MISTER HORN 
 
 AND HIS^RIENDS. 

 
 On a summer's evening one might come upon a 
 group under a shady tree, and there, amid a lot 
 of delighted youngsters, would find Mister Horn en- 
 tertaining them with a story. 
 
 *? pag-? 9.
 
 MISTER HORN 
 
 AND HIS FRIENDS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 GIVERS AND GIVING. 
 
 BY 
 
 MARK GUY PEARSE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "DANIEL QUOEM," "SERMONS FOR CHILDREN," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 NELSON & PHILLIPS, 
 
 CINCINNATI: 
 HITCHCOCK & WALDEN. 
 
 1877.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 I. NOTICE OF MISTER HORN 7 
 
 II. WE GO HOME WITH MISTER HORN 18 
 
 III. SHOWS us SOMETHING MORE OF MISTER HORN 29 
 
 IV. INTRODUCES us TO JAMES NIGGARDLY 36 
 
 V. How OLD JOWL GOT A DINNER 51 
 
 VI. MORE TO BE DESIRED THAN GOLD 59 
 
 VII. OLD FRIKND CHAFFER WHERE HE LIVED... 79 
 
 VIII. OLD FRIEND CHAFFER WHAT HE DID 89 
 
 IX. INTRODUCES us TO ANOTHER FRIEND 106 
 
 X. How BILL SMITH MANAGED 121 
 
 XI. A HOMILY OF MISTER HORN'S 141 
 
 XII. A GAIN IN GRIEF , 169 
 
 MISTER HORN WITH A GROUP OF YOUNGSTERS a 
 
 ALL WAS BEAUTIFUL WITH THE LEAFINESS OF JUNE 63 
 
 OLD JOWL WITH HIS BIBLE 69 
 
 FRIEND CHAFFER AT THE FARM- YARD 94 
 
 BILL SMITH AT WORK 127 
 
 2137622
 
 MR. HORN AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NOTICE OF MISTER HORN. 
 
 ISTER HORN 
 the Mister 
 to be written 
 in full, as if 
 it were part 
 of the name, 
 just as much 
 as the Horn. 
 Every body 
 his wife as 
 well as other 
 folks used 
 to call him 
 Mister, just 
 as if it were 
 
 his christened name. He was, indeed, the 
 only Mister in the village ; as there was but 
 one squire and one parson and one doctor.
 
 8 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 How he came to be known by this honor- 
 able distinction was certainly not suggested 
 by his appearance a little, sharp, wiry man, 
 with a quick, kindly eye, a mouth well shut, 
 short legs, walking so fast that they seemed 
 always afraid of being left behind carelessly 
 dressed, yet every thing about him looking 
 like a part of the man himself, from his short- 
 bowed neckcloth, to the strong, unpolished 
 walking-stick. A sort of compressed man. 
 You felt that there might have been a good 
 deal more of him fairly enough, but nature 
 had dried him and packed him up small, that 
 he might not be in the way. And who can 
 deny that a man's usefulness is largely depend- 
 ent on his size? Your long men are mainly 
 ornamental, and accordingly find their place 
 in uniform, either in the army or out of it. 
 Your big, stout men are the " Newfoundlands " 
 of us human creatures, lumps of gentle goodness 
 who go wagging benevolently through life. It 
 is your terrier that does most good among 
 men as among dogs sharp-eyed, sharp-eared, 
 sharp-tongued, and if needful, sharp-toothed ; 
 quick to smell a rat. Mister Horn was pre- 
 cisely that. Never in the way, and good for a
 
 Mister Horn. 9 
 
 hundred things, if you took him right. If you 
 didn't, he was a terrier still; he bristled and 
 showed his teeth. 
 
 Mister Horn had begun life as a farm laborer 
 literally begun life, for as soon as he could 
 make noise enough he had been sent out to 
 scare the birds from the grain, and as soon as 
 he could reach up to the bridle he had led the 
 cart horses to water. His sixty years had been 
 full of progress ; he turning his hand to one 
 thing after another and prospering in all wood- 
 man, gardener, bricklayer, builder, he had at 
 length reached a good position as steward. 
 
 The Mister was probably a tribute of respect 
 paid to his prosperity; it was no deference 
 exacted by his manner or exclusiveness. As 
 plain in life as ever, free and friendly with the 
 poorest, the children trotted along by his side, 
 looking up for a smile and a nod ; the boys 
 stopped him for a moment to fling their peg- 
 top, or to have a turn at marbles; and jon a 
 summer's evening one might come upon a 
 group under a shady tree, and there, amid a 
 lot of delighted youngsters, would find Mister 
 Horn entertaining them with a story.* 
 
 * See Frontispiece.
 
 io MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 He was useful, too, as he was beloved. As 
 a Methodist, he had many opportunities of re- 
 ligious work ; and here, as in the visible world 
 of brick and mortar, he turned his hand to 
 most things, and what he did at all did well. 
 He was the " leader " of the Sunday morn- 
 ing class in that village " Society, ' and num- 
 bered well on to forty members ; too large, 
 some folks said, but nobody was willing to 
 leave it. Superintendent of the school that 
 met in the afternoon, local preacher in the 
 evening, and sick visitor all the week round, 
 Mister Horn had, as he said, far too much else 
 to do, to grumble. " That takes more time 
 than a'most any thing else that I know, for I 
 never knew a grumbler yet that ever had a 
 moment to do any good with." This remedy 
 for grumbling was worn to the patness of a 
 proverb, and was a formidable weapon with 
 which he usually came down upon any body 
 who was disposed to come fault-finding to 
 him. " Look here, dear friend, get you away 
 and do something for pity's sake do some- 
 thing. Do some good somewhere. Cart 
 wheels grumble and creak sometime for want 
 of grease, but very often it is for want of work,
 
 Mister Horn. 1 1 
 
 and you'll never give over creaking and grum- 
 bling till you do something. Heaven itself, 
 with Mister Horn, was a place of eternal 
 and incessant work. " And I count that that's 
 the brightest bit of heaven's joy," he would 
 say, " that there they serve Him day and night 
 in his holy temple day and night. I know 
 that there will be no grumblers there, because 
 they are all too busy. They have got so much 
 to do that it keeps them always singing." 
 
 Mister Horn had overtaken Bill Smith. Bill 
 Smith was a big, broad-shouldered blacksmith, 
 with a face red, radiant, and honest, such as 
 comes only of a good conscience, plain living, 
 and healthy toil. Moreover, Bill was Mister 
 Horn's favorite disciple and one of his best 
 friends, so they walked up the hill together 
 toward the village where they lived. The sun 
 was setting, throwing their long shadows over 
 the hedge and into the clover field beyond. 
 The clear air was full of singing, every bird 
 taking its part in the evening hymn. The 
 banks were rich with fern and flower, with 
 soft green mosses, and dark, creeping ivy. 
 This scene of happy contentment had sug- 
 gested the conversation. Mister Horn began
 
 12 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 it. He had stayed to hear the birds, and after 
 listening a minute or two had interpreted their 
 gratitude by this passage : 
 
 " Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest 
 the desire of every living thing." Then after 
 a moment's pause he had started his favorite 
 topic, " The good Lord loves to give, Bill." 
 
 "Aye," said Bill, " he does that, Mister 
 Horn, bless his holy name." 
 
 " And nobody has got much of his likeness 
 about them if they don't like to do the same," 
 continued Mister Horn, in his sharp, jerking, 
 decisive style. 
 
 " And yet 'tis strange what a hinderance 
 it was to me when I first set out," said Bill. 
 " I was always thinking o' what religion would 
 cost. I thought I must seek the Lord and 
 join 'long with his people, but the devil kept 
 tellin' me that it would cost so much. Why I 
 very soon found that religion saved me four 
 times as much as ever it cost." 
 
 " I do wish the grumblers would think of 
 it in that way, Bill," jerked out Mister Horn. 
 " Why, there's Sally Green, the silly creature ; 
 before her husband got converted she used 
 to reckon herself lucky if she got half Jack's
 
 Mister Horn. 13 
 
 wages, and only a slight thrashing besides ; and 
 now that he brings it all home, and is a decent 
 fellow and a good husband, she goes grum- 
 bling at what he gives to the Lord's cause." 
 
 " There's a heap of strange things in the 
 world," said Bill, half to himself, " but there 
 aint many more strange than that is." 
 
 Mister Horn stopped. With his left finger 
 and thumb he took Bill's sleeve, his right hand 
 holding up the plain ash stick that he carried. 
 It was evident that Mister Horn was going to 
 be impressive. This was always his prepara- 
 tion for something emphatic. 
 
 " Bill," there was a solemn pause, the 
 stick meanwhile suspended " If-folks-saw-this- 
 matter-in- the -right- light -the-Church-would- 
 have - enough - to-convert - the - world." Down 
 like lightning came the stick, and away went 
 the short legs at a tremendous pace. 
 
 This was Mister Horn's hobby. There was 
 nothing that he thought about, talked about, 
 prayed about, or preached about, so much as 
 this duty of giving. Many people, very many 
 people, said that he rode this hobby to death. 
 Well, Mister Horn was always mounted on it, 
 it is true, and ready to start. But on the other
 
 14 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 hand it must be admitted that these very many 
 people were peculiarly nervous, and its most 
 playful neighing, or the mere sounds of its 
 hoofs in the veriest jog-trot, filled them with 
 terror, and made them rush for shelter and de- 
 fense from the furious rider. It was literally 
 Mister Horn's soul that delivered itself in 
 these words. He stopped at the end of twenty 
 paces or so, while Bill leisurely came up with 
 him. 
 
 " It seems to me that half the folks would 
 do their duty right enough if they only saw 
 it," said Bill quietly. " You see they don't 
 think about it, Mister Horn." 
 
 " Don't think about it, Bill ! " cried Mister 
 Horn ; " of course they don't, and that makes 
 it so much the worse for them. Folks think 
 that if they can only explain a thing that it's 
 just the same as excusing it. Why, all the 
 mischief in the world comes from not thinking. 
 What have people got head-pieces on their 
 shoulders for, except to think about things? 
 Why, any body would think that folks had got 
 figure-heads, like ships have 'em, for nothing 
 but show, as to their thinking about giving. 
 But they can think about other things quick
 
 Mister Horn. 15 
 
 enough. They can think about getting, Bill, 
 and about keeping, and about every thing else 
 except about giving." 
 
 " That's true enough," said Bill. 
 
 " And then they ought to think about it, 
 Bill, they ought to. Surely it ought not to be 
 any thing so very wonderful that folks should 
 think of the loving Father who gives theiirau" 
 that they have got. He gives them the health 
 and strength and sense to get bread with, and 
 they think they do it all of their own selves. 
 They know better when they get on their 
 backs with a fever. Then they know. But 
 'tis a pity that we can't learn our ABC with- 
 out going into the corner for it, and getting a 
 smart tap or two with the rod. I often think 
 of what the Bible says about the disciples 
 they considered not the miracle of the loaves. 
 That's the miracle that folks generally over- 
 look to-day, and the wonder is, that the Lord 
 doesn't let us feel the pinch o' famine oftener, 
 that we may know where it comes from. God's 
 stream o' mercies has got to run shallow some- 
 times that we may hear it brawling, and begin 
 to think about where the fullness comes from. 
 Just let a man sit down and ask himself hou
 
 1 6 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 muck he has got that God could take away, and 
 he'll begin to look at things in a different way 
 then ; there's eyes, and ears, and health, reason, 
 character, home, family, work, wages. And 
 let a man think how the Lord keeps his hand 
 upon them, and could take them away in a 
 minute, and I think he'd be all in a hurry to 
 bring in the tithes to the Lord's house then. 
 There's Jim Niggardly, with his coal and tim- 
 ber stores twenty years agone that man got 
 his twelve shillings a week, and now he is get- 
 ting his five hundred pounds a year. He lives 
 better I mean he eats and drinks better, and 
 he dresses better he spends five shillings on 
 himself where he used to spend one. Well, 
 that's no harm, as I told him to his face, if he'd 
 give five shillings where he gave one. Not a 
 half-penny more can you get out of him for 
 the Lord's work. If he hasn't thought about 
 it, he has had my thoughts about it, plain 
 enough." 
 
 Bill nodded his head, as much as to say that 
 he had no doubt about that. Mister Horn had 
 a talent for giving men his thoughts, and it 
 was practiced to perfection. 
 
 Here they reached the cross-roads that ran
 
 Mister Horn. 17 
 
 to the two parts of the village of Tattingham, 
 and here the companions parted with a cheery 
 good-evening. Bill, with his bag on his shoul- 
 der, went whistling down the hill between the 
 leafy hedge, where we shall follow him by and 
 by. Mister Horn kept along the level high- 
 way that passed by his house, talking earnestly 
 to himself as he went. What he thought of, 
 and what it led to, we must leave to another 
 chapter.
 
 1 8 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WE GO HOME WITH MISTER HORN. 
 
 FEW yards 
 from a cross- 
 road was the 
 house of Mis- 
 ter Horn. If 
 Dante's Vis- 
 ion had pre- 
 sented to his 
 view men and 
 women trans- 
 formed into 
 houses (mar- 
 ried folks, of 
 course, into 
 one house) instead of into trees, this house 
 was exactly what Mister Horn and his better 
 half would have come to. 
 
 It faced the highway with clean windows, 
 notably clean, and spotless blinds always fault- 
 lessly even. The two yards of garden between
 
 We Go Home with Mister Horn. ig 
 
 the house and the highway was inclosed by iron 
 railings, black and sharp pointed. The little 
 iron gate in the middle was always fastened 
 and locked, except on very great occasions. 
 From the gate to the front door reached two 
 yards of whitened stones, never soiled. The 
 spirit of the whole front gathered itself up in 
 the face that peered from the shining brass 
 knocker ; a polished face, haughty and stern, 
 conscious that nobody trifled with it no tramp 
 ever lifted it for his single knock, no bungling 
 messenger rapped at it by mistake. The ever- 
 greens, too, in the strip of garden, were in 
 keeping with the rest ; they grew thick-leaved 
 and somber, as if they did their duty seriously 
 and knew it ; they were never guilty of any 
 spring freaks, and had no patience with the 
 gadding butterflies and the likes of them. 
 
 This is what Mistress Horn would have 
 turned to. 
 
 At the side of the house was a little wicket- 
 gate ; it fell back at the gentlest push, and was 
 never secured with more than a bit of string 
 that went round the post. A short passage 
 led to the homely side door that opened into 
 the kitchen, where a cheery fire smirked and
 
 2o MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 blinked a welcome to all comers the front- 
 room grate had ornamental shavings. A tall- 
 backed, comfortable old chair stood at one 
 side of the fire-place. On the mantel-piece 
 above, among the polished brass, were little 
 odds and ends of Mr. Horn's. The smell of 
 sweet herbs greeted one from the paper bags ; 
 the well-wrapt hams quickened one's appetite ; 
 and between the bars that stretched from two 
 oak beams peeped sundry sticks and spuds. All 
 here was cozy, homely, and snug. 
 
 This personified Mister Horn. And as the 
 two parts suited each other, so well did his bet- 
 ter half suit Mister Horn. Tall, handsome, 
 and somewhat stately in her ways, folks said 
 that she was proud ; but those who knew her 
 best felt that she was the very woman for the 
 free and easy, the careless and irregular, Mister 
 Horn. With her every thing was serious ; 
 duty was the whole ten commandments, the 
 law, and the prophets ; and duty meant hard 
 work, almost uneasy cleanliness, and keeping 
 one's self for the most part to one's self. Care- 
 ful and thrifty, to her common-sense and quick 
 discernment Mister Horn's industry was in- 
 debted for his success in life ; and if he some-
 
 We Go Home with Mister Horn. 2 1 
 
 times gave with a hint that she shouldn't know 
 of it, it was through her good management 
 that he had so much to give. Indeed, if the 
 truth were all told, he owed the very " Mister " 
 itself to her ways, and to the respectable look 
 that she always gave to things. 
 
 By eight o'clock in the evening supper and 
 prayers were over. In those parts civilization 
 had not reached that pitch of folly that eats 
 heartily at ten, and then with the digestion 
 at full work, goes to bed to rest. Now, seated 
 in his high-backed chair, was the time that 
 Mister Horn loved a chat. 
 
 The sun itself has spots, and Mister Horn 
 was not perfect. 
 
 Mister Horn was not perfect, we have said. 
 He smoked, and added to the fault as his better 
 half explained to visitors : " I shouldn't mind 
 so much if he'd take a clean white pipe, but 
 that short black thing is so very common look- 
 ing ! I tell him it's disgraceful." Yet here, too, 
 they suited each other. The front rooms were 
 shuttered and locked, while the cozy kitchen sat 
 up with the blinking fire and the purring cat. 
 In other words, the better half retired early 
 then Mister Horn smoked his pipe in peace.
 
 22 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 Now he would tell of himself How he was 
 a little fellow when the sad tidings reached 
 England that the heroic Dr. Coke had died on 
 his way to India, and had been buried at sea. 
 He heard of the young missionaries who had 
 gone with him, left to land among strangers in 
 that strange country far away, and the story 
 rilled the lad's heart with grief for them. Very 
 poor, he could do but little, but that little he 
 could and would do with all his might. Rising 
 before daybreak he went out to sweep the roads, 
 and thus to raise a few half-pence for the poor 
 missionaries. No contribution was ever more 
 hardly earned or more willingly given than the 
 " small sums " of this little subscriber. 
 
 In early life he was converted. 
 
 In his case conversion meant the breaking 
 in of a wonderful love upon his cold and lonely 
 life. It was a love that lifted him right out of 
 his hardships and poverty. It made the blue 
 heaven bend over him in tender care : it sent 
 the sun to shine for his joy, and the cooling 
 breeze for his refreshing. Away in the lonely 
 fields this love brought him a constant com- 
 munion and an abiding gladness ; and when 
 he came home to his poor lodgings this love
 
 We Go Home with Mister Horn. 23 
 
 was father, and mother, and brother, and all 
 to him. So with all the generosity of boyhood 
 he counted it his greatest delight, as much as 
 his sacred duty, to testify his gratitude for 
 such wondrous love in any way he could. 
 Thus early the truth had burned its way into 
 his innermost being : " The Son of God loved 
 me, and gave himself for me." From the first 
 he began to think about the claims of God's 
 work. His favorite maxim was this : " A man 
 ought to think as much about giving as about 
 getting." And thus early he put it into 
 practice. He has told us that in those days 
 flour was at war prices a phrase happily un- 
 known to this generation. He earned only 
 six shillings a week, and out of that he had to 
 pay for lodging as well as living. But what- 
 ever else went short, he felt that he must 
 acknowledge the goodness of the Lord who 
 gave him all that he had. He took the old 
 Methodist rule as the limit downward, not up- 
 ward : " Every member contributes one penny 
 weekly, (unless he is in extreme poverty,) and 
 one shilling quarterly." And he felt that his 
 giving was none the less acceptable because it 
 cost him much. He often referred to it in later
 
 24 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 times. " There's one thing that lots of good 
 people never will know in this world and 'tis 
 one o' them that we sha'n't know any thing 
 about in heaven itself the joy of really pinch- 
 ing yourself to give. I often think that that 
 is the blessed thing about being hard up when 
 you do give then you feel it." 
 
 It was with a merry laugh that he would 
 tell the young members how that, when he had 
 been at the class-meeting three or four times, 
 he said one evening, " Put me down, please, 
 for a penny a week. The leader looked at 
 me through his spectacles and opened his 
 mouth wide, and after a minute or two said, 
 ' What ! ' as if he were quite frightened." 
 
 " A penny a week, sir," I said, putting down 
 the money for each evening that I had been at 
 class. The leader was what you might call a 
 common sort of a man, for they are the com- 
 monest sort of people that I know he thought 
 that the less he could give the better, and if 
 he could do without giving at all it would be 
 better still. Just as if the Lord did not see 
 what was left behind ; and just as if he never 
 said, " Bring ye all the tithes into the store- 
 house." The man was in good work, and had
 
 We Go Home with Mister Horn. 25 
 
 no family, and yet a penny a week was all that 
 he gave. It looked so bad for a lad like I was 
 to give so much, and it quite shocked him. 
 
 " You can't afford it, Jim, you know you 
 can't," he said. " Put it down, sir," I replied, 
 "put it down. There it is, and there it will 
 be as long as ever I've got the love of Jesus in 
 my heart." 
 
 Soon after that came the time for the re- 
 newal of the quarterly tickets. The leader 
 headed the list with what Mister Horn used 
 to refer to as a " beggarly threepenny bit." 
 " Why, the fellow spent twice as much in the 
 week on tobacco," he would say indignantly, as 
 if interrupting himself " sixpence for smoke 
 and threepence for the work of God ! " 
 
 Well, the minister went through the names, 
 and they all sang to the low key that had been 
 pitched, till they came to my name. Then 
 what did the leader does but leans over and 
 whispers to the minister that I was young, and 
 could not give any thing, and that he had better 
 not ask me. The minister nodded his head, 
 and took up the hymn-book. 
 
 " Please, sir, I love God too," I said: "why 
 mayn't I give any thing?"
 
 26 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 The minister looked at me kindly and said, 
 " Brother Skimes tells me that you can't afford 
 any thing." 
 
 " The rule says a shilling at least, sir, except 
 in extreme poverty, and that isn't the state of 
 any of us, I am sure." 
 
 " ' A shilling ! ' cried the leader, and he 
 jumped off his seat as if some one had pricked 
 him. I think, perhaps, I had. 'A shilling! 
 you know you can't do it.' " 
 
 " There's the money, sir," said I, as I put the 
 shilling on the table. " I would afford it some- 
 how, sir, however it might pinch me." And I 
 looked at Brother Skimes so much as to say, 
 " though it should even put my pipe out." 
 
 " Aye, I used to pinch myself, too," con- 
 tinued Mister Horn. " More than once I've 
 gone on dry bread, and then done so much as 
 any of 'em. Now and then I used to buy a 
 lot of broken herrings for sixpence, and then I 
 had a bit of a relish. You know they say that 
 there's nothing like bitters to give you an ap- 
 petite, and it is when you give away what you 
 want that you enjoy what's left. You try it 
 take and give away half your dinner: and 
 then the other half! bless ye, the Lord Mayor
 
 We Go Home with Mister Horn. 27 
 
 of London might envy it. If any body wants 
 to taste a bit o' real joy, let 'em just go and 
 do that. I've often turned it over in my mind 
 that love is real true love when it has got a bit 
 of real, hard, pinchin' sacrifice about it, and 
 not till then. Kindness and pity will give 
 you, perhaps, what it thinks it can do without, 
 but love gives every thing. ' He spared not 
 his own Son' that is love. ' Hereby perceive 
 we the love of God, because he laid down his 
 life for us.' 
 
 " Kindness and pity will send the scraps and 
 bones out to the shivering beggar at the door. 
 But love brings him in and gives up its place 
 and its plate, and will stand behind waiting 
 and helping. Ah, that's how the blessed Lord 
 treated us when we came home from the far 
 country perishing with hunger. No old cast- 
 off clothes, but the best robes. No scraps, all 
 bones and crusts, but the fatted calf. No 
 pitiful words, but himself. His arms about 
 the neck, and his kiss upon the cheek, and all 
 his heart to welcome us. But we, when he 
 comes to ask any thing of us, we keep him 
 waiting at the door for an answer, and then we 
 send him out our miserable scrapings, just
 
 28 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 what we think we can spare without feeling it. 
 The wonder is that he doesn't come and take 
 it all by force, he who is the King and Lord 
 of all, and who has only put us in as his poor 
 stewards. Depend upon it, we don't know 
 much about love, if love don't pinch us a bit 
 now and then."
 
