HISTORY, &c.

I HOPE the reader has not forgotten where the third part of this hiſtory left off laſt month. It finiſhed with an account how Jack Brown, by keep⯑ing idle company, when he ſhould have been pay⯑ing his debts, was robbed of his pocket-book while he was aſleep on the ſettle at the Blue Poſts. It was alſo told how, the Landlord not believing one word of his ſtory, ſent him to priſon for debts long due to him.

Brown was no ſooner lodged in his doleful ha⯑bitation, and a little recovered from his firſt ſur⯑priſe, than he ſat down and wrote his friend Stock the whole hiſtory of the tranſaction. Mr. Stock, who had long known the exceeding lightneſs and diſſipation of his mind, did not ſo utterly diſbelieve the ſtory as all the other creditors did. To ſpeak the truth, Stock was the only one among them who had good ſenſe enough to know, that a man may be compleatly ruined, both in what relates to his property and his ſoul, without committing Old [4] Bailey Crimes. He well knew that idleneſs, vanity, and the love of pleaſure, as it is falſely called, will bring a man to a morſel of bread, as ſurely as thoſe things which are reckoned much greater ſins; and that they undermine his principles as cer⯑tainly, though not perhaps quite ſo faſt.

Stock was too angry with what had happened to anſwer Brown's letter, or to ſeem to take the leaſt notice of him. However, he kindly and ſe⯑cretly undertook a journey to the hard-hearted old Farmer, Brown's father, to intercede with him, and to ſee if he would do any thing for his ſon. Stock did not pretend to excuſe Jack, or even to leſſen his offences; for it was a rule of his never to diſ⯑guiſe truth or to palliate wickedneſs. Sin was ſtill ſin in his eyes, though it were committed by his beſt friend; but though he would not ſoften the ſin he felt tenderly for the ſinner. He pleaded with the old Farmer on the ground, that his ſon's idleneſs and other vices would gather freſh ſtrength in a jail. He told him that the looſe and worth⯑leſs company which he would there keep would harden him in vice, and if he was now wicked he might there become irreclaimable.

But all his pleas were urged in vain. The Far⯑mer was not to be moved. Indeed he argued with ſome reaſon, that he ought not to make his induſ⯑trious children beggars to ſave one rogue from the gallows. Mr. Stock allowed the force of this reaſon, though he ſaw the father was leſs influ⯑enced by this principle of juſtice than by reſent⯑ment on account of the old ſtory of Smiler. People, [5] indeed, ſhould take care that what appears in their, conduct to proceed from juſtice does not really proceed from revenge. Better men than Farmer Brown often deceive themſelves, and fancy they act on better principles than they really do, for want of looking a little more cloſely into their own hearts, and putting down every action to it's true motive. When we are praying againſt deceit we ſhould not forget to take ſelf-deceit into the account.

Mr. Stock at length wrote to poor Jack; not to offer him any help, that was quite out of the queſtion, but "to exhort him to repent of his evil ways; to lay before him the ſins of his paſt life, and to adviſe him to convert the preſent puniſh⯑ment into a benefit, by humbling himſelf before GOD." He offered his intereſt to get his place of confinement exchanged for one of thoſe improved priſons, where ſolitude and labour have been made the happy inſtruments of bringing many to a better way of thinking, and ended by ſaying, "that if ever he gave any ſolid ſigns of real amend⯑ment he would ſtill be his friend in ſpite of all that was paſt."

If Mr. Stock had ſent him a good ſum of money to procure his liberty, or even a trifle to make merry with his wretched companions, Jack would have thought him a friend indeed. But to ſend him nothing but dry advice, and a few words of empty comfort, was, he thought, but a cheap ſhabby way of ſhewing his kindneſs. Unluckily the letter came juſt as he was going to ſit down to [6] one of thoſe direful merry-makings which are often carried on with brutal riot within the doleful walls of a jail on the entrance of a new priſoner, who is often expected to give a feaſt to the reſt.

