BLACK GILES, &c.

POACHING GILES lived on the borders of one of thoſe great Moors in Somerſetſhire. Giles, to be ſure, has been a ſad fellow in his time; and it is none of his fault if his whole family do not end either at the gallows or at Botany Bay. He lives at that Mud Cottage with the broken windows, ſtuffed with dirty rags, juſt beyond the gate which divides the upper from the lower Moor. You may know the houſe at a good diſtance by the ragged tiles on the roof, and the looſe ſtones which are ready to drop out from the chimney; though a ſhort ladder, a hod of mortar, and half an hour's leiſure time would have prevented all this, and made the little dwelling tight enough. But as Giles had never learnt any thing that was good, ſo he did not know the value of ſuch uſeful ſayings as, that "a tile in time ſaves nine."

Beſides this, Giles fell into that common miſtake, that a beggarly looking cottage, and filthy ragged children raiſed moſt compaſſion, and of courſe drew moſt charity. But as cunning as he was in other things, he was out in his reckoning here [4] for it is neatneſs, houſewifery, and a decent ap⯑pearance which draws the kindneſs of the rich and charitable, while they turn away diſguſted from filth and lazineſs; not out of pride, but becauſe they ſee that it is next to impoſſible to mend the condition of thoſe who degrade themſelves by dirt and ſloth.

The common on which Giles's hovel ſtands is quite a deep marſh in a wet winter, but in ſummer it looks green and pretty enough. To be ſure it would be rather convenient when one paſſes that way in a carriage, if one of the children would run out and open the gate, as it would ſave the poſt boy from getting off, which is not very ſafe for the people within the chaiſe; but inſtead of any one of theſe children running out as ſoon as they hear the wheels, which would be quite time enough, what does Giles do, but ſet all his ragged brats, with dirty faces, matted locks, and naked feet and legs, to lie all day upon a ſand bank hard by the gate, waiting for the ſlender chance of what may be picked up from travellers. At the ſound of a carriage, a whole covey of theſe little ſcare⯑crows ſtart up, ruſh to the gate, and all at once thruſt out their hats and aprons; and for fear this, [...]ogether with the noiſe of their clamorous beg⯑ging, ſhould not ſufficiently frighten the horſes, they are very apt to let the gate ſlap full againſt you, before you are half way through, in their eager ſcuffle to ſnatch from each other the half⯑pence which you may have thrown out to them. I know two ladies who were one day very near be⯑ing killed by theſe abominable tricks.

Thus five or ſix little idle creatures, who might be earning a trifle by knitting at home; who might [5] be uſeful to the public by working in the field, and who might aſſiſt their families by learning to get their bread twenty honeſt ways, are ſuffered to lie about all day, in the hope of a few chance halfpence, which, after all, they are by no means ſure of get⯑ting. Indeed, when the neighbouring gentlefolks found out that opening the gate was the family trade, they ſoon left off giving any thing. And I myſelf, though I uſed to take out a penny ready to give, had there been only one to receive it, when I ſee a whole family eſtabliſhed in ſo beggarly a trade, quietly put it back again into my pocket, and give nothing at all. And ſo few travellers paſs that way, that ſome times, after the whole family have loſt a day, their gains do not amount to two-pence.

As Giles had a far greater taſte for living by his wits, than his work, he was at one time in hopes, that his children might have a got a pretty penny by tumbling for the diverſion of travellers, and he ſet about training them in that indecent practice; but unluckily, the Moors being level, the carriages travelled faſter than the children tumbled. He en⯑vied thoſe parents who lived on the London road, over the Wiltſhire Downs, which being very hilly, enables the tumbler to keep pace with the traveller, till he ſometimes extorts from the light and the un⯑thinking a reward inſtead of a reproof. I beg leave, however, to put all gentlemen and ladies in mind that ſuch tricks are a kind of apprenticeſhip to the trades of begging and thieving.

