SrO. 139. 



€0nttntm€nt 



IN 



HUMBLE LIFE. 

A MEMOIR OF THOMAS HOaa. 




j found him standing by the side of the forge. — See page 3. 



PUBLISHED BY THE 



AlMEEIlXCAZff VB.ACT SOCXXSTYp 

AND SOLD AT THEIR DEPOSITORY, NO. 87 NASSAU-STREET, NEAR 

THE CITY-HALL, NEW-YORK *, AND BY AGENTS OF THE 

SOCIETY, ITS BRANCHES, AND AUXILIARIES, IN 

THE PRINCIPAL CITIES AND TOWNS 

5N THE UNITED STATES. 



No. 139 



CONTENTMENT 



IN 



ILM 



4M 






MSMOIH OF THOMAS HOGC£. 




The next morning: I found him lying: in the comfortable hedl^ 
which we had carefully removed him.— See page 11, 



PRINTED FOR 



THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY* 



CONTENTMENT 

IN 

HUMBLE LIFE 



On the Sabbath, January 9, 18 — , 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 hini, under 
all the disadvantages of tattered garments and squalid np- 
pearance, which afforded a favourable pre-sentiment to 
my mind. When the service was over, the stranger disap- 
peared. 

Conceiving that he was a poor passing beggar, who had 
been allured within the precincts of God's tem.ple by the 
fire in the stove, I made no inquiry about him. To my as- 
tonishment, however, on the following Sabbath 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. The same de- 
vout attefition to the services of the day, which I had re- 
marked on the previous Sabbatli, inspired in me a hope, 
that he was a spiritual, though humble worshipper of that 
common Father, a disciple of that common Saviour, at 
whose footstool we were prostrating ourselves in united 
adoration. 

When the service was concluded, I inquired who the old 
man was. " Sir," replied my informer, " he is a person 
Tvho works at the blacksmith's shop ; he is a remarkable 
man, and carries about with him a Bible, which he con- 
stantly reads." 

A. secret pleasure stole through my heart at this delight- 
ful intelligence ; and I could not but feel gratiried at the 
prospect of seeing a man, who under such appearances of 
misery, made the word of God his companion and guide. 



87] CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. 3 

Having" taken an early opportunity in the course of the 
week to pay him a visit, I 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 
wretchedne^s excited by his (irst appearance, were now 
fifreatly heightened by the soot, which, from the nature of 
his occupation, had necessarily gathered round his person. 
After a few general observations, I went to Mr. H. S. the 
iniister of the shop, and from him learned some particulars 
of the poor man's history. He informed me, that on Tues- 
day the 4th of January, in the severely cold weather which 
then prevailed, this destitute object came to his shop, al- 
most 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 contai-ning his tools. The benevolent master of the 
premises very kindly desired him to come in, and stationed 
hini near the forge, where he might pursue his work with 
advantage by the side of the fire. 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 kind benefactor oiTer- 
ed his stable. Accordingly the poor creature, with his 
box and table upon his back, accompanied Mr. S. home, 
Vyhere, 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, express- 
ing his fears lest he should be depriving some part of the 
family of it. 

Early the next morning Mr. S. went into the stable, 
and asked the poor stranger how he was. He replied, '•^ I 
am yoA-y happy." Having risen from his straw bed, and 
dressed himself, (for he alwa3^s took otf his clothes at night 
and wrapped him-elf in a blanket which had been given 



4 CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. [88 

him by the Dowager Countess of C ,) he soon join- 
ed his hospitable friend, and resumed his post by the side 
of the forge. This station Mr. S. humanely allowed him 
to retain as long- as he needed it, and, to his honour be it 
spoken, he contracted so great a regard for the good man 
as to be unable to speak of him, even at this time, without 
emotion. I have heard him declare, that he never learn- 
ed so complete a lesson of humility, contentment, and grat- 
itude, as from the conduct of this man. Little did he think 
at this time, how soon his lonely guest was to become an 
inhabitant of that blissful world where there is neither sigh- 
ing nor sorrow, '' where the wicked cease from troubling, 
and the weary are at rest." Little did he think that so soon 
\hnt unsightly and despised body should be G^athered to its 
dust, to be fashioned ere long '' like unto Christ's glorious 
bod}^," a fit casket for the inestimable jewel of a soul 
cleansed in the blood of the Redeemer from all earthly 
impurities, and made " meet for the inheritance of the 
saints in light." What a lesson this on the duty of prompt 
and cheerful attention to the wants of the strang-er and the 
destitute ! What a comment on the gracious declaration of 
our Saviour, " Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of 
these my brethren, ye did it unto me." 

