r 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PR4789 
 . H48 
 A7 
 
 1873 
 
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allegories ano Cales 
 
RIVINGTONS 
 
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 Waterloo Place 
 High Street 
 Trinity Street 
 
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 \%13 
 
 ALLEGORIES 
 
 C4AS ^ 
 
 AND 
 
 TALES 
 
 BY THE REV. 
 
 WILLIAM EDWARD HEYGATE, MA. 
 
 MDCCCLXXIII 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2019 with funding from 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 https://archive.org/details/allegoriestalesOOheyg 
 
CONTENTS 
 
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VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
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CONTENTS. vii 
 
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Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
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aim. 
 
 T HERE once dwelt at Buda a boy named Ulric. 
 
 His parents were noble, and Ulric enjoyed every 
 pleasure that affection and wealth could bestow. He 
 was, moreover, clever and handsome, and he excelled 
 all his companions in sports. He was, therefore, so 
 far spoiled that he was wilful, and too often crossed 
 the wishes of his affectionate parents, but not so far 
 but that he had a warm, generous heart, hated every¬ 
 thing wicked and mean, and delighted to please his 
 father and mother, unless he wished to please himself 
 more in some special matter. 
 
 That which made him do wrong was impatience of 
 any restraint. He would take less of any lawful 
 indulgence than he need have done, and often denied 
 himself in order to give to the poor. But once tell 
 him not to do anything, and he immediately desired 
 to do it; and this proud impatience made him scorn 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 wise advice; so that if a caution was given to him, he 
 very often committed some foolish action, which he 
 would not have done had he not been warned to 
 avoid it. 
 
 About the time when Ulric ceased to be a boy r 
 and began to look upon himself as a man, being 
 neither one nor the other, Buda was full of suspicions 
 and fears. 
 
 In the course of a year several young men had 
 suddenly disappeared, and no trace of them could be 
 found. Three of these were Ulricas own friends, and 
 he was greatly distressed at their loss ; but he laughed 
 at the explanation which many persons endeavoured 
 to give of the circumstance. 
 
 The fact was that the period of this strange dis¬ 
 appearance was the same as that of the appearance in 
 Buda of a very remarkable person. This man was a 
 stranger. He was tall, handsome, and rich. He 
 dressed as an Eastern, and was known by the name 
 of Hajjah. But whether he spoke of himself by this 
 name, or it was assigned to him at random by others, 
 none knew. In fact where he lived was unknown, and 
 his occupation as well. He was seen at processions, 
 at the market, on Change, everywhere, including 
 Church. He gave liberally to the poor; distributed 
 
ULRIC. 
 
 3 
 
 healing balsams ; and several times had given very 
 wise counsel to persons who inquired of him, and once 
 to the City itself during a great alarm at the approach 
 of an enemy. 
 
 People differed very much in the account which 
 they gave of him. Some said that he had a most 
 benevolent expression of countenance, and that he 
 was a saint in disguise ; others said that his eye was 
 like that of a fiend. 
 
 It was not to be wondered at, then, that, since the 
 arrival of this strange person and the disappearance 
 of the youths were simultaneous, many people con¬ 
 nected the two events, and considered Hajjah, in 
 some way or other, the cause of the calamity which 
 made all Buda tremble. 
 
 Report grows as it spreads. If one youth dis¬ 
 appeared, it was soon said that ten were missing- • 
 and all sorts of stories were circulated, most of which 
 agreed in declaring that Hajjah and the missing 
 youth had been seen together, and indeed this was 
 the only part of these tales which was true. 
 
 The magistrates were appealed to. Hajjah was to 
 have been arrested, but he could not be found ; yet he 
 was seen again here and there, and another youth was 
 soon afterwards missing. 
 
 o 
 
4 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 It was only natural, therefore, that Ulric’s parents 
 should entreat him to avoid this mysterious person. 
 When they did so, he hesitated, and made them no 
 promise. He seemed to be thinking it over; and 
 then his father, alarmed beyond measure, laid a 
 solemn command on his son to avoid all intercourse 
 with Hajjah. Ulric made no reply, but went out 
 more anxious than ever to see him, and impatient 
 of his father’s injunction. 
 
 He knew, indeed, that the feeling was wrong, but 
 he had accustomed himself to indulge it ; and now he 
 said to himself, “ I have reason on my side. I have 
 lost three of my friends. If I could but see this man, 
 I might learn something of them. I would go slyly 
 to work, and who knows whether I may not unravel 
 this mystery ? At any rate I will try.” 
 
 He had not long to wait. When he went out to 
 bathe in the evening, he turned the corner of the 
 street suddenly and came upon Hajjah, who looked 
 at him with a countenance so full of majesty and 
 kindness that all suspicion vanished at once. He 
 stopped, coloured, and tried to speak, but could not. 
 He felt himself in the presence of one infinitely 
 greater in every way than himself, and was awed as 
 well as attracted. 
 
ULRIC. 
 
 5 
 
 Hajjah, therefore, spoke first. 
 
 “ You have something to say to me, my son.” 
 
 “ I— I—” stammered Ulric. 
 
 “I can guess,” said Hajjah; ‘‘you are too brave, 
 too noble to believe all that the fools say of me ; but 
 you are anxious about your friends. You want to 
 know if I can tell you anything of them.” 
 
 Ulric started as he perceived that the stranger 
 knew his secret desire. 
 
 “ I can tell you,” repeated Hajjah. “ They are 
 alive. I can shew them to you ; and not only that, 
 but I can bestow on you the same happiness which 
 they are enjoying.” 
 
 “ They ought to come home,” exclaimed Ulric, 
 “ and not be enjoying themselves when their friends 
 are weeping, not knowing what has become of them.” 
 
 As he said this, Ulric looked at the stranger, and 
 saw a curious expression pass over his face like a 
 flash. He shuddered at the sight; but the change 
 was onlymomentary, and when Hajjah replied, his eye 
 was as calm and gentle as ever. Ulric thought it 
 must have been a mistake on his part, and he listened 
 attentively. 
 
 “ Perhaps you are right, Ulric,” answered Hajjah. 
 “ But you must not blame your friends without seeing 
 
6 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 their inducements to stay where they are. If you 
 will go and see them, you can judge for yourself.” 
 
 “ But shall I return ?” asked Ulric, suspiciously. 
 
 “ If you like.” 
 
 “ Swear to me.” 
 
 “ I swear, you silly boy. One would think that you 
 were going to do me a favour. I fancy it is quite the 
 reverse.” 
 
 “ When shall I go ?” asked Ulric. 
 
 “ At once.” 
 
 “ Can I not go back first, and speak to my father ?” 
 
 “ No; you cannot. You might have done that 
 before.” 
 
 Ulric winced. 
 
 “ I did not think you were such a child as to have 
 to ask leave before you went here or there,” remarked 
 Hajjah. 
 
 “ I will go,” replied Ulric. 
 
 Again he saw that strange expression pass over the 
 features of Hajjah. He hesitated ; but mastering the 
 fear, he followed his leader. 
 
 “ How strange it seems,” said Ulric in a few minutes. 
 4, I know every field and lane round the city, but I 
 never was here.” 
 
 “ No,” said Hajjah, “ you never have been here yet ; 
 
ULRIC, 
 
 7 
 
 but, for all that, the place is close to your home. Now 
 I must leave you for a short time. Keep straight on 
 as far as that turn, and then you will see my dwelling. 
 Go and ring at the gate, and wait in the garden for 
 me.” 
 
 As he spoke Hajjah turned. Ulric looked after him 
 for a few minutes, and as he did so he saw the tower 
 of his father’s house very near. Should he return, and 
 give up his plan ? It was still possible. He even 
 took a few steps backwards ; but then the thought 
 came across his mind that it would be cowardly and 
 absurd to return when he was so near to the object of 
 his search; and so he went forwards. A few more 
 impatient steps brought him to the gate of a mansion. 
 He paused, hesitated, decided, rang the bell. The 
 gates flew open. He entered the courtyard ; and as 
 he did so the heavy doors flew clanging back, and he 
 was a prisoner. 
 
 On the right was a path leading into a garden, and 
 over it hung an arch on which was inscribed in bright 
 letters— 
 
 ENTER AND BE FREE. 
 
 Ulric passed under it, and came to another, on which 
 was written— 
 
 CHOOSE YOUR OWN PLEASURE. 
 
8 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 Ulric passed on, and entered on a scene of such 
 dazzling beauty that all his fears were forgotten. 
 Flowers and fruits hung on the same tree, glowing 
 with rival colours. Birds sang, lawns streaked with 
 silver streams spread out Noble youths were 
 wrestling, or shooting, or hurling their darts ; and 
 lovely maidens were singing and dancing, attended 
 by those who were weary of sports. 
 
 How many hours or days Ulric spent in these 
 pleasures he knew not. He had forgotten his home, 
 and the young friends whom he came out to seek. 
 But he felt a weariness creep over him by degrees ; 
 the pleasures palled more and more, till he began to 
 think what he should do next. 
 
 But there was no need for him to decide. A voice 
 cried through the gardens, “ Pass on. Make way for 
 others,” and all began sullenly to move forwards into a 
 more distant part of the grounds. Then Ulric at once 
 saw his lost friends. One was lying by a huge tun of 
 wine almost unconscious. His cheeks were bloated, 
 his eyes red ; he looked as if he had spent a long life 
 in drinking. When Ulric drew near, he just recog¬ 
 nized him, and held up his goblet, but Ulric passed 
 on. 
 
 Next he saw two other friends, quarrelling over a 
 
ULRIC. 
 
 9 
 
 table on which the dice rattled. Their cheeks were 
 hollow, their eyes sunk, and they glared at each other 
 like tigers. As he drew near they looked up for a 
 moment, and then went on with their play, as if he 
 were a stranger. 
 
 Another whom he used to see in the city, lay on a 
 bank, enoimously fat, surrounded by half-empty 
 dishes, and listening to a musical box. He nodded in¬ 
 dolently to Ulric, and then fell asleep. Further on 
 amidst the trees Ulric caught glimpses of a scene of 
 debauchery from which his eyes shrank as from 
 pollution. 
 
 He would go no further. He resolved to escape 
 before he became like the beasts into whose den he 
 was thrust. Before he did so, however, he thought he 
 would try to save his lost friends with himself, and 
 he went to the gamblers to persuade them, and ask 
 their advice, but they would not listen, and his words 
 were drowned in the endless rattle of dice. 
 
 Then he went to the drunkard, and with difficulty 
 roused him to attention, but he only replied, “ He was 
 satisfied to remain as he was.” 
 
 “To live and die like the swine ? ” said his friend. 
 
 “ Who are you,” he replied, “ to speak thus to me ? 
 I suppose you came here to follow your pleasure, as I 
 
lO ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 did for mine. You are a fine fellow to talk of sobriety. 
 You keep your sin and let me keep mine.” The 
 words went to Ulric’s heart like sharp arrows. He 
 could not fire up and repel them with indignation, for 
 he felt they were just. He paused and replied,— 
 
 “We have both sinned, but let us do so no longer. 
 Let us arise and escape.” 
 
 “ We cannot, if we would,” he wearily answered. 
 
 “ Why not ? ” 
 
 “You will see, if you try,” was the answer, and the 
 poor drunkard wept with hysterical sobs. “ I have 
 tried often and could not,” he added. 
 
 “ I will go then by myself,” answered Ulric; “ I 
 should like to see what will stop me, or catch me 
 when I get away to those fields.” 
 
 He felt for his dagger as he spoke. It was gone. 
 He remembered that he had cut clusters of grapes 
 with it in the other part of the garden, and left it on 
 the bank at the foot of the vine. 
 
 “ I will go without it, then,” he said angrily, and 
 took a step forwards. The moment he did so, he felt 
 a sharp cutting pain in his legs, and he fell on the 
 grass. He rose and went back to his friend, and felt 
 nothing ; but directly he tried again to escape he felt 
 his legs involved in a network of invisible wires, 
 
ULRIC. 
 
 11 
 
 which cut him almost to the bone, and prevented his 
 progress. 
 
 When Ulric found out the cause he was furious, 
 and began to reproach the stranger who had entrapped 
 him. As he did so, he looked up, and saw him 
 standing by watching, d he terrible expression of 
 hatred, before seen for an instant, was now the settled 
 meaning of his face. Only on his lips there was a 
 malicious smile of triumph, which froze the hot blood 
 of the youth. 
 
 “ They are bonds of your own making,” said the 
 stranger. “Your bonds first, and now mine. You 
 cannot escape.” 
 
 Ulric sat down in silence. As he did so, the sound 
 of the Cathedral bell calling to vespers floated over 
 the meadows. He thought of his mother, and of 
 words which he had learned as he stood at her knee 
 while he said his childish prayers at the end of the 
 day : “ Father, forgive us our trespasses.” O if he 
 could but return and say that again. But what a dis¬ 
 grace it would be! To acknowledge what a fool he 
 had been, and to pledge himself to obey ever after! 
 Could he do that ? No. 
 
 Hajjah seemed to be reading his thoughts, for he 
 said, “You would look foolish indeed. Go and be a 
 
12 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 baby again, and live at home all your life. What will 
 the good people of Buda say when they see you, so 
 quiet and so good and so meek, following your parents 
 about like a dog ? ” 
 
 Ulric listened in silence. There was a great con¬ 
 flict within him. Pride and anger and shame on the 
 one side; and misery and fear and love of his injured 
 parents on the other. These wrestled one with 
 another; and darkness came on, and Ulric sat still 
 there, half sullen, half desperate. Once or twice he 
 jumped up and rushed forward, but each time he fell 
 on the ground, cut to the quick, and heard a hollow 
 mocking laughter ring through the trees. So the 
 night deepened and broke, and grey dawn came again, 
 and the Cathedral bell sounded once more for the 
 service, and the captives woke up and jeered him, 
 calling on him to play and to drink ; and he found a 
 plate of food near him, placed there, no doubt, by 
 Hajjah, but he threw it away, and lay silent. But 
 when the evening bell tolled again he rose up, and 
 cried through the gardens, “ I have sinned! I have 
 sinned ! I will do anything, and bear anything, to be 
 able to go and say I have sinned to my father ! ” 
 Then he sat down and wept as if his heart were rivers 
 of water; and presently his friend began to weep too, 
 
ULRIC. 
 
 13 
 
 and drew near him, leaving the wine. Then the 
 evening bell sounded again, and they wept on together, 
 until Ulric said, “Shall we try and join in their 
 prayers?” and they did so, weeping still as they 
 prayed ; and night fell on them again as they wept. 
 
 Again, the sun made the sky glow in the West, and 
 presently rose up in the East, and the prisoners saw 
 the network which bound them shining in the light, 
 like strings of rubies and diamonds, for the wires 
 were wet with their blood and their tears. Then 
 they touched them, and the wires felt softer, and 
 seemed to give way, when pressed. So they rose up 
 together, and found they could walk very slowly ; and 
 often they fell, but they went on arm-in-arm, and one 
 held up the other, and after some hours they reached 
 the end of the garden, and entered the long meadows 
 which lay on the side of the river. They washed 
 themselves in the stream, and proceeded till they 
 came to the suburbs. All the men that they met 
 stared at them, and the boys hooted ; so foul and 
 bloodstained and torn were their garments ; but they 
 went on, looking still on the ground, till they came 
 unto the heart of the city. There they embraced and 
 separated for a time ; and Ulric went home and laid 
 his head on the ground at the feet of his father, and 
 
14 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 poured out his shame and repentance, and promised 
 humble submission for ever, and his father wept over 
 him and spoke no word of reproach, but lifted him up 
 and embraced him ; and thenceforward it was Ulric’s 
 delight and occupation to obey his parents in all 
 things, better pleased to be told what they wished 
 than to originate any good office himself, because it 
 was more the way of humility and of submission. 
 The wounds which the sharp wires made when Ulric 
 tried to escape pained him as long as he lived, but he 
 bore the suffering patiently. Indeed he almost loved 
 it, for it reminded him of the danger from which he 
 was saved, and helped him to walk more humbly and 
 carefully than he did in the days when he liked to 
 have his own way. 
 
 As for Hajjah, he was never seized, because he is 
 so crafty ; but he still hangs about Buda and entraps 
 the unwary ; and either he or his agents are about on 
 their work, not only at Buda, but all through the 
 world. It is prophesied that his end is to come, but 
 the prophecy is not yet fulfilled. 
 
Cfjc <S5ranO 
 
 RS. WILSON had two daughters, Mary and 
 
 Jane, who were old enough to wish to see and 
 
 hear everything that was going on in the world, and 
 had begun to think of their dress, and of what others 
 did and wore, and to imagine what was said of them 
 and thought of them. Their mother, a sensible woman, 
 did not well know what to do. She was afraid to 
 indulge their vanity, and afraid to be too strict, when 
 an event happened which put the whole place in 
 confusion. An announcement appeared in the papers 
 and on the walls. 
 
 On Tuesday next and for two following days 
 Monsieur and Madame Lc Monde will exhibit. 
 Tickets, &c. Exhibit what ? That was the question. 
 Separately or together ? That was another question. 
 
 Well, it was agreed that the girls should go, and 
 if it was a separate exhibition that they should see 
 
16 
 
 ALLEGOKIES AND TALES. 
 
 Madame’s first, and the other second, if the first were 
 good ; in which case they should write to their cousin 
 Geoffrey to join them. 
 
 So they went. Madame La Monde stood in the 
 midst of the room radiant with jewels and silks of 
 the latest fashion ; and a gay young page pulled the 
 strings; so that a long procession passed in order 
 before the eyes of the visitors. There were ladies in 
 ruffs like a peacock’s tail, their waists laced in like 
 the middle of a wasp, and their gowns spreading out 
 like a parasol; then another set came, thin as laths, 
 like dressing-gowns hung on a stick ; then a band of 
 hooped creatures, who could not go through the door 
 without making their hoops perpendicular. They 
 looked like an hour-glass at the middle and ends. 
 Then came a set of broken-backed ladies. Surely 
 they were made to be pitied. Some heavy burden 
 had been laid on them, which they could not shake 
 off; they could only carry it as French women do their 
 loads in the fields by stooping. Then as for hair, 
 some went up to the ceiling in a tower ; some coiled 
 their corkscrews down their cheeks; some set two 
 studding sails, one on each side ; others hung two 
 ropes, or a sort of rough woollen mat half-way down 
 their backs. And as for bonnets, they varied from 
 
THE GRAND SIGHT. 
 
 17 
 
 the form of a coal-scuttle to that of a pat of dough 
 or mud dropped by chance on the top of the 
 head. 
 
 After these had been exhibited, the scene suddenly 
 changed. There was a crowd of carriages outside a 
 door in a street, and limping ladies entered one after 
 another. Another crowd of carriages haunted the 
 door of a great physician, and thin-waisted ladies 
 were admitted one after another. 
 
 “ Behold my power,” exclaimed Madame le Monde, 
 “ I speak and all obey, my servants live for me, suffer 
 for me, die for me. They bear shame and pain cheer¬ 
 fully, and only praise me the more.” 
 
 “Put them through their movements, Carlo,” she 
 continued, and the girls saw the same persons go into 
 a room. The curtain was drawn. In a few moments 
 they came out, of a different shape, and a different 
 colour. 
 
 “Are they really women?” asked Jane, very 
 timidly. 
 
 “ Women,” cried Madame. “ No ! ladies, or rather 
 blocks—figures. You have seen the figures in shop 
 windows ; these are my blocks. I dress them as I 
 choose, and place them as I choose ; they are mine ; 
 I rule the world ; I am Madame le Monde. Good 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 morning, my blocks—pardon—I mean my friends and 
 supporters.” 
 
 Saying this, Madame passed from the scene, and 
 her husband came in. 
 
 He exhibited his blocks in like manner. 
 
 There were men with their doublets stuffed as bie 
 as a bed, and their thighs as large as the bolster. 
 There were others with coats down to their heels, and 
 waistcoats down to their knees. There were men with 
 trowsers like an old-fashioned gun-case, and coats like 
 the tail of a water-wagtail. 
 
 Some had long flowing hair, some black wigs, some 
 were cropped like a prize-fighter. Some wore hats 
 like a mushroom, some like an ant-hill, and some like 
 a pudding-basin. 
 
 Some had boots, the tops of which turned up like 
 horns of the moon, and were fastened by a chain to 
 their knees. Others had shoes a foot square at the toes. 
 
 Some men were all waist. Some had none. 
 
 “Behold,” exclaimed Monsieur le Monde, “my 
 obedient subjects. There lie fifty men slain in duels, 
 for me. There lie fifty men drunk, for I told them it 
 was proper to drink. There is a man who died of 
 consumption because he dared not unfold his beautiful 
 umbrella. There are men who talk poetry, and there 
 
THE GRAND SIGHT. 
 
 I 9 
 
 are men who talk science, and there are men who 
 talk blasphemy, and there are men who talk folly, 
 and there are men who lisp, and those only talk 
 French, or else German, and all for me. They 
 get up when I like; they go to bed when I like ; 
 they spend what I like ; they dine when I like, and 
 eat what I like, not what they like. Behold my 
 supremacy. I am Monsieur le Monde, and the whole 
 world is mine.” 
 
 “ Mamma,” said Mary, as they went home, “ I shall 
 give up dressing as other people like, and dress as 
 I like.” 
 
 “ Mamma,” said Jane, “ I shall try and dress differ¬ 
 ently from them all.” 
 
 “ That would puzzle you, dear,” replied the mother 
 to Jane ; “for people have tried every sort of dress to 
 be thought of. I don’t think you could find another 
 kind if you tried all your life; and if you did, you 
 would only be singular, and perhaps set a new fashion. 
 So would you too, dear Mary ; it is never a safe rule to 
 do just what we like. To do what we ought is another 
 thing; but to do what we like, is quite as bad a rule, 
 if not worse, than to copy the world.” 
 
 “What had we better do, then, mamma?” they 
 both asked, in one breath. 
 
 C 2 
 
20 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “ I think the best rule, dearest,” she answered, “ is 
 this: to be a little behind the fashion, as far as dress 
 is concerned, and a little short of it too. This 
 prevents us from being peculiar, and saves us from 
 trying to be like others. The less we think of our 
 dress the better. It will not be long before we have 
 a very simple dress, all of us, just a white sheet wound 
 round us—in our coffins. When I get home, I will 
 read you something out of a good book.” 
 
 On their return home the book was got out, and 
 the words ran thus:—it was a comment on this 
 passage, “ Whose adorning, let it not be that out¬ 
 ward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing 
 of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the 
 hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corrup¬ 
 tible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, 
 which is in the sight of God of great price.” 
 
 “ A tender conscience, and a heart purified from 
 vanity and weaned from the world, will be sure to 
 regulate this, and all other things of this nature, after 
 the safest manner. It will be wary, I. of lightness 
 and fantastic garb, II. of excessive costliness. The 
 Church is all-glorious, but it is ‘within.’ And the 
 embroidery, the variety of graces, the lively colours of 
 other graces shine best on the dark ground of humility. 
 
THE GRAND SIGHT. 
 
 21 
 
 This is with God of great price. Though it be not 
 the country fashion, yet it is the fashion at court, yea 
 it is the King s own fashion : * 1 Learn of me, for I am 
 meek and lowly in heart.’ ” — (Abp. Leighton on 
 
 i Peter in.) 
 
^eltm. 
 
 S OME centuries since there resided at Constanti¬ 
 nople one man, rich and powerful above all his 
 brethren, the Armenian merchants. He had been 
 carried off as a boy, and sold for a slave; he had won 
 the regard of his master and obtained freedom ; and 
 then with extraordinary industry and ability had 
 pursued a mercantile life, until the port was full of 
 his galleys, and the bazaar of his goods. 
 
 He had a magnificent villa on the Golden Horn, 
 and gardens dipping into the water. There he gave 
 sumptuous banquets, and was deservedly popular; 
 for he was liberal to the poor, and lavish to his 
 guests; nor could he have had an enemy in the 
 world, had mankind been free from envy, which it 
 never has been since the fall. Although Selim was 
 so liberal and generous, he still grew richer and richer. 
 
SELIM. 
 
 23 
 
 He did not feel the loss of what he gave. It cost him 
 nothing in fact, and was never a sacrifice. In short, 
 giving was only a pleasure to one who did not miss 
 what he gave. Self-satisfaction made more than 
 amends for the outlay. 
 
 One evening after all the guests were departed, and 
 whilst the gold and silver vessels were still spread 
 around containing the richest fruits which money 
 could furnish, a slave announced to Selim that a 
 stranger desired an audience. Selim replied hastily 
 that he did not see persons on business so late; that 
 if the man desired food, or money to obtain entertain¬ 
 ment in the city, he could have it, and he tossed a 
 gold piece to the slave, who bowed and retired. In a 
 few minutes, however, the slave came back with the 
 gold in his hands, saying that the stranger would not 
 take money ; and insisted on seeing his master on 
 business of the greatest importance. 
 
 Upon this Selim yielded the point, but not with 
 good humour, and in a few minutes a traveller was 
 shown in ; and the slave at a signal from his master 
 retired. The stranger stood looking at Selim and then 
 at the magnificent room, and said nothing. 
 
 Selim at first took this for a compliment to his 
 state and importance, but he soon grew impatient and 
 
24 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 asked somewhat haughtily what the stranger required 
 at such a late hour. 
 
 “ Thee, my dear brother/’ was the answer. “ I am 
 John, thine eldest and only surviving brother. It is 
 now forty years since the robbers carried thee from 
 Armenia; and only lately have I found thine abode, 
 just in time.” 
 
 Selim rose and embraced his brother with joy, and 
 made him sit down by himself; and the two wept 
 together over the scene of slaughter, still fresh in 
 remembrance, which made both brothers orphans, and 
 Selim a slave. 
 
 “You have been better to me, John, than I was to 
 you,” said Selim, after a pause. “ I ought to have 
 inquired and ascertained whether any of my dear 
 relations are living to whom I could be of service. 
 Tell me now if there are, it will be a real pleasure to 
 me to help them.” 
 
 “Spoken like my own brother,” answered John; 
 “thou art still a Christian. You have not renounced 
 our holy faith ? God forbid the very thought.” 
 
 “Never,” replied Selim, “it is dearer to me than 
 life.” 
 
 “ Thanks be to God,” answered his brother, crossing 
 himself. 
 
SELIM. 
 
 25 
 
 • “And now tell me/’ said Selim, “what there is that 
 I can do : you have only to speak.” 
 
 “I wan t nothing for myself,” replied John, “but for 
 others I want a great deal, more than I could venture 
 to ask, if I did not see you still as my own warm¬ 
 hearted brother, and a disciple of the Crucified.” 
 
 “What is it?” asked Selim, in a tone which had 
 somewhat of uneasiness in it. 
 
 “ Simply this,” said his brother, “ some of our people 
 have offended the Pacha, and he has given them notice 
 that unless they pay down an immense sum in two 
 months, he will burn down all their villages, and sell 
 the whole population into slavery. Such is his will.” 
 
 “What is the sum demanded ?” inquired Selim. 
 
 John whispered the answer. 
 
 “Impossible,” exclaimed his brother, “why, it is the 
 ransom of a province. John, you must be mad to 
 think I could do it.” 
 
 “ I know it is an enormous sum,” replied John, 
 sadly, “ enormous. But it is reported that you have 
 twice as much; and I know not who else will help if 
 you do not. You are our sole hope.” 
 
 “ I may be worth that and more,” said the merchant, 
 “but I could only do what you ask by selling this 
 house and all my slaves and horses, or else my 
 
26 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 galleys and merchandise. If I did the last I could 
 never recover my wealth. John, it is simply im¬ 
 possible.” 
 
 “ Think what is at stake,” replied John, “and think 
 how good God has been to you. Suppose you gave 
 up these things for a time, and then recovered them 
 gradually.” 
 
 “ I cannot,” said Selim, “ I cannot do without my 
 house and garden and slaves. They are necessary to 
 my position. I could not hold up my head without 
 them amongst the merchants.” 
 
 “Well, the horses and the gold vessels.” 
 
 “No, I cannot. I cannot spare them.” 
 
 “You did without them once,” replied John. 
 
 “I know I did, but I cannot now spare them. You 
 are no judge, having never been in my place. I have 
 grown into them. I should be wretched without them. 
 I could not live without them, in short.” 
 
 “ But your home ? ” pleaded John. “ Your friends ? 
 Your own flesh and blood ? Cannot you spare these 
 things better than they can spare home and freedom?” 
 
 Now, anger is often the refuge of one who is pushed 
 into a corner by conscience. Selim could not answer 
 John’s arguments, but he could and did reply so as to 
 get rid of the subject. 
 
SELIM. 
 
 27 
 
 “I tell you,” he said, “that I cannot and will not 
 If you had toiled as I have all these years, and at last 
 settled down in your old age on a competency, you 
 would know what it is that you ask.” 
 
 John rose up to depart. 
 
 “Stay!” exclaimed his brother. “Do not leave 
 me in anger. I will give you gold to-morrow. I 
 will give you a thousand bezants. Only stay with 
 me.” 
 
 “I cannot,” replied John. “I do not leave you in 
 anger, God forbid ; only in sorrow. But I must go. 
 I must find some one to help, if I go to the Sultan 
 himself.” 
 
 Selim was vexed with his brother, and vexed with 
 himself; and when John had left him he sat down 
 gloomily, and all his wealth and all the hopes he had 
 in the projects afoot gave him no pleasure. 
 
 Next day John came again to bid him farewell. 
 “I am returning,” he said, “and shall never see you 
 again. Farewell, dearest brother, and may'our Lord 
 and Master bless you, and give you His grace.” 
 
 There was no reproach in these words, yet they 
 were offensive to Selim ; and he answered hastily,— 
 
 “And what of your fine errand, John? Have you 
 given it up ? I told you, you must do so.” 
 
2 8 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “No,” said John, sadly, “I have succeeded, but not 
 through you,” and he sighed. 
 
 “ Succeeded ? ” exclaimed Selim. “ Obtained the 
 money ? Impossible ! How ? ” 
 
 “The Patriarch has pledged all the holy vessels, 
 and the money will be forwarded to the Pacha in time 
 to save our relations.” 
 
 Selim hung his head. He could not meet the eye 
 of his brother ; and with a few kind words the brothers 
 parted for ever. 
 
 That night Selim dreamed. He saw a man followed 
 by some poor-looking persons, walk along a dusty 
 road and go into a cottage. Then he awoke, and 
 dreamed again. He saw the same person carrying 
 something heavy, it did not appear what, and a crowd 
 round him, shouting. The stranger seemed as if he 
 could carry the burden no further. He went up to 
 him in his dream, and looked at him, and this person 
 turned towards him, and he saw it was the Christ, and 
 heard a soft voice, “ I gave up Heaven for thee. I am 
 going to give up my life. This I do for thee, but 
 thou?”—So he awoke. He could sleep no longer. 
 He rose and paced his room. He had sinned a great 
 sin. He was thoroughly alarmed and ashamed. He 
 
SELIM. 
 
 2 9 
 
 would undo the evil. How could he ? The time had 
 passed. No. It had not. He could redeem the 
 holy vessels. That would remedy all. So he walked 
 up and down, and as the sun rose he saw his beautiful 
 garden, and the marble fountains and the slaves ; and 
 his purpose began to give way. 
 
 “ I do not see why I should do all,” he said to him¬ 
 self. 
 
 “ I will do a great deal. I will give nobly, lavishly, 
 but to part with all these is more than is reason¬ 
 able. It cannot be expected. I require them.” 
 
 And then, as people who tell a lie sometimes repeat 
 it until they believe it, he said the very same words 
 again which he had used to his brother. 
 
 “ I cannot do without them. I have grown into 
 them. They are necessary to me.” 
 
 So he sent 1000 bezants to the Patriarch towards 
 redeeming the vessels, and went to the bazaar and 
 transacted his business as usual. 
 
 Everything prospered. Selim grew richer and 
 richer, and sent IOOO bezants more to the Patriarch. 
 His conscience was neither at ease, nor yet uneasy 
 enough to produce any change. If it spoke, he 
 silenced it with some act of charity, which cost him 
 no sacrifice. One day, when surrounded by guests, 
 
30 
 
 ALL EG OKIES AND TALES. 
 
 the slaves came rushing into the courtyard, followed 
 by the officers of justice. There was no time nor 
 opportunity for explanation. Selim was arrested 
 and carried away. Next day he was brought before 
 the judge, accused by two Greeks of having bought 
 and sold pearls which came out of the harem of the 
 Sultan, and condemned. His property was confiscated, 
 and he was turned out into the streets of Constan¬ 
 tinople a beggar. 
 
 As he walked on, trying to hide himself from the 
 crowd, he heard all the bitter sayings which spite can 
 invent. The accumulated envy of years was now 
 turned into triumphant malice. 
 
 “ There goes the Infidel. There goes the slave. 
 Where are his slaves now, and his gardens and horses ? 
 He did without them once, he must learn to do with¬ 
 out them again.” 
 
 Selim had borne a good deal, but these words went 
 to his heart like a sword. They were his just condem¬ 
 nation, his sentence from Heaven. He tottered and 
 fell fainting at the door of a house. 
 
 When the ruined merchant recovered his senses, he 
 found that he was in the house of a Christian. He 
 lived there in great quietness. His host was very kind, 
 and avoided every subject which could possibly pain 
 
SELIM. 
 
 31 
 
 him ; but he did not know Selim’s real sorrow, and one 
 evening, in order to comfort him, he told the Gospel 
 history of the young man who only wanted but one 
 thing to be saved, and that one he had not, namely, 
 the grace to give up his possessions. The poor man 
 thought this would be a comfort to Selim, as it showed 
 the great danger of riches, and he was astonished at 
 the burst of sorrow which his words had occasioned. 
 
 Selim stayed some months in the house, and worked 
 quietly for his host, and repaid his hospitality by 
 doing everything in his power. The people in the 
 house were amazed at his gentleness and patience, 
 and at the readiness with which he set about and 
 performed the most menial offices. At the end of this 
 time inquiry was made after Selim, and he was dis¬ 
 covered. He was taken before the judge, and cleared 
 of the false charge on which he had been so hastily 
 sentenced, and his goods were restored. 
 
 The Patriarch had been at work silently for him, 
 had sifted the evidence carefully, and when convinced 
 that it was false, had induced all the Armenian 
 merchants to combine in an appeal to the Sultan 
 for a re-hearing of the case. 
 
