THE VILLAGE OF HARTFIELD AND ITS INHABITANTS.

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THERE are people even in this Christian country of ours, and among them men of renown and great information, who dread religion as if it were a poison, and fly from piety as if it were an infectious disease. This is very lamentable, but, considering the life and conduct of too many professed Christians, it is not so much to be wondered at. Our Lord, when a guest of the blessed family at Bethany, pointed to thing" as needful-the love of Christ which dwelt in Mary's heart as she sat at His feet listening to the words of His mouth. If this one thing got its right place, dwelling in the heart, sanctifying the understanding, ruling the passions, and prompting the actions, every other thing would obtain its due weight in the sphere of one's daily life. But too often, alas! the love of Christ is only located in some remote corner, as if it were but a matter of subordinate importance, while something else, no matter how sacred, occupies the centre, and becomes the main thing for which the man lives. In this case religion necessarily becomes obnoxious, like a pool of stagnant water, or

offensive, like a sharp knife in the hand of a mad

man.

But there are also people in this Christian country of ours who look aslant at religion, even though it be as sound as St. Paul's, and flee from piety even though it be as fervid as St. John's. All I have to say to such is, that I wish that every human being were infected with that same "disease," (as they call it,) which they shun, and that I should call every district blessed in which it became epidemic. Nor can it be denied that genuine piety has often an infectious character, and thankful ought we to be that it is so, for were it otherwise the whole of Christendom would long since have become like Sodom and Gomorrah. propagating influence which the Holy Spirit imparts to the word of God when it flows from a good man's lips, or shines forth from his life, is that great blessing of Heaven which alone makes it possible for Christians to be the salt of the world. Through that wonderful power the simple tentmaker of Tarsus, yielding to the invitation of the Macedonian man whom he saw in his dream, became the deliverer of Europe, nay, of the whole Gentile world. Through that power the monk of Wittemberg rescued apostate Christendom

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from the brink of hopeless perdition. And through that same power many a man in our time, from speaking a good word in simplicity and serving the Lord in sincerity, has become a source of incalculable good to the place in which he lives, though a humble cottage be his dwelling, and an artisan's coat his dress.

The truth of this was a few years ago experienced by the people of Hartfield, a pretty rural spot, which takes its name from a stream called the Hart, on the bank of which it is situated. The site of the village, at the bottom of a hill covered with wood, cornfields, and pastures, is truly picturesque. The stream, which in winter swells to a rapid torrent, and in summer has just enough water to float a few small boats, winds with an elegant curve round the village to discharge itself into a broad river, the bearer of many a heavyladen merchant ship. A broad stone bridge spans the stream just at the middle of the curve, to allow the road, which connects the neighbouring populous town of Saltburn with the main road to London, to pass through the village. Eastward from the bridge might be seen, at the time I write of, the restless wheel of a mill which belonged to the chemical works of Messrs. Reedlake and Co. These works, consisting of a cluster of buildings, large and small, with their chimneys sticking high up and their rather irregularly shaped roofs, gave the village a business-like appearance. A fine mansion, situated on the slope of a hill and commanding a noble view of the country round, was the dwelling of the owner of the works, Hugh Reedlake, Esq., a gentleman in the prime of life, who, with his wife and four children, formed the first family of the place. Passing the bridge you walked up a broad, well-paved street, lined an both sides with little shops and small houses till you arrived at the spacious marketplace, where the Plough and Anchor Tavern attracted your attention on the left, and the old Gothic church with its square tower caught your eye on the right. Here two streets forked off at a sharp angle. The one to the right sloped down to the bank of the river, where were a number of warehouses containing goods for shipment to the neighbouring seaport; and where also were the warehouses and offices of Mr. Newland the tanner, and of Messrs. Crowlesby and Son the cornfactors, and of Mr. Hatch the timber-merchant, all well-to-do people, whose dwelling-houses were in the street itself. The other street, which branched off to the left, and, with a gentle ascent, led up to the top of the hill, consisted of smaller houses, mostly inha bited by the workpeople who were employed at the mills and the warehouses and neighbouring farms, Here, too, were the neat dwellings of such families as had just sufficient income to enable them to lead a simple life, in quiet retirement. Among these was the snug cottage of Mrs. Sandman, whose only child David was assistant to a chemist at Saltburn, from whence he came every Saturday to spend the Sunday with his widowed mother; and also the cottage of Captain Dolwood, an old sailor, who, having long tasted enough of the salt of the sea, was resolved to devote the rest of his life to the enjoy ment of "sweet home" in the company of his two daughters, Barbara and Margaret. And here also

