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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4593-0.txt b/4593-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..136a043 --- /dev/null +++ b/4593-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9444 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Friends and Neighbors, by Anonymous + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Friends and Neighbors + or Two Ways of Living in the World + +Author: Anonymous + +Editor: T. S. Arthur + +Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext #4593] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + + + + + +FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS; + +or, Two Ways of Living in the World. + +Edited by By T. S. Arthur + +PHILADELPHIA: + +1856 + + + + + +PREFACE. + + + +WE were about preparing a few words of introduction to this volume, the +materials for which have been culled from the highways and byways of +literature, where our eyes fell upon these fitting sentiments, the +authorship of which we are unable to give. They express clearly and +beautifully what was in our own mind:-- + +“If we would only bring ourselves to look at the subjects that surround +as in their true flight, we should see beauty where now appears +deformity, and listen to harmony where we hear nothing but discord. To +be sure there is a great deal of vexation and anxiety in the world; we +cannot sail upon a summer sea for ever; yet if we preserve a calm eye +and a steady hand, we can so trim our sails and manage our helm, as to +avoid the quicksands, and weather the storms that threaten shipwreck. +We are members of one great family; we are travelling the same road, and +shall arrive at the same goal. We breathe the same air, are subject +to the same bounty, and we shall, each lie down upon the bosom of +our common mother. It is not becoming, then, that brother should hate +brother; it is not proper that friend should deceive friend; it is not +right that neighbour should deceive neighbour. We pity that man who can +harbour enmity against his fellow; he loses half the enjoyment of life; +he embitters his own existence. Let us tear from our eyes the coloured +medium that invests every object with the green hue of jealousy and +suspicion; turn, a deal ear to scandal; breathe the spirit of charity +from our hearts; let the rich gushings of human kindness swell up as a +fountain, so that the golden age will become no fiction and islands of +the blessed bloom in more than Hyperian beauty.” + +It is thus that friends and neighbours should live. This is the right +way. To aid in the creation of such true harmony among men, has the book +now in your hand, reader, been compiled. May the truths that glisten on +its pages be clearly reflected in your mind; and the errors it points +out be shunned as the foes of yourself and humanity. + + + +CONTENTS. + + + GOOD IN ALL + HUMAN PROGRESS + MY WASHERWOMAN + FORGIVE AND FORGET + OWE NO MAN ANYTHING + RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL + PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET + KIND WORDS + NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS + GOOD WE MIGHT DO + THE TOWN LOT + THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP + A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS + MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATIONS + ROOM IN THE WORLD + WORDS + THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + LOVE + “EVERY LITTLE HELPS” + LITTLE THINGS + CARELESS WORDS + HOW TO BE HAPPY + CHARITY--ITS OBJECTS + THE VISION OF BOATS + REGULATION OF THE TEMPER + MANLY GENTLENESS + SILENT INFLUENCE + ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY + THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN + “WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE” + BLIND JAMES + DEPENDENCE + TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR + KEEP IN STEP + JOHNNY COLE + THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR + JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON + THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT + TWO SIDES TO A STORY + LITTLE KINDNESSES + LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH + “ALL THE DAY IDLE” + THE BUSHEL OF CORN + THE ACCOUNT + CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH + RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE + + + + + +FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS. + + + + + +GOOD IN ALL. + + + +THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth +of his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in practice, +daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street: dirty, ragged, +importunate. “Ah! he has a _bad_ look,” and your pocket is safe. He +starves--and he steals. “I thought he was _bad_.” You educate him in +the State Prison. He does not improve even in this excellent school. +“He is,” says the gaoler, “thoroughly _bad_.” He continues his course of +crime. All that is bad in him having by this time been made apparent +to himself, his friends, and the world, he has only to confirm the +decision, and at length we hear when he has reached his last step. “Ah! +no wonder--there was never any _Good_ in him. Hang him!” + +Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word. + +If you believe in Good, _always appeal to it._ Be sure whatever there is +of Good--is of God. There is never an utter want of resemblance to the +common Father. “God made man in His own image.” “What! yon reeling, +blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yon crafty trader; yon +false statesman?” Yes! All. In every nature there is a germ of eternal +happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard's heart there is a memory of +something better--slight, dim: but flickering still; why should you not +by the warmth of your charity, give growth to the Good that is in him? +The cynic, the miser, is not all self. There is a note in that sullen +instrument to make all harmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle +master to touch the strings. + +You point to the words “There is _none_ good.” The truths do not oppose +each other. “There is none good--_save one._” And He breathes in all. +In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, we are helpless, +mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in the heart: a guide to +the source of Light, or an instrument of torture. We can make it either. +If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, it will warm, guide, cheer us. If +in the midst of selfishness, or under the pressure of pride, its flame +will be unsteady, and we shall soon have good reason to trim our light, +and find new oil for it. + +There is Good in All--the impress of the Deity. He who believes not in +the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race. There is +no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appeal to it. Seek +in every one the _best_ features: mark, encourage, educate _them._ There +is no man to whom some circumstance will not be an argument. + +And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, all +the labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical the +theories of our philanthropists! To educate the _Good_--the good in +_All_: to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle all +arrogance, by showing that all possess this Good. _In_ themselves, but +not _of_ themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soon should +we all be digging through the darkness, for this Gold of Love--this +universal Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed and humanized our prisons, +to find this Good; and in the chambers of all our hearts it is to be +found, by labouring eyes and loving hands. + +Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strength of +vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Are none +of us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to the generous, +trusting guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who has loved us, +despite the evil that is in _us_--for our little Good, and has nurtured +that Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we know not how like we +are to those whom we despise! We know not how many memories of kith and +kin the murderer carries to the gallows--how much honesty of heart the +felon drags with him to the hulks. + +There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than most of +us: Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm. Do +not mistake us. Society demands, requires that these madmen should be +rendered harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good. Lady Macbeth +would have slain the old king, Had he not resembled her father as he +slept. + +It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, because +never acted on, that the same energies, the same will to great vices, +had given force to great virtues. Do we provide the opportunity? Do we +_believe_ in Good? If we are ourselves deceived in any one, is not all, +thenceforth, deceit? if treated with contempt, is not the whole world +clouded with scorn? if visited with meanness, are not all selfish? And +if from one of our frailer fellow-creatures we receive the blow, +we cease to believe in women. Not the breast at which we have drank +life--not the sisterly hands that have guided ours--not the one voice +that has so often soothed us in our darker hours, will save the sex: All +are massed in one common sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there +are many Ruths. We should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France +when he lost Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was his +sister. + +And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends to some +feeling--Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conquered the +hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold--Reynolds made an +exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous to Northcote, and had +time to think of the poor Plympton schoolmistress. The cold are not all +ice. Elizabeth slew Essex--the queen triumphed; the woman _died._ + +There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazy whine +of the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided, unschooled +childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew the baby-roundness +of content that ours have worn; that his eye knew no youth of fire--no +manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. When you see the trader, +without any pride of vocation, seeking how he can best cheat you, and +degrade himself, glance into the room behind his shop and see there his +pale wife and his thin children, and think how cheerfully he meets +that circle in the only hour he has out of the twenty-four. Pity his +narrowness of mind; his want of reliance upon the God of Good; but +remember there have been Greshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and +remember, too, that in our happy land there are thousands of almshouses, +built by the men of trade alone. And when you are discontented with the +great, and murmur, repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in his +hiding-place, turn in justice to the Good among the great. Read how John +of Lancaster loved Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There have been Burkes +as well as Walpoles. Russell remembered Banim's widow, and Peel forgot +not Haydn. + +Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man, +Good. That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in the lowest, +there is often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles and Alexander +had great, but different virtues, and although the refinement of the +one may have resulted in effeminacy, and the hardihood of the other in +brutality, we ought to pause ere we condemn where we should all have +fallen. + +Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, and +everywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern of +Diogenes is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath set in +the heavens; a Light which shines into the solitary cottage and the +squalid alley, where the children of many vices are hourly exchanging +deeds of kindness; a Light shining into the rooms of dingy warehousemen +and thrifty clerks, whose hard labour and hoarded coins are for wife +and child and friend; shining into prison and workhouse, where sin and +sorrow glimmer with sad eyes through rusty bars into distant homes and +mourning hearths; shining through heavy curtains, and round sumptuous +tables, where the heart throbs audibly through velvet mantle and silken +vest, and where eye meets eye with affection and sympathy; shining +everywhere upon God's creatures, and with its broad beams lighting up +a virtue wherever it falls, and telling the proud, the wronged, the +merciless, or the despairing, that there is “Good in All.” + + + + +HUMAN PROGRESS. + + + + WE are told to look through nature + Upward unto Nature's God; + We are told there is a scripture + Written on the meanest sod; + That the simplest flower created + Is a key to hidden things; + But, immortal over nature, + Mind, the lord of nature, springs! + + Through _Humanity_ look upward,-- + Alter ye the olden plan,-- + Look through man to the Creator, + Maker, Father, God of Man! + Shall imperishable spirit + Yield to perishable clay? + No! sublime o'er Alpine mountains + Soars the Mind its heavenward way! + + Deeper than the vast Atlantic + Rolls the tide of human thought; + Farther speeds that mental ocean + Than the world of waves o'er sought! + Mind, sublime in its own essence + Its sublimity can lend + To the rocks, and mounts, and torrents, + And, at will, their features bend! + + Some within the humblest _floweret_ + “Thoughts too deep for tears” can see; + Oh, the humblest man existing + Is a sadder theme to me! + Thus I take the mightier labour + Of the great Almighty hand; + And, through man to the Creator, + Upward look, and weeping stand. + + Thus I take the mightier labour, + --Crowning glory of _His_ will; + And believe that in the meanest + Lives a spark of Godhead still: + Something that, by Truth expanded, + Might be fostered into worth; + Something struggling through the darkness, + Owning an immortal birth! + + From the Genesis of being + Unto this imperfect day, + Hath Humanity held onward, + Praying God to aid its way! + And Man's progress had been swifter, + Had he never turned aside, + To the worship of a symbol, + Not the spirit signified! + + And Man's progress had been higher, + Had he owned his brother man, + Left his narrow, selfish circle, + For a world-embracing plan! + There are some for ever craving, + Ever discontent with place, + In the eternal would find briefness, + In the infinite want space. + + If through man unto his Maker + We the source of truth would find, + It must be through man enlightened, + Educated, raised, refined: + That which the Divine hath fashioned + Ignorance hath oft effaced; + Never may we see God's image + In man darkened--man debased! + + Something yield to Recreation, + Something to Improvement give; + There's a Spiritual kingdom + Where the Spirit hopes to live! + There's a mental world of grandeur, + Which the mind inspires to know; + Founts of everlasting beauty + That, for those who seek them, flow! + + Shores where Genius breathes immortal-- + Where the very winds convey + Glorious thoughts of Education, + Holding universal sway! + Glorious hopes of Human Freedom, + Freedom of the noblest kind; + That which springs from Cultivation, + Cheers and elevates the mind! + + Let us hope for Better Prospects, + Strong to struggle for the night, + We appeal to Truth, and ever + Truth's omnipotent in might; + Hasten, then, the People's Progress, + Ere their last faint hope be gone; + Teach the Nations that their interest + And the People's good, ARE ONE. + + + + +MY WASHERWOMAN. + + + +SOME people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waited +on for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, “Call to-morrow,” even +though their pockets are far from being empty. + +I once fell into this bad habit myself; but a little incident, which I +will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained my majority, +a poor widow, named Blake, did my washing and ironing. She was the +mother of two or three little children, whose sole dependence for food +and raiment was on the labour of her hands. + +Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with my clothes, +“white as the driven snow;” but not always, as punctually, did I pay the +pittance she had earned by hard labour. + +“Mrs. Blake is down stairs,” said a servant, tapping at my room-door one +morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself. + +“Oh, very well,” I replied. “Tell her to leave my clothes. I will get +them when I come down.” + +The thought of paying the seventy-five cents, her due, crossed my mind. +But I said to myself,--“It's but a small matter, and will do as well +when she comes again.” + +There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My funds +were low, and I might need what change I had during the day. And so +it proved. As I went to the office in which I was engaged, some small +article of ornament caught my eye in a shop window. + +“Beautiful!” said I, as I stood looking at it. Admiration quickly +changed into the desire for possession; and so I stepped in to ask the +price. It was just two dollars. + +“Cheap enough,” thought I. And this very cheapness was a further +temptation. + +So I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, and found +the amount to be two dollars and a quarter. + +“I guess I'll take it,” said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper's +counter. + +“I'd better have paid Mrs. Blake.” This thought crossed my mind, an +hour afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost its power of +pleasing. “So much would at least have been saved.” + +I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed, when +the waiter said to me, + +“Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you.” + +I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in my +pockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her money. + +“She's in a great hurry,” I muttered to myself, as I descended to the +door. + +“You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs. +Blake. I haven't any change, this evening.” + +The expression of the poor woman's face, as she turned slowly away, +without speaking, rather softened my feelings. + +“I'm sorry,” said I, “but it can't be helped now. I wish you had said, +this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid you then.” + +She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then she moved +off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touched sensibly. + +“I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change about +me. And I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money, if she +wanted it so badly?” + +I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards I met +the lady with whom I was boarding. + +“Do you know anything about this Mrs. Blake, who washes for me?” I +inquired. + +“Not much; except that she is very poor, and has three children to feed +and clothe. And what is worst of all, she is in bad health. I think she +told me, this morning, that one of her little ones was very sick.” + +I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon after left +the room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only a sixpence +in my pocket; and, moreover, did not know where to find Mrs. Blake. + +Having purposed to make a call upon some young ladies that evening, I +now went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotless linen +brought home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of it rebuked me; +and I had to conquer, with some force, an instinctive reluctance, before +I could compel myself to put on a clean shirt, and snow-white vest, too +recently from the hand of my unpaid washerwoman. + +One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more to me than a mere +pleasant acquaintance. My heart had, in fact, been warming towards her +for some time; and I was particularly anxious to find favour in her +eyes. On this evening she was lovelier and more attractive than ever, +and new bonds of affection entwined themselves around my heart. + +Judge, then, of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of her +mother--at the very moment when my heart was all a-glow with love, who +said, as she came in-- + +“Oh, dear! This is a strange world!” + +“What new feature have you discovered now, mother?” asked one of her +daughters, smiling. + +“No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive than +ever,” was replied. “Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, in great +trouble.” + +“What about, mother?” All the young ladies at once manifested unusual +interest. + +Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which the eyes +of the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severe scrutiny. + +“The old story, in cases like hers,” was answered. “Can't get her money +when earned, although for daily bread she is dependent on her daily +labour. With no food in the house, or money to buy medicine for her sick +child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and to humble her spirit, +which is an independent one, so low as to ask bread for her little ones, +and the loan of a pittance with which to get what the doctor has ordered +her feeble sufferer at home.” + +“Oh, what a shame!” fell from the lips of Ellen, the one in whom my +heart felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at me earnestly +as she spoke. + +“She fully expected,” said the mother, “to get a trifle that was due her +from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went to see him +this evening. But he put her off with some excuse. How strange that +any one should be so thoughtless as to withhold from the poor their +hard-earned pittance! It is but a small sum at best, that the toiling +seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearying labour. That, at +least, should be promptly paid. To withhold it an hour is to do, in many +cases, a great wrong.” + +For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. I +felt that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who had +withheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing. What +my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; and difficult for +any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a position, to imagine. + +My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and in +another channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest upon +me. You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten o'clock on +the next day, and that I never again fell into the error of neglecting, +for a single week, my poor washerwoman. + + + + +FORGIVE AND FORGET. + + + + THERE'S a secret in living, if folks only knew; + An Alchymy precious, and golden, and true, + More precious than “gold dust,” though pure and refined, + For its mint is the heart, and its storehouse the mind; + Do you guess what I mean--for as true as I live + That dear little secret's--forget and forgive! + + When hearts that have loved have grown cold and estranged, + And looks that beamed fondness are clouded and changed, + And words hotly spoken and grieved for with tears + Have broken the trust and the friendship of years-- + Oh! think 'mid thy pride and thy secret regret, + The balm for the wound is--forgive and forget! + + Yes! look in thy spirit, for love may return + And kindle the embers that still feebly burn; + And let this true whisper breathe high in thy heart, + _'Tis better to love than thus suffer apart_-- + + Let the Past teach the Future more wisely than yet, + For the friendship that's true can forgive and forget. + + And now, an adieu! if you list to my lay + May each in your thoughts bear my motto away, + 'Tis a crude, simple ryhme, but its truth may impart + A joy to the gentle and loving of heart; + And an end I would claim far more practical yet + In behalf of the Rhymer--_forgive and forget!_ + + + + +OWE NO MAN ANYTHING. + + + +THUS says an Apostle; and if those who are able to “owe no man anything” + would fully observe this divine obligation, many, very many, whom their +want of punctuality now compels to live in violation of this precept, +would then faithfully and promptly render to every one their just dues. + +“What is the matter with you, George?” said Mrs. Allison to her husband, +as he paced the floor of their little sitting-room, with an anxious, +troubled expression of countenance. + +“Oh! nothing of much consequence: only a little worry of business,” + replied Mr. Allison. + +“But I know better than that, George. I know it is of consequence; you +are not apt to have such a long face for nothing. Come, tell me what it +is that troubles you. Have I not a right to share your griefs as well as +your joys?” + +“Indeed, Ellen, it is nothing but business, I assure you; and as I am +not blessed with the most even temper in the world, it does not take +much you know to upset me: but you heard me speak of that job I was +building for Hillman?” + +“Yes. I think you said it was to be five hundred dollars, did you not?” + +“I did; and it was to have been cash as soon as done. Well, he took it +out two weeks ago; one week sooner than I promised it. I sent the bill +with it, expecting, of course, he would send me a check for the amount; +but I was disappointed. Having heard nothing from him since, I thought I +would call on him this morning, when, to my surprise, I was told he had +gone travelling with his wife and daughter, and would not be back for +six weeks or two months. I can't tell you how I felt when I was told +this.” + +“He is safe enough for it I suppose, isn't he, George?” + +“Oh, yes; he is supposed to be worth about three hundred thousand. But +what good is that to me? I was looking over my books this afternoon, +and, including this five hundred, there is just fifteen hundred dollars +due me now, that I ought to have, but can't get it. To a man doing a +large business it would not be much; but to one with my limited means, +it is a good deal. And this is all in the hands of five individuals, any +one of whom could pay immediately, and feel not the least inconvenience +from it.” + +“Are you much pressed for money just now, George?” + +“I have a note in bank of three hundred, which falls due to-morrow, and +one of two hundred and fifty on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars at least +will be required to pay off my hands; and besides this, our quarter's +rent is due on Monday, and my shop rent next Wednesday. Then there are +other little bills I wanted to settle, our own wants to be supplied, +&c.” + +“Why don't you call on those persons you spoke of; perhaps they would +pay you?” + +“I have sent their bills in, but if I call on them so soon I might +perhaps affront them, and cause them to take their work away; and that +I don't want to do. However, I think I shall have to do it, let the +consequence be what it may.” + +“Perhaps you could borrow what you need, George, for a few days.” + +“I suppose I could; but see the inconvenience and trouble it puts me +to. I was so certain of getting Hillman's money to meet these two notes, +that I failed to make any other provision.” + +“That would not have been enough of itself.” + +“No, but I have a hundred on hand; the two together would have paid +them, and left enough for my workmen too.” + +As early as practicable the next morning Mr. Allison started forth to +raise the amount necessary to carry him safely through the week. He +thought it better to try to collect some of the amounts owing to him +than to borrow. He first called on a wealthy merchant, whose annual +income was something near five thousand. + +“Good morning, Mr. Allison,” said he, as that individual entered his +counting-room. “I suppose you want some money.” + +“I should like a little, Mr. Chapin, if you please.” + +“Well, I intended coming down to see you, but I have been so busy that +I have not been able. That carriage of mine which you did up a few weeks +ago does not suit me altogether.” + +“What is the matter with it?” + +“I don't like the style of trimming, for one thing; it has a common look +to me.” + +“It is precisely what Mrs. Chapin ordered. You told me to suit her.” + +“Yes, but did she not tell you to trim it like General Spangler's?” + +“I am very much mistaken, Mr. Chapin, if it is not precisely like his.” + +“Oh! no; his has a much richer look than mine.” + +“The style of trimming is just the same, Mr. Chapin; but you certainly +did not suppose that a carriage trimmed with worsted lace, would look as +well as one trimmed with silk lace?” + +“No, of course not; but there are some other little things about it that +don't suit me. I will send my man down with it to-day, and he will show +you what they are. I would like to have it to-morrow afternoon, to take +my family out in. Call up on Monday, and we will have a settlement.” + +Mr. Allison next called at the office of a young lawyer, who had +lately come into possession of an estate valued at one hundred thousand +dollars. Mr. Allison's bill was three hundred dollars, which his young +friend assured him he would settle immediately, only that there was a +slight error in the way it was made out, and not having the bill with +him, he could not now correct it. + +He would call on Mr. Allison with it, sometime during the next week, and +settle it. + +A Custom-House gentleman was next sought, but his time had been so much +taken up with his official duties, that he had not yet been able to +examine the bill. He had no doubt but it was all correct; still, as he +was not accustomed to doing business in a loose way, he must claim Mr. +Allison's indulgence a few days longer. + +Almost disheartened, Mr. Allison entered the store of the last +individual who was indebted to him for any considerable amount, not +daring to hope that he would be any more successful with him than with +the others he had called on. But he was successful; the bill, which +amounted to near one hundred and fifty dollars, was promptly paid, Mr. +Allison's pocket, in consequence, that much heavier, and his heart that +much lighter. Fifty dollars was yet lacking of the sum requisite for +that day. After calling on two or three individuals, this amount was +obtained, with the promise of being returned by the middle of the next +week. + +“I shall have hard work to get through to-day, I know,” said he to +himself, as he sat at his desk on the following morning. + +“Two hundred and fifty dollars to be raised by borrowing. I don't know +where I can get it.” + +To many this would be a small sum, but Mr. Allison was peculiarly +situated. He was an honest, upright mechanic, but he was poor. It was +with difficulty he had raised the fifty dollars on the day previous. +Although he had never once failed in returning money at the time +promised, still, for some reason or other, everybody appeared unwilling +to lend him. It was nearly two O'clock and he was still a hundred +dollars short. + +“Well,” said he to himself, “I have done all I could, and if Hall won't +renew the note for the balance, it will have to be protested. I'll go +and ask him, though I have not much hope that he will do it.” + +As he was about leaving his shop for that purpose, a gentleman entered +who wished to buy a second-hand carriage. Mr. Allison had but one, and +that almost new, for which he asked a hundred and forty dollars. + +“It is higher than I wished to go,” remarked the gentleman. “I ought to +get a new one for that price.” + +“So you can, but not like this. I can sell you a new one for a hundred +and twenty-five dollars. But what did you expect to pay for one?” + +“I was offered one at Holton's for seventy-five; but I did not like it. +I will give you a hundred for yours.” + +“It is too little, indeed, sir: that carriage cost three hundred dollars +when it was new. It was in use a very short time. I allowed a hundred +and forty dollars for it myself.” + +“Well, sir, I would not wish you to sell at a disadvantage, but if you +like to, accept of my offer I'll take it. I'm prepared to pay the cash +down.” + +Mr. Allison did not reply for some minutes. He was undecided as to what +was best. + +“Forty dollars,” said he to himself, “is a pretty heavy discount. I +am almost tempted to refuse his offer and trust to Hall's renewing the +note. But suppose he won't--then I'm done for. I think, upon the whole, +I had better accept it. I'll put it at one hundred and twenty-five, my +good friend,” said he, addressing the customer. + +“No, sir; one hundred is all I shall give.” + +“Well, I suppose you must have it, then; but indeed you have got a +bargain.” + +“It is too bad,” muttered Allison to himself, as he left the bank after +having paid his note. “There is just forty dollars thrown away. And why? +Simply because those who are blessed with the means of discharging their +debts promptly, neglect to do so.” + +“How did you make out to-day, George?” asked his wife, as they sat at +the tea-table that same evening. + +“I met my note, and that was all.” + +“Did you give your men anything?” + +“Not a cent. I had but one dollar left after paying that. I was sorry +for them, but I could not help them. I am afraid Robinson's family will +suffer, for there has been sickness in his house almost constantly for +the last twelvemonth. His wife, he told me the other day, had not been +out; of her bed for six weeks. Poor fellow! He looked quite dejected +when I told him I had nothing for him.” + +At this moment; the door-bell rang and a minute or two afterwards, a +young girl entered the room in which Mr. and Mrs. Allison were sitting. +Before introducing her to our readers, we will conduct them to the +interior of an obscure dwelling, situated near the outskirts of the +city. The room is small, and scantily furnished, and answers at once +for parlour, dining-room, and kitchen. Its occupants, Mrs. Perry and her +daughter, have been, since the earliest dawn of day, intently occupied +with their needles, barely allowing themselves time to partake of their +frugal meal. + +“Half-past three o'clock!” ejaculated the daughter, her eyes glancing, +as she spoke, at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I am afraid we shall not +get this work done in time for me to take it home before dark, mother.” + +“We must try hard, Laura, for you know we have not a cent in the house, +and I told Mrs. Carr to come over to-night, and I would pay her what I +owe her for washing. Poor thing! I would not like to disappoint her, for +I know she needs it.” + +Nothing more was said for near twenty minutes, when Laura again broke +the silence. + +“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, “what a pain I have in my side!” And for a +moment she rested from her work, and straightened herself in her chair, +to afford a slight relief from the uneasiness she experienced. “I +wonder, mother, if I shall always be obliged to sit so steady?” + +“I hope not, my child; but bad as our situation is, there are hundreds +worse off than we. Take Annie Carr, for instance--how would you like to +exchange places with her?” + +“Poor Annie! I was thinking of her awhile go, mother. How hard it must +be for one so young to be so afflicted as she is!” + +“And yet, Laura, she never complains; although for five years she has +never left her bed, and has often suffered, I know, for want of proper +nourishment.” + +“I don't think she will suffer much longer, mother. I stopped in to see +her the other day, and I was astonished at the change which had taken +place in a short time. Her conversation, too, seems so heavenly, her +faith in the Lord so strong, that I could not avoid coming to the +conclusion that a few days more, at the most, would terminate her +wearisome life.” + +“It will be a happy release for her, indeed, my daughter. Still, it will +be a sore trial for her mother.” + +It was near six when Mrs. Perry and her daughter finished the work upon +which they were engaged. + +“Now Laura, dear,” said the mother, “get back as soon as you can, for I +don't like you to be out after night, and more than that, if Mrs. Carr +comes, she won't want to wait.” + +About twenty minutes after the young girl had gone, Mrs. Carr called. +“Pray, be seated, my dear friend,” said Mrs. Perry, “my daughter has +just gone to Mrs. Allison's with some work, and as soon as she returns I +can pay you.” + +“I think I had better call over again, Mrs. Perry,” answered the poor +woman; “Mary begged me not to stay long.” + +“Is Annie any worse, then?” + +“Oh, yes, a great deal; the doctor thinks she will hardly last till +morning.” + +“Well, Mrs. Carr, death can be only gain to her.” + +“Very true; still, the idea of losing her seems dreadful to me.” + +“How does Mary get on at Mrs. Owring's?” + +“Not very well; she has been at work for her just one month to-day; and +although she gave her to understand that her wages would be at least a +dollar and a quarter a week, yet to-night, when she settled with her, +she wouldn't give her but three dollars, and at the same time told her +that if she didn't choose to work for that she could go.” + +“What do you suppose was the reason for her acting so?” + +“I don't know, indeed, unless it is because she does not get there quite +as early as the rest of her hands; for you see I am obliged to keep her +a little while in the morning to help me to move Annie while I make her +bed. Even that little sum, small it was, would have been some help to +us, but it had all to go for rent. My landlord would take no denial. But +I must go; you think I can depend on receiving your money to-night?” + +“I do. Mrs. Allison is always prompt in paying for her work as soon +as it is done. I will not trouble you to come again for it, Mrs. Carr. +Laura shall bring it over to you.” + +Let us now turn to the young girl we left at Mr. Allison's, whom our +readers, no doubt, recognise as Laura Perry. + +“Good evening, Laura,” said Mrs. Allison, as she entered the room; “not +brought my work home already! I did not look for it till next week. You +and your mother, I am afraid, confine yourselves too closely to your +needles for your own good. But you have not had your tea? sit up, and +take some.” + +“No, thank you, Mrs. Allison; mother will be uneasy if I stay long.” + +“Well, Laura, I am sorry, but I cannot settle with you to-night. Tell +your mother Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting to-day, or she +certainly should have had it. Did she say how much it was?” + +“Two dollars, ma'am.” + +“Very well: I will try and let her have it next week.” + +The expression of Laura's countenance told too plainly the +disappointment she felt. “I am afraid Mrs. Perry is in want of that +money,” remarked the husband after she had gone. + +“Not the least doubt of it,” replied his wife. “She would not have sent +home work at this hour if she had not been. Poor things! who can tell +the amount of suffering and wretchedness that is caused by the rich +neglecting to pay promptly.” + +“You come without money, Laura,” said her mother, as she entered the +house. + +“How do you know that, mother?” she replied, forcing a smile. + +“I read it in your countenance. Is it not so?” + +“It is: Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting--what will we do, +mother?” + +“The best we can, my child. We will have to do without our beef for +dinner to-morrow; but then we have plenty of bread; so we shall not +starve.” + +“And I shall have to do without my new shoes. My old ones are too shabby +to go to church in; so I shall have to stay at home.” + +“I am sorry for your disappointment, my child, but I care more for Mrs. +Carr than I do for ourselves. She has been here, and is in a great deal +of trouble. The doctor don't think Annie will live till morning, and +Mrs. Owrings hag refused to give Mary more than three dollars for her +month's work, every cent of which old Grimes took for rent. I told her +she might depend on getting what I owed her, and that I would send you +over with it when you returned. You had better go at once and tell her, +Laura; perhaps she may be able to get some elsewhere.” + +“How much is it, mother?” + +“Half a dollar.” + +“It seems hard that she can't get that small sum.” + +With a heavy heart Laura entered Mrs. Carr's humble abode. + +“Oh how glad I am that you have come, my dear!” exclaimed the poor +woman. “Annie has been craving some ice cream all day; it's the only +thing she seems to fancy. I told her she should have it as soon as you +came.” + +Mrs. Carr's eyes filled with tears as Laura told of her ill success. “I +care not for myself,” she said “but for that poor suffering child.” + +“Never mind me, mother,” replied Annie. “It was selfish in me to want +it, when I know how hard you and Mary are obliged to work for every cent +you get. But I feel that I shall not bother you much longer; I have a +strange feeling here now.” And she placed her hand upon her left side. + +“Stop!” cried Laura; “I'll try and get some ice cream for you Annie.” + And off she ran to her mother's dwelling. “Mother,” said she, as she +entered the house, “do you recollect that half dollar father gave me the +last time he went to sea?” + +“Yes, dear.” + +“Well, I think I had better take it and pay Mrs. Carr. Annie is very +bad, and her mother says she has been wanting some ice cream all day.” + +“It is yours, Laura, do as you like about it.” + +“It goes hard with me to part with it, mother, for I had determined +to keep it in remembrance of my father. It is just twelve years to-day +since he went away. But poor Annie--yes, mother, I will take it.” + +So saying, Laura went to unlock the box which contained her treasure, +but unfortunately her key was not where she had supposed it was. After +a half hour's search she succeeded in finding it. Tears coursed down her +cheeks like rain as she removed from the corner of the little box, where +it had lain for so many years, this precious relic of a dear father, who +in all probability, was buried beneath the ocean. Dashing them hastily +away, she started again for Mrs. Carr's. The ice cream was procured on +the way, and, just as the clock struck eight, she arrived at the door. +One hour has elapsed since she left. But why does she linger on the +threshold? Why but because the sounds of weeping and mourning have +reached her ears, and she fears that all is over with her poor friend, +Her fears are indeed true, for the pure spirit of the young sufferer has +taken its flight to that blest land where hunger and thirst are known +no more. Poor Annie! thy last earthly wish, a simple glass of ice-cream, +was denied thee--and why? We need not pause to answer: ye who have an +abundance of this world's goods, think, when ye are about to turn +from your doors the poor seamstress or washerwoman, or even those less +destitute than they, without a just recompense for their labour, +whether the sufferings and privations of some poor creatures will not be +increased thereby. + + + + +RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. + + + +OBADIAH LAWSON and Watt Dood were neighbours; that is, they lived within +a half mile of each other, and no person lived between their respective +farms, which would have joined, had not a little strip of prairie land +extended itself sufficiently to keep them separated. Dood was the oldest +settler, and from his youth up had entertained a singular hatred against +Quakers; therefore, when he was informed that Lawson, a regular disciple +of that class of people had purchased the next farm to his, he declared +he would make him glad to move away again. Accordingly, a system of +petty annoyances was commenced by him, and every time one of Lawson's +hogs chanced to stray upon Dood's place, he was beset by men and dogs, +and most savagely abused. Things progressed thus for nearly a year, and +the Quaker, a man of decidedly peace principles, appeared in no way to +resent the injuries received at the hands of his spiteful neighbour. But +matters were drawing to a crisis; for Dood, more enraged than ever at +the quiet of Obadiah, made oath that he would do something before long +to wake up the spunk of Lawson. Chance favoured his design. The Quaker +had a high-blooded filly, which he had been very careful in raising, and +which was just four years old. Lawson took great pride in this animal, +and had refused a large sum of money for her. + +One evening, a little after sunset, as Watt Dood was passing around +his cornfield, he discovered the filly feeding in the little strip of +prairie land that separated the two farms, and he conceived the hellish +design of throwing off two or three rails of his fence, that the horse +might get into his corn during the night. He did so, and the next +morning, bright and early, he shouldered his rifle and left the house. +Not long after his absence, a hired man, whom he had recently employed, +heard the echo of his gun, and in a few minutes Dood, considerably +excited and out of breath, came hurrying to the house, where he stated +that he had shot at and wounded a buck; that the deer attacked him, and +he hardly escaped with his life. + +This story was credited by all but the newly employed hand, who had +taken a dislike to Watt, and, from his manner, suspected that something +was wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from the house, and going +through the field in the direction of the shot, he suddenly came upon +Lawson's filly, stretched upon the earth, with a bullet hole through the +head, from which the warm blood was still oozing. + +The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour. He hastened +back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and demanded, +somewhat roughly, where he had been. + +“I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson's filly,” + was the instant retort. + +Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercely shouted, + +“Do you dare to say I killed her?” + +“How do you know she is dead?” replied the man. + +Dood bit his lip, hesitated a moment, and then turning, walked into the +house. + +A couple of days passed by, and the morning of the third one had broken, +as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of his filly. + +A few words of explanation ensued, when, with a heavy heart, the Quaker +turned his horse and rode home, where he informed the people of the fate +of his filly. No threat of recrimination escaped him; he did not even +go to law to recover damages; but calmly awaited his plan and hour of +revenge. It came at last. + +Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which he had paid a heavy price, and +upon which he counted to make great gains. + +One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his eldest son came in +with the information that neighbour Dood's heifer had broken down the +fence, entered the yard, and after eating most of the cabbages, had +trampled the well-made beds and the vegetables they contained, out of +all shape--a mischief impossible to repair. + +“And what did thee do with her, Jacob?” quietly asked Obadiah. + +“I put her in the farm-yard.” + +“Did thee beat her?” + +“I never struck her a blow.” + +“Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and when done eating I +will attend to the heifer.” + +Shortly after he had finished his repast, Lawson mounted a horse, and +rode over to Dood's, who was sitting under the porch in front of his +house, and who, as he beheld the Quaker dismount, supposed he was coming +to demand pay for his filly, and secretly swore he would have to law for +it if he did. + +“Good morning, neighbour Dood; how is thy family?” exclaimed Obadiah, as +he mounted the steps and seated himself in a chair. + +“All well, I believe,” was the crusty reply. + +“I have a small affair to settle with you this morning, and I came +rather early.” + +“So I suppose,” growled Watt. + +“This morning, my son found thy Durham heifer in my garden, where she +has destroyed a good deal.” + +“And what did he do with her?” demanded Dood, his brow darkening. + +“What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thy +garden?” asked Obadiah. + +“I'd a shot her!” retorted Watt, madly, “as I suppose you have done; but +we are only even now. Heifer for filly is only 'tit for tat.'” + +“Neighbour Dood, thou knowest me not, if thou thinkest I would harm a +hair of thy heifer's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even a blow +has been struck her, where thee can get her at any time. I know thee +shot my filly; but the evil one prompted thee to do it, and I lay no +evil in my heart against my neighbours. I came to tell thee where thy +heifer is, and now I'll go home.” + +Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to descend the steps, when he +was stopped by Watt, who hastily asked, + +“What was your filly worth?” + +“A hundred dollars is what I asked for her,” replied Obediah. + +“Wait a moment!” and Dood rushed into the house, from whence he soon +returned, holding some gold in his hand. “Here's the price of your +filly; and hereafter let there be a pleasantness between us.” + +“Willingly, heartily,” answered Lawson, grasping the proffered hand of +the other; “let there be peace between us.” + +Obadiah mounted his horse, and rode home with a lighter heart, and from +that day to this Dood has been as good a neighbour as one could wish to +have; being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. + + + + +PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET. + + + +“DO you recollect Thomas, who lived with us as waiter about two years +ago, Mary?” asked Mr. Clarke, as he seated himself in his comfortable +arm-chair, and slipped his feet into the nicely-warmed, embroidered +slippers, which stood ready for his use. + +“Certainly,” was the reply of Mrs. Clarke. “He was a bright, active +fellow, but rather insolent.” + +“He has proved to be a regular pickpocket,” continued her husband, “and +is now on his way to Blackwell's Island.” + +“A very suitable place for him. I hope he will be benefited by a few +months' residence there,” returned the lady. + +“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Mr. Joshua Clarke, an uncle of the young +couple, who was quietly reading a newspaper in another part of the room. +“There are many of high standing in the world, who deserve to go to +Blackwell's Island quite as much as he does.” + +“You are always making such queer speeches, Uncle Joshua,” said his +niece. “I suppose you do not mean that there are pickpockets among +respectable people?” + +“Indeed, there are, my dear niece. Your knowledge of the world must be +very limited, if you are not aware of this. Putting your hand in your +neighbour's pocket, is one of the most fashionable accomplishments of +the day.” + +Mrs. Clarke was too well acquainted with her uncle's peculiarities to +think of arguing with him. She therefore merely smiled, and said to her +husband:-- + +“Well, Henry, I am glad that neither you nor myself are acquainted with +this fashionable accomplishment.” + +“Not acquainted with it!” exclaimed the old gentleman. “I thought +you knew yourselves better. Why, you and Henry are both regular +pickpockets!” + +“I wonder that you demean yourself by associating with us!” was the +playful reply. + +“Oh, you are no worse than the rest of the world; and, besides, I hope +to do you some good, when you grow older and wiser. At present, Henry's +whole soul is absorbed in the desire to obtain wealth.” + +“In a fair and honourable way, uncle,” interrupted Mr. Clarke, “and for +honourable purposes.” + +“Certainly,” replied Uncle Joshua, “in the common acceptation of the +words _fair_ and _honourable_. But, do you never, in your mercantile +speculations, endeavour to convey erroneous impressions to the minds +of those with whom you are dealing? Do you not sometimes suppress +information which would prevent your obtaining a good bargain? Do you +never allow your customers to purchase goods under false ideas of +their value and demand in the market? If you saw a man, less skilled +in business than yourself, about to take a step injurious to him, but +advantageous to you, would you warn him of his danger--thus obeying the +command to love your neighbour as yourself?” + +“Why, uncle, these questions are absurd. Of course, when engaged in +business, I endeavour to do what is for my own advantage--leaving others +to look out for themselves.” + +“Exactly so. You are perfectly willing to put your hand in your +neighbour's pocket and take all you can get, provided he is not wise +enough to know that your hand is there.” + +“Oh, for shame, Uncle Joshua! I shall not allow you to talk to Henry in +this manner,” exclaimed Mrs. Clarke perceiving that her husband looked +somewhat irritated. “Come, prove your charge against me. In what way do +I pick my neighbour's pockets?” + +“You took six shillings from the washerwoman this morning,” coolly +replied Uncle Joshua. + +“_Took_ six shillings from the washerwoman! Paid her six shillings, you +mean, uncle. She called for the money due for a day's work, and I gave +it to her.” + +“Yes, but not till you had kept her waiting nearly two hours. I heard +her say, as she left the house, 'I have lost a day's work by this delay, +for I cannot go to Mrs. Reed's at this hour; so I shall be six shillings +poorer at the end of the week.'” + +“Why did she wait, then? She could have called again. I was not ready to +attend to her at so early an hour.” + +“Probably she needed the money to-day. You little know the value of six +shillings to the mother of a poor family, Mary; but, you should remember +that her time is valuable, and that it is as sinful to deprive her of +the use of it, as if you took money from her purse.” + +“Well, uncle, I will acknowledge that I did wrong to keep the poor woman +waiting, and I will endeavour to be more considerate in future. So +draw your chair to the table, and take a cup of tea and some of your +favourite cakes.” + +“Thank you, Mary; but I am engaged to take tea with your old friend, +Mrs. Morrison. Poor thing! she has not made out very well lately. Her +school has quite run down, owing to sickness among her scholars; and +her own family have been ill all winter; so that her expenses have been +great.” + +“I am sorry to hear this,” replied Mrs. Clarke. “I had hoped that her +school was succeeding. Give my love to her, uncle, and tell her I will +call upon her in a day or two.” + +Uncle Joshua promised to remember the message, and bidding Mr. and Mrs. +Clarke good evening, he was soon seated in Mrs. Morrison's neat little +parlour, which, though it bore no comparison with the spacious and +beautifully furnished apartments he had just left, had an air of comfort +and convenience which could not fail to please. + +Delighted to see her old friend, whom she also, from early habit, +addressed by the title of Uncle Joshua, although he was no relation, +Mrs. Morrison's countenance, for awhile beamed with that cheerful, +animated expression which it used to wear in her more youthful days; +but an expression of care and anxiety soon over shadowed it, and, in +the midst of her kind attentions to her visiter, and her affectionate +endearment to two sweet children, who were playing around the room, she +would often remain thoughtful and abstracted for several minutes. + +Uncle Joshua was an attentive observer, and he saw that something +weighed heavily upon her mind. When tea was over, and the little ones +had gone to rest, he said, kindly, + +“Come, Fanny, draw your chair close to my side, and tell me all your +troubles, as freely as you used to do when a merry-hearted school-girl. +How often have listened to the sad tale of the pet pigeon, that had +flown away, or the favourite plant killed by the untimely frost. Come, I +am ready, now as then, to assist you with my advice, and my purse, too, +if necessary.” + +Tears started to Mrs. Morrison's eyes, as she replied. + +“You were always a kind friend to me, Uncle Joshua, and I will gladly +confide my troubles to you. You know that after my husband's death I +took this house, which, though small, may seem far above my limited +income, in the hope of obtaining a school sufficiently large to enable +me to meet the rent, and also to support myself and children. The small +sum left them by their father I determined to invest for their future +use. I unwisely intrusted it to one who betrayed the trust, and +appropriated the money to some wild speculation of his own. He says that +he did this in the hope of increasing my little property. It may be so, +but my consent should have been asked. He failed and there is little +hope of our ever recovering more, than a small part of what he owes +us. But, to return to my school. I found little difficulty in obtaining +scholars, and, for a short time, believed myself to be doing well, but I +soon found that a large number of scholars did not insure a large +income from the school. My terms were moderate, but still I found great +difficulty in obtaining what was due to me at the end of the term. + +“A few paid promptly, and without expecting me to make unreasonable +deductions for unpleasant weather, slight illness, &c., &c. Others paid +after long delay, which often put me to the greatest inconvenience; and +some, after appointing day after day for me to call, and promising each +time that the bill should be settled without fail, moved away, I knew +not whither, or met me at length with a cool assurance that it was not +possible for them to pay me at present--if it was ever in their power +they would let me know.” + +“Downright robbery!” exclaimed Uncle Joshua. “A set of pickpockets! I +wish they were all shipped for Blackwell's Island.” + +“There are many reasons assigned for not paying,” continued Mrs. +Morrison. “Sometimes the children had not learned as much as the parents +expected. Some found it expedient to take their children away long +before the expiration of the term, and then gazed at me in astonishment +when I declared my right to demand pay for the whole time for which they +engaged. One lady, in particular, to whose daughter I was giving music +lessons, withdrew the pupil under pretext of slight indisposition, and +sent me the amount due for a half term. I called upon her, and stated +that I considered the engagement binding for twenty-four lessons, but +would willingly wait until the young lady was quite recovered. The +mother appeared to assent with willingness to this arrangement, and took +the proffered money without comment. An hour or two after I received +a laconic epistle stating that the lady had already engaged another +teacher, whom she thought preferable--that she had offered me the amount +due for half of the term, and I had declined receiving it--therefore she +should not offer it again. I wrote a polite, but very plain, reply to +this note, and enclosed my bill for the whole term, but have never heard +from her since.” + +“Do you mean to say that she actually received the money which you +returned to her without reluctance, and gave you no notice of her +intention to employ another teacher?” demanded the old gentleman. + +“Certainly; and, besides this, I afterwards ascertained that the young +lady was actually receiving a lesson from another teacher, when I called +at the house--therefore the plea of indisposition was entirely false. +The most perfect satisfaction had always been expressed as to the +progress of the pupil, and no cause was assigned for the change.” + +“I hope you have met with few cases as bad as this,” remarked Uncle +Joshua. “The world must be in a worse state than even I had supposed, if +such imposition is common.” + +“This may be an extreme case,” replied Mrs. Morrison, “but I could +relate many others which are little better. However, you will soon weary +of my experience in this way, Uncle Joshua, and I will therefore mention +but one other instance. One bitter cold day in January, I called at the +house of a lady who had owed me a small amount for nearly a year, and +after repeated delay had reluctantly fixed this day as the time when she +would pay me at least a part of what was due. I was told by the servant +who opened the door that the lady was not at home. + +“What time will she be in?” I inquired. + +“Not for some hours,” was the reply. + +Leaving word that I would call again towards evening, I retraced my +steps, feeling much disappointed at my ill success, as I had felt quite +sure of obtaining the money. About five o'clock I again presented myself +at the door, and was again informed that the lady was not at home. + +“I will walk in, and wait for her return,” I replied. + +The servant appeared somewhat startled at this, but after a little delay +ushered me into the parlour. Two little boys, of four and six years of +age, were playing about the room. I joined in their sports, and soon +became quite familiar with them. Half an hour had passed away, when I +inquired of the oldest boy what time he expected his mother? + +“Not till late,” he answered, hesitatingly. + +“Did she take the baby with her this cold day?” I asked. + +“Yes, ma'am,” promptly replied the girl, who, under pretence of +attending to the children, frequently came into the room. + +The youngest child gazed earnestly in my face, and said, smilingly, + +“Mother has not gone away, she is up stairs. She ran away with baby when +she saw you coming, and told us to say she had gone out. I am afraid +brother will take cold, for there is no fire up stairs.” + +“It is no such thing,” exclaimed the girl and the eldest boy. “She is +not up stairs, ma'am, or she would see you.” + +But even as they spoke the loud cries of an infant were heard, and a +voice at the head of the stairs calling Jenny. + +The girl obeyed, and presently returned with the child in her arms, its +face, neck, and hands purple with cold. + +“Poor little thing, it has got its death in that cold room,” she said. +“Mistress cannot see you, ma'am, she is sick and gone to bed.” + +“This last story was probably equally false with the other, but I felt +that it was useless to remain, and with feelings of deep regret for the +poor children who were so early taught an entire disregard for truth, +and of sorrow for the exposure to cold to which I had innocently +subjected the infant, I left the house. A few days after, I heard that +the little one had died with croup. Jenny, whom I accidentally met in +the street, assured me that he took the cold which caused his death from +the exposure on the afternoon of my call, as he became ill the following +day. I improved the opportunity to endeavour to impress upon the mind +of the poor girl the sin of which she had been guilty, in telling a +falsehood even in obedience to the commands of her mistress; and I hope +that what I said may be useful to her. + +“The want of honesty and promptness in the parents of my pupils often +caused me great inconvenience, and I frequently found it difficult +to meet my rent when it became due. Still I have struggled through my +difficulties without contracting any debts until this winter, but the +sickness which has prevailed in my school has so materially lessened my +income, and my family expenses have, for the same reason, been so much +greater, that I fear it will be quite impossible for me to continue in +my present situation.” + +“Do not be discouraged,” said Uncle Joshua; “I will advance whatever sum +you are in immediate need of, and you may repay me when it is convenient +to yourself. I will also take the bills which are due to you from +various persons, and endeavour to collect them. Your present term is, I +suppose, nearly ended. Commence another with this regulation:--That the +price of tuition, or at least one-half of it, shall be paid before the +entrance of the scholar. Some will complain of this rule, but many will +not hesitate to comply with it, and you will find the result beneficial. +And now I would leave you, Fanny, for I have another call to make this +evening. My young friend, William Churchill, is, I hear, quite ill, and +I feel desirous to see him. I will call upon you in a day or two, and +then we will have another talk about your affairs, and see what can be +done for you. So good night, Fanny; go to sleep and dream of your old +friend.” + +Closing the door after Uncle Joshua, Mrs. Morrison returned to her room +with a heart filled with thankfulness that so kind a friend had been +sent to her in the hour of need; while the old gentleman walked with +rapid steps through several streets until he stood at the door of a +small, but pleasantly situated house in the suburbs of the city. His +ring at the bell was answered by a pretty, pleasant-looking young +woman, whom he addressed as Mrs. Churchill, and kindly inquired for her +husband. + +“William is very feeble to-day, but he will be rejoiced to see you, sir. +His disease is partly owing to anxiety of mind, I think, and when his +spirits are raised by a friendly visit, he feels better.” + +Uncle Joshua followed Mrs. Churchill to the small room which now served +the double purpose of parlour and bedroom. They were met at the door +by the invalid, who had recognised the voice of his old friend, and had +made an effort to rise and greet him. His sunken countenance, the hectic +flush which glowed upon his cheek, and the distressing cough, gave +fearful evidence that unless the disease was soon arrested in its +progress, consumption would mark him for its victim. + +The friendly visiter was inwardly shocked at his appearance, but wisely +made no allusion to it, and soon engaged him in cheerful conversation. +Gradually he led him to speak openly of his own situation,--of his +health, and of the pecuniary difficulties with which he was struggling. +His story was a common one. A young family were growing up around +him, and an aged mother and invalid sister also depended upon him for +support. The small salary which he obtained as clerk in one of the most +extensive mercantile establishments in the city, was quite insufficient +to meet his necessary expenses. He had, therefore, after being +constantly employed from early morning until a late hour in the evening, +devoted two or three hours of the night to various occupations which +added a trifle to his limited income. Sometimes he procured copying +of various kinds; at others, accounts, which he could take to his own +house, were intrusted to him. This incessant application had gradually +ruined his health, and now for several weeks he had been unable to leave +the house. + +“Have you had advice from an experienced physician, William?” inquired +Uncle Joshua. The young man blushed, as he replied, that he was +unwilling to send for a physician, knowing that he had no means to repay +his services. + +“I will send my own doctor to see you,” returned his friend. “He can +help you if any one can, and as for his fee I will attend to it, and if +you regain your health I shall be amply repaid.--No, do not thank me,” + he continued, as Mr. Churchill endeavoured to express his gratitude. +“Your father has done me many a favour, and it would be strange if I +could not extend a hand to help his son when in trouble. And now tell +me, William, is not your salary very small, considering the responsible +situation which you have so long held in the firm of Stevenson & Co.?” + +“It is,” was the reply; “but I see no prospect of obtaining more. +I believe I have always given perfect satisfaction to my employer, +although it is difficult to ascertain the estimation in which he holds +me, for he is a man who never praises. He has never found fault with me, +and therefore I suppose him satisfied, and indeed I have some proof of +this in his willingness to wait two or three months in the hope that I +may recover from my present illness before making a permanent engagement +with a new clerk. Notwithstanding this, he has never raised my salary, +and when I ventured to say to him about a year ago, that as his business +had nearly doubled since I had been with him, I felt that it would be +but just that I should derive some benefit from the change, he coolly +replied that my present salary was all that he had ever paid a clerk, +and he considered it a sufficient equivalent for my services. He knows +very well that it is difficult to obtain a good situation, there are so +many who stand ready to fill any vacancy, and therefore he feels quite +safe in refusing to give me, more.” + +“And yet,” replied Uncle Joshua, “he is fully aware that the advantage +resulting from your long experience and thorough acquaintance with his +business, increases his income several hundred dollars every year, and +this money he quietly puts into his own pocket, without considering or +caring that a fair proportion of it should in common honesty go into +yours. What a queer world we live in! The poor thief who robs you of +your watch or pocket-book, is punished without delay; but these wealthy +defrauders maintain their respectability and pass for honest men, even +while withholding what they know to be the just due of another. + +“But cheer up, William, I have a fine plan for you, if you can but +regain your health. I am looking for a suitable person to take charge of +a large sheep farm, which I propose establishing on the land which I own +in Virginia. You acquired some knowledge of farming in your early +days. How would you like to undertake this business? The climate is +delightful, the employment easy and pleasant; and it shall be my care +that your salary is amply sufficient for the support of your family.” + +Mr. Churchill could hardly command his voice sufficiently to express his +thanks, and his wife burst into tears, as she exclaimed, + +“If my poor husband had confided his troubles to you before, he would +not have been reduced to this feeble state.” + +“He will recover,” said the old gentleman. “I feel sure, that in one +month, he will look like a different man. Rest yourself, now, William, +and to-morrow I will see you again.” + +And, followed by the blessings and thanks of the young couple, Uncle +Joshua departed. + +“Past ten o'clock,” he said to himself, as he paused near a lamp-post +and looked at his watch. “I must go to my own room.” + +As he said this he was startled by a deep sigh from some one near, +and on looking round, saw a lad, of fourteen or fifteen years of age, +leaning against the post, and looking earnestly at him. + +Uncle Joshua recognised the son of a poor widow, whom he had +occasionally befriended, and said, kindly, + +“Well, John, are you on your way home from the store? This is rather a +late hour for a boy like you.” + +“Yes, sir, it is late. I cannot bear to return home to my poor mother, +for I have bad news for her to-night. Mr. Mackenzie does not wish to +employ me any more. My year is up to-day.” + +“Why, John, how is this? Not long ago your employer told me that he was +perfectly satisfied with you; indeed, he said that he never before had +so trusty and useful a boy.” + +“He has always appeared satisfied with me, sir, and I have endeavoured +to serve him faithfully. But he told me to-day that he had engaged +another boy.” + +Uncle Joshua mused for a moment, and then asked, + +“What was he to give you for the first year, John?” + +“Nothing, sir. He told my mother that my services would be worth nothing +the first year, but the second he would pay me fifty dollars, and so +increase my salary as I grew older. My poor mother has worked very hard +to support me this year, and I had hoped that I would be able to help +her soon. But it is all over now, and I suppose I must take a boy's +place again, and work another year for nothing.” + +“And then be turned off again. Another set of pickpockets,” muttered his +indignant auditor. + +“Pickpockets!” exclaimed the lad. “Did any one take your watch just now, +sir? I saw a man look at it as you took it out. Perhaps we can overtake +him. I think he turned into the next street.” + +“No, no, my boy. My watch is safe enough. I am not thinking of street +pickpockets, but of another class whom you will find out as you grow +older. But never mind losing your place, John. My nephew is in want of +a boy who has had some experience in your business, and will pay him a +fair salary--more than Mr. Mackenzie agreed to give you for the second +year. I will mention you to him, and you may call at his store to-morrow +at eleven o'clock, and we will see if you will answer his purpose.” + +“Thank you, Sir, I am sure I thank you; and mother will bless you for +your kindness,” replied the boy, his countenance glowing with animation; +and with a grateful “good night,” he darted off in the direction of his +own home. + +“There goes a grateful heart,” thought Uncle Joshua, as he gazed after +the boy until he turned the corner of the street and disappeared. “He +has lost his situation merely because another can be found who will do +the work for nothing for a year, in the vain hope of future recompense. +I wish Mary could have been with me this evening; I think she would have +acknowledged that there are many respectable pickpockets who deserve to +accompany poor Thomas to Blackwell's Island;” and thus soliloquizing, +Uncle Joshua reached the door of his boarding-house, and sought repose +in his own room. + + + + +KIND WORDS. + + + +WE have more than once, in our rapidly written reflections, urged the +policy and propriety of kindness, courtesy, and good-will between man +and man. It is so easy for an individual to manifest amenity of spirit, +to avoid harshness, and thus to cheer and gladden the paths of all over +whom he may have influence or control, that it is really surprising +to find any one pursuing the very opposite course. Strange as it may +appear, there are among the children of men, hundreds who seem to take +delight in making others unhappy. They rejoice at an opportunity of +being the messengers of evil tidings. They are jealous or malignant; and +in either case they exult in inflicting a wound. The ancients, in most +nations, had a peculiar dislike to croakers, prophets of evil, and the +bearers of evil tidings. It is recorded that the messenger from the +banks of the Tigris, who first announced the defeat of the Roman army +by the Persians, and the death of the Emperor Julian, in a Roman city of +Asia Minor, was instantly buried under a heap of stones thrown upon +him by an indignant populace. And yet this messenger was innocent, and +reluctantly discharged a painful duty. But how different the spirit +and the motive of volunteers in such cases--those who exult in an +opportunity of communicating bad news, and in some degree revel over +the very agony which it produces. The sensitive, the generous, the +honourable, would ever be spared from such painful missions. A case of +more recent occurrence may be referred to as in point. We allude to the +murder of Mr. Roberts, a farmer of New Jersey, who was robbed and +shot in his own wagon, near Camden. It became necessary that the sad +intelligence should be broken to his wife and family with as much +delicacy as possible. A neighbour was selected for the task, and at +first consented. But, on consideration, his heart failed him. He could +not, he said, communicate the details of a tragedy so appalling and he +begged to be excused. Another, formed it was thought of sterner stuff, +was then fixed upon: but he too, rough and bluff as he was in his +ordinary manners, possessed the heart of a generous and sympathetic +human being, and also respectfully declined. A third made a like +objection, and at last a female friend of the family was with much +difficulty persuaded, in company with another, to undertake the mournful +task. And yet, we repeat, there are in society, individuals who delight +in contributing to the misery of others--who are eager to circulate a +slander, to chronicle a ruin, to revive a forgotten error, to wound, +sting, and annoy, whenever they may do so with impunity. How much better +the gentle, the generous, the magnanimous policy! Why not do everything +that may be done for the happiness of our fellow creatures, without +seeking out their weak points, irritating their half-healed wounds, +jarring their sensibilities, or embittering their thoughts! The magic of +kind words and a kind manner can scarcely be over-estimated. Our fellow +creatures are more sensitive than is generally imagined. We have known +cases in which a gentle courtesy has been remembered with pleasure for +years. Who indeed cannot look back into “bygone time,” and discover some +smile, some look or other demonstration of regard or esteem, calculated +to bless and brighten every hour of after existence! “Kind words,” says +an eminent writer, “do not cost much. It does not take long to utter +them. They never blister the tongue or lips on their passage into the +world, or occasion any other kind of bodily suffering; and we have never +heard of any mental trouble arising from this quarter. Though they do +not cost much, yet they accomplish much. 1. They help one's own good +nature and good will. One cannot be in a habit of this kind, without +thereby pecking away something of the granite roughness of his own +nature. Soft words will soften his own soul. Philosophers tell us that +the angry words a man uses in his passion are fuel to the flame of his +wrath, and make it blaze the more fiercely. Why, then, should not +words of the opposite character produce opposite results, and that most +blessed of all passions of the soul, kindness, be augmented by +kind words? People that are for ever speaking kindly, are for ever +disinclining themselves to ill-temper. 2. Kind words make other people +good-natured. Cold words freeze people, and hot words scorch them, and +sarcastic words irritate them, and bitter words make them bitter, and +wrathful words make them wrathful. And kind words also produce their +own image on men's souls; and a beautiful image it is. They soothe, and +quiet, and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, +unkind feelings; and he has to become kind himself. There is such a rush +of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seems desirable to give +kind words a chance among them. There are vain words, idle words, hasty +words, spiteful words, silly words, and empty words. Now kind words +are better than the whole of them; and it is a pity that, among the +improvements of the present age, birds of this feather might not have +more of a chance than they have had to spread their wings.” + +It is indeed! Kind words should be brought into more general use. Those +in authority should employ them more frequently, when addressing +the less fortunate among mankind. Employers should use them in their +intercourse with their workmen. Parents should utter them on every +occasion to their children. The rich should never forget an opportunity +of speaking kindly to the poor. Neighbours and friends should emulate +each other in the employment of mild, gentle, frank, and kindly +language. But this cannot be done unless each endeavours to control +himself. Our passions and our prejudices must be kept in check. If we +find that we have a neighbour on the other side of the way, who has been +more fortunate in a worldly sense than we have been, and if we discover +a little jealousy or envy creeping into our opinions and feelings +concerning said neighbour--let us be careful, endeavour to put a +rein upon our tongues, and to avoid the indulgence of malevolence or +ill-will. If we, on the other hand, have been fortunate, have enough and +to spare, and there happens to be in our circle some who are dependent +upon us, some who look up to us with love and respect--let us be +generous, courteous, and kind--and thus we shall not only discharge a +duty, but prove a source of happiness to others. + + + + +NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS. + + + +MOST people think there are cares enough in the world, and yet many are +very industrious to increase them:--One of the readiest ways of doing +this is to quarrel with a neighbour. A bad bargain may vex a man for a +week, and a bad debt may trouble him for a month; but a quarrel with his +neighbours will keep him in hot water all the year round. + +Aaron Hands delights in fowls, and his cocks and hens are always +scratching up the flowerbeds of his neighbour William Wilkes, whose +mischievous tom-cat every now and then runs off with a chicken. The +consequence is, that William Wilkins is one half the day occupied in +driving away the fowls, and threatening to screw their long ugly necks +off; while Aaron Hands, in his periodical outbreaks, invariably vows to +skin his neighbour's cat, as sure as he can lay hold of him. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! Why can you not be at peace? Not all the fowls +you can rear, and the flowers you can grow, will make amends for a +life of anger, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness. Come to some +kind-hearted understanding one with another, and dwell in peace. + +Upton, the refiner, has a smoky chimney, that sets him and all the +neighbourhood by the ears. The people around abuse him without mercy, +complaining that they are poisoned, and declaring that they will indict +him at the sessions. Upton fiercely sets them at defiance, on the ground +that his premises were built before theirs, that his chimney did not +come to them, but that they came to his chimney. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! practise a little more forbearance. Had half a +dozen of you waited on the refiner in a kindly spirit, he would years +ago have so altered his chimney, that it would not have annoyed you. + +Mrs. Tibbets is thoughtless--if it were not so she would never have had +her large dusty carpet beaten, when her neighbour, who had a wash, +was having her wet clothes hung out to dry. Mrs. Williams is hasty and +passionate, or she would never have taken it for granted that the carpet +was beaten on purpose to spite her, and give her trouble. As it is, Mrs. +Tibbets and Mrs. Williams hate one another with a perfect hatred. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! bear with one another. We are none of us angels, +and should not, therefore, expect those about us to be free from faults. + +They who attempt to out-wrangle a quarrelsome neighbour, go the wrong +way to work. A kind word, and still more a kind deed, will be more +likely to be successful. Two children wanted to pass by a savage dog: +the one took a stick in his hand and pointed it at him, but this only +made the enraged creature more furious than before. The other child +adopted a different plan; for by giving the dog a piece of his bread and +butter, he was allowed to pass, the subdued animal wagging his tail in +quietude. If you happen to have a quarrelsome neighbour, conquer him by +civility and kindness; try the bread and butter system, and keep your +stick out of sight. That is an excellent Christian admonition, “A soft +answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger.” + +Neighbours' quarrels are a mutual reproach, and yet a stick or a straw +is sufficient to promote them. One man is rich, and another poor; one +is a churchman, another a dissenter; one is a conservative, another a +liberal; one hates another because he is of the same trade, and another +is bitter with his neighbour because he is a Jew or a Roman Catholic. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! live in love, and then while you make others +happy, you will be happier yourselves. + + “That happy man is surely blest, + Who of the worst things makes the best; + Whilst he must be of temper curst, + Who of the best things makes the worst.” + +“Be ye all of one mind,” says the Apostle, “having compassion one of +another; love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous; not rendering evil +for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing. “To a rich +man I would say, bear with and try to serve those who are below you; and +to a poor one-- + + “Fear God, love peace, and mind your labour; + And never, never quarrel with your neighbour.” + + + + +GOOD WE MIGHT DO. + + + + WE all might do good + Where we often do ill; + There is always the way, + If we have but the will; + Though it be but a word + Kindly breathed or supprest, + It may guard off some pain, + Or give peace to some breast. + + We all might do good + In a thousand small ways-- + In forbearing to flatter, + Yet yielding _due_ praise-- + In spurning ill humour, + Reproving wrong done, + And treating but kindly + Each heart we have won. + + We all might do good, + Whether lowly or great, + For the deed is not gauged + By the purse or estate; + If it be but a cup + Of cold water that's given, + Like “the widow's two mites,” + It is something for Heaven. + + + + +THE TOWN LOT. + + + +ONCE upon a time it happened that the men who governed the municipal +affairs of a certain growing town in the West, resolved, in grave +deliberation assembled, to purchase a five-acre lot at the north end +of the city--recently incorporated--and have it improved for a park or +public square. Now, it also happened, that all the saleable ground lying +north of the city was owned by a man named Smith--a shrewd, wide-awake +individual, whose motto was “Every man for himself,” with an occasional +addition about a certain gentleman in black taking “the hindmost.” + +Smith, it may be mentioned, was secretly at the bottom of this scheme +for a public square, and had himself suggested the matter to an +influential member of the council; not that he was moved by what is +denominated public spirit--no; the spring of action in the case was +merely “private spirit,” or a regard for his own good. If the council +decided upon a public square, he was the man from whom the ground +would have to be bought; and he was the man who could get his own price +therefor. + +As we have said, the park was decided upon, and a committee of two +appointed whose business it was to see Smith, and arrange with him for +the purchase of a suitable lot of ground. In due form the committee +called upon the landholder, who was fully prepared for the interview. + +“You are the owner of those lots at the north end?” said the spokesman +of the committee. + +“I am,” replied Smith, with becoming gravity. + +“Will you sell a portion of ground, say five acres, to the city?” + +“For what purpose?” Smith knew very well for what purpose the land was +wanted. + +“We have decided to set apart about five acres of ground, and improve it +as a kind of park, or public promenade.” + +“Have you, indeed? Well, I like that,” said Smith, with animation. “It +shows the right kind of public spirit.” + +“We have, moreover, decided that the best location will be at the north +end of the town.” + +“Decidedly my own opinion,” returned Smith. + +“Will you sell us the required acres?” asked one of the councilmen. + +“That will depend somewhat upon where you wish to locate the park.” + +The particular location was named. + +“The very spot,” replied Smith, promptly, “upon which I have decided to +erect four rows of dwellings.” + +“But it is too far out for that,” was naturally objected. + +“O, no; not a rod. The city is rapidly growing in that direction. I have +only to put up the dwellings referred to, and dozens will, be anxious to +purchase lots, and build all around them. Won't the ground to the left +of that you speak of answer as well?” + +But the committee replied in the negative. The lot they had mentioned +was the one decided upon as most suited for the purpose, and they were +not prepared to think of any other location. + +All this Smith understood very well. He was not only willing, but +anxious for the city to purchase the lot they were negotiating for. All +he wanted was to get a good round price for the same--say four or five +times the real value. So he feigned indifference, and threw difficulties +in the way. + +A few years previous to this time, Smith had purchased a considerable +tract of land at the north of the then flourishing village, at fifty +dollars an acre. Its present value was about three hundred dollars an +acre. After a good deal of talk on both sides, Smith finally agreed to +sell the particular lot pitched upon. The next thing was to arrange as +to price. + +“At what do you hold this ground per acre?” + +It was some time before Smith answered this question. His eyes were cast +upon the floor, and earnestly did he enter into debate with himself as +to the value he should place upon the lot. At first he thought of five +hundred dollars per acre. But his cupidity soon caused him to advance +on that sum, although, a month before, he would have caught at such +an offer. Then he advanced to six, to seven, and to eight hundred. And +still he felt undecided. + +“I can get my own price,” said he to himself. “The city has to pay, and +I might just as well get a large sum as a small one.” + +“For what price will you sell?” The question was repeated. + +“I must have a good price.” + +“We are willing to pay what is fair and right.” + +“Of course. No doubt you have fixed a limit to which you will go.” + +“Not exactly that,” said one of the gentlemen. + +“Are you prepared to make an offer?” + +“We are prepared to hear your price, and to make a report thereon,” was +replied. + +“That's a very valuable lot of ground,” said Smith. + +“Name your price,” returned one of the committeemen, a little +impatiently. + +Thus brought up to the point, Smith, after thinking hurriedly for a few +moments, said-- + +“One thousand dollars an acre.” + +Both the men shook their heads in a very positive way. Smith said that +it was the lowest he would take; and so the conference ended. + +At the next meeting of the city councils, a report on the town lot +was made, and the extraordinary demand of Smith canvassed. It was +unanimously decided not to make the proposed purchase. + +When this decision reached the landholder, he was considerably +disappointed. He wanted money badly, and would have “jumped at” two +thousand dollars for the five acre lot, if satisfied that it would bring +no more. But when the city came forward as a purchaser, his cupidity +was subjected to a very strong temptation. He believed that he could get +five thousand dollars as easily as two; and quieted his conscience by +the salvo--“An article is always worth what it will bring.” + +A week or two went by, and Smith was about calling upon one of the +members of the council, to say that, if the city really wanted the lot +he would sell at their price, leaving it with the council to act justly +and generously, when a friend said to him, + +“I hear that the council had the subject of a public square under +consideration again this morning.” + +“Indeed!” Smith was visibly excited, though he tried to appear calm. + +“Yes; and I also hear that they have decided to pay the extravagant +price you asked for a lot of ground at the north end of the city.” + +“A thousand dollars an acre?” + +“Yes.” + +“Its real value, and not cent more,” said Smith. + +“People differ about that. How ever, you are lucky,” the friend replied. +“The city is able to pay.” + +“So I think. And I mean they shall pay.” + +Before the committee, to whom the matter was given in charge, had time +to call upon Smith, and close with him for the lot, that gentleman had +concluded in his own mind that it would be just as easy to get twelve +hundred dollars an acre as a thousand. It was plain that the council +were bent upon having the ground, and would pay a round sum for it. +It was just the spot for a public square; and the city must become the +owner. So, when he was called upon, by the gentlemen, and they said to +him, + +“We are authorized to pay you your price,” he promptly answered, “The +offer is no longer open. You declined it when it was made. My price for +that property is now twelve hundred dollars an acre.” + +The men offered remonstrance; but it was of no avail. Smith believed +that he could get six thousand dollars for the ground as easily as five +thousand. The city must have the lot, and would pay almost any price. + +“I hardly think it right, Mr. Smith,” said one of his visiters, “for you +to take such an advantage. This square is for the public good.” + +“Let the public pay, then,” was the unhesitating answer. “The public is +able enough.” + +“The location of this park, at the north end of the city, will greatly +improve the value of your other property.” + +This Smith understood very well. But he replied, + +“I am not so sure of that. I have some very strong doubts on the +subject. It's my opinion, that the buildings I contemplated erecting +will be far more to my advantage. Be that as it may, however, I am +decided in selling for nothing less than six thousand dollars.” + +“We are only authorized to pay five thousand,” replied the committee. +“If you agree to take that sum, will close the bargain on the spot.” + +Five thousand dollars was a large sum of money, and Smith felt strongly +tempted to close in with the liberal offer. But six thousand loomed up +before his imagination still more temptingly. + +“I can get it,” said he to himself; “and the property is worth what it +will bring.” + +So he positively declined to sell it at a thousand dollars per acre. + +“At twelve hundred you will sell?” remarked one of the committee, as +they were about retiring. + +“Yes. I will take twelve hundred the acre. That is the lowest rate, and +I am not anxious even at that price. I can do quite as well by keeping +it in my own possession. But, as you seem so bent on having it, I will +not stand in your way. When will the council meet again?” + +“Not until next week.” + +“Very well. If they then accept my offer, all will be right. But, +understand me; if they do not accept, the offer no longer remains open. +It is a matter of no moment to me which way the thing goes.” + +It was a matter of moment to Smith, for all this assertion--a matter of +very great moment. He had several thousand dollars to pay in the +course of the next few months on land purchases, and no way to meet +the payments, except by mortgages, or sales of property; and, it may +naturally be concluded, that he suffered considerable uneasiness during +the time which passed until the next meeting of the council. + +Of course, the grasping disposition shown by Smith, became the town +talk; and people said a good many hard things of him. Little, however, +did he care, so that he secured six thousand dollars for a lot not worth +more than two thousand. + +Among other residents and property holders in the town, was a +simple-minded, true-hearted, honest man, named Jones. His father had +left him a large farm, a goodly portion of which, in process of time, +came to be included in the limits of the new city; and he found a much +more profitable employment in selling building lots than in tilling the +soil. The property of Mr. Jones lay at the west side of the town. + +Now, when Mr. Jones heard of the exorbitant demand made by Smith for a +five acre lot, his honest heart throbbed with a feeling of indignation. + +“I couldn't have believed it of him,” said he. “Six thousand dollars! +Preposterous! Why, I would give the city a lot of twice the size, and do +it with pleasure.” + +“You would?” said a member of the council, who happened to hear this +remark. + +“Certainly I would.” + +“You are really in earnest?” + +“Undoubtedly. Go and select a public square from any of my +unappropriated land on the west side of the city, and I will pass you +the title as a free gift to-morrow, and feel pleasure in doing so.” + +“That is public spirit,” said the councilman. + +“Call it what you will. I am pleased in making the offer.” + +Now, let it not be supposed that Mr. Jones was shrewdly calculating the +advantage which would result to him from having a park at the west side +of the city. No such thought had yet entered his mind. He spoke from the +impulse of a generous feeling. + +Time passed on, and the session day of the council came round--a day to +which Smith had looked forward with no ordinary feelings of interest, +that were touched at times by the coldness of doubt, and the agitation +of uncertainty. Several times he had more than half repented of his +refusal to accept the liberal offer of five thousand dollars, and of +having fixed so positively upon six thousand as the “lowest figure.” + +The morning of the day passed, and Smith began to grow uneasy. He did +not venture to seek for information as to the doings of the council, +for that would be to expose the anxiety he felt in the result of their +deliberations. Slowly the afternoon wore away, and it so happened that +Smith did not meet any one of the councilmen; nor did he even know +whether the council was still in session or not. As to making allusion +to the subject of his anxious interest to any one, that was carefully +avoided; for he knew that his exorbitant demand was the town talk--and +he wished to affect the most perfect indifference on the subject. + +The day closed, and not a whisper about the town lot had come to the +ears of Mr. Smith. What could it mean? Had his offer to sell at six +thousand been rejected? The very thought caused his heart to grow heavy +in his bosom. Six, seven, eight o'clock came, and still it was all dark +with Mr. Smith. He could bear the suspense no longer, and so determined +to call upon his neighbour Wilson, who was a member of the council, and +learn from him what had been done. + +So he called on Mr. Wilson. + +“Ah, friend Smith,” said the latter; “how are you this evening?” + +“Well, I thank you,” returned Smith, feeling a certain oppression of the +chest. “How are you?” + +“Oh, very well.” + +Here there was a pause. After which Smith said, “About that ground of +mine. What did you do?” + +“Nothing,” replied Wilson, coldly. + +“Nothing, did you say?” Smith's voice was a little husky. + +“No. You declined our offer; or, rather, the high price fixed by +yourself upon the land.” + +“You refused to buy it at five thousand, when it was offered,” said +Smith. + +“I know we did, because your demand was exorbitant.” + +“Oh, no, not at all,” returned Smith quickly. + +“In that we only differ,” said Wilson. “However, the council has decided +not to pay you the price you ask.” + +“Unanimously?” + +“There was not a dissenting voice.” + +Smith began to feel more and more uncomfortable. + +“I might take something less,” he ventured to say, in a low, hesitating +voice. + +“It is too late now,” was Mr. Wilson's prompt reply. + +“Too late! How so?” + +“We have procured a lot.” + +“Mr. Wilson!” Poor Smith started to his feet in chagrin and +astonishment. + +“Yes; we have taken one of Jones's lots on the west side of the city. A +beautiful ten acre lot.” + +“You have!” Smith was actually pale. + +“We have; and the title deeds are now being made out.” + +It was some time before Smith had sufficiently recovered from the +stunning effect of this unlooked-for intelligence, to make the inquiry, + +“And pray how much did Jones ask for his ten acre lot.” + +“He presented it to the city as a gift,” replied the councilman. + +“A gift! What folly!” + +“No, not folly--but true worldly wisdom; though I believe Jones did not +think of advantage to himself when he generously made the offer. He is +worth twenty thousand dollars more to-day than he was yesterday, in the +simple advanced value of his land for building lots. And I know of no +man in this town whose good fortune affects me with more pleasure.” + +Smith stole back to his home with a mountain of disappointment on his +heart. In his cupidity he had entirely overreached himself, and he saw +that the consequences were to react upon all his future prosperity. The +public square at the west end of the town would draw improvements in +that direction, all the while increasing the wealth of Mr. Jones, while +lots at the north end would remain at present prices, or, it might be, +take a downward range. + +And so it proved. In ten years, Jones was the richest man in the town, +while half of Smith's property had been sold for taxes. The five acre +lot passed from his hands, under the hammer, in the foreclosure of a +mortgage, for one thousand dollars! + +Thus it is that inordinate selfishness and cupidity overreach +themselves; while the liberal man deviseth liberal things, and is +sustained thereby. + + + + +THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP. + + + + A SUNBEAM and a raindrop met together in the sky + One afternoon in sunny June, when earth was parched and dry; + Each quarrelled for the precedence ['twas so the story ran), + And the golden sunbeam, warmly, the quarrel thus began:-- + + “What were the earth without me? I come with beauty bright, + She smiles to hail my presence, and rejoices in my light; + I deck the hill and valley with many a lovely hue, + I give the rose its blushes, and the violet its blue. + + “I steal within the window, and through the cottage door, + And my presence like a blessing gilds with smiles the broad earth o'er; + The brooks and streams flow dancing and sparkling in my ray, + And the merry, happy children in the golden sunshine play.” + + Then the tearful raindrop answered--“Give praise where praise is due, + The earth indeed were lonely without a smile from you; + But without my visits, also, its beauty would decay, + The flowers droop and wither, and the streamlets dry away. + + “I give the flowers their freshness, and you their colours gay, + My jewels would not sparkle, without your sunny ray. + Since each upon the other so closely must depend, + Let us seek the earth together, and our common blessings blend.” + + The raindrops, and the sunbeams, came laughing down to earth, + And it woke once more to beauty, and to myriad tones of mirth; + The river and the streamlet went dancing on their way, + And the raindrops brightly sparkled in the sunbeam's golden ray. + + The drooping flowers looked brighter, there was fragrance in the air, + The earth seemed new created, there was gladness everywhere; + And above the dark clouds, gleaming on the clear blue arch of Heaven, + The Rainbow, in its beauty, like a smile of love was given. + + 'Twas a sweet and simple lesson, which the story told, I thought, + Not alone and single-handed our kindliest deeds are wrought; + Like the sunbeam and the raindrop, work together, while we may, + And the bow of Heaven's own promise shall smile upon our way. + + + + +A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS. + + + +STRANGE and subtle are the influences which affect the spirit and touch +the heart. Are there bodiless creatures around us, moulding our thoughts +into darkness or brightness, as they will? Whence, otherwise, come the +shadow and the sunshine, for which we can discern no mortal agency? + +Oftener, As we grow older, come the shadows; less frequently the +sunshine. Ere I took up my pen, I was sitting with a pleasant company of +friends, listening to music, and speaking, with the rest, light words. + +Suddenly, I knew not why, my heart was wrapt away in an atmosphere of +sorrow. A sense of weakness and unworthiness weighed me down, and I felt +the moisture gather to my eyes and my lips tremble, though they kept the +smile. + +All my past life rose up before me, and all my short-comings--all, my +mistakes, and all my wilful wickedness, seemed pleading trumpet-tongued +against me. + +I saw her before me whose feet trod with mine the green holts and +meadows, when the childish thought strayed not beyond the near or the +possible. I saw her through the long blue distances, clothed in the +white beauty of an angel; but, alas! she drew her golden hair across +her face to veil from her vision the sin-darkened creature whose eyes +dropped heavily to the hem of her robe! + +O pure and beautiful one, taken to peace ere the weak temptation had +lifted itself up beyond thy stature, and compelled thee to listen, to +oppose thy weakness to its strength, and to fall--sometimes, at least, +let thy face shine on me from between the clouds. Fresh from the springs +of Paradise, shake from thy wings the dew against my forehead. We two +were coming up together through the sweet land of poesy and dreams, +where the senses believe what the heart hopes; our hands were full of +green boughs, and our laps of cowslips and violets, white and purple. +We were talking of that more beautiful world into which childhood was +opening out, when that spectre met us, feared and dreaded alike by the +strong man and the little child, and one was taken, and the other left. + +One was caught away sinless to the bosom of the Good Shepherd, and one +was left to weep pitiless tears, to eat the bread of toil, and to think +the bitter thoughts of misery,--left “to clasp a phantom and to find it +air.” For often has the adversary pressed me sore, and out of my arms +has slid ever that which my soul pronounced good: slid out of my arms +and coiled about my feet like a serpent, dragging me back and holding me +down from all that is high and great. + +Pity me, dear one, if thy sweet sympathies can come out of the glory, if +the lovelight of thy beautiful life can press through the cloud and the +evil, and fold me again as a garment; pity and plead for me with the +maiden mother whose arms in human sorrow and human love cradled our +blessed Redeemer. + +She hath known our mortal pain and passion--our more than mortal +triumph--she hath heard the “blessed art thou among women.” My +unavailing prayers goldenly syllabled by her whose name sounds from the +manger through all the world, may find acceptance with Him who, though +our sins be as scarlet, can wash them white as wool. + +Our hearts grew together as one, and along the headlands and the valleys +one shadow went before us, and one shadow followed us, till the grave +gaped hungry and terrible, and I was alone. Faltering in fear, but +lingering in love, I knelt by the deathbed--it was the middle night, and +the first moans of the autumn came down from the hills, for the frost +specks glinted on her golden robes, and the wind blew chill in her +bosom. Heaven was full of stars, and the half-moon scattered abroad her +beauty like a silver rain. Many have been the middle nights since then, +for years lie between me and that fearfulest of all watches; but a +shadow, a sound, or a thought, turns the key of the dim chamber, and the +scene is reproduced. + +I see the long locks on the pillow, the smile on the ashen lips, the +thin, cold fingers faintly pressing my own, and hear the broken voice +saying, “I am going now. I am not afraid. Why weep ye? Though I were to +live the full time allotted to man, I should not be more ready, nor more +willing than now.” But over this there comes a shudder and a groan that +all the mirthfulness of the careless was impotent to drown. + +Three days previous to the death-night, three days previous to the +transit of the soul from the clayey tabernacle to the house not; made +with hands--from dishonour to glory--let me turn theme over as so many +leaves. + +The first of the November mornings, but the summer had tarried late, and +the wood to the south of our homestead lifted itself like a painted wall +against the sky--the squirrel was leaping nimbly and chattering gayly +among the fiery tops of the oaks or the dun foliage of the hickory, that +shot up its shelving trunk and spread its forked branches far over the +smooth, moss-spotted boles of the beeches, and the limber boughs of the +elms. Lithe and blithe he was, for his harvest was come. + +From the cracked beech-burs was dropping the sweet, angular fruit, +and down from the hickory boughs with every gust fell a shower of +nuts--shelling clean and silvery from their thick black hulls. + +Now and then, across the stubble-field, with long cars erect, leaped the +gray hare, but for the most part he kept close in his burrow, for rude +huntsmen were on the hills with their dogs, and only when the sharp +report of a rifle rung through the forest, or the hungry yelping of some +trailing hound startled his harmless slumber, might you see at the mouth +of his burrow the quivering lip and great timid eyes. + +Along the margin of the creek, shrunken now away from the blue and gray +and yellowish stones that made its cool pavement, and projected in thick +layers from the shelving banks, the white columns of gigantic sycamores +leaped earthward, their bases driven, as it seemed, deep into the +ground--all their convolutions of roots buried out, of view. Dropping +into the stagnant waters below, came one by one the broad, rose-tinted +leaves, breaking the shadows of the silver limbs. + +Ruffling and widening to the edges of the pools went the circles, as the +pale, yellow walnuts plashed into their midst; for here, too, grew the +parent trees, their black bark cut and jagged and broken into rough +diamond work. + +That beautiful season was come when + +“Rustic girls in hoods Go gleaning through the woods.” + +Two days after this, we said, my dear mate and I, we shall have a +holiday, and from sunrise till sunset, with our laps full of ripe nuts +and orchard fruits, we shall make pleasant pastime. + +Rosalie, for so I may call her, was older than I, with a face of beauty +and a spirit that never flagged. But to-day there was heaviness in her +eyes, and a flushing in her cheek that was deeper than had been there +before. + +Still she spoke gayly, and smiled the old smile, for the gaunt form of +sickness had never been among us children, and we knew not how his touch +made the head sick and the heart faint. + +The day looked forward to so anxiously dawned at last; but in the dim +chamber of Rosalie the light fell sad. I must go alone. + +We had always been together before, at work and in play, asleep and +awake, and I lingered long ere I would be persuaded to leave her; but +when she smiled and said the fresh-gathered nuts and shining apples +would make her glad, I wiped her forehead, and turning quickly away that +she might not see my tears, was speedily wading through winrows of dead +leaves. + +The sensations of that day I shall never forget; a vague and trembling +fear of some coming evil, I knew not what, made me often start as the +shadows drifted past me, or a bough crackled beneath my feet. + +From the low, shrubby hawthorns, I gathered the small red apples, and +from beneath the maples, picked by their slim golden stems the notched +and gorgeous leaves. The wind fingered playfully my hair, and clouds of +birds went whirring through the tree-tops; but no sight nor sound could +divide my thoughts from her whose voice had so often filled with music +these solitary places. + +I remember when first the fear distinctly defined itself. I was seated +on a mossy log, counting the treasures which I had been gathering, when +the clatter of hoof-strokes on the clayey and hard-beaten road arrested +my attention, and, looking up--for the wood thinned off in the direction +of the highway, and left it distinctly in view--I saw Doctor H----, +the physician, in attendance upon my sick companion. The visit was an +unseasonable one. She, whom I loved so, might never come with me to the +woods any more. + +Where the hill sloped to the roadside, and the trees, as I said, were +but few, was the village graveyard. No friend of mine, no one whom I had +ever known or loved, was buried there--yet with a child's instinctive +dread of death, I had ever passed its shaggy solitude (for shrubs and +trees grew there wild and unattended) with a hurried step and averted +face. + +Now, for the first time in my life, I walked voluntarily thitherward, +and climbing on a log by the fence-side, gazed long and earnestly +within. I stood beneath a tall locust-tree, and the small, round leaves; +yellow now as the long cloud-bar across the sunset, kept dropping, and +dropping at my feet, till all the faded grass was covered up. There +the mattock had never been struck; but in fancy I saw the small Heaves +falling and drifting about a new and smooth-shaped mound--and, +choking with the turbulent outcry in my heart, I glided stealthily +homeward--alas! to find the boding shape I had seen through mists and, +shadows awfully palpable. I did not ask about Rosalie. I was afraid; but +with my rural gleanings in my lap, opened the door of her chamber. The +physician had preceded me but a moment, and, standing by the bedside, +was turning toward the lessening light the little wasted hand, the +one on which I had noticed in the morning a small purple spot. +“Mortification!” he said, abruptly, and moved away, as though his work +were done. + +There was a groan expressive of the sudden and terrible consciousness +which had in it the agony of agonies--the giving up of all. The gift +I had brought fell from my relaxed grasp, and, hiding my face in the +pillow, I gave way to the passionate sorrow of an undisciplined nature. + +When at last I looked up, there was a smile on her lips that no faintest +moan ever displaced again. + +A good man and a skilful physician was Dr. H----, but his infirmity was +a love of strong drink; and, therefore, was it that he softened not the +terrible blow which must soon have fallen. I link with his memory no +reproaches now, for all this is away down in the past; and that foe that +sooner or later biteth like a serpent, soon did his work; but then my +breaking heart judged him, hardly. Often yet, for in all that is saddest +memory is faithfulest, I wake suddenly out of sleep, and live over that +first and bitterest sorrow of my life; and there is no house of gladness +in the world that with a whisper will not echo the moan of lips pale +with the kisses of death. + +Sometimes, when life is gayest about me, an unseen hand leads me apart, +and opening the door of that still chambers I go in--the yellow leaves +are at my feet again, and that white band between me and the light. + +I see the blue flames quivering and curling close and the smouldering +embers on the hearth. I hear soft footsteps and sobbing voices and see +the clasped hands and placid smile of her who, alone among us all, was +untroubled; and over the darkness and the pain I hear voice, saying, +“She is not dead, but sleepeth.” Would, dear reader, that you might +remember, and I too all ways, the importance of soft and careful words. +One harsh or even thoughtlessly chosen epithet, may bear with it a +weight which shall weigh down some heart through all life. There are +for us all nights of sorrow, in which we feel their value. Help us, our +Father, to remember it! + + + + +MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATION. + + + +“HE is a good man, suppose, and an excellent doctor,” said Mrs. Salina +Simmons, with a dubious shake of her head but----” + +“But what, Mrs. Simmons?” + +“They say he _drinks!_” + +“No, impossible!” exclaimed Mr. Josiah Query, with emphasis. + +“Impossible? I hope so,” said Mrs. Simmons. “And--mind you, I don't say +he _drinks_, but that such is the report. And I have it upon tolerably +good authority, too, Mr. Query.” + +“What authority?” + +“Oh, I couldn't tell that: for you know I never like to make mischief. I +can only say that the _report_ is--he drinks.” + +Mr. Josiah Query scratched his head. + +“Can it be that Dr. Harvey drinks?” he murmured. “I thought him pure Son +of Temperance. And his my family physician, too! I must look into this +matter forthwith. Mrs. Simmons, you still decline slating who is your +authority for this report?” + +Mrs. Simmons was firm; her companion could gain no satisfaction. She +soon compelled him to promise that he would not mention her name, if he +spoke of the affair elsewhere, repeating her remark that she never liked +to make mischief. + +Dr. Harvey was a physician residing in a small village, where he shared +the profits of practice with another doctor, named Jones. Dr. Harvey was +generally liked and among his friends was Mr. Josiah Query, whom Mrs. +Simmons shocked with the bit of gossip respecting the doctor's habits +of intemperance. Mr. Query was a good-hearted man, and he deemed it his +duty to inquire into the nature of the report, and learn if it had +any foundation in truth. Accordingly, he went to Mr. Green, who also +employed the doctor in his family. + +“Mr. Green,” said he, “have you heard anything about this report of Dr. +Harvey's intemperance?” + +“Dr. Harvey's intemperance?” cried Mr. Green, astonished. + +“Yes--a flying report.” + +“No, I'm sure I haven't.” + +“Of course, then, you don't know whether it is true or not?” + +“What?” + +“That he drinks.” + +“I never heard of it before. Dr. Harvey is my family physician, and I +certainly would not employ a man addicted to the use of ardent spirits.” + +“Nor I,” said Mr. Query “and for this reason, and for the doctor's sake, +too, I want to know the truth of the matter. I don't really credit it +myself; but I thought it would do no harm to inquire.” + +Mr. Query next applied to Squire Worthy for information. + +“Dear me!” exclaimed the squire, who was a nervous man; “does Dr. Harvey +drink?” + +“Such is the rumour; how true it is, I can't say.” + +“And what if he should give one of my family a dose of arsenic instead +of the tincture of rhubarb, some time, when he is intoxicated? My mind +is made up now. I shall send for Dr. Jones in future.” + +“But, dear sir,” remonstrated Mr. Query. “I don't say the report is +true.” + +“Oh, no; you wouldn't wish to commit yourself. You like to know the safe +side, and so do I. I shall employ Dr. Jones.” + +Mr. Query turned sorrowfully away. + +“Squire Worthy must have bad suspicions of the doctor's intemperance +before I came to him,” thought he; “I really begin to fear that there is +some foundation for the report. I'll go to Mrs. Mason; she will know.” + +Mr. Query found Mrs. Mason ready to listen to and believe any scandal. +She gave her head a significant toss, as if she knew more about the +report than she chose to confess. + +Mr. Query begged of her to explain herself. + +“Oh, _I_ sha'n't say anything,” exclaimed Mrs. Mason; “I've no ill will +against Dr. Harvey, and I'd rather cut off my right hand than injure +him.” + +“But is the report true?” + +“True, Mr. Query? Do you suppose _I_ ever saw Dr. Harvey drunk? Then how +can you expect me to know? Oh, I don't wish to say anything against the +man, and I won't.” + +After visiting Mrs. Mason, Mr. Query went to half a dozen others to +learn the truth respecting Dr. Harvey's habits. Nobody would confess +that they knew anything, about his drinking; but Mr. Smith “was not as +much surprised as others might be;” Mr. Brown “was sorry if the report +was true,” adding, that the best of men had their faults. Miss Single +had frequently remarked the doctor's florid complexion, and wondered if +his colour was natural; Mr. Clark remembered that the doctor appeared +unusually gay, on the occasion of his last visit to his family; Mrs. +Rogers declared that, when she came to reflect, she believed she had +once or twice smelt the man's breath; and Mr. Impulse had often seen him +riding at an extraordinary rate for a sober Gentleman. Still Mr. Query +was unable to ascertain any definite facts respecting the unfavourable +report. + +Meanwhile, with his usual industry, Dr. Harvey went about his business, +little suspecting the scandalous gossip that was circulating to his +discredit. But he soon perceived he was very coldly received by some +of his old friends, and that others employed Dr. Jones. Nobody sent for +him, and he might have begun to think that the health of the town was +entirely re-established, had he not observed that his rival appeared +driven with business, and that he rode night and day. + +One evening Dr. Harvey sat in his office, wondering what could have +occasioned the sudden and surprising change in his affairs, when, +contrary to his expectations, he received a call to visit a sick child +of one of his old friends, who had lately employed his rival. After +some hesitation, and a struggle between pride and a sense of duty, +he resolved to respond to the call, and at the same time learn, if +possible, why he had been preferred to Dr. Jones, and why Dr. Jones had +on other occasions been preferred to him. + +“The truth is, Dr. Harvey,” said Mr. Miles, “we thought the child +dangerously ill, and as Dr. Jones could not come immediately, we +concluded to send for you.” + +“I admire your frankness,” responded Dr. Harvey, smiling; “and shall +admire it still more, if you will inform me why you have lately +preferred Dr. Jones to me. Formerly I had the honour of enjoying your +friendship and esteem, and you have frequently told me yourself, that +you would trust no other physician.” + +“Well,” replied Mr. Miles, “I am a plain man, and never hesitate to tell +people what they wish to know. I sent for Dr. Jones instead of you, I +confess not that I doubted your skill--” + +“What then?” + +“It is a delicate subject, but I will, nevertheless, speak out. Although +I had the utmost confidence in your skill and faithfulness--I--you know, +I--in short, I don't like to trust a physician who drinks.” + +“Sir!” cried the astonished doctor. + +“Yes--drinks,” pursued Mr. Miles. “It is plain language, but I am a +plain man. I heard of your intemperance, and thought it unsafe--that is, +dangerous--to employ you.” + +“My intemperance!” ejaculated Dr. Harvey. + +“Yes, sir! and I am sorry to know it. But the fact that you sometimes +drink a trifle too much is now a well known fact, and is generally +talked of in the village.” + +“Mr. Miles,” cried the indignant doctor, “this is scandalous--it is +false! Who is your authority for this report?” + +“Oh, I have heard it from several mouths but I can't say exactly who is +responsible for the rumour.” + +And Mr. Miles went on to mention several names, as connected with the +rumour, and among which was that of Mr. Query. + +The indignant doctor immediately set out on a pilgrimage of +investigation, going from one house to another, in search of the author +of the scandal. + +Nobody, however, could state where it originated, but it was universally +admitted that the man from whose lips it was first heard, was Mr. Query. + +Accordingly Dr. Harvey hastened to Mr. Query's house, and demanded of +that gentleman what he meant by circulating such scandal. + +“My dear doctor,” cried Mr. Query, his face beaming with conscious +innocence, “_I_ haven't been guilty of any mis-statement about you, I +can take my oath. I heard that there was a report of your drinking, +and all I did was to tell people I didn't believe it, nor know anything +about it, and to inquire were it originated. Oh, I assure you, doctor, I +haven't slandered you in any manner.” + +“You are a poor fool!” exclaimed Dr. Harvey, perplexed and angry. “If +you had gone about town telling everybody that you saw me drunk, daily, +you couldn't have slandered me more effectually than you have.” + +“Oh, I beg your pardon,” cried Mr. Query, very sad; “but I thought I was +doing you a service!” + +“Save me from my friends!” exclaimed the doctor, bitterly. “An _enemy_ +could not have done me as much injury as you have done. But I now insist +on knowing who first mentioned the report to you.” + +“Oh, I am not at liberty to say that.” + +“Then I shall hold you responsible for the scandal--for the base lies +you have circulated. But if you are really an honest man, and my friend, +you will not hesitate to tell me where this report originated.” + +After some reflection, Mr. Query, who stood in mortal fear of the +indignant doctor, resolved to reveal the secret, and mentioned the name +of his informant, Mrs. Simmons. As Dr. Harvey had not heard her spoken +of before, as connected with the report of his intemperance, he knew +very well that Mr. Query's “friendly investigations” had been the sole +cause of his loss of practice. However, to go to the roots of this Upas +tree of scandal, he resolved to pay an immediate visit to Mrs. Simmons. + +This lady could deny nothing; but she declared that she had not given +the rumour as a fact, and that she had never spoken of it except to Mr. +Query. Anxious to throw the responsibility of the slander upon others, +she eagerly confessed that, on a certain occasion upon entering a room +in which were Mrs. Guild and Mrs. Harmless, she overheard one of these +ladies remark that “Dr. Harvey drank more than ever,” and the other +reply, that “she had heard him say he could not break himself, although +he knew his health suffered in consequence.” + +Thus set upon the right track, Dr. Harvey visited Mrs. Guild and Mrs. +Harmless without delay. + +“Mercy on us!” exclaimed those ladies, when questioned respecting the +matter, “we perfectly remember talking about your _drinking coffee_, +and making such remarks as you have heard through Mrs. Simmons. But with +regard to your _drinking liquor_, we never heard the report until a week +ago, and never believed it at all.” + +As what these ladies had said of his _coffee-drinking_ propensities was +perfectly true, Dr. Harvey readily acquitted them of any designs against +his character for sobriety, and well satisfied with having at last +discovered the origin of the rumour, returned to the friendly Mr. Query. + +The humiliation of this gentleman was so deep, that Dr. Harvey +avoided reproaches, and confined himself to a simple narrative of his +discoveries. + +“I see, it is all my fault,” said Mr. Query. “And I will do anything +to remedy it. I never could believe you drank--and now I'll go and tell +everybody that the report _was_ false.” + +“Oh! bless you,” cried the doctor, “I wouldn't have you do so for the +world. All I ask of you, is to say nothing whatever on the subject, and +if you ever again hear a report of the kind, don't make it a subject of +friendly investigation.” + +Mr. Query promised; and, after the truth was known, and, Dr. Harvey +had regained the good-will of the community, together with his share of +medical practice, he never had reason again to exclaim--“Save me from +my friends!” And Mr. Query was in future exceedingly careful how he +attempted to make friendly investigations. + + + + +ROOM IN THE WORLD. + + + + THERE is room in the world for the wealthy and great, + For princes to reign in magnificent state; + For the courtier to bend, for the noble to sue, + If the hearts of all these are but honest and true. + + And there's room in the world for the lowly and meek, + For the hard horny hand, and the toil-furrow'd cheek; + For the scholar to think, for the merchant to trade, + So these are found upright and just in their grade. + + But room there is none for the wicked; and nought + For the souls that with teeming corruption are fraught. + The world would be small, were its oceans all land, + To harbour and feed such a pestilent band. + + Root out from among ye, by teaching the mind, + By training the heart, this chief curse of mankind! + 'Tis a duty you owe to the forthcoming race-- + Confess it in time, and discharge it with grace! + + + + +WORDS. + + + +“THE foolish thing!” said my Aunt Rachel, speaking warmly, “to get hurt +at a mere word. It's a little hard that people can't open their lips but +somebody is offended.” + +“Words are things!” said I, smiling. + +“Very light things! A person must be tender indeed, that is hurt by a +word.” + +“The very lightest thing may hurt, if it falls on a tender place.” + +“I don't like people who have these tender places,” said Aunt Rachel. “I +never get hurt at what is said to me. No--never! To be ever picking +and mincing, and chopping off your words--to be afraid to say this or +that--for fear somebody will be offended! I can't abide it.” + +“People who have these tender places can't help it, I suppose. This +being so, ought we not to regard their weakness?” said I. “Pain, +either of body or mind, is hard to bear, and we should not inflict it +causelessly.” + +“People who are so wonderfully sensitive,” replied Aunt Rachel, growing +warmer, “ought to shut themselves up at home, and not come among +sensible, good-tempered persons. As far as I am concerned, I can tell +them, one and all, that I am not going to pick out every hard word from +a sentence as carefully as I would seeds from a raisin. Let them crack +them with their teeth, if they are afraid to swallow them whole.” + +Now, for all that Aunt Rachel went on after this strain, she was a kind, +good soul, in the main, and, I could see, was sorry for having hurt the +feelings of Mary Lane. But she didn't like to acknowledge that she was +in the wrong; that would detract too much from the self-complacency with +which she regarded herself. Knowing her character very well, I thought +it best not to continue the little argument about the importance of +words, and so changed the subject. But, every now and then, Aunt Rachel +would return to it, each time softening a little towards Mary. At last +she said, + +“I'm sure it was a little thing. A very little thing. She might have +known that nothing unkind was intended on my part.” + +“There are some subjects, aunt,” I replied, “to which we cannot bear the +slightest allusion. And a sudden reference to them is very apt to throw +us off of our guard. What you said to Mary has, in all probability +touched some weakness of character, or probed some wound that time +has not been able to heal. I have always thought her a sensible, +good-natured girl.” + +“And so have I. But I really cannot think that she has showed her good +sense or good nature in the present case. It is a very bad failing this, +of being over sensitive; and exceedingly annoying to one's friends.” + +“It is, I know; but still, all of, us have a weak point, and to her that +is assailed, we are very apt to betray our feelings.” + +“Well, I say now, as I have always said--I don't like to have anything +to do with people who have these weak points. This being hurt by a word, +as if words were blows, is something that does not come within the range +of my sympathies.” + +“And yet, aunt,” said I, “all have weak points. Even you are not +entirely free from them.” + +“Me!” Aunt Rachel bridled. + +“Yes; and if even as light a thing as a word were to fall upon them, you +would suffer pain.” + +“Pray, sir,” said Aunt Rachel, with much dignity of manner; she +was chafed by my words, light as they were, “inform me where these +weaknesses, of which you are pleased to speak, lie.” + +“Oh, no; you must excuse me. That would be very much out of place. But I +only stated a general fact that appertains to all of us.” + +Aunt Rachel looked very grave. I had laid the weight of words upon a +weakness of her character, and it had given her pain. That weakness was +a peculiarly good opinion of herself. I had made no allegation against +her; and there was none in my mind. My words simply expressed the +general truth that we all have weaknesses, and included her in their +application. But she imagined that I referred to some particular defect +or fault, and mail-proof as she was against words, they had wounded her. + +For a day or two Aunt Rachel remained more sober than was her wont. +I knew the cause, but did not attempt to remove from her mind any +impression my words had made. One day, about a week after, I said to +her, + +“Aunt Rachel, I saw Mary Lane's mother this morning.” + +“Ah?” The old lady looked up at me inquiringly. + +“I don't wonder your words hurt the poor girl,” I added. + +“Why? What did I say?” quickly asked Aunt Rachel. + +“You said that she was a jilt.” + +“But I was only jest, and she knew it. I did not really mean anything. +I'm surprised that Mary should be so foolish.” + +“You will not be surprised when you know all,” was my answer. + +“All? What all? I'm sure I wasn't in earnest. I didn't mean to hurt the +poor girl's feelings.” My aunt looked very much troubled. + +“No one blames you, Aunt Rachel,” said I. “Mary knows you didn't intend +wounding her.” + +“But why should she take a little word go much to heart? It must have +had more truth in it than I supposed.” + +“Did you know that Mary refused an offer of marriage from Walter Green +last week?” + +“Why no! It can't be possible! Refused Walter Green?” + +“They've been intimate for a long time.” + +“I know.” + +“She certainly encouraged him.” + +“I think it more than probable.” + +“Is it possible, then, that she did really jilt the young man?” + exclaimed Aunt Rachel. + +“This has been said of her,” I replied. “But so far as I can learn, she +was really attached to him, and suffered great pain in rejecting his +offer. Wisely she regarded marriage as the most important event of +her life, and refused to make so solemn a contract with one in whose +principles she had not the fullest confidence.” + +“But she ought not to have encouraged Walter, if she did not intend +marrying him,” said Aunt Rachel, with some warmth. + +“She encouraged him so long as she thought well of him. A closer view +revealed points of character hidden by distance. When she saw these +her feelings were already deeply involved. But, like a true woman, she +turned from the proffered hand, even though while in doing so her heart +palpitated with pain. There is nothing false about Mary Lane. She could +no more trifle with a lover than she could commit a crime. Think, then, +how almost impossible it would be for her to hear herself called, under +existing circumstances, even in sport, a jilt, without being hurt. Words +sometimes have power to hurt more than blows. Do you not see this, now, +Aunt Rachel?” + +“Oh, yes, yes. I see it; and I saw it before,” said the old lady. “And +in future I will be more careful of my words. It is pretty late in life +to learn this lesson--but we are never too late to learn. Poor Mary! It +grieves me to think that I should have hurt her so much.” + +Yes, words often have in them a smarting force, and we cannot be too +guarded how we use them. “Think twice before you speak once,” is a trite +but wise saying. We teach it to our children very carefully, but are too +apt to forget that it has not lost its application to ourselves. + + + + +THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + + + +“AN object of real charity,” said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor +woman withdrew from the room in which they were seated. + +“If ever there was a worthy object she is one,” returned Mrs. Lyon. “A +widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too much for +her; yet obliged to support, with the labour of her own hands, not only +herself, but three young children. I do not wonder that she is behind +with her rent.” + +“Nor I,” said Mr. Lyon, in a voice of sympathy. “How much, did she say, +was due to her landlord?” + +“Ten dollars.” + +“She will not be able to pay it.” + +“I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have +obtained work for her from several ladies; but with her best efforts she +can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself and babes.” + +“Does it not seem hard,” remarked Mr. Lyon, “that one like Mrs. Arnold, +who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and family, +should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many who could +help her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it so hard to make +both ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent for her, and feel +happy in so doing.” + +“Ah!” exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, “how much I wish that we were +able to do this! But we are not.” + +“I'll tell you what we can do,” said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful voice; +“or rather what _I_ can do. It will be a very light matter for say ten +persons to give a dollar apiece, in order to relieve Mrs. Arnold from +her present trouble. There are plenty who would cheerfully contribute, +for this good purpose; all that is wanted is some one to take upon +himself the business of making the collections. That task shall be +mine.” + +“How glad I am, James, to hear you say so!” smilingly replied Mrs. Lyon. +“Oh, what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will make her +heart as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her sadly. Old +Links, her landlord, has been worrying her about it a good deal, and, +only a week ago, threatened to put her things in the street, if she +didn't pay up.” + +“I should have thought of this before,” remarked Andrew Lyon. “There +are hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were only +certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in every way. +Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent consideration. Let +me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and Green, and Tompkins. I +can get a dollar from each of them. That will be three dollars,--and one +from myself, will make four. Who else is there? Oh, Malcolm! I'm sure of +a dollar from him; and also from Smith, Todd, and Perry.” + +Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started +forth, early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by +subscription, the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on was +Malcolm. + +“Ah, friend Lyon!” said Malcolm, smiling blandly, “Good morning! What +can I do for you, to-day?” + +“Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with her +rent,” replied Andrew Lyon. “I want just one dollar from you, and as +much more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself.” + +At the word poor widow the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when his +visiter ceased, he replied, in a changed and husky voice, clearing his +throat two or three times as he spoke. + +“Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?” The man's manner had become +exceedingly grave. + +“None more so,” was the prompt answer. “She is in poor health, and has +three children to support with the product of her needle. If any one +needs assistance, it is Mrs. Arnold.” + +“Oh! Ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold?” + +“The same,” replied Andrew Lyon. + +Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm +benevolence. But he turned slowly away, and opening his money-drawer, +_very slowly_ toyed with his fingers amid its contents. At length +he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he presented it to +Lyon,--signing involuntarily as he did so,-- + +“I suppose I must do my part. But we are called upon so often.” + +The ardour of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at this +unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the glow of a +pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment his errand +was made known. + +“I thank you in the widow's name,” said he, as he took the dollar. +When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on his +feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favour for himself. + +It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call upon +Mr. Green, considered the “next best man” on his list. But he entered +his place of business with far less confidence than he had felt when +calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green, without a word or smile, +drew two half dollars from his pocket and presented them. + +“Thank you,” said Lyon. + +“Welcome,” returned Green. + +Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few moments. +Then bowing, he said, + +“Good morning.” + +“Good morning,” was coldly and formally responded. + +And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted. + +“Better be at his shop, attending to his work,” muttered Green to +himself, as his visiter retired. “Men ain't very apt to get along too +well in the world who spend their time in begging for every object of +charity that happens to turn up. And there are plenty of such, dear +knows. He's got a dollar out of me; may it do him, or the poor widow he +talked so glibly about, much good.” + +Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had +raised two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for +one so sensitive as himself! Instead of keeping on in his work of +benevolence, he went to his shop, and entered upon the day's employment. +How disappointed he felt;--and this disappointment was mingled with a +certain sense of humiliation, as if he had been asking alms for himself. + +“Catch me at this work again!” he said half aloud, as his thoughts dwelt +upon what had so recently occurred. “But this is not right,” he added, +quickly. “It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs. Arnold must +be relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets relief. I had no +thought of a reception like this. People can talk of benevolence; but +putting the hand in the pocket is another affair altogether. I never +dreamed that such men as Malcolm and Green could be insensible to an +appeal like the one I made.” + +“I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent,” he said to +himself, in a more cheerful tone, some time afterwards; “and it will go +hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like Green +and Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly respond to +the call of humanity. I'll go and see him.” + +So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual. + +“I've come begging, Mr. Jones,” said he, on meeting him. And he spoke in +a frank, pleasant manner, + +“Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say,” was the +blunt answer. + +“Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story first.” + +“I do say it, and I'm in earnest,” returned Jones. “I feel as poor as +Job's turkey to-day.” + +“I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent,” said Lyon. + +“Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get nothing +here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time I'd have in +handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help pay her rent! +No, no, my friend, you can't get anything here.” + +“Just as you feel about it,” said Andrew Lyon. “There's no compulsion in +the matter.” + +“No, I presume not,” was rather coldly replied. + +Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He had +undertaken a thankless office. + +Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the good +work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to another +effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbour Tompkins, to whom he made +known his errand. + +“Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this,” said +Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. “But there +are so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough led to hold +on pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I feel sorry for +her. How much do you want?” + +“I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar +each.” + +“Well, here's my dollar.” And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as +he handed over his contribution,--but the smile did not conceal an +expression which said very plainly-- + +“I hope you will not trouble me again in this way.” + +“You may be sure I will not,” muttered Lyon, as he went away. He fully +understood the meaning of the expression. + +Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was +successful; but there was something in the manner of the individual who +gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke. + +“And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of rent +paid off,” says some one who has felt an interest in her favour. + +Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more from +his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to undertake +the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent for a fellow +creature in need. He has learned that a great many who refuse alms on +the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are but little more +inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point there is no question. + +How many who read this can sympathize with Andrew Lyon! Few men who have +hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time in their +lives, to seek aid for a fellow creature in need. That their office +was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware. Even those who +responded to their call most liberally, in too many instances gave in a +way that left an unpleasant impression behind. How quickly has the first +glow of generous feeling, that sought to extend itself to others, that +they might share the pleasure of humanity, been chilled; and, instead of +finding the task an easy one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, +humiliating! Alas that this should be! That men should shut their hearts +so instinctively at the voice of charity! + +We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the benevolent; +but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see themselves. +At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow men aid for the +suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all sacrifice on +his part, and the least that can be done is to honour his disinterested +regard for others in distress, and treat him with delicacy and +consideration. + + + + +LOVE. + + + + OH! if there is one law above the rest, + Written in Wisdom--if there is a word + That I would trace as with a pen of fire + Upon the unsullied temper of a child-- + If there is anything that keeps the mind + Open to angel visits, and repels + The ministry of ill--_'tis Human Love!_ + God has made nothing worthy of contempt; + The smallest pebble in the well of Truth + Has its peculiar meanings, and will stand + When man's best monuments wear fast away. + The law of Heaven is _Love_--and though its name + Has been usurped by passion, and profaned + To its unholy uses through all time, + Still, the external principle is pure; + And in these deep affections that we feel + Omnipotent within us, can we see + The lavish measure in which love is given. + And in the yearning tenderness of a child + For every bird that sings above its head, + And every creature feeding on the hills, + And every tree and flower, and running brook, + We see how everything was made to love, + And how they err, who, in a world like this, + Find anything to hate but human pride. + + + + +“EVERY LITTLE HELPS.” + + + + WHAT if a drop of rain should plead-- + “So small a drop as I + Can ne'er refresh the thirsty mead; + I'll tarry in the sky?” + + What, if the shining beam of noon + Should in its fountain stay; + Because its feeble light alone + Cannot create a day? + + Does not each rain-drop help to form + The cool refreshing shower? + And every ray of light, to warm + And beautify the flower? + + + + +LITTLE THINGS. + + + + SCORN not the slightest word or deed, + Nor deem it void of power; + There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed, + Waiting its natal hour. + A whispered word may touch the heart, + And call it back to life; + A look of love bid sin depart, + And still unholy strife. + + No act falls fruitless; none can tell + How vast its power may be, + Nor what results enfolded dwell + Within it silently. + Work and despair not; give thy mite, + Nor care how small it be; + God is with all that serve the right, + The holy, true, and free! + + + + +CARELESS WORDS. + + + +FIVE years ago, this fair November day,--five years? it seems but +yesterday, so fresh is that scene in my memory; and, I doubt not, were +the period ten times multiplied, it would be as vivid still to us--the +surviving actors in that drama! The touch of time, which blunts the +piercing thorn, as well as steals from the rose its lovely tints, is +powerless here, unless to give darker shades to that picture engraven on +our souls; and tears--ah, they only make it more imperishable! + +We do not speak of her now; her name has not passed our lips in each +other's presence, since we followed her--grief-stricken mourners-to the +grave, to which--alas, alas! but why should not the truth be spoken? +the grave to which our careless words consigned her. But on every +anniversary of that day we can never forget, uninvited by me, and +without any previous arrangement between themselves, those two friends +have come to my house, and together we have sat, almost silently, save +when Ada's sweet voice has poured forth a low, plaintive strain to the +mournful chords Mary has made the harp to breathe. Four years ago, that +cousin came too; and since then, though he has been thousands of miles +distant from us, when, that anniversary has returned, he has written to +me: he cannot look into my face when that letter is penned; he but looks +into his own heart, and he cannot withhold the words of remorse and +agony. + +Ada and Mary have sat with me to-day, and we knew that Rowland, in +thought, was here too; ah, if we could have known another had been among +us,--if we could have felt that an eye was upon us, which will never +more dim with tears, a heart was near us which carelessness can never +wound again;--could we have known she had been here--that pure, +bright angel, with the smile of forgiveness and love on that beautiful +face--the dark veil of sorrow might have been lifted from our souls! but +we saw only with mortal vision; our faith was feeble, and we have only +drawn that sombre mantle more and more closely about us. The forgiveness +we have so many tim es prayed for, we have not yet dared to receive, +though we know it is our own. + +That November day was just what this has been fair, mild, and sweet; and +how much did that dear one enjoy it! The earth was dry, and as we looked +from the window we saw no verdure but a small line of green on the south +side of the garden enclosure, and around the trunk of the old pear-tree, +and here and there a little oasis from which the strong wind of the +previous day, had lifted the thick covering of dry leaves, and one or +two shrubs, whose foliage feared not the cold breath of winter. The +gaudy hues, too, which nature had lately worn, were all faded; there was +a pale, yellow-leafed vine clambering over the verdureless lilac, and +far down in the garden might be seen a shrub covered with bright scarlet +berries. But the warm south wind was sweet and fragrant, as if it +had strayed through bowers of roses and eglantines. Deep-leaden and +snow-white clouds blended together, floated lazily through the sky, and +the sun coquetted all day with the earth, though his glance was not, for +once, more than half averted, while his smile was bright and loving, as +it bad been months before, when her face was fair and blooming. + +But how sadly has this day passed, and how unlike is this calm, sweet +evening to the one which closed that November day! Nature is the same. +The moonbeams look as bright and silvery through the brown, naked arms +of the tall oaks, and the dark evergreen forest lifts up its head to the +sky, striving, but in vain, to shut out the soft light from the little +stream, whose murmurings, seem more sad and complaining than at another +season of the year, perhaps because it feels how soon the icy bands of +winter will stay its free course, and hush its low whisperings. The soft +breeze sighs as sadly through the vines which still wreath themselves +around the window; though seemingly conscious they have ceased to adorn +it, they are striving to loosen their hold, and bow themselves to the +earth; and the chirping of a cricket in the chimney is as sad and +mournful as it was then. But the low moan of the sufferer, the but +half-smothered, agonized sobs of those fair girls, the deep groan +which all my proud cousin's firmness could not hush, and the words of +reproach, which, though I was so guilty myself, and though I saw them so +repentant, I could not withhold, are all stilled now. + +Ada and Mary have just left me, and I am sitting alone in my apartment. +Not a sound reaches me but the whisperings of the wind, the murmuring of +the stream, and the chirping of that solitary cricket. The family know +my heart is heavy to-night, and the voices are hushed, and the footsteps +fall lightly. Lily, dear Lily, art thou near me? + +Five years and some months ago--it was in early June--there came to our +home from far away in the sunny South, a fair young creature, a relative +of ours, though we had never seen her before. She had been motherless +rather less than a year, but her father had already found another +partner, and feeling that she would not so soon see the place of +the dearly-loved parent filled by a stranger, she had obtained his +permission to spend a few months with those who could sympathize with +her in her griefs. + +Lily White! She was rightly named; I have never seen such a fair, +delicate face and figure, nor watched the revealings of a nature so pure +and gentle as was hers. She would have been too fair and delicate to +be beautiful, but for the brilliancy of those deep blue eyes, the dark +shade of that glossy hair, and the litheness of that fragile form; +but when months had passed away, and, though the brow was still marble +white, and the lip colourless, the cheek wore that deep rose tint, how +surpassingly beautiful she was! We did not dream what had planted that +rose-tint there--we thought her to be throwing off the grief which +alone, we believed, had paled her cheek; and we did not observe that +her form was becoming more delicate, and that her step was losing its +lightness and elasticity. We loved the sweet Lily dearly at first sight, +and she had been with us but a short time before we began to wonder how +our home had ever seemed perfect to us previous to her coming. And our +affection was returned by the dear girl. We knew how much she loved +us, when, as the warm season had passed, and her father sent for her to +return home, we saw the expression of deep sorrow in every feature, and +the silent entreaty that we would persuade him to allow her to remain +with us still. + +She did not thank me when a letter reached me from her father, in reply +to one which, unknown to her, I had sent him, saying, if I thought +Lily's health would not be injured by a winter's residence in our cold +climate, he would comply with my urgent request, and allow her to remain +with us until the following spring--the dear girl could not speak. She +came to me almost totteringly, and wound her arms about my neck, resting +her head on mine, and tears from those sweet eyes fell fast over my +face; and all the remainder of that afternoon she lay on her couch. Oh, +why did I not think wherefore she was so much overcome? + +Ada L----and Mary R----, two friends whom I had loved from childhood, +I had selected as companions for our dear Lily on her arrival among us, +and the young ladies, from their first introduction to her, had vied +with me in my endeavours to dispel the gloom from that fair face, and to +make her happy; and they shared, almost equally with her relatives, dear +Lily's affections. + +Ada--she is changed now--was a gay, brilliant, daring girl; Mary, witty +and playful, though frank and warm-hearted; but it made me love them +more than ever. The gaiety and audacity of the one was forgotten in the +presence of the thoughtful, timid Lily: and the other checked the merry +jest which trembled on her lips, and sobered that roguish eye beside the +earnest, sensitive girl; so that, though we were together almost daily, +dear Lily did not understand the character of the young ladies. + +The warm season had passed away, and October brought an addition to our +household--Cousin Rowland--as handsome, kind-hearted, and good-natured +a fellow as ever lived, but a little cowardly, if the dread of the +raillery of a beautiful woman may be called cowardice. + +Cousin Rowland and dear Lily were mutually pleased with each other, it +was very evident to me, though Ada and Mary failed to see it; for, in +the presence of the young ladies, Rowland did not show her those little +delicate attentions which, alone with me, who was very unobservant, he +took no pains to conceal; and Lily did not hide from me her blushing +face--her eyes only thanked me for the expression which met her gaze. + +That November day--I dread to approach it! Lily and I were sitting +beside each other, looking down the street, and watching the return of +the carriage which Rowland had gone out with to bring Ada and Mary to +our house; or, rather, Lily was looking for its coming--my eyes were +resting on her face. It had never looked so beautiful to me before. Her +brow was so purely white, her cheek was so deeply red, and that dark +eye was so lustrous; but her face was very thin, and her breathing, I +observed, was faint and difficult. A pang shot through my heart. + +“Lily, are you well?” I exclaimed, suddenly. + +She fixed her eyes on mine. I was too much excited by my sudden fear +to read their expression, but when our friends came in, the dear girl +seemed so cheerful and happy--I remembered, afterwards, I had never seen +her so gay as on that afternoon--that my suspicions gradually left me. + +The hours were passing pleasantly away, when a letter was brought in for +Lily. It was from her father, and the young lady retired to peruse it. +The eye of Rowland followed her as she passed out of the room, and I +observed a shadow flit across his brow. I afterwards learned that at the +moment a thought was passing through his mind similar to that which +had so terrified me an hour before. Our visiters remarked it, too, but +little suspected its cause; and Mary's eye met, with a most roguish +look, Ada's rather inquiring gaze. + +“When does Lily intend to return home, S----?” she inquired, as she +bent, very demurely, over her embroidery. “I thought she was making +preparations to go before Rowland came here!” and she raised her eyes so +cunningly to my face, that I could not forbear answering, + +“I hear nothing of her return, now. Perhaps she will remain with us +during the winter.” + +“Indeed!” exclaimed Ada, and her voice expressed much surprise. “I +wonder if I could make such a prolonged visit interesting to a friend!” + +“Why, Lily considers herself conferring a great favour by remaining +here,” replied Mary. + +“On whom?” asked Rowland, quickly. + +“On all of use of course;” and to Mary's great delight she perceived +that her meaning words had the effect she desired on the young man. + +“I hope she will not neglect the duty she owes her family, for the +sake of showing us this great kindness,” said Rowland, with affected +carelessness, though he walked across the apartment with a very +impatient step. + +“Lily has not again been guilty of the error she so frequently commits, +has she, S----?” asked Ada, in a lower but still far too distinct tone; +“that of supposing herself loved and admired where she is only pitied +and endured?” and the merry creature fairly exulted in the annoyance +which his deepened colour told her she was causing the young man. + +A slight sound from the apartment adjoining the parlour attracted my +attention. Had Lily stopped there to read her letter instead of going to +her chamber? and had she, consequently, overheard our foolish remarks? +The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open. There was a slight +rustling, but I thought it only the waving of the window curtain. + +A half-hour passed away, and Lily had not returned to us. I began to be +alarmed, and my companions partook of my fears. Had she overheard us? +and, if so, what must that sensitive heart be suffering? + +I went out to call her; but half way up the flight of stairs I saw the +letter from her father lying on the carpet, unopened, though it had been +torn from its envelope. I know not how I found my way up stairs, but I +stood by Lily's bed. + +Merciful Heaven! what a sight was presented to my gaze. The white +covering was stained with blood, and from those cold, pale lips the +red drops were fast falling. Her eyes turned slowly till they rested on +mine. What a look was that! I see it now; so full of grief; so full +of reproach; and then they closed. I thought her dead, and my frantic +shrieks called my companions to her bedside. They aroused her, too, from +that swoon, but they did not awaken her to consciousness. She never more +turned a look of recognition on us, or seemed to be aware that we were +near her. Through all that night, so long and so full of agony to us, +she was murmuring, incoherently, to herself, + +“They did not know I was dying,” she would say; “that I have been dying +ever since I have been here! They have not dreamed of my sufferings +through these long months; I could not tell them, for I believed they +loved me, and I would not grieve them. But no one loves me--not one in +the wide world cares for me! My mother, you will not have forgotten your +child when you meet me in the spirit-land! Their loved tones made +me deaf to the voice which was calling to me from the grave, and the +sunshine of _his_ smile broke through the dark cloud which death was +drawing around me. Oh, I would have lived, but death, I thought, would +lose half its bitterness, could I breathe my last in their arms! But, +now, I must die alone! Oh, how shall I reach my home--how shall I ever +reach my home?” + +Dear Lily! The passage was short; when morning dawned, she was _there._ + + + + +HOW TO BE HAPPY. + + + +A BOON of inestimable worth is a calm, thankful heart--a treasure that +few, very few, possess. We once met an old man, whose face was a +mixture of smiles and sunshine. Wherever he went, he succeeded in making +everybody about him as pleasant as himself. + +Said we, one day,--for he was one of that delightful class whom +everybody feels privileged to be related to,--“Uncle, uncle, how _is_ it +that you contrive to be so happy? Why is your face so cheerful, when so +many thousands are craped over with a most uncomfortable gloominess?” + +“My dear young friend,” he answered, with his placid smile, “I am +even as others, afflicted with infirmities; I have had my share of +sorrow--some would say more--but I have found out the secret of being +happy, and it is this: + +“_Forget self_.” + +“Until you do that, you can lay but little claim to a cheerful spirit. +'Forget what manner of man you are,' and think more with, rejoice more +for, your neighbours. If I am poor, let me look upon my richer friend, +and in estimating his blessings, forget my privations. + +“If my neighbour is building a house, let me watch with him its +progress, and think, 'Well, what a comfortable place it will be, to be +sure; how much he may enjoy it with his family.' Thus I have a double +pleasure--that of delight in noting the structure as it expands into +beauty, and making my neighbour's weal mine. If he has planted a fine +garden, I feast my eyes on the flowers, smell their fragrance: could I +do more if it was my own? + +“Another has a family of fine children; they bless him and are blessed +by him; mine are all gone before me; I have none that bear my name; +shall I, therefore, envy my neighbour his lovely children? No; let me +enjoy their innocent smiles with him; let me _forget myself_--my tears +when they were put away in darkness; or if I weep, may it be for joy +that God took them untainted to dwell with His holy angels for ever. + +“Believe an old man when he says there is great pleasure in living for +others. The heart of the selfish man is like a city full of crooked +lanes. If a generous thought from some glorious temple strays in +there, wo to it--it is lost. It wanders about, and wanders about, until +enveloped in darkness; as the mist of selfishness gathers around, it +lies down upon some cold thought to die, and is shrouded in oblivion. + +“So, if you would be happy, shun selfishness; do a kindly deed for +this one, speak a kindly word for another. He who is constantly giving +pleasure, is constantly receiving it. The little river gives to the +great ocean, and the more it gives the faster it runs. Stop its flowing, +and the hot sun would dry it up, till it would be but filthy mud, +sending forth bad odours, and corrupting the fresh air of Heaven. Keep +your heart constantly travelling on errands of mercy--it has feet that +never tire, hands that cannot be overburdened, eyes that never sleep; +freight its hands with blessings, direct its eyes--no matter how narrow +your sphere--to the nearest object of suffering, and relieve it. + +“I say, my dear young friend, take the word of an old man for it, who +has tried every known panacea, and found all to fail, except this golden +rule, + + “_Forget self, and keep the heart busy for others._” + + + + +CHARITY.--ITS OBJECTS. + + + +THE great Teacher, on being asked “Who is my neighbour?” replied “A man +went down from Jerusalem to Jericho,” and the parable which followed +is the most beautiful which language has ever recorded. Story-telling, +though often abused, is the medium by which truth can be most +irresistibly conveyed to the majority of minds, and in the present +instance we have a desire to portray in some slight degree the +importance of Charity in every-day life. + +A great deal has been said and written on the subject of indiscriminate +giving, and many who have little sympathy with the needy or distressed, +make the supposed unworthiness of the object an excuse for withholding +their alms; while others, who really possess a large proportion of the +milk of human kindness, in awaiting _great_ opportunities to do good, +overlook all in their immediate pathway, as beneath their notice. And +yet it was the “widow's mite” which, amid the many rich gifts cast into +the treasury, won the approval of the Searcher of Hearts; and we have +His assurance that a cup of cold water given in a proper spirit shall +not lose its reward. + +Our design in the present sketch is to call the attention of the +softer sex to a subject which has in too many instances escaped their +attention; for our ideas of Charity embrace a wide field, and we hold +that it should at all times be united with justice, when those less +favoured than themselves are concerned. + +“I do not intend hereafter to have washing done more than once in two +weeks,” said the rich Mrs. Percy, in reply to an observation of her +husband, who was standing at the window, looking at a woman who was +up to her knees in the snow, hanging clothes on a line in the yard. +“I declare it is too bad, to be paying that poking old thing a +half-a-dollar a week for our wash, and only six in the family. There she +has been at it since seven o'clock this morning, and now it is almost +four. It will require but two or three hours longer if I get her once a +fortnight, and I shall save twenty-five cents a week by it.” + +“When your own sex are concerned, you women are the _closest_ beings,” + said Mr. P., laughing. “Do just as you please, however,” he continued, +as he observed a brown gather on the brow of his wife; “for my part I +should be glad if washing-days were blotted entirely from the calendar.” + +At this moment the washerwoman passed the window with her stiffened +skirts and almost frozen hands and arms. Some emotions of pity stirring +in his breast at the sight, he again asked, “Do you think it will be +exactly right, my dear, to make old Phoebe do the same amount of labour +for half the wages?” + +“Of course it will,” replied Mrs. Percy, decidedly; “we are bound to do +the best we can for ourselves. If she objects, she can say so. There +are plenty of poor I can get who will be glad to come, and by this +arrangement I shall save thirteen dollars a year.” + +“So much,” returned Mr. P., carelessly; “how these things do run up!” + Here the matter ended as far as they were concerned. Not so with “old +Phoebe,” as she was called. In reality, however, Phoebe was not yet +forty; it was care and hardship which had seamed her once blooming face, +and brought on prematurely the appearance of age. On going to Mrs. Percy +in the evening after she had finished her wash, for the meagre sum she +had earned, that lady had spoken somewhat harshly about her being so +slow, and mentioned the new arrangement she intended to carry into +effect, leaving it optional with the poor woman to accept or decline. +After a moment's hesitation, Phoebe, whose necessities allowed her no +choice, agreed to her proposal, and the lady, who had been fumbling in +her purse, remarked:-- + +“I have no change, nothing less than this three-dollar bill. Suppose I +pay you by the month hereafter; it will save me a great deal of trouble, +and I will try to give you your dollar a month regularly.” + +Phoebe's pale cheek waxed still more ghastly as Mrs. Percy spoke, but +it was not within that lady's province to notice the colour of a +washerwoman's face. She did, however, observe her lingering, weary +steps as she proceeded through the yard, and conscience whispered some +reproaches, which were so unpleasant and unwelcome, that she endeavoured +to dispel them by turning to the luxurious supper which was spread +before her. And here I would pause to observe, that whatever method may +be adopted to reconcile the conscience to withholding money so justly +due, so hardly earned, she disobeyed the positive injunction of that God +who has not left the time of payment optional with ourselves, but who +has said--“The wages of him that is hired, shall not abide with thee all +night until the morning.”--Lev. 19 chap. 13th verse. + +The husband of Phoebe was a day labourer; when not intoxicated he was +kind; but this was of rare occurrence, for most of his earnings went for +ardent spirits, and the labour of the poor wife and mother was the +main support of herself and four children--the eldest nine years, the +youngest only eighteen months old. As she neared the wretched hovel she +had left early in the morning, she saw the faces of her four little ones +pressed close against the window. + +“Mother's coming, mother's coming!” they shouted, as they watched her +approaching through the gloom, and as she unlocked the door, which she +had been obliged to fasten to keep them from straying away, they all +sprang to her arms at once. + +“God bless you, my babes!” she exclaimed, gathering them to her heart, +“you have not been a minute absent from my mind this day. And what +have _you_ suffered,” she added, clasping the youngest, a sickly, +attenuated-looking object, to her breast. “Oh! it is hard, my little +Mary, to leave you to the tender mercies of children hardly able to +take care of themselves.” And as the baby nestled its head closer to +her side, and lifted its pale, imploring face, the anguished mother's +fortitude gave way, and she burst into an agony of tears and sobbings. +By-the-by, do some mothers, as they sit by the softly-lined cradles of +their own beloved babes, ever think upon the sufferings of those hapless +little ones, many times left with a scanty supply of food, and no fire, +on a cold winter day, while the parent is earning the pittance which is +to preserve them from starvation? And lest some may suppose that we are +drawing largely upon our imagination, we will mention, in this +place, that we knew of a child left under such circumstances, and +half-perishing with cold, who was nearly burned to death by some hops +(for there was no fuel to be found), which it scraped together in its +ragged apron, and set on fire with a coal found in the ashes. + +Phoebe did not indulge long in grief, however she forgot her weary +limbs, and bustling about, soon made up a fire, and boiled some +potatoes, which constituted their supper--after which she nursed the +children, two at a time, for a while, and then put them tenderly to bed. +Her husband had not come home, and as he was nearly always intoxicated, +and sometimes ill-treated her sadly, she felt his absence a relief. +Sitting over a handful of coals, she attempted to dry her wet feet; +every bone in her body ached, for she was not naturally strong, and +leaning her head on her hand, she allowed the big tears to course slowly +down her cheeks, without making any attempt to wipe them away, while she +murmured: + +“Thirteen dollars a year gone! What is to become of us? I cannot get +help from those authorized by law to assist the poor, unless I agree +to put out my children, and I cannot live and see them abused and +over-worked at their tender age. And people think their father might +support us; but how can I help it that he spends all his earnings in +drink? And rich as Mrs. Percy is, she did not pay me my wages to-night, +and now I cannot get the yarn for my baby's stockings, and her little +limbs must remain cold awhile longer; and I must do without the flour, +too, that I was going to make into bread, and the potatoes are almost +gone.” + +Here Phoebe's emotions overcame her, and she ceased speaking. After a +while, she continued-- + +“Mrs. Percy also blamed me for being so slow; she did not know that I +was up half the night, and that my head has ached ready to split all +day. Oh! dear, oh! dear, oh! dear, if it were not for my babes, I should +yearn for the quiet of the grave!” + +And with a long, quivering sigh, such as one might heave at the rending +of soul and body, Phoebe was silent. + +Daughters of luxury! did it ever occur to you that we are all the +children of one common Parent? Oh, look hereafter with pity on those +faces where the records of suffering are deeply graven, and remember +“_Be ye warmed and filled_,” will not suffice, unless the hand executes +the promptings of the heart. After awhile, as the fire died out, Phoebe +crept to her miserable pallet, crushed with the prospect of the days of +toil which were still before her, and haunted by the idea of sickness +and death, brought on by over-taxation of her bodily powers, while in +case of such an event, she was tortured by the reflection--“what is to +become of my children?” + +Ah, this anxiety is the true bitterness of death, to the friendless and +poverty-stricken parent. In this way she passed the night, to renew, +with the dawn, the toils and cares which were fast closing their work on +her. We will not say what Phoebe, under other circumstances, might +have been. She possessed every noble attribute common to woman, without +education, or training, but she was not prepossessing in her appearance; +and Mrs. Percy, who never studied character, or sympathized with +menials, or strangers, would have laughed at the idea of dwelling with +compassion on the lot of her washerwoman with a drunken husband. Yet her +feelings sometimes became interested for the poor she heard of abroad, +the poor she read of, and she would now and then descant largely on the +few cases of actual distress which had chanced to come under her notice, +and the little opportunity she enjoyed of bestowing alms. Superficial in +her mode of thinking and observation, her ideas of charity were limited, +forgetful that to be true it must be a pervading principle of life, +and can be exercised even in the bestowal of a gracious word or smile, +which, under peculiar circumstances, may raise a brother from the +dust--and thus win the approval of Him, who, although the Lord +of angels, was pleased to say of her who brought but the “box of +spikenard”--with tears of love--“_She hath done what she could._” + + + + +THE VISION OF BOATS. + + + + ONE morn, when the Day-god, yet hidden + By the mist that the mountain enshrouds, + Was hoarding up hyacinth blossoms, + And roses, to fling at the clouds; + I saw from the casement, that northward + Looks out on the Valley of Pines, + (The casement, where all day in summer, + You hear the drew drop from the vines), + + White shapes 'mid the purple wreaths glancing, + Like the banners of hosts at strife; + But I knew they were silvery pennons + Of boats on the River of Life. + And I watched, as the, mist cleared upward, + Half hoping, yet fearing to see + On that rapid and rock-sown River, + What the fate of the boats might be. + + There were some that sped cheerily onward, + With white sails gallantly spread + Yet ever there sat at the look-out, + One, watching for danger ahead. + No fragrant and song-haunted island, + No golden and gem-studded coast + Could win, with its ravishing beauty, + The watcher away from his post. + + When the tempest crouched low on the waters, + And fiercely the hurricane swept, + With furled sails, cautiously wearing, + Still onward in safety they kept. + And many sailed well for a season, + When river and sky were serene, + And leisurely swung the light rudder, + 'Twixt borders of blossoming green. + + But the Storm-King came out from his caverns, + With whirlwind, and lightning, and rain; + And my eyes, that grew dim for a moment, + Saw but the rent canvas again. + Then sorely I wept the ill-fated! + Yea, bitterly wept, for I knew + They had learned but the fair-weather wisdom, + That a moment of trial o'erthrew. + + And one in its swift sinking, parted + A placid and sun-bright wave; + Oh, deftly the rock was hidden, + That keepeth that voyager's grave! + And I sorrowed to think how little + Of aid from, a kindly hand, + Might have guided the beautiful vessel + Away from the treacherous strand. + + And I watched with a murmur of, blessing, + The few that on either shore + Were setting up signals of warning, + Where many had perished before. + But now, as the sunlight came creeping + Through the half-opened lids of the morn, + Fast faded that wonderful pageant, + Of shadows and drowsiness born. + + And no sound could I hear but the sighing + Of winds, in the Valley of Pines; + And the heavy, monotonous dropping + Of dew from the shivering vines. + But all day, 'mid the clashing of Labour, + And the city's unmusical notes, + With thoughts that went seeking the hidden, + I pondered that Vision of Boats. + + + + +REGULATION OF THE TEMPER. + + + + +THERE is considerable ground for thinking that the opinion very +generally prevails that the temper is something beyond the power of +regulation, control, or government. A good temper, too, if we may judge +from the usual excuses for the want of it, is hardly regarded in the +light of an attainable quality. To be slow in taking offence, and +moderate in the expression of resentment, in which things good temper +consists, seems to be generally reckoned rather among the gifts of +nature, the privileges of a happy constitution, than among the possible +results of careful self-discipline. When we have been fretted by some +petty grievance, or, hurried by some reasonable cause of offence into +a degree of anger far beyond what the occasion required, our subsequent +regret is seldom of a kind for which we are likely to be much better. We +bewail ourselves for a misfortune, rather than condemn ourselves for +a fault. We speak of our unhappy temper as if it were something that +entirely removed the blame from us, and threw it all upon the peculiar +and unavoidable sensitiveness of our frame. A peevish and irritable +temper is, indeed, an _unhappy_ one; a source of misery to ourselves and +to others; but it is not, in _all_ cases, so valid an excuse for being +easily provoked, as it is usually supposed to be. + +A good temper is too important a source of happiness, and an ill temper +too important a source of misery, to be treated with indifference or +hopelessness. The false excuses or modes of regarding this matter, to +which we have referred, should be exposed; for until their invalidity +and incorrectness are exposed, no efforts, or but feeble ones, will be +put forth to regulate an ill temper, or to cultivate a good one. + +We allow that there are great differences of natural constitution. One +who is endowed with a poetical temperament, or a keen sense of beauty, +or a great love of order, or very large ideality, will be pained by the +want or the opposites of these qualities, where one less amply endowed +would suffer no provocation whatever. What would grate most harshly on +the ear of an eminent musician, might not be noticed at all by one whose +musical faculties were unusually small. The same holds true in regard +to some other, besides musical deficiencies or discords. A delicate and +sickly frame will feel annoyed by what would not at all disturb the same +frame in a state of vigorous health. Particular circumstances, also, may +expose some to greater trials and vexations than others. But, after all +this is granted, the only reasonable conclusion seems to be, that the +attempt to govern the temper is more difficult in some cases than +in others; not that it is, in any case, impossible. It is, at least, +certain that an opinion of its impossibility is an effectual bar against +entering upon it. On the other hand, “believe that you will succeed, +and you will succeed,” is a maxim which has nowhere been more frequently +verified than in the moral world. It should be among the first maxims +admitted, and the last abandoned, by every earnest seeker of his own +moral improvement. + +Then, too, facts demonstrate that much has been done and can be done in +regulating the worst of tempers. The most irritable or peevish temper +has been restrained by company; has been subdued by interest; has been +awed by fear; has been softened by grief; has been soothed by kindness. +A bad temper has shown itself, in the same individuals, capable of +increase, liable to change, accessible to motives. Such facts are enough +to encourage, in every case, an attempt to govern the temper. All the +miseries of a bad temper, and all the blessings of a good one, may be +attained by an habitual tolerance, concern, and kindness for others--by +an habitual restraint of considerations and feelings entirely selfish. + +To those of our readers who feel moved or resolved by the considerations +we have named to attempt to regulate their temper, or to cultivate one +of a higher order of excellence, we would submit a few suggestions which +may assist them in their somewhat difficult undertaking. + +See, first of all, that you set as high a value on the comfort of those +with whom you have to do as you do on your own. If you regard your own +comfort _exclusively_, you will not make the allowances which a _proper_ +regard to the happiness of others would lead you to do. + +Avoid, particularly in your intercourse with those to whom it is of +most consequence that your temper should be gentle and forbearing--avoid +raising into undue importance the little failings which you may perceive +in them, or the trifling disappointments which they may occasion you. +If we make it a subject of vexation, that the beings among whom we tire +destined to live, are not perfect, we must give up all hope of attaining +a temper not easily provoked. A habit of trying everything by the +standard of perfection vitiates the temper more than it improves the +understanding, and disposes the mind to discern faults with an unhappy +penetration. I would not have you shut your eyes to the errors or +follies, or thoughtlessnesses of your friends, but only not to magnify +them or view them microscopically. Regard them in others as you +would have them regard the same things in you, in an exchange of +circumstances. + +Do not forget to make due allowances for the original constitution and +the manner of education or bringing up, which has been the lot of +those with whom you have to do. Make such excuses for Others as the +circumstances of their constitution, rearing, and youthful associations, +do fairly demand. + +Always put the best construction on the motives of others, when their +conduct admits of more than one way of understanding it. In many cases, +where neglect or ill intention seems evident at first sight, it may +prove true that “second thoughts are best.” Indeed, this common slaying +is never more likely to prove true than in cases in which the _first_ +thoughts were the dictates of anger And even when the first thoughts +are confirmed by further evidence, yet the habit of always waiting for +complete evidence before we condemn, must have a calming; and moderating +effect upon the temper, while it will take nothing from the authority of +our just censures. + +It will further, be a great help to our efforts, as well as our +desires, for the government of the temper, if we consider frequently and +seriously the natural consequences of hasty resentments, angry replies, +rebukes impatiently given or impatiently received, muttered discontents, +sullen looks, and harsh words. It may safely be asserted that the +consequences of these and other ways in which ill-temper may show +itself, are _entirely_ evil. The feelings, which accompany them in +ourselves, and those which they excite in others, are unprofitable as +well as painful. They lessen our own comfort, and tend often rather +to prevent than to promote the improvement of those with whom we find +fault. If we give even friendly and judicious counsels in a harsh and +pettish tone, we excite against _them_ the repugnance naturally felt to +_our manner_. The consequence is, that the advice is slighted, and the +peevish adviser pitied, despised, or hated. + +When we cannot succeed in putting a restraint on our _feelings_ of anger +or dissatisfaction, we can at least check the _expression_ of those +feelings. If our thoughts are not always in our power, our words and +actions and looks may be brought under our command; and a command over +these expressions of our thoughts and feelings will be found no mean +help towards obtaining an increase of power over our thoughts and +feelings themselves. At least, one great good will be effected: time +will be gained; time for reflection; time for charitable allowances and +excuses. + +Lastly, seek the help of religion. Consider how you may most certainly +secure the approbation of God. For a good temper, or a well-regulated +temper, _may be_ the constant homage of a truly religious man to that +God, whose love and long-suffering forbearance surpass all human love +and forbearance. + + + + +MANLY GENTLENESS. + + + +WHO is the most wretched man living? This question might constitute a +very fair puzzle to those of our readers whose kind hearts have given +them, in their own experience, no clue to the true answer. It is a +species of happiness to be rich; to have at one's command an abundance +of the elegancies and luxuries of life. Then he, perhaps, is the most +miserable of men who is the poorest. It is a species of happiness to be +the possessor of learning, fame, or power; and therefore, perhaps, he is +the most miserable man who is the most ignorant, despised, and helpless. +No; there is a man more wretched than these. We know not where he may be +found; but find him where you will, in a prison or on a throne, steeped +in poverty or surrounded with princely affluence; execrated, as he +deserves to be, or crowned with world-wide applause; that man is the +most miserable whose heart contains the least love for others. + +It is a pleasure to be beloved. Who has not felt this? Human affection +is priceless. A fond heart is more valuable than the Indies. But it is +a still greater pleasure to love than to be loved; the emotion itself +is of a higher kind; it calls forth our own powers into more agreeable +exercise, and is independent of the caprice of others. Generally +speaking, if we deserve to be loved, others will love us, but this is +not always the case. The love of others towards us, is not always +in proportion to our real merits; and it would be unjust to make our +highest happiness dependent on it. But our love for others will always +be in proportion to our real goodness; the more amiable, the more +excellent we become, the more shall we love others; it is right, +therefore, that this love should be made capable of bestowing upon +us the largest amount of happiness. This is the arrangement which the +Creator has fixed upon. By virtue of our moral constitution, to love is +to be happy; to hate is to be wretched. + +Hatred is a strong word, and the idea it conveys is very repulsive. We +would hope that few of our readers know by experience what it is in its +full extent. To be a very demon, to combine in ourselves the highest +possible degree of wickedness and misery, nothing more is needful than +to hate with sufficient intensity. But though, happily, comparatively +few persons are fully under the influence of this baneful passion, how +many are under it more frequently and powerfully than they ought to be? +How often do we indulge in resentful, revengeful feelings, with all +of which hatred more or less mixes itself? Have we not sometimes +entertained sentiments positively malignant towards those who have +wounded our vanity or injured our interests, secretly wishing them ill, +or not heartily wishing them happiness? If so, we need only consult +our own experience to ascertain that such feelings are both sinful and +foolish; they offend our Maker, and render us wretched. + +We know a happy man; one who in the midst of the vexations and crosses +of this changing world, is always happy. Meet him anywhere, and at any +time, his features beam with pleasure. Children run to meet him, and +contend for the honour of touching his hand, or laying hold of the skirt +of his coat, as he passes by, so cheerful and benevolent does he always +look. In his own house he seems to reign absolute, and yet he never uses +any weapon more powerful than a kind word. Everybody who knows him is +aware, that, in point of intelligence, ay, and in physical prowess, +too--for we know few men who can boast a more athletic frame--he is +strong as a lion, yet in his demeanour he is gentle as a lamb. His wife +is not of the most amiable temper, his children are not the most docile, +his business brings him into contact with men of various dispositions; +but he conquers all with the same weapons. What a contrast have we often +thought he presents to some whose physiognomy looks like a piece of +harsh handwriting, in which we can decipher nothing but _self, self, +self_; who seem, both at home and abroad, to be always on the watch +against any infringement of their dignity. Poor men! their dignity +can be of little value if it requires so much care in order to be +maintained. True manliness need take but little pains to procure +respectful recognition. If it is genuine, others will see it, and +respect it. The lion will always be acknowledged as the king of the +beasts; but the ass, though clothed in the lion's skin, may bray loudly +and perseveringly indeed, but he will never keep the forest in awe. + +From some experience in the homes of working-men, and other homes too, +we are led to think that much of the harsh and discordant feeling which +too often prevails there may be ascribed to a false conception of what +is truly great. It is a very erroneous impression that despotism is +manly. For our part we believe that despotism is inhuman, satanic, and +that wherever it is found--as much in the bosom of a family, as on +the throne of a kingdom. We cannot bring ourselves to tolerate the +inconsistency with which some men will inveigh against some absolute +sovereign, and straight-way enact the pettiest airs of absolutism in +their little empire at home. We have no private intimacy with “the +autocrat of all the Russias,” and may, with all humility, avow that +we do not desire to have any; but this we believe, that out of the +thousands who call him a tyrant, it would be no difficult matter to pick +scores who are as bad, if not worse. Let us remember that it is not a +great empire which constitutes a great tyrant. Tyranny must be measured +by the strength of those imperious and malignant passions from which it +flows, and carrying this rule along with us, it would not surprise us, +if we found the greatest tyrant in the world in some small cottage, with +none to oppress but a few unoffending children, and a helpless woman. +O! when shall we, be just!--when shall we cease to prate about wrongs +inflicted by others, and magnified by being beheld through the haze of +distance, and seek to redress those which lie at our own doors, and to +redress which we shall only have to prevail upon ourselves to be just +and gentle! Arbitrary power is always associated either with cruelty, or +conscious weakness. True greatness is above the petty arts of tyranny. +Sometimes much domestic suffering may arise from a cause which is easily +confounded with a tyrannical disposition--we refer to an exaggerated +sense of justice. This is the abuse of a right feeling, and requires +to be kept in vigilant check. Nothing is easier than to be one-sided in +judging of the actions of others. How agreeable the task of applying +the line and plummet! How quiet and complete the assumption of our own +superior excellence which we make in doing it! But if the task is in +some respects easy, it is most difficult if we take into account the +necessity of being just in our decisions. In domestic life especially, +in which so much depends on circumstances, and the highest questions +often relate to mere matters of expediency, how easy it is to be +“always finding fault,” if we neglect to take notice of explanatory and +extenuating circumstances! Anybody with a tongue and a most moderate +complement of brains can call a thing stupid, foolish, ill-advised, and +so forth; though it might require a larger amount of wisdom than the +judges possessed to have done the thing better. But what do we want with +captious judges in the bosom of a family? The scales of household polity +are the scales of love, and he who holds them should be a sympathizing +friend; ever ready to make allowance for failures, ingenious in +contriving apologies, more lavish of counsels than rebukes, and less +anxious to overwhelm a person with a sense of deficiency than to awaken +in the bosom, a conscious power of doing better. One thing is certain: +if any member of a family conceives it his duty to sit continually in +the censor's chair, and weigh in the scales of justice all that happens +in the domestic commonwealth, domestic happiness is out of the question. +It is manly to extenuate and forgive, but a crabbed and censorious +spirit is contemptible. + +There is much more misery thrown into the cup of life by domestic +unkindness than we might at first suppose. In thinking of the evils +endured by society from malevolent passions of individuals, we are apt +to enumerate only the more dreadful instances of crime: but what are +the few murders which unhappily pollute the soil of this Christian +land--what, we ask, is the suffering they occasion, what their +demoralizing tendency--when compared with the daily effusions of +ill-humour which sadden, may we not fear, many thousand homes? We +believe that an incalculably greater number are hurried to the grave +by habitual unkindness than by sudden violence; the slow poison of +churlishness and neglect, is of all poisons the most destructive. If +this is true, we want a new definition for the most flagrant of all +crimes: a definition which shall leave out the element of time, and call +these actions the same--equally hateful, equally diabolical, equally +censured by the righteous government of Heaven--which proceed from the +same motives, and lead to the same result, whether they be done in a +moment, or spread out through a series of years. Habitual unkindness is +demoralizing as well as cruel. Whenever it fails to break the heart, +it hardens it. To take a familiar illustration: a wife who is never +addressed by her husband in tones of kindness, must cease to love him +if she wishes to be happy. It is her only alternative. Thanks to the +nobility of our nature, she does not always take it. No; for years she +battles with cruelty, and still presses with affection the hand which +smites her, but it is fearfully at her own expense. Such endurance preys +upon her health, and hastens her exit to the asylum of the grave. If +this is to be avoided, she must learn to forget, what woman should never +be tempted to forget, the vows, the self-renunciating devotedness of +impassioned youth; she must learn to oppose indifference, to neglect +and repel him with a heart as cold as his own. But what a tragedy lies +involved in a career like this! We gaze on something infinitely more +terrible than murder; we see our nature abandoned to the mercy of +malignant passions, and the sacred susceptibilities which were intended +to fertilize with the waters of charity the pathway of life, sending +forth streams of bitterest gall. A catalogue of such cases, faithfully +compiled, would eclipse, in turpitude and horror, all the calendars of +crime that have ever sickened the attention of the world. + +The obligations of gentleness and kindness are extensive as the claims +to manliness; these three qualities must go together. There are some +cases, however, in which such obligations are of special force. Perhaps +a precept here will be presented most appropriately under the guise of +an example. We have now before our mind's eye a couple, whose marriage +tie was, a few months since, severed by death. The husband was a strong, +hale, robust sort of a man, who probably never knew a day's illness +in the course of his life, and whose sympathy on behalf of weakness or +suffering in others it was exceedingly difficult to evoke; while his +partner was the very reverse, by constitution weak and ailing, but +withal a woman of whom any man might and ought to have been proud. Her +elegant form, her fair transparent skin, the classical contour of her +refined and expressive face, might have led a Canova to have selected +her as a model of feminine beauty. But alas! she was weak; she could not +work like other women; her husband could not _boast_ among his shopmates +how much she contributed to the maintenance of the family, and how +largely she could afford to dispense with the fruit of his labours. +Indeed, with a noble infant in her bosom, and the cares of a household +resting entirely upon her, she required help herself, and at least +she needed, what no wife can dispense with, but she least of +all--_sympathy_, forbearance, and all those tranquilizing virtues which +flow from a heart of kindness. She least of all could bear a harsh +look; to be treated daily with cold, disapproving reserve, a petulant +dissatisfaction could not but be death to her. We will not say it +_was_--enough that she is dead. The lily bent before the storm, and at +last was crushed by it. We ask but one question, in order to point +the moral:--In the circumstances we have delineated, what course +of treatment was most consonant with a manly spirit; that which was +actually pursued, or some other which the reader can suggest? + +Yes, to love is to be happy and to make happy, and to love is the very +spirit of true manliness. We speak not of exaggerated passion and false +sentiment; we speak not of those bewildering, indescribable feelings, +which under that name, often monopolize for a time the guidance of the +youthful heart; but we speak of that pure emotion which is benevolence +intensified, and which, when blended with intelligence, can throw the +light of joyousness around the manifold relations of life. Coarseness, +rudeness, tyranny, are so many forms of brute power; so many +manifestations of what it is man's peculiar glory not to be; but +kindness and gentleness can never cease to be MANLY. + + Count not the days that have lightly flown, + The years that were vainly spent; + Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, + When thy spirit stands before the Throne, + To account for the talents lent. + + But number the hours redeemed from sin, + The moments employed for Heaven;-- + Oh few and evil thy days have been, + Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene, + For a nobler purpose given. + + Will the shade go back on the dial plate? + Will thy sun stand still on his way? + Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate + Rests on the point of life's little date:-- + Then live while 'tis called to-day. + + Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page, + As they lessen, in value rise; + Oh rouse thee and live! nor deem that man's age + Stands on the length of his pilgrimage, + But in days that are truly wise. + + + + +SILENT INFLUENCE. + + + +“HOW finely she looks!” said Margaret Winne, as a lady swept by them in +the crowd; “I do not see that time wears upon her beauty at all.” + +“What, Bell Walters!” exclaimed her companion. “Are you one of those who +think her such a beauty?” + +“I think her a very fine-looking woman, certainly,” returned Mrs. Winne; +“and, what is more, I think her a very fine woman.” + +“Indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Hall; “I thought you were no friends?” + +“No,” replied the first speaker; “but that does not make us enemies.” + +“But I tell you she positively dislikes you, Margaret,” said Mrs. Hall. +“It is only a few days since I knew of her saying that you were a bold, +impudent woman, and she did not like you at all.” + +“That is bad,” said Margaret, with a smile; “for I must confess that I +like her.” + +“Well,” said her companion, “I am sure I could never like any one who +made such unkind speeches about me.” + +“I presume she said no more than she thought,” said Margaret, quietly. + +“Well, so much the worse!” exclaimed Mrs. Hall, in surprise. “I hope you +do not think that excuses the matter at all?” + +“Certainly, I do. I presume she has some reason for thinking as she +does; and, if so, it was very natural she should express her opinion.” + +“Well, you are very cool and candid about it, I must say. What reason +have you given her, pray, for thinking you were bold and impudent?” + +“None, that I am aware of,” replied Mrs. Winne, “but I presume she +thinks I have. I always claim her acquaintance, when we meet, and I have +no doubt she would much rather I would let it drop.” + +“Why don't you, then? I never knew her, and never had any desire for +her acquaintance. She was no better than you when you were girls, and I +don't think her present good fortune need make her so very scornful.” + +“I do not think she exhibits any more haughtiness than most people would +under the same circumstances. Some would have dropped the acquaintance +at once, without waiting for me to do it. Her social position is higher +than mine, and it annoys her to have me meet her as an equal, just I +used to do.” + +“You do it to annoy her, then?” + +“Not by any means. I would much rather she would feel, as I do, that +the difference between us is merely conventional, and might bear to be +forgotten on the few occasions when accident throws us together. But she +does not, and I presume it is natural. I do not know how my head might +be turned, if I had climbed up in the world as rapidly as she has done. +As it is, however, I admire her too much to drop her acquaintance just +yet, as long as she leaves it to me.” + +“Really, Margaret, I should have supposed you had too much spirit to +intrude yourself upon a person that you knew wished to shake you off; +and I do not see how you can admire one that you know to be so proud.” + +“I do not admire her on account of her pride, certainly, though it is +a quality that sits very gracefully upon her,” said Margaret Winne; and +she introduced another topic of conversation, for she did not hope to +make her companion understand the motives that influenced her. + +“Bold and impudent!” said Margaret, to herself, as she sat alone, in her +own apartment. “I knew she thought it, for I have seen it in her looks; +but she always treats me well externally, and I hardly thought she would +say it. I know she was vexed with herself for speaking to me, one day, +when she was in the midst of a circle of her fashionable acquaintances. +I was particularly ill-dressed, and I noticed that they stared at me; +but I had no intention, then, of throwing myself in her way. Well,” she +continued, musingly, “I am not to be foiled with one rebuff. I know her +better than she knows me, for the busy world has canvassed her life, +while they have never meddled with my own: and I think there are points +of contact enough between us for us to understand each other, if we +once found an opportunity. She stands in a position which I shall never +occupy, and she has more power and strength than I; else she had never +stood where she does, for she has shaped her fortunes by her own unaided +will. Her face was not her fortune, as most people suppose, but her +mind. She has accomplished whatever she has undertaken, and she can +accomplish much more, for her resources are far from being developed. +Those around her may remember yet that she was not always on a footing +with them; but they will not do so long. She will be their leader, for +she was born to rule. Yes; and she queens it most proudly among them. It +were a pity to lose sight of her stately, graceful dignity. I regard +her very much as I would some beautiful exotic, and her opinion of me +affects me about as much as if she were the flower, and not the mortal. +And yet I can never see her without wishing that the influence she +exerts might be turned into a better channel. She has much of good about +her, and I think that it needs but a few hints to make life and its +responsibilities appear to her as they do to me. I have a message for +her ear, but she must not know that it was intended for her. She has too +much pride of place to receive it from me, and too much self-confidence +to listen knowingly to the suggestions of any other mind than her own. +Therefore, I will seek the society of Isabel Walters whenever I can, +without appearing intrusive, until she thinks me worthy her notice, or +drops me altogether. My talent lies in thinking, but she has all the +life and energy I lack, and would make an excellent actor to my thought, +and would need no mentor when her attention was once aroused. My +usefulness must lie in an humble sphere, but hers--she can carry it +wherever she will. It will be enough for my single life to accomplish, +if, beyond the careful training of my own family, I can incite her to a +development of her powers of usefulness. People will listen to her who +will pay no attention to me; and, besides, she has the time and means to +spare, which I have not.” + +“Everywhere, in Europe, they were talking of you, Mrs. Walters,” said +a lady, who had spent many years abroad, “and adopting your plans for +vagrant and industrial schools, and for the management of hospitals and +asylums. I have seen your name in the memorials laid before government +in various foreign countries. You have certainly achieved a world-wide +reputation. Do tell me how your attention came first to be turned to +that sort of thing? I supposed you were one of our fashionable women, +who sought simply to know how much care and responsibility they could +lawfully avoid, and how high a social station it was possible to +attain. I am sure something must have happened to turn your life into so +different a channel.” + +“Nothing in particular, I assure you,” returned Mrs. Walters. “I came +gradually to perceive the necessity there was that some one should take +personal and decisive action in those things that it was so customary +to neglect. Fond as men are of money, it was far easier to reach their +purses than their minds. Our public charities were quite well endowed, +but no one gave them that attention that they needed, and thus evils had +crept in that were of the highest importance. My attention was attracted +to it in my own vicinity at first; and others saw it as well as I, but +it was so much of everybody's business that everybody let it alone. I +followed the example for awhile, but it seemed as much my duty to act as +that of any other person; and though it is little I have done, I +think that, in that little, I have filled the place designed for me by +Providence.” + +“Well, really, Mrs. Walters, you were one of the last persons I should +have imagined to be nicely balancing a point of duty, or searching out +the place designed for them by Providence. I must confess myself at +fault in my judgment of character for once.” + +“Indeed, madam,” replied Mrs. Walters, “I have no doubt you judged me +very correctly at the time you knew me. My first ideas of the duties and +responsibilities of life were aroused by Margaret Winne; and I recollect +that my intimacy with her commenced after you left the country.” + +“Margaret Winne? Who was she? Not the wife of that little Dr. Winne we +used to hear of occasionally? They attended the same church with us, I +believe?” + +“Yes; she was the one. We grew up together, and were familiar with each +other's faces from childhood; but this was about all. She was always in +humble circumstances, as I had myself been in early life; and, after my +marriage, I used positively to dislike her, and to dread meeting her, +for she was the only one of my former acquaintances who met me on the +same terms as she had always done. I thought she wished to remind me +that we were once equals in station; but I learned, when I came to know +her well, how far she was above so mean a thought. I hardly know how +I came first to appreciate her, but we were occasionally thrown in +contact, and her sentiments were so beautiful--so much above the common +stamp--that I could not fail to be attracted by her. She was a noble +woman. The world knows few like her. So modest and retiring--with an +earnest desire to do all the good in the world of which she was capable, +but with no ambition to shine. Well fitted as she was, to be an ornament +in any station of society, she seemed perfectly content to be the idol +of her own family, and known to few besides. There were few subjects on +which she had not thought, and her clear perceptions went at once to the +bottom of a subject, so that she solved simply many a question on which +astute philosophers had found themselves at fault. I came at last to +regard her opinion almost as an oracle. I have often thought, since her +death, that it was her object to turn my life into that channel to which +it has since been devoted, but I do not know. I had never thought of the +work that has since occupied me at the time of her death, but I can see +now how cautiously and gradually she led me among the poor, and taught +me to sympathize with their sufferings, and gave me, little by little, +a clue to the evils that had sprung up in the management of our public +charities. She was called from her family in the prime of life, but they +who come after her do assuredly rise up and call her blessed. She has +left a fine family, who will not soon forget, the instructions of their +mother.” + +“Ah! yes, there it is, Mrs. Walters. A woman's sphere, after all, is at +home. One may do a great deal of good in public, no doubt, as you have +done; but don't you think that, while you have devoted yourself so +untiringly to other affairs, you have been obliged to neglect your own +family in order to gain time for this? One cannot live two lives at +once, you know.” + +“No, madam, certainly we cannot live two lives at once, but we can glean +a much larger harvest from the one which is, bestowed upon us than we +are accustomed to think. I do not, by any means, think that I have ever +neglected my own family in the performance of other duties, and I trust +my children are proving, by their hearty co-operation with me, that I am +not mistaken. Our first duty, certainly is at home, and I determined, +at the outset, that nothing should call me from the performance of this +first charge. I do not think anything can excuse a mother from devoting +a large portion of her life in personal attention to the children God +has given her. But I can assure you that, to those things which I have +done of which the world could take cognisance, I have given far less +time than I used once to devote to dress and amusement, I found, by +systematizing everything, that my time was more than doubled; and, +certainly, I was far better fitted to attend properly to my own family, +when my eyes, were opened to the responsibilities of life, than when my +thoughts were wholly occupied by fashion and display.” + + + + +ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY. + + + +“AH, friend K----, good-morning to you; I'm really happy to see you +looking so cheerful. Pray, to what unusual circumstance may we be +indebted for this happy, smiling face of yours, this morning?” (Our +friend K----had been, unfortunately, of a very desponding and somewhat +of a choleric turn of mind, previously.) + +“Really, is the change so perceptible, then? Well, my dear sir, you +shall have the secret; for, happy as I appear--and be assured, my +appearances are by no means deceptive, for I never felt more happy in my +life--it will still give me pleasure to inform you, and won't take long, +either. It is simply this; I have made a whole family happy!” + +“Indeed! Why, you have discovered a truly valuable: recipe for blues, +then, which may be used _ad libitum_, eh, K----?” + +“You may well say that. But, really, my friend, I feel no little +mortification at not making so simple and valuable a discovery at an +earlier period of my life, Heaven knows,” continued K----, “I have +looked for contentment everywhere else. First, I sought for wealthy in +the gold mines of California, thinking that was the true source of +all earthly joys; but after obtaining it, I found myself with such a +multiplicity of cares and anxieties, that I was really more unhappy than +ever. I then sought for pleasure in travelling. This answered somewhat +the purpose of dissipating cares, &c., so long as it lasted; but, dear +me, it gave no permanent satisfaction. After seeing the whole world, I +was as badly off as Alexander the Great. He cried for another world to +_conquer_, and I cried for another world to _see_.” + +The case of our friend, I imagine, differs not materially from that of +a host of other seekers of contentment in this productive world. Like +“blind leaders of the blind,” our invariable fate is to go astray in the +universal race for happiness. How common is it, after seeking for it +in every place but the right one, for the selfish man to lay the whole +blame upon this fine world--as if anybody was to blame but himself. Even +some professors of religion are too apt to libel the world. “Well, this +is a troublesome world, to make the best of it,” is not an uncommon +expression; neither is it a truthful one. “Troubles, disappointments, +losses, crosses, sickness, and death, make up the sum and substance of +our existence here,” add they, with tremendous emphasis, as if they had +no hand in producing the sad catalogue. The trouble is, we set too +high a value on our own merits; we imagine ourselves deserving of great +favours and privileges, while we are doing nothing to merit them. In +this respect, we are not altogether unlike the young man in the parable, +who, by-the-by, was also a professor--he professed very loudly of having +done all those good things “from his youth up.” But when the command +came, “go sell all thou hast, and give to the poor,” &c., it soon took +the conceit out of him. + +In this connexion, there are two or three seemingly important +considerations, which I feel some delicacy in touching upon here. +However, in the kindest possible spirit, I would merely remark, that +there is a very large amount of wealth in the Church--by this I include +its wealthy members, of course; and refer to no particular denomination; +by Church, I mean all Christian denominations. Now, in connexion with +this fact, such a question as this arises in my mind--and I put it, not, +for the purpose of fault-finding, for I don't know that I have a right +view of the matter, but merely for the consideration of those who are +fond of hoarding up their earthly gains, viz.: Suppose the modern Church +was composed of such professors as the self-denying disciples of our +Saviour,--with their piety, simplicity, and this wealth; what, think +you, would be the consequence? Now I do not intend to throw out any +such flings as, “comparisons are odious”--“this is the modern Christian +age”--“the age of Christian privileges,” and all that sort of nonsense. +Still, I am rather inclined to the opinion, that if we were all--in +and out of the Church--disposed to live up to, or carry out what we +professedly know to be right, it would be almost as difficult to find +real trouble, as it is now to find real happiness. + +The sources of contentment and discontentment are discoverable, +therefore, without going into a metaphysical examination of the subject. +Just in proportion as we happen to discharge, or neglect known duties, +are we, according to my view, happy or miserable on earth. Philosophy +tells us that our happiness and well-being depends upon a conformity to +certain unalterable laws--moral, physical, and organic--which act upon +the intellectual, moral, and material universe, of which man is a part, +and which determine, or regulate the growth, happiness, and well-being +of all organic beings. These views, when reduced to their simple +meaning, amount to the same thing, call it by what name we will. Duties, +of course, imply legal or moral obligations, which we are certainly +legally or morally bound to pay, perform, or discharge. And certain it +is, there is no getting over them--they are as irresistible as +Divine power, as universal as Divine presence, as permanent as Divine +existence, and no art nor cunning of man can disconnect unhappiness from +transgressing them. How necessary to our happiness, then, is it, not +only to know, but to perform our whole duty? + +One of the great duties of man in this life, and, perhaps, the most +neglected, is that of doing good, or benefiting one another. That doing +good is clearly a duty devolving upon man, there can be no question. The +benevolent Creator, in placing man in the world, endowed him with mental +and physical energies, which clearly denote that he is to be active in +his day and generation. + +Active in what? Certainly not in mischief, for that would not be +consistent with Divine goodness. Neither should we suppose that we are +here for our own sakes simply. Such an idea would be presumptuous. For +what purpose, then, was man endowed with all these facilities of mind +and body, but to do good and glorify his Maker? True philosophy teaches +that benevolence was not only the design of the Creator in all His +works, but the fruits to be expected from them. The whole infinite +contrivances of everything above, around, and within us, are directed +to certain benevolent issues, and all the laws of nature are in perfect +harmony with this idea. + +That such is the design of man may also be inferred from the happiness +which attends every good action, and the misery of discontentment which +attends those who not only do wrong, but are useless to themselves and +to society. Friend K----'s case, above quoted, is a fair illustration of +this truth. + +Now, then, if it is our duty to do all the good we can, and I think this +will be admitted, particularly by the Christian, and this be measured +by our means and opportunity, then there are many whom Providence has +blessed with the means and opportunity of doing a very great amount of +good. And if it be true, as it manifestly is, that “it is more blessed +to give than receive,” then has Providence also blessed them with very +great privileges. The privilege of giving liberally, and thus obtaining +for themselves the greater blessing, which is the result of every +benevolent action, the simple satisfaction with ourselves which follows +a good act, or consciousness of having done our duty in relieving +a fellow-creature, are blessings indeed, which none but the good or +benevolent can realize. Such kind spirits are never cast down. Their +hearts always light and cheerful--rendered so by their many kind +offices,--they can always enjoy their neighbours, rich or poor, high or +low, and love them too; and with a flow of spirits which bespeak a heart +all right within, they make all glad and happy around them. + +Doing good is an infallible antidote for melancholy. When the heart +seems heavy, and our minds can light upon nothing but little naughty +perplexities, everything going wrong, no bright spot or relief anywhere +for our crazy thoughts, and we are finally wound up in a web of +melancholy, depend upon it there is nothing, nothing which can dispel +this angry, ponderous, and unnatural cloud from our _rheumatic minds_ +and _consciences_ like a charity visit--to give liberally to those in +need of succour, the poor widow, the suffering, sick, and poor, the +aged invalid, the lame, the blind, &c., &c.; all have a claim upon your +bounty, and how they will bless you and love you for it--anyhow, they +will thank kind Providence for your mission of love. He that makes one +such visit will make another and another; he can't very well get weary +in such well-doing, for his is the greater blessing. It is a blessing +indeed: how the heart is lightened, the soul enlarged, the mind +improved, and even health; for the mind being liberated from +perplexities, the body is at rest, the nerves in repose, and the blood, +equalized, courses freely through the system, giving strength, vigour, +and equilibrium to the whole complicated machinery. Thus we can think +clearer, love better, enjoy life, and be thankful for it. + +What a beautiful arrangement it is that we can, by doing good to others, +do so much good to ourselves! The wealthy classes, who “rise above +society like clouds above the earth, to diffuse an abundant dew,” should +not forget this fact. The season has now about arrived, when the good +people of all classes will be most busily engaged in these delightful +duties. The experiment is certainly worth trying by all. If all +those desponding individuals, whose chief comfort is to growl at this +“troublesome world,” will but take the hint, look trouble full in the +face, and relieve it, they will, like friend K----, feel much better. + +It may be set down as a generally correct axiom, (with some few +exceptions, perhaps, such as accidents, and the deceptions and cruelties +of those whom we injudiciously select for friends and confidants, from +our want of discernment), that life is much what we make it, and so is +the world. + + + + +THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN. + + + +AH me! Am I really a rich man, or am I not? That is the question. I +am sure I don't feel rich; and yet, here I am written down among the +“wealthy citizens” as being worth seventy thousand dollars! How the +estimate was made, or who furnished the data, is all a mystery to me. I +am sure I wasn't aware of the fact before. “Seventy thousand dollars!” + That sounds comfortable, doesn't it? Seventy thousand dollars!