Giles, to be ſure, as his children grew older, began to train them to ſuch other employments as the idle habits they had learned at the gate very properly qualified them for. The right of Common, which ſome of the poor Cottagers have in that part [6] of the country, and which is doubtleſs a conſider⯑able advantage to many, was converted by Giles into the means of corrupting his whole family, for his children, as ſoon as they grew too big for the trade of begging at the gate, were promoted to the dignity of thieving on the Moor. Here he kept two or three aſſes, miſerable beings, which, if they had the good fortune to eſcape an untimely death by ſtarving, did not fail to meet with it by beating. Some of the biggeſt boys were ſent out with theſe lean and galled animals to carry ſand or coals about the neighbouring towns. Both ſand and coals were often ſtolen before they got them to ſell, or if not, they always took care to cheat in ſelling them. By long practice in this art, they grew ſo dextrous, that they could give a pretty good gueſs how large a coal they could crib out of every bag before the buyer would be likely to miſs it.

All their odd time was taken up under the pre⯑tence of watching theſe aſſes on the Moor, or run⯑ning after five or ſix half-ſtarved geeſe: but the truth is, theſe boys were only watching for an op⯑portunity to ſteal an odd gooſe of their neighbour's. They uſed alſo to pluck the quills or the down from theſe poor live creatures, or half milk a cow before the farmer's maid came with her pall. They all knew how to calculate to a minute what time to be down in a morning to let out their lank, hun⯑gry beaſts, which they had turned over night into the farmer's field to ſteal a little good paſture. They contrived to get there juſt time enough to eſcape being caught in replacing the ſtakes they had pulled out for the cattle to get over. For Giles was a pru⯑dent long-headed fellow, and wherever he ſtole food for his colts, took care never to ſteal ſtakes [7] from the hedges at the ſame time. He had ſenſe enough to know that the gain did not make up for the danger; he knew that a looſe faggot, pulled from a neighbour's pile of wood after the family were gone to bed, anſwered the end better, and was not half the trouble.

Among the many trades which Giles profeſſed, he ſometimes practiſed that of a rat catcher; but he was addicted to ſo many tricks that he never fol⯑lowed [...]he ſame trade long. Whenever he was ſent for to a farm-houſe, his cuſtom was to kill a few of the old rats, always taking care to leave a little ſtock of young ones alive ſufficient to keep up the breed; for, ſaid he, "If I were to be ſuch a fool as to clear a houſe or a barn at once, how world my trade be carried on?" And where any barn was overſtocked, he uſed to borrow a few from thence juſt to people a neighbouring granary which had none; and he might have gone on till now, had he not unluckily been caught one evening emptying his cage of young rats under Parſon Wilſon's barn-door.

This worthy Miniſter, Mr. Wilſon, uſed to pity the neglected children of Giles as much as he blamed the wicked parents. He one day picked up Dick, [8] who was far the beſt of Giles's bad boys. Dick was loitering about in a field behind the Parſon's garden in ſearch of a hen's neſt, his mother having ordered him to bring home a few eggs that night by hook or by crook, as Giles was reſolved to have ſome pan⯑cakes for ſupper, though he knew that eggs were a penny a-piece. Mr. Wilſon had long been deſirous of ſnatching ſome of this vagrant family from ruin, and his chief hopes were bent on Dick, as the leaſt hackneyed in knavery. He had once given him a new pair of ſhoes, on his promiſing to go to ſchool next Sunday; but no ſooner had Rachel, the boy's mother, got the ſhoes into her clutches, than ſhe pawned them for a bottle of gin, and ordered the boy to keep out of the Parſon's ſight, and to be ſure to play his marbles on Sundays for the future at the other end of the pariſh, and not near the Church⯑yard. Mr. Wilſon, however, picked up the boy once more, for it was not his way to deſpair of any body. Dick was juſt going to take to his heels as uſual for fear the old ſtory of the ſhoes ſhould be brought forward; but finding he could not get off; what does he do but run into a little puddle of muddy water which lay between him and the Parſon, that the ſight of his naked feet might not bring on the dreaded ſubject. Now it happened that Mr. Wilſon was planting a little field of beans, ſo he thought, this a good opportunity to employ Dick; he told him he had got ſome pretty eaſy work for him. Dick did as he was bid; he willingly went to work, and readily began to plant his beans with diſpatch and regularity, according to the directions given him.

