This is John Plowman's pictures and this is episode 9 and the first chapter here is called a man may love his house though he ride not on the ridge and here is a picture of a lovely country cottage there are two men one man on the right hand side here looking up at the cottage and waving to the other man is dressed in country attire with a bowler hat with boots on and a jacket and he's got a walking stick The other man is seated on the top of the house with a leg either side of the roof and he also has a boulder hat and a jacket and he's waving down. What he's doing up there I have no idea. You can love your house and not ride on the ridge. There's a medium in everything. You can be fond of your wife without being her drudge. And you can love your children dearly and yet not give them their own way in everything. Some men are of so strange a kidney that they set no bounds to their nonsense. If they are fond of roast beef, they must need suck the spit. They cannot rest with eating the pudding. They must swallow the bag. If they dislike a thing, The very smell of it sets them grumbling, and if they like it, they must have it everywhere and always, for nothing else is half so sweet. When they do go in for eating rabbits, they have rabbits young and rabbits old, rabbits hot and rabbits cold, rabbits tender, rabbits tough, never can they have enough. Whatever they take up takes them up, and for a season they cannot seize on anything else. At election times the barber cannot trim his customer's pole because of the pulling, and the draper cannot serve you with a calico because he is canvassing. The nation would go to the dogs altogether if the cat's meat man did not secure the election by sticking his mark on the ballot paper. to suppose that the globe would leave off turning round if our Joe Scroggs did not go out to the Dun Cow and read the paper and have his say upon politics in the presence of the House of Commons assembled in the Tap Room. I do not quite think so, but I know this, that when the Whigs and the Tories and the Radicals are about, Scroggs is good for nothing all day long. What party he belongs to I don't know, but I believe his leading principle will be seen in the following verse. If gentlemen propose a glass, he never says them nay, for he always thinks it right to drink while other people pay. You can make a good thing become a nuisance by harping on that one string from dawn to dusk, a hen which with one chick makes no end of scratching and clucking, and so does a fellow of one idea. He has a bee in his bonnet, and he tries to put a wasp in yours. He duns you, and if you do not agree with him, he counts you his enemy. When you meet with him you are unfortunate, and when you leave him you will better yourself go where you may. There's small sorrow at our parting, as the old mare said to the broken cart. You may try to humour him, but he will have all the more humours if you do, for the man knows no moderation, and if you let him ride on the roof he will soon sit on the chimney pot. One man of my acquaintance used to take Morrison's pills every day of his life. Not sure that Morrison's sells that kind of pills. Not the modern Morrison's. And when I called in to see him, I had not been... Sorry, Morrison's is a very big English supermarket chain today. What it was in Spurgeon's days, I don't know. And when I called in to see him, I had not been there 10 minutes before he wanted me to take a dose, but I could not swallow when he told me, nor the pills either. So I told him, I dare say, they were very good for him, but they did not suit my constitution. However, he kept on with his subject till I was feigned to be off. Another man never catches sight of me but he talks about vaccination and goes on against it till he froths at the mouth and I am half afraid he will inoculate me. My master had a capital horse, worth a good deal of money, only he always shied at a stone heap on the road, and if there were fifty of them, he always bolted off the road every time. He had got heaps on his brain, poor creature, and though he was fit for a nobleman's carriage, he had to be put to plough. Some men have got stone heaps in their poor noodles, noddles, rather, noddles, and heads, and this spoils them for life. and makes it dangerous for all who have to deal with them. What queer fish there are in our pond! I am afraid that most of us have a crack somewhere, but we don't all show it quite so much as some. We ought to have a good deal of patience, and then we shall find amusement, where else we should be bothered to death. One of my mates says the world is not round, and so I always drop into his notion and tell him this is a flat world and he is a flat too. This is probably how Flat Earthism is coming back. What a trial it is to be shut up for an hour with a man or a woman with a hobby. Riding in a horse box with a bear with a sore head is nothing to it. The man is so fond of bacon that he wants you to kiss his pig, and all the while you hope you will never again see either the man or his pork as long as you live. No matter what the whole hog may be, the man who goes it is terrible. Rocking horse for boy, hobby horse for man, each one rides his toy whenever he can. The boy is right glad, though he rideth alone, His father's own fad by the world must be known. Of the two hobby rides the boy's is the best, For the man often