly struck after the administration, while 
 I was obliged to use these words; ''And here we of- 
 fer and present unto thee, Lord, ourselves, our 
 souls, and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and lively 
 sacrifice unto thee;" that directly after I had been 
 receiving the sacrament, I repeated the crime by 
 mocking God with another lie; for that I knew in my 
 conscience, I had no design whatever to devote my- 
 self to the glory of God, but to continue the same 
 loose, wild way of living as before. 
 
 Loveg. It is really astonishing, that we can mock 
 God by repeating such solemn words, and even on a 
 sacramental occasion! But had you many who came 
 to the sacrament? 
 
 J\Ier. Very few, sir; very few indeed: and when 
 1 used to see some of these grave old people come 
 with their Week's Preparation books, I wondered 
 what they could think of me, who had been running 
 after all the vain amusements within my reach through- 
 out all the week: if they had any reflection, I am 
 sure they must have concluded that I was nothing 
 better than a mere hireling and a xcolfi 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 355 
 
 Loveg. How did you use to feel when you were 
 called to visit the sick? 
 
 J\Ier. Ah, sir I it was but seldom that the people 
 thought it worth their while to send after such a 
 giddy, dissipated youth as I then was. On these oc- 
 casions they naturally concluded, that prayers, mere- 
 ly said from the lips of such a light, frothy chap, 
 could be of little avail in the solemn moments of their 
 dissolution. But whenever I had an office of that 
 sort to perform, no one can tell how 1 abhorred the 
 task. However, I used to take out my little black ser- 
 vice-book, read a few prayers over as fast as I could, 
 and then off again to my sports. I remember once, 
 I had the misfortune to be called to this office from 
 the card table; I accordingly put the deal in my 
 pocket, and went to my hated task; and while I was 
 taking out my book and my handkerchief, all over 
 perfume, to prevent the offensive smell of a sick cham- 
 ber, (for I had a deal of affected delicacy about me.) 
 I whisked out all tlie cards, while the nurse had to 
 pick them up again— and then I went to my devotions! 
 
 fVor. It is a great mercy, that the wickedness and 
 enmity of your heart did not prevent your giving a 
 serious hearing to Mr. Lovegood, when he preached 
 the visitation sermon. 
 
 Mer. Sir, in all my levity and wickedness, while 
 I could join with others in skits and jokes against real 
 religion; yet I had a sort of secret respect for those 
 who were truly serious and consistent: I was con- 
 vinced their characters were preferable to mine. My 
 principal mischief arose from a light, trifling, and 
 frothy spirit, by which I was entirely captivated; till 
 my heart, I trust, was instructed to know somewhat 
 of the grace of God in truth. 
 
 Loveg. Well, I bless God, being of a more studi- 
 ous turn of mind, I was kept from the same excess of 
 
356 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 vanity; nor could T bear the company of the more 
 dissolute of the rest of our body: but if more decent 
 I was not less ignorant of the way of salvation re- 
 vealed in the Bible, than yourself; and in our neigh- 
 bourhood there lived another clergyman, known 
 by the name of Mr. Soberman, who was very correct 
 and chaste in the whole of his deportment: we still 
 keep up a very friendly intercourse with each other; 
 though he always told me I had gone too far. I am 
 satisfied of this; we should ever speak well of good 
 wherever we find it; and I should be happy, if in every 
 country, and in every line of life, men of such cha- 
 racters were more universally to be found. It would 
 be horrid indeed, if all the clergy were equally dis-- 
 solute and profane. 
 
 Mer. sir! it fell to my lot to be acquainted with 
 a sad example of the worst men of every character. 
 Some of these were professed libertine Deists: and 
 among the clergy themselves I found some Deists 
 in disguise. But what can be expected from the 
 church under present circumstancesi^ You know, sir, 
 at the time of our public ordinations, near the Uni- 
 versities, what scenes are exhibited, when a set of 
 such thoughtless youths take upon them this most 
 sacred office. If the world knew half our tricks, 
 how they would hate us for our hypocrisy, and how 
 should we be treated as im posers on the credulity of 
 mankind. 
 
 Wor. I confess, all who truly love the church, can- 
 not but lament how ill she is served. But what was 
 it that so impressed your mind, while you heard Mr. 
 Lovegood preach his visitation sermon?* 
 
 Mer. Why, sir, when we heard that Mr. Love- 
 good was to be the preacher, as we had been informed 
 of his character before, we were all attention; some 
 
 * It is the general custom, that some new Rector or Vicar 
 lately inducted should preach the Visitation sermon. 
 
DIALOGUE XVIII. 357 
 
 out of envy, and others out of curiosity, and a few 
 perhaps out of good will. But as 1 so hated myself, 
 on account of my office, I thought 1 had no right to 
 blame others, whose lives were more consistent than 
 my own; so I confess, I attended not only without 
 any prejudice, but rather with a strong prepossession 
 upon my mind, that I should hear somewhat, well 
 worthy of my attention; for I was persuaded Mr. 
 Lovegood was a much better man than myself. 
 
 Loveg. [To Mr. Worthy.] Sir, as we have done 
 tea, if 1 am to be made the subject of conversation, 
 I shall withdraw and desire Edward to take away his 
 tea equipage, and sit a little while with poor Mrs. 
 Chipman. I wish to put these few sheets into her 
 hands, [he reads the title page] " The Tempestuous 
 Soul calmed by Jesus Christ.^' 
 
 Mr. Lovegood having thus withdrawn, the present 
 dialogue shall be concluded, that the reader's atten- 
 tion may have time to rest before he hears more of 
 Mr. Merryman, and of the gracious influences of the 
 gospel; which wrought so wonderfully on his mind, 
 and which produced such pleasing consequences on 
 his ministry, and on the whole of his life and con- 
 versation. 
 
 31* 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF THREE SORTS OF MI- 
 NISTERS, REPRESENTED IN CONTRAST 
 WITH EACH OTHER. 
 
 MR. WORTHY AND FAMILY; MR. LOVEGOOD, AND MR. 
 MERRYMAN. 
 
 Before Mr. Merry man favours us with a far- 
 ther narration on the subject of his experience, per- 
 haps it might not be unacceptable to my readers, 
 were they to be advertised, that there were two other 
 ministers in the same neighbourhood, of names near- 
 ly similar to that of Slapdash before mentioned, Mr. 
 Slopdash, and Mr. Taplash. The character of Mr. 
 Slapdash has sufficiently appeared from the preceding 
 dialogue. Mr. Slopdash would frequently boast that 
 he was of the same family with Mr. Slapdash; but, 
 by all accounts, the relationship was very distant 
 indeed. It is charitably hoped that Mr. Slopdash 
 was a good man. But while Mr. Slapdash had a mind 
 warm and animated, the other was vehement and rash, 
 and would insult his hearers with gross personal re- 
 flections, which were too frequently administered 
 with great indiscretion; and this he caWed faithfulness. 
 Mr. Slapdash could also give hard slaps when need- 
 ed, but, in general, they were administered with dis- 
 cretion; and if at any time, through the natural ra- 
 pidity of his constitution, he failed, yet being pos- 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 359 
 
 sessed of the "meekness and gentleness that was in 
 Christ," his mistakes were soon corrected; if at times 
 he tripped through the rapidity of his mind, he never 
 fell into the mire through the prevailing impurity of 
 his heart. 
 
 Mr. Slopdash had a mind that was naturally low, 
 vulgar, and coarse. The sentiments of Mr. Slap- 
 dash, on the contrary, were elevated and pure. If 
 ever he descended, it was like the swallow, just to 
 dip the tip of his wings in the stream, and again 
 ascend. But Mr. Slopdash was quite the duckj he 
 could go down into the filthy kennel of human cor- 
 ruption, and turn it up from the very bottom, and 
 then glory in his performance. Mr. Slapdash, after 
 he had taken his text, would for awhile stick to it; 
 and give it a very just and correct interpretation, 
 though afterwards, from the warm and animated 
 frame of his mind, he would branch out so as 
 to surprise his hearers, by a brilliancy of thought, 
 peculiar to himself. His severer hearers would 
 blame him for these eccentricities, and call him a 
 rambling preacher; though still he was correct in his 
 divinity, and well-intentioned in his design; and in 
 all his ramblings he was ever sure to keep upon holy 
 f^round. 
 
 Mr. Slopdash, on the contrary, when he had taken 
 a text, would not so much consider its sense^ as its 
 sound; and would conceive himself wonderfully 
 clever if he could hit upon a meaning, the most pre- 
 posterous and absurd, by way of explaining a passage 
 the most perspicuous and plain. He once vociferated 
 for an hour on this text: " Behold, says Pharaoh's 
 baker, I had three white baskets on my head," 
 Gen. xl. 16; and from hence he proved the doctrine 
 of the Trinity, whereby he astonished his auditory 
 not a little, and pleased them hugely; for they never 
 heard before, that the three baskets meant the three 
 persons in the Trinity! ! ! 
 
360 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 He also proved nearly the same doctrine from the 
 history of Esther; that Ahasuerus was God the Fa- 
 ther, that Mordecai was God the Son, that Esther 
 was the Church, and that Haman was the Devil. As 
 to myself, I rather doubt the justice of the interpre- 
 tation: for, if we abide by it, that the devil was 
 hung, upwards of two thousand three hundred years 
 ago, (though he certainly deserved it,) it is impossible 
 to suppose that such a wonderful deal of mischief 
 could have been done ever since, by a dead devil. 
 While it is not less surprising that upwards of five 
 hundred years after his execution, he should have 
 been represented by Paul as being all alive, and full 
 of activity, going about seeking whom he may devour. 
 It is, however, charitably to be concluded, that the 
 defects of Mr. Slopdash were not in his heart, but 
 in his head. His brains were unfortunately very ill- 
 screwed together, though had they been screwed 
 too close, certainly many of his floating ideas would 
 have been terribly cramped; but as it happened, 
 matters with him were in a very contrary extreme. 
 No wonder, therefore, that this shatter-brained divine, 
 should by the rattling and lax state of his tongue, 
 evidence so strongly, the loose state of his brains. 
 Mr. Slopdash was driven, with others of the same 
 mind, into this wild way of interpreting the Scrip- 
 tures, not only in the above instances, but in a variety 
 of others, equally as absurd, from having admitted too 
 slight notions of the necessity of the practical and 
 preceptive part of the Word of God. Hence he had 
 almost run into the abominable idea, urged by some 
 Ranters of late and modern times; that "the law is 
 no rule of life to a believer;" but his mind was not 
 altogether so vitiated as to admit a doctrine, so gross- 
 ly blasphemous against the holiness of God. He 
 appears evidently vindicated from this charge, even 
 from the fanciful, absurd interpretation he gave of the 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 361 
 
 following text: "He that loveth pleasure, shall be a 
 poor man; he that loveth wine and oil, shall not be 
 rich." Having thrown aside the common-sense inter- 
 pretation of the passage, as directing us to avoid sinful 
 pleasures and extravagant indulgences, he insisted 
 upon it, that the pleasure there meant, was the plea- 
 sure of true godliness, and that being a poor man was 
 to be understood as being "poor in spirit;" and that 
 loving wine and oil, was to represent our loving the 
 spiritual blessings of the gospel, and that such people 
 should not be rich in their own esteem. — Such was 
 the spiritual nonsense that flowed in large abundance, 
 from the pate of this shatter-brained divine. 
 
 However there was another Mr. Slopdash, not far 
 distant, a base-born offspring of the same family, equal- 
 ly as ignorant, but of a much worse disposition: with 
 him neither Mr, Lovegood nor INIr. Merryman could 
 keep up the least possible connexion, as his doctrine 
 had, at all times, a secret tendency to prove his hatred 
 to holiness; and his life was no better than his doc- 
 trine, while his spirit and temper were as bitter as 
 wormwood and gall. This, therefore, rendered him 
 a very dangerous preacher indeed, for while he pre- 
 tended to be such a stanch friend to the doctrine 
 of Christ, he was a dangerous enemy to the mind of 
 Christ, while many were found, being as ignorant as 
 himself, eagerly to swallow down his insulting dog- 
 mas, as if they were consistent with those pure and 
 holy truths which are revealed in the Word of God. 
 He once exemplified his horrid art in thus per- 
 verting the scriptures, while he made a preachment 
 from these words: "Before the cock crow, thou shalt 
 deny me thrice." He actually misconstrued this 
 holy word of caution, or rather prophecy, given by our 
 Lord to his presumptuous disciple Peter, into an ex- 
 press command, "Thou shalt deny me;" and thus 
 proved that the law could not be a rule of life to a 
 believer ! ! ! 
 
362 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 I was told also, on another occasion, he exhibited 
 on this text: "It is better to dwell in a corner of 
 the house top, than with a brawling woman in a 
 wide house.^' First, he insisted upon it, that the 
 Proverbs are not to be considered in a moral, but a 
 gospel point of view. — That the brawling woman 
 was the Law; and that dwelling in the corner of 
 the house, meant being shut up in the Church: and 
 there the Law could not brawl at us, as all in the 
 Church were in a justified state ; but they who were 
 living in the wide house, he represented as living in 
 the wide house of the world, and that they would hear 
 the brawUngs of the law, scolding them fOr their wic- 
 kedness. So that this Mr. Slopdash had no idea of the 
 wickedness he was guilty of, in giving such a view of 
 the just and holy law, by comparing its most righteous 
 sentence against our unrighteousness, to the brawling 
 of an angry woman. From the same bad principle, 
 this same Mr. Slopdash would also insult the minds 
 of all chaster hearers of the Gospel, by telling them 
 that we should not perplex the souls of the elect, by 
 preaching up more holiness than God designed they 
 should possess; because ^' sin could do the believer 
 no harm,^' and that when the apostle said, <' without 
 holiness no man shall see the Lord," he meant with- 
 out Christ no man shall see the Lord, which is a so- 
 lemn truth, though designed by him to cover a most 
 vile antinomian conclusion against the necessity of 
 personal holiness on the souls of men. 
 
 If I have not already exhausted the reader's pa- 
 tience, he shall have some farther evidence how this 
 man could pervert the wise book of Proverbs, into 
 language the most preposterous and absurd; for thus 
 it seems he was in the habit of interpreting what 
 Solomon says of the four things that disquiet the 
 earth: <<A servant when he reigneth;" that is, said 
 he, when we who once were the servants, slaves to 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 363 
 
 the law, reign with ChHst. *^A fool when he is 
 filled with meat," which he interpreted as meaning, 
 when we fools are filled with their sort of heavenly 
 food. Perhaps it would have suited as well had he 
 said that he meant himself, when his gaping admirers 
 gave him a good dinner for talking nonsense. '^An 
 odious woman when she is married,'^ he says, was 
 designed to represent the marriage of the odious sin- 
 ner to Christ; and "A hand-maid, when she is heir to 
 her mistress," was to mean how we sinners are made 
 heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ!!! spiced 
 with their mrf/recf meaning of the passage, that though 
 the devil may reign in our hearts on earth, we may 
 reign with him in heaven. 1 am satisfied, after all 
 these instances from the above said Mr. Slopdash, 
 respecting his method of interpreting the scriptures, 
 he will be quite contented if I suppress others, some 
 of them being even indecent, and all of them as ab- 
 surd and preposterous as any of the former. And 
 indeed the other Mr. Slopdash, who was known to 
 Mr. Lovegood, soon tried his patience till it was 
 quite exhausted; while Mr. Merry man, for a long 
 time attempted to convince him of the impropriety 
 and absurdity of such interpretations of Scripture. 
 But as there is a certain degree of pride and positi* 
 vity belonging to the whole of that tribe, all Mr. 
 Merryman got, was the pity of Mr. Slopdash, who 
 always conceited his own ignorance was superlative 
 wisdom, and that the wisdom of others, was to be 
 imputed to their ignorance. 
 
