upstart to a morsel of bread. She did not understand, for her part, why such beggars must become tradesmen; it was making a velvet purse of a sow's ear.

Stock, however, set out on quite another set of principles. He did not allow himself to square his own behavior to others by theirs to him. He seldom asked himself what he should like to do: but he had a mighty way of saying, I wonder now what is my duty to do? And when he was once clear in that matter, he generally did it, always begging God's blessing and direction. So, instead of setting Brown at defiance; instead of all that vulgar selfishness, of catch he that catch can-and two of a trade can never agree-he resolved to be friendly towards him. Instead of joining in the laugh against Brown for making his house so fine, he was sorry for him, because he feared he would never be able to pay such a rent. He very kindly called upon him, told him there was business enough for them both, and gave him many useful hints for his going on. He warned him to go oftener to church, and seldomer to the Greyhound; put him in mind how following the one and forsaking the other had been the ruin of their poor master, and added the following

ADVICE TO YOUNG TRADESMEN.

"Buy the best goods-cut the work out yourself-let the eye of the master be every where-employ the soberest men -avoid all the low deceits of trade-never lower the credit of another to raise your own-make short payments-keep exact accounts avoid idle company-and be very strict to your word."

For a short time things went on swimmingly. Brown was merry and civil. The shop was well situated for gossip; and every one, who had something to say and nothing to do, was welcome. Every idle story was first spread, and every idle song first sung, in Brown's shop. Every customer who came to be measured was promised that his shoes should be done first. But the misfortune was, if twenty came in a day, the same promise was made to all; so that nineteen were disappointed, and of course affronted. He never said "No" to any one. It is indeed a word which it requires some honesty to pronounce. By all these false promises, he was thought the most obliging fellow that ever made a shoe. And as he set out on the principle of underselling, people took a mighty fancy to the cheap shop. And it was agreed among all the

young and giddy, that he would beat Stock hollow, and that the old shop would be soon knocked up.

All is not Gold that glistens.

After a few months, however, folks began to be not quite so fond of the cheap shop; one found out that the leather was bad, another that the work was slight. Those who liked substantial goods went all of them to Stock's, for they said Brown's heel-taps did not last a week; his new boots let in water; and they believed he made his soles of brown paper. Besides, it was thought by most, that his promising all, and keeping his word with none, hurt his business as much as any thing. Indeed, I question, putting religion out of the case, if lying ever answers even in a political view.

Brown had what is commonly called a good heart; that is, he had a thoughtless good nature, and a sort of feeling for the moment which made him seem sorry when others were in trouble. But he was not apt to put himself to any inconvenience, nor go a step out of his way, nor give up any pleasure, to serve the best friend he had. He loved fun; and those who do should always see that it be harmless, and that they do not give up more for it than it is worth. I am not going to say a word against innocent merriment; I like it myself. But what the proverb says of gold, may be said of mirth; it may be bought too dear. If a young man finds that what he fancies is a good joke may possibly offend God, hurt his neighbor, afflict his parent, or make a modest girl blush, let him then be assured it is not fun, but wickedness, and he had better let it alone.

Jack Brown then, as good a heart as he had, did not know what it was to deny himself any thing. He was so good-natured indeed, that he never in his life refused to make one of a jolly set; but he was not good-natured enough to consider that those men whom he kept up all night roaring and laughing, had wives and children at home, who had little to eat, and less to wear, because they were keeping up the character of merry fellows and good hearts at the public-house.

The Mountebank.

One day he saw his father's ploughboy come galloping up to his door in great haste. This boy brought Brown word that his mother was dangerously ill, and that his father had sent his own best bay mare, Smiler, that his son might lose

no time, but set out directly to see his mother before she died. Jack burst into tears, lamented the danger of so fond a mother, and all the people in the shop extolled his good heart.

He sent back the boy directly, with a message that he would follow him in half an hour, as soon as the mare had baited; for he well knew that his father would not thank him for any haste he might make, if Smiler was hurt.

Jack accordingly set off, and rode with such speed to the next town, that both himself and Smiler had a mind to another bait. They stopped at the Star: unluckily it was fair-day, and as he was walking about while Smiler was eating her oats, a bill was put into his hand, setting forth, that on a stage opposite the Globe, a mountebank was showing away, and his Andrew performing the finest tricks that ever were seen. He read he stood still-he went on. "It will not hinder me," says he; "Smiler must rest; and I shall see my poor dear mother quite as soon, if I just take a peep, as if I sit moping at the Star."

The tricks were so merry, that the time seemed short; and when they were over, he could not forbear going into the Globe, and treating these choice spirits with a bowl of punch. Just as they were taking the last glass, Jack happened to say that he was the best fives-player in the country. "That is lucky," said the Andrew, "for there is a famous match now playing in the court, and you may never again have such an opportunity to show your skill.” Brown declared he could not stay, for that he had left his horse at the Star, and must set off on urgent business. They now all pretended to call his skill in question. This roused his pride, and he thought another half hour could break no squares. Smiler had now had a good feed of corn, and he would only have to push her on a little more; so to it he went.

