THE Shepherd of Saliſbury Plain.
PART II.

I AM willing to hope that my read⯑ers will not be ſorry to hear ſome farther particulars of their old acquaint⯑ance the Shepherd of Saliſbury Plain. They will call to mind that at the end of the firſt part, he was returning home full of gratitude for the favours he had received from Mr. Johnſon, whom we left purſuing his journey, after having promiſed to make a viſit to the Shepherd's Cottage.

Mr. Johnſon after having paſſed ſome time with his friend, ſat out on his return to Saliſbury, and on the Saturday evening reached a very ſmall [4]inn, a mile or two diſtant from the Shepherd's Village; for he never tra⯑velled on a Sunday. He went the next morning to the Church neareſt the houſe, where he had paſſed the night; and after taking ſuch refreſh⯑ment as he could get at that houſe, he walked on to find out the Shepherd's cottage. His reaſon for viſiting him on a Sunday was chiefly, becauſe he ſuppoſed it to be the only day which the Shepherd's employment allowed him to paſs at home with his family, and as Mr. Johnſon had been ſtruck with his talk, he thought it would be neither unpleaſant nor unprofitable to obſerve how a Man who carried ſuch an appearance of piety ſpent his Sun⯑day; for though he was ſo low in the world, this Gentleman was not above entering very cloſely into his charac⯑ter, of which he thought he ſhould be able to form a better judgment, by ſeeing whether his practice at home kept pace with his profeſſions abroad. For it is not ſo much by obſerving how people talk, as how they live, [5]that we ought to judge of their cha⯑racters.

After a pleaſant walk Mr. John⯑ſon got within ſight of the cottage, to which he was directed by the clump of hawthorns and the broken chim⯑ney. He wiſhed to take the family by ſurpriſe; and walking gently up to the houſe he ſtood awhile to liſten. The door being half open, he ſaw the Shepherd (who looked ſo re⯑ſpectable in his Sunday Coat that he ſhould hardly have known him) his Wife, and their numerous young fami⯑ly, drawing round their little table, which was covered with a clean though very coarſe cloth. There ſtood on it a large diſh of potatoes, a brown pitch⯑er, and a piece of coarſe loaf. The wife and children ſtood in ſilent at⯑tention, while the Shepherd, with up⯑lifted hands and eyes, devoutly beg⯑ged the bleſſing of heaven on their hornely fare. Mr. Johnſon could not help ſighing to reſlect, that he had ſome⯑times [6]ſeen better dinners eaten with leſs appearance of thankfulneſs

The Shepherd and his wife then ſat down with great ſeeming cheerfulneſs, but the children ſtood; and while the mother was helping them, little freſh-coloured Molly who had picked the wool from the buſhes with ſo much de⯑light, cried out, "Father, I wiſh I was big enough to ſay grace, I am ſure I ſhould ſay it very heartily to⯑day, for I was thinking what muſt poor people do who have no ſalt to their po⯑tatoes, and do but look our diſh is quine full."—"this is the true way of thinking, Molly," ſaid the Father, "in whatever concerns bodily wants, and bodily comforts, it is our duty to com⯑pare our own lot with the lot of thoſe who are worſe off, and this will keep us thankful. On the other hand, whenever we are tempted to ſet up our own wiſdom or goodneſs, we muſt compare ourſelves with thoſe who are wiſer and better, and that will keep us humble." Molly was now ſo hungry, and found the potatoes ſo good, that ſhe had no time to make [7]any more remarks; but was devour⯑ing her dinner very heartily; when the barking of the great dog drew her attention from her trencher to the door, and ſpying the ſtranger, ſhe cried out, "Look father, ſee here, if yonder is not the good Gentleman!" Mr. John⯑ſon finding himſelf diſcovered, imme⯑diately walived in, and was heartily welcomed by the honeſt Shepherd, who told his wiſe that this was the Gentle⯑man to whom they were ſo much obliged.

