Sunday reading. The servant man turned soldier; or, the fair weather Christian, A parable

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- A List of the Tracts published during the Year 1796.

The Servant Man, &c.

WILLIAM was a lively young servant, who lived in a great but very irregular family. ••is place was, on the whole, agreeable to him, and ••ited to his gay thoughtless temper. He found a ••entiful table and a good cellar. There was in ••ed, a good deal of work to be done, though it •as performed with much disorder and confusion. ••e family in the main were not unkind to him, ••ough they often contradicted and crossed him, ••pecially when things went ill with themselves. ••is, William never much liked, for he was al ••ys fond of having his own way. There was a •erry, or rather a noisy and riotous servants' hall; 〈◊〉 disorder and quarrels are indeed the usual ••ects of plenty and unrestrained indulgence. The •••en were smart but idle, the maids were showy, but •••entious, and all did pretty much as they liked 〈◊〉 a time, but the time was commonly short. The •ages were reckoned high, but they were seldom ••id, and it was even said by sober people, that the •aster was insolvent, and never fulfilled any of his ••attering engagements, or his most positive pro •ises; but still, notwithstanding his real poverty, things went on with just the same thoughtlesnes• and splendor, and neither masters or servants look¦ed beyond the jollity of the present hour.

In this unruly family there was little church go¦ing, and still less praying at home. They pretende• indeed, in a general way, to believe in the Bible, bu• it was only an outward profession, few of them rea• it at all, and even of those who did read it still fewe• were governed by it. There was indeed a Bibl• lying on the table in the great hall, which wa• kept for the purpose of administering an oath, b•• was seldom used on any other occasion, and som• of the heads of the family were of opinion that th•• was its only real use, as it might serve to keep th• lower parts of it in order.

William, who was fond of novelty and pleasur• was apt to be negligent of the duties of the hous• He used to stay out on his errands, and one of 〈◊〉; favorite amusements was going to the parade to s•• the soldiers exercise. He saw with envy ho• smartly they were dressed, listened with rapture 〈◊〉 the music, and fancied that a soldier had nothi•• to do but to walk to and fro in a certain regul•• order, to go through a little easy exercise, in sho•• to live without fighting, fatigue, or danger.

"O," said he, whenever he was affronted 〈◊〉 home, "what a fine thing it must be to be a s••¦dier! to be so well dressed, to have nothing to 〈◊〉 but to move to the pleasant sound of sife and dru•• and to have so many people come to look at o•• and admire one. O it must be a fine thing to b• soldier!"

Yet when the vexation of the moment was ov•• he found so much ease and diversion in his mast••• house, so suited to his low taste and sensual ap••¦tites, that he thought no more of the matter. He forgot the glories of a soldier, and eagerly returned to all the mean gratifications of the kitchen. His evil habits were but little attended to by those with whom he lived; his faults, among which were lying and swearing, were not often corrected by the family, who had little objection to those sins, which only of •ended God and did not much affect their own interest •r property. And except that William was obliged to work rather more than he liked he found little, while •e was young and healthy, that was very disagreea •le in this service. So he went on, still thinking how •ver, when things went à little cross, "what a ••ne thing it was to be a soldier!" and at last one •ay as he was waiting at dinner, he had the misfor •une to let fall a china dish, and broke it all to •ieces. It was a curious dish, much valued by the •amily as they pretended; this family were indeed •pt to set a false fantastic value on things, and not 〈◊〉 estimate them by their real worth. The heads •f the family, who had generally been rather pa ••ent and good-humoured with William as I said •efore, for these vices, which though offensive to •od did not touch their own pocket, now flew out ••to a violent passion with him, called him a thou ••nd hard names, and even threatened to horse •hip him for his shameful negligence.

William, in a great fright, for he was a sad cow ••d at bottom, ran directly out of the house to avoid ••e threatened punishment, and happening just at ••at very time to pass by the parade where the •oldiers chanced to be then exercising, his resolu ••on was taken in a moment. He instantly deter •ined to be no more a slave, as he called it; he •ould return no more to be subject to the humours of a tyrannical family; no, he was resolved to b• free, or at least, if he must serve he would serve n• master but the King.

