Luke Sharp

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Part I

S T was Childermas Day, — the Feast of the Holy Innocents, — that day set ^ _ apart by the Church to teach us that even infants may glorify God by their deaths ; and to give us an opportunity of reflecting on that wicked, worldly spirit which induced Herod to become a cruel murderer in his attempts to fight against God, and of offering up our prayers to the Giver of all good, that He would be pleased to mortify and kill all vices in us, and so strengthen us by His grace, that by the innocency of our lives, and constancy of our faith unto death (if need be), we may glorify His holy Name.

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And Childermas Day is a day much thought of by the children at Yateshull. Many a festival there is with respect to which if you ask them at what time of year it falls, they will not be able to tell you, — at least not without thought, and running over some old rhyme, which they have heard their parents repeat, such as

“ Bamaby bright,

All day, no night

which will suggest the recollection, that the feast of St. Barnabas must be in summer, — as indeed it is, on the eleventh of June ; or

“ Bartholomew,

With his cold dew

which will bring back remembrance of the burning days in the harvest field, and the chilly evenings, and the heavy dews hanging longer and longer upon the grass, and so fix the time of St. Bartholomew’s festival for the end of August.

But there is no such difficulty in remembering when Childermas day falls. Not a child in Yateshull but Avill tell you the mo-

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merit, you put the question, that it is the third day after Christmas ; for Childermas day is a great day indeed with them.

In former times, when a great deal of weak and wicked superstition was mixed up with better things, and some of the strange fancies of their ancient heathenism yet lingered in the minds of our forefathers, they retained the notion that some days were lucky and some unlucky. This was sad folly, because, as Christians, they ought to have considered that nothing happens but by God’s appointment, and that His Providence is as much extended over them that love Him on one day as another. However, so it was; and nobody would be married, or put on a new suit of clothes, or even cut their nails, on Innocents’ day. Nay, so far was the prejudice carried, that with some persons, whatsoever day in the week that festival occurred, Monday, or Tuesday, or any other, nothing would they begin on that day through the year ensuing. There was, indeed, one class of persons to whom this day was a very unlucky one, and that was the children, for it was the custom to whip them out of

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their bed, on the morning of the Innocents’ day, in order that, by the infliction of sharp pain on themselves, they might, as it was alleged, learn to have a compassionate remembrance of the poor babes of Bethlehem.

But the children at Yateshull in modern times had no such silly or uncomfortable associations with Childermas. It was the day. of their school feast. That same good Sir Geoffrey Yateshull who (as was mentioned in a former tale*) founded Yateshull School, and set apart the playground, and planted it Avith shady trees, provided also, that all the children educated on his foundation should be supplied with a dinner yearly, on some one of the twelve days between the feasts of Christmas and Epiphany. Accordingly, Childermas day had, time out of mind, been set apart for that purpose ; and I do belieA^e that its celebration gave more pleasure in Yateshull than all the other Christmas festivities, as they are called, put together. Parents loved to see their children enjoying themselves, and to recall

See “ Tales of Village Children,” Vol. I. p. 218.

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their own school-days, when they themselves were glad with the joy of childhood, and their brows were as yet unfurrowed with sorrows and anxieties. And as for the children, they, for a long time previously, were looking forward to their festival, and counting the days that intervened before its arrival. “Mother, it only wants twenty days to our feast;” or “ Father, don’t you think it seems a very long while to Tuesday week?” were the kind of remarks which were to be heard by many r fire-side through the month of December,

And let not the reader suppose that it was only the thought of eating and drinking, of roast beef, and apple-pie, and plum-pudding, that made the Yateshull children so eager for Childermas, though, to those who seldom get a better meal than potatoes and bacon, and very often potatoes alone, a good dinner of meat and pudding is by no means a thing to be despised : for on that day there was a disr tribution of rewards to the scholars of the several classes, and many a heart beat with eager hope of obtaining some testimony of merit, and rarely wa3 any one disappointed iir

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that hope whose conscience told him that he had. been steadily exerting himself to do his best during the preceding year.

It was Childermas day; and though there was a sharp biting frost, and a sprinkling of snow on the ground, you might see the hoys leaving their homes as soon as it was light, and before they had had their breakfast, and gathering in knots before the schoolmaster’s house.

“ Well, and what do you come plaguing me for, at this time in the morning ? ” Mr. Dilwyn would say to them, smiling while he pretended to scold.

“ Please, Sir, we thought perhaps we could help you to dress the school.”

