ing,
which is above all things an affair of the soul. All the commentaries
and all the books of all the teachers in the world are but so many
directories by which to find out the whereabouts of our own souls.
This search after our own souls is that which I alluded to just now as
the examination of our consciences. To disregard the examination of
our consciences is a terrible thing, of which it is impossible to
foresee the end; on the other hand, to practise it is most admirable,
for by this means we can on the spot attain filial piety and fidelity
to our masters. Virtue and vice are the goals to which the examination
and non-examination of our consciences lead. As it has been rightly
said, benevolence and malice are the two roads which man follows. Upon
this subject I have a terrible and yet a very admirable story to tell
you. Although I dare say you are very drowsy, I must beg you to listen
to me.

In a certain part of the country there was a well-to-do farmer, whose
marriage had brought him one son, whom he petted beyond all measure,
as a cow licks her calf. So by degrees the child became very sly: he
used to pull the horses' tails, and blow smoke into the bulls'
nostrils, and bully the neighbours' children in petty ways and make
them cry. From a peevish child he grew to be a man, and unbearably
undutiful to his parents. Priding himself on a little superior
strength, he became a drunkard and a gambler, and learned to wrestle
at fairs. He would fight and quarrel for a trifle, and spent his time
in debauchery and riotous living. If his parents remonstrated with
him, he would raise his voice and abuse them, using scurrilous
language. "It's all very well your abusing me for being dissolute and
disobedient. But, pray, who asked you to bring me into the world? You
brought me into the world, and I have to thank you for its miseries;
so now, if you hate dissolute people, you had better put me back where
I came from, and I shall be all right again." This was the sort of
insolent answer he would give his parents, who, at their wits' end,
began to grow old in years. And as he by degrees grew more and more of
a bully, unhappy as he made them, still he was their darling, and they
could not find it in their hearts to turn him out of the house and
disinherit him. So they let him pursue his selfish course; and he went
on from worse to worse, knocking people down, breaking their arms, and
getting up great disturbances. It is unnecess