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THE BANKS OF THE TAVY. No. IV.

"The poorest poor

Long for some moments in a weary life
When they can know and feel that they have

been

Themselves the fathers and the dealers out
Of some small blessings,-have been kind
To such as needed kindness; for this single

cause,

That we have all of us a human heart."

"NEVER so bad but it might be worse," said I to the other members of the broken quartette, as they looked at one another in silent bewilderment. It was bad enough to be so unceremoniously set down amidst the scattered fragments of our travelling machine, and left to anticipate an interview with the shadows of nightfall on the lone top of Black Down; to say nothing of my despoiled garments, and a somewhat disabled limb. But things might have been worse. One's bones might have been broken, and we might have been wrecked on the pathless moor, far away from help or all means of deliverance. It was soon found, indeed, that our trouble, bad as we felt it to be, was set off by a great advantage, in that it had come upon us by the open road-side. Though it was not pleasant to be thrown down as objects of public pity, we could afford to be pitied in our circumstances; and really learnt to be thankful for pity, coming as it did in such agreeable forms. Misfortunes like ours, occurring on the more crowded thoroughfares of fashionable or business life, have not unfrequently brought out many a passing grin at the expense of their victims. But we were far away from the polite world. There were no eyes upon

us but those of an uncultured turf-cutter, and one or two healthy-looking Devonian waggoners. The first friendly arrival was that of the turf-cutter, who, with hearty promptitude, pulled up, and ran across the moor to aid in capturing our poor panic-stricken horse, leaving his own quiet beast, and his load of peat, to bear us company during the interval of sus pense, and to cheer us as a pledge of further help on his return. He was scarcely gone before our Devonian examples of rustic chivalry-the two generous waggoners-came along with their team. There was no attempt at wordy condolence. Many words, they seemed to believe, were not in their line, and would be of no use to us. Mere words are but wind. No: better to think of the "good Samaritan,” and “go and do likewise." They for once found themselves in circumstances sufficiently like those of that unselfish traveller on the Jerusalem road, to warrant an effort at conformity to his spirit and manner. There was a case of distress on that wayside, and there was one on this. In each case the distress was known. And now, to the honour of our Devonian wayfarers, it shall be said, in each case there was genuine pity; in each, the pity was practical; and in each, those who pitied tendered help, promptly, graciously, and to the utmost of their means. "Out with your horses, Jim," cried one, to the other, "and we'll do our best to get the ladies down to the village." And it was no sooner said than it would have been done: but no, my good fellows, we will take the will for the deed: you shall be spared the sacrifice for which your kind

OUR COUNTRY.

hearts are ready, while we will give you the honour which belongs to true nobility of temper and purpose. Just then there came along a gentleman on horseback, travelling towards the town; and he cheerfully undertook to arrange for our safe and comfortable return to Tavistock, as early as possible, promising that the gathered fragments of Our wrecked equipage, and our vagrant horse, should soon follow in the rear. We call this

last friend a gentleman, to distinguish his social standing or rank. In name and occupation, influence and property, he was somewhat of a higher class; and let it be remembered that such distinctions must always live. Indeed, when society has reached its best and holiest state, the doctrine of social equality will be finally consigned to the limbo of impracticable whims. The position of a gentleman will never belong to any but the few; yet anybody and everybody may successfully aspire to the true gentleman's spirit, temper, and manners. And I shall always cherish the memory of our first friends on Black Down,-the turf-cutter, and the waggoners,--as fine examples of these gentle virtues. They had neither the name nor the circumstances of gentlemen. To such distinctions they had no claim; and they were happy without them but they were gentlemen nevertheless. The grace was theirs without the position. And what they were, the poorest and most laborious of our population may be. Why not? There must be hard hands, but there need be no hard hearts. The world cannot do without spinners and metal-workers either; but why should not those who fulfil the heavier tasks of life be agreeable in their spirit and address, while they are honoured for their work's sake? Kind thoughts and feelings ought to be as easy to the operatives of manufacturing towns, as they were to our three Devonian peasants. Good manners and unselfish courtesy, should not be more difficult to the privileged masses who sharpen their wits and feed on fair wages within the centres of skilful labour, than to those who tug on the soil, or toil beneath the surface for a very limited pittance, and upon hard fare. And yet, I have rarely seen, among

