_For the Table Book._
A few years ago a stout old man, with long grey hair, and dressed in the
habit of the Society of Friends, was seen begging in the streets of
Durham. The inhabitants, attracted by the novelty of a “_begging_
Quaker,” thronged about him, and several questioned him as to his
residence, &c. Amongst them was “Anty Brignal,” the police-officer, who
told him to go about his business, or he would put him in the kitty[509]
“for an _imposteror_.” “Who ever heard,” said Anthony, “of a begging
Quaker?” “But,” said the mendicant, while tears flowed adown his face,
“thou knowest, friend, there be bad Quakers as well as good ones; and, I
confess to thee, I have been a bad one. My name is John Taylor; I was in
the hosiery business at N----, and through drunkenness have become a
bankrupt. The society have turned me out, my friends have deserted me. I
have no one in the world to help me but my daughter, who lives in
Edinburgh, and I am now on my way thither. Thou seest, friend, why I
beg; it is to get a little money to help me on my way: be merciful, as
thou hopest for mercy.” “Come, come,” said the officer, “it won’t do,
you know; there’s not a word of truth in it; ’tis all false. Did not I
see you drunk at Nevill’s Cross (a public-house of that name) the other
night?” “No, friend,” said the man of unsteady habits, “thou didst not
see _me_ drunk there, but I was there, and saw _thee_ drunk; and thou
knowest when a man is drunk he thinks every body else so!” This was a
poser for the police-officer. The crowd laughed, and “Anty Brignal”
slunk away from their derision, while money fell plentifully into the
extended hat of the disowned quaker.