William, who had now and then happened to hea• from the accidental talk of the soldiers, that tho•• who served the great family he had lived with, we•• slaves to their tyranny and vices, had also hea•• in the same casual manner, that the service of th• King was perfect freedom Now he had taken it in•• his head to hope that this might be a freedom 〈◊〉 do evil, or at least to do nothing, so he thought 〈◊〉 was the only place in the world to suit him.

A fine likely young fellow as William was, ha• no great difficulty to get enlisted. The few for•• were soon settled, he received the bounty-mone• as eagerly as it was offered, took the oaths of all•¦giance, and was joined to the regiment, and hearti•• welcomed by his new comrades. He was the ha•¦piest fellow alive. All was smooth and calm. T•• day happened to be very fine, and therefore Willia• always reckoned upon a fine day. The scene w•• gay and lively, the music cheerful, he found t•• exercise very easy, and he thought there was litt•• more expected from him.

He soon began to flourish away in his talk; an• when he met with any one of his old fellow servan•• he fell a prating about marches and counter-marche• and blockades, and battles, and sieges, and bloo• and death, and triumphs, and victories, all at ra•¦dom, for these were words and phrases he h•• picked up without at all understanding what 〈◊〉 said. He had no knowledge, and therefore he h•• no modesty, he had no experience, and therefo•• he had no fears.

All seemed to go on swimmingly, for he had yet no trial. He began to think with triumph what 〈◊〉 mean life he had escaped from in the old quarrelsome family, and what a happy, honourable life he should have in the army. O there was no life like •he life of a soldier.

In a short time, however, war broke out, his regiment was one of the first which was called out •o actual and hard service. As William was the •ost raw of all the recruits he was the first to mur •ur at the difficulties and hardships, the cold and •unger, the fatigue and danger of being a soldier.) what watchings, and perils, and trials, and hard •hips, and difficulties he now thought attended a military life! "Surely," said he, "I could never •ave suspected all this misery when I used to see •he men on the parade in our town.

He now found, when it was too late, that all the ••eld-days he used to attend, all the evolutions and •xercises which he had observed the soldiers to go •hrough in the calm times of peace and safety, were •nly meant to fit, train, and qualify them, for the •ctual service which they were now sent out to per •orm by the command of the King.

The truth is, William often complained when ••ere was no real hardship to complain of; for ••e common troubles of life fell out pretty much ••ike to the great family which William had left, and 〈◊〉 the soldiers in the King's army. But the spirit •f obedience, discipline, and self-denial of the latter ••emed hardships to one of William's loose turn of •ind. When he began to murmur some good old ••ldier clapped him on the back, saying, "cheer •p lad, it is a kingdom you are to strive for, if we ••int not, henceforth there is laid up for us a great •eward, we have the King's word for it man." William observed that to those who truly believed thi• their labours were as nothing, but he himself did not at the bottom believe it; and it was observe• of all the soldiers who failed, the true cause wa• that they did not really believe the King's promis•▪ He was surprised to see the then soldiers, who use• to bluster, and boast, and deride the assaults of th• enemy now began to fall away; while such as ha• faithfully obeyed the king's orders, and believe• in his word, were sustained in the hour of tria•▪ Those who had trusted in their own strength all fain•∣ed in the slightest attack, while those who had p•• on the armour of the king's providing, the sword and the shield, and the helmet, and the breast-plat• and whose feet were shod according to order, no• endured hardships as good soldiers, and were e•¦abled to fight the good fight.

An engagement was expected immediately. Th• men were ordered to prepare for battle. Whi•• the rest of the corps were so preparing, William whole thoughts were bent on contriving how h• might desert. But alas! he was watched on a•• sides, he could not possibly devise any means 〈◊〉 escape. The danger increased every moment, th• battle came on. William, who had been so sure an• confident before he entered, flinched in the m•¦ment of trial, while his more quiet and less boas•¦ful comrades prepared boldly to do their dut•▪ William looked about on all sides, and saw th•• there was no eye upon him, for he did not kno• that the King's eye was every where at once. 〈◊〉 at last thought he spied a chance of escaping, n•• from the enemy, but from his own army. Whi•• he was endeavouring to escape, a ball from the o•¦posite camp took off his leg. As he fell, the fir•• •ords which broke from him were, "while I was 〈◊〉 my duty I was prese••ed, in the very act of de ••rting I am wounded." He lay expecting every •oment to be trampled to death, but as soon as the •onfusion was a little over, he was taken off the ••eld by some of his own party, laid in a place of ••fety, and left to himself, after his wound was •ressed.