‘‘ Dress the school ? why you have hardly given me time to dress myself. Why don’t you go and yet your breakfasts ? ”

“ Oh ! I don’t want any breakfast. Sir,” one boy would exclaim, “ if I can be of any use.” “ Nor I, — “ Nor I,” joined in a dozen more.

“ Indeed ? ” the schoolmaster would reply. “Nor any dinner, I suppose?”

The hoys grinned.

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‘‘ Well, you may not want any breakfast, but / do, and there will be no dressing of the school, I can tell you, till I have had mine.’’

May we cut up the holly and ivy into smaller bunches?” some elder boy would ask, pointing to a great heap which had been left overnight by the wood cutters ; IVe got a knife. Sir.”

‘‘And please. Sir,” another would inquire, “ had not 1 better pick out the boughs with the most berries on? the girls always string some berries to hang in festoons over their fireplace.”

“ And couldn’t we be bringing the tressels and spare forms out of the out-house?” two or three more voices would ask eagerly.

Mr. Dilwyn h^d no chance of a comfortable breakfast on Childermas da^q unless he breakfasted by candlelight : but what cared the kind-hearted old man for that ? Half-scolding, half-laughing, he would beckon “ the plagues of his life,” as he called them, to the door, and giving them a push on the shoulder as they passed him, would send them crowding, and jostling, and tumbling one over another, into

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his kitchen, and supply each with a hunch of bread and a draught of milk, in order, as he alleged, to save time ; hut really, perhaps, because, loving his scholars as if they were his children, it was the happiness of his life to exercise towards them (wherever their conduct allowed him to do so) all the little acts of parental kindness which his position gave him the opportunity of exercising.

And now, good reader, you must please to imagine for' yourself, for I have a long story to tell, and no time for description, how, when the meal was ended, master and scholars betook themselves to hard work ; how the old walls of the school-room were decked with holly and ivy, and how wreaths of the same material hung down from the oaken rafters of the dark, high-pitched roof; how the usual furniture of the school was removed, and in its place was substituted a long row of tables, with their clean white cloths, and seats on either side. He must fancy to himself all the hurry and bustle (unnecessary, it must be confessed, but what child loves not to be in a bustle ?) and how some boys would get in each

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other’s way ; and how some verified the proverb that ‘‘ most haste is worse speed ; ” and how all worked as if their lives depended upon the preparations being finished by half-past nine o’clock ; and how they next hastened home to get on their Sunday clothes, and quickly hastened back again to school, each with a sprig of holly and ivy in a button-hole of his jacket, ready to start for church (for at Yateshull we seek the Church’s blessing on all we do) as soon as the first chime is heard.

And at Church there was the service proper for the festival of the Holy Innocents. And then Mr. Warlingham preached a sermon to the children. One only day in all the year, he. said, he made it to them exclusively, and therefore, as it was very short, and very easy to be understood, he intreated them to give him their whole attention. After that, he spoke to them affectionately of the blessings which they enjoyed, and of the duties which those blessings involved ; of the trials which would await them when they would be no longer under the control of parents and teachers, and of the absolute necessity there 2

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was that they should devote the best years of their life, — their youth as well as their age, — to God’s service, if they hoped to be able to keep their part of the Baptismal Covenant, and to be received hereafter, through their Saviour’s merits, into His eternal kingdom in heaven. “ And above all things,” said ]\Ir. Warlingham, “ remember what I am about to say, for we live in times when many have forgotten it, and when you are likely to be tempted to forget it. Remember this, that the object we have in teaching you to read and write^ is not first or chiefiy in order to help you on in your worldly callings but in order that you may learn God’s will^ and that having learned it you may do it. ^Without holiness no man shall see the Lord.’ The power to read and write is a good or a bad thing, according to the purposes to which it is turned. If the knowledge you acquire here serves only to puff you up, to make you selfconfident, or vain, or worldly-minded, if you put to a bad use acquirements which have been bestowed on you in order that with them you may glorify God, serve His Cliurch, and

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benefit your fellow creatures, it had been better for you that you had lived and died blind and dumb, or rather that you had never been born. The tree of knowledge is not the tree of life. And if you receive the knowledge we give you, and do not at the same time profit by the lessons of religion which are afforded you, — if you do not carry out in your daily lives the teaching of the Church, then I solemnly warn you, that your knowledge will not be a blessing, but a curse.”

