®L 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH C AROUNA 
 
 School of Library 00022092771 
 
 Scieace 
 

% ' "•* T 3 VA %r*; <*.„-• \ \ 
 
ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR Olf 
 
 » My Grandfather Gregory ;" " Twelve Moral Maxims ',»• 
 
 " The Boy'a Week-day Book," &c 
 
 WITH ALTERATIONS AND ADDITIONS, 
 
 ADAPTING IT TO THE USE OF THE GENERAL PR0TB3TANT EPISC0YA1 
 
 SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE GEN; PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL 
 
 SUNDAY SCHOOL 
 
 UNION. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hi 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/alangilbertslastOOoldh 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 PAQE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 The Morning Walk 5 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 TheParty * 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Hall 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Club 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TheSchool 48 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 "fixe Work-house 57 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 The Public-House 68 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Church 82 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Church-yard 94 
 
 ^ CHAPTER X. 
 
 ft- Sunset 10G 
 
 A (3> < 
 
ALAN GILBERT'S 
 LAST BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MORNING WALK. 
 
 Harry Gilbert skimming stones along the Brook — Walter Ste- 
 vens's Cottage — Church-yard — The sand-stone Rock — Youthful 
 Peat — The Spring — Frank Redding's Prank — Alan's Cottage — 
 The Prospect — Dinner — A Chapter of the Bible read — Preparation 
 for Friends. 
 
 " When I was a boy," said old Alan Gilbert, as 
 he stood resting on his staff, his eyes fixed upon the 
 rippling surface of the running brook which flowed 
 at the foot of the bank on which he stood, — " When 
 I was a boy," resumed he ; but here he came to a 
 close, for his mind was wandering back to the days 
 of his youth, and he scarcely knew that he had 
 spoken. 
 
 " And what when you were a boy ?" cried Harry 
 Gilbert, a ruddy faced lad of nine years old, who 
 was amusing himself in skimming flat stones along 
 the surface of the water; "I dare say that you 
 could not make a duck and a drake* better than I 
 can." 
 
 * Thus boys term the wake of motion made in the water by 
 skimming stones over it. 
 
 1* (5) 
 
6 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " Yes, but I could though," rejoined the old man, 
 with something like triumph in his animated face; 
 " and many are the times that I have stood where 
 you are now standing, Harry, making ducks and 
 drakes with the pebble stones, for hours together. I 
 remember the day when Joe Turner and I quarrel- 
 led and fought by the side of the brook, to our re- 
 proach be it spoken ; for it is very wrong for child- 
 ren, or men either, to get angry and quarrel with 
 one another ; the Bible says we must forgive, it 
 any one have a quarrel with another; but poor Joe 
 has ended his quarrels now, as all the rest of them 
 have who were young when I was a lad ; all ex- 
 cept Frank Redding and Etherd Morris ; we three 
 are left alone, like shocks of tithe corn in the fields, 
 when the rest are all gathered into the garner." 
 
 The voice of Alan Gilbert faltered as he finished 
 his sentence ; he turned away from the brook, and 
 hobbled a few steps with his stick. " Man, that is 
 born of a woman," said he, again making a stand, 
 u is of few days, and full of trouble ; he cometh forth 
 like a flower, and is cut down ; he fleeth also as a 
 shadow, and continueth not." 
 
 Harry Gilbert had left off his pastime at the brook 
 and joined Alan, who was gazing around with more 
 than ordinary interest on the distant objects. 
 
 " What are you looking at so, Grandfather ?" in- 
 quired Harry, " for I see nothing but the cottage of 
 Walter Stevens, and the church-yard, and you have 
 seen them a hundred times." 
 
 " True," said Alan, " but He who knows all things 
 
 ■b 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 7 
 
 only knows how much longer I may look upon 
 them. In that cottage I was born, and in that 
 church-yard my bones will soon be laid. My fa- 
 thers before me have slept there, and the green sod 
 will soon be springing over the dust of Alan Gil- 
 bert." "And why should you talk in that fashion, 
 Grandfather! you will live many a year yet, I 
 warrant you ; look at Etherd Morris, he is a great 
 deal older than you are, and yet he is alive and 
 
 weii." * u ■■■-. ;• 
 
 "Ay, Harry, but where there is one who lives to 
 be as old as I am, there are fifty who die at half my 
 age. I am fourscore this very day, and am looking 
 about me now, because it is hardly likely that I 
 shall see another birth-day. Not that I have reason 
 to desire it, for true it is, that < the days of our years 
 are threescore and ten years; and if by reason of 
 strength, they be fourscore years, yet is their ' 
 strength labor and sorrow, for it is soon cut off, 
 and we fly away. 5 " 
 
 Harry Gilbert was not in a mood to pay much at- 
 tention to the texts of Scripture repeated by Alan; 
 one moment he was gathering a wild flower, and 
 the next trying how far he could jump. The con- 
 trast was great between the light-hearted expression 
 of his face, and the somewhat overshadowed coun- 
 tenance of his aged companion. 
 
 « I could tell many a tale." said old Alan, "of the 
 things which have taken place in the village, that 
 other people have paid little attention to, and on 
 which I have seldom spoken." 
 
8 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " Could you," quickly replied Harry ; " I wish you 
 . would then, for I should like to hear them of all 
 things." " If that be the case, you may hear them," 
 rejoined Alan. " for Frank Redding and Etherd 
 Morris are coming to chat away part of the day 
 with me. In the afternoon we shall have the round 
 deal table put on the green before the door, and 
 then, if you like to listen, you may perhaps be made 
 a little wiser, as it respects the village, than you are 
 now. Etherd Morris, Frank Redding, and myself, 
 are drawing near to our latter end ; God grant that 
 we may all be prepared for it by a lively faith in His 
 mercy, ' who his own self bare our sins in his own 
 body on the tree, that we, being dead to sin, should 
 live unto righteousness. 5 I wish, however, that my 
 old friends thought less of this world and more of 
 that which is to come ; God has granted them a long 
 life, would that more of it had been devoted to his 
 glory. It is not old age, Harry, that makes men 
 wise; 'The fear of the Lord is the beginning of 
 knowledge.' The fear of God and the grace of the 
 Redeemer, are sufficient to make you wise in 
 youth, and without them you will be but a fool in 
 old age." 
 
 Alan Gilbert, in his way to the village, had to 
 pass along the low part of the road, cut through 
 the solid rock. On each side of the way might be 
 seen letters rudely graven in the sand-stone. Some 
 were high, and some low ; some perfect, and others 
 worn away by age. Opposite the highest and steep- 
 est part of the rock, Alan made a stand, and lean- 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 9 
 
 ing on his staff, looked up toward the summit, 
 where was graven, in full length, the name of Alan 
 Gilbert. Alan had, perhaps twenty times over in 
 the course of the few last years, pointed out to 
 Harry the letters in question, and now once more 
 he directed his attention to the elevated situation in 
 which the characters were graven. 
 
 " There," said he, " I cut those letters, with my 
 own hands, sixty-five years ago, for it was on my 
 birth-day, and at Lammas-tide. Some of the young- 
 sters of the village were met together, and I among 
 them. After many frolics we began to climb the 
 rock, and to carve our names upon it. Will Bur- 
 ton cut his name higher up than any of us; but, 
 being determined not to be outdone, I went away, 
 and borrowing a rope from Dame Cutler, at the 
 thatched cottage at the top of the lane, passed round 
 the rock. How did Bill Burton stare when he saw 
 me twist the rope round the oak tree at the top of 
 the rock, and let myself down two or three yards. 
 I carved my name, as you see, above them all, and 
 there it is now ; a little the worse for wear, yet it 
 will be read, may be, when I am forgotten. Bill 
 Burton and Dame Cutler, the thatched cottage and 
 the oak tree are all gone, but Alan Gilbert is here 
 still, and his name is there where he then put it ; 
 but of what use is that to me now ? O that all our 
 names may hereafter appear written in the Lamb's 
 book of life ! That is where we should wish and 
 strive and pray to have our names recorded." 
 
 Harry Gilbert, all this time, was employed in 
 
10 ALAN GILBERT S 
 
 carving his own name at the foot of the rock, for 
 the youthful exploit of his grandfather was so old a 
 tale to him, that he paid no more attention to it thau 
 if it had been narrated to another person. 
 
 " Come," said old Alan, as soon as Harry had 
 finished cutting his name in the rock. u let us be 
 moving toward home, for we have walked far, the 
 sun is hot, and I am not so strong as I have been." 
 Harry left the rock and went to his grandfather, 
 who leaned on his shoulder as they walked up the 
 hill together. When they came to the spring, cut in 
 the sandstone on the left side of the road, Alan made 
 another stand, and said, " I wonder how many times 
 I have drunk of that spring ; but the pitcher that 
 goes oftenest to the well, will come home broken 
 at last." Harry Gilbert slipped away from his 
 grandfather, and falling upon his knees, dipped the 
 brim of his hat into the spring, and drank heartily. 
 Before Harry had taken away his hat from his 
 mouth, a large turf came down upon him from the 
 top of the bank which overhung the spring, and a 
 loud laugh was heard, which Harry Gilbert well 
 knew to be the laugh of Frank Redding. Old Frank, 
 from the bank above, had seen Harry bending down 
 to the spring, and his love of humor had led him to 
 pull up a turf, by means of which he intended to 
 duck Harry's head into the water as he stooped to 
 drink ; but, not being in time to do this, he con- 
 tented himself with throwing the turf down upon 
 Harry's hat, while the water was in the brim. 
 Down went the hat, to the astonishment of Harry, 
 
last birth- day. It 
 
 who, when he heard the laugh of Frank Redding^ 
 looked up and saw the old man standing on the 
 bank, holding his sides with laughter: so true is it, 
 that some persons never cease from folly, never will 
 become serious. Frank Redding having now be- 
 come an old man ought to have put away such 
 childish sports. 
 
 "Is that yon, Frank?" said Alan, looking up; 
 " nothing will serve you but some prank or other: 
 fie, fie. You and I, Frank, are too old to indulge 
 in such tricks: we had better be considering our 
 latter end." 
 
 " Why, Master Gilbert," replied Frank, " I was 
 in debt to Harry for a joke he put upon me the 
 other day, and I thought it a nice opportunity to 
 pay him off. Come, Harry, have another dip at 
 the spring while I pull up another turf." Here 
 Frank renewed his laugh, while Harry, shaking his 
 head, told him it should not be long before he was 
 even with him. Alan reminded Frank Redding of 
 his agreement to spend the afternoon with him, 
 and then walked on, accompanied by Harry, who 
 thought of nothing but the manner in which he 
 should return the joke of Frank Redding. Now 
 though this old man was so thoughtless, Harry- 
 ought to have considered his age, and not sought 
 to retaliate upon him. 
 
 The cottage of Alan Gilbert was a pretty place, 
 for though Alan had not always lived in it, he had 
 been therein long enough to be attached to it. The 
 grape tree that twined its extended branches around 
 
12 alan Gilbert's 
 
 it was ]aden with fruit, and the garden, at the back, 
 was in excellent order. A small orchard stood on 
 one side, and an out-house on the other ; while the 
 level green, in front, gave it that air of quietude and 
 repose which is so grateful in rural habitations. 
 
 The prospect was a very good one, for the prin- 
 cipal parts of the scattered village were plainly seen 
 from the spot. The mansion of Squire Norton, 
 with the rookery to the left ; the church and par- 
 sonage ; the winding brook down in the valley, and 
 the distant hills, all gave an interest to the scene ; 
 nor was the cottage of Walter Stevens, in which 
 Alan Gilbert was born, the least interesting part of 
 the picture. 
 
 Alan and his grandson seated themselves to par- 
 take of their mid-day meal, but not till the old man 
 had reverently supplicated the Father of mercies, 
 in the prevailing name of Jesus Christ, to add his 
 spiritual blessing to the temporal gifts which he 
 had so liberally bestowed upon them, and to make 
 their hearts unfeignedly thankful. 
 
 After dinner, Alan, according to his daily custom, 
 opened his Bible, and read a portion from the Old 
 and New-Testament, explaining, as he went on, 
 every passage which appeared to be above his 
 grandson's comprehension, and exhorting Harry 
 Gilbert, from time to time, to be a humble worship- 
 per of the God of his fathers. 
 
 Harry Gilbert, though rather blunt in his beha- 
 vior, loved his grandfather, and listened attentively 
 to his remarks ; after which he helped him to pre- 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 1$ 
 
 pare for Frank Redding and old Etherd Morris. 
 The round deal table was placed in the shade on the 
 green, before the door, covered with the best cheer 
 the cottage afforded. Harry then amused himself 
 in spinning his peg-top, and his grandfather sat 
 down to wait for his expected guests. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PARTY. 
 
 Description of Etherd Morris — Frank Redding — The Picture — 
 Description of Alan Gilbert — Conversation — Fire at Benjamin 
 Butler's — Advantages of Affliction — Unked House — Jonas Griffeth 
 and his two Sons — The evils of Anger and unbridled Passion — 
 Farmer Brooks's Greyhound. 
 
 It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when 
 Etherd Morris and Frank Redding sat themselves 
 down, with Alan Gilbert, to the table placed out on 
 the green: Harry Gilbert occupied a stool. There 
 was a striking contrast in the features of the three 
 old men, and their different dispositions might be 
 distinctly traced in their countenances. 
 
 Etherd Morris was dressed in a dark brown coat, 
 with a waistcoat of the same color : he wore short 
 gaiters, and his head was quite bald. Etherd had 
 already completed his eighty-seventh year ; a peev- 
 ish pouting of his under lip gave an unusual ex- 
 pression of severity to his morose countenance, and 
 2 
 
14 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 made him appear like the very image of ill-temper. 
 To say the truth, old Etherd was as ill-tempered as 
 he seemed to he, and seldom did he open his lips to 
 speak, unless it were to complain, or to give a short 
 and sharp reply to some question proposed. It was, 
 in fact, a common saying among the people of the 
 village, "You are as waspish as old Etherd Morris." 
 This peevish disposition kept him pretty much aloot 
 from his neighbors, and the young people avoided 
 him as they would a bunch of stinging-nettles. 
 How unlovely is age, when the infirmities of the 
 body are blended with a bad disposition. 
 
 Frank Redding was a very different person to 
 Etherd Morris, for his red face was cast in the mould 
 of mirth, and his little laughing eyes were for ever 
 brightening at the jokes which passed around 
 Frank had a jest for every one ; and though old age 
 and folly are very unfit companions, he seemed de- 
 termined to live and die a jester. Alas ! Frank did 
 not realize that he was a sinner, and how awful a 
 thing it is for a sinner to die, not having repented 
 of his sins, and become a true Christian, or he 
 would not have formed any such determination. 
 " What, quoth Frank Redding!" was generally the 
 beginning of every village joke. This lively and 
 social disposition made Frank a general favorite, 
 and he was as much sought after as Etherd Morris 
 was avoided. He wore, on this occasion, a blue 
 coal, red plush waistcoat, leathern small-clothes, 
 grey worsted stockings, and large buckles in his 
 shoes. His hair was as light as flax, and though he- 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 1{> 
 
 was turned seventy-eight, he usually went by the 
 name of young Frank Redding, on account of the 
 liveliness and jocularity of his temper. Both these 
 persons were destitute of that which can make us 
 cheerful without being trifling, and serious without 
 being gloomy — true religion. " Her ways are ways 
 of pleasantness. The fruit of the Spirit is joy." 
 
 The light-hearted, laughter-loving disposition of 
 Frank Redding, and the churlish spirit of Etherd 
 Morris, were so striking, that an artist, who once 
 visited the place, made a drawing of the aged men, 
 representing the one as Folly, and the other as Ill- 
 temper. This drawing, after it had found its way 
 almost all round the village, reached the hands of 
 Etherd and Frank, but produced no good effect upon 
 either ; for Frank Redding only laughed heartily at 
 the joke, as he called it, while Etherd Morris, with 
 more than his common ill-temper, remarked that 
 "fools are always busying themselves about their 
 neighbors." Had he been wise unto salvation, he 
 would not have made such a remark. , 
 
 Such were the companions with whom Alan Gil- 
 bert was sitting at the round deal table, placed on 
 the green before his door. 
 
 Old people are fond of the company of the aged, 
 otherwise three persons, of dispositions so different, 
 would never have sought each other. It was, how- 
 ever, the birth-day of Alan Gilbert ; and Etherd 
 Morris and Prank Redding were the only beings in 
 the world who could talk with him of what had 
 taken place in the village threescore and ten years 
 
16 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 •ago. Alan was very superior in knowledge to his 
 •companions, for he had received a better education 
 than they ; and having been much employed up at 
 -the hall as a confidential and trust-worthy man, he 
 had associated with his betters, by whom he was 
 deservedly respected. He married young, but not 
 happily — his wife, while she lived, being a sore trou- 
 ble to him; but she died in a few years, leaving one 
 child behind her. Alan very seldom spoke of her, 
 and when he did, it was in a kindly manner, never 
 alluding to her faults. For the last thirty years of 
 his life he had been a pious character, having been 
 taught by a heavenly instructer to discern the de- 
 formity of sin in the glass of the hoiy law of God, 
 and the grace of the Redeemer in the Gospel of 
 Jesus Christ. Seldom did he omit, on any proper 
 occasion, to reprove what he considered wrong, or 
 to encourage what he believed to be right* by a text 
 taken from the Scriptures, or by a quotation from 
 some of the godly books in which he was well 
 read. 
 
 " Old age has its troubles," observed Alan, " but 
 we are mercifully dealt with. To hear and see as 
 we do, and to walk about at our years, is not a com- 
 mon thing; but we are all more apt to repine over 
 what God takes away from us, than we are to rejoice 
 over what he has left us. I told my grandson Harry, 
 that we should be talking over old times together 
 this afternoon, and mayhap he might pick up some- 
 thing that might make him wiser and better. We 
 can go back a long way, for we have tramped about 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 17 
 
 the village longer than any that are in it. You, 
 Etherd Morris, I dare say can remember some 
 things that I have forgotten. I could not have been 
 more than four years old when my father and your 
 father, helped to put out the fire at Benjamin 
 Butler's." 
 
 " Ay, Master Gilbert," replied Etherd, " you was 
 but a young shaver then, though I must 'a bin a 
 matter of eleven or twelve year old. That fire was 
 a sad job to Butler, for it ruined him altogether." 
 
 " Well do I remember," said Alan, " the broad 
 blaze as it burst out of the up-stairs windows. 
 When the roof fell in, all seemed dark for a moment, 
 and then out again burst the flame, and ten thou- 
 sand sparks fled off from the burning rafters, while 
 a black smoke seemed to go up to the very clouds." 
 
 " I have heard tell of that fire," said Frank, 
 "though I can't remember it. Josh Perrins told 
 me, Master Gilbert, that your father pulled out 
 young Butler, just afore the roof fell in. It would 
 'a bin all o'er with him in two minutes after." 
 
 " He was, indeed, a brand snatched from the 
 burning," said Alan. " The fire brought down 
 Benjamin Butler a good deal, but it did him good 
 in the main. He had got too high-minded and proud, 
 and 'pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty 
 spirit before a fall.' The fire taught him what he 
 didn't seem to know — that man, even in his pros- 
 perity, is a poor dependent creature, and liable every 
 hour to danger and to death. I take it, Benjamin 
 was a better man after that fire than he ever was 
 2* 
 
 Kt \ 
 
18 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 before, for God was pleased to bless the affliction 
 to the humbling of his mind, so that he lived closer 
 to God ; and I have heard him say myself, that he 
 was thankful for many things, but especially for the 
 'fire that was made an instrument to drive him to 
 his Bible for consolation." 
 
