The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain and Other Tales Part 27

An infirm, blind woman was creeping forward, with a very heavy burden, in which were packed sickness and want, with numberless other of those raw materials out of which human misery is worked up.

She was so weak that she could not have got on at all, had it not been for the kind a.s.sistance of another woman almost as poor as herself, who, though she had no light burden of her own, cheerfully lent a helping hand to a fellow-traveler who was still more heavily laden. This friend had indeed little or nothing to give, but the very voice of kindness is soothing to the weary. And I remarked in many other cases, that it was not so much the degree of the help afforded, as the manner of helping that lightened the burdens. Some had a coa.r.s.e, rough, clumsy way of a.s.sisting a neighbor, which, though in fact it might be of real use, yet seemed, by galling the traveler, to add to the load it was intended to lighten; while I observed in others that so cheap a kindness as a mild word, or even an affectionate look made a poor burdened wretch move on cheerily.

The bare feeling that some human being cared for him, seemed to lighten the load. But to return to this kind neighbor. She had a little old book in her hand, the covers of which were worn out by much use. When she saw the blind woman ready to faint, she would read her a few words out of this book, such as the following: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."

"I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." These quickened the pace, and sustained the spirits of the blind traveler; and the kind neighbor, by thus directing the attention of the poor sufferer to the blessings of a better world, helped to enable her to sustain the affliction of this, more effectually than if she had had gold and silver to bestow on her.

THE CLERGYMAN.

A pious minister, sinking under the weight of a distressed parish, whose worldly wants he was totally unable to bear, was suddenly relieved by a charitable widow, who came up and took all the sick and hungry on her own shoulders as her part of the load. The burden of the parish, thus divided, became tolerable. The minister being no longer bowed down by the temporal distresses of his people, applied himself cheerfully to his own part of the weight. And it was pleasant to see how those two persons, neither of them very strong, or rich, or healthy, by thus kindly uniting together, were enabled to bear the weight of a whole parish; though singly, either of them must have sunk under the attempt. And I remember one great grief I felt during my whole journey was, that I did not see more of this union and concurring kindness--more of this acting in concert, by which all the burdens might have been so easily divided. It troubled me to observe, that of all the laws of the valley there was not one more frequently broken than _the law of kindness_.

THE NEGROES.

I now spied a swarm of poor black men, women, and children, a mult.i.tude which no man could number; these groaned, and toiled, and sweated, and bled under far heavier loads than I have yet seen. But for a while no man helped them; at length a few white travelers were touched with the sorrowful sighing of those millions, and very heartily did they put their hands to the burdens; but their number was not quite equal to the work they had undertaken. I perceived, however, that they never lost sight of these poor heavily-laden wretches; though often repulsed, they returned again to the charge; though discomfited, they renewed the effort, and some even pledged themselves to an annual attempt till the project was accomplished; and as the number of these generous helpers increased every year, I felt a comfortable hope, that before all the blacks got out of the valley, the whites would fairly divide the burden, and the loads would be effectually lightened.

Among the travelers, I had occasion to remark, that those who most kicked and struggled under their burdens, only made them so much the heavier, for their shoulders became extremely galled by these vain and ineffectual struggles. The load, if borne patiently, would in the end have turned even to the advantage of the bearers, for so the lord of the valley had kindly decreed; but as to these grumblers, they had all the smart, and none of the benefit; they had the present suffering without the future reward. But the thing which made all these burdens seem so very heavy was, that in every one without exception, there was a certain _inner packet_, which most of the travelers took pains to conceal, and kept carefully wrapped up; and while they were forward enough to complain of the other part of their burdens, few said a word about this, though in truth it was the pressing weight of this _secret packet_ which served to render the general burden so intolerable. In spite of all their caution, I contrived to get a peep at it. I found in each that this packet had the same label--the word SIN was written on all as a general t.i.tle, and in ink so black that they could not wash it out. I observed that most of them took no small pains to hide the writing; but I was surprised to see that they did not try to get rid of the load but the label. If any kind friend who a.s.sisted these people in bearing their burdens, did but so much as hint at the _secret packet_, or advise them to get rid of it, they took fire at once, and commonly denied they had any such article in their portmanteau; and it was those whose _secret packet_ swelled to the most enormous size, who most stoutly denied they had any.

