Evening star., 1928-09-13

william Hewitt, 1792-l879, WAS an English
cludc Ruined Abbcys and Castles of Great
Britain "A Boys Adventures in the Wiids
OF Australia etcl
John DarbyShire or. according to the
regular custom of the country, Johnny
Darbyshire. was farmer living in one
of the most obscure parts of the coun-
try. on the borders of the Peak of Dar-
byShire His fathers before him had
occupied the same farm for generations:
and as they had been Quakers from the
days of George Fox. who preached there
and converted them. Johnny was also
Quaker.
That is, he was, as many others were,
and no doubt are. habitually Quaker.
He was a Quaker in dress, in language,
in attendance at their meetings, and.
above all, in the unmitigated contempt
which he felt and expressed for every
thing like fashion, for the practices OF
the world for the church, and for music
and amuSements. There never was
man. from the first to the present day
of the society. who SO thoroughly en-
bodied and exhibited that quality at
tributed to the Quaker IN the rhyming
nursery alphabet: % was a Quaker, ana
would not bow down."
No, Johnny Darbyshire the Quaker
would not have bowed down to any NOR
tai power He would have marched
into the presence of the king with his
hat on and would have addressed him
with lust the same unembarraSSed tree
dom as the old chap of the West
Countrie" is made to do in the song.
AS to any of the more humble and
conceding qualities usually attributed TO
the peaceful Quaker. Johnny had not
an atom of those about him. Never
was there a more pig-headed, arbitrary,
positive, pugnacious fellow. He would
argue anybody out of their opinions by
the hour. If he could not convince
them he would at least confound them
with his obstreperous din and violence |
of action.
once a month the Quakers logged off,
BY horse and carriage or just on horse |
back. to one meeting in particular. to |
what thev called their monthly meeting, |
where they paid their subscriptions for |
the poor and other needs of the society |
and read over and made answers to |
set of queries on the moral and religious
state of their meetings.
o.. rnmiA have thought that this |
business must be so very small that 1t
would be readily dispatched; but not |
so. Small enough. Heaven knows. it
was: but then they made religious |
duty of its transaction and went through |
It as solmenly and deliberately as if the |
very salvation of the kingdom depended |
on it. Oh. what a mighty balancing OF |
straws was there.
The stupendouS business having, |
however, at length been got through, |
then all the men adjourned to the room |
where the women had, for the time |
been Just as laboriouSly and gravely en- |
gagged. A table was soon spread, with a |
good substantial dinner of roast beef
and plum pudding: and the good people
grew right sociable, chatty and even
merry. in their way.
And to these monthly meetings over |
what long and dreary roads, on what
dreadfullv wet and wintry days, through
what mud and water. did these simple |
and pious creatures. wrapped in great
coats and thick cloaks and defended |
with oilskin hoods, travel all their lives |
long
Not a soul was more punctual In at |
tendance than Johnny Darbyshire. He |
was a little man, wearing Quaker |
suit of drab, his coat long, his hat not |
cooked but slouched, and his boots well |
worn and we'll creased.
Peaceful as he safe in these meetings, |
vet out of them, as have remarked, he |
was a very Tartar, and he often set
himself to execute what he deemed JUS
tice in a very dogged and original style.
We may. as specimen, take the in
stance of the toll.
On his way to his regular meeting
he had to pass through a toll bar, and
being on Sunday exempt by law from
paying at it, it may be supposed that
the barkeeper did not fling open the
gate often with the best grace:
One Sunday evening, @ohnny
Darbyshire Lad from some GAtise or
other, stayed1aHA with his friefiUs after |
afternoon meeting. When he passed |
through the ton gate he gave his usual
nod to the keeper and was passing on. |
But the man called out to demand the |
toll. declaring that it was no longer
Sunday night, but Monday morning. be-
ing past II O'Clock. II
NAY, friend, thou art wrong" said
Johnny, pulling out his watch, see, 1t
yet wants a quarter"
mo, I tell you" replied the keeper
gruf1y cit is past II. Look. there is
my clock"
"Ay, friend, but thy clock, like thy
self. doesn't speak the truth. Like its |
master, 1t is a little too haSty. I assure |
thee nv watch is right. for have just |
now compared it with the steeple-house |
clock in the town."
"I tell you," replied the keeper an
grily I've nothing to do with your
watch; go by my clock and there 1t Is"