--But +where is it? Ah! There is the rub! How true it is that people always +know more about you than you do yourself. + +Before this unfortunate book came out (“The Wealthy Citizens of +Philadelphia”), I was jogging on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be aware +of the fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of the thing +myself. But, strange to tell, I awoke one morning and found myself worth +seventy thousand dollars! I shall never forget that day. Men who had +passed me in the street with a quiet, familiar nod, now bowed with a low +salaam, or lifted their hats deferentially, as I encountered them on the +_pave_. + +“What's the meaning of all this?” thought I. “I haven't stood up to +be shot at, nor sinned against innocence and virtue. I haven't been to +Paris. I don't wear moustaches. What has given me this importance?” + +And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of money to help me out +with some pretty heavy payments. After succeeding, though with some +difficulty in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my store about +twelve o'clock. I found a mercantile acquaintance awaiting me, who, +without many preliminaries, thus stated his business: + +“I want,” said he, with great coolness, “to get a loan of six or seven +thousand dollars; and I don't know of any one to whom I can apply with +more freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think I can satisfy +you, fully, in regard to security. + +“My dear sir,” replied I, “if you only wanted six or seven hundred +dollars, instead of six or seven thousand dollars, I could not +accommodate you. I have just come in from a borrowing expedition +myself.” + +I was struck with the sudden change in the man's countenance. He was not +only disappointed, but offended. He did not believe my statement. In +his eyes, I had merely resorted to a subterfuge, or, rather, told a +lie, because I did not wish to let him have my money. Bowing with cold +formality, he turned away and left my place of business. His manner to +me has been reserved ever since. + +On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the back part of my store +musing on some, matter of business, when I saw a couple of ladies enter. +They spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them back to where I was +taking things comfortably in an old arm-chair. + +“Mr. G----, I believe?” said the elder of the two ladies, with a bland +smile. + +I had already arisen, and to this question, or rather affirmation, I +bowed assent. + +“Mr. G----,” resumed the lady, producing a small book as she spoke, “we +are a committee, appointed to make collections in this district for +the purpose of setting up a fair in aid of the funds of the Esquimaux +Missionary Society. It is the design of the ladies who have taken this +matter in hand to have a very large collection of articles, as the funds +of the society are entirely exhausted. To the gentlemen of our district, +and especially to those who leave been liberally _blessed with this +world's goods_”--this was particularly emphasized--“we look for +important aid. Upon you, sir, we have called first, in order that you +may head the subscription, and thus set an example of liberality to +others.” + +And the lady handed me the book in the most “of course” manner in the +world, and with the evident expectation that I would put down at least +fifty-dollars. + +Of course I was cornered, and must do something, I tried to be bland +and polite; but am inclined to think that I failed in the effort. As for +fairs, I never did approve of them. But that was nothing. The enemy had +boarded me so suddenly and so completely, that nothing, was left for +me but to surrender at discretion, and I did so with as good grace as +possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar bill and presented +it; to the elder of the two ladies, thinking that I was doing very well +indeed. She took the money, but was evidently disappointed; and did not +even ask me to head the list with my name. + +“How money does harden the heart!” I overheard one of my fair +visiters say to the other, in a low voices but plainly intended for my +edification, as they walked off with their five dollar bill. + +“Confound your impudence!” I said to myself, thus taking my revenge out +of them. “Do you think I've got nothing else to do with my money but +scatter it to the four winds?” + +And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes of my waistcoat, and took a +dozen turns up and down my store, in order to cool off. + +“Confound your impudence!” I then repeated, and quietly sat down again +in the old arm-chair. + +On the next day I had any number of calls from money-hunters. Business +men, who had never thought of asking me for loans, finding that I +was worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon me for temporary +favours, and, when disappointed in their expectations, couldn't seem to +understand it. When I spoke of being “hard up” myself, they looked as if +they didn't clearly comprehend what I meant. + +A few days after the story of my wealth had gone abroad, I was sitting, +one evening, with my family, when I was informed that a lady was in the +parlour, and wished to see me. + +“A lady!” said I. + +“Yes, sir,” replied the servant. + +“Is she alone?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“What does she want?” + +“She did not say, sir.” + +“Very well. Tell her I'll be down in a few moments.” + +When I entered the parlour, I found a woman, dressed in mourning, with +her veil closely drawn. + +“Mr. G----?” she said, in a low, sad voice. + +I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where she was sitting, and from +which she had not risen upon my entrance. + +“Pardon the great liberty I have taken,” she began, after a pause of +embarrassment, and in an unsteady voice. “But, I believe I have not +mistaken your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor erred in +believing that your hand is ever ready to respond to the generous +impulses of our heart.” + +I bowed again, and my visiter went on. + +“My object in calling upon you I will briefly state. A year ago my +husband died. Up to that time I had never known the want of anything +that money could buy. He was a merchant of this city, and supposed to +be in good circumstances. But he left an insolvent estate; and now, with +five little ones to care for, educate, and support, I have parted with +nearly my last dollar, and have not a single friend to whom I can look +for aid.” + +There was a deep earnestness and moving pathos in the tones of the +woman's voice, that went to my heart. She paused for a few moments, +overcome with her feelings, and then resumed:-- + +“One in an extremity like mine, sir, will do many things from which, +under other circumstances she should shrink. This is my only excuse for +troubling you at the present time. But I cannot see my little family in +want without an effort to sustain them; and, with a little aid, I see +my way clear to do so. I was well educated, and feel not only competent, +but willing to undertake a school. There is one, the teacher of which +being in bad health, wishes to give it up, and if I can get the means to +buy out her establishment, will secure an ample and permanent income for +my family. To aid me, sir, in doing this, I now make an appeal to you. I +know you are able, and I believe you are willing to put forth your hand +and save my children from want, and, it may be, separation.” + +The woman still remained closely veiled; I could not, therefore, see her +face. But I could perceive that she was waiting with trembling suspense +for my answer. Heaven knows my heart responded freely to her appeal. + +“How much will it take to purchase this establishment?” I inquired. + +“Only a thousand dollars,” she replied. + +I was silent. A thousand dollars! + +“I do not wish it, sir, as a gift,” she said “only as a loan. In a year +or two I will be able to repay it.” + +“My dear madam,” was my reply, “had I the ability most gladly would I +meet your wishes. But, I assure you I have not. A thousand dollars taken +from my business would destroy it.” + +A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up from the breast of the +stranger, and her head dropped low upon her bosom. She seemed to have +fully expected the relief for which she applied; and to be stricken to +the earth by my words! We were both unhappy. + +“May I presume to ask your name, madam?” said I, after a pause. + +“It would do no good to mention it,” she replied, mournfully. “It +has cost me a painful effort to come to you; and now that my hope has +proved, alas! in vain, I must beg the privilege of still remaining a +stranger.” + +She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall and dignified. Dropping +me a slight courtesy, she was turning to go away, when I said, + +“But, madam, even if I have not the ability to grant your request, I may +still have it in my power to aid you in this matter. I am ready to do +all I can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your husband will be +found numbers to step forward and join in affording you the assistance +so much desired, when they are made aware of your present extremity.” + +The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my words were felt as a +mockery or an insult, and turning from me, again walked from the room +with a firm step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed into the +street, and I was left standing alone. To this day I have remained in +ignorance of her identity. Cheerfully would I have aided her to the +extent of my ability to do so. Her story touched my feelings and +awakened my liveliest sympathies, and if, on learning her name and +making proper inquiries into her circumstances, I had found all to be +as she had stated, I would have felt it a duty to interest myself in her +behalf, and have contributed in aid of the desired end to the extent of +my ability. But she came to me under the false idea that I had but to +put my hand in my pocket, or write a check upon the bank, and lo! a +thousand dollars were forthcoming. And because I did not do this, +she believed me unfeeling, selfish, and turned from me mortified, +disappointed, and despairing. + +I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. On the very next +morning I received a letter from an artist, in which he spoke of the +extremity of his circumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple of +pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not resist his appeal. The +pictures did not strike me as possessing much artistic value. + +“What do you ask for them?” I inquired. + +“I refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But I am compelled to part +with them now, and you shall have them for eighty.” + +I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and therefore shook my head. +But, as he looked disappointed, I offered to take one of the pictures at +forty dollars. To this he agreed. I paid the money, and the picture was +sent home. Some days afterward, I was showing it to a friend. + +“What did you pay for it?” he asked. + +“Forty dollars,” I replied. + +The friend smiled strangely. + +“What's the matter?” said I. + +“He offered it to me for twenty-five.” + +“That picture?” + +“Yes.” + +“He asked me eighty for this and another, and said he had refused a +hundred for the pair.” + +“He lied though. He thought, as you were well off, that he must ask you +a good stiff price, or you wouldn't buy.” + +“The scoundrel!” + +“He got ahead of you, certainly.” + +“But it's the last time,” said I, angrily. + +And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed in which my fame as a +wealthy citizen did not subject me to some kind of experiment from +people in want of money. If I employed a porter for any service and +asked what was to pay, after the work was done, ten chances to one that +he didn't touch his hat and reply, + +“Anything that you please, sir,” in the hope that I, being a rich man, +would be ashamed to offer him less than about four times his regular +price. Poor people in abundance called upon me for aid; and all sorts of +applications to give or lend money met me at every turn. And when I, in +self-defence, begged off as politely as possible, hints gentle or broad, +according to the characters or feelings of those who came, touching the +hardening and perverting influence of wealth, were thrown out for my +especial edification. + +And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but myself doubts the fact +that I am worth from seventy to a hundred thousand dollars, and I +am, therefore, considered allowable game for all who are too idle or +prodigal to succeed in the world; or as Nature's almoner to all who are +suffering from misfortunes. + +Soon after the publication to which I have alluded was foisted upon our +community as a veritable document, I found myself a secular dignitary +in the church militant. Previously I had been only a pew-holder, and an +unambitious attendant upon the Sabbath ministrations of the Rev. Mr----. +But a new field suddenly opened before me; I was a man of weight and +influence, and must be used for what I was worth. It is no joke, I can +assure the reader, when I tell them that the way my pocket suffered was +truly alarming. I don't know, but I have seriously thought, sometimes, +that if I hadn't kicked loose from my dignity, I would have been +gazetted as a bankrupt long before this time. + +Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman or deacon, I will not +say which, I met the Rev. Mr----, and the way he talked to me about the +earth being the “Lord's and the fullness thereof;” about our having the +poor always with us; about the duties of charity, and the laying up of +treasure in heaven, made me ashamed to go to church for a month to come. +I really began to fear that I was a doomed man and that the reputation +of being a “wealthy citizen” was going to sink me into everlasting +perdition. But I am getting over that feeling now. My cash-book, ledger, +and bill-book set me right again; and I can button up my coat and +draw my purse-strings, when guided by the dictates of my own judgment, +without a fear of the threatened final consequences before my eyes. +Still, I am the subject of perpetual annoyance from all sorts of people, +who will persist in believing that I am made of money; and many of these +approach me in, such a way as to put it almost entirely out of my +power to say “no.” They come with appeals for small amounts, as loans, +donations to particular charities, or as the price of articles that I do +not want, but which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, since +I have obtained my present unenviable reputation, it hasn't cost me a +cent less than two thousand, in money given away, loaned never to be +returned, and in the purchase of things that I never would have thought +of buying. + +And, with all this, I have made more enemies than I ever before had in +my life, and estranged half of my friends and acquaintances. + +Seriously, I have it in contemplation to “break” one of these days, +in order to satisfy the world that I am not a rich man. I see no other +effectual remedy for present grievances. + + + + +“WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE.” + + + + DESPAIR not of the better part + That lies in human kind-- + A gleam of light still flickereth + In e'en the darkest mind; + The savage with his club of war, + The sage so mild and good, + Are linked in firm, eternal bonds + Of common brotherhood. + Despair not! Oh despair not, then, + For through this world so wide, + No nature is so demon-like, + But there's an angel side. + + The huge rough stones from out the mine, + Unsightly and unfair, + Have veins of purest metal hid + Beneath the surface there; + Few rocks so bare but to their heights + Some tiny moss-plant clings, + And round the peaks, so desolate, + The sea-bird sits and sings. + Believe me, too, that rugged souls, + Beneath their rudeness hide + Much that is beautiful and good-- + We've all our angel side. + + In all there is an inner depth-- + A far off, secret way, + Where, through dim windows of the soul, + God sends His smiling ray; + In every human heart there is + A faithful sounding chord, + That may be struck, unknown to us, + By some sweet loving word; + The wayward heart in vain may try + Its softer thoughts to hide, + Some unexpected tone reveals + It has its angel side. + + Despised, and low, and trodden down, + Dark with the shade of sin: + Deciphering not those halo lights + Which God hath lit within; + Groping about in utmost night, + Poor prisoned souls there are, + Who guess not what life's meaning is, + Nor dream of heaven afar; + Oh! that some gentle hand of love + Their stumbling steps would guide, + And show them that, amidst it all, + Life has its angel side. + + Brutal, and mean, and dark enough, + God knows, some natures are, + But He, compassionate, comes near-- + And shall we stand afar? + Our cruse of oil will not grow less, + If shared with hearty hand, + And words of peace and looks of love + Few natures can withstand. + Love is the mighty conqueror-- + Love is the beauteous guide-- + Love, with her beaming eye, can see + We've all our angel side. + + + + +BLIND JAMES. + + + +IN the month of December, in the neighbourhood of Paris, two men, one +young, the other rather advanced in years, were descending the village +street, which was made uneven and almost impassable by stones and +puddles. + +Opposite to them, and ascending this same street, a labourer, fastened +to a sort of dray laden with a cask, was slowly advancing, and beside +him a little girl, of about eight years old, who was holding the end of +the barrow. Suddenly the wheel went over an enormous stone, which lay +in the middle of the street, and the car leaned towards the side of the +child. + +“The man must be intoxicated,” cried the young man, stepping forward to +prevent the overturn of the dray. When he reached the spot, he perceived +that the man was blind. + +“Blind!” said he, turning towards his old friend. But the latter, making +him a sign to be silent, placed his hand, without speaking, on that of +the labourer, while the little girl smiled. The blind man immediately +raised his head, his sightless eyes were turned towards the two +gentlemen, his face shone with an intelligent and natural pleasure, and, +pressing closely the hand which held his own, he said, with an accent of +tenderness, + +“Mr. Desgranges!” + +“How!” said the young man, moved and surprised; “he knew you by the +touch of your hand.” + +“I do not need even that,” said the blind man; “when he passes me in the +street, I say to myself, 'That is his step.'” And, seizing the hand +of Mr. Desgranges, he kissed it with ardour. “It was indeed you, Mr. +Desgranges, who prevented my falling--always you.” + +“Why,” said the young man, “do you expose yourself to such accidents, by +dragging this cask?” + +“One must attend to his business, sir,” replied he, gayly. + +“Your business?” + +“Undoubtedly,” added Mr. Desgranges. “James is our water-carrier. But I +shall scold him for going out without his wife to guide him.” + +“My wife was gone away. I took the little girl. One must be a little +energetic, must he not? And, you see, I have done very well since I last +saw you, my dear Mr. Desgranges; and you have assisted me.” + +“Come, James, now finish serving your customers, and then you can call +and see me. I am going home.” + +“Thank you, sir. Good-by, sir; good-by, sir.” + +And he started again, dragging his cask, while the child turned towards +the gentlemen her rosy and smiling face. + +“Blind, and a water-carrier!” repeated the young man, as they walked +along. + +“Ah! our James astonishes you, my young friend. Yes, it is one of those +miracles like that of a paralytic who walks. Should you like to know his +story?” + +“Tell it to me.” + +“I will do so. It does not abound in facts or dramatic incidents, but +it will interest you, I think, for it is the history of a soul, and of +a good soul it is--a man struggling against the night. You will see the +unfortunate man going step by step out of a bottomless abyss to begin +his life again--to create his soul anew. You will see how a blind man, +with a noble heart for a stay, makes his way even in this world.” + +While they were conversing, they reached the house of Mr. Desgranges, +who began in this manner:-- + +“One morning, three years since, I was walking on a large dry plain, +which separates our village from that of Noiesemont, and which is all +covered with mill-stones just taken from the quarry. The process of +blowing the rocks was still going on. Suddenly a violent explosion was +heard. I looked. At a distance of four or five hundred paces, a gray +smoke, which seemed to come from a hole, rose from the ground. Stones +were then thrown up in the air, horrible cries were heard, and springing +from this hole appeared a man, who began to run across the plain as if +mad. He shook his arms, screamed, fell down, got up again, disappeared +in the great crevices of the plain, and appeared again. The distance and +the irregularity of his path prevented me from distinguishing anything +clearly; but, at the height of his head, in the place of his face, I saw +a great, red mark. In alarm, I approached him, while from the other side +of the plain, from Noiesemont, a troop of men and women were advancing, +crying aloud. I was the first to reach the poor creature. His face was +all one wound, and torrents of blood were streaming over his garments, +which were all in rags. + +“Scarcely had I taken hold of him, when a woman, followed by twenty +peasants, approached, and threw herself before him. + +“'James, James, is it you? I did not know you, James.' + +“The poor man, without answering, struggled furiously in our hands. + +“'Ah!' cried the woman, suddenly, and with a heart-rending voice, 'it is +he!' + +“She had recognised a large silver pin, which fastened his shirt, which +was covered with blood. + +“It was indeed he, her husband, the father of three children, a +poor labourer, who, in blasting a rock with powder, had received the +explosion in his face, and was blind, mutilated, perhaps mortally +wounded. + +“He was carried home. I was obliged to go away the same day, on a +journey, and was absent a month. Before my departure, I sent him our +doctor, a man devoted to his profession as a country physician, and as +learned as a city physician. On my return-- + +“'Ah! well, doctor,' said I, 'the blind man?' + +“'It is all over with him. His wounds are healed, his head is doing +well, he is only blind; but he will die; despair has seized him, and he +will kill himself. I can do nothing more for him, This is all,' he said; +'an internal inflammation is taking place. He must die.' + +“I hastened to the poor man. I arrived. I shall never forget the sight. +He was seated on a wooden stool, beside a hearth on which there was no +fire, his eyes covered with a white bandage. On the floor an infant of +three months was sleeping; a little girl of four years old was playing +in the ashes; one, still older, was shivering opposite to her; and, in +front of the fireplace, seated on the disordered bed, her arms hanging +down, was the wife. What was left to be imagined in this spectacle was +more than met the eye. One felt that for several hours, perhaps, no word +had been spoken in this room. The wife was doing nothing, and seemed +to have no care to do anything. They were not merely unfortunate, they +seemed like condemned persons. At the sound of my footsteps they arose, +but without speaking. + +“'You are the blind man of the quarry?” + +“'Yes, sir.' + +“'I have come to see you.' + +“'Thank you, sir.' + +“'You met with a sad misfortune there.' + +“'Yes, sir.' + +“His voice was cold, short, without any emotion. He expected nothing +from any one. I pronounced the words 'assistance,' 'public compassion.' + +“'Assistance!' cried his wife, suddenly, with a tone of despair; 'they +ought to give it to us; they must help us; we have done nothing to bring +upon us this misfortune; they will not let my children die with hunger.' + +“She asked for nothing--begged for nothing. She claimed help. This +imperative beggary touched me more than the common lamentations of +poverty, for it was the voice of despair; and I felt in my purse for +some pieces of silver. + +“The man then, who had till now been silent, said, with a hollow tone, + +“'Your children must die, since I can no longer see.' + +“There is a strange power in the human voice. My money fell back into my +purse. I was ashamed of the precarious assistance. I felt that here was +a call for something more than mere almsgiving--the charity of a day. I +soon formed my resolution.” + +“But what could you do?” said the young man, to Mr. Desgranges. + +“What could I do?” replied he, with animation. “Fifteen days after, +James was saved. A year after, he gained his own living, and might be +heard singing at his work.” + +“Saved! working! singing! but how?” + +“How! by very natural means. But wait, I think I hear him. I will make +him tell you his simple story. It will touch you more from his lips. It +will embarrass me less, and his cordial and ardent face will complete +the work.” + +In fact, the noise of some one taking off his wooden shoes was heard at +the door, and then a little tap. + +“Come in, James;” and he entered with his wife, + +“I have brought Juliana, my dear Mr. Desgranges, the poor woman--she +must see you sometimes, must she not?” + +“You did right, James. Sit down.” + +He came forward, pushing his stick before him, that he might not knock +against a chair. He found one, and seated himself. He was young, small, +vigorous, with black hair, a high and open forehead, a singularly +expansive face for a blind man, and, as Rabelais says, a magnificent +smile of thirty-two teeth. His wife remained standing behind him. + +“James,” said Mr. Desgranges to him, “here is one of my good friends, +who is very desirous to see you.” + +“He is a good man, then, since he is your friend.” + +“Yes. Talk with him; I am going to see my geraniums. But do not be sad, +you know I forbid you that.” + +“No, no, my dear friend, no!” + +This tender and simple appellation seemed to charm the young man; and +after the departure of his friend, approaching the blind man, he said, + +“You are very fond of Mr. Desgranges?” + +“Fond of him!” cried the blind man, with impetuosity; “he saved me from +ruin, sir. It was all over with me; the thought of my children consumed +me; I was dying because I could not see. He saved me.” + +“With assistance--with money?” + +“Money! what is money? Everybody can give that. Yes, he clothed us, he +fed us, he obtained a subscription of five hundred francs (about one +hundred dollars) for me; but all this was as nothing; he did more--he +cured my heart!” + +“But how?” + +“By his kind words, sir. Yes, he, a person of so much consequence in the +world, he came every day into my poor house, he sat on my poor stool, he +talked with me an hour, two hours, till I became quiet and easy.” + +“What did he say to you?” + +“I do not know; I am but a foolish fellow, and he must tell you all he +said to me; but they were things I had never heard before. He spoke to +me of the good God better than a minister; and he brought sleep back to +me.” + +“How was that?” + +“It was two months since I had slept soundly. I would just doze, and +then start up, saying, + +“'James, you are blind,' and then my head would go round--round, like +a madman; and this was killing me. One morning he came in, this dear +friend, and said to me, + +“'James, do you believe in God?' + +“'Why do you ask that, Mr. Desgranges?' + +“'Well, this night, when you wake, and the thought of your misfortune +comes upon you, say aloud a prayer--then two--then three--and you will +go to sleep.'” + +“Yes,” said the wife, with her calm voice, “the good God, He gives +sleep.” + +“This is not all, sir. In my despair I would have killed myself. I said +to myself, 'You are useless to your family, you are the woman of the +house, and others support you.' But he was displeased--'Is it not you +who support your family? If you had not been blind, would any one have +given you the five hundred francs?' + +“'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + +“'If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?' + +“'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + +“'If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?' + +“'It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.' + +“'You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families. Misfortune is +like rain; it must fall a little on everybody. If you were not blind, +your wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might have +died. Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor man; but +they--they have none.' + +“'True, true.' And I began to feel less sad. I was even happy to suffer +for them. And then he added, + +“'Dear James, misfortune is either the greatest enemy or the greatest +friend of men. There are people whom it makes wicked; there are others +made better by it. For you, it must make you beloved by everybody; you +must become so grateful, so affectionate, that when they wish to speak +of any one who is good, they will say, good as the blind man of the +Noiesemont. That will serve for a dowry to your daughter.' This is the +way he talked to me, sir: and it gave me heart to be unfortunate.” + +“Yes; but when he was not here?” + +“Ah, when he was not here, I had, to be sure, some heavy moments. I +thought of my eyes--the light is so beautiful! Oh, God! cried I, in +anguish, if ever I should see clearly again, I would get up at three +o'clock in the morning, and I would, not go to bed till ten at night, +that I might gather up more light.” + +“James, James!” said his wife. + +“You are right, Juliana; he has forbidden me to be sad. He would +perceive it, sir. Do you think that when my head had gone wrong in the +night, and he came in the morning, and merely looked at me, he would +say--'James, you have been thinking that;' and then he would scold me, +this dear friend. Yes,” added he, with an expression of joy--“he would +scold me, and that would give me pleasure, because he tried to make his +words cross, but he could not do it.” + +“And what gave you the idea of becoming a water-carrier?” + +“He gave me that, also. Do you suppose I have ideas? I began to lose my +grief, but my time hung heavy on my hands. At thirty-two years old, to +be sitting all day in a chair! He then began to instruct me, as he said, +and he told me beautiful stories. The Bible--the history of an old +man, blind like me, named Tobias; the history of Joseph; the history +of David; the history of Jesus Christ. And then he made me repeat them +after him. But my head, it was hard--it was hard; it was not used to +learning, and I was always getting tired in my arms and my legs.” + +“And he tormented us to death,” said his wife, laughing. + +“True, true,” replied he, laughing also; “I became cross. He came again, +and said, + +“'James, you must go to work.' + +“I showed him my poor, burned hands. + +“'It is no matter; I have bought you a capital in trade.' + +“'Me, Mr. Desgranges?' + +“'Yes, James, a capital into which they never put goods, and where they +always find them.' + +“'It must have cost you a great deal, sir.' + +“'Nothing at all, my lad.' + +“'What is then this fund?' + +“'The river.' + +“'The river? Do you wish me to become a fisherman?' + +“'Not all; a water-carrier.' + +“'Water-carrier! but eyes?' + +“'Eyes; of what use are they? do the dray-horses have eyes? If they do, +they make use of them; if they do not, they do without them. Come, you +must be a water-carrier.' + +“'But a cask?' + +“'I will give you one.' + +“'A cart?' + +“'I have ordered one at the cart-maker's.' + +“'But customers?' + +“I will give you my custom, to begin with, eighteen francs a month; (my +dear friend pays for water as dearly as for wine.) Moreover, you have +nothing to say, either yes or no. I have dismissed my water-carrier, +and you would not let my wife and me die with thirst. This dear Madame +Desgranges, just think of it. And so, my boy, in three days--work. And +you, Madam James, come here;' and he carried off Juliana.” + +“Yes, sir,” continued the wife, “he carried me off, ordered leather +straps, made me buy the wheels, harnessed me; we were all astonishment, +James and I; but stop, if you can, when Mr. Desgranges drives you. +At the end of three days, here we are with the cask, he harnessed and +drawing it, I behind, pushing; we were ashamed at crossing the village, +as if we were doing something wrong; it seemed as if everybody would +laugh at us. But Mr. Desgranges was there in the street. + +“'Come on, James,' said he, 'courage.' + +“We came along, and in the evening he put into our hands a piece of +money, saying,” continued the blind man, with emotion-- + +“'James, here are twenty sous you have earned to-day.' + +“Earned, sir, think of that! earned, it was fifteen months that I had +only eaten what had been given to me. It is good to receive from good +people, it is true; but the bread that one earns, it is as we say, half +corn, half barley; it nourishes better, and then it was done, I was +no longer the woman, I was a labourer--a labourer--James earned his +living.” + +A sort of pride shone from his face. + +“How!” said the young man, “was your cask sufficient to support you?” + +“Not alone, sir; but I have still another profession.” + +“Another profession!” + +“Ha, ha, yes, sir; the river always runs, except when it is frozen, and, +as Mr. Desgranges says, 'water-carriers do not make their fortune with +ice,' so he gave me a Winter trade and Summer trade.” + +“Winter trade!” + +Mr. Desgranges returned at this moment--James heard him--“Is it +not true, Mr. Desgranges, that I have another trade besides that of +water-carrier?” + +“Undoubtedly.” + +“What is it then?” + +“Wood-sawyer.” + +“Wood-sawyer? impossible; how could you measure the length of the +sticks? how could you cut wood without cutting yourself?” + +“Cut myself, sir,” replied the blind man, with a pleasant shade of +confidence; “I formerly was a woodsawyer, and the saw knows me well; and +then one learns everything--I go to school, indeed. They put a pile of +wood at my left side, my saw and saw horse before me, a stick that is +to be sawed in three; I take a thread, I cut it the size of the third of +the stick--this is the measure. Every place I saw, I try it, and so it +goes on till now there is nothing burned or drunk in the village without +calling upon me.” + +“Without mentioning,” added Mr. Desgranges, “that he is a commissioner.” + +“A commissioner!” said the young man, still more surprised. + +“Yes, sir, when there is an errand to be done at Melun, I put my little +girl on my back, and then off I go. She sees for me, I walk for her; +those who meet me, say, 'Here is a gentleman who carries his eyes very +high;' to which I answer, 'that is so I may see the farther.' And then +at night I have twenty sous more to bring home.” + +“But are you not afraid of stumbling against the stones?” + +“I lift my feet pretty high; and then I am used to it; I come from +Noiesemont here all alone.” + +“All alone! how do you find your way?” + +“I find the course of the wind as I leave home, and this takes the place +of the sun with me.” + +“But the holes?” + +“I know them all.” + +“And the walls?” + +“I feel them. When I approach anything thick, sir, the air comes with +less force upon my face; it is but now and then that I get a hard knock, +as by example, if sometimes a little handcart is left on the road, I do +not suspect it--whack! bad for you, poor five-and-thirty, but this +is soon over. It is only when I get bewildered, as I did day before +yesterday. O then---” + +“You have not told me of that, James,” said Mr. Desgranges. + +“I was, however, somewhat embarrassed, my dear friend. While I was here +the wind changed, I did not perceive it; but at the end of a quarter of +an hour, when I had reached the plain of Noiesemont, I had lost my way, +and I felt so bewildered that I did not dare to stir a step. You know +the plain, not a house, no passersby. I sat down on the ground, I +listened; after a moment I heard at, as I supposed, about two hundred +paces distant, a noise of running water. I said, 'If this should be the +stream which is at the bottom of the plain?' I went feeling along on the +side from which the noise came--I reached the stream; then I reasoned in +this way: the water comes down from the side of Noiesemont and crosses +it. I put in my hand to feel the current.” + +“Bravo, James.” + +“Yes, but the water was so low and the current so small, that my hand +felt nothing. I put in the end of my stick, it was not moved. I rubbed +my head finally, I said, 'I am a fool, here is my handkerchief;' I +took it, I fastened it to the end of my cane. Soon I felt that it moved +gently to the right, very gently. Noiesemont is on the right. I started +again and I get home to Juliana, who began to be uneasy.” + +“O,” cried the young man, “this is admir----” + +But Mr. Desgranges stopped him, and leading him to the other end of the +room, + +“Silence!” said he to him in a low voice. “Not admirable--do not corrupt +by pride the simplicity of this man. Look at him, see how tranquil his +face is, how calm after this recital which has moved you so much. He is +ignorant of himself, do not spoil him.” + +“It is so touching,” said the young man, in a low tone. + +“Undoubtedly, and still his superiority does not lie there. A thousand +blind men have found out these ingenious resources, a thousand will find +them again; but this moral perfection--this heart, which opens itself +so readily to elevated consolations--this heart which so willingly takes +upon it the part of a victim--this heart which has restored him to +life. For do not be deceived, it is not I who have saved him, it is his +affection for me; his ardent gratitude has filled his whole soul, and +has sustained--he has lived because he has loved!” + +At that moment, James, who had remained at the other end of the room, +and who perceived that we were speaking low, got up softly, and with a +delicate discretion, said to his wife, + +“We will go away without making any noise.” + +“Are you going, James?” + +“I am in the way, my dear Mr. Desgranges.” + +“No, pray stay longer.” + +His benefactor retained him, reaching out to him cordially his hand. The +blind man seized the hand in his turn, and pressed it warmly against his +heart. + +“My dear friend, my dear good friend, you permit me to stay a little +longer. How glad I am to find myself near you. When I am sad I +say--'James, the good God will, perhaps, of His mercy, put you in the +same paradise with Mr. Desgranges,' and that does me good.” + +The young man smiled at this simple tenderness, which believed in a +hierarchy in Heaven. James heard him. + +“You smile, sir. But this good man has re-created James. I dream of it +every night--I have never seen him, but I shall know him then. Oh my +God, if I recover my sight I will look at him for ever--for ever, like +the light, till he shall say to me, James, go away. But he will not +say so, he is too good. If I had known him four years ago, I would have +served him, and never have left him.” + +“James, James!” said Mr. Desgranges; but the poor man could not be +silenced. + +“It is enough to know he is in the village; this makes my heart easy. I +do not always wish to come in, but I pass before his house, it is always +there; and when he is gone a journey I make Juliana lead me into the +plain of Noiesemont, and I say--'turn me towards the place where he is +gone, that I may breathe the same air with him.'” + +Mr. Desgranges put his hand before his mouth. James stopped. + +“You are right, Mr. Desgranges, my mouth is rude, it is only my heart +which is right. Come, wife,” said he, gayly, and drying his great tears +which rolled from his eyes, “Come, we must give our children their +supper. Good-by, my dear friend, good-by, sir.” + +He went away, moving his staff before him. Just as he laid his hand upon +the door, Mr. Desgranges called him back. + +“I want to tell you a piece of news which will give you pleasure. I was +going to leave the village this year; but I have just taken a new lease +of five years of my landlady.” + +“Do you see, Juliana,” said James to his wife, turning round, “I was +right when I said he was going away.” + +“How,” replied Mr. Desgranges, “I had told them not to tell you of it.” + +“Yes; but here,” putting his hand on his heart, “everything is plain +here. I heard about a month since, some little words, which had begun to +make my head turn round; when, last Sunday, your landlady called me to +her, and showed me more kindness than usual, promising me that she would +take care of me, and that she would never abandon me. When I came home, +I said to Juliana, 'Wife, Mr. Desgranges is going to quit the village; +but that lady has consoled me.'” + +In a few moments the blind man had returned to his home. + + + + +DEPENDENCE. + + + +“WELL, Mary,” said Aunt Frances, “how do you propose to spend the +summer? It is so long since the failure and death of your guardian, that +I suppose you are now familiar with your position, and prepared to mark +out some course for the future.” + +“True, aunt; I have had many painful thoughts with regard to the loss +of my fortune, and I was for a time in great uncertainty about my future +course, but a kind offer, which I received, yesterday, has removed that +burden. I now know where to find a respectable and pleasant home.” + +“Is the offer you speak of one of marriage?” asked Aunt Frances, +smiling. + +“Oh! dear, no; I am too young for that yet. But Cousin Kate is happily +married, and lives a few miles out of the city, in just the cosiest +little spot, only a little too retired; and she has persuaded me that I +shall do her a great kindness to accept a home with her.” + +“Let me see. Kate's husband is not wealthy, I believe?” + +“No: Charles Howard is not wealthy, but his business is very good, and +improving every year; and both he and Kate are too whole-souled and +generous to regret giving an asylum to an unfortunate girl like me. They +feel that 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.'” + +“A very noble feeling, Mary; but one in which I am sorry to perceive +that you are a little wanting.” + +“Oh! no, Aunt Frances, I do feel it deeply; but it is the curse of +poverty that one must give up, in some measure, the power of benefiting +others. And, then, I mean to beguile Kate of so many lonely hours, and +perform so many friendly offices for her husband, that they will think +me not a burden but a treasure.” + +“And you really think you can give them as much comfort as the expense +of your maintenance could procure them in any other way?” + +“Yes, aunt; it may sound conceited, perhaps, but I do really think I +can. I am sure, if I thought otherwise, I would never consent to become +a burden to them.” + +“Well, my dear, then your own interest is all that remains to be +considered. There are few blessings in life that can compensate for the +loss of self-reliance. She who derives her support from persons upon +whom she has no natural claim, finds the effect upon herself to +be decidedly narrowing. Perpetually in debt, without the means of +reimbursement, barred from any generous action which does not seem like +'robbing Peter to pay Paul,' she sinks too often into the character of +a sponge, whose only business is absorption. But I see you do not like +what I am saying, and I will tell you something which I am sure you +_will_ like--my own veritable history. + +“I was left an orphan in childhood, like yourself, and when my father's +affairs were settled, not a dollar remained for my support. I was only +six years of age, but I had attracted the notice of a distant relative, +who was a man of considerable wealth. Without any effort of my own, I +became an inmate of his family, and his only son, a few years my elder, +was taught to consider me as a sister. + +“George Somers was a generous, kind-hearted boy, and I believe he was +none the less fond of me, because I was likely to rob him of half his +fortune. Mr. Somers often spoke of making a will, in which I was to +share equally with his son in the division of his property, but a +natural reluctance to so grave a task led him to defer it from one year +to another. Meantime, I was sent to expensive schools, and was as idle +and superficial as any heiress in the land. + +“I was just sixteen when my kind benefactor suddenly perished on board +the ill-fated Lexington, and, as he died without a will, I had no legal +claim to any farther favours. But George Somers was known as a very +open-handed youth, upright and honourable, and, as he was perfectly well +acquainted with the wishes of his father, I felt no fears with regard to +my pecuniary condition. While yet overwhelmed with grief at the loss of +one whom my heart called father, I received a very kind and sympathizing +letter from George, in which he said he thought I had better remain at +school for another year, as had been originally intended. + +“'Of course,' he added, 'the death of my father does not alter our +relation in the least; you are still my dear and only sister.' + +“And, in compliance with his wishes, I passed another year at a very +fashionable school--a year of girlish frivolity, in which my last chance +of acquiring knowledge as a means of future independence was wholly +thrown away. Before the close of this year I received another letter +from George, which somewhat surprised, but did not at all dishearten me. +It was, in substance, as follows:-- + +“'_MY own dear Sister_:--I wrote you, some months ago, from Savannah, in +Georgia told you how much I was delighted with the place and people; how +charmed with Southern frankness and hospitality. But I did not tell you +that I had there met with positively the most bewitching creature in the +world--for I was but a timid lover, and feared that, as the song says, +the course of true love never would run smooth. My charming Laura was a +considerable heiress, and, although no sordid considerations ever had a +feather's weight upon her own preferences, of course, yet her father +was naturally and very properly anxious that the guardian of so fair +a flower should be able to shield it from the biting winds of poverty. +Indeed, I had some difficulty in satisfying his wishes on this point, +and in order to do so, I will frankly own that I assumed to myself the +unencumbered possession of my father's estate, of which so large a share +belongs of right to you. I am confident that when you know my Laura you +will forgive me this merely nominal injustice. Of course, this connexion +can make no sort of difference in your rights and expectations. You will +always have a home at my house. Laura is delighted, with the idea of +such a companion, and says she would on no account dispense with that +arrangement. And whenever, you marry as girls do and will, I shall hold +myself bound to satisfy any reasonable wishes on the part of the +happy youth that wins you. Circumstances hastened my marriage somewhat +unexpectedly, or I should certainly have informed you previously, and +requested your presence at the nuptial ceremony. We have secured a +beautiful house in Brooklyn, and shall expect you to join us as soon +as your present year expires, Laura sends her kindest regards, and +I remain, as always, your sincere and affectionate brother, GEORGE +SOMERS.' + +“Not long after the receipt of this letter, one of the instructresses, +in the institution where I resided requested the favour of a private +interview. She then said she knew something generally of my position +and prospects, and, as she had always felt an instinctive interest in +my fortunes, she could not see me leave the place without seeking +my confidence, and rendering me aid, if aid was in her power. Though +surprised and, to say the truth, indignant, I simply inquired what +views, had occurred to her with regard to my future life. + +“She said, then, very kindly, that although I was not very thorough +in, any branch of study, yet she thought I had a decided taste for the +lighter and more ornamental parts of female education. That a few months +earnest attention to these would fit me for a position independent of my +connexions, and one of which none of my friends would have cause to be +ashamed. + +“I am deeply pained to own to you how I answered her. Drawing myself up, +I said, coldly, + +“'I am obliged to you, madam, for your quite unsolicited interest in +my affairs. When I leave this place, it will be to join my brother and +sister in Brooklyn, and, as we are all reasonably wealthy, I must try to +make gold varnish over any defects in my neglected education.' + +“I looked to see my kind adviser entirely annihilated by these imposing +words, but she answered with perfect calmness, + +“'I know Laura Wentworth, now Mrs. Somers. She was educated at the +North, and was a pupil of my own for a year. She is wealthy and +beautiful, and I hope you will never have cause to regret assuming a +position with regard to her that might be mistaken for dependence.' + +“With these words, my well-meaning, but perhaps injudicious friend, took +leave, and I burst into a mocking laugh, that I hoped she might linger +long enough to hear. 'This is too good!' I repeated to myself--but I +could not feel perfectly at ease. However, I soon forgot all thoughts +of the future, in the present duties of scribbling in fifty albums, and +exchanging keepsakes, tears, and kisses, with a like number of _very_ +intimate friends. + +“It was not until I had finally left school, and was fairly on the way +to the home of my brother, that I found a moment's leisure to think +seriously of the life that was before me. I confess that I felt some +secret misgivings, as I stood at last upon the steps of the very elegant +house that was to be my future home. The servant who obeyed my summons, +inquired if I was Miss Rankin, a name I had never borne since childhood. + +“I was about to reply in the negative, when she added, 'If you are the +young lady that Mr. Somers is expecting from the seminary, I will show +you to your room.' + +“I followed mechanically, and was left in a very pretty chamber, with +the information that Mrs. Somers was a little indisposed, but would meet +me at dinner. The maid added that Mr. Somers was out of town, and would +not return till evening. After a very uncomfortable hour, during which +I resolutely suspended my opinion with regard to my position, the +dinner-bell rang, and the domestic again appeared to show me to the +dining-room. + +“Mrs. Somers met me with extended hand. 'My dear Miss Rankin!' she +exclaimed, 'I am most happy to see you. I have heard George speak of +you so often and so warmly that I consider you quite as a relative. Come +directly to the table. I am sure you must be famished after your long +ride. I hope you will make yourself one of us, at once, and let me call +you Fanny. May I call you Cousin Fanny?' she pursued, with an air of +sweet condescension that was meant to be irresistible. + +“'As you please,' I replied coldly. + +“To which she quickly responded, 'Oh, that will be delightful.' + +“She then turned to superintend the carving of a fowl, and I had time +to look at her undisturbed. She was tall and finely formed, with small +delicate features, and an exquisite grace in every movement; a haughty +sweetness that was perfectly indescribable. She had very beautiful +teeth, which she showed liberally when she smiled, and in her graver +moments her slight features wore an imperturbable serenity, as if the +round world contained nothing that was really worth her attention. An +animated statue, cold, polished, and pitiless! was my inward thought, as +I bent over my dinner. + +“When the meal was over, Mrs. Somers said to me, in a tone of playful +authority, + +“'Now, Cousin Fanny, I want you to go to your room and rest, and not do +an earthly thing until teatime. After that I have a thousand things to +show you.' + +“At night I was accordingly shown a great part of the house; a costly +residence, and exquisitely furnished, but, alas! I already wearied of +this icy splendour. Every smile of my beautiful hostess (I could not now +call her sister), every tone of her soft voice, every movement of her +superb form, half queen-like dignity, half fawn-like grace--seemed to +place an insurmountable barrier between herself and me. It was not that +I thought more humbly of myself--not that I did not even consider myself +her equal--but her dainty blandishments were a delicate frost-work, that +almost made me shiver and when, she touched her cool lips to mine, and +said 'Good-night, dear,' I felt as if even then separated from her real, +living self, by a wall of freezing marble. + +“'Poor George!' I said, as I retired to rest--'You have wedded this +soulless woman, and she will wind you round her finger.' + +“I did not sit up for him, for he was detained till a late hour, but +I obeyed the breakfast-bell with unfashionable eagerness, as I was +becoming nervous about our meeting, and really anxious to have it over. +After a delay of some minutes, I heard the wedded pair coming leisurely +down the stairs, in, very amicable chatter. + +“'I am glad you like her, Laura,' said a voice which I knew in a moment +as that of George. How I shivered as I caught the smooth reply, 'A nice +little thing. I am very glad of the connexion. It will be such a relief +not to rely entirely upon servants. There should be a middle class in +every family.' + +“With these words she glided through the door, looked with perfect +calmness in my flashing eyes, and said, + +“'Ah, Fanny! I, was just telling George here how much I shall like you.' + +“The husband came forward with an embarrassed air; I strove to meet him +with dignity, but my heart failed me, and I burst into tears. + +“'Forgive me, madam,' I said, on regaining my composure--'This is our +first meeting since the death of _our father_.' + +“'I understand your feelings perfectly,' she quietly replied. 'My father +knew the late Mr. Somers well, and thought very highly of him, He was +charitable to a fault, and yet remarkable for discernment. His bounty +was seldom unworthily bestowed.' + +“His bounty! I had never been thought easy to intimidate, but I quailed +before this unapproachable ice-berg. It made no attempt from that moment +to vindicate what I was pleased to call my rights, but awaited passively +the progress of events. + +“After breakfast, Mrs. Somers said to the maid in attendance, + +“'Dorothy, bring some hot water and towels for Miss Rankin.' + +“She then turned to me and continued, 'I shall feel the china perfectly +safe in your hands, cousin. These servants are so very unreliable.' + +“And she followed George to the parlour above, where their lively tones +and light laughter made agreeable music. + +“In the same easy way, I was invested with a variety of domestic cares, +most of them such as I would willingly have accepted, had she waited for +me to manifest such a willingness. But a few days after my arrival, we +received a visit from little Ella Grey, a cousin of Laura's, who was +taken seriously ill on the first evening of her stay. A physician was +promptly summoned, and, after a conference with him, Mrs. Somers came to +me, inquiring earnestly, + +“'Cousin Fanny, have you ever had the measles?' + +“I replied in the affirmative. + +“'Oh, I am very glad!' was her response; 'for little Ella is attacked +with them, and very severely; but, if you will take charge of her, +I shall feel no anxiety. It is dreadful in sickness to be obliged to +depend upon hirelings.' + +“So I was duly installed as little Ella's nurse, and, as she was a +spoiled child, my task was neither easy nor agreeable. + +“No sooner was the whining little creature sufficiently improved to +be taken to her own home, than the house was thrown into confusion by +preparations for a brilliant party. Laura took me with her on a shopping +excursion, and bade me select whatever I wished, and send the bill with +hers to Mr. Somers. I purchased a few indispensable articles, but I felt +embarrassed by her calm, scrutinizing gaze, and by the consciousness +that every item of my expenditures would be scanned by, perhaps, +censorious eyes. + +“What with my previous fatigue while acting as Ella's nurse, and the +laborious preparations for the approaching festival, I felt, as the time +drew near, completely exhausted. Yet I was determined not to so far give +way to the depressing influences that surrounded me, as to absent myself +from the party. So, after snatching an interval of rest, to relieve my +aching head, I dressed myself with unusual care, and repaired to the +brilliantly lighted rooms. They were already filled, and murmuring like +a swarm of bees, although, as one of the guests remarked, there were +more drones than workers in the hive. I was now no drone, certainly, and +that was some consolation. When I entered, Laura was conversing with a +group of dashing young men, who were blundering over a book of charades. +Seeing me enter, she came towards me immediately. + +“'Cousin Fanny, you who help everybody, I want you to come to the aid +of these stupid young men. Gentlemen, this is our Cousin Fanny, the very +best creature in the world.' And with this introduction she left me, and +turned to greet some new arrivals. After discussing the charades till my +ears were weary of empty and aimless chatter, I was very glad to find my +group of young men gradually dispersing, and myself at liberty to look +about me, undisturbed. George soon came to me, gave me his arm, and took +me to a room where were several ladies, friends of his father, and who +had known me very well as a child. + +“'You remember Fanny,' he said to them; and then left me, and devoted +himself to the courteous duties of the hour. While I was indulging in +a quiet chat with a very kind old friend, she proposed to go with me +to look at the dancers, as the music was remarkably fine, and it was +thought the collected beauty and fashion of the evening would make +a very brilliant show. We left our seats, accordingly, but were soon +engaged in the crowd, and while waiting for an opportunity to move on, I +heard one of my young men ask another, + +“'How do you like _la cousine_?' + +“I lost a part of the answer, but heard the closing words +distinctly--'_et un peu passee._' '_Oui, decidement!_' was the prompt +response, and a light laugh followed, while, shrinking close to my kind +friend, I rejoiced that my short stature concealed me from observation. +I was not very well taught, but, like most school-girls, I had a +smattering of French, and I knew the meaning of the very ordinary +phrases that had been used with regard to me. Before the supper-hour, my +headache became so severe that I was glad to take refuge in my own room. +There I consulted my mirror, and felt disposed to forgive, the young +critics for their disparaging remarks. _Passee!_ I looked twenty-five at +least, and yet I was not eighteen, and six months before I had fancied +myself a beauty and an heiress! + +“But I will not weary you with details. Suffice it to say; that I +spent only three months of this kind of life, and then relinquished +the protection of Mr. and Mrs. Somers, and removed to a second-rate +boarding-house, where I attempted to maintain myself by giving lessons +in music. Every day, however, convinced me of my unfitness for this +task, and, as I soon felt an interest in the sweet little girls who +looked up to me for instruction, my position with regard to them became +truly embarrassing. One day I had been wearying myself by attempting +the impossible task of making clear to another mind, ideas that lay +confusedly in my own, and at last I said to my pupil, + +“'You may go home now, Clara, dear, and practise the lesson of +yesterday. I am really ill to-day, but to-morrow I shall feel better, +and I hope I shall then be able to make you understand me.' + +“The child glided out, but a shadow still fell across the carpet. I +looked up, and saw in the doorway a young man, whose eccentricities +sometimes excited a smile among his fellow-boarders, but who was much +respected for his sense and independence. + +“'To make yourself understood by others, you must first learn to +understand yourself,' said he, as he came forward. Then, taking my hand, +he continued,--'What if you should give up all this abortive labour, +take a new pupil, and, instead of imparting to others what you have not +very firmly grasped yourself, try if you can make a human being of me?' + +“I looked into his large gray eyes, and saw the truth and earnestness +shining in their depths, like pebbles at the bottom of a pellucid +spring. I never once thought of giving him a conventional reply. On the +contrary, I stammered out, + +“'I am full, of faults and errors; I could never do you any good.' + +“'I have studied your character attentively,' returned he, 'and I know +you have faults, but they are unlike mine; and I think that you might be +of great service to me; or, if the expression suits you better, that we +might be of great aid to each other. Become my wife, and I will promise +to improve more rapidly than any pupil in your class.' + +“And I did become his wife, but not until a much longer acquaintance +had convinced me, that in so doing, I should not exchange one form of +dependence for another, more galling and more hopeless.” + +“Then this eccentric young man was Uncle Robert?” + +“Precisely. But you see he has made great improvement, since.” + +“Well, Aunt Frances, I thank you for your story; and now for the moral. +What do you think I had better do?” + +“I will tell you what you can do, if you choose. Your uncle has just +returned from a visit to his mother. He finds her a mere child, gentle +and amiable, but wholly unfit to take charge of herself. Her clothes +have taken fire repeatedly, from her want of judgment with regard to +fuel and lights, and she needs a companion for every moment of the day. +This, with their present family, is impossible, and they are desirous to +secure some one who will devote herself to your grandmother during the +hours when your aunt and the domestics are necessarily engaged. You were +always a favourite there, and I know they would be very much relieved +if you would take this office for a time, but they feel a delicacy +in making any such proposal. You can have all your favourites about +you--books, flowers, and piano; for the dear old lady delights to hear +reading or music, and will sit for hours with a vacant smile upon her +pale, faded face. Then your afternoons will be entirely your own, and +Robert is empowered to pay any reliable person a salary of a fixed and +ample amount, which will make you independent for the time.” + +“But, aunt, you will laugh at me, I know, yet I do really fear that Kate +will feel this arrangement as a disappointment.” + +“Suppose I send her a note, stating that you have given me some +encouragement of assuming this important duty, but that you could not +think of deciding without showing a grateful deference to her wishes?” + +“That will be just the thing. We shall get a reply to-morrow.” With +to-morrow came the following note:-- + +“_My Dear Aunt Frances_:--Your favour of yesterday took us a little by +surprise, I must own I had promised myself a great deal of pleasure in +the society of our Mary; but since she is inclined (and I think it is +very noble in her) to foster with the dew of her youth the graceful but +fallen stem that lent beauty to us all, I cannot say a word to prevent +it. Indeed, it has occurred to me, since the receipt of your note, that +we shall need the room we had reserved for Mary, to accommodate little +Willie, Mr. Howard's pet nephew, who has the misfortune to be lame. His +physicians insist upon country air, and a room upon the first floor. So +tell Mary I love her a thousand times better for her self-sacrifice, +and will try to imitate it by doing all in my power for the poor little +invalid that is coming. + +“With the kindest regards, I remain + +“Your affectionate niece, + +“KATE HOWARD.” + + +“Are you now decided, Mary?” asked Aunt Frances, after their joint +perusal of the letter. + +“Not only decided, but grateful. I have lost my fortune, it is true; but +while youth and health remain, I shall hardly feel tempted to taste the +luxuries of dependence.” + + + + +TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR. + + + +JUMP in, if you would ride with the doctor. You have no time to lose, +for the patient horse, thankful for the unusual blessing which he has +enjoyed in obtaining a good night's rest, stands early at the door this +rainy morning, and the worthy doctor himself is already in his seat, and +is hastily gathering up the reins, for there have been no less than six +rings at his bell within as many minutes, and immediate attendance is +requested in several different places. + +It is not exactly the day one might select for a ride, for the storm is +a regular north-easter, and your hands and feet are benumbed with the +piercing cold wind, while you are drenched with the driving rain. + +But the doctor is used to all this, and, unmindful of wind and rain, he +urges his faithful horse to his utmost speed, eager to reach the spot +where the most pressing duty calls. He has at least the satisfaction of +being welcome. Anxious eyes are watching for his well-known vehicle from +the window; the door is opened ere he puts his hand upon the lock, and +the heartfelt exclamation, + +“Oh, doctor, I am so thankful you have come!” greets him as he enters. + +Hastily the anxious father leads the way to the room where his +half-distracted wife is bending in agony over their first-born, a lovely +infant of some ten months, who is now in strong convulsions. The mother +clasps her hands, and raises her eyes in gratitude to heaven, as +the doctor enters,-he is her only earthly hope. Prompt and efficient +remedies are resorted to, and in an hour the restored little one is +sleeping tranquilly in his mother's arms. + +The doctor departs amid a shower of blessings, and again urging his +horse to speed, reaches his second place of destination. It is a stately +mansion. A spruce waiter hastens to answer his ring, but the lady +herself meets him as he enters the hall. + +“We have been expecting you anxiously, doctor. Mr. Palmer is quite ill, +this morning. Walk up, if you please.” + +The doctor obeys, and is eagerly welcomed by his patient. + +“Do exert your utmost skill to save me from a fever, doctor. The +symptoms are much the same which I experienced last year, previous to +that long siege with the typhoid. It distracts me to think of it. At +this particular juncture I should lose thousands by absence from my +business.” + +The doctor's feelings are enlisted,--his feelings of humanity and +his feelings of self-interest, for doctors must live as well as other +people; and the thought of the round sum which would find its way to his +own purse, if he could but succeed in preventing the loss of thousands +to his patient, was by no means unpleasing. + +The most careful examination of the symptoms is made, and well-chosen +prescriptions given. He is requested to call as often as possible +through the day, which he readily promises to do, although press of +business and a pouring rain render it somewhat difficult. + +The result, however, will be favourable to his wishes. His second and +third call give him great encouragement, and on the second day after the +attack, the merchant returns to his counting-room exulting in the skill +of his physician. + +But we must resume our ride. On, on goes the doctor; rain pouring, wind +blowing, mud splashing. Ever and anon he checks his horse's speed, at +his various posts of duty. High and low, rich and poor anxiously await +his coming. He may not shrink from the ghastly spectacle of human +suffering and death. Humanity, in its most loathsome forms, is presented +to him. + +The nearest and dearest may turn away in grief and horror, but the +doctor blenches not. + +Again we are digressing. The doctor's well-known tap is heard at +the door of a sick-room, where for many days he has been in constant +attendance. Noiselessly he is admitted. The young husband kneels at the +side of the bed where lies his dearest earthly treasure. The calm but +deeply-afflicted mother advances to the doctor, and whispers fearfully +low, + +“There is a change. She sleeps. Is it--oh! can it be the sleep of +death?” + +Quickly the physician is at the bedside, and anxiously bending over his +patient. + +Another moment and he grasps the husband's hand, while the glad words +“She will live,” burst from his lips. + +We may not picture forth their joy. On, on, we are riding with the +doctor. Once more we are at his own door. Hastily he enters, and takes +up the slate containing the list of calls during his absence. At half a +dozen places his presence is requested without delay. + +A quick step is heard on the stairs, and his gentle wife hastens to +welcome him. + +“I am so glad you have come; how wet you must be!” + +The parlour door is thrown open. What a cheerful fire, and how inviting +look the dressing-gown and the nicely warmed slippers! + +“Take off your wet clothes, dear; dinner will soon be ready,” urges the +wife. + +“It is impossible, Mary. There are several places to visit yet. Nay, +never look so sad. Have not six years taught you what a doctor's wife +must expect?” + +“I shall never feel easy when you are working so hard, Henry; but surely +you will take a cup of hot coffee; I have it all ready. It will delay +you but a moment.” + +The doctor consents; and while the coffee is preparing, childish voices +are heard, and little feet come quickly through the hall. + +“Papa has come home!” shouts a manly little fellow of four years, as +he almost drags his younger sister to the spot where he has heard his +father's voice. + +The father's heart is gladdened by their innocent joy, as they cling +around him; but there is no time for delay. A kiss to each, one good +jump for the baby, the cup of coffee is hastily swallowed, the wife +receives her embrace with tearful eyes, and as the doctor springs +quickly into his chaise, and wheels around the corner, she sighs deeply +as she looks at the dressing-gown and slippers, and thinks of the +favourite dish which she had prepared for dinner; and now it may be +night before he comes again. But she becomes more cheerful as she +remembers that a less busy season will come, and then they will enjoy +the recompense of this hard labour. + +The day wears away, and at length comes the happy hour when gown and +slippers may be brought into requisition. The storm still rages without, +but there is quiet happiness within. The babies are sleeping, and father +and mother are in that snug little parlour, with its bright light and +cheerful fire. The husband is not too weary to read aloud, and the wife +listens, while her hands are busied with woman's never-ending work. + +But their happiness is of short duration. A loud ring at the bell. + +“Patient in the office, sir,” announces the attendant. + +The doctor utters a half-impatient exclamation; but the wife expresses +only thankfulness that it is an office patient. + +“Fine night for a sick person to come out!” muttered the doctor, as he +unwillingly lays down his book, and rises from the comfortable lounge. + +But he is himself again by the time his hand is on the door of the +office, and it is with real interest that he greets his patient. + +“Tooth to be extracted? Sit down, sir. Here, Biddy, bring water and a +brighter lamp. Have courage, sir; one moment will end it.” + +The hall door closes on the relieved sufferer, and the doctor throws +himself again on the lounge, and smilingly puts the bright half dollar +in his pocket. + +“That was not so bad, after all, Mary. I like to make fifty cents in +that way.” + +“Cruel creature! Do not mention it.” + +“Cruel! The poor man blessed me in his heart. Did I not relieve him from +the most intense suffering?” + +“Well, never mind. I hope there will be no more calls to-night.” + +“So do I. Where is the book? I will read again.” No more interruptions. +Another hour, and all, are sleeping quietly. + +Midnight has passed, when the sound of the bell falls on the doctor's +wakeful ear. As quickly as possible he answers it in person, but another +peal is heard ere he reaches the door. + +A gentleman to whose family he has frequently been called, appears. + +“Oh! doctor, lose not a moment; my little Willie is dying with the +croup!” + +There is no resisting this appeal. The still wet overcoat and boots +are drawn on; medicine case hastily seized, and the doctor rushes forth +again into the storm. + +Pity for his faithful horse induces him to traverse the distance on +foot, and a rapid walk of half a mile brings him to the house. + +It was no needless alarm. The attack was a severe one, and all his skill +was required to save the life of the little one. It was daylight ere he +could leave him with safety. Then, as he was about departing for his own +home, an express messenger arrived to entreat him to go immediately to +another place nearly a mile in an opposite direction. + +Breakfast was over ere he reached his own house. His thoughtful wife +suggested a nap; but a glance at the already well-filled slate showed +this to be out of the question. A hasty toilet, and still hastier +breakfast, and the doctor is again seated in his chaise, going on his +accustomed rounds; but we will not now accompany him. + +Let us pass over two or three months, and invite ourselves to another +ride. One pleasant morning, when less pressed with business, he walks +leisurely from the house to the chaise, and gathering up the reins with +a remarkably thoughtful air, rides slowly down the street. + +But few patients are on his list, and these are first attended to. + +The doctor then pauses for consideration. He has set apart this day +for _collecting_. Past experience has taught him that the task is by no +means an agreeable one. It is necessary, however--absolutely so--for, +as we have said before, doctors must live as well as other people; their +house-rent must be paid, food and clothing must be supplied. + +A moment only pauses the doctor, and then we are again moving onward. +A short ride brings us to the door of a pleasantly-situated house. We +remember it well. It is where the little one lay in fits when we last +rode out with the doctor. We recall the scene: the convulsed countenance +of the child; the despair of the parents, and the happiness which +succeeded when their beloved one was restored to them. + +Surely they will now welcome the doctor. Thankfully will they pay the +paltry sum he claims as a recompense for his services. We are more +confident than the doctor. Experience is a sure teacher. The door does +not now fly open at his approach. He gives his name to the girl who +answers the bell, and in due time the lady of the house appears. + +“Ah! doctor, how do you do? You are quite a stranger! Delightful +weather,” &c. + +The doctor replies politely, and inquires if her husband is in. + +“Yes, he is in; but I regret to say he is exceedingly engaged this +morning. His business is frequently of a nature which cannot suffer +interruption. He would have been pleased to have seen you.” + +The doctor's pocket-book is produced, and the neatly drawn bill is +presented. + +“If convenient to Mr. Lawton, the amount would be acceptable.” + +“I will hand it to him when he is at leisure. He will attend to it, no +doubt.” + +The doctor sighs involuntarily as he recalls similar indefinite +promises; but it is impossible to insist upon interrupting important +business. He ventures another remark, implying that prompt payment would +oblige him; bows, and retires. + +On, on goes the faithful horse. Where is to be our next stopping-place? +At the wealthy merchant's, who owed so much to the doctor's skill some +two months since. Even the doctor feels confidence here. Thousands saved +by the prevention of that fever. Thirty dollars is not to be thought of +in comparison. + +All is favourable. Mr. Palmer is at home, and receives his visiter in a +cordial manner. Compliments are passed. Now for the bill. + +“Our little account, Mr. Palmer.” + +“Ah! I recollect; I am a trifle in your debt. Let us see: thirty +dollars! So much? I had forgotten that we had needed medical advice, +excepting in my slight indisposition a few weeks since.” + +Slight indisposition! What a memory some people are blessed with! + +The doctor smothers his rising indignation. + +“Eight visits, Mr. Palmer, and at such a distance. You will find the +charge a moderate one.” + +“Oh! very well; I dare say it is all right. I am sorry I have not the +money for you to-day, doctor. Very tight just at present; you know how +it is with men of business.” + +“It would be a great accommodation if I could have it at once.” + +“Impossible, doctor! I wish I could oblige you. In a week, or fortnight, +at the farthest, I will call at your office.” + +A week or fortnight! The disappointed doctor once more seats himself in +his chaise, and urges his horse to speed. He is growing desperate now, +and is eager to reach his next place of destination. Suddenly he checks +the horse. A gentleman is passing whom he recognises as the young +husband whose idolized wife has so lately been snatched from the borders +of the grave. + +“Glad to see you, Mr. Wilton; I was about calling at your house.” + +“Pray, do so, doctor; Mrs. Wilton will be pleased to see you.” + +“Thank you; but my call was on business, to-day. I believe I must +trouble you with my bill for attendance during your wife's illness.” + +“Ah! yes; I recollect. Have you it with you? Fifty dollars! Impossible! +Why, she was not ill above three weeks.” + +“Very true; but think of the urgency of the case. Three or four calls +during twenty-four hours were necessary, and two whole nights I passed +at her bedside.” + +“And yet the charge appears to me enormous. Call it forty, and I will +hand you the amount at once.” + +The doctor hesitates. “I cannot afford to lose ten dollars, which is +justly my due, Mr. Wilton.” + +“Suit yourself, doctor. Take forty, and receipt the bill, or stick to +your first charge, and wait till I am ready to pay it. Fifty dollars is +no trifle, I can tell you.” + +And this is the man whose life might have been a blank but for the +doctor's skill! + +Again we are travelling onward. The unpaid bill is left in Mr. Wilton's +hand, and yet the doctor half regrets that he had not submitted to the +imposition. Money is greatly needed just now, and there seems little +prospect of getting any. + +Again and again the horse is stopped at some well-known post. A poor +welcome has the doctor to-day. Some bills are collected, but their +amount is discouragingly small. Everybody appears to feel astonishingly +healthy, and have almost forgotten that they ever had occasion for a +physician. There is one consolation, however: sickness will come again, +and then, perhaps, the unpaid bill may be recollected. Homeward goes +the doctor. He is naturally of a cheerful disposition; but now he is +seriously threatened with a fit of the blues. A list of calls upon his +slate has little effect to raise his spirits. “All work and no pay,” he +mutters to himself, as he puts on his dressing-gown and slippers; and, +throwing himself upon the lounge, turns a deaf ear to the little ones, +while he indulges in a revery as to the best mode of paying the doctor. + + + + +KEEP IN STEP. + + Those who would walk together must keep in step. + + --OLD PROVERB. + + + + AY, the world keeps moving forward, + Like an army marching by; + Hear you not its heavy footfall, + That resoundeth to the sky? + Some bold spirits bear the banner-- + Souls of sweetness chant the song,-- + Lips of energy and fervour + Make the timid-hearted strong! + Like brave soldiers we march forward; + If you linger or turn back, + You must look to get a jostling + While you stand upon our track. + Keep in step. + + My good neighbour, Master Standstill, + Gazes on it as it goes; + Not quite sure but he is dreaming, + In his afternoon's repose! + “Nothing good,” he says, “can issue + From this endless moving on; + Ancient laws and institutions + Are decaying, or are gone. + We are rushing on to ruin, + With our mad, new-fangled ways.” + While he speaks a thousand voices, + As the heart of one man, says-- + “Keep in step!” + + Gentle neighbour, will you join us, + Or return to “_good old ways?_” + Take again the fig-leaf apron + Of Old Adam's ancient days;-- + Or become a hardy Briton-- + Beard the lion in his lair, + And lie down in dainty slumber + Wrapped in skins of shaggy bear,-- + Rear the hut amid the forest, + Skim the wave in light canoe? + Ah, I see! you do not like it. + Then if these “old ways” won't do, + Keep in step. + + Be assured, good Master Standstill, + All-wise Providence designed + Aspiration and progression + For the yearning human mind. + Generations left their blessings, + In the relies of their skill, + Generations yet are longing + For a greater glory still; + And the shades of our forefathers + Are not jealous of our deed-- + We but follow where they beckon, + We but go where they do lead! + Keep in step. + + One detachment of our army + May encamp upon the hill, + While another in the valley + May enjoy its own sweet will; + This, may answer to one watchword, + That, may echo to another; + But in unity and concord, + They discern that each is brother! + Breast to breast they're marching onward, + In a good now peaceful way; + You'll be jostled if you hinder, + So don't offer let or stay-- + Keep in step. + + + + +JOHNNY COLE. + + + +“I GUESS we will have to put out our Johnny,” said Mrs. Cole, with +a sigh, as she drew closer to the fire, one cold day in autumn. This +remark was addressed to her husband, a sleepy, lazy-looking man, who +was stretched on a bench, with his eyes half closed. The wife, with two +little girls of eight and ten, were knitting as fast as their fingers +could fly; the baby was sound asleep in the cradle; while Johnny, a +boy of thirteen, and a brother of four, were seated on the wide +hearth making a snare for rabbits. The room they occupied was cold and +cheerless; the warmth of the scanty fire being scarcely felt; yet +the floor, and every article of furniture, mean as they were, were +scrupulously neat and clean. + +The appearance of this family indicated that they were very poor. +They were all thin and pale, really for want of proper food, and their +clothes had been patched until it was difficult to decide what the +original fabric had been; yet this very circumstance spoke volume in +favour of the mother. She was, a woman of great energy of character, +unfortunately united to a man whose habits were such, that, for the +greater part of the time, he was a dead weight upon her hands; although +not habitually intemperate, he was indolent and good-for-nothing to a +degree, lying in the sun half his time, when the weather was warm, and +never doing a stroke of work until driven to it by the pangs of hunger. + +As for the wife, by taking in sewing, knitting, and spinning for the +farmers' families in the neighbourhood, she managed to pay a rent of +twenty dollars for the cabin in which they lived; while she and Johnny, +with what assistance they could occasionally get from Jerry, her +husband, tilled the half acre of ground attached; and the vegetables +thus obtained, were their main dependance during the long winter just at +hand. Having thus introduced the Coles to our reader, we will continue +the conversation. + +“I guess we will have to put out Johnny, and you will try and help us a +little more, Jerry, dear.” + +“Why, what's got into the woman now?” muttered Jerry, stretching his +arms, and yawning to the utmost capacity of his mouth. The children +laughed at their father's uncouth gestures, and even Mrs. Cole's serious +face relaxed into a smile, as she answered, + +“Don't swallow us all, and I will tell you. The winter is beginning +early, and promises to be cold. Our potatoes didn't turn out as well +as I expected, and the truth is, we cannot get along so. We won't have +victuals to last us half the time; and, manage as I will, I can't much +more than pay the rent, I get so little for the kind of work I do. Now, +if Johnny gets a place, it will make one less to provide for; and he +will be learning to do something for himself.” + +“Yes, but mother,” said the boy, moving close to her side, and laying +his head on her knee, “yes, but who'll help you when I am gone? Who'll +dig the lot, and hoe, and cut the wood, and carry the water? You can't +go away down to the spring in the deep snow. And who'll make the fire in +the cold mornings?” + +The mother looked sorry enough, as her darling boy--for he was the +object around which the fondest affections of her heart had entwined +themselves--she looked sorry enough, as he enumerated the turns he was +in the habit of doing for her; but, woman-like, she could suffer and be +still; so she answered cheerfully, + +“May be father will, dear; and when you grow bigger, and learn how to do +everything, you'll be such a help to us all.” + +“Don't depend on me,” said Jerry, now arousing himself and sauntering to +the fire; “I hardly ever feel well,”--complaining was Jerry's especial +forte, an excuse for all his laziness; yet his appetite never failed; +and when, as was sometimes the case, one of the neighbours sent a small +piece of meat, or any little article of food to his wife, under the plea +of ill health he managed to appropriate nearly the whole of it. He was +selfishness embodied, and a serious injury to his family, as few cared +to keep him up in his laziness. + +One evening, a few days later, Mrs. Cole, who had been absent several +hours, came in looking very tired, and after laying aside her old bonnet +and shawl, informed them that she had obtained a place for Johnny. It +was four miles distant, and the farmer's man would stop for him on his +way from town, the next afternoon. What a beautiful object was farmer +Watkins's homestead, lying as it did on the sunny slope of a hill; +its gray stone walls, peeping out from between the giant trees that +overshadowed it, while everything around and about gave evidence of +abundance and comfort. The thrifty orchard; the huge barn with its +overflowing granaries; the sleek, well-fed cattle; even the low-roofed +spring-house, with its superabundance of shining pails and pans, formed +an item which could hardly be dispensed with, in the _tout ensemble_ of +this pleasant home. + +Farmer Watkins was an honest, hard-working man, somewhat past middle +age, with a heart not naturally devoid of kindness, but, where his +hirelings were concerned, so strongly encrusted with a layer of habits, +that they acted as an effectual check upon his better feelings. His +family consisted of a wife, said to be a notable manager, and five or +six children, the eldest, a son, at college. In this household, work, +work, was the order of the day; the farmer himself, with his great +brown fists, set the example, and the others, willing or unwilling, were +obliged to follow his lead. He had agreed to take John Cole, as he said, +more to get rid of his mother's importunities, than for any benefit he +expected to derive from him; and when remonstrated with by his wife +for his folly in giving her the trouble of another brat, he answered +shortly: “Never fear, I'll get the worth of his victuals and clothes out +of him.” Johnny was to have his boarding, clothes, and a dollar a month, +for two years. This dollar a month was the great item in Mrs. Cole's +calculations; twelve dollars a year, she argued, would almost pay her +rent, and when the tears stood in Johnny's great brown eyes (for he was +a pretty, gentle-hearted boy), as he was bidding them all good-bye, and +kissing the baby over and over again, she told him about the money +he would earn, and nerved his little heart with her glowing +representations, until he was able to choke back the tears, and leave +home almost cheerfully. + +_Home_--yes, it was home; for they had much to redeem the miseries of +want within those bare cabin walls, for gentle hearts and kindly smiles +were there. There + + “The mother sang at the twilight fall, + To the babe half slumbering on her knee.” + +There his brother and sisters played; there his associations, his hopes, +his wishes, were all centered. When he arrived at farmer Watkins's, and +was sent into the large carpeted kitchen, everything was so unlike this +home, that his fortitude almost gave way, and it was as much as he could +do, as he told his mother afterwards, “to keep from bursting right out.” + Mrs. Watkins looked very cross, nor did she notice him, except to order +him to stand out of the way of the red-armed girl who was preparing +supper and placing it on a table in the ample apartment. Johnny looked +with amazement at the great dishes of meat, and plates of hot biscuit, +but the odour of the steaming coffee, and the heat, were almost too much +for him, as he had eaten nothing since morning, for he was too sorry to +leave home to care about dinner. The girl, noticing that his pale face +grew paler, laughingly drew her mistress's attention to “master's new +boy.” + +“Go out and bring in some wood for the stove,” said Mrs. Watkins, +sharply; “the air will do you good.” + +Johnny went out, and, in a few minutes, felt revived. Looking about, he +soon found the wood-shed; there was plenty of wood, but none cut of a +suitable length; it was all in cord sticks. Taking an axe, he chopped an +armful, and on taking it into the house, found the family, had finished +their suppers; the biscuits and meat were all eaten. + +“Come on here to your supper,” said the maid-servant, angrily. “What +have you been doing?” and, without waiting for an answer, she filled a +tin basin with mush and skimmed milk, and set it before him. The little +boy did not attempt to speak, but sat down and ate what was given +him. Immediately after, he was sent into a loft to bed, where he cried +himself to sleep. Ah! when we count the thousand pulsations that yield +pain or pleasure to the human mind, what a power to do good or evil +is possessed by every one; and how often would a kind word, or one +sympathizing glance, gladden the hearts of those thus prematurely forced +upon the anxieties of the world! But how few there are who care to +bestow them! The next morning, long before dawn, the farmer's family, +with the exception of the younger children were astir. The cattle were +to be fed and attended to, the horses harnessed, the oxen yoked, and +great was the bustle until all hands were fairly at work. As for Johnny, +he was taken into the field to assist in husking corn. The wind was +keen, and the stalks, from recent rain, were wet, and filled with ice. +His scanty clothing scarcely afforded any protection from the cold, and +his hands soon became so numb that he could scarcely use them; but, if +he stopped one moment to rap them, or breathe upon them, in the hope of +imparting some warmth, the farmer who was close at hand, in warm woollen +clothes and thick husking gloves, would call out, + +“Hurry up, hurry up, my boy! no idle bread must be eaten here!” + +And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but it +would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought of +exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for him, +told him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a moment, he +would send him home. This was enough for Johnny; anything was better +than to go back and be a burden on his mother; he worked to the best +of his ability until noon. At noon, he managed to get thoroughly warm, +behind the stove, while eating his dinner. Still, the sufferings of +the child, with his insufficient clothing, were very great; but nobody +seemed to think of the _hired boy_ being an object of sympathy, and thus +it continued. The rule seemed to be to get all that was possible out of +him, and his little frame was so weary at night, that he had hardly +time to feel rested, until called with the dawn to renew his labour. A +monthly Sunday however, was the golden period looked forward to in his +day-dreams, for it had been stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday +evening every four weeks, he was to come home, and stay all the next +day. And when the time arrived, how nimbly did he get over the ground +that stretched between him and the goal of his wishes! How much he +had to tell! But as soon as he began to complain, his mother would say +cheerfully, although her heart bled for the hardships of her child, + +“Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you grow +up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you.” + +This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly +miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his condition; +and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny persevered; young +as he was, he understood the necessity. But how often, during the four +weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of the Saturday night he had +spent at home come up before his mental vision! The fresh loaf of rye +bread, baked in honour of his arrival, and eaten for supper, with maple +molasses--the very molasses he had helped to boil on shares with Farmer +Thrifty's boys in the spring. What a feast they had! Then the long +evening afterwards, when the blaze of the hickory fires righted up +the timbers of the old cabin with a mellow glow, and mother looked so +cheerful and smiled so kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and +light. And how even father had helped to pop corn in the iron pot. + +Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample opportunity +to draw comparisons, for he often thought his master cared more for his +cattle than he did for him, and it is quite probable he did; for while +they were warmly housed he was needlessly exposed, and his comfort +utterly disregarded. If there was brush to cut, or fence to make, or +any out-door labour to perform, a wet, cold, or windy day was sure to be +selected, while in _fine weather_ the wood was required to be chopped, +and, generally speaking, all the work that could be done under shelter. +Yet we dare say Farmer Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this, +or the advantage he would himself derive by arranging it otherwise. + +John Cole had been living out perhaps a year. He had not grown much in +this period; his frame had always been slight, and his sunken cheeks +and wasted limbs spoke of the hard usage and suffering of his present +situation. The family had many delicacies for themselves, but the _work +boy_ they knew never was used to such things, and they were indifferent, +as to what his fare chanced to be. He generally managed to satisfy the +cravings of hunger on the coarse food given him, but that was all. About +this time it happened that the farmer was digging a ditch, and as he was +afraid winter would set in before it was completed, Johnny and himself +were at work upon it early and late, notwithstanding the wind whistled, +and it was so cold they could hardly handle the tools. While thus +employed, it chanced that they got wet to the skin with a drizzling +rain, and on returning to the house the farmer changed his clothes, +drank some hot mulled cider, and spent the remainder of the evening in +his high-backed chair before a comfortable fire; while the boy was +sent to grease a wagon in an open shed, and at night crept to his straw +pallet, shaking as though in an ague fit. The next morning he was in +a high fever, and with many a “wonder of what had got into him,” but +without one word of sympathy, or any other manifestation of good-will, +he was sent home to his mother. Late in the evening of the same day a +compassionate physician was surprised to see a woman enter his office; +her garments wet and travel-stained, and, with streaming eyes, she +besought him to come and see her son. + +“My Johnny, my Johnny, sir!” she cried, “he has been raving wild all +day, and we are afraid he will die.” + +Mistaking the cause of the good man's hesitation, she added, with a +fresh burst of grief, “Oh! I will work my fingers to the bone to pay +you, sir, if you will only come. We live in the Gap.” + +A few inquiries were all that was necessary to learn the state of +the case. The benevolent doctor took the woman in his vehicle, and +proceeded, over a mountainous road of six miles, to see his patient. But +vain was the help of man! Johnny continued delirious; it was work, work, +always at work; and pitiful was it to hear his complaints of being +cold and tired, while his heart-broken parent hung over him, and denied +herself the necessaries of life to minister to his wants. After being +ill about a fortnight, he awoke one evening apparently free from fever. +His expression was natural, but he seemed so weak he could not speak. +His mother, with a heart overflowing with joy at the change she imagined +favourable, bent over him. With a great effort he placed his arms about +her neck; she kissed his pale lips; a smile of strange meaning passed +over his face, and ere she could unwind that loving clasp her little +Johnny was no more. He had gone where the wicked cease from troubling, +and the weary are at rest; but her hopes were blasted; her house was +left unto her desolate; and as she watched, through the long hours of +night, beside the dead body, it was to our Father who art in Heaven her +anguished heart poured itself out in prayer. Think of this, ye rich! who +morning and evening breathe the same petition by your own hearthstones. +Think of it, ye who have authority to oppress! Do not deprive the +poor man or woman of the “ewe lamb” that is their sole possession; and +remember that He whose ear is ever open to the cry of the distressed, +has power to avenge their cause. + + + + +THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR. + + + +“CIRCUMSTANCES made me what I am,” said a condemned criminal to a +benevolent man who visited him in prison. “I was driven by necessity to +steal.” + +“Not so,” replied the keeper, who was standing by. “Rather say, that +your own character made the circumstances by which you were surrounded. +God never places upon any creature the necessity of breaking his +commandments. You stole, because, in heart, you were a thief.” + +The benevolent man reproved the keeper for what he called harsh words. +He believed that, alone, by the force of external circumstances, men +were made criminals. That, if society were differently arranged, there +would be little or no crime in the world. And so he made interest for +the criminal, and, in the end, secured his release from prison. Nor +did his benevolence stop here. He took the man into his service, and +intrusted to him his money and his goods. + +“I will remove from him all temptation to steal,” said he, “by a liberal +supply of his wants.” + +“Have you a wife?” he asked of the man, when he took him from prison. + +“No,” was replied. + +“Nor any one but yourself to support?” + +“I am alone in the world.” + +“You have received a good education; and can serve me as a clerk. I +therefore take you into my employment, at a fair salary. Will five +hundred dollars be enough?” + +“It will be an abundance,” said the man, with evident surprise at an +offer so unexpectedly liberal. + +“Very well. That will place you above temptation.” + +“And I will be innocent and happy. You are my benefactor. You have saved +me.” + +“I believe it,” said the man of benevolence. + +And so he intrusted his goods and his money to the man he had reformed +by placing him in different circumstances. + +But it is in the heart of man that evil lies; and from the heart's +impulses spring all our actions. That must cease to be a bitter fountain +before it can send forth sweet water. The thief was a thief still. Not +a month elapsed ere he was devising the means to enable him to get from +his kind, but mistaken friend, more than the liberal sum for which he +had agreed to serve him. He coveted his neighbour's goods whenever his +eyes fell upon them; and restlessly sought to acquire their possession. +In order to make more sure the attainment of his ends, he affected +sentiments of morality, and even went so far as to cover his purposes +by a show of religion. And thus he was able to deceive and rob his kind +friend. + +Time went on; and the thief, apparently reformed by a change of relation +to society, continued in his post of responsibility. How it was, the +benefactor could not make out; but his affairs gradually became less +prosperous. He made investigations into his business, but was unable to +find anything wrong. + +“Are you aware that your clerk is a purchaser of property to a +considerable extent?” said a mercantile friend to him one day. + +“My clerk! It cannot be. His income is only five hundred dollars a +year.” + +“He bought a piece of property for five thousand last week.” + +“Impossible!” + +“I know it to be true. Are you aware that he was once a convict in the +State's Prison?” + +“Oh yes. I took him from prison myself, and gave him a chance for his +life. I do not believe in hunting men down for a single crime, the +result of circumstances rather than a bad heart.” + +“A truly honest man, let me tell you,” replied the merchant, “will be +honest in any and all circumstances. And a rogue will be a rogue, place +him where you will. The evil is radical, and must be cured radically. +Your reformed thief has robbed you, without doubt.” + +“I have reason to fear that he has been most ungrateful,” replied the +kind-hearted man, who, with the harmlessness of the dove, did not unite +the wisdom of the serpent. + +And so it proved. His clerk had robbed him of over twenty thousand +dollars in less than five years, and so sapped the foundations of his +prosperity, that he recovered with great difficulty. + +“You told me, when in prison,” said the wronged merchant to his clerk, +“that circumstances made you what you were. This you cannot say now.” + +“I can,” was the reply. “Circumstances made me poor, and I desired to be +rich. The means of attaining wealth were placed in my hands, and I +used them. Is it strange that I should have done so? It is this social +inequality that makes crime. Your own doctrine, and I subscribe to it +fully.” + +“Ungrateful wretch!” said the merchant, indignantly, “it is the evil of +your own heart that prompts to crime. You would be a thief and a robber +if you possessed millions.” + +And he again handed him over to the law, and let the prison walls +protect society from his depredations. + +No, it is not true that in external circumstances lie the origins of +evil. God tempts no man by these. In the very extremes of poverty we +see examples of honesty; and among the wealthiest, find those who +covet their neighbour's goods, and gain dishonest possession thereof. +Reformers must seek to elevate the personal character, if they would +regenerate society. To accomplish the desired good by a different +external arrangement, is hopeless; for in the heart of man lies the +evil,--there is the fountain from which flow forth the bitter and +blighting waters of crime. + + + + +JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON. + + + +“AND you will really send Reuben to cut down that clump of pines?” + +“Yes, Margaret. Well, now, it is necessary, for more reasons than”---- + +“Don't tell me so, John,” impetuously interrupted Margaret Greylston. +“I am sure there is no necessity in the case, and I am sorry to the very +heart that you have no more feeling than to order _those_ trees to be +cut down.” + +“Feeling! well, maybe I have more than you think; yet I don't choose to +let it make a fool of me, for all that. But I wish you would say no more +about those trees, Margaret; they really must come down; I have reasoned +with you on this matter till I am sick of it.” + +Miss Greylston got up from her chair, and walked out on the shaded +porch; then she turned and called her brother. + +“Will you come here, John?” + +“And what have you to say?” + +“Nothing, just now; I only want you to stand here and look at the old +pines.” + +And so John Greylston did; and he saw the distant woods grave and fading +beneath the autumn wind--while the old pines upreared their stately +heads against the blue sky, unchanged in beauty, fresh and green as +ever. + +“You see those trees, John, and so do I; and standing here, with them +full in view, let me plead for them; they are very old, those pines, +older than either of us; we played beneath them when we were children; +but there is still a stronger tie: our mother loved them--our dear, +sainted mother. Thirty years it has been since she died, but I can never +forget or cease to love anything she loved. Oh! John, you remember just +as well as I do, how often she would sit beneath those trees and read +or talk sweetly to us; and of the dear band who gathered there with her, +only we are left, and the old pines. Let them stand, John; time enough +to cut them down when I have gone to sit with those dear ones beneath +the trees of heaven;” and somewhat breathless from long talking, Miss +Margaret paused. + +John Greylston was really touched, and he laid his hand kindly on his +sister's shoulder. + +“Come, come, Madge, don't talk so sadly. I remember and love those +things as well as you do, but then you see I cannot afford to neglect my +interests for weak sentiment. Now the road must be made, and that clump +of trees stand directly in its course, and they must come down, or the +road will have to take a curve nearly half a mile round, striking into +one of my best meadows, and a good deal more expense this will be, too. +No, no,” he continued, eagerly, “I can't oblige you in this thing. This +place is mine, and I will improve it as I please. I have kept back from +making many a change for your sake, but just here I am determined to go +on.” And all this was said with a raised voice and a flushed face. + +“You never spoke so harshly to me in your life before, John, and, after +all, what have I done? Call my feelings on this matter weak sentiment, +if you choose, but it is hard to hear such words from your lips;” and, +with a reproachful sigh, Miss Margaret walked into the house. + +They had been a large family, those Greylstons, in their day, but now +all were gone; all but John and Margaret, the two eldest--the twin +brother and sister. They lived alone in their beautiful country +home; neither had ever been married. John had once loved a fair young +creature, with eyes like heaven's stars, and rose-tinged cheeks and +lips, but she fell asleep just one month before her wedding-day, and +John Greylston was left to mourn over her early grave, and his shivered +happiness. Dearly Margaret loved her twin brother, and tenderly she +nursed him through the long and fearful illness which came upon him +after Ellen Day's death. Margaret Greylston was radiant in the bloom of +young womanhood when this great grief first smote her brother, but from +that very hour she put away from her the gayeties of life, and sat down +by his side, to be to him a sweet, unselfish controller for evermore, +and no lover could ever tempt her from her post. + +“John Greylston will soon get over his sorrow; in a year or two Ellen +will be forgotten for a new face.” + +So said the world; Margaret knew better. Her brother's heart lay before +her like an open book, and she saw indelible lines of grief and +anguish there. The old homestead, with its wide lands, belonged to +John Greylston. He had bought it years before from the other heirs; and +Margaret, the only remaining one, possessed neither claim nor right in +it. She had a handsome annuity, however, and nearly all the rich plate +and linen with which the house was stocked, together with some valuable +pieces of furniture, belonged to her. And John and Margaret Greylston +lived on in their quiet and beautiful home, in peace and happiness; +their solitude being but now and then invaded by a flock of nieces +and nephews, from the neighbouring city--their only and well-beloved +relatives. + +It was long after sunset. For two full hours the moon and stars had +watched John Greylston, sitting so moodily alone upon the porch. Now +he got up from his chair, and tossing his cigar away in the long grass, +walked slowly into the house. Miss Margaret did not raise her head; her +eyes, as well as her fingers, seemed intent upon the knitting she held. +So her brother, after a hurried “Good-night,” took a candle and went up +to his own room, never speaking one gentle word; for he said to himself, +“I am not going to worry and coax with Margaret any longer about the +old pines. She is really troublesome with her sentimental notions.” Yet, +after all, John Greylston's heart reproached him, and he felt restless +and ill at ease. + +Miss Margaret sat very quietly by the low table, knitting steadily on, +but she was not thinking of her work, neither did she delight in the +beauty of that still autumn evening; the tears came into her eyes, but +she hastily brushed them away; just as though she feared John might +unawares come back and find her crying. + +Ah! these _way-side_ thorns are little, but sometimes they pierce as +sharply as the gleaming sword. + +“Good-morning, John!” + +At the sound of that voice, Mr. Greylston turned suddenly from the +book-case, and his sister was standing near him, her face lit up with a +sweet, yet somewhat anxious smile. He threw down in a hurry the papers +he had been tying together, and the bit of red tape, and holding out his +hand, said fervently, + +“I was very harsh last night. I am really sorry for it; will you not +forgive me, Margaret?” + +“To be sure I will; for indeed, John, I was quite as much to blame as +you.” + +“No, Madge, you were not,” he quickly answered; “but let it pass, +now. We will think and say no more about it;” and, as though he +were perfectly satisfied, and really wished the matter dropped, John +Greylston turned to his papers again. + +So Miss Margaret was silent. She was delighted to have peace again, even +though she felt anxious about the pines, and when her brother took his +seat at the breakfast table, looking and speaking so kindly, she felt +comforted to think the cloud had passed away; and John Greylston himself +was very glad. So the two went on eating their breakfast quite happily. +But alas! the storm is not always over when the sky grows light. Reuben +crossed the lawn, followed by the gardener, and Miss Margaret's quick +eye caught the gleaming of the axes swung over their shoulders. She +hurriedly set down the coffee-pot. + +“Where are those men going? Reuben and Tom I mean.” + +“Only to the woods,” was the careless answer. + +“But what woods, John? Oh! I can tell by your face; you are determined +to have the pines cut down.” + +“I am.” And John Greylston folded his arms, and looked fixedly at his +sister, but she did not heed him. She talked on eagerly-- + +“I love the old trees; I will do anything to save them. John, you spoke +last night of additional expense, should the road take that curve. I +will make it up to you; I can afford to do this very well. Now listen to +reason, and let the trees stand.” + +“Listen to reason, yourself,” he answered more gently. “I will not +take a cent from you. Margaret, you are a perfect enthusiast about some +things. Now, I love my parents and old times, I am sure, as well as you +do, and that love is not one bit the colder, because I do not let it +stand in the way of interest. Don't say anything more. My mind is made +up in this matter. The place is mine, and I cannot see that you have any +right to interfere in the improvements I choose to make on it.” + +A deep flush stole over Miss Greylston's face. + +“I have indeed no legal right to counsel or plead with you about these +things,” she answered sadly, “but I have a sister's right, that of +affection--you cannot deny this, John. Once again, I beg of you to let +the old pines alone.” + +“And once again, I tell you I will do as I please in this matter,” and +this was said sharply and decidedly. + +Margaret Greylston said not another word, but pushing back her chair, +she arose from the breakfast-table and went quickly from the room, even +before her brother could call to her. Reuben and his companion had just +got in the last meadow when Miss Greylston overtook them. + +“You, will let the pines alone to-day,” she calmly said, “go to any +other work you choose, but remember those trees are not to be touched.” + +“Very well, Miss Margaret,” and Reuben touched his hat respectfully, + +“Mr. John is very changeable in his notions,” burst in Tom; “not an hour +ago he was in such a hurry to get us at the pine.” + +“Never mind,” authoritatively said Miss Greylston; “do just as you are +bid, without any remarks;” and she turned away, and went down the meadow +path, even as she came, within quick step, without a bonnet, shading her +eyes from the morning sun with her handkerchief. + +John Greylston still sat at the breakfast-table, half dreamily balancing +the spoon across the saucer's edge. When his sister came in again, he +raised his head, and mutely-inquiringly looked at her, and she spoke,-- + +“I left this room just to go after Reuben and Tom; I overtook them +before they had crossed the last meadow, and I told them not to touch +the pine trees, but to go, instead, to any other work they choose. I am +sure you will be angry with me for all this; but, John, I cannot help it +if you are.” + +“Don't say so, Margaret,” Mr. Greylston sharply answered, getting up at +the same time from his chair, “don't tell me you could not help it. I +have talked and reasoned with you about those trees, until my patience +is completely worn out; there is no necessity for you to be such an +obstinate fool.” + +“Oh! John, hush, hush!” + +“I will not,” he thundered. “I am master here, and I will speak and act +in this house as I see fit. Now, who gave you liberty to countermand my +orders; to send my servants back from the Work I had set for them to do? +Margaret, I warn you; for, any more such freaks, you and I, brother and +sister though we be, will live no longer under the same roof.” + +“Be still, John Greylston! Remember _her_ patient, self-sacrificing +love. Remember the past--be still.” + +But he would not; relentlessly, stubbornly, the waves of passion raged +on in his soul. + +“Now, you hear all this; do not forget it; and have done with your silly +obstinacy as soon as possible, for I will be worried no longer with it;” + and roughly pushing away the slight hand which was laid upon his arm, +Mr. Greylston stalked out of the house. + +For a moment, Margaret stood where her brother had left her, just in the +centre of the floor. Her cheeks were very white, but quickly a crimson +flush came over them, and her eyes filled with tears; then she sat +down upon the white chintz-covered settle, and hiding her face in the +pillows, wept violently for a long time. + +“I have consulted Margaret's will always; in many things I have given +up to it, but here, where reason is so fully on my side, I will go on. +I have no patience with her weak stubbornness, no patience with her +presumption in forbidding my servants to do as I have told them; such +measures I will never allow in my house;” and John Greylston, in his +angry musings, struck his cane smartly against a tall crimson dahlia, +which grew in the grass-plat. It fell quivering across his path, but he +walked on, never heeding what he had done. There was a faint sense of +shame rising in his heart, a feeble conviction of having been himself +to blame; but just then they seemed only to fan and increase his keen +indignation. Yet in the midst of his anger, John Greylston had the +delicate consideration for his sister and himself to repeat to the men +the command she had given them. + +“Do as Miss Greylston bade you; let the trees stand until further +orders.” But pride prompted this, for he said to himself, “If Margaret +and I keep at this childish work of unsaying each other's commands, that +sharp old fellow, Reuben, will suspect that we have quarrelled.” + +Mr. Greylston's wrath did not abate; and when he came home at +dinner-time, and found the table so nicely set, and no one but the +little servant to wait upon him, Margaret away, shut up with a bad +headache, in her own room, he somehow felt relieved,--just then he did +not want to see her. But when eventide came, and he sat down to supper, +and missed again his sister's calm and pleasant face, a half-regretful +feeling stole over him, and he grew lonely, for John Greylston's heart +was the home of every kindly affection. He loved Margaret dearly. Still, +pride and anger kept him aloof from her; still his soul was full of +harsh, unforgiving thoughts. And Margaret Greylston, as she lay with a +throbbing head and an aching heart upon her snowy pillow, thought the +hours of that bright afternoon and evening very long and very weary. And +yet those hours were full of light, and melody, and fragrance, for the +sun shone, and the sky was blue, the birds sang, and the waters rippled; +even the autumn flowers were giving their sweet, last kisses to the +air. Earth was fair,--why, then, should not human hearts rejoice? Ah! +_Nature's_ loveliness _alone_ cannot cheer the soul. There was once +a day when the beauty even of _Eden_ ceased to gladden two guilty +tremblers who hid in its bowers. + +“A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger.” + When Margaret Greylston came across that verse, she closed her Bible, +and sat down beside the window to muse. “Ah,” she thought, “how true +is that saying of the wise man! If I had only from the first given +John soft answers, instead of grievous words, we might now have been at +peace. I knew his quick temper so well; I should have been more gentle +with him.” Then she recalled all John's constant and tender attention +to her wishes; the many instances in which he had gone back from his own +pleasure to gratify her; but whilst she remembered these things, never +once did her noble, unselfish heart dwell upon the sacrifices, great and +numerous, which she had made for his sake. Miss Margaret began to think +she had indeed acted very weakly and unjustly towards her brother. She +had half a mind just then to go to him, and make this confession. But +she looked out and saw the dear old trees, so stately and beautiful, +and then the memory of all John's harsh and cruel words rushed back upon +her. She struggled vainly to banish them from her mind, she strove to +quell the angry feelings which arose with those memories. At last she +knelt and prayed. When she got up from her knees traces of tears were on +her face, but her heart was calm. Margaret Greylston had been enabled, +in the strength of “that grace which cometh from above,” to forgive +her brother freely, yet she scarcely hoped that he would give her the +opportunity to tell him this. + +“Good-morning,” John Greylston said, curtly and chillingly enough to +his sister. Somehow she was disappointed, even though she knew his +proud temper so well, yet she had prayed that there would have been some +kindly relentings towards her; but there seemed none. So she answered +him sadly, and the two sat down to their gloomy, silent breakfast. And +thus it was all that day. Mr. Greylston still mute and ungracious; his +sister shrank away from him. In that mood she scarcely knew him; and her +face was grave, and her voice so sad, even the servants wondered +what was the matter. Margaret Greylston had fully overcome all angry, +reproachful feelings against her brother. So far her soul had peace, yet +she mourned for his love, his kind words, and pleasant smiles; and she +longed to tell him this, but his coldness held her back. Mr. Greylston +found his comfort in every way consulted; favourite dishes were silently +placed before him; sweet flowers, as of old, laid upon his table. He +knew the hand which wrought these loving acts. But did this knowledge +melt his heart? In a little while we shall see. + +And the third morning dawned. Yet the cloud seemed in no wise lifted. +John Greylston's portrait hung in the parlour; it was painted in his +young days, when he was very handsome. His sister could not weary of +looking at it; to her this picture seemed the very embodiment of beauty. +Dear, unconscious soul, she never thought how much it was like herself, +or even the portrait of her which hung in the opposite recess--for +brother and sister strikingly resembled each other. Both had the same +high brows, the same deep blue eyes and finely chiselled features, +the same sweet and pleasant smiles; there was but one difference: Miss +Margaret's hair was of a pale golden colour, and yet unchanged; she wore +it now put back very smoothly and plainly from her face. When John was +young, his curls were of so dark a brown as to look almost black in the +shade. They were bleached a good deal by time, but yet they clustered +round his brow in the same careless, boyish fashion as of old. + +Just now Miss Margaret could only look at her brother's picture with +tears. On that very morning she stood before it, her spirit so full of +tender memories, so crowded with sad yearnings, she felt as though they +would crush her to the earth. Oh, weary heart! endure yet “a little +while” longer. Even now the angel of reconciliation is on the wing. + +Whilst John Greylston sat alone upon the foot of the porch at the front +of the house, and his sister stood so sadly in the parlour, the city +stage came whirling along the dusty turnpike. It stopped for a few +minutes opposite the lane which led to John Greylston's place. The door +was opened, and a grave-looking young man sprang out. He was followed by +a fairy little creature, who clapped her hands, and danced for joy +when she saw the white chimneys and vine-covered porches of “Greylston +Cottage.” + +“Annie! Annie!” but she only laughed, and gathering up the folds of +her travelling dress, managed to get so quickly and skilfully over the +fence, that her brother, who was unfastening the gate, looked at her in +perfect amazement. + +“What in the world,” he asked, with a smile on his grave face, +“possessed you to get over the fence in that monkey fashion? All those +people looking at you, too. For shame, Annie! Will you never be done +with those childish capers?” + +“Yes, maybe when I am a gray-haired old woman; not before. Don't scold +now, Richard; you know very well you, and the passengers beside, would +give your ears to climb a fence as gracefully as I did just now. There, +won't you hand me my basket, please?” + +He did so, and then, with a gentle smile, took the white, ungloved +fingers in his. + +“My darling Annie, remember”-- + +“Stage waits,” cried the driver. + +So Richard Bermon's lecture was cut short; he had only time to bid his +merry young sister good-bye. Soon he was lost to sight. + +Annie Bermon hurried down the lane, swinging her light willow basket +carelessly on her arm, and humming a joyous air all the way. Just as she +opened the outer lawn gate, the great Newfoundland dog came towards her +with a low growl; it changed directly though into a glad bark. + +“I was sure you would know me, you dear old fellow; but I can't stop to +talk to you just now.” And Annie patted his silken ears, and then went +on to the house, the dog bounding on before her, as though he had found +an old playmate. + +John Greylston rubbed his eyes. No, it was not a dream. His darling +niece was really by his side, her soft curls touching his cheek; he +flung his arms tightly around her. + +“Dear child, I was just dreaming about you; how glad I am to see your +sweet face again.” + +“I was sure you would be, Uncle John,” she answered gayly, “and so I +started off from home this morning just, in a hurry. I took a sudden +fancy that I would come, and they could not keep me. But where is dear +Aunt Margaret? Oh, I know what I will do. I'll just run in and take her +by surprise. How well you look, uncle--so noble and grand too; by the +way, I always think King Robert Bruce must just have been such a man +like you.” + +“No laughing at your old uncle, you little rogue,” said John Greylston +pleasantly, “but run and find your aunt. She is somewhere in the house.” + And he looked after her with a loving smile as she flitted by him. Annie +Bermon passed quickly through the shaded sitting-room into the cool and +matted hall, catching glimpses as she went of the pretty parlour and +wide library; but her aunt was in neither of these rooms; so she hurried +up stairs, and stealing on tiptoe, with gentle fingers she pushed open +the door. Margaret Greylston was sitting by the table, sewing; her face +was flushed, and her eyes red and swollen as with weeping. Annie stood +still in wonder. But Miss Margaret suddenly looked up, and her niece +sprang, with a glad cry, into her arms. + +“You are not well, Aunt Margaret? Oh! how sorry I am to hear that, but +it seems to me I could never get sick in this sweet place; everything +looks so bright and lovely here. And I _would_ come this morning, Aunt +Margaret, in spite of everything Sophy and all of them could say. They +told me I had been here once before this summer, and stayed a long time, +and if I would, come again, my welcome would be worn out, just as if I +was going to believe _such_ nonsense;” and Annie tossed her head. “But +I persevered, and you see, aunty dear, I am here, we will trust for some +good purpose, as Richard would say.” + +A silent Amen to this rose up in Miss Margaret's heart, and with it +came a hope dim and shadowy, yet beautiful withal; she hardly dared to +cherish it. Annie went on talking,-- + +“I can only stay two weeks with you--school commences then, and I must +hurry back to it; but I am always so glad to get here, away from the +noise and dust of the city; this is the best place in the world. Do you +know when we were travelling this summer, I was pining all the time to +get here. I was so tired of Newport and Saratoga, and all the crowds we +met.” + +“You are singular in your tastes, some would think, Annie,” said Miss +Greylston, smiling fondly on her darling. + +“So Madge and Sophy were always saying; even Clare laughed at me, and +my brothers, too,--only Richard,--Oh! by the way, I did torment him +this morning, he is so grave and good, and he was just beginning a nice +lecture at the gate, when the driver called, and poor Richard had only +time to send his love to you. Wasn't it droll, though, that lecture +being cut so short?” and Annie threw herself down in the great cushioned +chair, and laughed heartily. + +Annie Bermond was the youngest of John and Margaret Greylston's nieces +and nephews. Her beauty, her sweet and sunny temper made her a favourite +at home and abroad. John Greylston loved her dearly; he always thought +she looked like his chosen bride, Ellen Day. Perhaps there was some +likeness, for Annie had the same bright eyes, and the same pouting, +rose-bud lips--but Margaret thought she was more like their own family. +She loved to trace a resemblance in the smiling face, rich golden curls, +and slight figure of Annie to her young sister Edith, who died when +Annie was a little baby. Just sixteen years old was Annie, and wild and +active as any deer, as her city-bred sisters sometimes declared half +mournfully. + +Somehow, Annie Bermond thought it uncommonly grave and dull at the +dinner-table, yet why should it be so? Her uncle and aunt, as kind +and dear as ever, were there; she, herself, a blithe fairy, sat in her +accustomed seat; the day was bright, birds were singing, flowers were +gleaming, but there was a change. What could it be? Annie knew not, yet +her quick perception warned her of the presence of some trouble--some +cloud. In her haste to talk and cheer her uncle and aunt, the poor child +said what would have been best left unsaid. + +“How beautiful those trees are; I mean those pines on the hill; don't +you admire them very much, Uncle John?” + +“Tolerably,” was the rather short answer. “I am too well used to trees +to go into the raptures of my little city niece about them;” and all +this time Margaret looked fixedly down upon the floor. + +“Don't you frown so, uncle, or I will run right home to-morrow,” said +Annie, with the assurance of a privileged pet; “but I was going to ask +you about the rock just back of those pines. Do you and Aunt Margaret +still go there to see the sunset? I was thinking about you these two +past evenings, when the sunsets were so grand, and wishing I was with +you on the rock; and you were both there, weren't you?” + +This time John Greylston gave no answer, but his sister said briefly, + +“No, Annie, we have not been at the rock for several evenings;” and then +a rather painful silence followed. + +Annie at last spoke: + +“You both, somehow, seem so changed and dull; I would just like to +know the reason. May be aunty is going to be married. Is that it, Uncle +John?” + +Miss Margaret smiled, but the colour came brightly to her face. + +“If this is really so, I don't wonder you are sad and grave; you, +especially, Uncle John; how lonely and wretched you would be! Oh! would +you not be very sorry if Aunt Madge should leave you, never to come back +again? Would not your heart almost break?” + +John Greylston threw down his knife and fork violently upon the table, +and pushing back his chair, went from the room. + +Annie Bermond looked in perfect bewilderment at her aunt, but Miss +Margaret was silent and tearful. + +“Aunt! darling aunt! don't look so distressed;” and Annie put her arms +around her neck; “but tell me what have I done; what is the matter?” + +Miss Greylston shook her head. + +“You will not speak now, Aunt Margaret; you might tell me; I am sure +something has happened to distress you. Just as soon as I came here, I +saw a change, but I could not understand it. I cannot yet. Tell me, dear +aunt!” and she knelt beside her. + +So Miss Greylston told her niece the whole story, softening, as far as +truth would permit, many of John's harsh speeches; but she was, not +slow to blame herself. Annie listened attentively. Young as she was, +her heart took in with the deepest sympathy the sorrow which shaded her +beloved friends. + +“Oh! I am so very sorry for all this,” she said half crying; “but aunty, +dear, I do not think uncle will have those nice old trees cut down. He +loves you too much to do it; I am sure he is sorry now for all those +sharp things he said; but his pride keeps him back from telling you +this, and maybe he thinks you are angry with him still. Aunt Margaret, +let me go and say to him that your love is as warm as ever, and that you +forgive him freely. Oh! it may do so much good. May I not go?” + +But Miss Greylston tightened her grasp on the young girl's hand. + +“Annie, you do not know your uncle as well as I do. Such a step can do +no good,--love, you cannot help us.” + +“Only let me try,” she returned, earnestly; “Uncle John loves me so +much, and on the first day of my visit, he will not refuse to hear me. +I will tell him all the sweet things you said about him. I will tell him +there is not one bit of anger in your heart, and that you forgive and +love him dearly. I am sure when he hears this he will be glad. Any way, +it will not make matters worse. Now, do have some confidence in me. +Indeed I am not so childish as I seem. I am turned of sixteen now, and +Richard and Sophy often say I have the heart of a woman, even if I have +the ways of a child. Let me go now, dear Aunt Margaret; I will soon come +back to you with such good news.” + +Miss Greylston stooped down and kissed Annie's brow solemnly, tenderly. +“Go, my darling, and may God be with you.” Then she turned away. + +And with willing feet Annie Bermond went forth upon her blessed errand. +She soon found her uncle. He was sitting beneath the shade of the old +pines, and he seemed to be in very deep thought. Annie got down on the +grass beside him, and laid her soft cheek upon his sunburnt hand. How +gently he spoke-- + +“What did you come here for, sweet bird?” + +“Because I love you so much, Uncle John; that is the reason; but won't +you tell me why you look so very sad and grave? I wish I knew your +thoughts just now.” + +“And if you did, fairy, they would not make you any prettier or better +than you are.” + +“I wonder if they do you any good, uncle?” she quickly replied; but her +companion made no answer; he only smiled. + +Let me write here what John Greylston's tongue refused to say. Those +thoughts, indeed, had done him good; they were tender, self-upbraiding, +loving thoughts, mingled, all the while, with touching memories, +mournful glimpses of the past--the days of his sore bereavement, when +the coffin-lid was first shut down over Ellen Day's sweet face, and +he was smitten to the earth with anguish. Then Margaret's sympathy and +love, so beautiful in its strength, and unselfishness, so unwearying and +sublime in its sacrifices, became to him a stay and comfort. And had she +not, for his sake, uncomplainingly given up the best years of her life, +as it seemed? Had her love ever faltered? Had it ever wavered in its +sweet endeavours to make him happy? These memories, these thoughts, +closed round John Greylston like a circle of rebuking angels. Not for +the first time were they with him when Annie found him beneath the old +pines. Ever since that morning of violent and unjust anger they had +been struggling in his heart, growing stronger, it seemed, every hour +in their reproachful tenderness. Those loving, silent attentions to his +wishes John Greylston had noted, and they rankled like sharp thorns +in his soul. He was not worthy of them; this he knew. How he loathed +himself for his sharp and angry words! He had it in his heart to tell +his sister this, but an overpowering shame held him back. + +“If I only knew how Madge felt towards me,” he said many times to +himself, “then I could speak; but I have been such a brute. She can +do nothing else but repulse me;” and this threw around him that +chill reserve which kept Margaret's generous and forgiving heart at a +distance. + +Even every-day life has its wonders, and perhaps not one of the least +was that this brother and sister, so long fellow-pilgrims, so long +readers of each other's hearts, should for a little while be kept +asunder by mutual blindness. Yet the hand which is to chase the mists +from their darkened eyes, even now is raised, what though it be but +small? God in his wisdom and mercy will cause its strength to be +sufficient. + +When John Greylston gave his niece no answer, she looked intently in his +face and said, + +“You will not tell me what you have been thinking about; but I can +guess, Uncle John. I know the reason you did not take Aunt Margaret to +the rock to see the sunset.” + +“Do you?” he asked, startled from his composure, his face flushing +deeply. + +“Yes; for I would not rest until aunty told me the whole story, and I +just came out to talk to you about it. Now, Uncle John, don't frown, +and draw away your hand; just listen to me a little while; I am sure you +will be glad.” Then she repeated, in her pretty, girlish way, touching +in its earnestness, all Miss Greylston had told her. “Oh, if you had +only heard her say those sweet things, I know you would not keep vexed +one minute longer! Aunt Margaret told me that she did not blame you +at all, only herself; that she loved you dearly, and she is so sorry +because you seem cold and angry yet, for she wants so very, very much +to beg your forgiveness, and tell you all this, dear Uncle John, if you +would only--” + +“Annie,” he suddenly interrupted, drawing her closely to his bosom; +“Annie, you precious child, in telling me all this you have taken a +great weight off of my heart. You have done your old uncle a world of +good. God bless you a thousand times! If I had known this at once; if +I had been sure, from the first, of Margaret's forgiveness for my cruel +words, how quickly I would have sought it. My dear, noble sister!” + The tears filled John Greylston's dark blue eyes, but his smile was so +exceedingly tender and beautiful, that Annie drew closer to his side. + +“Oh, that lovely smile!” she cried, “how it lights your face; and now +you look so good and forgiving, dearer and better even than a king. +Uncle John, kiss me again; my heart is so glad! shall I run now and tell +Aunt Margaret all this sweet news?” + +“No, no, darling little peace-maker, stay here; I will go to her +myself;” and he hurried away. + +Annie Bermond sat alone upon the hill, musingly platting the long grass +together, but she heeded not the work of her fingers. Her face was +bright with joy, her heart full of happiness. Dear child! in one brief +hour she had learned the blessedness of that birthright which is for +all God's sons and daughters, if they will but claim it. I mean _the +privilege of doing good, of being useful_. + +Miss Greylston sat by the parlour window, just where she could see who +crossed the lawn. She was waiting with a kind of nervous impatience for +Annie. She heard a footstep, but it was only Liddy going down to the +dairy. Then Reuben went by on his way to the meadow, and all was silent +again. Where was Annie?--but now quick feet sounded upon the crisp +and faded leaves. Miss Margaret looked out, and saw her brother +coming,--then she was sure Annie had in some way missed him, and +she drew back from the window keenly disappointed, not even a faint +suspicion of the blessed truth crossing her mind. As John Greylston +entered the hall, a sudden and irresistible desire prompted Margaret to +go and tell him all the loving and forgiving thoughts of her heart, no +matter what his mood should be. So she threw down her work, and went +quickly towards the parlour door. And the brother and sister met, just +on the threshold. + +“John--John,” she said, falteringly, “I must speak to you; I cannot bear +this any longer.” + +“Nor can I, Margaret.” + +Miss Greylston looked up in her brother's face; it was beaming with love +and tenderness. Then she knew the hour of reconciliation had come, and +with a quick, glad cry, she sprang into his arms and laid her head down +upon his shoulder. + +“Can you ever forgive me, Madge?” + +She made no reply--words had melted into tears, but they were eloquent, +and for a little while it was quite still in the parlour. + +“You shall blame yourself no longer, Margaret. All along you have +behaved like a sweet Christian woman as you are, but I have been an old +fool, unreasonable and cross from the very beginning. Can you really +forgive me all those harsh words, for which I hated myself not ten hours +after they were said? Can you, indeed, forgive and forget these? Tell me +so again.” + +“John,” she said, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, “I do +forgive you most completely, with my whole heart, and, O! I wanted so to +tell you this two days ago, but your coldness kept me back. I was afraid +your anger was not over, and that you would repel me.” + +“Ah, that coldness was but shame--deep and painful shame. I was +needlessly harsh with you, and moments of reflection only served to +fasten on me the belief that I had lost all claim to your love, that you +could not forgive me. Yes! I did misjudge you, Madge, I know, but when I +looked back upon the past, and all your faithful love for me, I saw you +as I had ever seen you, the best of sisters, and then my shameful +and ungrateful conduct rose up clearly before me. I felt so utterly +unworthy.” + +Miss Greylston laid her finger upon her brother's lips. “Nor will I +listen to you blaming yourself so heavily any longer. John, you had +cause to be angry with me; I was unreasonably urgent about the trees,” + and she sighed; “I forgot to be gentle and patient; so you see I am to +blame as well as yourself.” + +“But I forgot even common kindness and courtesy;” he said gravely. “What +demon was in my heart, Margaret, I do not know. Avarice, I am afraid, +was at the bottom of all this, for rich as I am, I somehow felt very +obstinate about running into any more expense or trouble about the road; +and then, you remember, I never could love inanimate things as you do. +But from this time forth I will try--and the pines”-- + +“Let the pines go down, my dear brother, I see now how unreasonable I +have been,” suddenly interrupted Miss Greylston; “and indeed these few +days past I could not look at them with any pleasure; they only reminded +me of our separation. Cut them down: I will not say one word.” + +“Now, what a very woman you are, Madge! Just when you have gained your +will, you want to turn about; but, love, the trees shall not come down. +I will give them to you; and you cannot refuse my peace-offering; and +never, whilst John Greylston lives, shall an axe touch those pines, +unless you say so, Margaret.” + +He laughed when he said this, but her tears were falling fast. + +“Next month will be November; then comes our birth-day; we will be fifty +years old, Margaret. Time is hurrying on with us; he has given me gray +locks, and laid some wrinkles on your dear face; but that is nothing if +our hearts are untouched. O, for so many long years, ever since my Ellen +was snatched from me,”--and here John Greylston paused a moment--“you +have been to me a sweet, faithful comforter. Madge, dear twin sister, +your love has always been a treasure to me; but you well know for many +years past it has been my _only_ earthly treasure. Henceforth, God +helping me, I will seek to restrain my evil temper. I will be more +watchful; if sometimes I fail, Margaret, will you not love me, and bear +with me?” + +Was there any need for that question? Miss Margaret only answered by +clasping her brother's hand more closely in her own. As they stood there +in the autumn sunlight, united so lovingly, hand in hand, each silently +prayed that thus it might be with them always; not only through life's +autumn, but in that winter so surely for them approaching, and which +would give place to the fair and beautiful spring of the better land. + +Annie Bermond's bright face looked in timidly at the open door. + +“Come here, darling, come and stand right beside your old uncle and +aunt, and let us thank you with all our hearts for the good you have +done us. Don't cry any more, Margaret. Why, fairy, what is the matter +with you?” for Annie's tears were falling fast upon his hand. + +“I hardly know, Uncle John; I never felt so glad in my life before, but +I cannot help crying. Oh, it is so sweet to think the cloud has gone.” + +“And whose dear hand, under God's blessing, drove the cloud away, but +yours, my child?” + +Annie was silent; she only clung the tighter to her uncle's arm, and +Miss Greylston said, with a beaming smile, + +“Now, Annie, we see the good purpose God had in sending you here to-day. +You have done for us the blessed work of a peace-maker.” + +Annie had always been dear to her uncle and aunt, but from that +golden autumn day, she became, if such a thing could be, dearer than +ever--bound to them by an exceedingly sweet tie. + +Years went by. One snowy evening, a merry Christmas party was gathered +together in the wide parlour at Greylston Cottage,--nearly all the +nephews and nieces were there. Mrs. Lennox, the “Sophy” of earlier +days, with her husband; Richard Bermond and his pretty little wife were +amongst the number; and Annie, dear, bright Annie--her fair face only +the fairer and sweeter for time--sat, talking in a corner with young +Walter Selwyn. John Greylston went slowly to the window, and pushed +aside the curtains, and as he stood there looking out somewhat gravely +in the bleak and wintry night, he felt a soft hand touch him, and he +turned and found Annie Bermond by his side. + +“You looked so lonely, my dear uncle.” + +“And that is the reason you deserted Walter?” he said, laughing. “Well, +I will soon send you back to him. But, look out here first, Annie, and +tell me what you see;” and she laid her face close to the window-pane, +and, after a minute's silence, said, + +“I see the ground white with snow, the sky gleaming with stars, and the +dear old pines, tall and stately as ever.” + +“Yes, the pines; that is what I meant, my child. Ah, they have been my +silent monitors ever since that day; you remember it, Annie! Bless you, +child! how much good you did us then.” + +But Annie was silently crying beside him. John Greylton wiped his eyes, +and then he called his sister Margaret to the window. + +“Annie and I have been looking at the old pines, and you can guess what +we were thinking about. As for myself,” he added, “I never see those +trees without feeling saddened and rebuked. I never recall that season +of error, without the deepest shame and grief. And still the old pines +stand. Well, Madge, one day they will shade our graves; and of late I +have thought that day would dawn very soon.” + +Annie Bermond let the curtain fall very slowly forward, and buried +her face in her hands; but the two old pilgrims by her side, John and +Margaret Greylston, looked at each other with a smile of hope and joy. +They had long been “good and faithful servants,” and now they awaited +the coming of “the Master,” with a calm, sweet patience, knowing it +would be well with them, when He would call them hence. + +The pines creaked mournfully in the winter wind, and the stars looked +down upon bleak wastes, and snow-shrouded meadows; yet the red blaze +heaped blithely on the hearth, taking in, in its fair light, the merry +circle sitting side by side, and the thoughtful little group standing so +quietly by the window. And even now the picture fades, and is gone. The +curtain falls--the story of John and Margaret Greylston is ended. + + + + +THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT. + + + + IF men cared less for wealth and fame, + And less for battle-fields and glory; + If, writ in human hearts, a name + Seemed better than in song and story; + If men, instead of nursing pride, + Would learn to hate and to abhor it-- + If more relied + On Love to guide, + The world would be the better for it. + + If men dealt less in stocks and lands, + And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; + If Love's work had more willing hands + To link this world to the supernal; + If men stored up Love's oil and wine, + And on bruised human hearts would pour it; + If “yours” and “mine” + Would once combine, + The world would be the better for it. + + If more would act the play of Life, + And fewer spoil it in rehearsal; + If Bigotry would sheathe its knife + Till Good became more universal; + If Custom, gray with ages grown, + Had fewer blind men to adore it-- + If talent shone + In truth alone, + The world would be the better for it. + + If men were wise in little things-- + Affecting less in all their dealings-- + If hearts had fewer rusted strings + To isolate their kindly feelings; + If men, when Wrong beats down the Right, + Would strike together and restore it-- + If Right made Might + In every fight, + The world would be the better for it. + + + + +TWO SIDES TO A STORY. + + + +“HAVE you seen much of your new neighbours, yet?” asked Mrs. Morris, as +she stepped in to have an hour's social chat with her old friend, Mrs. +Freeman. + +“Very little,” was the reply. “Occasionally I have seen the lady walking +in her garden, and have sometimes watched the sports of the children on +the side-walk, but this is all. It is not like the country, you +know. One may live here for years, and not become acquainted with the +next-door neighbours.” + +“Some may do so,” replied Mrs. Morris, “but, for my part, I always like +to know something of those around me. It is not always desirable to make +the acquaintance of near neighbours, but by a little observation it +is very easy to gain an insight into their characters and position in +society. The family which has moved into the house next to yours, for +instance, lived near to me for nearly two years, and although I never +spoke to one of them, I can tell you of some strange transactions which +took place in their house.” + +“Indeed!” replied Mrs. Freeman, with little manifestation of interest or +curiosity; but Mrs. Morris was too eager to communicate her information +to notice her friend's manner, and lowering her voice to a confidential +tone, continued:-- + +“There is an old lady in their family whom they abuse in the most +shocking manner. She is very rich, and they by threats and ill-treatment +extort large sums of money from her.” + +“A singular way of inducing any one to bestow favours,” replied Mrs. +Freeman, dryly. “Why does not the old lady leave there?” + +“Bless your heart, my dear friend, she cannot get an opportunity! They +never suffer her to leave the house unattended. Once or twice, indeed, +she succeeded in getting into the street, but they discovered her in a +moment, and actually forced her into the house. You smile incredulously, +but if you had been an eye-witness of their proceedings, as I have, or +had heard the screams of the poor creature, and the heavy blows which +they inflict, you would be convinced of the truth of what I tell you.” + +“I do not doubt the truth of your story in the least, my dear Mrs. +Morris. I only think that in this case, as in most others, there must +be two sides to the story. It is almost incredible that such barbarous +treatment could continue for any great length of time without discovery +and exposure.” + +“Oh, as to that, people are not fond of getting themselves into trouble +by meddling with their neighbours' affairs. I am very cautious about +it myself. I would not have mentioned this matter to any one but an old +friend like yourself. It seemed best to put you on your guard.” + +“Thank you,” was the smiling reply. “It is hardly probable that I shall +be called upon to make any acquaintance with my new neighbours but if I +am, I certainly shall not forget your caution.” + +Satisfied that she had succeeded, at least partially, in awakening the +suspicions of her friend, Mrs. Morris took her departure, while Mrs. +Freeman, quite undisturbed by her communications, continued her usual +quiet round of domestic duties, thinking less of the affairs of her +neighbours than of those of her own household. + +Occasionally she saw the old lady whom Mrs. Morris had mentioned walking +in the adjoining garden, sometimes alone, and sometimes accompanied +by the lady of the house, or one of the children. There was nothing +striking in her appearance. She looked cheerful and contented, and +showed no signs of confinement or abuse. Once, when Mrs. Freeman was in +her garden, she had looked over the fence, and praised the beauty of her +flowers, and when a bunch was presented to her, had received them with +that almost childish delight which aged people often manifest. + +Weeks passed on, and the remarks of Mrs. Morris were almost forgotten, +when Mrs. Freeman was aroused one night by loud cries, apparently +proceeding from the adjoining house; and on listening intently could +plainly distinguish the sound of heavy blows, and also the voice of the +old lady in question, as if in earnest expostulation and entreaty. + +Mrs. Freeman aroused her husband, and together they listened in anxiety +and alarm. For nearly an hour the sounds continued, but at length +all was again quiet. It was long, however, before they could compose +themselves to rest. It was certainly strange and unaccountable, and +there was something so inhuman in the thought of abusing an aged woman +that their hearts revolted at the idea. + +Still Mrs. Freeman maintained, as was her wont, that there must be two +sides to the story; and after vainly endeavouring to imagine what the +other side could be, she fell asleep, and was undisturbed until morning. + +All seemed quiet the next day, and Mrs. Freeman had somewhat recovered +from the alarm of the previous night, when she was again visited by her +friend, Mrs. Morris. As usual, she had confidential communications to +make, and particularly wished the advice of Mrs. Freeman in a matter +which she declared weighed heavily upon her mind; and being assured that +they should be undisturbed, began at once to impart the weighty secret. + +“You remember Mrs. Dawson, who went with her husband to Europe, a year +or two ago?” + +“Certainly I do,” was the reply. “I was well acquainted with her.” + +“Do you recollect a girl who had lived with her for several years? I +think her name was Mary Berkly.” + +“Quite well. Mrs. Dawson placed great confidence in her, and wished to +take her abroad, but Mary was engaged to an honest carpenter, in good +business, and wisely preferred a comfortable house in her own country.” + +“She had other reasons, I suspect,” replied Mrs. Morris, mysteriously, +“but you will hear. This Mary Berkly, or as she is now called, +Mary White, lives not far from my present residence. Her husband is +comfortably off, and his wife is not obliged to work, excepting in her +own family, but still she will occasionally, as a favour, do up a few +muslins for particular persons. You know she was famous for her skill +in those things. The other day, having a few pieces which I was +particularly anxious to have look nice, I called upon her to see if she +would wash them for me. She was not at home, but her little niece, who +lives with her, a child of four years old, said that Aunt Mary would be +in directly, and asked me to walk into the parlour. I did so, and the +little thing stood by my side chattering away like a magpie. In reply +to my questions as to whether she liked to live with her aunt, what she +amused herself with, &c., &c., she entered into a long account of +her various playthings, and ended by saying that she would show me a +beautiful new doll which her good uncle had given her, if I would please +to unlock the door of a closet near where I was sitting, as she could +not turn the key. + +“To please the child I unlocked the door. She threw it wide open, and +to my astonishment I saw that it was filled with valuable silver plate, +china, and other articles of similar kind, some of which I particularly +remembered having seen at Mrs. Dawson's.” + +“Perhaps she gave them to Mary,” suggested Mrs. Freeman. “She was quite +attached to her.” + +“Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Morris. “Valuable silver plate is not often +given to servants. But I have not yet finished. Just as the child had +found the doll Mrs. White entered, and on seeing the closet-door open, +said sternly to the child, + +“'Rosy, you did very wrong to open that door without my leave. I shall +not let you take your doll again for a week;' and looking very red and +confused, she hastily closed it, and turned the key. Now, to my mind, +these are suspicious circumstances, particularly as I recollect that Mr. +and Mrs. Dawson were robbed of silver plate shortly before they went to +Europe, and no trace could be found of the thieves.” + +“True,” replied Mrs. Freeman, thoughtfully; “I recollect the robbery +very well. Still I cannot believe that Mary had anything to do with it. +I was always pleased with her modest manner, and thought her an honest, +capable girl.” + +“She is very smooth-faced, I know,” answered Mrs. Morris, “but +appearances are certainly against her. I am confident that the articles +I saw belonged to Mrs. Dawson.” + +“There may be another side to the story, however,” remarked her friend; +“but why not mention your suspicions to Mrs. Dawson? You know she has +returned, and is boarding in the upper part of the city. I have her +address, somewhere.” + +“I know where she lives; but would you really advise me to meddle with +the affair? I shall make enemies of Mr. and Mrs. White, if they hear of +it, and I like to have the good-will of all, both, rich and poor.” + +“I do not believe that Mary would take anything wrongfully,” replied +Mrs. Freeman; “but if my suspicions were as fully aroused as yours seem +to be, I presume I should mention what I saw to Mrs. Dawson, if it +were only for the sake of hearing the other side of the story, and thus +removing such unpleasant doubts from my mind. And, indeed, if you really +think that the articles which you saw were stolen, it becomes your duty +to inform the owners thereof, or you become, in a measure, a partaker of +the theft.” + +“That is true,” said Mrs. Morris, rising, “and in that way I might +ultimately gain the ill-will of Mrs. Dawson; therefore I think I will go +at once and tell her my suspicions.” + +“Which, I am convinced, you will find erroneous,” replied Mrs. Freeman. + +“We shall see,” was the answer of her friend, accompanied by an ominous +shake of the head; and promising to call upon Mrs. Freeman on her +return, she took leave. + +During her absence, the alarming cries from the next house were again +heard; and presently the old lady appeared on the side-walk, apparently +in great agitation and alarm, and gazing wildly about her, as if seeking +a place of refuge; but she was instantly seized in the forcible manner +Mrs. Morris had described, and carried into the house. + +“This is dreadful!” exclaimed Mrs. Freeman. “What excuse can there +be for such treatment?” and for a moment her heart was filled with +indignation toward her supposed barbarous neighbours; but a little +reflection caused her still to suspend her judgment, and endeavour to +learn both sides of the story. + +As she sat ruminating on this singular occurrence, and considering what +was her duty in regard to it, she was aroused by the entrance of Mrs. +Morris, who, with an air of vexation and disappointment, threw herself +upon the nearest chair, exclaiming, + +“A pretty piece of work I have been about! It is all owing to your +advice, Mrs. Freeman. If it had not been for you I should not have made +such a fool of myself.” + +“Why, what has happened to you?” asked Mrs. Freeman, anxiously. “What +advice have I given you which has caused trouble?” + +“You recommended my calling upon Mrs. Dawson, did you not?” + +“Certainly: I thought it the easiest way to relieve your mind from +painful suspicions. What did she say?” + +“Say! I wish you could have seen the look she gave me when I told her +what I saw at Mrs. White's. You know her haughty manner? She thanked me +for the trouble I had taken on her account, and begged leave to assure +me that she had perfect confidence in the honesty of Mrs. White. The +articles which had caused me so much unnecessary anxiety were intrusted +to her care when they went to Europe, and it had not yet been convenient +to reclaim them. I cannot tell you how contemptuously she spoke. I never +felt so mortified in my life.” + +“There is no occasion for feeling so, if your intentions were good,” + answered Mrs. Freeman; “and certainly it must be a relief to you to hear +the other side of the story. Nothing less would have convinced you of +Mrs. White's honesty.” + +Mrs. Morris was prevented from replying by the sudden and violent +ringing of the bell, and an instant after the door was thrown open, and +the old lady, whose supposed unhappy condition had called forth their +sympathies, rushed into the room. + +“Oh, save me! save me!” she exclaimed, frantically. “I am +pursued,--protect me, for the love of Heaven!” + +“Poor creature!” said Mrs. Morris. “You see that I was not mistaken in +this story, at least. There can be no two sides to this.” + +“Depend upon it there is,” replied Mrs. Freeman; but she courteously +invited her visiter to be seated, and begged to know what had occasioned +her so much alarm. + +The poor lady told a plausible and piteous tale of ill-treatment, and, +indeed, actual abuse. Mrs. Morris listened with a ready ear, and loudly +expressed her horror and indignation. Mrs. Freeman was more guarded. +There was something in the old lady's appearance and manners that +excited an undefinable feeling of fear and aversion. Mrs. Freeman +felt much perplexed as to the course she ought to pursue, and looked +anxiously at the clock to see if the time for her husband's return was +near. + +It still wanted nearly two hours, and after a little more consideration +she decided to go herself into the next door, ask for an interview with +the lady of the house, frankly state what had taken place, and demand +an explanation. This resolution she communicated in a low voice to Mrs. +Morris, who opposed it as imprudent and ill-judged. + +“Of course they will deny the charge,” she argued, “and by letting them +know where the poor creature has taken shelter, you will again expose +her to their cruelty. Besides, you will get yourself into trouble. My +advice to you is to keep quiet until your husband returns, and then to +assist the poor lady secretly to go to her friends in the country, who +she says will gladly receive her.” + +“But I am anxious to hear both sides of the story before I decide to +assist her,” replied Mrs. Freeman. + +“Nonsense!” exclaimed her friend. “Even you must see that there cannot +be two sides to this story. There is no possible excuse for cruelty, and +to an inoffensive, aged woman.” + +While they were thus consulting together, their visiter regarded them +with a troubled look, and a fierce gleaming eye, which did not, escape +Mrs. Freeman's observation; and just as Mrs. Morris finished speaking, +the maniac sprang upon her, like a tiger on his prey, and, seizing her +by the throat, demanded what new mischief was plotting against her. + +The screams of the terrified women drew the attention of the son of +the old lady, who had just discovered her absence, and was hastening in +search of her. At once suspecting the truth, he rushed without ceremony +into his neighbour's house, and speedily rescued Mrs. Morris from her +unpleasant and somewhat dangerous situation. After conveying his mother +to her own room, and consigning her to strict custody, he returned, and +respectfully apologized to Mrs. Freeman for what had taken place. + +“His poor mother,” he said, “had for several years been subject to +occasional fits of insanity. Generally she had appeared harmless, +excepting as regarded herself. Unless prevented by force, she would +sometimes beat her own flesh in a shocking manner, uttering at the same +time loud cries and complaints of the abuse of those whom she supposed +to be tormenting her. + +“In her lucid intervals she had so earnestly besought them not to place +her in the asylum for the insane, but to continue to bear with her under +their own roof, that they had found it impossible to refuse their solemn +promise to comply with her wishes. + +“For themselves, their love for her rendered them willing to bear +with her infirmities, but it should be their earnest care that their +neighbours should not again be disturbed.” + +Mrs. Freeman kindly expressed her sympathy and forgiveness for the alarm +which she had experienced, and the gentleman took leave. + +Poor Mrs. Morris had remained perfectly silent since her release; but +as the door closed on their visiter, and her friend kindly turned to +inquire how she found herself, she recovered her speech, and exclaimed, +energetically, + +“I will never, never say again that there are not two sides to a story. +If I am ever tempted to believe one side without waiting to hear the +other, I shall surely feel again the hands of that old witch upon my +throat.” + +“Old witch!” repeated Mrs. Freeman. “Surely she demands our sympathy as +much as when we thought her suffering under ill-treatment. It is indeed +a sad thing to be bereft of reason. But this will be a useful lesson to +both of us: for I will readily acknowledge that in this instance I +was sometimes tempted to forget that there are always 'two sides to a +story.'” + + + + +LITTLE KINDNESSES. + + + +NOT long since, it was announced that a large fortune had been left to a +citizen of the United States by a foreigner, who, some years before, had +“become ill” while travelling in this country, and whose sick-bed was +watched with the utmost care and kindness by the citizen referred to. +The stranger recovered, continued his journey, and finally returned to +his own country. The conduct of the American at a moment so critical, +and when, without relatives or friends, the invalid was languishing in a +strange land, was not forgotten. He remembered it in his thoughtful and +meditative moments, and when about to prepare for another world, his +gratitude was manifested in a truly signal manner. A year or two ago, an +individual in this city was labouring under great pecuniary difficulty. +He was unexpectedly called upon for a considerable sum of money; and, +although his means were abundant, they were not at that time immediately +available. Puzzled and perplexed, he hesitated as to his best course, +when, by the merest chance, he met an old acquaintance, and incidentally +mentioned the facts of the case. The other referred to an act of +kindness that he had experienced years before, said that he had never +forgotten it, and that nothing would afford him more pleasure than +to extend the relief that was required, and thus show, his grateful +appreciation of the courtesy of former years! The kindness alluded to +was a mere trifle, comparatively speaking, and its recollection had +passed entirely from the memory of the individual who had performed it. +Not so, however, with the obliged. He had never forgotten it, and +the result proved, in the most conclusive manner, that he was deeply +grateful. + +We have mentioned the two incidents with the object of inculcating the +general policy of courtesy and kindness, of sympathy and assistance, in +our daily intercourse with our fellow-creatures. It is the true +course under all circumstances. “Little kindnesses” sometimes make an +impression that “lingers and lasts” for years. This is especially the +case with the sensitive, the generous, and the high-minded. And how much +may be accomplished by this duty of courtesy and humanity! How the paths +of life may be smoothed and softened! How the present may be cheered, +and the future rendered bright and beautiful! + +There are, it is true, some selfish spirits, who can neither +appreciate nor reciprocate a courteous or a generous act. They are for +themselves--“now and for ever”--if we may employ such a phrase--and +appear never to be satisfied. You can never do enough for them. Nay, +the deeper the obligation, the colder the heart. They grow jealous, +distrustful, and finally begin to hate their benefactors. But these, we +trust, are “the exceptions,” not “the rule.” Many a heart has been won, +many a friendship has been secured, many a position has been acquired, +through the exercise of such little kindnesses and courtesies as are +natural to the generous in spirit and the noble of soul--to all, +indeed, who delight, not only in promoting their own prosperity, but +in contributing to the welfare of every member of the human family. Who +cannot remember some incident of his own life, in which an individual, +then and perhaps now a stranger--one who has not been seen for years, +and never may be seen again on this side the grave, manifested the true, +the genuine, the gentle spirit of a gentleman and a Christian, in +some mere trifle--some little but impulsive and spontaneous act, +which nevertheless developed the whole heart, and displayed the +real character! Distance and time may separate, and our pursuits and +vocations may be in paths distinct, dissimilar, and far apart. Yet, +there are moments--quiet, calm, and contemplative, when memory will +wander back to the incidents referred to, and we will feel a secret bond +of affinity, friendship, and brotherhood. The name will be mentioned +with respect if not affection, and a desire will be experienced to +repay, in some way or on some occasion, the generous courtesy of the +by-gone time. It is so easy to be civil and obliging, to be kindly and +humane! We not only thus assist the comfort of others, but we promote +our own mental enjoyment. Life, moreover, is full of chance's and +changes. A few years, sometimes, produce extraordinary revolutions +in the fortunes of men. The haughty of to-day may be the humble of +to-morrow; the feeble may be the powerful; the rich may be the poor, +But, if elevated by affluence or by position, the greater the necessity, +the stronger the duty to be kindly, courteous, and conciliatory to those +less fortunate. We can afford to be so; and a proper appreciation of our +position, a due sympathy for the misfortunes of others, and a grateful +acknowledge to Divine Providence, require that we should be so. Life is +short at best. We are here a few years--we sink into the grave--and even +our memory is phantom-like and evanescent. How plain, then, is our +duty! It is to be true to our position, to our conscience, and to the +obligations imposed upon us by society, by circumstances, and by our +responsibility to the Author of all that is beneficent and good. + + + + +LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH. + + + +WE are advised to leave off contention before it be meddled with, by +one usually accounted a very wise man. Had he never given the world any +other evidence of superior wisdom, this admonition alone would have been +sufficient to have established his claims thereto. It shows that he had +power to penetrate to the very root of a large share of human +misery. For what is the great evil in our condition here? Is it not +misunderstanding, disagreement, alienation, contention, and the passions +and results flowing from these? Are not contempt, and hatred, and +strife, and alteration, and slander, and evil-speaking, the things +hardest to bear, and most prolific of suffering, in the lot of human +life? The worst woes of life are such as spring from, these sources. + +Is there any cure for these maladies? Is there anything to prevent or +abate these exquisite sufferings? The wise man directs our attention to +a remedial preventive in the advice above referred to. His counsel to +those whose lot unites them in the same local habitations and name +to those who are leagued in friendship or business, in the changes +of sympathy and the chances of collision, is, to suppress anger or +dissatisfaction, to be candid and charitable in judging, and, by all +means, to leave off contention before it be meddled with. His counsel to +all is to endure injury meekly, not to give expression to the sense of +wrong, even when we might seem justified in resistance or complaint. His +counsel is to yield something we might fairly claim, to pardon when we +might punish, to sacrifice somewhat of our rights for the sake of peace +and friendly affection. His counsel is not to fire at every provocation, +not to return evil for evil, not to cherish any fires of revenge, +burning to be even with the injurious person. His counsel is to curb +our imperiousness, to repress our impatience, to pause in the burst of +another's feeling, to pour water upon the kindling flames, or, at the +very least, to abstain from adding any fresh fuel thereto. + +One proof of the superior wisdom of this counsel is, that few seem to +appreciate or perceive it. To many it seems no great virtue or wisdom, +no great and splendid thing, in some small issue of feeling or opinion, +in the family or among friends, to withhold a little, to tighten +the rein upon some headlong propensity, and await a calm for fair +adjustment. Such a course is not usually held to be a proof of wisdom +or virtue; and men are much more ready to praise and think well of +smartness, and spirit, and readiness for an encounter. To leave off +contention before it is meddled with does not command any very general +admiration; it is too quiet a virtue, with no striking attitudes, and +with lips which answer nothing. This is too often mistaken for dullness, +and want of proper spirit. It requires discernment and superior wisdom +to see a beauty in such repose and self-control, beyond the explosions +of anger and retaliation. With the multitude, self-restraining meekness +under provocation is a virtue which stands quite low in the catalogue. +It is very frequently set down as pusillanimity and cravenness +of spirit. But it is not so; for there is a self-restraint under +provocation which is far from being cowardice, or want of feeling, or +shrinking from consequences; there is a victory over passionate impulses +which is more difficult and more meritorious than a victory on the +bloody battle-field. It requires more power, more self-command, often, +to leave off contention, when provocation and passion are causing the +blood to boil, than to rush into it. + +Were this virtue more duly appreciated, and the admonition of the Wise +Man more extensively heeded, what a change would be effected in human +life! How many of its keenest sufferings would be annihilated! The spark +which kindles many great fires would be withheld; and, great as are the +evils and sufferings caused by war, they are not as great, probably, as +those originating in impatience and want of temper. The fretfulness +of human life, it seems not hard to believe, is a greater evil, +and destroys more happiness, than all the bloody scenes of the +battle-field. The evils of war have generally something to lighten the +burden of them in a sense of necessity, or of rights or honour invaded; +but there is nothing of like importance to alleviate the sufferings +caused by fretfulness, impatience, want of temper. The excitable +peevishness which kindles at trifles, that roughens the daily experience +of a million families, that scatters its little stings at the table and +by the hearth-stone, what does this but unmixed harm? What ingredient +does it furnish but of gall? Its fine wounding may be of petty +consequence in any given case, and its tiny darts easily extracted; but, +when habitually carried into the whole texture of life, it destroys more +peace than plague and famine and the sword. It is a deeper anguish +than grief; it is a sharper pang than the afflicted moan with; it is +a heavier pressure from human hands than when affliction lays her hand +upon you. All this deduction from human comfort, all this addition to +human suffering, may be saved, by heeding the admonition of wisdom given +by one of her sons. When provoked by the follies or the passions, +the offences or neglects, the angry words or evil-speaking of others, +restrain your propensity to complain or contend; leave off contention +before you take the first step towards it. You will then be greater than +he that taketh a city. You will be a genial companion in your family and +among your neighbours. You will be loved at home and blessed abroad. +You will be a source of comfort to others, and carry a consciousness +of praiseworthiness in your own bosom. On the contrary, an acrid +disposition, a readiness to enter into contention, is like vinegar to +the teeth, like caustic to an open sore. It eats out all the beauty, +tenderness, and affection of domestic and social life. For all this the +remedy is simple. Put a restraint upon your feelings; give up a little; +take less than belongs to you; endure more than should be put upon you; +make allowance for another's judgment or educational defects; consider +circumstances and constitution; leave off contention before it +be meddled with. If you do otherwise, quick resentment and stiff +maintenance of your position will breed endless disputes and bitterness. +But happy will be the results of the opposite course, accomplished every +day and every hour in the family, with friends, with companions, with +all with whom you have any dealings or any commerce in life. + +Let any one set himself to the cultivation of this virtue of meekness +and self-restraint, and he will find that it cannot be secured by one or +a few efforts, however resolute; by a few struggles, however severe. It +requires industrious culture; it requires that he improve every little +occasion to quench strife and fan concord, till a constant sweetness +smooths the face of domestic life, and kindness and tenderness become +the very expression of the countenance. This virtue of self-control +must grow by degrees. It must grow by a succession of abstinences from +returning evil for evil, by a succession of leaving off contention +before the first angry word escapes. + +It may help to cultivate this virtue, to practise some forethought. When +tempted to irritable, censorious speech, one might with advantage call +to recollection the times, perhaps frequent, when words uttered in haste +have caused sorrow or repentance. Then, again, the fact might be called +to mind, that when we lose a friend, every harsh word we may have spoken +rises to condemn us. There is a resurrection, not for the dead only, but +for the injuries we have fixed in their hearts--in hearts, it may be, +bound to our own, and to which we owed gentleness instead of harshness. +The shafts of reproach, which come from the graves of those who have +been wounded by our fretfulness and irritability, are often hard to +bear. Let meek forbearance and self-control prevent such suffering, and +guard us against the condemnations of the tribunal within. + +There is another tribunal, also, which it were wise to think of. The +rule of that tribunal is, that if we forgive not those who trespass +against us, we ourselves shall not be forgiven. “He shall have judgment +without mercy that hath showed no mercy.” Only, then, if we do not +need, and expect never to beg the mercy of the Lord to ourselves, may we +withhold our mercy from our fellow-men. + + + + +“ALL THE DAY IDLE.” + + + + WHEREFORE idle?--when the harvest beckoning, + Nods its ripe tassels to the brightening sky? + Arise and labour ere the time of reckoning, + Ere the long shadows and the night draw night. + + Wherefore idle?--Swing the sickle stoutly! + Bind thy rich sheaves exultingly and fast! + Nothing dismayed, do thy great task devoutly-- + Patient and strong, and hopeful to the last! + + Wherefore idle?--Labour, not inaction, + Is the soul's birthright, and its truest rest; + Up to thy work!--It is Nature's fit exaction-- + He who toils humblest, bravest, toils the best. + + Wherefore idle?--God himself is working; + His great thought wearieth not, nor standeth still, + In every throb of his vast heart is lurking + Some mighty purpose of his mightier will. + + Wherefore idle?--Not a leaf's slight rustle + But chides thee in thy vain, inglorious rest; + Be a strong actor in the great world,--bustle,-- + Not a, weak minion or a pampered guest! + + Wherefore idle?--Oh I _my_ faint soul, wherefore? + Shake first from thine own powers dull sloth's control; + Then lift thy voice with an exulting “Therefore + Thou, too, shalt conquer, oh, thou striving soul!” + + + + +THE BUSHEL OF CORN. + + + +FARMER GRAY had a neighbour who was not the best-tempered man in the +world though mainly kind and obliging. He was shoemaker. His name was +Barton. One day, in harvest-time, when every man on the farm was as busy +as a bee, this man came over to Farmer Gray's, and said, in rather a +petulant tone of voice, + +“Mr. Gray, I wish you would send over, and drive your geese home.” + +“Why so, Mr. Barton; what have my geese been doing?” said the farmer, in +a mild, quiet-tone. + +“They pick my pigs' ears when they are eating, and go into my garden, +and I will not have it!” the neighbour replied, in a still more petulant +voice. + +“I am really sorry it, Neighbour Barton, but what can I do?” + +“Why, yoke them, and thus keep them on your own premises. It's no kind +of a way to let your geese run all over every farm and garden in the +neighborhood.” + +“But I cannot see to it, now. It is harvest-time, Friend Barton, and +every man, woman, and child on the farm has as much as he or she can do. +Try and bear it for a week or so, and then I will see if I can possibly +remedy the evil.” + +“I can't bear it, and I won't bear it any longer!” said the shoemaker. +“So if you do not take care of them, Friend Gray, I shall have to take +care of them for you.” + +“Well, Neighbour Barton, you can do as you please,” Farmer Gray replied, +in his usual quiet tone. “I am sorry that they trouble you, but I cannot +attend to them now.” + +“I'll attend to them for you, see if I don't,” said the shoemaker, still +more angrily than when he first called upon Farmer Gray; and then turned +upon his heel, and strode off hastily towards his own house, which was +quite near to the old farmer's. + +“What upon earth can be the matter with them geese?” said Mrs. Gray, +about fifteen minutes afterwards. + +“I really cannot tell, unless Neighbour Barton is taking care of them. +He threatened to do so, if I didn't yoke them right off.” + +“Taking care of them! How taking care of them?” + +“As to that, I am quite in the dark. Killing them, perhaps. He said they +picked at his pigs' ears, and drove them away when they were eating, and +that he wouldn't have it. He wanted me to yoke them right off, but that +I could not do, now, as all the hands are busy. So, I suppose, he is +engaged in the neighbourly business of taking care of our geese.” + +“John! William! run over and see what Mr. Barton is doing with my +geese,” said Mrs. Gray, in a quick and anxious tone, to two little boys +who were playing near. + +The urchins scampered off, well pleased to perform any errand. + +“Oh, if he has dared to do anything to my geese, I will never forgive +him!” the good wife said, angrily. + +“H-u-s-h, Sally! make no rash speeches. It is more than probable that he +has killed some two or three of them. But never mind, if he has. He will +get over this pet, and be sorry for it.” + +“Yes; but what good will his being sorry do me? Will it bring my geese +to life?” + +“Ah, well, Sally, never mind. Let us wait until we learn what all this +disturbance is about.” + +In about ten minutes the children came home, bearing the bodies of three +geese, each without a head. + +“Oh, is not that too much for human endurance?” cried Mrs. Gray. “Where +did you find them?” + +“We found them lying out in the road,” said the oldest of the two +children, “and when we picked them up, Mr. Barton said, 'Tell your +father that I have yoked his geese for him, to save him the trouble, as +his hands are all too busy to do it.'” + +“I'd sue him for it!” said Mrs. Gray, in an indignant tone. + +“And what good would that do, Sally?” + +“Why, it would do a great deal of good. It would teach him better +manners. It would punish him; and he deserves punishment.” + +“And punish us into the bargain. We have lost three geese, now, but we +still have their good fat bodies to eat. A lawsuit would cost us many +geese, and not leave us even so much as the feathers, besides giving us +a world of trouble and vexation. No, no, Sally; just let it rest, and he +will be sorry for it, I know.” + +“Sorry for it, indeed! And what good will his being sorry for it do +us, I should like to know? Next he will kill a cow, and then we must be +satisfied with his being sorry for it! Now, I can tell you, that I don't +believe in that doctrine. Nor do I believe anything about his being +sorry--the crabbed, ill-natured wretch!” + +“Don't call hard names, Sally,” said Farmer Gray, in a mild, soothing +tone. “Neighbour Barton was not himself when he killed the geese. Like +every other angry person, he was a little insane, and did what he would +not have done had he been perfectly in his right mind. When you are a +little excited, you know, Sally, that even you do and say unreasonable +things.” + +“Me do and say unreasonable things!” exclaimed Mrs. Gray, with a look +and tone of indignant astonishment; “me do and say unreasonable things, +when I am angry! I don't understand you, Mr. Gray.” + +“May-be I can help you a little. Don't you remember how angry you were +when Mr. Mellon's old brindle got into our garden, and trampled over +your lettuce-bed, and how you struck her with the oven-pole, and knocked +off one of her horns?” + +“But I didn't mean to do that, though.” + +“No; but then you were angry, and struck old Brindle with a right good +will. And if Mr. Mellon had felt disposed, he might have prosecuted for +damages.” + +“But she had no business there.” + +“Of course not. Neither had our geese any business in Neighbour Barton's +yard. But, perhaps, I can help you to another instance, that will be +more conclusive, in regard to your doing and saying unreasonable things, +when you are angry. You remember the patent churn?” + +“Yes; but never mind about that.” + +“So you have not forgotten how unreasonable you was about the churn. It +wasn't good for anything--you knew it wasn't; and you'd never put a jar +of cream into it as long as you lived--that you wouldn't. And yet, on +trial, you found that churn the best you had ever used, and you wouldn't +part with it on any consideration. So you see, Sally, thai even you can +say and do unreasonable things, when you are angry, just as well as Mr. +Barton can. Let us then consider him a little, and give him time to get +over his angry fit. It will be much better to do so.” + +Mrs. Gray saw that her husband was right, but still she felt indignant +at the outrage committed on her geese. She did not, however, say +anything about suing the shoemaker--for old Brindle's head, from which +the horn had been knocked off, was not yet entirely well, and one +prosecution very naturally suggested the idea of another. So she took +her three fat geese, and after stripping off their feathers, had them +prepared for the table. + +On the next morning, as Farmer Gray was going along the road, he met the +shoemaker, and as they had to pass very near to each other, the farmer +smiled, and bowed, and spoke kindly. Mr. Barton looked and felt very +uneasy, but Farmer Gray did not seem to remember the unpleasant incident +of the day before. + +It was about eleven o'clock of the same day that one of Farmer Gray's +little boys came running to him, and crying, + +“Oh, father! father! Mr. Barton's hogs are in our cornfield.” + +“Then I must go and drive them out,” said Mr. Gray, in a quiet tone. + +“Drive them out!” ejaculated Mrs. Gray; “drive 'em out, indeed! I'd +shoot them, that's what I'd do! I'd serve them as he served my geese +yesterday.” + +“But that wouldn't bring the geese to life again, Sally.” + +“I don't care if it wouldn't. It would be paying him in his own coin, +and that's all he deserves.” + +“You know what the Bible says, Sally, about grievous words, and they +apply with stronger force to grievous actions. No, no, I will return +Neighbour Barton good for evil. That is the best way. He has done wrong, +and I am sure is sorry for it. And as I wish him still to remain sorry +for so unkind and unneighbourly an action, I intend making use of the +best means for keeping him sorry.” + +“Then you will be revenged on him, anyhow.” + +“No, Sally--not revenged. I hope I have no such feeling. For I am not +angry with Neighbour Barton, who has done himself a much greater wrong +than he has done me. But I wish him to see clearly how wrong he acted, +that he may do so no more. And then we shall not have any cause to +complain of him, nor he any to be grieved, as I am sure he is, at his +own hasty conduct. But while I am talking here, his hogs are destroying +my corn.” + +And so saying, Farmer Gray hurried off, towards his cornfield. When he +arrived there, he found four large hogs tearing down the stalks, and +pulling off and eating the ripe ears of corn. They had already destroyed +a good deal. But he drove them out very calmly, and put up the bars +through which they had entered, and then commenced gathering up the +half-eaten ears of corn, and throwing them out into the lane for the +hogs, that had been so suddenly disturbed in the process of obtaining a +liberal meal. As he was thus engaged, Mr. Barton, who had from his own +house seen the farmer turn the hogs out of his cornfield, came hurriedly +up, and said, + +“I am very sorry, Mr. Gray, indeed I am, that my hogs have done this! I +will most cheerfully pay you for what they have destroyed.” + +“Oh, never mind, Friend Barton--never mind. Such things will happen, +occasionally. My geese, you know, annoy you very much, sometimes.” + +“Don't speak of it, Mr. Gray. They didn't annoy me half as much as +I imagined they did. But how much corn do you think my hogs have +destroyed? One bushel, or two bushels? or how much? Let it be estimated, +and I will pay for it most cheerfully.” + +“Oh, no. Not for the world, Friend Barton. Such things will happen +sometimes. And, besides, some of my men must have left the bars down, or +your hogs could never have got in. So don't think any more about it. +It would be dreadful if one neighbour could not bear a little with +another.” + +All this cut poor Mr. Barton to the heart. His own ill-natured language +and conduct, at a much smaller trespass on his rights, presented itself +to his mind, and deeply mortified him. After a few moments' silence, he +said, + +“The fact is, Mr. Gray, I shall feel better if you will let me pay for +this corn. My hogs should not be fattened at your expense, and I will +not consent to its being done. So I shall insist on paying you for at +least one bushel of corn, for I am sure they have destroyed that much, +if not more.” + +But Mr. Gray shook his head and smiled pleasantly, as he replied, + +“Don't think anything more about it, Neighbour Barton. It is a matter +deserving no consideration. No doubt my cattle have often trespassed on +you and will trespass on you again. Let us then bear and forbear.” + +All this cut the shoemaker still deeper, and he felt still less at ease +in mind after he parted from the farmer than he did before. But on one +thing he resolved, and that was, to pay Mr. Gray for the corn which his +hogs had eaten. + +“You told him your mind pretty plainly, I hope,” said Mrs. Gray, as her +husband came in. + +“I certainly did,” was the quiet reply. + +“And I am glad you had spirit enough to do it! I reckon he will think +twice before he kills any more of my geese!” + +“I expect you are right, Sally. I don't think we shall be troubled +again.” + +“And what did you say to him? And what did he say for himself?” + +“Why he wanted very much to pay me for the corn his pigs had eaten, +but I wouldn't hear to it. I told him that it made no difference in the +world; that such accidents would happen sometimes.” + +“You did?” + +“Certainly, I did.” + +“And that's the way you spoke your mind to him?” + +“Precisely. And it had the desired effect. It made him feel ten times +worse than if I had spoken angrily to him. He is exceedingly pained at +what he has done, and says he will never rest until he has paid for that +corn. But I am resolved never to take a cent for it. It will be the +best possible guarantee I can have for his kind and neighbourly conduct +hereafter.” + +“Well, perhaps you are right,” said Mrs. Gray, after a few moments of +thoughtful silence. “I like Mrs. Barton very much--and now I come +to think of it, I should not wish to have any difference between our +families.” + +“And so do I like Mr. Barton. He has read a good deal, and I find it +very pleasant to sit with him, occasionally, during the long winter +evenings. His only fault is his quick temper--but I am sure it is much +better for us to bear with and soothe that, than to oppose rand excite +it and thus keep both his family and our own in hot water.” + +“You are certainly right,” replied Mrs. Gray; “and I only wish that I +could always think and feel as you do. But I am little quick, as they +say.” + +“And so is Mr. Barton. Now just the same consideration that you would +desire others to have for you, should you exercise towards Mr. Barton, +or any one else whose hasty temper leads him into words or actions that, +in calmer and more thoughtful moments, are subjects of regret.” + +On the next day, while Mr. Gray stood in his own door, from which he +could see over the two or three acres of ground that the shoemaker +cultivated, he observed two of his cows in his neighbour's cornfield, +browsing away in quite a contented manner. As he was going to call one +of the farm hands to go over and drive them out, he perceived that +Mr. Barton had become aware of the mischief that was going on, and had +already started for the field of corn. + +“Now we will see the effect of yesterday's lesson,” said the farmer to +himself; and then paused to observe the manner of the shoemaker towards +his cattle in driving them out of the field. In a few minutes Mr. +Barton came up to the cows, but, instead of throwing stones at them, or +striking them with a stick, he merely drove them out in a quiet way, and +put up the bars through which they had entered. + +“Admirable!” ejaculated Farmer Gray. + +“What is admirable?” asked his wife, who came within hearing distance at +the moment. + +“Why the lesson I gave our friend Barton yesterday. It works admirably.” + +“How so?” + +“Two of our cows were in his cornfield a few minutes ago, destroying the +corn at a rapid rate.” + +“Well! what did he do to them?” in a quick, anxious tone. + +“He drove them out.” + +“Did he stone them, or beat them?” + +“Oh no. He was gentle as a child towards them.” + +“You are certainly jesting.” + +“Not I. Friend Barton has not forgotten that his pigs were in my +cornfield yesterday, and that I turned them out without hurting a hair +of one of them. Now, suppose I had got angry and beaten his pigs, what +do you think the result would have been? Why, it is much more than +probable that one or both of our fine cows would have been at this +moment in the condition of Mr. Mellon's old Brindle.” + +“I wish you wouldn't say anything more about old Brindle,” said Mrs. +Gray, trying to laugh, while her face grew red in spite of her efforts +to keep down her feelings. + +“Well, I won't, Sally, if it worries you. But it is such a good +illustration that I can't help using it sometimes.” + +“I am glad he didn't hurt the cows,” said Mrs. Gray, after a pause. + +“And so am I, Sally. Glad on more than one account. It shows that he has +made an effort to keep down his hasty, irritable temper--and if he can +do that, it will be a favour conferred on the whole neighbourhood, for +almost every one complains, at times, of this fault in his character.” + +“It is certainly the best policy, to keep fair weather with him,” Mrs. +Gray remarked, “for a man of his temper could annoy us a good deal.” + +“That word policy, Sally, is not a good word,” replied her husband. “It +conveys a thoroughly selfish idea. Now, we ought to look for some higher +motives of action than mere policy--motives grounded in correct and +unselfish principles.” + +“But what other motive but policy could we possibly have for putting up +with Mr. Barton's outrageous conduct?” + +“Other, and far higher motives, it seems to me. We should reflect that +Mr. Barton has naturally a hasty temper, and that when excited he does +things for which he is sorry afterwards--and that, in nine cases out of +ten, he is a greater sufferer from those outbreaks than any one else. In +our actions towards him, then, it is a much higher and better motive for +us to be governed by a desire to aid him in the correction of this evil, +than to look merely to the protection of ourselves from its effects. Do +you not think so?” + +“Yes. It does seem so.” + +“When thus moved to action, we are, in a degree, regarding the whole +neighbourhood, for the evil of which we speak affects all. And in +thus suffering ourselves to be governed by such elevated and unselfish +motives, we gain all that we possibly could have gained under the mere +instigation of policy--and a great deal more. But to bring the matter +into a still narrower compass. In all our actions towards him and every +one else, we should be governed by the simple consideration--is it +right? If a spirit of retaliation be not right, then it cannot be +indulged without a mutual injury. Of course, then, it should never +prompt us to action. If cows or hogs get into my field or garden, and +destroy my property, who is to blame most? Of course, myself. I should +have kept my fences in better repair, or my gate closed. The animals, +certainly, are not to blame, for they follow only the promptings of +nature; and their owners should not be censured, for they know nothing +about it. It would then be very wrong for me to injure both the animals +and their owners for my own neglect, would it not?” + +“Yes,--I suppose it would.” + +“So, at least, it seems to me. Then, of course, I ought not to injure +Neighbour Barton's cows or hogs, even if they do break into my cornfield +or garden, simply because it would be wrong to do so. This is the +principle upon which we should act, and not from any selfish policy.” + +After this there was no trouble about Farmer Gray's geese or cattle. +Sometimes the geese would get among Mr. Barton's hogs, and annoy them +while eating, but it did not worry him as it did formerly. If they +became too troublesome he would drive them away, but not by throwing +sticks and stones at them as he once did. + +Late in the fall the shoemaker brought in his bill for work. It was a +pretty large bill, with sundry credits. + +“Pay-day has come at last,” said Farmer Gray, good-humouredly, as the +shoemaker presented his account. + +“Well, let us see!” and he took the bill to examine it item after item. + +“What is this?” he asked, reading aloud. + +“'Cr. By one bushel of corn, fifty cents.'” + +“It's some corn I had from you.” + +“I reckon you must be mistaken. You never got any corn from me.” + +“Oh, yes I did. I remember it perfectly. It is all right.” + +“But when did you get it, Friend Barton? I am sure that I haven't the +most distant recollection of it.” + +“My hogs got it,” the shoemaker said, in rather a low and hesitating +tone. + +“Your hogs!” + +“Yes. Don't you remember when my hogs broke into your field, and +destroyed your corn?” + +“Oh, dear! is that it? Oh, no, no, Friend Barton! Ii cannot allow that +item in the bill.” + +“Yes, but you must. It is perfectly just, and I shall never rest until +it is paid.” + +“I can't, indeed. You couldn't help the hogs getting into my field; and +then you know, Friend Barton (lowering his tone), my geese were very +troublesome!” + +The shoemaker blushed and looked confused; but Farmer Gray slapped him +familiarly on the shoulder, and said, in a lively, cheerful way, + +“Don't think any more about it, Friend Barton! And hereafter let us +endeavour to 'do as we would be done by,' and then everything will go on +as smooth as clock-work.” + +“But you will allow that item in the bill?” the shoemaker urged +perseveringly. + +“Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I should think it wrong to make you pay for +my own or some of my men's negligence in leaving the bars down.” + +“But then (hesitatingly), those geese--I killed three. Let it go for +them.” + +“If you did kill them, we ate them. So that is even. No, no, let the +past be forgotten, and if it makes better neighbours and friends of us, +we never need regret what has happened.” + +Farmer Gray remained firm, and the bill was settled, omitting the item +of “corn.” From that time forth he never had a better neighbour than +the shoemaker. The cows, hogs, and geese of both would occasionally +trespass, but the trespassers were always kindly removed. The lesson +was not lost on either of them--for even Farmer Gray used to feel, +sometimes, a little annoyed when his neighbour's cattle broke into his +field. But in teaching the shoemaker a lesson, he had taken a little of +it himself. + + + + +THE ACCOUNT. + + + + THE clock from the city hall struck one; + The merchant's task was not yet done; + He knew the old year was passing away, + And his accounts must all be settled that day; + He must know for a truth how much he should win, + So fast the money was rolling in. + + He took the last cash-book, from the pile, + And he summed it up with a happy smile; + For a just and upright man was he, + Dealing with all most righteously, + And now he was sure how much he should win, + How fast the money was rolling in. + + He heard not the soft touch on the door-- + He heard not the tread on the carpeted floor-- + So still was her coming, he thought him alone, + Till she spake in a sweet and silvery tone: + “Thou knowest not yet how much thou shalt win-- + How fast the money is rolling in.” + + Then from 'neath her white, fair arm, she took + A golden-clasped, and, beautiful book-- + “'Tis my account thou hast to pay, + In the coming of the New Year's day-- + Read--ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win, + How fast the money is rolling in.” + + He open'd the clasps with a trembling hand-- + Therein was Charity's firm demand: + “To the widow, the orphan, the needy, the poor, + Much owest thou of thy yearly store; + Give, ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win-- + While fast the money is rolling in.” + + The merchant took from his box of gold + A goodly sum for the lady bold; + His heart was richer than e'er before, + As she bore the prize from the chamber door. + Ye who would know how much ye can win, + Give, when the money is rolling in. + + + + +CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH. + + + +“IT is vain, to urge, Brother Robert. Out into the world I must go. The +impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here.” + +“You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be idle.” + +“And such work! Delving in, and grovelling close to the ground. And for +what? Oh no Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet cottage in a +sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than simple herbs, +and water from the brook. I have set my heart on attaining wealth; and +where there is a will there is always a way.” + +“Contentment is better than wealth.” + +“A proverb for drones.” + +“No, William, it is a proverb for the wise.” + +“Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly, understood, it is no proverb +for me. As poor plodder along the way of life, it were impossible for +me to know content. So urge no farther, Robert. I am going out into the +world a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is gained do I purpose to +return.” + +“What of Ellen, Robert?” + +The young man turned quickly towards his brother, visibly disturbed, and +fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression. + +“I love her as my life,” he said, with a strong emphasis on his words. + +“Do you love wealth more than life, William?” + +“Robert!” + +“If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of getting +riches, then you must love money more than life.” + +“Don't talk to me after this fashion. I love her tenderly and truly. I +am going forth as well for her sake as my own. In all the good fortune +that comes as a meed of effort, she will be the sharer.” + +“You will see her before you leave us?” + +“No; I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send her +this letter and this ring.” + +A few hours later, and there brothers stood with tightly-grasped hands, +gazing into each other's faces. + +“Farewell, Robert.” + +“Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home. +Though it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart come +back to it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should Fortune cheat you +with the apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors will ever be +open, and its hearth-fire bright for you as of old. Farewell!” + +And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless world, +an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to linger among +the pleasant places dear to him by every association of childhood, there +to fill up the measure of his days--not idly, for he was no drone in the +social hive. + +On the evening of that day two maidens sat alone, each in the sanctuary +of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of one, and a +glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and wet her drooping +lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter in her hand. It was +full of tender words; but the writer loved wealth more than the maiden, +and had gone forth to seek the mistress of his soul. He would “come +back,” but when? Ah, what a veil of uncertainty was upon the future! +Poor, stricken heart! The other maiden--she of the glowing cheeks and +dancing eyes--held also a letter in her hand. It was from the brother +of the wealth-seeker; and it was also full of loving words; and it +said that, on the morrow, he would come to bear her as his bride to his +pleasant home. Happy maiden! + +Ten years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the +glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? Has he +returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? Not since +the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a word of +intelligence from the wanderer been received; and to those he left +behind him he is as one who has passed the final bourne. Yet he still +dwells among the living. + +In a far-away, sunny clime stands a stately mansion. We will not +linger to describe the elegant interior, to hold up before the reader's +imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely heightened by art, +but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one of its most luxurious +chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading atmosphere! The inmates, +few in number, are grouped around one on whose white forehead Time's +trembling finger has written the word “Death!” Over her bends a +manly form. There--his face is towards you. Ah! you recognise the +wanderer--the wealth-seeker. What does he here? What to him is the dying +one? His wife! And has he, then, forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes +lay wet on her pale cheeks for many hours after she read his parting +words? He has not forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he +the prize, to contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed; +yet still hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading +illusions. To-day he stood with his hand just ready to seize the object +of his wishes, to-morrow a shadow mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, +he bowed down his manhood prostrate even to the dust in woman worship, +and took to himself a bride, rich in golden, attractions, but poorer as +a woman than ever the beggar at her father's gate. What a thorn in his +side she proved! A thorn ever sharp and ever piercing. The closer he +attempted to draw her to his bosom, the deeper went the points into his +own, until, in the anguish of his soul, again and again he flung her +passionately from him. + +Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to +compensate therefor? But in this last desperate throw did the worldling +gain the wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had wedded the only +child of a man whose treasure might be counted by hundreds of thousands; +but, in doing so, he had failed to secure the father's approval or +confidence. The stern old man regarded him as a mercenary interloper, +and ever treated him as such. For five years, therefore, he fretted and +chafed in the narrow prison whose gilded bars his own hands had forged. +How often, during that time, had his heart wandered back to the dear old +home, and the beloved ones with whom he had passed his early years! +And, ah! how many, many times came between him and the almost hated +countenance of his wife the gentle, the loving face of that one to whom +he had been false! How often her soft blue eyes rested on his own How +often he started and looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came +floating on the air! + +And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a bitter +sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all pleasure in +his life. + +Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in the +chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters that so +long have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In dying, the +sufferer made no sign. Suddenly she plunged into the dark profound, so +impenetrable to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves closed, sighing +over her, he who had called her wife turned from the couch on which her +frail body remained, with an inward “Thank God! I am a man again!” + +One more bitter dreg yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone by +ere the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting words:-- + +“You were nothing to me while my daughter lived--you are less than +nothing to me now. It was my wealth, not my child you loved. She has +passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will never +bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers.” + +When the next sun went down on that stately mansion, which the +wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again--poor, humiliated, +broken in spirit. + +How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible the +punishment he had suffered! + +One more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, with which +the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then fruitless +ambition died in his bosom. + +“My brother said well,” he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly on +the darkness of his spirit; “'contentment is better than wealth.' Dear +brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you? Too late! +too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips; but, I turned +my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting draught. How vividly +comes before me now that parting scene! I am looking into my brother's +face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand. His voice is in my ears. Dear +brother! And his parting words, I hear them now, even more earnestly +than when they were first spoken. 'Should fortune cheat you with the +apples of Sodom, return to your home again. Its doors will ever be open, +and its hearth-fires bright for you as of old.' Ah, do the fires still +burn? How many years have passed since I went forth! And Ellen? Even +if she be living and unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this +false heart at her feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip +of scorpions.” + +The step of time has fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those to +whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, but few footmarks were +visible. Yet there had been changes in the old homestead. As the smiling +years went by, each, as it looked in at the cottage window, saw the +home circle widening, or new beauty crowning the angel brows of happy +children. No thorn to his side had Robert's gentle wife proved. As time +passed on, closer and closer was she drawn to his bosom; yet never a +point had pierced him. Their home was a type of Paradise. + +It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread, and +they are about gathering round the table, when a stranger enters. +His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air slightly +mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to face. + +“Are these all your children?” he asks, surprise and admiration mingling +in his tones. + +“All ours, and, thank God, the little flock is yet unbroken.” + +The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is +impossible to conceal. + +“Contentment is better than wealth,” he murmurs. “Oh that I had +comprehended the truth.” + +The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too +distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly recognises +in the stranger his long-wandering, long-mourned brother. + +“William!” + +The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand gazing +at each other, then tenderly embrace. + +“William!” + +How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet +maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so unobtrusively, +the one he had parted from years before--the one to whom he had been so +false. But her voice has startled his ears with the familiar tones of +yesterday. + +“Ellen!” Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years. He +has leaped back over the gulf, and stands now as he stood ere ambition +and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his first and only +love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden that he cannot so +forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp her almost wildly +to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would have betrayed his +deeply-repented perfidy. + +And here we leave them, reader. “Contentment is better than wealth.” + So the worldling proved, after a bitter experience, which may you be +spared! It is far better to realize a truth perceptibly, and thence make +it a rule of action, than to prove its verity in a life of sharp agony. +But how few are able to rise into such a realization! + + + + +RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE. + + + +BENDING over a steamer's side, a face looked down into the clear, green +depths of Lake Erie, where the early moonbeams were showering rainbows +through the dancing spray, and chasing the white-crusted waves with +serpents of gold. The face was clouded with thought, a shade too sombre, +yet there glowed over it something like a reflection from the iris-hues +beneath. A voice of using was borne away into the purple and vermilion +haze that twilight began to fold over the bosom of the lake. + +“Rainbows! Ye follow me everywhere! Gloriously your arches arose from +the horizon of the prairies, when the storm-king and the god of day met +within them to proclaim a treaty and an alliance. You spanned the Father +of Waters with a bridge that put to the laugh man's clumsy structures of +chain, and timber, and wire. You floated in a softening veil before the +awful grandeur of Niagara; and here you gleam out from the light foam in +the steamboat's wake. + +“Grateful am I for you, oh rainbows! for the clouds, the drops, and the +sunshine of which you are wrought, and for the gift of vision through +which my spirit quaffs the wine of your beauty. + +“Grateful also for faith, which hangs an ethereal halo over the +fountains of earthly joy, and wraps grief in robes so resplendent that, +like Iris of the olden time, she is at once recognised as a messenger +from Heaven. + +“Blessings on sorrow, whether past or to come! for in the clear +shining of heavenly love, every tear-drop becomes a pearl. The storm +of affliction crushes weak human nature to the dust; the glory of the +eternal light overpowers it; but, in the softened union of both, the +stricken spirit beholds the bow of promise, and knows that it shall +not utterly be destroyed. When we say that for us there is nothing +but darkness and tears, it is because we are weakly brooding over the +shadows within us. If we dared look up, and face our sorrow, we should +see upon it the seal of God's love, and be calm. + +“Grant me, Father of Light, whenever my eyes droop heavily with the +rain of grief, at least to see the reflection of thy signet-bow upon the +waves over which I am sailing unto thee. And through the steady toiling +of the voyage, through the smiles and tears of every day's progress, let +the iris-flash appear, even as now it brightens the spray that rebounds +from the labouring wheels.” + +The voice died away into darkness which returned no answer to its +murmurings. The face vanished from the boat's side, but a flood of light +was pouring into the serene depths of a trusting soul. + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Friends and Neighbors, by Anonymous + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS *** + +***** This file should be named 4593-0.txt or 4593-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/9/4593/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/4593-0.zip b/4593-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c58b45 --- /dev/null +++ b/4593-0.zip diff --git a/4593-h.zip b/4593-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..818e6d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/4593-h.zip diff --git a/4593-h/4593-h.htm b/4593-h/4593-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e8c1bf1 --- /dev/null +++ b/4593-h/4593-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11195 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Friends and Neighbours;, by Arthur + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-family: times new roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Friends and Neighbors, by Anonymous + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Friends and Neighbors + or Two Ways of Living in the World + +Author: Anonymous + +Editor: T. S. Arthur + +Release Date: December 13, 2009 [EBook #4593] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS; + </h1> + <h2> + or, Two Ways of Living in the World. + </h2> + <h2> + Edited by By T. S. Arthur + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + PHILADELPHIA: <br /> <br /> 1856 + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + WE were about preparing a few words of introduction to this volume, the + materials for which have been culled from the highways and byways of + literature, where our eyes fell upon these fitting sentiments, the + authorship of which we are unable to give. They express clearly and + beautifully what was in our own mind:— + </p> + <p> + “If we would only bring ourselves to look at the subjects that surround as + in their true flight, we should see beauty where now appears deformity, + and listen to harmony where we hear nothing but discord. To be sure there + is a great deal of vexation and anxiety in the world; we cannot sail upon + a summer sea for ever; yet if we preserve a calm eye and a steady hand, we + can so trim our sails and manage our helm, as to avoid the quicksands, and + weather the storms that threaten shipwreck. We are members of one great + family; we are travelling the same road, and shall arrive at the same + goal. We breathe the same air, are subject to the same bounty, and we + shall, each lie down upon the bosom of our common mother. It is not + becoming, then, that brother should hate brother; it is not proper that + friend should deceive friend; it is not right that neighbour should + deceive neighbour. We pity that man who can harbour enmity against his + fellow; he loses half the enjoyment of life; he embitters his own + existence. Let us tear from our eyes the coloured medium that invests + every object with the green hue of jealousy and suspicion; turn, a deal + ear to scandal; breathe the spirit of charity from our hearts; let the + rich gushings of human kindness swell up as a fountain, so that the golden + age will become no fiction and islands of the blessed bloom in more than + Hyperian beauty.” + </p> + <p> + It is thus that friends and neighbours should live. This is the right way. + To aid in the creation of such true harmony among men, has the book now in + your hand, reader, been compiled. May the truths that glisten on its pages + be clearly reflected in your mind; and the errors it points out be shunned + as the foes of yourself and humanity. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> GOOD IN ALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> HUMAN PROGRESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> MY WASHERWOMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> FORGIVE AND FORGET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> OWE NO MAN ANYTHING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> KIND WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> GOOD WE MIGHT DO. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE TOWN LOT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> ROOM IN THE WORLD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE THANKLESS OFFICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> LOVE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> “EVERY LITTLE HELPS.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> LITTLE THINGS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> CARELESS WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> HOW TO BE HAPPY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> CHARITY.—ITS OBJECTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> THE VISION OF BOATS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> REGULATION OF THE TEMPER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> MANLY GENTLENESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> SILENT INFLUENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> “WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> BLIND JAMES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> DEPENDENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> KEEP IN STEP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> JOHNNY COLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> TWO SIDES TO A STORY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> LITTLE KINDNESSES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED + WITH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> “ALL THE DAY IDLE.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> THE BUSHEL OF CORN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> THE ACCOUNT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOOD IN ALL. + </h2> + <p> + THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth of + his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in practice, daily, + hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street: dirty, ragged, + importunate. “Ah! he has a <i>bad</i> look,” and your pocket is safe. He + starves—and he steals. “I thought he was <i>bad</i>.” You educate + him in the State Prison. He does not improve even in this excellent + school. “He is,” says the gaoler, “thoroughly <i>bad</i>.” He continues + his course of crime. All that is bad in him having by this time been made + apparent to himself, his friends, and the world, he has only to confirm + the decision, and at length we hear when he has reached his last step. + “Ah! no wonder—there was never any <i>Good</i> in him. Hang him!” + </p> + <p> + Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word. + </p> + <p> + If you believe in Good, <i>always appeal to it.</i> Be sure whatever there + is of Good—is of God. There is never an utter want of resemblance to + the common Father. “God made man in His own image.” “What! yon reeling, + blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yon crafty trader; yon false + statesman?” Yes! All. In every nature there is a germ of eternal + happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard's heart there is a memory of + something better—slight, dim: but flickering still; why should you + not by the warmth of your charity, give growth to the Good that is in him? + The cynic, the miser, is not all self. There is a note in that sullen + instrument to make all harmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle + master to touch the strings. + </p> + <p> + You point to the words “There is <i>none</i> good.” The truths do not + oppose each other. “There is none good—<i>save one.</i>” And He + breathes in all. In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, we + are helpless, mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in the heart: a + guide to the source of Light, or an instrument of torture. We can make it + either. If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, it will warm, guide, cheer + us. If in the midst of selfishness, or under the pressure of pride, its + flame will be unsteady, and we shall soon have good reason to trim our + light, and find new oil for it. + </p> + <p> + There is Good in All—the impress of the Deity. He who believes not + in the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race. There + is no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appeal to it. Seek + in every one the <i>best</i> features: mark, encourage, educate <i>them.</i> + There is no man to whom some circumstance will not be an argument. + </p> + <p> + And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, all the + labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical the theories + of our philanthropists! To educate the <i>Good</i>—the good in <i>All</i>: + to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle all arrogance, by + showing that all possess this Good. <i>In</i> themselves, but not <i>of</i> + themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soon should we all be + digging through the darkness, for this Gold of Love—this universal + Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed and humanized our prisons, to find + this Good; and in the chambers of all our hearts it is to be found, by + labouring eyes and loving hands. + </p> + <p> + Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strength of + vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Are none of + us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to the generous, trusting + guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who has loved us, despite the + evil that is in <i>us</i>—for our little Good, and has nurtured that + Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we know not how like we are to + those whom we despise! We know not how many memories of kith and kin the + murderer carries to the gallows—how much honesty of heart the felon + drags with him to the hulks. + </p> + <p> + There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than most of us: + Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm. Do not mistake + us. Society demands, requires that these madmen should be rendered + harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good. Lady Macbeth would have + slain the old king, Had he not resembled her father as he slept. + </p> + <p> + It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, because never + acted on, that the same energies, the same will to great vices, had given + force to great virtues. Do we provide the opportunity? Do we <i>believe</i> + in Good? If we are ourselves deceived in any one, is not all, thenceforth, + deceit? if treated with contempt, is not the whole world clouded with + scorn? if visited with meanness, are not all selfish? And if from one of + our frailer fellow-creatures we receive the blow, we cease to believe in + women. Not the breast at which we have drank life—not the sisterly + hands that have guided ours—not the one voice that has so often + soothed us in our darker hours, will save the sex: All are massed in one + common sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there are many Ruths. We + should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France when he lost + Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was his sister. + </p> + <p> + And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends to some + feeling—Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conquered the + hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold—Reynolds made + an exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous to Northcote, and had + time to think of the poor Plympton schoolmistress. The cold are not all + ice. Elizabeth slew Essex—the queen triumphed; the woman <i>died.