Mr. Everard. Well, Charles, you seem to be in deep meditation. Pray, what are you thinking about?
Charles. I was thinking, sir, how happy it is for us that we are not in the place of that poor weaver whose cottage we just passed by.
Mr. Ev. It is very right to be sensible of all the advantages that Providence has bestowed upon us in this world, and I commend you for reflecting on them with gratitude. But what particular circumstance of comparison between our condition and his struck you most just now?
Ch. O, almost everything! I could not bear to live in such a poor house, with a cold clay floor, and half the windows stopped with paper. Then how poorly he and his children are dressed! and I dare say they must live as poorly too.
Mr. Ev. These things would be grievous enough to you, I do not doubt, because you have been accustomed to a very different way of living. But if they are healthy and contented, I don’t know that we have much more to boast of. I believe the man is able to procure wholesome food for his family, and clothes and firing enough to keep them from suffering from the cold; and nature wants little more.
Ch. But, what a ragged, barefooted fellow the boy at the door was!
Mr. Ev. He was—but did you observe his ruddy cheeks, and his stout legs, and the smiling grin upon his countenance? It is my opinion he would beat you in running, though he is half the head less; and I dare say he never cried because he did not know what to do with himself, in his life.
Ch. But, sir, you have often told me that the mind is the noblest part of man; and these poor creatures, I am sure, can have no opportunity to improve their minds. They must be as ignorant as the brutes, almost.
Mr. Ev. Why so? Do you think there is no knowledge to be got but from books; or that a weaver cannot teach his children right from wrong?
Ch. Not if he has never learned himself.