When his companions were heated with gin, "Now," ſaid Jack, "I'll treat you with a ſermon, and a very pretty preachment it is." So ſaying, he took out Mr. Stock's kind and pious letter, and was de⯑lighted at the burſts of laughter it produced. "What a canting dog," ſaid one! "Repentance, indeed!" cried Tom Crew, "No, no, Jack, tell his hypocritical rogue that if we have loſt our liberty, it is only for having been jolly, hearty follows, and we have more ſpirit than to repent of that I hope: all the harm we have done is living a little too faſt, like honeſt bucks as we are." "Aye, aye," ſaid Jolly George, "had we been ſuch ſneaking miſerly fellows as Stock, we need not have come hither. But if the ill-nature of the laws has clapped up ſuch fine hearty blades, we are no felons, however. We are afraid of no Jack Ketch; and I ſee no cauſe to repent of any ſin that's not hanging matter. For thoſe who are thruſt into the condemned hole indeed, and have but a few hours to live, they muſt ſee the Parſon, and hear a ſermon, and ſuch ſtuff. But I do not know what ſuch ſtout young fellows as we are have to do with repentance. And ſo, Jack, let us have that rare new catch which you learnt of the ſtrollers that merry night when you loſt your pocket-book."

Brown ſoon gave a freſh proof of the power of [7] evil company, and of the quick progreſs of the heart of a ſinner from bad to worſe. Brown, who always wanted principle, ſoon grew to want feeling alſo. He joined in the laugh which was raiſed againſt Stock, and told many good ſtories, as they were called, in deriſion of the piety, ſobriety, and ſelf-denial of his old friend. He loſt every day ſomewhat of thoſe ſmall remains of ſhame and de⯑cency which he had brought with him to the priſon. He even grew reconciled to this wretched way of life, and the want of money ſeemed to him the heavieſt evil in the life of a jail.

Mr. Stock finding, from the gaoler, that his letter was treated with ridicule, would not write to him any more. He did not come to ſee him nor ſend him any aſſiſtance, thinking it right to let him ſuffer that want which his vices had brought upon him. But, as he ſtill hoped that the time might come when he might be brought to a ſenſe of his own evil courſes, he continued to have an eye upon him by means of the gaoler, who was an honeſt, kind⯑hearted man.

Brown ſpent one part of his time in thoughtleſs riot, and the other in gloom and ſadneſs. Com⯑pany kept up his ſpirits; with his new friends he contrived to drown thought; but when he was alone he began to find that a merry fellow, when deprived of his companions and his liquor, is often a moſt forlorn wretch. Then it is, that even a merry fellow ſays of laughter," What is it? and of mirth it is madneſs."

[8] As he contrived, however, to be as little alone as poſſible, his gaiety was commonly uppermoſt, till that loathſome diſtemper, called the Jail Fever, broke out in the priſon. Tom Crew the ringleader in all their evil practices, was firſt ſeized with it. Jack ſtaid a little while with his comrade to aſſiſt and divert him, but of aſſiſtance he could give little, and the very thought of diverſion was now turned into horror. He ſoon caught the diſtemper, and that in ſo dreadful a degree, that his life was in great danger. Of thoſe who remained in health not a ſoul came near him, though he had ſhared his laſt farthing with them. He had juſt ſenſe enough left to feel this cruelty. Poor fellow! he did not know before that the friendſhip of the worldly, is at an end when there is no more drink or diverſion to be had. He lay in the moſt deplorable condi⯑tion; his body tormented with a dreadful diſeaſe, and his ſoul terrified and amazed at the approach of death: that death, which he thought at ſo great a diſtance, and of which his comrades had aſſured him that a young fellow of five and twenty was in no danger. Poor Jack! I cannot help feeling for him. Without a ſhilling! without a friend! with⯑out one comfort reſpecting this world, and, what is far more terrible, without one hope reſpecting the next.

Let not the young reader fancy that Brown's miſery aroſe entirely from his altered circumſtances. It was not merely becauſe he was in want, and ſick, and in a priſon, which made his condition ſo deſpe⯑rate. Many an honeſt man unjuſtly accuſed, many perſecuted Saint, many a holy Martyr has enjoyed [9] ſometimes more peace and content in a priſon than wicked men have ever taſted in the height of their proſperity. But to any ſuch comforts poor Jack had no right.