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working men, in towns of the highest trade pretensions, any specimens of native politeness to compare with our good Samaritans of Black Down. "How do you account for that?" somebody asks: "do you mean to say that your southern labourers were more intelligent than our northern artisans?" No: they were less so, according to the most popular statistic returns. "What then? does intelligence go for nothing in this case? do not people become polite just as their intelligence grows?" Certainly not, if one is to judge from facts. That it ought to be so, one must admit; but the truth is, that the mass gets hardened and materialized in the pursuit of scientific knowledge; and becoming proud of their progress, they not only slight the study of agreeable manners, but even affect a sort of rudeness, as most suitable to their intelligent manhood. No: mere general intelligence, never of necessity promotes a genial temper; nor will all the ingenuities and refinements of high-pressure trade ever, of themselves, put a polish on people's behaviour, or endow them with the charms of pleasant speech. There are business centres in which the sharpest practice is kept up in true barbaric style. Where, then, is the secret of that gentleness of heart and unvarnished politeness which SO become human nature under all its possible circumstances? Where? Why in Christianity. Not in the mere profession of it; for there are many who make a pious profession, and yet speak and act as if hard looks, curt replies, harsh judgments, and uncouth, or even cruel, manners, were the most proper and dignified expressions of true godliness. Indeed human nature is so disposed to be perverse and rigid, that, in some instances, those who are under the holiest influence find it needful devoutly to study the duty of showing the open and undisguised face of their religion, in order to fix a correct impression of its truly amiable character on the minds of their neighbours. He who is really a Christian at heart, will sincerely try to live in obedience to the Apostolic precept, "Let every one of us please his neighbour for his good to edification." (Rom. xv. 2.) This is to be truly polite. This is, in fact, to hit

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the secret of being a true gentleman more certainly, as a powerful preacher has shown, than did the high-bred Lord Chesterfield himself. All who keep their consciences alive to the claims of practical piety, by a devotional use of Wesley's sermons, will remember the page in which he says, "To sum up all in one word: If you would please men, please God! let truth and love possess your whole soul. Let them be the springs of all your affections, passions, tempers; the rule of all your thoughts. Let them inspire all your discourse, continually seasoned with that salt, and meet to minister grace to the hearers.' Let all your actions be wrought in love." But I must not forget the upshot of our breakdown. Our spirited turf-cutter was at length seen coming up from the valley of the Lyd, mounted on our runaway mare, in lagging companionship with that other "little mare," whose ensign was the big brown-holland umbrella. That ensign had kept to its horizontal bearing up to the moment when we saw it leaving us amidst the bewilderments of our fall; and at its re-appearance, it seemed never to have shifted an inch, it was horizontal still. And now it struck us, that nothing I would be better than to leave the imperturbable big brown-holland umbrella in charge of our broken property, while we found our way to the nearest human habitation, to wait for the promised means of regaining our home. So it was arranged. Slowly, and at times painfully, the silent quartette crept down the hill, and found at last a snug and hospitable resting-place in the cottage of as hearty and generous a couple as ever graced the unpretending life of an English way-side. Their venerable Keltic intonations marked them as thorough Cornish folks; and the honour of their race was fully sustained in the style of their hospitality. This was abundant and full, garnished by little delicate accommodations to the apparent taste of each and all who had the comfort

of sharing it. Those who, among the many arts of which they are masters, readily exercise that of estimating people's character at a glance, or that of catching the deepest insight into things while they are lightly skimming their surface, have pronounced the Cornish to be narrow and

