Richard Watson was twelve years old; his father kept the village public-house.

I am sorry to say that Richard’s father was not a good man; he drank and swore, and his house was the resort of all the wicked fellows in the neighbourhood.

There was no Bible in the house; he never prayed to God nor attended public worship, but spent Sunday just like any other day. He bought and sold, and drank, and swore, and quarrelled on that day, just as if there was no Fourth Commandment and as if God had never said, “nor drunkards nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.” (1 Cor. vi. 10.)

I need not say that such a wicked man did not bring up his family in the fear of the Lord. He was a widower, and Richard was his only child. It was even said that his mother’s death had been hastened by sorrow for her husband’s evil conduct.

While she lived, Richard was sent to school and had learned to read; but after her death his father kept him at home, and said he would teach Richard himself, but he never took any trouble about it.

Richard grew up without learning any thing more, except to write just enough to keep an account of what the customers called for. His time was employed in waiting upon them, or in washing the pots and glasses, and setting up ninepins for those who played. Poor boy! you may suppose he heard nothing good. At last, by listening to oaths and wicked words, he took pleasure in hearing them, and soon began to make use of them himself.

What was the end of all this! Why before he was twelve years old, Richard Watson was looked upon as the most good-for-nothing mischievous fellow in the neighbourhood.

He was idle, fond of play, and what was worse, a gambler, a thief, and a complete scoundrel.

You might hear him speak saucily to his father, and even laugh at him and disobey his orders.

He had frequently been punished, but at length he despised both blows and reproofs, and used to run away from home whenever he expected to be punished.

He was the disgrace of the village, and was known by the name of “Idle Dick.”

Mr. Watson began to think that if his son went on in this manner he would come to the gallows at last, and determined that he would try and reform him.

How did he begin? at first he said, “Dick, if you do not mind your work you shall have nothing to eat.” Dick laughed at this, and went to the pantry and helped himself.

His father discovered it, so he shut Dick in the cellar for two days and gave him nothing but bread and water.

This punishment had some effect. Dick behaved better for one week, but the Thursday following he went to a fight in the neighbourhood, and staid there all day among gamblers and pickpockets.

His father saw Dick on his way home, and gave him such a beating that he laid down on the path-way unable to stir. Old Joseph, an honest basket-maker, and another man who lived in the village, came by and together they carried him home, where he was for some days confined to his bed; and he was so much hurt by the severe beating, that for a whole week he could not walk further than to the bench at the door.

Poor Dick, as you will recollect, had lost his mother! Ah! it is a sad loss for children when God takes away their mothers. Nobody in the house cared about Dick, nobody tried to persuade his father to treat him kindly, or advised Dick to behave better. If any body noticed him it was only to laugh and say, “Ah! you idle fellow, you have got what you deserve.”

A few doors off lived a poor woman named Maud. Her husband was a pedlar, and was absent from the village a great part of the year; but she staid at home and earned her living by making lace.

This good woman had a daughter named Jenny, about the same age as Richard, but she had been brought up in a very different manner; for as soon as Jenny could understand what was said to her, her parents had taught her to love and serve God, as the Bible directs us. She learned to pray regularly, and attended divine service every Sunday.

Whenever Jenny was naughty, her mother used to remind her that God saw her, and that she had disobeyed his word, which tells us, that children are to honor their parents, to be gentle and industrious, and always to speak the truth.

Sometimes it was necessary to punish Jenny, but her parents did not chastise her in wrath, but with kindness, as we read in the book of Proverbs; “Withhold not correction from the child for if thou beatest him with the rod he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell.” (Prov. xxiii. 13, 14.)

This kind correction had been blessed by Him who directed it in His word; and as Jenny grew up she was the most dutiful, the most industrious, and the most pious of the young people in the village.

She never was seen flaunting about with those idle giddy girls who are so fond of laughing and giggling at every thing they see, and forget that a modest quiet spirit is, in the sight of God, an ornament of great price. 1 Pet. iii. 4.

Jenny lived quietly at home, and tried to be as serviceable as possible to her mother; and very useful she was, as all little boys and girls may be who try to make themselves so.