</i> + </p> + <p> + There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazy whine of + the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided, unschooled + childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew the baby-roundness of + content that ours have worn; that his eye knew no youth of fire—no + manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. When you see the trader, + without any pride of vocation, seeking how he can best cheat you, and + degrade himself, glance into the room behind his shop and see there his + pale wife and his thin children, and think how cheerfully he meets that + circle in the only hour he has out of the twenty-four. Pity his narrowness + of mind; his want of reliance upon the God of Good; but remember there + have been Greshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and remember, too, that + in our happy land there are thousands of almshouses, built by the men of + trade alone. And when you are discontented with the great, and murmur, + repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in his hiding-place, turn + in justice to the Good among the great. Read how John of Lancaster loved + Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There have been Burkes as well as Walpoles. + Russell remembered Banim's widow, and Peel forgot not Haydn. + </p> + <p> + Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man, Good. + That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in the lowest, there is + often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles and Alexander had great, + but different virtues, and although the refinement of the one may have + resulted in effeminacy, and the hardihood of the other in brutality, we + ought to pause ere we condemn where we should all have fallen. + </p> + <p> + Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, and + everywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern of Diogenes + is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath set in the heavens; + a Light which shines into the solitary cottage and the squalid alley, + where the children of many vices are hourly exchanging deeds of kindness; + a Light shining into the rooms of dingy warehousemen and thrifty clerks, + whose hard labour and hoarded coins are for wife and child and friend; + shining into prison and workhouse, where sin and sorrow glimmer with sad + eyes through rusty bars into distant homes and mourning hearths; shining + through heavy curtains, and round sumptuous tables, where the heart throbs + audibly through velvet mantle and silken vest, and where eye meets eye + with affection and sympathy; shining everywhere upon God's creatures, and + with its broad beams lighting up a virtue wherever it falls, and telling + the proud, the wronged, the merciless, or the despairing, that there is + “Good in All.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HUMAN PROGRESS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WE are told to look through nature + Upward unto Nature's God; + We are told there is a scripture + Written on the meanest sod; + That the simplest flower created + Is a key to hidden things; + But, immortal over nature, + Mind, the lord of nature, springs! + + Through <i>Humanity</i> look upward,— + Alter ye the olden plan,— + Look through man to the Creator, + Maker, Father, God of Man! + Shall imperishable spirit + Yield to perishable clay? + No! sublime o'er Alpine mountains + Soars the Mind its heavenward way! + + Deeper than the vast Atlantic + Rolls the tide of human thought; + Farther speeds that mental ocean + Than the world of waves o'er sought! + Mind, sublime in its own essence + Its sublimity can lend + To the rocks, and mounts, and torrents, + And, at will, their features bend! + + Some within the humblest <i>floweret</i> + “Thoughts too deep for tears” can see; + Oh, the humblest man existing + Is a sadder theme to me! + Thus I take the mightier labour + Of the great Almighty hand; + And, through man to the Creator, + Upward look, and weeping stand. + + Thus I take the mightier labour, + —Crowning glory of <i>His</i> will; + And believe that in the meanest + Lives a spark of Godhead still: + Something that, by Truth expanded, + Might be fostered into worth; + Something struggling through the darkness, + Owning an immortal birth! + + From the Genesis of being + Unto this imperfect day, + Hath Humanity held onward, + Praying God to aid its way! + And Man's progress had been swifter, + Had he never turned aside, + To the worship of a symbol, + Not the spirit signified! + + And Man's progress had been higher, + Had he owned his brother man, + Left his narrow, selfish circle, + For a world-embracing plan! + There are some for ever craving, + Ever discontent with place, + In the eternal would find briefness, + In the infinite want space. + + If through man unto his Maker + We the source of truth would find, + It must be through man enlightened, + Educated, raised, refined: + That which the Divine hath fashioned + Ignorance hath oft effaced; + Never may we see God's image + In man darkened—man debased! + + Something yield to Recreation, + Something to Improvement give; + There's a Spiritual kingdom + Where the Spirit hopes to live! + There's a mental world of grandeur, + Which the mind inspires to know; + Founts of everlasting beauty + That, for those who seek them, flow! + + Shores where Genius breathes immortal— + Where the very winds convey + Glorious thoughts of Education, + Holding universal sway! + Glorious hopes of Human Freedom, + Freedom of the noblest kind; + That which springs from Cultivation, + Cheers and elevates the mind! + + Let us hope for Better Prospects, + Strong to struggle for the night, + We appeal to Truth, and ever + Truth's omnipotent in might; + Hasten, then, the People's Progress, + Ere their last faint hope be gone; + Teach the Nations that their interest + And the People's good, ARE ONE. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY WASHERWOMAN. + </h2> + <p> + SOME people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waited on + for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, “Call to-morrow,” even though + their pockets are far from being empty. + </p> + <p> + I once fell into this bad habit myself; but a little incident, which I + will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained my majority, a + poor widow, named Blake, did my washing and ironing. She was the mother of + two or three little children, whose sole dependence for food and raiment + was on the labour of her hands. + </p> + <p> + Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with my clothes, + “white as the driven snow;” but not always, as punctually, did I pay the + pittance she had earned by hard labour. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Blake is down stairs,” said a servant, tapping at my room-door one + morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” I replied. “Tell her to leave my clothes. I will get them + when I come down.” + </p> + <p> + The thought of paying the seventy-five cents, her due, crossed my mind. + But I said to myself,—“It's but a small matter, and will do as well + when she comes again.” + </p> + <p> + There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My funds were + low, and I might need what change I had during the day. And so it proved. + As I went to the office in which I was engaged, some small article of + ornament caught my eye in a shop window. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” said I, as I stood looking at it. Admiration quickly changed + into the desire for possession; and so I stepped in to ask the price. It + was just two dollars. + </p> + <p> + “Cheap enough,” thought I. And this very cheapness was a further + temptation. + </p> + <p> + So I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, and found + the amount to be two dollars and a quarter. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'll take it,” said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper's + counter. + </p> + <p> + “I'd better have paid Mrs. Blake.” This thought crossed my mind, an hour + afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost its power of + pleasing. “So much would at least have been saved.” + </p> + <p> + I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed, when the + waiter said to me, + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you.” + </p> + <p> + I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in my + pockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her money. + </p> + <p> + “She's in a great hurry,” I muttered to myself, as I descended to the + door. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs. + Blake. I haven't any change, this evening.” + </p> + <p> + The expression of the poor woman's face, as she turned slowly away, + without speaking, rather softened my feelings. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said I, “but it can't be helped now. I wish you had said, + this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid you then.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then she moved + off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touched sensibly. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change about me. + And I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money, if she wanted + it so badly?” + </p> + <p> + I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards I met the + lady with whom I was boarding. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything about this Mrs. Blake, who washes for me?” I + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Not much; except that she is very poor, and has three children to feed + and clothe. And what is worst of all, she is in bad health. I think she + told me, this morning, that one of her little ones was very sick.” + </p> + <p> + I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon after left the + room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only a sixpence in my + pocket; and, moreover, did not know where to find Mrs. Blake. + </p> + <p> + Having purposed to make a call upon some young ladies that evening, I now + went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotless linen brought + home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of it rebuked me; and I had + to conquer, with some force, an instinctive reluctance, before I could + compel myself to put on a clean shirt, and snow-white vest, too recently + from the hand of my unpaid washerwoman. + </p> + <p> + One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more to me than a mere + pleasant acquaintance. My heart had, in fact, been warming towards her for + some time; and I was particularly anxious to find favour in her eyes. On + this evening she was lovelier and more attractive than ever, and new bonds + of affection entwined themselves around my heart. + </p> + <p> + Judge, then, of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of her mother—at + the very moment when my heart was all a-glow with love, who said, as she + came in— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! This is a strange world!” + </p> + <p> + “What new feature have you discovered now, mother?” asked one of her + daughters, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive than ever,” + was replied. “Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, in great trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “What about, mother?” All the young ladies at once manifested unusual + interest. + </p> + <p> + Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which the eyes of + the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severe scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + “The old story, in cases like hers,” was answered. “Can't get her money + when earned, although for daily bread she is dependent on her daily + labour. With no food in the house, or money to buy medicine for her sick + child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and to humble her spirit, + which is an independent one, so low as to ask bread for her little ones, + and the loan of a pittance with which to get what the doctor has ordered + her feeble sufferer at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a shame!” fell from the lips of Ellen, the one in whom my heart + felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at me earnestly as she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “She fully expected,” said the mother, “to get a trifle that was due her + from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went to see him this + evening. But he put her off with some excuse. How strange that any one + should be so thoughtless as to withhold from the poor their hard-earned + pittance! It is but a small sum at best, that the toiling seamstress or + washerwoman can gain by her wearying labour. That, at least, should be + promptly paid. To withhold it an hour is to do, in many cases, a great + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. I felt + that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who had withheld + from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing. What my + feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; and difficult for any + one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a position, to imagine. + </p> + <p> + My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and in another + channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest upon me. You may + be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten o'clock on the next day, + and that I never again fell into the error of neglecting, for a single + week, my poor washerwoman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FORGIVE AND FORGET. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THERE'S a secret in living, if folks only knew; + An Alchymy precious, and golden, and true, + More precious than “gold dust,” though pure and refined, + For its mint is the heart, and its storehouse the mind; + Do you guess what I mean—for as true as I live + That dear little secret's—forget and forgive! + + When hearts that have loved have grown cold and estranged, + And looks that beamed fondness are clouded and changed, + And words hotly spoken and grieved for with tears + Have broken the trust and the friendship of years— + Oh! think 'mid thy pride and thy secret regret, + The balm for the wound is—forgive and forget! + + Yes! look in thy spirit, for love may return + And kindle the embers that still feebly burn; + And let this true whisper breathe high in thy heart, + <i>'Tis better to love than thus suffer apart</i>— + + Let the Past teach the Future more wisely than yet, + For the friendship that's true can forgive and forget. + + And now, an adieu! if you list to my lay + May each in your thoughts bear my motto away, + 'Tis a crude, simple ryhme, but its truth may impart + A joy to the gentle and loving of heart; + And an end I would claim far more practical yet + In behalf of the Rhymer—<i>forgive and forget!</i> +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OWE NO MAN ANYTHING. + </h2> + <p> + THUS says an Apostle; and if those who are able to “owe no man anything” + would fully observe this divine obligation, many, very many, whom their + want of punctuality now compels to live in violation of this precept, + would then faithfully and promptly render to every one their just dues. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you, George?” said Mrs. Allison to her husband, + as he paced the floor of their little sitting-room, with an anxious, + troubled expression of countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! nothing of much consequence: only a little worry of business,” + replied Mr. Allison. + </p> + <p> + “But I know better than that, George. I know it is of consequence; you are + not apt to have such a long face for nothing. Come, tell me what it is + that troubles you. Have I not a right to share your griefs as well as your + joys?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, Ellen, it is nothing but business, I assure you; and as I am not + blessed with the most even temper in the world, it does not take much you + know to upset me: but you heard me speak of that job I was building for + Hillman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I think you said it was to be five hundred dollars, did you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I did; and it was to have been cash as soon as done. Well, he took it out + two weeks ago; one week sooner than I promised it. I sent the bill with + it, expecting, of course, he would send me a check for the amount; but I + was disappointed. Having heard nothing from him since, I thought I would + call on him this morning, when, to my surprise, I was told he had gone + travelling with his wife and daughter, and would not be back for six weeks + or two months. I can't tell you how I felt when I was told this.” + </p> + <p> + “He is safe enough for it I suppose, isn't he, George?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; he is supposed to be worth about three hundred thousand. But + what good is that to me? I was looking over my books this afternoon, and, + including this five hundred, there is just fifteen hundred dollars due me + now, that I ought to have, but can't get it. To a man doing a large + business it would not be much; but to one with my limited means, it is a + good deal. And this is all in the hands of five individuals, any one of + whom could pay immediately, and feel not the least inconvenience from it.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you much pressed for money just now, George?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a note in bank of three hundred, which falls due to-morrow, and + one of two hundred and fifty on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars at least + will be required to pay off my hands; and besides this, our quarter's rent + is due on Monday, and my shop rent next Wednesday. Then there are other + little bills I wanted to settle, our own wants to be supplied, &c.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you call on those persons you spoke of; perhaps they would pay + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have sent their bills in, but if I call on them so soon I might perhaps + affront them, and cause them to take their work away; and that I don't + want to do. However, I think I shall have to do it, let the consequence be + what it may.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you could borrow what you need, George, for a few days.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I could; but see the inconvenience and trouble it puts me to. I + was so certain of getting Hillman's money to meet these two notes, that I + failed to make any other provision.” + </p> + <p> + “That would not have been enough of itself.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I have a hundred on hand; the two together would have paid them, + and left enough for my workmen too.” + </p> + <p> + As early as practicable the next morning Mr. Allison started forth to + raise the amount necessary to carry him safely through the week. He + thought it better to try to collect some of the amounts owing to him than + to borrow. He first called on a wealthy merchant, whose annual income was + something near five thousand. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mr. Allison,” said he, as that individual entered his + counting-room. “I suppose you want some money.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like a little, Mr. Chapin, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I intended coming down to see you, but I have been so busy that I + have not been able. That carriage of mine which you did up a few weeks ago + does not suit me altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like the style of trimming, for one thing; it has a common look + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is precisely what Mrs. Chapin ordered. You told me to suit her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but did she not tell you to trim it like General Spangler's?” + </p> + <p> + “I am very much mistaken, Mr. Chapin, if it is not precisely like his.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no; his has a much richer look than mine.” + </p> + <p> + “The style of trimming is just the same, Mr. Chapin; but you certainly did + not suppose that a carriage trimmed with worsted lace, would look as well + as one trimmed with silk lace?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not; but there are some other little things about it that + don't suit me. I will send my man down with it to-day, and he will show + you what they are. I would like to have it to-morrow afternoon, to take my + family out in. Call up on Monday, and we will have a settlement.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Allison next called at the office of a young lawyer, who had lately + come into possession of an estate valued at one hundred thousand dollars. + Mr. Allison's bill was three hundred dollars, which his young friend + assured him he would settle immediately, only that there was a slight + error in the way it was made out, and not having the bill with him, he + could not now correct it. + </p> + <p> + He would call on Mr. Allison with it, sometime during the next week, and + settle it. + </p> + <p> + A Custom-House gentleman was next sought, but his time had been so much + taken up with his official duties, that he had not yet been able to + examine the bill. He had no doubt but it was all correct; still, as he was + not accustomed to doing business in a loose way, he must claim Mr. + Allison's indulgence a few days longer. + </p> + <p> + Almost disheartened, Mr. Allison entered the store of the last individual + who was indebted to him for any considerable amount, not daring to hope + that he would be any more successful with him than with the others he had + called on. But he was successful; the bill, which amounted to near one + hundred and fifty dollars, was promptly paid, Mr. Allison's pocket, in + consequence, that much heavier, and his heart that much lighter. Fifty + dollars was yet lacking of the sum requisite for that day. After calling + on two or three individuals, this amount was obtained, with the promise of + being returned by the middle of the next week. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have hard work to get through to-day, I know,” said he to + himself, as he sat at his desk on the following morning. + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred and fifty dollars to be raised by borrowing. I don't know + where I can get it.” + </p> + <p> + To many this would be a small sum, but Mr. Allison was peculiarly + situated. He was an honest, upright mechanic, but he was poor. It was with + difficulty he had raised the fifty dollars on the day previous. Although + he had never once failed in returning money at the time promised, still, + for some reason or other, everybody appeared unwilling to lend him. It was + nearly two O'clock and he was still a hundred dollars short. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he to himself, “I have done all I could, and if Hall won't + renew the note for the balance, it will have to be protested. I'll go and + ask him, though I have not much hope that he will do it.” + </p> + <p> + As he was about leaving his shop for that purpose, a gentleman entered who + wished to buy a second-hand carriage. Mr. Allison had but one, and that + almost new, for which he asked a hundred and forty dollars. + </p> + <p> + “It is higher than I wished to go,” remarked the gentleman. “I ought to + get a new one for that price.” + </p> + <p> + “So you can, but not like this. I can sell you a new one for a hundred and + twenty-five dollars. But what did you expect to pay for one?” + </p> + <p> + “I was offered one at Holton's for seventy-five; but I did not like it. I + will give you a hundred for yours.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too little, indeed, sir: that carriage cost three hundred dollars + when it was new. It was in use a very short time. I allowed a hundred and + forty dollars for it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I would not wish you to sell at a disadvantage, but if you + like to, accept of my offer I'll take it. I'm prepared to pay the cash + down.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Allison did not reply for some minutes. He was undecided as to what + was best. + </p> + <p> + “Forty dollars,” said he to himself, “is a pretty heavy discount. I am + almost tempted to refuse his offer and trust to Hall's renewing the note. + But suppose he won't—then I'm done for. I think, upon the whole, I + had better accept it. I'll put it at one hundred and twenty-five, my good + friend,” said he, addressing the customer. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; one hundred is all I shall give.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you must have it, then; but indeed you have got a + bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too bad,” muttered Allison to himself, as he left the bank after + having paid his note. “There is just forty dollars thrown away. And why? + Simply because those who are blessed with the means of discharging their + debts promptly, neglect to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you make out to-day, George?” asked his wife, as they sat at the + tea-table that same evening. + </p> + <p> + “I met my note, and that was all.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you give your men anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a cent. I had but one dollar left after paying that. I was sorry for + them, but I could not help them. I am afraid Robinson's family will + suffer, for there has been sickness in his house almost constantly for the + last twelvemonth. His wife, he told me the other day, had not been out; of + her bed for six weeks. Poor fellow! He looked quite dejected when I told + him I had nothing for him.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment; the door-bell rang and a minute or two afterwards, a young + girl entered the room in which Mr. and Mrs. Allison were sitting. Before + introducing her to our readers, we will conduct them to the interior of an + obscure dwelling, situated near the outskirts of the city. The room is + small, and scantily furnished, and answers at once for parlour, + dining-room, and kitchen. Its occupants, Mrs. Perry and her daughter, have + been, since the earliest dawn of day, intently occupied with their + needles, barely allowing themselves time to partake of their frugal meal. + </p> + <p> + “Half-past three o'clock!” ejaculated the daughter, her eyes glancing, as + she spoke, at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I am afraid we shall not get + this work done in time for me to take it home before dark, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “We must try hard, Laura, for you know we have not a cent in the house, + and I told Mrs. Carr to come over to-night, and I would pay her what I owe + her for washing. Poor thing! I would not like to disappoint her, for I + know she needs it.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing more was said for near twenty minutes, when Laura again broke the + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, “what a pain I have in my side!” And for a + moment she rested from her work, and straightened herself in her chair, to + afford a slight relief from the uneasiness she experienced. “I wonder, + mother, if I shall always be obliged to sit so steady?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not, my child; but bad as our situation is, there are hundreds + worse off than we. Take Annie Carr, for instance—how would you like + to exchange places with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Annie! I was thinking of her awhile go, mother. How hard it must be + for one so young to be so afflicted as she is!” + </p> + <p> + “And yet, Laura, she never complains; although for five years she has + never left her bed, and has often suffered, I know, for want of proper + nourishment.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think she will suffer much longer, mother. I stopped in to see + her the other day, and I was astonished at the change which had taken + place in a short time. Her conversation, too, seems so heavenly, her faith + in the Lord so strong, that I could not avoid coming to the conclusion + that a few days more, at the most, would terminate her wearisome life.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be a happy release for her, indeed, my daughter. Still, it will + be a sore trial for her mother.” + </p> + <p> + It was near six when Mrs. Perry and her daughter finished the work upon + which they were engaged. + </p> + <p> + “Now Laura, dear,” said the mother, “get back as soon as you can, for I + don't like you to be out after night, and more than that, if Mrs. Carr + comes, she won't want to wait.” + </p> + <p> + About twenty minutes after the young girl had gone, Mrs. Carr called. + “Pray, be seated, my dear friend,” said Mrs. Perry, “my daughter has just + gone to Mrs. Allison's with some work, and as soon as she returns I can + pay you.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I had better call over again, Mrs. Perry,” answered the poor + woman; “Mary begged me not to stay long.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Annie any worse, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, a great deal; the doctor thinks she will hardly last till + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Carr, death can be only gain to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true; still, the idea of losing her seems dreadful to me.” + </p> + <p> + “How does Mary get on at Mrs. Owring's?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well; she has been at work for her just one month to-day; and + although she gave her to understand that her wages would be at least a + dollar and a quarter a week, yet to-night, when she settled with her, she + wouldn't give her but three dollars, and at the same time told her that if + she didn't choose to work for that she could go.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose was the reason for her acting so?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, indeed, unless it is because she does not get there quite + as early as the rest of her hands; for you see I am obliged to keep her a + little while in the morning to help me to move Annie while I make her bed. + Even that little sum, small it was, would have been some help to us, but + it had all to go for rent. My landlord would take no denial. But I must + go; you think I can depend on receiving your money to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. Mrs. Allison is always prompt in paying for her work as soon as it + is done. I will not trouble you to come again for it, Mrs. Carr. Laura + shall bring it over to you.” + </p> + <p> + Let us now turn to the young girl we left at Mr. Allison's, whom our + readers, no doubt, recognise as Laura Perry. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Laura,” said Mrs. Allison, as she entered the room; “not + brought my work home already! I did not look for it till next week. You + and your mother, I am afraid, confine yourselves too closely to your + needles for your own good. But you have not had your tea? sit up, and take + some.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, Mrs. Allison; mother will be uneasy if I stay long.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Laura, I am sorry, but I cannot settle with you to-night. Tell your + mother Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting to-day, or she certainly + should have had it. Did she say how much it was?” + </p> + <p> + “Two dollars, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well: I will try and let her have it next week.” + </p> + <p> + The expression of Laura's countenance told too plainly the disappointment + she felt. “I am afraid Mrs. Perry is in want of that money,” remarked the + husband after she had gone. + </p> + <p> + “Not the least doubt of it,” replied his wife. “She would not have sent + home work at this hour if she had not been. Poor things! who can tell the + amount of suffering and wretchedness that is caused by the rich neglecting + to pay promptly.” + </p> + <p> + “You come without money, Laura,” said her mother, as she entered the + house. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that, mother?” she replied, forcing a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I read it in your countenance. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “It is: Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting—what will we do, + mother?” + </p> + <p> + “The best we can, my child. We will have to do without our beef for dinner + to-morrow; but then we have plenty of bread; so we shall not starve.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shall have to do without my new shoes. My old ones are too shabby + to go to church in; so I shall have to stay at home.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for your disappointment, my child, but I care more for Mrs. + Carr than I do for ourselves. She has been here, and is in a great deal of + trouble. The doctor don't think Annie will live till morning, and Mrs. + Owrings hag refused to give Mary more than three dollars for her month's + work, every cent of which old Grimes took for rent. I told her she might + depend on getting what I owed her, and that I would send you over with it + when you returned. You had better go at once and tell her, Laura; perhaps + she may be able to get some elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “How much is it, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Half a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems hard that she can't get that small sum.” + </p> + <p> + With a heavy heart Laura entered Mrs. Carr's humble abode. + </p> + <p> + “Oh how glad I am that you have come, my dear!” exclaimed the poor woman. + “Annie has been craving some ice cream all day; it's the only thing she + seems to fancy. I told her she should have it as soon as you came.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carr's eyes filled with tears as Laura told of her ill success. “I + care not for myself,” she said “but for that poor suffering child.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind me, mother,” replied Annie. “It was selfish in me to want it, + when I know how hard you and Mary are obliged to work for every cent you + get. But I feel that I shall not bother you much longer; I have a strange + feeling here now.” And she placed her hand upon her left side. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” cried Laura; “I'll try and get some ice cream for you Annie.” And + off she ran to her mother's dwelling. “Mother,” said she, as she entered + the house, “do you recollect that half dollar father gave me the last time + he went to sea?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think I had better take it and pay Mrs. Carr. Annie is very bad, + and her mother says she has been wanting some ice cream all day.” + </p> + <p> + “It is yours, Laura, do as you like about it.” + </p> + <p> + “It goes hard with me to part with it, mother, for I had determined to + keep it in remembrance of my father. It is just twelve years to-day since + he went away. But poor Annie—yes, mother, I will take it.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Laura went to unlock the box which contained her treasure, but + unfortunately her key was not where she had supposed it was. After a half + hour's search she succeeded in finding it. Tears coursed down her cheeks + like rain as she removed from the corner of the little box, where it had + lain for so many years, this precious relic of a dear father, who in all + probability, was buried beneath the ocean. Dashing them hastily away, she + started again for Mrs. Carr's. The ice cream was procured on the way, and, + just as the clock struck eight, she arrived at the door. One hour has + elapsed since she left. But why does she linger on the threshold? Why but + because the sounds of weeping and mourning have reached her ears, and she + fears that all is over with her poor friend, Her fears are indeed true, + for the pure spirit of the young sufferer has taken its flight to that + blest land where hunger and thirst are known no more. Poor Annie! thy last + earthly wish, a simple glass of ice-cream, was denied thee—and why? + We need not pause to answer: ye who have an abundance of this world's + goods, think, when ye are about to turn from your doors the poor + seamstress or washerwoman, or even those less destitute than they, without + a just recompense for their labour, whether the sufferings and privations + of some poor creatures will not be increased thereby. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. + </h2> + <p> + OBADIAH LAWSON and Watt Dood were neighbours; that is, they lived within a + half mile of each other, and no person lived between their respective + farms, which would have joined, had not a little strip of prairie land + extended itself sufficiently to keep them separated. Dood was the oldest + settler, and from his youth up had entertained a singular hatred against + Quakers; therefore, when he was informed that Lawson, a regular disciple + of that class of people had purchased the next farm to his, he declared he + would make him glad to move away again. Accordingly, a system of petty + annoyances was commenced by him, and every time one of Lawson's hogs + chanced to stray upon Dood's place, he was beset by men and dogs, and most + savagely abused. Things progressed thus for nearly a year, and the Quaker, + a man of decidedly peace principles, appeared in no way to resent the + injuries received at the hands of his spiteful neighbour. But matters were + drawing to a crisis; for Dood, more enraged than ever at the quiet of + Obadiah, made oath that he would do something before long to wake up the + spunk of Lawson. Chance favoured his design. The Quaker had a high-blooded + filly, which he had been very careful in raising, and which was just four + years old. Lawson took great pride in this animal, and had refused a large + sum of money for her. + </p> + <p> + One evening, a little after sunset, as Watt Dood was passing around his + cornfield, he discovered the filly feeding in the little strip of prairie + land that separated the two farms, and he conceived the hellish design of + throwing off two or three rails of his fence, that the horse might get + into his corn during the night. He did so, and the next morning, bright + and early, he shouldered his rifle and left the house. Not long after his + absence, a hired man, whom he had recently employed, heard the echo of his + gun, and in a few minutes Dood, considerably excited and out of breath, + came hurrying to the house, where he stated that he had shot at and + wounded a buck; that the deer attacked him, and he hardly escaped with his + life. + </p> + <p> + This story was credited by all but the newly employed hand, who had taken + a dislike to Watt, and, from his manner, suspected that something was + wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from the house, and going through + the field in the direction of the shot, he suddenly came upon Lawson's + filly, stretched upon the earth, with a bullet hole through the head, from + which the warm blood was still oozing. + </p> + <p> + The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour. He hastened + back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and demanded, + somewhat roughly, where he had been. + </p> + <p> + “I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson's filly,” + was the instant retort. + </p> + <p> + Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercely shouted, + </p> + <p> + “Do you dare to say I killed her?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know she is dead?” replied the man. + </p> + <p> + Dood bit his lip, hesitated a moment, and then turning, walked into the + house. + </p> + <p> + A couple of days passed by, and the morning of the third one had broken, + as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of his filly. + </p> + <p> + A few words of explanation ensued, when, with a heavy heart, the Quaker + turned his horse and rode home, where he informed the people of the fate + of his filly. No threat of recrimination escaped him; he did not even go + to law to recover damages; but calmly awaited his plan and hour of + revenge. It came at last. + </p> + <p> + Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which he had paid a heavy price, and + upon which he counted to make great gains. + </p> + <p> + One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his eldest son came in with + the information that neighbour Dood's heifer had broken down the fence, + entered the yard, and after eating most of the cabbages, had trampled the + well-made beds and the vegetables they contained, out of all shape—a + mischief impossible to repair. + </p> + <p> + “And what did thee do with her, Jacob?” quietly asked Obadiah. + </p> + <p> + “I put her in the farm-yard.” + </p> + <p> + “Did thee beat her?” + </p> + <p> + “I never struck her a blow.” + </p> + <p> + “Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and when done eating I + will attend to the heifer.” + </p> + <p> + Shortly after he had finished his repast, Lawson mounted a horse, and rode + over to Dood's, who was sitting under the porch in front of his house, and + who, as he beheld the Quaker dismount, supposed he was coming to demand + pay for his filly, and secretly swore he would have to law for it if he + did. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, neighbour Dood; how is thy family?” exclaimed Obadiah, as + he mounted the steps and seated himself in a chair. + </p> + <p> + “All well, I believe,” was the crusty reply. + </p> + <p> + “I have a small affair to settle with you this morning, and I came rather + early.” + </p> + <p> + “So I suppose,” growled Watt. + </p> + <p> + “This morning, my son found thy Durham heifer in my garden, where she has + destroyed a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he do with her?” demanded Dood, his brow darkening. + </p> + <p> + “What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thy + garden?” asked Obadiah. + </p> + <p> + “I'd a shot her!” retorted Watt, madly, “as I suppose you have done; but + we are only even now. Heifer for filly is only 'tit for tat.'” + </p> + <p> + “Neighbour Dood, thou knowest me not, if thou thinkest I would harm a hair + of thy heifer's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even a blow has been + struck her, where thee can get her at any time. I know thee shot my filly; + but the evil one prompted thee to do it, and I lay no evil in my heart + against my neighbours. I came to tell thee where thy heifer is, and now + I'll go home.” + </p> + <p> + Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to descend the steps, when he + was stopped by Watt, who hastily asked, + </p> + <p> + “What was your filly worth?” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred dollars is what I asked for her,” replied Obediah. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment!” and Dood rushed into the house, from whence he soon + returned, holding some gold in his hand. “Here's the price of your filly; + and hereafter let there be a pleasantness between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, heartily,” answered Lawson, grasping the proffered hand of the + other; “let there be peace between us.” + </p> + <p> + Obadiah mounted his horse, and rode home with a lighter heart, and from + that day to this Dood has been as good a neighbour as one could wish to + have; being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET. + </h2> + <p> + “DO you recollect Thomas, who lived with us as waiter about two years ago, + Mary?” asked Mr. Clarke, as he seated himself in his comfortable + arm-chair, and slipped his feet into the nicely-warmed, embroidered + slippers, which stood ready for his use. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” was the reply of Mrs. Clarke. “He was a bright, active + fellow, but rather insolent.” + </p> + <p> + “He has proved to be a regular pickpocket,” continued her husband, “and is + now on his way to Blackwell's Island.” + </p> + <p> + “A very suitable place for him. I hope he will be benefited by a few + months' residence there,” returned the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow!” exclaimed Mr. Joshua Clarke, an uncle of the young couple, + who was quietly reading a newspaper in another part of the room. “There + are many of high standing in the world, who deserve to go to Blackwell's + Island quite as much as he does.” + </p> + <p> + “You are always making such queer speeches, Uncle Joshua,” said his niece. + “I suppose you do not mean that there are pickpockets among respectable + people?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, there are, my dear niece. Your knowledge of the world must be + very limited, if you are not aware of this. Putting your hand in your + neighbour's pocket, is one of the most fashionable accomplishments of the + day.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clarke was too well acquainted with her uncle's peculiarities to + think of arguing with him. She therefore merely smiled, and said to her + husband:— + </p> + <p> + “Well, Henry, I am glad that neither you nor myself are acquainted with + this fashionable accomplishment.” + </p> + <p> + “Not acquainted with it!” exclaimed the old gentleman. “I thought you knew + yourselves better. Why, you and Henry are both regular pickpockets!” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder that you demean yourself by associating with us!” was the + playful reply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are no worse than the rest of the world; and, besides, I hope to + do you some good, when you grow older and wiser. At present, Henry's whole + soul is absorbed in the desire to obtain wealth.” + </p> + <p> + “In a fair and honourable way, uncle,” interrupted Mr. Clarke, “and for + honourable purposes.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied Uncle Joshua, “in the common acceptation of the words + <i>fair</i> and <i>honourable</i>. But, do you never, in your mercantile + speculations, endeavour to convey erroneous impressions to the minds of + those with whom you are dealing? Do you not sometimes suppress information + which would prevent your obtaining a good bargain? Do you never allow your + customers to purchase goods under false ideas of their value and demand in + the market? If you saw a man, less skilled in business than yourself, + about to take a step injurious to him, but advantageous to you, would you + warn him of his danger—thus obeying the command to love your + neighbour as yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, uncle, these questions are absurd. Of course, when engaged in + business, I endeavour to do what is for my own advantage—leaving + others to look out for themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so. You are perfectly willing to put your hand in your + neighbour's pocket and take all you can get, provided he is not wise + enough to know that your hand is there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for shame, Uncle Joshua! I shall not allow you to talk to Henry in + this manner,” exclaimed Mrs. Clarke perceiving that her husband looked + somewhat irritated. “Come, prove your charge against me. In what way do I + pick my neighbour's pockets?” + </p> + <p> + “You took six shillings from the washerwoman this morning,” coolly replied + Uncle Joshua. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Took</i> six shillings from the washerwoman! Paid her six shillings, + you mean, uncle. She called for the money due for a day's work, and I gave + it to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not till you had kept her waiting nearly two hours. I heard her + say, as she left the house, 'I have lost a day's work by this delay, for I + cannot go to Mrs. Reed's at this hour; so I shall be six shillings poorer + at the end of the week.'” + </p> + <p> + “Why did she wait, then? She could have called again. I was not ready to + attend to her at so early an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably she needed the money to-day. You little know the value of six + shillings to the mother of a poor family, Mary; but, you should remember + that her time is valuable, and that it is as sinful to deprive her of the + use of it, as if you took money from her purse.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, uncle, I will acknowledge that I did wrong to keep the poor woman + waiting, and I will endeavour to be more considerate in future. So draw + your chair to the table, and take a cup of tea and some of your favourite + cakes.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mary; but I am engaged to take tea with your old friend, Mrs. + Morrison. Poor thing! she has not made out very well lately. Her school + has quite run down, owing to sickness among her scholars; and her own + family have been ill all winter; so that her expenses have been great.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to hear this,” replied Mrs. Clarke. “I had hoped that her + school was succeeding. Give my love to her, uncle, and tell her I will + call upon her in a day or two.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Joshua promised to remember the message, and bidding Mr. and Mrs. + Clarke good evening, he was soon seated in Mrs. Morrison's neat little + parlour, which, though it bore no comparison with the spacious and + beautifully furnished apartments he had just left, had an air of comfort + and convenience which could not fail to please. + </p> + <p> + Delighted to see her old friend, whom she also, from early habit, + addressed by the title of Uncle Joshua, although he was no relation, Mrs. + Morrison's countenance, for awhile beamed with that cheerful, animated + expression which it used to wear in her more youthful days; but an + expression of care and anxiety soon over shadowed it, and, in the midst of + her kind attentions to her visiter, and her affectionate endearment to two + sweet children, who were playing around the room, she would often remain + thoughtful and abstracted for several minutes. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Joshua was an attentive observer, and he saw that something weighed + heavily upon her mind. When tea was over, and the little ones had gone to + rest, he said, kindly, + </p> + <p> + “Come, Fanny, draw your chair close to my side, and tell me all your + troubles, as freely as you used to do when a merry-hearted school-girl. + How often have listened to the sad tale of the pet pigeon, that had flown + away, or the favourite plant killed by the untimely frost. Come, I am + ready, now as then, to assist you with my advice, and my purse, too, if + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Tears started to Mrs. Morrison's eyes, as she replied. + </p> + <p> + “You were always a kind friend to me, Uncle Joshua, and I will gladly + confide my troubles to you. You know that after my husband's death I took + this house, which, though small, may seem far above my limited income, in + the hope of obtaining a school sufficiently large to enable me to meet the + rent, and also to support myself and children. The small sum left them by + their father I determined to invest for their future use. I unwisely + intrusted it to one who betrayed the trust, and appropriated the money to + some wild speculation of his own. He says that he did this in the hope of + increasing my little property. It may be so, but my consent should have + been asked. He failed and there is little hope of our ever recovering + more, than a small part of what he owes us. But, to return to my school. I + found little difficulty in obtaining scholars, and, for a short time, + believed myself to be doing well, but I soon found that a large number of + scholars did not insure a large income from the school. My terms were + moderate, but still I found great difficulty in obtaining what was due to + me at the end of the term. + </p> + <p> + “A few paid promptly, and without expecting me to make unreasonable + deductions for unpleasant weather, slight illness, &c., &c. Others + paid after long delay, which often put me to the greatest inconvenience; + and some, after appointing day after day for me to call, and promising + each time that the bill should be settled without fail, moved away, I knew + not whither, or met me at length with a cool assurance that it was not + possible for them to pay me at present—if it was ever in their power + they would let me know.” + </p> + <p> + “Downright robbery!” exclaimed Uncle Joshua. “A set of pickpockets! I wish + they were all shipped for Blackwell's Island.” + </p> + <p> + “There are many reasons assigned for not paying,” continued Mrs. Morrison. + “Sometimes the children had not learned as much as the parents expected. + Some found it expedient to take their children away long before the + expiration of the term, and then gazed at me in astonishment when I + declared my right to demand pay for the whole time for which they engaged. + One lady, in particular, to whose daughter I was giving music lessons, + withdrew the pupil under pretext of slight indisposition, and sent me the + amount due for a half term. I called upon her, and stated that I + considered the engagement binding for twenty-four lessons, but would + willingly wait until the young lady was quite recovered. The mother + appeared to assent with willingness to this arrangement, and took the + proffered money without comment. An hour or two after I received a laconic + epistle stating that the lady had already engaged another teacher, whom + she thought preferable—that she had offered me the amount due for + half of the term, and I had declined receiving it—therefore she + should not offer it again. I wrote a polite, but very plain, reply to this + note, and enclosed my bill for the whole term, but have never heard from + her since.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that she actually received the money which you + returned to her without reluctance, and gave you no notice of her + intention to employ another teacher?” demanded the old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; and, besides this, I afterwards ascertained that the young + lady was actually receiving a lesson from another teacher, when I called + at the house—therefore the plea of indisposition was entirely false. + The most perfect satisfaction had always been expressed as to the progress + of the pupil, and no cause was assigned for the change.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have met with few cases as bad as this,” remarked Uncle + Joshua. “The world must be in a worse state than even I had supposed, if + such imposition is common.” + </p> + <p> + “This may be an extreme case,” replied Mrs. Morrison, “but I could relate + many others which are little better. However, you will soon weary of my + experience in this way, Uncle Joshua, and I will therefore mention but one + other instance. One bitter cold day in January, I called at the house of a + lady who had owed me a small amount for nearly a year, and after repeated + delay had reluctantly fixed this day as the time when she would pay me at + least a part of what was due. I was told by the servant who opened the + door that the lady was not at home. + </p> + <p> + “What time will she be in?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Not for some hours,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + Leaving word that I would call again towards evening, I retraced my steps, + feeling much disappointed at my ill success, as I had felt quite sure of + obtaining the money. About five o'clock I again presented myself at the + door, and was again informed that the lady was not at home. + </p> + <p> + “I will walk in, and wait for her return,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + The servant appeared somewhat startled at this, but after a little delay + ushered me into the parlour. Two little boys, of four and six years of + age, were playing about the room. I joined in their sports, and soon + became quite familiar with them. Half an hour had passed away, when I + inquired of the oldest boy what time he expected his mother? + </p> + <p> + “Not till late,” he answered, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Did she take the baby with her this cold day?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” promptly replied the girl, who, under pretence of attending + to the children, frequently came into the room. + </p> + <p> + The youngest child gazed earnestly in my face, and said, smilingly, + </p> + <p> + “Mother has not gone away, she is up stairs. She ran away with baby when + she saw you coming, and told us to say she had gone out. I am afraid + brother will take cold, for there is no fire up stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “It is no such thing,” exclaimed the girl and the eldest boy. “She is not + up stairs, ma'am, or she would see you.” + </p> + <p> + But even as they spoke the loud cries of an infant were heard, and a voice + at the head of the stairs calling Jenny. + </p> + <p> + The girl obeyed, and presently returned with the child in her arms, its + face, neck, and hands purple with cold. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little thing, it has got its death in that cold room,” she said. + “Mistress cannot see you, ma'am, she is sick and gone to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “This last story was probably equally false with the other, but I felt + that it was useless to remain, and with feelings of deep regret for the + poor children who were so early taught an entire disregard for truth, and + of sorrow for the exposure to cold to which I had innocently subjected the + infant, I left the house. A few days after, I heard that the little one + had died with croup. Jenny, whom I accidentally met in the street, assured + me that he took the cold which caused his death from the exposure on the + afternoon of my call, as he became ill the following day. I improved the + opportunity to endeavour to impress upon the mind of the poor girl the sin + of which she had been guilty, in telling a falsehood even in obedience to + the commands of her mistress; and I hope that what I said may be useful to + her. + </p> + <p> + “The want of honesty and promptness in the parents of my pupils often + caused me great inconvenience, and I frequently found it difficult to meet + my rent when it became due. Still I have struggled through my difficulties + without contracting any debts until this winter, but the sickness which + has prevailed in my school has so materially lessened my income, and my + family expenses have, for the same reason, been so much greater, that I + fear it will be quite impossible for me to continue in my present + situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be discouraged,” said Uncle Joshua; “I will advance whatever sum + you are in immediate need of, and you may repay me when it is convenient + to yourself. I will also take the bills which are due to you from various + persons, and endeavour to collect them. Your present term is, I suppose, + nearly ended. Commence another with this regulation:—That the price + of tuition, or at least one-half of it, shall be paid before the entrance + of the scholar. Some will complain of this rule, but many will not + hesitate to comply with it, and you will find the result beneficial. And + now I would leave you, Fanny, for I have another call to make this + evening. My young friend, William Churchill, is, I hear, quite ill, and I + feel desirous to see him. I will call upon you in a day or two, and then + we will have another talk about your affairs, and see what can be done for + you. So good night, Fanny; go to sleep and dream of your old friend.” + </p> + <p> + Closing the door after Uncle Joshua, Mrs. Morrison returned to her room + with a heart filled with thankfulness that so kind a friend had been sent + to her in the hour of need; while the old gentleman walked with rapid + steps through several streets until he stood at the door of a small, but + pleasantly situated house in the suburbs of the city. His ring at the bell + was answered by a pretty, pleasant-looking young woman, whom he addressed + as Mrs. Churchill, and kindly inquired for her husband. + </p> + <p> + “William is very feeble to-day, but he will be rejoiced to see you, sir. + His disease is partly owing to anxiety of mind, I think, and when his + spirits are raised by a friendly visit, he feels better.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Joshua followed Mrs. Churchill to the small room which now served + the double purpose of parlour and bedroom. They were met at the door by + the invalid, who had recognised the voice of his old friend, and had made + an effort to rise and greet him. His sunken countenance, the hectic flush + which glowed upon his cheek, and the distressing cough, gave fearful + evidence that unless the disease was soon arrested in its progress, + consumption would mark him for its victim. + </p> + <p> + The friendly visiter was inwardly shocked at his appearance, but wisely + made no allusion to it, and soon engaged him in cheerful conversation. + Gradually he led him to speak openly of his own situation,—of his + health, and of the pecuniary difficulties with which he was struggling. + His story was a common one. A young family were growing up around him, and + an aged mother and invalid sister also depended upon him for support. The + small salary which he obtained as clerk in one of the most extensive + mercantile establishments in the city, was quite insufficient to meet his + necessary expenses. He had, therefore, after being constantly employed + from early morning until a late hour in the evening, devoted two or three + hours of the night to various occupations which added a trifle to his + limited income. Sometimes he procured copying of various kinds; at others, + accounts, which he could take to his own house, were intrusted to him. + This incessant application had gradually ruined his health, and now for + several weeks he had been unable to leave the house. + </p> + <p> + “Have you had advice from an experienced physician, William?” inquired + Uncle Joshua. The young man blushed, as he replied, that he was unwilling + to send for a physician, knowing that he had no means to repay his + services. + </p> + <p> + “I will send my own doctor to see you,” returned his friend. “He can help + you if any one can, and as for his fee I will attend to it, and if you + regain your health I shall be amply repaid.—No, do not thank me,” he + continued, as Mr. Churchill endeavoured to express his gratitude. “Your + father has done me many a favour, and it would be strange if I could not + extend a hand to help his son when in trouble. And now tell me, William, + is not your salary very small, considering the responsible situation which + you have so long held in the firm of Stevenson & Co.?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” was the reply; “but I see no prospect of obtaining more. I + believe I have always given perfect satisfaction to my employer, although + it is difficult to ascertain the estimation in which he holds me, for he + is a man who never praises. He has never found fault with me, and + therefore I suppose him satisfied, and indeed I have some proof of this in + his willingness to wait two or three months in the hope that I may recover + from my present illness before making a permanent engagement with a new + clerk. Notwithstanding this, he has never raised my salary, and when I + ventured to say to him about a year ago, that as his business had nearly + doubled since I had been with him, I felt that it would be but just that I + should derive some benefit from the change, he coolly replied that my + present salary was all that he had ever paid a clerk, and he considered it + a sufficient equivalent for my services. He knows very well that it is + difficult to obtain a good situation, there are so many who stand ready to + fill any vacancy, and therefore he feels quite safe in refusing to give + me, more.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” replied Uncle Joshua, “he is fully aware that the advantage + resulting from your long experience and thorough acquaintance with his + business, increases his income several hundred dollars every year, and + this money he quietly puts into his own pocket, without considering or + caring that a fair proportion of it should in common honesty go into + yours. What a queer world we live in! The poor thief who robs you of your + watch or pocket-book, is punished without delay; but these wealthy + defrauders maintain their respectability and pass for honest men, even + while withholding what they know to be the just due of another. + </p> + <p> + “But cheer up, William, I have a fine plan for you, if you can but regain + your health. I am looking for a suitable person to take charge of a large + sheep farm, which I propose establishing on the land which I own in + Virginia. You acquired some knowledge of farming in your early days. How + would you like to undertake this business? The climate is delightful, the + employment easy and pleasant; and it shall be my care that your salary is + amply sufficient for the support of your family.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Churchill could hardly command his voice sufficiently to express his + thanks, and his wife burst into tears, as she exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “If my poor husband had confided his troubles to you before, he would not + have been reduced to this feeble state.” + </p> + <p> + “He will recover,” said the old gentleman. “I feel sure, that in one + month, he will look like a different man. Rest yourself, now, William, and + to-morrow I will see you again.” + </p> + <p> + And, followed by the blessings and thanks of the young couple, Uncle + Joshua departed. + </p> + <p> + “Past ten o'clock,” he said to himself, as he paused near a lamp-post and + looked at his watch. “I must go to my own room.” + </p> + <p> + As he said this he was startled by a deep sigh from some one near, and on + looking round, saw a lad, of fourteen or fifteen years of age, leaning + against the post, and looking earnestly at him. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Joshua recognised the son of a poor widow, whom he had occasionally + befriended, and said, kindly, + </p> + <p> + “Well, John, are you on your way home from the store? This is rather a + late hour for a boy like you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, it is late. I cannot bear to return home to my poor mother, for + I have bad news for her to-night. Mr. Mackenzie does not wish to employ me + any more. My year is up to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, John, how is this? Not long ago your employer told me that he was + perfectly satisfied with you; indeed, he said that he never before had so + trusty and useful a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “He has always appeared satisfied with me, sir, and I have endeavoured to + serve him faithfully. But he told me to-day that he had engaged another + boy.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Joshua mused for a moment, and then asked, + </p> + <p> + “What was he to give you for the first year, John?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, sir. He told my mother that my services would be worth nothing + the first year, but the second he would pay me fifty dollars, and so + increase my salary as I grew older. My poor mother has worked very hard to + support me this year, and I had hoped that I would be able to help her + soon. But it is all over now, and I suppose I must take a boy's place + again, and work another year for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And then be turned off again. Another set of pickpockets,” muttered his + indignant auditor. + </p> + <p> + “Pickpockets!” exclaimed the lad. “Did any one take your watch just now, + sir? I saw a man look at it as you took it out. Perhaps we can overtake + him. I think he turned into the next street.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my boy. My watch is safe enough. I am not thinking of street + pickpockets, but of another class whom you will find out as you grow + older. But never mind losing your place, John. My nephew is in want of a + boy who has had some experience in your business, and will pay him a fair + salary—more than Mr. Mackenzie agreed to give you for the second + year. I will mention you to him, and you may call at his store to-morrow + at eleven o'clock, and we will see if you will answer his purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Sir, I am sure I thank you; and mother will bless you for your + kindness,” replied the boy, his countenance glowing with animation; and + with a grateful “good night,” he darted off in the direction of his own + home. + </p> + <p> + “There goes a grateful heart,” thought Uncle Joshua, as he gazed after the + boy until he turned the corner of the street and disappeared. “He has lost + his situation merely because another can be found who will do the work for + nothing for a year, in the vain hope of future recompense. I wish Mary + could have been with me this evening; I think she would have acknowledged + that there are many respectable pickpockets who deserve to accompany poor + Thomas to Blackwell's Island;” and thus soliloquizing, Uncle Joshua + reached the door of his boarding-house, and sought repose in his own room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KIND WORDS. + </h2> + <p> + WE have more than once, in our rapidly written reflections, urged the + policy and propriety of kindness, courtesy, and good-will between man and + man. It is so easy for an individual to manifest amenity of spirit, to + avoid harshness, and thus to cheer and gladden the paths of all over whom + he may have influence or control, that it is really surprising to find any + one pursuing the very opposite course. Strange as it may appear, there are + among the children of men, hundreds who seem to take delight in making + others unhappy. They rejoice at an opportunity of being the messengers of + evil tidings. They are jealous or malignant; and in either case they exult + in inflicting a wound. The ancients, in most nations, had a peculiar + dislike to croakers, prophets of evil, and the bearers of evil tidings. It + is recorded that the messenger from the banks of the Tigris, who first + announced the defeat of the Roman army by the Persians, and the death of + the Emperor Julian, in a Roman city of Asia Minor, was instantly buried + under a heap of stones thrown upon him by an indignant populace. And yet + this messenger was innocent, and reluctantly discharged a painful duty. + But how different the spirit and the motive of volunteers in such cases—those + who exult in an opportunity of communicating bad news, and in some degree + revel over the very agony which it produces. The sensitive, the generous, + the honourable, would ever be spared from such painful missions. A case of + more recent occurrence may be referred to as in point. We allude to the + murder of Mr. Roberts, a farmer of New Jersey, who was robbed and shot in + his own wagon, near Camden. It became necessary that the sad intelligence + should be broken to his wife and family with as much delicacy as possible. + A neighbour was selected for the task, and at first consented. But, on + consideration, his heart failed him. He could not, he said, communicate + the details of a tragedy so appalling and he begged to be excused. + Another, formed it was thought of sterner stuff, was then fixed upon: but + he too, rough and bluff as he was in his ordinary manners, possessed the + heart of a generous and sympathetic human being, and also respectfully + declined. A third made a like objection, and at last a female friend of + the family was with much difficulty persuaded, in company with another, to + undertake the mournful task. And yet, we repeat, there are in society, + individuals who delight in contributing to the misery of others—who + are eager to circulate a slander, to chronicle a ruin, to revive a + forgotten error, to wound, sting, and annoy, whenever they may do so with + impunity. How much better the gentle, the generous, the magnanimous + policy! Why not do everything that may be done for the happiness of our + fellow creatures, without seeking out their weak points, irritating their + half-healed wounds, jarring their sensibilities, or embittering their + thoughts! The magic of kind words and a kind manner can scarcely be + over-estimated. Our fellow creatures are more sensitive than is generally + imagined. We have known cases in which a gentle courtesy has been + remembered with pleasure for years. Who indeed cannot look back into + “bygone time,” and discover some smile, some look or other demonstration + of regard or esteem, calculated to bless and brighten every hour of after + existence! “Kind words,” says an eminent writer, “do not cost much. It + does not take long to utter them. They never blister the tongue or lips on + their passage into the world, or occasion any other kind of bodily + suffering; and we have never heard of any mental trouble arising from this + quarter. Though they do not cost much, yet they accomplish much. 1. They + help one's own good nature and good will. One cannot be in a habit of this + kind, without thereby pecking away something of the granite roughness of + his own nature. Soft words will soften his own soul. Philosophers tell us + that the angry words a man uses in his passion are fuel to the flame of + his wrath, and make it blaze the more fiercely. Why, then, should not + words of the opposite character produce opposite results, and that most + blessed of all passions of the soul, kindness, be augmented by kind words? + People that are for ever speaking kindly, are for ever disinclining + themselves to ill-temper. 2. Kind words make other people good-natured. + Cold words freeze people, and hot words scorch them, and sarcastic words + irritate them, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathful words make + them wrathful. And kind words also produce their own image on men's souls; + and a beautiful image it is. They soothe, and quiet, and comfort the + hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, unkind feelings; and he + has to become kind himself. There is such a rush of all other kinds of + words in our days, that it seems desirable to give kind words a chance + among them. There are vain words, idle words, hasty words, spiteful words, + silly words, and empty words. Now kind words are better than the whole of + them; and it is a pity that, among the improvements of the present age, + birds of this feather might not have more of a chance than they have had + to spread their wings.” + </p> + <p> + It is indeed! Kind words should be brought into more general use. Those in + authority should employ them more frequently, when addressing the less + fortunate among mankind. Employers should use them in their intercourse + with their workmen. Parents should utter them on every occasion to their + children. The rich should never forget an opportunity of speaking kindly + to the poor. Neighbours and friends should emulate each other in the + employment of mild, gentle, frank, and kindly language. But this cannot be + done unless each endeavours to control himself. Our passions and our + prejudices must be kept in check. If we find that we have a neighbour on + the other side of the way, who has been more fortunate in a worldly sense + than we have been, and if we discover a little jealousy or envy creeping + into our opinions and feelings concerning said neighbour—let us be + careful, endeavour to put a rein upon our tongues, and to avoid the + indulgence of malevolence or ill-will. If we, on the other hand, have been + fortunate, have enough and to spare, and there happens to be in our circle + some who are dependent upon us, some who look up to us with love and + respect—let us be generous, courteous, and kind—and thus we + shall not only discharge a duty, but prove a source of happiness to + others. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS. + </h2> + <p> + MOST people think there are cares enough in the world, and yet many are + very industrious to increase them:—One of the readiest ways of doing + this is to quarrel with a neighbour. A bad bargain may vex a man for a + week, and a bad debt may trouble him for a month; but a quarrel with his + neighbours will keep him in hot water all the year round. + </p> + <p> + Aaron Hands delights in fowls, and his cocks and hens are always + scratching up the flowerbeds of his neighbour William Wilkes, whose + mischievous tom-cat every now and then runs off with a chicken. The + consequence is, that William Wilkins is one half the day occupied in + driving away the fowls, and threatening to screw their long ugly necks + off; while Aaron Hands, in his periodical outbreaks, invariably vows to + skin his neighbour's cat, as sure as he can lay hold of him. + </p> + <p> + Neighbours! Neighbours! Why can you not be at peace? Not all the fowls you + can rear, and the flowers you can grow, will make amends for a life of + anger, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness. Come to some kind-hearted + understanding one with another, and dwell in peace. + </p> + <p> + Upton, the refiner, has a smoky chimney, that sets him and all the + neighbourhood by the ears. The people around abuse him without mercy, + complaining that they are poisoned, and declaring that they will indict + him at the sessions. Upton fiercely sets them at defiance, on the ground + that his premises were built before theirs, that his chimney did not come + to them, but that they came to his chimney. + </p> + <p> + Neighbours! Neighbours! practise a little more forbearance. Had half a + dozen of you waited on the refiner in a kindly spirit, he would years ago + have so altered his chimney, that it would not have annoyed you. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tibbets is thoughtless—if it were not so she would never have + had her large dusty carpet beaten, when her neighbour, who had a wash, was + having her wet clothes hung out to dry. Mrs. Williams is hasty and + passionate, or she would never have taken it for granted that the carpet + was beaten on purpose to spite her, and give her trouble. As it is, Mrs. + Tibbets and Mrs. Williams hate one another with a perfect hatred. + </p> + <p> + Neighbours! Neighbours! bear with one another. We are none of us angels, + and should not, therefore, expect those about us to be free from faults. + </p> + <p> + They who attempt to out-wrangle a quarrelsome neighbour, go the wrong way + to work. A kind word, and still more a kind deed, will be more likely to + be successful. Two children wanted to pass by a savage dog: the one took a + stick in his hand and pointed it at him, but this only made the enraged + creature more furious than before. The other child adopted a different + plan; for by giving the dog a piece of his bread and butter, he was + allowed to pass, the subdued animal wagging his tail in quietude. If you + happen to have a quarrelsome neighbour, conquer him by civility and + kindness; try the bread and butter system, and keep your stick out of + sight. That is an excellent Christian admonition, “A soft answer turneth + away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger.” + </p> + <p> + Neighbours' quarrels are a mutual reproach, and yet a stick or a straw is + sufficient to promote them. One man is rich, and another poor; one is a + churchman, another a dissenter; one is a conservative, another a liberal; + one hates another because he is of the same trade, and another is bitter + with his neighbour because he is a Jew or a Roman Catholic. + </p> + <p> + Neighbours! Neighbours! live in love, and then while you make others + happy, you will be happier yourselves. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “That happy man is surely blest, + Who of the worst things makes the best; + Whilst he must be of temper curst, + Who of the best things makes the worst.” + </pre> + <p> + “Be ye all of one mind,” says the Apostle, “having compassion one of + another; love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous; not rendering evil + for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing. “To a rich + man I would say, bear with and try to serve those who are below you; and + to a poor one— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Fear God, love peace, and mind your labour; + And never, never quarrel with your neighbour.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOOD WE MIGHT DO. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WE all might do good + Where we often do ill; + There is always the way, + If we have but the will; + Though it be but a word + Kindly breathed or supprest, + It may guard off some pain, + Or give peace to some breast. + + We all might do good + In a thousand small ways— + In forbearing to flatter, + Yet yielding <i>due</i> praise— + In spurning ill humour, + Reproving wrong done, + And treating but kindly + Each heart we have won. + + We all might do good, + Whether lowly or great, + For the deed is not gauged + By the purse or estate; + If it be but a cup + Of cold water that's given, + Like “the widow's two mites,” + It is something for Heaven. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TOWN LOT. + </h2> + <p> + ONCE upon a time it happened that the men who governed the municipal + affairs of a certain growing town in the West, resolved, in grave + deliberation assembled, to purchase a five-acre lot at the north end of + the city—recently incorporated—and have it improved for a park + or public square. Now, it also happened, that all the saleable ground + lying north of the city was owned by a man named Smith—a shrewd, + wide-awake individual, whose motto was “Every man for himself,” with an + occasional addition about a certain gentleman in black taking “the + hindmost.” + </p> + <p> + Smith, it may be mentioned, was secretly at the bottom of this scheme for + a public square, and had himself suggested the matter to an influential + member of the council; not that he was moved by what is denominated public + spirit—no; the spring of action in the case was merely “private + spirit,” or a regard for his own good. If the council decided upon a + public square, he was the man from whom the ground would have to be + bought; and he was the man who could get his own price therefor. + </p> + <p> + As we have said, the park was decided upon, and a committee of two + appointed whose business it was to see Smith, and arrange with him for the + purchase of a suitable lot of ground. In due form the committee called + upon the landholder, who was fully prepared for the interview. + </p> + <p> + “You are the owner of those lots at the north end?” said the spokesman of + the committee. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” replied Smith, with becoming gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Will you sell a portion of ground, say five acres, to the city?” + </p> + <p> + “For what purpose?” Smith knew very well for what purpose the land was + wanted. + </p> + <p> + “We have decided to set apart about five acres of ground, and improve it + as a kind of park, or public promenade.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you, indeed? Well, I like that,” said Smith, with animation. “It + shows the right kind of public spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “We have, moreover, decided that the best location will be at the north + end of the town.” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly my own opinion,” returned Smith. + </p> + <p> + “Will you sell us the required acres?” asked one of the councilmen. + </p> + <p> + “That will depend somewhat upon where you wish to locate the park.” + </p> + <p> + The particular location was named. + </p> + <p> + “The very spot,” replied Smith, promptly, “upon which I have decided to + erect four rows of dwellings.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is too far out for that,” was naturally objected. + </p> + <p> + “O, no; not a rod. The city is rapidly growing in that direction. I have + only to put up the dwellings referred to, and dozens will, be anxious to + purchase lots, and build all around them. Won't the ground to the left of + that you speak of answer as well?” + </p> + <p> + But the committee replied in the negative. The lot they had mentioned was + the one decided upon as most suited for the purpose, and they were not + prepared to think of any other location. + </p> + <p> + All this Smith understood very well. He was not only willing, but anxious + for the city to purchase the lot they were negotiating for. All he wanted + was to get a good round price for the same—say four or five times + the real value. So he feigned indifference, and threw difficulties in the + way. + </p> + <p> + A few years previous to this time, Smith had purchased a considerable + tract of land at the north of the then flourishing village, at fifty + dollars an acre. Its present value was about three hundred dollars an + acre. After a good deal of talk on both sides, Smith finally agreed to + sell the particular lot pitched upon. The next thing was to arrange as to + price. + </p> + <p> + “At what do you hold this ground per acre?” + </p> + <p> + It was some time before Smith answered this question. His eyes were cast + upon the floor, and earnestly did he enter into debate with himself as to + the value he should place upon the lot. At first he thought of five + hundred dollars per acre. But his cupidity soon caused him to advance on + that sum, although, a month before, he would have caught at such an offer. + Then he advanced to six, to seven, and to eight hundred. And still he felt + undecided. + </p> + <p> + “I can get my own price,” said he to himself. “The city has to pay, and I + might just as well get a large sum as a small one.” + </p> + <p> + “For what price will you sell?” The question was repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I must have a good price.” + </p> + <p> + “We are willing to pay what is fair and right.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. No doubt you have fixed a limit to which you will go.” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly that,” said one of the gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + “Are you prepared to make an offer?” + </p> + <p> + “We are prepared to hear your price, and to make a report thereon,” was + replied. + </p> + <p> + “That's a very valuable lot of ground,” said Smith. + </p> + <p> + “Name your price,” returned one of the committeemen, a little impatiently. + </p> + <p> + Thus brought up to the point, Smith, after thinking hurriedly for a few + moments, said— + </p> + <p> + “One thousand dollars an acre.” + </p> + <p> + Both the men shook their heads in a very positive way. Smith said that it + was the lowest he would take; and so the conference ended. + </p> + <p> + At the next meeting of the city councils, a report on the town lot was + made, and the extraordinary demand of Smith canvassed. It was unanimously + decided not to make the proposed purchase. + </p> + <p> + When this decision reached the landholder, he was considerably + disappointed. He wanted money badly, and would have “jumped at” two + thousand dollars for the five acre lot, if satisfied that it would bring + no more. But when the city came forward as a purchaser, his cupidity was + subjected to a very strong temptation. He believed that he could get five + thousand dollars as easily as two; and quieted his conscience by the salvo—“An + article is always worth what it will bring.” + </p> + <p> + A week or two went by, and Smith was about calling upon one of the members + of the council, to say that, if the city really wanted the lot he would + sell at their price, leaving it with the council to act justly and + generously, when a friend said to him, + </p> + <p> + “I hear that the council had the subject of a public square under + consideration again this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” Smith was visibly excited, though he tried to appear calm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and I also hear that they have decided to pay the extravagant price + you asked for a lot of ground at the north end of the city.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand dollars an acre?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Its real value, and not cent more,” said Smith. + </p> + <p> + “People differ about that. How ever, you are lucky,” the friend replied. + “The city is able to pay.” + </p> + <p> + “So I think. And I mean they shall pay.” + </p> + <p> + Before the committee, to whom the matter was given in charge, had time to + call upon Smith, and close with him for the lot, that gentleman had + concluded in his own mind that it would be just as easy to get twelve + hundred dollars an acre as a thousand. It was plain that the council were + bent upon having the ground, and would pay a round sum for it. It was just + the spot for a public square; and the city must become the owner. So, when + he was called upon, by the gentlemen, and they said to him, + </p> + <p> + “We are authorized to pay you your price,” he promptly answered, “The + offer is no longer open. You declined it when it was made. My price for + that property is now twelve hundred dollars an acre.” + </p> + <p> + The men offered remonstrance; but it was of no avail. Smith believed that + he could get six thousand dollars for the ground as easily as five + thousand. The city must have the lot, and would pay almost any price. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly think it right, Mr. Smith,” said one of his visiters, “for you + to take such an advantage. This square is for the public good.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the public pay, then,” was the unhesitating answer. “The public is + able enough.” + </p> + <p> + “The location of this park, at the north end of the city, will greatly + improve the value of your other property.” + </p> + <p> + This Smith understood very well. But he replied, + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that. I have some very strong doubts on the subject. + It's my opinion, that the buildings I contemplated erecting will be far + more to my advantage. Be that as it may, however, I am decided in selling + for nothing less than six thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “We are only authorized to pay five thousand,” replied the committee. “If + you agree to take that sum, will close the bargain on the spot.” + </p> + <p> + Five thousand dollars was a large sum of money, and Smith felt strongly + tempted to close in with the liberal offer. But six thousand loomed up + before his imagination still more temptingly. + </p> + <p> + “I can get it,” said he to himself; “and the property is worth what it + will bring.” + </p> + <p> + So he positively declined to sell it at a thousand dollars per acre. + </p> + <p> + “At twelve hundred you will sell?” remarked one of the committee, as they + were about retiring. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I will take twelve hundred the acre. That is the lowest rate, and I + am not anxious even at that price. I can do quite as well by keeping it in + my own possession. But, as you seem so bent on having it, I will not stand + in your way. When will the council meet again?” + </p> + <p> + “Not until next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. If they then accept my offer, all will be right. But, + understand me; if they do not accept, the offer no longer remains open. It + is a matter of no moment to me which way the thing goes.” + </p> + <p> + It was a matter of moment to Smith, for all this assertion—a matter + of very great moment. He had several thousand dollars to pay in the course + of the next few months on land purchases, and no way to meet the payments, + except by mortgages, or sales of property; and, it may naturally be + concluded, that he suffered considerable uneasiness during the time which + passed until the next meeting of the council. + </p> + <p> + Of course, the grasping disposition shown by Smith, became the town talk; + and people said a good many hard things of him. Little, however, did he + care, so that he secured six thousand dollars for a lot not worth more + than two thousand. + </p> + <p> + Among other residents and property holders in the town, was a + simple-minded, true-hearted, honest man, named Jones. His father had left + him a large farm, a goodly portion of which, in process of time, came to + be included in the limits of the new city; and he found a much more + profitable employment in selling building lots than in tilling the soil. + The property of Mr. Jones lay at the west side of the town. + </p> + <p> + Now, when Mr. Jones heard of the exorbitant demand made by Smith for a + five acre lot, his honest heart throbbed with a feeling of indignation. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't have believed it of him,” said he. “Six thousand dollars! + Preposterous! Why, I would give the city a lot of twice the size, and do + it with pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “You would?” said a member of the council, who happened to hear this + remark. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I would.” + </p> + <p> + “You are really in earnest?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly. Go and select a public square from any of my unappropriated + land on the west side of the city, and I will pass you the title as a free + gift to-morrow, and feel pleasure in doing so.” + </p> + <p> + “That is public spirit,” said the councilman. + </p> + <p> + “Call it what you will. I am pleased in making the offer.” + </p> + <p> + Now, let it not be supposed that Mr. Jones was shrewdly calculating the + advantage which would result to him from having a park at the west side of + the city. No such thought had yet entered his mind. He spoke from the + impulse of a generous feeling. + </p> + <p> + Time passed on, and the session day of the council came round—a day + to which Smith had looked forward with no ordinary feelings of interest, + that were touched at times by the coldness of doubt, and the agitation of + uncertainty. Several times he had more than half repented of his refusal + to accept the liberal offer of five thousand dollars, and of having fixed + so positively upon six thousand as the “lowest figure.” + </p> + <p> + The morning of the day passed, and Smith began to grow uneasy. He did not + venture to seek for information as to the doings of the council, for that + would be to expose the anxiety he felt in the result of their + deliberations. Slowly the afternoon wore away, and it so happened that + Smith did not meet any one of the councilmen; nor did he even know whether + the council was still in session or not. As to making allusion to the + subject of his anxious interest to any one, that was carefully avoided; + for he knew that his exorbitant demand was the town talk—and he + wished to affect the most perfect indifference on the subject. + </p> + <p> + The day closed, and not a whisper about the town lot had come to the ears + of Mr. Smith. What could it mean? Had his offer to sell at six thousand + been rejected? The very thought caused his heart to grow heavy in his + bosom. Six, seven, eight o'clock came, and still it was all dark with Mr. + Smith. He could bear the suspense no longer, and so determined to call + upon his neighbour Wilson, who was a member of the council, and learn from + him what had been done. + </p> + <p> + So he called on Mr. Wilson. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, friend Smith,” said the latter; “how are you this evening?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thank you,” returned Smith, feeling a certain oppression of the + chest. “How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well.” + </p> + <p> + Here there was a pause. After which Smith said, “About that ground of + mine. What did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Wilson, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, did you say?” Smith's voice was a little husky. + </p> + <p> + “No. You declined our offer; or, rather, the high price fixed by yourself + upon the land.” + </p> + <p> + “You refused to buy it at five thousand, when it was offered,” said Smith. + </p> + <p> + “I know we did, because your demand was exorbitant.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not at all,” returned Smith quickly. + </p> + <p> + “In that we only differ,” said Wilson. “However, the council has decided + not to pay you the price you ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Unanimously?” + </p> + <p> + “There was not a dissenting voice.” + </p> + <p> + Smith began to feel more and more uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “I might take something less,” he ventured to say, in a low, hesitating + voice. + </p> + <p> + “It is too late now,” was Mr. Wilson's prompt reply. + </p> + <p> + “Too late! How so?” + </p> + <p> + “We have procured a lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wilson!” Poor Smith started to his feet in chagrin and astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we have taken one of Jones's lots on the west side of the city. A + beautiful ten acre lot.” + </p> + <p> + “You have!” Smith was actually pale. + </p> + <p> + “We have; and the title deeds are now being made out.” + </p> + <p> + It was some time before Smith had sufficiently recovered from the stunning + effect of this unlooked-for intelligence, to make the inquiry, + </p> + <p> + “And pray how much did Jones ask for his ten acre lot.” + </p> + <p> + “He presented it to the city as a gift,” replied the councilman. + </p> + <p> + “A gift! What folly!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not folly—but true worldly wisdom; though I believe Jones did + not think of advantage to himself when he generously made the offer. He is + worth twenty thousand dollars more to-day than he was yesterday, in the + simple advanced value of his land for building lots. And I know of no man + in this town whose good fortune affects me with more pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Smith stole back to his home with a mountain of disappointment on his + heart. In his cupidity he had entirely overreached himself, and he saw + that the consequences were to react upon all his future prosperity. The + public square at the west end of the town would draw improvements in that + direction, all the while increasing the wealth of Mr. Jones, while lots at + the north end would remain at present prices, or, it might be, take a + downward range. + </p> + <p> + And so it proved. In ten years, Jones was the richest man in the town, + while half of Smith's property had been sold for taxes. The five acre lot + passed from his hands, under the hammer, in the foreclosure of a mortgage, + for one thousand dollars! + </p> + <p> + Thus it is that inordinate selfishness and cupidity overreach themselves; + while the liberal man deviseth liberal things, and is sustained thereby. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A SUNBEAM and a raindrop met together in the sky + One afternoon in sunny June, when earth was parched and dry; + Each quarrelled for the precedence ('twas so the story ran), + And the golden sunbeam, warmly, the quarrel thus began:— + + “What were the earth without me? I come with beauty bright, + She smiles to hail my presence, and rejoices in my light; + I deck the hill and valley with many a lovely hue, + I give the rose its blushes, and the violet its blue. + + “I steal within the window, and through the cottage door, + And my presence like a blessing gilds with smiles the broad earth o'er; + The brooks and streams flow dancing and sparkling in my ray, + And the merry, happy children in the golden sunshine play.” + + Then the tearful raindrop answered—“Give praise where praise is due, + The earth indeed were lonely without a smile from you; + But without my visits, also, its beauty would decay, + The flowers droop and wither, and the streamlets dry away. + + “I give the flowers their freshness, and you their colours gay, + My jewels would not sparkle, without your sunny ray. + Since each upon the other so closely must depend, + Let us seek the earth together, and our common blessings blend.” + + The raindrops, and the sunbeams, came laughing down to earth, + And it woke once more to beauty, and to myriad tones of mirth; + The river and the streamlet went dancing on their way, + And the raindrops brightly sparkled in the sunbeam's golden ray. + + The drooping flowers looked brighter, there was fragrance in the air, + The earth seemed new created, there was gladness everywhere; + And above the dark clouds, gleaming on the clear blue arch of Heaven, + The Rainbow, in its beauty, like a smile of love was given. + + 'Twas a sweet and simple lesson, which the story told, I thought, + Not alone and single-handed our kindliest deeds are wrought; + Like the sunbeam and the raindrop, work together, while we may, + And the bow of Heaven's own promise shall smile upon our way. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS. + </h2> + <p> + STRANGE and subtle are the influences which affect the spirit and touch + the heart. Are there bodiless creatures around us, moulding our thoughts + into darkness or brightness, as they will? Whence, otherwise, come the + shadow and the sunshine, for which we can discern no mortal agency? + </p> + <p> + Oftener, As we grow older, come the shadows; less frequently the sunshine. + Ere I took up my pen, I was sitting with a pleasant company of friends, + listening to music, and speaking, with the rest, light words. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, I knew not why, my heart was wrapt away in an atmosphere of + sorrow. A sense of weakness and unworthiness weighed me down, and I felt + the moisture gather to my eyes and my lips tremble, though they kept the + smile. + </p> + <p> + All my past life rose up before me, and all my short-comings—all, my + mistakes, and all my wilful wickedness, seemed pleading trumpet-tongued + against me. + </p> + <p> + I saw her before me whose feet trod with mine the green holts and meadows, + when the childish thought strayed not beyond the near or the possible. I + saw her through the long blue distances, clothed in the white beauty of an + angel; but, alas! she drew her golden hair across her face to veil from + her vision the sin-darkened creature whose eyes dropped heavily to the hem + of her robe! + </p> + <p> + O pure and beautiful one, taken to peace ere the weak temptation had + lifted itself up beyond thy stature, and compelled thee to listen, to + oppose thy weakness to its strength, and to fall—sometimes, at + least, let thy face shine on me from between the clouds. Fresh from the + springs of Paradise, shake from thy wings the dew against my forehead. We + two were coming up together through the sweet land of poesy and dreams, + where the senses believe what the heart hopes; our hands were full of + green boughs, and our laps of cowslips and violets, white and purple. We + were talking of that more beautiful world into which childhood was opening + out, when that spectre met us, feared and dreaded alike by the strong man + and the little child, and one was taken, and the other left. + </p> + <p> + One was caught away sinless to the bosom of the Good Shepherd, and one was + left to weep pitiless tears, to eat the bread of toil, and to think the + bitter thoughts of misery,—left “to clasp a phantom and to find it + air.” For often has the adversary pressed me sore, and out of my arms has + slid ever that which my soul pronounced good: slid out of my arms and + coiled about my feet like a serpent, dragging me back and holding me down + from all that is high and great. + </p> + <p> + Pity me, dear one, if thy sweet sympathies can come out of the glory, if + the lovelight of thy beautiful life can press through the cloud and the + evil, and fold me again as a garment; pity and plead for me with the + maiden mother whose arms in human sorrow and human love cradled our + blessed Redeemer. + </p> + <p> + She hath known our mortal pain and passion—our more than mortal + triumph—she hath heard the “blessed art thou among women.” My + unavailing prayers goldenly syllabled by her whose name sounds from the + manger through all the world, may find acceptance with Him who, though our + sins be as scarlet, can wash them white as wool. + </p> + <p> + Our hearts grew together as one, and along the headlands and the valleys + one shadow went before us, and one shadow followed us, till the grave + gaped hungry and terrible, and I was alone. Faltering in fear, but + lingering in love, I knelt by the deathbed—it was the middle night, + and the first moans of the autumn came down from the hills, for the frost + specks glinted on her golden robes, and the wind blew chill in her bosom. + Heaven was full of stars, and the half-moon scattered abroad her beauty + like a silver rain. Many have been the middle nights since then, for years + lie between me and that fearfulest of all watches; but a shadow, a sound, + or a thought, turns the key of the dim chamber, and the scene is + reproduced. + </p> + <p> + I see the long locks on the pillow, the smile on the ashen lips, the thin, + cold fingers faintly pressing my own, and hear the broken voice saying, “I + am going now. I am not afraid. Why weep ye? Though I were to live the full + time allotted to man, I should not be more ready, nor more willing than + now.” But over this there comes a shudder and a groan that all the + mirthfulness of the careless was impotent to drown. + </p> + <p> + Three days previous to the death-night, three days previous to the transit + of the soul from the clayey tabernacle to the house not; made with hands—from + dishonour to glory—let me turn theme over as so many leaves. + </p> + <p> + The first of the November mornings, but the summer had tarried late, and + the wood to the south of our homestead lifted itself like a painted wall + against the sky—the squirrel was leaping nimbly and chattering gayly + among the fiery tops of the oaks or the dun foliage of the hickory, that + shot up its shelving trunk and spread its forked branches far over the + smooth, moss-spotted boles of the beeches, and the limber boughs of the + elms. Lithe and blithe he was, for his harvest was come. + </p> + <p> + From the cracked beech-burs was dropping the sweet, angular fruit, and + down from the hickory boughs with every gust fell a shower of nuts—shelling + clean and silvery from their thick black hulls. + </p> + <p> + Now and then, across the stubble-field, with long cars erect, leaped the + gray hare, but for the most part he kept close in his burrow, for rude + huntsmen were on the hills with their dogs, and only when the sharp report + of a rifle rung through the forest, or the hungry yelping of some trailing + hound startled his harmless slumber, might you see at the mouth of his + burrow the quivering lip and great timid eyes. + </p> + <p> + Along the margin of the creek, shrunken now away from the blue and gray + and yellowish stones that made its cool pavement, and projected in thick + layers from the shelving banks, the white columns of gigantic sycamores + leaped earthward, their bases driven, as it seemed, deep into the ground—all + their convolutions of roots buried out, of view. Dropping into the + stagnant waters below, came one by one the broad, rose-tinted leaves, + breaking the shadows of the silver limbs. + </p> + <p> + Ruffling and widening to the edges of the pools went the circles, as the + pale, yellow walnuts plashed into their midst; for here, too, grew the + parent trees, their black bark cut and jagged and broken into rough + diamond work. + </p> + <p> + That beautiful season was come when + </p> + <p> + “Rustic girls in hoods Go gleaning through the woods.” + </p> + <p> + Two days after this, we said, my dear mate and I, we shall have a holiday, + and from sunrise till sunset, with our laps full of ripe nuts and orchard + fruits, we shall make pleasant pastime. + </p> + <p> + Rosalie, for so I may call her, was older than I, with a face of beauty + and a spirit that never flagged. But to-day there was heaviness in her + eyes, and a flushing in her cheek that was deeper than had been there + before. + </p> + <p> + Still she spoke gayly, and smiled the old smile, for the gaunt form of + sickness had never been among us children, and we knew not how his touch + made the head sick and the heart faint. + </p> + <p> + The day looked forward to so anxiously dawned at last; but in the dim + chamber of Rosalie the light fell sad. I must go alone. + </p> + <p> + We had always been together before, at work and in play, asleep and awake, + and I lingered long ere I would be persuaded to leave her; but when she + smiled and said the fresh-gathered nuts and shining apples would make her + glad, I wiped her forehead, and turning quickly away that she might not + see my tears, was speedily wading through winrows of dead leaves. + </p> + <p> + The sensations of that day I shall never forget; a vague and trembling + fear of some coming evil, I knew not what, made me often start as the + shadows drifted past me, or a bough crackled beneath my feet. + </p> + <p> + From the low, shrubby hawthorns, I gathered the small red apples, and from + beneath the maples, picked by their slim golden stems the notched and + gorgeous leaves. The wind fingered playfully my hair, and clouds of birds + went whirring through the tree-tops; but no sight nor sound could divide + my thoughts from her whose voice had so often filled with music these + solitary places. + </p> + <p> + I remember when first the fear distinctly defined itself. I was seated on + a mossy log, counting the treasures which I had been gathering, when the + clatter of hoof-strokes on the clayey and hard-beaten road arrested my + attention, and, looking up—for the wood thinned off in the direction + of the highway, and left it distinctly in view—I saw Doctor H——, + the physician, in attendance upon my sick companion. The visit was an + unseasonable one. She, whom I loved so, might never come with me to the + woods any more. + </p> + <p> + Where the hill sloped to the roadside, and the trees, as I said, were but + few, was the village graveyard. No friend of mine, no one whom I had ever + known or loved, was buried there—yet with a child's instinctive + dread of death, I had ever passed its shaggy solitude (for shrubs and + trees grew there wild and unattended) with a hurried step and averted + face. + </p> + <p> + Now, for the first time in my life, I walked voluntarily thitherward, and + climbing on a log by the fence-side, gazed long and earnestly within. I + stood beneath a tall locust-tree, and the small, round leaves; yellow now + as the long cloud-bar across the sunset, kept dropping, and dropping at my + feet, till all the faded grass was covered up. There the mattock had never + been struck; but in fancy I saw the small Heaves falling and drifting + about a new and smooth-shaped mound—and, choking with the turbulent + outcry in my heart, I glided stealthily homeward—alas! to find the + boding shape I had seen through mists and, shadows awfully palpable. I did + not ask about Rosalie. I was afraid; but with my rural gleanings in my + lap, opened the door of her chamber. The physician had preceded me but a + moment, and, standing by the bedside, was turning toward the lessening + light the little wasted hand, the one on which I had noticed in the + morning a small purple spot. “Mortification!” he said, abruptly, and moved + away, as though his work were done. + </p> + <p> + There was a groan expressive of the sudden and terrible consciousness + which had in it the agony of agonies—the giving up of all. The gift + I had brought fell from my relaxed grasp, and, hiding my face in the + pillow, I gave way to the passionate sorrow of an undisciplined nature. + </p> + <p> + When at last I looked up, there was a smile on her lips that no faintest + moan ever displaced again. + </p> + <p> + A good man and a skilful physician was Dr. H——, but his + infirmity was a love of strong drink; and, therefore, was it that he + softened not the terrible blow which must soon have fallen. I link with + his memory no reproaches now, for all this is away down in the past; and + that foe that sooner or later biteth like a serpent, soon did his work; + but then my breaking heart judged him, hardly. Often yet, for in all that + is saddest memory is faithfulest, I wake suddenly out of sleep, and live + over that first and bitterest sorrow of my life; and there is no house of + gladness in the world that with a whisper will not echo the moan of lips + pale with the kisses of death. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, when life is gayest about me, an unseen hand leads me apart, + and opening the door of that still chambers I go in—the yellow + leaves are at my feet again, and that white band between me and the light. + </p> + <p> + I see the blue flames quivering and curling close and the smouldering + embers on the hearth. I hear soft footsteps and sobbing voices and see the + clasped hands and placid smile of her who, alone among us all, was + untroubled; and over the darkness and the pain I hear voice, saying, “She + is not dead, but sleepeth.” Would, dear reader, that you might remember, + and I too all ways, the importance of soft and careful words. One harsh or + even thoughtlessly chosen epithet, may bear with it a weight which shall + weigh down some heart through all life. There are for us all nights of + sorrow, in which we feel their value. Help us, our Father, to remember it! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATION. + </h2> + <p> + “HE is a good man, suppose, and an excellent doctor,” said Mrs. Salina + Simmons, with a dubious shake of her head but——” + </p> + <p> + “But what, Mrs. Simmons?” + </p> + <p> + “They say he <i>drinks!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “No, impossible!” exclaimed Mr. Josiah Query, with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible? I hope so,” said Mrs. Simmons. “And—mind you, I don't + say he <i>drinks</i>, but that such is the report. And I have it upon + tolerably good authority, too, Mr. Query.” + </p> + <p> + “What authority?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I couldn't tell that: for you know I never like to make mischief. I + can only say that the <i>report</i> is—he drinks.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Josiah Query scratched his head. + </p> + <p> + “Can it be that Dr. Harvey drinks?” he murmured. “I thought him pure Son + of Temperance. And his my family physician, too! I must look into this + matter forthwith. Mrs. Simmons, you still decline slating who is your + authority for this report?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Simmons was firm; her companion could gain no satisfaction. She soon + compelled him to promise that he would not mention her name, if he spoke + of the affair elsewhere, repeating her remark that she never liked to make + mischief. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Harvey was a physician residing in a small village, where he shared + the profits of practice with another doctor, named Jones. Dr. Harvey was + generally liked and among his friends was Mr. Josiah Query, whom Mrs. + Simmons shocked with the bit of gossip respecting the doctor's habits of + intemperance. Mr. Query was a good-hearted man, and he deemed it his duty + to inquire into the nature of the report, and learn if it had any + foundation in truth. Accordingly, he went to Mr. Green, who also employed + the doctor in his family. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Green,” said he, “have you heard anything about this report of Dr. + Harvey's intemperance?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Harvey's intemperance?” cried Mr. Green, astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a flying report.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm sure I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, then, you don't know whether it is true or not?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “That he drinks.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of it before. Dr. Harvey is my family physician, and I + certainly would not employ a man addicted to the use of ardent spirits.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Mr. Query “and for this reason, and for the doctor's sake, + too, I want to know the truth of the matter. I don't really credit it + myself; but I thought it would do no harm to inquire.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Query next applied to Squire Worthy for information. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” exclaimed the squire, who was a nervous man; “does Dr. Harvey + drink?” + </p> + <p> + “Such is the rumour; how true it is, I can't say.” + </p> + <p> + “And what if he should give one of my family a dose of arsenic instead of + the tincture of rhubarb, some time, when he is intoxicated? My mind is + made up now. I shall send for Dr. Jones in future.” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear sir,” remonstrated Mr. Query. “I don't say the report is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; you wouldn't wish to commit yourself. You like to know the safe + side, and so do I. I shall employ Dr. Jones.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Query turned sorrowfully away. + </p> + <p> + “Squire Worthy must have bad suspicions of the doctor's intemperance + before I came to him,” thought he; “I really begin to fear that there is + some foundation for the report. I'll go to Mrs. Mason; she will know.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Query found Mrs. Mason ready to listen to and believe any scandal. She + gave her head a significant toss, as if she knew more about the report + than she chose to confess. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Query begged of her to explain herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>I</i> sha'n't say anything,” exclaimed Mrs. Mason; “I've no ill + will against Dr. Harvey, and I'd rather cut off my right hand than injure + him.” + </p> + <p> + “But is the report true?” + </p> + <p> + “True, Mr. Query? Do you suppose <i>I</i> ever saw Dr. Harvey drunk? Then + how can you expect me to know? Oh, I don't wish to say anything against + the man, and I won't.” + </p> + <p> + After visiting Mrs. Mason, Mr. Query went to half a dozen others to learn + the truth respecting Dr. Harvey's habits. Nobody would confess that they + knew anything, about his drinking; but Mr. Smith “was not as much + surprised as others might be;” Mr. Brown “was sorry if the report was + true,” adding, that the best of men had their faults. Miss Single had + frequently remarked the doctor's florid complexion, and wondered if his + colour was natural; Mr. Clark remembered that the doctor appeared + unusually gay, on the occasion of his last visit to his family; Mrs. + Rogers declared that, when she came to reflect, she believed she had once + or twice smelt the man's breath; and Mr. Impulse had often seen him riding + at an extraordinary rate for a sober Gentleman. Still Mr. Query was unable + to ascertain any definite facts respecting the unfavourable report. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, with his usual industry, Dr. Harvey went about his business, + little suspecting the scandalous gossip that was circulating to his + discredit. But he soon perceived he was very coldly received by some of + his old friends, and that others employed Dr. Jones. Nobody sent for him, + and he might have begun to think that the health of the town was entirely + re-established, had he not observed that his rival appeared driven with + business, and that he rode night and day. + </p> + <p> + One evening Dr. Harvey sat in his office, wondering what could have + occasioned the sudden and surprising change in his affairs, when, contrary + to his expectations, he received a call to visit a sick child of one of + his old friends, who had lately employed his rival. After some hesitation, + and a struggle between pride and a sense of duty, he resolved to respond + to the call, and at the same time learn, if possible, why he had been + preferred to Dr. Jones, and why Dr. Jones had on other occasions been + preferred to him. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is, Dr. Harvey,” said Mr. Miles, “we thought the child + dangerously ill, and as Dr. Jones could not come immediately, we concluded + to send for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I admire your frankness,” responded Dr. Harvey, smiling; “and shall + admire it still more, if you will inform me why you have lately preferred + Dr. Jones to me. Formerly I had the honour of enjoying your friendship and + esteem, and you have frequently told me yourself, that you would trust no + other physician.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Mr. Miles, “I am a plain man, and never hesitate to tell + people what they wish to know. I sent for Dr. Jones instead of you, I + confess not that I doubted your skill—” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a delicate subject, but I will, nevertheless, speak out. Although I + had the utmost confidence in your skill and faithfulness—I—you + know, I—in short, I don't like to trust a physician who drinks.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” cried the astonished doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—drinks,” pursued Mr. Miles. “It is plain language, but I am a + plain man. I heard of your intemperance, and thought it unsafe—that + is, dangerous—to employ you.” + </p> + <p> + “My intemperance!” ejaculated Dr. Harvey. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir! and I am sorry to know it. But the fact that you sometimes + drink a trifle too much is now a well known fact, and is generally talked + of in the village.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Miles,” cried the indignant doctor, “this is scandalous—it is + false! Who is your authority for this report?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have heard it from several mouths but I can't say exactly who is + responsible for the rumour.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Miles went on to mention several names, as connected with the + rumour, and among which was that of Mr. Query. + </p> + <p> + The indignant doctor immediately set out on a pilgrimage of investigation, + going from one house to another, in search of the author of the scandal. + </p> + <p> + Nobody, however, could state where it originated, but it was universally + admitted that the man from whose lips it was first heard, was Mr. Query. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly Dr. Harvey hastened to Mr. Query's house, and demanded of that + gentleman what he meant by circulating such scandal. + </p> + <p> + “My dear doctor,” cried Mr. Query, his face beaming with conscious + innocence, “<i>I</i> haven't been guilty of any mis-statement about you, I + can take my oath. I heard that there was a report of your drinking, and + all I did was to tell people I didn't believe it, nor know anything about + it, and to inquire were it originated. Oh, I assure you, doctor, I haven't + slandered you in any manner.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a poor fool!” exclaimed Dr. Harvey, perplexed and angry. “If you + had gone about town telling everybody that you saw me drunk, daily, you + couldn't have slandered me more effectually than you have.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon,” cried Mr. Query, very sad; “but I thought I was + doing you a service!” + </p> + <p> + “Save me from my friends!” exclaimed the doctor, bitterly. “An <i>enemy</i> + could not have done me as much injury as you have done. But I now insist + on knowing who first mentioned the report to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am not at liberty to say that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall hold you responsible for the scandal—for the base lies + you have circulated. But if you are really an honest man, and my friend, + you will not hesitate to tell me where this report originated.” + </p> + <p> + After some reflection, Mr. Query, who stood in mortal fear of the + indignant doctor, resolved to reveal the secret, and mentioned the name of + his informant, Mrs. Simmons. As Dr. Harvey had not heard her spoken of + before, as connected with the report of his intemperance, he knew very + well that Mr. Query's “friendly investigations” had been the sole cause of + his loss of practice. However, to go to the roots of this Upas tree of + scandal, he resolved to pay an immediate visit to Mrs. Simmons. + </p> + <p> + This lady could deny nothing; but she declared that she had not given the + rumour as a fact, and that she had never spoken of it except to Mr. Query. + Anxious to throw the responsibility of the slander upon others, she + eagerly confessed that, on a certain occasion upon entering a room in + which were Mrs. Guild and Mrs. Harmless, she overheard one of these ladies + remark that “Dr. Harvey drank more than ever,” and the other reply, that + “she had heard him say he could not break himself, although he knew his + health suffered in consequence.” + </p> + <p> + Thus set upon the right track, Dr. Harvey visited Mrs. Guild and Mrs. + Harmless without delay. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy on us!” exclaimed those ladies, when questioned respecting the + matter, “we perfectly remember talking about your <i>drinking coffee</i>, + and making such remarks as you have heard through Mrs. Simmons. But with + regard to your <i>drinking liquor</i>, we never heard the report until a + week ago, and never believed it at all.” + </p> + <p> + As what these ladies had said of his <i>coffee-drinking</i> propensities + was perfectly true, Dr. Harvey readily acquitted them of any designs + against his character for sobriety, and well satisfied with having at last + discovered the origin of the rumour, returned to the friendly Mr. Query. + </p> + <p> + The humiliation of this gentleman was so deep, that Dr. Harvey avoided + reproaches, and confined himself to a simple narrative of his discoveries. + </p> + <p> + “I see, it is all my fault,” said Mr. Query. “And I will do anything to + remedy it. I never could believe you drank—and now I'll go and tell + everybody that the report <i>was</i> false.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! bless you,” cried the doctor, “I wouldn't have you do so for the + world. All I ask of you, is to say nothing whatever on the subject, and if + you ever again hear a report of the kind, don't make it a subject of + friendly investigation.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Query promised; and, after the truth was known, and, Dr. Harvey had + regained the good-will of the community, together with his share of + medical practice, he never had reason again to exclaim—“Save me from + my friends!” And Mr. Query was in future exceedingly careful how he + attempted to make friendly investigations. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROOM IN THE WORLD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THERE is room in the world for the wealthy and great, + For princes to reign in magnificent state; + For the courtier to bend, for the noble to sue, + If the hearts of all these are but honest and true. + + And there's room in the world for the lowly and meek, + For the hard horny hand, and the toil-furrow'd cheek; + For the scholar to think, for the merchant to trade, + So these are found upright and just in their grade. + + But room there is none for the wicked; and nought + For the souls that with teeming corruption are fraught. + The world would be small, were its oceans all land, + To harbour and feed such a pestilent band. + + Root out from among ye, by teaching the mind, + By training the heart, this chief curse of mankind! + 'Tis a duty you owe to the forthcoming race— + Confess it in time, and discharge it with grace! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WORDS. + </h2> + <p> + “THE foolish thing!” said my Aunt Rachel, speaking warmly, “to get hurt at + a mere word. It's a little hard that people can't open their lips but + somebody is offended.” + </p> + <p> + “Words are things!” said I, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Very light things! A person must be tender indeed, that is hurt by a + word.” + </p> + <p> + “The very lightest thing may hurt, if it falls on a tender place.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like people who have these tender places,” said Aunt Rachel. “I + never get hurt at what is said to me. No—never! To be ever picking + and mincing, and chopping off your words—to be afraid to say this or + that—for fear somebody will be offended! I can't abide it.” + </p> + <p> + “People who have these tender places can't help it, I suppose. This being + so, ought we not to regard their weakness?” said I. “Pain, either of body + or mind, is hard to bear, and we should not inflict it causelessly.” + </p> + <p> + “People who are so wonderfully sensitive,” replied Aunt Rachel, growing + warmer, “ought to shut themselves up at home, and not come among sensible, + good-tempered persons. As far as I am concerned, I can tell them, one and + all, that I am not going to pick out every hard word from a sentence as + carefully as I would seeds from a raisin. Let them crack them with their + teeth, if they are afraid to swallow them whole.” + </p> + <p> + Now, for all that Aunt Rachel went on after this strain, she was a kind, + good soul, in the main, and, I could see, was sorry for having hurt the + feelings of Mary Lane. But she didn't like to acknowledge that she was in + the wrong; that would detract too much from the self-complacency with + which she regarded herself. Knowing her character very well, I thought it + best not to continue the little argument about the importance of words, + and so changed the subject. But, every now and then, Aunt Rachel would + return to it, each time softening a little towards Mary. At last she said, + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure it was a little thing. A very little thing. She might have known + that nothing unkind was intended on my part.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some subjects, aunt,” I replied, “to which we cannot bear the + slightest allusion. And a sudden reference to them is very apt to throw us + off of our guard. What you said to Mary has, in all probability touched + some weakness of character, or probed some wound that time has not been + able to heal. I have always thought her a sensible, good-natured girl.” + </p> + <p> + “And so have I. But I really cannot think that she has showed her good + sense or good nature in the present case. It is a very bad failing this, + of being over sensitive; and exceedingly annoying to one's friends.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, I know; but still, all of, us have a weak point, and to her that + is assailed, we are very apt to betray our feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I say now, as I have always said—I don't like to have + anything to do with people who have these weak points. This being hurt by + a word, as if words were blows, is something that does not come within the + range of my sympathies.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet, aunt,” said I, “all have weak points. Even you are not entirely + free from them.” + </p> + <p> + “Me!” Aunt Rachel bridled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and if even as light a thing as a word were to fall upon them, you + would suffer pain.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray, sir,” said Aunt Rachel, with much dignity of manner; she was chafed + by my words, light as they were, “inform me where these weaknesses, of + which you are pleased to speak, lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; you must excuse me. That would be very much out of place. But I + only stated a general fact that appertains to all of us.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Rachel looked very grave. I had laid the weight of words upon a + weakness of her character, and it had given her pain. That weakness was a + peculiarly good opinion of herself. I had made no allegation against her; + and there was none in my mind. My words simply expressed the general truth + that we all have weaknesses, and included her in their application. But + she imagined that I referred to some particular defect or fault, and + mail-proof as she was against words, they had wounded her. + </p> + <p> + For a day or two Aunt Rachel remained more sober than was her wont. I knew + the cause, but did not attempt to remove from her mind any impression my + words had made. One day, about a week after, I said to her, + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Rachel, I saw Mary Lane's mother this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” The old lady looked up at me inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't wonder your words hurt the poor girl,” I added. + </p> + <p> + “Why? What did I say?” quickly asked Aunt Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “You said that she was a jilt.” + </p> + <p> + “But I was only jest, and she knew it. I did not really mean anything. I'm + surprised that Mary should be so foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not be surprised when you know all,” was my answer. + </p> + <p> + “All? What all? I'm sure I wasn't in earnest. I didn't mean to hurt the + poor girl's feelings.” My aunt looked very much troubled. + </p> + <p> + “No one blames you, Aunt Rachel,” said I. “Mary knows you didn't intend + wounding her.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should she take a little word go much to heart? It must have had + more truth in it than I supposed.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know that Mary refused an offer of marriage from Walter Green + last week?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no! It can't be possible! Refused Walter Green?” + </p> + <p> + “They've been intimate for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “I know.” + </p> + <p> + “She certainly encouraged him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it more than probable.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible, then, that she did really jilt the young man?” exclaimed + Aunt Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “This has been said of her,” I replied. “But so far as I can learn, she + was really attached to him, and suffered great pain in rejecting his + offer. Wisely she regarded marriage as the most important event of her + life, and refused to make so solemn a contract with one in whose + principles she had not the fullest confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “But she ought not to have encouraged Walter, if she did not intend + marrying him,” said Aunt Rachel, with some warmth. + </p> + <p> + “She encouraged him so long as she thought well of him. A closer view + revealed points of character hidden by distance. When she saw these her + feelings were already deeply involved. But, like a true woman, she turned + from the proffered hand, even though while in doing so her heart + palpitated with pain. There is nothing false about Mary Lane. She could no + more trifle with a lover than she could commit a crime. Think, then, how + almost impossible it would be for her to hear herself called, under + existing circumstances, even in sport, a jilt, without being hurt. Words + sometimes have power to hurt more than blows. Do you not see this, now, + Aunt Rachel?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, yes. I see it; and I saw it before,” said the old lady. “And in + future I will be more careful of my words. It is pretty late in life to + learn this lesson—but we are never too late to learn. Poor Mary! It + grieves me to think that I should have hurt her so much.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, words often have in them a smarting force, and we cannot be too + guarded how we use them. “Think twice before you speak once,” is a trite + but wise saying. We teach it to our children very carefully, but are too + apt to forget that it has not lost its application to ourselves. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + </h2> + <p> + “AN object of real charity,” said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor woman + withdrew from the room in which they were seated. + </p> + <p> + “If ever there was a worthy object she is one,” returned Mrs. Lyon. “A + widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too much for + her; yet obliged to support, with the labour of her own hands, not only + herself, but three young children. I do not wonder that she is behind with + her rent.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Mr. Lyon, in a voice of sympathy. “How much, did she say, + was due to her landlord?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “She will not be able to pay it.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have + obtained work for her from several ladies; but with her best efforts she + can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself and babes.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it not seem hard,” remarked Mr. Lyon, “that one like Mrs. Arnold, + who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and family, + should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many who could help + her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it so hard to make both + ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent for her, and feel happy in + so doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, “how much I wish that we were able + to do this! But we are not.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what we can do,” said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful voice; “or + rather what <i>I</i> can do. It will be a very light matter for say ten + persons to give a dollar apiece, in order to relieve Mrs. Arnold from her + present trouble. There are plenty who would cheerfully contribute, for + this good purpose; all that is wanted is some one to take upon himself the + business of making the collections. That task shall be mine.” + </p> + <p> + “How glad I am, James, to hear you say so!” smilingly replied Mrs. Lyon. + “Oh, what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will make her heart + as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her sadly. Old Links, her + landlord, has been worrying her about it a good deal, and, only a week + ago, threatened to put her things in the street, if she didn't pay up.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought of this before,” remarked Andrew Lyon. “There are + hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were only + certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in every way. + Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent consideration. Let + me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and Green, and Tompkins. I + can get a dollar from each of them. That will be three dollars,—and + one from myself, will make four. Who else is there? Oh, Malcolm! I'm sure + of a dollar from him; and also from Smith, Todd, and Perry.” + </p> + <p> + Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started forth, + early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by subscription, + the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on was Malcolm. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, friend Lyon!” said Malcolm, smiling blandly, “Good morning! What can + I do for you, to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with her + rent,” replied Andrew Lyon. “I want just one dollar from you, and as much + more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself.” + </p> + <p> + At the word poor widow the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when his + visiter ceased, he replied, in a changed and husky voice, clearing his + throat two or three times as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?” The man's manner had become + exceedingly grave. + </p> + <p> + “None more so,” was the prompt answer. “She is in poor health, and has + three children to support with the product of her needle. If any one needs + assistance, it is Mrs. Arnold.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold?” + </p> + <p> + “The same,” replied Andrew Lyon. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm benevolence. + But he turned slowly away, and opening his money-drawer, <i>very slowly</i> + toyed with his fingers amid its contents. At length he took therefrom a + dollar bill, and said, as he presented it to Lyon,—signing + involuntarily as he did so,— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must do my part. But we are called upon so often.” + </p> + <p> + The ardour of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at this + unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the glow of a + pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment his errand was + made known. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you in the widow's name,” said he, as he took the dollar. When he + turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on his feelings, + as if he had asked the coldly-given favour for himself. + </p> + <p> + It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call upon Mr. + Green, considered the “next best man” on his list. But he entered his + place of business with far less confidence than he had felt when calling + upon Malcolm. His story told, Green, without a word or smile, drew two + half dollars from his pocket and presented them. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Lyon. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome,” returned Green. + </p> + <p> + Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few moments. + Then bowing, he said, + </p> + <p> + “Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” was coldly and formally responded. + </p> + <p> + And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted. + </p> + <p> + “Better be at his shop, attending to his work,” muttered Green to himself, + as his visiter retired. “Men ain't very apt to get along too well in the + world who spend their time in begging for every object of charity that + happens to turn up. And there are plenty of such, dear knows. He's got a + dollar out of me; may it do him, or the poor widow he talked so glibly + about, much good.” + </p> + <p> + Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had raised + two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for one so + sensitive as himself! Instead of keeping on in his work of benevolence, he + went to his shop, and entered upon the day's employment. How disappointed + he felt;—and this disappointment was mingled with a certain sense of + humiliation, as if he had been asking alms for himself. + </p> + <p> + “Catch me at this work again!” he said half aloud, as his thoughts dwelt + upon what had so recently occurred. “But this is not right,” he added, + quickly. “It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs. Arnold must be + relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets relief. I had no thought + of a reception like this. People can talk of benevolence; but putting the + hand in the pocket is another affair altogether. I never dreamed that such + men as Malcolm and Green could be insensible to an appeal like the one I + made.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent,” he said to + himself, in a more cheerful tone, some time afterwards; “and it will go + hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like Green and + Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly respond to the + call of humanity. I'll go and see him.” + </p> + <p> + So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual. + </p> + <p> + “I've come begging, Mr. Jones,” said he, on meeting him. And he spoke in a + frank, pleasant manner, + </p> + <p> + “Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say,” was the + blunt answer. + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story first.” + </p> + <p> + “I do say it, and I'm in earnest,” returned Jones. “I feel as poor as + Job's turkey to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent,” said Lyon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get nothing + here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time I'd have in + handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help pay her rent! No, + no, my friend, you can't get anything here.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as you feel about it,” said Andrew Lyon. “There's no compulsion in + the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I presume not,” was rather coldly replied. + </p> + <p> + Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He had + undertaken a thankless office. + </p> + <p> + Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the good + work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to another + effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbour Tompkins, to whom he made + known his errand. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this,” said + Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. “But there are + so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough led to hold on + pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I feel sorry for her. How + much do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar each.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here's my dollar.” And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as he + handed over his contribution,—but the smile did not conceal an + expression which said very plainly— + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will not trouble me again in this way.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be sure I will not,” muttered Lyon, as he went away. He fully + understood the meaning of the expression. + </p> + <p> + Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was + successful; but there was something in the manner of the individual who + gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke. + </p> + <p> + “And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of rent paid + off,” says some one who has felt an interest in her favour. + </p> + <p> + Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more from + his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to undertake the + thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent for a fellow + creature in need. He has learned that a great many who refuse alms on the + plea that the object presented is not worthy, are but little more inclined + to charitable deeds, when on this point there is no question. + </p> + <p> + How many who read this can sympathize with Andrew Lyon! Few men who have + hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time in their + lives, to seek aid for a fellow creature in need. That their office was a + thankless one, they have too soon become aware. Even those who responded + to their call most liberally, in too many instances gave in a way that + left an unpleasant impression behind. How quickly has the first glow of + generous feeling, that sought to extend itself to others, that they might + share the pleasure of humanity, been chilled; and, instead of finding the + task an easy one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, humiliating! + Alas that this should be! That men should shut their hearts so + instinctively at the voice of charity! + </p> + <p> + We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the benevolent; + but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see themselves. At + best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow men aid for the suffering + and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all sacrifice on his part, and + the least that can be done is to honour his disinterested regard for + others in distress, and treat him with delicacy and consideration. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOVE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + OH! if there is one law above the rest, + Written in Wisdom—if there is a word + That I would trace as with a pen of fire + Upon the unsullied temper of a child— + If there is anything that keeps the mind + Open to angel visits, and repels + The ministry of ill—<i>'tis Human Love!</i> + God has made nothing worthy of contempt; + The smallest pebble in the well of Truth + Has its peculiar meanings, and will stand + When man's best monuments wear fast away. + The law of Heaven is <i>Love</i>—and though its name + Has been usurped by passion, and profaned + To its unholy uses through all time, + Still, the external principle is pure; + And in these deep affections that we feel + Omnipotent within us, can we see + The lavish measure in which love is given. + And in the yearning tenderness of a child + For every bird that sings above its head, + And every creature feeding on the hills, + And every tree and flower, and running brook, + We see how everything was made to love, + And how they err, who, in a world like this, + Find anything to hate but human pride. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “EVERY LITTLE HELPS.” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WHAT if a drop of rain should plead— + “So small a drop as I + Can ne'er refresh the thirsty mead; + I'll tarry in the sky?” + + What, if the shining beam of noon + Should in its fountain stay; + Because its feeble light alone + Cannot create a day? + + Does not each rain-drop help to form + The cool refreshing shower? + And every ray of light, to warm + And beautify the flower? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE THINGS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCORN not the slightest word or deed, + Nor deem it void of power; + There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed, + Waiting its natal hour. + A whispered word may touch the heart, + And call it back to life; + A look of love bid sin depart, + And still unholy strife. + + No act falls fruitless; none can tell + How vast its power may be, + Nor what results enfolded dwell + Within it silently. + Work and despair not; give thy mite, + Nor care how small it be; + God is with all that serve the right, + The holy, true, and free! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CARELESS WORDS. + </h2> + <p> + FIVE years ago, this fair November day,—five years? it seems but + yesterday, so fresh is that scene in my memory; and, I doubt not, were the + period ten times multiplied, it would be as vivid still to us—the + surviving actors in that drama! The touch of time, which blunts the + piercing thorn, as well as steals from the rose its lovely tints, is + powerless here, unless to give darker shades to that picture engraven on + our souls; and tears—ah, they only make it more imperishable! + </p> + <p> + We do not speak of her now; her name has not passed our lips in each + other's presence, since we followed her—grief-stricken mourners-to + the grave, to which—alas, alas! but why should not the truth be + spoken? the grave to which our careless words consigned her. But on every + anniversary of that day we can never forget, uninvited by me, and without + any previous arrangement between themselves, those two friends have come + to my house, and together we have sat, almost silently, save when Ada's + sweet voice has poured forth a low, plaintive strain to the mournful + chords Mary has made the harp to breathe. Four years ago, that cousin came + too; and since then, though he has been thousands of miles distant from + us, when, that anniversary has returned, he has written to me: he cannot + look into my face when that letter is penned; he but looks into his own + heart, and he cannot withhold the words of remorse and agony. + </p> + <p> + Ada and Mary have sat with me to-day, and we knew that Rowland, in + thought, was here too; ah, if we could have known another had been among + us,—if we could have felt that an eye was upon us, which will never + more dim with tears, a heart was near us which carelessness can never + wound again;—could we have known she had been here—that pure, + bright angel, with the smile of forgiveness and love on that beautiful + face—the dark veil of sorrow might have been lifted from our souls! + but we saw only with mortal vision; our faith was feeble, and we have only + drawn that sombre mantle more and more closely about us. The forgiveness + we have so many tim es prayed for, we have not yet dared to receive, + though we know it is our own. + </p> + <p> + That November day was just what this has been fair, mild, and sweet; and + how much did that dear one enjoy it! The earth was dry, and as we looked + from the window we saw no verdure but a small line of green on the south + side of the garden enclosure, and around the trunk of the old pear-tree, + and here and there a little oasis from which the strong wind of the + previous day, had lifted the thick covering of dry leaves, and one or two + shrubs, whose foliage feared not the cold breath of winter. The gaudy + hues, too, which nature had lately worn, were all faded; there was a pale, + yellow-leafed vine clambering over the verdureless lilac, and far down in + the garden might be seen a shrub covered with bright scarlet berries. But + the warm south wind was sweet and fragrant, as if it had strayed through + bowers of roses and eglantines. Deep-leaden and snow-white clouds blended + together, floated lazily through the sky, and the sun coquetted all day + with the earth, though his glance was not, for once, more than half + averted, while his smile was bright and loving, as it bad been months + before, when her face was fair and blooming. + </p> + <p> + But how sadly has this day passed, and how unlike is this calm, sweet + evening to the one which closed that November day! Nature is the same. The + moonbeams look as bright and silvery through the brown, naked arms of the + tall oaks, and the dark evergreen forest lifts up its head to the sky, + striving, but in vain, to shut out the soft light from the little stream, + whose murmurings, seem more sad and complaining than at another season of + the year, perhaps because it feels how soon the icy bands of winter will + stay its free course, and hush its low whisperings. The soft breeze sighs + as sadly through the vines which still wreath themselves around the + window; though seemingly conscious they have ceased to adorn it, they are + striving to loosen their hold, and bow themselves to the earth; and the + chirping of a cricket in the chimney is as sad and mournful as it was + then. But the low moan of the sufferer, the but half-smothered, agonized + sobs of those fair girls, the deep groan which all my proud cousin's + firmness could not hush, and the words of reproach, which, though I was so + guilty myself, and though I saw them so repentant, I could not withhold, + are all stilled now. + </p> + <p> + Ada and Mary have just left me, and I am sitting alone in my apartment. + Not a sound reaches me but the whisperings of the wind, the murmuring of + the stream, and the chirping of that solitary cricket. The family know my + heart is heavy to-night, and the voices are hushed, and the footsteps fall + lightly. Lily, dear Lily, art thou near me? + </p> + <p> + Five years and some months ago—it was in early June—there came + to our home from far away in the sunny South, a fair young creature, a + relative of ours, though we had never seen her before. She had been + motherless rather less than a year, but her father had already found + another partner, and feeling that she would not so soon see the place of + the dearly-loved parent filled by a stranger, she had obtained his + permission to spend a few months with those who could sympathize with her + in her griefs. + </p> + <p> + Lily White! She was rightly named; I have never seen such a fair, delicate + face and figure, nor watched the revealings of a nature so pure and gentle + as was hers. She would have been too fair and delicate to be beautiful, + but for the brilliancy of those deep blue eyes, the dark shade of that + glossy hair, and the litheness of that fragile form; but when months had + passed away, and, though the brow was still marble white, and the lip + colourless, the cheek wore that deep rose tint, how surpassingly beautiful + she was! We did not dream what had planted that rose-tint there—we + thought her to be throwing off the grief which alone, we believed, had + paled her cheek; and we did not observe that her form was becoming more + delicate, and that her step was losing its lightness and elasticity. We + loved the sweet Lily dearly at first sight, and she had been with us but a + short time before we began to wonder how our home had ever seemed perfect + to us previous to her coming. And our affection was returned by the dear + girl. We knew how much she loved us, when, as the warm season had passed, + and her father sent for her to return home, we saw the expression of deep + sorrow in every feature, and the silent entreaty that we would persuade + him to allow her to remain with us still. + </p> + <p> + She did not thank me when a letter reached me from her father, in reply to + one which, unknown to her, I had sent him, saying, if I thought Lily's + health would not be injured by a winter's residence in our cold climate, + he would comply with my urgent request, and allow her to remain with us + until the following spring—the dear girl could not speak. She came + to me almost totteringly, and wound her arms about my neck, resting her + head on mine, and tears from those sweet eyes fell fast over my face; and + all the remainder of that afternoon she lay on her couch. Oh, why did I + not think wherefore she was so much overcome? + </p> + <p> + Ada L——and Mary R——, two friends whom I had loved + from childhood, I had selected as companions for our dear Lily on her + arrival among us, and the young ladies, from their first introduction to + her, had vied with me in my endeavours to dispel the gloom from that fair + face, and to make her happy; and they shared, almost equally with her + relatives, dear Lily's affections. + </p> + <p> + Ada—she is changed now—was a gay, brilliant, daring girl; + Mary, witty and playful, though frank and warm-hearted; but it made me + love them more than ever. The gaiety and audacity of the one was forgotten + in the presence of the thoughtful, timid Lily: and the other checked the + merry jest which trembled on her lips, and sobered that roguish eye beside + the earnest, sensitive girl; so that, though we were together almost + daily, dear Lily did not understand the character of the young ladies. + </p> + <p> + The warm season had passed away, and October brought an addition to our + household—Cousin Rowland—as handsome, kind-hearted, and + good-natured a fellow as ever lived, but a little cowardly, if the dread + of the raillery of a beautiful woman may be called cowardice. + </p> + <p> + Cousin Rowland and dear Lily were mutually pleased with each other, it was + very evident to me, though Ada and Mary failed to see it; for, in the + presence of the young ladies, Rowland did not show her those little + delicate attentions which, alone with me, who was very unobservant, he + took no pains to conceal; and Lily did not hide from me her blushing face—her + eyes only thanked me for the expression which met her gaze. + </p> + <p> + That November day—I dread to approach it! Lily and I were sitting + beside each other, looking down the street, and watching the return of the + carriage which Rowland had gone out with to bring Ada and Mary to our + house; or, rather, Lily was looking for its coming—my eyes were + resting on her face. It had never looked so beautiful to me before. Her + brow was so purely white, her cheek was so deeply red, and that dark eye + was so lustrous; but her face was very thin, and her breathing, I + observed, was faint and difficult. A pang shot through my heart. + </p> + <p> + “Lily, are you well?” I exclaimed, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + She fixed her eyes on mine. I was too much excited by my sudden fear to + read their expression, but when our friends came in, the dear girl seemed + so cheerful and happy—I remembered, afterwards, I had never seen her + so gay as on that afternoon—that my suspicions gradually left me. + </p> + <p> + The hours were passing pleasantly away, when a letter was brought in for + Lily. It was from her father, and the young lady retired to peruse it. The + eye of Rowland followed her as she passed out of the room, and I observed + a shadow flit across his brow. I afterwards learned that at the moment a + thought was passing through his mind similar to that which had so + terrified me an hour before. Our visiters remarked it, too, but little + suspected its cause; and Mary's eye met, with a most roguish look, Ada's + rather inquiring gaze. + </p> + <p> + “When does Lily intend to return home, S——?” she inquired, as + she bent, very demurely, over her embroidery. “I thought she was making + preparations to go before Rowland came here!” and she raised her eyes so + cunningly to my face, that I could not forbear answering, + </p> + <p> + “I hear nothing of her return, now. Perhaps she will remain with us during + the winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” exclaimed Ada, and her voice expressed much surprise. “I wonder + if I could make such a prolonged visit interesting to a friend!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Lily considers herself conferring a great favour by remaining here,” + replied Mary. + </p> + <p> + “On whom?” asked Rowland, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “On all of use of course;” and to Mary's great delight she perceived that + her meaning words had the effect she desired on the young man. + </p> + <p> + “I hope she will not neglect the duty she owes her family, for the sake of + showing us this great kindness,” said Rowland, with affected carelessness, + though he walked across the apartment with a very impatient step. + </p> + <p> + “Lily has not again been guilty of the error she so frequently commits, + has she, S——?” asked Ada, in a lower but still far too + distinct tone; “that of supposing herself loved and admired where she is + only pitied and endured?” and the merry creature fairly exulted in the + annoyance which his deepened colour told her she was causing the young + man. + </p> + <p> + A slight sound from the apartment adjoining the parlour attracted my + attention. Had Lily stopped there to read her letter instead of going to + her chamber? and had she, consequently, overheard our foolish remarks? The + door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open. There was a slight rustling, + but I thought it only the waving of the window curtain. + </p> + <p> + A half-hour passed away, and Lily had not returned to us. I began to be + alarmed, and my companions partook of my fears. Had she overheard us? and, + if so, what must that sensitive heart be suffering? + </p> + <p> + I went out to call her; but half way up the flight of stairs I saw the + letter from her father lying on the carpet, unopened, though it had been + torn from its envelope. I know not how I found my way up stairs, but I + stood by Lily's bed. + </p> + <p> + Merciful Heaven! what a sight was presented to my gaze. The white covering + was stained with blood, and from those cold, pale lips the red drops were + fast falling. Her eyes turned slowly till they rested on mine. What a look + was that! I see it now; so full of grief; so full of reproach; and then + they closed. I thought her dead, and my frantic shrieks called my + companions to her bedside. They aroused her, too, from that swoon, but + they did not awaken her to consciousness. She never more turned a look of + recognition on us, or seemed to be aware that we were near her. Through + all that night, so long and so full of agony to us, she was murmuring, + incoherently, to herself, + </p> + <p> + “They did not know I was dying,” she would say; “that I have been dying + ever since I have been here! They have not dreamed of my sufferings + through these long months; I could not tell them, for I believed they + loved me, and I would not grieve them. But no one loves me—not one + in the wide world cares for me! My mother, you will not have forgotten + your child when you meet me in the spirit-land! Their loved tones made me + deaf to the voice which was calling to me from the grave, and the sunshine + of <i>his</i> smile broke through the dark cloud which death was drawing + around me. Oh, I would have lived, but death, I thought, would lose half + its bitterness, could I breathe my last in their arms! But, now, I must + die alone! Oh, how shall I reach my home—how shall I ever reach my + home?” + </p> + <p> + Dear Lily! The passage was short; when morning dawned, she was <i>there.</i> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW TO BE HAPPY. + </h2> + <p> + A BOON of inestimable worth is a calm, thankful heart—a treasure + that few, very few, possess. We once met an old man, whose face was a + mixture of smiles and sunshine. Wherever he went, he succeeded in making + everybody about him as pleasant as himself. + </p> + <p> + Said we, one day,—for he was one of that delightful class whom + everybody feels privileged to be related to,—“Uncle, uncle, how <i>is</i> + it that you contrive to be so happy? Why is your face so cheerful, when so + many thousands are craped over with a most uncomfortable gloominess?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear young friend,” he answered, with his placid smile, “I am even as + others, afflicted with infirmities; I have had my share of sorrow—some + would say more—but I have found out the secret of being happy, and + it is this: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Forget self</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Until you do that, you can lay but little claim to a cheerful spirit. + 'Forget what manner of man you are,' and think more with, rejoice more + for, your neighbours. If I am poor, let me look upon my richer friend, and + in estimating his blessings, forget my privations. + </p> + <p> + “If my neighbour is building a house, let me watch with him its progress, + and think, 'Well, what a comfortable place it will be, to be sure; how + much he may enjoy it with his family.' Thus I have a double pleasure—that + of delight in noting the structure as it expands into beauty, and making + my neighbour's weal mine. If he has planted a fine garden, I feast my eyes + on the flowers, smell their fragrance: could I do more if it was my own? + </p> + <p> + “Another has a family of fine children; they bless him and are blessed by + him; mine are all gone before me; I have none that bear my name; shall I, + therefore, envy my neighbour his lovely children? No; let me enjoy their + innocent smiles with him; let me <i>forget myself</i>—my tears when + they were put away in darkness; or if I weep, may it be for joy that God + took them untainted to dwell with His holy angels for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Believe an old man when he says there is great pleasure in living for + others. The heart of the selfish man is like a city full of crooked lanes. + If a generous thought from some glorious temple strays in there, wo to it—it + is lost. It wanders about, and wanders about, until enveloped in darkness; + as the mist of selfishness gathers around, it lies down upon some cold + thought to die, and is shrouded in oblivion. + </p> + <p> + “So, if you would be happy, shun selfishness; do a kindly deed for this + one, speak a kindly word for another. He who is constantly giving + pleasure, is constantly receiving it. The little river gives to the great + ocean, and the more it gives the faster it runs. Stop its flowing, and the + hot sun would dry it up, till it would be but filthy mud, sending forth + bad odours, and corrupting the fresh air of Heaven. Keep your heart + constantly travelling on errands of mercy—it has feet that never + tire, hands that cannot be overburdened, eyes that never sleep; freight + its hands with blessings, direct its eyes—no matter how narrow your + sphere—to the nearest object of suffering, and relieve it. + </p> + <p> + “I say, my dear young friend, take the word of an old man for it, who has + tried every known panacea, and found all to fail, except this golden rule, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “<i>Forget self, and keep the heart busy for others.</i>” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHARITY.—ITS OBJECTS. + </h2> + <p> + THE great Teacher, on being asked “Who is my neighbour?” replied “A man + went down from Jerusalem to Jericho,” and the parable which followed is + the most beautiful which language has ever recorded. Story-telling, though + often abused, is the medium by which truth can be most irresistibly + conveyed to the majority of minds, and in the present instance we have a + desire to portray in some slight degree the importance of Charity in + every-day life. + </p> + <p> + A great deal has been said and written on the subject of indiscriminate + giving, and many who have little sympathy with the needy or distressed, + make the supposed unworthiness of the object an excuse for withholding + their alms; while others, who really possess a large proportion of the + milk of human kindness, in awaiting <i>great</i> opportunities to do good, + overlook all in their immediate pathway, as beneath their notice. And yet + it was the “widow's mite” which, amid the many rich gifts cast into the + treasury, won the approval of the Searcher of Hearts; and we have His + assurance that a cup of cold water given in a proper spirit shall not lose + its reward. + </p> + <p> + Our design in the present sketch is to call the attention of the softer + sex to a subject which has in too many instances escaped their attention; + for our ideas of Charity embrace a wide field, and we hold that it should + at all times be united with justice, when those less favoured than + themselves are concerned. + </p> + <p> + “I do not intend hereafter to have washing done more than once in two + weeks,” said the rich Mrs. Percy, in reply to an observation of her + husband, who was standing at the window, looking at a woman who was up to + her knees in the snow, hanging clothes on a line in the yard. “I declare + it is too bad, to be paying that poking old thing a half-a-dollar a week + for our wash, and only six in the family. There she has been at it since + seven o'clock this morning, and now it is almost four. It will require but + two or three hours longer if I get her once a fortnight, and I shall save + twenty-five cents a week by it.” + </p> + <p> + “When your own sex are concerned, you women are the <i>closest</i> + beings,” said Mr. P., laughing. “Do just as you please, however,” he + continued, as he observed a brown gather on the brow of his wife; “for my + part I should be glad if washing-days were blotted entirely from the + calendar.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the washerwoman passed the window with her stiffened skirts + and almost frozen hands and arms. Some emotions of pity stirring in his + breast at the sight, he again asked, “Do you think it will be exactly + right, my dear, to make old Phoebe do the same amount of labour for half + the wages?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it will,” replied Mrs. Percy, decidedly; “we are bound to do + the best we can for ourselves. If she objects, she can say so. There are + plenty of poor I can get who will be glad to come, and by this arrangement + I shall save thirteen dollars a year.” + </p> + <p> + “So much,” returned Mr. P., carelessly; “how these things do run up!” Here + the matter ended as far as they were concerned. Not so with “old Phoebe,” + as she was called. In reality, however, Phoebe was not yet forty; it was + care and hardship which had seamed her once blooming face, and brought on + prematurely the appearance of age. On going to Mrs. Percy in the evening + after she had finished her wash, for the meagre sum she had earned, that + lady had spoken somewhat harshly about her being so slow, and mentioned + the new arrangement she intended to carry into effect, leaving it optional + with the poor woman to accept or decline. After a moment's hesitation, + Phoebe, whose necessities allowed her no choice, agreed to her proposal, + and the lady, who had been fumbling in her purse, remarked:— + </p> + <p> + “I have no change, nothing less than this three-dollar bill. Suppose I pay + you by the month hereafter; it will save me a great deal of trouble, and I + will try to give you your dollar a month regularly.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe's pale cheek waxed still more ghastly as Mrs. Percy spoke, but it + was not within that lady's province to notice the colour of a + washerwoman's face. She did, however, observe her lingering, weary steps + as she proceeded through the yard, and conscience whispered some + reproaches, which were so unpleasant and unwelcome, that she endeavoured + to dispel them by turning to the luxurious supper which was spread before + her. And here I would pause to observe, that whatever method may be + adopted to reconcile the conscience to withholding money so justly due, so + hardly earned, she disobeyed the positive injunction of that God who has + not left the time of payment optional with ourselves, but who has said—“The + wages of him that is hired, shall not abide with thee all night until the + morning.”—Lev. 19 chap. 13th verse. + </p> + <p> + The husband of Phoebe was a day labourer; when not intoxicated he was + kind; but this was of rare occurrence, for most of his earnings went for + ardent spirits, and the labour of the poor wife and mother was the main + support of herself and four children—the eldest nine years, the + youngest only eighteen months old. As she neared the wretched hovel she + had left early in the morning, she saw the faces of her four little ones + pressed close against the window. + </p> + <p> + “Mother's coming, mother's coming!” they shouted, as they watched her + approaching through the gloom, and as she unlocked the door, which she had + been obliged to fasten to keep them from straying away, they all sprang to + her arms at once. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, my babes!” she exclaimed, gathering them to her heart, + “you have not been a minute absent from my mind this day. And what have <i>you</i> + suffered,” she added, clasping the youngest, a sickly, attenuated-looking + object, to her breast. “Oh! it is hard, my little Mary, to leave you to + the tender mercies of children hardly able to take care of themselves.” + And as the baby nestled its head closer to her side, and lifted its pale, + imploring face, the anguished mother's fortitude gave way, and she burst + into an agony of tears and sobbings. By-the-by, do some mothers, as they + sit by the softly-lined cradles of their own beloved babes, ever think + upon the sufferings of those hapless little ones, many times left with a + scanty supply of food, and no fire, on a cold winter day, while the parent + is earning the pittance which is to preserve them from starvation? And + lest some may suppose that we are drawing largely upon our imagination, we + will mention, in this place, that we knew of a child left under such + circumstances, and half-perishing with cold, who was nearly burned to + death by some hops (for there was no fuel to be found), which it scraped + together in its ragged apron, and set on fire with a coal found in the + ashes. + </p> + <p> + Phoebe did not indulge long in grief, however she forgot her weary limbs, + and bustling about, soon made up a fire, and boiled some potatoes, which + constituted their supper—after which she nursed the children, two at + a time, for a while, and then put them tenderly to bed. Her husband had + not come home, and as he was nearly always intoxicated, and sometimes + ill-treated her sadly, she felt his absence a relief. Sitting over a + handful of coals, she attempted to dry her wet feet; every bone in her + body ached, for she was not naturally strong, and leaning her head on her + hand, she allowed the big tears to course slowly down her cheeks, without + making any attempt to wipe them away, while she murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Thirteen dollars a year gone! What is to become of us? I cannot get help + from those authorized by law to assist the poor, unless I agree to put out + my children, and I cannot live and see them abused and over-worked at + their tender age. And people think their father might support us; but how + can I help it that he spends all his earnings in drink? And rich as Mrs. + Percy is, she did not pay me my wages to-night, and now I cannot get the + yarn for my baby's stockings, and her little limbs must remain cold awhile + longer; and I must do without the flour, too, that I was going to make + into bread, and the potatoes are almost gone.” + </p> + <p> + Here Phoebe's emotions overcame her, and she ceased speaking. After a + while, she continued— + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Percy also blamed me for being so slow; she did not know that I was + up half the night, and that my head has ached ready to split all day. Oh! + dear, oh! dear, oh! dear, if it were not for my babes, I should yearn for + the quiet of the grave!” + </p> + <p> + And with a long, quivering sigh, such as one might heave at the rending of + soul and body, Phoebe was silent. + </p> + <p> + Daughters of luxury! did it ever occur to you that we are all the children + of one common Parent? Oh, look hereafter with pity on those faces where + the records of suffering are deeply graven, and remember “<i>Be ye warmed + and filled</i>,” will not suffice, unless the hand executes the promptings + of the heart. After awhile, as the fire died out, Phoebe crept to her + miserable pallet, crushed with the prospect of the days of toil which were + still before her, and haunted by the idea of sickness and death, brought + on by over-taxation of her bodily powers, while in case of such an event, + she was tortured by the reflection—“what is to become of my + children?” + </p> + <p> + Ah, this anxiety is the true bitterness of death, to the friendless and + poverty-stricken parent. In this way she passed the night, to renew, with + the dawn, the toils and cares which were fast closing their work on her. + We will not say what Phoebe, under other circumstances, might have been. + She possessed every noble attribute common to woman, without education, or + training, but she was not prepossessing in her appearance; and Mrs. Percy, + who never studied character, or sympathized with menials, or strangers, + would have laughed at the idea of dwelling with compassion on the lot of + her washerwoman with a drunken husband. Yet her feelings sometimes became + interested for the poor she heard of abroad, the poor she read of, and she + would now and then descant largely on the few cases of actual distress + which had chanced to come under her notice, and the little opportunity she + enjoyed of bestowing alms. Superficial in her mode of thinking and + observation, her ideas of charity were limited, forgetful that to be true + it must be a pervading principle of life, and can be exercised even in the + bestowal of a gracious word or smile, which, under peculiar circumstances, + may raise a brother from the dust—and thus win the approval of Him, + who, although the Lord of angels, was pleased to say of her who brought + but the “box of spikenard”—with tears of love—“<i>She hath + done what she could.</i>” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VISION OF BOATS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ONE morn, when the Day-god, yet hidden + By the mist that the mountain enshrouds, + Was hoarding up hyacinth blossoms, + And roses, to fling at the clouds; + I saw from the casement, that northward + Looks out on the Valley of Pines, + (The casement, where all day in summer, + You hear the drew drop from the vines), + + White shapes 'mid the purple wreaths glancing, + Like the banners of hosts at strife; + But I knew they were silvery pennons + Of boats on the River of Life. + And I watched, as the, mist cleared upward, + Half hoping, yet fearing to see + On that rapid and rock-sown River, + What the fate of the boats might be. + + There were some that sped cheerily onward, + With white sails gallantly spread + Yet ever there sat at the look-out, + One, watching for danger ahead. + No fragrant and song-haunted island, + No golden and gem-studded coast + Could win, with its ravishing beauty, + The watcher away from his post. + + When the tempest crouched low on the waters, + And fiercely the hurricane swept, + With furled sails, cautiously wearing, + Still onward in safety they kept. + And many sailed well for a season, + When river and sky were serene, + And leisurely swung the light rudder, + 'Twixt borders of blossoming green. + + But the Storm-King came out from his caverns, + With whirlwind, and lightning, and rain; + And my eyes, that grew dim for a moment, + Saw but the rent canvas again. + Then sorely I wept the ill-fated! + Yea, bitterly wept, for I knew + They had learned but the fair-weather wisdom, + That a moment of trial o'erthrew. + + And one in its swift sinking, parted + A placid and sun-bright wave; + Oh, deftly the rock was hidden, + That keepeth that voyager's grave! + And I sorrowed to think how little + Of aid from, a kindly hand, + Might have guided the beautiful vessel + Away from the treacherous strand. + + And I watched with a murmur of, blessing, + The few that on either shore + Were setting up signals of warning, + Where many had perished before. + But now, as the sunlight came creeping + Through the half-opened lids of the morn, + Fast faded that wonderful pageant, + Of shadows and drowsiness born. + + And no sound could I hear but the sighing + Of winds, in the Valley of Pines; + And the heavy, monotonous dropping + Of dew from the shivering vines. + But all day, 'mid the clashing of Labour, + And the city's unmusical notes, + With thoughts that went seeking the hidden, + I pondered that Vision of Boats. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REGULATION OF THE TEMPER. + </h2> + <p> + THERE is considerable ground for thinking that the opinion very generally + prevails that the temper is something beyond the power of regulation, + control, or government. A good temper, too, if we may judge from the usual + excuses for the want of it, is hardly regarded in the light of an + attainable quality. To be slow in taking offence, and moderate in the + expression of resentment, in which things good temper consists, seems to + be generally reckoned rather among the gifts of nature, the privileges of + a happy constitution, than among the possible results of careful + self-discipline. When we have been fretted by some petty grievance, or, + hurried by some reasonable cause of offence into a degree of anger far + beyond what the occasion required, our subsequent regret is seldom of a + kind for which we are likely to be much better. We bewail ourselves for a + misfortune, rather than condemn ourselves for a fault. We speak of our + unhappy temper as if it were something that entirely removed the blame + from us, and threw it all upon the peculiar and unavoidable sensitiveness + of our frame. A peevish and irritable temper is, indeed, an <i>unhappy</i> + one; a source of misery to ourselves and to others; but it is not, in <i>all</i> + cases, so valid an excuse for being easily provoked, as it is usually + supposed to be. + </p> + <p> + A good temper is too important a source of happiness, and an ill temper + too important a source of misery, to be treated with indifference or + hopelessness. The false excuses or modes of regarding this matter, to + which we have referred, should be exposed; for until their invalidity and + incorrectness are exposed, no efforts, or but feeble ones, will be put + forth to regulate an ill temper, or to cultivate a good one. + </p> + <p> + We allow that there are great differences of natural constitution. One who + is endowed with a poetical temperament, or a keen sense of beauty, or a + great love of order, or very large ideality, will be pained by the want or + the opposites of these qualities, where one less amply endowed would + suffer no provocation whatever. What would grate most harshly on the ear + of an eminent musician, might not be noticed at all by one whose musical + faculties were unusually small. The same holds true in regard to some + other, besides musical deficiencies or discords. A delicate and sickly + frame will feel annoyed by what would not at all disturb the same frame in + a state of vigorous health. Particular circumstances, also, may expose + some to greater trials and vexations than others. But, after all this is + granted, the only reasonable conclusion seems to be, that the attempt to + govern the temper is more difficult in some cases than in others; not that + it is, in any case, impossible. It is, at least, certain that an opinion + of its impossibility is an effectual bar against entering upon it. On the + other hand, “believe that you will succeed, and you will succeed,” is a + maxim which has nowhere been more frequently verified than in the moral + world. It should be among the first maxims admitted, and the last + abandoned, by every earnest seeker of his own moral improvement. + </p> + <p> + Then, too, facts demonstrate that much has been done and can be done in + regulating the worst of tempers. The most irritable or peevish temper has + been restrained by company; has been subdued by interest; has been awed by + fear; has been softened by grief; has been soothed by kindness. A bad + temper has shown itself, in the same individuals, capable of increase, + liable to change, accessible to motives. Such facts are enough to + encourage, in every case, an attempt to govern the temper. All the + miseries of a bad temper, and all the blessings of a good one, may be + attained by an habitual tolerance, concern, and kindness for others—by + an habitual restraint of considerations and feelings entirely selfish. + </p> + <p> + To those of our readers who feel moved or resolved by the considerations + we have named to attempt to regulate their temper, or to cultivate one of + a higher order of excellence, we would submit a few suggestions which may + assist them in their somewhat difficult undertaking. + </p> + <p> + See, first of all, that you set as high a value on the comfort of those + with whom you have to do as you do on your own. If you regard your own + comfort <i>exclusively</i>, you will not make the allowances which a <i>proper</i> + regard to the happiness of others would lead you to do. + </p> + <p> + Avoid, particularly in your intercourse with those to whom it is of most + consequence that your temper should be gentle and forbearing—avoid + raising into undue importance the little failings which you may perceive + in them, or the trifling disappointments which they may occasion you. If + we make it a subject of vexation, that the beings among whom we tire + destined to live, are not perfect, we must give up all hope of attaining a + temper not easily provoked. A habit of trying everything by the standard + of perfection vitiates the temper more than it improves the understanding, + and disposes the mind to discern faults with an unhappy penetration. I + would not have you shut your eyes to the errors or follies, or + thoughtlessnesses of your friends, but only not to magnify them or view + them microscopically. Regard them in others as you would have them regard + the same things in you, in an exchange of circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Do not forget to make due allowances for the original constitution and the + manner of education or bringing up, which has been the lot of those with + whom you have to do. Make such excuses for Others as the circumstances of + their constitution, rearing, and youthful associations, do fairly demand. + </p> + <p> + Always put the best construction on the motives of others, when their + conduct admits of more than one way of understanding it. In many cases, + where neglect or ill intention seems evident at first sight, it may prove + true that “second thoughts are best.” Indeed, this common slaying is never + more likely to prove true than in cases in which the <i>first</i> thoughts + were the dictates of anger And even when the first thoughts are confirmed + by further evidence, yet the habit of always waiting for complete evidence + before we condemn, must have a calming; and moderating effect upon the + temper, while it will take nothing from the authority of our just + censures. + </p> + <p> + It will further, be a great help to our efforts, as well as our desires, + for the government of the temper, if we consider frequently and seriously + the natural consequences of hasty resentments, angry replies, rebukes + impatiently given or impatiently received, muttered discontents, sullen + looks, and harsh words. It may safely be asserted that the consequences of + these and other ways in which ill-temper may show itself, are <i>entirely</i> + evil. The feelings, which accompany them in ourselves, and those which + they excite in others, are unprofitable as well as painful. They lessen + our own comfort, and tend often rather to prevent than to promote the + improvement of those with whom we find fault. If we give even friendly and + judicious counsels in a harsh and pettish tone, we excite against <i>them</i> + the repugnance naturally felt to <i>our manner</i>. The consequence is, + that the advice is slighted, and the peevish adviser pitied, despised, or + hated. + </p> + <p> + When we cannot succeed in putting a restraint on our <i>feelings</i> of + anger or dissatisfaction, we can at least check the <i>expression</i> of + those feelings. If our thoughts are not always in our power, our words and + actions and looks may be brought under our command; and a command over + these expressions of our thoughts and feelings will be found no mean help + towards obtaining an increase of power over our thoughts and feelings + themselves. At least, one great good will be effected: time will be + gained; time for reflection; time for charitable allowances and excuses. + </p> + <p> + Lastly, seek the help of religion. Consider how you may most certainly + secure the approbation of God. For a good temper, or a well-regulated + temper, <i>may be</i> the constant homage of a truly religious man to that + God, whose love and long-suffering forbearance surpass all human love and + forbearance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MANLY GENTLENESS. + </h2> + <p> + WHO is the most wretched man living? This question might constitute a very + fair puzzle to those of our readers whose kind hearts have given them, in + their own experience, no clue to the true answer. It is a species of + happiness to be rich; to have at one's command an abundance of the + elegancies and luxuries of life. Then he, perhaps, is the most miserable + of men who is the poorest. It is a species of happiness to be the + possessor of learning, fame, or power; and therefore, perhaps, he is the + most miserable man who is the most ignorant, despised, and helpless. No; + there is a man more wretched than these. We know not where he may be + found; but find him where you will, in a prison or on a throne, steeped in + poverty or surrounded with princely affluence; execrated, as he deserves + to be, or crowned with world-wide applause; that man is the most miserable + whose heart contains the least love for others. + </p> + <p> + It is a pleasure to be beloved. Who has not felt this? Human affection is + priceless. A fond heart is more valuable than the Indies. But it is a + still greater pleasure to love than to be loved; the emotion itself is of + a higher kind; it calls forth our own powers into more agreeable exercise, + and is independent of the caprice of others. Generally speaking, if we + deserve to be loved, others will love us, but this is not always the case. + The love of others towards us, is not always in proportion to our real + merits; and it would be unjust to make our highest happiness dependent on + it. But our love for others will always be in proportion to our real + goodness; the more amiable, the more excellent we become, the more shall + we love others; it is right, therefore, that this love should be made + capable of bestowing upon us the largest amount of happiness. This is the + arrangement which the Creator has fixed upon. By virtue of our moral + constitution, to love is to be happy; to hate is to be wretched. + </p> + <p> + Hatred is a strong word, and the idea it conveys is very repulsive. We + would hope that few of our readers know by experience what it is in its + full extent. To be a very demon, to combine in ourselves the highest + possible degree of wickedness and misery, nothing more is needful than to + hate with sufficient intensity. But though, happily, comparatively few + persons are fully under the influence of this baneful passion, how many + are under it more frequently and powerfully than they ought to be? How + often do we indulge in resentful, revengeful feelings, with all of which + hatred more or less mixes itself? Have we not sometimes entertained + sentiments positively malignant towards those who have wounded our vanity + or injured our interests, secretly wishing them ill, or not heartily + wishing them happiness? If so, we need only consult our own experience to + ascertain that such feelings are both sinful and foolish; they offend our + Maker, and render us wretched. + </p> + <p> + We know a happy man; one who in the midst of the vexations and crosses of + this changing world, is always happy. Meet him anywhere, and at any time, + his features beam with pleasure. Children run to meet him, and contend for + the honour of touching his hand, or laying hold of the skirt of his coat, + as he passes by, so cheerful and benevolent does he always look. In his + own house he seems to reign absolute, and yet he never uses any weapon + more powerful than a kind word. Everybody who knows him is aware, that, in + point of intelligence, ay, and in physical prowess, too—for we know + few men who can boast a more athletic frame—he is strong as a lion, + yet in his demeanour he is gentle as a lamb. His wife is not of the most + amiable temper, his children are not the most docile, his business brings + him into contact with men of various dispositions; but he conquers all + with the same weapons. What a contrast have we often thought he presents + to some whose physiognomy looks like a piece of harsh handwriting, in + which we can decipher nothing but <i>self, self, self</i>; who seem, both + at home and abroad, to be always on the watch against any infringement of + their dignity. Poor men! their dignity can be of little value if it + requires so much care in order to be maintained. True manliness need take + but little pains to procure respectful recognition. If it is genuine, + others will see it, and respect it. The lion will always be acknowledged + as the king of the beasts; but the ass, though clothed in the lion's skin, + may bray loudly and perseveringly indeed, but he will never keep the + forest in awe. + </p> + <p> + From some experience in the homes of working-men, and other homes too, we + are led to think that much of the harsh and discordant feeling which too + often prevails there may be ascribed to a false conception of what is + truly great. It is a very erroneous impression that despotism is manly. + For our part we believe that despotism is inhuman, satanic, and that + wherever it is found—as much in the bosom of a family, as on the + throne of a kingdom. We cannot bring ourselves to tolerate the + inconsistency with which some men will inveigh against some absolute + sovereign, and straight-way enact the pettiest airs of absolutism in their + little empire at home. We have no private intimacy with “the autocrat of + all the Russias,” and may, with all humility, avow that we do not desire + to have any; but this we believe, that out of the thousands who call him a + tyrant, it would be no difficult matter to pick scores who are as bad, if + not worse. Let us remember that it is not a great empire which constitutes + a great tyrant. Tyranny must be measured by the strength of those + imperious and malignant passions from which it flows, and carrying this + rule along with us, it would not surprise us, if we found the greatest + tyrant in the world in some small cottage, with none to oppress but a few + unoffending children, and a helpless woman. O! when shall we, be just!—when + shall we cease to prate about wrongs inflicted by others, and magnified by + being beheld through the haze of distance, and seek to redress those which + lie at our own doors, and to redress which we shall only have to prevail + upon ourselves to be just and gentle! Arbitrary power is always associated + either with cruelty, or conscious weakness. True greatness is above the + petty arts of tyranny. Sometimes much domestic suffering may arise from a + cause which is easily confounded with a tyrannical disposition—we + refer to an exaggerated sense of justice. This is the abuse of a right + feeling, and requires to be kept in vigilant check. Nothing is easier than + to be one-sided in judging of the actions of others. How agreeable the + task of applying the line and plummet! How quiet and complete the + assumption of our own superior excellence which we make in doing it! But + if the task is in some respects easy, it is most difficult if we take into + account the necessity of being just in our decisions. In domestic life + especially, in which so much depends on circumstances, and the highest + questions often relate to mere matters of expediency, how easy it is to be + “always finding fault,” if we neglect to take notice of explanatory and + extenuating circumstances! Anybody with a tongue and a most moderate + complement of brains can call a thing stupid, foolish, ill-advised, and so + forth; though it might require a larger amount of wisdom than the judges + possessed to have done the thing better. But what do we want with captious + judges in the bosom of a family? The scales of household polity are the + scales of love, and he who holds them should be a sympathizing friend; + ever ready to make allowance for failures, ingenious in contriving + apologies, more lavish of counsels than rebukes, and less anxious to + overwhelm a person with a sense of deficiency than to awaken in the bosom, + a conscious power of doing better. One thing is certain: if any member of + a family conceives it his duty to sit continually in the censor's chair, + and weigh in the scales of justice all that happens in the domestic + commonwealth, domestic happiness is out of the question. It is manly to + extenuate and forgive, but a crabbed and censorious spirit is + contemptible. + </p> + <p> + There is much more misery thrown into the cup of life by domestic + unkindness than we might at first suppose. In thinking of the evils + endured by society from malevolent passions of individuals, we are apt to + enumerate only the more dreadful instances of crime: but what are the few + murders which unhappily pollute the soil of this Christian land—what, + we ask, is the suffering they occasion, what their demoralizing tendency—when + compared with the daily effusions of ill-humour which sadden, may we not + fear, many thousand homes? We believe that an incalculably greater number + are hurried to the grave by habitual unkindness than by sudden violence; + the slow poison of churlishness and neglect, is of all poisons the most + destructive. If this is true, we want a new definition for the most + flagrant of all crimes: a definition which shall leave out the element of + time, and call these actions the same—equally hateful, equally + diabolical, equally censured by the righteous government of Heaven—which + proceed from the same motives, and lead to the same result, whether they + be done in a moment, or spread out through a series of years. Habitual + unkindness is demoralizing as well as cruel. Whenever it fails to break + the heart, it hardens it. To take a familiar illustration: a wife who is + never addressed by her husband in tones of kindness, must cease to love + him if she wishes to be happy. It is her only alternative. Thanks to the + nobility of our nature, she does not always take it. No; for years she + battles with cruelty, and still presses with affection the hand which + smites her, but it is fearfully at her own expense. Such endurance preys + upon her health, and hastens her exit to the asylum of the grave. If this + is to be avoided, she must learn to forget, what woman should never be + tempted to forget, the vows, the self-renunciating devotedness of + impassioned youth; she must learn to oppose indifference, to neglect and + repel him with a heart as cold as his own. But what a tragedy lies + involved in a career like this! We gaze on something infinitely more + terrible than murder; we see our nature abandoned to the mercy of + malignant passions, and the sacred susceptibilities which were intended to + fertilize with the waters of charity the pathway of life, sending forth + streams of bitterest gall. A catalogue of such cases, faithfully compiled, + would eclipse, in turpitude and horror, all the calendars of crime that + have ever sickened the attention of the world. + </p> + <p> + The obligations of gentleness and kindness are extensive as the claims to + manliness; these three qualities must go together. There are some cases, + however, in which such obligations are of special force. Perhaps a precept + here will be presented most appropriately under the guise of an example. + We have now before our mind's eye a couple, whose marriage tie was, a few + months since, severed by death. The husband was a strong, hale, robust + sort of a man, who probably never knew a day's illness in the course of + his life, and whose sympathy on behalf of weakness or suffering in others + it was exceedingly difficult to evoke; while his partner was the very + reverse, by constitution weak and ailing, but withal a woman of whom any + man might and ought to have been proud. Her elegant form, her fair + transparent skin, the classical contour of her refined and expressive + face, might have led a Canova to have selected her as a model of feminine + beauty. But alas! she was weak; she could not work like other women; her + husband could not <i>boast</i> among his shopmates how much she + contributed to the maintenance of the family, and how largely she could + afford to dispense with the fruit of his labours. Indeed, with a noble + infant in her bosom, and the cares of a household resting entirely upon + her, she required help herself, and at least she needed, what no wife can + dispense with, but she least of all—<i>sympathy</i>, forbearance, + and all those tranquilizing virtues which flow from a heart of kindness. + She least of all could bear a harsh look; to be treated daily with cold, + disapproving reserve, a petulant dissatisfaction could not but be death to + her. We will not say it <i>was</i>—enough that she is dead. The lily + bent before the storm, and at last was crushed by it. We ask but one + question, in order to point the moral:—In the circumstances we have + delineated, what course of treatment was most consonant with a manly + spirit; that which was actually pursued, or some other which the reader + can suggest? + </p> + <p> + Yes, to love is to be happy and to make happy, and to love is the very + spirit of true manliness. We speak not of exaggerated passion and false + sentiment; we speak not of those bewildering, indescribable feelings, + which under that name, often monopolize for a time the guidance of the + youthful heart; but we speak of that pure emotion which is benevolence + intensified, and which, when blended with intelligence, can throw the + light of joyousness around the manifold relations of life. Coarseness, + rudeness, tyranny, are so many forms of brute power; so many + manifestations of what it is man's peculiar glory not to be; but kindness + and gentleness can never cease to be MANLY. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Count not the days that have lightly flown, + The years that were vainly spent; + Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, + When thy spirit stands before the Throne, + To account for the talents lent. + + But number the hours redeemed from sin, + The moments employed for Heaven;— + Oh few and evil thy days have been, + Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene, + For a nobler purpose given. + + Will the shade go back on the dial plate? + Will thy sun stand still on his way? + Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate + Rests on the point of life's little date:— + Then live while 'tis called to-day. + + Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page, + As they lessen, in value rise; + Oh rouse thee and live! nor deem that man's age + Stands on the length of his pilgrimage, + But in days that are truly wise. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SILENT INFLUENCE. + </h2> + <p> + “HOW finely she looks!” said Margaret Winne, as a lady swept by them in + the crowd; “I do not see that time wears upon her beauty at all.” + </p> + <p> + “What, Bell Walters!” exclaimed her companion. “Are you one of those who + think her such a beauty?” + </p> + <p> + “I think her a very fine-looking woman, certainly,” returned Mrs. Winne; + “and, what is more, I think her a very fine woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Hall; “I thought you were no friends?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the first speaker; “but that does not make us enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you she positively dislikes you, Margaret,” said Mrs. Hall. + “It is only a few days since I knew of her saying that you were a bold, + impudent woman, and she did not like you at all.” + </p> + <p> + “That is bad,” said Margaret, with a smile; “for I must confess that I + like her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said her companion, “I am sure I could never like any one who made + such unkind speeches about me.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume she said no more than she thought,” said Margaret, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, so much the worse!” exclaimed Mrs. Hall, in surprise. “I hope you + do not think that excuses the matter at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I do. I presume she has some reason for thinking as she does; + and, if so, it was very natural she should express her opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are very cool and candid about it, I must say. What reason have + you given her, pray, for thinking you were bold and impudent?” + </p> + <p> + “None, that I am aware of,” replied Mrs. Winne, “but I presume she thinks + I have. I always claim her acquaintance, when we meet, and I have no doubt + she would much rather I would let it drop.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you, then? I never knew her, and never had any desire for her + acquaintance. She was no better than you when you were girls, and I don't + think her present good fortune need make her so very scornful.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think she exhibits any more haughtiness than most people would + under the same circumstances. Some would have dropped the acquaintance at + once, without waiting for me to do it. Her social position is higher than + mine, and it annoys her to have me meet her as an equal, just I used to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “You do it to annoy her, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Not by any means. I would much rather she would feel, as I do, that the + difference between us is merely conventional, and might bear to be + forgotten on the few occasions when accident throws us together. But she + does not, and I presume it is natural. I do not know how my head might be + turned, if I had climbed up in the world as rapidly as she has done. As it + is, however, I admire her too much to drop her acquaintance just yet, as + long as she leaves it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Margaret, I should have supposed you had too much spirit to + intrude yourself upon a person that you knew wished to shake you off; and + I do not see how you can admire one that you know to be so proud.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not admire her on account of her pride, certainly, though it is a + quality that sits very gracefully upon her,” said Margaret Winne; and she + introduced another topic of conversation, for she did not hope to make her + companion understand the motives that influenced her. + </p> + <p> + “Bold and impudent!” said Margaret, to herself, as she sat alone, in her + own apartment. “I knew she thought it, for I have seen it in her looks; + but she always treats me well externally, and I hardly thought she would + say it. I know she was vexed with herself for speaking to me, one day, + when she was in the midst of a circle of her fashionable acquaintances. I + was particularly ill-dressed, and I noticed that they stared at me; but I + had no intention, then, of throwing myself in her way. Well,” she + continued, musingly, “I am not to be foiled with one rebuff. I know her + better than she knows me, for the busy world has canvassed her life, while + they have never meddled with my own: and I think there are points of + contact enough between us for us to understand each other, if we once + found an opportunity. She stands in a position which I shall never occupy, + and she has more power and strength than I; else she had never stood where + she does, for she has shaped her fortunes by her own unaided will. Her + face was not her fortune, as most people suppose, but her mind. She has + accomplished whatever she has undertaken, and she can accomplish much + more, for her resources are far from being developed. Those around her may + remember yet that she was not always on a footing with them; but they will + not do so long. She will be their leader, for she was born to rule. Yes; + and she queens it most proudly among them. It were a pity to lose sight of + her stately, graceful dignity. I regard her very much as I would some + beautiful exotic, and her opinion of me affects me about as much as if she + were the flower, and not the mortal. And yet I can never see her without + wishing that the influence she exerts might be turned into a better + channel. She has much of good about her, and I think that it needs but a + few hints to make life and its responsibilities appear to her as they do + to me. I have a message for her ear, but she must not know that it was + intended for her. She has too much pride of place to receive it from me, + and too much self-confidence to listen knowingly to the suggestions of any + other mind than her own. Therefore, I will seek the society of Isabel + Walters whenever I can, without appearing intrusive, until she thinks me + worthy her notice, or drops me altogether. My talent lies in thinking, but + she has all the life and energy I lack, and would make an excellent actor + to my thought, and would need no mentor when her attention was once + aroused. My usefulness must lie in an humble sphere, but hers—she + can carry it wherever she will. It will be enough for my single life to + accomplish, if, beyond the careful training of my own family, I can incite + her to a development of her powers of usefulness. People will listen to + her who will pay no attention to me; and, besides, she has the time and + means to spare, which I have not.” + </p> + <p> + “Everywhere, in Europe, they were talking of you, Mrs. Walters,” said a + lady, who had spent many years abroad, “and adopting your plans for + vagrant and industrial schools, and for the management of hospitals and + asylums. I have seen your name in the memorials laid before government in + various foreign countries. You have certainly achieved a world-wide + reputation. Do tell me how your attention came first to be turned to that + sort of thing? I supposed you were one of our fashionable women, who + sought simply to know how much care and responsibility they could lawfully + avoid, and how high a social station it was possible to attain. I am sure + something must have happened to turn your life into so different a + channel.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing in particular, I assure you,” returned Mrs. Walters. “I came + gradually to perceive the necessity there was that some one should take + personal and decisive action in those things that it was so customary to + neglect. Fond as men are of money, it was far easier to reach their purses + than their minds. Our public charities were quite well endowed, but no one + gave them that attention that they needed, and thus evils had crept in + that were of the highest importance. My attention was attracted to it in + my own vicinity at first; and others saw it as well as I, but it was so + much of everybody's business that everybody let it alone. I followed the + example for awhile, but it seemed as much my duty to act as that of any + other person; and though it is little I have done, I think that, in that + little, I have filled the place designed for me by Providence.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, really, Mrs. Walters, you were one of the last persons I should + have imagined to be nicely balancing a point of duty, or searching out the + place designed for them by Providence. I must confess myself at fault in + my judgment of character for once.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, madam,” replied Mrs. Walters, “I have no doubt you judged me very + correctly at the time you knew me. My first ideas of the duties and + responsibilities of life were aroused by Margaret Winne; and I recollect + that my intimacy with her commenced after you left the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Margaret Winne? Who was she? Not the wife of that little Dr. Winne we + used to hear of occasionally? They attended the same church with us, I + believe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; she was the one. We grew up together, and were familiar with each + other's faces from childhood; but this was about all. She was always in + humble circumstances, as I had myself been in early life; and, after my + marriage, I used positively to dislike her, and to dread meeting her, for + she was the only one of my former acquaintances who met me on the same + terms as she had always done. I thought she wished to remind me that we + were once equals in station; but I learned, when I came to know her well, + how far she was above so mean a thought. I hardly know how I came first to + appreciate her, but we were occasionally thrown in contact, and her + sentiments were so beautiful—so much above the common stamp—that + I could not fail to be attracted by her. She was a noble woman. The world + knows few like her. So modest and retiring—with an earnest desire to + do all the good in the world of which she was capable, but with no + ambition to shine. Well fitted as she was, to be an ornament in any + station of society, she seemed perfectly content to be the idol of her own + family, and known to few besides. There were few subjects on which she had + not thought, and her clear perceptions went at once to the bottom of a + subject, so that she solved simply many a question on which astute + philosophers had found themselves at fault. I came at last to regard her + opinion almost as an oracle. I have often thought, since her death, that + it was her object to turn my life into that channel to which it has since + been devoted, but I do not know. I had never thought of the work that has + since occupied me at the time of her death, but I can see now how + cautiously and gradually she led me among the poor, and taught me to + sympathize with their sufferings, and gave me, little by little, a clue to + the evils that had sprung up in the management of our public charities. + She was called from her family in the prime of life, but they who come + after her do assuredly rise up and call her blessed. She has left a fine + family, who will not soon forget, the instructions of their mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, there it is, Mrs. Walters. A woman's sphere, after all, is at + home. One may do a great deal of good in public, no doubt, as you have + done; but don't you think that, while you have devoted yourself so + untiringly to other affairs, you have been obliged to neglect your own + family in order to gain time for this? One cannot live two lives at once, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam, certainly we cannot live two lives at once, but we can glean a + much larger harvest from the one which is, bestowed upon us than we are + accustomed to think. I do not, by any means, think that I have ever + neglected my own family in the performance of other duties, and I trust my + children are proving, by their hearty co-operation with me, that I am not + mistaken. Our first duty, certainly is at home, and I determined, at the + outset, that nothing should call me from the performance of this first + charge. I do not think anything can excuse a mother from devoting a large + portion of her life in personal attention to the children God has given + her. But I can assure you that, to those things which I have done of which + the world could take cognisance, I have given far less time than I used + once to devote to dress and amusement, I found, by systematizing + everything, that my time was more than doubled; and, certainly, I was far + better fitted to attend properly to my own family, when my eyes, were + opened to the responsibilities of life, than when my thoughts were wholly + occupied by fashion and display.