The good Woman began, as ſome very neat people are rather too apt to do, with making many apologies that her houſe was not cleaner, and that things were not in fitter order to re⯑ceive ſuch a Gentleman. Mr. John⯑ſon however, on looking round, could diſcover nothing but the moſt perfect neatneſs. The trenchers on which they were eating were almoſt as white as their linen; and notwithſtanding the number and ſmallneſs of the child⯑ren, there was not the leaſt appearance [8]of dart or inter. The furniture was very ſimple and poor, hardly indeed amounting to bare neceſſaries. It con⯑ſiſted of four brown wooden chairs, which, by conſtant rubbing, were be⯑come as bright as a looking glaſs; an iron pot and kettle; a poor old grate which ſcarcely held a handful of coals, and our of which the little fire that had been in it appeared to have been taken, as ſoon as it had anſwered the end for which it had been lighted, that of boiling their potatoes. Over the chimney ſtood an old faſh⯑ioned broad bright candleſtick, and a ſtill brighter ſpit; it was pretty clear that this laſt was kept rather for orna⯑ment than uſe. An old carved elbow chair, and a cheſt of the ſame date which ſtood in the corner, were conſi⯑dered as the moſt valuable part of the Shepherd's goods, having been in his family for three generations. But all theſe were lightly eſteemed by him, in compariſon of another poſſeſſion, which added to the above made up the whole of what he had inherited from [9]his father; and which laſt he would not have parted with, if no other could have been had, for a king's ranſom: this was a large old Bible, which lay on the window ſeat, neatly covered with brown cloth, variouſly patched. This ſacred book was moſt reverendly preſerved from dog's ears, dirt, and every other injury, but ſuch as time and much uſe had made it ſuffer in ſpite of care. On the clean white walls were paſted a hymn on the Crucifixion of our Saviour, a print of the Prodigal Son, the Shepherd's Hymn, and a New Hiſtory of a True Book.

After the firſt ſalutations were over, Mr. Johnſon ſaid, that if they would go on quietly with their dinner he would ſit down. Though a good deal aſhamed, they thought it more reſpect⯑ful to obey the Gentleman, who hav⯑ing caſt his eye on their ſlender pro⯑viſions, gently rebuked the Shepherd for not having indulged himſelf, as it was Sunday, with a morſel of Bacon to reliſh his Potatoes. The Shepherd [10]ſaid nothing, but poor Mary coloured, and hung down her head, ſaying, "in⯑deed, Sir, it is not my fault, I did beg my huſband to allow himſelf a bit of meat to-day out of your honour's bounty; but he was too good to do it, and it is all for my ſake." The Shepherd ſeemed unwilling to come to an explanation, but Mr. Johnſon de⯑ſired Mary to go on. So ſhe continu⯑ed, "you muſt know, Sir, that both of us next to a ſin, dread a debt, and indeed in ſome caſes a debt is a ſin; but with all our care and pains we have never been able quite to pay off the Doctor's bill, for that bad fit of the Rheumatiſm which I had laſt winter. Now when you were pleaſed to give my huſband that kind preſent the other day, I heartily deſired him to buy a bit of meat for Sunday, as I ſaid be⯑fore, that he might have a little refreſh⯑ment for himſelf out of your kindneſs. But anſwered he, Mary, it is never out of my mind long together that we ſtill owe a few ſhillings to the Doctor, (and thank God it is all we did [11]owe in the world.) Now if I carry him this money directly it will not only ſhew him our honeſty and our good will, but it will be an encouragement to him to come to you another time in caſe you ſhould be taken once more in ſuch a bad fit; for I muſt own, add⯑ed my poor huſband, that the thought of your being ſo terribly ill without any help, is the only misfortune that I want courage to face."

Here the grateful womans tears ran down ſo faſt that ſhe could not go on. She wiped them with the corner of her apron, and humbly begged pardon for making ſo free. "Indeed, Sir," ſaid the Shepherd, "though my wife is full as unwilling to be in debt as my⯑ſelf, yet I could hardly prevail on her to conſent to my paying this money juſt then, becauſe ſhe ſaid it was hard I ſhould not have a taſte of the Gen⯑tleman's bounty myſelf. But for once, Sir, I would have my own way. For you muſt know, as I paſs beſt part of my time alone, tending my ſheep, 'tis [12]a great point with me, Sir, to get com⯑fortable matter for my own thoughts; ſo that 'tis rather ſelf intereſt in me to allow myſelf in no pleaſures and no practices that won't bear thinking on over and over. For when one is a good deal alone you know, Sir, all one's bad deeds do ſo ruſh in upon one, as I may ſay, and ſo torment one, that there is no true comfort to be had but in keep⯑ing clear of wrong doings, and falſe pleaſures; and that I ſuppoſe may be one reaſon why ſo many folks hate to ſtay a bit by themſelves.—But as I was ſaying—when I came to think the mat⯑ter over on the hill yonder, ſaid I to myſelf, a good dinner is a good thing I grant, and yet it will be but cold comfort to me a week after, to be able to ſay—to be ſure I had a nice ſhoulder of mutton laſt Sunday for dinner, thanks to the good Gentleman, but then I am in debt.—I had a rare dinner, that's certain, but the pleaſure of that has long been over, and the debt ſtill remains. I have ſpent the crown, and now if my poor wife ſhould be taken [13]in one of thoſe fits again, die ſhe muſt, unleſs God work a miracle to prevent it, for I can get no help for her. This thought ſettled all; and I ſet off di⯑rectly and paid the crown to the Doc⯑tor with as much cheerfulneſs as I ſhould have felt on ſitting down to the fatteſt ſhoulder of mutton that ever was roaſted. And if I was contented at the time, think how much more happy I have been at the remembrance! O Sir, there are no pleaſures worth the name but ſuch as bring no plague or penitence after them."

