DOMESTIC TALES 
 
 AM) 
 
 ALLEGORIES; 
 
 ILLUSTRATING HUMAN LIFE 
 
 I. THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 
 
 II. MR. FANTOM. 
 
 HI. THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 IV. GILES THE POACHER. 
 V. THE SERVANT TURNED SOLDIER. 
 VI. THE GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 
 
 BY HANNAH MORE 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ». APPLETON & CO., 90, 92 & 94 GRAND ST. 
 
 1869. 
 
 / 
 
 /yifC
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 Probably that portion of Hannah Mere's iteiary 
 works which, when originally pubhshed, were most 
 beneficial, and which still are adapted to the most ex- 
 tensive usefulness, is the collection of narratives enti- 
 tled, " The Cheap Repository Tales." They were 
 designed as antidotes to those demoralizing ballads 
 and fictions which were dift'used among the multi- 
 tudes who have little leisure or inclination for grave 
 meditations. Hence they combine useful instruction 
 in the most familiar form, and inculcate the purest 
 Christian morals, with the exhibition of practical 
 piety, not in the mandatory tone of the didactic moni- 
 tor, but in the exemplary portraitures of our constant 
 associates, and the actual occurrences of ordinary life. 
 
 Two of those Tales only are much known in this 
 country — " All for the Best," and " The Shepherd of 
 Salisbury Plain." The latter has been prefixed, be- 
 cause it is so highly appreciated, and because it un- 
 folds the true character of the whole series. 
 
 The Tales are not fictitious, although the home- 
 ly facts are embellished by the author's imaginative 
 adorning.
 
 But " The Shepherd of SaHsbury Plain !" He was 
 not the child of meUorating fiction. Who could be- 
 hold his healthful, weather-beaten, but placid coun- 
 tenance, his long gray hair, and his white, russet, 
 sheep-like garments, and listen to his prayer and 
 praise, and then forget the lowly but contented and 
 thankful Saunders? The narra or has superadded 
 some circumstances with which he was not en- 
 circled; but his domestic habits of life, and his 
 personal traits and social grouping, are sufficiently 
 accurate to embalm the memory of that honest pil- 
 grim, with whom Thomas Wastfield the preacher at 
 Imber associated, although "poor in this world, as rich 
 in faith," and with whom Harvet's friend Stone- 
 house, immortalized in the " Meditations among the 
 Tombs ;" and by Hannah More as the traveller, Mr. 
 Johnson, delighted to commune during their earthly 
 sojourn, in anticipation of the loftier, deathless fellow- 
 ship, where the Shepherds of the church, and the 
 Shepherd of the flocks on the plain. 
 
 Now with transporting joys recount 
 The labors of their feet. 
 
 This volume is published with the assurance, tliat 
 the reader, after the perusal, will testify that these 
 " Domestic Tales and Allegories," by Hannah More, 
 are equally valuable in their interest and edification. 
 
 New York, June 13, 1844.
 
 DOMESTIC 
 
 TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 I. THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, a very worthy charitable gentleman, 
 was travelling some time ago across one of those vast 
 plains which are well known in Wiltshire. It was a 
 fine summer's evening, and he rode slowly that he 
 might have leisure to admire God in the works of his 
 creation. For this gentleman was of opinion, that a 
 walk or a ride was as proper a time as any to think 
 about good things : for which reason, on such occa- 
 sions, he seldom thought so much about his money, 
 or his trade, or public news, as at other times, that he 
 might with more ease and satisfaction enjoy the pious 
 thought which the wonderful works of the great 
 Maker of heaven and earth are intended to raise in 
 the mind. 
 
 As this serene contemplation of the visible heavens 
 insensibly lifted up his mind from the works of God 
 in nature, to the same God as he is seen in Revelation, 
 it occurred to him that this very connexion was clearly 
 intimated by the Royal Prophet in the nineteenth 
 Psalm. That most beautiful description of the great- 
 ness and power of God exhibited in the former part, 
 plainly seeming intended to introduce, illustrate, and 
 anfoLd the operations of the word and Spirit of God 
 on the heart in the latter. And he began to run a
 
 6 DOMESTIC TALKS AND ALl-EGORIES. 
 
 parallel in his own mind between the effects of that 
 highly poetical and glowing picture of the material 
 Bun in searching and warming the earth, in the first 
 six verses, and the spiritual operation attributed to the 
 " law of God," which fills up the remaining part of the 
 Psalm. And he persuaded himself that the divine 
 Spirit which dictated this fine hymn, liad left it as a 
 kind of general intimation to what use we were to 
 convert our admiration of created things ; namely, 
 that we might be led by a sight of them to raise our 
 views from the kingdom of nature to that of grace, 
 and that flie contemplation of God in his works 
 might draw us to contemplate him in his word. 
 
 In the midst of these reflections, Mr. Johnson's 
 attention was all of a sudden called oft' by the barking 
 of a shepherd's dog, and looking up he spied one of 
 those little huts, which are here and there to be seen 
 on those great downs ; and near it was the shepherd 
 himself busily employed with his dog in collecting 
 together his vast flock of sheep. As he drew nearer, 
 he perceived him to be a clean, well-looking, poor 
 man, neqr fifty years of age. His coat, though at 
 first it had probably been one of dark color, had been 
 in a long course of years so often patched with differ- 
 ent sorts of cloth, that it was now become hard to 
 say which had been the oi'iginal color. But this, 
 while it gave a plain proof of the shepherd's poverty, 
 equally proved the exceeding neatness, industry, and 
 good m/magement of his wife. His stockings no less 
 proved her good house-wifery, for they were entirely 
 covered with dams of diff'erent colored worsted, but 
 had not a hole in them ; and his shirt, though nearly 
 as coarse as the sails of a ship, was as white as the 
 drifted snow, and was neatly mended where time had 
 either made a rent, or worn it thin. This furnishes a 
 rule of judging, by which one shall seldom be de- 
 ceived. If I meet with a laborer, hedging, ditching, 
 or mending the highways, with his stockings and 
 shirt tight and whole, however mean and bad hig
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISEURT PIiAI?». 7 
 
 otlier garments are, I have seldom failed, on visiting 
 his cottage, to find that also clean and well-ordered, 
 and his wife notable, and worthy of encouragement. 
 Whereas a poor woman, who will be lying a-bed, or 
 gossiping with her neighbors when she ought to be 
 fitting out her husband in a cleanly manner, will sel- 
 dom be found to be veiy good in other respects. 
 
 This was not the case with our shepherd ; and Mr. 
 Johnson was not more struck with the decency of 
 his mean and frugal dress, than with his open honest 
 countenance, which bore strong marks of health, 
 cheerfulness, and spirit. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, who was on a journey, and some- 
 what fearful from the appearance of the sky, that rain 
 was at no great distance, accosted the shepherd with 
 asking what sort of weather he thought it would be 
 on the morrow. " It will be such weather as pleases 
 me," answered the shepherd. Though the answer 
 was delivered in the mildest and most civil tone that 
 could be imagined, the gentleman thought the words 
 themselves rather rude and surly, and asked him how 
 that could be. " Because," replied the shepherd, 
 " it will be such weather as shall please God, and 
 whatever pleases him always pleases me." 
 
 Mr. Johnson, who delighted in good men and good 
 things, was very w6ll satisfied with his reply. For 
 he justly thought that though a hypocrite may easily 
 contrive to appear better than he really is to a stranger ; 
 and that no one should be too soon trusted, merely 
 for having a few good words in his mouth; yet as he 
 knew that out of the abundance of the lieart the 
 mouth speaketh, he always accustomed himself to 
 judge favorably of those who had a serious deport- 
 ment and solid manner of speaking. It looks as if it 
 proceeded from a good habit, said he, and though 1 
 may now and then be deceived by it, yet it has not 
 often happened to me to be so. Whereas if a man 
 accosts me with an idle, dissolute, vulgar, indecent, 
 or profane expression I have never been deceived in
 
 8 tJOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 him, but have generally on inquiry found his charac- 
 ter to be as bad as his language gave me room to 
 expect. 
 
 He entered into conversation with the shepherd in 
 the following manner : " Yours is a troublesome life, 
 honest friend," said he. " To be sure, sir," replied 
 the shepherd, " 'tis not a very lazy life ; but 'tis not 
 near so toilsome as that which my Great Master 
 led for my sake ; and he had every state and condition 
 of life at his choice, and chose a hard one ; while I 
 only submit to the lot that is appointed to me." " You 
 are exposed to great cold and heat," said the gentle- 
 man: "True sir," said the shepherd; "but then I 
 am not exposed to great temptations ; and so throwing 
 one thing against another, God is pleased to contrive 
 to make things more equal than we poor, ignorant, 
 short-sighted creatures are apt to think. David was 
 happier when he kept his father's sheep on such a 
 plain as this, and employed in singing some of his 
 own Psalms perhaps, than ever he was when he be- 
 came king of Israel and Judah. And I dare say we 
 should never have had some of the most beautiful 
 texts in all those fine Psalms, if he had not been a 
 shepherd, which enabled him to make so many fine 
 comparisons and similitudes, as one may say, from 
 country life, flocks of sheep, hills and valleys, fields 
 of corn, and fountains of water." 
 
 " You think, then," said the gentleman, " that a 
 laborious life is a happy one." " I do, sir ; and more 
 BO especially, as it exposes a man to fewer sins. If 
 King Saul had continued a poor laborious man to the 
 end of his days, he might have lived haj)py and hon- 
 est, and died a natural death in his bed at last, which 
 you know, sir, was more than he did. But I speak 
 with reverence, for it was divine Providence over- 
 ruled all that, you know, sir, and I do not presume to 
 naake comparisons. Besides, sir, my employment has 
 been particularly honored — Moses was a shepherd in 
 the plains of Midian. It was to " stepherds keeping
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN- 9 
 
 their flocks by nie;ht" that the angels appeared in 
 Bethlehem, to tell the best news, the gladdest tidings, 
 that ever were revealed to poor sinful men ; often and 
 often has the thought warmed my poor heart hi the 
 coldest night, and filled me with more joy and thank- 
 fulness than the best supper could have done." 
 
 Here the shepherd stopped, for he began to feel 
 that he had made too free, and talked too long. But 
 Mr. Johnson was so well pleased with what he said, 
 and with the cheerful contented manner in which he 
 said it, that he desired him to go on freely, for that it 
 was a pleasure to him to meet with a plain man, who, 
 without any kind of learning but what he had got 
 from the Bible, was able to talk so well on a subject 
 in which all men, high and low, rich and poor, are 
 equally concerned. 
 
 " Indeed I am afraid I make too bold, sir, for it bet- 
 ter becomes me to listen to such a gentleman as you 
 seem to be, than to talk in my poor way : but as I 
 was saying, sir, I wonder all working men do not de- 
 rive as great joy and delight as I do from thinking 
 how God has honored poverty ! Oh ! sir, what great, 
 or rich, or mighty men have had such honor put on 
 them, or their condition, as shepherds, tent-makers, 
 fishermen, and carpenters have had? Beside, it 
 seems as if God honored industry also. The way of 
 duty is not only the way of safety, but it is remsrka- 
 ole how many in the exercise of the common duties 
 of their calling, humbly and rightly performed, as we 
 may suppose, have found honors, preferment, and 
 blessing ; while it does not occur to me that the 
 whole sacred volume presents a single instance of a 
 like blessing conferred on idleness. Rebekah, Rachel, 
 and Jethro's daughters, were diligently employed in 
 the lowest occupations of a country life, when Prov- 
 idence^ by means of those very occupations, raised 
 them up husbands so fiimous in history, as Isaac, 
 Jacob, and the prophet Moses. The shepherds were 
 neither playing nor sleeping, but "watching their
 
 10 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 flocks," when they received the news of a Saviors 
 birth : and the woman of Samaria, by the laboriou? 
 office of drawing water, was brought to the knowl- 
 edge of Him who gave her to drink of " living 
 water." 
 
 "My honest friend," said the gentleman, "I per- 
 ceive you are well acquainted with scripture." " Yes, 
 sir, pretty well, blessed be God ! through his mercy 
 I learned to read when I was a little boy ; though 
 reading was not so common when I was a child, as, I 
 am told, through the goodness of Providence and the 
 generosity of the rich, it is likely to become now-a- 
 days. I believe there is no day for the last thirty 
 years that I have not peeped at my Bible. If we 
 can't find time to read a chapter, I defy any man to 
 say he can't find time to read a verse : and a single 
 text, sir, well followed, and put in practice eveiy day, 
 would make no bad figure at the year's end; three 
 hundred and sixty-five texts, without the loss of a 
 moment's time, would make a pretty stock, a little 
 golden treasuiy, as one may say, from new-year's 
 day to new-year's day ; and if children were brought 
 up to it, they would come to look for their text as 
 naturally as they do for their breakfast. No laboring 
 man, 'tis true has so much leisure as a shepherd, for 
 while the flock is feeding I am obliged to be still, 
 and at such times I can now and then tap a shoe for 
 my children or myself, which is a great saving to 
 us, and while I am doing that I repeat a chapter or a 
 psalm, which makes the time pass pleasantly in this 
 wild solitary place. I can say the best part of the 
 New Testament by heart ; 1 believe I should not say 
 the best part, for every part is good, but I mean the 
 greatest part. I have led but a lonely life, and have 
 often had but little to eat, but my Bible has been 
 meat, drink, and company to me, as I nray say, and 
 when want and trouble have come upon me, I don't 
 know what I should have done indeed, sir, if I had
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 11 
 
 not had the promises of this book for my stay and 
 support " 
 
 "You have had great difficulties then?" said Mr 
 Johnson. " Why, as to that, sir, not more than 
 neighbor's fare ; I have but little cause to complain, 
 and much to be thankful ; but I have had some Uttle 
 struggles, as I will leave you to judge. I have a wife 
 and eight children, whom I bred up in that little cot- 
 tage which you see under the hill, about half a mile 
 off." " What, that with the smoke coming out of 
 the chimney ?" said the gentleman. " O no, sir," 
 replied the shepherd, smiling, " we have seldom 
 smoke in the evening, for we have little to cook, and 
 firing is veiy dear in these parts. 'Tis that cottage 
 which you see on the left hand of the church, near 
 that little tuft of hawthorns." — " What, that hovel 
 with only one room above and below, with scarcely 
 any chimney ? how is it possible that you can live 
 there with such a family ?" " O it is very possible, 
 and very certain too," cried the shepherd. " How 
 many better men have been worse lodged ! how many 
 good Christians have perished in prisons and dun- 
 geons, in comparison of which my cottage is a 
 palace ! The house is very well, sir ; and if the 
 rain did not sometimes beat down upon us through 
 the thatch when we are a-bed, I should not desire a 
 better ; for I have health, peace, and liberty, ?nd no 
 man maketh me afraid." 
 
 " Well, I will certainly call on you before it be 
 long , but how can you contrive to lodge so many 
 children ?" " We do the best we can, sir. My poor 
 wife is a very sickly woman; or we should always 
 have done tolerably well. There are no gentry in 
 the parish, so that she has not met with any great 
 assistance in her sickness. The good curate of the 
 parish, who lives in that pretty parsonage in the val- 
 ley, is veiy willing, but not very able to assist us on 
 these trying occasions, for he has little enough for 
 himself, and a large family into the bargain. Yet he
 
 12 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES 
 
 does what he can, and more than many other men Jo, 
 and more than he can well aflbrd. Beside that, hia 
 prayers and good advice we are always sure of, am' 
 we are truly thankful for that, for a man must give 
 you know sir, according to what he hath, and not 
 according to what he hath not." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Mr. Johnson, " that your dif- 
 ficulties may sometimes lead you to repiue." 
 
 "No. sir," replied the shepherd, "it pleases God 
 to give me two ways of bearing up under them. I 
 pray that they may be either removed or sanctified to 
 me. Beside, if my road be right I am contented, 
 though it be rough and uneven. I do not so much 
 stagger at hardships in the right way, as I dread a 
 false security, and a hollow peace, while I may be 
 walking in a more smooth, but less safe way. Beside, 
 sir, I strengthen my faith by recollecting what the 
 best men have suffered, and my hope, with the view 
 of the shortness of all suffering. It is a good hint, 
 sir, of the vanity of all earthly possessions, that 
 though the whole Land of Promise was his, yet the 
 first bit of grotind which Abraham, the father of the 
 faithful, got possession of, in the land of Canaan, was 
 a grave. 
 
 "Are you in any distress at present?" said Mr. 
 Johnson. " No, sir, thank God," replied the shep- 
 herd " I get my shilling a-day, and most of my 
 children will soon be able to earn something; for we 
 have only three under five years old." — " Only!" said 
 the gentleman, "that is a heavy burden." — "Not at 
 at all ; God fits the back to it. Though my wife is 
 not able to do any out-of-door work, yet she breeds 
 up our children to such habits of industiy, that our 
 little maids, before they are six years old, can first get 
 a half-penny, and then a penny a day by knitting. 
 The boys, who are too little to do hard work, get a 
 trifle by keeping the birds off the com ; for this the 
 farmers will give them a penny or two pence, and now 
 and then fi bit of bread and cheese into the bargain.
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 1? 
 
 Wheu the season oi" crow-keeping is over, then they 
 ^lean or pick stones ; anything is better than idleness, 
 6ir, and if they did not get a farthing by it, I would 
 make them do it just the same, for the sake of giving 
 them early habits of labor. 
 
 " So you see, sir, I am not so badly ofif as many 
 are ; nay, if it were not that it costs me so much in 
 'pothecaiy's stuft' for my poor wife, I should reckon 
 myself well off, nay I do reckon myself well off; foi 
 blessed be God, he has granted her life to my prayers, 
 and I Avould work myself to a 'natomy, and live on 
 one meal a day, to add any comfort to her valuable 
 life ; indeed I have often done the last, and thought it 
 no great matter neither." 
 
 While they were in this part of the discourse, a 
 fine, plump, cheny-cheek little girl ran up out of 
 breath, with a smile on her young happy face, and 
 without taking any notice of the gentleman, cried out 
 with great joy — " Look here, father, only see how 
 much I have got!" Mr. Johnson was much struck 
 with her simplicity, but puzzled to know what was 
 the occasion of this great joy. On looking at her he 
 perceived a small quantity of coarse wool, some of 
 which had found its way through the holes of her 
 clean but scanty and ragged woollen apron. The 
 father said, " This has been a successful day indeed, 
 Molly, but don't you see the gentleman?" Molly 
 now made a courtesy down to the very ground; while 
 Mr. Johnson inquired into the cause of mutual sat- 
 isfaction which both father and daughter had ex 
 pressed, at the unusual good fortune of the day. 
 
 " Sir," said the shepherd, " poverty is a great 
 sharpener of the wits — My wife and I can not endure 
 to see our children, poor as they are, without shoea 
 and stockings, not only on account of the pinching 
 cold which cramjjs their poor little limbs, but because 
 it degrades and debases them ; and poor people who 
 have but little regard to appearances, will seldom be 
 found to have any great regard for honesty and good* 
 2
 
 14 UOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEfiORIES. 
 
 ness ; I don't say this is always the case; but I am 
 sure it is so too often. Now shoes and stockings 
 being veiy dear, we could never ailbrd to get them 
 without a little contrivance. I must show you how 
 I manage about the shoes when you condescend to 
 call at our cottage, sir ; as to stockings, this is one 
 way we take to help to get them. My young ones, 
 who are too little to do much work, sometimes wan- 
 der at odd hours over the hills for the chance of find- 
 ing what little wool the sheep may drop when they 
 rub themselves, as they are apt to do against the 
 bushes. These scattered bits of wool the children 
 pick out of tlie brambles, which I see have torn sad 
 holes in Molly's apron to-day ; they cany this wool 
 home, and when they have got a pretty parcel to- 
 gether, their mother cards it ; for she can sit and card 
 in the chimney corner, when she is not able to wash 
 or work about house. The biggest girl then spins 
 it; it does very well for us without dying, for poor 
 people must not stand for the color of their stockings. 
 After this our httle boys knit it for themselves, while 
 they are employed in keeping cows in the fields, and 
 after they get home at night. As for the knitting 
 which the girls and their mother do, that is chiefly for 
 sale, which helps to pay our rent." 
 
 Mr. Johnson lifted up his eyes in silent astonish- 
 ment, at the shifts which honest poverty can make 
 rather than beg or steal ; and was surprised to think 
 now many ways of subsisting there are, which those 
 who live at their ease little suspect. He secretly re- 
 solved to be more attentive to his own petty expenses 
 than he had hitherto been ; and to be more watchful 
 that nothing was wasted in his family. 
 
 But to return to the shepherd. Mr. Johnson told 
 him that as he must needs be at his friend's house, 
 who lived many miles off, that night, he could not, as 
 he wished to do, make a visit to his cottage at present. 
 " But I will certainly do it," said he, " on my return, 
 for I long to see your wife and her nice little family, 
 and to be an eyewitness of her neatness and good
 
 THE SHEPHERl* OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 15 
 
 management. The poor man's tears started into his 
 eyes on hearing the commendation bestowed on his 
 wife ; and Aviping them otY with the sleeve of his 
 coat, for he was not worth a handlvcrchief in the 
 world, he said — "Oh sir, you just now, I am afraid, 
 called me an humble man, but indeed I am a very 
 proud one." — " Proud !" exclaimed Mr. Johnson, "I 
 hope not — Pride is a great sin, and as the poor are 
 liable to it as well as the rich, so good a man as you 
 seem to be, ought to guard against it." — " Sir," said 
 he, " you are right, but I am not proud of myself, 
 God knows I have nothing to be proud of. I am a 
 poor sinner, but indeed, sir, I am proud of my wife ; 
 she is not only the most tidy, notable woman on the 
 plain, but she is the kindest wife and mother, and the 
 most contented, thankful Christian that I know. 
 Last year I thought I should have lost her, in a 
 violent fit of the rheumatism, caught by going to work 
 too soon after her lying-in, I fear; for 'tis but a bleak 
 coldish place, as you may see, sir, in winter, and 
 sometimes the snow lies so long under the hill, that I 
 can hardly make myself a path to get out and buy a 
 few necessaries in the next village ; and we are afraid 
 to send out the children, for fear they should be lost 
 when the snow is deep. So, as I was saying, the 
 poor soul was very bad indeed, and for several weeks 
 lost the use of all her limbs except her hands ; a 
 merciful Providence spared her the use of these, so 
 that when she could not turn in her bed, she could 
 contrive to patch a rag or two for her family. She 
 was always saying, had it not been for the great goor^ 
 ness of God, she might have had her liands lame as 
 well as her feet, or the palsy instead of the rheuma- 
 tism, and then she could have done nothing — but, no 
 body had so many mercies as she had. 
 
 " I will not tell you what we suffered during that 
 bitter weather, sir, but my wife's faith and patience 
 during that trying time, were as good a lesson to me 
 as any sermon I could hear, and yet Mr. Jenkins
 
 16 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGOR, E8. 
 
 gave lis very comfortable ones, too, that helped to 
 keep up my spirits." 
 
 "I fear, shepherd," said Mr. Johnson, " you have 
 found this to be but a bad world." 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the shepherd, "but it is gov- 
 erned by a good God. And though my trials have 
 now and then been sharp, why then, sir, as the saying 
 is, if the pain be violent, it is seldom lasting, and if it 
 be bi:t moderate, why then we can bear it the longer, 
 and when it is quite taken away, ease is the more 
 precious, and gratitude is quickened by the remem- 
 brance ; thus every way, and in eveiy case, I can 
 always find out a reason for vindicating Providence." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Johnson, " how do you do to 
 support yourself under the pressure of actual want. 
 Is not hunger a great weakener of your faith?" 
 
 " Sir," replied the shepherd, " I endeavor to live 
 upon the promises. You who abound in the good 
 things of this world are apt to set too high a value on 
 them. Suppose, sir, the king, seeing me hard at 
 work, were to say to me, that, if I would patiently 
 work on till Christmas, a fine palace and a great estate 
 should be the reward of my labors. Do you think, 
 sir, that a little hunger, or a little wet would make 
 me flinch, when I was sure that a few months would 
 put me in possession ! Should I not say to myself 
 frequently — Cheer up, shepherd, 'tis but till Christ- 
 mas ! Now is there not much less difference between 
 this supposed day and Christmas, when I should take 
 possession of the estate and palace, than there is be 
 tween time and eternity, when J 'am sui'e of entering 
 on a kingdom not made with hands ? There is some 
 comparison between a moment and a thousand years, 
 because a thousand years are made up of moments, 
 all time being made up of the same sort of stuff, as I 
 may say ; while there is no sort of comparison be- 
 tween the longest portion of time and eternity. You 
 know, sir, there is no way of measuring two things, 
 one of which has length and breadth, which showa
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 17 
 
 it must have an end somewhere, and another thing 
 which being eternal, is without end and withou 
 measure." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Johnson, " is not the fear of death 
 sometimes too strong for your faith?" 
 
 " Blessed be God, sir," replied the shepherd, " the 
 dark passage through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, is made safe by the power of Him who con- 
 quered death. I know, indeed, we shall go as naked 
 out of this world as we came into it, but an humble 
 penitent will not be found naked in the other world, 
 sir. My Bible tells me of garments of praise and 
 robes of righteousness. And is it not a support, sir, 
 under any of the petty difficulties and distresses here, 
 to be assured by the word of Him who can not lie, 
 that those who were in white robes came out of trib- 
 ulation? But, sir, I beg your pardon for being so 
 talkative. Indeed, you great folks can hardly imagine 
 how it raises and cheers a poor man's heart, when 
 such as you condescend to talk familiarly to him on 
 religious subjects. It seems to be a practical com- 
 ment on that text which says, the rich and the j^oor 
 meet together, the Lord is the maker of them all. And 
 so far from creating disrespect, sir, and that nonsensi- 
 cal wicked notion about equality, it rather prevents 
 it. But to turn to my wife. One Sunday afternoon 
 when she was at the worst, as I was coming out of 
 church, for I went one part of the day, and my eldest 
 daughter the other, so my poor wife was never left 
 alone ; as 1 was coming out of church, I say, Mr. 
 Jenkins, the minister, called out to me and asked me 
 how my wife did, saying he had been kept from coming 
 to see her by the deep fall of snow, and indeed from 
 the parsonage-house to my hovel, it was quite im- 
 passable. I gave him all the particulars he asked, 
 and, I am afraid, a good many more, for my heart 
 was quite full. He kindly gave me a shilling, and 
 said he would certainly try to pick out his way and 
 come and see her in a day or two.
 
 !8 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 " While be was talking to me a plain farmei--look 
 ing gentleman in boots, who stood by, listened to all 1 
 said, but seemed to take no notice. It was Mr. Jen- 
 Kins* wife's father, who was come to pass the Christ- 
 mas holj^days at the parsonage-house. I had always 
 jeard him spoken of as a plain frugal man, who lived 
 '.lose himself, but was remarked to give away more 
 han any of his show-away neighbors. 
 
 " Well ! I went home with great spirits at this 
 reasonable and unexpected supply ; for we had tap- 
 ped our last sixpence, and there was little work to be 
 had on account of the weather. I told my wife I 
 had not come back empty-handed. — ' No, I dare say 
 aot,' says she, you have been serving a Master, icho 
 jilletJi the hungry with good things, though he sendeth 
 'he rich empty away.'' Tnie ; Maiy, says I, we sel- 
 dom fail to get good spiritual food from Mr. Jenkins, 
 but to-day he has kindly supplied our bodily wants. 
 She was more thankful when I showed her the shil- 
 ling, than, I dare say, some of your great people are 
 when they get a hundred pounds." 
 
 Mr. Johnson's heart smote him when he heard 
 such a value set upon a shilling ; " surely," said he to 
 himself, "I will never waste another;" but he said 
 nothing to the shepherd, who thus pursued his story. 
 
 "Next morning before I went out, I sent part of 
 the money to buy a little ale and brown sugar to put 
 into her water-gruel, which made it nice and nourish- 
 ing. I went out to cleave wood in a faiin-yard, for 
 there was no standing out on the plain, after such 
 enow as had fallen in the night. I went with a lighter 
 heart than usual, because I had left my poor wife a 
 little better, and comfortably supplied for this day, 
 and I now resolved more than ever to trust God for 
 the supplies of the next. When I came back at 
 night, my wife fell a crying as soon as she saw me. 
 This, I own, I thought but a bad return for the bless- 
 ings she had so lately received, and so I told her. 'Oh,' 
 said she, ' it is too much, we are too rich ; I am now
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 19 
 
 f'nglitened, not lest we should hare no portjon m this 
 world, but for fear we should have our whole portion 
 in it. Look here, .John!' So saying, she uncovered 
 the bed whereon she lay, and showed me two warm, 
 thick, new blankets. 1 could not believe my own 
 eyes, sir, because when I went out in the morning, I 
 had left her with no other covering than our little old, 
 thin, blue rug. I was still more amazed when she 
 put half a crown into my hand, telling me she had 
 had a visit from Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Jones, the latter 
 of whom had bestowed all these good things upon us. 
 Thus, sir, have our lives been crowned with mercies. 
 My wife got about again, and I do believe, under 
 Pi'ovidence, it was owing to these comforts; for the 
 rheumatism, sir, without blankets by night, and flan- 
 nel by day, is but a baddish job, especially to people 
 who have little or no fire. She will always be a 
 weakly body; but, thank God, her soul prospers and 
 is in health. But I beg your pardon, sir, for talking 
 on at this rate," " Not at all, not at all," said Mr. 
 Johnson ; " I am much pleased with your story, you 
 shall certainly see me iji a few days. Good night." 
 So saying, lie slipped a crown into his hand and rode 
 off. "Surely," said the shepherd, '■'■goodness and 
 mercy have followed me all the days of my life,'''' as he 
 gave the money to his wife when he got home at 
 night. 
 
 As to Mr. Johnson, he found abundant matter for 
 his thoughts during the rest of his journey. On the 
 whole, he was more disposed to envy than to pity the 
 shepherd. " I have seldom seen," said he, " so happy 
 a man. It is a sort of liappiness which the world 
 could not give, and which I plainly see, it has not 
 been able to take away. This must be the true spirit 
 of religion. I sec more and more, that true goodness 
 is not merely a thing of words and opinions, but a 
 living principle brought into every common action of 
 a man's life. What else could have supported this 
 poor couple under every bitter trial of want and sick*
 
 20 DOMESTIC TALES A>D Al,LEGOKIES, 
 
 nes3 ? No, my honest shepherd, I do not pity, but 1 
 respect and even honor thee ; and I will visit tny poor 
 hovel on my return to Salisburj-, with as much pleas- 
 ure as I am now going to the house of my friend." 
 
 3Ir. Johnson, after having passed some time with 
 his friend, set out on his return to Salisbury, and on 
 the Saturday evening reached a very small inn, a mile 
 or two distant from the shepherd's village; for he 
 never travelled on a Sunday without such a reason as 
 he might be able to produce at the day of judgment. 
 He went the next morning to the church nearest the 
 house where he had passed the night ; and after 
 taking such refreshment as he could get at that house, 
 he walked on to find out the shepherd's cottage. 
 His reason for visiting him on a Sunday was chiefly 
 because he supposed it to be the only day which 
 the shepherd's employment allowed him to pass at 
 home with his family ; and as Mr. Johnson had been 
 struck with his talk, he thought it Avould be neither 
 unpleasant nor unprofitable to obsei-ve how a man who 
 carried such an appearance of piety spent his Sunday : 
 for though he was so low in the world, this gentleman 
 was not above entering very closely into his character, 
 of which he thought he should be able to form a bet- 
 ter judgment, by seeing whether his practice at home 
 kept pace with his professions abroad : for it is not so 
 much by observing how people talk, as how they live, 
 that we ought to judge of their characters. 
 
 After a pleasant walk, Mr. Johnson got within sight 
 of the cottage, to which he was directed by the clump 
 of hawthorns and the broken chimney. He wished 
 to take the family by surprise : and walking gently up 
 to the house, he stood awhile to listen. The door 
 being half open, he saw the shepherd (who looked so 
 respectable in his Sunday coat that he should hardly 
 have known him), his wife, and their numerous young 
 family, drawing round their little table, which was 
 covered with a clean, though very coarse cloth. 
 There stood ou it a large dish of potatoes, a brown
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. ^1 
 
 pitcher, and a piece of a coarse loaf. The wife and 
 children stood in silent attention, while the shepherd, 
 with uplifted hands and eyes, devoutly begged the 
 blessing of Heaven on their homely fare. Mr. John- 
 ton could not help sighing to reflect, that he had 
 ■lOmetimes seen better dinners eaten with less appear- 
 ince of thankfulness. 
 
 The shepherd and his wife sat down with great 
 seeming cheerfulness, but the children stood; and 
 while the mother was helping them, httle fresh-oolored 
 Molly, who had picked the wool from the bushes with 
 so much delight, cried out, "Father, 1 wish I was 
 big enough to say grace, I 'im sure I should say it 
 very heartily to-day, for I was thinking what must 
 poor people do who have no salt to their potatoes ; 
 and do but look, our dish is quite full." — " That is the 
 true way of thinking, Molly," said the father; "in 
 whatever concerns bodily wants and bodily comforts, 
 it is our duty to compare our own lot with the lot of 
 those who are worse oft", and that will keep us thank- 
 ful : on the other hand, wheneverwe are tempted to set 
 up oiu' own wisdom or goodness, we must compare 
 ourselves with those who are wiser and better, and 
 that will keep us humble." Molly was now so hun- 
 gry, and found the potatoes so good, that she had no 
 time to make any more remarks, but was devouring 
 tier dinner very heartily, when the barking of the 
 great dog drew her attention from her trencher to the 
 door, and spying the stranger, she cried out, " Look, 
 father, see here, if yonder is not the good gentle- 
 man !" Mr. .Johnson finding himself discovered, im- 
 mediately walked in, and was heartily welcomed by 
 the honest shepherd, who told his wife that this was 
 .he gentleman to whom they were so much obliged. 
 
 The good woman began, as some very neat people 
 are rather apt to do, with making many apologies that 
 her house was not cleaner, and that things were not 
 m a fitter order to receive such a gentleman. Mr. 
 Johnson, however, on looking round, could discover
 
 *22 DOMESTIC TALES A>"D ALLEGORIES 
 
 uothin^ but the most perfect neatness. The tre-nchers 
 on which they were eating, were almost as white as 
 their hnen ; and notwithstanding the number and 
 smailness of the children, there was not the least ap- 
 pearance of dirt or litter. The furniture was very 
 simple and poor, hardly indeed amounting to bare ne- 
 cessaries, it consisted of four brown wooden chairs, 
 which, by constant rubbing, were become as bright 
 as a looking-glass : an iron pot and kettle ; a poor old 
 grate, which scarcely held a handful of coal, and out 
 of which the little fire that had been in it appeared to 
 have been taken, as soon as it had answered the end 
 for which it had been lighted — that of boiling their 
 potatoes. Over the chimney stood an old-fashioned, 
 broad, bright candlestick, and a still brighter spit : it 
 was pretty clear that this last was kept rather for 
 ornament than use. An old caiTed elbow chair, and 
 a chest of the'same date, which stood in the comer, 
 were considered the most valuable part of the shep- 
 herd's goods, having been in his family for three gen- 
 erations. But all these were lightly esteemed by him 
 in comparison of another possession, which, added to 
 the above, made up the whole of what he had in- 
 herited from his father, and which last he would not 
 have parted with, if no other could have been had, foi 
 the king's ransom ; this was a large old Bible, which 
 lay on the window-seat, neatly covered with brown 
 cloth, variously patched. This sacred book was most 
 reverently preserved from dog's ears, dirt, and eveiy 
 other injury, but such as time and much use had 
 made it suffer in spite of care. On the clean white 
 walls was pasted, a hymn on the Crucifixion of our 
 Savior, a print of the Prodigal Son, the Shepherd's 
 Hymn, a jS'ew History of a True Book, and Patient 
 Joe, or the Newcastle Collier. 
 
 After the first salutations were over, Mr. Johnson 
 said, that if they would go on with their dinner he 
 would sit down. Though a good deal ashamed, they 
 thought it more respectful to obey the gentlemaa.
 
 THE SHEPHERD OP SALISBURY PLAIN. ^J 
 
 who having cast his eye on their slender provisions, 
 gently rebuked the shepherd for not having indulged 
 himself, as it was Sunday, with a morsel of bacon to 
 relish his potatoes. The shepherd said nothing, but 
 poor Mary coloi'ed and hung down her head, saying, 
 " Indeed, sir, it is not my fault, I did beg my husban(i 
 to allow himself a bit of meat to-day out of your 
 honor's bounty; but he was too good to do it, and it 
 is all for my sake." The shepherd seemed unwilling 
 to coine to an explanation, but Mr. Johnson desired 
 Mary to go on. So she continued : " You must 
 know, sir, that both of us, next to a sin, dread a debt, 
 and indeed, in some cases a debt is a sin; but with ai! 
 our care and pains, we have never been able quite to 
 pay off the doctor's bill for that bad fit of rheumatism 
 which I had last winter. Now, when you . were 
 pleased to give my husband that kind present the 
 other day, I heartily desired him to buy a bit of meat 
 for Sunday, as I said before, that he might have a 
 little refreshment for himself out of your kindness. 
 But,' answered he, ' Mary, it is never out of my 
 mind long together that we still owe a few shillings 
 to the doctor, and, thank God, it is all we did owe in 
 the world. Now, if I carry him this money directly, 
 it will not only show him our honesty and our good- 
 will, but it will be an encouragement to him to come 
 to you another time, in case you should be taken 
 once more in such a bad fit; for I must own,' added 
 my poor husband, 'that the thought of your being so 
 terribly ill without any help, is the only misfortune 
 that I want courage to face.' " 
 
 Hero the grateful woman's tears ran down so fast 
 that she could not go on. She wiped them with the 
 corner of her apron, and huiiil)ly begged pardon for 
 making so free. " Indeed, sir," said the shepherd, 
 " tbough luy wife is full as unwilling to be in tlebt as 
 myself, yet I could hardly prevail on her to consent 
 to my paying this money just then, because she said 
 U was liard that I should not have a taste of the gen-
 
 24 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES 
 
 tleman's bounty myself. But for once, sir, I would 
 have my own way. For you must know, as I pass tlie 
 best part of my time alone, tending my sheep, 'tis a 
 great point with me, sir, to get comfortable matter foi 
 my own thoughts ; so that 'tis rather self-interest in 
 me to allow myself in no pleasures and no practices 
 that won't bear thinking on over and over. For when 
 one is a good deal alone, you know, sir, all one's bad 
 deeds do so rush in upon one, as I may say, and so 
 torment one, that there is no tnie comfort to be had 
 but ia keeping clear of wrong doings and false pleas- 
 ures ; and that I suppose may be one reason why so 
 many folks hate to stay a bit by themselves. But, as 
 I was saying, when I came to thmk the matter over 
 on the hill yonder, said I to myself. ' A good dinner is 
 a good thing, I grant, and yet it will be but cold com- 
 fort to me a week after, to be able to say — to be sure, 
 I had a nice shoulder of mutton last Sunday for din- 
 ner, thanks to the good gentleman ! but then I am in 
 debt. I had a rare dinner, that's certain; but the 
 pleasure of that has long been over, and the debt still 
 remains. I have spent the crown ; and now if my 
 poor wife should be taken in one of those fits again, 
 die she must, unless God work a miracle to prevent 
 it, for I can get no help for her.' This thought set- 
 tled all ; and I set oft' and paid the doctor with as 
 much cheerfulness as I should have felt on sitting 
 down to the fattest shoulder of mutton that ever was 
 roasted. And if I was contented at the time, think 
 how much more happy I have been at the remem- 
 brance ! O sir, there are no pleasures worth the name, 
 but such as bring no plague or penitence after them." 
 Mr. Johnson was satisfied with the shepherd's rea- 
 sons, and agreed that though a good dinner was not 
 to be despised, yet it was not worthy to be compared 
 with a contented ?nind, which (as the Bible ti-uly says) 
 is a continual feast. " But come," said the good gen- 
 tleman, " what have we got in this brown mug ?" 
 ' As good water," said the shepherd, " as any in tha
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 25 
 
 king's dominions. I have heard of countries beyond 
 sea, in which there is no wholesome water; nay, I 
 ha*e been myself in a great town not far off, where 
 they are obliged to buy all the water which they get, 
 while a good Providence sends to my very door a 
 spring as clear and fine as Jacoh's well. When I am 
 terapted to repine that I have often no other drink, I 
 call to mind that it was nothing better than a cup of 
 cold water which the woman at the well of Sychar 
 drew for the greatest guest that ever visitecf this 
 world." 
 