The poor creature's days and nights continued to be 
passed much in the manner above described ; with the 
exception, that he had exchanged the stable, at night, for 
the shop, which was warmer, and in which Mr. S. per- 
mitted him to remain, as soon as he was satisfied respect- 
ing his principles. He daily pursued with exemplary 
diligence his humble employment of making chains and 
.skewers, although, as I afterwards learned, he was unable, 
even with success in disposing of his wares, to earn more 
than sixpence or sevenpence a day. A cup of tea in the 
morning, for which he paid twopence, and some bread, or 
cold potatoes, if any remained from his dinner the pre- 
ceding day, formed his morning's repast. At dinner he 
had some hot potatoes, or bread and cheese, with occa- 
sionally half a pint of beer. If at any time solicited to 
take some additional refreshment, he would decline it, 
saying, '• I am thanliful for the kindness— but it would, 
b^e intemperate.'''' 



89] 



CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. 



Mr. S. further added, that he believed him to he a sin- 
cere Christian ; that he always carried a Bible with him, 
which he used attentively to read, when least liable to in- 
terruption ; and that he never partook of any of his slender 
meals, without first taking off his hat, and, as was judged 
from his attitude and the motion of his lips, imploring the 
blessing of him who clotheth the lily, and feedeth the young 
ravens ; but whose special mercies are reserved for those 
who put their trust in him ; and who not only commands 
us, whether we eat or drink, or whatever we do, to do all 
to his glory, but encourages even the most alllicted and in- 
digent of his faithful followers to be '' careful for nothing, 
but in every thing with prayer and thanksgiving to let 
their requests be made known unto him," and that he will 
supply all their needs, both for body and soul, if not in the 
way most congenial to their wishes, yet in that which shall 
most conduce to their spiritual and eternal welfare. 

This poor man's conduct was uniformly consistent with 
his Christian profession. Never does his protector recol- 
lect hearing an angry word, or a murmuring* expression 
from his lips ; although, in addition to his bitter poverty and 
privations, he was frequently tried by the impertinent curi- 
osity and irritating remarks of persons who came into the 
work-shop where he was carrying on his humble operations. 
The first Saturday which he spent in this village, Mr. S. 
particularly remarked, that at an early hour in the after- 
noon, he put by his work, and began to hum a hymn-tune. 
He 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 good 
man, "• for the Sabbath." What a contrast to the busy 
worldliness which so often devotes the Saturday evening 
to more than the ordinary fatigue and bustle of secular pur- 
suits, intrenching on the very limits of the Sabbath, and 
unfitting both the mind and body for a vigorous discharge 
of its duties, and the enjoyment of its hallowed pleasures i 
How much more fervent and delightful would be the 
hours of this privileged season, if, whenever practicable, 
Christians would endeavour, before the close of the pre- 
ceding day, to forget their worldly cares, and to attune 
their hearts to the spiritvial feelings of this interval of 
sacrectrest ! 

