Anti Slavery Bugle

The Power of the Pence!

The Rev. J. B. Owen, M. A. of Bilston, in the course of a valuable lecture, recently delivered in the Liverpool Concert Hall, in connexion with the Church of England Institution (and which we are happy to see published in a separate form upon "Popular Insurance," related an anecdote strikingly illustrative of the power which lay in the hands of the working men to promote their own social comfort and independence, if they would only exert it. A Manchester calico-printer was, on his wedding day, persuaded by his wife to allow two half-pints of ale a day as her share. He rather winced under the bargain: for, though a drinker himself, he would have preferred a perfectly sober wife. They both worked hard; and he, poor man, was seldom out of the public house as soon as the factory closed. The wife and husband saw little of each other except at breakfast; but, as she kept things tidy about her, and made her stinted, and even selfish, allowance for house-keeping meet the demands upon her, he never complained. She had her daily pint, and he, perhaps, had his two or three quarts; and neither interfered with the other, except at odd times, she succeeded, by one little gentle artifice or another, to win him home an hour or two earlier at night, and now and then to spend an entire evening in his own house. But these were rare occasions. They had been married a year; and on the morning of their wedding anniversary, the husband looked askance at her neat and comely person with some shade of remorse, as he observed, "Mary, we'n had no holiday sin' we were wed; and only that I hav'n't a penny i' th' world, we'd take a jaunt to th' village to see thee mother!" "Would'st like to go John?" asked she, softly, between a smile and a tear, to hear him speak kindly as in old times. "If thee'd like to go, John, I'll stand treat." "Thou stand treat!" said he, with half a sneer, "hast got a fortun, wench?" "Nay," said she, "but I'n gotten the pint o'ale!" "Gotten what?" said he. "The pint o'ale!" was the reply.— John didn't understand till the faithful creature reached down an old stocking, from under a loose brick up the chimney, and counted out her daily pint of ale in the shape of 365 three-pences, (i. e. £4 11s. 3d.,) and put it into his hand, exclaiming, "Thee shall have thy holiday, John." John was ashamed, astonished, conscience-smitten, charmed. He would not touch it.— "Hasn't thee had thy share? then I'll ha' no more," he said. They kept their wedding day with the old dame; and the wife's little capital was the nucleus of a series of investments that ultimately swelled into a shop, factory, warehouse, country seat, a carriage; and, for aught Mr. Owen knew, John was mayor of his native borough at last.