3 10 639 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/db65924097fbe8f5fa9815d2b381b1a4.jpg 015fc486fc7da3852ab672a0f741a714 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a man wearing a long coat and part of a broken hat (top of hat on ground) with ball in raised hand; winged angel in tree holding fruit?; house and trees in background https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/6a089a53bb85b5bbb86ae324fceb0382.pdf eeeab63c4404e28a80d44ec1c34f14d1 PDF Text Text LIFE AND DEATH OR THE L O S T A N D U N D O N E GLASGOW P R I N T E D FOR T H E BOOKSELLERS, �HHT H T A a o (i ^ k a n u 3 H T HO i T A O CI VL U G J A T8 0 J i W O 0 8 A J O .anajjae/iooa aiiT hoi ciaTmai �THE > ii([ lohffll LOST • hffffH .<*[.«m v f,vV j . t' UNDONE SON OF PERDITION. IT is to be observed, that the Scrijjfciiro makes mention of three Judases ; the first is Judas Maccabeus * the second Judas the son of Jo^fcph, the reputed father of our Lord; and third, Judas Iscariot, thb son of a Tanner, living in depute M Joppa, or Japho, a beautiful sea-port on the west of Oanaail, about thirty-four miles North ivest of Jertisal^ ftoni i i was as it stood o n h i l l amidst a jfl&ih. IT^rfi rvt^i :rrs(Mro<! li{V.%rj,t KcSWfo th* m ^ ^ s of PokS^UmP UP * i i' • rt' rhf' Antichrist inn war of . ot Orasctdo^ Lewis of France, and C4odfrey of Boulogne, and others, repaired and adorned it; but in these unhappy times, what was one year a beautiful city, was oft in the next a heap of ruins. At present, and for ages past, it hath but a bad harbour, and is remarkable for nothing biit ruinous remains of antiquity. This1' Judas who betrayed our Lord, was his mother's first child, who dream ed that the child in her womb would prove both a thief and a murderer, and bring her and her generation to shame and disgrace : which so terrified her, that she was like to go distracted ; but her husband strove) to pacify her, bidding "her leave it to God the �4 wise disposer of all things, who may take it away in its infancy or endue it with more grace than ever to be guilty of such dishonourable actions.— This somewhat quieted her, and she was soon after delivered of a lovely male child; but under his left breast was the following curious marks viz. a cross, a gallows, twp daggers, and several pieces of money : this likewise terrified his mother, who concealed it from her husband, determining, as soon as she was able, to go to a magician and know the signification of these surprising marks. The child being circumcised, and she purified, according to the old Jewish custom, she dressed herself in disguise, put a veil on her face, and taking with her a kinswoman, went to the magician's, and being introduced to him, she related her dream, her fears and the marks ifpon her son, desiring the interpretation of the dream, and the signification of the marks. The magician replied, I am no interpreter of dreams, neither do I justly know the signification of marks ; and the whole of your story appears as strange to me, as it can be amazing to you ; but if you can tell me when the child was born, I will calculate its nativity, and see what it pretends. He then called for pen, ink, and paper, and sitting down, calculated his nativity ; and when he had finished it, he shook his head, and his countenance waxed pale ; which being perceived by Judass mother, she said unto him, do not deceive me, but tell me true, hide nothing from me, whether it be good or evil.—Then, said the magician, to your sorrow, I have seen the rules of the planet that reigned predominant at your son's birth, that he would prove a thief and a murderer, and what is worse, he will, for lucre, betray the Lord of Life ; for which act he will afterwards despair of mercy, lay violent hands on himself, and �5 come to a shameful end.—These words pierced the mother's heart, who wringing her hands, wished she had never been born, rather than to have been the mother of such an unhappy child; and asked the magician what she could do to prevent the bringing of shame or disgrace on her family ? He told her he knew no way of prevention, but by laying violent hands on it, which might be now easily done in its infancy and in a manner so as not to be discovered. To this she replied, that she would not for ten thousand worlds commit such an act of violence on her son ; for if her husband had the least suspicion of it, he was so fond of Judas, that he would never be reconciled to her any more ; yet for the sake of her family, she would by some means or other prevent it without destroying it; and then told the magician, that if she had a small boat made like a shell, with a cover to go down close that no water might get in, and a little vent to let in air at the top, and room in it to lie soft and easy, she might without danger send him down the river Jordan, and so commit him wholly to the protection of providence, which might conduct him to some distant shore, into the hands of some tender persons, and thereby preserve his life ; and if he afterwards commits those base actions the shame will fall on his own head, as no one will know from whom he is descended. The magician highly commended her for her invention, and said he would procure such a boat for her ; and-she promising him a good reward for his assistance, returned home. After she was gone, the magician sent for one Rot, a very cunning Artist, a Joiner bv trade, who undertook to make the boat, drawing out with his pencil, the form of it, carried it home with him, wrought upon it in private, and having soon finished it, brought it to the magician's house, �6 who paid him largely for it, and sent a semnt to the house of Simon, who told Judas's mother, that the matter which his master and she spoke of was now finished. She understanding him, went next morning to the magician's house, viewed the boat, and liked it well, saying it was very convenient for the end intended, but seemed perplexed how she should do it privately, and keep it from -discovery, as death was the consequence thereof. Her kinswoman begged her to leave that -to her, and all should be safe enough ; for we will feign the child sick for a day or two, in the meantime we will make some inquiry in the city for the dead body of some poor male child which we will buy of its parents, and have it privately brought to our house to be buried ; in the meantime we wffl dispatch your son to sea, and make him believe the other child to be his, and that he died during his absence ; so having it buried, the matter can never be brought to light. The mother liked the contrivance, and going home with a promise af a g^eat reward, and her friendship lor life, she swore her servants to secrecy, and then said she, we must- act in this manner. When your master comes home at night, I shall put on very dejected looks, and when he asks the cause, I shall tell him that Judas is not well, and that I am apprehensive of his death, which you must all testify and confirm. She accordingly put this scheme into practice at night, when flier husband did all he could to comfort her, telling her that they were young, they might, be parents of many children : and going up stairs to see the child, the maid then pinched its neck till it was black in the face, and thinking it in convulsions, gjave it over 'o death, As soon -as he was gone out in the morning, the mother and kinswoman took the child �and went to the magician's house, in order to put the child to sea. They put on him many warm and rich garments, with an upper coat of oil, that no water might penetrate it; and the magician, on a piece of parchment, wrote the following words: MY NAME IS JUI)AS. which his mother sewed round his neck and pu^ him into the boat, and shutdown the coyer. At parting with the child the mother was almost distracted, wringing her hands and keeping bitterly, but being comforted by the magician, and her kinswoman she was at last pacified, and desired to go home, as she could not bear to see the child put into the water, so she and her kinswoman departed home. The magician then took the boat -and carried it down to his own garden, at thp foot of which ran the river Jordan, and putting it in where a strong stream ran, it was soon carried out of sight. The mother when she got Jiorne fainted away, but was revived by being informed by her maidservant, that during her absence, they had almost brought the matter to a close, having found a neighbour's male 6hild, who had died the day before, and was just of the same.age as Judas, for whose body they had given the parents a small sum of ;moneyf and paid the expense of burying a coffin full of bones, by way of a blind : and the only thing that remained was to deceive her "husband, and get this phyd buried under the sanction of Judas's body. The father coming hon,ie at night, and finding his wife in tears, soon guessed the dismal pause ; and inquiring of the servants, they with dissembled grief informed him, that jthe child died in the morning soon after his departure.. The man was �8 much affected with the loss of his child, and thinking to prevent his wife's grief by the sight of the body he had it removed to a kinsman's house, and in a day or two interred it from thence, supposing it to be his son Judas. By this time Providence had conducted Judas, alive and well, unto the coast of Iscariot, a kingdom in Palestine, where Pheophilus the king often used to recreate himself, in beholding the ships pass and repass at sea. It happened that the very day that Judas was cast on the coast, the king and his nobles came on that diversion, and as they were standing on the top of the rock, looking into the sea, the king espied a little boat floating upon the water, and thinking it to be a chest of some wrecked ship, he ordered a servant to put out a boat and fetch it; which being done, and brought to the king, he ordered it to be broken open; when to their great surprise, they found a lovely babe, who look'd up, and smiled in the king's face. Then said the king to the child, icelcome as my own child ; and expressed much joy in being providentially sent to preserve the babe's life, and taking it up in his arms, said if thou wert a child begat by me, I could not esteem or value thee more. Then he espied about its neck the aforementioned parchment, viz: MY NAME IS JUDAS. Well, said the king, as thy name is Judas, I will now double name thee, and then called him Judas Iscariot, because he found him near the coast of that name. He was then brought to court, treated as the king's own child, and at a proper age educated well, and at last became a man of learning and �9 genius and behaved himself so wisely, that the king made him his principal steward. Judas being arrived at this rank, still coveted greater, and remembering the queen one day said, that if the prince, her son died, Judas should be her heir, he therefore set about contriving to kill him, accordingly he professed great love and friendship for him; and one day being walking together, Judas took occasion to quarrel with the prince, and maliciously slew him, thinking all would go well with him if he was dead. Behold the serpent, which the king Long nourished in his breast, Grown warm, strikes forth his baneful sting, And robb'd him of his rest. Though none accused him of the murder, yet his conscience so stung him, that he so#n quitted the kingdom, leaving all his pomp and finery behind him, and changing his name, took upon him the mean employ of a servant, wandering about from place to place, until at length he arrived at Joppa, the place of his nativity ; here he soon got a place in a nobleman's family, where he behaved so well as to gain the esteem of his lord and lady, and all that knew him. One day it happened that as his lady was walking abroad big with child, she longed for some fruit, which she saw in Judas's father's garden, bidding him go and buy her some. He took the money, but was resolved to steal the fruit; and going to the garden, broke down the fences, which as he was doing his father came out, and seized him for the robbery ; and Judas to extricate himself from the hand of justice murdered his father upon the spot, and immediately escaped to �10 about ; Theba, a city Seventy-mi leagties Here lie continued ftmr years, in which time the noise of the murder b&ing blown over, he returned back again, and got another place in a nobleman's family, where he lived sometime, till hi£ own mother accidentally seeing him fell in love with iand married j^ggn't bad %rmtaoTgoewolo*iq od '{Igmb-iooon tmirf About fivo yei&rs alfer they had boeil married, p.no morning in bed Judas -s shirt bosom lay open, ^hen she saw under his left breast the marks he was born with ; upon wliieh she waked Hftii in an agony, and told him the whole story of his birth, and the part she had acted therein. Judas heard this with wonder and astonishment, ancV on his part confessed to her the many crimes he had been guilty o f ; after which she desired him to depart from her, and seek mercy of God in another country ; protesting she would never be carnally known to him any gnuia oa soaoip&mb Judas full of grief and remorse of conscience, left Joppa, and wandered about like a pilgrim, till he heard of a mighty prophet, called Jesus of Nazareth, in the land of Judea, who wrought many miracles, and wonderful works; to hint he went, and liking his doctrine and seeing his miracles, he begged of our Lord to be admitted one of his followers: Our Saviour chose him to be one of his- disciples, and gave him the charge of what money or provision he carried about with him. There is no evidence that his rerligious instructions, or his preaching the word, or miracles, were inferior to those of his brethren: but covetousness still reigned in his heart. Notwithstanding all this Judas could not forget his covetousness, for when Mary Magdalene brought a box of costly ointment, to anoint our dear Lord's feet, at the house of Simon the Leper, Judas �11 Wghly offended {hereai, because the value thereof was not put into his bag. But our Lord knowing his covetous and wicked heart, sharply rebtiked him; at \VliicIi he was so enraged, that he fit revenge premeditated, and put into execution, the worst action of all his life, and going to the chief priests' and elders, he said unto them, what will you give me, and I will betray him they call Jesus into your hands ? And they agreed with hfan for thirty pieces of silver; or £3, 8s. 5d. English money. The love of money is a i-ock Which causes cafe and trouble, And he that hastetli to fee rich, He makes his sorrows double, Money's a most alluring bait, Conducive unto evil, For this base Judas sold his God, Himself unto the devil. When 6\\± Lord was instituting his last supper, he* £aidf unto his disciptfes, I have chosen you twelve, but one of you is a devil. And again, Verify I say urito you, one of yd* ttiis nio-ht shall betray me, and lie it is* unfo whomsoever I shall give a sop: then giving a sop tinto Jiiclas, he said unto him what tten' dost do quietly. With the sop the devil entered into Judas, and lie went out from amongst them.—cfect&s then went to tlie chief priests, and received tfie thirty pieces of silver ; so taking witli hint an armed band of men, to apprehend his master, He led them to the Garden, of Gethsemane Where Jesus was wont to retire for his devotion; he went telling them, thai! whomsoever he should �12 kiss, the same was he, hold him fast There our Lord beheld his adversaries coming with burning torches and lanterns, and weapons to apprehend him; then spake he to his disciples, and said, a Rise let us go ; behold Tie is at hand that will betray meAnd while he was speaking, came Judas the traitor, saying, Hail, Master, and kissed him. For it is written, that it was the manner and custom of our Lord Jesus towards his disciples, that when at any time he had sent them out, at their return again, he would receive them with a loving kiss. Then they laid hands on the Lord, and bound him as a thief and a murderer, and led him away to the high Priest and Elders, who asked him many questions ; to which our Lord gave them no answer, but stood like a lamb dumb before his shearers. And here let us behold our Lord Jesus, how patiently and meekly he receives that false and treacherous kiss from that unfaithful disciple, whose feet he had vouchsafed to wash with his own hands, and whom out of his unspeakable charity he refused not to feed with the precious food of his blessed oody. Consider likewise how meekly he suffered himself to be taken, bound, struck, and furiously dragged away, as if he had been a thief, or the most wicked person in the world, void of power to help himself. Contemplate also the great sorrow and inward affliction he had of his disciples, who fled and left him in the hands of those ravenous wolves. And on the other side, consider the grief of their hearts, since the cause of their leaving him was not the perversity of their will, but the frailty of their weak nature : for which they heartily mourn and sigh, like poor orphans that know not what they do, or whither to go ; and their sorrow was so much the greater, as they knew in what villanous man- �13 ner their Lord and master would be treated and abused. Nevertheless, the whole assembly, though they found nothing worthy of death in him, one by one passed the following sentences on him. tidi dleoijbde oil -ramrod Us'jb lo viU'iow n JERUSALEM'S BLACK T R I B U N A L ; ,eib 'woulw, siit > «iou 'io vJliiu) 1 OR THE BLOODY SENTENCE OF THE JEWS, AGAINST OUR BLESSED LORD JESUS AND SAVIOUR. CHRIST. .ofqosq eiijt qu v CAIPHAS. Better one man should die, than all perish. JEHOSOPHAT. Let him be bound, and kept fast in chains. A i F f X AJE& u Let us put him to death. �F A R I A S , dguorii ,^{dJXft>B£« olodw orfi .Loaudst Let us baaish him, or he will destroy our country, .mirf no gooneinoa gnxwolfol one DIARRHIAS. He is worthy of death, because he seduceth the people. . . . . . • ;T) R A B I N T H . Guilty or not, let the seducer die. stir, 1 0 <ewsi sh ftRMA^ Yaoaia Let us banwli him for ever, ,a v o i v a t a k a a a o J aan 8 a j g n u o C H I E R I E I S . If lie be initoCefit h6%frhll did, bbcrtuse he stirreth up the people. FTOL.EMEUS. Guilty or not g)iftfyflet us sentence him to death or punrahmient. . T A T E E A S . It. Either banish him, or send kim unto Csesar. LEM^CH. r.fjk MUM « | |i m i.i.fa |M — ' Punish ftitiv with death. �P O T I F H A K E 8 Let him be banished for seducing the people. The mob also cried out to Pontius Pilate, if yoi let this man go, you are not Ceesar's friend; therefore, crucify him ! crucify him ! THE SENTENCE: OF D E A T H PASSED JESUS ON CHRIST PJT PONTIUS PILATE 1 PONTIUS PILATE, Judge m Jerusalem under the most potent Tiberius, happy and prosperous be his reign, having heard and known the accusation of JESUS of NAZARETH, whom the Jews brought bound, to pronounce his sentence ; seeing he, by presump tuous expressions, called himself the SON of GOD, and the KING of the JEWS, and said he would destroy the TEMPLE of Solomon. Let him be condemned to the cross with the two Thieves. �IG Thus was the Lord of Life condemn'd, On Calv'ry's mount to die, As Moses' Serpent so was he There lifted up on high. 'Twas not for sins that were his own, He there shed forth his blood, But that such sinners yile as we, Might be brought near to God. Let us obey the gospel call, Now while it is to-day, Lest ere to-morrow Death should cry, To judgment come away. MISERABLE AND AWFUL END OF THE TRAITOR JUDAS. NOW JUDAS, the Traitor, had no sooner seen his master condemned by the Jewish council, than his conscience upbraided him ; he brought back the thirty pieces of silver, and confessed he had betrayed his innocent master. But the Jewish rulers replied, that that was none of their business, he might blame himself. And he threw back the thirty pieces of silver and went out and hanged himself; but the rope breaking, or the tree giving way, he fell and his body burst asunder, and his bowels gushed out. Then the Jews, as they thought the price of blood was not fit for the Treasury, they, as agents for Judas, gave it for the Potters-field to bury strangers in. �17 T W Judas 'mongst the Apostles was And with them took his part, His awful end proved him to be A traitor in his heart. On the Evening after our Lord's resurrection he appeared unto ten of the apostles, Judas being dead, and Thomas absent: he renewed their mission, and breathed on them, as a token of his sending the Holy Ghost. After giving them repeated proofs of his resurrection, he just before his ascension gave them a formal commission, saying, " Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost; Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: andy lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.11 After they had witnessed their master's departure to the heavenly mansions, Peter proposed, that one who had been a constant witness of his marvellous sufferings and conduct, should be chosen to fill the room of Judas. The disciples chose Barsabas and Matthias for the candidates. As the office was extraordinary, and perhaps the votes equal, the final determination, which of the two should be the apostle, was left to the decision of God by the lot. After prayer, the lots were cast, and it fell upon Matthias: he was therefore numbered with the eleven apostles. On the day of Pentecost, a feast appointed to commemorate the giving of the law, the Holy Ghost, in the shape of cloven tongues of fire, descended on each of them; rendered them bold and infallible in preaching the gospel; qualified them with power, to speak in every language, to discern men's tem- �lSf pers, and to confer the miraculous influence of speaking with tongues on others, by the laying on of hands. < J oi mid bovoiq bm lirhrs «iH M Learn hence a lot's a sacred thing, Let's not it vanity use, Since God thereby has oft thought fit, 9H no fo^j^qgrfft r, vainer!! mh nO ifflttd M f o l odi \o a9t otitis fctwqy Let's be content with what' s our lot, Since God to us it gave, Let's pray that Christ be the gift, Greater can't sinners have. Correspondent to the twelve patriarchs, or twelve tribes of Israel, our Saviour, in the second or third year of his public ministry, first appointed, and then sent forth twelve of this followers, whom fee named Apostles. These he sent out two's, vlogvaarf edi oi ihdj boeamii* SIMON P E T E R , and A N D R E W Ms brother ; JAMErS the son rof Z E B E D E E , and J O H N his brother $ P H I L I P , and B A R T H O L O M E W : ; THOMAS, and M A T T H E W ; JAMES the son of A L P H E U S , And JUDE lids forother; SIMON 4be G&naanite, and JUDAS ISC ARIOT ; M A T T H I A S , succeeded Judas after the resurrection of our Lord. �19 A S C E N S I O N ;xla uo\ %atHaw 7 on A 0 -I o £ DO. • » OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST. TOUCHING the wonderful ascension of our Lord Jesus, it behoves thee, pious reader, to awaken thy heart, and render thyself with more than ordinarly attention to all that is here said or done, relating to this subject, if thou desire to feed thy soul with heavenly comfort, and reap the spiritual ^notion, which plentifully flows from the devout contemplation of so divine a subject _ hfaorfa YQffa ffatforfi On the fortieth day after the resurrectiou, our Lord Jesus, knowing that his time was new come to depart from this world, and to pass hence to his Father, taking with him the holy patrian?hs, prophets, and others, who after his xesiu'iiefttion were in the terrestrial paradise, and blessjlng. Enoch and Elias, who remained there still aliye, he came to his apostles, who were gathered together on Mount Sion, which was the place F^pe be made his last supper the night before his passion. There were likewise with the apostles at this place, the Messed Virgin, and many other disciples; and our Lord appearing to :tliem said, that he would eat with them before he departed from them, as a special token and memorial of the love he tore them. And as they were all eating, bej.^g full of joy and spiritual comfort at this last refection of our Lord Jesus, lie said to them> " The time is now come in which I must return again to him that sent me: but you shall remain in the city till you are clothed with tlie yirtue descending from above ; for within �(Tf 20 a few days you shall be filled with the Holy Ghost, as I before promised you. After which, you shall be dispersed throughout the whole world, to preach my gospel, baptizing all that shall believe in me, so that you shall be my witnesses to the utmost confines of the earth." He likewise reproved them for their incredulity in not believing them who had seen him rise, that is the angels. This he chose to do at the time ho was speaking to them of preaching his gospel, to give them to understand, that they ought to have believed the angels, even before they saw him, much sooner than they ought to be believed by those to whom they were to preach, who, nevertheless, would believe them (the apostles) though they should not see him, (Jesus Christ.) And this he did, that by knowing their fault they might remain humble; shewing them at his departure how much he admired that virtue, and that he recommended it to them in a singular manner. They asked him concerning many things that wero to come to pass ; but he would not resolve them, inasmuch as it was not necessary for them to know the secrets of God, which his father had reserved in his own power, to fulfill at his o^n will and pleasure. And thus they continued discoursing and eating together, with great comfort and satisfaction, occasioned by the presence of their Lord; yet their comfort was mixed with some grief, by reason of his departure from them. For they loved him so tenderly, that they could not hear him speak of leaving them without heaviness and sorrow. And what can we think of his blessed Mother ? May we not devoutly imagine that, sitting near him, and hearing what he said concerning his departure, she was moved with the tenderness of her motherly affection ; and that overcome with grief. �21 which suddenly seized, and oppressed her blessed soul, she inclined her head towards him, and rested it upon his sacred breast! For, if John the Evangelist at the last supper, took this freedom, with much more reason may we suppose her to do the same on this doleful occasion. Hence, then, with tears, and many sighs, she spoke to him in this manner: " Oh my beloved son, I beseech thee not to leave me ; but if thou must depart, and return again to thy heavenly Father, take me, thv afflicted Mother, along with thee !" But our blessed Lord endeavoured to comfort her, and said, " Grieve not, oh beloved parent, at my leaving you because I go to my Father; and it is expedient that you remain here a short time longer, to confirm in their faith, such as shall be converted, and believe in me, and afterwards I will come again, and take you with me, to be a partaker of my glory." To whom again, our Lady replied, " My beloved Son, may thy will always be fulfilled in all things, for I am not only contented to remain here during thy pleasure, but also, to suffer death for love of those souls, for which thou hast so willingly vouchsafed to lay down thy life: this, however, I beseech thee, be thou ever mindful of me." Our Lord then again comforted her, with the disciples, and Mary Magdalene, saying, " Let not your hearts be troubled, nor fear ye any thing, I will not leave you desolate ; I go, but will shortly return again to you, and will remain always with you." At length he bid them remove from thence, and go to Mount Olivet, because from that place he would ascend into heaven, in the presence of them all: saying this, he disappeared. His holy Mother, with the rest of the company, without any delay, hastened to the said mount, about a mile distant from Jerusalem, as he had appointed �them, where our Lof d again soon appeared to them. Behold on this day we have two different apparitions of our ( Lord. Thus being all together, our iioihfc embraced his lioly Mother, and she again embraced him in a most tender manner, taking leave -of- oiukother. And the disciples, Mary Magdalene, and tho rest falling down to the ground, and weeing with tenderness, kissed his Messed feet, and he, raising theniup, embraced all his apostles most lovingly; = Let us now, pious Reader, , diligently- consider them, and devoutly all that is hem done ; and amongst the rest* let m behold ihe holy Fathers, whp being there present ithougli invisible, joyfully admire, aijd inwardly praisethe blessed Yirgiii^iby whom they received So great & benefit as then- salvation. They behold with pleasing admiral tiony the gltaious champions, and leaders of God's* host?, the apostles, whpm x)ur Lord Jesus had chosen from among all others, to coii^uer Mid subdue the •V'.rlr1. aivri \>rw$ • O • \ht Mlfef r>f hif-h^jp o Jocft^BmpGohq vrfo gnhnb oioif xiifirrm oi L^ioinoo M >iehm it»£ liairjrfsirftttMat*-> oompletftH. vnfer began p<«dualliy M raise himself up before them,' &ad to ascend by ixm own- virtue and power into : heaven. And then the blessedVirgin, with the rest, fell down and devoutly worshipped him. And our Lady said, 0 iny beloved> I beseech thee to be mindful of me/' and with. this she burst into tears, not being: able t«r refrain^ when she reflected on his departure, yet was.fehe M l of inward joy, to sep her blessed Son thus gloriously asoenci into heaven. His disciples* also, whei* they beheld him ascending, said', ^ Thou knowest, ObLord1, that we have renonueed all thiags for the©, wherefore, we beseech thee nafcifcx forget lis, but be ever -mindful of us, for whom we have. �foypj^ji aJV.' Mf with serene and pleasing aspect, crowned with glory, . victoriously ^sceuded into heaven, but first blessing them, he said, < Be stedfast, and fight courageously, < for I shall always be. with you, even to the end of the world." Thus, our Lord Jesus, ascended into heaven, fulfilling that which the prophet Mi pah bad said long before his asccnsiQn ; And their King $hallpats before them, and the Lord at the head of them. j3pthat tljpy §11 followed him with unspeakable joy, and never-ending felicity. And Miqhael, the prince of God's eglestial host, £oing before, % jqjC&l tilings pf their Lord's ascending, at ^hich the whqle he^Y^nly court of celestial spirits came forth to meet thpir Lord, and with all worship and reyereuee, they him with hymns and songs of jubilation, repeating with. i naxpressible joy, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, ^ Having paid their dug f e v m m to" M tlu> joy fill, n w t y ] ^ zhv;U H ^ l t h } : M nappy meeting ? The blessed spirits began to gratulate them on their arrival, saying • Ye pfinces of God'^ ppople, you are welcome to pur eternal habitation, and we rejoice and are glad %tf your a r i ; ^ : you # m gathered tqgp.thpf, m $ woxidQvfully exalted with pur God; Alleluia. Therefore rejoice and sing tp him who M gloriovislv ascended into, heaven, and above the htyvm pf To which the Fathers again joyfully replied, To you, princes of God's people, Alleluia: Our guardians and helpers, A t t ^ * 3 , : peace for �24 ever, Alleluia : Let us siug and make mirth to our King and our Saviour, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia. Now we joyfully enter into the house of our Lord, Alleluia : to remain for ever in the glorious city of God, Alleluia. As sheep of our Lord's pasture we enter his gates, Alleluia : With hymns and canticles, Alleluia : For the Lord of power is with us, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia." For according to the prophet, The Lord is ascending in shouts of joy, and the Lord in the sound of a trumpet. Our Lord Jesus ascended visibly for the greater comfort of hi* mother and disciples, that they might see him as far as they could. And behold a cloud received him out of their sight, and in an instant they were present in heaven! And as the blessed Virgin and the disciples were looking still up to heaven, two angels stood beside them in white garments, who began to comfort them, telling them not to look loager after his body, which they saw ascend so gloriously into heaven, for that they should not see him any more in that form till the day of Judgment, when he should come to judge the quick and the dead. They bid them return into the city again, and their to expect the coming of the Holy Ghost, as he himself had told them. His blessed Mother spoke to the angels, desiring them to recommend her to her blessed son ; who profoundly inclining to her, promised gladly to fulfil her commands. And the apostles and Mary Magdalene recommended themselves in the same manner. After this, the angels departing, they went according rs they had been appointed into the city, unto Mount Sion, and waited there the coming of the Holy Ghost. FINIS, � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 021_a: Title-page illustration of a sleeping man at a table with his head resting on his hand. A skull & crossbones is on top of the table. There is a lion inside the table. A town and rural scene with trees and a hill (topped with two pillars) appear in the background. At the bottom of the hill, is a man in a kilt with a backpack, who is walking while reading a book. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The life and death of Judas Iscariot, or the lost and undone son of perdition. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. lost and undone son of perdition. Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935682193505154">s0598b22</a> Description An account of the resource 129 printed on the foot of the title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Subject The topic of the resource Religion and Morals Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Iscariot, Judas Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource biography # of Woodcuts: 1 Architecture: house Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: biography Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Fashion (Clothing): top hat Fashion (Clothing): upper class Gender: man/men Nature: tree(s) Object: walking stick/ staff Outdoor Scene Religious Figures: angel(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/7c3bd1f94fbcf25515da5fccabb32440.jpg e401a6c314bf3f2718b2a1fda70a2dfa Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a man sleeping with head resting on hand sitting at a table. A skull and crossbones is on table and a lion is inside the table. In background are scenes of a town and rural scene with trees and hills (with 2 pillars atop) in front of which stands a man in a kilt and wearing a backpack, who is reading a book https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/33536ef595e842fc612dc07fefbc22ae.pdf 477daf49b0b276d273f350d059c06f89 PDF Text Text THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. Delivered under the similitude of a Dream. PAISLEY: PRINTED BY CALDWELL AND SON, W 2, NEW STREET. © �his worthy friend the Author of The Third Part ofths Progress, upon the perusal thereof T H O U G H many things are writ to please the age r Amongst the re^t for this I dare engage, "Where virtue dwells, it will acceptance find, And to your pilgrim, most that read be kind, But all to please, would be a task as hard, As for the winds from blowing to be barr'd. The pious Christian, in a mirror here, May see the promised land, and, without fear Of threaten'd danger, bravely travel oil, Until his juurney he has safely gone, And does arrive upon the happy shore, Where joys increase, and sorrow is no more* This is a dream, not fabled as of old j In this express the sacred truths are told, That do to our eternal peace belong, And, after mourning changes to a song Of glorious triumph, that are without end, I f we but bravely for the prize eontend. No pilgrimage like this, can make us blest?. Since it brings us to everlasting rest; So well in every part the sense is laid, That it to charm t/te reader may be said, WitA curious fancy and great delight, W/iieZr to an imitation must invite. And Aappy are they, that, tArougA stormy seas, And dangers, seek adventures like to tAese ! W&o sell the world for t/jis great pearl of price, WAicA, once procured, will purchase Paradise I H e who in sucA a bark dotA spread /lis sails. Needs never fear at last tAese prosperous gales That will conduct /am to a land, wAfere he SAall feel no storms, but in a calm sAall be: WAere crown'd witA glory he sAall sit and sing Eternal praise to Ais redeeming King Who conquer'd deatA, despoilM him of his sting. So wishes yourfaithful friend, Pilgrim �a "rhe progress of the Pilgrim is here represented by Christian leaving the City of Destruction, in terror and alarm at his fate. He is met by Evangelist, who, perceiving his fear, asked him, Wherefore dost thou cry? H e asnwered, I see by the Book in my hand that I am condemned to die. Then Evangelist said, why standest thou still; Fly from the wrath to come. Whether shall I fly? said Christian. Then said Evangelist, Dost thou see yonder shining light; keep that light in yotar eye, and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate, at which when thou kncckest, it shall be told thee w hat thou shalt do. Christian begari to run, but he had not run far when his wife and children began to cry after him to return, but he put his fingers in his ears, and ran on crying Life, Life, Eternal Life. �Christian bad not proceeded far, till wife and children with many neighbours, entreated him to come back, but all in vain. Christian persuaded two of them to go with him, viz. Pliable and Obstinate. Obstinate soon rebels, but pliable jogged on, till suddenly both he and Christian plumped into the Slough of Despond. Pliable set his face homewards, determined to get rid of such difficulties ; but Christian struggled hard to g2in the other side, while the burden of sin on his back had nearly overcome him. A man called Help came to his assistance, and again set him on his way. He soon after met Worldly-wiseman, who directed him to the Town of Morality, where one named Legality would relieve him of his burden. H e immediately tcok the road, but had not gone far till terror and alarm seizM hiro, arid again Evangelist met him and checked him, and set him on the right road. �After getting a severe reproof from Evangelist, Christi in was horror struck at his deviating from the right road, and almost lost hope of ever attaining his object, when Evangelist, taking him by the hand, cheered him on warning him of the same danger in time. Christian at length arrived at the gate, upon which was inscribed * knock and it shall be opened/ H e knocked more than once or twice, when a grave person came to the gate, named Goodwill, who asked him what, he wanted. Christian replied, he was a poor hardened sinner from the City of Destruction, bound for Mount Zion, will you let me in?" "With all my heart," he replied. Beelzebub, as he entered, gava him a pull, but Christian escaped. �Christian having fairly escaped the attempts of Beelze° bub and his emissaries to hold him back, and being fairlyentered in at the gate, received many wholesome advices from Goodwill how to proceed; and coming to the house of Interpreter, was kindly welcomed, and shewn many strange and wondrous sights, at which Christian was sadly alarmed; but being soothed by Interpreter, with kindly directions to proceed on his journey, he again set off, passed the walls of salvation, and came to a rising ground, where stood a cross, and a little below a sepulchre. At the cross, his bundle loosened off, and tumbled to the mouth of the sepulchre, whe^e it fell in, and was no more seen. Then was Christian glad, and said with a merry heart, 'he hath giyen me rest by his sorrow, and life by his death. �Christian having now got rid of his burden, pushed on more lightly. He soon fell in with three men, named Simple, Sloth, and Presumtion, whom he endeavoured to rouse and assist; but they would not listen to him, so he left them, very grieved. He then saw two men come tumbling over the wall, Formality and Hypocrisy, who walked along with him in hope of reaching Mount Zion, though having no passport, till they came to the hill Difficulty, when the one took the road to Destruction, and the other to Danger; but Christian took the narrow path up the hill, and struggled hard till he arrived at the arbour, prepared by the Lord of the place for weary pilgrims, where he sat and refreshed himself, and read his scroll with great delight. �When Christian had got to the top of the hill, two men came running to meet him, named Timorous and Mistrust. 'What is the matter, said he, that you are running the wrong way?' Timorous said, 'We were for Mount Zion, but the farther we went, the dangers became the greater, and we were turning back again; two mighty lions are before us, ready to pull us in pieces.' Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not what to do. He put his hand in his bosom for the roll to comfort him, but behold it was gone. He remembered having slept at the arbour, and traced his way back with weary steps to find it. H e fell on his knees and begged forgiveness for his error, and while in that position his eye catched the roll under the seat. H e put it in his bosom with joy, again took the road, came in view of the lions; but they, being chained, could not hurt him. �9 r ^ j ' When Christian lift up his eyes, he beheld the palace of Beautiful, the porter's gate, and two lions. H e was encouraged to come forward, being assured he should receive no harm, as they were chained. After a few interrogations from the Porter as to his intentions, and how he came to be so late at night, which was satisfactorily answered. Christian requested lodgings for the night. The Porter knocked at the door of the Palace, when a damsel called Discretion answered, and after a long conversation with her two sisters, Piety and Prudence, regarding the nature of his journey, the difficulties that had befallen him, and what could have moved him to leave his wife and family, to undertake such a journey, thc^ found it was time to go to re&t, when he was conducted to the Chamber of Peace. �H e got up in the morning, and was shown all the rarities of the place, and clad with a suit of Armour. The Porter informed him that one Faithful had just past, Christian followed, but was met by Apollyon, with whom he had a bloody struggle, but overcame. The valley of the Shadow of Death was another horrific scene that he also accomplished; and looking back, now with horror the bones of many martyrs at the mouth, and soon came in sight of faithful, with whom he held sweet converse, till he came to Vanity Fair. Their manner and dress attracted the attention of people, and caused a great demur. A merchant asked what they would buy; they said, 'the Truth;—which he took amiss, and raised such a hubbub, that they were both taken up, and put in a cage for publiG view. �Poor Christian and Faithful, while in the cage, belmved themselves very meekly, in spite of all the insults they received; and many others were buffered for taking their part. They were dragged through the Fair, and again conducted to their cage to stand their trial, which was soon brought on. Envy, Superstition, and Hypocrisy were brought forward as evidences, who did not fail to tell a partial story, which a partial judge, Mr. Hategood, and a partial packed jury did not fail to confirm; and Faithful was found guilty of the crime libelled, and condemmned to die at the stake. Faithful was allowed to make a defence, but instead of doing him any good, only hardened them against him. �12 Poor Faithful was then Lr u^ht out, to do with him according to the law. First h"y scourged him, then they buffetted him, then they lanced his flesh with knives, after that they stoned him with stones, they pricked him with their swords, and last of all they burnt him to ashes at the stake.-—Thus came Faithful to his end. Then stood behind the multitude a chariot and a couple of horses waiting for Faithful, who was taken up into it, and carried up through the clouds with sound of trumpet, the nearest way to tho Celestial Gate. Christian he got some respite, and was remanded back to prison; but he that overrules all things, abated their rage, and he escaped thence, and went his way. �A, Altho' Christian went away alone, Hopeful, a pilgrim bound for the Celestial City, fell in with him, and they went on joyfully. They then fell in with Byends, but soon parted with him. They met with several otherg, whose company they did net rel'sfo, and left them. One Demas attempted to lead them astray with filthy lucre, but they resisted him, and kept the right road. They afterwards passed Lot's wife, and slept on the banks of Pleasant River. They then went off their way. but again found it, and fell asleep in the policies of Doubting Castle, where Giant Despair took them both prisoners, and treat them very harshly,—they almost chose death rather than life under such treatment. However a key found in Christian's bosom opened the doors? &nd they made their escape with difficulty, 0 �Having escaped from Giant Despair, they errected a pillar at the stile, warning travellers to beware of Doubting Castle, there they went on singing till they came to the Delectable Mountains, where they surveyed all the beautiful gardens and orchards on Emmanuel's land, in company with the shepherds. They were now in sight of the city, and the shepherds showed them many wonderful things; among the rest, a dismal hole. They bade the pilgrims look in: when they heard a rumbling noise, and beheld all within it dark and smoky, and a cry of some tormented. They were told this was the way of the wicked. Leaving this country, they came to the enchanted ground, where they fell in with some of the shining inhabitants of the city, and had abundance of corn and wine, and heard voices out of the city, saying, 'say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold thy salvation cemetli- �15 Drawing nearer the city, they beheld it built of pearls and precious stones, the streets were paved with gold. Christian with desire fell sick ; Hopeful also had a fit or two. They were strengthened, and went on, beholding the vineyards and gardens of these delightful lands. Between them and the gate was a river, very deep, and no bridge. The pilgrims were alarmed, but through it they must pass. Christian began to sink, but Hopeful cheered him on. Then said Christian, 4 the sorrows of death hath compassed me about.' In sinking, they lost their earthly garments, but rose and were welcomed on the other side by two glorious persons, who ascended a very steep hill. They went up with great ease, and landed safely in the Celestial City, which they entered singing, with a loud voice, 'Blessing, honour, glory, and power to him oil the throne, and to the Lamb, for ever and ever. �16 Ever since Christian went off on his journey to the Celestial City, Christiana his wife and their children did nothing but weep and lament for him; crying often out in her sleep, 'Lord have mercy upon me a sinner/ An heavenly messenger came to her, and gave her a letter. The contents advised her to do as her husband had done, and to dwell in his presence for ever. At this she was quite overcome, and asked him to carry her hither. But he said, 'You must go through the troubles as he has done before you: yonder is the wicket gate over the plain, and I wish thee speed. Several of the neighbours advised her against it, but she took the road, with all her children; and falling in with Mercy, they went on in the sweet hope of shortly arriving at that happy place where her husband was. �IT Mary expressed herself doubtful as to her right of admission at the wicket gate, but Christiana encouraged hw on, and assured her of a kind reception. Then Mercy eaid, 'Had I as good ground to hope as you have, I think no Slough of Despond would discourage me.' They got all safe over the Slough, and arrived at ihe gate, whe®e they knocked a long time, but nothing but an angry dog barked at them. They got afraid to knock any more, till venturing another knock, the keeper called 'Who's there,' and opened to them. Christiana said, she came from whence Christian came, who was there before, and upon the same errand here are also my children. H e took her by the hand, and said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me." She interceded far Mercy, and she was admitted also. �With some difficulty, Mercy was admitted. She questioned the keeper what he meant by keeping such a dog. H e said the dog was not his, but kept by a person to terify pilgrims from the gate, in which he was but too successful. In passing along, they were LS aulted by two ill favoured ones, who did what they could to lead them astray, but were defeat. After being with one or two more, she arrived at the Interpreter's house, who, while supper was getting ready, shewed them many wondrous things, told them many curious stories, and related many parables. Supper being ready, and thanks given, they partook of a hearty repast, while masic played sweetly. When supper and music was over, Interpreter asked Christiana what moved her to try a pilgrim's life, she said the loss of her husband, and the letter from the King of Zion, �The Interpreter also asked Mercy what induced her to go in such an undertaking. She said, 'My friend telHng me how many fine things her husband was enjoying, tempted me to go.' In the morning they rose with the sun, to depart, but they were ordered into the garden to bathe and purify themselves before they went on their journey, which they (lid, and were much refreshed. Greatheart was sent along with them to guide them on their way, and converse with them. They passed the place where the load fell from Christian's back, and made a pause. After musing a little, they came to the place where Simple, Sloth, and Presumption were hanging in chains. Mercy inquired the cause of this, when she was told their crime was leading a number of pilgrims out of their way, and giving an ill report of your Lord, saying he was a hard taskmaster. �j Greathearfc wished Christiana and Mercy to go up and see their crimes engraven on a pillar of brass, but they would not go ; but wished their names might rot, and their crimes live for ever against them, saying, it was fortunate they were hanged before they came hither. They soon arrived at the foot of the Hill of Difficulty; Greatheart shewed them the Spring where Christian drank, and the two byeways where Formality and Hypocrisy lost themselves. Yet there are people who will choose to adventure in these paths, rather than go up the hill. They began to go up the hill, and Christiana began to pant and want a rest; but Greatheart encouraged them, telling them they were not far from the Arbour, where they woukl find rest. 4 \ �Being refreshed at the Arbour, and seeing many sights that Christian recounted before, they again took the road determined to resist all obstacles. Greatheart at all times proved their faithful friend and sure defence. He encountered a ferocious giant and slew him. Shortly after, they fell in with another, which he also overcame; and lastly they approached Doubting Castle, which Greatheart determined to level to the ground. He sent the giant a challange, and they had a severe fight, but the giant was overcome, and hie head was severed from his body. Then they fell to demolishing the castle, and released several prisoners, who were almost starved to death. It took seven days to demoMsh it, and many strange sights were seen. �22 They H W jogged on in the usual path of pilgrims, occasionally O meeting with difficulties and encouragement, carefully surveying all the spots where Christian her husband happened with any tiling memorable, till they arrived at the land of Beulah, where the sun shines night and day, and here because they were weary they betook themselves to rest. But a little while soon refreshed them here; for the bells did so ringT and the trumpets continually sounded so melodiously, that they could not sleep, and yet they received as much refreshment as if they slept their sleep never so soundly. N o w while they lay here, and wailed for the good hour, there was a noise in the town, that there was a post come from the Celestial City, with matters of great importance, lo one Christiana the wife of Christian the pilgrim. So enquiry was made for her, and the house was found out where she was; so the post presented her with a letter the contents were, "Hail, good woman! I bring thee tidings the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth that thou shouldst stand in his presence, in clothes of immortality, within these ten days." When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith a true token that he was a true messenger, and was come to bid her make haste to be gone. The token was, an airow sharpened with love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, that at the time appointed s&e must be gone. When Christiana saw her time was come, and that she was the first of this company that was to go over, she called for Mr. Greatheart her guide, and told him how matters were. Then she called for her children, and gave them her blessing, and told them, that she had read wi;h comfort the mark that was set in their foreheads, and was glad to see them with her there, and that they had kept their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the poor that little she had, and commanded her sons and daughters to be ready against the messenger should come for them. When she had spoken these words to her guide, and to her children, she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and said unto him, Sir, You have in all places shewed yourself true hearted, be faithful unto death, and my King will give you a crown of glory. I would also entreat you to have an eye to my children; and if at any time you see them faint, speak comfortably to them; for my daughters, my sons* wives, they have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the promise upon them will be their end. But she gave Mr. Standfast a ring. Then she aalled for old Mr. Honest, and she said of him, Behold an Isr a elite indeed, in whom is no guile. Then said lie, I wish you a fair day, when you set out for Mount Sion, and shall be glad to see that you get over the river shod. But she answered, 'Come wet, or come dry, I long to be gone; for however, the weather is in my journey, I shall have time enough when I come t/*ere, to sit down and rest me, and dry me. Then came in the good man Mr. Ready-to-halt, to see her. So she said to him, Thy travail hitherto has been with difficulty: but that will make thy rest the sweeter. But watch and be ready; for at an hour when you think not, the messenger may come. �%3 After him eaaae Mr. Despondency, and bis daughter Much-afraid ; to whom she said, You ought with thankfulness, for ever, to remember your deliverance from the hand of Giant Despair, and out of Doubting Castle, The effect of that mercy is, that you are brought with safety hither. Be yet watchful, and cast away fear; be sober and hope to the end. Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered from the mouth of the Giant Slay good, that«thou mightest live in the light of the living for ever, and see the King with comfort: only I advise thee to repent thee of thy aptness to fear and doubt of his goodness, before he sends for thee ; lest thou shouldest, when he comes, be forced to stand before him, for the fault, with blushing. Now the day drew on, that Christiana must be gone. So the road was full of people to see her take her journey. But Behold ! all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots, which were come down from above to accompany her to the city-gate. So she came forth and entered the river with a beckon of farewell to those that followed her to the river-side. The last words that she was heard to say, were, "I come, Lord, to be with thee, and bless thee." So her children and friends returned to their place; for that those that waited for Christiana had carried her out of their sighv So she went and called, and entered in at the gate with all the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had entered before her. Then k came to pass a while after, that there was a post in the t )wn that inquired for Mr. Honest, So he came to his house where lie was, and delivered ieto his hands these lines, Thou art commanded to be ready against this day sevennight to present thyself before thy Lord, at his father's house. And for a token that my message is true, All the daughters of the muse shall be brought low. Then Mr. Honest called for his friends, and said unto them, I die, but shall make no will. As for my Honesty, it shall go with me; let him that comes after be told this. When the day that he was to be gone was come, he addressed himself to go over. Now this river at that time overflowed the banks in some places; but Mr. Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one Good-Conscience to meet him there, the which he also did, and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last Words of Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns. So he left the world. Now, while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed, his strong man bowed under him ; and after he had said, Take me, for I come unto thee, he ceased to be seen of them. In process of time, there came a post to the town again, and his business was with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he enquired him out and said, I am come to thee in the name of Him whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches; and my message is, to tell thee, that he expects thee at his table to sup with him in his kingdom, the next day after Easter: wherefore prepare thyself for thy journey. Then he also gave him a token that he was a true messenger, saying, I have broken the golden bowl, and loosed the silver cord* After this, Mr. Ready-to-hal't called for his fellow pilgrims, and to them, saying, I am sent for, and God shall surely visit you also. So �24 he desired Mr. Valiant to make bis will; and because he had nothing to bequeath them that should survive him, but his crutches, and hia good wishes, therefore thus he said , These crutches I bequeatA to my son that shall tread in my steps, with an hundred warm wishes that he may prove better than I have been. Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his conduct and kindness, and so addressed himself to his journey. When he came to the brink of the river, he said. N o w I shall hifve no more need of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on. The last words he was heard to say, were, Welcome life! So he went his way. After this Mr. Feehle-mind had tidings brought him, that the post sounded his horn at his chamber door. Then he came in, and told liim, saying, l a m come to tell thee, that thy Master hath need of thee; and that in a very little time thou must behold his face in brightness. And take this as a token of the truth of my message : Those that look out at the windows shall be darkened. Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his frie^ds^ and told them what errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had received of the truth of the message. Then he said, Smce I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make a will ? As for my feeblemind, that I will leave behind, for that I have no need of it in the place whither I go : nor is it worth bestowing upon the poorest pilgrims, wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr. Valiar\J, would bury it in a dung-hill. This done, and the day being come in which he was to depart, he entered the river as the rest: his last words were, Hold out faith and patience. So he went over to the other side. But glorious it was to see how the opeu region w&s filled with horses and chariots, with trumpets and pipers, with singers and players «n stringed instruments, to welcom the pilgrims as they went up, and followed one another in at the beautiful gate of the city. As for Christiana's children, the four boys that Christiana brought, with their wives and children, I did not stajr where I was till they were gone over. Also since I came away, 1 heard one say they were yet alive, and so would be, for the Increase of the church ia that place where they were for a time. Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that desire it an account »f what 1 here am silent about. Mean time I bid my reader FAREWELL. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Pilgrim's Progress from this world to that which is to come. Delivered under the similitude of a Dream. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1839 Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935661083505154">s0587b45</a> <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923386473505154">s0221b12</a> Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chapbook #21 in a bound collection of 22 chapbooks (s0221b12) Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Paisley Religion and Morals Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Bunyan, John, 1628-1688 Type The nature or genre of the resource allegory # of woodcuts: 20 Animal: lion(s) Architecture: pillar(s) Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1831-1840 Chapbook Genre: allegory Chapbook Publisher - Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son Fashion (Clothing): upper class Furniture: table(s) Gender: man/men Nature: hill(s) Nature: tree(s) Object: backpack(s) Object: book(s) Object: walking stick/ staff Occupation: peddler Outdoor Scene Symbols: skull & crossbones https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/f03c8f85af1d428dbdcc630fea973c56.jpg 36b07ff95627f178164cf64f5de3d588 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a young man wearing wig and long coat and pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene with window, stool, and curtain https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/d7f2c9595233b4ff2f41503f8783f0bd.pdf 3f714b2a1d0096368485444e3219417a PDF Text Text HISTORY THE FOOTMAN. S H E W I N G H O W HE RAISED HIMSELF FROM T H E HUMBLE STATION OF A FOOT B O Y , TO A PLACE OF GREAT E M I N E N C E A N D TRUST, HONESTY A N D BY HIS INTEGRITY. ALSO, ON PRIDE, & T H E COUNTRY CLERGYMAN pllBliliiiJa SiM PAISLEY: PRINTED BY CALDWELL AND SON, 2, N E W STREET. �n i s i d R T OF C H A B E E i JOi\ T £§. M y father, George Jones commonly called Black George, on account of his swarthy complexion, was one of the most industrious men in the whole vilage. His cottage, which was his own, and partly built by his own hands, stands on the common, about a stone's throw from the road, near the preat Oak tree, in the parish of King's Charleton in Somersetshire.