 " I don't wonder that young Butler was thankful 
 in having his life saved," said Frank ; " but I can't 
 understand how old Butler could be thankful in 
 having his house burnt all to a cinder. I reckon 
 he wasn't very thankful at the time when it hap- 
 pened." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Alan. " ' No chastening foi 
 the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous ; ne- 
 vertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit 
 of righteousness, unto them which are exercised 
 thereby.' Whether we are visited by fire or by 
 water, by plague, pestilence, or famine, it is still a 
 precious truth, that l all things work together for 
 good, to them that love God.' Remember, Harry, 
 that no good comes of pride, and that the heaviest 
 .afflictions can be turned, by the grace of God, into 
 ^blessings." 
 
 While Alan Gilbert was speaking, Etherd had 
 .stooped down to fasten a button of his gaiter, which 
 liad come undone: the strange faces he made in 
 *doing this, highly diverted Frank. " We can't 
 ■stoop as we used to do, Etherd," said he ; " you 
 look for all the world as if a poker was run down 
 your back ; better let me fasten your gaiter." 
 
 * No, no ;" replied Etherd, holding up his head j 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 19 
 
 c you're too full of your pranks ; yon would only 
 fasten one button, and unfasten two. Never, sure, 
 was your fellow. You're as bad as Bill Willets, 
 though you are fifty years older. You remember 
 Willet's father, Master Gilbert !" 
 
 " O yes, I remember him well enough," replied 
 Alan ; " an honest man, and a good neighbor ; but 
 his son, I fear, will never be so steady as he was. 
 When Willet's father lived by the lime trees, GrirT- 
 eth lived at the Unked* House. Poor fellow ! he 
 was another that was born to see trouble." 
 
 Harry Gilbert, who knew the Unked House very 
 well, asked his grandfather why they did'nt build 
 t up afresh, for the roof was falling in, and not a 
 whole pane of glass was left in the window. 
 
 " Mayhap, if it was to be repaired, nobody would 
 Jive at it," said Frank Redding. 
 
 " And why not ?" inquired Harry. 
 
 " Master Gilbert will tell you," said Frank ; " but 
 it's no pleasant tale to listen to : it's long since I 
 have heard it spoke on." 
 
 "Jonas Griffeth," said Alan, "lost his wife, and 
 lived with his two sons in the Unked House ; but 
 it was a pretty place then, and looked as if some- 
 Dody belonged to it. When the sun shone on the 
 white-washed wall, when the roses were in full 
 olow, and the bees hummed in the garden, no one 
 would have thought that ever it would become such 
 
 * Unked is a word seldom used at the present day, except by 
 . gnorant or vulgar people ; it means, deserted, solitary. 
 
20 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 a wilderness of a place as it is now. I don't know 
 how it was, but Jonas, though a worthy man, like 
 too many people in the world, didn't bring up his 
 sons as he ought to have done. Solomon says, 
 1 He that spareth the rod hateth his son : but he that 
 loveth him chasteneth him ;' and poor Griffeth let 
 his sons have their way in every thing. Their 
 passions were not under control, and the least trifle 
 excited them to anger. How it was that they lived 
 to be more than twenty years old, without any 
 serious accident taking place, I can't tell ; but every 
 body thought it a wonder. ' He that hath no rule 
 over his own spirit is like a city that is broken 
 down, and without walls.' " 
 
 " They were always two passionate young dogs," 
 said Etherd, " and Jonas had right little peace with 
 'em." 
 
 " True," continued Alan, " he found out when it 
 was too late, that though he might have bent the 
 twig, he couldn't bend the tree ; they were too 
 many for him when they were grown up. It was 
 one dark stormy night, when Jonas had just gone 
 up stairs to bed, that his sons had a quarrel about a 
 fishing-rod. Words got higher and higher ; at last 
 they came to blows, and Bill turned his brother Sam 
 out of the house. They were like two furies: Sam 
 picked up the coal hammer, which lay under the 
 shed, and banged away at the door till it flew open, 
 when Bill, snatching up a case-knife from the table, 
 ran to stop his brother from coming in. He who 
 knows all things, only knows whether Bill Griffeth 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 21 
 
 meant really to do his brother a mischief; and I 
 will not take on me to judge him, but he brandished 
 his knife in the door-way, till his brother cried out, 
 { You have done for me.' Mayhap, even then, if 
 Bill had gone to his brother directly, the mischief 
 might have been in part prevented ; but he was in 
 too great a passion to care about him, and poor 
 Jonas was too much accustomed to his sons' quar- 
 rels to interfere. The wind howled round the house, 
 so that a common noise would not have been heard; 
 no wonder, then, that the groans of Sam Griffeth 
 were disregarded. In the morning, about six o'clock, 
 Jonas got up, and no sooner did he go out of the 
 back-door, than he saw his son Samuel lying in his 
 blood under the kid-pile. What a sight for a father ! 
 and what a sight for Bill Griffeth !" 
 
 "It was an ugly job altogether," said Frank 
 Redding. 
 
 Harry Gilbert asked his grandfather if young 
 Griffeth was quite dead. 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Alan ; " and what a state to die 
 m! Sam Griffeth was dead, sure enough, and his 
 brother was taken up and tried for his life, for wil- 
 ful murder. The jury, however, brought it in man- 
 slaughter, and Bill's life was spared ; but he never 
 held up his head after. His father died of a broken 
 heart, if ever man did ; and Bill Griffeth pined away, 
 day after day, till he died too ; and since then no 
 one has lived in the house." 
 
 "Unked it is, and unked it's likely to be," said 
 Etherd Morris. " The house is little better than a 
 
22 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 heap of rubbish, and the garden is one bed of sting 
 ing-nertles." 
 
 " Ay," continued Alan, " it's a monument to re- 
 mind us all of the mischief and sin of anger and 
 unbridled passion. ' He that is slow to anger is 
 better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his 
 spirit, than he that taketh a city.' I hope, Harry, 
 it will be a lesson to you, and that you will never 
 pass the Unked House without being reminded of 
 it. What a different lesson do we learn in the 
 Scriptures ; c Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, 
 and clamor, and evil speaking, be put away from 
 you, with all malice. And be ye kind one to an- 
 other, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even 
 as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.' " 
 
 Harry Gilbert kept looking toward the Unked 
 House, for he had never heard the narrative of it be- 
 fore. It was very visible that the account had made 
 an impression on his mind, and Alan hoped that, in 
 years to come, his grandson's passions would be 
 mercifully controlled. 
 
 How long Harry would have sat musing on what 
 he had heard it is hard to say j but Farmer Brookes's 
 black and white greyhound came over the green. 
 Harry was fond of the dog, and jumping up, he 
 soon scampered away to join his favorite. 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 23 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HALL. 
 
 The Hall — Old Squire Norton — Bridgens, the Butler— Madam 
 Norton — Advantages of serving God — The Young Squire — 
 The Bironet's Son — Colonel Snyders — The Fox chase — Horse 
 killed — Colonel's Death — Snlcey Larkin — Lawyer Piggots — 
 Oshorn. the Maltster — The Forged Will— Childers, the Jockey— 
 The Four Black Horses. 
 
 In a Utile time the greyhound lightly bounded 
 over a fence, and Harry returned and sealed himself 
 on his stool. "That is a princely dwelling," said 
 Alan Gilbert, looking intently on the fine old gothic 
 hall in the distance, belonging to Squire Norton* 
 "but the hahiiations of men are but 'houses of clay, 
 whose foundation is in the dust, which are crushed 
 before the moth.'" The sun was shining on the 
 antique ornaments and grotesque* figures which 
 decorated the upper part of the spacious building; 
 and the rooks, hovering around, were disiinctly 
 seen, and faintly heard, as they flew backward and 
 forward over the tall elm trees, where their nests 
 were thickly spread. "In days that are gone by," 
 continued Alan, "I have seen a great deal more in 
 that hall than what pleased me, though it ill be- 
 comes a man to speak amiss of those from whom 
 he has gained his bread, I hope my duty was done 
 
 * Strange, uncouth. 
 
24 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 to those I served, and that I never ate the bread of 
 idleness; but in those days many things took place 
 which give me no pleasure to think upon now. 
 Old Squire Norton was a better man than his son 
 has been, and after the old Squire died, the hall be- 
 came a different place to what it was before." 
 
 {{ Ay, ay! indeed it did," said Frank Redding; 
 "the young Squire kept the game alive, and many a 
 merry bout* of it have I had myself in the kitchen. 
 Bridgens, the butler, was a hearty old boy, and 
 liked to make a friend comfortable." 
 
 " Yes he did," muttered Etherd Morris, " but 
 what did it all come to ? He treated his friends so 
 well, that he got turned out of doors himself for his 
 pains. He quarrelled with me once about nothing 
 at all, and I told him that many a butler had been 
 bundled out of a house a great deal' quicker than he 
 entered it ; and so it was with him, for, before three 
 months had rolled over his head, he was no more a 
 butler than I was." 
 
 "Old Madam Norton," resumed Alan Gilbert, 
 " was a good woman, and visited the poor ; and 
 many a loaf of bread and noggin of broth did she 
 send to those in distress. She used to say, after all 
 was done that could be done for the poor perishing 
 body, that ' charity to the soul,' was the ' soul of 
 charity;' and I have known her read the Bible, and 
 pray by the bedside of the poorest old creature in 
 the village, when not a soul knew any thing about 
 
 Drinking frolic. 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 25 
 
 it but myself. The old Squire, too, had always his 
 hand in his pocket ; he built the alms-houses, and 
 left a piece of ground to support them, as may be 
 seen registered on the monument near the commu- 
 nion-table in the church. ' Blessed is he that con- 
 sidered the poor; the Lord will deliver him in time 
 of trouble.' That text of Scripture, 'The Lord will 
 strengthen him upon the bed of languishing, and 
 make all his bed in his sickness,' was made good in 
 his case, for he was enabled patiently to endure his 
 afflictions, and died as a Christian man should die, 
 in humble hope of an everlasting life through the 
 merits of his Saviour Jesds Christ, in peace with 
 God, and in charity with all mankind. But, as I 
 said, many a thing has happened in that hall that I 
 did not like. There is a peace, and a joy, and a 
 glory round the habitation where God is worship- 
 ped ; but that peace, and joy, and glory departed 
 when the old Squire died ; and since then, riot, and 
 gaming, and wassailing* have been the order of the 
 day and night. It is some time now since I entered 
 the hall, and I have no wish to be there again, for 
 I am told that there are strange doings between the 
 Squire and the baronet's son. When folks can 
 pull straws out of a wheat rick for fifty pounds 
 a-side, or throw dice for a hundred, there must be 
 money lost somewhere, and it may turn out, when 
 little expected, that the Squire is not so rich as he 
 is thought to be." 
 
 * Drinking. 
 
 3 
 
26 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " He'll come to the dogs, yet," said Elherd, peev* 
 ishly, " and when he does, more will be giad than 
 sorry ; he never was a poor man's friend." 
 
 u May he find more mercy than he has shown." 
 added A.lan Gilbert, " though I am afraid a dark 
 day and a sorrowful night are coming over him. 
 Harry Gilbert, remember that sin bringeth a man to 
 dishonor, whether he be rich or poor. God's grace 
 will make the poorest man rich, and without it the 
 richest mart is poor indeed." 
 
 Harry looked up in the face of his grandfather, 
 but not a syllable escaped him. He had heard now 
 and then a word dropped from one or other of the 
 villagers, about the old hall and its inmates, so that 
 he listened with boyish curiosity to the continued 
 remarks of his grandfather. 
 
 " Many strange characters," said Alan, " have 
 passed through the old oak door, thickly studded 
 with iron knobs, to revel in the spacious chambers 
 of the place; but not all the revelry in the world 
 can make the wicked happy, * The path of the just 
 is as a shining light, that shineth more and more 
 unto the perfect day ; but the path of the wicked is 
 as darkness, they know not at what they stumble. 
 You both of you knew Colonel Snyders, who put 
 up the pillar yonder on the brow of the hill. That 
 pilhir tells all who look upon it of the battles in 
 which the Colonel fought, and the victories he 
 shared ; but it does not tell of one victory which he 
 ever gained over himself, for he was one of the 
 proudest and most unmerciful of men. * He that 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 27 
 
 ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a 
 city.' " 
 
 " He was worth a mint of money, though," said 
 Frank Redding, "which he got somewhere across 
 the seas." 
 
 " True," rejoined Alan, " but ' what is a man pro- 
 fited if he shall gain the whole world and lose his 
 own soul V If he had read his Bible he might have 
 put his riches out to better use than he did. ' Charge 
 them that are rich in this world that they be not 
 high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in 
 the living God, who giveth us richly all things to 
 enjoy ; that they be rich in good works, ready to 
 distribute, willing to communicate.' If ever Colonel 
 Snyders read these words, he very little regarded 
 them, for he was high-minded, and trusted in his 
 riches, and few people ever heard of his parting 
 with them." 
 
 " He was a scape-grace, true enough," said Elherd 
 Morris, "and as hot as the foreign country he came 
 from. I once saw him about to leap at a fence in a 
 fox-chase, and because his horse was not so hot 
 upon it as he was, and shyed a little, down jumps 
 the Colonel to the ground, and pulls out a pistol, 
 and the poor beast fell into the ditch in a minute, 
 with a bullet through his head." 
 
 "That was just like him," said Frank Redding, 
 "as hot as pepper; a word and a blow, and the 
 blow came first." 
 
 " Just as the horse fell," continued old Etherd, 
 " the huntsman blew his horn, and the spirited 
 
28 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 creature not being dead got up on his fore-feet, but 
 soon fell again, gave a groan, and died. The Colonel 
 swore a tremendous oath, and walked away." 
 
 " The history of Colonel Snyders," resumed 
 Alan, "would be one from which something might 
 be learned. I am told, that when a young man he 
 was every thing a young man ought to be ; but he 
 went abroad to grow rich, and his riches made him 
 poor, for they made him wicked and unhappy. 
 He brought home, after a long absence, plenty of 
 money and money's worth ; but he brought not 
 back what he took out with him, which was above 
 all price— a peaceful conscience and a sound con- 
 stitution. His constitution was destroyed ; and as 
 for his conscience, may we all in mercy be spared 
 such a companion! I was with the Colonel, tend- 
 ing him, when he died ; and such a death-bed, I 
 trust, with God's blessing, I shall never see again. 
 What took place there has never passed my lips, 
 and it never shall. Remember, Hany, that in life 
 and in death, ' there is no peace to the wicked :' 
 joy and peace are to be found only in believing." 
 
 " He had a deal to answer for," said Etherd 
 Morris. 
 
 " Bad as the Colonel was, I question if he was 
 worse than old Lawyer Piggots," said Frank. 
 " The old rogue slept on a bed of feathers himself, 
 but he made a bed of briers and thorns for many 
 poorer folks. I take it, he did the Squire but little 
 good ; howsomever he's gone to his reckoning." 
 
 "And if he is reckoned with as he used to reckon 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. m ZM 
 
 with others," said Etherdj "it will go hard with 
 him." 
 
 " Piggots," said Alan, " lived to be a trouble to 
 himself, and with all his money I do not know that 
 he had a real friend in the world. When Osborn, 
 the maltster, died, leaving a widow and one child 
 behind him, Piggots comes skulking to me, one 
 night ; for, bad as he was, I expect he would have 
 been ashamed to come on such an errand in broad 
 day. Bad men love ' darkness rather than light,' 
 because their deeds are evil, and so it was with 
 Lawyer Piggots. Says he to me, ' Master Gilbert, 
 I want to consult you on a little business that may 
 do you some good ; but, first of all, you must give 
 me your word, as an honest man, that you will 
 never, while I live, mention it to any body else.' 
 1 Why,' says I, ' Mr. Piggots, I am not given to 
 prate about things that don't belong to me ; but if 
 you will be better satisfied with having my promise, 
 I will give it to you.' Little did I think what the 
 miserable knave was about to propose to me. I 
 did wrong in promising so rashly." 
 
 " He would have sold his own soul for money," 
 said Frank ; and I dare say you found him not over 
 nice about matters if he had a chance of getting 
 any. But what did the old fox say to you?" 
 
 " He said," replied Alan, " ' What I want you to 
 do, Master Gilbert, is this, just to put your name to 
 this bit of paper, and then I can make you some 
 pounds richer than you are.' " 
 
 "I would have seen him swinging on Tyburn 
 3* 
 
30 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 tree, with his paper in his hand," said Frank, " be 
 fore I would 'a done it for him : he was a snake in 
 the grass, if ever there was one. But go on. Master 
 Gilbert." 
 
 " When he came a little nearer, with the paper 
 in his hand," said Alan, "I saw the words 'last* 
 will and testament.' Why, thinks I to myself, he 
 is never going to ask me to sign his will." 
 
 "No danger," cried out Etherd Morris; "I 
 have a bit of a notion that he had other game in 
 view." 
 
 " So it appeared," said Alan Gilbert. " He takes 
 a pen out of an inkhorn, that he carried with him, 
 and puts it in my hand. ' But what is the paper 
 about, Mr. Piggots?' says I; ' Oh, nothing of much 
 moment,' said he, in a coaxing way ; ' but Osborn 
 has died without a will, and things will be all sixes 
 and sevens; so I thought that — ' 'If you think,' 
 said I, cutting him short, 'that Alan Gilbert will act 
 like a villain, and bring on his soul the curse of the 
 widow and the fatherless, for all the gold you have 
 got together, you are mistaken.' When he saw that 
 he could do nothing with me, he pretended that he 
 only meant to do a kindness to the widow, and that 
 it did not signify a farthing to him whether the 
 thing was done or not. Just then somebody knock- 
 ed at the door, when he shuffled the paper into his 
 pocket ; but, in taking out his handkerchief, as he 
 left the house, down fell the paper, and he went off 
 without it. I do not know that I did wrong in ex- 
 amining it; fori suspected he was plotting some 
 
LAST BtRTH-DAY. 31 
 
 evil against Widow Osborn, and I thought that 
 paper might explain it, and I might perhaps prevent 
 it. Besides, as it was the paper he wished me to 
 sign, I thought I was justified in looking into it. I 
 did so, and found that in the will he had manu- 
 factured, he had left the whole of John Osborn's 
 property to himself, on payment of a few pounds 
 yearly to the widow." 
 
 " Just as I thought," said Etherd. " I would have 
 pasted the paper against the church door, that the 
 whole parish might have seen it." 
 
 " It would have served him just right," said 
 Frank. 
 
 " No, no," said Alan Gilbert ; " I had given him 
 my promise ; and in that I did wrong, as I have 
 already said ; but his being a dishonest man would 
 not justify me in taking vengeance upon him. ' Ven 
 geahce is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord'. So I 
 went to him, and told him that if any will was 
 produced, I would inform against him directly. 
 Harry," continued Alan, turning to his grandson, 
 " while you live in the world, ' provide things hon- 
 est in the sight of all men,' for a dishonest penny 
 will do you more harm than an honest pound will 
 do you good." 
 
 "There was another younger chap," said Etherd, 
 " who used to be at the hall a great deal ; but he 
 run to another country, for they said that this was 
 too hot to hold him." 
 
 " You mean Childers, the jockey," said Alan ; 
 " though but a young man in years he was old in 
 
32 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 iniquity. He took in the Squire at last ; for he sold 
 him four beautiful black horses, but the Squire hadn't 
 had them above a week before they had all white 
 feet, and several stars on their bodies,which Childers 
 had colored over. But what did it all come to? 
 Childers committed forgery, and was obliged, as you 
 say, to run his country. Deceit and dishonesty may 
 lead a man to the gallows, but they will never add 
 to his happiness in life, nor his peace in death. Give 
 a man the whole world, and let him have such com- 
 panions as Colonel Snyders, Lawyer Piggots, and 
 Childers, the jockey, and he will soon be in a pitia- 
 ble plight. ' He that walketh with wise men shall 
 be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroy- 
 ed. 5 Harry, mind your companions ! One good one 
 is worth his weight in gold, and one bad one may 
 lead you to destruction. ' Evil communications 
 corrupt good manners. With the clean thou shalt 
 be clean, and with the froward thou shalt learn 
 frowardness.'" 
 