1 * 



d! CONTENTMENT IN MUMfeLk LlPE". . [90 

On receiving" the communication of the foregoing- par- 
ticulars, I was induced to return to the poor stranger, with 
a view to converse with him a little. There was a pecu 
liar bluntness in his manner of expressing himself, but it 
was very far removed from any thing of churlislmess or 
incivility. All his answers were pertinent, and were some- 
times given in such measured terms as quite astonished me. 
The tollowing was a part of our conversation : — ^' Well, my 
friend, what are you about ?" " Making scissor-chains, 
Sir." '' And how long does it take you to make one ?" With 
peculiar archness he looked up in my face, (for, as was 
before observed, his head always rested upon his bosom, 
so that the back part of it was depressed nearly to the same 
horizontal plane with his shoulders,) and with a compla- 
cent smile, said, " Ah ! and 3^ou will next ask me how many I 
make in a day, and then what the wire costs me, and af- 
terwards what T sell them for." From the indirectness of 
his reply, I was induced to conclude that he was in the 
habit of making something considerable from his employ- 
ment, and wished to conceal the amount of his gains. But 
when I became better acquainted with his manner, and 
found that after his utmost exertion, he could scarcely ob- 
tain the meager pittance before mentioned, I perceived 
that his apparent reluctance to make known his poverty, 
proceeded from his habitual Christian contentment. How 
different would have been the conduct of most persons in 
similar circumstances ! and how eagerly would they have 
given a ready answer to m}^ inquiry, in the hope of ex- 
citing compassion and procuring assistance ! I next asked 
him, why he followed his present vagrant life, in preference 
to a stationary one, in which he would be better known 
and more respected. " The nature of m}'' business," he 
replied, ''• requires that I should move about from place to 
place, that having exhausted my custom in one spot, I may 
obtain employment in another. Besides," added he, '-- my 
mode of life has at least this advantage, that if I leave my 
friends behind me, I leave also my enemies." When I 
asked him his age, he replied, v/ith a slrong and lirm 
voice, " That is a question which 1 am frequently asked, 
as if persons supposed me to be of a great age ; why I am 
a mere boy." '^ A mere boy !" I repeated, '^ and pray, 
what do you mean by that expression?" '^ I am sixty-tive 



^1] CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. T 

years of age, Sir, and with a light heel and a cheerful 
heart, hope to hold out a considerable time longer." In- 
deed, he seemed always happy ; even in the period of his 
subsequent extreme suffering, his bosom appeared scarcely 
capacious enough for his joyful feelings. 1 can do but lit- 
tle justice to the hilarity of his heart, for it was a matter 
of astonishment to all who witnessed it. The spring of his 
cheerfulness was religion. Nothing seemed to damp his 
confidence in God. 

In the course of our conversation he said, " It is not often 
that I am honoured with the visits of clergymen. Two 
gentlemen, however, of your profession, once came to me 

when I was at , in , and 1 expressed a hope 

that I should derive some advantage from their conversa- 
tion." " We are come," said they, '^ with the same ex- 
pectation to you, for we understand that you know many 
things." *' I told them, that I feared they would be great- 
ly disappointed." He then stated that the old scholastic 
question was proposed to him, " Why has God given us two 
ears, and but one mouth ?" " I replied," said he, " that 
we may hear twice as much as we speak ;" adding, with 
his accustomed modesty, '' 1 should not have been able to 
give an answer to this question, if I had not heard it be- 
fore." I should not have detailed this anecdote, but for the 
sake of thus incidentally illustrating the humility and ab- 
sence of self-esteem which characterized this good man's 
remarks; though having given it, I may perhaps be allow- 
ed to add, that if the rich, whether clerical or laical, duly 
considered how deep an impression their most casual re- 
marks often make on the minds of the poor, long after they 
are forgotten by themselves, they would be more careful 
than oftentimes they are, that their '^ speech should be 
with grace, seasoned with salt;" and that not only no posi- 
tively corrupt communication should proceed out of their 
mouth, but that their most transient intercourse should be^ 
in its measure, " to the use of edifying, that it may min- 
ister ofrace unto the hearers." — The divisions which dis- 
tract the church of Christ being alluded to, 1 lamented 
that there should be any separation between men whose 
hopes and interests are the same. He immediately rejoin- 
ed^ in his native sprightly manner, " No matter; there are 



8 CONTE^TME^TT IN HUMELlE LIFE. [92 

two sides to the river :" intimating, as I concluded, that al- 
though separated for a time by the waters of discord which 
flow between them, all who are the true servants of Christ 
are pursuing- the same direction, and will find their course 
terminate at the same point. There were man}'^ other in 
stances of his readiness in reply, which have escaped my 
recollection. 

