The Coachmaster 



and I saw my Father slip a coin Into his 

 hand at parting. 



"Good-bye, lad," said he, clapping the 

 rather dazed countryman on the shoulder. 

 " Stick to the thought of your wife and 

 babbles, and be shy of the drink, and keep a 

 good heart" In every such case I think 

 he saw himself again, the poor Hampshire 

 farm-lad tramping his way to London to 

 make his fortune. 



Which little incident, and indeed all my 

 Father's way with needy and helpless folk, 

 goes to persuade me how good it is for a 

 man that would live kindly and Christlanly 

 among men, to have once been poor. If 

 you have heard the pit-pat of the wolf 

 coming up your garden path, and his 

 sniffing at the very keyhole, you will, 

 when the time comes, be the very first 

 to eo knlofht-errantlno- after the merciless 

 beast on behalf of a fellow-creature. The 

 man born to property and powder, for all 

 his admirable intentions and philanthropic 

 tendency, has had too many cushions be- 

 twixt him and life to realise its instant and 

 most poignant needs. It is the man that 

 has been at such close grips with want, 

 whose heart is ever at the beck and call 

 of misery. He leaves that other consci- 

 entiously scheming for the future welfare 

 6i 