—The Lord of the Manor having granted him leave to inclose a bit of the common for a garden, my father had got a thriving young orchard and a long strip of potatoes, besides his cottage, all the produce of his own industry. It used to be a favourable saying with him, that no man to whom God had given two hands, had ever need to want. i For my part says he, I never knew what want was— When I am sick, the club supports me, and when 1 am well, I warrant I'll support myself. My mother, besides being equally industrious, was ratteh more religious, ani l therefore much happier; She was as good and sweet-tempered a �I wOiTMfen jto Mjf in $ * work^ For cor*S!tocf Her duty, Friendship, civility to her neighbour** cleanliness in her own person, her house and her children, she had not her fellow. But the most remarkable thing in her(I am afraid a very uncommon thing) was her steady and uninterrupted practice of family prayer. It must have been a hard days work indeed, that hindered her from her prayers. At six in the morning and eight in the evening, as regularly as ever the hour came, she always knelt down with her children round her, four of us, and read with great solemnity and devotion a short form given her by the clergyman, which concluded with the Lord's prayer, in which we all joined. And she used to say after she had finished, ' N o w I can go to bed or to work, in peace; for now we may hope God will protect us44 I am sorry to say my Father seldom joined with us. He used to pretend he was busy or tired; and yet it would not have detained him long nether, for we were never more than six minutesaboutit, and surely twelve minutes a day (six in ihe morning and six in the evening) is no great time to give to God. One thing has often struck me, that if any thing went wrong and ruffled my dear mother's temper, or made her uneasy, the prayer seemed to set all to rights. When she had been to prayers, all her grief seemed to be fled away. And indeed I observed the same thing with respect to my father; if he ever did join with us, it always seemed somehow to compose and sweeten his mind, and make him a great deal kinder to my mother and vis. �4 A* myfeiJheraod mother wer# very tetJmtiiotas themselves, they were very desirous to make theit children so ; every child was employd as soon as he was able, in something or other. At about thirteen years of age my employment had been for some time to weed in the parson's garden, and run errands for him. At fourteen he took me into his house, and not a little proud was I at obtaining the title of his 'little footman.1 The morning I left my father's cottage, my dear mother, who was kind as she was good, appeared to be verj much affected; she said she could not commit me to the wide world, without first committing me to God who governed it; and then she knelt down with me by her side, and prayed, * Gracious Lord, be pleased to have mercy on my dear boy, T o thy care I commend him. Guard him, I beseech thee in the many temptations which he is now beginning to encounter. May he with solid piety and honest diligence, do his duty in that state of life in which it hath pleased thee to place him,'—She then gave me her blessing, put a Testament into my pocket, bid me fear God, and always act for my master as I would do for myself. In my new situation there were to be sure some few things disagreable. My mistress was peevish and fretful; the co©k violent and passionate. But what service is there, or indeed, what situation in life, howsoever much above servitude, which there is not something unpfeasant ? Every state has its trials; servants have theirs: but if they cannot learn to put up with some little itt- i �conveniences, they may change their places every year of their lives, and never be satisfied after all. This is a lesson I have learnt by long experience. Though by God's blessing I had received a more raligious education than most children, it yet soon appeared that I had many faults, which it was necssary for me to be corrected of before I could become a good servant. At first, when I was sent npon an errand, I was much given to loitering. I was then too young to consider that by loitering in errands I was wasting what was not my own, but my master's time. Besides this fault, as every thing which I saw and heard in my master's house was such as I had never se^i* or heard before, I was too apt to talk of it to my old play fellows, or at the village shop, Bat as soon as ever I became a little older, I began to reflect that this was very wrong. One Sunday evening, when I had leave to go home to see my parents, I was beginning to tell my mother how there had been a great uproar at the parsonage the day before, about Here she put her hand upon my lips, and said, 'Charles, not a word more of what has passed at the parsonage. Whatsoever happens in your masters house is never to be spoken of out of your master's doors. A tale bearing servant is alway an unfaithful servant; he betrays the trust which his master puts in him." My mother's vehemence surprised me a little, but it made so much impression upon me, that I was pretty well broken of the feult from that v©ry �6 time. Into how many scrapes has thk talkative tempei brought many servants of my acquaintance ! There was poor Nic Jarret, the squire's under footman, that lost his place, a new suit of black broad cloth, and a legacy of five pounds, which he would soon have had by reason of his mistress's death, only for saying at a neighbour's house, that his mistress sometimes fell asleep while the squire was reading to the family on a Sunday night. Nic and I were at one time rather too intimate; I remember one day, when I was about sixteen, having attended my master to the squire's house, Nic prevailed on me after dinner to play with him at pitch and toss. I was worth at that time five shillings and two pence, more money than I had ever possessed before in my life. In about two hours Nic reduced me to my last shilling But though it was a heavy stroke at the time, yet it proved in the end a happy event, for by my mother's persuasions, I resolved thence forward never to game again as long as I lived, which resolution, by God's grace, I have hitherto happily kept. I wish from my heart that all other servants would resolve the same. The practice of card playing, so common among servants in large families, is the worst custom they can possibly fall into. My poor brother Tom suffered enough for it one day having received in the morning a quarter's wages, he lost the whole of it before night at All Fours; and what was the consequence W h y , from that very time, took to tbo|p practices of Ml 'afattrter wfeki k&tedl & �7 his ruin. How much better would it be for all Servants, if instead of wasting their leisure in card-playing, they would amuse themselves in reading some Godly book, or improve themselves in writing, or cyphering. It was by this means, for I was never taught to write, that I qualified myself for the place of Bailiff, which I now fill. I remember Nic used to say, 6 Whilst my master plays cards in the parlour, why shoudst thou be so sqeamish as not to play in the kitchen? But Nic did not consider that his master being rich, and playing for small sums, his loses laid under no temptation of dishonesty in order to pay them; besides the Squire could read and write at any time, whereas this was our only leisure time, and if we did not improve ourselves then, we never could; what might be comparatively innocent in him, might be ruinous to us. And even if my master be a professed gambler, that is no reason I should be so too. A servant is to do what is right, let his master do what he will. If a master swears and gets drunk, and talks at table with decency, or against God and religion, to God he must account for it, and a sorry account it will be, I doubt; but his example will not excuse our crimes, though it will aggravate his. We must take care of our own souls, whether our masters take care of theirs or not. But to return to my history; I am ashamed to say that I was guilty more than once in the earlier part of my servitude, of the shocking and detestable crime of lying, in order to excuse or screen my f a u l t s ^ £(appily l w^s cured of it in �8 th<3 following manner; Having been one day ordered to carry a bottle of wine to a sick man, one of my master's parishioners, 1 accidentally broke the bottle, and of course lost the wine, What was to be done? Should 1 confess my misfortune, and acknowledge my carelessness, or conceal it by a lie? After some deliberation, 1 resolved upon the lie.— 1 therefore had made up my story, 'how the poor man sent his duty to my master, and thanked him t a thousand times, and that he was a little better, and that his wife said she thought this wine would save his life.4 Being thus prepared, as 1 was returning home, 1 met a pedlar, of whom 1 bought for a penny a little book containing a story of a woman at Dervizes, who was struck dead on the spot for telling a lie. To be sure it was Heaven seat the pedlar to me, to save me from the sin 1 was going to commit. 'If this woman was struck dead for a lie, (said I to myself) why may not 1 ? " 1 therefore went directly home, and made a confession of my neg* ligenee and misfortune. And it was well for me 1 did; for the sick man, whose duty and thanks 1 had wickedly intended to carry to my master, was dead, as 1 understood afterwards* three hours before the bottle was broken. From this time, therefore, 1 began to see, what 1 am now fully convinced of, that besides the sinfulness of lieing, it is always more for the interest and lasting comforts of servants to confess the tiuth at once, than to conceal a fault by falsehood, When a servant has told a lie, he is always in danger of its being found out, and sooner or later it gene^v "'"HCT- �9 ally h found out, and then hw eharaeter irniucd. Whereas, if ke confesses the truth at once, ha probably escapes without any anger at all, or mt Worst it is soon over, and the fault itself is forgotten. Having now lived seven years at the parsonage, and being twenty one years of age, my master called me one day into his study, where he spent ft good deal of his time, and said to nie, 'Charles you have lived with me a considerable time, and it has been always with much pleasure that 1 have remarked the decency, sobriety and diligence of your conduct. These few faults which yot have, further experience and more years will, 1 doubt not, cure* You are now qualified for a better place than mine, and are entitled to higher wages than it is in my power to gi*e. 1 have therefore recommended you to a friend of mine in London, for which place you are to set out, if you approve of it, in a month. But 1 should think it a crime to dismiss you to a situation so full of teaiptatio®*, without giving you some little advice. Listen, therefore, my dear Charles, to what 1 shall say as 1 mean it only for your good. 1 n the first place fear G o d ; and then you will never have an occasion to be afraid of man. Act always in his presenee. Never enter or quit your bed without prtyer. Do always for your master, as you would your master, if you were to change places, should do for you. Endeavour to get a pious friend, but avoid, as you would the plague, all wickcd company. Be cautious of too great familiarity with your ftmale fellow §ervaut«£ aa utilaw&U �10 i«t:er#ewr:e *f l i ^ k i n d will rum you, body »oul. Flee from an alehouse as you would from the devil; if you once get into it, you #ill never be out of it. Keep your money, and your irtoney *ill keep you. Here Charles, is a Bible for y o « ; the more you read it, the more you will love it, the better you will be, and the happier. 1 have written some directions for you in the first page of it. God bless you; and when my race, which is now drawing to its end, shall finish, may we Caeet in heaven. My master's kindness so affected me, that 1 could not answer him for tears. 1 was indeed very glad of going to see so fine a place ac r London, though at the same time i eould not leave a house where 1 had been treated more lika a child than a servant*, without great regret. 1 shall not attempt to describe my parting with Hy mother. No description, 1 am sure, could de justice to the solemn and affectionate manner in which she exorted me to be pious and just, and recommended me to God ih prayer. Her last words 1 shall never forget—'1 know my dear son (said she) that you love me tenderly, ^nd that you would not give me unnecessary pain on any account. Remember then, that whenever yo» 4o any wrong thing, you are planting a dagger in your mother's heart." With these words, he* eyes brim full of tears, and her hands lifted up in silent prayer to God, she turned away from nee, and went into the cottage. And now, Reader, you find me in the great emd dangerous city of London, in the service of a vfcy weastlthjf waster, who kept twelve m v m i * �11 myself. If country people knew London as well as 1 do, how cautious would they be for exchanging their safe and peaceful situations in the country for the perils and temptations of a great city. How many young fellows have 1 known, who lived honestly aud happily in their native place, come up to London in the hope of higher wages, and there forfeit their integrity, their peace of mind, their health ; their character and souls. Workmen in particular are yery fond of getting into large cities, because they think their labour will turn to better account there than in their own villages. They do not consider that in a city, they must give as much for a filthy roo«a, in a filthy house, inhabited by half a dozen families, situated in a close, smokey, dirty street, a« in the country would pay the rent of a cottage and a garden. They do not consider the dearness of provisions in a city, the temptations they are under from bad women, wicked company and the great number of alehouses. In short I am fully persuaded that a labourer in the country, on a shilling a day, is better off than one in a city on two shillings. When I came to my place, I found every thing for the first three or four days very smooth and very pleasant, plenty of provisions, plenty of drink little work, and a very merry servants hall. But soon the face of things, with respect to me, changed very much, and I underwent a severer temptation than I ever experienced before or since Xn the whole course of my life. I had always hitherto been taught feo consider that sobriety and �12 diligent, and piety, were virtues I therefore never swore, I never got drunk, I never gamec^ 1 went to church as often as 1 could, 1 said my prayers night arid morning, and on Sunday at least, if not on other days 1 read a little in my good old master's Bible, But here 1 soon found that all this was the worst vice 1 could be guilty of. As soon as they found me out, it seemed to be a trial of skill amosgst them who should plague me most. One called me a Parson; awother, a Methodist; a third, a conceited Prig; a fourth, a canting Hypocrite. If I went into any other gentleman's kitchen it was all the same; my character flew before me, and many were the jests and laughs rarised both at home and abroad at my expense* In short, during three months, my life wa« a constant amxiety and torment; so that at l^st I i^as almost tempted, God forgive me for the thought, to do as they did, and forfeit my everlasting soul in order to a^oid the present uneasiness. But while things were in this state, I felt myself greatly and unexpectedly relieved. One Sunday morning by a sermon which I happened to hear from our Parish Minister, on the following text, 6 Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil of you falsely for my sake, for great is your reward in heaven.6 The excellent discourse which this pious man delivered on these words was so exactly suited to my circumstances and feelings, that it seemed as if it had been addressed solely to me; and it pleased God so to apply what had been said to my heart and under- �It afcandiisg, thai I sot only determined ,*o bear in future the sneers and scoffs of my fellow sefvants with patience and fortitude, but even those very sneers which I formerly considered as my heaviest calamity, were now no longer grievous. From this time, therefore, my uneasiness was pretty well at an end. And I earnestly recommend it to all other servants, who have been so happy as to acquire sober and virtuous habits, not to suffer themselves to be laughed out of their sobriety and virtue by the jests and ridicule of their fellowservants. They may depend upon it that their cause is a good one, and though they suffer for it at first, they will finally triumph. In a short time all my persecution was at an end. 8 T o be sure (said the coachman one day to the cook) Charles is a little too religious, but upon my word I don't think he is the worse of it. Mayhap it might be better for us we were more like him. 1 don't see but that he is as humble, friendly, and worthy a fellow as any amongst us. For my part I shall laugh at him no longer.4 This speech, which I happened accidentally to overhear, gave me great pleasure, and I soon found by the agreeable change in my fellow-servants conduct towards me, that the coachman had expressed the opinion of the whole hall. It is true I did every thing to obtain their good will that lay in my power* I was civil and obliging to every one among them as I possibly could. Was any thing to be done ? if nobody else would do it, I never stopped to consider whether it belonged to my place or not, but did it out of hand. If a,py body toek ii in®* �M Wa he«fl3 to fell out wMh n e, I gei:er&% disarmed feim of his wrath by saying nothing. If any little quarrels, or misfortunes or misconduct, happened in the hall, I always endeavoured to hush it up, and never carried any talcs to the master, unless when I saw any body wronging him, and then I thought it my duty, or unless the thing was very bad indeed. In short, by pursuing always this line of conduct, I found my situation very comfortable and agreeable. My master treated me with great confidence and kindness; my fellow•ervants with great friendliness and respect. In about two years time, the footman that used to go to market being turned away for drunkenness, which vice soon proved his ruin, my master old me, that as he believed I was aa honest and careful young man, and perceiving that I could write and keep aa account, he should ia future employ me'm marketting. T# market, therefore, I went every day, and as I had now a good deal of my master's money always in my haad. 1 prayed heartily to God that he would be pleased to preserve me under the temptation to which this exposed me. My first exploit in this way was the purchase of ten shillings worth of fruit at a fruiterer's. When 1 had finished my bargain, and was coming out of the shop, the fruiterer slipt a shilling into my hand. As 1 had never, to the best of my recollection, seen him before, 1 was somewhat surprized at his generosity; but fortunately had the presence of mind to ask him whether he had charged bis fruit the ~ higher qp ac^punt of thi? present to me. 4 W h y �li yoing man (said lie) tiifa is an and 1 will give you an honest answer. The fact is, that as we know that gentlemen of your cloth expect some compliment from the tradesmen that they deal with we are obliged in our own defence to charge our articles the higher on that account to their masters.' 'And so, (said I) the money you give us, comes finally from the pockets of our masters? *To be sure it does.' ' W h y then, (said I) I will take your shilling, but shall charge my master only nine? shillings. And this method I constantly pursued in the like case ever after;, for I think the above mentioned practice of footmen, which, however, I hope is not very common with them, is just the same in conscienee as if they should rob their master's bureau. One Monday morniug, having settled my account for the last week with my master, 1 found that he had made a mistake against himself of twenty shillings. As soon as 1 discovered it, 1 said to myself, her* B W is an opportunity for O getting twenty shillings without any risk #f detection; but God forbid that 1 should d© it, m it wouli ruin my peace of mind, and destroy my soul. 1 therefore pointed out the error to my master the first opportunity.—'Charles, (said he) you are right the mistake is obvioas* 1 acknowledge 1 made it purposely to try your honesty You will find that this affair will tura out, before long, to your advantage.' Now, though 1 do not think it quite fair ol masters to lay this kind of trap for their servant's integrity, yet a» 1 know h y t h e y sometimes do it, we must be �16 doubly on i>ur guswd* Indeed, dishonesty i« Bever a^fe. It always? will out somehow or other. 1 have seen surprizing instances of the discovery of it, when it seemed to have been committed with such cunning as to be impossible to be detected. One day a» 1 was going to market, 1 met Sir Robert S 'a butler, who told me, that having long observed my sobriety and diligence, he was happy to have it now in his power to offer me a place in his master's family, where my wages would be raised two guineas a yoar. 1 thanKed kiai, and told him he skould have his answer next evening. 1* the mean time 1 called upon a pious and worthy friend, whom 1 consulted in ail difficulties* and asked hit opinion. After mature deliberation, he said, 'Charles, don't go. When you are once got into a good place, stick to it like « leech. The rolling stone gets no *ioss Tke more years you coatinue in one service, the more you are respected by your master and all the world. A good family considers an old servant as one of themselves, and can no more see him want thaa a near relation. Whereas servants that are continually roving from place to place, have no friend in distress, and seldom get a prevision for old age.' Happy it was for me that 1 followed this good advice. If 1 had not, 1 should probably have been nothing more than a poor footman all my life. But before 1 bring my own story to an end, 1 must beg my reader's patience, to listen to the sad hte of my poor brother Tom. ! po©r �17 Tom, he was a great favourite in our kitchen, because he sung the best song, and told the merriest tale, and paid his card money the most freely of any gentleman footman about town. And then he swore so much like a gentleman, and was so complaisant to the ladies, and pushed about the strong beer so merrily, that he was, said our servants, the most agreeable company in the world. And yet all these entertaining qualities did not preserve my poor brother from the most dreadful state of distress and ruin. One morning he came to me about ten o'clock with a very woeful face, which was a thing very unusual for him, and told me, that he had just been turned away from his place without a character, that he had no money, many debts, and no real friends* and what was worse than all, that he was labouring under disease. Tom grew worse every day, and was at length given over. In the morning of that day, while 1 was sitting at his bedside, who should come in but my dear mother. She had walked 130 miles, except now and then a lift in the waggon, to attend upon her undeserving son. When she saw him, pale and emaciated, and his face half consumed by disease, it so shocked her, that she fainted away. As soon as she recovered, and wafc a little relieved by a plentiful flood of tears, she said, • My dear Tom, I am come to take care of thee, and make thee better, if I can, Alas I mother (answered he, putting his clay cold hand into hers) it is all too late. I have but a few hour* to live. It is by neglecting your adti �18 that I am brought to this. Gaming and drink, and bad company, and bad women have been my ruin ! O what will become of my soul! if I could but live my life over again. — Here he was seized with a sudden fit, and though he lived some hours, he never spoke after; and died that evening in my mother's arms. After recounting the sorrowful history of my unhappy brother, I must now hasten to conclude my own. About a twelvemonth after the offer of a place in Sir Robert S 's family, my master, in consideration as he said, of my faithful services, made me his butler. He was indeed so kind and friendly to me on all occasions, that I found it necessary to be extreuiely cautious lest I should grow proud, so saucy, or familiar, which some servants, when they have lived long in a place, and find themselves in favour, are apt to do. After enjoying this post about six years, our family being now removed into the country, I made aquaintance with a farmer's daughter living near the great house, whom on account of her religious and industrious principles, and her amiable and cheerfo] temper, I wished to make my wife. She was no flaunter in fine clothes, none of your dancing, flirting, forward lasses, that run about to christenings, and revels, and hopes, that will ruing a man before he knows where he is; but a pious, sober, stay-at-home, industrious young woman ; else I am sure any body might have had her for me. As I had never been guilty of any unnecessary expense, for nobody will call that ^nneee^ary which I sent �19 yearly to my parents, my savings, the- interest being added yearly to the principal in the hands of my master, amounted to two hundred pounds. And as Fanny's father promised to give her another hundred,! thought we might with this take a small farm, and maintain ourselves comfortably and decently.—I therefore communicated the affair to my master. 'Charles, (said he) though I am loth to part with so good a servant, yet I think it an act of gratitude due to you for your long and faithful services, to consent readily to any thing which may be for your welfare. But I do not think it necessary for us to part at all. I am at present in want of a bailiff. You may, if you approve it, undertake that office, and still retain your present wages. Your father-in-law, who is an experienced farmer, will instruct and assist you in the duties of it. I will, besides, let you a small farm on an advantageous lease, which you may makp the most of for yourself.' T o this kind and generous offer I freely assented. And Fanny and myself have now lived together six years in the farm-house near the park-gate, happy and prosperous. My father being dead, and my brother and sister settled, my mother, who is now very old, lives with me; and by her example and exhortation I find afeenseof religion sink deeper into my soul every day, and indeed I am very well convinced by long experience, that there is nothing in this world can make us truly happy but tharfe. �a® I uddraw thk Utile book, which I wrote by little and little in the long evenings of the last hard winter, to all footmea. I hope they will not be angry with my well meant endeavours, but take kindly what is intended only for their good. �IHfelDfi. # king of Lydia, having expressed an extraordinary inclination to see Solon, that philosopher repaired to Sard is to pay him a visit. The first time he was presented, the king received him seated on his throne, and dressed on purpose in his most sumptuous robes; but Solon appeared not the least astonished at the sight of such a glare of magnificence. " M y friend, said Croesus to him, Fame has every where reported thy wisdom. 1 know you have seen many conntries; but have you ever seen a person dressed so magnificently as 1 am "Yes, replied Solon, the pheasants and peacocks are dressed more magnificently, because their brilliant apparel is the gift of nature, without their taking any thought or paini to adorn themselves." Such an unexpected answer very much surprized Croesus, who ordered his officers to open all his treasures, and shew them to Solon, as also his rich furniture, and whatever was magnificent in his palace. He then sent for him a second time, and asked him if he had ever seen a man, more happy than he was. "Yes, replied Solon, and that man was Tellus, a citizen of Athens, who lived with an unblemished character in a well regulated republic. He left two children much respected, with a moderate fortune for their sub^ sLstence, & at last had the happiness to die sword in hand, after having obtained a victory for his country. The Athenians have erected a monument to his memory on the spot where he fell, and have otherwise paid him great hoonrs." Croesur, �32 Oroesfcg was no hm asteufelved at tfek tlran at the first answer, and began to think Solon was not perfectly right in his senses. " Well, continued Croesus, who is the next happy man to Tellus?"—"There were formerly, replied Solon, two brothers, the one named Cleobis, and the other Biton. They were so robust, that thejf alwaj/s obtained the prize in every sort of combat, and perfectly loved each other. One feast dej/, when the priestess of Juno, their mother, for whom the^ had the most tender affection, was to go to the temple to sacrifice, the oxen that were to draw her thither did not come in time, Cleobis and Biton hereupon fastened themselves to her carriage, and in that manner drew her to the temple. All the matrons in raptures congratulated their mother on having brought two such sons into the world. Their mother, penetrated with emotions of the strongest joy and gratitude, ferventh/ prayed the goddess, that she would bestow on her sons the best gift she had to confer on mortals. Her prayers were heard; for, after the sacrifice, the two sons fell asleep in the temple, and never afterwards awoke. Thus they finished their lives by a tranquil and peaceful death." Croesus could no longer conceal his rage, " W h a t then, said he, do yon not even place me among the number of happy people ? " — " O king of the Lydians, replied Solon, yoM possess great riches, and are master of a great multitude of people; but life is liable to so many changes, that we cannot presume to decide on the felicity of an;y man, until he has finished his mortal career." �Tfie C o u n t r y C l e r g y m a n Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd and still where many a garden flower grown wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose, A man he was, to all the country dear, And passing rich with fort?/ pounds a year; Remote from towns, he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd nor wish'd to change hii place, Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; For other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain ; The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending, swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allowed The broken soldier, kindlj/ bid to staj/, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shewed how fields were won, Pleas d with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quit forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. �24 Thug to relieve the wretched was his prrde, And even his failings lean'd to Virtue's free; But in his duty prompt at even/ call, H e watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all A n d , as a bird each fond endearment tries, T o tempt its new fledg'ed offspring to the skies; H e tried each art, reprov'd each dull delaj/, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the waj/. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt and pain, by turns disrnay'd, T h e reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise And his last faultering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn*d the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevails! with double swaj/, And fools, who came to scoffi remained to pray. T h e service past, around the pious man, W i t h ready zeal each honest rustic ran ; Even children followed with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown to share the good mans, smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest T o them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midwaj/ leaves the storm, T h o ' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread Eternal sunshine settles on its head. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 022: Title-page illustration in double ruled border of a young man in a wig and long coat pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Charles Jones, the Footman. Shewing how he raised himself from the humble station of a foot-boy, to a place of great eminence and trust, by his strict honesty and integrity. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. On Pride, &amp; the Country Clergyman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1839 Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935661133505154">s0587b44</a> Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son Description An account of the resource Woodcut #22: Illustration on title-page of a young man wearing wig and long coat and pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene with window, stool, and curtain. Type The nature or genre of the resource moral tales Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Paisley Religion and Morals # of Woodcuts: 1 Architecture: house Architecture: window(s) Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1831-1840 Chapbook Genre: moral tales Chapbook Publisher - Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son Fashion (Clothing): upper class Furniture: stool(s) Furniture: table(s) Indoor Scene Object: urn(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/dcf233037728291f04dd07ce45977b8e.jpg e032cd5f215a3c5868cd9af5be706f64 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 23: Portrait on title-page of a man wearing a wig and dressed in a coat and lace collar https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/52b2c2fd983f5a48d3333959f46694f8.pdf 80d09d1efcf76d928d3a64cfe5800caa PDF Text Text �f 1 w* B« <i|i *f§ i t ;. me ; • • • i * * t ; vj \ �SINS AND SORROWS SPREAD BEFORE GOD. JOB xxiii. 3, 4. Oh that I knew where I might find him! that 1 might come even to his seat! I would order my cause before him, and fill my mouth with arguments. T H E R E is such a thing as converse with God in prayer, and it is the life and pleasure of a pious soul; without it we are no Christians; and he that practises it most, is the best follower of Christ, for our Lord spent much time in converse with his heavenly Father. This is the balm that eases the most raging pains of the mind, when the wounded conscience comes to the mercy-seat, and finds pardon and peace there. This is the cordial that revives and exalts our natures, when the spirit, broken with sorrows and almost fainting with death, draws near to the almighty Physician, and is healed and refreshed. TH® mercy-seat in heaven is our surest and sweetest refuge in ever hour of distress and darkness oi\ earth; this is our daily support and relief while �4 we are passing through a world of temptations and hardships in the way to the promised land. " It is good for us to draw near to God." Psal. Lxxiii. 