 Selim therefore received back all he had lost, but it 
 was no longer the same to him, for he was altered 
 
32 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 towards it. He first paid off all the debt on the holy 
 vessels, then converted his property into money and 
 jewels, and with a few attendants set off to his native 
 land, hoping to see his brother again, and to enrich all 
 his relatives ; but death cut short his journey, his 
 servants made off with the treasure, and John was 
 never able to discover where his brother was buried. 
 He heard, however, of Selim’s repentance, and in a 
 few years joined his brother, twice brother now, to 
 part from him no more. 
 
Ctoo Jl3igf)ts anti Daps. 
 
 I LOOKED and could see nothing. I heard 
 rather than saw. There was a confused sound 
 on the earth of multitudes walking one way, but not 
 together. Sometimes there was a crash and shout as 
 of a battle, cries of the victors, groans of the dying. 
 Sometimes there was a dead silence, broken in some 
 places by moans of suffering, and in others by music and 
 singing rather of levity than of joy. Here, there was a 
 thick darkness, close packed, unbroken. There, was 
 a faint light, and one or two men seemed illuminated 
 with a pale and weak light, and others followed them 
 less enlightened, the light growing more and more 
 feeble at the end of the little band of followers. In 
 another part, some kindled fires, which died out quickly, 
 and they lay down in sorrow round their dying fires. 
 In one part only was there a band of men who seemed 
 to avoid and be avoided. They followed a kind of 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 ark, and strange flashes of light came from it; and at 
 times fire descended from Heaven on this man and 
 that, and communicated somewhat of its brightness 
 to others. Thus the crowd trod on together through 
 the night, all tending one way, though many knew 
 not whither, and nearly all advanced unwillingly and 
 with a heaviness of heart. 
 
 As I looked, a bright star hung over a single spot. 
 It vanished, but from that spot light burst forth and 
 spread. The sun seemed to rise from the very earth, 
 and shot out marvellous beams of glory ; but clouds 
 hung round it all the while. It never seemed to have 
 its full strength, but to be veiled and hidden by mists 
 of earth. Moreover, it only shone on one spot in all 
 the world. Presently a thick darkness overshadowed 
 all, and a mighty cry was heard as of one dying, 
 whose voice was all-powerful ; and the earth shook, 
 and the rocks rent, and all was still; except that 
 tramp, tramp, went on multitude upon multitude, all 
 walking one way in the darkness. 
 
 Then upon that night arose a moon, new, slender, 
 but growing constantly; and it cast a pale sober light 
 upon the earth and revealed a great struggle. Those 
 outside the line of light which it cast upon the earth 
 seemed to rush in and try to crush all those who 
 
TWO NIGHTS AND DA VS. 
 
 35 
 
 walked in the light, but they could not. The moon 
 grew fuller and fuller, its light broader, the people on 
 whom it shone more numerous. It was moonlight, 
 but as bright as any ordinary day, and I could see 
 what those did who were in the fulness of its light, 
 and also those outside it. 
 
 Those outside seemed to proceed as they had done 
 before the light of the first day, and before the moon 
 arose. Those inside were at first most regular in their 
 ranks and in their calm advance Eastwards, but, as 
 they grew more numerous, they were broken up and 
 diverse. Some were revelling, some fighting, some 
 digging. Some seemed to be doing what they were 
 ashamed of, for they avoided the light as well as 
 they could. Some seemed to despise the light of the 
 moon, and to be trying to get light out of stones and 
 trees. Others, however, were like angels, and you could 
 hardly distinguish them from the angels who kept 
 coming and going up and down to and from heaven ; 
 and when they came out from the wayside chapels 
 which fringed the roadside, their faces shone with a 
 glory not of this world. Some of these tended the 
 sick. Some guided little children. All went forwards. 
 They did not seem to see anything on their way 
 which made them wish to stay, or which slackened 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 the speed of their journey, but on and on they went, 
 still looking towards the East. 
 
 Presently clouds came across the moon, and furious 
 gales burst upon the earth, the sea roared, and the 
 illuminated pilgrims were mixed up with dark forms, 
 which hustled them, and these dark beings drew 
 together and became a large body inside the other, 
 and were joined by those outside ; and they appeared 
 to attack the enlightened ones, and to prevail over 
 them and to scatter them ; and ever and anon a star 
 fell from heaven, the moon grew more obscure, and 
 the earth shook again. 
 
 Then when things had grown worse and worse, and 
 it seemed that darkness and the dark ones would 
 utterly prevail, a pale light became visible in the 
 East, which grew more and more bright, and the sky 
 was irradiated with all the colours of the rainbow; 
 and the poor oppressed looked up, and watched, and 
 seemed to gather courage. And still brighter grew 
 the light until it was dazzling to behold ; and a fiery 
 cross appeared in the centre, brighter than all that 
 brightness • and a sound echoed through space like 
 the sound of a trumpet, and a mighty voice cried, and 
 a multitude of glorious creatures seemed to oscillate 
 around the cross, and to radiate its light with their 
 
TWO NIGHTS AND DA YS. 
 
 37 
 
 wings. And the dead arose out of sea and earth ; 
 and there was a great passing to and fro of angels, 
 and a separating of dark ones from light ones, and an 
 examination, and wondrous words were said, some of 
 which I heard, and some I heard not; and all was 
 awful beyond all power of speech. Then I looked to 
 the centre and I saw One with strange marks on His 
 forehead, and in His hands, Whom all worshipped. 
 And the earth passed away in flame, and crackling, 
 from under my feet, and I knew not where I was, or 
 what I was, only that everything was beautiful ; and 
 there were no clouds, nor moon, nor sun, but a Per¬ 
 sonal Light, which shone on all, and in all, and through 
 all; and the light came from Him whom I have 
 mentioned ; and all creation seemed coming and going 
 in happiness, some praising, some working, all serving, 
 And there was a glory into which I could not look- 
 and there were Three in One, whom I could not see, 
 and of whom I dare not speak ; and there was a voice 
 as of all the birds, and all the choirs, and all the rivers 
 that ever were, in a threefold oneness, singing, “ Holy 
 holy, holy ! For ever, ever, ever ! ” and I can tell no 
 more. But I warn you that these things are true 
 and entreat you to look for them, and be ready for 
 them when they come. 
 
Cfje 9@oss. 
 
 T here is a moss in the North upon which many 
 lives were lost of old time. Some of the most 
 dangerous places in it looked as safe or safer than 
 others; and only the most experienced men, and they 
 travelling by daylight, could cross it with safety. 
 
 At last there was a meeting of the inhabitants of 
 the district, and it was resolved to put marks along 
 the safe track for the guidance of passengers ; and 
 at the most critical places a notice was stuck up— 
 “ Dangerous ! ” “ Impassable,” and one or two inscrip¬ 
 tions were, “ Certain destruction this way ! ” 
 
 So years passed on, and the loss of life on the 
 moss was so rare, that the warning-posts were neg¬ 
 lected, and began to go to decay. 
 
 At last, a cockney who had made a great fortune, 
 bought an estate in the neighbourhood, and he went 
 in for change everywhere; and all old institutions 
 
THE MOSS. 
 
 39 
 
 appeared to him so many relics of barbarous igno¬ 
 rance. 
 
 Accordingly, at a meeting, he one day brought up 
 this subject, saying— 
 
 “ I propose that all the old posts on the moss be 
 taken up, and the country left as it was in old time, 
 for:—First. It is an insult to us to suppose that we 
 have not sense enough to choose the right way. 
 Secondly. It is an infringement on liberty. The moss 
 is common property, and a man may go where he likes 
 on it. You have no right to warn him off, as if he 
 were a thief. Thirdly. What right have we to set up 
 ourselves as wiser than others, and to say there is only 
 one right road, and only one safe road ? It is like 
 the use of creeds, which are the most conceited and 
 uncharitable things in the world.” 
 
 Some of the people at the meeting applauded, some 
 laughed, and then there was a silence. At last, a 
 very old man rose, and replied :— 
 
 “ It is quite open to Mr.-, and to anyone else* 
 
 to go on the dangerous parts of the moss and be lost, 
 if he chooses. I do not see how we insult his under¬ 
 standing by saying where these places are. We only 
 give him the benefit of our experience. He has had 
 none, and I hope never will have ; for to experience the 
 
40 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 danger is too often to perish by it. As for our saying 
 there is only one right way, it may look very con¬ 
 ceited, but if there is only one right way, it is better 
 to look conceited than be careless of one’s neighbour’s 
 life. We did not make the moss. As a fact, it is 
 full of places, into which, if a man comes, he is lost. 
 Surely it is a kindness to tell him so. As for the 
 creeds, when our friend has shown himself right about 
 the moss, we will listen about them also ; till then, 
 let us wait, keep up the posts, and make the inscrip¬ 
 tions plain, lest our children call us something worse 
 than fools for exposing them to perils of which we 
 were aware, and they were not.” 
 
 So the posts still stand, and it is to be hoped will 
 continue so long as the moss is a moss. 
 
€fre ffiieps. 
 
 F OUR orphan lads, who had been fairly brought 
 up, and were suddenly left penniless by the 
 death of their father, were wandering slowly and sadly 
 by the edge of a wood on the banks of the Thames. 
 As they did so, one of them caught sight of an old 
 man, stealing slyly away into the wood. He pointed 
 him out to his brothers, and they followed gently 
 until they saw the old man go down into a hollow, 
 pass through some bushes, and enter a cave. Still 
 the boys followed unperceived; but, just as the 
 stranger put the key into a solid old door, one of 
 them trod on a stick, which cracked, and betrayed 
 him. The old man turned, saw the four lads, and 
 seemed to hesitate for a minute what to do. How¬ 
 ever, he soon made up his mind, and asked them 
 whether they would like to go in with him or not. 
 
42 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES, 
 
 They were hardly prepared for this, and looked at 
 each other uneasily. 
 
 “Well,” said the old man, “then you can go home 
 if you like. I thought you wanted assistance, and I 
 am willing to start you in life, if you choose ; if not, 
 you may go ; but return here no more, or it will be 
 the worse for you.” 
 
 Richard, the second brother, a bold fellow, cried at 
 once, “ Let us in, sir; we are all ready; we do want 
 help very much, and should be obliged to you to give 
 it to us, if you will.” 
 
 When they had entered the cave, the old man shut 
 the outer door, took a key from his pocket, and having 
 lighted a lamp, opened an inner door which led into 
 a chamber, the floor of which was piled with heaps of 
 gold. The lads were breathless with surprise at the 
 sight ; and whilst they gazed in amazement, the 
 stranger watched their faces in silence. 
 
 At last he said, “Take what you like, each of you. 
 It is to start you in life. If you fail, come again. I 
 will give each of you a key to the outer door, and I 
 will hang the other up here; but mind, you are not to 
 come for twenty years. Then you may; in fact, you 
 must. You must all come then. I will meet you, 
 and you shall give me an account of yourselves ; 
 
THE KEYS. 
 
 43 
 
 meanwhile I will prepare a cabinet for each, and put 
 your names on it, and you shall have the contents 
 when you come.” 
 
 So saying, he gave to John, the eldest, one key, to 
 Richard another, to William a third, to James the 
 fourth ; and then saw them safely out of the 
 wood. 
 
 John, who had helped himself freely, set up as a 
 wine merchant, and, having bought a business, at 
 once began to turn it to account. He mixed weak 
 wines with treacle and colouring stuff, and sold old 
 brown sherry; made port of elderberries, logwood, 
 sloes, and other materials, and advertised largely, but 
 his drugs were not palatable. Then he took an inn 
 on the cliff by the sea. There he made a large 
 malting vat, three inches broader at the bottom than 
 at the top, to cheat the excise; and also an under¬ 
 ground passage to a cave where brandy was landed 
 and carried straight up to his cellars. This brandy, 
 or rather raw spirit, he watered and coloured, and 
 sold as the best cognac ; but he was foolish enough 
 not to pay the wages of a servant whom he dis¬ 
 missed, and to refuse a glass of grog to one of the 
 smugglers who strolled into the tap ; and revenge 
 brought down the exciseman on the one hand, and 
 
44 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 the coastguard on the other, and he was exchequered 
 and ruined. 
 
 After this, he appeared as a small tradesman in the 
 Borough ; there he sold adulterated groceries, and 
 might have done so till now, only he used short 
 weights, and was convicted, and lost his custom. 
 
 Then he went about with a petition, stating that 
 he was a broken-down merchant, and was had up by 
 the Charity Organization Society, and convicted and 
 imprisoned. 
 
 When he came out, he went to Richard, and found 
 that he was in no position to help him. He tried 
 William, who flatly refused. He next went to James, 
 who wept when he saw him, and gave him enough to 
 begin life again ; but he had not the will to do this, 
 but spent it, and, being ashamed to go to his brother 
 again, he went to the wood, and reasoning himself out 
 of his fears, put the key—the only thing he had kept 
 —in the lock ; but, no sooner had he done so, than he 
 was seized and put on board a ship, which carried him 
 past the shore and over the seas, and he was never 
 heard of again. 
 
 Richard’s career was different. He was by nature a 
 speculator. He started one wild scheme after another, 
 in mines, railways, and docks ; and not only this, but 
 
THE KEYS. 
 
 45 
 
 he formed a company for making bank-notes of cob¬ 
 webs ; another for burning egg-shells into lime; 
 another for cutting people’s hair by machinery ; and 
 this went on until one man lost his scalp, and another, 
 rather tall, half his head down to the nose; and a 
 third lost his head altogether. Besides this, he had a 
 plan for making soda-water, by inserting large funnels 
 into a river, during a high S.W. wind. It was sup¬ 
 posed to have been suggested to him by the great 
 South Sea Bubble. However, fish and cigar ends, 
 and other rubbish got into the bottles, and they lost 
 their reputation. Then he invented the potting of 
 toads, anchovy sauce made of cockchafers, hedgehog 
 skins on the chest as a cure for consumption, guava 
 jelly made out of jelly fish, oyster sauce out of cod’s 
 eyes, and a plan for procuring brass from the metro¬ 
 politan boroughs. There was also a scheme for curing 
 headaches by hydraulic pressure, which drove the 
 pain down and out through the feet ; but he did not 
 foresee that a bad headache would carry away the 
 toes of the boots, whilst escaping. 
 
 One scheme failed after another, until all the money 
 was gone. But, meanwhile, Richard lived well, was 
 liberal, hospitable, and popular, except at the time of 
 a failure. He knew the way at last through the 
 
46 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 Insolvent Court so well, that he could go in the 
 dark. 
 
 When he was in trouble, Richard applied once to 
 William, but received such a rebuff, that he never 
 attempted to see him again. He was more fortunate 
 with James, but only once, for James saw that all he 
 advanced was thrown into the sea. 
 
 Beaten out of his profession of company-manufac¬ 
 turer, poor Richard wrote pamphlets, and advocated 
 one side or another of the great questions of the day, 
 in inferior newspapers. 
 
 Some of his literary schemes attracted attention. 
 For instance, he wrote an able pamphlet in favour of 
 all cabinet ministers being educated on the blind 
 system, so as to have their facts at their finger ends. 
 And another, “A Plea for all M.P.’s who address 
 their Constituents during the Recess, being excused 
 from Attendance at the House for the Session.” 
 
 He also advocated the rights of women, and put 
 out a pamphlet with a somewhat Irish title : “ Why 
 should not the Navy be Manned by Women ? ” In 
 support of this plan he adduced the following argu¬ 
 ments :—That all ships are female ; that all have 
 gunners’ daughters aboard, who are found very useful ; 
 that women are particularly clever in managing 
 
THE KEYS. 
 
 47 
 
 signals ; that their knowledge of the needle makes 
 them invaluable at the sails and the compass ; that a 
 ship would never miss stays if thus manned ; that 
 chignons would supply caulking, and act as fenders 
 when a boat came alongside; and, finally, as old 
 women are often chosen to command, a portion of 
 young ones would be good for the service ; and, lastly, 
 that the boats would never want thwarts. 
 
 Richard wrote also in favour of widening the 
 Thames, and making it shallower ; urging that what 
 is deep is often contracted, and that a very broad 
 and shallow stream is eminently suited for a national 
 mercantile navy. 
 
 Richard also had his plans of Church reform. They 
 were briefly these :—That all bishops should sit in 
 the law courts; all clergymen should farm their 
 parishes, and the farmers manage the churches ; all 
 ministers should hold a simultaneous service in parish 
 churches, each doing a bit, and the people answering 
 at the end either “Amen/’ or “I object,” as they 
 wish ; that the act for the abolition of slavery be 
 repealed, in order to enable cures of souls to be more 
 legally marketable ; that all pews shall have lids put to 
 them ; and that all persons may be buried (here again 
 comes in Richard’s Hibernian tendency) horizontally, 
 
48 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 or perpendicularly, or slanting, on an application by 
 the deceased to a magistrate, and an issue of order 
 thereon ; and, lastly, that no one be held to be a 
 bona fide member of the Church of England, unless 
 he belonged to one of a hundred specified sects. 
 
 Only one more publication shall be here mentioned. 
 It was founded on the Darwinian theory, and main¬ 
 tained that a law should be passed at once to prevent 
 improper selection in marriage, and that board schools 
 be established through Africa for educating monkeys 
 into men, efts into alligators, and fleas into lions, all 
 animals contributing alike to the support of the 
 schools. But all these fine schemes failed to bring 
 any money to poor Richard’s pockets. He and they 
 were one failure. 
 
 As for William, his history is short. He took to 
 money-lending, ground down his debtors, and became 
 richer and richer, without adding a mite to his happi¬ 
 ness. 
 
 James, the youngest, pursued a regular course of 
 life as a merchant. He had his losses, but not heavy 
 ones ; for he was not a speculator. He, too, grew rich, 
 although he lent to the deserving, and gave away 
 without too careful inquiry into merit. 
 
 At last the great day of meeting arrived. On the 
 
THE KEYS. 
 
 49 
 
 twentieth anniversary three brothers met, and looked 
 around for the eldest, but to no purpose. 
 
 They entered the cave, but the owner was not 
 there to meet them, as they had expected. But there 
 stood four cabinets, with the names of the brothers 
 
 insciibed on them. Alas ! there was no one to open 
 the first. 
 
 Richard opened his own, and he found in it a pile 
 of certificates of shares in companies which he had 
 originated, and a list of the persons whom he had 
 thoughtlessly, but unintentionally, brought to poverty, 
 with this scroll appended— 
 
 “ If y ou wish to try again take more gold!' 
 
 But Richard hid his face in his hands, and wept 
 silently. 
 
 Then William opened his cabinet. It contained a 
 list of ruined men, whom he had led on to extrava¬ 
 gance by loans, and impoverished by interest; of 
 those who had proceeded to crime, and to suicide ; 
 and of the applications for help which he had rejected. 
 To this was also appended a scroll— 
 
 “ Yon have enough , but, if you wish for more, remain 
 behind when your brothers leave, and take what you 
 will ” 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 Then James opened his cabinet. There was only 
 a scroll in it— 
 
 “ Return , go on , and be thankful .” 
 
 James put down on the ground a bag containing 
 the sum which he had received that day twenty years, 
 with a letter of thanks, took Richard’s arm, and 
 departed. 
 
 William stayed behind ; and when his brothers were 
 <ione, he went into the inner chamber, which was 
 heaped up with gold. He bent forwards to help 
 himself, and to fill two huge sacks which he had 
 brought with him, without thinking how he should 
 ever carry them back, when filled with the precious 
 metal he coveted ; but, as he bent down, he felt the 
 full concentrated attraction of the gold in a mass, 
 which had exercised such power over him hitherto in 
 small portions. He literally clave to the gold. He 
 could not arise, and died there, starving in the pos¬ 
 session, or rather possessed by, his treasures. 
 
 James offered a home to the penitent Richard, who 
 lived many years happily with him, and although 
 he did not quite lose his sanguine temperament, he 
 never more entered into what is called speculation, 
 but was content to try and make silk purses of sows’ 
 
THE KEYS. 
 
 51 
 
 ears ; and often got snubbed for his pains by a digni¬ 
 tary, a cabinet minister, a member for the Tower 
 Hamlets, a school inspector, or a stump orator in 
 Hyde Park. 
 
 James buried him at a good old age, and, as he 
 did not apply to the magistrate after his death, accord¬ 
 ing to his favourite plan, he lies horizontally, with his 
 face to the east, by the side of his forefathers. 
 
 E 2 
 
annna. 
 
 NIMA was a random girl, living in a random 
 
 lx. way ; caught by an innocent pleasure, and fol¬ 
 lowing it until it was guilty ; a creature of impulses 
 passing into violent passions ; a mixture of good and 
 of evil. There was something very noble about her, 
 and something equally mean. You could see traces, 
 not merely of a fallen, but of a degraded nobility. 
 Doubtless she came of high ancestry, but her parents 
 were fallen from their first estate, as were their parents 
 before them ; and she, inheriting all their shame and 
 corruption, lived as she was born ; nor did there seem 
 any likelihood of her ever becoming anything better, 
 or rather of her not descending from bad into worse, 
 until the Great King’s Son passed by and looked 
 
 on her. 
 
 To the amazement of his court he pitied and loved 
 her. He called her to come to him ; had her cleansed 
 
ANIMA. 
 
 53 
 
 from the filth which clung to her under her old and 
 stained vestments, gave her a robe of exceeding 
 whiteness, and bade her be instructed in everything 
 befitting the bride of a king. 
 
 It was only by degrees that Anima awoke to any 
 consciousness of the wonderful favour shown to her. 
 She was apt to run off to her old ways, and start 
 wildly away from advice and instruction; but by 
 degrees she came to see what she had been, and was, 
 and might be; and was filled with a burning love of 
 her Benefactor. It was beautiful to see how she tried 
 in all things to please him ; how she read his letters 
 again and again, and kept them in her bosom ; how 
 she knelt, forgetting all else, when he sent her his 
 blessing by the hands of one of his servants ; how she 
 came out glowing with the light of pure love, and her 
 eyes like the evening star, when she came forth from 
 the chamber into which she had been summoned to 
 receive a fresh mark of regard, so amazing that she 
 spoke of it to no one at that time. 
 
 The world stared at the girl, and talked of her. 
 People did not call her beautiful, though she was 
 marvellously lovely, because her beauty was not of 
 the fashionable kind. But she was acknowledged to 
 be very attractive, winning, and loveable, only with a 
 
54 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 peculiarity and a kind of superiority, like that of 
 genius, which was not approved. Not that she felt 
 this, or willingly showed it. She was condescending 
 without condescending, and on a level, through love, 
 with all, except in their sins, and a being of marvellous 
 patience and sweetness. 
 
 So the world looked on and wondered, and some 
 thoughtful ones said, “He will send for her soon. 
 She is ready now for her marriage. She is too good 
 for us.” But she went on in her rapture of love, and 
 scarcely heard these remarks. 
 
 There was certainly something about Anima which 
 the world might be fairly expected to criticise. People 
 smile at anything original and different from daily 
 routine, even though it be a good invention, and a 
 very beneficial breach of routine. There are many 
 people who would laugh, should S. John or S. Paul 
 come into the room, if their dress was not all right, 
 or if they spoke with an accent. The sense of the 
 ridiculous is a dangerous sense. 
 
 Now, Anima was sometimes thinking of the king, 
 when people were talking all round her; and so she 
 did not hear what went on. When others were full of 
 admiration at some new fashion, she was silent. It 
 did not interest her, for she knew it did not interest 
 
ANIMA. 
 
 55 
 
 him. Then she used to go aside a good deal, and 
 read, and think; and sometimes her lips moved without 
 her speaking. Also she took a wonderful interest in 
 things the world cared very little for, such as the sick, 
 the poor, the ignorant, and especially great sinners. 
 All this she did, remembering how poor and ignorant 
 and sinful she had been, when the King took pity upon 
 her. But all this the world did not understand, and 
 sometimes it laughed at her openly, sometimes passed 
 her by in cold silence, when suddenly it took to 
 praising her up to the skies and courting her in every 
 possible way, because the king of the world had taken 
 a fancy to her, and sworn that she should be his. 
 
 Now, the king of the world had more influence than 
 Anima thought. She had promised to have nothing 
 to say to him, and she never went to his court. But 
 when she heard his subjects say how much he admired 
 her, how good she was, how useful, how delightful, 
 how worthy of her Betrothed, how well she taught 
 choirs to sing, with what exquisite taste she decorated 
 the churches ; how wise she was in her charities ; how 
 clever in all things, and what a superior woman ; she 
 was flattered, and pleased, and listened, and then was 
 more pleased, and listened again. 
 
 Then she began to live her life double. She went 
 
56 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 on in all her usual ways, but thinking of both kings at 
 once, both of her Betrothed and of the king of the 
 world ; and she thought she pleased both, and could 
 go on pleasing both ; and she retired into her room 
 less frequently and read the letters less often, and 
 read the letters of the king of the world. Meanwhile 
 she frequented public gatherings more, and did not 
 hide herself as she used to do. She had lost, in fact, 
 somewhat of the delicacy of her character. 
 
 By-and-bye, she had messages from her Betrothed, 
 and was rather shocked by their sternness ; and she 
 thought Him severe, and she inwardly rebelled against 
 the constraint which the very thought of Him, and of 
 her engagement to Him, laid on her; and she threw 
 off the thought with vexation. So the king of the 
 world gained ground daily, and what he gained was 
 lost by the Betrothed. 
 
 It is too sad to say, well-nigh too sad to think, what 
 Anima gradually came to. She cast aside the pearls 
 which her Betrothed had given her, and wore coloured 
 jewels. She abandoned her white robe for gay cloth¬ 
 ing. She became very beautiful in the eyes of the 
 world, sparkling, witty, sharp, clever, accomplished, 
 powerful; but—but—so grievously altered in the eyes 
 of the thoughtful! Her gentleness and patience and 
 
AN IMA. 
 
 57 
 
 sweetness were gone. Restless, dissatisfied, ill-tem¬ 
 pered, she enjoyed nothing. And it were shame to 
 say what companions she had, and how like she 
 became to them. 
 
 So Anima lived and thought not, or, if she thought, 
 dreaded the day when her first Love should call for 
 her, send for her. She drowned the remembrance of 
 that time in dissipating amusements. Such was poor 
 Anima. 
 
 In the midst of all this, one of the friends of Anima 
 died suddenly. Anima was with her, and saw her last 
 agonies, and noticed how that the king of the world 
 could do nothing for her in that extremity. To give 
 a dying person more money, and the frivolous news 
 of the day! Yet this was all. She returned home 
 thinking deeply, and sat on so thinking at night. At 
 last she raised her head and looked up, and as she 
 did so, she felt an Eye resting upon her;—only an 
 Eye. There was no face, no form, no voice; only an 
 Eye. She knew at once Whose it was, and dropped 
 on the ground. 
 
 Only an Eye, but she knew it was that Eye which 
 once looked on a false friend and won him back on 
 the instant. Only an Eye, which seemed to read all, 
 see all, know all: but was it His Eye, or her eye ? for 
 
53 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 she also read all, saw all, knew all—all her sins, all her 
 ingratitude, all her faithlessness. 
 
 First, it seemed only her own eye, the eye of her 
 conscience; and she despaired. She rolled on the 
 ground in an agony of fear, remorse, and despair. 
 Then it seemed to be His Eye, for there was pity in 
 It, love in It, hope in It. 
 
 She sprang from the ground, and stretched out her 
 arms, saying, “ Where art Thou ? Let me see Thee 
 again. Let me but hear Thee speak ! ” But there 
 was no vision, there was no voice. 
 
 Several days and nights passed in this misery. At 
 last Anima arose and said, “ I will seek Him. I will 
 follow Him. I will find Him again; I will perish in 
 seeking, rather than not find, for I shall die if I fin 
 Him not. Woe is me for my ingratitude ! Why did 
 He love me ? What was there in me that He should 
 have chosen me and made me His Own ? I remember 
 my first condition, in what filth and neglect He looked 
 down on me and pitied me. Was there ever such 
 ingratitude as mine ! O what a return ! Why did I not 
 love Him ? And now do I love Him ? At least I will 
 die for Him. Yet, who knows ? I may forget Him 
 again. May I die first, may I die before I forsake Him 
 again.” So she wept. 
 
ANIMA . 
 
 59 
 
 Then she prepared for her search, saying, “ All this 
 evil is come upon me because I was not with Him. I 
 am too weak by myself. Yet I might have been with 
 Him in thought, in love, in His letters, and in that 
 chamber. I will seek Him again, but, O, shall I 
 find Him ?” Then she tore off her gay clothing and 
 jewels ; but she did not put on her white raiment and 
 pearls. They were gone. She set forth half naked 
 in misery. 
 
 Wherever she wandered she inquired for Him. Some 
 said, “ I will tell you how you may find Him. Believe 
 that you see Him, and you will see Him.” 
 
 She tried, and a sort of vision appeared, but it 
 vanished. It was not He Whom she sought. 
 
 Another said, “ Occupy yourself in works ; ” she did 
 so, and saw only the works, and herself in the works. 
 
 Then another said, “You cannot find Him at once. 
 Be patient, and endure, you have much to go through,” 
 and so she found it to be ; for the world soon began 
 to take notice of her again, and encourage her, saying, 
 “ Cheer up, come back, and enjoy yourself; no need of 
 so much anxiety,” but she felt in her heart that there 
 was need. 
 
 So she set out again on her search, and once in a 
 church, and once in a hospital, she caught a glimpse 
 
6o 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 of Him, and she thought He looked at her, and then 
 He was gone. 
 
 At last she found a wise man who called her aside, 
 and said, “ I have a message for thee from Him.” So 
 she turned: and first he listened to all her long tale 
 of sin and of sorrow; and then gave her a message of 
 pardon and peace, and took her again into that sacred 
 chamber, where she heard and saw unspeakable things. 
 
 Then he said, “ Stay at home. Live unknown and 
 watch, and work in great humbleness ; and wait till 
 He speaks.” 
 
 So she did, and people noticed a gradual change. 
 The innocent countenance and manner returned ; and 
 the brightness of her eyes was not that cold shining 
 which they had acquired in the world, but a soft 
 lustre, as of sunbeams in showers ; and the sweet 
 winning expression came back. She became what 
 she had been, only quieter; shrinking more and more 
 from all observation; and occupied in kind deeds 
 which none saw, being often in secret, and reading 
 the letters. 
 
 Often Anima wept, and never seemed so happy as 
 when she had wept. Then she shone like a rainbow, 
 and ,at times she had glimpses of her Beloved. So 
 her life glided away. 
 
AN IMA. 
 
 6 1 
 
 At last a message came to her, a call: none knew 
 how, and she rose and went out, not eagerly, but at 
 once. Fearing and longing she went; and came to 
 the gate of a garden, which opened ; and she saw into 
 it, and beheld bands of spirits in white, and a glory, 
 and she heard sounds of music, yet entered not in ; 
 but knelt at the wicket. 
 
 Presently she heard steps approaching. She lay 
 down, crossed her arms on her breast, and closing 
 her eyes waited breathlessly. The steps sounded 
 nearer and nearer; and then a voice, that voice spoke, 
 saying, “Ariseand she rose and cast herself at His 
 feet; but He lifted her up and gave her the white 
 raiment and pearls whiter and brighter than ever, with 
 the whiteness and brightness of light; and looked at 
 her the while ; and that look seemed to transfigure 
 her, for she became like an angel, and followed Him 
 into the garden, and left Him no more. 
 
Cf )z Schoolmaster. 
 
 YOUNG MAN became candidate for the office 
 
 Y of schoolmaster at a grammar school in a large 
 town, the appointment to which was in the hands of 
 trustees. He went round to them severally to obtain 
 their votes ; and endeavoured to make himself accept¬ 
 able to each in his turn. To do this, it was neces¬ 
 sary for him to have no views of his own, nor, indeed, 
 of anyone else; because, to hold a view which pleased 
 one man, was to have an opinion which offended 
 another. 
 
 Accordingly, when he called on the mayor, he was 
 put into a difficulty. 
 
 The mayor said at once that he wished to make 
 physical science an important part of the school work, 
 and added, “Now, I should like to know, sir, whether 
 you hold that rivers run up or down ? ” 
 
 “Well, well,” said the candidate, hesitating, “that 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER . 
 
 63 
 
 depends. You see, sir, there is a good deal to be said 
 on both sides. On the one side, you may say that 
 you can see they run down, and that a piece of wood 
 will float towards the sea ; but, on the other, it may 
 be urged that we must not trust to our senses ; and 
 that, as mists ascend, so larger portions of water may 
 be expected to follow the same general law. And 
 then, sir, you would not get on, if you put the thick 
 part of a wedge in first. You insert the point. Just 
 so it is easier for the slender part of the river to force 
 its way than for the broad mouth. Besides, the sea 
 clearly does not want water, whereas the land does. 
 It is reasonable to expect, therefore, that rivers should 
 flow inland and upwards.” 
 
 Then asked the mayor, “What are your views of 
 attraction ? Do you consider that the smaller body 
 attracts the larger, or the reverse ? ” 
 
 “ It is quite an open question, sir,” replied the con¬ 
 ciliatory candidate. “ The stone which you throw 
 up in the air seems drawn to the earth, and I am 
 bound to say that this is the more common and 
 probable opinion ; but then, on the other hand, we 
 must remember that common opinion is often erro¬ 
 neous, especially if it be antiquated, and that children 
 are more attractive often than their parents, though 
 
6\ 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 they are much smaller ; and sixpence will attract a 
 thief; and the moon attracts the sea, which our own 
 eyes show us to be much the larger of the two. 
 
 “ Very good,” said the mayor ; “ I perceive that 
 you are a candid and dispassionate man. I was 
 going to say unprincipled ; but, of course, I mean not 
 attached dogmatically to your own views, or any 
 
 views. You will have my support. 
 
 Next, one who was a dabbler in mathematics, in¬ 
 quired whether the candidate did not think that 
 Euclid was too dogmatical, and whether it was justifi¬ 
 able to say that parallel lines never meet. 
 
 “ I do not think it is justifiable,” replied the appli¬ 
 cant 5 “ for though the world has existed peihaps 
 millions of years, yet an accurate observation has 
 not been made all that time; and who can say 
 whether parallels have not met, or may not meet in 
 another million of years. It is best not to be positive. 
 Extremes meet, and the ends of parallel lines are 
 
 extremities.” 
 
 “ What is your definition, sir, of a trapezium ? 
 inquired the trustee. 
 
