neighbor's; his projects would unite with those of some other local reformer, and all would fit with a sort of dove-tail exactness. And what is better, all would join in furnishing a living comment on that practical precept, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself."

Fantom. Sir, a man of large views will be on the watch for great occasions to prove his benevolence.

Trueman. Yes, sir; but if they are so distant that he cannot reach them, or so vast that he cannot grasp them, he may let a thousand little, snug, kind, good actions slip through his fingers in the mean while; and so, between the great things that he cannot do, and the little ones that he will not do, life passes, and nothing will be done.

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Just at this moment, Miss Polly Fantom (whose mother had gone out some time before) started up, let fall her work, and cried out, "O papa, do but look what a monstrous great fire there is yonder on the common! If it were the fifth of November, I should think it were a bonfire. Look how it blazes !"-"I see plain enough what it is," said Mr. Fantom, sitting down again without the least emotion. "It is Jenkins's cottage on fire."—" What, poor John Jenkins, who works in our garden, papa?" said the poor girl, in great terror. "Do not be frightened, child," answered Fantom, we are safe enough; the wind blows the other way. Why did you disturb us for such a trifle, as it was so distant? Come, Mr. Trueman, sit down."-" Sit down!" said Mr. Trueman: "I am not a stock, sir, nor a stone, but a man; made of the same common nature with Jenkins, whose house is burning. Come along-let us fly to help him," continued he, running to the door in such haste that he forgot to take his hat, though it hung just before him-"Come, Mr. Fantom-come, my little dear-I wish your mamma was hereI am sorry she went out just now we may all do some good; every body may be of use at a fire. Even you, Miss Polly, may save some of those poor people's things in your apron, while your papa and I hand the buckets." All this he said as he ran along with the young lady in his hand; not doubting but Fantom and his whole family were following close behind him. But the present distress was neither grand enough, nor far enough from home, to satisfy the widestretched benevolence of the philosopher, who sat down within sight of the flames to work at a new pamphlet, which now swallowed up his whole soul, on universal benevolence,

His daughter, indeed, who, happily, was not yet a philoso

pher, with Mr. Trueman, followed by the maids, reached the scene of distress. William Wilson, the footman, refused to assist, glad of such an opportunity of being revenged on Jenkins, whom he called a surly fellow, for presuming to complain because William always purloined the best fruit for himself before he set it on his master's table. Jenkins, also, whose duty it was to be out of doors, had refused to leave his own work in the garden, to do Will's work in the house, while he got drunk, or read the Rights of Man.

The little dwelling of Jenkins burnt very furiously. Mr. Trueman's exertions were of the greatest service. He directed the willing, and gave an example to the slothful. By living in London, he had been more used to the calamity of fire than the country people, and knew better what was to be done. In the midst of the bustle, he saw one woman, only, who never attempted to be of the least use. She ran backward and forward, wringing her hands, and crying out in a tone of piercing agony, "Oh, my child! my little Tommy! Will no one save my Tommy?" Any woman might have uttered the same words; but the look which explained them could only come from a mother. Trueman did not stay to ask if she were the owner of the house and mother of the child. It was his way to do all the good which could be done first, and then to ask questions. All he said was, “ Tell me which is the room." The poor woman, now speechless through terror, could only point up to a little window in the thatch, and then sunk on the ground.

Mr. Trueman made his way through a thick smoke, and ran up the narrow staircase, which the fire had not yet reached. He got safely to the loft, snatched up the little creature, who was sweetly sleeping in its poor hammock, and brought him down naked in his arms; and, as he gave him to the half-distracted mother, he felt that her joy and gratitude would have been no bad pay for the danger he had run, even if no higher motive had set him to work. Poor Jenkins, half stupefied by his misfortune, had never thought of his child; and his wife, who expected every hour to make him father to a second, had not been able to do any thing towards saving little Tommy.

Mr. Trueman now put the child into Miss Fantom's apron, saying, “Did not I tell you, my dear, that every body could be of use at a fire?" He then desired her to carry the child home, and ordered the poor woman to follow her, saying, he would return himself as soon as he had seen all safe in the cottage.

When the fire was quite out, and Mr. Trueman could be of no further use, he went back to Mr. Fantom's.-The in

stant he opened the parlor door, he eagerly cried out, "Where is the poor woman, Mr. Fantom?"-"Not in my house, I assure you," answered the philosopher. "Give me leave to

tell you, it was a very romantic thing to send her and her child to me: you should have provided for them at once, like a prudent man."—"I thought I had done so,” replied Trueman, "by sending them to the nearest and the best house in the parish, as the poor woman seemed to stand in need of immediate assistance."- "So immediate," said Fantom, "that I would not let her come into my house, for fear what might happen. So I packed her off, with her child in her arms, to the work-house, with orders to the overseers not to let her want for any thing."

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"And what right have you, Mr. Fantom," cried Trueman, in a high tone, to expect that the overseers will be more humane than yourself? But is it possible you can have sent that helpless creature, not only to walk, but to carry a naked child, at such a time of night, to a place so distant, so ill provided, and in such a condition? I hope at least you have furnished them with clothes; for all their own little store were burnt."—"Not I, indeed," said Fantom. "What

is the use of parish-officers, but to look after these petty things?"