While the boy was buſily at work by himſelf, Giles happened to come by having been ſkulking [9] round the back way to look over the Parſon's garden wall, to ſee if there was any thing worth climbing over for, on the enſuing night. He ſpied Dick, and began to rate him for working for the ſtingy old Parſon, for Giles had a natural antipathy to whatever belonged to the Church. "What has he promiſed thee a day?" ſaid he, "little enough I dare ſay." "He is not to pay me by the day," ſaid Dick, "but ſays he will give me ſo much when I have planted this peck, and ſo much for the next." "Oh, oh! that alters the caſe," ſaid Giles. "One may, in⯑deed, get a trifle by this ſort of work. Come, give me a handful of the beans. I will teach thee how to plant when them art paid for planting by the peck. All we have to do in that caſe is to diſpatch the work as faſt as we can, and get rid of the beans with all ſpeed; and as to the ſeed coming up or not, that is no buſineſs of ours; we are paid for planting, not for growing. At the rate thou goeſt on thou would'ſt not get ſix-pence to-night. Come along, bury away." So ſaying, he took his hatful of the ſeed, and where Dick had been ordered to ſet one bean, Giles buried a dozen. So the beans were ſoon out. But though the peck was emptied, the ground was unplanted. But cunning Giles knew this could not be found out till the time when the beans might be expected to come up, "and then Dick," ſaid he, "the ſnails and the mice may go ſhares in the blame; or we can lay the fault on the rooks or the blackbirds." So ſaying, he ſent the boy into the Parſonage to receive his pay, taking care to ſecure [...]bout a quarter of the peck of beans for his own [...]; he put both bag and beans into his own pocket [...]o carry home, bidding Dick tell Mr. [10] Wilſon that he had planted the beans and loſt the bag.

In the mean time Giles's other boys were buſy in emptying the ponds and trout-ſtreams in the neighbouring manor. They would ſteal away the carp and tench when they were no bigger than gudgeons; by this untimely depredation they plun⯑dered the owner of his property, without enrich⯑ing themſelves. But the pleaſure of miſchief was reward enough. Theſe, and a hundred other lit⯑tle thieveries, they committed with ſuch dexterity, that old Tim Crib, whoſe ſon was tranſported laſt aſſizes for ſheep ſtealing, uſed to be often reproach⯑ing his boys, that Giles's ſons were worth a hun⯑dred of ſuch blockheads as he had; for ſcarce a night paſt but Giles had ſome little comfortable thing for ſupper which his boys had pilfered in the day, while his undutiful dogs never ſtole any thing worth having. Giles, in the mean time, was buſy in his way, but as buſy as he was in laying nets, ſtarting coveys, and training dogs, he always took care that his depredations ſhould not he con⯑fined merely to game.

Giles's boys had never ſeen the inſide of a church ſince they were chriſtened, and the father thought he knew his own intereſt better than to force them to it; for church-time was the ſeaſon of their har⯑veſt. Then the hens' neſts were ſearched, a ſtray duck was clapped under the ſmock frock, the tools which might have been left by cha [...] in a farm-yard were picked up, and all the neighbour⯑ing pigeon-houſes were thinned, ſo that Giles uſed to boaſt to his wife, that Sunday was to them the moſt profitable day in the week. With her it was certainly the moſt laborious day, as ſh [...] always did [...] waſhing and ironing on the Sunda [...] morning, it [11] being, as ſhe ſaid the only leiſure day, ſhe had, for on the other days ſhe went about the country telling fortunes, and ſelling dreams books, and wicked ſongs. Neither her huſband's nor her children's cloaths were ever mended, and if Sunday, her idle day, had not come about once in every week, it is likely they would never have been waſhed nei⯑ther. You might, however, ſee her as you were going to church ſmoothing her own rags on her beſt red cloak, which ſhe always uſed for her iron⯑ing cloth on Sundays, for her cloak when ſhe tra⯑velled, and for her blanket at night; ſuch a wretched manager was Rachel! among her other articles of trade one was to make and ſell pepper⯑mint, and other diſtilled waters. Theſe ſhe had the cheap art of making without trouble, and with⯑out expence, for ſhe made them without herbs and without a ſtill. Her way was, to fill ſo many quart bottles with plain water, putting a ſpoonful of mint water in the mouth of each; theſe ſhe corked down with roſin, carrying to each cuſtomer a [...]hial of real diſtilled water to taſte, by way of ſample. This was ſo good that her bottles were commonly bought up without being opened; but if any ſuſpicion aroſe and ſhe was forced to un⯑cork [...] bottle, by the few drops of diſtilled water lying at top, ſhe even then eſcaped detection, and took care to get out of reach before the bottle was opened a ſecond time. She was too prudent ever to go twice to the ſame houſe.