In the midst of the din of business, the roaring of the 
forge bellows, and the deafening noise of the hammer and 
the anvil, I regret that I had but httie opportunity of enter- 
ing deeply into religious subjects. What, however, he 
said, though I cannot recollect the particulars, gave me an 
exalted idea of his contentment, cheerfulness, and genuine 
piety.^ 

Before I took my leave of him, I asked how long he in- 
tended to remain in the village. He answered, " I do not 
know ; but as I have house-room and fire without any tax, 
I am quite satisfied with my situation, and only regret the 
trouble I am occasioning to my kind host." 

From that period to the 20th of the month, being much 
engaged with domestic concerns, I saw but little of him, 
and do not recollect any particular remark or incident. 
On the morning of that day 1 met him creeping along un- 
der a vast burthen, having previously heard that he had 
set out on the preceding Monday, on a journey to Bristol, 
to procure a fresh stock of wire. There he had nearly 
expended his little all ; and, with half a hundred of wire 
upon his back, and three half-pence in his pocket, the sole 
remains of his scanty fund, he returned on foot to tiiis 
place. — He had been two days on the road, and had pass- 
ed the intervening night before a coal-pit fire in the neigh- 
bouring village. The snow was lying deep upon the 
ground, and the scene was altogether desolate beyond de- 
scription. 1 was glad once more to see him, and accosting- 
him, inquired if he were not very tired. " A little, a lit- 
tle," he replied. Then taking off h^s hat, he asked if he 
could execute any thing for me. I gave him an order for 
i5ome tritling articles, which he brought to me on the follow- 
ing Wednesday. He came to my house just as I was en- 
gaged on pai'ticular business ; I went out, however, for a 
iow minutes, and, airier paying him for the articles, enteied 
into conversation with liim. He repeated many admkable 



Q 



n 



J 



CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. 



9 



adag-es, with which his memory appeared to be well stor- 
ed, and iDcidentally tonciied upon the word cleanliness. Im- 
mediately I added, '' cleanliness is next to godliness,-' and 
seized the opportunity which 1 had long wanted, but from 
fear of wounding his mind, hesitated to embrace, to tell 
him of the absence of that quality in himself He with 
much good nature replied, " I believe I am suhstaniially 
clean. 1 have a clean shirt every week ; my business, 
iiowever, necessarily makes me dirty in my person.*" " But 
Avhv do you not dress more tidily, and take more care of 
yoiirself? You know that God has given us the comforts 
of life that we may enjoy them. Cannot you afford your- 
self these comforts?" "That question," said he emphati- 
cally, but by no means rudely, "you should have set out 
uith. No, Sir, 1 cannot afford myself these comforts." 

His long fustian trovvsers concealed nearly the whole of 
his foot: but about the instep I thought I perceived con- 
siderable inflammation, and made inquiry respecting it. "Oh, 
it is nothing particular," said he ; " it is a little tender." 
Perceiving that he had a miserable pair of shoes upon his 
feet, I asked him if he thought he could wear a pair of 
mine. He said he felt obliged to me for my kind inten- 
tion, but he would not trouble me. I however fetched a 
pair, and with much persuasion made him accept them. 
He expressed himself much gratified ; only adding, with 
his accustomed humility, that they were too good. I men- 
tion these circumstances, in themselves trifling, to show 
how very different was the conduct of this poor man from 
what might have been expected from a person in his des- 
titute condition. I am persuaded that it was not apathy or 
pride, but a tar higher principle, that thus had taught him, 
in whatever situation he was, " therewith to be content." 

My engagements now requiring my presence elwsehere, 
I left the poor creature for the present, by the side of my 
kitchen lire, determining to see him the next day, and to 
have some farther conversation with him. 

When I visited him, I found him in his usual station, 
working upon his cliains. He was sitting — a posture in 
which he did not often indulge. I requested to look at his 
foot, for it was turned away from me towards the wall. 
With the greatest astonishment and alarm, I found the 
whole leg, from the foot to the knee, so prodigiously swob 



10 



CONTENTMEx\T IN HUxMBLE LIFE. 