28. And yet so much is human nature sunk down and fallen from God, that even his own children are ready to indulge a neglect of converse with him, if their souls are not always upon the watch But let it be remembered here, that so much as we abate of this divine entertainment among the vanities or amusements of the world, the businesses or burdens of life; so much we lose of the glory and joy of religion, and deprive our souls of the comfort that God invites us to receive. Job was encompassed with sorrows all around, and his friends had censured him as a vile hypocrite, and a great sinner, because he was so terribly afflicted by the hand of G o d : whither should he run now but to his heavenly Father, and tell him of all his sufferings ? From the practice of this holy man, I thought we might have sufficient warrant to draw this inference, viz. that when a saint gets near to God in prayer, he tells him all his circumstances, and pleads for help. And this is the doctrine which 1 am endeavouring now to improve. O if I could but come near him; I would spread all my concerns before his eye, and I would plead with him for relief; I would fill my mouth with arguments. �5 Four things I proposed in the prosecution of this doctrine. I. T o consider what it is for a soul to get near to God in prayer. I I . What particular subjects doth a soul, thus brought near to the mercy-seat, converse with God about. I I I . Why he cnuses to tell ail his circumstances and his sorrows to God, when he is thus near him. I V . How he pleads for relief. I. We have already considered what it is for a soul to get near to the seat of God, and what are the usual attendants of such a privilege. At such a season the holy soul will have an awful and adoring sense of the majesty of God, a becoming fear of his terrors, and some sweeter taste of his love. There will be a divine hatred of every sin, and a sensible virtue and influence proceeding from a present God, to resist every temptation ; there will be a spiritual and heavenly temper diffusing itself through the whole soul, and ail the powers of i t ; a fixedness of heart without wTandering; and a liveliness without tiring ; no weariness is felt in the spirit at such a season, even though the flesh may be ready to faint under the overpowering sweetness; then the soul with freedom opens itself before the eye of God, and melts and flow in divine language, �6 whether it complain or rejoice. But I have finished this head, and repeat no more. I I . What are some of the particular circumitances or subjects of complaint, that a saint brings to God when he comes near to him. In general, a saint, when he is near to God, has all the fulness of his heart breaking out into holy language; he pours out his whole self before his God and his Father; all the infinite affairs that relate to the flesh and spirit, to this life and that which is to come; all things in heaven, and all things on earth, created or uncreated, may, at one time or other, be the subjects of converse between God and a holy soul. When the question is asked by a carnal man, " What can a Christian talk with God so long and so often about ?" The Christian, in a divine frame, answers, " He that hath matter enough for converse with God, to wear out time, and to fill up e t e r n i t y I t may as well be asked on the other side, What has he not to say ? What is there that relates to God, or to himself, to the upper, or the lower world, that he may not at some time say to his God? But I must confine myself from wandering in so large a field, that I may comport with the design of my text. Though a good man, in devout prayer often spreads his hopes and his joys before the Lord as well as his sorrows, fear, and dis- �7 tresses; yet I shall at present endeavour to set forth only the mournful and complaining representations of his circumstances that he makes before the throne of God. 1. If I could but come near the mercy-seat, I would confess how great my sins are, and I would pray for pardoning grace. I would say, " How vile I am by n a t u r e I would count my original descent from Adam the great transgressor, and humble myself at the foot of a holy God, because I am the descent of such a sinner. I would tell him how much viler I have made myself by practice: " I have been an enemy in my mind by nature, and guilty of many wicked works, whereby I have farther estranged myself from him." I would tell my God how multiplied rny transgressions have been before 1 knew him, and how aggravated they have been since I have been acquainted with him. I would acquaint him with the frequency of my returning guilt, how I have sinned against mercies, against reproofs, against warnings received often from his word, and often from his providence. I may appeal to the souls of many present, whether they have not had the greatest freedom of confession of their sins when they have been nearest to God, even though he be a God of holiness. At other times they have not only been averse to confess to any friend, but eren �8 unwilling to talk over to themselves the aggravation of their iniquities, or to mention them in prayer; but when they are brought thus near the throne of God, they unbosom themselves befor© him, they pour out their sins and their tears together, with a sweet and mournful satisfaction. " I behold (says the saint) the great atonement, the blood of Jesus, and therefore I may venture to confess my great iniquities, for the satisfaction is equal to them all. VVLen I behold God upon his seat, I behold the Lamb in the midst of the throne as it had been slain, and he is my Peace-maker. I see his all-sufficient sacrifice, his atoning blood, his perfect, his justifying righteousness." The soul then answers the call of God with great readiness, when God says in Isaiah i, 18. " Come let us reason together; though your sins have been as scarlet, they shall be as wool." " I am ready (says the soul) to enter into such reasonings ; I am ready to confess before thee, that my sins are ail crimson and scarlet, but there is cleansing blood with thy Son. Blood that has washed the garments of a thousand sinners, and made them as white as snow; and it has the same virtue still to wash mine too;. I trust in it, and rejoice when I behold that blood sprinkled upon the mercy-seat, and therefore I grow confident in hope, and draw yet nearer to God, a reconciled God, since his throne �has the memorials of a (needing sacrifice upon it." 2. If I could get nearer the seat of God 1 would tell him how many my enemies are, and how strong; how malicious, and how full of rage. And I would beg strength against them, and victory over them. I would say as David, 44 Many there be that hate me, many there be that rise up against me, and many there be that say of my soul, There is no help for him -n God ; but thou, 0 God, art my glory, my shield, and the lifter up of my head," Psal. iii. Then, says the soul, 1 would complain to God of all my indwelling corruptions, of the body of death that dwells in me, or in which I dwell; and say; " O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me!" I would tell him then of the secret working of pride in my heart, though I long to be humble; of the rising of ambition in my soul, though I would willingly maintain .a middle state amongst men, and not aim and aspire to be great. I would acquaint him of the vanity of my own mind, though 1 am perpetually endeavouring to subdue it. I would tell him, with tears, of my sinful passions, of my anger and impatience, and the workings of envy and revenge in me; of the perpetual stirrings of disorderly appetites, whereby I am led away from my G o d ; I would tell him of the hardness of my heart, and the obstinacy of my temper, I would �10 open before his eyes all the vices of my constitution ; all those sacred seeds of iniquity that are ever budding and blossoming to bring forth fruit to death. These things are fit to mourn before the Lord, when the soul is come near to his seat. I would complain of this sore enemy, the world, that is perpetually besetting me, that strikes upon all my senses, that by the ears, and the eyes, and all the outward faculties, draws my heart away from God my best friend. I would tell him of the rage of Satan, that watchful and malicious adversary; that I cannot engage in any duty of worship but he is ready to throw in some foolish or vain suggestion to divert me; and 1 would look forward, and point to my last enemy, death, and beg the presence of my God with me, when I walk through the dark valley; " Lord, when I enter into that conflict, assist me, that I may fear no evil, but be made more than a conqueror through him that has loved me." 3. I would tell him what darkness I labour under, either in respect of faith or practice. If I am perplexed in my mind, and entangled about any of the doctrines of the gospel, I would tell them my God what my entanglements are, where the difficulty lies; and I would beg, that by his Spirit and his word, he would solve the controversy, and set his own truth before me in his own divine light. And then in point of practice, �11 what darkness lies upon the spirit at such a time, is revealed before G o d : u My way is hedged up, I know not what path to chuse; it is very hard for me to find out duty; show me, O Lord, the way wherein I should walk, and mark out my path plain for me. 4. I would mourn, and tell him how little converse I have with himself, how much he is hidden from me; I would complain to him, how far off I am from him the most part of my life, how few are tne hours of my communion with him, how short is the visit, how much his face is concealed from me, and how far my heart i3 divided from him. A soul then says, " Surely there is too great a distance between me and my God, my heavenly Father;" and cries out with bitterness, " Why is God so far from me, and why is my heart so far from God ? How often do I wait upon him in his own sanctuary, and among his saints, but I am not favoured with a sight of his power and glory there! And how often do I seek him in my secret retirements, but I find him not I I would tell him how often I read his promises in the gospel, and taste no sweetness; I go frequently to those wells of consolation and they seem to be dry ; then I turn my face, and go away ashamed." 5. I would tell him too of my temporal troubles, if I get near to God, because they unfit me �12 for Lis service, ihey make me uncapable of honouring him in the world, and render me unfit for enjoying him in his ordinances; I would tell him how they damp my zeal, how they bow my spirit down, and make me go mourning all the day long5 to the dishonour of Christianity, which is a dispensation of grace and joy. Thus I might complain before God of pains, of weakness, of sickness, of the disorders of my flesh ; I might complain there too of the weakness of all my powers, the want of memory, the scatterings and confusions that are upon my thoughts, the wanderings of my fancy, and the unhappy influence that a feeble and diseased body has upon the mind : " O my God, how am I divided from thee by dwelling in such a tabernacle ! Still patching up a tottering cottage, and wasting my best hours in a painful attendance on the infirmities of the flesh!" I might then take the liberty of spreading before my God all the sorrows and vexations of life, that unhinge my soul from its centre, that throw it off from my guard, and hurry and expose me to daily temptations. I might cornplain of my reproaches from friends and ene* mies; because these, many times, wear out the spirit and unfit it for acts of lively worship. These are my weekly sorrows and groans, these are my daily fears and troubles; and these shall �13 be spread before the eyes of my God, in the happy hour when I get near him. Lastly, I would not go away without a word of pity and complaint concerning my relations, my friends and acquaintance, that are afar off from God. I would put in one word of petition for them that are careless unconcerned for themselves; I WDuld weep a little at the seat of God for them: I would leave a tear or two at the throne of rnercy, for my dearest relatives in the flesh, for children, brothers or sisters, that they may be brought near to God, in the bonds of the Spirit. Then would I remember my friends in Christ, my brethren and kindred in the gospel; such as labour under heavy burdens, languish under various infirmities of life, or groan under the power of strong temptations. When God indulges me the favour of his ear, I would spread their wants and sorrows before him, together with my own, and make supplication for all the saints. I would leave a petition at the mercyseat for my native country, that knowledge and holiness may overspread the nation ; that our king may be a nursing-father to the church, and our princes may be blessings to the land. And while I send up my request for the British Islands, I would breathe out many a sigh for Zion, that she may be the joy of the whole earth.—I proceed now to. �14 III. The third head of inquiry, which is this: Why does a saint, when he gets near to God delight to tell hiir all his circumstances, and all his sorrows ? In general I might say this, because it is so seldom, at least in our day, that a saint gets very near to God; therefore when he finds that happy minute, he says to his God all he wants to say; he tells him all his heart; he pours out all his wants before him ; because these seasons are very few. It is but here and there an extraordinary Christian, who maintains constant nearness to God; the best complain of too much distance and estrangement. But to descend to particulars. 1. He is our chief friend, and it is an ease to the soul to vent itself in the bosom of a friend, when we are in his company. More especially as it was in the ease of Job, when other friends failed him when he began to tell them some of his sorrows, and withal maintained his own integrity ; they w7ould not believe him, but became his troublers instead of his comforters; My friends, scorn me," saith Job, ch. xvi. 20, but mine eye pours out tears to God. I go to my best friend, my friend in heaven, when my friends here on earth neglect me. Man is a sociable creature, and our joys and our sorrows are made to be communicated,, that �15 hereby we may double the one and alleviate the other. There is scarce any piece of human nature, be it ever so stupid, but feels some satisfaction in the pleasure of a friend, in communicating the troubles and the pleasures that it feels; but those that have God for their highest and best friend, they love to be often exercising such acts of friendship with him, and rather with him than with any friend besides, rather with him than all besides him. This is the noblest and highest friendship; all condescension and compassion on the one side, and all infirmity and dependance on the other! and yet both joined is mutual satisfaction. Amazing grace of God to man ! The Christian rejoices in this admirable divine indulgence, and delights in all opportunities to employ and improve it. Besides, this is the way to maintain the vigour of piety, and keep all the springs of divine love ever open and flowing in his own heart; therefore he makes many a visit to the mercy-seat, and takes occasion from every troublesome occurence in life, to betake himself to his knees, and improves every sorrow he meets on earth, to increase his acquaintance with heaven. He delights to talk all his grievances over with his God. Hannah, the mother of Samuel, is a blessed example of this practice, 1 Sam. i. 10. When she was in bitterness of soul, by reason of �16 a sore atfliction, and the teazing humour of hei rival, she prayed to the Lord, and wept sore J and when she had left her sorrows at the mercyseat, she went away, and did eat, and her countenance was no more sad, ver. 18. So saith the Christian, " I commit my sorrows to my God, he is my best friend, and I go away, and am no more sad f I have poured out my cares into his ear, and cast my burdens upon him, and I leave them there in peace " 2. The saint knows God will understand him right, and will judge right concerning his case and his meaning. Though the expression (it may be) are very imperfect, below the common language of men, and propriety of speech, yet God knows the meaning of the soul, and he knows the mind of hi5 Spirit, Rom. viii. The friends of Job perverted his sense; therefore he turns aside to God, for he knows God would understand him. It is a very great advantage, when we spread our concerns before another person, to be well assured that person will take us right, will take in our meaning fully, and judge aright concerning our cause. Now we may be assured of this when we speak to our God; he knows our thoughts afar, off, and all our circumstances, better infinitely than we can tell him. These our poor imperfect expressions of our wants, shall be no hinderance to his full sup- �17 plies, nor any bar to his exercise of friendship toward us. 3. A saint pours out his soul before God, because he is sure of secrecy there. How many things are there transacted between God and a holy soul, that he could never publish to the world ! and many things also that concern his conduct in life, his embarassment of spirit, his difficulties,, his follies, or the obstinacy, guilt, or follies of his friends or relatives, which prudence or shame forbid him to tell his fellow creatures: and yet he wants to spread them all before God his best friend, God his dearest relative, the friend nearest to his heart. There may be many circumstances and cases in life, especially in the spiritual life, which one Christian could hardly communicate to another, though under the strictest bonds and ties of natural, and civil, and sacred relation ; though we may communicate these very affairs, these secret concerns, with our God, and unburden our souls of every care, without the least public notice. We cannot be perfect secure of this with regard to any creature; for when we have experienced the faithfulness of a friend many years, he may possibly be at last unfaithful: unfaithfulness is mingled with our nature since the fall, and it ii impossible any person can be infallibly secure from it. Psal. lxii. 9# Meu of low degree are vanity, �18 and great men are a lie; but we may leave our case with our God, as secure as though we had communicated it to none: nay, we may be easily secure and free in speaking, because God knows all before-hand. Our complaint adds nothing to his knowledge, although it eases our souls, and gives us sweet satisfaction in having such a friend to speak to. 4. A saint believes the equity, faithfulness, and the love of God; therefore he spreads his case before him. His equity, that the judge of all the earth will do right; the righteous may plead with him. His faithfulness, that he will fulfil all his promises; and his love, that he will take compassion on those who are afflicted; he will be tender to those who are miserable. David takes occasion from this to address God under his sufferings and sorrows: Psal. lxii. 1, 2. 66 He is my rock, and my salvation, and my defence; I shall not be moved; therefore my soul waits upon God; my refuge is in him; he is a God that hears prayer, therefore unto him shall all flesh come," Psal. lxv. 1. God will not account our complaints troublesome, though they be never so often repeated; whereas men are quickly wearied with the importunities of those who are poor and needy. Great men are ready to shut their doors against those who come too often for relief; but God delights to hear often from his people, and �19 to have them ask continually at his door for mercy. Though he has almighty power with him, saith Job, yet he will not plead against me with his great power; no, but he would put strength in me; he would teach me how I should answer him; how I should answer his justice, by appeals to his mercy; and how I should speak prevailingly before him. 5. Lastly, A saint tells God all his circumstances and sorrows at such a season, because he hopes for relief from him, and from him only; for it is impossible creatures can give relief under any trouble, unless God make them instruments of relief. And there are some troubles in which creatures cannot be our helpers, but our help must come only from God, and that in a more immediate way. Whatsoever be our distress, whether it arise from past guilt and the torments of an anxious and troubled conscience, or whether it arise from the working of indwelling sin, the strength of temptation, or the violence of temporal afflictions, still God is able and willing to give relief. " Call upon me (saith the Lord) in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me;" Psal. 1. 12* And he hath never said to the seed of Jacob, seek ye my face in vain, Isa. xlv. 19. IV. The fourth general head of discourse �20 which I proposed, is to shew how a saint, near the mercyseat, pleads with God for relief. Holy Job tells us in this text, that if he was got near to the seat of God, he would fill his mouth with arguments. Not as though he would"inform God of the necessity, or the justice of his cause, beyond what he knew before; no, this is impossible; he that teacheth man all things, shall he not know? Psal. xciv. 9, 10. He who orders all the circumstances of our lives, and every stroke of his own rod, can he be unacquainted with any thing that relates to our sorrows ? Nor can we use arguments with God to awaken his ear, or move his compassion, as though he had neglected us or forgotten our distress; for all things are for ever naked and open before the eyes of him with whom we have to do. The shepherd of Israel cannot slumber ; nor does his mercy want our awakenings. But in this sort of expressions, the great God condescends to talk, and to transact affairs with us, and permits us to treat with him in a way suited to our weakness; he would have us plead and argue with him, that we may show how deep a sense we have of our own wants, and how entirely we depend on his mercy. Since we cannot converse wkh him in a way equal to his own majesty and Godhead he stoops to talk with us �21 in such a way as is most agreeable to our state, and most easy to our apprehension, he speaks such language as we can understand, and invites us to humble conference with him in the same way. Come, says God to his people, by Isaiah his prophet, Come now, and let us reason together, Isa. i. 18. And he often in holy scripture, represents himself as moved and influenced by the prayers and pleadings of his afflicted saints; and he has ordained before hand, that the day when he prepares their hearts to pray, shall be the day when his ear shall hear the desire of the humble, and shall be the season of their deliverence, Psal. x. 17. If you inquire, how a Christian pleads with his God, and whence does he borrow his arguments ; I answer, that according to the various sorrows and difficulties which attend him, so various may his pleadings be for the removal of them. There is not a circumstance which belongs to his affliction, but he may draw some argument from it to plead for mercy ; there is not one attribute of the divine nature, but he may use it with holy skill, and thereby plead for grace; there is not one relation in which God stands to his people, nor one promise of his covenant, but may at some time or other afford an argument in prayer. But the strongest and iweetest argument that, a Christian knows, b the �22 name and mediation of Jesus Christ his Lord. It is for the sake of Christ, who has purchased all the blessings of the covenant, that a saint hopes to receive them; and for the sake of Christ, he pleads that God would bestow them. But having treated largely oil this subject, it remains that I make a few useful reflections on the whole foregoing discourse. R E F L E C T I O N I. a dull and uncomfortable thing is religion without drawing near to God 1 for this is the very business for which religion is designed ; the end and aim of religion is getting nigh to God ; if it attain not this end it is nothing. O the madness of hypocrites, who satisfy them selves to toil in long forms of worship, and appear perpetually in the shapes of religion, but unconcerned whether they ever get near to God by it or no! They lose the end and design for which religion was made. What if we know all the doctrines of the gospel; what if we can talk rationally about natural religion; what if we can deduce one truth from another, so as to spread a whole scheme of godliness before the eyes or ears of those we converse with; what if we can prove all the points of Christianity, and give uncontestable arguments for the belief of them; yet we have 110 religion if our souls never get near to God by them. A saint thinks it a very melanWHAT �23 choly thing when he is at a distance from God, and cannot tell God his wants and sorrows. Though he be never so much studied in divinity, and the deep things of God, yet if God be not with him, if he does not come near to his mercyseat, so as to converse with him as his friend, the soul is concerned and grieved, and never rests till this distance be removed. It is to little purpose all these forms are maintained, if we have not the substance and the powrer of godliness; if our God be not near us, if we never get near to God. R E F L E C T I O N II. How happy are we under the gospel, above aL ages and nations besides us, and before us! For we have advantages of getting near to God, beyond what any other religion has ; above what the heathen world ever enjoyed; for their light of nature could never show them the throne of grace; above what the ancient petriarchs had, though God same down in visible shapes, and revealed and discovered himself to them as a man or an angel; above what the Jews had, though God dwelt among them in visible glory in the holy of holies. The people were kept at a distance, and the high-priest was to come thither but once a-year; and their veil, and smokes, and shadows, did, as it were, conceal God from them, although they were types of a future Messiah; and «yen their Shekinah itself, or cloud of glory, �21 gave them no spiritual idea or notion of Godhead, though it was a shining emblem of God dwelling among them. R E F L E C T I O N III. Lastly, That future state of glory must be blessed indeed where we shall be ever near to God, even to his seat, and have no sorrows to tell him of. If it be so delightful a thing to come near the seat of God here upon earth, to mourn before him, and to tell him all our circumstances, and all our sorrows, how pleasurable a blessedness must that of heaven be, where we shall be ever rejoicing before him, as Christ Jesus was before the world was made, rejoicing daily before him; and our delight shall be with that God who created the sons of men; where we shall be for ever telling him of our joys, and our pleasures, with humble adoration of his grace, and everlasting gratitude. O that I could raise your souls, and mine, to blessed breathings after this felicity, by such representations ! But how infinitely short must the brightest descriptions fall of this state and place ! May you and I, who speak and hear this, may every soul of us be made thus happy one day, and learn the extent and glory of this blessedness, by sweet and everlasting experience. Amen. FINIS. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 023: Title-page illustration in triple ruled border of a portrait of a man in a wig and dressed in a coat with a lace collar. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Sins and Sorrows spread before God: a sermon, by the Rev. Isaac Watts. Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935661163505154">s0587b42</a> Description An account of the resource 99 printed at the foot of the title page Woodcut #23: Portrait on title-page of a man wearing a wig and dressed in a coat and lace collar Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Religion and Morals Type The nature or genre of the resource sermon Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Watts, Isaac, 1674-1748 # of Woodcuts: 1 Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: religion & morals Chapbook Genre: sermon Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Fashion (Clothing): religious Gender: man/men occupation: clergy Portrait: Isaac Watts https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/42dbb0dede9ae3a3a5d2ee3f6babf05d.pdf 6fae4ad94569c572c30f022e0d63dbdd PDF Text Text STORYS YOUNG OF ROBBER, AD N PUSS IN BOOTS. 1 GLASGOW: 29 ��STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. I WAS born at the little town of Frosinone, which lies at the skirts of the Abruzzi. M y father had made a little property in trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for the church; but I had kept gay company too much to relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, but goodhumoured in the main; so I made my way very well for a time, until I fell in love. There lived in our town a surveyor or land-bailiff of the prince's, who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen: she was looked upon as something better than the common run of our townsfolk, I saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with her she looked so fresh and tender, and so different from the sun-burned females to whom I had been accustomed. A s my father kept me in money, I of showing myself off to advantage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to see her always and was kept al dressed we �4 at church ; and as 1 could play a little upon the guitar, I gave a tune sometimes under her window of an evening; and I tried to have interviews with her in her father's vineyard, not far from the town, where she sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased with me, but she was young and s h y ; and her father kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, and looked for a better match for his daughter. I became furious at the difficulties thrown in my way, having been accustomed always to easy success among the women, being considered one of the smartest young fellows of the place. Her father brought home a suitor for her, a rich farmer from a neighbouring town. T h e wedding-day was appointed, and preparations were making at her window, and 1 thought she looked sadly at me. I determined the match should not take place, cost what it might. I met her intended bridegroom in the market place, and could not restrain the expression of when I drew my stiletto and stabbed him to the heart. 1 fled to a neighbouring church for refuge, and with a little money I obtained absolution, but I did not dare to venture from my asylum. At that time our captain was forming his �5 troop. He had known me from boyhood ; and hearing' of my situation, came to me in secret, and made such offers, that I agreed to enrol myself among his followers. Indeed, I had more than once thought of taking to this mode of life, having known several brave fellows of the mountains, who used to spend their money freely among us youngsters asylum late one night, repaired to the appointed were for some time in a distant part of the mountains, and our wild adventurous kind of life hit my fancy wonderfully, and diverted my thoughts. A t length they returned with all their violence to the recollection of Rosetta : the solitude in which I often found myself gave me time to brood over her image; and, as I have kept watch at night over our sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings have been roused almost to a fever. A t length we shifted our ground, and determined to make a descent upon the road between Terracina and Naples. In the course of our expedition we passed a day or two in the woody mountains which rise above Frosinone. I cannot tell you how I felt when I looked down upon the place, and distinguished the residence of Rosetta. I of the town place of meeti �V determined to have an interview with h e r ; but to what purpose ? I could not expect that she would quit her home, and accompany me in mv hazardous life among the mountains. She had bee for that; and when I looked upon the women who were associated with some of our troop, I could not have borne the thoughts of her being their companion. A l l return to my former life was likewise hopeless, for a price was set upon my head. Still I determined fruitlessness of the thing made me furious to accomplish it. It is about three weeks since I persuaded our captain to draw down to the vicinity of Frosinone, in hopes of entrapping some of its principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a ransom. W e were l y i n g in ambush towards evening, not far from the vineyard of Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from my companions, and drew near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent walks. How my heart beat when among the vines I beheld the gloaming of a white dress ! I knew it must be Rossetta's; it being rare for any female of the place to dress in white. I advanced secretly and without noise, until, putting aside the vines, and stood suddenly before her. She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her in my arms, put my hand �7 upon her mouth, and conjured her to be silent. I poured out all the frenzy of m y passion; offered to renounce my mode of life; to put my fate in her hands; to fly with her where we might live in safety together. A l l that I could say or do would not pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright seemed to have taken possession of her breast. She struggled partly from my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. In an instant the captain and the rest of my companions were around us. I would have given any thing at that moment had she been safe out of our hands, and in her father's house. It was too late. The captain pronounced her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to the mountains. I represented had a previous claim to her; and I mentioned bitterly in reply; observed that brigands had no business with village intrigues, and that, according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of the kind were determined by lot. Love and jealously were r a g i n g in my heart, but I had to choose between obedience and death. I surrendered her to the captain, and we made for the mountains. She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble and faltering that it was necessary to support her. I could not en- to him my form �dure the idea that my comrades should touch her, and assuming a forced tranquility, begged that she might be confided to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. The captain regarded me, for a moment, with a searching look, but I bore it without flinching, and he consented. I took her in my arms; she was almost senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder; I felt her breath on my face, and it seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. Oh G o d ! to have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to think it was not mine! W e arrived at the foot of the mountain. I ascended it with difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick, but I would not relinquish my delicious burden. I reflected do so. T h e thoughts that so delicate a creature must be abandoned to my rude companions, maddened me. I felt tempted, the stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them all, and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the idea before I saw its rashness; but my brain was fevered with the thought that any but myself should enjoy her ch my companions by the quickness of my movements,' and to get a little distance ahead in case any favourable opportunity of escape should present. Vain effort! �9 T h e voice of the captain suddenly ordered a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly opened a languid eye, but was without strength or motion. I laid her upon the grass. T h e captain darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with my companions in search of some shepherd, who might be sent to her father's to demand a ransom. I saw at once the peril. T o resist with violence was certain death, but to leave her alone, in the power of the captain ! I spoke out then with a fervour, inspired by my passion and my despair. I reminded the captain that I was the first to seize her; that she was my prize; and that myprevious sacred among my companions. I insisted, therefore, that he should pledge me his word to respect her, otherwise I should refuse obedience to his orders. His only reply was to cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. What could I do? I felt the madness of resistance. I was menaced on all hands, and my companions obliged me to follow them. She remained alone with the chief yes, alone and almost lifeless ! Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by his emotions, Great drops of �10 sweat stood on his forehead; he panted rather than breathed; his brawny bosom rose and fell like the waves of a troubled sea. i When he had become a little calm, he continued I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back before what I dreaded might take place. I had left my companions far behind, and I rejoined them before they had reached onehalf the distance I had made. I hurried them back to the place where we had left the captain. As we approached, I beheld him seated by the side of Rosetta. His triumphant look, and the dessolate condition of the unfortunate girl, left me no doubt of her fate. I know not how I restrained my fury. It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her hand, that she was made to trace a few characters, requesting her father to send three hundred dollars as her ransom. The letter was dispatched by the shepherd. When he was gone, the chief turned sternly t o m e : " Y o u have set an example," said he, " o f mutiny and self-will, which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, this bullet would have been driven through your brain. But you are an old friend; I have borne patiently with your fury and your hi �11 folly. 1 have even protected you from a foolish passion that would have unmanned you. A s to this girl, the laws of our association he gave his commands: lots were drawn, an I the helpless girl was abandoned to the troop. must have their c Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, and it was some moments before he could resume his story. Hell, said he, was r a g i n g in my heart. 1 beheld the impossibility of avenging myself; and I felt that, according to the articles in which we stood bound to one another, the captain was in the right. I rushed with frenzy from the place; I threw myself upon the earth ; tore up the grass with my hands, and beat my head and gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale, dishevelled, her dress torn and disordered. A n emotion of pity, for a moment, subdued my fierce feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying it to her lips, endeavoured to make her swallow a little. T o what a condition was she once seen the pride of Frosinone! whom but a short time before I had beheld sporting in her father's vineyard, so fresh, and beautiful, and happy! �12 her eyes fixed on the ground; her form without motion, and in a state of absolute insensibility, I hung over her in an agony of recollection at all that she had been, and of anguish at what I now beheld her. I darted round a look of horror at my companions, who seemed exulting in the downfall of an angel! and I felt a horror at myself for being their accomplice. T h e captain, always suspicious, saw, with his usual penetration, what was passing within me, and ordered me to go upon the ridge of the woods, to keep a look-out over the neighbourhood, and await the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of course, stifling the fury that raged within me, though I felt for the moment that he was my most deadly foe. On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my mind. I perceived that the captain was but following, with strictness, the terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity. T h a t the passion by which I had been blinded might, with justice, have been fatal to me, but for his forbearance ; that lie had penetrated my soul, and had taken precautions, by sending me out of the way, to prevent my committing any excess in my anger. From that instant I felt that I was capable of pardoning him. �13 Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of the mountain. T h e country was solitary and secure, and in a short time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I hastened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. He had found the father plunged in the deepest distress. He had read the letter with violent emotion, and then calming himself with a sudden exertion, he had replied coldly, " M y daughter has been dishonoured by those wretches : let her be returned without ransom, or let her die I" I shuddered at this reply. I knew, according was inevitable. O u r oaths required it. I felt, nevertheless, that not having been able to have her to myself, I could become her executioner! T h e robber again paused with agitation. 1 sat musing upon his last frightful words, which proves to what excess the passions may be carried when escaped from all moral restraint. There was a horrible verity in this story that reminded me of some of the tragic fictions of Dante. W e now come to a fatal moment, resumed the bandit. A f t e r the report of the shepherd, I returned with him, and the chieftain received from his lips the refusal of the father. A t a signal, which we all understood, to the laws of �14 we followed him to some distance from the victim. He there pronounced her sentence of death. Every one stood ready to execute his order; but I interfered. I observed that there was something due to pity as well as to justice. That I was as ready as any one to approve the implacable law, which was to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners ; but that though the sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made without cruelty. The night is approaching,continue let her then be dispatched. A l l I now claim on the score of former fondness for her is, let me strike the blow. I will do it as surely, but more tenderly than another. Several raised their voices against my proposition, but the c them. He told me I might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, and he relied upon my promise. I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a forlorn kind of triumph at having at length become her exclusive possessor. I bore her off into the thickness of the forest She remained in the same state of insensibility did not recollect me; for had she once murmured and stupo my name �15 him who was to poniard her. Many were the conflicts I underwent before I could bring myself to strike the blow. But my heart had become sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other should become her executioner. When her repose had continued for some time, I separated myself gently from her, that I might not disturb her sleep, and seizing suddenly my poinard, plunged it into her bosom. A painful and concentrated murmur, but without anyconvulsive sigh. So perished this unfortunate! �16 PUSS IN BOOTS. THERE was a miller who had three sons, and when he died he divided what he possessed He gave his mill to the eldest, his ass to the second, and his cat to the youngest. Each of the brothers accordingly took what belonged to him without the help of an attorney, who would soon have brought their little fortune to nothing in law-expenses. The poor young fellow who had nothing but the cat complained that he was hardly used: " M y brothers," said he, " by joining in the world; but for me, when I have eaten my cat, and made a fur-cap of his skin, I may soon die of h u n g e r ! " The cat, which all this time sat listening just inside the door of a cupboard, now ventured to come out, and addressed him as follows: " Do not thus afflict yourself, my good master; you have only to give me a bag, and get a pair of boots made for me, so that I may scamper through the dirt and the brambles, and you shall see that you are not so ill provided for as you imagine." Though the cat's master did not much among- the their �17 depend upon these promises yet as he had often observed the cunning tricks Puss used to catch rats and mice, such as hanging by the hindlegs, and hiding in the meal to make them believe that he was dead, he did not entirely despair of his being of some use to him in his unhappy condition. When the cat had obtained what he asked for, he gaily began to equip himself; he drew on the boots and putting the bag about his neck, he took hold of strings with his forepaws, and, bidding his master take courage, immediately sallied forth. The first attempt Puss made was to go into a warren, in which there was a great number of rabbits. He put some bran and some parsley into his b a g ; and then, stretching himself out at full length as if he was dead, he waited for some young rabbits, (which as yet knew nothing of the cunning tricks of the world) to come and get into the bag, the better to feast upon the dainties he had put into it. Scarcely had he lain down before he succeeded young rabbit crept into the bag, and the cat immediately drew the strings, and killed him without mercy. Puss, proud of his prey, hastened directly to the palace, where he asked to speak to the king. On being shown into the apart as well as �18 meat of his majesty, he made a low bow, and s a i d , " I have brought you, sire, this rabbit from the warren of my lord the marquis o present it to your majesty with the assurance of his respect." This was the title the cat thought proper to bestow upon his master. " Tell my lord marquis of Carabas," replied the king, " th with pleasure, and that I am greatly obliged to him." Soon after the cat laid himself down in the same manner in a field of corn, and had as much good fortune as before; for two fine partridges got into his bag, which he immediately killed and carried to the palace. The k i n g received them as he had done the rabbit, and ordered his servants to give the messenger something to drink. In this manner he continued to carry presents of game to the k i n g from my lord marquis of Carabas, once at least every week. One day, the cat having heard that the king intended to take a ride that morning by the river side with his daughter, who was the most beautiful princess in the world, he said to his m a s t e r , " I f you will but off your clothes, and bathe yourself in the river, just in the place I shall show you, and leave the rest to me." follow m �The marquis of Carabas did exactly as he was desired, without being able to guess at what the cat intended. While he was bathing the k i n g passed by, and Puss directly called out as loud as he could bawl, " Help! help! my lord marquis of Carabas is in danger of being drowned!" The k i n g hearing the cries, put his head out at the window of his carriage to see what was the matter; when, perceiving the very cat which had brought him so many presents, he ordered his attendants to go directly to the assistance of my lord marquis of Carabas. While they were employed in taking the marquis out of the river, the cat ran to the king's carriage and told his majesty, that while his master was bathing, some thieves had run off with his clothes as they lay by the river side, the cunning cat all the time having hid them under a large stone. The k i n g hearing this, commanded the officers of his wardrobe to fetch one of the handsomest suits it contained, and present it to my lord marquis of Carabas, at the same time loading him with a thousand attentions. A s the fine clothes they brought him made him look like a gentleman, and set off his person, which was very comely, to the greatest advantage, the king's daughter was mightily taken with his appearance, �20 and the marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast upon her two or three respectful glances, than she became violently in love with him. The k i n g insisted on his getting into the carriage, and taking a ride with them. The cat, enchanted to see how well his scheme was likely to succeed, ran before to a meadow that was reaping, and said to the reapers, " Good people, If you do not tell the king, who will soon pass this way, that the meadow you are reaping belongs to my lord marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped The k i n g did not fail to ask the reapers to whom the meadow belonged. " T o my lord marquis of Carabas," said they all at once; for the threats of the cat had terribly frightened them. " Y o u have hear a very fine piece of land, my lord marquis," said the king. " T r u l y , sire," replied he, " i t does not fail to bring me every year a plentiful The cat, which still went on before, now came to a field where some other labourers were making sheaves of the corn they had reaped, to whom he said as before, "Good people, if you do not tell the k i n g , who will presently pass this way, that the corn you have reaped in this field belongs to my lord marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as minced meat." harvest." �J 21 The king accordingly passed a moment after, and inquired to whom the corn he saw belonged. " T o my lord marquis of Carabas," answered they very which the k i n g again complimented the marquis on his noble possessions. g The cat still continued to go before, and gave the same charge to all the people he met with; so that the k i n g was greatly astonished at the splendid fortune of my lord marquis of Carabas. Puss at length arrived at a stately castle, which belonged to an Ogre, the richest ever known; for all the lands the k i n g had passed through and admired were his. The cat took care to learn every particular about the Ogre, and what he could do, and then asked to speak with him, saying, as he entered the room in which he was, that he could not pass so near his castle without doing himself the honour to inquire for his health. The Ogre received him as civilly as an Ogre could do, and desired him to be seated. " I have been informed," said the cat, " that you have the gift of changingyourself or an elephant, for example." It is very true," replied the Ogre somewhat sternly; " a n d to convince you, I will directly take the form of a lion." T h e cat was so much terrified at finding himself so near a lion, �22 that he sprang from him, and climbed to the roof of the house; but not without much difficulty, as his boots were not very fit to walk upon the tiles. Some minutes after, the cat perceiving that the O g r e had quitted the form of a lion, ventured to come down from the tiles, and owned that he had been a good dealfrightened.'1have continued the cat, " but I know not how to believe it, that you have the power of taking the form of the smallest animals also; for example, of changing yourself to a rat or a mouse; I confess I should think this must be impossible." Impossible! you sha see;" and at the same instant he chancer himself into a mouse, and began to frisk about the room. T h e cat no sooner cast his eyes upon the O g r e in this form, than he sprang upon him, and devoured him in an instant. In the mean time the k i n g , admiring, as he came near it, the magnificent castle of the Ogre, ordered his attendants to drive up to the gates, as he wished to take a nearer view of it. The cat, hearing the noise of the Carriage on the drawbridge, immediately came out, saying " Your majesty is Carabas." A n d is this splendid castle your's my lord marquis of Carabas ? welcome �23 I never saw any thing more stately than the Building, or more beautiful than the park and pleasure-grounds around i t ; no doubt the castle is no less magnificent within than without; pray, my lord marquis, indulge me with a sight of it." T h e marquis gave his hand to the young princess as she alighted, and followed the king, who went before; they entered a spacious hall, where they found a splendid collation which the Ogre had prepared for some friends he had that day expected to visit him; but who, hearing that the k i n g with the princess and a great gentleman of the court were within had not dared to enter. T h e k i n g was so much charmed with the amiable qualities and noble fortune of the marquis of Carabas, and the young princess too had fallen so violently in love with him, that when the k i n g had partaken of the collation, and drank a few glasses of wine, he said to the m a r q u i s , " It will be your own fault, my lord marquis of Carabas, if you do not soon become my son-in-law." T h e marquis received the intelligence with a thousand respectful acknowledgments, accepted the honour confered upon him, and married the princess that very day. The cat became a great lord, and never after ran after rats and mice but for his amusement. �24 ANCEDOTE. THE LAWYER AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. A ROGUISH old lawyer was planning new sin, A s he lay on his bed in a fit of the g o u t ; T h e mails and the daylight were just coming in, The milkmaids and rush-lights were just going out; W h e n a chimney-sweep's boy, who had made a mistake, Came flop down the flue with a clattering rush, A n d bawl'd, as he gave his black muzzle a shake, " M y master's a-coming to give you a brush." " If that be the case," said the cunning old elf, " There's no time to lose it is high time to flee. Ere he gives me a brush, I will brush off myself So he limp'd to the door without saying his prayers; B u t Old Nick was too deep to be nick'd of his prey; For the knave broke his neck by a tumble down stairs, And thus ran to the devil by running away. FINIS. � https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/1d050a9f2bd9f8822e086f0958874df9.jpg ac707a280ab736d630f26d8e6cae983b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a sitting man holding a rifle in an outdoor scene with ruins in the background. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 024: Title-page illustration of a man sitting with a rifle with ruins in the background. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Storys of the young robber, and Puss in boots Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Puss in boots Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935682553505154">s0587b41</a> Description An account of the resource 29 printed at the foot of the title page Woodcut #24: Illustration on title-page of a sitting man holding a rifle in an outdoor scene with ruins in the background. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850? Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Type The nature or genre of the resource fairytale/folk lore Architecture: ruins Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Gender: man/men Nature: tree(s) Outdoor Scene Weapons: gun(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/1a8190ca1f72735aa2352c427ddd32fe.jpg ecda922a33784dfa17879c656e23a9c0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a woman praying before an altar on top of which is an open book https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/b27b59778afb179513e79310cc45164a.pdf e7f0df7c8cbbbcc3735327527f6bf980 PDF Text Text Fair Margaret's Misfortunes T o which arc added, A Cogie of Ale. The weary pund o' Tow. Song in Rosina. EDINBURGH— rRINTXD FOR TH6 BOOKSELLERS. �fair Margarets misfortunes. As it fell out upon a day, two lovers they sat upon a hill: They sat together a long summed day, and could not take their fill. 1 see no harm hy you Marjaret, and you sec none by me; Before to morrow at eight clock, a rich we J ding you shall sot* Fair Margaret sat in her bower window a combing of her hair ; There 6he ip>M sweet William and bri If, as they were a riding near. ©own the laid her iv.ry comb, and up she bound her hair, She went away forth from the bower, and never more e&jse there. Whc-n day was gone, and night was iiosae, and all m:n frst asleep, There came the spirit of Pair Margaret, and stood at WillismVbed-feet. �God give you joy, you true lovers, in bride-bed fast asleep, Lo 1 I a« going to my green-gTais grove, an] I am is my winding sheet When Jay was come aad ni^ht was gone, and all men wak'd from sleep. Sweet Wilium to his lady said, my dear, I've cause to weep. I dream'd a dream my dear Lidy such dreams are never good s I dream'd thy bow'r was full of red swfne, and thy bride-bed ful of blood* Such dreams such dreams, my honoured Sir, they never do prjve good ; To dretaa my bower was full of red swin?, and my bri'le-bed full of blood. He called up his merry men ail, by one by two and by three, Saying, I'll away to fair Margaret's bower, by the have of ray fair lady. And when he came to fair Margaret's bo*er, he knocked at t'.e ring: �4 So ready were the seven bn tbren to let 8wetf William in, Then he turned up the winding s^eet, pray let me set the dead Methinks she looks both pale anl wan, she ba4 lost her cherry reJ. I will do more for the«, Margtiet, th»n any of thy kio, For \ will kisa thy psle wan lips, though a w$iie I cannot win. With that Uspokt the seven brethren, making most piteous moan, You may go kiss your jolly brow* dame, and let our sister alone. If I do kiss my jolly brown dame, I da but what is right, For I made DO VOW to your sister dear, by day nor yet by eight. Fray tel/ me then how much you'll deal oi white bread and of wine, So mnc i as is dealt at he,; funeral to-iay, t;-mcrrcw shall be desit ss mine. l �5 Fair Margaret dy'd to-day to-day, •weet William hp dy d the morrow; Fair Margaret dy d for pure true love, •weet William ha dy d for aorro*. Margaret wai buried in the totrtr chancel, and Williaai in the higher Out of her breast there «pr**g, and out of hie a briar. N % They greJ* a« high a« the church top, 'till they could grow no Hghsr ; A*d there grew in a True-lover'a knot, that mado all people admire. Then came the clerk of the pariah, as you this truth ahall hear, And by misfortunes cut them dowa, or they had BOW b2en there. A COGIE OF ALE. A C O G I E of ale, and a pickle alt meal, And a dainty wee drappie o' whisky, Was our forefather'* dose to swell down'thiir brcie Aod make them blytje cheery, and frisky. �6 Then hey for the cogie and bey for the ale, Acd hey for the whisky and bey for the mt*l, When m:Vd a' thtgitler they do unco weel; TG> &&k a cbicld cheery and brisk ay, As I view our Scots lads in their kilts cod cotkad*6, A' blofimiig tnii fresh as a rose, man; I ifeink wi znysel 0* the meal and the ale, Aod the frui's o* our Scottish kail brose maa; Ttien hey for the co^ie. &J. x Whoa our brave Htghlaad blades, wf tkeir clay* mores and plaids, In the field, drive like #be*p a1 our fres, fttaa, "Fheir courage andpow'r, spring frae thif, to besurt, They're the noblt effrcU of the bro*e, wan, T£en hey fop the cogie, &c. t Tut your spindle-shack'd sparks, wha but ill »et their sarks, And ycur pale-vbaged milksops, and beaua, t&aa. I think when I see them 'twei^e kindneal to gi'e them, & A cogie of *le aa3 pf brose man. Then h*y for the co^ie, �t h e w e a r y PUND 0 ' TOIV. The weary pun& the weary punl> The weary pnnd o' tow; I think my wife will and her life Before she spin her tow, I bought m? wife a staae o' lint, as good as e'er did grow, And a that she has made o' tint Is ae puir puud o tow. The-e sat a bottle in a nook Ayont the ingle low, And ay she took the ither souk to drouk the stourie tow. Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame, Gae 6pin your tap o* tow: She took the rock, and w: knock, She brak it o'er my pow. At last her feet, (I fang to tee't) Gaed foremost o'er a knowe; And ere I wed another j&de, I'll wallop in a tow. 9 x �? SONG IN R3S1M When William at eve meets me dowa at the »til<% UQW gwtet is the nightingale^ song, Of the day I forget all the labour and toil whilst the mo< n plays yon branches ameeg. By her beams without blushing I hear hitt complain and believe every word of his seng: You know tot bow sweet Hi* to love the dear swab), whilst the moon plays yon branches among. FINIS. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 025: Title-page illustration in a single ruled border of a woman praying before an altar on top of which is a book. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; to which are added, A Cogie of Ale. The weary pund o' Tow. Song in Rosina. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. A Cogie of Ale The weary pund o' Tow Song in Rosina Extent The size or duration of the resource. 8 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934220883505154">s0585b51</a> Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1815-1825? Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Edinburgh: Printed for the Bookseller Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Edinburgh Courtship and Marriage Alcohol Type The nature or genre of the resource ballads & songs Description An account of the resource Woodcut #25: Illustration on title-page of a woman praying before an altar on top of which is an open book. Activity: praying Architecture: window(s) Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1811-1820 Chapbook Date: 1821-1830 Fashion (Clothing): upper class Furniture: altar Gender: woman/women Indoor Scene Object: book(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/8d9380d55c332591430ba8e53d9a17d0.jpg e32c68b335c29afde46fa6beaa5f9e16 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a man wearing a hat, kilt, and plaid socks holding an upright rifle. To his left is a door marked with the letter V https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/04173de2230ee97b8691b56ec3e8ff6b.pdf b6f5cabe7a639a6fe3a2274f08150103 PDF Text Text THE BATTLE OP PHILIPHAUQH; TOGETHER WITH THE BATTLE OF LOUBONHILL, AND AUCHINDOWN, GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 80. �THE BATTLE OF PHILIPHAUGH. On Pliiliphaugh a fray began, At Hairhead wood it ended ; The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran, Sae merrily they bended. Sir David frae the border came, W i ' heart an' hand came he ; Wi' him three thousand bonnie Scots, To bear him company. W i ' him three thousand valiant men, A noble sight to see! A cloud o' mist them weel concealed, As close as e'er might be. When they came to the Shaw burn, Said he, " Sae weel we frame, I think it is convenient, That we should sing a psalm." When they came to the Lingly burn, As day-light did appear, They spy'd an aged father, And he did draw t. em near. �" Come hither, aged father!" Sir David he did cry, " And tell me where Montrose lies, With all his great army. " But, first, you must come tell to me. If friends or foes you be ; I fear you are Montrose's men, Come frae the north country." " No, we are nane o' Montrose's men, Nor e'er intend to be ; I am Sir David Lesly, That's speaking unto thee." " If you're Sir David Lesly, As I think weel ye be, < I'm sorry ye ha'e brought so few Into your company. There's fifteen thousand armed men, Encamped on yon lee ; Ye'll never be a bite to them, For aught that I can see. 44 " But, halve your men in equal parts, Your purpose to fulfil; Let ae half keep the water side, The rest gae round the hill. " Your nether party fire must, Then beat a flying drum; And then they'll think the day's their ain, And frae the trench they 11 come. �4 " Then, those that are behind them maun Gi'e shot, baith grit and sma'; And so, between your armies twa, Ye may make them to fa'." " 0 were ye ever a soldier ? " Sir David Lesly said; " 0 yes; I was at Solway flow, Where we were all betray'd. " Again I was curst at Dunbar, And was a pris'ner ta'en : And many a weary night and day, In prison I lia'e lien." " If ye will lead these men aright, Rewarded shall ye be ; But, if that ye a traitor prove, I'll hang thee on a tree." " Sir, I will not a traitor prove ; Montrose has plundered me ; I'll do my best to banish him Away frae this country." He halv'd his men in equal parts, His purpose to fulfil; The one part kept the water side, The other gaed round the hill. The nether party fired brisk, Then turn'd and seem'd to rin; And then they a' came frae the trench, And cry'd, " The day's our ain!" �5 The rest then ran into the trench, And loos'd their cannons a ' ; And thus, betweeen his armies twa, He made them fast to fa'. Now, let us a' for Lesly pray, And his brave company! For they ha'e vanquish'd great Montrose, Our cruel enemy. T H E B A T T L E OF LOUDON-HILL. marvel when I tell ye o* Our noble Burly, and his train ; When last he march'd up thro' the land, Wi' sax-and-twenty westland men. YOU'L Than they I ne'er o' braver heard, For they had a* baith wit and skill; They proved right well, as I heard tell. As they cam* up o'er Loudon-hill. Weel prosper a' the gospel lads, That are into the west countrie ; Ay wicked Claver'se to demean, And ay an ill dead may he die! For he's drawn up i' battle rank, An' that baith soon and hastilie ; But they wha live till simmer come, Some bludie days for this will see. s �6 But up spak' cruel Claver'se then, W i ' hastie wit, an' wicked skill; " G i ' e fire on yon westlan' men ; I think it is my sov'reign's will." But up bespake his cornet, then, " It's be wi' nae consent o' me! I ken I'll ne'er come back again, An* mony mae as weel as me. '* There is not ane of a' yon men, But wha is worthy other three ; There is na ane amang them a', That in his cause will stap to die. " An' as for Burly, him I knaw ; He's a man of honour, birth, an' fame Gi'e him a sword into his hand, He'll fight thysel' an' other ten." But up spake wicked Claver'se then, I wat his heart it raise fu' hie! And he has cry'd that a' might hear, " Man, ye ha'e sair deceived me. " I never ken'd the like afore, Na, never since I came frae hame, That you sae cowardly here .suld prove, An' yet come of a noble Graeme." But up bespake his cornet, then, 44 Since that it is your honour's will, Mysel' shall be the foremost man, That shall gi'e fire on Loudon-liill. �r» 4 " At your command 1*11 lead them on, But yet wi' nae consent o' me ; F o r Weel I ken I'll ne'er return, A n d mony mae as weel as me." Then up he drew in battle rank; I wat he had a bonnie train! But the first time that bullets flew, Ay he lost twenty o' his men. Then back he came the way he gaed, I wat right soon and suddenly! He gave command amang his men, And sent them back, and bade them flee. Then up came Burly, bauld an' stout, W i s little train o' Westland men ; Wha inair than either aince or twice In Edinburgh confined had been. They ha'e been up to London sent, An' yet they're a' come safely flown ; Sax troop o' horsemefc they ha'e beat, And chased them into Glasgow town. AUCHINDOWN. AT Auchindown, the tenth of June, Sae merry blythe, and gay. Sir, Each lad and lass did fill a glass. And drink a health that day, Sir �8 We drank a health, and nae by stealth, 'Mang kimmers bright and lordly: " King James the Eighth! for him we'll'fight, And down wi' cuckold Geordie!" We took a spring, and danc'd a fling, And wow but we were vogie! We didna fear, though we lay near The Campbells, in Stra'bogie ; Nor yet the loons, the black dragoons, At Fochabers a-raising: If they durst come, we'd pack them home, And send them to their grazing. We fear'd no harm, and no alarm, No word was spoke of dangers; We join'd the dance, and kiss'd the lance, And swore us foes to strangers, To ilka name that dar'd disclaim Our Jamie and his Charlie. " King James the Eighth! for him we'll fight, And down the cuckold carlie!" � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 026: Title-page illustration of a Highland soldier in a kilt and plaid socks holding an upright rifle in a outdoor scene. A door in background is imprinted with the letter "V". Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Battle of Philiphaugh; together with the Battle of Loudon-Hill, and Auchindown. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Battle of Loudon-Hill Auchindown Extent The size or duration of the resource. 