 " Very well," replied Mr. Johnson ; " but as your 
 honesty has made yoii prefer a poor meal to being in 
 debt, I will at least send and get something for you to 
 drink. I saw a little public house just by the church, 
 as I came along. Let that little rosy-faced fellow 
 fetch a mug of beer." So saying, he looked full at 
 the boy, who did not offer to stir, but cast an eye at 
 his father to know what he was to do. " Sir," said 
 the shepherd, " I hope we shall not appear imgrateful 
 if we seem to refuse your favor ; my little body 
 would, I am sure, fly to serve you on any other oc- 
 casion. But, good sir, it is Sunday, and should any 
 of my family be seen at a public house on a Sabbath 
 day, it would be a much greater grief to me than to 
 drink water all my life. 1 am often talking against 
 these doings to others ; and if I should say one 
 thing and do another, you can't think what an ad- 
 vantage it would give many of my neighbors over 
 me, who would be glad enough to report tlKut they 
 had caught the shepherd's son at the alehouse, with- 
 out explaining how it happened. Christians, you 
 know, sir, must be doubly watchful, or they will 
 not only bring disgrace on themselves, but what is 
 much worse, on that holy name by which they are 
 called." 
 
 " Are you not a little too cautious, my honest 
 friend?" said Mr. Johnson. "I humbly ask your 
 nardon, sir," replied the shepherd, '» if 1 think that
 
 26 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 is impossible. In my poor notion I no more under- 
 stand how a man can be too cautious, than how he 
 can be too strong or too healthy." 
 
 " You are right, indeed," said Mr. Johnson, " as a 
 general principle, but this struck me as a very small 
 thing." " Sir," said the shepherd, " I am afraid you 
 will think me very bold, but you encourage me to 
 speak out." " 'Tis what I wish," said the gentleman. 
 " Then, sir," resumed the shepherd, " 1 doubt if, 
 where there is a frequent temptation to do wrong, 
 any fault can be called small ; that is, in short, if 
 there is any such thing as a small wilful sin. A poor 
 man like me is seldom called out to do great things, 
 so that it is not by a few striking deeds his character 
 can be judged by his neighbors, but by the little 
 round of daily customs he allows himself in." 
 
 " I should like," said Mr. Johnson, " to know how 
 you manage in this respect." 
 
 " I am but a poor scholar, sir," replied the shep- 
 herd, " but I have made myself a little sort of rule. 
 I always avoid, as I am an ignorant man, picking out ' 
 any one single difficult text to distress my mind 
 about, or to go and build opinions upon, because I 
 knov/ that puzzles and injures poor unlearned Chris- 
 tians. But I endeavor to collect what is the general 
 spirit or meaning of Scripture on any particular 
 subject, by putting a few texts together, which, 
 though I find them dispersed up and down, yet alj 
 seem to look the same way, to prove the same truth, 
 or hold out the same comfort. So when I am tried 
 or tempted, or any thing happens in which I am at 
 a loss what to do, I apply to my rule — to the law 
 and the testimony. To be sure 1 3an't always find a 
 particular direction as to the very case, because then 
 the Bible must have been bigger than all those great 
 books I once saw in the library at Salisbury palace, 
 which the butler told me were acts of parliament ; 
 and had that been the case, a poor man would never 
 have had money to buy, nor a working man time to
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 27 
 
 read the Bible ; and so Christianity could only have 
 been a religion for the rich, for those who had money 
 and leisure, which, blessed be God ! is so far from 
 being the truth, that in all that fine discourse of our 
 Savior to John's disciples, it is enough to reconcile 
 any poor man in the world to his low condition, to 
 observe, when Christ reckons up the things for 
 which he came on eartli, to observe, I say, what he 
 keeps for last. Go tell John, says he, those things 
 which ye do hear and see; the Mind receive their sight, 
 and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the 
 deaf hear, and the dead are raised up. Now sir, all 
 these are wonders, to be sure, but they are nothing 
 to what follows. They are but like the lower rounds 
 of a ladder, as 1 may say, by whi«h you mount to 
 the top — and the poor have the gospel preached to 
 Ihem. I dare say if John had any doubts before, this 
 part of the message must have cleared them up at 
 once. For it must have made him certain sure at 
 once, that a religion which placed preaching salva- 
 tion to the poor above healing the sick, which rank- 
 ed the soul above the body, and set heaven above 
 health, must have come from God." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Johnson, " you say you can gen- 
 erally pick out your particular duty from the Bible, 
 though that immediate duty be not fully explained." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," replied the shepherd, " I thmk I 
 can find out the principle, at least, if I bring but a 
 willing mind. The want of that is the great hin- 
 derance. Whoso doelh my tcill, he shall hnoio of the 
 doctrine. You know that text, sir. I believe a stub- 
 born will makes the Bible liarder to be understood 
 than any want of learning. 'Tis corrupt aflections 
 which blind the understanding, sir. The more a 
 man hates sin, the clearer he will see his way, and 
 the more he loves holiness, the better he will under- 
 stand his Bible — the more practical conviction will he 
 get of that pleasant truth, that the secret of the Lord 
 is with them that fear him. Now, sir, suppose I hatl
 
 26 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 time and learning, and possessed of all the books 1 
 saw at the bishop's, where could I find out a surer 
 way to lay the axe to the root of all covetousness, 
 selfishness, and injustice, than the plain and ready 
 rule, lo do unto all men as I would they should do unto 
 me. If my neighbor does me an injury-, can I be at 
 any loss how to proceed with him, when I recollect 
 the parable of the unforgiving steward, who refused 
 to pardon a debt of a hundred pence, when his own 
 ten thousand talents had been remitted to him ? I 
 defy any man to retain habitual selfishness, hardness 
 of heart, or any other allowed sin, who daily and con- 
 scientiously tries his own heart by this touchstone. 
 The straight rule will show the crooked practice to 
 every one who honestly tries the one by the other." 
 
 " Why, you seem to make Scripture a thing ol 
 general application," said Mr. Johnson, " in cases in 
 which many, I fear, do not apply." 
 
 "It applies to everything, sir," replied the shep- 
 herd. "When those men who are now disturbing 
 the peace of the world, and trying to destroy the con- 
 fidence of God's children in their Maker and their 
 Savior — when those men, I say, came to my poor 
 hovel with their new doctrines and their new books, I 
 would never look into one of them ; for I remember 
 it was the first sin of the first pair to lose their inno- 
 cence for the sake of a little wicked knowledge; be- 
 sides, my oivn book told me — To fear God and honor 
 the king — To meddle not with them who are given to 
 change — Not to speak evil of dignities — To render 
 honor to whom honor is due. So that I was furnished 
 with a little coat-of-mail, as I may say, which pre- 
 served me, while those who had no such armor fell 
 into the snare." 
 
 While they were thus talking, the children, who 
 had stood very quietly behind, and had not stirred a 
 foot, now began to scamper about all at once, and in 
 a moment ran to the window-seat to pick up their 
 little old hata. Mr. Johnson looked surprised at thi'
 
 THE SHKPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIJf. 29 
 
 distuibance ; the shepherd asked his pardon, telling 
 him it was the souna of the chttrch bell which had 
 been the cause of their rudeness ; for their mother 
 had brought them up with such a fear of being too 
 late for church, that it was but who could catch the 
 first stroke of the bell, and be first ready. He had 
 always taught them to think that nothing was more 
 indecent than to get into church after it was begun ; 
 for as the service opened with an exhortation to re- 
 pentance, and a confession of sin, it looked very pre- 
 sumptuous not to be ready to join it ; it looked as if 
 people did not feel themselves to be sinners. And 
 though such as lived at a great distance might plead 
 dilierence of clocks as an excuse, yet those who 
 lived within the sound of the bell could pretend nei- 
 ther ignorance nor mistake. 
 
 Mary and her children set forward. Mr. Johnson 
 and the shepherd followed, taking care to talk the 
 Avhole way on such subjects as might fit them for the 
 solemn duties of the place to which they were going. 
 "I have often been sorry to observe," said Mr. John- 
 son, "that many who are reckoned decent, good kind 
 of people, and who would on no account neglect 
 going to church, yet seem to care but little in what 
 frame or temper of mind they go thither. They will 
 talk of their worldly concerns till they get within the 
 door, and then take them up again the veiy minute 
 the sermon is over, which makes me ready to fear 
 they lay too much stress on the mere form of going 
 to a place of worship. Now, for my part, I always 
 find that it requires a little tijne to bring my mind 
 into a state fit to do any common business well, much 
 more this great and most necessary business of all." 
 " Yes, sir," replied the shepherd, " and then 1 think, 
 loo, how busy I should be in preparing my mind, if 
 I were going into the presence of a great gentleman, 
 or a lord, or the king; and shall the King of kings be 
 treated with less respect ? Besides, one likes to see 
 people feel as if going to church was a thing of
 
 30 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 choice and pleasure, as well as a duty, and that thej^ 
 were as desirous not to be the last there, as they 
 would be if they were going to a feast or a fair." 
 
 After sei-vice, Mr. Jenkins, the clergyman, who 
 was well acquainted with the character of Mr. John- 
 son, and had a great respect for him, accosted him 
 with much civility, expressing his concern that he 
 could not enjoy just now so much of his conversation 
 as he wished, as he was obliged to visit a sick person 
 at a distance, but hoped to have a little talk with him 
 before he left the village. As they walked along to- 
 gether, ]\[r. Johnson made such inquiries about the 
 shepherd as sejTed to confirm him in the high opinion 
 he entertained of his piety, good sense, industry, and 
 self-denial. They parted — the clergyman promising 
 to call in at the cottage on his way home. 
 
 The shepherd, who took it for granted that Mr. 
 Johnson was gone to the parsonage, walked home 
 with his wife and children, and was beginning in his 
 usual way to catechise and instruct his family', when 
 Mr. Johnson came in and insisted that the shepherd 
 should go on with his instructions just as if he were 
 not there. This gentleman, who was very desirous 
 of being useful to his own servants and workmen in 
 the way of religious instruction, was sometimes soriy 
 to find that though he took a good deal of pains, they 
 now and then did not quite understand him ; for though 
 his meaning was veiy good, his language was not al- 
 ways very plain, and though the things he said were 
 not hard to be understood, yet the words were, espe- 
 cially to such as were very ignorant. And he now 
 began to find out that if people were ever so wise 
 and good, yet if they had not a simple, agreeable, 
 and familiar way of expressing themselves, some of 
 their plain hearers would not be much the better for 
 them. For this reason he was not above listening to 
 the plain, humble way in Avhich this honest man 
 taught his family ; for though he knew that he him- 
 self had many advantages over the shepherd, had
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 31 
 
 more learning, and could teach him many things, yet 
 he was not too proud to learn even of so poor a man, 
 in any point where he thought the shepherd might 
 have the advantage of him. 
 
 This gentleman was mttch pleased with the knowl- 
 edge and piety which he discovered in the answers of 
 the children ; and desired the shepherd to tell him 
 how he contrived to keep up a sense of divine things 
 in his own mind, and in that of his fani)Iy, with so 
 little leisure, and so little reading. " Oh ! as to that, 
 sir," said the shepherd, " we do not read much ex- 
 cept in one book, to be sure ; but with my heart 
 prayer for God's blessing on the use of that book, 
 what little knowledge is needful seems to come of 
 course, as it were. And my chief study has been to 
 bring the fruits of the Sunday reading into the week's 
 business, and to keep up the same sense of God in the 
 heart when the Bible is in the cupboard, as when it 
 is in the hand. In short, to apply what I read in the 
 book to what I meet with in the field." 
 
 " I don't quite understand you," said Mr. Johnson. 
 " Sir," replied the shepherd, " I have but a poor gift at 
 conveying these things to others, though I have much 
 comfort from them in my own mind; but I am sure 
 that the most ignorant and hard-working people, who 
 are in earnest about their salvation, may help to keep 
 up devout thoughts and good aOections during the 
 week, though they have hardly any time to look at a 
 book ; and it will help them to keep out bad t>houghtg 
 too, which is no small matter. But then they must 
 know the Bible ; they must have read the word of 
 God diligently; that is a kind of stock in trade for a 
 Christian to set up with ; and it is this which makes 
 me so careful in teaching it to my children, and even 
 in storing their memories with psalms and chapters. 
 This is a great help to a poor, hard-working man, 
 who will scarcely meet with anything in them but 
 what he may turn to some good account. If one lives 
 in the fear and love of God, almost everything one
 
 32 DOM£STlC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 sees abroad will teach one to adore his power and 
 goodness, and bring to mind some text of Scripture, 
 which shall fill his heart with thankfulness, and his 
 mouth with praise. When I look upward, the heavens 
 declare the glory of God, and shall I be silent and un- 
 grateful ? If I look round and see the valleys stand- 
 ing thick with corn, how can I help blessing that 
 Power who giveth mc all things richly to enjoy? 
 I may learn gratitude from the beasts of the field, for 
 the ox Jcnmceth his owner and the ass his mastefs crib ; 
 and shall a Christian not know, shall a Christian not 
 consider what great things God has done for him? 
 I, who am a shepherd, endeavor to fill my soul with a 
 constant remembrance of that good Shepherd, who 
 feedeth mc in green pastures, and malceth me to lie 
 down beside the still waters, and whose rod and staff 
 comfort me. A religion, sir, which has its seat in the 
 heart, and its fruits in the life, takes up little time in 
 the study : and yet in another sense, tnie religion, 
 which from sound principles bringeth forth right 
 practice, fills up the whole time, and life too, as one 
 may say. 
 
 " You are happy," said Mr. Johnson, " in this re- 
 tired life, by which you escape the coiTuptions of the 
 world." " Sir," replied the shepherd, " I do not es- 
 cape the coiTuptions of my own evil nature. Even 
 there, on that wild solitary hill, I find out that my heart 
 is prone to evil thoughts. I suppose, sir, that diflerent 
 states have different temptations. You great folks that 
 live in the world, perhaps, are exposed to some, of 
 which such a poor man as I am, knows nothing. But 
 to one who leads a lonely life like me, evil thoughts 
 are a chief-besetting sin ; and I can no more withstand 
 these without the grace of God, than a rich gentleman 
 can withstand the snares of evil company, without the 
 same grace. And I find that I stand in need of God's 
 help continually; and if he should give me up to my 
 own evil heart, I should be lost." 
 
 Mr. Johnson approved of the shepherd's sincerity.
 
 TlIK SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY FLAI.N. 33 
 
 for he had always observed, that where there wi s no 
 humility, and no watchfulness against sin, there was 
 no religion, and he said that the man who did not feel 
 himself to be a sinner, in his opinion could not be a 
 Christian. 
 
 Just as they were in this part of their discourse, 
 Mr. Jenkins the clergyman came in. After the usual 
 salutations, he said, "Well, shepherd, I waIi you 
 )oy ; I know you will be sorry to gain any advantage 
 by the death of a neighbor; but Old Wilson, my clerk, 
 was so infirm, and I trust so well prepared, that there 
 is no reason to be sorry for his death. I have been to 
 pray by him, but he died while I stayed. I have al- 
 ways intended you should succeed to his place ; 'tis 
 no great matter of profit, but every little is some- 
 thing. 
 
 " No great matter, sir !" cried the shepherd ; " in- 
 deed, it is a great thing to me ; it will more than pay 
 my rent. Blessed be God for all his goodness !" — 
 Mary said nothing, but lifted up her eyes full of tears 
 in silent gratitude. 
 
 " I am glad of this little circumstance," said Mr. 
 Jenkins, " not only for your sake, but for the sake 
 of the ofiice itself. I so heartily reverence every re- 
 Ugious institution, that I would never have even the 
 amen added to the prayers of our church, by vain or 
 profane lips ; and if it depended on me, there should 
 be no such thing in the land as an idle, drunken, ox 
 irreligious parish clerk. Sony I am to say that this 
 matter is not always sufficiently attended to, and thai 
 I know some of a very indifferent character. 
 
 Mr. Johnson now inquired of the clergyman whethei 
 there were many children in the parish. "More than 
 you would expect," replied he, " from the seeming 
 Bmallness of it; but there are some little hamlets 
 which you do not see." — "I think," returned Mr. 
 Johnson, " I recollect that in the conversation which 
 I had with the shepherd on the hill yonder, he told 
 me you had no Sunday school " — "I am sorry to say
 
 34 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 we have none," said the minister. " I do what I can 
 to remedy this misfortune by public catechising; but 
 having two or three churches to serve, I can not give 
 so much time as I wish to private instruction; and 
 having a large family of my own, and no assistance 
 from o tilers, I have never been able o establish a 
 school.'' 
 
 " There is an excellent institution in London," said 
 Mr. Johnson, " called the Sunday-school Society, 
 which kindly gives books and other helps, on the ap- 
 plication of such pious clergymen as stand in need of 
 their aid, and which I am sure would have assisted 
 you, but I think we shall be able to do something 
 ourselves. " Shepherd," continued he, " if I were a 
 king, and had it in my power to make you a rich and 
 a great man, with a word speaking, I would not do it. 
 Those who are raised, by some sudden stroke, much 
 above the station in which Divine Providence had 
 placed them, seldom turn out very good, or very 
 happy. I have never had any great things in my 
 power, but as far as I have been able, I have been 
 always glad to assist the worthy. I have, however, 
 never attempted or desired to set any poor man much 
 above his natural condition, but it is a pleasure to me 
 to lend him such assistance as may make that con- 
 dition more easy to himself, and put him in a way 
 which shall c^ll him to the performance of more du- 
 ties than perhaps he could have performed without 
 my help, and of performing them in a better manner 
 to others, and with more comfort to himself. — What 
 rent do yo.u pay for this cottage ?" 
 
 " Fifty shillings a year, sir." 
 
 " It is in a sad tattered condition ; is there not a 
 better to be had in the village ?" 
 
 " That in which the poor clerk lived," said the 
 clergyman, " is not only more tight and whole, but 
 has two decent chambers, and a very large light 
 kitchen." — " That will be very convenient," replied 
 Mr. Johnson, "pray, what is the rent?" — "I think,
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURT PLAIN. 35 
 
 saia the shepherd, " poor Neighbor Wilson gave 
 somewhat about four pounds a year, or it might be 
 guineas." — " Very well," said Mr. Johnson, " and 
 what will the clerk's place be worth, think you ?" 
 "About three pounds," was the answer. 
 
 " Now," continued Mr. Johnson, ' my plan is that 
 the shepherd should take that house immediately; 
 fur as the poor man is dead, there will be no need of 
 waiting till quarter-day, if I make up the difference.' 
 " True, sir," said Mr. Jenkins, " and I am sure my 
 wife's father, whom I expect to-morrow, will willing- 
 ly assist a little toward buying some of the clerk's old 
 goods. And the sooner they remove the better ; for poor 
 Mary caught that bad rheumatism by sleeping under 
 a leaky thatch." The shepherd was too much moved 
 to speak, and Mary could hardly sob out, " Oh, sir ; 
 you are too good ; indeed, this house will do very 
 well." " It may do very well for you and your chil- 
 dren, Mary," said Mr. Johnson, gravely, " but it will 
 not do for a school ; the kitchen is neither large nor 
 light enough. Shepherd," continued he, " with your 
 good minister's leave, and kind assistance, I propose 
 to set up in this parish a Sunday school, and to make 
 you the master. It will not at all interfere with your 
 weekly calling, and it is the only lawful way in which 
 you could turn the Sabbath into a day of some little 
 profit to your family, by doing, as I hope, a great dea^ 
 of good to the souls of others. The rest of the week 
 you will work as usual. The difference of rent be- 
 tween this house and the clerk's I shall pay myself; 
 for to put you in a better house at your own expense, 
 would be no great act of kindness. As for honest 
 Mary, who is not fit for hard labor, or any other out- 
 of-door work, I propose to endow a small weekly 
 school, of which she shall be the mistress, and eip 
 ploy her notable turn to good account, by teaching 
 ten or a dozen girls to knit, sew, spin, card, or any 
 other useful way of getting their bread ; for al Siis I
 
 36 DOMESTIC TALES A.ND ALLEGORIES 
 
 shall only pay her the usual price, for I am not going 
 to make you rich, but usefuL" 
 
 *' Not rich, sir!" cried the shepherd ; " How can I 
 ever be thankful enough for such blessings ? And 
 will my poor Mary have a dry thatch over her head ? 
 and shall I be able to send for the doctor when I am 
 like to lose her ? Indeed, my cup runs over with 
 blessings ; I hope God will give me humility." Here 
 he and 3Iaiy looked at each other and burst into tears. 
 The gentlemen saw their distress, and kindly walked 
 out upon the little green before the door, that these 
 honest people might give vent to their feelings. As 
 soon as they were alone, they crept into one corner 
 of the room, where they thought they could not be 
 seen, and fell on their knees, devoutly blessing and 
 praising God for his mercies. Never were more 
 hearty prayers presented, than this grateful couple 
 offered up for their benefactors. The warmth of their 
 gratitude could only be equalled by the earnestness 
 with which they besought the blessing of God on the 
 work in which they were going to engage. 
 
 The two gentlemen new left this happy family, and 
 walked to the parsonage, where the evening was 
 spent in a manner very edifying to Mr. Johnson, who 
 the next day took all proper measures for putting the 
 shepherd in immediate possession of his now comfort 
 able habitation. Mr. Jenkins's father-in-law, the wor 
 thy gentleman who gave the shepherd's wife the 
 blankets, arrived at the parsonage before Mr. Johnson 
 left it, and assisted in fitting up the clerk's cottage. 
 
 Mr. Johnson took his leave, promising to call on 
 the worthy minister and his new clerk once a year, in 
 his summer's journey over the plain, as long as it 
 should please God to spare his life. He had every 
 reason to be satisfied with the objects of his bounty. 
 The shepherd's zeal and piety made him a blessing 
 to the rising generation. The old resorted to his 
 school for the benefit of hearing the young instructed ; 
 and the clergyman had the pleasure of seeing that he
 
 THE 8HKPHERD OF SALISBURT PLAIN. 37 
 
 was rewarded for the protection he gave the school, 
 by the great increase in his congregation. The shep- 
 lierd not only exhorted both parents and children to 
 the indispensable duty of a regular attendance at 
 church, but by his pious counsels he drew them 
 thither, and by his plain and prudent instructions eu- 
 abled them to understand, and of course, to delight ia 
 tdo public worship of God.
 
 38 DOMESTIC TALES A.ND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 II. HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM, 
 
 THE NEW-FASHIONED PHILOSOPHER, 
 
 AND HIS ]\1AN ■WILLIAM. 
 
 Mr. Fantom was a retail trader in the city of Lon- 
 don. As he had no turn to any expensive vices, he 
 was reckoned a sober, decent man ; but he was cov- 
 etous and proud, selfish and conceited. As soon aa 
 he got for^vard in the world, his vanity began to dis- 
 play itself, though not in the ordinary method, that 
 of making a figure and living away ; but still he was 
 tormented with a longing desire to draw public no- 
 tice, and to distinguish himself. He felt a general 
 sense of discontent at what he was, with a general 
 ambition to be something which he was not ; but this 
 desire had not yet turned itself to any particular ob- 
 ject. It was not by Jiis money he could hope to be 
 distinguished, for half his acquaintance had more, and 
 a man must be rich, indeed, to be noted for his riches 
 in London. Mr. Fantom's mind was a prey to his 
 vain imaginations. He despised all those little acts 
 of kindness and charity which every man is called to 
 perform eveiy day, and while he was contriving grand 
 schemes, which lay quite out of his reach, he neg- 
 lected the ordinary duties of life which lay directly 
 before him. Selfishness was his governing principle. 
 He fancied he was lost in the mass of general soci- 
 ety, and the usual means of attaching importance to 
 msignificance occurred to him — that of getting into 
 slubs and societies. To be connected with a party
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM. 39 
 
 would at least make him known to that party, be it 
 ever so low and contemptible ; and this local impor- 
 tance it is which draws off vain minds from those 
 scenes of general usefulness, in which, though they 
 are of more value, they are of less distinction. 
 
 About this time he got hold of a famous little book 
 written by the New Philosopher, whose pestilent 
 ioctrines have gone about seeking whom they may 
 destroy. These doctrines found a ready entrance 
 into Mr. Fantom's mind, a mind at once shallow and 
 inquisitive, speculative and vain, ambitious E.nd dissat- 
 isfied. As almost every book was new to him, he 
 fell into the common error of those who begin to 
 read late in life — that of thinking that what he did 
 not know himself was equally new to others ; and 
 he was apt to fancy that he and the author he was 
 reading were the only two people in the world who 
 knew anything. This book led to the grand discov- 
 ery ; he had now found what his heart panted after — 
 a way to distinguish himself. To start out a fu^l- 
 grown philosopher at once, to be wise without edu- 
 cation, to dispute without learning, and to make 
 proselytes without argument, was a short cut to 
 fame which well suited his vanity and his ignorance. 
 He rejoiced that he had been so clever as to examine 
 for himself, pitied his friends who took things upon 
 trust, and was resolved to assert the freedom of his 
 own mind. To a man fond of bold novelties and 
 daring paradoxes, solid argument would be flat and 
 truth would be dull, merely because it is not new. 
 Mr. Fantom believed, not in proportion to the strength 
 of the evidence, but to the impudence of the asser- 
 tion. The trampling on holy ground with dirty 
 shoes, the smearing the sanctuary with filth and 
 mire, the calling the prophets and apostles by the 
 most scurrilous names was new, and dashing, and 
 dazzling. Mr. Fantom, now being set free from the 
 chains of slavery and superstition, was resolved to 
 ehow his zeal in the usual way by trying to fieo
 
 40 DOMESTIC T.ALES AXD ALLE&ORIES. 
 
 Others ; but it -Wiuld have hurt his vanity had lie 
 known that he was the convert of a man who had 
 written only for the vulgar, who had invented nothing, 
 no, not even one idea of original wickedness, but 
 who had stooped to take up out of the kennel of in 
 fidelity all the loathsome dregs and offal dirt which 
 politer unbelievers had thrown away as too gross and 
 offensive for the better bred readers. 
 
 Mr. Fantom, who considered that a philosopher 
 must set up with a little sort of stock in trade, now 
 picked up all the commonplace notions against Chris- 
 tianity, which have been answered a hundred times 
 over ; these he kept by him ready cut and dried, and 
 brought out in all companies with a zeal which would 
 have done honor to a better cause, but which the 
 friends to a better cause are not so apt to discover. 
 He soon got all the cant of the new school. He 
 prated about narrowness, and ignorance, and bigotry, 
 Tindi prejudice, and priestcraft, on the one hand, and on 
 tlie other, of public good, the love of mankind, and 
 liberality, and candor, and toleration, and above all, 
 benevolence. Benevolence, he said, made up the 
 whole of religion, and all the other parts of it were 
 nothing but cant, and jargon, and hypocrisy. By 
 benevolence he understood a gloomy and indefinite 
 anxiety about the happiness of people with whom he 
 was utterly disconnected, and whom Providence had 
 put it out of his reach either to serve or injure. And 
 by the happiness this benevolence was so anxious to 
 promote, he meant an exemption from the power of 
 the laws, and an emancipation from the restraints of 
 religion, conscience, and moral obligation. 
 
 Finding, however, that he made little impression 
 on his old club at the Cat and Bagpipes, he grew 
 tired of their company. This club consisted of a 
 few sober citizens, who met of an evening for a little 
 harmless recreation after business ; their object was, 
 not to reform parliament, but their own shops ; not 
 to correct the abuses of government but of parish
 
 HISTORY OF MF.. FANTOM. 41 
 
 officers ; not to cure the excesses of administration 
 but of their own porters and apprentices; to talk 
 over the news of the day without aspiring to direct 
 the events of it. They read the papers with that 
 anxiety which every honest man feels in the daily- 
 history of his countiy. But as trade which they did 
 understand, flourished, they were careful ruot to rep- 
 robate those public measures by which it was protect- 
 ed, and which they did not understand. In such tur- 
 bulent times it was a comfort to each to feel he was 
 a tradesman and not a statesman, that he was not 
 called to responsibility for a trust for which he found 
 he had no talents, while he was at full liberty to em- 
 ploy the talents he really possessed in fairly amassing 
 a fortune, of which the laws would be the best guard- 
 ian, and government the best security. Thus a le- 
 gitimate self-love, regulated by prudence and restrain- 
 ed by principle, produced peaceable subjects and good 
 citizens, while in Fantom a boundless selfishness and 
 inordinate vanity converted a discontented trader into 
 a turbulent politician. 
 
 There was, however, one member of the Cat and 
 Bagpipes whose society he could not resolve to give 
 ap, though tliey seldom agreed, as indeed no two 
 men in the same class and habits of life could less re- 
 semble each other. Mr. Trueman was an honest, 
 plain, simple-hearted tradesman of the good old cut, 
 who feared God and followed his business ; he went 
 to church twice on Sundays, and mindeill his shop all 
 the week, spent frugally, gave liberally, and saved 
 moderately. He lost, however, some ground in Mr. 
 Fantom's esteem because he paid his taxes without 
 disputing, and read his Bible without doubting. 
 
 Mr. Fantom now began to be tired of everything 
 in trade except the profits of it, for the more the 
 word benevolence was in his mouth the more did sel- 
 fishness gain dominion in his heart. He, however, 
 resolved to retire for a while into the country, and 
 devote his time to his new plans, schemes, theories,
 
 <2 DOMESTIC TALES A^JD ALLEGORIES. 
 
 and projects for the public good. A life of talking, 
 and reading, and writing, and disputing, and teaching, 
 and proselyting, now struck him as the only life, so 
 he soon set out for the country with his family, for 
 unhappily Mr. Fantom had been the husband of a 
 very worthy woman many years before the new phi- 
 losophy had discovered that marriage was a shameful 
 infringement on human liberty, and an abridgement 
 of the rights of man. To this family was now added 
 his new footman, William Wilson, whom he had 
 taken with a good character out of a sober family. 
 Mr. Fantom was no sooner settled than he wrote to 
 invite Mr. Tixieman to come and pay him a visit, for 
 he would have burst if he could not have got some 
 one to whom he might display his new knowledge* 
 he knew that if on the one hand Trueman was no 
 scholar, yet on the other he was no fool ; and though 
 he despised his 2^rejudices, yet he thought he might 
 be made a good decoy duck, for if he could once 
 bring Trueman over, the whole club at the Cat and 
 Bagpipes might be brought to follow his example^ 
 and thus he might see himself at the head of a so- 
 ciety ot his own proselytes — the supreme object of a 
 philosopher's ambition. Trueman came accordingly. 
 He soon found that however he might be shocked at 
 the impious doctrines his friend maintained, yet that 
 an important lesson might be learned even from the 
 worst enemies of tnith, namely, an ever-wakeful at- 
 tention to their grand object. If they set out with 
 talking of trade or politics, of private news or public 
 affairs, still Mr. Fantom was ever on the watch to 
 hitch in his darling doctrines ; whatever he began 
 with he was sure to end with a pert squib at the Bi- 
 ble, a vapid jest on the clergy, the miseries of super 
 stition, and the blessings of philosophy. " Oh," said 
 Trueman to himself, "when shall I see Christians 
 half so much in earnest? Why is it tha"; almost all 
 seal is on the wrong side ?" 
 
 »' Well. Mr Fantom," said Trueman, one day 8-
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM. 43 
 
 breakfast, "I am afraid you are leading but an idle 
 sort of life here." " Idle, sir !" said Fantom, " J now 
 first begin to live to some purpose; I have indeed lost 
 too much time, and wasted my talents on a little re- 
 tail trade in which one is of no note ; one can't distin- 
 guish one's self." " So much the better," said True- 
 man, " I had rather not distinguish myself, unless it 
 was by leading a better life than my neighbors. 
 There is nothing I should dread more than being 
 talked about. I dare say now heaven is in a good 
 measure filled with people whose names were never 
 heard of out of their own street and village. So I beg 
 leave not to distinguish myself!" "Yes, but one 
 may, if it is only by signing one's name to an essay 
 or paragraph in a newspaper," said Fantom. " Heav- 
 en keep John Trueman's name out of a newspaper," 
 interrupted he in a fright, " for if it be there it must 
 either be found in the Old Bailey or the bankrupt 
 list, unless, indeed, I were to remove shop, or sell oft 
 my old stock. Well, but Mr. Fantom, you, I sup- 
 pose, are now as happy as the day is long ?" " O 
 yes," replied Fantom, with a gloomy sigh, which 
 gave the lie to his words, "perfectly happy ! I won- 
 der you do not give up all your sordid employments, 
 and turn philosopher!" "Sordid, indeed!" said True- 
 man; " do not call names, Mr. Fantom, 1 shall never 
 be ashamed of my trade. What is it has made this 
 country so great ? a country whose merchants are 
 princes ? It is trade, Mr. Fantom, trade. I can not 
 say indeed, as well as I love business, but now and 
 then, when I am overworked, I wish I had a little 
 more time to look after my soul ; but the fear that I 
 should not devote the time, if I had it, to the best 
 purpose, makes me work on, though often, when I 
 am balancing my accounts, I tremble lest I should 
 neglect to balance the grand account. But still, since, 
 like you, I am a man of no education, I am more 
 afraid of the temjjtations of leisure than of those of 
 business ; I never wa.s bred to read more than a
 
 44 DOMESTIC TALES AXD ALLEGORIES. 
 
 chapter in the Bible, or some other good book, or the 
 magazine and newspaper, and all that I can do now, 
 after shop is shut, is to take a walk with my children 
 in the field besides. But if I had nothing to do from 
 morning to night, I might be in danger of turning 
 politician or philosopher. No, neighbor Fantom, de- 
 pend upon it that where there is no learning, next to 
 God's grace, the best preservative of human virtue is 
 business. As to our political societies, like the armies 
 in the cave of Adullam, 'every man that is in dis- 
 tress, and every man that is in debt, and every man 
 that is discontented, will always join themselves unto 
 them.' " 
 
 Fantom. You have narrow views, TiTieman. 
 What can be more delightful than to see a paper of 
 one's own in print against tjTanny and superstition, 
 contrived with so much ingenuity, that, though the 
 law is on the lookout for treason and blasphemy, a 
 little change of name defeats its scrutiny. For in- 
 stance, you may stigmatize England under the name 
 of Rome, and Christianity under that of Popery. The 
 true way is to attack whatever you have a mind to in- 
 jure under another name, and the best means to de- 
 stroy the use of a thing, is to produce a few incontro- 
 vei-tible facts against the abuses of it. Our late trav- 
 ellers have inconceivably helped on the cause of the 
 new philosophy in their ludicrous narratives of cre- 
 dulity, miracles, indulgences, and processions, in po- 
 pish countries, all which they ridicule under the 
 broad and general name of religion, Christianity, and 
 the church. "And are not you ashamed to defend 
 such knavery?" said Mr. Trueman. "Those who 
 have a great object to accomplish," replied Mr. Fan- 
 tom, " must not be nice about the means. But to re- 
 turn to yourself, Trueman ; in your little confined 
 situation you can be of no use." " That I deny," 
 interrupted Trueman ; " I have filled all the parish 
 offices with some credit , I never took a bribe at ah 
 election, n"i, not so much as a treat ; I take care of my
 
 RISTORi- OF MR. FANTOSI. 45 
 
 apprentices, and do not set them a bad example by 
 ••unning to plays and Sadler's Wells in the week, or 
 jaunting about in a gig all day on Sundays ; for I 
 look Tipon it that the country jaunt of the master on 
 Sunday exposes his servants to more danger than 
 their whole week's temptation in trade put together." 
 
 Fantom. I once had the same vulgar prejudices 
 about the church and the Sabbath, and all that anti- 
 quated stuff. But even on your own narrow prin- 
 ciples, how can a thinking being spend his Sunday 
 better (if he must lose one day in seven by having 
 any Sunday at all) than by going into the country to 
 admire the works of nature. 
 
 Trueman. I suppose you mean the works of God 
 for I never read in the Bible that Nature made any- 
 thing. I should' rather think that she herself was 
 made by Him, who, when he said, " Thou shalt not 
 murder," said also, *' Thou shalt keep holy the sab- 
 bath-day." But now do you really think that all 
 that multitude of coaches, chariots, chaises, vis-a-vis, 
 booby-hutchcs, sulkies, sociables, phaetons, gigs, cur- 
 ricles, cabrioles, chairs, stages, pleasure-carts, and 
 horses, which crowd our roads — all those country- 
 houses within reach, to which the London friends 
 pour in to the gorgeous Sunday feast, which the ser- 
 vants are kept from church to dress — all those public 
 houses imder the signs of which you read these al- 
 luring words, an ordinary on Sundays ; I say, do you 
 teally believe that all those houses and carriages are 
 crammed with philosophers, who go on Sunday into 
 the country to admire the works of nature, as you 
 call it ! Indeed, from the reeling gait of some of 
 them when they go back at night, one might take 
 them for a certain sect called the tippling philoso- 
 phers. Then in answer to your charge, that a little 
 tradesman can do no good, it is not true; I must tell 
 you that I belong to the Sick Man's Friend, and to 
 the Society for relieving Prisoners for Small Debts. 
 
 Fantom. I have no attention to spare to that busi
 
 «6 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLBGORIES. 
 
 ness, though I would pledge myself to produce a plan 
 by which the national debt might be paid off in six 
 months ; but all yours are petty occupations. 
 
 Trueman. Then they are better suited to petty 
 men of petty fortune. I had rather have an ounce ol 
 real good done with my own hands, and seen with my 
 own eyes, than speculate about doing a ton in a wild 
 way, which I know can never be brought about. 
 
 Fantom. I despise a narrow field. O for the reign 
 of universal benevolence ! I want to make all man- 
 kind good and happy. 
 
 Trueman. Dear me ! sure that must be a wholo- 
 sale sort of a job ; had you not better try your hand 
 at a town or a parish first ! 
 
 Fantom. Sir, I have a plan in my head for reliev- 
 ing the miseries of the whole world. Everything 
 is bad as it now stands. I would alter all the laws, 
 and do away all the religions, and put an end to all 
 the wars in the world. I would everywhere redress 
 the injustice of fortune, or what the vulgar call Prov- 
 idence. I would put an end to all punishments; I 
 would not leave a single prisoner on the face of the 
 globe. This is what I call doing things on a grand 
 scale. " A scale with a vengeance," said Trueman. 
 " As to releasing the prisoners, however, I do not so 
 much like that, as it would be liberating a few rogues 
 at the expense of all honest men ; but as to the rest 
 of your plans, if all Christian countries woiild be so 
 good as to turn Christians, it might be helped on a 
 good deal. There Avould be still misery enough left 
 indeed ; because God intended this world should be 
 earth and not heaven. But, sir, among all your obla- 
 tions, you must abolish human corruption before you 
 can make the world quite as perfect as you pretend. 
 You philosophers seem to me to be ignorant of the 
 very first seed and principle of misery — sin, sir, sin ; 
 your system of reform is radically defective ; for it 
 does not comprehend that sinful nature from which 
 all miseiy proceeds. You accuse government of de-
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FAN TOM. 47 
 
 fects which belong to man, to individual man, and o{ 
 course to man collectively. Among all your reforms 
 you must reform the human heart ; you are only 
 hacking at the branches without striking at the root. 
 Banishing impiety out of the world would be like 
 striking off all the pounds from an overcharged bill ; 
 and all the troubles whicK would be left would be re- 
 duced to mere shillings, pence, and farthings, as one 
 may say." 
 
 Fantxim. Your project would rivet ihe chains 
 which mine is designed to break. 
 
 Trueman. Sir, I have no projects. Projects are in 
 general the offspring of restlessness, vanity, and idle- 
 ness. I am too busy for projects, too contented for 
 theories, and, I hope, have too much honesty and 
 humility for a philosopher. The utmost extent of 
 my ambition at present is to redress the wrongs of a 
 parish apprentice who has been cruelly used by his 
 master : Indeed-, I have another little scheme, which 
 is to prosecute a fellow in our street who has suffered 
 a poor wretch in a workhouse, of which he had the 
 care, to perish through neglect, and you must assist 
 me. 
 
