BY THE REV? P.B.PO 
 
 ~£s" 
 
 g%5^; 
 
 
 _&»<«& 
 
 ON^SHILLINC 
 
 LONDON". HAMILTON & C<? 
 
 ^^^^s^^s^^^sssessss^ss^ss^ 
 
UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 School of Library 
 Science 
 
The first person Sam Parsons came in sight of was old Biddy 
 Magrath, the woman who sold apples at the corner of the street. 
 " Good morning, Biddy," said Sam.— Sec page 35. 
 
=«S*8 
 
 T II E 
 
 Jllustra^d. 
 
 REV. P. B. POWER, M.A., 
 
 IATE INCUMBENT OP CHRIST CHURCH, WORTHING. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO 
 
 MDCCCLXXI, 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/oiledfeatherOOpowe 
 
iff tit 4 $n&t\. 
 
 All male and female Joes here see, 
 
 How tempers sour bring misery ; 
 
 What's soft and kind, and sweet and tender, 
 
 Suits male and female, — either gender. 
 
 " You shall !" " I say !" " Come now !" " You 
 
 must !" 
 Is just so much corroding rust. 
 Love is the secret, — love, the oil 
 To keep hearts bright, nor let them spoil. 
 Wife, husband oil, — and husband, wife, 
 And you shall lead a happy life. 
 The cross, the rude, the hard, the fickle, 
 Cannot resist this feather's tickle; 
 The oil that's on it is so sly, 
 One drop is oft enough to try. 
 You need not use enough to smother, 
 But just enough to please each other. 
 The way to meet life's rusting weather, 
 Is just to use a well " Oiled Feather !" 
 
Cftaptq cjirsi 
 
 N THE VILLAGE 
 
 of Hurst lived two 
 neighbours named 
 Joseph Irons and 
 Samuel Parsons. Joseph Irons 
 went by the name of " Busty 
 Joe," and Samuel Parsons by 
 that of "Polished Sam." The 
 names were characteristic of the 
 men, Joseph Irons being a short 
 tart kind of man in his dealings 
 with his fellow-creatures ; and Samuel 
 Parsons being on the other hand genial 
 and civil. Joseph Irons wouldn't put his 
 hand to his hat for any man, not he ! he 
 
8 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 wouldn't waste his time with palavering 
 people with fine words, no, not he ! if folk 
 didn't like his goods, they may leave them ; 
 and if they didn't like his answers, they 
 needn't ask him any questions; in a word, 
 "Rusty Joe," though very honest, and very 
 decent living, was disliked by almost every- 
 body; and, in truth, no one could be 
 surprised. 
 
 On the other hand, Samuel Parsons was 
 a general favourite; he had a salute for 
 every one who came in the way ; he didn't 
 think himself a bit the worse man, because 
 he put his hand to his hat to the parson 
 and the squire, as well as bobbed his head 
 to the old apple-woman at the corner of 
 the street. As to civil words, Sam's theory 
 was that, they were quite as little trouble 
 to speak as gruff ones; and they certainly 
 slipped more pleasant-like out of one's 
 mouth ; and so it came to pass, that go 
 wherever you would, all the country round, 
 amongst all sorts and conditions of men, 
 
The Oiled Feather. 
 
 everybody liked Sam Parsons, and we niay# 
 wind up this paragraph, just as we did the 
 last, by saying, and in truth, no one could 
 be surprised. 
 
 "Polished Sam" and " Rusty Joe" 
 might have lived on to the end of the 
 world, for aught that we have to do with 
 
io The Oiled Feather. 
 
 them, were it not that they afford us some 
 very useful lessons, which will teach us, 
 if we learn them, how to avoid a great 
 deal of unpleasantness, in this rusty crusty 
 world of ours. The world is full of Busty 
 Joes, and Rusty Joes' wives too; and folk 
 make no small part of their own misery, 
 by bumping and thumping against one 
 another, when the road is wide enough for 
 all ; and by being grumpy and growly when 
 a wee bit of civility would answer the pur- 
 pose quite as well. Polk should remember 
 the great mechanical law that " action and 
 re-action are equal and contrary;" that is, 
 put into plain words; if you throw a ball 
 against a wall, the wall will hit the ball, 
 as hard as the ball hits the wall, only in 
 an opposite direction; or if you like to 
 put it into the language of daily life, it 
 will read thus, " If you thump me, I'll 
 thump you; and moreover I'll thump you 
 as hard as you thump me." Of course 
 we consider this an un- Christian way of 
 
The Oiled Feather. n 
 
 going through life ; all we say is that, it 
 is a very common one. 
 
 Well, we shall see how "Rusty Joe" 
 and "Polished Sam" got through one day 
 of their existence; one day will be quite 
 enough for such a little book as this. 
 
 " Come, bring the oil flask, there's a 
 pet," said Samuel Parsons to his wife, as 
 he finished screwing a new lock on his 
 front door. Sam, of course, needn't have 
 said, "there's a pet," unless he liked; but 
 he used to think it was a great shame that 
 women were called all sorts of pretty 
 names before they were married, but none 
 afterwards. " I say," says Sam, " many of 
 the poor creatures are cheated with them 
 there pretty names ; poor folk ! they think 
 they'll always get them ; but they become 
 mighty scarce after they finger the ring." 
 We don't mean to tell all the names Sam 
 called his wife, before they were married; 
 but now he called her "pet;" and as soon 
 as she heard the loving word, she threw 
 
12 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 down lier duster on the chair, and sped 
 off to the kitchen for the flask. The flask 
 had a feather in it, as such flasks generally 
 have ; and Sam, taking the said feather 
 between his forefinger and thumb, oiled 
 the key of the street door right well, and 
 then locked it and unlocked it a' dozen 
 times ; at first it went stiff, and required 
 some strength of wrist to turn it; but as 
 it was worked to and fro, and the oil 
 began to make its way into the wards, it 
 worked more and more easily ; until at last, 
 Tommy, Sam's little son, who was standing 
 by, was able to turn it almost with a 
 touch; and then, Sam pronounced that it 
 would do. 
 
