The Wit and Wisdom of Rev. Charles H. Spurgeon

IF THE CAP FITS, WEAR IT.

Friendly Readers: Last time I made a book I trod on some people’s corns and bunions, and they wrote me angry letters, asking, “Did you mean me!” This time, to save them the expense of a halfpenny card, I will begin my book by saying.

Whether I please or whether I tease,

I’ll give you my honest mind; If the cap should fit, pray wear it a bit;

If not you can leave it behind.

No offence is meant; but if anything in these pages should come home to a man, let him not send it next door, but get a coop for his own chickens. What is the use of reading or hearing for other people? We do not eat and drink for them; why should we lend them our ears and not our mouths? Please then, good friend, if you find a hoe on these premises, weed your own garden with it.

I was speaking with Will Shepherd the other day about our master’s old donkey, and I said, “He is so old and stubborn, he really is not worth his keep.” “No,” said Will, “and worse still, he is so vicious, that I feel sure he’ll do somebody a mischief one of these days.” You know they say that walls have ears; we were talking rather loud, but we did not know that there were ears to haystacks. We stared, I tell you, when we saw Joe Scroggs come from behind the stack, looking red as a turkey-cock, and raving like mad. He burst out swearing at Will and me, like a cat spitting at a dog. His monkey was up and no mistake. He’d let us know that he was as good a man as either of us, or the two put together, for the matter of that. Talk about him in that way; he’d do — I don’t know what. I told old Joe we never thought of him, nor said a word about him, and he might just as well save his breath to cool his porridge, for nobody meant him any harm. This only made him call me a liar, and roar the louder. My friend, Will, was walking away, holding his sides, but when he saw that Scroggs was still in a fume, he laughed outright, and turned round on him and said, “Why, Joe, we were talking about master’s old donkey, and not about you; but, upon my word, I shall never see that donkey again without thinking of Joe Scroggs.” Joe puffed and blowed, but perhaps he thought it an awkward job, for he backed out of it, and Will and I went off to our work in rather a merry cue, for old Joe had blundered on the truth about himself for once in his life.

The aforesaid Will Shepherd has sometimes come down rather heavy upon me in his remarks, but it has done me good. It is partly through his home thrusts that I have come to write this new book, for he thought I was idle; perhaps I am, and perhaps I am not. Will forgets that I have other fish to fry and tails to butter; and he does not recollect that a ploughman’s mind wants to lie fallow a little, and can’t give a crop every year. It is hard to make rope when your hemp is all used up, or pancakes without batter, or rook pie without the birds; and so I found it hard to write more when I had said just about all I knew.

BURN A CANDLE AT BOTH ENDS, AND
IT WILL SOON BE GONE.

He came in to old Alderman Greedy’s money for he was his nephew; but, as the old saying is, the fork followed the rake, the spender was heir to the

hoarder. God has been very merciful to some of us in never letting money come rolling in upon us, for most men are carried off their legs if they meet with a great wave of fortune. Many of us would have been bigger sinners if we had been trusted

with larger purses. Poor Jack had plenty of pence, but little sense. Money is easier made than made use of. What is hard to gather is easy to scatter. The old gentleman had lined his nest well, but Jack made the feathers fly like flakes of snow in winter time. He got rid of his money by shovelfuls and then by cartloads. After spending the interest he began swallowing the capital, and so killed the goose that laid the golden eggs. He squandered his silver and gold in ways which must never be told. It would not go fast enough, and so he bought race-horses to run away with it. He got into the hands of blacklegs, and fell into company of which we shall say but little; only when such madams smile, men’s purses weep; these are a well without a bottom, and the more a fool throws in, the more he may. The greatest beauty often causes the greatest ruin. Play, women and wine are enough to make a prince a pauper.

Always taking out and never putting back soon empties the biggest sack, and so Jack found it; but he took no notice till his last shilling bade him good-by, and then he said he had been robbed; like silly Tom who put his finger in the fire anu said it was his bad luck.

IT TS HARD FOR AN EMPTY SACK TO

STAND UPRIGHT. ’

Sam may try a fine while befor”- he will make

one of his empty sacks stand upright.

he Were

not half daft he would have left off that job before

.he began it, and not have been an Irishman either.

Pie will come to his wit’s end before he sets the sack on its end. The old proverb, printed at the top, was made by a man who had burned his fingers with debtors, and it just means that when

folks have no money and are over head and ears in debt, as often .s not they leave off being upright, and tumble ove“” one way or another. He that has but four and sends five will soon need no purse, but he w”’ most likely begin to use his wits to keep himself afloat, and take to all sorts of dodges to manage it.

Nine times out of ten they begin by making promises to pay on a certa’n day when it is certain they have nothing to pay with. They are as bold at fixing the time as if they had my lord’s income. The day comes round as sure as Christmas, and then they haven’t a penny-piece in the world, and so they make all sorts of excuses and begin to promise again. Those who are quick to promise are generally slow to perform. They promise mountains and perform -’molehills. He who gives you fair words and nothing more feeds you with an empty spoon, and hungry creditors soon grow tired of that game. Promises don’t fill the belly. Promising men are not great favorites if they are not performing men. When such a fellow is called a liar he thinks he is hardly done by; and yet he is so, as sure as eggs are eggs, and there’s no denying it, as the boy said when the gardener caught him up the cherry tree.

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