me irreclaimable.

But all his pleas were urged in vain. The farmer was not to be
moved; indeed he argued, with some justice, that he ought not to
make his industrious children beggars to save one rogue from the
gallows. Mr. Stock allowed the force of his reasoning, though he saw
the father was less influenced by this principle of justice than by
resentment on account of the old story of Smiler. People, indeed,
should take care that what appears in their conduct to proceed from
justice, does not really proceed from revenge. Wiser men than Farmer
Brown often deceive themselves, and fancy they act on better
principles than they really do, for want of looking a little more
closely into their own hearts, and putting down every action to its
true motive. When we are praying against deceit, we should not
forget to take self-deceit into the account.

Mr. Stock at length wrote to poor Jack; not to offer him any help,
that was quite out of the question, but to exhort him to repent of
his evil ways; to lay before him the sins of his past life, and to
advise him to convert the present punishment into a benefit, by
humbling himself before God. He offered his interest to get his
place of confinement exchanged for one of those improved prisons,
where solitude and labor have been made the happy instruments of
bringing many to a better way of thinking, and ended by saying,
that if he ever gave any solid signs of real amendment he would
still be his friend, in spite of all that was past.

If Mr. Stock had sent him a good sum of money to procure his
liberty, or even to make merry with his wretched companions, Jack
would have thought him a friend indeed. But to send him nothing but
dry advice, and a few words of empty comfort, was, he thought, but a
cheap, shabby way of showing his kindness. Unluckily the letter came
just as he was going to sit down to one of those direful
merry-makings which are often carried on with brutal riot within the
doleful walls of a jail on the entrance of a new prisoner, who is
often expected to give a feast to the rest.

When his companions were heated with gin; "Now," said Jack, "I'll
treat you with a sermon, and a very pretty preachment it is." So
saying, he took out Mr. Stock's kind and pious letter, and was
delighted at the bursts of laughter it produced. "What a canting
dog!" said one. "Repentance, indeed!" cried Tom Crew; "No, no, Jack,
tell this hypocritical rogue that if we have lost our liberty,