 This operation finished, Sam thought he'd 
 just give his knife a touch of the end of 
 the feather; less than a drop out of the 
 flask would do ; just a mere touch, that 
 was all it wanted ; and presently, to young 
 Tommy's great delight, his father made the 
 blade go up and down, click, click. Tommy 
 
^s> 
 
The Oiled Feather. 15 
 
 evidently approved of the result, for lie 
 began to click, click with his tongue and 
 the roof of his mouth in imitation ; and 
 how long he might have delayed his father 
 we can't tell; if it were not that Mrs. 
 Parsons caught him up in her arms, and 
 made off with him ; she calling Tommy a 
 "saucy rogue" and kissing him all the 
 way; and he on his part "click, clicking," 
 as though his mouth were a cutler's shop, 
 and you were opening and shutting every 
 knife in it. 
 
 Some folk might think that Sam Parsons 
 had done enough in the oiling line for one 
 day; but there was one thing more to do, 
 and then he would be quite ready to take 
 his potatoes to market. One or two of 
 the wheels of his waggon had been a trifle 
 creaky, so he took the grease pot, and just 
 gave them a touch of its contents ; you 
 could have rolled all he put upon them 
 into the size of a couple of marbles, but 
 'twas quite enough ; the wheels gave over 
 
1 6 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 creaking; and if the old proverb be true, 
 that " Silence gives consent I" no doubt, 
 they highly approved of what Sam had 
 done. 
 
 "Now, then, I'm off to market," said 
 Sam. " Good bye, Jenny, pet." Oh that 
 little word, "pet;" didn't the cunning 
 fellow oil his wife's temper, and even almost 
 her very joints, for her day's work, when 
 he called her that little name ! " Good 
 bye, Tommy, my darling." Oh you cunning 
 man ! there you are with your oiled feather 
 again ; for when Tommy was naughty, and 
 his mother reminded him that she must 
 tell his father, when he came home, and 
 " father would be sore grieved if his darling 
 was naughty," wasn't Tommy good ; for 
 child though he was, he was able to reason 
 thus much in his mind : Tommy is father's 
 darling, and he won't vex him ; darlings 
 ought not to vex those who love them. 
 Never mind, good reader, if there's a flaw 
 in the logic; nursery logic is sometimes 
 
The Oiled Feather. 
 
 *7 
 
 very funny reasoning, but it answered the 
 purpose ; naughty Tommy became good, and 
 clicked, clicked about the house as merry 
 as a sunbeam, instead of sprawling and 
 bawling on the ground; and all because 
 his father happened to call him a " darling " 
 before he went out. 
 
 
 
 Is it any wonder that thus, like loving 
 American beetles, pulling together at their 
 load instead of kicking at each other, Sam 
 
 B 
 
1 8 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 Parsons and his wife rolled little Sam 
 famously along, even though sometimes, 
 owing to diverse causes, it was pretty stiff 
 work. 
 
 " I say, Polly," said Sam Parsons to his 
 one servant-maid, as he left the house, 
 " don't forget to clean up those irons, if 
 you can manage it, there's a good lass : 
 you'll find the oil flask hanging up behind 
 the kitchen door;" and so, with a cheerful 
 smile on his countenance, Sam Parsons took 
 his departure for market. Ah ! canning 
 Sam ; before he went, he oiled his wife 
 and child, and now he oiled the servant 
 maid ; and when he turned his back upon 
 his own door, he left smiling faces and 
 glad hearts behind him; and I warrant he 
 found them all smiling to receive him when 
 he came home. 
 
P=32 
 
 nn ii 
 
 i n n n ii i 
 
 t\ £t$nn& 
 
 USTY JOE " shall have a chapter 
 to himself, we won't mix him up 
 with " Polished Sam " on any 
 account; acid and sweet make a 
 very good drink when mixed 
 together ; and we dare say Joe and Sam 
 must meet before our story's done; and if 
 they do, we hope it will be to do the 
 reader good; but they must keep asunder 
 for awhile. 
 
 "Rusty 'Joe" had an idea that, it was 
 rather letting one's self down to be civil; 
 he could not see the distinction between 
 being sneaking, and cringing, and time- 
 serving, in one's conduct, and being civil 
 
 b. 2 
 
20 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 and pleasant ; he prided himself on being 
 blunt, and honest, and upright, aye, and 
 downright too ; but he forgot that he was 
 often rude, and surly, and morose. 
 
 Now, on this very morning, " Eusty Joe " 
 was going to market also ! and it so 
 happened that, he ought to have clone what 
 
The Oiled Feather. 21 
 
 his neighbour " Polished Sam " had done ; 
 but he was above attending to such little 
 things ; and provided a thing could be done 
 at all, he did not mind if it were by main 
 force; a pull and a bang would do as 
 well as anything else ; but pulls and bangs 
 knock one's temper about a great deal; 
 this, however, "Busty Joe" did not take 
 into account. 
 