I saw with pleasure, however, that some who had long labored heartily to get rid of this inward packet, at length found it much diminished, and the more this packet shrunk in size, the lighter was the other part of their burden also. I observed, moreover, that though the label always remained in some degree indelible, yet that those who were in earnest to get rid of the load, found that the original traces of the label grew fainter also; it was never quite obliterated in any, though in some cases it seemed nearly effaced.

Then methought, all at once, I heard a voice, as it had been the voice of an angel, crying out and saying, "Ye unhappy pilgrims, why are ye troubled about the burden which ye are doomed to bear through this valley of tears? Know ye not, that as soon as ye shall have escaped out of this valley the whole burden shall drop off, provided ye neglect not to remove that inward weight, that secret load of SIN which princ.i.p.ally oppresses you? Study, then, the whole will of the lord of this valley. Learn from him how this heavy part of your burdens may now be lessened, and how at last it may be removed forever. Be comforted. Faith and hope may cheer you even in this valley. The pa.s.sage, though it seems long to weary travelers, is comparatively short, for beyond there is a land of everlasting rest, where ye shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; where ye shall be led by living fountains of waters, and all tears shall be wiped away from your eyes."

THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAY.

Now, I had a second vision of what was pa.s.sing in the Valley of Tears. Methought I saw again the same kind of travelers whom I had seen in the former part, and they were wandering at large through the same vast wilderness. At first setting out on his journey, each traveler had a small lamp so fixed in his bosom that it seemed to make a part of himself; but as this natural light did not prove to be sufficient to direct them in the right way, the king of the country, in pity to their wanderings and blindness, out of his gracious condescension, promised to give these poor wayfaring people an additional supply of light from his own royal treasury. But as he did not choose to lavish his favors where there seemed no disposition to receive them, he would not bestow any of his oil on such as did not think it worth asking for. "Ask and ye shall have,"

was the universal rule he laid down for them. But though they knew the condition of the obligation, many were prevented from asking through pride and vanity, for they thought they had light enough already, preferring the feeble glimmering of their own lamp to all the offered light from the king's treasury. Yet it was observed of those who had rejected it, as thinking they had enough, that hardly any acted up to what even their own natural light showed them.

Others were deterred from asking, because they were told that this light not only pointed out the dangers and difficulties of the road, but by a certain reflecting power, it turned inward on themselves, and revealed to them ugly sights in their own hearts, to which they rather chose to be blind; for those travelers were of that preposterous number who "chose darkness rather than light," and for the old obvious reason--"because their deeds were evil." Now, it was remarkable that these two properties were inseparable, and that the lamp would be of little outward use, except to those who used it as an internal reflector. A threat and a promise also never failed to accompany the offer of this light from the king: a promise that to those who improved what they had, more should be given; and a threat, that from those who did not use it wisely, should be taken away even what they had.

I observed that when the road was very dangerous; when terrors, and difficulties, and death beset the fervent traveler; then, on their faithful importunity, the king voluntarily gave large and bountiful supplies of light, such as in common seasons never could have been expected: always proportioning the quant.i.ty to the necessity of the case; "as their day was, such was their light and strength."

Though many chose to depend entirely on their own original lamp, yet it was observed that this light was apt to go out if left to itself.

It was easily blown out by those violent gusts which were perpetually howling through the wilderness; and indeed it was the natural tendency of that unwholesome atmosphere to extinguish it, just as you have seen a candle go out when exposed to the vapors and foul air of a damp room. It was a melancholy sight to see mult.i.tudes of travelers heedlessly pacing on boasting they had light enough of their own, and despising the offer of more.

But what astonished me most of all was, to see many, and some of them too accounted men of first rate wit, actually busy in blowing out their own light, because while any spark of it remained, it only served to torment them, and point out things which they did not wish to see. And having once blown out their own light, they were not easy till they had blown out that of their neighbors also; so that a good part of this wilderness seemed to exhibit a sort of universal _blindman's buff_, each endeavoring to catch his neighbor, while his own voluntary blindness exposed him to be caught himself; so that each was actually falling into the snare he was laying for another till at length, as selfishness is the natural consequence of blindness, "catch he that catch can," became the general motto of the wilderness.