chides and gives you no rest. It is a good thing for a man to be fond of his own trade and his own place, but still there is reason in everything, even in roasting eggs. When a man thinks that his place is below him, he will pretty soon be below his place, and therefore a good opinion of your own calling is by no means an evil. Yet nobody is everybody, and no trade is to crow over the rest. The cobbler has his all, but he is not all, and the hatter wears a crown, but he is not king. A man may come to market without buying my onions, and ploughing can be done with other horses than mine, though dapper and violet are something to brag of. The farming interest is no doubt first, and so is the saddlers, and so is the tinkers, and so is the grocers, and so is the drapers, and so is the parsons, and so is the parish beetles, and so is every other interest according to each man's talk. Your trade is a trade, is all very well, but other good folk have their cheeses to sell. You must not expect all the world to bow down and give to one peddler the scepter and crown. It is astonishing how much men will cry up small matters. They are very busy, but it is with you catching flies. They talk about a mushroom till you would think it was the only thing at the Lord Mayor's dinner, and the beef and the turkeys went for nothing. They say nothing about the leg of mutton, for they are so much in love with the trimmings. They can't keep things in their places, but make more of a horse's tail than they do of his whole body. Like the cock on the dunghill, they consider a poor barleycorn to be worth more than a diamond. The thing happens to suit their taste, and so there is nothing like it in the whole of England, no, nor in all America or Australia. A duck will not always dabble in the same gutter, but they will. For bless your heart, they don't think it a gutter, but a river, if not an ocean. They must ride the ridge of the roof, or else burn the house down. A good many people love their dogs, but these folks take them to bed with them. Other farmers fat a calf, but they fall down and worship it. And what is worse, they quarrel with everybody who does not think as much of their idol as they do. It will be a long while before all men become wise, but it will help on the time if we begin to be wise ourselves. Don't let us make too much of this world and the things of it. We are to use it but not to abuse it, to live in it but not for it, to love our house but not to ride on the ridge, Our daily bread and daily work are to be minded, and yet we must not mind earthly things. We must not let the body send the soul to grass. Rather must we make the limbs of servants to the soul. The world must not rule us. We must reign as kings, though we are only plowmen, and stand upright, even if the world should be turned upside down. The next chapter is, Great drinkers think themselves great men. wonderful men and white rats are not so scarce as sorry the picture is we're inside a pub now there's a wooden table and there are three men seated one on a chair two on a bench there are three drinks on the table to the glass of what looks like wine and also two tankards, and they're in discussion, these three men, enjoying their drink and smoking pipes, two of them. Wonderful men and white rats are not so scarce as most people think. Folks may talk as they like about Mr Gladstone and Lord Beaconsfield and that sharp gentleman Bismarck, but Jack and Tom and Harry and the scores more that I know of can manage their business for them a fine sight better. At least they think so. Yes, if only I was Prime Minister. And are quite ready to try. Great men are as plentiful as mice in an old wheat-stack down our way. Every parish has one or two wonderful men. Indeed, most public houses could show one at least, and generally two. And I have heard that on Saturday nights, when our Blue Dragon is full, at the Blue Dragon pub. There may be seen as many as 20 of the greatest men in all the world in the tap room, all making themselves greater by the help of pots of beer. When the jug has been filled and emptied a good many times, the blacksmith feels he ought to be prime minister. Stiles the carter sees the way to take off all the taxes, and old Hob the rat catcher roars out, they're all a pack of fools and good for nothing tools. If they'd only sent for me, you'd see how things would be. If you have a fancy to listen to these great men when they are talking, you need not go into the bar, for you can hear them outside the house. They generally speak four or five at a time, and everyone in Mitcham whisper, which is very like a shout. What a fine flow of words they have! There's no end to it, and it's a pity there was ever any beginning, for there's generally a mix-up of foul talk with their politics, and this sets them all roaring with laughter. A few evenings in such company would poison the mind of the best lad in the parish. I am happy to say that these great men have to be turned out at ten o'clock, for then our public house closes, and none too soon, I'm sure. Precious little is enough to make a man famous in certain companies. One fellow knocked a man's eye out at a prize fight. Another stowed away twice as much pudding as four pigs could have disposed of. Another stood on his head and drank a glass of beer. And another won a prize by grinning through a horse collar. And