 Alan here walked into his cottage, and thus, for 
 a few minutes, put an end to the conversation. 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CLUB. 
 
 The Club— The Procession— Alan Gilbert's Son— Alan Gilbert's 
 Father — The Peaceful End of the Godly — Quarrel between Tom 
 Morton and Andrew Taylor — Jem Hockley — Fight — Death of 
 Tom Morton — Evil Effects of Drunkenness — Dog-fight between 
 a bull-dog and a mastiff — Joe and Bill Maston — Forgiveness — Use 
 of the Club. 
 
 When Alan returned to his friends, Frank Red- 
 ding was talking about the village club. " It's a pret- 
 ty sight, now," said he, "though not what it used to 
 be, to see our club march up the village, on a sun 
 shiny day, from the inn to the church, with a band 
 of music afore it. Every man dressed in his Sun- 
 day clothes, with a long staff in his hand, and a 
 bunch of blue ribands in his hat ; and then the 
 stewards, with their broad blue sashes, and their 
 staves with a dove at the top. What with the club 
 walking, and the stewards, and the staves, and the 
 blue ribands, and the sashes, and the band of music, 
 and the ringing of the church bells, and the sunshine, 
 and the crowds of people, — all together, it's about 
 as pretty a sight as any that is to be seen." 
 
 " It makes noise enough, for the matter o' that," 
 said old Etherd ; " but I don't see what that does 
 for us." 
 
 " We three are the oldest members of the club 
 
34 
 
 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 now," said Frank. " You must 'a bin in it many a 
 long year, Etberd Morris." 
 
 " Ay," replied Etherd ; " and mayhap if I had gone 
 out of it many a day ago, it might 'a bin as well for 
 me, for all the good I gels by it. The members now 
 are a set o' young greenhorns, that don't know what's 
 due to their betters. I hate to sit down with a lot 
 o' youngsters, who are never easy without they can 
 take the lead in every thing. It hadn't used to be 
 so when John Chambers, William Bailey, Joseph 
 Horton, and such as them were in it ; but they are 
 gone, and young folks fancy themselves to be a deal 
 wiser than their fathers." 
 
 • "It's too much the case," said Alan ; " young peo- 
 ple are apt to forget themselves. We have seen many 
 a tall fellow hold up his head high at the club, who 
 now lies low enough beneath the green sod. Your 
 father, Harry, was once in the club, but — " Alan 
 paused a moment or two, and then drew the back 
 of his hand across his eyes. Harry's father had 
 been a sad trouble to Alan. Led away by bad com- 
 panions, he became very wild, and ran a short career. 
 After using his father ill, and breaking the heart of 
 his wife, he went to sea, where he died, leaving his 
 son Harry with his grandfather, Alan Gilbert. This 
 was the keenest affliction that ever betided Alan 
 Gilbert. In this world of sin and sorrow there are 
 many trials, but no poisoned arrow is more bitter 
 than that which is planted in the heart of a parent 
 by an undutiful child. 
 
 Before Alan's son died, at sea, he became sensible 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 35 
 
 of his errors, and sent home a penitent letter to his 
 father, begging his forgiveness. Alan replied to the 
 letter the same day that he received it, sending his 
 forgiveness and blessing to his son ; but neither the 
 one nor the other reached him in time, for his body 
 was committed to the deep, and his spirit had re- 
 turned to God who gave it. Though Alan thought 
 much of his son, he seldom spoke of him, and when 
 he did, it was sure to bring the tears into his eyes. 
 The news that his penitent son was a changed 
 character before he died, in some degree mitigated 
 his sorrow. 
 
 " It's no use thinking, Master Gilbert, of what's 
 gone by," said Frank Redding, seeing Alan's emo- 
 tion ; "your son was better than many that I have 
 known, and we can't any of us live for ever. I'll be 
 bound he did his duty as a sailor." 
 
 " Well, well," said Alan, striving to get the better 
 of his feelings, " I trust he found mercy where we 
 all ought to look for it, day and night, in youth and 
 in old age. We were speaking of the club: my 
 father walked with it to the church only a fortnight 
 before he died, and I remember well the remarks he 
 made on the club sermon. It was in that cottage, 
 Harry, where Walter Stevens now lives, and where 
 I was born, that your great grandfather died." 
 
 Harry turned his eyes toward the cottage of Wal- 
 ter Stevens, while Alan Gilbert thus went on : 
 
 *It often happens that sickness sours the temper, 
 an<* makes the poor sufferer uncomfortable to him- 
 self, and to those around him ; but it was not so 
 
36 ALAN GILBERT S 
 
 with my father when he was laid on his death-bed. 
 He was satisfied that God would do that which was 
 right concerning him; and whether he was at ease or 
 in pain, he was always ready to rejoice. Though 
 doubtless many Christians, like him, have lived a 
 life of hope ; few have died a death of more exult- 
 ation." 
 
 " I saw him," said Frank, " the day afore he died ; 
 and I ought to have remembered better than I have 
 done what he said to me : he was a cheerful old 
 man, though he was so very religious." 
 
 " My father," continued Alan, " when he first 
 took to his bed, made me pin up a paper to the 
 tester,* with this text of Scripture written on it, 'Not 
 unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name 
 give glory, for thy mercy and for thy truth's sake y 
 and scarcely did an hour pass without his repeating 
 it over. I did not think so much of divine things 
 then as I ought to have done, and was ignorant of 
 much that God has since taught me in his mercy ; 
 but when, the night before my father died, I looked 
 on his pale face, nolding a candle in my hand, I 
 thought it was a blessed thing to die happy ; and I 
 felt sure that the pilgrim who was about to leave 
 the earth would soon be in heaven." 
 
 " And did he die happy ?" inquired Harry Gil- 
 bert." 
 
 " He did," replied Alan, " and no terrors of 
 death were permitted to fall upon him. He asked 
 
 * The top of a bedstead 
 
LAST BIRTH- DAY. 37 
 
 me to read him a psalm just before his death ; and 
 then he said to me, 'Alan, improve the time, for 
 you will be an old man before you are aware.' True 
 enough were the words he spoke, for how swiftly 
 have my days glided away, and what has been the 
 sum of them !" 
 
 "And what else did he say?" asked Harry Gil- 
 bert, with his eyes fixed on his grandfather. 
 
 "I will tell you," replied Alan; "he said, 'If 
 God had not been more merciful to me than I have 
 been to myself, I should not now be blessed with 
 his presence ; as it is, though dying, I can rejoice, 
 for I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he 
 shall stand at the latter day upon the earth, and 
 though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet 
 in my flesh shall I see God.' " 
 
 "No wonder that he died happy," said Frank, " for 
 he never did any harm that I have heard tell on." 
 
 " He knew himself to be a sinner," said Alan, 
 " but he believed that his sins were pardoned for 
 Christ's sake. ' There is not a deed,' said he to me, 
 ' that I have ever done, or a thought that has ever 
 passed through my mind, on which I now dare de- 
 pend. No ; all has been mingled with infirmity and 
 sin; and that I am now enabled to leave the world 
 in peace, is owing to the grace of my Redeemer 
 alone. Remember, Alan, that great peace have they 
 who love the Lord, both in life and death. They 
 may say — Mercy and goodness have followed me 
 all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the 
 house of the Lord for ever.' " 
 4 
 
38 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 Frank Redding and Etberd Morris, neither of 
 whom much relished the tnrn that the conversation 
 had taken, for it seemed a sort of reflection on their 
 own inattention to divine things, here began to 
 speak about other members of the club. "There's 
 bin many a merry bout in the club-room at that 
 inn," said Frank ; " Bill Watkins' face used to 
 shine like the rising sun every club feast, and Sam 
 Buckston's eyes sparkled like fire." 
 
 " Ay," said Etherd, " and Tom Morton's tongue 
 rattled away like a bell-clapper." 
 
 " That's the worst of it," said Alan, shaking his 
 head; it's a good thing for working men to club to- 
 gether to support each other in sickness, and provide 
 a trifle for their wives, if they should outlive them; 
 and this you know was the object of the club. But 
 like- a great many other good things, it was often 
 used for other purposes. The members sometimes 
 stayed too long at the inn ; and some of them would 
 drink and have suppers: and these feastings and 
 junketings often bring about a deal of mischief. 
 Tom Morion had reason to be sorry that his tongue 
 ran so f»st as it did." 
 
 Harry asked his grandfather to tell him what 
 had happened to Tom Morton, when he went on 
 thus: — 
 
 "Morton was a decent man, and never inclined 
 to quarrel with any one except in his cups; but 
 when he had drunk more than was good for him, he 
 was as headstrong as an unbroken horse. We have 
 all of us temptations enough to try us, without put- 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 39 
 
 ting ourselves in the way of them by drunkenness. 
 There is a text of Scripture that says, ' Be sober, be 
 vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a 
 roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may 
 devour.' It was at a club feast that Morion quarrel- 
 led with Andrew Taylor. If Andrew had left him 
 to himself, all would have been well, but he fool- 
 ishly used as hard words as Morton did ; and from 
 words they came to blows ; so true it is, ' A soft 
 answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words 
 stir up anger.' " 
 
 " It was a bad piece of business altogether," said 
 Frank. 
 
 "They were parted at the time," continued Alan ; 
 "but Morton had thrown down a crown-piece, offer- 
 ing to fight Andrew for that sum any day. Andrew 
 pulled out five shillings, and the money was held 
 by Jem Hockley. Every body thought that it would 
 come to nothing ; that when the parties were sober 
 they would see their folly and shake hands ; but 
 that was not the, case. If there had been no money- 
 staked, mayhap matters might have been made up; 
 but Andrew Taylor being a big strong fellow, made 
 sure of winning, and would not give up the chance 
 of getting a crown-piece. Morton, on the other 
 hand, was too high-minded to acknowledge Andrew 
 to be master. I went to Morton, and to Taylor too, 
 and reasoned with them ; but I might as well have 
 stayed at home: I got nothing but ill words for my 
 pains. However, it is our duty to act the part of 
 peace-makers in this world. The fight came on 
 
•40 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 for John Hockley did all he could to forward it. 
 But what was the consequence : in tne second 
 .round Taylor struck Morton on the temple such a 
 .tremendous blow, that he fell backward, his head 
 .striking against a stone." 
 
 " Did it kill him, Grandfather ?" eagerly asked 
 Harry Gilbert. 
 
 " He never spoke again," continued Alan ; " and 
 Andrew Taylor has not, since then, been the man 
 he was before." 
 
 "It was an ugly job," said Frank; "but there 
 was very little quarrelling in the village for a long 
 time after." 
 
 " Well might such an awful circumstance," said 
 Alan, " be borne in mind. Harry, forget not that 
 drunkenness is a sin that is brought about by little 
 and little, and the death of poor Morton is an in- 
 stance of what it may lead to. Drink not at all of 
 any thing that can make you drunk. 'Abstain 
 from the very appearance of evil.' " 
 
 A sudden interruption here took place, occasion- 
 ed by Butcher Turton's brindled bull-dog, and Field- 
 ing's brown mastiff; the dogs had met in crossing 
 the green, and flew at each other's throats. There 
 was but little noise made by the dogs, but their con- 
 tention was furious. Fielding's mastiff was the 
 bigger of the two, but Turton's bull-dog had the 
 credit of being the best fighter in the parish. The 
 strong grappling, the shaking, the tearing, and the 
 snorting noise made by the enraged animals was 
 fearful. Frank Redding and Etherd Morris hast- 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 41 
 
 ened toward them, the one picking up a stone, and 
 the other snatching up the stool from which Harry 
 Gilbert had just risen. Alan bustled into his cot- 
 tage for a strong stick, and in a few seconds the 
 whole group surrounded the dogs. 
 
 The human mind, in whatever manner it may be 
 occupied, is usually drawn away by any little cir- 
 cumstance of an exciting kind. Alan and his two 
 friends were fond of talking over past events, and 
 Harry Gilbert was all alive to the account given of 
 Tom Morton and Andrew Taylor ; but no sooner 
 did the squabble take place between the two dogs, 
 than every thing else was forgotten in their haste to 
 get to the spot. 
 
 The more Alan Gilbert and his friends tried to 
 separate the dogs, the more savage they became. 
 Rage, fury, and almost madness, seemed to inspire 
 them as they tugged, and pulled, and rolled over 
 each other in their struggle for victory. It was in 
 vain that Etherd Morris threw his stone, that Frank 
 Redding struck the mastiff on th'e head with the 
 stool, and that Alan endeavored to wrench the 
 dogs asunder with his stick ; they had caught 
 hold of each other, and would not loose their 
 hold, until Frank Redding hit the foot of the 
 mastiff, while Etherd Morris held the tail of the 
 bull-dog. 
 
 " Never was a savager toad than that," said old 
 Etherd, loosing the bull-dog. " If he was in the 
 river, with his legs tied, and a couple of brick ends 
 round his neck, it would be a rare good job." 
 4* 
 
42 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " I reckon Tnrton wouldn't have that done to him 
 for a trifle," said Frank, still holding the mastiff, 
 which he had seized by the collar. "He would 
 rather part with his wife and his children, it's my 
 opinion, than with his bull-dog." 
 
 After a while, Turton's dog, finding that he^could 
 not get at the other, sulkily stalked away. When 
 he was clear off the ground, the mastiff was set at 
 liberty, and Alan, with his friends, and his grandson 
 Harry, once more seated themselves round the deal 
 table. 
 
 "What a pity it is," said Alan, "that animals so 
 useful to man, should be brought up for the purpose 
 of tearing each other to pieces. An angry dog 
 looks bad enough, but an angry- man looks much 
 worse. Mind, Harry, that you seek God's grace to 
 keep down your passions, for they may do more 
 mischief in an. hour than you can make amends for 
 in a year. The wounds made by the teeth are a 
 great deal easier healed than those made by the 
 tongue. ' The torgue can no man tame ; it is an un- 
 aruly evil, full of deadly poison. 5 It is now about five- 
 and-fifty years ago since the two Mastons, who were 
 both members of the club, fell out : they were both 
 cousins, but that did not keep them from fighting. 
 The blows they gave each other passed away, and 
 were but little thought of; but the words they 
 spoke were never forgotten. Joe Maston thrived in 
 the world, and his cousin Bill got very poor. I went 
 to Bill, and tried to persuade him to apply to his 
 cousin to do something for him. ' No, no,' said 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 43 
 
 he, c he called me a beggarly brat, and I'll slarve 
 afore I'll be beholden to him.' I then went to Joe. 
 'Joe,' says I, ' poor Bill is but badly off; it will be 
 no ill deed to help him a little. I know that you 
 have not been friends, but we must forget and for- 
 give.' 'lean forgive fast enough,' said Joe; 'but 
 I shall never forget that he called me a purse-proud 
 upstart, and I'll do nothing for him, if he dies in a 
 jail.' Bill did die in a jail, sure enough ; and 
 though Joe drew his last breath on a good feather- 
 bed in his own house, I hardly think that he died 
 happier than his cousin, for he raved about him like 
 a madman, and said that a curse was on him for 
 not helping him." 
 
 "I remember 'em both," said Etherd ; "few 
 folks cried after : em when they went, for the one 
 was about as good for nothing as the other." 
 
 " They ought to have forgiven one another," said 
 Alan, "and dwelt in peace. It little becomes such 
 poor sinful worms as we are to bear malice, and to 
 practise unforgiveness. What would become of u« 
 all, old and young, if God did not bear with us, 
 more than we bear with one another ! Besides, our 
 blessed Saviour has taught us to pray, ' Forgive us 
 our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass 
 against us.' " 
 
 It was a clear case, that though Alan talked with 
 old Etherd and Frank, his chief object was to im- 
 press the mind of his grandson, for every now and 
 then he gave a glance to see if Harry was paying 
 attention to his remarks. 
 
44 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 "What is the club for, Grandfather?" said Harry. 
 "I know that the men walk with long sticks in 
 their hands, and go to church with the music play- 
 ing before, and dine at the public-house j but I 
 never could make out what it was for." 
 
 " I thought I had already explained that, but I 
 will tell you again," said Alan. " You know, Har- 
 ry, that all men, however hearty they may be, are 
 liable to sickness, to accidents, and death. Now the 
 different members of the club pay a trifle every 
 week to the club-box ; and whenever any of them 
 are ill, they have a comfortable allowance made to 
 them to support them, besides finding them a doc- 
 tor, and what physic they may want. Then when 
 a member dies, he is buried at the expense of the 
 club, and a sum of money is given to his wife, if 
 he leaves one behind him. It is an excellent thing 
 to lay by for a rainy day ; and as no man knows 
 how soon he may be sick, it is acting wisely to 
 prepare for it while he is well. The worst part of 
 the club is the junketing part, and that generally 
 does mischief." 
 
 "Ay, Master Gilbert," said Frank, "you mustn't 
 be too hard on the club ; a cup o' drink opens a 
 man's heart, and if he has any thing good in him, it 
 fetches it out." 
 
 " It often fetches out a great deal of evil," replied 
 Alan ; " few men know when they have had enough. 
 Drink gives strength to a man's passions, but it 
 sadly weakens his judgment; and just when he 
 ought to give over drinking, he is persuaded by 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 45 
 
 what he has already taken to drink more. Let a 
 man be ever so wise in drinking his first jug, he is 
 pretty sure to become a fool after he has drunk 
 three or four. The better way is not to drink any 
 strong drink at all." 
 
 Alan here observed that the table was wet, and 
 being very neat and particular in his habits, and le- 
 membering that "cleanliness is next to godliness," 
 he rose up to fetch a towel from the cottage. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SCHOOL. 
 
 Billots, the Church-warden — The Sunday School — Bill Waters 
 and Sam Rickets — Reform in the Village — John Lomley — Edward 
 Blake — Kitty Short — Aaron Birch, the Sailor — Sarah Birch, and 
 Daughter Mary — Hannah Horbury — The Birth-day Present — 
 Horbury, the Blacksmith. 
 
 No sooner had Alan walked into his cottage, than 
 Etherd Morris and Frank Redding got up from their 
 seats, and strolled a little way across the green, leav- 
 ing Harry Gilbert busily employed in drawing a 
 house on the deal table. By the time he had finish- 
 ed his performance, Frank Redding had stolen 
 quietly behind him, putting both his hands over 
 his eyes, a trick which he had frequently played 
 him. 
 
 " I know who it is," cried out Harry Gilbert, try- 
 
46 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 ing to remove the hands of Frank ; " I know who 
 it is, for I can feel the warts on your thumb." 
 
 " That will be a 'cute lad, some day," said Frank 
 to Etherd Morris, who had seated himself once 
 more at the table. 
 
 " He'll have nobody to blame but himself, if he 
 turns out a simpleton," replied Etherd, " seeing 
 what a head-piece his grandfather has got." 
 
 Here Alan returned with a cloth in his hand, to 
 wipe the table. 
 
 " That's some o' young Harry's handy- works," 
 said Frank, pointing to the figure of the house, " and 
 a rare lot o' doors and chimneys he has put to it. I 
 reckon it's the house he means to live in when he's 
 made a church-warden." 
 
 " Then I hope he'll make a better man than Bil- 
 lets, the church-warden, is," said Etherd Morris. 
 "His tongue is glib enough when he has any thing 
 to promise, but his hands are mighty slow to per- 
 form : he's a proud, passionate fellow, and make 
 the best on him." 
 
 "A passionate man," said Alan, "rides ahorse 
 that runs away with him : and Mr. Billets has been 
 led into a great deal of trouble by his angry fits; 
 but there are worse men in the world than him, 
 after all." 
 
 "And a great many better," rejoined Etherd: "he 
 promised me a good turn ; but when the time came 
 that I wanted it, he couldn't, for the life on him, 
 remember any thing about it. ' A friend is never 
 known till he's needed.' There is an old saying 
 
LAST BIRTH-PAY. 47 
 
 that { a good servant makes a good master.' I re- 
 member Mr. Billets when he was a servant, and a 
 bad one too, and I take it that he'll be a bad master 
 all his days." 
 