Now I saw in my vision, that there were some others who were busy in strewing the most gaudy flowers over the numerous bogs, and precipices, and pitfalls with which the wilderness abounded; and thus making danger and death look so gay, that poor thoughtless creatures seemed to delight in their own destruction. Those pitfalls did not appear deep or dangerous to the eye, because over them were raised gay edifices with alluring names. These were filled with singing men and singing women, and with dancing, and feasting, and gaming, and drinking, and jollity, and madness. But though the scenery was gay, the footing was unsound. The floors were full of holes, through which the unthinking merry-makers were continually sinking. Some tumbled through in the middle of a song; more at the end of a feast; and though there was many a cup of intoxication wreathed round with flowers, yet there was always poison at the bottom. But what most surprised me was that though no day pa.s.sed over their heads in which some of the most merry-makers did not drop through, yet their loss made little impression on those who were left. Nay, instead of being awakened to more circ.u.mspection and self-denial by the continual dropping off of those about them, several of them seemed to borrow from thence an argument of a direct contrary tendency, and the very shortness of time was only urged as a reason to use it more sedulously for the indulgence in sensual delights. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." "Let us crown ourselves with rose-buds before they are withered." With these and a thousand other such like inscriptions, the gay garlands of the wilderness were decorated. Some admired poets were set to work to set the most corrupt sentiments to the most harmonious tunes; these were sung without scruple, chiefly indeed by the looser sons of riot, but not seldom also by the more orderly daughters of sobriety, who were not ashamed to sing to the sound of instruments, sentiments so corrupt and immoral, that they would have blushed to speak or read them; but the music seemed to sanctify the corruption, especially such as was connected with love or drinking.

Now I observed that all the travelers who had so much as a spark of life left, seemed every now and then, as they moved onward, to cast an eye, though with very different degrees of attention, toward the _Happy Land_, which they were told lay at the end of their journey: but as they could not see very far forward, and as they knew there was a _dark and shadowy valley_ which must needs be crossed before they could attain to the _Happy Land_, they tried to turn their attention from it as much as they could. The truth is, they were not sufficiently apt to consult a map and a road-book which the King had given them, and which pointed out the path to the _Happy Land_ so clearly that the "wayfaring men, though simple, could not err." This map also defined very correctly the boundaries of the _Happy Land_ from the _Land of Misery_, both of which lay on the other side of the dark and shadowy valley; but so many beacons and lighthouses were erected, so many clear and explicit directions furnished for avoiding the one country and attaining the other, that it was not the King's fault, if even one single traveler got wrong. But I am inclined to think that, in spite of the map and road-book, and the King's word, and his offers of a.s.sistance to get them thither, that the travelers in general did not heartily and truly believe, after all, that there was any such country as the _Happy Land_; or at least the paltry and transient pleasures of the wilderness so besotted them, the thoughts of the dark and shadowy valley so frightened them, that they thought they should be more comfortable by banishing all thought and forecast, and driving the subject quite out of their heads.

Now, I also saw in my dream, that there were two roads through the wilderness, one of which every traveler must needs take. The first was narrow, and difficult, and rough, but it was infallibly safe. It did not admit the traveler to stray either to the right hand or the left, yet it was far from being dest.i.tute of real comforts or sober pleasures. The other was a _broad_ and _tempting way_, abounding with luxurious fruits and gaudy flowers, to tempt the eye and please the appet.i.te. To forget this _dark valley_, through which every traveler was well a.s.sured he must one day pa.s.s, seemed the object of general desire. To this grand end, all that human ingenuity could invent was industriously set to work. The travelers read, and they wrote, and they painted, and they sung, and they danced, and they drank as they went along, not so much because they all cared for these things, or had any real joy in them, as because this restless activity served to divert their attention from ever being fixed on the _dark and shadowy valley_.