 More of Mister Horn. 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHOWS US SOMETHING MORE OF MISTER 
 HORN. 
 
 HUS Mister 
 Horn began. 
 Little won- 
 der the man 
 prospered. 
 He would at 
 times tell, in 
 his own pe- 
 culiar man- 
 ner, how he 
 managed to 
 get on : 
 
 tt 
 
 I said that 
 
 would give, somehow. Well, that brought me 
 into a trick o' keeping both eyes open to see how 
 I could pick up a shilling a week more wages, so 
 I kept bettering myself all along. Mind you, I 
 didn't do it for myself. I did it because I felt
 
 3O MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 I couldn't anyhow do enough for Him who 
 was so good to me. But I found the more I 
 gave away the more I had to give. It's the 
 same all through God's world. When the 
 poor prodigal lad lived to please himself he 
 soon came to grief; he had spent all, and began 
 to be in want. But when he'd come home, 
 and had given up thinking about himself, and 
 wanted to serve his father and to please him, 
 why, then he got the best robe and the fatted 
 calf, and began to be merry began to be 
 merry ; ay, that's a right kind of merrymaking 
 that needn't ever have an ending, when a man 
 lives to please his Father and to serve him. 
 Let a man count that he's the Lord 's hired 
 servant, and he'll get good wages enough and 
 to spare. But let a man count that he's his 
 own master, and that he'll do what he likes 
 with his own, and that man '11 have a discon- 
 tented servant and a bad master all in one. 
 I've spent money in a goodish many ways, 
 and I reckon that there's only one way that I 
 spent and never wished a farthing of it back 
 again that's what I've given to the Lord's 
 work." 
 
 Mister Horn's greatest achievement in the
 
 More of Mister Horn. 3 1 
 
 way of giving was when the new chapel was 
 built at Gippington, the circuit town. 
 
 He refused to make any promise. He would 
 do what he could, he said. Folks knew that 
 this was not a hypocritical way of doing noth- 
 ing, such as it is very often ; indeed they had 
 already settled among themselves what he 
 would do. 
 
 " He's good for five pounds," said Jim Nig- 
 gardly. 
 
 " He's good for ten," said others with larger 
 hearts, that measured him better. 
 
 But his old friend Chaffer shook his little 
 head at both, and said, with husky, broken 
 voice, " There's no knowin' what he's good 
 for, if he on'y get it in his mind he's a won- 
 der is Mister Horn." Old Friend Chaffer was 
 right. 
 
 Mister Horn turned it over, prayed about it, 
 and at length made up his mind as to what he 
 would do. 
 
 The passage on which he had been preaching 
 lately kept ringing in his head, like the music 
 of a sweet song, "The Son of God who loved 
 me, and gave himself for me." It was as he 
 walked home one Sunday evening with this
 
 32 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 text filling his heart and soul that it occurred 
 to him. The clear frosty air made the Novem- 
 ber sky to sparkle brilliantly with the stars, 
 forcing him to consider the heavens, as he 
 came along in his lonely walk. He thought of 
 their number of their vastness. He thought 
 how that, night after night, they had looked 
 down upon the changeful, wearied world, the 
 same as when Abraham had read in them the 
 expression and seal of the promise ; the same as 
 when David had watched them from the midst 
 of his flock and wondered at the Lord's mind- 
 fulness of man ; the same as when they hung 
 over Him who in the still evening passed up 
 to the mountain-top, and with them as his 
 only witnesses, spent the night in prayer. 
 Then adoringly he thought of the Hand that 
 made them. "He giveth the stars,'' 1 said Mister 
 Horn to himself. " Ah, how he loves to give 
 he might have doled one here and another 
 there. But that wouldn't be like Him." And 
 he stood and looked overhead-; then slowly 
 around him : " Millions of them ! millions," he 
 cried. "O, my God and Father, what a great 
 giving thine is ! Right royal ! Nay, never a 
 king gave so, 'tis only like thyself thou lovest
 
 More of Mister Horn. 33 
 
 to give, only giving such millions could satisfy 
 thee." 
 
 Then, with deepening emotion and intenser 
 adoration he thought how far away in the in- 
 finite space was the throne of that glorious Lord 
 who is the light of sun, and moon, and star. 
 \Yith a new meaning that thrilled him came 
 the text of the evening " HE loved me, and 
 gave HIMSELF for ME. Himself for me! " he 
 repeated aloud, " Himself for me ! " And 
 grateful love filled his soul, and overflowed in 
 tears of adoring joy. 
 
 This emotion was yet lingering within him as 
 he thought suddenly of the new chapel. What 
 should he " render to the Lord for all his ben- 
 efits?" He had saved some little money, 
 should he give that ? No, that would not do ; 
 he wanted to feel that he was somehow giving 
 himself. He loved me, and gave himself for 
 me this was the wonderful, love by which his 
 heart was prompted, and such a motive was 
 not easily satisfied. He had walked some dis- 
 tance in perplexity, and now was coming near 
 to his own house. At length it was evident 
 that Mister Horn had " got it into his mind," 
 as old Chaffer put it. The pause in the path
 
 34 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 by which he was crossing the field, the uplifted 
 ash stick, the moment's suspense, then the vig- 
 orous thrust and the rapid strides forward, an- 
 nounced some great decision. Mister Horn 
 would live on what he had saved, and for one 
 year would give all that he could get to the 
 Lord. " It'll be like giving myself," he cried, 
 " body, soul, and spirit." 
 
 The resolution thus formed was bravely car- 
 ried out. It was the hardest year of his hard- 
 working life. Neighbors heard him astir at 
 earliest dawn, his friends wondered what made 
 him so miserly of his time. He knew very 
 well that he could keep no secret from his 
 wife, so he told her straight out that night, 
 and then went to sleep before she had suffi- 
 cient time to object. But all the rest of the 
 village was kept wondering until the end of 
 the year. It was at a meeting for the new 
 chapel that the pent-up secret came out. A 
 subscription was placed in the minister's hand 
 with a paper worded thus : " One years work, 
 100. ' He loved me, and gave himself for 
 me.' J. H." 
 
 " That was the happiest year of my life," 
 Mister Horn said whenever he told of it.
 
 More of Mister Horn. 35 
 
 " You reckon Sunday a good day, because in 
 it you do no manner of work. But there's 
 something better than Sundays, and that's 
 where they rest not day or night from their 
 labors. And I never felt so much like being 
 one of them as I did then. I was sinking a 
 well a good part of the time, and very often I 
 used to think about it down in the still, damp 
 darkness, hearing nothing but the gloomy 
 echoes of my own tools, and now and then a 
 bit o' clay that went splashing into the water 
 sixty feet below, sounding like ' ashes to 
 ashes,' as I stood on the shaking plank. I 
 used to think that they up in their glory, and 
 me down in my well, were both doing the 
 same thing, for all that we were such a long 
 way off; we were both working for the same 
 Lord, and we both wanted to do as much as 
 ever we could. That was a happy year."
 
 36 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 INTRODUCES US TO JAMES NIGGARDLY. 
 
 ISTER HORN 
 had one sore 
 trouble. He 
 thought of it, 
 talked of it, 
 prayed about 
 it, and with 
 all his heart 
 
 I 
 i 
 
 set himself to 
 remedy it, if 
 possible : It 
 was concern- 
 ing the JIM 
 NIGGARDLY 
 before and so sadly mentioned. 
 
 " James Niggardly, Esquire, Stukeville," was 
 the address on his letters, but with Mister Horn 
 he was never any thing else than plain Jim. 
 He was by no means what his name led one to 
 expect in appearance nothing of the tradi-
 
 Introduces us to James Niggardly. 37 
 
 tional Mr. Gripeman or Mr. Money-love ; his 
 were not the pinched features, the half-starved, 
 withered frame, the threadbare coat. Some- 
 what about the middle height, stout, and rather 
 good-looking, the head thrown back and the 
 hair brushed up to make the most of himself, 
 a gold chain spanning the rounded expanse of 
 waistcoat, the thumbs thrust into the arm-holes 
 such was James Niggardly's portrait. A 
 large man with a gold chain was the impression 
 he generally made at first. The impression was 
 confirmed when he began to speak. There was 
 a trick of hesitancy and repetition at the com- 
 mencement of his sentences, and as each sen- 
 tence began with " I," it came out thus: 
 
 " I, em, I I I eh " 
 
 So that one came to think of him as if these 
 five or six " Fs" had been rolled into one big 
 man with a gold chain. His signature was " I. 
 Niggardly." There it was in imposing letters 
 on the office door. It stood prominent on the 
 coal-carts, and the railway trucks carried it to 
 and fro in important letters. In fact, the " I " 
 ran through every thing, from the big man 
 himself down to the brass seal that lay on the 
 office desk.
 
 38 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 He had commenced life in a very humble 
 way, so humble, indeed, that the " I " had not 
 appeared, and he was only plain Jim, who went 
 selling small quantities of coal from house to 
 house. But the railway came, and then he 
 opened a coal store, to which he kept grafting 
 other branches that all bore some crop of 
 golden fruit, until it was no secret that he was 
 worth five or six hundred a year. 
 
 Worth, I have said ; well, yes. And yet 
 what did it mean ? Of all the truths that men 
 accidentally utter in the phrases of every day, 
 and of all the untruths, there is none more 
 suggestive than this What is a man worth ? 
 James Niggardly was worth five or six hundred 
 pounds a year ! Well, there was a time when 
 he was worth a good deal more than that 
 when he was worth more than all the cyphers 
 that you could tack on to it. It was when he 
 was a happy man on thirty shillings a week, 
 and worked hard with his own hands to get it 
 then James Niggardly was worth more ; 
 body, soul, and spirit. It was when, after the 
 hard day's work, the old horse was made com- 
 fortable in the stable, and the somewhat rick- 
 etty cart was set up under the shed, and Jim
 
 Introduces us to James Niggardly. 39 
 
 had gone through a process of splashing and 
 blowing, and then, all radiant and happy, came 
 to fill the kettle, and to look after the dear old 
 mother, who could do little else than sit croon- 
 ing by the fire all day long. It was when he 
 sat down to tell all that he could think of that 
 would interest her, sitting there carefully toast- 
 ing a bit of bread as a relish for the old lady's 
 tea, afterward removing the crust for his own 
 more active jaws, while the old lady's face glad- 
 dened into a pleasant pride at the kindly ways 
 of her Jim. It was when he gathered with the 
 little company at the prayer-meeting, and 
 Heaven honored him, and men felt that he had 
 power with God and prevailed ; it was when 
 he sat in the midst of the Sunday-school class 
 and told them of the loving Saviour until their 
 hearts were moved, and they went home 
 strangely thoughtful and impressed ; it was 
 when godly old men and women brightened 
 as Jim dropped in for a bit of prayer, and they 
 pressed him with their bony hands and blessed 
 him with their dying lips then he was worth 
 more, tenfold more, a hundredfold more, worth 
 more to God, worth more to himself. What 
 is a man ivortli ? Worth miserably little if he
 
 40 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 is only worth what he has in his pocket, or 
 what he sets down in his income-tax paper. 
 You are right to count a man's worth by his 
 gold, and robes, and luxuries but let it be by 
 the gold of pure love, by the white robes of 
 truth and meekness, by the delicious luxury of 
 a blameless conscience, of doing good, of bless- 
 ing others ; so only should you count what a 
 God-made man is worth. 
 
 But thus estimated, James Niggardly, with 
 his five hundred a year, was a pauper. The 
 very appearance of the man betrayed his bank- 
 ruptcy. The old look of quiet contentment 
 was gone, and in its place was an anxious and 
 somewhat crafty expression ; the kindly ways 
 had changed into an irritable, almost angry, 
 tone and manner. His wife could tell that 
 the humble Jim who courted her some twenty 
 years before, and this James Niggardly, Esquire, 
 were two different men. Sometimes people 
 thought that she sighed for the dear old Jim 
 who used to be he whose face was often black 
 with coal-dust, and whose cheery voice had 
 gladdened her into many a blush as it sounded 
 through the little village street with its cry of 
 " Coal, ho ! coal, coal, coal, ho ! "
 
 Introduces us to James Niggardly. 41 
 
 If you wanted him now you would never 
 think of looking for him at the prayer-meet- 
 ing. True, his name was on the class book as 
 a member of the Society under Mister Horn's 
 care, but only now and then a solitary P broke 
 the long line of A's. Mr. Horn read his name 
 every week, but usually the searching look 
 round the room was followed by a sigh. " ' A' 
 again," he said, as he turned to his book, and 
 the pencil made three heavy strokes. For 
 Mister Horn always put a capital A it was 
 associated in his mind in some roundabout 
 way with a capital offense, and this was a sort 
 of capital punishment. 
 
 Sunday still found James Niggardly usually 
 in his place at Tattingham Chapel. There he 
 sat in the one crimson-curtained pew just in- 
 side the door, with his wife and three daugh- 
 ters. Even on " collection Sundays" they were 
 all there, each with a threepenny bit what a 
 pity there are no silver pennies ! James Nig- 
 gardly, Esquire, himself, gave sixpence. Once 
 Mister Horn hoped that the sermon had done 
 him good, for he actually gave a shilling, but at 
 night he made up for it by politely bowing to 
 the plate, so that it came to just the same thing.
 
 42 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 Now this James Niggardly, Esquire, of 
 Stukeville, was the greatest hinderance that 
 "the cause" at Tattingham ever had. The 
 old parish squire had been a hinderance when 
 for years he refused the ground for the chapel, 
 but the little Society had prayed about it until 
 they got the land all for nothing. The old 
 parson had been a hinderance when he laid it 
 down that the allotments were to grow only 
 Church potatoes, and that " they who could 
 do without him on Sundays might do without 
 him on Mondays, too." He did not even say 
 to them, " Be ye warmed and filled " much 
 less suffer their Nonconforming bodies to be 
 comforted by parish blankets and coals, and 
 sundry charities of which he was trustee. In 
 spite of that the little Society kept up its own 
 fire and flourished. But this James Niggardly 
 in the midst was a real hinderance. The others, 
 after all, were outside, but this man seemed to 
 leave the door open for all the bleak winds of 
 heaven, so that every body was chilled and 
 miserable. If any thing were to be done they 
 all waited for James Niggardly to start it ; and 
 there were so many buts and ifs, so many fault 
 findings and grumblings, so many wretched '
 
 Introduces us to James Niggardly. 43 
 
 objections, and when he did give it was " pitched 
 in so low a key," as Mister Horn said, that it 
 hindered a great deal more than it helped. 
 The fact was, that if it had not been for his 
 amiable wife and useful daughters, the sooner 
 he had taken himself clean away, the better 
 would it have been for the " cause " and all 
 belonging to it. 
 
 Mister Horn, as he told Bill Smith, had 
 often given James Niggardly a bit of his mind. 
 He had known Jim from a boy, had given him 
 his first start in life, had directed and advised 
 him in all the steps of his growing prosperity, 
 and now he grieved deeply as he saw this root 
 of all evil thus growing and flourishing in his 
 soul. Mister Horn was not the man to shirk 
 the duty, and when he did speak, the words 
 were not so rounded and polished as to " glide 
 off like water from a duck's back," as he said. 
 When he spoke it was pointed and well aimed, 
 and it stuck just where he meant it to stick. 
 " Music is all very nice and pretty," he once 
 said to an elegant young preacher, " but you 
 know it is the powder and shot that does the 
 work." 
 
 The quarter was drawing to a close, and
 
 44 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 James Niggardly, Esquire, was somewhat in 
 arrears with his class-money. It was no great 
 amount, although it was thirteen weeks. The 
 noble sum of a penny a week and a shilling a 
 quarter was all that he owed. Mister Horn, 
 with half as much to live upon, gave a pound for 
 the ticket column, and thirteen shillings filled 
 up the other page. But Mister Horn, folks said, 
 was a " wonder ; " and, remarkably enough in 
 this ambitious world, nobody else coveted a 
 similar distinction. 
 
 It was about supper-time that Mister Horn 
 called at Stukeville for the class money. Every 
 thing was very nice ; extravagant, he thought, 
 in his simplicity. He would not join them ; 
 he would sit by the fire-place until they had 
 finished. 
 
 " I don't see, Mister Horn, why I shouldn't 
 enjoy myself," said Jim Niggardly, guessing 
 the visitor's thought, and feeling that the little 
 gray eyes were upon him. " I've worked hard 
 for my money," and he helped himself to a 
 dainty slice. 
 
 "Umph!" grunted Mister Horn in reply, 
 and he thought of the penny a week and the 
 shilling a quarter.
 
 Introduces us to James Niggardly. 45 
 
 The supper finished, they sat opposite each 
 other in front of the fire. They were alone, 
 and now Mister Horn brought his chair nearer 
 his friend : he liked to get at a man, as he 
 called it. He went right to the point at once. 
 
 " Look here, Jim, how can you satisfy your- 
 self with giving what you do to the work of 
 God? Two shillings and a penny is all that 
 you give in a quarter, besides a sixpence that 
 they screw out of you at a collection now and 
 then." 
 
 " Ah, times are hard, Mister Horn, times are 
 hard, you know," said Jim, wiping his mouth 
 after he had finished his glass of Sherry. 
 
 Mister Horn's sharp eye followed the hand 
 as it put down the glass. After a minute's 
 silence he rose to go, and held out his hand. 
 " Well, good-night, Jim good-night. My Mas- 
 ter wants an answer, for I have come in his 
 name, you know, and I am sure my blessed 
 Master would never ask for any thing from a 
 man who could not afford it, much less would 
 he beg for it. So I'll go home and tell him 
 that times are hard with Jim Niggardly, and 
 that he has got nothing to give. Good-night, 
 Jim."
 
 46 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 " O, don't be in a hurry, Mister Horn, I didn't 
 mean that exactly. You always take one up so 
 sharp," and Jim was somewhat frightened at 
 returning such an answer. 
 
 " I mean it right enough, Jim. There are 
 times when a man can't give what he would 
 like to, and he does right to speak out and say 
 so, whatever folks may say or think. They 
 have got no business to pry into any man's 
 private matters. Jesus gave gifts among men, 
 some apostles, and some prophets, and some 
 evangelists, but he didn't give any beggars, and 
 I don't believe he wants any, either. I like 
 my ' Yes,' or ' No,' when I come in the Mas- 
 ter's name, and then I go straight back and 
 tell him what answer I get. I can leave him 
 to deal with it then ; and he can deal with it, 
 Jim. When he sees any heart set upon giving, 
 why he'll send an angel from heaven, if it's 
 only with a mite from a poor widow. And if 
 he sees it kept back and hoarded up, he can 
 deal with it." 
 
 And Mister Horn took up the Bible that 
 was lying within reach, and opened it at the 
 Book of Haggai " He can deal with it ; listen 
 to this : ' Thus said the Lord of hosts ;
 
 Introduces us to James Niggardly. 47 
 
 Consider your ways. Ye have sown much 
 and bring in little; ye eat, but ye have not 
 enough ; ye drink, but ye are not filled with 
 drink ; ye clothe you, and there is none warm ; 
 and he that earneth wages, earneth wages to 
 put it into a bag with holes. . . . Ye looked for 
 much, and, lo, it came to little; and when ye 
 brought it home, I did blow upon it. Why? 
 saith the Lord of hosts. Because of mine 
 house that is waste, and ye run every man 
 unto his own house.' They said the times were 
 hard whenever it was for the Lord's house, 
 Jim." 
 
 " Really, Mister Horn," said Jim, taking out 
 the two shillings and a penny, " you always do 
 put things in such a dreadful way." 
 
 Then Mister Horn changed his tone. " Jim," 
 he cried in a bantering way, " there's one thing 
 that would do you a world of good. Shall I 
 tell you what it is?" 
 
 Pausing a moment, Mister Horn went on : 
 " It's just this, to have your butcher's bill for 
 thirteen weeks only come to two shillings and 
 a penny." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked James Nig- 
 gardly, Esquire, looking up with surprise.
 
 48 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS 
 
 " Mean what I say," Mister Horn continued. 
 " No, not the butcher's bill only, but the ba- 
 ker's bill too, and the brewer's bill, aye, and the 
 tailor's, the lot of 'em coming to two shillings 
 and a penny ! O this poor body of thine how 
 it would fare ! " laughed Mister Horn, as he 
 thrust his thumb where Jim's ribs should have 
 been. " This proud flesh of thine would come 
 down, eh friend ? This broadcloth would look 
 bare, eh ? The brewer's supply wouldn't need 
 a dray to bring it, and the baker's bill wouldn't 
 be worth calling for twice. Two shillings and 
 a penny a quarter for Jim Niggardly 's body! 
 O, no, no, no," Mister Horn laughed, " two 
 shillings and a penny, that's only for his soul, 
 his soul ! " Then Mister Horn spake gravely. 
 " Two and a penny, Jim, for the bread of life 
 and the wine of the kingdom, for the white 
 robe and the hope of glory, two shillings and a 
 penny for all ! " 
 
 " O, but, really," said Jim, annoyed, "it's 
 absurd to put the two shillings together like 
 that ; we don't buy heaven in that style, as if 
 it were sold by the pound or the yard." 
 
 " Is it, Jim, is it so very absurd ? " and Mister 
 Horn spoke yet more gravely, " What your body
 
 Introduces us to James Niggardly. 49 
 
 would be on two and a penny a quarter, your 
 soul is more like than I care to see it, Jim." 
 Mister Horn laid his hand kindly on Jim's 
 shoulder, " You've starved it, you know as 
 well as I do ; starved it till it can hardly get 
 about ; starved it till it can't crawl either to 
 prayer-meeting or class-meeting. I knew the 
 time, and you, too, when it had decent clothes 
 as ever a soul wore. Kindness, love to God 
 and man ; but now it's all rags and tatters, 
 and not so clean as it used to be, eh, Jim ? Not 
 so absurd after all. You're starving it for this 
 prosperity of yours, you know it as well as I 
 do. And look ye, Jim Niggardly, ye'll get 
 the worst of the bargain if you gain the whole 
 world and give in exchange for it even this 
 poor, starved, ragged soul of yours." 
 
 Jim was silent. He felt truly enough that 
 it was not so absurd after all. 
 
 Mister Horn rose to leave. " Good-night, 
 Jim," he said, holding out his hand : " I came 
 to tell you what I thought as plainly as I 
 could, and I have done it. If you don't see it 
 now, you'll see it all some day, and God grant 
 that it may not be too late in the day to 
 mend."
 
 50 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 Then Mister Horn went home to bed, and 
 slept like a man who had done his duty not 
 unkindly. Jim Niggardly went to bed, too, 
 but somehow did not rest comfortably ; his 
 mind was not at ease.
 
 How Old Jowl got a Dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW OLD JOWL GOT A DINNER. 
 
 |ET Jim Nig- 
 gardly was in 
 some matters 
 a liberal man. 
 He would, for 
 ^instance, have 
 earnestly cov- 
 eted the hon- 
 jor and bless- 
 ing of being 
 an entertain- 
 er of angels, 
 so given was 
 he to the vir- 
 tue of a free hospitality. The larger custom- 
 ers left his office door wiping their lips approv- 
 ingly ; and at his table a hearty welcome and 
 more than enough waited for every guest. Nor 
 did he suffer his visitors to overlook the pro- 
 vision made. The wine was urged with the
 
 52 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 recommendation : "I wont say it's good, but if 
 it isn't, good can't be got for money ; " and the 
 price of luxuries were carefully whispered by 
 him as " between ourselves." 
 
