Chapter 16: He Would Put His Finger In The Pie, So He Burned His Nail Off

Chapter 16.
He Would Put His Finger in the Pie, and So He Burned His Nail Off

Some men must have a finger in every pie, or, as the proverb hath it, "their bar must be in every man's boat." They seem to have no business except to poke their noses into other people's business: they ought to have snub noses, for they are pretty sure to be snubbed. Prying and spying, peddling and meddling, these folks are in everybody's way, like the old toll-gate. They come without being sent for, stop without being asked, and cannot be got rid of, unless you take them by the left leg and throw them downstairs, and if you do that they will limp up again, and hope they don't intrude. No one pays them, and yet they give advice more often than any lawyer; and though no one ever thanks them, yet there they are, peeping through keyholes and listening under the eaves. They are as great at asking questions as if they wanted you to say the catechism, and as eager to give their opinion as if you had gone down on your knees to ask it.

These folks are like dogs that fetch and carry; they run all over the place like starlings when they are feeding their young. They make much ado, but never do much, unless it is mischief, and at this they are as apt as jackdaws. If any man has such people for his acquaintances, he may well say, "Save me from my friends.'

I know you assistance will lend, When I want it I'll speedily send, You need not be making such stir But mind your own business, good sir.

It is of no more use than if we spoke to the pigs, for here is Paul Pry again. Paul and his cousins are most offensive people, but you cannot offend them if you try.

Well do I remember the words of a wise old Quaker:

"John," said he, "be not concerned with that which concerns not thee." This taught me a lesson, and I made up my mind not to scrub other people's pigs for fear I should soon want scrubbing myself.

There is a woman in our village who finds fault with all, and all find fault with her. They say her teeth are all loose through her tongue rubbing against them. If she could but hold her tongue she would be happy enough, but that's the difficulty:

"When hens fall a-cackling, take heed to the nest, When drabs fall a-whispering, farewell to thy rest."

Will Shepherd was sitting very quiet while others were running down their neighbors. At last a loose fellow sung out:

"Look at old Will, he is as silent as a stockfish; is it because he is wise or because he is a fool?"

"Well," said Will, "you may settle that question how you like, but I have been told that a fool cannot be silent." Will is set down as very odd, but he is generally even with them before he has done. One thing is sure: he cares very little what they do say so long as they don't worry his sheep. He hummed in my ear an old-fashioned verse or two the other evening, something like this:

"Since folks will judge me every day, Let every man his judgment say;

I will take it all as children's play, For I am as I am, whoever say nay.

Many there be that take delight To judge a man's ways in envy and spite; But whether they judge me wrong or right, I am as I am, and so do I write.

How the truth is I leave to you:

Judge as ye list, whether false or true, Ye know no more than before ye knew, For I am as I am, whatever ensue."

If folks will meddle with our business, it is best to take no notice of them. There's no putting them out like letting them stop where they are. They are never so offended as when people neither offend them nor take offence at them. You might as soon stop all the frogs from croaking as quiet idle gossips when they once get on the chat. Stuff your ear with wool and let them jabber till their tongues lie still, because they have worn all the skin off of it. "Where no wood is the fire goeth out," and if you don't answer them they can't make a blaze for want of fuel. Treat them kindly, but don't give them the treat of quarrelling with them. Follow peace with all men, even if you cannot overtake it.