The King, who knew the thoughtless tempers of the travelers, and how apt they were to forget their journey's end, had thought of a thousand kind little attentions to warn them of their dangers: and as we sometimes see in our gardens written on a board in great letters, BEWARE OF SPRING GUNS--MAN TRAPS ARE SET HERE; So had this king caused to be written and stuck up before the eyes of the travelers, several little notices and cautions; such as, "Broad is the way that leadeth to destruction."--"Take heed, lest you also perish." "Woe to them that rise up early to drink wine." "The pleasures of sin are but for a season," etc. Such were the notices directed to the _broad-way_ travelers; but they were so busily engaged in plucking the flowers sometimes before they were blown, and in devouring the fruits often before they were ripe, and in loading themselves with _yellow clay_, under the weight of which millions perished, that they had no time so much as to look at the king's directions. Many went wrong because they preferred a merry journey to a safe one, and because they were terrified by certain notices chiefly intended for the _narrow-way_ travelers; such as, "ye shall weep and lament, but the world shall rejoice;" but had these foolish people allowed themselves time or patience to read to the end, which they seldom would do, they would have seen these comfortable words added, "But your sorrow shall be turned into joy;"

also "your joy no man taketh from you;" and, "they that sow in tears shall reap in joy."

Now, I also saw in my dream, that many travelers who had a strong dread of ending at the _Land of Misery_ walked up to the _Strait Gate_, hoping that though the entrance was narrow, yet if they could once get in, the road would widen; but what was their grief, when on looking more closely they saw written on the inside, "Narrow is the way;" this made them take fright; they compared the inscriptions with which the whole way was lined, such as, "Be ye not conformed to this world; deny yourselves, take up your cross," with all the tempting pleasures of the wilderness. Some indeed recollected the fine descriptions they had read of the _Happy Land_, the _Golden City_, and the _River of Pleasure_, and they sighed; but then those joys were distant, and from the faintness of their light, they soon got to think that what was remote might be uncertain, and while the present good increased in bulk the distant good receded, diminished, disappeared. Their faith failed; they would trust no further than they could see; they drew back and got into the _Broad Way_, taking a common but sad refuge in the number, the fashion, and the gayety of their companions. When these faint-hearted people, who yet had set out well, turned back, their light was quite put out, and then they became worse than those who had made no attempt to get in. "For it is impossible, that is, it is next to impossible, for those who were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and the good word of G.o.d, and the powers of the world to come, if they fall away to renew them again to repentance."

A few honest, humble travelers not naturally stronger than the rest, but strengthened by their trust in the king's word, came up, by the light of their lamps, and meekly entered in at the _Strait Gate_; as they advanced further they felt less heavy, and though the way did not in reality grow wider, yet they grew reconciled to the narrowness of it, especially when they saw the walls here and there studded with certain jewels called _promises_, such as: "He that endureth to the end shall be saved;" and "my grace is sufficient for you." Some, when they were almost ready to faint, were encouraged by seeing that many niches in the _Narrow Way_ were filled with statues and pictures of saints and martyrs, who had borne their testimony at the stake, that the _Narrow Way_ was the safe way; and these travelers, instead of sinking at the sight of the painted wheel and gibbet, the sword and furnace, were animated with these words written under them, "Those that wear white robes, came out of great tribulation," and "be ye followers of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises."

In the mean time there came a great mult.i.tude of travelers all from Laodicea; this was the largest party I had yet seen; these were _neither hot nor cold_, they would not give up future hope, and they could not endure present pain. So they contrived to deceive themselves, by fancying that though they resolved to keep the _Happy Land_ in view, yet there must needs be many different ways which lead to it, no doubt all equally sure, without all being equally rough; so they set on foot certain little contrivances to attain the end without using the means, and softened down the spirit of the king's directions to fit them to their own practice. Sometimes they would split a direction in two, and only use that half which suited them. For instance when they met with the following rule on the way-post: "Trust in the Lord and be doing good," they would take the first half, and make themselves easy with a general sort of trust, that through the mercy of the king all would go well with them, though they themselves did nothing. And on the other hand, many made sure that a few good works of their own would do their business, and carry them safely to the _Happy Land_, though they did _not_ trust in the Lord, nor place any faith in his word. So they took the second half of the spliced direction. Thus some perished by a lazy faith, and others by a working pride.