 Through the sides of Mr. Slopdash, however, the 
 Rev. Mr. Taplash, minister of a little, gay, gossiping 
 town in that neighbourhood,called Clack, would make 
 his most vehement attacks against Mr. Slapdash; and 
 indeed, against every other minister who, with unaf- 
 fected simplicity, and godly sincerity, preached the 
 gospel to the consciences of his hearers. These he 
 
364 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 would charge as being all alike, supposing that the 
 follies of some were equally imputable to all; and 
 though he was a man of no great consequence or 
 worth, but in his own esteem, yet where truths are 
 naturally disliked, any sort of a witness will be rea- 
 dily admitted against them. 
 
 Elegance of composition, and a genteel delivery, 
 were all that Mr. Taplash could admire, which he 
 thought were wonderfully accomplished in himself, 
 while he was dealing with all possible affectation, his 
 flimsy, flippery, unsentimental harangues, as a very 
 acceptable treat, to those who could be gratified with 
 empty sounds, and a mere parade of words. 
 
 The Orator, when he first made his appearance, 
 would be primmed and dressed up in the most finished 
 style: not a hair would be found out of place on his 
 empty pate, on which the barber had been exercising 
 his occupation all the Sunday morning, and powdered 
 till as white as the driven snow. Thus elegantly 
 decorated, and smelling like a civet-cat, through an 
 abundance of perfumery, he would scent the air as 
 he passed. Then, with a most conceited skip, he 
 would step into the pulpit, as though stepping out 
 of a band-box; and here he had not only to display 
 his elegant production, but his elegant self also; his 
 delicate white hand, exhibiting his diamond ring, 
 while his richly-scented white handkerchief was un- 
 furled, and managed with remarkable dexterity and 
 art. His smelling-bottle was next occasionally pre- 
 sented to his nose, giving different opportunities to 
 display his sparkling ring. Thus having adjusted 
 the important business of the handkerchief and the 
 smelling-bottle, he had next to take out his glass, 
 that he might reconnoitre the fair part of his audi- 
 tory, with whom he might have been gallanting, 
 and entertaining with his cheap talk, the day before: 
 and these, as soon as he could catch their eye, he 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 365 
 
 would favour with a simpering look, and a graceful 
 nod. 
 
 Then next to his devotions. These were performed 
 in a remarkably gentleman-like manner; though the 
 best of it was, that they were no sooner begun than 
 they were ended. The same may also be said of his 
 sermons, they were special short, fifteen minutes being 
 the full length of the sermon of a fashionable divine: 
 and this he rarelj^ exceeded: while the ingredients of 
 all his compositions, seemed to be nothing better 
 than flimsy declamations, and religious compliments. 
 He w^ould be talking of ^Hhe reward we were to 
 receive from the fair hand of our own virtuous con- 
 duct, which, at a very easy rate, we might secure to 
 ourselves, as our religion by no means secluded us 
 from innocent amusements:" (doubtless referring to 
 the card-table, the ball-room, the theatre, &c.) — 
 "which we were all permitted to enjoy, in order 
 that we might return to the service of our Maker 
 with a greater relish and delight: and it is reported, 
 that he once actually composed a prayer for a reli- 
 gious young lady, on her confirmation, after she had 
 discharged her godfathers and godmothers, from that 
 vow on her behalf; ''to renounce the pomps and 
 vanities of this wicked world, and all the sinful lusts 
 of the flesh!" which she was to say after her return 
 from these exhibitions of vanity and pride. 
 
 Mr. Taplash would also, at times, adorn his ha- 
 rangues with scraps of poetry, principally culled out 
 of Shakspeare's plays; and at one time, after a very 
 tasty specimen of his elocution, in which he had been 
 displaying the rich repast conscious virtue brought 
 home to the pious mind, he thus concluded, with 
 the following verse out of Thomson: 
 
 "Come then, expressive silence, muse her praise." 
 
 The orator stood, as all-astonished at the excellency 
 VOL. L— 32 
 
366 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 of his own harangue; gave a very elegant congee to 
 his auditory, and then most gracefully sat down. 
 
 But the circumstance which flattered his vanity, 
 beyond all others, was that of his being appointed as 
 the preacher at the consecration of a church, to which 
 a public charity was connected; and on which occa- 
 sion he flourished away in this most extraordinary 
 manner: — 
 
 "Such is the foundation of a temple truly Chris- 
 tian. Let us gratify the mental eye with a transient 
 survey of the figurative superstructure. I look up 
 with admiration atthebroadexpansivearch of charity ; 
 the massy columns of truth; the graceful capitals of 
 mercy, gentleness, and compassion; the whole com- 
 pactly cemented by piety and philanthropy, by a 
 cement of goodness and love, intimately blended and 
 tempered in a perfect, inseparable amalgamation. If 
 it be asked of what architectural order is the fabric.'' 
 it is neither the Tuscan, the Doric, the Ionic, nor the 
 Corinthian, but it is the composite Christian order; 
 more beautiful in its form, and more durable in its 
 materials, than the most celebrated productions of 
 classic antiquity, modelled in the polite schools of 
 Athens or of Rome ; and is finished with a grace which 
 they could only, at a distant interval, faintly and im- 
 perfectly conceive."* 
 
 A text of Scripture, or even the name of Christ, 
 could scarcely ever find admission into the sermons 
 of Mr. Taplash. In one of his fine moral harangues, 
 descanting upon the beauties of virtue, aad the ex- 
 cellencies of a virtuous life, he thus addressed his 
 auditory, in a sentiment he had gathered from a 
 heathen orator: "Virtue, thou fairest of names, 
 
 * Such was the fanciful nonsense that appeared in print 
 from the pen of a very learned man, about this time, but I 
 forbear to mention names. 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 367 
 
 whose enchanting power can sooth even the savage 
 breast! Virtue, 1 say, couldst thou come down, 
 dressed in human shaj3e, and in all thy beauteous 
 array, surely thy godlike appearance would win the 
 foulest heart, and all the world would at once adore 
 thee as a goddess supremely blessed, and in them- 
 selves also, not less supremely blessed, wjien graced 
 with the influences of thy most tender and transport- 
 ing charms. 0! thou goddess, divinely glorious, 
 descend, and let us see thy lovely features, that we 
 may all adore!" 
 
 At once the buzz of universal applause was heard 
 throughout the congregation, as a most grateful in- 
 cense, offered up to feast the pride and vanity of the 
 preacher, by way of return, for the flattery of the 
 same vile passions, he had so plentifully bestowed 
 on his hearers. But soon afterwards, this very fine 
 speech, delivered with such elegance, unfortu- 
 nately met with a tqrrible mishap; for a gentleman 
 of property asked Mr. Taplash to lend his pulpit to 
 old Mr. Blunt, a worthy clergyman inthat neighbour- 
 hood, which he could not well refuse, though much 
 against the grain. He, having been informed of this 
 fine speech, quoted it almost verbatim, as it was de- 
 livered, then added, "Virtue did once descend in 
 human form, dressed in the person of God, our holy 
 Redeemer, and adorned in the perfection of excel- 
 lence. And did the world admire him for the beau- 
 ties of holiness, or adore him for his lovely charms? 
 Just the reverse. Was he not hated because he was 
 lovely? And was not the cry against him, " Away 
 with him, crucify him, crucify him?" And did they 
 cease their vindictive cry till they had put him to 
 death, even the ignominious death of the cross?" 
 Never was Mr. Taplash's smelling-bottle so much 
 needed as upon this occasion ; and he used it very 
 plentifully, while his pretty countenance at once red^ 
 
368 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 dened like the rose ; nor could the auditory tell what 
 they could think of themselves, that they could be 
 so led away by the weak harangues of Mr. Taplash, 
 which were so easily refuted by the sound sense of 
 Mr. Blunt* 
 
 If ever Mr. Taplash appeared a little more than 
 commonly warmed and animated, it was when he 
 was preaching against fanatics and modern enthusi- 
 asts. On these occasions, he would be always des- 
 canting on the powers of reason, which he would 
 dress up as another of his goddesses; that the Al- 
 mighty had given her sufficient powers for the re- 
 formation of mankind; or if she should fail, con- 
 science would be called in to lend her aid, whom he 
 would call "the sacred monitor of the Deity — the 
 vicegerent of the Almighty in the human bosom — the 
 mirror of merit, from whence we receive the con- 
 scious reward of every virtuous action." Such would 
 be some of his fulsome compliments to the corrupted 
 heart of man, and such was the style of this wretched 
 fribble in a cassock. 
 
 And now the reader shall be left to determine 
 whether of the two is the more disgusting; the ig- 
 norance and vulgarity of Mr. Slopdash, or the con- 
 ceitedness, pedantry, and puppyism of the genteel 
 and elegant Mr. Taplash. Having thus presented 
 these characters before the reader, the dialogue shall 
 be now continued, after the departure of Mr. Love- 
 good. 
 
 IVorthy. Well, Mr. Merryman, as Mr. Lovegood 
 is withdrawn, you may speak with the more freedom. 
 How that good man hates praise, though no person 
 upon earth so well deserves it! 
 
 Merryman. Why, sir, the very style in which he 
 
 * What is here related actually took place at Edinburgh, 
 not many years ago. 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 369 
 
 mentioned his text at the visitation, struck me not a 
 little. You know in what a ^rave and solemn manner 
 he always reads the word of God. I remember the 
 text, "Watch thou in all things; do the work of an 
 evangelist; make full proof of thy ministry." On 
 that occasion, he wisely judged it might be most ad- 
 visable to read his sermon; though I always like 
 him best when he preaches from the fulness of his 
 own heart; but he knew that extempore sermons are 
 sure to give offence to the clergy, especially in their 
 present state. That sermon he afterwards lent me 
 for my private perusal; and what a sermon it was! 
 What a contrast he displayed between the carnal 
 ministers of the world, who neither know their Lord's 
 voice, nor seek to know it, and the spiritual and faith- 
 ful ministers of the gospel, as delineated in the word 
 of God! 
 
 Wor. Directly as I began to read my Bible, I was 
 at once convinced, that the spirit and temper of real 
 Christianity, were as opposite to the spirit of the 
 world, as light is to darkness. And when that poor, 
 dissipated creature. Lord Rakish, gave me a call one 
 morning, and happened to find Mr. Lovegood with 
 me, I remember his grand objection against the Bible 
 was, that it was impossible for human nature to come 
 up to it. I well recollect Mr. Lovegood's admirable 
 answer: "So your lordship settles the matter, not by 
 force of argument, but from, what you feel in your- 
 self: the Bible must be wrong because you feel 
 wrong." Immediately Lord Rakish said, "Why, 
 do you not think I should like to believe the Bible 
 if I could, as well as yourself?" Mr. Lovegood di- 
 rectly answered, "Pardon me, my Lord, if I deny it; 
 you and thousands more besides, love sin too well to 
 believe the Bible." 
 
 Mer. What an excellent remark! But this was 
 nearly the same application he made in his visita- 
 32* 
 
370 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 tion sermon. That it was utterly impossible the 
 carnal world could love the holiness and spirituality 
 which existed in the real Christian; as by the whole 
 tenor of his conduct, he appeared a living witness 
 against them who "have a name to live and are 
 dead;" while all Christ's real disciples "are not of 
 the world, for that God hath chosen them out of the 
 world, therefore the world hateth them." That con- 
 sequently, as far as the real ministers of Christ follow 
 the example of their holy Master, in life and doc- 
 trine, they also must suffer the reproach of the 
 world with their suffering Redeemer. And, that 
 therefore, his first apostles positively declared, "that 
 all they who live godly in Christ Jesus, shall suffer 
 persecution;" and that "living godly in Christ Jesus," 
 would ever draw down odium and persecution, at 
 least of the tongue, (however, through divine provi- 
 dence, religion was protected by law,) where its real 
 influences were not established in the heart; and that 
 we should find it so, if we made full proof of our mi- 
 nistry, or attended according to the directions given 
 in the ordination office. "To be messengers, watch- 
 men, and stewards of the Lord; to teach and pre- 
 monish, to feed and provide for the Lord's family; 
 to seek Christ's sheep who are dispersed abroad; and 
 for his children, who are in the midst of this naughty 
 world, that they may be saved through Christ, for 
 ever;" and after he had given a large quotation from 
 that most excellent exhortation, I well remember the 
 contemptuous sneer that passed on that occasion, be- 
 tween Mr. Spiteful and old Rector Guzzle. 
 
 Wor. No wonder at their sneers. We all know 
 the spirit and temper of Mr. Spiteful: and as for 
 Rector Guzzle, I never heard him famed for any 
 thing, but that he was a greater eater, and harder 
 drinker than any man about the country. But I 
 thought, after I had read the sermon, Mr. Lovegood 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 371 
 
 was the most striking on that passage, "Do the work 
 of an evangelist." 
 
 JIfer. Indeed, sir, I had no conception at first that 
 there could be any other evangelists than the writers 
 of the four Gospels. 
 
 Wor. But he gave us all to understand, that the 
 work of an evangelist, is to spread the Gospel. And 
 in what a full and concise manner he described the 
 leading sentiments of the Gospel preacher! 
 
 Mer. I remember well his weighty observations 
 on the importance of the ministry; and I felt every 
 word as against myself, for my presumption and 
 wickedness, in taking upon me such an office, and 
 from such motives, while I was so perfectly careless; 
 living like a downright heathen, and yet daring to 
 assume the character of the minister of Christ. What 
 strong expressions he made use of, when calculating 
 the infinite value of but one immortal spirit! That 
 "all the vast revolutions of kingdoms and empires, 
 were but for a time; the wide-extended splendour of 
 the greatest of them, as once they existed, is now no 
 more: not so the soul of the meanest individual: be- 
 ing of infinite duration, it is of infinite worth;" urging 
 from this, that our doctrine should be the most pure, 
 our example the most holy, and our diligence the 
 most assiduous and persevering. 
 
 Wor. Do you recollect how he urged that part of 
 the text, "Watch thou in all things?" 
 