It was Jenny who swept out the cottage every morning and dusted the furniture; it was Jenny who fetched water and went to the shop for every thing that was wanted, and her mother often trusted her to carry work home to her employers.

Every thing she did, Jenny tried to do well, and it was always done quickly and properly.

Now can my little readers tell me, how so young a person could be so useful and behave so well? It was by the blessing of God; for, like Joseph of old, God was with her, and that which she did, the Lord made it to prosper.

You will suppose that her time passed very differently from that of Idle Dick, who was, as we read in Isaiah lvii. 20, 21: “Like the troubled sea when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt,” for “there is no peace saith my God to the wicked.”

My readers will observe, from this history, how great a difference there is between the righteous and the wicked, between those who serve God and those who serve him not. Compare Jane and Richard, and say which of these two was the happiest? The boy who knew nothing about Jesus, or the girl who had taken the yoke of Christ upon her?

But to return to my story. Maud was at home the first day that Dick was able to come out after the beating of which I told you. Poor fellow! he was sitting at the door in the sun, and looked very pale and ill. Maud saw him, and asked him how he did.

Dick did not answer, though she spoke very kindly; he only made a face at her, and looked another way.

Maud did not mind this, and at last got him to say that he was unwell, owing to the beating which his father gave him.

This kind neighbour then tried to make him understand that it was very wrong to go from home without leave, and that a child committed a great sin when he rebelled against his father.

“My father hates me,” said Dick in a revengeful tone, “he always has hated me, and he would be glad to see me dead; but—but I’ll run away from him some day or other.”

Maud tried to calm him, and to convince him that he was wrong in thinking that his father hated him, but her kindness seemed to be of no use; Dick got up and went into the house without even saying, “I thank you.”

In a few days Dick got well again, and I am sorry to say the first thing he did was to go with some other good-for-nothing fellows to rob an orchard, when one of whom fell and brake his arm.

This was done one Friday night, Dick got out at his bed-room window, which was over the roof of the stable. They were the greater part of the night about this wicked robbery, and when it was done Dick returned to his room in the same way, after hiding his share of the plunder among some faggots in the yard.

It so happened that his father wanted to move this wood to make room for something else, and he and the ostler set about it the next morning. They soon found the bag full of apples and pears which Dick had put there.

“What is this?” exclaimed the father with an oath, “this is another trick of that good-for-nothing fellow master Dick; I’ll give it him properly for this.”

Dick was still in bed; hearing this he jumped up and ran to the window, where he saw that his father had snatched up a horsewhip and was coming in doors. “O father, father!” cried he, “forgive me this once, pray put down the whip.”

Maud was in her garden and heard what was passing. She came to the hedge and said, “My good neighbour, pray do not treat your son so severely, it will only harden him,”—“My good woman,” replied he, “mind your own daughter; I know how to teach dogs good manners, and my good-for-nothing son must be treated like Boxer yonder.”

Maud continued to intercede, and at length Mr. Watson consented that Dick should not be flogged, but only shut up in the cellar. “The Publican, saying Well neighbour, I will do so, if it is only to shew you how kind and gentle I am. Go, Peter, and put the good-for-nothing fellow into the cellar: you nay give him a crust and a mug of water. But Dick, mind me, I promise you that the next nonsense you are after I’ll give you a thorough flogging.”

Perhaps you will say, now Dick will be more careful, or he must be a very foolish fellow. The Bible tells us, that “the sow that was washed is turned again to her wallowing in the mire,” (2 Peter ii. 22.) and Dick returned to his wicked ways, as I am going to tell you.

One Saturdays afternoon, as he was setting up the ninepins in the skittle ground, he saw some of his companions passing by, and they beckoned him. Dick made a false excuse to join them, and promised to go with them the next day to a wake in a neighbouring village, where there would be rope-dancing, wild beasts, and a puppet-show.

He thought of the horsewhip: but such is the power of sin over the heart that is led captive by Satan at his will, that neither punishment nor suffering can keep back those who are not restrained by the grace of God.

The next morning at day-break Dick and his companions set of to the village.