 «1 will reply,” said the candidate, “ in the words of 
 a very sensible youth, who was under examination, 
 i it entirely depends on what you call a tiapezium. 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER . 
 
 6' 
 
 « Very good indeed, capital! ” exclaimed the trustee. 
 The next trustee was all for languages, and he 
 asked whether the- candidate thought that the sub¬ 
 stantive agreed with the adjective or the reverse. 
 
 « Why, sir,” was the answer, “ it is a mere question 
 of words ; and I think it is much safer to say that 
 they agree with each other, because, if I agree with 
 you, but you don’t agree with me, there is no perfect 
 
 concord.” 
 
 “ You are my man,” was the answer. 
 
 Our candidate was not always, however, so fortu¬ 
 nate. One trustee asked what were his religious 
 
 principles. 
 
 He replied, “ Principles ! I should rather say views, 
 sir, opinions. In these days, when science is throwing 
 so much light upon truth, and old prejudices are 
 giving way to enlightened and enlarged views of 
 
 of—the origin and history of our species. . . . 
 
 « Really, sir, I have no time for all this, _ broke 
 
 in the trustee. “Just say what you are, if you 
 
 can. 
 
 >> 
 
 “Then, sir,” said the candidate, with a mortified 
 but subservient air, “ my views are as wide as our 
 common humanity. 
 
 “ As broad as they’re long," said the tone ly 
 
9<5 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 fellow, “and as shallow. I’ll tell you plainly, sir, I 
 have an opinion of my own, and a belief too, and I 
 believe this, that you don’t know what you believe, 
 and what you should teach, and are not fit foi your 
 
 office. Good morning, sir.” 
 
 This trustee, however, was regarded as singular in 
 his opinions, and his opposition at the boaid had no 
 
 effect. 
 
 In this way before he had done his rounds the 
 candidate had maintained that Mahomedanism was 
 prior to Christianity, because it is more like Judaism, 
 and afterwards the reverse ; that Monarchy and Re¬ 
 publicanism, teetotalism and wine-drinking, are all 
 best ; and so he got the appointment 
 
 Having got it, lie had to proceed at the same 
 pace of subserviency. One week there was corporal 
 punishment, and the next none. Now it was science ; 
 then all classics ; then history. Now there were pre¬ 
 fects, hats, bags, gowns, caps, &c. ; then all these 
 
 were abolished. 
 
 One day, however, he was very unlucky. He went 
 down the river-side with the sixth form. The boys 
 wanted to bathe. He knew it was dangeious, but 
 they threatened to complain of him it he lefused. 
 He, having no power, consented, and half the sixth 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 67 
 
 form were drowned \ whereupon he lost his appoint¬ 
 ment. 
 
 After he was gone, it was said that people made a 
 great mistake in maintaining that he had no views 
 of his own: for he had a very definite and very 
 persistent view, namely, the advancement of his own 
 interest; only, very unfortunately for him, he did not 
 know his true interest. 
 
 That, however, which completed the Purgatory of 
 the poor man was this, that he married a woman who 
 had an opinion of her own, and a very decided one. 
 
 F 2 
 
Christmas. 
 
 T T was before service, on the last Sunday before 
 JL Advent, that Charles was speaking with pride of 
 his parish church to a stranger. 
 
 “You may go for many miles,” he said, “and not 
 see such a lovely church as ours, nor hear such 
 singing, nor see such a congregation.” 
 
 But the stranger made no reply. 
 
 Charles was vexed at his silence. He began over 
 again, and spoke more loudly than ever in praise of 
 his church. 
 
 At last the stranger answered, “ I shall be sorry to 
 undeceive you. I like you to take a hearty patriotic 
 interest in your parish ; but you should not boast of 
 it, nor set it up as a pattern. Things are not always 
 that which they seem to be. Would you know the 
 truth ? ” 
 
 Charles felt vexed, but he could hardly help saying, 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 6 9 
 
 “ Yes.” The stranger at once touched his eyes, and 
 they passed into church together, as the service 
 commenced. 
 
 Charles began, as soon as he entered, to use the 
 strange new faculty of sight which had been so 
 wonderfully lent to him for a time. 
 
 He saw two neighbours kneeling side by side and 
 praying, but there was a wall between them, and a 
 canopy over their heads, and their prayers seemed to 
 fill the enclosure and surround them like a mist, not 
 ascending. 
 
 “ They are out of charity with each other,” 
 whispered the stranger. 
 
 Charles next observed a man who had seemed alive 
 and well, as they went through the porch, but now 
 he was apparently dead. Only his lips moved, like 
 
 those of a doll. 
 
 “ What is this ? ” he inquired. 
 
 “The body is here,” he replied, “nothing more. 
 Heart and mind are alive and well, and haid at 
 work on the farm. So he is as one dead whilst he 
 
 is here.” 
 
 Next he looked at the miller, and to his astonish¬ 
 ment noticed that his coat was all over floui. 
 
 “He never changed it,” said the stranger. “The 
 
70 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 farmer came here, and went back again, so you see he 
 has his best coat on ; but this man came into church 
 just as he was, and so he appears to you.” 
 
 Charles saw many people reading books, but they 
 did not seem like Prayer Books or Bibles. In fact, 
 one was a ledger, another a novel; and even one of 
 the clergy was reading a pamphlet ; that is to say, in 
 their minds they were doing these things, and they 
 appeared to Charles as they were doing them. 
 
 Then he looked at a woman, well dressed and 
 seemingly well educated ; and, to his amazement, he 
 saw her both remain where she was, and yet get up 
 and go about the church, stopping and looking con¬ 
 tinually at different persons. 
 
 The stranger saw that Charles required an explana¬ 
 tion, and he gave it. 
 
 “Her body,” he said, “is praying, if bodies can 
 pray, but she is going round to observe her neigh¬ 
 bour’s dress, and see the fashions, and compare herself 
 with them.” 
 
 By this time the Psalms began, and Charles looked 
 at the choir, and watched the sweet innocent faces of 
 the boys ; and to his amazement he saw a silvery 
 cloud rise from one mouth straight up into the lofty 
 roof; while from another a sort of mist flowed on a 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 71 
 
 level, and spread towards the people, and then dis¬ 
 appeared. 
 
 « One is singing to God, and, therefore, his psalm 
 ascends,” said the stranger ; “ the other is singing to 
 men.” 
 
 After a time the sermon began, and Charles saw 
 some sleeping with their eyes open. And others 
 taking something to pieces, and, whilst laying by parts, 
 throwing the rest down. 
 
 “ They are choosing out what they know, and 
 throwing away what they don t know, explained the 
 stranger ; “ and that person is storing up every hit at 
 her neighbour, whilst all the remarks which might do 
 her any good, all that is about her own faults, you see 
 she throws on the ground and tramples on. 
 
 “ Have you seen enough ?” he continued. 
 
 “ Yes,” replied Charles sadly, and the two went out 
 with the great mass of the congregation after the 
 
 service. 
 
 “ Then I will show you a picture,” said the myste¬ 
 rious person, and he took a picture out of his pocket in 
 which Charles saw Christ calling on His people to give 
 to the poor, and inviting them to come 10 a feast which 
 was spread at the end of the church. Chiist opened 
 His arms to embrace men ; but they turned away, some 
 
72 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES, 
 
 sullenly, some lightly, chatting as they went, and so 
 passed out. 
 
 Then the stranger put his finger on one figure in the 
 picture. Charles looked at it. It was himself. 
 
 They met again at Christmas, and the stranger 
 touched his eyes, saying, “You will not see all, only a 
 few of those whom you saw before.” 
 
 In church, Charles looked around. The two neigh¬ 
 bours were no longer divided, and their prayers went 
 up as incense to Heaven. The woman no longer 
 wandered round the church ; and both the boys were 
 singing straight up to the sky. But two of the 
 careless ones were not present. They were not far 
 off, however. They had been to church again—to 
 be buried, and were lying in their graves outside in 
 the churchyard. 
 
 “ Do you wish to know what has made this great 
 change ? ” asked the stranger. 
 
 “No, sir,” replied Charles. “I am about to make 
 my first Communion now, and what has touched me 
 has, I doubt not, touched them.” 
 
 “ What was it ?” inquired his companion. 
 
 “Fear and love,” replied Charles. “Fear of Christ 
 and His glory as Judge; love of Christ in His 
 humiliation at Bethlehem. Advent has reached me 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 73 
 
 at last. I was hollow, vain, heartless. I deceived 
 myself. Pray God I am not deceiving myself now. 
 
 “My friend,” replied the stranger, “if ever you feel 
 disposed to be vain of your service, think of what it is 
 in God’s sight, and of what you are in the light of His 
 Justice and Mercy ; and compare your worship with 
 that of the wise men at Bethlehem, and of the angels 
 who sang at the birth of your Saviour. I opened your 
 eyes to your sin. Now go in and open them to your 
 happiness, and behold your dear Lord, who in it was 
 truly present on the Altar for you, clad in vestments 
 of earth, like as He lay swathed in swaddling clothes 
 
 in the manger at Bethlehem.” 
 
 Charles listened, and whether his eyes were dim 
 with tears, or the people hastening to church inter¬ 
 vened, he lost sight of the stranger, though not of his 
 teaching. 
 
Cljc €ai!. 
 
 WO heaps of bones, a rusty blade 
 And mouldering - lance in ruin lie 
 Where his faint limbs the hunter laid, 
 
 And closed his heavy eyes—to die. 
 
 All day beneath the forest shade 
 
 His own name sounded through each glade, 
 
 His own name mournful echoes made. 
 
 “ Who called ? ” he cried, “ Come, come ” it said, 
 That wondrous voice : he turned his head, 
 
 But only heard the dry leaves fall, 
 
 As one by one dark autumn’s pall 
 
 They helped to spread ; and through the pine 
 
 On which the fading sunbeams shine, 
 
 Bursting through with flurried wing, 
 
 The stock-dove made the forest rinef. 
 
 All one red haze the sunset showed : 
 
 His track was like a magic road, 
 
THE CALL. 
 
 Dubious and hopeless. Sight and sound 
 Revolved in endless circles round, 
 
 And still “ Come, come,” till fell the night. 
 Through marble columns dazzling white, 
 
 By the cold moon’s deceiving light, 
 
 He ceaseless climbed each silvered bank, 
 Dived in each sombre glade, and sank 
 In sedgy hollows dark and dank ; 
 
 And still the voice, “ Come, come.”—At last, 
 At the dread call, his spirit passed. 
 
 Close to his dead watched night and day 
 The dog, and scared each beast of prey, 
 
 Till slowly by his master’s side 
 He stretched his wasted limbs and died. 
 
 This is the call the poet heard, 
 
 Like the note of some foreign bird, 
 
 And ceased to write, and only wept; 
 
 Left his unfinished lay, and slept. 
 
 This struck the miser; and his gold 
 Fell from his dying hands untold. 
 
 This summons monarchs from their throne. 
 This bids the widow weep alone. 
 
 Ah desolate ! who year by year 
 Longed that herself that call might hear ; 
 But death, when wished for, draws not near. 
 
76 allegories and tales . 
 
 The hunter rising from her side, 
 
 Ere break of day, had left his bride 
 Without one kiss, or dear farewell, 
 
 Or any gage his love to tell. 
 
 \ et it was love which would not wake her 
 Unkissed, unkissing, to forsake her, 
 Enduring thus.—His distant horn 
 Brake off her dream in misty morn. 
 
 Gone ! gone !—How tedious was that day 
 And when at last it wore away, 
 
 The wished-for even came in vain ; 
 
 For love’s impatient step again 
 Shall nearer, nearer, to thy door 
 Sound—wistful watcher—nevermore. 
 
 Far from that lonely cot removed 
 By friends to haunts no longer loved, 
 Broken, and bowed, and pale, and grey, 
 Her life too slowly wastes away ; 
 
 And oft and fervent doth she pray, 
 
 And still shall pray till her latest breath, 
 
 “ Call me, my God, with Thy call of death. 
 
Spring anti autumn. 
 
 H IS arrows rattled as he trod, 
 
 With proud step like the Delphic God 
 Scattering the dew-drops ; whilst the scent 
 Of the frayed bracken heavenwards went, 
 Fragrant as incense ; nor looked back 
 To home, but held an onward track, 
 
 Until he thrust aside the spray 
 Of the faint odorous may, 
 
 And burst into a glade where grew 
 Myriad flowerets white and blue. 
 
 Spring breathed herself; the balmy air 
 A thousand melodies did bear 
 Of undulating joy ; and there 
 A maiden rose, and waved aside 
 Bright tresses which a face did hide, 
 
 Fair as Diana. All his pride 
 Sank like a wavelet on the side 
 
;8 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 Of some deep cave. They looked : they spoke ; 
 And soon their gladsome way did take 
 In one ; and, bolder grown, would make 
 The still glades from their dreams awake, 
 
 With word, and laugh, and carol song; 
 
 Whilst hour by hour they strolled along, 
 
 Through springtide mead, and vale, and grove, 
 Lost in an ecstasy of love. 
 
 Still rose the sun, and soon his light 
 
 o 
 
 Made the mossy beech trunks bright 
 With playful hues, as thus they wound 
 Their way athwart the tawny ground 
 Rustling with leaves, until they past 
 Into a forest dark and vast, 
 
 Wherein their noiseless feet did rest 
 Upon the pine’s discarded vest 
 Amid a maze of columns. Way 
 Was none, for all was path. No play 
 Of dancing sunbeams. Herb nor flower 
 Confessed the vivifying hour ; 
 
 But naught to them was strange and drear; 
 
 Nor felt they toil, nor knew they fear; 
 
 Whilst form, as heart to heart, was near. 
 
 They sang of some Elysian plain 
 Beyond the hills, where grief and pain 
 
SPRING AND A UTUMN. 
 
 79 
 
 Are not. And still they forced their way, 
 Like Spartans to the Dorian lay, 
 
 Victors. Next broken rocks appeared 
 And distant gleams, while as they neared 
 The forest edge ; then shrubs ; then light; 
 And straight the mountains on their sight 
 Burst sudden in their awful might 
 With crag, and rift, and sheer descent. 
 They paused, embraced and upwards bent 
 A slower step ; whilst overhead 
 The gathering storm its pall outspread. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 Who is this with cautious pace 
 Down the mountain’s westward face 
 Descending slowly, stone by stone, 
 Conversing, though he walks alone ? 
 
 And now beneath the ancient trees, 
 
 He seems to listen to the breeze. 
 
 Silent as death the leafy ground ; 
 
 Yet somewhat he doth seem to hear, 
 
 And, frequent resting, searches round 
 As though or hate or love were near ; 
 
 And now he dashes off a tear, 
 
8 o 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 And forwards moves. His cloak is rent, 
 His buskins are with blood besprent; 
 His quiver gone.—A broken bow 
 Serves for a staff. His step is slow, 
 
 But once a hunter’s ; and his face 
 And form still keep their ancient grace, 
 But not the freshness; yet his eye 
 Shines with an immortality. 
 
 He pauses where the beech woods cease 
 In beauty, not of joy, but peace,— 
 Autumnal beauty. Springtide’s green 
 And downy leaf no more are seen ; 
 
 But every rainbow hue is there, 
 
 And gentle is the evening air, 
 
 Which sighs amid the purple groves, 
 And whispers dead and deathless loves. 
 
 Down lawny slopes he softly glides 
 To where the hill-sides gently sink, 
 
 To the last crimson copse which hides 
 The swollen river’s rippling brink. 
 
 There the ruby hawthorn glows, 
 
 Once glistening white with floral snows. 
 The starry quatrefoils there shine 
 Of spindletree ; the briony 
 Which wound a tortuous way on high, 
 Strings its gay beads ; and red as wine 
 
SPRING AND AUTUMN. 
 
 8 I 
 
 The dogwood leaves the brake illume, 
 
 Where clematis aspired to bloom, 
 
 And dying hung its trophy plume. 
 
 The redbreast and the blackbird sing, 
 
 For autumn’s thoughtful ear, not spring. 
 
 Sets the old sun, and sets the year; 
 
 And he stands watching, like a seer, 
 
 The deep horizon. O’er the lea, 
 
 Bright gleaming as the western sea, 
 
 He sees the golden towers arise, 
 
 And flash their glory to the skies ; 
 
 And godlike forms of lucid white, 
 
 With eyes like stars on Christmas night, 
 
 Stand on the brink and wait.—He prays, 
 
 And softly on the margin lays 
 His broken bow, his tattered vest; 
 
 Then on the stream reclines his breast, 
 
 And steadfast seeks the better shore ; 
 
 Attains it; and is seen no more. 
 
 G 
 

 T HERE was a town which had gone on a long 
 time in a quiet, and perhaps rather sleepy sort 
 of way. Still there was a fair amount of good work 
 done there : schools, hospitals, and the like. Into the 
 midst of this city dropped one day, like a bomb into 
 a besieged fort, a Greek lady named Polypragmosyne. 
 It is rather a hard name, and suits the hard work 
 which she set herself and her followers. She took the 
 bull by the horns very speedily, shook up the mayor, 
 and the clergy, and the married women, and the 
 single, and the young men, and the girls, and every 
 one she could lay hands upon. Very soon the place 
 was a nest of societies, meetings, &c. There was not 
 an old wall which was not covered with placards. 
 There were niggers to be seen and heard, singing 
 classes, mothers’ meetings, ladies’ co-operative bene¬ 
 volent associations, &c., &c.: all very good things 
 
SIGE. 
 
 §3 
 
 in their way, but, somehow or other, they were 
 managed in such a manner that they seemed to old 
 folks to do as much harm as good. 
 
 In particular, there was a charming girl, named 
 Rhoda, who used to be as modest and gentle as one 
 could wish ; and she acquired, under the guidance of 
 Madame Polypragmosyne, a sort of fussy, business¬ 
 like, hard way, so that she was no longer as winning 
 as formerly ; and some people said of her playfully, 
 “No rose without thorns. ,, 
 
 She was not the only person thus injured. The 
 clergy rushed about, and gave up reading, and seemed 
 always in a fuss. There was no repose anywhere 
 except in the old square parlour-like pews of the 
 church ; just where there should have been none, A 
 complete language of benevolence and religion was 
 formed ; and people were expected to express them¬ 
 selves in it, or else were counted for heathens ; and 
 everybody talked of his feelings and experiences, and 
 privileges, until he had none left of the first, and the 
 second were mere repetitions of empty imaginations; 
 and the third consisted of a right of unlimited talking. 
 Those who did not take to religion were quite as bad 
 in their way ; and talked of humanity until it was 
 gone; and what with biology, anthropology, physi- 
 
 G 2 
 
8 4 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 ology, &c., &c,, they wearied quiet people beyond 
 endurance. However, we are not concerned with the 
 whole population, but only with that sweet girl Rhoda, 
 who was opening her flower too fast, and losing her 
 grace. 
 
 Now, it was so, that another Greek lady came into 
 the town. She was generally driven out by her no¬ 
 torious countrywoman ; but, in this case, she became 
 unlike herself for a time, and was so far aroused, 
 that she followed, instead of fled ; and seemed deter¬ 
 mined to remedy some of the mischief done by the 
 well-meaning Madame Polypragmosyne. 
 
 The first step which she took was to try and get 
 hold of Rhoda ; and a very hard job she found it ; for 
 Rhoda was nearly always from home, and when she 
 took up her needle, at the wish of her mother, and 
 began to mend her torn and decaying clothes, she was 
 always interrupted by a letter, or a caller, or some 
 interference or other. 
 
 However, one morning, the old lady Sige, for that 
 was her name, did catch Rhoda at home; and after 
 darning her stockings for two hours patiently, got her 
 to come out for a walk. 
 
 It was a sweet spring morning, and Rhoda felt a 
 . stillness of spirit as she walked with her silent com- 
 
SIGE. 
 
 35 
 
 panion. Indeed she always found, when with her, a 
 strange calm steal over her; and holy and beautiful 
 thoughts came into her mind, which seemed suggested 
 by her friend’s very presence, when nothing was said 
 
 As the two went together, they came to the river¬ 
 side ; and Sige said to it, “Tell the maiden what you 
 are doing.” But the river rolled on in silence, and 
 Rhoda waited in vain for an answer. Whilst waiting, 
 however, by the silent stream, she could not but see 
 that the river was useful, though quiet; and that 
 beautiful meadows were glowing with verdure along 
 its banks, and trees whose roots sucked the sweet 
 waters, were bursting into new life all around. 
 
 Then they went into the cornfields, and Sige called 
 out, “ Spring, show the maiden what you are doing,” 
 but Spring replied not. Only Rhoda saw the corn 
 rising through the ground, and the buds swelling, and 
 flowers opening ; and she felt the gently-whispering 
 breeze to be life-giving. 
 
 So they walked on thinking until evening, and Sige 
 said, “ Dew, tell the maiden thy work,” but Dew 
 replied not. Only the fainting herbs lifted their 
 heads, and the fields glistened with diamonds, and a 
 sweet restful freshness became an atmosphere in 
 which the earth slept. 
 
86 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “ We must go home now,” said Sige. “ Your mother 
 will wonder where we have been.” 
 
 And as they walked, they passed an old church ; 
 and in the angle, between the transept and nave, they 
 came to a Calvary, such as you see in some countries 
 abroad. And Rhoda looked at it, and said, “ Come 
 into the church, Sige, and remain with me, whilst I 
 pray.” 
 
 So they went in and knelt; and whether it was, as 
 she thought; or whether a weary sleep came over 
 Rhoda, I know not ; but it seemed to her as if it were 
 real Calvary, and she were seeing all that took place. 
 
 She seemed to feel a great silence, broken now and 
 then by a harsh .voice ; after which, the silence was 
 deeper; and then a voice was heard from the Cross, 
 and then a deeper silence ensued. 
 
 Long she knelt, but at last she rose up, and beckon¬ 
 ing- to Sige, began her walk home: thinking the 
 while how much greater is bearing than doing, and 
 patience than daring, and meditating on the silence 
 and quietness of God’s greatest works. 
 
 After this, Sige became Rhoda’s daily companion 
 and when Polypragmosyne left the city, which was 
 worn out, disgusted, and disposed to greater sloth than 
 before, Sige remained ; and tried to keep people from 
 
SIGE. 
 
 3 7 
 
 falling back into idleness, and to induce them to work 
 on in peace and retirement, until the sun should rise 
 over the hills, and the eternal Sabbath begin ; and 
 the rest of quiet, unconscious, unvarying, unwearying 
 service of God. 
 
autonicus. 
 
 I N the days when knights went out for the purpose 
 of encountering danger and of obtaining great 
 glory by fighting, Autonicus was one of the most 
 famous among men of old ; but not famous at first, 
 nor without great difficulty. 
 
 The father of this knight died when his son was but 
 a child, and his mother, who was all fondness, never 
 controlled him ; but let him have his own way. The 
 servants flattered him. He knew nothing of the world 
 around him, and fancied that he could carry every¬ 
 thing before him whenever and wherever he chose. 
 
 At last the time came when Autonicus should go 
 forth and make his name in the world. He was tall, 
 and apparently strong. His armour was bright, and 
 shone like the lake round the castle when rippled by 
 the clear eastern breeze; and his huge war horse 
 
A UTONICUS . 
 
 89 
 
 pawed the ground, and seemed as impatient as his 
 master for action. 
 
 On the day, on which Autonicus was to start, his 
 mother fell ill. He went to her bedside to bid her 
 farewell, and he saw in her face that she longed for 
 him to put off his journey, but did not like to ask him 
 to do so. He felt a misgiving, as he saw the pale 
 features of her who had been so devoted to him, and 
 observed her eyes fill with tears, when she saw that 
 he did not offer to stay ; but he had been so long 
 used to^ have his own way, that it seemed out of the 
 question that the convenience of another should cross 
 his plans, and delay him from carrying out his inten¬ 
 tions ; so he kissed his mother rather more warmly 
 than usual, and departed. 
 
 It was a fine sight to see the youth go out in his 
 beauty and strength. It seemed as if nothing could 
 withstand him, and that all opposition must go down 
 before his courage and energy; and, indeed, the 
 expression of his face and his whole carriage showed 
 that he thought so himself. 
 
 Autonicus had not ridden many miles when he 
 saw a knight waiting at the skirts of a wood, and, as 
 he drew nearer, he saw a beautiful maiden bound to 
 a tree, whom this knight seemed to have seized. 
 
90 
 
 ALLEGOKIES AND TALES. 
 
 Autonicus was fired with anger. Now was the time 
 to succour the weak ; now to put down oppression ; 
 now to show himself a true knight. He rode straight 
 at the stranger with his lance couched, but the stranger 
 leaped his horse lightly aside, struck Autonicus in the 
 breast with his lance, and rolled him headlong to the 
 ground. 
 
 In another moment, the knight placed his foot on 
 his fallen foe, and called on him to surrender or die. 
 Autonicus surrendered. He rose from the ground all 
 covered with mud, and his beautiful plume broken off; 
 and, moreover, he had the extreme mortification of 
 seeing two pilgrims, who had watched him in the 
 morning issue forth in his glory, laughing at the sight 
 which he now presented. One thing only remained to 
 complete his humiliation, and that one wa3 added. 
 The captive damsel rejoiced in the victory of his foe. 
 The truth was, that she had been rescued from robbers 
 by the knight, just as Autonicus came up. There was 
 not time to unbind her before Autonicus had im¬ 
 patiently dashed at the deliverer; and now the fair 
 damsel, rejoiced to see her champion gain a fresh 
 victory, gave him her hand, and, riding off to her 
 father’s castle which towered over the wood, left 
 Autonicus to enjoy his defeat, and to make his way 
 
A UTONICUS. 
 
 9 l 
 
 home without horse or armour, which he had to leave 
 in the hands of the conqueror as the prize of the 
 victory. 
 
 Autonicus was ready to sink into the earth when 
 he passed under the gate of his castle in sad and 
 shameful condition. So overwhelmed was he that he 
 did not go to his mother, nor even inquire after her, 
 but shut himself up in a room at the top of a tower, 
 where he spent all the day in pacing up and down by 
 himself. Next day his mother heard of his arrival 
 and sent to him, begging him to come down and see 
 her. He did so at last, and she received him with all 
 her old love, and said all she could to console him. 
 
 It was not for some days that the Seneschal of the 
 Castle ventured to speak to his lord on the subject of 
 his defeat. At last, however, he did so, and tried to 
 encourage him ; but he could not make out how it 
 was that Autonicus had been overthrown by the hand 
 of a man less noble than himself, and one not famous 
 in arms. There was a mystery in it, something more 
 than he knew. However, after a time, the Seneschal 
 thought he had hit on the reason of the disaster, and, 
 after much thought as to how he should best impart 
 his views to his master, he told them to him ; but 
 Autonicus was greatly enraged, and broke away from 
 
92 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 his counsellor, and it seemed as if the Seneschal’s 
 good advice were all wasted. It was not so, however. 
 Autonicus, whilst he rejected the most important part 
 of the counsel, and that which went most aeainst him 
 resolved to be more cautious next time. 
 
 In the course of a few weeks the mother of Auto¬ 
 nicus died and was buried. Autonicus seemed to 
 grieve for a time ; but his temper was soured, and he 
 became so tyrannical at home that his dependents were 
 delighted to hear that he meditated a fresh expedition. 
 A horse and arms were prepared, and Autonicus 
 sallied forth to try once more what he could do. 
 
 As he rode through the forest the sun shone brightly, 
 the birds sang, everything was beautiful in the spring¬ 
 tide, and his spirits rose as he went. On and on, 
 through many a lovely glade he passed ; at length he 
 came to a river, crossed by a narrow stone bridge 
 which was guarded by a fierce-looking man in black 
 armour. Autonicus roused himself from his dreamy 
 ride and, shouting to the stranger, asked whether he 
 meant to prevent his crossing the bridge. To this the 
 man in black made no answer, but stood with his lance 
 couched, ready to defend himself, if attacked. Auto¬ 
 nicus again demanded whether it was not the Kind’s 
 
 o 
 
 highway, free for all to pass over; and again no 
 
A UTONICUS. 
 
 93 
 
 answer was given. This insult excited the aneer of 
 Autonicus, and he began to forget the wise advice of 
 the Seneschal, and to advance with more speed than 
 caution. As he drew near, the black knight spoke at 
 last, crying, “ Come on, noble rescuer of maidens ! 
 Come, with your new horse and armour! Come, and 
 receive your second defeat ! ” 
 
 Autonicus was furious at these words. He struck 
 his spurs into his horse and dashed on to the bridge 
 
 o 
 
 at full speed ; as he did so, his horse’s legs slipped 
 from under him on the smooth stones, and, without 
 striking a blow, Autonicus felt the black knight’s foot 
 on his breast, and only escaped by again surrendering 
 armour and steed. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the shame and mortifica¬ 
 tion which overwhelmed the poor youth on his second 
 return home. He ordered the castle doors to be 
 closed, and would see no one. His father’s old friends 
 were denied admittance when they came kindly to 
 condole with and advise the son of one whom they had 
 respected and loved. Month after month passed by. 
 Autonicus was a torment to himself and to all in the 
 castle, and no one knew how to obtain any relief from 
 this state of things. 
 
 Whilst matters stood thus, Autonicus was informed 
 
94 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 that a neighbouring noble was trying to raise an 
 army to chastise a wandering band from the desert, 
 which did infinite mischief, harrying the peaceable 
 country, and vanishing as soon as pursued. Autonicus 
 caught at the news. He thought that he might win a 
 command and obtain glory through it, without having 
 the whole responsibility. It was something gained, 
 that he thus shrank from the management; it looked 
 as if he had fallen a little in his own opinion ; and 
 so truly he had ; but, unhappily, conceit was not his 
 sole weakness. 
 
 Autonicus was not long in carrying out his new 
 project. Again he sallied forth, and, as he was not 
 now a knight-errant, or single knight going out in 
 search of solitary combats, he took with him some of 
 his servants, and reached the camp of the chief who 
 had set the expedition on foot. 
 
 On arriving, he went straight to the tent of the 
 leader and sent in his name. Whilst waiting for 
 answer, he had the extreme mortification of seeing a 
 smile pass over the faces of the attendants on hearing 
 his name ; and further back, where they were less 
 visible, the servants did not scruple to whisper and 
 laugh. 
 
 The chief, however, was an old friend of the father 
 
A UTONICUS. 
 
 95 
 
 of Autonicus. He did not believe it possible that any 
 son of such a father could possibly be a coward, and 
 he resolved to do what he could to rescue his friend’s 
 son from contempt. Accordingly, he came out at 
 once from his tent, received his visitor graciously, 
 conducted him in, introduced him to the knights 
 assembled in council, and said, on so doing, “Sirs, 
 you all know, or have heard of, the famous knight now 
 at rest, the fathei of this noble youth, who, from some 
 strange and unaccountable circumstances, has hitherto 
 failed to gain the glory which his father’s son cannot 
 but obtain in the end ; I pray you to receive him as 
 the son of our dear neighbour departed, and as my 
 personal friend.” 
 
 The eyes of Autonicus filled with tears when he 
 heard these kind words, and still more so when the 
 knights came forward in numbers to clasp his hand 
 and to welcome him. He thought his troubles were 
 over, and he gratefully accepted a somewhat inferior 
 post, resolving, by obedience and care, to justify the 
 generous confidence of the leader. 
 
 Next day the army started on the expedition in 
 hand. They passed through a country left desolate 
 by the ravages of the foe, and, full of indignation, 
 hastened on to overtake, if possible, the enemy on 
 
9 6 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 his retreat, and despoil him of his unrighteous 
 gains. 
 
 During the expedition, the pursuers came up, from 
 time to time, with scattered portions of the retreating 
 force, and, after some sharp engagements, they suc¬ 
 ceeded in taking many prisoners, and rescuing some 
 of their fellow-countrymen who were being carried off 
 to be sold into slavery. 
 
 In one of these encounters Autonicus crossed a 
 gigantic Sheik, and after a severe conflict unhorsed 
 him, and took him prisoner into the camp. The spell 
 was now broken. The knights hastened to his tent 
 to congratulate the victor, and the name of Autonicus 
 
 o 
 
 stood as high in the army as before it was low. 
 
 As a testimony to his merit, and out of regard to the 
 memory of his father, the leader detached Autonicus 
 shortly after with a hundred men, to follow a retreating 
 band to the left, enjoining him on no account to pursue 
 the foe more than three leagues from the army, and 
 to rejoin it, at latest, on the following evening. 
 
 Flushed with victory, and overjoyed by the con¬ 
 fidence of his chief, Autonicus set forth ; and as he 
 galloped after the foe, all the despondency of the past 
 disappeared. He entirely forgot it, and with it, the 
 wholesome lessons which it had taught him. 
 
A UTONICUS. 
 
 97 
 
 On they pressed, and each mile that they rode 
 seemed to bring them nearer to the retreating squadron; 
 but still they had not come up with them. So night fell 
 on the band. They lay down for rest by their horses, 
 and long ere daylight they were in the saddle again. 
 
 It seemed that the enemy had halted as well as them¬ 
 selves, for they saw a cloud of dust about two miles 
 ahead, and, gleaming through it, the flash of the arms 
 They galloped on and on, until the horses could do no 
 more, and they rested by a well in the heat of the day. 
 
 They were now many many leagues from the main 
 army; but so full of zeal were they all that none re¬ 
 membered, or wished to remember, their orders. On 
 they went, and at night halted, as they had done before 
 
 When nearly all the men were asleep, one or two of 
 the older warriors came softly up to Autonicus ; and 
 gently suggested to him, that they were exceeding 
 their orders, if not disobeying them ; that they were 
 getting dangerously far into an enemy’s country ; and 
 that it would be best to return. 
 
 Autonicus listened impatiently, bade them mind 
 their own business, and threw himself on the ground 
 by his horse. 
 
 Next day they set forth again, but he could not but 
 observe an altered look in the men. They were weary 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 and disheartened, and some of them looked sulky and 
 ready to disobey, if they dared. The sun grew hotter 
 and hotter. The sands seemed to refract as much 
 heat as the sun gave. No trees, no hills in the distance, 
 but an endless desert stretched out. The powers of 
 man and beast began to give way. 
 
 They halted at noon, but not by a well. There was 
 none ; and the suffering occasioned by thirst was 
 becoming intolerable. Autonicus saw the men cluster¬ 
 ing in groups, and talking one to another. He knew 
 what it foreboded. Suddenly they rushed on him, 
 and bound him ; and he found himself a prisoner tied 
 
 on his horse. 
 