 Some said Mister Horn was too strict, some 
 called him pig-headed, and that he believed no 
 one was right but himself. At any rate it was 
 true that, somehow or other, he wouldn't see 
 much virtue in this, nor suffer it to be urged 
 in James Niggardly's defense. 
 
 "Hospitable is he good-hearted?" Mister 
 Horn would say, waxing hot and indignant. 
 " That's just what I can't stand about him. If 
 James Niggardly ground himself down to a 
 flint stone, if he grudged every penny that he 
 spends, I could understand the man. If he 
 were a scraping, hoarding miser, lean and 
 shriveled, whose hooked fingers would like to 
 clutch and save the air that other folks breathe, 
 and the sunlight they see by, I could make 
 him out then. The worst of all is, that he can 
 be good-hearted to himself or to any body else, 
 except to the loving Father who gave him all 
 that he has got. He can be hospitable to 
 most, but he will keep the door shut against the 
 would-be Guest who has stood and knocked,
 
 How Old Jowl got a Dinner. 53 
 
 in vain entreating, " Open unto me ! " As 
 he went on, the tone grew more tender until 
 the voice trembled with emotion. 
 
 " Yes, Jim Niggardly can be generous to any 
 body except to the blessed Lord, who was rich 
 and for our sakes became poor. To think that 
 he should grudge any thing to him ! " Again 
 Mister Horn spoke angrily: "The man doesn't 
 care for any expense but what goes to God's 
 work. His house, his back, his belly, must 
 have themselves waited on and paid for ; but 
 God's work must stand out in the cold waiting 
 hat in hand for the scraps that are left. He 
 will spend his money upon his horse and his 
 dog without grudging ; but he can't give away 
 a twentieth part of what they cost him with- 
 out grumbling and growling about it for a 
 whole week. The man must give a dinner to 
 his friends sometimes, or he must be off for a 
 month at the sea-side, and he pays the bills as 
 if it were no very great trouble. But ask him 
 for five shillings for old Jowl ! Try and get a 
 guinea out of him for the Sunday-school ! 
 Remind him that a shilling is all he gives for 
 his class ticket! Why, you'll have a list of 
 dreadful things that would make you fancy
 
 54 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 the man hadn't a ha'penny to bless himself 
 with. No, I would rather see Jim Niggardly 
 a miser out-and-out to himself and to every 
 body else than see him as he is, a miser to 
 nobody but to the blessed Lord who gave him 
 the very breath that's in his nostrils. No, 
 don't talk to me about his hospitality." 
 
 And it must be confessed that most people 
 readily obliged Mister Horn in this request. 
 
 With these notions so strongly held, it was 
 not much wonder that Mister Horn did not 
 care to avail himself of Jim's pressing invita- 
 tion. Often repeated, and very heartily made, 
 they were somewhat bluntly declined. 
 
 On one occasion, however, Mister Horn ac- 
 cepted an invitation with a readiness and free- 
 dom that were surprising. 
 
 He had dropped into the office on business, 
 and as he was leaving, Jim pressed him to re- 
 main. " You never come to take dinner with 
 us; you know there is always a knife and fork 
 and the best I can afford nobody living is 
 more welcome than you are." 
 
 It was evident that Mister Horn had just 
 got something " in his mind." Turning sud- 
 denly round in the door-way, and coming back
 
 How Old Jowl got a Dinner. 55 
 
 again, he struck his stick sharply on the office 
 floor. 
 
 " Thank ye, Jim, thank ye," said he, as the 
 little gray eyes twinkled merrily. "You're 
 very kind. It's just the very thing I'm want- 
 ing, is a good dinner. I'll take it with me, 
 thank you." 
 
 Jim knew there was something else coming, 
 and looked inquiringly. 
 
 " I'll take it with me, Jim," continued Mr. 
 Horn, as he began figuring upon a piece of 
 paper ; and then went on interrupting himself 
 as he added his figures " ninepence and six- 
 pence you're very kind, Jim and eightpence 
 very kind and ninepence more very kind 
 and fourpence," he paused as he drew a 
 line at the bottom of the paper. " There, 
 Jim, I'm not much of a ready reckoner, but 
 that's about it, as you do things handsome 
 three shillings ah, but I'd forgotten the ci- 
 gars, say two, that's sixpence more say three 
 shillings and sixpence. Thank ye ; I'll take it 
 with me as I'm rather in a hurry." 
 
 James Niggardly began to suspect what was 
 coming, but only looked what he thought. 
 
 Mister Horn laughed with a child-like
 
 56 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 and honest merriment, and then renewed his 
 appeal. 
 
 " I'm just going to see poor old Jowl ; he's 
 as poor as a church mouse, and I should very 
 much like to take him a dinner, so if you'll 
 give it to me I'll be off, Jim," and the sen- 
 tence ended in a laugh like that with which it 
 began. 
 
 " Three and sixpence ! " said Jim, " really, 
 Mister Horn, you're always begging I'm only 
 a poor man give, give, give it's nothing but 
 give," and he spoke like one who is bitterly 
 wronged. 
 
 " O, I'm very sorry, very sorry, I'm sure ; " 
 and Mister Horn spoke with an air of apology. 
 " You ask me to take dinner, I accept your 
 offer and want to take it, and now you draw 
 back like this. Why, Jim, I certainly thought 
 you meant it." 
 
 James Niggardly felt that Mister Horn had' 
 him, and that it was useless to wriggle. As 
 if it had been his very life-blood, he counted 
 three shillings and sixpence into Mister Horn's^ 
 hand. 
 
 " Thank ye, Jim, thank ye," Mister Horn 
 chuckled ; " I've enjoyed the dinner very much.
 
 How Old Joivl got a Dinner. 57 
 
 It's such a comfort to an old man like me to 
 dine without indigestion, and all that." His 
 voice returned to its more serious tone as he 
 moved toward the door. "Good-day, Jim, 
 there's not many things that are better worth 
 the money than old Jowl's blessing good-day, 
 thank ye." 
 
 " Well," Mister Horn muttered to himself 
 as he went up the road, " I'm glad that I've 
 got poor old Jowl his dinner ; but I can't under- 
 stand it. Jim would rather have had me, or 
 any body else who doesn't need a dinner, to 
 dine with him all the week round, than have 
 spent three shillings and sixpence in this way. 
 He'd give you five shillings in meat and drink 
 sooner than give old Jowl one in hard cash. 
 If Jim could only get hold of a prince now, 
 he'd ruin himself to get him luxuries that he 
 would. Poor Jim ! God help thee, or some 
 day thou wilt hear it spoken : I was ahun- 
 gered, and ye gave me no meat ; I was thirsty, 
 and ye gave me no drink ; I was a stranger, 
 and ye took me not in ; naked, and ye clothed 
 me not ; sick and in prison, and ye visited me 
 not. Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the 
 least of these, ye did it not to me. God help
 
 $8 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 thee, Jim I'll not give thee up yet, for I think 
 there is somewhat to hope for." 
 
 35- * * % * 
 
 " Really," grumbled James Niggardly, Esq., 
 as he passed into his comfortable dining-room, 
 " this incessant giving is unbearable ; people 
 beg without any conscience." And he was 
 obliged to console himself with a glass of his 
 golden sherry.
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 
 
 59 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MORE TO BE DESIRED THAN GOLD. 
 
 HE deceitful- 
 ness of riches 
 is a form of 
 speech often 
 heard. Yet, 
 frequently as 
 it is used, few 
 act as though 
 they realized 
 its truth. It 
 is very possi- 
 ble that even 
 . we do not ap- 
 prehend fully 
 its import. 
 
 Money is very useful, indeed, almost essen- 
 tial, to doing good. And then poverty is 
 really uncomfortable, and it is so uninfluential, 
 so powerless for any beneficence. It is gener- 
 ally ignorant, too, and often drunken and dis-
 
 60 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 honest. Why, look at all our town missions 
 and home missions, our Bible women and 
 tract distributers they are all for the con- 
 version of the poor, and force us to think of 
 that Scripture, " The poor have the Gospel 
 preached unto them," as if it meant that no- 
 body else needed it. Look, too, at our com- 
 mon phrases that unconsciously betray the 
 deepest and most general convictions. The 
 man who is getting rich is doing ivell, as if all 
 morality lay in money- making. He who loses 
 money is doing badly, and the world reckons it 
 the very worst badness of which men can be 
 guilty. 
 
 The religious phrases in use baptize the same 
 notions with a Christian name : " Providence 
 smiles upon him " they are always golden 
 smiles the man's getting rich. But of him 
 who loses money the Church shrugs its shoul- 
 ders and shakes its head, and says, half-pity- 
 ingly and half-upbraidingly, " He has gone 
 out of his providential zuay." We test Provi- 
 dence by gold, and measure the Divine favor 
 by the amount of the income. When, my 
 reader, shall we learn the lesson of that Life of 
 lives? The Son of the Highest was called
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 61 
 
 the son of a carpenter. He in whom the 
 Father was well pleased was faint with very 
 hunger. The Well-beloved had not where to 
 lay his head ! 
 
 She is a lying jade, this deceitful riches. 
 For years she had whispered to James Nig- 
 gardly. "You see," she whispered smoothly, 
 " when you have got so much more, how use- 
 ful you could be, how very useful. Of course, 
 at present, you can't do much ; but then you 
 will be able to give without stint, and in so 
 many ways to do good." The fair enchantress 
 conjured up a picture in which James Nig- 
 gardly saw himself amid his abundance blessed 
 and beloved of all the villagers, busied only 
 with schemes of usefulness, and spending his 
 untroubled leisure in doing good. He saw 
 half the devils of Tattingham cast out by his 
 gold potent gold, yellow, flashing gold, the 
 true magician, the mighty exorcist, whose fet- 
 ters should bind the prince of darkness, and 
 whose influence should bring the " golden age," 
 what could not its wizardry accomplish ? 
 
 The wonder is that James Niggardly did 
 not see the lie, ay, and feel it, too ! The 
 balance at the banker's increased each year;
 
 62 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 each year trade grew, and the returns swelled 
 to higher figures : yet he was not a tittle the 
 happier, he could not give a penny more, and 
 grudged as much as ever the little he did give. 
 Happier ! not he ; he was harder to please, he 
 grumbled more constantly, he swaggered a 
 great deal more, his indigestion became more 
 troublesome, while now and then there was an 
 ominous twitching in the great toe and this 
 was all that riches did for him. The deceitful 
 thing ! 
 
 A nd she was as cruel as she was false. James 
 Niggardly was within easy reach of the truest, 
 purest happiness that ever soul delighted in. 
 If, as he sat in the easy-chair, looking out from 
 the dining-room into the pleasant garden, he 
 could have changed places with Mister Horn 
 for an hour, he would have known what true 
 happiness is. 
 
 The road from Stukeville to the village passed 
 up the hill, between tall hedges, and here and 
 there between old twisted oaks and stately 
 elms. All was beautiful with the leafiness of 
 June ; the air was sweet with honeysuckle, and 
 wild rose, and the white flowers of the elder ; 
 hazel branches covered the hedge-top, and
 
 All was beautiful with the leafiness of Jund.
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 65 
 
 from beneath them rose the leafy fern, the 
 plume of the budding foxglove, and all the 
 luxurious tangle of deep grass and trailing 
 leaves, starred by the white, or pink, or yellow 
 of clustering wild flowers. The hum of in- 
 sects and the twittering of hedge birds filled 
 the lazy noontide, while now and then a flood 
 of melody was poured from the soaring lark. 
 On one side of the road leaped and sang the 
 ceaseless little stream that, bubbling up to 
 light in a delicious spring, round which the 
 mosses hung, formed a tiny crystal pool where 
 the birds stooped to drink, and then went 
 laughing all along its way to the river in the 
 valley below, as if its one good deed sent it 
 rejoicing to the end of its course. 
 
 Slowly nature stole Mister Horn's thoughts. 
 He stayed to scent the sweetness, admiring 
 the beauty lavished round him, until he caught 
 the spirit of gratitude that inspired all things, 
 and he lifted up his heart to bless the good Fa- 
 ther: ' O Lord, how manifold are thy works; 
 the earth is full of thy riches!" he muttered. 
 "Full of thy riches; yes, God doesn't keep 
 his riches to himself. The earth is full of 
 them. Every little nook is crowded, even this
 
 66 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 common hedge-row and dusty highway. God's 
 riches that he gives are more than all our riches 
 can buy." 
 
 Slowly reaching the hill-top, the landscape 
 opened more fully before him. The intense 
 blue sky, the fields and woodland dappled with 
 light and shade chasing each other in leisurely 
 sport, while far away the great banks of clouds 
 God's snowy mountains rose before him. 
 "Full of thy riches," he cried as he paused, 
 " and all these riches mine ! " 
 
 A princess welcomed to her adopted home 
 with jubilant music and costliest splendor, 
 with censers breathing delicate perfumes and 
 the rapturous greetings of a mighty host, 
 would have been of all things most unlike the 
 plain, quaint, busy Mister Horn. And yet it 
 was with such a joy, so full and deep, that he 
 lived each day ; and with such a delight in all 
 about him. Nature teemed with ministering 
 spirits that seemed sent forth to minister to 
 him. And well might it be so. Did he not 
 walk in the smile of God the smile that 
 makes life's lowliest by-path a triumphant way? 
 And did not leafy arches span it as he passed 
 along, and flowers breathe delicious fragrance?
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 67 
 
 God's own sun illuminated his steps, and the 
 ever sweet and gentle music of the birds at- 
 tended him. "Full of his riches, full" he 
 cried, " there is no room for any thing more." 
 Ah, James Niggardly, how much wouldst thou 
 have paid down in hard cash to have had for 
 one hour this contentment, this gratitude, this 
 delight ? 
 
 Near to the hill-top was one of the many 
 clusters of cottages that made up the scattered 
 village of Tattingham. For the most part they 
 stood in groups of three or four, facing the 
 highway, with their gardens flourishing around 
 them. But passing these, Mr. Horn crossed 
 over a stile ; and then a few steps along the 
 little path between the green wheat brought 
 him to a dilapidated hovel. It looked as if, 
 ashamed of being seen on the highway, it had 
 slunk back thus far out of sight, and had all 
 but thrown itself down in the effort. The dis- 
 ordered thatch, the uneven walls, the one win- 
 dow with its patched and ragged panes ; the 
 strip that had been a garden now a mound of 
 ashes and a wilderness of weeds it was only 
 by the grossest flattery that these could be 
 known as " Old Jowl's Cottage"
 
 68 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 It was not a knock that announced Mister 
 Horn's arrival so much as a rattle, as if the 
 loosely hanging door resented the tap and 
 shook itself crustily. A feeble voice answered, 
 " Come in." Putting his finger through the 
 round hole and lifting the clumsy latch, Mr. 
 Horn stooped under the door-way and passed 
 within. 
 
 Fortunately the door was left open, for the 
 air was needed, and the sunlight that slanted 
 across the dusty room was the only pleasant 
 thing in it. The place was just as comfortless 
 as the outside promised perhaps a trifle din- 
 gier. The old man himself was undoubtedly 
 as poor as the proverbial " church mouse " to 
 which Mr. Horn had likened him. Yet, some- 
 how, the first look made one take a fancy to 
 " old Jowl." There was a fresh color upon 
 his wrinkled cheeks, and a smile that lit up the 
 blue eyes and curled about the corners of the 
 mouth ; and when he spoke there was such a 
 cheery contentment in his tone that one could 
 not help liking him. The sunshine reached 
 just far enough to fall on the old, large-type 
 Bible that rested upon his knees, and from its 
 open page the light was reflected upon his
 
 
 The sunshine reached just Tar enough to fall on 
 (he old,, large-type Bible that rested upon his knees, 
 and from its open page the light was reflected upon 
 his face.
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 71 
 
 face. One felt as if the reflected light were 
 always there, and that the freshness, the smile, 
 and the contented tone grew somehow out of 
 the light from that open page. 
 
 " Old Jowl," as every body called him, had 
 been for years unable to work. Crippled with 
 rheumatism, and gradually growing feebler, he 
 could only crawl from his bed to the fire-place 
 and back again. His wife had died some years 
 before, and since then he had lived alone. The 
 neighbors looked after him, and with the help 
 of some friends and the parish allowance, he 
 had, he said, " enough to praise God for." 
 
 "Well, old friend, how is it to-day?" asked 
 Mister Horn, gently shaking the old man's 
 hand. 
 
 "Ah, Mast' Horn, I'm glad to see yeow, 
 bless yir. I knew 'twas yeow when yeow came 
 to the door, and the sound o' yeow did me 
 good like. I'm right glad, I am, right glad ; " 
 and the old man looked it, too. 
 
 Light is sown for the righteous, and glad- 
 ness for the upright in heart ; and Mister Horn 
 might have been the messenger sent with it. 
 As the light-bearer and the joy-bringer many 
 
 a one had blessed him. His. happy manner, 
 5
 
 72 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 his homely ways, his pleasant gossip about all 
 that could interest, his simplicity and quaint- 
 ness, did the people more good, they said, 
 " nor the doctor hisself," which is not alto- 
 gether incredible seeing that most of them 
 were doctored " by the parish" The Sun of 
 Righteousness carries the healing in his wings. 
 There is nothing that heals in the gloom of 
 righteousness nothing that heals in the chill, 
 sunless religion that goes through its duty cold 
 and unrejoicing, like a November day. 
 
 " They don't do much good," Mister Horn 
 often said, " who have stayed in the thunder 
 till it has turned their milk of human kindness 
 sour." 
 
 It is a way of doing good much overlooked 
 by many learned doctors and great professors 
 that the Bible recommends : " A merry heart 
 doeth good like a medicine." 
 
 " Bitters are useful .sometimes, and blisters 
 are needed now and then ; but as a general 
 sort of a family medicine that it's best to keep 
 about one, there's nothing like a merry heart," 
 was one of Mister Horn's favorite recipes, and 
 many grateful testimonials would have testified 
 to its efficacy. Jim Niggardly, with a purse of
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 73 
 
 golden guineas, couldn't have made old Jowl's 
 face brighten into such a happiness as did the 
 merry heart that rang in every word Mister 
 Horn spoke. 
 
 "I've been thinking as I came up the hill 
 what a happy old fellow you ought to be, 
 friend," continued Mister Horn. 
 
 " Me, Mast' Horn, so I am, bless yir," and 
 old Jowl looked happier than ever. 
 
 " ' Well,' I said to myself, ' if any body's got 
 a father so rich and so kind as his Father, he 
 might set up for a gentleman, I count. I've 
 been looking at your Father's estates,' old 
 friend, coming up the hill. He is rich, is your 
 Father why he puts golden buds on the very 
 furze bushes, and powders gems on the butter- 
 flies, and strews all the shady places with dia- 
 monds! And to think thou art his son and 
 heir, old friend ! ' Eh, he will be a rich man 
 some day, will old Jowl,' said I to myself as I 
 came along." 
 
 " Aye, as kind as he's rich, Mast' Horn, bless 
 him ! I often think that I'm like the prodi- 
 gal son poor enough, an' a bit hungry and 
 cold sometimes, but it's like the prodigal when 
 the father had met him, and fall'd on his neck
 
 74 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 and kissed him, and said, ' He was dead and is 
 alive agen.' Why, that kep' him happy till he 
 got to the father's house. And then ! then ! " 
 and the blue eyes sparkled into tears " then 
 there was the best robe, and the fatted calf, 
 and the bein' merry. I'm goin' home and 
 He's with me, Mast' Horn. I sometimes feel 
 the blessed arms rpun' my neck, an' he gives 
 me the kiss o' peace, an' presses me to his 
 heart an' calls me his son, till tears o' joy run 
 down my cheeks, and I get a wonderin' what 
 heaven itself can be more 'an such blessedness 
 as that. I often think that we're gettin' near 
 the door, very near." 
 
 Mister Horn was quiet for a minute or two, 
 as if to let the old man feel the blessedness 
 of his own words. Then he broke out more 
 cheerfully, 
 
 "You've been growing a long time, old 
 friend." 
 
 The blue eyes looked round with an amused 
 wonder, " Growin', Mast' Horn, whatever do 
 yeow mean ? " 
 
 " Why, rheumatics is what they call it by, 
 but that's only what they say; it's growin 
 fains, it's growin pains. I know when I was a
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 75 
 
 lad I used to have a lot o' aches and pains 
 sometimes, and the old woman would say 
 ' Ah, Jim, it's on'y growin' pains. Ay, and 
 all our pains and aches is nothing but growin' 
 pains, if we use 'em right. These pains o' yours, 
 friend, they're only growin' pains the wings 
 pushing up a bit, lengthening and strengthen- 
 ing, till some day they'll be full grown, and 
 then you'll clap the glad wings and tower 
 away." 
 
 " Ah, it'll soon be, Mast' Horn, very soon," and 
 the look was one of triumphant joy. " I think 
 they're comin', and a bringin' the best robes. 
 An' I count I shall hardly know mysen ! To 
 'a' done with the old smock, and to put on the 
 white robes, an' be a gentleman all of a sud- 
 den." And the old man laughed at the happy 
 notion. " To think o' their comin' down here 
 to this little place o' mine an' knockin' at the 
 door, an' comin' in to fetch me up to the 
 glorious palace where they hunger no more, 
 neither thirst any more, for the Lamb which 
 is in the midst o' the throne shall feed them, and 
 shall lead them unto living fountains o' waters. 
 To think o' my poor crippled feet walkin' the 
 golden street like the rest o' the priests and
 
 76 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 kings, and this old hand done with roomatics 
 and a sweepin' the golden 'arp ! I read about 
 it and picture it over to mysen till I'm a'most 
 up there, a flyin' about among the glorious 
 great angels who do excel in strength. Eh, 
 what errands I'll go for my Master, then ! Ay, 
 Mast' Horn, it'll be a mystery an' a mercy, but 
 bless the Lord it'll be, for all that." 
 
 Presently followed a few words of simple, 
 earnest prayer, and Mr. Horn rose to leave. 
 
 " I've brought a dinner for you, old friend," 
 he said, taking the money out of his pocket ; 
 " here's three shillings and sixpence from Jim 
 Niggardly." 
 
 " The Lord bless him, the Lord bless him 
 and yeow for bringin' on it, Mast' Horn ! The 
 Lord bless you both ! 'Twere on'y this morn- 
 in' as I wa' talkin' to the Lord, for I ma'n't 
 kneel to pray, so I sit and talk to him 
 
 " Face to face as a man talketh to his friend," 
 whispered Mr. Horn to himself. 
 
 " And I say, ' Lord, I got a bit o' care, and 
 I want to cast it 'pon thee, knowin' that thou 
 dost care for me. The quarter day is comin' 
 and there's the rent, Lord. O Lord ! what- 
 somever I suffer I know thou permits it, and
 
 More to be Desired than Gold. 77 
 
 thou art wise and very good, but, Lord, I 
 wouldn' have nobody 'cept mysel' to be the 
 wuss for me, Lord.' I wa' sure the Lord hear 
 me, and now 'ere's the answer. Bless the 
 Lord! Tell Jim I ma'n't do much for'm, but 
 I'll do what I can. I'll pray the Lord bless 
 'm, and yeow too, Mast' Horn. For I like to 
 think that for all I can do so little, my Father 
 isn't goin' to let any body be in his debt. He 
 wouldn't have a cup o' cold water given but 
 what he'll keep count of it and pay it back 
 some day. Tell Jim that I'll tell my Father 
 all about it, and ask him to bless Jim an' 
 all belongin' to him. Bless his name, he will 
 too, I know he will." And as the bent fingers 
 held the money the lips moved in gratitude 
 and prayer. 
 