The skirmish, for it proved nothing more, was •on over. The greater part of the regiment es ••ped in safety, while the few who fell• rejoiced ••at they fell in their duty. William in the mean •••e suffered cruelly both in mind and body. To ••e pains of a wounded soldier, he added the dis ••ace of a coward, and the infamy of a deserter. ▪O," cried he, "why was I such a fool as to leave ••e great family I lived in where there was meat ••d drink enough and to spare, only on account of little quarrel? I might have made up that with ••em as we had done our former quarrels. Why ••d I leave a life of ease and pleasure, where I had ••ly a little rub now and then, for a life of daily ••scipline and constant danger? Why did I turn •••dier? O, what a miserable animal is a soldier!"

As he was sitting in this weak and disabled con •••ion, uttering the above complaints, he observed • •enerable old officer, with thin grey locks on his ••ad, and on his face deep wrinkles engraved by •••e, and many an honest scar inflicted by war. •illiam had heard this old officer highly com ••nded for his extraordinary courage and conduct 〈◊〉 battle, and in peace he used to see him cool ••d collected, devoutly employed in reading and ••ying in the interval of more active duties. He •••ld not help comparing this officer with himself. "I," said he, "flinched and drew back, and wou•• even have deserted in the moment of peril, an• now in return, I have no consolation in the ho••• of repose and safety. I would not fight then, I ca• not pray now. O why would I ever think of bei•• a soldier? He then began afresh to weep and l•¦ment, and he groaned so loud that he drew th• notice of the officer who came up to him, kind•• sat down by him, took him by the hand, and i•¦quired with as much affection as if he had been h•• brother, what was the matter with him, and wh•• particular distress, more than the common fortu•• of war it was which drew from him such bitt•• groans?" "I know something of surgery," add•• he, "let me examine your wound and assist yo• with such little comforts as I can."

William at once saw the difference betwe•• the soldiers in the King's army, and the peop•• in the great family; the latter commonly withdr•• their kindness in sickness and trouble when m••• wanted, which was just the very time when 〈◊〉 others came forward to assist. He told the offi••• his little history, the manner of his living in 〈◊〉 great family, the trifling cause of his quarrelli•• with it, the slight ground of his entering i• the King's service. "Sir," said he, "I quarr••¦led with the family, and I thought I was at o•• fit for the army: I did not know the qualificati••• it required. I had not reckoned on discipli•• and hardships, and self-denial. I liked well enou•• to sing a loyal song, or drink the King's heal•• but I find I do not relish working and fighting 〈◊〉 him, though I rashly promised even to lay do•• my life for his service if called upon, when I to•• the bounty money and the oath of allegian•• •n short, sir, I find that I long for the ease and ••oth, the merriment and the feasting of my old •ervice; I find I cannot be a soldier, and, to speak •ruth, I was in the very act of deserting when • was stopped short by the cannon ball. So that I ••el the guilt of deserting, and the misery of hav ••g lost my leg into the bargain."