 Fantom. The parish must do that. You must not 
 apply to me for the redress of such petty grievances. 
 I own that the wrongs of the Poles and South Amer- 
 icans so fill my mind as to leave me no time to attend 
 to the petty sorrows of workhouses and parish ap- 
 ^ircntices. It is provinces, empires, continents, that 
 the benevolence of the philosopher embraces ; every 
 one can do a little paltry good to his next neighbor. 
 
 Trueman. Every one can, but I do not see that 
 every one does. If they would, indeed, your busi- 
 ness would be ready done at your hands, and your 
 grand ocean of benevolence would be filled with the 
 drops which private charity would throw into it. I 
 am glad, however, you are such a friend to the pris- 
 oners, because I am just now getting a little subscrip- 
 tion from our club, to set free our poor old friend Tom
 
 48 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 Saunders, a very honest brother tradesman, who g6 
 first into debt, and then into jail, through no fault of 
 his own, but merely through the pressure of the 
 times. We have each of us allowed a trifle every 
 week toward maintaining Tom's young family since 
 he has been in prison ; but we think we shall do much 
 more service to Saunders, and indeed in the end light- 
 en our own expense, by paying down at once a little 
 sum to restore him to the comforts of life, and put 
 him in a way of maintaining his family again. We 
 have made up the money all except five guineas. I 
 am already promised four, and you have nothing to 
 do but give me the fifth. And so, for a single guinea, 
 without any of the trouble, the meetings, and the 
 looking into his afi'airs, which we have had — which, 
 let me tell you, is the best, and to a man of business, 
 the dearest part of charity — you will at once have the 
 pleasure (and it is no small one) of helping to save a 
 worthy family from stai-ving, of redeeming an old friend 
 from jail, and of putting a little of your boasted be- 
 nevolence into action. Realize ! Master Fantom : 
 there is nothing like realizing. " Why, hark ye, Mr. 
 Trueman," said Fantom, stammering, and looking 
 very black, " do not think I value a guinea : no, sir, 
 I despise money ; it is trash ; it is dirt, and beneath 
 the regard of a wise man. It is one of the unfeeling 
 inventions of artificial society. Sir, I could talk to 
 you for half a day on the abuse of riches, and on my 
 own contempt of money." 
 
 Trueman. O pray do not give yourself the trouble; 
 it will be an easier way by half of vindicating your- 
 self from one, and of proving the other, just to put 
 your hand in your pocket and give me a guinea, with- 
 out saying a word about it ; and then to you w ho 
 value time so much, and money so little, it will cut 
 the matter short. But come now (for I see you will 
 give nothing), I should be mighty glad to know what 
 is the sort of good you do yourselves, since you al- 
 ways object to what is done by others. "Sir," said
 
 IlISTORT OP MR FANTOM. 49 
 
 Mr. Fantotn, " the object of a tnie philosophei is to 
 diffuse light and knowledge. I wisl to see the whole 
 world enlightened." 
 
 Trueman. Amen ! if you mean with the light of 
 the gospel. But if you mean that one religion is as 
 good as another, and that no rehgion is best of all ; 
 iind that we shall become wiser and better by setting 
 rtside the very means which Providence bestowed to 
 make us wise and good : in short, if you want to 
 make the whole world philosophers, why they had 
 better stay as they are. But as to the true light, I 
 wish it to reach the very lowest, and I therefore bless 
 God for charity-schools, as instruments of diffusing 
 it among the poor. 
 
 Fantom, who had no reason to expect that his 
 friend was going to call upon him for a subscription 
 on this account, ventured to praise them, saying : " I 
 am no enemy to these institutions. I would indeed 
 change the object of instruction, but I would have 
 the whole Avorld instructed." 
 
 Here Mrs. Fantom, who, with her daughter, had 
 quietly sat by at their work, ventured to put in a 
 word, a liberty she seldom took with her husband ; 
 who in his zeal to make the whole world free and 
 happy, was too prudent to include his wife among 
 the objects on whom he wished to confer freedom 
 and happiness. " Then, my dear," said she, " I 
 wonder you do not let your own servants be taught a 
 little. The maids can scarcely tell a letter, or say 
 the Lord's Prayer, and you know you will not allow 
 them time to learn. William, too, has never been at 
 church since we came out of town. He was at first 
 very orderly and obedient, but now he is seldom so- 
 ber of an evening; and in the morning when he 
 •hould be rubbing the tables in felie parlor, he is gen- 
 erally lolling upon them, and reading your little man- 
 ual of the new philosophy." — " Mrs. Fantom," said 
 herhust)and, angrily, "you know that my labors foi 
 the public good leave me little time to think of mv
 
 50 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 own family. 1 must have a great field, I like to de 
 good to hundreds at once." 
 
 "I am very glad of that papa," said Miss Polly; 
 " for then I hope you will not refuse to subscribe to 
 all those pretty children at the Sunday-school, as you 
 did yesterday, when the gentleman came a begging, 
 because that is the very thing you were wishing for ; 
 there are two or three hundred to be done good at 
 once." 
 
 Trueman. Well, Mr. Fantom, you are a wonder- 
 ful man to keep up such a stock of benevolence at so 
 small an expense. To love mankind so dearly, and 
 yet avoid all opportunities of doing them good ; to 
 have such a noble zeal for the millions, and to feel so 
 little compassion for the units ; to long to free empires 
 and enlighten kingdoms ; and yet deny instruction to 
 your own village, and comfort to your own family. 
 Surely none but a philosopher could indulge so much 
 philanthropy, and so much frugality at the same time. 
 But come, do assist me in a petition I am making in 
 our poorhouse ; between the old, whom I want to 
 have better fed, and the young, whom I want to have 
 more worked. 
 
 Fantom. Sir, my mind is so engrossed with the 
 partition of Poland, that I can not bring it down to 
 an object of such insignificance. I despise the man 
 whose benevolence is swallowed up in the narrow 
 concerns of his own family, or parish, or country. 
 
 Trueman. Well, now I have a notion that it is as 
 well to do one's own duty, as the duty of another 
 man ; and that to do good at home, is as well as to 
 do good abroad. For my part, I had as live help 
 Tom Saunders to freedom as a Pole or a South 
 American, though I should be very glad to help their 
 too. But one must begin to love somewhere, and to 
 do good somewhere ; and I think it is as natural to 
 love one's own family, and to do good in one's own 
 neighborhood, as to anybody else. And if everj^ man 
 in eveiy family, parish, and county, did the same,
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FANTOJJ. 61 
 
 why then all the schemes would meet, and the end 
 of one parish, where I was doing good, would be the 
 beginning of another parish where somebody else 
 was doing good ; so my schemes would jut into my 
 neighbor's ; his projects would unite with those of 
 some other local reformer ; and all would fit with a 
 sort of dove-tail exactness. And what is better, all 
 would join in furnishing a living comment on that 
 practical precept : " Thou shall love the Lord thy 
 God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." 
 
 Fantoin. Sir, a man of large views will be on the 
 watch for great occasions to prove his benevolence. 
 
 Trueman. Yes, sir; but if they are so distant that 
 he can not reach them, or so vast that he can not 
 gr-isp them, he may let a thousand little, snug, kind, 
 f od actions, slip through his fingers in the mean- 
 ivhile : and so between the great things, that he can 
 not do, and the little ones that he will not do, life 
 passes and nothing will be done. 
 
 Just at this moment Miss Polly Fantom (whose 
 mother had gone out some time before) started up, 
 let fall her work, and cried out, " O papa, do but look 
 what a monstrous great fire there is yonder on the 
 common ! If it were the fifth of November, I should 
 think it were a bonfire. Look how it blazes!" — " 1 
 see plain enough what it is," said Mr. Fantom, sitting 
 down again without the least emotion. "It is Jen- 
 kins's cottage on fire." — " What, poor John Jenkins, 
 who works in our garden, papa?" said tlie poor girl, 
 in great terror. " Do not be frightened, child," an- 
 swered Fantom, " we are safe enough ; the wind blows 
 the other way. Why did you disturb us for such a 
 trifle, as it was so distant? Come, Mr. Trueman. 
 sit down." — " Sit down," said Mr. Trueman, " I am 
 not a stock, sir, nor a stone, but a man; made of 
 the same common nature with Jenkins, whose house 
 is burning. Come along — let us (ly and help him," 
 continued he, running to the door in such haste thai 
 be forgot to take his hat, though it hung just before
 
 50 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 him — " Come j\Ir. Faatom — come, my little dear — 1 
 wish your mamma was here — I am sorry she went 
 out just now — we may all do some good ; everybody 
 may be of some use at a fire. Even you, Miss Polly, 
 may save soine of these poor people's things in your 
 apron, while your papa and I hand the buckets." All 
 Alls he said as he run along with the young lady in 
 his hand; not doubting but Fantom and his whole 
 family were following close behind him. Btit the 
 present distress was neither grand enough nor far 
 enough from home to satisfy the wide-stretched be- 
 nevolence of the philosopher, who sat down within 
 sight of the flames to work at a new pamphlet, which 
 now swallowed up his whole soul, on universal be- 
 nevolence. 
 
 His daughter, indeed, who happily was not yet a 
 philosopher, with Mr. Trueman, followed by the 
 maids, reached the scene of distress. AVilliam Wil- 
 son, the footman, refused to assist, glad of such an 
 opportunity of being revenged on Jenkins, whom he 
 called a surly fellow, for presuming to complain, be- 
 cause William always purloined the best fruit for him- 
 self before he set it on his master's table. Jenkins 
 also, whose duty it was to be out of doors, had re- 
 fused to leave his own work in the garden, to do 
 Will's work in the house while he got drunk, or read 
 the Rights of Man. 
 
 The little dwelling of Jenkins burnt very furiously. 
 Mr. Trueman's exertions were of the greatest ser- 
 vice. He directed the willing, and gave an example 
 to the slothful. By living in London, he had been 
 more used to the calamity of fire than the country 
 people, and knew better what was to be done. Ic the 
 midst of the bustle he saw one woman only who 
 never attempted to be of the least use. She ran back- 
 ward and forward, wringing lier hands, and ciying 
 out in a tone of piercing agony, " Oh, my child! my 
 little Tommy ! will no one save my Tommy ?" — Any 
 wonKin might have uttered the same words, but the
 
 HISTORY OF MR. KANTOM. 63 
 
 look which explained them could only come from a 
 mother. Trueman did not stay to ask if she were 
 owner of the house, and mother of the child. It 
 was his way to do all the good which could be done 
 first, and then to ask questions. All he said was, 
 " Tell me which is the room?" The poor woman, 
 now speechless through terror, could only point up 
 to a little window in the thatch, and then sunk on the 
 ground. 
 
 Mr. Trueman made his way through a thick smoke, 
 and ran up the narrow staircase which the fire had 
 not reached. He got safely to the lofr, snatched up 
 the little creature, who was sweetly sleeping in its 
 poor hammock, and brought him down naked in his 
 arms ; and as he gave him to the half-distracted 
 mother, he felt that her joy and gratitude would have 
 been no bad pay for the danger he had run, even if no 
 higher motive had set him to work. Poor Jenkins, 
 half stupified by his misfortune, had never thought of 
 his child; and his wife, who expected every hour to 
 make him father to a second, had not been able to do 
 anything toward saving little Tommy. 
 
 Mr. Trueman now put the child into Miss Fantom's 
 apron, saying, "Did I not tell you, my dear, that 
 everybody could be of use at a fire ?" He then de- 
 sired her to carry the child home, and ordered the 
 poor woman to follow her, saying, he would return 
 himself as soon as he had seen all safe in the cottage. 
 
 When the fire was quite out, and Mr. Trueman 
 could be of no further use, he went back to Mr. Fan- 
 tom's. The instant he opened the parlor door, he 
 eagerly cried out, " Where is the poor woman, Mr. 
 Fantom ?" — " Not in my house, I assure you," an- 
 swered the philosopher. " Give me leave to tell you, 
 it was a very romantic thing to send her and her child 
 to me : you should have provided for them at once, 
 like a prudent man." — " f thought I had done so," 
 replied Trueman, " by sending them to the nearest 
 and best house in the parish, as the poor woman
 
 54 DOMESTIC 1 4LE^ A^D ALLtGORIES. 
 
 seemed to stand in need of immediate assistance." 
 " So iBimediate," said Fantom, " that I would not let 
 fter come into my house, for fear of what might hap- 
 pen. So I packed her off, with her child in her arms, 
 to the worlThouse, with orders to the overseers not to 
 let her want for anything." 
 
 " And what right have you, Mr. Fantom," cried 
 Trueman in a high tone, "to expect that the overseers 
 will be more humane than yotxrself ? But is it possi- 
 ble you can have sent that helpless creature, not only 
 to walk, but to cany a naked child at such a time of 
 night, to a place so distant, so ill provided, and in such 
 a condition ? I hope at least you have furnished them 
 with clothes, for all their own little stores were burnt." 
 " Not I, indeed," said Fantom. " What is the use 
 of parish officers, but to look after these petty things V 
 
 It was 3Ir. Trueman's way, when he began to feel 
 very angiy, not to allow himself to speak ; " because," 
 he used to say, " if I give vent to my feelings, I am 
 sure, by some hasty word, to cut myself out work for 
 repentance." So without making any answer, or 
 even changing his clothes, which were veiy wet and 
 dirty from having worked so hard at the fire, he 
 walked out again, having first inquired the road the 
 woman had taken. At the door he met Mrs. Fantom 
 returning from her visit. He told her his tale, which 
 she had no sooner heard, than she resolved to accom- 
 pany him in search of Jenkins's wife. She had a 
 wide common to walk over before she could reach 
 either the workhouse or the nearest cottage. She had 
 crawled along with her baby as far as she was able ; 
 but havio'g met with no refreshment at ^[r. Fantom's, 
 and her strength quite failing her, she had sunk down 
 on the middle of the common. Happily, Mr. True- 
 man and Mrs. Fantom came up at this veiy time- 
 The former had had the precaution to bring a cordial, 
 and the latter had gone back and stuffed her pockets 
 with old baby-linen. Mr. Trueman soon procured 
 the assistance of a lab'.irer, who happened to pass by.
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM. 55 
 
 to help him to carry the mother, and Mrs. Fantom 
 carried the little shivering baby. 
 
 As soon as they were safely lodged, Mr. Trueman 
 set off in search of poor Jenkins, who was distressed 
 to know what was become of his wife and child ; for 
 having heard that they were seen going toward Mr. 
 Fantom's, he despaired of any assistance from that 
 quarter. Mr. Trueman felt no small satisfaction in 
 uniting this poor man to his little family. There was 
 something veiy moving in this meeting, and in the 
 pious gratitude they expressed for their deliverance. 
 They seemed to forget they had lost their all, in 
 the joy they felt that they had not lost each other. 
 And some disdainful great ones might have smiled to 
 see so much rapture expressed at the safety of a child 
 born to no inheritance but poverty. These are among 
 the feelings with which Providence sometimes over- 
 pays the want of wealth. The good people also 
 poured out prayers and blessings on their deliverer, 
 who, not being a philosopher, was no more ashamed 
 of praying with them than he had been of working for 
 them. Mr. Trueman, while assisting at the fire, had 
 heard that Jenkins and his wife were both veiy honest 
 and very pious people ; so he told them he would not 
 only pay for their new lodgings, but undertook to 
 raise a subscription among his friends at the Cat and 
 Bagpipes toward rebuilding their cottage ; and farther 
 engaged, that if they would promise to bring up the 
 child in the fear of God, he would stand godfather. 
 
 This exercise of Christian charity had given such a 
 cheerful flow to Mr. Trueman's spirits, that long be- 
 fore he got home he had lost every trace of ill humor. 
 " Well, Mr. Fantom," said he, gayly, as he opened 
 the door, "now do tell me how you could possibly 
 refuse going to help me to put out the fire at Mr 
 Jenkins's ?" — " Because," said Fantom, " I was en- 
 gaged, sir, in a far nobler project than putting out a 
 fire in a little thatched cottage. Sir, I w.ns contriving 
 to put out a fire too ; a conflagration of a far mora
 
 56 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 dreadful kind — a fire, sir, in the extinction of which 
 universal man is concerned — I was contriving a scheme 
 to extinguish the fires of the inquisition." — " Why, 
 man, they don't blaze that I know of," retorted True- 
 man. " I own, that of all the abominable engines 
 which the devil ever invented to disgrace religion and 
 plague mankind, that inquisition was the very worst. 
 But I do not believe popeiy has ventured at these 
 diabolical tricks since the earthquake at Lisbon; so 
 that a bucket of real water, carried to the real fire at 
 Jenkins's cottage, would have done more good than 
 a wild plan to put out an imaginary flame which no 
 longer burns. And let me tell you, sir, dreadful as 
 that evil was, God can send his judgments on other 
 sins besides superstition ; so it behooves us to take 
 heed of the other extreme, or we may have our earth- 
 quakes too. The hand of God is not shortened, sir, 
 that it can not destroy, any more than it can not save* 
 In the meantime, I must repeat it, you and I are rather 
 called upon to serve a neighbor from perishing in the 
 flames of his house, just under our own window, than 
 to write about the fires of the inquisition, which, if fear, 
 or shame, or the restoration of common sense, had 
 not already put out, would have hardly received a 
 check from such poor hands as you and I." 
 
 " Sir," said Fantom, " Jenkins is an impertinent fel- 
 low ; and I owe him a grudge, because he says he 
 had rather forfeit the favor of the best master in Eng- 
 land than work in my garden on a Sunday. And 
 when I ordered him to read the Age of Reason, in- 
 stead of going to church, he refused to work for me 
 at all, with som« impertinent hint about God and 
 mammon. 
 
 "Oh, did he so?" Said Mr. Trueman. " Now I 
 will stand godfather to his child, and make him a 
 handsome present into the bargain. Indeed, a man 
 must be a philosopher with a vengeance, if when he 
 sees a house on fire, he stays to consider whether the 
 owner has oftended him. Oh, Mr. Fantom, I will
 
 IIISVORl OF MR. FANTOM. 57 
 
 forgive you still, if you will produce me, out of all 
 your philosophy, such a senteuce as ' Love your ene- 
 my — do good to them that hate you — if thine enemy 
 hunger, feed him ; if he thirst, give him drink ;' 1 will 
 give up the blessed gospel for the Age of Reason, if 
 you will only bring me one sentiment equivalent to 
 this." 
 
 Next day Mr. Trueman was obliged to go to Lon- 
 don on business ; but retiurned soon, as the time he 
 had allotted to spend with Mr. Fantom was not yet 
 elapsed. He came down the sooner, indeed, that 
 he might bring a small sum of money which the 
 gentlemen at the Cat and Bagpipes had cheerfully 
 subscribed for Jenkins. Trueman did not forget to 
 desire his wife to make up also a quantity of clothing 
 for this poor family, to which he did not neglect to add 
 a parcel of good books, which indeed always made a 
 part of his charities, as he used to say there was 
 something cruel in the kindness which was anxious 
 to relieve the bodies of men, but was negligent of their 
 souls. He stood in person to the new-born child, 
 and observed with much pleasure, that Jenkins and 
 his wife thought a christening, not a season for merry- 
 making, but a solemn act of religion. And they 
 dedicated their infant to his Maker with becoming 
 seriousness. 
 
 Trueman left the cottage, and got back to Mr. Fan- 
 tom's just as the family ^ere going to sit down to 
 dinner, as he had promised. 
 
 When they sat down, Mr. Fantom was not a little 
 out of humor to see his table in some disorder. 
 William was also rather more negligent than usual 
 Tf the company called for bread, he gave them beer, 
 and he took away th-e clean plates, and gave them 
 dirty ones. Mr. Fantom soon discovered that his 
 servant was very drunk : he flew into a violent passion, 
 and ordered him out of the room, charging that he 
 should not appear in his presence in that condition 
 William obeyed ; but having slept an hour or two.
 
 58 DOltfESTIC TALES ANB ALLEGORIES. 
 
 and got about half sober, he again made his appear- 
 ance. His master gave him a most severe reprimand, 
 and called him an idle, drunken, vicious fellow. " Sir," 
 said William, veiy pertly, " if I do get drunk now and 
 then, I only do it for the good of my countiy, and in 
 obedience to your wishes." Mr. Fantom, thoroughly 
 provoked, now began to scold him in words not fit to 
 be repeated, and asked him what he meant. " Why, 
 sir," said William, "you are a philosopher, you know, 
 and I have often overheard you say to your company, 
 that private vices are public benefits; and so I thought 
 that getting drunk was as pleasant a way of doing 
 good to the public as any, especially when 1 could 
 oblige my master at the same time." 
 
 " Get out of my house," said Mr. Fantom, in a 
 great rage. " I do not desire to stay a moment long- 
 er," said William; " so pay me my wages." — " Not 
 I indeed," replied the maste'r ; " nor will I give you a 
 character ; so never let me see your face again." 
 William took his master at his word, and not only 
 got out of the house, but went out of the country too 
 as fast as possible. When they found he was really 
 gone, they made a hue-and-cry, in order to detail him 
 till they examined if he had left eveiything in the 
 house as he had found it. But William had got out 
 of reach, knowing he could not stand such a scrutiny. 
 On examination, Mr. Fantpm found that all his old 
 port was gone, and 3Irs. Fantom missed three of her 
 best new spoons. William was pursued, but without 
 success ; and Mr. Fantom was so much discomposed 
 that he could not for the rest of the day talk on any 
 subject but his wine and his spoons, nor harangue on 
 any project but that of recovering both by bringing 
 William to justice. 
 
 Some days passed away, in which Mr. Fantom, 
 having had time to cool, began to be ashamed that he 
 had been betrayed into such ungoverned passion. He 
 made the best excuse he could ; said no man was per- 
 fect, and though he owned he had been too violent.
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM. 59 
 
 yet still he hoped William would be brought to the 
 punishment he deserved. "In the meantime," said 
 Mr Trueman, "seeing how ill philosophy has agreed 
 with your man, suppose you were to set about teach- 
 ing your maids a little religion ?" Mr. Fantom coolly 
 replied, that ' 'the impertinent retort of a drunken 
 footman could not spoil a system." — "Your system, 
 however, and your own behavior," said Trueman, 
 "have made that footman a scoundrel; and you are 
 answerable for his offences." — " Not I, truly," said 
 Fantora; "he has seen me do no harm; he has nei- 
 ther seen me cheat, gamble, nor get drunk ; and I 
 defy you to say I corrupt my servants. I am a moral 
 man, sir." 
 
 " Mr. Fantom," said Trueman, " if you were to 
 get drunk everyday, and game every night, you would, 
 indeed, endanger your own soul, and give a dreadful 
 example to your family ; but great as those sins are, 
 and God forbid that I should attempt to lessen them ! 
 still they are not worse, nay, they are not so bad as 
 the pestilent doctrines with which you infect your 
 house and your neighborhood. A bad action is like 
 a single murder. The consequence may end with 
 the crime, to all but the perpetrator ; but a wicked 
 principle is throwing lighted gunpowder into a town; 
 it is poisoning a river ; there are no bounds, no cer- 
 tainty, no ends to its mischief. The ill effects of the 
 worst action may cease in time, and the consequences 
 of your bad example may end with your life ; but 
 souls may be brought to perdition by a wicked princi- 
 ple, after the author of it has been dead for ages." 
 
 Fantom. You talk like an ignoramus, who has 
 never read the new philosophy. All this nonsense 
 of future punishment is now done away. It is our 
 benevolence which makes us reject your creed ; we 
 can no more believe in a deity who permits so much 
 evil in the present world, than one who threatens 
 sternal punishment in the next. 
 
 Trueman. What! shall mortal man be more mer-
 
 60 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 ciful than God ? Do you pretend to be more com* 
 
 passionate than that gracious Father who sent his 
 own Son into the world to die for sinners ? 
 
 Fantom. You take all your notions of the Deity 
 from the vulgar views your Bible gives you of him. 
 " To be sure I u-j," said Tnieman : " can you tell me 
 any way of getting a better notion of him ? I do not 
 want any of your farthing-candle philosophy in the 
 broad sunshine of the Gospel, Mr. Fantom. My 
 Bible tells me that ' God is love ;' not merely 
 loving, but LOVE. Now do you think a Being, whose 
 very essence is love, would permit any miseiy among 
 his children here, if it was not to be, some way or 
 other, or some where or other, for their good ? You 
 forget too, that in a world where there is sin, there 
 must be misery. Then, too, I suppose, God pennits 
 this very misery partly to exercise the suflerers and 
 partly to tiy the prosperous ; for by trouble God 
 coiTects some and tries others. Suppose now, Tom 
 
 Saunders had not been put in prison, you and I 
 
 no, I beg pardon, you saved your guinea; well then, 
 our club and I could not have shown our kind- 
 ness in getting him out ; nur would poor Saunders 
 himself have had an opportunity of exercising his 
 own patience and submission under want and impris- 
 onment. So you see one reason why God permits 
 misery, is that good men may have an opportunity of 
 lessening it." Mr. Fantom replied, " There is no 
 object which I have more at heart; I have, as I told 
 you, a plan in my head of such universal benevolence 
 as to include the happiness of all mankind." — " Mr. 
 Fantom," said Trueman, " I feel that I have a general 
 good will to all my brethren of mankind ; and if i 
 had as much money in my purse as I have love in my 
 heart, I trust I should prove it : all I say is, that, in a 
 station of life where I can not do much, I am more 
 called upon to procure the happiness of a poor neigh 
 bor, who has no one else to look to, than to form wild 
 plans for the good of mankind, too extensive to be
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FANT05I. 61 
 
 sccomplished, and too chimerical to be put in prac 
 tice. It is tlie height of folly for a little ignorant 
 tradesman to distract himself with projecting schemes 
 which require the wisdom of scholars, the experience 
 of statesmen, and the power of kings to accomplish. 
 I can not free whole countries, nor reform the evils 
 of society at large, but I can free an aggrieved wretch 
 in a workhouse ; I can relieve the distresses of one 
 of my journeymen ; and I can labor to reform myself 
 and my own family." 
 
 Some weeks after this a letter was brought to Mr. 
 Fantom from his late seiTant William, who had been 
 turned away for drunkenness, as related above, and 
 who had also robbed his master of some wine and 
 some spoons. Mr. Fantom, glancing his eye oven 
 the letter, said, "It is dated from Chelmsford jail; 
 that rascal has got into prison. I am glad of it, with 
 all my heart; it is the fittest place for such scoundrels. 
 I hope he will be sent to Botany Bay, if not hanged." 
 " O, ho I my good friend," said Trueman, " then I 
 find that in abolishing all prisons you would just let 
 one stand for the accommodation of those who would 
 happen to rob you. General benevolence, I see, is 
 compatible with particular resentments, though indi- 
 vidual kindness is not consistent with universal philan- 
 thropy." Mr. Fantom drily observed, that he was 
 not fond of jokes, and proceeded to read the letter. 
 It expressed an earnest wish that his late master 
 would condescend to pay him one visit in his dark 
 and doleful abode ; as he wished to say a few words 
 to him before the dreadful sentence of the law, which 
 had already been pronounced, shoidd be executed. 
 
 " Let us go and see the poor fellow," said True- 
 man ; " it is but a morning's ride. U he is really sc 
 near his end it would be cruel to refuse him." " Not 
 I, truly," said Fantom ; " he deserves nothing at my 
 hands but the halter he is likely to meet with. Such 
 port is not to be had for money! and the spoons, part 
 of my new dozen I" — " As to the wine," said True 
 G
 
 62 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 man, " I am afraid you must give that up, but the 
 only way to get any tidings of the spoons is to go 
 and hear what he has to say ; I have no doubt but he 
 will make such a confession as may be very useful to 
 others, which, you know, is one grand advantage of - 
 punishments ; and, besides, we may attbrd him some 
 little comfort." " As to comfort he desenes none 
 from me," said Fantom; "and as to his confessions, 
 they can be of no use to me, but as they give me a 
 chance of getting my spoons ; so I do not much care 
 if I do take a ride with you." 
 
 AVhen they came to the prison, Mr. Trueman's 
 tender heart sunk within him. He deplored the cor- 
 rupt nature of man, which makes such rigorous 
 confinement indispensably needful, not merely for the 
 punishment of the offender, but for the safety of so- 
 ciety. Fantom, from mere trick and habit, was just 
 preparing a speech on benevolence, and the cruelty 
 of imprisonment ; for he had a set of sentiments col- 
 lected from the new philosophy which he always 
 kept by him. The naming a man in power brought 
 out the ready cut and dried phrase, against oppres- 
 sion. The idea of rank included every vice, that of 
 poverty every virtue ; and he was furnished with all 
 the incentives against the cruelty of laws, punish- 
 ments, and prisons, which the new lexicon has pro- 
 duced. But his mechanical benevolence was sud- 
 denly checked ; the recollection of his old port and 
 his new spoons cooled his ardor, and he went on 
 without saying a word. 
 
 When they reached the cell where the unhappy 
 William was confined, they stopped at the door 
 The poor wretch had thrown himself on the ground, 
 as well as his chains would permit. He groaned pit- 
 eously; and was so swallowed up with a sense of 
 his own miseries, that he neither heard the door 
 open, nor saw the gentlemen. He was attempting 
 to pray, but in an agony which made his words hardly 
 ntelligible. Thus much they could make out — " God
 
 HISTORY OF MR. FANTOM. 63 
 
 be merciful to me a sinner, the chief of sinners I" 
 then, suddenly attempting to start up, but prevented 
 by his irons, he roared out, " O God ! thou canst not 
 be merciful to me, for I have denied thee ; I have 
 ridiculed my Savior who died for me ; I have broken 
 his laws ; 1 have derided his word ; I have resisted 
 his Spirit ; I have laughed at that heaven which is 
 shut against me; I have denied the truth of those 
 torments which await me. To-morrow ! to-morrow ! 
 
 for a longer space for repentance ! O for a short 
 reprieve from hell I" 
 
 Mr. Trueman wept so loud that it drew the atten- 
 tion of the criminal, who now lifted up his eyes, and 
 cast on his late master a look so dreadful that Fantom 
 wished for a moment that he had given up all hope 
 of the spoons, rather than have exposed himself to 
 such a scene. At length the poor wretch said, in a 
 low voice that would have melted a heart of stone, 
 " O, sir, are you there ? I did indeed wish to see 
 you before my dreadful sentence is put in execution. 
 Oh, sir! to-morrow ! to-morrow ! But I have a con- 
 fession to make to you." This revived Mr. Fantom, 
 who again ventured to glance a hope at the spoons 
 " Sir," said William, " I could not die without ma- 
 king my confession." "Ay, and restitution too, I 
 hope," replied Fantom: "where are my spoons?" 
 " Sir, they are gone with the rest of my wretched 
 booty. But oh, sir I those spoons make so petty an 
 article in my black account, that I hardly think of 
 them. Murder I sir, murder is the crime for which 
 
 1 am justly doomed to die. Oh, sir, who can abide 
 the anger of an offended God ? Who can dwell 
 with everlasting burnings ?" As this was a question 
 which even a philosopher could not answer, Mr. Fan- 
 tom was going to steal off, especially as he now gave 
 up all hope of the spoons ; but William called hmi 
 back: "Stay, sir, stay, I conjure you, as you will 
 answer it at the bar of God. You nmst hear the sins 
 of which you have been the occasion. You are the
 
 64 DOMESTIC TAf.ES AXD ALLEGORIES. 
 
 cause of my being about to suffer a sbamerul death. 
 Yes, sir, you made me a drunkard, a thiet", and a mur- 
 derer." " How dare you, William," cried Mr. Fan- 
 torn, with great emotion, " accuse me with being the 
 cause of such horrid crimes ?" " Sir," answered the 
 criminal, " from you I learned the principles which 
 lead to those crimes. By the grace of God I should 
 never have fallen into sins desen'ing of the gallows, 
 if I had not overheard you say there was no hereafter, 
 no judgment, no future reckoning. O, sir ! there is 
 a hell, dreadful, inconceivable, eternal !" Here, 
 throu'gh the excess of anguish, the poor fellow faint- 
 ed away. 3Ir. Fantom, who did not at all lelish this 
 scene, sai,d to Ms friend, "Well, sir, we will go, if 
 you please, for you see there is nothing to be done." 
 
 " Sir," replied Mr. Trueman, mournfully, " you 
 may go if you please, but 1 shall stay, for I see tliere 
 is a great deal to be done." — " What I" rejoined the 
 other, "do you think it is possible his Ufe can be 
 saved." "No, indeed," said Trueman; " but I hope 
 it possible his soul may be saved." " I do not under- 
 stand these things," said Fantom, making toward the 
 door. " Nor I neither," said Trueman ; " but as a 
 fellow-sinner, I am bound to do what I can for this 
 poor man. Do you go home, Mr. Fantom and finish 
 your treatise on universal benevolence, and the bles- 
 sed effects of philosophy ; and hark ye, be sure you 
 let the frontispiece of your book represent William 
 on the gibbet ; that will be what our minister calls a 
 PRACTICAL ILLUSTRATION. You know I hate theo- 
 ries : tkis is realizing ; this is philosophy made 
 easy to the meanest capacity. This is the precious 
 fruit which grows on that darling tree, so many slips 
 of which have been transplanted from that land of 
 liberty of which it is the native, but which, with all 
 your digging, planting, watering, dunging, and dres- 
 sing, will, I trust, never thrive in this blessed land of 
 ours." 
 
 Mr. Fantom sneaked off to finish his work at home; 
 and Mr. Trueman stayed to finish his in the prisoa
 
 HISTOKY OF MR. FANTOM. 6S 
 
 He passed the night with the wretched convict ; he 
 prayed with him and for him, and read to him the 
 penitential psahus, and some portion of the gospel. 
 But he was too humble and too prudent a man to 
 venture out of his depth by arguments and consola- 
 tions which he was not warranted to use : this he left 
 for the clergyman — but he pressed on William the 
 great duty of making the only amends now in his 
 power, to those whom he had led astray. They then 
 drew up the following paper, which Mr. Trueman 
 sot printed, and gave away at the place of execution. 
 
 ' The last toords, confession, and dying speech of 
 AViLLiAM Wilson, ivho was executed at Chelmsford 
 for murder. 
 
 " I was bred up in the fear of God, and lived with 
 credit in many sober families, in which I was a faith- 
 ful servant ; but being tempted by a little higher wa- 
 ges, I left a good place to go and live with Mr. Fan- 
 tom, who, however, made good none of his fine prom- 
 ises, but proved a hard master. Full of fine words 
 and charitable speeches in favor of the poor; but apt 
 10 oppress, overwork, and underpay them. In his 
 service I was not allowed time to go to church. This 
 troubled me at first, till I overheard my master say, 
 that going to church was a superstitious prejudice, 
 and only meant for the vulgar. Upon this I resolved 
 to go no more ; for I thought there could not be two 
 religions, one for the master, and one for the servant. 
 Finding my master never prayed, I too left off pray- 
 ing : this gave Satan great power over me, so that I 
 from that time fell into almost every sin. I was very 
 uneasy at first, and my conscience gave me no rest ; 
 but I was soon reconciled by overhearing my master 
 and another gentleman say, that death was only an 
 eternal sleep, and hell and judgment were but an in 
 yention of priests to keep the poor in order. I men 
 tion this as a warning to all masters and mistresses to 
 take care what they converse about while servants are
 
 66 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGOEI£S. 
 
 waiting at table. They can not tell how many souls 
 they have sent to perdition by such loose talk. The 
 r.rime for which I die is the natural consequence of 
 the principles I learned of my master. A rich man, 
 indeed, who throws off religion, may escape the gal- 
 lows, because want does not drive him to commit 
 those crimes which lead to it ; but what shall restrain 
 a needy man, who has been taught that there is no 
 dreadful reckoning ? Honesty is but a dream with- 
 out the awful sanctions of heaven and hell. Virtue 
 is but a shadow, if it be stripped of the terrors and the 
 promises of the gospel. Morality is but an empty 
 name, if it be destitute of the principle and power of 
 Christianity. Oh, my dear fellow-sen'antsl take 
 warning by my sad fate; never be tempted away from 
 a sober service for the sake of a little more wages : 
 never venture your immortal souls in houses where 
 God is not feared. And now hear me, O, my God, 
 though I have blasphemed thee ! forgive me, O my 
 Savior, though I have denied thee! Oh Lord most 
 holy, O God most mighty, deliver me from the bitter 
 pains of eternal death, and receive my soul for His 
 sake who died for sinners. " William Wilson." 
 
 Mr. Trueman would never leave this poor peni- 
 tent till he was launched into eternity, but attended 
 him with the minister in the cart. This pious cler- 
 gyman never cared to say what he thought of Wil- 
 liam's state. When Mr. Tnieman ventured to men- 
 tion his hope, that though his penitence was late, yet 
 it was sincere, and spoke of the dying thief on the 
 cross as a ground of encouragement, the minister 
 with a very serious look, made this answer: "Sir, 
 that instance is too often brought fol'^vard on occa- 
 sions to which it does not apply : I do not choose to 
 say anything to your application of it in the present 
 case, but I will answer you in the words of a good 
 man speaking of the penitent thief: 'There is one 
 such instance given that nobody might despair, and 
 there is but one, that nobody might presume.' "
 
 Vi»r TTfO SHOKMAKEBS 67 
 
 III. THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 
 
 ^ACK Brown and James Stock were two lads 
 spprenticed to Mr. Williams, a shoemaker, in a small 
 town in Oxfordshire. They were near tlie same age, 
 -but of very different characters and dispositions. 
 
 Brown was eldest son to a farmer in good circum- 
 stances, who gave the usual apprentice fee with him. 
 Being a wild, giddy boy, whom his father could not 
 well manage or instruct in farming, he thought it 
 better to send him out to lecurn a trade at a distnnce 
 than to let him idle about at home, for Jack always 
 preferred bird's-nesting and marbles to any other em- 
 ployment ; he would trifle away the day, when his 
 father thought he was at school, with any boys he 
 could meet with, who were as idle as himself; and 
 he could never be prevailed upon to do, or to learn 
 anything, while a game at taw could be had for love 
 or money. All this time his little brothers, much 
 younger than himself, were beginning to follow the 
 iplough, or to cany the corn to the mill as soon as 
 they were able to mount a cart-horse. 
 
 Jack, however, who was a lively boy, and did not 
 naturally want either sense or good-nature, might 
 have turned out well enough if he had not had the 
 misfortune to be his mother's favorite. She conceal- 
 ed and forgave all his faults. To be sure he was a 
 little wild, she would say, but be would not make the 
 worse man for that, for Jack had a good spirit of his 
 own, 3Jid she wouid not have it broke, and so make
 
 68 DOMESTIC T.M.KS ANO ALI^VJ.ORIES. 
 
 a mope of the boy. The farmer, for a quiet hfe, as 
 it is called, gave up all these points to his wife, and, 
 with them, gave up the future virtue and happiness 
 of his child. He was a laborious and industrious 
 man, but had no religion; he thought only of the 
 gains and advantages of the present day, and never 
 took the future into the account. His wife managed 
 him entirely, and as she was really notable he did 
 not trouble his head about anything farther. If she 
 had been careless in her dairy, he woiild have storm- 
 ed and sworn ; \mt as she only ruined one child by 
 indulgence, and almost broke the hearts of the rest 
 by unkindness, he gave himself little concern about 
 the matter. The cheese, certainly, was good, and 
 that, indeed, is a great point ; but she was neglectful 
 of her children and a tyrant to her servants. Her 
 husband's substance, indeed, was not wasted, but his 
 happiness was not consulted. His house, it is trae, 
 was not dirty, but it was the abode of fury, ill-tem- 
 per, and covetousness. And the farmer, though he 
 did not care for liquor, was too often driven to the 
 public-house in the evening because his own was 
 neither quiet nor comfortable. The mother was al- 
 ways scolding, and the children were always crj'ing. 
 