were the house and shop of Joshua Taylor, the joiner. Passing by Joshua's house, which was the last but one, you reached the top of the hill, which commanded a magnificent prospect. Standing upon it, and inhaling the fresh country breeze, your eyes would rest with pleasure on the smiling dale through which the Hart wound its silver form, on the pretty village basking in the bright sunshine, and on the verdant groves which contrasted with the yellow hue of the waving cornfields, or broke the monotony of the vast meadows. Turning your face to the north you saw the steeples of Saltburn peep up at a small distance. To your right Mr. Reedlake's beautiful mansion cast its broad shadow over the ample garden, which covered a considerable portion of the slope. And to your left you noticed the elegantly built parsonage of the Rev. Thomas Powles, the clergyman of the place, who, as he was unmarried, could devote all the energy of his youthful life to the pastoral care of his flock.

But it would not be right to say that Mr. Powles was altogether a model in this respect. It is true he preached regularly every Sunday, and every Wednesday night he held a meeting for the reading of the Scriptures. He also visited the sick people, if they did not live too far away, or apply for his consolations at an inconvenient hour. But though his flock was not so very numerous as that one man in good health could not easily guide it, yet he had but little time to spare for it, since, in addition to his spiritual garden, he had to care for a natural one, which surrounded his pretty parsonage, and occupied the greater portion of his time, at least in summer. And in winter he had still less leisure, for not only did his little hot-house, into which there was an entrance from his study as well as from the garden, require his tender charge, but a great many other occupations, of which he could not well divest himself, took up his time, such as the writing of articles for the "Saltburn Horticultural Magazine" (to which he was the chief contributor); a chess-meeting at Mr. Reedlake's every Monday night; a quartet of stringed instruments at Mr. New land's every Thursday night, in which he played the violoncello; and the reading of the principal magazines, for which the news-room of the Scientific Society at Saltburn gave ample opportunity. Nobody could say that there was anything wrong in these occupations, the less so because Mr. Powles was in every respect a perfect gentleman, always dressed d quatre épingles, always kind and affable to every body, never wanting a smile where it was needed and never frowning where it could be avoided. Whatever fault could be found with him, was not so much for what he did, as for what he omitted to do. He would never deal rudely with a poor woman who applied for his help or advice, but he would often keep her waiting for one or two hours in the hall of the parsonage, till, with a kind, "I am really sorry, Mrs. So and So, for having kept you waiting so long," he would patiently listen to her story, and then dismiss her with a promise, that he would inquire into the matter, and let her know when she would have to come back-a message, which the poor woman would be doubtful of ever receiving. Nor would be

so far forget himself as to rebuke in public Mr. Hatch, the timber merchant, for appearing at a meeting rather flushed with wine, but unfortunately he would also omit to speak about it to that gentleman himself in private, when happening to meet him the next day. The same criticism might be applied to his sermons. If they were defective, the defects were not so much in what he said, as in what he omitted to say. There was not one word in his discourses which was not perfectly right, but there were also a great many practical truths which were never found in them. He faithfully preached that there was a God who had created heaven and earth, and who was the fountain of all good and perfect gifts. And he also declared, on the authority of the infallible Book, that we are all sinners, and are in need of God's pardoning mercy. Nay, he was always happy to assure his hearers, that this pardoning mercy was brought down to us in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who died for our sins on the Cross. This good news, as it appeased our conscience, so it ought to prompt us to a grateful and faithful performance of our duties, &c., &c. In a word, there was not one sentence in Mr. Powles' sermons to which every sound Christian would not unhesitatingly say yea and amen. But then there were some very important questions, which the eloquent preacher never once touched upon,-for instance, how it was that all the people of Hartfield could know these truths as well as Mr. Powles himself, and yet number so many individuals among them who lived unworthy lives. Or how it was that so many people, and among them some even of the leading parishioners, could year after year regularly listen twice every Sunday to these sermons, and yet show on several occasions that they felt much greater delight in a 5l. note than in the "pearl of great price." To such and similar questions, Mr. Powles never gave an

answer.

