H.
In consequence of this interesting narrative concerning Thomas Hogg, the “little book—the memorial of his last days” by the rev. Mr. Read, was procured by the editor. It is entitled “The Scottish Wanderer,” and as our kind correspondent “H.” has only related his own observations, probably from apprehension that his narrative might be deemed of sufficient length, a few particulars are extracted from Mr. Read’s tract respecting the latter days of this “singular character.”
Mr. Read commences his “Memoir of Thomas Hogg,” by saying—“On Sunday the ninth of January 1820, as I was proceeding in the services of the day, my attention was attracted by a wretched object seated in the nave of the church. There was an air of devout seriousness about him, under all the disadvantages of tattered garments and squalid appearance, which afforded a favourable presentiment to my mind. When the service was over the stranger disappeared.”
Mr. Read conceived that he was some poor passing beggar, who had been allured by the fire in the stove, but to his surprise on the following Sunday the same object presented himself, and took his station, as before, near the stove. He seemed to be a man decrepit with age: his head resting upon his bosom, which was partly exposed, betokened considerable infirmity. Under a coarse and dirty sackcloth frock was to be seen a soldier’s coat patched in various places, which was strangely contrasted with the cleanliness of his shirt. His whole appearance was that of the lowest degree of poverty. His devout attention induced Mr. Read when the service was concluded to inquire who this old man was. “Sir,” replied his informant, “he is a person who works at the blacksmith’s shop; he is a remarkable man, and carries about with him a bible, which he constantly reads.”
In the course of the week Mr. Read paid him a visit. He found him standing by the side of the forge, putting some links of iron-wire together, to form a chain to suspend scissors. The impressions of wretchedness excited by his first appearance were greatly heightened by the soot, which, from the nature of his occupation, had necessarily gathered round his person; and after a few general observations Mr. Read went to Mr. H. S., the master of the shop, who informed him that on Tuesday the fourth of January, in the severely cold weather which then prevailed, this destitute object came to his shop, almost exhausted with cold and fatigue. In his passage through the neighbouring village of P——, he had been inhumanly pelted with snow-balls by a party of boys, and might probably have perished, but for the humanity of some respectable inhabitants of the place, who rescued him from their hands. Having reached Mr. S.’s shop, he requested permission to erect, in a shed which adjoined the shop, his little apparatus, consisting of a slight table, with a box containing his tools. The benevolent master of the premises kindly stationed him near the forge, where he might pursue his work with advantage. In the evening, when the workmen were about to retire, Mr. S. asked him where he intended to lodge that night. The old man inquired if there were any ox-stall or stable near at hand, which he might be permitted to occupy. His benefactor offered his stable, and the poor creature, with his box and table upon his back, accompanied Mr. S. home, where as comfortable a bed as fresh straw, and shelter from the inclemency of the weather, could afford, was made up. One of Mr. S.’s children afterwards carried him some warm cider, which he accepted with reluctance, expressing his fears lest he should be depriving some part of the family of it.
The weather was very cold: the thermometer, during the past night, had been as low as six or seven degrees of Fahrenheit. In the morning he resumed his post by the side of the forge. Mr. S. allowed him to retain his station as long as he needed it; and contracted so great a regard for him, as to declare, that he never learned so complete a lesson of humility, contentment, and gratitude, as from the conduct of this man.
The poor fellow’s days continued to be passed much in the manner above described; but he had exchanged the stable, at night, for the shop, which was warmer, as soon as his benevolent host was satisfied respecting his principles; and with exemplary diligence he pursued his humble employment of making chains and skewers. He usually dined on hot potatoes, or bread and cheese, with occasionally half a pint of beer. If solicited to take additional refreshment, he would decline it, saying, “I am thankful for the kindness,—but it would be intemperate.”
At an early hour in the afternoon of the first Saturday which he spent in this village, he put by his work, and began to hum a hymn tune. Mr. S. asked him if he could sing. “No, sir,” he replied. “I thought,” added Mr. S., “I heard you singing.” “I was only composing my thoughts a little,” said the poor man, “for the sabbath.”