The officer thus replied, "your state is that of • very worldly, irreligious man. The great family •ou served is a just picture of the WORLD. The •ages the world promises to those who are willing to •o its work are high, but the payment is attended •ith much disappointment; nay, the world, like •our great family, is in itself insolvent, and in its •ery nature incapable of making good the pro •ises, and of paying the high rewards, which it •olds out to tempt its credulous followers. The •ngodly world, like your family, cares little for ••urch, and still less for prayers; and considers ••e Bible rather as an instrument to make an oath ••nding, in order to keep the vulgar in obedi ••ce, than as containing in itself a perfect rule of •ith and practice, and as a title-deed to heaven. •he generality of men love the world as you did •our service, while it smiles upon them, and gives ••em easy work, and plenty of meat and drink; but 〈◊〉 soon as it begins to cross and contradict them, ••ey get out of humour with it, just as you did •ith your service. They then think its drudgery ••rd, its rewards low. They find out that it is ••gh in its expectations from them, and slack in 〈◊〉 payments to them. And they begin to fancy •ecause they do not hear religious people mur •ur as they do) that there must be some happiness 〈◊〉 religion. The world, which takes no account of their deeper sins, at length brings them into discr•¦dit for some act of imprudence, just as your fami•• overlooked your lying and swearing, but threa•¦ened to drub you for breaking a china dish, su•• is the judgment of the world, it particular•• bears with those who only break the laws 〈◊〉 God, but severely punishes the smallest neg••¦gence by which property is injured. The wor• sooner pardons the breaking ten commandmen•• of God than even a china dish of its own.

After some cross or opposition, worldly men, 〈◊〉 I said before, begin to think how much content a•• cheerfulness they remember to have seen in religio•• people. They therefore begin to fancy that re••¦gion must be an easy and delightful, as well as • good thing. They have heard that, "her wa•• are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths a•• peace;" and they persuade themselves, that 〈◊〉 this is meant worldly pleasantness and sensu•• peace. They resolve at length to try it, to tu•• their back upon the world, to engage in t•• service of God and turn christians; just as y•• resolved to leave your old service, to enter i••• the service of the King and turn soldier. But 〈◊〉 you quitted your place in a passion, so they lea•• the world in a huff. They do not count the 〈◊〉▪ They do not calculate upon the darling sins, the ••¦bitual pleasures, the ease and vanities which 〈◊〉 undertake by their new engagements to renoun•• any more than you counted what indulgences 〈◊〉 were going to give up when you quitted the lu••¦ries and idleness of your place to enlist in the •••¦dier's warfare. They have, as I said, seen ch•••¦tians cheerful, and they mistook the ground 〈◊〉 their cheerfulness; they fancied it arose not 〈◊〉 cause, through grace they had conquered diffic•••¦•es, but because they had no difficulties in their •assage. They fancied that religion found the road ••ooth, whereas it only helps to bear with a rough ••ad without complaint. They do not know that ••ese Christians are of good cheer, not because the •orld is free from tribulation, but because Christ ••eir captain has "overcome the world." But the 〈◊〉 religious man, who has only seen the outside of a •hristian in his worldly intercourse, knows little of 〈◊〉 secret conflicts, his trials, his self-denials, his •arfare with the world without, and with his own ••rrupt desires within.

The irreligious man quarrels with the world, on ••me such occasion as you did with your place. 〈◊〉 now puts on the outward forms and ceremo ••es of religion, and assumes the badges of Chris •••nity, just as you were struck with the shows of 〈◊〉 field day; just as you were pleased with the •usic and the marching, and put on the cockade and ••e red coat. All seems smooth for a little while. •e goes through the outward exercises of a Chris •••n, a degree of credit attends his new profes ••on, but he never suspects there is either diffi ••lty or discipline attending it; he fancies reli •ion is a thing for talking about, and not a thing 〈◊〉 the heart and the life. He never suspects that 〈◊〉 the psalm-singing he joins in, and the sermons he ••ars, and the other means he is using, are only 〈◊〉 the exercises and the evolutions of the soldiers, 〈◊〉 fit and prepare him for actual service; and that ••ese means are no more religion itself, than the ••ercises and evolutions of your parade were real •arsare.

At length some trial arises. This nominal Chris ••an is called to differ from the world in some great point; something happens which may stri•• at his comfort, or his credit, or security. T••• cools his zeal for religion, just as the view of 〈◊〉 engagement cooled your courage as a soldie•▪ He finds he was only angry with the world, 〈◊〉 was not tired of it. He was out of humour wi•• the world, not because he had seen through 〈◊〉 vanity and emptiness, but because the world w•• out of humour with him. He finds that it is 〈◊〉 easy thing to be a fair-weather Christian, b••• where there is nothing to be done, and confide•• where there is nothing to be feared. Difficult••• unmask him to others; temptations unmask h•• to himself; he discovers, that though he is a hi•• professor, he is no Christian; just as you fou•• out that your red coat and your cockade, yo•• shoulder-knot, and your musket, did not preve•• you from being a coward.