A Chriſtian friend generally comes forward at the very time when worldly friends forſake the wretched. The other priſoners would not come near Brown, though he had often entertained and never offended them, even his own father was not moved with his ſad condition. When Mr. Stock informed him of it, he anſwered, "'tis no more than he de⯑ſerves. As he brews ſo he muſt bake. He has made his own bed, and let him lie in it." The hard old man had ever at his tongue's end ſome proverb which he contrived to turn in ſuch a way as to ex⯑cuſe himſelf.

We ſhall now ſee how Mr. Stock behaved. He had his favorite ſayings too, but they were chiefly on the ſide of kindneſs, mercy, or ſome other virtue. "I muſt not," ſaid he, "pretend to call myſelf a Chriſtian, if I do not requite evil with good." When he received the gaoler's letter with the account of Brown's ſad condition, Will Simp⯑ſon and Tommy Williams began to compliment him on his own wiſdom and prudence, by which he had eſcaped Brown's misfortunes. He only gravely ſaid, "Bleſſed be GOD that I am not in the ſame miſery. It is He who has made us to differ. But for his grace I might have been in no better con⯑dition. Now Brown is brought low by the hand of GOD, it is my time to go to him." "What you," ſaid Will, "whom he cheated of your money?" [10] "This is not a time to remember injuries," ſaid Mr. Stock. "How can I aſk forgiveneſs for my own ſins, if I withhold forgiveneſs from him?" So ſay⯑ing, he ordered his horſe, and ſet off to ſee poor Brown, thus proving that his was a religion not of words but of deeds.

Stock's heart nearly failed him as he paſſed through the priſon. The groans of the ſick and dying, and what to ſuch a heart as his was ſtill more moving, the brutal merriment of the healthy in ſuch a place, pierced his very ſoul. Many a ſilent prayer did he put up as he paſſed along, that GOD would yet be pleaſed to touch their hearts, and that "now (during this infectious ſickneſs) might be the accepted time." The gaoler obſerved him drop a tear, and aſked the cauſe." I cannot forget," ſaid he, "that the moſt diſſolute of theſe is ſtill my fellow-creature. The ſame GOD made them; the ſame SAVIOUR died for them; how then can I hate the worſt of them? With my advan⯑tages they might have been much better than I am; without the bleſſing of GOD on my good Miniſter's inſtructions, I might have been worſe than the worſt of theſe. I have no cauſe for pride, much for thankfulneſs; let us not be high-minded, but fear."

[11]

It would have moved a heart of ſtone to have ſeen poor miſerable Jack Brown lying on his wretched bed, his face ſo changed by pain, po⯑verty, dirt and ſorrow, that he could hardly be known for that "merry ſoul of a jack boot," as he uſed to be proud to hear himſelf called. His groans were ſo piteous that it made Mr. Stock's heart ach. He kindly took him by the hand, though he knew the diſtemper was catching. "How doſt do Jack?" ſaid he, "doſt know me?" Brown ſhook his head and ſaid faintly, "know you? aye, that I do. I am ſure I have but one friend in the world who would come to ſee me in this woeful condition. O James! what have I brought myſelf to? What will become of my poor ſoul? I dare not look back, for that is all ſin, nor forward, for that is all miſery and woe."

Mr. Stock ſpoke kindly to him, but did not at⯑tempt [12] to cheer him with falſe comfort, as is too often done. "I am aſhamed to ſee you in this dirty place," ſays Brown. "As to the place Jack, replied the other, if it has helped to bring you to a ſenſe of your paſt offences, it will be no bad place for you. I am heartily ſorry for your diſtreſs and your ſickneſs; but if it ſhould pleaſe GOD by them to open your eyes, and to ſhew you that ſin is a greater evil than the priſon to which it has brought you, all may yet be well. I had rather ſee you in this humble penitent ſtate, lying on this dirty bed, in this diſmal priſon, than roaring and rioting at the Greyhound, the king of the company, with hand⯑ſome cloaths on your back, and plenty of money in your pocket."