He won the first game. This spurred him on; and he played till it was so dark they could not see a ball. Another bowl was called for from the winner. Wagers and bets now drained Brown not only of all the money he had won, but of all he had in his pocket, so that he was obliged to ask leave to go to the house where his horse was, to borrow enough to discharge his reckoning at the Globe.

All these losses brought his poor dear mother to his mind, and he marched off with rather a heavy heart, to borrow the money, and to order Smiler out of the stable. The landlord expressed much surprise at seeing him, and the ostler declared there was no Smiler there; that she had been rode off above two hours ago by the Merry Andrew, who said he

came by order of the owner, Mr. Brown, to fetch her to the Globe, and to pay for the feed. It was, indeed, one of the neatest tricks the Andrew ever performed, for he made such a clean conveyance of Smiler, that neither Jack nor his father ever heard of her again.

It was night; no one could tell what road the Andrew took; and it was another hour or two, before an advertisement could be drawn up for apprehending the horse-stealer. Jack had some doubts whether he should go on or return back. He knew that though his father might fear his wife most, he loved Smiler best. At length he took that courage from a glass of brandy, which he ought to have taken from a hearty repentance, and he resolved to pursue his journey. He was obliged to leave his watch and silver buckles in pawn for a little old hack, which was nothing but skin and bone, and would hardly trot three miles an hour.

He knocked at his father's door about five in the morning. The family were all up. He asked the boy who opened the door, how his mother was. "She is dead," said the boy; "she died yesterday afternoon." Here Jack's heart smote him, and he cried aloud, partly from grief, but more from the reproaches of his own conscience; for he found, by computing the hours, that, had he come straight on, he should have been in time to receive his mother's blessing.

voice.

66

The farmer now called from within, "I hear Smiler's step. Is Jack come?" "Yes, father," said Jack, in a low "Then," cried the farmer, "run every man and boy of you, and take care of the mare. Tom, do thou go and rub her down; Jem, run and get her a good feed of corn. Be sure walk her about, that she may not catch cold." Young Brown came in. Are you not an undutiful dog?" said the father; "you might have been here twelve hours ago. Your mother could not die in peace without seeing you. She said it was a cruel return for all her fondness, that you could not make a little haste to see her; but it was always so, for she had wronged her other children to help you, and this was her reward." Brown sobbed out a few words, but his father replied, "Never cry, Jack, for the boy told me that it was out of regard for Smiler, that you were not here as soon as he was; and if 'twas your over care of her, why there's no great harm done. You could not have saved your poor mother, and you might have hurt the mare. Here Jack's double guilt flew into his face. He knew that his father was very covetous, and had lived on bad terms with his wife, and also that his own unkindness to her had

VOL. I.

been forgiven by him out of love to the horse; but to break to him how he had lost that horse through his own folly and want of feeling, was more than Jack had courage to do. The old man, however, soon got at the truth, and no words can describe his fury. Forgetting that his wife lay dead above stairs, he abused his son in a way not fit to be repeated; and though his covetousness had just before found an excuse for a favorite son neglecting to visit a dying parent, yet he now vented his rage against Jack as an unnatural brute, whom he would cut off with a shilling, and bade him never see his face again.

Jack was not allowed to attend his mother's funeral, which was a real grief to him; nor would his father advance even the little money which was needful to redeem his things at the Star. He had now no fond mother to assist him, and he set out on his return home, on his borrowed hack, full of grief. He had the additional mortification of knowing that he had also lost by his folly a little hoard of money which his mother had saved up for him.

When Brown got back to his own town, he found that the story of Smiler and the Andrew had got thither before him, and it was thought a very good joke at the Greyhound. He soon recovered his spirits as far as related to the horse; but as to his behavior to his dying mother, it troubled him at times, to the last day of his life, though he did all he could to forget it. He did not, however, go on at all better, nor did he engage in one frolic the less for what had passed at the Globe; his good heart continually betraying him into acts of levity and vanity.

Jack began at length to feel the reverse of that proverb, "Keep your shop, and your shop will keep you." He had neglected his customers, and they forsook him. Quarterday came round; there was much to pay, and little to receive. He owed two years' rent. He was in arrears to his men for wages. He had a long account with his currier. It was in vain to apply to his father. He had now no mother. Stock was the only true friend he had in the world, and had helped him out of many petty scrapes; but he knew Stock would advance no money in so hopeless a case. Duns came fast about him. He named a speedy day for payment; but as soon as they were out of the house, and the danger put off to a little distance, he forgot every promise, was as merry as ever, and ran the same round of thoughtless gayety. Whenever he was in trouble, Stock did not shun him, because that was the moment to throw in a little good advice