 Jack, however, notwithstanding his idleness, picked 
 up a little reading and writing, but never would learn 
 to cast an account — that was too much labor. His 
 mother was desirous he should continue at school, 
 not so much for the sake of his learning, which she 
 had not sense enough to value, but to save her darling 
 from the fatigue of labor, for if he had not gone to 
 school she knew he must have gone to work, and she 
 thought the former was the least tiresome of the two. 
 Indeed this foolish woman had such an opinion of 
 his genius, that she used from a child to think he 
 was too wise for anything but a parson, and hoped 
 she should live to see him one. She did not wish 
 to see her son a minister because she loved either 
 •earning or piety, but because she thought it would
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKER*. i6S 
 
 jnake Jack a gentleman, and set him above Lis bro- 
 thers. 
 
 Farmer Brown still hoped, that though Jack was 
 5ikely to make but an idle and ignorant farmer, yet he 
 might make no bad tradesman, when he should be 
 removed from the indulgences of a father's house, 
 and from a silly mother, whose fondness kept him 
 back in eveiything. This woman was enraged when 
 she found that so fine a scholar as she took Jack to 
 ■be, was to be put apprentice to a shoemaker. The 
 farmer, however, for the first time in his hfe, would 
 have his own way. But being a woddly nian, and 
 too apt to mind only what is falsely called the main 
 chance, instead of being careful to look out for a sober, 
 prudent, and religious master for his son, he left all 
 that to accident, as if it had been a thing of little or 
 no consequence. This is a veiy common fault, and 
 fathere who are guilty of it are in a great measure 
 answerable for tlie future sins and errors of their, 
 children, when they come out into the world and 
 set up for themselves. If a man gives his son a good 
 education, a good example, and a good master, it is 
 indeed possible that the son may not turn out well, 
 but it does not often happen, and when it does, the 
 father has no blame resting on him; and it is a great 
 point toward a man's comfort to have his conscience 
 quiet in that respect, however God may think fit to 
 overrule events. 
 
 The farmer, however, took care to dcKire his friends 
 to inquire for a shoemaker who had good business, 
 and was a good workman ; and the mother d.d not 
 ■forget to put in her word, and desired that it might 
 he one who was not loo strict, for Jack had beejn 
 lirought up tenderly, was a meek boy, and could not 
 bear to be contradicted in anything. This is the 
 common notion of meekness among people who do 
 not take up their notions on rational and Christian 
 grounds. 
 
 Mr- Williams was recommended to the farmer as
 
 70 DOMESTIC TALES /k>D ALLEGORIES. 
 
 being the best shoemaker in the town in which he 
 Hved, and not a strict master. So without farther in- 
 quiries to 3Ir. WiUiams he went. 
 
 James Stock, who was the son of an honest laborer 
 in the next village, was bound out by the parish in 
 consideration of his father having so numerous a 
 family that he was not able to put him out himself. 
 James was in everything the very reverse of his new 
 companion. He \vas a modest, industrious, pious 
 youth, and though so poor, and the child of a laborer, 
 WHS a much better scholar than .Jack, who was a 
 wealthy farmer's son. His father had, it is true, been 
 able to give him but very little schooling, for he was 
 obliged to be put to work when quite a child. Wlien 
 ?ery young he used to iiin of errands for Mr. Thom- 
 as, the curate of the parish, a very kind-hearted 
 young gentleman, who boarded next door to his fa- 
 ther's cottage. He used also to rub down and saddle 
 his horse, and do any other little job for him in the 
 most civil, obliging manner. All this so recommend- 
 ed him to the clergyman, that he would often send 
 for him of an evening, after he had done his day's 
 work in the field, and condescended to teach him 
 himself to write and cast accounts, as well as to in- 
 struct him in the principles of his religion. It was 
 not merely out of kindness for the little good-natured 
 services James did him, that he showed him this fa- 
 vor, but also for his readiness in the catechism, and 
 his devout behavior at church. 
 
 The first thing that drew the minister's attention to 
 this boy, was the following: He had frequently given 
 him half-pence and pence for holding his horse and 
 carrying him to water before he was big enough to 
 be further useful to him. On Christmas day he was 
 surprised to see James at church, reading out of a 
 handsome new prayer-book ; he wondered how he 
 came by it, for he knew there was nobodj- in the 
 parish likely to have given it to him, for at that tune
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKHRS. 71 
 
 there were no Sunday-schools, and the father could 
 not afford it. he was sure. 
 
 *' Well, James," said he, as he saw him when they 
 came out, "you made a good figure at church to- 
 day ; it made you look like a man and a Christian, 
 not only to have so handsome a book, but to be so 
 ready in all parts of the service. How came you by 
 that book ?" James owned modestly, that he had 
 been a whole year saving up the money by single 
 half-j>ence, all of which had been of the minister's 
 own giving, and that in all that time he had not spent 
 a single farthing on his own diversions. " My dear 
 boy," said the good Mr. Thomas, " I am much mis- 
 taken if thou dost not turn out well in the world, for 
 two reasons : first, from thy saving turn and self-de- 
 nying temper, and next, because thou didst devote 
 the first eighteen-pence thou wast ever worth in the 
 world to so good a purpose." 
 
 James bowed and blushed, and from that time Mr. 
 Thomas began to take more notice of him, and to in- 
 struct him as I said above. As James soon grew able 
 to do him more considerable seiTice, he would now 
 and then give him a sixpence. This he constantly 
 saved till it became a little sum, with which he bought 
 shoes aud stockings, well knowing that his poor 
 father, with a large family and low wages, could not 
 buy them for him. As to what little money he 
 earned himself by his daily labor in the field, he 
 constantly carried it to his mother every Saturday 
 night, to buy bread for the family, which was a pretty 
 help to them. 
 
 As James was not over-stout in his make, liis father 
 thankfully accepted the offer of the jjarish-officers to 
 bind out his son to a trade. This good man, how- 
 ever, had not, like Farmer Brown, the liberty of 
 choosing a master for his son, or he would carefully 
 have inf|uired if he was a proper man to have the 
 care of you-*li ; but Williams, the shoemaker, was 
 already lixed on by those wlio were to put the boy
 
 72 DOMESTIC TALtS AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 0T\t, wbo told him if he wanted a master it must hs 
 liim or none, for the overseers had a better opinion oi 
 Williams than he deserved, and thought it would be 
 the making of the boy to go to him. The father 
 knew that beggars must not be choosers, so he fitted 
 out James for his n-ew place, having indeed little to 
 give him besides his blessing. 
 
 The worthy Mr. Thpmas, howver, kindly gave 
 him an old coat and waistcoat, which his mother, 
 who was a neat and notable woman, contrived to 
 make up for him herself, and when it was turned and 
 made fit for his size, it made him a very handsome 
 suit for Sundays, and lasted him a couple of years. 
 
 Here let me remark what a pity it is, that pool 
 women so seldom are able or willing to do these little 
 handy jobs themselves, and that they do not oftener 
 bring up their daughters to be more useful in family 
 work. They are great losers by it eveiy way, nol 
 only as they are disqualifying their girls from making 
 good wives hereafter, but they are losers in point of 
 present advantage, for gentry could much oftener af- 
 ford to give a poor boy a jacket or a waistcoat, if it 
 was not for the expense of making it, which adds 
 very much to the cost. Many poor women would 
 often get an old coat, or a bit of coarse new cloth 
 given to them to fit out a boy, if the mothers or sis- 
 ters were known to be able to cut out to advantage, 
 and to make it up decently themselves. 
 
 The two young shoemakers were both settled art 
 Mr. Williams's, who, as he was known to be a good 
 workman, had plenty of business ; he had sometimes 
 two or three journeymen, biit no apprentices but 
 Jack and James. 
 
 Jack, who, with all his faults, was a keen, smart 
 boy, took to learn the trade quick enough, but the 
 difficulty was to make him stick two hours together 
 to his work. At every noise he heard in the street 
 down went the work — the last one way, the upper 
 leather another ; the sole dropped on the ground,
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 73 
 
 and the thread dragged after him all the way up the 
 street. If a blind fiddler, a ballad-singer, a mounte- 
 bank, a dancing bear, or a drum, were heard at a dis- 
 tance — out ran Jack — nothing could stop him, and 
 not a stitch more could he be prevailed on to do that 
 day. Every duty, eveiy promise was forgotten for 
 the present pleasure — he could not resist the smallest 
 temptation — he never stopped for a moment to con- 
 sider whether a thing was right or wrong, but wheth- 
 er he liked or disliked it. And as his ill-judging 
 mother took care to send him privately a good supply 
 of pocket-money, that deadly bane to all youthful 
 virtue, he had generally a few pence ready to spend, 
 and to indulge in the present diversion, whatever it 
 was. And what was still worse even than spending 
 his money, he spent his time, too, or rather his mas- 
 ter's time Of this he was continually reminded by 
 James, to whom he always answered, " What have 
 you to complain about ? It is nothing to you or any 
 one else ; I spend nobody's money but my own." 
 "That may be," replied the other, "but you can not 
 say that it is your own time that you si)end." He 
 insisted upon it that it was; but James fetched down 
 their indentures, and there showed him that he had 
 solemnly bound himself by that instrument not to 
 waste his master's property. " Now," quoth James, 
 " thy own time is a very valuable part of thy mas- 
 ter's property." To this he replied, that " every one's 
 time was his own, and he should not sit moping all 
 day over his last — for his part, he thanked God he 
 was no parish 'prentice." 
 
 James did not resent this piece of silly impertinence, 
 as some silly lads would have done, nor fly out into 
 a violent passion ; for even at this early age he had 
 begun to learn of Him u-ho was meek and lowly of 
 heart ; and therefore, when he was reviled, he reviled 
 not again. On the contrary, he was so very kind and 
 gentle, that even Jack, vain and idle as he was, could 
 7
 
 #4 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 not help loving him, though he took care never to fo\ 
 low his advice. 
 
 Jack's fondness for his boj'ish and silly diversions 
 in the street, soon produced the effects which might 
 naturally be expected ; and the same idleness which 
 led him to fly out into the town at the sound of a fid- 
 dle or the sight of a puppet-show, soon led him to 
 those places to which all these fiddles and shows 
 naturally lead — I mean the alehouse. The acquaint- 
 ance picked up in the street was carried on at the 
 Grayhound ; and the idle pastimes of the boy soon 
 led to the destnxctive vices of the man. 
 
 As he was not an ill-tempered youth, nor naturally 
 much given to drink, a sober and prudent m Aster, who 
 had been steady in his management and regular in his 
 own conduct, who would have recommended good 
 advice by a good example, might have made some- 
 thing of Jack. But Mr. Williams, though a good 
 workman, and not a very hard or severe master, w'as 
 neither a sober nor a steady man : so far from it, that 
 he spent much more time at the Grayhound than at 
 home. There was no order either in his shop or 
 family. He left the chief care of his business to his 
 two young apprentices ; and being but a worldly man, 
 he was at first disposed to show favor to Jack, much 
 more than to James, because he had more money, 
 and his father was better in the world than the father 
 of poor James. 
 
 At first, therefore, he was disposed to consider 
 James as a sort of drudge, who was to do all the me- 
 nial work of the family, and he did not care how little 
 he taught him of his trade. With Mrs. Williams the 
 matter was still worse ; she constantly called him 
 away from the business of his trade to wash the house, 
 nurse the child, turn the spit, or run of errands. Here 
 I must remark, that though parish apprentices are 
 bound in duty to be submissive to both master and 
 mistress, and always to make themselves as usefu as 
 they can in a family, and to be civil and humble, yet
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 75 
 
 it is the duty of masters always to remember, that if 
 they are paid for instructing them in their trade, they 
 ought conscientiously to instruct them in it, and not 
 to employ them the greater part of their time in such 
 household or other drudgery, as to deprive them of 
 the opportunity of acquiring their trade. This prac- 
 tice is not the less unjust because it is common. 
 
 Mr. Williams soon found out that his favorite Jack 
 would be of little use to him in the shop; for though 
 he worked well enough, he did not care how little he 
 did. Nor could he be of the least use to his mastei 
 in keeping an account, or writing out a bill upon oc- 
 casion ; for, as he never could be made to learn to 
 cipher, he did not know addition from multiplication. 
 
 One day one of the customers called at the shop in 
 a great hurry, and desired his bill might be made out 
 that minute. Mr. Williams, having taken a cup too 
 much, made several attempts to put down a clear ac- 
 count, but the more he tried, the less he found him- 
 self able to do it. James, who was sitting at his last, 
 rose up, and with great modesty, asked his master if 
 he would please to give him leave to make out the 
 bill, saying, that though but a poor scholar, he would 
 do his best, rather than keep the gentleman waiting. 
 Williams gladly accepted his offer, and confused as 
 his head was with liquor, he yet was able to observe 
 with what neatness, despatch, and exactness, the ac- 
 count was drawn out. From that time he no longer 
 considered James as a drudge, but as one fitted for the 
 high departments of the trade, and he was now regu- 
 larly employed to manage the accounts, with which 
 all the customers were so well pleased, that it con- 
 tributed greatly to raise him in his master's esteem; 
 for there were now never any of those blunders or 
 false charges for w^hich the shop had before been so 
 famous. 
 
 James went on in a regular course of industiy, and 
 soon became the best workman Mr. Williams had ; 
 but there many things in the family which he greatly
 
 /6 DOMESTIC TALES AND ^LLIGORIF.S. 
 
 disapproved. Some of the journeymen used to swear, 
 drink, and sing licentious songs. All these things 
 were a great grief to his sober mind. He complained 
 to his master, who only laughed at him ; and, in- 
 deed, as Williams did the same himself, he put it 
 out of his power to correct his servants, if he had 
 been so disposed. James, however, used always to 
 reprove them with great mildness indeed, but with 
 great seriousness also. This, but still more his own 
 excellent example, produced at length very good ef- 
 fects on such of the men as were not quite hardened 
 in sin. 
 
 What grieved him most, was the manner m which 
 the Sunday was spent. The master lay in bed all the 
 morning : nor did the mother or her children ever go 
 to church, except there was some new finery to be 
 shown, or a christening to be attended. The town's 
 ueople were coming to the shop all the morning, for 
 work which should have been sent home the night 
 before, had not the master been at the alehouse. And 
 what wounded James to the very soul was, that the 
 master expected the two apprentices to carry home 
 shoes to the countiy customers on the Sunday morn- 
 ing, which he wickedly thought was a saving of time, 
 as it prevented their hindering their work on the Sat- 
 urday. These shameful practices greatly afflicted 
 poor James. He begged his master, with tears in his 
 eyes, to excuse him, but he only laughed at his 
 squeamish conscience, as he called it. 
 
 Jack did not dislike this part of the business, and 
 generally after he had delivered his parcel, wasted 
 good part of the day in nutting, playing at fives, or 
 dropping in at the public house : anything was better 
 to Jack than going to church. 
 
 James, on the other hand, when he was compelled 
 sorely against his conscience to carry home any goods 
 on a Sunday morning, always got up as soon as it 
 was light, knelt down and prayed heartily to God to 
 forgive him a sin which it was not in his power to
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 77 
 
 avoid. He took care not to lose a moment by the 
 way ; but as he was taking his walk with the utmost 
 speed, to leave his shoes with the customers, he spent 
 his time in endeavoring to keep up good thoughts in 
 his mind, and praying that the day might come when 
 his conscience might be delivered from this grievous 
 burden. He was now particularly thankful that Mr. 
 Thomas had formerly taught him so many psalms 
 and chapters, which he used to repeat in these walks 
 with great devotion. 
 
 He always got home before the rest of the family 
 were up, dressed himself very clean, and went twice 
 to church, as he greatly disliked the company and 
 practices of his master's house, particularly on the 
 sabbath-day, he preferred spending his evening alone, 
 reading his Bible, which I had forgot to say the wor 
 thy clergyman had given him when he left his native 
 village. Sunday evening, which is to some people 
 such a burden, was to James the highest holyday. He 
 had formerly learnt a little how to sing a psalm of the 
 clerk of his own parish, and this was now become a 
 very delightful part of his evening exercise. And as 
 Will Simpson, one of the journeymen, by James's 
 advice and example, was now beginning to be of a 
 more serious way of thinking, he often asked him to 
 sit an hour with him, when they read the Bible, and 
 talked it over together in a manner very pleasant and 
 improving ; and as Will was a famous singer, a psalm 
 or two sung together was a vciy innocent j)leasure. 
 
 James's good manners and civility to the customers 
 drew much business to the shop ; and his skill as a 
 workman was so great, that eveiy one desired that his 
 shoes might be made by James. Williams grew so 
 very idle and negligent, that he now totally neglected 
 his affairs, and to hard drinking added deep gaming. 
 All James's care, both of the shop and the accounts, 
 could not keep things in any tolerable order. He 
 represented to his master that they were growing 
 worse and worse, and exhorted him, if he valued his
 
 78 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 credit as a traJesman, his comfort as a husband and 
 father, his character as a master, and his soul as a 
 Christian, to turn over a new leaf. Williams swore 
 a great oath, that he would not be restrained in his 
 pleasures to please a canting parish "prentice, nor to 
 humor a parcel of squalling brats ; that let people 
 say what they would of him, they should never say 
 he was a hypocrite, and as long as they could not call 
 him that, he did not care what else they called him. 
 
 In a violent passion he immediately went to the 
 Grayhound, where he now spent not only every even- 
 ing, which he had long done, but good part of the day 
 and night also. His wife was very dressy, extrava- 
 gant, and fond of company, and wasted at home as 
 fast as her husband spent abroad, so that all the neigh- 
 bors said, if it had not been for James, his master must 
 have been a bankrupt long ago, but they were sure he 
 could not hold it much longer. 
 
 As Jack Brown sung a good song, and played many 
 diverting tricks, Williams liked his company, and 
 often allowed him to make one at the Grayhound, 
 where he would laugh heartily at his stories ; so that 
 eveiy one thought Jack was the greater favorite — so 
 he was as a companion in frolic, and foolery, and 
 pleasure, as it is called ; but he would not trust him 
 with an inch of leather or sixpence in money : no, no 
 — when bixsiness was to be done, or trust Avas to be 
 reposed, James was the man : the idle and the drunken 
 never trust one another, if they have common sense. 
 They like to laugh, and sing, and riot, and drink to- 
 gether, but when they want a friend, a counsellor, a 
 helper in business or in troub Je, they go farther afield ; 
 and Williams, while he would drink with Jack, would 
 trust James with untold gold ; and even was foolishly 
 tempted to neglect his business the more, from know- 
 ing that he had one at home who was taking care 
 of it. 
 
 In spite of all James's care and diligence, however, 
 tilings were growing worse and worse ; the mors
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 79 
 
 James saved, the more his master and mistress spent. 
 One morning, just as the shop was opened, and James 
 had set everybody to their resjiective work, and he 
 himself was setthng the business for the day, he found 
 that his master was not yet come from the Grayhouud. 
 As this was now become a common case, he only 
 grieved but did not wonder at it. While he was in- 
 dulging sad thoughts on what would be the end of 
 all this, in ran the tapster from the Grayhound, out of 
 breath, and with a look of terror and dismay desiied 
 James would step over to the public house with him 
 that moment, for that his master wanted him. 
 
 James went immediately, surprised at this unusual 
 message. When he got into the kitchen of the public 
 house, which he now entered for the first time in his 
 life, though it was just opposite to the house in which 
 he lived, he was shocked at the beastly disgusting ap- 
 pearance of everything he beheld. There was a table 
 covered with tankards, punch-bowls, broken glasses, 
 pipes, and dirty, greasy packs of cards, and all over 
 wet with liquor ; the floor was strewed with broken 
 earthen cups, odd cards, and an EO table which had 
 been shivered to pieces in a quarrel; behind the table 
 stood a crowd of dirty fellows, with matted locks, hol- 
 low eyes, and faces smeared with tobacco. James 
 made his way after the tapster, through this wretched- 
 looking crew, to a settle which stood in the chimney 
 corner. Not a word was uttered, but the silent horror 
 seemed to denote something more than a mere com- 
 mon drunken bout. 
 
 What was the dismay of James when he saw his 
 miserable master stretched out on the settle, in all the 
 agonies of death ! He had fallen into a fit, after hav- 
 ing drank hard best part of the night, and seemed to 
 have but a few minutes to live. In his frightful 
 countenance was displayed the dreadful picture of 
 sin and death, for he struggled at once under the 
 guilt of intoxication and the pangs of a dying man. 
 He recovered his senses for a few moments, and call-
 
 80 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 ed out to ask if his faithful servant was come. James 
 went up to him, took him by his cold hand, but was 
 too much moved to speak. "Oh! James, James," 
 cried he, in a broken voice, "pray for me, comfort 
 me." James spoke kindly to him, but was too hon- 
 est to give him false comfort, as is too often done by 
 mistaken friends in these dreadful moments. 
 
 "James," said he, "I have been a bad master to 
 you ; you would have saved me, soul and body, but 
 I would not let you ; I have ruined my wife, my 
 children, and my own soul. Take warning, oh, take 
 warning by my miserable end," said he to his stupi- 
 fied companions ; but none were able to attend to him 
 but James, who bid him lift up his heart to God, and 
 prayed heartily for him himself. " Oh !' ' said the 
 dying man, " it is too late, too late for me — but you 
 have still time," said he to the half drunken, temfied 
 crew around him. " Where is Jack ?" Jack Brown 
 came forward, but was too much frightened to speak. 
 " O wretched boy !" said he, " I fear I shall have the 
 ruin of thy soul as well as my own to answer for. 
 Stop short. Take warning, now in the days of thy 
 youth. O James, James, thou dost not pray for me. 
 Death is dreadful to the wicked. O the sting of death 
 to a guilty conscience !" Here he lifted up his 
 ghastly eyes in speechless horror, grasped hard at 
 the hand of James, gave a deep, hollow groan, and 
 closed his eyes, never to open them but in an awful 
 eternity. 
 
 This was death in all its honors ! The gay com- 
 panions of his sinful pleasures could not stand the 
 sight ; all slank away like guilty thieves from their 
 late favorite friend ; no one was left to assist him but 
 his two apprentices. Brown was not so hardened 
 but that he shed many tears for his unhappy master, 
 and even made some hasty resolutions of amendment, 
 which were too soon forgotten. 
 
 While Brown stepped home to call the workmen 
 to come and assist in removing their poor master,
 
 THK TWO SHOEMAKERS. 8\ 
 
 James stayed alone with the corpse, and employed 
 those awful moments in indulging the most serious 
 thoughts, and praying heartily to God that so terrible 
 a lesson might not be thrown away upon him, but 
 that he might be enabled to live in a constant state 
 of preparation for death. The resolutions he made 
 at this moment, as they were not made in his own 
 strength, but in an humble reliance on God's gra- 
 cious help, were of use to him as long as he lived, 
 and if ever he was for a moment tempted to say or 
 do a wrong thing, the remembrance of his poor dy- 
 ing master's last agonies, and the dreadful words he 
 uttered, always operated as an instant check upon 
 him. 
 
 When Williams was buried, and his affairs came 
 to be inquired into, they were found to be in a sad 
 condition. His wife, indeed, was the less to be pitied, 
 as she had contributed her full share to the common 
 ruin. James, however, did pity her, and by his 
 skill in accounts, his known honesty, and the trust 
 the creditors put in his word, things came to be set- 
 tled rather belter than Mrs. Williams expected. 
 
 Both Brown and James were now within a month 
 or two of being out of their time. The creditors, 
 as was said before, employed James to settle his late 
 master's accounts, which he did in a manner so cred- 
 itable to his abilities and his honesty, that they pro- 
 posed to him to take the shop himself. He assured 
 them it was utterly out of his power for want of 
 money. As the creditors had not the least fear ot 
 being repaid, if it should please God to spare his life, 
 they generously agreed among themselves to advance 
 lim a small sum of money witkout any security but 
 his bond ; for this he was to pay a very reasonable 
 uUerest, and to return the whole in a given rmmber 
 of years. James shed tears of gratitude at this tes- 
 timony to his character, and could hardly be prevail- 
 ed on to accept their kindness, so great was his drea 
 of being in debt.
 
 82 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIKS. 
 
 He took the remainder of tlie lease from his mis 
 tress, and in settling affairs with her, took care to 
 make eveiything as advantageoiis to her as possible. 
 He never once allowed himself to think how unkind 
 she had been to him ; he only saw in her the needy 
 widow of his deceased master, and the distressed 
 mother of an infant family, and was heartily sorry it 
 was not in his power to contribute to their support ; 
 it was not only James's duty, but his delight, to re- 
 turn good for evil, for he was a Christian. 
 
 James Stock was now, by the blessing of God on 
 his own earnest endeavors, master of a considerable 
 shop, and was respected oy the whole town for his 
 prudence, honesty, and piety. Other apprentices 
 will do well to follow so praiseworthy an example, 
 and to remember, that the respectable master of a 
 large shop, and of a profitable business, was raised to 
 that creditable situation without money, friends, or 
 connexions, from the low beginning of a parish ap- 
 prentice, by sobriety, industry, the fear of God, and 
 an obedience to the divine principles of the Christian 
 religion. 
 
 The Apprentice turned Master. 
 
 This sudden prosperity was a time of trial for 
 James, for we hardly know what we are ourselves till 
 we become our own masters. There is, indeed, al- 
 ways a reasonable hope that a good servant will not 
 make a bad master, and that a faithful apprentice will 
 prove an honest tradesman. But the heart of man is 
 deceitful, and some folks who seem to behave very 
 well while they are under subjection, no sooner get 
 a little power than their heads are turned, and they 
 grow prouder than those who are gentlemen born. 
 They forget at once that they were lately poor and 
 dependant themselves, so that one would think that 
 with their poverty they had lost their memory too. 
 I have known some who had suffered most hardships 
 in their early days, become the most hard and op-
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 83 
 
 pressive in their turn, so that they seem to forget 
 that fine considerate reason which God gives to the 
 children of Israel why they should be merciful to 
 their servants, remembering, said he, that thou thyselj 
 was a hondman. 
 
 Young Mr. Stock did not so forget himself. He 
 had, indeed, the only sure guard from falling into 
 this error. It was not from any uneasiness in his 
 natural disposition, for that only just serves to make 
 folks good-natured when they are pleased, and patient 
 when they have nothing to vex them. James went 
 upon higher ground. He brought his religion into 
 all his actions ; he did not give way to abusive lan- 
 guage because he knew it was a sin. He did not 
 use his apprentices ill because he knew he had him- 
 self a Master in heaven. 
 
 He knew he owed his present happy situation to 
 the kindness of the creditors. But did he grow easy 
 and careless because he knew he had such friends ? 
 No indeed. He worked with double diligence in 
 order to get out of debt, and to let these friends see 
 he did not abuse their kindness. Such behavior as 
 this is the greatest encouragement in the world to 
 rich people to lend a little money. It creates friends, 
 and it keeps them. 
 
 His shoes and boots were made in the best man- 
 ner ; this got him business ; he set out with a rule to 
 tell no lies, and deceive no customers ; this secured 
 his business. He had two reasons for not promising 
 to send home goods when he knew he should not be 
 able to keep his word. The first, because he knew 
 a lie was a sin, the next, because it was a folly. 
 There is no credit sooner worn out than that which 
 is gained by false pretences. After a little while no 
 one is deceived by them. Falsehood is so soon de- 
 tected, that I believe most tradesmen are the poorer 
 for it in the long run. Deceit is the worst part of a 
 shopkeeper's stock in trade. 
 
 James was now at the head of a family. " This is
 
 84 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 a serious situation," said he to himself, one fine sum- 
 mer's evening, as he stood leaning over the half doot 
 of his shop to enjoy a little fresh air, " I am now 
 master of a family. My cares are doubled, and so 
 are my duties. I see the higher one gets in life the 
 more one has to answer for. Let me now call to 
 mind the sorrow I used to feel when I was made to 
 cany work home on a Sunday by an imgodly master, 
 and let me now keep the resolution I then formed." 
 
 So what his heart found right to do he resolved to 
 do quickly, and he set out at first as he meant to go 
 on. The Sunday was truly a day of rest at Mr. 
 Stock's. He would not allow a pair of shoes to be 
 given out on that day to oblige the best customer he 
 had. And what did he lose by it ? Why, nothing 
 For when the people were once used to it they liked 
 Saturday night just as well. But had it been other- 
 wise he would have given up his gains to his con- 
 science. 
 
 Hoiv Mr. Stock behaved to his Apprentices. 
 
 When he got up in the world so far as to have ap- 
 prentices, he thought himself as accountable for their 
 behavior as if they had been his children. He was 
 very kind to them, and had a cheerful, meriy way of 
 talking to them, so that the lads, who had seen too 
 much of swearing, reprobate masters, were fond of 
 him. They were never afraid of speaking to him ; 
 they told him all their little troubles, and considered 
 their master as their best friend,for they said they would 
 do anything for a good word and a kind look. As he 
 did not swear at them when they had been guilty of 
 a fault, they did not lie to him to conceal it, and 
 thereby make one fault two. But though he was 
 very kind he was very watchful also, for he did not 
 think neglect any part of kindness. He brought 
 them to adopt one very pretty method, which was, 
 on a Sunday evening to divert themselves with wri- 
 ting out half a dozen texts of Scripture.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 85 
 
 When the boys carried him their books, he justly 
 commended him whose texts were written in the fair- 
 est hand. "And now, my boys," said he, "let us 
 see which of you will learn your texts best in the 
 course of the week ; he who does this shall choose 
 for next Sunday." Thus the boys soon got many 
 psalms and chapters by heart, almost without know- 
 ing how they came by them. He taught them how 
 to make a practical use of what they learned, " for," 
 said he, " it will answer little purposes to learn texts 
 if we do not tiy to live up to them." One ol the 
 boys being apt to play in his absence, and to run 
 back again to his work when he heard his master's, 
 step, he brought him to a sense of his fault by the 
 last Sunday's text, which happened to be the sixth 
 of Ephesians. He showed him what was meant by 
 being obedient to his master in singleness of heart as 
 unto Christ, and explained to him with so much 
 kindness what it was not to work ivith eye-service as 
 7nen-pleascrs, but doing the ivill of God from the heart, 
 that the lad said he should never forget it, and it did 
 more toward curing him of idleness than the sound- 
 est horsewhipping would have done. 
 
 How Mr. Stock got out of Debt. 
 Stock's behavior was very regular, and he was 
 much beloved for his kind and peaceable temper. 
 He had also a good repiUation for skill in his trade, 
 and his industry was talked of through the whole 
 town, so that he had soon more work than he could 
 possibly do. He paid all his dealers to the very 
 day, and took care to carry his interest money to the 
 creditors the moment it became due. In two or 
 three years he was able to begin to pay off a small 
 part of the principal. His reason for being so eager 
 to pay money as soon as it became due, was this : 
 He had observed tradesmen, and especially his old 
 master, put. off the day of payment as long as they 
 could, even though thev had the means of paying in
 
 8G DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 their power. Thiy deceived them — for having money 
 in their pockets they forgot it belonged to the cred- 
 itor and not to themselves, and so got to fancy they 
 were rich when they were really poor. This false 
 notion led them to indulge in idle expenses, whereas, 
 if they had paid regularly, they would have had thia 
 one temptation the less. A young tradesman, when 
 he is going to spend money, should at least ask him- 
 self, " Whether this money is his own or his cred- 
 itors' ?" This little question might help to prevent 
 many a bankruptcy. 
 
 A true Christian always goes heartily to work to 
 find out what is his besetting sin ; and when he has 
 found it (which he easily may if he looks sharp), 
 against this sin he watches narrowly. Now I know 
 it is the fashion among some folks (and a bad fashion 
 it is), to fancy that good people have no sin ; but this 
 only shows their ignorance. It is not true. That 
 good man, Paul, knew better (Romans vii.). And 
 when men do not own their sins, it is not because 
 there is no sin in their hearts, but because they are 
 not anxious to search for it, nor humble to confess it, 
 nor penitent to mourn over it. But this was not the 
 case with James Stock. "Examine yourselves truly," 
 said he, " is no bad part of the catechism." He be- 
 gan to be afraid that his desire of living creditably, and 
 without being a burden to any one, might, under the 
 mask of honesty and independence, lead him into 
 pride and covetousness. He feared that the bias of 
 his heart lay that way. So instead of being proud 
 of his sobriety; instead of bragging that he never 
 spent his money idly, nor went to the alehouse ; in- 
 stead of boasting how hard he worked and how he 
 denicG himself, he strove in secret that even these good 
 qualities might not grow out of a wrong root. Tlie 
 following event was of use to him in the way ol in- 
 dulging any disposition to covetousness. 
 
 One evening as he was standing at the door of his 
 shop, a poor dirty boy, without stockings and shoes,
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 87 
 
 came v:p and asked him for a bit of broken victuals, 
 for he had eaten nothing all day. In spite of his dirt 
 and rags, he was a very pretty, lively, civil-spoken 
 boy, and Mr. Stock could not help thinking he knew 
 something of his face. He fetched him out a good 
 piece of bread and cheese, and while he was devour- 
 ing it, asked him if he had no parents, and why he 
 went about in that vagabond manner. " Daddy has 
 been dead some years," said the boy; " he died in a 
 fit over at the Grayhound. Mammy says he used to 
 live at this shop, and then we did not want for clothes 
 nor victuals neither." Stock was melted alinost to 
 tears on finding that this dirty beggar-boy was Tommy 
 Williams, the son of his old master. He blessed God 
 on comparing his own happy condition with that of 
 this poor destitute child, but he was not prouder at 
 the comparison, and while he was thankful for his 
 own prosperity, he pitied the helpless boy. " Where 
 have you been living of late ?" said he to him; "for 
 I understand you all went home to your mother's 
 friends." — " So we did, sir," said the boy; "but they 
 are grown tired of maintaining us, because they said 
 that mammy spent all the money which should have 
 gone to buy victuals for us, on snuff and drams ; and 
 so they have sent us back to this place, which is 
 daddy's parish." 
 
 " And where do you live here ?" said Mr. Stock. 
 " O sir, we are all put into the parish poorhouse." — 
 " .\nd docs your mother do anything to help to main- 
 tain you ?" — " No, sir, for mammy says she was not 
 brought up to work like poor folks, and she would 
 rather starve than spin or knit ; so she lies a-bed all 
 the morning, and sends us about to pick up what We 
 can, a bit of victuals or a few halfpence." — " And have 
 you any money in your pocket now ?" — " Yes, sir, 1 
 have got three halfpence which I have begged to-day." 
 " Then, as you were so very hungry, how came you 
 not to buy a roll at that baker's over the way ?"— • 
 "Because, sir, I was going to lay it out in tea foi
 
 88 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 mammy, for I never lay out a farthing for myself. Id 
 deed, mammy says she icill have her tea twice a day, 
 if we beg or starve for it." — " Can you read, my boy," 
 said Mr. Stock. " A little, sir, and say my prayers 
 too."' — "And can you say your catechism?" — "I 
 have almost forgotten it all, sir, though I remember 
 something about honoring my father and mother, and 
 that makes me still carry the halfpence home to mam- 
 my instead of buying cakes." — " Who taught you 
 these good things?" — "One Jemmy Stock, sir, who 
 was a parish 'prentice to my daddy. He taught me 
 one question out of the catechism every night,_and 
 always made me say my prayers to him before I went 
 to bed. He told me I should go to the wicked place 
 if I did not fear God, so I am still afraid to tell lies 
 like the other boys. Poor Jemmy gave me a piece 
 of gingerbread every time I learnt well ; but I have 
 no friend now ; Jemmy was very good to me, though 
 mammy did nothing but beat him." 
 
 3Ir. Stock was too much moved to carry on the 
 discourse. He did not make himself known to the 
 boy, but took him over to the baker's shop. As they 
 walked along, he could not help repeating aloud that 
 beautiful hymn, so deservedly the favorite of all chil- 
 dren : 
 
 " Not more than others I deserve, 
 Yet God has given me more ; 
 For I hare food while others starve, 
 Or beg frcm door to door." 
 
 The little boy looked up in his face, saying, " Why, 
 sir, that's the very hymn which Jemmy Stock gave 
 me a penny for learning." Stock made no answer, 
 but put a couple of threepenny loaves into his hand 
 to carry home, and told him to call on him again. 
 
 How Mr. Slock contrived to be charitable without any 
 expense. 
 Stock had abundant subject for meditation that 
 eight. He was puzzled what to do with the boy
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 89 
 
 While he was carrying on his trade upon borrowed 
 money, he did not think it riglit to give any part of 
 that money to assist the idle, or even to help the dis- 
 tressed. " I must be just," said he, " before I am 
 generous." Still he could not bear to see this fine 
 boy given up to a certain ruin. He did not think it 
 safe to take him into his shop in his present ignorant, 
 unprincipled state. At last he hit upon this thought: 
 " I work for myself twelve hours in the day. Why 
 shall I not work one hour or two for this boy in the 
 evening ? It will be but for a year, and I shall then 
 have more right to do what I please. My money 
 will then be my own ; I shall have paid my debts." 
 
 So he began to put his resolution in practice that 
 very night, sticking to his old notion of not putting olf 
 till to-morrow what should be done to-day; and it 
 was thought he owed much of his success in life, as 
 well as his growth in goodness, to this little saying : 
 "I am young and healthy," said he; "one hour's 
 work more will do me no harm ; I will set aside all 
 I get by these overhours, and put the boy to school. 
 I have not only no right to punish this child for the 
 sins of his father, but I consider that though God ha- 
 ted those sins, he has made them to be instrumental 
 to my advancement." 
 
 Tommy Williams called at the time appointed. In 
 the meantime, INIr. Stock's maid had made him a 
 neat little suit of clothes out of an old coat of her 
 master's. She had also knit him a pair of stockings, 
 and Mr. Stock made him sit down in the shop, while 
 he fitted him with a pair of new shoes. The maid 
 having washed and dressed him, Mr. Stock took hira 
 by the hand, and walked along with him to the parish 
 poorhouse to find his mother. They found her dressed 
 in ragged, filthy finery, standing at the door, where 
 she passed most of her time, quarrelling with half a 
 dozen women as idle and dirty as herself. When she 
 saw Tommy so neat and well dressed, she fell a-crying 
 for joy. She said " It put her in mind of old times;
 
 90 DOMESTIC TALES A>'D ALLEG0R1K3. 
 
 for Tommy always used to be dressed like a gentle- 
 man." — " So much the worse," said Mr. Stock ; " if 
 you had not begun by making him look like a gentle- 
 man, you needed not have ended by making him look 
 like a beggar." — " Oh Jem !" said she, for though it 
 was four years since she had seen him, she soon rec- 
 ollected him ; " fine times for yc a ' set a beggar on 
 horseback — you know the proverb. 1 shall beat 
 Tommy well for finding you out, and exposing me to 
 you." 
 
 Instead of entering into any dispute with this bad 
 woman, or praising himself at her expense ; instead 
 of putting her in mind of her past ill behavior to him, 
 or reproaching her with the bad use she had made of 
 her prosperity, he mildly said to her, " Mrs. Williams, 
 I am Sony for your misfortunes ; I am come to re- 
 lieve you of part of your burden. I will take Tommy 
 ofi" yotir hands. I will give him a year's board and 
 schooling, and by that time I shall see what he is fit 
 for. I will promise nothing, but if the boy tixrns out 
 well, I will never forsake him. I shall make but one 
 bargain with you, which is, that he must not come 
 to this place to hear all this railing and swearing, nor 
 shall he keep company with these pilfering idle chil- 
 dren. You are welcome to go and see him when 
 you please, but here he must not come." 
 
 The foolish woman burst out a-crying, saying, 
 "she should lose her poor dear Tommy for ever. 
 Mr. Stock might give her the money he intended to 
 pay at the school, for nobody could do so well by him 
 as his own mother." The truth was, she wanted to 
 get these new clothes into her clutches, which would 
 all have been pawned at the dram-shop before the 
 week was out. This Mr. Stock well knew. From 
 crying she fell to scolding and swearing. She told 
 him he was an unnatural wretch, that wanted to make 
 a child despise his own mother because she was poor. 
 She even went so far as to say she would not part 
 from him ; she said she hated your godly people, thej^
 
 THE TWO SHOE».AKERS 91 
 
 had no bowels of compassion, but tried to set men, 
 women, and children, against their own flesh and 
 blood. 
 
 Mr. Stock now almost lost his patience, and for one 
 moment a thought came across him, to strip the boy, 
 carry back the clothes, and leave him to his unnatural 
 mother. " Why," said he, " should I work over- 
 hours, and wear out my strength for this wicked 
 woman?" But soon he checked his thought, by 
 reflecting on the patience and long-suflering of God 
 with rebellious sinners. This cured his anger in a 
 moment, and he mildly reasoned with heron the folly 
 and blindness in opposing the good of her child. 
 