8 pages 15 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934228133505154">s0585b36</a> Description An account of the resource 80 printed at the foot of the title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource ballads & songs Subject The topic of the resource War Covenanters Philiphaugh, Battle of, Scotland, 1645 Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow # of Woodcuts: 1 Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: ballads & songs Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Fashion (Clothing): feather bonnet Fashion (Clothing): Highland attire Fashion (Clothing): kilt Fashion (Clothing): military Fashion (Clothing): sporran Gender: man/men Indoor Scene Occupation: soldier Weapons: gun(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/ee45fbaacfead75f4b81d207502b80b6.pdf 0c002c4d456d9f40f1c4c93bb839d685 PDF Text Text THE GHOST OF MY UNCLE. TO WHICH IS ADDED, THE OUTWITTED TAX-GATHERER. GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 25 ��GHOST OF M Y U N C L E . I AROSE early in the morning, and after taking a good breakfast, set out from home. A quantity of rain had fallen in the night It was, however, fair when I commenced my expedition, and I wished it so to remain. The morning was still and beautiful; it was the early hour of four; I could not yet distinguish the sun, though I was sensible he had left his ocean bed from the beautiful streaks of colouring in the eastern sky. To express the softness, mildness, and calmness of the scenery, at that hour, I cannot find adequate words; those only can conceive it who have witnessed the scene. I had not proceeded more than two miles, before a few drops alarmed me with apprehension of a soaking shower, from a heavy black cloud that was slowly sailing over my head, and my fears were soon realized by a very thick descent that followed, on which I betook �4 myself with all speed to a thatched cottage, that I saw at some distance, for shelter. Many years had elapsed since I had wandered about in this spot in careless infancy, and the pretty secluded cot to which I was advancing, had once been my home. I looked around on the hills and dales, and could easily recognise them as my old acquaintances. ' Ha,' said I, ' ye change not your appearance, ye grow not old in the course of time, the feebleness of age cometh not upon you ;---ye still smile in the brightness of summer, and frown in the lowering winter. For ages ye have reared your towering crests and given food to the flocks and the herds that have chequered your dark surface; ye have given a direction to the murmuring brook that proceeds from you, till it seeks, far distant, the mighty ocean; and while generation after generation hath passed away, ye have preserved unvaried the features ye possessed in ages gone--- Even now, as in years past, my eyes behold the still sunshine sleeping upon your gentle s'oping declivities, interrupted only when the light cloud of spring, for a moment, casts over them its passing shadow ! My cogitations were suddenly interrupted by the gate at the end of the pasture, whichIopened. In another moment I was in the porch of the cottage; I lifted the latch, and went �5 in. The house appeared just the same as I had left it ten years before. The furniture was the same, and each piece occupied the same position. The old clock stood ticking in the corner, as it had done for four-score years, the oaken settle remained behind the door, and my uncle's antique two armed chair by the fire-side; but I saw no living creature in the house besides the cat on the hearthstone. I listened awhile, but could hear nothing. At this I rather wondered, as of yore the house was seldom, scarcely ever, totally deserted. I then went forward into the spence, or country parlour, where I found several neighbour cousins, and the servants, all standing in deep silence around the bed of my dying uncle. On entering, all eyes turned upon me; I was a stranger to most of them; there were, however, one or two who remembered me. I advanced to the bed-side, and the countenance of my uncle for a moment brightened up at my approach, but soon subsided again into a cold tranquil indifference. It was plain that death was rapidly approaching. He had been speechless several hours; consequently we could hold no conversation. He, however, put out his hand, which I grasped with an affection redoubled by the prospect of soon losing him for ever. In my younger days I had lived �with him, and he having no children of his own, was then remarkably fond of me; subsequently that affection was strengthened between us, and although circumstances had cast my lot in another country, yet we had kept up a friendly and affectionate intercourse. Some time previous to his indisposition, I had again removed to within thirty miles of his residence, which was the place from whence I set out on this sorrowful visit. My uncle was a man of sound judgment, keen observation, and cheerful social disposition, joined to a thorough knowledge of mankind; he possessed a good portion of eccentricity and humour. He loved a cheerful glass; he was kind to his servants, and dependants, and though rather of a frugal and saving disposition, yet he was charitable to his poor neighbours. In his freindships he was rather capricious, but firm in his attachment to the kirk and goverment of his country. He was apt to be a little passionate and hasty in his temper; but his resentment was seldom of long duration. He was well beloved by those among whom he dwelt, and might be pronounced a good neighbour, and an excellent subject. By a long course of industry in his profession, he had amassed a pretty good property, the knowledge of which had drawn around him a host of needy �7 relations, who besieged him with flattery and professions, but those attentions were chiefly drawn forth by their hopes of inheriting the old man's property. How he had willed it was not known. He was a man of prudence, and seldom blabbed out his private affairs. On my arrival, I found all the friends about him remarkably attentive and duteous in their behaviour, though it was evident that a good deal of the affection was assumed. Shortly after, he fell into a kind of a dose, and all left the room save an attendant or two. Peggy, the servant who had lived With my uncle fourteen years, now insisted on my taking some refreshment. But I was too much agitated to feel any thing like pleasure in my repast, and what I ate was more to please the faithful old domestic, than from any inclination of my own. When my slight meal was over, I got up and went to the window in a serious and reflecting mood. The afternoon was far advanced, and the scenery without was wrapped in tranquillity. I was soon summoned from my station to the parlour. My uncle had somewhat revived, and his speech had returned. He told us death was making rapid advances, and that we might soon expect the moment of his dissolution. He informed us where we should find his will, and gave us some excellent advice on our future conduct. �8 Some things he requested us to perform, which I thought were a little odd. He wished us to read his will in the room where he was, immediately after he had expired. He desired that he might not he laid out, as it is commonly called, until at least twelve hours after his departure; that his large two armed oaken chair might be placed in all order and solemnity at the head of the table every meal, and that it should remain unoccupied till after his funeral. He also wished to be interred in a very deep grave. All these requests, we promised faithfully to observe, when, after taking an affectinate farewell of each, he quietly resigned himself to his pillow; his breathing became more and more faint, till at last we could perceive it no more. During these transactions my mind was in a state I cannot well describe : my thoughts were all confusion, while at the same time I struggled to be calm and composed. Poignant as were my feelings, I gazed on my dying relative with a sort of apathy and grief, and at the moment when nature was yielding up the contest I could not shed a tear. In a short time all quitted the appartment, and I was left alone. The branches of the huge elm trees, with their thickening foliage, partially screening the window, made it, under such circumstances, �9 awfully gloomy and tranquil. I took several turns about the room, and with a soft step I approached the bed, gazed a moment, turned away, and then going up to the window, strove to divert my thoughts by looking at the surrounding landscape. Twilight was descending, and the sober hues of evening gradually enveloped the lofty hills. No sound struck my ear, except the faint and low murmers of the brook, which brawled down the valley at the bottom of the Flinty Knowe—the shout, softened by distance, of the peasant committing his herds to the pasture—and now and then the solitary barking of a shepherd's dog among the echoing dales, attendant on his master looking out his charge for the night. I had not stood at the casement many minutes when my cousins, all talking in a rude, noisy, and indecorous manner, came into the room with the will, which it seems they had departed in search of the moment the testator had expired. I was a good deal shocked at the frivolity they manifested, and could not help reproving them, though in a mild and gentle manner, for the little respect they paid to the deceased. ' Why ye ken,' said one, 'he tauld us to read the will amaist as soon as he died.''Ay,'cried another, ' and sae in conformity wi' his command, we went straight up the stairs and �10 rummaged o'er his auld kist, till we found it.' ' Mind your ain concerns, gudeman, and we'll mind ours,' rejoined a third, rather gruffly; so that my well meant admonitions had no better effect than to cause me to be more disliked by the party; for I could perceive before this that they looked on me in the light of an unwelcome intruder. The will was now read, to which all paid the greatest attention. A mute anxiety and deep interest sat on every countenance : their aspects was, however, instantly changed into those of intense disappointment and vexation, on hearing that my uncle had made a stranger, whom none of us knew, the heir of all his property, real and personal. For my part, this circumstance did not affect me in the least. I had not had any expectation of inheriting the smallest portion; therefore could not feel disappointed. But with the others it was different; they had clung to him like so many leeches, or like the ivy to the old ruin, and with about as much affection as the two before-mentioned things have for the objects to which they so closely adhere. A most appalling and disgusting scene now took place among the disappointed legacy hunters. They abused the old man in the most shocking terms: they taxed him with injustice and villany, and even proceeded to call down imprecations upon his �11 lifeless corse. I shuddered at the conduct of the unprincipled villains; I trembled at the impiety of men who could, at a time the most solemn and impressive to a human being, act in a manner sufficient to call down upon them immediate and divine vengeance. I was chilled with horror. I almost expected every moment to see the lifeless corse of my uncle start from the bed, on which it lay, to take vengeance on the audacious wretches. Once, indeed, I actually thought I saw his lips quiver with rage—his eyebrows knit together—and all the muscles of his countenance contract into a dreadful frown. I shuddered at the sight, and withdrew my gaze. At length they went into the kitchen, and I was once more left, alone in the chamber of death. I went to the bed-side, and the scene I had just witnessed operated so forcibly tin my feelings, that I burst into tears, and uttered aloud my lamentations overmylifeless relative. When this ebullition had somewhatsubsided,I began to reflect a little where I was, and a sort of timidity came creeping over me. There is an undefinable apprehension which we feel while we are in company with the dead. We imagine, in spite of the efforts of reason, that the departed spirit is hovering near its former tenement, It being now quite dark, and having these �feelings in a strong degree, it is no wonder that I rather preferred the company of the wretches in the kitchen, than to remain long where I was. I accordingly proceeded thither, where I found them all carousing round a large table, on which were placed the fragments of the dinner, and plenty of liquor. I reminded them of our promise to place my uncle's old two armed chair at the head of the table, as he had requested, which they had neglected to do, and which they now strenuously opposed my doing. I was, however, resolutely determined to have it done, and at length succeeded. I then retired to the fireside, where I sat, without taking any part in the conversation, or in any thing that passed during the whole evening. I shall pass over the several succeeding hours, the whole of which they sat drinking, till they were all in a greater or less degree intoxicated, and generally brawling, wrangling, and swearing in a loud and boisterous manner. The night became stormy as it advanced. The wind arose, and at intervals moaned, sighed, and whistled shrilly without, roared in the wide chimney, and as it furiously bent the trees in which the house was embosomed, made a sound similar to the dashing of the waves on the shore of the ocean. The rain fell in torrents, and the �13 large drops pattered against the window with a ceaseless and melancholy cadence. It was now getting nigh the 'witching time of night,' and I saw no signs of the revellers quitting the table. On the contrary, they grew more loud and boisterous. In obedience to their imperious commands, yet evidently with the greatest reluctance, Peggy had kept replenishing the exhausted vessels with more liquor, and their demands increased in proportion to the reluctance with which they were satisfied. At length, however, on receiving an intimation from me that I would interpose, she absolutely refused to draw any more liquor for them, telling them they had plenty, and that it was time to retire to bed. The scene that now ensued was such as is impossible for me to describe; maddened and inflamed with rage at being thus refused, the wretches began to throw the furniture up and down the house, break the glasses and jugs, and to abuse the servant, from whom they attempted to wrest the key of the cellar, yelling out at the same time the most horrid oaths and imprecations. The table was shortly overset, and the lights put out in the scuffle, and in a few moments we should, in all probability, have had blood shed, as I felt myself roused to a pitch of fury, and was advancing with the �14 large heavy headed fire-poker to the assistance of the servant, who was loudly shrieking for help: just then the old clock struck twelve rapid strokes, and the bell had not ceased to vibrate, when we heard three heavy knocks, as if given by a mallet upon the wall, which seperated the kitchen from the parlour where my uncle lay. There appeared to be something supernatural in this. The whole house seemed to shake to its very foundation. A deep silence ensued. I stood still. The wretches instantly became sober. We all gazed earnestly and wildly at the place from whence the noise proceeded. Scarce had we recovered from the shock, when we were again thunderstruck with a noise in the parlour; it was unlike any sound that I had ever heard before. It seemed as if all the furniture in the room was violently crashed together, mingled with the noise of fire-arms. Shrieks and exclamations burst from all. The windows shook and every door of the habitation gave a momentary jar. I trembled with awe. I felt every hair of my head bristling upwards—my knees smote against each other—a deathly paleness sat on every countenance, and all eyes were fixed in an intense gaze on the door, at the upper part of the kitchen, which led to the staircase, buttery, and parlour. When, to complete the horror of the scene, the door burst wide �15 open—dashed against the wall, and in, gliding at a slow pace, came a dreadful apparition. Its countenance was that of death. It seemed to have been long the inhabitant of that dark and narrow house— the grave; the worms had revelled upon its eyes, and left nothing but the orbless sockets. The rest of the skeleton was enveloped in a long and white sheet. The horrid spectre advanced into the middle of the room. I involuntarily shrunk back—the heavy weapon dropped from my hand and rang loudly on the stone floor; overcome with terror, I sank into a chair. A cold sweat broke from my forehead, and I had well nigh fainted on its first appearance; the others had tumbled one over the other, in the greatest horror and confusion, and now lay as if dead in all directions. The spectre gazed wildly round for a moment—at the clock—at the fire—and then turned its eyeless sockets upon each individual, motioning at the same time with its long arm, and pointing to the outer door, seemingly directing to an outlet for an escape, and wishing for their exit. They were not long in obeying this intimation, out severally crawled away on their hands and knees, with all the speed they could possibly make; none of them daring to stand upright. The spectre all the while was �16 standing in the middle of the floor, eyeing, or rather appearing to eye them, through the void sockets, where eyes had once glistened, as they retreated one by one in the greatest fear and trepidation. When Peggy and I offered to decamp along with the rest, the spectre motioned us to remain where we were, and we durst not for our lives disobey. When the last of the crew was making his exit, and had crawled nearly to the door, the spectre, which had hitherto stood motionless, except waving its arm and slowly turning its eyeless countenance on the wretches as they crept successively out of the door, bounded with the rapidity of lightning after the terrified wretch. But swift as the flight of spirits are, in this case that of the mortal was swifter : the fellow gave a thrilling scream—made a convulsive spring—his heels struck violently against the lintel of the door in his course, and he vanished from my sight and the spectre after him. ' Gude defend us,' said Peggy. For my part, ill as I was frightened, I could scarce forbear laughing outright at the last incident so comic and farcical. Half a minute had not elapsed, when I heard a step, and in another instant (I still kept my eyes on the door) in came the very form of my uncle, muttering, ' Villains! Rascals! Hypocrites !' He fastened the door �17 after him, shut out his nephews and the spectre, and then came towards the fire. A t this I was more amazed than ever. He, however, gave me to understand that he was alive and well, and that all I had seen transacted in the afternoon and evening, was nothing but a stratagem he had made use of to try the sincerity of his relations, and if he found them, as he conjectured, false in their professions, to get rid of them. The scheme answered nobly, and, it must be confessed, the stratagem was well planned and exceedingly well executed. My uncle concluded his relation with assuring me, that, excepting a good legacy for his faithful servant Peggy, I should inherit all that he possessed, as some little acknowledgement for the fright he had caused me; and as for the wretches he had expelled from his house, in so singular a manner, they should never more cross the threshold of his door. W e all three now sat down to a little supper, of which my uncle stood in great need, and after taking a cheerful glass retired to bed. Notwithstanding the fatigue of my journey, and sitting up so late, my sleep was far from being sound and refreshing. I was disturbed with fearful dreams the whole night. At length the cocks began to crow —the clouds of the eastern sky to break �18 assunder, and the morning to dawn. When it was tolerably light I started up, resolved on a stroll over the meadows. Before going out, however, I went into the parlour, where I found every thing in the utmost confusion. Chairs, tables, walking-sticks, and logs of wood, lay all over the floor, and every thing upset or in a wrong position. I then proceeded to the outer door, which I opened, but started back in horror, on perceiving a human skull lying on a sheet at my right hand, just without the door. Recovering from my fright, I gathered it up, and could not restrain my laughter, when I discovered it to be nothing more than a mask, representing a death's head. It seems while we were all wrangling the night before, my uncle had stepped out of bed—dressed himself —piled all the furniture, logs of wood and timber, he could in the apartment, in a heap, crowning the pyramid with a dozen or more walking-sticks, which had lain time out of mind on the top of an old cupboard —then gone up stairs and put on the horrid mask—brought down a pistol, and enveloped himself from his feet to his chin, in a clean white sheet; after alarming us, just as the clock struck the awful hour of twelve, by striking three heavy blows against the wall with a huge log of wood, he contrived to tumble down the whole mass of furniture �19 at once—fired his pistol at the same moment, and then burst in upon us in the manner described. I now went out. As I was crossing the yard, I discovered several drops of blood on a stone, which I could no way account for, but by supposing some of my good cousins had received, in their retreat, a fall; and, a little further, I discovered a pair of shoes. A receptacle for the filth of the byre, in another part of the yard, bore evident marks of some one having had therein a severe struggle. Indeed the adventures of the flying heroes had been various and woful; one of them, he at whom the spectre had made such a sudden bound, as I afterwards ascertained, actually ran seven miles without stopping, and with his shrieks, supposing the grim monster close at his heels, almost raised the whole country. I now proceeded onwards over the fields, listening to the warbling lark ' springing blithely up to greet the purpling east.' The air was fresh and pure, and, in the beauties of nature, I awhile forgot the events of the preceding evening. With hasty steps I roved over the faintly recollected scenes, where I had in childhood spent some of my happiest hours, until weary with my rambles I returned to breakfast. �20 OUTWITTING A TAX-GATHERER. SOME writers have stated the number of islands in Strangford Lough to be upwards of two hundred, but it has been ascertained that there are not more than fifty-four. Some are inhabited ; on others cattle of various kinds are kept by the proprietors of the grounds on the opposite shore. Upon one of them there is a very extensive rabbitwarren. The individual who resides on this island had for many years derived a very considerable income from the sale of the rabbit skins, and although he had erected a very good house, he never once dreamed of paying any thing in the shape of excise or taxes. At length, however, a tax-gatherer, who had paid a visit to the houses on the neighbouring shore, beheld with anxious gaze the goodly edifice which presented itself upon the island, and determined upon visiting it in the name of his Majesty. The proprietor of the place, having been in the habit of receiving visits from persons who came to purchase his skins, and supposing the taxman to be one of them, sent off a boat to fetch him to the island. On reaching the place, the man of taxes began to make various enquires as to the time the house had �21 been erected, the number of windows, hearths, &c., it contained: and, having gained the desired information, he immediately demanded, on behalf of his Majesty, a considerable sum, as the amount of taxes and arrears due upon the place. In vain the poor man protested against the proceeding, as an imposition, in vain he contended, that the demand, never having been made before, he had no right to pay it then. The stranger was inexorable, and nothing would satisfy him but the payment of the money down, or, in default thereof, he threatened to return direct, with a party of the army, and lead, drive, and carry away all that he couldfinduponthe island. Atlength,fearing such a catastrophe, and finding every effort to soften the hard heart of the exciseman completely fruitless, the poor man paid down the amount demanded, and got a regular acknowledgement for the same; and the officer, having put the money in his pocket, haughtily desired that he might be put ashore. ' No, no,' said the old man ; 'althoughhis Majesty may compel me to pay taxes, he cannot compel me to keep a boat to row you, and the likes ofyou,back and forward.' After many threats and entreaties, the, islanderatlastconsented,as he had brought his visitorover,togivehim ' a bit of arow'backagain;andboth �getting into the boat, along with a young lad, son to the proprietor, they pulled for some time in the direction of shore. When about midway, however, the islander, quietly laying down his oar, informed the officer, that although he had promised to give him ' a bit of a row,'he had never any intention of taking him the entire way, and that he must now do the best he could, as he was himself obliged to return to the island, or that they would land him on Phaddy Lhug, (a large rock, which was visible at low water, but was many feet beneath the surface at full tide,) from which, if he shouted loud enough, perhaps some of his friends on the shore might hear him, and send a boat to convey him the remainder of the distance. On the other protesting against such conduct, and insisting that they should continue their labour, and take him ashore—the old man, pulling his oar into the boat, and desiring his son to do the same, very drily observed, that if the gentleman did not wish to quit the boat, they would not insist upon his doing so, as they ' could swim like two water dogs, and thus easily regain the island; but that if he chose to pay him for it, he would willingly land him at any place he wished. Finding himself outwitted by the islanders, the officer deemed it the more advisable way to accede to the terms proposed—when, to his �23 astonishment, he found that the demand was nothing less than the entire amount he had received for the taxes, together with a receipt for those of the following year, and a special engagement, that he would never again return to that island to demand taxes on excise. Hard as the terms were, he was at length compelled to accede to them, rather than take on a tide which, at the time, was running at the rate of nine mites an hour, the alternative of being left to drift out to sea in an open boat, with scarcely a hope of relief from any quarter. It is scarcely necessary to observe, that having paid back the money, and giving the required receipt, the crestfallentaxmanwas put safely ashore, and never again visited the island, or trusted himself in company with so tricky a customer as the old dealer in rabbit skins. SCARLET DISCOVERED. A Highlander entered a haberdasher's shop in Perth, and asked for a piece of scarlet cloth to make him a waistcoat. The rustic manner of the Gael set some young women who were at the counter a-giggling; and the shopman, willing to afford them sport, began to play off his small wit upon the �24 stranger. " So, goodman, ye want a piece of scarlet ? Would you know scarlet if you saw it?" " I tink I would," replied the mountaineer. The shopman threw down a piece of blue cloth: " Is that scarlet ?" " Hout no, no! that no be it." A piece of green cloth was produced; the same question was repeated, and received a similar answer to the great amusement of the querist and his female friends, who were at no pains to conceal their mirth. The Highlander took revenge in his own way ; He put his nose to the cloth, and affected to judge of the colour by the smell. The shopman, at request, did the same; but the instant he bent his nose towards the counter, the Highlander seized him by the ears, and made his nasal protuberance come, in such violent contact with the boards, that the blood sprung from it " Tat," said the Highlander, " i s ta colour o', scarlet tae ye noo, lad;" and he walked away. � https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/5f93b7a2701fc16b147fb28c25a60766.jpg 16b01e124a931a6ad032976f2674b360 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut portraying outdoor scene with man in boat in foreground and village in background; a basket and anchor on path leading to village Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 027: Title-page illustration of a man in a small boat. A village can be seen in the background. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Ghost of My Uncle. To which is added, the Outwitted Tax-Gatherer. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The Outwitted Tax-Gatherer Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 15 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934228043505154">s0585b34</a> Description An account of the resource 25 printed at the foot of the title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource ca.1840-1850? Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Type The nature or genre of the resource supernatural & ghost stories Architecture: city view Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: supernatural Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Gender: man/men Object: anchor(s) Object: basket(s) Outdoor Scene Transportation: ship/boat(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/ff370ed0dfac18091c39429d0a0b8efa.jpg 9eb1fdac8b87bc5076e3412099488f34 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a soldier with his face turned to right, sitting on a chair and holding a sword. https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/a6058a463770edfa42220f626f83834b.pdf 99e5e193bf8e7bb53ad0134b377142af PDF Text Text 5^XXX>C>C>0<>C<::<>C-C^>C>c>0'0<>: NARRATIVE OF T H E BATTLES DRUMCLOG, BOTHWELL BRIDGE. GLASGOW PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS, �q aviti g " • S W d T T h a jf H T t r iQ O O J WIIJJiG OV» • - . B e a u z s j : : r w H T o a 71T i J 6 § .mi m • *' l'v* ki ' - T - - £ I • <*? . • v.: 5l * i ^ ^ {j v 2 k -V ." : >T f V • •WO.KAJO • i - ; ' iiri « Kim >GOC<X>00QQa90C*X %I - f �THK BATTLE OF DRUMCLOG. •• thfe following Account of the Battles of Drumclog and Bothwell Bridge, is taken from an American Newspaper, entitled the 4 National Gazette.' It is written by the Laird of Torfoot, an officer in the Presbyterian army, whose estate is at this day in the possession of his lineal descendants of the fifth generafkm. " It was a fair Sabbath morning, 1st Jane 1679, that an assembly of the Covenanters sat down on the heathy mountains of Drumclog. W e had assembled not to fight, but to worship the God of our fathers. W e were far from the tumult of cities.—The long dark heath waved around us; and we disturbed no living creatures, saving the pees-weep and the heather-cock. As usual, we had come armed. I t was for self-defence. For desperate and ferocious bands made bloody raids through the country, and, pretending to put down treason, they waged war against religion and morals. They spread ruin and havoc over the face of bleeding Scotland. The venerable Douglas had commenced the solemnities of the day. He was expatiating on the execrable evils of tyranny. Our souls were on fire at the rememberance of our country's sufferings and the wrongs of the church. In this moment of intense feeling, our watchman posted on the neighbouring heights fired his carabine and ran towards the congregation. He announced the approach of the enemy. W e raised our eyes to the minister, " I have done," said Douglas with his usual firmness-~You have got the theory,—now for the �4 practice; you know your duty; self-defence is always lawful. But the enemy approaches," He raised his eyes to heaven and uttered a prayer—brief and emphatic— like the prayer of Richard Cameron, " Lord, spare the green, and take the ripe." The officers collected their mm, and placed themselves each at the head of those of his own district. Sit Robert Hamilton placed the foot in the centre, in three ranks. A company of horse, well armed and mounted, was placed on the left; and a small sqnadron also on the left. These were drawn back, and they occupied the more solid ground; as well with a view to have a more solid footing, as to arrest any flanking party that might take them on the wings. A deep morass lay between us and the ground of the enemy. Our aged men, our females and children retired ; but they retired slowly4 They had the hearts and the courage of the female and children in those days of intense religious feeling and of suffering. They manefested more concern for the fate of relatives, for the fate of the church than for their own personal safety. As Claverhouse descended the opposite mountain, they retired to the rising ground in the rear of our host. The aged men walked with their bonnets in hand. Their long grey hairs waving to the breeze. They sang a cheering psalm. The music was that of the well-known tune of " The Martyrs and the sentiment breathed defiance.