 " Good-day, old friend, good-day ! " cried 
 Mister Horn abruptly, and hurried away, brush- 
 ing his hand across his eyes as he went, and 
 the short legs hastened off over the field and 
 along the highway at their swiftest pace. 
 * * * fc 
 
 Ah, good reader, is not this riches a deceit- 
 ful jade? Why, here was James Niggardly, 
 Esquire, amid his plenty, grumbling and growl-
 
 78 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 ing at a hundred annoyances. Yet he had 
 spent a great deal of money on his house and 
 furniture, in order to secure his happiness. 
 The garden absorbed money in wages and 
 work that was meant to be repaid in pleasure. 
 The savory odor of dinner came breathing de- 
 licious promises into the dining-room. Pict- 
 ures were on the walls ; books on the shelves ; 
 handsome ornaments on the mantel-piece. 
 Jim Niggardly himself lay back in his chair, 
 his right hand playing with the heavy gold 
 chain, the left hand jingling gold and silver in 
 his pocket, the consoling golden sherry stand- 
 ing within reach. Yet he was thinking himself 
 a man ill used and wronged, notwithstanding 
 that his three shillings and sixpence had done 
 so much to confer so light a heart, and a soul 
 so winged with joy, as that which Mister Horn 
 had left in old Jowl's tumble-down cottage.
 
 Old Friend Chaffer Where he Lived. 79 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OLD FRIEND CHAFFER WHERE HE LIVED. 
 
 F all Mister 
 Horn's espe- 
 cial friends, 
 there was no 
 such favorite 
 as old Friend 
 Chaffer. If 
 Mister Horn 
 began to talk 
 of what peo- 
 ple could do 
 in the matter 
 ^/ of giving, all 
 knew pretty 
 
 well what was coming; there was sure to be 
 
 something about old Friend Chaffer. 
 
 Their admiration was mutual, and usually 
 
 expressed itself in the same terms. 
 
 " Ah ! he is a wonder, is old Friend Chaffer," 
 
 jerked out Mister Horn, while the ash stick
 
 8o MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 came down with a thump, as much as to say, 
 " Ah, there's no mistake about that, master." 
 
 " You know he's a wonder, is Mister Horn 
 wholly a wonder," quoth old Friend Chaffer 
 with a shake of his little old head, and a broad 
 smile that revealed the lingering grinders few 
 and far between. 
 
 He lived in the village of Hillingsham, com- 
 monly known as Hill'sam. The traveler who 
 should pass up the narrow winding hill and 
 reach the scattered houses of this parish, would 
 not think it peculiarly favorable to the devel- 
 opment of heroes. 
 
 Old laborers, bent and withered as if beaten 
 down by the winds and rains, and dried up by 
 the suns in which they had spent fifty or sixty 
 years of their life, crept along in smock-frocks, 
 each with its peculiar ornamentation in front 
 like a breastplate of needlework ; the project- 
 ing legs were buttoned in leather gaiters that 
 narrowed into marvelously small ankles, and 
 then went swelling into a pair of huge hob- 
 nailed boots. Younger men had, for the most 
 part, enlisted or emigrated ; while the daugh- 
 ters were hired from year to year at the Mich- 
 aelmas " statty," as the statute fair was called.
 
 Old Friend Chaffer Where he Lived. 8 1 
 
 The early cock-crow woke the little place to 
 the kind of walking sleep that was its life ; 
 the hum of the thrashing machine was fitting 
 music throughout the monotonous day ; and in 
 the evening the booming cock-chafer had it 
 almost to himself. 
 
 The church stood long and low amid a clump 
 of dying trees. The church-yard, separated 
 from the road by a slimy horse-pond, was 
 neglected and nettle-grown. The weather- 
 worn wooden memorials of the dead, stretch- 
 ing the whole length of the grave, told only of 
 long life and unchanging names. The village, 
 that commenced with the church, was in every 
 way a continuation ef its appearance. It was 
 ugly almost ugly enough for a town. The 
 houses were neither sufficiently old nor poor 
 for Nature to have touched them with her 
 kindly hand into something of her own : there 
 was no moss-grown thatch, nor walls thick 
 with honeysuckle and clustering rose, nor ivy 
 climbing 
 
 " Aloft, a grove; beneath, a knot of snakes." 
 
 The cottages were most of them of dull red 
 brick with slated roofs, that in summer looked
 
 82 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 fever-stricken with the heat, and in winter 
 looked blue and red with the cold. 
 
 At the other end of the village was the 
 other place of worship, as if between them 
 they would secure all the souls. It was a 
 white-washed little place, with low roof and 
 two arched windows. The door was covered 
 with many coats of paperings, remnants of 
 various parish notices and circuit announce- 
 ments, with lingering patches legible enough 
 to make an absurd jumble, in which a public 
 tea-meeting was followed by compulsory vac- 
 cination, and special sermons had to do with 
 votes for the knights of the shire, and "ser- 
 mons would be preached by " followed by a 
 list of ratepayers as long as one's arm. Every 
 body knew in a moment that it was a Meth- 
 odist chapel. 
 
 Such was Hill'sam, where old Friend Chaffer 
 lived and worked through the six days of the 
 week. But Hill'sam on Sunday seemed quite 
 another place. The church woke up and 
 crashed out a merry peal that met you with 
 its music a mile away. The men put on the 
 week's clean smock frock, the women donned 
 their old red cloaks, and the best bonnet saw
 
 Old Friend Chaffer Where he Lived. 83 
 
 the light once more. A Sunday at Hill'sam 
 was a day to be remembered. You overtook 
 men and women hot and dusty with their long 
 walk, the father carrying one, perhaps two lit- 
 tle ones, while the maternal shawl bulged with 
 the shape of a basket. 
 
 You might have known where the chapel 
 was by the folk that lingered about the door 
 and in the road. At church all went in before 
 the service commenced, and were ready at 
 once reverently to worship God ; but at chapel 
 they waited thus as if to make sure that the 
 preacher had come before they risked them- 
 selves inside perhaps there was too much 
 reason for their caution. 
 
 Then the singing at Hill'sam ! Well, to say 
 the least, it could not be forgotten. There 
 was a clarionet, which tried to make up in 
 zeal what it lacked in skill ; and the fiddle 
 the fickle fiddle ! that had its periodical fits 
 of goodness, and then was periodically report- 
 ed " to have given up religion and gone to 
 church." There was the pious old leader 
 Heaven bless him ! who believed tunes were 
 spiritual exactly in proportion to their runs 
 and repeats. Yet was there a heart about it
 
 84 MISTER HORN AXD His FRIENDS. 
 
 all, and an earnestness, that were very much 
 better more acceptable to God and more 
 profitable to the people than the vain per- 
 formances of many more ambitious places in 
 which no one can join. 
 
 After the service the preacher for the day 
 had to meet the one Society class. This over, 
 all adjourned to the vestry, where a score of 
 cups and saucers, the opening of bundles, and 
 other signs, intimated that dinner came next. 
 One basket produced a knife and fork they 
 were for the preacher ; for him, too, were the 
 slices of bread and meat, and the further lux- 
 uries of a plate, a screw of salt, and a mustard- 
 pot. The others sat round on the forms, 
 ranged in families a family clasp-knife with 
 its one large blade did common duty on the 
 bread, and bit of cheese or bacon. Then 
 came two or three cups of tea, completing the 
 meal. 
 
 O what happy talks knit those hearts to- 
 gether, and helped to make the Sabbath the 
 blessed day that it was to them ! Some of 
 earth's godliest saints gathered at that humble 
 meal. Look at the tall, bald-headed old man 
 in the corner, keeping himself very much to
 
 Old Friend Chaffer Where he L ived. 8 5 
 
 himself; and well he may, for he has neither 
 kith nor kin, that he knows of, in the \vhole 
 wide world. Those large eyes of his, staring 
 out into vacancy as if they had seen nothing, 
 and found in that enough to be in a perpetual 
 wonder, have seen some rare sights. He was 
 brought up as a lad to the business and profes- 
 sion of a smuggler by a pious uncle for in 
 those days some believed that piety and smug- 
 gling could meet together and kiss each other; 
 and it is duly recorded yet in the " Minutes," 
 how that the Conference gravely asked what 
 should be done to put down smuggling in the 
 Societies, when it was agreed that no smug- 
 gler should be allowed to remain among us 
 ; i s a local preacher ! He was kidnapped and 
 pressed into his Majesty's navy more than 
 si.ity years ago, and bears upon him traces of 
 incidents as romantic as ever were written ; 
 and those wide-open eyes have seen more his- 
 tory than most of us have read. But the one 
 story he can remember most vividly, the one 
 incident he can talk of most unwearily, is how 
 that under an orange-tree, on the top of a 
 lonely island in the South Pacific Ocean, he 
 sought the forgiveness of his sins and found
 
 86 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 peace with God ; and how that it was fol- 
 lowed by a revival on board the man-of-war, 
 in which half the crew and many of the 
 officers were converted ; and how that they 
 sailed into battle singing hymns hymns 
 that sometimes were suddenly silenced here 
 and there, not because the song had ceased, 
 but because the singer had gone to sing else- 
 where. 
 
 There is good old mother Bear, too, mum- 
 bling her bit of bread and muttering her grati- 
 tude by turns, who when a friend called to see 
 her the other day, said, " Ah, God is good, he 
 is good to think o' me as he do, for I aint 
 nohow worth it. Ye know up to las' Saturday 
 I had a half-a-crown a week from the parish, 
 and then I had a goodish appetite, but then 
 they tookt sixpence off, and that very day I 
 los' my appetite so as I can do just as well as 
 ever Ah, God is good, he can make things jit 
 so!" 
 
 That old white-haired saint who has just 
 come hobbling in on a pair of sticks he with 
 the many folds of white kerchief wrapt about 
 his neck, and the tight-fitting suit of black 
 that ends in the gouty knuckles and the glossy
 
 Old Friend Chaffer Where he Lived. 87 
 
 knobs on his shoes he is the father of Meth- 
 odism in these parts. A local preacher sixty 
 years ago, you should hear him tell how that 
 when preaching out of doors once in the neigh- 
 boring village the burly butcher came behind 
 and suddenly clasped him in his arms, and 
 flung him in the horse-pond : swollen as it was 
 with winter rains, he had a very narrow escape 
 from drowning. And how that same butcher 
 shortly afterward was stricken down under the 
 power of the word felled like an ox and 
 went roaring for many days in the disquietude 
 of his soul, until he found peace with God and 
 became a champion for Jesus, as before he had 
 been for the devil. 
 
 After dinner the children met for an hour in 
 Sunday-school humble work enough it was, 
 that did not get much beyond the letters 
 and small words, but, like all true work for 
 God, it was imperishable, and Heaven kept 
 the record faithfully in the Book of Golden 
 Deeds. 
 
 The afternoon service closed the public re- 
 ligious duties of the day at Hill'sam. Then 
 the fathers and mothers, with their children 
 and empty baskets, went homeward over the
 
 88 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 fields or along the highways leaving the village 
 to sink to its usual quiet for another week. 
 
 But before this our attention would have 
 been caught by the quaint figure of one who 
 must have a chapter all to himself.
 
 Old Friend Chaffer What he Did. 89 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OLD FRIEND CHAFFER WHAT HE DID. 
 
 )W of all the 
 prosaic folks 
 of this parish 
 of Hill ' sam 
 there was no 
 one with less 
 of promise in 
 his make-up 
 than our an- 
 cient Friend 
 Chaffer. 
 
 A bent lit- 
 tle old man, 
 with flat feet 
 that shuffled along uneasily, was what one saw 
 at the first glance. " As tender as old Friend 
 Chaffer's corns," was a well-worn proverb with 
 Mister Horn, by which he usually summed up 
 his opinion of folk that were easily put out 
 and vexed. As he shuffled nearer there was
 
 90 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 disclosed a figure quaint in feature, expression, 
 and dress. The hat, that once held the skull 
 of an eminent divine, accommodated itself to 
 this smaller head by lying back until it almost 
 rested upon his shoulders and projected in 
 front immediately above the eyes, just a fringe 
 of flat hair marking the line of separation. 
 Underneath was a pair of as pleasant eyes as 
 ever merry wrinkles played around ; the cheeks 
 and dumpy nose were scorched into a perma- 
 nent glossy redness ; the mouth, large and 
 sunken, was fixed into an unchangeable smile 
 that seemed to give a twist to all he said, mak- 
 ing the husky sentences end in a sort of little 
 laugh. A velveteen coat with sporting buttons 
 hung in folds around the little old man. The 
 trousers might have laid claim to all the privi- 
 leges of apostolical succession, and, like the 
 doctrine itself, had to be much patched from 
 many sources. 
 
 His life had been spent as a farm laborer. 
 On ten shillings a week he and his good wife 
 had brought up a family of eleven children, 
 and now at seventy years of age he found his 
 hard work rewarded with a parish allowance of 
 five shillings a week.
 
 Old Friend Chaffer What he Did. 91 
 
 Look well at him, for he is a hero. Ay, look 
 at him, as Mister Horn would often say, look 
 well at him in this world, for he will be too 
 high up for most of us to see him in the next. 
 
 If the very many thousands whose names 
 fill the Annual Report of the Wesleyan Mis- 
 sionary Society were to pass before us, a vast- 
 er, perhaps more imposing, procession would 
 rarely be seen. Crowned heads and robes of 
 royalty would swell its pomp ; generous mer- 
 chants and devoted ladies would testify that 
 giving doth not impoverish ; chieftains decked 
 with feathers and wild beasts' skins would lead 
 on their tribes; furred wanderers from the north 
 would march beside the negro and the stately 
 Brahmin : almost every nation would lend its 
 variety of costume and appearance, and send 
 its pledges that all the kingdoms of the earth 
 should become the kingdoms of the Lord and 
 of his Christ. But first and foremost should 
 be none of these. Not the king with splendid 
 gift in stately chariot ; not the chief enthroned 
 with barbaric pomp upon the glittering ele- 
 phant ; not the stalwart leader of a once savage 
 tribe now bringing the weapons of cruelty to 
 lay at the feet of the Prince of Peace ; not the
 
 92 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 merchant prince whose vast magnificence has 
 made his name a household word throughout 
 the world. Heading the mighty host should 
 be a little stature and quaint figure hurrying 
 on with shuffling feet first and foremost there 
 would be our old Friend Chaffer! 
 
 With five shillings a week to live on five 
 shillings for rent and food, for firing and clothes, 
 with class money never forgotten he appears 
 in this year's report for one pound and twelve 
 sJ til lings ! 
 
 One pound twelve ! It sets one thinking of 
 the report, and of what some of those entries 
 mean that look so unimportant and are so quick- 
 ly read what stories of self-denial are locked 
 up in them what scheming to save, what strug- 
 gles to spare. Ay, and more commonly for- 
 gotten, what system beginning thus has uncon- 
 sciously spread itself throughout all the man- 
 agement, and wrought more than its own 
 supply. 
 
 This one pound twelve was the result of a 
 year's hard and painful work. Miles were shuf- 
 fled over to collect a shilling, and very often 
 for less. Little bits of garden produce were 
 lovingly worked at, and eagerly sold for a few
 
 At length he reaches the farm-house, and stands 
 amid the sheds.
 
 Old Friend Chaffer What he Did. 95 
 
 pence. How warily the conversation would 
 be turned round when any one dropped in, 
 how cunningly led up to a certain point until 
 suddenly the box made its appearance, explain- 
 ing and applying all that had gone before ! The 
 philosophy of that Scripture, " A liberal man 
 deviseth liberal things," could find no better 
 illustration than in old Friend Chaffer. With 
 no such restless thought did ever genius seek 
 to apply a new principle or to produce a new 
 machine ; with no such uneasy watchfulness 
 did ambition ever try to turn advantages to its 
 own account as that with which old Friend 
 Chaffer sought to fill his box. Like the woman 
 of Bible story, he had but " a precious box " to 
 bring for his Master's acceptance and service ; 
 and to fill it richly full each year was his dream, 
 his ambition, and his toil. 
 
 Picture the large hat, the glossy face, the 
 loose coat, shuffling up the hill with the mission- 
 ary-box under his arm, tied up in a colored 
 cotton handkerchief. In this sweltering heat 
 and with his painful steps it will be an hour's 
 hard work to get to the farm-house to which 
 he is going. At length he reaches it, and 
 stands amid the sheds. And now, making the
 
 96 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 pigeons fly disturbed from the barn roof, and 
 making the old dog moan in dismal concert, 
 the little husky voice sings to the traditional 
 tune the familiar hymn : 
 
 " Blow ye the trumpet, blow 
 
 The gladly-solemn sound ; 
 Let all the nations know, 
 
 To earth's remotest bound, 
 The year of jubilee is come ; 
 Return, ye ransom'd sinners, home." 
 
 Then panting with the effort, and pausing 
 to recover breath and to stroke the little fringe 
 of flat hair over his eyes, he sang the second 
 and other verses of the hymn : 
 
 " Jesus, our great High-priest, 
 
 Hath full atonement made : 
 Ye weary spirits, rest ; 
 
 Ye mournful souls, be glad ; 
 The year of jubilee is come ; 
 Return, ye ransom'd sinners, home. 
 
 " Ye who have sold for naught 
 
 Your heritage above, 
 Shall have it back unbought ; 
 
 The gift of Jesus' love : 
 The year of jubilee is come ; 
 Return, ye ransom'd sinners, home." 
 
 At once the news spread that old Friend 
 Chaffer had arrived. All knew him, and all 
 were compelled to like him, if it were only for
 
 Old Friend Chaffer What he Did. 97 
 
 his simple, cheery face. The master came 
 across the yard from the stock to lean upon 
 his spud with an amused attention, and to roll 
 in a few bass notes when it came to the last 
 two lines; the "missis" and eager children 
 crowded the old porch ; the servants looked out 
 from the windows, and boys, in little smocks 
 and gaiters, gathered round him with a custom- 
 ary grin. When the hymn was gone through, 
 the box was carefully untied and handed to 
 the master, and thence throughout the house. 
 Every body gave something. As it came back 
 again it was a picture worthy of any pencil to 
 see the little old head hung on one side as the 
 box was lifted to try its increased weight, the 
 face glowing with contentment, and the mouth 
 and cheeks and eyes all puckered up into a 
 hundred quaint wrinkles that seemed to vie 
 with each other in expression of merry grati- 
 tude. Then came a verse or two of the hymn : 
 
 "Jesus shall reign where'er the sun 
 Does his successive journeys run ; 
 His kingdom spread from shore to shore, 
 Till moons shall wax and wane no more. 
 
 " To him shall endless prayer be made, 
 And endless praises crown his head ; 
 His Name like sweet perfume shall rise 
 With every morning sacrifice."
 
 98 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 Again the box was carefully wrapped up, and 
 the little bent figure shuffled homeward, past 
 all work for himself, but thankful, most thank- 
 ful, that he could still do something for his be- 
 loved Master. 
 
 Once he boldly proposed to call upon the 
 parson of the parish, who had not more kindly 
 regard for the Methodists than one could ex- 
 pect : they were a sort of poachers who tres- 
 passed and poached upon his preserves with 
 impunity. When old Friend Chaffer suggested 
 it to his wife she was almost alarmed, and tried 
 to talk him out of it. The matter soon 
 dropped, and the good wife triumphantly con- 
 cluded that he had given up so wild a notion ; 
 but, unknown to her, he shuffled away one day 
 to the rectory. 
 
 The good clergyman received him kindly, 
 and heard his request, and, indeed, handled 
 with some curiosity the treasured box. But 
 putting it down, as old Friend Chaffer finished 
 his appeal, he reminded him that he knew 
 nothing of the Wesleyan missions, and must 
 have some information first. At once the old 
 man promised to bring him a Report. Six 
 weary miles he trudged to fetch it from the
 
 Old Fncnd Chaffer What he Did. 99 
 
 Superintendent at Gippington, and six miles 
 back, and the next day stole away quietly 
 again to the parson. 
 
 " He did stare when he saw so much read- 
 in'/' the old man told us afterward; " he looked 
 quite frightened when I said I "ud leave it 
 with him to read it through." 
 
 A week after old Friend Chaffer went once 
 more. The good clergyman was amazed and 
 much interested. 
 
 " Why, I thought you Methodists were a 
 feeble folk, but^I find that you do even more 
 than we do." (It was a treat to see old Friend 
 Chaffer's face as he told of that!) "As to 
 money you raise as much as we do, and I 
 can't make out how you manage to do so much 
 with it. I must say that you folks know how 
 to get money, and how to make the most of it. 
 I really can't give you less than five shillings. 
 Come for it yourself every year, and lend me 
 the Annual Report of your Society." 
 
 " I was comin' out o' the passage," the old 
 man went on, " and 'twas darkish, and I did'n' 
 know any body was near by, and I was sayin' 
 to myself, ' Bless the Lord, O my soul,' when 
 the door was opened, and I saw the par-
 
 ioo MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 son's good lady, and she say, ' You mustn't 
 tell any one ; but here's another half-crown 
 for you, Chaffer, and I wish I could give you 
 more ; ' and the way she say it was as good 
 as five shillings, 'twas so kind and pretty 
 spoken." 
 
 But it was not his skill as a missionary col- 
 lector only that gained for him the title of " a 
 wonder.'-' There was a story that old Friend 
 Chaffer would but seldom allude to, but which 
 Mister Horn delighted to tell to every one. 
 
 From the time of his conversion Chaffer had 
 determined to devote something regularly to 
 the work of God. It was no easy task, with 
 an additional mouth to be filled each year, 
 while the wages kept at the same hard line. 
 
 " I al'us carried my class penny in my waist- 
 coat pocket till the Sunday meetin'," the old 
 man has told us, " so that it was sure whatever 
 come. But then there was the missions : I 
 loved them very much, and al'us read the 
 ' Notices ; ' an* there was a collection or two, 
 an' one thing an' another, so I \vanted three 
 or four pennies more sometimes. My neigh- 
 bors 'ud say to me as it wa'n't needed for me 
 to do so much; but I say to them, ' If I was
 
 Old Friend Chaffer What he Did. 10 1 
 
 an archangel, I'd try to sing my very best to 
 the Lord ; but seem' as I a'n't, well, the on'y 
 thing is to do the best thing as I can 'pon ten 
 shilling' a week and 'leven children. Why, bless 
 ye, it's wholly the same if we do our best ! " 
 
 Here, too, the liberal mind devised liberal 
 things. The little garden around his cottage 
 grew a few vegetables, and two or three fruit- 
 trees sent a few baskets during the year to 
 market. Choosing the sunniest corner, and in 
 which grew his choicest apple-tree, he chris- 
 tened that " the Lord's bit." Whatever he 
 could make out of that was to be given away. 
 Love is satisfied only when it gives its best. 
 This corner received of all the most careful 
 labors ; this was the first to be dug up and 
 planted, and for this was reserved the pick 
 of roots and seeds. Here the depredations of 
 the frost and the earliest sign of blight were 
 most jealously traced, and here the promise of 
 the spring, and the summer worth, were most 
 joyfully anticipated. 
 