“But,” my readers will say, “how could this be—the next day was Sunday.”

What I am telling you about happened in a country where the people did not keep holy the Sabbath-day, not even in an outward manner, and where God’s holy day is despised, there can be but little of true religion. But although most of the people in that country profaned the Lord’s day and did not love the Saviour, still there were some few among them who were his children, and who both loved and served him.

You may suppose that neither Maud, nor her daughter Jenny, nor old Joseph the basket-maker, wished to go to this wake. On the contrary; in the morning when they saw their neighbours preparing to go, they felt more strongly than ever, that the pleasures which a Christian enjoys, are more pure and more lasting, than the foolish empty enjoyments of those who despise God and his holy word.

Dick spent the day in all sorts of tricks; he pilfered gingerbread and cakes from the stalls that he might have something to eat, and I am sorry to say he stole half-a-crown from a little girl who wanted to get it changed, and set some dogs to fight; in a word, he committed all sorts of roguery.

When night came, most of the people had left the fair. One of Dick’s companions said to him, “It is late, let us go home.” “Presently,” answered Dick; “I have been playing at pitch and toss for more than an hour and have lost almost all my money, I must go on a little longer and win some of it back again.”

A quarter of an hour first, and then half an hour passed away. Dick still continued the game, and lost more and more, and swore, and used a great many bad words, till at last his companion was tired of waiting, and returned home by himself.

The clock struck nine, when all at once Dick recollected the horsewhip and his father’s threat; away he ran as fast as he could, but it was near ten before he got to the village. All was quiet, not a light was to be seen, except at the parsonage, and the public-house.

You can hardly suppose how much afraid this unhappy wicked boy felt as he came to his father’s house. He stopped at the door and listened. His father was speaking in a very angry tone, and swore he would break his horsewhip over the back of his good-for-nothing son directly he appeared.

Dick was afraid to enter; he put his hand upon the latch, but dared not lift it up. How sad it is when a child dares not enter his father’s house!—After walking all round the house he got upon the dunghill, and so climbed on the roof of the stable, from whence he could just reach the window of his room. He got in and sat down, not daring to stir, nor hardly venturing to breathe.

His father continued to threaten louder and louder; Dick trembled from head to foot, and did not know what would become of him, for he knew that his father would find him at last, and that he might depend on having a severe flogging.

“The fear of the wicked shall come upon him,” (Prov. x. 23,); the Bible tells us this. Dick had hardly been ten minutes in his room, when he heard his father open the door at the foot of the stairs, saying, “Perhaps this good-for-nothing fellow has got in at the window, I’ll go and see.”

In a moment Dick was out of the window, over the roof of the stable, down upon the dunghill, and along the garden, and had jumped over the hedge before his father got up stairs.

When he was in Maud’s little field, he saw a light in her lower window;—not knowing what to do, he determined to knock at the window, and ask this good woman to help him.

Maud had family prayer regularly every evening with her daughter and Joseph’s old servant —— The Bible laid upon the table, and just as Dick came to the window, she was saying something about what she had read; he could not hear what she said, but he was impressed with reverence and did not knock for fear of disturbing them. After they had knelt down and prayed, they bid each other good night and left the room.

Dick was struck with this, but was obliged to consider what he should do next.

The night was very dark, all was quiet—not a light was to be seen.—Dick once more climbed to his window, but the shutter was fastened. He could not get in, and at last was obliged to lie down upon a heap of dry leaves under a shed along with the dog Boxer.

His sleep was not very sound, and the stars were still shining when he awoke. The first thing that he did was to get out of the village as soon as possible, for he was more afraid of meeting his father than the evening before.

It was market-day at the next town, and Dick knew that his father meant to take a pig there to sell; so he waited under the hedge, peeping out like a fox in his hole, watching till his father should pass by.

Just as the sun rose, he heard a waggon coming, and looked through the hedge, hoping it was his father: he saw the well-known team, and it was going towards the town—but it was driven by Peter the ostler?

The waggon went by; Dick remained in his lurking place without knowing what to do. He began to be hungry, but had nothing to eat, not even a crust of dry bread, and was well aware that if he went home the whip would be laid across his back.