Brown wept bitterly and ſqueezed his hand, but was too weak to ſay much. Mr. Stock then deſired the jailor to let him have ſuch things as were need⯑ful and he would pay for them. He would not leave the poor fellow till he had given him with his own hands ſome broth which the gaoler had got ready for him, and ſome medicines which the Doctor had ſent. All this kindneſs out Brown to the heart. He was juſt able to ſob out "my un⯑natural father leaves me to periſh, and my injured friend is more than a father to me." Stock told him that one proof he muſt give of his repentance was, that he muſt forgive his father, whoſe provo⯑cation had been very great. He then ſaid he would leave him for the preſent to take ſome reſt, and deſired him to lift up his heart to GOD for mercy. "Dear James," replied Brown, "do you pray for me? GOD perhaps may hear you, but he will never hear the prayer of ſuch a ſinner as I have been," "Take care how you think ſo," ſaid [13] Stock. "To believe that GOD cannot forgive you would be a ſtill greater ſin than any you have yet committed againſt him." He then explained to him in a few words, as well as he was able, the na⯑ture of repentance, and forgiveneſs through a Sa⯑viour, and warned him earneſtly againſt unbelief and hardneſs of heart.

Poor Jack grew much refreſhed in body with the comfortable things he had taken; and a little cheered with Stock's kindneſs in coming ſo far to ſee, and to forgive ſuch a forlorn outcaſt, ſick of an infectious diſtemper, and locked within the walls of a priſon. "Surely" ſaid he to himſelf, "there muſt be ſome mighty power in a religion which can lead men to do ſuch things! things ſo much againſt the grain as to forgive ſuch an in⯑jury, and to riſk catching ſuch a diſtemper," but he was ſo weak he could not expreſs this in words. He tried to pray, but he could not, at length, over⯑powered with wearineſs, he fell aſleep.

When Mr. Stock came back, he was ſurpriſed to find him ſo much better in body; but his ago⯑nies of mind were dreadful, and he had now got ſtrength to expreſs part of the horrors which he felt. "James," ſaid he, (looking wildly) "it is all over with me. I am a loſt creature. Even your prayers cannot ſave me." "Dear Jack," replied Mr. Stock, "I am no miniſter; it does not become me to talk much to thee: but I know I may venture to ſay whatever is in the Bible. As ignorant as I am I ſhall be ſafe enough while I ſtick to that." "Aye," ſaid the ſick man, "you uſed to be ready enough to read to me, and I [14] would not liſten, or if I did it was only to make fun of what I heard, and now you will not ſo much as read a bit of a chapter to me."

This was the very point to which Stock longed to bring him. So he took a little Bible out of his pocket, which he always took with him on a jour⯑ney, and read ſlowly verſe by verſe, the 55th chapter of Iſaiah. When he came to the ſixth and ſeventh verſes, poor Jack cried ſo much that Brown was forced to ſtop. The words were, "Let the wicked man forſake his way, and the unrighte⯑ous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord." Here Brown ſtopped him, ſaying "Oh it is too late, too late for me." "Let me finiſh the verſe," ſaid Stock, "and you will ſee your error; you will ſee that it is never too late." So he read on—"let him return unto the Lord and he will have mercy upon him, and to our GOD, and he will abundantly pardon." Here Brown ſtarted up, ſnatched the book out of his hand and cried out, "Is that really there? No, no; that's of your own putting in, in order to comfort me; let me look at the words myſelf." "No, indeed," ſaid Stock, "I would not for the world give you un⯑founded comfort, or put off any notion of my own for a ſcripture doctrine." "But is it poſſible!" cried the ſick man, "that GOD may really pardon me? Do'ſt think he can? Do'ſt think he will?" "I am ſure of it," ſaid Stock; "I dare not give thee falſe hopes, or, indeed any hopes of my own. But theſe are GOD'S own words, and the only difficulty is to know when we are really brought into ſuch a ſtate as that the words may be applied to us."

[15] Mr. Stock was afraid of ſaying more. He would not venture out of his depth; nor, indeed, was poor Brown able to bear more diſcourſe juſt now. So he made him a preſent of the Bible, folding down ſuch places as he thought might be beſt ſuited to his ſtate, and took his leave, being obliged to return home that night. He left a little money with the gaoler, to add a few comforts to the allowance of the priſon, and promiſed to return in a ſhort time.