 Before it was time for Joseph Irons to 
 leave his house on this eventful day, he 
 had as much misery as would fall to his 
 neighbour " Polished Sam " in a year. 
 In the first place, he had neglected to 
 grease his boots after last market day, 
 which had been very wet; and now, when 
 he went to put on these same boots, (for 
 the day promised to be wet again,) they 
 were so hard and stiff that he pulled, and 
 kicked, and knocked, and stamped in vain. 
 A very little of this work will try a man's 
 temper, and at last Joe was about to give 
 up in despair, when with a final pull and 
 
22 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 l#W^ 
 
 kick he knocked one foot into a boot; 
 and seeing that it would be almost as hard 
 to pull out the leg, once it was in, as to 
 get in the other, he knocked and kicked 
 away, until the second got in also. Bad 
 temper is always bad for a man's digestion, 
 and sometimes it will make him quarrel 
 
The Oiled Feather. 23 
 
 even with his meat ; hence, we need not be 
 surprised to hear that nothing was right 
 that morning at breakfast. The eggs were 
 too hard, and the bread was too soft; the 
 bacon dish was too hot, and the tea-pot 
 was too cold; and who can wonder, when 
 Joe's two boots, as hard and stiff as if 
 they had been frozen, were pinching his 
 toes and heels, just as if they had ten 
 wicked fingers, with ten long claws on them. 
 Ah ! Joseph Irons, you should have greased 
 your boots, or put the least* drop in the 
 world of linseed oil upon them, and you 
 would have agreed much better with your 
 breakfast; aye, and your breakfast would 
 have agreed much better with you. 
 
 When Joseph Irons had bolted his break- 
 fast, he got up, and went to the street 
 door to go out; but no loving word did 
 he speak to his wife Betty, who, if the 
 truth were known, was by no means sorry 
 to get rid of him and his tempers, for 
 awhile. True ! Joseph never abused his 
 
24 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 wife; but lie was exacting, and unsympa- 
 thizing, and gave very few kind words; 
 and the consequence was, she just creaked 
 along through life's duties. She did not 
 run smoothly and swiftly, like the wheels 
 of Sam Parsons' waggon; nor had she any 
 spring in her, like his well oiled penknife ; 
 nor did she move about comfortably through 
 the ins and outs of life, as Sam Parsons's 
 oiled key did through the wards of his 
 lock ; she was a poor downhearted creature, 
 who never basked in the sunshine of a 
 little love ; who never heard the music of 
 an affectionate word ; who had indeed all 
 the machinery of a woman's heart, with 
 all its great capacity for doing wondrous 
 things ; but there was just something 
 wanted to set it all a-going — it was a little 
 love. 
 
 " Mind you have my shirt finished 
 to-night," said Joe Irons, as he laid his 
 hand on the street door, "for I may 
 have to go to Pitbank to-morrow, and 
 
The Oiled Feather. 25 
 
 I don't want to go to the Squire's in 
 this old concern;" and with this direc- 
 tion to his wife, Mr. Irons took himself 
 off. 
 
 But if Joe Irons met with trouble from 
 want of a little oil, even before he got 
 to his street door, he met with more when 
 he got to the door itself. The door was 
 stiff in its hinges, and stiff in the lock; 
 aye, as stiff, as if it had had the rheumatics 
 for twenty years. After a little difficulty 
 Joe Irons opened his door, but he could 
 not shut it with as little trouble again. 
 That door seemed to have a will of its 
 own; and unfortunately, it was not just 
 now the same as Joe Irons' will — perhaps 
 it might have thought that the house, 
 which smelt a little fusty, might be the 
 better for some ventilation ; or, may be, 
 it was simply obstinate and wouldn't shut; 
 but so it was that, Joe gave it five or six 
 pulls without success. Now, it was no new 
 thing to Joseph Irons to pull that door; 
 
26 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 lie despised such a small thing as a drop 
 of oil; the door had hitherto yielded to 
 main force, and his strength was in no 
 wise abated; so, "here goes," said he, and 
 he gave it a bang with all his might. 
 There was no resisting such an appeal as 
 this; so the door was shut with a bang 
 loud enough to rouse the whole neighbour- 
 hood; but, alas; my poor friend, Joe, you 
 don't know what harm you did ; you 
 actually shook the house, and broke a 
 glass shade upon the chimney piece in the 
 parlor. That glass shade was part of the 
 only ornament in the room; it covered two 
 or three foreign birds, which Mrs. Irons' 
 brother, who had been a mate in a vessel, 
 brought her home from foreign parts; and 
 Mrs. Irons was very much vexed. Had 
 her husband spoken a kind word or two 
 to her before leaving, she would in all 
 probability have put up with the loss for 
 his sake; but he had done nothing of the 
 kind; and the consequence was, when the 
 
The Oiled Feather. 27 
 
 glass came tumbling clown, she felt very 
 irritated and sore. 
 
 This, then, was the way that "Rusty 
 Joe" started forth to market; he met with 
 trouble before he went to his street door; 
 and when he arrived at it ; and as we 
 shall, presently see, with plenty more before 
 he returned to it again. 
 
 The market town of Stoke was full ten 
 miles from the village where "Rusty Joe" 
 and "Polished Sam" lived; and there was 
 a good deal of up-hill road on the way 
 thither. The road was moreover heavy, for 
 recent rain had fallen, and there seemed to 
 be a prospect of more. Already had " Rusty 
 Joe" lost some time over his boots, and 
 over the door ; and it behoved him now to 
 make as much speed as he could, in 
 order to reach the market at all in time ; of 
 this he was well aware, so he smacked his 
 whip frequently as he cleared the bounds 
 of the village, and got out into the open 
 road. But Joe's troubles still lay thick 
 
28 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 before him; lie soon found himself a poor 
 limping creature, and every step lie took 
 seemed to have a corresponding pinch be- 
 longing to it. Presently, he began to feel 
 conscious that he must be late for market, 
 unless he could get on a little faster; and 
 accordingly, at any hazard to his unfortunate 
 ten toes, he smacked his whip, and jee- 
 hupped to his horses ; but he soon found 
 that they could not make much more way 
 than himself. What was the matter ? 
 Was the load heavier than usual ? Were 
 the roads heavier ? No, but " Rusty Joe " 
 had not greased the wheels of his waggon 
 for a long time; and now the vehicle went 
 on, creak, creak, as though it would come 
 to pieces every moment. Main force was 
 Joe's resource on all occasions, so he 
 whipped the horses, and they pulled with 
 all their might; but at the Blackford hill, 
 they found the waggon so hard to move, 
 that they had to stop over and over 
 again. 
 