 " Whatever he may be in the opinion of his 
 neighbors," said Frank Redding, " it's a clear case 
 that he's a great man in his own." 
 
 " Goodness without greatness, is more.to be de- 
 sired than greatness without goodness," said Alan 
 Gilbert. '' Mis father before him set him a good 
 example. He was the man that first set about build- 
 ing the Sunday school, and his money was well laid 
 out; for { he that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the 
 Lord.'" 
 
 " Do you think that the school has ever done 
 much good, Master Gilbert?" asked Frank Red- 
 ding. 
 
 " Do I think so !" replied Alan ; " God forbid 
 that I should ever have occasion to think otherwise. 
 I look upon Sunday schools to be among the very 
 best undertakings of the land, and if ever God's 
 blessing rested upon any thing, it has rested upon 
 them." 
 
 " For my part," said old Etherd, who had gene- 
 rally sompthinff to say against every body and every 
 thing; " for my part," said he, u T look upon some 
 of the young chaps who go there, to be the most 
 unrulv in the whole village. Look at Bill Waters 
 and Sam R'eke's, a brace of bad boys they are, and 
 I'm afraid likely to be." 
 
 "They may be bad lads," replied Alan, "and 
 
48 ALAN GILEEKt'S 
 
 sure enough they are among the very worst that 
 ever I had any thing to do with, but it was not the 
 Sunday school that made them so. You know what 
 a wretched example is set them by their parents, 
 and it's a hard thing to undo on the Lord's day 
 what has been done wrong all the rest of the days 
 of the week. But look at the sober servant-men, 
 and the neat conscientious servant-girls that there 
 are about the neighborhood, who were brought up 
 at the Sunday school. I could talk for an hour 
 about them, and still have something to say." 
 
 Alan Gilbert, in his time, had done a great deal 
 for the school ; it was, indeed, a favorite establish- 
 ment with him, for he believed in his heart, that 
 with God's blessing, it had done more good in the 
 village than could have been done in any other 
 way. He always spoke of it with animation, but 
 Frank Redding's making it a matter of doubt whe- 
 ther the school had been useful or not, moved him, 
 on this occasion, to say more about it than he 
 otherwise would have done. Harry Gilbert, who 
 had been in the Sunday school a long time, listened 
 with great attention to the remarks of his grand- 
 father, while he went on thus:— 
 
 " Before the Sunday school was built, the green 
 here, and the church-yard, used to be thronged on 
 the Lord's day with thoughtless young people, who 
 followed out their week-day games, as though God 
 had never given the commandment, 'Remember 
 the sabbath-day to keep it holy.' It is not so now: 
 you don't see boys and girls romping on the green. 
 
LAST BtRTH-DAV. 49 
 
 young women running, tittering, and laughing in 
 the church-yard, nor young men playing at ball in 
 the afternoon against the church door. There is a 
 great change, in these respects, for the better; and 
 though there is enough, and too much that is bad 
 among us, there would be a great deal more if it 
 were not for the Sunday school." 
 
 "Well, Master Gilbert," said Frank, " you know 
 a deal more about these things than I do; but our 
 fathers afore us went on pretty well without Sunday 
 schools, and if they were not quite so wise, mayhap 
 they were as honest as we be." 
 
 "There was a time," said Alan, in his reply to 
 Frank, " when our forefathers lived like savages, 
 dressed up in the skins of beasts, dwelling in holes of 
 the earth, and not knowing how to plough, to sow, 
 or to reap; but you won't say that their children 
 did wrong when they found out how to plough and 
 to reap, and to make better clothing, and to build 
 better houses. It is much 'more befitting that such 
 unworthy creatures as we are, should seek to amend 
 our own errors, than point out those of our fore- 
 fathers ; but you well know, that in times back, few 
 could read the Bible; now as the Bible contains the 
 will of God, the more we know of it the better. 
 Sunday schools have taught thousands on thousands 
 to read the Bible. Then, again, wakes and fairs, 
 more is the pity, used to be held by our forefathers 
 not only on the Lord's day, but in the very church- 
 yard. Now Sunday schools have done much to 
 cure this evil, by occupying young people in a dif- 
 5 
 
50 alan Gilbert's 
 
 ferent and a better manner, so that tens of thousands^ 
 that might otherwise have been young sabbath- 
 breakers, are worshippers of God the Father, and 
 his Son Jesus Christ, on the Lord's day." 
 
 " I can't say any thing against that, for certain, " 
 said Frank ; " but some of the young chaps are, as 
 I said before, no better than they should be." 
 
 " [f young people who go to the Sunday school 
 are bad," said Alan, "it is more than likely that if 
 they did not go there, they would be a deal worse." 
 
 Here Etherd Morris told Frank that he had better 
 not argufy the matter with Master Gilbert, for that 
 he would find him too many for him. u The proof 
 of the pudding was," he said, "in the eating, and 
 mayhap Master Gilbert would tell them a little more 
 of the good that the Sunday school had done." 
 
 " I wish I could tell yon one-half of it," replied 
 Alan. "John Lomley, young as he was, whtn 
 first he went to the school, swore like a trooper, for 
 he had learned to do so from his uncle; but John 
 Lomley is no swearer now: Edward Blake was a 
 sad liar; but I trust he would tremble to tell a lie 
 now : Kitty Short used to pilfer whenever she had 
 the opportunity ; but she now keeps the command- 
 ment, 'Thou shalt not steal :' and if you knew more 
 about the school than you do, you would never 
 doubt for a moment whether it did good or not. 
 Harry, who sits there, though he is but nine years 
 old, can read a chapter in the Word of God better 
 than many who are fourscore, and that is a mercy 
 that I hope he will be thunkfuj for all the days of 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 51 
 
 his life. The Bible says, ' I love them that love me, 
 and those that seek me early shall find me ;' and I 
 trust that Harry will be among those who remember 
 the Creator in the days of their youth. I dare say, 
 Frank, that you knew Aaron Birch, who died last 
 year up at Little Stoke?" 
 
 " I can't say that I did," replied Frank ; " but I 
 have heard of him. He lost an arm at sea." 
 
 "He did," said Alan; "but I have something 
 else to tell of him besides that. When he lived in 
 the next parish, twenty years ago, he was a sad 
 reprobate, and neither deserved nor had the good 
 word of any one. Every body considered Aaron 
 Birch to be a vagabond, and the biggest blackguard 
 in the parish. After many mad pranks he ran away, 
 leaving his wife, with an infant in her arms, to take 
 care of herself how she could. Ten long years 
 rolled away, in which time Aaron had been knocked 
 about both by sea and land. The loss of his arm, 
 occasioned by an accident on board ship, and sick- 
 ness, brought down his proud spirit, and having no 
 better prospect before him, he hobbled homeward, 
 thinking to get into the work-house. A wound in 
 his foot, which had been sadly neglected, was a sore 
 trouble to him, so that with the help of a crutch he 
 could hardly get along. In passing through Little 
 Stoke, he begged a draught of water at a cottage, 
 when the girl who gave it him, told him he had 
 better come in and sit down. Aaron was glad 
 enough to sit down, so he took a chair close by the 
 door, and the little girl brought him a crust of bread 
 
52 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 and cheese. 
 
 thought it the neatest place he had ever seen in all 
 his life. The deal table was as white as a curd, the 
 tea-tray, and the few little pictures in black frames, 
 set off the white-washed walls, and the holy Bible, 
 that lay by itself on the table, made Aaron feel as if he 
 was too bad a man to enter such a dwelling. When 
 Aaron had done eating, and was about to take up 
 his crutch, the little girl, seeing that he wore a 
 sailor's jacket, after inquiring if he could read, gave 
 him a tract about a sailor. Aaron thanked her, and 
 hobbled away, blessing her in his heart. Before he 
 had got a hundred yards from the house, he lifted 
 the tract up to his eyes to read it, and after looking 
 at the picture, he noticed a name written under it 
 which made him stop short. The name was Mary 
 Birch. Now there might, for all he knew, be many 
 Mary Birches in the neighborhood; but knowing 
 that his own little girl was christened Mary before 
 he left her, and knowing too that she must, if alive, 
 be about the same age as the little girl who had 
 given him the tract, a strange feeling came across 
 him, and if he hoped a little, he feared a great deal." 
 
 "And was it his daughter?" inquired Harry 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " It was enough to set his heart a beating, whether 
 or not," said Frank Redding; "I warrant you he 
 soon stumped back again to the cottage." 
 
 "Not exactly so," continued Alan, "for he called 
 at another cottage, some distance off, to make in 
 quiry. The woman who lived there had not been 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 53 
 
 long in the village, and knew but little about Mary- 
 Birch. All that she knew was, that she was a tidy 
 girl, and that her mother, Sarah Birch, who came 
 out of the next parish, had the principal manage- 
 ment of the girls in the Sunday school. Aaron 
 began to think it not only possible, but likely that 
 Mary might be his child, and he felt humbled to the 
 very dust as he went back to her. When Aaron 
 was once on board ship, near Algiers, the vessel he 
 was in was boarded by a pirate. Twenty men, with 
 their drawn cutlasses, rushed on the deck, and were 
 beaten back again. ' I was as bold as a lion,' said 
 Aaron, c when I faced the pirates ; but when I had 
 to face my own wife and child, I trembled like an 
 aspen leaf.' " 
 
 "But was Mary his daughter?" again inquired 
 Harry Gilbert. 
 
 " She was," replied Alan. " After being some 
 time at the Sunday school, a Bible was given to her 
 for her good behavior; and it was the reading of 
 this Bible, and other books and tracts which were 
 lent to her and her mother, that proved a blessing 
 to them both. God was pleased to teach them by 
 his Holy Spirit, and all that they did prospered. 
 ( Godliness is profitable unto all things, having 
 promise of the life that now is, and of that which is 
 to come.' A decent woman was wanted to attend 
 to the Stoke Sunday school. Mrs. Birch was en- 
 gaged, and made herself so useful, that many of the 
 better sort of people took notice of her, and en- 
 couraged her in her business as a mantua-maker. 
 5* 
 
54 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 In course of time she took that cottage, where her 
 husband called on the way to his parish work-house, 
 and her daughter was the greatest earthly comfort 
 of her life." 
 
 "Aaron Birch was not a little glad to get into 
 such snug quarters, I'll be bound for it," said Frank 
 Redding; "though his wife would look a little side- 
 ways at him at first." 
 
 " His wife received him kindly," said Alan ; "and 
 though he did not live many years, yet those years 
 were the happiest of his life: he became a changed 
 man. Some few days before he died he gave me this 
 account, and said that to his last gasp he should 
 have reason to bless God that his daughter Mary was 
 sent to the Sunday school." 
 
 This account stopped the mouth of Frank Redding 
 and Etherd Morris, so far as regarded their doubts 
 of Sunday schools being useful ; but Etherd could 
 not help saying that Aaron Birch did not deserve 
 such " good luck ;" and Frank could not help laugh- 
 ing at the figure Aaron must have cut with one arm, 
 and a lame leg, half frightened out of his wits at his 
 own wife and child. 
 
 While Frank Redding was indulging his mirth, 
 liule Hannah Horbury, the blacksmith's daughter, 
 came across the green in the direction of Alan Gil- 
 bert's cottage, with a small parcel in her hand. 
 Horbury was a strong-built, hot-headed man, who 
 dearly loved to argue about the Bible; he thought 
 that he knew a great deal about the book, but, in 
 reality, he was very ignorant of it ; added to this, he 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 55 
 
 had a strong prejudice against Sunday schools. 
 When Hannah came close up to Alan, she dropped 
 a courtesy, and putting the parcel into his hands, 
 said he must please to accept of it because it was 
 his birth-day. 
 
 Alan opened the parcel, and found that it con- 
 tained a pair of good leathern gloves, two capital 
 nightcaps, and a pair of worsted garters. 
 
 " And how came you to know, Hannah," said 
 Alan, " that it was my birth-day ?" 
 
 "Mother told us so two or three weeks since, 
 when she made the caps and bought the worsted 
 for the garters, saying that I must get them done 
 by to-day for certain." 
 
 " And so you knit the garters, my little maiden," 
 said Alan, looking kindly at her, "and your mother 
 made the caps ; but where did you get the gloves 
 from ?" 
 
 " Father said," replied the little girl, " that if 
 mother and I made you a present, he would make 
 one too, for that he respected you as much as we 
 did." 
 
 " Indeed," said Alan, " this is all very strange, 
 and I must call round upon you and give you a 
 good scolding all together;" but while he said this 
 little Hannah was quick enough to see how pleased 
 he was with his present. 
 
 " Here," said Alan, giving her a slice of cake, 
 "you must eat that on your road home, and be 
 sure tell your mother how angry you have made 
 me." 
 
56 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 Hannah walked away with a light heart, every 
 now and then looking back and smiling. 
 
 "I thought that you and Richard Horbury were 
 two folks," said Frank; "for last week \e seemed 
 a bit twisted in his temper when he spoke about 
 you." 
 
 " I will tell you how it was," replied Alan, f For 
 some time back I have paid a little attention to Han- 
 nah ; and about a fortnight ago I asked her mother 
 to let her go to the Sunday school, and she was very 
 favorable to it, and sent her ; but when Richard 
 Horbury heard of it, he fell into one of his passions. 
 You know what a hot temper he has : he threatened 
 that if Hannah ever entered the school again, he 
 would beat her black and blue. Hearing of this, I 
 went to him. ' Richard,' said I, ' you are a reader 
 of the Bible, and with your leave, as the book is here 
 on th^ table, I will turn down a passage for your 
 consideration. Instructing a child in the Sunday 
 school to read the Word of God, is teaching a child 
 to go to God, and I think that you may do wrong in 
 preventing it.' 
 
 " Horbury said that it might be very well for him 
 and for me to attend to such things, but that a child 
 like his daughter had nothing to do with them. 
 
 "'Well,' said I, 'we won't waste our time in 
 arguing about it; but listen a moment to what the 
 Saviour says, in the 10th chapter of St. Mark's 
 gospel :' so I read the words, ' Suffer the little 
 children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for 
 of such is the kingdom of G^n. Verily, I say unto 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 61 
 
 you, Whoever shall not receive the kingdom of God 
 as a little child he shall not enter therein.' " 
 
 " You nailed him there," said Frank ; " but I take 
 it Horbury knows a deal more about making a horse- 
 shoe than he does about the Bible, though he rattles 
 away so much about it." 
 
 " However that may be," replied Alan, " he let his 
 daughter come to the school on Sunday, and his 
 sending me the gloves looks as though he is at peace 
 with me. Young people are quick enough to learn 
 evil, and cannot therefore be taught too much good 
 in their early days. ' Train up a child, in the way 
 he should go, and when he is old he will not depart 
 from it.' " 
 
 Alan having occasion to go into the cottage to 
 attend to some domestic matters, now left his friends 
 for a few moments. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WORK-HOUSE. 
 
 Mischievous Prank — Sulky Sam — The Work-house — Stuckley, 
 the Master — God's Merciful Command to his People — Jack Hard- 
 ing — Description of Job Kimley and Bill Dike — Bill Tarred and 
 Feathered — Bustling Bob — Alex Hyatt — Alan's Reverence for the 
 Bible. 
 
 During the time that Alan Gilbert was absent, 
 Frank Redding, who seldom lost an opportunity of 
 indulging in a prank, caught hold of one of the legs 
 
58 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 of the stool on which Harry Gilbert was sitting, and 
 giving it a sudden pull, left Harry sprawling on the 
 grass. A scuffle then took place for possession of 
 the stool; for, while Frank held it up in the air, 
 Harry strove with all his mi^ht to get at it. In this 
 contention, Frank, in shifting the stool from one 
 hand to the other, struck it against the shin of old 
 Etherd, who indulged in a more than ordinary de- 
 gree of ill-temper on the occasion, telling Frank, 
 while he rubbed his smarting shin, that he was 
 more like a young playful kitten, than a staid old 
 man. " Why," said Frank, laughing loudly, " when 
 I was young, I used to like a roll on the green 
 grass, and I thought it would do Harry good. He 
 would 'a gone to sleep if I had let him alone; but 
 now he is wide awake, and fierce as a fighting 
 cock." 
 
 While Frank chuckled at the success of his joke, 
 Harry Gilbert threatened to be even with him, and 
 Etherd Morris went on waspishly complaining of 
 his wounded shin, till Alan Gilbert joined them 
 from the cottage. 
 
 As Alan sat down, Sulky Sam, as the villagers 
 called him, passed across the green, in his pauper's 
 dress, consisting of a loose coat or gown of very 
 coarse cloth, with a strap buckled round his waist. 
 Sam held up his lame arm with his right hand, and 
 slowly dragged his slipshod feet along, one after the 
 other. " Sam Paton, yonder," said Alan, "ought to 
 be a warning to all young people to avoid idleness 
 and drunkenness; for idleness and drunkenness 
 
LAST BIRTH- DAV, 59 
 
 have brought more to the parish work-house than 
 all the misfortune? that have ever happened in the 
 world." 
 
 The work-house was a large, gloomy, forbidding 
 sort of a building, and stood quite at the end of the 
 parish. It had in it the poor belonging to three pa- 
 rishes, who were farmed by a man of the name of 
 Stuckley ; that is, Stuckley undertook to provide for 
 them at so much a head, so that the less money 
 they cost him, the more he put in his pocket. 
 Stuckley was a flinty-hearted, money-getting man, 
 and the paupers, with reason, complained of the 
 hard usage they met with at his hands. 
 
 "Sam Paton," continued Alan, "had as fair a 
 prospect before him as most young fellows have; 
 his father was a sawyer, and an industrious, upright 
 man. Sometimes he worked at the bottom of the 
 saw-pit, and sometimes at the top, but he could get 
 his son to work at neither, and the reason of it was, 
 that an uncle had left him fifty pounds, to be paid 
 to him when he became twenty years of age. This 
 fifty pounds was the complete ruin of Sam Paton. 
 He fancied himself above every one of his acquaint- 
 ance, became undutiful to his parents, and saucy to 
 all with whom he had any thing to do. His father 
 got on by his industry, turned wheelwright, and 
 would have taken Sam into partnership with him, 
 but that was quite out of the question, on account 
 of his bad conduct. He became so notoriously idle, 
 that it was a saying in the village> ( You are as idle 
 as Sam Paton. * " 
 
60 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " Ay, I have heard that saying fifty times," said 
 Frank Redding ; " Sam loved dearly to lounge about 
 by the brook-side, to swing backward and forward 
 on a gate, and to lie all along in the sun on a piece 
 o' timber." 
 
 " Yes, but there was som'at that he liked a good 
 deal better," said Etherd, " and that was, to sit on 
 the bench at the door of the inn, with a jug o' ale 
 afore him." 
 
 " That was when he received his money," con- 
 tinued Alan; "for then drunkenness was added to 
 idleness. He drank himself, and treated any fool 
 that would bear him company, till his money went 
 like butter in the sun. The scrapes he got into kept 
 his father poor, so that when William Paton died, 
 his son Sara soon became a beggar. c Seest thou a 
 man diligent in his business, he shall stand before 
 kings,' says Solomon; but Sam was not diligent, 
 and he came to poverty." 
 
 "Many a time have I seen Will Paton working 
 away on the top of the saw-pit at four in a morn- 
 ing," said Frank; "and many a time, too, have I call- 
 ed and found his son a-bed, four or five hours a'ter." 
 