Mr. Johnſon was ſatisfied with the Shepherd's reaſons; and agreed, that though a good dinner was not to be deſpiſed, yet it was not worthy to be compared with a contented Mind, which (as the Bible truly ſays) is a continual feaſt. "But come," ſaid the good Gen⯑tleman, "what have we got in this brown mug?" "As good water," ſaid the Shepherd, "as any in the king's domini⯑ons. I have heard of countries beyond ſea in which there is no wholeſome [14]water; nay, I have been myſelf in a great town not far off where they are obliged to buy all the water they get, while a good Providence ſends to my very door a ſpring as clear and fine as Jacob's well. When I am tempt⯑ed to repine that I have often no other drink, I call to mind, that it was nothing better than a cup of cold water which the woman of Samaria drew for the greateſt gueſt that ever viſited this world."

"Very well," replied Mr. Johnſon; "but as your honeſty has made you prefer a poor meal to being in debt, I will at leaſt ſend and get ſomething for you to drink. I ſaw a little public-houſe juſt by the church, as I came along. Let that little roſy-faced fellow fetch a mug of beer."

So ſaying, he looked full at the Boy who did not offer to ſtir; but caſt an eye at his father to know what he was to do. "Sir," ſaid the Shepherd, "I hope we ſhall not ap⯑pear ungrateful, if we ſeem to re⯑fuſe [15]your favour; my little boy would, I am ſure, fly to ſerve you on any o⯑ther occaſion. But, good Sir, it is Sunday, and ſhould any of my fami⯑ly be ſeen at a Public-houſe on a Sab⯑bath-day, it would be a much greater grief to me than to drink water all my life. I am often talking againſt theſe doings to others, and if I ſhould ſay one thing and do another, you can't think what an advantage it would give many of my neighbours over me, who would be glad enough to report that they caught the Shepherd's Son at the Ale-houſe, without explaining how it happened. Chriſtians, you know, Sir, muſt be doubly watchful, or they will not only bring diſgrace on them⯑ſelves, but what is much worſe, on that holy name by which they are called."

"Are you not a little too cautious, my honeſt friend?" ſaid Mr. Johnſon. "I humbly aſk your pardon, Sir," replied the Shepherd, "if I think that is impoſſible. In my poor no⯑tion [16]I no more underſtand how a man can be too cautious, than how he can be too ſtrong, or too healthy."

Mary and her children ſet forward. Mr. Johnſon and the Shepherd follow⯑ed, taking care to talk the whole way on ſuch ſubjects as might fit them for the ſolemn duties of the place to which they were going. "I have often been ſorry to obſerve," ſaid Mr. Johnſon, "that many who are reckoned de⯑cent, good kind of people, and who would on no account neglect going [19]to church, yet ſeem to care but little in what frame or temper of mind they go thither. They will talk of their worldly concerns till they get within the door, and then take them up again the very minute the ſermon is over, which makes me ready to fear they lay too much ſtreſs on the mere form of going to a place of worſhip. Now, for my part, I always find that it re⯑quires a little time to bring my mind into a ſtate fit to do any common buſi⯑neſs well, much more this great and moſt neceſſary buſineſs of all." "Yes, Sir," ſaid the Shepherd, "and then I think too how buſy I ſhould be in preparing my mind, if I was going into the preſence of a great gentleman, or a Lord, or the King; and ſhall the King of Kings be treated with leſs reſpect? Beſides, one likes to ſee peo⯑ple feel as if going to Church was a thing of choice and pleaſure, as well as a duty, and that they were as de⯑ſirous not be the laſt there, as they would be if they were going to a feaſt or a fair."