The Oiled Feather. 29 
 
 Instead of making allowances for the 
 poor beasts, which were really doing their 
 best, our friend "Rusty Joe" determined 
 to make them drag the waggon up the hill ; 
 accordingly, he pulled a piece of whipcord 
 out of his pocket, and his knife also; and 
 while the horses stood puffing, and panting, 
 and blowing, with their exertions, he pre- 
 pared to fit on a new lash. " I'll tickle 
 you, my lads," said "Busty Joe," and so 
 saying, he applied his thumb nail to the 
 knife, to open the blade to cut the cord. 
 The knife was stiff; in fact, the hinge of 
 the blade was rusted ; but the angry man 
 would not lose any time over it : he'd make 
 it open in a jiffey; force, with him, would 
 do everything ; and with a tremendous 
 effort, he half opened the blade; but in 
 doing so, he tore his nail down to the 
 quick ; and the pain soon made itself plainly 
 felt. Still the angry man was not to be 
 put off; he cut the whipcord; he put on 
 a new lash; and with a crack, crack, crack, 
 
30 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 he tried to start the horses with the creak- 
 ing waggon up hill ; but force will not 
 do everything in the world; the horses 
 made such a plunge, under the influence 
 of the smarting lash, that the harness 
 broke, and there stood "Rusty Joe" in a 
 sad plight, neither able to go on nor to 
 return. 
 
 Joe ! you should have greased your boots, 
 and you would not have been late. 
 
 Joe ! you should have oiled your door, 
 and you would not have lost your temper. 
 
 Joe ! you should have oiled your waggon 
 wheels, and then your horses could have 
 pulled it up the hill. 
 
 Joe ! you should have oiled your pen- 
 knife, and you would not have torn your 
 nail. 
 
 Joe ! you should have oiled your harness ; 
 and the leather would not have become 
 rotten, and broken, as it has now done, in 
 your time of need. 
 
 Now we must leave you there, Joe, upon 
 
The Oiled Feather. 33 
 
 the roadside, to meditate upon these things 
 for awhile. There Joe sat, as prickly as 
 the teazle which grew in the hedge road 
 at his side, ready to stick into any body or 
 anything that came near him. Poor fellow ! 
 we are sorry, no doubt, that you are in 
 such trouble, but hope that you will come 
 out of it, (perhaps a sadder, but still) 
 a wiser man. 
 
Ckjjiq SHurd 
 
 HEN "Polished Sam" left home 
 on this eventful morning, he had 
 a smile on his lip, and a bright, 
 gladsome look in his eye; and 
 if he had the world before him, 
 
 i bright and happy home behind 
 
 he had 
 him. 
 
 Believe me, good reader, that a bright 
 and happy home is a wonderful back-up 
 to a man, when he goes forth into a hard 
 and cold world, to make his way through 
 the day's business as best he can. On the 
 present occasion, " Polished Sam ' f was 
 backed up by Jenny, his wife ; and by little 
 Tommy, his son; and by Polly, the servant 
 
The Oiled Feather. 35 
 
 maid; they had all smiled liim forth on 
 his journey, and they would all smile him 
 home again; aye, and Sam would be in a 
 hurry to get home to all these smiling 
 folk ; and when he got a rub in the market 
 from any of the "Rusty Joes" who might be 
 there, he went famously through it all; for 
 he knew he'd soon get home to peace, and 
 quiet, and love again. You must not 
 think, kind reader, that Sam Parsons didn't 
 get knocks and rubs of all kinds in the 
 world; he came in for his share; but he 
 slipped through them better than other 
 folk, for he was so civil and polished in 
 his way ; that, he disarmed the ill feeling 
 of most. 
 
 The first person Sam Parsons came in 
 sight of was old Biddy Magrath, the woman 
 who sold apples at the corner of the street. 
 " Good morning, Biddy," said Sam. 
 
 " Good morning, and good luck," answered 
 Biddy; "is it to market ye's going to-day, 
 Mr. Parsons?" {Frontispiece.) 
 
 c 2 
 
36 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 "Yes, Biddy, can I do anything for 
 you?" said Sam. 
 
 "Can ye do anything for me," answered 
 Biddy, "to be sure ye can; bring me two 
 ounces of the best tay, and half a pound 
 of brown sugar, and here's the money;" 
 and so saying, Biddy pulled forth a ball 
 of rag from her pocket, which when 
 unrolled, much after the fashion of an 
 Egyptian mummy, developed a shilling. 
 
 "I'll get you a good cup," said Sam, 
 as he took the shilling, "you'll never have 
 a better cup than I wish you;" and he 
 smacked his whip, and passed on. 
 
 Bridget Magrath had not much of the 
 sunshine of the world falling upon her 
 poor wrinkled face; and it was well for 
 her she had naturally a cheerful temper ; 
 she led but a sorry life of it with the 
 boys of the village ; and Sam Parsons' 
 kind word was one of the few gleams 
 which fell to her lot. We can understand, 
 therefore, the multitude of blessings where- 
 
The Oiled Feather. 37 
 
 with Bridget overwhelmed Sam ; how she 
 called him all sorts of fine names ; and 
 at length, how she subsided behind her 
 rickety table, to sell apples, if she could, 
 all day long; but at any rate to wait for 
 the evening, and Sam's arrival with the 
 
 " tay.'- 
 
 No doubt, it was but a small kindness 
 that Sam shewed, but he made a fellow- 
 creature happy by it; in fact, he oiled old 
 Biddy, as well as his wife, and child, and 
 maid; and Bridget was not half so cross 
 all that day, because she had the re- 
 membrance of a kindly word and genial 
 smile to help her through. 
 