A large party of Pharisees now appeared, who had so neglected their lamp that they did not see their way at all, though they fancied themselves to be full of light; they kept up appearances so well as to delude others, and most effectually to delude themselves with a notion that they might be found in the right way at last. In this dreadful delusion they went on to the end, and till they were finally plunged in the dark valley, never discovered the horrors which awaited them on the dismal sh.o.r.e. It was remarkable that while these Pharisees were often boasting how bright their light burned, in order to get the praise of men, the humble travelers, whose steady light showed their good works to others, refused all commendation, and the brighter their light shined before men, so much the more they insisted that they ought to glorify not themselves, but their Father which is in heaven.

I now set myself to observe what was the particular lot, molestation and hinderance which obstructed particular travelers in their endeavors to enter in at the _Strait Gate_. I remarked a huge portly man who seemed desirous of getting in, but he carried about him such a vast provision of bags full of gold, and had on so many rich garments, which stuffed him out so wide, that though he pushed and squeezed, like one who had really a mind to get in, yet he could not possibly do so. Then I heard a voice crying, "Woe to him who loadeth himself with thick clay." The poor man felt something was wrong, and even went so far as to change some of his more c.u.mbersome vanities into others which seemed less bulky, but still he and his pack were much too wide for the gate. He would not, however, give up the matter so easily, but began to throw away a little of the coa.r.s.er part of his baggage, but still I remarked that he threw away none of the vanities which lay near his heart. He tried again, but it would not do; still his dimensions were too large. He now looked up and read these words, "How hardly shall those who have riches enter into the kingdom of G.o.d." The poor man sighed to find that it was impossible to enjoy his fill of both worlds, and "went away sorrowing." If he ever afterward cast a thought toward the _Happy Land_, it was only to regret that the road which led to it was too narrow to admit any but the meager children of want, who were not so inc.u.mbered by wealth as to be too big for the pa.s.sage. Had he read on, he would have seen that "with G.o.d all things are possible."

Another advanced with much confidence of success, for having little worldly riches or honor, the gate did not seem so strait to him. He got to the threshold triumphantly, and seemed to look back with disdain on all that he was quitting. He soon found, however, that he was so bloated with pride, and stuffed out with self-sufficiency, that he could not get in. Nay, he was in a worse way than the rich man just named; for _he_ had been willing to throw away some of his outward luggage, whereas this man refused to part with a grain of that vanity and self-applause which made him too large for the way.

The sense of his own worth so swelled him out that he stuck fast in the gateway, and could neither get in nor out. Finding now that he must cut off all these big thoughts of himself, if he wished to be reduced to such a size as to pa.s.s the gate, he gave up all thoughts of it. He scorned that humility and self-denial which might have shrunk him down to the proper dimensions; the more he insisted on his own qualifications for entrance, the more impossible it became to enter, for the bigger he grew. Finding that he must become quite another manner of man before he could hope to get in, he gave up the desire; and I now saw that though when he set his face toward the _Happy Land_ he could not get an inch forward, yet the instant he made a motion to turn back into the world, his speed became rapid enough, and he got back into the _Broad Way_ much sooner than he got out of it.

Many, who for a time were brought down from their usual bulk by some affliction, seemed to get in with ease. They now thought all their difficulties over, for having been surfeited with the world during their late disappointment, they turned their backs upon it willingly enough, and fancied they were tired of it. A fit of sickness, perhaps, which is very apt to _reduce_, had for a time brought their bodies into subjection, so that they were enabled just to get in at the gateway; but as soon as health and spirit returned, the way grew narrower and narrower to them; and they could not get on, but turned short, and got back into the world. I saw many attempt to enter who were stopped short by a large burden of _worldly cares_; others by a load of _idolatrous attachments_; but I observed that nothing proved a more complete bar than that vast _bundle of prejudices_ with which mult.i.tudes were loaded. Others were fatally obstructed by loads of _bad habits_, which they would not lay down, though they knew it prevented their entrance.

Some few, however, of most descriptions, who had kept their _light_ alive by craving constant supplies from the king's treasury, got through at last by a strength which they felt not to be their own.

One poor man, who carried the largest bundle of bad habits I had seen, could not get on a step; he never ceased, however, to implore for light enough to see where his misery lay; he threw down one of his bundles, then another, but all to little purpose; still he could not stir. At last _striving as if in agony_ (which is the true way of entering) he threw down the heaviest article in his pack; this was _selfishness_; the poor fellow felt relieved at once, his light burned brightly, and the rest of his pack was as nothing.