There is hardly any petty miſchief that is not connected with the life of a poacher. Mr. Wilſon was aware of this, he was not only a pious clergy⯑man, but an upright juſtice. He uſed to ſay that people w [...]o were truly conſcientious, muſt be ſo [12] in ſmall things as well as in great ones, or they would deſtroy the effect of their own precepts, and their example would not be of general uſe. For this reaſon he never would accept of a hare or a partridge from any unqualified perſon in his pariſh. He did not content himſelf with ſhuffling the thing off by aſking no queſtions, and pretending to take it for granted in a general way that the game was fairly come at; but he uſed to ſay that by receiv⯑ing the booty he connived at a crime; made him⯑ſelf a ſharer in it, and if he gave a preſent to the man who brought it, he even tempted him to re⯑peat the fault.

One day poor Jack Weſton, an honeſt fellow in the neighbourhood, whom Mr. Wilſon had kindly viſited and relieved in a long ſickneſs, from which he has but juſt recovered, was brought before him as he was ſitting on the Juſtice's bench; Jack was accuſed of having knocked down a bare, and of all the birds in the air, who ſhould the informer be but black Giles the poacher? Mr. Wilſon was grieved at the charge, be had a great regard for Jack, but he had a ſtill greater regard for the [...]w. The poor fellow pleaded guilty. He did not deny the fact, but ſaid he did not conſider it a crime, he did not think game was private property, and he owned he had a ſtrong temptation for doing what he had done, which he hoped would plead in his excuſe. The Juſtice de ſired to know what this temptation was. "Sir," ſaid the poor fellow, "you know I was given over this ſpring [...]n a bad fever. I had no friend in the world but you Sir, Under God you ſaved my life by your charitable relief; and I truſt alſo you may have helped to ſave my ſoul by your prayers and your good ad⯑vice. [13] I know I can never make you amends for all your goodneſs, but I thought it would be ſome comfort to my full heart if I could but once give you ſome little token of my gratitude. So I had trained a pair of nice turtle doves for Madam Wilſon, but they were ſtolen from me Sir, and I do ſuſpect black Giles ſtole them. Yeſterday morn⯑ing, Sir, and was crawling out to my work, for I am ſtill but very weak, a fine hare ran acroſs my path. I did not ſtay to conſider whether it was wrong to kill a hare, but I felt it was right to ſhew my gratitude; ſo Sir, without a moment's thought I did knock down the hare which I was going to car⯑ry to your Worſhip, becauſe I knew Madam was fond of hare. I am truly ſorry for my fault, and will ſubmit to whatever puniſhment your Worſhip may pleaſe to inflict."