[94 



\t^ 



i 



len that he had been oblio^ed to rip up his trowsers. — It 
eichibited one continued appearance of black, except where 
it was distained by bladders and patches of blood. It was 
oiJy partially protected from the extreme inclemency of 
th^ weather by the separated parts of his fustian trowsers. 
Ho continued to manifest his usual cheerfulness. '' I must 
inijist," said I, '' upon your allowing- something to be done to 
it. The doctor is expected in the village to-day, and you 
must see him ; I will give orders for him to call upon you." 
'' That is kind, very kind," he replied. At this moment 
some ignorant prattler in the shop was exclaiming, in a 
very vexatious and offensive manner, that he would not 
have such a leg (taking off his hat) for that full of guineas. 
The old man looked up somewhat sharply at him, and said, 
" Nor I, if I could help it." The other, however, pro- 
ceeded with his canting, when the alBicted creature added, 
" You only torture me by your observations." This was 
the only instance approaching to impatience witnessed by 
those who had the most constant access to him. 

I proposed getting a bed for him, for I found that of late 
he had slept in one corner of the workshop upon the bare 
earth, without his clothes, the blanket as customary being 
wrapped round his shoulders. We wished to procure him 
a bed within some babitable abode; but he preferred re- 
maining where he wa>, and requested us only to provide 
for him some clean straw. As he seemed tixed to his pur- 
pose, we consented to comply with his wish ; and, after 
arranging every thing as well as we could for his accom- 
modation, I mentioned my inteniion of immediately send- 
ing him some warm broth, which he declined with his usu- 
al answer, " I have had enough ; it would be intemperate." 
I then left him under the care of his worthy friend. 

The next morning I visited my patient as early as I could, 
and was greatly alarmed to hnd that the sweilmg and black- 
ness of his leg had increased, and were now extending 
themselves rapidly towards the vital parts of Jriis body. 
The blood which had oozed from his wound had literally 
soaked his straw bed, and his leg was unprotected from the 
friction of the straw, and was exposed to the cold air; for 
his extremities, when I came into the shop, were entii'ely 
naked. — He was at times delirious, and his whole frame 
was in a degree convulsed ; but he dozed during the great- 



9h] 



CONTENTMENT IN IlUxMBLE LIFE. 



11 



er part of the day. Nothing couhl exceed this picture of 
misery ! Having- attended to his immediate wants, I went 
up by his side, and gently inquired how he was. Frcm 
his head being muffled in his bhmket, he did not hear me. 
— Mr. S. removed the clothes, and asked, '^ How are you ?" 
*' Happy, happy !" was the reply. " I am truly grieved, 
my friend," I said, " to see you in this deplorable condi- 
tion. Are you suffering much pain ?" " I am sick," 
gaid he, " and very weak." At this moment the arrival 
of the medical gentleman was announced. I ran to him, 
and begged that he would come and see this wretched ob- 
ject. He accompanied me back to the workshop, which 
he had no sooner entered, than I perceived by an involun- 
tary gesture, that he had not before witnessed many such 
objects of misery, even in a very extensive country prac- 
tice. He at once informed me there was but little 
hope of life. Warm fomentations, and large doses of bark 
and port wine, he said, were the only remedies. Of course 
no time was lost in administering them. 1 had previously 
provided a bed in a neighbouring house, and inibrmed ihe 
suffering patient of my wish to remove him to it, and my 
anxiety that he should take the medicines prescribed, lie 
very meekly submitted to all 1 proposed, saying, that lie 
was willing to take any thing : but he added, ^' One niglit 
more, and I shall be beyond this world." 