Then I heard a great noise as of carpenters at work. I looked what this might be, and saw many st.u.r.dy travelers, who, finding they were too bulky to get through, took it into their heads not to reduce themselves, but to widen the gate; they hacked on this side, and hewed on that; but all their hacking, and hewing, and hammering was to no purpose, they got their labor for their pains. It would have been possible for them to have reduced themselves, had they attempted it, but to widen the narrow way was impossible.

What grieved me most was to observe that many who had got on successfully a good way, now stopped to rest and to admire their own progress. While they were thus valuing themselves on their attainments, their light diminished. While these were boasting how far they had left others behind who had set out much earlier, some slower travelers, whose beginning had not been so promising, but who had walked meekly and circ.u.mspectly, now outstripped them. These last walked not as though they had already attained; but this one thing they did, forgetting the things which were behind, they pushed forward to the mark, for the prize of their high calling. These, though naturally weak, yet _by laying aside every weight, finished the race that was before them_. Those who had kept their "light burning," who were not "wise in their own conceit," who "laid their help on one that is mighty," who had "chosen to suffer affliction rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season," came at length to the _Happy Land_. They had indeed the _Dark and Shadowy Valley_ to cross, but even there they found a _rod and a staff_ to comfort them. Their light instead of being put out by the damps of the Valley and of the Shadow of Death, often burned with added brightness. Some indeed suffered the terrors of a short eclipse; but even then their light, like that of a dark lantern, was not put out; it was only turned for a while from him who carried it, and even these often finished their course with joy. But be that as it might, the instant they reached the _Happy Land_, all tears were wiped from their eyes, and the king himself came forth and welcomed them into his presence, and put a crown upon their heads, with these words, "Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

PARLEY, THE PORTER:

SHOWING HOW ROBBERS WITHOUT CAN NEVER GET INTO A HOUSE, UNLESS THERE ARE TRAITORS WITHIN.

There was once a certain n.o.bleman who had a house or castle situated in the midst of a great wilderness, but inclosed in a garden. Now there was a band of robbers in the wilderness who had a great mind to plunder and destroy the castle, but they had not succeeded in their endeavors, because the master had given strict orders to "_watch without ceasing_." To quicken their vigilance he used to tell them that their care would soon have an end: that though the nights to watch were dark and stormy, yet they were but few; the period of resistance was short, that of rest would be eternal.

The robbers, however, attacked the castle in various ways. They tried at every avenue, watched to take advantage of every careless moment; looked for an open door or a neglected window. But though they often made the bolts shake and the windows rattle, they could never greatly hurt the house, much less get into it. Do you know the reason? It was because the servants were never off their guard. They heard the noises plain enough, and used to be not a little frightened, for they were aware both of the strength and perseverance of their enemies. But what seemed rather odd to some of these servants, the lord used to tell them, that while they continued to be afraid they would be safe; and it pa.s.sed into a sort of proverb in that family, "Happy is he that feareth always." Some of the servants, however, thought this a contradiction.

One day, when the master was going from home, he called his servants all together, and spoke to them as follows: "I will not repeat to you the directions I have so often given you; they are all written down in THE BOOK OF LAWS, of which every one of you has a copy. Remember, it is a very short time that you are to remain in this castle; you will soon remove to my more settled habitation, to a more durable house, not made with hands. As that house is never exposed to any attack, so it never stands in need of any repair; for that country is never infested by any sons of violence. Here you are servants; there you will be princes. But mark my words, and you will find the same in THE BOOK OF MY LAWS, whether you will ever attain to _that_ house, will depend on the manner in which you defend yourselves in _this_. A stout vigilance for a short time will secure your certain happiness forever. But every thing depends on your present exertions. Don't complain and take advantage of my absence, and call me a hard master, and grumble that you are placed in the midst of a howling wilderness without peace or security. Say not, that you are exposed to temptations without any power to resist them. You have some difficulties, it is true, but you have many helps and many comforts to make this house tolerable, even before you get to the other. Yours is not a hard service; and if it were, 'the time is short.' You have arms if you will use them, and doors if you will bar them, and strength if you will use it. I would defy all the attacks of the robbers without, if I could depend on the fidelity of the people within. If the thieves ever get in and destroy the house, it must be by the connivance of one of the family. _For it is a standing law of this castle, that mere outward attack can never destroy it, if there be no consenting traitor within._ You will stand or fall as you will observe this rule. If you are finally happy, it will be by my grace and favor; if you are ruined, it will be your own fault."