 One of the neighbors who stood bj^ said, " What a 
 flne thing it was for the boy ! but some people were 
 born to be lucky. She wished Mr. Stock would take 
 a fancy to her child, he should have him soon enough." 
 Mrs. Williams now began to be frightened lest Mr. 
 Stock should take the woman at her word, and sul- 
 lenly consented to let the boy go, from envy and 
 malice, not from prudence and gratitude ; and Tom- 
 my was sent to school that very night, his mother 
 crying and roaring, instead of thanking God for such 
 a blessing. 
 
 Here I can not forbear telling a very good-natured 
 thing of Will Simpson, one of the workmen. By-the- 
 by, it was that very young fellow who was reformed 
 by Stock's good example, when he was an apprentice, 
 and who used to sing psalms with him on a Sunday 
 evening, when they got out of the way of Williams's 
 junketing. Will conning home early one evening, 
 was surprised to find his master at work by himself, 
 long after the usual time. He begged so heartily to 
 know the reason, that Stock owned the truth. Will 
 was so struck with this piece of kindness, that he 
 snatched up a last, crj'ing out, " Well, master, you 
 shall not work by yourself, however ; we will go 
 snacks in maintaining Tommy: it shall never be said 
 that Will Simpson was idling about when his master
 
 92 DOMESTIC TALES AND AILEGORIES. 
 
 was working for charity." This made the hour pass 
 cheerfully, and doubled the profits. 
 
 In a year or two, Mr. Stock, by God's blessing on 
 his labors, became quite clear of the world. He now 
 paid off his creditors, but he never forgot his obliga- 
 tion to them, and found many opportunities of show- 
 ing kindness to them, and to their children after them. 
 He now cast about for a proper wife, and as he was 
 thought a prosperous man, and was very well looking 
 besides, most of the smart girls of the place, with 
 their tawdiy finery, used to be often parading before 
 the shop, and would even go to chu ch in order to 
 put themselves in his way. But Mr. Stock, wben he 
 went to church, had other things in his head ; and if 
 ever he thought about these gay damsels at all, it was 
 with concern in seeing them so improperly tricked 
 out, so that the very means they took to please him. 
 made him dislike them. 
 
 There was one Betsy West, a young woman of 
 excellent character, and very modest appearance. 
 He had seldom seen her out, as she was employed 
 night and day in waiting on an aged widowed mother, 
 who was both lame and blind. This good girl was 
 indeed almost literally eyes and feet to her helpless 
 parent, and Mr. Stock used to ee her, through the 
 little casement window, lifting her up, and feeding 
 with a tenderness which greatly raised his esteem for 
 her. He used to tell Will Simpson, as they sat at 
 work, that such a dutiful daughter could hardly help 
 to make a faithful wife. He had not, however, the 
 heart to tiy to draw her off from her care of her sick 
 mother. The poor woman declined very fast. Bet- 
 sy was much employed in reading or praying by her, 
 while she was awake, and passed a good part of the 
 night while she slept, in doing some fine works to 
 sell, in order to supply her sick mother with little 
 delicacies which their poor pittance could not afford, 
 while she herself lived on a crust. 
 
 Mr. Stock knew that Betsy would have little 02
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 93 
 
 nothing after her mother's death, as she had only a 
 hfe income. On the other hand, Mr. Thompson, the 
 tanner, had offered him two hundred pounds with his 
 daughter Nancy ; but he was ahnost sorry that he 
 had not in this case an opportunity of resisting his 
 natural bias, which rather lay on the side of loving 
 money : " For," said he, " putting principle and put- 
 ting affection out of the question, I shall do a more 
 prudent thing by manying Betsy West, who will 
 conform to her station, and is a religious, humble, in- 
 dustrious girl, without a shilling, than by having an 
 idle dressy lass, who will neglect my family and fill 
 my house with company, though she should have 
 twice the fortune which Nancy Thompson would 
 bring." 
 
 At length poor old Mrs. West was released from 
 all her sufferings. At a proper time Mr. Stock pro- 
 posed marriage to Betsy, and was accepted. All the 
 disappointed girls in the town wondered what any- 
 body could like in such a dowdy as that. Had the 
 man no eyes ? They thought Mr. Stock had had 
 more taste. Oh! how did it provoke all the vain idle 
 things to find that staying at home, dressing plainly, 
 sen'ing God, and nursing a blind mother, should do 
 that for Betsy West, which all their contrivances, 
 flaunting, and dancing, could not do for them. 
 
 He was not disappointed in his hope of meeting 
 with a good wife in Betsy, as indeed those who marry 
 on right grounds seldom are. But if religious per- 
 sons will, for the sake of money, choose partners for 
 life who have no religion, do not let them complain 
 that they are unhappy ; they might liave known that 
 beforehand. 
 
 Tommy Williams was now taken home to Stock's 
 house and bound apprentice. He was always kind 
 and attentive to his mother; and every penny which 
 Will Simpson or his master gave him for learning a 
 chapter, he would save to buy a bit of tea and sugar 
 for her. When the other boys laughed at him fo
 
 94 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 being so foolish as to deny himself cakes and apples 
 to give his money to her who was so bsd a woman, 
 he would answer, " It may be so, but she is my 
 mother for all that." 
 
 Mr. Stock was much moved at the change in this 
 boy, who turned out a veiy good youth. He resolved, 
 as God should prosper him, that he would try to 
 snatch other helpless creatures from sin and ruin. 
 " For," said he, " it is owing to God's blessing on the 
 instructions of my good minister when I was a child, 
 that I have been saved from the broaJ way of de- 
 struction." He still gave God the glory of eveiything 
 he did aright : and when Will Simpson one day said 
 t: him, " Master, I wish I were half as good rs you 
 are ;" " Hold, William," answered he gravely, " I 
 once read in a book, that the devil is willing enough 
 we should appear to do good actions, if he can but 
 make us proud of them." 
 
 The frolics of idle Jack Brown. 
 
 You shall now hear what befell idle Jack Brown, 
 who, being a farmer's son, had many advantages to 
 begin life with. But he who wants prudence may be 
 said to want everything, because he turns all his ad- 
 vantages to no account. 
 
 Jack Brown was just out of his time when his 
 master Williams died in that terrible drunken fit at 
 the Grayhound. You know already how Stock suc- 
 ceeded to his master's business, and prospered in it. 
 Jack wished very much to enter into partnership 
 with him. His father and mother too were desirous 
 of it, and offered to advance a hundred pounds with 
 him. Here is a fresh proof of the power of charac- 
 ter ! The old farmer, with all his covetousness, was 
 eager to get his son into partnership with Stock, 
 though the latter was not worth a shilling ; and even 
 Jack's mother, with all her pride, was eager for it, 
 for they had both sense enough to see it would be 
 the making of Jack. The father knew that Stock
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 95 
 
 would look to the main chance : and the mother that 
 he would take the laboring oar, and so her darling 
 would have little to do. The ruling passion operated 
 in both. One parent wished to secure to the son a 
 life of pleasure, the other a profitable trade. Both 
 were equally indifferent to whatever related to his 
 eternal good. 
 
 Stock, however, young as he was, was too old a 
 bird to be caught with chaff. His wisdom was an 
 overmatch for their cunning. He had a kindness for 
 Brown, but would on no account enter into business 
 with him. — " One of these three things," said he, "I 
 am sure will happen if I do ; he will either hurt mj 
 principles, my character, or my trade ; perhaps all." 
 And here let me drop a hint to young men who are 
 about to enter into partnership. Let them not do 
 that in haste which they may repent at leisure. Next 
 to marriage it is a tie the hardest to break ; and next 
 to that it is an engagement which ought to be entered 
 into with the most caution. Many things go to the 
 making such a connexion suitable, safe, and pleasant. 
 There is many a rich merchant need not be above 
 taking a hint in this respect, from James Stock, the 
 shoemaker. 
 
 Brown was still unwilling to part from him ; indeed 
 he was too idle to look out for business, so he offered 
 Stock to work with him as a journeyman, but this he 
 also mildly refused. It hurt his good-nature to do 
 so ; but he reflected that a young man who has his 
 way to make in the world must not only be good- 
 natured, he must be prudent also. " I am resolved," 
 said he, "to employ none but the most sober, regu- 
 lar young men I can get. Evil communications cor- 
 rupt good manners, and I should be answerable for 
 all the disorders of my house, if I knowingly took a 
 wild drinking young fellow into it. That which 
 might be kindness to one would be injustice to many, 
 and therefore a sin in myself." 
 
 Brown's mother was in a great rage when sh«
 
 96 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 heard that her son had stooped so low as to make this 
 offer. She valued herself on being proud, for she 
 thought pride was a grand thing. Poor woman . 
 She did not know that it is the meanest thing in the 
 world. It was her ignorance which made her proud, 
 as is apt to be the case. — " You mean-spirited rascal," 
 said she to Jack, "I had rather follow you to your 
 grave, as well as I love you, than see you disgrace 
 your family by working under Jem Stock, the parish- 
 apprentice." She forgot already what pains she had 
 taken about the partnership, but pride and passion 
 have bad memories. 
 
 It is hard to say which was now uppermost in hei 
 mind, her desire to be revenged on Stock, or to see 
 her son make a figure. She raised every shilling she* 
 could get from her husband, and all she cr^uld crit 
 from the dairy to set up Jack in a showy way. So 
 the very next market day she came herself, and took 
 for him the new white house, with the two sash 
 windows painted blue, and blue posts before the door. 
 It is that house which has the old cross just before it, 
 as you turn down between the church and the Gray- 
 hound. Its being so near the church to be sure was 
 no recommendation to Jack, but its being so near the 
 Grayhound was, and so taking one thing with the 
 other, it was to be sure no bad situation ; but what 
 weighed most with the mother was, that it was a 
 much more showy shop than Stock's ; and the house, 
 though not half so convenient, was far more smart. 
 
 In order to draw custom, his foolish mother ad- 
 vised him to undersell his neighbors just at first ; to 
 buy ordinary but showy goods, and to employ cheap 
 workmen. In short she charged him to leave no 
 stone unturned to ruin his old comrade Stock. In- 
 deed she always thought with double satisfaction of 
 Jack's prosperity, because she always joined to it the 
 hope that his success would be the ruin of Stock, for 
 Bhe owned it would be the joy of her heart to bring 
 that proud upstart to a morsel of bread. She did
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 99 
 
 not understand, for her part, why such beggars must 
 become tradesmen. 
 
 Stock, however, set out on quite another set of 
 principles. He did not allow himself to square his 
 own behavior to others by theirs to him. He seldom 
 Bsked himself what he should like to do : but he had 
 a mighty way of saying, I wonder now what is my 
 duty to do ? — And when he was once clear in that 
 matter he generally did it, always begging God's 
 blessing and direction. So instead of setting Brown 
 at defiance; instead of all that vulgar selfishness of 
 catch-he that catch-can — and two of a trade can never 
 agree— he resolved to be friendly toward him. In- 
 stead of joining in the laugh against Brown for ma- 
 king his house so fine, he was sorry for him, because 
 he feared he would never be able to pay such a rent. 
 He very kindly called upon him, told him there was 
 business enough for them both, and gave him many 
 useful hints for his going on. He warned him to 
 go oftener to church and seldomer to the Grayhoimd : 
 put him in mind how following the one and forsaking 
 the other had been the ia.in of their poor master, and 
 added the following advice to young tradesmen : — 
 
 Buy the best goods ; cut die ivork out yourself; lei 
 the eye of the master he everywhere ; employ the spher^ 
 est men ; avoid all the low deceits of trade ; never 
 lower the credit of another to raise your own ; make 
 sliort payments ; keep) exact accounts ; avoid idle com- 
 pany, and he very strict to your word. 
 
 For a short time things went on swimmingly. 
 Brown was merry and civil. The shop was well 
 situated for gossip ; and every one who had som3- 
 thing to say, and nothing to do, was welcome. Every 
 idle story was first spread, and every idle song first 
 sung in Brown's shop. Every customer who came 
 to be measured was promised that his slioes should 
 be done first. But the misfortune was, if twenty 
 came itj a day tlie same promise was made to all ; 8d 
 9
 
 95 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 that nineteen were disappointed, and of course af 
 fronted. He never said no to any one. It is indeed 
 a word which it requires some honesty to pronounce. 
 By all these false promises he was thought the most 
 obliging fellow that ever made a shoe. And as he set 
 out on the principle of underselling, people took a 
 mighty fancy to the cheap shop. And it was agreed 
 among all the young and giddy, that he would beat 
 Stock hollow, and that the old shop would soon be 
 knocked up. 
 
 All is not gold that glistens. 
 
 After a few months, however, folks began to be not 
 quite so fond of the cheap shop ; one found out that 
 the leather was bad, another that the work was slight. 
 Those who liked substantial goods went all of them 
 to Stock's, for they said Brown's heel taps did not 
 last a week ; his new boots let in water, and they 
 believed he made his soles of brown paper. Besides, 
 it was thought by most that this promising all, and 
 keeping his word with none, hurt his business as 
 much as anything. Indeed, I question, putting re- 
 ligion out of the question, if lying ever answers, even 
 in a political view. 
 
 Brown had what is commonly called a- good heart, 
 that is, he had a thoughtless good nature, and a sort 
 of feeling for the moment which made him veiy sor- 
 ry when others were in trouble. But he was not 
 apt to put himself to any inconvenience, nor go a step 
 out of his way, nor give up any pleasure to sei-ve the 
 best friend he had. He loved fun ; and those who do 
 should always see that it be harmless, and that they 
 do not give up more for it than it is worth. I am 
 not going to say a word against innocent merriment. 
 I like it myself. But what the proverb says of gold, 
 may be said of mirth — it may be bought too dear. If 
 a young man finds that what he fancies is a good joke 
 may possibly offend God, hurt his neighbor, aiBict 
 bis parent, or make a modest girl blush, let him then
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 99 
 
 be assured it is not fun, but wickedness, and he had 
 better let it alone. 
 
 Jack Brown, then, as good a heart as he had, did 
 not know what it was to deny himself anything. He 
 was so good-natured, indeed, that he never in his life 
 refused to make one of a jolly set ; but he was not 
 good-natured enough to consider that those men 
 whom he kept up all night roaring and laughing, had 
 wives and children at home, who had little to eat, 
 and less to wear, because they were keeping up the 
 character of merry fellows, and good hearts, at the 
 public house. 
 
 The Mountebank. 
 
 One day he saw his father's plough-boy come gal- 
 loping up to the door in great haste. This boy brought 
 Brown word that his mother was dangerously ill, and 
 that his father had sent his own best bay mare, Smiler, 
 that his son might lose no time, but set out directly 
 to see his mother before she died. Jack burst into 
 tears, lamented the danger of so fond a mother, and 
 all the people in the shop extolled his good heart. 
 
 He sent back the boy directly, with a message that 
 he would follow him in half an hour, as soon as the 
 mare had baited, for he v/ell knew that his father 
 would not thank him for any haste he might make if 
 Smiler was hurt. 
 
 Jack accordingly set off, and rode with such speed 
 to the next town, that both himself and Smiler had 
 a mind to another bait. They stopped at the Star ; 
 unluckily it was fair-day, and as he was walking about 
 while Smiler was eating her oats, a bill was put into 
 his hand, setting forth, that on the stage opposite the 
 globe a mountebank was showing away, and his an- 
 drew performing the finest tricks that ever were seen. 
 He read — he stood still — he went on — " It will not 
 hinder me," says he, " Smiler must rest, and 1 shaU 
 see my poor dear mother quite as soon if I juat take 
 a peep, as if I sit moping at the Star."
 
 lOfl DOMESTIC TALES AXD ALLEGORIES. 
 
 The tricks were so merry that the t me seemed 
 ehort, and when they were over he could not forbear 
 going into the Globe and treating these choice spirits 
 with a bowl of punch. Just as they were taking the 
 last glass Jack happened to say tliat he was the best 
 fives pla}-er in the country. "That is lucky," said 
 the andrew, " for there is a famous match now play- 
 ing in the court, and you may never atjain have such 
 an opportunity to show your skill." Brown declared 
 *' he could not stay, for that he had left his horse at 
 the Star, and must set off on urgent business." Tliey 
 now all pretended to call his skill in question. This 
 roused his pride, and he thought another half hour 
 could break no squares. Smiler had now had a good 
 feed of corn, and he would only have to push her on 
 a little more, so to it he went. 
 
 He won the first game. This spun-ed him on, and 
 he played till it was so dark they could not see a 
 ball. Another bowl was called for from the winner. 
 Wagers and bets now drained Brown not only of all 
 the money he had won, but of all he had in his 
 pocket, so that he was obliged to ask leave to go to 
 the house where his horse was, to borrow enough to 
 discharge his reckoning at the Globe. 
 
 All these losses brought his poor dear mother to 
 his mind, and he marched off with rather a heavy 
 heart to borrow the money, and to order Smiler out 
 of the stable. The landlord expressed much surprise 
 at seeing him, and the ostler declared there was no 
 Smiler there — that he had been rode off above two 
 hours ago by the meiTy-andrew, who said he came 
 by order of the owner, Mr. Brown, to fetch him to 
 the Globe, and to pay for his feed. It was indeed 
 one of the neatest tricks the andrew ever performed, 
 for he made such a clean conveyance of Smiler, 
 that neither Jack nor his father ever heard of her 
 again. 
 
 It was night ; no one could tell what road the an- 
 drew took, and it was another hour or two before an
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 101 
 
 advertisement could be drawn up for apprehendiotj 
 the horse-stealer. Jack had some doubts whether he 
 should go on or return back. He knew that though 
 his father might fear his wife most, yet he loved 
 Smiler best. At length he took that courage from a 
 glass of brandy which he ought to have taken from a 
 hearty repentance, and he resolved to pursue his jour- 
 ney. He was obliged to leave his watch and silver 
 buckles in pawn for a little old hack which was noth- 
 ing but skin and bone, and would hardly trot three 
 miles an hour. 
 
 He knocked at his father's door about five in the 
 morning. The family were all up. He asked the 
 boy who opened the door, how his mother was. 
 " She is dead," said the boy; "she died yesterday 
 afternoon." Here Jack's heart smote him, and he 
 cried aloud, partly from grief, but more from the re- 
 proaches of his own conscience, for he found by 
 computing the hours, that had he come straight on 
 he should have been in time to receive his mother's 
 blessing. 
 
 The farmer now came from within ; " I hear 
 Smiler's step. Is Jack come ?" "Yes, father," said 
 Jack, in a low voice. " Then," cried the farmer, 
 " run every man and boy of you and take care of the 
 mare. Tom, do thou go and rub her down; Jem, 
 run and get her a good feed of corn. Be sure walk 
 her about that she may not catch cold." Young 
 Brown came in. "Are you not an undutiful dog ?" 
 said the father ; " you might have been here twelve 
 hours ago. Your mother could not die in peace 
 without seeing you. She said it was cruel return 
 for all her fondness that you could not make a little 
 haste to see her; but it was always so, for she had 
 wronged her other children to help you, and this was 
 her reward." Brown sobbed out a few words, but 
 his father replied, " Never cry, Jack, for the boy told 
 me that it was out of regard for Smiler that you were 
 uot here as soon as he was, and if 'twas your ovej
 
 102 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 care of her, why, there's no great harm done. You 
 coulil not have saved your poor mother, and you 
 misht have hurt the mare." Here Jack's double 
 guilt Hew into his face. He knew that his father 
 w:i9 very covetous, and had lived )n bad terms with 
 his wife, and also that his own unkindness to her 
 had been forgiven by him out of love to the horse, 
 but to break to him how he had lost that horse 
 through his own folly and want of feeling, was more 
 than Jack had courage to do. The old man, how- 
 ever, soon got at the truth, and no words can de- 
 scribe his fury. Forgetting that his wife lay dead 
 above stairs, he abused his son in a way not fit to be 
 repeated, and though his covetousness had just be- 
 fore found an excuse for a favorite son neglecting to 
 visit a d}-ing parent, yet he now vented his rage 
 against Jack as an unnatural brute, whom he would 
 cut off without a shilling, and bade him never see his 
 face again. 
 
 Jack was not allowed to attend his mother's funeral, 
 which was a real grief to him ; nor would his father 
 advance even the little money which was needful to 
 redeem liis things at the Star. He had now no fond 
 mother to assist him, and he set out on his return 
 home on his borrowed hack, full of grief. He had 
 the added mortification of knowing, that he had also 
 lost by his folly a little ho."^d of money which his 
 mother had saved up for him. 
 
 When Brown got back to his own town he found 
 that the stoiy of Smiler and the andrew had got 
 thither before him, and it was thought a very good 
 joke at the Grayhound. He soon recovered his 
 spirits as far as related to the horse, but as to his be- 
 havior to his dying mother it troubled him at times 
 to the last day of his life, though he did all he could 
 to forget it. He did not, however, go on at all bet- 
 ter, nor did he engage in one frolic the less for what 
 had passed at the Globe ; his good heart continually 
 betrayed him into acts of levity and vanity.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 103 
 
 Jack began at length to feel the reverse of that 
 proverb, Keep your shop and your shop icill keep you. 
 He had neglected his customers, and they forsook 
 him. Quarter-day came round ; there was much to 
 pay and little to receive. He owed two years' rent. 
 He was in arrears to his men for wages. He had a 
 long account with his currier. It was in vain to ap- 
 ply to his father. He had now no mother. Stock 
 was the only true friend he had in the world, and 
 had helped him out of many petty scrapes — but he 
 knew Stock would advance no money in so hopeless 
 a case. Duns came fast about him. He named a 
 speedy day for payment, but as soon as they were 
 ■out of the house, and the danger put off to a little 
 distance, he forgot e^ery promise, was as merry as 
 ever, and run the same round of thoughtless gayety. 
 Whenever he was in trouble Stock did not shun him, 
 because that was the moment to throw in a little 
 good advice. He one day asked him if he always in- 
 tended to go on in this course. " No," said he, " I 
 am resolved by-and-by to reform, grow sober, and go 
 to church. Why, I am but five-and-twenty, man, 1 
 am stout and healthy, and likely to live long ; 1 can 
 ■repent, and grow melancholy and good at any time." 
 
 "Oh, Jack," said Stock, "don't cheat thyself with 
 that false hope. What thou dost intend to do, do 
 quickly. Didst thou never read about the heart 
 growing hardened by long indulgence in sin ? Some 
 folk, who pretend to mean well, show that tliey mean 
 nothing at all, by never beginning to put their good 
 j-esolutions into practice, which made a wise man 
 once say, that hell is paved with good intentions. 
 We can not repent when we please. It is the good- 
 ness of God tchich leadelh us to repentance.''^ 
 
 " I am sure," replied Jack, " I am no one's enemy 
 but my own." 
 
 " It is as foolish," said Stock, " to say a bad man is 
 no one's enemy but his own, as that a good man is 
 ao one's friend but his own. There is no such neu-
 
 104 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 tral cliaracter. A bad man corrupts or offends all 
 within reach of his example, just as a^ood man ben- 
 efits or instmcts all within the sphere of his influence. 
 And there is no time when Ave can say that this 
 transmitted good and evil will end. A wicked man 
 may be punished for sins he never committed himself, 
 if he has been the cause of sin in others, as surely 
 as a saint will be rewarded for more good deeds thaS 
 he himself has done, even for the virtues and good 
 actions of all those who are made better by his in- 
 structions, his example, or his writings." 
 
 Michaelmas-day was at hand. The landlord de- 
 clared he would be put olf no longer, but would 
 seize for rent if it was not paid him on that day, as 
 well as for a considerable sum due to him for leather. 
 Brown at last began to be frightened. He applied to 
 Stock to be bound for him. This, Stock flatly re- 
 fused. Brown now began to dread the horrors of a 
 jail, and really seemed so very contrite, and made so 
 many vows and promises of amendment, that at 
 length Stock was prevailed on, together with two or 
 three of Brown's other friends, to advance each a 
 small sum of money to quiet the landlord. Brown 
 promising to make over to them every part of his 
 stock, and to be guided in future by their advice, de- 
 claring that lie would turn over a new leaf, and fol- 
 low Mr. Stock's example, as well as his direction in 
 everything. 
 
 Stock's good nature was at length wrought upon, 
 and he raised the money. The truth is, he did not 
 know the worst, nor how deeply Brown was involved. 
 Brown joyfully set out on the very quarter-day to a 
 town at some distance, to carry his landlord this 
 money, raised by the imprudent kindness of his 
 friend. At his departure Stock put him in mind of 
 the old story of Smiler and the merry-andrew, and 
 he promised of his own head that he would not 
 even call at a public house till he had paid the 
 Qoonev.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 105 
 
 He was as good as his word. He veiy triumphant- 
 ly passed by several. He stopped a little under the 
 window of one where the sounds of merriment and 
 loud laughter caught his ear. At another he heard 
 tlie enticing notes of a fiddle, and the light heels of 
 the meriy dancers. Here his heart had well nigh 
 failed him ; but the dread of a jail on the one hand, 
 and what he feared almost as much, Mr. Stock's 
 anger on the other, spurred him on, and he valued 
 himself not a little at having got the better of this 
 temptation. He felt quite happy when he found he 
 had reached the door of his landlord without having 
 yielded to one idle inchuation. 
 
 He knocked at the door. The maid who opened 
 it said her master was not at home. " I am sorry for 
 it," said he, strutting about ; and with a boasting air 
 he took out his money. " I want to pay him my 
 rent: he needed not to have been afraid of ??ie." The 
 sei-vant, who knew her master was very nuich afraid 
 of him, desired him to walk in, for her master would 
 be at home in half an hour. " I will call again," said 
 he ; " but no, let him call on me, and the sooner the 
 better : I shall be at the Blue Posts." While he had 
 been talking, he took care to open his black leather 
 case, and to display the bank bills to the sei-vant, and 
 then in a swaggering way, he put up his money and 
 marched off to the Blue Posts. 
 
 He was by this time quite proud of his own resolu- 
 tion, and having tendered the money, and being clear 
 in his own mind that it was the landlord's own fault 
 and not his that it was not paid, he went to refresh 
 himself at the Blue Posts. In a barn belonging to 
 this public house, a set of strollers wore just going to 
 perform some of that sing-song ribaldry by which our 
 villages are corrupted, the laws broken, and tliat money 
 drawn from the poor for pleasure, which is wanted by 
 their families for bread. The name of the last new 
 song, which made part of the entertainment, mado 
 him thiiik himself iu high luck, that he should have
 
 106 DOMESTIC TALES 4ND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 just that half hour to spare. He went into the barn, but 
 was too much delighted with the actor, wlio sung his 
 favorite song, to remain a quiet hearer. He leaped out 
 of the pit, and got behind the two ragged blankets 
 which served for a curtain. He sung so much better 
 than the actors themselves, that they praised and ad- 
 mired him to a degree which awakened all liis vanity. 
 He was so intoxicated with their flattery, that he could 
 do no less than invite them all to supper, an invitation 
 which they were too hungrj' not to accept. 
 
 He did not, however, quite forget his appointment 
 with his landlord ; but the half hour was long since 
 past by. " And so," says he, " as I know he is a 
 mean curmudgeon, whc goes to bed by daylight to 
 save candles, it will be too late to speak with him to- 
 night ; besides, let him call upon me ; it is his busi- 
 ness and not mine. I left word where I was to be 
 found ; the money is ready, and if I don't pay him 
 to-night, I can do it before breakfast." 
 
 By the time these firm resolutions were made, sup- 
 per was ready. There never was a more jolly even- 
 ing. Ale and punch were as plentiful as water. The 
 actors s^w what a vain fellow was feasting them ; and 
 as they wanted victuals and he wanted flatteiy, the 
 business was soon settled. They ate, and Browa 
 sung. They pretended to be in raptures. Singing 
 promoted drinking, and every fresh glass produced 
 a song or a story still more merry than the former. 
 Before morning, the players, who were engaged to 
 act in another barn a dozen miles oft', stole away 
 quietly. Brown having dropt asleep, they left him to 
 finish his nap by himself. As to him, his dreams 
 were gay and pleasant, and the house being quite still, 
 he slept comfortably till morning. 
 
 As soon as he had breakfasted, the business of the 
 night before popped into his head. He set oft' once 
 more to his landlord's in high spirits, gayly singing 
 by the way scraps of all the tunes he had picked up 
 he night before from his new friends. The landlord
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 107 
 
 opened the door himself, and reproached him with 
 no small surliness for not having kept his word with 
 him the evening before, adding, that he supposed he 
 was come now with some more of his shallow ex- 
 cuses. Brown put on all that haughtiness which is 
 common to people who being generally apt to be in 
 the wrong, happen to catch themselves doing a right 
 action ; he looked big, as some sort of people do when 
 they have money to pay. " You need not have been 
 so anxious about your money," said he, " I was not 
 going to break or run away." The landlord well 
 knew this was the common language of those who 
 are ready to do both. Brown haughtily added, "You 
 shall see I am a manof my word : give me a receipt.' 
 The landlord had it ready and gave it him. 
 
 Brown put his hand in his pocket for liis black 
 leathern case in which the bills were : he felt, he 
 searched, he examined, first one pocket, then the 
 other, then both waistcoat pockets, but no leather 
 case could he find. He looked terrified. It was in- 
 deed the face of real terror, but the landlord conceived 
 it to be that of guilt, and abused him heartily for put- 
 ting his old tricks upon him ; he swore he would not 
 be imposed upon any longer; the money or a jail — 
 there lay his choice. 
 
 Brown protested for once with great truth, that he 
 had no intention to deceive ; declared that he had ac- 
 tually brought the money, and knew not what was 
 become of it ; but the thing was far too unlikely to 
 gain credit. Brown now called to mind that he had 
 fallen asleep on the settle in the room where they had 
 supped. This raised his spirits, for he had no doubt 
 but the case had fallen out of his pocket. lie said he 
 would step to the pul)lic house and search for it, and 
 would be back directly. Not one word of this did 
 the landlord believe, so inconvenient is it to have a 
 bad character. lie swore Brown should not stir out 
 of his house without a constable, and made him wai 
 while he sent for one. Brown, guarded by the consta
 
 108 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORfES. 
 
 blc, went back to the Blue Posts, the landlord char- 
 ging the ofiicer not to lose sight of the culprit. The 
 caution was needless : Brown had not the least de- 
 sign of running away, so firmly persuaded was he 
 that he should find his leather case. 
 
 But Avho can paint his dismay, when no tale or ti- 
 dings of the leather case could be had ? The master, 
 the mistress, the boy, the maid of the public house, 
 all protested they were innocent. His suspicions 
 soon fell on the strollers with whom he had passed the 
 night ; and he now found out for the first time, that a 
 merry evening did not always produce a happy morn- 
 ing. He obtained a warrant, and proper officers were 
 sent in pursuit of the strollers. No one, however, 
 believed he had rejJly lost anything; and as he had 
 not a shilling left to defray the expensive treat he had 
 given, the master of the inn agreed with the other 
 landlord in thinking this story was a trick to defraud 
 them both, and Brown remained in close custody. 
 At length the officers returned, who said they had 
 been obliged to let the strollers go, as they could not 
 fix the charge on any one, and they had offered to 
 swear before a justice that they had seen nothing of the 
 leather case. It was at length agreed, that as he had 
 passed the evening in a crowded barn, he had proba- 
 bly been robbed there, if at all ; and among so manyr 
 who could pretend to guess at the thief? 
 
 Brown raved like a madman; he cried, tore his 
 hair, and said he was ruined for ever. The abusive 
 language of his old landlord, and his new creditor at 
 the Blue Posts, did not lighten his sorrow. His land- 
 lord would be put off no longer. Brown declared he 
 could neither find bail nor raise another shilling ; and 
 as soon as the forms of law were made out, he was 
 sent to the county jail. 
 
 Here it might have been expected that hard living 
 and much leisure would have brought him to reflect a 
 attle on his past follies. But his heart was not tnily 
 touched. The chief thing which grieved him at first
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 109 
 
 was, his ha'^uig abused the kindness of Stock, for to 
 him he should appear guilty of a real fraud, where 
 he had indeed been only vain, idle, and imprudent. 
 Vanity, idleness, and impnidence, often bring a man 
 to utter ruin both of soul and body, though silly peo- 
 ple do not put them in the catalogue of heavy sins ; 
 and those who indulge in them are often reckoned 
 honest, merry fellows, with the hest hearts in the 
 world. 
 
 Jack Brown in Prison 
 
 Brown was no sooner lodged in his doleful habitation, 
 and a little recovered from his first surprise, than he 
 sat down and wrote his friend Stock the whole history 
 of the transaction. Mr. Stock, who had long known 
 the exceeding lightness and dissipation of his mind, 
 did not so utterly disbelieve the story as all the 
 other creditors did. To speak the truth, Stock was 
 the only one among them who had good sense enough 
 to know, that a man may be completely ruined, both 
 in what relates to his property and his soul, without 
 committing Old-Bailey crimes. He well knew that 
 idleness, vanity, and the love of ^jZeasf^re, as it is falsely 
 called, will bring a man to a morsel of bread, as surely 
 as those things which are reckoned much greater sins, 
 and that they undermine his principles as certainly, 
 though not quite so fast. 
 
 Stock was too angry with what had happened to 
 answer Brown's letter, or to seem to take the least 
 notice of him. However, he kindly and secretly un- 
 dertook a journey to the hard-hearted old farmer, 
 Brown's father, to intercede with iiim, and to see if 
 he would do anything for his son. Stock did not 
 pretend to excuse Jacli, or even to lessen his ofiences; 
 for it was a rule of his never to disguise truth or to 
 palliate wickedness. Sin was still sin in h\t, eyes, 
 though it were committed by his best friend ; but 
 though he would not soften the sin, he fek tenderly 
 (dy the sinner. He pleaded with the old farmer on 
 10
 
 no DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEeORIES. 
 
 the £;round, that his son's idleness and other vices 
 would gather fresh strength in a jail. He told him 
 that the loose and worthless company which he would 
 there keep, would harden him in vice, and if he was 
 now wicked, he might there become irreclaimable. 
 
 Hut all his pleas were urged in vain. The farmer 
 was not to be moved ; indeed, he argued with some 
 justice, that he ought not to make his mdustrious 
 children beggars to save one rogue from the gallows. 
 Mr. Stock allowed the force of his reasoning, though 
 he saw the father was less influenced by this princi- 
 ple of justice than by resentment on account of the 
 old story of Smiler. People, indeed, should take care 
 that Avhat apjjcars in their conduct to proceed from 
 justice, does not proceed really from revenge. Wiser 
 men than Farmer Brown often deceive themselves, 
 and fancy they act on better principles than they really 
 do, for want of looking a little more closely into their 
 own hearts, and putting down every action to its true 
 motive. When we are praying against deceit, we 
 should not forget to take self-deceit into the account. 
 
 Mr. Stock at length wrote to poor Jack ; not to 
 offer him any help, that was quite out of the question, 
 but to exhort him to repent of his evil ways, to lay 
 before him the sins of his past life, and to advise him 
 to convert the present punishment into a benefit, by 
 humbling himself before God. He oflered his interest 
 to get his place of confinement exchanged for one of 
 those improved prisons, where solitude and labor have 
 been made the happy instruments of bringing many 
 to a better way of thinking, and ended by saying, that 
 if he ever gave any solid signs of real amendment, he 
 would still be his friend, in spite of all that was past. 
 
 If Mr. Stock had sent him a good sum of money 
 to procure his liberty, or even to make meny with his 
 wretched companions, Jack would have thought him 
 a friend indeed. But to send him nothing but dry ad- 
 vice, and a few words of empty comfort, was, he 
 .bought, but a cheap shabby way of showing his
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. Ill 
 
 kindness Unluckily, the letter came just as he waa 
 going to sit down to one of those direful merry- 
 makings which are often carried on with brutal riot 
 within the doleful walls of a jail on the entrance of a 
 new prisoner, who is often expected to give a feast to 
 the rest. 
 
 When his companions were heated with gin, 
 " Now," said Jack, " I'll treat you with a sermon, 
 and a very pretty preachment it is." So saying, he 
 took out Mr. Stock's kind and pious letter, and was 
 delighted at the bursts of laughter it produced. " What 
 a canting dog!" said one. " Repentance, indeed!" 
 cried Tom Crew ; " No, no, Jack, tell this hypocriti- 
 cal rogue that if we have lost our libertj-, it is only for 
 having been jolly, hearty fellows, and we have more 
 spirit than to repent of that, I hope : all the harm we 
 have done is living a little too fast, like honest bucks 
 as we are." — " Ay, ay," said jolly George, " had we 
 been such sneaking miserly fellows as Stock, we need 
 not have come hither. But if the ill nature of the 
 laws has been so cruel as to clap up such fine hearty 
 blades, we are no felons however. We are afraid of 
 no Jack Ketch; and I see no cause to repent of any 
 sin that's not hanging matter. As to those who are 
 thrust into the condemned hole indeed, and have but 
 a few hours to live, they must see the parson, and hear 
 a sermon, and such stuff. But I do not know what 
 such stout young fellows as we are have to do with 
 repentance. And so. Jack, let us have that rare now 
 catch which you learnt of the strollers that merry 
 night when you lost your pocket-book. 
 
 This thoughtless youth soon gave a fresh proof of 
 the power of evil company, and of the quick progress 
 of the lieart of a sinner from bad to worse. Brown, 
 who always wanted principle, soon grew to want feel- 
 ing also. lie joined in the laugh which was raised 
 against Stock, and told many srood slories, as they were 
 called, in derision of the piety, sobriety, and sclf-de- 
 niel of his old friend. He lost every day somewhal
 
 ll'l DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIEH. 
 
 of those small remains of shame and decency whictt 
 he liad brought with him to the prison. He even 
 g;-sw reconciled to this Avretched way of life, and the 
 want of money seemed to him the heaviest evil in the 
 life of a jail. 
 
 Mr. Stock finding from the jailer that his letter had 
 been treated with ridicule, would not write to him 
 any more. He did not come to see him nor send 
 him any assistance, thinking it right to let him suffer 
 that want which his vices had brought upon him. 
 But as he still hoped that the time would come when 
 he might be brought to a sense of his evil courses, he 
 continued to have an eye upon him by means of the 
 jailer, who was an honest, kind-hearted man. 
 
 Brown spent one part of his time in thoughtless 
 riot, and the other in gloomy sadness. Company 
 kept up his spirits ; with his new friends he contrived 
 to drown thought ; but when he was alone he began 
 to find that a merry fclloic, when deprived of his com- 
 panions and his hquor, is often a most forlorn wretch. 
 Then it is that even a merry fellow says, " Of laughter, 
 what is it ? and of mirth, it is madness^ 
 
 As he contrived, however, to be as little alone as 
 possible, his gayety was commonly uppermost till 
 that loathsome distemper, called the jail fever, broke 
 out in the prison. Tom Crew, the ringleader in all 
 their evil practices, was first seized with it. Jack 
 stayed a little while with his comrade to assist and 
 divert him, but of assistance he could give little, and 
 the very thought of diversion was now turned into 
 horror. He soon caught the distemper, and that in 
 so dreadful a degree, that his life was in great danger. 
 Of those who remained in health, not a soul came 
 near him, though he shared his last farthing with 
 them. He had just sense enough left to feel this 
 cruelty. Poor fellow! he did not know before, that 
 the friendship of the worldly is at an end when there is 
 no more drink or diversion to be had. He lay in the 
 most deplorable condition: his body tormented with
 
 ■I riE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 113 
 
 n dreadful disease, and his soul tenified and amazed 
 at the approach of death : that death which he thought 
 at so great a distance, and of which his comrades had 
 so often assured him, that a young fellow of five-and- 
 twenty was in no danger. Poor Jack ! I can not help 
 feeling for him. Without a shilling I without a 
 friend ! without one comfort respecting this world, 
 and, what is far more terrible, without one hope re- 
 specting the next. 
 
 Let not the young reader fancy that Brown's misery 
 arose entirely from his altered circumstances. It was 
 not merely his being in want, and sick, and in prison, 
 which made his condition so desperate. Many an 
 honest man unjustly accused, many a persecuted saint, 
 many a holy martyr, has enjoyed sometimes more 
 peace and content in a prison, than wicked men have 
 ever tasted in the height of their prosperity. But to 
 any such comforts, to any comfort at all, poor Jack 
 was an utter stranger. 
 