 As Sam Parsons went to market, he had 
 to surmount the same hill on which his 
 neighbour " Busty Joe " afterwards fared 
 so badly; the road was just as steep, his 
 horses' load was just as heavy; and nothing 
 but a little oil carried him successfully up 
 to the top. The wheels of Sam's waggon 
 turned easily enough, for he had not neglected 
 
38 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 to grease them; but all the grease in the 
 world could not make the wheels turn by 
 themselves; it is true Sam had a little oil 
 with him; (he generally had a little bottle 
 amongst a few odds and ends in a box 
 attached to his waggon) but one cannot oil 
 horses' hoofs or joints; so, on the present 
 occasion, unless Sam Parsons's were pos- 
 sessed of something more, he had little 
 chance of surmounting Blackford hill ; 
 indeed, less chance than his neighbour 
 "Busty Joe" had after him, for his horses 
 were not so strong. But Sam Parsons had 
 another oil bottle, which was able effectually 
 to do the work. Sam had a kind heart 
 and word for man and beast ; and this kind 
 word carried him up. the Blackford hill; 
 yes, he oiled his horses with it, and up 
 they went. When first the team desired 
 to stop, Sam let the poor beasts rest to 
 recover breath ; he put a couple of stones 
 behind the waggon wheels, and then went 
 round and patted each of the horses on 
 
The Oiled Feather. 39 
 
 the neck; yes, lie even rubbed their noses 
 with his hand; and the horses seemed to 
 understand that their master was caressing 
 and encouraging them. If human beings 
 rub noses in some part of the world, and 
 understand that form of salutation, why 
 should not man and beast understand each 
 other, when the former rubs the latter's 
 nose? Well! Sam Parsons rubbed his 
 horses' noses, and patted their necks, and 
 thus the cunning fellow oiled them well; 
 and when in a moment or two afterwards 
 lie smacked his whip, just as a matter of 
 course, and cried " jee-hup," and made other 
 little persuasive noises, which we cannot 
 w r rite down, for horse language is a thing 
 by itself; the team gave a pull, a long 
 pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether, 
 and up the Blackford hill they went; and 
 not one of them required the lash. 
 
 Now, if Sam Parsons had told any one 
 that he oiled his horses at the Blackford 
 hill, he would in all probability have 
 
40 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 been thought mad ; nevertheless, dear reader, 
 he did really oil them as much as he did 
 the wheels of the waggon they drew; he 
 oiled their tempers; and moreover, the oil 
 put on them cost him nothing; and so the 
 work was done. It is astonishing over 
 what a surface a little oil will spread itself; 
 astonishing, how many obstacles it will 
 remove ; astonishing, how many evils it 
 will avert. What a pity it is that folk don't 
 know more of its value — kind words ! kind 
 deeds ! kind looks ! oh ! they will often 
 carry us up a hill of difficulty, where the 
 lash, and oath, and angry temper, would 
 prove of no avail. 
 
 The whole space of this little book would 
 be absorbed, if we had to recount all Sam 
 Parsons's ins and outs at the market town 
 even this one day. Were we to undertake 
 such a task, we should have to tell how 
 " Polished Sam " was served with a specially 
 nice bit at the market inn; for the waiter 
 always had a kind word, and an "if you 
 
The Oiled Feather. 41 
 
 please," and a "thank you" from him, 
 when he had little more than gruff orders 
 from most of the other farmers. We should 
 also have to relate how a dealer who 
 thought Sam was very soft, because he 
 was very civil, tried to " do " him in a 
 bargain; but how our hero stood firm, for 
 he was no fool, and did not want to be 
 done, and got his fair price at last. We 
 should also have to tell how Sam brought 
 home a paper of sugar candy from the 
 grocer, at whose shop he bought old Bridget's 
 tea ; and how about a dozen folk, who 
 were snarling and quarreling with each 
 other, all had a smile for him. Further- 
 more, we should have to tell how our hero, 
 by a few kind words, threw oil on the 
 troubled waters, when he heard the naggling 
 and snarling and jangling and general 
 disagreeability which was going on between 
 the barmaid and the head housemaid at 
 the " Shock-of-Corn," the inn where Sam 
 habitually put up. 
 
42 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 Weren't these two feminines in a very 
 nice frame of mind ! "Wasn't Mrs. Jullip's 
 nose turned up in the air at Mrs. Duster? 
 
 and wasn't Mrs. Duster's turned down at 
 Mrs. Jullip ? and hadn't Mrs. Jullip said, 
 "I would, in a minute!" and Mrs. Duster 
 
The Oiled Feather. 43 
 
 answered, "You would, would you;" and 
 hadn't the one put her hands a-kimbo to 
 stand upon her rights, and the other folded 
 hers as much as to say, "I don't care a 
 fig for them;" and if only they turned a 
 little more round, wouldn't they have come 
 to a regular bump ; and who knows what ? 
 when our friend Sam in a masterly manner 
 oiled them both; expressing his regret that 
 tw^o such long valued acquaintances should 
 have had any misunderstanding, and his 
 conviction that the whole thing must be 
 an unfortunate mistake. 
 
 Under the judicious application of Sam's 
 oiled feather, Mrs. Jullip's and Mrs. Duster's 
 noses changed places ; or rather, to speak 
 more correctly, each met the other half 
 way. Mrs. Jullip's nose, on being oiled, 
 came a little down ; and Mrs. Duster's, on 
 experiencing the same process, went a little 
 up ; and, so, meeting as aforesaid, they 
 both came right; and each looked her 
 real old self again. 
 
