THE

YOUNG SHOPKEEPER.

THE calm and happy end of the Hurdle Maker was strongly contrasted, by the life and death of a shopkeeper, who expired about the same time, and whose history I shall now relate. He was born of respectable parents, and had the advantages of a good, plain education. His father and mother were members of the same Antinomian chapel, and lived in a small clothing town, where, unfortunately, the habits of the lower order of people are particularly corrupt; this, in some measure, may be accounted for, by the total neglect which prevails, in most manufacturing places, of moral instruction to the poor. At a very early age they are taken and placed in situations which preclude them from the many advantages which are now so generally held out by the establishment of schools, in great numbers, in almost every part of the kingdom. The advantages attending them are too striking to need observation; but these advantages do not extend to the little helpless beings that are shut up in manufactories; they grow up there, surrounded by bad examples; and neglect of every moral duty, of course, soon introduces dangerous vices. The church is almost always neglected by this class of people; and if they do attend any place of worship, they are generally to be found at some of those evening meetings, where too often are taught the dangerous and fallible doctrines of good works being of no value in the sight of GOD.

The young shopkeeper, from an early age, had shown a great propensity to idleness, and an unsteadiness in all his actions; and as he advanced towards manhood, his chief associates were people in a lower situation than himself, who were glad to drink with him at his expense, and to join with him in laughing at all moral restraints. Vice is a weed of such a quick and dangerous growth, that if it is suffered to take a firm root, it is difficult, if not impossible, to eradicate it; so it proved in the case of this unfortunate young man: his parents beheld with concern his evil propensities, and used their utmost endeavours too late to check him in his career of vice. He sometimes

listened to them, apparently with attention, and desire to mend; but the sight of his old associates soon put to flight all restraint. His father, about this time, had him apprenticed out in a respectable trade; and as he was quick, and very ready at accounts, for a short time he gave great satisfaction: but he had no steadiness, and his conduct was such as soon to induce his master to dismiss him. He returned to his parents at the age of twenty, without employment, without money, and without character. All these circumstances pressed heavily upon the declining health of his father; he saw with deep and bitter anguish his only son, who, he had hoped, would have been a source of comfort to his wife and himself, when age pressed upon them, and when the kind and affectionate attention of a dutiful child is of such value, given up to vice and idleness. Though there were moments in which he felt full of contrition for the distress and anguish he brought upon his parents, and then he would seriously determine to abstain from vice; yet these resolutions always proved transitory. Day followed day, and found him still the same restless, the same idle, and the same vicious character. He was at last, however, moved to reflection by the serious illness of his father; and heard from the medical gentleman that attended him, that the disease

by which he was afflicted must terminate in death; then, indeed, were the feelings of this young man of the most bitter kind. Through life he had experienced the greatest kindness from his parent, and could not call to mind the affectionate tenderness of the departing old man, without the deepest contrition. Feeling, too late, that his conduct had probably hastened his end, he prayed for the first time, fervently, that his father might be spared, that he might witness his contrition and repentance; he seemed to abhor himself, and, like Job, to repent in dust and ashes. When in the presence of the sick man he could not restrain his feelings, and would weep aloud. One day, a few hours before his father expired, he called him to his bedside, and, with a faltering voice, told him he felt his end approaching; that he had now little worldly wealth to leave him; and that his poor mother for support must depend upon his exertions. He freely forgave him all the anguish his conduct had caused him, and pressing him with his feeble hands, earnestly prayed him to be comforted for his loss. The young man, in an agony of grief, overcome by his own bitter reflections, fell senseless at the foot of the bed; and when he was brought back to life, and raised his eyes, to look once more upon his father, and to assure him he would do all he wished, saw with horror and dismay that he no longer breathed. From these sufferings, it should seem that the heart of this young man was far from hardened, and that he was still alive to those tender affections, which were not broken.

But that anguish is of the bitterest kind, when, added to the pang of parting for ever in this world with a kind and affectionate parent, conscience whispers that the fatal stroke of death has been hastened through our own means. Bitter reflections continued to press heavily on the afflicted son: he joined the mournful funeral procession with tottering steps and streaming eyes; and saw the last remains of his be

loved parent consigned to the grave, with anguish and self-reproach. At last he began to rouse himself from this afflicting state of mind, and to revolve in his thoughts what he should do for his widowed mother. A worthy tradesman in the town had remarked the deep grief of the young man; and, though he was acquainted with all his former irregular habits, he felt great pity, and a strong inclination to serve him, and therefore offered him the place of shopman in his family. This, of course, was eagerly and thankfully accepted: and matters so arranged, that his mother, by selling the few effects that remained, was put in possession of a little retired home, which she hoped the future industry of her son would secure to her. He began again, as it were, his career in life; he thought of his father, and that thought stimulated himn to exertion; he became sober, industrious, and attentive in the shop, and his master had no cause of complaint whatever. His health, which had been sensibly injured by his irregular manner of life, and the afflic tion he felt at his father's death, now began to amend. In this delightful course he continued a few months; at the end of that period his master died, leaving a daughter and two sons to inherit his property. The daughter had long felt an affection for the young man, and that affection was mutual; the brothers, who had witnessed his diligent and sober conduct, did not oppose the union of their sister; and a twelvemonth after the death of his worthy master, he was married to the daughter, and established in a comfortable little shop. His mother was not forgotten, and, by the cheerful consent of his wife, removed to her son's house. Let any person conceive what must have been her feelings of delight at seeing an only child, who a twelvemonth before was given up to idleness, and all its attendant vices, now wearing a cheerful aspect, settled in a comfortable business, and married to a wife who loved him with the truest affection. These happy days, however, did not continue. Pros

perity, unless tempered with humility, is a dangerous gift; and so our Saviour considered it, when he tells his disciples," it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of GOD." The young shopkeeper too soon began to relax in his sober and steady habits. He had now a house of his own; and it was hard, indeed, if he could not then afford to have his friends about him. He did so at first with moderation; but his wife soon observed with alarm that he frequently absented himself for many hours, when his presence was required in the shop; and in the evening, when the business of the day was done, he was seldom to be found at his own peaceful home, enjoying the society of that wife, to whose kindness he was indebted for all he possessed. At first he was alive to the gentle remonstrances that were used with him, and he would for a few days continue quiet and sober at his house, and watch with delight his little smiling boy in the arms of his mother. However, the good seed had no root in him; for a time it flourished, but soon withered away. By degrees he gradually fell into all his former vices; the agony of his wife, the imploring looks of his mother, he no longer attended to, but plunged deeper and deeper into excesses. He was almost always intoxicated, and left the business of the shop entirely to his wife, who beheld with despair their trade failing, and the money which should have supported her and her children (for she had now two) squandered away in alehouses; from which receptacles of vice he seldom returned till he was in a state of complete intoxication. This constant fever of the body impaired his health as well as temper: he now grew sullen, morose, and bitter in all his ways and actions; and his usage of his wife at times showed almost the nature of a savage. I have mentioned, in the beginning of this story, that his father and mother were frequenters of one of these Antinomian meetinghouses: the old man had passed through life, without