It was Mr. Trueman's way, when he began to feel very angry, not to allow himself to speak; because, he used to say, "If I give vent to my feelings, I am sure, by some hasty word, to cut myself out work for repentance." So, without making any answer, or even changing his clothes, which were very wet and dirty, from having worked so hard at the fire, he walked out again, having first inquired the road the woman had taken. At the door, he met Mrs. Fantom returning from her visit. He told her his tale; which she had no sooner heard, than she kindly resolved to accompany him in search of Jenkins's wife. She had a wide common to walk over before she could reach either the work-house or the nearest cottage. She had crawled along with her baby as far as she was able; but having met with no refreshment at Mr. Fantom's, and her strength quite failing her, she had sunk down on the middle of the common. Happily, Mr. Trueman and Mrs. Fantom came up at this very time. The former had had the precaution to bring a cordial, and the latter had gone back and stuffed her pockets with old baby linen. Mr. Trueman soon procured the assistance of a laborer, who happened to pass by, to help him to carry the mother, and Mrs. Fantom carried the little shivering baby.

As soon as they were safely lodged, Mr. Trueman set off

in search of poor Jenkins, who was distressed to know what was become of his wife and child; for, having heard that they were seen going towards Mr. Fantom's, he despaired of any assistance from that quarter. Mr. Trueman felt no small satisfaction in uniting this poor man to his little family. There was something very moving in this meeting, and in the pious gratitude they expressed for their deliverance. They seemed to forget they had lost their all, in the joy they felt that they had not lost each other. And some disdainful great ones might have smiled to see so much rapture expressed at the safety of a child born to no inheritance but poverty. These are among the feelings with which Providence sometimes overpays the want of wealth. The good people also poured out prayers and blessings on their deliverer, who, not being a philosopher, was no more ashamed of praying with them, than he had been of working for them. Mr. Trueman, while assisting at the fire, had heard that Jenkins and his wife were both very honest and very pious people; so he told them he would not only pay for their new lodging, but undertake to raise a little subscription, among his friends at the Cat and Bagpipes, towards rebuilding their cottage; and further engaged, that, if they would promise to bring up the child in the fear of God, he would stand godfather.

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This exercise of Christian charity had given such a cheerful flow to Mr. Trueman's spirits, that, long before he got home, he had lost every trace of ill-humor. 'Well, Mr. Fantom," said he, gayly, as he opened the door, I now do tell me how you could possibly refuse going to help me to put out the fire at poor Jenkins's?". Because," said Fantom, "I was engaged, sir, in a far nobler project than putting out a fire in a little thatched cottage. Sir, I was contriving to put out a fire too; a conflagration of a far more dreadful kind,—a fire, sir, in the extinction of which universal man is concerned :I was contriving a scheme to extinguish the fires of the inquisition."-"Why, man, they don't blaze, that I know of," returned Trueman. "I own, that, of all the abominable engines which the devil ever invented to disgrace religion and plague mankind, that inquisition was the very worst. But I do not believe that popery has ventured at these diabolical tricks since the earthquake at Lisbon; so that a bucket of real water, carried to the real fire of Jenkins's cottage, would have done more good than a wild plan to put out an imaginary flame, which no longer burns. And let me tell you, sir, dreadful as that evil was, God can send his judgments on other sins besides superstition; so it behoves us to take heed of the other extreme, or we may have our earthquakes too.

'The hand of God is not shortened,' sir,' that it cannot destroy, any more than that it cannot save.' In the mean time,

I must repeat it, you and I are rather called upon to save a neighbor from perishing in the flames of his house, just under our own window, than to write about the fires of the inquisition; which, if fear, or shame, or the restoration of common sense, had not already put out, would have hardly received a check from such poor hands as you and I."

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'Sir," said Mr. Fantom, "Jenkins is an impertinent fellow; and I owe him a grudge, because he says he had rather forfeit the favor of the best master in England, than work in my garden on a Sunday. And when I ordered him to read the Age of Reason, instead of going to church, he refused to work for me at all, with some impertinent hint about God and Mammon."

Oh, did he so?" said Mr. Trueman. "Now I will stand godfather to his child, and make him a handsome present into the bargain. Indeed, Mr. Fantom, a man must be a philosopher with a vengeance, if, when he sees a house on fire, he stays to consider whether the owner has offended him. Oh, Mr. Fantom, I will forgive you still, if you will produce me, out of all your philosophy, such a sentence as, 'Love your enemy-do good to them that hate you-if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink;' I will give up the blessed Gospel for the Age of Reason, if you will only bring me one sentiment equivalent to this."

Next day, Mr. Trueman was obliged to go to London on business, but returned soon, as the time he had allotted to spend with Mr. Fantom was not yet elapsed. He came down the sooner, indeed, that he might bring a small sum of money which the gentlemen at the Cat and Bagpipes had cheerfully subscribed for Jenkins. Trueman did not forget to desire his wife to make up, also, a quantity of clothing for this poor family, to which he did not neglect to add a parcel of good books, which, indeed, always made a part of his charities; as he used to say, there was something cruel in that kindness which was anxious to relieve the bodies of men, but was negligent of their souls. He stood in person to the new-born child, and observed with much pleasure, that Jenkins and his wife thought a christening not a season for merry-making, but a solemn act of religion. And they dedicated their infant to his Maker with becoming seriousness.

Trueman left the cottage, and got back to Mr. Fantom's just as the family were going to sit down to dinner, as he had promised.

When they sat down, Mr. Fantom was not a little out