 Mer. Yes, I recollect enough to have convinced 
 me, and many others, if they could have attended to 
 it, that our careless lives, and sacred office, were the 
 greatest contradiction to each other, and in entire 
 opposition to the word of God, which directs us to 
 "be instant in season, and out of season;" to "make 
 full proof of our ministry;" in short, "to spend and 
 be spent for Jesus Christ;" while at the same time, 
 the negligence of the generality of us, was so evident 
 
37i^ VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 and notorious. But what striking observations he 
 made on those words, "Endure afflictions!" He at 
 once met the objection he supposed would be made, 
 that this part of the text must be confined to primi- 
 tive times only; and that now the profession of Chris- 
 tianity, since its establishment, was "attended with 
 ease and honour."* But I remember with what so- 
 lemnity, he asked the question, "Is the carnal mind 
 otherwise now, than it was then, — Enmity against 
 God? Could age cure the diseases of the human 
 heart, which is described as being "deceitful above 
 all things, and desperately wicked?" No wonder, 
 therefore, if in every age we exemplified the justice 
 of the charge, that we are haters of God; and what 
 could be expected from such, but that they should be 
 haters of the godly? I remember lie farther pressed the 
 point, by first quoting the beatitudes, as in the fifth 
 of Matthew; observing what a fine epitome it was of 
 the mind of Christ, as it dwells in the heart of every 
 true believer. That the real Christian was poor in 
 spirit; and that such only are of the kingdom of 
 heaven; that he was a holy mourner, under a sense of 
 sin; and that such alone should be comforted; that 
 he is found among the meek, and that these only 
 inherit the earth, and heaven too: that they hungered 
 and thirsted after righteousness, or rather after a holy 
 conformity to the will of God: that he w^as merciful; 
 therefore should obtain mercy: that he was pure in 
 heart; therefore should see God : that he was a peace- 
 maker, and therefore should be numbered among the 
 
 * An expression of the late Bishop Warburton, when in 
 the exertion of his zeal against modern enthusiasts. Though 
 a Bishop of a church which so repeatedly insists on divine 
 influences, yet, like many others, he entirely denied all divine 
 influences whatever; thus he completely reduced Christianity 
 to a system of deism, or of natural religion, as it is called, 
 whilehe pretended to vindicate her sacred cause. 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 
 
 373 
 
 children of God. He then made the comparison be- 
 tween the hio:;h tipirituality which belongs to the real 
 disciples of Christ, and the poor, cold morality so 
 much talked of, though, after all, so little practised 
 among the people of the world. Then he mentioned 
 avarietyof passages of the same import and concluded 
 with this text: "whatsoever ye do, in word and deed, 
 do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks 
 to God and the Father by him.'^ 
 
 Mer. Till that hour, I never had the most distant 
 conception what was meant by gospel holiness, any 
 more than the horse I rode^on to the visitation. But 
 I am sure all that he spoke respecting the impurity 
 and unholiness of mankind in general, was true, and 
 indeed, of all as in a state of nature. I have already 
 seen a great deal too much, though yet so young; and 
 I have had proof enough, that what the Bible says is 
 true, "that the whole vvorld lieth in the wicked one." 
 Almost all I have ever met with, have been nearly 
 of the same stamp, following what their corrupted 
 hearts evidently liked best; "the lust of the flesh, 
 the lust of the eye, and the pride of life." I am 
 sure all these were my delights, till I heard Mr. 
 Lovegood. 
 
 TFor. But 1 remember, he has admirably showed 
 how the evangelist, or evangelical minister, had also 
 to expatiate on the glories of the Gospel, as manifested 
 in our redemption by the blood of Christ, our accept- 
 ance in his righteousness, and the sanctification of 
 our natures, by the operation of the Divine Spirit. 
 I think our excellent friend crowded too many ideas 
 into the same subject; but no wonder, as it was most 
 evidently his design, to take that opportunity, to 
 give the most comprehensive view of matters in his 
 power. What he delivered, contained sufficient sub'> 
 stance for many a large volume. 
 
374 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Mer. I really was no critic, while he was pouring 
 down the substance of such volumes of divinity on 
 my poor ignorant head, and wicked heart; yet no- 
 thing astonished me so much as my ignorance, ex- 
 cepting my presumption, while he took the oppor- 
 tunity, during the course of his sermon, to quote a 
 variety of awful passages, against such a set of faith- 
 less hirelings. He produced several of them from 
 the 34th of Ezekiel, whicii I never forgot from that 
 hour to this. "Wo be to the shepherds of Israel, 
 tiiat feed themselves. Should not the shepherds feed 
 the flock? The diseased have ye not strengthened, 
 neither have ye healed that which was sick; neither 
 have ye bound up that which was broken; neither 
 have ye brought again that which was driven away; 
 neither have ye sought that which w^as lost; but with 
 force and with cruelty have ye ruled them, and they 
 were scattered because there is no shepherd, and 
 they became meat for all the beasts of the field, when 
 they were scattered and none did search and seek 
 after them. Therefore, thus saith the Lord God, Be- 
 hold, I am against the shepherds, and will require 
 my flock at their hands, and cause them to cease 
 from feeding the flock; neither shall the shepherds 
 feed themselves any more, for I will deliver my flock 
 from their mouth, that they may not be meat for 
 them." I remember at the same time, he introduced 
 another passage from the same Prophet, as belonging 
 to the watchmen of Israel: "When I say to the 
 wicked, Thou shalt surely die, and thou givest him 
 no warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from 
 his wicked way, to save his life; the same wicked 
 man shall die in his iniquity, but his blood will I re- 
 quire at thine hand." 
 
 Wo7\ Yes, and there is another passage, which I 
 remember to have read in his wsermon, and which he 
 quoted from Isaiah. "His watchmen are blind; they 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 375 
 
 are all ignorant, they are all dumb dogs, they cannot 
 bark; sleeping, lying down, loving to slumber. Yea, 
 they are greedy dogs, which can never have enough: 
 and they are shepherds that cannot understand; they 
 all look to their own way, every one for his own 
 gain from his quarter." 
 
 Me7\ Yes, and how he set forth at the same time 
 the dreadful words pronounced by our Lord, against 
 the Scribes and Pharisees, the false teachers of the 
 day, against all such "evil men and seducers, who 
 are sure to wax worse and worse';" and who run 
 counter to the express command of God. "We 
 preach not ourselves, but Christ .lesus the Lord, and 
 ourselves your servants, for Jesus' sake." And I 
 weir recollect what solemn countenances appeared 
 among the laity, though afterwards he was so plen- 
 tifully reprobated among some of the clergy, for 
 having exposed them in such a manner before all 
 the people. 
 
 Wor. He expose them! It had never been in the 
 power of Mr. Lovegood, or any one else, to have 
 exposed the clergy by such expressions, if they did 
 not expose themselves by their improper conduct. 
 It was, however, enough to make the ears of them 
 that heard it to tingle. 
 
 Mer. But the observation he made on the last 
 clause of his text, struck me, if possible, more for- 
 cibly than any of the former. Cannot you remem- 
 ber, sirj what weighty remarks he made on that pas- 
 sage in the text, " Make full proof of thy ministry;" 
 how admirably he described the important duties of 
 the ministerial office, and that we were commanded to 
 " give ourselves wholly to it, that our profiting might 
 appear unto all men?" Then he asked how the man 
 of fashion, as he is called, who was only known to 
 be a minister by the colour of his coat; the covetous 
 and voluptuous, the negligent, and the proud, could 
 
376 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 dare to register themselves among the ministers of 
 a crucified Redeemer. And that when it was the 
 bounden duty of ever}^ private Christian, "to give 
 all diligence to make his calling and election sure," 
 and even ''to work out his salvation with fear and 
 trembling," what must the people think, when they 
 see these ministers so much the reverse of what the}' 
 themselves are commanded to be, according to the 
 common standard of Christianity?" Then he quoted 
 that passage from St. Peter, " Ye are a chosen gene- 
 ration, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a peculiar 
 people; that ye should show forth the praises of him 
 who hath called you out of darkness into his mar- 
 vellous light." I think I now see him as he was 
 then in the pulpit; he stopped, and made a solemn 
 pause, then added: "Holy brethren, such we are in 
 office, and such we should be before God and man; 
 ' what manner of persons ought we then to be, in all 
 holy conversation and godliness,' to be the leaders 
 and instructers of a people, so sacred in themselves, 
 and so highly devoted to God." 
 
 Wor. 1 don't remember reading that passage in 
 the sermon, but he told me, while he was delivering 
 it, some texts from the Scriptures struck him so for- 
 cibly, that he introduced them, and gave a short com- 
 ment upon them; and this made him preach a quar- 
 ter of an hour longer than he designed. 
 
 Mer. Yes, I heard enough of the length of his 
 sermon, though I bless God it was not long to me. 
 The whole of it was but just an hour. But the ridi- 
 cule of almost all the clergy, both as it respected the 
 length of his sermon, and the holy warmth with 
 which it was delivered, shocked me exceedingly. 
 
 JVor. Ah, sir, had they been at a play-house, in- 
 stead of a Church, neither the length of the play, nor 
 the pathos of the actors, would have given them the 
 least oflfence. The actor is allowed to represent ima- 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 377 
 
 glnary things as though they were real; while the 
 minister of the truths of God, is to be stigmatized as 
 a madman, unless he represents real things as though 
 they were imaginary* 
 
 Mer. Well, sir, and I do not suppose you thought 
 your worth}^ minister to blame, in going a little be- 
 yond the limits he designed, in making some addi- 
 tions to the written sermon he composed for the 
 visitation. For though I admire the tenderness of 
 his mind, not to give offence when it possibly can be 
 avoided, by writing his sermon, as the truths he then 
 delivered would be deemed sufficiently offensive 
 among those who heard them; yet I cannot conceive 
 why speaking extempore from the pulpit, should give 
 more offence than at the bar, or in the senate, or in 
 any other public assembly. 
 
 Wor. If indeed it be required of a minister that 
 he should be "apt to teach," why should we not 
 expect at least as much from a public pleader in the 
 cause of religion, as a public pleader at the bar? The 
 offerfte, therefore, taken at what is called extempore 
 preaching, I suppose is principally found to be among 
 those who are exposed thereby, for undertaking an 
 office they are so iiJ-qualified to fill; though I would 
 speak with caution, as I by no means suppose, that 
 every minister is altogether unfit for his office, who 
 cannot speak extempore. 
 
 Mer, Well, I found I was in a measure obliged to 
 commence an extempore preacher, before ever I de- 
 signed it; for as soon as I became serious, none of my 
 old sermons would do for me any longer; nor were 
 there any to be bought that would afterwards suit 
 my taste: and my mind was so occupied, after hear- 
 ing Mr. Lovegood, that I was quite unfit to sit down 
 to compose any thing like a regular sermon ; so having 
 written some thoughts as they occurred to my mind, 
 
 VOL. I.— 33 
 
378 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 I explained them as well as I could from my notes, 
 according to the feelings of my heart. 
 
 Wor. But what was the effect of the visitation ser- 
 mon, after you came from church, and attended with 
 your brethren at the dinner? 
 
 J\Ier, Sir, I was exceedingly shocked at the ppofane 
 ridicule which took place against Mr. Lovegood al- 
 most from every quarter; and some of them came 
 up to me, supposing that I should join with them; 
 but I was so ashamed of myself that I turned my 
 head another way and dropped a tear; while Mr. 
 Lovegood, Mr. Godliman, and poor old Mr. Meek, 
 collected together in one corner of the room to keep 
 each other in countenance. I was heartily glad, how- 
 ever, to see in the midst of all his contempt, old Dr. 
 Orderly, and Mr. Sedate his curate, come up to him, 
 and shake him by the hand, and thank him for his 
 sermon. Observing, that, though perhaps he could 
 not entirely agree with him in all points of divinity; 
 yet that he had shown a necessary and well-timed 
 zeal against the loose and improper conduct o# too 
 many of their brethren. This gave me encourage- 
 ment to follow his example. And when I told him, 
 that one of the most dissipated and negligent of the 
 same order begged to follow the doctor's example, 
 in thanking him, from the bottom of my heart, for 
 the just rebuke I had received from his lips; and 
 prayed that God would give me grace to remember 
 it to my dying moments, a tear began starting from 
 my eye, which I could not suppress, while Mr. Love- 
 good, Mr. Godliman, and Mr. Meek had enough to 
 do to stifle the feelings of their minds at the same 
 time. As to Mr. Lovegood, he was much more 
 overcome than myself: we went and stood together 
 for a short time, by a window in the room, and very 
 little could either of us say, while we mingled the 
 sympathetic tear with each other, as subsisting be- 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 379 
 
 tween those who feel the joy of angels, when one 
 poor sinner is brought to repentance unto life. A 
 repentance which for the first time, I trust I then 
 began to feel. 
 
 Wor. Had our invaluable friend preached nothing 
 better than a sort of cold, formal, half-way sermon, 
 he had not given half the offence, nor yet would he 
 have done half the good : truth can best defend it- 
 self without the assistance of our low cunning, in 
 attempting to make it palatable to the carnal mind. 
 But the Bishop, it seems, was quite as much pleased 
 with his sermon as Dr. Orderly. 
 
 Mcr. I was very glad the Bishop took so much 
 notice of him, though 1 heard that Rector Guzzle, 
 and Mr. Toper, his curate, and Rector Fillpot, who 
 sat close together, talking about nothing but good 
 eating and drinking, afterwards did all they could to 
 prejudice his lordship against him. It is reported 
 when Rector Guzzle said, " You see, my lord, these 
 modern preachers are all for grace:" the bishop re- 
 plied, " It is to be lamnnted that the clergy, in gene- 
 ral, have not more of that grace exhibited in their 
 lives and conduct, which Mr. Lovegood has so well 
 recommended to their notice." Though I believe 
 he also agreed with Dr. Orderly, (who is much re- 
 spected by the Bishop, and by every one else who 
 knows him,) that Mr. Lovegood rather went a little 
 too far. 
 
 PFor. Well, I confess I cannot see the good of that 
 cold moderation which some admire. When the 
 cause is of God, we cannot be too zealous in pro- 
 moting it. 
 
 Mer. But zeal in such a cause, is sure to be charged 
 as being the ejQTect of madness. I heard of a near 
 relation of mine, who has some preferment in Ire- 
 land, and who, but a little time ago, was quite as 
 dissipated as myself, and is now as zealous for the 
 
380 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 cause of God, as he once was for the cause of vanity 
 and nonsense; when he was accused by one of his 
 "false brethren'' to the bishop, as not only being 
 mad himself, but that he had bitten others of the 
 clergy also; received for answer, that if that was 
 madness, he hoped he would go on till he had bitten 
 every clergyman in his diocess. 
 
 Wor. 1 rather wonder, that a great variety of ob- 
 jectors did not enter the list against Mr. Lovegood's 
 faithful testimon}' on this occasion. 
 
 Mer. Oh, sir! there was Mr. Flippant, a young 
 stripling just in orders; but he puts me too much in 
 mind of myself; how he went skipping and prating 
 about the room against Mr. Lovegood's sermon. He 
 came and asked me, among others, if I had ever heard 
 such a ranting fool before? I had sufficient courage 
 to answer: "Oh, sir! I fear the charge of being 
 ranting fools, may be more justly urged against us 
 for our wickedness, than against Mr. Lovegood for 
 his preaching. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. It is of very little consequence what 
 such empty chaps have to say: but I suppose af- 
 ter this you soon became intimate with Mr. Love- 
 good. 
 
 Mer. Madam, I could not rest, as you may sup- 
 pose, till I had an interview with him. Directly 
 therefore, as he moved from the dinner, I followed 
 him ; my heart was so full that almost every word I 
 spoke to him was intermixed with tears of contrition 
 and remorse: while he, with the greatest affection, 
 began to pour into my wounded conscience all the 
 consolatory promises of the Gospel; observing, what 
 a great mercy it was that I was now convinced of 
 the folly and evil of my past life, and what a blessing 
 this might prove to hundreds besides, if, by the grace 
 of God, I continued in the same mind. When we 
 parted, Mr. Lovegood affectionately invited me to see 
 
^ * DIALOGUE XIX. 381 
 
 him. As it unfortunately happened, 1 was engaged 
 on a visit to Mr. Bluster, at Revel-Hall; Mr. Love- 
 good advised me to send my excuse, as I could now 
 say, I was engaged on some concerns, which de- 
 manded my particular attention. — So the time I 
 meant for Mr. Bluster, I passed with Mr. Lovegood, 
 
 TVor. It proved a very favourable event, that im- 
 mediately as you found your need of an instructer, 
 you at once had one at hand, so excellently well cal- 
 culated for your purpose. 
 