When the n.o.bleman had done speaking, every servant repeated his a.s.surance of attachment and firm allegiance to his master. But among them all, not one was so vehement and loud in his professions as old Parley, the porter. Parley, indeed, it was well known, was always talking, which exposed him to no small danger; for as he was the foremost to promise, so he was the slackest to perform: and, to speak the truth, though he was a civil-spoken fellow, his lord was more afraid of him, with all his professions, than he was of the rest who protested less. He knew that Parley was vain, credulous, and self-sufficient; and he always apprehended more danger from Parley's impertinence, curiosity, and love of novelty, than even from the stronger vices of some of his other servants. The rest indeed, seldom got into any sc.r.a.pe of which Parley was not the cause in some shape or other.

I am sorry to be obliged to confess, that though Parley was allowed every refreshment, and all the needful rest which the nature of his place permitted, yet he thought it very hard to be forced to be so constantly on duty. "Nothing but watching," said Parley. "I have, to be sure, many pleasures, and meat sufficient; and plenty of chat, in virtue of my office, and I pick up a good deal of news of the comers and goers by day, but it is hard that at night I must watch as narrowly as a house-dog, and yet let in no company without orders; only because there is said to be a few straggling _robbers_ here in the wilderness, with whom my master does not care to let us be acquainted. He pretends to make us vigilant through fear of the robbers, but I suspect it is only to make us mope alone. A merry companion and a mug of beer would make the night pa.s.s cheerily."

Parley, however, kept all these thoughts to himself, or uttered them only when no one heard, for talk he must. He began to listen to the nightly whistling of the robbers under the windows with rather less alarm than formerly, and was sometimes so tired of watching, that he thought it was even better to run the risk of being robbed once, than to live always in the fear of robbers.

There were certain bounds in which the lord allowed his servants to walk and divert themselves at all proper seasons. A pleasant garden surrounded the castle, and a thick hedge separated this garden from the wilderness which was infested by the robbers; in this garden they were permitted to amuse themselves. The master advised them always to keep within these bounds. "While you observe this rule,"

said he, "you will be safe and well; and you will consult your own safety and happiness, as well as show your love to me, by not venturing over to the extremity of your bounds; he who goes as far as he dares, always shows a wish to go further than he ought, and commonly does so."

It was remarkable, that the nearer these servants kept to the castle, and the further from the _hedge_, the more ugly the wilderness appeared. And the nearer they approached the forbidden bounds, their own home appeared more dull, and the wilderness more delightful. And this the master knew when he gave his orders; for he never either did or said any thing without a good reason. And when his servants sometimes desired an explanation of the reason, he used to tell them they would understand it when they came _to the other house_; for it was one of the pleasures of that house, that it would explain all the mysteries of this, and any little obscurities in the master's conduct would be then made quite plain.

Parley was the first who promised to keep clear of the _hedge_, and yet was often seen looking as near as he durst. One day he ventured close up to the hedge, put two or three stones one on another, and tried to peep over. He saw one of the robbers strolling as near as he could be on the forbidden side. This man's name was Mr.

Flatterwell, a smooth, civil man, "whose words were softer than b.u.t.ter, having war in his heart." He made several low bows to Parley.

Now, Parley knew so little of the world, that he actually concluded all robbers must have an ugly look which should frighten you at once, and coa.r.s.e brutal manners which would at first sight show they were enemies. He thought, like a poor ignorant fellow as he was, that this mild, specious person could never be one of the band.

Flatterwell accosted Parley with the utmost civility, which put him quite off his guard; for Parley had no notion that he could be an enemy who was so soft and civil. For an open foe he would have been prepared. Parley, however, after a little discourse drew this conclusion, that either Mr. Flatterwell could not be one of the gang, or that if he was, the robbers themselves could not be such monsters as his master had described, and therefore it was a folly to be afraid of them.