After ſervice, Mr. Jenkins the Cler⯑gyman, who was well acquainted with the character of Mr. Johnſon, and had a great reſpect for him, accoſted him with much civility; expreſſing his con⯑cern that he could not enjoy juſt now ſo much of his converſation as he wiſhed, as he was obliged to viſit a ſick perſon at a diſtance, but hoped to have a little talk with him before he left the Village. As they walked along toge⯑ther, Mr. Johnſon made ſuch inquiries about the Shepherd, as ſerved to con⯑firm him in the high opinion he enter⯑tained of his piety, good-ſenſe, induſ⯑try, and ſelf-denial. They parted, the Clergyman promiſing to call in at the Cottage in his way home.

The Shepherd, who took it for grant⯑ed that Mr. Johnſon was gone to the Parſonage, walked home with his wife and children, and was beginning in his uſual way to catechiſe and inſtruct his family, when Mr. Johnſon came in, and inſiſted that the Shepherd ſhould go on with his inſtructions, juſt as if [21]he were not there. This Gentleman who was very deſirous of being uſeful to his own Servants and workmen in the way of religious inſtruction, was ſome⯑times ſorry to find that though he took a good deal of pains, they did not now and then quite underſtand him, for though his meaning was very good, he language was not always very plain; and though the things he ſaid were not hard to be underſtood, yet the words were, eſpecially to ſuch as were very ignorant. And he now began to find out, that if people were ever ſo wiſe and good, yet if they had not a ſimple, agreeable, and familiar way of expreſſing themſelves, ſome of their plain hearers would not be much the better for them. For this reaſon he was not above liſtening to the plain, humble way in which this honeſt man taught his family, for though he knew that he himſelf had many advantages over the Shepherd, had more learning, and could teach him many things, yet he was not too proud to learn even of ſo poor a Man, in any point where [22]he thought the Shepherd might have the advantage of him.

This Gentleman was much pleaſed with the knowledge and piety he diſ⯑covered in the anſwers of the chil⯑dren; and deſired the Shepherd to tell him how he contrived to keep up a ſenſe of divine things in his own mind and in that of his family with ſo little leiſure and ſo little reading. "O as to that, Sir," ſaid the Shepherd, "we do not read much except in one book to be ſure; but by hearty prayer for God's bleſſing on the uſe of that book, what little knowledge is needful ſeems to come of courſe, as it were. And my chief ſtudy has been to bring the fruits of the Sunday reading into the week's buſineſs, and to keep up the ſame ſenſe of GOD in the heart, when the Bible is in the cupboard as when it is in the hand. In ſhort, to apply what I read in the book, to what I meet with in the Field."

[23] "I don't quite underſtand you," ſaid Mr. Johnſon. "Sir," replied the Shepherd, "I have but a poor gift at conveying theſe things to others, though I have much comfort from them in my own mind; but I am ſure that the moſt ignorant and hard working peo⯑ple, who are in earneſt about their ſalvation, may help to keep up devout thoughts and good affections during the week, though they have hardly any time to look at a book.—And it will help them to keep out bad thoughts too, which is no ſmall mat⯑ter. But then they muſt know the Bible; they muſt have read the word of God; that is a kind of ſtock in trade for a Chriſtian to ſet up with; and it is this which makes me ſo di⯑ligent in teaching it to my children; and even in ſtoring their memories with Pſalms and Chapters. This is a great help to a poor hard-working Man, who will hardly meet with any thing but what he may turn to ſome good account. If one lives in the fear and the love of GOD, almoſt every [24]thing one ſees abroad will teach one to adore his power and goodneſs, and bring to mind ſome texts of Scripture, which ſhall fill the heart with thank⯑fulneſs, and the mouth with praiſe. When I look upwards the Heavens declare the glory of God; and ſhall I be ſilent and ungrateful? if I look round and ſee the Vallies ſtanding thick with Corn, how can I help bleſſing that Power, who giveth me all things richly to enjoy? I may learn gratitude from the beaſts of the Field, for the Ox knoweth his Owner, and the Aſs his Maſter's Crib, and ſhall a Chriſ⯑tian not know, and ſhall a Chriſtian not conſider, what great things GOD has done for him? I, who am a Shepherd, endeavour to fill my ſoul with a con⯑ſtant remembrance of that good Shep⯑herd, who feedeth me in green paſtures, and maketh me to lie down beſide the ſtill waters, and whoſe rod and ſtaff comfort me."