It may be because he could not, or perhaps it was that nobody ever put the questions to him. But there were some people at Hartfield who knew the answer quite well, and among them was Joshua Taylor, the joiner, with whom I will acquaint my readers in the next chapter.

CHAPTER II

WHO JOSHUA TAYLOR WAS, AND HOW HE BECAME A BETTER MAN.

JOSHUA TAYLOR was a native of Saltburn, where he had carried on business as a joiner for thirty years. He had, during the greater portion of that period, been a child of prosperity. First he married an excellent wife, who gave birth to three children, a son and two beautiful daughters, the pride of their parents, and objects of admiration to all who saw them. And again he was in all his business affairs what the world calls "a lucky fellow." It was not all luck with him, however, for much of his prosperity was directly traceable to ability, honesty, and promptness. Not only was he a skilful joiner and cabinet maker, but he was also an able builder, though he never did much in that line, because he was not so eager after money as to run the risk of large speculations. Still his knowledge in the matter was so generally acknowledged, that his advice was often asked in undertak

ings of considerable importance. It was owing to this reputation of his that not only were his services in request at Saltburn, but also at Hartfield; so that about ten years ago he had established a branch in the latter place, which was managed by a faithful old workman. Thus for years his course was smooth, and there was, in the opinion of the public, no happier man than Joshua Taylor the joiner. The public, however, was not altogether right in this judgment, for although there was, perhaps, no more fortunate man in the whole of Saltburn, yet prosperity is not always happiness. There was continuous sunshine on Joshua's path, but there was scarcely any in his heart. And though a man be in the most prosperous circumstances, what is it, after all, if he has no peace within ? He is just like a blind person placed in the midst of the most charming scenery. Joshua worshipped a god, who seemed to take delight in making him the plaything of his whims. It was not that cold, heartless idol called Mammon, for Joshua's natural inclination went rather too much to the opposite side. He was often too generous; for if money came trotting into his house one day, he often allowed it to gallop out the next to the house of a poor widow, or of a sick neighbour. This was the reason why, despite all his prosperity, he was only a well-to-do joiner, and nothing more. Nor were pleasure and sensual enjoyments his heart's delight, for he was never seen in a public-house; and for theatres and smoking saloons he cared little. The recreation which he most relished was either to take a walk with his wife and children to the beautiful hills of the Hart, or to attend a lecture on some interesting subject of general information. No, that which more than anything else in the world took possession of Joshua's heart, was his public reputation. He was, perhaps, the cleverest of all his class in the town but it was a pity that nobody knew this better than himself. And in his good opinion of himself he was certainly confirmed by the eulogies which his customers often passed upon his workmanship, and by the orders which he received from members of the most respectable class; for it was no small honour to have the making of a mahogany book-case for the Dean's library, or a chiffonier for Lady Amershot's drawing-room. Nor was it a distinction of little importance to have Mr. Reedlake's carriage stop at his door one day, and Mr. Reedlake step in, a large scroll in hand, to show him the architect's plan of a new counting-house, with the kind request to give his opinion upon it. No wonder that under such circumstances a man like Joshua, who was conscious of his ability, should arrive at the conclusion that he was somebody.

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But then there were experiences of another kind, which often, in his own estimation, turned the day of glory into a night of chagrin. Thus he deemed himself publicly slapped in the face, when his design for the new pulpit of St. Bartholomew's Church was rejected, and the work given to a London firm. Not that he wanted to take other people's bread out of their mouths. If the accepted design had really been better than his, he would have said nothing against its being preferred. But it was not so,

