_Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872._
Mr. George Herbert's love to music was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury. When rector of Bemerton, in one of his walks to Salisbury, he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load; they were both in distress, and needed present help, which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his canonical coat and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man; and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "_That if he loved himself_, HE SHOULD BE MERCIFUL TO HIS BEAST."
Thus he left the poor man: and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him "he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was: "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place; for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far at it is in my power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for a like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy, and I praise God for this occasion."
Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with his trembling mane? Hast thou taught him to bound like the locust? How majestic his snorting! how terrible! He paweth in the valley; he exulteth in his strength, And rusheth into the midst of arms. He laugheth at fear; he trembleth not, And turneth not back from the sword. Against him rattle the quiver, The flaming spear, and the lance. With rage and fury he devoureth the ground; He will not believe that the trumpet soundeth. At every blast of the trumpet, he saith, Aha! And snuffeth the battle afar off,-- The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout.