THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER,
OR THE FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIAN.

AN ALLEGORY.

William in a great fright, for he was a sad coward at bottom, ran directly out of the house to avoid the threatened punishment; and happening just at that very time to pass William, who was fond of novelty and by the parade where the soldiers chanced to pleasure, was apt to be negligent of the du- be then exercising, his resolution was taken ties of the house. He used to stay out on his in a moment. He instantly determined to errands, and one of his favourite amusements be no more a slave, as he called it; he would was going to the parade to see the soldiers return no more to be subject to the humours exercise He saw with envy how smartly of a tyrannical family; no, he was resolved they were dressed, listened with rapture to to be free; or at least, if he must serve, he the music, and fancied that a soldier had no-would serve no master but the king. thing to do but to walk to and fro in a certain William, who had now and then happenregular order, to go through a little easy ex-ed to hear from the accidental talk of the ercise, in short, to live without fighting, fa-soldiers, that those who served the great famtigue, or danger. ily he had lived with, were slaves to their

O, said be, whenever he was affronted at tyranny and vices, had also heard in the same home, what a fine thing it must be to be a casual manner, that the service of the king

was perfect freedom. Now he had taken it into his head to hope that this might be a freedom to do evil, or at least to do nothing, so he thought it was the only place in the world to suit him.

A fine likely young man as William was, had no great difficulty to get enlisted The few forms were soon settled, he received the bounty money as eagerly as it was offered, took the oaths of allegiance, was joined to the regiment, and heartily welcomed by his new comrades. He was the happiest fellow alive. All was smooth and calm. The day happened to be very fine, and therefore William always reckoned upon a fine day. The scene was gay and lively, the music cheerful, he found the exercise very easy, and he thought there was little more expected from him.

He soon began to flourish away in his talk; and when he met with any one of his old fellow servants, he fell a prating about marches and counter-marches, and blockades, and battles, and sieges, and blood, and death, and triumphs, and victories, all at random, for these were words and phrases he had picked up without at all understanding what he said. He had no knowledge, and therefore he had no modesty, he had no experience, and therefore he had no fears.

All seemed to go on swimmingly, for he had as yet no trial. He began to think with triumph what a mean life he had escaped from in the old quarrelsome family, and what a happy, honourable life he should have in the army. O there was no life like the life of a soldier!

ward, we have the king's word for it man. William observed, that to those who truly believed this, their labours were as nothing but he himself did not at the bottom believe it; and it was observed of all the soldiers who failed, the true cause was that they did not really believe the king's promise. He was surprised to see that those soldiers, who used to bluster, and boast, and deride the assaults of the enemy, now began to fall away; while such as had faithfully obeyed the king's orders, and believed in his word, were sustained in the hour of trial. Those who had trusted in their own strength all fainted on the slightest attack, while those who had put on the armour of the king's providing, the sword, and the shield, and the helmet, and the breast-plate, and whose feet were shod according to order, now endured hardship as good soldiers, and were enabled to fight the good fight.

An engagement was expected immediately. The men were ordered to prepare for battle. While the rest of the corps were so preparing, William's whole thoughts were bent on contriving how he might desert. But alas! he was watched on all sides, he could not possibly devise any means to escape. The danger increased every moment, the battle came on. William, who had been so sure and confident before he entered, flinched in the moment of trial, while his more quiet and less boastful comrades prepared boldly to do their duty. William looked about on all sides, and saw that there was no eye upon him, for he did not know that the king's eye was every where at once. He In a short time, however, war broke out, at last thought he spied a chance of escahis regiment was one of the first which was ping, not from the enemy, but from his own called out to actual and hard service. As army. While he was endeavouring to es William was the most raw of all the recruits cape, a ball from the opposite camp took off he was the first to murmur at the difficulties his leg. As he fell, the first words which and hardships, the cold and hunger, the fa- broke from him were, while I was in my du tigue and danger of being a soldier. O what ty I was preserved; in the very act of dewatchings, and perils, and trials, and hard-serting I am wounded. He lay expecting ships, and difficulties he now thought atten- every moment to be trampled to death, but ded a military life! Surely, said he, I could as the confusion was a little over, he was lanever have suspected all this misery when ken off the field by some of his own party I used to see the men on the parade in our laid in a place of safety, and left to himself.

town.

after his wound was dressed.

He now found, when it was too late, that The skirmish, for it proved nothing more, all the field-days he used to attend, all the was soon over. The greater part of the recvolutions and exercises which he had ob-giment escaped in safety. William in the served the soldiers to go through in the calm meantime suffered cruelly both in mind and times of peace and safety, were only meant to fit, train and qualify them, for the actual service which they were now sent out to perform by the command of the king

body. To the pains of a wounded soldier, he added the disgrace of a coward, and the infamy of a deserter O, cried he, why was I such a fool as to leave the great family! The truth is, William often complained lived in, where there was meat and drink when there was no real hardship to com- enough and to spare, only on account of a plain of; for the common troubles of life fell little quarrel? I might have made up that out pretty much alike to the great family with them as we had done our former quar which William had left, and to the soldiers rels. Why did I leave a life of ease and in the king's army. But the spirit of obe- pleasure, where I had only a little rub now dience, discipline, and self-denial of the lat- and then, for a life of daily discipline and ter seemed hardships to one of William's constant danger? Why did I turn soldier? loose turn of mind. When he began to mur-O, what a miserable animal is a soldier! mur, some good old soldier clapped him on As he was sitting in this weak and disabled the back, saying, cheer up lad, it is a king- condition, uttering the above complaints, he dom you are to strive for, if we faint not, observed a venerable old officer, with thin henceforth there is laid up for us a great re-gray locks on his head, and on his face, deep

in containing in itself a perfect rule of faith and practice, and as a title-deed to heaven. The generality of men love the world as you did your service, while it smiles upon them, and gives them easy work, and plenty of meat and drink; but as soon as it begins to cross and contradict them, they get out of humour with it, just as you did with your service. They then think its drudgery hard, its rewards low. They find out that it is high in its expectations from them, and slack in its payments to them. And they begin to fancy, (because they do not hear religious people murmur as they do,) that there must be some happiness in religion. The world, which takes no account of their deeper sins, at length brings them into discredit for some act of imprudence, just as your family overlooked your lying and swearing, but threatened to drub you for breaking a china dish. Such is the judgment of the world! it particularly bears with those who only break the laws of God, but severely punishes the smallest negligence by which they themselves are injured. The world sooner pardons the breaking ten commandments of God, than even a china dish of its own.

wrinkles engraved by time, and many an honest scar inflicted by war. William had beard this old officer highly commended for his extraordinary courage and conduct in battle, and in peace he used to see him cool and collected, devoutly employed in reading and praying in the interval of more active duties. He could not help comparing this officer with himself. I, said he, flinched and drew back, and would even have deserted in the moment of peril, and now in return, I have no consolation in the hour of repose and safety. I would not fight then, I cannot pray now. O why would I ever think of being a soldier? He then began afresh to weep and lament, and he groaned so loud that he drew the notice of the officer, who came up to him, kindly sat down by him, took him by the hand, and inquired with as much affection as if he had been his brother, what was the matter with him, and what particular distress, more than the common fortune of war it was which drew from him such bitter groans? I know something of surgery,' added he, let me examine your wound, and assist you with such little comforts as I can.' William at once saw the difference between the soldiers in the king's army, and After some cross or opposition, worldly the people in the great family; the latter men, as I said before, begin to think how commonly withdrew their kindness in sick- much content and cheerfulness they rememness and trouble, when most wanted, which ber to have seen in religious people. They was just the very time when the others came therefore begin to fancy that religion must forward to assist. He told the officer his be an easy and delightful, as well as a good little history, the manner of his living in the thing. They have heard that, her ways are great family, the trifling cause of his quar- ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are relling with it, the slight ground of his enter- peace; and they persuade themselves, that ing into the king's service. Sir,' said he, by this is meant worldly pleasantness and I quarrelled with the family, and I thought sensual peace. They resolve at length to I was at once fit for the army: I did not try it, to turn their back upon the world, to know the qualifications it required. I had engage in the service of God and turn Chrisnot reckoned on discipline, and hardships, tians; just as you resolved to leave your old and self-denial. I liked well enough to sing service, to enter into the service of the king a loyal song, or drink the king's health, but and turn soldier. But as you quitted your I find I do not relish working and fighting place in a passion, so they leave the world in for him, though I rashly promised even to a huff. They do not count the cost. They lay down my life for his service if called up-do not calculate upon the darling sins, the on, when I took the bounty money and the habitual pleasures, the ease and vanities oath of allegiance. In short, sir, I find that I long for the ease and sloth, the merriment and the feasting of my old service; I find I cannot be a soldier, and, to speak truth, I was in the very act of deserting when I was stopped short by the cannon ball. So that I feel the guilt of desertion, and the misery of having lost my leg into the bargain.'

The officer thus replied; your state is that of every worldly irreligious man. The great family you served is a just picture of the world. The wages the world promises to those who are willing to do its work are high, but the payment is attended with much disappointment; nay, the world, like your great family, is in itself insolvent, and in its very nature incapable of making good the promises, and of paying the high rewards which it holds out to tempt its credulous followers. The ungodly world, like your family, cares little for church, and still less for prayer; and considers the Bible rather as an instrument to make an oath binding, in order to keep the vulgar in obedience, than

which they undertake by their new engage. ments to renounce, any more than you counted what indulgences you were going to give up when you quitted the luxuries and idleness of your place to enlist in the soldier's warfare. They have, as I said, seen Christians cheerful, and they mistook the ground of their cheerfulness; they fancied it arose, not because, through grace they had couquered difficulties, but because they had no difficulties in their passage. They fancied that religion found the road smooth, whereas it only helps to bear with a rough road without complaint. They do not know that these Christians are of good cheer, not because the world is free from tribulation, but because Christ, their captain, has overcome the world. But the irreligious man, who has only seen the outside of a Christian in his worldly intercourse, knows little of his secret conflicts, his trials, his self-denials, his warfare with the world without, and with his own corrupt desires within.

The irreligious man quarrels with the

out of humour with him. He finds that it is an easy thing to be a fair-weather Christian, bold where there is nothing to be done, and confident where there is nothing to be feared. Difficulties unmask him to others; temptations unmask him to himself; he discovers, that though he is a high professor, he is no Christian; just as you found out that your red coat and your cockade, your shoulderknot, and your musket, did not prevent you from being a coward.

world on some such occasion as you did with your place. He now puts on the outward forms and ceremonies of religion, and as sumes the badge of Christianity, just as you were struck with the shows of a field day; just as you were pleased with the music and the marching, and put on the cockade and the red coat. All seems smooth for a little while. He goes through the outward exercises of a Christian, a degree of credit at tends his new profession, but he never suspects there is either difficulty or discipline Your misery in the military life, like attending it; he fancies religion is a thing that of the nominal Christian, arose from for talking about, and not a thing of the your love of ease, your cowardice, and your heart and the life. He never suspects that self-ignorance. You rushed into a new way all the psalm-singing he joins in, and the ser- of life, without trying after one qualification mons he hears, and the other means he is for it. A total change of heart and temper using, are only as the exercises and the evo- were necessary for your new calling. With lutions of the soldiers, to fit and prepare new views and principles, the soldier's life him for actual service; and that these means would have been not only easy, but delightare no more religion itself, than the exercises ful to you. But while with a new profession and evolutions of your parade were real war-you retained your old nature, it is no wonder fare. if all discipline seemed intolerable to you.

Atlength some trial arises: this nominal The true Christian, like the brave solChristian is called to differ from the world in some great point; something happens which may strike at his comfort, or his credit, or security. This cools his zeal for religion, just as the view of an engagement cooled your courage as a soldier. He finds he was only angry with the world, he was not tired of it. He was out of humour with the world, not because he had seen through its vanity and emptiness, but because the world was

dier, is supported under dangers by a strong faith that the fruits of that victory for which he fights will be safety and peace. But, alas! the pleasures of this world are present and visible; the rewards for which he strives are remote. He therefore fails, because nothing short of a lively faith can ever outweigh a strong present temptation, and lead a man to prefer the joys of conquest to the pleasures of indulgence.'

BETTY BROWN,

THE ST. GILES'S ORANGE GIRL:

WITH SOME account of mrs. sponGE, THE MONEY-LENDER. BETTY BROWN the orange girl, was born pick cinders from the scavengers' carts. nobody knows where, and bred nobody Among the ashes she sometimes found some knows how. No girl in all the streets of ragged gauze and dirty ribands; with these, London could drive a barrow more nimbly, she used to dizen herself out, and join the avoid pushing against passengers more dex merry bands on the first of May. This was trously, or cry her fine China oranges' in not, however, quite fair, as she did not lawa shriller voice. But then she could neither fully belong either to the female dancers, sew, nor spin, nor knit, nor wash, nor iron, who foot it gayly round the garland, or to nor read, nor spell. Betty had not been the sooty tribe, who, on this happy holyday, always in so good a situation as that in which forget their year's toil in Portman square, we now describe her. She came into the cheered by the tender bounty of her whose world before so many good gentlemen and wit has long enlivened the most learned, and ladies began to concern themselves so kind- whose taste and talents long adorned the ly that the poor might have a little learning. most polished societies. Betty, however, There was no charitable society then as often got a few scraps, by appearing to be there is now, to pick up poor friendless chil- long to both parties. But as she grew bigdren in the streets,* and put them into a good ger and was not an idle girl, she always put house, and give them meat, and drink, and herself in the way of doing something. She lodging, and learning, and teach them to get would run of errands for the footmen, or their bread in an honest way, into the bar-sweep the door for the maid of any house gain. Whereas, this now is often the case where she was known; she would run and in London; blessed be God who has ordered fetch some porter and never was once known the bounds of our habitation, and cast our lot either to sip a drop by the way, or steal the in such a country! pot. Her quickness and fidelity in doing The longest thing that Betty can remem-little jobs, got her into favour with a lazy ber is, that she used to crawl up out of a cook-maid, who was too apt to give away night cellar, stroll about the streets, and her master's cold meat and beer, not to those who were most in want, but to those who waited upon her, and did the little

* The Philanthropic.

things for her which she ought to have done herself.

while she would haggle with her hungry customers for a farthing, she would spend pounds on the most costly delicacies for herself.

