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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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