44 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 Believe me, Mrs. Duster's shoulder looked 
 much more elegant when she dropped it to 
 its proper slope, than when she tilted it up 
 in the air like the "back, and indeed, for 
 the matter of that, the point of the tail of 
 the " Shock-of-Corn's " black cat ; a dread- 
 fully quarrelsome creature, which said, " Phit, 
 phit, hiss, meaow, phit, phiz*" and we had 
 almost said, " bang, bang," on even the 
 smallest provocation; when any cat, in a 
 proper frame of mind, would have seen with 
 half an eye, that such a display of phits and 
 phizes and energy, was wholly uncalled for 
 and out of place. 
 
 But why say, good reader, how much we 
 could tell you, when we don't mean to do 
 anything of the kind, and when it is high 
 time for "Polished Sam" to be thinking 
 of going home. 
 
Cha^tui[ <dffffi(;tfK 
 
 USTY JOE" made a bad day's 
 business of it: he never got to 
 market at all. A little examina- 
 tion of the harness showed that 
 it was completely done for; and 
 he had to untackle his horses; leave his 
 waggon there; and make the best of his 
 way home. With one delay and another, 
 it was coming on evening before this unfor- 
 tunate man could fetch his waggon home 
 again. " Rusty Joe " tried one person and 
 another in the village who had harness; he 
 sent to some of his brother farmers round 
 about, but no one seemed inclined to go out of 
 his way to oblige him ; they had all, at some 
 
46 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 time, met with rudeness at his hands ; and 
 now, they did not want to have anything to 
 do with him. Of course, we are not com- 
 mending their conduct ; they ought to have 
 returned good for evil; but, as is too often 
 the case, they did not. 
 
 So much time was consumed in sending 
 about to the neighbours, and in endeavouring 
 to cobble up a harness of rope that, it was 
 coming on evening, before " Rusty Joe " was 
 able to return with his horses to the waggon; 
 and when he reached it, he was destined 
 to meet with a fresh trouble — the waor^on 
 was not as he had left it ; the covering had 
 evidently been moved; and poor Joe found 
 out, only too soon, the reason why ; for no 
 small part of the contents of the waggon 
 had been stolen ; a gipsy party had passed 
 that way, and they had made free with the 
 unguarded property. 
 
 When "Busty Joe" found that he had 
 not only lost his market, but also some of 
 the produce that he was carrying there; 
 
The Oiled Feather. 47 
 
 and when lie reflected that it was upon 
 the sale of that very produce he was in 
 part depending to pay his rent, he became 
 as savage as an old bear; he cursed and 
 swore ; but that, like all cursing and swear- 
 ing, did him no good; and at last he sat 
 down by the roadside. " Eusty Joe" had not 
 been there many minutes, when he heard 
 the sound of wheels; and soon "Polished 
 Sam" appeared in sight, with his team; 
 Sam was whistling like a blackbird, and the 
 bells on his horses were tinkling cheerily; 
 and he and the team seemed more like 
 a merry family party than anything else. 
 A moment's glance was sufficient to show 
 Sam Parsons that there was something 
 wrong, and he hastened as fast as he safely 
 could, down the hill, to meet his unhappy 
 neighbour ; to sympathize, and help. But 
 "Eusty Joe," wanted no help; no, not 
 he ! " some folk were lucky, and some were 
 unlucky: and he didn't want other folk 
 to be prying into, and meddling with, his 
 
48 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 affairs ;" and the ungracious man carried on 
 in this style for full half an hour. As Joe 
 would not be helped, of course Sam could 
 not interfere ; but he found various excuses 
 for dawdling about, until his neighbour had 
 managed to get the horses harnessed and 
 put to ; then, with a muttered curse or two, 
 the man and his horses started for home. 
 But oh! what a chorus of creaks came 
 from his dry and squeaking wheels ; and so 
 stiffly and heavily did the waggon roll, that 
 there is no knowing when it would have 
 reached home, or whether it would not have 
 broken down again by the way, had not 
 Sam Parsons ventured to offer a little help 
 once more. Sam, in the kindness of his 
 heart, had kept close to his neighbour; 
 and now he made bold to suggest that the 
 waggon could never be got home without 
 a little grease; "You heard it creaking, 
 neighbour," said he to "Rusty Joe;" "and 
 I believe it was just for want of a little 
 grease, it stuck so fast upon the hill;" 
 
The Oiled Feather. 51 
 
 so saying, Sam Parsons produced a little 
 from his waggon, and managed to get it well 
 on to the creaking wheels. Marvellous 
 was the change ! the creaks suddenly sub- 
 sided into silence and the horses easily drew 
 their load; even the patched-up harness 
 was quite equal to its work, so slight was 
 the strain put upon it. 
 
 With all his grumpy tempers, "Kusty 
 Joe" was not sorry to receive such sub- 
 stantial help; so he allowed Sam Parsons 
 to walk by his side, Sam's waggon following 
 close behind. Sam was not long before he 
 spied Joe halting very much on one foot — 
 he sympathized with him for having corns, 
 and had just begun a dissertation on the 
 virtue of a certain corn plaister; when his 
 companion told him that it was stiff shoe 
 leather that was doing the mischief; "the 
 boots are as stiff as if they were frozen," 
 said "Busty Joe," "ever since the last 
 market day, when they got such a wetting." 
 "Whee-o-," whistled Sam, "I'll soften 
 
 d 2 
 
52 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 them in two minutes ;" and slipping behind 
 to his waggon, he brought forth his oil 
 bottle, and gave the boots a good anointing 
 with its contents. Of course the cure could 
 not be perfect in so short a time ; still 
 " Rusty Joe " could not but see that a 
 little oil was able to do wonders ; the boots 
 seemed to have become quite good-natured ; 
 and it was a question whether a little more 
 oil would not make them even frolicksome ; 
 "I have great faith in oil," said Sam 
 Parsons, "I oil almost everything; this very 
 morning I oiled the lock of my street door, 
 and my penknife, and I greased my waggon 
 wheels, and I oiled my wife, and child, 
 and I gave the servant maid a touch too ; 
 and I tell you what it is, neighbour Joe, 
 I slip along famously, where I find many 
 another sticks fast." "Rusty Joe's" torn 
 nail seemed to give him a fresh twinge, 
 when the penknife was spoken about; and 
 as to the wife ! his conscience reminded him 
 how bearishly he had behaved to her at 
 