Mr. Wilſon was much moved with this honeſt confeſſion, and touched with the poor fellow's gra⯑titude. What added to the effect of the ſtory, was the weak condition and pale ſickly looks of the of⯑fender. But this worthy Juſtice never ſuffered his feelings to bias his integrity; he know that he did not ſit on that bench to indulge pity, but to admi⯑niſter juſtice. And while he was ſorry for the of⯑fender he would not juſtify the offence. "John," ſaid he, "I am ſurpriſed that you could for a mo⯑ment forget that I never accept any gift which cauſes the giver to break a law. On Sunday I teach you from the pulpit the laws of God, whoſe miniſter I am. At preſent I fill the chair of the magiſtrate, to enforce and execute the laws of the land. Between thoſe and the others there is more connexion than you are aware. I thank you, John, for your affection to me, and I admire your grati⯑tude; [14] but I muſt not allow either affection or gra⯑titude to be brought as a plea for a wrong action. It is not your buſineſs nor mine, John, to ſettle whether the game laws are good or bad. Till they are repealed we muſt obey them. Many, I doubt not, break thoſe laws through ignorance, and many I am certain, who would not dare to ſteal a gooſe or a turkey, make no ſcruple to knock down a hare or a partridge. You will hereafter think yourſelf happy [...]at this your firſt attempt has proved un⯑ſucceſsful, as I truſt you are too honeſt a fellow ever to intend to turn poacher. With poaching much moral evil is connected; a habit of nightly depradation; a cuſtom of prowling in the dark for prey, produces in time a diſreliſh for honeſt labour. He whoſe firſt offence was committed without much thought or evil intention, if he happen to ſucceed a few times in carrying off his booty undiſcovered, grows bolder and bolder; and when he fancies there is no ſhame attending it, he very ſoon gets to perſuade himſelf that there is alſo no ſin. While ſome people pretend a ſcruple about ſtealing a ſheep, they partly live by plundering of warrens. But remember that the warrener pays a high rent, [...] that therefore his rabbits are as much his pro⯑perty as his ſheep. Do not then deceive yourſelves with theſe falſe diſtinctions. All property is ſacred, and as the laws of the land are intended to fence in that property, he who brings up his children to break down any of theſe fences, brings them up to certain ſin and ruin. He who begins with rob⯑bing orchards, rabbit warrens, and fiſh-ponds, will probably end with horſe-ſtealing or highway rob⯑bery. Poaching is a regular apprenticeſhip to bolder crimes. He whom I may commit as a boy [15] to ſit in the ſtocks for killing a partride, may be likely to end at the gallows for killing a man.

Obſerve, you who now hear me, the ſtrictneſs and impartiality of juſtice. I know Giles to be a worthleſs fellow, yet it is my duty to take his in⯑formation; I know Jack Weſton to be an honeſt youth, yet I muſt be obliged to make him pay the penalty. Giles is a bad man, but he can prove this fact; Jack is a worthy lad, but he has com⯑mitted this fault, I am ſorry for you, Jack; but do not let it grieve you that Giles has played worſe tricks a hundred times, and yet got off, while you were detected in the very firſt offence, for that would be grieving becauſe you are not ſo great a rogue as Giles. At this moment you think your good luck is very unequal: but all this will one day turn out in your favour. Giles is not the more a favourite of heaven becauſe he has hitherto eſcaped Botany Bay or the Hulks; nor is it [...] mark of God's diſpleaſure againſt you, John, [...] you were found out in your very firſt attempt [...]

Here the good Juſtice left off ſpeaking, and no one could contradict the truth of what he had ſaid Weſton humbly ſubmitted to his ſentence, but he was very poor, and knew not where to raiſe the money to pay his fine. His character had always been ſo fair, that ſeveral farmers preſent kindly agreed to advance a trifle each to prevent his be⯑ing ſent to priſon, and he thankfully promiſed to work out the debt. The Juſtice himſelf, though he could not ſoften the law, yet ſhewed Weſton ſo much kindneſs, that he was enabled, before the year was out, to get out of this difficulty. He be⯑gan to think more ſeriouſly than he had ever yet [16] done, and grew to abhor poaching, not merely from fear but from principle.

We ſhall ſoon ſee whether poaching Giles always got off ſo ſucceſsfully. Here we have ſeen that proſperity is no ſure ſign of goodneſs. Next month we may, perhaps, ſee that the "triumphing of the wicked is ſhort; for I then promiſe to give the Second Part of the Poacher, together with the en⯑tertaining Story of the Widow's Brown Apple Tree.