as Mr. Hislop himself, the town's architect, had acknowledged on several occasions. It was mere partiality that had put the work past him, for the new pulpit was a present from five gentlemen, one of whom was a cousin of one of the members of the London firm. Since that event Joshua never set foot in St. Bartholomew's, though he formerly used to worship there. That ugly pulpit, he alleged, was a perfect eyesore to him, and it was not possible that a good sermon could be preached from it. Another not less shameful rebuff he had received from the Board of Public Works, which had displaced him in his office of public surveyor, to make room for Mr. Ellesway, a young architect. Joshua had held the office for sixteen years, but one day he had a quarrel with the clerk, and the end of the story was that at the commencement of the new year he was not reelected. Such experiences made him irritable, fidgety, and restless. It is true, in many cases his complaints about "the injustice of mankind" were well founded, for a good deal of nepotism and favouritism went on at Saltburn, as is usual in provincial towns; but in many other cases he was, owing to his blunt and unbending disposition, the source of his own troubles. Nobody doubted this except Joshua himself. "I know," he used to say in his defence, "that people look upon me as a cat not to be approached without gloves, but I will immediately clip my nails if they will do their duty and give honour to whom honour is due. I am not one of those who go about with a treacle brush in their hand to sweeten people's lips and meanwhile fill their own pockets. I am a man who always comes out with his opinion, no matter whether people like it or not, and such frankness behoves every honest man." There was much truth in that, but Joshua forgot that to tell the truth is one thing, and to tell it in love is another. The manner in which he used to tell it was such, that to many his presence was what smoke is to the eyes, or what pepper and salt are to an open wound.

Now, those who suffered most from this unhappy constitution of Joshua's mind were his good wife and children. The master of the family is in his house what the sun is in creation; if his mind be dull and clouded, a gloomy shadow is cast over the whole household, just as the landscape, though ever so fertile, looks dark and dreary when a cloud passes over the face of the sun. It is true, the flowers blossom and the trees bud and the cattle graze in the fields, but there is not that merry whirring and buzzing, chirping and warbling all over the country which makes the atmosphere vibrate with pleasure, nor is there that playful frolicking in the meadows and the streams. While Joshua continued to feed the worm in his bosom which gnawed at his heart's life, poor Mrs. Taylor felt all the pain of it. She was a good woman, and knew very well the only true remedy for her husband's evil, but Joshua refused to take it. From her childhood she had learnt to set her affection on better things than earthly glory and favour of men. She often tried to call Joshua's attention to what the Bible said about the vanity of all worldly honour and human praise-for in her Bible she was as much at home as Joshua was in his workshop-but she was too

much of a woman to put forth her strength in reason. ing and disputing; and besides, when she said one word Joshua had ten to answer.

"What would it profit you," she sometimes said, "if you got an order to make a pulpit for the Archbishop, or if the people of Saltburn erected a monument to you in the market-place? Would it bring you one step nearer Heaven? The Lord gives us our daily bread, and our children are healthy and happy,-is that not enough to be contented with, and thankful for, during this short life of ours?"

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"That's just like a woman's talk," Joshua answered; when you have stepped from the parlour into the kitchen and from the kitchen back into the parlour, you think you have seen the whole world, and that one has to care for nothing besides that. But I know a little of what is going on, my dear, and I can tell you that it is as much a man's duty to care for his reputation and a respectable position in society, as it is his duty to care for his daily bread and the welfare of his children. I cannot possibly take it all the same whether people call me a clever man or a bungler, a sharp fellow or a fool. Only to care for having one's stomach filled at due time and to see one's children safe and happy, why, that's nothing beyond what the brutes do. But a good reputation and an honoured name are something more, my dear, and to care for them is worthy of a man."

"Well, I won't say it is not," Mrs. Taylor answered, in a kind tone; "but, Joshua, aren't you overdoing the thing a little? If you know that you have done your duty you may be sure of the favour of the Lord, and all good people will praise you, and we ought to be content with that. But you try to get everybody's praise, and if people don't give it you readily you try to compel them. I cannot see how that can make you happy. It surely embitters your life only. You make yourself the plaything of other people's good pleasure; they can make you happy or miserable, just as they like. If they want you to smile, they have only to coax you; if they want you to frown, they only have to shake their heads at you. I think you would act better by simply doing your work and leaving people alone. praise you, not the people."

Let your work

"That's all very well for some men," Joshua replied, "but I cannot possibly bear the injustice with which partial and stupid fellows knock down my work to please their friends or favourites. You have no conception of what it is for a man who has an honest heart in his bosom, thus to be put down below the level of others whom he knows to be inferior to him. Suppose Mrs. Sandman said your appledumplings were not nearly so good as Barbara Dolwood's, who is only a girl of eighteen, how would you take it ?"

Now it must be said that Mrs. Taylor was famous for her apple-dumplings, and especially for the crust of them, the composition of which was a puzzle to the whole female population of the neighbourhood.

"Why," she said, with a smile, "I should answer, I am glad to hear it for Captain Dolwood's sake, who has to eat them, for I know that my puddings are good enough, and if Barbara's are better still, he will have