204 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.
preaching; it is labor in vain, because it does not stay in the minds of the hearers, but goes in at one ear and out at the other. When men go to market they are all alive to do a trade, but in a place of worship they are not more than half awake, and do not seem to care whether they profit or not by what they hear. I once heard a preacher say, " Half of you are asleep, half are in- attentive, and the rest ." He never
finished that sentence, for the people began to smile, and here and there one burst out laughing. Certainly, many only go to meeting to stare about.
"Attend your church, the parson cries, To church each fair one goes ; The old ones go to close their eyes, The young to eye their clothes.',
You might as well preach to the stone images in the old church as to people who are asleep. Some old fellows come into our meeting, pitch into their corner, and settle themselves down for a quiet snooze as knowingly as if the pew was a sleeping- car on the railway. Still, all the sleeping at service is not the fault of the poor people,
THE CRACKED DISH. 205
for some parsons put a lot of sleeping stuff into their sermons. Will Shepherd says they mesmerize the people. (I think that is the right word, but I'm not sure.) I saw a verse in a real live book by Mr. Cheales, the vicar of Brockham, a place which is handy to my home. I'll give it you.
" The ladies praise our curate's eyes, I never see their light divine, For when he prays he closes them, And when he preaches closes mine."
Well, if curates are heavy in style, the peo- ple will soon be heavy in sleep. Even when hearers are awake many of them are for- getful. It is like pouring a jug of ale be- tween the bars of a gridiron, to try and ' teach them good doctrine. Water on a duck's back does have some effect, but ser- mons by the hundred are as much lost upon many men's hearts as if they had been spoken to a kennel of hounds. Preaching to some fellows is like whipping the water or lashing the air. As well talk to a tur- nip, or whistle to a dead donkey, as preach to these dull ears. A year's sermons will not produce an hour's repentance till the grace of God comes in.
2o5 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.
We have a good many hangers on who think that their duty to God consists in hear- ing sermons, and that the best fruit of their hearing is to talk of what they have heard. How they do lay the law down when they get argifying about doctrines ! Their relig- ion all runs to ear and tongue : neither their heart nor their hand is a scrap the better. This is poor work, and will never pay the piper. The sermon which only gets as far as the ear is like a dinner eaten in a dream. It is ill to lie soaking in the gospel like a bit of coal in a milk-pan, never the whiter for it all.
What can be the good of being hearers only ? It disappoints the poor preacher, and it brings no blessing to the man him- self. Looking at a plum won't sweeten your mouth, staring at a coat won't cover your back, and lying on the bank won't catch the fish in the river. The cracked dish is never the better for all that is poured into it: it is like our forgetful heart, it wants to be taken away, and a new one put instead of it.
GRASP ALL AND LOSE ALL.
WHILE so many poor neighbors are around us it is a sin to hoard. If we do we shall be losers, for rats eat corn, rust cankers metal, and the curse of God
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208 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.
spoils riches. A tight fist is apt to get the rheumatism, an open hand bears the palm. It is good to give a part to sweeten the rest A great stack of hay is apt to heat and take fire; cut a piece out and let the air in, and the rest will be safe. What say you, Mr. Reader, to cut a few pounds out of your heap, and send them to help feed the or- phans
SCATTER AND INCREASE.
PEOPLE will not believe it, and yet it is true as the gospel, that giving leads to thriving. John Bunyan said,
" There was a man, and some did count him mad, The more he gave away, the more he had." 14 (209)
210 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.
He had an old saying to back him, one which is as old as the hills, and as good as gold—
" Give and spend And God will send."
If a man cannot pay his debts he must not think of giving, for he has nothing of his own, and it is thieving to give away other people's property. Be just before you are generous. Don't give to Peter what is due to Paul. They used to say that * Give " is dead, and "Restore" is buried, but I do not believe it any more than I do another saying, " There are only two good men, one is dead, and the other is not born." No, no : there are many free hearts yet about, and John Ploughman knows a good- ish few of them — people who don't cry, "" Go next door," but who say, " Here's a little help, and we wish we could make it ten times as much." God has often a great share in a small house, and many a little man has a large heart.
Now, you will find that liberal people are happy people, and get more enjoyment out of what they have than folks of a churlish mind. Misers never rest till they are put
SCATTER AND INCREASE. 211
to bed with a shovel : they often get so wretched that they would hang themselves only they grudge the expense of a rope. Generous souls are made happy by the hap- piness of others : the money they give to the poor buys them more pleasure than any other that they lay out.
I have seen men of means give coppers, and they have been coppery in everything. They carried on a tin-pot business, lived like beggars, and died like dogs. I have seen others give to the poor and to the cause of God by shovelfuls and they have had it back by barrow-loads. They made good use of their stewardship, and the great Lord has trusted them with more, while the bells in their hearts have rung out merry peals when they have thought of widows who blessed them, and orphan children who smiled into their faces. Ah me, that there should be creatures in the shape of men whose souls are of no use except as salt to keep their bodies from rotting ! Please let us forget them, for it makes me feel right down sick to think of their nasty ways. Let us see what we can do to scatter joy all around us, just as the sun throws his light
212 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.
on hill and dale. He that gives God his heart will not deny him his money. He will take a pleasure in giving, but he will not wish to be seen, nor will he expect to have a pound of honor for sixpence. He will look out for worthy objects ; for giving to lazy, drunken spendthrifts is wasteful and wicked ; you might as well sugar a brickbat and think to turn it into a pudding. A wise man will go to work in a sensible way, and will so give his money to the poor that he will be lending it to the Lord. No se- curity can be better and no interest can be surer. The Bank is open at all hours. It is the best Savings' Bank in the nation. There is an office open at the Boys' and Girls' Orphanage, Stockwell, London. Draw your cheques or send your orders to C. H. Spurgeon. There will soon be five hun- dred mouths to fill and backs to cover. Take shares in this company. John Plough- man wishes he could do more for it.