Some of the lesser boys did not understand what Mr. Warlingham meant by this ; but the elder ones did, for it was only a repetition of what both he and Mr. Dilwyn had said to them almost every day of their lives. They understood it, and now as they felt the time to be drawing more near when they must go into the world and shift for themselves, they were glad to be reminded of it, and had both a wish to profit by the advice, and a hope that they should not forget it when their time of trial should come.

But there was one of the elder boys who did not feel at all pleased with Mr. W arlingham’s observations, for he had a very strong feeling in favour of the advantages of knowledge, and, unlrappily for himself, he had very little sense of religion. Luke Sharp had the best head for arithmetic of any boy in the school, and no one could approach him in penmanship; his writing, as his father often told him, was like copperplate, and would be a recommendation to a good situation any day.” And Luke Sharp was a clever boy in other respects : he could turn his hand to anything, as the saying is ; so for his part he was sure it was only prejudice that could make anybody speak slightingly of knowledge ; and besides, he had often seen Mr. Warlingham’s hand- writing, and it was not at all like copperplate.”

It any one had asked Luke what he meant by ‘^prejudice,” it is very probable that he might have been puzzled to find a reply. There are people who pick up words just as parrots and magpies do, and who use them without knowing more of their meaning than parrots and magpies. And there are words which every now and then come into fashion,

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and because they happen to be the fashion, are repeated by everybody, and however mischievous and nonsensical they may be, pass current for sense, because people like to be in the fashion, and because it is often much pleasanter and easier to talk without thinking, than to weigh words before they are spoken.

Luke had caught the word from his father, who in his turn had picked it up from some of his friends in the Reform Club at Amworth, or from some of the Sunday newspapers. Whenever anybody differdd from Mr. Sharp he was told he was prejudiced. Anything which other folks venerated, but which he disliked, was sure to be set down as a prejudice. Respect for the opinions of our forefathers was, in his language, a prejudice ; obedience to the Church, a prejudice ; scrupulous honesty, a prejudice ; unwillingness to 'take advantage of the helplessness or simplicity of others, a prejudice.

And Luke, being a shrewd boy, had observed that many people were afraid of being called prejudiced, and so yielded up their opinion without more ado ; and further he had

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remarked, that on his father’s lips the phrase was a very convenient one ; he turned it to profitable account, and made it an excuse for doing many things for which he might have found it hard enough to find any better excuse. So Luke thought it would be a good plan to adopt the same system, and to try and gain his own ends by mocking at what he called 'prejudices. And I am sorry to say, he, too, found little difficulty in scaring many of his school-fellows, and leading them to join him in had ways'* when he began to work upon their fears of being called “ prejudiced.” There were but few of them who had courage to tell him that prejudice (that is a prepossession in favour of, or against a certain thing) may be not only harmless, hut to he desired ; and that, in some cases, prejudice is a direct Christian duty. There were not many boys who liked to expose themselves to the pain of being laughed at by Luke, or who were not afraid of his sharp, bitter gibes. They were cowards ; and a coward is a miserable thing for a hoy to be. A cowardly boy almost always makes a cowardly man, and a cowardly man can never be an eminent Christian.

But who was this Luke? laike was the son of a man who, at the time when this tale commences, was supposed to he growing rich faster than anybody else at Yateshull. And certainly if thinking of nothing and caring for nothing but gaining money, is likely to make a man rich, Mr. Sharp, as he now called himself, stood a fair chance of becoming wealthy.

Twenty years before, Jerry Sharp had been hired as a day labourer, by the person who rented Yateshull mill. Where he came from nobody knew, and why he was hired nobody knew, unless his own account of the matter was true, that he had been so long out of work, that he was glad to engage himself for wages which would hardly keep a dog alive from week’s end to week’s end. His clothes were almost in rags; he was pale, and wCak, and half-starved; and being too poor to pay for a lodging, he slept for many weeks in a stall among the mill waggon-horses.

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Once established in service, however, his * outward appearance began to mend, and it was soon evident that for some quality or other he had recommended himself to his employer. Years rolled on and found him in a more thriving condition. He was in the receipt of good wages, and had married a woman much older than himself, who had the reputation of having saved money in service, and was known to have received a handsome legacy from a deceased mistress. She, however, died soon after the birth of her only child, Luke. The only regret her husband was ever heard to express with respect to her death was, that if she had lived a few years longer, he should have been saved the expense of putting the child out to nurse. The fact was, he was now gaining that which was more to him than either wife or child — money. Money was his idol : to grow rich the sole object of his desires : everything else was sacrificed to this. And had he been content with moderate profits, and a gradual increase of income, he might, perhaps, in the end have been a rich man, — perhaps , for riches make themselves wings, and fly away.