—The music floated down on the wind,—our men gave them three cheers as they fell into their ranks. Never did I witness such animation in the looks of men. For me, my spouse and my little children were in the rear. M y native plains, and the W i s of my father, far below, in the deal of Aven, were in full view from the heights which we occupied. M y country seemed to raise her voice—the bleeding church seemed to wail aloud. * And these,' I said, as Clavers and his troops winded slowly down the dark mountain's side, ' these are the unworthy slaves, and bloody executioners, by which the tyrant completes our miseries,' �5 Hamilton here displayed the hero. His portly figure was seen hastening from rank to rank. He inspiied courage into our raw and undisciplined troops. The brave Hacks tone, and Hall of Haughhead, stood at the head of the foot, and re-echoed the sentiments of theii Chief. Burley and Cleland had inflamed the minds of the horsemen on the left to a noble enthusiasm. My small troop on the right needed no exhortation; we were a band of brothers, resolved to conquer or fall. The trumpet of Clavers sounded a loud note of defiance —thekettle drum mixed its tumultuous roll—they halted —they made a long pause. W e could see an officer with four file, conducting 15 persons from the ranks, to a knoll on their left. I could perceive one in black: it was my friend King, the Chaplain at Lord Cardross, (Let who had been taken by Clavers at Hamilton. them be shot through the head,' said Clavers, in his usual dry way, ' if they should offer to run away.' W e could see him view our position with great care. His officers came around him. W e soon learned that he wished to treat with us. He never betrayed symptoms of mercy or of justice, nor offered terms of reconciliation, unless when he dreaded that he had met his match; and, even then, it was only a manoeuvre to gain time 01 to deceive. His flag approached the edge of the bog. Sir Robert held a flag sacred; had it been borne by Clavers himself he had honoured it. He demanded the purpose for which he came. ' I come,' said he, ' in the name of his sacred Majesty, and of Colonel Graham, to offer you a pardon, on condition that you lay down your arms, and deliver up your ringleaders.'—' Tell your officer,' said Sir Robert, ' that we are fully aware of the deception he practices. He is not clothed with any powers to treat, nor was he sent out to treat with us, and attempt reconciliation. The Government against whom we have risen, refuses to redress our grievances, or to restore to us our liberties. Had the tyrant wished to render us justice, he had riot sent by the hand of such a ferocious assassin as Claverhouse. Let him, however. �6 show his powers, aud we refuse not to treat; and we ,haU lay down our arms to treat, provided that he also lay down his. Thou hast my answer.*—' It is a perfectly hopeless case,' said Burley, while he called after Ihe flag-bearer.—f Let me add one word by your leave, General. Get thee up to that bloody dragoon, Clavers, i, ;d tell him, that we will spare his life, and the lives of iis troops, on condition that he, your Clavers, lay down ns arms, and the arms of these troops. W e will do nore, as we have no prisoners on these wild mountains, vVci will even let him go on his parole, on condition that swear never to lift arms against the religion and the ''berties of his country. A loud burst of applause re« echoed from the ranks; and after a long pause in deep aiience, the army sung the following verses of a psalm:— The arrows of the bow he brake : The shield, the sword, the war. More glorious thou than hills of prey, More excellent art far. 4 Those that were stout of heart are spoil'a, They sleep their sleep outright; And none of these their hands did find, That were the men of might. When the report was made to Claverhouse, he gave word with a savage ferocity, ' Their blood be on their own heads. Be—no quarter—the word this day.' His fierce dragoons raised a yell, and 4 N o quarter,' re-echoed f?om rank to rank, while they galloped down the mountain side. It is stated, that Burleigh was heard to say, 1 Then be it so, even let there be i no quarter'—at least in my wing of the host. So God send me a meeting,' cried he aloud, ' with that chief under the white plume. — M y country would bless my memory, could my sword give his villainous carcase to the crows. Our raw troops beheld with firmness the approach of the foemen; and at the moment when the enemy halted to fire, the whole of our foot dropped on the heatb. �f Mot a man was seen down when the order was given to rise, and return the fire. The first flank fired, then kneeling down while the second fired. They made each bullet tell. As often as the lazy rolling smoke was carried over the enemy's head, a shower of bullets fell on his ranks. Many a gallant man tumbled on the heath. The fire was incessant. It resembled one blazing sheet of fiame, for several minutes, along the line of the Covenanters. Clavers attempted to cross the morass, and break our centre. ' Spearmen I to the front,'—I could hear the deep-toned voice of Hamilton say, 6 Kneel^ and place your spears to receive the enemy's cavalry; and you, my gallant fellows lire—God and our country is our word.'—Our officers flew from rank to rank. Not a peasant gave way that day. As the smoke rolled off, we could see Clavers urging 011 his men with the violence of despair. His troops fell in heaps around him, and still the gaps were filled up. A galled trooper would occasionally flinch; but ere he could turn or flee, the sword of Clavers was waving over his head. I could bee him in his fury, strike both man and horse. In the fearful carnage he himself sometimes reeled. He would stop short in the midst of a movement, then contradict his own orders, and strike the man, because he could not comprehend his meaning. He orueied the flanking parties to take us on our right and left. " In the name of G o d , " cried he, 4 ' cross the bog, and charge them on the flanks till W€ get over the morass. If this fail we are lost." It now fell to my lot to come into action.—HitherU we had fired only some distant shot. A gallant officer led his band down to the borders of the swamp, in search of a proper place to cross. W e threw ourselves before him, a severe firing commenced. M y gallant men fired with great steadiness. W e could see many tumbling from their saddles. Not content with repelling the foemen, we found an opportunity to cross, and attack thtiu sword in hand. The Captain, whose name I afteiwards ascertained tp be Arrol, threw himself into my path. l e �8 the first shock, 1 discharged my pistols. His 6udden start in the saddle, told me that one of them had taken effect. With one of the tremendous oaths of Charles I I . he closed with me. He fired his steel pistol. I was in front of him ; — m y sword glanced on the weapon, and gave a direction to the bullet, which saved my life. By this time my men had driven the enemy before them, and had left the ground clear for the single combat. As he made a lounge at my breast, I turned his sword aside, by one of those sweeping blows, which are rather the dictate of a kind of instinct of self-defence, than a movement of art.—As our strokes redoubled, my antagonist's dark features put on a look of deep and settled ferocity. N o man who has not encountered the steel of his enemy, in the field of battle, can conceive the looks and the manner of the warrior, in the moments of his intense feelings. May I never witness them again ! W e fought in silence. M y stroke fell on his left shoulder; it cut the belt of his carabine, which fell to the ground. His blow cut me to the rib, glanced along the bone, and "id me also of the weight of my carabine. He had now advanced too near me to be struck with the sword. I grasped him by the collar. I pushed him backwards ; and, with an entangled blow of my Ferrara, I struck him across his throat. It cut only the strap of his headpiece, and it fell off. With a sudden spring, lie seized me by the sword belt. Our horses reared, and we both came to the ground. W e rolled on the heath in deadly conflict. It was in this situation of matters, that my brave fellows had returned from the rout of the flanking party, to look after their commander. One of them was actually rushing on my antagonist, when I called on him to retire. W e started to our feet. Each grasped his sword. W e closed in conflict again. After parrying strokes of mine enemy, which indicated a hellish ferocity* I told him, my object was to take him prisoner ; that sooner than kill him, I should order ipy men to seize him. Sooner let my soul be brandered on my ribs in hell," sflid he, " than be captured by a Whiginore. ' No �9 quarter' Is the word of my Colonel, and my woid. h a v e at the W h i g — I dare the whole of you to the c o m b a t . " — " Leave the mad man to me—leave the field instantly," said I to my party, whom I could hardly restrain. M y sword fell on his left shoulder.— His sword dropped from his hand.—I lowered my sword, and offered him his life. i No quarter,' said he, with a shriek of despair. He snatched his sword, which I held in my hand, and made a lounge at my breast. I parried his blows till he was nearly exhausted ; but, gathering up his huge limbs, he put forth all his energy in a thrust at my heart.—My Andro Ferrara received it, so as to weaken its deadly force ; but it made a deep cut. Though I was faint with loss of blood, I left him no time for another blow. M y sword glanced on his shoulder, cut through his buff coat, and skin, and flesh ; swept through his jaw, and laid open his throat from ear to ear. The fire of his ferocious eye was quenched in a moment. He reeled, and falling with a terrible clash, he poure! out his soul with a torrent of blood on the heath. I sunk down, insensible for a moment. M y faithful men, who never lost sight of me, raised me up. In the fierce combat, the soldier suffers most from thirst. I stooped down to fill my helmet with the water which oozed through the morass. It was deeply tinged with human blood, which flowed in the conflict above me. I started back with horror; and Gawn Witherspoon bringing up my steed, we set forward in the tumult of the battle. All this while, the storm of war had raged on our left. Cleland and the fierce Burley had charged the strong company sent to flank them. These officers permitted me to cross the swamp, then, charged them with a terrible shout. ' No quarter,' cried the dragoons. Be no quarter to you, then, ye murderous loons,' cried Burley ; and at one blow he cut their leader through the steel cap, and scattered his brains on his followers. His every blow overthrew a foeman. Their whole forces were now brought up, and they drove the dragoons of �10 CkTers into the swamp. They rolled over each other. All stuck fast. The Covenanters dismounted, and fought on foot. They left not one man to bear the tidings to their Colonel. The firing of the platoons had long ago ceased, and the dreadfid work of death was carried on by the sword. A t this moment, a trumpet was heard in the rear of our army. There was an awful pause, all looked up. It was only the gallant Captain Nesbit, and his guide, YVoodburn of Mains ; he had no reinforcements for us, but himself was a host. With a loud huzza, and flourish of his sword, he placed himself by the side of Burley, and cried, 'jump the ditch, and charge the enemy'. He and Burley struggled through the marsh. The men followed as they could, They formed and marched on the enemy's right flank. A t this instant, Hamilton and Hackstone brought forward the whole line of infantry in front. ' God and our Country' re-echoed from all the ranks—' No quarters' said the fierce squadrons of Clavers—Here commenced a bloody scene. I seized the opportunity this moment offered to me of making a movement to the left of the enemy to save my friend King and the other prisoners.—We came in time to save tiiem. Our sword speedily severed the ropes which tyranny had bound on the arms of the men. The weapons of the fallen foe supplied what was lacking of arms ; and with great vigour we moved forward to charge the enemy on the lef t flank. Claverhouse formed a hollow square—himself in the centre ; his men fought gallantly ; they did all that soldiers could do in their situation. Wherever a gap was made, Clavers thrust the men forward, and speedily filled it up. Three times he rolled headlong on the heath as he hastened from rank to rank, and as oftei 1 ' band thinned his ranks. distinctly saw the features and shape of this far-famed man. He was small of stature, and not well formed. His ajipprWOT *9ng in proportion to his legs ; h* had a �11 complexion unusually dark ; his features were not lighted up with sprightliness, as some fabulously reported ; they geemed gloomy as hell: his cheeks were lank and deeply furrowed ; his eye-brows were drawn down and gatherer! into a kind of knot at their junctions, and thrown up at their extremeties ; they had, in short, the strong expression given by our painters to those on the face ol Judas Iscariot, his eyes were hollow, they had not the lustre of genius nor the fire of vivacity ; they were lighted up by that dark fire of wrath which is kindled and fanned by an internal anxiety, and conciousness of criminal deeds ; his irregular and large teeth were pre sented through a smile, which was very unnatural 011 his set of features ; his mouth seemed to be unusually large from the extremeties being drawn backward and downward—as if in the intense application to something cruel and disgusting ; in short, his upper teeth projected over his under lip, and on the whole, presented to my view the mouth on the image of the Emperor Julian the Apostate.—In one of his rapid courses past us, my sword could only shear off his white plumb and a fragment of his buff coat. In a moment he was at the othei side of the square. Our officers eagerly sought a meeting with him. ' He has the proof of lead,' cried some of our mei^ — ' Take the cold steel or a piece of silvwr.* ' N o , ' cried Burley, ' It is his rapid movement on that fine charger that bids defiance to any thing like an r.iiii in the tumult of the bloody fray. I could sooner shoot ten heather cocks on the wing, than one flying Clavers.' A t that moment Burley, whose eye watched his antagonist, pushed into the hollow square. But Burley was too impatient. His blow wras levelled at him before he came within its reach. His heavy sword descended on the head of Clavers' horse and felled him to the ground. —Burley's men rushed pell-mell on the fallen Clave* but his faithful dragoons threw themselves upon thei/i, and by their overpowering force drove Burley back. Clavers was in an instant on a fresh steed. His buglenan recalled the party who were driving back the flank- �12 ing party of Burley. He collected his whole troops to make his last and desperate attack- -He charged our infantry with such force, that they began to reel. It was only for a moment. The gallant Hamilton snatched the white flag of the Covenant, and placed himself in tfie fore front of the battle. Our men shouted ' God end our countryand rallied under the flag. They fought like heroes. Clavers fought no less bravely. His blows were aimed at our officers. His steel fell on the helmet of Hackstone, whose sword was entangled in the body of a fierce dragoon, who had just wounded him. He wTas born by his men into the rear. I directed my men on Clavers. ' Victory or death,' was their reply to me. Clavers received us. He stiuck a desperate blow at me as he raised himself, with all his force, in the saddle. M y steel cap resisted it. The second stroke I received on my Ferrara and bis steel was shivered to pieces. W e rushed headlong on each other. His pistol missed fire—it had been soaked in blood. Mine took effect. But the wound was not deadly. Our horses reared. W e rolled on the ground. In vain we sought to grasp each other. In the tiiclcy men and horse tumbled on us. W e were for a few moments buried under our men, whose eagerness to save the respective officers brought them in multitudes down upon us. By the aid of my faithful man Gawn, I had extricated myself from my fallen horse ; and we were rushing on the bloody Clavers, when we were again literally buried under a mass of men ; for Hamilton had by this time brought up his whole line, and he hnd planted his standard where we and Clavers were rolling on the heath. Our men gave three cheers and h ove in the troops of Clavers. Here I was born along with the moving mass of men ; and, almost suffocated and faint with the loss of blood, I knew nothing more till I opened my eye 011 my faithful attendant. H e had dragged me from the very grasp of the enemy, and had borne me into the rear, and was bathing my temples with water. We speedily regained our friends ; and �13 what a spectacle presented itself!—It seemed that I beheld an immense moving mass heaped up togetiter in the greatest confusion.—Some shrieking, some groaning, some shouted, horses neighed and pranced, swords rung on the steel helmets. I placed around me a few of my hardy men, and we rushed into the thickest of the enemy in search of Clavers, but it was in vain. A t that instant, his trumpet sounded the loud notes of retreat; and we saw on a knoll Clavers borne away by his men. H e threw himself on a horse, and without sword, without helmet, he fled in the first ranks of their retreating host. His troops galloped up the hill in the utmost confusion. M y little line closed with that of Burleys, and took a number of prisoners. Our main body pursued the enemy two miles, and strewed the ground with men and horses. I could see the bare-headed Clavers in front of his men, kicking and struggling up the steep sides of Calder hill. He halted only a moment on the top to look behind him, then plunged his rowels into his horse, and darted forward ; nor did he recover from his panic till he found himself in the city of Glasgow. ' And, my children,' the Laird would say, after he had told the adventures of this bloody day, 6 1 visited the field of battle next day ; I shall never forget the sight. Men and horses lay in their gory beds. I turned away from the horrible spectacle. I passed by the spot where God saved my life in the single combat, and where the unhappy Captain Arrol fell, I observed that, in the subsequent fray, the body had been trampled on by a horse, and his bowels were poured out. Thus, my children, the defence of our lives, and the regaining oi our liberty and religion, has subjected us to severe trials. Arid how great must be the love of liberty, when it carries men forward, under the impulse of self-defence, to witness the most disgusting spectacles, and to encounter the most cruel hardships of war 1' �14 i A T T L E OF B O T H W E L L BRIDGE. * Hca! Tlctojacet pietas." * * * After the ranks of the patriotic Whigs were broken by overwhelming forces, and while Dalzell and Clavers swept the south and wTest of Scotland like the blast of the desert, breathing pestilence and death—the individual wanderers betook themselves to the caves and fastnesses of their rugged country. This was their situation chiefly from A . D . 1680, to the Revolution. The Laird spent his days in seclusion ; but still he fearlessly attended the weekly assemblies in the fields, for the worship of Almighty God. What had he to fear ? — H i s estate had been confiscated. His wife arid babes stript by the life guards of the last remnant of earthly comfort which they could take away; and himself doomed as an outlaw, to be executed by the military assassins when taken. He became reckless of the world. ' I have lived,' said he in anguish, ( t o see a Prince, twice of his own choice, take the oath of the covenants to support religion, and the fundamental laws of the land. I have lived to see that Prince turn traitor to his country, and, wTith unblushing impiety order these Covenants to be burned by the hands of the executioner. I have seen him subvert the liberty of my country, both civil and religious.—I have seen him erect a bloody inquisition. The priest imposed on us by tyranny, instead of wooing us over by the loveliness of religion, have thrown off the bowels of mercy. They occupy seats in the bloody Council. They stimulate the cruelties of Lauderdale, M'Kenzie and York. Their hands are dipt in blood to the wrests. This Council will not permit us to live in peace, Our property they confiscate. �15 Our houses they convert into barracks. They drag free men into chains. They bring no witnesses of our guilt.—They invent new tortures to convert us. They employ the thumb-screws and bootkins. If we are silent they condemn us. If we confess our Christian creed, they doom us to the gibbet. Not only our sentence, but the manner of our execution is fixed before our trial. Clavers is our judge ; his dragoons are our executioners ; and these savages do still continue to employ even the sagacity of blood hounds to hunt us d o w n . — M y soul turns away from these loathsome spectacles* A t this moment his brother John entered, with looks which betrayed unusual anxiety. * M y brother,' said he, ' a trooper advances at full speed, and he is followed iby a dark column. W e have not even time to fly.— The mind of the laird like those of the rest of the wanJere is, always brightened up at the approach of danger. ' L e t us reconnoiter,' said he, ' w h a t do I see, but one trooper. And that motely crowd is but a rabble—not a troop. That trooper is not of Clavers' band ; nor does he belong to Douglas—nor to Ingles—nor to St radian's dragoons. He waves a small flag. I can discover the scarlet and blue colour of the Covenanters flag Ha ! welcome you, John Howie of Lochgoin— But what news ?—Lives our country ? Lives the good old cause P—* Glorious news,' exclaimed Howie, ' Scotland for ever ! She is free. The tyrant James has abdicated. The Stuarts are banished by an indignant nation, Orange triumphs, our wounds are binding up.—Huzza! Scotland, and King William and the Covenant for ever ! The Laird made no reply. He laid his steel cap on the ground, and threw himself on his knees; he uttered a brief prayer, in which this was the close : 6 M y bleeding country, and thy wailing kirk, and my brethren ii the furnace, have come in remembrance before thee. For ever lauded be thy name.'—Hasten to the meeting at Lesmahagow, Our friends behind me, you see, hare �16 already set o u t / said Howie. And he set out with enthusiastic ardour to spread the news. 6 These news,' said the Laird, after along pause while his eyes followed the courser over the plains of Aven— ' these news are to me as life from the dead. I have a mind to meet my old friends at Lesmahagow. And then, when serious business is despatched, we can take Both well field in our return. It will yield me at least a melancholy pleasure to visit the spot where we fought, I trust, our last battle against the enemies of our country, and of the good old cause. Serious matters of church and state having been discussed at the public meeting, the brothers found themselves, on the fourth day, on the battle ground of Bothwell. ' On that moor,' said the Laird, after a long silence •—and without being conscious of it, he had, by a kind of instinct, natural enough to a soldier, drawTn his sword, and was pointing with i t — ' On that moor the enemy first formed under Monmouth. There, on the right, Clavers led on the life-guards, breathing fury, and resolute to wipe off the disgrace of the affair of Drumclog. Dalzell formed his men on that knoll. Lord Livingstone led the van of the foeinen. W e had taken care to have Bothwell Bridge strongly secured by a barricade, and our little battery of cannon was planted on the spot below us, in order to sweep the bridge. And we did rake it The foemen's blood streamed there. Again and pgain the troops of the tyrant marched on, and our cannon annihilated their columns. Sir Robert Hamilton was our Commander-in-Chief.—The gallant general Hackston stood on that spot with his brave men. Along the river, and above the bridge, Burley's foot and captain Nisbet's dragoons were stationed. For one hour we kept the enemy in check ; they were defeated in every attempt to cross the Clyde. Livingstone sent another strong column to storm the bridge. I shall never forget the effect of one fire from our battery, whers my men stood. W e saw the line of the foe advance in �1? all the military glory of brave and beautiful men, the horses pranced—the armour gleamed. In one moment nothing was seen but a shocking mass of mortality. Human limbs, and the bodies and limbs of horses were mingled in one huge heap, or blown to a great distance. Another column attempted to cross above the bridge. Some threw themselves into the current. One welldirected fire from Burley's troops threw them into disorder, and drove them back. Meantime, while we were thus warmly engaged, Hamilton was labouring to bring down the different divisions of our main body into action; but in vain he called on Colonel Cleland's troop —in vain he ordered Henderson's to fall in—in vain he called on Colonel Fleming's. Hackstone flew from troop to troop—all was confusion ; in vain he besought, he intreated, he threatened. Our disputes and fiery misguided zeal, my brother, contracted a deep and deadly guilt that day. The Whig turned his arm in fierce heat that day against his own vitals. Our Chaplains, Cargil and King, and Kid> and Douglas, interposed again and again, Cargil mounted the pulpit; he preached concord ; he called aloud for mutual forbearance. ' Behold the banners of the enemy,' cried he, 6 hear ye not the fire of the foe, and of our brethren? Our brothers and fathers are fallen beneath their sword. Hasten to their aid. See the flag of the Covenant. See the motto in letters of gold—' Christ's Crown and the Covenant.' Hear the wailings of the bleeding Kirk. Banish discord. And let us, as a band of brothers present a bold front to the foeman—Follow me all ye who love your country and the Covenant. I go to die in the fore-front of the battle. All the ministers and officers followed him, amidst a flourish of trumpets ; but the great body remained to listen to the harangues of the factious.—We sent again and again for ammunition. M y men were at the last round. Treachery, or a fatal error, had sent a barrel of raisins instead of powder. M y heart sunk within me while I beheld the despair on the faces of my brave fellows, as I struck �18 out the head of the vessel. Hackstone called his officers to him. W e threw ourselves around him.— i What must be done ? ' said he in an agony of despair. i Conquer or die,' we said, as if with one voice. ' W e have our swords yet. Lead back the men to their places and let the ensign bear down the blue and scarlet colours. Our God and our country be the word.* Hackstone rushed forward. W e ran to our respective corps — w e cheered our men but they were languid and disspirited. Their ammunition was nearly expended, and they seemed anxious to husband what remained. They fought only with their carabines. The cannons could no more be loaded. The enemy soon perceived this. W e saw a troop of horse approach the bridge. It was that of the life-guards. I recognised the plumb of Clavers. They approached in rapid march. A solid column of infantry followed. I sent a request to Caplain Nesbit to join his troop to mine. He was in an instant with m e . — W e charged the life-guards. Our swords rung on their steel caps. — Many of our brave lads fell on all sides of me. But we hewed down the foe. They began to reel.—The whole column was kept stationary on the bridge. Clavers* dreadful voice was heard—more like the yell of a savage, than the commanding voice of a soldier. He pushed forward his men, and again we hewed them down. A third mass was pushed up. Our exhausted dragoon fled.—Unsupported, I found myself by the brave Nesbit, and Pat on, and Hackstone. W e looked for a moment's space in silence on each other. W e galloped in front of our retreating men. W e rallied them. W e pointed to the General almost alone. W e pointed to the white and to the scarlet colours floating near him. W e cried, :t God and our Country. They faced about. W e charged Clavers once more.—* Torfoot,' cried Nesbit, 6 1 dare you to the fore-front of the battle.' W e rushed up at full gallop. Our men seeing this followed also at full speed. — W e broke down the enemy's line, bearing down those Sles which we encountered. W e cut our way through �19 tliebr ranks. But they had now lengthened their frost* Superior numbers drove us in. They had gained entira possession of the bridge. Livingstone and Dalzell were actually taking us on the flank.—A band had got between us and Burley's infantry. ' M y friends,' said Hackstone to his officers, we are last on the field. We can do no more.—We must retreat.—Let us attempt, at least, to bring aid to the deluded men behind us. They have brought ruin on themselves and on us. Not Monmouth, but our own divisions have scattered us. A t this moment one of the life-guards aimed a blow at Hackstone—My sword received it—and a stroke from Ne^bit laid the foeman's hand and sword in the dust. He fainted and tumbled from the saddle. We reined our horses, and galloped to our main body. But what a scene presented itself here ! These misguided men had their eyes now fully opened on their fatal errors. The enemy were bringing up their whole force against them. I was not long a near spectator of i t ; for a ball grazed my courser. He plunged and reared --then shot off like an arrow. Several of our officers drew to the same place. On the knoll we faced about —the battle raged below us. W e beheld our commander doing every thing that a brave soldier could do with factious men against an overpowering foe. Burley and his troops were in close conflict with Clavers* dragoons. W e saw him dismount three troopers with his own hand. He could not turn the tide of battle, but he was covering the retreat of these misguided men. Before we could rejoin him, a party threw themselves in our way. Kennoway, one of Clavers' officers led them on. c Would to God that this was Graharrie himself,' some of my comrades ejaculated aloud. 