While thus full of doubt and fear, he went to the gate which led to the common, and leant over the stile thinking what he should do.

In a few minutes Jenny passed by. This good industrious girl had a rake over her shoulder, and was going to rake up the hay which had fallen from the carts on the Saturday evening as they went across the common.

Jenny was a good deal surprised, and even a little frightened, to see Dick at that place so early in the morning, lest he should play her some trick. However, she mustered up courage, and said—

“Why, Mr. Richard, who would have thought of seeing you here so early?”

Dick. Yes: here I am, but what is that to you?

Jenny. I meant no harm, Mr. Richard, only I did not expect you would have been here.

D. And pray Jenny, where are you going with your rake? What are you after at this time of the morning?

J. I am going to gather up the hay which has been dropped. You know Farmer Norris carted his hay on Saturday, and my mother has sent me to gather up what has fallen from the carts.

D. What right have you to it?

J. My mother says that the hay which is left by the way-side is like the ears of corn left by the reaper which poor people are allowed to glean.

Dick was silent for a minute; he then said in a milder tone, “So, Jenny, you read the Bible?”

J. Yes, sure enough, I read it every day, but particularly on Sundays.

D. What is that great book about?

J. Why, Mr. Richard, did you never read it? Don’t you know how to read?

D. O yes, I can read very well, but I do not spend my time in reading all sorts of books.

J. Mr. Richard, you must not speak of the Bible in that manner. It is the word of God, who made the heavens, and the earth, and all things, and it is truth itself.

D. Why what can all such a great book be about?

J. It tells the history of the world since the creation. There is an account of the deluge, when all the earth was covered with water, even the tops of the mountains. There is the history of Abraham and Isaac, and then there is the beautiful history of Joseph, and an account of wicked Pharaoh who was drowned in the Red Sea. Then there is the history of Moses and the ten commandments, which God spake from mount Sinai. And there is the history of King David who wrote the Psalms, and of Solomon his son, who was the wisest man. But then above all there is the history of the Son of God, who came down from heaven and died for sinners, I mean Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour; and I cannot tell you how many histories besides.

D. Pray what is to be learned from all these histories, as you call them?

J. They teach us what God is, and all that he has done for us his creatures. But above all, they teach us that we are all sinners by nature and inclined to evil, and that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, alone can save our souls from being lost and suffering punishment in hell.

D. Then I am in danger of being lost, and do I need any body to save my soul?

J. Why, Mr. Richard what do you think? All are sinners, and surely you are not one of the best among us.

D. What do you mean by a sinner?

J. A sinner is one who does not fear God, who tells lies, who steals, who is disobedient to his parents, who delights to keep company with wicked persons, and who does not keep holy the Sabbath-day.

D. Why, if these are all sinners there is a fine lot of them in our neighbourhood, and perhaps after all you are one of them, Miss Jenny.

J. Yes, it is too true, I am a sinner, but—then—I know from the Bible what God has done for me.

D. Well I should like to know what God has done for you more than for me?

J. I did not say that he had not done the same for you, Mr. Richard; He will do the same for all those who ask him. O believe on Christ.

D. Well, and pray what is this good thing?

J. I trust that He has saved my soul from hell, by the death of Jesus Christ the Son of God, who died upon the cross and shed his precious blood to cleanse my soul from its sins. This is what I trust God has done for me, and I have good reason for believing that he has done this, for the word of God tells me so.

D. Has He done this for me, Jenny?

J. If you read the Bible you will find that Christ died for sinners, even for the chief of sinners, as the hymn says.

But it is time I went to work, for my mother has to go to market, and must wait till I return.—Good bye, Mr. Richard.

Dick did not reply. He was thinking about what Jenny had told him, and particularly the latter part of it.

“It is too true,” said he, returning towards the village, “what good do I get from the way in which I am going on. I am more wretched than a dog. All day I am unhappy and out of humour. Every body in the village despises me, even the little children. If I am at home I am sure to be scolded or beaten; if I go out with my companions, we are always lying, and stealing, and swearing and quarrelling. What good is there in going on so? How different is Jenny: she is about my age, and how happy she always seems! How pleased she looked last night, while her mother was talking about that Bible which they all seem so fond of. But why should not I read it as well as they? I’ll go to old Joseph—I recollect one day he offered to lend me a Bible; I’ll go directly.”