 He now knew not only his folly, but fault j but it 
 was too late to mend. At the last bivouac that night, 
 they heard shouts all around them , and in a few 
 minutes the whole troop were prisoners in the hands 
 of the enemy. 
 
 Autonicus now felt his full misery. The whole band 
 were lost through one man, and that man himself. 
 They were being carried off league after league into 
 the very heart of the enemy’s country, whence escape 
 was impossible \ and the shameful and cruel life of 
 slaves awaited them all, through his folly, and sin. 
 
 It was a strange life, upon which Autonicus now 
 
A UTONICUS. 
 
 99 
 
 entered He was an ordinary slave. Sometimes he 
 worked in the fields, sometimes in the house. He was 
 stiuck, kicked, and spat on. All around him were 
 enemies and idolaters ; and if he saw one of his captive 
 countrymen by chance along the road, groaning under 
 his burden, he was met by looks of contempt and 
 hatred ; and he knew that he deserved them too well. 
 
 For a long time Autonicus writhed under his misery, 
 and like a serpent trodden on, returned injury with 
 venom. He never prayed. He had no hope. All 
 was black. 
 
 At last, the sight of a dying woman recalled his 
 mother to him. He remembered all her love, and his 
 own cold heartless return for it;' in particular, his 
 forsaking her, in her last illness, for his own vain 
 schemes. His heart was softened, and he wept; and 
 the more he wept, the more he seemed to have 
 occasion for weeping. 
 
 Thus by degrees new thoughts entered the mind of 
 the prisoner, and the lessons of unselfishness and lowli¬ 
 ness which had been vainly taught him of old, like 
 faint colours which want sunshine, came out in distinct¬ 
 ness. The sunshine was not that of prosperity, but a 
 light from Heaven itself. 
 
 Gradually Autonicus became an altered man. The 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 change showed itself in his returning good for evil, and 
 in cheerful submission to his painful life; and soon he 
 was found to be very useful, and superior to the work 
 which had hitherto been assigned to him. He rose 
 step by step ; and at last, after some special service to 
 the chief, he was offered his freedom. 
 
 Autonicus thanked the chief respectfully, and de¬ 
 clined it. The chief was amazed, and insisted on 
 knowing the reason. His reply was this— 
 
 “ I brought my men into this bondage and I will 
 never forsake them. ” 
 
 The chief was wroth at first, and the only comfort 
 Autonicus had from the proposal was derived from 
 the voice of his own conscience and the altered manner 
 of his fellow-captives; for the news of his noble answer 
 soon spread, and came to their ears. 
 
 Six months passed on, more weary than ever, be¬ 
 cause an intense desire of home had been excited in 
 the heart of the captive ; less weary, however, in that 
 he felt he had done right, and made some little atone¬ 
 ment for his fault. At the end of that time the 
 chief sent for Autonicus, and inquired whether he 
 still adhered to his determination. The prisoner re¬ 
 plied that he did, when the chief to his amazement 
 made the following offer :— 
 
A UT0N1CUS. 
 
 101 
 
 “If,” he said, “you can conquer my champion, both 
 you and your countrymen shall be free. If not, you 
 are slaves to the end of your lives. ” 
 
 Autonicus meditated before he answered ; which 
 once he would not have done. He considered how 
 that this was a great venture, and probably a ruinous 
 one, and, on the other hand, that it seemed the only 
 hope of freedom ; and so he accepted it. 
 
 Before the great day of trial, Autonicus spent much 
 time in exercising his limbs, long disused to martial 
 exercises; and much time also he spent in prayer. 
 
 At last, the day came : he was armed in the captured 
 mail and with the captive weapons of one of his men, 
 and when he went forth into the lists, he beheld a man 
 of his own size, and wonderfully like himself; and not 
 this only, but his opponent was clad in his own lost 
 armour. 
 
 “ I shall be fighting against myself. I shall perish 
 by my own hands,” he said, “or else conquer myself 
 little knowing the truth of his own deep words. Neither 
 did he know how, for he had already won the victory 
 by previous triumph over self, in his hard bondage. 
 
 The trumpets flourished. The knights met full tilt; 
 and, to his surprise and joy, Autonicus beheld his 
 enemy rolling on the ground. 
 
102 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 In a moment he leaped from his horse, and with his 
 foot on the conquered foe, he placed the point of his 
 sword at the throat, where the head-piece parted from 
 the breast-plate. 
 
 The fallen man did not ask for mercy ; and by the 
 law of arms Autonicus would have been justified in 
 taking his life ; but now he had not the heart to do it. 
 
 “ Rise up,” he said, “ and fight again.” 
 
 “ No,” said the conquered man, “ I am dying. The 
 fall has killed me;” and as he spoke a cold grey 
 pallor passed over his face. 
 
 “ Autonicus,” said the chief, “ you have conquered 
 and slain yourself. You and yours are free.” 
 
 Happy was the day on which a band of weary and 
 dusty warriors stood at the gate of the castle, whilst 
 one blew loudly the horn which called for admission. 
 Happy were those who welcomed them. Happy from 
 that hour were the dependents of their long-lost lord. 
 
 Autonicus was great in the council, great in war, 
 great in peace. His effigy now lies in the castle chapel, 
 carved in alabaster, richly gilt and coloured ; and the 
 features are identical with those of the man he once 
 conquered ; whose fall set free both himself and his 
 men, and restored them to liberty and to home. 
 
Cfjc e@an tottf) a 
 
 T here was a man who had a shadow. So has 
 everyone except the silly fellow who sold his. 
 But this man’s shadow was peculiar ; it was visible 
 by day and by night, and was just as long at noon as 
 at morn and at eve. Not that it was always equally 
 large ; it varied according to circumstances. There 
 seemed to be a sun inside the man, and, according to 
 his internal state, the shadow was longer or shorter 
 broader or narrower. 
 
 The man took the greatest interest in his shadow, 
 as a reflex of himself. He was always watching it, 
 and consequently was pre-engaged ; or, if there were 
 such a word, in-engaged, self-engaged; so that he 
 failed to notice what was going on around him, except 
 in so far as it affected his shadow. 
 
 Sometimes people said to him, “ How well that man 
 spoke yesterday ! ” “ What interesting information he 
 
104 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 gave us ! ” but he seemed lost, and did not know what 
 to reply, just as people do when they are asked about 
 something, which they are expected to know, and do 
 not. 
 
 “ What ? You were there, I know you were.” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And did not you hear ? ” 
 
 The fact was that he was watching his own shadow 
 all the time. So he passed through life without 
 getting any wiser. He never learned anything. He 
 had no time to do so, because he was taken up with 
 his shadow. 
 
 Once he made a grand speech in public, full of 
 eloquent passages, learned quotations, sharp sayings ; 
 and yet no one applauded. Half the people were 
 yawning, and the other half asleep. If they had not 
 been a very courteous set, some would have hissed, 
 others hooted ; but they were too polite on that day 
 to do so. 
 
 He, however, never looked at their faces, because 
 he was watching his shadow. He never read their 
 thoughts and feelings. If he had done so, he had 
 plenty of wits to enable him to make use of the op¬ 
 portunity, or to “utilize” it, as people now talk. He 
 could have brought down the house, if he had made a 
 
THE MAN WITH A SHADOW. 
 
 105 
 
 single hit ; and, to make a hit, he had only to under¬ 
 stand, and enter into the hearts and minds of his 
 audience ; but he did not ; because he was watching 
 his beautiful shadow, which grew larger every minute. 
 So he was voted a bore; and next day the report in 
 the papers merely stated that “ the gentleman with a 
 shadow made his usual speech.” 
 
 Poor man ! Once, as he went to a great meeting, 
 and was walking through the suburbs, watching his 
 shadow, he fell down ; and rose up covered with mud. 
 He went to an inn, and tried to get clean in time, but 
 he could not. He heard that the meeting had begun: 
 so in he went with the relics of the suburbs upon him. 
 No one noticed him there; but that did not suit him. 
 He watched his opportunity and began in the usual 
 style; and when he did so the hall began to get 
 empty, and would have been quite so, had not some 
 youth, devoid of the proper respect due to greatness, 
 discovered the misfortune, and called out,— 
 
 “ Go on, ‘ Stick in the Mud ! ’ ” 
 
 Roars of laughter followed this sally; and then the 
 youth grew bolder, and other more timid wits gathered 
 courage ; and every one had his joke. 
 
 “ It’s a dirty business;” “Hear the dirty fellow;” 
 “ Give him time to clean himself; ” “I wonder whether 
 
io 6 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 his shadow got dirty ; ” “ Look at your shadow.” All 
 these and many other remarks were shot at the head 
 of the speaker, and confused him a little ; but when 
 he remembered his shadow, and thought it was safe, 
 he gathered courage again, and went on amid roars of 
 laughter and cat-calls. 
 
 At last he looked down, and there to his terror saw 
 that his shadow had diminished to an extent beyond 
 all experience. He was horrified. There must be 
 imminent danger. His life and the life of his shadow 
 were bound up together. He must be on the verge of 
 an illness. His shadow never looked so ill before. 
 Thinking these things he wound up his address, and 
 the crowd cheered him for that; but as he went out, 
 some trod on his shadow, which gave him terrible 
 pain ; and some—shall we say it ?—spat on it. 
 
 Home he went very ill, really ill, seriously ill, 
 dangerously ill ; and all through his shadow. He 
 sent for a doctor. The doctor came, felt his pulse, 
 shook his head, felt again, and departed. Presently 
 the doctor’s man came with some bread pills and 
 coloured water, to be taken every five minutes. Well, 
 —yet not well; for he grew no better ; he took a 
 good deal of bread, and drank a good deal of dirty 
 water; which, as he had eaten a good deal of dirt 
 
THE MAN WITH A SHADOW. 
 
 10 7 
 
 previously, had not much effect; so at last he called 
 in his executor. 
 
 When the good man arrived, he said to him,— 
 
 “ I am going.” 
 
 “ I hope not,” said his friend. 
 
 The shadow felt better at these kind words, and he 
 felt better. 
 
 “Yes, I am going ! I leave you the care of my wife 
 and young family. You must edit my unpublished 
 speeches and poems ; and all that you can realize over 
 £10,000, which will be for my family, is your own.” 
 
 “ Ten thousand fiddlesticks,” said the executor. 
 
 The shadow grew smaller, and its owner felt very ill. 
 
 “ Do, my dear fellow. I shall be appreciated when 
 I am gone.” 
 
 “ So you are now,” was the answer. 
 
 The shadow grew smaller, the owner became more ill. 
 
 “ Do.” 
 
 “ I won’t.” 
 
 “ What will you do, then ? ” 
 
 “ Burn ’em all.” 
 
 “You cold-hearted man—no, not man—not worthy 
 of a share in the glorious humanity of our race. I 
 wish your shadow was ill.” 
 
 “ I haven’t one ; and never shall, please the pigs.” 
 
io8 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 “ What ? No shadow ? And did the pigs eat it ? ” 
 
 “ No! I wish they had eaten yours, when they saw 
 it lie in the mud.” 
 
 There was a silence. The attenuated owner of the 
 attenuated shadow had fainted. At last the executor 
 remarked,— 
 
 “ Why don’t you get rid of your shadow ? That is 
 what’s killing you.” 
 
 “ I can’t.” 
 
 “You know it is that which is wearing you out.” 
 
 “Yes. But what can I do? Every time I see it 
 look ill I feel ill ; and lately—oh—lately-” 
 
 “ Did you never hear about the king and the flies ? ” 
 inquired his friend. 
 
 “No. Never.” 
 
 “ O, yes, you must have heard, but you were looking 
 at your shadow when you heard. One of our kings 
 was walking in London on a hot summer’s day, and 
 he remarked to his companion, ‘ What a nuisance the 
 flies are. They will keep getting into my mouth ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Why do you not shut it ? ’ was the reply. * I never 
 thought of that,’ said the king ! ” 
 
 “ But what has that to do with my illness ? ” 
 
 “ A great deal. Why do you look at your shadow ? 
 Why don’t you make up your mind never to see it ? ” 
 
THE MAN WITH A SHADOW. 
 
 iog 
 
 “ I never thought of that,” exclaimed the sick man. 
 “ How very odd ! I never thought of that. I will try.” 
 
 He did try, and gained strength immediately. Some 
 said when they saw this, “ He is a shade better but 
 they soon became tired of the joke, for they perceived 
 that he was perfectly well; and they saw him lighting 
 his evening pipe with his unpublished speeches and 
 poems. 
 
Cf n Pointsman. 
 
 "M 
 
 AKE a clean breast of it,” you say. Make 
 coals into snow. 
 
 Yer’ll say the same yerself, when yer come the truth 
 to know. 
 
 “ If you’ve a load on yer breast.” For more nor 
 twenty year 
 
 Stone, bricks, lead, clay, have all been a-weighin’ on me 
 here ; 
 
 Here—here it lies—here—here. They may spare their 
 pains to tread 
 
 My grave down when I die, there’s load enough on 
 my head. 
 
 It bent me down at thirty, and brought me to this 
 place : 
 
 Yer may see it in my hair and in my eye and face. 
 
 I was a light-hearted youth, tall as you might see : 
 
 Bess and I were to marry next week as ta might be. 
 
 Note.—T his is in Essex dialect. 
 
THE POINTSMAN'. 
 
 111 
 
 Our cottage was ready. What wi’ her savings and 
 mine: 
 
 ’Twar furnished the old folk said a’most too grand and 
 fine. 
 
 I was happy as a boy, when he first drives or rides, 
 
 And could think o’ nout o’ nout i’ all th’ world 
 besides. 
 
 So a drop o’ beer that was gi’n me took a’ the more 
 effect 
 
 Along of the spirits I was in, as I expect. 
 
 I went to my box on the line: the goods’ train war 
 due, 
 
 But I forgot to turn the points, though the time I 
 knew. 
 
 Truck over truck it corn’d in ; and I stood by to 
 see, 
 
 Feeling I might ha’ stopped it and knowing how t’oud 
 be. 
 
 No one was hurt, but hundreds o’ pounds damage war 
 done, 
 
 All through one man’s neglect and fault, and I war 
 that one. 
 
 Next day I was discharged. I had a fever one Fall, 
 
 And didn’t know night from day, nor my neighbours 
 great from small. 
 
I 12 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 Just so it fared now, Sir, round and round afore my 
 sight 
 
 Bessy, wedding, cottage, ruin, kep’ turnin’ from morn 
 to night. 
 
 I daren’t go home, but wandered all the rest o’ the 
 week, 
 
 And cared no more nor a stone, to eat, or drink, or 
 
 speak. 
 
 No thought, no wish, no plan, but a dull ache day by 
 day, 
 
 Till, like the train—a roar—and the whole thing rolled 
 away. 
 
 Revenge—revenge—revenge ; the devil sent me the 
 thought. 
 
 The devil was my teacher, I war the devil he taught. 
 
 I got up from whor I sat, and never looked behind, 
 
 Hell’s rage was in my heart, a hellish plan i’ my mind. 
 
 I placed a log on the lines, hid myself i’ the grass, 
 
 And waited quietly there to see the train not pass. 
 
 There I lay and listened, till I heard the rolling sound, 
 
 And softly raised my head and warily looked around. 
 
 Nearer—nearer—nearer—the express came, like a 
 flash 
 
 Of lightning, on the metals ; then the check and the 
 crash. 
 
THE POINTSMAN. 
 
 “3 
 
 Carriage a’ top o’ carriage,—smash,—crash, and break 
 —and tear ; 
 
 The roaring of the steam, groans and cries fillin’ the air. 
 
 Splinters failin’ all round like an’, pieces of brokqn 
 glass ; 
 
 Men and women groanin’ i’ the wreck, or on the grass. 
 
 And I lay there who had done it, watching all their 
 woe, 
 
 Hardly daring to breathe, and afraid to stay or go. 
 
 At last I crep away, got up, looked about, and fled, 
 
 Fearing to be taken, and yet wishin’ I wor dead. 
 
 They did not seek for me then, so many wor the slain ; 
 
 So many lying still in death or writhin’ in their pain. 
 
 I fled and crossed the ocean, and walked wi’ blistered 
 feet. 
 
 Fearing to see a railway, dreadin’ a train to meet. 
 
 So I lived in the backwoods far off from any line, 
 
 But always in the noonday, and when the stars did 
 shine, 
 
 I heard a train a cornin’ nearer, and still more near ; 
 
 Rushin’, rollin’ towards me, and my knees would shake 
 wi’ fear. 
 
 Dash and crash, groans and cries seemed to sound up 
 i’ the air. 
 
 In vain I stopped my poor ears, for still the sound was 
 there; 
 
 I 
 
ALL EG OKIES AND TALES. 
 
 114 
 
 And still I seed the mangled, and still the glassy 
 eye : 
 
 Still I seed the wrecks o’ dead men all scattered round 
 me lie, 
 
 And some men thought me cunning, whilst others 
 held me mad. 
 
 Whate’er I took in hand first or last went to the bad. 
 
 A curse was on my head, and a curse lay on my 
 heart, 
 
 The curse of the damning thoughts from which I could 
 na’ part. 
 
 My crime drove me fro’ home and then drove me to 
 return. 
 
 Cost what ’twould I must the fate of my poor Bessy 
 learn. 
 
 I walked again to port, and the big Atlantic crossed, 
 
 If I’d had to swim ten yards I’d ha’ ben wholly 
 lost; 
 
 For a load hung round my neck, a weight lay on my 
 breast, 
 
 Which no more let me move than ta would let me 
 rest. 
 
 Landin I walked to shun the line, creepin’ nearer 
 home, 
 
 When on a level crossing I heard the engine come. 
 
THE POINTSMAN. 
 
 1 15 
 
 I could not breathe: both my feet seemed fastened to 
 the ground, 
 
 Whilst closer and yet closer rolled up the horrid sound 
 
 It seemed as if the engine made at me like a foe, 
 
 And with a scream of vengeance it struck and laid me 
 low. 
 
 They brought me here all mangled like those poor 
 men I killed, 
 
 And my most righteous judgment is faithfully fulfilled. 
 
 My life is but a torture, and yet I dare not die. 
 
 I long for sleep and tremble to shut my heavy eye; 
 
 Lest I should see it coming, the blood which I have 
 shed, 
 
 Bodies crushed, and broken limbs, the dying and the 
 dead. 
 
 I sought revenge and had it; then vengeance sought 
 for me. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! I hear it coming. Help ! help ! I cannot 
 flee ! 
 
Cfjc ®ea=toall. 
 
 N the eastern coast of England there is a large 
 
 tract of land redeemed from the sea, and pro¬ 
 tected from it by an earth-bank, or sea-wall ; which 
 has its legal guardians, who have great powers assigned 
 to them for its preservation. The wall does duty 
 against two enemies ; on one side the German Ocean ; 
 on the other, the tide running behind, up into the main¬ 
 land. Generally there is no pressure upon it, but at 
 spring-tides, especially when they are accompanied by 
 a storm, the wall is endangered ; and, if it gave way, 
 the redeemed land would be covered again by the sea. 
 The farms protected by the wall are partly Crown 
 lands, and partly Church property ; and hence part of 
 the wall belongs to the State, and part to the Church. 
 
 Now, it came to pass that certain persons wished to 
 see the ocean flow over these lands again, but they did 
 not say this. No one would have listened to them, if 
 
THE SEA-WALL. 
 
 II 7 
 
 they had. So they suggested to others that the wall 
 was old and ugly, and took up a great deal of room, 
 and could be superseded by recent inventions, and was 
 an obstacle to passengers, and not needed now, and 
 did no good, but only harm. 
 
 At first people paid no attention to this folly, but 
 by degrees they became used to the new opinion. It 
 no longer appeared so strange and unreasonable; and 
 many men who had no wish to behold the sea cover 
 the land, began to look on a change as not unreason¬ 
 able, as likely, and perhaps beneficial. 
 
 Besides, such a long period had elapsed since any 
 inundation, that men had lost all fear of it; and had 
 never seen the wall in full use, nor understood its 
 value, or rather necessity. 
 
 So the agitation for removal became stronger, and 
 the opposition more and more feeble ; and at last the 
 advocates for demolition thought themselves strong 
 enough to act, and a great meeting was called to settle 
 the question. 
 
 Then all was said that could be said for the removal 
 of the wall; and the defence was weak, proceeding, as 
 it did, chiefly from old people, who were considered 
 prejudiced in favour of custom, and timid, and as 
 enemies of all progress and improvement. 
 
 At the meeting, however, there was a rough hard- 
 
118 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 handed, hard-headed man present, who asked all sorts 
 of unpleasant questions. 
 
 At last he turned to the wall-wardens, who were 
 charged with the maintenance of the barrier ; and 
 asked them, how it was that some of them advocated 
 the demolition, and whether they were convinced that 
 it did harm, and that its removal was perfectly safe ? 
 
 They could not quite say “Yes” to this question, but 
 they replied that the time was come “when something 
 must be done.” 
 
 He inquired, “Why ?” and they answered,— 
 
 “ Because people wish it. The public demand an 
 alteration. Something must therefore be done.” 
 
 “ I’ll tell you what that something is,” said this hard 
 man ; “ we must get rid of the treacherous wardens, 
 and have men who will act according to their best 
 belief, and not go by an outcry.” 
 
 This observation produced a good deal of merri¬ 
 ment, but it did more than that. It led to the ap¬ 
 pointment of wardens who had more moral courage ; 
 and the wall was left as it was, and so will be left; 
 for those who understand the question see plainly 
 that it is either wall or German Ocean ; and veiy few 
 wish to see the latter. 
 
 Moreover, the whole discussion has led to a salutary 
 dislike of meddlers and of time-serving officers. 
 
T5aO COater anti air. 
 
 A LADY had two girls, twins ; and she asked a 
 fairy to stand as Godmother to them. The 
 fairy good-naturedly did so, and left as a gift at the 
 baptism, a present of beauty, and wit, and sweet dis¬ 
 positions ; so that these girls grew up lovely and clever 
 and amiable ; and everyone said, “ What charming 
 
 daughters ! how fortunate Mrs.- is! they are all 
 
 one could wish. I only hope they’ll not be spoiled. 
 They are just the girls I should like my sons to 
 marry.” 
 
 So things went on, and their mother relied on their 
 perfections, and did not think they could possibly lose 
 them ; and therefore took little care. Hence she was 
 not very careful as to what persons came to the house, 
 or as to what was said in conversation, and, in parti¬ 
 cular, she let them read every book that they could 
 lay hold of. 
 
120 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 The last was a fatal mistake. The girls soon got 
 weary of the books which their Godmother gave 
 them, which seemed dull and wanted sensation. They 
 were on the watch for every new novel; and some 
 people said that they read what ladies ought not to 
 read. 
 
 However this was, the girls altered. There was 
 something about them which one cannot describe, but 
 which one dislikes exceedingly ; and their admirers 
 fell off one by one, until none were left except such as 
 their mother did not approve of. 
 
 All this time the Godmother remonstrated frequently 
 and all in vain. At last both the girls fell ill, and grew 
 worse and worse, and the malady was pronounced to 
 be typhoid. 
 
 Anxious days, anxious nights wore out the mother. 
 There was no change for the better. The fever con¬ 
 tinued, and the patient’s strength grew less and less, 
 until there was little hope left. 
 
 During the illness, the mother naturally tried all she 
 could to find out the cause of the sickness. “ Where 
 had they been ? what had they done ? They cer¬ 
 tainly had not visited the sick. That was not the 
 reason.” 
 
 Then the drains were examined, and the well-water 
 
BAD WATER AND AIR. 
 
 I 2 i 
 
 analyzed ; and it was satisfactorily proved that both 
 air and water were full of germs of disease, if that can 
 be called satisfactory. 
 
 About the time that this discovery was made, and in 
 the midst of the intensest anxiety, the fairy appeared ; 
 and the mother forgetting all former kindness, began 
 to reproach her. 
 
 “ What,” she said, “ is the use of all your fine gifts ? 
 You gave my girls graces and beauty, but now they 
 will die, and all will be lost.” 
 
 “Have you kept what I gave?” answered the 
 fairy. “No! you have given them poison to drink, 
 and poison to breathe. You have killed them.” 
 
 “ I did not know it,” returned the mother, “ I loved 
 them, and would have laid down my life for them.” 
 
 “ Do you call this love ? ” said the fairy, kicking a 
 heap of bad books into the fire. “These are the poison. 
 I have warned you, and all to no effect, and now you 
 see the result.” 
 
 “What has that to do with the illness ?” asked the 
 mother in anger. 
 
 “ This,” said the fairy, “ that I had rather they died 
 than grow up as you are helping them to do." 
 
 “ Then you sent the illness ? ” 
 
 “ Of the body, not of the heart.” 
 
122 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES, 
 
 “ If I obey you henceforth, will they recover ? ” 
 asked the poor mother, eagerly. 
 
 “ If you promise to be as careful of their hearts as 
 you now are about the air and the water of which 
 they partake ? ” 
 
 “ I promise,” she cried; and her daughters re¬ 
 covered. 
 
Cbe polp S'cpulcfjrc. 
 
 I N the middle ages, as is well known, there was an 
 intense longing in European Christians to behold 
 the sacred places where the Lord had wrought, and 
 suffered, and died, and rose, and ascended, for their 
 salvation. 
 
 Amongst those who were thus desirous to become 
 pilgrims were Eustace and Richard, sons of a knight 
 in Sussex, who had been a Crusader, and came back 
 with broken health, and broken fortune, to a broken 
 heart; for he found his beloved wife lying in her 
 grave, on his return. 
 
 Whether it was part of the general turning east¬ 
 wards, or arose from the history of their father s 
 campaign, or both combined, both the boys burned 
 with an insatiable desire of visiting Jerusalem. Their 
 property was so much reduced that they could not 
 travel in the style of their father. They must go 
 
124 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 afoot, or not at all ; but this was nothing to them. 
 They saved up a little money by degrees, grew in 
 stature, learned all they could at the Abbey school, 
 and steadily looked forward to the day of departure. 
 
 Meantime two events happened. First, an uncle 
 died leaving some ready money, so that the pecuniary 
 difficulty of the scheme was removed ; secondly, the 
 old knight visibly failed. The pain of his wounds was 
 at times very sharp, and his spirits had never rallied 
 since his return. He had no earthly pleasures except 
 in watching his boys, and in doing what he could to 
 form and strengthen their characters. 
 
 Richard all along took pleasure in arms, and was 
 determined on going to the wars, on his return, under 
 the pennon of some powerful baron. Eustace was a 
 scholar, and, but that he felt his own deficiencies, would 
 have aimed at the priesthood. As it was, he expected 
 some day to become a lay brother in a religious com¬ 
 munity. 
 
 When the money fell in, Richard was highly elated, 
 and so far carried away with his happiness, that he 
 did not observe any change in his father, nor the well- 
 concealed pain which the old man felt at the thought 
 of losing his children ; and he hurried on the prepara¬ 
 tions with all the ardour of youth. 
 
THE HOLY SEPULCHRE. 
 
 125 
 
 At last the time of departure drew near, and Richard 
 was amazed and indignant when Eustace told him 
 that he had given up his design, because he thought 
 it was his duty to remain with his father. 
 
 At first Richard put no bounds to his anger. He 
 reproached his brother with fickleness for giving up 
 the long-cherished desire of his life ; and even went so 
 far as to accuse him of cowardice, and of shrinking 
 at last from the perils and hardships of the journey, 
 which indeed were considerable. 
 
 Eustace made little answer. The two brothers had 
 grown up side by side, apparently one ; but they had 
 diverged unperceived, and now for the first time the 
 passionate zeal of the one, and calm endurance of the 
 other, became manifest. 
 
 The old knight also said little. He blessed Richard 
 when he went, and blessed Eustace for remaining. 
 A great sacrifice had been made by the latter in 
 quietness. He did not know how much his father 
 appreciated it ; and even the father did not know 
 what it cost Eustace. It was a duty, and it was done ; 
 and all went on as calmly, and tamely, most young 
 men would think, as before. 
 
 Richard could not leave his old father, without a 
 twinge and misgiving ; but they were soon over. The 
 
120 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 incidents of the journey, and the glorious object in 
 which it should end, soon blotted out any such feelings ; 
 and on he went with his comrades, amazed and 
 delighted with the change of countries and manners, 
 and finding happiness in the toils and risks of the 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 Richard took ship at Brindisi, after various escapes 
 from banditti, and with a fair wind skimmed the blue 
 face of the Mediterranean, listening to marvellous 
 tales of Prester John and Saladin, and of Richard 
 the lion-hearted. Day after day they sailed on, and 
 forty-eight hours were to set their feet on the blessed 
 shore, in the Christian city of Acre ; but suddenly 
 clouds darkened the sky. A storm arose with mar¬ 
 vellous swiftness, and of incredible fury. They 
 drove before it perfectly helpless. The oars were 
 broken ; the sails carried away ; the rudder became 
 unmanageable. Huge waves broke over them. With 
 the greatest difficulty the ship was prevented from 
 broaching to, which would have been instant destruc¬ 
 tion. So they drove and drove, and a second night 
 fell on them, in the midst of which they felt themselves 
 lifted up on a huge billow, and dashed down on the 
 ground like a thunderbolt from the skies. Then there 
 was a roaring, and gurgling ; and a half-senselessness ; 
 
THE HOLY SEPULCHRE. 
 
 127 
 
 but enough consciousness left to enable him to cling 
 to the shore, and drag out a half-fainting body ; and 
 to feel the cold and the misery until the grey morn ; 
 when a glance seaward showed the sands covered 
 with wreckage and corpses, and landwards a troop 
 of Egyptian cavalry gathering the survivors together 
 at the point of their lances. 
 
 So this was the end of Richard’s pilgrimage, and 
 these were his Holy Places. Mosques all around, and 
 a scoffing master ; chains on his limbs, and work on 
 the roads under a burning sun, in a hopeless cap¬ 
 tivity, were the result of the voyage. 
 
 Two years of this life made Richard another man ; 
 not only lean, bony, hollow-eyed, but morose even to 
 savageness. One night he dreamed a dream, and the 
 second night dreamed it again, and the third like¬ 
 wise ; and then he told his tale to a fellow captive, a 
 monk, who had laboured by his side day after day 
 in great patience, and had sought to teach the gospel 
 lesson to Richard, but all in vain ; and the tale which 
 he told was as follows :— 
 
 He had passed under a pointed arch in his dream, 
 such as he knew in his own country, and entered into 
 a wonderful building. He went on, and, as he went, 
 it seemed to correspond with what he had been told of 
 
128 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. He found himself 
 in the beautiful Rotunda of the Emperor Constantine 
 surrounded by columns, in the centre of which was the 
 most sacred part, the Angels’ Chapel, with the stone 
 once rolled away, and beyond it the cave of the Holy 
 Sepulchre of the Lord. 
 
 The Rotunda was full of persons kneeling silently, 
 and adoring intensely. Richard looked at the coun¬ 
 tenances of some of them, and to his amazement 
 beheld his father and brother kneeling there side by 
 side. He did not feel frightened in his dream, but 
 seemed rather to be full of wonder. He could think, 
 and reason, and speak. He drew nearer to his rela¬ 
 tives and said, “How came you here before me?” 
 but they answered not. 
 
 Then he looked at them again, and saw that their 
 eyes were full of strange and beauteous light ; but 
 they seemed not to see nor to hear him, but to be 
 wholly occupied in adoration. 
 
 He paused, then touched his brother, or rather 
 seemed to touch him ; and then repeated his 
 inquiry. His brother turned towards him, laying his 
 hand upon his lips, and pointed to the Sepulchre 
 where the Lord had lain ; then he slowly raised his 
 finger pointing upwards; and his eyes seemed to 
 
THE HOLY SEPULCHRE. 
 
 129 
 
 accompany the movement, and to be fixed on One 
 unseen above. 
 
 So the dreamer awoke. 
 
 The monk heard all the tale, and said, “ Thank 
 God, my son. Thy father and thy brother are at 
 peace. They have left this painful world, and rest.” 
 
 “But how came they at Jerusalem?” asked the 
 captive. 
 
 “ The grave of Christ,” replied the monk, “ is not at 
 Jerusalem alone, but, to the faithful, everywhere. 
 Whoever is in Christ is buried in Christ’s Sepulchre, 
 and shall rise again in Christ’s Resurrection.” 
 
 “ Then they have easily attained what I with so 
 much pains have sought in vain,” replied Richard. 
 
 “ Perhaps they sought more worthily,” answered the 
 monk ; “ or if it were God’s free gift, praise Him the 
 more. In all things praise Him.” 
 
 Richard learned at last to do so—to praise God even 
 for his bonds. 
 
 These, however, were loosed in the end. Money 
 was largely given by good people in Europe for the 
 redemption of captives, and Richard returned to his 
 native land, to find an empty home, and the graves of 
 his beloved ones. 
 
 He now devoted himself to doing his home duty 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 and to inducing others to act like him. Many young 
 men were by him dissuaded from going to Palestine, 
 and squandering the treasure and blood of Europe 
 there. They united in good works in their own land, 
 restrained oppression, succoured the needy, and died 
 in peace ; and when the longed-for day of rest arrived 
 Richard also had his share in the Holy Sepulchre, 
 with those who, still untravelled, reached the Holy 
 Places. 
 
g)arrp. 
 
 ARRY was a shepherd’s son in Westmoreland. 
 
 He seemed to be one of Nature’s favourites, 
 
 and was endowed with wondrous powers. It was not 
 only that he drank in, lived on, revelled in, lake, moun¬ 
 tain, wood, fell, river, cloud, sunrise and sunset; that he 
 had, in fact, an intense perception of the beautiful, but 
 that he saw farther into things than the world sees. 
 
 In the song of the thrush at early morn he heard 
 voices from another region than this. He saw angels 
 rolling out the clouds, and spreading over the heavens, 
 morning and evening, vestments of purple, blue, and 
 gold. The sun was to him the Being whom it figures. 
 Not that he adored it like the Easterns, but Him who 
 made it. He used to give strange accounts to his 
 equals in his native village, and old folks paused on 
 their way to hear his wisdom; whom, if he saw 
 listening, he ceased like a startled bird : else he would 
 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 go on to tell in a low sweet voice of unseen glories, and 
 unspeakable blessedness. 
 
