Just opposite Tim's little shop lived a great professor of sour-godliness. Unluckily, he was not only of the same homely trade with Tim, but was enabled to hold up his head more loftily among his fellow-tradesmen, by reason that a maiden aunt happened to die and leave him a neat little freehold that brought him in 50_l._ a-year, in addition to his earnings by the shears, needle, and thimble. Jedediah Prim—for so was this fortunate tailor called—was adjudged by his neighbours to be ill-disposed towards his poorer brother snip, solely because Tim had always sufficient employ for himself and an apprentice, whereas Prim's manners were so uninviting, and his character so mean, that he barely ensured occupation for his own solitary needle. Since Prim, at heart, was a worshipper of Mammon above all other gods, it was not at all wonderful that he felt envious at his neighbour's trade. Nevertheless, Prim ever affected the greatest scorn of these neighbourly charges of avarice and envy, and most piously averred that he had no other distaste to "the man over the way," as he called Tim, than that which was created in his soul by "the ungodly man's profaneness!" "He is every day selling his soul to Satan by the whistling of the Evil One's own tunes!" was Prim's godly lamentation over the evil ways of his neighbour. This was a severe hit at the only kind of recreation in which poor Tim indulged. He had been a hard whistler, as well as a hard worker, from a lad; and from the peculiarity of his way of whistling, which very much resembled an endless twitter, Tim caught the curious _soubriquet_ of "Swallow-whistle" among his fellow-apprentices at Cocky Davy's, and kept it to his dying day.