 " No wonder," said Alan, " that he came to the 
 work-house. Harry, let no man call you idle, for 
 idleness is the parent of poverty. Be up betimes, 
 and earn your breakfast before you eat it. ' Love 
 not sleep, lest thou come to poverty; open thine 
 eyes, and thou shalt be satisfied with bread.' Sam, 
 in a drunken fit, lamed his left arm, and since then 
 other accidents have befallen him." 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 61 
 
 " He's as sulky as a bear with a sore head," said 
 Frank; "but I'll be bound that Stuckley doesn't do 
 much to put him in a good temper." 
 
 " The history of that work-house," continued 
 Alan, " if it could be told, would show young people 
 pretty plainly, how few upright, industrious, god- 
 fearing people come to be supported by the parish. 
 There are cases, and I have known such — God 
 forbid that I should speak evil of the lowliest being 
 that ever entered the work-house walls — there are 
 many instances of honest, hard-working, Christian 
 men being brought low by unavoidable misfor- 
 tunes ; but where one man of this description enters 
 the poor-house, half a dozen of a very different sort 
 go there." 
 
 " If I should ever be so unlucky as to get into a 
 work-house," said Frank, " I hopes it won't be that 
 where Stuckley is master." 
 
 " As far as you ever have the power, Frank, re- 
 member the poor," said Alan Gilbert; "he that 
 helps a poor man to keep out of the work-house, 
 does a better deed than he who gives to two poor 
 men inside the walls. How merciful was the com- 
 mand of God to his chosen people ! ' If there be 
 among you a poor man, of one of thy brethren, with- 
 in any of thy gates, in the land which the Lord thy 
 God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, 
 nor shut thine hand from thy poor brother : but 
 thou shalt open thine hand wide unto him, and shalt 
 surely lend him sufficient for his need. Thou shalt 
 surely give him, and thine heart shall not be griev- 
 6 
 
62 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 ed when thou givest unto him. For the poor shall 
 never cease out of the land.' " 
 
 " Why, Master Gilbert," exclaimed Frank, " what 
 a memory you 'a got ! it would take me a week to 
 learn a text o' the Bible as long as that is. I dare 
 say you hav'nt forgot Jack Harding?" 
 
 " I hav'nt forgot him," said Etherd ; " for if evei 
 there was a bad fellow in the world, it was him." 
 
 " He was a sad reprobate, sure enough," added 
 Alan ; <; neither the master of the work-house, the 
 overseer, nor the constable, could master him ; but 
 death mastered him for all that, for ' what man is 
 he that liveth, and shall not see death V " 
 
 " How did he die, Grandfather?" asked Harry. 
 
 " He broke out of the work-house one rainy day, 
 and, when wet to the skin, lay down for the night 
 before the fire of the lime-kilns at Cooper's Hill, hut 
 he never got over it; his strength became weakness, 
 and his high spirit forsook him, so thai he, whom a 
 strong man could not master, might have been 
 overcome by a child." 
 
 " How long has Mad Nichols been in the work- 
 house?" inquired Harry. 
 
 " At least these dozen years," replied Alan. " I 
 £ouli tell of twenty like him, who have been more 
 or less affected in their minds, for the work-house 
 always has one or two such unhappy beings within 
 it. How few of us have ever heartily thanked God 
 for our understanding, and determined, with his 
 assistance, never to abuse the reason he has merci- 
 fully bestowed upon us." 
 
I AST BIRTH-DAY. 63 
 
 " Tell me about some of the mad people," said 
 Harry, "as you know about so many." 
 
 " It's an odd thing," said Alan, as he proceeded 
 to comply with Harry's request, " that so many 
 half-witted people should have such a liking to a 
 soldier's life ; but perhaps it may be the showiness 
 of soldiers' clothes that pleases them. Job Kimley 
 was in the work-house fifty years ago ; but when- 
 ever he could get out of it and join the soldiers of a 
 recruiting party, he was in his glory. Often have 
 I seen him at the head of a party, carrying the 
 sergeant's sword, while the shrill fife has sounded 
 through my ears, the rattling drum raised the whole 
 neighborhood, and the broad flag, with its blue and 
 red colors, waved to and fro in the breeze." 
 
 "I dare say he thought himself a line fellow, 
 carrying the sergeant's sword," observed Harry. 
 
 " He did," continued Alan ; " and being a light- 
 hearted, good-tempered fellow, the soldiers liked 
 him as well as he liked the soldiers. This was not 
 the case with Bill Dike, for though he was as fond of 
 carrying a sword as Job Kimley, yet his bad temper 
 brought upon him much ill-will ; often while Job 
 marched with the sergeant, laughing, with a bunch 
 of ribands in his cap, poor Bill followed the corporal 
 crying, with no cap at all on his head, and his face, 
 splashed over with mud. To pinch and pelt Cry- 
 ing Billy, as they called him, was a favorite diver- 
 sion with many; but neither pelting nor pinching 
 could break him of the habit of following soldiers." 
 " I remember seeing Crying Billy," said Frank, 
 
64 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " when the soldiers had stripped him naked, rubbed 
 him over with tar, and rolled him in feathers; and 
 of all the outlandish creatures that I ever set eyes 
 on, nothing came up to him. There he was march- 
 ing along, with a stick in his hand for a sword. If 
 you'd 'a' seen him, Harry, you wouldn't 'a' known 
 whether he had bin a fish, a bird, or a wild animal 
 o' the woods, for he looked as much like the one as 
 the other." 
 
 " The pranks that they used to play him were but 
 little to their credit, — indeed it was quite wicked," 
 said Alan ; " to take advantage of those who are 
 afflicted in mind or body, is mean and cruel. ' To 
 him that is afflicted pity should be shown ;' and 
 'blessed are the merciful; for they shall obtain 
 mercy.' We should pity, and never abuse or laugh 
 at the unfortunate." 
 
 " Do you remember any other mad people beside 
 Job Kimley and Bill Dike ?" inquired Harry ; " for 
 I like to hear about them." 
 
 " It would never do," replied Alan, " to tell you 
 about half those that I remember ; but as I hope and 
 trust you would be ashamed to behave ill to any 
 poor creature whose wits were disturbed, so I will 
 tell you of two or three more. Bob Arnold, who 
 went by the name of Bustling Bob, used to be the 
 busiest fellow in the work-house. Morning, noon, 
 or night, in doors or out, fair weather or foul, you 
 could never see Bob without finding him over head 
 and ears in business, though all that the poor fellow 
 did amounted to nothing. He could not make a 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 65 
 
 single figure, and yet he undertook to settle all the 
 accounts of the work-house. He knew not how to 
 write his name, yet whenever he could lay hold of 
 a piece of paper, and get pen and ink, he scribbled 
 away as though the whole affairs of the parish de- 
 pended on his management. Many a scrawl did he 
 put in the letter-box at Molly Sutton's." 
 
 " Ay, ay !" said Frank ; " and Molly used to be 
 as cross as two sticks about it. I once went to Bob 
 myself, with a sheet o' writing paper. ' Bob,' says 
 I, ' will you write me a letter to the Squire, for, 
 mayhap, you being such a dabster at your pen, he'll 
 pay more attention to you than to me.' Down sat 
 Bob, without my saying another word, and in ten 
 minutes, the whole sheet o' paper was scored over, 
 wrapped up and directed, but in a mighty odd 
 fashion. Off he set with it to Molly Sutton's, 
 looking as big as a justice o' the peace. The next 
 time I met him, I asked him what the letter was all 
 about ? ' What !' says he, 'do you want me to tell 
 a secret? No, no; Bob Arnold never tells any 
 body what he writes about.'" 
 
 " That wasn't the only prank you played him, by 
 a good many," said Etherd Morris. 
 
 "Mayhap not," replied Frank, laughing; "but 
 we were always good friends, and I never hurt a 
 hair of his head in my life." 
 
 " One of the oddest characters that I ever remem- 
 ber being in the work-house," continued Alan, " was 
 Alex Hyatt ; for, though he was really as harmless 
 as a lamb, he generally looked as fierce as a tiger. 
 
66 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 When allowed to go out of the work-house, he used 
 to take long rambles, for the open air was pleasani 
 to him ; the hips and haws* on the hedges, with the 
 green fields to roam in, pleased him better than the 
 mutton broth and potatoes that he got in the work 
 house." 
 
 " He's frightened me many a time," said Etherd, 
 " and many another beside me. They should 'a 
 kept him in doors, and not let him go hallooing and 
 scampering over the country as he used to do." 
 
 " Oh, he never hurt any body," said Frank ; 
 "and why shouldn't he have a mouthful o' fresh 
 air as well as the best on us. To see him brandish 
 his great stick in the air, and hear his big words, 
 was enough to make one think he'd a mind to 
 knock one's brains out; but when one came up to 
 him, he was as mild as a babe." 
 
 " But what made him brandish his great stick ?" 
 asked Harry. 
 
 " It would be a hard matter," replied Alan, " to 
 give a reason for the actions of poor creatures who 
 are beside themselves. Alex would often stop short, 
 leap up in the air, strike his bosom with his fist, and 
 wave his hat in one hand, while he flourished his 
 cudgel with the other ; but the moment any one 
 spoke to him, he gave over his antics. Many a time 
 has he shaken me by the hand, and told me that he 
 was a man of education. We are commanded to ' be 
 kindly affectioned one to another;' and we ought to 
 
 * Berries. 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 67 
 
 show special kindness to those who are weak and 
 defenceless. Reason is one of our greatest blessings, 
 and the loss of it one of the greatest calamities. 
 Whenever you look on the work-house, Harry, be 
 grateful to God that you are not living within its 
 walls; and whenever you meet with anyone, young 
 or old, whose wits are impaired, use him kindly, 
 and call to remembrance how many mercies you 
 possess which he cannot partake of. How long 
 your faculties may be spared God only knows; 
 while you have them, then, devote them to his glory. 
 I was once careless about these things, and it be- 
 comes me to warn you, that you are not careless 
 too The older I get, the more I am struck with a 
 sense of my infirmities, and with the shortness of 
 life. Well may I say with the Psalmist, ' Lord, 
 make me to know mine end, and the measure of 
 my days, what it is; that I may know how frail 
 I am. Behold thou hast made my days as a hand- 
 breadth, and mine age is as nothing before thee: 
 verily, every man at his best state is altogether 
 vanity.' " 
 
 Etherd, Frank, and indeed Harry Gilbert, too, 
 would have been well content if Alan had, omitted 
 one half of the texts of Scripture which fell from his 
 lips; for, though always accustomed in his convers- 
 ation to quote Scripture, Alan was especially dis- 
 posed to do so on the return of his birth-day, 
 soiemnized as his mind was with the impression, 
 that his next birth-day would be passed in a world 
 of glory. Alan loved the Scriptures unfeignedly. 
 
OS ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 He regarded his Bible, " not as the word of men, but 
 as it is, in truth, the Word of God." He found in it 
 that hope of eternal life, without which a repentant 
 sinner may well despair, " a good hope through 
 grace ;" " an anchor of the soul both sure and stead- 
 fast." The knowledge that Jesus Christ came to 
 seek and "to save that which was lost," acted as a 
 cordial to his spirit, and the book which contained 
 it was reverenced and loved. No wonder, then, 
 that he had a text of Scripture so often on his lips. 
 Alan had got a seed-cake baked ready for his 
 birth-day, and, as he finished his last text, he went 
 into his cottage for it that he might set it before his 
 friends. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PUBLIC-HOUSE. 
 
 The Seedcake — The Public-house — Burton, the Landlord — His 
 miserable death — Bill Rogers and his Wife — Tompkins — Harry 
 Tonics — Luke and Charles Barnes — The Quarrel — The Letter — 
 Bitterness of Revenge — Death of Charles Barries — Ralph Peters 
 — Richard Langford — Mary Lane — The Fire — Mary Lane's 
 Death — Ralph Peters Transported. 
 
 When people have been long accustomed to each 
 other's company, they are able to bear with each 
 other's habits and tempers. Had Alan Gilbert and 
 his friends met as strangers, Alan would have been 
 afflicted by the ill-timed levity of Frank Redding, 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 69 
 
 and the morose waspishness of Etherd ; while the 
 latter two would have scarcely endured the gravity 
 of Alan, and the texts of Scripture with which he 
 continually garnished his conversation ; but, as it 
 was, the particular habits of one seemed little to 
 affect the others. The jokes of Redding were things 
 which happened of course, the ill-temper of Morris 
 passed by but little noticed, and the scriptural 
 phrases and religious remarks of Alan Gilbert fell 
 on the ears of his friends without annoying them. 
 
 When Alan came back again with the seed-cake, 
 he had a piece of paper in his hand, folded up like a 
 letter : this he put down on the table, and began to 
 cut up the cake. " It is but a plain one," said he, 
 as he handed a thick slice to his two friends; "but 
 we are none of us accustomed to any other than 
 plain food, and so it won't matter." 
 
 "To my mind," said Frank Redding, after he 
 had eaten a mouthful, "there never need be made a 
 better ; I should like a slice of such a cake as this 
 every day o' the week, and two on a Sunday ; but 1 
 may whistle for it, and not get it for all that." 
 
 " The cake is well enough," said Etherd ; " right 
 few cakes are to be got now a-days ; it's as much as 
 a working man can do to get bread and cheese : it 
 had not used to be so. I've known the time when a 
 poor man wasn't screwed down as he is now ; the 
 big folks will hardly let us have saft to our porridge." 
 
 " It's a good thing," said Alan, as he gave a slice 
 of the cake to his grandson, and cut another for 
 himself, " it's a good thing, no doubt, to have much j 
 
70 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 but it is a much better thing to be satisfied with little. 
 'Godliness with contentment is great gain.' A man 
 should remember that he has a soul as well as a 
 body to feed, and he should not fatten the one 
 and starve the other. It's as great a blessing to 
 have a good appetite, as to have good food to eat ; 
 and if, as one says, we get up from table with an 
 appetite, we are not likely to sit down to it without 
 one." 
 
 " Many a jovial bout have I had down at that 
 inn, yonder," said Frank. " Old Burton was as 
 jolly a landlord as ever drew a pint of beer, and 
 he knew how to keep one to the drink too, as 
 well as here and there one. If I had all the 
 money that I have fooled away in that kitchen, it 
 would come to a pretty penny ; sometimes it vexes 
 me to think on it, but it's no use sorrowing about it 
 for ever." 
 
 " Our sorrow for sin," said Alan, " should last as 
 long as we have sin to sorrow for; the history of 
 the inn, if it could be told, would be a dismal one. 
 I don't mean to say that public-houses are not ne- 
 cessary things; travellers must be provided for, and 
 good entertainment for man and horse is what people 
 look for: but I do say that cursing and swearing, 
 quarrelling and fighting, rioting and drunken fro- 
 lics, are not only what we ought to be ashamed of, 
 but sins before Go*b, for which we may well expect 
 to be called to account. You remember how old 
 Burton used to live, and I have not forgotten how 
 he died. 5 ' 
 
Last birth-day. 71 
 
 u There were some ugly things whispered about 
 him ;" said Etherd Morris. 
 
 " Ay ! and those things were true," replied Alan. 
 "In his last sickness, nothing would do but he must 
 have a hottle of brandy by his bedside. He thought 
 little about heaven in his life, but a great deal about 
 hell in his death; and instead of humbly seeking 
 that repentance and grace which are not denied to 
 the im worthiest of God's creatures, who seek them 
 in the prevailing name of Jesus Christ, he drank 
 glass after glass of brandy, as though that would 
 drive away the fear of death ! He rolled about the 
 bed, and roared in his pain, for his heart was hot 
 and impatient, and his conscience goaded him. At 
 one time he declared that he could not die ; at 
 another, he swore that he would not die ; but for all 
 that he did die, and his death was terrible. It is an 
 especial mercy to have the fear of death taken away 
 before death comes; but it is not hard drinkiing 
 that will do that for us. Burton was as bold as a 
 lion when in health, but sickness made him tremble 
 at his own shadow. It was a blessed confidence 
 that David had, when he said, { Though I walk 
 through the valley of the shadow of death, I will 
 fear no evil : for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy 
 staff, they comfort me.' " 
 
 Alan Gilbert cut several thick slices of cake, and 
 bid Etherd and Frank help themselves. 
 
 " I rather think," said Alan, still taking the lead 
 in the conversation, "that that inn has brought 
 about more mischief in the village than most people 
 
72 ALAN gilbert's 
 
 think for. Every body knows that Bill Rogers drank 
 himself to death there, and that his wife followed 
 her husband's example in drinking, till she found 
 her way into the work-house. It was there that 
 Tomkins, Colonel Snyder's groom, drank glasses of 
 gin with Humphrey Haines, till one fell down in a 
 fit and the other's life was given over. Haines was 
 liable to fits all his days after, and at last died in 
 one. It was at that inn that Lawyer Piggot's man 
 lost so much money at cards and dice, that he robbed 
 his master to make it up, and got sent to jail for it." 
 
 " It didn't matter much who robbed him," said 
 old Etherd ; " for he robbed every body." 
 
 " Piggots was a bad man," resumed Alan Gilbert. 
 " but that was no reason why his servant should be 
 bad too. Then there was Harry Tonks, the mason's 
 son ; poor lad, I was sorry to see how his father 
 brought him up from his very cradle to drink gin. 
 It was no use talking to Tonks, for whenever his 
 son came to the inn, to fetch him home, nothing 
 would satisfy him, but making the lad drink. No 
 wonder the poor fellow never could stand his work : 
 his father was always wondering what was the mat- 
 ter with him, when he need not have wondered at 
 all about it, for every body else saw clear enough 
 that he was killing his son by inches, in making him 
 drink gin. Tonks's eyes were opened too late ; for 
 it was not till he had lost his son that he saw through 
 his error." 
 
 " How old was he, Grandfather ?" inquired Harry 
 Gilbert. 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. ?3> 
 
 u Sixteen when he died," replied Alan ; " and if 
 he had not been a gin-drinker, perhaps he might 
 have been alive now." 
 
 "As to that matter," said Frank Redding, "you 
 know, Master Gilbert, that I have taken a glass of 
 gin, now and then, all my days, and yet, though no 
 youngster, I am as hearty as a four-year old." 
 
 " It may be so," said Alan ; " but where one can 
 drink much gin without mischief, twenty injure the 
 health of their bodies by it, to say nothing of the 
 mischief done to their souls. You said, just now, 
 that you had fooled away a pretty penny in the 
 kitchen of the inn ; but the time wasted there was 
 quite as valuable as the money, and if half of it had 
 been spent in reading the Word of God, and in pon- 
 dering the precious promises of the Gospel of Jesus 
 Christ, mayhap you would have been quite as 
 happy in this world as you are now, and been able 
 to look forward to another with a brighter hope." 
 
 "It might be so; but it's too late to think o' that 
 now," said Frank. 
 
 " Better late than never," replied Alan. " In my 
 own case, drawing toward my latter end, moments 
 are precious. If I did not feel, sinner as I am, that 
 the atoning sacrifice of the Saviour of sinners is 
 sufficient to blot out all my transgressions ; if, with 
 the view of death before me, I had not a good hope 
 through grace of an everlasting life, I think that I 
 should be miserable. What has the whole world to 
 bestow on an old man, tottering on the brink of the 
 grave, that can be compared with that glorious pro- 
 7 
 
,4 
 
 mise: 'Then shall- the King say unto them at -his 
 right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit 
 the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation 
 of the world." 
 
 Frank and Etherd, though they seemed a little 
 struck with the earnest manner in which Alan Gil- 
 bert spoke these words, were both of them anxious 
 to turn the conversation. 
 
 " It's an odd thing," observed Etherd, "that no- 
 body hears nothing of Luke Barnes. It's a matter 
 o' ten years since he went away, and six or seven 
 since his brother died, and yet he has never come 
 to see after things. There must be som'at coming 
 to him worth catching hold of, if all as I hears be 
 true." 
 
 " Why," said Alan, unfolding the paper that lay 
 on the table, "I brought down Luke's letter to his 
 brother, to read to you, and I had forgotten it." 
 
 "I have heard you speak o' that letter afore 
 now," said Frank Redding ; " but I never heard you 
 read it." 
 