EVERY BIRD LIKES ITS OWN NEST.
IT pleases me to see how fond the birds are of their little homes. No doubt each one thinks his own nest is the very best ;
(213)
214 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES,
and so it is for him, just as my home is the best palace for me, even for me King John, the king of the Cottage of Content. I will ask no more if providence only continues to give me —
" A little field well tilled, A little house well filled, And a little wife well willed."
An Englishman's house is his castle, and the true Briton is always fond of the old roof-tree. Green grows the house-leek on the thatch, and sweet is the honey-suckle at the porch, and dear are the gilly-flowers in the front garden ; but best of all is the good wife within, who keeps all as neat as a new pin. Frenchmen may live in their coffee-houses, but an Englishman's best life is seen at home.
" My own house, though small, Is the best house of all."
When boys get tired of eating tarts, and maids have done with winning hearts, and lawyers cease to take their fees, and leaves leave off to grow on trees, then will John Ploughman cease to love his own dear home. John likes to hear some sweet voice sing —
EVERY BIRD LIKES ITS OWN NEST. 215
" 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, Which, wherever we rove, is not met with elsewhere
Home ! Home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! "
People who take no pleasure in their own home are queer folks, and no better than they should be. Every dog is a lion at his. own door, and a man should make most of those who make most of him. Women should be house-keepers and keep in the house. That man is to be pitied who has married one of the Miss Gadabouts, Mrs. Cackle and her friend Mrs. Dressemout are enough to drive their husbands into the county jail for shelter: there can be no peace where such a piece of goods as either of them is to be found. Old Tusser said —
" 111 huswifery pricketh Herself up with pride : Good huswifery tricketh Her house as a bride.
" 111 huswifery moveth With gossip to spend : Good huswifery loveth Her household to tend."
216 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.
The woman whose husband wastes his evenings with low fellows at the beer-shop is as badly off as a slave ; and when the Act of Parliament shuts up most of these ruin-houses, it will be an Act of Emanci- pation for her. Good husbands cannot have too much of their homes, and if their wives make their homes comfortable they will soon grow proud of them. When good fathers get among their children they are as merry as mice in malt. Our Joe Scroggs says he's tired of his house, and the house certainly looks tired of him, for it is all out of windows, and would get out of doors if it knew how. He will never be weary in well doing, for he never began. What a different fellow he would be if he could be- lieve that the best side of the world is a man's own fireside. I know it is so, and so do many more.
" Seek home for rest, For home is best."
What can it be that so deludes lots of people who ought to know better ? They have sweet wives, and nice families, and comfortable houses, and they are several
EVERY BIRD LIKES ITS OWN NEST. 217
cuts above us poor country bumpkins, and yet they must be out of an evening. What is it for ? Surely it can't be the company ; for the society of the woman you love, who is the mother of your children, is worth all the companies that ever met together. I fear they are away soaking their clay, and washing all their wits away. If so, it is a great shame, and those who are guilty of it ought to be trounced. O that drink ! that drink !
Dear, dear, what stuff people will pour into their insides ! Even if I had to be poisoned I should like to know what I was swallowing. A cup of tea at home does people a sight more good than all the mix- tures you get abroad. There's nothing like the best home-brewed, and there's no better mash-tub for making it in than the old-fash- ioned earthenware teapot. Our little chil- dren sing, "Please, father, come home," and John Ploughman joins with thousands of little children in that simple prayer which every man who is a man should be glad to answer. I like to see husband and wife longing to see each other.
218 JOHN PLOUGHMAN'S PICTURES.
a An ear that waits to catch, A hand upon the latch ; A step that hastens its sweet rest to win ; A world of care without, A world of strife shut out, A world of love shut in."
Fellow workmen, try to let it be so with you and your wives. Come home, and bring your wages with you, and make your- selves happy by making everyone happy around you.
My printer jogs my elbow, and says, "That will do: I can't get any more in." Then, Mr. Passmore, I must pass over many things, but I cannot leave off without praising God for his goodness to me and mine, and all my brother ploughmen, for it is of his great mercy that he lets us live in this dear old country and loads us with so many benefits.
This bit of poetry shall be my finish : I mean every word of it. Let us sing it together.
" What pleasant groves, what goodly fields ! What fruitful hills and vales have we ! How sweet an air our climate yields ! How blest with flocks and herds we be !
EVERY BIRD LIKES ITS OWN NEST. 219
How milk and honey doth o'erflow !
How clear and wholesome are our springs ! How safe from ravenous beasts we go !
And, oh, how free from poisonous things !
" For these, and for our grass, our corn ;
For all that springs from blade or bough ; For all those blessings that adorn,
Both wood and field, this kingdom through; For all of these, thy praise we sing ;
And humbly, Lord, entreat thee too, That fruit to thee we forth may bring,
As unto us thy creatures do."
THE END
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