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in one's own neighbourhood, as to any body else. And if every man in every family, parish, and county did the same, why then all the schemes would meet, and the end of one parish, where I was doing good, would be the beginning of another parish where fomebody else was doing good; fo my schemes would jut into my neighbour's; his projects would unite with those of some other local reformer; and all would fit with a sort of dove-tail exactness. And what is better, all would join in furnishing a living comment on that practical precept: “ Thou shalt love the « Lord thy God with all thy heart, and “ thy neighbour as thyself.” . ;

Fantom. Sir, a man of large views will be on the watch for great occasions to prove his benevolence.

Trueman. Yes, Sir, but if they are so distant that they cannot reach them, or so vast that he cannot grasp them, he may let a thousand little, fnug, kind, good actions flip through his fingers in the mean

while : and so between the great things that he cannot do, and the little ones that he will not do, life passes and nothing will be done.

Just at this moment Miss Polly Fantom (whose mother had gone out some time before) started up, let fall her work, and cried out, “ O pappa, do but look “ what a monsterous great fire there is “ yonder on the common! If it were the “ fifth of November I should think it were "a bonfire. Look how it blazes !"--I "fee plain enough what it is,” said Mr. Fanton, sitting down again without the least emotion. “ It is Jenkins's cottage " on fire."-" What, poor John Jenkins, s who works in our garden, pappa ?" said the poor girl in great terror. “Do not “ be frightened, child,” answered Fan. tom, “ we are safe enough; the wind “ blows the other way. Why did you

disturb us for such a trifle, as it was so “ distant ?” Come, Mr. Trueman, fit “ down.”_"Sit down,” said Mr. True

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man,

man, “ I am not a stock, Sir, nor a stone, “ but a man; made of the fame common “ nature with Jenkins, whose house is 66 burning. Come along, let us fly to help “ him," continued he, running to the door in such hafte that he forgot to take his hat, though it hung just before him65 Come, Mr. Fantom-come, my little « dear-I wish your mamma was here .“ I am sorry she went out just now—we “ may all do some good; every body may “ be of use at a fire. Even you, Miss « Polly, may fave fome of those poor “ people's things in your apron, while “ your pappa and I hand the buckets." All this he faid as he run along with the young lady in his hand ; not doubting but Fantom and his whole family were following close behind him.—But the present distress was neither grand enough nor far enough from home to satisfy the widestretched benevolence of the philosopher, who sat down within sight of the flames to work at a new pamphlet, which now

swallowed

swallowed up his whole foul, on universal benevolence.

His daughter, indeed, who happily was not yet a philosopher, with Mr. Trueman, followed by the maids, reached the scene of distress. William Wilson, the footman, refused to assist, glad of such an opportunity of being revenged on Jenkins, whom he called a surly fellow, for presuming to complain, because William always purloined the best fruit for himself before he set it on his master's table. Jenkins also, whose duty it was to be out of doors, had refused to leave his own work in the garden, to do Will's work in the house while he got drunk, or read the Rights of Man.

The little dwelling of Jenkins burnt very furiously. Mr. Trueman's exertions were of the greatest service. He directed the willing, and gave an example to the loth. ful. By living in London, he had been more used to the calamity of fire than the country people, and knew better what was

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to be done. In the midst of the bustle he saw one woman only who never at. tempted to be of the least use. She ran backwards and forward, wringing her hands, and crying out in a tone of piercing agony, “Oh, my child! my little Tommy! 66 Will no one save my Tommy?” Any woman might have uttered the same words, but the look which explained them could only come from a mother. Trueman did not stay to ask if she were owner of the house, and mother of the child. It was bis way to do all the good which could be done first, and then to ask questions. All he said was, “Tell me which is the room ?” The poor woman, now speechless chrough terror, could only point up to a little win. dow in the thatch, and then funk on the ground.

Mr. Trueman made his way through a thick smoke, and ran up the narrow stair. cafe which the fire had not yet reached. He got safely to the loft, snatched up the little creature, who was sweetly fleeping in

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