The cook, who found Betty a dextrous girl, soon employed her to sell ends of candles, pieces of meat and cheese, the lumps of Mrs. Sponge, laying aside that haughty butter, or any thing else she could crib from look and voice, well known to such as had the house. These were all carried to her the misfortune to be in her debt, put on the friend Mrs. Sponge, who kept a little shop, hypocritical smile and soft canting tone, and a kind of eating-house for poor working which she always assumed, when she meant people, not far from the Seven Dials. She to flatter her superiors, or take in her dealso bought, as well as sold, many kinds of pendents. Betty,' said she, I am resolved second-hand things, and was not scrupulous to stand your friend. These are sad times to to know whether what she bought was hon- be sure. Money is money now. Yet I am estly come by, provided she could get it for resolved to put you in a handsome way of a sixth part of what it was worth. But if living. You shall have a barrow, and well the owner presumed to ask for its real value, furnished too.' Betty could not have felt then she had sudden qualms of conscience, more joy or gratitude, if she had been told instantly suspected the things were stolen, that she should have a coach. O, madam !' and gave herself airs of honesty, which often said Betty, it is impossible. I have not a took in poor silly people, and gave her a sort penny in the world towards helping me to of half reputation among the needy and ig- set up.' I will take care of that,' said Mrs. norant, whose friend she hypocritically pre- Sponge; only you must do as I bid you. tended to be. You must pay me interest for my money; and you will, of course, be glad also to pay so much every night for a nice hot supper which I get ready, quite out of kindness, for a number of poor working people. This will be a great comfort for such a friendless girl as you, for my victuals and drink are the best, and my company the merriest of any in all St. Giles's.' Betty thought all this only so many more favours, and curtseying to the ground, said, To be sure, ma'am, and thank you a thousand times into the bargain. I never could hope for such a rise in life.'

To this artful woman Betty carried. the cook's pilferings; and as Mrs. Sponge would give no great price for these in money, the cook was willing to receive payment for her eatables in Mrs. Sponge's drinkables; for she dealt in all kinds of spirits. I shall only just remark here that one receiver, like Mrs Sponge, makes many pilferers, who are tempted to commit these petty thieveries, by knowing how easy it is to dispose of them at such iniquitous houses.

Betty was faithful to both her employers, which is extraordinary, considering the greatness of the temptation and her utter ignorance of good and evil. One day she ventured to ask Mrs. Sponge, if she could not assist her to get into a more settled way of life. She told her that when she rose in the morning she never knew where she should lie at night, nor was she ever sure of a meal before-hand. Mrs. Sponge asked her what she thought herself fit for; Betty, with fear and trembling, said, there was one trade for which she thought herself qualified, but she had not the ambition to look so high; it was far above her humble views; this was, to have a barrow, and sell fruit, as several other of Mrs. Sponge's customers did, whom she had often looked up to with envy, little expecting herself ever to attain so independent a station.

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Mrs. Sponge knew what she was about. Betty was a lively girl, who had a knack at learning any thing; and so well looking through all her dirt and rags, that there was little doubt she would get custom. A barrow was soon provided, and five shillings put into Betty's hands. Mrs. Sponge kindly condescended to go to show her how to buy the fruit; for it was a rule with this prudent gentlemoman, and one from which she never departed, that no one should cheat but herself; and suspecting from her own heart the fraud of all other dealers, she was seldom guilty of the weakness of being imposed upon.

Betty had never possessed such a sum before. She grudged to lay it out all at once, and was ready to fancy she could live upon Mrs. Sponge was an artful woman. Bad the capital. The crown, however, was laid as she was, she was always aiming at some-out to the best advantage. Betty was carething of a character; this was a great help fully taught in what manner to cry her orto her trade. While she watched keenly to anges; and received many useful lessons make every thing turn to her own profit, she how to get off the bad with the good, and had a false fawning way of seeming to do all the stale with the fresh. Mrs. Sponge also she did out of pity and kindness to the dis- lent her a few bad sixpences, for which she tressed; and she seldom committed an ex- ordered her to bring home good ones at tortion, but she tried to make the persons night. Betty stared. Mrs. Sponge said, she cheated believe themselves highly obli- Betty, those who would get money, must ged to her kindness. By thus pretending to not be too nice about trifles. Keep one of be their friend, she gained their confidence; these sixpences in your hand, and if an ignoand she grew rich herself, while they thought rant young customer gives you a good sixshe was only showing favour to them. Various were the arts she had of getting rich; and the money she got by grinding the poor, she spent in the most luxurious living; VOL.I.

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pence, do you immediately slip it into your other hand, and give him the bad one, declaring, that it is the very one you have just received, and be ready to swear that you