Lady-day was now approaching, and with it the time when Barton was to go out of office. His good-nature had lavished so much of the public money upon clamorous applicants, that many parish bills were still unpaid. The fine too imposed upon the inhabitants of Inglewood upon the indictment of the road, and the legal costs attending it, were also now to be cleared off, so that altogether a very considerable sum was to be made up. It was well known, that many of the rates were much in arrears; and the farmers who had hitherto paid with some degree of punctuality, grumbled more and more at the neglect of the acting overseer in not levying them. Most of them expressed their determination to pay no more, till all arrears were cleared up. One large farm was about to change its occupier, and the in-coming tenant declared—as he had a good right to declare—that he would have nothing to do with the debts of the parish incurred before his coming into it. Strong hints also were thrown out, that Barton should take the consequences of his own neglect upon himself, and should make up all deficiencies out of his own pocket. These threats answered the purpose of alarming Barton, whose good-nature, great as it was, had never been able to stifle his regard for his own interest. He accordingly set actively to work to collect the arrears.
Those who had been unable to pay one rate, were not likely to pay four, which had now become due, together with the heavy addition occasioned by the indictment. Some of the defaulters blamed the overseer, for having let it run on so long; and all found fault with him for having brought so serious an expense upon the parish by his neglect about the roads.
All, I should not say;—for the poor widow Wildgoose uttered not a word of reproach or complaint against any one, but when asked for her arrears of rates, passively replied that she had no money, and that the parish must take her goods.
She had never held up her head since the death of her eldest son. When she first set up her shop, she dealt a good deal for ready money, of course selling to ready-money customers at a much lower rate. From the time of her son's death, however, her activity and attention to business had deserted her. She suffered many of the poor to run deeply in her debt, and if she hinted any thing about payment, they pretended to be affronted, and took all their ready money to the other shops. Farmer Barton, too, thought that it would be good-natured to give the poor widow the credit of his custom and protection, and had almost all his shop-goods and grocery from her house. Unfortunately, however, neither his good-nature, of which he had so much—nor his sense of justice, of which he had but little—ever led him to recollect to pay her. She was too much depressed—too meek-spirited—to urge, or even to ask for, payment, and the consequence was, that she was just approaching to utter ruin, which was of course likely to be accelerated by her goods being distrained for poor rates. Her surviving children were in service in creditable places, and would have helped her in a moment; but she could not bear to tell them of her difficulties. Now, however, one of her neighbours contrived to let them know the situation, in which their mother was. Immediately they made up out of their wages a sum sufficient not only to pay off her arrears, but to give her a trifle for her present wants. And soon after she received by the post a blank cover addressed to her, inclosing a five pound note. She had no guess who could have sent it, but it was soon discovered that it came from Lucy Wilmot, a young woman to whom her eldest son had been attached. Her second son Sam lived with a kind-hearted lawyer in London, who, upon hearing of the distress of the poor widow and its cause, not only sent her some assistance in money, but promised to take an early opportunity of looking into her affairs, and of taking measures for compelling those of her debtors who were able, to pay what they owed her.
Of the other defaulters, some contrived to procure the necessary money; some were summoned before the magistrates, and then, finding that they had no remedy, found a friend to advance the money; against others warrants of distress were issued.
No case excited more commiseration than that of Michael Fielding. Michael had been a remarkably industrious and prudent labourer, and had managed to save a considerable sum of money. He married a young woman of similar character, and being naturally anxious to get forward in the world, they had ventured, seven or eight years before, to take a small farm. The rent was moderate when they took their lease, but they had felt the change of times severely. The property was in the hands of trustees, who did not feel justified in making a diminution of rent; and consequently poor Michael, every year, saw his means growing less, while his family grew larger. He was at work early and late, his wife gave all the help she could in the farm, and mended the children's clothes as long as they would hold together; and the hard-earned bread, upon which the family lived, was so coarse, that many of the labourers in the village would have turned from it in disdain. Michael was naturally of a cheerful disposition, and not apt to murmur or complain; sometimes, however, he could hardly suppress a sigh, when he thought of his own children, and of the hard fare to which they were accustomed, and saw in the parish-books the large sums that were given by the good-nature of Barton to idle and worthless characters[p]. Now and then he had ventured gently to remonstrate upon the hardship of being obliged to contribute so large a portion of his limited means towards the maintenance of men, who had begun the world with the same advantages with himself, and who, but for their own improvidence, might have lived without being a burden to any one. The comparative smallness of his farm, however, and his former situation in life, prevented his remonstrance from being of much weight. He was now nearly insolvent. Several persons, to whom his character was known, would have been happy to have assisted him, but he was too high-minded to acquaint them with his difficulties. All the money, that by his utmost exertion he could scrape together, was just gone for rent, and he had nothing at all left to meet the demand for the arrears of rates, and for his portion of the expenses of the indictment. Barton, in spite of his good-nature, felt obliged to distrain. This brought other creditors upon poor Michael, and he was obliged to sell off every thing.
[p] Townsend.
Barton, however, was enabled to make up his accounts, and had got them passed at the vestry, though there certainly was among his brother farmers a little grumbling. Barton defended himself as well as he could, and added, that at all events he had got the good-word of the poor; that he always had borne, and always hoped to bear, the character of a good-natured man. Farmer Oldacre could not suffer this to pass without observation. He had been a little irritated by some things which he had witnessed at the vestry, and felt deeply for poor Michael, who had formerly worked upon his farm, and whom he had always loved and respected. "Come, come, neighbour Barton," said he, "let us hear no more of your good-nature, for which we all have to pay so dear. Your wish to obtain the good-word of the poor has not really benefitted them, and has done serious injury to the rest of your neighbours. Your good-nature about the licence has increased the immorality and the poverty of the parish;—and your good-nature to the road-workmen has given Fowler a broken leg;—your good-nature to farmer Dobson, in not making him cut his hedge, and do his statute-duty, has cost us ninety pounds;—and your good-nature as overseer has made the parish less able to pay that sum, and has helped to complete the ruin of two or three deserving families. And—if I may venture here to mention so serious a consideration—your good-nature would have allowed a sinner to go on towards eternal destruction without warning, and, for the sake of avoiding uneasiness of mind here, would have suffered him to incur everlasting punishment hereafter.
"Farmer Barton—I value brotherly-kindness most highly. I know that the love of our neighbour, and a readiness to do him good offices, is the second great commandment both of the Law and of the Gospel. But I hope that I shall ever be on my guard against that love of low popularity, that weak fear of giving offence, that sacrifice of public principle to private considerations, which, under the engaging name of good-nature, often lead to forgetfulness of duty both towards God and man, and do as much harm in the world as positive dishonesty."
NOTES.