 A Christian friend generally comes foi-ward at the 
 very time when worldly friends forsake the wretched. 
 The other prisoners would not come near Brown, 
 though he had often entertained, and had never of- 
 fended them ; even his own father was not moved 
 with his sad condition. When Mr. Stock informed 
 him of it, he answered, " 'Tis no more tlian he de- 
 serves. As he brews, so he must bake. He lias made 
 his own bed, and let him lie in it." The hard okl 
 man had ever at his tongue's end some proverb of 
 hardness or frugality, which he contrived to turn in 
 euch a way as to excuse himself. 
 
 We shall now see how Mr. Stock behaved. He 
 had his favorite sayings too ; but they were chieliy 
 on the side of kindness, mercy, or some other virtue. 
 " T must not," said he, " ])retend to call myself a 
 Christian, if I do not requite evil with good." When 
 lie received the jailer's letter with the account of 
 Brown's sad condition, Will Simpson and ''J'ommy 
 Williams began to compliment him on his own wis-
 
 114 DOMKSTIC Til.ES A>'D ALLEG0RIK5. 
 
 dom and prudence, bywhich he had escaped Brown's 
 misfortunes. lie only gravely said, " Blessed be God 
 that I am not in the same misery. It is he who has 
 made us to diiTer. But for his grace I might have 
 been in no better condition. Now Brown is brought 
 low by the hand of God, it is my time to go to him." 
 '•What, you!" said Will, "whom he cheated of 
 your money ?" — " This is not a time to remember 
 injuries," said Mr. Stock. " How can I ask forgive- 
 ness for my own sins, if I withhold forgiveness from 
 him ?" So saying, he ordered his horse, and set off 
 to see poor Brown, thus proving that his was a re- 
 ligion not of words but of deeds. 
 
 Stock's heart nearly failed him as he passed through 
 the prison. The groans of the sick and dying, and, 
 what to him was still more moving, the bnital merri- 
 ment of the healthy in such a place, pierced his very 
 soul. Many a silent prayer did he put up as he 
 passed along, that God would yet be pleased to touch 
 their hearts, and that now (during this infectious sick- 
 ness) might be the accepted time. The jailer ob- 
 served him drop a tear, and asked the cause. " I can 
 not forget," said he, "that the most dissolute of these 
 men is still my fellow-creature. The same God made 
 them; the same Savior died for them ; how then can 
 I hate the worst of them ? With my advantages they 
 might have been much better than I am ; without the 
 blessing of God on my good minister's instructions, 
 I might have been worse that the worst of these. I 
 have no cause for pride, much for thankfulness; let 
 us not he high-minded, hut fear." 
 
 It would have moved a heart of stone to have seen 
 poor miserable Jack Brown lying on his wretched 
 bed, his face so changed by pain, poverty, dirt, and 
 son-ow, that he could hardly be known for that merry 
 soul of a jack-boot, as he used to be proud to hear 
 himself called. His groans were so piteous that it 
 made Mr. Stock's heart ache. He kindly took him 
 Uy the hand, though he knew the distemper wag
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 115 
 
 catching. "How dost do, Jack?" said he; "dost 
 know me ?" Brown shook his head and said, faintly. 
 " Know you ? ay, that I do. I ion sure I have but 
 one friend in the world who would come to see me 
 in this woful condition. O James ! what have I 
 brought myself to ? What will become of my poor 
 soul ? I dare not look back, for that is all sin, uoi 
 forward, for that is all misery and wo." 
 
 Mr. Stock spake kindly to him, but did not attempt 
 to cheer him with false comfort, as is too often done. 
 " I am ashamed to see you in this dirty place," says 
 Brown. " As to the place, Jack," replied the other, 
 " if it has helped to bring you to a sense of your past 
 offences, it will be no bad place for you. I am heartily 
 Sony for your distress and your sickness ; but if it 
 should please God by them to open your eyes, and to 
 show you that sin is a greater evil than the prison to 
 which it has brought you, all may yet be well. I 
 had rather see you in this humble, penitent state, 
 lying on this dirty bed, in this dismal prison, than 
 roaring and rioting at the Grayhound, the king of the 
 company, with handsome clothes on your back, and 
 plenty of money in your pocket." 
 
 Brown wept bitterly, and squeezed his hand, but 
 was too weak to say much. Mr. Stock then desired 
 the jailer to let him have such things as were needful, 
 and he would pay for them. He would not leave the 
 poor fellow till he had given him, with his own hands, 
 some broth which the jailer had got ready for him, 
 and some medicines which the doctor had sent. All 
 this kindness cut Brown to the heart. He was just 
 able to sob out, "My unnatural father leaves me to 
 perish, and my injured friend is more than a father to 
 me." Stock told him that one proof he must give of 
 his repentance was, that he must forgive his father 
 whose provocation had been very great. He then 
 said he would leave him for the present to take some 
 rest, and desired him to lift up his heart to God for 
 mercy. " Dear James," replied Brown, " do you
 
 110 DOMKSTic tale: and allegories. 
 
 pray for me. God perhaps may hear you, but he will 
 never hear the prayer of such a sinner as I have been." 
 "Take care how you think so," said Stock. "To 
 beheve that God can not forgive you, would be still a 
 greater sin than any y6u have yet committed against 
 him." He then explained to him in a few words, as 
 well as he was able, the nature of repentance and for- 
 giveness through a Savior, and warned him earnestly 
 against unbelief and hardness of heart. 
 
 Poor Jack grew much refreshed in body with the 
 comfortable things he had taken, and a little cheered 
 with Stock's kindness in coming so far to see and to 
 forgive such a forlorn outcast, sick of an rrfectious 
 distemper, and locked within the walls of o prison. 
 
 " Surely," said he to himself, "there must be some 
 mighty power in a religion which can lead men to do 
 such things I things so much against the grain as to 
 forgive such an injuiy, and to risk catching such a 
 distemper :" but he was so weak, he could not ex- 
 press this in words. He tried to pray, but he could 
 not ; at length, overpowered with weariness, he fell 
 asleep. 
 
 When Mr. Stock came back, he was surprised to 
 find him so much better in body ; but his agonies of 
 mind were dreadful, and he had now got strength to 
 express part of the horrors which he felt. " .Tames," 
 said he, looking wildly, " it is all over with me. I am 
 a lost creature. Even your prayers can not save me." 
 " Dear Jack," rephed Mr. Stock, " I am no minister; 
 it does not become me to talk much to thee ; but I 
 know I may venture to say whatever is in the Bible. 
 As ignorant as I am, I shall be safe enough while I 
 stick to that." — "Ay," said the sick man, "you used 
 to be ready enough to read to me, and I would not 
 listen, or if I did it was only to make fun of what I 
 heard, and now you will not so much as read a bit of 
 a chapter to me." 
 
 This was the very point to which Stock longed to 
 bring him. So he took a httle Bible out of his pocket.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 117 
 
 which he always carried with him on a journey, and 
 read slowly, verse by verse, the fifty-fifth chapter of 
 Isaiah. When he came to the sixth and seventh 
 verses, poor Jack cried so much that Stock was forced 
 to stop. The words were, Let the iciclced man for- 
 sake his way, and the unrighteous man Ids thoughts, 
 and let him return unto the Lord. Here Brown stopped 
 him sayino;, " Oh, it is too late, too late for me." — 
 " Let me finish the verse," said Stock, " and you will 
 see your error; you will see that it is never too late." 
 So he read on — Let him return unto the Lord, and he 
 will have mercy ui^on him, and to our God, and he will 
 abundantly pardon. Here Brown started up, snatched 
 the book out of his hand, and cried out, " Is that really 
 there ? No, no ; that's of your own putting in, in 
 order to comfort me ; let me look at the words my- 
 self." — " No, indeed," said Stock, " I would not for 
 the world give you unfounded comlbrt, or put off any 
 notion of my own for a Scripture doctrine." — " But 
 is it possible," cried the sick man, " that God may 
 really pardon me ? Dost think he can ? Dost think 
 he will ?" — " I dare not give thee false hopes, or in- 
 deed any hopes of my own. But these are God's own 
 words, and the only difficulty is to know when we 
 are really brought into such a state as that the words 
 may be applied to us ; for a text may be full of com- 
 fort, and yet may not belong to us." 
 
 Mr. Stock was afraid of saying more. He would 
 not venture out of his depth; nor indeed was ])oor 
 Brown able to bear more discourse just now. So he 
 made him a present of the Bible, folding dosvn such 
 places as he thought might be best suited to his state, 
 and took his leave, being obliged to return home that 
 night. He left a little money with the jailer, to add 
 a few comforts to the allowance of the prison, and 
 promised to return in a short time. 
 
 When he got home, he described the sufierings and 
 misery of Brown in a very moving niaimer;-but Tom- 
 my Williams, instead of being properly alfocted by it.
 
 113 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 only said, "Indeed, master, I am not very sorry; ha 
 is rightly served." — " How, Tommy," said Mr. Stock, 
 rather sternly, " not sorry to see a fellow-creature 
 brought to the lowest state of misery , one too whom 
 you have known so prosperous?" "No, master, I 
 can't say I am ; for Mr. Brown used to make fun of 
 you, and laugh at you for being so godly, and reading 
 your Bible." 
 
 " Let me say a few -words to you Tommy," said 
 Mr. Stock. " In the first place you should never 
 watch for the time of a man's being brought low by 
 trouble to tell of his faults. Next, you should never 
 rejoice at his trouble, but pity him, and pray for him. 
 Lastly, as to his ridiculing me for my religion, if 1 
 can not stand an idle jest, I am not worthy the name 
 of a Christian. He that is ashamed of me and viy 
 word — dost remember what follows. Tommy?" — 
 " Yes, master, it was last Sunday's text — of him shall 
 the Son of Man he ashamed when he shall judge the 
 world." 
 
 Mr. Stock soon went back to the prison. But he 
 did not go alone. He took with him Mr. Thomas, 
 the worthy minister who had been the guide and in- 
 structer of his youth, Avho was so kind as to go at his 
 request and visit this forlorn prisoner. When they 
 got to Brown's door, they found him sitting up in his 
 bed with the Bible in his hand. This was a joyful 
 sight to 3Ir. Stock, who secretly thanked God for it. 
 Brown was reading aloud ; they listened ; it was the 
 fifteenth of Saint Luke. The circumstances of this 
 beautiful parable of the prodigal son were so much 
 like his own, that the story pierced him to the soul ; 
 and he stopped every minute to compare his own 
 case with that of the prodigal. He was just got to 
 the eighteenth verse, / xcill arise and go to ?ny father 
 —at that moment he spied his two friends; joy darted 
 into his eyes. ?' O dear Jem," said he, " it is not too 
 ate, I will arise and go to my Father, my heavenly 
 Father, and you, sir, will show me the way, won'
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 119 
 
 you ?" said he to Mr. Thomas, Avhom he recollected. 
 " I am very glad to see you in so hopeful a disposi- 
 tion," said the good minister. "O, sir," said Brown, 
 " what a place is this to receive you in ? O, see to 
 what I have brought myself!" 
 
 "Your condition, as to this world, is indeed very 
 low," replied the good divine. " But what are mines, 
 dungeons, or galleys, to that eternal hopeless prison to 
 which your unrepented sins must soon have consigned 
 you. Even in this gloomy prison, on this bed of 
 straw, worn down by pain, poverty, and want, forsa- 
 ken by your worldly friends, an object of scorn to 
 those with whom you used to carouse and riot; yet 
 here, I say, brought thus low, if you have at last 
 found out your own vileness, and your utterly undone 
 state by sin, you may still be more an object of favor 
 in the sight of God, than when j-ou thought yourself 
 prosperous and happy; when the world smiled upon 
 you, and you passed your days and nights in envied 
 gayety and unchristian riot. If you will but improve 
 the present awful visitation ; if you do but heartily 
 renounce and abhor your present evil courses ; if you 
 even now turn to the Lord your Savior with lively 
 faith, deep repentance, and unfeigned obedience, 1 
 shall still have more hope of you than of many wlio 
 are going on quite happy, because quite insensible. 
 The heavy laden sinner, who has discovered tlie ini- 
 quity of his own heart, and his utter inability to help 
 himself, may be restored to God's favor, and become 
 happy, though in a dungeon. And be assured, that 
 he who from deep and humble contrition dares not so 
 much as lift up his eyes to heaven, when with a 
 hearty faith he sighs out, hord be inercifal to me a 
 sinner, shall in no wise be cast out. These are the 
 words of Him who can not lie." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the self-abasement, the 
 grief, the joy, the shame, the hope, and the fear, 
 wliirh filled the mind of this poor man. A dawn of 
 comfort at length shone on his benighted mind. Ilia
 
 120 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 humility and fear of falling back into his former sinS; 
 if he should ever recover, Mr. Thomas thought were 
 strong symptoms of a sound repentance. He im 
 proved and cherished every good disposition he saw 
 arising in his heart, and particularly warned him 
 against self-deceit, self-confidence, and hypocrisy. 
 
 After Brown had deeply expressed his sorrow 
 for his offences, Mr. Thomas thus addressed him. 
 " There are two waj's of being sorry for sin. Are 
 you, Mr. Brown, afraid of the guilt of sin because 
 of the punishment annexed to it, or are you afraid of 
 sin itself? Do you wish to be delivered from the 
 power of sin ? Do you hate sin because you know 
 it is offensive to a pure and holy God ? Or are you 
 only ashamed of it because it has brought you to a 
 prison and exposed you to the contempt of the world ? 
 It is not said that the wages of this or that particular 
 sin is death, but of sin in general ; there is no excep- 
 tion made because it is a more creditable or a favorite 
 sin, or because it is a little one. There are, I repeat, 
 two ways of being sorry for sin. Cain was sorry — 
 My pumshmcnl is greater than I can hear, said he ; 
 but here you see the punishment seemed to be the 
 cause of concern, not the sin. David seems to have 
 had a good notion of godly sorrow, when he says, 
 Wash me from mine iniquity, cleanse me from my sin. 
 And when Job repented in dust and ashes, it is not 
 said he excused himself, but he abhorred himself. 
 And the prophet Isaiah called himself undone, be- 
 cause h e was a man of unclean lips ; for, said he ' I 
 have seen the King, the Lord of hosts;' that is, he 
 could not take the proper measure of his own iniquity 
 till he had considered the perfect holiness of God." 
 
 One day, when Mr. Thomas and Mr. Stock came 
 to see him, they found him more than commonly af- 
 fected. His face was more ghastly pale than usual, 
 and his eyes were red with crying. " Oh, sir," said 
 he, " what a sight have I just seen! jolly George, as 
 we used to call him, the ringleader of all our mirth.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 121 
 
 who was at the bottom of all the fun and tri.'^ks, and 
 wickedness that are carried on within these walls, 
 jolly George is just dead of the jail distemper! He 
 taken, and I left ! I would be carried into his room 
 to speak to him, to beg him to take warning by me, 
 and that I might take warning by him. But what 
 did I see ! what did I hear ! not one sign of repent- 
 ance ; not one dawn of hope. Agony of body, blas- 
 phemies on his tongue, despair in his soul ; while 1 
 am spared and comforted with hopes of mercy and 
 acceptance. Oh, if all my old friends at the Gray- 
 hound could but then have seen jolly George ! A 
 hundred sermons about death, sir, don't speak so 
 home, and cut so deep, as the sight of one dying 
 sinner." 
 
 Brown grew gradually better in his health, that is, 
 the fever mended, but the distemper settled in his 
 limbs, so that he seemed likely to be a poor, weakly 
 cripple the rest of his life. But as he spent much of 
 his time in prayer, and in reading such parts of the 
 Bible as Mr. Thomas directed, he improved every day 
 in knowledge and piety, and of course grew more 
 resigned to pain and infirmity. 
 
 Some months after this, his hard-hearted father, 
 who had never been prevailed upon to see him, or 
 offer him the least relief, was taken off suddenly by a 
 fit of apoplexy ; and, after all his threatenings, he 
 died without a will. He was one of those silly, su 
 perstitious men, who fancy they shall die the sooner 
 for having made one ; and who love the world and 
 the things that are in the world so dearly, that they 
 dread to set about any business which may put them 
 in mind that they are not always to live in it. As by 
 this neglect, his father had not fulfilled his threat of 
 cutting him off with a shilling. Jack, of course, went 
 shares with his brothers in what their father left. 
 What fell to him proved to be just enough to dis- 
 chiuge him from prison, and to pay all his debts, but 
 he had nothing left. His joy at being thus enabled 
 11
 
 122 DOM?:STlC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 to make restitution was so great that he thought littlo 
 of his own wants. He did not desire to conceal the 
 most trifling debt, nor to keep a shiUing for himself. 
 
 Mr. Stock undertook to settle all his affairs. There 
 did not remain money enough after every creditor 
 was satisfied, even to pay for his removal home. Mr 
 Stock kindly sent his own cart for him with a bed in 
 it, made as comfortable as possible, for he was too 
 weak and lame to be removed any other way, and 
 Mrs. Stock gave the driver particular charge to be 
 tender and careful of him, and not to drive hard, nor 
 to leave the cart a moment. 
 
 Mr. Stock would fain have taken him into his own 
 house, at least for a time, so convinced was he of the 
 sincere reformation both of heart and life ; but Brown 
 would not be prevailed on to be further burdensome 
 to this generous friend. He insisted on being carried 
 to the parish workhouse, which he said was a far 
 better place than he desei-ved. In this house Mr. 
 Stock furnished a small room for him, and sent him 
 every day a morsel of meat from his own dinner. 
 Tommy Williams begged that he might always be 
 allowed to cany it, as some atonement for his having 
 for a moment so far forgotten his duty, as rather to re- 
 joice than sympathize in Brown's misfortunes. He 
 never thought of this fault without sorrow, and often 
 thanked his master for the wholesome lesson he 
 then gave him, and he was the better for it all his life. 
 
 Mr. Stock often carried poor Brown a dish of tea 
 or a basin of good broth herself. He was quite a 
 cripple, and never able to walk out as long as he 
 lived. Mr. Stock, Will Simpson, and Tommy Wil- 
 liams, laid their heads together, and contrived a sort 
 of barrow on which he was often carried to church 
 by some of his poor neighbors, of which Tommy 
 was always one ; and he requited their kindness by 
 reading a good book to them- whenever they would 
 call in ; and he spent his time in teaching their chil- 
 dren to sing psalms or say the catechism.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 123 
 
 Tt was no small joy to him thus to be enabled to go 
 o church. Whenever he was carried by the Gray- 
 hound, he was much moved, and used to put up a 
 prayer full of repentance for the past, and praise for 
 the present. 
 
 Dialogue •bettveen James Stock and Will Simpson, the 
 shoemakers, on the duty of carrying religion into 
 our common business. 
 
 James Stock and his journeyman, Will Simpson, 
 having resolved to work together one hour eveiy 
 evening, in order to pay for Tommy Williams's 
 schooling ; this circumstance brouglit them to be a 
 good deal together when the rest of the men were 
 gone home. Now it happened that Mr. Stock had a 
 pleasant way of endeavoring to turn all common 
 events to some use ; and he thought it right on the 
 present occasion to make the only return in his power 
 to Will Simpson for his great kindness. For, said he, 
 if Will gives up so much of his time to help to pro- 
 vide for this poor boy, it is the least I can do to trj^ to 
 turn part of that time to the purpose of promoting 
 Will's spiritual good. Now as the bent of Stock's 
 own mind was religious, it was easy to him to lead 
 their talk to something profitable. He always took 
 especial care, however, that the subject should be in- 
 troduced properly, cheerfully, and without constraint. 
 As he well knew that great good may be sometimes 
 done by a prudent attention in seizing proper oppor- 
 tunities, so he knew that the cause of piety had been 
 sometimes hurt by forcing serious subjects where 
 there was clearly no disposition to receive them. I say 
 he had found out that two things were necessary to 
 the promoting of religion among his friends ; a warm 
 zen\ to be always -on the watch for occasions, and a 
 cool judgment to distinguish which was the right 
 time and place to make use of them. To know how 
 to do good is a grea*. matter, but to know ichen to do 
 it is no small one.
 
 124 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 Simpson was an honest, good-natured young man , 
 he was now become sober, and rather religiously dis- 
 posed. But he was ignorant — he did not know much 
 of the grounds of religion, or of the corruption of 
 his own nature. He was regular at church, but was 
 first drawn thither rather by his skill in psalm-singing 
 than by any great devotion. He had left off going to 
 the Grayhound, and often read the Bible, or some 
 other good book on the Sunday evening. This he 
 thought was quite enough; he thought the Bible was 
 the prettiest history-book in the world, and that re- 
 ligion was a very good thing for Sundays. But he 
 did not much understand what business people had 
 with it on working-days. He had left off drinking 
 because it had brought Williams to the grave, and 
 his wife to diit and rags, but not because he himself 
 had seen the evil of sin. He now considered swear- 
 ing and sabbath-breaking as scandalous and indecent, 
 but he had not found out that both were to be left off 
 because they are highly offensive to God, and grieve 
 his Holy Spirit. As Simpson was less self-conceited 
 than most ignorant people are. Stock had always a 
 good hope that when he should come to be better ac- 
 quainted with the word of God, and with the evil of 
 his own heart, he would become one day a good 
 Christian. The great hinderance to this was, that he 
 fancied himself so already. 
 
 One evening Simpson had been calling to Stock's 
 mind how disorderly the house and shop, where they 
 were now sitting quietly at work, had formerly been, 
 and he went on thus: 
 
 IVUl. How comfortably we live now, master, to 
 what we used to do in Williams's time ! I used then 
 never to be happy but when we were keeping it up 
 all night, but now I am as merry as the day is long. 
 I find I am twice as happy since I am grown good 
 and sober. 
 
 Stock. I am glad you are happy, Will, and I re- 
 joice that you are sober ; but I would not have you
 
 THK TWO SHOEMAKERS. 125 
 
 take too much pride id your own goodness, for fear it 
 should become a sin, almost as great as some of those 
 you have left off. Besides, I would not have you 
 make quite so sure that you are good. 
 
 WilL Not good, master ! why, don't you find me 
 regular and orderly at work ? 
 
 Stock. Very much so, and accordin=gly I have a 
 great respect for you. 
 
 Will. 1 pay every one his own, seldom miss cburch, 
 have not been drunk since Williams died, have hand- 
 some clothes for Sundays, and save a trifle every 
 week. 
 
 StocJc. Very true, and very laudable it is; and to all 
 this you may add that you very generously work an 
 hour for poor Tommy's education every evening, 
 without fee or reward. 
 
 Will. Well, master, what can a man do more ? It 
 all this is not being good, I don't know what is. 
 
 Stock. All these things are veiy right as far as they 
 go, and you could not well be a Christian without 
 doing them. But I shall make you stare, perhaps, 
 when I tell you you may do all these things, and 
 many more, and yet be no Christian. 
 
 Will. No Christian ! surely, master, I do hope 
 that after all I have done you will not be so unkind 
 as to say I am no Christian. 
 
 Slock. God forbid that I should say so. Will. I 
 hope better things of you. But come now, what do 
 you think it is to be a Christian ? 
 
 Will. What! why, to be christened when one is a 
 child ; to learn the catechism when one can read ; to 
 be confirmed when one is a youth, and to go to church 
 when one is a man. 
 
 Slock. These are all very proper thitfgs, and quite 
 necessary. They make part of a Christian's life. 
 But for all that a man may be exact in them all, and 
 yet not be a Christian. 
 
 Will. Not be a Christian! ha! ha! ha! you are 
 very comical, master.
 
 126 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 Stock. No, indeed, I am very serious. Will. Al 
 this rate it would be a very easy thing to be a Clu-is- 
 tian, and everj- man who went through certain forms 
 would be a good man, and one man who observed 
 those forms would be as good as another. Whereas, 
 if we come to examine ourselves by the word of 
 God, I am afraid there are but few comparatively 
 whom our Savior would allow to be real Christians. 
 What is your notion of a Christian's practice? 
 
 Will. Why, he must not rob, nor murder, nor get 
 drunk. He must avoid scandalous things, and do as 
 other decent, orderly people do. 
 
 Stock. It is easy enough to be what the world calls 
 a Christian, but not to be what the Bible calls so. 
 
 Will. Why, master, we working-men are not ex- 
 pected to be saints, and martyrs, and apostles, and 
 ministers. 
 
 Stock. We are not. And yet. Will, there are not 
 two sorts of Christianity ; we are called to practise 
 the same religion which they practised, and some- 
 thing of the same spirit is expected in us which we 
 reverence in them. It was not saints and martyrs 
 only to whom our Savior said that they must crucify 
 the rcorlcl ivith its affections and lusts. We are called 
 to he holy in our measure and degree, as he who hath 
 called us is holy. It was ncrt only saints and martyrs 
 who were told that they must be like minded uith 
 Christ. That they Tnust do all to the glory of God. 
 That they must renounce the sjnrit of the world, and 
 deny themselves. It was not to apostles only that 
 Christ said, They must have their conversation in heaven. 
 It was not to a few holy men, set apart for the altar, 
 that he said. They must set their affections on things 
 above. That they must not be conformed to the world. 
 No ; it was to fishermen, to publicans, to farmers, to 
 day-laborers, to poor tradesmen, that he spoke when 
 he told them they must love not the world, nor the 
 things of the world. Thai they must renounce the
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 127 
 
 hidden things of dishonesty, grow in grace, lay up for 
 themselves treasures in heaven. 
 
 Will. All this might be very proper for them io be 
 taught, because they had not been bred up Christians, 
 but Heathens or Jews, and Christ wanted to make 
 them his followers, that is, Christians. But, thank 
 God, we do not want to be taught all this, for we are 
 Christians, born in a Christian country, of Christian 
 parents. 
 
 Stock. I suppose, then, you fancy that Christianity 
 comes to people in a Christian country by nature. 
 
 Will. I think it comes by a good education or a 
 good example. When a fellow who has got any 
 sense sees a man cut off in his prime by drinkinjc;, 
 like Williams, I think he will begin to leave it off. 
 When he sees another man respected, like j'ou, mas- 
 ter, for honesty and sobriety, and going to church, 
 why, he will grow honest, and sober, and go to 
 church, that is, he will see it his advantage to be a 
 Christian. 
 
 Stock. Will, what you say is the truth, but 'tis 
 not the whole truth. You are right as far as you 
 go, but you do not go far enough. The worldly ad- 
 vantages of piety, are, as you suppose, in general 
 great. Credit, prosperity, and health, almost natural- 
 ly attend on a religious life, both because a religious 
 life supposes a sober and industrious life, and because 
 a man who lives in a course of duty puts himself in 
 the way of God's blessing. But a true Christian has 
 a still higher aim in view, and will follow religion 
 even under circumstances when it may hurt his credit 
 and ruin his prosperity if it should ever happen to be 
 the will of God that he should be brought into such 
 a trying state. 
 
 Wilt. Well, master, to speak the truth, if I go to 
 church on Sundays, and follow my work in the week, 
 I must say I think that is being good. 
 
 Stock. 1 agree with you, that he who does both, 
 gives the best outward signs that he is good, as you
 
 128 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 call it. But our going to church, and even reading 
 the Bible, are no proofs that we are as good as wo 
 need be, but rather that we do both these in order to 
 make us better than we are. We do both on Sun- 
 days, as means, by God's blessing, to make us better 
 all the week. We are to bring the fruits of that 
 chapter or of that sermon into our daily life, and try 
 to get our inmost heart and secret thoughts as well 
 as our daily conduct amended by them. 
 
 IVill. Why, sure, master, you won't be so unrea- 
 sonable as to want a body to be rehgious always. I 
 can't do that neither. I'm not such a hypocrite as to 
 pretend to it. 
 
 Stock. Yes, you can be so in eveiy action of your 
 life. 
 
 Will. What, master, always to be thinking about 
 religion ? 
 
 Stock. No, far from it. Will, much less to be al- 
 ways talking about it. But you must be always un- 
 der its power and spirit. 
 
 Will. But surely 'tis pretty well if 1 do this when 
 I go to church, or while I am saying my prayers. 
 Even you, master, as strict as you are, would not 
 have me always on my knees, nor ahvays at church, 
 I suppose, for then how would your work be carried 
 on, and how would our town be supplied with shoes? 
 
 Stock. Very true. Will. 'Twould be no proof of 
 our religion to let our customers go barefoot, but 
 'twould be a proof of our laziness, and we should 
 starve, as we ought to do. The business of the 
 world must not only be carried on, but earned on 
 with spirit and activity. AVe have the same authority 
 for not being slothful in business, as we have for being 
 fervent in spirit. Religion has put godliness and lazi- 
 ness as wide asunder as any two things in the world, 
 and what God has separated let no man pretend to 
 join. Indeed, the spirit of religion can have no fel- 
 lowship with sloth, indolence, and self-indulgence. 
 But still, a Christian does not carry on his common
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 129 
 
 trade quite like another man neither, for something of 
 the spirit which he labors to attain at church, he car- 
 ries with him into his worldly concerns. While there 
 are some who set up for Sunday Christians, who 
 have no notion that they are bound to be week-day 
 Christians too. 
 
 IVill. Why, master, I do think, if God Almighty 
 is contented with one day in seven, he won't thank 
 you for throwing him the other six into the bargain. 
 I thought he gave us them for our own use, and I am 
 sure nobody works harder all the week than you do. 
 
 Stock. God, it is true, sets apart one day in seven 
 for actual rest from labor, and for more immediate de- 
 votion to his service. But show me that text where- 
 in he says. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God on 
 Sundays — Thou shalt keep my commandments on 
 the sahbaili-day — To be carnally-minded on Sundays 
 is death — Cease to do evil, and learn to do well one 
 day in seven — Grow in grace on the Lord's day — Is 
 there any such text ? 
 
 Will. No, to be sure there is not, for that would 
 be encouraging sin on all the other days. 
 
 Stock. Yes, just as you do when you make religior 
 a thing for the church and not for the world. There 
 is no one lawful calling, in pursuing which we may 
 not sei-ve God acceptably. You and I may serve him 
 while we are stitching this pair of boots. Farmer 
 Furrow while he is ploughing yonder field. Betsy 
 West, over-the-way, while she is nursing her sick 
 mother. Neighbor Incle, in measuring out his tapes 
 and ribands. I say all these may serve God just as 
 acceptably in those employments as at church — I had 
 almost said more so. 
 
 Will. Ay, indeed; how can that be? Now you're 
 too much on t'other side. 
 
 Stock. Because a man's trials in trade being often 
 greater, they give him fresh means of glorifying God 
 and proving the sincerity of religion. A man who 
 mixes in business is naturally brought into continua
 
 J30 DOMKSTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 temptations and difficulties. These will lead him, if 
 he be a good man, to look more to God than he per- 
 haps would otherwise do. He sees temptations on 
 the right hand and on the left; he knows that there 
 are snares all around him ; this makes him watchful ; 
 he feels that the enemy within is too ready to betray 
 him ; this makes him humble himself, while a sense 
 of his own difficulties makes him tender to the fail- 
 ings of others. 
 
 IVill. Then you would make one believe, after all, 
 that trade and business must be sinful in itself, since 
 it brings a man into all these snares and scrapes. 
 
 Stock. No, no, Will ; trade and business don't 
 create evil passions — they were in the heart before — 
 only now and then they seem to lie snug a Ihtle — oui 
 concerns with the world bring them oui into action 
 a httle more, and thus show both others and ourselves 
 what we really are. But then, as the world offers 
 more trials on the one hand, so on the other it holds 
 out more duties. If we are called to battle oftener, 
 we have more opportunities of victorj'. Every temp- 
 tation resisted is an enemy subdued, and he that 
 ruleth his own spirit, is better than he that taketh a 
 city. 
 
 Will. I don't quite understand you, master. 
 
 Stock. I will try to explain myself. There is no 
 passion more called out by the transactions of trade 
 than covetousness. Now, 'tis impossible to withstand 
 such a master sin as that, without carrj-ing a good 
 deal of the spirit of religion into one's trade. 
 
 Will. AVell, I own I don't yet see how I am to be 
 religious when I'm hard at work, or busy settling an 
 account. I can't do two things at once ; 'tis as if I 
 were to pretend 5 make a shoe and cut out a boot at 
 the same moment. 
 
 Stock. I tell you both must subsist together. Nay, 
 he one must be the motive to the other. God com- 
 mands us to be industrious, and if we love him, the
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 13l 
 
 desire of pleasing him should be the main spring of 
 our industry. 
 
 Will. I don't see how I can always be thinking 
 aoout pleasing God. 
 
 Slock. Suppose, now, a man had a wife and chil- 
 dren whom he loved, and wished to serve ; would he 
 not be often thinking about them while he was at 
 work ? and though he would not be always thinking 
 nor always talking about them, yet would not the very 
 love he bore them be a constant spur to his industry? 
 He would always be pursuing the same course from 
 the same motive, though his words and even his 
 thoughts must often be taken up in the common 
 transactions of life. 
 
 Will. I say first one, then the other; now for labor, 
 now for religion. 
 
 Stock. I will show that both must go together, f 
 will suppose you were going to buy so many skins of 
 our currier; that is quite a business transaction; you 
 can't see what a spirit of religion has to do with a few 
 calfskins. Now, I tell you it has a great deal to 
 do with it. Covetousness, a desire to make a good 
 bargain, may rise up in your heart. Selfishness, a 
 spirit of monopoly, a wish to get all, in order to dis- 
 tress others ; these are evil desires, and must be sub- 
 dued. Some opportunity of unfair gain offers, in 
 which there may be much sin, and yet little scandal. 
 Here a Christian will stop short ; he will recollect, 
 That he who maketh haste to be rich shall hardly he 
 innocent. Perhaps the sin may be on the side of your 
 dealer — he may want to overreach you — this is pro- 
 voking — you are tempted to violent anger, perhaps to 
 swear ; — here is a fresh demand on you for a spirit of 
 patience and moderation, as there was before for a 
 spirit of justice and self-denial. If, by God's grace, 
 you get the victory over these temptations, you are 
 the better man for having been called out to them, al- 
 ways provided, tliat the temptations be not of your 
 pwn seeking. If you give way, and sink under these
 
 132 DOMESTIC TALES A>-D ALLEGORIEJ. 
 
 temptations, don't go and say trade and business have 
 made you covetous, passionate, and profane. No, 
 no ; depend upon it, you were so before ; you would 
 have had all these evil seeds lurking in your heart, if 
 you had been loitering about at home and doing noth- 
 ing, with the additional sin of idleness into the bar- 
 gain. When you are busy, the devil often tem^^ts 
 you ; when you are idle, you tempt the devil. If 
 business and the world call these evil tempers into 
 action, business and the world call that religion into 
 action too which teaches us to resist them. And in 
 this you see the week-day fruit of the Sunday's piety. 
 'Tis trade and business in the week which call us to 
 put our Sunday readings, praying, and church-going, 
 into practice. 
 
 Will. Well, master, you have a comical way, some- 
 how, of coming over one. I never should have thought 
 there would have been any religion wanted in buy- 
 ing and selling a few calfskins. But I begin to see 
 there is a good deal in what you say. And, when- 
 ever I am doing a common action, I will try to re- 
 member that it must be done afcer a godly sort. 
 
 Stock. I hear the clock strike nine — let us leave off 
 our work. I will only obser\'e farther, that one good 
 end of our bringing religion into our business is, to 
 put us in mind not to imdertake more business than 
 we can carry on consistently with our religion. I 
 shall never commend that man's diligence, though it 
 is often commended by the world, who is not diligent 
 about the salvation of his soul. We are as much for- 
 bidden to be overcharged with the cares of life, as 
 with its pleasures. I only wish to prove to you, that 
 a discreet Christian may be wise for both worlds ; that 
 he may employ his hands without entangling his soul, 
 and labor for the meat that perisheth, without neglect- 
 ing that which endureth unto eternal life ; that he 
 may be prudent for time while he is wise for eter- 
 Dity.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 133 
 
 The duty of carrying religion into our amusements. 
 
 The next evening, Will Simpson being got first to 
 his work, Mr. Stock found him singing very cheer- 
 fully over his last. His master's entrance did not pre- 
 vent his finishing his song, which concluded with 
 these words : — 
 
 " Since life is no more than a passage at best, 
 Let us strew the way over with flowers." 
 
 When Will had concluded his song, he turned to 
 Mr. Stock, and said, " I thank you, master, for first 
 putting it into my head how wicked it is to sing pro- 
 line and indecent songs. I never sing any now which 
 have any wicked words in them." 
 
 Stock. I am glad to hear it. So far you do well. 
 But there are other things as bad as wicked words, 
 nay, worse perhaps, though they do not so much 
 shock the ear of decency. 
 
 Will. What is that, master ? What can be so bad 
 as wicked words ? 
 
 Stock. Wicked thoughts, Will ; which thoughts, 
 when they are covered over with smooth words, and 
 dressed out in pleasing rhymes, so as not to shock 
 modest young people by the sound, do more harm to 
 their principles than those songs of which the words 
 are so gross and disgusting, that no person of common 
 decency can for a moment listen to them. 
 
 Will. Well, master, I am sure that was a very 
 pretty song I was singing when you came in, and a 
 eons; which very sober good people sing. 
 
 Stock. Do they? Then I will be boW to say, thai 
 singing such songs is no part of their goodness. 1 
 heard indeed but two lines of it, but they were so 
 heathenish that I desire to hear no more. 
 
 W'dl. Now you are really too hard. What harm 
 could there be in it ? there was not one indecent 
 word. 
 
 Stock. I own, indeed, that indecent words are par- 
 ticularly offensive. But, as I said before, though im- 
 12
 
 134 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 modest expressions offend the ear more, they do not 
 corrupt the heart, perhaps, much more than songs of 
 which the words are decent, and the principle vicious. 
 In the latter case, because there is nothing that shocks 
 nis ear, a man listens till the sentiment has so cor- 
 rupted his heart, that his ears grow hardened too, and 
 by long custom he loses all sense of the danger of pro- 
 fane diversions ; and I must say I have often heard 
 young women of character sing songis in company, 
 which I should be ashamed to read by myself. But 
 come, as we work, let us talk over this business a 
 little ; and first let us stick to this sober song of yours, 
 that you boast so much about. {repeats.) 
 
 " Since life is no more than a passage at best, 
 Let us strew the way over with flowers." 
 
 Now, what do you learn by this? 
 
 Will. Why, master, I don't pretend to learn much 
 by it. But 'tis a pretty tune and pretty words. 
 
 Stock. But what do these pretty words mean ? 
 
 Will. That we must make ourselves meny because 
 life i» short. 
 
 Stock. Will ! of what religion are you ? 
 
 Will. You are always asking one such odd ques- 
 tions, master ; why, a Christian, to be sure. 
 
 Stock. If I often ask you, or others this question, 
 it is only because I like to know what grounds I am 
 to go upon when I am talking with you or them. I 
 conceive that there are in this countiy two sorts of 
 people, Christians and no Christians. Now, if people 
 profess to be of this first description, I expect one 
 kind of notions, opinions, and behavior, from them ; if 
 they say they are of the latter, then I look for another 
 set of notions and actions from them. I compel no 
 man to think with me. I take eveiy man at his 
 word. I only expect him to think and believe ac- 
 cording to the character he takes upon himself, and 
 to act on the principles of that character which he 
 professes to maintain.
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKERS. 13£ 
 
 Will. That's fair enough ; I can't say but it is, to 
 take a man at his own word, and on his own grounds. 
 
 Stock. Well, then. Of Avhom does the Scripture 
 speak when it says, Let us eat and drink, for to-mor- 
 roxo we die ? 
 
 Will. Why of heathens, to be sure, not of Chris- 
 tians. 
 
 Stock. And of whom when it says. Let -us cnnvn 
 ourselves with rosebuds before they are uithered ? 
 
 Will. O, that is Solomon's worldly fool. 
 
 Stock. You disapprove of both, then. 
 
 Will. To be sure I do. I should not be a Christian 
 if I did not. 
 
 Stock. And yet, though a Christian, you are ad- 
 miring the very same thought in the song you were 
 singing. How do you reconcile this ? 
 
