"You see, Sir, that little running brook which feeds the watercress you have just relished so much. Well, the Captain, last autumn, cut a deep channel for it to run through the glen, in an opposite direction, but Squire Stevens interfered, and prevented him. Now, Sir, if he had done what he was going to do, he would have taken from us our stream of water. But, even then, by raising a little subscription amongst our neighbours, we might perhaps have sunk a well, and though the water might not be so good or so plentiful, yet it might have answered our purpose. But, Sir, if you take away our Bible, or, what is the same thing, if you were to destroy our belief in its inspiration and authority, you would take from us the rich flow of comfort it supplies to us in our troubles, and you would cut us off from the hope of future happiness. Now, if you had succeeded in your endeavours, your visit would be to us as great a curse as the visit of the devil was to our first parents in Eden."
"You are, indeed, eloquently ingenious. Well, the next time I come I won't say anything against your Bible."
"I hope not, Sir," said the honest woodman, who appeared much pleased with the smart reproof his wife had administered to this stranger; "for if you do, we shall then say at once, what I now say after long endurance, we would rather have your room than your company. I think, Sir, such gentlemen as you should keep within the compass of your own sceptical fraternity, and then you may say what you please, and perhaps not do much harm. But when you enter the cottage of the poor, and find them happy in God, and thankful to Him for their Bible, you ought to feel it a point of honour not to try to steal away their happiness; as I suppose you have too much honour to pocket any spoons when you go away from a rich man's house."
I listened with amazement and delight to the artless defence and severe rebuke of the woodman and his wife, and addressing them, said, "I am happy to hear you administer such a severe and just rebuke to this gentleman; and which, Sir," turning towards him, "I hope you will feel at the core of your heart, and that it will prevent your repeating elsewhere the act of meanness of which you have been guilty here—stealing a poor man's Bible, while eating his bread and cheese."
"Do you, Sir, mean to insult me? I allow no one to do that with impunity."
"Indeed, Sir! If speaking the truth, in a tone and style in which it ought to be spoken to a man in the attire and with the appearance of a gentleman, who enters a poor man's cottage, and, while feasting at his table, is mean enough to try to destroy his faith in his Bible, which is the well-spring of his happiness, be regarded by you as an insult, why, then, there is no alternative but to feel yourself insulted."
He looked, but said no more, and tossing, rather unceremoniously, a half-crown piece on the table for the refreshment he had received, he left in high dudgeon, muttering to himself as he moved away.
"These infidels, Sir," said the woodman, "in one thing are like the Pharisees of the New Testament; they won't go into the kingdom of heaven themselves, and they want to prevent others going there if they can. He began his infidel remarks before my children, but I sent them away, and told him that I would not let a child, if I knew it, get near an infected person."
"I suppose you don't often meet with infidels."
"More often, Sir, than I wish; for I generally find they are bad men—some bad in their habits, and all bad in their principles. The high-priest of their order lives up in yonder mansion, and he has many visitors. He used to come to our cottage sometimes, but he does not come now, as I offended him one day, by telling him that it was an act of meanness, as well as injustice, to try to cut off the stream of water from the poor families that live near it, for some miles in its course, and doing it to enrich his own meadows."