Dick then ran on, and going round the outside of the village he came to the old basket-maker’s cottage. He was afraid of meeting his father, but at last he safely arrived at Joseph’s cottage.

The basket-maker was very busily at work.—“What, Dick, idle Dick, is it you? O my boy, when will you turn from your evil ways?”

“I am come on purpose,” said Dick, in a humble tone, “I am come to ask for the Bible you offered to lend me.”

“What! you asking for a Bible?” said Joseph with surprise. “Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots.” Jer. xiii. 23.

D. Indeed I came on purpose to ask for it.

J. And how came you to think about it? Did it come into your head last night when you jumped out of the window upon the dunghill, and lurked about in Maud’s field?

D. Did you see me?

J. I see you? If I had, I should not have let you go on playing your tricks.

D. Does my father know about it?

J. O yes, he knew all about it last night, and he saw you skulking under the hedge this morning.

Dick was quite astonished; he coloured, and looked like a thief caught in the act.

J. Why I do believe you are ashamed for once. You know what you have done, and out will come the horsewhip.

Dick sat down on a stone, and began to cry, “O how unhappy I am, I wish I was dead!”

J. Why that perhaps might suit you, if it was not for what the Bible tells us. But now, Dick, say which you had rather suffer; a few horse-whippings in this world, or eternal torments in the next? But come, we will see whether something cannot be done to make up what has happened. What have you been about since day-break?

Dick related his conversation with Jenny, and said, “My good Mr. Joseph, I do assure you I am now in earnest, and am determined to behave better.”

J. My boy, I suppose hunger makes you say so? Pray did you have any supper last night, or any breakfast this morning?

D. I am hungry enough to be sure, but it is neither hunger nor the horsewhip which makes me wish to behave better. I am determined not to go on in this way any longer; I am more wretched than a dog.

The basket-maker went into his cottage, and fetched a cup of milk and a good piece of bread. He gave them to Dick, saying, “Here, Richard, take this, and eat what God has given you; and since you wish to lead a new life, suppose you begin by asking a blessing on the breakfast he sends you.”

Dick put his hands together, but he did not know what to say, for he had never asked a blessing in his life. Joseph saw what was the case, and taking off his hat, he said, “O Lord, who art kind even to the unthankful and evil, look upon this lad; bless this bread to his use, but above all give him the bread of life which is in Christ Jesus.”

“Yes, I hope he will,” said Dick; (for he did not know what Amen meant,) and he ate with a good appetite.

While he breakfasted, Joseph talked to him about God and his word.

J. My poor Richard, I am afraid you are almost as ignorant as a heathen. I fear you are like the child of an idolater. You hardly know whether you have a soul to be saved.

D. What need I to be saved from?

J. From the wrath to come—that dreadful wrath with which God in his justice will punish all sin at the day of judgment.

D. Is that quite certain? Are you sure that God will punish all sinners?

J. Yes, I am quite sure, for the Bible tells us so. Christ himself said, “The hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear His voice, and shall come forth: they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.” (John v. 28, 29.)

D. Will it be very dreadful to be condemned in this manner?

J. “The wicked are reserved to the day of destruction; they shall be brought forth to the day of wrath.” (Job. xxi. 30.) And the King will say, “Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.” (Matt. xxv. 41.) You will read more about this in the word of God; and remember, Richard, I say remember, what that book tells us is true!

D. That frightens me; how shall I escape?

J. Read the hundred and thirty-ninth psalm. You will find it is impossible to escape from God. “Whither shall I flee from thy presence, for even the darkness hideth not from God.” (Psalm cxxxix.)

Dick held down his head, and was silent for a few minutes. He then said, “I wish I could change my conduct, for I am not happy, and I am afraid I shall go to hell if I die.”

