Multi; sed omnes illachrymabiles
Urgentur ignotique longâ
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.
That his poverty was by no means wonderful, the following sketch of the English Country Clergy of the seventeenth century, from Macaulay’s history, may suffice to prove, bearing in mind that the circumstances of the clergy of that date in the more populous parts of the kingdom were those of the clergy of these remote chapelries far into the succeeding century. And Southey tells us that the curate of Newlands, near Keswick, about that time was obliged to add to his income by exercising the crafts of tailor, clogger, and butter-print maker.
Here is Macaulay’s picture:—
“Not one living in fifty enabled the incumbent to bring up a family comfortably. As children multiplied and grew, the household of the priest became more and more beggarly. Holes appeared more and more plainly in the thatch of his Parsonage, and in his single cassock. Often it was only by toiling on his glebe, by feeding swine, and by loading dung-carts, that he could obtain daily bread; nor did his utmost exertions always prevent the bailiffs from taking his concordance and his inkstand in execution. It was a white day on which he was admitted into the kitchen of a great house, and regaled by the servants with cold meat and ale. His children were brought up like the children of the neighbouring peasantry. His boys followed the plough; and his girls went out to service. Study he found impossible; for the advowson of his living would hardly have sold for a sum sufficient to purchase a good theological library; and he might be considered as unusually lucky, if he had ten or twelve dog-eared volumes among the pots and pans on his shelves. Even a keen and strong intellect might be expected to rust in so unfavourable a situation.”
“A NOBLE PEASANT.”
And again, to prove that his original class do, in some instances, possess the virtues specified, I may adduce the case of a neighbour of Mr Walker's, whose melancholy end caused a wide-spread feeling of commiseration and regret throughout this and the neighbouring dales; and I shall quote the account of her given by a gentleman who knew her well—who frequently stayed in her house when hereabout on fishing excursions—who, with a hand “open as day to melting charity,” possesses a heart ready to acknowledge and to sympathize with goodness, whether it appears in the disposition and the works of peasant, parson, peer, or prince—
“She was by no means a common character. Left a widow many years ago, with a young family, by great industry and exertion she brought them up and settled them in the world in useful and respectable callings. In the sweet and quiet vale of Duddon, about a quarter of a mile below the bridge which unites Seathwaite and Ulpha, at an angular bend of the river, is a deep hole called the ‘Smithy Dub.’ About a stone-throw from this, on the Cumberland side of the river, behind one of those detached rocks, so characteristic of Duddon dale, stands a neat and roomy cottage and a garden, well furnished with bee-hives and flowers. Here she kept a small shop for the sale of groceries and drapers’ ware, and in due time her eldest son was fixed in the new smithy, by the river side. With a manner and outside somewhat plain and countryfied, she had as kind a heart as ever beat in the human bosom. She appeared almost to keep open house, and gave away, I should think, more bread and cheese and home-brewed, than is sold in some public-houses. If you called about hay-time, the well white-washed house, the fire-place, and all was beautiful to behold: and in the large grate was an immense thick sod of purple heather, in full blossom, the prettiest chimney ornament I ever saw. I have occasionally boarded in that cottage for a week at a time, and never saw any one applying for relief go away empty-handed. Few indeed, in a contracted sphere, have been so generally respected; and long will it be, ere that pleasant valley loses an inhabitant so beloved and regretted by rich and poor, as was Mary Hird.”
A SAD STORY.