"You are happy," ſaid Mr. John⯑ſon, "in this retired life by which [25]you eſcape the corruptions of the world" "Sir," "ſaid the Shepherd, "I do not eſcape the corruptions of my own evil nature. Even there on that wild ſolitary hill, I can find out that my heart is prone to evil thoughts. I ſuppoſe, Sir, that different ſtates have different temptations. You great folks that live in the world, perhaps are expoſed to ſome, of which ſuch a poor man as I am, know nothing. But to one who leads a lonely life like me, evil thoughts are a chief beſetting Sin; and I can no more withſtand theſe without the grace of God, than a rich Gentleman can withſtand the ſnares of evil company, without the ſame grace. And I feel that I ſtand in need of God's help continually, and if he ſhould give me up to my own evil heart I ſhould be loſt,"

Mr. Johnſon approved of the Shep⯑herd's ſincerity, for he had always ob⯑ſerved that where there was no humi⯑lity, and no watchfulneſs againſt Sin, there was no religion, and he ſaid that [26]the Man who did not feel himſelf to be a ſinner in his opinion, could not be a chriſtian.

Juſt as they were in this part of their diſcourſe, Mr. Jenkins, the Clergyman came in. After the uſual ſalutations, he ſaid, "Well Shepherd, I wiſh you joy; I know you will be ſorry to gain any advantage by the death of a neigh⯑bour; but old Wilſon my Clerk, was ſo infirm, and I truſt ſo well prepared, that there is no reaſon to be ſorry for his death. I have been to pray by him, but he died while I ſtaid. I have always intended you ſhould ſuc⯑ceed to his place; 'tis no great matter, but every little is ſomething."

"No great matter, Sir," "cried the Shepherd, "indeed it is a great thing to me; it will more than pay my rent. Bleſſed be GOD for all his good⯑neſs." Mary ſaid nothing, but lifted up her eyes full of tears in ſilent gra⯑titude.

[27] "I am glad of this little circum⯑ſtance," ſaid Mr. Jenkins, "not only for your ſake, but for the ſake of the office itſelf. I ſo heartily reverence every religious inſtitution, that I would never have even the Amen added to the ex⯑cellent prayers of our Church, by vain or profane lips, and if it depended on me, there ſhould be no ſuch thing in the land as an idle, drunken, or irre⯑ligious. Pariſh Clerk. Sorry I am to ſay, that this matter is not always ſuf⯑ficiently attended to, and that I know ſome of a very indifferent cha⯑racter."

Mr. Johnſon now inquired of the Clergyman whether there were many children in the Pariſh. "More than you would expect," replied he, "from the ſeeming ſmallneſs of it, but there are ſome little Hamlets which you do not ſee." "I think," returned Mr. Johnſon, "I recollect that in the con⯑verſation I had with the Shepherd on the hill yonder, he told me you had no Sunday School." "I am ſorry to [28]ſay we have none," ſaid the Miniſter; "do what I can to remedy this mis⯑fortune by public catechiſing; but having two or three Churches to ſerve, I cannot give ſo much time as I wiſh to private inſtruction; and having a large family of my own, and no aſſiſtance from others, I have never been able to eſtabliſh a School."

"There is an excellent inſtitution in London," ſaid Mr. Johnſon, "called the Sunday-School Society, which kindly gives books and other helps, on the application of ſuch pious Miniſ⯑ters as ſtand in need of their aid, and which I am ſure would have aſſiſted you, but I think we ſhall be able to do ſomething ourſelves.—Shepherd," con⯑tinued he, "if I was a King, and had it in my power to make you a rich and a great Man, with a word ſpeaking, I would not do it. Thoſe who are raiſed by ſome ſudden ſtroke, much above the ſtation in which divine Providence had placed them, ſeldom turn out very good, or very happy. I have never [29]had any great things in my power, but as far as I have been able, I have been always glad to aſſiſt the worthy. I have however never attempted or deſired to ſet any poor Man much above his natural condition, but it is a pleaſure to me to lend him ſuch aſſiſtance as may make that condition more eaſy to himſelf, and to put him in a way which ſhall call him to the performance of more duties than perhaps he could have performed without my help, and of performing them in a better man⯑ner.—What Rent do you pay for this Cottage?"

