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In one of the most densely populated parts of the city a gentleman lately visited the house of a poor, hard-working, infidel cobbler. The man was busy at his last, and had scarce time to look up at his unwelcome visitor. "That is hard work." "It is, sir. "For how many hours a day have you to labour here — twelve?" "Yes, and more, sir. I am never off this seat under a fourteen or fifteen hours' spell of it." "That is sore toil for a bit of bread." "Indeed it is, sir; and very thankful am I when the week's end comes. What would become of me, and the likes of me, with. out that rest.?" "And who, friend, think you, gave you that rest? Came it by accident, or arrangement, or how?" There came no answer to that; the cobbler hung his head; the man was honest; the sceptic was ashamed.

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KJV: And he said unto them, This is that which the LORD hath said, To morrow is the rest of the holy sabbath unto the LORD: bake that which ye will bake to day, and seethe that ye will seethe; and that which remaineth over lay up for you to be kept until the morning.

WEB: He said to them, "This is that which Yahweh has spoken, 'Tomorrow is a solemn rest, a holy Sabbath to Yahweh. Bake that which you want to bake, and boil that which you want to boil; and all that remains over lay up for yourselves to be kept until the morning.'"