sad fellow in his time;
and it is none of his fault if his whole family do not end their
career either at the gallows, or at Botany Bay. He lives at that mud
cottage, with the broken windows stuffed with dirty rags, just beyond
the gate which divides the upper from the lower moor. You may know the
house at a good distance by the ragged tiles on the roof, and the
loose stones which are ready to drop out from the chimney; though a
short ladder, a hod of mortar, and half an hour's leisure time would
have prevented all this, and made the little dwelling tight enough.
But as Giles had never learned any thing that was good, so he did not
know the value of such useful sayings as, that "a tile in time saves
nine."
Besides this, Giles fell into that common mistake, that a
beggarly looking cottage, and filthy, ragged children, raised most
compassion, and of course drew most charity. But as cunning as he was
in other things, he was out in his reckoning here; for it is neatness,
housewifery, and a decent appearance, which draws the kindness of the
rich and charitable, while they turn away disgusted with filth and
laziness: not out of pride, but because they see that it is next to
impossible to mend the condition of those who degrade themselves by
dirt and sloth; and few people care to help those who will not help
themselves.
[Illustration]
The common on which Giles' hovel stands is quite a deep marsh in a wet
winter, but in summer it looks green and pretty enough. To be sure, it
would be rather convenient, when one passes that way in a carriage, if
one of the children would run out and open the gate; but instead of any
one of them running out as soon as they hear the wheels, which would be
quite time enough, what does Giles do but set all his ragged brats, with
dirty faces, matted locks, and naked feet and legs, to lie all day upon
a sand-bank hard by the gate, waiting for the slender chance of what may
be picked up from travellers. At the sound of a carriage, a whole covey
of these little scarecrows start up, rush to the gate, and all at once
thrust out their hats and aprons; and for fear this, together with the
noise of their clamorous begging, should not sufficiently frighten the
horses, they are very apt to let the gate slap full against you, before
you are half way through, in their eager scuffle to snatch from each
other the halfpence which you may have thrown out to them. I know two
ladies who were one day very near b
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