"Fifty Shillings a Year, Sir."

"It is in a ſad tattered condition, is there not a better to be had in the Village?"

"That in which the poor Clerk lived," ſaid the Clergyman, "is not only more tight and whole, but has two decent chambers, and a very large [30]light kitchen."—"That will be ve⯑ry convenient," replied Mr. Johnſon, "pray what is the Rent?" "I think," ſaid the Shepherd, "poor neighbour Wilſon gave ſomewhat about four pounds a year, or it might be gui⯑neas."—"Very well," ſaid Mr. John⯑ſon, "and what will the Clerk's place be worth, think you?" "About three pounds," was the anſwer.

"Now," continued Mr. Johnſon, "my plan is, that the Shepherd ſhould take that houſe immediately; for as the poor Man is dead, there will be no need of waiting till quarter day, if I make up the difference." "True, Sir," ſaid Mr. Jenkins, "and I am ſure my Wife's Father, whom I expect to-morrow, will willingly aſſiſt a little towards buying ſome of the Clerk's old goods. And the ſooner they re⯑move the better, for poor Mary caught that bad rheumatiſm by ſleeping under a leaky thatch." The Shepherd was too much moved to ſpeak, and Mary could hardly ſob out, "Oh! Sir, you [31]are too good, indeed this houſe will do very well." "It may do very well for you and your children Mary," ſaid Mr. Johnſon, gravely, "but it will not do for a School; the kitchen is neither large nor light enough. Shep⯑herd," continued he, "with your good Miniſter's leave, and kind aſſiſtance, I propoſe to ſet up in this pariſh a Sun⯑day School, and to make you the Maſ⯑ter. It will not at all interfere with your weekly calling, and it is the only lawful way in which you could turn the Sabbath into a day of ſome little profit to your family, by doing, as I hope, a great deal of good to the Souls of others. The reſt of the week you will work as uſual. The difference of rent between this houſe and the Clerk's I ſhall pay myſelf, for to put you into a better houſe at your own expence would be no great act of kindneſs.—As for honeſt Mary, who is not fit for hard labour, or any out-of-door work, I propoſe to endow a ſmall weekly ſchool of which ſhe ſhall be the Miſ⯑treſs, and employ her notable turn to [32]good account, by teaching ten or a dozen girls to knit, ſew, ſpin, card, or any other uſeful way of getting their bread; for all this I ſhall only pay her the uſual price, for I am not going to make you rich but uſeful."

"Not rich, Sir?" cried the Shep⯑herd. "How can I ever be thank⯑ful enough for ſuch bleſſings? And will my poor Mary have a dry thatch over he had? and ſhall I be able to ſend for the Doctor when I am like to loſe her? Indeed my cup runs over with bleſſings, I hope God will give me humility." Here he and Mary looked at each other and burſt into tears. The Gentleman ſaw their diſ⯑treſs, and kindly walked out upon the little green before the door, that theſe honeſt people might give vent to their feelings. As ſoon as they were alone they crept into one corner of the room, where they thought they could not be ſeen, and fell on their knees, de⯑voutly bleſſing and praiſing GOD for his mercies. Never were heartier [33]prayers preſented, than this grateful couple offered up for their benefac⯑tors. The warmth of their gratitude could only be equalled by the earneſt⯑neſs with which they beſought the bleſs⯑ing of GOD on the work in which they were going to engage.

The two Gentlemen now left this happy family, and walked to the Par⯑ſonage, where the evening was ſpent in a manner very edifying to Mr. John⯑ſon, who the next day took all pro⯑per meaſures for putting the Shepherd in immediate poſſeſſion of his now com⯑fortable habitation. Mr. Jenkins's fa⯑ther-in-law, the worthy Gentleman who gave the Shepherd's Wife the blank⯑ets, in the firſt part of this hiſtory, ar⯑rived at the Parſonage before Mr. Johnſon left it, and aſſiſted in fitting up the Clerk's Cottage.

Mr. Johnſon took his leave, pro⯑miſing to call on the worthy Miniſter and his new Clerk once a year, in his Summer's journey over the Plain, as [34]long as it ſhould pleaſe GOD to ſpare his life.—We hope he will never fail to give us an account of theſe viſits which we ſhall be glad to lay before our readers, if they ſhould contain in⯑ſtruction or amuſement.