 Will. O, there is no comparison between them. 
 These several texts are designed to describe loose, 
 wicked heathens. Now I learn texts as a part of my 
 religion. But religion, you know, has nothing to do 
 with a song. I sing a song for my pleasure. 
 
 Stock. In our last night's talk, VVill, I endeavored 
 to prove to you that religion was to be brought into 
 our business. I wish now to let you see that it is to 
 be brought into our 2^ic-(isure also ; and that he who 
 is really a Christian, must be a Christian in his very 
 diversions. 
 
 Will. Now you are too strict again, master, as you 
 last night declared, that in our business you would 
 not have us always praying, so I hope that in our 
 pleasure you would not have us alwaj's psalm-sing- 
 ing. I hope you would not have all one's singing to 
 be about good things. 
 
 Stock. Not so. Will; but I would not have any 
 part, either of our business or our pleasure, to be 
 about evil things. It is one thing to be singing about 
 religion, it is another thing to be singing a<rainst it. 
 St. Peter, I fancy, would not much have approved 
 your favorite song. He at least seemed to have an*
 
 136 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 Other view of the matter, when be said, TJit end of 
 all things is at hand. Now tliis text teaclies much 
 the same awful truth with the first line of your song. 
 But let us see to what different purposes the apostle 
 and the poet turn the veiy same thought. Your song 
 says, " because life is short, let us make it merry. Let 
 us divert ourselves so much on the road, that we may 
 forget the end." Now what says the apostle : Because 
 the end of all things is at hand, be ye therefore sober 
 and icatch unto prayer. 
 
 Will. Why, master, I like to be sober too, and 
 have left off drinking. But still I never thought that 
 we were obliged to cany texts out of the Bible to try 
 the soundness of a song, and to enable us to judge if 
 we might be both merry and wise m singing it. 
 
 Stock. Providence has not so stinted our enjoy- 
 ments. Will, but he has left us luany subjects of 
 harmless merriment : but, for my own part, 1 am 
 never certain that anyone is quite harmless till I have 
 tried it by this rule that you seem to think so strict. 
 As I passed by the Grayhound last night, in my way 
 to my evening's walk in the fields, I caught this one 
 verse of a song which the club were singing : — 
 
 " Bring the flask, the music bring, 
 Joy shall quickly find us ; 
 Drink and dance, and laugh and sing; 
 And cast dull care behind us." 
 
 When I got into the fields, I could not forbear com 
 paring this song with the words : Talce heed lest at 
 any time your heart be overcharged with drunkenness, 
 and so that day cotne upon you unatcares,for as a snare 
 shall it come upon all them that are on the face of the 
 earth. 
 
 Will. Why, to be sure, if that is right, the song 
 must be wrong. 
 
 Stock. I ran over in my mind also a comparison 
 oetween such songs as that which begins with 
 
 " Drink, and drive care away,"
 
 THE TWO SHOEMAKEKS. 137 
 
 with those injunctions of holy writ, Watch and praT/, 
 therefore, that you enter not into temptation; and again-, 
 Watch and pray that you may escape oil these things. 
 I say I compared this with the song I allude to — 
 
 " Drink, and drive care away, 
 Drink and be merry ; 
 You'll ne'er go the faster 
 To the Stygian ferry." 
 
 I compared this with that awful admonition of Scrip- 
 ture how to pass the time : Not in rioting and drunk- 
 enness, not in chambering and wantonness, hut put ye 
 071 the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for 
 the flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof. 
 
 Will. Master, now you have opened my eyes, I 
 think I can make some of those comparisons myself 
 between the spirit of the Bible and the spirit of these 
 songs. 
 
 " Bring the flask, the goblet bring," 
 
 won't stand very well in company with the threat of 
 the prophet : Wo unto them that rise up early, that 
 they may mingle strong drink. 
 
 Stock. Ay, Will ; and these thoughtless people 
 who live up to their singing, seem to be the very peo- 
 ple described in another place as glorying in their in- 
 temperance, and acting what their songs describe: — 
 They look at the wine, and say it is red, it moveth itself 
 aright in the cup. 
 
 Will. I do hope I shall for the future not only be- 
 come more careful what songs I sing myself, but also 
 not to keep company with those who sing nothing 
 else but what in my sober judgment I now see to be 
 wrong. 
 
 Stock. As we shall have no body in the world to 
 come, it is a pity not only to make our pleasures here 
 consist entirely in the delights of animal life, but to 
 make our very songs consist in extolling and exalting 
 those delights which are unworthy of the man as 
 wall as of the Christian. If. through temptation oj
 
 138 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 weakness, we fall into errors, let us not establish and 
 confirm them by picking up all the songs and scraps 
 of verses which excuse, justify, and commend sin. 
 That time is short, is a reason given by these song- 
 mongers why we should give into greater indulgences. 
 That time is short, is a reason given by the apostle 
 why we should enjoy our dearest comforts as if we 
 enjoyed them not. 
 
 Now, Will, I hope you will see the importance of 
 so inanaging, that our diversions may be as carefully 
 chosen as our other employments. For to make 
 them such as effectually drive out of our minds all 
 that the Bible and the minister have been putting into 
 them, seems to me as imprudent as it is unchristian. 
 But this is not all. Such sentiments as these songs 
 contain, set off by the prettiest music, heightened by 
 liquor and all the noise and spirit of what is called 
 jovial company, all this, I say, not only puts every- 
 thing that is right out of the mind, but puts everything 
 that is wrong into it. Such songs, therefore, as tend 
 to promote levity, thoughtlessness, loose imagina- 
 tions, false views of life, forgetfulness of death, con- 
 tempt of whatever is serious, and neglect of whatever 
 is sober, whether they be love songs, or drinking 
 Bongs, will not, can not be sung by any man or any 
 woman who makes a serious profession of Christianity,
 
 oiz.es the poacher. 13^V 
 
 IV. GILES THE POACHER; 
 
 CONTAINING SOME ACCOUNr OF A FAMILY WHO HAt 
 RATHER LIVE BY THEIR WITS THAN THEIR WORK. 
 
 Poaching Giles lives on the borders of those 
 great moors in Somersetshire. Giles, to be sure, has 
 been a sad fellow in his time, and it is none of his 
 fault if his whole family do not end their career either 
 at the gallows or Botany Bay. He lives at that 
 mud cottage with the broken windows, stuffed with 
 dirty rags, just beyond the gate which divides the 
 upper from the lower moor. You may know the 
 nouse at a good distance by the ragged tiles on the 
 roof, and the loose stones which are ready to droj) 
 out from the chimney, though a short ladder, a hod 
 of mortar, and half an hour's leisure time would have 
 prevented all this, and made the little dwelling tight 
 enough. But as Giles had never learned anything 
 that was good, so he did not know the value of such 
 useful sayings, as that " a tile in time saves nine." 
 
 Besides this, Giles fell into that common mistake, 
 that a beggarly-looking cottage, and filthy, ragged 
 children, raised most compassion, and of course drew 
 most charity. But as cunning as he was in other 
 things, he was out in his reckoning here, for it is 
 neatness, housewifery, and a decent appearance, which 
 draw the kindness of the rich and charitable, while 
 they turn away disgusted from filth and laziness, not 
 out of pride, but because they see that it is next to 
 impossible to mend the condition of those who de
 
 140 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLESORIES. 
 
 grade themselves by dirt and sloth ; and few people 
 care to help those who will not help themselves. 
 
 The common on which Giles's hovel stands, is 
 quite a deep marsh in a wet winter, but in summer 
 it looks green and pretty enough. To be sure it 
 would be rather convenient when one passes that way 
 in a carriage, if one of the children would run out 
 and open the gate, but instead of any one of them 
 running out as soon as they heard the wheels, which 
 would be quite time enough, what does Giles do, 
 but set all his ragged brats, with dirty faces, matted 
 locks, and naked feet and legs, to lie all day upon a 
 sand-bank hard by the gate, waiting for the slender 
 chance of what may be picked up from travellers. 
 At the sound of a carriage, a whole covey of these 
 little scare-crows start up, rush to the gate, and all 
 at once thrust out their hats and aprons, and for fear 
 this, together with the noise of their clamorous beg- 
 ging, should not sufficiently frighten the horses, they 
 are very apt to let the gate slap full against you, be- 
 fore you are half way through, in their eager scuf- 
 fle to snatch from each other the half-pence which 
 you have thrown out to them. I know two ladies 
 who were one day very near being killed by these 
 abominable tricks. 
 
 Thus five or six little idle creatm^es, v/ho might be 
 earning a trifle by knitting at home, who might be 
 i;seful to the public by working in the field, and who 
 might assist their families by learning to get their 
 bread twenty honest ways, are suff'ered to lie about 
 all day, in the hope of a few chance half-pence, which 
 after all, they are by no means sure of getting. In- 
 deed, when the neighboring gentlemen found out 
 that opening the gate was a family trade, they soon 
 left off giving anything. And I myself, though 1 
 used to take out a penny ready to give, had there 
 been only one to receive it, when I see a whole fam- 
 ily established in so beggarly a trade, quietly put it 
 back again in my pocket, and give notliing at all,
 
 GILES THE POACHER. J4x 
 
 And so few travellers pass that way, that sometimea 
 after the whole family have lost a day, tlieir gains do 
 not amount to two-pence. 
 
 As Giles had a far greater taste for living by his 
 wits than his work, he was at one time in hopes that 
 his children might have got a pretty penny by tum- 
 bling for the diversion of travellers, and he set about 
 training them in that indecent practice, but unluckily 
 the moors being level, the carriage travelled faster 
 than the children tumbled. He envied those parents 
 who lived on the London road, over the Wiltshire 
 downs, which downs being very hilly, it enables the 
 tumbles to keep pace with the traveller, till he some- 
 times extorts from the light and unthinking a reward 
 instead of a reproof. I beg leave, however, to put 
 all gentlemen and ladies in mind, that such tricks are 
 a kind of apprenticeship to the trades of begging and 
 thieving, and that nothing is more injurious to good 
 morals than to encourage the poor in any habits 
 which may lead them to live upon chance. 
 
 Giles, to be sure, as his children grew older, began 
 to train them to such other employments as the idle 
 habits they had learned at the gate very properly 
 qualified them for. The right of common, which 
 6ome of the poor cottagers have in that part of the 
 countiy, and which is doubtless a considerable ad- 
 vantage io many, was converted by Giles into the 
 means of corrupting his whole family, for his child- 
 ren, as soon as they grew too big for the trade of 
 begging at the gate, were promoted to the dignity of 
 thieves on the moor. Here he kept two or three 
 asses, miserable beings, which if they had the good 
 fortune to escape an tmtimely death by starving, did 
 not fail to meet with it by beating. Some of the big- 
 gest boys were sent out with these lean and galled 
 animals to carry sand or coals about the neighboring 
 towns. Both sand and coals were often stolen before 
 they got them to sell, or if not, they always took care 
 
 cheat in selling them. By long practice in this art
 
 142 DOMESTIC TALES AXD ALLEGORIES. 
 
 they grew so dexterous, that they could give a pretty 
 good guess how large a coal they could crib out of 
 every bag before the buyer would be likely to miss it. 
 
 All their odd time was taken up under the pretence 
 of watching their asses on the mooi', or running after 
 five or six half-starved geese, but the truth is, these 
 boys were only watching for an opportunity to steal 
 an odd goose of their neighbor's, while they pretend- 
 ed to look after their own. They used a-lso to pluck 
 the quills or the down from these poor live creatures, 
 or half milk a cow before the farmer's maid came 
 with her pail. They all knew how to calculate to a 
 minute what time to be down in a morning to let out 
 their lank hungiy beasts, which they had turned over 
 night into the farmer's field to steal a little good pas- 
 ture. They contrived to get there just time enough 
 to escape being caught replacing the stakes they had 
 pulled out for the cattle to get over. For Giles was 
 a prudent, long-headed fellow, and whenever he stole 
 food for his colts, took care never to steal stakes fron^ 
 the hedges at the same place. He had sense enough 
 to know that the gain did not make up for the danger; 
 he knew that a loose fagot, pulled from a neighbor's 
 pile of wood after the family were gone to bed, an- 
 swered the end better, and was not half the trouble. 
 
 Among the many trades which Giles professed, he 
 sometimes practised that of a rat-catcher ; but he was 
 addicted to so many tricks, that he never followed the 
 same trade long, for detection will, sooner or later, 
 follow the best concerted villany. Whenever he was 
 sent for to a farm-house, his custom ■was to kill a few of 
 the old rats, always taking care to leave a little stock 
 of young ones alive, sufficient to keep up the breed ; 
 "for," said he, •' if I were to be such a fool as to clear 
 a house or a barn at once, how would my trade be 
 carried on?" And where any bam was over-stocked 
 he used to borrow a few rats thence, just to peo- 
 ple a neighboring granary which had none ; and he 
 might have gone on tiirnow, had he not unluckiljr
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 143 
 
 been caught one evening emptying his cage of rats 
 under Parson Wilson's barn door. 
 
 This worthy minister, Mr. Wilson, us«d to pity the 
 neglected children of Giles as much a-s he blam-ed the 
 wicked parents. He one day picked up Dick, who 
 was far the best of Giles's bad boys. Dick was isi- 
 tering about in a field behind the parson's garden, in 
 search of a hen's nest, his mother having ordered him 
 to bring home a few eggs that night, by hook or by 
 crook, as Giles was resolved to have some pancakes 
 for supper, though he knew that eggs were a penny 
 a-piece. Mr. Wilson had long been d-esirous of 
 snatching some of this vagrant family from ruin, and 
 his chief hopes were bent on Dick, as the least hack- 
 neyed in knaveiy. He had once given him a pair of 
 new shoes, on his promising to go to school next 
 Sunday, but no sooner had Rachel, the boy's mother, 
 got the shoes into her clutches, than she pawned 
 them for a bottle of gin, and ordered the boy to keep 
 out of the parson's sight, and to be sure to play his 
 marbles on Sunday, for the future, at the other end 
 of the parish, and not near the churchyard. Mr. 
 Wilson, however, picked up the boy once more. Tor 
 it was not his way to despair of anybody. Dick was 
 just going to take to his heels, as usual, for fear the 
 old story of the shoes should be brought forward, but 
 iSnding he could not get off, what does he do but rua 
 into a little puddle of muddy water which lay be- 
 tween him and the parson, tliat the sight of his naked 
 feet might not bring on the dreaded subject. Now it 
 happened that Mr. Wilson was planting a little field 
 of beans, so he thought this a good ()i)i)ortunity to 
 employ Dick, and he told him he had got some 
 pretty easy work for him. Dick did as he was bid : 
 he willingly went to work, and readily began to 
 plant his beans with despatcli and regularity accord- 
 ing to the directions given him. 
 
 While the boy was busily at work by himself, 
 Giles happened to come by, having been skulking
 
 144 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 round the back way to look over the parson's gaiden 
 wall, to see if there was anything worth climbing 
 over for on the ensuing night. He spied Dick, and 
 began to scold him for working for the stingy old 
 parson, for Giles had a natural antipathy to whatever 
 belonged to the church. "What has he promised 
 thee a-day?" said he, "little enough, I dare say." 
 "He is not to p-ay me by the day," said Dick, "but 
 says he will give me so much when I have planted 
 this peck, and so much for th-e next." "Oh, oh! 
 that alters the case," said Giles. " One may, indeed, 
 get a trifle by this sort of work. I hate your regular 
 day-jobs, where one can't well avoid doing one's work 
 for one's money. Come, give me a handful of beans, 
 I will teach thee how to plant when thou art paid foi 
 planting by the peck. All we have to do in that case 
 is to despatch the work as fast as we can, and get rid 
 of the beans with all speed; and as to the seed coming 
 up or not, that is no business of ours ; we are paid 
 for planting not for growing. At the rate thou goest 
 on thou wouldst not get sixpence to-night. Come 
 along, buiy away." So saying, he took his hatful of 
 thi seed, and where Dick had been ordered to set one 
 bean, Giles buried a dozen ; of course the beans 
 were soon out. But though the peck was emptied, 
 the ground was unplanted. But cunning Giles knew 
 this could not be found out till the time when the 
 beans might be expected to come up, "and then, 
 Dick," sajs he, " the snails and the mice may go 
 shares in the blaine, or we can lay the fault on the 
 rooks or the blackbirds." So saying, he sent the boy 
 into the parsonage to receive his pay, taking care to 
 secure about a quarter of the peck of beans for his 
 own colt. He put both bag and beans into his own 
 pocket to carry home, bidding Dick tell Mr. Wilson 
 that he had planted tke beans and lost the bag. 
 
 In the meantime Giles's other boys were busy in 
 emptying the ponds and trout-sti-eams in the neigh- 
 boring manor. They would steal away the carp and
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 145 
 
 tench when they were no bigger than gudgeons. By 
 this untimely depredation they plundered the owner 
 of his property without enriching themselves. But 
 the pleasure of mischief was reward enough. These, 
 and a hundred other little thieveries, they committed 
 with such dexterity, that old Tim Crib, whose son 
 was transported last assizes for sheep-stealing, used to 
 be often reproaching his boys that Giles's sons were 
 worth a hundred of such blockheads as he had ; lor 
 scarce a night passed but Giles had sorae little com- 
 fortable thing for supper which his boys had pilfered 
 in the day, while his undutiful dogs never stole any- 
 thing worth having. Giles, in the meantime, was 
 busy in his way; but as busy as he was in laying his 
 nets, starting coveys, and training dogs, he always 
 took c«re that his depredations should not be confined 
 merely to game. 
 
 Giles's boj's had never seen the inside of a church, 
 since they were christened, and the father thought he 
 knew his own interest better than to force them to 
 it ; for church-time was the season of their hai-vest. 
 Then the hen's nests were searched, a stray duck was 
 clapped under the smock frock, the tools which might 
 have been left by chance in a farm-yard, were picked 
 up, and all the neighboring pigeon-houses were thin- 
 ned, so that Giles used to boast to tawny Rachel his 
 wife, that Sunday was to them the most profitable 
 day in the week. With her it was certainly the most 
 laborious day, as she always did her washing and 
 ironing on the Sunday morning, it being, as she said, 
 the only leisure day she had, for on the other days 
 she went about the country telling fortunes, and sell- 
 ing dream-books and wicked songs. Neither her hus- 
 band's nor her childreu's clothes were ever mended, 
 and if Sunday, her idle day, had not come about once 
 in every week, it is likely they would never have been 
 washed either. You might however see her as you 
 were going to chtirch, smoothing her own rags on 
 ber best red cloak, which she always used for her 
 13
 
 146 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 ironing-iloth on Sundays, for her cloak when she 
 travelled, and for her blanket at night ; such a wretch- 
 ed manager was Rachel ! Among her other articles 
 of trade, one was to make and sell peppermint, and 
 other distilled waters. These she had the cheap art 
 of making without trouble and without expense, for 
 she made them without herbs and without a still. 
 Her way was, to fill so many quart bottles with plain 
 water, putting a spoonful of mint water in the mouth 
 of each : these she corked down with rosin, canying 
 to each customer a phial of real distilled water to taste 
 by way of sample. This was so good that her bottles 
 were commonly bought up without being opened; 
 but if any suspicion arose, and she was forced to un- 
 cork a bottle, by the few drops of distilled water lying 
 at the top, she even then escaped detection, and took 
 care to get out of reach before the bottle was opened 
 a second time. She was too prudent ever to go twice 
 to the same house. 
 
 The Upright Magistrate. 
 
 There is hardly any petty mischief that is not con- 
 nected with the life of a poacher. Mr. Wilson was 
 aware of this ; he was not only a pious clergyman, 
 out an upright justice. He used to say, that people 
 who were truly conscientious, must be so in small 
 things as well as in great ones, or they would destroy 
 the efiect of their own precepts, and their example 
 would not be of general use. For this reason he 
 never would accept of a hare or a partridge from any 
 unqualified person in the parish. He did not content 
 himself with shuftling the thing off by asking ques- 
 tions, and pretending to take it for granted in a gen- 
 eral way that the game was fairly come at ; bat he 
 used to say, that by receiving the booty he connived at 
 a crime, made himself a sharer in it ; and if he gave a 
 present to the man who brought it, he even tempted 
 him to repeat the fault. 
 
 One day poor Jack Weston, an honest fellow in the
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 147 
 
 neighborhood, whom Mr. Wilson had kindly visited 
 and relieved in a long sickness, from which he was 
 but just recovered, was brought before him as he was 
 sitting on the justice's bench ; Jack was accused of 
 having knocked down a hare ; and of all the birds in 
 the air who should the informer be but black Giles 
 the poacher ? Mr. Wilson was grieved at the charge ; 
 he had a great regard for Jack, but h* had still a 
 greater regard for the law. The poor fellow pleaded 
 gnilty. He did not deny the fact, but said he did not 
 consider it as a crime, for he did not think game was 
 private property, and he owned he had a strong temp- 
 tation for doing what he had done, which he hoped 
 would plead his excuse. The justice desired to 
 know what this temptation was. — " Sir," said the 
 poor fellow, " You know I was given over this spring 
 in a bad fever. I had no friend in the world but you, 
 sir. Under God you saved my life by your charitable 
 relief; and I trust also you may have helped to save 
 my soul by your prayers and your good advice ; for, 
 by the grace of God, I have turned over a new leaf 
 since that sickness. 
 
 "I know I can never make you amende for all your 
 goodness, but I thought it would be some comfort to 
 my full heart if I could but once give you some little 
 token of my gratitude. So I had trained a pair of 
 nice turtle doves for Madam Wilson, but they were 
 stolen from me, sir, and I do suspect black Giles stole 
 them. Yesterday morning, sir, as I was crawling out 
 to my work, for I am still but very weak, a fine hare 
 ran across my path. I did not stay to consider wheth- 
 er it was wrong to kill a hare, but I felt it was riglit 
 to show my gratitude ; so, sir, without a moment's 
 thought I did knock down the hare, which I was go- 
 ing to carry to your worship, because I knew madam 
 was fond of hare. I am truly sorry for my fault, and 
 will submit to whatever punishment your worship 
 may please to inflict." 
 
 Mr. Wilson was nmch moved with this hones*
 
 148 DOMESTIC TALKS AND ALLEG0KIK3. 
 
 confession, and touched with the poor fellow's grati 
 tude. What added to the etiect of the storj', was the 
 weak condition and pale sickly looks of the offender 
 But this worthy magistrate never suffered his feeling 
 to bias his integrity ; he knew that he did not sit on 
 that bench to indulge pity, but to administer justice , 
 and while he was soriy for the offender, he would 
 never justify the offence. "John," said he, "lam 
 surprised that you could for a moment forget that I 
 never accept any gift which causes the giver to break 
 a law. On Sunday I teach you from the pulpit the 
 laws of God, whose minister I am. At present I fill 
 the chair of the magistrate to enforce and execute the 
 laws of the land. Between those and the others 
 there is more connexion than you are aware. I thank 
 you, John, for your affection to me, and I admire your 
 gratitude ; but I must not allow either affection or 
 gratitude to be brought as a plea for a wrong action. 
 It is not your business nor mine, John, to settle 
 whether the game laws are good or bad. Till they 
 are repealed we must obey them. Many, I doubt 
 not, break these laws through ignorance, and many, I 
 am certain, who would not dare to steal a goose or a 
 turkey, make no scruple of knocking down a hare or 
 a partridge. You wall hereafter think yourself happy 
 that this your first attempt has proved unsuccessful, 
 as I trust you are too honest a fellow ever to intend 
 to turn poacher. With poaching much moral evil is 
 connected ; a habit of nightly depredation ; a custom 
 of prowling in the dark for prey produces in time a 
 disrelish for honest labor. He whose first offence was 
 committed without much thought or evil intention, 
 if he happens to succeed a few times in canying off 
 his booty undiscovered, grows bolder and bolder ; 
 and when he fancies there is no shame attending it, 
 he veiy soon gets to persuade himself that there is 
 also no sin. While some people pretend a scruple 
 about stealing a sheep, they partly live by plundering 
 f warrens. But remember that the warrener pays a
 
 GILES THE POACHEK. l4y 
 
 high rent, and tLat therefore his rabbits are as much 
 his property as his sheep. Do not then deceive your- 
 selves with these false distinctions. All property ia 
 sacred, and as the laws of the land are intended to 
 fence in that property, he who brings up his children 
 to break down any of these fences, brings them up to 
 certain sin and ruin. He who begins with robbing 
 orchards, rabbit-warrens, and fish-ponds, will probably 
 end with horse-stealing or highway robbery. Poach- 
 ing is a regular apprenticeship to bolder crimes. He 
 whom I may commit as a boy to sit in the stocks foi" 
 killing a partridge, may he likely to end at the gallows 
 for killing a man. 
 
 " Observe, you who now hear me, the strictness 
 and impartiality of justice. I know Giles to be a 
 worthless fellow, yet it is my duty to take his infor- 
 mation ; I know Jack Weston to be an honest youth, 
 yet I must be obliged to make him pay the penalty. 
 Giles is a bad man, but he can prove this fact; Jack 
 is a worthy lad, but he has committed this fault. I 
 am sorry for you. Jack ; but do not let it grieve you 
 that Giles has played worse tricks a hundred times, 
 and yet got off, while you were detected in the very 
 first offence, for that would be grieving because you 
 are not as great a rogue as Giles. At this moment 
 you think your good luck is very unequal ; but all 
 this will one day turn out in your favor. Giles is not 
 the more a favorite of Heaven because he has hither- 
 to escaped Botany Bay or the hulks ; nor is it any 
 mark of God's displeasure against you, John, that 
 you were found out in your very first attempt." 
 
 Here the good justice left off speaking, and no 
 one could contradict the truth of what he had said. 
 Weston humbly submitted to his sentence, but he 
 was very poor, and knew not where to raise the 
 money to pay liis fine. His character had always 
 been so fair, that several farmers present, kindly 
 agreed to advance a trifle each to prevent his being 
 sent to prison, and he thankfully promised to work
 
 150 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 out the debt. The justice himself, though he coul(H 
 not soften the law, yet showed Weston so niuch 
 kindness that he was enabled before the year was out, 
 to get out of this difficulty. He began to think more 
 seriously tlianhe hadeveryet done, and grew to abhor 
 poaching, not merely from fear, but from principle. 
 We shall see whether poaching Giles always got 
 off so successfully. Worldly prosperity is no sure 
 sign of goodness. The " triumph of the wicked is 
 short." 
 
 History of Widow Brown's Apple- Tree. 
 As to Giles and his boys, old Widow Brown has 
 good reason to remember their dexterity. Poor 
 woman! she had a fine little bed of onions in her 
 neat and well-kept garden ; she was veiy fond of her 
 onions, and many a rheumatism has she caught by 
 kneeling down to weed them in a damp day, notwith- 
 standing the little flannel cloak and the bit of an old 
 mat which Madam Wilson gave her, because the old 
 woman would needs weed in wet weather. Her 
 onions she always carefully treasured up for her win- 
 ter's store ; for an onion makes a little broth very 
 relishing, and is indeed the only savoiy thing poor 
 people are used to get. She had also a small orchard, 
 containing about a dozen apple-trees, with which in 
 a good year she had been known to make a couple of 
 barrels of cider, which she sold to her landlord 
 toward paying her rent, besides having a little keg 
 which she was able to keep back for her own drink- 
 ing. Well ! would you believe it, Giles and his boys 
 marked both onions and apples for their own ; indeed, 
 a man who stole so many rabbits from the warrener, 
 was likely enough to s^eal onions for sauce. One day 
 when the widow was abroad cm a little business, 
 Giles and his boys made a clear riddance of the onion 
 bed ; and when they had pulled up eveiy single 
 onion, they then turned a couple of pigs into the 
 garden, who, allured by the smell, tore up the bed in
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 151 
 
 such a manner, that the widow, when she cams 
 home, had not the least doubt but the pigs had been 
 the thieves. To confirm this opinion, they took care 
 to leave the latch half open at one end of the gar 
 den, and to break down a slight fence at the other 
 end. 
 
 I wonder how anybody can find in his heart not to 
 pity and respect poor old widows. There is some- 
 thing so forlorn and helpless in their condition, that 
 methinks it is a call on everybody, men, women, and 
 childi-en, to do them all the kind seiTices that fall in 
 their way. Surely their having no one to take their 
 part, is an additional reason for kind-hearted people 
 not to hurt and oppress them. But it was this very 
 reason which led Giles to do this woman an injii^ry. 
 With what a touching simplicity is it recorded in 
 scripture, of the youth whom our blessed Savior 
 raised from the dead, that he was the only sou of his 
 mother, and she a widow ! 
 
 It happened unluckily for poor Widow Brown that 
 her cottage stood quite alone. On several mornings 
 together, for roguery gets up much earlier than in- 
 dustry, Giles and his boys stole regularly into her 
 orchard, followed by their jack-asses. She was so 
 deaf that she could not hear the asses if they had 
 brayed ever so loud, and to this Giles trusted ; for he 
 was very cautious in his rogueries, since he could not 
 otherwise have contrived so long to keep out of prison : 
 for though he was almost always suspected, he had 
 seldom been taken up, and never convicted. The 
 boys used to fill their bags, load their asses, and then 
 march off; and if in their way to the town where the 
 apples were to be sold, they chanced to pass by one 
 of their neighbors who might be likely to suspect 
 them, they then all at once began to scream out. 
 
 Buy my coal ! — buy my sand !" 
 
 Besides the trees in her orchard, poor Widow 
 Brown had in her small garden one apple-true ])ar- 
 ticularly fine ; it was a red-streak, so tempting and
 
 152 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 SO lovely, that Giles's family had watched iv with 
 longing eyes, till at last they resolved on a plan for 
 carrying oil' all this fine fniit in their bags. But it 
 was a nice point to manage. The tree stood directly 
 under her chamber window, so that there was some 
 danger that she might spy them at the work They 
 therefore determined to wait till the next Sunday 
 morning, when they knew she would not fail to be 
 at church. Sunday came, and during service Giles 
 attended. It was a lone house, as I said before, and 
 the rest of the parish were safe at church. In a trice 
 the tree was cleared, the bags were filled, the asses 
 were whipped, the thieves were off, the coast was 
 clear, and all was safe and quiet by the time the ser- 
 mon was over. 
 
 Unluckily, however, it happened that this tree was 
 so beautiful, and the fruit so fine, that the people, as 
 they used to pass to and from the church, were very 
 apt to stop and admire Widow Brown's red-streaks ; 
 and some of the farmers rather envied her that in that 
 scarce season, when they hardly expected to make a 
 pie out of a large orchard, she was likely to make a 
 cask of cider from a single tree. I am afraid, indeed, 
 if I must speak." out, she herself rather set her heart 
 too much upon this fruit, and had felt as much pride 
 in her tree as gratitude to a good Providence for it ; 
 but this failing of hers was no excuse for Giles. The 
 covetousness of this thief had for once got the better 
 of his caution ; the tree was too completely stripped, 
 though the youngest boy Dick did beg hard that his 
 father would leave the poor old woman enough for a 
 few dumplings ; and when Giles ordered Dick in his 
 turn to shake the tree, the boy did it so gently that 
 hardly any apples fell, for which he got a good stroke 
 of the stick with which the old man was beating down 
 the apples. 
 
 The neighbors on their return from church stopped 
 as usual, but it was not, alas ! to admire the apples, 
 'or apples there were none left, but to lament the
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 153 
 
 robbery, and console the widow. JMeantime the red- 
 streaks were safely lodged in Giles's hovel, under a 
 few bundles of new hay which he had contrived to 
 pull from the farmer's mow the night before, for the 
 use of his jack-asses. Such a stir, however, began to 
 be made about the widow's apple-tree, that Giles, 
 who knew how much his character had laid him open 
 to suspicion, as soon as he saw the people safe in 
 church again in the afternoon, ordered his boys to 
 carry each a hatful of the apples, and thrust them in 
 a little casement window which happened to be open 
 in the house of Samuel Price, a very honest carpen- 
 ter in that parish, who was at church with his whole 
 family. Giles's plan, by this contrivance, was to lay 
 the theft on Price's sons in case the thing should 
 come to be further inquired into. Here Dick put in 
 a word, and begged and prayed his father not to force 
 them to cany the apples to Price's. But all that he 
 got by his begging was such a knock as had nearly 
 laid him on the earth. " What, you cowardly ras- 
 cal," said Giles, " you will go and 'peach, I suppose, 
 and get your father sent to jail." 
 
 Poor Widow Brown, though her trouble had made 
 her still weaker than she was, went to church again 
 in the afternoon : indeed, she rightly thought that 
 her being in trouble was a new reason why she ought 
 to go. During the sen'ice she tried with all her 
 might not to think of her red-streaks^ and whenever 
 they would come into her head, she took up her 
 prayer-book directly, and so she forgot them a little ; 
 and indeed, she found herself much easier when she 
 came out of the church than when she went in, an 
 effect so commonly preduced by prayer, thatmethinks 
 it is a pity people do not try it oftencr. Now it hap- 
 pened oddly enough, that on that Sunday, of all the 
 Sundays in the year, the widow should call in to rest 
 a little at Samuel Price's, to tell over again the lament- 
 able story of the apples, and to consult with hiih how 
 the thief might be brought to justice. But O, reader !
 
 154 DOMESTIC TALES AI^D ALLEGORIES. 
 
 guess if you can, for I am sure I can not tell you, 
 what was her surprise, when, on going into Samuel 
 Price's kitchen, she saw her own red-streaks lying on 
 the window ! The apples were of a sort too remark- 
 able for color, shape, and size, to be mistaken- There 
 was not such another tree in the parish. Widow 
 Brown immediately screamed out, " Alas-a-day, as 
 sure as can be, here are my red-streaks; I could 
 swear to them in any court." Samuel Price, who 
 believed his sons to be as honest as himself, was 
 shocked and troubled at the sight. .He knew he had 
 no red-streaks of his own ; he knew there were no 
 apples in the window when he went to church : he 
 did verily believe these apples to be the widow's. 
 But hoAv they came there he could not possibly guess. 
 He called for Tom, the only one of his sons who 
 now lived at home. Tom was at the Sunday school, 
 which he had never once missed since Mr. Wilson 
 the minister had set up one in the parish. Was such 
 a boy likely to do such a deed ? 
 
 A crowd was by this time got about Price's door, 
 among which were Giles and his boys, who had al- 
 ready taken care to spread the news that Tom Price 
 was the thief. Most people were unwilling to believe 
 it. His character was very good, but appearances 
 were strongly against him. Mr. Wilson, who had 
 stayed to christen a child, now came in. He was 
 much concerned that Tom Price, the best boy in his 
 school, should stand accused of such a crime. He 
 sent for the boj', examined, and cross-examined him. 
 No marks of guilt appeared. But still though he 
 pleaded not guilty, there lay the red-streaks in his 
 father's window. All the idle fellows in the place, 
 who were most likely to have committed such a theft 
 themselves, were the very people who fell with ven- 
 geance on poor Tom. The wicked seldom give any 
 quarter. " This is one of your sanctified ones I" cried 
 they. " This was all the good that Sunday schools 
 did! For their parts they never saw any good come
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 155 
 
 by religion. Sunday was the only day for a little 
 pastime, and if poor boys must be shut up with their 
 godly books, when they ought to be out taking a little 
 pleasure, it was no wonder they made themselvea 
 amends by such tricks." Another said he should like 
 to see Parson Wilson's righteous one well whipped. 
 A third hoped he would be clapped in the stocks for 
 a young hypocrite as he was ; while old Giles, who 
 thought the only way to avoid suspicion was by being 
 more violent than the rest, declared, that " he hoped 
 the young dog would be transported for life." 
 
 Mr. Wilson was too wise and too just to proceed 
 against Tom without full proof. He declared the 
 crime was a heavy one, and he feared that heavy must 
 be the punishment. Tom, who kne-w his own inno- 
 cence, earnestly prayed to God that it might be made 
 to appear as clear as the noonday ; and very feiTcnt 
 were his secret devotions on that night. 
 
 Black Giles passed his night in a very diflercnt 
 manner. He set off as soon as it was dark, with his 
 sons and their jack-asses, laden with their stolen goods. 
 As such a cry was raised about the apples, he did not 
 think it safe to keep them longer at home, but re- 
 solved to go and sell them at the next town, borrow- 
 ing without leave a lame colt out of the moor to assist 
 in canying Off his booty. 
 
 Giles and his eldest sons had rare sport all the way 
 in thinking, that while they were enjoying the profit 
 of their plunder, Tom Price would be whipped round 
 the market-place at least, if not sent beyond sea. 
 But the younger boy Dick, who had naturally a ten- 
 der heart, though hardened by his long familiarity 
 with sin, could not help crying, when he thought 
 that Tom Price might, perhaps, be transported for a 
 crime which he himself had helped to commit. He 
 h.ad had no compunction about the robbery, for he 
 had not been instructed m the great principles of truth 
 Jind justice ; nor would he therefore, perhaps, have 
 had much remorse about accusing an innocent boy.
 
 156 DOMESTIC TALES A>D ALLEGORIES 
 
 But though utterly devoid of principle, he had som« 
 remains of natural feeling and of gratitude. Tom 
 Price Iiad often given him a bit of his own bread and 
 cheese ; and once, when Dick was like to be drowned, 
 Tom had jumped into the pond with his clothes on, 
 and saved his life when he was just sinking ; the re- 
 membrance of all this made his heart heavy. He 
 said nothing; but as he trotted barefoot after the 
 asses, he heard his father and brothei-s laugh at having 
 outwitted the godly ones ; and he grieved to think 
 how poor Tom would suffer for his wickedness, yet 
 fear kept him silent; they called him a sulky dog, 
 and lashed the asses till they bled. 
 
 In the meantime Tom Price kept up his spirits as 
 well as he could. He worked hard all day, and prayed 
 heartily night and morning. " It is true," said he to 
 himself, " I am not guilty of this sin ; but let this ac- 
 cusation set me on examining myself, and truly re- 
 penting of all my other sins ; for I find enoitgh to 
 repent of, though I thank God I did not steal the 
 widow's apples." 
 
 At length Sunday came, and Tom went to school 
 as usual. As soon as he walked in, there was a great 
 deal of whispering and laughing among the worst of 
 the boys ; and he overheard them say, " Who would 
 have tliought it ? This is master's favorite I — This is 
 Parson Wilson's sober Tommy ! We sha'n't have 
 Tommy thrown in our teeth again if we go to get a 
 bird's nest, or gather a few nuts on a Sunday." 
 " Your demure ones are always hypocrites," says an- 
 other. " The still sow suck all the milk," says a 
 ■-hird. 
 
 Giles's family had always kept clear of the school. 
 Dick, indeed, had sometimes wished to go ; not that 
 he had much sense of sin, or desire after goodness, 
 but he thought if he could once read, he might rise 
 in the world, and not be forced to drive asses all his 
 life. Through this whole Saturday night he could 
 not sleep. He longed to know what would be done
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 157 
 
 to Tom. He began to wish to go to school, but he 
 had not courage : sin is very cowardly. So on the 
 Sunday morning he went and sat himself down under 
 the church wall. Mr. Wilson passed by. It was 
 not his way to reject the most wicked, till he had 
 tried eveiy means to bring them over ; and even then 
 he pitied and prayed for them. He had, indeed, long 
 left oti talking to Giles's sons; but seeing Dick sitting 
 by himself, he once more spoke to him, desired him to 
 leave oft' his vagabond life, and go with him into the 
 school. The boy hung down his head, but made no 
 answer. He did not, however, either rise up and run 
 away, or look sulky, as he used to do. The minister 
 desired him once more to go. " Sir," said the boy, 
 " I can't go ; I am so big I am ashamed." — " The 
 bigger you are the less time you have to lose."^ 
 " But, sir, I can't read." — "Then it is high time you 
 should learn." — " I should be ashamed to begin to 
 learn my letters." — " The shame is not in beginning 
 to learn them, but in being contented never to know 
 them." — "But, sir, I am so ragged!" — "God looks 
 at the heart, and not at the coat." — " But, sir, I have 
 no shoes and stockings." — "So much the worse. I 
 remember who gave you both." — Here Dick colored. 
 " It is bad to want shoes and stockings ; but still, if you 
 can drive your asses a dozen miles without them, you 
 may certainly walk a hundred yards to school without 
 them." — "But, sir, the good boys will hate me, and 
 won't speak to me." — " Good boys hate nobody ; and 
 as to not speaking to you, to be sure they will not 
 keep your company while you go on in your present 
 evil courses ; but as soon as they see you wish to re- 
 form, they will help you, and pity you, and teacli 
 you; and so come along." — Here Mr. Wilson took 
 this dirty boy by the hand, and gently jiulled him for- 
 ward, kindly talking to him all the way in the most 
 condescending manner. 
 
