me
other virtue. "I must not," said he, "pretend to call myself a
Christian, if I do not requite evil with good." When he received the
jailor's letter with the account of Brown's sad condition, Will
Simpson and Tommy Williams began to compliment him on his own wisdom
and prudence, by which he had escaped Brown's misfortunes. He only
gravely said, "Blessed be God that I am not in the same misery. It
is _He_ who has made us to differ. But for _his_ grace I might have
been in no better condition. Now Brown is brought low by the hand of
God, it is my time to go to him." "What, you!" said Will, "whom he
cheated of your money?" "This is not a time to remember injuries,"
said Mr. Stock. "How can I ask forgiveness of my own sins, if I
withhold forgiveness from him?" So saying, he ordered his horse, and
set off to see poor Brown; thus proving that his was a religion not
of words, but of deeds.

Stock's heart nearly failed him as he passed through the prison. The
groans of the sick and dying, and, what to such a heart as his was
still more moving, the brutal merriment of the healthy in such a
place, pierced his very soul. Many a silent prayer did he put up as
he passed along, that God would yet be pleased to touch their
hearts, and that now (during this infectious sickness) might be the
accepted time. The jailor observed him drop a tear, and asked the
cause. "I can not forget," said he, "that the most dissolute of
these men is still my fellow creature. The same God made them; the
same Saviour died for them; how then can I hate the worst of them?
With my advantages they might have been much better than I am;
without the blessing of God on my good minister's instructions, I
might have been worse than the worst of these. I have no cause for
pride, much for thankfulness; '_Let us not be high-minded, but
fear._'"

It would have moved a heart of stone to have seen poor miserable
Jack Brown lying on his wretched bed, his face so changed by pain,
poverty, dirt, and sorrow, that he could hardly be known for that
merry soul of a jack-boot, as he used to be proud to hear himself
called. His groans were so piteous that it made Mr. Stock's heart
ache. He kindly took him by the hand, though he knew the distemper
was catching. "How dost do, Jack?" said he, "dost know me?" Brown
shook his head and said, "Know you? ay, that I do. I am sure I have
but one friend in the world who would come to see me in this woeful
condition. O, James! what hav