for such things as these, the sots of the village think mightily of them. Little things please little minds, and nasty things please dirty minds. If I were one of these wonderful fellows, I would ask the nearest way to a place where nobody would know me. Now I am at it. I will notice a few other wonderful bodies who sometimes condescended to look down on a ploughman. But before I make them angry, I would give them a verse from one of my old uncle's songs, which I have shaped a bit. I hope none will be offended with me for writing this, for it is not intended for anything amiss. If you consider kindly my remarks, you will allow. For what can you expect from one whose hand is on the plough? I used to feel quite staggered when I heard of an amazing, clever man, but I've got used to it, as the Rook did to the Scarecrow when he found out that it was a stuffed nothing. Like the picture which looked best at a very long distance off, so do most clever fellows. They are swans a mile off but were geese when you get near them. Some men are too knowing to be wise, their boiler bursts because they have more steam than they can use. They know too much and have gone over the top of the ladder. They have gone down on the other side. People who are really wise never think themselves so. One of them said to me the other day, all things I thought I knew, but now confess, the more I know, I know I know the less. Simple Simon is in a sad plight in such a world as this, but on the whole he gets on better than a fellow who is too clever by half. Every mouse I'd need have its eyes open nowadays, for the cats are very many and uncommonly sharp, and yet you mark my word most of the mice that are caught are the knowing ones. Somehow or other in an ordinary sort of world like this It does not answer to be so over and above clever. Those who are up to so many dodges find the dodges come down on them before long. My neighbour Hinks was much too wise a man to follow the plough like poor shallow-patted John Plowman, and so he took to scheming, and has schemed himself into one of the largest mansions in the country, where he will be provided with oakum to pick and a crank to turn during the next six calendar months' prison. He had better have been a fool for his cleverness, as cost him his character. When a man is too clever to tell the truth, he will bring himself into no end of trouble before long. When he is too clever to stick to his trade, he is like the dog that let the meat fall into the water through trying to catch at its shadow. Clever Jack can do everything and can do nothing. He intends to be rich all at once and despises small gains, and therefore is likely to die a beggar. When puffing is trusted and honest trading is scoffed at, time will not take long to wind up the concern. Work is as needful now as ever it was if a man would thrive. Catching birds by putting salt on their tails would be all very well, but the creatures will not hold their tails still, and so we had better catch them in the usual way. The greatest trick for getting on in business is to work hard and to live hard. There's no making bread without flour, nor building houses without labour. I know the old saying is, no more mortar, no more brick, a cunning knave has a cunning trick. But for all that, things go on much the same as ever, and bricks and mortar are still wanted. I see the papers every now and then that some of the clever gentlemen who blow up bubble companies are pulled up before the courts. Serve them right. May they go where my neighbour Hinks is, every one of them. How many a poor tradesman is over head and ears in difficulty through them. I hope in future all men will fight shy of these fine companies and swell managers and very clever men. Men are neither suddenly rich nor suddenly good. It is all a bag of moonshine when a man would persuade you that he knows a way of earning money by winking your eye. We have all heard of the scheme for making deal boards out of sawdust and getting butter out of mud, but we mean to go on with the sawmill and keep on milking the cows, for between you and me, the blind and the blind mare, we have a notion that the plans of idiots and very clever men are as like as two peas in a shell. The worst sort of clever men are those who know better than the Bible, and are so learned that they believe that the world had no maker, and that men are only monkeys with their tails rubbed off. Dear, dear me, this is the sort of talk we used to expect from Tom of Bedlam, but now we get it from clever men. If things go on in this fashion, a poor ploughman will not be able to tell which is the lunatic and which is the philosopher." Well said. As for me, the old book seems to be a deal easier to believe than the new notions, and I mean to keep it. The old book. Yeah, the old book, the Bible. Many a drop of good broth is made in old pot, and many a sweet comfort comes out of the old doctrine. Many a dog has died since I first opened my eyes, and every one of these dogs has had his day. But in all the days put together, they have never hunted out a real fault in the Bible, nor started anything better in its place. They may be very clever, but they will not find a surer truth than that which God teaches, nor a better salvation than that which Jesus brings. And so finding my very life in the gospel, I mean to live it. And so ends this chapter.