 Mer. Indeed, sir, it was. For you must think what 
 a situation I was in, when just emerging from my 
 ignorance, a mere babe in Christ, and in spiritual 
 knowledge, I found that I had to fill the place of a 
 Father in divine knowledge; for such fathers, 1 ap- 
 prehend, are the only fit instructers of the children 
 of God.* 
 
 Wo7\ I fear there were very few who could pro- 
 perly be called the children of God, who needed your 
 instruction in that parish, so that the difficulty could 
 not be very considerable, while you had to instruct 
 others still more ignorant than yourself. 
 
 JVIer. True, sir. But then I was perfectly ignorant 
 how I was to set about that low office of a spiritual 
 instructer. But by passing the two days I designed 
 for Mr. Bluster, with Mr. Lovegood, he gave me a clue 
 
 * It is probable that on this supposition the fears of Tho- 
 mas Newman were excited, in Dialogue the 6th, lest Mr. 
 Lovegood should be promoted from the vicarage of Brook- 
 field to the Archbishopric of Canterbury, judging very right- 
 ly how well he deserved, not only the title of the right re- 
 verend, but even the most reverend Father in God, both from 
 the rich experience of the Gospel on his own heart, and having 
 also so many around him, who were his spiritual children, 
 and over whom he acted in a manner so fatherly and so wise. 
 Oh ! that a Mr. Lovegood, independent of every political prin- 
 ciple, may never be wanting to fill each vacant bishopric in 
 our land. 
 
 33* 
 
383 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. »^ 
 
 for obtaining spiritual knowledge, which afterwards 
 proved a wonderful advantage to me. He particu- 
 larly advised me to read the first book of Homilies; 
 to employ my time in modernizing the language, and 
 then read them over as sermons, to my congregation. 
 
 fVo7\ Did you take the advice ? 
 Mer. Sir, I have before told you I could think of 
 nothing but myself, and my ignorance, directly as I 
 began to examine myself by the new views which 
 had been brought to my mind. And though I found 
 the book of Homilies exceedingly instructive, and 
 though I have loved the church of England ever since, 
 as in this land she is certainly the pillar and ground 
 of truth f yet I rather chose to follow that part of 
 Mr. Lovegood's advice, to attempt some instructive 
 hints, as I read the lessons appointed for the public 
 service, and when I got into the pulpit, I have before 
 told you how I stammered out the truth as well as I 
 could. 
 
 Wbr. I should suppose this change wrought on 
 your heart, was not a greater blessing to yourself, 
 than a matter of astonishment to all the people at 
 Sandover. 
 
 Mer. I bless God, many of my parishioners were 
 not less affected than myself, when I began to tell 
 them all, how grieved I was that I had been leading 
 them wrong, both by my example and doctrine; and 
 that now I hoped in God, that I should preach them 
 better doctrine, and show them a better example; 
 
 * Mr. Merryman might not suppose from that observation, 
 that no blemishes could be found which vindicated the con- 
 duct of others in their conscientious dissent from the estab- 
 lished church, though he laments that there are any such dis- 
 senters to be found, as blame Mr. Merryman and others, for 
 their conscientious conformity to a church, notwithstanding 
 some defects, whose liturgy is so evangelical, and whose doc- 
 trines are so sound. 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 383 
 
 and while I was thus talking to the people, it is 
 amazing how poor Sam Resolute, one of my former 
 comrades, was afifected. I was in hopes for some 
 time, that his heart had been truly changed ; but since 
 then, he has awfully declined. I hope, however, he 
 will yet be brought back; for I met with him the 
 other day, after he had been at a horse race, and 
 begged him to come into my house. He followed 
 me like a criminal; 1 plucked up courage, and would 
 go to prayer with him, and it is amazing how he 
 wept, and with what contrition he mentioned his 
 backsliding state. 
 
 Wor. People must have been filled with remark- 
 able astonishment at such a change. 
 
 JVIer. Why, sir, it was curious beyond expression, 
 what strange reports fled about the country, con- 
 cerning me. Some said, that the change was occa- 
 sioned by dejection of spirits, from rpy having met 
 with a heavy loss by gaming; others found out that I 
 had been crossed in love; some said that I had seen my 
 uncle's apparition, who died about six weeks before; 
 and others thought it was the effect of a fall from my 
 horse, when I was taken up for dead at Gambleton 
 races, w^hereby my skull had been nearly fractured, 
 and that now 1 was quite gone mad. In short, it was 
 so currently reported, that 1 was mad, that young 
 captain Sparkish, one of my former frothy compa- 
 nions, actually came over to see me, and inquired if 
 it might not be advisable to consult a physician, to 
 know what remedy might be necessary to heal the 
 cracked skull I met with, on the horse-course. 
 
 3Iiss Wor. Why, sir, I should rather tiiink it 
 miglU have been supposed, your skull was quite as 
 much cracked, when you were after every mad 
 amusement, and when you pitied me and my sisters 
 at Mr. Bluster's, that we were to be bred up in 
 such a mopish manner, as that we were not to be 
 
384 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 allowed to touch a card; and as you expressed your- 
 self that my father would as soon see the devil come 
 into the house as a dancing-master; but I am vsure, 
 what the grace of God has done upon your heart, has 
 been a great blessing to me, 
 
 J\Ier. Why, madam, who could tell you I made 
 such a speech as that? I confess, though I have fre- 
 quently expressed my pity that Mr. Worthy should 
 educate his daughters in such a mopish manner, as I 
 then thought it; yet I do not think 1 ever said your 
 father '^ would as soon see the devil in his house, as 
 a dancing-master." 
 
 TVor. [To his daughter.] This you know, my dear, 
 was a speech of Mr. Spiteful: and when he has it in 
 his power to exemplify the spleen of his heart against 
 any of the supporters of vital religion, he never thinks 
 it a crime to exaggerate. 
 
 Miss JVor. But, sir, since you favoured me and 
 my sisteis with the present of Mrs. Hannah More's 
 book on Female Education, we can very willingly 
 give up the silly amusement of dancing and card- 
 playing, for the sake of the rational instructions we 
 receive in the room of them. I am sure, when 1 hap- 
 pened to be with the Miss Giddy's the other day, I 
 was satisfied nobody need to envy them the privi- 
 leges of their sort of education. 
 
 Mer. Indeed, my dear Miss Worthy, through the 
 divine blessing, I now see how much it is to be la- 
 mented, that the young women of the present day 
 are turned out from their different boarding-schools, 
 such mere baubles and playthings, that they scarcely 
 deserve to be esteemed as rational creatures; but I 
 had no serious views of the evils of these things, till 
 I became serious myself. 
 
 TVor. Yes, and when you were half a madman, and 
 as thoughtless as you could be, you were then judged 
 to be in your sober senses; but when you became 
 
DIALOGUE XIX. 385 
 
 "sober and temperate in all things/' then you were 
 supposed to be a madman. We never know the 
 worth of our own minds, till such time as we are 
 blessed with the grace and mind of Christ. 
 
 Mer. I am sure the Spirit of God, in his divine 
 operation on the human mind, may well be described 
 as "the Spirit of wisdom and understanding." What 
 a lovely sedateness, what pleasant calmness, are they 
 possessed of who feel the restoration of "the king- 
 dom of heaven within them;" which is beautifully 
 described in the scripture, as being "righteousness, 
 and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost !" 
 
 PFor. Mr. Lovegood preached us two admirable 
 sermons, a few Sundays ago, on that subject, "The 
 peace of God which passeth all understanding, shall 
 keep your hearts and minds, through Jesus Christ." 
 But here is Edward coming; I suppose it is with a 
 message from Mr. Lovegood. 
 
 Edw. Sir, will your honour want the best parlour 
 when you come in? for a young gentleman and his 
 lady in a one-horse chair, and a servant with them 
 on horseback, stopt to read the poetry your honour 
 had put over the door,* and have asked for a dish of 
 tea; and say, if I can accommodate them, they had 
 rather stop the evening with us, than go two miles 
 farther to Mapleton. 
 
 TVo7\ no, Edward, we shall be going home di- 
 rectly. 
 
 Edw. But I am afraid my accommodations are not 
 good enough for them; for I am sure by their man- 
 ner that they are real gentlefolk. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Then you will find it still more easy to 
 accommodate them. You have all things, though 
 in a plain way, yet very clean and neat; and if they 
 want any thing you have not got, send to Trusty, my 
 housekeeper, and she will let you have it. 
 
 * See Dialogue XVU, 
 
386 ■ VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 JVo7\ Well, we will leave a couple of the largest 
 trout for your guests, and call on Mr. Lovegood; and 
 we will go home and clear for your visitants. 
 
 Edic. Thank your honour and madam, for your 
 kindness. 
 
 Wor. Farewell, Edward. But be sure and send 
 if you want any thing. 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 
 
 MR. WORTHY, MR. LOVELY, AND OTHERS. 
 
 THE CONTRAST; OR, CONJUGAL HAPPINESS, FOUNDED ON 
 CHASTITY, FIDELITY, AND AFFECTION. 
 
 Edward goes to Brookfield Hall on the following 
 morning, after the arrival of his new guests, while the 
 family were at breakfast, and begs to speak to Mr. 
 Worthy. Edward is introduced. 
 
 Edw, Sir, your honour said that I must call on you 
 if the gentleman and lady, who came to our house 
 yesterday evening, wanted any thing. They want 
 nothing but the liberty to walk in your honour's 
 park; and they are so pleased with the situation, and 
 so well contented with our plain way of accommo- 
 dating them, that they mean to stop over Sunday; 
 for I made bold to tell them, what a wonderful fine 
 man we have for the minister of our Parish, and that 
 it was he who made the verses your honour had put 
 over the door; but I should be ashamed to put them 
 in our pew. 
 
 Wor. Well, Edward, there will be no difficulty on 
 that score, for though we are pretty well crowded 
 with Mr. Considerate's family and our own, yet my 
 daughters can sit with Mrs. Lovegood, and then we 
 shall have room for them. 
 
 J\Irs. Wor. But do you want any thing for their 
 accommodation? 
 
 Edw. Nothing, madam, but Mrs. Trusty's receipt, 
 
388 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 with your leave, to make some jellies; the lady is in 
 a very poor state of health, and he is so tender of 
 her! They seem to be a most loving pair. — Poor 
 Mrs. Chipman! the sight of it quite cuts her to the 
 heart; she is alvva^^s saying she might have been as 
 happy as they are, if it had not been for her own 
 folly, and the evil consequences of sin. 
 
 Mrs. fVor. Trusty shall send some jellies to your 
 house directly. 
 
 Wor. Perhaps a little fruit also may be acceptable? 
 
 Edw. Why, the lady was asking if we had any, 
 and we gathered some cherries and strawberries for 
 them; but it is not in our way to raise such dainties 
 as your honour has at the Hall. 
 
 Wor. I shall tell the gardener to send them a basket 
 of fruit, and 1 shall call on you to-morrow, and in- 
 vite them to tea. 
 
 Edw. Thank your honour. The dear gentleman, 
 (and I am sure by his kind and good behaviour, he 
 must be some downright gentleman;) he thinks about 
 nothing but his wife: she is very sickly, and he is 
 sadly afraid he will lose her. 
 
 Wor. I hope it is not another Sir Charles and 
 Lady Dash's story. 
 
 Edw. 0, sir! their behaviour is so different, it can- 
 not be: — I am sur.e it cannot be. 
 
 TVor. Have you learnt the gentleman's name.'* 
 
 Edw. Why, sir, when their servant sat down to 
 supper with us, I made bold to ask him. — His name 
 is Lovely. He came from a place called Fairfield, 
 near Grediton. It is amazing what a character the 
 man gives his m.aster and mistress, and what an af- 
 fecting story he tells about them: I think there have 
 been nothing but affecting stories at our house of late; 
 as how he married against the consent of his rich 
 uncle; and that he is very angry with him: but I can 
 .scarcely tell your honour the rights of it. 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 389 
 
 [On the next day Mr. Worthy accomplished his 
 hospitable design: the first introductory tea-table con- 
 versation being not of sufficient importance to be 
 narrated, shall be omittea. After tea, as the weather 
 proved lowering, Mrs. Lovely continued the guest of 
 Mrs. Worthy, while Mr. Worthy and Mr. Lovely 
 took a short walk about the gardens: and when seated 
 in the green-house, the following conversation took 
 place.] 
 
 Wor, T am afraid, sir, you meet with very plain 
 accommodations at the Golden Lion, though 1 am 
 satisfied the worthy landlord and his wife will, ac- 
 cording to the best of their ability, make you as com- 
 fortable as they can in their homely way. 
 
 Lov. 0, sir! nothing can delight us more than our 
 present accommodations. As we passed by we stopt 
 to read the poetry; and it struck us so exceedingly, 
 that we thought we would gratify our curiosity by 
 going into the house. We called for tea, and were so 
 astonishingly pleased with the neat and decent ap- 
 pearance of matters, that we at once determined to 
 stop short of Mapleton, where we intended to have 
 slept. Besides, we were so struck with the enchant- 
 ing scenery from the lovely situation of the village, 
 the neighbourhood being so beautifully dressed by 
 the taste you have displayed about your own house 
 and pleasure-grounds, that we next determined to con- 
 tinue, at least, a few days in our present quarters. 
 
 fVor. Have you a long journey then before you, 
 sir? 
 
 Lov. Oh no, sir! I am only taking easy journeys 
 from place to place, by the advice of our physician, 
 to see if any thing can be done for the recovery of 
 the health and spirits of that invaluable creature, 
 who has been my wife for about these six months. 
 We are under peculiar embarrassments, [he hesitates 
 and wipes his eyes, then addsj my relations, some of 
 VOL. I. — 34 
 
390 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 whom are very affluent, are exceedingly displeased 
 at the marriage, and 1 am afraid lest I should lose the 
 best of wives by the affliction. 
 
 fVbr. I know, sir, how indelicate it is to ask you 
 questions of this sort, as it seems almost bordering 
 upon impertinence; but may I suppose your only 
 crime has been, that you were captivated by a very 
 amiable young woman, whose birth and education 
 were inferior to your own. 
 
 Lov. 0, sir! no apology is needed; and our minds 
 have suffered so severely by this event, that it will 
 be a great indulgence to me, especially as I have 
 taken the liberty to inquire so much into your cha- 
 racter since I have been here, if you will allow me 
 to be more particular. 
 
 TVor. We cannot well leave our present retreat, as 
 it begins to rain; and whatever you communicate 
 shall be in confidence. 
 
 Lov. Oh no, sir! no confidence is necessary. The 
 part my dearest wife and I have acted, may be pub- 
 lished in every newspaper throughout the kingdom, 
 and it will never put us to the blush. 
 
 TVor. Sir, after such a declaration of your honour- 
 able conduct, I cannot be less anxious to hear your 
 story, than you are to relate it. 
 
 Lov. Sir, before you can fully understand matters 
 1 must first give you a short history of our family 
 connexions. My father has a small hereditary estate, 
 which clears him between five and six hundred a 
 year, and that he might increase his fortune, he en- 
 gaged with others in a large brewery. He married a 
 Miss Greedy, whose family is very rich, but as it is 
 the scheme of that family, like many others, to hoard 
 up all for the eldest son, her fortune was nothing great- 
 er than my father had a right to expect, it being only 
 three thousand pounds. By that marriage my father 
 had five children; my younger brother died almost an 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 391 
 
 infant. So that our family at present consists of my- 
 self and three sisters; two of these are creditably mar- 
 ried, and for this they have to thank my father, who 
 being a person of strict integrity, never saw it just to 
 make such a vast difference between his children: and 
 having thus, by care and attention, portioned off my 
 sisters with very decent fortunes, he tells me I have 
 little to expect from him but the family estate. 
 