 " Well, then, you shall hear me read it now," 
 said Alan. " You know that Luke Barnes and his 
 brother Charles had been, what is called, well 
 brought up, both of them having received a good 
 education ; but, in my opinion, no one can be well 
 brought up who is not brought up in the fear of the 
 Lord, and in this respect both Charles and Luke 
 had been sadly neglected. Charles, being the elder 
 brother, thought he had some right to domineer over 
 his brother, and Luke had too proud a heart to bear 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 75' 
 
 it. They quarrelled bitterly, and did not meet for 
 some time, till their mother died, and then they bent- 
 sullenly together over their mother's grave. One 
 might have tVjught that the loss of their mother 
 would have softened their hearts, but it did not. 
 After that their father died, and once more they 
 went into the church-yard, each wearing a hat-band: 
 and a mourning cloak ; but still their hearts were- 
 too hard to be softened, and too bitter to be subdued. 
 Luke, however, took his Bible, but Charles fre- 
 quented the inn, and the consequence was, that 
 Charles got more hard-hearted, and Luke more af- 
 fectionate. Luke tried all in his power to be on 
 good terms with his brother: he prayed for him, he 
 wrote to him, he humbled himself before him, but it 
 was all in vain ; for the more humble he was, the 
 prouder his brother became." 
 
 "Charles was a proud 'un, sure enough," said 
 Frank, " and as hard as a flint stone." 
 
 "Before Luke went over to America," continued 
 Alan, "for an uncle, who was doing well there, had 
 sent for him, he was very anxious to shake hands 
 with his brother. ' We may never meet again in 
 this world,' said he ; ( let us, 'then, part in good-wil. 
 and affection.' He got a friend to call upon him. 
 but it was all in vain. Charles hated his brother, and 
 drank hard that he might keep his determination of 
 not being persuaded to see him, so that Luke had 
 no means left but that of trying to move him by 
 writing him another and a last letter. This is that 
 very letter, for it came into my hands after Charles 
 
76 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 Barnes was under the turf. It's a little worn by 
 folding and unfolding, and blotted and blurred with 
 hot scalding tears; but I dare say I shall be able to 
 make it out. You see it is written in a good hand, 
 though the ink is rather pale. 
 
 " c My Brother, — You know that I am about to 
 cross the world of waters, wherein, unless I am 
 protected by His almighty power who holds the 
 sea in the hollow of his hand, I may be overwhelm- 
 ed. Let the past be forgiven and forgotten. I feel 
 that I have acted foolishly, and I acknowledge my 
 error; forgive me, bearing in mind that, howevei 
 unworthy I may be, I am still your brother. " How 
 good, and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell 
 together in unity." We have already made bitter 
 the death-beds of our parents ; let us not add bitter- 
 ness to our own. If I should never come back 
 again, I cannot again offend you ; and if I should 
 return, it may be that I may be called, one day, to 
 follow you to the grave, and then my unkindness 
 toward you would afflict me. But it may, in Goo's 
 providence, fall upon you to follow my mouldering 
 dust to ' the house appointed for all living.' Charles, 
 the dust and earth rattling on the coffin-lid of 
 your brother, will sound harshly in your ears, it 
 you show me not that mercy which you yourselt 
 require. We are all hastening to the grave; let us, 
 then, forgive each other, and love one another, for 
 the Saviour of the world requires this at our hands. 
 " If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 7? 
 
 Father will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive not 
 men their trespasses, neither will yonr Father for- 
 give your trespasses." I want not any thing you 
 possess ; but to take you by the hand before I leave, 
 will give comfort to my heart. 
 
 Your friend and brother, 
 Luke Barnes. 
 
 was in his cups at the inn, and clenching his fist 
 he struck the table, with an oath declaring that he 
 wouldn't stretch out his hand to save Luke from 
 drowning. Poor Luke sent him his blessing, and 
 sailed across the salt seas, but from that hour to 
 this no tidings have been heard of him. Soon 
 after he left England, Charles was taken ill, his 
 body was worn with sickness, and his proud, bitter 
 spirit brought down. Then came the report, per- 
 haps too true, that his brother Luke had suffered 
 shipwreck, and was drowned ; and then came, too, 
 the remembrance of his oath, that he wouldn't 
 stretch out his hand to save him from drowning* 
 Remorse stung him like a serpent; at times he wept 
 in silence, and by fits raved to see his brother; but 
 it was too late, for Luke most likely was food for 
 the fishes of the sea, or, if alive and well, the waves; 
 Of the mighty deep were rolling between them, and 
 he could not see him. Charles made a will, and 
 left all he had to his brother, in case he was alive.,, 
 but he himself died overcome with repentance and 
 remorse. If Charles had drank less, or, rather, II 
 7* 
 
78 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 should say, had not drank at all, and had read his 
 Bible more, things might have been different with 
 him. We are poor creatures if left to ourselves, but 
 when our passions are heated by drinking, nothing 
 less than God's grace can control us." 
 
 "I should think Luke would never come back 
 again now," said Etherd. 
 
 " Mayhap not," said Alan, " for it's hardly likely 
 that, if alive, he has heard any thing of the death of 
 his brother. It's a bitter thing when a man gives 
 way to a revengeful disposition. 'Vengeance is 
 mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.' Had Ralph 
 Peters tried to quiet himself, and subdue the bitter- 
 ness of his spirit, instead of inflaming himself with 
 strong drink, he might have ended his days in this 
 village, and not been transported ; but he was 
 drinking at the inn, and railing against Richard 
 Langford, when he ought to have been on his 
 knees praying for grace that his anger might be 
 abated." 
 
 " What was he transported for ?" asked Harry 
 Gilbert. 
 
 "I will tell you," replied Alan, "and let it be a 
 warning to you as long as you live. Ralph Peters 
 had a cousin of the name of Mary Lane, and he was 
 Tery fond of her, but Richard Langford he never 
 could abide. It so happened that Langford married 
 Mary Lane, and that made Ralph hate him worse 
 than ever. It was at a harvest-home supper that 
 Peters and Langford quarrelled. What it was about 
 I never could learn, but whatever it was, Ralph 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 79 
 
 Peters swore that he would be revenged. Langford 
 was a small farmer, and had a wheat-rick standing 
 close to the kid pile at the end of his house. It's a 
 horrible tale; however, I'll make it as short as I 
 can. The next night Ralph Peters went to the inn, 
 where he found plenty of people ready to join him 
 in railing against Langford, who was, indeed, ari 
 ill-tempered fellow. About ten o'clock, Ralph, 
 who was by that time ready for any mischief, stole 
 out at the back-door of the inn, with his pipe in his 
 mouth, and made the best of his way to Langford's 
 wheat-rick. Wretched man ! could he have seen 
 what he was about to bring on himself, he would 
 have trembled. The night was rather dark, and 
 the wind was blowing fresh, as Ralph stooped down 
 to get a dry stick, and to put a piece of soft paper 
 on the grass ; he then emptied the burning tobacco 
 out of his pipe on to the paper, and blowing it, 
 soon had flame enough to light the stick with. All 
 this was, as he afterward said, done in a few se- 
 conds ; the burning stick was then stuck into the 
 wheat-rick, and back again went Ralph Peters to 
 the inn as hard as he could drive. He went in at 
 the back-door and sat down among the company, 
 no one supposing he had been off the premises. 
 In about twenty minutes, a loud cry of Fire ! fire ! 
 reached the inn, and every one ran out to know all 
 about the matter. Ralph Peters went among the 
 others, to prevent any one from thinking that he 
 had any hand in the affair. Ralph only expected 
 to. see the wheat-rick on fire, but what was his 
 
80 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 horror to find, not only that the rick, but the 
 wood-pile and the house too were all in flames." 
 
 " Was any body burnt?" inquired Harry, eagerly. 
 
 " Quietly, quietly/' said Alan, " and you will 
 hear. Langford and his wife had been in bed half 
 an hour before Peters set fire to the rick ; the wind 
 blew toward the wood-pile, and that being close to 
 the house, the house was soon all in a light shine. 
 Almost every body in the village had gone to bed, 
 except those who were tippling at the inn, but one 
 of Croxall's men. Croxall was a tanner, and lived 
 up at Ling House ; one of his men happened to be 
 going by, so he ran down the village toward the 
 inn crying Fire !" 
 
 "Ay, that was Jem Pinks," said Etherd Morris; 
 " he told me all about it after." 
 
 "What a sight for Ralph Peters," said Alan 
 Gilbert, going on with his story ; " there was a 
 wood-pile flaring away like fury, the wheat-rick all 
 A n a glow, and the house with smoke and fire com- 
 ing from it in different parts. Richard Langford 
 had got out, leaving his wife behind him, but she 
 opened a window, and cried out for help in a pitiful 
 manner. Langford, like a coward as he was, never 
 atirred to assist her, but Ralph Peters would have 
 died to save her; he burst open the door like a 
 /nadman, rushed up stairs, and brought down his 
 cousin in her night clothes, all in flames. All that 
 fould be done for Mrs. Langford was done, but she 
 Was dreadfully burnt. Ralph Peters tore the hair 
 off his head, and called himself her murderer, and 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 81 
 
 for the matter of that, he spoke the truth, for before 
 he Avas sent across the seas for the crime he had 
 committed, his cousin Mary was laid in the church- 
 yard. Had Ralph Peters not given way to revenge, 
 he would not have been a banished man ;■ and had 
 he not inflamed his anger with strong drink, he 
 never would have brought his cousin Mary to the 
 grave." 
 
 " I don't know how it is, Master Gilbert," said 
 Frank Redding, " but you seem to have got together 
 a string of dismal ditties ; there was a time when I 
 looked after Mary Lane myself, for she was as tidy 
 a girl as ever walked in shoe leather ; but I was 
 rather slow in speaking out, and that great hulking 
 Langford somehow got afore me, and married her. 
 If I could whimper at any thing, thinking of her 
 death would make me do it, but many a year has 
 passed away since then." 
 
 " Many a one beside you," continued Alan, " was 
 fond of Mary Lane ; but I will now tell you what I 
 have never told you before. I once heard her say 
 to her mother, ' Well, Mother, you may say what 
 you will ; but, to my mind, Frank Redding is worth 
 'em all put together. I wish somebody would do 
 him a good turn, and persuade him to keep away 
 from the inn.' " 
 
 As Alan spoke, Frank looked earnestly at him, 
 and then turned away his head, in the direction 
 where Langford's house once stood ; a flush came 
 over his face, and he drew the backs of both his 
 hands across his eyes, one after the other. 
 
82 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 "I am afraid," said Alan, rising from his seat, 
 " that that inn has produced a deal of mischief 
 among us. Rioting, drunkenness, gambling, swear- 
 ing, fighting, and sabbath-breaking, have been car- 
 ried on there; and many a one, in a dying hour 
 has had reason to rue that he ever passed the 
 threshold of that house. That is a fearful text for 
 a man given to drink to think of, just as he steps 
 into an eternal world: 'No drunkard shall inherit 
 the kingdom of God.' Harry, don't forget that text. 
 Think upon it in your youth, and you will have the 
 less reason to fear it in your age." 
 
 Here Alan, folding up the letter that he had read, 
 walked with it into his cottage. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CHURCH. 
 
 Blake, the Mason — Parson Oldham — Monuments— Old Gentle- 
 man and Lady — Harmer, the Sexton — Death of the Aged Pair — ■ 
 Mysterious Visit to the Church — The Squire in his Pew — Jacob 
 Norton Beating Time — Abel Thorn, the Laugher— Abel's Death— 
 rhe Church — Thoughts on Death. 
 
 When Alan Gilbert returned, he seated himself 
 !n his chair, while a fresh breeze whispered in the 
 neighboring trees. " Harry," said he to his grand- 
 son, " you see the church yonder." 
 
 u Yes," replied Harry ; " and the weathercock is 
 
LAST BfRTH-DAY. 83 
 
 turtvng round every now and then as if it was 
 alive , it changes about every minute." 
 
 u True," said Alan; "but though the weathercock 
 changes about, the spire is always pointing to hea- 
 ten. Think of this, Harry, when I am gone; that 
 <unid the sundry and manifold changes of the world, 
 your heart may surely there be fixed where true 
 j )ys are alone to be found." 
 
 " The last time the spire was repaired," said 
 Etherd Morris, ' Blake, the mason, was fool enough 
 to stand on his nead at the top of it ; but he is al- 
 ways up to some prank or another. The other day 
 he leaned over the battlements, till I expected him 
 to come tumbling head over heels into the church- 
 yard." 
 
 "He's a merry 'un," said Frank Redding, "and 
 knows a good deal more about the outside o' the 
 church than the inside. He'd rather stand on his 
 head on the steeple, than sit m a pew to hear a ser- 
 mon. J remember Parson Oldham being buried in 
 the chancel ; a pretty fuss was made about him. I 
 never heard of his going into a poor man's cottage, 
 though he could find his way fast enough up to the 
 hall." 
 
 " As to that," said Alan, " there have been minis- 
 ters in every denomination of Christians who have 
 not been as consistent as they ought to have been, 
 and God knows it is the same with us all ; we are 
 all more careful for the bits and drops that support 
 these perishing bodies, than we are for the bread 
 and the water of eternal life. When a minister is 
 
84 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 a true and humble servant of his heavenly Master, 
 and preaches the glad tidings of salvation through 
 the Saviour of siuners, I cannot but think him wor- 
 thy of more honor than the high and the mighty of 
 the earth; but when he forgets his errand, when 
 he forgets that his business in the world is to guide 
 and lead his fellow-sinners to glory ; and, more 
 than all, when forgetful of his own soul, and of the 
 account he has to render of his stewardship, he be- 
 comes covetous of worldly riches, and gasps after 
 worldly honors, it is indeed a grievous thing; and 
 well may he read with fear the words, ' but know 
 thou that, for all these things, God will bring thee 
 into judgment.' Whatever may be said of Parson 
 Oldham, we can't say any thing against the parson 
 we have now got ; he is a zealous servant of God: 
 he reproves the high and the low ; he visits the 
 1 widow and the fatherless in their afflictions ;' he is 
 a father to the poor, and the cause that he knoweth 
 not he searcheth out." 
 
 Harry, who listened to every word that was 
 spoken by his grandfather, asked him whose monu- 
 ment it was that had a man in armor lying on it, 
 with a sword by his side. Alan replied to the 
 question, and then gave the following narrative : — 
 " There is another monument by the side of that, 
 Harry, which has only W. H. and S. H. on it : and 
 I don't think that I have ever told you any thing 
 about it, so I will tell you something about it now." 
 
 " Ay, do," said Harry ; " for I like to hear about 
 the monuments." 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 85 
 
 u Years ago," continued Alan, "long before you 
 were born, the road, instead of running where it 
 does now, went close to the church-yard wall, and 
 more persons used to stop to see the church than 
 now do. Many a stranger have I seen stroll into 
 the church, old Harmer, the sexton, leading the way, 
 with the big keys dangling in his hand. The coat 
 of arms in the window, with the bloody hand in it, 
 was sure to be admired ; and the stained glass, 
 through which the sun on a summer's day poured 
 its rays, painting the flag-stones in the aisles red, 
 blue, yellow, and green. The old marble monu- 
 merits, too, were always thought worth looking at; 
 a sight of money they must have cost somebody 
 sometime, especially that with the man in armor 
 lying on his back. The shirt of mail, the sword, 
 the spurs, and the helmet on his head, are said to 
 be capital, though the dust is often so thick upon 
 them that one can't see them properly." 
 
 Harry Gilbert, getting a little impatient, remind- 
 ed his grandfather that he was to tell him about the 
 monument with nothing but the letters on it; but ; 
 instead of that, he had been telling him of what he 
 had heard twenty times over. 
 
 " Young Harry will make a keen young shaver 
 some day," said Frank Redding ; " it isn't an easy 
 thing to throw dust in his eyes; he won't be satis- 
 fied till you tell him about the monument with the 
 letters on it*" 
 
 " I hope," said Alan, " he'll make a good Chris- 
 tian ; but I was just coming to the monument. Old 
 8 
 
86 A.LAN GILBERT'S 
 
 folks are apt to go a little round-about in their sto« 
 ries. It was one summer's evening, when the sun 
 was just about to go down below the top of the elm 
 trees yonder, that a chaise stopped opposite the 
 church-yard gate. An old gentleman and lady got 
 out of it, and, sending the chaise down to the inn, 
 walked up the stone steps into the church-yard. 
 Old Harmer saw them, and soon joined them, jing- 
 ling his keys- and asking them if they would like to 
 go inside the church. Any one might see at a 
 glance that the strangers were gentlefolks, though 
 they were dressed as old-fashioned as the squire's 
 great great grandfather, whose picture hangs up at 
 the hall." 
 
 " I remember 'em," said Morris ; " but never 
 could see the good of their dressing themselves up 
 in a fashion different to other people." 
 
 '•'Oh, it was a good joke," cried Frank; "and 
 many a laugh have I had at 'em." 
 
 " You will never laugh at a worthier couple," said 
 Alan ; " for if ever two human beings had the love 
 of Goo and of thf ir fellow-creatures in their hearts, 
 surely they had. Well, into the church they went, 
 and slopped there for some time, and looked about 
 the village, and talked to some of us who happened 
 to meet them ; but what was stranger than all was, 
 that from that day to the day of their death they 
 never left the village. They had the cottage yonder 
 on the hill put to rights for them, and there they lived, 
 a blessing to the whole neighborhood, to the rich and 
 to the poor j and there they ended their days. 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 87 
 
 u But who were they ?" asked Harry, looking up 
 at his grandfather. 
 
 " That," replied Alan, " I never could make out. 
 About twice a year a livery servant, half covered 
 over witn gold lace, used to bring them a packet, 
 but he never stopped in the village to speak to any 
 one ; and after a time he never came at all. I have 
 heard say that the gentleman once kept his coach 
 and six, and lived in great style among noble 
 people; but that, having taken to pious ways, he 
 left all his greatness and his grandeur, that he and 
 his partner might live a humble and useful life in a 
 retired village, and give up themselves more to 
 worship God, and to meditate on his holy word. 
 How this may be I cannot tell, but certain it is, that 
 they were very charitable, and went from house to 
 house, giving Bibles to the poor, and exhorting the 
 rich to lead a godly life to the glory of the Redeem- 
 er. They died almost together, after giving direc- 
 tions that nothing more should be put upon their 
 tombstone than the letters W. H. and S. H. 'The 
 eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and his 
 ears are open to their prayers;' and so it was with 
 them, for the longer they lived, the riper they were 
 for glory. ' Blessed are the dead which die in the 
 Lord, from henceforth ; yea, saith the Spirit, that 
 they may rest from their labors, and their works do 
 follow them.' " 
 
 " They went the straight way to heaven, sure 
 enough," said Frank ; " for they didn't depend on 
 their sayings, but on their doings." 
 
88 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " God forbid that they, or any of ns, should 
 depend on the one or the other." replied Alan. " No, 
 no; they depended on the righteousness and sacri- 
 fice of the Son of God. They trusted in the Saviour 
 of sinners; 'neither is there salvation in any other; 
 for there is none other name under heaven given 
 among men, whereby we must be saved.' One day, 
 *n the fall of the leaf, a carriage stopped at the 
 inn, and a fine, tall, middle-aged man, muffled up 
 in a handsome cloak, got out of it, and asked where 
 the key of the church was kept. As the tall gentle- 
 man moved on toward Harmer's, I followed at a 
 distance; and when he entered the church, I enter- 
 ed it too, without his seeing me. Old Harmer 
 pointed to the stained glass, and to the monument 
 with the man in his coat of mail ; and began a long 
 tale about knights going to fight in the Holy Land ; 
 but he might just as well have talked to the old sun- 
 dial in the church-yard, for the tall gentleman 
 never replied to him, but stood still as a statue, his 
 eyes fixed on the slab with the letters on it. How 
 long he stood ther^, I can't now pretend to say, but 
 I could see by the heaving of his cloak, that his 
 heart was at work within him. Harmer left him 
 for a minute or two, having to fetch something 
 from the singing loft, and then it was that the gen- 
 tleman drew nearer to the slab. He looked at the 
 letters steadfastly, and I heard him give a deep sob. 
 All of a sudden lie kneeled down, and pressed his 
 lips to the cold stone, and then hurried to the door. 
 He put a crown-piece into old Harmer's hand as he 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 89 
 
 passed him, and in two minutes more he was in his 
 carriage, and off at the rate of eight or ten miles an 
 hour." 
 