 Whether he should be poet, painter, prophet, or die 
 an early death, as too good for this world, no one 
 knew ; but only this, that he was gifted with an eye 
 and ear and mind and heart above his fellows ; and 
 saw what others could not, and heard what others 
 did not, and was what others were not, and was most 
 beautiful in his life and hopes. 
 
 But Harry was not to die, nor be a poet, priest, nor 
 painter, but by the poverty of his parents, and the 
 intended kindness of an uncle, was driven into a huge 
 city, where chimneys smoked, and wheels whirred, and 
 wheels rolled, and crowds tramped ; over which a 
 perpetual cloud of man’s making hung, obscuring the 
 br ight sun, and through it the fresh air became tainted ; 
 and beyond it nothing could be seen. Street upon 
 street, warehouse after warehouse, manufactory upon 
 manufactory ; these were what he saw from morning 
 to night, from the year’s beginning to the year’s 
 ending. So his life waned. 
 
 His life waned. Not that he grew weaker ; on the 
 contrary, and unexpectedly, he grew tall and vigorous ; 
 but his sight was dim, and his ear dull ; and not only 
 all the beauty of the world and of life were taken away, 
 
HARRY. 
 
 133 
 
 but he could not see them, even if present. He was 
 changed. He was not what he was. His thoughts 
 and pleasures were all different. He was an altered 
 youth ; but he would never have known it, unless he 
 had returned home for a holiday, and found the 
 unchanging mountains changed, the river, trees, and 
 skies no longer what they were. He scarcely enjoyed 
 them, and the sights beyond and through them, and 
 the wondrous voices had departed. 
 
 The old priest noticed this difference with sorrow, 
 and sought the lad in private. Harry hesitated at 
 first to allow, but, led by kindness, did confess the 
 melancholy change, and at once some of the old feelings 
 returned upon him, and made him long to have them 
 back again in their former fulness. What could be 
 done ? He could not live among the mountains. 
 The city must be his home. The remedy, if there was 
 one, must be in himself, and not in his residence. 
 This his old pastor knew, and counselled him to rise 
 betimes, and see the sun before the cloud of smoke 
 obscured the light; and oftentimes during the day to 
 behold in heart the glorious sights ; and at eve to 
 court the stillness of the night, and gaze upon the 
 blessed Heavens. 
 
 So he did ; and now he hears the old voices, sees 
 
134 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 the old sights,—and more than these. A vision of 
 beauty greater than ever he beheld before, beauty yet 
 to be revealed, is manifested to him ; and not all the 
 smoke and dust and whirl of the great town can veil 
 it from him. He lives in the city, but not of it, 
 beyond it, and above it. 
 
 Read the meaning, all ye who need it. 
 
Cfje 31ms of t&e poor. 
 
 T HERE was a clever artisan whose wages rose 
 and rose until he received more than the 
 curate of the parish. He lived freely, and denied 
 himself no enjoyment. He gave a shilling now and 
 then to the widow of an old friend. Altogether he 
 earned some ^150 a year, and his charities might be 
 calculated at ten shillings. He seldom came to 
 church, and one day when the vicar called on him he 
 stated his reasons without any scruple. 
 
 “You are always having collections,” he said; “I 
 don’t like to refuse, and don’t choose to give.” 
 
 “ Why will you not give ? ” asked the vicar. 
 “Because the rich ought to do that. You might go 
 round to their houses and collect from them. You 
 ought not to beg of the poor, and wring their hard- 
 earned wages out of them in this way.” 
 
 “ My friend,” said the vicar, “ would you come if 
 there were no collections ? ” 
 
ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 136 
 
 “ Yes/' he said. 
 
 “ Why would you come ? ” 
 
 “ Why, to hear.” 
 
 “ Not to pray ? ” 
 
 “ Well, yes, to pray too.” 
 
 “ Cannot I say your prayers for you, and leave you 
 to enjoy yourself? ” 
 
 “ No ! a man ought to pray for himself.” 
 
 “ If I cannot say your prayers in your stead, can I 
 give to God in your stead ? ” 
 
 The man was silent. 
 
 “ Lucy,” said the vicar to his daughter, “ tell our 
 friend the tale you were reading yesterday to the chil¬ 
 dren at school.” 
 
 Lucy blushed, and began,— 
 
 “A labouring man fell asleep thinking of Heaven, 
 and in his dream an angel stood by him, and offered 
 to show it to him. The angel led the way, and they 
 came to a beautiful garden, so beautiful that no words 
 can describe it. The most gifted painter can draw no 
 likeness of it, do what he will. 
 
 “ The garden was divided into portions, some 
 greater, some less; some more lovely, some less so. 
 In each plot the owner was occupied in attending to it. 
 No one was idle. 
 
THE ALMS OF THE POOR. 
 
 137 
 
 “ The dreamer gazed at the scene for a long time in 
 silence, and then recovering himself, began to ask 
 questions. 
 
 “ ‘ Whose is this ? ’ 
 
 “To which the angel replied, ‘Your former neigh¬ 
 bour’s, old James. You remember him ? 5 
 “ ‘ Whose is that immense plot ? ’ 
 
 “ ‘ Lord A.’s. Have you forgotten him ? ’ 
 
 “ ‘ What ? Is there the same difference in Heaven 
 between the rich and the poor ? I thought it would 
 be all set right there.’ 
 
 “ ‘ There is no difference between rich and poor, as 
 you count riches and poverty ; but there is a great 
 difference between him that loved much, and him that 
 loved little ; between those that laid up treasures in 
 Heaven, and those that did not.’ 
 
 “The dreamer was silent, until the angel pointed 
 out a still larger garden of exquisite beauty, and said,— 
 “ ‘ Do you know who that is who is labouring there ? ’ 
 “ ‘ I thought no one laboured in Heaven.’ 
 
 “‘No one is weary there, but all work for God. 
 But do you not remember that woman ? ’ 
 
 “ ‘ I don’t know. She is very much changed if it is ; 
 but she is very like old Sarah, who lived on parish 
 allowance at the end of our lane.’ 
 
138 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “ ‘ It is she ; and she gave her mite every week* 
 Behold her reward. I have seen her work late at 
 making something in order to earn a penny ; and no 
 one knew what she did with it/ 
 
 “‘ 1 have seen enough,’ said the dreamer in a sad 
 voice, and he woke up from his sleep.” 
 
 Lucy finished her tale, and her father and she rose 
 up and departed ; leaving the man to think the thing 
 over. As they walked home the vicar said, “ Lucy, 
 whatever they say I will never rob the poor man of his 
 means of laying up treasure in Heaven.” 
 
<H3ant of jfattf). 
 
 HERE was an old couple in England who had 
 
 A worked hard all their days, and never got on. 
 They were no nearer riches, nor even competency, 
 than when they began life together. They had tried 
 one plan after another, and nothing succeeded. They 
 were soured by disappointment, not made wiser; and 
 were a torment to others and themselves as well. 
 
 One day a letter came from a long-missing relative 
 in a far country. They read it with difficulty, but, the 
 more they read, the more astonished and overjoyed 
 were they at the contents. The letter stated that the 
 writer had boundless wealth, more a great deal than 
 he wanted for himself; and that his chief happiness 
 was in dispersing it, and making others happy ; but he 
 liked to have his friends near him, and that those who 
 wished to enjoy his favours must come to him. It 
 was true that they must travel, and that the voyage 
 
140 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 might perhaps be rough, but it would not last long; 
 and then those who took it would rejoice ever after 
 that they had done so. 
 
 The letter went on to state that the writer had 
 built a house for his relatives, which was all that 
 heart could desire; that it was very beautiful, and 
 abounded in comforts and luxuries. It was theirs 
 even then, assigned to them, made their very own. 
 All they had to do was to come and take possession, 
 and that he would shortly tell them when they were 
 to remove to it. 
 
 The old people devoured this good news at first, 
 and spoke much of it to their neighbours ; but by 
 degrees they grew less and less happy. 
 
 First, they began to think they should not like after 
 all to leave the old country; and then, to think how 
 they were to pay the expenses of the journey, and how 
 they were to live till the summons came for them to 
 start. 
 
 Thus they fell into a dissatisfied and desponding 
 temper, and seemed no happier for the good news 
 than they were before they received it. 
 
 Whilst they were in this state of mind, a good man 
 came in one day, and had a long talk with them, 
 during which he drew out little by little all their fears 
 
WANT OF FAITH. 
 
 141 
 
 and dissatisfactions. Having done this, he asked 
 them,— 
 
 “Are you satisfied here? Have you enough to live 
 on now ? Are you happy as you are ? ” 
 
 They could not say yes to these questions. 
 
 Then he added, “ It is clearly best for you to go, 
 and the only difficulty remaining, is that you are 
 afraid you may not have enough to live on until you 
 remove and for your journey. Is it not so ? ” 
 
 They replied that it was ; then he said, “Was your 
 friend likely to forget this ? Was he a thoughtless 
 improvident person who would not remember this 
 difficulty.” 
 
 And they could but reply, “No, he was not.” 
 
 Then he added, “ Do you not think, then, that all 
 this is very ungrateful to your benefactor ? Is it likely 
 that he would prepare a house for you, and abundance ; 
 and not keep you until you go, and enable you to 
 reach it ? Pray do not let him know of your fears, 
 for they imply distrust ; and nothing hurts a friend 
 more than this. He might justly think you very 
 ungrateful. Am I not right ? ” 
 
 They could not deny this, and resolved to be patient. 
 In a few days they received supplies for the present, 
 and after a time a summons to go. 
 
142 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 They found the voyage easy, and reached their new 
 home, where they dwell with their benefactor in happi¬ 
 ness. He had heard of their fears, but he did not 
 reproach them. On the contrary, he received them 
 and still sustains them with the most tender affection. 
 
L050 of Caste. 
 
 HERE was one who enjoyed life to the full, in 
 
 i fact rather too much. He had made pleasure 
 his object, and pursued it as far as he could. At last 
 he grew old and fell ill, and one sign of danger was 
 entire loss of appetite. 
 
 One day a friend brought him the most beautiful 
 fruits. He tried to look at them, but his eyes were 
 dim, and he could not see how lovely were the 
 bunches of grapes laid on the green vine leaves. 
 Then he ate one, shook his head, and said, “ I cannot 
 taste it.” 
 
 Another day one of his children brought him the 
 loveliest flowers, those of which he used to be specially 
 fond. He took them feebly, and tried to smell them, 
 but he laid them down, sighing. They had no scent 
 for him. 
 
 They made savoury dishes such as he used to 
 
144 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 delight in, and brought the wine that he loved, but he 
 thrust them away with disgust. 
 
 One day his daughter sang to him the old songs 
 which he once listened to hour by hour, and could not 
 have enough of them ; but he was restless all the time 
 she was singing, and at last begged her to cease. Life 
 had lost all its pleasures, for he had lost all power to 
 feel them. 
 
 He would not hear of business, nor sports, nor 
 politics, nor the events of the neighbourhood ; and 
 none of his old books could be read to him. 
 
 So he lay day after day in a dull heavy state, some¬ 
 times sleeping, sometimes moaning, sometimes turning 
 round restlessly, and he gradually grew weaker and 
 weaker. 
 
 They knew that he thought and felt all the time, 
 for he groaned frequently, and tears would gather in 
 his eyes and roll down ; but he said little or nothing. 
 
 At last an aged man came and prayed with him, 
 and read to him from a book which he used to think 
 nothing of, and which lay year after year on the shelf; 
 and he listened attentively. He grew calmer, but 
 there was no increase of appetite. He took nothing. 
 
 One day the same person came again clad in white, 
 and bringing some food on a bright silver plate, and 
 
LOSS OF TASTE. 
 
 H5 
 
 some wine in a shining cup placed beside it. He said, 
 “My brother, this food comes to thee from a far land, 
 sent on purpose.” 
 
 The sick man signed his assent, and partook of the 
 wondrous refreshment. 
 
 Afterwards he said, “ I can taste that. That is 
 sweet. I will have nothing else. I care for nothing 
 but this.” 
 
 Then he fell asleep softly, and awoke no more. 
 
 I. 
 
Cfje Lone ^toalloto. 
 
 LL the swallows gathered on the roof of the 
 
 Ijl church and talked over the time for leaving. 
 All but one agreed that it was near. Then they took 
 a happy sweep round the churchyard, over the village, 
 back again to the ridge tile of the church roof, where 
 they rested and sunned themselves, and talked of the 
 long voyage before them, and the happy sunny land 
 where they should winter. 
 
 Only one took no part in all this stir. When 
 asked why he was silent, he replied,— 
 
 “ It is very comfortable here. Sunny days go on, 
 and the wind is soft. Why should we go ? I am very 
 happy. I shall not go. Stay with me.” 
 
 But the wise birds who commanded the flying 
 squadron answered,— 
 
 “ Suns are bright, but clouds are gloomy. South¬ 
 west breezes are soft, but North winds are hard and 
 
THE LONE SWALLOW. 
 
 147 
 
 cold Food is sweet, but hunger bitter. Summer is 
 joyous, but not winter. Strange lands are good to 
 sojourn in, but home is far safer and far dearer. We 
 know to-day, but not to-morrow. Come with us. 
 Let us go home together. Come.” 
 
 But this one swallow would not go. He clung to 
 the land of his sojourning, and cared not for his native 
 country ; so he stayed. The others left him, flight by 
 flight, and he sat on the church roof by himself. 
 
 He soon felt lonely, and spoke to the jackdaws in 
 the tower, but they did not care for him, and answered 
 not. Then he tried the rooks, the starlings, and the 
 sparrows. Some replied, but many did not. Those, 
 however, that spoke, used a different language, and 
 had different habits. There was nothing in common 
 between them, except that they were birds ; and the 
 lingering swallow felt very desolate. 
 
 “ All are gone,” he said, “ and I am left alone. 
 What do I here ? The sweetness of life has departed. 
 I'he sun shines less. The winds are growing sharp, 
 and I am wretched.” 
 
 And as the season advanced the swallow’s limbs 
 grew stiff and his eyes less keen, and his motions 
 became slower and slower. Men gazed at him, as he 
 sat on the roof, and the birds wondered. 
 
 L 2 
 
.148 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “ Why is he here so long ? ” they said. “ It must be 
 very sad for him. Why is he here ? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! why indeed ? ” replied the swallow to himself. 
 “ Why am I here ? ” 
 
 One day, however, to his surprise and joy, he saw 
 three swallows light upon the church. He hastened to 
 them, and found that two had stayed with one which 
 was too weak to fly, and that they were going to try 
 and cross the sea, if possible. The lonely swallow 
 told them his sad tale ; and they did not reproach 
 him, but asked him to join them on their homeward 
 voyage. He gratefully accepted the offer, and for 
 their sakes, not for his, the winds held back their 
 might, and the clouds rolled up their trailing vest¬ 
 ments, and there was an unusually bright Martinmas, 
 during which the little company pushed on with all 
 their strength, and at last crossed the Straits at 
 Gibraltar, and reached their native country. Nor was 
 the laggard swallow blamed, but welcomed most 
 kindly ; and he lived, without any more wanderings 
 in the happy sunny land of his home. 
 
jToiiotu gour Bose. 
 
 HESE were the directions given to a boy by his 
 
 1 Uncle. Now, this boy had an opinion of his 
 own, and a turn for argument. So he said to himself, 
 “ Why should I follow my nose ? Is it because I 
 cannot help it ? We will soon see about that. Where 
 there’s a will there’s away. Is it because my nose 
 is a sensible guide, and the ruling part of my self ? 
 It is not. It is an inferior member. It has no mind. 
 I could do just as well without it, because for one 
 nice smell I have through it I have ten nasty ones. 
 I will not follow my nose. My nose shall follow me. 
 My Uncle’s a fool.” So saying, the boy walked 
 backwards, and his nose followed him ; and he walked 
 into a dunghill, and his nose was the only part of him 
 that was not bemired and befouled ; and his uncle 
 was delighted on hearing of his nephew’s misfortune, 
 because he was really fond of him, and wished him 
 
 well. 
 
15c gourself. 
 
 ^HERE was a young cock who was learning to 
 
 I crow, and he did not get on fast, but was im¬ 
 proving, and would soon have done very well; but 
 one day he said to the old hen, “ I don’t think I will 
 go on crowing any longer. I heard a bird in the gar¬ 
 den, who sang very well, and I shall try and copy it.” 
 
 “ Nonsense,” said the hen; “be yourself, child; 
 and don’t try to do what you can’t do. Be yourself 
 without your faults. That is the rule.” 
 
 However, the young cock would not be persuaded, 
 and he first tried to copy the lark, and all the fowls 
 laughed at him ; then the thrush, and they laughed 
 also. Then he took it into his head to imitate a 
 nightingale. You should have heard him. It was a 
 real joke. Unfortunately, the farmer did not think so. 
 He got tired of the screeches of the silly bird under 
 his window, and had him killed, and sent to market 
 without any pity. 
 
Cf )t Cloice at 
 
 T the mouth of a creek which opened into that 
 
 of a western Italian river, Marco, a fisherman, 
 was hauling in his net on a bright autumn evening. 
 Some miles above him, the city glowed in the setting 
 sun, and the masts of the ships stood out sharp and 
 clear against the light. The river was steeped in ruby 
 or golden light, and all the little runlets and pools 
 of the stream shone in the sunset. There was no 
 sound to be heard, except the cries of the wild fowl 
 on the marshes, or the whistling of the air when a 
 flight cleft it like a rocket; and the ripple of the quiet 
 stream under the bows of the boat. Marco was at 
 one end of the boat and his boy at the other. They 
 were getting in the net, and shaking it as they did so, 
 so that the captives might fall into the pockets of the 
 net as, freed from weed and rubbish, it was drawn 
 in foot by foot. Then came the last haul, and the 
 
152 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 bottom of the net with the fish slipped over the gun¬ 
 wale, and fell to the bottom of the boat. This done, 
 the father and the boy began sorting, throwing the 
 worthless fish overboard, and tossing the good into a 
 basket. There was more weed and shell in the net 
 than usual, and the sorting was a work of time. It 
 seemed doubtful whether the light would last for 
 them to complete their work. 
 
 Whilst Marco was thus engaged his eye fell upon 
 a strange object. He took it up and gazed at it with 
 astonishment. It was a golden ring with a large 
 jewel set in it. Whether it was a diamond or ruby 
 he could not tell in that red light of the sunset, but 
 it was either the one or the other. Marco looked to 
 see if his boy observed him, and seeing that he did 
 not, at once concealed the treasure in his pocket. 
 
 Scarcely had he accomplished this, when he was 
 aware of a large boat close upon him. His own boat 
 had drifted to the bottom of the creek unperceived, 
 and up the river had come a handsome barge pulled 
 by twenty men. They almost ran into Marco’s boat, 
 before he knew that they were near. In the stern sat 
 a stately man, whom Marco recognized in a moment, 
 and turned pale as ashes. It was the Duke, whose 
 face was equally pale. But neither knew the other’s 
 
THE VOICE A T NIGHT. 
 
 153 
 
 pallor in that ruddy light, any more than they could 
 read each other’s minds. The ducal barge went 
 rapidly up. Marco replaced his hat upon his head, 
 drew a long breath, and sat in silence. 
 
 At last his son aroused him by inquiring whether 
 they had not better row home, as it was getting late. 
 The father assented. Each took an oar. They 
 pulled a mile or two, grounded their boat on the 
 soft river-side, made all snug for the night, and began 
 to walk home with their basket of fish. 
 
 All this time Marco said little or nothing, and the 
 boy could not conceive the reason. It was the same 
 when they reached home. Marco scarcely spoke 
 during supper, and his wife could not make out what 
 was amiss, for he was a light-hearted man generally, 
 and fond of talking. It was his way to recount at 
 home all the little adventures of the day; its successes 
 and failures. The sunshine of the house had been the 
 openness of all its ways. Every joy had been shared 
 by parents and child, and the evening was always 
 passed in cheerful conversation, enlivened by many a 
 joke. The silence, therefore, and gloom on the night 
 in question was all the more striking. As soon as 
 supper was over, Marco lighted the lamp, and carried 
 it into an outhouse, where he pulled out the ring and 
 
154 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 began to examine it. As he did so, the remem¬ 
 brance of a sad tale came over him, how that the 
 Duke’s elder brother had some years ago disappeared 
 suddenly, and how that he was known to have worn 
 a ruby ring of immense value, the gift of the old 
 Duchess, his grandmother. 
 
 The more he thought it over, the more Marco 
 became convinced that this was the very ring. If so, it 
 was the Duke’s. Should he take it to him ? Take it 
 to him, and get a few pieces of gold, perhaps ; whereas 
 the ring was a fortune in itself, if he could but dispose 
 of it securely! When Marco returned to bed at 
 night he lay sleepless, still thinking what to do. His 
 wife had tried in vain to make him talk, and thinking 
 that he was asleep, she gave up the attempt, and at 
 last fell asleep herself. Then Marco also slept. 
 
 As he did so, he seemed in his sleep to see a figure 
 standing over him, but it was indistinct. It had no 
 outlines, still less features by which it could be recog¬ 
 nized, but its speech was clear enough. It seemed to 
 say, “ Restore the ring ” in so loud and clear a voice 
 that Marco started up, thinking that his wife must 
 have heard the words, but she was sleeping peace¬ 
 fully. This Marco could not do. He lay quiet, how¬ 
 ever, until morn, thinking and struggling with himself. 
 
THE VOICE A T NIGHT. 
 
 155 
 
 Should he obey the voice and give up the ring? If 
 he did not, some terrible judgment might befall him. 
 If he did, what profit was it to have made so great a 
 discovery ? 
 
 Next day Marco’s wife noticed how worn and 
 anxious her husband looked, and tried to find out 
 the cause, but in vain. He went to his work moodily, 
 and took the boy with him, and all went on as usual ; 
 but whilst his net was down he heard the sound 
 of oars, and the ducal barge drew near, rowing down 
 the river. 
 
 Marco did not know that there were some foreign 
 galleys lying lower down, which the Duke was visit¬ 
 ing, and he was afraid. Again he became deadly 
 pale, and the Duke was also pale. By him sat a 
 lovely girl, his only child, who looked very ill; and 
 her father seemed sometimes to watch her features 
 anxiously, and sometimes to look with terror at the 
 opposite side of the river, and then turn from it as if 
 with determination to look no more. 
 
 Little did the Duke know Marco’s secret—the ring 
 and the voice ; and little did Marco know that by the 
 Duke’s bed, the night before, had stood that same 
 form—had sounded that terrible voice, “ Restore.” 
 
 Marco had now made up his mind what to do, which 
 
156 
 
 ALL EG ORIES AND TALES . 
 
 was to leave the Dukedom and go to Genoa, and there 
 secretly dispose of the jewel, and then retire and live 
 upon the proceeds. But how to do this was another 
 question. What reason could he give to his neigh¬ 
 bours for such a step ? What to his wife ? The 
 strangeness and folly of the action would arouse sus¬ 
 picions. So another day passed in thinking, and then 
 came, another night, the same figure, and the same 
 summons, “ Restore,” and it was in the ducal palace 
 as in the fisherman’s cottage. 
 
 A third day came. In vain Marco’s wife entreated 
 him to tell her what was on his mind. He would 
 not. He was determined not to give up the ring, and 
 only doubtful how to make use of it securely. 
 
 Night came again, and with it the figure, and the 
 voice ; but there was an addition to the summons. 
 “ Restore. This is the last time.” 
 
 And so it was also in the palace. 
 
 Day came slowly, very slowly, Marco could eat no 
 breakfast. He was feverish, irritable, restless. He 
 went down to his boat, and the boy with him, and the 
 net was being put overboard, when the boy slipped 
 and fell with it entangled in its folds. His father tried 
 to haul him up in the net, but in his terror the line 
 ran through his fingers. The boy bound hand and 
 
THE VOICE A T NIGHT. 
 
 157 
 
 foot in the net could do nothing, and the confused 
 lump went down into four fathoms of water. There 
 was a gurgling and bubbling, and then all was quiet, 
 and the tide rippled peacefully over the place where 
 Marco’s boy lay drowned. 
 
 The poor man was distracted, and was about to 
 leap into the water, when another fisherman came up, 
 who soon perceived what had happened, and how 
 impossible it was to help. All that he could do, he 
 did ; he took Marco home, and broke the sad news as 
 best he might to the mother. 
 
 Her grief was very bitter, but not like that of 
 Marco. He had no comfort at all. She believed that 
 her son was in rest and peace, and prayed for resigna¬ 
 tion. Marco could not pray. He had never prayed 
 since he made up his mind to keep the ring, though 
 he knelt down in order to deceive his wife. He knew 
 that the boy’s death lay at his door—and that he was 
 in a manner his son’s murderer. 
 
 With much trouble the neighbours swept the 
 bottom of the creek, and at last recovered the body of 
 the boy. It was carried home, and his mother wept 
 upon her child. Then came the funeral, and the 
 silence and loneliness which succeed ; and the dead 
 oppressive benumbing habitual grief, so much more 
 
158 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 hard to bear than the first paroxysm. In all this the 
 mother had her consolations, and she found peace on 
 her knees by the little bed where her boy had slept, 
 and in church, and a most joyful sorrow at the grave, 
 as she hung fresh garlands on the little cross. But 
 Marco sat on in a stupor of misery. People thought 
 he would either go mad or die ; when a sudden change 
 came over him. He heard something said about the 
 Duke, and listening, found that the Duke’s daughter 
 had fallen from a balcony and was dead ; and on in¬ 
 quiring, he learned also that this sad event, which had 
 filled all the country with grief, happened on the same 
 day that he had lost his son. 
 
 Marco began to think deeply, and the more he 
 thought, the more strange did all this appear to him. 
 It became clearer to him that the ring belonged to the 
 Duke’s lost brother, and clear that Heaven had visited 
 his own dishonesty on him. Perhaps the finding of 
 the ring might be the finding of some secret, and yield 
 the Duke some comfort. At any rate, he would try. 
 So with a great effort he told his wife the whole sad 
 tale of his vision, and having dressed himself for so 
 great an occasion, he took the ring and proceeded to 
 the city and the palace. 
 
 When Marco reached the doors of the palace he 
 
THE VOICE A T NIGHT. 
 
 159 
 
 sought in vain to obtain admission. The Duke had 
 seen no one since his loss. Marco was rudely rejected 
 by the attendants, but he still stood there waiting and 
 at last an old man came out, who seemed to be much 
 respected by the servants. Marco addressed him and 
 asked to see the Duke. He was told kindly by the 
 old man that his wish was vain, but that he himself 
 would take a message if the matter was really of im¬ 
 portance. 
 
 Marco took out the ring, and gave it, saying, 
 “ Please to tell the Duke that I found this in my 
 net at the mouth of a creek, five miles down the river.” 
 
 The old man told the servants to give Marco a seat 
 at the gate, and bade him wait there for his return, and 
 went in. 
 
 Marco waited two hours in expectation. At last he 
 was summoned into the Duke’s presence. The Duke 
 was alone, and looked haggard and ill. His eyes were 
 fixed on the ground, as he inquired how and where 
 Marco found the ring, and, when he heard the tale, 
 he asked whether anything else was discovered at the 
 same time. 
 
 Marco replied, “ Only an old piece of armour which 
 I threw back into the water.” 
 
 The Duke started. After a pause, the Duke took 
 
i6o 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 out a heavy purse, and counting out fifty golden 
 pieces offered them to the fisherman, desiring him not 
 to breathe a word about the business to any one, or 
 he would find it would be the worse for him. 
 
 Marco refused the gold. He had had enough of 
 the business, and the more he saw of it, the less he 
 liked it. The Duke was very angry, and repeated his 
 warning to be silent with a curse. 
 
 As Marco left the palace, the old nobleman who 
 met him at first, stopped him, inquired what had 
 passed, and Marco’s name and residence, and then 
 saw him through the gates. 
 
 Not many days after this, whilst Marco was fishing 
 he observed a boat coming towards him, in which was 
 the old nobleman, with two other grave and elderly 
 persons, rowed by four men. 
 
 As they drew near, the old nobleman called Marco, 
 and told him to show them the exact spot where the 
 ring was found. He did so, and he then saw them 
 begin working backwards and forwards with an iron 
 net, weighted heavily in the beam ; a sort of dredge, 
 only very large. 
 
 As they did this, Marco observed that they took 
 things out of the net from time to time, laid them 
 carefully in their boat, and then resumed their work 
 
THE VOICE A T NIGHT. 
 
 l6l 
 
 until dark ; when they ceased, pulled up the river, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Not long after this, the news reached Marco’s village 
 that the Duke had suddenly disappeared, no one 
 knew whither, and that inquiry was being made by 
 the nobles, concerning a son of his elder brother, sup¬ 
 posed to have been born and brought up secretly. 
 The next news was that the boy was proved to be the 
 law ful son of the elder brother, by a secret marriage * 
 and the story, giadually assuming more distinctness 
 and completeness, ran thus, that the heir to the duke¬ 
 dom had married a peasant’s fair daughter privately, 
 and had never dared to tell his father what he had 
 done, nor even to inform his simple wife who he was ; 
 that, somehow or other, the younger brother found out 
 his secict, and insisted on seeing his beautiful sister-in- 
 law* The elder brother objected for a long time, but 
 at last consented. They went together disguised as 
 men-at-arms, and on their return, the devilish tempta¬ 
 tion came with the opportunity : one push was enough. 
 The elder brother fell over the boat-side, sank in his 
 armour, and the whole story remained a secret. 
 
 At last the discovery of the ring alarmed the Duke, 
 and set the fiiends of the deceased on the alert. 
 Whilst they were searching for the dead, he was fool 
 
 M 
 
ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 16 2 
 
 enough, with that folly which crime so often inspires, 
 to disguise himself and go to the village where his 
 sister-in-law dwelt, to see whether the boy still lived. 
 He was followed and watched, and gradually the 
 evidence against him, and in favour of his nephew, 
 grew conclusive. 
 
 In this state of things, the old nobleman already 
 mentioned, who loved the murdered brother, but was 
 loyal to the whole house, and wished to save it from 
 disgrace, informed the false Duke how things stood, 
 and gave him means to fly. 
 
 Such was the tale. At any rate the uncle was 
 gone, gone for ever, no trace of him appeared from 
 the day he vanished ; and a fine lad was acknow¬ 
 ledged to be his brother’s son, and recognized as 
 Duke* 
 
 Marco had now suffered his punishment. It was 
 not so heavy as that of the murderer. He adopted 
 a little nephew, who became almost as dear to his 
 wife and himself, as their lost child ; and he lived 
 humbly and peacefully to a good old age. 
 
 That strange form and voice were no more seen nor 
 heard ; but, when the sun set upon the river, and his 
 boat was like a spot in a flood of gold, the memory 
 of the former scenes would come over him ; and a 
 
THE VOICE A T NIGHT . 
 
 163 
 
 bubble in the net appeared like a ring of gold ; and 
 his nephew seemed like his own dear boy ; and often 
 and often he warned the lad, whilst they were fishing, 
 of the danger of covetousness ; and begged him to 
 listen to the voice of duty, calling on him in the still¬ 
 ness to do righteously, if he wished for peace of mind; 
 and when the lad asked for the oft-repeated story, 
 Marco told it to him, taking all shame to himself, as 
 his nephew listened breathlessly to the tale. 
 
 So the old man lived and worked ; then died, and 
 rests , and nothing of all that has been described re¬ 
 mains, except the city, and the river, and the antique 
 ruby ring preserved in a cabinet in the museum. 
 
 M 2 
 
Cf)C Jflies anti tfte Worses 
 
 FOUR-HORSE coach was toiling up a steep, 
 
 -Tjl North Devon hill, on its way to the nearest 
 railway station, when the following conversation 
 took place between the flies which hovered over 
 the leaders ; and when certain remarks were made 
 by the flies to the horses, and by the horses upon 
 the flies. 
 
 First fly to second : “They will never be in time. 
 Lazy rascals! I will take care they shall hear 
 
 Second fly : “ That stupid old coachman ! I have 
 no patience with him. Why doesn’t he drive as we 
 do ? We drive the public, and the public drives the 
 Government, and the Church, and everything in the 
 country.” 
 
 Third fly: “You talk very big; but my grand¬ 
 father, who was not larger, when unfolded, than 
 
THE FLIES AND THE HORSES. 
 
 165 
 
 one side of the ‘Times,’ drove the great Napoleon 
 half mad, and made him resolve to invade England 
 and collect an army and fleet for that purpose.” 
 
 Fourth fly: “Your grandfather! Why, mine 
 fetched the Duke of Wellington out of his lines 
 behind dones Vedras. There he lay doing; nothing* 
 and getting fat, till our paper made him come out 
 and fight like a man.” 
 
 Fast fly: “Pshaw! The Duke did not care for 
 flies. He was one of the very few men who do not.” 
 
 Second fly: “My father was the death of Lord 
 Raglan.” 
 
 Thiid fly : ( What s that to us ? We tell Govern¬ 
 ment what its budget is to be.” 
 
 Fourth fly: “I can put you up to a thing. The 
 way is to find out what Government is going to do. 
 and then to insist upon it; to feel the pulse of the 
 country, and when you know what it wishes and 
 means, recommend it. So you get all the credit for 
 wisdom.” 
 
 First fly : “ We all know that very well; but see, 
 we don’t get on a bit. The coach will be late. Their 
 leaders are nothing to ours.” 
 
 Whereat the other flies laughed. 
 
 Coachman : “ Plague on the flies ; how they teaze 
 
ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 166 
 
 my poor cattle to-day. Would you believe it, sir ? 
 They fly as fast as I drive. Wherever we are along 
 the road there they are too.” 
 
 Off leader: “ Do you hear those flies ? ” 
 
 Near leader: “They’re only flies, and ours is a 
 coach. Let ’em buzz.” 
 
 Horselaugh. 
 
 First fly: “Hold up there. You’d ’a been down, 
 you off leader, if I hadn’t held you up.” 
 
 Second fly: “We shall be in time after all.” 
 
 Third fly: “ They would not have been but for 
 me. I will have them exposed. I will come down 
 on them.” 
 
 Near leader: “I wish they had not cut my tail. 
 What a plague those flies are.” 
 
 Off leader: “Never mind ’em. There’s a storm 
 coming. That’ll cool ’em, I reckon.” 
 
 First fly : “ Is there ? Then I’ll be off at once.” 
 
 Second fly : “I won’t. I’ll stick to him.” 
 