 But once there came a time when the garden 
 began to grow neglected. The weeds stood 
 thick and tall. The unpruned trees were tan- 
 gled with wild creepers. Chaffer's familiar
 
 IO2 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 face was missed from the Sunday services. 
 He had been brought home from his work 
 with an injured leg, and lay upon his bed with 
 a prospect of not being able to leave it for 
 months. Then sore want slowly stripped the 
 house. The little savings put by for some 
 such rainy day were soon gone through one 
 by one disappeared the less needed things 
 about the house. Again the wolf was at the 
 door, and there seemed nothing left with which 
 to drive him away. The children were coming 
 home, and there was not a crust in the house. 
 Then the anxious wife bethought her of 
 something that would scare the wolf. Laid 
 by in a box, carefully wrapt up in a piece of 
 paper, were four shillings four precious shil- 
 lings ! the produce of " the Lord's bit." Tak- 
 ing them in her hand, she came to her hus- 
 band ; they were starving could they not take 
 this money, or at least borrow it, and pay it 
 back when times were better? Little Chaffer, 
 burdened as he was with bitter wants, had hith- 
 erto borne up bravely. But now he burst into 
 tears. " What," he cried, " play Ananias and 
 Sapphira, and rob our only Friend ! O no, no, 
 lass ! " he went on as the tears streamed down
 
 Old Friend Chaffer What he Did. \ 03 
 
 his cheeks, " if it is the Lord's will we can 
 starve and die and go home to heaven, but we 
 ma'nt do this, come what will. The blessed 
 Lord knows all about it, and he can fill up the 
 flour barrel. But we wont take back the 
 little cake that we have given to him. Trust 
 him, lass, for we've got his word for it that he 
 will hear us if we call upon him in the day 
 of trouble, and will deliver us. He will, too, 
 I know he will." 
 
 The poor wife turned in despair to the lin- 
 gering herbs in the garden, and gathering what 
 little there was, went off to Gippington to pick 
 up what she could for them. 
 
 Chaffer lay in the lonely place thinking of 
 the Lord and his ways. " Well, we're come 
 to the last pinch now," he sighed, "and may 
 be it is the turnin' point. The doctor tell me 
 I ma'nt set my foot to ground, but I'll try 
 happen the Lord '11 help me." 
 
 Painful and stiff the leg was, and it was with 
 much difficulty that he hobbled to the door. 
 He crept along to " the Lord's bit," and looked 
 at it with such a grief as that with which one 
 would look for the first time at the grave of 
 some most beloved friend.
 
 104 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 " Well, I ma'nt let this be, if I never do 
 any thing else. I'm up now, and may never 
 be up agen, and it '11 comfort me to know as 
 my last bit o' work was for Him." 
 
 And the withered hands clung to the spade, 
 and he struggled slowly to turn over the earth. 
 It was hard work, but done with a desperate- 
 ness as if it were love's last effort. He was in 
 the midst of his work when his wife was com- 
 ing down the hill toward the cottage. She 
 had sold her herbs and was returning with at 
 least one day's supply, when she caught sight 
 of her husband in the garden. She could 
 scarcely believe her eyes at first ; but soon sur- 
 prise gave way to grief and vexation, and as 
 she appeared at the gate poor Chaffer hobbled 
 in before the coming storm, and crept back 
 again to his couch. 
 
 The storm, of course, soon blew over, for it 
 was only the anger of anxious affection, espe- 
 cially as Chaffer found himself only wearied by 
 his effort. The next day he crept out again 
 and finished " the bit." Strength rapidly re- 
 turned, and in a few days he went back to his 
 work, nor ever felt any thing more of the 
 injury.
 
 Old Friend Chaffer What he Did. 105 
 
 " Eh, wife," he whispered, when he brought 
 home his wages, " I should be on my back yet, 
 if we had touched the money o* ' the Lord's 
 bit.' " 
 
 So old Friend Chaffer came to be -called "a 
 
 wonder." 
 
 7
 
 io6 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 INTRODUCES US TO ANOTHER FRIEND. 
 
 ERY much 
 unlike most 
 of the other 
 intimates of 
 Mister Horn 
 was the Bill 
 Smith afore- 
 said. Very 
 much unlike 
 James Nig- 
 gardly, Esq., 
 or old Mast'r 
 Jowl, or even 
 Friend Chaf- 
 fer, was this 
 big, broad-shouldered, honest son of Vulcan. 
 Yet none the less was he a friend, and our 
 record would be very incomplete without a 
 full length portrait of Mister Horn's favorite 
 disciple.
 
 Introduces us to Another Friend. 107 
 
 Nor could you wonder at Mister Horn's 
 interest in him. He was yet a boy when his 
 widowed mother, with her last breath, com- 
 mended him to the care of her old " class- 
 leader." And henceforth, however unpleasant 
 it might be to the young apprentice, Mister 
 Horn came to look upon him almost as a son. 
 Bill, on his part, had done his best to be free from 
 this oversight ; indeed, had done enough to 
 wear out all hope and patience ; but no matter 
 what trouble or what disgrace he got into, he 
 found his mother's friend waiting with loving 
 entreaty and wise advice not unmixed, it is 
 true, with a well-deserved rating. Nor was 
 this all. Mister Horn believed in the artillery 
 of prayer that no city of Mansoul with mighty 
 gates and massive walls could withstand its 
 power if you only keep pounding away at it. 
 Heaven itself could be carried by storm : then 
 what mortal man could stand it, though all 
 the hosts of hell were leagued inside? Twenty 
 years of such unwearied, unfaltering prayer, 
 had riveted Bill Smith to Mister Horn's heart 
 by more than fetters of brass. 
 
 Bill was apprenticed to the village black- 
 smith. But do not let visions of the chestnut-
 
 io8 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 tree and its surroundings rise in the mind. Old 
 Graves was as much unlike the traditional 
 blacksmith of poetry as the stern realities of 
 life generally are unlike the poetical descrip- 
 tions thereof. 
 
 A bent old man, like the figure of an ancient 
 Atlas without the world on his back, his head 
 thrust forward as far as it would go, and a thick 
 clump of projecting hair going out beyond that 
 like a horn. He went about always solemnly 
 shaking his head, as if reading the "vanity of 
 vanities " in the dust on which his eyes were 
 fixed ; wheezing with asthma as if his own bel- 
 lows had to work hard to keep the inner fires 
 going. He might, perhaps, have taught Bill 
 to poke the fire and to handle the tongs, only he 
 always claimed that as the master's part. The 
 pupil's was to fling the sledge-hammer, to shoe 
 the village horses, and to do all other work 
 whatsoever belonging to the art and mystery 
 of a smith, by the aid of such natural wit as he 
 possessed. To Bill, with those broad shoul- 
 ders of his and those stout young arms, work 
 was a joyous thing. He whistled cheerily to 
 the roar of the bellows, and sung to the ring- 
 ing anvil, never thinking that he kept the
 
 Introduces us to Another Friend. 109 
 
 house over the old man's head but always 
 thinking that some day he should greatly 
 like to keep the roof over the head of some- 
 body else, whose sweet voice Bill often stopped 
 to listen to as it sang merrily away at the little 
 kitchen window. 
 
 Meanwhile what Bill himself was blind to see 
 was perfectly plain to the eyes of that some- 
 body else. And when, in the cold, damp 
 weather, father was at home wheezing, and 
 shaking his solemn head at the fire as if dumb- 
 ly preaching to it of its cold, dead, ashy future, 
 how could fair Jenny Graves keep herself from 
 seeing that it was Bill who kept them in bread 
 and cheese. And for her father's sake, of 
 course, what else could she do than like him. 
 Not that he was any thing to her of course not. 
 But as a dutiful daughter she was bound to ad- 
 mire those broad shoulders and those strong 
 arms that did her father such good service. 
 And was it not for her father's sake that she 
 stepped into the smithy to see that all was going 
 right in his absence ? Who knew, indeed, what 
 this apprentice might be about? So sweet 
 Jenny Graves often stood like a pretty picture 
 framed by the old door-way of the smithy, her
 
 no MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 pleasant face and slim figure, the white arms 
 with the sleeves still pinned back to the shoul- 
 der, coming for a minute, and then tripping 
 lightly back again. How should she know 
 that for a full five minutes afterward the strong 
 hands of the apprentice lay idle on the ham- 
 mer as it rested on the anvil, and the appren- 
 tice wasted five precious minutes in gazing 
 vacantly at the duck pond and ash heap that 
 lay before the smithy? or that for the same 
 space of time the hand held the chain of the 
 bellows listlessly, while the vacant gaze peered 
 into the depths of the fire ? How should she 
 know it, indeed, unless it were because she 
 stood dreamily looking out of the window 
 with hands that only played with the dough, 
 or trifled with the soap-suds, for a like space of 
 time ? 
 
 The truth that fair Jenny had seen with half 
 an eye was forced upon her more plainly as 
 the time went by. The days soon came when 
 Jenny had to step into the smithy to look after 
 her father as well as the apprentice, and found 
 him unable to use the hammer, and scarcely 
 fit to hold the chain of the bellows with his 
 trembling hand. He could do little else but
 
 Introduces us to A not her Friend. 1 1 1 
 
 sit by the smithy fire with his leathern apron 
 spread over his knees, dumbly shaking his 
 head over the flame, as if solemnly prophesy- 
 ing to the horseshoe of the evil days that were 
 in store for it that it was all very well to glow 
 about it now, but the time was coming when 
 it should be cold and hard ; when it should be 
 trodden underfoot ; when it should be rung on 
 the hard highway for many a weary mile, and 
 plashed in the dismal mud ; or, there was no 
 knowing, lifted up by an angry heel to serve a 
 spiteful kick. Prophesyings that were sudden- 
 ly interrupted as Bill seized the glowing mass 
 with the tongs and made a shower of glory 
 fly from it, and then dipped it hissing in the 
 trough. But before long that place was de- 
 serted, and solemnly shaking his head as if 
 predicting his speedy end, old Graves took to 
 his bed, and soon fulfilled his prophecy by de- 
 parting this life. 
 
 Bill was not yet out of his time when poor 
 old Graves passed away. But being master 
 both of his trade and of Jenny's affections, he 
 took at once the daughter and the business. 
 And Mr. Horn came in to give his blessing 
 to each, and thanked God that life began so
 
 ii2 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 brightly with the widow's son and his happy 
 wife. 
 
 For awhile things went on as pleasantly 
 as they promised at the first. But there 
 came a slow-creeping fear across Jenny's heart, 
 like a gathering cloud, that by and by burst 
 in a deluge of sorrow a flood of grief that 
 swept away all peace and comfort, and al- 
 most all hope, and left a life blighted, blasted, 
 cursed. 
 
 Bill's visits to " The Green Man " had been 
 daily at their marriage. The whole village 
 held that there was no harm in a half-pint now 
 and then. The whole village, however, might 
 have known better, for there was abundant 
 evidence of the horrible mischief that began iir 
 that half-pint now and then. 
 
 The whole village had heard Mister Horn's 
 opinion about it often enough unfortunately 
 he had many opportunities of giving it. " There 
 mayn't be any harm in a half-pint now and 
 then, but there's death in the pot if you will 
 go to the public-house to drink it. There's a 
 good deal more than a half-pint o' beer in the 
 matter then. There's company that nobody 
 would say that there's no harm in ; and there's
 
 Introduces us to Another Friend. 113 
 
 temptations that a man is a fool to get into, 
 and that 'tis hard work to get out of. The 
 mouse liked cheese, and thought there was no 
 harm in a nibble now and then. Well, there 
 wasn't. But when he went into the trap to get 
 it that was another matter, as mousey found 
 out to his sorrow." Like many others, Bill's 
 half-pints became more frequent ; occasionally 
 an evening was spent with the company that 
 gathered there. And one night Bill came stag- 
 gering home drunk, swearing, quarreling, ready 
 to strike his own gentle wife ; it seemed as if a 
 swarm of devils had burst into the house that 
 night. They had taken possession of it, and it 
 would be a long time before any could cast 
 them out. That night poor Jenny's face lost its 
 roses, and from that night onward for many a 
 wretched month. With bitter grief she went 
 to tell Mr. Horn of her sorrow ; while shame 
 and vexation, and a mad kind of defiance of 
 every body, sent Bill soaking all the next day 
 within the shelter of " The Green Man." The 
 misery of soberer moments drove him for some 
 relief to the public-house, to its company and 
 its drink. Home was home no more ; each 
 evening was spent at the public.
 
 ii4 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 The house of God was forsaken ; the old as- 
 sociates were cast off. Mister Horn came and 
 entreated and rated, but all in vain. Surly 
 and miserable Bill listened without a word, or 
 angrily claimed his liberty to please himself. 
 Meanwhile, what with earning less and spend- 
 ing more, the home and all about it soon be- 
 came as miserable as himself, and gave him 
 another excuse, though none was needed, for 
 going again to " The Green Man." The little 
 cottage was stripped. The ornaments that 
 had been Jenny's pride, the furniture itself, the 
 very clothes, were gone for bread. And now 
 looking in at the dark smithy door, fearful of 
 the angry oaths that would greet her, was a 
 pale-faced, thinly-clad woman, and a ragged 
 child hiding frightened in the folds of her 
 dress. 
 
 There were hour. lays -of remorse ; days 
 in which Bill vowed amendment, in which he 
 sought to be again the Bill of olden times, and 
 hope flushed the pale cheek for a moment, like 
 the dawn of a brighter day. But the spell of 
 the curse was on him. Good resolutions were 
 swept to the wind, and down again he would 
 sink, lower and deeper than ever. Poor Jenny
 
 Introduces us to A not her Friend. 1 1 5 
 
 must have given in with a broken heart, but 
 for the hope and help that Mister Horn never 
 failed to bring her. He, too, might have de- 
 spaired, but that day and night he pleaded for 
 the widow's son with an importunity that 
 would not, could not, give him up ; prayer 
 could do miracles still. 
 
 At last the answer came. Bill himself must 
 tell the story, as he never failed to tell it when 
 somebody needed encouragement, or when 
 others told of what the Lord had done for 
 them. Bill wasn't a man of many words, and 
 he did not belong to the school of weep- 
 ing prophets ; but it was hard work for him 
 to get through without one or two break- 
 downs. 
 
 " Eh, friends, I have heard folks say some- 
 times that 'tis hard work going to heaven. 
 And they talk of their temptations and trials 
 Well, I went along the road to hell a bad bit, 
 as many of you know. Thafs a hard road if 
 you like. Talk about your temptations and 
 trials, why the place for them is all along the 
 downward road. To see men going home 
 with their wages decent and happy, and you 
 going sneaking in your rags, to spend it all
 
 u6 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 upon yourself, that's enough to make a man 
 feel like a wretch and a fool. To go along by 
 a nice tidy cottage, with the man working in 
 his garden, and a tidy woman looking out o' 
 the door-way, and the children helping father 
 and then to come into your own place and to 
 see it all mounds and heaps, to see the win- 
 dows stuffed with rags, to see your poor wife 
 so miserable that she can hardly speak to you 
 for crying, and the little children run away so 
 soon as ever you come for fear of the man 
 that's their own father that's temptation if 
 you like. Hardly a chair to sit down upon, 
 not a bit o' fire in the grate ; and to see the 
 wretched wife and poor little pale-faced chil- 
 dren sit down to a bit o' dry bread, all because 
 they've got a father who spends his money in 
 drink that's something like a temptation and 
 trial. To go wandering about the lanes on a 
 Sunday, and hear the church bells or the sing- 
 ing of the children, and to mind how you used 
 to go with them, and to think of the dear old 
 mother as took you there and then to think 
 o' where you're going to, that's something like 
 a temptation an' trial. Why many's the time 
 that I've climbed over a gate, and hid behind
 
 Introduces us to Another Friend. 1 17 
 
 the hedge to get out o' the sight of some de- 
 cent man going up to the house of God with 
 his children. Temptations and trials! Why, 
 often and often's the times that I've had hard 
 work to keep my own hands off my own self, 
 I've been that mad with myself, and that mis 
 e'rable and I should have done it, too, but 
 for a kind of feeling that some day some- 
 how or other I should be turned round by 
 God's mercy helping me. And I thank God 
 that I was. 
 
 " It was a Saturday night. I was more mis- 
 erable than ever, and was angry at myself for 
 feeling so. I was sitting in the beer-shop all 
 without a word, and the rest were chaffing me 
 for being so glum, till I felt as if I must have 
 hit them, when up comes the landlord with 
 my score. It was two shillings and one penny. 
 I counted it out, and flung it on the table 
 among the puddles of beer. Then a half- 
 drunk fellow who had been a Methodist sings 
 out, ' Eh, that's right, Bill ; thee been takin' 
 lessons from Mister Horn a penny a week 
 and a shilling a quarter only it's for thy beer 
 score.' -They all laughed at it as a wonderful 
 joke. But that just finished me up. I was
 
 iiS MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 mad with misery before, and this capped it 
 all/ For going to hell ! ' I cried, and I rushed 
 out leaving the landlord and the rest o' them 
 staring. 
 
 " It was a wild night in March. The wind 
 howled and moaned about me. The great 
 black clouds hid the moon. All was dreary 
 and desolate as if God had forsaken me. I 
 walked on, not knowing where I went, or car- 
 ing either, until I got to a lonely place down 
 on the marshes. I felt that I was as big a fool 
 as I was a sinner, and I thought that I would 
 kill myself and end it all. The wind came 
 hissing in over the water, muttering and whis- 
 pering all kinds of dreadful things. Now and 
 then the moon would break out for a moment, 
 and then the darkness covered it all up again. 
 At length my heart was broken, and flinging 
 myself on my knees, I could pray, ' God be mer- 
 ciful to me a sinner ! ' I felt sure that if I did 
 not get saved then I never should. I had put 
 it off and off, and got worse each time. If I 
 put it off again I should surely be lost. So I 
 began to roar aloud in my misery and earnest- 
 ness. I forgot all about the time. I prayed 
 on hour after hour. The wind had gone down
 
 Introduces us to Another Friend. 119 
 
 I remember as if it were yesterday. The 
 dawn was just creeping up, cold and gray. 
 Then came the remembrance of those words, 
 something like this, ' Jesus Christ by the grace 
 of God tastctli death for every man.' It broke 
 with faint light upon my soul, but slowly it 
 came to mean more and more ' For me ! ' I 
 thought, and hoped, and half believed. For 
 every man ! I cried again. For such a wretch 
 and drunkard as I had been ! Ah ! I can 
 never tell how, but I saw it all in a moment ! 
 ' For me,' I cried, 'yes, for me ; ' ' by the grace 
 cf God for me.' 
 
 " I often think of it, and I sing those lines o* 
 the hymn book like as if they were put there 
 on purpose for me : 
 
 ' "Tis Love ! 'tis Love ! thou diedst forme ; 
 
 I hear thy whisper in my heart ; 
 The morning breaks, the shadows flee ; 
 
 Pure, universal Love thou art : 
 To me, to all, thy bowels move, 
 Thy nature and thy name is Love. 
 
 ' I know thee, Saviour, who thou art, 
 
 Je*us, the feeble sinner's Friend: 
 Nor wilt thou with the night depart, 
 But stay, and love me to the end : 
 Thy mercies never shall remove ; 
 Thy nature and thy name is Love.
 
 i2o MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS- 
 
 ' The Sun of Righteousness on me 
 
 Hath risen, with healing in his wings : 
 Wither'd my nature's strength, from thee 
 
 My soul its life and succor brings : 
 My help is all laid up above ; 
 Thy nature and thy name is Love.' 
 
 It was all right after that, friends. I'd tried it 
 in my own strength before. Good resolutions 
 and all that wont hold a man when the temp- 
 tation comes on him. He breaks them and 
 goes just where the devil likes to drive him. 
 But when Jesus comes he turns the devil out, 
 and then a man sits down at those blessed feet, 
 clothed, and in his right mind."
 
 How Bill Smith Managed. 
 
 121 
 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOW BILL SMITH MANAGED. 
 
 day old 
 Mrs. Catch- 
 pole, as was 
 her custom 
 occasionally, 
 called in to 
 see Widow 
 
 Hunt, to en- 
 
 i 
 
 joy a little 
 gossip about 
 their neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 Life had 
 not a great 
 many comforts for Widow Hunt, but there was 
 one so richly enjoyed that it made up for all 
 deficiencies in number or variety. It was to 
 sit after dinner, when all was "tidied up," in 
 her clean white cap well frilled at the edges, 
 
 and to hear the news. Let others soar after 
 8
 
 122 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 the sublime, and talk of their lofty ambition 
 Widow Catchpole's idea of real happiness 
 was to hear the latest gossip of the village 
 of marriages in the bud, and whispers of 
 how Hodge was a-keeping company with 
 Joan ; of marriages blossoming, and how that 
 the day was fixed ; of marriages fruitful, as 
 they were always at Tattingham, babies com- 
 ing, babies come, and babies going through 
 all the wonderful range of life that belongs 
 to babydom. 
 
 Widow Hunt's was the rare gift of listening 
 well. Never obtruding an opinion or inter- 
 rupting any remark, she invariably came in 
 like an echo at the end of a sentence, faintly 
 repeating the last two or three words with a 
 serious shake of her head. To-day she sat on a 
 low stool before the fire-place, her elbows rest- 
 ing on her knees, the hands exposing the palms 
 to the grate, and her projecting chin turned 
 up toward the speaker. And seeing that the 
 day was extremely hot, and that the fire-place 
 shone brilliant only with black lead, it was at 
 least creditable to the old lady's strength of 
 imagination that she sought thus to screen her 
 face and to warm her hands.
 
 How Bill Smith Managed. 123 
 
 Her good friend, old Mrs. Catchpole, pos- 
 sessed the more common gift and grace of 
 gossip. A shadow the faintest murmur 
 even a fancied whisper, could supply her with 
 gossip for a day. The Israelites made bricks 
 without straw judging from her gossip old 
 Mrs. Catchpole could have made them without 
 clay. Out of very little grew the most amaz- 
 ing secrets, told as if tremendous issues hung 
 upon them ; and even a passing glance sufficed 
 to reveal to Mrs. Catchpole prodigious events, 
 to which the gunpowder plot wasn't fit to hold 
 a candle, so to speak. 
 
 She had nodded to Bill Smith as she came in 
 at Widow Hunt's door. The lingering image 
 suggested the topic on which old Mrs. Catch- 
 pole started as soon as she sat down by the 
 frilled white cap, and "just got her breath," 
 as she said, 
 
 " I count, my dear, I do, as Bill Smith must 
 be a-making money," she began. 
 
 " A-making money," mumbled the white 
 cap as it shook itself very solemnly. 
 
 " Why, there, it a'nt more nor five year 
 agone sin' he was a'most the poorest man in 
 the parish, a drinkin' an* a hidlin' about, as
 
 .124 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 were quite disgraceful, an' his wife lookin' that 
 starved for all she kep' herself to herself, and 
 thought as nobody knowed owt about it 
 't were plain as a pikestaff." 
 
 Mrs. Catchpole paused a moment to catch 
 her breath. " Plain as a pikestaff," solemnly 
 observed Widow Hunt, in the tones of a parish 
 clerk. 
 
 " An' his children rags and tatters," con- 
 tinued the gossip, before the breath was fairly 
 caught. 
 
 " Rags an' tatters," came in like an echo. 
 
 " But now " and Mrs. Catchpole nodded 
 her head and raised her hands, as if words 
 were far too weak to express all she knew. 
 
