CHAPTER XXVII.

"Who reasons wisely, is not therefore _wise_; His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies."

Some years ago a certain empiric whispered in the ear of a noble lord, in the British parliament, that he had made a wonderful discovery.

"Aye," replied the nobleman, staring; "a wonderful discovery, say you!"

"Yes, my lord, a wonderful discovery indeed! A discovery, my lord, beyond Gallileo, Friar Bacon, or even the great sir Isaac Newton himself."

"The d----l! what, beyond sir Isaac?"

"Yes, 'pon honour, my lord, beyond the great sir Isaac. 'Tis true his ATTRACTIONS and GRAVITATIONS and all that, are well enough; very clever things to be sure, my lord; but still nothing in comparison of this."

"Zounds, man, what can it be?"

"Why, my lord--please come a little this way--now, in confidence, my lord--I've been such a lucky dog as to discover the wondrous art of raising a breed of sheep _without wool_!"

The nobleman, who, it is thought, was not very nearly related to Solomon, had like to have gone into fits. "What sir," asked he, with a countenance wild-staring with amazement, "a breed of sheep without wool! impossible!"

"Pardon me, my lord, it is very possible, very true. I have indeed, my lord, discovered the adorable art of raising a breed of sheep without a lock of wool on their backs! not a lock, my lord, any more than there is here on the back of my hand."

"Your fortune is made, sir," replied the nobleman, smacking his hands and lifting both them and his eyes to heaven as in ecstasy--"Your fortune is made for ever. Government, I am sure, sir, will not fail suitably to reward a discovery that will immortalize the British nation."

Accordingly, a motion to that purpose was made in the _House of Lords_, and the empiric was within an ace of being created a peer of the realm; when, most unfortunately, the duke of Devonshire, a district famed for sheep, got up and begged a little patience of the house until it could be fully understood what great benefit the nation was to derive from a flock of sheep without wool. "Why, zounds! my lords," said the noble duke, "I thought all along that wool was the _main chance_ in a flock of sheep."

A most learned discussion ensued. And it being made apparent to the noble lords, that wool is _actually_ the basis of broadcloths, flannels, and most other of the best British manufactures--and it being also made apparent to the noble lords, which was another great point gained, that two good things are better than one, _i.e._ that wool and mutton together, are better than mutton by itself, or wool by itself, the motion for a TITLE was unanimously scouted: and in place of a pension the rascal had like to have got a prison, for daring thus to trump up a vile discovery that would have robbed the world of one its greatest comforts.

Just so, to my mind at least, it fares with all the boasted discoveries of our modern atheists. Admitting that these wonderful wizards could raise a nation of men and women without religion, as easily as this, their brother conjurer, could a breed of Merinos without wool--still we must ask _cui bono_? that is, what _good_ would it be to the world? Supposing they could away at a dash, with all sense of so glorious a being as God, and all comfort of so mighty a hope as heaven, what benefit would it bring to man or beast?

But, God be praised, this dismal question about the consequence of discarding religion need not be asked at this time of day. These gentlemen without religion, like bell-wethers without wool, do so constantly betray their nakedness, I mean their want of morality, that the world, bad as it is, is getting ashamed of them. Here, for example, is master Ralph, who, for reasons abundantly convenient to himself, had accompanied Ben to London--Ben, as he himself confesses, had lent a liberal hand to make Ralph a sturdy infidel, that is, to free him from the restraints of the gospel. Now mark the precious fruits of this boasted freedom. Getting displeased with the parents of a poor girl, whom he had married, he determines to quit her for ever, as also a poor unoffending child he had by her, whom, by the ties of nature, he was bound to comfort and protect! Ben, though secretly abhorring this villany of Ralph, yet suffered himself to be so enamoured of his vivacity and wit, as to make him an inmate. "We were," says Ben, "_inseparable companions_." Very little cause had he, poor lad! as he himself owns afterwards, to boast of this connexion. But it was fine sport for Ralph; for having brought no money with him from America but what just sufficed to pay his passage, and knowing what a noble drudge Ben was, and also that he had with him fifteen pistoles, the fruits of his hard labours and savings in Philadelphia, he found it very convenient to hang upon him; not only boarding and lodging at his expense, and at his expense going to plays and concerts, but also frequently drawing on his dear yellow boys, the pistoles, for purposes of private pleasure.

If the reader should ask, how Ralph, even as a man of honour, could reconcile it to himself, thus to devour his friend, let me, in turn, ask what business had Ben to furnish Ralph the very alphabet and syntax of this abominable lesson against himself? And, if that should not be thought quite to the point, let me ask again, where, taking the fear of God out of the heart, is the difference between a man and a beast? If man has reason, it is only to make him ten-fold more a beast. Ralph, it is true, did no work; but what of that? He wrote such charming poetry--and spouted such fine plays--and talked so eloquently with Ben of nights!--and sure this was a good offset against Ben's hard labours and pistoles. At any rate Ralph thought so. Nay, more; he thought, in return for these sublime entertainments, Ben ought to support not only him, but also his concubine. Accordingly he went and scraped acquaintance with a handsome young widow, a milliner, in the next street: and what with reading his fine poetry to her, and spouting his plays, he got so completely into her good graces, that she presently turned actress too; and in the "COMEDY OF ERRORS," or "ALL FOR LOVE," played her part so unluckily, that she was hissed from the stage, by all her virtuous acquaintance, and compelled to troop off with a big belly to another neighbourhood, where Ralph continued to visit her.

The reader will hardly wonder, when told that Ralph and his fair milliner soon found the bottom of Ben's purse. He will rather wonder what sort of love-powder it was that Ben took of this young man that could, for such a length of time, so fatally have befooled him. But Ben was _first in the transgression_. Like Alexander the coppersmith, he had done Ralph "_much harm_," and "God, who is wiser than all, had ordained that he should be "_rewarded according to his works_.