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY. + </h2> + <p> + “AH, friend K——, good-morning to you; I'm really happy to see + you looking so cheerful. Pray, to what unusual circumstance may we be + indebted for this happy, smiling face of yours, this morning?” (Our friend + K——had been, unfortunately, of a very desponding and somewhat + of a choleric turn of mind, previously.) + </p> + <p> + “Really, is the change so perceptible, then? Well, my dear sir, you shall + have the secret; for, happy as I appear—and be assured, my + appearances are by no means deceptive, for I never felt more happy in my + life—it will still give me pleasure to inform you, and won't take + long, either. It is simply this; I have made a whole family happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Why, you have discovered a truly valuable: recipe for blues, + then, which may be used <i>ad libitum</i>, eh, K——?” + </p> + <p> + “You may well say that. But, really, my friend, I feel no little + mortification at not making so simple and valuable a discovery at an + earlier period of my life, Heaven knows,” continued K——, “I + have looked for contentment everywhere else. First, I sought for wealthy + in the gold mines of California, thinking that was the true source of all + earthly joys; but after obtaining it, I found myself with such a + multiplicity of cares and anxieties, that I was really more unhappy than + ever. I then sought for pleasure in travelling. This answered somewhat the + purpose of dissipating cares, &c., so long as it lasted; but, dear me, + it gave no permanent satisfaction. After seeing the whole world, I was as + badly off as Alexander the Great. He cried for another world to <i>conquer</i>, + and I cried for another world to <i>see</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The case of our friend, I imagine, differs not materially from that of a + host of other seekers of contentment in this productive world. Like “blind + leaders of the blind,” our invariable fate is to go astray in the + universal race for happiness. How common is it, after seeking for it in + every place but the right one, for the selfish man to lay the whole blame + upon this fine world—as if anybody was to blame but himself. Even + some professors of religion are too apt to libel the world. “Well, this is + a troublesome world, to make the best of it,” is not an uncommon + expression; neither is it a truthful one. “Troubles, disappointments, + losses, crosses, sickness, and death, make up the sum and substance of our + existence here,” add they, with tremendous emphasis, as if they had no + hand in producing the sad catalogue. The trouble is, we set too high a + value on our own merits; we imagine ourselves deserving of great favours + and privileges, while we are doing nothing to merit them. In this respect, + we are not altogether unlike the young man in the parable, who, by-the-by, + was also a professor—he professed very loudly of having done all + those good things “from his youth up.” But when the command came, “go sell + all thou hast, and give to the poor,” &c., it soon took the conceit + out of him. + </p> + <p> + In this connexion, there are two or three seemingly important + considerations, which I feel some delicacy in touching upon here. However, + in the kindest possible spirit, I would merely remark, that there is a + very large amount of wealth in the Church—by this I include its + wealthy members, of course; and refer to no particular denomination; by + Church, I mean all Christian denominations. Now, in connexion with this + fact, such a question as this arises in my mind—and I put it, not, + for the purpose of fault-finding, for I don't know that I have a right + view of the matter, but merely for the consideration of those who are fond + of hoarding up their earthly gains, viz.: Suppose the modern Church was + composed of such professors as the self-denying disciples of our Saviour,—with + their piety, simplicity, and this wealth; what, think you, would be the + consequence? Now I do not intend to throw out any such flings as, + “comparisons are odious”—“this is the modern Christian age”—“the + age of Christian privileges,” and all that sort of nonsense. Still, I am + rather inclined to the opinion, that if we were all—in and out of + the Church—disposed to live up to, or carry out what we professedly + know to be right, it would be almost as difficult to find real trouble, as + it is now to find real happiness. + </p> + <p> + The sources of contentment and discontentment are discoverable, therefore, + without going into a metaphysical examination of the subject. Just in + proportion as we happen to discharge, or neglect known duties, are we, + according to my view, happy or miserable on earth. Philosophy tells us + that our happiness and well-being depends upon a conformity to certain + unalterable laws—moral, physical, and organic—which act upon + the intellectual, moral, and material universe, of which man is a part, + and which determine, or regulate the growth, happiness, and well-being of + all organic beings. These views, when reduced to their simple meaning, + amount to the same thing, call it by what name we will. Duties, of course, + imply legal or moral obligations, which we are certainly legally or + morally bound to pay, perform, or discharge. And certain it is, there is + no getting over them—they are as irresistible as Divine power, as + universal as Divine presence, as permanent as Divine existence, and no art + nor cunning of man can disconnect unhappiness from transgressing them. How + necessary to our happiness, then, is it, not only to know, but to perform + our whole duty? + </p> + <p> + One of the great duties of man in this life, and, perhaps, the most + neglected, is that of doing good, or benefiting one another. That doing + good is clearly a duty devolving upon man, there can be no question. The + benevolent Creator, in placing man in the world, endowed him with mental + and physical energies, which clearly denote that he is to be active in his + day and generation. + </p> + <p> + Active in what? Certainly not in mischief, for that would not be + consistent with Divine goodness. Neither should we suppose that we are + here for our own sakes simply. Such an idea would be presumptuous. For + what purpose, then, was man endowed with all these facilities of mind and + body, but to do good and glorify his Maker? True philosophy teaches that + benevolence was not only the design of the Creator in all His works, but + the fruits to be expected from them. The whole infinite contrivances of + everything above, around, and within us, are directed to certain + benevolent issues, and all the laws of nature are in perfect harmony with + this idea. + </p> + <p> + That such is the design of man may also be inferred from the happiness + which attends every good action, and the misery of discontentment which + attends those who not only do wrong, but are useless to themselves and to + society. Friend K——'s case, above quoted, is a fair + illustration of this truth. + </p> + <p> + Now, then, if it is our duty to do all the good we can, and I think this + will be admitted, particularly by the Christian, and this be measured by + our means and opportunity, then there are many whom Providence has blessed + with the means and opportunity of doing a very great amount of good. And + if it be true, as it manifestly is, that “it is more blessed to give than + receive,” then has Providence also blessed them with very great + privileges. The privilege of giving liberally, and thus obtaining for + themselves the greater blessing, which is the result of every benevolent + action, the simple satisfaction with ourselves which follows a good act, + or consciousness of having done our duty in relieving a fellow-creature, + are blessings indeed, which none but the good or benevolent can realize. + Such kind spirits are never cast down. Their hearts always light and + cheerful—rendered so by their many kind offices,—they can + always enjoy their neighbours, rich or poor, high or low, and love them + too; and with a flow of spirits which bespeak a heart all right within, + they make all glad and happy around them. + </p> + <p> + Doing good is an infallible antidote for melancholy. When the heart seems + heavy, and our minds can light upon nothing but little naughty + perplexities, everything going wrong, no bright spot or relief anywhere + for our crazy thoughts, and we are finally wound up in a web of + melancholy, depend upon it there is nothing, nothing which can dispel this + angry, ponderous, and unnatural cloud from our <i>rheumatic minds</i> and + <i>consciences</i> like a charity visit—to give liberally to those + in need of succour, the poor widow, the suffering, sick, and poor, the + aged invalid, the lame, the blind, &c., &c.; all have a claim upon + your bounty, and how they will bless you and love you for it—anyhow, + they will thank kind Providence for your mission of love. He that makes + one such visit will make another and another; he can't very well get weary + in such well-doing, for his is the greater blessing. It is a blessing + indeed: how the heart is lightened, the soul enlarged, the mind improved, + and even health; for the mind being liberated from perplexities, the body + is at rest, the nerves in repose, and the blood, equalized, courses freely + through the system, giving strength, vigour, and equilibrium to the whole + complicated machinery. Thus we can think clearer, love better, enjoy life, + and be thankful for it. + </p> + <p> + What a beautiful arrangement it is that we can, by doing good to others, + do so much good to ourselves! The wealthy classes, who “rise above society + like clouds above the earth, to diffuse an abundant dew,” should not + forget this fact. The season has now about arrived, when the good people + of all classes will be most busily engaged in these delightful duties. The + experiment is certainly worth trying by all. If all those desponding + individuals, whose chief comfort is to growl at this “troublesome world,” + will but take the hint, look trouble full in the face, and relieve it, + they will, like friend K——, feel much better. + </p> + <p> + It may be set down as a generally correct axiom, (with some few + exceptions, perhaps, such as accidents, and the deceptions and cruelties + of those whom we injudiciously select for friends and confidants, from our + want of discernment), that life is much what we make it, and so is the + world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN. + </h2> + <p> + AH me! Am I really a rich man, or am I not? That is the question. I am + sure I don't feel rich; and yet, here I am written down among the “wealthy + citizens” as being worth seventy thousand dollars! How the estimate was + made, or who furnished the data, is all a mystery to me. I am sure I + wasn't aware of the fact before. “Seventy thousand dollars!” That sounds + comfortable, doesn't it? Seventy thousand dollars!—But where is it? + Ah! There is the rub! How true it is that people always know more about + you than you do yourself. + </p> + <p> + Before this unfortunate book came out (“The Wealthy Citizens of + Philadelphia”), I was jogging on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be aware + of the fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of the thing + myself. But, strange to tell, I awoke one morning and found myself worth + seventy thousand dollars! I shall never forget that day. Men who had + passed me in the street with a quiet, familiar nod, now bowed with a low + salaam, or lifted their hats deferentially, as I encountered them on the + <i>pave</i>. + </p> + <p> + “What's the meaning of all this?” thought I. “I haven't stood up to be + shot at, nor sinned against innocence and virtue. I haven't been to Paris. + I don't wear moustaches. What has given me this importance?” + </p> + <p> + And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of money to help me out with + some pretty heavy payments. After succeeding, though with some difficulty + in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my store about twelve o'clock. I + found a mercantile acquaintance awaiting me, who, without many + preliminaries, thus stated his business: + </p> + <p> + “I want,” said he, with great coolness, “to get a loan of six or seven + thousand dollars; and I don't know of any one to whom I can apply with + more freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think I can satisfy you, + fully, in regard to security. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” replied I, “if you only wanted six or seven hundred + dollars, instead of six or seven thousand dollars, I could not accommodate + you. I have just come in from a borrowing expedition myself.” + </p> + <p> + I was struck with the sudden change in the man's countenance. He was not + only disappointed, but offended. He did not believe my statement. In his + eyes, I had merely resorted to a subterfuge, or, rather, told a lie, + because I did not wish to let him have my money. Bowing with cold + formality, he turned away and left my place of business. His manner to me + has been reserved ever since. + </p> + <p> + On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the back part of my store + musing on some, matter of business, when I saw a couple of ladies enter. + They spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them back to where I was + taking things comfortably in an old arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. G——, I believe?” said the elder of the two ladies, with a + bland smile. + </p> + <p> + I had already arisen, and to this question, or rather affirmation, I bowed + assent. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. G——,” resumed the lady, producing a small book as she + spoke, “we are a committee, appointed to make collections in this district + for the purpose of setting up a fair in aid of the funds of the Esquimaux + Missionary Society. It is the design of the ladies who have taken this + matter in hand to have a very large collection of articles, as the funds + of the society are entirely exhausted. To the gentlemen of our district, + and especially to those who leave been liberally <i>blessed with this + world's goods</i>”—this was particularly emphasized—“we look + for important aid. Upon you, sir, we have called first, in order that you + may head the subscription, and thus set an example of liberality to + others.” + </p> + <p> + And the lady handed me the book in the most “of course” manner in the + world, and with the evident expectation that I would put down at least + fifty-dollars. + </p> + <p> + Of course I was cornered, and must do something, I tried to be bland and + polite; but am inclined to think that I failed in the effort. As for + fairs, I never did approve of them. But that was nothing. The enemy had + boarded me so suddenly and so completely, that nothing, was left for me + but to surrender at discretion, and I did so with as good grace as + possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar bill and presented it; + to the elder of the two ladies, thinking that I was doing very well + indeed. She took the money, but was evidently disappointed; and did not + even ask me to head the list with my name. + </p> + <p> + “How money does harden the heart!” I overheard one of my fair visiters say + to the other, in a low voices but plainly intended for my edification, as + they walked off with their five dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + “Confound your impudence!” I said to myself, thus taking my revenge out of + them. “Do you think I've got nothing else to do with my money but scatter + it to the four winds?” + </p> + <p> + And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes of my waistcoat, and took a + dozen turns up and down my store, in order to cool off. + </p> + <p> + “Confound your impudence!” I then repeated, and quietly sat down again in + the old arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + On the next day I had any number of calls from money-hunters. Business + men, who had never thought of asking me for loans, finding that I was + worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon me for temporary favours, + and, when disappointed in their expectations, couldn't seem to understand + it. When I spoke of being “hard up” myself, they looked as if they didn't + clearly comprehend what I meant. + </p> + <p> + A few days after the story of my wealth had gone abroad, I was sitting, + one evening, with my family, when I was informed that a lady was in the + parlour, and wished to see me. + </p> + <p> + “A lady!” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied the servant. + </p> + <p> + “Is she alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she want?” + </p> + <p> + “She did not say, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Tell her I'll be down in a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + When I entered the parlour, I found a woman, dressed in mourning, with her + veil closely drawn. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. G——?” she said, in a low, sad voice. + </p> + <p> + I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where she was sitting, and from + which she had not risen upon my entrance. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon the great liberty I have taken,” she began, after a pause of + embarrassment, and in an unsteady voice. “But, I believe I have not + mistaken your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor erred in + believing that your hand is ever ready to respond to the generous impulses + of our heart.” + </p> + <p> + I bowed again, and my visiter went on. + </p> + <p> + “My object in calling upon you I will briefly state. A year ago my husband + died. Up to that time I had never known the want of anything that money + could buy. He was a merchant of this city, and supposed to be in good + circumstances. But he left an insolvent estate; and now, with five little + ones to care for, educate, and support, I have parted with nearly my last + dollar, and have not a single friend to whom I can look for aid.” + </p> + <p> + There was a deep earnestness and moving pathos in the tones of the woman's + voice, that went to my heart. She paused for a few moments, overcome with + her feelings, and then resumed:— + </p> + <p> + “One in an extremity like mine, sir, will do many things from which, under + other circumstances she should shrink. This is my only excuse for + troubling you at the present time. But I cannot see my little family in + want without an effort to sustain them; and, with a little aid, I see my + way clear to do so. I was well educated, and feel not only competent, but + willing to undertake a school. There is one, the teacher of which being in + bad health, wishes to give it up, and if I can get the means to buy out + her establishment, will secure an ample and permanent income for my + family. To aid me, sir, in doing this, I now make an appeal to you. I know + you are able, and I believe you are willing to put forth your hand and + save my children from want, and, it may be, separation.” + </p> + <p> + The woman still remained closely veiled; I could not, therefore, see her + face. But I could perceive that she was waiting with trembling suspense + for my answer. Heaven knows my heart responded freely to her appeal. + </p> + <p> + “How much will it take to purchase this establishment?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Only a thousand dollars,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + I was silent. A thousand dollars! + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish it, sir, as a gift,” she said “only as a loan. In a year or + two I will be able to repay it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear madam,” was my reply, “had I the ability most gladly would I meet + your wishes. But, I assure you I have not. A thousand dollars taken from + my business would destroy it.” + </p> + <p> + A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up from the breast of the + stranger, and her head dropped low upon her bosom. She seemed to have + fully expected the relief for which she applied; and to be stricken to the + earth by my words! We were both unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “May I presume to ask your name, madam?” said I, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “It would do no good to mention it,” she replied, mournfully. “It has cost + me a painful effort to come to you; and now that my hope has proved, alas! + in vain, I must beg the privilege of still remaining a stranger.” + </p> + <p> + She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall and dignified. Dropping + me a slight courtesy, she was turning to go away, when I said, + </p> + <p> + “But, madam, even if I have not the ability to grant your request, I may + still have it in my power to aid you in this matter. I am ready to do all + I can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your husband will be found + numbers to step forward and join in affording you the assistance so much + desired, when they are made aware of your present extremity.” + </p> + <p> + The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my words were felt as a mockery + or an insult, and turning from me, again walked from the room with a firm + step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed into the street, and I + was left standing alone. To this day I have remained in ignorance of her + identity. Cheerfully would I have aided her to the extent of my ability to + do so. Her story touched my feelings and awakened my liveliest sympathies, + and if, on learning her name and making proper inquiries into her + circumstances, I had found all to be as she had stated, I would have felt + it a duty to interest myself in her behalf, and have contributed in aid of + the desired end to the extent of my ability. But she came to me under the + false idea that I had but to put my hand in my pocket, or write a check + upon the bank, and lo! a thousand dollars were forthcoming. And because I + did not do this, she believed me unfeeling, selfish, and turned from me + mortified, disappointed, and despairing. + </p> + <p> + I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. On the very next + morning I received a letter from an artist, in which he spoke of the + extremity of his circumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple of + pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not resist his appeal. The + pictures did not strike me as possessing much artistic value. + </p> + <p> + “What do you ask for them?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But I am compelled to part with + them now, and you shall have them for eighty.” + </p> + <p> + I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and therefore shook my head. + But, as he looked disappointed, I offered to take one of the pictures at + forty dollars. To this he agreed. I paid the money, and the picture was + sent home. Some days afterward, I was showing it to a friend. + </p> + <p> + “What did you pay for it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Forty dollars,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + The friend smiled strangely. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “He offered it to me for twenty-five.” + </p> + <p> + “That picture?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “He asked me eighty for this and another, and said he had refused a + hundred for the pair.” + </p> + <p> + “He lied though. He thought, as you were well off, that he must ask you a + good stiff price, or you wouldn't buy.” + </p> + <p> + “The scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + “He got ahead of you, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's the last time,” said I, angrily. + </p> + <p> + And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed in which my fame as a wealthy + citizen did not subject me to some kind of experiment from people in want + of money. If I employed a porter for any service and asked what was to + pay, after the work was done, ten chances to one that he didn't touch his + hat and reply, + </p> + <p> + “Anything that you please, sir,” in the hope that I, being a rich man, + would be ashamed to offer him less than about four times his regular + price. Poor people in abundance called upon me for aid; and all sorts of + applications to give or lend money met me at every turn. And when I, in + self-defence, begged off as politely as possible, hints gentle or broad, + according to the characters or feelings of those who came, touching the + hardening and perverting influence of wealth, were thrown out for my + especial edification. + </p> + <p> + And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but myself doubts the fact that + I am worth from seventy to a hundred thousand dollars, and I am, + therefore, considered allowable game for all who are too idle or prodigal + to succeed in the world; or as Nature's almoner to all who are suffering + from misfortunes. + </p> + <p> + Soon after the publication to which I have alluded was foisted upon our + community as a veritable document, I found myself a secular dignitary in + the church militant. Previously I had been only a pew-holder, and an + unambitious attendant upon the Sabbath ministrations of the Rev. Mr——. + But a new field suddenly opened before me; I was a man of weight and + influence, and must be used for what I was worth. It is no joke, I can + assure the reader, when I tell them that the way my pocket suffered was + truly alarming. I don't know, but I have seriously thought, sometimes, + that if I hadn't kicked loose from my dignity, I would have been gazetted + as a bankrupt long before this time. + </p> + <p> + Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman or deacon, I will not + say which, I met the Rev. Mr——, and the way he talked to me + about the earth being the “Lord's and the fullness thereof;” about our + having the poor always with us; about the duties of charity, and the + laying up of treasure in heaven, made me ashamed to go to church for a + month to come. I really began to fear that I was a doomed man and that the + reputation of being a “wealthy citizen” was going to sink me into + everlasting perdition. But I am getting over that feeling now. My + cash-book, ledger, and bill-book set me right again; and I can button up + my coat and draw my purse-strings, when guided by the dictates of my own + judgment, without a fear of the threatened final consequences before my + eyes. Still, I am the subject of perpetual annoyance from all sorts of + people, who will persist in believing that I am made of money; and many of + these approach me in, such a way as to put it almost entirely out of my + power to say “no.” They come with appeals for small amounts, as loans, + donations to particular charities, or as the price of articles that I do + not want, but which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, since I + have obtained my present unenviable reputation, it hasn't cost me a cent + less than two thousand, in money given away, loaned never to be returned, + and in the purchase of things that I never would have thought of buying. + </p> + <p> + And, with all this, I have made more enemies than I ever before had in my + life, and estranged half of my friends and acquaintances. + </p> + <p> + Seriously, I have it in contemplation to “break” one of these days, in + order to satisfy the world that I am not a rich man. I see no other + effectual remedy for present grievances. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE.” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DESPAIR not of the better part + That lies in human kind— + A gleam of light still flickereth + In e'en the darkest mind; + The savage with his club of war, + The sage so mild and good, + Are linked in firm, eternal bonds + Of common brotherhood. + Despair not! Oh despair not, then, + For through this world so wide, + No nature is so demon-like, + But there's an angel side. + + The huge rough stones from out the mine, + Unsightly and unfair, + Have veins of purest metal hid + Beneath the surface there; + Few rocks so bare but to their heights + Some tiny moss-plant clings, + And round the peaks, so desolate, + The sea-bird sits and sings. + Believe me, too, that rugged souls, + Beneath their rudeness hide + Much that is beautiful and good— + We've all our angel side. + + In all there is an inner depth— + A far off, secret way, + Where, through dim windows of the soul, + God sends His smiling ray; + In every human heart there is + A faithful sounding chord, + That may be struck, unknown to us, + By some sweet loving word; + The wayward heart in vain may try + Its softer thoughts to hide, + Some unexpected tone reveals + It has its angel side. + + Despised, and low, and trodden down, + Dark with the shade of sin: + Deciphering not those halo lights + Which God hath lit within; + Groping about in utmost night, + Poor prisoned souls there are, + Who guess not what life's meaning is, + Nor dream of heaven afar; + Oh! that some gentle hand of love + Their stumbling steps would guide, + And show them that, amidst it all, + Life has its angel side. + + Brutal, and mean, and dark enough, + God knows, some natures are, + But He, compassionate, comes near— + And shall we stand afar? + Our cruse of oil will not grow less, + If shared with hearty hand, + And words of peace and looks of love + Few natures can withstand. + Love is the mighty conqueror— + Love is the beauteous guide— + Love, with her beaming eye, can see + We've all our angel side. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BLIND JAMES. + </h2> + <p> + IN the month of December, in the neighbourhood of Paris, two men, one + young, the other rather advanced in years, were descending the village + street, which was made uneven and almost impassable by stones and puddles. + </p> + <p> + Opposite to them, and ascending this same street, a labourer, fastened to + a sort of dray laden with a cask, was slowly advancing, and beside him a + little girl, of about eight years old, who was holding the end of the + barrow. Suddenly the wheel went over an enormous stone, which lay in the + middle of the street, and the car leaned towards the side of the child. + </p> + <p> + “The man must be intoxicated,” cried the young man, stepping forward to + prevent the overturn of the dray. When he reached the spot, he perceived + that the man was blind. + </p> + <p> + “Blind!” said he, turning towards his old friend. But the latter, making + him a sign to be silent, placed his hand, without speaking, on that of the + labourer, while the little girl smiled. The blind man immediately raised + his head, his sightless eyes were turned towards the two gentlemen, his + face shone with an intelligent and natural pleasure, and, pressing closely + the hand which held his own, he said, with an accent of tenderness, + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Desgranges!” + </p> + <p> + “How!” said the young man, moved and surprised; “he knew you by the touch + of your hand.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not need even that,” said the blind man; “when he passes me in the + street, I say to myself, 'That is his step.'” And, seizing the hand of Mr. + Desgranges, he kissed it with ardour. “It was indeed you, Mr. Desgranges, + who prevented my falling—always you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the young man, “do you expose yourself to such accidents, by + dragging this cask?” + </p> + <p> + “One must attend to his business, sir,” replied he, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Your business?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly,” added Mr. Desgranges. “James is our water-carrier. But I + shall scold him for going out without his wife to guide him.” + </p> + <p> + “My wife was gone away. I took the little girl. One must be a little + energetic, must he not? And, you see, I have done very well since I last + saw you, my dear Mr. Desgranges; and you have assisted me.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, James, now finish serving your customers, and then you can call and + see me. I am going home.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir. Good-by, sir; good-by, sir.” + </p> + <p> + And he started again, dragging his cask, while the child turned towards + the gentlemen her rosy and smiling face. + </p> + <p> + “Blind, and a water-carrier!” repeated the young man, as they walked + along. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! our James astonishes you, my young friend. Yes, it is one of those + miracles like that of a paralytic who walks. Should you like to know his + story?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do so. It does not abound in facts or dramatic incidents, but it + will interest you, I think, for it is the history of a soul, and of a good + soul it is—a man struggling against the night. You will see the + unfortunate man going step by step out of a bottomless abyss to begin his + life again—to create his soul anew. You will see how a blind man, + with a noble heart for a stay, makes his way even in this world.” + </p> + <p> + While they were conversing, they reached the house of Mr. Desgranges, who + began in this manner:— + </p> + <p> + “One morning, three years since, I was walking on a large dry plain, which + separates our village from that of Noiesemont, and which is all covered + with mill-stones just taken from the quarry. The process of blowing the + rocks was still going on. Suddenly a violent explosion was heard. I + looked. At a distance of four or five hundred paces, a gray smoke, which + seemed to come from a hole, rose from the ground. Stones were then thrown + up in the air, horrible cries were heard, and springing from this hole + appeared a man, who began to run across the plain as if mad. He shook his + arms, screamed, fell down, got up again, disappeared in the great crevices + of the plain, and appeared again. The distance and the irregularity of his + path prevented me from distinguishing anything clearly; but, at the height + of his head, in the place of his face, I saw a great, red mark. In alarm, + I approached him, while from the other side of the plain, from Noiesemont, + a troop of men and women were advancing, crying aloud. I was the first to + reach the poor creature. His face was all one wound, and torrents of blood + were streaming over his garments, which were all in rags. + </p> + <p> + “Scarcely had I taken hold of him, when a woman, followed by twenty + peasants, approached, and threw herself before him. + </p> + <p> + “'James, James, is it you? I did not know you, James.' + </p> + <p> + “The poor man, without answering, struggled furiously in our hands. + </p> + <p> + “'Ah!' cried the woman, suddenly, and with a heart-rending voice, 'it is + he!' + </p> + <p> + “She had recognised a large silver pin, which fastened his shirt, which + was covered with blood. + </p> + <p> + “It was indeed he, her husband, the father of three children, a poor + labourer, who, in blasting a rock with powder, had received the explosion + in his face, and was blind, mutilated, perhaps mortally wounded. + </p> + <p> + “He was carried home. I was obliged to go away the same day, on a journey, + and was absent a month. Before my departure, I sent him our doctor, a man + devoted to his profession as a country physician, and as learned as a city + physician. On my return— + </p> + <p> + “'Ah! well, doctor,' said I, 'the blind man?' + </p> + <p> + “'It is all over with him. His wounds are healed, his head is doing well, + he is only blind; but he will die; despair has seized him, and he will + kill himself. I can do nothing more for him, This is all,' he said; 'an + internal inflammation is taking place. He must die.' + </p> + <p> + “I hastened to the poor man. I arrived. I shall never forget the sight. He + was seated on a wooden stool, beside a hearth on which there was no fire, + his eyes covered with a white bandage. On the floor an infant of three + months was sleeping; a little girl of four years old was playing in the + ashes; one, still older, was shivering opposite to her; and, in front of + the fireplace, seated on the disordered bed, her arms hanging down, was + the wife. What was left to be imagined in this spectacle was more than met + the eye. One felt that for several hours, perhaps, no word had been spoken + in this room. The wife was doing nothing, and seemed to have no care to do + anything. They were not merely unfortunate, they seemed like condemned + persons. At the sound of my footsteps they arose, but without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “'You are the blind man of the quarry?” + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, sir.' + </p> + <p> + “'I have come to see you.' + </p> + <p> + “'Thank you, sir.' + </p> + <p> + “'You met with a sad misfortune there.' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, sir.' + </p> + <p> + “His voice was cold, short, without any emotion. He expected nothing from + any one. I pronounced the words 'assistance,' 'public compassion.' + </p> + <p> + “'Assistance!' cried his wife, suddenly, with a tone of despair; 'they + ought to give it to us; they must help us; we have done nothing to bring + upon us this misfortune; they will not let my children die with hunger.' + </p> + <p> + “She asked for nothing—begged for nothing. She claimed help. This + imperative beggary touched me more than the common lamentations of + poverty, for it was the voice of despair; and I felt in my purse for some + pieces of silver. + </p> + <p> + “The man then, who had till now been silent, said, with a hollow tone, + </p> + <p> + “'Your children must die, since I can no longer see.' + </p> + <p> + “There is a strange power in the human voice. My money fell back into my + purse. I was ashamed of the precarious assistance. I felt that here was a + call for something more than mere almsgiving—the charity of a day. I + soon formed my resolution.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could you do?” said the young man, to Mr. Desgranges. + </p> + <p> + “What could I do?” replied he, with animation. “Fifteen days after, James + was saved. A year after, he gained his own living, and might be heard + singing at his work.” + </p> + <p> + “Saved! working! singing! but how?” + </p> + <p> + “How! by very natural means. But wait, I think I hear him. I will make him + tell you his simple story. It will touch you more from his lips. It will + embarrass me less, and his cordial and ardent face will complete the + work.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, the noise of some one taking off his wooden shoes was heard at + the door, and then a little tap. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, James;” and he entered with his wife, + </p> + <p> + “I have brought Juliana, my dear Mr. Desgranges, the poor woman—she + must see you sometimes, must she not?” + </p> + <p> + “You did right, James. Sit down.” + </p> + <p> + He came forward, pushing his stick before him, that he might not knock + against a chair. He found one, and seated himself. He was young, small, + vigorous, with black hair, a high and open forehead, a singularly + expansive face for a blind man, and, as Rabelais says, a magnificent smile + of thirty-two teeth. His wife remained standing behind him. + </p> + <p> + “James,” said Mr. Desgranges to him, “here is one of my good friends, who + is very desirous to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a good man, then, since he is your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Talk with him; I am going to see my geraniums. But do not be sad, + you know I forbid you that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my dear friend, no!” + </p> + <p> + This tender and simple appellation seemed to charm the young man; and + after the departure of his friend, approaching the blind man, he said, + </p> + <p> + “You are very fond of Mr. Desgranges?” + </p> + <p> + “Fond of him!” cried the blind man, with impetuosity; “he saved me from + ruin, sir. It was all over with me; the thought of my children consumed + me; I was dying because I could not see. He saved me.” + </p> + <p> + “With assistance—with money?” + </p> + <p> + “Money! what is money? Everybody can give that. Yes, he clothed us, he fed + us, he obtained a subscription of five hundred francs (about one hundred + dollars) for me; but all this was as nothing; he did more—he cured + my heart!” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” + </p> + <p> + “By his kind words, sir. Yes, he, a person of so much consequence in the + world, he came every day into my poor house, he sat on my poor stool, he + talked with me an hour, two hours, till I became quiet and easy.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; I am but a foolish fellow, and he must tell you all he + said to me; but they were things I had never heard before. He spoke to me + of the good God better than a minister; and he brought sleep back to me.” + </p> + <p> + “How was that?” + </p> + <p> + “It was two months since I had slept soundly. I would just doze, and then + start up, saying, + </p> + <p> + “'James, you are blind,' and then my head would go round—round, like + a madman; and this was killing me. One morning he came in, this dear + friend, and said to me, + </p> + <p> + “'James, do you believe in God?' + </p> + <p> + “'Why do you ask that, Mr. Desgranges?' + </p> + <p> + “'Well, this night, when you wake, and the thought of your misfortune + comes upon you, say aloud a prayer—then two—then three—and + you will go to sleep.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the wife, with her calm voice, “the good God, He gives sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “This is not all, sir. In my despair I would have killed myself. I said to + myself, 'You are useless to your family, you are the woman of the house, + and others support you.' But he was displeased—'Is it not you who + support your family? If you had not been blind, would any one have given + you the five hundred francs?' + </p> + <p> + “'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + </p> + <p> + “'If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?' + </p> + <p> + “'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + </p> + <p> + “'If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?' + </p> + <p> + “'It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.' + </p> + <p> + “'You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families. Misfortune is + like rain; it must fall a little on everybody. If you were not blind, your + wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might have died. + Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor man; but they—they + have none.' + </p> + <p> + “'True, true.' And I began to feel less sad. I was even happy to suffer + for them. And then he added, + </p> + <p> + “'Dear James, misfortune is either the greatest enemy or the greatest + friend of men. There are people whom it makes wicked; there are others + made better by it. For you, it must make you beloved by everybody; you + must become so grateful, so affectionate, that when they wish to speak of + any one who is good, they will say, good as the blind man of the + Noiesemont. That will serve for a dowry to your daughter.' This is the way + he talked to me, sir: and it gave me heart to be unfortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but when he was not here?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, when he was not here, I had, to be sure, some heavy moments. I + thought of my eyes—the light is so beautiful! Oh, God! cried I, in + anguish, if ever I should see clearly again, I would get up at three + o'clock in the morning, and I would, not go to bed till ten at night, that + I might gather up more light.” + </p> + <p> + “James, James!” said his wife. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Juliana; he has forbidden me to be sad. He would perceive + it, sir. Do you think that when my head had gone wrong in the night, and + he came in the morning, and merely looked at me, he would say—'James, + you have been thinking that;' and then he would scold me, this dear + friend. Yes,” added he, with an expression of joy—“he would scold + me, and that would give me pleasure, because he tried to make his words + cross, but he could not do it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what gave you the idea of becoming a water-carrier?” + </p> + <p> + “He gave me that, also. Do you suppose I have ideas? I began to lose my + grief, but my time hung heavy on my hands. At thirty-two years old, to be + sitting all day in a chair! He then began to instruct me, as he said, and + he told me beautiful stories. The Bible—the history of an old man, + blind like me, named Tobias; the history of Joseph; the history of David; + the history of Jesus Christ. And then he made me repeat them after him. + But my head, it was hard—it was hard; it was not used to learning, + and I was always getting tired in my arms and my legs.” + </p> + <p> + “And he tormented us to death,” said his wife, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “True, true,” replied he, laughing also; “I became cross. He came again, + and said, + </p> + <p> + “'James, you must go to work.' + </p> + <p> + “I showed him my poor, burned hands. + </p> + <p> + “'It is no matter; I have bought you a capital in trade.' + </p> + <p> + “'Me, Mr. Desgranges?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, James, a capital into which they never put goods, and where they + always find them.' + </p> + <p> + “'It must have cost you a great deal, sir.' + </p> + <p> + “'Nothing at all, my lad.' + </p> + <p> + “'What is then this fund?' + </p> + <p> + “'The river.' + </p> + <p> + “'The river? Do you wish me to become a fisherman?' + </p> + <p> + “'Not all; a water-carrier.' + </p> + <p> + “'Water-carrier! but eyes?' + </p> + <p> + “'Eyes; of what use are they? do the dray-horses have eyes? If they do, + they make use of them; if they do not, they do without them. Come, you + must be a water-carrier.' + </p> + <p> + “'But a cask?' + </p> + <p> + “'I will give you one.' + </p> + <p> + “'A cart?' + </p> + <p> + “'I have ordered one at the cart-maker's.' + </p> + <p> + “'But customers?' + </p> + <p> + “I will give you my custom, to begin with, eighteen francs a month; (my + dear friend pays for water as dearly as for wine.) Moreover, you have + nothing to say, either yes or no. I have dismissed my water-carrier, and + you would not let my wife and me die with thirst. This dear Madame + Desgranges, just think of it. And so, my boy, in three days—work. + And you, Madam James, come here;' and he carried off Juliana.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” continued the wife, “he carried me off, ordered leather + straps, made me buy the wheels, harnessed me; we were all astonishment, + James and I; but stop, if you can, when Mr. Desgranges drives you. At the + end of three days, here we are with the cask, he harnessed and drawing it, + I behind, pushing; we were ashamed at crossing the village, as if we were + doing something wrong; it seemed as if everybody would laugh at us. But + Mr. Desgranges was there in the street. + </p> + <p> + “'Come on, James,' said he, 'courage.' + </p> + <p> + “We came along, and in the evening he put into our hands a piece of money, + saying,” continued the blind man, with emotion— + </p> + <p> + “'James, here are twenty sous you have earned to-day.' + </p> + <p> + “Earned, sir, think of that! earned, it was fifteen months that I had only + eaten what had been given to me. It is good to receive from good people, + it is true; but the bread that one earns, it is as we say, half corn, half + barley; it nourishes better, and then it was done, I was no longer the + woman, I was a labourer—a labourer—James earned his living.” + </p> + <p> + A sort of pride shone from his face. + </p> + <p> + “How!” said the young man, “was your cask sufficient to support you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not alone, sir; but I have still another profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Another profession!” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, yes, sir; the river always runs, except when it is frozen, and, + as Mr. Desgranges says, 'water-carriers do not make their fortune with + ice,' so he gave me a Winter trade and Summer trade.” + </p> + <p> + “Winter trade!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Desgranges returned at this moment—James heard him—“Is it + not true, Mr. Desgranges, that I have another trade besides that of + water-carrier?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it then?” + </p> + <p> + “Wood-sawyer.” + </p> + <p> + “Wood-sawyer? impossible; how could you measure the length of the sticks? + how could you cut wood without cutting yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Cut myself, sir,” replied the blind man, with a pleasant shade of + confidence; “I formerly was a woodsawyer, and the saw knows me well; and + then one learns everything—I go to school, indeed. They put a pile + of wood at my left side, my saw and saw horse before me, a stick that is + to be sawed in three; I take a thread, I cut it the size of the third of + the stick—this is the measure. Every place I saw, I try it, and so + it goes on till now there is nothing burned or drunk in the village + without calling upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “Without mentioning,” added Mr. Desgranges, “that he is a commissioner.” + </p> + <p> + “A commissioner!” said the young man, still more surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, when there is an errand to be done at Melun, I put my little + girl on my back, and then off I go. She sees for me, I walk for her; those + who meet me, say, 'Here is a gentleman who carries his eyes very high;' to + which I answer, 'that is so I may see the farther.' And then at night I + have twenty sous more to bring home.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you not afraid of stumbling against the stones?” + </p> + <p> + “I lift my feet pretty high; and then I am used to it; I come from + Noiesemont here all alone.” + </p> + <p> + “All alone! how do you find your way?” + </p> + <p> + “I find the course of the wind as I leave home, and this takes the place + of the sun with me.” + </p> + <p> + “But the holes?” + </p> + <p> + “I know them all.” + </p> + <p> + “And the walls?” + </p> + <p> + “I feel them. When I approach anything thick, sir, the air comes with less + force upon my face; it is but now and then that I get a hard knock, as by + example, if sometimes a little handcart is left on the road, I do not + suspect it—whack! bad for you, poor five-and-thirty, but this is + soon over. It is only when I get bewildered, as I did day before + yesterday. O then—-” + </p> + <p> + “You have not told me of that, James,” said Mr. Desgranges. + </p> + <p> + “I was, however, somewhat embarrassed, my dear friend. While I was here + the wind changed, I did not perceive it; but at the end of a quarter of an + hour, when I had reached the plain of Noiesemont, I had lost my way, and I + felt so bewildered that I did not dare to stir a step. You know the plain, + not a house, no passersby. I sat down on the ground, I listened; after a + moment I heard at, as I supposed, about two hundred paces distant, a noise + of running water. I said, 'If this should be the stream which is at the + bottom of the plain?' I went feeling along on the side from which the + noise came—I reached the stream; then I reasoned in this way: the + water comes down from the side of Noiesemont and crosses it. I put in my + hand to feel the current.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo, James.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but the water was so low and the current so small, that my hand felt + nothing. I put in the end of my stick, it was not moved. I rubbed my head + finally, I said, 'I am a fool, here is my handkerchief;' I took it, I + fastened it to the end of my cane. Soon I felt that it moved gently to the + right, very gently. Noiesemont is on the right. I started again and I get + home to Juliana, who began to be uneasy.” + </p> + <p> + “O,” cried the young man, “this is admir——” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Desgranges stopped him, and leading him to the other end of the + room, + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” said he to him in a low voice. “Not admirable—do not + corrupt by pride the simplicity of this man. Look at him, see how tranquil + his face is, how calm after this recital which has moved you so much. He + is ignorant of himself, do not spoil him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is so touching,” said the young man, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly, and still his superiority does not lie there. A thousand + blind men have found out these ingenious resources, a thousand will find + them again; but this moral perfection—this heart, which opens itself + so readily to elevated consolations—this heart which so willingly + takes upon it the part of a victim—this heart which has restored him + to life. For do not be deceived, it is not I who have saved him, it is his + affection for me; his ardent gratitude has filled his whole soul, and has + sustained—he has lived because he has loved!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment, James, who had remained at the other end of the room, and + who perceived that we were speaking low, got up softly, and with a + delicate discretion, said to his wife, + </p> + <p> + “We will go away without making any noise.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going, James?” + </p> + <p> + “I am in the way, my dear Mr. Desgranges.” + </p> + <p> + “No, pray stay longer.” + </p> + <p> + His benefactor retained him, reaching out to him cordially his hand. The + blind man seized the hand in his turn, and pressed it warmly against his + heart. + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend, my dear good friend, you permit me to stay a little + longer. How glad I am to find myself near you. When I am sad I say—'James, + the good God will, perhaps, of His mercy, put you in the same paradise + with Mr. Desgranges,' and that does me good.” + </p> + <p> + The young man smiled at this simple tenderness, which believed in a + hierarchy in Heaven. James heard him. + </p> + <p> + “You smile, sir. But this good man has re-created James. I dream of it + every night—I have never seen him, but I shall know him then. Oh my + God, if I recover my sight I will look at him for ever—for ever, + like the light, till he shall say to me, James, go away. But he will not + say so, he is too good. If I had known him four years ago, I would have + served him, and never have left him.” + </p> + <p> + “James, James!” said Mr. Desgranges; but the poor man could not be + silenced. + </p> + <p> + “It is enough to know he is in the village; this makes my heart easy. I do + not always wish to come in, but I pass before his house, it is always + there; and when he is gone a journey I make Juliana lead me into the plain + of Noiesemont, and I say—'turn me towards the place where he is + gone, that I may breathe the same air with him.'” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Desgranges put his hand before his mouth. James stopped. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Mr. Desgranges, my mouth is rude, it is only my heart + which is right. Come, wife,” said he, gayly, and drying his great tears + which rolled from his eyes, “Come, we must give our children their supper. + Good-by, my dear friend, good-by, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He went away, moving his staff before him. Just as he laid his hand upon + the door, Mr. Desgranges called him back. + </p> + <p> + “I want to tell you a piece of news which will give you pleasure. I was + going to leave the village this year; but I have just taken a new lease of + five years of my landlady.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you see, Juliana,” said James to his wife, turning round, “I was right + when I said he was going away.” + </p> + <p> + “How,” replied Mr. Desgranges, “I had told them not to tell you of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but here,” putting his hand on his heart, “everything is plain here. + I heard about a month since, some little words, which had begun to make my + head turn round; when, last Sunday, your landlady called me to her, and + showed me more kindness than usual, promising me that she would take care + of me, and that she would never abandon me. When I came home, I said to + Juliana, 'Wife, Mr. Desgranges is going to quit the village; but that lady + has consoled me.'” + </p> + <p> + In a few moments the blind man had returned to his home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEPENDENCE. + </h2> + <p> + “WELL, Mary,” said Aunt Frances, “how do you propose to spend the summer? + It is so long since the failure and death of your guardian, that I suppose + you are now familiar with your position, and prepared to mark out some + course for the future.” + </p> + <p> + “True, aunt; I have had many painful thoughts with regard to the loss of + my fortune, and I was for a time in great uncertainty about my future + course, but a kind offer, which I received, yesterday, has removed that + burden. I now know where to find a respectable and pleasant home.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the offer you speak of one of marriage?” asked Aunt Frances, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! dear, no; I am too young for that yet. But Cousin Kate is happily + married, and lives a few miles out of the city, in just the cosiest little + spot, only a little too retired; and she has persuaded me that I shall do + her a great kindness to accept a home with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see. Kate's husband is not wealthy, I believe?” + </p> + <p> + “No: Charles Howard is not wealthy, but his business is very good, and + improving every year; and both he and Kate are too whole-souled and + generous to regret giving an asylum to an unfortunate girl like me. They + feel that 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.'” + </p> + <p> + “A very noble feeling, Mary; but one in which I am sorry to perceive that + you are a little wanting.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no, Aunt Frances, I do feel it deeply; but it is the curse of poverty + that one must give up, in some measure, the power of benefiting others. + And, then, I mean to beguile Kate of so many lonely hours, and perform so + many friendly offices for her husband, that they will think me not a + burden but a treasure.” + </p> + <p> + “And you really think you can give them as much comfort as the expense of + your maintenance could procure them in any other way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, aunt; it may sound conceited, perhaps, but I do really think I can. + I am sure, if I thought otherwise, I would never consent to become a + burden to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, then your own interest is all that remains to be + considered. There are few blessings in life that can compensate for the + loss of self-reliance. She who derives her support from persons upon whom + she has no natural claim, finds the effect upon herself to be decidedly + narrowing. Perpetually in debt, without the means of reimbursement, barred + from any generous action which does not seem like 'robbing Peter to pay + Paul,' she sinks too often into the character of a sponge, whose only + business is absorption. But I see you do not like what I am saying, and I + will tell you something which I am sure you <i>will</i> like—my own + veritable history. + </p> + <p> + “I was left an orphan in childhood, like yourself, and when my father's + affairs were settled, not a dollar remained for my support. I was only six + years of age, but I had attracted the notice of a distant relative, who + was a man of considerable wealth. Without any effort of my own, I became + an inmate of his family, and his only son, a few years my elder, was + taught to consider me as a sister. + </p> + <p> + “George Somers was a generous, kind-hearted boy, and I believe he was none + the less fond of me, because I was likely to rob him of half his fortune. + Mr. Somers often spoke of making a will, in which I was to share equally + with his son in the division of his property, but a natural reluctance to + so grave a task led him to defer it from one year to another. Meantime, I + was sent to expensive schools, and was as idle and superficial as any + heiress in the land. + </p> + <p> + “I was just sixteen when my kind benefactor suddenly perished on board the + ill-fated Lexington, and, as he died without a will, I had no legal claim + to any farther favours. But George Somers was known as a very open-handed + youth, upright and honourable, and, as he was perfectly well acquainted + with the wishes of his father, I felt no fears with regard to my pecuniary + condition. While yet overwhelmed with grief at the loss of one whom my + heart called father, I received a very kind and sympathizing letter from + George, in which he said he thought I had better remain at school for + another year, as had been originally intended. + </p> + <p> + “'Of course,' he added, 'the death of my father does not alter our + relation in the least; you are still my dear and only sister.' + </p> + <p> + “And, in compliance with his wishes, I passed another year at a very + fashionable school—a year of girlish frivolity, in which my last + chance of acquiring knowledge as a means of future independence was wholly + thrown away. Before the close of this year I received another letter from + George, which somewhat surprised, but did not at all dishearten me. It + was, in substance, as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “'<i>MY own dear Sister</i>:—I wrote you, some months ago, from + Savannah, in Georgia told you how much I was delighted with the place and + people; how charmed with Southern frankness and hospitality. But I did not + tell you that I had there met with positively the most bewitching creature + in the world—for I was but a timid lover, and feared that, as the + song says, the course of true love never would run smooth. My charming + Laura was a considerable heiress, and, although no sordid considerations + ever had a feather's weight upon her own preferences, of course, yet her + father was naturally and very properly anxious that the guardian of so + fair a flower should be able to shield it from the biting winds of + poverty. Indeed, I had some difficulty in satisfying his wishes on this + point, and in order to do so, I will frankly own that I assumed to myself + the unencumbered possession of my father's estate, of which so large a + share belongs of right to you. I am confident that when you know my Laura + you will forgive me this merely nominal injustice. Of course, this + connexion can make no sort of difference in your rights and expectations. + You will always have a home at my house. Laura is delighted, with the idea + of such a companion, and says she would on no account dispense with that + arrangement. And whenever, you marry as girls do and will, I shall hold + myself bound to satisfy any reasonable wishes on the part of the happy + youth that wins you. Circumstances hastened my marriage somewhat + unexpectedly, or I should certainly have informed you previously, and + requested your presence at the nuptial ceremony. We have secured a + beautiful house in Brooklyn, and shall expect you to join us as soon as + your present year expires, Laura sends her kindest regards, and I remain, + as always, your sincere and affectionate brother, GEORGE SOMERS.' + </p> + <p> + “Not long after the receipt of this letter, one of the instructresses, in + the institution where I resided requested the favour of a private + interview. She then said she knew something generally of my position and + prospects, and, as she had always felt an instinctive interest in my + fortunes, she could not see me leave the place without seeking my + confidence, and rendering me aid, if aid was in her power. Though + surprised and, to say the truth, indignant, I simply inquired what views, + had occurred to her with regard to my future life. + </p> + <p> + “She said, then, very kindly, that although I was not very thorough in, + any branch of study, yet she thought I had a decided taste for the lighter + and more ornamental parts of female education. That a few months earnest + attention to these would fit me for a position independent of my + connexions, and one of which none of my friends would have cause to be + ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “I am deeply pained to own to you how I answered her. Drawing myself up, I + said, coldly, + </p> + <p> + “'I am obliged to you, madam, for your quite unsolicited interest in my + affairs. When I leave this place, it will be to join my brother and sister + in Brooklyn, and, as we are all reasonably wealthy, I must try to make + gold varnish over any defects in my neglected education.' + </p> + <p> + “I looked to see my kind adviser entirely annihilated by these imposing + words, but she answered with perfect calmness, + </p> + <p> + “'I know Laura Wentworth, now Mrs. Somers. She was educated at the North, + and was a pupil of my own for a year. She is wealthy and beautiful, and I + hope you will never have cause to regret assuming a position with regard + to her that might be mistaken for dependence.' + </p> + <p> + “With these words, my well-meaning, but perhaps injudicious friend, took + leave, and I burst into a mocking laugh, that I hoped she might linger + long enough to hear. 'This is too good!' I repeated to myself—but I + could not feel perfectly at ease. However, I soon forgot all thoughts of + the future, in the present duties of scribbling in fifty albums, and + exchanging keepsakes, tears, and kisses, with a like number of <i>very</i> + intimate friends. + </p> + <p> + “It was not until I had finally left school, and was fairly on the way to + the home of my brother, that I found a moment's leisure to think seriously + of the life that was before me. I confess that I felt some secret + misgivings, as I stood at last upon the steps of the very elegant house + that was to be my future home. The servant who obeyed my summons, inquired + if I was Miss Rankin, a name I had never borne since childhood. + </p> + <p> + “I was about to reply in the negative, when she added, 'If you are the + young lady that Mr. Somers is expecting from the seminary, I will show you + to your room.' + </p> + <p> + “I followed mechanically, and was left in a very pretty chamber, with the + information that Mrs. Somers was a little indisposed, but would meet me at + dinner. The maid added that Mr. Somers was out of town, and would not + return till evening. After a very uncomfortable hour, during which I + resolutely suspended my opinion with regard to my position, the + dinner-bell rang, and the domestic again appeared to show me to the + dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Somers met me with extended hand. 'My dear Miss Rankin!' she + exclaimed, 'I am most happy to see you. I have heard George speak of you + so often and so warmly that I consider you quite as a relative. Come + directly to the table. I am sure you must be famished after your long + ride. I hope you will make yourself one of us, at once, and let me call + you Fanny. May I call you Cousin Fanny?' she pursued, with an air of sweet + condescension that was meant to be irresistible. + </p> + <p> + “'As you please,' I replied coldly. + </p> + <p> + “To which she quickly responded, 'Oh, that will be delightful.' + </p> + <p> + “She then turned to superintend the carving of a fowl, and I had time to + look at her undisturbed. She was tall and finely formed, with small + delicate features, and an exquisite grace in every movement; a haughty + sweetness that was perfectly indescribable. She had very beautiful teeth, + which she showed liberally when she smiled, and in her graver moments her + slight features wore an imperturbable serenity, as if the round world + contained nothing that was really worth her attention. An animated statue, + cold, polished, and pitiless! was my inward thought, as I bent over my + dinner. + </p> + <p> + “When the meal was over, Mrs. Somers said to me, in a tone of playful + authority, + </p> + <p> + “'Now, Cousin Fanny, I want you to go to your room and rest, and not do an + earthly thing until teatime. After that I have a thousand things to show + you.' + </p> + <p> + “At night I was accordingly shown a great part of the house; a costly + residence, and exquisitely furnished, but, alas! I already wearied of this + icy splendour. Every smile of my beautiful hostess (I could not now call + her sister), every tone of her soft voice, every movement of her superb + form, half queen-like dignity, half fawn-like grace—seemed to place + an insurmountable barrier between herself and me. It was not that I + thought more humbly of myself—not that I did not even consider + myself her equal—but her dainty blandishments were a delicate + frost-work, that almost made me shiver and when, she touched her cool lips + to mine, and said 'Good-night, dear,' I felt as if even then separated + from her real, living self, by a wall of freezing marble. + </p> + <p> + “'Poor George!' I said, as I retired to rest—'You have wedded this + soulless woman, and she will wind you round her finger.' + </p> + <p> + “I did not sit up for him, for he was detained till a late hour, but I + obeyed the breakfast-bell with unfashionable eagerness, as I was becoming + nervous about our meeting, and really anxious to have it over. After a + delay of some minutes, I heard the wedded pair coming leisurely down the + stairs, in, very amicable chatter. + </p> + <p> + “'I am glad you like her, Laura,' said a voice which I knew in a moment as + that of George. How I shivered as I caught the smooth reply, 'A nice + little thing. I am very glad of the connexion. It will be such a relief + not to rely entirely upon servants. There should be a middle class in + every family.' + </p> + <p> + “With these words she glided through the door, looked with perfect + calmness in my flashing eyes, and said, + </p> + <p> + “'Ah, Fanny! I, was just telling George here how much I shall like you.' + </p> + <p> + “The husband came forward with an embarrassed air; I strove to meet him + with dignity, but my heart failed me, and I burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “'Forgive me, madam,' I said, on regaining my composure—'This is our + first meeting since the death of <i>our father</i>.' + </p> + <p> + “'I understand your feelings perfectly,' she quietly replied. 'My father + knew the late Mr. Somers well, and thought very highly of him, He was + charitable to a fault, and yet remarkable for discernment. His bounty was + seldom unworthily bestowed.' + </p> + <p> + “His bounty! I had never been thought easy to intimidate, but I quailed + before this unapproachable ice-berg. It made no attempt from that moment + to vindicate what I was pleased to call my rights, but awaited passively + the progress of events. + </p> + <p> + “After breakfast, Mrs. Somers said to the maid in attendance, + </p> + <p> + “'Dorothy, bring some hot water and towels for Miss Rankin.' + </p> + <p> + “She then turned to me and continued, 'I shall feel the china perfectly + safe in your hands, cousin. These servants are so very unreliable.' + </p> + <p> + “And she followed George to the parlour above, where their lively tones + and light laughter made agreeable music. + </p> + <p> + “In the same easy way, I was invested with a variety of domestic cares, + most of them such as I would willingly have accepted, had she waited for + me to manifest such a willingness. But a few days after my arrival, we + received a visit from little Ella Grey, a cousin of Laura's, who was taken + seriously ill on the first evening of her stay. A physician was promptly + summoned, and, after a conference with him, Mrs. Somers came to me, + inquiring earnestly, + </p> + <p> + “'Cousin Fanny, have you ever had the measles?' + </p> + <p> + “I replied in the affirmative. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, I am very glad!' was her response; 'for little Ella is attacked with + them, and very severely; but, if you will take charge of her, I shall feel + no anxiety. It is dreadful in sickness to be obliged to depend upon + hirelings.' + </p> + <p> + “So I was duly installed as little Ella's nurse, and, as she was a spoiled + child, my task was neither easy nor agreeable. + </p> + <p> + “No sooner was the whining little creature sufficiently improved to be + taken to her own home, than the house was thrown into confusion by + preparations for a brilliant party. Laura took me with her on a shopping + excursion, and bade me select whatever I wished, and send the bill with + hers to Mr. Somers. I purchased a few indispensable articles, but I felt + embarrassed by her calm, scrutinizing gaze, and by the consciousness that + every item of my expenditures would be scanned by, perhaps, censorious + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What with my previous fatigue while acting as Ella's nurse, and the + laborious preparations for the approaching festival, I felt, as the time + drew near, completely exhausted. Yet I was determined not to so far give + way to the depressing influences that surrounded me, as to absent myself + from the party. So, after snatching an interval of rest, to relieve my + aching head, I dressed myself with unusual care, and repaired to the + brilliantly lighted rooms. They were already filled, and murmuring like a + swarm of bees, although, as one of the guests remarked, there were more + drones than workers in the hive. I was now no drone, certainly, and that + was some consolation. When I entered, Laura was conversing with a group of + dashing young men, who were blundering over a book of charades. Seeing me + enter, she came towards me immediately. + </p> + <p> + “'Cousin Fanny, you who help everybody, I want you to come to the aid of + these stupid young men. Gentlemen, this is our Cousin Fanny, the very best + creature in the world.' And with this introduction she left me, and turned + to greet some new arrivals. After discussing the charades till my ears + were weary of empty and aimless chatter, I was very glad to find my group + of young men gradually dispersing, and myself at liberty to look about me, + undisturbed. George soon came to me, gave me his arm, and took me to a + room where were several ladies, friends of his father, and who had known + me very well as a child. + </p> + <p> + “'You remember Fanny,' he said to them; and then left me, and devoted + himself to the courteous duties of the hour. While I was indulging in a + quiet chat with a very kind old friend, she proposed to go with me to look + at the dancers, as the music was remarkably fine, and it was thought the + collected beauty and fashion of the evening would make a very brilliant + show. We left our seats, accordingly, but were soon engaged in the crowd, + and while waiting for an opportunity to move on, I heard one of my young + men ask another, + </p> + <p> + “'How do you like <i>la cousine</i>?' + </p> + <p> + “I lost a part of the answer, but heard the closing words distinctly—'<i>et + un peu passee.</i>' '<i>Oui, decidement!</i>' was the prompt response, and + a light laugh followed, while, shrinking close to my kind friend, I + rejoiced that my short stature concealed me from observation. I was not + very well taught, but, like most school-girls, I had a smattering of + French, and I knew the meaning of the very ordinary phrases that had been + used with regard to me. Before the supper-hour, my headache became so + severe that I was glad to take refuge in my own room. There I consulted my + mirror, and felt disposed to forgive, the young critics for their + disparaging remarks. <i>Passee!</i> I looked twenty-five at least, and yet + I was not eighteen, and six months before I had fancied myself a beauty + and an heiress! + </p> + <p> + “But I will not weary you with details. Suffice it to say; that I spent + only three months of this kind of life, and then relinquished the + protection of Mr. and Mrs. Somers, and removed to a second-rate + boarding-house, where I attempted to maintain myself by giving lessons in + music. Every day, however, convinced me of my unfitness for this task, + and, as I soon felt an interest in the sweet little girls who looked up to + me for instruction, my position with regard to them became truly + embarrassing. One day I had been wearying myself by attempting the + impossible task of making clear to another mind, ideas that lay confusedly + in my own, and at last I said to my pupil, + </p> + <p> + “'You may go home now, Clara, dear, and practise the lesson of yesterday. + I am really ill to-day, but to-morrow I shall feel better, and I hope I + shall then be able to make you understand me.' + </p> + <p> + “The child glided out, but a shadow still fell across the carpet. I looked + up, and saw in the doorway a young man, whose eccentricities sometimes + excited a smile among his fellow-boarders, but who was much respected for + his sense and independence. + </p> + <p> + “'To make yourself understood by others, you must first learn to + understand yourself,' said he, as he came forward. Then, taking my hand, + he continued,—'What if you should give up all this abortive labour, + take a new pupil, and, instead of imparting to others what you have not + very firmly grasped yourself, try if you can make a human being of me?' + </p> + <p> + “I looked into his large gray eyes, and saw the truth and earnestness + shining in their depths, like pebbles at the bottom of a pellucid spring. + I never once thought of giving him a conventional reply. On the contrary, + I stammered out, + </p> + <p> + “'I am full, of faults and errors; I could never do you any good.' + </p> + <p> + “'I have studied your character attentively,' returned he, 'and I know you + have faults, but they are unlike mine; and I think that you might be of + great service to me; or, if the expression suits you better, that we might + be of great aid to each other. Become my wife, and I will promise to + improve more rapidly than any pupil in your class.' + </p> + <p> + “And I did become his wife, but not until a much longer acquaintance had + convinced me, that in so doing, I should not exchange one form of + dependence for another, more galling and more hopeless.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this eccentric young man was Uncle Robert?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. But you see he has made great improvement, since.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Aunt Frances, I thank you for your story; and now for the moral. + What do you think I had better do?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you what you can do, if you choose. Your uncle has just + returned from a visit to his mother. He finds her a mere child, gentle and + amiable, but wholly unfit to take charge of herself. Her clothes have + taken fire repeatedly, from her want of judgment with regard to fuel and + lights, and she needs a companion for every moment of the day. This, with + their present family, is impossible, and they are desirous to secure some + one who will devote herself to your grandmother during the hours when your + aunt and the domestics are necessarily engaged. You were always a + favourite there, and I know they would be very much relieved if you would + take this office for a time, but they feel a delicacy in making any such + proposal. You can have all your favourites about you—books, flowers, + and piano; for the dear old lady delights to hear reading or music, and + will sit for hours with a vacant smile upon her pale, faded face. Then + your afternoons will be entirely your own, and Robert is empowered to pay + any reliable person a salary of a fixed and ample amount, which will make + you independent for the time.” + </p> + <p> + “But, aunt, you will laugh at me, I know, yet I do really fear that Kate + will feel this arrangement as a disappointment.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I send her a note, stating that you have given me some + encouragement of assuming this important duty, but that you could not + think of deciding without showing a grateful deference to her wishes?” + </p> + <p> + “That will be just the thing. We shall get a reply to-morrow.” With + to-morrow came the following note:— + </p> + <p> + “<i>My Dear Aunt Frances</i>:—Your favour of yesterday took us a + little by surprise, I must own I had promised myself a great deal of + pleasure in the society of our Mary; but since she is inclined (and I + think it is very noble in her) to foster with the dew of her youth the + graceful but fallen stem that lent beauty to us all, I cannot say a word + to prevent it. Indeed, it has occurred to me, since the receipt of your + note, that we shall need the room we had reserved for Mary, to accommodate + little Willie, Mr. Howard's pet nephew, who has the misfortune to be lame. + His physicians insist upon country air, and a room upon the first floor. + So tell Mary I love her a thousand times better for her self-sacrifice, + and will try to imitate it by doing all in my power for the poor little + invalid that is coming. + </p> + <p> + “With the kindest regards, I remain + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate niece, + </p> + <p> + “KATE HOWARD.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you now decided, Mary?” asked Aunt Frances, after their joint perusal + of the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Not only decided, but grateful. I have lost my fortune, it is true; but + while youth and health remain, I shall hardly feel tempted to taste the + luxuries of dependence.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR. + </h2> + <p> + JUMP in, if you would ride with the doctor. You have no time to lose, for + the patient horse, thankful for the unusual blessing which he has enjoyed + in obtaining a good night's rest, stands early at the door this rainy + morning, and the worthy doctor himself is already in his seat, and is + hastily gathering up the reins, for there have been no less than six rings + at his bell within as many minutes, and immediate attendance is requested + in several different places. + </p> + <p> + It is not exactly the day one might select for a ride, for the storm is a + regular north-easter, and your hands and feet are benumbed with the + piercing cold wind, while you are drenched with the driving rain. + </p> + <p> + But the doctor is used to all this, and, unmindful of wind and rain, he + urges his faithful horse to his utmost speed, eager to reach the spot + where the most pressing duty calls. He has at least the satisfaction of + being welcome. Anxious eyes are watching for his well-known vehicle from + the window; the door is opened ere he puts his hand upon the lock, and the + heartfelt exclamation, + </p> + <p> + “Oh, doctor, I am so thankful you have come!” greets him as he enters. + </p> + <p> + Hastily the anxious father leads the way to the room where his + half-distracted wife is bending in agony over their first-born, a lovely + infant of some ten months, who is now in strong convulsions. The mother + clasps her hands, and raises her eyes in gratitude to heaven, as the + doctor enters,-he is her only earthly hope. Prompt and efficient remedies + are resorted to, and in an hour the restored little one is sleeping + tranquilly in his mother's arms. + </p> + <p> + The doctor departs amid a shower of blessings, and again urging his horse + to speed, reaches his second place of destination. It is a stately + mansion. A spruce waiter hastens to answer his ring, but the lady herself + meets him as he enters the hall. + </p> + <p> + “We have been expecting you anxiously, doctor. Mr. Palmer is quite ill, + this morning. Walk up, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor obeys, and is eagerly welcomed by his patient. + </p> + <p> + “Do exert your utmost skill to save me from a fever, doctor. The symptoms + are much the same which I experienced last year, previous to that long + siege with the typhoid. It distracts me to think of it. At this particular + juncture I should lose thousands by absence from my business.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor's feelings are enlisted,—his feelings of humanity and his + feelings of self-interest, for doctors must live as well as other people; + and the thought of the round sum which would find its way to his own + purse, if he could but succeed in preventing the loss of thousands to his + patient, was by no means unpleasing. + </p> + <p> + The most careful examination of the symptoms is made, and well-chosen + prescriptions given. He is requested to call as often as possible through + the day, which he readily promises to do, although press of business and a + pouring rain render it somewhat difficult. + </p> + <p> + The result, however, will be favourable to his wishes. His second and + third call give him great encouragement, and on the second day after the + attack, the merchant returns to his counting-room exulting in the skill of + his physician. + </p> + <p> + But we must resume our ride. On, on goes the doctor; rain pouring, wind + blowing, mud splashing. Ever and anon he checks his horse's speed, at his + various posts of duty. High and low, rich and poor anxiously await his + coming. He may not shrink from the ghastly spectacle of human suffering + and death. Humanity, in its most loathsome forms, is presented to him. + </p> + <p> + The nearest and dearest may turn away in grief and horror, but the doctor + blenches not. + </p> + <p> + Again we are digressing. The doctor's well-known tap is heard at the door + of a sick-room, where for many days he has been in constant attendance. + Noiselessly he is admitted. The young husband kneels at the side of the + bed where lies his dearest earthly treasure. The calm but deeply-afflicted + mother advances to the doctor, and whispers fearfully low, + </p> + <p> + “There is a change. She sleeps. Is it—oh! can it be the sleep of + death?” + </p> + <p> + Quickly the physician is at the bedside, and anxiously bending over his + patient. + </p> + <p> + Another moment and he grasps the husband's hand, while the glad words “She + will live,” burst from his lips. + </p> + <p> + We may not picture forth their joy. On, on, we are riding with the doctor. + Once more we are at his own door. Hastily he enters, and takes up the + slate containing the list of calls during his absence. At half a dozen + places his presence is requested without delay. + </p> + <p> + A quick step is heard on the stairs, and his gentle wife hastens to + welcome him. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad you have come; how wet you must be!” + </p> + <p> + The parlour door is thrown open. What a cheerful fire, and how inviting + look the dressing-gown and the nicely warmed slippers! + </p> + <p> + “Take off your wet clothes, dear; dinner will soon be ready,” urges the + wife. + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible, Mary. There are several places to visit yet. Nay, never + look so sad. Have not six years taught you what a doctor's wife must + expect?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never feel easy when you are working so hard, Henry; but surely + you will take a cup of hot coffee; I have it all ready. It will delay you + but a moment.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor consents; and while the coffee is preparing, childish voices + are heard, and little feet come quickly through the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Papa has come home!” shouts a manly little fellow of four years, as he + almost drags his younger sister to the spot where he has heard his + father's voice. + </p> + <p> + The father's heart is gladdened by their innocent joy, as they cling + around him; but there is no time for delay. A kiss to each, one good jump + for the baby, the cup of coffee is hastily swallowed, the wife receives + her embrace with tearful eyes, and as the doctor springs quickly into his + chaise, and wheels around the corner, she sighs deeply as she looks at the + dressing-gown and slippers, and thinks of the favourite dish which she had + prepared for dinner; and now it may be night before he comes again. But + she becomes more cheerful as she remembers that a less busy season will + come, and then they will enjoy the recompense of this hard labour. + </p> + <p> + The day wears away, and at length comes the happy hour when gown and + slippers may be brought into requisition. The storm still rages without, + but there is quiet happiness within. The babies are sleeping, and father + and mother are in that snug little parlour, with its bright light and + cheerful fire. The husband is not too weary to read aloud, and the wife + listens, while her hands are busied with woman's never-ending work. + </p> + <p> + But their happiness is of short duration. A loud ring at the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Patient in the office, sir,” announces the attendant. + </p> + <p> + The doctor utters a half-impatient exclamation; but the wife expresses + only thankfulness that it is an office patient. + </p> + <p> + “Fine night for a sick person to come out!” muttered the doctor, as he + unwillingly lays down his book, and rises from the comfortable lounge. + </p> + <p> + But he is himself again by the time his hand is on the door of the office, + and it is with real interest that he greets his patient. + </p> + <p> + “Tooth to be extracted? Sit down, sir. Here, Biddy, bring water and a + brighter lamp. Have courage, sir; one moment will end it.” + </p> + <p> + The hall door closes on the relieved sufferer, and the doctor throws + himself again on the lounge, and smilingly puts the bright half dollar in + his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “That was not so bad, after all, Mary. I like to make fifty cents in that + way.” + </p> + <p> + “Cruel creature! Do not mention it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cruel! The poor man blessed me in his heart. Did I not relieve him from + the most intense suffering?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind. I hope there will be no more calls to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. Where is the book? I will read again.” No more interruptions. + Another hour, and all, are sleeping quietly. + </p> + <p> + Midnight has passed, when the sound of the bell falls on the doctor's + wakeful ear. As quickly as possible he answers it in person, but another + peal is heard ere he reaches the door. + </p> + <p> + A gentleman to whose family he has frequently been called, appears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! doctor, lose not a moment; my little Willie is dying with the croup!” + </p> + <p> + There is no resisting this appeal. The still wet overcoat and boots are + drawn on; medicine case hastily seized, and the doctor rushes forth again + into the storm. + </p> + <p> + Pity for his faithful horse induces him to traverse the distance on foot, + and a rapid walk of half a mile brings him to the house. + </p> + <p> + It was no needless alarm. The attack was a severe one, and all his skill + was required to save the life of the little one. It was daylight ere he + could leave him with safety. Then, as he was about departing for his own + home, an express messenger arrived to entreat him to go immediately to + another place nearly a mile in an opposite direction. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast was over ere he reached his own house. His thoughtful wife + suggested a nap; but a glance at the already well-filled slate showed this + to be out of the question. A hasty toilet, and still hastier breakfast, + and the doctor is again seated in his chaise, going on his accustomed + rounds; but we will not now accompany him. + </p> + <p> + Let us pass over two or three months, and invite ourselves to another + ride. One pleasant morning, when less pressed with business, he walks + leisurely from the house to the chaise, and gathering up the reins with a + remarkably thoughtful air, rides slowly down the street. + </p> + <p> + But few patients are on his list, and these are first attended to. + </p> + <p> + The doctor then pauses for consideration. He has set apart this day for <i>collecting</i>. + Past experience has taught him that the task is by no means an agreeable + one. It is necessary, however—absolutely so—for, as we have + said before, doctors must live as well as other people; their house-rent + must be paid, food and clothing must be supplied. + </p> + <p> + A moment only pauses the doctor, and then we are again moving onward. A + short ride brings us to the door of a pleasantly-situated house. We + remember it well. It is where the little one lay in fits when we last rode + out with the doctor. We recall the scene: the convulsed countenance of the + child; the despair of the parents, and the happiness which succeeded when + their beloved one was restored to them. + </p> + <p> + Surely they will now welcome the doctor. Thankfully will they pay the + paltry sum he claims as a recompense for his services. We are more + confident than the doctor. Experience is a sure teacher. The door does not + now fly open at his approach. He gives his name to the girl who answers + the bell, and in due time the lady of the house appears. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! doctor, how do you do? You are quite a stranger! Delightful weather,” + &c. + </p> + <p> + The doctor replies politely, and inquires if her husband is in. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is in; but I regret to say he is exceedingly engaged this + morning. His business is frequently of a nature which cannot suffer + interruption. He would have been pleased to have seen you.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor's pocket-book is produced, and the neatly drawn bill is + presented. + </p> + <p> + “If convenient to Mr. Lawton, the amount would be acceptable.” + </p> + <p> + “I will hand it to him when he is at leisure. He will attend to it, no + doubt.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor sighs involuntarily as he recalls similar indefinite promises; + but it is impossible to insist upon interrupting important business. He + ventures another remark, implying that prompt payment would oblige him; + bows, and retires. + </p> + <p> + On, on goes the faithful horse. Where is to be our next stopping-place? At + the wealthy merchant's, who owed so much to the doctor's skill some two + months since. Even the doctor feels confidence here. Thousands saved by + the prevention of that fever. Thirty dollars is not to be thought of in + comparison. + </p> + <p> + All is favourable. Mr. Palmer is at home, and receives his visiter in a + cordial manner. Compliments are passed. Now for the bill. + </p> + <p> + “Our little account, Mr. Palmer.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I recollect; I am a trifle in your debt. Let us see: thirty dollars! + So much? I had forgotten that we had needed medical advice, excepting in + my slight indisposition a few weeks since.” + </p> + <p> + Slight indisposition! What a memory some people are blessed with! + </p> + <p> + The doctor smothers his rising indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Eight visits, Mr. Palmer, and at such a distance. You will find the + charge a moderate one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! very well; I dare say it is all right. I am sorry I have not the + money for you to-day, doctor. Very tight just at present; you know how it + is with men of business.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a great accommodation if I could have it at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, doctor! I wish I could oblige you. In a week, or fortnight, + at the farthest, I will call at your office.” + </p> + <p> + A week or fortnight! The disappointed doctor once more seats himself in + his chaise, and urges his horse to speed. He is growing desperate now, and + is eager to reach his next place of destination. Suddenly he checks the + horse. A gentleman is passing whom he recognises as the young husband + whose idolized wife has so lately been snatched from the borders of the + grave. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you, Mr. Wilton; I was about calling at your house.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray, do so, doctor; Mrs. Wilton will be pleased to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; but my call was on business, to-day. I believe I must trouble + you with my bill for attendance during your wife's illness.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes; I recollect. Have you it with you? Fifty dollars! Impossible! + Why, she was not ill above three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true; but think of the urgency of the case. Three or four calls + during twenty-four hours were necessary, and two whole nights I passed at + her bedside.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet the charge appears to me enormous. Call it forty, and I will hand + you the amount at once.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor hesitates. “I cannot afford to lose ten dollars, which is + justly my due, Mr. Wilton.” + </p> + <p> + “Suit yourself, doctor. Take forty, and receipt the bill, or stick to your + first charge, and wait till I am ready to pay it. Fifty dollars is no + trifle, I can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + And this is the man whose life might have been a blank but for the + doctor's skill! + </p> + <p> + Again we are travelling onward. The unpaid bill is left in Mr. Wilton's + hand, and yet the doctor half regrets that he had not submitted to the + imposition. Money is greatly needed just now, and there seems little + prospect of getting any. + </p> + <p> + Again and again the horse is stopped at some well-known post. A poor + welcome has the doctor to-day. Some bills are collected, but their amount + is discouragingly small. Everybody appears to feel astonishingly healthy, + and have almost forgotten that they ever had occasion for a physician. + There is one consolation, however: sickness will come again, and then, + perhaps, the unpaid bill may be recollected. Homeward goes the doctor. He + is naturally of a cheerful disposition; but now he is seriously threatened + with a fit of the blues. A list of calls upon his slate has little effect + to raise his spirits. “All work and no pay,” he mutters to himself, as he + puts on his dressing-gown and slippers; and, throwing himself upon the + lounge, turns a deaf ear to the little ones, while he indulges in a revery + as to the best mode of paying the doctor. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KEEP IN STEP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Those who would walk together must keep in step. + + —OLD PROVERB. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AY, the world keeps moving forward, + Like an army marching by; + Hear you not its heavy footfall, + That resoundeth to the sky? + Some bold spirits bear the banner— + Souls of sweetness chant the song,— + Lips of energy and fervour + Make the timid-hearted strong! + Like brave soldiers we march forward; + If you linger or turn back, + You must look to get a jostling + While you stand upon our track. + Keep in step. + + My good neighbour, Master Standstill, + Gazes on it as it goes; + Not quite sure but he is dreaming, + In his afternoon's repose! + “Nothing good,” he says, “can issue + From this endless moving on; + Ancient laws and institutions + Are decaying, or are gone. + We are rushing on to ruin, + With our mad, new-fangled ways.” + While he speaks a thousand voices, + As the heart of one man, says— + “Keep in step!” + + Gentle neighbour, will you join us, + Or return to “<i>good old ways?</i>” + Take again the fig-leaf apron + Of Old Adam's ancient days;— + Or become a hardy Briton— + Beard the lion in his lair, + And lie down in dainty slumber + Wrapped in skins of shaggy bear,— + Rear the hut amid the forest, + Skim the wave in light canoe? + Ah, I see! you do not like it. + Then if these “old ways” won't do, + Keep in step. + + Be assured, good Master Standstill, + All-wise Providence designed + Aspiration and progression + For the yearning human mind. + Generations left their blessings, + In the relies of their skill, + Generations yet are longing + For a greater glory still; + And the shades of our forefathers + Are not jealous of our deed— + We but follow where they beckon, + We but go where they do lead! + Keep in step. + + One detachment of our army + May encamp upon the hill, + While another in the valley + May enjoy its own sweet will; + This, may answer to one watchword, + That, may echo to another; + But in unity and concord, + They discern that each is brother! + Breast to breast they're marching onward, + In a good now peaceful way; + You'll be jostled if you hinder, + So don't offer let or stay— + Keep in step. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JOHNNY COLE. + </h2> + <p> + “I GUESS we will have to put out our Johnny,” said Mrs. Cole, with a sigh, + as she drew closer to the fire, one cold day in autumn. This remark was + addressed to her husband, a sleepy, lazy-looking man, who was stretched on + a bench, with his eyes half closed. The wife, with two little girls of + eight and ten, were knitting as fast as their fingers could fly; the baby + was sound asleep in the cradle; while Johnny, a boy of thirteen, and a + brother of four, were seated on the wide hearth making a snare for + rabbits. The room they occupied was cold and cheerless; the warmth of the + scanty fire being scarcely felt; yet the floor, and every article of + furniture, mean as they were, were scrupulously neat and clean. + </p> + <p> + The appearance of this family indicated that they were very poor. They + were all thin and pale, really for want of proper food, and their clothes + had been patched until it was difficult to decide what the original fabric + had been; yet this very circumstance spoke volume in favour of the mother. + She was, a woman of great energy of character, unfortunately united to a + man whose habits were such, that, for the greater part of the time, he was + a dead weight upon her hands; although not habitually intemperate, he was + indolent and good-for-nothing to a degree, lying in the sun half his time, + when the weather was warm, and never doing a stroke of work until driven + to it by the pangs of hunger. + </p> + <p> + As for the wife, by taking in sewing, knitting, and spinning for the + farmers' families in the neighbourhood, she managed to pay a rent of + twenty dollars for the cabin in which they lived; while she and Johnny, + with what assistance they could occasionally get from Jerry, her husband, + tilled the half acre of ground attached; and the vegetables thus obtained, + were their main dependance during the long winter just at hand. Having + thus introduced the Coles to our reader, we will continue the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we will have to put out Johnny, and you will try and help us a + little more, Jerry, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's got into the woman now?” muttered Jerry, stretching his arms, + and yawning to the utmost capacity of his mouth. The children laughed at + their father's uncouth gestures, and even Mrs. Cole's serious face relaxed + into a smile, as she answered, + </p> + <p> + “Don't swallow us all, and I will tell you. The winter is beginning early, + and promises to be cold. Our potatoes didn't turn out as well as I + expected, and the truth is, we cannot get along so. We won't have victuals + to last us half the time; and, manage as I will, I can't much more than + pay the rent, I get so little for the kind of work I do. Now, if Johnny + gets a place, it will make one less to provide for; and he will be + learning to do something for himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but mother,” said the boy, moving close to her side, and laying his + head on her knee, “yes, but who'll help you when I am gone? Who'll dig the + lot, and hoe, and cut the wood, and carry the water? You can't go away + down to the spring in the deep snow. And who'll make the fire in the cold + mornings?” + </p> + <p> + The mother looked sorry enough, as her darling boy—for he was the + object around which the fondest affections of her heart had entwined + themselves—she looked sorry enough, as he enumerated the turns he + was in the habit of doing for her; but, woman-like, she could suffer and + be still; so she answered cheerfully, + </p> + <p> + “May be father will, dear; and when you grow bigger, and learn how to do + everything, you'll be such a help to us all.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't depend on me,” said Jerry, now arousing himself and sauntering to + the fire; “I hardly ever feel well,”—complaining was Jerry's + especial forte, an excuse for all his laziness; yet his appetite never + failed; and when, as was sometimes the case, one of the neighbours sent a + small piece of meat, or any little article of food to his wife, under the + plea of ill health he managed to appropriate nearly the whole of it. He + was selfishness embodied, and a serious injury to his family, as few cared + to keep him up in his laziness. + </p> + <p> + One evening, a few days later, Mrs. Cole, who had been absent several + hours, came in looking very tired, and after laying aside her old bonnet + and shawl, informed them that she had obtained a place for Johnny. It was + four miles distant, and the farmer's man would stop for him on his way + from town, the next afternoon. What a beautiful object was farmer + Watkins's homestead, lying as it did on the sunny slope of a hill; its + gray stone walls, peeping out from between the giant trees that + overshadowed it, while everything around and about gave evidence of + abundance and comfort. The thrifty orchard; the huge barn with its + overflowing granaries; the sleek, well-fed cattle; even the low-roofed + spring-house, with its superabundance of shining pails and pans, formed an + item which could hardly be dispensed with, in the <i>tout ensemble</i> of + this pleasant home. + </p> + <p> + Farmer Watkins was an honest, hard-working man, somewhat past middle age, + with a heart not naturally devoid of kindness, but, where his hirelings + were concerned, so strongly encrusted with a layer of habits, that they + acted as an effectual check upon his better feelings. His family consisted + of a wife, said to be a notable manager, and five or six children, the + eldest, a son, at college. In this household, work, work, was the order of + the day; the farmer himself, with his great brown fists, set the example, + and the others, willing or unwilling, were obliged to follow his lead. He + had agreed to take John Cole, as he said, more to get rid of his mother's + importunities, than for any benefit he expected to derive from him; and + when remonstrated with by his wife for his folly in giving her the trouble + of another brat, he answered shortly: “Never fear, I'll get the worth of + his victuals and clothes out of him.” Johnny was to have his boarding, + clothes, and a dollar a month, for two years. This dollar a month was the + great item in Mrs. Cole's calculations; twelve dollars a year, she argued, + would almost pay her rent, and when the tears stood in Johnny's great + brown eyes (for he was a pretty, gentle-hearted boy), as he was bidding + them all good-bye, and kissing the baby over and over again, she told him + about the money he would earn, and nerved his little heart with her + glowing representations, until he was able to choke back the tears, and + leave home almost cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + <i>Home</i>—yes, it was home; for they had much to redeem the + miseries of want within those bare cabin walls, for gentle hearts and + kindly smiles were there. There + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The mother sang at the twilight fall, + To the babe half slumbering on her knee.” + </pre> + <p> + There his brother and sisters played; there his associations, his hopes, + his wishes, were all centered. When he arrived at farmer Watkins's, and + was sent into the large carpeted kitchen, everything was so unlike this + home, that his fortitude almost gave way, and it was as much as he could + do, as he told his mother afterwards, “to keep from bursting right out.” + Mrs. Watkins looked very cross, nor did she notice him, except to order + him to stand out of the way of the red-armed girl who was preparing supper + and placing it on a table in the ample apartment. Johnny looked with + amazement at the great dishes of meat, and plates of hot biscuit, but the + odour of the steaming coffee, and the heat, were almost too much for him, + as he had eaten nothing since morning, for he was too sorry to leave home + to care about dinner. The girl, noticing that his pale face grew paler, + laughingly drew her mistress's attention to “master's new boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Go out and bring in some wood for the stove,” said Mrs. Watkins, sharply; + “the air will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny went out, and, in a few minutes, felt revived. Looking about, he + soon found the wood-shed; there was plenty of wood, but none cut of a + suitable length; it was all in cord sticks. Taking an axe, he chopped an + armful, and on taking it into the house, found the family, had finished + their suppers; the biscuits and meat were all eaten. + </p> + <p> + “Come on here to your supper,” said the maid-servant, angrily. “What have + you been doing?” and, without waiting for an answer, she filled a tin + basin with mush and skimmed milk, and set it before him. The little boy + did not attempt to speak, but sat down and ate what was given him. + Immediately after, he was sent into a loft to bed, where he cried himself + to sleep. Ah! when we count the thousand pulsations that yield pain or + pleasure to the human mind, what a power to do good or evil is possessed + by every one; and how often would a kind word, or one sympathizing glance, + gladden the hearts of those thus prematurely forced upon the anxieties of + the world! But how few there are who care to bestow them! The next + morning, long before dawn, the farmer's family, with the exception of the + younger children were astir. The cattle were to be fed and attended to, + the horses harnessed, the oxen yoked, and great was the bustle until all + hands were fairly at work. As for Johnny, he was taken into the field to + assist in husking corn. The wind was keen, and the stalks, from recent + rain, were wet, and filled with ice. His scanty clothing scarcely afforded + any protection from the cold, and his hands soon became so numb that he + could scarcely use them; but, if he stopped one moment to rap them, or + breathe upon them, in the hope of imparting some warmth, the farmer who + was close at hand, in warm woollen clothes and thick husking gloves, would + call out, + </p> + <p> + “Hurry up, hurry up, my boy! no idle bread must be eaten here!” + </p> + <p> + And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but it + would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought of + exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for him, told + him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a moment, he would send + him home. This was enough for Johnny; anything was better than to go back + and be a burden on his mother; he worked to the best of his ability until + noon. At noon, he managed to get thoroughly warm, behind the stove, while + eating his dinner. Still, the sufferings of the child, with his + insufficient clothing, were very great; but nobody seemed to think of the + <i>hired boy</i> being an object of sympathy, and thus it continued. The + rule seemed to be to get all that was possible out of him, and his little + frame was so weary at night, that he had hardly time to feel rested, until + called with the dawn to renew his labour. A monthly Sunday however, was + the golden period looked forward to in his day-dreams, for it had been + stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday evening every four weeks, he + was to come home, and stay all the next day. And when the time arrived, + how nimbly did he get over the ground that stretched between him and the + goal of his wishes! How much he had to tell! But as soon as he began to + complain, his mother would say cheerfully, although her heart bled for the + hardships of her child, + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you grow + up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you.” + </p> + <p> + This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly + miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his condition; + and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny persevered; young as + he was, he understood the necessity. But how often, during the four weary + weeks that succeeded, did the memory of the Saturday night he had spent at + home come up before his mental vision! The fresh loaf of rye bread, baked + in honour of his arrival, and eaten for supper, with maple molasses—the + very molasses he had helped to boil on shares with Farmer Thrifty's boys + in the spring. What a feast they had! Then the long evening afterwards, + when the blaze of the hickory fires righted up the timbers of the old + cabin with a mellow glow, and mother looked so cheerful and smiled so + kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and light. And how even father + had helped to pop corn in the iron pot. + </p> + <p> + Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample opportunity to + draw comparisons, for he often thought his master cared more for his + cattle than he did for him, and it is quite probable he did; for while + they were warmly housed he was needlessly exposed, and his comfort utterly + disregarded. If there was brush to cut, or fence to make, or any out-door + labour to perform, a wet, cold, or windy day was sure to be selected, + while in <i>fine weather</i> the wood was required to be chopped, and, + generally speaking, all the work that could be done under shelter. Yet we + dare say Farmer Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this, or the + advantage he would himself derive by arranging it otherwise. + </p> + <p> + John Cole had been living out perhaps a year. He had not grown much in + this period; his frame had always been slight, and his sunken cheeks and + wasted limbs spoke of the hard usage and suffering of his present + situation. The family had many delicacies for themselves, but the <i>work + boy</i> they knew never was used to such things, and they were + indifferent, as to what his fare chanced to be. He generally managed to + satisfy the cravings of hunger on the coarse food given him, but that was + all. About this time it happened that the farmer was digging a ditch, and + as he was afraid winter would set in before it was completed, Johnny and + himself were at work upon it early and late, notwithstanding the wind + whistled, and it was so cold they could hardly handle the tools. While + thus employed, it chanced that they got wet to the skin with a drizzling + rain, and on returning to the house the farmer changed his clothes, drank + some hot mulled cider, and spent the remainder of the evening in his + high-backed chair before a comfortable fire; while the boy was sent to + grease a wagon in an open shed, and at night crept to his straw pallet, + shaking as though in an ague fit. The next morning he was in a high fever, + and with many a “wonder of what had got into him,” but without one word of + sympathy, or any other manifestation of good-will, he was sent home to his + mother. Late in the evening of the same day a compassionate physician was + surprised to see a woman enter his office; her garments wet and + travel-stained, and, with streaming eyes, she besought him to come and see + her son. + </p> + <p> + “My Johnny, my Johnny, sir!” she cried, “he has been raving wild all day, + and we are afraid he will die.” + </p> + <p> + Mistaking the cause of the good man's hesitation, she added, with a fresh + burst of grief, “Oh! I will work my fingers to the bone to pay you, sir, + if you will only come. We live in the Gap.” + </p> + <p> + A few inquiries were all that was necessary to learn the state of the + case. The benevolent doctor took the woman in his vehicle, and proceeded, + over a mountainous road of six miles, to see his patient. But vain was the + help of man! Johnny continued delirious; it was work, work, always at + work; and pitiful was it to hear his complaints of being cold and tired, + while his heart-broken parent hung over him, and denied herself the + necessaries of life to minister to his wants. After being ill about a + fortnight, he awoke one evening apparently free from fever. His expression + was natural, but he seemed so weak he could not speak. His mother, with a + heart overflowing with joy at the change she imagined favourable, bent + over him. With a great effort he placed his arms about her neck; she + kissed his pale lips; a smile of strange meaning passed over his face, and + ere she could unwind that loving clasp her little Johnny was no more. He + had gone where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest; + but her hopes were blasted; her house was left unto her desolate; and as + she watched, through the long hours of night, beside the dead body, it was + to our Father who art in Heaven her anguished heart poured itself out in + prayer. Think of this, ye rich! who morning and evening breathe the same + petition by your own hearthstones. Think of it, ye who have authority to + oppress! Do not deprive the poor man or woman of the “ewe lamb” that is + their sole possession; and remember that He whose ear is ever open to the + cry of the distressed, has power to avenge their cause. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR. + </h2> + <p> + “CIRCUMSTANCES made me what I am,” said a condemned criminal to a + benevolent man who visited him in prison. “I was driven by necessity to + steal.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” replied the keeper, who was standing by. “Rather say, that your + own character made the circumstances by which you were surrounded. God + never places upon any creature the necessity of breaking his commandments. + You stole, because, in heart, you were a thief.” + </p> + <p> + The benevolent man reproved the keeper for what he called harsh words. He + believed that, alone, by the force of external circumstances, men were + made criminals. That, if society were differently arranged, there would be + little or no crime in the world. And so he made interest for the criminal, + and, in the end, secured his release from prison. Nor did his benevolence + stop here. He took the man into his service, and intrusted to him his + money and his goods. + </p> + <p> + “I will remove from him all temptation to steal,” said he, “by a liberal + supply of his wants.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you a wife?” he asked of the man, when he took him from prison. + </p> + <p> + “No,” was replied. + </p> + <p> + “Nor any one but yourself to support?” + </p> + <p> + “I am alone in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “You have received a good education; and can serve me as a clerk. I + therefore take you into my employment, at a fair salary. Will five hundred + dollars be enough?” + </p> + <p> + “It will be an abundance,” said the man, with evident surprise at an offer + so unexpectedly liberal. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. That will place you above temptation.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will be innocent and happy. You are my benefactor. You have saved + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it,” said the man of benevolence. + </p> + <p> + And so he intrusted his goods and his money to the man he had reformed by + placing him in different circumstances. + </p> + <p> + But it is in the heart of man that evil lies; and from the heart's + impulses spring all our actions. That must cease to be a bitter fountain + before it can send forth sweet water. The thief was a thief still. Not a + month elapsed ere he was devising the means to enable him to get from his + kind, but mistaken friend, more than the liberal sum for which he had + agreed to serve him. He coveted his neighbour's goods whenever his eyes + fell upon them; and restlessly sought to acquire their possession. In + order to make more sure the attainment of his ends, he affected sentiments + of morality, and even went so far as to cover his purposes by a show of + religion. And thus he was able to deceive and rob his kind friend. + </p> + <p> + Time went on; and the thief, apparently reformed by a change of relation + to society, continued in his post of responsibility. How it was, the + benefactor could not make out; but his affairs gradually became less + prosperous. He made investigations into his business, but was unable to + find anything wrong. + </p> + <p> + “Are you aware that your clerk is a purchaser of property to a + considerable extent?” said a mercantile friend to him one day. + </p> + <p> + “My clerk! It cannot be. His income is only five hundred dollars a year.” + </p> + <p> + “He bought a piece of property for five thousand last week.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it to be true. Are you aware that he was once a convict in the + State's Prison?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. I took him from prison myself, and gave him a chance for his + life. I do not believe in hunting men down for a single crime, the result + of circumstances rather than a bad heart.” + </p> + <p> + “A truly honest man, let me tell you,” replied the merchant, “will be + honest in any and all circumstances. And a rogue will be a rogue, place + him where you will. The evil is radical, and must be cured radically. Your + reformed thief has robbed you, without doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “I have reason to fear that he has been most ungrateful,” replied the + kind-hearted man, who, with the harmlessness of the dove, did not unite + the wisdom of the serpent. + </p> + <p> + And so it proved. His clerk had robbed him of over twenty thousand dollars + in less than five years, and so sapped the foundations of his prosperity, + that he recovered with great difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “You told me, when in prison,” said the wronged merchant to his clerk, + “that circumstances made you what you were. This you cannot say now.” + </p> + <p> + “I can,” was the reply. “Circumstances made me poor, and I desired to be + rich. The means of attaining wealth were placed in my hands, and I used + them. Is it strange that I should have done so? It is this social + inequality that makes crime. Your own doctrine, and I subscribe to it + fully.” + </p> + <p> + “Ungrateful wretch!” said the merchant, indignantly, “it is the evil of + your own heart that prompts to crime. You would be a thief and a robber if + you possessed millions.” + </p> + <p> + And he again handed him over to the law, and let the prison walls protect + society from his depredations. + </p> + <p> + No, it is not true that in external circumstances lie the origins of evil. + God tempts no man by these. In the very extremes of poverty we see + examples of honesty; and among the wealthiest, find those who covet their + neighbour's goods, and gain dishonest possession thereof. Reformers must + seek to elevate the personal character, if they would regenerate society. + To accomplish the desired good by a different external arrangement, is + hopeless; for in the heart of man lies the evil,—there is the + fountain from which flow forth the bitter and blighting waters of crime. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON. + </h2> + <p> + “AND you will really send Reuben to cut down that clump of pines?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Margaret. Well, now, it is necessary, for more reasons than”—— + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me so, John,” impetuously interrupted Margaret Greylston. “I + am sure there is no necessity in the case, and I am sorry to the very + heart that you have no more feeling than to order <i>those</i> trees to be + cut down.” + </p> + <p> + “Feeling! well, maybe I have more than you think; yet I don't choose to + let it make a fool of me, for all that. But I wish you would say no more + about those trees, Margaret; they really must come down; I have reasoned + with you on this matter till I am sick of it.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Greylston got up from her chair, and walked out on the shaded porch; + then she turned and called her brother. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come here, John?” + </p> + <p> + “And what have you to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, just now; I only want you to stand here and look at the old + pines.” + </p> + <p> + And so John Greylston did; and he saw the distant woods grave and fading + beneath the autumn wind—while the old pines upreared their stately + heads against the blue sky, unchanged in beauty, fresh and green as ever. + </p> + <p> + “You see those trees, John, and so do I; and standing here, with them full + in view, let me plead for them; they are very old, those pines, older than + either of us; we played beneath them when we were children; but there is + still a stronger tie: our mother loved them—our dear, sainted + mother. Thirty years it has been since she died, but I can never forget or + cease to love anything she loved. Oh! John, you remember just as well as I + do, how often she would sit beneath those trees and read or talk sweetly + to us; and of the dear band who gathered there with her, only we are left, + and the old pines. Let them stand, John; time enough to cut them down when + I have gone to sit with those dear ones beneath the trees of heaven;” and + somewhat breathless from long talking, Miss Margaret paused. + </p> + <p> + John Greylston was really touched, and he laid his hand kindly on his + sister's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Madge, don't talk so sadly. I remember and love those things + as well as you do, but then you see I cannot afford to neglect my + interests for weak sentiment. Now the road must be made, and that clump of + trees stand directly in its course, and they must come down, or the road + will have to take a curve nearly half a mile round, striking into one of + my best meadows, and a good deal more expense this will be, too. No, no,” + he continued, eagerly, “I can't oblige you in this thing. This place is + mine, and I will improve it as I please. I have kept back from making many + a change for your sake, but just here I am determined to go on.” And all + this was said with a raised voice and a flushed face. + </p> + <p> + “You never spoke so harshly to me in your life before, John, and, after + all, what have I done? Call my feelings on this matter weak sentiment, if + you choose, but it is hard to hear such words from your lips;” and, with a + reproachful sigh, Miss Margaret walked into the house. + </p> + <p> + They had been a large family, those Greylstons, in their day, but now all + were gone; all but John and Margaret, the two eldest—the twin + brother and sister. They lived alone in their beautiful country home; + neither had ever been married. John had once loved a fair young creature, + with eyes like heaven's stars, and rose-tinged cheeks and lips, but she + fell asleep just one month before her wedding-day, and John Greylston was + left to mourn over her early grave, and his shivered happiness. Dearly + Margaret loved her twin brother, and tenderly she nursed him through the + long and fearful illness which came upon him after Ellen Day's death. + Margaret Greylston was radiant in the bloom of young womanhood when this + great grief first smote her brother, but from that very hour she put away + from her the gayeties of life, and sat down by his side, to be to him a + sweet, unselfish controller for evermore, and no lover could ever tempt + her from her post. + </p> + <p> + “John Greylston will soon get over his sorrow; in a year or two Ellen will + be forgotten for a new face.” + </p> + <p> + So said the world; Margaret knew better. Her brother's heart lay before + her like an open book, and she saw indelible lines of grief and anguish + there. The old homestead, with its wide lands, belonged to John Greylston. + He had bought it years before from the other heirs; and Margaret, the only + remaining one, possessed neither claim nor right in it. She had a handsome + annuity, however, and nearly all the rich plate and linen with which the + house was stocked, together with some valuable pieces of furniture, + belonged to her. And John and Margaret Greylston lived on in their quiet + and beautiful home, in peace and happiness; their solitude being but now + and then invaded by a flock of nieces and nephews, from the neighbouring + city—their only and well-beloved relatives. + </p> + <p> + It was long after sunset. For two full hours the moon and stars had + watched John Greylston, sitting so moodily alone upon the porch. Now he + got up from his chair, and tossing his cigar away in the long grass, + walked slowly into the house. Miss Margaret did not raise her head; her + eyes, as well as her fingers, seemed intent upon the knitting she held. So + her brother, after a hurried “Good-night,” took a candle and went up to + his own room, never speaking one gentle word; for he said to himself, “I + am not going to worry and coax with Margaret any longer about the old + pines. She is really troublesome with her sentimental notions.” Yet, after + all, John Greylston's heart reproached him, and he felt restless and ill + at ease. + </p> + <p> + Miss Margaret sat very quietly by the low table, knitting steadily on, but + she was not thinking of her work, neither did she delight in the beauty of + that still autumn evening; the tears came into her eyes, but she hastily + brushed them away; just as though she feared John might unawares come back + and find her crying. + </p> + <p> + Ah! these <i>way-side</i> thorns are little, but sometimes they pierce as + sharply as the gleaming sword. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, John!” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of that voice, Mr. Greylston turned suddenly from the + book-case, and his sister was standing near him, her face lit up with a + sweet, yet somewhat anxious smile. He threw down in a hurry the papers he + had been tying together, and the bit of red tape, and holding out his + hand, said fervently, + </p> + <p> + “I was very harsh last night. I am really sorry for it; will you not + forgive me, Margaret?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I will; for indeed, John, I was quite as much to blame as + you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Madge, you were not,” he quickly answered; “but let it pass, now. We + will think and say no more about it;” and, as though he were perfectly + satisfied, and really wished the matter dropped, John Greylston turned to + his papers again. + </p> + <p> + So Miss Margaret was silent. She was delighted to have peace again, even + though she felt anxious about the pines, and when her brother took his + seat at the breakfast table, looking and speaking so kindly, she felt + comforted to think the cloud had passed away; and John Greylston himself + was very glad. So the two went on eating their breakfast quite happily. + But alas! the storm is not always over when the sky grows light. Reuben + crossed the lawn, followed by the gardener, and Miss Margaret's quick eye + caught the gleaming of the axes swung over their shoulders. She hurriedly + set down the coffee-pot. + </p> + <p> + “Where are those men going? Reuben and Tom I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Only to the woods,” was the careless answer. + </p> + <p> + “But what woods, John? Oh! I can tell by your face; you are determined to + have the pines cut down.” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” And John Greylston folded his arms, and looked fixedly at his + sister, but she did not heed him. She talked on eagerly— + </p> + <p> + “I love the old trees; I will do anything to save them. John, you spoke + last night of additional expense, should the road take that curve. I will + make it up to you; I can afford to do this very well. Now listen to + reason, and let the trees stand.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to reason, yourself,” he answered more gently. “I will not take a + cent from you. Margaret, you are a perfect enthusiast about some things. + Now, I love my parents and old times, I am sure, as well as you do, and + that love is not one bit the colder, because I do not let it stand in the + way of interest. Don't say anything more. My mind is made up in this + matter. The place is mine, and I cannot see that you have any right to + interfere in the improvements I choose to make on it.” + </p> + <p> + A deep flush stole over Miss Greylston's face. + </p> + <p> + “I have indeed no legal right to counsel or plead with you about these + things,” she answered sadly, “but I have a sister's right, that of + affection—you cannot deny this, John. Once again, I beg of you to + let the old pines alone.” + </p> + <p> + “And once again, I tell you I will do as I please in this matter,” and + this was said sharply and decidedly. + </p> + <p> + Margaret Greylston said not another word, but pushing back her chair, she + arose from the breakfast-table and went quickly from the room, even before + her brother could call to her. Reuben and his companion had just got in + the last meadow when Miss Greylston overtook them. + </p> + <p> + “You, will let the pines alone to-day,” she calmly said, “go to any other + work you choose, but remember those trees are not to be touched.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Miss Margaret,” and Reuben touched his hat respectfully, + </p> + <p> + “Mr. John is very changeable in his notions,” burst in Tom; “not an hour + ago he was in such a hurry to get us at the pine.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” authoritatively said Miss Greylston; “do just as you are + bid, without any remarks;” and she turned away, and went down the meadow + path, even as she came, within quick step, without a bonnet, shading her + eyes from the morning sun with her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + John Greylston still sat at the breakfast-table, half dreamily balancing + the spoon across the saucer's edge. When his sister came in again, he + raised his head, and mutely-inquiringly looked at her, and she spoke,— + </p> + <p> + “I left this room just to go after Reuben and Tom; I overtook them before + they had crossed the last meadow, and I told them not to touch the pine + trees, but to go, instead, to any other work they choose. I am sure you + will be angry with me for all this; but, John, I cannot help it if you + are.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say so, Margaret,” Mr. Greylston sharply answered, getting up at + the same time from his chair, “don't tell me you could not help it. I have + talked and reasoned with you about those trees, until my patience is + completely worn out; there is no necessity for you to be such an obstinate + fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! John, hush, hush!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not,” he thundered. “I am master here, and I will speak and act in + this house as I see fit. Now, who gave you liberty to countermand my + orders; to send my servants back from the Work I had set for them to do? + Margaret, I warn you; for, any more such freaks, you and I, brother and + sister though we be, will live no longer under the same roof.” + </p> + <p> + “Be still, John Greylston! Remember <i>her</i> patient, self-sacrificing + love. Remember the past—be still.” + </p> + <p> + But he would not; relentlessly, stubbornly, the waves of passion raged on + in his soul. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you hear all this; do not forget it; and have done with your silly + obstinacy as soon as possible, for I will be worried no longer with it;” + and roughly pushing away the slight hand which was laid upon his arm, Mr. + Greylston stalked out of the house. + </p> + <p> + For a moment, Margaret stood where her brother had left her, just in the + centre of the floor. Her cheeks were very white, but quickly a crimson + flush came over them, and her eyes filled with tears; then she sat down + upon the white chintz-covered settle, and hiding her face in the pillows, + wept violently for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “I have consulted Margaret's will always; in many things I have given up + to it, but here, where reason is so fully on my side, I will go on. I have + no patience with her weak stubbornness, no patience with her presumption + in forbidding my servants to do as I have told them; such measures I will + never allow in my house;” and John Greylston, in his angry musings, struck + his cane smartly against a tall crimson dahlia, which grew in the + grass-plat. It fell quivering across his path, but he walked on, never + heeding what he had done. There was a faint sense of shame rising in his + heart, a feeble conviction of having been himself to blame; but just then + they seemed only to fan and increase his keen indignation. Yet in the + midst of his anger, John Greylston had the delicate consideration for his + sister and himself to repeat to the men the command she had given them. + </p> + <p> + “Do as Miss Greylston bade you; let the trees stand until further orders.” + But pride prompted this, for he said to himself, “If Margaret and I keep + at this childish work of unsaying each other's commands, that sharp old + fellow, Reuben, will suspect that we have quarrelled.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greylston's wrath did not abate; and when he came home at dinner-time, + and found the table so nicely set, and no one but the little servant to + wait upon him, Margaret away, shut up with a bad headache, in her own + room, he somehow felt relieved,—just then he did not want to see + her. But when eventide came, and he sat down to supper, and missed again + his sister's calm and pleasant face, a half-regretful feeling stole over + him, and he grew lonely, for John Greylston's heart was the home of every + kindly affection. He loved Margaret dearly. Still, pride and anger kept + him aloof from her; still his soul was full of harsh, unforgiving + thoughts. And Margaret Greylston, as she lay with a throbbing head and an + aching heart upon her snowy pillow, thought the hours of that bright + afternoon and evening very long and very weary. And yet those hours were + full of light, and melody, and fragrance, for the sun shone, and the sky + was blue, the birds sang, and the waters rippled; even the autumn flowers + were giving their sweet, last kisses to the air. Earth was fair,—why, + then, should not human hearts rejoice? Ah! <i>Nature's</i> loveliness <i>alone</i> + cannot cheer the soul. There was once a day when the beauty even of <i>Eden</i> + ceased to gladden two guilty tremblers who hid in its bowers. + </p> + <p> + “A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger.” When + Margaret Greylston came across that verse, she closed her Bible, and sat + down beside the window to muse. “Ah,” she thought, “how true is that + saying of the wise man! If I had only from the first given John soft + answers, instead of grievous words, we might now have been at peace. I + knew his quick temper so well; I should have been more gentle with him.” + Then she recalled all John's constant and tender attention to her wishes; + the many instances in which he had gone back from his own pleasure to + gratify her; but whilst she remembered these things, never once did her + noble, unselfish heart dwell upon the sacrifices, great and numerous, + which she had made for his sake. Miss Margaret began to think she had + indeed acted very weakly and unjustly towards her brother. She had half a + mind just then to go to him, and make this confession. But she looked out + and saw the dear old trees, so stately and beautiful, and then the memory + of all John's harsh and cruel words rushed back upon her. She struggled + vainly to banish them from her mind, she strove to quell the angry + feelings which arose with those memories. At last she knelt and prayed. + When she got up from her knees traces of tears were on her face, but her + heart was calm. Margaret Greylston had been enabled, in the strength of + “that grace which cometh from above,” to forgive her brother freely, yet + she scarcely hoped that he would give her the opportunity to tell him + this. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” John Greylston said, curtly and chillingly enough to his + sister. Somehow she was disappointed, even though she knew his proud + temper so well, yet she had prayed that there would have been some kindly + relentings towards her; but there seemed none. So she answered him sadly, + and the two sat down to their gloomy, silent breakfast. And thus it was + all that day. Mr. Greylston still mute and ungracious; his sister shrank + away from him. In that mood she scarcely knew him; and her face was grave, + and her voice so sad, even the servants wondered what was the matter. + Margaret Greylston had fully overcome all angry, reproachful feelings + against her brother. So far her soul had peace, yet she mourned for his + love, his kind words, and pleasant smiles; and she longed to tell him + this, but his coldness held her back. Mr. Greylston found his comfort in + every way consulted; favourite dishes were silently placed before him; + sweet flowers, as of old, laid upon his table. He knew the hand which + wrought these loving acts. But did this knowledge melt his heart? In a + little while we shall see. + </p> + <p> + And the third morning dawned. Yet the cloud seemed in no wise lifted. John + Greylston's portrait hung in the parlour; it was painted in his young + days, when he was very handsome. His sister could not weary of looking at + it; to her this picture seemed the very embodiment of beauty. Dear, + unconscious soul, she never thought how much it was like herself, or even + the portrait of her which hung in the opposite recess—for brother + and sister strikingly resembled each other. Both had the same high brows, + the same deep blue eyes and finely chiselled features, the same sweet and + pleasant smiles; there was but one difference: Miss Margaret's hair was of + a pale golden colour, and yet unchanged; she wore it now put back very + smoothly and plainly from her face. When John was young, his curls were of + so dark a brown as to look almost black in the shade. They were bleached a + good deal by time, but yet they clustered round his brow in the same + careless, boyish fashion as of old. + </p> + <p> + Just now Miss Margaret could only look at her brother's picture with + tears. On that very morning she stood before it, her spirit so full of + tender memories, so crowded with sad yearnings, she felt as though they + would crush her to the earth. Oh, weary heart! endure yet “a little while” + longer. Even now the angel of reconciliation is on the wing. + </p> + <p> + Whilst John Greylston sat alone upon the foot of the porch at the front of + the house, and his sister stood so sadly in the parlour, the city stage + came whirling along the dusty turnpike. It stopped for a few minutes + opposite the lane which led to John Greylston's place. The door was + opened, and a grave-looking young man sprang out. He was followed by a + fairy little creature, who clapped her hands, and danced for joy when she + saw the white chimneys and vine-covered porches of “Greylston Cottage.” + </p> + <p> + “Annie! Annie!” but she only laughed, and gathering up the folds of her + travelling dress, managed to get so quickly and skilfully over the fence, + that her brother, who was unfastening the gate, looked at her in perfect + amazement. + </p> + <p> + “What in the world,” he asked, with a smile on his grave face, “possessed + you to get over the fence in that monkey fashion? All those people looking + at you, too. For shame, Annie! Will you never be done with those childish + capers?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, maybe when I am a gray-haired old woman; not before. Don't scold + now, Richard; you know very well you, and the passengers beside, would + give your ears to climb a fence as gracefully as I did just now. There, + won't you hand me my basket, please?” + </p> + <p> + He did so, and then, with a gentle smile, took the white, ungloved fingers + in his. + </p> + <p> + “My darling Annie, remember”— + </p> + <p> + “Stage waits,” cried the driver. + </p> + <p> + So Richard Bermon's lecture was cut short; he had only time to bid his + merry young sister good-bye. Soon he was lost to sight. + </p> + <p> + Annie Bermon hurried down the lane, swinging her light willow basket + carelessly on her arm, and humming a joyous air all the way. Just as she + opened the outer lawn gate, the great Newfoundland dog came towards her + with a low growl; it changed directly though into a glad bark. + </p> + <p> + “I was sure you would know me, you dear old fellow; but I can't stop to + talk to you just now.” And Annie patted his silken ears, and then went on + to the house, the dog bounding on before her, as though he had found an + old playmate. + </p> + <p> + John Greylston rubbed his eyes. No, it was not a dream. His darling niece + was really by his side, her soft curls touching his cheek; he flung his + arms tightly around her. + </p> + <p> + “Dear child, I was just dreaming about you; how glad I am to see your + sweet face again.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sure you would be, Uncle John,” she answered gayly, “and so I + started off from home this morning just, in a hurry. I took a sudden fancy + that I would come, and they could not keep me. But where is dear Aunt + Margaret? Oh, I know what I will do. I'll just run in and take her by + surprise. How well you look, uncle—so noble and grand too; by the + way, I always think King Robert Bruce must just have been such a man like + you.” + </p> + <p> + “No laughing at your old uncle, you little rogue,” said John Greylston + pleasantly, “but run and find your aunt. She is somewhere in the house.” + And he looked after her with a loving smile as she flitted by him. Annie + Bermon passed quickly through the shaded sitting-room into the cool and + matted hall, catching glimpses as she went of the pretty parlour and wide + library; but her aunt was in neither of these rooms; so she hurried up + stairs, and stealing on tiptoe, with gentle fingers she pushed open the + door. Margaret Greylston was sitting by the table, sewing; her face was + flushed, and her eyes red and swollen as with weeping. Annie stood still + in wonder. But Miss Margaret suddenly looked up, and her niece sprang, + with a glad cry, into her arms. + </p> + <p> + “You are not well, Aunt Margaret? Oh! how sorry I am to hear that, but it + seems to me I could never get sick in this sweet place; everything looks + so bright and lovely here. And I <i>would</i> come this morning, Aunt + Margaret, in spite of everything Sophy and all of them could say. They + told me I had been here once before this summer, and stayed a long time, + and if I would, come again, my welcome would be worn out, just as if I was + going to believe <i>such</i> nonsense;” and Annie tossed her head. “But I + persevered, and you see, aunty dear, I am here, we will trust for some + good purpose, as Richard would say.” + </p> + <p> + A silent Amen to this rose up in Miss Margaret's heart, and with it came a + hope dim and shadowy, yet beautiful withal; she hardly dared to cherish + it. Annie went on talking,— + </p> + <p> + “I can only stay two weeks with you—school commences then, and I + must hurry back to it; but I am always so glad to get here, away from the + noise and dust of the city; this is the best place in the world. Do you + know when we were travelling this summer, I was pining all the time to get + here. I was so tired of Newport and Saratoga, and all the crowds we met.” + </p> + <p> + “You are singular in your tastes, some would think, Annie,” said Miss + Greylston, smiling fondly on her darling. + </p> + <p> + “So Madge and Sophy were always saying; even Clare laughed at me, and my + brothers, too,—only Richard,—Oh! by the way, I did torment him + this morning, he is so grave and good, and he was just beginning a nice + lecture at the gate, when the driver called, and poor Richard had only + time to send his love to you. Wasn't it droll, though, that lecture being + cut so short?” and Annie threw herself down in the great cushioned chair, + and laughed heartily. + </p> + <p> + Annie Bermond was the youngest of John and Margaret Greylston's nieces and + nephews. Her beauty, her sweet and sunny temper made her a favourite at + home and abroad. John Greylston loved her dearly; he always thought she + looked like his chosen bride, Ellen Day. Perhaps there was some likeness, + for Annie had the same bright eyes, and the same pouting, rose-bud lips—but + Margaret thought she was more like their own family. She loved to trace a + resemblance in the smiling face, rich golden curls, and slight figure of + Annie to her young sister Edith, who died when Annie was a little baby. + Just sixteen years old was Annie, and wild and active as any deer, as her + city-bred sisters sometimes declared half mournfully. + </p> + <p> + Somehow, Annie Bermond thought it uncommonly grave and dull at the + dinner-table, yet why should it be so? Her uncle and aunt, as kind and + dear as ever, were there; she, herself, a blithe fairy, sat in her + accustomed seat; the day was bright, birds were singing, flowers were + gleaming, but there was a change. What could it be? Annie knew not, yet + her quick perception warned her of the presence of some trouble—some + cloud. In her haste to talk and cheer her uncle and aunt, the poor child + said what would have been best left unsaid. + </p> + <p> + “How beautiful those trees are; I mean those pines on the hill; don't you + admire them very much, Uncle John?” + </p> + <p> + “Tolerably,” was the rather short answer. “I am too well used to trees to + go into the raptures of my little city niece about them;” and all this + time Margaret looked fixedly down upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you frown so, uncle, or I will run right home to-morrow,” said + Annie, with the assurance of a privileged pet; “but I was going to ask you + about the rock just back of those pines. Do you and Aunt Margaret still go + there to see the sunset? I was thinking about you these two past evenings, + when the sunsets were so grand, and wishing I was with you on the rock; + and you were both there, weren't you?” + </p> + <p> + This time John Greylston gave no answer, but his sister said briefly, + </p> + <p> + “No, Annie, we have not been at the rock for several evenings;” and then a + rather painful silence followed. + </p> + <p> + Annie at last spoke: + </p> + <p> + “You both, somehow, seem so changed and dull; I would just like to know + the reason. May be aunty is going to be married. Is that it, Uncle John?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Margaret smiled, but the colour came brightly to her face. + </p> + <p> + “If this is really so, I don't wonder you are sad and grave; you, + especially, Uncle John; how lonely and wretched you would be! Oh! would + you not be very sorry if Aunt Madge should leave you, never to come back + again? Would not your heart almost break?” + </p> + <p> + John Greylston threw down his knife and fork violently upon the table, and + pushing back his chair, went from the room. + </p> + <p> + Annie Bermond looked in perfect bewilderment at her aunt, but Miss + Margaret was silent and tearful. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt! darling aunt! don't look so distressed;” and Annie put her arms + around her neck; “but tell me what have I done; what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Greylston shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “You will not speak now, Aunt Margaret; you might tell me; I am sure + something has happened to distress you. Just as soon as I came here, I saw + a change, but I could not understand it. I cannot yet. Tell me, dear + aunt!” and she knelt beside her. + </p> + <p> + So Miss Greylston told her niece the whole story, softening, as far as + truth would permit, many of John's harsh speeches; but she was, not slow + to blame herself. Annie listened attentively. Young as she was, her heart + took in with the deepest sympathy the sorrow which shaded her beloved + friends. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am so very sorry for all this,” she said half crying; “but aunty, + dear, I do not think uncle will have those nice old trees cut down. He + loves you too much to do it; I am sure he is sorry now for all those sharp + things he said; but his pride keeps him back from telling you this, and + maybe he thinks you are angry with him still. Aunt Margaret, let me go and + say to him that your love is as warm as ever, and that you forgive him + freely. Oh! it may do so much good. May I not go?” + </p> + <p> + But Miss Greylston tightened her grasp on the young girl's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Annie, you do not know your uncle as well as I do. Such a step can do no + good,—love, you cannot help us.” + </p> + <p> + “Only let me try,” she returned, earnestly; “Uncle John loves me so much, + and on the first day of my visit, he will not refuse to hear me. I will + tell him all the sweet things you said about him. I will tell him there is + not one bit of anger in your heart, and that you forgive and love him + dearly. I am sure when he hears this he will be glad. Any way, it will not + make matters worse. Now, do have some confidence in me. Indeed I am not so + childish as I seem. I am turned of sixteen now, and Richard and Sophy + often say I have the heart of a woman, even if I have the ways of a child. + Let me go now, dear Aunt Margaret; I will soon come back to you with such + good news.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Greylston stooped down and kissed Annie's brow solemnly, tenderly. + “Go, my darling, and may God be with you.” Then she turned away. + </p> + <p> + And with willing feet Annie Bermond went forth upon her blessed errand. + She soon found her uncle. He was sitting beneath the shade of the old + pines, and he seemed to be in very deep thought. Annie got down on the + grass beside him, and laid her soft cheek upon his sunburnt hand. How + gently he spoke— + </p> + <p> + “What did you come here for, sweet bird?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I love you so much, Uncle John; that is the reason; but won't you + tell me why you look so very sad and grave? I wish I knew your thoughts + just now.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you did, fairy, they would not make you any prettier or better + than you are.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if they do you any good, uncle?” she quickly replied; but her + companion made no answer; he only smiled. + </p> + <p> + Let me write here what John Greylston's tongue refused to say. Those + thoughts, indeed, had done him good; they were tender, self-upbraiding, + loving thoughts, mingled, all the while, with touching memories, mournful + glimpses of the past—the days of his sore bereavement, when the + coffin-lid was first shut down over Ellen Day's sweet face, and he was + smitten to the earth with anguish. Then Margaret's sympathy and love, so + beautiful in its strength, and unselfishness, so unwearying and sublime in + its sacrifices, became to him a stay and comfort. And had she not, for his + sake, uncomplainingly given up the best years of her life, as it seemed? + Had her love ever faltered? Had it ever wavered in its sweet endeavours to + make him happy? These memories, these thoughts, closed round John + Greylston like a circle of rebuking angels. Not for the first time were + they with him when Annie found him beneath the old pines. Ever since that + morning of violent and unjust anger they had been struggling in his heart, + growing stronger, it seemed, every hour in their reproachful tenderness. + Those loving, silent attentions to his wishes John Greylston had noted, + and they rankled like sharp thorns in his soul. He was not worthy of them; + this he knew. How he loathed himself for his sharp and angry words! He had + it in his heart to tell his sister this, but an overpowering shame held + him back. + </p> + <p> + “If I only knew how Madge felt towards me,” he said many times to himself, + “then I could speak; but I have been such a brute. She can do nothing else + but repulse me;” and this threw around him that chill reserve which kept + Margaret's generous and forgiving heart at a distance. + </p> + <p> + Even every-day life has its wonders, and perhaps not one of the least was + that this brother and sister, so long fellow-pilgrims, so long readers of + each other's hearts, should for a little while be kept asunder by mutual + blindness. Yet the hand which is to chase the mists from their darkened + eyes, even now is raised, what though it be but small? God in his wisdom + and mercy will cause its strength to be sufficient. + </p> + <p> + When John Greylston gave his niece no answer, she looked intently in his + face and said, + </p> + <p> + “You will not tell me what you have been thinking about; but I can guess, + Uncle John. I know the reason you did not take Aunt Margaret to the rock + to see the sunset.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” he asked, startled from his composure, his face flushing deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; for I would not rest until aunty told me the whole story, and I just + came out to talk to you about it. Now, Uncle John, don't frown, and draw + away your hand; just listen to me a little while; I am sure you will be + glad.” Then she repeated, in her pretty, girlish way, touching in its + earnestness, all Miss Greylston had told her. “Oh, if you had only heard + her say those sweet things, I know you would not keep vexed one minute + longer! Aunt Margaret told me that she did not blame you at all, only + herself; that she loved you dearly, and she is so sorry because you seem + cold and angry yet, for she wants so very, very much to beg your + forgiveness, and tell you all this, dear Uncle John, if you would only—” + </p> + <p> + “Annie,” he suddenly interrupted, drawing her closely to his bosom; + “Annie, you precious child, in telling me all this you have taken a great + weight off of my heart. You have done your old uncle a world of good. God + bless you a thousand times! If I had known this at once; if I had been + sure, from the first, of Margaret's forgiveness for my cruel words, how + quickly I would have sought it. My dear, noble sister!” The tears filled + John Greylston's dark blue eyes, but his smile was so exceedingly tender + and beautiful, that Annie drew closer to his side. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that lovely smile!” she cried, “how it lights your face; and now you + look so good and forgiving, dearer and better even than a king. Uncle + John, kiss me again; my heart is so glad! shall I run now and tell Aunt + Margaret all this sweet news?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, darling little peace-maker, stay here; I will go to her myself;” + and he hurried away. + </p> + <p> + Annie Bermond sat alone upon the hill, musingly platting the long grass + together, but she heeded not the work of her fingers. Her face was bright + with joy, her heart full of happiness. Dear child! in one brief hour she + had learned the blessedness of that birthright which is for all God's sons + and daughters, if they will but claim it. I mean <i>the privilege of doing + good, of being useful</i>. + </p> + <p> + Miss Greylston sat by the parlour window, just where she could see who + crossed the lawn. She was waiting with a kind of nervous impatience for + Annie. She heard a footstep, but it was only Liddy going down to the + dairy. Then Reuben went by on his way to the meadow, and all was silent + again. Where was Annie?—but now quick feet sounded upon the crisp + and faded leaves. Miss Margaret looked out, and saw her brother coming,—then + she was sure Annie had in some way missed him, and she drew back from the + window keenly disappointed, not even a faint suspicion of the blessed + truth crossing her mind. As John Greylston entered the hall, a sudden and + irresistible desire prompted Margaret to go and tell him all the loving + and forgiving thoughts of her heart, no matter what his mood should be. So + she threw down her work, and went quickly towards the parlour door. And + the brother and sister met, just on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “John—John,” she said, falteringly, “I must speak to you; I cannot + bear this any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor can I, Margaret.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Greylston looked up in her brother's face; it was beaming with love + and tenderness. Then she knew the hour of reconciliation had come, and + with a quick, glad cry, she sprang into his arms and laid her head down + upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Can you ever forgive me, Madge?” + </p> + <p> + She made no reply—words had melted into tears, but they were + eloquent, and for a little while it was quite still in the parlour. + </p> + <p> + “You shall blame yourself no longer, Margaret. All along you have behaved + like a sweet Christian woman as you are, but I have been an old fool, + unreasonable and cross from the very beginning. Can you really forgive me + all those harsh words, for which I hated myself not ten hours after they + were said? Can you, indeed, forgive and forget these? Tell me so again.” + </p> + <p> + “John,” she said, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, “I do + forgive you most completely, with my whole heart, and, O! I wanted so to + tell you this two days ago, but your coldness kept me back. I was afraid + your anger was not over, and that you would repel me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that coldness was but shame—deep and painful shame. I was + needlessly harsh with you, and moments of reflection only served to fasten + on me the belief that I had lost all claim to your love, that you could + not forgive me. Yes! I did misjudge you, Madge, I know, but when I looked + back upon the past, and all your faithful love for me, I saw you as I had + ever seen you, the best of sisters, and then my shameful and ungrateful + conduct rose up clearly before me. I felt so utterly unworthy.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Greylston laid her finger upon her brother's lips. “Nor will I listen + to you blaming yourself so heavily any longer. John, you had cause to be + angry with me; I was unreasonably urgent about the trees,” and she sighed; + “I forgot to be gentle and patient; so you see I am to blame as well as + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But I forgot even common kindness and courtesy;” he said gravely. “What + demon was in my heart, Margaret, I do not know. Avarice, I am afraid, was + at the bottom of all this, for rich as I am, I somehow felt very obstinate + about running into any more expense or trouble about the road; and then, + you remember, I never could love inanimate things as you do. But from this + time forth I will try—and the pines”— + </p> + <p> + “Let the pines go down, my dear brother, I see now how unreasonable I have + been,” suddenly interrupted Miss Greylston; “and indeed these few days + past I could not look at them with any pleasure; they only reminded me of + our separation. Cut them down: I will not say one word.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, what a very woman you are, Madge! Just when you have gained your + will, you want to turn about; but, love, the trees shall not come down. I + will give them to you; and you cannot refuse my peace-offering; and never, + whilst John Greylston lives, shall an axe touch those pines, unless you + say so, Margaret.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed when he said this, but her tears were falling fast. + </p> + <p> + “Next month will be November; then comes our birth-day; we will be fifty + years old, Margaret. Time is hurrying on with us; he has given me gray + locks, and laid some wrinkles on your dear face; but that is nothing if + our hearts are untouched. O, for so many long years, ever since my Ellen + was snatched from me,”—and here John Greylston paused a moment—“you + have been to me a sweet, faithful comforter. Madge, dear twin sister, your + love has always been a treasure to me; but you well know for many years + past it has been my <i>only</i> earthly treasure. Henceforth, God helping + me, I will seek to restrain my evil temper. I will be more watchful; if + sometimes I fail, Margaret, will you not love me, and bear with me?” + </p> + <p> + Was there any need for that question? Miss Margaret only answered by + clasping her brother's hand more closely in her own. As they stood there + in the autumn sunlight, united so lovingly, hand in hand, each silently + prayed that thus it might be with them always; not only through life's + autumn, but in that winter so surely for them approaching, and which would + give place to the fair and beautiful spring of the better land. + </p> + <p> + Annie Bermond's bright face looked in timidly at the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Come here, darling, come and stand right beside your old uncle and aunt, + and let us thank you with all our hearts for the good you have done us. + Don't cry any more, Margaret. Why, fairy, what is the matter with you?” + for Annie's tears were falling fast upon his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know, Uncle John; I never felt so glad in my life before, but I + cannot help crying. Oh, it is so sweet to think the cloud has gone.” + </p> + <p> + “And whose dear hand, under God's blessing, drove the cloud away, but + yours, my child?” + </p> + <p> + Annie was silent; she only clung the tighter to her uncle's arm, and Miss + Greylston said, with a beaming smile, + </p> + <p> + “Now, Annie, we see the good purpose God had in sending you here to-day. + You have done for us the blessed work of a peace-maker.” + </p> + <p> + Annie had always been dear to her uncle and aunt, but from that golden + autumn day, she became, if such a thing could be, dearer than ever—bound + to them by an exceedingly sweet tie. + </p> + <p> + Years went by. One snowy evening, a merry Christmas party was gathered + together in the wide parlour at Greylston Cottage,—nearly all the + nephews and nieces were there. Mrs. Lennox, the “Sophy” of earlier days, + with her husband; Richard Bermond and his pretty little wife were amongst + the number; and Annie, dear, bright Annie—her fair face only the + fairer and sweeter for time—sat, talking in a corner with young + Walter Selwyn. John Greylston went slowly to the window, and pushed aside + the curtains, and as he stood there looking out somewhat gravely in the + bleak and wintry night, he felt a soft hand touch him, and he turned and + found Annie Bermond by his side. + </p> + <p> + “You looked so lonely, my dear uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is the reason you deserted Walter?” he said, laughing. “Well, I + will soon send you back to him. But, look out here first, Annie, and tell + me what you see;” and she laid her face close to the window-pane, and, + after a minute's silence, said, + </p> + <p> + “I see the ground white with snow, the sky gleaming with stars, and the + dear old pines, tall and stately as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the pines; that is what I meant, my child. Ah, they have been my + silent monitors ever since that day; you remember it, Annie! Bless you, + child! how much good you did us then.” + </p> + <p> + But Annie was silently crying beside him. John Greylton wiped his eyes, + and then he called his sister Margaret to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Annie and I have been looking at the old pines, and you can guess what we + were thinking about. As for myself,” he added, “I never see those trees + without feeling saddened and rebuked. I never recall that season of error, + without the deepest shame and grief. And still the old pines stand. Well, + Madge, one day they will shade our graves; and of late I have thought that + day would dawn very soon.” + </p> + <p> + Annie Bermond let the curtain fall very slowly forward, and buried her + face in her hands; but the two old pilgrims by her side, John and Margaret + Greylston, looked at each other with a smile of hope and joy. They had + long been “good and faithful servants,” and now they awaited the coming of + “the Master,” with a calm, sweet patience, knowing it would be well with + them, when He would call them hence. + </p> + <p> + The pines creaked mournfully in the winter wind, and the stars looked down + upon bleak wastes, and snow-shrouded meadows; yet the red blaze heaped + blithely on the hearth, taking in, in its fair light, the merry circle + sitting side by side, and the thoughtful little group standing so quietly + by the window. And even now the picture fades, and is gone. The curtain + falls—the story of John and Margaret Greylston is ended. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IF men cared less for wealth and fame, + And less for battle-fields and glory; + If, writ in human hearts, a name + Seemed better than in song and story; + If men, instead of nursing pride, + Would learn to hate and to abhor it— + If more relied + On Love to guide, + The world would be the better for it. + + If men dealt less in stocks and lands, + And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; + If Love's work had more willing hands + To link this world to the supernal; + If men stored up Love's oil and wine, + And on bruised human hearts would pour it; + If “yours” and “mine” + Would once combine, + The world would be the better for it. + + If more would act the play of Life, + And fewer spoil it in rehearsal; + If Bigotry would sheathe its knife + Till Good became more universal; + If Custom, gray with ages grown, + Had fewer blind men to adore it— + If talent shone + In truth alone, + The world would be the better for it. + + If men were wise in little things— + Affecting less in all their dealings— + If hearts had fewer rusted strings + To isolate their kindly feelings; + If men, when Wrong beats down the Right, + Would strike together and restore it— + If Right made Might + In every fight, + The world would be the better for it. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWO SIDES TO A STORY. + </h2> + <p> + “HAVE you seen much of your new neighbours, yet?” asked Mrs. Morris, as + she stepped in to have an hour's social chat with her old friend, Mrs. + Freeman. + </p> + <p> + “Very little,” was the reply. “Occasionally I have seen the lady walking + in her garden, and have sometimes watched the sports of the children on + the side-walk, but this is all. It is not like the country, you know. One + may live here for years, and not become acquainted with the next-door + neighbours.” + </p> + <p> + “Some may do so,” replied Mrs. Morris, “but, for my part, I always like to + know something of those around me. It is not always desirable to make the + acquaintance of near neighbours, but by a little observation it is very + easy to gain an insight into their characters and position in society. The + family which has moved into the house next to yours, for instance, lived + near to me for nearly two years, and although I never spoke to one of + them, I can tell you of some strange transactions which took place in + their house.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” replied Mrs. Freeman, with little manifestation of interest or + curiosity; but Mrs. Morris was too eager to communicate her information to + notice her friend's manner, and lowering her voice to a confidential tone, + continued:— + </p> + <p> + “There is an old lady in their family whom they abuse in the most shocking + manner. She is very rich, and they by threats and ill-treatment extort + large sums of money from her.” + </p> + <p> + “A singular way of inducing any one to bestow favours,” replied Mrs. + Freeman, dryly. “Why does not the old lady leave there?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless your heart, my dear friend, she cannot get an opportunity! They + never suffer her to leave the house unattended. Once or twice, indeed, she + succeeded in getting into the street, but they discovered her in a moment, + and actually forced her into the house. You smile incredulously, but if + you had been an eye-witness of their proceedings, as I have, or had heard + the screams of the poor creature, and the heavy blows which they inflict, + you would be convinced of the truth of what I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not doubt the truth of your story in the least, my dear Mrs. Morris. + I only think that in this case, as in most others, there must be two sides + to the story. It is almost incredible that such barbarous treatment could + continue for any great length of time without discovery and exposure.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, people are not fond of getting themselves into trouble by + meddling with their neighbours' affairs. I am very cautious about it + myself. I would not have mentioned this matter to any one but an old + friend like yourself. It seemed best to put you on your guard.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” was the smiling reply. “It is hardly probable that I shall be + called upon to make any acquaintance with my new neighbours but if I am, I + certainly shall not forget your caution.” + </p> + <p> + Satisfied that she had succeeded, at least partially, in awakening the + suspicions of her friend, Mrs. Morris took her departure, while Mrs. + Freeman, quite undisturbed by her communications, continued her usual + quiet round of domestic duties, thinking less of the affairs of her + neighbours than of those of her own household. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally she saw the old lady whom Mrs. Morris had mentioned walking + in the adjoining garden, sometimes alone, and sometimes accompanied by the + lady of the house, or one of the children. There was nothing striking in + her appearance. She looked cheerful and contented, and showed no signs of + confinement or abuse. Once, when Mrs. Freeman was in her garden, she had + looked over the fence, and praised the beauty of her flowers, and when a + bunch was presented to her, had received them with that almost childish + delight which aged people often manifest. + </p> + <p> + Weeks passed on, and the remarks of Mrs. Morris were almost forgotten, + when Mrs. Freeman was aroused one night by loud cries, apparently + proceeding from the adjoining house; and on listening intently could + plainly distinguish the sound of heavy blows, and also the voice of the + old lady in question, as if in earnest expostulation and entreaty. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Freeman aroused her husband, and together they listened in anxiety + and alarm. For nearly an hour the sounds continued, but at length all was + again quiet. It was long, however, before they could compose themselves to + rest. It was certainly strange and unaccountable, and there was something + so inhuman in the thought of abusing an aged woman that their hearts + revolted at the idea. + </p> + <p> + Still Mrs. Freeman maintained, as was her wont, that there must be two + sides to the story; and after vainly endeavouring to imagine what the + other side could be, she fell asleep, and was undisturbed until morning. + </p> + <p> + All seemed quiet the next day, and Mrs. Freeman had somewhat recovered + from the alarm of the previous night, when she was again visited by her + friend, Mrs. Morris. As usual, she had confidential communications to + make, and particularly wished the advice of Mrs. Freeman in a matter which + she declared weighed heavily upon her mind; and being assured that they + should be undisturbed, began at once to impart the weighty secret. + </p> + <p> + “You remember Mrs. Dawson, who went with her husband to Europe, a year or + two ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do,” was the reply. “I was well acquainted with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you recollect a girl who had lived with her for several years? I think + her name was Mary Berkly.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite well. Mrs. Dawson placed great confidence in her, and wished to + take her abroad, but Mary was engaged to an honest carpenter, in good + business, and wisely preferred a comfortable house in her own country.” + </p> + <p> + “She had other reasons, I suspect,” replied Mrs. Morris, mysteriously, + “but you will hear. This Mary Berkly, or as she is now called, Mary White, + lives not far from my present residence. Her husband is comfortably off, + and his wife is not obliged to work, excepting in her own family, but + still she will occasionally, as a favour, do up a few muslins for + particular persons. You know she was famous for her skill in those things. + The other day, having a few pieces which I was particularly anxious to + have look nice, I called upon her to see if she would wash them for me. + She was not at home, but her little niece, who lives with her, a child of + four years old, said that Aunt Mary would be in directly, and asked me to + walk into the parlour. I did so, and the little thing stood by my side + chattering away like a magpie. In reply to my questions as to whether she + liked to live with her aunt, what she amused herself with, &c., &c., + she entered into a long account of her various playthings, and ended by + saying that she would show me a beautiful new doll which her good uncle + had given her, if I would please to unlock the door of a closet near where + I was sitting, as she could not turn the key. + </p> + <p> + “To please the child I unlocked the door. She threw it wide open, and to + my astonishment I saw that it was filled with valuable silver plate, + china, and other articles of similar kind, some of which I particularly + remembered having seen at Mrs. Dawson's.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she gave them to Mary,” suggested Mrs. Freeman. “She was quite + attached to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Morris. “Valuable silver plate is not often + given to servants. But I have not yet finished. Just as the child had + found the doll Mrs. White entered, and on seeing the closet-door open, + said sternly to the child, + </p> + <p> + “'Rosy, you did very wrong to open that door without my leave. I shall not + let you take your doll again for a week;' and looking very red and + confused, she hastily closed it, and turned the key. Now, to my mind, + these are suspicious circumstances, particularly as I recollect that Mr. + and Mrs. Dawson were robbed of silver plate shortly before they went to + Europe, and no trace could be found of the thieves.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” replied Mrs. Freeman, thoughtfully; “I recollect the robbery very + well. Still I cannot believe that Mary had anything to do with it. I was + always pleased with her modest manner, and thought her an honest, capable + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very smooth-faced, I know,” answered Mrs. Morris, “but appearances + are certainly against her. I am confident that the articles I saw belonged + to Mrs. Dawson.” + </p> + <p> + “There may be another side to the story, however,” remarked her friend; + “but why not mention your suspicions to Mrs. Dawson? You know she has + returned, and is boarding in the upper part of the city. I have her + address, somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I know where she lives; but would you really advise me to meddle with the + affair? I shall make enemies of Mr. and Mrs. White, if they hear of it, + and I like to have the good-will of all, both, rich and poor.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe that Mary would take anything wrongfully,” replied Mrs. + Freeman; “but if my suspicions were as fully aroused as yours seem to be, + I presume I should mention what I saw to Mrs. Dawson, if it were only for + the sake of hearing the other side of the story, and thus removing such + unpleasant doubts from my mind. And, indeed, if you really think that the + articles which you saw were stolen, it becomes your duty to inform the + owners thereof, or you become, in a measure, a partaker of the theft.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said Mrs. Morris, rising, “and in that way I might + ultimately gain the ill-will of Mrs. Dawson; therefore I think I will go + at once and tell her my suspicions.” + </p> + <p> + “Which, I am convinced, you will find erroneous,” replied Mrs. Freeman. + </p> + <p> + “We shall see,” was the answer of her friend, accompanied by an ominous + shake of the head; and promising to call upon Mrs. Freeman on her return, + she took leave. + </p> + <p> + During her absence, the alarming cries from the next house were again + heard; and presently the old lady appeared on the side-walk, apparently in + great agitation and alarm, and gazing wildly about her, as if seeking a + place of refuge; but she was instantly seized in the forcible manner Mrs. + Morris had described, and carried into the house. + </p> + <p> + “This is dreadful!” exclaimed Mrs. Freeman. “What excuse can there be for + such treatment?” and for a moment her heart was filled with indignation + toward her supposed barbarous neighbours; but a little reflection caused + her still to suspend her judgment, and endeavour to learn both sides of + the story. + </p> + <p> + As she sat ruminating on this singular occurrence, and considering what + was her duty in regard to it, she was aroused by the entrance of Mrs. + Morris, who, with an air of vexation and disappointment, threw herself + upon the nearest chair, exclaiming, + </p> + <p> + “A pretty piece of work I have been about! It is all owing to your advice, + Mrs. Freeman. If it had not been for you I should not have made such a + fool of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what has happened to you?” asked Mrs. Freeman, anxiously. “What + advice have I given you which has caused trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “You recommended my calling upon Mrs. Dawson, did you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly: I thought it the easiest way to relieve your mind from painful + suspicions. What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “Say! I wish you could have seen the look she gave me when I told her what + I saw at Mrs. White's. You know her haughty manner? She thanked me for the + trouble I had taken on her account, and begged leave to assure me that she + had perfect confidence in the honesty of Mrs. White. The articles which + had caused me so much unnecessary anxiety were intrusted to her care when + they went to Europe, and it had not yet been convenient to reclaim them. I + cannot tell you how contemptuously she spoke. I never felt so mortified in + my life.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no occasion for feeling so, if your intentions were good,” + answered Mrs. Freeman; “and certainly it must be a relief to you to hear + the other side of the story. Nothing less would have convinced you of Mrs. + White's honesty.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morris was prevented from replying by the sudden and violent ringing + of the bell, and an instant after the door was thrown open, and the old + lady, whose supposed unhappy condition had called forth their sympathies, + rushed into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, save me! save me!” she exclaimed, frantically. “I am pursued,—protect + me, for the love of Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor creature!” said Mrs. Morris. “You see that I was not mistaken in + this story, at least. There can be no two sides to this.” + </p> + <p> + “Depend upon it there is,” replied Mrs. Freeman; but she courteously + invited her visiter to be seated, and begged to know what had occasioned + her so much alarm. + </p> + <p> + The poor lady told a plausible and piteous tale of ill-treatment, and, + indeed, actual abuse. Mrs. Morris listened with a ready ear, and loudly + expressed her horror and indignation. Mrs. Freeman was more guarded. There + was something in the old lady's appearance and manners that excited an + undefinable feeling of fear and aversion. Mrs. Freeman felt much perplexed + as to the course she ought to pursue, and looked anxiously at the clock to + see if the time for her husband's return was near. + </p> + <p> + It still wanted nearly two hours, and after a little more consideration + she decided to go herself into the next door, ask for an interview with + the lady of the house, frankly state what had taken place, and demand an + explanation. This resolution she communicated in a low voice to Mrs. + Morris, who opposed it as imprudent and ill-judged. + </p> + <p> + “Of course they will deny the charge,” she argued, “and by letting them + know where the poor creature has taken shelter, you will again expose her + to their cruelty. Besides, you will get yourself into trouble. My advice + to you is to keep quiet until your husband returns, and then to assist the + poor lady secretly to go to her friends in the country, who she says will + gladly receive her.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am anxious to hear both sides of the story before I decide to + assist her,” replied Mrs. Freeman. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” exclaimed her friend. “Even you must see that there cannot be + two sides to this story. There is no possible excuse for cruelty, and to + an inoffensive, aged woman.” + </p> + <p> + While they were thus consulting together, their visiter regarded them with + a troubled look, and a fierce gleaming eye, which did not, escape Mrs. + Freeman's observation; and just as Mrs. Morris finished speaking, the + maniac sprang upon her, like a tiger on his prey, and, seizing her by the + throat, demanded what new mischief was plotting against her. + </p> + <p> + The screams of the terrified women drew the attention of the son of the + old lady, who had just discovered her absence, and was hastening in search + of her. At once suspecting the truth, he rushed without ceremony into his + neighbour's house, and speedily rescued Mrs. Morris from her unpleasant + and somewhat dangerous situation. After conveying his mother to her own + room, and consigning her to strict custody, he returned, and respectfully + apologized to Mrs. Freeman for what had taken place. + </p> + <p> + “His poor mother,” he said, “had for several years been subject to + occasional fits of insanity. Generally she had appeared harmless, + excepting as regarded herself. Unless prevented by force, she would + sometimes beat her own flesh in a shocking manner, uttering at the same + time loud cries and complaints of the abuse of those whom she supposed to + be tormenting her. + </p> + <p> + “In her lucid intervals she had so earnestly besought them not to place + her in the asylum for the insane, but to continue to bear with her under + their own roof, that they had found it impossible to refuse their solemn + promise to comply with her wishes. + </p> + <p> + “For themselves, their love for her rendered them willing to bear with her + infirmities, but it should be their earnest care that their neighbours + should not again be disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Freeman kindly expressed her sympathy and forgiveness for the alarm + which she had experienced, and the gentleman took leave. + </p> + <p> + Poor Mrs. Morris had remained perfectly silent since her release; but as + the door closed on their visiter, and her friend kindly turned to inquire + how she found herself, she recovered her speech, and exclaimed, + energetically, + </p> + <p> + “I will never, never say again that there are not two sides to a story. If + I am ever tempted to believe one side without waiting to hear the other, I + shall surely feel again the hands of that old witch upon my throat.” + </p> + <p> + “Old witch!” repeated Mrs. Freeman. “Surely she demands our sympathy as + much as when we thought her suffering under ill-treatment. It is indeed a + sad thing to be bereft of reason. But this will be a useful lesson to both + of us: for I will readily acknowledge that in this instance I was + sometimes tempted to forget that there are always 'two sides to a story.'” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE KINDNESSES. + </h2> + <p> + NOT long since, it was announced that a large fortune had been left to a + citizen of the United States by a foreigner, who, some years before, had + “become ill” while travelling in this country, and whose sick-bed was + watched with the utmost care and kindness by the citizen referred to. The + stranger recovered, continued his journey, and finally returned to his own + country. The conduct of the American at a moment so critical, and when, + without relatives or friends, the invalid was languishing in a strange + land, was not forgotten. He remembered it in his thoughtful and meditative + moments, and when about to prepare for another world, his gratitude was + manifested in a truly signal manner. A year or two ago, an individual in + this city was labouring under great pecuniary difficulty. He was + unexpectedly called upon for a considerable sum of money; and, although + his means were abundant, they were not at that time immediately available. + Puzzled and perplexed, he hesitated as to his best course, when, by the + merest chance, he met an old acquaintance, and incidentally mentioned the + facts of the case. The other referred to an act of kindness that he had + experienced years before, said that he had never forgotten it, and that + nothing would afford him more pleasure than to extend the relief that was + required, and thus show, his grateful appreciation of the courtesy of + former years! The kindness alluded to was a mere trifle, comparatively + speaking, and its recollection had passed entirely from the memory of the + individual who had performed it. Not so, however, with the obliged. He had + never forgotten it, and the result proved, in the most conclusive manner, + that he was deeply grateful. + </p> + <p> + We have mentioned the two incidents with the object of inculcating the + general policy of courtesy and kindness, of sympathy and assistance, in + our daily intercourse with our fellow-creatures. It is the true course + under all circumstances. “Little kindnesses” sometimes make an impression + that “lingers and lasts” for years. This is especially the case with the + sensitive, the generous, and the high-minded. And how much may be + accomplished by this duty of courtesy and humanity! How the paths of life + may be smoothed and softened! How the present may be cheered, and the + future rendered bright and beautiful! + </p> + <p> + There are, it is true, some selfish spirits, who can neither appreciate + nor reciprocate a courteous or a generous act. They are for themselves—“now + and for ever”—if we may employ such a phrase—and appear never + to be satisfied. You can never do enough for them. Nay, the deeper the + obligation, the colder the heart. They grow jealous, distrustful, and + finally begin to hate their benefactors. But these, we trust, are “the + exceptions,” not “the rule.” Many a heart has been won, many a friendship + has been secured, many a position has been acquired, through the exercise + of such little kindnesses and courtesies as are natural to the generous in + spirit and the noble of soul—to all, indeed, who delight, not only + in promoting their own prosperity, but in contributing to the welfare of + every member of the human family. Who cannot remember some incident of his + own life, in which an individual, then and perhaps now a stranger—one + who has not been seen for years, and never may be seen again on this side + the grave, manifested the true, the genuine, the gentle spirit of a + gentleman and a Christian, in some mere trifle—some little but + impulsive and spontaneous act, which nevertheless developed the whole + heart, and displayed the real character! Distance and time may separate, + and our pursuits and vocations may be in paths distinct, dissimilar, and + far apart. Yet, there are moments—quiet, calm, and contemplative, + when memory will wander back to the incidents referred to, and we will + feel a secret bond of affinity, friendship, and brotherhood. The name will + be mentioned with respect if not affection, and a desire will be + experienced to repay, in some way or on some occasion, the generous + courtesy of the by-gone time. It is so easy to be civil and obliging, to + be kindly and humane! We not only thus assist the comfort of others, but + we promote our own mental enjoyment. Life, moreover, is full of chance's + and changes. A few years, sometimes, produce extraordinary revolutions in + the fortunes of men. The haughty of to-day may be the humble of to-morrow; + the feeble may be the powerful; the rich may be the poor, But, if elevated + by affluence or by position, the greater the necessity, the stronger the + duty to be kindly, courteous, and conciliatory to those less fortunate. We + can afford to be so; and a proper appreciation of our position, a due + sympathy for the misfortunes of others, and a grateful acknowledge to + Divine Providence, require that we should be so. Life is short at best. We + are here a few years—we sink into the grave—and even our + memory is phantom-like and evanescent. How plain, then, is our duty! It is + to be true to our position, to our conscience, and to the obligations + imposed upon us by society, by circumstances, and by our responsibility to + the Author of all that is beneficent and good. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH. + </h2> + <p> + WE are advised to leave off contention before it be meddled with, by one + usually accounted a very wise man. Had he never given the world any other + evidence of superior wisdom, this admonition alone would have been + sufficient to have established his claims thereto. It shows that he had + power to penetrate to the very root of a large share of human misery. For + what is the great evil in our condition here? Is it not misunderstanding, + disagreement, alienation, contention, and the passions and results flowing + from these? Are not contempt, and hatred, and strife, and alteration, and + slander, and evil-speaking, the things hardest to bear, and most prolific + of suffering, in the lot of human life? The worst woes of life are such as + spring from, these sources. + </p> + <p> + Is there any cure for these maladies? Is there anything to prevent or + abate these exquisite sufferings? The wise man directs our attention to a + remedial preventive in the advice above referred to. His counsel to those + whose lot unites them in the same local habitations and name to those who + are leagued in friendship or business, in the changes of sympathy and the + chances of collision, is, to suppress anger or dissatisfaction, to be + candid and charitable in judging, and, by all means, to leave off + contention before it be meddled with. His counsel to all is to endure + injury meekly, not to give expression to the sense of wrong, even when we + might seem justified in resistance or complaint. His counsel is to yield + something we might fairly claim, to pardon when we might punish, to + sacrifice somewhat of our rights for the sake of peace and friendly + affection. His counsel is not to fire at every provocation, not to return + evil for evil, not to cherish any fires of revenge, burning to be even + with the injurious person. His counsel is to curb our imperiousness, to + repress our impatience, to pause in the burst of another's feeling, to + pour water upon the kindling flames, or, at the very least, to abstain + from adding any fresh fuel thereto. + </p> + <p> + One proof of the superior wisdom of this counsel is, that few seem to + appreciate or perceive it. To many it seems no great virtue or wisdom, no + great and splendid thing, in some small issue of feeling or opinion, in + the family or among friends, to withhold a little, to tighten the rein + upon some headlong propensity, and await a calm for fair adjustment. Such + a course is not usually held to be a proof of wisdom or virtue; and men + are much more ready to praise and think well of smartness, and spirit, and + readiness for an encounter. To leave off contention before it is meddled + with does not command any very general admiration; it is too quiet a + virtue, with no striking attitudes, and with lips which answer nothing. + This is too often mistaken for dullness, and want of proper spirit. It + requires discernment and superior wisdom to see a beauty in such repose + and self-control, beyond the explosions of anger and retaliation. With the + multitude, self-restraining meekness under provocation is a virtue which + stands quite low in the catalogue. It is very frequently set down as + pusillanimity and cravenness of spirit. But it is not so; for there is a + self-restraint under provocation which is far from being cowardice, or + want of feeling, or shrinking from consequences; there is a victory over + passionate impulses which is more difficult and more meritorious than a + victory on the bloody battle-field. It requires more power, more + self-command, often, to leave off contention, when provocation and passion + are causing the blood to boil, than to rush into it. + </p> + <p> + Were this virtue more duly appreciated, and the admonition of the Wise Man + more extensively heeded, what a change would be effected in human life! + How many of its keenest sufferings would be annihilated! The spark which + kindles many great fires would be withheld; and, great as are the evils + and sufferings caused by war, they are not as great, probably, as those + originating in impatience and want of temper. The fretfulness of human + life, it seems not hard to believe, is a greater evil, and destroys more + happiness, than all the bloody scenes of the battle-field. The evils of + war have generally something to lighten the burden of them in a sense of + necessity, or of rights or honour invaded; but there is nothing of like + importance to alleviate the sufferings caused by fretfulness, impatience, + want of temper. The excitable peevishness which kindles at trifles, that + roughens the daily experience of a million families, that scatters its + little stings at the table and by the hearth-stone, what does this but + unmixed harm? What ingredient does it furnish but of gall? Its fine + wounding may be of petty consequence in any given case, and its tiny darts + easily extracted; but, when habitually carried into the whole texture of + life, it destroys more peace than plague and famine and the sword. It is a + deeper anguish than grief; it is a sharper pang than the afflicted moan + with; it is a heavier pressure from human hands than when affliction lays + her hand upon you. All this deduction from human comfort, all this + addition to human suffering, may be saved, by heeding the admonition of + wisdom given by one of her sons. When provoked by the follies or the + passions, the offences or neglects, the angry words or evil-speaking of + others, restrain your propensity to complain or contend; leave off + contention before you take the first step towards it. You will then be + greater than he that taketh a city. You will be a genial companion in your + family and among your neighbours. You will be loved at home and blessed + abroad. You will be a source of comfort to others, and carry a + consciousness of praiseworthiness in your own bosom. On the contrary, an + acrid disposition, a readiness to enter into contention, is like vinegar + to the teeth, like caustic to an open sore. It eats out all the beauty, + tenderness, and affection of domestic and social life. For all this the + remedy is simple. Put a restraint upon your feelings; give up a little; + take less than belongs to you; endure more than should be put upon you; + make allowance for another's judgment or educational defects; consider + circumstances and constitution; leave off contention before it be meddled + with. If you do otherwise, quick resentment and stiff maintenance of your + position will breed endless disputes and bitterness. But happy will be the + results of the opposite course, accomplished every day and every hour in + the family, with friends, with companions, with all with whom you have any + dealings or any commerce in life. + </p> + <p> + Let any one set himself to the cultivation of this virtue of meekness and + self-restraint, and he will find that it cannot be secured by one or a few + efforts, however resolute; by a few struggles, however severe. It requires + industrious culture; it requires that he improve every little occasion to + quench strife and fan concord, till a constant sweetness smooths the face + of domestic life, and kindness and tenderness become the very expression + of the countenance. This virtue of self-control must grow by degrees. It + must grow by a succession of abstinences from returning evil for evil, by + a succession of leaving off contention before the first angry word + escapes. + </p> + <p> + It may help to cultivate this virtue, to practise some forethought. When + tempted to irritable, censorious speech, one might with advantage call to + recollection the times, perhaps frequent, when words uttered in haste have + caused sorrow or repentance. Then, again, the fact might be called to + mind, that when we lose a friend, every harsh word we may have spoken + rises to condemn us. There is a resurrection, not for the dead only, but + for the injuries we have fixed in their hearts—in hearts, it may be, + bound to our own, and to which we owed gentleness instead of harshness. + The shafts of reproach, which come from the graves of those who have been + wounded by our fretfulness and irritability, are often hard to bear. Let + meek forbearance and self-control prevent such suffering, and guard us + against the condemnations of the tribunal within. + </p> + <p> + There is another tribunal, also, which it were wise to think of. The rule + of that tribunal is, that if we forgive not those who trespass against us, + we ourselves shall not be forgiven. “He shall have judgment without mercy + that hath showed no mercy.” Only, then, if we do not need, and expect + never to beg the mercy of the Lord to ourselves, may we withhold our mercy + from our fellow-men. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “ALL THE DAY IDLE.” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WHEREFORE idle?—when the harvest beckoning, + Nods its ripe tassels to the brightening sky? + Arise and labour ere the time of reckoning, + Ere the long shadows and the night draw night. + + Wherefore idle?—Swing the sickle stoutly! + Bind thy rich sheaves exultingly and fast! + Nothing dismayed, do thy great task devoutly— + Patient and strong, and hopeful to the last! + + Wherefore idle?—Labour, not inaction, + Is the soul's birthright, and its truest rest; + Up to thy work!—It is Nature's fit exaction— + He who toils humblest, bravest, toils the best. + + Wherefore idle?—God himself is working; + His great thought wearieth not, nor standeth still, + In every throb of his vast heart is lurking + Some mighty purpose of his mightier will. + + Wherefore idle?—Not a leaf's slight rustle + But chides thee in thy vain, inglorious rest; + Be a strong actor in the great world,—bustle,— + Not a, weak minion or a pampered guest! + + Wherefore idle?—Oh I <i>my</i> faint soul, wherefore? + Shake first from thine own powers dull sloth's control; + Then lift thy voice with an exulting “Therefore + Thou, too, shalt conquer, oh, thou striving soul!” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BUSHEL OF CORN. + </h2> + <p> + FARMER GRAY had a neighbour who was not the best-tempered man in the world + though mainly kind and obliging. He was shoemaker. His name was Barton. + One day, in harvest-time, when every man on the farm was as busy as a bee, + this man came over to Farmer Gray's, and said, in rather a petulant tone + of voice, + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Gray, I wish you would send over, and drive your geese home.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so, Mr. Barton; what have my geese been doing?” said the farmer, in a + mild, quiet-tone. + </p> + <p> + “They pick my pigs' ears when they are eating, and go into my garden, and + I will not have it!” the neighbour replied, in a still more petulant + voice. + </p> + <p> + “I am really sorry it, Neighbour Barton, but what can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yoke them, and thus keep them on your own premises. It's no kind of + a way to let your geese run all over every farm and garden in the + neighborhood.” + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot see to it, now. It is harvest-time, Friend Barton, and every + man, woman, and child on the farm has as much as he or she can do. Try and + bear it for a week or so, and then I will see if I can possibly remedy the + evil.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear it, and I won't bear it any longer!” said the shoemaker. “So + if you do not take care of them, Friend Gray, I shall have to take care of + them for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Neighbour Barton, you can do as you please,” Farmer Gray replied, + in his usual quiet tone. “I am sorry that they trouble you, but I cannot + attend to them now.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll attend to them for you, see if I don't,” said the shoemaker, still + more angrily than when he first called upon Farmer Gray; and then turned + upon his heel, and strode off hastily towards his own house, which was + quite near to the old farmer's. + </p> + <p> + “What upon earth can be the matter with them geese?” said Mrs. Gray, about + fifteen minutes afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “I really cannot tell, unless Neighbour Barton is taking care of them. He + threatened to do so, if I didn't yoke them right off.” + </p> + <p> + “Taking care of them! How taking care of them?” + </p> + <p> + “As to that, I am quite in the dark. Killing them, perhaps. He said they + picked at his pigs' ears, and drove them away when they were eating, and + that he wouldn't have it. He wanted me to yoke them right off, but that I + could not do, now, as all the hands are busy. So, I suppose, he is engaged + in the neighbourly business of taking care of our geese.” + </p> + <p> + “John! William! run over and see what Mr. Barton is doing with my geese,” + said Mrs. Gray, in a quick and anxious tone, to two little boys who were + playing near. + </p> + <p> + The urchins scampered off, well pleased to perform any errand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if he has dared to do anything to my geese, I will never forgive + him!” the good wife said, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “H-u-s-h, Sally! make no rash speeches. It is more than probable that he + has killed some two or three of them. But never mind, if he has. He will + get over this pet, and be sorry for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but what good will his being sorry do me? Will it bring my geese to + life?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, Sally, never mind. Let us wait until we learn what all this + disturbance is about.” + </p> + <p> + In about ten minutes the children came home, bearing the bodies of three + geese, each without a head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is not that too much for human endurance?” cried Mrs. Gray. “Where + did you find them?” + </p> + <p> + “We found them lying out in the road,” said the oldest of the two + children, “and when we picked them up, Mr. Barton said, 'Tell your father + that I have yoked his geese for him, to save him the trouble, as his hands + are all too busy to do it.'” + </p> + <p> + “I'd sue him for it!” said Mrs. Gray, in an indignant tone. + </p> + <p> + “And what good would that do, Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it would do a great deal of good. It would teach him better manners. + It would punish him; and he deserves punishment.” + </p> + <p> + “And punish us into the bargain. We have lost three geese, now, but we + still have their good fat bodies to eat. A lawsuit would cost us many + geese, and not leave us even so much as the feathers, besides giving us a + world of trouble and vexation. No, no, Sally; just let it rest, and he + will be sorry for it, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry for it, indeed! And what good will his being sorry for it do us, I + should like to know? Next he will kill a cow, and then we must be + satisfied with his being sorry for it! Now, I can tell you, that I don't + believe in that doctrine. Nor do I believe anything about his being sorry—the + crabbed, ill-natured wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't call hard names, Sally,” said Farmer Gray, in a mild, soothing + tone. “Neighbour Barton was not himself when he killed the geese. Like + every other angry person, he was a little insane, and did what he would + not have done had he been perfectly in his right mind. When you are a + little excited, you know, Sally, that even you do and say unreasonable + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Me do and say unreasonable things!” exclaimed Mrs. Gray, with a look and + tone of indignant astonishment; “me do and say unreasonable things, when I + am angry! I don't understand you, Mr. Gray.” + </p> + <p> + “May-be I can help you a little. Don't you remember how angry you were + when Mr. Mellon's old brindle got into our garden, and trampled over your + lettuce-bed, and how you struck her with the oven-pole, and knocked off + one of her horns?” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't mean to do that, though.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but then you were angry, and struck old Brindle with a right good + will. And if Mr. Mellon had felt disposed, he might have prosecuted for + damages.” + </p> + <p> + “But she had no business there.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. Neither had our geese any business in Neighbour Barton's + yard. But, perhaps, I can help you to another instance, that will be more + conclusive, in regard to your doing and saying unreasonable things, when + you are angry. You remember the patent churn?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but never mind about that.” + </p> + <p> + “So you have not forgotten how unreasonable you was about the churn. It + wasn't good for anything—you knew it wasn't; and you'd never put a + jar of cream into it as long as you lived—that you wouldn't. And + yet, on trial, you found that churn the best you had ever used, and you + wouldn't part with it on any consideration. So you see, Sally, thai even + you can say and do unreasonable things, when you are angry, just as well + as Mr. Barton can. Let us then consider him a little, and give him time to + get over his angry fit. It will be much better to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gray saw that her husband was right, but still she felt indignant at + the outrage committed on her geese. She did not, however, say anything + about suing the shoemaker—for old Brindle's head, from which the + horn had been knocked off, was not yet entirely well, and one prosecution + very naturally suggested the idea of another. So she took her three fat + geese, and after stripping off their feathers, had them prepared for the + table. + </p> + <p> + On the next morning, as Farmer Gray was going along the road, he met the + shoemaker, and as they had to pass very near to each other, the farmer + smiled, and bowed, and spoke kindly. Mr. Barton looked and felt very + uneasy, but Farmer Gray did not seem to remember the unpleasant incident + of the day before. + </p> + <p> + It was about eleven o'clock of the same day that one of Farmer Gray's + little boys came running to him, and crying, + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father! father! Mr. Barton's hogs are in our cornfield.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must go and drive them out,” said Mr. Gray, in a quiet tone. + </p> + <p> + “Drive them out!” ejaculated Mrs. Gray; “drive 'em out, indeed! I'd shoot + them, that's what I'd do! I'd serve them as he served my geese yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “But that wouldn't bring the geese to life again, Sally.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care if it wouldn't. It would be paying him in his own coin, and + that's all he deserves.” + </p> + <p> + “You know what the Bible says, Sally, about grievous words, and they apply + with stronger force to grievous actions. No, no, I will return Neighbour + Barton good for evil. That is the best way. He has done wrong, and I am + sure is sorry for it. And as I wish him still to remain sorry for so + unkind and unneighbourly an action, I intend making use of the best means + for keeping him sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will be revenged on him, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Sally—not revenged. I hope I have no such feeling. For I am not + angry with Neighbour Barton, who has done himself a much greater wrong + than he has done me. But I wish him to see clearly how wrong he acted, + that he may do so no more. And then we shall not have any cause to + complain of him, nor he any to be grieved, as I am sure he is, at his own + hasty conduct. But while I am talking here, his hogs are destroying my + corn.” + </p> + <p> + And so saying, Farmer Gray hurried off, towards his cornfield. When he + arrived there, he found four large hogs tearing down the stalks, and + pulling off and eating the ripe ears of corn. They had already destroyed a + good deal. But he drove them out very calmly, and put up the bars through + which they had entered, and then commenced gathering up the half-eaten + ears of corn, and throwing them out into the lane for the hogs, that had + been so suddenly disturbed in the process of obtaining a liberal meal. As + he was thus engaged, Mr. Barton, who had from his own house seen the + farmer turn the hogs out of his cornfield, came hurriedly up, and said, + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry, Mr. Gray, indeed I am, that my hogs have done this! I + will most cheerfully pay you for what they have destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind, Friend Barton—never mind. Such things will happen, + occasionally. My geese, you know, annoy you very much, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't speak of it, Mr. Gray. They didn't annoy me half as much as I + imagined they did. But how much corn do you think my hogs have destroyed? + One bushel, or two bushels? or how much? Let it be estimated, and I will + pay for it most cheerfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. Not for the world, Friend Barton. Such things will happen + sometimes. And, besides, some of my men must have left the bars down, or + your hogs could never have got in. So don't think any more about it. It + would be dreadful if one neighbour could not bear a little with another.” + </p> + <p> + All this cut poor Mr. Barton to the heart. His own ill-natured language + and conduct, at a much smaller trespass on his rights, presented itself to + his mind, and deeply mortified him. After a few moments' silence, he said, + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, Mr. Gray, I shall feel better if you will let me pay for + this corn. My hogs should not be fattened at your expense, and I will not + consent to its being done. So I shall insist on paying you for at least + one bushel of corn, for I am sure they have destroyed that much, if not + more.” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Gray shook his head and smiled pleasantly, as he replied, + </p> + <p> + “Don't think anything more about it, Neighbour Barton. It is a matter + deserving no consideration. No doubt my cattle have often trespassed on + you and will trespass on you again. Let us then bear and forbear.” + </p> + <p> + All this cut the shoemaker still deeper, and he felt still less at ease in + mind after he parted from the farmer than he did before. But on one thing + he resolved, and that was, to pay Mr. Gray for the corn which his hogs had + eaten. + </p> + <p> + “You told him your mind pretty plainly, I hope,” said Mrs. Gray, as her + husband came in. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly did,” was the quiet reply. + </p> + <p> + “And I am glad you had spirit enough to do it! I reckon he will think + twice before he kills any more of my geese!” + </p> + <p> + “I expect you are right, Sally. I don't think we shall be troubled again.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say to him? And what did he say for himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Why he wanted very much to pay me for the corn his pigs had eaten, but I + wouldn't hear to it. I told him that it made no difference in the world; + that such accidents would happen sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “You did?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I did.” + </p> + <p> + “And that's the way you spoke your mind to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. And it had the desired effect. It made him feel ten times + worse than if I had spoken angrily to him. He is exceedingly pained at + what he has done, and says he will never rest until he has paid for that + corn. But I am resolved never to take a cent for it. It will be the best + possible guarantee I can have for his kind and neighbourly conduct + hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you are right,” said Mrs. Gray, after a few moments of + thoughtful silence. “I like Mrs. Barton very much—and now I come to + think of it, I should not wish to have any difference between our + families.” + </p> + <p> + “And so do I like Mr. Barton. He has read a good deal, and I find it very + pleasant to sit with him, occasionally, during the long winter evenings. + His only fault is his quick temper—but I am sure it is much better + for us to bear with and soothe that, than to oppose rand excite it and + thus keep both his family and our own in hot water.” + </p> + <p> + “You are certainly right,” replied Mrs. Gray; “and I only wish that I + could always think and feel as you do. But I am little quick, as they + say.” + </p> + <p> + “And so is Mr. Barton. Now just the same consideration that you would + desire others to have for you, should you exercise towards Mr. Barton, or + any one else whose hasty temper leads him into words or actions that, in + calmer and more thoughtful moments, are subjects of regret.” + </p> + <p> + On the next day, while Mr. Gray stood in his own door, from which he could + see over the two or three acres of ground that the shoemaker cultivated, + he observed two of his cows in his neighbour's cornfield, browsing away in + quite a contented manner. As he was going to call one of the farm hands to + go over and drive them out, he perceived that Mr. Barton had become aware + of the mischief that was going on, and had already started for the field + of corn. + </p> + <p> + “Now we will see the effect of yesterday's lesson,” said the farmer to + himself; and then paused to observe the manner of the shoemaker towards + his cattle in driving them out of the field. In a few minutes Mr. Barton + came up to the cows, but, instead of throwing stones at them, or striking + them with a stick, he merely drove them out in a quiet way, and put up the + bars through which they had entered. + </p> + <p> + “Admirable!” ejaculated Farmer Gray. + </p> + <p> + “What is admirable?” asked his wife, who came within hearing distance at + the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Why the lesson I gave our friend Barton yesterday. It works admirably.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Two of our cows were in his cornfield a few minutes ago, destroying the + corn at a rapid rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! what did he do to them?” in a quick, anxious tone. + </p> + <p> + “He drove them out.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he stone them, or beat them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. He was gentle as a child towards them.” + </p> + <p> + “You are certainly jesting.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I. Friend Barton has not forgotten that his pigs were in my cornfield + yesterday, and that I turned them out without hurting a hair of one of + them. Now, suppose I had got angry and beaten his pigs, what do you think + the result would have been? Why, it is much more than probable that one or + both of our fine cows would have been at this moment in the condition of + Mr. Mellon's old Brindle.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't say anything more about old Brindle,” said Mrs. Gray, + trying to laugh, while her face grew red in spite of her efforts to keep + down her feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won't, Sally, if it worries you. But it is such a good + illustration that I can't help using it sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad he didn't hurt the cows,” said Mrs. Gray, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “And so am I, Sally. Glad on more than one account. It shows that he has + made an effort to keep down his hasty, irritable temper—and if he + can do that, it will be a favour conferred on the whole neighbourhood, for + almost every one complains, at times, of this fault in his character.” + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly the best policy, to keep fair weather with him,” Mrs. + Gray remarked, “for a man of his temper could annoy us a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + “That word policy, Sally, is not a good word,” replied her husband. “It + conveys a thoroughly selfish idea. Now, we ought to look for some higher + motives of action than mere policy—motives grounded in correct and + unselfish principles.” + </p> + <p> + “But what other motive but policy could we possibly have for putting up + with Mr. Barton's outrageous conduct?” + </p> + <p> + “Other, and far higher motives, it seems to me. We should reflect that Mr. + Barton has naturally a hasty temper, and that when excited he does things + for which he is sorry afterwards—and that, in nine cases out of ten, + he is a greater sufferer from those outbreaks than any one else. In our + actions towards him, then, it is a much higher and better motive for us to + be governed by a desire to aid him in the correction of this evil, than to + look merely to the protection of ourselves from its effects. Do you not + think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It does seem so.” + </p> + <p> + “When thus moved to action, we are, in a degree, regarding the whole + neighbourhood, for the evil of which we speak affects all. And in thus + suffering ourselves to be governed by such elevated and unselfish motives, + we gain all that we possibly could have gained under the mere instigation + of policy—and a great deal more. But to bring the matter into a + still narrower compass. In all our actions towards him and every one else, + we should be governed by the simple consideration—is it right? If a + spirit of retaliation be not right, then it cannot be indulged without a + mutual injury. Of course, then, it should never prompt us to action. If + cows or hogs get into my field or garden, and destroy my property, who is + to blame most? Of course, myself. I should have kept my fences in better + repair, or my gate closed. The animals, certainly, are not to blame, for + they follow only the promptings of nature; and their owners should not be + censured, for they know nothing about it. It would then be very wrong for + me to injure both the animals and their owners for my own neglect, would + it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—I suppose it would.” + </p> + <p> + “So, at least, it seems to me. Then, of course, I ought not to injure + Neighbour Barton's cows or hogs, even if they do break into my cornfield + or garden, simply because it would be wrong to do so. This is the + principle upon which we should act, and not from any selfish policy.” + </p> + <p> + After this there was no trouble about Farmer Gray's geese or cattle. + Sometimes the geese would get among Mr. Barton's hogs, and annoy them + while eating, but it did not worry him as it did formerly. If they became + too troublesome he would drive them away, but not by throwing sticks and + stones at them as he once did. + </p> + <p> + Late in the fall the shoemaker brought in his bill for work. It was a + pretty large bill, with sundry credits. + </p> + <p> + “Pay-day has come at last,” said Farmer Gray, good-humouredly, as the + shoemaker presented his account. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let us see!” and he took the bill to examine it item after item. + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” he asked, reading aloud. + </p> + <p> + “'Cr. By one bushel of corn, fifty cents.'” + </p> + <p> + “It's some corn I had from you.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you must be mistaken. You never got any corn from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes I did. I remember it perfectly. It is all right.” + </p> + <p> + “But when did you get it, Friend Barton? I am sure that I haven't the most + distant recollection of it.” + </p> + <p> + “My hogs got it,” the shoemaker said, in rather a low and hesitating tone. + </p> + <p> + “Your hogs!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don't you remember when my hogs broke into your field, and destroyed + your corn?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! is that it? Oh, no, no, Friend Barton! Ii cannot allow that + item in the bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you must. It is perfectly just, and I shall never rest until it + is paid.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, indeed. You couldn't help the hogs getting into my field; and + then you know, Friend Barton (lowering his tone), my geese were very + troublesome!” + </p> + <p> + The shoemaker blushed and looked confused; but Farmer Gray slapped him + familiarly on the shoulder, and said, in a lively, cheerful way, + </p> + <p> + “Don't think any more about it, Friend Barton! And hereafter let us + endeavour to 'do as we would be done by,' and then everything will go on + as smooth as clock-work.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will allow that item in the bill?” the shoemaker urged + perseveringly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I should think it wrong to make you pay for + my own or some of my men's negligence in leaving the bars down.” + </p> + <p> + “But then (hesitatingly), those geese—I killed three. Let it go for + them.” + </p> + <p> + “If you did kill them, we ate them. So that is even. No, no, let the past + be forgotten, and if it makes better neighbours and friends of us, we + never need regret what has happened.” + </p> + <p> + Farmer Gray remained firm, and the bill was settled, omitting the item of + “corn.” From that time forth he never had a better neighbour than the + shoemaker. The cows, hogs, and geese of both would occasionally trespass, + but the trespassers were always kindly removed. The lesson was not lost on + either of them—for even Farmer Gray used to feel, sometimes, a + little annoyed when his neighbour's cattle broke into his field. But in + teaching the shoemaker a lesson, he had taken a little of it himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ACCOUNT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE clock from the city hall struck one; + The merchant's task was not yet done; + He knew the old year was passing away, + And his accounts must all be settled that day; + He must know for a truth how much he should win, + So fast the money was rolling in. + + He took the last cash-book, from the pile, + And he summed it up with a happy smile; + For a just and upright man was he, + Dealing with all most righteously, + And now he was sure how much he should win, + How fast the money was rolling in. + + He heard not the soft touch on the door— + He heard not the tread on the carpeted floor— + So still was her coming, he thought him alone, + Till she spake in a sweet and silvery tone: + “Thou knowest not yet how much thou shalt win— + How fast the money is rolling in.” + + Then from 'neath her white, fair arm, she took + A golden-clasped, and, beautiful book— + “'Tis my account thou hast to pay, + In the coming of the New Year's day— + Read—ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win, + How fast the money is rolling in.” + + He open'd the clasps with a trembling hand— + Therein was Charity's firm demand: + “To the widow, the orphan, the needy, the poor, + Much owest thou of thy yearly store; + Give, ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win— + While fast the money is rolling in.” + + The merchant took from his box of gold + A goodly sum for the lady bold; + His heart was richer than e'er before, + As she bore the prize from the chamber door. + Ye who would know how much ye can win, + Give, when the money is rolling in. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH. + </h2> + <p> + “IT is vain, to urge, Brother Robert. Out into the world I must go. The + impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be idle.” + </p> + <p> + “And such work! Delving in, and grovelling close to the ground. And for + what? Oh no Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet cottage in a + sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than simple herbs, and + water from the brook. I have set my heart on attaining wealth; and where + there is a will there is always a way.” + </p> + <p> + “Contentment is better than wealth.” + </p> + <p> + “A proverb for drones.” + </p> + <p> + “No, William, it is a proverb for the wise.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly, understood, it is no proverb + for me. As poor plodder along the way of life, it were impossible for me + to know content. So urge no farther, Robert. I am going out into the world + a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is gained do I purpose to return.” + </p> + <p> + “What of Ellen, Robert?” + </p> + <p> + The young man turned quickly towards his brother, visibly disturbed, and + fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression. + </p> + <p> + “I love her as my life,” he said, with a strong emphasis on his words. + </p> + <p> + “Do you love wealth more than life, William?” + </p> + <p> + “Robert!” + </p> + <p> + “If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of getting + riches, then you must love money more than life.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk to me after this fashion. I love her tenderly and truly. I am + going forth as well for her sake as my own. In all the good fortune that + comes as a meed of effort, she will be the sharer.” + </p> + <p> + “You will see her before you leave us?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send her + this letter and this ring.” + </p> + <p> + A few hours later, and there brothers stood with tightly-grasped hands, + gazing into each other's faces. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, Robert.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home. Though + it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart come back to + it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should Fortune cheat you with the + apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors will ever be open, and its + hearth-fire bright for you as of old. Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless world, an + eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to linger among the + pleasant places dear to him by every association of childhood, there to + fill up the measure of his days—not idly, for he was no drone in the + social hive. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of that day two maidens sat alone, each in the sanctuary of + her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of one, and a glad + light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and wet her drooping lashes. + And she that sorrowed held an open letter in her hand. It was full of + tender words; but the writer loved wealth more than the maiden, and had + gone forth to seek the mistress of his soul. He would “come back,” but + when? Ah, what a veil of uncertainty was upon the future! Poor, stricken + heart! The other maiden—she of the glowing cheeks and dancing eyes—held + also a letter in her hand. It was from the brother of the wealth-seeker; + and it was also full of loving words; and it said that, on the morrow, he + would come to bear her as his bride to his pleasant home. Happy maiden! + </p> + <p> + Ten years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the + glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? Has he + returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? Not since the + day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a word of + intelligence from the wanderer been received; and to those he left behind + him he is as one who has passed the final bourne. Yet he still dwells + among the living. + </p> + <p> + In a far-away, sunny clime stands a stately mansion. We will not linger to + describe the elegant interior, to hold up before the reader's imagination + a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely heightened by art, but enter its + spacious hall, and pass up to one of its most luxurious chambers. How + hushed and solemn the pervading atmosphere! The inmates, few in number, + are grouped around one on whose white forehead Time's trembling finger has + written the word “Death!” Over her bends a manly form. There—his + face is towards you. Ah! you recognise the wanderer—the + wealth-seeker. What does he here? What to him is the dying one? His wife! + And has he, then, forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes lay wet on her + pale cheeks for many hours after she read his parting words? He has not + forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he the prize, to contend + for which he went forth. Years came and departed; yet still hope mocked + him with ever-attractive and ever-fading illusions. To-day he stood with + his hand just ready to seize the object of his wishes, to-morrow a shadow + mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, he bowed down his manhood prostrate + even to the dust in woman worship, and took to himself a bride, rich in + golden, attractions, but poorer as a woman than ever the beggar at her + father's gate. What a thorn in his side she proved! A thorn ever sharp and + ever piercing. The closer he attempted to draw her to his bosom, the + deeper went the points into his own, until, in the anguish of his soul, + again and again he flung her passionately from him. + </p> + <p> + Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to compensate + therefor? But in this last desperate throw did the worldling gain the + wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had wedded the only child of a + man whose treasure might be counted by hundreds of thousands; but, in + doing so, he had failed to secure the father's approval or confidence. The + stern old man regarded him as a mercenary interloper, and ever treated him + as such. For five years, therefore, he fretted and chafed in the narrow + prison whose gilded bars his own hands had forged. How often, during that + time, had his heart wandered back to the dear old home, and the beloved + ones with whom he had passed his early years! And, ah! how many, many + times came between him and the almost hated countenance of his wife the + gentle, the loving face of that one to whom he had been false! How often + her soft blue eyes rested on his own How often he started and looked up + suddenly, as if her sweet voice came floating on the air! + </p> + <p> + And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a bitter + sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all pleasure in his + life. + </p> + <p> + Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in the + chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters that so long + have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In dying, the sufferer + made no sign. Suddenly she plunged into the dark profound, so impenetrable + to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves closed, sighing over her, he who + had called her wife turned from the couch on which her frail body + remained, with an inward “Thank God! I am a man again!” + </p> + <p> + One more bitter dreg yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone by ere + the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting words:— + </p> + <p> + “You were nothing to me while my daughter lived—you are less than + nothing to me now. It was my wealth, not my child you loved. She has + passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will never + bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers.” + </p> + <p> + When the next sun went down on that stately mansion, which the + wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again—poor, humiliated, + broken in spirit. + </p> + <p> + How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible the + punishment he had suffered! + </p> + <p> + One more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, with which + the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then fruitless + ambition died in his bosom. + </p> + <p> + “My brother said well,” he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly on + the darkness of his spirit; “'contentment is better than wealth.' Dear + brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you? Too late! + too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips; but, I turned + my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting draught. How vividly + comes before me now that parting scene! I am looking into my brother's + face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand. His voice is in my ears. Dear + brother! And his parting words, I hear them now, even more earnestly than + when they were first spoken. 'Should fortune cheat you with the apples of + Sodom, return to your home again. Its doors will ever be open, and its + hearth-fires bright for you as of old.' Ah, do the fires still burn? How + many years have passed since I went forth! And Ellen? Even if she be + living and unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this false heart + at her feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip of scorpions.” + </p> + <p> + The step of time has fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those to + whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, but few footmarks were + visible. Yet there had been changes in the old homestead. As the smiling + years went by, each, as it looked in at the cottage window, saw the home + circle widening, or new beauty crowning the angel brows of happy children. + No thorn to his side had Robert's gentle wife proved. As time passed on, + closer and closer was she drawn to his bosom; yet never a point had + pierced him. Their home was a type of Paradise. + </p> + <p> + It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread, and they + are about gathering round the table, when a stranger enters. His words are + vague and brief, his manner singular, his air slightly mysterious. + Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to face. + </p> + <p> + “Are these all your children?” he asks, surprise and admiration mingling + in his tones. + </p> + <p> + “All ours, and, thank God, the little flock is yet unbroken.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is + impossible to conceal. + </p> + <p> + “Contentment is better than wealth,” he murmurs. “Oh that I had + comprehended the truth.” + </p> + <p> + The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too + distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly recognises + in the stranger his long-wandering, long-mourned brother. + </p> + <p> + “William!” + </p> + <p> + The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand gazing at + each other, then tenderly embrace. + </p> + <p> + “William!” + </p> + <p> + How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet + maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so unobtrusively, the + one he had parted from years before—the one to whom he had been so + false. But her voice has startled his ears with the familiar tones of + yesterday. + </p> + <p> + “Ellen!” Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years. He has + leaped back over the gulf, and stands now as he stood ere ambition and + lust for gold lured him away from the side of his first and only love. It + is well both for him and the faithful maiden that he cannot so forget the + past as to take her in his arms and clasp her almost wildly to his heart. + But for this, conscious shame would have betrayed his deeply-repented + perfidy. + </p> + <p> + And here we leave them, reader. “Contentment is better than wealth.” So + the worldling proved, after a bitter experience, which may you be spared! + It is far better to realize a truth perceptibly, and thence make it a rule + of action, than to prove its verity in a life of sharp agony. But how few + are able to rise into such a realization! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE. + </h2> + <p> + BENDING over a steamer's side, a face looked down into the clear, green + depths of Lake Erie, where the early moonbeams were showering rainbows + through the dancing spray, and chasing the white-crusted waves with + serpents of gold. The face was clouded with thought, a shade too sombre, + yet there glowed over it something like a reflection from the iris-hues + beneath. A voice of using was borne away into the purple and vermilion + haze that twilight began to fold over the bosom of the lake. + </p> + <p> + “Rainbows! Ye follow me everywhere! Gloriously your arches arose from the + horizon of the prairies, when the storm-king and the god of day met within + them to proclaim a treaty and an alliance. You spanned the Father of + Waters with a bridge that put to the laugh man's clumsy structures of + chain, and timber, and wire. You floated in a softening veil before the + awful grandeur of Niagara; and here you gleam out from the light foam in + the steamboat's wake. + </p> + <p> + “Grateful am I for you, oh rainbows! for the clouds, the drops, and the + sunshine of which you are wrought, and for the gift of vision through + which my spirit quaffs the wine of your beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Grateful also for faith, which hangs an ethereal halo over the fountains + of earthly joy, and wraps grief in robes so resplendent that, like Iris of + the olden time, she is at once recognised as a messenger from Heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Blessings on sorrow, whether past or to come! for in the clear shining of + heavenly love, every tear-drop becomes a pearl. The storm of affliction + crushes weak human nature to the dust; the glory of the eternal light + overpowers it; but, in the softened union of both, the stricken spirit + beholds the bow of promise, and knows that it shall not utterly be + destroyed. When we say that for us there is nothing but darkness and + tears, it is because we are weakly brooding over the shadows within us. If + we dared look up, and face our sorrow, we should see upon it the seal of + God's love, and be calm. + </p> + <p> + “Grant me, Father of Light, whenever my eyes droop heavily with the rain + of grief, at least to see the reflection of thy signet-bow upon the waves + over which I am sailing unto thee. And through the steady toiling of the + voyage, through the smiles and tears of every day's progress, let the + iris-flash appear, even as now it brightens the spray that rebounds from + the labouring wheels.” + </p> + <p> + The voice died away into darkness which returned no answer to its + murmurings. The face vanished from the boat's side, but a flood of light + was pouring into the serene depths of a trusting soul. + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Friends and Neighbors, by Anonymous + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS *** + +***** This file should be named 4593-h.htm or 4593-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/9/4593/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Friends and Neighbors + or Two Ways of Living in the World + +Author: Anonymous + +Editor: T. S. Arthur + +Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext #4593] +Posting Date: December 13, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + + + + + +FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS; + +or, Two Ways of Living in the World. + +Edited by By T. S. Arthur + +PHILADELPHIA: + +1856 + + + + + +PREFACE. + + + +WE were about preparing a few words of introduction to this volume, the +materials for which have been culled from the highways and byways of +literature, where our eyes fell upon these fitting sentiments, the +authorship of which we are unable to give. They express clearly and +beautifully what was in our own mind:-- + +"If we would only bring ourselves to look at the subjects that surround +as in their true flight, we should see beauty where now appears +deformity, and listen to harmony where we hear nothing but discord. To +be sure there is a great deal of vexation and anxiety in the world; we +cannot sail upon a summer sea for ever; yet if we preserve a calm eye +and a steady hand, we can so trim our sails and manage our helm, as to +avoid the quicksands, and weather the storms that threaten shipwreck. +We are members of one great family; we are travelling the same road, and +shall arrive at the same goal. We breathe the same air, are subject +to the same bounty, and we shall, each lie down upon the bosom of +our common mother. It is not becoming, then, that brother should hate +brother; it is not proper that friend should deceive friend; it is not +right that neighbour should deceive neighbour. We pity that man who can +harbour enmity against his fellow; he loses half the enjoyment of life; +he embitters his own existence. Let us tear from our eyes the coloured +medium that invests every object with the green hue of jealousy and +suspicion; turn, a deal ear to scandal; breathe the spirit of charity +from our hearts; let the rich gushings of human kindness swell up as a +fountain, so that the golden age will become no fiction and islands of +the blessed bloom in more than Hyperian beauty." + +It is thus that friends and neighbours should live. This is the right +way. To aid in the creation of such true harmony among men, has the book +now in your hand, reader, been compiled. May the truths that glisten on +its pages be clearly reflected in your mind; and the errors it points +out be shunned as the foes of yourself and humanity. + + + +CONTENTS. + + + GOOD IN ALL + HUMAN PROGRESS + MY WASHERWOMAN + FORGIVE AND FORGET + OWE NO MAN ANYTHING + RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL + PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET + KIND WORDS + NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS + GOOD WE MIGHT DO + THE TOWN LOT + THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP + A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS + MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATIONS + ROOM IN THE WORLD + WORDS + THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + LOVE + "EVERY LITTLE HELPS" + LITTLE THINGS + CARELESS WORDS + HOW TO BE HAPPY + CHARITY--ITS OBJECTS + THE VISION OF BOATS + REGULATION OF THE TEMPER + MANLY GENTLENESS + SILENT INFLUENCE + ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY + THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN + "WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE" + BLIND JAMES + DEPENDENCE + TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR + KEEP IN STEP + JOHNNY COLE + THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR + JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON + THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT + TWO SIDES TO A STORY + LITTLE KINDNESSES + LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH + "ALL THE DAY IDLE" + THE BUSHEL OF CORN + THE ACCOUNT + CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH + RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE + + + + + +FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS. + + + + + +GOOD IN ALL. + + + +THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth +of his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in practice, +daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street: dirty, ragged, +importunate. "Ah! he has a _bad_ look," and your pocket is safe. He +starves--and he steals. "I thought he was _bad_." You educate him in +the State Prison. He does not improve even in this excellent school. +"He is," says the gaoler, "thoroughly _bad_." He continues his course of +crime. All that is bad in him having by this time been made apparent +to himself, his friends, and the world, he has only to confirm the +decision, and at length we hear when he has reached his last step. "Ah! +no wonder--there was never any _Good_ in him. Hang him!" + +Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word. + +If you believe in Good, _always appeal to it._ Be sure whatever there is +of Good--is of God. There is never an utter want of resemblance to the +common Father. "God made man in His own image." "What! yon reeling, +blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yon crafty trader; yon +false statesman?" Yes! All. In every nature there is a germ of eternal +happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard's heart there is a memory of +something better--slight, dim: but flickering still; why should you not +by the warmth of your charity, give growth to the Good that is in him? +The cynic, the miser, is not all self. There is a note in that sullen +instrument to make all harmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle +master to touch the strings. + +You point to the words "There is _none_ good." The truths do not oppose +each other. "There is none good--_save one._" And He breathes in all. +In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, we are helpless, +mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in the heart: a guide to +the source of Light, or an instrument of torture. We can make it either. +If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, it will warm, guide, cheer us. If +in the midst of selfishness, or under the pressure of pride, its flame +will be unsteady, and we shall soon have good reason to trim our light, +and find new oil for it. + +There is Good in All--the impress of the Deity. He who believes not in +the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race. There is +no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appeal to it. Seek +in every one the _best_ features: mark, encourage, educate _them._ There +is no man to whom some circumstance will not be an argument. + +And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, all +the labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical the +theories of our philanthropists! To educate the _Good_--the good in +_All_: to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle all +arrogance, by showing that all possess this Good. _In_ themselves, but +not _of_ themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soon should +we all be digging through the darkness, for this Gold of Love--this +universal Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed and humanized our prisons, +to find this Good; and in the chambers of all our hearts it is to be +found, by labouring eyes and loving hands. + +Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strength of +vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Are none +of us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to the generous, +trusting guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who has loved us, +despite the evil that is in _us_--for our little Good, and has nurtured +that Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we know not how like we +are to those whom we despise! We know not how many memories of kith and +kin the murderer carries to the gallows--how much honesty of heart the +felon drags with him to the hulks. + +There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than most of +us: Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm. Do +not mistake us. Society demands, requires that these madmen should be +rendered harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good. Lady Macbeth +would have slain the old king, Had he not resembled her father as he +slept. + +It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, because +never acted on, that the same energies, the same will to great vices, +had given force to great virtues. Do we provide the opportunity? Do we +_believe_ in Good? If we are ourselves deceived in any one, is not all, +thenceforth, deceit? if treated with contempt, is not the whole world +clouded with scorn? if visited with meanness, are not all selfish? And +if from one of our frailer fellow-creatures we receive the blow, +we cease to believe in women. Not the breast at which we have drank +life--not the sisterly hands that have guided ours--not the one voice +that has so often soothed us in our darker hours, will save the sex: All +are massed in one common sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there +are many Ruths. We should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France +when he lost Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was his +sister. + +And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends to some +feeling--Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conquered the +hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold--Reynolds made an +exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous to Northcote, and had +time to think of the poor Plympton schoolmistress. The cold are not all +ice. Elizabeth slew Essex--the queen triumphed; the woman _died._ + +There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazy whine +of the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided, unschooled +childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew the baby-roundness +of content that ours have worn; that his eye knew no youth of fire--no +manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. When you see the trader, +without any pride of vocation, seeking how he can best cheat you, and +degrade himself, glance into the room behind his shop and see there his +pale wife and his thin children, and think how cheerfully he meets +that circle in the only hour he has out of the twenty-four. Pity his +narrowness of mind; his want of reliance upon the God of Good; but +remember there have been Greshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and +remember, too, that in our happy land there are thousands of almshouses, +built by the men of trade alone. And when you are discontented with the +great, and murmur, repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in his +hiding-place, turn in justice to the Good among the great. Read how John +of Lancaster loved Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There have been Burkes +as well as Walpoles. Russell remembered Banim's widow, and Peel forgot +not Haydn. + +Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man, +Good. That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in the lowest, +there is often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles and Alexander +had great, but different virtues, and although the refinement of the +one may have resulted in effeminacy, and the hardihood of the other in +brutality, we ought to pause ere we condemn where we should all have +fallen. + +Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, and +everywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern of +Diogenes is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath set in +the heavens; a Light which shines into the solitary cottage and the +squalid alley, where the children of many vices are hourly exchanging +deeds of kindness; a Light shining into the rooms of dingy warehousemen +and thrifty clerks, whose hard labour and hoarded coins are for wife +and child and friend; shining into prison and workhouse, where sin and +sorrow glimmer with sad eyes through rusty bars into distant homes and +mourning hearths; shining through heavy curtains, and round sumptuous +tables, where the heart throbs audibly through velvet mantle and silken +vest, and where eye meets eye with affection and sympathy; shining +everywhere upon God's creatures, and with its broad beams lighting up +a virtue wherever it falls, and telling the proud, the wronged, the +merciless, or the despairing, that there is "Good in All." + + + + +HUMAN PROGRESS. + + + + WE are told to look through nature + Upward unto Nature's God; + We are told there is a scripture + Written on the meanest sod; + That the simplest flower created + Is a key to hidden things; + But, immortal over nature, + Mind, the lord of nature, springs! + + Through _Humanity_ look upward,-- + Alter ye the olden plan,-- + Look through man to the Creator, + Maker, Father, God of Man! + Shall imperishable spirit + Yield to perishable clay? + No! sublime o'er Alpine mountains + Soars the Mind its heavenward way! + + Deeper than the vast Atlantic + Rolls the tide of human thought; + Farther speeds that mental ocean + Than the world of waves o'er sought! + Mind, sublime in its own essence + Its sublimity can lend + To the rocks, and mounts, and torrents, + And, at will, their features bend! + + Some within the humblest _floweret_ + "Thoughts too deep for tears" can see; + Oh, the humblest man existing + Is a sadder theme to me! + Thus I take the mightier labour + Of the great Almighty hand; + And, through man to the Creator, + Upward look, and weeping stand. + + Thus I take the mightier labour, + --Crowning glory of _His_ will; + And believe that in the meanest + Lives a spark of Godhead still: + Something that, by Truth expanded, + Might be fostered into worth; + Something struggling through the darkness, + Owning an immortal birth! + + From the Genesis of being + Unto this imperfect day, + Hath Humanity held onward, + Praying God to aid its way! + And Man's progress had been swifter, + Had he never turned aside, + To the worship of a symbol, + Not the spirit signified! + + And Man's progress had been higher, + Had he owned his brother man, + Left his narrow, selfish circle, + For a world-embracing plan! + There are some for ever craving, + Ever discontent with place, + In the eternal would find briefness, + In the infinite want space. + + If through man unto his Maker + We the source of truth would find, + It must be through man enlightened, + Educated, raised, refined: + That which the Divine hath fashioned + Ignorance hath oft effaced; + Never may we see God's image + In man darkened--man debased! + + Something yield to Recreation, + Something to Improvement give; + There's a Spiritual kingdom + Where the Spirit hopes to live! + There's a mental world of grandeur, + Which the mind inspires to know; + Founts of everlasting beauty + That, for those who seek them, flow! + + Shores where Genius breathes immortal-- + Where the very winds convey + Glorious thoughts of Education, + Holding universal sway! + Glorious hopes of Human Freedom, + Freedom of the noblest kind; + That which springs from Cultivation, + Cheers and elevates the mind! + + Let us hope for Better Prospects, + Strong to struggle for the night, + We appeal to Truth, and ever + Truth's omnipotent in might; + Hasten, then, the People's Progress, + Ere their last faint hope be gone; + Teach the Nations that their interest + And the People's good, ARE ONE. + + + + +MY WASHERWOMAN. + + + +SOME people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waited +on for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, "Call to-morrow," even +though their pockets are far from being empty. + +I once fell into this bad habit myself; but a little incident, which I +will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained my majority, +a poor widow, named Blake, did my washing and ironing. She was the +mother of two or three little children, whose sole dependence for food +and raiment was on the labour of her hands. + +Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with my clothes, +"white as the driven snow;" but not always, as punctually, did I pay the +pittance she had earned by hard labour. + +"Mrs. Blake is down stairs," said a servant, tapping at my room-door one +morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself. + +"Oh, very well," I replied. "Tell her to leave my clothes. I will get +them when I come down." + +The thought of paying the seventy-five cents, her due, crossed my mind. +But I said to myself,--"It's but a small matter, and will do as well +when she comes again." + +There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My funds +were low, and I might need what change I had during the day. And so +it proved. As I went to the office in which I was engaged, some small +article of ornament caught my eye in a shop window. + +"Beautiful!" said I, as I stood looking at it. Admiration quickly +changed into the desire for possession; and so I stepped in to ask the +price. It was just two dollars. + +"Cheap enough," thought I. And this very cheapness was a further +temptation. + +So I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, and found +the amount to be two dollars and a quarter. + +"I guess I'll take it," said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper's +counter. + +"I'd better have paid Mrs. Blake." This thought crossed my mind, an +hour afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost its power of +pleasing. "So much would at least have been saved." + +I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed, when +the waiter said to me, + +"Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you." + +I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in my +pockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her money. + +"She's in a great hurry," I muttered to myself, as I descended to the +door. + +"You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs. +Blake. I haven't any change, this evening." + +The expression of the poor woman's face, as she turned slowly away, +without speaking, rather softened my feelings. + +"I'm sorry," said I, "but it can't be helped now. I wish you had said, +this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid you then." + +She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then she moved +off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touched sensibly. + +"I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change about +me. And I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money, if she +wanted it so badly?" + +I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards I met +the lady with whom I was boarding. + +"Do you know anything about this Mrs. Blake, who washes for me?" I +inquired. + +"Not much; except that she is very poor, and has three children to feed +and clothe. And what is worst of all, she is in bad health. I think she +told me, this morning, that one of her little ones was very sick." + +I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon after left +the room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only a sixpence +in my pocket; and, moreover, did not know where to find Mrs. Blake. + +Having purposed to make a call upon some young ladies that evening, I +now went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotless linen +brought home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of it rebuked me; +and I had to conquer, with some force, an instinctive reluctance, before +I could compel myself to put on a clean shirt, and snow-white vest, too +recently from the hand of my unpaid washerwoman. + +One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more to me than a mere +pleasant acquaintance. My heart had, in fact, been warming towards her +for some time; and I was particularly anxious to find favour in her +eyes. On this evening she was lovelier and more attractive than ever, +and new bonds of affection entwined themselves around my heart. + +Judge, then, of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of her +mother--at the very moment when my heart was all a-glow with love, who +said, as she came in-- + +"Oh, dear! This is a strange world!" + +"What new feature have you discovered now, mother?" asked one of her +daughters, smiling. + +"No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive than +ever," was replied. "Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, in great +trouble." + +"What about, mother?" All the young ladies at once manifested unusual +interest. + +Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which the eyes +of the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severe scrutiny. + +"The old story, in cases like hers," was answered. "Can't get her money +when earned, although for daily bread she is dependent on her daily +labour. With no food in the house, or money to buy medicine for her sick +child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and to humble her spirit, +which is an independent one, so low as to ask bread for her little ones, +and the loan of a pittance with which to get what the doctor has ordered +her feeble sufferer at home." + +"Oh, what a shame!" fell from the lips of Ellen, the one in whom my +heart felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at me earnestly +as she spoke. + +"She fully expected," said the mother, "to get a trifle that was due her +from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went to see him +this evening. But he put her off with some excuse. How strange that +any one should be so thoughtless as to withhold from the poor their +hard-earned pittance! It is but a small sum at best, that the toiling +seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearying labour. That, at +least, should be promptly paid. To withhold it an hour is to do, in many +cases, a great wrong." + +For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. I +felt that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who had +withheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing. What +my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; and difficult for +any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a position, to imagine. + +My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and in +another channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest upon +me. You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten o'clock on +the next day, and that I never again fell into the error of neglecting, +for a single week, my poor washerwoman. + + + + +FORGIVE AND FORGET. + + + + THERE'S a secret in living, if folks only knew; + An Alchymy precious, and golden, and true, + More precious than "gold dust," though pure and refined, + For its mint is the heart, and its storehouse the mind; + Do you guess what I mean--for as true as I live + That dear little secret's--forget and forgive! + + When hearts that have loved have grown cold and estranged, + And looks that beamed fondness are clouded and changed, + And words hotly spoken and grieved for with tears + Have broken the trust and the friendship of years-- + Oh! think 'mid thy pride and thy secret regret, + The balm for the wound is--forgive and forget! + + Yes! look in thy spirit, for love may return + And kindle the embers that still feebly burn; + And let this true whisper breathe high in thy heart, + _'Tis better to love than thus suffer apart_-- + + Let the Past teach the Future more wisely than yet, + For the friendship that's true can forgive and forget. + + And now, an adieu! if you list to my lay + May each in your thoughts bear my motto away, + 'Tis a crude, simple ryhme, but its truth may impart + A joy to the gentle and loving of heart; + And an end I would claim far more practical yet + In behalf of the Rhymer--_forgive and forget!_ + + + + +OWE NO MAN ANYTHING. + + + +THUS says an Apostle; and if those who are able to "owe no man anything" +would fully observe this divine obligation, many, very many, whom their +want of punctuality now compels to live in violation of this precept, +would then faithfully and promptly render to every one their just dues. + +"What is the matter with you, George?" said Mrs. Allison to her husband, +as he paced the floor of their little sitting-room, with an anxious, +troubled expression of countenance. + +"Oh! nothing of much consequence: only a little worry of business," +replied Mr. Allison. + +"But I know better than that, George. I know it is of consequence; you +are not apt to have such a long face for nothing. Come, tell me what it +is that troubles you. Have I not a right to share your griefs as well as +your joys?" + +"Indeed, Ellen, it is nothing but business, I assure you; and as I am +not blessed with the most even temper in the world, it does not take +much you know to upset me: but you heard me speak of that job I was +building for Hillman?" + +"Yes. I think you said it was to be five hundred dollars, did you not?" + +"I did; and it was to have been cash as soon as done. Well, he took it +out two weeks ago; one week sooner than I promised it. I sent the bill +with it, expecting, of course, he would send me a check for the amount; +but I was disappointed. Having heard nothing from him since, I thought I +would call on him this morning, when, to my surprise, I was told he had +gone travelling with his wife and daughter, and would not be back for +six weeks or two months. I can't tell you how I felt when I was told +this." + +"He is safe enough for it I suppose, isn't he, George?" + +"Oh, yes; he is supposed to be worth about three hundred thousand. But +what good is that to me? I was looking over my books this afternoon, +and, including this five hundred, there is just fifteen hundred dollars +due me now, that I ought to have, but can't get it. To a man doing a +large business it would not be much; but to one with my limited means, +it is a good deal. And this is all in the hands of five individuals, any +one of whom could pay immediately, and feel not the least inconvenience +from it." + +"Are you much pressed for money just now, George?" + +"I have a note in bank of three hundred, which falls due to-morrow, and +one of two hundred and fifty on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars at least +will be required to pay off my hands; and besides this, our quarter's +rent is due on Monday, and my shop rent next Wednesday. Then there are +other little bills I wanted to settle, our own wants to be supplied, +&c." + +"Why don't you call on those persons you spoke of; perhaps they would +pay you?" + +"I have sent their bills in, but if I call on them so soon I might +perhaps affront them, and cause them to take their work away; and that +I don't want to do. However, I think I shall have to do it, let the +consequence be what it may." + +"Perhaps you could borrow what you need, George, for a few days." + +"I suppose I could; but see the inconvenience and trouble it puts me +to. I was so certain of getting Hillman's money to meet these two notes, +that I failed to make any other provision." + +"That would not have been enough of itself." + +"No, but I have a hundred on hand; the two together would have paid +them, and left enough for my workmen too." + +As early as practicable the next morning Mr. Allison started forth to +raise the amount necessary to carry him safely through the week. He +thought it better to try to collect some of the amounts owing to him +than to borrow. He first called on a wealthy merchant, whose annual +income was something near five thousand. + +"Good morning, Mr. Allison," said he, as that individual entered his +counting-room. "I suppose you want some money." + +"I should like a little, Mr. Chapin, if you please." + +"Well, I intended coming down to see you, but I have been so busy that +I have not been able. That carriage of mine which you did up a few weeks +ago does not suit me altogether." + +"What is the matter with it?" + +"I don't like the style of trimming, for one thing; it has a common look +to me." + +"It is precisely what Mrs. Chapin ordered. You told me to suit her." + +"Yes, but did she not tell you to trim it like General Spangler's?" + +"I am very much mistaken, Mr. Chapin, if it is not precisely like his." + +"Oh! no; his has a much richer look than mine." + +"The style of trimming is just the same, Mr. Chapin; but you certainly +did not suppose that a carriage trimmed with worsted lace, would look as +well as one trimmed with silk lace?" + +"No, of course not; but there are some other little things about it that +don't suit me. I will send my man down with it to-day, and he will show +you what they are. I would like to have it to-morrow afternoon, to take +my family out in. Call up on Monday, and we will have a settlement." + +Mr. Allison next called at the office of a young lawyer, who had +lately come into possession of an estate valued at one hundred thousand +dollars. Mr. Allison's bill was three hundred dollars, which his young +friend assured him he would settle immediately, only that there was a +slight error in the way it was made out, and not having the bill with +him, he could not now correct it. + +He would call on Mr. Allison with it, sometime during the next week, and +settle it. + +A Custom-House gentleman was next sought, but his time had been so much +taken up with his official duties, that he had not yet been able to +examine the bill. He had no doubt but it was all correct; still, as he +was not accustomed to doing business in a loose way, he must claim Mr. +Allison's indulgence a few days longer. + +Almost disheartened, Mr. Allison entered the store of the last +individual who was indebted to him for any considerable amount, not +daring to hope that he would be any more successful with him than with +the others he had called on. But he was successful; the bill, which +amounted to near one hundred and fifty dollars, was promptly paid, Mr. +Allison's pocket, in consequence, that much heavier, and his heart that +much lighter. Fifty dollars was yet lacking of the sum requisite for +that day. After calling on two or three individuals, this amount was +obtained, with the promise of being returned by the middle of the next +week. + +"I shall have hard work to get through to-day, I know," said he to +himself, as he sat at his desk on the following morning. + +"Two hundred and fifty dollars to be raised by borrowing. I don't know +where I can get it." + +To many this would be a small sum, but Mr. Allison was peculiarly +situated. He was an honest, upright mechanic, but he was poor. It was +with difficulty he had raised the fifty dollars on the day previous. +Although he had never once failed in returning money at the time +promised, still, for some reason or other, everybody appeared unwilling +to lend him. It was nearly two O'clock and he was still a hundred +dollars short. + +"Well," said he to himself, "I have done all I could, and if Hall won't +renew the note for the balance, it will have to be protested. I'll go +and ask him, though I have not much hope that he will do it." + +As he was about leaving his shop for that purpose, a gentleman entered +who wished to buy a second-hand carriage. Mr. Allison had but one, and +that almost new, for which he asked a hundred and forty dollars. + +"It is higher than I wished to go," remarked the gentleman. "I ought to +get a new one for that price." + +"So you can, but not like this. I can sell you a new one for a hundred +and twenty-five dollars. But what did you expect to pay for one?" + +"I was offered one at Holton's for seventy-five; but I did not like it. +I will give you a hundred for yours." + +"It is too little, indeed, sir: that carriage cost three hundred dollars +when it was new. It was in use a very short time. I allowed a hundred +and forty dollars for it myself." + +"Well, sir, I would not wish you to sell at a disadvantage, but if you +like to, accept of my offer I'll take it. I'm prepared to pay the cash +down." + +Mr. Allison did not reply for some minutes. He was undecided as to what +was best. + +"Forty dollars," said he to himself, "is a pretty heavy discount. I +am almost tempted to refuse his offer and trust to Hall's renewing the +note. But suppose he won't--then I'm done for. I think, upon the whole, +I had better accept it. I'll put it at one hundred and twenty-five, my +good friend," said he, addressing the customer. + +"No, sir; one hundred is all I shall give." + +"Well, I suppose you must have it, then; but indeed you have got a +bargain." + +"It is too bad," muttered Allison to himself, as he left the bank after +having paid his note. "There is just forty dollars thrown away. And why? +Simply because those who are blessed with the means of discharging their +debts promptly, neglect to do so." + +"How did you make out to-day, George?" asked his wife, as they sat at +the tea-table that same evening. + +"I met my note, and that was all." + +"Did you give your men anything?" + +"Not a cent. I had but one dollar left after paying that. I was sorry +for them, but I could not help them. I am afraid Robinson's family will +suffer, for there has been sickness in his house almost constantly for +the last twelvemonth. His wife, he told me the other day, had not been +out; of her bed for six weeks. Poor fellow! He looked quite dejected +when I told him I had nothing for him." + +At this moment; the door-bell rang and a minute or two afterwards, a +young girl entered the room in which Mr. and Mrs. Allison were sitting. +Before introducing her to our readers, we will conduct them to the +interior of an obscure dwelling, situated near the outskirts of the +city. The room is small, and scantily furnished, and answers at once +for parlour, dining-room, and kitchen. Its occupants, Mrs. Perry and her +daughter, have been, since the earliest dawn of day, intently occupied +with their needles, barely allowing themselves time to partake of their +frugal meal. + +"Half-past three o'clock!" ejaculated the daughter, her eyes glancing, +as she spoke, at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I am afraid we shall not +get this work done in time for me to take it home before dark, mother." + +"We must try hard, Laura, for you know we have not a cent in the house, +and I told Mrs. Carr to come over to-night, and I would pay her what I +owe her for washing. Poor thing! I would not like to disappoint her, for +I know she needs it." + +Nothing more was said for near twenty minutes, when Laura again broke +the silence. + +"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "what a pain I have in my side!" And for a +moment she rested from her work, and straightened herself in her chair, +to afford a slight relief from the uneasiness she experienced. "I +wonder, mother, if I shall always be obliged to sit so steady?" + +"I hope not, my child; but bad as our situation is, there are hundreds +worse off than we. Take Annie Carr, for instance--how would you like to +exchange places with her?" + +"Poor Annie! I was thinking of her awhile go, mother. How hard it must +be for one so young to be so afflicted as she is!" + +"And yet, Laura, she never complains; although for five years she has +never left her bed, and has often suffered, I know, for want of proper +nourishment." + +"I don't think she will suffer much longer, mother. I stopped in to see +her the other day, and I was astonished at the change which had taken +place in a short time. Her conversation, too, seems so heavenly, her +faith in the Lord so strong, that I could not avoid coming to the +conclusion that a few days more, at the most, would terminate her +wearisome life." + +"It will be a happy release for her, indeed, my daughter. Still, it will +be a sore trial for her mother." + +It was near six when Mrs. Perry and her daughter finished the work upon +which they were engaged. + +"Now Laura, dear," said the mother, "get back as soon as you can, for I +don't like you to be out after night, and more than that, if Mrs. Carr +comes, she won't want to wait." + +About twenty minutes after the young girl had gone, Mrs. Carr called. +"Pray, be seated, my dear friend," said Mrs. Perry, "my daughter has +just gone to Mrs. Allison's with some work, and as soon as she returns I +can pay you." + +"I think I had better call over again, Mrs. Perry," answered the poor +woman; "Mary begged me not to stay long." + +"Is Annie any worse, then?" + +"Oh, yes, a great deal; the doctor thinks she will hardly last till +morning." + +"Well, Mrs. Carr, death can be only gain to her." + +"Very true; still, the idea of losing her seems dreadful to me." + +"How does Mary get on at Mrs. Owring's?" + +"Not very well; she has been at work for her just one month to-day; and +although she gave her to understand that her wages would be at least a +dollar and a quarter a week, yet to-night, when she settled with her, +she wouldn't give her but three dollars, and at the same time told her +that if she didn't choose to work for that she could go." + +"What do you suppose was the reason for her acting so?" + +"I don't know, indeed, unless it is because she does not get there quite +as early as the rest of her hands; for you see I am obliged to keep her +a little while in the morning to help me to move Annie while I make her +bed. Even that little sum, small it was, would have been some help to +us, but it had all to go for rent. My landlord would take no denial. But +I must go; you think I can depend on receiving your money to-night?" + +"I do. Mrs. Allison is always prompt in paying for her work as soon +as it is done. I will not trouble you to come again for it, Mrs. Carr. +Laura shall bring it over to you." + +Let us now turn to the young girl we left at Mr. Allison's, whom our +readers, no doubt, recognise as Laura Perry. + +"Good evening, Laura," said Mrs. Allison, as she entered the room; "not +brought my work home already! I did not look for it till next week. You +and your mother, I am afraid, confine yourselves too closely to your +needles for your own good. But you have not had your tea? sit up, and +take some." + +"No, thank you, Mrs. Allison; mother will be uneasy if I stay long." + +"Well, Laura, I am sorry, but I cannot settle with you to-night. Tell +your mother Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting to-day, or she +certainly should have had it. Did she say how much it was?" + +"Two dollars, ma'am." + +"Very well: I will try and let her have it next week." + +The expression of Laura's countenance told too plainly the +disappointment she felt. "I am afraid Mrs. Perry is in want of that +money," remarked the husband after she had gone. + +"Not the least doubt of it," replied his wife. "She would not have sent +home work at this hour if she had not been. Poor things! who can tell +the amount of suffering and wretchedness that is caused by the rich +neglecting to pay promptly." + +"You come without money, Laura," said her mother, as she entered the +house. + +"How do you know that, mother?" she replied, forcing a smile. + +"I read it in your countenance. Is it not so?" + +"It is: Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting--what will we do, +mother?" + +"The best we can, my child. We will have to do without our beef for +dinner to-morrow; but then we have plenty of bread; so we shall not +starve." + +"And I shall have to do without my new shoes. My old ones are too shabby +to go to church in; so I shall have to stay at home." + +"I am sorry for your disappointment, my child, but I care more for Mrs. +Carr than I do for ourselves. She has been here, and is in a great deal +of trouble. The doctor don't think Annie will live till morning, and +Mrs. Owrings hag refused to give Mary more than three dollars for her +month's work, every cent of which old Grimes took for rent. I told her +she might depend on getting what I owed her, and that I would send you +over with it when you returned. You had better go at once and tell her, +Laura; perhaps she may be able to get some elsewhere." + +"How much is it, mother?" + +"Half a dollar." + +"It seems hard that she can't get that small sum." + +With a heavy heart Laura entered Mrs. Carr's humble abode. + +"Oh how glad I am that you have come, my dear!" exclaimed the poor +woman. "Annie has been craving some ice cream all day; it's the only +thing she seems to fancy. I told her she should have it as soon as you +came." + +Mrs. Carr's eyes filled with tears as Laura told of her ill success. "I +care not for myself," she said "but for that poor suffering child." + +"Never mind me, mother," replied Annie. "It was selfish in me to want +it, when I know how hard you and Mary are obliged to work for every cent +you get. But I feel that I shall not bother you much longer; I have a +strange feeling here now." And she placed her hand upon her left side. + +"Stop!" cried Laura; "I'll try and get some ice cream for you Annie." +And off she ran to her mother's dwelling. "Mother," said she, as she +entered the house, "do you recollect that half dollar father gave me the +last time he went to sea?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Well, I think I had better take it and pay Mrs. Carr. Annie is very +bad, and her mother says she has been wanting some ice cream all day." + +"It is yours, Laura, do as you like about it." + +"It goes hard with me to part with it, mother, for I had determined +to keep it in remembrance of my father. It is just twelve years to-day +since he went away. But poor Annie--yes, mother, I will take it." + +So saying, Laura went to unlock the box which contained her treasure, +but unfortunately her key was not where she had supposed it was. After +a half hour's search she succeeded in finding it. Tears coursed down her +cheeks like rain as she removed from the corner of the little box, where +it had lain for so many years, this precious relic of a dear father, who +in all probability, was buried beneath the ocean. Dashing them hastily +away, she started again for Mrs. Carr's. The ice cream was procured on +the way, and, just as the clock struck eight, she arrived at the door. +One hour has elapsed since she left. But why does she linger on the +threshold? Why but because the sounds of weeping and mourning have +reached her ears, and she fears that all is over with her poor friend, +Her fears are indeed true, for the pure spirit of the young sufferer has +taken its flight to that blest land where hunger and thirst are known +no more. Poor Annie! thy last earthly wish, a simple glass of ice-cream, +was denied thee--and why? We need not pause to answer: ye who have an +abundance of this world's goods, think, when ye are about to turn +from your doors the poor seamstress or washerwoman, or even those less +destitute than they, without a just recompense for their labour, +whether the sufferings and privations of some poor creatures will not be +increased thereby. + + + + +RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. + + + +OBADIAH LAWSON and Watt Dood were neighbours; that is, they lived within +a half mile of each other, and no person lived between their respective +farms, which would have joined, had not a little strip of prairie land +extended itself sufficiently to keep them separated. Dood was the oldest +settler, and from his youth up had entertained a singular hatred against +Quakers; therefore, when he was informed that Lawson, a regular disciple +of that class of people had purchased the next farm to his, he declared +he would make him glad to move away again. Accordingly, a system of +petty annoyances was commenced by him, and every time one of Lawson's +hogs chanced to stray upon Dood's place, he was beset by men and dogs, +and most savagely abused. Things progressed thus for nearly a year, and +the Quaker, a man of decidedly peace principles, appeared in no way to +resent the injuries received at the hands of his spiteful neighbour. But +matters were drawing to a crisis; for Dood, more enraged than ever at +the quiet of Obadiah, made oath that he would do something before long +to wake up the spunk of Lawson. Chance favoured his design. The Quaker +had a high-blooded filly, which he had been very careful in raising, and +which was just four years old. Lawson took great pride in this animal, +and had refused a large sum of money for her. + +One evening, a little after sunset, as Watt Dood was passing around +his cornfield, he discovered the filly feeding in the little strip of +prairie land that separated the two farms, and he conceived the hellish +design of throwing off two or three rails of his fence, that the horse +might get into his corn during the night. He did so, and the next +morning, bright and early, he shouldered his rifle and left the house. +Not long after his absence, a hired man, whom he had recently employed, +heard the echo of his gun, and in a few minutes Dood, considerably +excited and out of breath, came hurrying to the house, where he stated +that he had shot at and wounded a buck; that the deer attacked him, and +he hardly escaped with his life. + +This story was credited by all but the newly employed hand, who had +taken a dislike to Watt, and, from his manner, suspected that something +was wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from the house, and going +through the field in the direction of the shot, he suddenly came upon +Lawson's filly, stretched upon the earth, with a bullet hole through the +head, from which the warm blood was still oozing. + +The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour. He hastened +back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and demanded, +somewhat roughly, where he had been. + +"I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson's filly," +was the instant retort. + +Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercely shouted, + +"Do you dare to say I killed her?" + +"How do you know she is dead?" replied the man. + +Dood bit his lip, hesitated a moment, and then turning, walked into the +house. + +A couple of days passed by, and the morning of the third one had broken, +as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of his filly. + +A few words of explanation ensued, when, with a heavy heart, the Quaker +turned his horse and rode home, where he informed the people of the fate +of his filly. No threat of recrimination escaped him; he did not even +go to law to recover damages; but calmly awaited his plan and hour of +revenge. It came at last. + +Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which he had paid a heavy price, and +upon which he counted to make great gains. + +One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his eldest son came in +with the information that neighbour Dood's heifer had broken down the +fence, entered the yard, and after eating most of the cabbages, had +trampled the well-made beds and the vegetables they contained, out of +all shape--a mischief impossible to repair. + +"And what did thee do with her, Jacob?" quietly asked Obadiah. + +"I put her in the farm-yard." + +"Did thee beat her?" + +"I never struck her a blow." + +"Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and when done eating I +will attend to the heifer." + +Shortly after he had finished his repast, Lawson mounted a horse, and +rode over to Dood's, who was sitting under the porch in front of his +house, and who, as he beheld the Quaker dismount, supposed he was coming +to demand pay for his filly, and secretly swore he would have to law for +it if he did. + +"Good morning, neighbour Dood; how is thy family?" exclaimed Obadiah, as +he mounted the steps and seated himself in a chair. + +"All well, I believe," was the crusty reply. + +"I have a small affair to settle with you this morning, and I came +rather early." + +"So I suppose," growled Watt. + +"This morning, my son found thy Durham heifer in my garden, where she +has destroyed a good deal." + +"And what did he do with her?" demanded Dood, his brow darkening. + +"What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thy +garden?" asked Obadiah. + +"I'd a shot her!" retorted Watt, madly, "as I suppose you have done; but +we are only even now. Heifer for filly is only 'tit for tat.'" + +"Neighbour Dood, thou knowest me not, if thou thinkest I would harm a +hair of thy heifer's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even a blow +has been struck her, where thee can get her at any time. I know thee +shot my filly; but the evil one prompted thee to do it, and I lay no +evil in my heart against my neighbours. I came to tell thee where thy +heifer is, and now I'll go home." + +Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to descend the steps, when he +was stopped by Watt, who hastily asked, + +"What was your filly worth?" + +"A hundred dollars is what I asked for her," replied Obediah. + +"Wait a moment!" and Dood rushed into the house, from whence he soon +returned, holding some gold in his hand. "Here's the price of your +filly; and hereafter let there be a pleasantness between us." + +"Willingly, heartily," answered Lawson, grasping the proffered hand of +the other; "let there be peace between us." + +Obadiah mounted his horse, and rode home with a lighter heart, and from +that day to this Dood has been as good a neighbour as one could wish to +have; being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. + + + + +PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET. + + + +"DO you recollect Thomas, who lived with us as waiter about two years +ago, Mary?" asked Mr. Clarke, as he seated himself in his comfortable +arm-chair, and slipped his feet into the nicely-warmed, embroidered +slippers, which stood ready for his use. + +"Certainly," was the reply of Mrs. Clarke. "He was a bright, active +fellow, but rather insolent." + +"He has proved to be a regular pickpocket," continued her husband, "and +is now on his way to Blackwell's Island." + +"A very suitable place for him. I hope he will be benefited by a few +months' residence there," returned the lady. + +"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Joshua Clarke, an uncle of the young +couple, who was quietly reading a newspaper in another part of the room. +"There are many of high standing in the world, who deserve to go to +Blackwell's Island quite as much as he does." + +"You are always making such queer speeches, Uncle Joshua," said his +niece. "I suppose you do not mean that there are pickpockets among +respectable people?" + +"Indeed, there are, my dear niece. Your knowledge of the world must be +very limited, if you are not aware of this. Putting your hand in your +neighbour's pocket, is one of the most fashionable accomplishments of +the day." + +Mrs. Clarke was too well acquainted with her uncle's peculiarities to +think of arguing with him. She therefore merely smiled, and said to her +husband:-- + +"Well, Henry, I am glad that neither you nor myself are acquainted with +this fashionable accomplishment." + +"Not acquainted with it!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "I thought +you knew yourselves better. Why, you and Henry are both regular +pickpockets!" + +"I wonder that you demean yourself by associating with us!" was the +playful reply. + +"Oh, you are no worse than the rest of the world; and, besides, I hope +to do you some good, when you grow older and wiser. At present, Henry's +whole soul is absorbed in the desire to obtain wealth." + +"In a fair and honourable way, uncle," interrupted Mr. Clarke, "and for +honourable purposes." + +"Certainly," replied Uncle Joshua, "in the common acceptation of the +words _fair_ and _honourable_. But, do you never, in your mercantile +speculations, endeavour to convey erroneous impressions to the minds +of those with whom you are dealing? Do you not sometimes suppress +information which would prevent your obtaining a good bargain? Do you +never allow your customers to purchase goods under false ideas of +their value and demand in the market? If you saw a man, less skilled +in business than yourself, about to take a step injurious to him, but +advantageous to you, would you warn him of his danger--thus obeying the +command to love your neighbour as yourself?" + +"Why, uncle, these questions are absurd. Of course, when engaged in +business, I endeavour to do what is for my own advantage--leaving others +to look out for themselves." + +"Exactly so. You are perfectly willing to put your hand in your +neighbour's pocket and take all you can get, provided he is not wise +enough to know that your hand is there." + +"Oh, for shame, Uncle Joshua! I shall not allow you to talk to Henry in +this manner," exclaimed Mrs. Clarke perceiving that her husband looked +somewhat irritated. "Come, prove your charge against me. In what way do +I pick my neighbour's pockets?" + +"You took six shillings from the washerwoman this morning," coolly +replied Uncle Joshua. + +"_Took_ six shillings from the washerwoman! Paid her six shillings, you +mean, uncle. She called for the money due for a day's work, and I gave +it to her." + +"Yes, but not till you had kept her waiting nearly two hours. I heard +her say, as she left the house, 'I have lost a day's work by this delay, +for I cannot go to Mrs. Reed's at this hour; so I shall be six shillings +poorer at the end of the week.'" + +"Why did she wait, then? She could have called again. I was not ready to +attend to her at so early an hour." + +"Probably she needed the money to-day. You little know the value of six +shillings to the mother of a poor family, Mary; but, you should remember +that her time is valuable, and that it is as sinful to deprive her of +the use of it, as if you took money from her purse." + +"Well, uncle, I will acknowledge that I did wrong to keep the poor woman +waiting, and I will endeavour to be more considerate in future. So +draw your chair to the table, and take a cup of tea and some of your +favourite cakes." + +"Thank you, Mary; but I am engaged to take tea with your old friend, +Mrs. Morrison. Poor thing! she has not made out very well lately. Her +school has quite run down, owing to sickness among her scholars; and +her own family have been ill all winter; so that her expenses have been +great." + +"I am sorry to hear this," replied Mrs. Clarke. "I had hoped that her +school was succeeding. Give my love to her, uncle, and tell her I will +call upon her in a day or two." + +Uncle Joshua promised to remember the message, and bidding Mr. and Mrs. +Clarke good evening, he was soon seated in Mrs. Morrison's neat little +parlour, which, though it bore no comparison with the spacious and +beautifully furnished apartments he had just left, had an air of comfort +and convenience which could not fail to please. + +Delighted to see her old friend, whom she also, from early habit, +addressed by the title of Uncle Joshua, although he was no relation, +Mrs. Morrison's countenance, for awhile beamed with that cheerful, +animated expression which it used to wear in her more youthful days; +but an expression of care and anxiety soon over shadowed it, and, in +the midst of her kind attentions to her visiter, and her affectionate +endearment to two sweet children, who were playing around the room, she +would often remain thoughtful and abstracted for several minutes. + +Uncle Joshua was an attentive observer, and he saw that something +weighed heavily upon her mind. When tea was over, and the little ones +had gone to rest, he said, kindly, + +"Come, Fanny, draw your chair close to my side, and tell me all your +troubles, as freely as you used to do when a merry-hearted school-girl. +How often have listened to the sad tale of the pet pigeon, that had +flown away, or the favourite plant killed by the untimely frost. Come, I +am ready, now as then, to assist you with my advice, and my purse, too, +if necessary." + +Tears started to Mrs. Morrison's eyes, as she replied. + +"You were always a kind friend to me, Uncle Joshua, and I will gladly +confide my troubles to you. You know that after my husband's death I +took this house, which, though small, may seem far above my limited +income, in the hope of obtaining a school sufficiently large to enable +me to meet the rent, and also to support myself and children. The small +sum left them by their father I determined to invest for their future +use. I unwisely intrusted it to one who betrayed the trust, and +appropriated the money to some wild speculation of his own. He says that +he did this in the hope of increasing my little property. It may be so, +but my consent should have been asked. He failed and there is little +hope of our ever recovering more, than a small part of what he owes +us. But, to return to my school. I found little difficulty in obtaining +scholars, and, for a short time, believed myself to be doing well, but I +soon found that a large number of scholars did not insure a large +income from the school. My terms were moderate, but still I found great +difficulty in obtaining what was due to me at the end of the term. + +"A few paid promptly, and without expecting me to make unreasonable +deductions for unpleasant weather, slight illness, &c., &c. Others paid +after long delay, which often put me to the greatest inconvenience; and +some, after appointing day after day for me to call, and promising each +time that the bill should be settled without fail, moved away, I knew +not whither, or met me at length with a cool assurance that it was not +possible for them to pay me at present--if it was ever in their power +they would let me know." + +"Downright robbery!" exclaimed Uncle Joshua. "A set of pickpockets! I +wish they were all shipped for Blackwell's Island." + +"There are many reasons assigned for not paying," continued Mrs. +Morrison. "Sometimes the children had not learned as much as the parents +expected. Some found it expedient to take their children away long +before the expiration of the term, and then gazed at me in astonishment +when I declared my right to demand pay for the whole time for which they +engaged. One lady, in particular, to whose daughter I was giving music +lessons, withdrew the pupil under pretext of slight indisposition, and +sent me the amount due for a half term. I called upon her, and stated +that I considered the engagement binding for twenty-four lessons, but +would willingly wait until the young lady was quite recovered. The +mother appeared to assent with willingness to this arrangement, and took +the proffered money without comment. An hour or two after I received +a laconic epistle stating that the lady had already engaged another +teacher, whom she thought preferable--that she had offered me the amount +due for half of the term, and I had declined receiving it--therefore she +should not offer it again. I wrote a polite, but very plain, reply to +this note, and enclosed my bill for the whole term, but have never heard +from her since." + +"Do you mean to say that she actually received the money which you +returned to her without reluctance, and gave you no notice of her +intention to employ another teacher?" demanded the old gentleman. + +"Certainly; and, besides this, I afterwards ascertained that the young +lady was actually receiving a lesson from another teacher, when I called +at the house--therefore the plea of indisposition was entirely false. +The most perfect satisfaction had always been expressed as to the +progress of the pupil, and no cause was assigned for the change." + +"I hope you have met with few cases as bad as this," remarked Uncle +Joshua. "The world must be in a worse state than even I had supposed, if +such imposition is common." + +"This may be an extreme case," replied Mrs. Morrison, "but I could +relate many others which are little better. However, you will soon weary +of my experience in this way, Uncle Joshua, and I will therefore mention +but one other instance. One bitter cold day in January, I called at the +house of a lady who had owed me a small amount for nearly a year, and +after repeated delay had reluctantly fixed this day as the time when she +would pay me at least a part of what was due. I was told by the servant +who opened the door that the lady was not at home. + +"What time will she be in?" I inquired. + +"Not for some hours," was the reply. + +Leaving word that I would call again towards evening, I retraced my +steps, feeling much disappointed at my ill success, as I had felt quite +sure of obtaining the money. About five o'clock I again presented myself +at the door, and was again informed that the lady was not at home. + +"I will walk in, and wait for her return," I replied. + +The servant appeared somewhat startled at this, but after a little delay +ushered me into the parlour. Two little boys, of four and six years of +age, were playing about the room. I joined in their sports, and soon +became quite familiar with them. Half an hour had passed away, when I +inquired of the oldest boy what time he expected his mother? + +"Not till late," he answered, hesitatingly. + +"Did she take the baby with her this cold day?" I asked. + +"Yes, ma'am," promptly replied the girl, who, under pretence of +attending to the children, frequently came into the room. + +The youngest child gazed earnestly in my face, and said, smilingly, + +"Mother has not gone away, she is up stairs. She ran away with baby when +she saw you coming, and told us to say she had gone out. I am afraid +brother will take cold, for there is no fire up stairs." + +"It is no such thing," exclaimed the girl and the eldest boy. "She is +not up stairs, ma'am, or she would see you." + +But even as they spoke the loud cries of an infant were heard, and a +voice at the head of the stairs calling Jenny. + +The girl obeyed, and presently returned with the child in her arms, its +face, neck, and hands purple with cold. + +"Poor little thing, it has got its death in that cold room," she said. +"Mistress cannot see you, ma'am, she is sick and gone to bed." + +"This last story was probably equally false with the other, but I felt +that it was useless to remain, and with feelings of deep regret for the +poor children who were so early taught an entire disregard for truth, +and of sorrow for the exposure to cold to which I had innocently +subjected the infant, I left the house. A few days after, I heard that +the little one had died with croup. Jenny, whom I accidentally met in +the street, assured me that he took the cold which caused his death from +the exposure on the afternoon of my call, as he became ill the following +day. I improved the opportunity to endeavour to impress upon the mind +of the poor girl the sin of which she had been guilty, in telling a +falsehood even in obedience to the commands of her mistress; and I hope +that what I said may be useful to her. + +"The want of honesty and promptness in the parents of my pupils often +caused me great inconvenience, and I frequently found it difficult +to meet my rent when it became due. Still I have struggled through my +difficulties without contracting any debts until this winter, but the +sickness which has prevailed in my school has so materially lessened my +income, and my family expenses have, for the same reason, been so much +greater, that I fear it will be quite impossible for me to continue in +my present situation." + +"Do not be discouraged," said Uncle Joshua; "I will advance whatever sum +you are in immediate need of, and you may repay me when it is convenient +to yourself. I will also take the bills which are due to you from +various persons, and endeavour to collect them. Your present term is, I +suppose, nearly ended. Commence another with this regulation:--That the +price of tuition, or at least one-half of it, shall be paid before the +entrance of the scholar. Some will complain of this rule, but many will +not hesitate to comply with it, and you will find the result beneficial. +And now I would leave you, Fanny, for I have another call to make this +evening. My young friend, William Churchill, is, I hear, quite ill, and +I feel desirous to see him. I will call upon you in a day or two, and +then we will have another talk about your affairs, and see what can be +done for you. So good night, Fanny; go to sleep and dream of your old +friend." + +Closing the door after Uncle Joshua, Mrs. Morrison returned to her room +with a heart filled with thankfulness that so kind a friend had been +sent to her in the hour of need; while the old gentleman walked with +rapid steps through several streets until he stood at the door of a +small, but pleasantly situated house in the suburbs of the city. His +ring at the bell was answered by a pretty, pleasant-looking young +woman, whom he addressed as Mrs. Churchill, and kindly inquired for her +husband. + +"William is very feeble to-day, but he will be rejoiced to see you, sir. +His disease is partly owing to anxiety of mind, I think, and when his +spirits are raised by a friendly visit, he feels better." + +Uncle Joshua followed Mrs. Churchill to the small room which now served +the double purpose of parlour and bedroom. They were met at the door +by the invalid, who had recognised the voice of his old friend, and had +made an effort to rise and greet him. His sunken countenance, the hectic +flush which glowed upon his cheek, and the distressing cough, gave +fearful evidence that unless the disease was soon arrested in its +progress, consumption would mark him for its victim. + +The friendly visiter was inwardly shocked at his appearance, but wisely +made no allusion to it, and soon engaged him in cheerful conversation. +Gradually he led him to speak openly of his own situation,--of his +health, and of the pecuniary difficulties with which he was struggling. +His story was a common one. A young family were growing up around +him, and an aged mother and invalid sister also depended upon him for +support. The small salary which he obtained as clerk in one of the most +extensive mercantile establishments in the city, was quite insufficient +to meet his necessary expenses. He had, therefore, after being +constantly employed from early morning until a late hour in the evening, +devoted two or three hours of the night to various occupations which +added a trifle to his limited income. Sometimes he procured copying +of various kinds; at others, accounts, which he could take to his own +house, were intrusted to him. This incessant application had gradually +ruined his health, and now for several weeks he had been unable to leave +the house. + +"Have you had advice from an experienced physician, William?" inquired +Uncle Joshua. The young man blushed, as he replied, that he was +unwilling to send for a physician, knowing that he had no means to repay +his services. + +"I will send my own doctor to see you," returned his friend. "He can +help you if any one can, and as for his fee I will attend to it, and if +you regain your health I shall be amply repaid.--No, do not thank me," +he continued, as Mr. Churchill endeavoured to express his gratitude. +"Your father has done me many a favour, and it would be strange if I +could not extend a hand to help his son when in trouble. And now tell +me, William, is not your salary very small, considering the responsible +situation which you have so long held in the firm of Stevenson & Co.?" + +"It is," was the reply; "but I see no prospect of obtaining more. +I believe I have always given perfect satisfaction to my employer, +although it is difficult to ascertain the estimation in which he holds +me, for he is a man who never praises. He has never found fault with me, +and therefore I suppose him satisfied, and indeed I have some proof of +this in his willingness to wait two or three months in the hope that I +may recover from my present illness before making a permanent engagement +with a new clerk. Notwithstanding this, he has never raised my salary, +and when I ventured to say to him about a year ago, that as his business +had nearly doubled since I had been with him, I felt that it would be +but just that I should derive some benefit from the change, he coolly +replied that my present salary was all that he had ever paid a clerk, +and he considered it a sufficient equivalent for my services. He knows +very well that it is difficult to obtain a good situation, there are so +many who stand ready to fill any vacancy, and therefore he feels quite +safe in refusing to give me, more." + +"And yet," replied Uncle Joshua, "he is fully aware that the advantage +resulting from your long experience and thorough acquaintance with his +business, increases his income several hundred dollars every year, and +this money he quietly puts into his own pocket, without considering or +caring that a fair proportion of it should in common honesty go into +yours. What a queer world we live in! The poor thief who robs you of +your watch or pocket-book, is punished without delay; but these wealthy +defrauders maintain their respectability and pass for honest men, even +while withholding what they know to be the just due of another. + +"But cheer up, William, I have a fine plan for you, if you can but +regain your health. I am looking for a suitable person to take charge of +a large sheep farm, which I propose establishing on the land which I own +in Virginia. You acquired some knowledge of farming in your early +days. How would you like to undertake this business? The climate is +delightful, the employment easy and pleasant; and it shall be my care +that your salary is amply sufficient for the support of your family." + +Mr. Churchill could hardly command his voice sufficiently to express his +thanks, and his wife burst into tears, as she exclaimed, + +"If my poor husband had confided his troubles to you before, he would +not have been reduced to this feeble state." + +"He will recover," said the old gentleman. "I feel sure, that in one +month, he will look like a different man. Rest yourself, now, William, +and to-morrow I will see you again." + +And, followed by the blessings and thanks of the young couple, Uncle +Joshua departed. + +"Past ten o'clock," he said to himself, as he paused near a lamp-post +and looked at his watch. "I must go to my own room." + +As he said this he was startled by a deep sigh from some one near, +and on looking round, saw a lad, of fourteen or fifteen years of age, +leaning against the post, and looking earnestly at him. + +Uncle Joshua recognised the son of a poor widow, whom he had +occasionally befriended, and said, kindly, + +"Well, John, are you on your way home from the store? This is rather a +late hour for a boy like you." + +"Yes, sir, it is late. I cannot bear to return home to my poor mother, +for I have bad news for her to-night. Mr. Mackenzie does not wish to +employ me any more. My year is up to-day." + +"Why, John, how is this? Not long ago your employer told me that he was +perfectly satisfied with you; indeed, he said that he never before had +so trusty and useful a boy." + +"He has always appeared satisfied with me, sir, and I have endeavoured +to serve him faithfully. But he told me to-day that he had engaged +another boy." + +Uncle Joshua mused for a moment, and then asked, + +"What was he to give you for the first year, John?" + +"Nothing, sir. He told my mother that my services would be worth nothing +the first year, but the second he would pay me fifty dollars, and so +increase my salary as I grew older. My poor mother has worked very hard +to support me this year, and I had hoped that I would be able to help +her soon. But it is all over now, and I suppose I must take a boy's +place again, and work another year for nothing." + +"And then be turned off again. Another set of pickpockets," muttered his +indignant auditor. + +"Pickpockets!" exclaimed the lad. "Did any one take your watch just now, +sir? I saw a man look at it as you took it out. Perhaps we can overtake +him. I think he turned into the next street." + +"No, no, my boy. My watch is safe enough. I am not thinking of street +pickpockets, but of another class whom you will find out as you grow +older. But never mind losing your place, John. My nephew is in want of +a boy who has had some experience in your business, and will pay him a +fair salary--more than Mr. Mackenzie agreed to give you for the second +year. I will mention you to him, and you may call at his store to-morrow +at eleven o'clock, and we will see if you will answer his purpose." + +"Thank you, Sir, I am sure I thank you; and mother will bless you for +your kindness," replied the boy, his countenance glowing with animation; +and with a grateful "good night," he darted off in the direction of his +own home. + +"There goes a grateful heart," thought Uncle Joshua, as he gazed after +the boy until he turned the corner of the street and disappeared. "He +has lost his situation merely because another can be found who will do +the work for nothing for a year, in the vain hope of future recompense. +I wish Mary could have been with me this evening; I think she would have +acknowledged that there are many respectable pickpockets who deserve to +accompany poor Thomas to Blackwell's Island;" and thus soliloquizing, +Uncle Joshua reached the door of his boarding-house, and sought repose +in his own room. + + + + +KIND WORDS. + + + +WE have more than once, in our rapidly written reflections, urged the +policy and propriety of kindness, courtesy, and good-will between man +and man. It is so easy for an individual to manifest amenity of spirit, +to avoid harshness, and thus to cheer and gladden the paths of all over +whom he may have influence or control, that it is really surprising +to find any one pursuing the very opposite course. Strange as it may +appear, there are among the children of men, hundreds who seem to take +delight in making others unhappy. They rejoice at an opportunity of +being the messengers of evil tidings. They are jealous or malignant; and +in either case they exult in inflicting a wound. The ancients, in most +nations, had a peculiar dislike to croakers, prophets of evil, and the +bearers of evil tidings. It is recorded that the messenger from the +banks of the Tigris, who first announced the defeat of the Roman army +by the Persians, and the death of the Emperor Julian, in a Roman city of +Asia Minor, was instantly buried under a heap of stones thrown upon +him by an indignant populace. And yet this messenger was innocent, and +reluctantly discharged a painful duty. But how different the spirit +and the motive of volunteers in such cases--those who exult in an +opportunity of communicating bad news, and in some degree revel over +the very agony which it produces. The sensitive, the generous, the +honourable, would ever be spared from such painful missions. A case of +more recent occurrence may be referred to as in point. We allude to the +murder of Mr. Roberts, a farmer of New Jersey, who was robbed and +shot in his own wagon, near Camden. It became necessary that the sad +intelligence should be broken to his wife and family with as much +delicacy as possible. A neighbour was selected for the task, and at +first consented. But, on consideration, his heart failed him. He could +not, he said, communicate the details of a tragedy so appalling and he +begged to be excused. Another, formed it was thought of sterner stuff, +was then fixed upon: but he too, rough and bluff as he was in his +ordinary manners, possessed the heart of a generous and sympathetic +human being, and also respectfully declined. A third made a like +objection, and at last a female friend of the family was with much +difficulty persuaded, in company with another, to undertake the mournful +task. And yet, we repeat, there are in society, individuals who delight +in contributing to the misery of others--who are eager to circulate a +slander, to chronicle a ruin, to revive a forgotten error, to wound, +sting, and annoy, whenever they may do so with impunity. How much better +the gentle, the generous, the magnanimous policy! Why not do everything +that may be done for the happiness of our fellow creatures, without +seeking out their weak points, irritating their half-healed wounds, +jarring their sensibilities, or embittering their thoughts! The magic of +kind words and a kind manner can scarcely be over-estimated. Our fellow +creatures are more sensitive than is generally imagined. We have known +cases in which a gentle courtesy has been remembered with pleasure for +years. Who indeed cannot look back into "bygone time," and discover some +smile, some look or other demonstration of regard or esteem, calculated +to bless and brighten every hour of after existence! "Kind words," says +an eminent writer, "do not cost much. It does not take long to utter +them. They never blister the tongue or lips on their passage into the +world, or occasion any other kind of bodily suffering; and we have never +heard of any mental trouble arising from this quarter. Though they do +not cost much, yet they accomplish much. 1. They help one's own good +nature and good will. One cannot be in a habit of this kind, without +thereby pecking away something of the granite roughness of his own +nature. Soft words will soften his own soul. Philosophers tell us that +the angry words a man uses in his passion are fuel to the flame of his +wrath, and make it blaze the more fiercely. Why, then, should not +words of the opposite character produce opposite results, and that most +blessed of all passions of the soul, kindness, be augmented by +kind words? People that are for ever speaking kindly, are for ever +disinclining themselves to ill-temper. 2. Kind words make other people +good-natured. Cold words freeze people, and hot words scorch them, and +sarcastic words irritate them, and bitter words make them bitter, and +wrathful words make them wrathful. And kind words also produce their +own image on men's souls; and a beautiful image it is. They soothe, and +quiet, and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, +unkind feelings; and he has to become kind himself. There is such a rush +of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seems desirable to give +kind words a chance among them. There are vain words, idle words, hasty +words, spiteful words, silly words, and empty words. Now kind words +are better than the whole of them; and it is a pity that, among the +improvements of the present age, birds of this feather might not have +more of a chance than they have had to spread their wings." + +It is indeed! Kind words should be brought into more general use. Those +in authority should employ them more frequently, when addressing +the less fortunate among mankind. Employers should use them in their +intercourse with their workmen. Parents should utter them on every +occasion to their children. The rich should never forget an opportunity +of speaking kindly to the poor. Neighbours and friends should emulate +each other in the employment of mild, gentle, frank, and kindly +language. But this cannot be done unless each endeavours to control +himself. Our passions and our prejudices must be kept in check. If we +find that we have a neighbour on the other side of the way, who has been +more fortunate in a worldly sense than we have been, and if we discover +a little jealousy or envy creeping into our opinions and feelings +concerning said neighbour--let us be careful, endeavour to put a +rein upon our tongues, and to avoid the indulgence of malevolence or +ill-will. If we, on the other hand, have been fortunate, have enough and +to spare, and there happens to be in our circle some who are dependent +upon us, some who look up to us with love and respect--let us be +generous, courteous, and kind--and thus we shall not only discharge a +duty, but prove a source of happiness to others. + + + + +NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS. + + + +MOST people think there are cares enough in the world, and yet many are +very industrious to increase them:--One of the readiest ways of doing +this is to quarrel with a neighbour. A bad bargain may vex a man for a +week, and a bad debt may trouble him for a month; but a quarrel with his +neighbours will keep him in hot water all the year round. + +Aaron Hands delights in fowls, and his cocks and hens are always +scratching up the flowerbeds of his neighbour William Wilkes, whose +mischievous tom-cat every now and then runs off with a chicken. The +consequence is, that William Wilkins is one half the day occupied in +driving away the fowls, and threatening to screw their long ugly necks +off; while Aaron Hands, in his periodical outbreaks, invariably vows to +skin his neighbour's cat, as sure as he can lay hold of him. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! Why can you not be at peace? Not all the fowls +you can rear, and the flowers you can grow, will make amends for a +life of anger, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness. Come to some +kind-hearted understanding one with another, and dwell in peace. + +Upton, the refiner, has a smoky chimney, that sets him and all the +neighbourhood by the ears. The people around abuse him without mercy, +complaining that they are poisoned, and declaring that they will indict +him at the sessions. Upton fiercely sets them at defiance, on the ground +that his premises were built before theirs, that his chimney did not +come to them, but that they came to his chimney. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! practise a little more forbearance. Had half a +dozen of you waited on the refiner in a kindly spirit, he would years +ago have so altered his chimney, that it would not have annoyed you. + +Mrs. Tibbets is thoughtless--if it were not so she would never have had +her large dusty carpet beaten, when her neighbour, who had a wash, +was having her wet clothes hung out to dry. Mrs. Williams is hasty and +passionate, or she would never have taken it for granted that the carpet +was beaten on purpose to spite her, and give her trouble. As it is, Mrs. +Tibbets and Mrs. Williams hate one another with a perfect hatred. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! bear with one another. We are none of us angels, +and should not, therefore, expect those about us to be free from faults. + +They who attempt to out-wrangle a quarrelsome neighbour, go the wrong +way to work. A kind word, and still more a kind deed, will be more +likely to be successful. Two children wanted to pass by a savage dog: +the one took a stick in his hand and pointed it at him, but this only +made the enraged creature more furious than before. The other child +adopted a different plan; for by giving the dog a piece of his bread and +butter, he was allowed to pass, the subdued animal wagging his tail in +quietude. If you happen to have a quarrelsome neighbour, conquer him by +civility and kindness; try the bread and butter system, and keep your +stick out of sight. That is an excellent Christian admonition, "A soft +answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger." + +Neighbours' quarrels are a mutual reproach, and yet a stick or a straw +is sufficient to promote them. One man is rich, and another poor; one +is a churchman, another a dissenter; one is a conservative, another a +liberal; one hates another because he is of the same trade, and another +is bitter with his neighbour because he is a Jew or a Roman Catholic. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! live in love, and then while you make others +happy, you will be happier yourselves. + + "That happy man is surely blest, + Who of the worst things makes the best; + Whilst he must be of temper curst, + Who of the best things makes the worst." + +"Be ye all of one mind," says the Apostle, "having compassion one of +another; love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous; not rendering evil +for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing. "To a rich +man I would say, bear with and try to serve those who are below you; and +to a poor one-- + + "Fear God, love peace, and mind your labour; + And never, never quarrel with your neighbour." + + + + +GOOD WE MIGHT DO. + + + + WE all might do good + Where we often do ill; + There is always the way, + If we have but the will; + Though it be but a word + Kindly breathed or supprest, + It may guard off some pain, + Or give peace to some breast. + + We all might do good + In a thousand small ways-- + In forbearing to flatter, + Yet yielding _due_ praise-- + In spurning ill humour, + Reproving wrong done, + And treating but kindly + Each heart we have won. + + We all might do good, + Whether lowly or great, + For the deed is not gauged + By the purse or estate; + If it be but a cup + Of cold water that's given, + Like "the widow's two mites," + It is something for Heaven. + + + + +THE TOWN LOT. + + + +ONCE upon a time it happened that the men who governed the municipal +affairs of a certain growing town in the West, resolved, in grave +deliberation assembled, to purchase a five-acre lot at the north end +of the city--recently incorporated--and have it improved for a park or +public square. Now, it also happened, that all the saleable ground lying +north of the city was owned by a man named Smith--a shrewd, wide-awake +individual, whose motto was "Every man for himself," with an occasional +addition about a certain gentleman in black taking "the hindmost." + +Smith, it may be mentioned, was secretly at the bottom of this scheme +for a public square, and had himself suggested the matter to an +influential member of the council; not that he was moved by what is +denominated public spirit--no; the spring of action in the case was +merely "private spirit," or a regard for his own good. If the council +decided upon a public square, he was the man from whom the ground +would have to be bought; and he was the man who could get his own price +therefor. + +As we have said, the park was decided upon, and a committee of two +appointed whose business it was to see Smith, and arrange with him for +the purchase of a suitable lot of ground. In due form the committee +called upon the landholder, who was fully prepared for the interview. + +"You are the owner of those lots at the north end?" said the spokesman +of the committee. + +"I am," replied Smith, with becoming gravity. + +"Will you sell a portion of ground, say five acres, to the city?" + +"For what purpose?" Smith knew very well for what purpose the land was +wanted. + +"We have decided to set apart about five acres of ground, and improve it +as a kind of park, or public promenade." + +"Have you, indeed? Well, I like that," said Smith, with animation. "It +shows the right kind of public spirit." + +"We have, moreover, decided that the best location will be at the north +end of the town." + +"Decidedly my own opinion," returned Smith. + +"Will you sell us the required acres?" asked one of the councilmen. + +"That will depend somewhat upon where you wish to locate the park." + +The particular location was named. + +"The very spot," replied Smith, promptly, "upon which I have decided to +erect four rows of dwellings." + +"But it is too far out for that," was naturally objected. + +"O, no; not a rod. The city is rapidly growing in that direction. I have +only to put up the dwellings referred to, and dozens will, be anxious to +purchase lots, and build all around them. Won't the ground to the left +of that you speak of answer as well?" + +But the committee replied in the negative. The lot they had mentioned +was the one decided upon as most suited for the purpose, and they were +not prepared to think of any other location. + +All this Smith understood very well. He was not only willing, but +anxious for the city to purchase the lot they were negotiating for. All +he wanted was to get a good round price for the same--say four or five +times the real value. So he feigned indifference, and threw difficulties +in the way. + +A few years previous to this time, Smith had purchased a considerable +tract of land at the north of the then flourishing village, at fifty +dollars an acre. Its present value was about three hundred dollars an +acre. After a good deal of talk on both sides, Smith finally agreed to +sell the particular lot pitched upon. The next thing was to arrange as +to price. + +"At what do you hold this ground per acre?" + +It was some time before Smith answered this question. His eyes were cast +upon the floor, and earnestly did he enter into debate with himself as +to the value he should place upon the lot. At first he thought of five +hundred dollars per acre. But his cupidity soon caused him to advance +on that sum, although, a month before, he would have caught at such +an offer. Then he advanced to six, to seven, and to eight hundred. And +still he felt undecided. + +"I can get my own price," said he to himself. "The city has to pay, and +I might just as well get a large sum as a small one." + +"For what price will you sell?" The question was repeated. + +"I must have a good price." + +"We are willing to pay what is fair and right." + +"Of course. No doubt you have fixed a limit to which you will go." + +"Not exactly that," said one of the gentlemen. + +"Are you prepared to make an offer?" + +"We are prepared to hear your price, and to make a report thereon," was +replied. + +"That's a very valuable lot of ground," said Smith. + +"Name your price," returned one of the committeemen, a little +impatiently. + +Thus brought up to the point, Smith, after thinking hurriedly for a few +moments, said-- + +"One thousand dollars an acre." + +Both the men shook their heads in a very positive way. Smith said that +it was the lowest he would take; and so the conference ended. + +At the next meeting of the city councils, a report on the town lot +was made, and the extraordinary demand of Smith canvassed. It was +unanimously decided not to make the proposed purchase. + +When this decision reached the landholder, he was considerably +disappointed. He wanted money badly, and would have "jumped at" two +thousand dollars for the five acre lot, if satisfied that it would bring +no more. But when the city came forward as a purchaser, his cupidity +was subjected to a very strong temptation. He believed that he could get +five thousand dollars as easily as two; and quieted his conscience by +the salvo--"An article is always worth what it will bring." + +A week or two went by, and Smith was about calling upon one of the +members of the council, to say that, if the city really wanted the lot +he would sell at their price, leaving it with the council to act justly +and generously, when a friend said to him, + +"I hear that the council had the subject of a public square under +consideration again this morning." + +"Indeed!" Smith was visibly excited, though he tried to appear calm. + +"Yes; and I also hear that they have decided to pay the extravagant +price you asked for a lot of ground at the north end of the city." + +"A thousand dollars an acre?" + +"Yes." + +"Its real value, and not cent more," said Smith. + +"People differ about that. How ever, you are lucky," the friend replied. +"The city is able to pay." + +"So I think. And I mean they shall pay." + +Before the committee, to whom the matter was given in charge, had time +to call upon Smith, and close with him for the lot, that gentleman had +concluded in his own mind that it would be just as easy to get twelve +hundred dollars an acre as a thousand. It was plain that the council +were bent upon having the ground, and would pay a round sum for it. +It was just the spot for a public square; and the city must become the +owner. So, when he was called upon, by the gentlemen, and they said to +him, + +"We are authorized to pay you your price," he promptly answered, "The +offer is no longer open. You declined it when it was made. My price for +that property is now twelve hundred dollars an acre." + +The men offered remonstrance; but it was of no avail. Smith believed +that he could get six thousand dollars for the ground as easily as five +thousand. The city must have the lot, and would pay almost any price. + +"I hardly think it right, Mr. Smith," said one of his visiters, "for you +to take such an advantage. This square is for the public good." + +"Let the public pay, then," was the unhesitating answer. "The public is +able enough." + +"The location of this park, at the north end of the city, will greatly +improve the value of your other property." + +This Smith understood very well. But he replied, + +"I am not so sure of that. I have some very strong doubts on the +subject. It's my opinion, that the buildings I contemplated erecting +will be far more to my advantage. Be that as it may, however, I am +decided in selling for nothing less than six thousand dollars." + +"We are only authorized to pay five thousand," replied the committee. +"If you agree to take that sum, will close the bargain on the spot." + +Five thousand dollars was a large sum of money, and Smith felt strongly +tempted to close in with the liberal offer. But six thousand loomed up +before his imagination still more temptingly. + +"I can get it," said he to himself; "and the property is worth what it +will bring." + +So he positively declined to sell it at a thousand dollars per acre. + +"At twelve hundred you will sell?" remarked one of the committee, as +they were about retiring. + +"Yes. I will take twelve hundred the acre. That is the lowest rate, and +I am not anxious even at that price. I can do quite as well by keeping +it in my own possession. But, as you seem so bent on having it, I will +not stand in your way. When will the council meet again?" + +"Not until next week." + +"Very well. If they then accept my offer, all will be right. But, +understand me; if they do not accept, the offer no longer remains open. +It is a matter of no moment to me which way the thing goes." + +It was a matter of moment to Smith, for all this assertion--a matter of +very great moment. He had several thousand dollars to pay in the +course of the next few months on land purchases, and no way to meet +the payments, except by mortgages, or sales of property; and, it may +naturally be concluded, that he suffered considerable uneasiness during +the time which passed until the next meeting of the council. + +Of course, the grasping disposition shown by Smith, became the town +talk; and people said a good many hard things of him. Little, however, +did he care, so that he secured six thousand dollars for a lot not worth +more than two thousand. + +Among other residents and property holders in the town, was a +simple-minded, true-hearted, honest man, named Jones. His father had +left him a large farm, a goodly portion of which, in process of time, +came to be included in the limits of the new city; and he found a much +more profitable employment in selling building lots than in tilling the +soil. The property of Mr. Jones lay at the west side of the town. + +Now, when Mr. Jones heard of the exorbitant demand made by Smith for a +five acre lot, his honest heart throbbed with a feeling of indignation. + +"I couldn't have believed it of him," said he. "Six thousand dollars! +Preposterous! Why, I would give the city a lot of twice the size, and do +it with pleasure." + +"You would?" said a member of the council, who happened to hear this +remark. + +"Certainly I would." + +"You are really in earnest?" + +"Undoubtedly. Go and select a public square from any of my +unappropriated land on the west side of the city, and I will pass you +the title as a free gift to-morrow, and feel pleasure in doing so." + +"That is public spirit," said the councilman. + +"Call it what you will. I am pleased in making the offer." + +Now, let it not be supposed that Mr. Jones was shrewdly calculating the +advantage which would result to him from having a park at the west side +of the city. No such thought had yet entered his mind. He spoke from the +impulse of a generous feeling. + +Time passed on, and the session day of the council came round--a day to +which Smith had looked forward with no ordinary feelings of interest, +that were touched at times by the coldness of doubt, and the agitation +of uncertainty. Several times he had more than half repented of his +refusal to accept the liberal offer of five thousand dollars, and of +having fixed so positively upon six thousand as the "lowest figure." + +The morning of the day passed, and Smith began to grow uneasy. He did +not venture to seek for information as to the doings of the council, +for that would be to expose the anxiety he felt in the result of their +deliberations. Slowly the afternoon wore away, and it so happened that +Smith did not meet any one of the councilmen; nor did he even know +whether the council was still in session or not. As to making allusion +to the subject of his anxious interest to any one, that was carefully +avoided; for he knew that his exorbitant demand was the town talk--and +he wished to affect the most perfect indifference on the subject. + +The day closed, and not a whisper about the town lot had come to the +ears of Mr. Smith. What could it mean? Had his offer to sell at six +thousand been rejected? The very thought caused his heart to grow heavy +in his bosom. Six, seven, eight o'clock came, and still it was all dark +with Mr. Smith. He could bear the suspense no longer, and so determined +to call upon his neighbour Wilson, who was a member of the council, and +learn from him what had been done. + +So he called on Mr. Wilson. + +"Ah, friend Smith," said the latter; "how are you this evening?" + +"Well, I thank you," returned Smith, feeling a certain oppression of the +chest. "How are you?" + +"Oh, very well." + +Here there was a pause. After which Smith said, "About that ground of +mine. What did you do?" + +"Nothing," replied Wilson, coldly. + +"Nothing, did you say?" Smith's voice was a little husky. + +"No. You declined our offer; or, rather, the high price fixed by +yourself upon the land." + +"You refused to buy it at five thousand, when it was offered," said +Smith. + +"I know we did, because your demand was exorbitant." + +"Oh, no, not at all," returned Smith quickly. + +"In that we only differ," said Wilson. "However, the council has decided +not to pay you the price you ask." + +"Unanimously?" + +"There was not a dissenting voice." + +Smith began to feel more and more uncomfortable. + +"I might take something less," he ventured to say, in a low, hesitating +voice. + +"It is too late now," was Mr. Wilson's prompt reply. + +"Too late! How so?" + +"We have procured a lot." + +"Mr. Wilson!" Poor Smith started to his feet in chagrin and +astonishment. + +"Yes; we have taken one of Jones's lots on the west side of the city. A +beautiful ten acre lot." + +"You have!" Smith was actually pale. + +"We have; and the title deeds are now being made out." + +It was some time before Smith had sufficiently recovered from the +stunning effect of this unlooked-for intelligence, to make the inquiry, + +"And pray how much did Jones ask for his ten acre lot." + +"He presented it to the city as a gift," replied the councilman. + +"A gift! What folly!" + +"No, not folly--but true worldly wisdom; though I believe Jones did not +think of advantage to himself when he generously made the offer. He is +worth twenty thousand dollars more to-day than he was yesterday, in the +simple advanced value of his land for building lots. And I know of no +man in this town whose good fortune affects me with more pleasure." + +Smith stole back to his home with a mountain of disappointment on his +heart. In his cupidity he had entirely overreached himself, and he saw +that the consequences were to react upon all his future prosperity. The +public square at the west end of the town would draw improvements in +that direction, all the while increasing the wealth of Mr. Jones, while +lots at the north end would remain at present prices, or, it might be, +take a downward range. + +And so it proved. In ten years, Jones was the richest man in the town, +while half of Smith's property had been sold for taxes. The five acre +lot passed from his hands, under the hammer, in the foreclosure of a +mortgage, for one thousand dollars! + +Thus it is that inordinate selfishness and cupidity overreach +themselves; while the liberal man deviseth liberal things, and is +sustained thereby. + + + + +THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP. + + + + A SUNBEAM and a raindrop met together in the sky + One afternoon in sunny June, when earth was parched and dry; + Each quarrelled for the precedence ('twas so the story ran), + And the golden sunbeam, warmly, the quarrel thus began:-- + + "What were the earth without me? I come with beauty bright, + She smiles to hail my presence, and rejoices in my light; + I deck the hill and valley with many a lovely hue, + I give the rose its blushes, and the violet its blue. + + "I steal within the window, and through the cottage door, + And my presence like a blessing gilds with smiles the broad earth o'er; + The brooks and streams flow dancing and sparkling in my ray, + And the merry, happy children in the golden sunshine play." + + Then the tearful raindrop answered--"Give praise where praise is due, + The earth indeed were lonely without a smile from you; + But without my visits, also, its beauty would decay, + The flowers droop and wither, and the streamlets dry away. + + "I give the flowers their freshness, and you their colours gay, + My jewels would not sparkle, without your sunny ray. + Since each upon the other so closely must depend, + Let us seek the earth together, and our common blessings blend." + + The raindrops, and the sunbeams, came laughing down to earth, + And it woke once more to beauty, and to myriad tones of mirth; + The river and the streamlet went dancing on their way, + And the raindrops brightly sparkled in the sunbeam's golden ray. + + The drooping flowers looked brighter, there was fragrance in the air, + The earth seemed new created, there was gladness everywhere; + And above the dark clouds, gleaming on the clear blue arch of Heaven, + The Rainbow, in its beauty, like a smile of love was given. + + 'Twas a sweet and simple lesson, which the story told, I thought, + Not alone and single-handed our kindliest deeds are wrought; + Like the sunbeam and the raindrop, work together, while we may, + And the bow of Heaven's own promise shall smile upon our way. + + + + +A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS. + + + +STRANGE and subtle are the influences which affect the spirit and touch +the heart. Are there bodiless creatures around us, moulding our thoughts +into darkness or brightness, as they will? Whence, otherwise, come the +shadow and the sunshine, for which we can discern no mortal agency? + +Oftener, As we grow older, come the shadows; less frequently the +sunshine. Ere I took up my pen, I was sitting with a pleasant company of +friends, listening to music, and speaking, with the rest, light words. + +Suddenly, I knew not why, my heart was wrapt away in an atmosphere of +sorrow. A sense of weakness and unworthiness weighed me down, and I felt +the moisture gather to my eyes and my lips tremble, though they kept the +smile. + +All my past life rose up before me, and all my short-comings--all, my +mistakes, and all my wilful wickedness, seemed pleading trumpet-tongued +against me. + +I saw her before me whose feet trod with mine the green holts and +meadows, when the childish thought strayed not beyond the near or the +possible. I saw her through the long blue distances, clothed in the +white beauty of an angel; but, alas! she drew her golden hair across +her face to veil from her vision the sin-darkened creature whose eyes +dropped heavily to the hem of her robe! + +O pure and beautiful one, taken to peace ere the weak temptation had +lifted itself up beyond thy stature, and compelled thee to listen, to +oppose thy weakness to its strength, and to fall--sometimes, at least, +let thy face shine on me from between the clouds. Fresh from the springs +of Paradise, shake from thy wings the dew against my forehead. We two +were coming up together through the sweet land of poesy and dreams, +where the senses believe what the heart hopes; our hands were full of +green boughs, and our laps of cowslips and violets, white and purple. +We were talking of that more beautiful world into which childhood was +opening out, when that spectre met us, feared and dreaded alike by the +strong man and the little child, and one was taken, and the other left. + +One was caught away sinless to the bosom of the Good Shepherd, and one +was left to weep pitiless tears, to eat the bread of toil, and to think +the bitter thoughts of misery,--left "to clasp a phantom and to find it +air." For often has the adversary pressed me sore, and out of my arms +has slid ever that which my soul pronounced good: slid out of my arms +and coiled about my feet like a serpent, dragging me back and holding me +down from all that is high and great. + +Pity me, dear one, if thy sweet sympathies can come out of the glory, if +the lovelight of thy beautiful life can press through the cloud and the +evil, and fold me again as a garment; pity and plead for me with the +maiden mother whose arms in human sorrow and human love cradled our +blessed Redeemer. + +She hath known our mortal pain and passion--our more than mortal +triumph--she hath heard the "blessed art thou among women." My +unavailing prayers goldenly syllabled by her whose name sounds from the +manger through all the world, may find acceptance with Him who, though +our sins be as scarlet, can wash them white as wool. + +Our hearts grew together as one, and along the headlands and the valleys +one shadow went before us, and one shadow followed us, till the grave +gaped hungry and terrible, and I was alone. Faltering in fear, but +lingering in love, I knelt by the deathbed--it was the middle night, and +the first moans of the autumn came down from the hills, for the frost +specks glinted on her golden robes, and the wind blew chill in her +bosom. Heaven was full of stars, and the half-moon scattered abroad her +beauty like a silver rain. Many have been the middle nights since then, +for years lie between me and that fearfulest of all watches; but a +shadow, a sound, or a thought, turns the key of the dim chamber, and the +scene is reproduced. + +I see the long locks on the pillow, the smile on the ashen lips, the +thin, cold fingers faintly pressing my own, and hear the broken voice +saying, "I am going now. I am not afraid. Why weep ye? Though I were to +live the full time allotted to man, I should not be more ready, nor more +willing than now." But over this there comes a shudder and a groan that +all the mirthfulness of the careless was impotent to drown. + +Three days previous to the death-night, three days previous to the +transit of the soul from the clayey tabernacle to the house not; made +with hands--from dishonour to glory--let me turn theme over as so many +leaves. + +The first of the November mornings, but the summer had tarried late, and +the wood to the south of our homestead lifted itself like a painted wall +against the sky--the squirrel was leaping nimbly and chattering gayly +among the fiery tops of the oaks or the dun foliage of the hickory, that +shot up its shelving trunk and spread its forked branches far over the +smooth, moss-spotted boles of the beeches, and the limber boughs of the +elms. Lithe and blithe he was, for his harvest was come. + +From the cracked beech-burs was dropping the sweet, angular fruit, +and down from the hickory boughs with every gust fell a shower of +nuts--shelling clean and silvery from their thick black hulls. + +Now and then, across the stubble-field, with long cars erect, leaped the +gray hare, but for the most part he kept close in his burrow, for rude +huntsmen were on the hills with their dogs, and only when the sharp +report of a rifle rung through the forest, or the hungry yelping of some +trailing hound startled his harmless slumber, might you see at the mouth +of his burrow the quivering lip and great timid eyes. + +Along the margin of the creek, shrunken now away from the blue and gray +and yellowish stones that made its cool pavement, and projected in thick +layers from the shelving banks, the white columns of gigantic sycamores +leaped earthward, their bases driven, as it seemed, deep into the +ground--all their convolutions of roots buried out, of view. Dropping +into the stagnant waters below, came one by one the broad, rose-tinted +leaves, breaking the shadows of the silver limbs. + +Ruffling and widening to the edges of the pools went the circles, as the +pale, yellow walnuts plashed into their midst; for here, too, grew the +parent trees, their black bark cut and jagged and broken into rough +diamond work. + +That beautiful season was come when + +"Rustic girls in hoods Go gleaning through the woods." + +Two days after this, we said, my dear mate and I, we shall have a +holiday, and from sunrise till sunset, with our laps full of ripe nuts +and orchard fruits, we shall make pleasant pastime. + +Rosalie, for so I may call her, was older than I, with a face of beauty +and a spirit that never flagged. But to-day there was heaviness in her +eyes, and a flushing in her cheek that was deeper than had been there +before. + +Still she spoke gayly, and smiled the old smile, for the gaunt form of +sickness had never been among us children, and we knew not how his touch +made the head sick and the heart faint. + +The day looked forward to so anxiously dawned at last; but in the dim +chamber of Rosalie the light fell sad. I must go alone. + +We had always been together before, at work and in play, asleep and +awake, and I lingered long ere I would be persuaded to leave her; but +when she smiled and said the fresh-gathered nuts and shining apples +would make her glad, I wiped her forehead, and turning quickly away that +she might not see my tears, was speedily wading through winrows of dead +leaves. + +The sensations of that day I shall never forget; a vague and trembling +fear of some coming evil, I knew not what, made me often start as the +shadows drifted past me, or a bough crackled beneath my feet. + +From the low, shrubby hawthorns, I gathered the small red apples, and +from beneath the maples, picked by their slim golden stems the notched +and gorgeous leaves. The wind fingered playfully my hair, and clouds of +birds went whirring through the tree-tops; but no sight nor sound could +divide my thoughts from her whose voice had so often filled with music +these solitary places. + +I remember when first the fear distinctly defined itself. I was seated +on a mossy log, counting the treasures which I had been gathering, when +the clatter of hoof-strokes on the clayey and hard-beaten road arrested +my attention, and, looking up--for the wood thinned off in the direction +of the highway, and left it distinctly in view--I saw Doctor H----, +the physician, in attendance upon my sick companion. The visit was an +unseasonable one. She, whom I loved so, might never come with me to the +woods any more. + +Where the hill sloped to the roadside, and the trees, as I said, were +but few, was the village graveyard. No friend of mine, no one whom I had +ever known or loved, was buried there--yet with a child's instinctive +dread of death, I had ever passed its shaggy solitude (for shrubs and +trees grew there wild and unattended) with a hurried step and averted +face. + +Now, for the first time in my life, I walked voluntarily thitherward, +and climbing on a log by the fence-side, gazed long and earnestly +within. I stood beneath a tall locust-tree, and the small, round leaves; +yellow now as the long cloud-bar across the sunset, kept dropping, and +dropping at my feet, till all the faded grass was covered up. There +the mattock had never been struck; but in fancy I saw the small Heaves +falling and drifting about a new and smooth-shaped mound--and, +choking with the turbulent outcry in my heart, I glided stealthily +homeward--alas! to find the boding shape I had seen through mists and, +shadows awfully palpable. I did not ask about Rosalie. I was afraid; but +with my rural gleanings in my lap, opened the door of her chamber. The +physician had preceded me but a moment, and, standing by the bedside, +was turning toward the lessening light the little wasted hand, the +one on which I had noticed in the morning a small purple spot. +"Mortification!" he said, abruptly, and moved away, as though his work +were done. + +There was a groan expressive of the sudden and terrible consciousness +which had in it the agony of agonies--the giving up of all. The gift +I had brought fell from my relaxed grasp, and, hiding my face in the +pillow, I gave way to the passionate sorrow of an undisciplined nature. + +When at last I looked up, there was a smile on her lips that no faintest +moan ever displaced again. + +A good man and a skilful physician was Dr. H----, but his infirmity was +a love of strong drink; and, therefore, was it that he softened not the +terrible blow which must soon have fallen. I link with his memory no +reproaches now, for all this is away down in the past; and that foe that +sooner or later biteth like a serpent, soon did his work; but then my +breaking heart judged him, hardly. Often yet, for in all that is saddest +memory is faithfulest, I wake suddenly out of sleep, and live over that +first and bitterest sorrow of my life; and there is no house of gladness +in the world that with a whisper will not echo the moan of lips pale +with the kisses of death. + +Sometimes, when life is gayest about me, an unseen hand leads me apart, +and opening the door of that still chambers I go in--the yellow leaves +are at my feet again, and that white band between me and the light. + +I see the blue flames quivering and curling close and the smouldering +embers on the hearth. I hear soft footsteps and sobbing voices and see +the clasped hands and placid smile of her who, alone among us all, was +untroubled; and over the darkness and the pain I hear voice, saying, +"She is not dead, but sleepeth." Would, dear reader, that you might +remember, and I too all ways, the importance of soft and careful words. +One harsh or even thoughtlessly chosen epithet, may bear with it a +weight which shall weigh down some heart through all life. There are +for us all nights of sorrow, in which we feel their value. Help us, our +Father, to remember it! + + + + +MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATION. + + + +"HE is a good man, suppose, and an excellent doctor," said Mrs. Salina +Simmons, with a dubious shake of her head but----" + +"But what, Mrs. Simmons?" + +"They say he _drinks!_" + +"No, impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Josiah Query, with emphasis. + +"Impossible? I hope so," said Mrs. Simmons. "And--mind you, I don't say +he _drinks_, but that such is the report. And I have it upon tolerably +good authority, too, Mr. Query." + +"What authority?" + +"Oh, I couldn't tell that: for you know I never like to make mischief. I +can only say that the _report_ is--he drinks." + +Mr. Josiah Query scratched his head. + +"Can it be that Dr. Harvey drinks?" he murmured. "I thought him pure Son +of Temperance. And his my family physician, too! I must look into this +matter forthwith. Mrs. Simmons, you still decline slating who is your +authority for this report?" + +Mrs. Simmons was firm; her companion could gain no satisfaction. She +soon compelled him to promise that he would not mention her name, if he +spoke of the affair elsewhere, repeating her remark that she never liked +to make mischief. + +Dr. Harvey was a physician residing in a small village, where he shared +the profits of practice with another doctor, named Jones. Dr. Harvey was +generally liked and among his friends was Mr. Josiah Query, whom Mrs. +Simmons shocked with the bit of gossip respecting the doctor's habits +of intemperance. Mr. Query was a good-hearted man, and he deemed it his +duty to inquire into the nature of the report, and learn if it had +any foundation in truth. Accordingly, he went to Mr. Green, who also +employed the doctor in his family. + +"Mr. Green," said he, "have you heard anything about this report of Dr. +Harvey's intemperance?" + +"Dr. Harvey's intemperance?" cried Mr. Green, astonished. + +"Yes--a flying report." + +"No, I'm sure I haven't." + +"Of course, then, you don't know whether it is true or not?" + +"What?" + +"That he drinks." + +"I never heard of it before. Dr. Harvey is my family physician, and I +certainly would not employ a man addicted to the use of ardent spirits." + +"Nor I," said Mr. Query "and for this reason, and for the doctor's sake, +too, I want to know the truth of the matter. I don't really credit it +myself; but I thought it would do no harm to inquire." + +Mr. Query next applied to Squire Worthy for information. + +"Dear me!" exclaimed the squire, who was a nervous man; "does Dr. Harvey +drink?" + +"Such is the rumour; how true it is, I can't say." + +"And what if he should give one of my family a dose of arsenic instead +of the tincture of rhubarb, some time, when he is intoxicated? My mind +is made up now. I shall send for Dr. Jones in future." + +"But, dear sir," remonstrated Mr. Query. "I don't say the report is +true." + +"Oh, no; you wouldn't wish to commit yourself. You like to know the safe +side, and so do I. I shall employ Dr. Jones." + +Mr. Query turned sorrowfully away. + +"Squire Worthy must have bad suspicions of the doctor's intemperance +before I came to him," thought he; "I really begin to fear that there is +some foundation for the report. I'll go to Mrs. Mason; she will know." + +Mr. Query found Mrs. Mason ready to listen to and believe any scandal. +She gave her head a significant toss, as if she knew more about the +report than she chose to confess. + +Mr. Query begged of her to explain herself. + +"Oh, _I_ sha'n't say anything," exclaimed Mrs. Mason; "I've no ill will +against Dr. Harvey, and I'd rather cut off my right hand than injure +him." + +"But is the report true?" + +"True, Mr. Query? Do you suppose _I_ ever saw Dr. Harvey drunk? Then how +can you expect me to know? Oh, I don't wish to say anything against the +man, and I won't." + +After visiting Mrs. Mason, Mr. Query went to half a dozen others to +learn the truth respecting Dr. Harvey's habits. Nobody would confess +that they knew anything, about his drinking; but Mr. Smith "was not as +much surprised as others might be;" Mr. Brown "was sorry if the report +was true," adding, that the best of men had their faults. Miss Single +had frequently remarked the doctor's florid complexion, and wondered if +his colour was natural; Mr. Clark remembered that the doctor appeared +unusually gay, on the occasion of his last visit to his family; Mrs. +Rogers declared that, when she came to reflect, she believed she had +once or twice smelt the man's breath; and Mr. Impulse had often seen him +riding at an extraordinary rate for a sober Gentleman. Still Mr. Query +was unable to ascertain any definite facts respecting the unfavourable +report. + +Meanwhile, with his usual industry, Dr. Harvey went about his business, +little suspecting the scandalous gossip that was circulating to his +discredit. But he soon perceived he was very coldly received by some +of his old friends, and that others employed Dr. Jones. Nobody sent for +him, and he might have begun to think that the health of the town was +entirely re-established, had he not observed that his rival appeared +driven with business, and that he rode night and day. + +One evening Dr. Harvey sat in his office, wondering what could have +occasioned the sudden and surprising change in his affairs, when, +contrary to his expectations, he received a call to visit a sick child +of one of his old friends, who had lately employed his rival. After +some hesitation, and a struggle between pride and a sense of duty, +he resolved to respond to the call, and at the same time learn, if +possible, why he had been preferred to Dr. Jones, and why Dr. Jones had +on other occasions been preferred to him. + +"The truth is, Dr. Harvey," said Mr. Miles, "we thought the child +dangerously ill, and as Dr. Jones could not come immediately, we +concluded to send for you." + +"I admire your frankness," responded Dr. Harvey, smiling; "and shall +admire it still more, if you will inform me why you have lately +preferred Dr. Jones to me. Formerly I had the honour of enjoying your +friendship and esteem, and you have frequently told me yourself, that +you would trust no other physician." + +"Well," replied Mr. Miles, "I am a plain man, and never hesitate to tell +people what they wish to know. I sent for Dr. Jones instead of you, I +confess not that I doubted your skill--" + +"What then?" + +"It is a delicate subject, but I will, nevertheless, speak out. Although +I had the utmost confidence in your skill and faithfulness--I--you know, +I--in short, I don't like to trust a physician who drinks." + +"Sir!" cried the astonished doctor. + +"Yes--drinks," pursued Mr. Miles. "It is plain language, but I am a +plain man. I heard of your intemperance, and thought it unsafe--that is, +dangerous--to employ you." + +"My intemperance!" ejaculated Dr. Harvey. + +"Yes, sir! and I am sorry to know it. But the fact that you sometimes +drink a trifle too much is now a well known fact, and is generally +talked of in the village." + +"Mr. Miles," cried the indignant doctor, "this is scandalous--it is +false! Who is your authority for this report?" + +"Oh, I have heard it from several mouths but I can't say exactly who is +responsible for the rumour." + +And Mr. Miles went on to mention several names, as connected with the +rumour, and among which was that of Mr. Query. + +The indignant doctor immediately set out on a pilgrimage of +investigation, going from one house to another, in search of the author +of the scandal. + +Nobody, however, could state where it originated, but it was universally +admitted that the man from whose lips it was first heard, was Mr. Query. + +Accordingly Dr. Harvey hastened to Mr. Query's house, and demanded of +that gentleman what he meant by circulating such scandal. + +"My dear doctor," cried Mr. Query, his face beaming with conscious +innocence, "_I_ haven't been guilty of any mis-statement about you, I +can take my oath. I heard that there was a report of your drinking, +and all I did was to tell people I didn't believe it, nor know anything +about it, and to inquire were it originated. Oh, I assure you, doctor, I +haven't slandered you in any manner." + +"You are a poor fool!" exclaimed Dr. Harvey, perplexed and angry. "If +you had gone about town telling everybody that you saw me drunk, daily, +you couldn't have slandered me more effectually than you have." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried Mr. Query, very sad; "but I thought I was +doing you a service!" + +"Save me from my friends!" exclaimed the doctor, bitterly. "An _enemy_ +could not have done me as much injury as you have done. But I now insist +on knowing who first mentioned the report to you." + +"Oh, I am not at liberty to say that." + +"Then I shall hold you responsible for the scandal--for the base lies +you have circulated. But if you are really an honest man, and my friend, +you will not hesitate to tell me where this report originated." + +After some reflection, Mr. Query, who stood in mortal fear of the +indignant doctor, resolved to reveal the secret, and mentioned the name +of his informant, Mrs. Simmons. As Dr. Harvey had not heard her spoken +of before, as connected with the report of his intemperance, he knew +very well that Mr. Query's "friendly investigations" had been the sole +cause of his loss of practice. However, to go to the roots of this Upas +tree of scandal, he resolved to pay an immediate visit to Mrs. Simmons. + +This lady could deny nothing; but she declared that she had not given +the rumour as a fact, and that she had never spoken of it except to Mr. +Query. Anxious to throw the responsibility of the slander upon others, +she eagerly confessed that, on a certain occasion upon entering a room +in which were Mrs. Guild and Mrs. Harmless, she overheard one of these +ladies remark that "Dr. Harvey drank more than ever," and the other +reply, that "she had heard him say he could not break himself, although +he knew his health suffered in consequence." + +Thus set upon the right track, Dr. Harvey visited Mrs. Guild and Mrs. +Harmless without delay. + +"Mercy on us!" exclaimed those ladies, when questioned respecting the +matter, "we perfectly remember talking about your _drinking coffee_, +and making such remarks as you have heard through Mrs. Simmons. But with +regard to your _drinking liquor_, we never heard the report until a week +ago, and never believed it at all." + +As what these ladies had said of his _coffee-drinking_ propensities was +perfectly true, Dr. Harvey readily acquitted them of any designs against +his character for sobriety, and well satisfied with having at last +discovered the origin of the rumour, returned to the friendly Mr. Query. + +The humiliation of this gentleman was so deep, that Dr. Harvey +avoided reproaches, and confined himself to a simple narrative of his +discoveries. + +"I see, it is all my fault," said Mr. Query. "And I will do anything +to remedy it. I never could believe you drank--and now I'll go and tell +everybody that the report _was_ false." + +"Oh! bless you," cried the doctor, "I wouldn't have you do so for the +world. All I ask of you, is to say nothing whatever on the subject, and +if you ever again hear a report of the kind, don't make it a subject of +friendly investigation." + +Mr. Query promised; and, after the truth was known, and, Dr. Harvey +had regained the good-will of the community, together with his share of +medical practice, he never had reason again to exclaim--"Save me from +my friends!" And Mr. Query was in future exceedingly careful how he +attempted to make friendly investigations. + + + + +ROOM IN THE WORLD. + + + + THERE is room in the world for the wealthy and great, + For princes to reign in magnificent state; + For the courtier to bend, for the noble to sue, + If the hearts of all these are but honest and true. + + And there's room in the world for the lowly and meek, + For the hard horny hand, and the toil-furrow'd cheek; + For the scholar to think, for the merchant to trade, + So these are found upright and just in their grade. + + But room there is none for the wicked; and nought + For the souls that with teeming corruption are fraught. + The world would be small, were its oceans all land, + To harbour and feed such a pestilent band. + + Root out from among ye, by teaching the mind, + By training the heart, this chief curse of mankind! + 'Tis a duty you owe to the forthcoming race-- + Confess it in time, and discharge it with grace! + + + + +WORDS. + + + +"THE foolish thing!" said my Aunt Rachel, speaking warmly, "to get hurt +at a mere word. It's a little hard that people can't open their lips but +somebody is offended." + +"Words are things!" said I, smiling. + +"Very light things! A person must be tender indeed, that is hurt by a +word." + +"The very lightest thing may hurt, if it falls on a tender place." + +"I don't like people who have these tender places," said Aunt Rachel. "I +never get hurt at what is said to me. No--never! To be ever picking +and mincing, and chopping off your words--to be afraid to say this or +that--for fear somebody will be offended! I can't abide it." + +"People who have these tender places can't help it, I suppose. This +being so, ought we not to regard their weakness?" said I. "Pain, +either of body or mind, is hard to bear, and we should not inflict it +causelessly." + +"People who are so wonderfully sensitive," replied Aunt Rachel, growing +warmer, "ought to shut themselves up at home, and not come among +sensible, good-tempered persons. As far as I am concerned, I can tell +them, one and all, that I am not going to pick out every hard word from +a sentence as carefully as I would seeds from a raisin. Let them crack +them with their teeth, if they are afraid to swallow them whole." + +Now, for all that Aunt Rachel went on after this strain, she was a kind, +good soul, in the main, and, I could see, was sorry for having hurt the +feelings of Mary Lane. But she didn't like to acknowledge that she was +in the wrong; that would detract too much from the self-complacency with +which she regarded herself. Knowing her character very well, I thought +it best not to continue the little argument about the importance of +words, and so changed the subject. But, every now and then, Aunt Rachel +would return to it, each time softening a little towards Mary. At last +she said, + +"I'm sure it was a little thing. A very little thing. She might have +known that nothing unkind was intended on my part." + +"There are some subjects, aunt," I replied, "to which we cannot bear the +slightest allusion. And a sudden reference to them is very apt to throw +us off of our guard. What you said to Mary has, in all probability +touched some weakness of character, or probed some wound that time +has not been able to heal. I have always thought her a sensible, +good-natured girl." + +"And so have I. But I really cannot think that she has showed her good +sense or good nature in the present case. It is a very bad failing this, +of being over sensitive; and exceedingly annoying to one's friends." + +"It is, I know; but still, all of, us have a weak point, and to her that +is assailed, we are very apt to betray our feelings." + +"Well, I say now, as I have always said--I don't like to have anything +to do with people who have these weak points. This being hurt by a word, +as if words were blows, is something that does not come within the range +of my sympathies." + +"And yet, aunt," said I, "all have weak points. Even you are not +entirely free from them." + +"Me!" Aunt Rachel bridled. + +"Yes; and if even as light a thing as a word were to fall upon them, you +would suffer pain." + +"Pray, sir," said Aunt Rachel, with much dignity of manner; she +was chafed by my words, light as they were, "inform me where these +weaknesses, of which you are pleased to speak, lie." + +"Oh, no; you must excuse me. That would be very much out of place. But I +only stated a general fact that appertains to all of us." + +Aunt Rachel looked very grave. I had laid the weight of words upon a +weakness of her character, and it had given her pain. That weakness was +a peculiarly good opinion of herself. I had made no allegation against +her; and there was none in my mind. My words simply expressed the +general truth that we all have weaknesses, and included her in their +application. But she imagined that I referred to some particular defect +or fault, and mail-proof as she was against words, they had wounded her. + +For a day or two Aunt Rachel remained more sober than was her wont. +I knew the cause, but did not attempt to remove from her mind any +impression my words had made. One day, about a week after, I said to +her, + +"Aunt Rachel, I saw Mary Lane's mother this morning." + +"Ah?" The old lady looked up at me inquiringly. + +"I don't wonder your words hurt the poor girl," I added. + +"Why? What did I say?" quickly asked Aunt Rachel. + +"You said that she was a jilt." + +"But I was only jest, and she knew it. I did not really mean anything. +I'm surprised that Mary should be so foolish." + +"You will not be surprised when you know all," was my answer. + +"All? What all? I'm sure I wasn't in earnest. I didn't mean to hurt the +poor girl's feelings." My aunt looked very much troubled. + +"No one blames you, Aunt Rachel," said I. "Mary knows you didn't intend +wounding her." + +"But why should she take a little word go much to heart? It must have +had more truth in it than I supposed." + +"Did you know that Mary refused an offer of marriage from Walter Green +last week?" + +"Why no! It can't be possible! Refused Walter Green?" + +"They've been intimate for a long time." + +"I know." + +"She certainly encouraged him." + +"I think it more than probable." + +"Is it possible, then, that she did really jilt the young man?" +exclaimed Aunt Rachel. + +"This has been said of her," I replied. "But so far as I can learn, she +was really attached to him, and suffered great pain in rejecting his +offer. Wisely she regarded marriage as the most important event of +her life, and refused to make so solemn a contract with one in whose +principles she had not the fullest confidence." + +"But she ought not to have encouraged Walter, if she did not intend +marrying him," said Aunt Rachel, with some warmth. + +"She encouraged him so long as she thought well of him. A closer view +revealed points of character hidden by distance. When she saw these +her feelings were already deeply involved. But, like a true woman, she +turned from the proffered hand, even though while in doing so her heart +palpitated with pain. There is nothing false about Mary Lane. She could +no more trifle with a lover than she could commit a crime. Think, then, +how almost impossible it would be for her to hear herself called, under +existing circumstances, even in sport, a jilt, without being hurt. Words +sometimes have power to hurt more than blows. Do you not see this, now, +Aunt Rachel?" + +"Oh, yes, yes. I see it; and I saw it before," said the old lady. "And +in future I will be more careful of my words. It is pretty late in life +to learn this lesson--but we are never too late to learn. Poor Mary! It +grieves me to think that I should have hurt her so much." + +Yes, words often have in them a smarting force, and we cannot be too +guarded how we use them. "Think twice before you speak once," is a trite +but wise saying. We teach it to our children very carefully, but are too +apt to forget that it has not lost its application to ourselves. + + + + +THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + + + +"AN object of real charity," said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor +woman withdrew from the room in which they were seated. + +"If ever there was a worthy object she is one," returned Mrs. Lyon. "A +widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too much for +her; yet obliged to support, with the labour of her own hands, not only +herself, but three young children. I do not wonder that she is behind +with her rent." + +"Nor I," said Mr. Lyon, in a voice of sympathy. "How much, did she say, +was due to her landlord?" + +"Ten dollars." + +"She will not be able to pay it." + +"I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have +obtained work for her from several ladies; but with her best efforts she +can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself and babes." + +"Does it not seem hard," remarked Mr. Lyon, "that one like Mrs. Arnold, +who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and family, +should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many who could +help her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it so hard to make +both ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent for her, and feel +happy in so doing." + +"Ah!" exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, "how much I wish that we were +able to do this! But we are not." + +"I'll tell you what we can do," said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful voice; +"or rather what _I_ can do. It will be a very light matter for say ten +persons to give a dollar apiece, in order to relieve Mrs. Arnold from +her present trouble. There are plenty who would cheerfully contribute, +for this good purpose; all that is wanted is some one to take upon +himself the business of making the collections. That task shall be +mine." + +"How glad I am, James, to hear you say so!" smilingly replied Mrs. Lyon. +"Oh, what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will make her +heart as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her sadly. Old +Links, her landlord, has been worrying her about it a good deal, and, +only a week ago, threatened to put her things in the street, if she +didn't pay up." + +"I should have thought of this before," remarked Andrew Lyon. "There +are hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were only +certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in every way. +Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent consideration. Let +me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and Green, and Tompkins. I +can get a dollar from each of them. That will be three dollars,--and one +from myself, will make four. Who else is there? Oh, Malcolm! I'm sure of +a dollar from him; and also from Smith, Todd, and Perry." + +Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started +forth, early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by +subscription, the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on was +Malcolm. + +"Ah, friend Lyon!" said Malcolm, smiling blandly, "Good morning! What +can I do for you, to-day?" + +"Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with her +rent," replied Andrew Lyon. "I want just one dollar from you, and as +much more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself." + +At the word poor widow the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when his +visiter ceased, he replied, in a changed and husky voice, clearing his +throat two or three times as he spoke. + +"Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?" The man's manner had become +exceedingly grave. + +"None more so," was the prompt answer. "She is in poor health, and has +three children to support with the product of her needle. If any one +needs assistance, it is Mrs. Arnold." + +"Oh! Ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold?" + +"The same," replied Andrew Lyon. + +Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm +benevolence. But he turned slowly away, and opening his money-drawer, +_very slowly_ toyed with his fingers amid its contents. At length +he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he presented it to +Lyon,--signing involuntarily as he did so,-- + +"I suppose I must do my part. But we are called upon so often." + +The ardour of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at this +unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the glow of a +pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment his errand +was made known. + +"I thank you in the widow's name," said he, as he took the dollar. +When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on his +feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favour for himself. + +It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call upon +Mr. Green, considered the "next best man" on his list. But he entered +his place of business with far less confidence than he had felt when +calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green, without a word or smile, +drew two half dollars from his pocket and presented them. + +"Thank you," said Lyon. + +"Welcome," returned Green. + +Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few moments. +Then bowing, he said, + +"Good morning." + +"Good morning," was coldly and formally responded. + +And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted. + +"Better be at his shop, attending to his work," muttered Green to +himself, as his visiter retired. "Men ain't very apt to get along too +well in the world who spend their time in begging for every object of +charity that happens to turn up. And there are plenty of such, dear +knows. He's got a dollar out of me; may it do him, or the poor widow he +talked so glibly about, much good." + +Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had +raised two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for +one so sensitive as himself! Instead of keeping on in his work of +benevolence, he went to his shop, and entered upon the day's employment. +How disappointed he felt;--and this disappointment was mingled with a +certain sense of humiliation, as if he had been asking alms for himself. + +"Catch me at this work again!" he said half aloud, as his thoughts dwelt +upon what had so recently occurred. "But this is not right," he added, +quickly. "It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs. Arnold must +be relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets relief. I had no +thought of a reception like this. People can talk of benevolence; but +putting the hand in the pocket is another affair altogether. I never +dreamed that such men as Malcolm and Green could be insensible to an +appeal like the one I made." + +"I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent," he said to +himself, in a more cheerful tone, some time afterwards; "and it will go +hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like Green +and Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly respond to +the call of humanity. I'll go and see him." + +So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual. + +"I've come begging, Mr. Jones," said he, on meeting him. And he spoke in +a frank, pleasant manner, + +"Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say," was the +blunt answer. + +"Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story first." + +"I do say it, and I'm in earnest," returned Jones. "I feel as poor as +Job's turkey to-day." + +"I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent," said Lyon. + +"Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get nothing +here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time I'd have in +handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help pay her rent! +No, no, my friend, you can't get anything here." + +"Just as you feel about it," said Andrew Lyon. "There's no compulsion in +the matter." + +"No, I presume not," was rather coldly replied. + +Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He had +undertaken a thankless office. + +Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the good +work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to another +effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbour Tompkins, to whom he made +known his errand. + +"Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this," said +Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. "But there +are so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough led to hold +on pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I feel sorry for +her. How much do you want?" + +"I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar +each." + +"Well, here's my dollar." And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as +he handed over his contribution,--but the smile did not conceal an +expression which said very plainly-- + +"I hope you will not trouble me again in this way." + +"You may be sure I will not," muttered Lyon, as he went away. He fully +understood the meaning of the expression. + +Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was +successful; but there was something in the manner of the individual who +gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke. + +"And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of rent +paid off," says some one who has felt an interest in her favour. + +Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more from +his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to undertake +the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent for a fellow +creature in need. He has learned that a great many who refuse alms on +the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are but little more +inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point there is no question. + +How many who read this can sympathize with Andrew Lyon! Few men who have +hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time in their +lives, to seek aid for a fellow creature in need. That their office +was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware. Even those who +responded to their call most liberally, in too many instances gave in a +way that left an unpleasant impression behind. How quickly has the first +glow of generous feeling, that sought to extend itself to others, that +they might share the pleasure of humanity, been chilled; and, instead of +finding the task an easy one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, +humiliating! Alas that this should be! That men should shut their hearts +so instinctively at the voice of charity! + +We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the benevolent; +but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see themselves. +At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow men aid for the +suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all sacrifice on +his part, and the least that can be done is to honour his disinterested +regard for others in distress, and treat him with delicacy and +consideration. + + + + +LOVE. + + + + OH! if there is one law above the rest, + Written in Wisdom--if there is a word + That I would trace as with a pen of fire + Upon the unsullied temper of a child-- + If there is anything that keeps the mind + Open to angel visits, and repels + The ministry of ill--_'tis Human Love!_ + God has made nothing worthy of contempt; + The smallest pebble in the well of Truth + Has its peculiar meanings, and will stand + When man's best monuments wear fast away. + The law of Heaven is _Love_--and though its name + Has been usurped by passion, and profaned + To its unholy uses through all time, + Still, the external principle is pure; + And in these deep affections that we feel + Omnipotent within us, can we see + The lavish measure in which love is given. + And in the yearning tenderness of a child + For every bird that sings above its head, + And every creature feeding on the hills, + And every tree and flower, and running brook, + We see how everything was made to love, + And how they err, who, in a world like this, + Find anything to hate but human pride. + + + + +"EVERY LITTLE HELPS." + + + + WHAT if a drop of rain should plead-- + "So small a drop as I + Can ne'er refresh the thirsty mead; + I'll tarry in the sky?" + + What, if the shining beam of noon + Should in its fountain stay; + Because its feeble light alone + Cannot create a day? + + Does not each rain-drop help to form + The cool refreshing shower? + And every ray of light, to warm + And beautify the flower? + + + + +LITTLE THINGS. + + + + SCORN not the slightest word or deed, + Nor deem it void of power; + There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed, + Waiting its natal hour. + A whispered word may touch the heart, + And call it back to life; + A look of love bid sin depart, + And still unholy strife. + + No act falls fruitless; none can tell + How vast its power may be, + Nor what results enfolded dwell + Within it silently. + Work and despair not; give thy mite, + Nor care how small it be; + God is with all that serve the right, + The holy, true, and free! + + + + +CARELESS WORDS. + + + +FIVE years ago, this fair November day,--five years? it seems but +yesterday, so fresh is that scene in my memory; and, I doubt not, were +the period ten times multiplied, it would be as vivid still to us--the +surviving actors in that drama! The touch of time, which blunts the +piercing thorn, as well as steals from the rose its lovely tints, is +powerless here, unless to give darker shades to that picture engraven on +our souls; and tears--ah, they only make it more imperishable! + +We do not speak of her now; her name has not passed our lips in each +other's presence, since we followed her--grief-stricken mourners-to the +grave, to which--alas, alas! but why should not the truth be spoken? +the grave to which our careless words consigned her. But on every +anniversary of that day we can never forget, uninvited by me, and +without any previous arrangement between themselves, those two friends +have come to my house, and together we have sat, almost silently, save +when Ada's sweet voice has poured forth a low, plaintive strain to the +mournful chords Mary has made the harp to breathe. Four years ago, that +cousin came too; and since then, though he has been thousands of miles +distant from us, when, that anniversary has returned, he has written to +me: he cannot look into my face when that letter is penned; he but looks +into his own heart, and he cannot withhold the words of remorse and +agony. + +Ada and Mary have sat with me to-day, and we knew that Rowland, in +thought, was here too; ah, if we could have known another had been among +us,--if we could have felt that an eye was upon us, which will never +more dim with tears, a heart was near us which carelessness can never +wound again;--could we have known she had been here--that pure, +bright angel, with the smile of forgiveness and love on that beautiful +face--the dark veil of sorrow might have been lifted from our souls! but +we saw only with mortal vision; our faith was feeble, and we have only +drawn that sombre mantle more and more closely about us. The forgiveness +we have so many tim es prayed for, we have not yet dared to receive, +though we know it is our own. + +That November day was just what this has been fair, mild, and sweet; and +how much did that dear one enjoy it! The earth was dry, and as we looked +from the window we saw no verdure but a small line of green on the south +side of the garden enclosure, and around the trunk of the old pear-tree, +and here and there a little oasis from which the strong wind of the +previous day, had lifted the thick covering of dry leaves, and one or +two shrubs, whose foliage feared not the cold breath of winter. The +gaudy hues, too, which nature had lately worn, were all faded; there was +a pale, yellow-leafed vine clambering over the verdureless lilac, and +far down in the garden might be seen a shrub covered with bright scarlet +berries. But the warm south wind was sweet and fragrant, as if it +had strayed through bowers of roses and eglantines. Deep-leaden and +snow-white clouds blended together, floated lazily through the sky, and +the sun coquetted all day with the earth, though his glance was not, for +once, more than half averted, while his smile was bright and loving, as +it bad been months before, when her face was fair and blooming. + +But how sadly has this day passed, and how unlike is this calm, sweet +evening to the one which closed that November day! Nature is the same. +The moonbeams look as bright and silvery through the brown, naked arms +of the tall oaks, and the dark evergreen forest lifts up its head to the +sky, striving, but in vain, to shut out the soft light from the little +stream, whose murmurings, seem more sad and complaining than at another +season of the year, perhaps because it feels how soon the icy bands of +winter will stay its free course, and hush its low whisperings. The soft +breeze sighs as sadly through the vines which still wreath themselves +around the window; though seemingly conscious they have ceased to adorn +it, they are striving to loosen their hold, and bow themselves to the +earth; and the chirping of a cricket in the chimney is as sad and +mournful as it was then. But the low moan of the sufferer, the but +half-smothered, agonized sobs of those fair girls, the deep groan +which all my proud cousin's firmness could not hush, and the words of +reproach, which, though I was so guilty myself, and though I saw them so +repentant, I could not withhold, are all stilled now. + +Ada and Mary have just left me, and I am sitting alone in my apartment. +Not a sound reaches me but the whisperings of the wind, the murmuring of +the stream, and the chirping of that solitary cricket. The family know +my heart is heavy to-night, and the voices are hushed, and the footsteps +fall lightly. Lily, dear Lily, art thou near me? + +Five years and some months ago--it was in early June--there came to our +home from far away in the sunny South, a fair young creature, a relative +of ours, though we had never seen her before. She had been motherless +rather less than a year, but her father had already found another +partner, and feeling that she would not so soon see the place of +the dearly-loved parent filled by a stranger, she had obtained his +permission to spend a few months with those who could sympathize with +her in her griefs. + +Lily White! She was rightly named; I have never seen such a fair, +delicate face and figure, nor watched the revealings of a nature so pure +and gentle as was hers. She would have been too fair and delicate to +be beautiful, but for the brilliancy of those deep blue eyes, the dark +shade of that glossy hair, and the litheness of that fragile form; +but when months had passed away, and, though the brow was still marble +white, and the lip colourless, the cheek wore that deep rose tint, how +surpassingly beautiful she was! We did not dream what had planted that +rose-tint there--we thought her to be throwing off the grief which +alone, we believed, had paled her cheek; and we did not observe that +her form was becoming more delicate, and that her step was losing its +lightness and elasticity. We loved the sweet Lily dearly at first sight, +and she had been with us but a short time before we began to wonder how +our home had ever seemed perfect to us previous to her coming. And our +affection was returned by the dear girl. We knew how much she loved +us, when, as the warm season had passed, and her father sent for her to +return home, we saw the expression of deep sorrow in every feature, and +the silent entreaty that we would persuade him to allow her to remain +with us still. + +She did not thank me when a letter reached me from her father, in reply +to one which, unknown to her, I had sent him, saying, if I thought +Lily's health would not be injured by a winter's residence in our cold +climate, he would comply with my urgent request, and allow her to remain +with us until the following spring--the dear girl could not speak. She +came to me almost totteringly, and wound her arms about my neck, resting +her head on mine, and tears from those sweet eyes fell fast over my +face; and all the remainder of that afternoon she lay on her couch. Oh, +why did I not think wherefore she was so much overcome? + +Ada L----and Mary R----, two friends whom I had loved from childhood, +I had selected as companions for our dear Lily on her arrival among us, +and the young ladies, from their first introduction to her, had vied +with me in my endeavours to dispel the gloom from that fair face, and to +make her happy; and they shared, almost equally with her relatives, dear +Lily's affections. + +Ada--she is changed now--was a gay, brilliant, daring girl; Mary, witty +and playful, though frank and warm-hearted; but it made me love them +more than ever. The gaiety and audacity of the one was forgotten in the +presence of the thoughtful, timid Lily: and the other checked the merry +jest which trembled on her lips, and sobered that roguish eye beside the +earnest, sensitive girl; so that, though we were together almost daily, +dear Lily did not understand the character of the young ladies. + +The warm season had passed away, and October brought an addition to our +household--Cousin Rowland--as handsome, kind-hearted, and good-natured +a fellow as ever lived, but a little cowardly, if the dread of the +raillery of a beautiful woman may be called cowardice. + +Cousin Rowland and dear Lily were mutually pleased with each other, it +was very evident to me, though Ada and Mary failed to see it; for, in +the presence of the young ladies, Rowland did not show her those little +delicate attentions which, alone with me, who was very unobservant, he +took no pains to conceal; and Lily did not hide from me her blushing +face--her eyes only thanked me for the expression which met her gaze. + +That November day--I dread to approach it! Lily and I were sitting +beside each other, looking down the street, and watching the return of +the carriage which Rowland had gone out with to bring Ada and Mary to +our house; or, rather, Lily was looking for its coming--my eyes were +resting on her face. It had never looked so beautiful to me before. Her +brow was so purely white, her cheek was so deeply red, and that dark +eye was so lustrous; but her face was very thin, and her breathing, I +observed, was faint and difficult. A pang shot through my heart. + +"Lily, are you well?" I exclaimed, suddenly. + +She fixed her eyes on mine. I was too much excited by my sudden fear +to read their expression, but when our friends came in, the dear girl +seemed so cheerful and happy--I remembered, afterwards, I had never seen +her so gay as on that afternoon--that my suspicions gradually left me. + +The hours were passing pleasantly away, when a letter was brought in for +Lily. It was from her father, and the young lady retired to peruse it. +The eye of Rowland followed her as she passed out of the room, and I +observed a shadow flit across his brow. I afterwards learned that at the +moment a thought was passing through his mind similar to that which +had so terrified me an hour before. Our visiters remarked it, too, but +little suspected its cause; and Mary's eye met, with a most roguish +look, Ada's rather inquiring gaze. + +"When does Lily intend to return home, S----?" she inquired, as she +bent, very demurely, over her embroidery. "I thought she was making +preparations to go before Rowland came here!" and she raised her eyes so +cunningly to my face, that I could not forbear answering, + +"I hear nothing of her return, now. Perhaps she will remain with us +during the winter." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Ada, and her voice expressed much surprise. "I +wonder if I could make such a prolonged visit interesting to a friend!" + +"Why, Lily considers herself conferring a great favour by remaining +here," replied Mary. + +"On whom?" asked Rowland, quickly. + +"On all of use of course;" and to Mary's great delight she perceived +that her meaning words had the effect she desired on the young man. + +"I hope she will not neglect the duty she owes her family, for the +sake of showing us this great kindness," said Rowland, with affected +carelessness, though he walked across the apartment with a very +impatient step. + +"Lily has not again been guilty of the error she so frequently commits, +has she, S----?" asked Ada, in a lower but still far too distinct tone; +"that of supposing herself loved and admired where she is only pitied +and endured?" and the merry creature fairly exulted in the annoyance +which his deepened colour told her she was causing the young man. + +A slight sound from the apartment adjoining the parlour attracted my +attention. Had Lily stopped there to read her letter instead of going to +her chamber? and had she, consequently, overheard our foolish remarks? +The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open. There was a slight +rustling, but I thought it only the waving of the window curtain. + +A half-hour passed away, and Lily had not returned to us. I began to be +alarmed, and my companions partook of my fears. Had she overheard us? +and, if so, what must that sensitive heart be suffering? + +I went out to call her; but half way up the flight of stairs I saw the +letter from her father lying on the carpet, unopened, though it had been +torn from its envelope. I know not how I found my way up stairs, but I +stood by Lily's bed. + +Merciful Heaven! what a sight was presented to my gaze. The white +covering was stained with blood, and from those cold, pale lips the +red drops were fast falling. Her eyes turned slowly till they rested on +mine. What a look was that! I see it now; so full of grief; so full +of reproach; and then they closed. I thought her dead, and my frantic +shrieks called my companions to her bedside. They aroused her, too, from +that swoon, but they did not awaken her to consciousness. She never more +turned a look of recognition on us, or seemed to be aware that we were +near her. Through all that night, so long and so full of agony to us, +she was murmuring, incoherently, to herself, + +"They did not know I was dying," she would say; "that I have been dying +ever since I have been here! They have not dreamed of my sufferings +through these long months; I could not tell them, for I believed they +loved me, and I would not grieve them. But no one loves me--not one in +the wide world cares for me! My mother, you will not have forgotten your +child when you meet me in the spirit-land! Their loved tones made +me deaf to the voice which was calling to me from the grave, and the +sunshine of _his_ smile broke through the dark cloud which death was +drawing around me. Oh, I would have lived, but death, I thought, would +lose half its bitterness, could I breathe my last in their arms! But, +now, I must die alone! Oh, how shall I reach my home--how shall I ever +reach my home?" + +Dear Lily! The passage was short; when morning dawned, she was _there._ + + + + +HOW TO BE HAPPY. + + + +A BOON of inestimable worth is a calm, thankful heart--a treasure that +few, very few, possess. We once met an old man, whose face was a +mixture of smiles and sunshine. Wherever he went, he succeeded in making +everybody about him as pleasant as himself. + +Said we, one day,--for he was one of that delightful class whom +everybody feels privileged to be related to,--"Uncle, uncle, how _is_ it +that you contrive to be so happy? Why is your face so cheerful, when so +many thousands are craped over with a most uncomfortable gloominess?" + +"My dear young friend," he answered, with his placid smile, "I am +even as others, afflicted with infirmities; I have had my share of +sorrow--some would say more--but I have found out the secret of being +happy, and it is this: + +"_Forget self_." + +"Until you do that, you can lay but little claim to a cheerful spirit. +'Forget what manner of man you are,' and think more with, rejoice more +for, your neighbours. If I am poor, let me look upon my richer friend, +and in estimating his blessings, forget my privations. + +"If my neighbour is building a house, let me watch with him its +progress, and think, 'Well, what a comfortable place it will be, to be +sure; how much he may enjoy it with his family.' Thus I have a double +pleasure--that of delight in noting the structure as it expands into +beauty, and making my neighbour's weal mine. If he has planted a fine +garden, I feast my eyes on the flowers, smell their fragrance: could I +do more if it was my own? + +"Another has a family of fine children; they bless him and are blessed +by him; mine are all gone before me; I have none that bear my name; +shall I, therefore, envy my neighbour his lovely children? No; let me +enjoy their innocent smiles with him; let me _forget myself_--my tears +when they were put away in darkness; or if I weep, may it be for joy +that God took them untainted to dwell with His holy angels for ever. + +"Believe an old man when he says there is great pleasure in living for +others. The heart of the selfish man is like a city full of crooked +lanes. If a generous thought from some glorious temple strays in +there, wo to it--it is lost. It wanders about, and wanders about, until +enveloped in darkness; as the mist of selfishness gathers around, it +lies down upon some cold thought to die, and is shrouded in oblivion. + +"So, if you would be happy, shun selfishness; do a kindly deed for +this one, speak a kindly word for another. He who is constantly giving +pleasure, is constantly receiving it. The little river gives to the +great ocean, and the more it gives the faster it runs. Stop its flowing, +and the hot sun would dry it up, till it would be but filthy mud, +sending forth bad odours, and corrupting the fresh air of Heaven. Keep +your heart constantly travelling on errands of mercy--it has feet that +never tire, hands that cannot be overburdened, eyes that never sleep; +freight its hands with blessings, direct its eyes--no matter how narrow +your sphere--to the nearest object of suffering, and relieve it. + +"I say, my dear young friend, take the word of an old man for it, who +has tried every known panacea, and found all to fail, except this golden +rule, + + "_Forget self, and keep the heart busy for others._" + + + + +CHARITY.--ITS OBJECTS. + + + +THE great Teacher, on being asked "Who is my neighbour?" replied "A man +went down from Jerusalem to Jericho," and the parable which followed +is the most beautiful which language has ever recorded. Story-telling, +though often abused, is the medium by which truth can be most +irresistibly conveyed to the majority of minds, and in the present +instance we have a desire to portray in some slight degree the +importance of Charity in every-day life. + +A great deal has been said and written on the subject of indiscriminate +giving, and many who have little sympathy with the needy or distressed, +make the supposed unworthiness of the object an excuse for withholding +their alms; while others, who really possess a large proportion of the +milk of human kindness, in awaiting _great_ opportunities to do good, +overlook all in their immediate pathway, as beneath their notice. And +yet it was the "widow's mite" which, amid the many rich gifts cast into +the treasury, won the approval of the Searcher of Hearts; and we have +His assurance that a cup of cold water given in a proper spirit shall +not lose its reward. + +Our design in the present sketch is to call the attention of the +softer sex to a subject which has in too many instances escaped their +attention; for our ideas of Charity embrace a wide field, and we hold +that it should at all times be united with justice, when those less +favoured than themselves are concerned. + +"I do not intend hereafter to have washing done more than once in two +weeks," said the rich Mrs. Percy, in reply to an observation of her +husband, who was standing at the window, looking at a woman who was +up to her knees in the snow, hanging clothes on a line in the yard. +"I declare it is too bad, to be paying that poking old thing a +half-a-dollar a week for our wash, and only six in the family. There she +has been at it since seven o'clock this morning, and now it is almost +four. It will require but two or three hours longer if I get her once a +fortnight, and I shall save twenty-five cents a week by it." + +"When your own sex are concerned, you women are the _closest_ beings," +said Mr. P., laughing. "Do just as you please, however," he continued, +as he observed a brown gather on the brow of his wife; "for my part I +should be glad if washing-days were blotted entirely from the calendar." + +At this moment the washerwoman passed the window with her stiffened +skirts and almost frozen hands and arms. Some emotions of pity stirring +in his breast at the sight, he again asked, "Do you think it will be +exactly right, my dear, to make old Phoebe do the same amount of labour +for half the wages?" + +"Of course it will," replied Mrs. Percy, decidedly; "we are bound to do +the best we can for ourselves. If she objects, she can say so. There +are plenty of poor I can get who will be glad to come, and by this +arrangement I shall save thirteen dollars a year." + +"So much," returned Mr. P., carelessly; "how these things do run up!" +Here the matter ended as far as they were concerned. Not so with "old +Phoebe," as she was called. In reality, however, Phoebe was not yet +forty; it was care and hardship which had seamed her once blooming face, +and brought on prematurely the appearance of age. On going to Mrs. Percy +in the evening after she had finished her wash, for the meagre sum she +had earned, that lady had spoken somewhat harshly about her being so +slow, and mentioned the new arrangement she intended to carry into +effect, leaving it optional with the poor woman to accept or decline. +After a moment's hesitation, Phoebe, whose necessities allowed her no +choice, agreed to her proposal, and the lady, who had been fumbling in +her purse, remarked:-- + +"I have no change, nothing less than this three-dollar bill. Suppose I +pay you by the month hereafter; it will save me a great deal of trouble, +and I will try to give you your dollar a month regularly." + +Phoebe's pale cheek waxed still more ghastly as Mrs. Percy spoke, but +it was not within that lady's province to notice the colour of a +washerwoman's face. She did, however, observe her lingering, weary +steps as she proceeded through the yard, and conscience whispered some +reproaches, which were so unpleasant and unwelcome, that she endeavoured +to dispel them by turning to the luxurious supper which was spread +before her. And here I would pause to observe, that whatever method may +be adopted to reconcile the conscience to withholding money so justly +due, so hardly earned, she disobeyed the positive injunction of that God +who has not left the time of payment optional with ourselves, but who +has said--"The wages of him that is hired, shall not abide with thee all +night until the morning."--Lev. 19 chap. 13th verse. + +The husband of Phoebe was a day labourer; when not intoxicated he was +kind; but this was of rare occurrence, for most of his earnings went for +ardent spirits, and the labour of the poor wife and mother was the +main support of herself and four children--the eldest nine years, the +youngest only eighteen months old. As she neared the wretched hovel she +had left early in the morning, she saw the faces of her four little ones +pressed close against the window. + +"Mother's coming, mother's coming!" they shouted, as they watched her +approaching through the gloom, and as she unlocked the door, which she +had been obliged to fasten to keep them from straying away, they all +sprang to her arms at once. + +"God bless you, my babes!" she exclaimed, gathering them to her heart, +"you have not been a minute absent from my mind this day. And what +have _you_ suffered," she added, clasping the youngest, a sickly, +attenuated-looking object, to her breast. "Oh! it is hard, my little +Mary, to leave you to the tender mercies of children hardly able to +take care of themselves." And as the baby nestled its head closer to +her side, and lifted its pale, imploring face, the anguished mother's +fortitude gave way, and she burst into an agony of tears and sobbings. +By-the-by, do some mothers, as they sit by the softly-lined cradles of +their own beloved babes, ever think upon the sufferings of those hapless +little ones, many times left with a scanty supply of food, and no fire, +on a cold winter day, while the parent is earning the pittance which is +to preserve them from starvation? And lest some may suppose that we are +drawing largely upon our imagination, we will mention, in this +place, that we knew of a child left under such circumstances, and +half-perishing with cold, who was nearly burned to death by some hops +(for there was no fuel to be found), which it scraped together in its +ragged apron, and set on fire with a coal found in the ashes. + +Phoebe did not indulge long in grief, however she forgot her weary +limbs, and bustling about, soon made up a fire, and boiled some +potatoes, which constituted their supper--after which she nursed the +children, two at a time, for a while, and then put them tenderly to bed. +Her husband had not come home, and as he was nearly always intoxicated, +and sometimes ill-treated her sadly, she felt his absence a relief. +Sitting over a handful of coals, she attempted to dry her wet feet; +every bone in her body ached, for she was not naturally strong, and +leaning her head on her hand, she allowed the big tears to course slowly +down her cheeks, without making any attempt to wipe them away, while she +murmured: + +"Thirteen dollars a year gone! What is to become of us? I cannot get +help from those authorized by law to assist the poor, unless I agree +to put out my children, and I cannot live and see them abused and +over-worked at their tender age. And people think their father might +support us; but how can I help it that he spends all his earnings in +drink? And rich as Mrs. Percy is, she did not pay me my wages to-night, +and now I cannot get the yarn for my baby's stockings, and her little +limbs must remain cold awhile longer; and I must do without the flour, +too, that I was going to make into bread, and the potatoes are almost +gone." + +Here Phoebe's emotions overcame her, and she ceased speaking. After a +while, she continued-- + +"Mrs. Percy also blamed me for being so slow; she did not know that I +was up half the night, and that my head has ached ready to split all +day. Oh! dear, oh! dear, oh! dear, if it were not for my babes, I should +yearn for the quiet of the grave!" + +And with a long, quivering sigh, such as one might heave at the rending +of soul and body, Phoebe was silent. + +Daughters of luxury! did it ever occur to you that we are all the +children of one common Parent? Oh, look hereafter with pity on those +faces where the records of suffering are deeply graven, and remember +"_Be ye warmed and filled_," will not suffice, unless the hand executes +the promptings of the heart. After awhile, as the fire died out, Phoebe +crept to her miserable pallet, crushed with the prospect of the days of +toil which were still before her, and haunted by the idea of sickness +and death, brought on by over-taxation of her bodily powers, while in +case of such an event, she was tortured by the reflection--"what is to +become of my children?" + +Ah, this anxiety is the true bitterness of death, to the friendless and +poverty-stricken parent. In this way she passed the night, to renew, +with the dawn, the toils and cares which were fast closing their work on +her. We will not say what Phoebe, under other circumstances, might +have been. She possessed every noble attribute common to woman, without +education, or training, but she was not prepossessing in her appearance; +and Mrs. Percy, who never studied character, or sympathized with +menials, or strangers, would have laughed at the idea of dwelling with +compassion on the lot of her washerwoman with a drunken husband. Yet her +feelings sometimes became interested for the poor she heard of abroad, +the poor she read of, and she would now and then descant largely on the +few cases of actual distress which had chanced to come under her notice, +and the little opportunity she enjoyed of bestowing alms. Superficial in +her mode of thinking and observation, her ideas of charity were limited, +forgetful that to be true it must be a pervading principle of life, +and can be exercised even in the bestowal of a gracious word or smile, +which, under peculiar circumstances, may raise a brother from the +dust--and thus win the approval of Him, who, although the Lord +of angels, was pleased to say of her who brought but the "box of +spikenard"--with tears of love--"_She hath done what she could._" + + + + +THE VISION OF BOATS. + + + + ONE morn, when the Day-god, yet hidden + By the mist that the mountain enshrouds, + Was hoarding up hyacinth blossoms, + And roses, to fling at the clouds; + I saw from the casement, that northward + Looks out on the Valley of Pines, + (The casement, where all day in summer, + You hear the drew drop from the vines), + + White shapes 'mid the purple wreaths glancing, + Like the banners of hosts at strife; + But I knew they were silvery pennons + Of boats on the River of Life. + And I watched, as the, mist cleared upward, + Half hoping, yet fearing to see + On that rapid and rock-sown River, + What the fate of the boats might be. + + There were some that sped cheerily onward, + With white sails gallantly spread + Yet ever there sat at the look-out, + One, watching for danger ahead. + No fragrant and song-haunted island, + No golden and gem-studded coast + Could win, with its ravishing beauty, + The watcher away from his post. + + When the tempest crouched low on the waters, + And fiercely the hurricane swept, + With furled sails, cautiously wearing, + Still onward in safety they kept. + And many sailed well for a season, + When river and sky were serene, + And leisurely swung the light rudder, + 'Twixt borders of blossoming green. + + But the Storm-King came out from his caverns, + With whirlwind, and lightning, and rain; + And my eyes, that grew dim for a moment, + Saw but the rent canvas again. + Then sorely I wept the ill-fated! + Yea, bitterly wept, for I knew + They had learned but the fair-weather wisdom, + That a moment of trial o'erthrew. + + And one in its swift sinking, parted + A placid and sun-bright wave; + Oh, deftly the rock was hidden, + That keepeth that voyager's grave! + And I sorrowed to think how little + Of aid from, a kindly hand, + Might have guided the beautiful vessel + Away from the treacherous strand. + + And I watched with a murmur of, blessing, + The few that on either shore + Were setting up signals of warning, + Where many had perished before. + But now, as the sunlight came creeping + Through the half-opened lids of the morn, + Fast faded that wonderful pageant, + Of shadows and drowsiness born. + + And no sound could I hear but the sighing + Of winds, in the Valley of Pines; + And the heavy, monotonous dropping + Of dew from the shivering vines. + But all day, 'mid the clashing of Labour, + And the city's unmusical notes, + With thoughts that went seeking the hidden, + I pondered that Vision of Boats. + + + + +REGULATION OF THE TEMPER. + + + + +THERE is considerable ground for thinking that the opinion very +generally prevails that the temper is something beyond the power of +regulation, control, or government. A good temper, too, if we may judge +from the usual excuses for the want of it, is hardly regarded in the +light of an attainable quality. To be slow in taking offence, and +moderate in the expression of resentment, in which things good temper +consists, seems to be generally reckoned rather among the gifts of +nature, the privileges of a happy constitution, than among the possible +results of careful self-discipline. When we have been fretted by some +petty grievance, or, hurried by some reasonable cause of offence into +a degree of anger far beyond what the occasion required, our subsequent +regret is seldom of a kind for which we are likely to be much better. We +bewail ourselves for a misfortune, rather than condemn ourselves for +a fault. We speak of our unhappy temper as if it were something that +entirely removed the blame from us, and threw it all upon the peculiar +and unavoidable sensitiveness of our frame. A peevish and irritable +temper is, indeed, an _unhappy_ one; a source of misery to ourselves and +to others; but it is not, in _all_ cases, so valid an excuse for being +easily provoked, as it is usually supposed to be. + +A good temper is too important a source of happiness, and an ill temper +too important a source of misery, to be treated with indifference or +hopelessness. The false excuses or modes of regarding this matter, to +which we have referred, should be exposed; for until their invalidity +and incorrectness are exposed, no efforts, or but feeble ones, will be +put forth to regulate an ill temper, or to cultivate a good one. + +We allow that there are great differences of natural constitution. One +who is endowed with a poetical temperament, or a keen sense of beauty, +or a great love of order, or very large ideality, will be pained by the +want or the opposites of these qualities, where one less amply endowed +would suffer no provocation whatever. What would grate most harshly on +the ear of an eminent musician, might not be noticed at all by one whose +musical faculties were unusually small. The same holds true in regard +to some other, besides musical deficiencies or discords. A delicate and +sickly frame will feel annoyed by what would not at all disturb the same +frame in a state of vigorous health. Particular circumstances, also, may +expose some to greater trials and vexations than others. But, after all +this is granted, the only reasonable conclusion seems to be, that the +attempt to govern the temper is more difficult in some cases than +in others; not that it is, in any case, impossible. It is, at least, +certain that an opinion of its impossibility is an effectual bar against +entering upon it. On the other hand, "believe that you will succeed, +and you will succeed," is a maxim which has nowhere been more frequently +verified than in the moral world. It should be among the first maxims +admitted, and the last abandoned, by every earnest seeker of his own +moral improvement. + +Then, too, facts demonstrate that much has been done and can be done in +regulating the worst of tempers. The most irritable or peevish temper +has been restrained by company; has been subdued by interest; has been +awed by fear; has been softened by grief; has been soothed by kindness. +A bad temper has shown itself, in the same individuals, capable of +increase, liable to change, accessible to motives. Such facts are enough +to encourage, in every case, an attempt to govern the temper. All the +miseries of a bad temper, and all the blessings of a good one, may be +attained by an habitual tolerance, concern, and kindness for others--by +an habitual restraint of considerations and feelings entirely selfish. + +To those of our readers who feel moved or resolved by the considerations +we have named to attempt to regulate their temper, or to cultivate one +of a higher order of excellence, we would submit a few suggestions which +may assist them in their somewhat difficult undertaking. + +See, first of all, that you set as high a value on the comfort of those +with whom you have to do as you do on your own. If you regard your own +comfort _exclusively_, you will not make the allowances which a _proper_ +regard to the happiness of others would lead you to do. + +Avoid, particularly in your intercourse with those to whom it is of +most consequence that your temper should be gentle and forbearing--avoid +raising into undue importance the little failings which you may perceive +in them, or the trifling disappointments which they may occasion you. +If we make it a subject of vexation, that the beings among whom we tire +destined to live, are not perfect, we must give up all hope of attaining +a temper not easily provoked. A habit of trying everything by the +standard of perfection vitiates the temper more than it improves the +understanding, and disposes the mind to discern faults with an unhappy +penetration. I would not have you shut your eyes to the errors or +follies, or thoughtlessnesses of your friends, but only not to magnify +them or view them microscopically. Regard them in others as you +would have them regard the same things in you, in an exchange of +circumstances. + +Do not forget to make due allowances for the original constitution and +the manner of education or bringing up, which has been the lot of +those with whom you have to do. Make such excuses for Others as the +circumstances of their constitution, rearing, and youthful associations, +do fairly demand. + +Always put the best construction on the motives of others, when their +conduct admits of more than one way of understanding it. In many cases, +where neglect or ill intention seems evident at first sight, it may +prove true that "second thoughts are best." Indeed, this common slaying +is never more likely to prove true than in cases in which the _first_ +thoughts were the dictates of anger And even when the first thoughts +are confirmed by further evidence, yet the habit of always waiting for +complete evidence before we condemn, must have a calming; and moderating +effect upon the temper, while it will take nothing from the authority of +our just censures. + +It will further, be a great help to our efforts, as well as our +desires, for the government of the temper, if we consider frequently and +seriously the natural consequences of hasty resentments, angry replies, +rebukes impatiently given or impatiently received, muttered discontents, +sullen looks, and harsh words. It may safely be asserted that the +consequences of these and other ways in which ill-temper may show +itself, are _entirely_ evil. The feelings, which accompany them in +ourselves, and those which they excite in others, are unprofitable as +well as painful. They lessen our own comfort, and tend often rather +to prevent than to promote the improvement of those with whom we find +fault. If we give even friendly and judicious counsels in a harsh and +pettish tone, we excite against _them_ the repugnance naturally felt to +_our manner_. The consequence is, that the advice is slighted, and the +peevish adviser pitied, despised, or hated. + +When we cannot succeed in putting a restraint on our _feelings_ of anger +or dissatisfaction, we can at least check the _expression_ of those +feelings. If our thoughts are not always in our power, our words and +actions and looks may be brought under our command; and a command over +these expressions of our thoughts and feelings will be found no mean +help towards obtaining an increase of power over our thoughts and +feelings themselves. At least, one great good will be effected: time +will be gained; time for reflection; time for charitable allowances and +excuses. + +Lastly, seek the help of religion. Consider how you may most certainly +secure the approbation of God. For a good temper, or a well-regulated +temper, _may be_ the constant homage of a truly religious man to that +God, whose love and long-suffering forbearance surpass all human love +and forbearance. + + + + +MANLY GENTLENESS. + + + +WHO is the most wretched man living? This question might constitute a +very fair puzzle to those of our readers whose kind hearts have given +them, in their own experience, no clue to the true answer. It is a +species of happiness to be rich; to have at one's command an abundance +of the elegancies and luxuries of life. Then he, perhaps, is the most +miserable of men who is the poorest. It is a species of happiness to be +the possessor of learning, fame, or power; and therefore, perhaps, he is +the most miserable man who is the most ignorant, despised, and helpless. +No; there is a man more wretched than these. We know not where he may be +found; but find him where you will, in a prison or on a throne, steeped +in poverty or surrounded with princely affluence; execrated, as he +deserves to be, or crowned with world-wide applause; that man is the +most miserable whose heart contains the least love for others. + +It is a pleasure to be beloved. Who has not felt this? Human affection +is priceless. A fond heart is more valuable than the Indies. But it is +a still greater pleasure to love than to be loved; the emotion itself +is of a higher kind; it calls forth our own powers into more agreeable +exercise, and is independent of the caprice of others. Generally +speaking, if we deserve to be loved, others will love us, but this is +not always the case. The love of others towards us, is not always +in proportion to our real merits; and it would be unjust to make our +highest happiness dependent on it. But our love for others will always +be in proportion to our real goodness; the more amiable, the more +excellent we become, the more shall we love others; it is right, +therefore, that this love should be made capable of bestowing upon +us the largest amount of happiness. This is the arrangement which the +Creator has fixed upon. By virtue of our moral constitution, to love is +to be happy; to hate is to be wretched. + +Hatred is a strong word, and the idea it conveys is very repulsive. We +would hope that few of our readers know by experience what it is in its +full extent. To be a very demon, to combine in ourselves the highest +possible degree of wickedness and misery, nothing more is needful than +to hate with sufficient intensity. But though, happily, comparatively +few persons are fully under the influence of this baneful passion, how +many are under it more frequently and powerfully than they ought to be? +How often do we indulge in resentful, revengeful feelings, with all +of which hatred more or less mixes itself? Have we not sometimes +entertained sentiments positively malignant towards those who have +wounded our vanity or injured our interests, secretly wishing them ill, +or not heartily wishing them happiness? If so, we need only consult +our own experience to ascertain that such feelings are both sinful and +foolish; they offend our Maker, and render us wretched. + +We know a happy man; one who in the midst of the vexations and crosses +of this changing world, is always happy. Meet him anywhere, and at any +time, his features beam with pleasure. Children run to meet him, and +contend for the honour of touching his hand, or laying hold of the skirt +of his coat, as he passes by, so cheerful and benevolent does he always +look. In his own house he seems to reign absolute, and yet he never uses +any weapon more powerful than a kind word. Everybody who knows him is +aware, that, in point of intelligence, ay, and in physical prowess, +too--for we know few men who can boast a more athletic frame--he is +strong as a lion, yet in his demeanour he is gentle as a lamb. His wife +is not of the most amiable temper, his children are not the most docile, +his business brings him into contact with men of various dispositions; +but he conquers all with the same weapons. What a contrast have we often +thought he presents to some whose physiognomy looks like a piece of +harsh handwriting, in which we can decipher nothing but _self, self, +self_; who seem, both at home and abroad, to be always on the watch +against any infringement of their dignity. Poor men! their dignity +can be of little value if it requires so much care in order to be +maintained. True manliness need take but little pains to procure +respectful recognition. If it is genuine, others will see it, and +respect it. The lion will always be acknowledged as the king of the +beasts; but the ass, though clothed in the lion's skin, may bray loudly +and perseveringly indeed, but he will never keep the forest in awe. + +From some experience in the homes of working-men, and other homes too, +we are led to think that much of the harsh and discordant feeling which +too often prevails there may be ascribed to a false conception of what +is truly great. It is a very erroneous impression that despotism is +manly. For our part we believe that despotism is inhuman, satanic, and +that wherever it is found--as much in the bosom of a family, as on +the throne of a kingdom. We cannot bring ourselves to tolerate the +inconsistency with which some men will inveigh against some absolute +sovereign, and straight-way enact the pettiest airs of absolutism in +their little empire at home. We have no private intimacy with "the +autocrat of all the Russias," and may, with all humility, avow that +we do not desire to have any; but this we believe, that out of the +thousands who call him a tyrant, it would be no difficult matter to pick +scores who are as bad, if not worse. Let us remember that it is not a +great empire which constitutes a great tyrant. Tyranny must be measured +by the strength of those imperious and malignant passions from which it +flows, and carrying this rule along with us, it would not surprise us, +if we found the greatest tyrant in the world in some small cottage, with +none to oppress but a few unoffending children, and a helpless woman. +O! when shall we, be just!--when shall we cease to prate about wrongs +inflicted by others, and magnified by being beheld through the haze of +distance, and seek to redress those which lie at our own doors, and to +redress which we shall only have to prevail upon ourselves to be just +and gentle! Arbitrary power is always associated either with cruelty, or +conscious weakness. True greatness is above the petty arts of tyranny. +Sometimes much domestic suffering may arise from a cause which is easily +confounded with a tyrannical disposition--we refer to an exaggerated +sense of justice. This is the abuse of a right feeling, and requires +to be kept in vigilant check. Nothing is easier than to be one-sided in +judging of the actions of others. How agreeable the task of applying +the line and plummet! How quiet and complete the assumption of our own +superior excellence which we make in doing it! But if the task is in +some respects easy, it is most difficult if we take into account the +necessity of being just in our decisions. In domestic life especially, +in which so much depends on circumstances, and the highest questions +often relate to mere matters of expediency, how easy it is to be +"always finding fault," if we neglect to take notice of explanatory and +extenuating circumstances! Anybody with a tongue and a most moderate +complement of brains can call a thing stupid, foolish, ill-advised, and +so forth; though it might require a larger amount of wisdom than the +judges possessed to have done the thing better. But what do we want with +captious judges in the bosom of a family? The scales of household polity +are the scales of love, and he who holds them should be a sympathizing +friend; ever ready to make allowance for failures, ingenious in +contriving apologies, more lavish of counsels than rebukes, and less +anxious to overwhelm a person with a sense of deficiency than to awaken +in the bosom, a conscious power of doing better. One thing is certain: +if any member of a family conceives it his duty to sit continually in +the censor's chair, and weigh in the scales of justice all that happens +in the domestic commonwealth, domestic happiness is out of the question. +It is manly to extenuate and forgive, but a crabbed and censorious +spirit is contemptible. + +There is much more misery thrown into the cup of life by domestic +unkindness than we might at first suppose. In thinking of the evils +endured by society from malevolent passions of individuals, we are apt +to enumerate only the more dreadful instances of crime: but what are +the few murders which unhappily pollute the soil of this Christian +land--what, we ask, is the suffering they occasion, what their +demoralizing tendency--when compared with the daily effusions of +ill-humour which sadden, may we not fear, many thousand homes? We +believe that an incalculably greater number are hurried to the grave +by habitual unkindness than by sudden violence; the slow poison of +churlishness and neglect, is of all poisons the most destructive. If +this is true, we want a new definition for the most flagrant of all +crimes: a definition which shall leave out the element of time, and call +these actions the same--equally hateful, equally diabolical, equally +censured by the righteous government of Heaven--which proceed from the +same motives, and lead to the same result, whether they be done in a +moment, or spread out through a series of years. Habitual unkindness is +demoralizing as well as cruel. Whenever it fails to break the heart, +it hardens it. To take a familiar illustration: a wife who is never +addressed by her husband in tones of kindness, must cease to love him +if she wishes to be happy. It is her only alternative. Thanks to the +nobility of our nature, she does not always take it. No; for years she +battles with cruelty, and still presses with affection the hand which +smites her, but it is fearfully at her own expense. Such endurance preys +upon her health, and hastens her exit to the asylum of the grave. If +this is to be avoided, she must learn to forget, what woman should never +be tempted to forget, the vows, the self-renunciating devotedness of +impassioned youth; she must learn to oppose indifference, to neglect +and repel him with a heart as cold as his own. But what a tragedy lies +involved in a career like this! We gaze on something infinitely more +terrible than murder; we see our nature abandoned to the mercy of +malignant passions, and the sacred susceptibilities which were intended +to fertilize with the waters of charity the pathway of life, sending +forth streams of bitterest gall. A catalogue of such cases, faithfully +compiled, would eclipse, in turpitude and horror, all the calendars of +crime that have ever sickened the attention of the world. + +The obligations of gentleness and kindness are extensive as the claims +to manliness; these three qualities must go together. There are some +cases, however, in which such obligations are of special force. Perhaps +a precept here will be presented most appropriately under the guise of +an example. We have now before our mind's eye a couple, whose marriage +tie was, a few months since, severed by death. The husband was a strong, +hale, robust sort of a man, who probably never knew a day's illness +in the course of his life, and whose sympathy on behalf of weakness or +suffering in others it was exceedingly difficult to evoke; while his +partner was the very reverse, by constitution weak and ailing, but +withal a woman of whom any man might and ought to have been proud. Her +elegant form, her fair transparent skin, the classical contour of her +refined and expressive face, might have led a Canova to have selected +her as a model of feminine beauty. But alas! she was weak; she could not +work like other women; her husband could not _boast_ among his shopmates +how much she contributed to the maintenance of the family, and how +largely she could afford to dispense with the fruit of his labours. +Indeed, with a noble infant in her bosom, and the cares of a household +resting entirely upon her, she required help herself, and at least +she needed, what no wife can dispense with, but she least of +all--_sympathy_, forbearance, and all those tranquilizing virtues which +flow from a heart of kindness. She least of all could bear a harsh +look; to be treated daily with cold, disapproving reserve, a petulant +dissatisfaction could not but be death to her. We will not say it +_was_--enough that she is dead. The lily bent before the storm, and at +last was crushed by it. We ask but one question, in order to point +the moral:--In the circumstances we have delineated, what course +of treatment was most consonant with a manly spirit; that which was +actually pursued, or some other which the reader can suggest? + +Yes, to love is to be happy and to make happy, and to love is the very +spirit of true manliness. We speak not of exaggerated passion and false +sentiment; we speak not of those bewildering, indescribable feelings, +which under that name, often monopolize for a time the guidance of the +youthful heart; but we speak of that pure emotion which is benevolence +intensified, and which, when blended with intelligence, can throw the +light of joyousness around the manifold relations of life. Coarseness, +rudeness, tyranny, are so many forms of brute power; so many +manifestations of what it is man's peculiar glory not to be; but +kindness and gentleness can never cease to be MANLY. + + Count not the days that have lightly flown, + The years that were vainly spent; + Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, + When thy spirit stands before the Throne, + To account for the talents lent. + + But number the hours redeemed from sin, + The moments employed for Heaven;-- + Oh few and evil thy days have been, + Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene, + For a nobler purpose given. + + Will the shade go back on the dial plate? + Will thy sun stand still on his way? + Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate + Rests on the point of life's little date:-- + Then live while 'tis called to-day. + + Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page, + As they lessen, in value rise; + Oh rouse thee and live! nor deem that man's age + Stands on the length of his pilgrimage, + But in days that are truly wise. + + + + +SILENT INFLUENCE. + + + +"HOW finely she looks!" said Margaret Winne, as a lady swept by them in +the crowd; "I do not see that time wears upon her beauty at all." + +"What, Bell Walters!" exclaimed her companion. "Are you one of those who +think her such a beauty?" + +"I think her a very fine-looking woman, certainly," returned Mrs. Winne; +"and, what is more, I think her a very fine woman." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Hall; "I thought you were no friends?" + +"No," replied the first speaker; "but that does not make us enemies." + +"But I tell you she positively dislikes you, Margaret," said Mrs. Hall. +"It is only a few days since I knew of her saying that you were a bold, +impudent woman, and she did not like you at all." + +"That is bad," said Margaret, with a smile; "for I must confess that I +like her." + +"Well," said her companion, "I am sure I could never like any one who +made such unkind speeches about me." + +"I presume she said no more than she thought," said Margaret, quietly. + +"Well, so much the worse!" exclaimed Mrs. Hall, in surprise. "I hope you +do not think that excuses the matter at all?" + +"Certainly, I do. I presume she has some reason for thinking as she +does; and, if so, it was very natural she should express her opinion." + +"Well, you are very cool and candid about it, I must say. What reason +have you given her, pray, for thinking you were bold and impudent?" + +"None, that I am aware of," replied Mrs. Winne, "but I presume she +thinks I have. I always claim her acquaintance, when we meet, and I have +no doubt she would much rather I would let it drop." + +"Why don't you, then? I never knew her, and never had any desire for +her acquaintance. She was no better than you when you were girls, and I +don't think her present good fortune need make her so very scornful." + +"I do not think she exhibits any more haughtiness than most people would +under the same circumstances. Some would have dropped the acquaintance +at once, without waiting for me to do it. Her social position is higher +than mine, and it annoys her to have me meet her as an equal, just I +used to do." + +"You do it to annoy her, then?" + +"Not by any means. I would much rather she would feel, as I do, that +the difference between us is merely conventional, and might bear to be +forgotten on the few occasions when accident throws us together. But she +does not, and I presume it is natural. I do not know how my head might +be turned, if I had climbed up in the world as rapidly as she has done. +As it is, however, I admire her too much to drop her acquaintance just +yet, as long as she leaves it to me." + +"Really, Margaret, I should have supposed you had too much spirit to +intrude yourself upon a person that you knew wished to shake you off; +and I do not see how you can admire one that you know to be so proud." + +"I do not admire her on account of her pride, certainly, though it is +a quality that sits very gracefully upon her," said Margaret Winne; and +she introduced another topic of conversation, for she did not hope to +make her companion understand the motives that influenced her. + +"Bold and impudent!" said Margaret, to herself, as she sat alone, in her +own apartment. "I knew she thought it, for I have seen it in her looks; +but she always treats me well externally, and I hardly thought she would +say it. I know she was vexed with herself for speaking to me, one day, +when she was in the midst of a circle of her fashionable acquaintances. +I was particularly ill-dressed, and I noticed that they stared at me; +but I had no intention, then, of throwing myself in her way. Well," she +continued, musingly, "I am not to be foiled with one rebuff. I know her +better than she knows me, for the busy world has canvassed her life, +while they have never meddled with my own: and I think there are points +of contact enough between us for us to understand each other, if we +once found an opportunity. She stands in a position which I shall never +occupy, and she has more power and strength than I; else she had never +stood where she does, for she has shaped her fortunes by her own unaided +will. Her face was not her fortune, as most people suppose, but her +mind. She has accomplished whatever she has undertaken, and she can +accomplish much more, for her resources are far from being developed. +Those around her may remember yet that she was not always on a footing +with them; but they will not do so long. She will be their leader, for +she was born to rule. Yes; and she queens it most proudly among them. It +were a pity to lose sight of her stately, graceful dignity. I regard +her very much as I would some beautiful exotic, and her opinion of me +affects me about as much as if she were the flower, and not the mortal. +And yet I can never see her without wishing that the influence she +exerts might be turned into a better channel. She has much of good about +her, and I think that it needs but a few hints to make life and its +responsibilities appear to her as they do to me. I have a message for +her ear, but she must not know that it was intended for her. She has too +much pride of place to receive it from me, and too much self-confidence +to listen knowingly to the suggestions of any other mind than her own. +Therefore, I will seek the society of Isabel Walters whenever I can, +without appearing intrusive, until she thinks me worthy her notice, or +drops me altogether. My talent lies in thinking, but she has all the +life and energy I lack, and would make an excellent actor to my thought, +and would need no mentor when her attention was once aroused. My +usefulness must lie in an humble sphere, but hers--she can carry it +wherever she will. It will be enough for my single life to accomplish, +if, beyond the careful training of my own family, I can incite her to a +development of her powers of usefulness. People will listen to her who +will pay no attention to me; and, besides, she has the time and means to +spare, which I have not." + +"Everywhere, in Europe, they were talking of you, Mrs. Walters," said +a lady, who had spent many years abroad, "and adopting your plans for +vagrant and industrial schools, and for the management of hospitals and +asylums. I have seen your name in the memorials laid before government +in various foreign countries. You have certainly achieved a world-wide +reputation. Do tell me how your attention came first to be turned to +that sort of thing? I supposed you were one of our fashionable women, +who sought simply to know how much care and responsibility they could +lawfully avoid, and how high a social station it was possible to +attain. I am sure something must have happened to turn your life into so +different a channel." + +"Nothing in particular, I assure you," returned Mrs. Walters. "I came +gradually to perceive the necessity there was that some one should take +personal and decisive action in those things that it was so customary +to neglect. Fond as men are of money, it was far easier to reach their +purses than their minds. Our public charities were quite well endowed, +but no one gave them that attention that they needed, and thus evils had +crept in that were of the highest importance. My attention was attracted +to it in my own vicinity at first; and others saw it as well as I, but +it was so much of everybody's business that everybody let it alone. I +followed the example for awhile, but it seemed as much my duty to act as +that of any other person; and though it is little I have done, I +think that, in that little, I have filled the place designed for me by +Providence." + +"Well, really, Mrs. Walters, you were one of the last persons I should +have imagined to be nicely balancing a point of duty, or searching out +the place designed for them by Providence. I must confess myself at +fault in my judgment of character for once." + +"Indeed, madam," replied Mrs. Walters, "I have no doubt you judged me +very correctly at the time you knew me. My first ideas of the duties and +responsibilities of life were aroused by Margaret Winne; and I recollect +that my intimacy with her commenced after you left the country." + +"Margaret Winne? Who was she? Not the wife of that little Dr. Winne we +used to hear of occasionally? They attended the same church with us, I +believe?" + +"Yes; she was the one. We grew up together, and were familiar with each +other's faces from childhood; but this was about all. She was always in +humble circumstances, as I had myself been in early life; and, after my +marriage, I used positively to dislike her, and to dread meeting her, +for she was the only one of my former acquaintances who met me on the +same terms as she had always done. I thought she wished to remind me +that we were once equals in station; but I learned, when I came to know +her well, how far she was above so mean a thought. I hardly know how +I came first to appreciate her, but we were occasionally thrown in +contact, and her sentiments were so beautiful--so much above the common +stamp--that I could not fail to be attracted by her. She was a noble +woman. The world knows few like her. So modest and retiring--with an +earnest desire to do all the good in the world of which she was capable, +but with no ambition to shine. Well fitted as she was, to be an ornament +in any station of society, she seemed perfectly content to be the idol +of her own family, and known to few besides. There were few subjects on +which she had not thought, and her clear perceptions went at once to the +bottom of a subject, so that she solved simply many a question on which +astute philosophers had found themselves at fault. I came at last to +regard her opinion almost as an oracle. I have often thought, since her +death, that it was her object to turn my life into that channel to which +it has since been devoted, but I do not know. I had never thought of the +work that has since occupied me at the time of her death, but I can see +now how cautiously and gradually she led me among the poor, and taught +me to sympathize with their sufferings, and gave me, little by little, +a clue to the evils that had sprung up in the management of our public +charities. She was called from her family in the prime of life, but they +who come after her do assuredly rise up and call her blessed. She has +left a fine family, who will not soon forget, the instructions of their +mother." + +"Ah! yes, there it is, Mrs. Walters. A woman's sphere, after all, is at +home. One may do a great deal of good in public, no doubt, as you have +done; but don't you think that, while you have devoted yourself so +untiringly to other affairs, you have been obliged to neglect your own +family in order to gain time for this? One cannot live two lives at +once, you know." + +"No, madam, certainly we cannot live two lives at once, but we can glean +a much larger harvest from the one which is, bestowed upon us than we +are accustomed to think. I do not, by any means, think that I have ever +neglected my own family in the performance of other duties, and I trust +my children are proving, by their hearty co-operation with me, that I am +not mistaken. Our first duty, certainly is at home, and I determined, +at the outset, that nothing should call me from the performance of this +first charge. I do not think anything can excuse a mother from devoting +a large portion of her life in personal attention to the children God +has given her. But I can assure you that, to those things which I have +done of which the world could take cognisance, I have given far less +time than I used once to devote to dress and amusement, I found, by +systematizing everything, that my time was more than doubled; and, +certainly, I was far better fitted to attend properly to my own family, +when my eyes, were opened to the responsibilities of life, than when my +thoughts were wholly occupied by fashion and display." + + + + +ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY. + + + +"AH, friend K----, good-morning to you; I'm really happy to see you +looking so cheerful. Pray, to what unusual circumstance may we be +indebted for this happy, smiling face of yours, this morning?" (Our +friend K----had been, unfortunately, of a very desponding and somewhat +of a choleric turn of mind, previously.) + +"Really, is the change so perceptible, then? Well, my dear sir, you +shall have the secret; for, happy as I appear--and be assured, my +appearances are by no means deceptive, for I never felt more happy in my +life--it will still give me pleasure to inform you, and won't take long, +either. It is simply this; I have made a whole family happy!" + +"Indeed! Why, you have discovered a truly valuable: recipe for blues, +then, which may be used _ad libitum_, eh, K----?" + +"You may well say that. But, really, my friend, I feel no little +mortification at not making so simple and valuable a discovery at an +earlier period of my life, Heaven knows," continued K----, "I have +looked for contentment everywhere else. First, I sought for wealthy in +the gold mines of California, thinking that was the true source of +all earthly joys; but after obtaining it, I found myself with such a +multiplicity of cares and anxieties, that I was really more unhappy than +ever. I then sought for pleasure in travelling. This answered somewhat +the purpose of dissipating cares, &c., so long as it lasted; but, dear +me, it gave no permanent satisfaction. After seeing the whole world, I +was as badly off as Alexander the Great. He cried for another world to +_conquer_, and I cried for another world to _see_." + +The case of our friend, I imagine, differs not materially from that of +a host of other seekers of contentment in this productive world. Like +"blind leaders of the blind," our invariable fate is to go astray in the +universal race for happiness. How common is it, after seeking for it +in every place but the right one, for the selfish man to lay the whole +blame upon this fine world--as if anybody was to blame but himself. Even +some professors of religion are too apt to libel the world. "Well, this +is a troublesome world, to make the best of it," is not an uncommon +expression; neither is it a truthful one. "Troubles, disappointments, +losses, crosses, sickness, and death, make up the sum and substance of +our existence here," add they, with tremendous emphasis, as if they had +no hand in producing the sad catalogue. The trouble is, we set too +high a value on our own merits; we imagine ourselves deserving of great +favours and privileges, while we are doing nothing to merit them. In +this respect, we are not altogether unlike the young man in the parable, +who, by-the-by, was also a professor--he professed very loudly of having +done all those good things "from his youth up." But when the command +came, "go sell all thou hast, and give to the poor," &c., it soon took +the conceit out of him. + +In this connexion, there are two or three seemingly important +considerations, which I feel some delicacy in touching upon here. +However, in the kindest possible spirit, I would merely remark, that +there is a very large amount of wealth in the Church--by this I include +its wealthy members, of course; and refer to no particular denomination; +by Church, I mean all Christian denominations. Now, in connexion with +this fact, such a question as this arises in my mind--and I put it, not, +for the purpose of fault-finding, for I don't know that I have a right +view of the matter, but merely for the consideration of those who are +fond of hoarding up their earthly gains, viz.: Suppose the modern Church +was composed of such professors as the self-denying disciples of our +Saviour,--with their piety, simplicity, and this wealth; what, think +you, would be the consequence? Now I do not intend to throw out any +such flings as, "comparisons are odious"--"this is the modern Christian +age"--"the age of Christian privileges," and all that sort of nonsense. +Still, I am rather inclined to the opinion, that if we were all--in +and out of the Church--disposed to live up to, or carry out what we +professedly know to be right, it would be almost as difficult to find +real trouble, as it is now to find real happiness. + +The sources of contentment and discontentment are discoverable, +therefore, without going into a metaphysical examination of the subject. +Just in proportion as we happen to discharge, or neglect known duties, +are we, according to my view, happy or miserable on earth. Philosophy +tells us that our happiness and well-being depends upon a conformity to +certain unalterable laws--moral, physical, and organic--which act upon +the intellectual, moral, and material universe, of which man is a part, +and which determine, or regulate the growth, happiness, and well-being +of all organic beings. These views, when reduced to their simple +meaning, amount to the same thing, call it by what name we will. Duties, +of course, imply legal or moral obligations, which we are certainly +legally or morally bound to pay, perform, or discharge. And certain it +is, there is no getting over them--they are as irresistible as +Divine power, as universal as Divine presence, as permanent as Divine +existence, and no art nor cunning of man can disconnect unhappiness from +transgressing them. How necessary to our happiness, then, is it, not +only to know, but to perform our whole duty? + +One of the great duties of man in this life, and, perhaps, the most +neglected, is that of doing good, or benefiting one another. That doing +good is clearly a duty devolving upon man, there can be no question. The +benevolent Creator, in placing man in the world, endowed him with mental +and physical energies, which clearly denote that he is to be active in +his day and generation. + +Active in what? Certainly not in mischief, for that would not be +consistent with Divine goodness. Neither should we suppose that we are +here for our own sakes simply. Such an idea would be presumptuous. For +what purpose, then, was man endowed with all these facilities of mind +and body, but to do good and glorify his Maker? True philosophy teaches +that benevolence was not only the design of the Creator in all His +works, but the fruits to be expected from them. The whole infinite +contrivances of everything above, around, and within us, are directed +to certain benevolent issues, and all the laws of nature are in perfect +harmony with this idea. + +That such is the design of man may also be inferred from the happiness +which attends every good action, and the misery of discontentment which +attends those who not only do wrong, but are useless to themselves and +to society. Friend K----'s case, above quoted, is a fair illustration of +this truth. + +Now, then, if it is our duty to do all the good we can, and I think this +will be admitted, particularly by the Christian, and this be measured +by our means and opportunity, then there are many whom Providence has +blessed with the means and opportunity of doing a very great amount of +good. And if it be true, as it manifestly is, that "it is more blessed +to give than receive," then has Providence also blessed them with very +great privileges. The privilege of giving liberally, and thus obtaining +for themselves the greater blessing, which is the result of every +benevolent action, the simple satisfaction with ourselves which follows +a good act, or consciousness of having done our duty in relieving +a fellow-creature, are blessings indeed, which none but the good or +benevolent can realize. Such kind spirits are never cast down. Their +hearts always light and cheerful--rendered so by their many kind +offices,--they can always enjoy their neighbours, rich or poor, high or +low, and love them too; and with a flow of spirits which bespeak a heart +all right within, they make all glad and happy around them. + +Doing good is an infallible antidote for melancholy. When the heart +seems heavy, and our minds can light upon nothing but little naughty +perplexities, everything going wrong, no bright spot or relief anywhere +for our crazy thoughts, and we are finally wound up in a web of +melancholy, depend upon it there is nothing, nothing which can dispel +this angry, ponderous, and unnatural cloud from our _rheumatic minds_ +and _consciences_ like a charity visit--to give liberally to those in +need of succour, the poor widow, the suffering, sick, and poor, the +aged invalid, the lame, the blind, &c., &c.; all have a claim upon your +bounty, and how they will bless you and love you for it--anyhow, they +will thank kind Providence for your mission of love. He that makes one +such visit will make another and another; he can't very well get weary +in such well-doing, for his is the greater blessing. It is a blessing +indeed: how the heart is lightened, the soul enlarged, the mind +improved, and even health; for the mind being liberated from +perplexities, the body is at rest, the nerves in repose, and the blood, +equalized, courses freely through the system, giving strength, vigour, +and equilibrium to the whole complicated machinery. Thus we can think +clearer, love better, enjoy life, and be thankful for it. + +What a beautiful arrangement it is that we can, by doing good to others, +do so much good to ourselves! The wealthy classes, who "rise above +society like clouds above the earth, to diffuse an abundant dew," should +not forget this fact. The season has now about arrived, when the good +people of all classes will be most busily engaged in these delightful +duties. The experiment is certainly worth trying by all. If all +those desponding individuals, whose chief comfort is to growl at this +"troublesome world," will but take the hint, look trouble full in the +face, and relieve it, they will, like friend K----, feel much better. + +It may be set down as a generally correct axiom, (with some few +exceptions, perhaps, such as accidents, and the deceptions and cruelties +of those whom we injudiciously select for friends and confidants, from +our want of discernment), that life is much what we make it, and so is +the world. + + + + +THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN. + + + +AH me! Am I really a rich man, or am I not? That is the question. I +am sure I don't feel rich; and yet, here I am written down among the +"wealthy citizens" as being worth seventy thousand dollars! How the +estimate was made, or who furnished the data, is all a mystery to me. I +am sure I wasn't aware of the fact before. "Seventy thousand dollars!" +That sounds comfortable, doesn't it? Seventy thousand dollars!--But +where is it? Ah! There is the rub! How true it is that people always +know more about you than you do yourself. + +Before this unfortunate book came out ("The Wealthy Citizens of +Philadelphia"), I was jogging on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be aware +of the fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of the thing +myself. But, strange to tell, I awoke one morning and found myself worth +seventy thousand dollars! I shall never forget that day. Men who had +passed me in the street with a quiet, familiar nod, now bowed with a low +salaam, or lifted their hats deferentially, as I encountered them on the +_pave_. + +"What's the meaning of all this?" thought I. "I haven't stood up to +be shot at, nor sinned against innocence and virtue. I haven't been to +Paris. I don't wear moustaches. What has given me this importance?" + +And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of money to help me out +with some pretty heavy payments. After succeeding, though with some +difficulty in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my store about +twelve o'clock. I found a mercantile acquaintance awaiting me, who, +without many preliminaries, thus stated his business: + +"I want," said he, with great coolness, "to get a loan of six or seven +thousand dollars; and I don't know of any one to whom I can apply with +more freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think I can satisfy +you, fully, in regard to security. + +"My dear sir," replied I, "if you only wanted six or seven hundred +dollars, instead of six or seven thousand dollars, I could not +accommodate you. I have just come in from a borrowing expedition +myself." + +I was struck with the sudden change in the man's countenance. He was not +only disappointed, but offended. He did not believe my statement. In +his eyes, I had merely resorted to a subterfuge, or, rather, told a +lie, because I did not wish to let him have my money. Bowing with cold +formality, he turned away and left my place of business. His manner to +me has been reserved ever since. + +On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the back part of my store +musing on some, matter of business, when I saw a couple of ladies enter. +They spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them back to where I was +taking things comfortably in an old arm-chair. + +"Mr. G----, I believe?" said the elder of the two ladies, with a bland +smile. + +I had already arisen, and to this question, or rather affirmation, I +bowed assent. + +"Mr. G----," resumed the lady, producing a small book as she spoke, "we +are a committee, appointed to make collections in this district for +the purpose of setting up a fair in aid of the funds of the Esquimaux +Missionary Society. It is the design of the ladies who have taken this +matter in hand to have a very large collection of articles, as the funds +of the society are entirely exhausted. To the gentlemen of our district, +and especially to those who leave been liberally _blessed with this +world's goods_"--this was particularly emphasized--"we look for +important aid. Upon you, sir, we have called first, in order that you +may head the subscription, and thus set an example of liberality to +others." + +And the lady handed me the book in the most "of course" manner in the +world, and with the evident expectation that I would put down at least +fifty-dollars. + +Of course I was cornered, and must do something, I tried to be bland +and polite; but am inclined to think that I failed in the effort. As for +fairs, I never did approve of them. But that was nothing. The enemy had +boarded me so suddenly and so completely, that nothing, was left for +me but to surrender at discretion, and I did so with as good grace as +possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar bill and presented +it; to the elder of the two ladies, thinking that I was doing very well +indeed. She took the money, but was evidently disappointed; and did not +even ask me to head the list with my name. + +"How money does harden the heart!" I overheard one of my fair +visiters say to the other, in a low voices but plainly intended for my +edification, as they walked off with their five dollar bill. + +"Confound your impudence!" I said to myself, thus taking my revenge out +of them. "Do you think I've got nothing else to do with my money but +scatter it to the four winds?" + +And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes of my waistcoat, and took a +dozen turns up and down my store, in order to cool off. + +"Confound your impudence!" I then repeated, and quietly sat down again +in the old arm-chair. + +On the next day I had any number of calls from money-hunters. Business +men, who had never thought of asking me for loans, finding that I +was worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon me for temporary +favours, and, when disappointed in their expectations, couldn't seem to +understand it. When I spoke of being "hard up" myself, they looked as if +they didn't clearly comprehend what I meant. + +A few days after the story of my wealth had gone abroad, I was sitting, +one evening, with my family, when I was informed that a lady was in the +parlour, and wished to see me. + +"A lady!" said I. + +"Yes, sir," replied the servant. + +"Is she alone?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What does she want?" + +"She did not say, sir." + +"Very well. Tell her I'll be down in a few moments." + +When I entered the parlour, I found a woman, dressed in mourning, with +her veil closely drawn. + +"Mr. G----?" she said, in a low, sad voice. + +I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where she was sitting, and from +which she had not risen upon my entrance. + +"Pardon the great liberty I have taken," she began, after a pause of +embarrassment, and in an unsteady voice. "But, I believe I have not +mistaken your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor erred in +believing that your hand is ever ready to respond to the generous +impulses of our heart." + +I bowed again, and my visiter went on. + +"My object in calling upon you I will briefly state. A year ago my +husband died. Up to that time I had never known the want of anything +that money could buy. He was a merchant of this city, and supposed to +be in good circumstances. But he left an insolvent estate; and now, with +five little ones to care for, educate, and support, I have parted with +nearly my last dollar, and have not a single friend to whom I can look +for aid." + +There was a deep earnestness and moving pathos in the tones of the +woman's voice, that went to my heart. She paused for a few moments, +overcome with her feelings, and then resumed:-- + +"One in an extremity like mine, sir, will do many things from which, +under other circumstances she should shrink. This is my only excuse for +troubling you at the present time. But I cannot see my little family in +want without an effort to sustain them; and, with a little aid, I see +my way clear to do so. I was well educated, and feel not only competent, +but willing to undertake a school. There is one, the teacher of which +being in bad health, wishes to give it up, and if I can get the means to +buy out her establishment, will secure an ample and permanent income for +my family. To aid me, sir, in doing this, I now make an appeal to you. I +know you are able, and I believe you are willing to put forth your hand +and save my children from want, and, it may be, separation." + +The woman still remained closely veiled; I could not, therefore, see her +face. But I could perceive that she was waiting with trembling suspense +for my answer. Heaven knows my heart responded freely to her appeal. + +"How much will it take to purchase this establishment?" I inquired. + +"Only a thousand dollars," she replied. + +I was silent. A thousand dollars! + +"I do not wish it, sir, as a gift," she said "only as a loan. In a year +or two I will be able to repay it." + +"My dear madam," was my reply, "had I the ability most gladly would I +meet your wishes. But, I assure you I have not. A thousand dollars taken +from my business would destroy it." + +A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up from the breast of the +stranger, and her head dropped low upon her bosom. She seemed to have +fully expected the relief for which she applied; and to be stricken to +the earth by my words! We were both unhappy. + +"May I presume to ask your name, madam?" said I, after a pause. + +"It would do no good to mention it," she replied, mournfully. "It +has cost me a painful effort to come to you; and now that my hope has +proved, alas! in vain, I must beg the privilege of still remaining a +stranger." + +She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall and dignified. Dropping +me a slight courtesy, she was turning to go away, when I said, + +"But, madam, even if I have not the ability to grant your request, I may +still have it in my power to aid you in this matter. I am ready to do +all I can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your husband will be +found numbers to step forward and join in affording you the assistance +so much desired, when they are made aware of your present extremity." + +The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my words were felt as a +mockery or an insult, and turning from me, again walked from the room +with a firm step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed into the +street, and I was left standing alone. To this day I have remained in +ignorance of her identity. Cheerfully would I have aided her to the +extent of my ability to do so. Her story touched my feelings and +awakened my liveliest sympathies, and if, on learning her name and +making proper inquiries into her circumstances, I had found all to be +as she had stated, I would have felt it a duty to interest myself in her +behalf, and have contributed in aid of the desired end to the extent of +my ability. But she came to me under the false idea that I had but to +put my hand in my pocket, or write a check upon the bank, and lo! a +thousand dollars were forthcoming. And because I did not do this, +she believed me unfeeling, selfish, and turned from me mortified, +disappointed, and despairing. + +I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. On the very next +morning I received a letter from an artist, in which he spoke of the +extremity of his circumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple of +pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not resist his appeal. The +pictures did not strike me as possessing much artistic value. + +"What do you ask for them?" I inquired. + +"I refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But I am compelled to part +with them now, and you shall have them for eighty." + +I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and therefore shook my head. +But, as he looked disappointed, I offered to take one of the pictures at +forty dollars. To this he agreed. I paid the money, and the picture was +sent home. Some days afterward, I was showing it to a friend. + +"What did you pay for it?" he asked. + +"Forty dollars," I replied. + +The friend smiled strangely. + +"What's the matter?" said I. + +"He offered it to me for twenty-five." + +"That picture?" + +"Yes." + +"He asked me eighty for this and another, and said he had refused a +hundred for the pair." + +"He lied though. He thought, as you were well off, that he must ask you +a good stiff price, or you wouldn't buy." + +"The scoundrel!" + +"He got ahead of you, certainly." + +"But it's the last time," said I, angrily. + +And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed in which my fame as a +wealthy citizen did not subject me to some kind of experiment from +people in want of money. If I employed a porter for any service and +asked what was to pay, after the work was done, ten chances to one that +he didn't touch his hat and reply, + +"Anything that you please, sir," in the hope that I, being a rich man, +would be ashamed to offer him less than about four times his regular +price. Poor people in abundance called upon me for aid; and all sorts of +applications to give or lend money met me at every turn. And when I, in +self-defence, begged off as politely as possible, hints gentle or broad, +according to the characters or feelings of those who came, touching the +hardening and perverting influence of wealth, were thrown out for my +especial edification. + +And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but myself doubts the fact +that I am worth from seventy to a hundred thousand dollars, and I +am, therefore, considered allowable game for all who are too idle or +prodigal to succeed in the world; or as Nature's almoner to all who are +suffering from misfortunes. + +Soon after the publication to which I have alluded was foisted upon our +community as a veritable document, I found myself a secular dignitary +in the church militant. Previously I had been only a pew-holder, and an +unambitious attendant upon the Sabbath ministrations of the Rev. Mr----. +But a new field suddenly opened before me; I was a man of weight and +influence, and must be used for what I was worth. It is no joke, I can +assure the reader, when I tell them that the way my pocket suffered was +truly alarming. I don't know, but I have seriously thought, sometimes, +that if I hadn't kicked loose from my dignity, I would have been +gazetted as a bankrupt long before this time. + +Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman or deacon, I will not +say which, I met the Rev. Mr----, and the way he talked to me about the +earth being the "Lord's and the fullness thereof;" about our having the +poor always with us; about the duties of charity, and the laying up of +treasure in heaven, made me ashamed to go to church for a month to come. +I really began to fear that I was a doomed man and that the reputation +of being a "wealthy citizen" was going to sink me into everlasting +perdition. But I am getting over that feeling now. My cash-book, ledger, +and bill-book set me right again; and I can button up my coat and +draw my purse-strings, when guided by the dictates of my own judgment, +without a fear of the threatened final consequences before my eyes. +Still, I am the subject of perpetual annoyance from all sorts of people, +who will persist in believing that I am made of money; and many of these +approach me in, such a way as to put it almost entirely out of my +power to say "no." They come with appeals for small amounts, as loans, +donations to particular charities, or as the price of articles that I do +not want, but which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, since +I have obtained my present unenviable reputation, it hasn't cost me a +cent less than two thousand, in money given away, loaned never to be +returned, and in the purchase of things that I never would have thought +of buying. + +And, with all this, I have made more enemies than I ever before had in +my life, and estranged half of my friends and acquaintances. + +Seriously, I have it in contemplation to "break" one of these days, +in order to satisfy the world that I am not a rich man. I see no other +effectual remedy for present grievances. + + + + +"WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE." + + + + DESPAIR not of the better part + That lies in human kind-- + A gleam of light still flickereth + In e'en the darkest mind; + The savage with his club of war, + The sage so mild and good, + Are linked in firm, eternal bonds + Of common brotherhood. + Despair not! Oh despair not, then, + For through this world so wide, + No nature is so demon-like, + But there's an angel side. + + The huge rough stones from out the mine, + Unsightly and unfair, + Have veins of purest metal hid + Beneath the surface there; + Few rocks so bare but to their heights + Some tiny moss-plant clings, + And round the peaks, so desolate, + The sea-bird sits and sings. + Believe me, too, that rugged souls, + Beneath their rudeness hide + Much that is beautiful and good-- + We've all our angel side. + + In all there is an inner depth-- + A far off, secret way, + Where, through dim windows of the soul, + God sends His smiling ray; + In every human heart there is + A faithful sounding chord, + That may be struck, unknown to us, + By some sweet loving word; + The wayward heart in vain may try + Its softer thoughts to hide, + Some unexpected tone reveals + It has its angel side. + + Despised, and low, and trodden down, + Dark with the shade of sin: + Deciphering not those halo lights + Which God hath lit within; + Groping about in utmost night, + Poor prisoned souls there are, + Who guess not what life's meaning is, + Nor dream of heaven afar; + Oh! that some gentle hand of love + Their stumbling steps would guide, + And show them that, amidst it all, + Life has its angel side. + + Brutal, and mean, and dark enough, + God knows, some natures are, + But He, compassionate, comes near-- + And shall we stand afar? + Our cruse of oil will not grow less, + If shared with hearty hand, + And words of peace and looks of love + Few natures can withstand. + Love is the mighty conqueror-- + Love is the beauteous guide-- + Love, with her beaming eye, can see + We've all our angel side. + + + + +BLIND JAMES. + + + +IN the month of December, in the neighbourhood of Paris, two men, one +young, the other rather advanced in years, were descending the village +street, which was made uneven and almost impassable by stones and +puddles. + +Opposite to them, and ascending this same street, a labourer, fastened +to a sort of dray laden with a cask, was slowly advancing, and beside +him a little girl, of about eight years old, who was holding the end of +the barrow. Suddenly the wheel went over an enormous stone, which lay +in the middle of the street, and the car leaned towards the side of the +child. + +"The man must be intoxicated," cried the young man, stepping forward to +prevent the overturn of the dray. When he reached the spot, he perceived +that the man was blind. + +"Blind!" said he, turning towards his old friend. But the latter, making +him a sign to be silent, placed his hand, without speaking, on that of +the labourer, while the little girl smiled. The blind man immediately +raised his head, his sightless eyes were turned towards the two +gentlemen, his face shone with an intelligent and natural pleasure, and, +pressing closely the hand which held his own, he said, with an accent of +tenderness, + +"Mr. Desgranges!" + +"How!" said the young man, moved and surprised; "he knew you by the +touch of your hand." + +"I do not need even that," said the blind man; "when he passes me in the +street, I say to myself, 'That is his step.'" And, seizing the hand +of Mr. Desgranges, he kissed it with ardour. "It was indeed you, Mr. +Desgranges, who prevented my falling--always you." + +"Why," said the young man, "do you expose yourself to such accidents, by +dragging this cask?" + +"One must attend to his business, sir," replied he, gayly. + +"Your business?" + +"Undoubtedly," added Mr. Desgranges. "James is our water-carrier. But I +shall scold him for going out without his wife to guide him." + +"My wife was gone away. I took the little girl. One must be a little +energetic, must he not? And, you see, I have done very well since I last +saw you, my dear Mr. Desgranges; and you have assisted me." + +"Come, James, now finish serving your customers, and then you can call +and see me. I am going home." + +"Thank you, sir. Good-by, sir; good-by, sir." + +And he started again, dragging his cask, while the child turned towards +the gentlemen her rosy and smiling face. + +"Blind, and a water-carrier!" repeated the young man, as they walked +along. + +"Ah! our James astonishes you, my young friend. Yes, it is one of those +miracles like that of a paralytic who walks. Should you like to know his +story?" + +"Tell it to me." + +"I will do so. It does not abound in facts or dramatic incidents, but +it will interest you, I think, for it is the history of a soul, and of +a good soul it is--a man struggling against the night. You will see the +unfortunate man going step by step out of a bottomless abyss to begin +his life again--to create his soul anew. You will see how a blind man, +with a noble heart for a stay, makes his way even in this world." + +While they were conversing, they reached the house of Mr. Desgranges, +who began in this manner:-- + +"One morning, three years since, I was walking on a large dry plain, +which separates our village from that of Noiesemont, and which is all +covered with mill-stones just taken from the quarry. The process of +blowing the rocks was still going on. Suddenly a violent explosion was +heard. I looked. At a distance of four or five hundred paces, a gray +smoke, which seemed to come from a hole, rose from the ground. Stones +were then thrown up in the air, horrible cries were heard, and springing +from this hole appeared a man, who began to run across the plain as if +mad. He shook his arms, screamed, fell down, got up again, disappeared +in the great crevices of the plain, and appeared again. The distance and +the irregularity of his path prevented me from distinguishing anything +clearly; but, at the height of his head, in the place of his face, I saw +a great, red mark. In alarm, I approached him, while from the other side +of the plain, from Noiesemont, a troop of men and women were advancing, +crying aloud. I was the first to reach the poor creature. His face was +all one wound, and torrents of blood were streaming over his garments, +which were all in rags. + +"Scarcely had I taken hold of him, when a woman, followed by twenty +peasants, approached, and threw herself before him. + +"'James, James, is it you? I did not know you, James.' + +"The poor man, without answering, struggled furiously in our hands. + +"'Ah!' cried the woman, suddenly, and with a heart-rending voice, 'it is +he!' + +"She had recognised a large silver pin, which fastened his shirt, which +was covered with blood. + +"It was indeed he, her husband, the father of three children, a +poor labourer, who, in blasting a rock with powder, had received the +explosion in his face, and was blind, mutilated, perhaps mortally +wounded. + +"He was carried home. I was obliged to go away the same day, on a +journey, and was absent a month. Before my departure, I sent him our +doctor, a man devoted to his profession as a country physician, and as +learned as a city physician. On my return-- + +"'Ah! well, doctor,' said I, 'the blind man?' + +"'It is all over with him. His wounds are healed, his head is doing +well, he is only blind; but he will die; despair has seized him, and he +will kill himself. I can do nothing more for him, This is all,' he said; +'an internal inflammation is taking place. He must die.' + +"I hastened to the poor man. I arrived. I shall never forget the sight. +He was seated on a wooden stool, beside a hearth on which there was no +fire, his eyes covered with a white bandage. On the floor an infant of +three months was sleeping; a little girl of four years old was playing +in the ashes; one, still older, was shivering opposite to her; and, in +front of the fireplace, seated on the disordered bed, her arms hanging +down, was the wife. What was left to be imagined in this spectacle was +more than met the eye. One felt that for several hours, perhaps, no word +had been spoken in this room. The wife was doing nothing, and seemed +to have no care to do anything. They were not merely unfortunate, they +seemed like condemned persons. At the sound of my footsteps they arose, +but without speaking. + +"'You are the blind man of the quarry?" + +"'Yes, sir.' + +"'I have come to see you.' + +"'Thank you, sir.' + +"'You met with a sad misfortune there.' + +"'Yes, sir.' + +"His voice was cold, short, without any emotion. He expected nothing +from any one. I pronounced the words 'assistance,' 'public compassion.' + +"'Assistance!' cried his wife, suddenly, with a tone of despair; 'they +ought to give it to us; they must help us; we have done nothing to bring +upon us this misfortune; they will not let my children die with hunger.' + +"She asked for nothing--begged for nothing. She claimed help. This +imperative beggary touched me more than the common lamentations of +poverty, for it was the voice of despair; and I felt in my purse for +some pieces of silver. + +"The man then, who had till now been silent, said, with a hollow tone, + +"'Your children must die, since I can no longer see.' + +"There is a strange power in the human voice. My money fell back into my +purse. I was ashamed of the precarious assistance. I felt that here was +a call for something more than mere almsgiving--the charity of a day. I +soon formed my resolution." + +"But what could you do?" said the young man, to Mr. Desgranges. + +"What could I do?" replied he, with animation. "Fifteen days after, +James was saved. A year after, he gained his own living, and might be +heard singing at his work." + +"Saved! working! singing! but how?" + +"How! by very natural means. But wait, I think I hear him. I will make +him tell you his simple story. It will touch you more from his lips. It +will embarrass me less, and his cordial and ardent face will complete +the work." + +In fact, the noise of some one taking off his wooden shoes was heard at +the door, and then a little tap. + +"Come in, James;" and he entered with his wife, + +"I have brought Juliana, my dear Mr. Desgranges, the poor woman--she +must see you sometimes, must she not?" + +"You did right, James. Sit down." + +He came forward, pushing his stick before him, that he might not knock +against a chair. He found one, and seated himself. He was young, small, +vigorous, with black hair, a high and open forehead, a singularly +expansive face for a blind man, and, as Rabelais says, a magnificent +smile of thirty-two teeth. His wife remained standing behind him. + +"James," said Mr. Desgranges to him, "here is one of my good friends, +who is very desirous to see you." + +"He is a good man, then, since he is your friend." + +"Yes. Talk with him; I am going to see my geraniums. But do not be sad, +you know I forbid you that." + +"No, no, my dear friend, no!" + +This tender and simple appellation seemed to charm the young man; and +after the departure of his friend, approaching the blind man, he said, + +"You are very fond of Mr. Desgranges?" + +"Fond of him!" cried the blind man, with impetuosity; "he saved me from +ruin, sir. It was all over with me; the thought of my children consumed +me; I was dying because I could not see. He saved me." + +"With assistance--with money?" + +"Money! what is money? Everybody can give that. Yes, he clothed us, he +fed us, he obtained a subscription of five hundred francs (about one +hundred dollars) for me; but all this was as nothing; he did more--he +cured my heart!" + +"But how?" + +"By his kind words, sir. Yes, he, a person of so much consequence in the +world, he came every day into my poor house, he sat on my poor stool, he +talked with me an hour, two hours, till I became quiet and easy." + +"What did he say to you?" + +"I do not know; I am but a foolish fellow, and he must tell you all he +said to me; but they were things I had never heard before. He spoke to +me of the good God better than a minister; and he brought sleep back to +me." + +"How was that?" + +"It was two months since I had slept soundly. I would just doze, and +then start up, saying, + +"'James, you are blind,' and then my head would go round--round, like +a madman; and this was killing me. One morning he came in, this dear +friend, and said to me, + +"'James, do you believe in God?' + +"'Why do you ask that, Mr. Desgranges?' + +"'Well, this night, when you wake, and the thought of your misfortune +comes upon you, say aloud a prayer--then two--then three--and you will +go to sleep.'" + +"Yes," said the wife, with her calm voice, "the good God, He gives +sleep." + +"This is not all, sir. In my despair I would have killed myself. I said +to myself, 'You are useless to your family, you are the woman of the +house, and others support you.' But he was displeased--'Is it not you +who support your family? If you had not been blind, would any one have +given you the five hundred francs?' + +"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + +"'If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?' + +"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + +"'If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?' + +"'It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.' + +"'You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families. Misfortune is +like rain; it must fall a little on everybody. If you were not blind, +your wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might have +died. Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor man; but +they--they have none.' + +"'True, true.' And I began to feel less sad. I was even happy to suffer +for them. And then he added, + +"'Dear James, misfortune is either the greatest enemy or the greatest +friend of men. There are people whom it makes wicked; there are others +made better by it. For you, it must make you beloved by everybody; you +must become so grateful, so affectionate, that when they wish to speak +of any one who is good, they will say, good as the blind man of the +Noiesemont. That will serve for a dowry to your daughter.' This is the +way he talked to me, sir: and it gave me heart to be unfortunate." + +"Yes; but when he was not here?" + +"Ah, when he was not here, I had, to be sure, some heavy moments. I +thought of my eyes--the light is so beautiful! Oh, God! cried I, in +anguish, if ever I should see clearly again, I would get up at three +o'clock in the morning, and I would, not go to bed till ten at night, +that I might gather up more light." + +"James, James!" said his wife. + +"You are right, Juliana; he has forbidden me to be sad. He would +perceive it, sir. Do you think that when my head had gone wrong in the +night, and he came in the morning, and merely looked at me, he would +say--'James, you have been thinking that;' and then he would scold me, +this dear friend. Yes," added he, with an expression of joy--"he would +scold me, and that would give me pleasure, because he tried to make his +words cross, but he could not do it." + +"And what gave you the idea of becoming a water-carrier?" + +"He gave me that, also. Do you suppose I have ideas? I began to lose my +grief, but my time hung heavy on my hands. At thirty-two years old, to +be sitting all day in a chair! He then began to instruct me, as he said, +and he told me beautiful stories. The Bible--the history of an old +man, blind like me, named Tobias; the history of Joseph; the history +of David; the history of Jesus Christ. And then he made me repeat them +after him. But my head, it was hard--it was hard; it was not used to +learning, and I was always getting tired in my arms and my legs." + +"And he tormented us to death," said his wife, laughing. + +"True, true," replied he, laughing also; "I became cross. He came again, +and said, + +"'James, you must go to work.' + +"I showed him my poor, burned hands. + +"'It is no matter; I have bought you a capital in trade.' + +"'Me, Mr. Desgranges?' + +"'Yes, James, a capital into which they never put goods, and where they +always find them.' + +"'It must have cost you a great deal, sir.' + +"'Nothing at all, my lad.' + +"'What is then this fund?' + +"'The river.' + +"'The river? Do you wish me to become a fisherman?' + +"'Not all; a water-carrier.' + +"'Water-carrier! but eyes?' + +"'Eyes; of what use are they? do the dray-horses have eyes? If they do, +they make use of them; if they do not, they do without them. Come, you +must be a water-carrier.' + +"'But a cask?' + +"'I will give you one.' + +"'A cart?' + +"'I have ordered one at the cart-maker's.' + +"'But customers?' + +"I will give you my custom, to begin with, eighteen francs a month; (my +dear friend pays for water as dearly as for wine.) Moreover, you have +nothing to say, either yes or no. I have dismissed my water-carrier, +and you would not let my wife and me die with thirst. This dear Madame +Desgranges, just think of it. And so, my boy, in three days--work. And +you, Madam James, come here;' and he carried off Juliana." + +"Yes, sir," continued the wife, "he carried me off, ordered leather +straps, made me buy the wheels, harnessed me; we were all astonishment, +James and I; but stop, if you can, when Mr. Desgranges drives you. +At the end of three days, here we are with the cask, he harnessed and +drawing it, I behind, pushing; we were ashamed at crossing the village, +as if we were doing something wrong; it seemed as if everybody would +laugh at us. But Mr. Desgranges was there in the street. + +"'Come on, James,' said he, 'courage.' + +"We came along, and in the evening he put into our hands a piece of +money, saying," continued the blind man, with emotion-- + +"'James, here are twenty sous you have earned to-day.' + +"Earned, sir, think of that! earned, it was fifteen months that I had +only eaten what had been given to me. It is good to receive from good +people, it is true; but the bread that one earns, it is as we say, half +corn, half barley; it nourishes better, and then it was done, I was +no longer the woman, I was a labourer--a labourer--James earned his +living." + +A sort of pride shone from his face. + +"How!" said the young man, "was your cask sufficient to support you?" + +"Not alone, sir; but I have still another profession." + +"Another profession!" + +"Ha, ha, yes, sir; the river always runs, except when it is frozen, and, +as Mr. Desgranges says, 'water-carriers do not make their fortune with +ice,' so he gave me a Winter trade and Summer trade." + +"Winter trade!" + +Mr. Desgranges returned at this moment--James heard him--"Is it +not true, Mr. Desgranges, that I have another trade besides that of +water-carrier?" + +"Undoubtedly." + +"What is it then?" + +"Wood-sawyer." + +"Wood-sawyer? impossible; how could you measure the length of the +sticks? how could you cut wood without cutting yourself?" + +"Cut myself, sir," replied the blind man, with a pleasant shade of +confidence; "I formerly was a woodsawyer, and the saw knows me well; and +then one learns everything--I go to school, indeed. They put a pile of +wood at my left side, my saw and saw horse before me, a stick that is +to be sawed in three; I take a thread, I cut it the size of the third of +the stick--this is the measure. Every place I saw, I try it, and so it +goes on till now there is nothing burned or drunk in the village without +calling upon me." + +"Without mentioning," added Mr. Desgranges, "that he is a commissioner." + +"A commissioner!" said the young man, still more surprised. + +"Yes, sir, when there is an errand to be done at Melun, I put my little +girl on my back, and then off I go. She sees for me, I walk for her; +those who meet me, say, 'Here is a gentleman who carries his eyes very +high;' to which I answer, 'that is so I may see the farther.' And then +at night I have twenty sous more to bring home." + +"But are you not afraid of stumbling against the stones?" + +"I lift my feet pretty high; and then I am used to it; I come from +Noiesemont here all alone." + +"All alone! how do you find your way?" + +"I find the course of the wind as I leave home, and this takes the place +of the sun with me." + +"But the holes?" + +"I know them all." + +"And the walls?" + +"I feel them. When I approach anything thick, sir, the air comes with +less force upon my face; it is but now and then that I get a hard knock, +as by example, if sometimes a little handcart is left on the road, I do +not suspect it--whack! bad for you, poor five-and-thirty, but this +is soon over. It is only when I get bewildered, as I did day before +yesterday. O then---" + +"You have not told me of that, James," said Mr. Desgranges. + +"I was, however, somewhat embarrassed, my dear friend. While I was here +the wind changed, I did not perceive it; but at the end of a quarter of +an hour, when I had reached the plain of Noiesemont, I had lost my way, +and I felt so bewildered that I did not dare to stir a step. You know +the plain, not a house, no passersby. I sat down on the ground, I +listened; after a moment I heard at, as I supposed, about two hundred +paces distant, a noise of running water. I said, 'If this should be the +stream which is at the bottom of the plain?' I went feeling along on the +side from which the noise came--I reached the stream; then I reasoned in +this way: the water comes down from the side of Noiesemont and crosses +it. I put in my hand to feel the current." + +"Bravo, James." + +"Yes, but the water was so low and the current so small, that my hand +felt nothing. I put in the end of my stick, it was not moved. I rubbed +my head finally, I said, 'I am a fool, here is my handkerchief;' I +took it, I fastened it to the end of my cane. Soon I felt that it moved +gently to the right, very gently. Noiesemont is on the right. I started +again and I get home to Juliana, who began to be uneasy." + +"O," cried the young man, "this is admir----" + +But Mr. Desgranges stopped him, and leading him to the other end of the +room, + +"Silence!" said he to him in a low voice. "Not admirable--do not corrupt +by pride the simplicity of this man. Look at him, see how tranquil his +face is, how calm after this recital which has moved you so much. He is +ignorant of himself, do not spoil him." + +"It is so touching," said the young man, in a low tone. + +"Undoubtedly, and still his superiority does not lie there. A thousand +blind men have found out these ingenious resources, a thousand will find +them again; but this moral perfection--this heart, which opens itself +so readily to elevated consolations--this heart which so willingly takes +upon it the part of a victim--this heart which has restored him to +life. For do not be deceived, it is not I who have saved him, it is his +affection for me; his ardent gratitude has filled his whole soul, and +has sustained--he has lived because he has loved!" + +At that moment, James, who had remained at the other end of the room, +and who perceived that we were speaking low, got up softly, and with a +delicate discretion, said to his wife, + +"We will go away without making any noise." + +"Are you going, James?" + +"I am in the way, my dear Mr. Desgranges." + +"No, pray stay longer." + +His benefactor retained him, reaching out to him cordially his hand. The +blind man seized the hand in his turn, and pressed it warmly against his +heart. + +"My dear friend, my dear good friend, you permit me to stay a little +longer. How glad I am to find myself near you. When I am sad I +say--'James, the good God will, perhaps, of His mercy, put you in the +same paradise with Mr. Desgranges,' and that does me good." + +The young man smiled at this simple tenderness, which believed in a +hierarchy in Heaven. James heard him. + +"You smile, sir. But this good man has re-created James. I dream of it +every night--I have never seen him, but I shall know him then. Oh my +God, if I recover my sight I will look at him for ever--for ever, like +the light, till he shall say to me, James, go away. But he will not +say so, he is too good. If I had known him four years ago, I would have +served him, and never have left him." + +"James, James!" said Mr. Desgranges; but the poor man could not be +silenced. + +"It is enough to know he is in the village; this makes my heart easy. I +do not always wish to come in, but I pass before his house, it is always +there; and when he is gone a journey I make Juliana lead me into the +plain of Noiesemont, and I say--'turn me towards the place where he is +gone, that I may breathe the same air with him.'" + +Mr. Desgranges put his hand before his mouth. James stopped. + +"You are right, Mr. Desgranges, my mouth is rude, it is only my heart +which is right. Come, wife," said he, gayly, and drying his great tears +which rolled from his eyes, "Come, we must give our children their +supper. Good-by, my dear friend, good-by, sir." + +He went away, moving his staff before him. Just as he laid his hand upon +the door, Mr. Desgranges called him back. + +"I want to tell you a piece of news which will give you pleasure. I was +going to leave the village this year; but I have just taken a new lease +of five years of my landlady." + +"Do you see, Juliana," said James to his wife, turning round, "I was +right when I said he was going away." + +"How," replied Mr. Desgranges, "I had told them not to tell you of it." + +"Yes; but here," putting his hand on his heart, "everything is plain +here. I heard about a month since, some little words, which had begun to +make my head turn round; when, last Sunday, your landlady called me to +her, and showed me more kindness than usual, promising me that she would +take care of me, and that she would never abandon me. When I came home, +I said to Juliana, 'Wife, Mr. Desgranges is going to quit the village; +but that lady has consoled me.'" + +In a few moments the blind man had returned to his home. + + + + +DEPENDENCE. + + + +"WELL, Mary," said Aunt Frances, "how do you propose to spend the +summer? It is so long since the failure and death of your guardian, that +I suppose you are now familiar with your position, and prepared to mark +out some course for the future." + +"True, aunt; I have had many painful thoughts with regard to the loss +of my fortune, and I was for a time in great uncertainty about my future +course, but a kind offer, which I received, yesterday, has removed that +burden. I now know where to find a respectable and pleasant home." + +"Is the offer you speak of one of marriage?" asked Aunt Frances, +smiling. + +"Oh! dear, no; I am too young for that yet. But Cousin Kate is happily +married, and lives a few miles out of the city, in just the cosiest +little spot, only a little too retired; and she has persuaded me that I +shall do her a great kindness to accept a home with her." + +"Let me see. Kate's husband is not wealthy, I believe?" + +"No: Charles Howard is not wealthy, but his business is very good, and +improving every year; and both he and Kate are too whole-souled and +generous to regret giving an asylum to an unfortunate girl like me. They +feel that 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.'" + +"A very noble feeling, Mary; but one in which I am sorry to perceive +that you are a little wanting." + +"Oh! no, Aunt Frances, I do feel it deeply; but it is the curse of +poverty that one must give up, in some measure, the power of benefiting +others. And, then, I mean to beguile Kate of so many lonely hours, and +perform so many friendly offices for her husband, that they will think +me not a burden but a treasure." + +"And you really think you can give them as much comfort as the expense +of your maintenance could procure them in any other way?" + +"Yes, aunt; it may sound conceited, perhaps, but I do really think I +can. I am sure, if I thought otherwise, I would never consent to become +a burden to them." + +"Well, my dear, then your own interest is all that remains to be +considered. There are few blessings in life that can compensate for the +loss of self-reliance. She who derives her support from persons upon +whom she has no natural claim, finds the effect upon herself to +be decidedly narrowing. Perpetually in debt, without the means of +reimbursement, barred from any generous action which does not seem like +'robbing Peter to pay Paul,' she sinks too often into the character of +a sponge, whose only business is absorption. But I see you do not like +what I am saying, and I will tell you something which I am sure you +_will_ like--my own veritable history. + +"I was left an orphan in childhood, like yourself, and when my father's +affairs were settled, not a dollar remained for my support. I was only +six years of age, but I had attracted the notice of a distant relative, +who was a man of considerable wealth. Without any effort of my own, I +became an inmate of his family, and his only son, a few years my elder, +was taught to consider me as a sister. + +"George Somers was a generous, kind-hearted boy, and I believe he was +none the less fond of me, because I was likely to rob him of half his +fortune. Mr. Somers often spoke of making a will, in which I was to +share equally with his son in the division of his property, but a +natural reluctance to so grave a task led him to defer it from one year +to another. Meantime, I was sent to expensive schools, and was as idle +and superficial as any heiress in the land. + +"I was just sixteen when my kind benefactor suddenly perished on board +the ill-fated Lexington, and, as he died without a will, I had no legal +claim to any farther favours. But George Somers was known as a very +open-handed youth, upright and honourable, and, as he was perfectly well +acquainted with the wishes of his father, I felt no fears with regard to +my pecuniary condition. While yet overwhelmed with grief at the loss of +one whom my heart called father, I received a very kind and sympathizing +letter from George, in which he said he thought I had better remain at +school for another year, as had been originally intended. + +"'Of course,' he added, 'the death of my father does not alter our +relation in the least; you are still my dear and only sister.' + +"And, in compliance with his wishes, I passed another year at a very +fashionable school--a year of girlish frivolity, in which my last chance +of acquiring knowledge as a means of future independence was wholly +thrown away. Before the close of this year I received another letter +from George, which somewhat surprised, but did not at all dishearten me. +It was, in substance, as follows:-- + +"'_MY own dear Sister_:--I wrote you, some months ago, from Savannah, in +Georgia told you how much I was delighted with the place and people; how +charmed with Southern frankness and hospitality. But I did not tell you +that I had there met with positively the most bewitching creature in the +world--for I was but a timid lover, and feared that, as the song says, +the course of true love never would run smooth. My charming Laura was a +considerable heiress, and, although no sordid considerations ever had a +feather's weight upon her own preferences, of course, yet her father +was naturally and very properly anxious that the guardian of so fair +a flower should be able to shield it from the biting winds of poverty. +Indeed, I had some difficulty in satisfying his wishes on this point, +and in order to do so, I will frankly own that I assumed to myself the +unencumbered possession of my father's estate, of which so large a share +belongs of right to you. I am confident that when you know my Laura you +will forgive me this merely nominal injustice. Of course, this connexion +can make no sort of difference in your rights and expectations. You will +always have a home at my house. Laura is delighted, with the idea of +such a companion, and says she would on no account dispense with that +arrangement. And whenever, you marry as girls do and will, I shall hold +myself bound to satisfy any reasonable wishes on the part of the +happy youth that wins you. Circumstances hastened my marriage somewhat +unexpectedly, or I should certainly have informed you previously, and +requested your presence at the nuptial ceremony. We have secured a +beautiful house in Brooklyn, and shall expect you to join us as soon +as your present year expires, Laura sends her kindest regards, and +I remain, as always, your sincere and affectionate brother, GEORGE +SOMERS.' + +"Not long after the receipt of this letter, one of the instructresses, +in the institution where I resided requested the favour of a private +interview. She then said she knew something generally of my position +and prospects, and, as she had always felt an instinctive interest in +my fortunes, she could not see me leave the place without seeking +my confidence, and rendering me aid, if aid was in her power. Though +surprised and, to say the truth, indignant, I simply inquired what +views, had occurred to her with regard to my future life. + +"She said, then, very kindly, that although I was not very thorough +in, any branch of study, yet she thought I had a decided taste for the +lighter and more ornamental parts of female education. That a few months +earnest attention to these would fit me for a position independent of my +connexions, and one of which none of my friends would have cause to be +ashamed. + +"I am deeply pained to own to you how I answered her. Drawing myself up, +I said, coldly, + +"'I am obliged to you, madam, for your quite unsolicited interest in +my affairs. When I leave this place, it will be to join my brother and +sister in Brooklyn, and, as we are all reasonably wealthy, I must try to +make gold varnish over any defects in my neglected education.' + +"I looked to see my kind adviser entirely annihilated by these imposing +words, but she answered with perfect calmness, + +"'I know Laura Wentworth, now Mrs. Somers. She was educated at the +North, and was a pupil of my own for a year. She is wealthy and +beautiful, and I hope you will never have cause to regret assuming a +position with regard to her that might be mistaken for dependence.' + +"With these words, my well-meaning, but perhaps injudicious friend, took +leave, and I burst into a mocking laugh, that I hoped she might linger +long enough to hear. 'This is too good!' I repeated to myself--but I +could not feel perfectly at ease. However, I soon forgot all thoughts +of the future, in the present duties of scribbling in fifty albums, and +exchanging keepsakes, tears, and kisses, with a like number of _very_ +intimate friends. + +"It was not until I had finally left school, and was fairly on the way +to the home of my brother, that I found a moment's leisure to think +seriously of the life that was before me. I confess that I felt some +secret misgivings, as I stood at last upon the steps of the very elegant +house that was to be my future home. The servant who obeyed my summons, +inquired if I was Miss Rankin, a name I had never borne since childhood. + +"I was about to reply in the negative, when she added, 'If you are the +young lady that Mr. Somers is expecting from the seminary, I will show +you to your room.' + +"I followed mechanically, and was left in a very pretty chamber, with +the information that Mrs. Somers was a little indisposed, but would meet +me at dinner. The maid added that Mr. Somers was out of town, and would +not return till evening. After a very uncomfortable hour, during which +I resolutely suspended my opinion with regard to my position, the +dinner-bell rang, and the domestic again appeared to show me to the +dining-room. + +"Mrs. Somers met me with extended hand. 'My dear Miss Rankin!' she +exclaimed, 'I am most happy to see you. I have heard George speak of +you so often and so warmly that I consider you quite as a relative. Come +directly to the table. I am sure you must be famished after your long +ride. I hope you will make yourself one of us, at once, and let me call +you Fanny. May I call you Cousin Fanny?' she pursued, with an air of +sweet condescension that was meant to be irresistible. + +"'As you please,' I replied coldly. + +"To which she quickly responded, 'Oh, that will be delightful.' + +"She then turned to superintend the carving of a fowl, and I had time +to look at her undisturbed. She was tall and finely formed, with small +delicate features, and an exquisite grace in every movement; a haughty +sweetness that was perfectly indescribable. She had very beautiful +teeth, which she showed liberally when she smiled, and in her graver +moments her slight features wore an imperturbable serenity, as if the +round world contained nothing that was really worth her attention. An +animated statue, cold, polished, and pitiless! was my inward thought, as +I bent over my dinner. + +"When the meal was over, Mrs. Somers said to me, in a tone of playful +authority, + +"'Now, Cousin Fanny, I want you to go to your room and rest, and not do +an earthly thing until teatime. After that I have a thousand things to +show you.' + +"At night I was accordingly shown a great part of the house; a costly +residence, and exquisitely furnished, but, alas! I already wearied of +this icy splendour. Every smile of my beautiful hostess (I could not now +call her sister), every tone of her soft voice, every movement of her +superb form, half queen-like dignity, half fawn-like grace--seemed to +place an insurmountable barrier between herself and me. It was not that +I thought more humbly of myself--not that I did not even consider myself +her equal--but her dainty blandishments were a delicate frost-work, that +almost made me shiver and when, she touched her cool lips to mine, and +said 'Good-night, dear,' I felt as if even then separated from her real, +living self, by a wall of freezing marble. + +"'Poor George!' I said, as I retired to rest--'You have wedded this +soulless woman, and she will wind you round her finger.' + +"I did not sit up for him, for he was detained till a late hour, but +I obeyed the breakfast-bell with unfashionable eagerness, as I was +becoming nervous about our meeting, and really anxious to have it over. +After a delay of some minutes, I heard the wedded pair coming leisurely +down the stairs, in, very amicable chatter. + +"'I am glad you like her, Laura,' said a voice which I knew in a moment +as that of George. How I shivered as I caught the smooth reply, 'A nice +little thing. I am very glad of the connexion. It will be such a relief +not to rely entirely upon servants. There should be a middle class in +every family.' + +"With these words she glided through the door, looked with perfect +calmness in my flashing eyes, and said, + +"'Ah, Fanny! I, was just telling George here how much I shall like you.' + +"The husband came forward with an embarrassed air; I strove to meet him +with dignity, but my heart failed me, and I burst into tears. + +"'Forgive me, madam,' I said, on regaining my composure--'This is our +first meeting since the death of _our father_.' + +"'I understand your feelings perfectly,' she quietly replied. 'My father +knew the late Mr. Somers well, and thought very highly of him, He was +charitable to a fault, and yet remarkable for discernment. His bounty +was seldom unworthily bestowed.' + +"His bounty! I had never been thought easy to intimidate, but I quailed +before this unapproachable ice-berg. It made no attempt from that moment +to vindicate what I was pleased to call my rights, but awaited passively +the progress of events. + +"After breakfast, Mrs. Somers said to the maid in attendance, + +"'Dorothy, bring some hot water and towels for Miss Rankin.' + +"She then turned to me and continued, 'I shall feel the china perfectly +safe in your hands, cousin. These servants are so very unreliable.' + +"And she followed George to the parlour above, where their lively tones +and light laughter made agreeable music. + +"In the same easy way, I was invested with a variety of domestic cares, +most of them such as I would willingly have accepted, had she waited for +me to manifest such a willingness. But a few days after my arrival, we +received a visit from little Ella Grey, a cousin of Laura's, who was +taken seriously ill on the first evening of her stay. A physician was +promptly summoned, and, after a conference with him, Mrs. Somers came to +me, inquiring earnestly, + +"'Cousin Fanny, have you ever had the measles?' + +"I replied in the affirmative. + +"'Oh, I am very glad!' was her response; 'for little Ella is attacked +with them, and very severely; but, if you will take charge of her, +I shall feel no anxiety. It is dreadful in sickness to be obliged to +depend upon hirelings.' + +"So I was duly installed as little Ella's nurse, and, as she was a +spoiled child, my task was neither easy nor agreeable. + +"No sooner was the whining little creature sufficiently improved to +be taken to her own home, than the house was thrown into confusion by +preparations for a brilliant party. Laura took me with her on a shopping +excursion, and bade me select whatever I wished, and send the bill with +hers to Mr. Somers. I purchased a few indispensable articles, but I felt +embarrassed by her calm, scrutinizing gaze, and by the consciousness +that every item of my expenditures would be scanned by, perhaps, +censorious eyes. + +"What with my previous fatigue while acting as Ella's nurse, and the +laborious preparations for the approaching festival, I felt, as the time +drew near, completely exhausted. Yet I was determined not to so far give +way to the depressing influences that surrounded me, as to absent myself +from the party. So, after snatching an interval of rest, to relieve my +aching head, I dressed myself with unusual care, and repaired to the +brilliantly lighted rooms. They were already filled, and murmuring like +a swarm of bees, although, as one of the guests remarked, there were +more drones than workers in the hive. I was now no drone, certainly, and +that was some consolation. When I entered, Laura was conversing with a +group of dashing young men, who were blundering over a book of charades. +Seeing me enter, she came towards me immediately. + +"'Cousin Fanny, you who help everybody, I want you to come to the aid +of these stupid young men. Gentlemen, this is our Cousin Fanny, the very +best creature in the world.' And with this introduction she left me, and +turned to greet some new arrivals. After discussing the charades till my +ears were weary of empty and aimless chatter, I was very glad to find my +group of young men gradually dispersing, and myself at liberty to look +about me, undisturbed. George soon came to me, gave me his arm, and took +me to a room where were several ladies, friends of his father, and who +had known me very well as a child. + +"'You remember Fanny,' he said to them; and then left me, and devoted +himself to the courteous duties of the hour. While I was indulging in +a quiet chat with a very kind old friend, she proposed to go with me +to look at the dancers, as the music was remarkably fine, and it was +thought the collected beauty and fashion of the evening would make +a very brilliant show. We left our seats, accordingly, but were soon +engaged in the crowd, and while waiting for an opportunity to move on, I +heard one of my young men ask another, + +"'How do you like _la cousine_?' + +"I lost a part of the answer, but heard the closing words +distinctly--'_et un peu passee._' '_Oui, decidement!_' was the prompt +response, and a light laugh followed, while, shrinking close to my kind +friend, I rejoiced that my short stature concealed me from observation. +I was not very well taught, but, like most school-girls, I had a +smattering of French, and I knew the meaning of the very ordinary +phrases that had been used with regard to me. Before the supper-hour, my +headache became so severe that I was glad to take refuge in my own room. +There I consulted my mirror, and felt disposed to forgive, the young +critics for their disparaging remarks. _Passee!_ I looked twenty-five at +least, and yet I was not eighteen, and six months before I had fancied +myself a beauty and an heiress! + +"But I will not weary you with details. Suffice it to say; that I +spent only three months of this kind of life, and then relinquished +the protection of Mr. and Mrs. Somers, and removed to a second-rate +boarding-house, where I attempted to maintain myself by giving lessons +in music. Every day, however, convinced me of my unfitness for this +task, and, as I soon felt an interest in the sweet little girls who +looked up to me for instruction, my position with regard to them became +truly embarrassing. One day I had been wearying myself by attempting +the impossible task of making clear to another mind, ideas that lay +confusedly in my own, and at last I said to my pupil, + +"'You may go home now, Clara, dear, and practise the lesson of +yesterday. I am really ill to-day, but to-morrow I shall feel better, +and I hope I shall then be able to make you understand me.' + +"The child glided out, but a shadow still fell across the carpet. I +looked up, and saw in the doorway a young man, whose eccentricities +sometimes excited a smile among his fellow-boarders, but who was much +respected for his sense and independence. + +"'To make yourself understood by others, you must first learn to +understand yourself,' said he, as he came forward. Then, taking my hand, +he continued,--'What if you should give up all this abortive labour, +take a new pupil, and, instead of imparting to others what you have not +very firmly grasped yourself, try if you can make a human being of me?' + +"I looked into his large gray eyes, and saw the truth and earnestness +shining in their depths, like pebbles at the bottom of a pellucid +spring. I never once thought of giving him a conventional reply. On the +contrary, I stammered out, + +"'I am full, of faults and errors; I could never do you any good.' + +"'I have studied your character attentively,' returned he, 'and I know +you have faults, but they are unlike mine; and I think that you might be +of great service to me; or, if the expression suits you better, that we +might be of great aid to each other. Become my wife, and I will promise +to improve more rapidly than any pupil in your class.' + +"And I did become his wife, but not until a much longer acquaintance +had convinced me, that in so doing, I should not exchange one form of +dependence for another, more galling and more hopeless." + +"Then this eccentric young man was Uncle Robert?" + +"Precisely. But you see he has made great improvement, since." + +"Well, Aunt Frances, I thank you for your story; and now for the moral. +What do you think I had better do?" + +"I will tell you what you can do, if you choose. Your uncle has just +returned from a visit to his mother. He finds her a mere child, gentle +and amiable, but wholly unfit to take charge of herself. Her clothes +have taken fire repeatedly, from her want of judgment with regard to +fuel and lights, and she needs a companion for every moment of the day. +This, with their present family, is impossible, and they are desirous to +secure some one who will devote herself to your grandmother during the +hours when your aunt and the domestics are necessarily engaged. You were +always a favourite there, and I know they would be very much relieved +if you would take this office for a time, but they feel a delicacy +in making any such proposal. You can have all your favourites about +you--books, flowers, and piano; for the dear old lady delights to hear +reading or music, and will sit for hours with a vacant smile upon her +pale, faded face. Then your afternoons will be entirely your own, and +Robert is empowered to pay any reliable person a salary of a fixed and +ample amount, which will make you independent for the time." + +"But, aunt, you will laugh at me, I know, yet I do really fear that Kate +will feel this arrangement as a disappointment." + +"Suppose I send her a note, stating that you have given me some +encouragement of assuming this important duty, but that you could not +think of deciding without showing a grateful deference to her wishes?" + +"That will be just the thing. We shall get a reply to-morrow." With +to-morrow came the following note:-- + +"_My Dear Aunt Frances_:--Your favour of yesterday took us a little by +surprise, I must own I had promised myself a great deal of pleasure in +the society of our Mary; but since she is inclined (and I think it is +very noble in her) to foster with the dew of her youth the graceful but +fallen stem that lent beauty to us all, I cannot say a word to prevent +it. Indeed, it has occurred to me, since the receipt of your note, that +we shall need the room we had reserved for Mary, to accommodate little +Willie, Mr. Howard's pet nephew, who has the misfortune to be lame. His +physicians insist upon country air, and a room upon the first floor. So +tell Mary I love her a thousand times better for her self-sacrifice, +and will try to imitate it by doing all in my power for the poor little +invalid that is coming. + +"With the kindest regards, I remain + +"Your affectionate niece, + +"KATE HOWARD." + + +"Are you now decided, Mary?" asked Aunt Frances, after their joint +perusal of the letter. + +"Not only decided, but grateful. I have lost my fortune, it is true; but +while youth and health remain, I shall hardly feel tempted to taste the +luxuries of dependence." + + + + +TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR. + + + +JUMP in, if you would ride with the doctor. You have no time to lose, +for the patient horse, thankful for the unusual blessing which he has +enjoyed in obtaining a good night's rest, stands early at the door this +rainy morning, and the worthy doctor himself is already in his seat, and +is hastily gathering up the reins, for there have been no less than six +rings at his bell within as many minutes, and immediate attendance is +requested in several different places. + +It is not exactly the day one might select for a ride, for the storm is +a regular north-easter, and your hands and feet are benumbed with the +piercing cold wind, while you are drenched with the driving rain. + +But the doctor is used to all this, and, unmindful of wind and rain, he +urges his faithful horse to his utmost speed, eager to reach the spot +where the most pressing duty calls. He has at least the satisfaction of +being welcome. Anxious eyes are watching for his well-known vehicle from +the window; the door is opened ere he puts his hand upon the lock, and +the heartfelt exclamation, + +"Oh, doctor, I am so thankful you have come!" greets him as he enters. + +Hastily the anxious father leads the way to the room where his +half-distracted wife is bending in agony over their first-born, a lovely +infant of some ten months, who is now in strong convulsions. The mother +clasps her hands, and raises her eyes in gratitude to heaven, as +the doctor enters,-he is her only earthly hope. Prompt and efficient +remedies are resorted to, and in an hour the restored little one is +sleeping tranquilly in his mother's arms. + +The doctor departs amid a shower of blessings, and again urging his +horse to speed, reaches his second place of destination. It is a stately +mansion. A spruce waiter hastens to answer his ring, but the lady +herself meets him as he enters the hall. + +"We have been expecting you anxiously, doctor. Mr. Palmer is quite ill, +this morning. Walk up, if you please." + +The doctor obeys, and is eagerly welcomed by his patient. + +"Do exert your utmost skill to save me from a fever, doctor. The +symptoms are much the same which I experienced last year, previous to +that long siege with the typhoid. It distracts me to think of it. At +this particular juncture I should lose thousands by absence from my +business." + +The doctor's feelings are enlisted,--his feelings of humanity and +his feelings of self-interest, for doctors must live as well as other +people; and the thought of the round sum which would find its way to his +own purse, if he could but succeed in preventing the loss of thousands +to his patient, was by no means unpleasing. + +The most careful examination of the symptoms is made, and well-chosen +prescriptions given. He is requested to call as often as possible +through the day, which he readily promises to do, although press of +business and a pouring rain render it somewhat difficult. + +The result, however, will be favourable to his wishes. His second and +third call give him great encouragement, and on the second day after the +attack, the merchant returns to his counting-room exulting in the skill +of his physician. + +But we must resume our ride. On, on goes the doctor; rain pouring, wind +blowing, mud splashing. Ever and anon he checks his horse's speed, at +his various posts of duty. High and low, rich and poor anxiously await +his coming. He may not shrink from the ghastly spectacle of human +suffering and death. Humanity, in its most loathsome forms, is presented +to him. + +The nearest and dearest may turn away in grief and horror, but the +doctor blenches not. + +Again we are digressing. The doctor's well-known tap is heard at +the door of a sick-room, where for many days he has been in constant +attendance. Noiselessly he is admitted. The young husband kneels at the +side of the bed where lies his dearest earthly treasure. The calm but +deeply-afflicted mother advances to the doctor, and whispers fearfully +low, + +"There is a change. She sleeps. Is it--oh! can it be the sleep of +death?" + +Quickly the physician is at the bedside, and anxiously bending over his +patient. + +Another moment and he grasps the husband's hand, while the glad words +"She will live," burst from his lips. + +We may not picture forth their joy. On, on, we are riding with the +doctor. Once more we are at his own door. Hastily he enters, and takes +up the slate containing the list of calls during his absence. At half a +dozen places his presence is requested without delay. + +A quick step is heard on the stairs, and his gentle wife hastens to +welcome him. + +"I am so glad you have come; how wet you must be!" + +The parlour door is thrown open. What a cheerful fire, and how inviting +look the dressing-gown and the nicely warmed slippers! + +"Take off your wet clothes, dear; dinner will soon be ready," urges the +wife. + +"It is impossible, Mary. There are several places to visit yet. Nay, +never look so sad. Have not six years taught you what a doctor's wife +must expect?" + +"I shall never feel easy when you are working so hard, Henry; but surely +you will take a cup of hot coffee; I have it all ready. It will delay +you but a moment." + +The doctor consents; and while the coffee is preparing, childish voices +are heard, and little feet come quickly through the hall. + +"Papa has come home!" shouts a manly little fellow of four years, as +he almost drags his younger sister to the spot where he has heard his +father's voice. + +The father's heart is gladdened by their innocent joy, as they cling +around him; but there is no time for delay. A kiss to each, one good +jump for the baby, the cup of coffee is hastily swallowed, the wife +receives her embrace with tearful eyes, and as the doctor springs +quickly into his chaise, and wheels around the corner, she sighs deeply +as she looks at the dressing-gown and slippers, and thinks of the +favourite dish which she had prepared for dinner; and now it may be +night before he comes again. But she becomes more cheerful as she +remembers that a less busy season will come, and then they will enjoy +the recompense of this hard labour. + +The day wears away, and at length comes the happy hour when gown and +slippers may be brought into requisition. The storm still rages without, +but there is quiet happiness within. The babies are sleeping, and father +and mother are in that snug little parlour, with its bright light and +cheerful fire. The husband is not too weary to read aloud, and the wife +listens, while her hands are busied with woman's never-ending work. + +But their happiness is of short duration. A loud ring at the bell. + +"Patient in the office, sir," announces the attendant. + +The doctor utters a half-impatient exclamation; but the wife expresses +only thankfulness that it is an office patient. + +"Fine night for a sick person to come out!" muttered the doctor, as he +unwillingly lays down his book, and rises from the comfortable lounge. + +But he is himself again by the time his hand is on the door of the +office, and it is with real interest that he greets his patient. + +"Tooth to be extracted? Sit down, sir. Here, Biddy, bring water and a +brighter lamp. Have courage, sir; one moment will end it." + +The hall door closes on the relieved sufferer, and the doctor throws +himself again on the lounge, and smilingly puts the bright half dollar +in his pocket. + +"That was not so bad, after all, Mary. I like to make fifty cents in +that way." + +"Cruel creature! Do not mention it." + +"Cruel! The poor man blessed me in his heart. Did I not relieve him from +the most intense suffering?" + +"Well, never mind. I hope there will be no more calls to-night." + +"So do I. Where is the book? I will read again." No more interruptions. +Another hour, and all, are sleeping quietly. + +Midnight has passed, when the sound of the bell falls on the doctor's +wakeful ear. As quickly as possible he answers it in person, but another +peal is heard ere he reaches the door. + +A gentleman to whose family he has frequently been called, appears. + +"Oh! doctor, lose not a moment; my little Willie is dying with the +croup!" + +There is no resisting this appeal. The still wet overcoat and boots +are drawn on; medicine case hastily seized, and the doctor rushes forth +again into the storm. + +Pity for his faithful horse induces him to traverse the distance on +foot, and a rapid walk of half a mile brings him to the house. + +It was no needless alarm. The attack was a severe one, and all his skill +was required to save the life of the little one. It was daylight ere he +could leave him with safety. Then, as he was about departing for his own +home, an express messenger arrived to entreat him to go immediately to +another place nearly a mile in an opposite direction. + +Breakfast was over ere he reached his own house. His thoughtful wife +suggested a nap; but a glance at the already well-filled slate showed +this to be out of the question. A hasty toilet, and still hastier +breakfast, and the doctor is again seated in his chaise, going on his +accustomed rounds; but we will not now accompany him. + +Let us pass over two or three months, and invite ourselves to another +ride. One pleasant morning, when less pressed with business, he walks +leisurely from the house to the chaise, and gathering up the reins with +a remarkably thoughtful air, rides slowly down the street. + +But few patients are on his list, and these are first attended to. + +The doctor then pauses for consideration. He has set apart this day +for _collecting_. Past experience has taught him that the task is by no +means an agreeable one. It is necessary, however--absolutely so--for, +as we have said before, doctors must live as well as other people; their +house-rent must be paid, food and clothing must be supplied. + +A moment only pauses the doctor, and then we are again moving onward. +A short ride brings us to the door of a pleasantly-situated house. We +remember it well. It is where the little one lay in fits when we last +rode out with the doctor. We recall the scene: the convulsed countenance +of the child; the despair of the parents, and the happiness which +succeeded when their beloved one was restored to them. + +Surely they will now welcome the doctor. Thankfully will they pay the +paltry sum he claims as a recompense for his services. We are more +confident than the doctor. Experience is a sure teacher. The door does +not now fly open at his approach. He gives his name to the girl who +answers the bell, and in due time the lady of the house appears. + +"Ah! doctor, how do you do? You are quite a stranger! Delightful +weather," &c. + +The doctor replies politely, and inquires if her husband is in. + +"Yes, he is in; but I regret to say he is exceedingly engaged this +morning. His business is frequently of a nature which cannot suffer +interruption. He would have been pleased to have seen you." + +The doctor's pocket-book is produced, and the neatly drawn bill is +presented. + +"If convenient to Mr. Lawton, the amount would be acceptable." + +"I will hand it to him when he is at leisure. He will attend to it, no +doubt." + +The doctor sighs involuntarily as he recalls similar indefinite +promises; but it is impossible to insist upon interrupting important +business. He ventures another remark, implying that prompt payment would +oblige him; bows, and retires. + +On, on goes the faithful horse. Where is to be our next stopping-place? +At the wealthy merchant's, who owed so much to the doctor's skill some +two months since. Even the doctor feels confidence here. Thousands saved +by the prevention of that fever. Thirty dollars is not to be thought of +in comparison. + +All is favourable. Mr. Palmer is at home, and receives his visiter in a +cordial manner. Compliments are passed. Now for the bill. + +"Our little account, Mr. Palmer." + +"Ah! I recollect; I am a trifle in your debt. Let us see: thirty +dollars! So much? I had forgotten that we had needed medical advice, +excepting in my slight indisposition a few weeks since." + +Slight indisposition! What a memory some people are blessed with! + +The doctor smothers his rising indignation. + +"Eight visits, Mr. Palmer, and at such a distance. You will find the +charge a moderate one." + +"Oh! very well; I dare say it is all right. I am sorry I have not the +money for you to-day, doctor. Very tight just at present; you know how +it is with men of business." + +"It would be a great accommodation if I could have it at once." + +"Impossible, doctor! I wish I could oblige you. In a week, or fortnight, +at the farthest, I will call at your office." + +A week or fortnight! The disappointed doctor once more seats himself in +his chaise, and urges his horse to speed. He is growing desperate now, +and is eager to reach his next place of destination. Suddenly he checks +the horse. A gentleman is passing whom he recognises as the young +husband whose idolized wife has so lately been snatched from the borders +of the grave. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Wilton; I was about calling at your house." + +"Pray, do so, doctor; Mrs. Wilton will be pleased to see you." + +"Thank you; but my call was on business, to-day. I believe I must +trouble you with my bill for attendance during your wife's illness." + +"Ah! yes; I recollect. Have you it with you? Fifty dollars! Impossible! +Why, she was not ill above three weeks." + +"Very true; but think of the urgency of the case. Three or four calls +during twenty-four hours were necessary, and two whole nights I passed +at her bedside." + +"And yet the charge appears to me enormous. Call it forty, and I will +hand you the amount at once." + +The doctor hesitates. "I cannot afford to lose ten dollars, which is +justly my due, Mr. Wilton." + +"Suit yourself, doctor. Take forty, and receipt the bill, or stick to +your first charge, and wait till I am ready to pay it. Fifty dollars is +no trifle, I can tell you." + +And this is the man whose life might have been a blank but for the +doctor's skill! + +Again we are travelling onward. The unpaid bill is left in Mr. Wilton's +hand, and yet the doctor half regrets that he had not submitted to the +imposition. Money is greatly needed just now, and there seems little +prospect of getting any. + +Again and again the horse is stopped at some well-known post. A poor +welcome has the doctor to-day. Some bills are collected, but their +amount is discouragingly small. Everybody appears to feel astonishingly +healthy, and have almost forgotten that they ever had occasion for a +physician. There is one consolation, however: sickness will come again, +and then, perhaps, the unpaid bill may be recollected. Homeward goes +the doctor. He is naturally of a cheerful disposition; but now he is +seriously threatened with a fit of the blues. A list of calls upon his +slate has little effect to raise his spirits. "All work and no pay," he +mutters to himself, as he puts on his dressing-gown and slippers; and, +throwing himself upon the lounge, turns a deaf ear to the little ones, +while he indulges in a revery as to the best mode of paying the doctor. + + + + +KEEP IN STEP. + + Those who would walk together must keep in step. + + --OLD PROVERB. + + + + AY, the world keeps moving forward, + Like an army marching by; + Hear you not its heavy footfall, + That resoundeth to the sky? + Some bold spirits bear the banner-- + Souls of sweetness chant the song,-- + Lips of energy and fervour + Make the timid-hearted strong! + Like brave soldiers we march forward; + If you linger or turn back, + You must look to get a jostling + While you stand upon our track. + Keep in step. + + My good neighbour, Master Standstill, + Gazes on it as it goes; + Not quite sure but he is dreaming, + In his afternoon's repose! + "Nothing good," he says, "can issue + From this endless moving on; + Ancient laws and institutions + Are decaying, or are gone. + We are rushing on to ruin, + With our mad, new-fangled ways." + While he speaks a thousand voices, + As the heart of one man, says-- + "Keep in step!" + + Gentle neighbour, will you join us, + Or return to "_good old ways?_" + Take again the fig-leaf apron + Of Old Adam's ancient days;-- + Or become a hardy Briton-- + Beard the lion in his lair, + And lie down in dainty slumber + Wrapped in skins of shaggy bear,-- + Rear the hut amid the forest, + Skim the wave in light canoe? + Ah, I see! you do not like it. + Then if these "old ways" won't do, + Keep in step. + + Be assured, good Master Standstill, + All-wise Providence designed + Aspiration and progression + For the yearning human mind. + Generations left their blessings, + In the relies of their skill, + Generations yet are longing + For a greater glory still; + And the shades of our forefathers + Are not jealous of our deed-- + We but follow where they beckon, + We but go where they do lead! + Keep in step. + + One detachment of our army + May encamp upon the hill, + While another in the valley + May enjoy its own sweet will; + This, may answer to one watchword, + That, may echo to another; + But in unity and concord, + They discern that each is brother! + Breast to breast they're marching onward, + In a good now peaceful way; + You'll be jostled if you hinder, + So don't offer let or stay-- + Keep in step. + + + + +JOHNNY COLE. + + + +"I GUESS we will have to put out our Johnny," said Mrs. Cole, with +a sigh, as she drew closer to the fire, one cold day in autumn. This +remark was addressed to her husband, a sleepy, lazy-looking man, who +was stretched on a bench, with his eyes half closed. The wife, with two +little girls of eight and ten, were knitting as fast as their fingers +could fly; the baby was sound asleep in the cradle; while Johnny, a +boy of thirteen, and a brother of four, were seated on the wide +hearth making a snare for rabbits. The room they occupied was cold and +cheerless; the warmth of the scanty fire being scarcely felt; yet +the floor, and every article of furniture, mean as they were, were +scrupulously neat and clean. + +The appearance of this family indicated that they were very poor. +They were all thin and pale, really for want of proper food, and their +clothes had been patched until it was difficult to decide what the +original fabric had been; yet this very circumstance spoke volume in +favour of the mother. She was, a woman of great energy of character, +unfortunately united to a man whose habits were such, that, for the +greater part of the time, he was a dead weight upon her hands; although +not habitually intemperate, he was indolent and good-for-nothing to a +degree, lying in the sun half his time, when the weather was warm, and +never doing a stroke of work until driven to it by the pangs of hunger. + +As for the wife, by taking in sewing, knitting, and spinning for the +farmers' families in the neighbourhood, she managed to pay a rent of +twenty dollars for the cabin in which they lived; while she and Johnny, +with what assistance they could occasionally get from Jerry, her +husband, tilled the half acre of ground attached; and the vegetables +thus obtained, were their main dependance during the long winter just at +hand. Having thus introduced the Coles to our reader, we will continue +the conversation. + +"I guess we will have to put out Johnny, and you will try and help us a +little more, Jerry, dear." + +"Why, what's got into the woman now?" muttered Jerry, stretching his +arms, and yawning to the utmost capacity of his mouth. The children +laughed at their father's uncouth gestures, and even Mrs. Cole's serious +face relaxed into a smile, as she answered, + +"Don't swallow us all, and I will tell you. The winter is beginning +early, and promises to be cold. Our potatoes didn't turn out as well +as I expected, and the truth is, we cannot get along so. We won't have +victuals to last us half the time; and, manage as I will, I can't much +more than pay the rent, I get so little for the kind of work I do. Now, +if Johnny gets a place, it will make one less to provide for; and he +will be learning to do something for himself." + +"Yes, but mother," said the boy, moving close to her side, and laying +his head on her knee, "yes, but who'll help you when I am gone? Who'll +dig the lot, and hoe, and cut the wood, and carry the water? You can't +go away down to the spring in the deep snow. And who'll make the fire in +the cold mornings?" + +The mother looked sorry enough, as her darling boy--for he was the +object around which the fondest affections of her heart had entwined +themselves--she looked sorry enough, as he enumerated the turns he was +in the habit of doing for her; but, woman-like, she could suffer and be +still; so she answered cheerfully, + +"May be father will, dear; and when you grow bigger, and learn how to do +everything, you'll be such a help to us all." + +"Don't depend on me," said Jerry, now arousing himself and sauntering to +the fire; "I hardly ever feel well,"--complaining was Jerry's especial +forte, an excuse for all his laziness; yet his appetite never failed; +and when, as was sometimes the case, one of the neighbours sent a small +piece of meat, or any little article of food to his wife, under the plea +of ill health he managed to appropriate nearly the whole of it. He was +selfishness embodied, and a serious injury to his family, as few cared +to keep him up in his laziness. + +One evening, a few days later, Mrs. Cole, who had been absent several +hours, came in looking very tired, and after laying aside her old bonnet +and shawl, informed them that she had obtained a place for Johnny. It +was four miles distant, and the farmer's man would stop for him on his +way from town, the next afternoon. What a beautiful object was farmer +Watkins's homestead, lying as it did on the sunny slope of a hill; +its gray stone walls, peeping out from between the giant trees that +overshadowed it, while everything around and about gave evidence of +abundance and comfort. The thrifty orchard; the huge barn with its +overflowing granaries; the sleek, well-fed cattle; even the low-roofed +spring-house, with its superabundance of shining pails and pans, formed +an item which could hardly be dispensed with, in the _tout ensemble_ of +this pleasant home. + +Farmer Watkins was an honest, hard-working man, somewhat past middle +age, with a heart not naturally devoid of kindness, but, where his +hirelings were concerned, so strongly encrusted with a layer of habits, +that they acted as an effectual check upon his better feelings. His +family consisted of a wife, said to be a notable manager, and five or +six children, the eldest, a son, at college. In this household, work, +work, was the order of the day; the farmer himself, with his great +brown fists, set the example, and the others, willing or unwilling, were +obliged to follow his lead. He had agreed to take John Cole, as he said, +more to get rid of his mother's importunities, than for any benefit he +expected to derive from him; and when remonstrated with by his wife +for his folly in giving her the trouble of another brat, he answered +shortly: "Never fear, I'll get the worth of his victuals and clothes out +of him." Johnny was to have his boarding, clothes, and a dollar a month, +for two years. This dollar a month was the great item in Mrs. Cole's +calculations; twelve dollars a year, she argued, would almost pay her +rent, and when the tears stood in Johnny's great brown eyes (for he was +a pretty, gentle-hearted boy), as he was bidding them all good-bye, and +kissing the baby over and over again, she told him about the money +he would earn, and nerved his little heart with her glowing +representations, until he was able to choke back the tears, and leave +home almost cheerfully. + +_Home_--yes, it was home; for they had much to redeem the miseries of +want within those bare cabin walls, for gentle hearts and kindly smiles +were there. There + + "The mother sang at the twilight fall, + To the babe half slumbering on her knee." + +There his brother and sisters played; there his associations, his hopes, +his wishes, were all centered. When he arrived at farmer Watkins's, and +was sent into the large carpeted kitchen, everything was so unlike this +home, that his fortitude almost gave way, and it was as much as he could +do, as he told his mother afterwards, "to keep from bursting right out." +Mrs. Watkins looked very cross, nor did she notice him, except to order +him to stand out of the way of the red-armed girl who was preparing +supper and placing it on a table in the ample apartment. Johnny looked +with amazement at the great dishes of meat, and plates of hot biscuit, +but the odour of the steaming coffee, and the heat, were almost too much +for him, as he had eaten nothing since morning, for he was too sorry to +leave home to care about dinner. The girl, noticing that his pale face +grew paler, laughingly drew her mistress's attention to "master's new +boy." + +"Go out and bring in some wood for the stove," said Mrs. Watkins, +sharply; "the air will do you good." + +Johnny went out, and, in a few minutes, felt revived. Looking about, he +soon found the wood-shed; there was plenty of wood, but none cut of a +suitable length; it was all in cord sticks. Taking an axe, he chopped an +armful, and on taking it into the house, found the family, had finished +their suppers; the biscuits and meat were all eaten. + +"Come on here to your supper," said the maid-servant, angrily. "What +have you been doing?" and, without waiting for an answer, she filled a +tin basin with mush and skimmed milk, and set it before him. The little +boy did not attempt to speak, but sat down and ate what was given +him. Immediately after, he was sent into a loft to bed, where he cried +himself to sleep. Ah! when we count the thousand pulsations that yield +pain or pleasure to the human mind, what a power to do good or evil +is possessed by every one; and how often would a kind word, or one +sympathizing glance, gladden the hearts of those thus prematurely forced +upon the anxieties of the world! But how few there are who care to +bestow them! The next morning, long before dawn, the farmer's family, +with the exception of the younger children were astir. The cattle were +to be fed and attended to, the horses harnessed, the oxen yoked, and +great was the bustle until all hands were fairly at work. As for Johnny, +he was taken into the field to assist in husking corn. The wind was +keen, and the stalks, from recent rain, were wet, and filled with ice. +His scanty clothing scarcely afforded any protection from the cold, and +his hands soon became so numb that he could scarcely use them; but, if +he stopped one moment to rap them, or breathe upon them, in the hope of +imparting some warmth, the farmer who was close at hand, in warm woollen +clothes and thick husking gloves, would call out, + +"Hurry up, hurry up, my boy! no idle bread must be eaten here!" + +And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but it +would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought of +exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for him, +told him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a moment, he +would send him home. This was enough for Johnny; anything was better +than to go back and be a burden on his mother; he worked to the best +of his ability until noon. At noon, he managed to get thoroughly warm, +behind the stove, while eating his dinner. Still, the sufferings of +the child, with his insufficient clothing, were very great; but nobody +seemed to think of the _hired boy_ being an object of sympathy, and thus +it continued. The rule seemed to be to get all that was possible out of +him, and his little frame was so weary at night, that he had hardly +time to feel rested, until called with the dawn to renew his labour. A +monthly Sunday however, was the golden period looked forward to in his +day-dreams, for it had been stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday +evening every four weeks, he was to come home, and stay all the next +day. And when the time arrived, how nimbly did he get over the ground +that stretched between him and the goal of his wishes! How much he +had to tell! But as soon as he began to complain, his mother would say +cheerfully, although her heart bled for the hardships of her child, + +"Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you grow +up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you." + +This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly +miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his condition; +and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny persevered; young +as he was, he understood the necessity. But how often, during the four +weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of the Saturday night he had +spent at home come up before his mental vision! The fresh loaf of rye +bread, baked in honour of his arrival, and eaten for supper, with maple +molasses--the very molasses he had helped to boil on shares with Farmer +Thrifty's boys in the spring. What a feast they had! Then the long +evening afterwards, when the blaze of the hickory fires righted up +the timbers of the old cabin with a mellow glow, and mother looked so +cheerful and smiled so kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and +light. And how even father had helped to pop corn in the iron pot. + +Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample opportunity +to draw comparisons, for he often thought his master cared more for his +cattle than he did for him, and it is quite probable he did; for while +they were warmly housed he was needlessly exposed, and his comfort +utterly disregarded. If there was brush to cut, or fence to make, or +any out-door labour to perform, a wet, cold, or windy day was sure to be +selected, while in _fine weather_ the wood was required to be chopped, +and, generally speaking, all the work that could be done under shelter. +Yet we dare say Farmer Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this, +or the advantage he would himself derive by arranging it otherwise. + +John Cole had been living out perhaps a year. He had not grown much in +this period; his frame had always been slight, and his sunken cheeks +and wasted limbs spoke of the hard usage and suffering of his present +situation. The family had many delicacies for themselves, but the _work +boy_ they knew never was used to such things, and they were indifferent, +as to what his fare chanced to be. He generally managed to satisfy the +cravings of hunger on the coarse food given him, but that was all. About +this time it happened that the farmer was digging a ditch, and as he was +afraid winter would set in before it was completed, Johnny and himself +were at work upon it early and late, notwithstanding the wind whistled, +and it was so cold they could hardly handle the tools. While thus +employed, it chanced that they got wet to the skin with a drizzling +rain, and on returning to the house the farmer changed his clothes, +drank some hot mulled cider, and spent the remainder of the evening in +his high-backed chair before a comfortable fire; while the boy was +sent to grease a wagon in an open shed, and at night crept to his straw +pallet, shaking as though in an ague fit. The next morning he was in +a high fever, and with many a "wonder of what had got into him," but +without one word of sympathy, or any other manifestation of good-will, +he was sent home to his mother. Late in the evening of the same day a +compassionate physician was surprised to see a woman enter his office; +her garments wet and travel-stained, and, with streaming eyes, she +besought him to come and see her son. + +"My Johnny, my Johnny, sir!" she cried, "he has been raving wild all +day, and we are afraid he will die." + +Mistaking the cause of the good man's hesitation, she added, with a +fresh burst of grief, "Oh! I will work my fingers to the bone to pay +you, sir, if you will only come. We live in the Gap." + +A few inquiries were all that was necessary to learn the state of +the case. The benevolent doctor took the woman in his vehicle, and +proceeded, over a mountainous road of six miles, to see his patient. But +vain was the help of man! Johnny continued delirious; it was work, work, +always at work; and pitiful was it to hear his complaints of being +cold and tired, while his heart-broken parent hung over him, and denied +herself the necessaries of life to minister to his wants. After being +ill about a fortnight, he awoke one evening apparently free from fever. +His expression was natural, but he seemed so weak he could not speak. +His mother, with a heart overflowing with joy at the change she imagined +favourable, bent over him. With a great effort he placed his arms about +her neck; she kissed his pale lips; a smile of strange meaning passed +over his face, and ere she could unwind that loving clasp her little +Johnny was no more. He had gone where the wicked cease from troubling, +and the weary are at rest; but her hopes were blasted; her house was +left unto her desolate; and as she watched, through the long hours of +night, beside the dead body, it was to our Father who art in Heaven her +anguished heart poured itself out in prayer. Think of this, ye rich! who +morning and evening breathe the same petition by your own hearthstones. +Think of it, ye who have authority to oppress! Do not deprive the +poor man or woman of the "ewe lamb" that is their sole possession; and +remember that He whose ear is ever open to the cry of the distressed, +has power to avenge their cause. + + + + +THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR. + + + +"CIRCUMSTANCES made me what I am," said a condemned criminal to a +benevolent man who visited him in prison. "I was driven by necessity to +steal." + +"Not so," replied the keeper, who was standing by. "Rather say, that +your own character made the circumstances by which you were surrounded. +God never places upon any creature the necessity of breaking his +commandments. You stole, because, in heart, you were a thief." + +The benevolent man reproved the keeper for what he called harsh words. +He believed that, alone, by the force of external circumstances, men +were made criminals. That, if society were differently arranged, there +would be little or no crime in the world. And so he made interest for +the criminal, and, in the end, secured his release from prison. Nor +did his benevolence stop here. He took the man into his service, and +intrusted to him his money and his goods. + +"I will remove from him all temptation to steal," said he, "by a liberal +supply of his wants." + +"Have you a wife?" he asked of the man, when he took him from prison. + +"No," was replied. + +"Nor any one but yourself to support?" + +"I am alone in the world." + +"You have received a good education; and can serve me as a clerk. I +therefore take you into my employment, at a fair salary. Will five +hundred dollars be enough?" + +"It will be an abundance," said the man, with evident surprise at an +offer so unexpectedly liberal. + +"Very well. That will place you above temptation." + +"And I will be innocent and happy. You are my benefactor. You have saved +me." + +"I believe it," said the man of benevolence. + +And so he intrusted his goods and his money to the man he had reformed +by placing him in different circumstances. + +But it is in the heart of man that evil lies; and from the heart's +impulses spring all our actions. That must cease to be a bitter fountain +before it can send forth sweet water. The thief was a thief still. Not +a month elapsed ere he was devising the means to enable him to get from +his kind, but mistaken friend, more than the liberal sum for which he +had agreed to serve him. He coveted his neighbour's goods whenever his +eyes fell upon them; and restlessly sought to acquire their possession. +In order to make more sure the attainment of his ends, he affected +sentiments of morality, and even went so far as to cover his purposes +by a show of religion. And thus he was able to deceive and rob his kind +friend. + +Time went on; and the thief, apparently reformed by a change of relation +to society, continued in his post of responsibility. How it was, the +benefactor could not make out; but his affairs gradually became less +prosperous. He made investigations into his business, but was unable to +find anything wrong. + +"Are you aware that your clerk is a purchaser of property to a +considerable extent?" said a mercantile friend to him one day. + +"My clerk! It cannot be. His income is only five hundred dollars a +year." + +"He bought a piece of property for five thousand last week." + +"Impossible!" + +"I know it to be true. Are you aware that he was once a convict in the +State's Prison?" + +"Oh yes. I took him from prison myself, and gave him a chance for his +life. I do not believe in hunting men down for a single crime, the +result of circumstances rather than a bad heart." + +"A truly honest man, let me tell you," replied the merchant, "will be +honest in any and all circumstances. And a rogue will be a rogue, place +him where you will. The evil is radical, and must be cured radically. +Your reformed thief has robbed you, without doubt." + +"I have reason to fear that he has been most ungrateful," replied the +kind-hearted man, who, with the harmlessness of the dove, did not unite +the wisdom of the serpent. + +And so it proved. His clerk had robbed him of over twenty thousand +dollars in less than five years, and so sapped the foundations of his +prosperity, that he recovered with great difficulty. + +"You told me, when in prison," said the wronged merchant to his clerk, +"that circumstances made you what you were. This you cannot say now." + +"I can," was the reply. "Circumstances made me poor, and I desired to be +rich. The means of attaining wealth were placed in my hands, and I +used them. Is it strange that I should have done so? It is this social +inequality that makes crime. Your own doctrine, and I subscribe to it +fully." + +"Ungrateful wretch!" said the merchant, indignantly, "it is the evil of +your own heart that prompts to crime. You would be a thief and a robber +if you possessed millions." + +And he again handed him over to the law, and let the prison walls +protect society from his depredations. + +No, it is not true that in external circumstances lie the origins of +evil. God tempts no man by these. In the very extremes of poverty we +see examples of honesty; and among the wealthiest, find those who +covet their neighbour's goods, and gain dishonest possession thereof. +Reformers must seek to elevate the personal character, if they would +regenerate society. To accomplish the desired good by a different +external arrangement, is hopeless; for in the heart of man lies the +evil,--there is the fountain from which flow forth the bitter and +blighting waters of crime. + + + + +JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON. + + + +"AND you will really send Reuben to cut down that clump of pines?" + +"Yes, Margaret. Well, now, it is necessary, for more reasons than"---- + +"Don't tell me so, John," impetuously interrupted Margaret Greylston. +"I am sure there is no necessity in the case, and I am sorry to the very +heart that you have no more feeling than to order _those_ trees to be +cut down." + +"Feeling! well, maybe I have more than you think; yet I don't choose to +let it make a fool of me, for all that. But I wish you would say no more +about those trees, Margaret; they really must come down; I have reasoned +with you on this matter till I am sick of it." + +Miss Greylston got up from her chair, and walked out on the shaded +porch; then she turned and called her brother. + +"Will you come here, John?" + +"And what have you to say?" + +"Nothing, just now; I only want you to stand here and look at the old +pines." + +And so John Greylston did; and he saw the distant woods grave and fading +beneath the autumn wind--while the old pines upreared their stately +heads against the blue sky, unchanged in beauty, fresh and green as +ever. + +"You see those trees, John, and so do I; and standing here, with them +full in view, let me plead for them; they are very old, those pines, +older than either of us; we played beneath them when we were children; +but there is still a stronger tie: our mother loved them--our dear, +sainted mother. Thirty years it has been since she died, but I can never +forget or cease to love anything she loved. Oh! John, you remember just +as well as I do, how often she would sit beneath those trees and read +or talk sweetly to us; and of the dear band who gathered there with her, +only we are left, and the old pines. Let them stand, John; time enough +to cut them down when I have gone to sit with those dear ones beneath +the trees of heaven;" and somewhat breathless from long talking, Miss +Margaret paused. + +John Greylston was really touched, and he laid his hand kindly on his +sister's shoulder. + +"Come, come, Madge, don't talk so sadly. I remember and love those +things as well as you do, but then you see I cannot afford to neglect my +interests for weak sentiment. Now the road must be made, and that clump +of trees stand directly in its course, and they must come down, or the +road will have to take a curve nearly half a mile round, striking into +one of my best meadows, and a good deal more expense this will be, too. +No, no," he continued, eagerly, "I can't oblige you in this thing. This +place is mine, and I will improve it as I please. I have kept back from +making many a change for your sake, but just here I am determined to go +on." And all this was said with a raised voice and a flushed face. + +"You never spoke so harshly to me in your life before, John, and, after +all, what have I done? Call my feelings on this matter weak sentiment, +if you choose, but it is hard to hear such words from your lips;" and, +with a reproachful sigh, Miss Margaret walked into the house. + +They had been a large family, those Greylstons, in their day, but now +all were gone; all but John and Margaret, the two eldest--the twin +brother and sister. They lived alone in their beautiful country +home; neither had ever been married. John had once loved a fair young +creature, with eyes like heaven's stars, and rose-tinged cheeks and +lips, but she fell asleep just one month before her wedding-day, and +John Greylston was left to mourn over her early grave, and his shivered +happiness. Dearly Margaret loved her twin brother, and tenderly she +nursed him through the long and fearful illness which came upon him +after Ellen Day's death. Margaret Greylston was radiant in the bloom of +young womanhood when this great grief first smote her brother, but from +that very hour she put away from her the gayeties of life, and sat down +by his side, to be to him a sweet, unselfish controller for evermore, +and no lover could ever tempt her from her post. + +"John Greylston will soon get over his sorrow; in a year or two Ellen +will be forgotten for a new face." + +So said the world; Margaret knew better. Her brother's heart lay before +her like an open book, and she saw indelible lines of grief and +anguish there. The old homestead, with its wide lands, belonged to +John Greylston. He had bought it years before from the other heirs; and +Margaret, the only remaining one, possessed neither claim nor right in +it. She had a handsome annuity, however, and nearly all the rich plate +and linen with which the house was stocked, together with some valuable +pieces of furniture, belonged to her. And John and Margaret Greylston +lived on in their quiet and beautiful home, in peace and happiness; +their solitude being but now and then invaded by a flock of nieces +and nephews, from the neighbouring city--their only and well-beloved +relatives. + +It was long after sunset. For two full hours the moon and stars had +watched John Greylston, sitting so moodily alone upon the porch. Now +he got up from his chair, and tossing his cigar away in the long grass, +walked slowly into the house. Miss Margaret did not raise her head; her +eyes, as well as her fingers, seemed intent upon the knitting she held. +So her brother, after a hurried "Good-night," took a candle and went up +to his own room, never speaking one gentle word; for he said to himself, +"I am not going to worry and coax with Margaret any longer about the +old pines. She is really troublesome with her sentimental notions." Yet, +after all, John Greylston's heart reproached him, and he felt restless +and ill at ease. + +Miss Margaret sat very quietly by the low table, knitting steadily on, +but she was not thinking of her work, neither did she delight in the +beauty of that still autumn evening; the tears came into her eyes, but +she hastily brushed them away; just as though she feared John might +unawares come back and find her crying. + +Ah! these _way-side_ thorns are little, but sometimes they pierce as +sharply as the gleaming sword. + +"Good-morning, John!" + +At the sound of that voice, Mr. Greylston turned suddenly from the +book-case, and his sister was standing near him, her face lit up with a +sweet, yet somewhat anxious smile. He threw down in a hurry the papers +he had been tying together, and the bit of red tape, and holding out his +hand, said fervently, + +"I was very harsh last night. I am really sorry for it; will you not +forgive me, Margaret?" + +"To be sure I will; for indeed, John, I was quite as much to blame as +you." + +"No, Madge, you were not," he quickly answered; "but let it pass, +now. We will think and say no more about it;" and, as though he +were perfectly satisfied, and really wished the matter dropped, John +Greylston turned to his papers again. + +So Miss Margaret was silent. She was delighted to have peace again, even +though she felt anxious about the pines, and when her brother took his +seat at the breakfast table, looking and speaking so kindly, she felt +comforted to think the cloud had passed away; and John Greylston himself +was very glad. So the two went on eating their breakfast quite happily. +But alas! the storm is not always over when the sky grows light. Reuben +crossed the lawn, followed by the gardener, and Miss Margaret's quick +eye caught the gleaming of the axes swung over their shoulders. She +hurriedly set down the coffee-pot. + +"Where are those men going? Reuben and Tom I mean." + +"Only to the woods," was the careless answer. + +"But what woods, John? Oh! I can tell by your face; you are determined +to have the pines cut down." + +"I am." And John Greylston folded his arms, and looked fixedly at his +sister, but she did not heed him. She talked on eagerly-- + +"I love the old trees; I will do anything to save them. John, you spoke +last night of additional expense, should the road take that curve. I +will make it up to you; I can afford to do this very well. Now listen to +reason, and let the trees stand." + +"Listen to reason, yourself," he answered more gently. "I will not +take a cent from you. Margaret, you are a perfect enthusiast about some +things. Now, I love my parents and old times, I am sure, as well as you +do, and that love is not one bit the colder, because I do not let it +stand in the way of interest. Don't say anything more. My mind is made +up in this matter. The place is mine, and I cannot see that you have any +right to interfere in the improvements I choose to make on it." + +A deep flush stole over Miss Greylston's face. + +"I have indeed no legal right to counsel or plead with you about these +things," she answered sadly, "but I have a sister's right, that of +affection--you cannot deny this, John. Once again, I beg of you to let +the old pines alone." + +"And once again, I tell you I will do as I please in this matter," and +this was said sharply and decidedly. + +Margaret Greylston said not another word, but pushing back her chair, +she arose from the breakfast-table and went quickly from the room, even +before her brother could call to her. Reuben and his companion had just +got in the last meadow when Miss Greylston overtook them. + +"You, will let the pines alone to-day," she calmly said, "go to any +other work you choose, but remember those trees are not to be touched." + +"Very well, Miss Margaret," and Reuben touched his hat respectfully, + +"Mr. John is very changeable in his notions," burst in Tom; "not an hour +ago he was in such a hurry to get us at the pine." + +"Never mind," authoritatively said Miss Greylston; "do just as you are +bid, without any remarks;" and she turned away, and went down the meadow +path, even as she came, within quick step, without a bonnet, shading her +eyes from the morning sun with her handkerchief. + +John Greylston still sat at the breakfast-table, half dreamily balancing +the spoon across the saucer's edge. When his sister came in again, he +raised his head, and mutely-inquiringly looked at her, and she spoke,-- + +"I left this room just to go after Reuben and Tom; I overtook them +before they had crossed the last meadow, and I told them not to touch +the pine trees, but to go, instead, to any other work they choose. I am +sure you will be angry with me for all this; but, John, I cannot help it +if you are." + +"Don't say so, Margaret," Mr. Greylston sharply answered, getting up at +the same time from his chair, "don't tell me you could not help it. I +have talked and reasoned with you about those trees, until my patience +is completely worn out; there is no necessity for you to be such an +obstinate fool." + +"Oh! John, hush, hush!" + +"I will not," he thundered. "I am master here, and I will speak and act +in this house as I see fit. Now, who gave you liberty to countermand my +orders; to send my servants back from the Work I had set for them to do? +Margaret, I warn you; for, any more such freaks, you and I, brother and +sister though we be, will live no longer under the same roof." + +"Be still, John Greylston! Remember _her_ patient, self-sacrificing +love. Remember the past--be still." + +But he would not; relentlessly, stubbornly, the waves of passion raged +on in his soul. + +"Now, you hear all this; do not forget it; and have done with your silly +obstinacy as soon as possible, for I will be worried no longer with it;" +and roughly pushing away the slight hand which was laid upon his arm, +Mr. Greylston stalked out of the house. + +For a moment, Margaret stood where her brother had left her, just in the +centre of the floor. Her cheeks were very white, but quickly a crimson +flush came over them, and her eyes filled with tears; then she sat +down upon the white chintz-covered settle, and hiding her face in the +pillows, wept violently for a long time. + +"I have consulted Margaret's will always; in many things I have given +up to it, but here, where reason is so fully on my side, I will go on. +I have no patience with her weak stubbornness, no patience with her +presumption in forbidding my servants to do as I have told them; such +measures I will never allow in my house;" and John Greylston, in his +angry musings, struck his cane smartly against a tall crimson dahlia, +which grew in the grass-plat. It fell quivering across his path, but he +walked on, never heeding what he had done. There was a faint sense of +shame rising in his heart, a feeble conviction of having been himself +to blame; but just then they seemed only to fan and increase his keen +indignation. Yet in the midst of his anger, John Greylston had the +delicate consideration for his sister and himself to repeat to the men +the command she had given them. + +"Do as Miss Greylston bade you; let the trees stand until further +orders." But pride prompted this, for he said to himself, "If Margaret +and I keep at this childish work of unsaying each other's commands, that +sharp old fellow, Reuben, will suspect that we have quarrelled." + +Mr. Greylston's wrath did not abate; and when he came home at +dinner-time, and found the table so nicely set, and no one but the +little servant to wait upon him, Margaret away, shut up with a bad +headache, in her own room, he somehow felt relieved,--just then he did +not want to see her. But when eventide came, and he sat down to supper, +and missed again his sister's calm and pleasant face, a half-regretful +feeling stole over him, and he grew lonely, for John Greylston's heart +was the home of every kindly affection. He loved Margaret dearly. Still, +pride and anger kept him aloof from her; still his soul was full of +harsh, unforgiving thoughts. And Margaret Greylston, as she lay with a +throbbing head and an aching heart upon her snowy pillow, thought the +hours of that bright afternoon and evening very long and very weary. And +yet those hours were full of light, and melody, and fragrance, for the +sun shone, and the sky was blue, the birds sang, and the waters rippled; +even the autumn flowers were giving their sweet, last kisses to the +air. Earth was fair,--why, then, should not human hearts rejoice? Ah! +_Nature's_ loveliness _alone_ cannot cheer the soul. There was once +a day when the beauty even of _Eden_ ceased to gladden two guilty +tremblers who hid in its bowers. + +"A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger." +When Margaret Greylston came across that verse, she closed her Bible, +and sat down beside the window to muse. "Ah," she thought, "how true +is that saying of the wise man! If I had only from the first given +John soft answers, instead of grievous words, we might now have been at +peace. I knew his quick temper so well; I should have been more gentle +with him." Then she recalled all John's constant and tender attention +to her wishes; the many instances in which he had gone back from his own +pleasure to gratify her; but whilst she remembered these things, never +once did her noble, unselfish heart dwell upon the sacrifices, great and +numerous, which she had made for his sake. Miss Margaret began to think +she had indeed acted very weakly and unjustly towards her brother. She +had half a mind just then to go to him, and make this confession. But +she looked out and saw the dear old trees, so stately and beautiful, +and then the memory of all John's harsh and cruel words rushed back upon +her. She struggled vainly to banish them from her mind, she strove to +quell the angry feelings which arose with those memories. At last she +knelt and prayed. When she got up from her knees traces of tears were on +her face, but her heart was calm. Margaret Greylston had been enabled, +in the strength of "that grace which cometh from above," to forgive +her brother freely, yet she scarcely hoped that he would give her the +opportunity to tell him this. + +"Good-morning," John Greylston said, curtly and chillingly enough to +his sister. Somehow she was disappointed, even though she knew his +proud temper so well, yet she had prayed that there would have been some +kindly relentings towards her; but there seemed none. So she answered +him sadly, and the two sat down to their gloomy, silent breakfast. And +thus it was all that day. Mr. Greylston still mute and ungracious; his +sister shrank away from him. In that mood she scarcely knew him; and her +face was grave, and her voice so sad, even the servants wondered +what was the matter. Margaret Greylston had fully overcome all angry, +reproachful feelings against her brother. So far her soul had peace, yet +she mourned for his love, his kind words, and pleasant smiles; and she +longed to tell him this, but his coldness held her back. Mr. Greylston +found his comfort in every way consulted; favourite dishes were silently +placed before him; sweet flowers, as of old, laid upon his table. He +knew the hand which wrought these loving acts. But did this knowledge +melt his heart? In a little while we shall see. + +And the third morning dawned. Yet the cloud seemed in no wise lifted. +John Greylston's portrait hung in the parlour; it was painted in his +young days, when he was very handsome. His sister could not weary of +looking at it; to her this picture seemed the very embodiment of beauty. +Dear, unconscious soul, she never thought how much it was like herself, +or even the portrait of her which hung in the opposite recess--for +brother and sister strikingly resembled each other. Both had the same +high brows, the same deep blue eyes and finely chiselled features, +the same sweet and pleasant smiles; there was but one difference: Miss +Margaret's hair was of a pale golden colour, and yet unchanged; she wore +it now put back very smoothly and plainly from her face. When John was +young, his curls were of so dark a brown as to look almost black in the +shade. They were bleached a good deal by time, but yet they clustered +round his brow in the same careless, boyish fashion as of old. + +Just now Miss Margaret could only look at her brother's picture with +tears. On that very morning she stood before it, her spirit so full of +tender memories, so crowded with sad yearnings, she felt as though they +would crush her to the earth. Oh, weary heart! endure yet "a little +while" longer. Even now the angel of reconciliation is on the wing. + +Whilst John Greylston sat alone upon the foot of the porch at the front +of the house, and his sister stood so sadly in the parlour, the city +stage came whirling along the dusty turnpike. It stopped for a few +minutes opposite the lane which led to John Greylston's place. The door +was opened, and a grave-looking young man sprang out. He was followed by +a fairy little creature, who clapped her hands, and danced for joy +when she saw the white chimneys and vine-covered porches of "Greylston +Cottage." + +"Annie! Annie!" but she only laughed, and gathering up the folds of +her travelling dress, managed to get so quickly and skilfully over the +fence, that her brother, who was unfastening the gate, looked at her in +perfect amazement. + +"What in the world," he asked, with a smile on his grave face, +"possessed you to get over the fence in that monkey fashion? All those +people looking at you, too. For shame, Annie! Will you never be done +with those childish capers?" + +"Yes, maybe when I am a gray-haired old woman; not before. Don't scold +now, Richard; you know very well you, and the passengers beside, would +give your ears to climb a fence as gracefully as I did just now. There, +won't you hand me my basket, please?" + +He did so, and then, with a gentle smile, took the white, ungloved +fingers in his. + +"My darling Annie, remember"-- + +"Stage waits," cried the driver. + +So Richard Bermon's lecture was cut short; he had only time to bid his +merry young sister good-bye. Soon he was lost to sight. + +Annie Bermon hurried down the lane, swinging her light willow basket +carelessly on her arm, and humming a joyous air all the way. Just as she +opened the outer lawn gate, the great Newfoundland dog came towards her +with a low growl; it changed directly though into a glad bark. + +"I was sure you would know me, you dear old fellow; but I can't stop to +talk to you just now." And Annie patted his silken ears, and then went +on to the house, the dog bounding on before her, as though he had found +an old playmate. + +John Greylston rubbed his eyes. No, it was not a dream. His darling +niece was really by his side, her soft curls touching his cheek; he +flung his arms tightly around her. + +"Dear child, I was just dreaming about you; how glad I am to see your +sweet face again." + +"I was sure you would be, Uncle John," she answered gayly, "and so I +started off from home this morning just, in a hurry. I took a sudden +fancy that I would come, and they could not keep me. But where is dear +Aunt Margaret? Oh, I know what I will do. I'll just run in and take her +by surprise. How well you look, uncle--so noble and grand too; by the +way, I always think King Robert Bruce must just have been such a man +like you." + +"No laughing at your old uncle, you little rogue," said John Greylston +pleasantly, "but run and find your aunt. She is somewhere in the house." +And he looked after her with a loving smile as she flitted by him. Annie +Bermon passed quickly through the shaded sitting-room into the cool and +matted hall, catching glimpses as she went of the pretty parlour and +wide library; but her aunt was in neither of these rooms; so she hurried +up stairs, and stealing on tiptoe, with gentle fingers she pushed open +the door. Margaret Greylston was sitting by the table, sewing; her face +was flushed, and her eyes red and swollen as with weeping. Annie stood +still in wonder. But Miss Margaret suddenly looked up, and her niece +sprang, with a glad cry, into her arms. + +"You are not well, Aunt Margaret? Oh! how sorry I am to hear that, but +it seems to me I could never get sick in this sweet place; everything +looks so bright and lovely here. And I _would_ come this morning, Aunt +Margaret, in spite of everything Sophy and all of them could say. They +told me I had been here once before this summer, and stayed a long time, +and if I would, come again, my welcome would be worn out, just as if I +was going to believe _such_ nonsense;" and Annie tossed her head. "But +I persevered, and you see, aunty dear, I am here, we will trust for some +good purpose, as Richard would say." + +A silent Amen to this rose up in Miss Margaret's heart, and with it +came a hope dim and shadowy, yet beautiful withal; she hardly dared to +cherish it. Annie went on talking,-- + +"I can only stay two weeks with you--school commences then, and I must +hurry back to it; but I am always so glad to get here, away from the +noise and dust of the city; this is the best place in the world. Do you +know when we were travelling this summer, I was pining all the time to +get here. I was so tired of Newport and Saratoga, and all the crowds we +met." + +"You are singular in your tastes, some would think, Annie," said Miss +Greylston, smiling fondly on her darling. + +"So Madge and Sophy were always saying; even Clare laughed at me, and +my brothers, too,--only Richard,--Oh! by the way, I did torment him +this morning, he is so grave and good, and he was just beginning a nice +lecture at the gate, when the driver called, and poor Richard had only +time to send his love to you. Wasn't it droll, though, that lecture +being cut so short?" and Annie threw herself down in the great cushioned +chair, and laughed heartily. + +Annie Bermond was the youngest of John and Margaret Greylston's nieces +and nephews. Her beauty, her sweet and sunny temper made her a favourite +at home and abroad. John Greylston loved her dearly; he always thought +she looked like his chosen bride, Ellen Day. Perhaps there was some +likeness, for Annie had the same bright eyes, and the same pouting, +rose-bud lips--but Margaret thought she was more like their own family. +She loved to trace a resemblance in the smiling face, rich golden curls, +and slight figure of Annie to her young sister Edith, who died when +Annie was a little baby. Just sixteen years old was Annie, and wild and +active as any deer, as her city-bred sisters sometimes declared half +mournfully. + +Somehow, Annie Bermond thought it uncommonly grave and dull at the +dinner-table, yet why should it be so? Her uncle and aunt, as kind +and dear as ever, were there; she, herself, a blithe fairy, sat in her +accustomed seat; the day was bright, birds were singing, flowers were +gleaming, but there was a change. What could it be? Annie knew not, yet +her quick perception warned her of the presence of some trouble--some +cloud. In her haste to talk and cheer her uncle and aunt, the poor child +said what would have been best left unsaid. + +"How beautiful those trees are; I mean those pines on the hill; don't +you admire them very much, Uncle John?" + +"Tolerably," was the rather short answer. "I am too well used to trees +to go into the raptures of my little city niece about them;" and all +this time Margaret looked fixedly down upon the floor. + +"Don't you frown so, uncle, or I will run right home to-morrow," said +Annie, with the assurance of a privileged pet; "but I was going to ask +you about the rock just back of those pines. Do you and Aunt Margaret +still go there to see the sunset? I was thinking about you these two +past evenings, when the sunsets were so grand, and wishing I was with +you on the rock; and you were both there, weren't you?" + +This time John Greylston gave no answer, but his sister said briefly, + +"No, Annie, we have not been at the rock for several evenings;" and then +a rather painful silence followed. + +Annie at last spoke: + +"You both, somehow, seem so changed and dull; I would just like to +know the reason. May be aunty is going to be married. Is that it, Uncle +John?" + +Miss Margaret smiled, but the colour came brightly to her face. + +"If this is really so, I don't wonder you are sad and grave; you, +especially, Uncle John; how lonely and wretched you would be! Oh! would +you not be very sorry if Aunt Madge should leave you, never to come back +again? Would not your heart almost break?" + +John Greylston threw down his knife and fork violently upon the table, +and pushing back his chair, went from the room. + +Annie Bermond looked in perfect bewilderment at her aunt, but Miss +Margaret was silent and tearful. + +"Aunt! darling aunt! don't look so distressed;" and Annie put her arms +around her neck; "but tell me what have I done; what is the matter?" + +Miss Greylston shook her head. + +"You will not speak now, Aunt Margaret; you might tell me; I am sure +something has happened to distress you. Just as soon as I came here, I +saw a change, but I could not understand it. I cannot yet. Tell me, dear +aunt!" and she knelt beside her. + +So Miss Greylston told her niece the whole story, softening, as far as +truth would permit, many of John's harsh speeches; but she was, not +slow to blame herself. Annie listened attentively. Young as she was, +her heart took in with the deepest sympathy the sorrow which shaded her +beloved friends. + +"Oh! I am so very sorry for all this," she said half crying; "but aunty, +dear, I do not think uncle will have those nice old trees cut down. He +loves you too much to do it; I am sure he is sorry now for all those +sharp things he said; but his pride keeps him back from telling you +this, and maybe he thinks you are angry with him still. Aunt Margaret, +let me go and say to him that your love is as warm as ever, and that you +forgive him freely. Oh! it may do so much good. May I not go?" + +But Miss Greylston tightened her grasp on the young girl's hand. + +"Annie, you do not know your uncle as well as I do. Such a step can do +no good,--love, you cannot help us." + +"Only let me try," she returned, earnestly; "Uncle John loves me so +much, and on the first day of my visit, he will not refuse to hear me. +I will tell him all the sweet things you said about him. I will tell him +there is not one bit of anger in your heart, and that you forgive and +love him dearly. I am sure when he hears this he will be glad. Any way, +it will not make matters worse. Now, do have some confidence in me. +Indeed I am not so childish as I seem. I am turned of sixteen now, and +Richard and Sophy often say I have the heart of a woman, even if I have +the ways of a child. Let me go now, dear Aunt Margaret; I will soon come +back to you with such good news." + +Miss Greylston stooped down and kissed Annie's brow solemnly, tenderly. +"Go, my darling, and may God be with you." Then she turned away. + +And with willing feet Annie Bermond went forth upon her blessed errand. +She soon found her uncle. He was sitting beneath the shade of the old +pines, and he seemed to be in very deep thought. Annie got down on the +grass beside him, and laid her soft cheek upon his sunburnt hand. How +gently he spoke-- + +"What did you come here for, sweet bird?" + +"Because I love you so much, Uncle John; that is the reason; but won't +you tell me why you look so very sad and grave? I wish I knew your +thoughts just now." + +"And if you did, fairy, they would not make you any prettier or better +than you are." + +"I wonder if they do you any good, uncle?" she quickly replied; but her +companion made no answer; he only smiled. + +Let me write here what John Greylston's tongue refused to say. Those +thoughts, indeed, had done him good; they were tender, self-upbraiding, +loving thoughts, mingled, all the while, with touching memories, +mournful glimpses of the past--the days of his sore bereavement, when +the coffin-lid was first shut down over Ellen Day's sweet face, and +he was smitten to the earth with anguish. Then Margaret's sympathy and +love, so beautiful in its strength, and unselfishness, so unwearying and +sublime in its sacrifices, became to him a stay and comfort. And had she +not, for his sake, uncomplainingly given up the best years of her life, +as it seemed? Had her love ever faltered? Had it ever wavered in its +sweet endeavours to make him happy? These memories, these thoughts, +closed round John Greylston like a circle of rebuking angels. Not for +the first time were they with him when Annie found him beneath the old +pines. Ever since that morning of violent and unjust anger they had +been struggling in his heart, growing stronger, it seemed, every hour +in their reproachful tenderness. Those loving, silent attentions to his +wishes John Greylston had noted, and they rankled like sharp thorns +in his soul. He was not worthy of them; this he knew. How he loathed +himself for his sharp and angry words! He had it in his heart to tell +his sister this, but an overpowering shame held him back. + +"If I only knew how Madge felt towards me," he said many times to +himself, "then I could speak; but I have been such a brute. She can +do nothing else but repulse me;" and this threw around him that +chill reserve which kept Margaret's generous and forgiving heart at a +distance. + +Even every-day life has its wonders, and perhaps not one of the least +was that this brother and sister, so long fellow-pilgrims, so long +readers of each other's hearts, should for a little while be kept +asunder by mutual blindness. Yet the hand which is to chase the mists +from their darkened eyes, even now is raised, what though it be but +small? God in his wisdom and mercy will cause its strength to be +sufficient. + +When John Greylston gave his niece no answer, she looked intently in his +face and said, + +"You will not tell me what you have been thinking about; but I can +guess, Uncle John. I know the reason you did not take Aunt Margaret to +the rock to see the sunset." + +"Do you?" he asked, startled from his composure, his face flushing +deeply. + +"Yes; for I would not rest until aunty told me the whole story, and I +just came out to talk to you about it. Now, Uncle John, don't frown, +and draw away your hand; just listen to me a little while; I am sure you +will be glad." Then she repeated, in her pretty, girlish way, touching +in its earnestness, all Miss Greylston had told her. "Oh, if you had +only heard her say those sweet things, I know you would not keep vexed +one minute longer! Aunt Margaret told me that she did not blame you +at all, only herself; that she loved you dearly, and she is so sorry +because you seem cold and angry yet, for she wants so very, very much +to beg your forgiveness, and tell you all this, dear Uncle John, if you +would only--" + +"Annie," he suddenly interrupted, drawing her closely to his bosom; +"Annie, you precious child, in telling me all this you have taken a +great weight off of my heart. You have done your old uncle a world of +good. God bless you a thousand times! If I had known this at once; if +I had been sure, from the first, of Margaret's forgiveness for my cruel +words, how quickly I would have sought it. My dear, noble sister!" +The tears filled John Greylston's dark blue eyes, but his smile was so +exceedingly tender and beautiful, that Annie drew closer to his side. + +"Oh, that lovely smile!" she cried, "how it lights your face; and now +you look so good and forgiving, dearer and better even than a king. +Uncle John, kiss me again; my heart is so glad! shall I run now and tell +Aunt Margaret all this sweet news?" + +"No, no, darling little peace-maker, stay here; I will go to her +myself;" and he hurried away. + +Annie Bermond sat alone upon the hill, musingly platting the long grass +together, but she heeded not the work of her fingers. Her face was +bright with joy, her heart full of happiness. Dear child! in one brief +hour she had learned the blessedness of that birthright which is for +all God's sons and daughters, if they will but claim it. I mean _the +privilege of doing good, of being useful_. + +Miss Greylston sat by the parlour window, just where she could see who +crossed the lawn. She was waiting with a kind of nervous impatience for +Annie. She heard a footstep, but it was only Liddy going down to the +dairy. Then Reuben went by on his way to the meadow, and all was silent +again. Where was Annie?--but now quick feet sounded upon the crisp +and faded leaves. Miss Margaret looked out, and saw her brother +coming,--then she was sure Annie had in some way missed him, and +she drew back from the window keenly disappointed, not even a faint +suspicion of the blessed truth crossing her mind. As John Greylston +entered the hall, a sudden and irresistible desire prompted Margaret to +go and tell him all the loving and forgiving thoughts of her heart, no +matter what his mood should be. So she threw down her work, and went +quickly towards the parlour door. And the brother and sister met, just +on the threshold. + +"John--John," she said, falteringly, "I must speak to you; I cannot bear +this any longer." + +"Nor can I, Margaret." + +Miss Greylston looked up in her brother's face; it was beaming with love +and tenderness. Then she knew the hour of reconciliation had come, and +with a quick, glad cry, she sprang into his arms and laid her head down +upon his shoulder. + +"Can you ever forgive me, Madge?" + +She made no reply--words had melted into tears, but they were eloquent, +and for a little while it was quite still in the parlour. + +"You shall blame yourself no longer, Margaret. All along you have +behaved like a sweet Christian woman as you are, but I have been an old +fool, unreasonable and cross from the very beginning. Can you really +forgive me all those harsh words, for which I hated myself not ten hours +after they were said? Can you, indeed, forgive and forget these? Tell me +so again." + +"John," she said, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, "I do +forgive you most completely, with my whole heart, and, O! I wanted so to +tell you this two days ago, but your coldness kept me back. I was afraid +your anger was not over, and that you would repel me." + +"Ah, that coldness was but shame--deep and painful shame. I was +needlessly harsh with you, and moments of reflection only served to +fasten on me the belief that I had lost all claim to your love, that you +could not forgive me. Yes! I did misjudge you, Madge, I know, but when I +looked back upon the past, and all your faithful love for me, I saw you +as I had ever seen you, the best of sisters, and then my shameful +and ungrateful conduct rose up clearly before me. I felt so utterly +unworthy." + +Miss Greylston laid her finger upon her brother's lips. "Nor will I +listen to you blaming yourself so heavily any longer. John, you had +cause to be angry with me; I was unreasonably urgent about the trees," +and she sighed; "I forgot to be gentle and patient; so you see I am to +blame as well as yourself." + +"But I forgot even common kindness and courtesy;" he said gravely. "What +demon was in my heart, Margaret, I do not know. Avarice, I am afraid, +was at the bottom of all this, for rich as I am, I somehow felt very +obstinate about running into any more expense or trouble about the road; +and then, you remember, I never could love inanimate things as you do. +But from this time forth I will try--and the pines"-- + +"Let the pines go down, my dear brother, I see now how unreasonable I +have been," suddenly interrupted Miss Greylston; "and indeed these few +days past I could not look at them with any pleasure; they only reminded +me of our separation. Cut them down: I will not say one word." + +"Now, what a very woman you are, Madge! Just when you have gained your +will, you want to turn about; but, love, the trees shall not come down. +I will give them to you; and you cannot refuse my peace-offering; and +never, whilst John Greylston lives, shall an axe touch those pines, +unless you say so, Margaret." + +He laughed when he said this, but her tears were falling fast. + +"Next month will be November; then comes our birth-day; we will be fifty +years old, Margaret. Time is hurrying on with us; he has given me gray +locks, and laid some wrinkles on your dear face; but that is nothing if +our hearts are untouched. O, for so many long years, ever since my Ellen +was snatched from me,"--and here John Greylston paused a moment--"you +have been to me a sweet, faithful comforter. Madge, dear twin sister, +your love has always been a treasure to me; but you well know for many +years past it has been my _only_ earthly treasure. Henceforth, God +helping me, I will seek to restrain my evil temper. I will be more +watchful; if sometimes I fail, Margaret, will you not love me, and bear +with me?" + +Was there any need for that question? Miss Margaret only answered by +clasping her brother's hand more closely in her own. As they stood there +in the autumn sunlight, united so lovingly, hand in hand, each silently +prayed that thus it might be with them always; not only through life's +autumn, but in that winter so surely for them approaching, and which +would give place to the fair and beautiful spring of the better land. + +Annie Bermond's bright face looked in timidly at the open door. + +"Come here, darling, come and stand right beside your old uncle and +aunt, and let us thank you with all our hearts for the good you have +done us. Don't cry any more, Margaret. Why, fairy, what is the matter +with you?" for Annie's tears were falling fast upon his hand. + +"I hardly know, Uncle John; I never felt so glad in my life before, but +I cannot help crying. Oh, it is so sweet to think the cloud has gone." + +"And whose dear hand, under God's blessing, drove the cloud away, but +yours, my child?" + +Annie was silent; she only clung the tighter to her uncle's arm, and +Miss Greylston said, with a beaming smile, + +"Now, Annie, we see the good purpose God had in sending you here to-day. +You have done for us the blessed work of a peace-maker." + +Annie had always been dear to her uncle and aunt, but from that +golden autumn day, she became, if such a thing could be, dearer than +ever--bound to them by an exceedingly sweet tie. + +Years went by. One snowy evening, a merry Christmas party was gathered +together in the wide parlour at Greylston Cottage,--nearly all the +nephews and nieces were there. Mrs. Lennox, the "Sophy" of earlier +days, with her husband; Richard Bermond and his pretty little wife were +amongst the number; and Annie, dear, bright Annie--her fair face only +the fairer and sweeter for time--sat, talking in a corner with young +Walter Selwyn. John Greylston went slowly to the window, and pushed +aside the curtains, and as he stood there looking out somewhat gravely +in the bleak and wintry night, he felt a soft hand touch him, and he +turned and found Annie Bermond by his side. + +"You looked so lonely, my dear uncle." + +"And that is the reason you deserted Walter?" he said, laughing. "Well, +I will soon send you back to him. But, look out here first, Annie, and +tell me what you see;" and she laid her face close to the window-pane, +and, after a minute's silence, said, + +"I see the ground white with snow, the sky gleaming with stars, and the +dear old pines, tall and stately as ever." + +"Yes, the pines; that is what I meant, my child. Ah, they have been my +silent monitors ever since that day; you remember it, Annie! Bless you, +child! how much good you did us then." + +But Annie was silently crying beside him. John Greylton wiped his eyes, +and then he called his sister Margaret to the window. + +"Annie and I have been looking at the old pines, and you can guess what +we were thinking about. As for myself," he added, "I never see those +trees without feeling saddened and rebuked. I never recall that season +of error, without the deepest shame and grief. And still the old pines +stand. Well, Madge, one day they will shade our graves; and of late I +have thought that day would dawn very soon." + +Annie Bermond let the curtain fall very slowly forward, and buried +her face in her hands; but the two old pilgrims by her side, John and +Margaret Greylston, looked at each other with a smile of hope and joy. +They had long been "good and faithful servants," and now they awaited +the coming of "the Master," with a calm, sweet patience, knowing it +would be well with them, when He would call them hence. + +The pines creaked mournfully in the winter wind, and the stars looked +down upon bleak wastes, and snow-shrouded meadows; yet the red blaze +heaped blithely on the hearth, taking in, in its fair light, the merry +circle sitting side by side, and the thoughtful little group standing so +quietly by the window. And even now the picture fades, and is gone. The +curtain falls--the story of John and Margaret Greylston is ended. + + + + +THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT. + + + + IF men cared less for wealth and fame, + And less for battle-fields and glory; + If, writ in human hearts, a name + Seemed better than in song and story; + If men, instead of nursing pride, + Would learn to hate and to abhor it-- + If more relied + On Love to guide, + The world would be the better for it. + + If men dealt less in stocks and lands, + And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; + If Love's work had more willing hands + To link this world to the supernal; + If men stored up Love's oil and wine, + And on bruised human hearts would pour it; + If "yours" and "mine" + Would once combine, + The world would be the better for it. + + If more would act the play of Life, + And fewer spoil it in rehearsal; + If Bigotry would sheathe its knife + Till Good became more universal; + If Custom, gray with ages grown, + Had fewer blind men to adore it-- + If talent shone + In truth alone, + The world would be the better for it. + + If men were wise in little things-- + Affecting less in all their dealings-- + If hearts had fewer rusted strings + To isolate their kindly feelings; + If men, when Wrong beats down the Right, + Would strike together and restore it-- + If Right made Might + In every fight, + The world would be the better for it. + + + + +TWO SIDES TO A STORY. + + + +"HAVE you seen much of your new neighbours, yet?" asked Mrs. Morris, as +she stepped in to have an hour's social chat with her old friend, Mrs. +Freeman. + +"Very little," was the reply. "Occasionally I have seen the lady walking +in her garden, and have sometimes watched the sports of the children on +the side-walk, but this is all. It is not like the country, you +know. One may live here for years, and not become acquainted with the +next-door neighbours." + +"Some may do so," replied Mrs. Morris, "but, for my part, I always like +to know something of those around me. It is not always desirable to make +the acquaintance of near neighbours, but by a little observation it +is very easy to gain an insight into their characters and position in +society. The family which has moved into the house next to yours, for +instance, lived near to me for nearly two years, and although I never +spoke to one of them, I can tell you of some strange transactions which +took place in their house." + +"Indeed!" replied Mrs. Freeman, with little manifestation of interest or +curiosity; but Mrs. Morris was too eager to communicate her information +to notice her friend's manner, and lowering her voice to a confidential +tone, continued:-- + +"There is an old lady in their family whom they abuse in the most +shocking manner. She is very rich, and they by threats and ill-treatment +extort large sums of money from her." + +"A singular way of inducing any one to bestow favours," replied Mrs. +Freeman, dryly. "Why does not the old lady leave there?" + +"Bless your heart, my dear friend, she cannot get an opportunity! They +never suffer her to leave the house unattended. Once or twice, indeed, +she succeeded in getting into the street, but they discovered her in a +moment, and actually forced her into the house. You smile incredulously, +but if you had been an eye-witness of their proceedings, as I have, or +had heard the screams of the poor creature, and the heavy blows which +they inflict, you would be convinced of the truth of what I tell you." + +"I do not doubt the truth of your story in the least, my dear Mrs. +Morris. I only think that in this case, as in most others, there must +be two sides to the story. It is almost incredible that such barbarous +treatment could continue for any great length of time without discovery +and exposure." + +"Oh, as to that, people are not fond of getting themselves into trouble +by meddling with their neighbours' affairs. I am very cautious about +it myself. I would not have mentioned this matter to any one but an old +friend like yourself. It seemed best to put you on your guard." + +"Thank you," was the smiling reply. "It is hardly probable that I shall +be called upon to make any acquaintance with my new neighbours but if I +am, I certainly shall not forget your caution." + +Satisfied that she had succeeded, at least partially, in awakening the +suspicions of her friend, Mrs. Morris took her departure, while Mrs. +Freeman, quite undisturbed by her communications, continued her usual +quiet round of domestic duties, thinking less of the affairs of her +neighbours than of those of her own household. + +Occasionally she saw the old lady whom Mrs. Morris had mentioned walking +in the adjoining garden, sometimes alone, and sometimes accompanied +by the lady of the house, or one of the children. There was nothing +striking in her appearance. She looked cheerful and contented, and +showed no signs of confinement or abuse. Once, when Mrs. Freeman was in +her garden, she had looked over the fence, and praised the beauty of her +flowers, and when a bunch was presented to her, had received them with +that almost childish delight which aged people often manifest. + +Weeks passed on, and the remarks of Mrs. Morris were almost forgotten, +when Mrs. Freeman was aroused one night by loud cries, apparently +proceeding from the adjoining house; and on listening intently could +plainly distinguish the sound of heavy blows, and also the voice of the +old lady in question, as if in earnest expostulation and entreaty. + +Mrs. Freeman aroused her husband, and together they listened in anxiety +and alarm. For nearly an hour the sounds continued, but at length +all was again quiet. It was long, however, before they could compose +themselves to rest. It was certainly strange and unaccountable, and +there was something so inhuman in the thought of abusing an aged woman +that their hearts revolted at the idea. + +Still Mrs. Freeman maintained, as was her wont, that there must be two +sides to the story; and after vainly endeavouring to imagine what the +other side could be, she fell asleep, and was undisturbed until morning. + +All seemed quiet the next day, and Mrs. Freeman had somewhat recovered +from the alarm of the previous night, when she was again visited by her +friend, Mrs. Morris. As usual, she had confidential communications to +make, and particularly wished the advice of Mrs. Freeman in a matter +which she declared weighed heavily upon her mind; and being assured that +they should be undisturbed, began at once to impart the weighty secret. + +"You remember Mrs. Dawson, who went with her husband to Europe, a year +or two ago?" + +"Certainly I do," was the reply. "I was well acquainted with her." + +"Do you recollect a girl who had lived with her for several years? I +think her name was Mary Berkly." + +"Quite well. Mrs. Dawson placed great confidence in her, and wished to +take her abroad, but Mary was engaged to an honest carpenter, in good +business, and wisely preferred a comfortable house in her own country." + +"She had other reasons, I suspect," replied Mrs. Morris, mysteriously, +"but you will hear. This Mary Berkly, or as she is now called, +Mary White, lives not far from my present residence. Her husband is +comfortably off, and his wife is not obliged to work, excepting in her +own family, but still she will occasionally, as a favour, do up a few +muslins for particular persons. You know she was famous for her skill +in those things. The other day, having a few pieces which I was +particularly anxious to have look nice, I called upon her to see if she +would wash them for me. She was not at home, but her little niece, who +lives with her, a child of four years old, said that Aunt Mary would be +in directly, and asked me to walk into the parlour. I did so, and the +little thing stood by my side chattering away like a magpie. In reply +to my questions as to whether she liked to live with her aunt, what she +amused herself with, &c., &c., she entered into a long account of +her various playthings, and ended by saying that she would show me a +beautiful new doll which her good uncle had given her, if I would please +to unlock the door of a closet near where I was sitting, as she could +not turn the key. + +"To please the child I unlocked the door. She threw it wide open, and +to my astonishment I saw that it was filled with valuable silver plate, +china, and other articles of similar kind, some of which I particularly +remembered having seen at Mrs. Dawson's." + +"Perhaps she gave them to Mary," suggested Mrs. Freeman. "She was quite +attached to her." + +"Impossible!" exclaimed Mrs. Morris. "Valuable silver plate is not often +given to servants. But I have not yet finished. Just as the child had +found the doll Mrs. White entered, and on seeing the closet-door open, +said sternly to the child, + +"'Rosy, you did very wrong to open that door without my leave. I shall +not let you take your doll again for a week;' and looking very red and +confused, she hastily closed it, and turned the key. Now, to my mind, +these are suspicious circumstances, particularly as I recollect that Mr. +and Mrs. Dawson were robbed of silver plate shortly before they went to +Europe, and no trace could be found of the thieves." + +"True," replied Mrs. Freeman, thoughtfully; "I recollect the robbery +very well. Still I cannot believe that Mary had anything to do with it. +I was always pleased with her modest manner, and thought her an honest, +capable girl." + +"She is very smooth-faced, I know," answered Mrs. Morris, "but +appearances are certainly against her. I am confident that the articles +I saw belonged to Mrs. Dawson." + +"There may be another side to the story, however," remarked her friend; +"but why not mention your suspicions to Mrs. Dawson? You know she has +returned, and is boarding in the upper part of the city. I have her +address, somewhere." + +"I know where she lives; but would you really advise me to meddle with +the affair? I shall make enemies of Mr. and Mrs. White, if they hear of +it, and I like to have the good-will of all, both, rich and poor." + +"I do not believe that Mary would take anything wrongfully," replied +Mrs. Freeman; "but if my suspicions were as fully aroused as yours seem +to be, I presume I should mention what I saw to Mrs. Dawson, if it +were only for the sake of hearing the other side of the story, and thus +removing such unpleasant doubts from my mind. And, indeed, if you really +think that the articles which you saw were stolen, it becomes your duty +to inform the owners thereof, or you become, in a measure, a partaker of +the theft." + +"That is true," said Mrs. Morris, rising, "and in that way I might +ultimately gain the ill-will of Mrs. Dawson; therefore I think I will go +at once and tell her my suspicions." + +"Which, I am convinced, you will find erroneous," replied Mrs. Freeman. + +"We shall see," was the answer of her friend, accompanied by an ominous +shake of the head; and promising to call upon Mrs. Freeman on her +return, she took leave. + +During her absence, the alarming cries from the next house were again +heard; and presently the old lady appeared on the side-walk, apparently +in great agitation and alarm, and gazing wildly about her, as if seeking +a place of refuge; but she was instantly seized in the forcible manner +Mrs. Morris had described, and carried into the house. + +"This is dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Freeman. "What excuse can there +be for such treatment?" and for a moment her heart was filled with +indignation toward her supposed barbarous neighbours; but a little +reflection caused her still to suspend her judgment, and endeavour to +learn both sides of the story. + +As she sat ruminating on this singular occurrence, and considering what +was her duty in regard to it, she was aroused by the entrance of Mrs. +Morris, who, with an air of vexation and disappointment, threw herself +upon the nearest chair, exclaiming, + +"A pretty piece of work I have been about! It is all owing to your +advice, Mrs. Freeman. If it had not been for you I should not have made +such a fool of myself." + +"Why, what has happened to you?" asked Mrs. Freeman, anxiously. "What +advice have I given you which has caused trouble?" + +"You recommended my calling upon Mrs. Dawson, did you not?" + +"Certainly: I thought it the easiest way to relieve your mind from +painful suspicions. What did she say?" + +"Say! I wish you could have seen the look she gave me when I told her +what I saw at Mrs. White's. You know her haughty manner? She thanked me +for the trouble I had taken on her account, and begged leave to assure +me that she had perfect confidence in the honesty of Mrs. White. The +articles which had caused me so much unnecessary anxiety were intrusted +to her care when they went to Europe, and it had not yet been convenient +to reclaim them. I cannot tell you how contemptuously she spoke. I never +felt so mortified in my life." + +"There is no occasion for feeling so, if your intentions were good," +answered Mrs. Freeman; "and certainly it must be a relief to you to hear +the other side of the story. Nothing less would have convinced you of +Mrs. White's honesty." + +Mrs. Morris was prevented from replying by the sudden and violent +ringing of the bell, and an instant after the door was thrown open, and +the old lady, whose supposed unhappy condition had called forth their +sympathies, rushed into the room. + +"Oh, save me! save me!" she exclaimed, frantically. "I am +pursued,--protect me, for the love of Heaven!" + +"Poor creature!" said Mrs. Morris. "You see that I was not mistaken in +this story, at least. There can be no two sides to this." + +"Depend upon it there is," replied Mrs. Freeman; but she courteously +invited her visiter to be seated, and begged to know what had occasioned +her so much alarm. + +The poor lady told a plausible and piteous tale of ill-treatment, and, +indeed, actual abuse. Mrs. Morris listened with a ready ear, and loudly +expressed her horror and indignation. Mrs. Freeman was more guarded. +There was something in the old lady's appearance and manners that +excited an undefinable feeling of fear and aversion. Mrs. Freeman +felt much perplexed as to the course she ought to pursue, and looked +anxiously at the clock to see if the time for her husband's return was +near. + +It still wanted nearly two hours, and after a little more consideration +she decided to go herself into the next door, ask for an interview with +the lady of the house, frankly state what had taken place, and demand +an explanation. This resolution she communicated in a low voice to Mrs. +Morris, who opposed it as imprudent and ill-judged. + +"Of course they will deny the charge," she argued, "and by letting them +know where the poor creature has taken shelter, you will again expose +her to their cruelty. Besides, you will get yourself into trouble. My +advice to you is to keep quiet until your husband returns, and then to +assist the poor lady secretly to go to her friends in the country, who +she says will gladly receive her." + +"But I am anxious to hear both sides of the story before I decide to +assist her," replied Mrs. Freeman. + +"Nonsense!" exclaimed her friend. "Even you must see that there cannot +be two sides to this story. There is no possible excuse for cruelty, and +to an inoffensive, aged woman." + +While they were thus consulting together, their visiter regarded them +with a troubled look, and a fierce gleaming eye, which did not, escape +Mrs. Freeman's observation; and just as Mrs. Morris finished speaking, +the maniac sprang upon her, like a tiger on his prey, and, seizing her +by the throat, demanded what new mischief was plotting against her. + +The screams of the terrified women drew the attention of the son of +the old lady, who had just discovered her absence, and was hastening in +search of her. At once suspecting the truth, he rushed without ceremony +into his neighbour's house, and speedily rescued Mrs. Morris from her +unpleasant and somewhat dangerous situation. After conveying his mother +to her own room, and consigning her to strict custody, he returned, and +respectfully apologized to Mrs. Freeman for what had taken place. + +"His poor mother," he said, "had for several years been subject to +occasional fits of insanity. Generally she had appeared harmless, +excepting as regarded herself. Unless prevented by force, she would +sometimes beat her own flesh in a shocking manner, uttering at the same +time loud cries and complaints of the abuse of those whom she supposed +to be tormenting her. + +"In her lucid intervals she had so earnestly besought them not to place +her in the asylum for the insane, but to continue to bear with her under +their own roof, that they had found it impossible to refuse their solemn +promise to comply with her wishes. + +"For themselves, their love for her rendered them willing to bear +with her infirmities, but it should be their earnest care that their +neighbours should not again be disturbed." + +Mrs. Freeman kindly expressed her sympathy and forgiveness for the alarm +which she had experienced, and the gentleman took leave. + +Poor Mrs. Morris had remained perfectly silent since her release; but +as the door closed on their visiter, and her friend kindly turned to +inquire how she found herself, she recovered her speech, and exclaimed, +energetically, + +"I will never, never say again that there are not two sides to a story. +If I am ever tempted to believe one side without waiting to hear the +other, I shall surely feel again the hands of that old witch upon my +throat." + +"Old witch!" repeated Mrs. Freeman. "Surely she demands our sympathy as +much as when we thought her suffering under ill-treatment. It is indeed +a sad thing to be bereft of reason. But this will be a useful lesson to +both of us: for I will readily acknowledge that in this instance I +was sometimes tempted to forget that there are always 'two sides to a +story.'" + + + + +LITTLE KINDNESSES. + + + +NOT long since, it was announced that a large fortune had been left to a +citizen of the United States by a foreigner, who, some years before, had +"become ill" while travelling in this country, and whose sick-bed was +watched with the utmost care and kindness by the citizen referred to. +The stranger recovered, continued his journey, and finally returned to +his own country. The conduct of the American at a moment so critical, +and when, without relatives or friends, the invalid was languishing in a +strange land, was not forgotten. He remembered it in his thoughtful and +meditative moments, and when about to prepare for another world, his +gratitude was manifested in a truly signal manner. A year or two ago, an +individual in this city was labouring under great pecuniary difficulty. +He was unexpectedly called upon for a considerable sum of money; and, +although his means were abundant, they were not at that time immediately +available. Puzzled and perplexed, he hesitated as to his best course, +when, by the merest chance, he met an old acquaintance, and incidentally +mentioned the facts of the case. The other referred to an act of +kindness that he had experienced years before, said that he had never +forgotten it, and that nothing would afford him more pleasure than +to extend the relief that was required, and thus show, his grateful +appreciation of the courtesy of former years! The kindness alluded to +was a mere trifle, comparatively speaking, and its recollection had +passed entirely from the memory of the individual who had performed it. +Not so, however, with the obliged. He had never forgotten it, and +the result proved, in the most conclusive manner, that he was deeply +grateful. + +We have mentioned the two incidents with the object of inculcating the +general policy of courtesy and kindness, of sympathy and assistance, in +our daily intercourse with our fellow-creatures. It is the true +course under all circumstances. "Little kindnesses" sometimes make an +impression that "lingers and lasts" for years. This is especially the +case with the sensitive, the generous, and the high-minded. And how much +may be accomplished by this duty of courtesy and humanity! How the paths +of life may be smoothed and softened! How the present may be cheered, +and the future rendered bright and beautiful! + +There are, it is true, some selfish spirits, who can neither +appreciate nor reciprocate a courteous or a generous act. They are for +themselves--"now and for ever"--if we may employ such a phrase--and +appear never to be satisfied. You can never do enough for them. Nay, +the deeper the obligation, the colder the heart. They grow jealous, +distrustful, and finally begin to hate their benefactors. But these, we +trust, are "the exceptions," not "the rule." Many a heart has been won, +many a friendship has been secured, many a position has been acquired, +through the exercise of such little kindnesses and courtesies as are +natural to the generous in spirit and the noble of soul--to all, +indeed, who delight, not only in promoting their own prosperity, but +in contributing to the welfare of every member of the human family. Who +cannot remember some incident of his own life, in which an individual, +then and perhaps now a stranger--one who has not been seen for years, +and never may be seen again on this side the grave, manifested the true, +the genuine, the gentle spirit of a gentleman and a Christian, in +some mere trifle--some little but impulsive and spontaneous act, +which nevertheless developed the whole heart, and displayed the +real character! Distance and time may separate, and our pursuits and +vocations may be in paths distinct, dissimilar, and far apart. Yet, +there are moments--quiet, calm, and contemplative, when memory will +wander back to the incidents referred to, and we will feel a secret bond +of affinity, friendship, and brotherhood. The name will be mentioned +with respect if not affection, and a desire will be experienced to +repay, in some way or on some occasion, the generous courtesy of the +by-gone time. It is so easy to be civil and obliging, to be kindly and +humane! We not only thus assist the comfort of others, but we promote +our own mental enjoyment. Life, moreover, is full of chance's and +changes. A few years, sometimes, produce extraordinary revolutions +in the fortunes of men. The haughty of to-day may be the humble of +to-morrow; the feeble may be the powerful; the rich may be the poor, +But, if elevated by affluence or by position, the greater the necessity, +the stronger the duty to be kindly, courteous, and conciliatory to those +less fortunate. We can afford to be so; and a proper appreciation of our +position, a due sympathy for the misfortunes of others, and a grateful +acknowledge to Divine Providence, require that we should be so. Life is +short at best. We are here a few years--we sink into the grave--and even +our memory is phantom-like and evanescent. How plain, then, is our +duty! It is to be true to our position, to our conscience, and to the +obligations imposed upon us by society, by circumstances, and by our +responsibility to the Author of all that is beneficent and good. + + + + +LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH. + + + +WE are advised to leave off contention before it be meddled with, by +one usually accounted a very wise man. Had he never given the world any +other evidence of superior wisdom, this admonition alone would have been +sufficient to have established his claims thereto. It shows that he had +power to penetrate to the very root of a large share of human +misery. For what is the great evil in our condition here? Is it not +misunderstanding, disagreement, alienation, contention, and the passions +and results flowing from these? Are not contempt, and hatred, and +strife, and alteration, and slander, and evil-speaking, the things +hardest to bear, and most prolific of suffering, in the lot of human +life? The worst woes of life are such as spring from, these sources. + +Is there any cure for these maladies? Is there anything to prevent or +abate these exquisite sufferings? The wise man directs our attention to +a remedial preventive in the advice above referred to. His counsel to +those whose lot unites them in the same local habitations and name +to those who are leagued in friendship or business, in the changes +of sympathy and the chances of collision, is, to suppress anger or +dissatisfaction, to be candid and charitable in judging, and, by all +means, to leave off contention before it be meddled with. His counsel to +all is to endure injury meekly, not to give expression to the sense of +wrong, even when we might seem justified in resistance or complaint. His +counsel is to yield something we might fairly claim, to pardon when we +might punish, to sacrifice somewhat of our rights for the sake of peace +and friendly affection. His counsel is not to fire at every provocation, +not to return evil for evil, not to cherish any fires of revenge, +burning to be even with the injurious person. His counsel is to curb +our imperiousness, to repress our impatience, to pause in the burst of +another's feeling, to pour water upon the kindling flames, or, at the +very least, to abstain from adding any fresh fuel thereto. + +One proof of the superior wisdom of this counsel is, that few seem to +appreciate or perceive it. To many it seems no great virtue or wisdom, +no great and splendid thing, in some small issue of feeling or opinion, +in the family or among friends, to withhold a little, to tighten +the rein upon some headlong propensity, and await a calm for fair +adjustment. Such a course is not usually held to be a proof of wisdom +or virtue; and men are much more ready to praise and think well of +smartness, and spirit, and readiness for an encounter. To leave off +contention before it is meddled with does not command any very general +admiration; it is too quiet a virtue, with no striking attitudes, and +with lips which answer nothing. This is too often mistaken for dullness, +and want of proper spirit. It requires discernment and superior wisdom +to see a beauty in such repose and self-control, beyond the explosions +of anger and retaliation. With the multitude, self-restraining meekness +under provocation is a virtue which stands quite low in the catalogue. +It is very frequently set down as pusillanimity and cravenness +of spirit. But it is not so; for there is a self-restraint under +provocation which is far from being cowardice, or want of feeling, or +shrinking from consequences; there is a victory over passionate impulses +which is more difficult and more meritorious than a victory on the +bloody battle-field. It requires more power, more self-command, often, +to leave off contention, when provocation and passion are causing the +blood to boil, than to rush into it. + +Were this virtue more duly appreciated, and the admonition of the Wise +Man more extensively heeded, what a change would be effected in human +life! How many of its keenest sufferings would be annihilated! The spark +which kindles many great fires would be withheld; and, great as are the +evils and sufferings caused by war, they are not as great, probably, as +those originating in impatience and want of temper. The fretfulness +of human life, it seems not hard to believe, is a greater evil, +and destroys more happiness, than all the bloody scenes of the +battle-field. The evils of war have generally something to lighten the +burden of them in a sense of necessity, or of rights or honour invaded; +but there is nothing of like importance to alleviate the sufferings +caused by fretfulness, impatience, want of temper. The excitable +peevishness which kindles at trifles, that roughens the daily experience +of a million families, that scatters its little stings at the table and +by the hearth-stone, what does this but unmixed harm? What ingredient +does it furnish but of gall? Its fine wounding may be of petty +consequence in any given case, and its tiny darts easily extracted; but, +when habitually carried into the whole texture of life, it destroys more +peace than plague and famine and the sword. It is a deeper anguish +than grief; it is a sharper pang than the afflicted moan with; it is +a heavier pressure from human hands than when affliction lays her hand +upon you. All this deduction from human comfort, all this addition to +human suffering, may be saved, by heeding the admonition of wisdom given +by one of her sons. When provoked by the follies or the passions, +the offences or neglects, the angry words or evil-speaking of others, +restrain your propensity to complain or contend; leave off contention +before you take the first step towards it. You will then be greater than +he that taketh a city. You will be a genial companion in your family and +among your neighbours. You will be loved at home and blessed abroad. +You will be a source of comfort to others, and carry a consciousness +of praiseworthiness in your own bosom. On the contrary, an acrid +disposition, a readiness to enter into contention, is like vinegar to +the teeth, like caustic to an open sore. It eats out all the beauty, +tenderness, and affection of domestic and social life. For all this the +remedy is simple. Put a restraint upon your feelings; give up a little; +take less than belongs to you; endure more than should be put upon you; +make allowance for another's judgment or educational defects; consider +circumstances and constitution; leave off contention before it +be meddled with. If you do otherwise, quick resentment and stiff +maintenance of your position will breed endless disputes and bitterness. +But happy will be the results of the opposite course, accomplished every +day and every hour in the family, with friends, with companions, with +all with whom you have any dealings or any commerce in life. + +Let any one set himself to the cultivation of this virtue of meekness +and self-restraint, and he will find that it cannot be secured by one or +a few efforts, however resolute; by a few struggles, however severe. It +requires industrious culture; it requires that he improve every little +occasion to quench strife and fan concord, till a constant sweetness +smooths the face of domestic life, and kindness and tenderness become +the very expression of the countenance. This virtue of self-control +must grow by degrees. It must grow by a succession of abstinences from +returning evil for evil, by a succession of leaving off contention +before the first angry word escapes. + +It may help to cultivate this virtue, to practise some forethought. When +tempted to irritable, censorious speech, one might with advantage call +to recollection the times, perhaps frequent, when words uttered in haste +have caused sorrow or repentance. Then, again, the fact might be called +to mind, that when we lose a friend, every harsh word we may have spoken +rises to condemn us. There is a resurrection, not for the dead only, but +for the injuries we have fixed in their hearts--in hearts, it may be, +bound to our own, and to which we owed gentleness instead of harshness. +The shafts of reproach, which come from the graves of those who have +been wounded by our fretfulness and irritability, are often hard to +bear. Let meek forbearance and self-control prevent such suffering, and +guard us against the condemnations of the tribunal within. + +There is another tribunal, also, which it were wise to think of. The +rule of that tribunal is, that if we forgive not those who trespass +against us, we ourselves shall not be forgiven. "He shall have judgment +without mercy that hath showed no mercy." Only, then, if we do not +need, and expect never to beg the mercy of the Lord to ourselves, may we +withhold our mercy from our fellow-men. + + + + +"ALL THE DAY IDLE." + + + + WHEREFORE idle?--when the harvest beckoning, + Nods its ripe tassels to the brightening sky? + Arise and labour ere the time of reckoning, + Ere the long shadows and the night draw night. + + Wherefore idle?--Swing the sickle stoutly! + Bind thy rich sheaves exultingly and fast! + Nothing dismayed, do thy great task devoutly-- + Patient and strong, and hopeful to the last! + + Wherefore idle?--Labour, not inaction, + Is the soul's birthright, and its truest rest; + Up to thy work!--It is Nature's fit exaction-- + He who toils humblest, bravest, toils the best. + + Wherefore idle?--God himself is working; + His great thought wearieth not, nor standeth still, + In every throb of his vast heart is lurking + Some mighty purpose of his mightier will. + + Wherefore idle?--Not a leaf's slight rustle + But chides thee in thy vain, inglorious rest; + Be a strong actor in the great world,--bustle,-- + Not a, weak minion or a pampered guest! + + Wherefore idle?--Oh I _my_ faint soul, wherefore? + Shake first from thine own powers dull sloth's control; + Then lift thy voice with an exulting "Therefore + Thou, too, shalt conquer, oh, thou striving soul!" + + + + +THE BUSHEL OF CORN. + + + +FARMER GRAY had a neighbour who was not the best-tempered man in the +world though mainly kind and obliging. He was shoemaker. His name was +Barton. One day, in harvest-time, when every man on the farm was as busy +as a bee, this man came over to Farmer Gray's, and said, in rather a +petulant tone of voice, + +"Mr. Gray, I wish you would send over, and drive your geese home." + +"Why so, Mr. Barton; what have my geese been doing?" said the farmer, in +a mild, quiet-tone. + +"They pick my pigs' ears when they are eating, and go into my garden, +and I will not have it!" the neighbour replied, in a still more petulant +voice. + +"I am really sorry it, Neighbour Barton, but what can I do?" + +"Why, yoke them, and thus keep them on your own premises. It's no kind +of a way to let your geese run all over every farm and garden in the +neighborhood." + +"But I cannot see to it, now. It is harvest-time, Friend Barton, and +every man, woman, and child on the farm has as much as he or she can do. +Try and bear it for a week or so, and then I will see if I can possibly +remedy the evil." + +"I can't bear it, and I won't bear it any longer!" said the shoemaker. +"So if you do not take care of them, Friend Gray, I shall have to take +care of them for you." + +"Well, Neighbour Barton, you can do as you please," Farmer Gray replied, +in his usual quiet tone. "I am sorry that they trouble you, but I cannot +attend to them now." + +"I'll attend to them for you, see if I don't," said the shoemaker, still +more angrily than when he first called upon Farmer Gray; and then turned +upon his heel, and strode off hastily towards his own house, which was +quite near to the old farmer's. + +"What upon earth can be the matter with them geese?" said Mrs. Gray, +about fifteen minutes afterwards. + +"I really cannot tell, unless Neighbour Barton is taking care of them. +He threatened to do so, if I didn't yoke them right off." + +"Taking care of them! How taking care of them?" + +"As to that, I am quite in the dark. Killing them, perhaps. He said they +picked at his pigs' ears, and drove them away when they were eating, and +that he wouldn't have it. He wanted me to yoke them right off, but that +I could not do, now, as all the hands are busy. So, I suppose, he is +engaged in the neighbourly business of taking care of our geese." + +"John! William! run over and see what Mr. Barton is doing with my +geese," said Mrs. Gray, in a quick and anxious tone, to two little boys +who were playing near. + +The urchins scampered off, well pleased to perform any errand. + +"Oh, if he has dared to do anything to my geese, I will never forgive +him!" the good wife said, angrily. + +"H-u-s-h, Sally! make no rash speeches. It is more than probable that he +has killed some two or three of them. But never mind, if he has. He will +get over this pet, and be sorry for it." + +"Yes; but what good will his being sorry do me? Will it bring my geese +to life?" + +"Ah, well, Sally, never mind. Let us wait until we learn what all this +disturbance is about." + +In about ten minutes the children came home, bearing the bodies of three +geese, each without a head. + +"Oh, is not that too much for human endurance?" cried Mrs. Gray. "Where +did you find them?" + +"We found them lying out in the road," said the oldest of the two +children, "and when we picked them up, Mr. Barton said, 'Tell your +father that I have yoked his geese for him, to save him the trouble, as +his hands are all too busy to do it.'" + +"I'd sue him for it!" said Mrs. Gray, in an indignant tone. + +"And what good would that do, Sally?" + +"Why, it would do a great deal of good. It would teach him better +manners. It would punish him; and he deserves punishment." + +"And punish us into the bargain. We have lost three geese, now, but we +still have their good fat bodies to eat. A lawsuit would cost us many +geese, and not leave us even so much as the feathers, besides giving us +a world of trouble and vexation. No, no, Sally; just let it rest, and he +will be sorry for it, I know." + +"Sorry for it, indeed! And what good will his being sorry for it do +us, I should like to know? Next he will kill a cow, and then we must be +satisfied with his being sorry for it! Now, I can tell you, that I don't +believe in that doctrine. Nor do I believe anything about his being +sorry--the crabbed, ill-natured wretch!" + +"Don't call hard names, Sally," said Farmer Gray, in a mild, soothing +tone. "Neighbour Barton was not himself when he killed the geese. Like +every other angry person, he was a little insane, and did what he would +not have done had he been perfectly in his right mind. When you are a +little excited, you know, Sally, that even you do and say unreasonable +things." + +"Me do and say unreasonable things!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray, with a look +and tone of indignant astonishment; "me do and say unreasonable things, +when I am angry! I don't understand you, Mr. Gray." + +"May-be I can help you a little. Don't you remember how angry you were +when Mr. Mellon's old brindle got into our garden, and trampled over +your lettuce-bed, and how you struck her with the oven-pole, and knocked +off one of her horns?" + +"But I didn't mean to do that, though." + +"No; but then you were angry, and struck old Brindle with a right good +will. And if Mr. Mellon had felt disposed, he might have prosecuted for +damages." + +"But she had no business there." + +"Of course not. Neither had our geese any business in Neighbour Barton's +yard. But, perhaps, I can help you to another instance, that will be +more conclusive, in regard to your doing and saying unreasonable things, +when you are angry. You remember the patent churn?" + +"Yes; but never mind about that." + +"So you have not forgotten how unreasonable you was about the churn. It +wasn't good for anything--you knew it wasn't; and you'd never put a jar +of cream into it as long as you lived--that you wouldn't. And yet, on +trial, you found that churn the best you had ever used, and you wouldn't +part with it on any consideration. So you see, Sally, thai even you can +say and do unreasonable things, when you are angry, just as well as Mr. +Barton can. Let us then consider him a little, and give him time to get +over his angry fit. It will be much better to do so." + +Mrs. Gray saw that her husband was right, but still she felt indignant +at the outrage committed on her geese. She did not, however, say +anything about suing the shoemaker--for old Brindle's head, from which +the horn had been knocked off, was not yet entirely well, and one +prosecution very naturally suggested the idea of another. So she took +her three fat geese, and after stripping off their feathers, had them +prepared for the table. + +On the next morning, as Farmer Gray was going along the road, he met the +shoemaker, and as they had to pass very near to each other, the farmer +smiled, and bowed, and spoke kindly. Mr. Barton looked and felt very +uneasy, but Farmer Gray did not seem to remember the unpleasant incident +of the day before. + +It was about eleven o'clock of the same day that one of Farmer Gray's +little boys came running to him, and crying, + +"Oh, father! father! Mr. Barton's hogs are in our cornfield." + +"Then I must go and drive them out," said Mr. Gray, in a quiet tone. + +"Drive them out!" ejaculated Mrs. Gray; "drive 'em out, indeed! I'd +shoot them, that's what I'd do! I'd serve them as he served my geese +yesterday." + +"But that wouldn't bring the geese to life again, Sally." + +"I don't care if it wouldn't. It would be paying him in his own coin, +and that's all he deserves." + +"You know what the Bible says, Sally, about grievous words, and they +apply with stronger force to grievous actions. No, no, I will return +Neighbour Barton good for evil. That is the best way. He has done wrong, +and I am sure is sorry for it. And as I wish him still to remain sorry +for so unkind and unneighbourly an action, I intend making use of the +best means for keeping him sorry." + +"Then you will be revenged on him, anyhow." + +"No, Sally--not revenged. I hope I have no such feeling. For I am not +angry with Neighbour Barton, who has done himself a much greater wrong +than he has done me. But I wish him to see clearly how wrong he acted, +that he may do so no more. And then we shall not have any cause to +complain of him, nor he any to be grieved, as I am sure he is, at his +own hasty conduct. But while I am talking here, his hogs are destroying +my corn." + +And so saying, Farmer Gray hurried off, towards his cornfield. When he +arrived there, he found four large hogs tearing down the stalks, and +pulling off and eating the ripe ears of corn. They had already destroyed +a good deal. But he drove them out very calmly, and put up the bars +through which they had entered, and then commenced gathering up the +half-eaten ears of corn, and throwing them out into the lane for the +hogs, that had been so suddenly disturbed in the process of obtaining a +liberal meal. As he was thus engaged, Mr. Barton, who had from his own +house seen the farmer turn the hogs out of his cornfield, came hurriedly +up, and said, + +"I am very sorry, Mr. Gray, indeed I am, that my hogs have done this! I +will most cheerfully pay you for what they have destroyed." + +"Oh, never mind, Friend Barton--never mind. Such things will happen, +occasionally. My geese, you know, annoy you very much, sometimes." + +"Don't speak of it, Mr. Gray. They didn't annoy me half as much as +I imagined they did. But how much corn do you think my hogs have +destroyed? One bushel, or two bushels? or how much? Let it be estimated, +and I will pay for it most cheerfully." + +"Oh, no. Not for the world, Friend Barton. Such things will happen +sometimes. And, besides, some of my men must have left the bars down, or +your hogs could never have got in. So don't think any more about it. +It would be dreadful if one neighbour could not bear a little with +another." + +All this cut poor Mr. Barton to the heart. His own ill-natured language +and conduct, at a much smaller trespass on his rights, presented itself +to his mind, and deeply mortified him. After a few moments' silence, he +said, + +"The fact is, Mr. Gray, I shall feel better if you will let me pay for +this corn. My hogs should not be fattened at your expense, and I will +not consent to its being done. So I shall insist on paying you for at +least one bushel of corn, for I am sure they have destroyed that much, +if not more." + +But Mr. Gray shook his head and smiled pleasantly, as he replied, + +"Don't think anything more about it, Neighbour Barton. It is a matter +deserving no consideration. No doubt my cattle have often trespassed on +you and will trespass on you again. Let us then bear and forbear." + +All this cut the shoemaker still deeper, and he felt still less at ease +in mind after he parted from the farmer than he did before. But on one +thing he resolved, and that was, to pay Mr. Gray for the corn which his +hogs had eaten. + +"You told him your mind pretty plainly, I hope," said Mrs. Gray, as her +husband came in. + +"I certainly did," was the quiet reply. + +"And I am glad you had spirit enough to do it! I reckon he will think +twice before he kills any more of my geese!" + +"I expect you are right, Sally. I don't think we shall be troubled +again." + +"And what did you say to him? And what did he say for himself?" + +"Why he wanted very much to pay me for the corn his pigs had eaten, +but I wouldn't hear to it. I told him that it made no difference in the +world; that such accidents would happen sometimes." + +"You did?" + +"Certainly, I did." + +"And that's the way you spoke your mind to him?" + +"Precisely. And it had the desired effect. It made him feel ten times +worse than if I had spoken angrily to him. He is exceedingly pained at +what he has done, and says he will never rest until he has paid for that +corn. But I am resolved never to take a cent for it. It will be the +best possible guarantee I can have for his kind and neighbourly conduct +hereafter." + +"Well, perhaps you are right," said Mrs. Gray, after a few moments of +thoughtful silence. "I like Mrs. Barton very much--and now I come +to think of it, I should not wish to have any difference between our +families." + +"And so do I like Mr. Barton. He has read a good deal, and I find it +very pleasant to sit with him, occasionally, during the long winter +evenings. His only fault is his quick temper--but I am sure it is much +better for us to bear with and soothe that, than to oppose rand excite +it and thus keep both his family and our own in hot water." + +"You are certainly right," replied Mrs. Gray; "and I only wish that I +could always think and feel as you do. But I am little quick, as they +say." + +"And so is Mr. Barton. Now just the same consideration that you would +desire others to have for you, should you exercise towards Mr. Barton, +or any one else whose hasty temper leads him into words or actions that, +in calmer and more thoughtful moments, are subjects of regret." + +On the next day, while Mr. Gray stood in his own door, from which he +could see over the two or three acres of ground that the shoemaker +cultivated, he observed two of his cows in his neighbour's cornfield, +browsing away in quite a contented manner. As he was going to call one +of the farm hands to go over and drive them out, he perceived that +Mr. Barton had become aware of the mischief that was going on, and had +already started for the field of corn. + +"Now we will see the effect of yesterday's lesson," said the farmer to +himself; and then paused to observe the manner of the shoemaker towards +his cattle in driving them out of the field. In a few minutes Mr. +Barton came up to the cows, but, instead of throwing stones at them, or +striking them with a stick, he merely drove them out in a quiet way, and +put up the bars through which they had entered. + +"Admirable!" ejaculated Farmer Gray. + +"What is admirable?" asked his wife, who came within hearing distance at +the moment. + +"Why the lesson I gave our friend Barton yesterday. It works admirably." + +"How so?" + +"Two of our cows were in his cornfield a few minutes ago, destroying the +corn at a rapid rate." + +"Well! what did he do to them?" in a quick, anxious tone. + +"He drove them out." + +"Did he stone them, or beat them?" + +"Oh no. He was gentle as a child towards them." + +"You are certainly jesting." + +"Not I. Friend Barton has not forgotten that his pigs were in my +cornfield yesterday, and that I turned them out without hurting a hair +of one of them. Now, suppose I had got angry and beaten his pigs, what +do you think the result would have been? Why, it is much more than +probable that one or both of our fine cows would have been at this +moment in the condition of Mr. Mellon's old Brindle." + +"I wish you wouldn't say anything more about old Brindle," said Mrs. +Gray, trying to laugh, while her face grew red in spite of her efforts +to keep down her feelings. + +"Well, I won't, Sally, if it worries you. But it is such a good +illustration that I can't help using it sometimes." + +"I am glad he didn't hurt the cows," said Mrs. Gray, after a pause. + +"And so am I, Sally. Glad on more than one account. It shows that he has +made an effort to keep down his hasty, irritable temper--and if he can +do that, it will be a favour conferred on the whole neighbourhood, for +almost every one complains, at times, of this fault in his character." + +"It is certainly the best policy, to keep fair weather with him," Mrs. +Gray remarked, "for a man of his temper could annoy us a good deal." + +"That word policy, Sally, is not a good word," replied her husband. "It +conveys a thoroughly selfish idea. Now, we ought to look for some higher +motives of action than mere policy--motives grounded in correct and +unselfish principles." + +"But what other motive but policy could we possibly have for putting up +with Mr. Barton's outrageous conduct?" + +"Other, and far higher motives, it seems to me. We should reflect that +Mr. Barton has naturally a hasty temper, and that when excited he does +things for which he is sorry afterwards--and that, in nine cases out of +ten, he is a greater sufferer from those outbreaks than any one else. In +our actions towards him, then, it is a much higher and better motive for +us to be governed by a desire to aid him in the correction of this evil, +than to look merely to the protection of ourselves from its effects. Do +you not think so?" + +"Yes. It does seem so." + +"When thus moved to action, we are, in a degree, regarding the whole +neighbourhood, for the evil of which we speak affects all. And in +thus suffering ourselves to be governed by such elevated and unselfish +motives, we gain all that we possibly could have gained under the mere +instigation of policy--and a great deal more. But to bring the matter +into a still narrower compass. In all our actions towards him and every +one else, we should be governed by the simple consideration--is it +right? If a spirit of retaliation be not right, then it cannot be +indulged without a mutual injury. Of course, then, it should never +prompt us to action. If cows or hogs get into my field or garden, and +destroy my property, who is to blame most? Of course, myself. I should +have kept my fences in better repair, or my gate closed. The animals, +certainly, are not to blame, for they follow only the promptings of +nature; and their owners should not be censured, for they know nothing +about it. It would then be very wrong for me to injure both the animals +and their owners for my own neglect, would it not?" + +"Yes,--I suppose it would." + +"So, at least, it seems to me. Then, of course, I ought not to injure +Neighbour Barton's cows or hogs, even if they do break into my cornfield +or garden, simply because it would be wrong to do so. This is the +principle upon which we should act, and not from any selfish policy." + +After this there was no trouble about Farmer Gray's geese or cattle. +Sometimes the geese would get among Mr. Barton's hogs, and annoy them +while eating, but it did not worry him as it did formerly. If they +became too troublesome he would drive them away, but not by throwing +sticks and stones at them as he once did. + +Late in the fall the shoemaker brought in his bill for work. It was a +pretty large bill, with sundry credits. + +"Pay-day has come at last," said Farmer Gray, good-humouredly, as the +shoemaker presented his account. + +"Well, let us see!" and he took the bill to examine it item after item. + +"What is this?" he asked, reading aloud. + +"'Cr. By one bushel of corn, fifty cents.'" + +"It's some corn I had from you." + +"I reckon you must be mistaken. You never got any corn from me." + +"Oh, yes I did. I remember it perfectly. It is all right." + +"But when did you get it, Friend Barton? I am sure that I haven't the +most distant recollection of it." + +"My hogs got it," the shoemaker said, in rather a low and hesitating +tone. + +"Your hogs!" + +"Yes. Don't you remember when my hogs broke into your field, and +destroyed your corn?" + +"Oh, dear! is that it? Oh, no, no, Friend Barton! Ii cannot allow that +item in the bill." + +"Yes, but you must. It is perfectly just, and I shall never rest until +it is paid." + +"I can't, indeed. You couldn't help the hogs getting into my field; and +then you know, Friend Barton (lowering his tone), my geese were very +troublesome!" + +The shoemaker blushed and looked confused; but Farmer Gray slapped him +familiarly on the shoulder, and said, in a lively, cheerful way, + +"Don't think any more about it, Friend Barton! And hereafter let us +endeavour to 'do as we would be done by,' and then everything will go on +as smooth as clock-work." + +"But you will allow that item in the bill?" the shoemaker urged +perseveringly. + +"Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I should think it wrong to make you pay for +my own or some of my men's negligence in leaving the bars down." + +"But then (hesitatingly), those geese--I killed three. Let it go for +them." + +"If you did kill them, we ate them. So that is even. No, no, let the +past be forgotten, and if it makes better neighbours and friends of us, +we never need regret what has happened." + +Farmer Gray remained firm, and the bill was settled, omitting the item +of "corn." From that time forth he never had a better neighbour than +the shoemaker. The cows, hogs, and geese of both would occasionally +trespass, but the trespassers were always kindly removed. The lesson +was not lost on either of them--for even Farmer Gray used to feel, +sometimes, a little annoyed when his neighbour's cattle broke into his +field. But in teaching the shoemaker a lesson, he had taken a little of +it himself. + + + + +THE ACCOUNT. + + + + THE clock from the city hall struck one; + The merchant's task was not yet done; + He knew the old year was passing away, + And his accounts must all be settled that day; + He must know for a truth how much he should win, + So fast the money was rolling in. + + He took the last cash-book, from the pile, + And he summed it up with a happy smile; + For a just and upright man was he, + Dealing with all most righteously, + And now he was sure how much he should win, + How fast the money was rolling in. + + He heard not the soft touch on the door-- + He heard not the tread on the carpeted floor-- + So still was her coming, he thought him alone, + Till she spake in a sweet and silvery tone: + "Thou knowest not yet how much thou shalt win-- + How fast the money is rolling in." + + Then from 'neath her white, fair arm, she took + A golden-clasped, and, beautiful book-- + "'Tis my account thou hast to pay, + In the coming of the New Year's day-- + Read--ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win, + How fast the money is rolling in." + + He open'd the clasps with a trembling hand-- + Therein was Charity's firm demand: + "To the widow, the orphan, the needy, the poor, + Much owest thou of thy yearly store; + Give, ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win-- + While fast the money is rolling in." + + The merchant took from his box of gold + A goodly sum for the lady bold; + His heart was richer than e'er before, + As she bore the prize from the chamber door. + Ye who would know how much ye can win, + Give, when the money is rolling in. + + + + +CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH. + + + +"IT is vain, to urge, Brother Robert. Out into the world I must go. The +impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here." + +"You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be idle." + +"And such work! Delving in, and grovelling close to the ground. And for +what? Oh no Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet cottage in a +sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than simple herbs, +and water from the brook. I have set my heart on attaining wealth; and +where there is a will there is always a way." + +"Contentment is better than wealth." + +"A proverb for drones." + +"No, William, it is a proverb for the wise." + +"Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly, understood, it is no proverb +for me. As poor plodder along the way of life, it were impossible for +me to know content. So urge no farther, Robert. I am going out into the +world a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is gained do I purpose to +return." + +"What of Ellen, Robert?" + +The young man turned quickly towards his brother, visibly disturbed, and +fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression. + +"I love her as my life," he said, with a strong emphasis on his words. + +"Do you love wealth more than life, William?" + +"Robert!" + +"If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of getting +riches, then you must love money more than life." + +"Don't talk to me after this fashion. I love her tenderly and truly. I +am going forth as well for her sake as my own. In all the good fortune +that comes as a meed of effort, she will be the sharer." + +"You will see her before you leave us?" + +"No; I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send her +this letter and this ring." + +A few hours later, and there brothers stood with tightly-grasped hands, +gazing into each other's faces. + +"Farewell, Robert." + +"Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home. +Though it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart come +back to it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should Fortune cheat you +with the apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors will ever be +open, and its hearth-fire bright for you as of old. Farewell!" + +And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless world, +an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to linger among +the pleasant places dear to him by every association of childhood, there +to fill up the measure of his days--not idly, for he was no drone in the +social hive. + +On the evening of that day two maidens sat alone, each in the sanctuary +of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of one, and a +glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and wet her drooping +lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter in her hand. It was +full of tender words; but the writer loved wealth more than the maiden, +and had gone forth to seek the mistress of his soul. He would "come +back," but when? Ah, what a veil of uncertainty was upon the future! +Poor, stricken heart! The other maiden--she of the glowing cheeks and +dancing eyes--held also a letter in her hand. It was from the brother +of the wealth-seeker; and it was also full of loving words; and it +said that, on the morrow, he would come to bear her as his bride to his +pleasant home. Happy maiden! + +Ten years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the +glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? Has he +returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? Not since +the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a word of +intelligence from the wanderer been received; and to those he left +behind him he is as one who has passed the final bourne. Yet he still +dwells among the living. + +In a far-away, sunny clime stands a stately mansion. We will not +linger to describe the elegant interior, to hold up before the reader's +imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely heightened by art, +but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one of its most luxurious +chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading atmosphere! The inmates, +few in number, are grouped around one on whose white forehead Time's +trembling finger has written the word "Death!" Over her bends a +manly form. There--his face is towards you. Ah! you recognise the +wanderer--the wealth-seeker. What does he here? What to him is the dying +one? His wife! And has he, then, forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes +lay wet on her pale cheeks for many hours after she read his parting +words? He has not forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he +the prize, to contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed; +yet still hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading +illusions. To-day he stood with his hand just ready to seize the object +of his wishes, to-morrow a shadow mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, +he bowed down his manhood prostrate even to the dust in woman worship, +and took to himself a bride, rich in golden, attractions, but poorer as +a woman than ever the beggar at her father's gate. What a thorn in his +side she proved! A thorn ever sharp and ever piercing. The closer he +attempted to draw her to his bosom, the deeper went the points into his +own, until, in the anguish of his soul, again and again he flung her +passionately from him. + +Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to +compensate therefor? But in this last desperate throw did the worldling +gain the wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had wedded the only +child of a man whose treasure might be counted by hundreds of thousands; +but, in doing so, he had failed to secure the father's approval or +confidence. The stern old man regarded him as a mercenary interloper, +and ever treated him as such. For five years, therefore, he fretted and +chafed in the narrow prison whose gilded bars his own hands had forged. +How often, during that time, had his heart wandered back to the dear old +home, and the beloved ones with whom he had passed his early years! +And, ah! how many, many times came between him and the almost hated +countenance of his wife the gentle, the loving face of that one to whom +he had been false! How often her soft blue eyes rested on his own How +often he started and looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came +floating on the air! + +And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a bitter +sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all pleasure in +his life. + +Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in the +chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters that so +long have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In dying, the +sufferer made no sign. Suddenly she plunged into the dark profound, so +impenetrable to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves closed, sighing +over her, he who had called her wife turned from the couch on which her +frail body remained, with an inward "Thank God! I am a man again!" + +One more bitter dreg yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone by +ere the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting words:-- + +"You were nothing to me while my daughter lived--you are less than +nothing to me now. It was my wealth, not my child you loved. She has +passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will never +bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers." + +When the next sun went down on that stately mansion, which the +wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again--poor, humiliated, +broken in spirit. + +How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible the +punishment he had suffered! + +One more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, with which +the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then fruitless +ambition died in his bosom. + +"My brother said well," he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly on +the darkness of his spirit; "'contentment is better than wealth.' Dear +brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you? Too late! +too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips; but, I turned +my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting draught. How vividly +comes before me now that parting scene! I am looking into my brother's +face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand. His voice is in my ears. Dear +brother! And his parting words, I hear them now, even more earnestly +than when they were first spoken. 