 Widow Hunt gave a prolonged and solemn 
 shake of the frilled cap that did duty at once 
 for itself and the echo too. 
 
 This silence of the two old ladies fairly ex- 
 pressed the opinions of the village as to Bill 
 Smith. " He must be a-making money," was 
 the summary objection by which Mister Horn 
 was always defeated when he referred to Bill 
 as an instance of flunking about giving. Yet it 
 was so obviously impossible for him to be get- 
 ting rich, or really saving much, that words
 
 Hoiv Bill Smith Managed. 125 
 
 generally gave way to the convenient vague- 
 ness of a nod or a look. 
 
 There could be no manner of doubt about 
 it that Bill Smith was a prosperous fellow. 
 Anybody must have been blind if they hadn't 
 noticed a strange improvement in the look of 
 the man and of all about him. Even a blind man 
 would have heard it. For many a day together 
 the smithy used to be still, but now early dawn 
 seemed to wake the ringing anvil as well as 
 the music of the birds. And to wake the smith 
 himself as well as the smithy. You used to 
 hear him cursing and growling ; now six days 
 out of seven you'd hear Bill Smith singing 
 away with his bass voice. For smiths always 
 sing blacksmiths I mean it's part of their 
 work. Some ingenious person has pointed 
 out how that the father of such as handle the 
 harp and the organ, and the instructor of every 
 artificer in brass and iron, went hand in hand. 
 What more likely, he asks, than that thought- 
 ful Jubal stood in the smithy of his half-brother, 
 Tubal-cain, listening to the ringing anvil, and 
 the double bass of the bellows, as he reduced 
 the many sounds to the first laws of harmony, 
 and designed his harp and organ. This at
 
 126 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 least is certain, that every Tubal-cain has been 
 half-brother to Jubal ever since. It certainly 
 was worth getting up early to hear Bill sing 
 the Morning Hymn, to the old tune with its 
 twists and twirls : 
 
 " Awake, my soul, and with the sun 
 Thy daily stage of duty run : 
 
 Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise, 
 
 To pay thy morning sacrifice." 
 
 And then to hear him whistle the air as he 
 thrust the iron into the fire, and taking the 
 handle of the bellows, woke up the sleepy fire 
 into a quivering flame that leaped half up the 
 chimney. And when the iron was glowing 
 white, it was good to see the sparks fly as the 
 merry ringing kept tune to the vigor of the 
 second verse : 
 
 " Redeem thy misspent moments past, 
 And live this day as if thy last ; 
 Thy talents to improve take care ; 
 For the great day thyself prepare." 
 
 Then came the hissing from the trough, and the 
 steam half hid the singer as he held the hot iron 
 in the water, steadily singing the next verse : 
 
 " Let all thy converse be sincere, 
 Thy conscience as the noon-day clear ; 
 For God's all-seeing eye surveys 
 Thy secret thoughts, thy words, and ways.
 
 And when the iron was glowing white, it was good 
 to see the sparks fly.
 
 How Bill Smith Managed. 129 
 
 This solo, that proclaimed Bill's prosperity 
 in the smithy, had quite a chorus of its own 
 outside. There were airy little hummings of 
 prosperity in the branches of the apple-tree, 
 that bent down to.the ground with the weight 
 of fruit. The vine leaves that peeped in at 
 the windows rustled all day long, gossiping of 
 the good things they saw within. The four 
 grafted rose-treep that stood in the corners of 
 the grass-plot grew up stately and flourishing, 
 as if conscious that they were of the establish- 
 ment, and prospered accordingly. The tidy 
 little woman that flitted past the open door, 
 and the cheery song that came from within, 
 completed a vision of prosperity. The chil- 
 dren, too, that came down the shady lane from 
 school, with rosy cheeks and glad voices, kept 
 up the impression ; and the baby ! the young- 
 est mother in Tattingham agreed that there 
 never had been so prosperous a child in the 
 place. 
 
 No wonder, then, that people talked of Bill 
 Smith as " a-making money." 
 
 Moreover, Bill thought himself as prosper- 
 ous as any man need be ; but then he used the 
 word in his own sense.
 
 130 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 " You see with most folks prosperin' means 
 getting money, but I know that it means using 
 money. Five or ten shillin' a week, or twenty 
 or thirty for that matter, don't make a man 
 prosperous if he can't use it when he's got it. 
 I can remember the time when the more I had 
 the less I prospered when more money on'y 
 meant more drink and more want." This was 
 Bill's explanation. 
 
 The fact was, that ever since his conversion 
 Bill had been a favorite pupil of Mister Horn's. 
 He had taught his master as much, perhaps, as 
 he had learned from him, for it was in fre- 
 quent talk with him that Mister Horn often hit 
 upon the views that he so perpetually advo- 
 cated. Moreover, he presented to Mister Horn 
 precisely the subject that he wanted on which 
 to test his theories. An intelligent, good man, 
 earning about his thirty shillings a week ; here 
 Mister Horn thought he might see how his 
 opinions worked. 
 
 It was at the close of a long evening talk 
 with Mister Horn that Bill first began to carry 
 out his master's teaching. 
 
 " Good advice isn't a thing to be kept on the 
 shelf, and on'y looked at like the doctor's med-
 
 How Bill Smith Managed. 1 3 1 
 
 icine when a man's gettin' better," he said to 
 his wife as he sat down with pencil and paper 
 to see how he could " match it." 
 
 They had been talking of the scriptural rule 
 to lay by on the first day of the week, as 
 God prospered one. " Not that what was best 
 for some folks in other times is always best 
 for every body in these, but that if a man can 
 get Scripture to build upon it's the best and 
 most comfortable foundation we can have," was 
 Mister Horn's comment on the text. 
 
 So Bill sat with a neat little money-box be- 
 fore him, turning over the first principles of 
 prosperity using money. 
 
 The Bible lay open before him at the six- 
 tenth chapter of the First Epistle to the Co- 
 rinthians. Bill's finger had gone slowly over 
 the second verse as he whispered the words to 
 himself; then he sat up and looked at the fire, 
 turning it over for some time. The thoughts 
 very slowly shaped themselves into Bill's prin- 
 ciples of giving. 
 
 " Seems to me there's one thing as plain 
 as a pikestaff, for all I'm no scholard a man 
 ought to manage about givin . He is to lay by 
 for it, just like he does for his house-rent, and
 
 132 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 for half a score o' things besides for every 
 thing a'most except for giving. There's very 
 many folks can't give any thing 'pon the spur 
 o' the moment, and they think that 'tis all 
 right if they don't. But seems to me 'tis all 
 wrong. They couldn't pay their rent 'pon the 
 spur o' the moment either, but for all that the 
 landlord expects to get his money. A man is 
 to lay by and arrange for it ; whether folks 
 hold with doing it on the first day o' the week 
 or the last, they are in a bad way who don't 
 do it at all. So that's the first head, as the 
 preachers say." And Bill nodded his own 
 head with considerable satisfaction, as if that 
 point were settled. 
 
 " Now the next thing is how much to lay 
 by," he went on, taking up his paper, and 
 biting the end of his pencil as he turned over 
 this question. " I can make thirty shillin' a 
 week, takin' one week with another," Bill mut- 
 tered slowly; and he paused again, gnawing at 
 the pencil. ' Well, s'pose I say three shilling a 
 week," and he figured a large three at the top 
 of the paper. He held it out at arm's length, 
 put his head on one side, and looked at his 
 handiwork with an air of satisfaction. " That's
 
 Hoiv Bill Smith Managed. 133 
 
 the second head then three. I don't see how 
 it can anyhow be less than that, as Mister 
 Horn says that the Jew gave a tenth, and I'm 
 not goin' to be behind the Jew. No, no, they 
 didn't know any thing about what Paul said," 
 and Bill turned over three or four pages of his 
 Bible. " ' Ye know, yc know the grace of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet 
 for your sakes he became poor, that ye through 
 his poverty might be rich.' No, I can't give 
 less than a tenth, and I'm a'most thinkin' that 
 I ought to give more. Well, let that stand to 
 begin with the more I get, the more I'll give 
 of it." 
 
 And as if to confirm what was done, Bill 
 stretched himself on the table, put his head on 
 one side, and thrust out his tongue, and having 
 wetted his pencil he went over the large three 
 again . 
 
 Then he raised himself and bit the pencil 
 vigorously, with the air of a man who felt him- 
 self getting through a difficulty. " The next 
 thing is what must I lay by for. First of all, 
 there's the Lord's work, o' course. I ought to 
 begin with that, I'm sure, for religion saved 
 me more than the whole of it. Three shil-
 
 134 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 lings ! why it wasn't half enough sometimes to 
 pay for the week's beer. And then religion 
 made me sober and steady, and that brought 
 me in three times as much. Besides, what 
 else is there that's so well worth paying for ? 
 House-rent and doctor's bill a'n't to be men- 
 tioned in the same breath along with it. And 
 butcher's meat and bread isn't such good cheer 
 as I get out o' religion. Folks pay for them 
 as a duty ; but think what religion costs isn't 
 a duty at all that's only a charity, something 
 that isn't meant for any but rich folks who can 
 afford it and folks must be very rich indeed 
 before they can see their way to afford that. 
 And besides that," Bill went on to himself, 
 " somehow I don't like to think about it all as 
 payin' debts. I want to feel like Mister Horn 
 puts it, as all I've got belongs to my blessed 
 Lord, and I'm put in for kind of a steward, 
 who has got to look after the estate and man- 
 age to make so much of it as ever he can for 
 his master. And for a Master like mine bless 
 his holy name ! how can I ever do enough ? " 
 And Bill's whole soul woke up in a moment 
 into a song of praise plaintively and tenderly 
 came the words
 
 How Bill Smith Managed. 135 
 
 See from his head, his hands, his feet, 
 Sorrow and love flow mingled down : 
 
 Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, 
 Or thorns compose so rich a crown ? " 
 
 And then loudly and heartily came the next 
 verse 
 
 "Were the whole realm of nature mine, 
 That were a present far too small ; 
 Love so amazing, so divine, 
 
 Demands my soul, my life, my all." 
 
 " But come, Bill Smith ; good feelin's and 
 singin' hymns wont settle the matter ; " and 
 once more the teeth worked at the pencil, as 
 Bill looked at the large figure three. 
 
 " To begin with, there's class-money wife 
 and myself. Without managin' I could give a 
 penny a week, let's double that and see how it 
 looks." So that was figured C. M. a quar- 
 ter wife and myself ; 4 sJiillin and 4 pence. 
 " Then there's the ticket we'll double that 
 and see how it looks." And that came in an 
 uneven line. Ticket M. ditto, a quarter, 4 
 shillin'. " That looks very pretty, anyhow," 
 cried Bill as he held it out admiringly. " Well, 
 but I ha'n't done yet by a long way. There's 
 the collections, and the poor folk in the place
 
 136 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 it will be good to have a bit for them, so say 
 five shillin' more." 
 
 " But stop," cried Bill, somewhat alarmed, 
 " I'm goin' too fast," and he added it all up 
 and found that it came to thirteen shillings 
 and fourpence a quarter. " That '11 never do, 
 never," and Bill scratched his head as if by 
 way of waking up the sleeping brains inside. 
 Then he figured three times thirteen, and 
 started with blank astonishment to see it come 
 to thirty-nine shillings a quarter. 
 
 " It can't be right," said Bill, going over it 
 again ; and yet it seemed to be. Then, to his 
 great relief, he heard his wife moving up stairs. 
 "Missis," he cried to his spouse, "I'm in a 
 muddle : " and he was most thoroughly be- 
 wildered. " If I spend three shillin' a week, 
 what '11 that come to in a quarter?" 
 
 " Why, thirty-nine shillings, to be sure, Bill, 
 wont it ? " said the wife from the top of the 
 stairs in an undertone, for Tattingham's most 
 prosperous baby had just dropped off into an 
 infantile snore that was much too musical to 
 be harshly disturbed. 
 
 " So it is," said Bill, putting 39 beside the 
 large 3, " and there's more than five and twenty
 
 How Bill Smith Managed. 137 
 
 shillin' left now. Why, I sha'n't be able to find 
 things enough to give to." Bill was really em- 
 barrassed with his riches. What should he 
 put down next. As he looked about in won- 
 der his eye fell on his little maiden's mission- 
 ary box, and at once another line filled up the 
 paper missions, I penny a week is. id. This 
 at on.ce suggested home missions " Can't give 
 to one without the other," said Bill, as he pen- 
 ciled a fifth entry, and arranged for another 
 is. id. 
 
 There followed a more prolonged pause than 
 ever, and the pencil could scarcely bear the 
 more vigorous application of the teeth, when 
 Bill remembered that the parson at Tatting- 
 ham collected for the Bible Society, and called 
 now and then for a trifle. So down went an- 
 other penny a week, and at the end of another 
 crooked line there appeared another is. id. a 
 quarter. Four and fourpence a year. Per- 
 haps, if Bill had known it, he would scarcely 
 have been so " owdacious," for the squire who 
 owned the parish could only afford five shil- 
 lings a year. 
 
 And now what else was there ? The pencil 
 wouldn't stand the much more severe attack
 
 138 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 from those sharp teeth and yet here he could 
 think of nothing more, and had a good deal 
 over a pound to get rid of every quaiter. 
 Then came a resolution to take a pew in Tat- 
 tingham Chapel, thinking that he could afford 
 to be comfortable. It was with a positive 
 relief that he wrote down that "four shilliri 
 a quarter" 
 
 Then adding it up once more Bill was an- 
 noyed, almost angry, to find that it only came 
 to twenty shillings and sevenpence. Then the 
 good wife came to his relief. 
 
 " I am fairly muddled, and can't match it 
 no how," said Bill, scratching his head with 
 one hand, and holding out the paper. 
 
 " Can't you see your way to save as much as 
 you wanted ?" she said, looking over his shoul- 
 der at the figures. 
 
 " Nay it's just the other way about that 
 beats me I can't find things enough to give 
 to. We 're too rich, too rich, missis." 
 
 " Ah ! you've forgotten the children," said 
 the wife, as she ran quickly over Bill's figures 
 " three of them for schooling, that's two- 
 pence a week, that's six shillings and sixpence 
 a quarter."
 
 Hoiv Bill SmitJi Managed. 139 
 
 Bill shook his head doubtfully " Nay, dear, 
 I don't think that '11 do. You see it's a tenth 
 for the Lord, and I might as well put down 
 their clothin' an' food to his account as their 
 education." 
 
 " Well, but there's the club, can't you put 
 that in ? " said the wife, anxious to help her 
 husband. 
 
 " Nay, wife, that wont do either," said Bill. 
 " You see if I begin to bring myself in at all, I 
 might come in for it all." 
 
 At last husband and wife gave in. " There 
 it is," said Bill, " eighteen shillin' and five- 
 pence for the Lord whenever he wants it. He 
 knows it's there and he'll send somebody 
 to fetch it, for he knows a good many who 
 need it." 
 
 So Bill put up his pencil and paper. " I'll 
 never believe anybody again as long as I live, 
 when they say they can't afford to give. They 
 can afford sixpence a day in beer and tobacco 
 very often, and they can go foolin' away their 
 money in a score of ways. There's only one 
 reason why folks can't afford to give, and that 
 is, because they afford so much for every thing 
 
 else. Why, if a man would put by sixpence a 
 9
 
 140 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 week he'd very likely be able to give six times 
 as much as he does and he'd be able to do it, 
 as the Book says, not grudgingly or of neces- 
 sity, but like a cheerful giver that the Lord 
 loves."
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 
 
 141 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A HOMILY OF MISTER HORN'S. 
 
 'E thought of 
 it, he prayed 
 about it, and 
 he had for a 
 long time al- 
 
 , most deter- 
 mined to do 
 
 i 
 
 it. At last, 
 as though it 
 could be no 
 longer held 
 back, the re- 
 solve leaped 
 forth with a 
 very decided "/'// do if," and the ash stick 
 came down with an equally vigorous A men. 
 
 Mister Horn would preach a sermon all 
 about giving. 
 
 How it came about was on this wise.
 
 142 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 It was in the autumn as Mister Horn went 
 through the woods of which he had the man- 
 agement. He had been marking trees for the 
 woodman's ax a work full of varied suggestion 
 to his quick mind. The day was one of those 
 October days, most beautiful of all the year, 
 in which autumn, sinking beneath the touch of 
 winter, arrays herself in her loveliness, and 
 takes the last lingering look at her own beauty ; 
 days in which the fell destroyer seems stayed, 
 and charmed and smitten with love to his vic- 
 tim. The sunshine lit up the red gold of the 
 foliage, and crept between the scantier leaves 
 upon the mossy branches and down to briered 
 nooks, while here and there a leaf came flut- 
 tering to the leafy path below. The robin 
 tried with brave music to wake the dead sum- 
 mer, and stopped often, as if listening and 
 wondering that there was no answer. The still- 
 ness, the loneliness, the "seriousness," of all 
 about him found in Mister Horn a ready heart 
 for the sermon they preached. At length he 
 paused in front of a withered tree. The leaf- 
 less branches rose up naked and black against 
 the blue sky, the trunk ran down bare and 
 black to the earth ; no moss grew about it, no
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn's. 143 
 
 nests hung in it telling of generous shelter to 
 the fowls of the air, no withered leaves lay 
 heaped around it, a bank of golden blessings. 
 Mister Horn took the chalk from his pocket, 
 muttering " Not that it's any good to any 
 body, but it'll be out o' the way." He stood 
 for a moment looking up at it. Beyond there 
 stretched branches of other trees, vigorous and 
 beautiful ; on every hand was life. He nodded 
 his head and tightened his lips " That's it," 
 he said to himself, " that's it all the world over ; 
 keep all, lose all ; give all, save all ; trees and 
 men it's all one. The life that has gone out 
 in doing good look at it coming back here in 
 these leaves, to lie with warmth and life around 
 them through the winter ; but you, old friend, 
 who kept it all to yourself, will get nothing 
 back. You've kept your life to yourself, and 
 now you're no good as tree or as timber. Cut 
 it down " and the chalk lines doomed it to 
 speedy destruction. 
 
 As Mister Horn went on his way the dead 
 tree became a text out of which sprang a mul- 
 titude of similes and illustrations a swarm of 
 thoughts came and lodged in the branches 
 thereof, diverse and manifold, but all leading
 
 144 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 to one conclusion : " Unto everyone that hath 
 shall be given, and he shall have abundance ; 
 but from him that hath not shall be taken 
 away even that which he hath." 
 
 At last these feelings and thoughts and fig- 
 ures gathered themselves together in the reso- 
 lution, "Til do it" Then Mister Horn had 
 pledged himself to a homily on giving. 
 
 One Sunday morning, about a fortnight aft- 
 er, the sermon was launched in Tattingham 
 chapel. 
 
 The text was a harder matter with Mister 
 Horn than the sermon, for thoughts had been 
 collected so long that a text was rather a center 
 of attraction about which they gathered than 
 a seed out of which the thoughts grew, and it 
 was difficult to find which they fitted best. It 
 was, perhaps, rather because he must choose 
 one, than that it was the best, that he took 
 Ecclesiastes v, 13: 
 
 " There is a sore evil which I have seen wider 
 the sun, namely, riches kept for the owners there- 
 of to their hurt." 
 
 " Now, my dear friends, I am going to try 
 and say something about money. 
 
 " ' Preach the Gospel and let money alone,'
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 145 
 
 does somebody say ? Preach the Gospel I will, 
 by the Lord's help, and because it is the Gos- 
 pel it wont let money alone. The Gospel has 
 a good deal more to do with our money than 
 perhaps, most of us would care to know. 
 
 " Now money, for all it's a very good thing 
 in its place, is the most hurtful of all things if 
 a man don't see to it and manage it right. The 
 Bible is full of how men have been hurt by 
 money ; and the only scene in which we hear a 
 wretched creature crying in hell is in the story 
 of a rich man whose one sin was that he had 
 his good things in this life. Money may hurt 
 men in three ways. 
 
 " FIRST, it may hurt wen in the way they try 
 to get it. 
 
 " Everybody ought to begin there. Let them 
 see to it that that is all right. I've known folks to 
 go into some business for the sake of the money, 
 and think they wouldn't get any hurt. They 
 might as well step gently off the church tower 
 and expect to come down all right. When I 
 used to be sinkin' wells, I always lowered a 
 candle before I went down myself if the can- 
 dle burned all steady, I knew I could go down ; 
 bu: if the candle flickered and went out, I knew
 
 146 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 that wouldn't do for me. Let a man let down 
 the candle o' the Lord, first, and if that'll burn, 
 the man wont hurt. But that candle is choked 
 out if a man will keep a public house, and get 
 all kinds o' company, and all sorts o' talk, and 
 all sorts o' mischief brewin' that air will put 
 out religion, and soul, and all. Or, if people 
 will go where they have to act lies, and to 
 measure lies, and to shuffle and dodge and do 
 underhand things, that will choke all that's 
 good in them. They say they must live some- 
 how. I heard tell once about a lot of hungry 
 people in Germany, who, in a time o' want, 
 were going to break into some corn-mills, when 
 Luther met them and asked them what they 
 were doing. Then up comes a stout fellow, 
 and quoth he, ' Master Luther, we must live.' 
 ' Live,' thundered Luther, 'why must ye live? 
 I only know one must. / know that we must be 
 honest' 
 
 11 But it's so hard to keep money from hurtin' 
 us that even in good and lawful callings men 
 very often hurt themselves. When a man will 
 work so hard and so long that he can only 
 yawn over his Bible for a few moments, and 
 then fall asleep on his knees and call it his
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn's. 147 
 
 prayers ' that man is sufferin' from a deadly 
 hurt. Woe, woe to them who have in business 
 set their hearts upon money, and make haste 
 to be rich ! It's the week-night service, or the 
 man's class night : ' Ho, friend, are you com- 
 ing with us ? ' Bless you, no ! he's off, so very 
 busy, so much to do he must make haste to 
 be rich. Ah, if he could stay long enough he 
 might see the sorrowful eyes of Jesus follow- 
 ing him with a tender pity ; he might hear the 
 words sadly spoken of him, Alas ! ' how hard- 
 ly shall they that have riches enter into the king- 
 dom of God ! ' 
 
 " Ay, and there is worse hurt than tnis, 
 though this is bad enough. When a man gets 
 it by grinding down them that work for him 
 that's a gain that will hurt the owner thereof 
 for ever and ever. The profit that's got by 
 beating down the fair price of things, and by 
 wringing hard bargains why the miserable 
 priests and scribes who had egged on Judas and 
 prompted him to his accursed work wouldn't 
 touch blood money the pieces might perish 
 with him ! Touch it ! I wouldn't touch it 
 with a pair of tongs a mile long. I saw one 
 day by the roadside a well where, in old time,
 
 48 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 when that parish had the plague, the people 
 put the money for the provisions that were 
 brought to them the water cleansed the coins. 
 But there is money gold and silver and pence 
 that has the curse of shortened lives upon 
 it, the curse of ruined health, of poor little 
 starved children, of injured women, of wronged 
 v/idows, and worst of all, of lost souls the sea 
 itself couldri t wash it clean ! Like the foolish 
 stories we heard when we were little, about 
 how wise magicians could rub a coin and call 
 up all kinds of visions, there are coins to-day 
 that when you touch them ought to con- 
 jure up a crowd of folks underfed and over- 
 worked. Folks all hollow-eyed, with white, 
 hungry faces, and long, bony fingers that point 
 at men and curse them. They shall have their 
 turn some day. God is slow, but sure, and his 
 book says, ' Your gold and silver is cankered ; 
 and the rust of them shall be a witness against 
 you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye 
 have heaped treasure together for the last days. 
 Behold the hire . . . which is of you kept back 
 by fraud, crieth, and the cries . . . are entered 
 into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.' Take 
 good heed how ye get money.
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn's. 143 
 
 " SECONDLY, Money may hurt men by ike 
 way they spend it. 
 