 "And did nobody know who he was?" asked 
 Harry Gilbert. "No," replied Alan, "and it's 
 hardly likely now that they ever wi]l know." 
 
 " The Squire goes to church sometimes," said 
 old Etherd, " but I don't know what for, I never 
 looks toward his pew, but he is either staring about 
 him, or fast asleep up in the corner." 
 
 "It's a sad habit," remarked Alan, " but he has 
 got many sad habits, and the sooner they are left 
 off the better. It's a solemn thing to meet in God's 
 house, without being mindful of God's presence. 
 When we meet together to acknowledge our sin 
 before the face of Almighty God, ' to render thanks 
 for. the great benefits received at his hands, to hear 
 his most holy word, and to ask those things that are 
 requisite and necessary as well for the body as the 
 soul,' we ought to set store by our time instead of 
 wasting it in slumber." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Frank, " people should be very 
 careful how they get to sleep in the church. A 
 pretty scrape Jacob Horton once got into, on this 
 account. You must know, that Jacob Horton used 
 to beat time up in the singing loft; I can fancy that 
 I sees him now thumping away with his roll o* 
 parchment on the front of the gallery. Well 
 Jacob, one Sunday, overcome by the heat of the 
 day, or one thing or another, fell fast asleep during 
 the sermon with the parchment roll in his hand. 
 8* 
 
90 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 After awhile he begins to snore, when Joe Perritis, 
 to wake him, gives him a sharp rap on the shoul- 
 ders, with the end of a clarionet. Up jumps Jacob, 
 and, seeing the music-book open afore him, and 
 thinking the singing was going on, begins to brand- 
 ish his roll of parchment bravely, and to chaunt out 
 part of an anthem. Most of the folks in the church 
 took him to be stark mad, that's certain, but us in 
 the singing loft knew better. It was some time, 
 however, afore Jacob could be pulled down to his 
 seat, and a good deal longer afore he could hold up 
 his head among the choir. If I was to live these 
 fifty years, I should never forget his thrashing 
 away at the front of the gallery with his parchment 
 roll." 
 
 As Frank was laughing heartily at his own tale, 
 Alan Gilbert, who had gone into the cottage to shut 
 the up-stairs window, now returned to his chair. 
 
 " You have got a light heart," said he to Frank, 
 "and there's a time for all things. C A time to 
 laugh,' and 'a time to weep,' but your time for 
 laughter has been a long one, for I should think no 
 man in the parish has laughed half as much as you 
 have." 
 
 " Well, Master Gilbert," said Frank, " I take it 
 a good laugh is a good thing, for where is the use 
 of making oneself miserable?" 
 
 " I don't want any one to be miserable," replied 
 Alan, "and yet it was a wise man that said, 'Sor- 
 row is better than laughter, for by the sadness of 
 the countenance the heart is made better.' I once 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 91 
 
 Knew one, and you knew him too, who seemed 
 always merry : he laughed in season and out of 
 season, but suddenly his laughter was turned into 
 mourning: it was Abel Hawthorn. Abel had had a 
 smooth road through life, and when he came to the 
 rough part of it, he could not bear it. It pleased 
 God to afflict him, and from that moment he never 
 laughed again. He saw that his days were num- 
 bered, and though he was ready to enjoy life, he 
 was not prepared to meet death. It is a good thing 
 to have the heart fixed ' where true joys are alone 
 to be found,' for then we may always rejoice ; then 
 may we say, ' Although the fig-tree shall not blos- 
 som, neither shall fruit be in the vine ; the labor of 
 the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no 
 meat ; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and 
 there shall be no herd in the stalls ; yet I will 
 rejoice in the Lord ; I will joy in the God of my 
 salvation.'" 
 
 " Abel Hawthorn," said Etherd Morris, " used to 
 be cracking his jokes at me, because he said I look- 
 ed as sour as crab verjuice; but as sour as I looked 
 I didn't look half so sour as he did, when he had 
 the consumption ; his cheeks fell in, and his body 
 wasted to a natomy. He had no joke to throw 
 away then to a dog. He lies in the church-yard 
 now." 
 
 "I always thinks the church is a lonesome place," 
 said Frank, " there are so many folks buried about 
 it; but you, Master Gilbert, thinks different: we 
 can't all think alike." 
 
92 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " It's a pity," said Alan Gilbert, " that the church 
 should be lonesome to any of us. When I have 
 gone into it on a Christmas-day, when the sun has 
 been shining, with the snow on the ground; when 
 the pulpit, and the pillars, and the singing loft, and 
 the pews have been stuck with green mistletoe and 
 bright holly, the red berries shining cheerfully, I 
 have thought it the pleasantest place in the world ; 
 and when our parson has preached of heaven and 
 eternal things, the cares of the world have been as 
 light as a feather. Often has a tear rolled down my 
 face, while my heart and my spirit was rejoicing 
 within me. No ! No ! The church has nothing 
 lonesome in it when our hearts are in tune to sing 
 the song of the Lamb, and ' Glory to God in the 
 highest.' " 
 
 " But for all that, Master Gilbert," said Frank, 
 shrugging his shoulders, " it's an ugly thing to 
 think o' dying, and lying in the church-yard to 
 moulder to dust. I never could make up my mind 
 to think on it without a shiver." 
 
 " There's no doubt," said Alan, " that death to a 
 poor mortal creatuie is a sad affliction, if he has no 
 prospect beyond the grave; but when he has, his 
 mind will not be content to remain poking among 
 the tomb-stones. He may calculate on a peaceful 
 death, who has a bright hope of everlasting life; 
 and as to mouldering in the grave, he will not fear 
 it, being enabled to say, 'I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth, and that he si. all stand at the latter day upon 
 the earth : and though after my skin worms destroy 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 93 
 
 this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.' I can't 
 help liking the church ; when a lisping babe, I was 
 bapiized at the font at one end of it ; when a boy, I 
 said my catechism at the chancel at the other; 
 when a young man, I rung the bells in the belfry ; 
 in the pews I have sat some thousands of times to 
 hear the word of God, and the way of salvation 
 through faith in Jescs Christ, proclaimed from the 
 pulpit. In the church-yard lie the bones of my 
 fathers before me, and there also will mine soon be 
 gathered. I loved the church when a child, I loved 
 it better when I became a man, but I love it better 
 than all in my old age. Harry, when I am laid 
 below the green grass, remember to keep the sab- 
 bath-day holy." 
 
 Just at this moment Alan got np from his chair 
 to speak to Bailess, the mole-catcher, who was pass- 
 ing by a little distance from the green, and Etherd, 
 Frank, and young Harry, were again left to them- 
 selves. 
 
94 ALAN GILEERT'S 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CHURCH-YARD. 
 
 Young Harmer — The Grave-stone Scene — Jasper Andrews anl 
 his Wife — Tlieir Datb — Hirry Andrews's Return from Sea — Hi 
 Agony at the grave of his Parents — Squire Norton's Son and Daugh 
 ter — The Family Vault — Dame Morris — Margaret Rollins — 
 Williem Roilins's Grave — Grief and Consolation of Margare: 
 Rollins. 
 
 Bailess, the mole-catcher, being in a hurry, Alan 
 soon joined his friends, and began to talk about 
 young Harmer's last visit to the church-yard; his 
 words were as follows: — "The sun shone brightly 
 on that morning, and the birds were sweetly singing 
 amid the green trees and black bushes of the parson- 
 age garden. I was sitting on a tomb-stone with a 
 book in my hand, just opposite Harmer's house. 
 As I lifted up my eyes from my book, I saw the 
 door open, and young Harmer, who was very ill, 
 wrapped up in a great coat, with a stick in his hand, 
 come out. His left hapd rested on the arm of his 
 father, and, supported in this manner, he crossed the 
 turnpike-road, ascended the stone steps near the old 
 sun-dial, and walked slowly into the church-yard. 
 Old Harmer paid great attention to his son ; and, 
 indeed, well he might, for some time before he had 
 one son drowned in the river, and there was every 
 prospect that he would soon lose another. It was 
 
 melancholy sight to see young. Harmer sitting. 
 
Last birth day. 95 
 
 upon a low grave-stone ; for his great coat hung 
 loosely upon his wasted bod} 7 , and the sharpened 
 features of his pale face told a sad tale. As the sun 
 shone upon his countenance, it brightened up a little, 
 for it had been many a day since he had felt the sun- 
 beam or the fresh breeze. The grave-stone on which 
 he sat was partly covered with moss, but a death's 
 head and cross-bones, with a broken hour-glass 
 rudely sculptured thereon, might yet be seen. I 
 looked at the poor lad as he sat in the sun-beam, 
 drawing his breath quickly and deeply, and I felt as 
 sure as if it had been graven upon his brow, that he 
 would walk In that church-yard no more. I went 
 up and spoke kindly to him. It was hard work to 
 say what I wanted to say, but the poor lad was on 
 the brink of an eternal world, and it was not a mo- 
 ment to keep silence ; so I spoke of the vanity of 
 earthly things, of the grievous consequences of un- 
 repented sin, and the unspeakable mercy of the sin- 
 ner's Friend in pardoning the transgressions of those 
 who believe in his name. I spoke of a state of 
 blessedness prepared for all who love God, and 
 commit themselves, with all their infirmities, into 
 the hands of a faithful Redeemer. Old Harmer 
 walked aside, drawing the sleeve of his coat across 
 his eyes, and young Harmer wept, but his were not 
 tears of sorrow ; for, as he wrung me by the hand, 
 he smiled in my face, and said, ■ Gon will redeem 
 my soul from the power of the grave ; for he shall 
 receive me.' 
 " In a few days I left the village for a little time, 
 
96 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 and when I returned and inquired after poor young 
 Harmer, the grass was growing upon his grave. 
 'Life is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little 
 time, and then vanisheth away.' " 
 
 " Harmer was a good lad," said Frank Redding, 
 bat we must all die in our turns. You have not 
 forgotten Jasper Andrews, I dare say. Jasper and 
 I were old cronies, and many a bit of fun we have 
 had together : but that scape-grace of a son did for 
 him. Harry Andrews was too many for his father." 
 
 "No, no," resumed Alan Gilbert, "I have not 
 forgotten Jasper Andrews; he and his wife lived in 
 the thatched cottage at the corner of the lane, near 
 to the blacksmith's shop. They feared not God, 
 nor regarded the Word of the Most High ; no won- 
 der, then, that their son Harry was brought up in 
 the same way. Harry turned out a worthless fel- 
 low, despised and ill-used his parents, brought them 
 to great poverty, and then went to sea. Jasper 
 withered away like a broken bough. He died, and 
 was buried ; his wife pined a little while after him, 
 and then died also. Every one said that their son 
 Harry had broken their hearts. I was standing by 
 the side of the grave after the funeral service had 
 been read over the dust of Dame Andrews ; for I 
 always felt a desire to see the last of those whom I 
 knew in the village. Some children were shovelling 
 earth into the grave, for Harmer, the sexton, had not 
 begun to fill it up, when a tall stripling of a lad in 
 a sailor's jacket, with a bundle under his arm, crossed 
 over from the cottage where Andrews and his wife 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 97 
 
 once lived. He came into the church-yard, and 
 walked right up to the grave ; sat down upon a little 
 head-stone, and rested his elbows on his knees, and 
 his face upon his hands : I never saw such a picture 
 of misery. It was young Harry Andrews. He had 
 just come home from sea, and called, at the cottage, 
 where he learned that his mother, about half an hour 
 before, had been laid in the grave of his father. As 
 he sat on the little head-stone, he looked wildly on 
 the grave, but he spoke not a word. Not a single 
 tear trickled down his cheek, but he gave a groan 
 that w,ent to my very heart. I know not what it 
 was that he was thinking of, but I remembered the 
 words in the Bible, ' Cursed is he that setteth light 
 by his father or his mother ;' and I would not have 
 been Harry Andrews for the whole world." 
 
 " It served him right/' snappishly observed Etherd 
 Morris; " when young chaps bring their old fathers 
 to poverty, it matters not what they suffer." 
 
 "It may be so," replied Alan Gilbert; "but I 
 have often thought that Harry Andrews was sorely 
 neglected in his youth. The tree will grow in the 
 form that the twig has been bent in ; and poor 
 Harry, wherever he may be now, has not only sin- 
 ned, but sorrowed." 
 
 " He deserves to sorrow,'' said Etherd Morris, 
 with unrelenting severity. 
 
 " Ay. Etherd ! we all deserve to sorrow ; for who 
 
 is there that has not, in one way or other, wrung 
 
 the hearts of his parents. / It may go hard with us if 
 
 we are too severe, for it is written, ' If ye forgive 
 
 9 
 
OS ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also 
 forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their tres- 
 passes, neither will your Father forgive your tres- 
 passes.' " 
 
 This reply put an end to the remarks of old 
 Etherd ; and Frank Redding observed, that Master 
 Gilbert would stop any body's mouth, for that he 
 verily believed he had learned the whole Bible by 
 Jieart, from one end of it to the other. 
 
 Young Harry Gilbert was thinking on what had 
 jallen from the lips of his grandfather, when a con- 
 versation sprang up between Etherd Morris and 
 Frank Redding about Squire Norton, and both 
 agreed, that the sooner he was laid under the turf 
 the better. 
 
 The Squire had been a little hard upon them re- 
 specting a piece of common land, to which they 
 considered themselves entitled, and, in other in- 
 stances, he had made himself an object of hatred in 
 the village. Etherd hoped the Squire would want a 
 bit of land before he died ; and Frank was deter- 
 mined to drink ar extra mug of ale on the day in 
 which he should be buried. Now this was very 
 wrong in these old men; we should neither do, or 
 wish evil to any one. 
 
 "Let him alone! Let him alone!" said Alan; 
 K he has trouble enough, depend upon it. You 
 remember that he had a son and a daughter.whom he 
 loved as his own life, and many an hour did he spend 
 in thinking how he should bring them up. He 
 bought this, and that, and the other foi them. The 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 99 
 
 son was to go to college, and the daughter to have 
 masters to instruct her. He brewed strong ale, to be 
 drank when his son came of age ; and his daughter 
 was to go to London when sixteen years old. to see a 
 little of the world, and to be introduced into fashion- 
 able life. He doated on his children, and thought 
 more about them than he did of his Maker. Oh, if 
 Squire Norton had taught his children the fear of the 
 Lord, it had been better for them, and for him too. 
 But he could not teach them what he knew not him- 
 self, so they were left in ignorance of the way of sal- 
 vation. His daughter died when only seven years 
 old, and his son was taken away before he was nine, 
 and vSquire Norton was left childless, with the bitter 
 reflection that he had never instructed his children 
 to ? remember their Creator in the days of their 
 youth.' I shall not soon forget the day his son was 
 buried. The family vault was opened, and I was in 
 it when the coffin was placed among the rest. On 
 my right hand was the coffin of the old Squire, very 
 little the worse for wear, though the mould had 
 gathered somewhat upon it. Close to it was Ma- 
 dam's coffin. Madam died about ten years before 
 the old Squire, and her coffin was fading apace. It 
 was a cutting sight to see the Squire when the coffin 
 of his son, his last child, was put among the rest." 
 " Pshaw !" said old Etherd Morris. " The Squire 
 cares for nothing ; his heart is as hard as a flint stone : 
 what if he did squeeze out a tear or two, he was 
 the same man after as he was before, and cared as 
 little for those about him." 
 
100 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 " I know that he deserved but little pity," replied 
 Alan Gilbert; "and I felt no great sorrow for him 
 myself, 'because that he remembered not to show 
 mercy, but persecuted the poor and needy man :' 
 but we ought, nevertheless, to 'be kindly affectioned 
 one to another,' and to ' weep with those who weep :' 
 and when I saw him hide his face in his mourning 
 cloak, and heard him sob as the gravel rattled on 
 the coffin lid of his son, I felt for him then. It is a 
 hard matter, Etherd Morris, to lose a child ; but 
 when the last prop of a family goes, — when there is 
 no one left behind to watch and care for^ that must 
 be bitter work, Etherd !" 
 
 "Young or old, we must all go when our time 
 comes," observed Frank Redding. 
 
 "I know we must/' resumed Alan; " ' we must 
 needs die, and be as water spilt on the ground, which 
 cannot be gathered up again;' but though all must 
 die, there is a great difference in death-beds. ' Mark 
 the perfect man and behold the upright, for the end 
 of that man is peace.' " 
 
 As Alan finished his scriptural text, the wife of 
 Etherd Morris came hobbling up, leaning on her 
 stick : though younger than her husband by ten 
 years, she was more infirm than he. The wife of a 
 peevish and passionate man is often pretty sure 
 either to adopt the ill-nature of her husband, or to 
 be subdued by it: the latter was the case with Dame 
 Morris, for she never opened her mouth to speak to 
 her husband without fear. It was a rare case for 
 her to receive from him any other answer than what 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 10i 
 
 necessity compelled, or ill-temper prompted. On 
 the present occasion it might have been expected 
 that he would behave with a little more than com- 
 mon civility ; but habit is strong in all, especially 
 with the aged : and Etherd Morris was not only 
 naturally peevish and cross, but he was a stranger 
 to that religion which would have changed his dis- 
 position-; and he never read the Bible, which says, 
 " Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against 
 them." 
 
 " And what is it that you want now ?" said he, 
 peevishly addressing her. " There is no stirring any 
 where but you are sure to come yelping at my heels ; 
 why could you not stay at home as you ought to do, 
 and not come here bawling and squalling after me?" 
 
 "I am come," said Dame Morris, timidly, "to 
 say that Joseph Baxter has called to pay you the 
 small matter of money that he owes you for the 
 cabbage plants, and he wants to see you." 
 
 Etherd, though not displeased with the message, 
 was too churlish in his disposition to acknowledge 
 that his wife had done right in coming after him. 
 As he rose up to go, he observed that people always 
 contrived to call upon him just when he was com- 
 fortable. 
 
 " You'll come back again," cried Frank Redding. 
 
 " Ay, come back as soon as you can," said Alan 
 Gilbert, " for 1 know not when we may spend an- 
 other half day together." 
 
 Away went old Etherd, without making any reply, 
 leaving his wife to follow him at her leisure. Alan 
 9* 
 
102 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 pitied Dame Morris, for he knew that she led but % 
 sorry life with her husband, whose bad temper wa:> 
 of too long standing to be cured by advice or reproof, 
 and he urged her to take a seat at the table : " Come, 
 Dame Morris," said he, " your old man is a little short 
 in his temper, to be sure, but you have weathered 
 many a storm together in your time, and it is not 
 worth while falling out about little matters now, when 
 you are so near your journey's end. You must 
 partake of our cheer, for it is my birth-day, and may- 
 hap this time next year some of us may be absent." 
 
 Dame Morris took the seat her husband had left, 
 and wished Alan Gilbert many happy returns of the 
 day, adding that she hoped when his days here should 
 be ended he might be gathered to his fathers in peace. 
 "Amen," said Alan, "so may it be with us all." 
 
 Alan then inquired of Dame Morris when she last 
 heard of Margaret Rollins; for he knew that Mar- 
 garet had been a good friend to her. 
 