 The rain falls in large drops. Two flies go, two 
 are knocked down into the road, and the wheel goes 
 over them. Another horselaugh, and the coach 
 drives up at a canter, and arrives at the station 
 five minutes before the train is due, and twenty 
 minutes before it appears. A fifth fly, who had been 
 
THE FLIES AND THE HORSES. 
 
 167 
 
 silent, and stuck to the collar, went up to town by 
 the train, and then said it was all owing to him that 
 the coach was in time, whereas a sixth said, “ He 
 knew it would be all along, and always said that 
 it would.” 
 
belief. 
 
 T HERE was a shoemaker who read a good deal, 
 and talked a good deal more, until he became 
 the oracle of the village. He had a good many 
 theories, as, for example, that there ought to be no 
 hills, and no trees higher than gooseberry bushes, and 
 no farms larger than an acre, and no army or navy. 
 
 At one time he took Equality and Fraternity for 
 his motto, and printed them at the top of his bills, but 
 he gave them up because he saved some money and 
 bought his own shop; and, when one of his neigh¬ 
 bours out of fun, suggested that he should take a 
 drunken and squalid neighbour into partnership as his 
 brother and equal, he had to shift his ground, and 
 confess that it was absurd to put an idle man on a 
 level with an industrious one, or a fool with a clever 
 fellow. In fact, as the shoemaker got on, he looked 
 contemptuously on those beneath him, and kept them 
 
BELIEF. 
 
 169 
 
 at a distance. In fact, he became a strong Conserva¬ 
 tive of all he had won, and directly he acquired a vote 
 he became a decided enemy of universal suffrage. 
 Still he liked to be thought liberal, and was as fond of 
 talking as ever ; so he took to religious subjects as he 
 left off political matters ; and one of his favourite 
 doctrines on which he delighted to argue, was a man’s 
 right to believe what he likes, and that a man’s cha¬ 
 racter does not depend upon his faith. So he was 
 for education without religion. 
 
 It was all in vain that a sensible old veteran used 
 to sit in his shop, and try to convince him that a 
 man’s conduct will always depend on what he believes, 
 and that murder and stealing, and the like, would be¬ 
 come common unless the world believed them to be 
 wrong. All this warning was lost on the shoemaker, 
 and he was doomed to be convinced in a manner 
 which was very far from agreeable. 
 
 The event came about thus. The shoemaker had a 
 son, who lived with him, and worked in his shop. The 
 lad was very unlike his talkative father, and was both 
 silent and heavy. His father thought him a dolt, but 
 the lad had ears, and picked up his father’s doctrines, 
 and was ready to practise them. In fact, he was very 
 far from being a fool. 
 
ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 170 
 
 One day father and son went out into the country 
 for a holiday, and as they were returning, they got 
 into the middle of a large field before they perceived 
 a bull grazing there. The bull, however, saw them, 
 and made straight at the strangers. They ran for the 
 stile, and the boy, being the best runner, got over in 
 safety, in time to see his father caught by the bull, 
 and sent flying into the air. The boy watched this 
 process in silence, and the bull was about to repeat 
 the operation on his father, when, fortunately, a hay¬ 
 maker saw what was going on, and by a judicious use 
 of his hayfork in the bull’s flanks, diverted his 
 thoughts from the agreeable pastime in which he was 
 occupied ; and the old man was saved. 
 
 On the way home the father said nothing, but, once 
 arrived there, he caught hold of a stick in one hand 
 and pf his son in the other, and cried out,— 
 
 “ Now, sir. I ’ll teach you what it is to leave your 
 father to a bull to be gored. Why, if it had been a 
 stranger, you might have had some excuse; but to 
 leave your own father to be killed, you undutiful, 
 heartless, young scoundrel, I ’ll give it you.” 
 
 “ I didn’t,” said the lad. 
 
 “ Didn’t. What do you mean ? ” 
 
 “ I didn’t leave my father to be gored.” 
 
BELIEF. 
 
 171 
 
 “ Not leave your father ? Didn’t you leave me ? ” 
 
 “ But you ’re not my father.” 
 
 “ Not your father ? ” 
 
 “ No. I don’t believe you are.” 
 
 “What! You have the face to say that.” 
 
 “I can’t help it, if I don’t believe it. You have 
 always said a man is not to blame for what he be¬ 
 lieves, or does not believe. Haven’t you now ? ” 
 
 The shoemaker was in a paroxysm of rage. 
 
 “ I’ll show you I’m your father, my fine fellow. 
 I’ll give you a taste of a father’s stick.” 
 
 “ I don’t see as that proves a man a father, to thrash 
 his son. I should ha’ thought a father would have 
 pitied his son,” said the lad, wriggling out of his 
 father’s clutch. “You want to punish me for my 
 opinions. I can’t believe what I can’t. I don’t be¬ 
 lieve you are my father, that I don’t.” 
 
 “ Then I need not keep you, and won’t,” said the 
 old man, kicking the lad out of the house. 
 
 But by this time a crowd had collected, and the 
 neighbours would know what had happened; and 
 when he got his breath, the shoemaker, though very 
 unwillingly, told them, on which one slyly remarked, 
 “Why, John ! You are persecuting a poor fellow for 
 his opinions.” 
 
172 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “Come here, Tom,” said the veteran, to the lad 
 kindly. “You’re in the wrong, though you are a 
 sharper fellow than I took you for. Go and tell your 
 father you’re sorry, and that you only talked all this 
 nonsense to save your back.” 
 
 Tom grinned, and apologized. The old man was 
 propitiated and received him again, and all went on 
 as before, except that the shoemaker never afterwards 
 argued that a man’s conduct does not depend on his 
 faith, nor that he is free to believe what he likes. 
 
 Moreover, he had a higher opinion of Tom ever 
 afterwards, though, sad to say, Tom did not deserve it, 
 for he was a selfish fellow, and did not believe any¬ 
 thing that he did not like. 
 
Cfje 0rm Cfjatt. 
 
 MAN saved money, and desired to make him- 
 
 11 l self comfortable with the fruit of his labours. 
 Accordingly, he bought several things, and, amongst 
 others, a really easy chair. We will not describe it lest 
 others should be tempted to get one made like it. 
 Suffice it to say that it was the very perfection of 
 comfort. The moment you took your place in it a 
 sweet irresistible softness stole over you ; not sleep, 
 for you still spoke and enjoyed what was going on, 
 but a delicious languor, which, like an opiate, made 
 the happy sitter supremely indifferent to all that went 
 on around him. _ Even the troubles of life were an 
 enjoyment to the occupant, because, thus embosomed 
 in comfort, he felt them not. 
 
 Well, the man bought the chair, and sat down in it, 
 and having sat down, he had no inclination to rise. 
 A neighbour came running in, and said, “ Have you 
 
1 74 
 
 ALLEGOKIES AND TALES. 
 
 heard? The enemy have landed and are marching on 
 this place, and you are captain in the Volunteers. 
 Up and be doing.” 
 
 “Take it more quietly, my friend,” was the answer. 
 “ Vou should not believe every rumour. Buy a chair 
 like mine, and be happy.” 
 
 Shortly after another came in, and said, “They 
 have burnt the villages and gone on. The people are 
 starving and homeless.” 
 
 “ 1 am very sorry,” said the man. “ Take a seat. 
 Have a pipe. Just ring the bell for me.” 
 
 But his neighbour rushed out indignant. 
 
 By-and-bye one of the servants came in, and said, 
 “ Please, sir, the vicar wants to see you.” 
 
 “Tell him,” was the reply, “I cannot be interrupted.” 
 
 * After a time he was seized with a sharp pain, and 
 sent for the doctor, who came and told him he must 
 live on biscuit and water, and take strong exercise. 
 
 “ Give him a guinea,” said the man to his servant, 
 and remained sitting. 
 
 Presently, a skeleton came in, and said, “Come 
 with me,” and though the comfortable man pretended 
 that he could not bear moving, he took him bodily 
 out of his chair, and carried him off, nor was he seen 
 any more. 
 
€f)C TBattle of tfje insects anti 
 
 tfjc TBirO0. 
 
 HERE was a public meeting of the insects to 
 
 1 organize a resistance to the birds, and a list 
 was formed of their available forces. Unfortunately, 
 the most warlike among them, the hornets and wasps, 
 were excluded, because it was clearly proved that 
 they also preyed upon insects. The bees, however, 
 were applied to, and a million swarms met in council. 
 All the old women were tinkling their pots and tea- 
 trays in distraction. They could not think what was 
 the matter, but the bees paid no heed to them. They 
 went on deliberating until they had made up their 
 mind, and appointed a deputy to attend the general 
 meeting of insects. This meeting was held, and the 
 deputy of the bees made the following speech :— 
 
 “ Fellow countrymen,—I regret to inform you that 
 
176 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 my brethren have decided, with the assent of their 
 queens, to decline taking any part in this war. It is 
 not only that war would stop our manufactures, which 
 are the source of our greatness, but that we think the 
 whole proceeding unwise. It is not as if you had 
 been lately subdued and were trying to regain your 
 freedom, but the condition of which you complain has 
 existed from the beginning. It appears to us that 
 horses might as well rebel against men ; not to speak 
 of bullocks, and sheep, and poultry, and other creatures 
 on which men feast, but we also, whose honey they 
 steal. Nay, men might as well conspire against old 
 age and death. The evils which we suffer are part of 
 the order of things, and their remedy is endurance. 
 Moreover, good comes out of evil. Were it not for 
 some of the birds, we ourselves should be injured by 
 insects ; and I put it to you whether there would be 
 enough herbage to live on, unless the birds reduced 
 the number of caterpillars. On the whole, we have 
 resolved to keep quiet, and advise the same course 
 to our brethren.” 
 
 This address was received with loud hisses, and 
 a provisional government was appointed to raise an 
 army for the extirpation of birds ; birds of prey being 
 excepted, although inconsistently. 
 
THE BATTLE OF THE INSECTS, &>c. 
 
 1 77 
 
 Accordingly, butterflies were formed into regiments, 
 because of their ready-made uniform. Grasshoppers 
 were the cavalry, Rose-beetles were the rifles in green, 
 Humming-bird moths were the Uhlans, Drones were 
 trumpeters, Beetles and Cockchafers were the artil¬ 
 lery, Spiders acted as engineers ; and the army fully 
 equipped, at once opened the campaign. 
 
 And now, not only the old women, but all the world 
 was astonished. It seemed as if the air had gone 
 mad. Such a buzzing and whizzing, such a cloud of 
 combatants, such multitudes of ambulance ants slyly 
 carrying off the wounded and dead to their nests. 
 
 At last the battle was over. The birds, weary but 
 joyful, sat on the trees or the houses celebrating their 
 glorious victory. The ground was covered with wings 
 and legs and the bodies of the dead heroes; and a 
 great silence settled down on the country. At last 
 a swallow remarked, “ This has been a bad business 
 for all. We have killed too many flies, and what we 
 and the fly-catchers are going to live on is not very 
 clear.” 
 
 This was true. A famine ensued, and it was not 
 for some time that things came round again, and 
 settled down to their former condition, since which 
 the insects have wisely yielded to fate, live as long 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES , 
 
 as they can and as happily; and if they perish by 
 birds, why then they do not die of typhus or cholera, 
 which is a comfort to them ; together with the fact 
 that they have no expenses from cemeteries, funerals, 
 wills, and lawsuits. In fact, they are no worse off 
 than the lords of creation, as vain-glorious men are 
 accustomed to call themselves. 
 
Xat> jFeeltng on 'Boaro. 
 
 ~^HERE now,” said the five hundred horse-power 
 A engine, “ if they have not been and put a 
 donkey engine on deck ! The little ass ! It is quite 
 a disgrace to the family. It is not as if she was a 
 young one and would grow bigger. I wonder what 
 will come next.” 
 
 “ What of that ? ” replied the donkey engine. “ I do 
 all the heavy work on deck, get up the anchor, get 
 the cargo in and out of the hold ; and I don’t eat and 
 drink half what you do; half! no not a hundredth 
 part.” 
 
 “ Hear those fellows,” said the mainsail to the top¬ 
 sail. “ They’ll ruin the service. My grandfather 
 always said they would. They’re so puffed up and 
 vapouring; and they eat—bless you, I would sooner 
 keep one of them for a week than a fortnight.” 
 
 “Listen to them,” said the ship. “Here am 1 
 
i8o 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 labouring and straining, with my ribs nearly broken, 
 and my back too ; and a pain in the waist, and such 
 a load in my hold, and they only think of themselves.” 
 
 By this time the coal ran short, and the engines 
 were put on half allowance, and the donkey engine on 
 none. 
 
 “ Good job, about that young ass at any rate,” said 
 the great engines. 
 
 Then the topsail was carried away out of the bolt 
 ropes, and the mainsail split. 
 
 “Good job too,” said the engines, “but we are very 
 hungry. I wonder they don’t think of us.” 
 
 Then all the deck cargo was hove over, guns, and 
 donkey engine. 
 
 “ Good riddance,” said the ship, and the engines. 
 
 Then the engine-room was flooded by a sea, and 
 the furnace put out, when the ship foundered ; and 
 what the engines said to the ship, or the ship to the 
 engines down below, was never reported ; but it is 
 supposed that each lays the blame on the other still; 
 but this does not seem to help them, for they have 
 not been seen since they went down. 
 
Cbc Eougf) tDiamonO. 
 
 OME here, Dick,” said a man to his nephew, 
 
 V _^ who was swaggering about, “ and I will tell 
 
 you a story. 
 
 “ A certain jeweller saw his son turning a man away 
 who had come to offer a diamond for sale. ‘ Let me 
 look at it,’ said the jeweller. He did so, and bought 
 it, saying afterwards to his son, ‘ Don’t you know a 
 rough diamond when you see one ? ’ 
 
 ‘‘Shortly after this another man entered the shop 
 and offered two diamonds, as he said, for sale. They 
 also were rough-looking, and the son brought them 
 eagerly to his father, expecting him to pui chase 
 them ; but the old jeweller, after looking at them, 
 begged the man to sit down, saying he would shortly 
 return. When he did so, he came with a policeman, 
 to whom he gave the stranger in charge, dryly remark¬ 
 ing, ‘ There is all the difference in the world between 
 a rough diamond, and a piece of glass roughened to 
 look like one.’ That is all, my lad.” 
 
Cbe Eag anD T5onc s@an. 
 
 1 MET the rag and bone man in a lane. He had 
 been to the public-house, and for once was com¬ 
 municative. Generally he keeps out of the way, and 
 evidently does not wish me to know what he has in 
 his barrow. 
 
 This time, however, he was very genial and com¬ 
 municative, and offered to show me his load. I gladly 
 accepted the offer, and saw there my neighbour’s cold 
 leg of mutton, sold by the cook, and pudding ends, 
 and carpet ends, and no end of things which ought not 
 to have been sold. Amongst them, to my regret, I 
 saw that poor people had sold old clothes, and pieces 
 of stuff, which would have been worth far more to 
 them for mending than what they got from the rag and 
 bone man. I noticed some boots not worn out by any 
 means, and inquired what would be done with them. 
 “Well,” the man said, “some’ll be altered, and 
 
THE RAG AND BONE MAN. 
 
 183 
 
 some ’ll be put by till the fashion comes round again. 
 Round toes ’ll be in again in ten years. That’s about 
 the time it takes to come in again, and it’s as sure 
 as the sun.” 
 
 Presently, I saw a large bottle and asked what was 
 in it. 
 
 “ Them’s the waste words, sir,” he replied, “ what 
 are thrown away.” 
 
 “ But these are not all the waste words in my vil¬ 
 lage ; surely.” 
 
 “ Bless you, sir ! not a thousandth part ; but some’s 
 so bad they won’t keep, and there is no great sale for 
 the article.” 
 
 “ I wonder there is any sale at all.” 
 
 “ Well, sir, I sells some to members of parliament, 
 and there is a company got up for working they things 
 up into wind for what they calls the calm latitude. 
 A curious place that, sir, where they wants such 
 things.” 
 
 “ And what is this ? ” I said, taking up a tangled 
 lump. 
 
 “ That’s waste time, sir.” 
 
 “ Waste time ! and what is done with it ? ” 
 
 “ It was spun by the Fates, as they call ’em, then 
 it’s wove, sir, and made into winding-sheets.” 
 
184 
 
 ALLEGOKIES AND TALES , 
 
 Then there was a great confused lump at the bot¬ 
 tom of the barrow ; and the man took up bits, and 
 explained them. 
 
 “ Them’s waste opportunities, sir; throwed clean 
 away. I can’t do anything with them, but I takes 
 ’em away just to please the people, who are ashamed 
 to see ’em lying about. They won’t keep long. And 
 this here is waste knowledge, which I’m going to try 
 and sell to a cheap school. You see, sir, Mr. A. and 
 the Misses had a fine education, Latin and Greek, and 
 I don’t know what, more nor ever they uses, and so it 
 was throwed away, and I picked it up. Then these is 
 what people calls talents, gifts, ’bilities like, and I am 
 going to take ’em down to Colney Hatch to see 
 whether they can use ’em for the poor folks there ; 
 but, I don’t see how they’s to get ’em into their heads, 
 and, like enough, the goods will be on my hands.” 
 
 “And how much, my friend, do you waste on 
 beer ? ” I said, sick at heart. “ Beer, sir ! Why, sir, 
 all the brewers’ vats wouldn’t hold it. I once had a 
 cart and horse, and I drank ’em all up, harness and 
 all.” 
 
 However, I felt that the man had got some of my 
 own wasted things in his barrow, and so I said no 
 more, and wished him good morning. 
 
C&e ®lossometre. 
 
 GENTLEMAN lived a few miles out of a town 
 
 i \ to which he always resorted on market days. 
 He had often disputed with his neighbours as to how 
 far he could walk, and he used to add up the miles in 
 and out of the town, and time himself; and hold up 
 his watch in triumph when he met his adversary in 
 the road. 
 
 One day, however, he saw a pedometre and resolved 
 to buy it, but he forgot, and accordingly sent for it by 
 the carrier. It came, and without looking at it care¬ 
 fully, he put it in his pocket the very next time he 
 went to market. He just set it, and that was all. 
 
 That day was a great day in the little town, a fair 
 as well as market, and the gentleman forgot all about 
 his instrument, though it never forgot him. He 
 went home and sat down to dinner with a few 
 selected friends, ate and drank heartily, and after 
 
ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 186 
 
 dinner handed his purchase to the next person to 
 look at. 
 
 As soon as his friend saw the instrument, he 
 exclaimed, “ Why, this is not a pedometre, but a 
 glossometre.” 
 
 “ A glossometre ! ” cried the host. “ What in the 
 world is that ? ” 
 
 “ Why, it registers all one’s words,” said his friend. 
 
 “ Give it to me,” said the host, eagerly. 
 
 “ No, no ! ” cried the guests. “ Open it. Read it.” 
 
 In vain the owner protested. It was opened and 
 read aloud, amid roars of laughter. 
 
 “ Time, four hours. 
 
 “Words, 100,000. 
 
 “ Subjects. 
 
 “Observations on the weather, ioo; on the crops, 
 50; to his own praise, 100; to his neighbour’s blame, 
 200; faults found with others, which are also his 
 own, 199.” 
 
 Shouts of laughter succeeded each remark of the 
 faithful companion. But in truth it was past a 
 joke. 
 
 Next day the host left for London. Shortly after¬ 
 wards, his house and goods were put up and sold, and 
 he disappeared entirely from that part of the country, 
 
THE GLOSSOMETRE. 
 
 187 
 
 but it was very observable that not one of the guests 
 ventured to keep the glossometre. 
 
 Not a purchaser could be found for it at the sale. 
 The instrument lay kicking about, until the clerk 
 found it, and placed it one day in the pulpit. It was 
 soon turned out thence. The clerk’s wife would not 
 so much as touch it; and no one now knows what is 
 become of it; yet, assuredly, it was an instrument de¬ 
 serving of general use. So far from this, however, the 
 inventor was fairly driven out of the town, which is 
 the more to be regretted as he was meditating a moral 
 thermometer, self-registering, to tell people how hot 
 they had been in argument, and inform young folks of 
 the state of their affections ; also a moral barometer 
 to warn husbands when to look out for squalls. How¬ 
 ever, he was said to be a designing fellow, and people 
 were beyond measure enraged at his metres. So he 
 departed to a very distant and strange land, where the 
 inhabitants are said to wish honestly to fulfil the old 
 precept, “ Know thyself,” and where they are said to 
 leave the character and affairs of their neighbours 
 alone for this purpose. It is probable that this is but 
 a traveller’s tale, and that no such nation exists in this 
 world. 
 
Cbe apabet ano pis ©Hotb. 
 
 T HERE was a wondrous inventor and maker of 
 machinery by which the whole country greatly 
 benefited. In fact, all its prosperity, nay, its very 
 subsistence, sprang from the products of his skill. 
 
 In the city there was a museum in which his extra¬ 
 ordinary mechanism was exhibited, and, in company 
 with many others, I went to see it. In the centre of 
 the room there was a table on which was placed a 
 book containing an account of the objects of each 
 work, but not of the mechanism itself; and at the end 
 of the room there was a private door with a gong 
 hung up near it, on which any person might strike 
 who wished to see the great author of all the works. 
 
 I saw many people pass along stupidly gazing with 
 an ignorant wonder ; many laughing and talking of 
 the follies of the day, as if there was nothing to 
 admire, and nothing more handsome than themselves, 
 
THE MAKER AND HIS WORK . 
 
 189 
 
 or more interesting than the latest fashion. Others, 
 however, discoursed one with another, and some lec¬ 
 tured the crowd on the wonders which they saw; and 
 gave their opinions, after minute examination, as to 
 how the things were made, and in what order; and 
 how one arose out of another. 
 
 But that which utterly amazed me, was that very 
 few sounded the gong, and went in to consult the 
 maker; and that by the multitude he was entirely 
 forgotten. It was all the same as if the mechanisms 
 had made themselves. The people had no feeling 
 of admiration, nor of gratitude, towards the great 
 cause of all these things. He remained alone, and 
 unseen, and forgotten, whilst men gossiped, and 
 laughed, or reasoned, or taught, in sight of his works, 
 and close to himself. 
 
 I marvelled whether he would have done all this 
 for them had he known the return they would make ; 
 but I was wrong to do this, so great is his goodness 
 and wisdom ; and so high he is above all that petty 
 resentment which is too common in the world. 
 Nevertheless, I think these men hurt themselves by 
 their silly and culpable neglect, and lost what no one 
 else could bestow on them. 
 
Eoot pruning* 
 
 T here was a fruit tree in the garden, or what 
 should have been one; but it seldom bore any¬ 
 thing. The gardener cut away many of its branches, 
 but still it was barren. At last he thought of root- 
 
 * On the upper pruning the poet sings in this grand passage 
 
 v “ Behold this vine, 
 
 I found it a wild tree, whose wanton strength 
 Had swoln into irregular twigs 
 And bold excrescences, 
 
 And spent itself in leaves and little rings, 
 
 So in the flourish of its outwardness 
 Wasting the sap and strength 
 That should have given forth fruit. 
 
 But when I pruned the plant, 
 
 Then it grew temperate in its vain expense 
 Of useless leaves, and knotted, as thou seest, 
 
 Into these full clean clusters, to repay 
 The hand that wisely wounded it. 
 
 Repine not, O my son ! 
 
 In wisdom and in mercy Heaven inflicts 
 Its painful remedies.”— Thalaba, Book VIII. 
 
ROOT PRUNING. 
 
 191 
 
 pruning. He considered that the tree wasted itself in 
 spreading out its roots in the ground, and that if it 
 had fewer roots it would be better, so he dug all around 
 it, and cut away half its roots ; and then, though no 
 longer so rich in fibre and root below, and maimed 
 and disfigured by loss of branches above, it began at 
 last to bear fruit; and was spared. Otherwise it 
 would have been rooted up altogether, and burned as 
 a useless incumbrance. 
 
Pegging. 
 
 BEGGAR who constantly hung about the door 
 
 1 ± of a charitable person, had always asked for 
 something and received something, although it was 
 not always the exact thing which he begged for. This 
 went on a long time, and then one day the owner of 
 the house passed out, left the beggar, and gave him 
 nothing at all. This occurred several times. At last 
 the beggar grew very angry, and stopped his bene¬ 
 factor, and asked him in a very insolent manner why 
 he now gave him no help. 
 
 The good man answered kindly, but gravely, 
 Because it is useless. You never were thankful, and 
 that I put up with. But this is not all. Whatever I 
 gave you, you wasted. You never do anything to help 
 yourself. You never try to improve what I bestow 
 on you, although I have given you things which were 
 meant foi use, and which showed you at once that, if 
 
BEGGING. 
 
 193 
 
 they had been used, they would have become more 
 and more serviceable to you. I have people on my 
 estate for whom I have not done half so much as I 
 have for you. I shall give you no more until you 
 come to me and say that you will really make use of 
 my bounty, and no longer waste it. I am not turning 
 stingy, as you very likely suppose. I shall henceforth 
 give to another what I used to give to you. But I 
 will waste my bounty no longer.” 
 
 The beggar went away much ashamed. He had 
 nothing to answer. 
 
 O 
 
Cfje Cttp of palaces. 
 
 A MAN lived in a poor country town, which he 
 PE thought very grand. Every big house in it 
 appeared to him fit for a king, and he was very proud 
 of his own house. One day, however, a stranger 
 came, who spoke much of a City of Palaces. At first 
 the man would not believe in it, but when the 
 stranger showed him pictures of its glorious buildings 
 and gardens, and proved to him by various solid 
 arguments the truth of them all, the man’s spirit 
 fainted within him. Pie despised his own town, and 
 his house. They appeared mean and contemptible. 
 He sold all he had and set out by a long and tedious 
 route, through many hardships and perils, towards the 
 City of Palaces, and reached it at last; and there, to 
 his inexpressible joy, he found his own name inscribed 
 over the door of one of its mansions. 
 
C transparent 
 
 MAN was shipwrecked on a strange coast, and 
 
 having advanced a little way up the country he 
 came to a large village. As soon as he did so, he was 
 surrounded by people, and to his astonishment he 
 found that they spoke his own language. But what 
 astonished him far more, was that they stared at him 
 as if they were reading him through and through, and 
 then began talking to each other scornfully. He 
 began to listen to what passed, and he was amazed 
 and horrified to find that he had fallen amongst a 
 people who had the gift of inward sight; that is to 
 say, they could read the heart. The poor man found 
 that all his follies, and infirmities, and even his sins 
 were the topic of universal conversation. There was 
 nothing in him which the natives did not know. All 
 his boyish sins, and the transgressions of his youth, 
 were open to their eyes, and cruel and scornful were 
 
 O 2 
 
ig 6 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 the remarks which they were making one to another 
 concerning him. 
 
 At last the poor fellow could bear this treatment no 
 longer. Burning with shame and grief he rushed into 
 the forest, seeking the wildest and most inaccessible 
 spots, and at last, breathless and exhausted, he threw 
 himself down under a tree many miles from his 
 persecutors. 
 
 Scarcely had he recovered himself a little, before he 
 was conscious of one standing over him. 
 
 “Persecute me no more,” he cried, not daring to 
 look up. “ I cannot endure it. I shall drown myself, 
 or do some desperate deed. I cannot bear the shame 
 and agony longer.” 
 
 “ I am not come to persecute,” replied a gentle 
 voice, “ but to help you. Why did you fly from your 
 fellow-creatures ? ” 
 
 “ They know all my sins. They read my heart. I 
 cannot bear it.” 
 
 “ Is there so much evil, then, in you ? ” 
 
 “Yes, indeed. Would God—” but he could speak 
 no more. 
 
 “ Bat tell me, my friend, which is the greatest evil, 
 to have loathsome and deadly wounds, or to have 
 them seen ? ” 
 
TRANSPARENT. 
 
 197 
 
 “To have them,” he replied, “but it makes it worse 
 to have them known.” 
 
 “ But, if having them known, is the way to have them 
 cured ; what then ? ” 
 
 The poor fellow was silent. 
 
 “ Would you like to have the same power of reading 
 the heart which your persecutors possess ? Some 
 people comfort themselves in this way. When thep 
 find that others are as bad as they are, they recover, 
 and gain courage—shall I say ? No, they gain impu¬ 
 dence. Will you have this power ? ” 
 
 “ No, not for worlds. I could not live if I thought all 
 the world were as bad as I have been. I would rather 
 not know. No, for God’s sake! No. It would not 
 heal my present wounds, but would make fresh sores.” 
 
 “ It is well,” replied the stranger. “ Do you know 
 that I have been reading your heart all this time ? I 
 know all you have ever said, and all you have ever 
 done. Does not this make you ashamed, and make 
 you rush away from me ? ” 
 
 “ No ; you are so different. I am ashamed because 
 I am not more ashamed that you should know all ; 
 but your kindness is so great that I do not feel my 
 wickedness as I ought. I know I ought to feel it all 
 the more, and I think I do, and I wish to do so. Oh! 
 
ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 that I might be such that you might look into me 
 without pain.” 
 
 “You shall,” replied the master. “Go back to the 
 village, and be patient; but look at me first.” 
 
 So he looked, but turned away again, saying, “ I 
 cannot, I cannot. I wish to do it, but I cannot.” 
 
 “Well, then, wait. Go back, as I said.” 
 
 He went back. The people looked into him, and 
 saw a change. He was not like them, not one of 
 them. They hated him. He bore all their unkind¬ 
 ness very meekly, but it did not avail. They hated 
 him more and more, till he fled from them into the 
 forest. There the stranger met him, and encouraged 
 him, and showed him how different he was from his 
 old self, and bade him go back again ; and he took 
 heart, and looked at his friend for a short time and no 
 more. Then he returned, and was thankful that the 
 people told him his faults, for he had forgotten many 
 of them, and he wished to see them in their true light, 
 and be humble; and thus there came to shine a light 
 within him, and a halo of light encircled his head, and 
 the people marvelled at him, and scoffed at him, and 
 some were changed by his example and became like 
 him, but the majority hated him more and more, and 
 finally slew him. But, when he was dead, a voice 
 
TRANSPARENT. 
 
 199 
 
 sounded at night, “ Well done, good and faithful ser¬ 
 vant. Come to me. Fear not! I knew thee for 
 good.” 
 
 In the morning the body lay where it had been 
 slain, with a calm expression on the face. The people 
 looked at it, but could no longer read or know the 
 soul, which once dwelt in it. It was beyond their reach. 
 So they went on, satisfied that their neighbours were 
 as bad as themselves, and remaining unaltered ; but 
 the soul of the departed was seen and saw, and en¬ 
 dured the being seen in the joy of seeing its deliverer 
 from shame. In fact, the shame was consumed in the 
 heat and light of compassionate love. 
 
©pen duestions. 
 
 A YOUNG man went up to London, where he 
 was met at the station by a friend’s friend, 
 who was asked to look after him and keep him from 
 mischief, and show him the world. Rather a hard 
 task to do both! Robert, the Londoner, received 
 Richard, the countryman, kindly enough, and, after 
 consigning the luggage to the hotel, they walked forth 
 together. As they walked, Robert asked Richard 
 whether he knew Lady S., who had lived in Robert’s 
 neighbourhood, and who was then in the Divorce 
 Court. Richard spoke very slightingly of her, and of 
 the Divorce Court; on which Robert said, “ Well, that 
 is an open question. The whole subject of marriage 
 is such.” 
 
 Richard stared ; and shortly remarked on the great 
 number of churches. 
 
 “ Too many by half,” replied Robert. 
 
OPEN QUESTIONS . 
 
 201 
 
 “ Wh y ? there cannot be enough for the population, 
 numerous as they are.” 
 
 “Well; that’s as people think,” he replied, “Let 
 us leave religion an open question.” 
 
 Presently they came in sight of Buckingham Palace, 
 on which Richard remarked, “What a Queen we 
 have! What a blessing it is to live in a land where 
 the Sovereign is so much, and so deservedly loved ! 
 I should be very sorry to live in America.” 
 
 “ That, again,” said his friend, “ is an open question. 
 Some people think one way, and some another.” 
 
 In the evening the young men dined together, and 
 then went to the theatre ; and after that Robert took 
 his simple friend to a gambling-house, which did not 
 appear such at first, but of the character of which 
 Richard was fully convinced by the emptiness of his 
 pockets when he left it. 
 
 Richard was now excited with wine and with 
 vexation, and as they crossed the parks he was surly ; 
 and at last turned sharply on his companion, and 
 asked him whether he was not ashamed of himself for 
 taking a friend to such a house on the first night of 
 his visit to London. 
 
 Robert denied that he was so ashamed. 
 
 “ Have you no conscience, then ? exclaimed Richard. 
 
202 
 
 ALLEGOKIES AND TALES. 
 
 “ Conscience! that is an open question, whether 
 there is such a thing, or whether it is merely a 
 prejudice of our education.’ , 
 
 “ I tell you what,” cried out Richard, “ I am tired of 
 these open questions ; and we will close one of them 
 at any rate. We will settle, now and for ever, which 
 is the best man of the two.” 
 
 So saying, he threw his coat on the ground, and gave 
 him a thrashing, such as he had never had in his life. 
 Next day Robert summoned Richard, and after hear¬ 
 ing both sides the magistrate said that both were to 
 blame. He should dismiss the case. It was an open 
 question who struck the first blow, or who gave 
 provocation. 
 
 Thus the friends parted as enemies. It is an open 
 question still, whether Robert was more knave than 
 Richard was fool, or the reverse. 
 
Co tfje Point. 
 
 A MAN had a son who, with many good 
 qualities, had some great failings, in which he 
 resembled the reader. Not that it is here said which 
 the reader has, good qualities or bad, or whether he 
 has both. Far from that—far from that. What the 
 boy’s bad qualities were, however, will appear from 
 this conversation. 
 
 Father. “Tom, why did you not go to the town 
 yesterday, as I told you ? ” 
 
 Boy. “ Oh, father, have you heard that Mr. B.’s bull 
 has tossed Mr. A.’s servant ? ” 
 
 Father. “ I did not ask you about that, Tom. I 
 asked why you did not do what I told you ? ” 
 
 Boy. “ I know, father. I was going to explain ; but 
 it is very strange. I can’t make it out. There have 
 been two carriages past here already.” 
 
 Father. “ Tom, will you answer me, or not ? ” 
 
204 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 Boy. “ Certainly, father, I am answering you, but I 
 must tell you what you will be glad to hear. The old 
 sow has a litter of thirteen.” 
 
