"But then, you see, Jonah," continued the dame, half unconscious of Jonah's last observation, "if every body were to say, 'Charity begins at home,' this general happiness would never begin. I like best, Jonah, to think of the example of the Blessed Being who came into the world to do us all good. He went about pitying the miserable and afflicted, and healing and blessing them. Charity did not begin at home with him, Jonah!" The tears were now hastening down Jonah's rough cheeks. How forcible are lessons of goodness! how irresistibly the heart owns their power! Jonah could not support the conversation further. Dorothy's plain and unaffected remarks sunk deep in to his bosom; and when he rose up, and buckled on his pack once more, and the aged dame gave him "handsel," or first money for the day, by purchasing a few pins and needles, the poor pedlar bade her farewell in an accent that showed he felt more than common thankfulness for her kindness. Alas! this is a world where good impressions are, too often, speedily effaced by bad ones. Jonah called, next at the gate of a wealthy squire, and, with hat in hand, asked for leave to go up to the kitchen-door and expose his wares to the servants. The squire refused; and when Jonah pleaded his poverty, and ventured to remonstrate, the squire frowningly threatened to set the dogs upon him, if he did not instantly decamp! Jonah turned away, and bitterly cursed the unfeeling heart of the rich man,—avowing, internally, that Dorothy Pyecroft was only a doating old fool,—for, after all, "Charity begun at home!" Scarcely had the pedlar taken twenty steps from Dame Dorothy's cottage, ere the village clergyman knocked at her door. The dame knew the young parson's "rap-rap-rap!" It was quick and consequential, and unlike the way of knocking at a door used by any one else in Sturton, who thought it necessary to be so ceremonious as to give notice before they entered their neighbour's dwelling. Dame Dorothy ceased her spinning, and rose to open the door, curtesying with natural politeness, and inviting her visitor to be seated. "Thank ye!" said the parson, raising his brows superciliously, putting the hook-end of his hunting-whip to his mouth, and striding about the floor in his spurred boots; "sit you down, I beg, Dame Pyecroft! sit you down—I'll not sit, thank ye!" "I fear, sir, there is a great deal of suffering at present," said Dorothy, sitting down, and fixing her mild blue eyes upon the thoughtless young coxcomb, and feeling too earnestly in love with goodness to lose any opportunity of recommending its glorious lessons. "Oh!—suffering!—ay!" observed the young clergyman, in a tone that showed he did not know what it was to think seriously: "you know there always was a difference between the rich and the poor." "But do you not think, sir, that the rich might lessen the difference between themselves and the poor, without injuring themselves?" asked Dorothy, in a tone of mild but firm expostulation.