'Should fortune cheat you with the +apples of Sodom, return to your home again. Its doors will ever be open, +and its hearth-fires bright for you as of old.' Ah, do the fires still +burn? How many years have passed since I went forth! And Ellen? Even +if she be living and unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this +false heart at her feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip +of scorpions." + +The step of time has fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those to +whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, but few footmarks were +visible. Yet there had been changes in the old homestead. As the smiling +years went by, each, as it looked in at the cottage window, saw the +home circle widening, or new beauty crowning the angel brows of happy +children. No thorn to his side had Robert's gentle wife proved. As time +passed on, closer and closer was she drawn to his bosom; yet never a +point had pierced him. Their home was a type of Paradise. + +It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread, and +they are about gathering round the table, when a stranger enters. +His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air slightly +mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to face. + +"Are these all your children?" he asks, surprise and admiration mingling +in his tones. + +"All ours, and, thank God, the little flock is yet unbroken." + +The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is +impossible to conceal. + +"Contentment is better than wealth," he murmurs. "Oh that I had +comprehended the truth." + +The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too +distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly recognises +in the stranger his long-wandering, long-mourned brother. + +"William!" + +The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand gazing +at each other, then tenderly embrace. + +"William!" + +How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet +maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so unobtrusively, +the one he had parted from years before--the one to whom he had been so +false. But her voice has startled his ears with the familiar tones of +yesterday. + +"Ellen!" Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years. He +has leaped back over the gulf, and stands now as he stood ere ambition +and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his first and only +love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden that he cannot so +forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp her almost wildly +to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would have betrayed his +deeply-repented perfidy. + +And here we leave them, reader. "Contentment is better than wealth." +So the worldling proved, after a bitter experience, which may you be +spared! It is far better to realize a truth perceptibly, and thence make +it a rule of action, than to prove its verity in a life of sharp agony. +But how few are able to rise into such a realization! + + + + +RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE. + + + +BENDING over a steamer's side, a face looked down into the clear, green +depths of Lake Erie, where the early moonbeams were showering rainbows +through the dancing spray, and chasing the white-crusted waves with +serpents of gold. The face was clouded with thought, a shade too sombre, +yet there glowed over it something like a reflection from the iris-hues +beneath. A voice of using was borne away into the purple and vermilion +haze that twilight began to fold over the bosom of the lake. + +"Rainbows! Ye follow me everywhere! Gloriously your arches arose from +the horizon of the prairies, when the storm-king and the god of day met +within them to proclaim a treaty and an alliance. You spanned the Father +of Waters with a bridge that put to the laugh man's clumsy structures of +chain, and timber, and wire. You floated in a softening veil before the +awful grandeur of Niagara; and here you gleam out from the light foam in +the steamboat's wake. + +"Grateful am I for you, oh rainbows! for the clouds, the drops, and the +sunshine of which you are wrought, and for the gift of vision through +which my spirit quaffs the wine of your beauty. + +"Grateful also for faith, which hangs an ethereal halo over the +fountains of earthly joy, and wraps grief in robes so resplendent that, +like Iris of the olden time, she is at once recognised as a messenger +from Heaven. + +"Blessings on sorrow, whether past or to come! for in the clear +shining of heavenly love, every tear-drop becomes a pearl. The storm +of affliction crushes weak human nature to the dust; the glory of the +eternal light overpowers it; but, in the softened union of both, the +stricken spirit beholds the bow of promise, and knows that it shall +not utterly be destroyed. When we say that for us there is nothing +but darkness and tears, it is because we are weakly brooding over the +shadows within us. If we dared look up, and face our sorrow, we should +see upon it the seal of God's love, and be calm. + +"Grant me, Father of Light, whenever my eyes droop heavily with the +rain of grief, at least to see the reflection of thy signet-bow upon the +waves over which I am sailing unto thee. And through the steady toiling +of the voyage, through the smiles and tears of every day's progress, let +the iris-flash appear, even as now it brightens the spray that rebounds +from the labouring wheels." + +The voice died away into darkness which returned no answer to its +murmurings. The face vanished from the boat's side, but a flood of light +was pouring into the serene depths of a trusting soul. + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Friends and Neighbors, by Anonymous + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS *** + +***** This file should be named 4593.txt or 4593.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/9/4593/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Arthur + +Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext #4593] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 12, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World +by T. S. Arthur +******This file should be named fntwl10.txt or fntwl10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, fntwl11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, fntwl10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + +*** +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com) + +FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS; + +OR, Two Ways of Living in the World. + +EDITED BY T. S. ARTHUR. + +PHILADELPHIA: + +1856 + + + + + + +PREFACE. + + + + + +WE were about preparing a few words of introduction to this volume, +the materials for which have been culled from the highways and +byways of literature, where our eyes fell upon these fitting +sentiments, the authorship of which we are unable to give. They +express clearly and beautifully what was in our own mind:-- + +"If we would only bring ourselves to look at the subjects that +surround as in their true flight, we should see beauty where now +appears deformity, and listen to harmony where we hear nothing but +discord. To be sure there is a great deal of vexation and anxiety in +the world; we cannot sail upon a summer sea for ever; yet if we +preserve a calm eye and a steady hand, we can so trim our sails and +manage our helm, as to avoid the quicksands, and weather the storms +that threaten shipwreck. We are members of one great family; we are +travelling the same road, and shall arrive at the same goal. We +breathe the same air, are subject to the same bounty, and we shall, +each lie down upon the bosom of our common mother. It is not +becoming, then, that brother should hate brother; it is not proper +that friend should deceive friend; it is not right that neighbour +should deceive neighbour. We pity that man who can harbour enmity +against his fellow; he loses half the enjoyment of life; he +embitters his own existence. Let us tear from our eyes the coloured +medium that invests every object with the green hue of jealousy and +suspicion; turn, a deal ear to scandal; breathe the spirit of +charity from our hearts; let the rich gushings of human kindness +swell up as a fountain, so that the golden age will become no +fiction and islands of the blessed bloom in more than Hyperian +beauty." + +It is thus that friends and neighbours should live. This is the +right way. To aid in the creation of such true harmony among men, +has the book now in your hand, reader, been compiled. May the truths +that glisten on its pages be clearly reflected in your mind; and the +errors it points out be shunned as the foes of yourself and +humanity. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +GOOD IN ALL +HUMAN PROGRESS +MY WASHERWOMAN +FORGIVE AND FORGET +OWE NO MAN ANYTHING +RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL +PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET +KIND WORDS +NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS +GOOD WE MIGHT DO +THE TOWN LOT +THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP +A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS +MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATIONS +ROOM IN THE WORLD +WORDS +THE THANKLESS OFFICE. +LOVE +"EVERY LITTLE HELPS" +LITTLE THINGS +CARELESS WORDS +HOW TO BE HAPPY +CHARITY--ITS OBJECTS +THE VISION OF BOATS +REGULATION OF THE TEMPER +MANLY GENTLENESS +SILENT INFLUENCE +ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY +THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN +"WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE" +BLIND JAMES +DEPENDENCE +TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR +KEEP IN STEP +JOHNNY COLE +THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR +JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON +THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT +TWO SIDES TO A STORY +LITTLE KINDNESSES +LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH +"ALL THE DAY IDLE" +THE BUSHEL OF CORN +THE ACCOUNT +CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH +RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE + + + + + + +FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS. + +GOOD IN ALL. + + + + + +THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth +of his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in +practice, daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street: +dirty, ragged, importunate. "Ah! he has a _bad_ look," and your +pocket is safe. He starves--and he steals. "I thought he was _bad_." +You educate him in the State Prison. He does not improve even in +this excellent school. "He is," says the gaoler, "thoroughly _bad_." +He continues his course of crime. All that is bad in him having by +this time been made apparent to himself, his friends, and the world, +he has only to confirm the decision, and at length we hear when he +has reached his last step. "Ah! no wonder--there was never any +_Good_ in him. Hang him!" + +Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word. + +If you believe in Good, _always appeal to it._ Be sure whatever +there is of Good--is of God. There is never an utter want of +resemblance to the common Father. "God made man in His own image." +"What! yon reeling, blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yon +crafty trader; yon false statesman?" Yes! All. In every nature there +is a germ of eternal happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard's +heart there is a memory of something better--slight, dim: but +flickering still; why should you not by the warmth of your charity, +give growth to the Good that is in him? The cynic, the miser, is not +all self. There is a note in that sullen instrument to make all +harmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle master to touch the +strings. + +You point to the words "There is _none_ good." The truths do not +oppose each other. "There is none good--_save one._" And He breathes +in all. In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, we +are helpless, mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in the +heart: a guide to the source of Light, or an instrument of torture. +We can make it either. If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, it +will warm, guide, cheer us. If in the midst of selfishness, or under +the pressure of pride, its flame will be unsteady, and we shall soon +have good reason to trim our light, and find new oil for it. + +There is Good in All--the impress of the Deity. He who believes not +in the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race. +There is no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appeal +to it. Seek in every one the _best_ features: mark, encourage, +educate _them._ There is no man to whom some circumstance will not +be an argument. + +And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, all +the labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical the +theories of our philanthropists! To educate the _Good_--the good in +_All_: to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle all +arrogance, by showing that all possess this Good. _In_ themselves, +but not _of_ themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soon +should we all be digging through the darkness, for this Gold of +Love--this universal Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed and +humanized our prisons, to find this Good; and in the chambers of all +our hearts it is to be found, by labouring eyes and loving hands. + +Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strength +of vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Are +none of us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to the +generous, trusting guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who has +loved us, despite the evil that is in _us_--for our little Good, and +has nurtured that Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we know +not how like we are to those whom we despise! We know not how many +memories of kith and kin the murderer carries to the gallows--how +much honesty of heart the felon drags with him to the hulks. + +There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than most +of us: Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm. +Do not mistake us. Society demands, requires that these madmen +should be rendered harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good. +Lady Macbeth would have slain the old king, Had he not resembled her +father as he slept. + +It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, because +never acted on, that the same energies, the same will to great +vices, had given force to great virtues. Do we provide the +opportunity? Do we _believe_ in Good? If we are ourselves deceived +in any one, is not all, thenceforth, deceit? if treated with +contempt, is not the whole world clouded with scorn? if visited with +meanness, are not all selfish? And if from one of our frailer +fellow-creatures we receive the blow, we cease to believe in women. +Not the breast at which we have drank life--not the sisterly hands +that have guided ours--not the one voice that has so often soothed +us in our darker hours, will save the sex: All are massed in one +common sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there are many +Ruths. We should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France when +he lost Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was his +sister. + +And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends to +some feeling--Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conquered +the hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold--Reynolds +made an exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous to +Northcote, and had time to think of the poor Plympton +schoolmistress. The cold are not all ice. Elizabeth slew Essex--the +queen triumphed; the woman _died._ + +There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazy +whine of the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided, +unschooled childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew the +baby-roundness of content that ours have worn; that his eye knew no +youth of fire--no manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. When +you see the trader, without any pride of vocation, seeking how he +can best cheat you, and degrade himself, glance into the room behind +his shop and see there his pale wife and his thin children, and +think how cheerfully he meets that circle in the only hour he has +out of the twenty-four. Pity his narrowness of mind; his want of +reliance upon the God of Good; but remember there have been +Greshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and remember, too, that in +our happy land there are thousands of almshouses, built by the men +of trade alone. And when you are discontented with the great, and +murmur, repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in his +hiding-place, turn in justice to the Good among the great. Read how +John of Lancaster loved Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There have +been Burkes as well as Walpoles. Russell remembered Banim's widow, +and Peel forgot not Haydn. + +Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man, +Good. That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in the +lowest, there is often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles and +Alexander had great, but different virtues, and although the +refinement of the one may have resulted in effeminacy, and the +hardihood of the other in brutality, we ought to pause ere we +condemn where we should all have fallen. + +Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, and +everywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern of +Diogenes is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath set +in the heavens; a Light which shines into the solitary cottage and +the squalid alley, where the children of many vices are hourly +exchanging deeds of kindness; a Light shining into the rooms of +dingy warehousemen and thrifty clerks, whose hard labour and hoarded +coins are for wife and child and friend; shining into prison and +workhouse, where sin and sorrow glimmer with sad eyes through rusty +bars into distant homes and mourning hearths; shining through heavy +curtains, and round sumptuous tables, where the heart throbs audibly +through velvet mantle and silken vest, and where eye meets eye with +affection and sympathy; shining everywhere upon God's creatures, and +with its broad beams lighting up a virtue wherever it falls, and +telling the proud, the wronged, the merciless, or the despairing, +that there is "Good in All." + + + + + + +HUMAN PROGRESS. + + + + + +WE are told to look through nature + Upward unto Nature's God; +We are told there is a scripture + Written on the meanest sod; +That the simplest flower created + Is a key to hidden things; +But, immortal over nature, + Mind, the lord of nature, springs! + +Through _Humanity_ look upward,-- + Alter ye the olden plan,-- +Look through man to the Creator, + Maker, Father, God of Man! +Shall imperishable spirit + Yield to perishable clay? +No! sublime o'er Alpine mountains + Soars the Mind its heavenward way! + +Deeper than the vast Atlantic + Rolls the tide of human thought; +Farther speeds that mental ocean + Than the world of waves o'er sought! +Mind, sublime in its own essence + Its sublimity can lend +To the rocks, and mounts, and torrents, + And, at will, their features bend! + +Some within the humblest _floweret_ + "Thoughts too deep for tears" can see; +Oh, the humblest man existing + Is a sadder theme to me! +Thus I take the mightier labour + Of the great Almighty hand; +And, through man to the Creator, + Upward look, and weeping stand. + +Thus I take the mightier labour, + --Crowning glory of _His_ will; +And believe that in the meanest + Lives a spark of Godhead still: +Something that, by Truth expanded, + Might be fostered into worth; +Something struggling through the darkness, + Owning an immortal birth! + +From the Genesis of being + Unto this imperfect day, +Hath Humanity held onward, + Praying God to aid its way! +And Man's progress had been swifter, + Had he never turned aside, +To the worship of a symbol, + Not the spirit signified! + +And Man's progress had been higher, + Had he owned his brother man, +Left his narrow, selfish circle, + For a world-embracing plan! +There are some for ever craving, + Ever discontent with place, +In the eternal would find briefness, + In the infinite want space. + +If through man unto his Maker + We the source of truth would find, +It must be through man enlightened, + Educated, raised, refined: +That which the Divine hath fashioned + Ignorance hath oft effaced; +Never may we see God's image + In man darkened--man debased! + +Something yield to Recreation, + Something to Improvement give; +There's a Spiritual kingdom + Where the Spirit hopes to live! +There's a mental world of grandeur, + Which the mind inspires to know; +Founts of everlasting beauty + That, for those who seek them, flow! + +Shores where Genius breathes immortal-- + Where the very winds convey +Glorious thoughts of Education, + Holding universal sway! +Glorious hopes of Human Freedom, + Freedom of the noblest kind; +That which springs from Cultivation, + Cheers and elevates the mind! + +Let us hope for Better Prospects, + Strong to struggle for the night, +We appeal to Truth, and ever + Truth's omnipotent in might; +Hasten, then, the People's Progress, + Ere their last faint hope be gone; +Teach the Nations that their interest + And the People's good, ARE ONE. + + + + + + +MY WASHERWOMAN. + + + + + +SOME people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waited +on for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, "Call to-morrow," +even though their pockets are far from being empty. + +I once fell into this bad habit myself; but a little incident, which +I will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained my +majority, a poor widow, named Blake, did my washing and ironing. She +was the mother of two or three little children, whose sole +dependence for food and raiment was on the labour of her hands. + +Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with my +clothes, "white as the driven snow;" but not always, as punctually, +did I pay the pittance she had earned by hard labour. + +"Mrs. Blake is down stairs," said a servant, tapping at my room-door +one morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself. + +"Oh, very well," I replied. "Tell her to leave my clothes. I will +get them when I come down." + +The thought of paying the seventy-five cents, her due, crossed my +mind. But I said to myself,--"It's but a small matter, and will do +as well when she comes again." + +There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My funds +were low, and I might need what change I had during the day. And so +it proved. As I went to the office in which I was engaged, some +small article of ornament caught my eye in a shop window. + +"Beautiful!" said I, as I stood looking at it. Admiration quickly +changed into the desire for possession; and so I stepped in to ask +the price. It was just two dollars. + +"Cheap enough," thought I. And this very cheapness was a further +temptation. + +So I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, and +found the amount to be two dollars and a quarter. + +"I guess I'll take it," said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper's +counter. + +"I'd better have paid Mrs. Blake." This thought crossed my mind, an +hour afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost its +power of pleasing. "So much would at least have been saved." + +I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed, +when the waiter said to me, + +"Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you." + +I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in my +pockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her +money. + +"She's in a great hurry," I muttered to myself, as I descended to +the door. + +"You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs. +Blake. I haven't any change, this evening." + +The expression of the poor woman's face, as she turned slowly away, +without speaking, rather softened my feelings. + +"I'm sorry," said I, "but it can't be helped now. I wish you had +said, this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid you +then." + +She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then she +moved off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touched +sensibly. + +"I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change about +me. And I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money, if +she wanted it so badly?" + +I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards I +met the lady with whom I was boarding. + +"Do you know anything about this Mrs. Blake, who washes for me?" I +inquired. + +"Not much; except that she is very poor, and has three children to +feed and clothe. And what is worst of all, she is in bad health. I +think she told me, this morning, that one of her little ones was +very sick." + +I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon after +left the room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only a +sixpence in my pocket; and, moreover, did not know where to find +Mrs. Blake. + +Having purposed to make a call upon some young ladies that evening, +I now went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotless +linen brought home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of it +rebuked me; and I had to conquer, with some force, an instinctive +reluctance, before I could compel myself to put on a clean shirt, +and snow-white vest, too recently from the hand of my unpaid +washerwoman. + +One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more to me than a +mere pleasant acquaintance. My heart had, in fact, been warming +towards her for some time; and I was particularly anxious to find +favour in her eyes. On this evening she was lovelier and more +attractive than ever, and new bonds of affection entwined themselves +around my heart. + +Judge, then, of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of her +mother--at the very moment when my heart was all a-glow with love, +who said, as she came in-- + +"Oh, dear! This is a strange world!" + +"What new feature have you discovered now, mother?" asked one of her +daughters, smiling. + +"No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive than +ever," was replied. "Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, in +great trouble." + +"What about, mother?" All the young ladies at once manifested +unusual interest. + +Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which the +eyes of the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severe +scrutiny. + +"The old story, in cases like hers," was answered. "Can't get her +money when earned, although for daily bread she is dependent on her +daily labour. With no food in the house, or money to buy medicine +for her sick child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and to +humble her spirit, which is an independent one, so low as to ask +bread for her little ones, and the loan of a pittance with which to +get what the doctor has ordered her feeble sufferer at home." + +"Oh, what a shame!" fell from the lips of Ellen, the one in whom my +heart felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at me +earnestly as she spoke. + +"She fully expected," said the mother, "to get a trifle that was due +her from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went to +see him this evening. But he put her off with some excuse. How +strange that any one should be so thoughtless as to withhold from +the poor their hard-earned pittance! It is but a small sum at best, +that the toiling seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearying +labour. That, at least, should be promptly paid. To withhold it an +hour is to do, in many cases, a great wrong." + +For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. I +felt that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who had +withheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing. +What my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; and +difficult for any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a +position, to imagine. + +My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and in +another channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest +upon me. You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten +o'clock on the next day, and that I never again fell into the error +of neglecting, for a single week, my poor washerwoman. + + + + + + +FORGIVE AND FORGET. + + + + + +THERE'S a secret in living, if folks only knew; +An Alchymy precious, and golden, and true, +More precious than "gold dust," though pure and refined, +For its mint is the heart, and its storehouse the mind; +Do you guess what I mean--for as true as I live +That dear little secret's--forget and forgive! + +When hearts that have loved have grown cold and estranged, +And looks that beamed fondness are clouded and changed, +And words hotly spoken and grieved for with tears +Have broken the trust and the friendship of years-- +Oh! think 'mid thy pride and thy secret regret, +The balm for the wound is--forgive and forget! + +Yes! look in thy spirit, for love may return +And kindle the embers that still feebly burn; +And let this true whisper breathe high in thy heart, +_'Tis better to love than thus suffer apart_-- + +Let the Past teach the Future more wisely than yet, +For the friendship that's true can forgive and forget. + +And now, an adieu! if you list to my lay +May each in your thoughts bear my motto away, +'Tis a crude, simple ryhme, but its truth may impart +A joy to the gentle and loving of heart; +And an end I would claim far more practical yet +In behalf of the Rhymer--_forgive and forget!_ + + + + + + +OWE NO MAN ANYTHING. + + + + + +THUS says an Apostle; and if those who are able to "owe no man +anything" would fully observe this divine obligation, many, very +many, whom their want of punctuality now compels to live in +violation of this precept, would then faithfully and promptly render +to every one their just dues. + +"What is the matter with you, George?" said Mrs. Allison to her +husband, as he paced the floor of their little sitting-room, with an +anxious, troubled expression of countenance. + +"Oh! nothing of much consequence: only a little worry of business," +replied Mr. Allison. + +"But I know better than that, George. I know it is of consequence; +you are not apt to have such a long face for nothing. Come, tell me +what it is that troubles you. Have I not a right to share your +griefs as well as your joys?" + +"Indeed, Ellen, it is nothing but business, I assure you; and as I +am not blessed with the most even temper in the world, it does not +take much you know to upset me: but you heard me speak of that job I +was building for Hillman?" + +"Yes. I think you said it was to be five hundred dollars, did you +not?" + +"I did; and it was to have been cash as soon as done. Well, he took +it out two weeks ago; one week sooner than I promised it. I sent the +bill with it, expecting, of course, he would send me a check for the +amount; but I was disappointed. Having heard nothing from him since, +I thought I would call on him this morning, when, to my surprise, I +was told he had gone travelling with his wife and daughter, and +would not be back for six weeks or two months. I can't tell you how +I felt when I was told this." + +"He is safe enough for it I suppose, isn't he, George?" + +"Oh, yes; he is supposed to be worth about three hundred thousand. +But what good is that to me? I was looking over my books this +afternoon, and, including this five hundred, there is just fifteen +hundred dollars due me now, that I ought to have, but can't get it. +To a man doing a large business it would not be much; but to one +with my limited means, it is a good deal. And this is all in the +hands of five individuals, any one of whom could pay immediately, +and feel not the least inconvenience from it." + +"Are you much pressed for money just now, George?" + +"I have a note in bank of three hundred, which falls due to-morrow, +and one of two hundred and fifty on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars at +least will be required to pay off my hands; and besides this, our +quarter's rent is due on Monday, and my shop rent next Wednesday. +Then there are other little bills I wanted to settle, our own wants +to be supplied, &c." + +"Why don't you call on those persons you spoke of; perhaps they +would pay you?" + +"I have sent their bills in, but if I call on them so soon I might +perhaps affront them, and cause them to take their work away; and +that I don't want to do. However, I think I shall have to do it, let +the consequence be what it may." + +"Perhaps you could borrow what you need, George, for a few days." + +"I suppose I could; but see the inconvenience and trouble it puts me +to. I was so certain of getting Hillman's money to meet these two +notes, that I failed to make any other provision." + +"That would not have been enough of itself." + +"No, but I have a hundred on hand; the two together would have paid +them, and left enough for my workmen too." + +As early as practicable the next morning Mr. Allison started forth +to raise the amount necessary to carry him safely through the week. +He thought it better to try to collect some of the amounts owing to +him than to borrow. He first called on a wealthy merchant, whose +annual income was something near five thousand. + +"Good morning, Mr. Allison," said he, as that individual entered his +counting-room. "I suppose you want some money." + +"I should like a little, Mr. Chapin, if you please." + +"Well, I intended coming down to see you, but I have been so busy +that I have not been able. That carriage of mine which you did up a +few weeks ago does not suit me altogether." + +"What is the matter with it?" + +"I don't like the style of trimming, for one thing; it has a common +look to me." + +"It is precisely what Mrs. Chapin ordered. You told me to suit her." + +"Yes, but did she not tell you to trim it like General Spangler's?" + +"I am very much mistaken, Mr. Chapin, if it is not precisely like +his." + +"Oh! no; his has a much richer look than mine." + +"The style of trimming is just the same, Mr. Chapin; but you +certainly did not suppose that a carriage trimmed with worsted lace, +would look as well as one trimmed with silk lace?" + +"No, of course not; but there are some other little things about it +that don't suit me. I will send my man down with it to-day, and he +will show you what they are. I would like to have it to-morrow +afternoon, to take my family out in. Call up on Monday, and we will +have a settlement." + +Mr. Allison next called at the office of a young lawyer, who had +lately come into possession of an estate valued at one hundred +thousand dollars. Mr. Allison's bill was three hundred dollars, +which his young friend assured him he would settle immediately, only +that there was a slight error in the way it was made out, and not +having the bill with him, he could not now correct it. + +He would call on Mr. Allison with it, sometime during the next week, +and settle it. + +A Custom-House gentleman was next sought, but his time had been so +much taken up with his official duties, that he had not yet been +able to examine the bill. He had no doubt but it was all correct; +still, as he was not accustomed to doing business in a loose way, he +must claim Mr. Allison's indulgence a few days longer. + +Almost disheartened, Mr. Allison entered the store of the last +individual who was indebted to him for any considerable amount, not +daring to hope that he would be any more successful with him than +with the others he had called on. But he was successful; the bill, +which amounted to near one hundred and fifty dollars, was promptly +paid, Mr. Allison's pocket, in consequence, that much heavier, and +his heart that much lighter. Fifty dollars was yet lacking of the +sum requisite for that day. After calling on two or three +individuals, this amount was obtained, with the promise of being +returned by the middle of the next week. + +"I shall have hard work to get through to-day, I know," said he to +himself, as he sat at his desk on the following morning. + +"Two hundred and fifty dollars to be raised by borrowing. I don't +know where I can get it." + +To many this would be a small sum, but Mr. Allison was peculiarly +situated. He was an honest, upright mechanic, but he was poor. It +was with difficulty he had raised the fifty dollars on the day +previous. Although he had never once failed in returning money at +the time promised, still, for some reason or other, everybody +appeared unwilling to lend him. It was nearly two O'clock and he was +still a hundred dollars short. + +"Well," said he to himself, "I have done all I could, and if Hall +won't renew the note for the balance, it will have to be protested. +I'll go and ask him, though I have not much hope that he will do +it." + +As he was about leaving his shop for that purpose, a gentleman +entered who wished to buy a second-hand carriage. Mr. Allison had +but one, and that almost new, for which he asked a hundred and forty +dollars. + +"It is higher than I wished to go," remarked the gentleman. "I ought +to get a new one for that price." + +"So you can, but not like this. I can sell you a new one for a +hundred and twenty-five dollars. But what did you expect to pay for +one?" + +"I was offered one at Holton's for seventy-five; but I did not like +it. I will give you a hundred for yours." + +"It is too little, indeed, sir: that carriage cost three hundred +dollars when it was new. It was in use a very short time. I allowed +a hundred and forty dollars for it myself." + +"Well, sir, I would not wish you to sell at a disadvantage, but if +you like to, accept of my offer I'll take it. I'm prepared to pay +the cash down." + +Mr. Allison did not reply for some minutes. He was undecided as to +what was best. + +"Forty dollars," said he to himself, "is a pretty heavy discount. I +am almost tempted to refuse his offer and trust to Hall's renewing +the note. But suppose he won't--then I'm done for. I think, upon the +whole, I had better accept it. I'll put it at one hundred and +twenty-five, my good friend," said he, addressing the customer. + +"No, sir; one hundred is all I shall give." + +"Well, I suppose you must have it, then; but indeed you have got a +bargain." + +"It is too bad," muttered Allison to himself, as he left the bank +after having paid his note. "There is just forty dollars thrown +away. And why? Simply because those who are blessed with the means +of discharging their debts promptly, neglect to do so." + +"How did you make out to-day, George?" asked his wife, as they sat +at the tea-table that same evening. + +"I met my note, and that was all." + +"Did you give your men anything?" + +"Not a cent. I had but one dollar left after paying that. I was +sorry for them, but I could not help them. I am afraid Robinson's +family will suffer, for there has been sickness in his house almost +constantly for the last twelvemonth. His wife, he told me the other +day, had not been out; of her bed for six weeks. Poor fellow! He +looked quite dejected when I told him I had nothing for him." + +At this moment; the door-bell rang and a minute or two afterwards, a +young girl entered the room in which Mr. and Mrs. Allison were +sitting. Before introducing her to our readers, we will conduct them +to the interior of an obscure dwelling, situated near the outskirts +of the city. The room is small, and scantily furnished, and answers +at once for parlour, dining-room, and kitchen. Its occupants, Mrs. +Perry and her daughter, have been, since the earliest dawn of day, +intently occupied with their needles, barely allowing themselves +time to partake of their frugal meal. + +"Half-past three o'clock!" ejaculated the daughter, her eyes +glancing, as she spoke, at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I am +afraid we shall not get this work done in time for me to take it +home before dark, mother." + +"We must try hard, Laura, for you know we have not a cent in the +house, and I told Mrs. Carr to come over to-night, and I would pay +her what I owe her for washing. Poor thing! I would not like to +disappoint her, for I know she needs it." + +Nothing more was said for near twenty minutes, when Laura again +broke the silence. + +"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "what a pain I have in my side!" And for +a moment she rested from her work, and straightened herself in her +chair, to afford a slight relief from the uneasiness she +experienced. "I wonder, mother, if I shall always be obliged to sit +so steady?" + +"I hope not, my child; but bad as our situation is, there are +hundreds worse off than we. Take Annie Carr, for instance--how would +you like to exchange places with her?" + +"Poor Annie! I was thinking of her awhile go, mother. How hard it +must be for one so young to be so afflicted as she is!" + +"And yet, Laura, she never complains; although for five years she +has never left her bed, and has often suffered, I know, for want of +proper nourishment." + +"I don't think she will suffer much longer, mother. I stopped in to +see her the other day, and I was astonished at the change which had +taken place in a short time. Her conversation, too, seems so +heavenly, her faith in the Lord so strong, that I could not avoid +coming to the conclusion that a few days more, at the most, would +terminate her wearisome life." + +"It will be a happy release for her, indeed, my daughter. Still, it +will be a sore trial for her mother." + +It was near six when Mrs. Perry and her daughter finished the work +upon which they were engaged. + +"Now Laura, dear," said the mother, "get back as soon as you can, +for I don't like you to be out after night, and more than that, if +Mrs. Carr comes, she won't want to wait." + +About twenty minutes after the young girl had gone, Mrs. Carr +called. "Pray, be seated, my dear friend," said Mrs. Perry, "my +daughter has just gone to Mrs. Allison's with some work, and as soon +as she returns I can pay you." + +"I think I had better call over again, Mrs. Perry," answered the +poor woman; "Mary begged me not to stay long." + +"Is Annie any worse, then?" + +"Oh, yes, a great deal; the doctor thinks she will hardly last till +morning." + +"Well, Mrs. Carr, death can be only gain to her." + +"Very true; still, the idea of losing her seems dreadful to me." + +"How does Mary get on at Mrs. Owring's?" + +"Not very well; she has been at work for her just one month to-day; +and although she gave her to understand that her wages would be at +least a dollar and a quarter a week, yet to-night, when she settled +with her, she wouldn't give her but three dollars, and at the same +time told her that if she didn't choose to work for that she could +go." + +"What do you suppose was the reason for her acting so?" + +"I don't know, indeed, unless it is because she does not get there +quite as early as the rest of her hands; for you see I am obliged to +keep her a little while in the morning to help me to move Annie +while I make her bed. Even that little sum, small it was, would have +been some help to us, but it had all to go for rent. My landlord +would take no denial. But I must go; you think I can depend on +receiving your money to-night?" + +"I do. Mrs. Allison is always prompt in paying for her work as soon +as it is done. I will not trouble you to come again for it, Mrs. +Carr. Laura shall bring it over to you." + +Let us now turn to the young girl we left at Mr. Allison's, whom our +readers, no doubt, recognise as Laura Perry. + +"Good evening, Laura," said Mrs. Allison, as she entered the room; +"not brought my work home already! I did not look for it till next +week. You and your mother, I am afraid, confine yourselves too +closely to your needles for your own good. But you have not had your +tea? sit up, and take some." + +"No, thank you, Mrs. Allison; mother will be uneasy if I stay long." + +"Well, Laura, I am sorry, but I cannot settle with you to-night. +Tell your mother Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting +to-day, or she certainly should have had it. Did she say how much it +was?" + +"Two dollars, ma'am." + +"Very well: I will try and let her have it next week." + +The expression of Laura's countenance told too plainly the +disappointment she felt. "I am afraid Mrs. Perry is in want of that +money," remarked the husband after she had gone. + +"Not the least doubt of it," replied his wife. "She would not have +sent home work at this hour if she had not been. Poor things! who +can tell the amount of suffering and wretchedness that is caused by +the rich neglecting to pay promptly." + +"You come without money, Laura," said her mother, as she entered the +house. + +"How do you know that, mother?" she replied, forcing a smile. + +"I read it in your countenance. Is it not so?" + +"It is: Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting--what will we do, +mother?" + +"The best we can, my child. We will have to do without our beef for +dinner to-morrow; but then we have plenty of bread; so we shall not +starve." + +"And I shall have to do without my new shoes. My old ones are too +shabby to go to church in; so I shall have to stay at home." + +"I am sorry for your disappointment, my child, but I care more for +Mrs. Carr than I do for ourselves. She has been here, and is in a +great deal of trouble. The doctor don't think Annie will live till +morning, and Mrs. Owrings hag refused to give Mary more than three +dollars for her month's work, every cent of which old Grimes took +for rent. I told her she might depend on getting what I owed her, +and that I would send you over with it when you returned. You had +better go at once and tell her, Laura; perhaps she may be able to +get some elsewhere." + +"How much is it, mother?" + +"Half a dollar." + +"It seems hard that she can't get that small sum." + +With a heavy heart Laura entered Mrs. Carr's humble abode. + +"Oh how glad I am that you have come, my dear!" exclaimed the poor +woman. "Annie has been craving some ice cream all day; it's the only +thing she seems to fancy. I told her she should have it as soon as +you came." + +Mrs. Carr's eyes filled with tears as Laura told of her ill success. +"I care not for myself," she said "but for that poor suffering +child." + +"Never mind me, mother," replied Annie. "It was selfish in me to +want it, when I know how hard you and Mary are obliged to work for +every cent you get. But I feel that I shall not bother you much +longer; I have a strange feeling here now." And she placed her hand +upon her left side. + +"Stop!" cried Laura; "I'll try and get some ice cream for you +Annie." And off she ran to her mother's dwelling. "Mother," said +she, as she entered the house, "do you recollect that half dollar +father gave me the last time he went to sea?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Well, I think I had better take it and pay Mrs. Carr. Annie is very +bad, and her mother says she has been wanting some ice cream all +day." + +"It is yours, Laura, do as you like about it." + +"It goes hard with me to part with it, mother, for I had determined +to keep it in remembrance of my father. It is just twelve years +to-day since he went away. But poor Annie--yes, mother, I will take +it." + +So saying, Laura went to unlock the box which contained her +treasure, but unfortunately her key was not where she had supposed +it was. After a half hour's search she succeeded in finding it. +Tears coursed down her cheeks like rain as she removed from the +corner of the little box, where it had lain for so many years, this +precious relic of a dear father, who in all probability, was buried +beneath the ocean. Dashing them hastily away, she started again for +Mrs. Carr's. The ice cream was procured on the way, and, just as the +clock struck eight, she arrived at the door. One hour has elapsed +since she left. But why does she linger on the threshold? Why but +because the sounds of weeping and mourning have reached her ears, +and she fears that all is over with her poor friend, Her fears are +indeed true, for the pure spirit of the young sufferer has taken its +flight to that blest land where hunger and thirst are known no more. +Poor Annie! thy last earthly wish, a simple glass of ice-cream, was +denied thee--and why? We need not pause to answer: ye who have an +abundance of this world's goods, think, when ye are about to turn +from your doors the poor seamstress or washerwoman, or even those +less destitute than they, without a just recompense for their +labour, whether the sufferings and privations of some poor creatures +will not be increased thereby. + + + + + + +RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. + + + + + +OBADIAH LAWSON and Watt Dood were neighbours; that is, they lived +within a half mile of each other, and no person lived between their +respective farms, which would have joined, had not a little strip of +prairie land extended itself sufficiently to keep them separated. +Dood was the oldest settler, and from his youth up had entertained a +singular hatred against Quakers; therefore, when he was informed +that Lawson, a regular disciple of that class of people had +purchased the next farm to his, he declared he would make him glad +to move away again. Accordingly, a system of petty annoyances was +commenced by him, and every time one of Lawson's hogs chanced to +stray upon Dood's place, he was beset by men and dogs, and most +savagely abused. Things progressed thus for nearly a year, and the +Quaker, a man of decidedly peace principles, appeared in no way to +resent the injuries received at the hands of his spiteful neighbour. +But matters were drawing to a crisis; for Dood, more enraged than +ever at the quiet of Obadiah, made oath that he would do something +before long to wake up the spunk of Lawson. Chance favoured his +design. The Quaker had a high-blooded filly, which he had been very +careful in raising, and which was just four years old. Lawson took +great pride in this animal, and had refused a large sum of money for +her. + +One evening, a little after sunset, as Watt Dood was passing around +his cornfield, he discovered the filly feeding in the little strip +of prairie land that separated the two farms, and he conceived the +hellish design of throwing off two or three rails of his fence, that +the horse might get into his corn during the night. He did so, and +the next morning, bright and early, he shouldered his rifle and left +the house. Not long after his absence, a hired man, whom he had +recently employed, heard the echo of his gun, and in a few minutes +Dood, considerably excited and out of breath, came hurrying to the +house, where he stated that he had shot at and wounded a buck; that +the deer attacked him, and he hardly escaped with his life. + +This story was credited by all but the newly employed hand, who had +taken a dislike to Watt, and, from his manner, suspected that +something was wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from the +house, and going through the field in the direction of the shot, he +suddenly came upon Lawson's filly, stretched upon the earth, with a +bullet hole through the head, from which the warm blood was still +oozing. + +The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour. He +hastened back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and +demanded, somewhat roughly, where he had been. + +"I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson's +filly," was the instant retort. + +Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercely +shouted, + +"Do you dare to say I killed her?" + +"How do you know she is dead?" replied the man. + +Dood bit his lip, hesitated a moment, and then turning, walked into +the house. + +A couple of days passed by, and the morning of the third one had +broken, as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of his +filly. + +A few words of explanation ensued, when, with a heavy heart, the +Quaker turned his horse and rode home, where he informed the people +of the fate of his filly. No threat of recrimination escaped him; he +did not even go to law to recover damages; but calmly awaited his +plan and hour of revenge. It came at last. + +Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which he had paid a heavy price, +and upon which he counted to make great gains. + +One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his eldest son came +in with the information that neighbour Dood's heifer had broken down +the fence, entered the yard, and after eating most of the cabbages, +had trampled the well-made beds and the vegetables they contained, +out of all shape--a mischief impossible to repair. + +"And what did thee do with her, Jacob?" quietly asked Obadiah. + +"I put her in the farm-yard." + +"Did thee beat her?" + +"I never struck her a blow." + +"Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and when done +eating I will attend to the heifer." + +Shortly after he had finished his repast, Lawson mounted a horse, +and rode over to Dood's, who was sitting under the porch in front of +his house, and who, as he beheld the Quaker dismount, supposed he +was coming to demand pay for his filly, and secretly swore he would +have to law for it if he did. + +"Good morning, neighbour Dood; how is thy family?" exclaimed +Obadiah, as he mounted the steps and seated himself in a chair. + +"All well, I believe," was the crusty reply. + +"I have a small affair to settle with you this morning, and I came +rather early." + +"So I suppose," growled Watt. + +"This morning, my son found thy Durham heifer in my garden, where +she has destroyed a good deal." + +"And what did he do with her?" demanded Dood, his brow darkening. + +"What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thy +garden?" asked Obadiah. + +"I'd a shot her!" retorted Watt, madly, "as I suppose you have done; +but we are only even now. Heifer for filly is only 'tit for tat.'" + +"Neighbour Dood, thou knowest me not, if thou thinkest I would harm +a hair of thy heifer's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even a +blow has been struck her, where thee can get her at any time. I know +thee shot my filly; but the evil one prompted thee to do it, and I +lay no evil in my heart against my neighbours. I came to tell thee +where thy heifer is, and now I'll go home." + +Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to descend the steps, +when he was stopped by Watt, who hastily asked, + +"What was your filly worth?" + +"A hundred dollars is what I asked for her," replied Obediah. + +"Wait a moment!" and Dood rushed into the house, from whence he soon +returned, holding some gold in his hand. "Here's the price of your +filly; and hereafter let there be a pleasantness between us." + +"Willingly, heartily," answered Lawson, grasping the proffered hand +of the other; "let there be peace between us." + +Obadiah mounted his horse, and rode home with a lighter heart, and +from that day to this Dood has been as good a neighbour as one could +wish to have; being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOR +EVIL. + +PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET. + +"DO you recollect Thomas, who lived with us as waiter about two +years ago, Mary?" asked Mr. Clarke, as he seated himself in his +comfortable arm-chair, and slipped his feet into the nicely-warmed, +embroidered slippers, which stood ready for his use. + +"Certainly," was the reply of Mrs. Clarke. "He was a bright, active +fellow, but rather insolent." + +"He has proved to be a regular pickpocket," continued her husband, +"and is now on his way to Blackwell's Island." + +"A very suitable place for him. I hope he will be benefited by a few +months' residence there," returned the lady. + +"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Joshua Clarke, an uncle of the young +couple, who was quietly reading a newspaper in another part of the +room. "There are many of high standing in the world, who deserve to +go to Blackwell's Island quite as much as he does." + +"You are always making such queer speeches, Uncle Joshua," said his +niece. "I suppose you do not mean that there are pickpockets among +respectable people?" + +"Indeed, there are, my dear niece. Your knowledge of the world must +be very limited, if you are not aware of this. Putting your hand in +your neighbour's pocket, is one of the most fashionable +accomplishments of the day." + +Mrs. Clarke was too well acquainted with her uncle's peculiarities +to think of arguing with him. She therefore merely smiled, and said +to her husband:-- + +"Well, Henry, I am glad that neither you nor myself are acquainted +with this fashionable accomplishment." + +"Not acquainted with it!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "I thought +you knew yourselves better. Why, you and Henry are both regular +pickpockets!" + +"I wonder that you demean yourself by associating with us!" was the +playful reply. + +"Oh, you are no worse than the rest of the world; and, besides, I +hope to do you some good, when you grow older and wiser. At present, +Henry's whole soul is absorbed in the desire to obtain wealth." + +"In a fair and honourable way, uncle," interrupted Mr. Clarke, "and +for honourable purposes." + +"Certainly," replied Uncle Joshua, "in the common acceptation of the +words _fair_ and _honourable_. But, do you never, in your mercantile +speculations, endeavour to convey erroneous impressions to the minds +of those with whom you are dealing? Do you not sometimes suppress +information which would prevent your obtaining a good bargain? Do +you never allow your customers to purchase goods under false ideas +of their value and demand in the market? If you saw a man, less +skilled in business than yourself, about to take a step injurious to +him, but advantageous to you, would you warn him of his danger--thus +obeying the command to love your neighbour as yourself?" + +"Why, uncle, these questions are absurd. Of course, when engaged in +business, I endeavour to do what is for my own advantage--leaving +others to look out for themselves." + +"Exactly so. You are perfectly willing to put your hand in your +neighbour's pocket and take all you can get, provided he is not wise +enough to know that your hand is there." + +"Oh, for shame, Uncle Joshua! I shall not allow you to talk to Henry +in this manner," exclaimed Mrs. Clarke perceiving that her husband +looked somewhat irritated. "Come, prove your charge against me. In +what way do I pick my neighbour's pockets?" + +"You took six shillings from the washerwoman this morning," coolly +replied Uncle Joshua. + +"_Took_ six shillings from the washerwoman! Paid her six shillings, +you mean, uncle. She called for the money due for a day's work, and +I gave it to her." + +"Yes, but not till you had kept her waiting nearly two hours. I +heard her say, as she left the house, 'I have lost a day's work by +this delay, for I cannot go to Mrs. Reed's at this hour; so I shall +be six shillings poorer at the end of the week.'" + +"Why did she wait, then? She could have called again. I was not +ready to attend to her at so early an hour." + +"Probably she needed the money to-day. You little know the value of +six shillings to the mother of a poor family, Mary; but, you should +remember that her time is valuable, and that it is as sinful to +deprive her of the use of it, as if you took money from her purse." + +"Well, uncle, I will acknowledge that I did wrong to keep the poor +woman waiting, and I will endeavour to be more considerate in +future. So draw your chair to the table, and take a cup of tea and +some of your favourite cakes." + +"Thank you, Mary; but I am engaged to take tea with your old friend, +Mrs. Morrison. Poor thing! she has not made out very well lately. +Her school has quite run down, owing to sickness among her scholars; +and her own family have been ill all winter; so that her expenses +have been great." + +"I am sorry to hear this," replied Mrs. Clarke. "I had hoped that +her school was succeeding. Give my love to her, uncle, and tell her +I will call upon her in a day or two." + +Uncle Joshua promised to remember the message, and bidding Mr. and +Mrs. Clarke good evening, he was soon seated in Mrs. Morrison's neat +little parlour, which, though it bore no comparison with the +spacious and beautifully furnished apartments he had just left, had +an air of comfort and convenience which could not fail to please. + +Delighted to see her old friend, whom she also, from early habit, +addressed by the title of Uncle Joshua, although he was no relation, +Mrs. Morrison's countenance, for awhile beamed with that cheerful, +animated expression which it used to wear in her more youthful days; +but an expression of care and anxiety soon over shadowed it, and, in +the midst of her kind attentions to her visiter, and her +affectionate endearment to two sweet children, who were playing +around the room, she would often remain thoughtful and abstracted +for several minutes. + +Uncle Joshua was an attentive observer, and he saw that something +weighed heavily upon her mind. When tea was over, and the little +ones had gone to rest, he said, kindly, + +"Come, Fanny, draw your chair close to my side, and tell me all your +troubles, as freely as you used to do when a merry-hearted +school-girl. How often have listened to the sad tale of the pet +pigeon, that had flown away, or the favourite plant killed by the +untimely frost. Come, I am ready, now as then, to assist you with my +advice, and my purse, too, if necessary." + +Tears started to Mrs. Morrison's eyes, as she replied. + +"You were always a kind friend to me, Uncle Joshua, and I will +gladly confide my troubles to you. You know that after my husband's +death I took this house, which, though small, may seem far above my +limited income, in the hope of obtaining a school sufficiently large +to enable me to meet the rent, and also to support myself and +children. The small sum left them by their father I determined to +invest for their future use. I unwisely intrusted it to one who +betrayed the trust, and appropriated the money to some wild +speculation of his own. He says that he did this in the hope of +increasing my little property. It may be so, but my consent should +have been asked. He failed and there is little hope of our ever +recovering more, than a small part of what he owes us. But, to +return to my school. I found little difficulty in obtaining +scholars, and, for a short time, believed myself to be doing well, +but I soon found that a large number of scholars did not insure a +large income from the school. My terms were moderate, but still I +found great difficulty in obtaining what was due to me at the end of +the term. + +"A few paid promptly, and without expecting me to make unreasonable +deductions for unpleasant weather, slight illness, &c., &c. Others +paid after long delay, which often put me to the greatest +inconvenience; and some, after appointing day after day for me to +call, and promising each time that the bill should be settled +without fail, moved away, I knew not whither, or met me at length +with a cool assurance that it was not possible for them to pay me at +present--if it was ever in their power they would let me know." + +"Downright robbery!" exclaimed Uncle Joshua. "A set of pickpockets! +I wish they were all shipped for Blackwell's Island." + +"There are many reasons assigned for not paying," continued Mrs. +Morrison. "Sometimes the children had not learned as much as the +parents expected. Some found it expedient to take their children +away long before the expiration of the term, and then gazed at me in +astonishment when I declared my right to demand pay for the whole +time for which they engaged. One lady, in particular, to whose +daughter I was giving music lessons, withdrew the pupil under +pretext of slight indisposition, and sent me the amount due for a +half term. I called upon her, and stated that I considered the +engagement binding for twenty-four lessons, but would willingly wait +until the young lady was quite recovered. The mother appeared to +assent with willingness to this arrangement, and took the proffered +money without comment. An hour or two after I received a laconic +epistle stating that the lady had already engaged another teacher, +whom she thought preferable--that she had offered me the amount due +for half of the term, and I had declined receiving it--therefore she +should not offer it again. I wrote a polite, but very plain, reply +to this note, and enclosed my bill for the whole term, but have +never heard from her since." + +"Do you mean to say that she actually received the money which you +returned to her without reluctance, and gave you no notice of her +intention to employ another teacher?" demanded the old gentleman. + +"Certainly; and, besides this, I afterwards ascertained that the +young lady was actually receiving a lesson from another teacher, +when I called at the house--therefore the plea of indisposition was +entirely false. The most perfect satisfaction had always been +expressed as to the progress of the pupil, and no cause was assigned +for the change." + +"I hope you have met with few cases as bad as this," remarked Uncle +Joshua. "The world must be in a worse state than even I had +supposed, if such imposition is common." + +"This may be an extreme case," replied Mrs. Morrison, "but I could +relate many others which are little better. However, you will soon +weary of my experience in this way, Uncle Joshua, and I will +therefore mention but one other instance. One bitter cold day in +January, I called at the house of a lady who had owed me a small +amount for nearly a year, and after repeated delay had reluctantly +fixed this day as the time when she would pay me at least a part of +what was due. I was told by the servant who opened the door that the +lady was not at home. + +"What time will she be in?" I inquired. + +"Not for some hours," was the reply. + +Leaving word that I would call again towards evening, I retraced my +steps, feeling much disappointed at my ill success, as I had felt +quite sure of obtaining the money. About five o'clock I again +presented myself at the door, and was again informed that the lady +was not at home. + +"I will walk in, and wait for her return," I replied. + +The servant appeared somewhat startled at this, but after a little +delay ushered me into the parlour. Two little boys, of four and six +years of age, were playing about the room. I joined in their sports, +and soon became quite familiar with them. Half an hour had passed +away, when I inquired of the oldest boy what time he expected his +mother? + +"Not till late," he answered, hesitatingly. + +"Did she take the baby with her this cold day?" I asked. + +"Yes, ma'am," promptly replied the girl, who, under pretence of +attending to the children, frequently came into the room. + +The youngest child gazed earnestly in my face, and said, smilingly, + +"Mother has not gone away, she is up stairs. She ran away with baby +when she saw you coming, and told us to say she had gone out. I am +afraid brother will take cold, for there is no fire up stairs." + +"It is no such thing," exclaimed the girl and the eldest boy. "She +is not up stairs, ma'am, or she would see you." + +But even as they spoke the loud cries of an infant were heard, and a +voice at the head of the stairs calling Jenny. + +The girl obeyed, and presently returned with the child in her arms, +its face, neck, and hands purple with cold. + +"Poor little thing, it has got its death in that cold room," she +said. "Mistress cannot see you, ma'am, she is sick and gone to bed." + +"This last story was probably equally false with the other, but I +felt that it was useless to remain, and with feelings of deep regret +for the poor children who were so early taught an entire disregard +for truth, and of sorrow for the exposure to cold to which I had +innocently subjected the infant, I left the house. A few days after, +I heard that the little one had died with croup. Jenny, whom I +accidentally met in the street, assured me that he took the cold +which caused his death from the exposure on the afternoon of my +call, as he became ill the following day. I improved the opportunity +to endeavour to impress upon the mind of the poor girl the sin of +which she had been guilty, in telling a falsehood even in obedience +to the commands of her mistress; and I hope that what I said may be +useful to her. + +"The want of honesty and promptness in the parents of my pupils +often caused me great inconvenience, and I frequently found it +difficult to meet my rent when it became due. Still I have struggled +through my difficulties without contracting any debts until this +winter, but the sickness which has prevailed in my school has so +materially lessened my income, and my family expenses have, for the +same reason, been so much greater, that I fear it will be quite +impossible for me to continue in my present situation." + +"Do not be discouraged," said Uncle Joshua; "I will advance whatever +sum you are in immediate need of, and you may repay me when it is +convenient to yourself. I will also take the bills which are due to +you from various persons, and endeavour to collect them. Your +present term is, I suppose, nearly ended. Commence another with this +regulation:--That the price of tuition, or at least one-half of it, +shall be paid before the entrance of the scholar. Some will complain +of this rule, but many will not hesitate to comply with it, and you +will find the result beneficial. And now I would leave you, Fanny, +for I have another call to make this evening. My young friend, +William Churchill, is, I hear, quite ill, and I feel desirous to see +him. I will call upon you in a day or two, and then we will have +another talk about your affairs, and see what can be done for you. +So good night, Fanny; go to sleep and dream of your old friend." + +Closing the door after Uncle Joshua, Mrs. Morrison returned to her +room with a heart filled with thankfulness that so kind a friend had +been sent to her in the hour of need; while the old gentleman walked +with rapid steps through several streets until he stood at the door +of a small, but pleasantly situated house in the suburbs of the +city. His ring at the bell was answered by a pretty, +pleasant-looking young woman, whom he addressed as Mrs. Churchill, +and kindly inquired for her husband. + +"William is very feeble to-day, but he will be rejoiced to see you, +sir. His disease is partly owing to anxiety of mind, I think, and +when his spirits are raised by a friendly visit, he feels better." + +Uncle Joshua followed Mrs. Churchill to the small room which now +served the double purpose of parlour and bedroom. They were met at +the door by the invalid, who had recognised the voice of his old +friend, and had made an effort to rise and greet him. His sunken +countenance, the hectic flush which glowed upon his cheek, and the +distressing cough, gave fearful evidence that unless the disease was +soon arrested in its progress, consumption would mark him for its +victim. + +The friendly visiter was inwardly shocked at his appearance, but +wisely made no allusion to it, and soon engaged him in cheerful +conversation. Gradually he led him to speak openly of his own +situation,--of his health, and of the pecuniary difficulties with +which he was struggling. His story was a common one. A young family +were growing up around him, and an aged mother and invalid sister +also depended upon him for support. The small salary which he +obtained as clerk in one of the most extensive mercantile +establishments in the city, was quite insufficient to meet his +necessary expenses. He had, therefore, after being constantly +employed from early morning until a late hour in the evening, +devoted two or three hours of the night to various occupations which +added a trifle to his limited income. Sometimes he procured copying +of various kinds; at others, accounts, which he could take to his +own house, were intrusted to him. This incessant application had +gradually ruined his health, and now for several weeks he had been +unable to leave the house. + +"Have you had advice from an experienced physician, William?" +inquired Uncle Joshua. The young man blushed, as he replied, that he +was unwilling to send for a physician, knowing that he had no means +to repay his services. + +"I will send my own doctor to see you," returned his friend. "He can +help you if any one can, and as for his fee I will attend to it, and +if you regain your health I shall be amply repaid.--No, do not thank +me," he continued, as Mr. Churchill endeavoured to express his +gratitude. "Your father has done me many a favour, and it would be +strange if I could not extend a hand to help his son when in +trouble. And now tell me, William, is not your salary very small, +considering the responsible situation which you have so long held in +the firm of Stevenson & Co.?" + +"It is," was the reply; "but I see no prospect of obtaining more. I +believe I have always given perfect satisfaction to my employer, +although it is difficult to ascertain the estimation in which he +holds me, for he is a man who never praises. He has never found +fault with me, and therefore I suppose him satisfied, and indeed I +have some proof of this in his willingness to wait two or three +months in the hope that I may recover from my present illness before +making a permanent engagement with a new clerk. Notwithstanding +this, he has never raised my salary, and when I ventured to say to +him about a year ago, that as his business had nearly doubled since +I had been with him, I felt that it would be but just that I should +derive some benefit from the change, he coolly replied that my +present salary was all that he had ever paid a clerk, and he +considered it a sufficient equivalent for my services. He knows very +well that it is difficult to obtain a good situation, there are so +many who stand ready to fill any vacancy, and therefore he feels +quite safe in refusing to give me, more." + +"And yet," replied Uncle Joshua, "he is fully aware that the +advantage resulting from your long experience and thorough +acquaintance with his business, increases his income several hundred +dollars every year, and this money he quietly puts into his own +pocket, without considering or caring that a fair proportion of it +should in common honesty go into yours. What a queer world we live +in! The poor thief who robs you of your watch or pocket-book, is +punished without delay; but these wealthy defrauders maintain their +respectability and pass for honest men, even while withholding what +they know to be the just due of another. + +"But cheer up, William, I have a fine plan for you, if you can but +regain your health. I am looking for a suitable person to take +charge of a large sheep farm, which I propose establishing on the +land which I own in Virginia. You acquired some knowledge of farming +in your early days. How would you like to undertake this business? +The climate is delightful, the employment easy and pleasant; and it +shall be my care that your salary is amply sufficient for the +support of your family." + +Mr. Churchill could hardly command his voice sufficiently to express +his thanks, and his wife burst into tears, as she exclaimed, + +"If my poor husband had confided his troubles to you before, he +would not have been reduced to this feeble state." + +"He will recover," said the old gentleman. "I feel sure, that in one +month, he will look like a different man. Rest yourself, now, +William, and to-morrow I will see you again." + +And, followed by the blessings and thanks of the young couple, Uncle +Joshua departed. + +"Past ten o'clock," he said to himself, as he paused near a +lamp-post and looked at his watch. "I must go to my own room." + +As he said this he was startled by a deep sigh from some one near, +and on looking round, saw a lad, of fourteen or fifteen years of +age, leaning against the post, and looking earnestly at him. + +Uncle Joshua recognised the son of a poor widow, whom he had +occasionally befriended, and said, kindly, + +"Well, John, are you on your way home from the store? This is rather +a late hour for a boy like you." + +"Yes, sir, it is late. I cannot bear to return home to my poor +mother, for I have bad news for her to-night. Mr. Mackenzie does not +wish to employ me any more. My year is up to-day." + +"Why, John, how is this? Not long ago your employer told me that he +was perfectly satisfied with you; indeed, he said that he never +before had so trusty and useful a boy." + +"He has always appeared satisfied with me, sir, and I have +endeavoured to serve him faithfully. But he told me to-day that he +had engaged another boy." + +Uncle Joshua mused for a moment, and then asked, + +"What was he to give you for the first year, John?" + +"Nothing, sir. He told my mother that my services would be worth +nothing the first year, but the second he would pay me fifty +dollars, and so increase my salary as I grew older. My poor mother +has worked very hard to support me this year, and I had hoped that I +would be able to help her soon. But it is all over now, and I +suppose I must take a boy's place again, and work another year for +nothing." + +"And then be turned off again. Another set of pickpockets," muttered +his indignant auditor. + +"Pickpockets!" exclaimed the lad. "Did any one take your watch just +now, sir? I saw a man look at it as you took it out. Perhaps we can +overtake him. I think he turned into the next street." + +"No, no, my boy. My watch is safe enough. I am not thinking of +street pickpockets, but of another class whom you will find out as +you grow older. But never mind losing your place, John. My nephew is +in want of a boy who has had some experience in your business, and +will pay him a fair salary--more than Mr. Mackenzie agreed to give +you for the second year. I will mention you to him, and you may call +at his store to-morrow at eleven o'clock, and we will see if you +will answer his purpose." + +"Thank you, Sir, I am sure I thank you; and mother will bless you +for your kindness," replied the boy, his countenance glowing with +animation; and with a grateful "good night," he darted off in the +direction of his own home. + +"There goes a grateful heart," thought Uncle Joshua, as he gazed +after the boy until he turned the corner of the street and +disappeared. "He has lost his situation merely because another can +be found who will do the work for nothing for a year, in the vain +hope of future recompense. I wish Mary could have been with me this +evening; I think she would have acknowledged that there are many +respectable pickpockets who deserve to accompany poor Thomas to +Blackwell's Island;" and thus soliloquizing, Uncle Joshua reached +the door of his boarding-house, and sought repose in his own room. + + + + + + +KIND WORDS. + + + + + +WE have more than once, in our rapidly written reflections, urged +the policy and propriety of kindness, courtesy, and good-will +between man and man. It is so easy for an individual to manifest +amenity of spirit, to avoid harshness, and thus to cheer and gladden +the paths of all over whom he may have influence or control, that it +is really surprising to find any one pursuing the very opposite +course. Strange as it may appear, there are among the children of +men, hundreds who seem to take delight in making others unhappy. +They rejoice at an opportunity of being the messengers of evil +tidings. They are jealous or malignant; and in either case they +exult in inflicting a wound. The ancients, in most nations, had a +peculiar dislike to croakers, prophets of evil, and the bearers of +evil tidings. It is recorded that the messenger from the banks of +the Tigris, who first announced the defeat of the Roman army by the +Persians, and the death of the Emperor Julian, in a Roman city of +Asia Minor, was instantly buried under a heap of stones thrown upon +him by an indignant populace. And yet this messenger was innocent, +and reluctantly discharged a painful duty. But how different the +spirit and the motive of volunteers in such cases--those who exult +in an opportunity of communicating bad news, and in some degree +revel over the very agony which it produces. The sensitive, the +generous, the honourable, would ever be spared from such painful +missions. A case of more recent occurrence may be referred to as in +point. We allude to the murder of Mr. Roberts, a farmer of New +Jersey, who was robbed and shot in his own wagon, near Camden. It +became necessary that the sad intelligence should be broken to his +wife and family with as much delicacy as possible. A neighbour was +selected for the task, and at first consented. But, on +consideration, his heart failed him. He could not, he said, +communicate the details of a tragedy so appalling and he begged to +be excused. Another, formed it was thought of sterner stuff, was +then fixed upon: but he too, rough and bluff as he was in his +ordinary manners, possessed the heart of a generous and sympathetic +human being, and also respectfully declined. A third made a like +objection, and at last a female friend of the family was with much +difficulty persuaded, in company with another, to undertake the +mournful task. And yet, we repeat, there are in society, individuals +who delight in contributing to the misery of others--who are eager +to circulate a slander, to chronicle a ruin, to revive a forgotten +error, to wound, sting, and annoy, whenever they may do so with +impunity. How much better the gentle, the generous, the magnanimous +policy! Why not do everything that may be done for the happiness of +our fellow creatures, without seeking out their weak points, +irritating their half-healed wounds, jarring their sensibilities, or +embittering their thoughts! The magic of kind words and a kind +manner can scarcely be over-estimated. Our fellow creatures are more +sensitive than is generally imagined. We have known cases in which a +gentle courtesy has been remembered with pleasure for years. Who +indeed cannot look back into "bygone time," and discover some smile, +some look or other demonstration of regard or esteem, calculated to +bless and brighten every hour of after existence! "Kind words," says +an eminent writer, "do not cost much. It does not take long to utter +them. They never blister the tongue or lips on their passage into +the world, or occasion any other kind of bodily suffering; and we +have never heard of any mental trouble arising from this quarter. +Though they do not cost much, yet they accomplish much. 1. They help +one's own good nature and good will. One cannot be in a habit of +this kind, without thereby pecking away something of the granite +roughness of his own nature. Soft words will soften his own soul. +Philosophers tell us that the angry words a man uses in his passion +are fuel to the flame of his wrath, and make it blaze the more +fiercely. Why, then, should not words of the opposite character +produce opposite results, and that most blessed of all passions of +the soul, kindness, be augmented by kind words? People that are for +ever speaking kindly, are for ever disinclining themselves to +ill-temper. 2. Kind words make other people good-natured. Cold words +freeze people, and hot words scorch them, and sarcastic words +irritate them, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathful words +make them wrathful. And kind words also produce their own image on +men's souls; and a beautiful image it is. They soothe, and quiet, +and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, +unkind feelings; and he has to become kind himself. There is such a +rush of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seems +desirable to give kind words a chance among them. There are vain +words, idle words, hasty words, spiteful words, silly words, and +empty words. Now kind words are better than the whole of them; and +it is a pity that, among the improvements of the present age, birds +of this feather might not have more of a chance than they have had +to spread their wings." + +It is indeed! Kind words should be brought into more general use. +Those in authority should employ them more frequently, when +addressing the less fortunate among mankind. Employers should use +them in their intercourse with their workmen. Parents should utter +them on every occasion to their children. The rich should never +forget an opportunity of speaking kindly to the poor. Neighbours and +friends should emulate each other in the employment of mild, gentle, +frank, and kindly language. But this cannot be done unless each +endeavours to control himself. Our passions and our prejudices must +be kept in check. If we find that we have a neighbour on the other +side of the way, who has been more fortunate in a worldly sense than +we have been, and if we discover a little jealousy or envy creeping +into our opinions and feelings concerning said neighbour--let us be +careful, endeavour to put a rein upon our tongues, and to avoid the +indulgence of malevolence or ill-will. If we, on the other hand, +have been fortunate, have enough and to spare, and there happens to +be in our circle some who are dependent upon us, some who look up to +us with love and respect--let us be generous, courteous, and +kind--and thus we shall not only discharge a duty, but prove a +source of happiness to others. + + + + + + +NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS. + + + + + +MOST people think there are cares enough in the world, and yet many +are very industrious to increase them:--One of the readiest ways of +doing this is to quarrel with a neighbour. A bad bargain may vex a +man for a week, and a bad debt may trouble him for a month; but a +quarrel with his neighbours will keep him in hot water all the year +round. + +Aaron Hands delights in fowls, and his cocks and hens are always +scratching up the flowerbeds of his neighbour William Wilkes, whose +mischievous tom-cat every now and then runs off with a chicken. The +consequence is, that William Wilkins is one half the day occupied in +driving away the fowls, and threatening to screw their long ugly +necks off; while Aaron Hands, in his periodical outbreaks, +invariably vows to skin his neighbour's cat, as sure as he can lay +hold of him. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! Why can you not be at peace? Not all the +fowls you can rear, and the flowers you can grow, will make amends +for a life of anger, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness. Come to +some kind-hearted understanding one with another, and dwell in +peace. + +Upton, the refiner, has a smoky chimney, that sets him and all the +neighbourhood by the ears. The people around abuse him without +mercy, complaining that they are poisoned, and declaring that they +will indict him at the sessions. Upton fiercely sets them at +defiance, on the ground that his premises were built before theirs, +that his chimney did not come to them, but that they came to his +chimney. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! practise a little more forbearance. Had half +a dozen of you waited on the refiner in a kindly spirit, he would +years ago have so altered his chimney, that it would not have +annoyed you. + +Mrs. Tibbets is thoughtless--if it were not so she would never have +had her large dusty carpet beaten, when her neighbour, who had a +wash, was having her wet clothes hung out to dry. Mrs. Williams is +hasty and passionate, or she would never have taken it for granted +that the carpet was beaten on purpose to spite her, and give her +trouble. As it is, Mrs. Tibbets and Mrs. Williams hate one another +with a perfect hatred. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! bear with one another. We are none of us +angels, and should not, therefore, expect those about us to be free +from faults. + +They who attempt to out-wrangle a quarrelsome neighbour, go the +wrong way to work. A kind word, and still more a kind deed, will be +more likely to be successful. Two children wanted to pass by a +savage dog: the one took a stick in his hand and pointed it at him, +but this only made the enraged creature more furious than before. +The other child adopted a different plan; for by giving the dog a +piece of his bread and butter, he was allowed to pass, the subdued +animal wagging his tail in quietude. If you happen to have a +quarrelsome neighbour, conquer him by civility and kindness; try the +bread and butter system, and keep your stick out of sight. That is +an excellent Christian admonition, "A soft answer turneth away +wrath, but grievous words stir up anger." + +Neighbours' quarrels are a mutual reproach, and yet a stick or a +straw is sufficient to promote them. One man is rich, and another +poor; one is a churchman, another a dissenter; one is a +conservative, another a liberal; one hates another because he is of +the same trade, and another is bitter with his neighbour because he +is a Jew or a Roman Catholic. + +Neighbours! Neighbours! live in love, and then while you make others +happy, you will be happier yourselves. + + "That happy man is surely blest, + Who of the worst things makes the best; + Whilst he must be of temper curst, + Who of the best things makes the worst." + +"Be ye all of one mind," says the Apostle, "having compassion one of +another; love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous; not rendering +evil for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing. +"To a rich man I would say, bear with and try to serve those who are +below you; and to a poor one-- + + "Fear God, love peace, and mind your labour; + And never, never quarrel with your neighbour." + + + + + + +GOOD WE MIGHT DO. + + + + + +WE all might do good + Where we often do ill; +There is always the way, + If we have but the will; +Though it be but a word + Kindly breathed or supprest, +It may guard off some pain, + Or give peace to some breast. + +We all might do good + In a thousand small ways-- +In forbearing to flatter, + Yet yielding _due_ praise-- +In spurning ill humour, + Reproving wrong done, +And treating but kindly + Each heart we have won. + +We all might do good, + Whether lowly or great, +For the deed is not gauged + By the purse or estate; +If it be but a cup + Of cold water that's given, +Like "the widow's two mites," + It is something for Heaven. + + + + + + +THE TOWN LOT. + + + + + +ONCE upon a time it happened that the men who governed the municipal +affairs of a certain growing town in the West, resolved, in grave +deliberation assembled, to purchase a five-acre lot at the north end +of the city--recently incorporated--and have it improved for a park +or public square. Now, it also happened, that all the saleable +ground lying north of the city was owned by a man named Smith--a +shrewd, wide-awake individual, whose motto was "Every man for +himself," with an occasional addition about a certain gentleman in +black taking "the hindmost." + +Smith, it may be mentioned, was secretly at the bottom of this +scheme for a public square, and had himself suggested the matter to +an influential member of the council; not that he was moved by what +is denominated public spirit--no; the spring of action in the case +was merely "private spirit," or a regard for his own good. If the +council decided upon a public square, he was the man from whom the +ground would have to be bought; and he was the man who could get his +own price therefor. + +As we have said, the park was decided upon, and a committee of two +appointed whose business it was to see Smith, and arrange with him +for the purchase of a suitable lot of ground. In due form the +committee called upon the landholder, who was fully prepared for the +interview. + +"You are the owner of those lots at the north end?" said the +spokesman of the committee. + +"I am," replied Smith, with becoming gravity. + +"Will you sell a portion of ground, say five acres, to the city?" + +"For what purpose?" Smith knew very well for what purpose the land +was wanted. + +"We have decided to set apart about five acres of ground, and +improve it as a kind of park, or public promenade." + +"Have you, indeed? Well, I like that," said Smith, with animation. +"It shows the right kind of public spirit." + +"We have, moreover, decided that the best location will be at the +north end of the town." + +"Decidedly my own opinion," returned Smith. + +"Will you sell us the required acres?" asked one of the councilmen. + +"That will depend somewhat upon where you wish to locate the park." + +The particular location was named. + +"The very spot," replied Smith, promptly, "upon which I have decided +to erect four rows of dwellings." + +"But it is too far out for that," was naturally objected. + +"O, no; not a rod. The city is rapidly growing in that direction. I +have only to put up the dwellings referred to, and dozens will, be +anxious to purchase lots, and build all around them. Won't the +ground to the left of that you speak of answer as well?" + +But the committee replied in the negative. The lot they had +mentioned was the one decided upon as most suited for the purpose, +and they were not prepared to think of any other location. + +All this Smith understood very well. He was not only willing, but +anxious for the city to purchase the lot they were negotiating for. +All he wanted was to get a good round price for the same--say four +or five times the real value. So he feigned indifference, and threw +difficulties in the way. + +A few years previous to this time, Smith had purchased a +considerable tract of land at the north of the then flourishing +village, at fifty dollars an acre. Its present value was about three +hundred dollars an acre. After a good deal of talk on both sides, +Smith finally agreed to sell the particular lot pitched upon. The +next thing was to arrange as to price. + +"At what do you hold this ground per acre?" + +It was some time before Smith answered this question. His eyes were +cast upon the floor, and earnestly did he enter into debate with +himself as to the value he should place upon the lot. At first he +thought of five hundred dollars per acre. But his cupidity soon +caused him to advance on that sum, although, a month before, he +would have caught at such an offer. Then he advanced to six, to +seven, and to eight hundred. And still he felt undecided. + +"I can get my own price," said he to himself. "The city has to pay, +and I might just as well get a large sum as a small one." + +"For what price will you sell?" The question was repeated. + +"I must have a good price." + +"We are willing to pay what is fair and right." + +"Of course. No doubt you have fixed a limit to which you will go." + +"Not exactly that," said one of the gentlemen. + +"Are you prepared to make an offer?" + +"We are prepared to hear your price, and to make a report thereon," +was replied. + +"That's a very valuable lot of ground," said Smith. + +"Name your price," returned one of the committeemen, a little +impatiently. + +Thus brought up to the point, Smith, after thinking hurriedly for a +few moments, said-- + +"One thousand dollars an acre." + +Both the men shook their heads in a very positive way. Smith said +that it was the lowest he would take; and so the conference ended. + +At the next meeting of the city councils, a report on the town lot +was made, and the extraordinary demand of Smith canvassed. It was +unanimously decided not to make the proposed purchase. + +When this decision reached the landholder, he was considerably +disappointed. He wanted money badly, and would have "jumped at" two +thousand dollars for the five acre lot, if satisfied that it would +bring no more. But when the city came forward as a purchaser, his +cupidity was subjected to a very strong temptation. He believed that +he could get five thousand dollars as easily as two; and quieted his +conscience by the salvo--"An article is always worth what it will +bring." + +A week or two went by, and Smith was about calling upon one of the +members of the council, to say that, if the city really wanted the +lot he would sell at their price, leaving it with the council to act +justly and generously, when a friend said to him, + +"I hear that the council had the subject of a public square under +consideration again this morning." + +"Indeed!" Smith was visibly excited, though he tried to appear calm. + +"Yes; and I also hear that they have decided to pay the extravagant +price you asked for a lot of ground at the north end of the city." + +"A thousand dollars an acre?" + +"Yes." + +"Its real value, and not cent more," said Smith. + +"People differ about that. How ever, you are lucky," the friend +replied. "The city is able to pay." + +"So I think. And I mean they shall pay." + +Before the committee, to whom the matter was given in charge, had +time to call upon Smith, and close with him for the lot, that +gentleman had concluded in his own mind that it would be just as +easy to get twelve hundred dollars an acre as a thousand. It was +plain that the council were bent upon having the ground, and would +pay a round sum for it. It was just the spot for a public square; +and the city must become the owner. So, when he was called upon, by +the gentlemen, and they said to him, + +"We are authorized to pay you your price," he promptly answered, +"The offer is no longer open. You declined it when it was made. My +price for that property is now twelve hundred dollars an acre." + +The men offered remonstrance; but it was of no avail. Smith believed +that he could get six thousand dollars for the ground as easily as +five thousand. The city must have the lot, and would pay almost any +price. + +"I hardly think it right, Mr. Smith," said one of his visiters, "for +you to take such an advantage. This square is for the public good." + +"Let the public pay, then," was the unhesitating answer. "The public +is able enough." + +"The location of this park, at the north end of the city, will +greatly improve the value of your other property." + +This Smith understood very well. But he replied, + +"I am not so sure of that. I have some very strong doubts on the +subject. It's my opinion, that the buildings I contemplated erecting +will be far more to my advantage. Be that as it may, however, I am +decided in selling for nothing less than six thousand dollars." + +"We are only authorized to pay five thousand," replied the +committee. "If you agree to take that sum, will close the bargain on +the spot." + +Five thousand dollars was a large sum of money, and Smith felt +strongly tempted to close in with the liberal offer. But six +thousand loomed up before his imagination still more temptingly. + +"I can get it," said he to himself; "and the property is worth what +it will bring." + +So he positively declined to sell it at a thousand dollars per acre. + +"At twelve hundred you will sell?" remarked one of the committee, as +they were about retiring. + +"Yes. I will take twelve hundred the acre. That is the lowest rate, +and I am not anxious even at that price. I can do quite as well by +keeping it in my own possession. But, as you seem so bent on having +it, I will not stand in your way. When will the council meet again?" + +"Not until next week." + +"Very well. If they then accept my offer, all will be right. But, +understand me; if they do not accept, the offer no longer remains +open. It is a matter of no moment to me which way the thing goes." + +It was a matter of moment to Smith, for all this assertion--a matter +of very great moment. He had several thousand dollars to pay in the +course of the next few months on land purchases, and no way to meet +the payments, except by mortgages, or sales of property; and, it may +naturally be concluded, that he suffered considerable uneasiness +during the time which passed until the next meeting of the council. + +Of course, the grasping disposition shown by Smith, became the town +talk; and people said a good many hard things of him. Little, +however, did he care, so that he secured six thousand dollars for a +lot not worth more than two thousand. + +Among other residents and property holders in the town, was a +simple-minded, true-hearted, honest man, named Jones. His father had +left him a large farm, a goodly portion of which, in process of +time, came to be included in the limits of the new city; and he +found a much more profitable employment in selling building lots +than in tilling the soil. The property of Mr. Jones lay at the west +side of the town. + +Now, when Mr. Jones heard of the exorbitant demand made by Smith for +a five acre lot, his honest heart throbbed with a feeling of +indignation. + +"I couldn't have believed it of him," said he. "Six thousand +dollars! Preposterous! Why, I would give the city a lot of twice the +size, and do it with pleasure." + +"You would?" said a member of the council, who happened to hear this +remark. + +"Certainly I would." + +"You are really in earnest?" + +"Undoubtedly. Go and select a public square from any of my +unappropriated land on the west side of the city, and I will pass +you the title as a free gift to-morrow, and feel pleasure in doing +so." + +"That is public spirit," said the councilman. + +"Call it what you will. I am pleased in making the offer." + +Now, let it not be supposed that Mr. Jones was shrewdly calculating +the advantage which would result to him from having a park at the +west side of the city. No such thought had yet entered his mind. He +spoke from the impulse of a generous feeling. + +Time passed on, and the session day of the council came round--a day +to which Smith had looked forward with no ordinary feelings of +interest, that were touched at times by the coldness of doubt, and +the agitation of uncertainty. Several times he had more than half +repented of his refusal to accept the liberal offer of five thousand +dollars, and of having fixed so positively upon six thousand as the +"lowest figure." + +The morning of the day passed, and Smith began to grow uneasy. He +did not venture to seek for information as to the doings of the +council, for that would be to expose the anxiety he felt in the +result of their deliberations. Slowly the afternoon wore away, and +it so happened that Smith did not meet any one of the councilmen; +nor did he even know whether the council was still in session or +not. As to making allusion to the subject of his anxious interest to +any one, that was carefully avoided; for he knew that his exorbitant +demand was the town talk--and he wished to affect the most perfect +indifference on the subject. + +The day closed, and not a whisper about the town lot had come to the +ears of Mr. Smith. What could it mean? Had his offer to sell at six +thousand been rejected? The very thought caused his heart to grow +heavy in his bosom. Six, seven, eight o'clock came, and still it was +all dark with Mr. Smith. He could bear the suspense no longer, and +so determined to call upon his neighbour Wilson, who was a member of +the council, and learn from him what had been done. + +So he called on Mr. Wilson. + +"Ah, friend Smith," said the latter; "how are you this evening?" + +"Well, I thank you," returned Smith, feeling a certain oppression of +the chest. "How are you?" + +"Oh, very well." + +Here there was a pause. After which Smith said, "About that ground +of mine. What did you do?" + +"Nothing," replied Wilson, coldly. + +"Nothing, did you say?" Smith's voice was a little husky. + +"No. You declined our offer; or, rather, the high price fixed by +yourself upon the land." + +"You refused to buy it at five thousand, when it was offered," said +Smith. + +"I know we did, because your demand was exorbitant." + +"Oh, no, not at all," returned Smith quickly. + +"In that we only differ," said Wilson. "However, the council has +decided not to pay you the price you ask." + +"Unanimously?" + +"There was not a dissenting voice." + +Smith began to feel more and more uncomfortable. + +"I might take something less," he ventured to say, in a low, +hesitating voice. + +"It is too late now," was Mr. Wilson's prompt reply. + +"Too late! How so?" + +"We have procured a lot." + +"Mr. Wilson!" Poor Smith started to his feet in chagrin and +astonishment. + +"Yes; we have taken one of Jones's lots on the west side of the +city. A beautiful ten acre lot." + +"You have!" Smith was actually pale. + +"We have; and the title deeds are now being made out." + +It was some time before Smith had sufficiently recovered from the +stunning effect of this unlooked-for intelligence, to make the +inquiry, + +"And pray how much did Jones ask for his ten acre lot." + +"He presented it to the city as a gift," replied the councilman. + +"A gift! What folly!" + +"No, not folly--but true worldly wisdom; though I believe Jones did +not think of advantage to himself when he generously made the offer. +He is worth twenty thousand dollars more to-day than he was +yesterday, in the simple advanced value of his land for building +lots. And I know of no man in this town whose good fortune affects +me with more pleasure." + +Smith stole back to his home with a mountain of disappointment on +his heart. In his cupidity he had entirely overreached himself, and +he saw that the consequences were to react upon all his future +prosperity. The public square at the west end of the town would draw +improvements in that direction, all the while increasing the wealth +of Mr. Jones, while lots at the north end would remain at present +prices, or, it might be, take a downward range. + +And so it proved. In ten years, Jones was the richest man in the +town, while half of Smith's property had been sold for taxes. The +five acre lot passed from his hands, under the hammer, in the +foreclosure of a mortgage, for one thousand dollars! + +Thus it is that inordinate selfishness and cupidity overreach +themselves; while the liberal man deviseth liberal things, and is +sustained thereby. + + + + + + +THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP. + + + + + +A SUNBEAM and a raindrop met together in the sky +One afternoon in sunny June, when earth was parched and dry; +Each quarrelled for the precedence ('twas so the story ran), +And the golden sunbeam, warmly, the quarrel thus began:-- + +"What were the earth without me? I come with beauty bright, +She smiles to hail my presence, and rejoices in my light; +I deck the hill and valley with many a lovely hue, +I give the rose its blushes, and the violet its blue. + +"I steal within the window, and through the cottage door, +And my presence like a blessing gilds with smiles the broad earth o'er; +The brooks and streams flow dancing and sparkling in my ray, +And the merry, happy children in the golden sunshine play." + +Then the tearful raindrop answered--"Give praise where praise is due, +The earth indeed were lonely without a smile from you; +But without my visits, also, its beauty would decay, +The flowers droop and wither, and the streamlets dry away. + +"I give the flowers their freshness, and you their colours gay, +My jewels would not sparkle, without your sunny ray. +Since each upon the other so closely must depend, +Let us seek the earth together, and our common blessings blend." + +The raindrops, and the sunbeams, came laughing down to earth, +And it woke once more to beauty, and to myriad tones of mirth; +The river and the streamlet went dancing on their way, +And the raindrops brightly sparkled in the sunbeam's golden ray. + +The drooping flowers looked brighter, there was fragrance in the air, +The earth seemed new created, there was gladness everywhere; +And above the dark clouds, gleaming on the clear blue arch of Heaven, +The Rainbow, in its beauty, like a smile of love was given. + +'Twas a sweet and simple lesson, which the story told, I thought, +Not alone and single-handed our kindliest deeds are wrought; +Like the sunbeam and the raindrop, work together, while we may, +And the bow of Heaven's own promise shall smile upon our way. + + + + + + +A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS. + + + + + +STRANGE and subtle are the influences which affect the spirit and +touch the heart. Are there bodiless creatures around us, moulding +our thoughts into darkness or brightness, as they will? Whence, +otherwise, come the shadow and the sunshine, for which we can +discern no mortal agency? + +Oftener, As we grow older, come the shadows; less frequently the, +sunshine. Ere I took up my pen, I was sitting with a pleasant +company of friends, listening to music, and speaking, with the rest, +light words. + +Suddenly, I knew not why, my heart was wrapt away in an atmosphere +of sorrow. A sense of weakness and unworthiness weighed me down, and +I felt the moisture gather to my eyes and my lips tremble, though +they kept the smile. + +All my past life rose up before me, and all my short-comings--all, +my mistakes, and all my wilful wickedness, seemed pleading +trumpet-tongued against me. + +I saw her before me whose feet trod with mine the green holts and +meadows, when the childish thought strayed not beyond the near or +the possible. I saw her through the long blue distances, clothed in +the white beauty of an angel; but, alas! she drew her golden hair +across her face to veil from her vision the sin-darkened creature +whose eyes dropped heavily to the hem of her robe! + +O pure and beautiful one, taken to peace ere the weak temptation had +lifted itself up beyond thy stature, and compelled thee to listen, +to oppose thy weakness to its strength, and to fall--sometimes, at +least, let thy face shine on me from between the clouds. Fresh from +the springs of Paradise, shake from thy wings the dew against my +forehead. We two were coming up together through the sweet land of +poesy and dreams, where the senses believe what the heart hopes; our +hands were full of green boughs, and our laps of cowslips and +violets, white and purple. We were talking of that more beautiful +world into which childhood was opening out, when that spectre met +us, feared and dreaded alike by the strong man and the little child, +and one was taken, and the other left. + +One was caught away sinless to the bosom of the Good Shepherd, and +one was left to weep pitiless tears, to eat the bread of toil, and +to think the bitter thoughts of misery,--left "to clasp a phantom +and to find it air." For often has the adversary pressed me sore, +and out of my arms has slid ever that which my soul pronounced good: +slid out of my arms and coiled about my feet like a serpent, +dragging me back and holding me down from all that is high and +great. + +Pity me, dear one, if thy sweet sympathies can come out of the +glory, if the lovelight of thy beautiful life can press through the +cloud and the evil, and fold me again as a garment; pity and plead +for me with the maiden mother whose arms in human sorrow and human +love cradled our blessed Redeemer. + +She hath known our mortal pain and passion--our more than mortal +triumph--she hath heard the "blessed art thou among women." My +unavailing prayers goldenly syllabled by her whose name sounds from +the manger through all the world, may find acceptance with Him who, +though our sins be as scarlet, can wash them white as wool. + +Our hearts grew together as one, and along the headlands and the +valleys one shadow went before us, and one shadow followed us, till +the grave gaped hungry and terrible, and I was alone. Faltering in +fear, but lingering in love, I knelt by the deathbed--it was the +middle night, and the first moans of the autumn came down from the +hills, for the frost specks glinted on her golden robes, and the +wind blew chill in her bosom. Heaven was full of stars, and the +half-moon scattered abroad her beauty like a silver rain. Many have +been the middle nights since then, for years lie between me and that +fearfulest of all watches; but a shadow, a sound, or a thought, +turns the key of the dim chamber, and the scene is reproduced. + +I see the long locks on the pillow, the smile on the ashen lips, the +thin, cold fingers faintly pressing my own, and hear the broken +voice saying, "I am going now. I am not afraid. Why weep ye? Though +I were to live the full time allotted to man, I should not be more +ready, nor more willing than now." But over this there comes a +shudder and a groan that all the mirthfulness of the careless was +impotent to drown. + +Three days previous to the death-night, three days previous to the +transit of the soul from the clayey tabernacle to the house not; +made with hands--from dishonour to glory--let me turn theme over as +so many leaves. + +The first of the November mornings, but the summer had tarried late, +and the wood to the south of our homestead lifted itself like a +painted wall against the sky--the squirrel was leaping nimbly and +chattering gayly among the fiery tops of the oaks or the dun foliage +of the hickory, that shot up its shelving trunk and spread its +forked branches far over the smooth, moss-spotted boles of the +beeches, and the limber boughs of the elms. Lithe and blithe he was, +for his harvest was come. + +From the cracked beech-burs was dropping the sweet, angular fruit, +and down from the hickory boughs with every gust fell a shower of +nuts--shelling clean and silvery from their thick black hulls. + +Now and then, across the stubble-field, with long cars erect, leaped +the gray hare, but for the most part he kept close in his burrow, +for rude huntsmen were on the hills with their dogs, and only when +the sharp report of a rifle rung through the forest, or the hungry +yelping of some trailing hound startled his harmless slumber, might +you see at the mouth of his burrow the quivering lip and great timid +eyes. + +Along the margin of the creek, shrunken now away from the blue and +gray and yellowish stones that made its cool pavement, and projected +in thick layers from the shelving banks, the white columns of +gigantic sycamores leaped earthward, their bases driven, as it +seemed, deep into the ground--all their convolutions of roots buried +out, of view. Dropping into the stagnant waters below, came one by +one the broad, rose-tinted leaves, breaking the shadows of the +silver limbs. + +Ruffling and widening to the edges of the pools went the circles, as +the pale, yellow walnuts plashed into their midst; for here, too, +grew the parent trees, their black bark cut and jagged and broken +into rough diamond work. + +That beautiful season was come when + +"Rustic girls in hoods +Go gleaning through the woods." + +Two days after this, we said, my dear mate and I, we shall have a +holiday, and from sunrise till sunset, with our laps full of ripe +nuts and orchard fruits, we shall make pleasant pastime. + +Rosalie, for so I may call her, was older than I, with a face of +beauty and a spirit that never flagged. But to-day there was +heaviness in her eyes, and a flushing in her cheek that was deeper +than had been there before. + +Still she spoke gayly, and smiled the old smile, for the gaunt form +of sickness had never been among us children, and we knew not how +his touch made the head sick and the heart faint. + +The day looked forward to so anxiously dawned at last; but in the +dim chamber of Rosalie the light fell sad. I must go alone. + +We had always been together before, at work and in play, asleep and +awake, and I lingered long ere I would be persuaded to leave her; +but when she smiled and said the fresh-gathered nuts and shining +apples would make her glad, I wiped her forehead, and turning +quickly away that she might not see my tears, was speedily wading +through winrows of dead leaves. + +The sensations of that day I shall never forget; a vague and +trembling fear of some coming evil, I knew not what, made me often +start as the shadows drifted past me, or a bough crackled beneath my +feet. + +From the low, shrubby hawthorns, I gathered the small red apples, +and from beneath the maples, picked by their slim golden stems the +notched and gorgeous leaves. The wind fingered playfully my hair, +and clouds of birds went whirring through the tree-tops; but no +sight nor sound could divide my thoughts from her whose voice had so +often filled with music these solitary places. + +I remember when first the fear distinctly defined itself. I was +seated on a mossy log, counting the treasures which I had been +gathering, when the clatter of hoof-strokes on the clayey and +hard-beaten road arrested my attention, and, looking up--for the +wood thinned off in the direction of the highway, and left it +distinctly in view--I saw Doctor H----, the physician, in attendance +upon my sick companion. The visit was an unseasonable one. She, whom +I loved so, might never come with me to the woods any more. + +Where the hill sloped to the roadside, and the trees, as I said, +were but few, was the village graveyard. No friend of mine, no one +whom I had ever known or loved, was buried there--yet with a child's +instinctive dread of death, I had ever passed its shaggy solitude +(for shrubs and trees grew there wild and unattended) with a hurried +step and averted face. + +Now, for the first time in my life, I walked voluntarily +thitherward, and climbing on a log by the fence-side, gazed long and +earnestly within. I stood beneath a tall locust-tree, and the small, +round leaves; yellow now as the long cloud-bar across the sunset, +kept dropping, and dropping at my feet, till all the faded grass was +covered up. There the mattock had never been struck; but in fancy I +saw the small Heaves falling and drifting about a new and +smooth-shaped mound--and, choking with the turbulent outcry in my +heart, I glided stealthily homeward--alas! to find the boding shape +I had seen through mists and, shadows awfully palpable. I did not +ask about Rosalie. I was afraid; but with my rural gleanings in my +lap, opened the door of her chamber. The physician had preceded me +but a moment, and, standing by the bedside, was turning toward the +lessening light the little wasted hand, the one on which I had +noticed in the morning a small purple spot. "Mortification!" he +said, abruptly, and moved away, as though his work were done. + +There was a groan expressive of the sudden and terrible +consciousness which had in it the agony of agonies--the giving up of +all. The gift I had brought fell from my relaxed grasp, and, hiding +my face in the pillow, I gave way to the passionate sorrow of an +undisciplined nature. + +When at last I looked up, there was a smile on her lips that no +faintest moan ever displaced again. + +A good man and a skilful physician was Dr. H----, but his infirmity +was a love of strong drink; and, therefore, was it that he softened +not the terrible blow which must soon have fallen. I link with his +memory no reproaches now, for all this is away down in the past; and +that foe that sooner or later biteth like a serpent, soon did his +work; but then my breaking heart judged him, hardly. Often yet, for +in all that is saddest memory is faithfulest, I wake suddenly out of +sleep, and live over that first and bitterest sorrow of my life; and +there is no house of gladness in the world that with a whisper will +not echo the moan of lips pale with the kisses of death. + +Sometimes, when life is gayest about me, an unseen hand leads me +apart, and opening the door of that still chambers I go in--the +yellow leaves are at my feet again, and that white band between me +and the light. + +I see the blue flames quivering and curling close and the +smouldering embers on the hearth. I hear soft footsteps and sobbing +voices and see the clasped hands and placid smile of her who, alone +among us all, was untroubled; and over the darkness and the pain I +hear voice, saying, "She is not dead, but sleepeth." Would, dear +reader, that you might remember, and I too all ways, the importance +of soft and careful words. One harsh or even thoughtlessly chosen +epithet, may bear with it a weight which shall weigh down some heart +through all life. There are for us all nights of sorrow, in which we +feel their value. Help us, our Father, to remember it! + + + + + + +MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATION. + + + + + +"HE is a good man, suppose, and an excellent doctor," said Mrs. +Salina Simmons, with a dubious shake of her head but----" + +"But what, Mrs. Simmons?" + +"They say he _drinks!_" + +"No, impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Josiah Query, with emphasis. + +"Impossible? I hope so," said Mrs. Simmons. "And--mind you, I don't +say he _drinks_, but that such is the report. And I have it upon +tolerably good authority, too, Mr. Query." + +"What authority?" + +"Oh, I couldn't tell that: for you know I never like to make +mischief. I can only say that the _report_ is--he drinks." + +Mr. Josiah Query scratched his head. + +"Can it be that Dr. Harvey drinks?" he murmured. "I thought him pure +Son of Temperance. And his my family physician, too! I must look +into this matter forthwith. Mrs. Simmons, you still decline slating +who is your authority for this report?" + +Mrs. Simmons was firm; her companion could gain no satisfaction. She +soon compelled him to promise that he would not mention her name, if +he spoke of the affair elsewhere, repeating her remark that she +never liked to make mischief. + +Dr. Harvey was a physician residing in a small village, where he +shared the profits of practice with another doctor, named Jones. Dr. +Harvey was generally liked and among his friends was Mr. Josiah +Query, whom Mrs. Simmons shocked with the bit of gossip respecting +the doctor's habits of intemperance. Mr. Query was a good-hearted +man, and he deemed it his duty to inquire into the nature of the +report, and learn if it had any foundation in truth. Accordingly, be +went to Mr. Green, who also employed the doctor in his family. + +"Mr. Green," said he, "have you heard anything about this report of +Dr. Harvey's intemperance?" + +"Dr. Harvey's intemperance?" cried Mr. Green, astonished. + +"Yes--a flying report." + +"No, I'm sure I haven't." + +"Of course, then, you don't know whether it is true or not?" + +"What?" + +"That he drinks." + +"I never heard of it before. Dr. Harvey is my family physician, and +I certainly would not employ a man addicted to the use of ardent +spirits." + +"Nor I," said Mr. Query "and for this reason, and for the doctor's +sake, too, I want to know the truth of the matter. I don't really +credit it myself; but I thought it would do no harm to inquire." + +Mr. Query next applied to Squire Worthy for information. + +"Dear me!" exclaimed the squire, who was a nervous man; "does Dr. +Harvey drink?" + +"Such is the rumour; how true it is, I can't say." + +"And what if he should give one of my family a dose of arsenic +instead of the tincture of rhubarb, some time, when he is +intoxicated? My mind is made up now. I shall send for Dr. Jones in +future." + +"But, dear sir," remonstrated Mr. Query. "I don't say the report is +true." + +"Oh, no; you wouldn't wish to commit yourself. You like to know the +safe side, and so do I. I shall employ Dr. Jones." + +Mr. Query turned sorrowfully away. + +"Squire Worthy must have bad suspicions of the doctor's intemperance +before I came to him," thought he; "I really begin to fear that +there is some foundation for the report. I'll go to Mrs. Mason; she +will know." + +Mr. Query found Mrs. Mason ready to listen to and believe any +scandal. She gave her head a significant toss, as if she knew more +about the report than she chose to confess. + +Mr. Query begged of her to explain herself. + +"Oh, _I_ sha'n't say anything," exclaimed Mrs. Mason; "I've no ill +will against Dr. Harvey, and I'd rather cut off my right hand than +injure him." + +"But is the report true?" + +"True, Mr. Query? Do you suppose _I_ ever saw Dr. Harvey drunk? Then +how can you expect me to know? Oh, I don't wish to say anything +against the man, and I won't." + +After visiting Mrs. Mason, Mr. Query went to half a dozen others to +learn the truth respecting Dr. Harvey's habits. Nobody would confess +that they knew anything, about his drinking; but Mr. Smith "was not +as much surprised as others might be;" Mr. Brown "was sorry if the +report was true," adding, that the best of men had their faults. +Miss Single had frequently remarked the doctor's florid complexion, +and wondered if his colour was natural; Mr. Clark remembered that +the doctor appeared unusually gay, on the occasion of his last visit +to his family; Mrs. Rogers declared that, when she came to reflect, +she believed she had once or twice smelt the man's breath; and Mr. +Impulse had often seen him riding at an extraordinary rate for a +sober Gentleman. Still Mr. Query was unable to ascertain any +definite facts respecting the unfavourable report. + +Meanwhile, with his usual industry, Dr. Harvey went about his +business, little suspecting the scandalous gossip that was +circulating to his discredit. But he soon perceived he was very +coldly received by some of his old friends, and that others employed +Dr. Jones. Nobody sent for him, and he might have begun to think +that the health of the town was entirely re-established, had he not +observed that his rival appeared driven with business, and that he +rode night and day. + +One evening Dr. Harvey sat in his office, wondering what could have +occasioned the sudden and surprising change in his affairs, when, +contrary to his expectations, he received a call to visit a sick +child of one of his old friends, who had lately employed his rival. +After some hesitation, and a struggle between pride and a sense of +duty, he resolved to respond to the call, and at the same time +learn, if possible, why he had been preferred to Dr. Jones, and why +Dr. Jones had on other occasions been preferred to him. + +"The truth is, Dr. Harvey," said Mr. Miles, "we thought the child +dangerously ill, and as Dr. Jones could not come immediately, we +concluded to send for you." + +"I admire your frankness," responded Dr. Harvey, smiling; "and shall +admire it still more, if you will inform me why you have lately +preferred Dr. Jones to me. Formerly I had the honour of enjoying +your friendship and esteem, and you have frequently told me +yourself, that you would trust no other physician." + +"Well," replied Mr. Miles, "I am a plain man, and never hesitate to +tell people what they wish to know. I sent for Dr. Jones instead of +you, I confess not that I doubted your skill--" + +"What then?" + +"It is a delicate subject, but I will, nevertheless, speak out. +Although I had the utmost confidence in your skill and +faithfulness--I--you know, I--in short, I don't like to trust a +physician who drinks." + +"Sir!" cried the astonished doctor. + +"Yes--drinks," pursued Mr. Miles. "It is plain language, but I am a +plain man. I heard of your intemperance, and thought it unsafe--that +is, dangerous--to employ you." + +"My intemperance!" ejaculated Dr. Harvey. + +"Yes, sir! and I am sorry to know it. But the fact that you +sometimes drink a trifle too much is now a well known fact, and is +generally talked of in the village." + +"Mr. Miles," cried the indignant doctor, "this is scandalous--it is +false! Who is your authority for this report?" + +"Oh, I have heard it from several mouths but I can't say exactly who +is responsible for the rumour." + +And Mr. Miles went on to mention several names, as connected with +the rumour, and among which was that of Mr. Query. + +The indignant doctor immediately set out on a pilgrimage of +investigation, going from one house to another, in search of the +author of the scandal. + +Nobody, however, could state where it originated, but it was +universally admitted that the man from whose lips it was first +heard, was Mr. Query. + +Accordingly Dr. Harvey hastened to Mr. Query's house, and demanded +of that gentleman what he meant by circulating such scandal. + +"My dear doctor," cried Mr. Query, his face beaming with conscious +innocence, "_I_ haven't been guilty of any mis-statement about you, +I can take my oath. I heard that there was a report of your +drinking, and all I did was to tell people I didn't believe it, nor +know anything about it, and to inquire were it originated. Oh, I +assure you, doctor, I haven't slandered you in any manner." + +"You are a poor fool!" exclaimed Dr. Harvey, perplexed and angry. +"If you had gone about town telling everybody that you saw me drunk, +daily, you couldn't have slandered me more effectually than you +have." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried Mr. Query, very sad; "but I thought I +was doing you a service!" + +"Save me from my friends!" exclaimed the doctor, bitterly. "An +_enemy_ could not have done me as much injury as you have done. But +I now insist on knowing who first mentioned the report to you." + +"Oh, I am not at liberty to say that." + +"Then I shall hold you responsible for the scandal--for the base +lies you have circulated. But if you are really an honest man, and +my friend, you will not hesitate to tell me where this report +originated." + +After some reflection, Mr. Query, who stood in mortal fear of the +indignant doctor, resolved to reveal the secret, and mentioned the +name of his informant, Mrs. Simmons. As Dr. Harvey had not heard her +spoken of before, as connected with the report of his intemperance, +he knew very well that Mr. Query's "friendly investigations" had +been the sole cause of his loss of practice. However, to go to the +roots of this Upas tree of scandal, he resolved to pay an immediate +visit to Mrs. Simmons. + +This lady could deny nothing; but she declared that she had not +given the rumour as a fact, and that she had never spoken of it +except to Mr. Query. Anxious to throw the responsibility of the +slander upon others, she eagerly confessed that, on a certain +occasion upon entering a room in which were Mrs. Guild and Mrs. +Harmless, she overheard one of these ladies remark that "Dr. Harvey +drank more than ever," and the other reply, that "she had heard him +say he could not break himself, although he knew his health suffered +in consequence." + +Thus set upon the right track, Dr. Harvey visited Mrs. Guild and +Mrs. Harmless without delay. + +"Mercy on us!" exclaimed those ladies, when questioned respecting +the matter, "we perfectly remember talking about your _drinking +coffee_, and making such remarks as you have heard through Mrs. +Simmons. But with regard to your _drinking liquor_, we never heard +the report until a week ago, and never believed it at all." + +As what these ladies had said of his _coffee-drinking_ propensities +was perfectly true, Dr. Harvey readily acquitted them of any designs +against his character for sobriety, and well satisfied with having +at last discovered the origin of the rumour, returned to the +friendly Mr. Query. + +The humiliation of this gentleman was so deep, that Dr. Harvey +avoided reproaches, and confined himself to a simple narrative of +his discoveries. + +"I see, it is all my fault," said Mr. Query. "And I will do anything +to remedy it. I never could believe you drank--and now I'll go and +tell everybody that the report _was_ false." + +"Oh! bless you," cried the doctor, "I wouldn't have you do so for +the world. All I ask of you, is to say nothing whatever on the +subject, and if you ever again hear a report of the kind, don't make +it a subject of friendly investigation." + +Mr. Query promised; and, after the truth was known, and, Dr. Harvey +had regained the good-will of the community, together with his share +of medical practice, he never had reason again to exclaim--"Save me +from my friends!" And Mr. Query was in future exceedingly careful +how he attempted to make friendly investigations. + + + + + + +ROOM IN THE WORLD. + + + + + +THERE is room in the world for the wealthy and great, +For princes to reign in magnificent state; +For the courtier to bend, for the noble to sue, +If the hearts of all these are but honest and true. + +And there's room in the world for the lowly and meek, +For the hard horny hand, and the toil-furrow'd cheek; +For the scholar to think, for the merchant to trade, +So these are found upright and just in their grade. + +But room there is none for the wicked; and nought +For the souls that with teeming corruption are fraught. +The world would be small, were its oceans all land, +To harbour and feed such a pestilent band. + +Root out from among ye, by teaching the mind, +By training the heart, this chief curse of mankind! +'Tis a duty you owe to the forthcoming race-- +Confess it in time, and discharge it with grace! + + + + + + +WORDS. + + + + + +"THE foolish thing!" said my Aunt Rachel, speaking warmly, "to get +hurt at a mere word. It's a little hard that people can't open their +lips but somebody is offended." + +"Words are things!" said I, smiling. + +"Very light things! A person must be tender indeed, that is hurt by +a word." + +"The very lightest thing may hurt, if it falls on a tender place." + +"I don't like people who have these tender places," said Aunt +Rachel. "I never get hurt at what is said to me. No--never! To be +ever picking and mincing, and chopping off your words--to be afraid +to say this or that--for fear somebody will be offended! I can't +abide it." + +"People who have these tender places can't help it, I suppose. This +being so, ought we not to regard their weakness?" said I. "Pain, +either of body or mind, is hard to bear, and we should not inflict +it causelessly." + +"People who are so wonderfully sensitive," replied Aunt Rachel, +growing warmer, "ought to shut themselves up at home, and not come +among sensible, good-tempered persons. As far as I am concerned, I +can tell them, one and all, that I am not going to pick out every +hard word from a sentence as carefully as I would seeds from a +raisin. Let them crack them with their teeth, if they are afraid to +swallow them whole." + +Now, for all that Aunt Rachel went on after this strain, she was a +kind, good soul, in the main, and, I could see, was sorry for having +hurt the feelings of Mary Lane. But she didn't like to acknowledge +that she was in the wrong; that would detract too much from the +self-complacency with which she regarded herself. Knowing her +character very well, I thought it best not to continue the little +argument about the importance of words, and so changed the subject. +But, every now and then, Aunt Rachel would return to it, each time +softening a little towards Mary. At last she said, + +"I'm sure it was a little thing. A very little thing. She might have +known that nothing unkind was intended on my part." + +"There are some subjects, aunt," I replied, "to which we cannot bear +the slightest allusion. And a sudden reference to them is very apt +to throw us off of our guard. What you said to Mary has, in all +probability touched some weakness of character, or probed some wound +that time has not been able to heal. I have always thought her a +sensible, good-natured girl." + +"And so have I. But I really cannot think that she has showed her +good sense or good nature in the present case. It is a very bad +failing this, of being over sensitive; and exceedingly annoying to +one's friends." + +"It is, I know; but still, all of, us have a weak point, and to her +that is assailed, we are very apt to betray our feelings." + +"Well, I say now, as I have always said--I don't like to have +anything to do with people who have these weak points. This being +hurt by a word, as if words were blows, is something that does not +come within the range of my sympathies." + +"And yet, aunt," said I, "all have weak points. Even you are not +entirely free from them." + +"Me!" Aunt Rachel bridled. + +"Yes; and if even as light a thing as a word were to fall upon them, +you would suffer pain." + +"Pray, sir," said Aunt Rachel, with much dignity of manner; she was +chafed by my words, light as they were, "inform me where these +weaknesses, of which you are pleased to speak, lie." + +"Oh, no; you must excuse me. That would be very much out of place. +But I only stated a general fact that appertains to all of us." + +Aunt Rachel looked very grave. I had laid the weight of words upon a +weakness of her character, and it had given her pain. That weakness +was a peculiarly good opinion of herself. I had made no allegation +against her; and there was none in my mind. My words simply +expressed the general truth that we all have weaknesses, and +included her in their application. But she imagined that I referred +to some particular defect or fault, and mail-proof as she was +against words, they had wounded her. + +For a day or two Aunt Rachel remained more sober than was her wont. +I knew the cause, but did not attempt to remove from her mind any +impression my words had made. One day, about a week after, I said to +her, + +"Aunt Rachel, I saw Mary Lane's mother this morning." + +"Ah?" The old lady looked up at me inquiringly. + +"I don't wonder your words hurt the poor girl," I added. + +"Why? What did I say?" quickly asked Aunt Rachel. + +"You said that she was a jilt." + +"But I was only jest, and she knew it. I did not really mean +anything. I'm surprised that Mary should be so foolish." + +"You will not be surprised when you know all," was my answer. + +"All? What all? I'm sure I wasn't in earnest. I didn't mean to hurt +the poor girl's feelings." My aunt looked very much troubled. + +"No one blames you, Aunt Rachel," said I. "Mary knows you didn't +intend wounding her." + +"But why should she take a little word go much to heart? It must +have had more truth in it than I supposed." + +"Did you know that Mary refused an offer of marriage from Walter +Green last week?" + +"Why no! It can't be possible! Refused Walter Green?" + +"They've been intimate for a long time." + +"I know." + +"She certainly encouraged him." + +"I think it more than probable." + +"Is it possible, then, that she did really jilt the young man?" +exclaimed Aunt Rachel. + +"This has been said of her," I replied. "But so far as I can learn, +she was really attached to him, and sufferred great pain in +rejecting his offer. Wisely she regarded marriage as the most +important event of her life, and refused to make so solemn a +contract with one in whose principles she had not the fullest +confidence." + +"But she ought not to have encouraged Walter, if she did not intend +marrying him," said Aunt Rachel, with some warmth. + +"She encouraged him so long as she thought well of him. A closer +view revealed points of character hidden by distance. When she saw +these her feelings were already deeply involved. But, like a true +woman, she turned from the proffered hand, even though while in +doing so her heart palpitated with pain. There is nothing false +about Mary Lane. She could no more trifle with a lover than she +could commit a crime. Think, then, how almost impossible it would be +for her to hear herself called, under existing circumstances, even +in sport, a jilt, without being hurt. Words sometimes have power to +hurt more than blows. Do you not see this, now, Aunt Rachel?" + +"Oh, yes, yes. I see it; and I saw it before," said the old lady. +"And in future I will be more careful of my words. It is pretty late +in life to learn this lesson--but we are never too late to learn. +Poor Mary! It grieves me to think that I should have hurt her so +much." + +Yes, words often have in them a smarting force, and we cannot be too +guarded how we use them. "Think twice before you speak once," is a +trite but wise saying. We teach it to our children very carefully, +but are too apt to forget that it has not lost its application to +ourselves. + + + + + + +THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + + + + + +"AN object of real charity," said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor +woman withdrew from the room in which they were seated. + +"If ever there was a worthy object she is one, returned Mrs. Lyon. +"A widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too +much for her; yet obliged to support, with the labour of her own +hands, not only herself, but three young children. I do not wonder +that she is behind with her rent." + +"Nor I," said Mr. Lyon, in a voice of sympathy. "How much, did she +say, was due to her landlord?" + +"Ten dollars." + +"She will not be able to pay it." + +"I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have +obtained work for her from several ladies; but with her best efforts +she can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself and +babes." + +"Does it not seem hard," remarked Mr. Lyon, "that one like Mrs. +Arnold, who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and +family, should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many +who could help her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it +so hard to make both ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent +for her, and feel happy in so doing." + +"Ah!" exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, "how much I wish that we were +able to do this! But we are not." + +"I'll tell you what we can do," said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful voice; +"or rather what _I_ can do. It will be a very light matter for say +ten persons to give a dollar apiece, in order to relieve Mrs. Arnold +from her present trouble. There are plenty who would cheerfully +contribute, for this good purpose; all that is wanted is some one to +take upon himself the business of making the collections. That task +shall be mine." + +"How glad I am, James, to hear you say so!" smilingly replied Mrs. +Lyon. "Oh, what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will +make her heart as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her +sadly. Old Links, her landlord, has been worrying her about it a +good deal, and, only a week ago, threatened to put her things in the +street, if she didn't pay up." + +"I should have thought of this before," remarked Andrew Lyon. "There +are hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were +only certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in +every way. Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent +consideration. Let me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and +Green, and Tompkins. I can get a dollar from each of them. That will +be three dollars,--and one from myself, will make four. Who else is +there? Oh, Malcolm! I'm sure of a dollar from him; and also from +Smith, Todd, and Perry." + +Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started +forth, early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by +subscription, the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on +was Malcolm. + +"Ah, friend Lyon!" said Malcolm, smiling blandly, "Good morning! +What can I do for you, to-day?" + +"Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with +her rent," replied Andrew Lyon. "I want just one dollar from you, +and as much more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself." + +At the word poor widow the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when his +visiter ceased, he replied, in a changed and husky voice, clearing +his throat two or three times as he spoke. + +"Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?" The man's manner had +become exceedingly grave. + +"None more so," was the prompt answer. "She is in poor health, and +has three children to support with the product of her needle. If any +one needs assistance, it is Mrs. Arnold." + +"Oh! Ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold?" + +"The same," replied Andrew Lyon. + +Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm +benevolence. But he turned slowly away, and opening his +money-drawer, _very slowly_ toyed with his fingers amid its +contents. At length he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he +presented it to Lyon,--signing involuntarily as he did so,-- + +"I suppose I must do my part. But we are called upon so often." + +The ardour of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at +this unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the +glow of a pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment +his errand was made known. + +"I thank you in the widow's name," said he, as he took the dollar. +When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on +his feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favour for +himself. + +It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call +upon Mr. Green, considered the "next best man" on his list. But he +entered his place of business with far less confidence than he had +felt when calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green, without a +word or smile, drew two half dollars from his pocket and presented +them. + +"Thank you," said Lyon. + +"Welcome," returned Green. + +Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few +moments. Then bowing, he said, + +"Good morning." + +"Good morning," was coldly and formally responded. + +And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted. + +"Better be at his shop, attending to his work," muttered Green to +himself, as his visiter retired. "Men ain't very apt to get along +too well in the world who spend their time in begging for every +object of charity that happens to turn up. And there are plenty of +such, dear knows. He's got a dollar out of me; may it do him, or the +poor widow he talked so glibly about, much good." + +Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had +raised two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for +one so sensitive as himself! Instead of keeping on in his work of +benevolence, he went to his shop, and entered upon the day's +employment. How disappointed he felt;--and this disappointment was +mingled with a certain sense of humiliation, as if he had been +asking alms for himself. + +"Catch me at this work again!" he said half aloud, as his thoughts +dwelt upon what had so recently occurred. "But this is not right," +he added, quickly. "It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs. +Arnold must be relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets +relief. I had no thought of a reception like this. People can talk +of benevolence; but putting the hand in the pocket is another affair +altogether. I never dreamed that such men as Malcolm and Green could +be insensible to an appeal like the one I made." + +"I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent," he said to +himself, in a more cheerful tone, some time afterwards; "and it will +go hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like +Green and Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly +respond to the call of humanity. I'll go and see him." + +So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual. + +"I've come begging, Mr. Jones," said he, on meeting him. And he +spoke in a frank, pleasant manner, + +"Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say," was +the blunt answer. + +"Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story first." + +"I do say it, and I'm in earnest," returned Jones. "I feel as poor +as Job's turkey to-day." + +"I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent," said Lyon. + +"Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get +nothing here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time +I'd have in handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help +pay her rent! No, no, my friend, you can't get anything here." + +"Just as you feel about it," said Andrew Lyon. "There's no +compulsion in the matter." + +"No, I presume not," was rather coldly replied. + +Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He +had undertaken a thankless office. + +Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the +good work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to +another effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbour Tompkins, to +whom he made known his errand. + +"Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this," said +Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. "But +there are so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough +led to hold on pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I +feel sorry for her. How much do you want?" + +"I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar +each." + +"Well, here's my dollar." And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as +he handed over his contribution,--but the smile did not conceal an +expression which said very plainly-- + +"I hope you will not trouble me again in this way." + +"You may be sure I will not," muttered Lyon, as he went away. He +fully understood the meaning of the expression. + +Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was +successful; but there was something in the manner of the individual +who gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke. + +"And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of +rent paid off," says some one who has felt an interest in her +favour. + +Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more +from his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to +undertake the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent +for a fellow creature in need. He has learned that a great many who +refuse alms on the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are +but little more inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point +there is no question. + +How many who read this can sympathize with Andrew Lyon! Few men who +have hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time +in their lives, to seek aid for a fellow creature in need. That +their office was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware. +Even those who responded to their call most liberally, in too many +instances gave in a way that left an unpleasant impression behind. +How quickly has the first glow of generous feeling, that sought to +extend itself to others, that they might share the pleasure of +humanity, been chilled; and, instead of finding the task an easy +one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, humiliating! Alas +that this should be! That men should shut their hearts so +instinctively at the voice of charity! + +We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the +benevolent; but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see +themselves. At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow men +aid for the suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all +sacrifice on his part, and the least that can be done is to honour +his disinterested regard for others in distress, and treat him with +delicacy and consideration. + + + + + + +LOVE. + + + + + +OH! if there is one law above the rest, +Written in Wisdom--if there is a word +That I would trace as with a pen of fire +Upon the unsullied temper of a child-- +If there is anything that keeps the mind +Open to angel visits, and repels +The ministry of ill--_'tis Human Love!_ +God has made nothing worthy of contempt; +The smallest pebble in the well of Truth +Has its peculiar meanings, and will stand +When man's best monuments wear fast away. +The law of Heaven is _Love_--and though its name +Has been usurped by passion, and profaned +To its unholy uses through all time, +Still, the external principle is pure; +And in these deep affections that we feel +Omnipotent within us, can we see +The lavish measure in which love is given. +And in the yearning tenderness of a child +For every bird that sings above its head, +And every creature feeding on the hills, +And every tree and flower, and running brook, +We see how everything was made to love, +And how they err, who, in a world like this, +Find anything to hate but human pride. + + + + + + +"EVERY LITTLE HELPS." + + + + + +WHAT if a drop of rain should plead-- + "So small a drop as I +Can ne'er refresh the thirsty mead; + I'll tarry in the sky?" + +What, if the shining beam of noon + Should in its fountain stay; +Because its feeble light alone + Cannot create a day? + +Does not each rain-drop help to form + The cool refreshing shower? +And every ray of light, to warm + And beautify the flower? + + + + + + +LITTLE THINGS. + + + + + +SCORN not the slightest word or deed, + Nor deem it void of power; +There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed, + Waiting its natal hour. +A whispered word may touch the heart, + And call it back to life; +A look of love bid sin depart, + And still unholy strife. + +No act falls fruitless; none can tell + How vast its power may be, +Nor what results enfolded dwell + Within it silently. +Work and despair not; give thy mite, + Nor care how small it be; +God is with all that serve the right, + The holy, true, and free! + + + + + + +CARELESS WORDS. + + + + + +FIVE years ago, this fair November day,--five years? it seems but +yesterday, so fresh is that scene in my memory; and, I doubt not, +were the period ten times multiplied, it would be as vivid still to +us--the surviving actors in that drama! The touch of time, which +blunts the piercing thorn, as well as steals from the rose its +lovely tints, is powerless here, unless to give darker shades to +that picture engraven on our souls; and tears--ah, they only make it +more imperishable! + +We do not speak of her now; her name has not passed our lips in each +other's presence, since we followed her--grief-stricken mourners-to +the grave, to which--alas, alas! but why should not the truth be +spoken? the grave to which our careless words consigned her. But on +every anniversary of that day we can never forget, uninvited by me, +and without any previous arrangement between themselves, those two +friends have come to my house, and together we have sat, almost +silently, save when Ada's sweet voice has poured forth a low, +plaintive strain to the mournful chords Mary has made the harp to +breathe. Four years ago, that cousin came too; and since then, +though he has been thousands of miles distant from us, when, that +anniversary has returned, he has written to me: he cannot look into +my face when that letter is penned; he but looks into his own heart, +and he cannot withhold the words of remorse and agony. + +Ada and Mary have sat with me to-day, and we knew that Rowland, in +thought, was here too; ah, if we could have known another had been +among us,--if we could have felt that an eye was upon us, which will +never more dim with tears, a heart was near us which carelessness +can never wound again;--could we have known she had been here--that +pure, bright angel, with the smile of forgiveness and love on that +beautiful face--the dark veil of sorrow might have been lifted from +our souls! but we saw only with mortal vision; our faith was feeble, +and we have only drawn that sombre mantle more and more closely +about us. The forgiveness we have so many tim es prayed for, we have +not yet dared to receive, though we know it is our own. + +That November day was just what this has been fair, mild, and sweet; +and how much did that dear one enjoy it! The earth was dry, and as +we looked from the window we saw no verdure but a small line of +green on the south side of the garden enclosure, and around the +trunk of the old pear-tree, and here and there a little oasis from +which the strong wind of the previous day, had lifted the thick +covering of dry leaves, and one or two shrubs, whose foliage feared +not the cold breath of winter. The gaudy hues, too, which nature had +lately worn, were all faded; there was a pale, yellow-leafed vine +clambering over the verdureless lilac, and far down in the garden +might be seen a shrub covered with bright scarlet berries. But the +warm south wind was sweet and fragrant, as if it had strayed through +bowers of roses and eglantines. Deep-leaden and snow-white clouds +blended together, floated lazily through the sky, and the sun +coquetted all day with the earth, though his glance was not, for +once, more than half averted, while his smile was bright and loving, +as it bad been months before, when her face was fair and blooming. + +But how sadly has this day passed, and how unlike is this calm, +sweet evening to the one which closed that November day! Nature is +the same. The moonbeams look as bright and silvery through the +brown, naked arms of the tall oaks, and the dark evergreen forest +lifts up its head to the sky, striving, but in vain, to shut out +the, soft light from the little stream, whose murmurings, seem more +sad and complaining than at another season of the year, perhaps +because it feels how soon the icy bands of winter will stay its free +course, and hush its low whisperings. The soft breeze sighs as sadly +through the vines which still wreath themselves around the window; +though seemingly conscious they have ceased to adorn it, they are +striving to loosen their bold, and bow themselves to the earth; and +the, chirping of a cricket in the chimney is as sad and mournful as +it was then. But the low moan of the sufferer, the but +half-smothered, agonized sobs of those fair girls, the deep groan +which all my proud cousin's firmness could not hush, and the words +of reproach, which, though I was so guilty myself, and though I saw +them so repentant, I could not withhold, are all stilled now. + +Ada and Mary have just left me, and I am sitting alone in my +apartment. Not a sound reaches me but the whisperings of the wind, +the murmuring of the stream, and the chirping of that solitary +cricket. The family know my heart is heavy to-night, and the voices +are hushed, and the footsteps fall lightly. Lily, dear Lily, art +thou near me? + +Five years and some months ago--it was in early June--there came to +our home from far away in the sunny South, a fair young creature, a +relative of ours, though we had never seen her before. She had been +motherless rather less than a year, but her father had already found +another partner, and feeling that she would not so soon see the +place of the dearly-loved parent filled by a stranger, she had +obtained his permission to spend a few months with those who could +sympathize with her in her griefs. + +Lily White! She was rightly named; I have never seen such a fair, +delicate face and figure, nor watched the revealings of a nature so +pure and gentle as was hers. She would have been too fair and +delicate to be beautiful, but for the brilliancy of those deep blue +eyes, the dark shade of that glossy hair, and the litheness of that +fragile form; but when months had passed away, and, though the brow +was still marble white, and the lip colourless, the cheek wore that +deep rose tint, how surpassingly beautiful she was! We did not dream +what had planted that rose-tint there--we thought her to be throwing +off the grief which alone, we believed, had paled her cheek; and we +did not observe that her form was becoming more delicate, and that +her step was losing its lightness and elasticity. We loved the sweet +Lily dearly at first sight, and she had been with us but a short +time before we began to wonder how our home had ever seemed perfect +to us previous to her coming. And our affection was returned by the +dear girl. We knew how much she loved us, when, as the warm season +had passed, and her father sent for her to return home, we saw the +expression of deep sorrow in every feature, and the silent entreaty +that we would persuade him to allow her to remain with us still. + +She did not thank me when a letter reached me from her father, in +reply to one which, unknown to her, I had sent him, saying, if I +thought Lily's health would not be injured by a winter's residence +in our cold climate, he would comply with my urgent request, and +allow her to remain with us until the following spring--the dear +girl could not speak. She came to me almost totteringly, and wound +her arms about my neck, resting her head on mine, and tears from +those sweet eyes fell fast over my face; and all the remainder of +that afternoon she lay on her couch. Oh, why did I not think +wherefore she was so much overcome? + +Ada L----and Mary R----, two friends whom I had loved from +childhood, I had selected as companions for our dear Lily on her +arrival among us, and the young ladies, from their first +introduction to her, had vied with me in my endeavours to dispel the +gloom from that fair face, and to make her happy; and they shared, +almost equally with her relatives, dear Lily's affections. + +Ada--she is changed now--was a gay, brilliant, daring girl; Mary, +witty and playful, though frank and warm-hearted; but it made me +love them more than ever. The gaiety and audacity of the one was +forgotten in the presence of the thoughtful, timid Lily: and the +other checked the merry jest which trembled on her lips, and sobered +that roguish eye beside the earnest, sensitive girl; so that, though +we were together almost daily, dear Lily did not understand the +character of the young ladies. + +The warm season had passed away, and October brought an addition to +our household--Cousin Rowland--as handsome, kind-hearted, and +good-natured a fellow as ever lived, but a little cowardly, if the +dread of the raillery of a beautiful woman may be called cowardice. + +Cousin Rowland and dear Lily were mutually pleased with each other, +it was very evident to me, though Ada and Mary failed to see it; +for, in the presence of the young ladies, Rowland did not show her +those little delicate attentions which, alone with me, who was very +unobservant, he took no pains to conceal; and Lily did not hide from +me her blushing face--her eyes only thanked me for the expression +which met her gaze. + +That November day--I dread to approach it! Lily and I were sitting +beside each other, looking down the street, and watching the return +of the carriage which Rowland had gone out with to bring Ada and +Mary to our house; or, rather, Lily was looking for its coming--my +eyes were resting on her face. It had never looked so beautiful to +me before. Her brow was so purely white, her cheek was so deeply +red, and that dark eye was so lustrous; but her face was very thin, +and her breathing, I observed, was faint and difficult. A pang shot +through my heart. + +"Lily, are you well?" I exclaimed, suddenly. + +She fixed her eyes on mine. I was too much excited by my sudden fear +to read their expression, but when our friends came in, the dear +girl seemed so cheerful and happy--I remembered, afterwards, I had +never seen her so gay as on that afternoon--that my suspicions +gradually left me. + +The hours were passing pleasantly away, when a letter was brought in +for Lily. It was from her father, and the young lady retired to +peruse it. The eye of Rowland followed her as she passed out of the +room, and I observed a shadow flit across his brow. I afterwards +learned that at the moment a thought was passing through his mind +similar to that which had so terrified me an hour before. Our +visiters remarked it, too, but little suspected its cause; and +Mary's eye met, with a most roguish look, Ada's rather inquiring +gaze. + +"When does Lily intend to return home, S----?" she inquired, as she +bent, very demurely, over her embroidery. "I thought she was making +preparations to go before Rowland came here!" and she raised her +eyes so cunningly to my face, that I could not forbear answering, + +"I hear nothing of her return, now. Perhaps she will remain with us +during the winter." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Ada, and her voice expressed much surprise. "I +wonder if I could make such a prolonged visit interesting to a +friend!" + +"Why, Lily considers herself conferring a great favour by remaining +here," replied Mary. + +"On whom?" asked Rowland, quickly. + +"On all of use of course;" and to Mary's great delight she perceived +that her meaning words had the effect she desired on the young man. + +"I hope she will not neglect the duty she owes her family, for the +sake of showing us this great kindness," said Rowland, with affected +carelessness, though he walked across the apartment with a very +impatient step. + +"Lily has not again been guilty of the error she so frequently +commits, has she, S----?" asked Ada, in a lower but still far too +distinct tone; "that of supposing herself loved and admired where +she is only pitied and endured?" and the merry creature fairly +exulted in the annoyance which his deepened colour told her she was +causing the young man. + +A slight sound from the apartment adjoining the parlour attracted my +attention. Had Lily stopped there to read her letter instead of +going to her chamber? and had she, consequently, overheard our +foolish remarks? The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open. +There was a slight rustling, but I thought it only the waving of the +window curtain. + +A half-hour passed away, and Lily had not returned to us. I began to +be alarmed, and my companions partook of my fears. Had she overheard +us? and, if so, what must that sensitive heart be suffering? + +I went out to call her; but half way up the flight of stairs I saw +the letter from her father lying on the carpet, unopened, though it +had been torn from its envelope. I know not how I found my way up +stairs, but I stood by Lily's bed. + +Merciful Heaven! what a sight was presented to my gaze. The white +covering was stained with blood, and from those cold, pale lips the +red drops were fast falling. Her eyes turned slowly till they rested +on mine. What a look was that! I see it now; so full of grief; so +full of reproach; and then they closed. I thought her dead, and my +frantic shrieks called my companions to her bedside. They aroused +her, too, from that swoon, but they did not awaken her to +consciousness. She never more turned a look of recognition on us, or +seemed to be aware that we were near her. Through all that night, so +long and so full of agony to us, she was murmuring, incoherently, to +herself, + +"They did not know I was dying," she would say; "that I have been +dying ever since I have been here! They have not dreamed of my +sufferings through these long months; I could not tell them, for I +believed they loved me, and I would not grieve them. But no one +loves me--not one in the wide world cares for me! My mother, you +will not have forgotten your child when you meet me in the +spirit-land! Their loved tones made me deaf to the voice which was +calling to me from the grave, and the sunshine of _his_ smile broke +through the dark cloud which death was drawing around me. Oh, I +would have lived, but death, I thought, would lose half its +bitterness, could I breathe my last in their arms! But, now, I must +die alone! Oh, how shall I reach my home--how shall I ever reach +my home?" + +Dear Lily! The passage was short; when morning dawned, she was +_there._ + + + + + + +HOW TO BE HAPPY. + + + + + +A BOON of inestimable worth is a calm, thankful heart--a treasure +that few, very few, possess. We once met an old man, whose face was +a mixture of smiles and sunshine. Wherever he went, he succeeded in +making everybody about him as pleasant as himself. + +Said we, one day,--for he was one of that delightful class whom +everybody feels privileged to be related to,--"Uncle, uncle, how +_is_ it that you contrive to be so happy? Why is your face so +cheerful, when so many thousands are craped over with a most +uncomfortable gloominess?" + +"My dear young friend," he answered, with his placid smile, "I am +even as others, afflicted with infirmities; I have had my share of +sorrow--some would say more--but I have found out the secret of +being happy, and it is this: + +"_Forget self_." + +"Until you do that, you can lay but little claim to a cheerful +spirit. 'Forget what manner of man you are,' and think more with, +rejoice more for, your neighbours. If I am poor, let me look upon my +richer friend, and in estimating his blessings, forget my +privations. + +"If my neighbour is building a house, let me watch with him its +progress, and think, 'Well, what a comfortable place it will be, to +be sure; how much he may enjoy it with his family.' Thus I have a +double pleasure--that of delight in noting the structure as it +expands into beauty, and making my neighbour's weal mine. If he has +planted a fine garden, I feast my eyes on the flowers, smell their +fragrance: could I do more if it was my own? + +"Another has a family of fine children; they bless him and are +blessed by him; mine are all gone before me; I have none that bear +my name; shall I, therefore, envy my neighbour his lovely children? +No; let me enjoy their innocent smiles with him; let me _forget +myself_--my tears when they were put away in darkness; or if I weep, +may it be for joy that God took them untainted to dwell with His +holy angels for ever. + +"Believe an old man when he says there is great pleasure in living +for others. The heart of the selfish man is like a city full of +crooked lanes. If a generous thought from some glorious temple +strays in there, wo to it--it is lost. It wanders about, and wanders +about, until enveloped in darkness; as the mist of selfishness +gathers around, it lies down upon some cold thought to die, and is +shrouded in oblivion. + +"So, if you would be happy, shun selfishness; do a kindly deed for +this one, speak a kindly word for another. He who is constantly +giving pleasure, is constantly receiving it. The little river gives +to the great ocean, and the more it gives the faster it runs. Stop +its flowing, and the hot sun would dry it up, till it would be but +filthy mud, sending forth bad odours, and corrupting the fresh air +of Heaven. Keep your heart constantly travelling on errands of +mercy--it has feet that never tire, hands that cannot be +overburdened, eyes that never sleep; freight its hands with +blessings, direct its eyes--no matter how narrow your sphere--to the +nearest object of suffering, and relieve it. + +"I say, my dear young friend, take the word of an old man for it, +who has tried every known panacea, and found all to fail, except +this golden rule, + +"_Forget self, and keep the heart busy for others._" + + + + + + +CHARITY.--ITS OBJECTS. + + + + + +THE great Teacher, on being asked "Who is my neighbour?" replied "A +man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho," and the parable which +followed is the most beautiful which language has ever recorded. +Story-telling, though often abused, is the medium by which truth can +be most irresistibly conveyed to the majority of minds, and in the +present instance we have a desire to portray in some slight degree +the importance of Charity in every-day life. + +A great deal has been said and written on the subject of +indiscriminate giving, and many who have little sympathy with the +needy or distressed, make the supposed unworthiness of the object an +excuse for withholding their alms; while others, who really possess +a large proportion of the milk of human kindness, in awaiting +_great_ opportunities to do good, overlook all in their immediate +pathway, as beneath their notice. And yet it was the "widow's mite" +which, amid the many rich gifts cast into the treasury, won the +approval of the Searcher of Hearts; and we have His assurance that a +cup of cold water given in a proper spirit shall not lose its +reward. + +Our design in the present sketch is to call the attention of the +softer sex to a subject which has in too many instances escaped +their attention; for our ideas of Charity embrace a wide field, and +we hold that it should at all times be united with justice, when +those less favoured than themselves are concerned. + +"I do not intend hereafter to have washing done more than once in +two weeks," said the rich Mrs. Percy, in reply to an observation of +her husband, who was standing at the window, looking at a woman who +was up to her knees in the snow, hanging clothes on a line in the +yard. "I declare it is too bad, to be paying that poking old thing a +half-a-dollar a week for our wash, and only six in the family. There +she has been at it since seven o'clock this morning, and now it is +almost four. It will require but two or three hours longer if I get +her once a fortnight, and I shall save twenty-five cents a week by +it." + +"When your own sex are concerned, you women are the _closest_ +beings," said Mr. P., laughing. "Do just as you please, however," he +continued, as he observed a brown gather on the brow of his wife; +"for my part I should be glad if washing-days were blotted entirely +from the calendar." + +At this moment the washerwoman passed the window with her stiffened +skirts and almost frozen hands and arms. Some emotions of pity +stirring in his breast at the sight, he again asked, "Do you think +it will be exactly right, my dear, to make old Phoebe do the same +amount of labour for half the wages?" + +"Of course it will," replied Mrs. Percy, decidedly; "we are bound to +do the best we can for ourselves. If she objects, she can say so. +There are plenty of poor I can get who will be glad to come, and by +this arrangement I shall save thirteen dollars a year." + +"So much," returned Mr. P., carelessly; "how these things do run +up!" Here the matter ended as far as they were concerned. Not so +with "old Phoebe," as she was called. In reality, however, Phoebe +was not yet forty; it was care and hardship which had seamed her +once blooming face, and brought on prematurely the appearance of +age. On going to Mrs. Percy in the evening after she had finished +her wash, for the meagre sum she had earned, that lady had spoken +somewhat harshly about her being so slow, and mentioned the new +arrangement she intended to carry into effect, leaving it optional +with the poor woman to accept or decline. After a moment's +hesitation, Phoebe, whose necessities allowed her no choice, agreed +to her proposal, and the lady, who had been fumbling in her purse, +remarked:-- + +"I have no change, nothing less than this three-dollar bill. Suppose +I pay you by the month hereafter; it will save me a great deal of +trouble, and I will try to give you your dollar a month regularly." + +Phoebe's pale cheek waxed still more ghastly as Mrs. Percy spoke, +but it was not within that lady's province to notice the colour of a +washerwoman's face. She did, however, observe her lingering, weary +steps as she proceeded through the yard, and conscience whispered +some reproaches, which were so unpleasant and unwelcome, that she +endeavoured to dispel them by turning to the luxurious supper which +was spread before her. And here I would pause to observe, that +whatever method may be adopted to reconcile the conscience to +withholding money so justly due, so hardly earned, she disobeyed the +positive injunction of that God who has not left the time of payment +optional with ourselves, but who has said--"The wages of him that is +hired, shall not abide with thee all night until the morning."--Lev. +19 chap. 13th verse. + +The husband of Phoebe was a day labourer; when not intoxicated he +was kind; but this was of rare occurrence, for most of his earnings +went for ardent spirits, and the labour of the poor wife and mother +was the main support of herself and four children--the eldest nine +years, the youngest only eighteen months old. As she neared the +wretched hovel she had left early in the morning, she saw the faces +of her four little ones pressed close against the window. + +"Mother's coming, mother's coming!" they shouted, as they watched +her approaching through the gloom, and as she unlocked the door, +which she had been obliged to fasten to keep them from straying +away, they all sprang to her arms at once. + +"God bless you, my babes!" she exclaimed, gathering them to her +heart, "you have not been a minute absent from my mind this day. And +what have _you_ suffered," she added, clasping the youngest, a +sickly, attenuated-looking object, to her breast. "Oh! it is hard, +my little Mary, to leave you to the tender mercies of children +hardly able to take care of themselves." And as the baby nestled its +head closer to her side, and lifted its pale, imploring face, the +anguished mother's fortitude gave way, and she burst into an agony +of tears and sobbings. By-the-by, do some mothers, as they sit by +the softly-lined cradles of their own beloved babes, ever think upon +the sufferings of those hapless little ones, many times left with a +scanty supply of food, and no fire, on a cold winter day, while the +parent is earning the pittance which is to preserve them from +starvation? And lest some may suppose that we are drawing largely +upon our imagination, we will mention, in this place, that we knew +of a child left under such circumstances, and half-perishing with +cold, who was nearly burned to death by some hops (for there was no +fuel to be found), which it scraped together in its ragged apron, +and set on fire with a coal found in the ashes. + +Phoebe did not indulge long in grief, however she forgot her weary +limbs, and bustling about, soon made up a fire, and boiled some +potatoes, which constituted their supper--after which she nursed the +children, two at a time, for a while, and then put them tenderly to +bed. Her husband had not come home, and as he was nearly always +intoxicated, and sometimes ill-treated her sadly, she felt his +absence a relief. Sitting over a handful of coals, she attempted to +dry her wet feet; every bone in her body ached, for she was not +naturally strong, and leaning her head on her hand, she allowed the +big tears to course slowly down her cheeks, without making any +attempt to wipe them away, while she murmured: + +"Thirteen dollars a year gone! What is to become of us? I cannot get +help from those authorized by law to assist the poor, unless I agree +to put out my children, and I cannot live and see them abused and +over-worked at their tender age. And people think their father might +support us; but how can I help it that he spends all his earnings in +drink? And rich as Mrs. Percy is, she did not pay me my wages +to-night, and now I cannot get the yarn for my baby's stockings, and +her little limbs must remain cold awhile longer; and I must do +without the flour, too, that I was going to make into bread, and the +potatoes are almost gone." + +Here Phoebe's emotions overcame her, and she ceased speaking. After +a while, she continued-- + +"Mrs. Percy also blamed me for being so slow; she did not know that +I was up half the night, and that my head has ached ready to split +all day. Oh! dear, oh! dear, oh! dear, if it were not for my babes, +I should yearn for the quiet of the grave!" + +And with a long, quivering sigh, such as one might heave at the +rending of soul and body, Phoebe was silent. + +Daughters of luxury! did it ever occur to you that we are all the +children of one common Parent? Oh, look hereafter with pity on those +faces where the records of suffering are deeply graven, and remember +"_Be ye warmed and filled_," will not suffice, unless the hand +executes the promptings of the heart. After awhile, as the fire died +out, Phoebe crept to her miserable pallet, crushed with the prospect +of the days of toil which were still before her, and haunted by the +idea of sickness and death, brought on by over-taxation of her +bodily powers, while in case of such an event, she was tortured by +the reflection--"what is to become of my children?" + +Ah, this anxiety is the true bitterness of death, to the friendless +and poverty-stricken parent. In this way she passed the night, to +renew, with the dawn, the toils and cares which were fast closing +their work on her. We will not say what Phoebe, under other +circumstances, might have been. She possessed every noble attribute +common to woman, without education, or training, but she was not +prepossessing in her appearance; and Mrs. Percy, who never studied +character, or sympathized with menials, or strangers, would have +laughed at the idea of dwelling with compassion on the lot of her +washerwoman with a drunken husband. Yet her feelings sometimes +became interested for the poor she heard of abroad, the poor she +read of, and she would now and then descant largely on the few cases +of actual distress which had chanced to come under her notice, and +the little opportunity she enjoyed of bestowing alms. Superficial in +her mode of thinking and observation, her ideas of charity were +limited, forgetful that to be true it must be a pervading principle +of life, and can be exercised even in the bestowal of a gracious +word or smile, which, under peculiar circumstances, may raise a +brother from the dust--and thus win the approval of Him, who, +although the Lord of angels, was pleased to say of her who brought +but the "box of spikenard"--with tears of love--"_She hath done what +she could._" + + + + + + +THE VISION OF BOATS. + + + + + +ONE morn, when the Day-god, yet hidden + By the mist that the mountain enshrouds, +Was hoarding up hyacinth blossoms, + And roses, to fling at the clouds; +I saw from the casement, that northward + Looks out on the Valley of Pines, +(The casement, where all day in summer, + You hear the drew drop from the vines), + +White shapes 'mid the purple wreaths glancing, + Like the banners of hosts at strife; +But I knew they were silvery pennons + Of boats on the River of Life. +And I watched, as the, mist cleared upward, + Half hoping, yet fearing to see +On that rapid and rock-sown River, + What the fate of the boats might be. + +There were some that sped cheerily onward, + With white sails gallantly spread +Yet ever there sat at the look-out, + One, watching for danger ahead. +No fragrant and song-haunted island, + No golden and gem-studded coast +Could win, with its ravishing beauty, + The watcher away from his post. + +When the tempest crouched low on the waters, + And fiercely the hurricane swept, +With furled sails, cautiously wearing, + Still onward in safety they kept. +And many sailed well for a season, + When river and sky were serene, +And leisurely swung the light rudder, + 'Twixt borders of blossoming green. + +But the Storm-King came out from his caverns, + With whirlwind, and lightning, and rain; +And my eyes, that grew dim for a moment, + Saw but the rent canvas again. +Then sorely I wept the ill-fated! + Yea, bitterly wept, for I knew +They had learned but the fair-weather wisdom, + That a moment of trial o'erthrew. + +And one in its swift sinking, parted + A placid and sun-bright wave; +Oh, deftly the rock was hidden, + That keepeth that voyager's grave! +And I sorrowed to think how little + Of aid from, a kindly hand, +Might have guided the beautiful vessel + Away from the treacherous strand. + +And I watched with a murmur of, blessing, + The few that on either shore +Were setting up signals of warning, + Where many had perished before. +But now, as the sunlight came creeping + Through the half-opened lids of the morn, +Fast faded that wonderful pageant, + Of shadows and drowsiness born. + +And no sound could I hear but the sighing + Of winds, in the Valley of Pines; +And the heavy, monotonous dropping + Of dew from the shivering vines. +But all day, 'mid the clashing of Labour, + And the city's unmusical notes, +With thoughts that went seeking the hidden, + I pondered that Vision of Boats. + + + + + + +REGULATION OF THE TEMPER. + + + + + + +THERE is considerable ground for thinking that the opinion very +generally prevails that the temper is something beyond the power of +regulation, control, or government. A good temper, too, if we may +judge from the usual excuses for the want of it, is hardly regarded +in the light of an attainable quality. To be slow in taking offence, +and moderate in the expression of resentment, in which things good +temper consists, seems to be generally reckoned rather among the +gifts of nature, the privileges of a happy constitution, than among +the possible results of careful self-discipline. When we have been +fretted by some petty grievance, or, hurried by some reasonable +cause of offence into a degree of anger far beyond what the occasion +required, our subsequent regret is seldom of a kind for which we are +likely to be much better. We bewail ourselves for a misfortune, +rather than condemn ourselves for a fault. We speak of our unhappy +temper as if it were something that entirely removed the blame from +us, and threw it all upon the peculiar and unavoidable sensitiveness +of our frame. A peevish and irritable temper is, indeed, an +_unhappy_ one; a source of misery to ourselves and to others; but it +is not, in _all_ cases, so valid an excuse for being easily +provoked, as it is usually supposed to be. + +A good temper is too important a source of happiness, and an ill +temper too important a source of misery, to be treated with +indifference or hopelessness. The false excuses or modes of +regarding this matter, to which we have referred, should be exposed; +for until their invalidity and incorrectness are exposed, no +efforts, or but feeble ones, will be put forth to regulate an ill +temper, or to cultivate a good one. + +We allow that there are great differences of natural constitution. +One who is endowed with a poetical temperament, or a keen sense of +beauty, or a great love of order, or very large ideality, will be +pained by the want or the opposites of these qualities, where one +less amply endowed would suffer no provocation whatever. What would +grate most harshly on the ear of an eminent musician, might not be +noticed at all by one whose musical faculties were unusually small. +The same holds true in regard to some other, besides musical +deficiencies or discords. A delicate and sickly frame will feel +annoyed by what would not at all disturb the same frame in a state +of vigorous health. Particular circumstances, also, may expose some +to greater trials and vexations than others. But, after all this is +granted, the only reasonable conclusion seems to be, that the +attempt to govern the temper is more difficult in some cases than in +others; not that it is, in any case, impossible. It is, at least, +certain that an opinion of its impossibility is an effectual bar +against entering upon it. On the other hand, "believe that you will +succeed, and you will succeed," is a maxim which has nowhere been +more frequently verified than in the moral world. It should be among +the first maxims admitted, and the last abandoned, by every earnest +seeker of his own moral improvement. + +Then, too, facts demonstrate that much has been done and can be done +in regulating the worst of tempers. The most irritable or peevish +temper has been restrained by company; has been subdued by interest; +has been awed by fear; has been softened by grief; has been soothed +by kindness. A bad temper has shown itself, in the same individuals, +capable of increase, liable to change, accessible to motives. Such +facts are enough to encourage, in every case, an attempt to govern +the temper. All the miseries of a bad temper, and all the blessings +of a good one, may be attained by an habitual tolerance, concern, +and kindness for others--by an habitual restraint of considerations +and feelings entirely selfish. + +To those of our readers who feel moved or resolved by the +considerations we have named to attempt to regulate their temper, or +to cultivate one of a higher order of excellence, we would submit a +few suggestions which may assist them in their somewhat difficult +undertaking. + +See, first of all, that you set as high a value on the comfort of +those with whom you have to do as you. do on your own. If you regard +your own comfort _exclusively_, you will not make the allowances +which a _proper_ regard to the happiness of others would lead you to +do. + +Avoid, particularly in your intercourse with those to whom it is of +most consequence that your temper should be gentle and +forbearing--avoid raising into undue importance the little failings +which you may perceive in them, or the trifling disappointments +which they may occasion you. If we make it a subject of vexation, +that the beings among whom we tire destined to live, are not +perfect, we must give up all hope of attaining a temper not easily +provoked. A habit of trying everything by the standard of perfection +vitiates the temper more than it improves the understanding, and +disposes the mind to discern faults with an unhappy penetration. I +would not have you shut your eyes to the errors or follies, or +thoughtlessnesses of your friends, but only not to magnify them or +view them microscopically. Regard them in others as you would have +them regard the same things in you, in an exchange of circumstances. + +Do not forget to make due allowances for the original constitution +and the manner of education or bringing up, which has been the lot +of those with whom you have to do. Make such excuses for Others as +the circumstances of their constitution, rearing, and youthful +associations, do fairly demand. + +Always put the best construction on the motives of others, when +their conduct admits of more than one way of understanding it. In +many cases, where neglect or ill intention seems evident at first +sight, it may prove true that "second thoughts are best." Indeed, +this common slaying is never more likely to prove true than in cases +in which the _first_ thoughts were the dictates of anger And even +when the first thoughts are confirmed by further evidence, yet the +habit of always waiting for complete evidence before we condemn, +must have a calming; and moderating effect upon the temper, while it +will take nothing from the authority of our just censures. + +It will further, be a great help to our efforts, as well as our +desires, for the government of the temper, if we consider frequently +and seriously the natural consequences of hasty resentments, angry +replies, rebukes impatiently given or impatiently received, muttered +discontents, sullen looks, and harsh words. It may safely be +asserted that the consequences of these and other ways in which +ill-temper may show itself, are _entirely_ evil. The feelings, which +accompany them in ourselves, and those which they excite in others, +are unprofitable as well as painful. They lessen our own comfort, +and tend often rather to prevent than to promote the improvement of +those with whom we find fault. If we give even friendly and +judicious counsels in a harsh and pettish tone, we excite against +_them_ the repugnance naturally felt to _our manner_. The +consequence is, that the advice is slighted, and the peevish adviser +pitied, despised, or hated. + +When we cannot succeed in putting a restraint on our _feelings_ of +anger or dissatisfaction, we can at least check the _expression_ of +those feelings. If our thoughts are not always in our power, our +words and actions and looks may be brought under our command; and a +command over these expressions of our thoughts and feelings will be +found no mean help towards obtaining an increase of power over our +thoughts and feelings themselves. At least, one great good will be +effected: time will be gained; time for reflection; time for +charitable allowances and excuses. + +Lastly, seek the help of religion. Consider how you may most +certainly secure the approbation of God. For a good temper, or a +well-regulated temper, _may be_ the constant homage of a truly +religious man to that God, whose love and long-suffering forbearance +surpass all human love and forbearance. + + + + + + +MANLY GENTLENESS. + + + + + +WHO is the most wretched man living? This question might constitute +a very fair puzzle to those of our readers whose kind hearts have +given them, in their own experience, no clue to the true answer. It +is a species of happiness to be rich; to have at one's command an +abundance of the elegancies and luxuries of life. Then he, perhaps, +is the most miserable of men who is the poorest. It is a species of +happiness to be the possessor of learning, fame, or power; and +therefore, perhaps, he is the most miserable man who is the most +ignorant, despised, and helpless. No; there is a man more wretched +than these. We know not where he may be found; but find him where +you will, in a prison or on a throne, steeped in poverty or +surrounded with princely affluence; execrated, as he deserves to be, +or crowned with world-wide applause; that man is the most miserable +whose heart contains the least love for others. + +It is a pleasure to be beloved. Who has not felt this? Human +affection is priceless. A fond heart is more valuable than the +Indies. But it is a still greater pleasure to love than to be loved; +the emotion itself is of a higher kind; it calls forth our own +powers into more agreeable exercise, and is independent of the +caprice of others. Generally speaking, if we deserve to be loved, +others will love us, but this is not always the case. The love of +others towards us, is not always in proportion to our real merits; +and it would be unjust to make our highest happiness dependent on +it. But our love for others will always be in proportion to our real +goodness; the more amiable, the more excellent we become, the more +shall we love others; it is right, therefore, that this love should +be made capable of bestowing upon us the largest amount of +happiness. This is the arrangement which the Creator has fixed upon. +By virtue of our moral constitution, to love is to be happy; to hate +is to be wretched. + +Hatred is a strong word, and the idea it conveys is very repulsive. +We would hope that few of our readers know by experience what it is +in its full extent. To be a very demon, to combine in ourselves the +highest possible degree of wickedness and misery, nothing more is +needful than to hate with sufficient intensity. But though, happily, +comparatively few persons are fully under the influence of this +baneful passion, how many are under it more frequently and +powerfully than they ought to be? How often do we indulge in +resentful, revengeful feelings, with all of which hatred more or +less mixes itself? Have we not sometimes entertained sentiments +positively malignant towards those who have wounded our vanity or +injured our interests, secretly wishing them ill, or not heartily +wishing them happiness? If so, we need only consult our own +experience to ascertain that such feelings are both sinful and +foolish; they offend our Maker, and render us wretched. + +We know a happy man; one who in the midst of the vexations and +crosses of this changing world, is always happy. Meet him anywhere, +and at any time, his features beam with pleasure. Children run to +meet him, and contend for the honour of touching his hand, or laying +hold of the skirt of his coat, as he passes by, so cheerful and +benevolent does he always look. In his own house he seems to reign +absolute, and yet he never uses any weapon more powerful than a kind +word. Everybody who knows him is aware, that, in point of +intelligence, ay, and in physical prowess, too--for we know few men +who can boast a more athletic frame--he is strong as a lion, yet in +his demeanour he is gentle as a lamb. His wife is not of the most +amiable temper, his children are not the most docile, his business +brings him into contact with men of various dispositions; but he +conquers all with the same weapons. What a contrast have we often +thought he presents to some whose physiognomy looks like a piece of +harsh handwriting, in which we can decipher nothing but _self, self, +self_; who seem, both at home and abroad, to be always on the watch +against any infringement of their dignity. Poor men! their dignity +can be of little value if it requires so much care in order to be +maintained. True manliness need take but little pains to procure +respectful recognition. If it is genuine, others will see it, and +respect it. The lion will always be acknowledged as the king of the +beasts; but the ass, though clothed in the lion's skin, may bray +loudly and perseveringly indeed, but he will never keep the forest +in awe. + +From some experience in the homes of working-men, and other homes +too, we are led to think that much of the harsh and discordant +feeling which too often prevails there may be ascribed to a false +conception of what is truly great. It is a very erroneous impression +that despotism is manly. For our part we believe that despotism is +inhuman, satanic, and that wherever it is found--as much in the +bosom of a family, as on the throne of a kingdom. We cannot bring +ourselves to tolerate the inconsistency with which some men will +inveigh against some absolute sovereign, and straight-way enact the +pettiest airs of absolutism in their little empire at home. We have +no private intimacy with "the autocrat of all the Russias," and may, +with all humility, avow that we do not desire to have any; but this +we believe, that out of the thousands who call him a tyrant, it +would be no difficult matter to pick scores who are as bad, if not +worse. Let us remember that it is not a great empire which +constitutes a great tyrant. Tyranny must be measured by the strength +of those imperious and malignant passions from which it flows, and +carrying this rule along with us, it would not surprise us, if we +found the greatest tyrant in the world in some small cottage, with +none to oppress but a few unoffending children, and a helpless +woman. O! when shall we, be just!--when shall we cease to prate +about wrongs inflicted by others, and magnified by being beheld +through the haze of distance, and seek to redress those which lie at +our own doors, and to redress which we shall only have to prevail +upon ourselves to be just and gentle! Arbitrary power is always +associated either with cruelty, or conscious weakness. True +greatness is above the petty arts of tyranny. Sometimes much +domestic suffering may arise from a cause which is easily confounded +with a tyrannical disposition--we refer to an exaggerated sense of +justice. This is the abuse of a right feeling, and requires to be +kept in vigilant check. Nothing is easier than to be one-sided in +judging of the actions of others. How agreeable the task of applying +the line and plummet! How quiet and complete the assumption of our +own superior excellence which we make in doing it! But if the task +is in some respects easy, it is most difficult if we take into +account the necessity of being just in our decisions. In domestic +life especially, in which so much depends on circumstances, and the +highest questions often relate to mere matters of expediency, how +easy it is to be "always finding fault," if we neglect to take +notice of explanatory and extenuating circumstances! Anybody with a +tongue and a most moderate complement of brains can call a thing +stupid, foolish, ill-advised, and so forth; though it might require +a larger amount of wisdom than the judges possessed to have done the +thing better. But what do we want with captious judges in the bosom +of a family? The scales of household polity are the scales of love, +and he who holds them should be a sympathizing friend; ever ready to +make allowance for failures, ingenious in contriving apologies, more +lavish of counsels than rebukes, and less anxious to overwhelm a +person with a sense of deficiency than to awaken in the bosom, a +conscious power of doing better. One thing is certain: if any member +of a family conceives it his duty to sit continually in the censor's +chair, and weigh in the scales of justice all that happens in the +domestic commonwealth, domestic happiness is out of the question. It +is manly to extenuate and forgive, but a crabbed and censorious +spirit is contemptible. + +There is much more misery thrown into the cup of life by domestic +unkindness than we might at first suppose. In thinking of the evils +endured by society from malevolent passions of individuals, we are +apt to enumerate only the more dreadful instances of crime: but what +are the few murders which unhappily pollute the soil of this +Christian land--what, we ask, is the suffering they occasion, what +their demoralizing tendency--when compared with the daily effusions +of ill-humour which sadden, may we not fear, many thousand homes? We +believe that an incalculably greater number are hurried to the grave +by habitual unkindness than by sudden violence; the slow poison of +churlishness and neglect, is of all poisons the most destructive. If +this is true, we want a new definition for the most flagrant of all +crimes: a definition which shall leave out the element of time, and +call these actions the same--equally hateful, equally diabolical, +equally censured by the righteous government of Heaven--which +proceed from the same motives, and lead to the same result, whether +they be done in a moment, or spread out through a series of years. +Habitual unkindness is demoralizing as well as cruel. Whenever it +fails to break the heart, it hardens it. To take a familiar +illustration: a wife who is never addressed by her husband in tones +of kindness, must cease to love him if she wishes to be happy. It is +her only alternative. Thanks to the nobility of our nature, she does +not always take it. No; for years she battles with cruelty, and +still presses with affection the hand which smites her, but it is +fearfully at her own expense. Such endurance preys upon her health, +and hastens her exit to the asylum of the grave. If this is to be +avoided, she must learn to forget, what woman should never be +tempted to forget, the vows, the self-renunciating devotedness of +impassioned youth; she must learn to oppose indifference, to neglect +and repel him with a heart as cold as his own. But what a tragedy +lies involved in a career like this! We gaze on something infinitely +more terrible than murder; we see our nature abandoned to the mercy +of malignant passions, and the sacred susceptibilities which were +intended to fertilize with the waters of charity the pathway of +life, sending forth streams of bitterest gall. A catalogue of such +cases, faithfully compiled, would eclipse, in turpitude and horror, +all the calendars of crime that have ever sickened the attention of +the world. + +The obligations of gentleness and kindness are extensive as the +claims to manliness; these three qualities must go together. There +are some cases, however, in which such obligations are of special +force. Perhaps a precept here will be presented most appropriately +under the guise of an example. We have now before our mind's eye a +couple, whose marriage tie was, a few months since, severed by +death. The husband was a strong, hale, robust sort of a man, who +probably never knew a day's illness in the course of his life, and +whose sympathy on behalf of weakness or suffering in others it was +exceedingly difficult to evoke; while his partner was the very +reverse, by constitution weak and ailing, but withal a woman of whom +any man might and ought to have been proud. Her elegant form, her +fair transparent skin, the classical contour of her refined and +expressive face, might have led a Canova to have selected her as a +model of feminine beauty. But alas! she was weak; she could not work +like other women; her husband could not _boast_ among his shopmates +how much she contributed to the maintenance of the family, and how +largely she could afford to dispense with the fruit of his labours. +Indeed, with a noble infant in her bosom, and the cares of a +household resting entirely upon her, she required help herself, and +at least she needed, what no wife can dispense with, but she least +of all--_sympathy_, forbearance, and all those tranquilizing virtues +which flow from a heart of kindness. She least of all could bear a +harsh look; to be treated daily with cold, disapproving reserve, a +petulant dissatisfaction could not but be death to her. We will not +say it _was_--enough that she is dead. The lily bent before the +storm, and at last was crushed by it. We ask but one question, in +order to point the moral:--In the circumstances we have delineated, +what course of treatment was most consonant with a manly spirit; +that which was actually pursued, or some other which the reader can +suggest? + +Yes, to love is to be happy and to make happy, and to love is the +very spirit of true manliness. We speak not of exaggerated passion +and false sentiment; we speak not of those bewildering, +indescribable feelings, which under that name, often monopolize for +a time the guidance of the youthful heart; but we speak of that pure +emotion which is benevolence intensified, and which, when blended +with intelligence, can throw the light of joyousness around the +manifold relations of life. Coarseness, rudeness, tyranny, are so +many forms of brute power; so many manifestations of what it is +man's peculiar glory not to be; but kindness and gentleness can +never cease to be MANLY. + +Count not the days that have lightly flown, + The years that were vainly spent; +Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, +When thy spirit stands before the Throne, + To account for the talents lent. + +But number the hours redeemed from sin, + The moments employed for Heaven;-- +Oh few and evil thy days have been, +Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene, + For a nobler purpose given. + +Will the shade go back on the dial plate? + Will thy sun stand still on his way? +Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate +Rests on the point of life's little date:-- + Then live while 'tis called to-day. + +Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page, + As they lessen, in value rise; +Oh rouse thee and live! nor deem that man's age +Stands on the length of his pilgrimage, + But in days that are truly wise. + + + + + + +SILENT INFLUENCE. + + + + + +"HOW finely she looks!" said Margaret Winne, as a lady swept by them +in the crowd; "I do not see that time wears upon her beauty at all." + +"What, Bell Walters!" exclaimed her companion. "Are you one of those +who think her such a beauty?" + +"I think her a very fine-looking woman, certainly," returned Mrs. +Winne; "and, what is more, I think her a very fine woman." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Hall; "I thought you were no friends?" + +"No," replied the first speaker; "but that does not make us +enemies." + +"But I tell you she positively dislikes you, Margaret," said Mrs. +Hall. "It is only a few days since I knew of her saying that you +were a bold, impudent woman, and she did not like you at all." + +"That is bad," said Margaret, with a smile; "for I must confess that +I like her." + +"Well," said her companion, "I am sure I could never like any one +who made such unkind speeches about me." + +"I presume she said no more than she thought," said Margaret, +quietly. + +"Well, so much the worse!" exclaimed Mrs. Hall, in surprise. "I hope +you do not think that excuses the matter at all?" + +"Certainly, I do. I presume she has some reason for thinking as she +does; and, if so, it was very natural she should express her +opinion." + +"Well, you are very cool and candid about it, I must say. What +reason have you given her, pray, for thinking you were bold and +impudent?" + +"None, that I am aware of," replied Mrs. Winne, "but I presume she +thinks I have. I always claim her acquaintance, when we meet, and I +have no doubt she would much rather I would let it drop." + +"Why don't you, then? I never knew her, and never had any desire for +her acquaintance. She was no better than you when you were girls, +and I don't think her present good fortune need make her so very +scornful." + +"I do not think she exhibits any more haughtiness than most people +would under the same circumstances. Some would have dropped the +acquaintance at once, without waiting for me to do it. Her social +position is higher than mine, and it annoys her to have me meet her +as an equal, just I used to do." + +"You do it to annoy her, then?" + +"Not by any means. I would much rather she would feel, as I do, that +the difference between us is merely conventional, and might bear to +be forgotten on the few occasions when accident throws us together. +But she does not, and I presume it is natural. I do not know how my +head might be turned, if I had climbed up in the world as rapidly as +she has done. As it is, however, I admire her too much to drop her +acquaintance just yet, as long as she leaves it to me." + +"Really, Margaret, I should have supposed you had too much spirit to +intrude yourself upon a person that you knew wished to shake you +off; and I do not see how you can admire one that you know to be so +proud." + +"I do not admire her on account of her pride, certainly, though it +is a quality that sits very gracefully upon her," said Margaret +Winne; and she introduced another topic of conversation, for she did +not hope to make her companion understand the motives that +influenced her. + +"Bold and impudent!" said Margaret, to herself, as she sat alone, in +her own apartment. "I knew she thought it, for I have seen it in her +looks; but she always treats me well externally, and I hardly +thought she would say it. I know she was vexed with herself for +speaking to me, one day, when she was in the midst of a circle of +her fashionable acquaintances. I was particularly ill-dressed, and I +noticed that they stared at me; but I had no intention, then, of +throwing myself in her way. Well," she continued, musingly, "I am +not to be foiled with one rebuff. I know her better than she knows +me, for the busy world has canvassed her life, while they have never +meddled with my own: and I think there are points of contact enough +between us for us to understand each other, if we once found an +opportunity. She stands in a position which I shall never occupy, +and she has more power and strength than I; else she had never stood +where she does, for she has shaped her fortunes by her own unaided +will. Her face was not her fortune, as most people suppose, but her +mind. She has accomplished whatever she has undertaken, and she can +accomplish much more, for her resources are far from being +developed. Those around her may remember yet that she was not always +on a footing with them; but they will not do so long. She will be +their leader, for she was born to rule. Yes; and she queens it most +proudly among them. It were a pity to lose sight of her stately, +graceful dignity. I regard her very much as I would some beautiful +exotic, and her opinion of me affects me about as much as if she +were the flower, and not the mortal. And yet I can never see her +without wishing that the influence she exerts might be turned into a +better channel. She has much of good about her, and I think that it +needs but a few hints to make life and its responsibilities appear +to her as they do to me. I have a message for her ear, but she must +not know that it was intended for her. She has too much pride of +place to receive it from me, and too much self-confidence to listen +knowingly to the suggestions of any other mind than her own. +Therefore, I will seek the society of Isabel Walters whenever I can, +without appearing intrusive, until she thinks me worthy her notice, +or drops me altogether. My talent lies in thinking, but she has all +the life and energy I lack, and would make an excellent actor to my +thought, and would need no mentor when her attention was once +aroused. My usefulness must lie in an humble sphere, but hers--she +can carry it wherever she will. It will be enough for my single life +to accomplish, if, beyond the careful training of my own family, I +can incite her to a development of her powers of usefulness. People +will listen to her who will pay no attention to me; and, besides, +she has the time and means to spare, which I have not." + +"Everywhere, in Europe, they were talking of you, Mrs. Walters," +said a lady, who had spent many years abroad, "and adopting your +plans for vagrant and industrial schools, and for the management of +hospitals and asylums. I have seen your name in the memorials laid +before government in various foreign countries. You have certainly +achieved a world-wide reputation. Do tell me how your attention came +first to be turned to that sort of thing? I supposed you were one of +our fashionable women, who sought simply to know how much care and +responsibility they could lawfully avoid, and how high a social +station it was possible to attain. I am sure something must have +happened to turn your life into so different a channel." + +"Nothing in particular, I assure you," returned Mrs. Walters. "I +came gradually to perceive the necessity there was that some one +should take personal and decisive action in those things that it was +so customary to neglect. Fond as men are of money, it was far easier +to reach their purses than their minds. Our public charities were +quite well endowed, but no one gave them that attention that they +needed, and thus evils had crept in that were of the highest +importance. My attention was attracted to it in my own vicinity at +first; and others saw it as well as I, but it was so much of +everybody's business that everybody let it alone. I followed the +example for awhile, but it seemed as much my duty to act as that of +any other person; and though it is little I have done, I think that, +in that little, I have filled the place designed for me by +Providence." + +"Well, really, Mrs. Walters, you were one of the last persons I +should have imagined to be nicely balancing a point of duty, or +searching out the place designed for them by Providence. I must +confess myself at fault in my judgment of character for once." + +"Indeed, madam," replied Mrs. Walters, "I have no doubt you judged +me very correctly at the time you knew me. My first ideas of the +duties and responsibilities of life were aroused by Margaret Winne; +and I recollect that my intimacy with her commenced after you left +the country." + +"Margaret Winne? Who was she? Not the wife of that little Dr. Winne +we used to hear of occasionally? They attended the same church with +us, I believe?" + +"Yes; she was the one. We grew up together, and were familiar with +each other's faces from childhood; but this was about all. She was +always in humble circumstances, as I had myself been in early life; +and, after my marriage, I used positively to dislike her, and to +dread meeting her, for she was the only one of my former +acquaintances who met me on the same terms as she had always done. I +thought she wished to remind me that we were once equals in station; +but I learned, when I came to know her well, how far she was above +so mean a thought. I hardly know how I came first to appreciate her, +but we were occasionally thrown in contact, and her sentiments were +so beautiful--so much above the common stamp--that I could not fail +to be attracted by her. She was a noble woman. The world knows few +like her. So modest and retiring--with an earnest desire to do all +the good in the world of which she was capable, but with no ambition +to shine. Well fitted as she was, to be an ornament in any station +of society, she seemed perfectly content to be the idol of her own +family, and known to few besides. There were few subjects on which +she had not thought, and her clear perceptions went at once to the +bottom of a subject, so that she solved simply many a question on +which astute philosophers had found themselves at fault. I came at +last to regard her opinion almost as an oracle. I have often +thought, since her death, that it was her object to turn my life +into that channel to which it has since been devoted, but I do not +know. I had never thought of the work that has since occupied me at +the time of her death, but I can see now how cautiously and +gradually she led me among the poor, and taught me to sympathize +with their sufferings, and gave me, little by little, a clue to the +evils that had sprung up in the management of our public charities. +She was called from her family in the prime of life, but they who +come after her do assuredly rise up and call her blessed. She has +left a fine family, who will not soon forget, the instructions of +their mother." + +"Ah! yes, there it is, Mrs. Walters. A woman's sphere, after all, is +at home. One may do a great deal of good in public, no doubt, as you +have done; but don't you think that, while you have devoted yourself +so untiringly to other affairs, you have been obliged to neglect +your own family in order to gain time for this? One cannot live two +lives at once, you know." + +"No, madam, certainly we cannot live two lives at once, but we can +glean a much larger harvest from the one which is, bestowed upon us +than we are accustomed to think. I do not, by any means, think that +I have ever neglected my own family in the performance of other +duties, and I trust my children are proving, by their hearty +co-operation with me, that I am not mistaken. Our first duty, +certainly is at home, and I determined, at the outset, that nothing +should call me from the performance of this first charge. I do not +think anything can excuse a mother from devoting a large portion of +her life in personal attention to the children God has given her. +But I can assure you that, to those things which I have done of +which the world could take cognisance, I have given far less time +than I used once to devote to dress and amusement, I found, by +systematizing everything, that my time was more than doubled; and, +certainly, I was far better fitted to attend properly to my own +family, when my eyes, were opened to the responsibilities of life, +than when my thoughts were wholly occupied by fashion and display." + + + + + + +ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY. + + + + + +"AH, friend K----, good-morning to you; I'm really happy to see you +looking so cheerful. Pray, to what unusual circumstance may we be +indebted for this happy, smiling face of yours, this morning?" (Our +friend K----had been, unfortunately, of a, very desponding and +somewhat of a choleric turn of mind, previously.) + +"Really, is the change so perceptible, then? Well, my dear sir, you +shall have the secret; for, happy as I appear--and be assured, my +appearances are by no means deceptive, for I never felt more happy +in my life--it will still give me pleasure to inform you, and won't +take long, either. It is simply this; I have made a whole family +happy!" + +"Indeed! Why, you have discovered a truly valuable: recipe for +blues, then, which may be used _ad libitum_, eh, K----?" + +"You may well say that. But, really, my friend, I feel no little +mortification at not making so simple and valuable a discovery at an +earlier period of my life, Heaven knows," continued K----, "I have +looked for contentment everywhere else. First, I sought for wealthy +in the gold mines of California, thinking that was the true source +of all earthly joys; but after obtaining it, I found myself with +such a multiplicity of cares and anxieties, that I was really more +unhappy than ever. I then sought for pleasure in travelling. This +answered somewhat the purpose of dissipating cares, &c., so long as +it lasted; but, dear me, it gave no permanent satisfaction. After +seeing the whole world, I was as badly off as Alexander the Great. +He cried for another world to _conquer_, and I cried for another +world to _see_." + +The case of our friend, I imagine, differs not materially from that +of a host of other seekers of contentment in this productive world. +Like "blind leaders of the blind," our invariable fate is to go +astray in the universal race for happiness. How common is it, after +seeking for it in every place but the right one, for the selfish man +to lay the whole blame upon this fine world--as if anybody was to +blame but himself. Even some professors of religion are too apt to +libel the world. "Well, this is a troublesome world, to make the +best of it," is not an uncommon expression; neither is it a truthful +one. "Troubles, disappointments, losses, crosses, sickness, and +death, make up the sum and substance of our existence here," add +they, with tremendous emphasis, as if they had no hand in producing +the sad catalogue. The trouble is, we set too high a value on our +own merits; we imagine ourselves deserving of great favours and +privileges, while we are doing nothing to merit them. In this +respect, we are not altogether unlike the young man in the parable, +who, by-the-by, was also a professor--he professed very loudly of +having done all those good things "from his youth up." But when the +command came, "go sell all thou hast, and give to the poor," &c., it +soon took the conceit out of him. + +In this connexion, there are two or three seemingly important +considerations, which I feel some delicacy in touching upon here. +However, in the kindest possible spirit, I would merely remark, that +there is a very large amount of wealth in the Church--by this I +include its wealthy members, of course; and refer to no particular +denomination; by Church, I mean all Christian denominations. Now, in +connexion with this fact, such a question as this arises in my +mind--and I put it, not, for the purpose of fault-finding, for I +don't know that I have a right view of the matter, but merely for +the consideration of those who are fond of hoarding up their earthly +gains, viz.: Suppose the modern Church was composed of such +professors as the self-denying disciples of our Saviour,--with their +piety, simplicity, and this wealth; what, think you, would be the +consequence? Now I do not intend to throw out any such flings as, +"comparisons are odious"--"this is the modern Christian age"--"the +age of Christian privileges," and all that sort of nonsense. Still, +I am rather inclined to the opinion, that if we were all--in and out +of the Church--disposed to live up to, or carry out what we +professedly know to be right, it would be almost as difficult to +find real trouble, as it is now to find real happiness. + +The sources of contentment and discontentment are discoverable, +therefore, without going into a metaphysical examination of the +subject. Just in proportion as we happen to discharge, or neglect +known duties, are we, according to my view, happy or miserable on +earth. Philosophy tells us that our happiness and well-being depends +upon a conformity to certain unalterable laws--moral, physical, and +organic--which act upon the intellectual, moral, and material +universe, of which man is a part, and which determine, or regulate +the growth, happiness, and well-being of all organic beings. These +views, when reduced to their simple meaning, amount to the same +thing, call it by what name we will. Duties, of course, imply legal +or moral obligations, which we are certainly legally or morally +bound to pay, perform, or discharge. And certain it is, there is no +getting over them--they are as irresistible as Divine power, as +universal as Divine presence, as permanent as Divine existence, and +no art nor cunning of man can disconnect unhappiness from +transgressing them. How necessary to our happiness, then, is it, not +only to know, but to perform our whole duty? + +One of the great duties of man in this life, and, perhaps, the most +neglected, is that of doing good, or benefiting one another. That +doing good is clearly a duty devolving upon man, there can be no +question. The benevolent Creator, in placing man in the world, +endowed him with mental and physical energies, which clearly denote +that he is to be active in his day and generation. + +Active in what? Certainly not in mischief, for that would not be +consistent with Divine goodness. Neither should we suppose that we +are here for our own sakes simply. Such an idea would be +presumptuous. For what purpose, then, was man endowed with all these +facilities of mind and body, but to do good and glorify his Maker? +True philosophy teaches that benevolence was not only the design of +the Creator in all His works, but the fruits to be expected from +them. The whole infinite contrivances of everything above, around, +and within us, are directed to certain benevolent issues, and all +the laws of nature are in perfect harmony with this idea. + +That such is the design of man may also be inferred from the +happiness which attends every good action, and the misery of +discontentment which attends those who not only do wrong, but are +useless to themselves and to society. Friend K----'s case, above +quoted, is a fair illustration of this truth. + +Now, then, if it is our duty to do all the good we can, and I think +this will be admitted, particularly by the Christian, and this be +measured by our means and opportunity, then there are many whom +Providence has blessed with the means and opportunity of doing a +very great amount of good. And if it be true, as it manifestly is, +that "it is more blessed to give than receive," then has Providence +also blessed them with very great privileges. The privilege of +giving liberally, and thus obtaining for themselves the greater +blessing, which is the result of every benevolent action, the simple +satisfaction with ourselves which follows a good act, or +consciousness of having done our duty in relieving a +fellow-creature, are blessings indeed, which none but the good or +benevolent can realize. Such kind spirits are never cast down. Their +hearts always light and cheerful--rendered so by their many kind +offices,--they can always enjoy their neighbours, rich or poor, high +or low, and love them too; and with a flow of spirits which bespeak +a heart all right within, they make all glad and happy around them. + +Doing good is an infallible antidote for melancholy. When the heart +seems heavy, and our minds can light upon nothing but little naughty +perplexities, everything going wrong, no bright spot or relief +anywhere for our crazy thoughts, and we are finally wound up in a +web of melancholy, depend upon it there is nothing, nothing which +can dispel this angry, ponderous, and unnatural cloud from our +_rheumatic minds_ and _consciences_ like a charity visit--to give +liberally to those in need of succour, the poor widow, the +suffering, sick, and poor, the aged invalid, the lame, the blind, +&c., &c.; all have a claim upon your bounty, and how they will bless +you and love you for it--anyhow, they will thank kind Providence for +your mission of love. He that makes one such visit will make another +and another; he can't very well get weary in such well-doing, for +his is the greater blessing. It is a blessing indeed: how the heart +is lightened, the soul enlarged, the mind improved, and even health; +for the mind being liberated from perplexities, the body is at rest, +the nerves in repose, and the blood, equalized, courses freely +through the system, giving strength, vigour, and equilibrium to the +whole complicated machinery. Thus we can think clearer, love better, +enjoy life, and be thankful for it. + +What a beautiful arrangement it is that we can, by doing good to +others, do so much good to ourselves! The wealthy classes, who "rise +above society like clouds above the earth, to diffuse an abundant +dew," should not forget this fact. The season has now about arrived, +when the good people of all classes will be most busily engaged in +these delightful duties. The experiment is certainly worth trying by +all. If all those desponding individuals, whose chief comfort is to +growl at this "troublesome world," will but take the hint, look +trouble full in the face. and relieve it, they will, like friend +K----, feel much better. + +It may be set down as a generally correct axiom, (with some few +exceptions, perhaps, such as accidents, and the deceptions and +cruelties of those whom we injudiciously select for friends and +confidants, from our want of discernment), that life is much what we +make it, and so is the world. + + + + + + +THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN. + + + + + +AH me! Am I really a rich man, or am I not? That is the question. I +am sure I don't feel rich; and yet, here I am written down among the +"wealthy citizens" as being worth seventy thousand dollars! How the +estimate was made, or who furnished the data, is all a mystery to +me. I am sure I wasn't aware of the fact before. "Seventy thousand +dollars!" That sounds comfortable, doesn't it? Seventy thousand +dollars!