 " Wherever that woman goes," continued Alan, 
 "God's blessing will go with her, and the good 
 wishes of all who knew her. At the full of the 
 moon, and at about nine o'clock in the evening, I 
 once stood by the stone wall at the church-yard, 
 yonder ; it was in the autumn, for the dried leaves 
 that had fallen from the trees rustled under my feet. 
 The dark boughs of the old yew tree, near the church 
 porch, were waving a little in the wind, and the 
 moon-beams' flickering light ever and anon glittered 
 through them, and fell upon the tomb-stone of Wil- 
 liam Rollins." 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 103 
 
 "William was a good man," said Dame Morris, 
 "and his wife is a good woman.',' 
 
 "Why, as to that," replied Alan, " Scripture says, 
 ' There is none that doeth good, no, not one f but as 
 far as the word good may be applied to poor mor- 
 tal creatures, I believe that it may safely be used 
 when speaking of William and Margaret Rollins. 
 Well, as I said, I was standing near the stone wall 
 in the moon-light. That day twelve months the 
 body of William Rollins had been put into the 
 ground, and poor Margaret, who followed him to 
 the grave, returned to her desolate habitation. Mar- 
 garet believed the words, ' Blessed are the dead 
 which die in the Lord ;' but still the loss of her hus- 
 band made her cottage desolate. There were many 
 things beside her own heart that reminded her of 
 William: his bill-hook, and his large leathern mit- 
 tens, still occupied a place in the chimney corner; 
 his blue coat with the gilt buttons, his red waistcoat, 
 and leathern small clothes, lay neatly folded in the old 
 oaken chest, and his broad brimmed hat yet hung on 
 the peg behind the door. William, however, was 
 not there, and how could the habitation be other 
 than desolate? You know that Margaret was not 
 left alone when her husband died ; no ! she had a 
 daughter whom she doated on ; she had a Bible, 
 too, which she valued as one of her best worldly 
 possessions; and she had His presence, who has said 
 to the afflicted and forsaken widow, ' Thy Maker is 
 thy husband ;' yet, still, with all these mercies, she 
 felt the loss of her husband, for human nature is too 
 
104 ALAN GILBERT S 
 
 full of infirmity to lose that which it loves without 
 a sigh and a tear; and Margaret, though s he sor- 
 rowed not as those without hope, did sorrow for her 
 husband. I wander sadly from what I was about to 
 teh you ; but, while I stood by the stone wall, Mar- 
 garet stepped into the church-yard, and walked up 
 to her husband's grave." 
 
 " Poor thing !" said Dame Morris, taking up one 
 end of her apron, and wiping her eyes with it; 
 "she always loved her husband, and thinks of 
 him to this day as one of the best creatures that 
 ever lived." 
 
 " Margaret," continued Alan, " stood some time 
 by the side of the grave weeping, and her heart ir 
 her bosom was as heavy as lead, at least so she has> 
 told me since, for I have more than once talked to 
 her about that visit to her husband's grave. All at 
 once she clasped her hands together; for in that mo- 
 ment of grief and tears, a ray from beyond the sun, 
 the moon, and the stars, beamed upon her mind ; a 
 hope and joy took possession of her heart, and 
 though she still wept, hers were not tears of sorrow. 
 But what was it that so suddenly gave comfort to 
 her drooping spirits? I will tell you. At that mo- 
 ment her thoughts had turned, or rather, they were 
 turned by Him who ' despiseth not the sighing of a 
 contrite heart' to the glorious Gosjel of eternal 
 truth, and the words occurred to her mind, ' I am 
 the resurrection and the life; he that believeth on 
 me though he were dead yet shall he live; and 
 whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never 
 
LAST BIRTH-BAY. J05 
 
 die.' Margaret believed that she should again see 
 her husband in heaven, and in that belief all her 
 sorrow and her darkness passed away. It may 
 plepse God to hide his face from his followers for a 
 season, but in mercy will he return unto those who 
 trust in him. Margaret Rollins kneeled down on 
 the sod with all the humility of a chastened child, 
 and poured forth, not her repinings, but her praises, 
 to the Father of mercies, and the God of all conso- 
 lation, for the light, the joy, and the immortality 
 brought to light by the Gospel." 
 
 Whether Alan would have said any thing more 
 about Margaret Rollins is uncertain ; but when he 
 had proceeded thus far, poor Dame Morris dropped 
 a slight courtesy to him and abruptly took her 
 leave, for she saw her husband at no great distance 
 coming toward them. 
 
 Frank Redding had a jest on the tip of his tongue 
 as Dame Morris hobbled across the green with her 
 stick, but Alan's animated and solemn manner, and 
 still more solemn words, had some effect upon him, 
 and for once he refrained from indulging his favor- 
 ite propensity, and kept back the jest. 
 
106 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 Alan's Emotion— The Old Oak Tree— Secret Cause of Sorrow— 
 Etherd Morris's Watch— The Cloud— The Glorious Sunset— Th* 
 Contrast — The Separation — The Fervent Prayer — Alan's Peaceful 
 Death — Present State of the Village —Alan's Tombstone — Con- 
 clusion. 
 
 By the time Etherd Morris had once more seated 
 himself, the sun was going down a little to the right 
 of the high clump of fir trees in the distance, and 
 Alan looked at it for a moment or two thoughtfully, 
 without speaking. Harry Gilbert's quick eye was 
 fixed on the face of his grandfather, for he saw very 
 plainly that his mind was at work within him. 
 Etherd, and Frank too, had noticed the same thing, 
 and no one cared to speak until Alan Gilbert him- 
 self broke silence in the following manner. 
 
 " It is not for a poor mortal creature to know the 
 designs of his Maker, 'in whose hand is the soul of 
 every living thing, and the breath of all mankind j' 
 but I have it strongly on my mind, that I shall 
 never see another sun go down on my birth-day. 
 The light is sweet to me, and a pleasant sight it is 
 for the eyes to behold the sun, especially when we 
 consider who made it, and can say, ( The Lord God 
 is a sun and shield ; the Lord will give grace and 
 glory : no good thing will he withhold from them 
 that walk uprightly.' "• 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAV. 107 
 
 Neither Etherd Morris, Frank Redd: 1 j, nor Harry 
 Gilbert seemed disposed to break in o.i Alan's ob- 
 servations, and the iatter went on with an earnest- 
 ness of manner that secured attention to every word 
 that fell from his lips. 
 
 " If I had my time to come over again, with 
 God's grace I would make a better use of it than 
 I have done. A Christian man is bound in every 
 stage of his pilgrimage to consider that he is not his 
 own property; that he is 'bought with a price, even 
 the precious blood of Jesus : as of a iamb without 
 blemish, and without spot,' and therefore he is 
 bound to obey his heavenly Father; 'to glorify God 
 in his body and spirit, which are God's;' but how 
 littJo V\ave I regarded this truth! Fourscore sum- 
 mers, *nd as many winters, have I lived in the 
 world, and to try to count the number of my mer- 
 cies would be in vain, for they are more in number 
 than the hairs of my head. God has done Much 
 for my welfare, but very little have I done for his 
 praise." 
 
 "Why, as to that, Master Gilbert," said Frank 
 Redding, putting his thumbs into his waistcoat 
 pockets, and sitting more upright, " I don't know 
 who has done any thing if you hav'nt. You've bin 
 a regular church goer to my knowledge for thirty 
 or forty years. There hasn't bin father, mother, or 
 child sick in the whole parish, that you hav'nt gone 
 to see, nor a poor body that you hav'nt done som'at 
 for. If all that I hears be true, the parson himself 
 doesn't pray better nor knows more of the Bible 
 
108 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 indeed, you are a sort o' bible yourself, for texts o' 
 Scripture hang on your tongue as thick as a 
 wreath of onions. Look at the money you gives to 
 the Sunday school and all them societies ! Talk o' 
 you doing little! why, if I had only done half as 
 much, I should reckon myself as sure o' going to 
 heaven as if I was there now." 
 
 "Ah, Frank!" replied Alan, shaking his head, 
 "God grant of his mercy that you may be taught 
 how little such deeds as these help us heavenward, 
 unless they spring from love to the Redeemer. We 
 may give all we have to the poor, and spend our 
 strength in visiting tbe afflicted in vain, for pride 
 and self-righteousness may be at the bottom of all 
 this. When we are convinced that we are sinners, 
 and believe that Jesus Christ has put away our sin 
 by the sacrifice of himself, such deeds may be accept- 
 ed as humble tokens of gratitude and obedience, 
 but not as claims to God's favor. No ! no ! Heaven 
 must be given us by free grace and mercy, or we 
 shall never get it at all." 
 
 "Well, Master Gilbert, you knows best," said 
 Frank ; " but it will go but roughly with most on us 
 if you doesn't go to heaven." 
 
 " God forbid that any of us should not go there," 
 said Alan ; " for how dreadful must it be to depart 
 from God's presence, and to enter ' where the worm 
 dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.' " 
 
 "I don't think the Almighty will be so hard on 
 us as that comes to," continued Frank ; " at least I 
 hopes not." 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 109 ! 
 
 "Ah, Frank," replied Alan, "it is time for us to 
 leave off depending on what we think and hope, and 
 to pay attention to what God says. ' The wicked 
 shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that 
 forget God.' The nearer the prospect of death ap- 
 pears to be, the more anxious am I to give up all 
 my fancies, however pleasant they have been, and to 
 depend alone on the realities of the Word of God; 
 It is bad enough to be deceived in youth and in 
 manhood, but a great deal worse to be deceived in 
 old age, respecting eternity. I feel it to be a blessed 
 thing to be able to say, without a doubt hanging 
 on my mind, ' I am not ashamed of the Gospel of 
 Christ ; for it is the power of God unto salvation, 
 to every one that believeth.' " 
 
 Frank Redding and Etherd Morris agreed that 
 Alan knew as much as a bishop need know about 
 the Bible ; and Harry Gilbert could not but perceive 
 how little Frank and Etherd knew about it them- 
 selves. 
 
 " Look at the old oak yonder, Harry," said Alan ; 
 "my father's father used to climb up its trunk, and 
 gather acorns from its branches; but it is almost 
 done for now, for the branches are dead, and as for 
 the trunk, that is as hollow as a drum. It has, how- 
 ever, one green spray sprouting out still. Now, that 
 oak is an emblem of Alan Gilbert : the trunk is like 
 his worn-out body, which will soon moulder in the 
 dust; and the green spray resembles the hope of 
 eternal life that animates his spirit." 
 
 Harry looked at the old oak, and thought that 
 10 
 
110 
 
 whilst it was above ground, he should never forget 
 the words of his grandfather. 
 
 It often happens that good men, in passing through 
 life, have a secret care, a hidden source of sorrow, 
 arising from some error committed, some besetting 
 sin that clogs their spirit, so that even when they 
 rejoice, they "rejoice with trembling." Now this 
 weight, though not "joyous, but grievous," is an 
 especial mercy, and is intended to keep them hum- 
 ble. Alan had felt a load on his spirit ever since 
 his prodigal son pursued his erring course; the bit- 
 ter recollection that, like Eli of old, when his son 
 sinned, " he restrained him not," at times sorely 
 tried him. He looked on the repentance of his son 
 as a sort of earnest that this sin had been forgiven 
 him, yet still the remembrance was not blotted from 
 his memory. " Harry," said he, with emotion, 
 while the past came over htm, "I have sorrowed 
 over one son, let me have no cause to sorrow over 
 another." 
 
 " There's not much amiss in young Harry," said 
 Frank; "and where one lad can be found better, 
 you will find two a pretty deal worse. He's rather 
 o'er fond of a prank, to be sure ; but young folks 
 will be young folks, all the world over." 
 
 " Ay," said Etherd, " and some old folks that I 
 knows on will be young folks too, as long as they 
 can stand upright. My shin has been smarting ever 
 since you fetched it that rap with the stool. If 
 Harry was as tame as a lap-dog, you'd soon make 
 him as wild as a March hare." 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. Ill 
 
 " Do you say so ?" said Frank, laughing. " Well, 
 after all, I likes to see lads with a little life in 'em ; 
 and Harry would be well enough if he would learn 
 to sit quietly on his stool, and not drink so much 
 spring water." 
 
 Harry, who had neither forgotten how his stool 
 was pulled from under him, nor how he had been 
 served by Frank Redding at the sandstone spring, 
 told him he would not be long in his debt. 
 
 Etherd Morris, leaning back and stretching out 
 his right leg, pulled out a large watch, with an old- 
 fashioned metal dial-plate, and tortoise-shell case. 
 The steel chain, to which it was fastened, was very 
 strong, and the links jingled one against another. 
 
 " I don't know whether your watch is good for 
 any thing or not," said Frank Redding, " but the 
 chain is a capital one ; why it's almost as thick as a 
 trace-chain, and makes about as much clatter." 
 
 "The chain may clatter," replied Etherd, "but 
 the works go on silently enough, and quick enough, 
 for it's a matter of three-quarters past seven o'clock, 
 and I was to be at home at eight to meet Andrew 
 Barton, about a pig that he and I are bargaining 
 about." 
 
 "Three-quarters past seven!" exclaimed Frank; 
 why I was to go up to the tanhouse at seven, and 
 here have I been sitting, thinking no more about it, 
 than Harry has of going up to Lunnun. Jem Price 
 will wonder what has become on me. It's all owing 
 to Master Gilbert there; for what with his seed- 
 cake, and his other good cheer, and talking, over 
 
112 ALAN GILBERT^ 
 
 *>ld times, I 'a bin too comfortable to think of any 
 thing." 
 
 " That is an ugly cloud," said Alan, lifting up his 
 .head just as the sun became rather suddenly ob- 
 scured. Frank and Harry Gilbert kept talking 
 together, but Alan still looked steadily at the skies. 
 For a time the sunbeams struggled with the vapor 
 that overshadowed them ; but it was but for a season, 
 for, as the orb of day approached the horizon, it 
 blazed forth in unclouded majesty. 
 
 It was a clear case, that while Alan had gazed on 
 the declining sun, he had been thinking of his own 
 decline. The cloud had thrown a shade across his 
 brow ; but when it passed away, and he saw the 
 sun setting in unobstructed brightness, his brow 
 was cleared, and his face beamed with its usual 
 serenity. 
 
 " I never see'd the sun set brighter," said Etherd 
 Morris; "the church weathercock glows like fire, 
 and the windows at the parsonage are all of a light 
 shine." 
 
 "And look at the brook yonder, how it glistens," 
 said Frank Redding ; " one might almost think that a 
 jack 'o' lantern had got down among the meadows." 
 
 The laughing eyes of Frank, and his flaxen hair — 
 the bald head and peevish features of Etherd Morris 
 — the peaceful countenance of Alan, and the cheerful 
 face of his grandson, formed a strong contrast to 
 each other, as the whole group sat round the table 
 with their hats off, enjoying the breeze, and gazing 
 on the glory of the setting sun. 
 
LAST BIRTHDAY. 113 
 
 Etherd Morris at last put on his hat, saying that 
 Andrew Barton woud'nt wait for him, for he was 
 always in such a hurry, that he wondered, for his 
 part, he hadn't broken his neck long afore. Frank 
 Redding said, he was no starter; he could willingly 
 sit an hour longer, and let Jem Price and the tan- 
 house take their chance ; but, as Etherd Morris was 
 going, there was no use in his staying behind ; so, 
 putting on his hat, he and Etherd Morris shook 
 hands with Alan Gilbert and his grandson. 
 
 The smoke curling up from the chimneys of Squire 
 Norton was seen in the distance, the rooks were 
 winging their way to the rookery, the sounds of 
 Horbury's hammers ringing on the anvil ceased, and 
 the sun threw his last beam upon the village, and 
 sank behind Whetsone Ridge, as Etherd and Frank 
 walked quietly across the green, while Alan and 
 Harry Gilbert, each carrying a chair, slowly entered 
 the cottage. 
 
 That night Alan Gilbert put up a longer prayer 
 than usual, and with greater fervency committed 
 himself, and all that he possessed, into the hands of" 
 his heavenly Father. He prayed for himself, for 
 his grandson, and for his aged friends, that, every 
 sorrow past, and every sin forgiven, they might meet 
 in heaven above to sing of mercy, and to praise the 
 compassion and grace of the Redeemer, having an 
 abundant entrance into the holiest, by the atoning 
 sacrifice of Jesus Christ. 
 
 From that time forward, Alan doubled his dili- 
 gence in every good word and work, reproving, con- 
 
114 ALAN GILBERT'S 
 
 soling, and encouraging all around him, in eternal 
 things. He gave away more liberally, he exhorted 
 his old friends more earnestly to attend to the things 
 that belonged to their peace, spent more time with 
 his Bible, devoted himself more to prayer, and espe- 
 cially sought to impress on the mind of Harry 
 Gilbert the great advantage of early piety. 
 
 The fall of the leaf came, and winter followed, and 
 Alan was still an inhabitant of his cottage; but he 
 tarried there like a wayfaring man, who, while he 
 sojourns for a season, knows that his journey is 
 before him. Alan felt sure that his days were num- 
 bered, and that he should soon be gathered to his 
 fathers. 
 
 The spring burst forth, and nature rejoiced, for the 
 time of the singing of birds was come, and the voice 
 of the turtle was heard in the land. Alan rejoiced, 
 too, with "joy unspeakable and full of glory," but 
 it was at the prospect of his heavenly inheritance. 
 As nature gave way, grace reigned triumphant 
 within him ; and when the summer's sun gilded the 
 .earth with his golden beam, he was drawing near 
 fiis latter end. Etherd Morris and Frank Redding 
 would have it that he would revive again, and pass 
 another birth-day with them on the green before his 
 .cottage; but before his birth-day came, he was 
 sleeping with a green hillock over his breast, having 
 ►calmly sunk to rest in a good old age, full of faith, 
 in sure and certain hope of a resurrection to eter- 
 nal life, through the merits of his compassionate 
 Hedeemer. 
 
LAST BIRTH-DAY. 113 
 
 Etherd Morris and Frank Redding are living still, 
 though the one is too feeble to quit his habitation, 
 and the laughing eye of the other has sadly lost 
 its lustre. Trouble is coming with hasty strides 
 on Squire Norton. Horbury, the blacksmith, is a 
 changed man, and his daughter is a credit to the 
 Sunday school. Luke Barnes is returned from a 
 foreign land, and lives a life of usefulness and 
 Christian piety ; and Margaret Rollins and her 
 daughter are dwelling at the cottage next to that of 
 Walter Stevens ; the one treading in the steps of the 
 other, and both journeying heavenward. 
 
 There is a stone in the church-yard, near that of 
 William Rollins, which bears the name of Alan 
 Gilbert ; and there, as the holy day of rest comes 
 round, the aged of the village often meet together 
 to moralize on days gone by ; and then they fail not 
 to read the verse of Scripture graven over Alan's 
 resting place, so justly descriptive of his latter end. 
 "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright; 
 for the end of that man is peace." 
 
 Harry Gilbert often visits the spot ; and, as he 
 appears to be a humble and sincere seeker of divine 
 truth, and is not likely to quit the village, so it is 
 probable that his body will sleep in the same tomb, 
 and his spirit partake of the same immortality with 
 his grandfather, through His grace who died, the 
 just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God, 
 to whom be "blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and 
 thanksgiving, and power, and honor, and might for 
 ever and ever." 
 
110 ALAN GILBERTS LAST BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Lord, the Saviour and defence 
 
 Of us thy chosen race, 
 From age to age thou still hast been 
 
 Our sure abiding-place. 1 
 
 Before thou brought'st the mountains forth, 
 Or the earth and world didst frame, 
 
 Thou always wast the mighty God, 
 And ever art the same. 
 
 Thou turnest man, O Lord, to dust, 
 
 Of which he first was made ; 
 And when thou speak'st the word, 'Return,' 
 
 } T is instantly obey'd. 
 
 For in thy sight a thousand years 
 
 Are like a day that 's past ; 
 Or like a watch in dead of night, 
 
 Whose hours unminded waste.