Your misery in the military life, like that of 〈◊〉 nominal Christian, arose from your love of ea••▪ your cowardice, and your self-ignorance. Y•• rushed into a new way of life, without trying af••• one qualification for it. A total change of he••• and temper were necessary for your new calli••▪ With new views and new principles the soldie•• life would have been not only easy but delight••• to you. But while with a new profession you ••¦tained your old nature, it is no wonder all •••¦cipline seemed intolerable to you.

The true Christian, like the brave soldier, 〈◊〉 supported under dangers by a strong faith 〈◊〉 the fruits of that victory for which he fights 〈◊〉 be safety and peace. But, alas! the pleasures 〈◊〉 this world are present and visible; the kingd•• and the crown for which he strives are remo••▪ He is therefore apt to think them uncertain. He •s therefore apt to fail, because nothing short of a •ively faith can outweigh the present temptation, •nd teach him to prefer the joys of conquest to •he pleasures of sloth."

Whether William went back to his old ser •ice, or was received again into the army, may be •nown hereafter.

Z.

FINIS

CHEAP REPOSITORY.

SUNDAY READING. The ••rvant Man turned Soldier; OR, The Fair Weather Christian. A PARABLE.

Sold by J. MARSHALL, ••••TER to the CHEAP REPOSITORY for Moral and Re •••ous Tracts) No. 17, Queen-Street, Cheapside, and 〈◊〉 4, Aldermary Church-Yard, and R. WHITE, Pic ••••lly, London.

•. HAZARD, at Bath; J. Elder, at Edinburgh, and 〈◊〉 all Booksellers, Newsmen, and Hawkers, in Town 〈◊〉 Country.

〈◊〉 Allowance will be made to Shopkeepers and Hawkers.

PRICE ONE PENNY, Or 4s. 6d. 100.—2s. 6d. for 50.—1s. 6d. for 25. A cheaper Edition for Hawkers.

[Entered at Stationers Hall.]

A List of the Tracts published during the Year 1796.

HISTORIES.

- Mary Wood the Housemaid.

- Shoemakers. Part II. III. and IV.

- Charles Jones the Footman.

- The Cheapside Apprentice.

- The Gamester.

- Betty Brown, the St. Giles's Orange Girl.

- Farmers. Part III. IV. and V.

- Black Giles the Poacher. Part I. and II.

SUNDAY READINGS.

- Some New Thoughts for the New Year.

- The Touchstone.

- Onesimus.

- The Conversion of St. Paul.

- The General Resurrection.

- On Carrying Religion into Business.

- Look at Home.

- The Grand Assizes.

- Explanation of the Nature of Baptism.

- Prayers.

- The Valley of Tears.

POETRY.

- Robert and Richard.

- Sinful Sally.

- The Shopkeeper turned Sailor. Part I. II. and III.

- The Hackney Coachman.

- The Election.

- Turn the Carpet.

- A Hymn of Praise.

- King Dionysius and Squire Damocles.

- The Hampshire Tragedy.

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Title statement

Sunday reading. The servant man turned soldier; or, the fair weather Christian, A parable

More, Hannah, 1745-1833.

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University of Oxford Text Archive
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4195

ID [isbn10]

1106011945

ID [isbn13]

9781106011947

ID [TCP]

K045429.000

ID [BIBNO]

cw3320374938

ID [ECRP]

0543302200

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— Sunday reading. The servant man turned soldier; or, the fair weather Christian, A parable, More, Hannah, 1745-1833.. 15,[1]p. ; 8⁰. [London] :: Sold by J. Marshall, and R. White, London. By S. Hazard, at Bath; J. Elder, at Edinburgh,. [1796]. [At head of titlepage: "Cheap repository".] [Signed Z., i.e. Hannah More.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT48903.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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