 TVor. Well, sir, I congratulate you in having a 
 father of such integrity and worth. 1 am surprised 
 that he should have been so displeased at your mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Lov. He displeased at the marriage! no, dear sir, 
 it met with his highest approbation; and he has not 
 a daughter of his own that he can love better than 
 my dearest wife; she was a creditable tradesman's 
 daughter, or rather in the mercantile line; well edu- 
 cated, and brought into the family with her eight 
 hundred pounds on the day of her marriage. But 0, 
 sir! if you did but know half her excellencies, you 
 would say she was the greatest fortune imaginable 
 in herself, inestimable beyond the value of money. 
 It has been the displeasure of my rich uncle, my 
 mother's brother, which has been the cause of our 
 perplexity. 
 
 }Vor. What Was that to him, if your marriage was 
 conducted with so much purity, chastity, and pro- 
 priety, and with the consent of your parents? 
 
 Lov. Sir, it was greediness and family pride. I 
 have tainted the blood of the family by marrying a 
 tradesman's daughter, when I might have enriched 
 it by marrying the daughter of an Earl; and my 
 mother unhappily joined with him in all his objec- 
 tions. 
 
 Wor. But you are not of his family, after all; and 
 how could you, with your comparatively small for- 
 tune, and when even that was not to be yours till 
 
392 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 after your father's death, support the daughter of an 
 Earl, in the extravagant style in which they gene- 
 rally expect to live. 
 
 Lov. 0, sir! but he meant to make me his heir. 
 
 Wor. What, then, had your uncle no children of 
 his own? 
 
 Lov. Sir, he never was married for the sake of an 
 offspring, but that he might enlarge his property. 
 He therefore availed himself of the folly of a rich 
 widow, who was fifteen years older than himself; 
 and when he had possessed himself of her fortune, he 
 treated her most cruelly. However, he had plenty 
 of children, as is supposed, by other women; for he 
 is a most debauched character, and at the same time 
 a most extortionate miser, though he was still fond 
 of making a family show; and till lately he meant 
 to make a son he had, by a married woman in that 
 neighbourhood, his heir; as she was, and as they call 
 it, better bred than most of the low women with 
 whom he had been connected; and the children he 
 had by these, being ashamed to own them, he would 
 have packed off to nurse, at the cheapest rate pos- 
 sible; and nothing rejoices him so much, as when he 
 hears of the death of any of them. 
 
 Wor. How came he to alter his mind, and not make 
 the son you mention his heir? 
 
 Lov. Sir, he educated him for that purpose, but 
 in so mean a way, and introduced him among such 
 a terrible set of low associates, that he turned out 
 quite a blackguard: and being educated under such 
 large expectations, he became also very extravagant: 
 and as his father was too covetous to give him remit- 
 tances equal to his extravagance, he got himself con- 
 nected with a set of swindlers; and that he might be 
 able to pay some gaming-debts, he committed such 
 crimes, that he was obliged to leave the country, or 
 be sent to jail; my uncle therefore gave him fifty 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 393 
 
 pounds, and sent him to America, and it is reported, 
 that he died there of the yellow fever. 
 
 Wor. What horrid evils are connected with such 
 a life of debauchery, that a man should be such a de- 
 testable brute* thereby, as to be ashamed of his own 
 offspring, even so as to wish them dead! How dif- 
 ferent the happy state of those children, whose ex- 
 istence is their parents' boast and joy: how I hate 
 the low libidinous tricks of the present evil, adulte- 
 rous generation ! 
 
 Lov. Sir, I am sure, it is impossible to detest them 
 worse than they deserve. However, my uncle, after 
 the death of this his profligate bastard, as I was his 
 heir-at-law, began to think of adopting me as such. — 
 My father could never bear the name of him; yet 
 when he was frequently sending for me, he advised 
 me by no means to insult him by personal incivilities, 
 as his property, according to legitimate right, would 
 next be mine. As my uncle ordered me I therefore 
 went to his house; when the more I knew of him, 
 the more I was disgusted at him. 
 
 Wor. Were you obliged to live pretty constantly 
 with him then? 
 
 Lov. Not entirely so: for I was always striving to 
 make an excuse of absence; and the argument, which 
 best succeeded with him, was about the brewery; 
 that as my father farmed a good deal of his own 
 estate, he would be a considerable loser in the brew- 
 ery, unless I kept the accounts; for my uncle never 
 had but two objects in view, — by every means, how- 
 ever base some of those means might be, to enrich the 
 family, and to gratify his impure desires. 
 
 Wor. Well, sir, this proved a just and providential 
 excuse, to be as little as possible with such a family. 
 
 * In this respect, man, by his debauchery, is even beneath 
 
 A BRUTE. 
 
 34* 
 
394 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Lov, But, sir, it was by this favourable turn to- 
 wards me, that a chain of events was produced, which 
 have proved the most perplexing and distressful to 
 myself and my dearest Ann. 
 
 Wor, Really, sir, your history becomes so inte- 
 resting, that 1 am quite anxious to hear the result 
 of it. 
 
 Lov. Sir, before my uncle's determination had 
 been made known to me, of adopting me as the heir 
 to his estates, a design of marriage had, in ai great 
 measure been settled between myself and my dearest 
 wife; and not less to the satisfaction of our parents, 
 than myself. All that he ever said, was, '^ please 
 yourself, and you will please me; money is no ob- 
 ject; happiness in the married state consists in some- 
 thing better than money;'' but when my uncle was 
 determined to make me his heir, I was immediately 
 to be married to some woman with money, or blood, 
 as it is called. One of Lord Gambleton's daughters 
 was therefore immediately thought of, and though 
 his Lordship had considerably reduced his fortune 
 by his extravagance, yet as for want of a male issue 
 they were co-heiresses, it was judged an excellent 
 match on my behalf; but a more worthless right abo- 
 minable never existed among the right honourables: 
 and thus between his Lordship's blood, and my 
 uncle's money, I at all events must be united to this 
 noble family. 
 
 Wor. this noble blood, and this love of money! 
 what mischief they create! But how did you get 
 over the difficulty? 
 
 Lov. Why, sir, I knew that it would not be in my 
 power to deal with my uncle, but by gentle means. 
 When he proposed the match, 1 told him the con- 
 nexion I had in a measure formed with Miss Com- 
 merce, before he had mentioned his kind design of 
 making me his heir. He started and said, *•' who the 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 395 
 
 d — 1 is Miss Commerce?" When I told him she 
 was a respectable tradesman's daughter, he immedi- 
 ately began swearing, after the mode of his general 
 conversation: " that he would never allow any of his 
 family to be united to such a set of d d black- 
 guards;" calling me a low fellow, and saying, if I 
 would not see Lord Gambleton's daughter, he would 
 adopt another heir, and that he would have nothing 
 more to do with me: and that he expected 1 should 
 first see how I liked the eldest, as that might prove 
 the greatest advantage to myself and the family. 
 
 fVor. Really, sir, you had a difficulty before you, 
 not easily to be surmounted. 
 
 Lov. Sir, 1 told him I could have no objection 
 against seeing any of Lord Gambleton's daughters, 
 but that I hoped he would put no restraint upon my 
 affections, as that might prove a source of misery to 
 me through life; and so matters were waived for the 
 present, till I had time to consult my parents. 
 
 TVo7\ Well, sir, and 1 should hope your parents 
 did not advise you to sacrifice your affections, for 
 the sake of money or blood. 
 
 Lov. 0, sir! my father behaved like a father, but 
 it grieves me to say, my mother was just the reverse. 
 She was at once struck with the proposal; observed^ 
 what a fine thing it would be to have her son, the 
 acknowledged heir of the family to which she origi- 
 nally belonged, and to be united to such noble blood; 
 and that ray present engagement with Miss Com- 
 merce, was not so far gone, but that I might break 
 it off. — 0, sir ! what a hard task was this to m3^self, 
 and the dear creature to whom 1 am now so happily 
 united ! 
 
 Wot. It must have been a hard task indeed. — But 
 how did you succeed in evading the difficulties of 
 this perplexing dilemma? 
 
 Lov. You must suppose, sir, I was under the ne- 
 
396 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 cessity of meeting with Lord Gambleton*s family, 
 who came on purpose to visit my uncle; and Lady 
 Georgiana, being the eldest, was the first I was or- 
 dered to notice, and who was introduced to me ac- 
 cordingly, and of course, I was obliged to be very 
 complaisant to her in return; while, as I suppose, she 
 was directed to be more than complaisant to me. I 
 cannot express myself how much 1 was disgusted, 
 even at first sight, at the silly airs, the fulsome for- 
 wardness, of this paltry 7ness of noble blood, when 
 brought into competition with the excellent under- 
 standing, undisguised modesty, and unaffected sim- 
 plicity, of my dearest Ann. 
 
 fVor. Sir, I confess you would have made a sacri- 
 fice much to your discredit, had you, contrary to 
 every just and generous feeling, given up for such 
 motives, an object so worthy of your afiections. 
 
 Lov. Sir, if I had hot taken the liberty to inquire 
 into your character, I should not have been so happy 
 in your approbation of my conduct; I am satisfied it 
 will therefore still meet with your approbation, when 
 you hear the result of these events. 
 
 Wbr. Dear sir, I have now no doubt of it. 
 
 Lov. After this wretched bit of forwardness, igno- 
 rance, and self-conceit, was proposed to me, to sup- 
 plant my dearest Ann, for the sake of money and 
 blood, my uncle presently perceived how much I was 
 disgusted at her, and told me, (1 shall not repeat the 
 disgustful oaths he made use of on this occasion,) 
 what a brewery blackguard I was, not to behave 
 more civilly to one of Lady Georgiana's rank; that 
 if I married her, I might, if I pleased, keep the other 
 girl as my mistress; and he was sure a sum of money 
 which he was ready to advance, would accomplish 
 his wishes and mine; or that he had been dreadfully 
 mistaken in the disposition of women, as far as ever 
 he had to do with them. 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 397 
 
 Wor. Then your uncle supposed that all other 
 people were as unprincipled as himself; and that 
 every female character was of the same description, 
 as those low objects of his brutal desires with whom 
 he had been connected: though I confess it scarcely 
 seems possible that you could have a stronger induce- 
 ment presented before you, to behave dishonourably 
 to the good lady, to whom it seems you were so so- 
 lemnly betrothed. 
 
 Lov. Indeed, sir, it seemed next to nothing to me, 
 after a second interview with Lad}^ Georgiana, and 
 Lord Gambleton's other two daughters: for my 
 uncle insisted upon it, that I should go with him to 
 return the visit; and 0, the horrid conversation I 
 there heard! the worst that could be, from a proud, 
 unprincipled Peer, and a worthless, extortionate 
 miser. 
 
 fFor. I am afraid, sir, I shall ask too much if I 
 request you to proceed. 
 
 Lov. no, sir! the Right Honourable had nothing 
 to say, but that from his free living, according to the 
 rank of life he was obliged to fill, and through some 
 gaming debts, he had diminished his fortune; and 
 that he could get no more from his tenants, as that 
 he had racked up their rents to the utmost penny he 
 could demand: and therefore, as courtly favour ge- 
 nerally shone on noble blood, it might prove a con- 
 venient match to both families. As for loving one 
 girl better than another, that they conceived to be 
 all nonsense: and though it seemed necessary to pro- 
 pose the eldest first, yet if I proved rather squeamish 
 about Lady Georgiana, there was Lady Augusta, 
 and Lady Catherine, though there is scarce a pin to 
 choose between them; if any thing, I think the pre- 
 ference might have been given to the eldest, but I 
 am sure bad was the best. Still it was by no means 
 against their noble blood that 1 was disgusted; let 
 
398 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 people be as honourable in character and conduct as 
 they are by birth and title, and some such honourable 
 characters are not wanting among the nobility of our 
 land, and I would always esteem them worthy of 
 double honour; but when these three empty scraps 
 of vanity, were to be brought into competition with 
 my dearest Ann, I confess they appeared the most 
 odious creatures 1 ever beheld. 
 
 Wor. I am sure, sir, that you, as a man of thought, 
 must have felt very severely on this occasion. You 
 cannot be ignorant of the style of education among 
 young persons of rank: look at the plain, honest, 
 country milk-maid; next contrast her with the vain 
 baubles turned out, not only from the families of too 
 many of the Right Honourables of the day, but from 
 most of our modern boarding-schools; these from 
 being first mere babies, afterwards get something 
 above it as they grow up towards childhood ; then 
 they are sent to those destructive places of female 
 education, where they are a second time reduced 
 almost to a state of babyhood; and in this fool's 
 paradise, they seem happy to live through all their 
 lives, fifty times more offensive babes, than if they 
 had never left their cradles. 
 
 Lov. Yes, sir, and three such as these were then 
 presented before me, on account of money and blood, 
 to be preferred to the excellent and intelligent per- 
 son I now enjoy. 
 
 Wor. I should suppose, however, you must have 
 suffered much, before you could have been extri- 
 cated from these difficulties. 
 
 Lov. Indeed, sir, no person could have been called 
 to a more severe contest than I have sustained, be- 
 tween my affection, my judgment, and my worldly 
 interest; for my uncle's principles were perfectly 
 libertine. He would ever be saying, that " the end 
 of life is for every man to gratify himself, as best 
 
DIALOGUE XX* 399 
 
 suited with his natural appetites and dispositions. He 
 was perpetually reading heaps of French publications 
 on that subject; but here was my difficulty: what he 
 liked best, I was to like best also, or else suffer the 
 vengeance of his high displeasure. He had fully im- 
 bibed the sentiments belonging to their system of 
 mock liberty, that men should be left to live as they 
 list, without the least control. 
 
 Wor. What government can subsist, where every 
 one is governed by his own abominable lusts and 
 passions! But your mother thus joining with your 
 uncle's views, must have been another very conside- 
 rable impediment in your way. 
 
 Lov. Indeed it was; for she began immediately 
 to act so cruelly and disgustingly to my wife, that 
 she was soon obliged to discontinue all her visits to 
 our house, though before these golden promises were 
 made, it was a settled business that a marriage should 
 take place. 
 
 Wor. Well, sir, under such circumstances as you 
 have related, neither your father nor your mother 
 ought to have refused their consent ; and I am sure, 
 when they had once solemnly given it, they had no 
 right to retract it; and on account of such motives 
 so improperly retracted, it would be equally unjust 
 in either of you to have renounced the pure and 
 chaste promises of a mutual connexion, which sub- 
 sisted between j^ou. It were well, if both parents 
 and children, would duly consider the proper limits 
 of their reciprocal duty towards each other; but for 
 want of this, how frequently do children and parents 
 distract their own minds, and destroy the peace of 
 all connected with them! But what was the result 
 of these matters? 
 
 I^ov. Sir, my uncle for once gained a victory 
 over his covetousness, by straining a point in con- 
 nexion with Lord Gambleton, to see if they could 
 
400 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 not bribe her, by the promise of a thousand pounds, 
 provided she would be off from the engagement. 
 The accomplishment of this, business was to be put 
 into the hands of my mother, and she the more 
 eagerly entered into it, as her head was filled with 
 a set of splendid dreams, that if they could blend 
 the two families into one, whether it might not be 
 possible to procure another patent of peerage, on 
 behalf of the female line, through which the noble 
 blood was still to flow: and nothing pleased the pride 
 of my poor mother, like the idea that her only son 
 might by his match wear a coronet; and upon these 
 chimerical principles of happiness, we were called to 
 sacrifice our affections and solemn engagements vyith 
 each other. 
 
