"My duty lies in such places, and while in the performance of it, I feel afraid of no man. Can you give me directions as to the situation of the cock-pit, without the necessity of my going into the house?"
"Just beside the house there runs a high brick wall. Open a low door about the middle of it, and you'll find yourself in a shed, with a set of rude fellows swarming round it, looking down upon the pit with the cocks. It's exciting work, sir, that fighting with the bonnie birds," continued the little man, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "But 'tis reckoned a vulgar, low pastime now. In my young days, lauk a mercy, sir, it was played by high and low, and fortins have been won an' lost on a game cock. Did your Reverence ever see a match?"
"I have seen, my friend, more than is good in my short life, when I foolishly thought more of the amusements of this world, than of the endless happiness and glory of the next."
"Ah, sir, a man can't allers be thinking of Heaven and reading the Bible, and saying prayers all the time. I'm sure if I were your Reverence I should find it very dull work."
Mr. Fitzmorris smiled good-naturedly.
"There are many ways, my friend, of serving God besides reading the Bible and praying. When we endeavour to follow our Blessed Lord's example, in trying to do good to our fellow-creatures, we award Him the best praise of which our nature is capable; and the man who loves Him, and does all for His sake, without claiming any merit for himself, enjoys in acts of love and charity the most exquisite pleasure."
Laying his hand emphatically on the little publican's shoulders, he continued, "Seek the Lord earnestly, diligently, and with your whole heart, and serve Him faithfully, and you will know the truth of what I say, and experience such joy and inward satisfaction as you never dreamed of before. The Heaven of a true Christian commences on earth. For where God is, there is Heaven. If His Spirit dwells in you, old things pass away, and all things become new."
Before he had finished the sentence, a farm-servant came up to the little tavern in hot haste.
"Hullo, Barnaby!" he cried, "can yer tell 'un aught o' young Measter Rushmere? The bully-bailiffs are in the house—old measter raging like a wild bull—mistress crying an' wringing her hands—the old 'un scolding and fussing; the blackguard of a servant-girl laughing in her sleeve, to hear what she calls the fun—an' the old man threatening to blow the fellows' brains out with the rusty old blunderbuss that has na' been fired off since King George came to the crown. If Measter Gilbert does na' come whome quick, there'll be the devil to pay an' no pitch hot."
"It seems hot enough, Joe, by your account already," returned Master Barnaby. "This will be a good excuse for your Reverence to get him away from that sink o' iniquity."