 " If the owner thereof spends it all in luxury 
 and self-indulgence, that is a hurt that he may 
 perhaps never get over. 
 
 " Nothing in God's book is more dreadful 
 or more startling than the story of the man 
 who had got enough to buy all dainty dishes 
 and unheard-of wines. Plenty to eat and noth- 
 ing to do why, what more could any body 
 want ? Ah ! he found out what more a man 
 wants before the next day dawned. For the 
 sentence had gone out, ' Thou fool, this night 
 thy soul shall be required of thee.' He was 
 dead, and left his barns to some third cousin 
 of whom he knew nothing dead, and could 
 not take a farthing of it with him dead and 
 buried, and the Lord wrote the epitaph: 'So 
 is lie that laycth up treasure for himself, and is 
 not rich toward God' 
 
 " And see ye, my friends, ye don't need 
 burstin' barns and much goods laid up before 
 you get hurt this way. In the woods I've come 
 across the adders, and I know that if the big 
 ones want most kill in' the little ones carry 
 poisoned tonguts. A man can let ten shillin'
 
 150 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 a-week bite him like a serpent. I'd rather that 
 you should find this old frame of mine in the 
 rags of a tramp, starved to death in a ditch, 
 than have money hurt me as some in this parish 
 let a week's wages hurt 'em. In all the world's 
 hurts and harms the worst is to see a man 
 staggering home drunk, cursing his Maker, go- 
 ing home mad enough to do any thing that's 
 cruel and devilish. 
 
 " Then there's the hurt o' spending money 
 too fast quite a plague in these times. The 
 men must be counted gentlefolks, and the 
 women must look never so smart till some- 
 body must go short. When the money's done 
 the bills come in, and then ' Preach the Gos- 
 pel ! ' Ay, my friends, it's about time some- 
 body did, for the Gospel says, Owe no man 
 any thing. It says, Provide things honest. 
 It says, Do to others as ye would be done by. 
 The Gospel ! It's the Gospel for the. day and 
 the Epistle too Pay your twenty shillings in 
 the pound. 
 
 " There was a good prayer I knew a man to 
 offer once a very good prayer. A brother 
 was praying with much noise for faith soul- 
 saving faith, sin-killing faith, devil-driving faith.
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 151 
 
 There was a quiet friend near him to whom 
 the noisy brother owed a long bill, ' Amen, 
 said the quiet friend ; ' Amen, and give us debt- 
 paying faith, too.' My friends, we want that 
 faith nowadays. People don't believe in a re- 
 ligion that doesn't do that. And they may 
 well not believe in it, for he that doesn't do 
 his duty to his brother, whom he hath seen, 
 how will he do his duty to his God, whom he 
 hath not seen. Take good heed how ye spend 
 money. 
 
 " The tJdrd way that money may hurt the 
 owners thereof is the way they keep it. 
 
 " The rich fool is better one way than the 
 miser. He did get something out of his 
 money. The miser turns every thing into 
 money and gets nothing out of it. The rich 
 man fared sumptuously every day, and was 
 clothed in purple and fine linen ; as Father 
 Abraham told him, he had his good things in 
 his life-time. But the miser, who grudges him- 
 self the moldy crust that he eats, is a Lazarus in 
 this world and a Dives in the next ; he has his 
 evil things both ways. However, there isn't 
 much to choose between them, the spendthrift 
 and the miser they both keep all their money
 
 152 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 for their own selves, and that is keeping it to 
 their hurt. Hurt indeed ! No poor slave ever 
 had such a hard time as money will lead a man 
 if once it gets the upper hand of any body. 
 To see a man that God made in his own image 
 and likeness sink down lean, shriveled, and 
 yellow, careless of hunger and cold, of dark- 
 ness and filth, if his old withered hand can but 
 clutch the money-bag goodness and heaven, 
 his God and his neighbor, his body and soul, 
 all bargained away for a little bit more of his 
 darling money that's money kept to the hurt 
 of the owner thereof. Yet it is almost as bad 
 to see one who has been a simple, godly fellow 
 getting rich, and as the money comes, to see 
 him growing careless and dead, slowly swelling 
 himself out with conceit, until he is too full of 
 himself to hold any thing else, and money is 
 more to him than all besides God or neigh- 
 bor, heaven or hell. Then, too, the miser 
 does hide himself in his dingy corner, buried, 
 earth to earth ; but the rich fools come swag- 
 gering into sunshine, putting ' the old man ' 
 into every body by their high and mighty 
 manners. There isn't much to choose between 
 'em, the miser and the fool. In both cases
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 153 
 
 money thus kept is kept to the hurt of the 
 owners thereof. 
 
 " There's many a man who has got his 
 money by honest, hard work, and had as much 
 right to it as any body could have, and who 
 has spent it harmlessly enough, yet his money 
 has become an eternal curse. He didn't man- 
 age it right when he got it. It is like that 
 story in Paul's travels where the Barbarians 
 showed them no little kindness. The shiver- 
 ing, drenched company gathered round the 
 fire, but out o' the same ruddy flame crept a 
 viper that fastened on Paul's arm, a ' venomous 
 beast.' Ah ! out o' men's luxuries and com- 
 forts creeps the old serpent indolence, forget- 
 fulness of God, self-indulgence, pride ; and it 
 has coiled round and round till you see them 
 fall down dead in soul and spirit, unless they 
 have the pluck to shake it off into the fire by 
 the Lord's help, and to stand forth among the 
 heathen as men of God. 
 
 " Now the first thing is for a man to think 
 about managing it. 
 
 " Money is like every thing else ; it don't 
 do to be left to itself. 'A child left to itself 
 bringeth its mother to shame/ saith the wise
 
 154 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 man. A garden left to itself bringeth its 
 owner to weeds, and a colt left to itself bring- 
 eth its master to the ground. Every thing 
 must be taken hold of the right way, and man- 
 aged. And the right way to manage money 
 is to give rightly. But how many of us ever 
 thought about giving how much we ought to 
 give away in the year, and what we ought to 
 give to? We think about getting that's very 
 certain. And we think about spending, too ; 
 but as to giving well, when you've had to give 
 you've given ; when the box has come round, 
 and you didn't like to give a nod, you've put 
 something in, you didn't think of it before- 
 hand or after. If you want to keep money 
 from hurting you, you must think as much about 
 givin as get tin . That's a very plain direction 
 in Paul's letter to the Corinthians: ' Upon the 
 first day of the week let eveiy one of you lay 
 by him in store, as God hath prospered him.' 
 That was before the collection. They weren't 
 to come to the service and give any thing that 
 they might happen to have about them, (if it 
 were only little enough,) nor to nudge their 
 neighbor and trouble him for the loan of a 
 three-penny bit, nor to bow to the plate as if
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn '$. 155 
 
 politeness would build a chapel or pay for a 
 missionary. They were once a week to think 
 how muck ought I to give ? ' and they were to 
 put that by. What a blessing it would be to 
 us here in Tattingham if we tried that plan ! 
 We shouldn't have the devil trippin' up souls 
 with that straw for most of us are little babes 
 in Christ, easily upset which keeps you away 
 from class for weeks together: 'You haven't 
 paid your class money, and it's so many weeks 
 that you're ashamed to go and not pay. Stay 
 home to-night.' And so the devil has made 
 many a poor backslider just out of that. There 
 would be the money put by for that, ready 
 and waitin', if people would do as their Bible 
 says. Think about it, and arrange for it as the 
 Lord has prospered you. And if you want to 
 kno\v how much the Lord has prospered you, 
 ask yourself how much you've got that God 
 could take away. So then, if you don't want 
 nioncy to hurt you, think about giving, and 
 arrange for it. 
 
 " There is a good old saying, ' Riches take 
 to themselves wings and fly away, and he who 
 would keep 'em must clip their wings by giv- 
 
 in' ; ' but that is only half the truth. Money 
 10
 
 156 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 is like the fiery little Bantam cocks that fly at 
 every body with spur and bill ; men must clip 
 their wings not only that they ma'n't fly away, 
 but also that they ma'n't fly at them. People 
 make a great mistake who think of charity in 
 a one-sided way. It isn't only to relieve the 
 poor, but to keep money from hurtin' the 
 owners thereof, and the greatest curse that 
 could come upon men would be to have all 
 rich and no poor. It's a blessing for the rich, 
 that truth of our Saviour's, ' The poor ye have 
 always with you.' Folks often excuse them- 
 selves, saying they can't afford to give ; but if 
 they saw things in a truer light they'd say that 
 they couldn't afford to keep. Look at that 
 story of the good Samaritan, of whom Jesus 
 says to us, ' Go thou and do likewise.' Ex- 
 cuses ! why that Samaritan might have made 
 them by the score. He might have thought, 
 as you do when you see any wretched object, 
 ' Ah, if this fellow had been sober and indus- 
 trious, depend upon it he wouldn't have come 
 to this. Besides, he has no claim upon me, 
 and why should he expect me to trouble my- 
 self about him. Then again, these fellows are 
 so ungrateful, one may kill one's self over 'em,
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 157 
 
 and never get a single thank-ye. And if I 
 begin to help there's no knowing where it'll 
 end he'll want oil and wine, and they're ex- 
 pensive things, and I shall have none for my- 
 self. I shall have to lift him up on my mule 
 and trudge alongside roads are rough, and 
 I'm a bad walker. If I take him to the inn 
 there's twopence gone at once ! And what 
 with my staying about minding him, my day 
 will be wasted and night will overtake me, and 
 that's not a pleasant thing in a place that 
 swarms with robbers.' So he might have said. 
 And comin' nearer, still undecided, he catches 
 sight of the Jewish features. That might 
 have crowned the excuses, and the Samari- 
 tan might have gone off muttering something 
 about riding to the next village and telling 
 them of it, and they might do as they would. 
 
 " But he got off and gave the poor fellow oil 
 and wine, and tore strips off his own robes to 
 dress the wounds ; he led him gently on the 
 mule, he paid his bill at the inn, he rode home 
 along the dangerous road. Yet I tell you that 
 poor man who had fallen among thieves gave 
 back as much as he got. Self-denial is a more 
 heavenly thing than a little oil and wine ; the
 
 158 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 blessed sense of having done one's duty is 
 cheaply bought for twopence and a lift on the 
 mule ; that joy, (like heaven in its depth and 
 all-unsullied purity,) that springs from a good 
 deed well done, is a bargain if a man sells all 
 that he has to buy it. To think about giving 
 and to fairly arrange to do it is the first thing. 
 
 " To give as much as you can is the second 
 thing. 
 
 " Now you all agree with that, I know, what- 
 ever you think of what I have said already, or 
 what J am going to say. Every body shakes 
 his head very piously, ' O, yes, we all ought to 
 give as much as we can ; ' and one would think 
 that we were a set of angels if he didn't do 
 more than listen to us. 
 
 " This man has sixteen shillings a week, and 
 he gives as much as he can. ' There's rent, 
 you know, and rates, and they are heavy in 
 this parish ; and there's food, and times are 
 hard now ; and there's children, and clothing, 
 and the club. I should like to know what I 
 can give out of that.' So he gives as much as 
 he can and that is nothing. 
 
 " Here is another man, getting his thirty shil- 
 lings a week. He gives as much as he can,
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 1 59 
 
 certainly. He can't make ends meet on that. 
 He is in debt to every body the publican 
 first, and then, of course, to every body else. 
 Tell me whose name is chalked down on the 
 door of ' The Green Man,' and I'll tell you 
 who owes money to the grocer, and butcher, 
 and baker, and doctor, and by and by to every 
 rate-payer in the parish ; for if he doesn't want 
 them to keep him in the workhouse, they'll 
 have to find him a grave, and to bury him in 
 it. He, too, thinks he gives as much as he 
 can and he gives nothing. 
 
 " But here is a gentleman in the receipt of 
 five pounds a week. ' Now,' says sixteen shil- 
 lings a week, ' you'll get something there.' 
 ' That's the place to go to,' says thirty shillings 
 a week, ' he's a rich man.' * Well, sir, you think 
 every body ought to give as much as he can ? ' 
 ' Of course,' says he, ' of course, Mister Horn, 
 we all ought to do that, you know. But 'em 
 you see a man in my position has so many 
 claims and he has to keep up appearances, 
 you know and he must mix a little with so- 
 ciety a little, you know, for the sake of the 
 children : ' and 'em well, he gives as much 
 as he can give, and he gives nothing that is,
 
 160 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 if he can help it, for sometimes a good cus- 
 tomer asks him for a subscription, and his 
 business is obliged to afford what his religion 
 wouldn't. 
 
 " But now we shall be rewarded. This is a 
 rich man here. Bless you, he's worth five hun- 
 dred a year ten pounds a week. What a pret- 
 ty place he has. ' Ah/ says sixteen shillings, 
 ' if I were only like him, what I would do 
 then ! ' ' To be sure,' says thirty shillings, ' no 
 man should be ' wasting his time on us when 
 he can get all that he wants there." ' He can 
 afford it/ says two hundred a year. So we 
 come before him. Here he is, walking round 
 his garden. ' What a pretty place you've got 
 here, sir/ ' Yes ; but it costs me a good deal to 
 keep it up, you know. These things always 
 want looking after.' 'This your dog, sir? a 
 handsome fellow.' ' He ought to be ; he cost 
 enough, and it takes a round sum in the year 
 to feed him. But walk in and have a glass of 
 wine ; I've got some nice old port.' ' No, sir, 
 excuse me, please. I just called to ask you a 
 question. I have been talking to some folks 
 in the village, and their opinion is that every 
 body ought to give as much as he can. May
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 161 
 
 I ask you what you think ? ' ' Certainly, cer- 
 tainly ; that's right enough. Every body ought 
 to give as much as he can. My own case is 
 peculiar, you know. My expenses are so nu- 
 merous, and there are so many claims, and 
 so much of my income has to go into the 
 business, that I cannot do what I should like 
 to, though I give what I can.' Of course, and 
 so he, too, gives nothing. (Then Mister Horn's 
 voice grew sad and solemn in its tones.) And 
 all the time there stands by us the blessed 
 Lord, who gives us strength and sense to get 
 our living ; who gives us the food we eat and 
 the clothes we wear. There he stands with 
 bleeding feet and pierced hands, and his brow 
 torn with the crown of thorns. He was rich, 
 and for our sakes became poor. He laid down 
 his life for us. And now he sees us griping and 
 grasping all, afraid of our lives lest he should 
 get a farthing of it ! O, it is enough to make 
 the angels who cast their crowns before him 
 weep. And the time is coming when we shall 
 weep about it too, and no hand shall wipe our 
 tears away. The Son of man shall sit on the 
 throne of his glory, and he shall say : ' Depart 
 from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, pre-
 
 162 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 pared for the devil and his angels : for I was 
 a hungered, and ye gave me no meat ; I was 
 thirsty, and ye gave me no drink : I was a 
 stranger, and ye took me not in.' . . . ' Verily 
 I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to 
 one of the least of these, ye did it not to ME.' 
 Cast him into outer darkness a proper place 
 for a black sin like that ! A man for whom 
 the Son of God died, to live heaping himself 
 up with food and clothes, spending every thing 
 on his house perhaps on his dog and his 
 horse and for the Blessed Lord and Giver of 
 all nothing, or only a mockery that is worse 
 than nothing ! 
 
 But after all, how much one ought to give is a 
 matter that every man must settle for himself. 
 In this matter we are not under the law, but 
 under grace. But let a man see to it that 
 grace doesn't get less out of him than the law 
 could get out of a Jew. Surely the son of the 
 bondwoman is not going to be more gener- 
 ous than the son of the free. Heir to all his 
 Father's estate Isaac, the child of laughter 
 surely he will do greater things than the poor 
 wanderer in the desert. Yet under the law 
 the servant gave a tenth, besides what the sac-
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn's. 163 
 
 rifices, and gifts, and offerings cost, and that 
 was more than another tenth. Love is a poor 
 thing if it can't get more out of any body than 
 the law can. A son is hardly worth the name 
 if he doesn't give a better service than a slave. 
 I think that every man who calls himself a 
 Christian is bound to sit down and think about 
 it carefully, ay, and kneel down too and pray 
 about it, not only look here and there and see 
 what somebody else does. Let him honestly 
 count up what other things cost him, let him 
 count up how much he owes to the Lord for 
 the preaching of the word, and for the means 
 of grace, for the blessed word and the hope of 
 heaven. Then let him settle what he can give 
 and stick to it, telling the Master what he has 
 done, and asking his help and blessing ; for 
 without his help we shall soon slip back again 
 into the old careless ways. 
 
 " And besides that, if a man really loves his 
 Lord at all, he will not only think how much he 
 can give he will think of this, too, how much 
 he can save that he may give. He will deny him- 
 self, and take up his cross, that he may be what 
 the Lord Jesus calls ' rich toward God.' If a 
 man doesn't love with a giving 'love he'd better
 
 164 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 hold his tongue about it. There is one kind o' 
 love that John tells us not to have, and it's 
 a'most the only kind o' love that's forbidden 
 ' Let us not love in word, neither in tongue.' 
 You know how God loves : God so loved that 
 he gave. That is his love, and we don't know 
 much about it if we don't love with a love that 
 loves to give. Come, wake up, thou Little- 
 heart, and count up what he has given thee. 
 How much owest thou unto thy Lord ? When 
 you had spent all, and were perishing with 
 hunger, he ran and fell on your neck and kissed 
 you. He brought you home, and gave you the 
 best robe, and the ring for the finger, and the 
 shoes for the feet. He had the fatted calf 
 killed for merry-making. Has he not sent his 
 angels to hold you up in their hands ? and for 
 you and for me God gave his only begotten 
 Son ! And yonder there are the pearly gates, 
 opened for us, and the streets of pure gold, 
 and the fullness of blessing for ever and ever. 
 O, canst thou be niggardly to such a Giver? 
 
 " To give with the right spirit is the third 
 thing. Not to let a poor relation starve because 
 you want to look fine at the top of a subscrip- 
 tion list. Thy money perish with thee, if thou
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 165 
 
 canst play the Pharisee like that ! thou and 
 thy giving are like to go to perdition. And 
 you should not give, either, merely because 
 somebody else is giving, and it wont do for 
 you to be behind them people would notice 
 it. Yes, and there is One who notices such 
 giving as that, and he wont take it as done 
 unto himself. Remember what the book says, 
 Not grudgingly, or of necessity. 
 
 " Grudgingly ! Why, there are some folks 
 I'd as soon kick a bee-hive over as ask them for 
 sixpence for the Master. You'll set 'em a-go- 
 ing at once, buzzin' and stingin', and then stop 
 them if you can ! They'll give you all the 
 sorrows and misfortunes of their lives, from 
 their teethin' upward, till you'd think that no- 
 body ever was so unfortunate. Poor creatures, 
 twenty years agone didn't some man die a 
 half-a-sovereign in their debt, and he hasn't 
 paid 'em since, and he professed to be a relig- 
 ious man too ! And there was old Mr. So-and- 
 so, they did think that he would have remem- 
 bered them in his will but there, what could 
 you expect with such a set about the old man ? 
 You'll hear all their grumblings and growlings 
 against every body in the Church and out of
 
 1 66 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 it, all the faults and failin's of the whole parish. 
 And after that, very likely they will ask you 
 to call again for the sixpence because they 
 must think about it. And when you do call 
 again, they'll have found out some new reason 
 for not giving any thing ; or else they'll bring 
 you a threepenny-bit, with a great sigh, as if 
 they were parting with their first-born. The 
 Lord loveth a cheerful giver. And no wonder, 
 for 'tis one o' the prettiest sights, and in these 
 parts one o' the rarest, too. 
 
 " Now, my friends, I've about done, for I can't 
 either preach or listen to long sermons. If 
 once in your life-time you've been stirred up 
 to think about this matter of giving I am 
 thankful. And the Lord help us to see our 
 duty and help us to do it. There's plenty of 
 work for thee to do with thy money, hast thou 
 much or little. 
 
 " Eh, my friends ! when I think of this poor, 
 poor world think of the hungry little children 
 think of the homes stripped bare by want, 
 and of them inside that are ready to perish with 
 hunger, ay, and of them that are hungry and 
 are homeless too when I think of the suffer- 
 ers that are dyin' for want of money to buy
 
 A Homily of Mister Horn 's. 167 
 
 the skill and medicine that could save them, 
 think of the dark souls whose lamps are gone 
 out, and know that money would buy oil 
 for their lamps think of the Bibles it would 
 buy and the missionaries it would send then 
 money seems to me like an angel of God 
 troublin' the waters to heal poor sick folk, 
 comin' to forlorn mothers in the wilderness 
 and caring for the children, and seemin' to say, 
 ' Fear not, Hagar, the Lord hath heard the 
 voice of the child ' an angel that lifts the 
 poor Lazarus up out of his. misery into such 
 blessing and tender service that it is like heaven 
 to him that meets the penitent outcasts, and, 
 putting them in the way of an honest living, 
 saith, ' Go in peace and sin no more,' like He 
 did whom the angels worship then I think 
 money can go about doing good. When I think 
 how men scrape and hoard it, I have wept at the 
 picture that has risen before me, as if the angel 
 were chained and fettered like Peter in prison, 
 and hosts in the perishing city are crying to God 
 that it may be loosed and come to them before 
 they die : ay, I've wept as I've thought how 
 often it is a fallen angel the white robes flung 
 off, and I've seen it come forth with a harlot's
 
 i68 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 gauds and paint, spending herself in noisy riot, 
 corrupting and cursing she that could have 
 been a white-handed angel of God. 
 
 " Yes, money, if we use it rightly, may be a 
 strong right arm in God's great world to help, 
 to defend, to uplift, and to save. But use it 
 wrongly, and it is a strong arm still, to injure, to 
 curse, and to destroy whose evil deeds shall 
 return and gather with a tenfold greater hurt 
 upon the owner thereof."
 
 A Gain in Grief. 
 
 i6g 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A GAIN IN GRIEF. 
 
 HERE the 
 pulpit deliv- 
 erance from 
 the lips of 
 Mister Horn 
 just referred 
 to was can- 
 didly heard, 
 it bore good 
 fruit : but a 
 few of " the 
 members of 
 society" did 
 not receive 
 its teachings 
 with favor. Perhaps the sermons that are most 
 liked may sometimes do the least good ; at 
 any rate Mister Horn always took it as a good 
 sign when the grumblers and faulty ones were 
 louder than usual in their speaking out. " De^
 
 i/o MISTLR HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 pend upon it, if you pinch the devil a bit hard 
 he'll squeak," was Mister Horn's explanation, 
 "and I never think tfrat 'tis all right, unless I 
 can get a poke at him somehow." The village 
 shopkeeper had a visit from more than one 
 grumbler during the next week, who growled, 
 but paid something toward a long-neglected 
 account. 
 
