Profession & Practice

Once, when Saint Swithin chanced to be A-wandering in Hungary, He, being hungered, cast around To see if something might be found To stay his stomach.

Near by stood A little house, beside a wood, Where dwelt a worthy man, but poor. Thither he went, knocked at the door. The good man came. Saint Swithin said, "I prithee give a crust of bread To ease my hunger."

"Brother," quoth The good man, "I am sadly loath To say" (here tears stood on his cheeks) "I've had no bread for weeks and weeks, Save what I've begged. Had I one bit, I'd gladly give thee half of it." "How," said the Saint, "can one so good Go lacking of his daily food, Go lacking means to aid the poor, Yet weep to turn them from his door? Here--take this purse. Mark what I say: Thou'lt find within it every day Two golden coins."

Years passed. Once more Saint Swithin knocked upon the door. The good man came. He'd grown fat And lusty, like a well-fed cat. Thereat the Saint was pleased. Quoth he, "Give me a crust for charity." "A crust, thou say'st? Hut, tut! How now? Wouldst come a-begging here? I trow, Thou lazy rascal, thou couldst find Enough of work hadst thou a mind! 'Tis thine own fault if thou art poor. Begone, sir!" Bang!--he shut the door.

Saint Swithin slowly scratched his head. "Well, I am--humph!--just so," he said. "How very different the fact is 'Twixt the profession and the practice!"