 TVo7\ The feelings of both your minds, must have 
 been seriously disgusted by such base contrivances; 
 and at the same time so artfully calculated to tempt 
 both of you to violate the solemn promises which had 
 subsisted between yourselves. But how did Mrs. 
 Lovely receive the proposal? 
 
 Lov. Sir, the immediate answer my wife sent, 
 (for we were not then together,) was just what I 
 should have expected from the independent dignity, 
 chastity and goodness of her mind: "That to pawn 
 her affections for the lucre of gain, was so much be- 
 neath every feeling she possessed, that she at once 
 rejected it with entire disdain; and that if they could 
 find a chapman in me, for the sake of such rewards 
 to give her up, after the most sacred promises which 
 had passed between us, she should ever esteem it a 
 most merciful deliverance to escape from one of so 
 mean a mind; and that it would be nothing with her, 
 whether I married any of Lord Gambleton's daugh- 
 ters, or any one else I might choose to prefer, though 
 she herself had not the most distant idea that I could 
 act a part so unfeeling, so ungenerous, and so vile." 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 401 
 
 Dear sir, who could not but admire a mind replete 
 with such dignity of thought, and with such a gene- 
 rosity of heart? 
 
 Wor. But 1 hope, sir, that this spirited letter so 
 far settled matters, as that you got rid of these im- 
 portunities, that you might marry according to your 
 wish? 
 
 Lov. No, sir, my uncle still kept up his expec- 
 tations, that either by craft or cruelty, they might 
 prevent our union: and in order to accomplish this, 
 the next plan was to send me into the south-west of 
 Ireland, where he had an estate, that I might see after 
 his tenants, and collect some arrears of rent, with a 
 merciless, crafty, hard-hearted wretch of a lawyer, 
 at my elbow, to watch all my motions; and with se- 
 cret instructions to try to debauch my morals and 
 conduct as fast as he could: but in this, 1 thank God, 
 he could not succeed; and there 1 was ordered to 
 continue till my uncle followed me, which, as he said, 
 would be in a few weeks. 
 
 By this plausible pretext, in first making me the 
 steward of what, according to his promise, I was after- 
 wards to possess, I conceived it my duty to follow his 
 directions. But this was all done, to try, if possible, 
 to break the heart of my dearest Ann. Being, how- 
 ever, suspicious of their designs, I made it a point to 
 call on her before I went; and after I had told her 
 the difficulties I had to encounter, I pledged myself, 
 in the most solemn manner, before her and her pa- 
 rents, that whatever might be the consequence, we 
 would unite for life. 
 
 Wor. Sir, I love you to my heart for your fide- 
 lity. 
 
 Lov, But, sir! I shall never forget what we all 
 felt on this occasion; though what I did was under 
 a positive and deliberate determination, that I had 
 
 VOL. L — 35 
 
402 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 rather a thousand times support myself, as the ser* 
 vant of my father's brewery, or even by daily la- 
 bour, with such a wife, than be united to the best of 
 the three noble, paltry puppets, that had been exhi- 
 bited before me. 
 
 fVor. Were you obliged to be long absent on this 
 errand? 
 
 Lov. Sir, my uncle kept me above three months 
 in suspense; still making some frivolous excuse to 
 delay his coming. And 0! what tricks and pro- 
 jects to accomplish their designs of preventing our 
 union. First, the letter-carrier, unknown to the 
 post-master, was bribed to bring all letters which 
 passed between my dear Ann and myself, to my uncle 
 or my mother, and these were opened and secreted 
 from each of us. 
 
 One letter she was allowed to receive, written as 
 by my direction, though not in my hand, stating that 
 I had employed one of my comrades in wickedness, 
 to correspond with one Mary Coleman, a common 
 strumpet, engaging to give her twenty pounds a year 
 for the maintenance of a bastard, they feigned I had 
 by her, as I was under the necessity to marry Lady 
 Georgiana Gambleton,from family circumstances; but 
 still that my occasional visits should not be wanting; 
 and this letter was supposed to have been mis-sent 
 and intercepted, and then conveyed into the hands of 
 that good little woman, that it might be the cause 
 of breaking off the match, or of breaking her heart; 
 and indeed it had nearly accomplished the design. 
 Nobody can tell the distracted state of mind she was 
 immediately thrown into, and in which she continued, 
 till the fraud was detected; and the contrary surprise 
 of joy when the plot was discovered, was not less 
 trying to her tender feelings, than I he deep grief she 
 had before sustained. 
 
 Wor. What an infernal plan was this, to ruin the 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 403 
 
 peace of both your minds! But could Mrs. Lovely 
 for a moment believe all this? 
 
 Lov. Sir, she knew not what to believe, the plot 
 was so plausibly laid. Her nights were sleepless, and 
 her mind was almost distracted. First, she could not 
 account for my apparent neglect, as our letters were 
 intercepted: and then my mother, being deep in the 
 stratagem, was directed to tell my dear Ann, that she 
 had from my authority to inform her, that our con- 
 nexion could not take place, as circumstances were so 
 altered since I first became acquainted with her; and 
 that still a large recompense for her disappointment 
 would be at her disposal, when she chose to accept it. 
 And these accumulated circumstances at once threw 
 her on a bed of sickness, from which it was expected 
 she would never recover. 
 
 Wor. Indeed, if she believed half the stratagem, 
 replete with such dissimulation and craft, no wonder 
 that she should be completely overset by the appa- 
 rent cruelty of your conduct. But how could they 
 suppose that a plan of this sort should not very speed- 
 ily have been discovered? 
 
 Lov. Sir, it seems they had other steps to pur- 
 sue, that their tricks and projects might not be dis- 
 closed. During my residence in Ireland, a reverend 
 gentleman was to be sent after me, know^n by the 
 name of Dr. Cringer, who was to take me out of 
 the way for several months, by conducting me the 
 tour of Europe, and to make me the accomplished 
 gentleman, by teaching me some of the modern 
 European languages. This gentleman was one of 
 Lord Gambleton's chaplains, and possessed a living 
 in his gift; and since then, I have discovered him to 
 be the most contemptible sycophant, and the mean- 
 est toad-eater to his lordship, that ever existed. How- 
 ever, this plot discovered itself before it was fully 
 accomplished. 
 
404 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 Wor. I should be happy to know how this took 
 place. 
 
 Lov. Sir, while my dearest Ann was lying, as it 
 was supposed on her death-bed, her father wrote to 
 my father, to know what could be the cause of all 
 these strange circumstances; and why he should suf- 
 fer the loss of such an invaluable daughter, by a con- 
 duct so treacherous and unjust in me? Immediately 
 both our parents met on the occasion; it would require 
 some hours to tell you the pains they took to investi- 
 gate the stratagem; but yet how speedily they trans- 
 mitted to me the discoveries they had made! 
 
 Wor. You must have been considerably struck at 
 this discovery. 
 
 Lov. Struck, sir! nobod}^ can tell what I felt under 
 the idea, that the affectionate and gentle heart of that 
 excellent creature was ready to break through my 
 supposed treachery, while I loved her inexpressibly^ 
 and was so fully determined to be faithful to my 
 vows, 
 
 Wor. But I should hope, sir, your perplexities 
 soon terminated with the discovery of these different 
 plots. 
 
 Lov. Sir, I made not a moment's hesitation to 
 travel directly from Ireland to Mr. Commerce's; 
 and though I took all possible care that matters 
 might be so broken to my dear Ann, as that she 
 might not be too much overcome by the news of my 
 arrival, and by the consideration of the events which 
 made me take the journey; yet, sir, what a meet- 
 ing it was! Her tender and affectionate frame was 
 so overpowered, especially during the first interview, 
 as that no words can sufficiently express what she, 
 and indeed, all of us felt; we wept, and sobbed and 
 thus sympathized with each other for some time, 
 before a single word could be spoken on either side. 
 At length our affectionate parents retired from the 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 405 
 
 room, and when they returned, they informed us, 
 that they had both entered into a firm resolution, 
 that in order to put an end to all those detestable 
 tricks and cabals, we should never again separate 
 from each other till our marriage had actually taken 
 place; for that they cared nothing for all events and 
 consequences about large estates, and noble blood, as 
 they were determined to make us both happy, by 
 an immediate union. — All this was kept an entire 
 secret from my mother and uncle; and as soon as 
 my dear Ann was sufficiently recovered to be con- 
 veyed to Church, we were married accordingly; and 
 sir! the tears of sympathy, of mutual affection and 
 joy, on that occasion, will never be forgotten! 
 
 fVor. But I suppose, this must have given consi- 
 derable offence to your uncle. 
 
 Lov, Sir, I did all in my power to soften mat- 
 ters, but in vain; for immediately after marriage, I 
 returned to the post at which my uncle had stationed 
 me in Ireland; and though I had found that the 
 worthless lawyer he sent with me, had informed 
 him of my elopement, yet as he could only guess at 
 the cause, I had to reveal the event to my uncle b}^ 
 letter. This I did with as much tenderness and re- 
 spect as circumstances would admit, assuring him, 
 that if I had displeased him by taking this step, yet 
 that in every other point of view I wished to appear 
 respectful, obedient, and attentive to his commands: 
 but that I most humbly requested him, if he still 
 meant me as his heir, that he would dispense with 
 the European tour, at least for the present; as duty 
 and affection strongly called me to attend upon the 
 excellent young woman who was now become my 
 wife, and who possessed every possible qualification 
 to render herself a most highly respected character, 
 in every situation of life she might be called to fill. 
 
 Wor. You should have added, excepting that of 
 35* 
 
406 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 noble blood. But how did your uncle receive this 
 letter? 
 
 Lov. Sir, his rage was inexpressible. He wrote 
 me a few lines, filled with oalhs, for my folly, 
 charging me to leave his house in Ireland directly; 
 and to undertake the office I held at my father's 
 brewery, as that was the most fit for me and the 
 shop-keeper'' s girl, I had presumed to marry against 
 his consent. 
 
 War. Well, sir, after all, it cannot be said you have 
 lost what you never had, though the sacrifice you 
 have made, of what you had in reversion, was very 
 great; but still, you have gained the greatest advan- 
 tage in your character and conscience, and an excel- 
 lent wife into the bargain. 
 
 Lov. sir! I have a full compensation for all my 
 losses and troubles: though she had not the supposed 
 advantages of the politer style of education of the 
 day, yet having a very strong and retentive mind, by 
 her own diligence and attention, she has provided for 
 herself a fund of knowledge above most of her sex. 
 She is exceedingly well read in history, and even in 
 some branches of philosophy, especially in astronomy. 
 The languages have, by no means, escaped her notice: 
 she is a perfect mistress of the English, and writes an 
 admirable letter; and all this knowledge she acquired 
 by her own industry, in the midst of the hurry and 
 bustle of the domestic concerns of a large family, to 
 which she always gave the utmost attention; at one 
 time very diligent as her father's scribe, and at ano- 
 ther time not less attentive to fill an active station, 
 even behind the counter, when needed. 
 
 Wor. After such real accomplishments as these, 
 you had no great cause to lament the loss of what is 
 called a politer education. Had she been one of those 
 poor, paltry, affected, ignorant, conceited misses turned 
 out of too many of our modern boarding-schools^ the 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 407 
 
 loss of such a flimsy bit of nonsense in female shape, 
 might have easily been repaired. 
 
 Lov. Yes, sir, but to me it appears as though the 
 world could not produce her equal: she is one, of 
 such an obliging mind and temper, that she never is 
 happy, but as she can make others happy; while she 
 is blessed with a disposition the most serene, affec- 
 tionate and kind. If I can but preserve her life, I 
 think I shall be the happiest man upon the earth. 
 [Lovely weeps.] 
 
 Wot. Well, sir, as the principal cause of perplexfty 
 exists no longer, let us hope that her health will not 
 only soon be restored; but that the rage of your un- 
 cle will, after awhile subside, notwithstanding he has 
 been disappointed in his projects. " The hearts of 
 all are in the hands of God.^^ 
 
 Lov. Sir, these things are nothing to me: I possess 
 all I want in my dearest wife, though I heard that 
 my uncle should say to my mother, the other day, 
 that he could not but admire my honesty, notv/ith- 
 standing I was such a fool, (with his accustomed oath) 
 in not following his directions: and another event 
 took place soon after our marriage, which appeared 
 to us not less remarkable than unexpected. 
 
 Wor. What was that, sir. 
 
 Lov. One of the former generation of the Greedy's, 
 a great-uncle of mine, still lives: he is an old lawyer, 
 and is now past eighty; though he is covetous and 
 mean, and mercenary to a proverb, yet soon after our 
 marriage, he came to see us; and mentioned ^how 
 sorry he was that the match was displeasing to my 
 uncle, though he confessed he approved of it highly, 
 as he believed my wife, would be a very prudent and 
 saving woman ; and had 1 married any of Lord Gam- 
 bleton's daughters, they might have made me a spend- 
 thriftf and that he hated nothing worse. Now as I 
 must be very unhappy at home, on account of my 
 
408 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 mother's displeasure; and as my wife's spirits and 
 strength were much impaired by what she had already 
 sustained, he said he feared her life was in danger; 
 and therefore had consulted a physician for her, who 
 had prescribed moderate travelling, or a change of 
 scene, without much fatigue, as her disease was more 
 in her mind, than her body; and therefore, he ad- 
 vised me to take her, by slow journeys, from place 
 to place, that her health and spirits might be re- 
 cruited. In order to cover these expenses, he begged 
 my acceptance of fifty pounds; promising, at the 
 same time, to leave me all his property, provided he 
 saw that I was a frugal young man; engaging also 
 to do all in his power to reconcile my mother to the 
 match. 
 
 Wor. Well, sir, though your great uncle's disposi- 
 tion inclines him to be parsimonious and mean, yet 
 in this respect, he behaved to you in a manner that 
 w^as generous and kind. 
 
 Lov. Yes, sir, but the very next day he repented 
 of it; and wrote to my father, telHng him he must 
 have interest for it while he lived, though he still 
 meant to appoint me his heir. He never was known 
 before to do a single action, that looked either gene- 
 rous or kind; but having had several sharp contests 
 about money matters, with my uncle, who had lately 
 discarded me, they were quite at variance. He seemed, 
 therefore, to be willing to take me up in opposition 
 to him. Nor did my uncle's way of living please 
 my great-uncle at any rate; for though he would do 
 any thing for money, yet at times, when among the 
 great, from family pride, he would be somewhat 
 splendid and expensive in his style of living; and 
 this always displeased my great-uncle exceedingly. 
 
 Wor. Ah, sir, such are the clashings of interest, 
 found among the vices of mankind ! But the displea- 
 sure of your mother must have been the cause of 
 considerable concern to the whole of your family. 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 409 
 
 Lov. sir! it has entirely destroyed our family 
 happiness; though it is my father who has felt the 
 most: he neither can find any happiness in my 
 mother as his wife, nor can I find any comfort in her 
 as a parent, while she hates my dearest Ann as much 
 as my father loves her; and is living in perpetual 
 hopes of her death, that another efibrt may be made, 
 if possible, to get me in the mind to relish some of 
 this noble blood: so that at present, we are obliged 
 to retire from home for the sake of peace. And all 
 this is the more cutting, as it comes from a mother, 
 who once appeared to love me very tenderly; but 
 still she is my mother. It is too painful for my re- 
 collection ! 
 
 Wor. I perceive then, dear sir, that you are al- 
 most under the necessity of a temporary banishment; 
 and as travelling from place to place is very expen- 
 sive, do sir, let me request the favour of you and 
 Mrs. Lovely to pass some time with us at Brook- 
 field Hall. Wg are supposed to live in a salutary air; 
 and you have your own little vehicle to take your- 
 self and Mrs. Lovely to different parts about the 
 country, for the sake of moderate exercise; you can 
 travel about as you may like, and still make my 
 house your head-quarters. If you please sir, as the 
 shower seems to be over, we will adjourn to the 
 house, and settle it with Mrs. Lovely. I am sure 
 Mrs. Worthy and my daughters will be very happy 
 in her company; Mrs. Lovely's want of noble blood 
 will be of no consequence at our house. We are no 
 great admirers of this commodity, as it is in general 
 found in its present degenerate state. 
 
 Lov. Dear sir, what kindness and attention to an 
 entire stranger! But as to support, both my father 
 and my wife's father are determined to join in all 
 that is necessary to assist, during our present perplex^ 
 ities; and though we suppose we must retire, for the 
 
410 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 sake of peace, into some little country cot, at a dis- 
 tance from my mother, till matters may soften; yet 
 should it please God to restore her health, a very 
 little will make us comfortable, as we are so happy 
 with each other. But I am sure, sir, Mrs. Lovely 
 will be quite overcome by your most kind and affec- 
 tionate attention to our situation. 
 
 Wo7\ sir! don't mention any thing about these 
 matters. I don't know what comfort there can be in 
 life, but as we act for the mutual good of each other. 
 True Christianity is sure to produce real politeness, 
 without the assistance of the affectation of the world. 
 Though their sort of politeness is, in general, little 
 better than refined hypocrisy; yet we are commanded 
 to <^be given to hospitality," and *'to be pitiful and 
 courteous.^' I must, therefore, insist upon it that you 
 allow me, without any farther ceremony, to make 
 you and Mrs. Lovely our guests, while you continue 
 in these parts. [To a, day labourer.] Here John, go 
 directly to the Golden Lion, and ask for Mr. Lovely's 
 servant, and tell him to bring his master's horses and 
 carriage, and all their packages, immediately to my 
 house. 
 
 Lov. Oh, dear sir! this is quite too much! — I am 
 afraid my poor dear wife will feel herself entirely 
 thrown out of that humble contemplative state of re- 
 tirement we wish to enjoy, by her being introduced 
 into your house. 
 
 Wcr. Oh, Mrs. Lovely will find just the contrary 
 within half an hour after she has really commenced 
 our guest: we have nothing to do with the fulsome 
 formal parade of the world at our house. [To the 
 labourer.] Why don't you go, John? 
 
 ,7b7m. An't please your honour, I'll go directly. 
 
 Lov, Sir, if you insist upon such an extraordinary 
 act of hospitality, I should be glad to go with him, 
 as I have some matters to settle with my servant on 
 this remove. 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 411 
 
 Wor. Well, sir, then I shall go to the house, and 
 tell Mrs. Worthy and Mrs. Lovely how we have set- 
 tled matters, and shall expect your speedy return. 
 
 Mr. Worthy and Mr. Lovely immediately sepa- 
 rated. But as there is still a variety of events which 
 may require an abridgment to prevent repetition, the 
 reader will excuse the dress of dialogue, while he is 
 farther informed, that Mr. Worthy accordingly w^ent 
 home, and in the fulness of his benevolent heart, ad- 
 dressed Mrs. Lovely rather too abruptly for the tender 
 feelings of her delicate and sentimental mind; telling 
 her that he had heard every circumstance respecting 
 them; and that he was quite in raptures of the fidelity 
 and integrity of Mr. Lovely's conduct; and begged 
 their acceptance of every token in his power of their 
 hospitality and esteem. He insisted upon it, that 
 they should adjourn from the Golden Lion imme- 
 diately, and be their guests, at least for some days; 
 and that after they had received a short sample of 
 their sincere and sympathetic regard, they should 
 judge for themselves, how long they might farther 
 favour them with their company. 
 
 This so won upon the mind of Mrs. Lovely, that 
 she could scarcely support herself under the strong 
 impressions of gr.atitude she felt, from this instance 
 of truly Christian benevolence. Her husband just 
 then came in, and found her scarcely able to speak, 
 and in tears, from tlAe influence this had upon her 
 most grateful and affectionate disposition. 
 
 The cause of this W'as immediately explained to 
 him. Let the reader't^ imagination next describe 
 the feelings of this ve/y sincere and affectionate 
 youth; thus engaged in w'iping away each tear as it 
 dropt from her eye, while he had enough to do to 
 quell the like sympathetic tear, as it involuntarily 
 forced itself through the san \e sluices of his affection ; 
 
4i2 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 and then let him judge whether Mr. Lovely would 
 have been a happier man, had he neglected one of 
 such a mind, for the sake of either of the three un- 
 sentimental baubles, whichever it might have been, 
 that through the mere pride, extravagance, or covet- 
 ousness of the parties, was designed to have been en- 
 tailed upon him. 
 
 Thus Mr. and Mrs. Lovely commenced the guests 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Worthy, while the honest landlord 
 of the Golden Lion parted with them with considera- 
 ble regret. They could not, however, help remark- 
 ing, in the course of the evening's conversation, how 
 very orderly all their little matters were conducted 
 at the public house, and that it was the first house 
 they ever remembered of that sort, in which they 
 heard the private voice of family prayer. 
 
 In the course of the evening conversation, Mr. 
 Lovely started some queries concerning a young 
 woman who appeared quite of a dejected turn of 
 mind, and asked whether it was from some deep af- 
 fliction, or, it should rather appear, from some melan- 
 choly derangement. But when Mr. Worthy began 
 to tell the story of Mrs. Chipman, as it has been be- 
 fore related to the reader, it was soon found too strong 
 a contrast of what had passed between Mr. and Mrs. 
 Lovely, for their tender minds to bear, especially as 
 related to the feelings of Mrs. Chipman, since she 
 had been made sensible of the evil consequences of 
 sin. The conversation, therefore, took another turn. 
 Mrs. Worthy made some inquiries into the family of 
 the Lovelys, as her mother used to claim relationship 
 to some of that name. By this means they discovered 
 there was no very distant relationship between the 
 Worthys and the Lovelys, though they were very 
 glad it was not on the side of the Greedys. Mr. 
 Lovely also had to console himself with a hope, that 
 -an intermixture into that family, might ultimately be 
 
DIALOGUE XX. 413 
 
 of no great harm to the next generation, as his grand- 
 father was too much the other way, and had suffered 
 considerably, by lending large sums of money to some, 
 in being security for others, and liberal upon all oc- 
 casions, so that his fortune had been much injured by 
 his generosity. 
 
 Upon this discovery, the easy and affectionate 
 appellation of cousin, was at once adopted, and the 
 conversation became familiar; soon after which, the 
 day was terminated by family prayer, and supper; 
 and as the day following produced some conversation 
 which it is hoped will not prove uninteresting to my 
 readers, though omitted in the former editions, the 
 substance of that conversation shall next be narrated, 
 as soon as the morning sun shall rise; and if these 
 Dialogues be now in the hands of those who retire 
 to their rest, without first dedicating themselves to 
 God, by family prayer; while they conclude the 
 evening by reading these little dramatic attempts, 
 may this laudable custom, so seriously attended to at 
 Brookfield-Hall, excite my kind readers also to break 
 through the united barriers of sloth and shame; and 
 ere they close their eyes in sleep, may they close the 
 day with God. 
 
 VOL. I.— 36 
 
DIALOGUE XXL 
 
 BETWEEN MRS. AND MISS WORTHY, AND 
 MRS. LOVELY. 
 
 THE EVILS OF SEDUCTION, FARTHER CONTINUED. 
 
 On the next morning, while Mr. Worthy and his 
 family were at breakfast with their new guests, it was 
 proposed by Mr. Worthy, that he and Mr. Lovely 
 should take a ride to see some of the more extended 
 prospects in that beautiful country, and then, on 
 their return home, to pass through some of the re- 
 tired glens that add a most pleasing variety to the 
 enchanting neighbourhood of Brookfield-Hall: while 
 the pleasantness of the day, and the serenity of the 
 weather, invited Mrs. and Miss Worthy, and Mrs. 
 Lovely to make an easier excursion in an open car- 
 riage nearer home. Though the captivating scenery 
 of the place occupied Mrs. Lovely's attention for a 
 longer time than was designed, from the weakly state 
 of her health; yet their return allowed them sufficient 
 time for the following conversation, before the designs 
 of the more extended ride of Mr. Worthy and Mr. 
 Lovely could be accomplished. After they were 
 seated in an open pleasant hall, in this earthly para- 
 dise, some jellies and a little fruit were brought in. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Now, madam, if Mr. Lovely was here, 
 I think he would lay his commands upon you that 
 you should taste how you like one of those jellies, 
 and some of that fruit after your airing. 
 
DIALOGUE XXI. 415 
 
 JUrs. Lov. 0, madam, your kindness and attention 
 to such entire strangers will never be forgotten. 
 
 J\Irs. Wor. I hope not, for don't you remember 
 yesterday evening that we made it out that we are 
 cousins, and relatives demand from us more than 
 the common civility that is generally bestowed on 
 strangers. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I thank you, kind madam: this gentle 
 exercise in this delightful situation, seems to have 
 done me so much good, that I shall accept your offer 
 without waiting for Mr. Lovely's commands, though 
 his commands of this sort are most affectionately 
 numerous. Dear man, nobody can blame me for 
 loving him. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. I think we should all blame you if 
 you did not love him, for we are all charmed with 
 him since my father has told us of his noble and 
 generous conduct. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. O, madam, you cannot know half his 
 worth; his m.ost happy and delightful temper, can 
 never be sufficiently appreciated. If his uncle could 
 have broken off the match, I am sure it must have 
 broken my heart, he is such a delightful man. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Why we are all of us equally delighted 
 with him. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I am glad of it, dear madam, for I 
 cannot but love all who love my dear husband. No 
 woman can be blest with a better. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Perhaps not, but I think I am blest 
 with one quite as good. I have been married to 
 Mr. Worthy above five and twenty years; and if we 
 ever differ, we never disagree. 
 
 It is poor work when people's happiness ends with 
 the honey moon. I doubt not but that the honey 
 moon with us, will last all the days of our lives. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. So, dear madam, the landlord of the 
 Golden Lion says. What a quiet and orderly house 
 
416 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 they keep! while their kindness and attention is 
 remarkably engaging. Mr. Lovely, and myself, are 
 so pleased with them, that it was our intention to 
 have passed a few days under their humble roof, had 
 not your kind invitation prevented; and especially 
 as the beautiful scenery of the place, so highly cul- 
 tivated and improved by Mr. Worthy's taste, so 
 captivated our attention. 
 
 J]Jrs. JVor. Yes, and this is the only thing in which 
 Mr. Worthy seems a little extravagant, in dressing 
 his old family demesne. ^Nlost travellers are highly 
 delighted with our situation. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I should be surprised at their want of 
 taste, if they were noL Considering what troubles 
 we have lately sustained; and what, from your affec- 
 tionate hospitality, we have now before us, it seems 
 as though we were on enchanted ground. 
 
 JMrs. TVor. Why ]Mr. Worthy considers by these 
 improvements how well he employs his poor neigh- 
 bours: and he finds it much better to give them la- 
 bour, than to give them money without it: and this 
 is one reason whv our parish poor rates are scarcely 
 felt 
 
 3frs. Lov. What a happiness it would be if every 
 country gentleman would follow such an example! 
 
 J\Irs. JVor. Indeed it would. It may be now and 
 then necessary to take a little journey for the sake of 
 our family, yet ^^r. Worthy cannot bear to be long 
 from home, and this makes him so much beloved 
 while he is at home. 
 
 3Irs. Lov. I am sure Mr. Lovely will be just such 
 another, if he ever should possess any of the family 
 estates, but that is now scarcely to be expected. 
 
 Ms. TVor. I dare say he will: there is no doubt 
 of the generosity of his mind. The best end of 
 living, is to live for the good of others. 
 
 Mrs. Lav. It is amazing what he feels for that 
 
DIALOGUE XXI. 417 
 
 poor disconsolate woman at the Golden Lion: but 
 if she is a penitent, bad as her conduct may have 
 been, she is still to be pitied. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. We hope she is a penitent: but she has 
 enough to repent of. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. Indeed she has; and she is most de- 
 servedly and severely punished by the reflections of 
 her own mind. I thank God, there are no such 
 reflections between my dear George and me. I have 
 heard more of her story this morning; though my 
 .spirits were too weak to hear the whole of it yester- 
 day evening; and however severe our troubles may 
 have been, yet still they have been as nothing, when 
 compared to an unfortunate lady in our neighbour- 
 hood, from the cruelty and treachery of her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Perhaps it is more painful for a wo- 
 man to be forsaken by her husband, than for a man 
 to be forsaken by his wife; though it is the same sort 
 of cruelty and treachery on either side of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. Indeed, madam, you would say so, if 
 you were to hear the story of this unfortunate lady. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Perhaps you have not sufficient strength 
 and spirits to tell the story. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. O yes I have! The agitation I felt 
 yesterday in coming among strangers, through your 
 great kindness, is considerably subsided. 
 
 Miss Wor. But before you begin, I must step 
 out for my work. Your talking need not hinder 
 my working. 
 
 Mrs. Wot. But where is your sister Mary ? had 
 she not better come in and help you to finish your 
 work for the poor children? 
 
 Miss Wor. She will, as soon as she returns from 
 Betty Newman's; she is gone to take measure of one 
 af the twins. 
 
 36* 
 
418 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 [Miss Worthy steps out for her work. During 
 her absence Mrs. Worthy remarks] 
 
 Mrs. Wor. This is the best way I can find out of 
 educating my daughters; and I am happy to say, that 
 they love the task, and wish to be a blessing to their 
 poor neighbours by attending to their wants. They 
 would much rather dress the poor than dress them- 
 selves. They have been taught to esteem it the 
 highest foll}^, to be the slaves and fools of fashion. 
 Any thing that appears like fantastic dress, either in 
 man or wOman, with them, is a sure indication not 
 only of the weakness of the head, but also of the 
 depravity of the heart. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. It is much to be lamented how many 
 stationed in the higher circles of life, are half ruined, 
 even from childhood, by a bad education. 1 am 
 very glad my kind parents favoured me rather with 
 a useful, than what is called a polite education, ac- 
 cording to that station of life they knew it was most 
 probable I might be called to fill : advantageous 
 knowledge and the improvement of the mind, were 
 what I was directed to seek after; and as this has 
 not lessened me in my dear Mr. Lovely's esteem, I 
 have nothing to regret on that score. I hope, dear 
 madam, the younger branches of your family, will 
 equally prove to your satisfaction; as well as to their 
 own credit through life. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. I have many an anxious thought about 
 them, but the younger branches of our family have 
 not yet finished their schooling, and we had anxiety 
 enough before we could provide such places of edu- 
 cation for them, as are best calculated for the proper 
 improvement of their minds. We feel the educa- 
 tion of our children a most solemn charge;, and to 
 begin well with them is one of the most important 
 steps that can be taken for their future good. But 
 all is nothing without the divine blessing on our ef- 
 
DIALOGUE XXI. 419 
 
 forts. If our little ones turn out as well as our two 
 eldest daughters, we shall be the happiest family 
 upon earth, 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I hope, madam, as long as you continue 
 me your guest, you will allow me, as far as I have 
 strength, to help the young ladies in their excellent 
 employment. 
 