 How the whole school stared to sec Dick Giles 
 come in ! No one, however dared to say what he 
 14
 
 158 DOMESTIC TALE3 AND ALLEGORIEf. 
 
 thought. The business went on, and Dick slunk into 
 a corner, partly to hide his rags, and partly to hide 
 his sin, for last Sunday's transaction sat hea\'y on his 
 heart, not because he had stolen the apples, but be- 
 cause Tom Price had been accused. This, I say, 
 made him slink behind. Poor boy ! he little thought 
 there was O.VE saw him who sees all things, and 
 from wlwse eye no hole nor corner can hide the sin- 
 ner; " for he is about our bed, and about our path, 
 and spieth out all our ways." 
 
 It was the custom in that school, and an excellent 
 custom it is, for the master, who was a good and wise 
 man, to mark down in his pocketbook all the events 
 of the week, that he might turn them to some ac- 
 count in his Sunday evening instructions, such as 
 any useful story in the newspaper, any account of 
 boys being drowned as they were out in a pleasure- 
 boat on Sundays, any sudden death in the parish, or 
 any other remarkable visitation of Providence, inso- 
 much, that many young people in the place, who did 
 not belong to the school, and many parents also, used 
 to drop in for an hour on a Sunday evening, when 
 they were sure to hear something profitable. The 
 minister greatly approved this practice, and often 
 called in himself, which was a great support to the 
 master, and encouragement to the people who at- 
 tended. 
 
 The master had taken a deep concern in the story 
 of Widow Brown's apple-tree. He could not believe 
 Tom Price was guilty, nor dared he pronounce him 
 innocent, but he resolved to turn the instructions of 
 the present evening to this subject. He began thus : 
 " My dear boys, however light some of you may 
 make of robbing an orchard, yet I have often told you 
 there is no such thing as a little sin, if it be wilful or 
 habitual. I wish now to explain to you, also, that 
 there is hardly such a thing as a single solitaiy sin. 
 You know I teach you not merely to repeat the 
 commandments as an exercise for your memoiy, but
 
 GILES THE POACHER. 159 
 
 as a rule for your conduct. If you were to come 
 here only to learn to read and spell on a Sunday, I 
 should think that was not employing God's day foi 
 God's work, but I teach you to read that you may, 
 by this means, come so to understand the Bible and 
 the Catechism, as to make every text in the one, and 
 every question and answer in the other, to be so fixed 
 in your hearts that they may bring forth in you the 
 fruits of good living." 
 
 Master. How many commandments are there ? 
 
 Boy. Ten. 
 
 Master. How many commandments did that boy 
 break who stole Widow Brown's apples ? 
 
 Boy. Only one, master, the eighth. 
 
 Master. What is the eighth ? 
 
 Boy. Thou shall not steal. 
 
 Master. And you are very sure that this was the 
 only one he broke ? Now suppose I could prove to 
 you that he probably broke not less than six out of 
 those ten commandments, which the great Lord of 
 heaven himself stooped down from his eternal glory 
 to deliver to men, would you not, then, think it a ter- 
 rible thing to steal, whether apples or guineas ? 
 
 Boy. Yes, master. 
 
 Master. I will put the case. Some wicked boy 
 has robbed Widow Brown's orchard. Here the eyes 
 of every one were turned on poor Tom Price, except 
 those of Dick Giles, who fixed his on the ground. 
 I accuse no one, continued the master, Tom Price is 
 a good boy, and was not missing at the time of the 
 robbery ; these are two reasons why I j)resuine that 
 he is innocent ; but whoever it was, you allow that 
 by stealing these apples he broke the eighth com- 
 mandment ? 
 
 Boy. Yes, master. 
 
 Master. On what day were these apples stolen ? 
 
 Boy. On Sunday. 
 
 Master. What is the fourth commandment? 
 
 Boy. Thou shalt keep holy the sabbath-day.
 
 IGO DOMESTIC TAT-ES AND ALLEGORIES 
 
 Master. Does that person keep Loly the sabbath- 
 day who loiters in an orchard on Sunday, when he 
 should be at church, and steals apples \vhen he 
 ought to be saying his prayers 1 
 
 Boy. No, master. 
 
 Master. What command does he bi-eak ? 
 
 Boy. the fourth. 
 
 Master. Suppose this boy had parents who had 
 gent him to church, and that he had disobeyed them 
 by not going, would that be keeping the huh com- 
 mandment ? 
 
 Boy. No, master, for the fifth commandment says, 
 Thou, shall honor thy father and thy mother. 
 
 This was the only part of the case in which poor 
 JDick Giles's heart did not smite him; he knew he 
 had disobeyed no father — for his father, alas ! was 
 still wickeder than himself, and had brought him up 
 to commit the sin. But what a wretched comfort 
 vv^as this ! The master went on. 
 
 Master. Suppose this boy earnestly coveted this 
 fruit, though it belonged to another person, would 
 that be right ? 
 
 Boy. No, master, for the tenth commandment says, 
 Thou shall not covet. 
 
 Master. Very well. Here are four of God's pos- 
 itive commands already broken. Now do you think 
 thieves ever scruple to use wicked words ? 
 
 Boy. I am afraid not, master. 
 
 Here Dick Giles was not so hardened but that he 
 remembered how many curses had passed between 
 him and his father while they were filling the bags, 
 and he was afraid to look up. The master went on. 
 
 I will now go one step further. If the thief, to all 
 his other sins, has added that of accusing the inno- 
 cent to save liimself, if he should break the ninth 
 commandment, by bearing false witness against a 
 harmless neighbor, then six commandments are broken 
 for an apple! But if it be otherwise, if Tom Price 
 should be found guilty, it is not his good charactei
 
 GILE3 THE POACHER. 161 
 
 shall save hmi. I shall shed tears over him, but pun- 
 ish him I must, and that severely." " No, that you 
 sha'n't," roared out Dick Giles, who sprung from his 
 hiding-place, fell on his knees, and burst out a-ciy- 
 ing; "Tom Price is as good a boy as ever lived; it 
 was father and 1 who stole the apples!" 
 
 It would have done your heart good to have seen 
 the joy of the master, the modest blushes of Tom 
 Price, and the satisfaction of every honest boy in the 
 school. All shook hands with Tom, and even Dick 
 got some portion of pity. But while Mr. Wilson 
 left the guilty boy to the management of the master, 
 he thought it became him, as a minister and a magis- 
 trate, to go to the extent of the law in punishing the 
 father. Early on the Monday morning he sent to 
 apprehend Giles. In the meantime Mr. Wilson was 
 sent for to a gardener's house two miles distant, to at- 
 tend a man who was dying. This was a duty to 
 which all others gave way in his mmd. He set out 
 directly, but what was his surprise, on his arrival, to 
 see, on a little bed on the floor, poaching Giles lying 
 in all the agonies of death! Jack Weston, the same 
 poor young man against whom Giles had informed 
 for killing a hare, was kneeling by him, ofl'ering him 
 some broth, and talking to him in the kindest manner. 
 Mr. Wilson begged to know the meaning of all this^ 
 and Jack Weston spoke as follows : — 
 
 "At four in the morning, as I was going out to 
 mow, passing under the high wall of this garden, I 
 heard a most dismal moaning. The nearer I came 
 the more dismal it grew. At last, who should I see 
 but poor Giles groaning, and struggling under a quan- 
 tity of bricks and stones, but not able to stir. The 
 day before he had marked a fine large net on this old 
 wall, and resolved to steal it, for he thought it might 
 do as well to catch partridges as to preserve cherries ; 
 BO, sir, standing on the very top of this wall, and tug- 
 ging with all his might to loosen the net from the 
 hooks which fastened it. down came Giles, net, wall,
 
 162 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 and all, for the wall was gone to iecay. It was very 
 high, indeed, and poor Giles not only broke his thigh, 
 but has got a terrible blow on his head, and is bruised 
 all over like a mummy. On seeing me, sir, poor 
 Giles cried out, ' Oh, Jack ! I did try to ruin thee by 
 lodging that information, and now thou wilt be re- 
 venged by letting me lie here and perish.' ' God for- 
 bid, Giles!' cried I; 'thou shalt see what sort of re- 
 venge a Christian takes.' So, sir, I sent otY the garden- 
 er's boy to fetch a surgeon, while I scampered home 
 and brought on my back this bit of a hammock, 
 which is indeed my own bed, and put Giles upon it; 
 we then lifted him up, bed and all, as tenderly as if 
 he had been a gentleman, and brought him in here. 
 Mj wife has just brought him a drop of nice broth; 
 and now, sir, as I have done what I could for this 
 poor perishing body, it was 1 who took the liberty to 
 send to you to come to try to help his poor soul, for 
 the doctor says he can't live." 
 
 Mr. Wilson could not help saying to himself. " Such 
 an action as this is worth a whole volume of com- 
 ments on that precept of our blessed Master, Love 
 your enemies ; do good to them that hate you.^' Giles's 
 dying groans confirmed the sad account Weston had 
 just given. The poor wretch could neither pray 
 himself nor attend to the minister. He could only 
 cry out, " Oh ! sir, what will become of me .' I don't 
 know how to repent. O my poor wicked children ! 
 Sir, I have bred them all up in sin and ignorance. 
 Have mercy on them, sir; let me not meet them in 
 the place of torment to which I am going. Lord, 
 grant them that time for repentance which I have 
 thrown away !" He languished a few days, and died 
 in great misery — a fresh and sad instance that people 
 who abuse the grace of God, and resist his spirit, 
 find it difficult to repent. 
 
 Except the minister and Jack Weston, no one came 
 to see poor Giles, besides Tommy Price, who had 
 been so sadly wronged by him. Tom often brought
 
 WILY-S THE T-OACHER. 1 6'3 
 
 him his own rice-milk or apple-dumjxing, and Giles» 
 ignorant and depraved as he was, often cried out, 
 that " he thought now there must be some truth in 
 rehgion, since it taught even a boy to deny himself, 
 and to forgive an injury. Mr. Wilson, the next Sun- 
 day, made a moving discourse on the danger of what 
 ?re called petty offences.
 
 • 64 DOMESrii,' TALKS A«D A» i-KG0RIK3 
 
 V. THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER. 
 
 William was a lively young servant, who lived in 
 a great hut very irregular family. His place was on 
 the whole, agreeable to him, and suited to his gay 
 thoughtless temper. He found a plentiful table and 
 a good cellar. There was, indeed, a great deal of 
 work to be done, though it was performed with much 
 disorder and confusion. The family, in the main, 
 were not unkind to him, though they often contra- 
 dicted and crossed him, especially when things went 
 ill with themselves. This William never much liked, 
 for he was always fond of having his own way. 
 There was a merry, or rather a noisy and riotous ser- 
 vant's hall ; for disorder and quarrels are indeed the 
 ustial effects of plenty and unrestrained indulgence. 
 The men were smart, but idle ; the maids were showy 
 but licentious, and all did pretty much as they liked 
 for a time, but the time was commonly short. The 
 wages were reckoned high, but they were seldom 
 jf.aid, and it was even said by sober people, that the 
 family was insolvent, and never fulfilled any of their 
 flattering engagements, or their most positive prom- 
 ises; but still, notwithstanding their real poverty, 
 things went on with just the same thoughtlessness 
 and splendor, and neither master nor servants looked 
 beyond the jollity of the present hour. 
 
 In this unruly family there was little church-going, 
 and still less praying at home. They pretended, in- 
 deed, in a general way, to believe in the Bible, but it 
 was only an outward profession, few of them read it
 
 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER. 165 
 
 at all, and even of those who did read it still fewer 
 were governed by it. There was indeed a Bible lying 
 on the table in the great hall, which was kept for the 
 purpose of administering an oath, but was seldom 
 used on any other occasion, and some of the heads 
 of the family were of opinion that this was its only 
 real use, as it might seiTe to keep the lower parts of 
 it in order. 
 
 William, who was fond of novelty and pleasure, 
 was apt to be negligent of the duties of the house. 
 He used to stay out on his en'ands, and one of his 
 favorite amusements was going to the parade to see 
 the soldiers exercise. He saw with envy how smartly 
 they were dressed, listened with rapture to the music, 
 and fancied that a soldier had nothing to do but to 
 walk to and fro in a certain regular order, to g-o 
 through a little easy exercise, in short, to live without 
 fighting, fatigue, or danger. 
 
 O, said he, whenever he was affronted at home, 
 what a fine thing it must be to be a soldier! to be so 
 well dressed, to have nothing to do but to move to 
 the pleasant sound of fife and drum, and to have so 
 many people come to look at one, and admire one. 
 O it must be a fine thing to be a soldier ! 
 
 Yet when the vexation of the moment was over he 
 found so much ease and diversion in the great family, 
 it was so suited to his low taste and sensual appetites, 
 that he thought no more of the matter. He forgot 
 the glories of a soldier, and eagerly returned to all 
 the mean gratifications of the kitchen. His evil hab- 
 its were but little attended to by those with whom he 
 lived ; his faults, among which were lying and swear- 
 ing, were not often corrected by the family, who had 
 little objection to those sins which only olfended God 
 and did not much affect their own interest or property. 
 And excei)t that William was obliged to work rather 
 more than he liked, he found little, while he was 
 young and healthy, that was very disagreeable in his 
 service. So he went on, still thinking, however,
 
 166 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALIICORIES. 
 
 when thinss went a little cross, what a fine thing i\ 
 was to be a soldier ! At last one day as he was wait- 
 ing at dinner, he had the misfortune to let fall a china 
 dish, and broke it all to pieces. It was a curious 
 dish, much valued by the family, as they pretended ; 
 this family were indeed apt to set a false fantastic 
 value on things, and not to estimate them by their 
 real worth. The heads of the family, who had gen- 
 erally been rather patient and good-humored with 
 William, as I said before, for those vices, which 
 though offensive to God did not touch their own pock- 
 et, now flew out into a violent passion with him, called 
 him a thousand hard names, and even threatened to 
 horsewhip him for his shameful negligence. 
 
 William in a great fright, for he was a sad coward 
 at bottom, ran directly out of the house to avoid the 
 threatened punishment ; and happening just at that 
 very time to pass by the parade where the soldiers 
 chanced to be then exercising, his resolution was ta- 
 ken in a moment. He instantly determined to be no 
 more a slave, as he called it ; he would return no 
 more to be subject to the humors of a tyrannical fam- 
 ily ; no, he was resolved to be free ; or at least, if he 
 must serve, he would serve no master but the king. 
 
 William, who had now and then happened to hear 
 from the accidental talk of the soldiers that those who 
 served the great family he had lived with, were slaves 
 to their tyranny and vices, had also heard in the same 
 casual manner, that the service of the king was^;er- 
 fect freedom. Now he had taken it into his head to 
 hope that this might be a freedom to do evil, or at 
 least to do nothing, so he thought it was the only 
 place in the world to suit him. 
 
 A fine likely young man as William was, had no 
 great difficulty to get enlisted. The few forms were 
 soon settled, he received the bounty money as eagerly 
 as it was offered, took the oaths of allegiance, was join- 
 ed to the regiment and heartily welcomed by his new 
 comrades. He was the happiest fellow alive. All was 
 smooth and calm The day happened to be very fine,
 
 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER. ] 67 
 
 and therefore William always reckoned upon a fine 
 day. The scene was gay and lively, the music cheer- 
 ful, he found the exercise very easy, and he thought 
 there was little more expected from him. 
 
 He soon began to flourish away in his talk ; and 
 when he met with any one of his old fellow-servants, 
 he fell a prating about marches and counter-marches, 
 and blockades, and battles, and sieges, and blood, and 
 death, and triumphs, and victories, all at random, for 
 these were words and phrases he had picked up with- 
 out at all understanding what he had said. He had no 
 knowledge, and therefore he had no modesty ; he had 
 no experience and therefore he had no fears. 
 
 All seemed to go on swimmingly, for he had as yet 
 no trial. He began to think with triumph what a 
 mean life he had escaped from in the old quarrelsome 
 family, and what a happy, honorable life he should 
 have in the army. O there was no life like the life 
 of a soldier! 
 
 In a short time, however, war broke out, his regi- 
 ment was one of the first which was called out to ac- 
 tual and hard service. As "William was the most raw 
 of all the recruits he was the first to murmur at the 
 difficulties and hardships, the cold and hunger, the 
 fatigue and danger of being a soldier. O what watch- 
 ings, and perils, and trials, and hardships, and difficul- 
 ties, he now thought attended a military life ! Surely, 
 said he, I could never have suspected all this misery 
 when I used to see the men on the parade in our town. 
 
 He now found, when it was too late, tliat all the 
 field-days lie used to attend, all the evolutions and 
 exercises which he had observed the soldiers to go 
 through in the calm times of peace and siiR-ty, were 
 only meant to fit, train, and qualify them, for the ac- 
 tual service which they were now sent out to perform 
 by the command of the king. 
 
 The truth is, William often complained when tliere 
 was no real hardship to complain of; for the common 
 troubles of life fell out in-eity much alike to the grfat 
 family which William had left, and to the soldiers in
 
 168 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 the king's army. But the spirit of obedience, disci- 
 pline, and self-denial of the latter, seemed hardships 
 to one of William's loose tmn of mind. When he 
 began to murmur, some good old soldier clapped him 
 oa the back, saying, " Cheer up, lad, it is a kingdom 
 you are to strive for; if \ye faint not, henceforth there 
 is laid up for us a great reward ; we have the king's 
 word for it, man." William observed, that to those 
 who truly believed this, their labors were as nothing, 
 but he himself did not at the bottom believe it ; and it 
 was obseiTed, of all the soldiers who failed, the true 
 cause was that they did not really believe the king's 
 promise. He was surprised to see that those soldiers 
 who used to bluster and boast, and deride the assaults 
 of the enemy, now began to fall away ; while such as 
 had faithfully obeyed the king's orders, and believed in 
 his word, were sustained in the hour of trial. Those 
 who had trusted in their own strength, all fainted on 
 the slightest attack ; while those who had put on the 
 armor of the king's providing, the sword, and the shield, 
 and the helmet, and the breastplate, and whose feet 
 were shod according to order, now endured hardship as 
 good soldiers, and were enabled to fight the good fight. 
 An engagement was expected immediately. The 
 men were ordered to prepare for battle. While the 
 rest of the corps were so preparing, William's whole 
 thoughts were bent on contriving how he might de- 
 sert. But alas ! he was watched on all sides, he 
 could not possibly devise any means to escape. The 
 danger increased every moment, the battle came on. 
 William, who had been so sure and confident before 
 he entered, flinched in the moment of trial, while his 
 more quiet and less boastful comrades prepared boldly 
 to do their duty. William looked about on all sides, 
 and saAv that there was no eye upon him, for he did 
 not know that the king's eye was everywhere at once. 
 He at last thought he spied a chance of escaping, not 
 from the enemy, but from his own army. While he 
 was endeavoring to escape, a ball from the opposite 
 camp took off his leg. As he fell, the first word
 
 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER. 169 
 
 which broke from him were, " While I was in my 
 duty I was preserved ; in the very act of deserting I 
 am wounded." He lay expecting every moment to be 
 trampled to death ; but as the confusion was a little 
 over, he was taken off the field by some of his own 
 party, laid in a place of safety, and left to himself 
 sfter his wound was dressed. 
 
 The skirmish, for it proved nothing more, was soon 
 orer. The greater part of the regiment escaped in 
 safety. William in the meantime suffered cruelly 
 both in mind and body. To the pains of a wounded 
 soldier he added the disgrace of a coward, and the in- 
 famy lerf a deserter. " O," cried he, "why was I such 
 a fool as to leave the great family I lived in, where 
 there wks meat and drink enough and to spare, only 
 on account of a little quarrel ? I might have made up 
 that with them as we had done our former quarrels. 
 Why.did I leave a life of ease and pleasure, where I 
 had only a little rub now and then, for a life of daily 
 discipline and constant danger ? Why did I turn 
 soldier ? O what a miserable animal is a soldier !" 
 
 As he was sifting in this weak and disabled con- 
 dition, uttering the above complaints, he observed a 
 venerable old officer, with thin gray locks on his head, 
 and on his face deep wrinkles engraved by time, and 
 many an honest scar inflicted by war. William had 
 heard this old officer highly commended for his extraor- 
 dinary courage and conduct in battle, and in peace he 
 used to see him cool and collected, devoutly employed 
 in reading and praying in the interval of more active 
 duties. He could not help comparing this officer with 
 himself. " I," said he, " flinched and drew back, 
 and would even have deserted in the moment of i»eril, 
 and now in return, I have no consolation in the hour 
 of repose and safety. I would not fight then, I can 
 not pray now. O why would I ever think of being a 
 soldier?" lie then began afresh to weep and lament, 
 and he groaned so loud that he drew the notice of the 
 officer, who came up to him, kindly sat down by him, 
 16
 
 170 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 took him by the hand, and inquired with as much af« 
 fection as if he had been his brother, what was the 
 matter with him, and what particular distress, more 
 than the common fortune of war it was which drew 
 from him such bitter groans ? "I Ivnow something 
 of surgery," added he, " let me examine your wound, 
 and assist you with such little comfort as I can." 
 
 William at once saw the difierence between the 
 soldiers in the king's army, and the people in the 
 great family ; the latter commonly withdrew their 
 kindness in sickness and trouble, when most wanted, 
 which was just the very time when the others came 
 fonvard to assist. He told the officer his little his- 
 tory, the manner of his living in the great family 
 the trifling cause of his quarrelling with it, the slight 
 ground of his entering into the king's service. " Sir," 
 said he, " I quarrelled with the family, and I thought 
 I was at once fit for the army : I did not know the 
 qualifications it required. I had not reckoned on 
 discipline, and hardships, and self-denial. I liked 
 well enough to sing a loyal song, or drink the king's 
 health, but I find I do not relish working and fighting 
 for him, though I rashly promised even to la)- down 
 my life for his service if called upon, when I took the 
 bounty money and the oath of allegiance. In short, 
 sir, I find that I long for the ease and the sloth, the 
 merriment and the feasting of my old sei-vice ; I find 
 I can not be a soldier, and, to speak truth, I was in 
 the very act of deserting when I was stopped short by 
 the cannon ball. So that I feel the guilt of desertion, 
 and the misery of having lost my leg into the bar- 
 gain." 
 
 The officer thus replied : " Your state is that of 
 every worldly irreligious man. The great family you 
 served is a just picture of the world. The wages the 
 world promises to those who are willing to do its 
 work are high, but the payment is attended with much 
 disappointment; nay, the world, like your great family, 
 is in itself insolvent, and in its veiy nature incapable 
 of making good the promises, and of paying the liigl*
 
 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER. 171 
 
 rewards which it holds out to tempt its credulous fol- 
 lowers. The ungodly world, like your family, cares 
 little for church, and still less for prajer ; and con- 
 siders the Bible rather as an instrument to make an 
 oath binding, in order to keep the vidgar in obedience, 
 than in containing in itself a perfect mle of faith and 
 practice, and as a title deed to heaven. The gener- 
 ality of men love the world as you did your service, 
 while it smiles upon them, and gives them easy work 
 and plenty of meat and drink ; but as soon as it be- 
 gins to cross and contradict them, they get out of hu- 
 mor with it, just as yoti did with your ser\'icc. They 
 then think its drudgery hard, its rewards low. They 
 find out that it is high in its expectations from them, 
 and slack in its payments to them. And they begin 
 to fancy, because they do not hear religious people 
 murmur as they do, that there must be some happi- 
 ness in religion. The world, which takes no account 
 of their deeper sins, at length brings them into dis- 
 credit for some act of imprudence, just as your family 
 overlooked your lying and swearing, but threatened 
 to drub yoti for breaking a china dish. Such is the 
 judgment of the world ! It particularly bears with 
 those who only break the laws of God, but severely 
 punishes the smallest negligertce by which they them- 
 selves are injured. The world sooner pardons the 
 breaking ten commandments of God, than even a 
 china dish of its own. 
 
 " After some cross or opposition, worldly men, as I 
 said before, begin to think how much content and 
 cheerfulness they remember to have seen in religious 
 people. They therefore fancy that religion must be 
 an easy and delightful, as well as a good thing. Thej' 
 have heard that, her ways areways of pleasantness, and 
 all her paths are peace; and they persuade themselves 
 that by this is meant worldly jjleasantness and sensua 
 peace. They resolve at length to try it, to turn tlitir 
 back upon the world, to engage in the service of (Jod, 
 and turn Christians, just as you resolved to leave your 
 old service, to enter into the service of the king, and
 
 £72 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 turn soldier. But as you quitted your place in k 
 passion, so they leave the world in a huff. They 
 do not count the cost. They do not calculate upon 
 the darling sin, the habitual pleasures, the ease and 
 vanities which they undertake by their new engage- 
 ments to renounce, any more than you counted what 
 indulgences you were going to give up when you 
 quitted the luxuries and idleness of your place to en- 
 Ust in the soldier's warfare. They have, as I said. 
 Been Christians cheerful, and they mistook the ground 
 of their cheerfulness ; they fancied it arose, not be- 
 cause through grace they had conquered difficulties, 
 biit because they had no difficulties in their passage. 
 They fancied that religion found the road smooth, 
 %vhereas it only helps to bear with a rough road with- 
 out complaint. They do not know that these Chris- 
 tians are of good cheer, not because the world is free 
 from tribulation, but because Christ, their captain, has 
 overcome the world. But the irreligious man, who 
 has only seen the outside of a Christian in his worldly 
 intercourse, knows little of his secret conflicts, his 
 trials, his self-denials, his warfare with the world 
 without, and with his own corrupt desires within. 
 
 "The irreligious man quarrels with the world on 
 Bome such occasion as you did with your place. He 
 now puts on the outward forms and ceremonies of 
 religion, and assumes the badge of Christianity, just 
 as you were struck with the show of a field day ; just 
 as you were pleased with the music and the march- 
 ing, and put on the cockade and red coat. All seems 
 smooth for a little while. He goes through the out- 
 ward exercises of a Christian, a degree of credit at- 
 tends his new profession, but he never suspects there 
 is either difficulty or discipline attending it ; he fancies 
 religion is a thing for talking about, and not a thing 
 of the heart and the life. He never suspects that all 
 the psalm-singing he joins in, and the sermons he 
 hears, and the other means he is using, are only as 
 the exercises and the evolutions of the soldiers, to fit 
 and prepare him for actual seiTice ; and that these
 
 THE SERVANT MAN TURNED SOLDIER 173 
 
 means are no more religion itself, tban the exercises 
 and evolutions of your parade were real warfare. 
 
 '•At length some trial arises; this nominal Chris- 
 tian is called to differ from the world in some great 
 point ; something happens which may strike at his 
 comfort, his credit, or security. This cools his zeal 
 for religion, just as the view of an engagement cooled 
 your courage as a soldier. He finds he was only 
 angry with the world, he was not tired of it. He 
 was out of humor with the world, not because he had 
 seen through its vanity and emptiness, but because 
 the world was out of humor with him. He finds 
 that it is an easy thing to be a fair-weather Christian, 
 bold where there is nothing to be done, and confident 
 where there is nothing to be feared. Difficulties un- 
 mask him to others ; temptations unmask him to him- 
 self ; he discovers, that though he is a high professor, 
 he is no Christian; just as you found out that your 
 red coat and your cockade, your shoulder-knot and 
 your musket, did not prevent you from being a coward. 
 
 " Your misery in the raihtaiy life, like that of the 
 nominal Christian, arose from your love of ease, your 
 cowardice, and your self-ignorance. You rushed 
 into a new way of life, without trying after one quali- 
 fication for it. A total change of heart and temper 
 was necessary for your new calling. With new 
 views and principles, the soldier's life would have been 
 not only easy, but delightful to you. But while with 
 a new profession you retained your old nature, it is 
 no wonder if all discipline seemed intolerable to you. 
 
 "The true Christian, like the brave soldier, is sup- 
 ported under dangers by a strong faith that the fruits 
 of that victory for which he fights will be safety and 
 peace. But, alas ! the pleasures of this world are 
 present and visible ; the rewards for which he strives 
 are remote. He therefore fails, because nothing short 
 of a lively faith can ever outweigh a strong present 
 temptation, and lead a man to i)refer the joys of con- 
 quest to the pleasures of indulgence."
 
 174 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEOORIEa. 
 
 Vr. THE GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 
 
 There was in a certain country a great king, who 
 was also a judge. He was very merciful, but he was 
 also very just, for he used to say that justice was the 
 foundation of all goodness, and that indiscriminate 
 and misapplied mercy was, in fact, injustice. His 
 subjects were apt enough, in a general way, to extol 
 hJ8 merciful temper, and especially those subjects who 
 were always committing crimes which made them 
 particularly liable to be punished by his justice. 
 This last quality they constantly kept out of sight, 
 till they had cheated themselves into a notion that he 
 was too good to punish at all. 
 
 Now it had happened a long time before, that this 
 whole people had broken their allegiance, and had for- 
 feited the king's favor, and had also fallen from a very 
 prosperous state in which he had originally placed them, 
 having one and all become bankrupts. But when 
 they were over head and ears in debt, and had nothing 
 to pay, the king's son most generously took the whole 
 burden of their debts on himself, and, in short, it 
 was proposed that all their affairs should be settled, 
 and their very crimes forgiven, for they were crimi- 
 nals as well as debtors, provided only they would 
 show themselves sincerely sorry for what they had 
 done themselves, and be thankful for what had been 
 done for them. A book was also given them, in 
 which a true and faithful account of their own rebel- 
 Mon was written, and of the manner of obtaining the 
 King's pardon, together with a variety of directions
 
 THE GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 175 
 
 for their conduct in time to come, and in this book it 
 was particularly mentioned, that after having hved a 
 certain number of years in a remote part of the same 
 king's country, yet still under his eye and jurisdic- 
 tion, there should be a grand assizes, when every one 
 was to be publicly tried for his j)ast behavior ; anci 
 after this trial was over, certain heavy punishments 
 were to be inflicted on those who should have still 
 persisted in their rebellion, and certain high premiums 
 were to be bestowed as a gracious reward upon the 
 penitent and obedient. 
 
 This king's court differed in some respect from oui 
 courts of justice, being a sort of court of appeal, to 
 which questions were carried after they had been 
 imperfectly decided in the common courts! And not 
 merely outward sins, but sins of the heart also were 
 brought to light and resei-ved for this great day. 
 Among these were pride, and oppression, and envj-, 
 and malice, and revenge, and covelousness, and secret 
 vanity of mind, and evil thoughts of all sorts, and all 
 sinful wishes and desires. The sins of the heart were 
 by far the most numerous sort of sins which were to 
 come before this great tribunal, and those were to be 
 judged by this great king in person, and by none but 
 himself, because he alone possessed a certain power 
 of getting at all secrets. 
 
 Now you may be ready to think, perhaps, that 
 these people were worse off than any others, because 
 they were to be examined so closely, and judged so 
 strictly. Far from it; the king gave them a book of 
 directions ; and because they were naturally short- 
 sighted he supplied them with a glass for reading it, 
 and thus the most dim-sighted might see, if they did 
 not willingly shut their eyes; but though the king 
 invited them to open their eyes he did not covijkI 
 them. Many remained stone blind all their lives with 
 the book in their hand, because they would not use 
 the glass, nor take the jiroper means for reading and 
 understanding all that was written inr tlicin. Th«
 
 176 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORtES. 
 
 humble and sincere learned in time to see even tnat 
 part of the book which was least plainly written, and 
 it was obseiTcd that the ability to understand it de- 
 pended more on the heart than the head ; an evil 
 disposition blinded the sight, while humility operated 
 liive an eye-salve. 
 
 Now it happened that those who had been so lucky 
 as to escape the punishment of the lower courts, took 
 it into their heads that they were all veiy good sort 
 of people, and of course very safe from any danger at 
 this great assize. This grand intended trial, indeed, 
 had been talked of so much, and put off so long, for 
 it had seemed long at least to these short-sighted peo- 
 ple, that many persuaded themselves it would never 
 take place at all : and far the greater part were living 
 away, therefore, without ever thinking about it; they 
 went on just as if nothing at all had been done for 
 their benefit, and as if they had no king to please, no 
 king's son to be thankful to, no book to guide them- 
 selves by, and as if the assizes were never to come 
 about. But with this king a thousand years u-ere as 
 a day, for he was not slack concerning his jjromises, as 
 some men coimt slackness. So, at length, the solemn 
 period approached. The day came, and every man 
 found that he was to be judged for himself; that all 
 his secrets were brought out, and that there was now 
 no escape, not even a short reprieve; and some of the 
 worst of the criminals were got together, debating in 
 an outer court of the grand hall ; and there they 
 passed their time, not in compunction and tears, not 
 in comparing their lives with what was required in 
 that book which had been given them, but they de- 
 rived a fallacious hope by comparing themselves with 
 such as had been mofe notorious offenders. One 
 who had grown wealthy by rapine and oppression, 
 but had contrived to keep within the letter of the law, 
 insulted a poor fellow as a thief, because he had stol- 
 len a loaf of bread. "You are far wickeder than I 
 Was," said a citizen to liis apprentice, "for you diaak
 
 THE GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 177 
 
 and swore at the ale-house eveiy Sunday night." 
 "Yes," said the poor fellow, "but it was your fault 
 that I did so, for you took no care of my soul, but 
 spent all your sabbaths in jaunting abroad or in riot- 
 ing at home ; I might have learnt, but there was no 
 one to teach me ; I might have followed a good ex- 
 ample, but I saw only bad ones. I sinned against 
 less light than you did," 
 
 I can not describe the awful pomp of the court, and 
 shall only notice a few who claimed a right to be 
 rewarded by the king, and even deceived themselves 
 so far as to think that his own book of laws would 
 be their justification. A thoughtless spendthrift ad- 
 vanced without any contrition, and said that he had 
 lived handsomely, and had hated the covetoiis, whom 
 God abhorreth ; that he trusted in that passage of 
 the book which said, that covetovsness was idolatry, 
 and that he therefore hoped for a favorable sentence. 
 Now this man had left his wife and children in 
 want through his excessive prodigality. The judge 
 therefore immediately pointed to that place in the 
 book where it is written. He that i^'rovidelh not for 
 his household is worse than an infidel. He that liveth 
 in pleasure is dead while he liveth. " Thou," said he, 
 " in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and now 
 thou must be tormented," Then a miser, whom hun- 
 ger and hoarding had worn to skin and bone, crept 
 forward, and praised the sentence jiassed on this ex- 
 travagant youth, "and surely," said hr, "since he is 
 condemned, I am a man that may make some plea to 
 i'avor. I have been so self-denying that I am cer- 
 tainly a saint ; I have loved neither father nor mother, 
 Hor wife nor children, to excess. In all ihis I have 
 obeyed the book of the law." Then the judge said, 
 "But where are thy works of mercy and thy labors 
 of love; see that family which ])eri.shed in thy sight 
 last hard winter, while thy barns were overflowing ; 
 that poor family were luy representatives; yet they 
 ■were hungry, and thou gavest theiu no meat. (Jo to.
 
 173 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 now, thou rich man, wecjj and howl for the 7nis€7ies that 
 are come upon you.^' 
 
 Then came up one with a most self-sufficient ai|. 
 He walked up boldly, having in one hand the plan of 
 an liospital which he had built, and in the other the 
 drawing of a sl0tue, which was erecting for him in 
 the country that he had just left, and on his forehead 
 appeared, in gold letters, the list of all the public 
 charities to which he had subscribed. He seemed to 
 take great pleasure in the coiidemnation of the miser, 
 and said, " Lord, when saw I thee hungry and fed 
 thee not, or in prison and visited thee net ? I have 
 visited the fatherless and widow in tlieir aflliction." 
 Here the judge cut him short, by saying, "True, 
 thou didst visit the fatherless, but didst thou fulfil 
 equally that other part of my command, ' to keep 
 thyself unspotted from the world.' Thou wast con- 
 formed to the world in many of its sinful customs ; 
 thou didst follow a multitude to do evil; tliou didst 
 love the world and the things of the world ; and the 
 motive to all thy charities was not a regard to me but 
 to thy own credit with thy fellow-men. Thou hast 
 done everything for the sake of reputation, and now 
 thou art vainly trusting in thy deceitful works, instead 
 of putting all thy trust in my Son, who has offered 
 himself to be a surety for thee. Where has been 
 that humility and gratitude to him which was required 
 of thee. Thou wouldst be thine own surety ; thou 
 hast trusted in thyself; thou hast made thy boast of 
 thine own goodness ; thou hast sought after and thou 
 hast enjoyed the praise of men, and verily I say unto 
 thee, ' thou hast had thy reward.' " 
 
 A poor diseased blind cripple, who came from the 
 very liospital which this great man had built, then fell 
 prostrate on his face, crying out, " Lord, be merciful 
 to me a sinner!" on which the judge, to the surprise 
 of all, said, "Well done, good and faithful servant." 
 The poor man replied, " Lord, I have done nothing." 
 "But thou hast 'suifered well,'" said the judge
 
 THE GENERAL JAIL DELIVERY. 17^ 
 
 'tiiou hast been an example of patience and meek- 
 ness, and though thou hadst but few talents, yet thou 
 hast well improved those few ; thou hadst time ; this 
 thou didst spend in the humble duties of thy station, 
 and also in earnest prayer ; fhoti didst pray even for 
 that proud founder of the hospital, who never prayed 
 for himself; thou wast indeed blind and lame, but it 
 is nowhere said, my son, give me thy, feet, or thine 
 eyes, but give me thy heart ; and the few faculties I 
 did grant thee were employed to my glory; with thine 
 ears thou didst listen to my word, with thy tongue 
 thou didst show forth my praise; 'enter thou into the 
 joy of thy Lord.' " 
 
 There were several who came fonvard, and boasted 
 of some single and particular virtue, in which they 
 had been supposed to excel. One talked of his gen- 
 erosity, another of his courage, and a third of his 
 fortitude ; but it proved on a close examination, that 
 some of those supposed virtues were merely the effect 
 of a particular constitution of body ; that others ))ro- 
 ceeded from a false motive, and that not a few of them 
 were actual vices, since they were carried to excess; 
 and under the pretence of fulfilling one duty, some 
 other duty was lost sight of; in sliort, these partial 
 virtues were none of them practised in obedience to 
 the will of the king, but merely to ))lease the person's 
 own humor, or to gam praise, and they would not, 
 therefore, stand this day's trial, for " he that had kejit 
 the whole law, and yet had wilfully and haiiitually of- 
 fended in any one point, was declared guilty of break- 
 ing the whole." 
 
 At this moment a sort of thick scales fell from tho 
 eyes of the multitude. They could now no longer 
 take comfort, as they had done for so many years, by 
 measuring their neighbors' conduct against their own. 
 Each at once saw himself in liis true li^lit, and found, 
 alas ! when it was too late, that he shoulil have made 
 the book which had been given him his rule of |)rac- 
 tice before, since it now pnjved to l^e the rule by
 
 180 DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. 
 
 which he was to be judged. Every one now thought 
 himself even worse than his neighbor, because, while 
 he only saic and heard of the guilt of others, he felt 
 his own in all its aggravated honor. 
 
 To complete their confusion, they were compelled 
 to acknowledge the justice of the judge who con- 
 demned them ; and also to approve the favorable sen- 
 tence by which thousands of other criminals had not 
 only their lives saved, but were made happy and glo- 
 rious beyond all imagination ; not for any great mer- 
 its which they had to produce, but in consequence of 
 their sincere repentance, and their humble acceptance 
 of the pardon offered to them by the king's son. One 
 thing was remarkable, that while most of those who 
 were condemned, never expected condemnation, but 
 even claimed a reward for their supposed innocence 
 or goodness, all who were really rewarded and for- 
 given were sensible that they owed their pardon to £ 
 mere act of grace, and they ci'ied out with one voice 
 " Not unto us, not unto us, but unto thy name be tb 
 praise !" 
 
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