J. Ah! my lad, you told me so the other day, when you laid in bed after your father had given you that good beating. I am afraid, after all, it is only the horsewhip that has brought you to this way of thinking.

D. You don’t believe me, and I do not wonder, for I have often told lies; but, indeed, it is not for fear of the horsewhip that I wish to change my conduct.

J. Are you quite sure? Now tell me the truth, and nothing but the truth, Do you really desire to amend your evil ways?

D. I do not quite understand what you mean by ‘amend,’ but I know this, that if my father had horsewhipped me, and even broken my bones, I should wish the same. I feel something in my heart which wishes for this change.

J. How long have you wished for this change?

D. Ever since the day when neighbour Maud spoke to me as I sat upon the bench at the door; I pretended not to mind what she said, but I could not help thinking about it. And then last night when I saw her look so comfortable as she read the Bible, and prayed with Jenny and your servant, it struck me still more. I thought of it all night while I laid upon the leaves, and this morning I was thinking about it when I saw Jenny, and what she said made me quite determined. Now do believe me, Mr. Joseph, when I say I do wish to change my conduct. Yes I do, indeed I do.

The basket-maker held out his hand, and said, “Well, Richard, I cannot help believing you.—Since you really wish this, and since God, I trust, draws you to him, I will not keep you back. You shall find me your friend; I will be a true parent to you. Here, strip the bark off these twigs while I go to your father.”

Dick felt as if a load was taken off his heart. He set to work cheerfully, and that was more than he had done for the last twelvemonth.

After some time Joseph returned; he looked pleased, and as soon as he came in sight he called out, “The horsewhip is put away; you may return home without fear, your father will receive you kindly.”

Dick jumped up, and threw his arms round Joseph, and thanked him with tears in his eyes.

J. And I have got your father to consent that you may come here, to me, every day for two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening, that you may learn my trade; and he also promises that you shall not be called upon to wait in the public-house on Sundays. Have I done right, Dick; say, perhaps you do not like this plan?

Dick again threw his arms round the old man’s neck, and said, “Father Joseph, may I come this afternoon?”

J. Yes, my lad, if you please, I shall expect you; but go now to your father, and mind what he says. If he scolds you, remember you have deserved it, and do not reply again.

Dick was running off. Joseph said, “Stop a moment. What must we call you in future, Idle Dick, or Industrious Richard?”

“You will see in a few days,” said Dick, and was out of sight in an instant; but he came back in the afternoon.

You will be glad to hear that he was called ‘Diligent Dick.’—Yes, he was so changed by the blessing of God upon the counsels and instructions of old Joseph, that in a few months he was quite different from what he used to be.

Every day he became more industrious at his work, more correct in his behaviour, and neater in appearance, milder in his language, and more regular in all he had to do.

What produced this great change?

It was by the use of means which God has appointed, and which he has promised to bless. I mean by the study of the Scriptures and prayer.

Joseph read some portions every day with Richard, and set him some verses, which he learned against the next day.

While they were at work, Joseph used to talk with him, and explain to him the truths which are in the Bible. On Sundays he especially attended to this, and talked with him about the love of our Heavenly Father, who sent Jesus as a Saviour for poor lost sinners, and to save children, as well as grown persons.

Joseph often used to pray with Richard, and was very faithful in telling him of his faults; but he always did this the kind way pointed out by the word of God, and by shewing him from that book the example of some child of God who was remarkable for some good quality, the very reverse of the fault which Richard had committed.

Dick had been called ‘good-for-nothing’ while he kept bad company, but when he became acquainted with the truths of Scripture, he forsook his evil companions; and though they pressed him to come among them, he steadily refused to do so. You may be sure he found out the little girl and gave her back her half crown.

His former wicked associates were astonished at this change. They made game of him, and used to insult him; but all the good people in the village, all those who loved God, the true disciples of Jesus, welcomed Richard as a friend;

and when they saw him going by, they used to say, “Aye, there he is,—when he despised instruction he was an idle vagabond and a good-for-nothing fellow; but since he has delighted in the word of God, and studied its precepts, he is become an honest, industrious, worthy lad. O! how wonderful a change the grace of the Lord has made in that poor lad!”