 Father. “And you are the cad, Tom. Will you 
 answer my question, or not ? Why did not you do 
 what I told you ? ” 
 
 Boy. “ Sure, enough, father, that is what I am doing ; 
 but you do not see what I mean.” 
 
 Father. “Yes, I do. You mean to shirk my question, 
 if you can, but— ” 
 
 Boy. “Oh, no, father. Don’t say so. There’s Jem 
 Jones. You might say so of him, but — what do you 
 think? I was just going — only think, father, Mrs. 
 C. has taken her honey to-day, and there were 
 40 lbs. in each hive. Three hives ! Only think of 
 that! ” 
 
 Father . “ Tom, this is your last chance. Either tell 
 me, or say you won’t, which you like, right straight out.” 
 
 Boy. “ I know you’ll be so pleased, father. Master 
 says I’ve got on in my sums, and my writing is 
 improved. I knew you would be pleased. Arn’t you, 
 father ? ” 
 
 The father made no reply; but a few days after¬ 
 wards he drove his son along the Old North Road 
 through Woburn, and the cutting, and the tall fir trees, 
 
TO THE POINT . 
 
 205 
 
 till they came to the cottages where the labyrinth is. 
 He then went in and spoke to the people who lived 
 there; whilst Tom held the horse. Presently a boy 
 came out and took Tom’s place, and his father 
 beckoned Tom into the garden, and led him into the 
 labyrinth. Having done this, he went out himself and 
 left his son in the middle. When he was well outside 
 he called out, “Tom, you like roundabouts, don’t you ? 
 You may stay there till you can find your way out. 
 Good-bye.” 
 
 Tom heard the gig drive off. He called out for 
 help. No one answered. Round and round he went, 
 until he was ready to fall with fatigue. Evening came 
 on. He was very hungry. He got close to the edge 
 often, but never came to the opening. He lay down 
 at last, weeping bitterly. 
 
 Presently, as it was nearly dark, he heard the sound 
 of wheels. “ Tom,” called his father, “ are you tired 
 of roundabouts ? Can you give a straightforward 
 answer ? Do you wish to come out, or not ? ” 
 
 Tom answered “Yes” very decidedly. He was 
 then led out and taken home; and ever after he went 
 straight to the point when he was asked any question; 
 straighter even than a cabinet minister does in reply 
 to a deputation. 
 
€f )t Picture. 
 
 T HERE was a young preacher who was considered 
 very eloquent, and who also considered himself 
 so. One day he preached on Heaven, and tried to 
 describe it, and spoke of Him that dwelleth therein ; 
 and he painted a picture of glory and happiness ; 
 and all seemed very spiritual and supernal ; and his 
 hearers were in raptures with him, and he with himself. 
 Then he went out hot and weary to the sea-side to see 
 the sun set, and he marked a young man painting; 
 and went up, and watched him silently from behind. 
 The painter tried to put the beauteous colours of the 
 evening sky on his canvas ; but there was a thickness 
 in all that he did. He could not give the lucid trans¬ 
 parent hues. His outlines also were harsh ; his clouds 
 solid, grotesque, or else misty. The deep, clear, 
 endless space ; the unspeakable beauty, the unima¬ 
 ginable beauty, unearthly, spiritual, ravishing, soul- 
 
THE PICTURE . 
 
 207 
 
 subduing, he could not paint it. His greatest attempts 
 were his worst failures. At last he tried to paint the 
 sun himself in all his setting glory; and the contrast 
 between the original and the picture was most painful. 
 
 It was a mere daub if intended to represent the sunset. 
 
 The preacher stood, and looked on with a proud 
 smile of contempt. Presently the painter turned and 
 looked at him. He started. The artist was himself, 
 and none other. There was his own figure, his own 
 face ; and the preacher hid his face in his hands, and ‘ 
 sat down and wept on the sea-shore; and rose up a 
 humbler and a wiser man than he was before. 
 
Cfje 'BoDp <2>uar0. 
 
 ' | A HERE was a great king, who heard that a 
 A neighbouring country was kept in sore bondage 
 by a victorious enemy. Out of pity he sent his only 
 son to deliver the sufferers. Many battles were fought. 
 In the last the prince completely vanquished the foe, 
 but laid down his own life in obtaining the victory. 
 
 from that time forward the youths of this liberated 
 land were trained for the service of the king, and, as 
 soon as they were ready they were sent to him, and 
 enrolled in the host which encircled him ; and, held in 
 high honour, executed his commands with grateful 
 alacrity. Electus was one of these youths. Trained 
 in the use of arms, instructed in his duties, clad in the 
 uniform of the king, and presented with beautiful 
 weapons, both offensive and defensive, the day came 
 when he was to set forth on his march to join the court 
 of the king. Before he did this he was warned against 
 
THE BODY GUARD. 
 
 209 
 
 the various perils of the journey ; bidden to remember 
 the badge under which he served ; to be cautious and 
 bold, and, with the good wishes of those who had 
 bi ought him up, he started on his way to the king. 
 
 Foi a time Klectus kept to the road, thinking some¬ 
 times of the good friends whom he had left, and still 
 more of the gloiious end ol his journey. By degrees, 
 however, these thoughts had less and less effect on his 
 mind. Other thoughts came into it, and he began to 
 take increasing interest in the objects around him. 
 Presently, on the top of a bush, he observed a beautiful 
 humming bird. It seemed formed of all the jewels 
 he had ever seen, or read of; or rather the rainbow 
 seemed to have condensed itself into one living 
 creature, so transparent and ethereal were the exqui¬ 
 site hues of the bird. Electus paused in astonishment, 
 and then hastened to catch the prize and make it his 
 own. This was not so easy. It was always close to 
 him, and always at a distance. He seemed to touch 
 it, but he never could take it. From flower to flower, 
 from bush to bush, from thicket to thicket, he followed. 
 At last it rested on the leaf of a rose-tree. Fie rushed 
 forwards, and too late felt himself falling. When he 
 awoke from a state of insensibility, he found himself 
 lying in the darkness of night at the foot of a precipice. 
 
 P 
 
210 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 Then Electus began to think of the cautions he had 
 received and forgotten; and when at morn he rose up 
 bruised and wounded, and tried to recover the road he 
 had quitted, he resolved to be more cautious hereafter. 
 As, however, Electus was seeking to recover the road, 
 he came suddenly on a beautiful valley, shut in with 
 hills and flowering trees, and watered by a stream 
 which refreshed the groves, the birds of which sang back 
 to the murmuring river; and on a mossy bank under 
 a rock he suddenly came in sight of a beautiful damsel, 
 who sat weeping most pitifully. Electus had been 
 cautioned against a woman who frequented the forest, 
 but not against one in distress; and he naturally 
 stopped and asked what was the cause of her trouble, 
 and how he could help her. Her tale was that she 
 had been forsaken by her uncle, and left there to 
 perish, and she began weeping again. 
 
 There was something most winning in her tones and 
 her manner, and as Electus watched her he thought he 
 had never seen anything so lovely, so worthy of kind¬ 
 ness. He sat down beside her and cheered her, and 
 the maiden became happy with a strange readiness ; 
 and then her open eyes sparkled with joy, and she was 
 as winning in happiness as she had before been in 
 
 sorrow. 
 
THE BODY GUARD. 
 
 211 
 
 Hour after hour passed as Electus sat by her en¬ 
 chanted ; nor did he observe a small serpent which 
 stole out from the folds of her dress, and gradually 
 drew near his hand which held hers. Indeed, he 
 scarce felt the bite, or the numbness which gradually 
 stole over his frame, until he tried to rise and found he 
 could not. He fainted away, and would have died on 
 the spot, had not an old man come by who saw how 
 things stood, and, with a severe glance at the damsel, 
 which made her hasten away, administered strong 
 remedies to the youth, who slowly recovered, and 
 after a time arose, and with a heavy heart resumed 
 the road which was pointed out to him, with many 
 kind warnings, by the hermit. 
 
 Further on in the forest the trees grew thinner and 
 thinner. The oak gave way to the birch, and the 
 birch to the pine ; and then snow-clad mountains rose 
 up before him, shining in the sun. A narrow path 
 wound round one of the mountains. It was clearly 
 the right way, but to go straight on seemed nearer, 
 and Electus was seized with an indescribable desire to 
 climb. Up and up he toiled, sometimes wading 
 through soft snow, sometimes sliding on the frozen 
 surface, sometimes leaping over deep crevices. Thou¬ 
 sands upon thousands of feet, on he went; and the 
 
 P 2 
 
212 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 higher he went the more he burned with the desire of 
 reaching the summit, when suddenly his feet slipped 
 from under him, and he fell sheer down, striking from 
 time to time on some crag, until he lay senseless at 
 the bottom of a sunless crevasse like one dead. 
 
 How long Electus lay there he knew not; but he 
 had been seen by the good monks who lived on the 
 mountain, and with the greatest difficulty was rescued 
 and carried up to the monastery, where he was tenderly 
 watched by the good people until he recovered, and 
 was then started on the downward path, with much 
 good advice and many a prayer for his safety. 
 
 Sobered now, and more cautious after his previous 
 mishaps, the result of his folly, Electus pursued his 
 way to the plain. As he drew near it the hills became 
 covered with verdure, and at the base he came suddenly 
 into a sort of garden of flowers and fruits. The 
 smiling place spread out before him, starred with cities, 
 and gleaming with rivers ; and round him grapes 
 hung in clusters, and luscious fruits only waited for 
 him to gather them. He partook of them freely, and 
 a sense of weariness came over him after his toils. 
 He cared for nothing except for repose, which was 
 only broken by continual feasting on the fruits which 
 surrounded him. Electus had become very thin by 
 
THE BODY GUARD. 
 
 213 
 
 his labours and his illness, and the hardships of the 
 journey; but now he grew fat. He seemed quite a 
 different man ; sleek and portly. He had gained 
 flesh, but, if he had cared to go forwards, he would soon 
 have found that he had lost strength ; and his good 
 looks were deceiving. He did not, however, desire to 
 move. He had become a mere animal, living to live, 
 eating for pleasure ; sleeping for weariness ; incapable 
 of any exertion, or even the wish for it. Whatever 
 cost him trouble was odious. 
 
 All this went on for a time, but one day Electus felt 
 ill, very ill. His pain increased hourly ; his eyes were 
 dim, his limbs burning with fever. He felt himself 
 dying. As he thus lay, he began to think of the king 
 and of the object of his journey, and was very anxious 
 about it, but he could do nothing. He had not even 
 strength to think long or deeply on anything. At last 
 he murmured a cry of sorrow and a call for help, and 
 his senses went from him. 
 
 But a stranger had passed and observed him, and at 
 once administered a medicine which roused Electus 
 from his lethargy, and brought him back to himself. 
 Very bitter were the medicines administered by the 
 kind traveller. Long nights of sadness and faintness 
 succeeded, but at last the fever gave way, and Electus 
 
214 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 began to recover. Then the stranger spoke very 
 seriously to him, made him confess all his follies, 
 showed him how faithless he had been to his prince, 
 and made him promise to travel straight on henceforth 
 till he came to the court. 
 
 Electus fully intended to do what he promised, but 
 at the foot of the hills, as he rested on the edge of the 
 stream, he observed the banks shining with gold. It 
 was an auriferous river. He began to collect the 
 precious deposit; and, the more he got, the more he 
 desired. Soon he was not contented with the fine 
 sand of the stream; he must find the solid masses of 
 gold which it wore away and washed to the plain. 
 He ascended the river and turned his back, for the 
 first time, on the land of the king. Presently he came 
 to rocks shining with ore, and he began to break pieces 
 off and heap them all together. Gold, gold, nothing but 
 gold. He lived on berries and grew thinner than 
 he was when he toiled up the mountains ; but still 
 gold, gold ; heap upon heap; more than he could 
 carry, more than he wanted. How and where could 
 he take it ? Sometimes he thought of this, but not 
 often. He was wholly occupied with the desire of 
 increasing his wealth, and had no time for reflection. 
 
 One day he looked into the stream, and to his 
 
THE BODY GUARD . 
 
 215 
 
 astonishment saw that his hair had turned grey. 
 “ How long, then, had he been at this work ? What 
 was his age ? He must go forwards at once ? What 
 would the king say to him ? Would he care to have 
 him now ? ” Such thoughts passed through his mind; 
 but they did not prick his conscience, as might have 
 been expected, for he was grown dull and callous. 
 The quickness of his feelings was gone, and the 
 heart within him was shrunken and cold. So he 
 went to his work again. 
 
 But one day he fell ill; and as he lay there two of 
 the body-guard of the king passed and saw the badge 
 on him, and lifted him up, and carried him, and laid 
 him down speechless at the feet of the king. 
 
 Electus looked up, and, when he beheld the king, 
 his spirit fainted within him. He remembered his 
 wanderings, and not only this, but the fact that he had 
 never pursued his journey consistently, and at last had 
 abandoned it altogether. The thought was an agony. 
 
 The king looked on him silently, and Electus saw 
 that he was one to have been loved and served with 
 all the strength of the heart, and he wept; and the 
 king looked on him still, and Electus wept more. 
 “ He does not turn away from me utterly,” he said to 
 himself, and wept more ; and he never thought of his 
 
216 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 gold, which was all left behind. Then a dimness came 
 over his eyes, and they closed. The attendants bore 
 him away. There was love in the grave sorrow 
 which appeared in their face and manner, a reflection 
 from the face of the king; so that we may hope he 
 found mercy, though we know not. 
 
JTailing Douses. 
 
 O N a headland, jutting far out into the sea, stood 
 an ancient fishing village. The ground on 
 which it was built was always on the move, because 
 the ocean kept washing away the cliff. In fact, the 
 whole headland will, in the end, be carried away. 
 The consequence was that the cottages were cracked 
 in every direction. It was useless to repair them ; 
 and they were unsafe and miserable. 
 
 When the nobleman on whose land the village 
 stood, observed the state of things, he built a new 
 hamlet on the other side of the bay, in a much better 
 situation, and of much better materials. The new 
 village was safe and beautiful, but no one would go to 
 it. The cottagers stuck to their old homes, and would 
 not move. 
 
 It was in vain that the nobleman told them that 
 their ruinous dwellings were unsafe ; that they must 
 
218 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 move before long, anyhow, for the cliff was going; 
 that they endured cold and rain, and suffered many 
 inconveniences in their falling hovels. They could 
 not be persuaded to remove. Then the nobleman, 
 out of mere kindness, and for the sake of the people, 
 unroofed the falling houses, and pulled them down. 
 This was the only way, and he mercifully took it for 
 their good. 
 
€f)C ©ID ©arDener. 
 
 YOUNG man employed in the garden of a 
 
 ii certain Prince who resided at a distance, 
 was full of intelligence and energy. These qualities 
 led him constantly to observe defects and to form 
 plans of improvement. He found fault with his 
 superiors, and was uppish and over-confident in him¬ 
 self. He thought to himself, “ If I were only head- 
 gardener 1 would remedy this and that; prevent 
 idleness and waste ; would make the garden twice as 
 productive, and the grounds twice as beautiful as 
 they are now; and not only this, but I would set an 
 example to the world, and introduce a totally new 
 system—a new era in the art, discarding the ignorant 
 prejudices of our forefathers.” Well, time rolled on. 
 The head-gardener died, and another was appointed. 
 Men moved up in succession, and the young man, 
 
220 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 young no longer, at last became chief, and could have 
 his way, and carry out his plans at his leisure. Some 
 of these schemes, however, growing wisdom had 
 already shown him to be impracticable, and others 
 he had greatly modified. The rest he set himself to 
 accomplish. He found, however, opposition here, and 
 neglect there. There were still weeds, still failures: 
 not only frosts, and drought, and blight remained, but 
 remediable evils were uncured, through the idleness 
 and ignorance of those who worked under him. The 
 garden produced but little more than it used to do, 
 and looked but little better than when he entered it 
 as a boy. All was imperfect still, and he was now 
 responsible for the failures. He could not be every¬ 
 where. He could not put old heads on young 
 shoulders. He could not improve the world, and so 
 he could not perfect the garden. Moreover, he made 
 mistakes himself. Meantime, he was growing old, 
 less active, less capable of contending with others, 
 feeling incompetent, and distrusting his own judg¬ 
 ment too much. He moved about slowly and sadly, 
 lamenting the evils which he was unable to remedy. 
 The Prince was very kind all the time, made every 
 allowance for the poor fellow, and tried to console him. 
 
THE OLD GARDENER. 
 
 221 
 
 Still the old man was weary and sad, and then the 
 Prince, out of kindness, gave him leave to retire, 
 offering him a home elsewhere. He thankfully 
 accepted the offer, and gladly resigned his power 
 together with its responsibilities. 
 
 He had done his best on the whole, but his best 
 was imperfect. He had formed hopes which could 
 not be fulfilled, but he had honestly laboured to fulfil 
 them. This was his consolation, together with the 
 kindness of the Prince. Pie blamed himself for 
 
 blaming others, when he was young, for things on 
 
 « 
 
 account of which others might justly now blame him 
 in turn ; and found less fault and grew more gentle. 
 He even learned to smile with a sort of satisfaction 
 when he heard one of his men say, “ There goes old 
 George/’ just as he had said in his time, “There’s old 
 Thomas.” There was a justice in his hearing this, 
 which pleased him ; and when the Prince removed 
 him to the gardens of another palace, he peacefully 
 passed from his old haunts and was forgotten ; but he 
 lived in a milder climate and serener air, and enjoyed 
 being nobody there, and free from cares. There also 
 he saw the good Prince frequently, for there the 
 Prince made his home, and there grew his fairest 
 
222 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 flowers. Meanwhile, in the old garden there are 
 weeds, and caterpillars, and birds, and mice as there 
 were before George became gardener, and while he 
 was gardener ; and so there will be when his con¬ 
 ceited successor has become humble, and passed 
 away like old George. 
 
CfjilDren. 
 
 I SAW a number of children bathing in the river 
 Jordan, and when they came out they were 
 clad in a white garment, and began sporting on the 
 banks. 
 
 They were so numerous that I could not count 
 them, and I therefore confined my attention to one 
 group, which I watched until I knew their faces as 
 well as if they had been my own children. The 
 expression of their countenances differed, although 
 not so much so as their features, but all had a charm¬ 
 ing simplicity and frankness. You could see straight 
 through their faces to their hearts, much as you can 
 look through a clear stream to the bright stones in 
 its channel; and their faces laughed and played like 
 the dimple of running waters in the sun. 
 
 Presently a clear ringing voice called them together, 
 and bade them begin their journey to Jerusalem ; and 
 
224 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 now I noticed for the first time that each child was 
 attended by a bright being, whose features I could 
 not discern, and who seemed to act as a guard and 
 guide to the child over whom he was watching. 
 
 As soon as the journey was commenced, the 
 characters of the children began to display them¬ 
 selves. Some began to wander here and there, and 
 their guardians had great difficulty in bringing them 
 back into the road. Some ran clean away on the 
 road to Jericho, and most of these I beheld no more, 
 but two or three who were recovered by their guides 
 came back sadly changed. Their garments were torn 
 and stained, their faces sad, and they limped in the 
 rear of the others. Presently, one of those who had 
 been recovered broke away again, and was seen no 
 more, but the rest seemed very humble and docile, 
 and although their faces were sad, I recognized the 
 same open simple expression which had charmed me 
 so much at the beginning. 
 
 As for the rest of the little company, some wandered 
 out of the track a few steps and returned ; some 
 loitered ; some went on too fast, lost their strength, 
 and fell behind ; others who persevered underwent 
 a change as they proceeded; for some gathered 
 together in parties, and talked a great deal, and did 
 
CHILDREN ; 
 
 225 
 
 not attend to their guides; some walked on ahead 
 with a proud step, and looked back at times scorn¬ 
 fully on their comrades ; others lost time in gathering 
 flow ers ; others in picking up bright yellow stones 
 by the road-side. All these underwent a change of 
 countenance. The open, simple, childlike look had 
 depaited, and in its place was a sly expression, or 
 dull, or angry, or proud. The pilgrims w r ent on, 
 indeed, but they were not what they were. A small 
 company, however, walked gently and humbly, and 
 although sometimes they stopped or turned aside to 
 help a companion, yet they never fell back into the 
 rear, and always seemed the same, wherever they 
 were, always simple children. So night fell on the 
 pilgrims, and they lay down where they w^ere and 
 slept, and I slept as well; but, when the morning 
 streaked the sky, all awoke suddenly, and behold ! 
 they were under the walls of Jerusalem, and stood 
 waiting outside. As they did so, a gate opened 
 quickly and a stream of light burst through, which 
 made the other light seem to be darkness; and 
 brighter than this stream of light appeared a band 
 of shining ones, and brighter even than these One 
 came forth and met the pilgrim children, and looked 
 on them attentively. He seemed to judge them by 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 their faces. Those that had kept the childlike, innocent 
 expression He called to Him, and embraced them, 
 and, collecting them together, He led them into the 
 city, and the gate closed behind, and strains of music 
 came wafted on the breeze from the midst of the city. 
 But the rest were left weeping outside, and darkness 
 fell on them, and I saw no more. 
 
®pring=ttDes. 
 
 HERE was a marsh redeemed from the sea and 
 
 X protected by an earth wall with stone facing. 
 It belonged to a young man named Elton, who was 
 bound to keep it up, not only for his own sake, but also 
 for that of his neighbours. He was told that it was too 
 low, and accordingly he raised it, and was very proud 
 of his work, when completed. One autumn there was 
 a strong north wind at the same time as the equinox, 
 and there was a general alarm, shared by Elton, lest 
 the wall should give way or be found too low. To 
 meet the danger, a great number of men were em¬ 
 ployed, who laid a quantity of clay mixed with 
 straw on the top of the embankment. The tide rose 
 and rose, and the sea beat furiously on the wall, and 
 at one time was nearly on a level with the top, and 
 the bank shook and trembled under foot, and every 
 one was afraid, but the danger passed off. Next day 
 
228 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 the tide was a foot lower, next day lower still. The 
 peril was over, and Elton, congratulating himself on 
 the strength of his works, dismissed the men, and took 
 to his usual employments. A wet season then set in, 
 with moderate winds, and all went well, except that 
 the wheat was not got in, and a poor harvest was 
 expected next year. 
 
 About St. Thomas’s day the spring-tide was due. 
 Elton thought nothing of it, and went to his rest. At 
 midnight he heard voices, and sprang out of bed. His 
 men begged him to come quickly. He was dressed 
 in a minute, and they all sallied forth towards the wall, 
 with lanterns and spades. As they drew near they saw 
 a white line on the top, and the land side seemed bright, 
 and they thought they heard water. On they pushed 
 rapidly, but it was too late. A tide, lower than the 
 first two of those terrible days, had washed off the 
 loose clay, and was pouring over the wall. They laid 
 bags of earth on the top, drove in stakes, and laboured 
 hard, but there was an hour yet before high tide, and 
 by that time the sea had made a clean breach; no 
 one could resist it, and the marsh was inundated. 
 At the ebb a hundred men worked with might 
 and main at the breach. Carts, trees, clay, every¬ 
 thing was pitched in, and piles driven to secure 
 
SPRING-TIDES. 
 
 229 
 
 the loose fabric, and then they anxiously watched 
 the result. 
 
 The tide steadily rose, the work stood, but trembled. 
 Then the pressure of the rising water increased. 
 Rollers came in, one after another, and struck it like 
 huge mallets, and on a sudden the whole of the new 
 work gave way, and fell inwards, and the sea rushed in 
 with headlong force, carrying everything before it. 
 The marsh became a lake, the neighbouring farms were 
 flooded, and from that day to this, although the inland 
 fields have been redeemed, yet the property of Elton 
 has been that of the ocean, and he, ruined and desperate, 
 disappeared from the country, and no one knows what 
 is become of him. The wise men shake their heads 
 whenever he is mentioned, and say, “ Ah, poor young 
 man, if he had not been so confident after that first 
 bout with the tide, he might have been here with us 
 still. It was his doing so well then which was his 
 ruin. He thought nothing could hurt him.'’ 
 
€f)e jFtrs. 
 
 T HERE was a grove of firs, amongst which one 
 overtopped all the rest, and was a king of the 
 wood. The rest envied him, but in vain. At last the 
 top shoot but one said to the shoot below him, “I 
 want a larger allowance of sap, and, if you do not 
 grant it, I will not pass up any more.” The other 
 , replied, “You have enough. See how well we have 
 done. We have beaten all our neighbours.” “I don’t 
 
 care,” said the other, “ I will have it, and if not_ 
 
 well, you know my terms.” Then the other said, “ I 
 will speak to my friend below, and see what can be 
 done.” He did so, and the answer was, “ I cannot of 
 myself. I will speak to my neighbour.” So this 
 neighbour replied as his friend had done, and his 
 friend spoke to the trunk, and the trunk spoke to the 
 loots, and the roots to the earth, binally, the earth 
 gave her reply, saying, “ I have well considered your 
 
THE FIRS. 
 
 231 
 
 demand. It is not only unreasonable but imprac¬ 
 ticable. I have supplied you sufficiently, and I have 
 no power to do more. I advise you all to reconsider 
 the matter, and well weigh the consequences.” 
 
 Then the answer was conveyed by gradations up the 
 tree to the top shoot but one, and the top shoot hear¬ 
 ing what was going on, called out, “ I pray you have 
 a thought of me. 1 shall die if I am not fed.” But 
 the shoot below said, “ Don’t talk to me. I have made 
 up my mind. I will not pass on the sap.” All this 
 was reported to the earth, who groaned, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 First the top shoot withered and died. Then the 
 others became gnarled and unhealthy, and meantime 
 the trees around rejoiced, made good use of their time, 
 shot up, and overtopped their once superior neighbour. 
 
 After some few years, the obstinate shoot saw its 
 folly, but too much time had been wasted. The tree 
 is outstripped, and has lost its pre-eminence. 
 
 On a summer’s eve, when the trees whisper, one 
 was heard saying, “What a fool that tree was,” to 
 which another replied, “ I am sorry for it,” but a 
 chorus of voices, which startled the doves, called out, 
 “We are not. It was its own fault, and we have 
 gained by its folly.” The unhappy pine, fallen from 
 
232 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 its pride, creaked and groaned as it listened ; and kind 
 mother earth, who is too charitable to reproach the 
 unhappy, moaned gently to herself, and then there 
 was silence. Next morning, the former king of the 
 wood was the last tree whose top was gilded by the 
 sun as he rose over the hills. 
 
^pecftletJ IBitDs. 
 
 SPECKLED bird appeared amidst a flock which 
 
 was feeding at the foot of a mountain. Imme¬ 
 diately there was a commotion. The birds began 
 staring at it, and making the rudest and unkindest 
 remarks. Some of the spots were indeed very ugly, 
 and they were derided accordingly. Others were even 
 pretty, but new to the other birds—peculiarities, in 
 short, and these excited quite as much ridicule. 
 Such a chattering and screaming was never heard 
 before in those parts. At last the birds proceeded 
 from hard words to cruel actions. One pecked the 
 poor stranger, and then another, until, wounded and 
 frightened and ashamed, it escaped at last by hiding 
 itself under a bush. 
 
 When it was gone, the chattering subsided by 
 degrees, and the birds felt very thirsty, and so looking 
 around they saw a bright pool of water, which they 
 
234 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 had never set eyes on before. They examined it, and 
 saw that it was fed by a stream which came down 
 from mountains, rising up pile upon pile, and piercing 
 the clouds. In fact, the brook seemed to flow out of 
 Heaven itself. 
 
 Having satisfied their eyes with the beautiful sight, 
 the birds were seized with a desire to taste these 
 strange waters, and alighted on the edge of the quiet 
 pool, clear as crystal, and glassing every object in the 
 mirror of its beautiful face. 
 
 As each bird looked down before it touched the 
 pool with its beak, it stopped short with amazement. 
 It saw itself reflected therein, and perceived that it 
 also was speckled, and that its spots were more 
 numerous and unsightly than those of the poor bird 
 which it had recently persecuted. 
 
 Long time each bird stood aghast, and dared not 
 look around for fear it should be attacked by its 
 mates. Gradually, however, each bird stole sly glances 
 at the image of its neighbour, glassed like its own in 
 the water. To their amazement, the birds saw that 
 all the other birds were spotted as well as themselves. 
 
 At last the leader broke the long silence, and said, 
 We aie all spotted, you see. All like the poor 
 stranger. Alas! we have been very unjust. Hence- 
 
SPECKLED BIRDS. 
 
 235 
 
 forth, my friends, let us have less of pride, more of 
 charity. Let us seek out the poor sister, whom we 
 drove from us with scorn, and let us dwell peaceably 
 one with another, and let no speckled bird find fault 
 with the spots of his neighbour until he is free from 
 his own.” The whole flock agreed to this judgment, 
 and thenceforth all was peace, and the discord of 
 voices gave way to harmony along the banks of the 
 Heavenborn stream, which is christened, “The Truth.” 
 
TBarnacIes. 
 
 D ID you hear what the captain said just now ?” 
 
 said one barnacle to another. 
 
 “ No. What did he say ? ” 
 
 “ He said to the mate, that the ship did not sail so 
 well as she did ; and the mate answered, ‘ No wonder. 
 She is very foul. I’ll be bound she’s coated with 
 barnacles.’ ” 
 
 “ Did he, though ? That is awkward. How selfish 
 men are. They only think of themselves.” 
 
 “ But suppose that men say in return that we only 
 think of ourselves ? ” 
 
 “ Well, what else can we do ? Our grandfather 
 always used to say that the rule of our race has ever 
 been and always shall be, 4 Stick to your friends.’ ” 
 
 “ Yes. But grandmother said, ‘ Choose your friends. 
 Don’t go where you’re not wanted.’ ” 
 
 “ Well, but how could we help it! Could we go 
 
BARNACLES. 
 
 237 
 
 floating about in the world ? It can’t be expected. 
 We should have been lost, eaten up, if we had ‘ not 
 stuck to what came handy at once.’ ” 
 
 “True, but it would have been better to have stuck 
 to the rocks ; for, see, rocks do not want to move. We 
 should not vex them.” 
 
 “ Vex them ! No, they have no feeling. But now 
 we see the world, travelling for nothing, and we are 
 safe ; and what matters to us if the captain does 
 grumble ? What difference can you and I make to 
 the ship, I should like to know ? ” 
 
 “Well. That is as people think. We certainly 
 make a convenience of the ship. We don’t do it any 
 good ; and as for being safe, we shall see.” 
 
 “ Yes, of course, but I shall stick on. I don’t see 
 what the use of a friend is, unless you can gain some 
 advantage out of him.” 
 
 So the conversation dropped. 
 
 After some weeks, the ship ran into port; her cargo 
 was unloaded ; and then, to the amazement of the 
 barnacles, she was placed in a dry dock ; and they lost 
 their supply of salt water. Then a number of men 
 came alongside with tools in their hands, having a 
 short handle and a triangular piece of iron at the end. 
 These tools they applied to the sides of the ship, and 
 
238 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 at every stroke numbers of barnacles fell off to the 
 bottom and died. 
 
 “ This is a terrible scrape,” said the former speaker 
 to his neighbour. “ We shall be polished off.” 
 
 “ I told you how it would be,” said the other. 
 
 “ But,-” 
 
 At that instant the speaker was scraped off the side 
 of the vessel, and his speech was cut short. It was 
 clear that the ship did not properly appreciate the 
 pertinacious adherence of those who were strongly 
 attached to her. 
 
©ne I5an Cbreati. 
 
 T HERE was a silk weaver in the days of hand- 
 looms. He had woven a piece some feet long, 
 and he had to put some more materials in for the 
 woof. He took up a reel in his hand, and looked at 
 it, and an old friend who stood by talking with him 
 said to him, 
 
 “ X would not put that in, if I were you. There is 
 something amiss with it.” 
 
 «I don’t know,” said the weaver, “ I fancy it is one 
 that was dropped into some stuff my wife had for 
 cleaning some of her traps \ but it is diy now, and 
 
 looks all right, only a little dull.” 
 
 “ Well, I wouldn’t do it, if I were you,” said his 
 friend. “ It is not worth much, and you may just spoil 
 the piece with it.” 
 
 However, the weaver would not be persuaded. He 
 put it in, and the shuttle rattled it in and out witn 
 
240 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 the other threads of the weft across the beautiful 
 shining silk of the web ; and the work was done. 
 When completed, the weaver looked at it, and even 
 with his glasses he could not distinguish the question¬ 
 able thread ftom the rest of the work ; so he went on, 
 and at the end of the week took his handiwork to the 
 town for sale. The last few days had been wet, and 
 the day, on which he took the silk for sale, was damp 
 and close ; so that the evil which lay in the one thread 
 put forth its power. When the purchaser examined 
 the piece, he hesitated, got his glasses, looked at the 
 silk and then at the weaver. 
 
 “ You are unfortunate,” he said, “you have used one 
 bad thread by mistake. Look here. It shows all 
 .through, and, not only that, but is spoiling the rest. 
 What a pity you did not see it. I am truly sorry for 
 your mistake. I cannot buy your work.” 
 
 The poor man went home with a heavy heart. He 
 had not the comfort which the merchant sought to 
 bestow. He could not look upon the thing as a mis¬ 
 take and an oversight. He knew, when he ran the risk, 
 that he did so. He knew what one bad thread could 
 
 do ; and yet he wove it in inextricably with the rest, 
 and spoiled all. 
 
C&e Cca Caster. 
 
 LAD was sent up by his parents to London to 
 
 l\. work in the tea warehouse of his uncle. There 
 it was soon discovered that he had a wonderfully fine 
 and nice taste, and could discern one tea from another, 
 and distinguish the better from the inferior without 
 even hesitating. He was accordingly appointed tea- 
 taster, with a high salary. 
 
 It was a curious thing to see him in his office with 
 a number of small tea-pots standing on shelves, from 
 which he took a small portion, and on tasting it, 
 decided at once on the character and value of the 
 particular tea. 
 
 So he got his living, and would shortly have risen 
 into a partner, when unhappily he took to evil ways, 
 ate and drank coarsely and excessively, became bloated 
 and unhealthy-looking, and in consequence made mis¬ 
 takes in his choice of the teas ; mistakes which became 
 
242 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 more and more frequent; until attention was fairly 
 aroused, and it was found that he had lost the fineness 
 and nicety of his taste, and could no longer distinguish 
 the good from the bad, the pure from the impure. So 
 he lost his position, and went down and down in life, 
 until he died miserably in a lodging-house in a dark 
 alley, unknown to his friends and a warning to others. 
 What warning ? There is more meant in these fables 
 than appears at first sight. 
 