The next morning, Saturda}^, I found him l3'ing in the 
comfortable bed to which we had carefully removed him 
the preceding evening, in his usual calm and contented 
frame of mind, willing to live, but still more willing to die. 
I cannot describe the dreadful appearance which his whole 
body now assumed. His leg was again fomented, and he 
partook of some broth with eagerness, but his dissolution 
was evidently drawing near. His speech was almost unin- 
telligible. J3eiirium became more Irequent, and his hands 
were often apparently em})ioyed in the task to which they 
had been so long habituated, making links for chains : but, 
alas ! it was a fruitless etlort, no wire was now near him, 
no chains were the result of his labours. By addressing 
him, you seemed for a mjoment to recall his mind from its 
aberrations, and during such intervals he was perfectly col- 
lected. His respiration became more and more hurried. 
Finding that there was scarcely a ray of hope of preserve- 



I 12 CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. [96 

ing his life, I gave orders that he shouhl he allowed to re- 
main quite quiet upon his bed, being simply supplied vvitii 
what sustenance was necessary. — Atter his attendants were 
gone, 1 sat down by his bed-side, and said to him, ^' I am 
afraid you are very ill; but 1 trust you liave no fears re- 
specting your future happhiess, should it please God to sum- 

; I mon you to appear before him ?" He opened his eyes, and 

I instantly said, 

'^ Fed by his hand, supported by his care, 

I scarce can doubl : why then shoidd I dts-pair P'' 

'' Ah, my friend," I rej.oined, "• what an inconceivable bless- 
ing it is to have the Son of God for our friend !" ^' it is, it 
is !" said he, in a tone and manner that indicated that he 
was accustomed to look to God throusfh that Divine Medi- 
ator, and that he was practically acquainted with the truth 
of that scriptural declaration, '-'- To them that believe, 
' Christ is precious." 

Seeing his spectacles lying upon his pillow, I said, 
" There are j^our spectacles; but I do not think they have 
brought your Bible : 1 dare say you would like to read 
it ?" " By and b}^," he replied : '' 1 am pretty well acquaint- 
ed with its contents." 

All his tire had now expended itself. I found him artic- 
ulate so indistinctly, and he appeared so exhausted, that 
after commending him to the protection of his God and 
Saviour, I took my leave of bim. As 1 was departing, he 
said, '•' You have done your duty to me, I can say it without 
flattery." 

Alas ! poor soul, would that I had thee here again, (if 
that were not to bring thy spirit from the mansions of rest 
and peace,) that 1 might show tbee how deeply conscious 
I am of not having done my duty! 1 pray God to pardon 
my coldness, my inactivity, my general remi.-sness ! Yes, 
much more \vould I have done for thy comfort, much more 
might I have learned for my own. — But thou art gone ! 
m;iy the impression which thou hast left upon my mind 
never be effaced. — May I learn also more diligently to work 
while it is called to-dav, since thenio-ht cometh in which no 
man can work ! Oh, how many opportunities of doing or 
receiving good do we suffer to pass unimproved, not know- 
ing their value till they are for ever beyond our reach ! 



97] CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. 13 

On Sabbath morning, the knell too well convinced me 
that my humble friend was no more. I hastened to his 
chamber. His happy spirit had fled to the bosom of his 
Maker. He died about two o'clock in the morning without 
a sigh. His last word was in answer to the question, How 
are you? "Happy" — a happiness built upon a solid 
foundation ; for, notwithstanding his afflictions in this world, 
the Saviour was his Friend, the Holy Spirit was his Com- 
forter, and God was his portion and exceeding great re- 
ward. 

I could not avoid adverting in my discourses on that day 
to the happy circumstances of this departed saint, who 
without a friend excepting those whom Providence had un- 
expectedly raised up in his necessity ; and without any 
earthly comforts, had so completely divested himself of ev- 
ery murmur and complaint. Surely nothing but Divine 
Grace could have enabled him thus to triumph in tribula- 
tion. It was in the school of Christ, as I have before re- 
marked, that he had thus learned, in whatsoever state he 
was, therewith to be content. 

A very respectable funeral was arranged, under the man- 
agement of the kind friend who at first sheltered him, nor 
forsook him so long as he continued a tenant of our earth. 
The corpse was followed by a long train of, 1 think I may 
sa3^, very sincere mourners ; for though his residence in 
the village had been short, and his station was very obscure, 
yet his character, wherever he was known, conciliated a 
degree of affection and esteem, which were the more une- 
quivocal, as they were an unbought, and perfectly disinter- 
ested testimony to virtues, which a homely exterior could 
not conceal, nor povert}^ disgrace. 