The Oiled Feather. 53 
 
 breakfast. "What clo you mean by oiling 
 your wife, man," said "Kusty Joe," rather 
 tartly ; " you haven't been sneaky have you, 
 and knocking under to a woman ? " and 
 " Eusty Joe " edged away from " Polished 
 Sam's " sides, as though he were near some 
 slimy serpent. " No indeed," answered 
 Sam, "I've not been knocking any way, 
 neither over nor under; but I just gave 
 her and the bantling a loving word before 
 I started from home ; and I said a kind 
 word to the lass to cheer her up through 
 her work for the day; and for the matter 
 of that, I gave the old apple woman a touch 
 of my oiled feather too : few people say 
 a kind word to her, and so I did ; and 
 I dare say, it helped her through the day 
 too ! " "I wouldn't cringe to any one 
 living," continued "Polished Sam," "not 
 to the Queen herself; but to cringe is one 
 thing, to be civil, respectful, and loving*, 
 according as the case requires, is another; 
 I never knew ill come of it, and I've often 
 
54 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 known good. Yes, neighbour, I've known 
 the good of it in my own house, over and 
 over again — there's my Jenny, you don't 
 know the work there's in that little creature; 
 bless you ! she'd work herself to the finger 
 bone, if you give her a kind word ; I knowed 
 her to sit up seven nights with me, without 
 taking off a stitch of her clothes, that time 
 I broke my leg; and when I said to her 
 one morning, as the day was breaking, and 
 I looked at her red eyelids, 'Jenny, my 
 darling, I can never pay you for all this ' — 
 didn't she laugh and say, 'why, Sam, how 
 can you tell such a story, you've paid me 
 now r 
 
 "Paid you, woman; why, what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 " Didn't you say my darling ? " 
 
 " To be sure I did," said Sam. 
 
 "Well! wasn't that payment to a woman's 
 heart r 
 
 "And she looked so earnest like at me, 
 that I felt the tears come into my eyes; — 
 
The Oiled Feather. 55 
 
 Oh, neighbour, I couldn't say it as she said 
 it , for these women have a way of speaking 
 that don't belong to us men ; sometimes 
 I think there's something that makes music 
 in their throats; but ever since that day, 
 I've been ten times as loving as I was 
 before; and I try to say a kind word, not 
 only to Jenny, but to every one I meet. 
 I believe, neighbour," continued Sam, " that 
 women's of that nature that they'll do 
 anything for love — no use our driving them, 
 our scolding, and ordering, and banging 
 about; that only makes slaves of them; 
 but give them a little love, and they'll do 
 wonders." As Sam Parsons found that his 
 neighbour was listening, he was encouraged 
 to go on, even though he received no 
 answer. "And I do the same," said Sam, 
 "by every wench that comes to service to 
 me ; servants are made of the same stuff 
 as their mistresses ; they all have hearts, and 
 the same kind of oil will reach them all." 
 Thus discoursing, Sam Parsons arrived at 
 
56 
 
 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 his own farm yard; there was Jenny his 
 wife ready to meet him with a kiss, and 
 there was Tommy, who received his father 
 with a "click, click," leaving it a matter of 
 speculation as to whether he had not been 
 clicking ever since the morning until now; 
 and then there was Polly the servant maid 
 
The Oiled Feather. 57 
 
 standing close to the irons, which shone 
 as though they were fresh from the shop ; 
 she hoped they'd catch her master's eye, 
 and she knew she'd get a kind word; and 
 when Sam went into the sitting room, there 
 he saw a great heap of his stockings which 
 Jenny had been darning ; and when Sam 
 sat down to tea, there was a pie that Jenny 
 had made; and if Sam had been a little 
 boy instead of a grown-up man, he would 
 certainly have patted his chest and smacked 
 his lips, and so expressed his opinion that, 
 that was "something like a pie." One 
 would think that Sam Parsons had oiled 
 the pie, so smoothly did each piece slip 
 down his throat, for he was at peace with 
 Jenny his wife, Tommy his son, and Polly 
 the servant maid. Good humour promotes 
 digestion, and our readers will be glad to 
 hear that Sam slept well upon that good 
 supper, and had pleasant dreams ; his only 
 nightmare being that, he pursued an eccentric 
 cock in vain; which not appreciating the 
 
58 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 honor intended for him, viz., that he should 
 contribute a portion of his tail for a feather 
 for Mr. Parsons' oil flask, and so possibly 
 lose some of his charms in the eyes of 
 his seven wives, made off with himself, in 
 a head-long and ridiculous and altogether 
 undignified kind of way, as quick as his 
 legs could carry him. And Mr. Parsons 
 woke up refreshed, to be happy, and make 
 others happy all day long. 
 