When he got home, he deſcribed the ſufferings and miſery of Brown in a very moving manner; but Tommy Williams, inſtead of being properly affected at it, only ſaid, "Indeed, Maſter, I am not very ſorry; he is rightly ſerved:" "How, Tommy," ſaid Mr. Stock, rather ſternly, "not ſorry to ſee a fellow-creature brought to the loweſt ſtate of miſery? one too whom you have known ſo proſperous?" "No, Maſter, I can't ſay I am; for Mr. Brown uſed to make fun of you, and laugh at you for being ſo godly, and reading your Bible."

"Let me ſay a few words to you Tommy," ſaid Mr. Stock. "In the firſt place you ſhould never watch for the time of a man's bring brought low by trouble to tell of his faults. Next, you ſhould never rejoice at his trouble, but pity him, and pray for him. Laſtly, as to his ridiculing me for my religion, if I cannot ſtand an idle jeſt, I am not worthy the name of a Chriſtian.—He that is aſhamed of me and my word, do'ſt remember what follows, Tommy?" "Yes, Maſter, 'twas laſt Sunday's text," [16] —of him ſhall the Son of Man be aſhamed when he ſhall judge the world.

Mr. Stock ſoon went back to the priſon. But he did not go alone. He took with him Mr. Thomas, the worthy Miniſter who had been the guide and inſtructor of his youth, who was ſo kind as to go at his requeſt and viſit this forlorn priſoner. When they got to Brown's door, they found him ſitting up in his bed with the Bible in his hand. This was a joyful ſight to Mr. Stock, who ſecretly thanked GOD for it. Brown was reading aloud; they liſtened; it was the fifteenth of Saint Luke. The circumſtances of this beautiful Parable of the Prodigal Son were ſo much like his own, that the ſtory pierced him to the ſoul; and he ſtopped every minute to compare his own caſe with that of the Prodigal. He was juſt got to the eighteenth verſe, I will ariſe and go to my father,—at that moment he ſpied his two friends; joy darted into his eyes. "O dear Jem," ſaid he, "it is not too late, I will ariſe and go to my father, my heavenly father, and you, Sir, will ſhew me the way, won't you?" ſaid he to Mr. Thomas, whom he recollected. "I am very glad to ſee you in ſo hopeful a diſ⯑poſition," ſaid the good Miniſter. "O, Sir," ſaid Brown, "what a place is this to receive you in! O, ſee to what I have brought myſelf!"

"Your condition, as to this world, is indeed very low," replied the good Divine. "But what are mines, dungeons, or gallies, to that eternal hopeleſs priſon to which your unrepented ſin muſt ſoon have conſigned you. Even in this gloomy [17] priſon, on this bed of ſtraw, worn down by pain, poverty, and want, forſaken by your worldly friends, an object of ſcorn to thoſe with whom you uſed to carouſe and riot; yet here, I ſay, brought thus low, if you have at laſt found out your own vileneſs, and your utterly undone ſtate by ſin, you may ſtill be more an object of favour in the ſight of GOD, than when you thought yourſelf proſperous and happy; when the world ſmiled upon you, and you paſſed your days and nights in envied gaiety and unchriſtian riot. If you will but improve the preſent awful viſitation; if you do but heartily re⯑nounce and abhor your preſent evil courſes; if you even now turn to the Lord your Savior with lively faith, deep repentance, and unfeigned obe⯑dience, I ſhall ſtill have more hope of you than of many who are going on quite happy, becauſe quite inſenſible. The heavy laden ſinner, who has diſcover⯑ed the iniquity of his own heart, and his utter in⯑ability to help himſelf, may be ſtill reſtored to GOD'S favour, and become happy, though in a dungeon. And be aſſured, that he who from deep and humble contrition dares not ſo much as lift up his eyes to heaven, when with a hearty faith he ſighs out, Lord be merciful to me a ſinner, ſhall in no wiſe be caſt out. Theſe are the words of him who cannot lie."

It is impoſſible to deſcribe the ſelf-abaſement, the grief, the joy, the ſhame, the hope, and the fear which filled the mind of this poor man. A dawn of comfort at length ſhone on his benighted mind. His humility and fear of falling back into his for⯑mer [18] ſins, if he ſhould ever recover, Mr. Thomas thought were good ſymptoms of a found repent⯑ance. He improved and cheriſhed every good diſ⯑poſition he ſaw ariſing in his heart, and particu⯑larly warned him againſt ſelf-deceit, ſelf-confidence, and hypocriſy.