mean in their spirit and action; others, however, who are less clever and more slow, cling to the old-fashioned notion, that men's character cannot be justly drawn unless all their peculiar circumstances are fairly looked at and weighed; and, judging on this principle, their decision is that the Cornish will bear comparison at least with most of their neighbours. It is true that they are thrifty and cautious in the use of money even for holy purposes; but the reason for this is to be found not in the stinginess of their spirit, but, in the fact that what they earn, they earn hardly; and that during their best times, their earnings are small. What would appear little to others, is much to them; so that such contributions as some people most easily afford, would cost great sacrifices on their part. One of their faults may be, that their benevolent action is not always well regulated; though in this they are by no means alone: other classes, which aspire to the highest style of liberality, in too many instances, fling their blessings far and wide; while next-door claims, or those of home itself, are but poorly met, if met at all. The Cornish have one or two virtues however: they are frugal themselves in order to sustain that standard of liberality which they have reached; while the social and religious institutions which they have reared and kept up, have been reared and kept up with little show, and without entailing burdens upon posterity. It has never been the fashion among them, I believe, for one generation to provide itself with religious accommodations on credit, and for another to inherit the honour of paying the costs. But, at all events, if our kind host and hostess at Mary-Tavy were to be taken as average specimens of their race, the Cornish people cannot be niggards. They entertained us, poor castaway strangers, in a manner every way worthy of times when saints were used to "entertain angels." Verily our peace came upon that house. It was in Mary-Tavy, I said: it stood, however, on the mountainslope overlooking the village which bore that name. The name was given, doubtless, at a time when it was thought befitting that the lovely dell where a modest virgin river gave holy responses to

ANECDOTES.

whisperings from the reverent hills, and received the nearer homage of those pensile beauties which graced its course, should be devoted to the memory of her who was called "blessed among women." Mary ought to have a shrine, it was believed, on the spot where Tavy, in her descent from the wilderness, met the first assemblage of those softer charms which seem to prepare her for peaceful communion with the south. Well, one must hope that many of the poor souls who held that belief found at last some higher lesson from Him who came "into the world that they which see not might see;" and that they had the final joy of knowing that "the beauties of holiness" are given, not by Mary, but by "Jesus, the Son of God;" "the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express image of His person." Mary-Tavy is still a sacred nook, to me at least. Do you want to feel the deepest hush of nature, or to come under the spell of her most delicate shadows and richest lights, or to enjoy her happiest associations of colours and forms? then, go down that deep green lane feast your eyes upon the rich texture of its flanking adornments; the wild but graceful and lovely en

:

tanglement of ferns and honeysuckles; milfoil, with its pretty corymbs; creamcoloured spikes of navelwort; stonecrops, in beautiful varieties,-white, rosy, and yellow; golden crowfoot, star-thistle, and luxuriant foxglove: look up and catch the first sight of the old tower, as it peeps over the quiet foliage, which hides the church and the dwellings that nestle around it; and, with your soul open to all spiritual influences, silently watch the play of the sunbeams on cottage flowerplots, and leafy hollows; or the changing hues of yonder over-topping moorland heights. Who that has tasted thy mingling solitude and freshness can forget thee, sweet Mary-Tavy! But now, our car is at the door; the shades of evening are upon us; we are off on our return to Tavistock and, see! the windings of our homeward way, along the valley by the course of the river, is brightly marked by a meandering thread of mist; as if Providence had spun for us a silvery clue to a hospitable abode; and had made it serve also as a visible pledge and earnest of a good night's rest. So I took it, and so it proved. Safe and balmy were the slumbers of that night. Battle-Bridge.

Anecdotes.

A HERO IN HUMBLE LIFE. JOHN MAYNARD was well known in the North American lake district, as a God-fearing man; an honest, intelligent pilot. He was a pilot on a steamer from Detroit to Buffalo one summer afternoon. At that time, those steamers seldom carried boats; smoke was seen ascending from below, and the captain called out, "Simpson, go down and see what that smoke is." Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, "Captain, the ship is on fire!" Then, "Fire! fire! All hands fire! fire! on shipboard!"

were called up. Buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of resin and tar on board, and it was useless to attempt to save the ship. The passengers rushed forward, and inquired of the pilot, "How

X.

"Seven

far are we from Buffalo?" miles." "How long before we reach it?" "Three quarters of an hour, at our present rate of steam." "Is there any danger?" "Danger here! see the smoke bursting out." Passengers and crew, men and women, and children, crowded the forward part of the ship; John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire. Clouds of smoke arose. The Captain cried out, through his trumpet, "John Maynard!" "Ay, ay, Sir!" you at the helm? "Ay, ay, Sir!" "How does she head?" "South-east by east, Sir." "Head her south-east, and run her on shore." Nearer, nearer, yet nearer she approached the shore. Again the Captain cried out, "John Maynard!" The response came feebly, “Ay, ay, Sir!” "Can you hold on

"Are

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