 

 
 
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 £ TJE friend " Busty Joe " shall have 
 tlie last chapter all to himself. And 
 first of all it must be told that, 
 "Polished Sam's" observations were 
 not altogether thrown away upon 
 him. Although he wouldn't let on to other 
 folk that he was a miserable man; still he 
 really was so, and he owned it to himself; 
 his conscience kept saying to him " you are 
 all of a piece, ' force, force,' c must, must,' 
 6 shall, shall,' for everybody and everything." 
 The contrast between his happy neighbour 
 and his miserable self could not but strike the 
 poor man's mind ; and he made a desperate 
 resolution to reform. 
 
6o The Oiled Feather. 
 
 " I'll do it, I'll do it," said Joe in a loud 
 voice ; never thinking that there was any 
 one to hear him ; but it so happened that the 
 parson was close behind ; and struck with his 
 parishioner's energy, he said, "Do what?" 
 "Beform," answered Joe, like a man in a 
 dream, who felt himself obliged to speak 
 whether he liked or not. 
 
 "We can't reform in anvthins: without the 
 grace of God to help us," said the minister ; 
 " and we must ask for that, Mr. Irons." 
 
 This speech seemed to rouse Joe up, and 
 he felt very queer, when he found himself 
 actually embarked in a conversation with the 
 parson — all this was so very new, that Joe 
 didn't quite like it ; and indeed he would have 
 backed out of the conversation as quickly 
 as possible, but that the parson who always 
 stuck like a piece of wax to his wr>rk, was 
 too glad to get a word with his rusty 
 parishioner, easily to let him go. Gently 
 and gradually he drew from the poor crest- 
 fallen fellow the whole of what was in his 
 
The Oiled Feather. 61 
 
 mind; and when Joe came to his own 
 house, he even asked the parson in. 
 
 The minister felt like a fish out of water 
 in Joe Irons' house; but it was very well 
 that he went in ; for Joe's wife, irritated 
 by the destruction of her solitary ornament, 
 and by her husband's rude way of speaking, 
 had not done his shirt, nor paid any very 
 special attention to what he was to eat. 
 The minister's presence prevented any harsh 
 words ; and his wise and loving counsel 
 led Joe and his wife to forgive and forget 
 the past and commence afresh that night, 
 by asking for strength from heaven to 
 speak, do, and be like Jesus Christ. He 
 read for them that night the 133rd Psalm, 
 and shewed them " how good and pleasant 
 it is for brethren to dwell together in unity ; 
 how it is like the precious ointment upon 
 the head that ran down upon the beard, 
 even Aaron's beard, that went down to the 
 skirts of his garment ; as the dew of 
 Hermon, and as the dew that descended 
 
62 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 on the mountains of Zion, for there the 
 Lord commanded the blessing, even life 
 for evermore." 
 
 That very night Joe began. "When the 
 minister was going, he actually handed him 
 his hat, and made a kind of attempt at 
 a bow at the door; and Joe's wife began, 
 for she bathed his poor broken nail, and 
 sat up nearly all night to get ready his 
 shirt ; and when the morning came, " Kusty 
 Joe" oiled almost everything he had; and 
 in a twelve months' time, he was liked as 
 well as any one in the parish. Yes ! there 
 were no more hangings of doors in Joe 
 Irons' house ; there were no more rough 
 words between him and his wife ; there was 
 enough of kindness to make home com- 
 fortable, and a little to spare to make 
 neighbours agreeable, and Joe Irons be- 
 came a happy man. Joe's choicest friend 
 was henceforth "Polished Sam;" and Joe 
 kept as close to his skirts as though he 
 expected to rub some of the polish from 
 
The Oiled Feather. 63 
 
 him upon himself. Joe never forgot the 
 parson's advice to seek strength for improve- 
 ment on his knees ; and by way of a 
 
 reminder, that he should not forget his new 
 principles, he hung something over his 
 bedroom mantlepiece, so that it should be 
 
6 4 
 
 The Oiled Feather. 
 
 the first thing that met his eyes when he 
 awoke; and what do you think it was, 
 good reader? there it is in the picture: — 
 
 THE OILED FEATHEE. 
 
 FLETCHER AND SOX, FRITTERS, NORWICH. 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 In Enamelled Pictured Covers, price 6d. 
 
 SAMBO'S LEGACY. Sixth Tlwrisand. 
 
 IT ONLY WANTS TURNING ROUND. Fourth Thous. 
 
 BORN WITH A SILVER SPOON IN HIS MOUTH. 
 
 Fourth Thousand. 
 
 THE BAG OF BLESSINGS. 
 
 THE MAN WITHOUT A MASTER, 
 
 " These homely tales are written with considerable humour and 
 spirit." — Public Opinion. 
 
 THE EYE DOCTOR. 2d. Forty-fifth Thousand. 
 JOHN CLIPSTICK'S CLOCK. Id. Ninety-fifth Thous. 
 
 THE MAN WHO KEPT HIMSELF IN REPAIR. 2d. 
 
 Fifty-second Thousand. 
 
 THE MAN WHO RAN AWAY FROM HIMSELF. 2d. 
 
 Thirty-seventh Thousand. 
 
 THE EXPERIENCES OF A CHURCH PLATE. 2d. 
 
 Fortieth Thousand. 
 
 THE TALKING FIRE-IRONS. 2d. Fiftieth Thousand. 
 
 STAMP-ON IT JOHN. 2d. Forty-fifth Thousand. 
 
 WE versus I. 2d. Twentieth Thousand. 
 
 HE'S OVERHEAD. 2d. Fiftieth Thousand. 
 
 THE USE OF A CHILD. 2d. Thirtieth Thousand. 
 
 CROAKING KATE ANJD CHIRPING JANE. 2d. 
 
 Forty-fifth Thousand, 
 
 THIS DAY MONTH. 2d. Thirtieth Thousand. 
 
 THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL. 2d. Tenth Thous. 
 
 y-fflrtp : ' 
 HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND Co.