--But where is it? Ah! There is the rub! How true it is that +people always know more about you than you do yourself. + +Before this unfortunate book came out ("The Wealthy Citizens of +Philadelphia"), I was jogging on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be +aware of the fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of +the thing myself. But, strange to tell, I awoke one morning and +found myself worth seventy thousand dollars! I shall never forget +that day. Men who had passed me in the street with a quiet, familiar +nod, now bowed with a low salaam, or lifted their hats +deferentially, as I encountered them on the _pave_. + +"What's the meaning of all this?" thought I. "I haven't stood up to +be shot at, nor sinned against innocence and virtue. I haven't been +to Paris. I don't wear moustaches. What has given me this +importance?" + +And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of money to help me out +with some pretty heavy payments. After succeeding, though with some +difficulty in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my store about +twelve o'clock. I found a mercantile acquaintance awaiting me, who, +without many preliminaries, thus stated his business: + +"I want," said he, with great coolness, "to get a loan of six or +seven thousand dollars; and I don't know of any one to whom I can +apply with more freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think I +can satisfy you, fully, in regard to security. + +"My dear sir," replied I, "if you only wanted six or seven hundred +dollars, instead of six or seven thousand dollars, I could not +accommodate you. I have just come in from a borrowing expedition +myself." + +I was struck with the sudden change in the man's countenance. He was +not only disappointed, but offended. He did not believe my +statement. In his eyes, I had merely resorted to a subterfuge, or, +rather, told a lie, because I did not wish to let him have my money. +Bowing with cold formality, he turned away and left my place of +business. His manner to me has been reserved ever since. + +On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the back part of my +store musing on some, matter of business, when I saw a couple of +ladies enter. They spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them +back to where I was taking things comfortably in an old arm-chair. + +"Mr. G----, I believe?" said the elder of the two ladies, with a +bland smile. + +I had already arisen, and to this question, or rather affirmation, I +bowed assent. + +"Mr. G----," resumed the lady, producing a small book as she spoke, +"we are a committee, appointed to make collections in this district +for the purpose of setting up a fair in aid of the funds of the +Esquimaux Missionary Society. It is the design of the ladies who +have taken this matter in hand to have a very large collection of +articles, as the funds of the society are entirely exhausted. To the +gentlemen of our district, and especially to those who leave been +liberally _blessed with this world's goods_"--this was particularly +emphasized--"we look for important aid. Upon you, sir, we have +called first, in order that you may head the subscription, and thus +set an example of liberality to others." + +And the lady handed me the book in the most "of course" manner in +the world, and with the evident expectation that I would put down at +least fifty-dollars. + +Of course I was cornered, and must do something, I tried to be bland +and polite; but am inclined to think that I failed in the effort. As +for fairs, I never did approve of them. But that was nothing. The +enemy had boarded me so suddenly and so completely, that nothing, +was left for me but to surrender at discretion, and I did so with as +good grace as possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar +bill and presented it; to the elder of the two ladies, thinking that +I was doing very well indeed. She took the money, but was evidently +disappointed; and did not even ask me to head the list with my name. + +"How money does harden the heart!" I overheard one of my fair +visiters say to the other, in a low voices but plainly intended for +my edification, as they walked off with their five dollar bill. + +"Confound your impudence!" I said to myself, thus taking my revenge +out of them. "Do you think I've got nothing else to do with my money +but scatter it to the four winds?" + +And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes of my waistcoat, and +took a dozen turns up and down my store, in order to cool off. + +"Confound your impudence!" I then repeated, and quietly sat down +again in the old arm-chair. + +On the next day I had any number of calls from money-hunters. +Business men, who had never thought of asking me for loans, finding +that I was worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon me for +temporary favours, and, when disappointed in their expectations, +couldn't seem to understand it. When I spoke of being "hard up" +myself, they looked as if they didn't clearly comprehend what I +meant. + +A few days after the story of my wealth had gone abroad, I was +sitting, one evening, with my family, when I was informed that a +lady was in the parlour, and wished to see me. + +"A lady!" said I. + +"Yes, sir," replied the servant. + +"Is she alone?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What does she want?" + +"She did not say, sir." + +"Very well. Tell her I'll be down in a few moments." + +When I entered the parlour, I found a woman, dressed in mourning, +with her veil closely drawn. + +"Mr. G----?" she said, in a low, sad voice. + +I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where she was sitting, and +from which she had not risen upon my entrance. + +"Pardon the great liberty I have taken," she began, after a pause of +embarrassment, and in an unsteady voice. "But, I believe I have not +mistaken your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor erred in +believing that your hand is ever ready to respond to the generous +impulses of our heart." + +I bowed again, and my visiter went on. + +"My object in calling upon you I will briefly state. A year ago my +husband died. Up to that time I had never known the want of anything +that money could buy. He was a merchant of this city, and supposed +to be in good circumstances. But he left an insolvent estate; and +now, with five little ones to care for, educate, and support, I have +parted with nearly my last dollar, and have not a single friend to +whom I can look for aid." + +There was a deep earnestness and moving pathos in the tones of the +woman's voice, that went to my heart. She paused for a few moments, +overcome with her feelings, and then resumed:-- + +"One in an extremity like mine, sir, will do many things from which, +under other circumstances she should shrink. This is my only excuse +for troubling you at the present time. But I cannot see my little +family in want without an effort to sustain them; and, with a little +aid, I see my way clear to do so. I was well educated, and feel not +only competent, but willing to undertake a school. There is one, the +teacher of which being in bad health, wishes to give it up, and if I +can get the means to buy out her establishment, will secure an ample +and permanent income for my family. To aid me, sir, in doing this, I +now make an appeal to you. I know you are able, and I believe you +are willing to put forth your hand and save my children from want, +and, it may be, separation." + +The woman still remained closely veiled; I could not, therefore, see +her face. But I could perceive that she was waiting with trembling +suspense for my answer. Heaven knows my heart responded freely to +her appeal. + +"How much will it take to purchase this establishment?" I inquired. + +"Only a thousand dollars," she replied. + +I was silent. A thousand dollars! + +"I do not wish it, sir, as a gift," she said "only as a loan. In a +year or two I will be able to repay it." + +"My dear madam," was my reply, "had I the ability most gladly would +I meet your wishes. But, I assure you I have not. A thousand dollars +taken from my business would destroy it." + +A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up from the breast of the +stranger, and her head dropped low upon her bosom. She seemed to +have fully expected the relief for which she applied; and to be +stricken to the earth by my words! We were both unhappy. + +"May I presume to ask your name, madam?" said I, after a pause. + +"It would do no good to mention it," she replied, mournfully. "It +has cost me a painful effort to come to you; and now that my hope +has proved, alas! in vain, I must beg the privilege of still +remaining a stranger." + +She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall and dignified. +Dropping me a slight courtesy, she was turning to go away, when I +said, + +"But, madam, even if I have not the ability to grant your request, I +may still have it in my power to aid you in this matter. I am ready +to do all I can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your +husband will be found numbers to step forward and join in affording +you the assistance so much desired, when they are made aware of your +present extremity." + +The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my words were felt as a +mockery or an insult, and turning from me, again walked from the +room with a firm step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed +into the street, and I was left standing alone. To this day I have +remained in ignorance of her identity. Cheerfully would I have aided +her to the extent of my ability to do so. Her story touched my +feelings and awakened my liveliest sympathies, and if, on learning +her name and making proper inquiries into her circumstances, I had +found all to be as she had stated, I would have felt it a duty to +interest myself in her behalf, and have contributed in aid of the +desired end to the extent of my ability. But she came to me under +the false idea that I had but to put my hand in my pocket, or write +a check upon the bank, and lo! a thousand dollars were forthcoming. +And because I did not do this, she believed me unfeeling, selfish, +and turned from me mortified, disappointed, and despairing. + +I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. On the very next +morning I received a letter from an artist, in which he spoke of the +extremity of his circumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple +of pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not resist his +appeal. The pictures did not strike me as possessing much artistic +value. + +"What do you ask for them?" I inquired. + +"I refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But I am compelled to +part with them now, and you shall have them for eighty." + +I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and therefore shook my +head. But, as he looked disappointed, I offered to take one of the +pictures at forty dollars. To this he agreed. I paid the money, and +the picture was sent home. Some days afterward, I was showing it to +a friend. + +"What did you pay for it?" he asked. + +"Forty dollars," I replied. + +The friend smiled strangely. + +"What's the matter?" said I. + +"He offered it to me for twenty-five." + +"That picture?" + +"Yes." + +"He asked me eighty for this and another, and said he had refused a +hundred for the pair." + +"He lied though. He thought, as you were well off, that he must ask +you a good stiff price, or you wouldn't buy." + +"The scoundrel!" + +"He got ahead of you, certainly." + +"But it's the last time," said I, angrily. + +And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed in which my fame as a +wealthy citizen did not subject me to some kind of experiment from +people in want of money. If I employed a porter for any service and +asked what was to pay, after the work was done, ten chances to one +that he didn't touch his hat and reply, + +"Anything that you please, sir," in the hope that I, being a rich +man, would be ashamed to offer him less than about four times his +regular price. Poor people in abundance called upon me for aid; and +all sorts of applications to give or lend money met me at every +turn. And when I, in self-defence, begged off as politely as +possible, hints gentle or broad, according to the characters or +feelings of those who came, touching the hardening and perverting +influence of wealth, were thrown out for my especial edification. + +And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but myself doubts the fact +that I am worth from seventy to a hundred thousand dollars, and I +am, therefore, considered allowable game for all who are too idle or +prodigal to succeed in the world; or as Nature's almoner to all who +are suffering from misfortunes. + +Soon after the publication to which I have alluded was foisted upon +our community as a veritable document, I found myself a secular +dignitary in the church militant. Previously I had been only a +pew-holder, and an unambitious attendant upon the Sabbath +ministrations of the Rev. Mr----. But a new field suddenly opened +before me; I was a man of weight and influence, and must be used for +what I was worth. It is no joke, I can assure the reader, when I +tell them that the way my pocket suffered was truly alarming. I +don't know, but I have seriously thought, sometimes, that if I +hadn't kicked loose from my dignity, I would have been gazetted as a +bankrupt long before this time. + +Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman or deacon, I will +not say which, I met the Rev. Mr----, and the way he talked to me +about the earth being the "Lord's and the fullness thereof;" about +our having the poor always with us; about the duties of charity, and +the laying up of treasure in heaven, made me ashamed to go to church +for a month to come. I really began to fear that I was a doomed man +and that the reputation of being a "wealthy citizen" was going to +sink me into everlasting perdition. But I am getting over that +feeling now. My cash-book, ledger, and bill-book set me right again; +and I can button up my coat and draw my purse-strings, when guided +by the dictates of my own judgment, without a fear of the threatened +final consequences before my eyes. Still, I am the subject of +perpetual annoyance from all sorts of people, who will persist in +believing that I am made of money; and many of these approach me in, +such a way as to put it almost entirely out of my power to say "no." +They come with appeals for small amounts, as loans, donations to +particular charities, or as the price of articles that I do not +want, but which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, since +I have obtained my present unenviable reputation, it hasn't cost me +a cent less than two thousand, in money given away, loaned never to +be returned, and in the purchase of things that I never would have +thought of buying. + +And, with all this, I have made more enemies than I ever before had +in my life, and estranged half of my friends and acquaintances. + +Seriously, I have it in contemplation to "break" one of these days, +in order to satisfy the world that I am not a rich man. I see no +other effectual remedy for present grievances. + + + + + + +"WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE." + + + + + +DESPAIR not of the better part + That lies in human kind-- +A gleam of light still flickereth + In e'en the darkest mind; +The savage with his club of war, + The sage so mild and good, +Are linked in firm, eternal bonds + Of common brotherhood. +Despair not! Oh despair not, then, + For through this world so wide, +No nature is so demon-like, + But there's an angel side. + +The huge rough stones from out the mine, + Unsightly and unfair, +Have veins of purest metal hid + Beneath the surface there; +Few rocks so bare but to their heights + Some tiny moss-plant clings, +And round the peaks, so desolate, + The sea-bird sits and sings. +Believe me, too, that rugged souls, + Beneath their rudeness hide +Much that is beautiful and good-- + We've all our angel side. + +In all there is an inner depth-- + A far off, secret way, +Where, through dim windows of the soul, + God sends His smiling ray; +In every human heart there is + A faithful sounding chord, +That may be struck, unknown to us, + By some sweet loving word; +The wayward heart in vain may try + Its softer thoughts to hide, +Some unexpected tone reveals + It has its angel side. + +Despised, and low, and trodden down, + Dark with the shade of sin: +Deciphering not those halo lights + Which God hath lit within; +Groping about in utmost night, + Poor prisoned souls there are, +Who guess not what life's meaning is, + Nor dream of heaven afar; +Oh! that some gentle hand of love + Their stumbling steps would guide, +And show them that, amidst it all, + Life has its angel side. + +Brutal, and mean, and dark enough, + God knows, some natures are, +But He, compassionate, comes near-- + And shall we stand afar? +Our cruse of oil will not grow less, + If shared with hearty hand, +And words of peace and looks of love + Few natures can withstand. +Love is the mighty conqueror-- + Love is the beauteous guide-- +Love, with her beaming eye, can see + We've all our angel side. + + + + + + +BLIND JAMES. + + + + + +IN the month of December, in the neighbourhood of Paris, two men, +one young, the other rather advanced in years, were descending the +village street, which was made uneven and almost impassable by +stones and puddles. + +Opposite to them, and ascending this same street, a labourer, +fastened to a sort of dray laden with a cask, was slowly advancing, +and beside him a little girl, of about eight years old, who was +holding the end of the barrow. Suddenly the wheel went over an +enormous stone, which lay in the middle of the street, and the car +leaned towards the side of the child. + +"The man must be intoxicated," cried the young man, stepping forward +to prevent the overturn of the dray. When he reached the spot, he +perceived that the man was blind. + +"Blind!" said he, turning towards his old friend. But the latter, +making him a sign to be silent, placed his hand, without speaking, +on that of the labourer, while the little girl smiled. The blind man +immediately raised his head, his sightless eyes were turned towards +the two gentlemen, his face shone with an intelligent and natural +pleasure, and, pressing closely the hand which held his own, he +said, with an accent of tenderness, + +"Mr. Desgranges!" + +"How!" said the young man, moved and surprised; "he knew you by the +touch of your hand." + +"I do not need even that," said the blind man; "when he passes me in +the street, I say to myself, 'That is his step.'" And, seizing the +hand of Mr. Desgranges, he kissed it with ardour. "It was indeed +you, Mr. Desgranges, who prevented my falling--always you." + +"Why," said the young man, "do you expose yourself to such +accidents, by dragging this cask?" + +"One must attend to his business, sir," replied he, gayly. + +"Your business?" + +"Undoubtedly," added Mr. Desgranges. "James is our water-carrier. +But I shall scold him for going out without his wife to guide him." + +"My wife was gone away. I took the little girl. One must be a little +energetic, must he not? And, you see, I have done very well since I +last saw you, my dear Mr. Desgranges; and you have assisted me." + +"Come, James, now finish serving your customers, and then you can +call and see me. I am going home." + +"Thank you, sir. Good-by, sir; good-by, sir." + +And he started again, dragging his cask, while the child turned +towards the gentlemen her rosy and smiling face. + +"Blind, and a water-carrier!" repeated the young man, as they walked +along. + +"Ah! our James astonishes you, my young friend. Yes, it is one of +those miracles like that of a paralytic who walks. Should you like +to know his story?" + +"Tell it to me." + +"I will do so. It does not abound in facts or dramatic incidents, +but it will interest you, I think, for it is the history of a soul, +and of a good soul it is--a man struggling against the night. You +will see the unfortunate man going step by step out of a bottomless +abyss to begin his life again--to create his soul anew. You will see +how a blind man, with a noble heart for a stay, makes his way even +in this world." + +While they were conversing, they reached the house of Mr. +Desgranges, who began in this manner:-- + +"One morning, three years since, I was walking on a large dry plain, +which separates our village from that of Noiesemont, and which is +all covered with mill-stones just taken from the quarry. The process +of blowing the rocks was still going on. Suddenly a violent +explosion was heard. I looked. At a distance of four or five hundred +paces, a gray smoke, which seemed to come from a hole, rose from the +ground. Stones were then thrown up in the air, horrible cries were +heard, and springing from this hole appeared a man, who began to run +across the plain as if mad. He shook his arms, screamed, fell down, +got up again, disappeared in the great crevices of the plain, and +appeared again. The distance and the irregularity of his path +prevented me from distinguishing anything clearly; but, at the +height of his head, in the place of his face, I saw a great, red +mark. In alarm, I approached him, while from the other side of the +plain, from Noiesemont, a troop of men and women were advancing, +crying aloud. I was the first to reach the poor creature. His face +was all one wound, and torrents of blood were streaming over his +garments, which were all in rags. + +"Scarcely had I taken hold of him, when a woman, followed by twenty +peasants, approached, and threw herself before him. + +"'James, James, is it you? I did not know you, James.' + +"The poor man, without answering, struggled furiously in our hands. + +"'Ah!' cried the woman, suddenly, and with a heart-rending voice, +'it is he!' + +"She had recognised a large silver pin, which fastened his shirt, +which was covered with blood. + +"It was indeed he, her husband, the father of three children, a poor +labourer, who, in blasting a rock with powder, had received the +explosion in his face, and was blind, mutilated, perhaps mortally +wounded. + +"He was carried home. I was obliged to go away the same day, on a +journey, and was absent a month. Before my departure, I sent him our +doctor, a man devoted to his profession as a country physician, and +as learned as a city physician. On my return-- + +"'Ah! well, doctor,' said I, 'the blind man?' + +"'It is all over with him. His wounds are healed, his head is doing +well, he is only blind; but he will die; despair has seized him, and +he will kill himself. I can do nothing more for him, This is all,' +he said; 'an internal inflammation is taking place. He must die.' + +"I hastened to the poor man. I arrived. I shall never forget the +sight. He was seated on a wooden stool, beside a hearth on. which +there was no fire, his eyes covered with a white bandage. On the +floor an infant of three months was sleeping; a little girl of four +years old was playing in the ashes; one, still older, was shivering +opposite to her; and, in front of the fireplace, seated on the +disordered bed, her arms hanging down, was the wife. What was left +to be imagined in this spectacle was more than met the eye. One felt +that for several hours, perhaps, no word had been spoken in this +room. The wife was doing nothing, and seemed to have no care to do +anything. They were not merely unfortunate, they seemed like +condemned persons. At the sound of my footsteps they arose, but +without speaking. + +"'You are the blind man of the quarry?" + +"'Yes, sir.' + +"'I have come to see you.' + +"'Thank you, sir.' + +"'You met with a sad misfortune there.' + +"'Yes, sir.' + +"His voice was cold, short, without any emotion. He expected nothing +from any one. I pronounced the words 'assistance,' 'public +compassion.' + +"'Assistance!' cried his wife, suddenly, with a tone of despair; +'they ought to give it to us; they must help us; we have done +nothing to bring upon us this misfortune; they will not let my +children die with hunger.' + +"She asked for nothing--begged for nothing. She claimed help. This +imperative beggary touched me more than the common lamentations of +poverty, for it was the voice of despair; and I felt in my purse for +some pieces of silver. + +"The man then, who had till now been silent, said, with a hollow +tone, + +"'Your children must die, since I can no longer see.' + +"There is a strange power in the human voice. My money fell back +into my purse. I was ashamed of the precarious assistance. I felt +that here was a call for something more than mere almsgiving--the +charity of a day. I soon formed my resolution." + +"But what could you do?" said the young man, to Mr. Desgranges. + +"What could I do?" replied he, with animation. "Fifteen days after, +James was saved. A year after, he gained his own living, and might +be heard singing at his work." + +"Saved! working! singing! but how?" + +"How! by very natural means. But wait, I think I hear him. I will +make him tell you his simple story. It will touch you more from his +lips. It will embarrass me less, and his cordial and ardent face +will complete the work." + +In fact, the noise of some one taking off his wooden shoes was heard +at the door, and then a little tap. + +"Come in, James;" and he entered with his wife, + +"I have brought Juliana, my dear Mr. Desgranges, the poor woman--she +must see you sometimes, must she not?" + +"You did right, James. Sit down." + +He came forward, pushing his stick before him, that he might not +knock against a chair. He found one, and seated himself. He was +young, small, vigorous, with black hair, a high and open forehead, a +singularly expansive face for a blind man, and, as Rabelais says, a +magnificent smile of thirty-two teeth. His wife remained standing +behind him. + +"James," said Mr. Desgranges to him, "here is one of my good +friends, who is very desirous to see you." + +"He is a good man, then, since he is your friend." + +"Yes. Talk with him; I am going to see my geraniums. But do not be +sad, you know I forbid you that." + +"No, no, my dear friend, no!" + +This tender and simple appellation seemed to charm the young man; +and after the departure of his friend, approaching the blind man, he +said, + +"You are very fond of Mr. Desgranges?" + +"Fond of him!" cried the blind man, with impetuosity; "he saved me +from ruin, sir. It was all over with me; the thought of my children +consumed me; I was dying because I could not see. He saved me." + +"With assistance--with money?" + +"Money! what is money? Everybody can give that. Yes, he clothed us, +he fed us, he obtained a subscription of five hundred francs (about +one hundred dollars) for me; but all this was as nothing; he did +more--he cured my heart!" + +"But how?" + +"By his kind words, sir. Yes, he, a person of so much consequence in +the world, he came every day into my poor house, he sat on my poor +stool, he talked with me an hour, two hours, till I became quiet and +easy." + +"What did he say to you?" + +"I do not know; I am but a foolish fellow, and he must tell you all +he said to me; but they were things I had never heard before. He +spoke to me of the good God better than a minister; and he brought +sleep back to me." + +"How was that?" + +"It was two months since I had slept soundly. I would just doze, and +then start up, saying, + +"'James, you are blind,' and then my head would go round--round, +like a madman; and this was killing me. One morning he came in, this +dear friend, and said to me, + +"'James, do you believe in God?' + +"'Why do you ask that, Mr. Desgranges?' + +"'Well, this night, when you wake, and the thought of your +misfortune comes upon you, say aloud a prayer--then two--then +three--and you will go to sleep.'" + +"Yes," said the wife, with her calm voice, "the good God, He gives +sleep." + +"This is not all, sir. In my despair I would have killed myself. I +said to myself, 'You are useless to your family, you are the woman +of the house, and others support you.' But he was displeased--'Is it +not you who support your family? If you had not been blind, would +any one have given you the five hundred francs?' + +"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + +"'If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?' + +"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.' + +"'If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?' + +"'It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.' + +"'You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families. Misfortune +is like rain; it must fall a little on everybody. If you were not +blind, your wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might +have died. Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor +man; but they--they have none.' + +"'True, true.' And I began to feel less sad. I was even happy to +suffer for them. And then he added, + +"'Dear James, misfortune is either the greatest enemy or the +greatest friend of men. There are people whom it makes wicked; there +are others made better by it. For you, it must make you beloved by +everybody; you must become so grateful, so affectionate, that when +they wish to speak of any one who is good, they will say, good as +the blind man of the Noiesemont. That will serve for a dowry to your +daughter.' This is the way he talked to me, sir: and it gave me +heart to be unfortunate." + +"Yes; but when he was not here?" + +"Ah, when he was not here, I had, to be sure, some heavy moments. I +thought of my eyes--the light is so beautiful! Oh, God! cried I, in +anguish, if ever I should see clearly again, I would get up at three +o'clock. in the morning, and I would, not go to bed till ten at +night, that I might gather up more light." + +"James, James!" said his wife. + +"You are right, Juliana; he has forbidden me to be sad. He would +perceive it, sir. Do you think that when my head had gone wrong in +the night, and he came in the morning, and merely looked at me, he +would say--'James, you have been thinking that;' and then he would +scold me, this dear friend. Yes," added he, with an expression of +joy--"he would scold me, and that would give me pleasure, because he +tried to make his words cross, but he could not do it." + +"And what gave you the idea of becoming a water-carrier?" + +"He gave me that, also. Do you suppose I have ideas? I began to lose +my grief, but my time hung heavy on my hands. At thirty-two years +old, to be sitting all day in a chair! He then began to instruct me, +as he said, and he told me beautiful stories. The Bible--the history +of an old man, blind like me, named Tobias; the history of Joseph; +the history of David; the history of Jesus Christ. And then he made +me repeat them after him. But my head, it was hard--it was hard; it +was not used to learning, and I was always getting tired in my arms +and my legs." + +"And he tormented us to death," said his wife, laughing. + +"True, true," replied he, laughing also; "I became cross. He came +again, and said, + +"'James, you must go to work.' + +"I showed him my poor, burned hands. + +"'It is no matter; I have bought you a capital in trade.' + +"'Me, Mr. Desgranges?' + +"'Yes, James, a capital into which they never put goods, and where +they always find them.' + +"'It must have cost you a great deal, sir.' + +"'Nothing at all, my lad.' + +"'What is then this fund?' + +"'The river.' + +"'The river? Do you wish me to become a fisherman?' + +"'Not all; a water-carrier.' + +"'Water-carrier! but eyes?' + +"'Eyes; of what use are they? do the dray-horses have eyes? If they +do, they make use of them; if they do not, they do without them. +Come, you must be a water-carrier.' + +"'But a cask?' + +"'I will give you one.' + +"'A cart?' + +"'I have ordered one at the cart-maker's.' + +"'But customers?' + +"I will give you my custom, to begin with, eighteen francs a month; +(my dear friend pays for water as dearly as for wine.) Moreover, you +have nothing to say, either yes or no. I have dismissed my +water-carrier, and you would not let my wife and me die with thirst. +This dear Madame Desgranges, just think of it. And so, my boy, in +three days--work. And you, Madam James, come here;' and he carried +off Juliana." + +"Yes, sir," continued the wife, "he carried me off, ordered leather +straps, made me buy the wheels, harnessed me; we were all +astonishment, James and I; but stop, if you can, when Mr. Desgranges +drives you. At the end of three days, here we are with the cask, he +harnessed and drawing it, I behind, pushing; we were ashamed at +crossing the village, as if we were doing something wrong; it seemed +as if everybody would laugh at us. But Mr. Desgranges was there in +the street. + +"'Come on, James,' said he, 'courage.' + +"We came along, and in the evening he put into our hands a piece of +money, saying," continued the blind man, with emotion-- + +"'James, here are twenty sous you have earned to-day.' + +"Earned, sir, think of that! earned, it was fifteen months that I +had only eaten what had been given to me. It is good to receive from +good people, it is true; but the bread that one earns, it is as we +say, half corn, half barley; it nourishes better, and then it was +done, I was no longer the woman, I was a labourer--a labourer--James +earned his living." + +A sort of pride shone from his face. + +"How!" said the young man, "was your cask sufficient to support +you?" + +"Not alone, sir; but I have still another profession." + +"Another profession!" + +"Ha, ha, yes, sir; the river always runs, except when it is frozen, +and, as Mr. Desgranges says, 'water-carriers do not make their +fortune with ice,' so he gave me a Winter trade and Summer trade." + +"Winter trade!" + +Mr. Desgranges returned at this moment--James heard him--"Is it not +true, Mr. Desgranges, that I have another trade besides that of +water-carrier?" + +"Undoubtedly." + +"What is it then?" + +"Wood-sawyer." + +"Wood-sawyer? impossible; how could you measure the length of the +sticks? how could you cut wood without cutting yourself?" + +"Cut myself, sir," replied the blind man, with a pleasant shade of +confidence; "I formerly was a woodsawyer, and the saw knows me well; +and then one learns everything--I go to school, indeed. They put a +pile of wood at my left side, my saw and saw horse before me, a +stick that is to be sawed in three; I take a thread, I cut it the +size of the third of the stick--this is the measure. Every place I +saw, I try it, and so it goes on till now there is nothing burned or +drunk in the village without calling upon me." + +"Without mentioning," added Mr. Desgranges, "that he is a +commissioner." + +"A commissioner!" said the young man, still more surprised. + +"Yes, sir, when there is an errand to be done at Melun, I put my +little girl on my back, and then off I go. She sees for me, I walk +for her; those who meet me, say, 'Here is a gentleman who carries +his eyes very high;' to which I answer, 'that is so I may see the +farther.' And then at night I have twenty sous more to bring home." + +"But are you not afraid of stumbling against the stones?" + +"I lift my feet pretty high; and then I am used to it; I come from +Noiesemont here all alone." + +"All alone! how do you find your way?" + +"I find the course of the wind as I leave home, and this takes the +place of the sun with me." + +"But the holes?" + +"I know them all." + +"And the walls?" + +"I feel them. When I approach anything thick, sir, the air comes +with less force upon my face; it is but now and then that I get a +hard knock, as by example, if sometimes a little handcart is left on +the road, I do not suspect it--whack! bad for you, poor +five-and-thirty, but this is soon over. It is only when I get +bewildered, as I did day before yesterday. O then---" + +"You have not told me of that, James," said Mr. Desgranges. + +"I was, however, somewhat embarrassed, my dear friend. While I was +here the wind changed, I did not perceive it; but at the end of a +quarter of an hour, when I had reached the plain of Noiesemont, I +had lost my way, and I felt so bewildered that I did not dare to +stir a step. You know the plain, not a house, no passersby. I sat +down on the ground, I listened; after a moment I heard at, as I +supposed, about two hundred paces distant, a noise of running water. +I said, 'If this should be the stream which is at the bottom of the +plain?' I went feeling along on the side from which the noise +came--I reached the stream; then I reasoned in this way: the water +comes down from the side of Noiesemont and crosses it. I put in my +hand to feel the current." + +"Bravo, James." + +"Yes, but the water was so low and the current so small, that my +hand felt nothing. I put in the end of my stick, it was not moved. I +rubbed my head finally, I said, 'I am a fool, here is my +handkerchief;' I took it, I fastened it to the end of my cane. Soon +I felt that it moved gently to the right, very gently. Noiesemont is +on the right. I started again and I get home to Juliana, who began +to be uneasy." + +"O," cried the young man, "this is admir----" + +But Mr. Desgranges stopped him, and leading him to the other end of +the room, + +"Silence!" said he to him in a low voice. "Not admirable--do not +corrupt by pride the simplicity of this man. Look at him, see how +tranquil his face is, how calm after this recital which has moved +you so much. He is ignorant of himself, do not spoil him." + +"It is so touching," said the young man, in a low tone. + +"Undoubtedly, and still his superiority does not lie there. A +thousand blind men have found out these ingenious resources, a +thousand will find them again; but this moral perfection--this +heart, which opens itself so readily to elevated consolations--this +heart which so willingly takes upon it the part of a victim--this +heart which has restored him to life. For do not be deceived, it is +not I who have saved him, it is his affection for me; his ardent +gratitude has filled his whole soul, and has sustained--he has lived +because he has loved!" + +At that moment, James, who had remained at the other end of the +room, and who perceived that we were speaking low, got up softly, +and with a delicate discretion, said to his wife, + +"We will go away without making any noise." + +"Are you going, James?" + +"I am in the way, my dear Mr. Desgranges." + +"No, pray stay longer." + +His benefactor retained him, reaching out to him cordially his hand. +The blind man seized the hand in his turn, and pressed it warmly +against his heart. + +"My dear friend, my dear good friend, you permit me to stay a little +longer. How glad I am to find myself near you. When I am sad I +say--'James, the good God will, perhaps, of His mercy, put you in +the same paradise with Mr. Desgranges,' and that does me good." + +The young man smiled at this simple tenderness, which believed in a +hierarchy in Heaven. James heard him. + +"You smile, sir. But this good man has re-created James. I dream of +it every night--I have never seen him, but I shall know him then. Oh +my God, if I recover my sight I will look at him for ever--for ever, +like the light, till he shall say to me, James, go away. But he will +not say so, he is too good. If I had known him four years ago, I +would have served him, and never have left him." + +"James, James!" said Mr. Desgranges; but the poor man could not be +silenced. + +"It is enough to know he is in the village; this makes my heart +easy. I do not always wish to come in, but I pass before his house, +it is always there; and when he is gone a journey I make Juliana +lead me into the plain of Noiesemont, and I say--'turn me towards +the place where he is gone, that I may breathe the same air with +him.'" + +Mr. Desgranges put his hand before his mouth. James stopped. + +"You are right, Mr. Desgranges, my mouth is rude, it is only my +heart which is right. Come, wife," said he, gayly, and drying his +great tears which rolled from his eyes, "Come, we must give our +children their supper. Good-by, my dear friend, good-by, sir." + +He went away, moving his staff before him. Just as he laid his hand +upon the door, Mr. Desgranges called him back. + +"I want to tell you a piece of news which will give you pleasure. I +was going to leave the village this year; but I have just taken a +new lease of five years of my landlady." + +"Do you see, Juliana," said James to his wife, turning round, "I was +right when I said he was going away." + +"How," replied Mr. Desgranges, "I had told them not to tell you +of it." + +"Yes; but here," putting his hand on his heart, "everything is plain +here. I heard about a month since, some little words, which had +begun to make my head turn round; when, last Sunday, your landlady +called me to her, and showed me more kindness than usual, promising +me that she would take care of me, and that she would never abandon +me. When I came home, I said to Juliana, 'Wife, Mr. Desgranges is +going to quit the village; but that lady has consoled me.'" + +In a few moments the blind man had returned to his home. + + + + + + +DEPENDENCE. + + + + + +"WELL, Mary," said Aunt Frances, "how do you propose to spend the +summer? It is so long since the failure and death of your guardian, +that I suppose you are now familiar with your position, and prepared +to mark out some course for the future." + +"True, aunt; I have had many painful thoughts with regard to the +loss of my fortune, and I was for a time in great uncertainty about +my future course, but a kind offer, which I received, yesterday, has +removed that burden. I now know where to find a respectable and +pleasant home." + +"Is the offer you speak of one of marriage?" asked Aunt Frances, +smiling. + +"Oh! dear, no; I am too young for that yet. But Cousin Kate is +happily married, and lives a few miles out of the city, in just the +cosiest little spot, only a little too retired; and she has +persuaded me that I shall do her a great kindness to accept a home +with her." + +"Let me see. Kate's husband is not wealthy, I believe?" + +"No: Charles Howard is not wealthy, but his business is very good, +and improving every year; and both he and Kate are too whole-souled +and generous to regret giving an asylum to an unfortunate girl like +me. They feel that 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.'" + +"A very noble feeling, Mary; but one in which I am sorry to perceive +that you are a little wanting." + +"Oh! no, Aunt Frances, I do feel it deeply; but it is the curse of +poverty that one must give up, in some measure, the power of +benefiting others. And, then, I mean to beguile Kate of so many +lonely hours, and perform so many friendly offices for her husband, +that they will think me not a burden but a treasure." + +"And you really think you can give them as much comfort as the +expense of your maintenance could procure them in any other way?" + +"Yes, aunt; it may sound conceited, perhaps, but I do really think I +can. I am sure, if I thought otherwise, I would never consent to +become a burden to them." + +"Well, my dear, then your own interest is all that remains to be +considered. There are few blessings in life that can compensate for +the loss of self-reliance. She who derives her support from persons +upon whom she has no natural claim, finds the effect upon herself to +be decidedly narrowing. Perpetually in debt, without the means of +reimbursement, barred from any generous action which does not seem +like 'robbing Peter to pay Paul,' she sinks too often into the +character of a sponge, whose only business is absorption. But I see +you do not like what I am saying, and I will tell you something +which I am sure you _will_ like--my own veritable history. + +"I was left an orphan in childhood, like yourself, and when my +father's affairs were settled, not a dollar remained for my support. +I was only six years of age, but I had attracted the notice of a +distant relative, who was a man of considerable wealth. Without any +effort of my own, I became an inmate of his family, and his only +son, a few years my elder, was taught to consider me as a sister. + +"George Somers was a generous, kind-hearted boy, and I believe he +was none the less fond of me, because I was likely to rob him of +half his fortune. Mr. Somers often spoke of making a will, in which +I was to share equally with his son in the division of his property, +but a natural reluctance to so grave a task led him to defer it from +one year to another. Meantime, I was sent to expensive schools, and +was as idle and superficial as any heiress in the land. + +"I was just sixteen when my kind benefactor suddenly perished on +board the ill-fated Lexington, and, as he died without a will, I had +no legal claim to any farther favours. But George Somers was known +as a very open-handed youth, upright and honourable, and, as he was +perfectly well acquainted with the wishes of his father, I felt no +fears with regard to my pecuniary condition. While yet overwhelmed +with grief at the loss of one whom my heart called father, I +received a very kind and sympathizing letter from George, in which +he said he thought I had better remain at school for another year, +as had been originally intended. + +"'Of course,' he added, 'the death of my father does not alter our +relation in the least; you are still my dear and only sister.' + +"And, in compliance with his wishes, I passed another year at a very +fashionable school--a year of girlish frivolity, in which my last +chance of acquiring knowledge as a means of future independence was +wholly thrown away. Before the close of this year I received another +letter from George, which somewhat surprised, but did not at all +dishearten me. It was, in substance, as follows:-- + +"'_MY own dear Sister_:--I wrote you, some months ago, from +Savannah, in Georgia told you how much I was delighted with the +place and people; how charmed with Southern frankness and +hospitality. But I did not tell you that I had there met with +positively the most bewitching creature in the world--for I was but +a timid lover, and feared that, as the song says, the course of true +love never would run smooth. My charming Laura was a considerable +heiress, and, although no sordid considerations ever had a feather's +weight upon her own preferences, of course, yet her father was +naturally and very properly anxious that the guardian of so fair a +flower should be able to shield it from the biting winds of poverty. +Indeed, I had some difficulty in satisfying his wishes on this +point, and in order to do so, I will frankly own that I assumed to +myself the unencumbered possession of my father's estate, of which +so large a share belongs of right to you. I am confident that when +you know my Laura you will forgive me this merely nominal injustice. +Of course, this connexion can make no sort of difference in your +rights and expectations. You will always have a home at my house. +Laura is delighted, with the idea of such a companion, and says she +would on no account dispense with that arrangement. And whenever, +you marry as girls do and will, I shall hold myself bound to satisfy +any reasonable wishes on the part of the happy youth that wins you. +Circumstances hastened my marriage somewhat unexpectedly, or I +should certainly have informed you previously, and requested your +presence at the nuptial ceremony. We have secured a beautiful house +in Brooklyn, and shall expect you to join us as soon as your present +year expires, Laura sends her kindest regards, and I remain, as +always, your sincere and affectionate brother, +GEORGE SOMERS.' + +"Not long after the receipt of this letter, one of the +instructresses, in the institution where I resided requested the +favour of a private interview. She then said she knew something +generally of my position and prospects, and, as she had always felt +an instinctive interest in my fortunes, she could not see me leave +the place without seeking my confidence, and rendering me aid, if +aid was in her power. Though surprised and, to say the truth, +indignant, I simply inquired what views, had occurred to her with +regard to my future life. + +"She said, then, very kindly, that although I was not very thorough +in, any branch of study, yet she thought I had a decided taste for +the lighter and more ornamental parts of female education. That a +few months earnest attention to these would fit me for a position +independent of my connexions, and one of which none of my friends +would have cause to be ashamed. + +"I am deeply pained to own to you how I answered her. Drawing myself +up, I said, coldly, + +"'I am obliged to you, madam, for your quite unsolicited interest in +my affairs. When I leave this place, it will be to join my brother +and sister in Brooklyn, and, as we are all reasonably wealthy, I +must try to make gold varnish over any defects in my neglected +education.' + +"I looked to see my kind adviser entirely annihilated by these +imposing words, but she answered with perfect calmness, + +"'I know Laura Wentworth, now Mrs. Somers. She was educated at the +North, and was a pupil of my own for a year. She is wealthy and +beautiful, and I hope you will never have cause to regret assuming a +position with regard to her that might be mistaken for dependence.' + +"With these words, my well-meaning, but perhaps injudicious friend, +took leave, and I burst into a mocking laugh, that I hoped she might +linger long enough to hear. 'This is too good!' I repeated to +myself--but I could not feel perfectly at ease. However, I soon +forgot all thoughts of the future, in the present duties of +scribbling in fifty albums, and exchanging keepsakes, tears, and +kisses, with a like number of _very_ intimate friends. + +"It was not until I had finally left school, and was fairly on the +way to the home of my brother, that I found a moment's leisure to +think seriously of the life that was before me. I confess that I +felt some secret misgivings, as I stood at last upon the steps of +the very elegant house that was to be my future home. The servant +who obeyed my summons, inquired if I was Miss Rankin, a name I had +never borne since childhood. + +"I was about to reply in the negative, when she added, 'If you are +the young lady that Mr. Somers is expecting from the seminary, I +will show you to your room.' + +"I followed mechanically, and was left in a very pretty chamber, +with the information that Mrs. Somers was a little indisposed, but +would meet me at dinner. The maid added that Mr. Somers was out of +town, and would not return till evening. After a very uncomfortable +hour, during which I resolutely suspended my opinion with regard to +my position, the dinner-bell rang, and the domestic again appeared +to show me to the dining-room. + +"Mrs. Somers met me with extended hand. 'My dear Miss Rankin!' she +exclaimed, 'I am most happy to see you. I have heard George speak of +you so often and so warmly that I consider you quite as a relative. +Come directly to the table. I am sure you must be famished after +your long ride. I hope you will make yourself one of us, at once, +and let me call you Fanny. May I call you Cousin Fanny?' she +pursued, with an air of sweet condescension that was meant to be +irresistible. + +"'As you please,' I replied coldly. + +"To which she quickly responded, 'Oh, that will be delightful.' + +"She then turned to superintend the carving of a fowl, and I had +time to look at her undisturbed. She was tall and finely formed, +with small delicate features, and an exquisite grace in every +movement; a haughty sweetness that was perfectly indescribable. She +had very beautiful teeth, which she showed liberally when she +smiled, and in her graver moments her slight features wore an +imperturbable serenity, as if the round world contained nothing that +was really worth her attention. An animated statue, cold, polished, +and pitiless! was my inward thought, as I bent over my dinner. + +"When the meal was over, Mrs. Somers said to me, in a tone of +playful authority, + +"'Now, Cousin Fanny, I want you to go to your room and rest, and not +do an earthly thing until teatime. After that I have a thousand +things to show you.' + +"At night I was accordingly shown a great part of the house; a +costly residence, and exquisitely furnished, but, alas! I already +wearied of this icy splendour. Every smile of my beautiful hostess +(I could not now call her sister), every tone of her soft voice, +every movement of her superb form, half queen-like dignity, half +fawn-like grace--seemed to place an insurmountable barrier between +herself and me. It was not that I thought more humbly of myself--not +that I did not even consider myself her equal--but her dainty +blandishments were a delicate frost-work, that almost made me shiver +and when, she touched her cool lips to mine, and said 'Good-night, +dear,' I felt as if even then separated from her real, living self, +by a wall of freezing marble. + +"'Poor George!' I said, as I retired to rest--'You have wedded this +soulless woman, and she will wind you round her finger.' + +"I did not sit up for him, for he was detained till a late hour, but +I obeyed the breakfast-bell with unfashionable eagerness, as I was +becoming nervous about our meeting, and really anxious to have it +over. After a delay of some minutes, I heard the wedded pair coming +leisurely down the stairs, in, very amicable chatter. + +"'I am glad you like her, Laura,' said a voice which I knew in a +moment as that of George. How I shivered as I caught the smooth +reply, 'A nice little thing. I am very glad of the connexion. It +will be such a relief not to rely entirely upon servants. There +should be a middle class in every family.' + +"With these words she glided through the door, looked with perfect +calmness in my flashing eyes, and said, + +"'Ah, Fanny! I, was just telling George here how much I shall like +you.' + +"The husband came forward with an embarrassed air; I strove to meet +him with dignity, but my heart failed me, and I burst into tears. + +"'Forgive me, madam,' I said, on regaining my composure--'This is +our first meeting since the death of _our father_.' + +"'I understand your feelings perfectly,' she quietly replied. 'My +father knew the late Mr. Somers well, and thought very highly of +him, He was charitable to a fault, and yet remarkable for +discernment. His bounty was seldom unworthily bestowed.' + +"His bounty! I had never been thought easy to intimidate, but I +quailed before this unapproachable ice-berg. It made no attempt +from that moment to vindicate what I was pleased to call my rights, +but awaited passively the progress of events. + +"After breakfast, Mrs. Somers said to the maid in attendance, + +"'Dorothy, bring some hot water and towels for Miss Rankin.' + +"She then turned to me and continued, 'I shall feel the china +perfectly safe in your hands, cousin. These servants are so very +unreliable.' + +"And she followed George to the parlour above, where their lively +tones and light laughter made agreeable music. + +"In the same easy way, I was invested with a variety of domestic +cares, most of them such as I would willingly have accepted, had she +waited for me to manifest such a willingness. But a few days after +my arrival, we received a visit from little Ella Grey, a cousin of +Laura's, who was taken seriously ill on the first evening of her +stay. A physician was promptly summoned, and, after a conference +with him, Mrs. Somers came to me, inquiring earnestly, + +"'Cousin Fanny, have you ever had the measles?' + +"I replied in the affirmative. + +"'Oh, I am very glad!' was her response; 'for little Ella is +attacked with them, and very severely; but, if you will take charge +of her, I shall feel no anxiety. It is dreadful in sickness to be +obliged to depend upon hirelings.' + +"So I was duly installed as little Ella's nurse, and, as she was a +spoiled child, my task was neither easy nor agreeable. + +"No sooner was the whining little creature sufficiently improved to +be taken to her own home, than the house was thrown into confusion +by preparations for a brilliant party. Laura took me with her on a +shopping excursion, and bade me select whatever I wished, and send +the bill with hers to Mr. Somers. I purchased a few indispensable +articles, but I felt embarrassed by her calm, scrutinizing gaze, and +by the consciousness that every item of my expenditures would be +scanned by, perhaps, censorious eyes. + +"What with my previous fatigue while acting as Ella's nurse, and the +laborious preparations for the approaching festival, I felt, as the +time drew near, completely exhausted. Yet I was determined not to so +far give way to the depressing influences that surrounded me, as to +absent myself from the party. So, after snatching an interval of +rest, to relieve my aching head, I dressed myself with unusual care, +and repaired to the brilliantly lighted rooms. They were already +filled, and murmuring like a swarm of bees, although, as one of the +guests remarked, there were more drones than workers in the hive. I +was now no drone, certainly, and that was some consolation. When I +entered, Laura was conversing with a group of dashing young men, who +were blundering over a book of charades. Seeing me enter, she came +towards me immediately. + +"'Cousin Fanny, you who help everybody, I want you to come to the +aid of these stupid young men. Gentlemen, this is our Cousin Fanny, +the very best creature in the world.' And with this introduction she +left me, and turned to greet some new arrivals. After discussing the +charades till my ears were weary of empty and aimless chatter, I was +very glad to find my group of young men gradually dispersing, and +myself at liberty to look about me, undisturbed. George soon came to +me, gave me his arm, and took me to a room where were several +ladies, friends of his father, and who had known me very well as a +child. + +"'You remember Fanny,' he said to them; and then left me, and +devoted himself to the courteous duties of the hour. While I was +indulging in a quiet chat with a very kind old friend, she proposed +to go with me to look at the dancers, as the music was remarkably +fine, and it was thought the collected beauty and fashion of the +evening would make a very brilliant show. We left our seats, +accordingly, but were soon engaged in the crowd, and while waiting +for an opportunity to move on, I heard one of my young men ask +another, + +"'How do you like _la cousine_?' + +"I lost a part of the answer, but heard the closing words +distinctly--'_et un peu passee._' '_Oui, decidement!_' was the +prompt response, and a light laugh followed, while, shrinking close +to my kind friend, I rejoiced that my short stature concealed me +from observation. I was not very well taught, but, like most +school-girls, I had a smattering of French, and I knew the meaning +of the very ordinary phrases that had been used with regard to me. +Before the supper-hour, my headache became so severe that I was glad +to take refuge in my own room. There I consulted my mirror, and felt +disposed to forgive, the young critics for their disparaging +remarks. _Passee!_ I looked twenty-five at least, and yet I was not +eighteen, and six months before I had fancied myself a beauty and an +heiress! + +"But I will not weary you with details. Suffice it to say; that I +spent only three months of this kind of life, and then relinquished +the protection of Mr. and Mrs. Somers, and removed to a second-rate +boarding-house, where I attempted to maintain myself by giving +lessons in music. Every day, however, convinced me of my unfitness +for this task, and, as I soon felt an interest in the sweet little +girls who looked up to me for instruction, my position with regard +to them became truly embarrassing. One day I had been wearying +myself by attempting the impossible task of making clear to another +mind, ideas that lay confusedly in my own, and at last I said to my +pupil, + +"'You may go home now, Clara, dear, and practise the lesson of +yesterday. I am really ill to-day, but to-morrow I shall feel +better, and I hope I shall then be able to make you understand me.' + +"The child glided out, but a shadow still fell across the carpet. I +looked up, and saw in the doorway a young man, whose eccentricities +sometimes excited a smile among his fellow-boarders, but who was +much respected for his sense and independence. + +"'To make yourself understood by others, you must first learn to +understand yourself,' said he, as he came forward. Then, taking my +hand, he continued,--'What if you should give up all this abortive +labour, take a new pupil, and, instead of imparting to others what +you have not very firmly grasped yourself, try if you can make a +human being of me?' + +"I looked into his large gray eyes, and saw the truth and +earnestness shining in their depths, like pebbles at the bottom of a +pellucid spring. I never once thought of giving him a conventional +reply. On the contrary, I stammered out, + +"'I am full, of faults and errors; I could never do you any good.' + +"'I have studied your character attentively,' returned he, 'and I +know you have faults, but they are unlike mine; and I think that you +might be of great service to me; or, if the expression suits you +better, that we might be of great aid to each other. Become my wife, +and I will promise to improve more rapidly than any pupil in your +class.' + +"And I did become his wife, but not until a much longer acquaintance +had convinced me, that in so doing, I should not exchange one form +of dependence for another, more galling and more hopeless." + +"Then this eccentric young man was Uncle Robert?" + +"Precisely. But you see he has made great improvement, since." + +"Well, Aunt Frances, I thank you for your story; and now for the +moral. What do you think I had better do?" + +"I will tell you what you can do, if you choose. Your uncle has just +returned from a visit to his mother. He finds her a mere child, +gentle and amiable, but wholly unfit to take charge of herself. Her +clothes have taken fire repeatedly, from her want of judgment with +regard to fuel and lights, and she needs a companion for every +moment of the day. This, with their present family, is impossible, +and they are desirous to secure some one who will devote herself to +your grandmother during the hours when your aunt and the domestics +are necessarily engaged. You were always a favourite there, and I +know they would be very much relieved if you would take this office +for a time, but they feel a delicacy in making any such proposal. +You can have all your favourites about you--books, flowers, and +piano; for the dear old lady delights to hear reading or music, and +will sit for hours with a vacant smile upon her pale, faded face. +Then your afternoons will be entirely your own, and Robert is +empowered to pay any reliable person a salary of a fixed and ample +amount, which will make you independent for the time." + +"But, aunt, you will laugh at me, I know, yet I do really fear that +Kate will feel this arrangement as a disappointment." + +"Suppose I send her a note, stating that you have given me some +encouragement of assuming this important duty, but that you could +not think of deciding without showing a grateful deference to her +wishes?" + +"That will be just the thing. We shall get a reply to-morrow." With +to-morrow came the following note:-- + +"_My Dear Aunt Frances_:--Your favour of yesterday took us a little +by surprise, I must own I had promised myself a great deal of +pleasure in the society of our Mary; but since she is inclined (and +I think it is very noble in her) to foster with the dew of her youth +the graceful but fallen stem that lent beauty to us all, I cannot +say a word to prevent it. Indeed, it has occurred to me, since the +receipt of your note, that we shall need the room we had reserved +for Mary, to accommodate little Willie, Mr. Howard's pet nephew, who +has the misfortune to be lame. His physicians insist upon country +air, and a room upon the first floor. So tell Mary I love her a +thousand times better for her self-sacrifice, and will try to +imitate it by doing all in my power for the poor little invalid that +is coming. + +"With the kindest regards, I remain "Your affectionate niece, + +"KATE HOWARD." + +"Are you now decided, Mary?" asked Aunt Frances, after their joint +perusal of the letter. + +"Not only decided, but grateful. I have lost my fortune, it is true; +but while youth and health remain, I shall hardly feel tempted to +taste the luxuries of dependence." + + + + + + +TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR. + + + + + +JUMP in, if you would ride with the doctor. You have no time to +lose, for the patient horse, thankful for the unusual blessing which +he has enjoyed in obtaining a good night's rest, stands early at the +door this rainy morning, and the worthy doctor himself is already in +his seat, and is hastily gathering up the reins, for there have been +no less than six rings at his bell within as many minutes, and +immediate attendance is requested in several different places. + +It is not exactly the day one might select for a ride, for the storm +is a regular north-easter, and your hands and feet are benumbed with +the piercing cold wind, while you are drenched with the driving +rain. + +But the doctor is used to all this, and, unmindful of wind and rain, +he urges his faithful horse to his utmost speed, eager to reach the +spot where the most pressing duty calls. He has at least the +satisfaction of being welcome. Anxious eyes are watching for his +well-known vehicle from the window; the door is opened ere he puts +his hand upon the lock, and the heartfelt exclamation, + +"Oh, doctor, I am so thankful you have come!" greets him as he +enters. + +Hastily the anxious father leads the way to the room where his +half-distracted wife is bending in agony over their first-born, a +lovely infant of some ten months, who is now in strong convulsions. +The mother clasps her hands, and raises her eyes in gratitude to +heaven, as the doctor enters,-he is her only earthly hope. Prompt +and efficient remedies are resorted to, and in an hour the restored +little one is sleeping tranquilly in his mother's arms. + +The doctor departs amid a shower of blessings, and again urging his +horse to speed, reaches his second place of destination. It is a +stately mansion. A spruce waiter hastens to answer his ring, but the +lady herself meets him as he enters the hall. + +"We have been expecting you anxiously, doctor. Mr. Palmer is quite +ill, this morning. Walk up, if you please." + +The doctor obeys, and is eagerly welcomed by his patient. + +"Do exert your utmost skill to save me from a fever, doctor. The +symptoms are much the same which I experienced last year, previous +to that long siege with the typhoid. It distracts me to think of it. +At this particular juncture I should lose thousands by absence from +my business." + +The doctor's feelings are enlisted,--his feelings of humanity and +his feelings of self-interest, for doctors must live as well as +other people; and the thought of the round sum which would find its +way to his own purse, if he could but succeed in preventing the loss +of thousands to his patient, was by no means unpleasing. + +The most careful examination of the symptoms is made, and +well-chosen prescriptions given. He is requested to call as often as +possible through the day, which he readily promises to do, although +press of business and a pouring rain render it somewhat difficult. + +The result, however, will be favourable to his wishes. His second +and third call give him great encouragement, and on the second day +after the attack, the merchant returns to his counting-room exulting +in the skill of his physician. + +But we must resume our ride. On, on goes the doctor; rain pouring, +wind blowing, mud splashing. Ever and anon he checks his horse's +speed, at his various posts of duty. High and low, rich and poor +anxiously await his coming. He may not shrink from the ghastly +spectacle of human suffering and death. Humanity, in its most +loathsome forms, is presented to him. + +The nearest and dearest may turn away in grief and horror, but the +doctor blenches not. + +Again we are digressing. The doctor's well-known tap is heard at the +door of a sick-room, where for many days he has been in constant +attendance. Noiselessly he is admitted. The young husband kneels at +the side of the bed where lies his dearest earthly treasure. The +calm but deeply-afflicted mother advances to the doctor, and +whispers fearfully low, + +"There is a change. She sleeps. Is it--oh! can it be the sleep of +death?" + +Quickly the physician is at the bedside, and anxiously bending over +his patient. + +Another moment and he grasps the husband's hand, while the glad +words "She will live," burst from his lips. + +We may not picture forth their joy. On, on, we are riding with the +doctor. Once more we are at his own door. Hastily he enters, and +takes up the slate containing the list of calls during his absence. +At half a dozen places his presence is requested without delay. + +A quick step is heard on the stairs, and his gentle wife hastens to +welcome him. + +"I am so glad you have come; how wet you must be!" + +The parlour door is thrown open. What a cheerful fire, and how +inviting look the dressing-gown and the nicely warmed slippers! + +"Take off your wet clothes, dear; dinner will soon be ready," urges +the wife. + +"It is impossible, Mary. There are several places to visit yet. Nay, +never look so sad. Have not six years taught you what a doctor's +wife must expect?" + +"I shall never feel easy when you are working so hard, Henry; but +surely you will take a cup of hot coffee; I have it all ready. It +will delay you but a moment." + +The doctor consents; and while the coffee is preparing, childish +voices are heard, and little feet come quickly through the hall. + +"Papa has come home!" shouts a manly little fellow of four years, as +he almost drags his younger sister to the spot where he has heard +his father's voice. + +The father's heart is gladdened by their innocent joy, as they cling +around him; but there is no time for delay. A kiss to each, one good +jump for the baby, the cup of coffee is hastily swallowed, the wife +receives her embrace with tearful eyes, and as the doctor springs +quickly into his chaise, and wheels around the corner, she sighs +deeply as she looks at the dressing-gown and slippers, and thinks of +the favourite dish which she had prepared for dinner; and now it may +be night before he comes again. But she becomes more cheerful as she +remembers that a less busy season will come, and then they will +enjoy the recompense of this hard labour. + +The day wears away, and at length comes the happy hour when gown and +slippers may be brought into requisition. The storm still rages +without, but there is quiet happiness within. The babies are +sleeping, and father and mother are in that snug little parlour, +with its bright light and cheerful fire. The husband is not too +weary to read aloud, and the wife listens, while her hands are +busied with woman's never-ending work. + +But their happiness is of short duration. A loud ring at the bell. + +"Patient in the office, sir," announces the attendant. + +The doctor utters a half-impatient exclamation; but the wife +expresses only thankfulness that it is an office patient. + +"Fine night for a sick person to come out!" muttered the doctor, as +he unwillingly lays down his book, and rises from the comfortable +lounge. + +But he is himself again by the time his hand is on the door of the +office, and it is with real interest that he greets his patient. + +"Tooth to be extracted? Sit down, sir. Here, Biddy, bring water and +a brighter lamp. Have courage, sir; one moment will end it." + +The hall door closes on the relieved sufferer, and the doctor throws +himself again on the lounge, and smilingly puts the bright half +dollar in his pocket. + +"That was not so bad, after all, Mary. I like to make fifty cents in +that way." + +"Cruel creature! Do not mention it." + +"Cruel! The poor man blessed me in his heart. Did I not relieve him +from the most intense suffering?" + +"Well, never mind. I hope there will be no more calls to-night." + +"So do I. Where is the book? I will read again." No more +interruptions. Another hour, and all, are sleeping quietly. + +Midnight has passed, when the sound of the bell falls on the +doctor's wakeful ear. As quickly as possible he answers it in +person, but another peal is heard ere he reaches the door. + +A gentleman to whose family he has frequently been called, appears. + +"Oh! doctor, lose not a moment; my little Willie is dying with the +croup!" + +There is no resisting this appeal. The still wet overcoat and boots +are drawn on; medicine case hastily seized, and the doctor rushes +forth again into the storm. + +Pity for his faithful horse induces him to traverse the distance on +foot, and a rapid walk of half a mile brings him to the house. + +It was no needless alarm. The attack was a severe one, and all his +skill was required to save the life of the little one. It was +daylight ere he could leave him with safety. Then, as he was about +departing for his own home, an express messenger arrived to entreat +him to go immediately to another place nearly a mile in an opposite +direction. + +Breakfast was over ere he reached his own house. His thoughtful wife +suggested a nap; but a glance at the already well-filled slate +showed this to be out of the question. A hasty toilet, and still +hastier breakfast, and the doctor is again seated in his chaise, +going on his accustomed rounds; but we will not now accompany him. + +Let us pass over two or three months, and invite ourselves to +another ride. One pleasant morning, when less pressed with business, +he walks leisurely from the house to the chaise, and gathering up +the reins with a remarkably thoughtful air, rides slowly down the +street. + +But few patients are on his list, and these are first attended to. + +The doctor then pauses for consideration. He has set apart this day +for _collecting_. Past experience has taught him that the task is by +no means an agreeable one. It is necessary, however--absolutely +so--for, as we have said before, doctors must live as well as other +people; their house-rent must be paid, food and clothing must be +supplied. + +A moment only pauses the doctor, and then we are again moving +onward. A short ride brings us to the door of a pleasantly-situated +house. We remember it well. It is where the little one lay in fits +when we last rode out with the doctor. We recall the scene: the +convulsed countenance of the child; the despair of the parents, and +the happiness which succeeded when their beloved one was restored to +them. + +Surely they will now welcome the doctor. Thankfully will they pay +the paltry sum he claims as a recompense for his services. We are +more confident than the doctor. Experience is a sure teacher. The +door does not now fly open at his approach. He gives his name to the +girl who answers the bell, and in due time the lady of the house +appears. + +"Ah! doctor, how do you do? You are quite a stranger! Delightful +weather," &c. + +The doctor replies politely, and inquires if her husband is in. + +"Yes, he is in; but I regret to say he is exceedingly engaged this +morning. His business is frequently of a nature which cannot suffer +interruption. He would have been pleased to have seen you." + +The doctor's pocket-book is produced, and the neatly drawn bill is +presented. + +"If convenient to Mr. Lawton, the amount would be acceptable." + +"I will hand it to him when he is at leisure. He will attend to it, +no doubt." + +The doctor sighs involuntarily as he recalls similar indefinite +promises; but it is impossible to insist upon interrupting important +business. He ventures another remark, implying that prompt payment +would oblige him; bows, and retires. + +On, on goes the faithful horse. Where is to be our next +stopping-place? At the wealthy merchant's, who owed so much to the +doctor's skill some two months since. Even the doctor feels +confidence here. Thousands saved by the prevention of that fever. +Thirty dollars is not to be thought of in comparison. + +All is favourable. Mr. Palmer is at home, and receives his visiter +in a cordial manner. Compliments are passed. Now for the bill. + +"Our little account, Mr. Palmer." + +"Ah! I recollect; I am a trifle in your debt. Let us see: thirty +dollars! So much? I had forgotten that we had needed medical advice, +excepting in my slight indisposition a few weeks since." + +Slight indisposition! What a memory some people are blessed with! + +The doctor smothers his rising indignation. + +"Eight visits, Mr. Palmer, and at such a distance. You will find the +charge a moderate one." + +"Oh! very well; I dare say it is all right. I am sorry I have not +the money for you to-day, doctor. Very tight just at present; you +know how it is with men of business." + +"It would be a great accommodation if I could have it at once." + +"Impossible, doctor! I wish I could oblige you. In a week, or +fortnight, at the farthest, I will call at your office." + +A week or fortnight! The disappointed doctor once more seats himself +in his chaise, and urges his horse to speed. He is growing desperate +now, and is eager to reach his next place of destination. Suddenly +he checks the horse. A gentleman is passing whom he recognises as +the young husband whose idolized wife has so lately been snatched +from the borders of the grave. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Wilton; I was about calling at your house." + +"Pray, do so, doctor; Mrs. Wilton will be pleased to see you." + +"Thank you; but my call was on business, to-day. I believe I must +trouble you with my bill for attendance during your wife's illness." + +"Ah! yes; I recollect. Have you it with you? Fifty dollars! +Impossible! Why, she was not ill above three weeks." + +"Very true; but think of the urgency of the case. Three or four +calls during twenty-four hours were necessary, and two whole nights +I passed at her bedside." + +"And yet the charge appears to me enormous. Call it forty, and I +will hand you the amount at once." + +The doctor hesitates. "I cannot afford to lose ten dollars, which is +justly my due, Mr. Wilton." + +"Suit yourself, doctor. Take forty, and receipt the bill, or stick +to your first charge, and wait till I am ready to pay it. Fifty +dollars is no trifle, I can tell you." + +And this is the man whose life might have been a blank but for the +doctor's skill! + +Again we are travelling onward. The unpaid bill is left in Mr. +Wilton's hand, and yet the doctor half regrets that he had not +submitted to the imposition. Money is greatly needed just now, and +there seems little prospect of getting any. + +Again and again the horse is stopped at some well-known post. A poor +welcome has the doctor to-day. Some bills are collected, but their +amount is discouragingly small. Everybody appears to feel +astonishingly healthy, and have almost forgotten that they ever had +occasion for a physician. There is one consolation, however: +sickness will come again, and then, perhaps, the unpaid bill may be +recollected. Homeward goes the doctor. He is naturally of a cheerful +disposition; but now he is seriously threatened with a fit of the +blues. A list of calls upon his slate has little effect to raise his +spirits. "All work and no pay," he mutters to himself, as he puts on +his dressing-gown and slippers; and, throwing himself upon the +lounge, turns a deaf ear to the little ones, while he indulges in a +revery as to the best mode of paying the doctor. + + + + + + +KEEP IN STEP. + +Those who would walk together must keep in step. + +--OLD PROVERB. + + + + + +AY, the world keeps moving forward, + Like an army marching by; +Hear you not its heavy footfall, + That resoundeth to the sky? +Some bold spirits bear the banner-- + Souls of sweetness chant the song,-- +Lips of energy and fervour + Make the timid-hearted strong! +Like brave soldiers we march forward; + If you linger or turn back, +You must look to get a jostling + While you stand upon our track. + Keep in step. + +My good neighbour, Master Standstill, + Gazes on it as it goes; +Not quite sure but he is dreaming, + In his afternoon's repose! +"Nothing good," he says, "can issue + From this endless moving on; +Ancient laws and institutions + Are decaying, or are gone. +We are rushing on to ruin, + With our mad, new-fangled ways." +While he speaks a thousand voices, + As the heart of one man, says-- + "Keep in step!" + +Gentle neighbour, will you join us, + Or return to "_good old ways?_" +Take again the fig-leaf apron + Of Old Adam's ancient days;-- +Or become a hardy Briton-- + Beard the lion in his lair, +And lie down in dainty slumber + Wrapped in skins of shaggy bear,-- +Rear the hut amid the forest, + Skim the wave in light canoe? +Ah, I see! you do not like it. + Then if these "old ways" won't do, + Keep in step. + +Be assured, good Master Standstill, + All-wise Providence designed +Aspiration and progression + For the yearning human mind. +Generations left their blessings, + In the relies of their skill, +Generations yet are longing + For a greater glory still; +And the shades of our forefathers + Are not jealous of our deed-- +We but follow where they beckon, + We but go where they do lead! + Keep in step. + +One detachment of our army + May encamp upon the hill, +While another in the valley + May enjoy its own sweet will; +This, may answer to one watchword, + That, may echo to another; +But in unity and concord, + They discern that each is brother! +Breast to breast they're marching onward, + In a good now peaceful way; +You'll be jostled if you hinder, + So don't offer let or stay-- + Keep in step. + + + + + + +JOHNNY COLE. + + + + + +"I GUESS we will have to put out our Johnny," said Mrs. Cole, with a +sigh, as she drew closer to the fire, one cold day in autumn. This +remark was addressed to her husband, a sleepy, lazy-looking man, who +was stretched on a bench, with his eyes half closed. The wife, with +two little girls of eight and ten, were knitting as fast as their +fingers could fly; the baby was sound asleep in the cradle; while +Johnny, a boy of thirteen, and a brother of four, were seated on the +wide hearth making a snare for rabbits. The room they occupied was +cold and cheerless; the warmth of the scanty fire being scarcely +felt; yet the floor, and every article of furniture, mean as they +were, were scrupulously neat and clean. + +The appearance of this family indicated that they were very poor. +They were all thin and pale, really for want of proper food, and +their clothes had been patched until it was difficult to decide what +the original fabric had been; yet this very circumstance spoke +volume in favour of the mother. She was, a woman of great energy of +character, unfortunately united to a man whose habits were such, +that, for the greater part of the time, he was a dead weight upon +her hands; although not habitually intemperate, he was indolent and +good-for-nothing to a degree, lying in the sun half his time, when +the weather was warm, and never doing a stroke of work until driven +to it by the pangs of hunger. + +As for the wife, by taking in sewing, knitting, and spinning for the +farmers' families in the neighbourhood, she managed to pay a rent of +twenty dollars for the cabin in which they lived; while she and +Johnny, with what assistance they could occasionally get from Jerry, +her husband, tilled the half acre of ground attached; and the +vegetables thus obtained, were their main dependance during the long +winter just at hand. Having thus introduced the Coles to our reader, +we will continue the conversation. + +"I guess we will have to put out Johnny, and you will try and help +us a little more, Jerry, dear." + +"Why, what's got into the woman now?" muttered Jerry, stretching his +arms, and yawning to the utmost capacity of his mouth. The children +laughed at their father's uncouth gestures, and even Mrs. Cole's +serious face relaxed into a smile, as she answered, + +"Don't swallow us all, and I will tell you. The winter is beginning +early, and promises to be cold. Our potatoes didn't turn out as well +as I expected, and the truth is, we cannot get along so. We won't +have victuals to last us half the time; and, manage as I will, I +can't much more than pay the rent, I get so little for the kind of +work I do. Now, if Johnny gets a place, it will make one less to +provide for; and he will be learning to do something for himself." + +"Yes, but mother," said the boy, moving close to her side, and +laying his head on her knee, "yes, but who'll help you when I am +gone? Who'll dig the lot, and hoe, and cut the wood, and carry the +water? You can't go away down to the spring in the deep snow. And +who'll make the fire in the cold mornings?" + +The mother looked sorry enough, as her darling boy--for he was the +object around which the fondest affections of her heart had entwined +themselves--she looked sorry enough, as he enumerated the turns he +was in the habit of doing for her; but, woman-like, she could suffer +and be still; so she answered cheerfully, + +"May be father will, dear; and when you grow bigger, and learn how +to do everything, you'll be such a help to us all." + +"Don't depend on me," said Jerry, now arousing himself and +sauntering to the fire; "I hardly ever feel well,"--complaining was +Jerry's especial forte, an excuse for all his laziness; yet his +appetite never failed; and when, as was sometimes the case, one of +the neighbours sent a small piece of meat, or any little article of +food to his wife, under the plea of ill health he managed to +appropriate nearly the whole of it. He was selfishness embodied, and +a serious injury to his family, as few cared to keep him up in his +laziness. + +One evening, a few days later, Mrs. Cole, who had been absent +several hours, came in looking very tired, and after laying aside +her old bonnet and shawl, informed them that she had obtained a +place for Johnny. It was four miles distant, and the farmer's man +would stop for him on his way from town, the next afternoon. What a +beautiful object was farmer Watkins's homestead, lying as it did on +the sunny slope of a hill; its gray stone walls, peeping out from +between the giant trees that overshadowed it, while everything +around and about gave evidence of abundance and comfort. The thrifty +orchard; the huge barn with its overflowing granaries; the sleek, +well-fed cattle; even the low-roofed spring-house, with its +superabundance of shining pails and pans, formed an item which could +hardly be dispensed with, in the _tout ensemble_ of this pleasant +home. + +Farmer Watkins was an honest, hard-working man, somewhat past middle +age, with a heart not naturally devoid of kindness, but, where his +hirelings were concerned, so strongly encrusted with a layer of +habits, that they acted as an effectual check upon his better +feelings. His family consisted of a wife, said to be a notable +manager, and five or six children, the eldest, a son, at college. In +this household, work, work, was the order of the day; the farmer +himself, with his great brown fists, set the example, and the +others, willing or unwilling, were obliged to follow his lead. He +had agreed to take John Cole, as he said, more to get rid of his +mother's importunities, than for any benefit he expected to derive +from him; and when remonstrated with by his wife for his folly in +giving her the trouble of another brat, he answered shortly: "Never +fear, I'll get the worth of his victuals and clothes out of him." +Johnny was to have his boarding, clothes, and a dollar a month, for +two years. This dollar a month was the great item in Mrs. Cole's +calculations; twelve dollars a year, she argued, would almost pay +her rent, and when the tears stood in Johnny's great brown eyes (for +he was a pretty, gentle-hearted boy), as he was bidding them all +good-bye, and kissing the baby over and over again, she told him +about the money he would earn, and nerved his little heart with her +glowing representations, until he was able to choke back the tears, +and leave home almost cheerfully. + +_Home_--yes, it was home; for they had much to redeem the miseries +of want within those bare cabin walls, for gentle hearts and kindly +smiles were there. There + +"The mother sang at the twilight fall, +To the babe half slumbering on her knee." + +There his brother and sisters played; there his associations, his +hopes, his wishes, were all centered. When he arrived at farmer +Watkins's, and was sent into the large carpeted kitchen, everything +was so unlike this home, that his fortitude almost gave way, and it +was as much as he could do, as he told his mother afterwards, "to +keep from bursting right out." Mrs. Watkins looked very cross, nor +did she notice him, except to order him to stand out of the way of +the red-armed girl who was preparing supper and placing it on a +table in the ample apartment. Johnny looked with amazement at the +great dishes of meat, and plates of hot biscuit, but the odour of +the steaming coffee, and the heat, were almost too much for him, as +he had eaten nothing since morning, for he was too sorry to leave +home to care about dinner. The girl, noticing that his pale face +grew paler, laughingly drew her mistress's attention to "master's +new boy." + +"Go out and bring in some wood for the stove," said Mrs. Watkins, +sharply; "the air will do you good." + +Johnny went out, and, in a few minutes, felt revived. Looking about, +he soon found the wood-shed; there was plenty of wood, but none cut +of a suitable length; it was all in cord sticks. Taking an axe, he +chopped an armful, and on taking it into the house, found the +family, had finished their suppers; the biscuits and meat were all +eaten. + +"Come on here to your supper," said the maid-servant, angrily. "What +have you been doing?" and, without waiting for an answer, she filled +a tin basin with mush and skimmed milk, and set it before him. The +little boy did not attempt to speak, but sat down and ate what was +given him. Immediately after, he was sent into a loft to bed, where +he cried himself to sleep. Ah! when we count the thousand pulsations +that yield pain or pleasure to the human mind, what a power to do +good or evil is possessed by every one; and how often would a kind +word, or one sympathizing glance, gladden the hearts of those thus +prematurely forced upon the anxieties of the world! But how few +there are who care to bestow them! The next morning, long before +dawn, the farmer's family, with the exception of the younger +children were astir. The cattle were to be fed and attended to, the +horses harnessed, the oxen yoked, and great was the bustle until all +hands were fairly at work. As for Johnny, he was taken into the +field to assist in husking corn. The wind was keen, and the stalks, +from recent rain, were wet, and filled with ice. His scanty clothing +scarcely afforded any protection from the cold, and his hands soon +became so numb that he could scarcely use them; but, if he stopped +one moment to rap them, or breathe upon them, in the hope of +imparting some warmth, the farmer who was close at hand, in warm +woollen clothes and thick husking gloves, would call out, + +"Hurry up, hurry up, my boy! no idle bread must be eaten here!" + +And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but +it would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought +of exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for +him, told him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a +moment, he would send him home. This was enough for Johnny; anything +was better than to go back and be a burden on his mother; he worked +to the best of his ability until noon. At noon, he managed to get +thoroughly warm, behind the stove, while eating his dinner. Still, +the sufferings of the child, with his insufficient clothing, were +very great; but nobody seemed to think of the _hired boy_ being an +object of sympathy, and thus it continued. The rule seemed to be to +get all that was possible out of him, and his little frame was so +weary at night, that he had hardly time to feel rested, until called +with the dawn to renew his labour. A monthly Sunday however, was the +golden period looked forward to in his day-dreams, for it had been +stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday evening every four weeks, +he was to come home, and stay all the next day. And when the time +arrived, how nimbly did he get over the ground that stretched +between him and the goal of his wishes! How much he had to tell! But +as soon as he began to complain, his mother would say cheerfully, +although her heart bled for the hardships of her child, + +"Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you +grow up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you." + +This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly +miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his +condition; and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny +persevered; young as he was, he understood the necessity. But how +often, during the four weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of +the Saturday night he had spent at home come up before his mental +vision! The fresh loaf of rye bread, baked in honour of his arrival, +and eaten for supper, with maple molasses--the very molasses he had +helped to boil on shares with Farmer Thrifty's boys in the spring. +What a feast they had! Then the long evening afterwards, when the +blaze of the hickory fires righted up the timbers of the old cabin +with a mellow glow, and mother looked so cheerful and smiled so +kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and light. And how even +father had helped to pop corn in the iron pot. + +Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample +opportunity to draw comparisons, for he often thought his master +cared more for his cattle than he did for him, and it is quite +probable he did; for while they were warmly housed he was needlessly +exposed, and his comfort utterly disregarded. If there was brush to +cut, or fence to make, or any out-door labour to perform, a wet, +cold, or windy day was sure to be selected, while in _fine weather_ +the wood was required to be chopped, and, generally speaking, all +the work that could be done under shelter. Yet we dare say Farmer +Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this, or the advantage he +would himself derive by arranging it otherwise. + +John Cole had been living out perhaps a year. He had not grown much +in this period; his frame had always been slight, and his sunken +cheeks and wasted limbs spoke of the hard usage and suffering of his +present situation. The family had many delicacies for themselves, +but the _work boy_ they knew never was used to such things, and they +were indifferent, as to what his fare chanced to be. He generally +managed to satisfy the cravings of hunger on the coarse food given +him, but that was all. About this time it happened that the farmer +was digging a ditch, and as he was afraid winter would set in before +it was completed, Johnny and himself were at work upon it early and +late, notwithstanding the wind whistled, and it was so cold they +could hardly handle the tools. While thus employed, it chanced that +they got wet to the skin with a drizzling rain, and on returning to +the house the farmer changed his clothes, drank some hot mulled +cider, and spent the remainder of the evening in his high-backed +chair before a comfortable fire; while the boy was sent to grease a +wagon in an open shed, and at night crept to his straw pallet, +shaking as though in an ague fit. The next morning he was in a high +fever, and with many a "wonder of what had got into him," but +without one word of sympathy, or any other manifestation of +good-will, he was sent home to his mother. Late in the evening of +the same day a compassionate physician was surprised to see a woman +enter his office; her garments wet and travel-stained, and, with +streaming eyes, she besought him to come and see her son. + +"My Johnny, my Johnny, sir!" she cried, "he has been raving wild all +day, and we are afraid he will die." + +Mistaking the cause of the good man's hesitation, she added, with a +fresh burst of grief, "Oh! I will work my fingers to the bone to pay +you, sir, if you will only come. We live in the Gap." + +A few inquiries were all that was necessary to learn the state of +the case. The benevolent doctor took the woman in his vehicle, and +proceeded, over a mountainous road of six miles, to see his patient. +But vain was the help of man! Johnny continued delirious; it was +work, work, always at work; and pitiful was it to hear his +complaints of being cold and tired, while his heart-broken parent +hung over him, and denied herself the necessaries of life to +minister to his wants. After being ill about a fortnight, he awoke +one evening apparently free from fever. His expression was natural, +but he seemed so weak he could not speak. His mother, with a heart +overflowing with joy at the change she imagined favourable, bent +over him. With a great effort he placed his arms about her neck; she +kissed his pale lips; a smile of strange meaning passed over his +face, and ere she could unwind that loving clasp her little Johnny +was no more. He had gone where the wicked cease from troubling, and +the weary are at rest; but her hopes were blasted; her house was +left unto her desolate; and as she watched, through the long hours +of night, beside the dead body, it was to our Father who art in +Heaven her anguished heart poured itself out in prayer. Think of +this, ye rich! who morning and evening breathe the same petition by +your own hearthstones. Think of it, ye who have authority to +oppress! Do not deprive the poor man or woman of the "ewe lamb" that +is their sole possession; and remember that He whose ear is ever +open to the cry of the distressed, has power to avenge their cause. + + + + + + +THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR. + + + + + +"CIRCUMSTANCES made me what I am," said a condemned criminal to a +benevolent man who visited him in prison. "I was driven by necessity +to steal." + +"Not so," replied the keeper, who was standing by. "Rather say, that +your own character made the circumstances by which you were +surrounded. God never places upon any creature the necessity of +breaking his commandments. You stole, because, in heart, you were a +thief." + +The benevolent man reproved the keeper for what he called harsh +words. He believed that, alone, by the force of external +circumstances, men were made criminals. That, if society were +differently arranged, there would be little or no crime in the +world. And so he made interest for the criminal, and, in the end, +secured his release from prison. Nor did his benevolence stop here. +He took the man into his service, and intrusted to him his money and +his goods. + +"I will remove from him all temptation to steal," said he, "by a +liberal supply of his wants." + +"Have you a wife?" he asked of the man, when he took him from +prison. + +"No," was replied. + +"Nor any one but yourself to support?" + +"I am alone in the world." + +"You have received a good education; and can serve me as a clerk. I +therefore take you into my employment, at a fair salary. Will five +hundred dollars be enough?" + +"It will be an abundance," said the man, with evident surprise at an +offer so unexpectedly liberal. + +"Very well. That will place you above temptation." + +"And I will be innocent and happy. You are my benefactor. You have +saved me." + +"I believe it," said the man of benevolence. + +And so he intrusted his goods and his money to the man he had +reformed by placing him in different circumstances. + +But it is in the heart of man that evil lies; and from the heart's +impulses spring all our actions. That must cease to be a bitter +fountain before it can send forth sweet water. The thief was a thief +still. Not a month elapsed ere he was devising the means to enable +him to get from his kind, but mistaken friend, more than the liberal +sum for which he had agreed to serve him. He coveted his neighbour's +goods whenever his eyes fell upon them; and restlessly sought to +acquire their possession. In order to make more sure the attainment +of his ends, he affected sentiments of morality, and even went so +far as to cover his purposes by a show of religion. And thus he was +able to deceive and rob his kind friend. + +Time went on; and the thief, apparently reformed by a change of +relation to society, continued in his post of responsibility. How it +was, the benefactor could not make out; but his affairs gradually +became less prosperous. He made investigations into his business, +but was unable to find anything wrong. + +"Are you aware that your clerk is a purchaser of property to a +considerable extent?" said a mercantile friend to him one day. + +"My clerk! It cannot be. His income is only five hundred dollars a +year." + +"He bought a piece of property for five thousand last week." + +"Impossible!" + +"I know it to be true. Are you aware that he was once a convict in +the State's Prison?" + +"Oh yes. I took him from prison myself, and gave him a chance for +his life. I do not believe in hunting men down for a single crime, +the result of circumstances rather than a bad heart." + +"A truly honest man, let me tell you," replied the merchant, "will +be honest in any and all circumstances. And a rogue will be a rogue, +place him where you will. The evil is radical, and must be cured +radically. Your reformed thief has robbed you, without doubt." + +"I have reason to fear that he has been most ungrateful," replied +the kind-hearted man, who, with the harmlessness of the dove, did +not unite the wisdom of the serpent. + +And so it proved. His clerk had robbed him of over twenty thousand +dollars in less than five years, and so sapped the foundations of +his prosperity, that he recovered with great difficulty. + +"You told me, when in prison," said the wronged merchant to his +clerk, "that circumstances made you what you were. This you cannot +say now." + +"I can," was the reply. "Circumstances made me poor, and I desired +to be rich. The means of attaining wealth were placed in my hands, +and I used them. Is it strange that I should have done so? It is +this social inequality that makes crime. Your own doctrine, and I +subscribe to it fully." + +"Ungrateful wretch!" said the merchant, indignantly, "it is the evil +of your own heart that prompts to crime. You would be a thief and a +robber if you possessed millions." + +And he again handed him over to the law, and let the prison walls +protect society from his depredations. + +No, it is not true that in external circumstances lie the origins of +evil. God tempts no man by these. In the very extremes of poverty we +see examples of honesty; and among the wealthiest, find those who +covet their neighbour's goods, and gain dishonest possession +thereof. Reformers must seek to elevate the personal character, if +they would regenerate society. To accomplish the desired good by a +different external arrangement, is hopeless; for in the heart of man +lies the evil,--there is the fountain from which flow forth the +bitter and blighting waters of crime. + + + + + + +JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON. + + + + + +"AND you will really send Reuben to cut down that clump of pines?" + +"Yes, Margaret. Well, now, it is necessary, for more reasons +than"---- + +"Don't tell me so, John," impetuously interrupted Margaret +Greylston. "I am sure there is no necessity in the case, and I am +sorry to the very heart that you have no more feeling than to order +_those_ trees to be cut down." + +"Feeling! well, maybe I have more than you think; yet I don't choose +to let it make a fool of me, for all that. But I wish you would say +no more about those trees, Margaret; they really must come down; I +have reasoned with you on this matter till I am sick of it." + +Miss Greylston got up from her chair, and walked out on the shaded +porch; then she turned and called her brother. + +"Will you come here, John?" + +"And what have you to say?" + +"Nothing, just now; I only want you to stand here and look at the +old pines." + +And so John Greylston did; and he saw the distant woods grave and +fading beneath the autumn wind--while the old pines upreared their +stately heads against the blue sky, unchanged in beauty, fresh and +green as ever. + +"You see those trees, John, and so do I; and standing here, with +them full in view, let me plead for them; they are very old, those +pines, older than either of us; we played beneath them when we were +children; but there is still a stronger tie: our mother loved +them--our dear, sainted mother. Thirty years it has been since she +died, but I can never forget or cease to love anything she loved. +Oh! John, you remember just as well as I do, how often she would sit +beneath those trees and read or talk sweetly to us; and of the dear +band who gathered there with her, only we are left, and the old +pines. Let them stand, John; time enough to cut them down when I +have gone to sit with those dear ones beneath the trees of heaven;" +and somewhat breathless from long talking, Miss Margaret paused. + +John Greylston was really touched, and he laid his hand kindly on +his sister's shoulder. + +"Come, come, Madge, don't talk so sadly. I remember and love those +things as well as you do, but then you see I cannot afford to +neglect my interests for weak sentiment. Now the road must be made, +and that clump of trees stand directly in its course, and they must +come down, or the road will have to take a curve nearly half a mile +round, striking into one of my best meadows, and a good deal more +expense this will be, too. No, no," he continued, eagerly, "I can't +oblige you in this thing. This place is mine, and I will improve it +as I please. I have kept back from making many a change for your +sake, but just here I am determined to go on." And all this was said +with a raised voice and a flushed face. + +"You never spoke so harshly to me in your life before, John, and, +after all, what have I done? Call my feelings on this matter weak +sentiment, if you choose, but it is hard to hear such words from +your lips;" and, with a reproachful sigh, Miss Margaret walked into +the house. + +They had been a large family, those Greylstons, in their day, but +now all were gone; all but John and Margaret, the two eldest--the +twin brother and sister. They lived alone in their beautiful country +home; neither had ever been married. John had once loved a fair +young creature, with eyes like heaven's stars, and rose-tinged +cheeks and lips, but she fell asleep just one month before her +wedding-day, and John Greylston was left to mourn over her early +grave, and his shivered happiness. Dearly Margaret loved her twin +brother, and tenderly she nursed him through the long and fearful +illness which came upon him after Ellen Day's death. Margaret +Greylston was radiant in the bloom of young womanhood when this +great grief first smote her brother, but from that very hour she put +away from her the gayeties of life, and sat down by his side, to be +to him a sweet, unselfish controller for evermore, and no lover +could ever tempt her from her post. + +"John Greylston will soon get over his sorrow; in a year or two +Ellen will be forgotten for a new face." + +So said the world; Margaret knew better. Her brother's heart lay +before her like an open book, and she saw indelible lines of grief +and anguish there. The old homestead, with its wide lands, belonged +to John Greylston. He had bought it years before from the other +heirs; and Margaret, the only remaining one, possessed neither claim +nor right in it. She had a handsome annuity, however, and nearly all +the rich plate and linen with which the house was stocked, together +with some valuable pieces of furniture, belonged to her. And John +and Margaret Greylston lived on in their quiet and beautiful home, +in peace and happiness; their solitude being but now and then +invaded by a flock of nieces and nephews, from the neighbouring +city--their only and well-beloved relatives. + +It was long after sunset. For two full hours the moon and stars had +watched John Greylston, sitting so moodily alone upon the porch. Now +he got up from his chair, and tossing his cigar away in the long +grass, walked slowly into the house. Miss Margaret did not raise her +head; her eyes, as well as her fingers, seemed intent upon the +knitting she held. So her brother, after a hurried "Good-night," +took a candle and went up to his own room, never speaking one gentle +word; for he said to himself, "I am not going to worry and coax with +Margaret any longer about the old pines. She is really troublesome +with her sentimental notions." Yet, after all, John Greylston's +heart reproached him, and he felt restless and ill at ease. + +Miss Margaret sat very quietly by the low table, knitting steadily +on, but she was not thinking of her work, neither did she delight in +the beauty of that still autumn evening; the tears came into her +eyes, but she hastily brushed them away; just as though she feared +John might unawares come back and find her crying. + +Ah! these _way-side_ thorns are little, but sometimes they pierce as +sharply as the gleaming sword. + +"Good-morning, John!" + +At the sound of that voice, Mr. Greylston turned suddenly from the +book-case, and his sister was standing near him, her face lit up +with a sweet, yet somewhat anxious smile. He threw down in a hurry +the papers he had been tying together, and the bit of red tape, and +holding out his hand, said fervently, + +"I was very harsh last night. I am really sorry for it; will you not +forgive me, Margaret?" + +"To be sure I will; for indeed, John, I was quite as much to blame +as you." + +"No, Madge, you were not," he quickly answered; "but let it pass, +now. We will think and say no more about it;" and, as though he were +perfectly satisfied, and really wished the matter dropped, John +Greylston turned to his papers again. + +So Miss Margaret was silent. She was delighted to have peace again, +even though she felt anxious about the pines, and when her brother +took his seat at the breakfast table, looking and speaking so +kindly, she felt comforted to think the cloud had passed away; and +John Greylston himself was very glad. So the two went on eating +their breakfast quite happily. But alas! the storm is not always +over when the sky grows light. Reuben crossed the lawn, followed by +the gardener, and Miss Margaret's quick eye caught the gleaming of +the axes swung over their shoulders. She hurriedly set down the +coffee-pot. + +"Where are those men going? Reuben and Tom I mean." + +"Only to the woods," was the careless answer. + +"But what woods, John? Oh! I can tell by your face; you are +determined to have the pines cut down." + +"I am." And John Greylston folded his arms, and looked fixedly at +his sister, but she did not heed him. She talked on eagerly-- + +"I love the old trees; I will do anything to save them. John, you +spoke last night of additional expense, should the road take that +curve. I will make it up to you; I can afford to do this very well. +Now listen to reason, and let the trees stand." + +"Listen to reason, yourself," he answered more gently. "I will not +take a cent from you. Margaret, you are a perfect enthusiast about +some things. Now, I love my parents and old times, I am sure, as +well as you do, and that love is not one bit the colder, because I +do not let it stand in the way of interest. Don't say anything more. +My mind is made up in this matter. The place is mine, and I cannot +see that you have any right to interfere in the improvements I +choose to make on it." + +A deep flush stole over Miss Greylston's face. + +"I have indeed no legal right to counsel or plead with you about +these things," she answered sadly, "but I have a sister's right, +that of affection--you cannot deny this, John. Once again, I beg of +you to let the old pines alone." + +"And once again, I tell you I will do as I please in this matter," +and this was said sharply and decidedly. + +Margaret Greylston said not another word, but pushing back her +chair, she arose from the breakfast-table and went quickly from the +room, even before her brother could call to her. Reuben and his +companion had just got in the last meadow when Miss Greylston +overtook them. + +"You, will let the pines alone to-day," she calmly said, "go to any +other work you choose, but remember those trees are not to be +touched." + +"Very well, Miss Margaret," and Reuben touched his hat respectfully, + +"Mr. John is very changeable in his notions," burst in Tom; "not an +hour ago he was in such a hurry to get us at the pine." + +"Never mind," authoritatively said Miss Greylston; "do just as you +are bid, without any remarks;" and she turned away, and went down +the meadow path, even as she came, within quick step, without a +bonnet, shading her eyes from the morning sun with her handkerchief. + +John Greylston still sat at the breakfast-table, half dreamily +balancing the spoon across the saucer's edge. When his sister came +in again, he raised his head, and mutely-inquiringly looked at her, +and she spoke,-- + +"I left this room just to go after Reuben and Tom; I overtook them +before they had crossed the last meadow, and I told them not to +touch the pine trees, but to go, instead, to any other work they +choose. I am sure you will be angry with me for all this; but, John, +I cannot help it if you are." + +"Don't say so, Margaret," Mr. Greylston sharply answered, getting up +at the same time from his chair, "don't tell me you could not help +it. I have talked and reasoned with you about those trees, until my +patience is completely worn out; there is no necessity for you to be +such an obstinate fool." + +"Oh! John, hush, hush!" + +"I will not," he thundered. "I am master here, and I will speak and +act in this house as I see fit. Now, who gave you liberty to +countermand my orders; to send my servants back from the Work I had +set for them to do? Margaret, I warn you; for, any more such freaks, +you and I, brother and sister though we be, will live no longer +under the same roof." + +"Be still, John Greylston! Remember _her_ patient, self-sacrificing +love. Remember the past--be still." + +But he would not; relentlessly, stubbornly, the waves of passion +raged on in his soul. + +"Now, you hear all this; do not forget it; and have done with your +silly obstinacy as soon as possible, for I will be worried no longer +with it;" and roughly pushing away the slight hand which was laid +upon his arm, Mr. Greylston stalked out of the house. + +For a moment, Margaret stood where her brother had left her, just in +the centre of the floor. Her cheeks were very white, but quickly a +crimson flush came over them, and her eyes filled with tears; then +she sat down upon the white chintz-covered settle, and hiding her +face in the pillows, wept violently for a long time. + +"I have consulted Margaret's will always; in many things I have +given up to it, but here, where reason is so fully on my side, I +will go on. I have no patience with her weak stubbornness, no +patience with her presumption in forbidding my servants to do as I +have told them; such measures I will never allow in my house;" and +John Greylston, in his angry musings, struck his cane smartly +against a tall crimson dahlia, which grew in the grass-plat. It fell +quivering across his path, but he walked on, never heeding what he +had done. There was a faint sense of shame rising in his heart, a +feeble conviction of having been himself to blame; but just then +they seemed only to fan and increase his keen indignation. Yet in +the midst of his anger, John Greylston had the delicate +consideration for his sister and himself to repeat to the men the +command she had given them. + +"Do as Miss Greylston bade you; let the trees stand until further +orders." But pride prompted this, for he said to himself, "If +Margaret and I keep at this childish work of unsaying each other's +commands, that sharp old fellow, Reuben, will suspect that we have +quarrelled." + +Mr. Greylston's wrath did not abate; and when he came home at +dinner-time, and found the table so nicely set, and no one but the +little servant to wait upon him, Margaret away, shut up with a bad +headache, in her own room, he somehow felt relieved,--just then he +did not want to see her. But when eventide came, and he sat down to +supper, and missed again his sister's calm and pleasant face, a +half-regretful feeling stole over him, and he grew lonely, for John +Greylston's heart was the home of every kindly affection. He loved +Margaret dearly. Still, pride and anger kept him aloof from her; +still his soul was full of harsh, unforgiving thoughts. And Margaret +Greylston, as she lay with a throbbing head and an aching heart upon +her snowy pillow, thought the hours of that bright afternoon and +evening very long and very weary. And yet those hours were full of +light, and melody, and fragrance, for the sun shone, and the sky was +blue, the birds sang, and the waters rippled; even the autumn +flowers were giving their sweet, last kisses to the air. Earth was +fair,--why, then, should not human hearts rejoice? Ah! _Nature's_ +loveliness _alone_ cannot cheer the soul. There was once a day when +the beauty even of _Eden_ ceased to gladden two guilty tremblers who +hid in its bowers. + +"A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up +anger." When Margaret Greylston came across that verse, she closed +her Bible, and sat down beside the window to muse. "Ah," she +thought, "how true is that saying of the wise man! If I had only +from the first given John soft answers, instead of grievous words, +we might now have been at peace. I knew his quick temper so well; I +should have been more gentle with him." Then she recalled all John's +constant and tender attention to her wishes; the many instances in +which he had gone back from his own pleasure to gratify her; but +whilst she remembered these things, never once did her noble, +unselfish heart dwell upon the sacrifices, great and numerous, which +she had made for his sake. Miss Margaret began to think she had +indeed acted very weakly and unjustly towards her brother. She had +half a mind just then to go to him, and make this confession. But +she looked out and saw the dear old trees, so stately and beautiful, +and then the memory of all John's harsh and cruel words rushed back +upon her. She struggled vainly to banish them from her mind, she +strove to quell the angry feelings which arose with those memories. +At last she knelt and prayed. When she got up from her knees traces +of tears were on her face, but her heart was calm. Margaret +Greylston had been enabled, in the strength of "that grace which +cometh from above," to forgive her brother freely, yet she scarcely +hoped that he would give her the opportunity to tell him this. + +"Good-morning," John Greylston said, curtly and chillingly enough to +his sister. Somehow she was disappointed, even though she knew his +proud temper so well, yet she had prayed that there would have been +some kindly relentings towards her; but there seemed none. So she +answered him sadly, and the two sat down to their gloomy, silent +breakfast. And thus it was all that day. Mr. Greylston still mute +and ungracious; his sister shrank away from him. In that mood she +scarcely knew him; and her face was grave, and her voice so sad, +even the servants wondered what was the matter. Margaret Greylston +had fully overcome all angry, reproachful feelings against her +brother. So far her soul had peace, yet she mourned for his love, +his kind words, and pleasant smiles; and she longed to tell him +this, but his coldness held her back. Mr. Greylston found his +comfort in every way consulted; favourite dishes were silently +placed before him; sweet flowers, as of old, laid upon his table. He +knew the hand which wrought these loving acts. But did this +knowledge melt his heart? In a little while we shall see. + +And the third morning dawned. Yet the cloud seemed in no wise +lifted. John Greylston's portrait hung in the parlour; it was +painted in his young days, when he was very handsome. His sister +could not weary of looking at it; to her this picture seemed the +very embodiment of beauty. Dear, unconscious soul, she never thought +how much it was like herself, or even the portrait of her which hung +in the opposite recess--for brother and sister strikingly resembled +each other. Both had the same high brows, the same deep blue eyes +and finely chiselled features, the same sweet and pleasant smiles; +there was but one difference: Miss Margaret's hair was of a pale +golden colour, and yet unchanged; she wore it now put back very +smoothly and plainly from her face. When John was young, his curls +were of so dark a brown as to look almost black in the shade. They +were bleached a good deal by time, but yet they clustered round his +brow in the same careless, boyish fashion as of old. + +Just now Miss Margaret could only look at her brother's picture with +tears. On that very morning she stood before it, her spirit so full +of tender memories, so crowded with sad yearnings, she felt as +though they would crush her to the earth. Oh, weary heart! endure +yet "a little while" longer. Even now the angel of reconciliation is +on the wing. + +Whilst John Greylston sat alone upon the foot of the porch at the +front of the house, and his sister stood so sadly in the parlour, +the city stage came whirling along the dusty turnpike. It stopped +for a few minutes opposite the lane which led to John Greylston's +place. The door was opened, and a grave-looking young man sprang +out. He was followed by a fairy little creature, who clapped her +hands, and danced for joy when she saw the white chimneys and +vine-covered porches of "Greylston Cottage." + +"Annie! Annie!" but she only laughed, and gathering up the folds of +her travelling dress, managed to get so quickly and skilfully over +the fence, that her brother, who was unfastening the gate, looked at +her in perfect amazement. + +"What in the world," he asked, with a smile on his grave face, +"possessed you to get over the fence in that monkey fashion? All +those people looking at you, too. For shame, Annie! Will you never +be done with those childish capers?" + +"Yes, maybe when I am a gray-haired old woman; not before. Don't +scold now, Richard; you know very well you, and the passengers +beside, would give your ears to climb a fence as gracefully as I did +just now. There, won't you hand me my basket, please?" + +He did so, and then, with a gentle smile, took the white, ungloved +fingers in his. + +"My darling Annie, remember"-- + +"Stage waits," cried the driver. + +So Richard Bermon's lecture was cut short; he had only time to bid +his merry young sister good-bye. Soon he was lost to sight. + +Annie Bermon hurried down the lane, swinging her light willow basket +carelessly on her arm, and humming a joyous air all the way. Just as +she opened the outer lawn gate, the great Newfoundland dog came +towards her with a low growl; it changed directly though into a glad +bark. + +"I was sure you would know me, you dear old fellow; but I can't stop +to talk to you just now." And Annie patted his silken ears, and then +went on to the house, the dog bounding on before her, as though he +had found an old playmate. + +John Greylston rubbed his eyes. No, it was not a dream. His darling +niece was really by his side, her soft curls touching his cheek; he +flung his arms tightly around her. + +"Dear child, I was just dreaming about you; how glad I am to see +your sweet face again." + +"I was sure you would be, Uncle John," she answered gayly, "and so I +started off from home this morning just, in a hurry. I took a sudden +fancy that I would come, and they could not keep me. But where is +dear Aunt Margaret? Oh, I know what I will do. I'll just run in and +take her by surprise. How well you look, uncle--so noble and grand +too; by the way, I always think King Robert Bruce must just have +been such a man like you." + +"No laughing at your old uncle, you little rogue," said John +Greylston pleasantly, "but run and find your aunt. She is somewhere +in the house." And he looked after her with a loving smile as she +flitted by him. Annie Bermon passed quickly through the shaded +sitting-room into the cool and matted hall, catching glimpses as she +went of the pretty parlour and wide library; but her aunt was in +neither of these rooms; so she hurried up stairs, and stealing on +tiptoe, with gentle fingers she pushed open the door. Margaret +Greylston was sitting by the table, sewing; her face was flushed, +and her eyes red and swollen as with weeping. Annie stood still in +wonder. But Miss Margaret suddenly looked up, and her niece sprang, +with a glad cry, into her arms. + +"You are not well, Aunt Margaret? Oh! how sorry I am to hear that, +but it seems to me I could never get sick in this sweet place; +everything looks so bright and lovely here. And I _would_ come this +morning, Aunt Margaret, in spite of everything Sophy and all of them +could say. They told me I had been here once before this summer, and +stayed a long time, and if I would, come again, my welcome would be +worn out, just as if I was going to believe _such_ nonsense;" and +Annie tossed her head. "But I persevered, and you see, aunty dear, I +am here, we will trust for some good purpose, as Richard would say." + +A silent Amen to this rose up in Miss Margaret's heart, and with it +came a hope dim and shadowy, yet beautiful withal; she hardly dared +to cherish it. Annie went on talking,-- + +"I can only stay two weeks with you--school commences then, and I +must hurry back to it; but I am always so glad to get here, away +from the noise and dust of the city; this is the best place in the +world. Do you know when we were travelling this summer, I was pining +all the time to get here. I was so tired of Newport and Saratoga, +and all the crowds we met." + +"You are singular in your tastes, some would think, Annie," said +Miss Greylston, smiling fondly on her darling. + +"So Madge and Sophy were always saying; even Clare laughed at me, +and my brothers, too,--only Richard,--Oh! by the way, I did torment +him this morning, he is so grave and good, and he was just beginning +a nice lecture at the gate, when the driver called, and poor Richard +had only time to send his love to you. Wasn't it droll, though, that +lecture being cut so short?" and Annie threw herself down in the +great cushioned chair, and laughed heartily. + +Annie Bermond was the youngest of John and Margaret Greylston's +nieces and nephews. Her beauty, her sweet and sunny temper made her +a favourite at home and abroad. John Greylston loved her dearly; he +always thought she looked like his chosen bride, Ellen Day. Perhaps +there was some likeness, for Annie had the same bright eyes, and the +same pouting, rose-bud lips--but Margaret thought she was more like +their own family. She loved to trace a resemblance in the smiling +face, rich golden curls, and slight figure of Annie to her young +sister Edith, who died when Annie was a little baby. Just sixteen +years old was Annie, and wild and active as any deer, as her +city-bred sisters sometimes declared half mournfully. + +Somehow, Annie Bermond thought it uncommonly grave and dull at the +dinner-table, yet why should it be so? Her uncle and aunt, as kind +and dear as ever, were there; she, herself, a blithe fairy, sat in +her accustomed seat; the day was bright, birds were singing, flowers +were gleaming, but there was a change. What could it be? Annie knew +not, yet her quick perception warned her of the presence of some +trouble--some cloud. In her haste to talk and cheer her uncle and +aunt, the poor child said what would have been best left unsaid. + +"How beautiful those trees are; I mean those pines on the hill; +don't you admire them very much, Uncle John?" + +"Tolerably," was the rather short answer. "I am too well used to +trees to go into the raptures of my little city niece about them;" +and all this time Margaret looked fixedly down upon the floor. + +"Don't you frown so, uncle, or I will run right home to-morrow," +said Annie, with the assurance of a privileged pet; "but I was going +to ask you about the rock just back of those pines. Do you and Aunt +Margaret still go there to see the sunset? I was thinking about you +these two past evenings, when the sunsets were so grand, and wishing +I was with you on the rock; and you were both there, weren't you?" + +This time John Greylston gave no answer, but his sister said +briefly, + +"No, Annie, we have not been at the rock for several evenings;" and +then a rather painful silence followed. + +Annie at last spoke: + +"You both, somehow, seem so changed and dull; I would just like to +know the reason. May be aunty is going to be married. Is that it, +Uncle John?" + +Miss Margaret smiled, but the colour came brightly to her face. + +"If this is really so, I don't wonder you are sad and grave; you, +especially, Uncle John; how lonely and wretched you would be! Oh! +would you not be very sorry if Aunt Madge should leave you, never to +come back again? Would not your heart almost break?" + +John Greylston threw down his knife and fork violently upon the +table, and pushing back his chair, went from the room. + +Annie Bermond looked in perfect bewilderment at her aunt, but Miss +Margaret was silent and tearful. + +"Aunt! darling aunt! don't look so distressed;" and Annie put her +arms around her neck; "but tell me what have I done; what is the +matter?" + +Miss Greylston shook her head. + +"You will not speak now, Aunt Margaret; you might tell me; I am sure +something has happened to distress you. Just as soon as I came here, +I saw a change, but I could not understand it. I cannot yet. Tell +me, dear aunt!" and she knelt beside her. + +So Miss Greylston told her niece the whole story, softening, as far +as truth would permit, many of John's harsh speeches; but she was, +not slow to blame herself. Annie listened attentively. Young as she +was, her heart took in with the deepest sympathy the sorrow which +shaded her beloved friends. + +"Oh! I am so very sorry for all this," she said half crying; "but +aunty, dear, I do not think uncle will have those nice old trees cut +down. He loves you too much to do it; I am sure he is sorry now for +all those sharp things he said; but his pride keeps him back from +telling you this, and maybe he thinks you are angry with him still. +Aunt Margaret, let me go and say to him that your love is as warm as +ever, and that you forgive him freely. Oh! it may do so much good. +May I not go?" + +But Miss Greylston tightened her grasp on the young girl's hand. + +"Annie, you do not know your uncle as well as I do. Such a step can +do no good,--love, you cannot help us." + +"Only let me try," she returned, earnestly; "Uncle John loves me so +much, and on the first day of my visit, he will not refuse to hear +me. I will tell him all the sweet things you said about him. I will +tell him there is not one bit of anger in your heart, and that you +forgive and love him dearly. I am sure when he hears this he will be +glad. Any way, it will not make matters worse. Now, do have some +confidence in me. Indeed I am not so childish as I seem. I am turned +of sixteen now, and Richard and Sophy often say I have the heart of +a woman, even if I have the ways of a child. Let me go now, dear +Aunt Margaret; I will soon come back to you with such good news." + +Miss Greylston stooped down and kissed Annie's brow solemnly, +tenderly. "Go, my darling, and may God be with you." Then she turned +away. + +And with willing feet Annie Bermond went forth upon her blessed +errand. She soon found her uncle. He was sitting beneath the shade +of the old pines, and he seemed to be in very deep thought. Annie +got down on the grass beside him, and laid her soft cheek upon his +sunburnt hand. How gently he spoke-- + +"What did you come here for, sweet bird?" + +"Because I love you so much, Uncle John; that is the reason; but +won't you tell me why you look so very sad and grave? I wish I knew +your thoughts just now." + +"And if you did, fairy, they would not make you any prettier or +better than you are." + +"I wonder if they do you any good, uncle?" she quickly replied; but +her companion made no answer; he only smiled. + +Let me write here what John Greylston's tongue refused to say. Those +thoughts, indeed, had done him good; they were tender, +self-upbraiding, loving thoughts, mingled, all the while, with +touching memories, mournful glimpses of the past--the days of his +sore bereavement, when the coffin-lid was first shut down over Ellen +Day's sweet face, and he was smitten to the earth with anguish. Then +Margaret's sympathy and love, so beautiful in its strength, and +unselfishness, so unwearying and sublime in its sacrifices, became +to him a stay and comfort. And had she not, for his sake, +uncomplainingly given up the best years of her life, as it seemed? +Had her love ever faltered? Had it ever wavered in its sweet +endeavours to make him happy? These memories, these thoughts, closed +round John Greylston like a circle of rebuking angels. Not for the +first time were they with him when Annie found him beneath the old +pines. Ever since that morning of violent and unjust anger they had +been struggling in his heart, growing stronger, it seemed, every +hour in their reproachful tenderness. Those loving, silent +attentions to his wishes John Greylston had noted, and they rankled +like sharp thorns in his soul. He was not worthy of them; this he +knew. How he loathed himself for his sharp and angry words! He had +it in his heart to tell his sister this, but an overpowering shame +held him back. + +"If I only knew how Madge felt towards me," he said many times to +himself, "then I could speak; but I have been such a brute. She can +do nothing else but repulse me;" and this threw around him that +chill reserve which kept Margaret's generous and forgiving heart at +a distance. + +Even every-day life has its wonders, and perhaps not one of the +least was that this brother and sister, so long fellow-pilgrims, so +long readers of each other's hearts, should for a little while be +kept asunder by mutual blindness. Yet the hand which is to chase the +mists from their darkened eyes, even now is raised, what though it +be but small? God in his wisdom and mercy will cause its strength to +be sufficient. + +When John Greylston gave his niece no answer, she looked intently in +his face and said, + +"You will not tell me what you have been thinking about; but I can +guess, Uncle John. I know the reason you did not take Aunt Margaret +to the rock to see the sunset." + +"Do you?" he asked, startled from his composure, his face flushing +deeply. + +"Yes; for I would not rest until aunty told me the whole story, and +I just came out to talk to you about it. Now, Uncle John, don't +frown, and draw away your hand; just listen to me a little while; I +am sure you will be glad." Then she repeated, in her pretty, girlish +way, touching in its earnestness, all Miss Greylston had told her. +"Oh, if you had only heard her say those sweet things, I know you +would not keep vexed one minute longer! Aunt Margaret told me that +she did not blame you at all, only herself; that she loved you +dearly, and she is so sorry because you seem cold and angry yet, for +she wants so very, very much to beg your forgiveness, and tell you +all this, dear Uncle John, if you would only--" + +"Annie," he suddenly interrupted, drawing her closely to his bosom; +"Annie, you precious child, in telling me all this you have taken a +great weight off of my heart. You have done your old uncle a world +of good. God bless you a thousand times! If I had known this at +once; if I had been sure, from the first, of Margaret's forgiveness +for my cruel words, how quickly I would have sought it. My dear, +noble sister!" The tears filled John Greylston's dark blue eyes, but +his smile was so exceedingly tender and beautiful, that Annie drew +closer to his side. + +"Oh, that lovely smile!" she cried, "how it lights your face; and +now you look so good and forgiving, dearer and better even than a +king. Uncle John, kiss me again; my heart is so glad! shall I run +now and tell Aunt Margaret all this sweet news?" + +"No, no, darling little peace-maker, stay here; I will go to her +myself;" and he hurried away. + +Annie Bermond sat alone upon the hill, musingly platting the long +grass together, but she heeded not the work of her fingers. Her face +was bright with joy, her heart full of happiness. Dear child! in one +brief hour she had learned the blessedness of that birthright which +is for all God's sons and daughters, if they will but claim it. I +mean _the privilege of doing good, of being useful_. + +Miss Greylston sat by the parlour window, just where she could see +who crossed the lawn. She was waiting with a kind of nervous +impatience for Annie. She heard a footstep, but it was only Liddy +going down to the dairy. Then Reuben went by on his way to the +meadow, and all was silent again. Where was Annie?--but now quick +feet sounded upon the crisp and faded leaves. Miss Margaret looked +out, and saw her brother coming,--then she was sure Annie had in +some way missed him, and she drew back from the window keenly +disappointed, not even a faint suspicion of the blessed truth +crossing her mind. As John Greylston entered the hall, a sudden and +irresistible desire prompted Margaret to go and tell him all the +loving and forgiving thoughts of her heart, no matter what his mood +should be. So she threw down her work, and went quickly towards the +parlour door. And the brother and sister met, just on the threshold. + +"John--John," she said, falteringly, "I must speak to you; I cannot +bear this any longer." + +"Nor can I, Margaret." + +Miss Greylston looked up in her brother's face; it was beaming with +love and tenderness. Then she knew the hour of reconciliation had +come, and with a quick, glad cry, she sprang into his arms and laid +her head down upon his shoulder. + +"Can you ever forgive me, Madge?" + +She made no reply--words had melted into tears, but they were +eloquent, and for a little while it was quite still in the parlour. + +"You shall blame yourself no longer, Margaret. All along you have +behaved like a sweet Christian woman as you are, but I have been an +old fool, unreasonable and cross from the very beginning. Can you +really forgive me all those harsh words, for which I hated myself +not ten hours after they were said? Can you, indeed, forgive and +forget these? Tell me so again." + +"John," she said, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, "I do +forgive you most completely, with my whole heart, and, O! I wanted +so to tell you this two days ago, but your coldness kept me back. I +was afraid your anger was not over, and that you would repel me." + +"Ah, that coldness was but shame--deep and painful shame. I was +needlessly harsh with you, and moments of reflection only served to +fasten on me the belief that I had lost all claim to your love, that +you could not forgive me. Yes! I did misjudge you, Madge, I know, +but when I looked back upon the past, and all your faithful love for +me, I saw you as I had ever seen you, the best of sisters, and then +my shameful and ungrateful conduct rose up clearly before me. I felt +so utterly unworthy." + +Miss Greylston laid her finger upon her brother's lips. "Nor will I +listen to you blaming yourself so heavily any longer. John, you had +cause to be angry with me; I was unreasonably urgent about the +trees," and she sighed; "I forgot to be gentle and patient; so you +see I am to blame as well as yourself." + +"But I forgot even common kindness and courtesy;" he said gravely. +"What demon was in my heart, Margaret, I do not know. Avarice, I am +afraid, was at the bottom of all this, for rich as I am, I somehow +felt very obstinate about running into any more expense or trouble +about the road; and then, you remember, I never could love inanimate +things as you do. But from this time forth I will try--and the +pines"-- + +"Let the pines go down, my dear brother, I see now how unreasonable +I have been," suddenly interrupted Miss Greylston; "and indeed these +few days past I could not look at them with any pleasure; they only +reminded me of our separation. Cut them down: I will not say one +word." + +"Now, what a very woman you are, Madge! Just when you have gained +your will, you want to turn about; but, love, the trees shall not +come down. I will give them to you; and you cannot refuse my +peace-offering; and never, whilst John Greylston lives, shall an axe +touch those pines, unless you say so, Margaret." + +He laughed when he said this, but her tears were falling fast. + +"Next month will be November; then comes our birth-day; we will be +fifty years old, Margaret. Time is hurrying on with us; he has given +me gray locks, and laid some wrinkles on your dear face; but that is +nothing if our hearts are untouched. O, for so many long years, ever +since my Ellen was snatched from me,"--and here John Greylston +paused a moment--"you have been to me a sweet, faithful comforter. +Madge, dear twin sister, your love has always been a treasure to me; +but you well know for many years past it has been my _only_ earthly +treasure. Henceforth, God helping me, I will seek to restrain my +evil temper. I will be more watchful; if sometimes I fail, Margaret, +will you not love me, and bear with me?" + +Was there any need for that question? Miss Margaret only answered by +clasping her brother's hand more closely in her own. As they stood +there in the autumn sunlight, united so lovingly, hand in hand, each +silently prayed that thus it might be with them always; not only +through life's autumn, but in that winter so surely for them +approaching, and which would give place to the fair and beautiful +spring of the better land. + +Annie Bermond's bright face looked in timidly at the open door. + +"Come here, darling, come and stand right beside your old uncle and +aunt, and let us thank you with all our hearts for the good you have +done us. Don't cry any more, Margaret. Why, fairy, what is the +matter with you?" for Annie's tears were falling fast upon his hand. + +"I hardly know, Uncle John; I never felt so glad in my life before, +but I cannot help crying. Oh, it is so sweet to think the cloud has +gone." + +"And whose dear hand, under God's blessing, drove the cloud away, +but yours, my child?" + +Annie was silent; she only clung the tighter to her uncle's arm, and +Miss Greylston said, with a beaming smile, + +"Now, Annie, we see the good purpose God had in sending you here +to-day. You have done for us the blessed work of a peace-maker." + +Annie had always been dear to her uncle and aunt, but from that +golden autumn day, she became, if such a thing could be, dearer than +ever--bound to them by an exceedingly sweet tie. + +Years went by. One snowy evening, a merry Christmas party was +gathered together in the wide parlour at Greylston Cottage,--nearly +all the nephews and nieces were there. Mrs. Lennox, the "Sophy" of +earlier days, with her husband; Richard Bermond and his pretty +little wife were amongst the number; and Annie, dear, bright +Annie--her fair face only the fairer and sweeter for time--sat, +talking in a corner with young Walter Selwyn. John Greylston went +slowly to the window, and pushed aside the curtains, and as he stood +there looking out somewhat gravely in the bleak and wintry night, he +felt a soft hand touch him, and he turned and found Annie Bermond by +his side. + +"You looked so lonely, my dear uncle." + +"And that is the reason you deserted Walter?" he said, laughing. +"Well, I will soon send you back to him. But, look out here first, +Annie, and tell me what you see;" and she laid her face close to the +window-pane, and, after a minute's silence, said, + +"I see the ground white with snow, the sky gleaming with stars, and +the dear old pines, tall and stately as ever." + +"Yes, the pines; that is what I meant, my child. Ah, they have been +my silent monitors ever since that day; you remember it, Annie! +Bless you, child! how much good you did us then." + +But Annie was silently crying beside him. John Greylton wiped his +eyes, and then he called his sister Margaret to the window. + +"Annie and I have been looking at the old pines, and you can guess +what we were thinking about. As for myself," he added, "I never see +those trees without feeling saddened and rebuked. I never recall +that season of error, without the deepest shame and grief. And still +the old pines stand. Well, Madge, one day they will shade our +graves; and of late I have thought that day would dawn very soon." + +Annie Bermond let the curtain fall very slowly forward, and buried +her face in her hands; but the two old pilgrims by her side, John +and Margaret Greylston, looked at each other with a smile of hope +and joy. They had long been "good and faithful servants," and now +they awaited the coming of "the Master," with a calm, sweet +patience, knowing it would be well with them, when He would call +them hence. + +The pines creaked mournfully in the winter wind, and the stars +looked down upon bleak wastes, and snow-shrouded meadows; yet the +red blaze heaped blithely on the hearth, taking in, in its fair +light, the merry circle sitting side by side, and the thoughtful +little group standing so quietly by the window. And even now the +picture fades, and is gone. The curtain falls--the story of John and +Margaret Greylston is ended. + + + + + + +THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT. + + + + + +IF men cared less for wealth and fame, + And less for battle-fields and glory; +If, writ in human hearts, a name + Seemed better than in song and story; +If men, instead of nursing pride, + Would learn to hate and to abhor it-- + If more relied + On Love to guide, +The world would be the better for it. + +If men dealt less in stocks and lands, + And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; +If Love's work had more willing hands + To link this world to the supernal; +If men stored up Love's oil and wine, + And on bruised human hearts would pour it; + If "yours" and "mine" + Would once combine, +The world would be the better for it. + +If more would act the play of Life, + And fewer spoil it in rehearsal; +If Bigotry would sheathe its knife + Till Good became more universal; +If Custom, gray with ages grown, + Had fewer blind men to adore it-- + If talent shone + In truth alone, +The world would be the better for it. + +If men were wise in little things-- + Affecting less in all their dealings-- +If hearts had fewer rusted strings + To isolate their kindly feelings; +If men, when Wrong beats down the Right, + Would strike together and restore it-- + If Right made Might + In every fight, +The world would be the better for it. + + + + + + +TWO SIDES TO A STORY. + + + + + +"HAVE you seen much of your new neighbours, yet?" asked Mrs. Morris, +as she stepped in to have an hour's social chat with her old friend, +Mrs. Freeman. + +"Very little," was the reply. "Occasionally I have seen the lady +walking in her garden, and have sometimes watched the sports of the +children on the side-walk, but this is all. It is not like the +country, you know. One may live here for years, and not become +acquainted with the next-door neighbours." + +"Some may do so," replied Mrs. Morris, "but, for my part, I always +like to know something of those around me. It is not always +desirable to make the acquaintance of near neighbours, but by a +little observation it is very easy to gain an insight into their +characters and position in society. The family which has moved into +the house next to yours, for instance, lived near to me for nearly +two years, and although I never spoke to one of them, I can tell you +of some strange transactions which took place in their house." + +"Indeed!" replied Mrs. Freeman, with little manifestation of +interest or curiosity; but Mrs. Morris was too eager to communicate +her information to notice her friend's manner, and lowering her +voice to a confidential tone, continued:-- + +"There is an old lady in their family whom they abuse in the most +shocking manner. She is very rich, and they by threats and +ill-treatment extort large sums of money from her." + +"A singular way of inducing any one to bestow favours," replied Mrs. +Freeman, dryly. "Why does not the old lady leave there?" + +"Bless your heart, my dear friend, she cannot get an opportunity! +They never suffer her to leave the house unattended. Once or twice, +indeed, she succeeded in getting into the street, but they +discovered her in a moment, and actually forced her into the house. +You smile incredulously, but if you had been an eye-witness of their +proceedings, as I have, or had heard the screams of the poor +creature, and the heavy blows which they inflict, you would be +convinced of the truth of what I tell you." + +"I do not doubt the truth of your story in the least, my dear Mrs. +Morris. I only think that in this case, as in most others, there +must be two sides to the story. It is almost incredible that such +barbarous treatment could continue for any great length of time +without discovery and exposure." + +"Oh, as to that, people are not fond of getting themselves into +trouble by meddling with their neighbours' affairs. I am very +cautious about it myself. I would not have mentioned this matter to +any one but an old friend like yourself. It seemed best to put you +on your guard." + +"Thank you," was the smiling reply. "It is hardly probable that I +shall be called upon to make any acquaintance with my new neighbours +but if I am, I certainly shall not forget your caution." + +Satisfied that she had succeeded, at least partially, in awakening +the suspicions of her friend, Mrs. Morris took her departure, while +Mrs. Freeman, quite undisturbed by her communications, continued her +usual quiet round of domestic duties, thinking less of the affairs +of her neighbours than of those of her own household. + +Occasionally she saw the old lady whom Mrs. Morris had mentioned +walking in the adjoining garden, sometimes alone, and sometimes +accompanied by the lady of the house, or one of the children. There +was nothing striking in her appearance. She looked cheerful and +contented, and showed no signs of confinement or abuse. Once, when +Mrs. Freeman was in her garden, she had looked over the fence, and +praised the beauty of her flowers, and when a bunch was presented to +her, had received them with that almost childish delight which aged +people often manifest. + +Weeks passed on, and the remarks of Mrs. Morris were almost +forgotten, when Mrs. Freeman was aroused one night by loud cries, +apparently proceeding from the adjoining house; and on listening +intently could plainly distinguish the sound of heavy blows, and +also the voice of the old lady in question, as if in earnest +expostulation and entreaty. + +Mrs. Freeman aroused her husband, and together they listened in +anxiety and alarm. For nearly an hour the sounds continued, but at +length all was again quiet. It was long, however, before they could +compose themselves to rest. It was certainly strange and +unaccountable, and there was something so inhuman in the thought of +abusing an aged woman that their hearts revolted at the idea. + +Still Mrs. Freeman maintained, as was her wont, that there must be +two sides to the story; and after vainly endeavouring to imagine +what the other side could be, she fell asleep, and was undisturbed +until morning. + +All seemed quiet the next day, and Mrs. Freeman had somewhat +recovered from the alarm of the previous night, when she was again +visited by her friend, Mrs. Morris. As usual, she had confidential +communications to make, and particularly wished the advice of Mrs. +Freeman in a matter which she declared weighed heavily upon her +mind; and being assured that they should be undisturbed, began at +once to impart the weighty secret. + +"You remember Mrs. Dawson, who went with her husband to Europe, a +year or two ago?" + +"Certainly I do," was the reply. "I was well acquainted with her." + +"Do you recollect a girl who had lived with her for several years? I +think her name was Mary Berkly." + +"Quite well. Mrs. Dawson placed great confidence in her, and wished +to take her abroad, but Mary was engaged to an honest carpenter, in +good business, and wisely preferred a comfortable house in her own +country." + +"She had other reasons, I suspect," replied Mrs. Morris, +mysteriously, "but you will hear. This Mary Berkly, or as she is now +called, Mary White, lives not far from my present residence. Her +husband is comfortably off, and his wife is not obliged to work, +excepting in her own family, but still she will occasionally, as a +favour, do up a few muslins for particular persons. You know she was +famous for her skill in those things. The other day, having a few +pieces which I was particularly anxious to have look nice, I called +upon her to see if she would wash them for me. She was not at home, +but her little niece, who lives with her, a child of four years old, +said that Aunt Mary would be in directly, and asked me to walk into +the parlour. I did so, and the little thing stood by my side +chattering away like a magpie. In reply to my questions as to +whether she liked to live with her aunt, what she amused herself +with, &c., &c., she entered into a long account of her various +playthings, and ended by saying that she would show me a beautiful +new doll which her good uncle had given her, if I would please to +unlock the door of a closet near where I was sitting, as she could +not turn the key. + +"To please the child I unlocked the door. She threw it wide open, +and to my astonishment I saw that it was filled with valuable silver +plate, china, and other articles of similar kind, some of which I +particularly remembered having seen at Mrs. Dawson's." + +"Perhaps she gave them to Mary," suggested Mrs. Freeman. "She was +quite attached to her." + +"Impossible!" exclaimed Mrs. Morris. "Valuable silver plate is not +often given to servants. But I have not yet finished. Just as the +child had found the doll Mrs. White entered, and on seeing the +closet-door open, said sternly to the child, + +"'Rosy, you did very wrong to open that door without my leave. I +shall not let you take your doll again for a week;' and looking very +red and confused, she hastily closed it, and turned the key. Now, to +my mind, these are suspicious circumstances, particularly as I +recollect that Mr. and Mrs. Dawson were robbed of silver plate +shortly before they went to Europe, and no trace could be found of +the thieves." + +"True," replied Mrs. Freeman, thoughtfully; "I recollect the robbery +very well. Still I cannot believe that Mary had anything to do with +it. I was always pleased with her modest manner, and thought her an +honest, capable girl." + +"She is very smooth-faced, I know," answered Mrs. Morris, "but +appearances are certainly against her. I am confident that the +articles I saw belonged to Mrs. Dawson." + +"There may be another side to the story, however," remarked her +friend; "but why not mention your suspicions to Mrs. Dawson? You +know she has returned, and is boarding in the upper part of the +city. I have her address, somewhere." + +"I know where she lives; but would you really advise me to meddle +with the affair? I shall make enemies of Mr. and Mrs. White, if they +hear of it, and I like to have the good-will of all, both, rich and +poor." + +"I do not believe that Mary would take anything wrongfully," replied +Mrs. Freeman; "but if my suspicions were as fully aroused as yours +seem to be, I presume I should mention what I saw to Mrs. Dawson, if +it were only for the sake of hearing the other side of the story, +and thus removing such unpleasant doubts from my mind. And, indeed, +if you really think that the articles which you saw were stolen, it +becomes your duty to inform the owners thereof, or you become, in a +measure, a partaker of the theft." + +"That is true," said Mrs. Morris, rising, "and in that way I might +ultimately gain the ill-will of Mrs. Dawson; therefore I think I +will go at once and tell her my suspicions." + +"Which, I am convinced, you will find erroneous," replied Mrs. +Freeman. + +"We shall see," was the answer of her friend, accompanied by an +ominous shake of the head; and promising to call upon Mrs. Freeman +on her return, she took leave. + +During her absence, the alarming cries from the next house were +again heard; and presently the old lady appeared on the side-walk, +apparently in great agitation and alarm, and gazing wildly about +her, as if seeking a place of refuge; but she was instantly seized +in the forcible manner Mrs. Morris had described, and carried into +the house. + +"This is dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Freeman. "What excuse can there +be for such treatment?" and for a moment her heart was filled with +indignation toward her supposed barbarous neighbours; but a little +reflection caused her still to suspend her judgment, and endeavour +to learn both sides of the story. + +As she sat ruminating on this singular occurrence, and considering +what was her duty in regard to it, she was aroused by the entrance +of Mrs. Morris, who, with an air of vexation and disappointment, +threw herself upon the nearest chair, exclaiming, + +"A pretty piece of work I have been about! It is all owing to your +advice, Mrs. Freeman. If it had not been for you I should not have +made such a fool of myself." + +"Why, what has happened to you?" asked Mrs. Freeman, anxiously. +"What advice have I given you which has caused trouble?" + +"You recommended my calling upon Mrs. Dawson, did you not?" + +"Certainly: I thought it the easiest way to relieve your mind from +painful suspicions. What did she say?" + +"Say! I wish you could have seen the look she gave me when I told +her what I saw at Mrs. White's. You know her haughty manner? She +thanked me for the trouble I had taken on her account, and begged +leave to assure me that she had perfect confidence in the honesty of +Mrs. White. The articles which had caused me so much unnecessary +anxiety were intrusted to her care when they went to Europe, and it +had not yet been convenient to reclaim them. I cannot tell you how +contemptuously she spoke. I never felt so mortified in my life." + +"There is no occasion for feeling so, if your intentions were good," +answered Mrs. Freeman; "and certainly it must be a relief to you to +hear the other side of the story. Nothing less would have convinced +you of Mrs. White's honesty." + +Mrs. Morris was prevented from replying by the sudden and violent +ringing of the bell, and an instant after the door was thrown open, +and the old lady, whose supposed unhappy condition had called forth +their sympathies, rushed into the room. + +"Oh, save me! save me!" she exclaimed, frantically. "I am +pursued,--protect me, for the love of Heaven!" + +"Poor creature!" said Mrs. Morris. "You see that I was not mistaken +in this story, at least. There can be no two sides to this." + +"Depend upon it there is," replied Mrs. Freeman; but she courteously +invited her visiter to be seated, and begged to know what had +occasioned her so much alarm. + +The poor lady told a plausible and piteous tale of ill-treatment, +and, indeed, actual abuse. Mrs. Morris listened with a ready ear, +and loudly expressed her horror and indignation. Mrs. Freeman was +more guarded. There was something in the old lady's appearance and +manners that excited an undefinable feeling of fear and aversion. +Mrs. Freeman felt much perplexed as to the course she ought to +pursue, and looked anxiously at the clock to see if the time for her +husband's return was near. + +It still wanted nearly two hours, and after a little more +consideration she decided to go herself into the next door, ask for +an interview with the lady of the house, frankly state what had +taken place, and demand an explanation. This resolution she +communicated in a low voice to Mrs. Morris, who opposed it as +imprudent and ill-judged. + +"Of course they will deny the charge," she argued, "and by letting +them know where the poor creature has taken shelter, you will again +expose her to their cruelty. Besides, you will get yourself into +trouble. My advice to you is to keep quiet until your husband +returns, and then to assist the poor lady secretly to go to her +friends in the country, who she says will gladly receive her." + +"But I am anxious to hear both sides of the story before I decide to +assist her," replied Mrs. Freeman. + +"Nonsense!" exclaimed her friend. "Even you must see that there +cannot be two sides to this story. There is no possible excuse for +cruelty, and to an inoffensive, aged woman." + +While they were thus consulting together, their visiter regarded +them with a troubled look, and a fierce gleaming eye, which did not, +escape Mrs. Freeman's observation; and just as Mrs. Morris finished +speaking, the maniac sprang upon her, like a tiger on his prey, and, +seizing her by the throat, demanded what new mischief was plotting +against her. + +The screams of the terrified women drew the attention of the son of +the old lady, who had just discovered her absence, and was hastening +in search of her. At once suspecting the truth, he rushed without +ceremony into his neighbour's house, and speedily rescued Mrs, +Morris from her unpleasant and somewhat dangerous situation. After +conveying his mother to her own room, and consigning her to strict +custody, he returned, and respectfully apologized to Mrs. Freeman +for what had taken place. + +"His poor mother," he said, "had for several years been subject to +occasional fits of insanity. Generally she had appeared harmless, +excepting as regarded herself. Unless prevented by force, she would +sometimes beat her own flesh in a shocking manner, uttering at the +same time loud cries and complaints of the abuse of those whom she +supposed to be tormenting her. + +"In her lucid intervals she had so earnestly besought them not to +place her in the asylum for the insane, but to continue to bear with +her under their own roof, that they had found it impossible to +refuse their solemn promise to comply with her wishes. + +"For themselves, their love for her rendered them willing to bear +with her infirmities, but it should be their earnest care that their +neighbours should not again be disturbed." + +Mrs. Freeman kindly expressed her sympathy and forgiveness for the +alarm which she had experienced, and the gentleman took leave. + +Poor Mrs. Morris had remained perfectly silent since her release; +but as the door closed on their visiter, and her friend kindly +turned to inquire how she found herself, she recovered her speech, +and exclaimed, energetically, + +"I will never, never say again that there are not two sides to a +story. If I am ever tempted to believe one side without waiting to +hear the other, I shall surely feel again the hands of that old +witch upon my throat." + +"Old witch!" repeated Mrs. Freeman. "Surely she demands our sympathy +as much as when we thought her suffering under ill-treatment. It is +indeed a sad thing to be bereft of reason. But this will be a useful +lesson to both of us: for I will readily acknowledge that in this +instance I was sometimes tempted to forget that there are always +'two sides to a story.'" + + + + + + +LITTLE KINDNESSES. + + + + + +NOT long since, it was announced that a large fortune had been left +to a citizen of the United States by a foreigner, who, some years +before, had "become ill" while travelling in this country, and whose +sick-bed was watched with the utmost care and kindness by the +citizen referred to. The stranger recovered, continued his journey, +and finally returned to his own country. The conduct of the American +at a moment so critical, and when, without relatives or friends, the +invalid was languishing in a strange land, was not forgotten. He +remembered it in his thoughtful and meditative moments, and when +about to prepare for another world, his gratitude was manifested in +a truly signal manner. A year or two ago, an individual in this city +was labouring under great pecuniary difficulty. He was unexpectedly +called upon for a considerable sum of money; and, although his means +were abundant, they were not at that time immediately available. +Puzzled and perplexed, he hesitated as to his best course, when, by +the merest chance, he met an old acquaintance, and incidentally +mentioned the facts of the case. The other referred to an act of +kindness that he had experienced years before, said that he bad +never forgotten it, and that nothing would afford him more pleasure +than to extend the relief that was required, and thus show, his +grateful appreciation of the courtesy of former years! The kindness +alluded to was a mere trifle, comparatively speaking, and its +recollection had passed entirely from the memory of the individual +who had performed it. Not so, however, with the obliged. He had +never forgotten it, and the result proved, in the most conclusive +manner, that he was deeply grateful. + +We have mentioned the two incidents with the object of inculcating +the general policy of courtesy and kindness, of sympathy and +assistance, in our daily intercourse with our fellow-creatures. It +is the true course under all circumstances. "Little kindnesses" +sometimes make an impression that "lingers and lasts" for years. +This is especially the case with the sensitive, the generous, and +the high-minded. And how much may be accomplished by this duty of +courtesy and humanity! How the paths of life may be smoothed and +softened! How the present may be cheered, and the future rendered +bright and beautiful! + +There are, it is true, some selfish spirits, who can neither +appreciate nor reciprocate a courteous or a generous act. They are +for themselves--"now and for ever"--if we may employ such a +phrase--and appear never to be satisfied. You can never do enough +for them. Nay, the deeper the obligation, the colder the heart. They +grow jealous, distrustful, and finally begin to hate their +benefactors. But these, we trust, are "the exceptions," not "the +rule." Many a heart has been won, many a friendship has been +secured, many a position has been acquired, through the exercise of +such little kindnesses and courtesies as are natural to the generous +in spirit and the noble of soul--to all, indeed, who delight, not +only in promoting their own prosperity, but in contributing to the +welfare of every member of the human family. Who cannot remember +some incident of his own life, in which an individual, then and +perhaps now a stranger--one who has not been seen for years, and +never may be seen again on this side the grave, manifested the true, +the genuine, the gentle spirit of a gentleman and a Christian, in +some mere trifle--some little but impulsive and spontaneous act, +which nevertheless developed the whole heart, and displayed the real +character! Distance and time may separate, and our pursuits and +vocations may be in paths distinct, dissimilar, and far apart. Yet, +there are moments--quiet, calm, and contemplative, when memory will +wander back to the incidents referred to, and we will feel a secret +bond of affinity, friendship, and brotherhood. The name will be +mentioned with respect if not affection, and a desire will be +experienced to repay, in some way or on some occasion, the generous +courtesy of the by-gone time. It is so easy to be civil and +obliging, to be kindly and humane! We not only thus assist the +comfort of others, but we promote our own mental enjoyment. Life, +moreover, is full of chance's and changes. A few years, sometimes, +produce extraordinary revolutions in the fortunes of men. The +haughty of to-day may be the humble of to-morrow; the feeble may be +the powerful; the rich may be the poor, But, if elevated by +affluence or by position, the greater the necessity, the stronger +the duty to be kindly, courteous, and conciliatory to those less +fortunate. We can afford to be so; and a proper appreciation of our +position, a due sympathy for the misfortunes of others, and a +grateful acknowledge to Divine Providence, require that we should be +so. Life is short at best. We are here a few years--we sink into the +grave--and even our memory is phantom-like and evanescent. How +plain, then, is our duty! It is to be true to our position, to our +conscience, and to the obligations imposed upon us by society, by +circumstances, and by our responsibility to the Author of all that +is beneficent and good. + + + + + + +LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH. + + + + + +WE are advised to leave off contention before it be meddled with, by +one usually accounted a very wise man. Had he never given the world +any other evidence of superior wisdom, this admonition alone would +have been sufficient to have established his claims thereto. It +shows that he had power to penetrate to the very root of a large +share of human misery. For what is the great evil in our condition +here? Is it not misunderstanding, disagreement, alienation, +contention, and the passions and results flowing from these? Are not +contempt, and hatred, and strife, and alteration, and slander, and +evil-speaking, the things hardest to bear, and most prolific of +suffering, in the lot of human life? The worst woes of life are such +as spring from, these sources. + +Is there any cure for these maladies? Is there anything to prevent +or abate these exquisite sufferings? The wise man directs our +attention to a remedial preventive in the advice above referred to. +His counsel to those whose lot unites them in the same local +habitations and name to those who are leagued in friendship or +business, in the changes of sympathy and the chances of collision, +is, to suppress anger or dissatisfaction, to be candid and +charitable in judging, and, by all means, to leave off contention +before it be meddled with. His counsel to all is to endure injury +meekly, not to give expression to the sense of wrong, even when we +might seem justified in resistance or complaint. His counsel is to +yield something we might fairly claim, to pardon when we might +punish, to sacrifice somewhat of our rights for the sake of peace +and friendly affection. His counsel is not to fire at every +provocation, not to return evil for evil, not to cherish any fires +of revenge, burning to be even with the injurious person. His +counsel is to curb our imperiousness, to repress our impatience, to +pause in the burst of another's feeling, to pour water upon the +kindling flames, or, at the very least, to abstain from adding any +fresh fuel thereto. + +One proof of the superior wisdom of this counsel is, that few seem +to appreciate or perceive it. To many it seems no great virtue or +wisdom, no great and splendid thing, in some small issue of feeling +or opinion, in the family or among friends, to withhold a little, to +tighten the rein upon some headlong propensity, and await a calm for +fair adjustment. Such a course is not usually held to be a proof of +wisdom or virtue; and men are much more ready to praise and think +well of smartness, and spirit, and readiness for an encounter. To +leave off contention before it is meddled with does not command any +very general admiration; it is too quiet a virtue, with no striking +attitudes, and with lips which answer nothing. This is too often +mistaken for dullness, and want of proper spirit. It requires +discernment and superior wisdom to see a beauty in such repose and +self-control, beyond the explosions of anger and retaliation. With +the multitude, self-restraining meekness under provocation is a +virtue which stands quite low in the catalogue. It is very +frequently set down as pusillanimity and cravenness of spirit. But +it is not so; for there is a self-restraint under provocation which +is far from being cowardice, or want of feeling, or shrinking from +consequences; there is a victory over passionate impulses which is +more difficult and more meritorious than a victory on the bloody +battle-field. It requires more power, more self-command, often, to +leave off contention, when provocation and passion are causing the +blood to boil, than to rush into it. + +Were this virtue more duly appreciated, and the admonition of the +Wise Man more extensively heeded, what a change would be effected in +human life! How many of its keenest sufferings would be annihilated! +The spark which kindles many great fires would be withheld; and, +great as are the evils and sufferings caused by war, they are not as +great, probably, as those originating in impatience and want of +temper. The fretfulness of human life, it seems not hard to believe, +is a greater evil, and destroys more happiness, than all the bloody +scenes of the, battle-field. The evils of war have generally +something to lighten the burden of them in a sense of necessity, or +of rights or honour invaded; but there is nothing of like importance +to alleviate the sufferings caused by fretfulness, impatience, want +of temper. The excitable peevishness which kindles at trifles, that +roughens the daily experience of a million families, that scatters +its little stings at the table and by the hearth-stone, what does +this but unmixed harm? What ingredient does it furnish but of gall? +Its fine wounding may be of petty consequence in any given case, and +its tiny darts easily extracted; but, when habitually carried into +the whole texture of life, it destroys more peace than plague and +famine and the sword. It is a deeper anguish than grief; it is a +sharper pang than the afflicted moan with; it is a heavier pressure +from human hands than when affliction lays her hand upon you. All +this deduction from human comfort, all this addition to human +suffering, may be saved, by heeding the admonition of wisdom given +by one of her sons. When provoked by the follies or the passions, +the offences or neglects, the angry words or evil-speaking of +others, restrain your propensity to complain or contend; leave off +contention before you take the first step towards it. You will then +be greater than he that taketh a city. You will be a genial +companion in your family and among your neighbours. You will be +loved at home and blessed abroad. You will be a source of comfort to +others, and carry a consciousness of praiseworthiness in your own +bosom. On the contrary, an acrid disposition, a readiness to enter +into contention, is like vinegar to the teeth, like caustic to an +open sore. It eats out all the beauty, tenderness, and affection of +domestic and social life. For all this the remedy is simple. Put a +restraint upon your feelings; give up a little; take less than +belongs to you; endure more than should be put upon you; make +allowance for another's judgment or educational defects; consider +circumstances and constitution; leave off contention before it be +meddled with. If you do otherwise, quick resentment and stiff +maintenance of your position will breed endless disputes and +bitterness. But happy will be the results of the opposite course, +accomplished every day and every hour in the family, with friends, +with companions, with all with whom you have any dealings or any +commerce in life. + +Let any one set himself to the cultivation of this virtue of +meekness and self-restraint, and he will find that it cannot be +secured by one or a few efforts, however resolute; by a few +struggles, however severe. It requires industrious culture; it +requires that he improve every little occasion to quench strife and +fan concord, till a constant sweetness smooths the face of domestic +life, and kindness and tenderness become the very expression of the +countenance. This virtue of self-control must grow by degrees. It +must grow by a succession of abstinences from returning evil for +evil, by a succession of leaving off contention before the first +angry word escapes. + +It may help to cultivate this virtue, to practise some forethought. +When tempted to irritable, censorious speech, one might with +advantage call to recollection the times, perhaps frequent, when +words uttered in haste have caused sorrow or repentance. Then, +again, the fact might be called to mind, that when we lose a friend, +every harsh word we may have spoken rises to condemn us. There is a +resurrection, not for the dead only, but for the injuries we have +fixed in their hearts--in hearts, it may be, bound to our own, and +to which we owed gentleness instead of harshness. The shafts of +reproach, which come from the graves of those who have been wounded +by our fretfulness and irritability, are often hard to bear. Let +meek forbearance and self-control prevent such suffering, and guard +us against the condemnations of the tribunal within. + +There is another tribunal, also, which it were wise to think of. The +rule of that tribunal is, that if we forgive not those who trespass +against us, we ourselves shall not be forgiven. "He shall have +judgment without mercy that hath showed no mercy." Only, then, if we +do not need, and expect never to beg the mercy of the Lord to +ourselves, may we withhold our mercy from our fellow-men. + + + + + + +"ALL THE DAY IDLE." + + + + + +WHEREFORE idle?--when the harvest beckoning, + Nods its ripe tassels to the brightening sky? +Arise and labour ere the time of reckoning, + Ere the long shadows and the night draw night. + +Wherefore idle?--Swing the sickle stoutly! + Bind thy rich sheaves exultingly and fast! +Nothing dismayed, do thy great task devoutly-- + Patient and strong, and hopeful to the last! + +Wherefore idle?--Labour, not inaction, + Is the soul's birthright, and its truest rest; +Up to thy work!--It is Nature's fit exaction-- + He who toils humblest, bravest, toils the best. + +Wherefore idle?--God himself is working; + His great thought wearieth not, nor standeth still, +In every throb of his vast heart is lurking + Some mighty purpose of his mightier will. + +Wherefore idle?--Not a leaf's slight rustle + But chides thee in thy vain, inglorious rest; +Be a strong actor in the great world,--bustle,-- + Not a, weak minion or a pampered guest! + +Wherefore idle?--Oh I _my_ faint soul, wherefore? + Shake first from thine own powers dull sloth's control; +Then lift thy voice with an exulting "Therefore + Thou, too, shalt conquer, oh, thou striving soul!" + + + + + + +THE BUSHEL OF CORN. + + + + + +FARMER GRAY had a neighbour who was not the best-tempered man in the +world though mainly kind and obliging. He was shoemaker. His name +was Barton. One day, in harvest-time, when every man on the farm was +as busy as a bee, this man came over to Farmer Gray's, and said, in +rather a petulant tone of voice, + +"Mr. Gray, I wish you would send over, and drive your geese home." + +"Why so, Mr. Barton; what have my geese been doing?" said the +farmer, in a mild, quiet-tone. + +"They pick my pigs' ears when they are eating, and go into my +garden, and I will not have it!" the neighbour replied, in a still +more petulant voice. + +"I am really sorry it, Neighbour Barton, but what can I do?" + +"Why, yoke them, and thus keep them on your own premises. It's no +kind of a way to let your geese run all over every farm and garden +in the neighborhood." + +"But I cannot see to it, now. It is harvest-time, Friend Barton, and +every man, woman, and child on the farm has as much as he or she can +do. Try and bear it for a week or so, and then I will see if I can +possibly remedy the evil." + +"I can't bear it, and I won't bear it any longer!" said the +shoemaker. "So if you do not take care of them, Friend Gray, I shall +have to take care of them for you." + +"Well, Neighbour Barton, you can do as you please," Farmer Gray +replied, in his usual quiet tone. "I am sorry that they trouble you, +but I cannot attend to them now." + +"I'll attend to them for you, see if I don't," said the shoemaker, +still more angrily than when he first called upon Farmer Gray; and +then turned upon his heel, and strode off hastily towards his own +house, which was quite near to the old farmer's. + +"What upon earth can be the matter with them geese?" said Mrs. Gray, +about fifteen minutes afterwards. + +"I really cannot tell, unless Neighbour Barton is taking care of +them. He threatened to do so, if I didn't yoke them right off." + +"Taking care of them! How taking care of them?" + +"As to that, I am quite in the dark. Killing them, perhaps. He said +they picked at his pigs' ears, and drove them away when they were +eating, and that he wouldn't have it. He wanted me to yoke them +right off, but that I could not do, now, as all the hands are busy. +So, I suppose, he is engaged in the neighbourly business of taking +care of our geese." + +"John! William! run over and see what Mr. Barton is doing with my +geese," said Mrs. Gray, in a quick and anxious tone, to two little +boys who were playing near. + +The urchins scampered off, well pleased to perform any errand. + +"Oh, if he has dared to do anything to my geese, I will never +forgive him!" the good wife said, angrily. + +"H-u-s-h, Sally! make no rash speeches. It is more than probable +that he has killed some two or three of them. But never mind, if he +has. He will get over this pet, and be sorry for it." + +"Yes; but what good will his being sorry do me? Will it bring my +geese to life?" + +"Ah, well, Sally, never mind. Let us wait until we learn what all +this disturbance is about." + +In about ten minutes the children came home, bearing the bodies of +three geese, each without a head. + +"Oh, is not that too much for human endurance?" cried Mrs. Gray. +"Where did you find them?" + +"We found them lying out in the road," said the oldest of the two +children, "and when we picked them up, Mr. Barton said, 'Tell your +father that I have yoked his geese for him, to save him the trouble, +as his hands are all too busy to do it.'" + +"I'd sue him for it!" said Mrs. Gray, in an indignant tone. + +"And what good would that do, Sally?" + +"Why, it would do a great deal of good. It would teach him better +manners. It would punish him; and he deserves punishment." + +"And punish us into the bargain. We have lost three geese, now, but +we still have their good fat bodies to eat. A lawsuit would cost us +many geese, and not leave us even so much as the feathers, besides +giving us a world of trouble and vexation. No, no, Sally; just let +it rest, and he will be sorry for it, I know." + +"Sorry for it, indeed! And what good will his being sorry for it do +us, I should like to know? Next he will kill a cow, and then we must +be satisfied with his being sorry for it! Now, I can tell you, that +I don't believe in that doctrine. Nor do I believe anything about +his being sorry--the crabbed, ill-natured wretch!" + +"Don't call hard names, Sally," said Farmer Gray, in a mild, +soothing tone. "Neighbour Barton was not himself when he killed the +geese. Like every other angry person, he was a little insane, and +did what he would not have done had he been perfectly in his right +mind. When you are a little excited, you know, Sally, that even you +do and say unreasonable things." + +"Me do and say unreasonable things!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray, with a +look and tone of indignant astonishment; "me do and say unreasonable +things, when I am angry! I don't understand you, Mr. Gray." + +"May-be I can help you a little. Don't you remember how angry you +were when Mr. Mellon's old brindle got into our garden, and trampled +over your lettuce-bed, and how you struck her with the oven-pole, +and knocked off one of her horns?" + +"But I didn't mean to do that, though." + +"No; but then you were angry, and struck old Brindle with a right +good will. And if Mr. Mellon had felt disposed, he might have +prosecuted for damages." + +"But she had no business there." + +"Of course not. Neither had our geese any business in Neighbour +Barton's yard. But, perhaps, I can help you to another instance, +that will be more conclusive, in regard to your doing and saying +unreasonable things, when you are angry. You remember the patent +churn?" + +"Yes; but never mind about that." + +"So you have not forgotten how unreasonable you was about the churn. +It wasn't good for anything--you knew it wasn't; and you'd never put +a jar of cream into it as long as you lived--that you wouldn't. And +yet, on trial, you found that churn the best you had ever used, and +you wouldn't part with it on any consideration. So you see, Sally, +thai even you can say and do unreasonable things, when you are +angry, just as well as Mr. Barton can. Let us then consider him a +little, and give him time to get over his angry fit. It will be much +better to do so." + +Mrs. Gray saw that her husband was right, but still she felt +indignant at the outrage committed on her geese. She did not, +however, say anything about suing the shoemaker--for old Brindle's +head, from which the horn had been knocked off, was not yet entirely +well, and one prosecution very naturally suggested the idea of +another. So she took her three fat geese, and after stripping off +their feathers, had them prepared for the table. + +On the next morning, as Farmer Gray was going along the road, he met +the shoemaker, and as they had to pass very near to each other, the +farmer smiled, and bowed, and spoke kindly. Mr. Barton looked and +felt very uneasy, but Farmer Gray did not seem to remember the +unpleasant incident of the day before. + +It was about eleven o'clock of the same day that one of Farmer +Gray's little boys came running to him, and crying, + +"Oh, father! father! Mr. Barton's hogs are in our cornfield." + +"Then I must go and drive them out," said Mr. Gray, in a quiet tone. + +"Drive them out!" ejaculated Mrs. Gray; "drive 'em out, indeed! I'd +shoot them, that's what I'd do! I'd serve them as he served my geese +yesterday." + +"But that wouldn't bring the geese to life again, Sally." + +"I don't care if it wouldn't. It would be paying him in his own +coin, and that's all he deserves." + +"You know what the Bible says, Sally, about grievous words, and they +apply with stronger force to grievous actions. No, no, I will return +Neighbour Barton good for evil. That is the best way. He has done +wrong, and I am sure is sorry for it. And as I wish him still to +remain sorry for so unkind and unneighbourly an action, I intend +making use of the best means for keeping him sorry." + +"Then you will be revenged on him, anyhow." + +"No, Sally--not revenged. I hope I have no such feeling. For I am +not angry with Neighbour Barton, who has done himself a much greater +wrong than he has done me. But I wish him to see clearly how wrong +he acted, that he may do so no more. And then we shall not have any +cause to complain of him, nor he any to be grieved, as I am sure he +is, at his own hasty conduct. But while I am talking here, his hogs +are destroying my corn." + +And so saying, Farmer Gray hurried off, towards his cornfield. When +he arrived there, he found four large hogs tearing down the stalks, +and pulling off and eating the ripe ears of corn. They had already +destroyed a good deal. But he drove them out very calmly, and put up +the bars through which they had entered, and then commenced +gathering up the half-eaten ears of corn, and throwing them out into +the lane for the hogs, that had been so suddenly disturbed in the +process of obtaining a liberal meal. As he was thus engaged, Mr. +Barton, who had from his own house seen the farmer turn the hogs out +of his cornfield, came hurriedly up, and said, + +"I am very sorry, Mr. Gray, indeed I am, that my hogs have done +this! I will most cheerfully pay you for what they have destroyed." + +"Oh, never mind, Friend Barton--never mind. Such things will happen, +occasionally. My geese, you know, annoy you very much, sometimes." + +"Don't speak of it, Mr. Gray. They didn't annoy me half as much as I +imagined they did. But how much corn do you think my hogs have +destroyed? One bushel, or two bushels? or how much? Let it be +estimated, and I will pay for it most cheerfully." + +"Oh, no. Not for the world, Friend Barton. Such things will happen +sometimes. And, besides, some of my men must have left the bars +down, or your hogs could never have got in. So don't think any more +about it. It would be dreadful if one neighbour could not bear a +little with another." + +All this cut poor Mr. Barton to the heart. His own ill-natured +language and conduct, at a much smaller trespass on his rights, +presented itself to his mind, and deeply mortified him. After a few +moments' silence, he said, + +"The fact is, Mr. Gray, I shall feel better if you will let me pay +for this corn. My hogs should not be fattened at your expense, and I +will not consent to its being done. So I shall insist on paying you +for at least one bushel of corn, for I am sure they have destroyed +that much, if not more." + +But Mr. Gray shook his head and smiled pleasantly, as he replied, + +"Don't think anything more about it, Neighbour Barton. It is a +matter deserving no consideration. No doubt my cattle have often +trespassed on you and will trespass on you again. Let us then bear +and forbear." + +All this cut the shoemaker still deeper, and he felt still less at +ease in mind after he parted from the farmer than he did before. But +on one thing he resolved, and that was, to pay Mr. Gray for the corn +which his hogs had eaten. + +"You told him your mind pretty plainly, I hope," said Mrs. Gray, as +her husband came in. + +"I certainly did," was the quiet reply. + +"And I am glad you had spirit enough to do it! I reckon he will +think twice before he kills any more of my geese!" + +"I expect you are right, Sally. I don't think we shall be troubled +again." + +"And what did you say to him? And what did he say for himself?" + +"Why he wanted very much to pay me for the corn his pigs had eaten, +but I wouldn't hear to it. I told him that it made no difference in +the world; that such accidents would happen sometimes." + +"You did?" + +"Certainly, I did." + +"And that's the way you spoke your mind to him?" + +"Precisely. And it had the desired effect. It made him feel ten +times worse than if I had spoken angrily to him. He is exceedingly +pained at what he has done, and says he will never rest until he has +paid for that corn. But I am resolved never to take a cent for it. +It will be the best possible guarantee I can have for his kind and +neighbourly conduct hereafter." + +"Well, perhaps you are right," said Mrs. Gray, after a few moments +of thoughtful silence. "I like Mrs. Barton very much--and now I come +to think of it, I should not wish to have any difference between our +families." + +"And so do I like Mr. Barton. He has read a good deal, and I find it +very pleasant to sit with him, occasionally, during the long winter +evenings. His only fault is his quick temper--but I am sure it is +much better for us to bear with and soothe that, than to oppose rand +excite it and thus keep both his family and our own in hot water." + +"You are certainly right," replied Mrs. Gray; "and I only wish that +I could always think and feel as you do. But I am little quick, as +they say." + +"And so is Mr. Barton. Now just the same consideration that you +would desire others to have for you, should you exercise towards Mr. +Barton, or any one else whose hasty temper leads him into words or +actions that, in calmer and more thoughtful moments, are subjects of +regret." + +On the next day, while Mr. Gray stood in his own door, from which he +could see over the two or three acres of ground that the shoemaker +cultivated, he observed two of his cows in his neighbour's +cornfield, browsing away in quite a contented manner. As he was +going to call one of the farm hands to go over and drive them out, +he perceived that Mr. Barton had become aware of the mischief that +was going on, and had already started for the field of corn. + +"Now we will see the effect of yesterday's lesson," said the farmer +to himself; and then paused to observe the manner of the shoemaker +towards his cattle in driving them out of the field. In a few +minutes Mr. Barton came up to the cows, but, instead of throwing +stones at them, or striking them with a stick, he merely drove them +out in a quiet way, and put up the bars through which they had +entered. + +"Admirable!" ejaculated Farmer Gray. + +"What is admirable?" asked his wife, who came within hearing +distance at the moment. + +"Why the lesson I gave our friend Barton yesterday. It works +admirably." + +"How so?" + +"Two of our cows were in his cornfield a few minutes ago, destroying +the corn at a rapid rate." + +"Well! what did he do to them?" in a quick, anxious tone. + +"He drove them out." + +"Did he stone them, or beat them?" + +"Oh no. He was gentle as a child towards them." + +"You are certainly jesting." + +"Not I. Friend Barton has not forgotten that his pigs were in my +cornfield yesterday, and that I turned them out without hurting a +hair of one of them. Now, suppose I had got angry and beaten his +pigs, what do you think the result would have been? Why, it is much +more than probable that one or both of our fine cows would have been +at this moment in the condition of Mr. Mellon's old Brindle." + +"I wish you wouldn't say anything more about old Brindle," said Mrs. +Gray, trying to laugh, while her face grew red in spite of her +efforts to keep down her feelings. + +"Well, I won't, Sally, if it worries you. But it is such a good +illustration that I can't help using it sometimes." + +"I am glad he didn't hurt the cows," said Mrs. Gray, after a pause. + +"And so am I, Sally. Glad on more than one account. It shows that he +has made an effort to keep down his hasty, irritable temper--and if +he can do that, it will be a favour conferred on the whole +neighbourhood, for almost every one complains, at times, of this +fault in his character." + +"It is certainly the best policy, to keep fair weather with him," +Mrs. Gray remarked, "for a man of his temper could annoy us a good +deal." + +"That word policy, Sally, is not a good word," replied her husband. +"It conveys a thoroughly selfish idea. Now, we ought to look for +some higher motives of action than mere policy--motives grounded in +correct and unselfish principles." + +"But what other motive but policy could we possibly have for putting +up with Mr. Barton's outrageous conduct?" + +"Other, and far higher motives, it seems to me. We should reflect +that Mr. Barton has naturally a hasty temper, and that when excited +he does things for which he is sorry afterwards--and that, in nine +cases out of ten, he is a greater sufferer from those outbreaks than +any one else. In our actions towards him, then, it is a much higher +and better motive for us to be governed by a desire to aid him in +the correction of this evil, than to look merely to the protection +of ourselves from its effects. Do you not think so?" + +"Yes. It does seem so." + +"When thus moved to action, we are, in a degree, regarding the whole +neighbourhood, for the evil of which we speak affects all. And in +thus suffering ourselves to be governed by such elevated and +unselfish motives, we gain all that we possibly could have gained +under the mere instigation of policy--and a great deal more. But to +bring the matter into a still narrower compass. In all our actions +towards him and every one else, we should be governed by the simple +consideration--is it right? If a spirit of retaliation be not right, +then it cannot be indulged without a mutual injury. Of course, then, +it should never prompt us to action. If cows or hogs get into my +field or garden, and destroy my property, who is to blame most? Of +course, myself. I should have kept my fences in better repair, or my +gate closed. The animals, certainly, are not to blame, for they +follow only the promptings of nature; and their owners should not be +censured, for they know nothing about it. It would then be very +wrong for me to injure both the animals and their owners for my own +neglect, would it not?" + +"Yes,--I suppose it would." + +"So, at least, it seems to me. Then, of course, I ought not to +injure Neighbour Barton's cows or hogs, even if they do break into +my cornfield or garden, simply because it would be wrong to do so. +This is the principle upon which we should act, and not from any +selfish policy." + +After this there was no trouble about Farmer Gray's geese or cattle. +Sometimes the geese would get among Mr. Barton's hogs, and annoy +them while eating, but it did not worry him as it did formerly. If +they became too troublesome he would drive them away, but not by +throwing sticks and stones at them as he once did. + +Late in the fall the shoemaker brought in his bill for work. It was +a pretty large bill, with sundry credits. + +"Pay-day has come at last," said Farmer Gray, good-humouredly, as +the shoemaker presented his account. + +"Well, let us see!" and he took the bill to examine it item after +item. + +"What is this?" he asked, reading aloud. + +"'Cr. By one bushel of corn, fifty cents.'" + +"It's some corn I had from you." + +"I reckon you must be mistaken. You never got any corn from me." + +"Oh, yes I did. I remember it perfectly. It is all right." + +"But when did you get it, Friend Barton? I am sure that I haven't +the most distant recollection of it." + +"My hogs got it," the shoemaker said, in rather a low and hesitating +tone. + +"Your hogs!" + +"Yes. Don't you remember when my hogs broke into your field, and +destroyed your corn?" + +"Oh, dear! is that it? Oh, no, no, Friend Barton! Ii cannot allow +that item in the bill." + +"Yes, but you must. It is perfectly just, and I shall never rest +until it is paid." + +"I can't, indeed. You couldn't help the hogs getting into my field; +and then you know, Friend Barton (lowering his tone), my geese were +very troublesome!" + +The shoemaker blushed and looked confused; but Farmer Gray slapped +him familiarly on the shoulder, and said, in a lively, cheerful way, + +"Don't think any more about it, Friend Barton! And hereafter let us +endeavour to 'do as we would be done by,' and then everything will +go on as smooth as clock-work." + +"But you will allow that item in the bill?" the shoemaker urged +perseveringly. + +"Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I should think it wrong to make you pay +for my own or some of my men's negligence in leaving the bars down." + +"But then (hesitatingly), those geese--I killed three. Let it go for +them." + +"If you did kill them, we ate them. So that is even. No, no, let the +past be forgotten, and if it makes better neighbours and friends of +us, we never need regret what has happened." + +Farmer Gray remained firm, and the bill was settled, omitting the +item of "corn." From that time forth he never had a better neighbour +than the shoemaker. The cows, hogs, and geese of both would +occasionally trespass, but the trespassers were always kindly +removed. The lesson was not lost on either of them--for even Farmer +Gray used to feel, sometimes, a little annoyed when his neighbour's +cattle broke into his field. But in teaching the shoemaker a lesson, +he had taken a little of it himself. + + + + + + +THE ACCOUNT. + + + + + +THE clock from the city hall struck one; +The merchant's task was not yet done; +He knew the old year was passing away, +And his accounts must all be settled that day; +He must know for a truth how much he should win, +So fast the money was rolling in. + +He took the last cash-book, from the pile, +And he summed it up with a happy smile; +For a just and upright man was he, +Dealing with all most righteously, +And now he was sure how much he should win, +How fast the money was rolling in. + +He heard not the soft touch on the door-- +He heard not the tread on the carpeted floor-- +So still was her coming, he thought him alone, +Till she spake in a sweet and silvery tone: +"Thou knowest not yet how much thou shalt win-- +How fast the money is rolling in." + +Then from 'neath her white, fair arm, she took +A golden-clasped, and, beautiful book-- +"'Tis my account thou hast to pay, +In the coming of the New Year's day-- +Read--ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win, +How fast the money is rolling in." + +He open'd the clasps with a trembling hand-- +Therein was Charity's firm demand: +"To the widow, the orphan, the needy, the poor, +Much owest thou of thy yearly store; +Give, ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win-- +While fast the money is rolling in." + +The merchant took from his box of gold +A goodly sum for the lady bold; +His heart was richer than e'er before, +As she bore the prize from the chamber door. +Ye who would know how much ye can win, +Give, when the money is rolling in. + + + + + + +CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH. + + + + + +"IT is vain, to urge, Brother Robert. Out into the world I must go. +The impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here." + +"You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be +idle." + +"And such work! Delving in, and grovelling close to the ground. And +for what? Oh no Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet cottage +in a sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than simple +herbs, and water from the brook. I have set my heart on attaining +wealth; and where there is a will there is always a way." + +"Contentment is better than wealth." + +"A proverb for drones." + +"No, William, it is a proverb for the wise." + +"Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly, understood, it is no +proverb for me. As poor plodder along the way of life, it were +impossible for me to know content. So urge no farther, Robert. I am +going out into the world a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is +gained do I purpose to return." + +"What of Ellen, Robert?" + +The young man turned quickly towards his brother, visibly disturbed, +and fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression. + +"I love her as my life," he said, with a strong emphasis on his +words. + +"Do you love wealth more than life, William?" + +"Robert!" + +"If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of +getting riches, then you must love money more than life." + +"Don't talk to me after this fashion. I love her tenderly and truly. +I am going forth as well for her sake as my own. In all the good +fortune that comes as a meed of effort, she will be the sharer." + +"You will see her before you leave us?" + +"No; I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send +her this letter and this ring." + +A few hours later, and there brothers stood with tightly-grasped +hands, gazing into each other's faces. + +"Farewell, Robert." + +"Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home. +Though it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart +come back to it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should Fortune +cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors +will ever be open, and its hearth-fire bright for you as of old. +Farewell!" + +And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless +world, an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to +linger among the pleasant places dear to him by every association of +childhood, there to fill up the measure of his days--not idly, for +he was no drone in the social hive. + +On the evening of that day two maidens sat alone, each in the +sanctuary of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of +one, and a glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and +wet her drooping lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter +in her hand. It was full of tender words; but the writer loved +wealth more than the maiden, and had gone forth to seek the mistress +of his soul. He would "come back," but when? Ah, what a veil of +uncertainty was upon the future! Poor, stricken heart! The other +maiden--she of the glowing cheeks and dancing eyes--held also a +letter in her hand. It was from the brother of the wealth-seeker; +and it was also full of loving words; and it said that, on the +morrow, he would come to bear her as his bride to his pleasant home. +Happy maiden! + +Ten years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the +glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? +Has he returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? +Not since the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a +word of intelligence from the wanderer been received; and to those +he left behind him he is as one who has passed the final bourne. Yet +he still dwells among the living. + +In a far-away, sunny clime stands a stately mansion. We will not +linger to describe the elegant interior, to hold up before the +reader's imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely +heightened by art, but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one +of its most luxurious chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading +atmosphere! The inmates, few in number, are grouped around one on +whose white forehead Time's trembling finger has written the word +"Death!" Over her bends a manly form. There--his face is towards +you. Ah! you recognise the wanderer--the wealth-seeker. What does he +here? What to him is the dying one? His wife! And has he, then, +forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes lay wet on her pale cheeks +for many hours after she read his parting words? He has not +forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he the prize, to +contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed; yet still +hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading illusions. +To-day he stood with his hand just ready to seize the object of his +wishes, to-morrow a shadow mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, he +bowed down his manhood prostrate even to the dust in woman worship, +and took to himself a bride, rich in golden, attractions, but poorer +as a woman than ever the beggar at her father's gate. What a thorn +in his side she proved! A thorn ever sharp and ever piercing. The +closer he attempted to draw her to his bosom, the deeper went the +points into his own, until, in the anguish of his soul, again and +again he flung her passionately from him. + +Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to +compensate therefor? But in this last desperate throw did the +worldling gain the wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had +wedded the only child of a man whose treasure might be counted by +hundreds of thousands; but, in doing so, he had failed to secure the +father's approval or confidence. The stern old man regarded him as a +mercenary interloper, and ever treated him as such. For five years, +therefore, he fretted and chafed in the narrow prison whose gilded +bars his own hands had forged. How often, during that time, had his +heart wandered back to the dear old home, and the beloved ones with +whom he had passed his early years! And, ah! how many, many times +came between him and the almost hated countenance of his wife the +gentle, the loving face of that one to whom he had been false! How +often her soft blue eyes rested on his own How often he started and +looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came floating on the air! + +And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a +bitter sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all +pleasure in his life. + +Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in +the chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters +that so long have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In +dying, the sufferer made no sign. Suddenly she plunged into the dark +profound, so impenetrable to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves +closed, sighing over her, he who had called her wife turned from the +couch on which her frail body remained, with an inward "Thank God! I +am a man again!" + +One more bitter dreg yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone +by ere the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting +words:-- + +"You were nothing to me while my daughter lived--you are less than +nothing to me now. It was my wealth, not my child you loved. She has +passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will +never bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers." + +When the next sun went down on that stately mansion, which the +wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again--poor, +humiliated, broken in spirit. + +How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible +the punishment he had suffered! + +One more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, with +which the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then +fruitless ambition died in his bosom. + +"My brother said well," he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly +on the darkness of his spirit; "'contentment is better than wealth.' +Dear brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you? +Too late! too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips; +but, I turned my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting +draught. How vividly comes before me now that parting scene! I am +looking into my brother's face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand. +His voice is in my ears. Dear brother! And his parting words, I hear +them now, even more earnestly than when they were first spoken. +'Should fortune cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to your +home again. Its doors will ever be open, and its hearth-fires bright +for you as of old.' Ah, do the fires still burn? How many years have +passed since I went forth! And Ellen? Even if she be living and +unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this false heart at her +feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip of scorpions." + +The step of time has fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those +to whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, but few footmarks +were visible. Yet there had been changes in the old homestead. As +the smiling years went by, each, as it looked in at the cottage +window, saw the home circle widening, or new beauty crowning the +angel brows of happy children. No thorn to his side had Robert's +gentle wife proved. As time passed on, closer and closer was she +drawn to his bosom; yet never a point had pierced him. Their home +was a type of Paradise. + +It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread, +and they are about gathering round the table, when a stranger +enters. His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air +slightly mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to +face. + +"Are these all your children?" he asks, surprise and admiration +mingling in his tones. + +"All ours, and, thank God, the little flock is yet unbroken." + +The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is +impossible to conceal. + +"Contentment is better than wealth," he murmurs. "Oh that I had +comprehended the truth." + +The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too +distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly +recognises in the stranger his long-wandering, long-mourned brother. + +"William!" + +The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand +gazing at each other, then tenderly embrace. + +"William!" + +How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet +maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so +unobtrusively, the one he had parted from years before--the one to +whom he had been so false. But her voice has startled his ears with +the familiar tones of yesterday. + +"Ellen!" Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years. +He has leaped back over the gulf, and stands now as he stood ere +ambition and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his first +and only love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden that +he cannot so forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp +her almost wildly to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would +have betrayed his deeply-repented perfidy. + +And here we leave them, reader. "Contentment is better than wealth." +So the worldling proved, after a bitter experience, which may you be +spared! It is far better to realize a truth perceptibly, and thence +make it a rule of action, than to prove its verity in a life of +sharp agony. But how few are able to rise into such a realization! + + + + + + +RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE. + + + + + +BENDING over a steamer's side, a face looked down into the clear, +green depths of Lake Erie, where the early moonbeams were showering +rainbows through the dancing spray, and chasing the white-crusted +waves with serpents of gold. The face was clouded with thought, a +shade too sombre, yet there glowed over it something like a +reflection from the iris-hues beneath. A voice of using was borne +away into the purple and vermilion haze that twilight began to fold +over the bosom of the lake. + +"Rainbows! Ye follow me everywhere! Gloriously your arches arose +from the horizon of the prairies, when the storm-king and the god of +day met within them to proclaim a treaty and an alliance. You +spanned the Father of Waters with a bridge that put to the laugh +man's clumsy structures of chain, and timber, and wire. You floated +in a softening veil before the awful grandeur of Niagara; and here +you gleam out from the light foam in the steamboat's wake. + +"Grateful am I for you, oh rainbows! for the clouds, the drops, and +the sunshine of which you are wrought, and for the gift of vision +through which my spirit quaffs the wine of your beauty. + +"Grateful also for faith, which hangs an ethereal halo over the +fountains of earthly joy, and wraps grief in robes so resplendent +that, like Iris of the olden time, she is at once recognised as a +messenger from Heaven. + +"Blessings on sorrow, whether past or to come! for in the clear +shining of heavenly love, every tear-drop becomes a pearl. The storm +of affliction crushes weak human nature to the dust; the glory of +the eternal light overpowers it; but, in the softened union of both, +the stricken spirit beholds the bow of promise, and knows that it +shall not utterly be destroyed. When we say that for us there is +nothing but darkness and tears, it is because we are weakly brooding +over the shadows within us. If we dared look up, and face our +sorrow, we should see upon it the seal of God's love, and be calm. + +"Grant me, Father of Light, whenever my eyes droop heavily with the +rain of grief, at least to see the reflection of thy signet-bow upon +the waves over which I am sailing unto thee. And through the steady +toiling of the voyage, through the smiles and tears of every day's +progress, let the iris-flash appear, even as now it brightens the +spray that rebounds from the labouring wheels." + +The voice died away into darkness which returned no answer to its +murmurings. The face vanished from the boat's side, but a flood of +light was pouring into the serene depths of a trusting soul. + +THE END. +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World +by T. S. 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