One day, when Mr. Thomas and Mr. Stock came to ſee him, they found him more than commonly affected. His face was more ghaſtly pale than uſual, and his eyes were red with crying. "Oh, Sir," ſaid he, "what a ſight have I juſt ſeen! Jolly George, as we uſed to call him, the ring⯑leader of all our mirth, who was at the bottom of all the fun, and tricks, and wickedneſs that are car⯑ried on within theſe walls, Jolly George is juſt dead of the jail diſtemper! He taken, and I left! I would be carried into his room to ſpeak to him, to beg him to take warning by me, and that I might take warning by him. But what did I ſee! what did I hear! not one ſign of repentance; not one dawn of hope. Agony of body, blaſphemies on his tongue, deſpair in his ſoul, while I am ſpared and comforted with hopes of mercy and acceptance. Oh, if all my old friends at the Greyhound could but then have ſeen Jolly George! A hundred Ser⯑mons about Death, Sir, don't ſpeak ſo home, and cut ſo deep, as the ſight one dying ſinner.

Brown grew gradually better in his health, that is, the fever mended, but the diſtemper ſettled in his limbs, ſo that he ſeemed likely to be a poor, weakly cripple the reſt of his life. But as he ſpent much of his time in prayer, and in reading ſuch [19] parts of the Bible as Mr. Thomas directed, he im⯑proved every day in knowledge and piety, and of courſe grew more reſigned to pain and infirmity.

Some months after this, his hard hearted father, who had never been prevailed upon to ſee him, or offer him the leaſt relief, was taken off ſuddenly by a fit of apoplexy; and, after all his threat⯑enings, he died without a will. He was one of thoſe ſilly, ſuperſtitious men, who fancy they ſhall die the ſooner for having made one; and who love the world and the things that are in the world ſo dearly, that they dread to ſet about any buſineſs which may put them in mind that they are not al⯑ways to live in it. As, by this neglect, his father had not fulfilled his threat of cutting him off with a ſhilling, Jack, of courſe, went ſhares with his brothers in what their father left. What fell to him proved to be juſt enough to diſcharge him from priſon, and to pay all his debts, but he had nothing left. His joy at being thus enabled to make reſti⯑tution was ſo great, that he thought little of his own wants. He did not deſire to conceal the moſt tri⯑fling debt, not to keep a ſhilling for himſelf.

Mr. Stock undertook to ſettle all his affairs. There did not remain money enough, after every creditor was ſatisfied, even to pay for his removal to his own town. Mr. Stock kindly ſent his own cart for him with a bed in it, made as comfortable as poſſible, for he was too weak and lame to be removed any other way, and Mr. Stock gave the driver a particular charge to be tender and careful [20] of him, and not to drive hard, nor to leave the cart a moment.

Mr. Stock would fain have taken him into his own houſe, at leaſt for a time, ſo convinced was he of his ſincere reformation both of heart and life; but Brown would not be prevailed on to be further burdenſome to this generous friend. He inſiſted on being carried to the pariſh work-houſe, which he ſaid was a far better place than he deſerved. In this houſe Mr. Stock furniſhed a ſmall room for him, and ſent him every day a morſel of meat from his own dinner. Tommy Williams begged that he might always be allowed to carry it, as ſome atonement for his having for a moment ſo far forgotten his duty, as rather to rejoice than ſympathize in Brown's misfortunes. He never thought of this fault without ſorrow, and often thanked his maſter for the wholeſome leſſon he then gave him, and he was the better for it all his life.

Mrs. Stock often carried poor Brown a bit of tea or a baſon of good broth herſelf. He was quite a cripple, and never able to walk out as long as he lived. Mr. Stock, Will Simpſon, and Tommy Williams laid their heads together, and contrived a ſort of barrow on which he was often carried to Church by ſome of his poor neighbours, of which Tommy was always one; and he requited their kindneſs, by reading a good book to them when⯑ever they would call in, or teaching their children to ſing Pſalms or ſay the Catechiſm.

[21]

It was no ſmall joy to him thus to be enabled to go to church. Whenever he was carried by the Greyhound, he was much moved, and uſed to put up a prayer full of repentance for the paſt, and praiſe for the preſent.