31 IReallp Don’t Enoto. 
 
 T HERE was a young man who had been well 
 brought up, but who was not very sensible. 
 He read every book that came out, went to every 
 church and chapel, took in all the newspapers and 
 magazines ; talked well on one side of a question, 
 and then on the other. At last he became indifferent 
 as to which side it was which he opposed or defended. 
 It seemed all alike to him. There was so much 
 to be said for this, and so much to be said against 
 that, that he thought no one could be sure enough 
 to say he was right and the other man wrong. In 
 fact it came to this, that either there was no truth at 
 all anywhere, or else no one could find out that truth, 
 so as to be sure that he had it. Thus the youth 
 became very indifferent as to religion, and very popular: 
 for he never contradicted anyone except the unhappy 
 man who had a faith, and said, “ I really believe this.” 
 
 R 2 
 
244 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 Such a man was of course disliked by our hero, whose 
 motto was, “ I really don’t know.” 
 
 Well, the youth lived freely, and got poorer and 
 poorer. It was not long before a break-up would be 
 coming. In this state of things, a stranger called on 
 him one day, and sent in his card, on which was written 
 the name of a foreigner residing at Rotterdam. 
 
 On entering the room the foreigner apologized for 
 his intrusion, and then proceeded to state that he came 
 to inquire whether Mr. Smith was not distantly 
 related to the family of Schmidt of Rotterdam ? 
 
 “ I really don’t know,” replied the philosopher. 
 
 “ But, Sir,” proceeded the stranger, “ permit me to 
 inquire whether your grandfather did not emigrate to 
 England from Rotterdam ?” 
 
 “ I really do not know,” was the answer. 
 
 “ But, Sir, let me beg you to think it over. Did you 
 never hear such a report in your family, as that you 
 did come from my country ?” 
 
 “ If you wish to know, Sir, I have.” 
 
 “ And do you not believe it ? ” 
 
 “ Believe it ? No, Sir. It may be so, but I cannot 
 tell.” 
 
 “ Have you never inquired ?” 
 
 “ Not I, what is it to me ?” 
 
/ REALLY DON'T KNOW. 
 
 245 
 
 “ Suppose, Sir, there was some benefit to be derived 
 from your tracing your descent to one man who resided 
 in Holland ?” 
 
 “ Descent from one man ! Why, Sir, you cannot be 
 up with the literature of the day. Do you believe 
 in an Adam and Eve ? Do you imagine all man¬ 
 kind had one common forefather ? I don’t; and so I 
 do not believe that all the Smiths come from one 
 Smith.” 
 
 “Very likely they don’t, although I do believe, Sir, 
 that all men come from one Adam. But it is quite 
 possible that you may be descended from Burgomaster 
 Schmidt.” 
 
 “Quite possible, and as possibly not.” 
 
 “ There are reasons for thinking that you are of this 
 family.” 
 
 “ And reasons for thinking the contrary.” 
 
 “Will you inquire, at least, and see into it ?” 
 
 “ Certainly not.” 
 
 “ Why not ? ” 
 
 “ Why not ? Don’t you know that you cannot 
 believe what people think on these things ? All is 
 myth. There is a Teutonic myth, and a Gaelic myth, 
 and an Aryan myth—all myths, myths, myths.” 
 
 “ Then you will not take the trouble to inquire ? ” 
 
246 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES . 
 
 “No. I neither know nor care anything about the 
 matter.” 
 
 “ Well, Sir, you have conquered me, I confess. I cer¬ 
 tainly did think that the Smiths and Schmidts were 
 one family; but I might just as well believe that an 
 elephant and a goose came of one forefather. There 
 is evidently nothing in common between them.” 
 
 “ What do you mean, Sir ? Do you mean to insult 
 me ?” 
 
 “No, Sir. I only wished to avoid insulting the 
 memory of the great and good Burgomaster.” 
 
 “Your joke is lost on me, Sir.” 
 
 “ It is ; and I wish you good morning. I only hope 
 you will never use a vulgar proverb current in England, 
 and say ‘I’m a Dutchman.’ Good-day.” 
 
 So the stranger departed. He came to put the 
 ruined youth in the way of claiming a vast property 
 which had been amassed by the Burgomaster, all whose 
 heirs had died out in Holland, and which only wanted 
 a claimant. 
 
 The young man saw him no more, and never knew 
 what a mistake he had made; but he lived to know 
 what bankruptcy meant; and to fall out of the society 
 of his philosophical friends, until he swept a crossing 
 in London ; over which hundreds passed who never 
 
I REALLY DON’T KNOW. 
 
 247 
 
 regarded him as a being of one blood with themselves, 
 and as often as not, used his crossing without throwing 
 him a halfpenny. 
 
 At last, he had to turn out from a bad lodging into a 
 worse. Before he went in some one said to him, “ The 
 last lodger died of small-pox a few days ago.” 
 
 He answered, “ Oh.” 
 
 “ Don’t you believe it ?” said the other. 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “Won’t you inquire ?” 
 
 “No ; you can’t believe anything.” 
 
 So he went to the lodging, took the small-pox and 
 died, and whether he believes he is dead is unknown. 
 
Cfttototng egutn 
 
 A PECULIAR boy lived in a hamlet, one who was 
 -LA. always orderly, steady, clean and neat; and the 
 other boys hated him, because they were so unlike him 
 in all this. One day, as he was returning from school 
 under the shelter of a hedge, for it was blowing and 
 raining very hard, they waylaid him with sticks in a 
 diity lane, and began to splash up the mud in the cart- 
 i uts, hoping to spoil his clothes and make him as filthy 
 as they were: but the wind blew from him to them. 
 The splashes fell short, and did him no harm ; but they 
 v eie canied back by the gale on the persecutors ' and 
 you would have laughed to see how the dirt was driven 
 back on those who had thrown it. In a few minutes 
 their faces as well as their clothes were covered with 
 filth, and they learned to their cost that throwing 
 mud at good people often does more mischief to 
 
THROWING MUD. 
 
 249 
 
 the sender than to him at whom it is cast. Some 
 men, who watched the scene from behind the hedge, 
 laughed heartily at the discomfited urchins, and 
 it was a joke against them for a long time in the 
 hamlet. 
 
€f )t Crp, 
 
 C°ME years ago the animals rebelled, and deposed 
 ' the lion from his throne. They met together 
 in his absence, and passed a resolution to the effect 
 that they would henceforth be a republic governed by 
 officers annually elected. The resolution was officially 
 communicated to the lion, who laughed, and said 
 “ he did not care for the name of the thing, but he 
 should retain the power, and use it at his discretion.” 
 When the animals heard this, they looked rather 
 foolish, but, being cheered up by a chimpanzee, they 
 ordered a minute to be made of the lion’s reply, and 
 proceeded to elect a government for the year, consist¬ 
 ing of the said chimpanzee, a bear, a fox, a snake, a 
 parrot, an ass, and a flea. So the government was 
 installed, and by the end of the year became very un¬ 
 popular for the members of it all looked after their own 
 interests, and many were the complaints j as, for in- 
 
THE CRY. 
 
 251 
 
 stance, that the monkey was a thief, and purloined 
 the revenues ; the bear was a bear, and snubbed every 
 deputation; the fox ate the fowls ; the snake was a 
 sneak; the parrot a chatterbox ; the flea very annoy¬ 
 ing ; the donkey an ass. When the year was nearly 
 out, there was a cabinet council, and the following 
 conversation took place between the members of the 
 government :— 
 
 Monkey. “ We shall not be elected again.” 
 
 Bear. “ I don’t care if we ’re not.” 
 
 Donkey. “No more do I.” 
 
 Parrot. “ Then we shall be nobody.” 
 
 Snake. Silent. 
 
 Fox. “ I shall lose my livelihood.” 
 
 Flea. “ So shall I.” 
 
 Fox. “ There is no need for us to be turned out at all. 
 Let us get up an electioneering cry, and go to the poll.” 
 
 Donkey. “ I can’t think of one.” 
 
 Fox. “ Anything will do if we stick to it. It does 
 not matter a straw whether there is anything in it or 
 not, if it only catches the public. The greater the 
 humbug the better.” 
 
 Parrot. “Tell us one. I will take care to work it, 
 if I only get hold of it.” 
 
 Fox. “ Well, suppose we say to the birds, ‘ Every 
 
252 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 bird shall have a tree to himself of just the same 
 height.’ ” 
 
 Donkey. “ Capital.” 
 
 Fox. “ Then for the horses. They shall only work 
 half time, and have twice as much corn.” 
 
 Monkey. “But will the masters agree ?” 
 
 Fox. “We ’ll make them. Then for the bats. They 
 shall not have the holes in the church stopped, but 
 shall go in and out when they like. The dogs not to 
 be tied up. A free breakfast for all, and a free 
 dinner. Liberty. Down with tyrants. Hares strictly 
 preserved.” 
 
 Here the fox coughed a little to hide his suppressed 
 laughter, at this benevolent provision for his own 
 interests. 
 
 All this was agreed to, and the election came on. 
 Grand speeches were made, and vociferous cheers 
 given. There were cat-calls, goose hissings, parrot 
 screamings, and the like; and the late government 
 was re-elected by a large majority. After all was 
 over, an owl, who had sat winking her eyes, and 
 abstained from voting, addressed the assembly as 
 follows :— 
 
 “Birds, beasts, and reptiles, — I congratulate you 
 on your wisdom. I hope you will enjoy your poli- 
 
THE CRY. 
 
 253 
 
 tical system ; but remember that it is this : the tiger, 
 wolf, fox, and their peers, are to have free breakfast 
 and dinner. Very pleasant for the sheep and hares. 
 But all tyrants are to be put down. How are these 
 things to be reconciled ? ” 
 
 There was a great commotion, then wrangling, then 
 fip’htinsr; in the midst of which the lion quietly en- 
 tered, and looked round, and then taking the donkey 
 up in his mouth, walked quietly off and ate him for 
 supper. No one dared speak ; but when he was out 
 of sight the monkey said, “ He’s a brute!” a ren^ark 
 which the parrot repeated; but neither of these ob¬ 
 servations saved the life of the donkey, and the 
 assembly dispersed for the most part in serious 
 silence; and how the government will manage in the 
 face of this blow to their prestige, or what will be the 
 result of the next election, is at present uncertain. 
 
i 
 
 
 Christiana. 
 
 C HRISTIANA was playing in a pleasure-garden 
 with other damsels, and at last so weary of 
 very pleasure that it became a pain, she leaned over 
 the garden wall. As she did this, she observed a 
 shepherd leading some beautifully white sheep. He 
 stopped and looked at her, and said— 
 
 “When will you go to your father ?” 
 
 “Alas!” she said, “I have no father. I am a 
 stranger here, and an orphan, without a home, without 
 a parent.” 
 
 “No,” he replied. “You have a father, although 
 you do not know him, and he expects you anxiously.” 
 “ I wish I could believe you,” she said. 
 
 “ I wish you could,” was the reply. “ To help you 
 I will give you some letters of his to read. You will 
 find that they speak of you ; and, if you can trust me, 
 
CHRISTIANA. 
 
 255 
 
 I can assure you that I have seen him, and know him, 
 and came from him, and can lead you to him.” 
 
 Having said this, he departed. 
 
 Then Christiana took her letters to a lonely place 
 to read them again and again, and pondered the 
 words of the stranger, and longed to believe, but 
 could not. 
 
 A few days afterwards, as she was watching for him 
 over the wall, she saw him, and he accosted her thus :— 
 \ ou are weary of your pleasures. No wonder. 
 They are worthless. They wither as you pluck them. 
 You long to believe and cannot. Ah! how you read 
 and thought in that lonely place, and wished to trust 
 me, and could not.” 
 
 Christiana started. He had read her thoughts, 
 and she perceived it. 
 
 Then he went on and told her all that ever she did, 
 until her knees shook under her, and she almost sank 
 to the ground. 
 
 “ Do you believe me ?” he asked at last. 
 
 “ I do,” she replied. 
 
 “ And will you go to your father ? ” 
 
 “ I will.” 
 
 “ It is a narrow, steep, rough way,” he said. “ There 
 are many hardships on it.” 
 
256 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “ I will go,” she said. 
 
 “ Then come at once.” 
 
 “ Shall I not say farewell ?” 
 
 “ No, come at once.” 
 
 So she went; and, as they walked, the way was very 
 beautiful, through flowers and over crystal rivulets, 
 through the first of which she walked and felt like 
 another creature; but soon they came to a very dif¬ 
 ferent region ; and the road grew narrow, and stony, 
 and steep, and the labour of travelling over it was 
 great ; and the sky clouded over ; and she lay down 
 at night under a great rock in sorrow, and saw not her 
 shepherd-guide at all. 
 
 Next day the road was as the day before; but the 
 shepherd was with her, and talked with her and en¬ 
 couraged her. 
 
 “ Where are your sheep ? ” she asked. 
 
 “ I have left them for a time,” he replied, “ to take 
 care of you.” 
 
 “ Oh, how gracious ! but it is vain ; I shall die. I 
 can never bear this journey.” 
 
 The shepherd made her sit down, and brought her 
 honey out of the stony rock, and water from a rill. 
 So she was strengthened, and they went on. 
 
 By degrees the road grew worse and worse. The 
 
CHRISTIANA. 
 
 25 7 
 
 sharp stones cut her sandals, and through them her 
 feet. 
 
 The shepherd noticed her pain, and said, “ I tra¬ 
 velled over this road once barefoot, and carrying a 
 heavy burden.” 
 
 They travelled on and on, and came to a dark 
 valley, into which they descended by a narrow path 
 not two feet wide, and one wrong step was death; but 
 the shepherd kept her from falling, and held out a 
 crook to her at the dangerous places, and assisted her. 
 
 As they went, he told her much of her father, and 
 of the land where he dwelt; and made her learn to 
 sing the songs of that country; and these comforted 
 her by the way. 
 
 The valley ended in a yawning cavern dark as 
 night. She hesitated when she looked into it. 
 
 “ I have been through it,” said the shepherd. “ I 
 was three days and nights in it.” 
 
 Still she feared. The thought came over her “He has 
 deceived me after all. He fails me in my greatest need.” 
 
 “ I do not,” he said ; “ I will not.” 
 
 She felt that he had read her thoughts again, and 
 ;ook a step forwards, trembling violently. 
 
 As she did so she observed one come to her bearing 
 vessels of gold in his hands. 
 
 S 
 
253 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 There was a plate on which lay a golden light, and 
 a cup full of ruby light; and the golden light and the 
 ruby light shone on the black rocky sides of the 
 cavern, and made it beautiful as the sunrise. 
 
 She looked at the bearer. It was the Shepherd. 
 She looked at the plate. She saw His ‘Face. She 
 perceived the same Face reflected in the ruby cup. 
 It was one marvel. The Shepherd, and the Bearer, 
 and the plate, and the cup, seemed all one. She 
 knew not where she was. All seemed one glory, one 
 light, one bliss. Then she ate and drank; and the 
 shepherd seemed to lead her, yet to be by her side. 
 She was lost in a happy wonder. She began to sing, 
 as she had been taught; and, singing, entered the 
 dark passage, and her voice died away by degrees, 
 and was heard no more on this side of the rocky 
 gates ; and so she passed to her father. 
 
jrasdnation. 
 
 A CHILD had strayed from its home into the 
 forest. As it gathered the flowers, it became 
 lost to all thought except that of enjoyment, and 
 roamed farther and farther. Suddenly it stopped and 
 gazed at an object which riveted its attention. A. 
 creature lay wreathed in beautiful curls in the path, 
 with its head stretched out and its mouth open, and 
 its glittering eyes gleaming into the very heait of the 
 child. The poor little boy knew what it was, and 
 trembled with fear, but lie had no power to move. 
 The fixed gaze of the serpent dazzled him, and en¬ 
 tirely mastered him. At last the creature opened its 
 mouth ; but this terrible movement, so far from in¬ 
 ducing the child to fly far from his enemy, had, most 
 strangely, the effect of forcing him to creep nearer and 
 nearer to his own ruin. The serpent had fascinated 
 him. He could not look to the right hand nor to the 
 
 S 2 
 
26 o 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 left. With an indescribable attraction, the hateful 
 beast drew its victim voluntarily and involuntarily 
 nearer and nearer to the jaws of destruction. Sud¬ 
 denly the note of a dove sounded in the clear heat and 
 stillness of noon through the forest. There was a sweet 
 plaintive power in the voice, which the child could 
 not resist. He looked back towards the dove, and the 
 spell was broken. He could hear the rustling coils of 
 the retreating serpent, but he scarcely regarded it; for 
 there on the level arm of a pine tree, as on one arm of 
 a cross, sat the dove, and with its mild eyes and win¬ 
 ning voice, melted the child’s heart with a grief and a 
 joy which no words could express. As he gazed, the 
 verdure seemed to vanish away from the tree. Only 
 a bare pole with cross branches stood before him, and 
 one seemed to be hanging thereon, and the very sight 
 made the child weep more; such a power of love and 
 of sorrow flowed forth from the sight. He was fasci¬ 
 nated. He could not move, although he could weep ; 
 and then a darkness fell on the scene. But all this 
 time the note of the dove was still heard, still plead¬ 
 ing, still calling, still soothing; and presently the 
 darkness passed away like a cloud, and when it was 
 gone the cross was gone also ; and over head, through 
 the trees of the forest, was an azure of blue, clear, 
 deep, transparent. The deep blue of the Bay of Naples 
 
FASCINA TION. 
 
 261 
 
 cannot be compared to it. The blue of the sky on a 
 clear wintry night cannot be mentioned at the same 
 time with it ; and through it and beyond it, yet in it, 
 was a sheen of light, and there appeared beings of 
 light, and a Light of Light, beyond all other light; and, 
 in the midst, a cross of clear light; and all the time 
 the dove was heard in the forest, but the child moved 
 not, spoke not, until the boughs of the trees seemed to 
 meet again over its head, and to shut out the vision. 
 Then it cried out,— 
 
 “Alas! alas! joy! joy!” and slowly found its way 
 home ; and after this the child was a strange child, 
 not like other children ; very good, very loveable, but 
 very strange ; and people said it was fascinated. If it 
 was so, the fascination was not that of the serpent. The 
 child had many troubles, which some people count 
 troubles, and yet seemed scarcely to feel them. It 
 had special troubles, too deep for words, but others 
 did not know what these troubles were. However, in 
 all troubles and all work it was always the same; and 
 some people wondered and loved, others wondered 
 and hated, but the child was unaltered. 
 
 After some years, this child, child no longer, fell ill, 
 and so lying on its sick-bed, spoke of wonderful things, 
 and lay quiet, as if listening to the voice of a dove, 
 and so passed away. 
 
Cfje e@otntnn; ®>tar. 
 
 I SAW a morning star fall from heaven. Red and 
 wrathful, like a torch in the mist, it plunged 
 downwards, and fell into the darkness of an unformed 
 world beneath.* 
 
 I looked again. The world was now formed and 
 inhabited, but dark, and through it moved this fallen 
 star, like the will-o’-the-wisp, misleading the un¬ 
 wary to their ruin. Some, however, were not so 
 misled. There was a glow in the East which sufficed 
 for the watchful; and there was a wide-spread belief 
 that a new and true morning star would soon arise.f 
 I beheld again. I saw certain men watching the 
 heavens, and suddenly beholding a new star. They 
 rose up with joy, and followed it. Over rivers, plains, 
 and mountains they went until they came to a city, 
 where the star shone no longer. They then left the 
 
 * Isa. xiv. 12, with S. Luke x. iS. 
 
 f Numb. xxiv. 17. 
 
THE MORNING STAR. 
 
 2 63 
 
 city, and it led them forwards, and stood above a 
 cottage, which they entered at once. The star above 
 the cottage then shone no more; but a star glittered 
 within it; one which shone brighter and brighter for 
 a few years, and then passed from sight. I was 
 amazed when I saw those who had worshipped this 
 star still joyful in countenance when deprived of the 
 light ; and I asked them how it was that they could 
 be so cheerful after their loss, whereto they replied 
 that the star which had shone outside them shone now 
 within, and burnt brightly in their hearts by day and 
 by night.* 
 
 Then I saw these men stand before One, in whose 
 right hand were seven stars, and whose countenance 
 was as the sun shining in his strength; who said, “ I 
 am the bright and morning star,” and He gave these 
 men the morning star, that is, He gave Himself to 
 them, and they became all of them stars, all like Him, 
 and they shone bright and clear in the skies, and sang 
 together, and shouted for joy with the elder morning 
 stars, who had sung at the first creation. And all 
 sang together in a perfect and perpetual harmony at 
 the completion of the second creation.! 
 
 * 2 Pet. i. 19. 
 
 t Rev. i. 16 ; xxii. 16 ; ii. 2S. 
 
iRaiment 
 
 T WO men met at the close of the day at an inn. 
 
 Both had travelled far and were weary, but 
 they were in a very different condition. 
 
 Christopher had evidently gone through hard times. 
 His clothing, once of the best, was patched and rent, 
 and scarcely held together. He was shown into his 
 room, and there prepared for sleep. When he took 
 off his clothing, poor as it was, he looked at it with 
 affection. It was that which he had received from his 
 parents, and which was a memorial to him of many a 
 battle, toil, and pain. He stripped himself slowly 
 and thoughtfully, lay down, crossed his hands on his 
 breast, and fell asleep. 
 
 \ et we can hardly call it sleep, for in the night his 
 mind reviewed the past, and looked onwards to the 
 future. Bright visions came to him. He heard won- 
 
RAIMENT. 
 
 265 
 
 drous voices, and replied to the strange speakers; 
 and so the night wore away. 
 
 Cosmopher had not endured such hard shifts as his 
 temporary neighbour. His raiment was handsome 
 still; heavy with gold and jewels, and free from rents. 
 As he took it off it was clear that he loved it dearly. 
 He clung to it for its value. It had been his glory 
 and happiness. He prized it above everything else. 
 He did not like to part with it, even for a time ; and he 
 was suspicious and afraid, lest if he once quitted it, 
 he might awake and find it gone. He, too, fell asleep 
 in a manner. But his sleep was restless. He tossed 
 to and fro ; cried out with fear, and seemed as a man 
 suffering from raging fever. Thus the night waned 
 with him. 
 
 Not gradually, but suddenly, the morning burst 
 upon them both. They sprang from their beds, and 
 found themselves in a blaze of light, dazzling beyond 
 the power of sight. 
 
 Christopher looked for his dress. It was there. 
 He knew it again, and yet scarcely knew it. It was 
 unchanged, yet changed ; the same, but glorified. He 
 arrayed himself in the white and shining vestment, 
 and passed forth quickly from his chamber, in the 
 direction of a voice which called on him by name. 
 
266 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 But the raiment of Cosmopher had changed for the 
 worse. The same it was, also, and not the same. 
 Foul, loathsome, hideous it showed. Yet there was 
 none other. He must perforce wear it. So clad in 
 his shameful clothing he also passed from his chamber, 
 and slowly and sadly went whither he was called ; for 
 the voice was such as could not be disobeyed. 
 
 Then the chambers, and the town, and the city, 
 where these things were, disappeared in a mighty 
 shock ; and a new city was seen in the sky in a new 
 earth ; and it was well for Christopher that he was 
 changed and transformed so as to be fit for a place 
 where all was so glorious. 
 
Jetoels* 
 
 A BOY stood watching his uncle the jeweller in 
 silent wonder. He had only just come from 
 the country, and was amazed to hear the value of the 
 dull and rough stones which he saw; and still more 
 astonished when he saw his uncle cutting them and 
 grinding them away as if they were woithless. By 
 degrees, however, he was reconciled to the sight when 
 he saw the bright flash of the diamond, the red glow 
 of the ruby, the radiant green of the emerald come 
 out under the hand of the jeweller, and those rugged 
 stones become jewels of marvellous beauty. 
 
 At last when the jeweller had completed a casket 
 of precious stones for the king, he swept all his tools 
 away into a corner. They were not wanted any longer ; 
 their work was done. They were of no value in 
 themselves, but only so far as they had peifected the 
 
 See Abp. Leighton on i Peter iv. 17. 
 
268 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 jewels. There they were left, therefore, in dirt and 
 neglect whilst the jeweller proceeded to court, where 
 the king recognized his treasures, and had them set 
 in his crown, where they still are, and always shall be, 
 never to feel that cutting and grinding again. 
 
 v. 
 
Ciie Cfirce ^ons. 
 
 VERY small farmer of the old sort, who lived 
 
 /V in the Isle of Wight, had three sons, and began 
 to think how he should ever manage to put them out 
 into the world. This was rather over-careful, for they 
 were but children as yet. What would he have done, 
 had he known that he was going to have eleven more 
 children ? However, he did not know, nor did his 
 wife, who might have had her say as well, had she 
 known. But children come imperceptibly, and ac¬ 
 cumulate, like one’s bills, unperceived. 
 
 Well, the farmer and his wife were walking on the 
 side of the chalk down, just over their house, and 
 the husband began kicking to pieces the fairy rings of 
 fungi which grew around on the soft grass. 
 
 “Drat they toadstools,” he said; “there ain’t so 
 much grass here for the harses as there have a-been.” 
 
 o 
 
2J0 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 “ Doan’t, John,” said his wife; “the fairies put ’em 
 there, and may-be they have a use for ’em.” 
 
 “ A very vunny un. I counts you’re zot,” he replied ; 
 “ they may bide, then, when I come athurt ’em. The 
 grass do seem vorader here.” 
 
 So he left the bright yellow rings alone to please 
 his wife, for he was a kind-hearted man and a rip-ht 
 
 o 
 
 good husband. 
 
 Next day, whilst the good woman was feeding the 
 hens, she saw a beautiful little queen standing on 
 the cider-press, about three inches high. They were 
 not used to queens in the island .at that time, and the 
 woman curtseyed respectfully. 
 
 “ I heard all you said yesterday,” said the queen of 
 the fairies. “ You leave us our pleasures, and you 
 shall have yours. Now you have three sons. They 
 shall all be great men in their way. Do not spare 
 your money on their education, and, when the time 
 comes, I will give them a recipe which will make 
 them successful one after another.” 
 
 Having said this, the fairy queen disappeared. 
 When the farmer’s wife told her husband all this, he 
 laughed at her; but after a few years he began to 
 believe it, for his land grew three times as much corn 
 as his neighbours’, and he had three lambs to the one 
 
THE THREE SONS. 
 
 271 
 
 of other people, and butter and eggs till Newport 
 market was almost glutted. Then he began to believe 
 in the fairies, sent his sons to good schools, and got 
 them into College at Winchester, where they became 
 prefects, and got off to New College. 
 
 When the eldest had taken his degree, and, having 
 duly studied medicine, had become a physician, the 
 fairy appeared to him and said, “ I dare say your 
 mother has told you what I promised to her, and I 
 have kept my word so far. Now I am not going to 
 make a great man of you at once, which would only 
 make you a bad man, but to give advice which is 
 better than gold. When things go wrong do not 
 grumble, but find out the reason.” So saying, she 
 left 500 1 . on the table, and vanished in air. 
 
 With this money the young man set up, and began 
 to put his learning in practice. He soon got a few 
 patients, and thought he was rising rapidly, and be¬ 
 came rather careless. One day he felt a dreadful 
 pain in the head, and, soon after, his pulse rose to 
 three hundred, and he was in a raging fever which did 
 not last long, but was succeeded by icy coldness and 
 fainting, and this was followed by a terrible stomach¬ 
 ache. Presently all these maladies moderated, and 
 he started with pale face and trembling hands on his 
 
272 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 professional rounds. He found that his four first 
 patients had all been suffering in the same manner as 
 he had. He called for the prescription which he had 
 given to them, and found that he had thoughtlessly 
 ordered the very medicines which had produced these 
 effects. Then he remembered the fairy, and he saw 
 at once that he was to be himself a sort of barometer 
 to his patients, and thenceforth he acted accordingly, 
 and considered them through himself, and became 
 greatly esteemed and beloved, and eventually rose to 
 the head of his profession. His practice was worth 
 yoool. a year, and he died a baronet. 
 
 The second brother became a priest. He was very 
 good and very eloquent, and people came in crowds 
 to hear him preach and to consult him in private. 
 But he found himself so depressed and hopeless that 
 he almost committed suicide. In this state of mind 
 the fairy appeared to him and said, “Judge of your 
 flock by yourself.” He did so, and found that he had 
 laid such a hard rule upon them that they could not 
 keep it, and were in great misery. Upon this he was 
 very penitent and changed his plan of treatment 
 entirely. It was not long before he found himself 
 very excitable, careless of his duty, and no longer 
 what he had been. Moreover, he heard strange 
 
THE THREE SONS. 
 
 273 
 
 reports of his flock. So he began to reason again, 
 and to judge of others by himself, and a second time 
 he altered his system. Upon this he had the happi¬ 
 ness of seeing that those whom he taught grew wiser 
 and better, that they were cheerful without levity, 
 sober without moroseness. His fame increased with 
 his wisdom and goodness; and he died a bishop. 
 
 The third wished to be a schoolmaster, and was so ; 
 and as soon as he began his career the fairy sent 
 him a cane. He tried it, and a single touch of this 
 pleasant reminder cured a boy of his faults. One 
 day, however, he lost his temper, and thrashed a dull 
 boy very severely. When the punishment was over, 
 he returned, cane in hand, to his rooms, where—to his 
 amazement rather than to his pleasure—the cane gave 
 him such a thrashing as he had never had in his life. 
 He considered, and rightly judged that he had ex¬ 
 ceeded his duty, and he became more gentle thence¬ 
 forth. Still he had a lesson to learn which he little 
 expected. One day he was caning a boy, and every 
 time he struck the pupil the cane sprang up and gave 
 him a blow in his face : as many cuts as the boy had, 
 so many the master, until he was not fit to be seen. 
 It was a long time before he made out the meaning 
 of this ; but he found it at last—namely, that the 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 blame was equally distributed between teacher and 
 taught. He had neglected the boy as idle and dull 
 and backward, and then punished him, forgetting that 
 he had not done his part by the pupil; hence the 
 fairy divided the pain between master and scholar. 
 
 When he found out this, the master became more 
 conscientious in the discharge of his duties, more 
 successful accordingly, and much beloved, and he 
 lived to become head master of Winchester, and to 
 train up two archbishops, four bishops, two lord 
 chancellors, and many great men, and was celebrated 
 for his firm, equitable, and kindly administration, 
 which communicated its spirit to his pupils, so that 
 the said archbishops, bishops, and chancellors were 
 superior to ordinary archbishops, bishops, and chan¬ 
 cellors in the gentle and wise use of their powers. 
 
 As to the rest of the farmer’s children, they never 
 rose in society; for the farmer, when he got rich, 
 ploughed up the down, which not only produced less 
 when ploughed than when grazed, but by so doing he 
 drove the fairies away. 
 
C&e Dark Jforest. 
 
 COMPANY of travellers had to pass through a 
 
 dense tropical forest before they reached home. 
 This forest was a tangled mass of creepers whose sharp 
 thorns tore the flesh beneath the clothing, and made 
 all progress both slow and painful. It was also full of 
 wild beasts, and poisonous serpents ; but over and 
 above all this, it was for the most part very dark. A 
 thick knotted foliage spread above, high out of reach ; 
 and all the light to be had came through this. As for 
 the distant hills, they could not be seen through the 
 prison walls of endless tree trunks, boughs, and 
 creepers. 
 
 It will easily be seen that the light received from 
 above varied according to the part of the forest, and 
 the position of the travellers. Hence, some of the 
 travellers had much light at times, some little, and 
 
 T 2 
 
276 
 
 ALLEGORIES AND TALES. 
 
 some almost none. So it came to pass that a certain 
 portion followed the light, enjoying the blue sky and 
 bright rays peering through the branches, without 
 much regard to the safety or straightness of the 
 course. Others were depressed at the gloom, and 
 lagged behind. This took place on Saturday. Next 
 da}* the leader sounded a horn, and nearly all 
 assembled at the signal. 
 
 Y\ hen they had come together, the leader addressed 
 them, saying :— 
 
 “My friends, I fear lest the light and darkness 
 should mislead you. The fact is, they neither of them 
 have anything to do with the journey. The straight, 
 onward way is the thing. The compass shows that ; 
 and I will tell you how we stand by the compass. If 
 you lose sight of me, you have each of you a compass 
 of your own, which I have had rectified ; but keep well 
 together, and neither be misled by sunshine nor 
 shadows. When we are once outside the forest, we 
 shall have the full light.” 
 
 Some believed what he said, and some did not. 
 When they renewed the journey on Monday, there 
 were those who, rejoicing in the light, wandered far, 
 and of these many were not seen again. Those, how¬ 
 ever, who reappeared came torn and bleeding and 
 
THE DARK FOREST. 
 
 2 77 
 
 faint, and had to pass through much darkness and lose 
 their beloved light. Some lost all heart in the gloom, 
 and so doing lost themselves. Others persevered in 
 patience, journeying by their compass both in darkness 
 and light. 
 
 At last the forest was passed, when a flood of light 
 burst on the pilgrims. There were the blessed hills 
 they had longed for, and there was their home. They 
 were safe ; and the sun shone perpetually. 
 
©art) ©rounti. 
 
 nRHE furnace heat of summer baked the field, 
 
 1 Till leaped the autumnal ploughshare from the 
 ground, 
 
 Impatiently; and when the skies did yield 
 Their hoarded riches, and did o’er-abound, 
 
 Like misers sons who squander gold concealed ; 
 
 Then turbid waters from earth’s sunburnt face 
 Streamed wildly down, and seawards rushed apace. 
 
 Winter considering, from his wrinkled brow 
 Looked coldly down, and reefing every cloud, 
 
 Bade his north wind with withering fury blow, 
 
 And then relenting spread a virgin shroud 
 Upon the corpse-like earth of sheltering snow, 
 
 Which pitiful airs dissolved mid sighs and tears \ 
 
 And contrite now earth’s rugged breast appears. 
 
HARD GROUND. 
 
 279 
 
 Thus on the soul instruction falls in vain, 
 
 And floods of wholesome doctrine dull the ear, 
 Until the stubborn will is rent by pain, 
 
 And love treads noiseless in the steps of fear. 
 Then doth man’s heart drink in the gracious rain, 
 Silently softening : then the contrite breast 
 Hails the good seed, and is with verdure blest. 
 
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