ith a good deal of company
he had at his house, and they were much pleased. When the Doctor saw
how the aged and infirm poor were enjoying themselves, he was much
moved; he shook the farmer by the hand and said, "But thou, when
thou makest a feast, call the blind, and the lame, and the halt;
they can not recompense thee, but thou shalt be recompensed at the
resurrection of the just."

"Sir," said the farmer, "'tis no great matter of expense; I kill a
sheep of my own; potatoes are as plenty as blackberries, with people
who have a little forethought. I save much more cider in the course
of a year by never allowing any carousing in my kitchen, or
drunkenness in my fields, than would supply many such feasts as
these, so that I shall be never the poorer at Christmas. It is
cheaper to make people happy, sir, than to make them drunk." The
Doctor and the ladies condescended to walk from one table to the
other, and heard many merry stories, but not one profane word, or
one indecent song: so that he was not forced to the painful
necessity either of reproving them, or leaving them in anger. When
all was over, they sung the sixty-fifth Psalm, and the ladies all
joined in it; and when they got home to the vicarage to tea, they
declared they liked it better than any concert.

THE HARD WINTER.

In the famous cold winter of the year 1795, it was edifying to see
how patiently Farmer White bore that long and severe frost. Many of
his sheep were frozen to death, but he thanked God that he had still
many left. He continued to find in-door work that his men might not
be out of employ. The season being so bad, which some others pleaded
as an excuse for turning off their workmen, he thought a fresh
reason for keeping them. Mrs. White was so considerate, that just at
that time she lessened the number of her hogs, that she might have
more whey and skim-milk to assist poor families. Nay, I have known
her to live on boiled meat for a long while together, in a sickly
season, because the pot liquor made such a supply of broth for the
sick poor. As the spring came on, and things grew worse, she never
had a cake, a pie, or a pudding in her house; notwithstanding she
used to have plenty of these good things, and will again, I hope,
when the present scarcity is over; though she says she will never
use such white flour again, even if it should come down to five
shillings a bushel.

All the parish now began to murmur. Farmer Jones was sure the fr