6 He falls to my share,' said I , ' whoever the officer b e . ' — I advanced—he met me, I parried several thrusts, he received a cut on the left arm; and the sword by the tame stroke, shore off one of his horse's ears ; it plunged and reared. W e closed again. I received a stroke on the left shoulder. M y blow fell on his sword arm. He �20 reined his horse around, retreated a few paces, then returned at full gallop. M y courser reared instinctively as he approached ; I received his stroke on the back of my ferrara, and by a back stroke, I gave hirn a deep cut on the cheek. And before he could recover a position of defence, my sword fell with a terrible blow on his steel cap. Stunned by the blow, he bent himself forward—and, grasping the mane, he tumbled from his saddle, and his steed galloped over the field. I did not repeat the blow. His left hand presented his sword ; his right arm was disabled ; his life was given to him. M y companions having disposed of their antagonists, (and some of them had two a-piece,) we paused to see the fate of the battle. Dalzell and Livingstone were riding over the field like furies, cutting down all in their way. Monmouth was galloping from rank to rank, and calling on his men to give quarter. Clavers, to wipe off the disgrace of Drumclog, was committing dreadful havoc. * Can we not find Clavers,' said Halhead, ' no said Captain Paton, c the gallant Colonel takes care to have a solid guard of his rogues about him. I have sought him over the field; but I found him, as I now perceive him, with a mass of his guards about him. • A t this instant we saw our General, at some distance, disentangling himself from the men who had tumbled over him in the mele. His face, his hands, and clothes, were covered with gore. He had been dismounted, and was fighting on foot. W e rushed to the spot, and cheered him. Our party drove back the scattered bands of Dalzell. ' M y friends,' said Sir Robert, as we mounted him on a stray horse, ( t h e day is lost! But —you Paton ; you Brownlee of Torfoot, and you Halhead ; let not that flag fall into the hands of these incarnate devils. W e have lost the battle, but by the grace of God, neither Dalzell, nor Clavers shall say that he took our colours. M y ensign has done his duty. He is down. This sword has saved it twice. I leave it to your care. You see its perilous situation.' He pointed with his sword to the spot. W e collected �21 some of our scattered troops, and flew to the place. The standard bearer was down, but he was born upright by the mass of men who had thrown themselves in fierce contest around it. Its well known blue and scarlet colours, and its m o t t o , * CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT/ in brilliant gold letters, inspired us with a sacred enthusiasm. W e gave a loud cheer to the wounded ensign, and rushed into the combat. The redemption of that flag cost the foe many a gallant man. They fell beneath our broad swords ; and, with horrible execrations dying on their lips, they gave up their souls to their Judge. Here I met in front that ferocious dragoon of Clavers, named Tam Halliday, who had more than once, in his raids, plundered my halls ; and had snatched the bread from my weeping babes. He had just seized the white staff of the flag. But his tremenduous oath of exultation, (we of the covenant never swear)—his oath had scarcely passed its polluted threshold, when this Andrew Ferrara fell on the guard of his steel and shivered it to pieces. ' Recreant loon !' said I , ' thou shalt this day remember thy evil deeds.' Another blow on his helmet laid him at his huge length, and made him bite the dust. In the mele that followed, I lost sight of him. We fought like lions—but with the hearts of Christians. While my gallant companions stemmed the tide of battle, the standard, rent to tatters, fell across my breast. I tore it from the staff, and wrapt it round my body. W e cut our way through the enemy, and carried our General off the field. Having gained a small knoll, we beheld once more the dreadful spectacle below. Thick volumes of smoke and dust rolled in a hazy cloud over the dark bands mingled in deadly fray. It was no longer a battle, but a massacre. In the struggle of my feelings I turned my eyes on the General and Paton. I saw, in the face of the latter, an indiscribable conflict of passions. His long and shaggy eye-brows were drawn over his eyes. His hand grasped his sword. ' I cannot yet leave the field �22 mid the undaunted Pa ton—' With the General* fNtf < * masion, I shall try to save some of our wretched m$o beset by those hell-hounds. W h o will go P — A t Kilsyth I saw service. When deserted by my troops, I cut my way through Montrose's men, and reached the epot where Colonels Halket and Strachan were. W e left the field together. Fifteen dragoons attacked us. W e cut down thirteen, and two fled. Thiiteen next assailed us. W e left ten on the field, and three fled. Eleven Highlanders next met us. W e paused and cheered each other: ' N o w , Johnny/ cried Halket to me, ' put forth your metal, else we are gone,' nine others we sent after their comrades, and two fled N o w , who will join this raid J'* ' I will be your leader,' said Sir Robert, as we fell into the ranks. W e marched on the enemy's flank. ' Yonder is Clavers,' said Paton, while he directed his courser on him. The bloody man was, at that moment, nearly alone, hacking to pieces some poor fellows already on their knees disarmed, and imploring hiin by the common feelings of humanity to spare their lives. He had just finished his usual oath against their * feelings of humanity,' when Paton presented himself. He instantly let go his prey and slunk back into the midst of his troopers. Having formed them, he advanced.—We formed, and made a furious onset. A t our first charge his troop reeled. Clavers was dismounted.—But at that moment Dalzell assailed us on the flank and rear.—Our men fell around us like grass before the mower. The buglemen sounded a retreat. Once more in the mele I fell in with the General and Paton, we were covered with wounds. W e directed our flight in the rear of our broken troops. By the direction of the General I * This chivalrous defence is recorded, I find, in the life of Captain Paton, in the 4 Scots Wcrthies,' Edin. edit, of A . D. 1813. This celebrated Officer was trained up to warfare in the army of Charles Gustavus, King of Sweden. This is a specimen of these heroic Whigs, who brought about the Revolution of A. D. 1688. �93 had unfurled the standard. It was born off the fie flying at the sword's point. But that honour cost wot much. I was assailed by three fierce dragoons; five followed close in the rear. I called to Pa ton,—in a moment he was by my side. I threw the standard to the General, and we rushed on the foe. They fell beneath our swords ; but my faithful steed, which had carried me through all my dangers was mortally wounded. He fell. I was thrown in among the fallen enemy. I fainted. I opened my eyes on misery. I found myself in the presence of Monmouth—a prisoner—with other wretched creatures, awaiting, in awful suspense, their ultimate destiny. * * * * W . C. B. LONG CREDIT. Soon after the battle of Preston, two Highlanders, in roaming through the south of Mid-Lothian, entered the farm-house of Swanston, near the Pentland Hills, where they found no one at home but an old woman. They immediately proceeded to search the house, anr soon finding a web of coarse home-spun cloth, made I M scruple to unroll and cut off as much as they though* would make a coat to each. The woman was exceedingly incenced at their rapacity, roared and cried, anc even had the hardihood to invoke divine vengeance upon their heads. " Ye villains ! " she cried, " ye'11 ha'e to account for this y e t ! " — 4 4 And when will we pe account for't?" asked one of the Highlanders.—" A t the 1; st day, ye blackguards ! " exclaimed the woman. ' Ta last tay !" replied the Highlander: « Tat pc cood long credit—we'll e'en pe tak a waistcoat too ! " at the same time cutting off a few additional yards of the cloth. D E A T H OF A WATCH. After the battle of Falkirk, in 1746, a Highlandman was observed extracting a gold watch from the fob at �24 an English officer who had been killed. His comrade viewed him with a greedy eye ; which the man taking notice of, said to him " T a m n you gapin1 creedy bitch, gang an* shoot a shentleman for hersel', an no en vie me o' my pit watch. Next morning finding his watch motionless, and meeting his comrade, says to him, €< Och ! she no be care muckle about a watch, an' you be like mine what will you gie me for her ? " The othe* replied, I be venture a kinny."—Weel then,*' said the other, " Shust tak her, an' welcome, for she be die yester night." CAPTAIN SILK. In a party of ladies, on it being reported that a Captain Silk had arrived in town, they exclaimed, with one exception, ' What a name for a soldier !' ' The fittest Barne in the world,' replied a witty female, ' for Silk •ever can be Worsted # \ � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 028: Title-page illustration of a soldier with his face turned to the right, sitting on a chair and holding a sword. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Narrative of the Battles of Drumclog, and Bothwell Bridge. Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934228163505154">s0585b33</a> Description An account of the resource 1 printed at the foot of the title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850? Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Brownlee, Thomas, Laird of Torfoot Type The nature or genre of the resource history Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow War Bothwell Bridge, Battle of, Scotland, 1679 Drumclog, Battle of, Scotland, 1679 # of Woodcuts: 1 Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook genre: history Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Fashion (Clothing): military Furniture: bench(s) Gender: man/men Occupation: soldier Weapons: sword https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/37612a07cf6f7236810b0f4742f97443.jpg fa8a33e42102afe71bd8251c4cbf12f9 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a bull charging a man on rocky terrain https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/675f04f5a6d5dadd02d401394f2dd5c0.pdf 2c78690376c26d798f2bbefa6419abae PDF Text Text STORYS OF THE THREE BEGGARS SOLDIER'S WIFE, AND JACK EASY, GLASGOW PRINTED FOR TIIE BOOKSELLERS, ��THE THREE BEGGARS. THREE blind beggars were on their way from Cornpiegne, to seek alms in the neighbourhood. They kept the high road to Seal is, and walked at a great pace, each holding a cup and stick in his hand. A young ecclesiastic, well mounted, who was riding towards Compiegne, and attended by a valet on horseback, was struck at a distance with their steady and rappid strides. " Those fellows," said he, " for men who appear blind, make very firm steps; PJ1 endeavour to find them out, and see if they are not impostors." Accordingly, as he came near them, and as the beggars, hearing the trampling of the horses' feet, had ranged themselves in a line to ask for charity, he called to them, and pretending to give them some money, but in reality giving them nothing, said :— 66 There is a besant; it is intended for you all three; and you will divide it between you." " Yes, your reverence; and may God bless you in return for it!" Although no one of them received the �4 money? yet each was confident his comrade had got it. Thus, after many thanks and good wishes to the horseman, they resumed their march, full of spirits; but at the same dme slackening their pace. The churchman feigned also to proceed on his journey: but at some distance he alighted, and delivering his horse to the care of his valet, directed him to wait his arrival at the gates of Compiegne : he then gently approached the beggars, and followed them, 10 watch the issue of the adventure. When they 110 longer heard the noise of horses, the leader of this little band halted. " Comrades," said he, " we have made a good day's work ; and I think we had best return to Compiegne, and spend the money this good christian hath given us. It is a long time since we have had a carousal: and now we have enough to enjoy ourselves completely, let us think of nothing but pleasure. On their arrival in town, they heard aery of u Good wine!—wine of Soisons!—wine of Auxerre !—lish and good fare! Walkin gentlemen ; pray walk in." They would not go any farther, but enter' d the first house; and after having cautioned the people not tojudge of their means by their outward appearance, (in the tone of men who derive confidence from the weight of their �5 purse) they desired that they might be served quickly and well. Nicholas (for that was the name of the landlord) being used sometimes to see persons of their vocation spend more than such as appear to be much more in affluent circumstances, received them respectfully. He showed them into his best dining-room; begged they would be seated, and order what they liked best; assuring them that there was nothing in Compiegne but what he could set before them, and in a style that would give them perfect satisfaction. They desired that plenty of good tilings mi^ht be got ready; and, instantly, master, waiter, maid, all in the house set about it. A neighbour was even sent for to assist. At length, by virtue of several hands and good speed, they contrived to serve up a good dinner of live dishes; and immediately the beggars sat down to it, laughing, singing, drinking to each other, and diverting themselves with clumsy jokes on the simple traveller who was at the expence of the feast. He had followed them with his valet to the inn, and was within hearing of the merriment.— He even resolved, that he might not lose any part of it, to dine and sup in a snug manner with the landlord. The beggars all this while occupied the best room, �,:nd were waited on like noblemen. Their mirth was thus prolonged till the night was pretty far advanced, when, to make a suitable close to so jovial a day, they each called ft/r a bed, and went to rest. The next morning the landlord, who wanted to get rid of them, sent his servant to call them up. When they were come down stairs, he made out their bill, which amounted to ten pence. That was the moment the mischievous churchman so impatiently expected. To enjoy the transaction more at his ease, he came and posted himself in a corner of the room, but without showing himself, least his presence might be a restraint on the guests. u Master," says the blind men to the landlord, ' ' we have a besant; take your account, and give us our change." He holds out his hand to receive it; and, ns no one offers it him, he asks them again, when each says, " It is not I." The landlord then gets into a passion.— u So, gentlemen vagrants, you think I am to serve here as a butt for your diversion. Be so good as to end all this mockery, and pay me immediately my ten-pence, otherwise I'll give you all three a drubbing." 1 hey then began to enquire of each other for the piece of money—to suspect each other's honesty—to call names—to quarrel; �7 ti!l at length such an uproar and confusion ensued, that the landlord, after giving each of them a box on the ear, called his servant to come down with two good sticks. The ecclesiastic all this while kept laughing in his hiding-place till he was ready to fall into convulsions. But when lie found the affair was becoming serious, and heard them talk of sticks, he came forward, and, with an air of surprise, asked the cause of the quarrel. " Sir, here are three knaves who came yesterday to consume my provisions ; and now I ask them for my due, they have the insolence to mock me. But, by all that's sacred, they shall not get off :n that manner, and before they go out ." " Softly, softly, master Nicholas," said the churchman, "these poor men have not wherewithal to pay you; and, in that case, they deserve rather your pity than your resentment. How much does their bill amount to?" " Ten-pence." " W h a t ! is it for so paltry a sum that you raise all this disturbance? Come, make yourselves easy; I will take it upon myself. And, for my part, what am I to pay you ?" "Five-pence, Sir." " That's enough. I shall pay you fifteenpence ; now let these unfortunate men go; �8 and know that to harass the poor is a sin of the first magnitude." The blind men, who were terrified at the apprehension of the bastinado, made their escape with all possible haste; while Nicholas, who had reckoned 011 losing his ten-pence^ (being delighted to find a person to pay it) launched out into the most flattering encomiums 011 the churchman. " What a good man !" cried he; " that is the kind of priests we should have, and then they would be respected. But, unfortunately, there are lew such ! Be assured, Sir, so handsome an action will not go unrewarded. You will prosper in the world, take my word for it; and will find the good effects of your generosity." All that the crafty traveller had been saying to his host, was but a fresh piece of roguery on his part; for, in luring the inn- . keeper with such ostentation of generosity, he only meant to trick him as he had already done the beggars. Just at that moment the parish-bell was ringing to prayers. He asked who was to perform the service: they told him it wa3 their parson. " As he is your pastor, master Nicholas," he further said, " you are mopt probably acquainted with him ? " Y e s , Sir." �9 " And if lie would engage to pay the fifteen-pence that I owe you, would you not acknowledge us quit ?" " Undoubtedly, Sir, if it were thirty, and you desired it." " Well then, come along with me to the church, and we will speak to him." They went out together; but first the ecclesiastic directed his valet to saddle the horses, and to keep them in readiness. The priest, as they entered the church, had just put on his sacerdotal habit, and was going- to read prayers. u This will keep us very long," said the traveller to his host; 6 6 1 have not time to wait, but must proceed immediately upon my journey. It will satisfy you, I should imagine, to have the parson's word for the money ?" Nicholas having nodded assent, the other went up to the parson, and dexterously slipping into his hand twelve deniers, said :— u Sir, you will pardon my coming so near the pulpit to speak to you; but much ceremony need not be observed between persons of the same condition. I am travelling through your town, and lodged last night at one of your parishioners', whom in all probability you know, and whom you may see hard by. He is a well-meaning man, honest, and entirely exempt f n m vice; but, unfor- �10 tunately, his head is not so sound as his heart; his brain is somewhat cracked: last night one of his fits of madness prevented us all from sleeping. He is a good deal better, thank God, this morning; nevertheless, as his head is still aliected, and full ol religion, he begged we would conduct him to church, and that he might hear you say a prayer, that the Lord may, in his good3iess, restore him to perfect health." " Most cheerfully," answered the parson. He then turned to his parishioner, and said to him, u Friend, wait till I have done the service, when I'll take care that you shall have what you desire." Nicholas, who thought this an ample assurance of what he went for, said 110 more : but attended the traveller back to his inn, wished him a good journey, and then returned to the church to receive his payment from the parson. The latter, as soon as he had performed the service, came with his stole and book towards the innkeeper. " Friend," said he, " go down upon your knees." The other, surprised at this preamble, observed that there was 110 occassion for such ceremony in receiving fifteen-pence. 66 Truly they are not mistaken," said the parson to himself; u this man cannot be in �11 his right senses." Then asuining a tone of soft insinuation, u Come, my good friend," said he, " place your trust in God; he will havre pity on your condition." At the same time he puts the Bible on thp other's head, and begins his prayer.— Nicholas, in anger, pushes away the book; declares he cannot stay to be trifled with, guests being waiting for him at his house; that he wants his fifteen-pence, and has no occasion for prayers. The priest, irritated at this, calls to Lie congregation, as they were going out KA church, and desires thern to seize the ma who was raving. " No, 110! 1 am not mad; and, by Si. Corneille, you shall not trick me in this manner. You engaged to pay me, and 1 will not leave this place till I get my money." " Seize him ! seize him!" cried the priest They accordingly lastened upon the poor devil; one taking hold of his arms, another of his legs, a third clasping him round the middle, while a fourth exhorted him to be composed. He makes violent efforts to gel out of their clutches, swears and foams with rage, like one possessed,—but all in vain ; for the parson puts the stole round his neck, and reads quickly his prayer from beginning to endj without excusing him a single word. - — tJ �After which he sprinkles him copiously with holy water, bestows on him a few benedictions, and lets him loose. The unlucky wight saw clearly that he had been made a dupe—He went home, overwhelmed with shame and vexation at the loss of his fifteen-pence ; but then he had in lieu of them, got a prayer and benediction. �13 THE SOLDIERS WIFE. WALDEN was playing on his flute in a slow and pensive strain, when the mournful cries of a child, and the complaining voice of a woman, struck his ears. 66 Oh ! merciful God ?" exclaimed the poor creature, u hear with compassion the moans of my unhappy babe !" Walden ceased to play, and looking over the hedge, he surveyed the child with compassion, as the woman lay on the grass to rest herself: he asked her, in a soft voice, why the poor infant cried. u He is hungry," replied the wroman, weeping bitterly, u we have not had anything to eat since yesterday morning." u Gracious God! since yesterday morning ! wait here a few minutes, and I will v eturn." He flew away with incredible swiftness, and re-appeared in a short time, with a bowl of milk and a small loaf, towards which the child stretched out his little arms, and the woman to whom he delivered them began to feed it. u Sit down my good woman, and eat of it �* 4 yourself," said Walden, u I will take jarcof your infant." Placing himself on the gTaS3 beside it, he dipped a bit of the loaf in tlie milk, and patiently assisted his little famished charge. The child looked up in his face and smiled: Walden, pleased and affected at this intuitive mark of gratitude, kissed its little forehead. u What is your occupation?" he asked the woman, who was eating with avidity; "you are, I suppose, the mother of this little creature : where do you live ?" u No, it is not my own," replied she, < -and I did not know its parents. I am the wife of a poor soldier, my worthy sir, and I have travelled from beyond Berlin a great way; my husband had been away from me three years, and I wanted to see him again—for I loved him dearly. My own two little children I left with their grandmother, and I sold every thing I did not absolutely want at home, that I might carry him a little trifle of money. Accordingly I set out, and got to the end of my journey just as my husband had marched with his corps to drive a party of Austrians from some little village; so when it was all over, and they had done what they had been ordered, 1 ran to the place to meet him." Here the poor woman burst into tears. �15 u And when I got there lie was dying of his wounds; yet he knew me, and stretched out his hand, saying, < Oh, Annete! our child r e n T h e s e were his last words; I thought I should have died too, but God willed, for the sake of our little ones and this babe, that I shoidd live. In the same house where my poor husband expired, was the wife of an Austrian soldier, who died two days afterwrards, and left this babe, which nobody on earth seemed to take care about. Almost all the village had been burned down, and all the inhabitants had run away; so that when our soldiers marched, I begged them to take the poor child with them ; but then they said to me, 6 What could wre do with it ?' and that was very true; but to let the child stay, and die with hunger, was impossible; so 1 resolved to take it, let what would happen : and I set out to return to my own home, with the babe in mine arms. In my way I was weary enough; but I never met with any body that took compassion on me or my burden, so I walked on; but I fell sick, as you may see by my looks, and spent the little money I had left, and then I sold my clothes and every thing I could spare. All wrent except these poor rags; vet still I thought if I could but get home I should do very well. I am used to hard work, and I could even do for this little creature, who has �16 nobody in the world but me to put a morsel of bread into its poor mouth; so I can't bear to let it starve !" As she said this, she pressed the child to her bosom, and her tears dropped upon it, whilst she repeated, " i f I was but able to work, or I couM but get enough to keep it till I reach my home!" " Poor babe!" said Walden, " poor, yet happy creature, who, in losing her who gave thee birth, found a second mother! eyes that dropt tears of pity on thy lot, and a heart that loves thee! no, thou slialt not from hard necessity be deserted!" Walden then wrote upon a leaf of his pocket-book the name of the woman, and that of the village where she informed him she lived with her family; and giving her a small sum of money, promised that he would remit the same to her every year. The woman, on holding the gold in her hand, which had never contained so much before, exclaimed, " O h ! this is to much, worthy sir:" and being desired to keep it, die added, " w e shall now be rich indeed! my own little ones, and this one, and their grandmother, we shall all be rich !" "Goodcreature!" exclaimed Walden with emotion, " y o u are rich indeed, in a heart to which all other riches are dross! your humanity to this orphan will be better re- �warded ; but if this were my last crown you should have it. Hasten away, or I may be tempted to take the child, to have the pleasure of bringing it up, that it may love me as it will you." On hearing this, the woman hastily pressed the infant to her bosom, and giving Walden a farewell benediction, pursued her journey with alacrity. ) �18 BARON TRENCK. • • BARON TRENCK, at the time of the first war between the king of Prussia and the house of Austria, being young and enterprising, offered himself, with a small band of determined men, to carry off the king of Prussia, when he went out from his camp to reconnoitre the position of the Austrians. In fact, he did attempt the enterprise; but succeeded so ill that he was taken prisoner himself, and condemned to perpetual confinement in the castle of Magdeburgh. The treatment he received was equally singular and cruel. He was chained, standing against the wall; F that, for several years, he coidd neither O sit nor lie down. His gaurds had orders not to let him sleep more than a certain time; very short, but long enough to prevent his strength from being entirely exhausted. He remained four or five years in this dreadfid situation; after which, there being reason to fear he could not live long in that « < state, he was chained in such a manner that he might sit down, which appeared to him to be a great alleviation of his sufferings. He told me himself, that after having suffered �19 severe illness during the first year of his imprisonment, his constitution, which was strong and robust, was so unbroken, that he recovered his health; and though he received no other sustenance than bread and water, yet he was remarkably well, and resumed his former gaiety. In this state of mind he found means to soothe the tedium of so long an imprisonment by making verses; which he set to music as well as he could, and sung for half the day. As he had nothing worse to dread, the king of Prussia was frequently the subject of his songs, and was not spared in them. He also had recourse to the power of imagination, to soothe the horrors of his situation; and the whole time that he did not spend in singing, was passed in turning his ideas to all the agreeable conditions whicli it was possible for him to conceive. He was almost brought to consider these wanderings of his imagination as realities, and to regard his misfortunes as mere dreams. At last the Empress Queen, who for a long time had believed that lie was dead, being informed of his miserable existence, solicited his liberty from the king of Prussia with so much earnestness, that she obtained his release. I saw him at Aix-la-Chapelle, enjoying very good health; having married a handsome woman, the daughter of one of the principal inhabitants of that imperial city, to which �20 lie had retired, that he might not be exposed to the power of an arbitrary goverment. He published several German works, some of which are the fruits of the reflections he made during the time of his imprisonment; some poetry against the king of Prussia, and some details relative to the manner in which he passed his time at MagdeburgL He gave them to me himself; and though his works had no great merit in the style, yet the singularity of his thoughts, and the extraordinary fate of the author, rendered them interesting. What astonished me most in him was, the force of mind, the courage, and the constancy which had supported him in a situation in which there was no hope of his seeing better days. He appeared now to have forgotten the whole, or to recall the remembrance of his past sufferings, only that he might the better enjoy the happiness of his present condition. He was very gay; and there were moments when one might have supposed, without doing him great injustice, that his reason had been in some degree affected by his long confinement; but it was only surprising that this did not appear in a more eminent degree.* * Poor Treiiek, wishing to take a part in the French Revolution, went to Paris in the year 1 7 9 3 , and was guillotined on the 25th of July, 1 7 9 4 , two days before the execution of Robespierre �21 J A C K EASY. 4 But Hmlibras, who scorn'd to stoop To Fortune, or be said to droop, Cheer'd up liiinself with ends of verse, And sayings of philosophers." AMONG the happy people in the world, art those, in whose minds nature or philosophy has placed a kind of acid, with which care or disappointment will not easily mix. This acid differs very much from ill-nature; it is rather a kind of salt, expressed from frequent observations on the folly, the vanity, and the uncertainty of human events; from that best of all philosophy, which teaches us to take men as we find them, and circumstances as they occur, good or bad, for better or lor worse; that dwells not on future prospects, reflects not on past troubles, and cares not a lig for present difficulties, but dexterously turns them to ridicule or advantage; snatching, at every opportunity, accidental pleasures, and nobly bearing up against the rubs of ill-fortune. When reflections upon the troubles of life are mixed up in a disposition naturally illtempered, they compose what is called �22 melancholy; but as they have no chemical affinity with good humour, they will not easily combine; and the small particles that are miscible, produce only the sweet and acid salt of true philosophy. Such a traveller, in his journey through the world, was my honest friend Jack Easy. Jack came to a good fortune at the death of his father, and mounted his hobby without its ever having been properly broken in ; he galloped over the plains of Fancy, went off in a full canter to the road of Dissipation, and leaped over all the five-barred gates of Advice and Discretion. It may naturally be supposed, that before long his filly gave him a fall: poor Jack came down sure enough ; but he only shook himself, brushed off the dirt of the road, and mounted again in as high spirits as ever; excepting, that he nowT began to sit firmer in the saddle, and to look about him : this, however, did not hinder him from getting into a swamp, called a law-suit, where he remained a considerable time before he could get out: his fortune was now reduced from some thousands to a few hundreds; and by this time, no man better knew the way of life than my friend Jack Easy. He had been through all the dirty cross-roads of business, money-borrowing, bankruptcy, and law; and at last arrived at a goal. �23 My friend Jack did not despond; he consoled himself with the reflection that he was a single man; some of his misfortunes were the consequences of his own imprudence, others of unforseen accidents, and most of them originated from his good nature and generosity. He, however, never excused; lie lumped them all together, took them in good part, and blamed nobody but himself; he whistled away his troubles, and often repeated. " I am out of Fortune's power : " H e who is down can sink no lower." The goddess, however, at last put on her best smiles, and paid Jack a visit in the King's-Bench, in the shape of a handsome legacy. Jack smiled at the thing, being, as he called it, so extremely a-propos! and once more mounted his nag. He now rode more cautiously, and turned into the road of Economy, which led to a comfortable inn with the sign of Competency over the door; lie had borrowed a martingale from an old hostler called experience; and for the first time in his life used a curb. He began already to find, that though he did not gallop away as formerly, yet he went on in his journey pleasantly enough. Some dashing riders passed him, laughing at his jog-trot pace; but he had no occassion to envy them long; for presently some of them got into nits, others �24 wore stuck fast in bogs and quagmires, and the rest were thrown from their saddles to the great danger of their necks. Jack Easy, meanwhile, jogged on merrily; hot or cold, wet or dry, he never complained; he now preferred getting off, and opening a gate, to leaping over it; and smiled at an obstacle as at a turnpike, where lie must necessarily pay toll. The man who is contented either to walk, trot, or canter through life, has by much the advantage of his fellow travellers. He suits himself to all paces, and seldom quarrels with the tricks which the jade Fortune is sometimes disposed to play him. You might now see Jack Easy walking his hobby along the road, enjoying the scene around him, with contentment sparkling in his eyes. If the way happened to be crowded with horsemen and carriages, you might observe him very readily taking his own side of the road, and letting them pass. * If it began to rain or blow, Jack only pulled up the collar of his great-coat, flapped his hat, and retreated to the best shelter he could find till the storm was over. Thus my frienu Jack Easy came in with a jog-trot to the end of his journey, leaving his example behind him as a kind of fingerpost for the good of other travellers, FINIS. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 029_a: Title-page illustration of a bull charging a man on rocky terrain. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Storys of the Three Beggars, Soldier's Wife, Baron Trenk, and Jack Easy. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Soldier's Wife Baron Trenk Jack Easy Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934228083505154">s0585b29</a> Description An account of the resource 31 printed at the foot of the title page Woodcut #29a: Illustration on title-page of a bull charging a man on rocky terrain Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Language A language of the resource English Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource fairytale/folk lore # of Woodcuts: 1 Activity: running Animal: bull(s) Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Gender: man/men Nature: flower(s) Nature: rock(s) Nature: tree(s) Outdoor Scene