The deep attention with which she always listens to the reading of the Word of God, and the great improvement that has taken place in her habits of life, induce me to hope that, if she has not found, she is, at least, earnestly seeking Him who can “save to the uttermost.”
There is another character, however, which is met with—to me, far more difficult and trying than that to which my friend has referred. Saucy women are seldom deceptive. The surface is often worse than that which remains hidden. But the bland, smooth-faced ones, who agree to everything you say, compliment you upon everything you do, smile sweetly alike at either censure or praise, and talk against you as soon as your back is turned—what _can_ be done with such people? Fortunately for me (for I am still as much at a loss as ever to answer this question), this is not a common type of character in the Potteries. Although I have, of course, had constant money transactions with the women, I cannot now recall more than seven or eight cases in which the least attempt has been made to overreach and deceive; and only in one instance have I lost money by lending it.
But the climax of evil in a woman is the habit of drinking. There are many more drunkards amongst men than amongst women, certainly; but whilst I have known many men reform, I have known but very few women amend, after having thus once fallen into this horrid vice. Whether it be that a woman who has given way to intemperance feels so utterly degraded and out of place, as to be hopeless of ever righting herself again, and that she consequently proceeds desperately from bad to worse, I cannot tell; but certainly the effects of this vice upon herself, her husband, and her family, are terrible in the extreme. No tongue can express what the child of the drunken mother suffers. I cannot think of such misery without tears. Two wretched little children, almost destitute of clothes, came to my door one bitterly cold day. The very sight of them made my children cry; and, contrary to my judgment (for, alas! experience has made me wise), I allowed them to dress them in warm woollen jackets. Not many yards from the door, the mother was waiting for them: she took them at once to the pawn-shop, stripped the little shivering ones of the only warm garments which they had known for many a day, disposed of them for a trifle, and got drunk with the money. The next day, the sufferings of one of these children were happily closed by death. I say, happily; for death is the only release—a release to be desired beyond everything for the drunken mother’s child. Here we must weep for the living, and not for the dead.