 J\Ls. Wor. Though my daughters are very atten- 
 tive in this beneficial way for the good of others, yet 
 at times we are not forbidden to do something for 
 ourselves, and for the instruction of our own minds; 
 especially in the winter season. Then some of us 
 work; while others read history, geography and other 
 useful and improving publications. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I suppose sometimes different periodi- 
 cal publications attract your notice. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Indeed but seldom: for most of them 
 are not only avowedly written with a party design, 
 but too frequently in such an angry party spirit, as 
 to irritate and disturb the mind, so that we pay very 
 little attention to them; Mr. Worthy cannot bear 
 them. But our greatest feast is, when we can get 
 the worthy minister of our parish to pass an evening 
 with us. He is not only a good, but a well-educated 
 man. And then he gives us delightful lectures in 
 natural and experimental philosophy, but especially 
 •in astronomy, Mr, Worthy has lately presented us 
 with the fine pair of globes you see in that recess, 
 and an admirable telescope. In short, aur philoso- 
 phical apparatus is now become very considerable. 
 And at times we have many of our more intelligent 
 neighbours who attend these intellectual feasts. But 
 the best feast is, the excellent improvement we have 
 of it from our pious minister, who displays the glory 
 of the great Creator in such an admirable manner, in 
 all his works. 
 
 [Miss Worthy just then returns with her work.] 
 
420 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 J[Iiss Wor. Now, madam, we are just ready to 
 hear about the lady you mentioned, namely, Mrs. 
 Sharp. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. A deplorable story it truly is. She 
 has experienced a very severe reverse of fortune, 
 by her calamities. She was the only daughter of 
 very creditable parents. Her father, 1 am told, was 
 a captain in the army, who lost his life when she 
 was quite young. The disconsolate widow, however, 
 lived to educate her in a decent and respectable style, 
 though she was taken off by a fever before she had 
 reached her twentieth year: and it seems her parents 
 left behind, a fortune of nearly seven thousand pounds 
 for her use. 
 
 J\lrs. Wor. No wonder if at such an age she was 
 off her guard, and made a mistake in marriage, being 
 so early deprived of the guides of her youth, before 
 her judgment was properly matured. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. Why, madam, though she was married 
 so young, and within the year after her mother's 
 death, yet ft was the general opinion that no charge 
 of inadvertency could be brought against her. Mr. 
 Sharp, by all accounts, was then supposed to be a very 
 desirable young man, and in early life was esteemed 
 by most as of general credit and reputation. He was 
 of considerable practice in the law, and had formed 
 some very respectable connexions; and though he 
 was not more than four and twenty when they were 
 married, yet he being then very diligent and clever in 
 his profession, most people thought that she was a for- 
 tunate young woman, and that it would prove a happy 
 match. In short, their prospects upon their marriage, 
 and for some time afterwards, were very promising; 
 and while their family increased, it seemed to be an 
 additional happiness to them both., 
 
 Mrs. Wor. How many children had they? 
 
 Mrs. Lov. They lived together till they had four, 
 
DIALOGUE XXI. 421 
 
 and at that time most people envied their mutual fe- < 
 licity with each other. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. What could be the cause of the disso- 
 lution of such a happy connexion? 
 
 Mrs. Lov. 0! madam, a French gentleman and 
 lady were driven over into this country by the trou- 
 bles in France, and settled in our neighbourhood. He 
 gave himself out as being one of the French nobles, 
 .but was only known by the name of Mr. Dupee. — 
 Who, or what they were no one could tell 5 and 
 whether they were or were not married, was equally 
 uncertain. He was certainly a very vain, weak man, 
 and she a most artful and intriguing woman ; not only 
 possessed of a strong and powerful understanding, 
 but deeply tutored in all those pernicious principles 
 which have proved so destructive to the peace of 
 mankind, and especially in the country from whence 
 they came. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. No wonder, that any connexion with 
 such sort of people should bring ruin with them 
 wherever they are admitted. But how came Mr. 
 Sharp to be acquainted with them? 
 
 Mrs. Lov. It was Madam Dupee, who seemed to 
 be the cause of all the trouble; she was the manager 
 of every thing; for he being troubled with epilepsy, 
 and at the best of a weak understanding, he paid but 
 very little attention to his own concerns, so that not 
 long after their arrival, she was in the habit of sending 
 for Mr. Sharp to assist her in settling their affairs, 
 for he certainly was a man of some property; and at 
 times was fond of making a little show. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. But if Mrs. Sharp was of an amiable 
 and domestic disposition, he must have been a very 
 vile man, to have been insnared by such an artful 
 stranger. * 
 
 Mrs. Lov. 0, madam ! Mrs. Sharp had many an 
 aching heart about him, soon after their acquaintance 
 
422 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 commenced; but she kept her sorrows to herself, 
 although even the children could discover a diffe- 
 rence of conduct towards her, and at times would 
 say, I wonder why Papa does not love Mamma as 
 much as he used to do. — Their innocent prattle fre- 
 quently drew many a tear from her eyes. 
 
 J\l7's. Wor. No wonder if after this, when his af- 
 fections were in a measure withdrawn, if matters 
 soon went from bad to worse. His undue intimacy 
 with such an intriguing woman, must have given 
 Mrs. Sharp a deal of trouble. [To Mrs, Lovely.] 
 What should you and I feel, if we had such hus- 
 bands? 
 
 Mrs. Lov. 0, dear madam ! a little of such sort of 
 treatment from my dear George, would soon be the 
 death of me. I have had a deal of trouble for him, 
 but it seems almost impossible that I should ever 
 have any trouble from him, though perhaps Mrs. 
 Sharp once thought the same, but all this was but the 
 beginning of much deeper sorrows; and the sudden 
 death of Mr. Dupee, completely removed every obsta- 
 cle out of the way of their farther designs. 
 J\Irs. Wor. How came that about? 
 Mrs. Lov. 0, madam! though his epileptic fits 
 were at times very violent, yet from one of them he 
 never recovered, and this was attended with some 
 such circumstances as rendered it very doubtful, 
 whether there was not some contrivance between 
 them both, that he never should recover, though no- 
 thing could positively be proved against them. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. What! is it supposed that Mr. Sharp 
 assisted in the murder of the poor man? 
 
 Mrs. Lov. It is too generally suspected, that some 
 very improper treatment during his last fit, was the 
 cause of his dissolution; for no person was permitted 
 to come near his corpse, while he lay dead in the 
 
DIALOGUE xxr. 423 
 
 house, and this preys upon Mrs. Sharp's mind so se- 
 verely, that she is almost distracted. 
 
 t/kfr5. Wor. If she had the most distant suspicion, 
 that he could be accessary to such an abominable 
 crime, in addition to his unfaithfulness and unkind- 
 ness; how could she bear such a monster of a man? 
 no wonder that it caused a complete separation be- 
 tween them. 
 
 J\Irs. Lov. And now it began to appear most evi- 
 dently to have been his design to accomplish such a 
 separation. Though the woman put on the appear- 
 ance of one of the most inconsolable widows that 
 ever lived, for being, if any thing, a Roman Catholic, 
 she sent to all the popish chapels far and wide, for 
 their masses, to pray his soul out of purgatory, yet 
 more of the company of Mr. Sharp was evidently all 
 she w^anted; for she not only contrived to sweep all 
 her husband's property into her own pocket, they not 
 having any children; though several nephews and 
 nieces; and these were all forgotten, that she might 
 get the whole into her absolute possession. And it 
 seems his will was the entire fabrication of Mr. Sharp, 
 while he and she were the only joint executors of the 
 whole concern, and this furnished him with a pretext 
 to give almost the whole of his company to this vile 
 woman; while his broken-hearted wife, and neglected 
 children, were almost entirely forsaken by him. In- 
 deed if ever he even occasionally went to his own 
 home, it was only to see his wife distracted with 
 grief, at the sight of the man with whom she had 
 lived with so much conjugal felicity for so long a 
 time; now torn from her bosom by this artful fo- 
 reigner, and all his children neglected by him, while 
 the youngest was still hanging on her breast. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Poor woman, she must have been the 
 object of universal pity. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. Yes, madam, of all that had any pity 
 
424 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 in them; while he now began to be not less the object 
 of universal abhorrence and contempt. 
 
 Mrs, Wor. Could he continue in a place where the 
 odium excited against him, must, one would suppose, 
 have been so very universal? 
 
 Mrs. Lov. No, madam, nor did he design it from 
 the first: for though this artful French woman wanted 
 to deceive people, by assuming the most tragical and 
 frantic airs of grief, and by giving it out, that she 
 could never live in a house where she saw her dear 
 husband die in such agonies; consequently must sell 
 all, and leave the place, and retire into her own 
 country; yet this was the very thing that Mr. Sharp 
 was aiming at, to accomplish the rest of his plan. 
 For immediately upon her requisition he had a pre- 
 text to sell off all her household property, and fur- 
 niture, with all possible speed, and after this, no- 
 thing would do, but that Mr. Sharp should attend 
 this abominable wretch to the water-side, leaving be- 
 hind him a promise to return. To this Mrs. Sharp 
 was obliged reluctantly to submit. She having 
 some faint hopes that she might yet live to see bet- 
 ter days, when the object that insnared his affections 
 should be removed from them. But in this she was 
 also mistaken. He went, cruel wretch, to return no 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. Wor, This was completely enough to break 
 her heart. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. But, madam, there was more heart- 
 breaking work after all this, for he absolutely con- 
 trived to avail himself of all the property she brought 
 with her into the family, by a most vile swindling 
 trick. 
 
 Miss Wor. What was the trick? 
 Mrs. Lov. They say, that some sort of lawyers are 
 up to every thing, and as he was frequently in the 
 habit, in his professional line, of buying and selling 
 
DIALOGUE XXI. 425 
 
 estates, when these vile designs first entered into his 
 head, before the death of Mr. Dupee, he told his 
 wife that he had an opportunity of buying an estate 
 with her fortune, to a very considerable advantage; 
 which he should settle on her and their family, and 
 though she had then her fears, lest she should soon 
 be deprived of the remaining share of his afiections, 
 sooner than give him any pretext against her, she 
 reluctantly submitted, and completely ruined herself 
 thereby. This advantageous purchase he gave her 
 to understand, was fully accomplished. And after 
 his departure she naturally inquired, where this ima- 
 ginary estate for herself and children was to be found; 
 b^t think what her feelings must have been upon the 
 painful discovery, that all was an entire cheat, and 
 that she had nothing left, for herself and family, but 
 a little pocket-money, the furniture of the house in 
 which she lived, and a few outstanding debts, while 
 these were scarcely sufficient to discharge the debts 
 the vile wretch had left against her, for their house- 
 keeping expenses. 
 
 jkrs. Wor. Were not these rather to be conceived 
 as debts belonging to her husband? 
 
 Mrs. Lav. But as she and her children partook of 
 the benefit of them, she honourably discharged them, 
 till she had scarcely any thing left for herself, but 
 what must soon be exhausted. She has indeed a 
 little plate, and a few valuable trinkets, and some of 
 these it seems she has already parted with, and when 
 these are gone, she has nothing but poverty and dis- 
 tress before her. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. Have they not heard any thing of him 
 since his departure? 
 
 Mrs. Lov. Not a tittle; and it is now three months 
 since. She never expects to hear from him again. 
 
 Miss Wor. Vile fellow. No matter for that, if 
 
 VOL. L — 37 
 
426 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 the poor forsaken woman and her children can only 
 be supported. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I hope she will; for several people have 
 already sent her some presents, and my dear George 
 says he will give her a trifle. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. And I dare say, my dear Samuel will 
 add another trifle. — But did Mrs. Sharp show any 
 such tempers at home, so as to give a pretext to her 
 husband, not to be so fond of her company as for- 
 merly. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I never heard that she did; she is said 
 to be a woman of very engaging manners, and of an 
 amiable temper, though I dare say, he w^ould find no 
 very comfortable reception on his return, when l^p 
 had neglected his own family fire-side, evening after 
 evening, to hear her distressful sighs, and to see tears 
 of grief, every now and then starting from her eyes, 
 while he had no other excuse for himself, than that 
 of taking the opportunity of gaining better instruc- 
 tion in the French language, which it seems he knew 
 well enough before. 
 
 Mrs. Wor. The more innocent and excellent her 
 character is made to appear, it is hoped the more 
 ready people will be to come forward towards her 
 support. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. Ah, madam! but after having lived in 
 comparative afiluence, to be reduced to live in a state 
 of entire dependence upon the bounty of others, is a 
 very painful event. She has not been accustomed to 
 any way of getting her own livelihood, nor would 
 her little family allow her to do it if she had it in 
 her power: in short, she cannot help herself, while 
 she feels it a mortifying thought to be helped by 
 others, though one of her faithful servants says, she 
 cannot leave her, if she works for nothing, while the 
 prattle of her little children cuts her to the heart. 
 At one time, they will be asking her, Where is Papa 
 
DIALOGUE XXI. 427 
 
 gone? why don^t he bring us pretty things as he used 
 to do? and when at times they see her in tears, 
 they will ask, What makes you cry, Mamma? you 
 say we are naughty if we cry. Then again when 
 their mother provides them with but a scanty meal, 
 being apprehensive that her little remaining stock 
 will soon be exhausted, they will be asking with art- 
 less surprise, why they are allowed so little; and what 
 is become of the good things they formerly used to 
 have. 
 
 jyiiss Wor. What painful feelings such sort of ques- 
 tions must excite in a mother's breast! 
 
 Mrs. Lov. Yes: and what additional pain must she 
 have felt, when she began to find it necessary to part 
 with the furniture out of her house, at different times, 
 to provide even such scanty meals as these, while she 
 was painfully at a loss to know how to provide a suf- 
 ficiency to pay the taxes, as they were demanded of 
 her. The most disconsolate widow upon earth has 
 not half the cause of grief as has fallen to the lot of 
 this afflicted woman; what less can be expected, 
 than that grief should send her to the grave with a 
 broken heart? even a detail of such uncommon suf- 
 ferings, is quite sufficient for any person of common 
 humanity to narrate. 
 
 Mrs, Wor. Perhaps you had better defer the rest 
 of the narration, until another opportunity, lest it 
 should be too much for your spirits. 
 
 Mrs. Lov. I have but little farther to observe con- 
 cerning her. — Oh, here is my dear George, and Mr. 
 Worthy riding up to the door; I am glad they have 
 returned so soon. 
 
 No sooner had they alighted, than the conversa- 
 tion became too desultory to demand the reader's 
 attention, nor is it necessary that the narration re- 
 specting Mrs. Sharp should be continued, as all that 
 is material has been sufficiently made known. I shall 
 
428 VILLAGE DIALOGUES. 
 
 only observe, that though the Lovelys could not but 
 be charmed with the affectionate hospitality of the 
 Worthys; yet but little was said respecting Mr. 
 Lovegood, only from general hints: and as he was 
 scarcely from home on the Saturday, the first time 
 they saw him, was in his official duty on the Sunday 
 morning. Mr. Worthy, however, stepped aside for 
 a short time,* to the Vicarage, to tell him what sort 
 of guests had been providentially brought to his 
 house, together with a short detail of their history, 
 supposing that Mr. Lovegood with his wonted wis- 
 dom and readiness of mind, might know how to im- 
 prove the event, by introducing such wise, though 
 indirect remarks, as might be best calculated to do 
 them good. The result of that day's services, it is 
 to be hoped, will prove sufficiently interesting to 
 captivate the reader's attention, and to improve his 
 mind. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
Date Due 
 
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