It has been already mentioned, that this poor man was a 
regular frequenter of divine worship, and a diligent reader 
of that holy book which was able to make him wise unto 
salvation, through faith that is in Christ Jesus. I add with 
much pleasure, what might have been anticipated, that he 
was also '^ a man of prayer." The first night of his taking 
to his straw-bed, being exceedingly indisposed, he retired 
before the men had left their work. Mr. S. misused him 
from the shop for a considerable time ; and going into an 
adjoining store-room, in which no business was done, he 

No. CXXXIX. 2 4 



14 CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. [95 

fovmcl him in the posture of devotion, praying to his "Fa- 
ther who seeth in secret." This, no doubt, was his constant 
practice ; but as Mr. S. and his men usually quitted tlieir 
work before the old man retired to rest, his habits of se- 
cret communion with God were now for the first time dis- 
covered. He was one of the last of men to sound a trum- 
pet before him ; so that it is impossible to ascertain to what 
extent he carried his habits of prayer and readings the 
Scriptures, in addition to those sacred meditations which 
doubtless cheered his mind throughout the day, in the midst 
of his solitary and monotonous employment. 

In an early stage of our acquaintance, I had learned that 
he had a considerable taste for versification, and that he 
used occasionally to amuse his leisure hours by composing 
a poem. My first step, therefore, after his disease, was to 
get possession of his manuscripts, of which I found two 
books of considerable thickness, which appeared to be du- 
plicates. From them 1 was confirmed in the opinion, if in- 
deed I needed any farther confirmation than what my own 
eyes and ears had witnessed, that his religious principles 
were strictly consonant to that holy book which he so 
much valued, and which he made his companion and guide- 
In a blank leaf of his Bible is written, '• Thomas Hogg, 
born in Jedburg, 1753. 

'•' Yes — dust and ashes is my proper name, 

Ready to perish — is my title clear. 

From two poor rebels, 1 their offsprings came, 

My first, my native attribute is fear. 

Yet, let Thy love on this dark void descend, 

All shall be safe — the Three in One my friend.'' 

The poem ends with a prayer to be " built up in wis- 
dom and usefulness." 

Upon the cover of the book in which he has entered his 
poems, I find the following passages : — '^ To you, O men, I 
call, and my voice is to the sons of men." (Prov. viii. 4.] 
" Hear, for I will speak of excellent things." (Prov, viii. 6. 
" Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pil- 
grimage." (Psalm cxix.) '' And they sung a new song.'* 
(^Hev. v. 9.) 

I regret that an epitaph which be composed for himself 
cannot be found. He once repeated it to Mr. S. andprom- 



.vL 



99] ' CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. 15 

ised to give him a copy of it; but death put a stop to that, 
as well as to many other intentions. His long'est poem, 
which consists of nearly two thousand lines, is entitled 
'' The Flower Knot, or Guide Post." In a short preface, 
he states, that, "■ twenty lines or thereabouts were the most 
1 could compose in a week ; and sometimes I have written 
none for half a year or longer." The chief subjects of his 
poem are thus arranged by himself: '-^ Introduction, holi- 
ness, prudence and reason, wit, honesty and decency, sym- 
pathy, gratitude, hope, humility, temperance, chastity, 
passion, power, truth, wisdom, love, faith." 