 The result on James Niggardly, Esquire, was 
 singularly amusing. You might have supposed 
 that he was a champion ready to die for the 
 injured " gospel " that he talked so much about. 
 He declared that he would hear Mister Horn 
 no more. He didn't think that the house of 
 God was a place in which every one was to be 
 made uncomfortable, that he didn't. It was a 
 place where men and women went for rest anc 1 
 comfort. He would tell Mister Horn so wher 
 he saw him. And he did. 
 
 " Pre cise ly " said Mister Horn, ver) 
 slowly, and screwing up his lips " pre cise 
 ly. But then it depends upon the kind o' men 
 and women you know, Jim, al to gether"- 
 (and he brought down his ash-stick with each 
 syllable.) " The Blessed Master made the 
 House of God a very uncomfortable place to
 
 A Gain in Grief. 171 
 
 some folks, you know, Jim, and he is a good 
 example for us to follow. People who cared 
 more about getting than about giving were 
 very uncomfortable when he made a scourge o' 
 small cords and drove them out ; when he up- 
 set the tables and sent the money rolling over 
 the floor, and drove out the sheep and oxen, 
 and turned out the dove-sellers. I dare say 
 they were very angry, and talked about the 
 house of God being a place where folks ought 
 to feel very easy and comfortable ! But then 
 we are told that the blind and the lame came 
 to him, and he liealed them. He made tliem 
 feel very comfortable indeed. You see it de- 
 pends, Jim depends on the kind o' men and 
 women, al to gether." And once more the 
 ash-stick came down with an emphatic con- 
 firmation of its master's opinion. " The word 
 is like salt, Jim 'tis sweet and savory to folks 
 who are sound and right ; but folks with chaps 
 and cracks in their religion will feel it smart- 
 ing and stinging, perhaps, more than they 
 care for." 
 
 Little did any think that within a week of that 
 Sunday morning Mister Horn's sermon would 
 
 come to the mind of one of the hearers with a 
 11
 
 i/2 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 new meaning, and a force as if every word of it 
 had been on fire, and had burned its way right 
 to his heart. That one was James Niggardly 
 himself. 
 
 Of the three daughters living at Stukeville 
 the youngest was Marian, a little bright-haired, 
 bright-eyed, laughing maiden of eight sum- 
 mers. She wore sunshine always, and wher- 
 ever she stepped came gladness and happines , 
 like the joy that greets the sun in early spring. 
 
 All day long her sweet voice was heard sing- 
 ing through the house or as she was roam- 
 ing in the garden, and whenever it reached 
 James Niggardly's ears it seemed to wake 
 up something of the old better self that lay 
 sleeping within. Every body loved her they 
 couldn't help themselves about that. But her 
 father's devotion was more than love she was 
 his idol. And marvelous was the power she 
 had with him. The hard, stern, selfish James 
 Niggardly found nothing a trouble that little 
 Marian asked, and nothing was a sacrifice that 
 could please her, whatever it might be. Why 
 you might have come upon him amid ledger 
 and day-book, sitting there at his office desk 
 he, the great James Niggardly, Esquire, with
 
 A Gain in Grief. 173 
 
 little Marian at his side making all his busy 
 world stand still, while he bent over the troub- 
 lesome work of mending her broken doll. If 
 ever his voice regained its old ring and the 
 cheeriness of former days, it was as little Ma- 
 rian ran for a romp. If any thing brought back 
 the simple, kindly Jim Niggardly that used to 
 be, it was as he yielded to some request of his 
 little maiden's. 
 
 As is so often the case with children who 
 die young, Marian was full of an old-fashioned 
 religiousness very simple, yet so constant and 
 so real that it seemed as though it were the 
 growth of years. Does not Heaven mature 
 the spiritual in such, and make these little or.es 
 who are going to join the saints in light, meet 
 for their inheritance ? 
 
 One day when she was not yet four years of 
 age her father was lying in a darkened room 
 suffering from some temporary indisposition. 
 The silence was disturbed by a very gentle 
 knock at the door, followed at once by the in- 
 trusion of a sunny face and sunny hair, and a 
 little voice asked plaintively, " May I come 
 in ? " And Marian crept over and sat down 
 beside the sofa.
 
 174 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 " Papa," she whispered, " if it wont hurt 
 you I am come to read to you." Quite un- 
 able to read, she opened a book she brought 
 with her, and, as if reading, she repeated with 
 exquisite simplicity these words that she had 
 learned : 
 
 " And they brought young children to Je- 
 sus that he should touch them ; and his disci- 
 ples rebuked those that brought them. But 
 when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, 
 and said unto them, Suffer the little children 
 to come unto me, and forbid them not ; for of 
 such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say 
 unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the 
 kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not 
 enter therein. And he took them up in his 
 arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed 
 them." 
 
 Then she closed the book and kissed him 
 very gently, whispering, " Good-bye, papa ; I 
 hope that will do you good. I have asked 
 Jesus to make you better, and I know he will." 
 And she left him in tears. 
 
 Little Marian's love to Jesus was not only 
 an affection for him who had long ago lived a 
 life of yearning pity, and who had died for all
 
 A Gain in Grief. 175 
 
 men on the cross ; nor was it only the thought 
 of the glorious King who hears and helps us 
 when we cry unto him. It was the devotion 
 of her whole being to One who was to her a con- 
 stant Presence and a personal Friend. There 
 was not a thought not a feeling about any 
 thing, that she did not share with him. Her 
 toys, her dresses, her opinions of people, all 
 the little incidents that made up each day of 
 her life, were talked of to him with a con- 
 fidence and simplicity that realized him as 
 " the Friend that sticketh closer than a 
 brother." The little maiden loved him with 
 all her heart, and could keep nothing from 
 him. 
 
 With Mister Horn she was a great favorite, 
 and many a visit was paid for an hour's talk in 
 the garden with Marian. To him, perhaps, 
 she owed much of the intense love that she 
 felt for the Saviour, for he, more than any 
 other, had told her of him. She had learned 
 his favorite text when she was very little, and 
 all the thoughts and motives of her life were 
 shaped and colored by it. 
 
 " Mamma," she often said, " can you tell how 
 it is that Jesus should care so much for me, and
 
 176 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 love me f Isn't it wonderful, mamma ? He 
 gave himself for me ! I do love him for it 
 very, very, very much. Don't you, mamma?' 
 Sometimes she stood quietly by the window, 
 wrapped in some deep thought, and then look- 
 ing up, she would say: " O, mamma, I do love 
 Jesus so I want to give him every thing; you, 
 and papa, and all of us, and Mister Horn, and 
 all that I have got, and the sun, and the flow- 
 ers, and every thing there is. You know he 
 gave himself for me." 
 
 Without any formal resolution on her part, 
 she instinctively came to look upon all her 
 money as belonging to her dearest Friend. It 
 was perhaps the only thing that she had abso- 
 lutely in her own disposal, and so she naturally 
 gave it to him to whom she was so devoted. 
 A money-box was the treasury of her little offer- 
 ings and of her possessions ; nothing was more 
 prized than this. To her mind Jesus was still 
 standing watching the gifts that came into the 
 treasury. One day her father thought that the 
 sum was too large to be given all at once, and 
 hinted as much. Little Marian looked up in 
 wonder, and said, " I must put it all in, you 
 know, papa, or else Jesus wont be able to look
 
 A Gain in Grief. 177 
 
 at me with a smile, and say, 'She did cast in all 
 that she had.' " 
 
 She had not been well for two or three days 
 previous to the Sunday of Mister Horn's ser- 
 mon. On the Monday she got much worse, 
 and all were alarmed. For two weary days all 
 was hopeless, and before the week was over it 
 was plain that the end was approaching. Her 
 father could not leave her day and night he 
 remained at her side. His love grew jealous 
 at the thought of losing her. He was jealous 
 of those to whom she spoke a word ; jealous 
 of every look that wandered from him ; im- 
 patient that any other should minister to her 
 wants but himself. 
 
 Propped up on the pillows, she lay with 
 flushed face, the thin white fingers resting upon 
 her little money-box an angel already in pu- 
 rity and celestial beauty. As the breath grew 
 quicker her lips moved. All leaned to catch 
 her words ; her father stooped over her, most 
 greedy for every loved sound. She whispered, 
 " He is coming now! Dear Jesus!" And the 
 eyes were fixed as a smile lit up all her face. 
 " I am coming . . . Now I shall be able to tell 
 Jesus how much J loye him ; and that mamma
 
 178 MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 loves him, and sisters, and you, papa, and 
 Mister Horn.' 
 
 The voice grew fainter ; slowly and scarce- 
 ly audibly the voice was heard again, " Now 
 I can't give him my money any more. Please, 
 papa do it for " The head fell upon the 
 father's shoulder, the soft bright hair hung 
 over his arm, and little Marian was with 
 Jesus. 
 
 That night James Niggardly sat vacantly 
 staring into the fire, numbed with grief to the 
 very bone. All was dark, accursed, and utterly 
 forsaken. At first a wild rebellion filled his 
 soul, but the storm had spent itself in a flood 
 of tears. And now he could scarcely resist the 
 memories of little Marian that began to crowd 
 in upon him, memories that at first he had 
 flung forth angrily as unbearable. Soon they 
 seemed almost to quiet and soothe him. 
 Among the visions there rose one more dis- 
 tinct, more impressed than any other, it was 
 of her coming in four years before w r hen he 
 was lying in this very room. He almost heard 
 her gentle voice go through the words again : 
 " Jesus said, Whosoever shall not receive the 
 kingdom of God as a lit fie child, he shall not
 
 A Gain in Grief. 179 
 
 enter therein.'" Again he seemed to hear her 
 voice saying, as if it were a prayer more than 
 a wish, " Papa, I hope that will do you 
 good." 
 
 A prayer it was, a prayer answered that 
 night as James Niggardly fell on his knees and 
 poured out his soul to God. 
 
 " As a little child, as my own little Marian, 
 as thine own, O Lord, help me to receive thy 
 kingdom." 
 
 Bravely did he fight against the selfishness 
 that had become habitual, nerved and inspired 
 whenever he recalled the dying words, now 
 made sacred to him, " Please, papa, do it for " 
 Mister Horn was now a frequent visitor at 
 Stukeville, and his prayers and counsels led 
 James Niggardly back to the man he had been 
 further back than that, until he became 
 humble and simple, and received the kingdom 
 of God as a little child. 
 
 # * . * * fl- 
 
 it was twelve months after, on the anniver- 
 sary of Marian's death, that they talked of the 
 little maiden. James Niggardly stood leaning 
 against the mantel-piece as he held in his hand 
 the money-box. " Ah, Mister Horn," said he,
 
 i So MISTER HORN AND His FRIENDS. 
 
 with tears of gratitude, " her death was my 
 life ; her loss saved me." 
 
 Many a generous deed was done, and many 
 a noble gift was sent without any other expla- 
 nation than this, which was written within : 
 
 I. N. FOR MARIAN. 
 
 THE END.
 
 lid tan and His 
 
 BY MARK GUY PEARSE. 
 
 WITH. ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Price, $i. 
 
 NOTICES BY THE ENGLISH PRESS. 
 
 There is a reality and freshness about the book that will be 
 sure to render it a favorite wherever it is known. . . . We 
 heartily thank the author for this fresh and readable book. 
 Christian Age. 
 
 Rich in Cornish anecdotes and passages from the simple 
 annals of the poor, Mr. Pearse's book must be popular, and 
 being full of Gospel truth cannot fail to be useful. Sword 
 and Troiuel. 
 
 Mr. Pearse writes with a sure pen, with a keen apprecia- 
 tion of humor, and a wide knowledge of human nature. . . . 
 Handsomely got up, well illustrated. His characters, when 
 elaborated, are not mere shadows, but stand boldly out as 
 people who live, move, and talk. . . . Bright sketches well 
 calculated to serve Methodism, wherever known. . . . The 
 volume deserves the widest circulation. Watchman. 
 
 This book is worthy of the special notice of the class-lead- 
 ers of Methodism, while all devout Christians may find in it, 
 amid beauty, humor, and pathos, words profitable for direc- 
 tion and instruction. Methodist Recorder. 
 
 We warmly commend, as one of the most bright, sparkling, 
 racy books that we have seen for many a day. Mr. Pearse 
 has rare power in sketching character. Some of the touches 
 in this book could hardly be exceeded. Irish Evangelist. 
 
 The readers of this Magazine have no need to be told how 
 well worth knowing is "Daniel Quorm," and how full of 
 shrewdness, pith, and point are his "religious notions." . . . 
 \Ye will only add that the getting up of this book is most 
 tasteful and attractive. . . . The illustrations are vigorous 
 and life-like. City Road Magazine.
 
 DANIEL QUORM, AND HIS RELIGIOUS NOTIONS, 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE AMERICAN PRESS. 
 
 Daniel Quorm is represented as a shoemaker in an English 
 mining town, occupying the responsible position of Meth- 
 odist class-leader, and Society steward. He is illiterate, and 
 yet a deep student of the word of God and of the human soul. 
 He has evidently learned one of the most difficult of lessons. 
 He knows himself; lie seems to have learned thoroughly the 
 workings of the Spirit with his own heart. With a rich 
 imagination, he clothes his thoughts with a drapery that is at 
 once grotesque and" enchanting. One can hardly open it at 
 any point and read, and not be led down into the deep things 
 of God. Northern Christian Advocate. 
 
 There is a vein of dry religious humor and satire running 
 through this book, that is of the rollicking type. No person 
 who is familiar with old-time notions among the people called 
 Methodists, especially in old England, but can readily see 
 the striking contrast between them and this progressive age. 
 Aside from its Methodistic flavor, there is rich reading, and 
 instructive, too, for all Christians. Pittsburgh Commercial. 
 
 This is a fac simile, engravings and all, of the English 
 edition of this remarkable work previously noticed in these 
 pages. Of its racy style our readers have had a specimen in 
 the chapters reprinted in this magazine. We are sure that 
 they will whet their appetite for the feast of good things in 
 the volume itself. The English sale of this book has averaged 
 a thousand a month since its issue a very remarkable literary 
 success. It is the best presentation extant of Cornish Meth- 
 odism, with its homely shrewdness, its pathos, its picturesque- 
 ness, and its spiritual fervor. Canadian Methodist. 
 
 Daniel Quorm was a Methodist "class-leader," "Society 
 steward," and shoemaker in a small mining village in En- 
 gland. Possessed of much quiet humor, and a large amount 
 of shrewd common sense, united with a deep Christian ex- 
 perience, he was well piepared to be a religious teacher. 
 Western Christian Advocate.
 
 of Xeloi\ & 
 805 BROADWAY, N. Y. 
 
 Discontent, and other Stories. I5y Mis. II. C. Gardner 
 I2mo. 1'rice, $i 25. 
 
 Little Foxes. By the Author of " How Marjorie Watched. 
 Illustrated. Large 161110. 1'ricc, 90 cents. 
 
 Helena's Cloud with the Silver Lining. By the Authoi 
 of " How Marjorie Watched," etc. Trice, qo cents. 
 
 Little Princess, and other Stories, Chiefly about Christ- 
 mas. I!y " Aunt Hattie." l8mo. Price, 6s cents. 
 
 Peter the Apprentice. An Historical Tale of the Refor. 
 motion in England. l6mo. Price, qo cents. 
 
 Romance Without Fiction ; or, Sketches from the Port- 
 folio of an Old Missionary. By Rev. Henry Bleby. I2mo. 
 
 Price, $i 75. 
 
 Dora Hamilton ; or, Sunshine and Shadow. i6mo. Price. 
 
 go cent.-.. 
 
 Dying Saviour and the Gipsy Girl. iSmo. Price, 50 cts. 
 
 Bessie and Her Spanish Friends. By the Author of 
 " Faithful, but not Famous," etc. i6mo. Price, 90 cents. 
 
 Ben and Bentie Series. School Life of Ben and Bentie. 
 Price, 90 cents. Camp Tabor. Price, 90 cents. 
 
 True Stories of the American Fathers. For the Girls 
 
 and Boys all over the Land. 15y Miss Rebecca M'Conkey. 
 Illustrated. I2mo. Price, $1 50. 
 
 Martyrs of the Catacombs. i6mo. Price, 90 cents. 
 Anna Lavater. A Picture of Swiss Pastoral Life in the 
 Last Century. By Rev. W. Ziethe. I2mo. Price, $i. 
 
 A Visit to Aunt Agnes. Illustrated. Tinted. Square 
 I2nio. Price, i. 
 
 Suzanna De L'Orme. A Story of Huguenot Times. I2mo. 
 Price, 1 25. 
 
 Talks with Girls. By Augusta Lamed. I2mo. Price, 
 $i 50. 
 
 Story of a Pocket Bible. Illustrated. I2mo. Price, $i 25. 
 True Stories of Real Pets ; or, Friends in Furs and 
 
 Feathers. Illustrated. Square l6mo. Price, $i 25. 
 Rosedale. A Story of Self-Denial. By Mrs. H. C. Gard- 
 
 ner. I2mo. Price, $i 75
 
 of ]\feloii & 
 805 BROADWAY, N. Y. 
 
 Butler's Analogy of Religion. With a Life of the Author. 
 Edited by Rev. Joseph (Jammings, D.D., LL.D., Pres- 
 ident of Wesleyan University. 121110. Price, $i 75. 
 
 From Atheism to Christianity. By Rev. Geo. P. Po-.tr.:. 
 161110. Price, 60 cents. 
 
 The Great Conflict. Christ and Antichrist. The Church 
 and the Apostasy. By Rev. H. Loomis. I2mo. Price, $r. 
 
 Philosophy of Herbert Spencer. Being an Examination of 
 the First Principles of his System. By B. P. Bowne, A.B. 
 I2ino. Price, $i 25. 
 
 Love Enthroned ; or, Essays on Evangelical Perfection. 
 By Daniel Steele, D.D. 121110. Price, i 50. 
 
 Methodism and its Methods. By Rev. J. T. Crane, D.D. 
 I2rno. Price, $i 50. 
 
 Star of Our Lord ; or, Christ Je^us King of all Worlds, 
 both of Time or Space. With Thoughts on Inspiration, 
 and the Astronomic Doubt as to Christianity. By Francis 
 W. Upha-n. I2mo. Price, $i 75. 
 
 The Wise Men. Who they Were: and How they Came 
 to Jerusalem. By Francis W. Upham, LL.D. 121110. 
 Price, $i 25. 
 
 Meditations on the Actual State of Christianity. By 
 
 M. Guizot. I2mo. Price, $i 75. 
 
 Meditations on the Essence of Christianity. By M. 
 
 Guizot. I2mo. Price, $i 75. 
 
 Misread Passages, of Scripture. By J. Baldwin Brown. 
 I2mo. Price, 75 cents. Second Series, price, 1. 
 
 Mission of the Spirit ; or, The Office and Work of the 
 Comforter in Human Redemption. By Rev. L. R. Dunn. 
 I2mo. Price, $i 25. 
 
 Mystery of Suffering, and other Discourses. By E. De 
 Pr^ssensa, D.D. 121110. Price, $i 25. 
 
 Principles of a System of Philosophy. An Essay toward 
 Solving some of the More Difficult Questions in Metaphys- 
 ics and Religion. By A. Bierbower, A.M. I2mo. Price, 
 
 $1 2=,.
 
 fUBLICATIOXS OF NELSON & t>ff/LLfFS t 
 805 BRO.YDWAT, NEW YORK. 
 
 I he Story of a Pocket Bible. 
 
 Ten illustrations. 121110 ....$125 
 
 Historical Souvenirs of Martin Luther. 
 
 By Charles W. Hubner. Illustrated. I2ino - at 
 
 Words that Shook the World ; 
 
 Or, Martin Luther his own Biographer. By Charles 
 Atlams, D D. Twenty-two Illustrations. I2tno. . i 25 
 
 Renata of Este. 
 
 From the German of Rev. Carl Strack, By Cath- 
 erine E. Hurst. i6mo i 25 
 
 Anecdotes of the Wesleys. 
 
 By J. B. Wakeley, D.D. i2mo 125 
 
 Martyrs to the Tract Cause. 
 
 A contribution to the History of the Reformation. 
 
 By J. F. Hurst, D.D. larno 75 
 
 Palissv, the Husruenot Potter. 
 
 s ' O 
 
 By C. L. Brightwell. Illustrated. i6mo i 25 
 
 Prince of Pulpit Orators. 
 
 A Portraiture of Rev. George Whitefield, M. A. By 
 
 J. B. Wakeley, D.D. I2mo 125 
 
 Thomas Chalmers. 
 
 A Biographical Study. By James Dodds. I2mo. i oo 
 
 Gustavus Adolphus. 
 
 The Hero of the Reformation. From the French 
 of L. Abelous. By Mrs. C. A. Lncroix. Illustrated. 
 I2mo I oo 
 
 William the Taciturn. 
 
 From the French of L. Abelous. By Professor J. 
 
 P. Lacroix. Illustrated. i6mo I 25 
 
 I jfe of Oliver Cromwell. 
 
 By Charles Adams, D.D. r6mo . . . I 35 
 
 Lady Huntington Portrayed. 
 
 By Rev Z. A. Miulge. I2mo i 25 
 
 Curiosities of Animal Life. 
 
 Recent Discoveries of the Microscope. I2mo . . o 7f
 
 of jiel^on 
 805 BROADWAY, N. Y. 
 
 AYESHA. A Tale of the Times of Mohammed. Bj 
 Emma Leslie. Illustrated I2mo. Price, $i 50. 
 
 FLAVIA ; or, Loyal to the End. A Tale of the Church 
 in the Second Century. By Emma Leslie. Illustrated 
 121110. Price, $i 50. 
 
 GLAUCIA. A Story of Athens in .the First Century. B> 
 Emma Leslie. Illustrated. I2mo. Price, $i 50. 
 
 LEOFWINE, THE SAXON. A Story of Hopes and 
 Struggles. By Emma Leslie. Illustrated. 121110. Price, 
 
 $i 50. 
 
 ELFREDA. A Sequel to Leofwine. By Emma Leslie. 
 Illustrated. I2mo. Price, $i 50. 
 
 QUADRATUS. A Tale of the World in the Church. By 
 Emma Leslie. Illustrated. I2mo. Price, $i 50. 
 
 SUNSHINE OF BLACKPOOL. By Emma Leslie. 
 Price, $i. 
 
 HOPE RAYMOND; or, What is Truth. By Mrs. E. 
 J. Richmond. Illustrated. Large 161110. Price, $1. 
 
 THE TWO PATHS. By Mrs. E. J. Richmond. Price, 
 
 $i. 
 
 MEHETABEL. A Story of the Revolution, By Mrs. 
 H. C. Gardner. Illustrated. Large 161110. Price, $i 25. 
 
 MORAG ; a Story of Highland Life. 121110. Price, $i 25. 
 
 MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN. A Collection of 
 Poems. Edited by Mrs. J. P. Newman. Square iSmo. 
 Gilt edge. Price, $i 50. 
 
 DEWDROPS AND SUNSHINE. A Collection of 
 Poems abc ut Little Children. Edited by Mrs J. P. New- 
 man. Square i8mo. Gilt edge. Price, $i 50. 
 
 JACQUELINE. A Story of the Reformation in Holland. 
 By Mrs. Hardy. Four Illustrations. i6mo. Price, So cents. 
 
 LUCIEN GUGLIERI. By Mary B. Lee. i6mt 
 Price, 60 cents. 
 
 LILIAN. A Story of the Days of Martyrdom in England 
 Three Hundred Years ago. i6mo. Price, qo cents.
 
 . "- .,-..- I i m 
 
 
 I