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even when seemingly most secure. But Jeremiah Sharp was in a hurry to grow rich, and so he lent out money on exorbitant interest, and speculated, as it is called (that is, tried to profit by other men’s losses), and did all those greedy, grinding, selfish things into which men are sure to be betrayed who forget that awful warning of Scripture, “ O trust not in wrong and robbery, give not yourselves unto vanity : if riches increase^ set not yoxvr heart xi'pon themP

At the time when this tale commences Jeremiah Sharp did a good deal of business as a baker at Yateshull ; he’ also dealt in groceries, and such things as are usually found ‘‘ at the shop ” in a country village ; and besides this, he was part owner of a mill at Amworth, and had vested the remainder of his money in a mining concern in North Wales, which he declared would pay him an interest of twelve pounds yearly on every hundred which he laid out. Some of his friends suggested to him that there must be a risk proportioned to the advantage so speciously held out, and that a rate of interest so much higher than could be

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got elsewhere had a suspicious look with it, but Baker Sharp had his answer ready : he laughed at their old-world 'prejudices ; leave me,” said he, to look after my own affairs. I am not one to be taken in easily, I can tell you. I have made a trifle already,” he continued, thrusting his hand into his pocket, and chinking the money which was in it, “ and I intend to make a little more before I shut up shop, and live like a gentleman.”

But in spite of all his fine words. Sharp was not as confident as he pretended to be. Like all other gamblers he was one while full of hope, and at another while full of despair, now winning and now losing ; and all the while devoured by anxiety lest he should miss an opportunity, or fail to turn it to the best account. In the eyes of the world, and perhaps in his own, he was prosperous : but the ground on which he stood was hollow ; and the money for the sake of which he was perilling his soul was not so securely in his possession as he supposed it to be.

Having made the reader so far acquainted with this unhappy man’s character, it is almost

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unnecessary to add that he was devoid of all serious feeling on the subject of religion. No man, indeed, who loves money, can be accounted a Christian before God, or hope to attain a place in heaven, because He has distinctly told us that “ covetousness is idolatry,” and that “ all idolaters shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and'"hrimstone.” But many a covetous, money-loving man goes through life decently, has a good moral character, preserves a fair outside, and is esteemed a respectable person, and is rather popular than otherwise. But evefi this was not the case with Sharp. Many feared him, but no one loved him. Most of his neighbours were afraid to quarrel with him, for he was known to be of a spiteful, unforgiving temper, but none of them would be on familiar terms with him, for his purse-proud airs made him very ofiensive to them. To those above him he was servile and cringing ; to his equals rude and overbearing ; to those beneath him harsh and unmerciful. Of course, therefore, he joined himself in politics to those who, while they profess themselves eager advocates

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of what they call liberty, desire in their hearts to bring about a revolution which shall uproot the whole fabric of society, and involve high and low in sulfering and misery. He called himself a Churchman, but he never entered the Church; and when Mr. Warlingham expostulated with him on his conduct, he replied that Sunday was the only day in the week on which he had leisure to make up his books, and added that if he was to be interfered with he should join the Dissenters, and may be build a dissenting chapel on his own land. Mr. Sharp, in short, like many more of his class at the present day, was one who thought that he had a full right to do whatever he pleased, so long as he paid his way. And he had done all he could to make his son Luke like himself.

The reader must forgive this long interruption of the course of our tale, (for without a previous explanation with respect to the character of Luke’s father, much of what follows would be unintelligible,) and he may imagine, if he will, that, during its progress, the school-children huve returned from church.

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and that the dinner is smoking on the school-room tables. Plenty of mouths are ready for roast beef, and plenty of hands to carve it, and hand it about, and serve the potatoes, and fill the mugs with beer ; for all the neighbours make a point of coming to be useful at the school dinner. Three or four of the ladies in the squire’s family, and the churchwardens and their wives and daughters, and several others were standing by the fire talking and laughing as neighbours will who are living comfortably together, happy among themselves, and happy in making others so, and thankful to meet each other once again on an occasion on which many of them have met every year since they were children.