The particulars which 1 have been enabled to gather of 
my humble friend''s history, in addition to what has al- 
ready been related, are very few. He was a name-sake of 
the Ettrick Shepherd, and a fellow-countrymen, but I am 
not aware that they were related. He was brought up, 1 
find, in a religious family ; and in his youth had serious im- 
pressions of eternal things upon his mind. These, howev- 
er, grew feebler by intercourse with the world, although 
they do not appear ever to have entirel}/ forsaken him. 
He left his home at an early period of life, and for some- 
time carried hardware about the country. This business 
becoming unproductive, about fourteen years since he took 
to the employment in which 1 found him engaged, making 
scissor-chains and skewers. l\venty-nine long years had 
passed, he told me, since he had visited his native place ; 
nor could I learn what had alienated him from his family 
and friends. — A hedge, or a stable, were to him an asylum 
of peace — the habitation of contentment; for he carried 
that tranquiliity within him which was not to be ruffled by 
the adventitious circumstances of life. The vagrancy of 
his life necessarily exposed him to much hardship ; and his 
pious soul must have been frequently '' vexed with the 
iiithy conversation of the wicked." Whether he had the 
habit of boldly reproving the sinner, when he daringly vi- 
olated the laws of his God, i cannot affirm, not having been 
present on any such occasion : but judging from his ordina- 
ry freedom in expressing his mind, and from his courage 
in sustainjupf )aany of the ills of life, I should imaarine he 
would suffer i"ow opportunities to pass of reproving or ex- 
horting, \vhej"e prudence an«l discretion marked out the 



16 CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. [100 

duty. Sometimes, doubtless, his mind must have been de- 
pressed by anxious fears, or disappointed hopes. There 
were seasons when the "candle of the Lord"" did not shine 
so clearly upon his path as at other times : during such pe- 
riods he used to sing Addison's beautiful version of the 23d 
Psalm, to which he added a verse of his own composition, 
which I have in vain endeavoured to find. He called it the 
Traveller's Song. It was peculiarly appropriate to his own 
case, exposed as he was, solitary and wandering, with none 
to look up to for support or protection, but the Helper of 
the friendless. 

Thus have I presented a faithful, though imperfect, his- 
tory of a poor man, who, in the lowest depths of pover- 
ty, evinced such remarkable contentment and cheerfulness 
under severe sufterings, as may well excite ns to godly 
jealousy, and animate us to aspire after like precious faith; 
a man who showed no symptoms of a desire to hurry from 
life, yet was read}^ at all times to obey his great and final 
summons, and the practical language of whose life was, 
"To me to live is Christ, to die is gain." 

Reader ! how does this simple tale call upon you to adore 
the Father of all mercies, who graciously furnished a poor 
object, in the lowest depths of earthly misery, with princi- 
ples capable not barely of supporting him, but of enabling 
him to soar far above the afflictions of mortality? No 
one, I feel assured, can doubt whence this man obtained his t 

transcendent faith. It was of no common stamp : it was >. 

not the spontaneous growth of the human heart: it must 
have come from heaven. 

Permit me, then, to remind you, that the same faith 
which supported him, the same principles by which he was 
actuated, may be obtained by you. The Divine Spirit, 
who implanted them in the subject of this memoir, ofi'ers 
to produce them in you. And can I wish you a richer gift? 
Can I take my leave of you in a more affectionate manner, 
than by praying that the same Spirit would make you like- 
minded, with this humble, but exemplary follower of a suf- 
fering and crucified Saviour ? 



END. 



3S^ 



<^^ 



16 CONTENTMENT IN HUMBLE LIFE. 

The Heart healed by Mercy, 

Sin enslaved me many years, 

And led me, bound and blind ; 
Till at length a thousand fears 

Came swarming o'er my mind. 
^' Where," I said, in deep distress, 

" Will these sinful pleasures end ? 
^' How shall I secure my peace, 

" And make the Lord my friend ?" 

Friends and ministers said much 

The Gospel to enforce ; 
But my blindness still w^as such, 

I chose a legal course : 
Much I fasted, watch 'd, and strove ; 

Scarce would show my face abroad ; 
Fear'd almost to speak or move ; 

A stranger still to God. 

Thus afraid to trust his grace j 

Long time did I rebel ; 
Till, despairing of my case, 

Down at his feet I fell. 
Then my stubborn heart he broke-, 

And subdued me to his sway ; 
By a simple word he spoke : 

^' Thy sins are done away." 

Rippon's Coll 



Orders for Tracts will receive prompt attention, if ad- 
dressed to " The American Tract Society^ No* 87 Nassau- 
streety iVe?^-Fbr/r." 

No. 13S>. 



Fanshaw, Printer. 