And then Mr. Warlingham comes in, and says grace, and then all are seated, and there begins such a clattering of dishes, and rattling of knives and forks, and such a jabbering of merry tongues, as I suppose could scarcely be imagined by any one who has never been present on such an occasion. And joint after joint of beef disappears, till the caiwers’ arms begin to ache, and they wonder where so 3

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much meat goes to. Where indeed ! down some hundred and fifty throats, all engaged in swallowing as fast as they can swallow, the owners of the said throats apparently thinking that the more beef they can eat, the fairer claim have they on the apple pie and plum-pudding, which are to follow it. And strange to say, they are not the biggest boys, who have most room for it, but the little boys, who have least, that consume the largest amount of food.

I say, Bobby Ball, how you are stuffing and cramming ! You’ll he sick by and by. I’m sure.”

Sick ! no more sick than yourself, Ned ; mother told me to be sure and eat a good dinner.”

“ Why, you had three helpings to beef ! ”

“Well?”

“ And twice to potatoes.”

“ No, only once to potatoes.”

“ And twice to apple pie.”

“Well?”

“ And two great lumps of pudding.”

“Well?”

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‘‘ And you haven’t done yet ? ”

‘‘^Well?” grunted Bobby in an injured tone, as he bolted the last morsel.

“ And may be you’ll ask for another helping.”

“ Well,” Bobby would have said, but something at that moment gave him a sudden turn ; he grew pale ; felt ‘ very queer ; ’ ‘all no-how ; ’ drank some water; gasped; and sat silent; and did 71 ot ask for another helping.

Well, gluttony is a disgusting thing, and though there may be an excuse for it in the case of a poor little lad who hardly ever had the opportunity of taking a full meal, and who only tasted beef and plum-pudding once a year, still we must remember that it is just at the very time when we have unusual opportunities and temptations that we are most especially bound to watch over ourselves. And there are many of us, it is to be feared, who have not Bobby Ball’s excuse, but who, nevertheless, are a great deal too anxious about what we shall eat, and what we shall drink ; — who think lightly of the sin of gluttony ; who do not bear in mind that gluttony is one of

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those sinful lusts of the flesh which we renounced at our baptism ; that it was for a meal that Adam was cast out of Paradise ; that the Christian must be “ temperate in all things;” that his life must be a life of selfdenial, and that the way to learn to be self-denying in great things, is to deny ourselves continually and habitually in little things.

“It is necessary,” says good Bishop Wilson, “ that we should deny ourselves in little and indifferent things, when reason and conscience, which is the voice of God, suggest it to us, as ever we hope to get the ride over our own will.”

“ Say not, it is a trifle,” he continues, “ and not fit to make a sacrifice of to God. He that will not sacrifice a little affection, will hardly offer a greater. It is not the thing, but the reason and manner of doing it, namely for God’s sake, and that I may accustom myself to obey His voice, that God regards, and rewards with gi’eater degrees of grace.”

Dinner is over ; the tables cleared away ; the boys drawn up in their respective places, a circle of chairs set for the ladies, and Mr.

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arlingham is standing at the desk usually occupied by Mr. Dilwyn, arranging before him a goodly array of books, and knives, and such things as boys love to possess, and which form the usual articles of distribution on such occasions. Many were the eager looks, and suppressed exclamations as one after another each separate reward, neatly ticketed, was brought out of the basket beside him, arid placed so as to be ready when wanted.

“ My good young friends,” said he, (and T am glad to say that I think in the main you deserve the title, though the best of you is far from what he ought to be, and the better he becomes the worse will he learn to think of himself), I have said so much to you in my sermon this morning on the duties of Christian children, that I shall make no further remarks to you on that subject. I will only repeat that as you in this place have advantages which thousands of children in this country have not, so will God require far more at your hands. He will judge you with a stricter judgment, and will call you to a more severe account than others. In proper-

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tion as knowledge has been given 37-011, will He expect that 3rou make a good use of it, and not turn it as so many do, to their own destruction. And when I say a good use of it, I mean that you should use it in those wa3’-s only which ye know will be pleasing to Him ; in those ways only in which it will help you to learn and labour truly, and do your duty in that state of life to which it may please Him to call you. When you have learned all that we can teach you here, you will still he very ignorant in many respects, and very indiiferent scholars, so that the cleverest and quickest of you will have no reason to he vain of his acquirements, nor to pride himself upon what he knows, nor to think that he has any thing to boast of ; and yet I hope that there will be none of you that leaves us without being thoroughly instructed in that which is the beginning of all wisdom, and without which all wisdom is valueless or worse, — namely the fear of the Lord ; I hope there Avill be none who have not been taught to love and reverence and obey the Church, Who is the Mother of us all; I hope there