Points of Difference between AuveiHists and
their Opponents,
1. WE hold that the prophetic days of Daniel and John are
years ; as did Wesley, Scott, Clark, Fletcher, the learned Joseph
Mede, Faber, Prideaux, Dr. Hales, BishorJ* Newton, and Sir
Isaac Newton, with all the standard protestant commentators.
Our opponents claim that they are simply days, or half-days !
2. We claim that the prophecies of Daniel and John are his-
torical prophecies, extending to the end o/ time, as all Chris-
tians have held, according to the undoubted testimony of histo-
rians, till our day. And if the end is not brought to view by
these prophecies, they are to us inexplicable.
3. We claim that the ninth of Daniel is an appendix to the
eighth, and that the seventy weeks and the 2300 days or years
commence together. Our opponents deny this.
Dr. Hales renders Dan. ix. 27 thus : " But one week shall
establish a [new] covenant with many;. and half of the \veek
shall abrogate the [daily] sacrifice and oblation. And upon the
pinnacle [or battlement of the temple shall stand] the abomina-
tion of desolation, even until the consummation [of the 2300
days.] But then the decreed [desolation] shall be poured [in
turn] upon the desolator."
He then adds, " This chronological prophecy (which I have
attempted to render more closely and intelligibly, supplying
the ellipsis necessary to complete the sense of the original,)
was evidently designed to explain the foregoing vision, espe-
cially in its chronological part of the 2300 days ; at the end of
which the predicted desolation of the Jews should cease, and
their sanctuary be cleansed."
If the " EXCEEDING GREAT HORN " of Dan. viii. is
ROME, as all standard protestant commentators admit, it fol-
lows that the 2300 days must be years. And as the 2300 days
extend to the cleansing of the sanctuary, and the sanctuary is
to be desolated to the end of the world ; if they begin with the
seventy weeks, it follows that we have approached the very con-
summation, and may look daily for the coining of the Son of God.
4. We believe that the longer prophetic periods mark the
limits of probation ; and that when they expire, the Lord him- I
self will descend from heaven with a shout, raise all the right- !
eons dead in incorruption and glory, change all the righteous I
living from mortality to immortality, restore the whole earth to
its Eden state, and set up God's everlasting kingdom. Then
the kingdom and the dominion, and the greatness of the king-
dom under the whole heaven, shall be given to the-peopfe of the
saints of the Most High, whose kingdom is an everlasting king-
dom, and all dominions shall serve and obey him. Our oppo-
nents locate their abode above the whole heaven.
THE POOR RICH MAN,
THE RICH POOR MAN.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"HOPE LESLIE," "THE LINWOODS," &c.
* There i that maketb himself rich, jet hath nothing : there is that maketb himself poor
yet hath great riches."
NEW-YORK:
HARPER &. BROTHERS, CLIP F-S TREE T.
1838.
LIBRARY
^ixSITY OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS
{Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.]
TO THE REV. JOSEPH TUCKERMAN,
THE POOR MAN'S FRIEND,
THIS UTTLE VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED
BY THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
School-Days Page 9
CHAPTER II.
Uncle Phil" .18
CHAPTER III.
A Friend in Need 24
CHAPTER IV
A Poor Man's Journey 33
CHAPTER V.
Charlotte's Return .^r. 37
CHAPTER VI.
Showers and Sunshine 53
CHAPTER VII.
Love-Letters . . 62
CHAPTER VIII.
A Peep into the Poor Rich Man's House 75
CHAPTER IX.
A Peep into the Rich Poor Man's House . - . . . 81
CHAPTER X.
The Rich Poor Man's Charities .... .88
8 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XI.
An Orphan Girl Page 95
CHAPTER XII.
" Society" at the Poor Man's Home . . . . . .104
CHAPTER XIII.
" Society" at the Rich Man's House 118
CHAPTER XIV.
An Old Acquaintance not " Forgot" 125
CHAPTER XV.
The Rich Man's Charities 137
CHAPTER XVI.
Another Rich Merchant's House 144
CHAPTER XVII.
A Cure for the Heartache 148
CHAPTER XJJH.
Light in a Dark Place . . . W; 159
CHAPTER XIX.
A Death-Bed 165
CHAPTER XX.
The Conclusion 172
Note 180
THE POOR RICH MAN,
RICH POOR MAN.
CHAPTER I.
SCHOOL-DAYS.
JUST out of the little village of Essex, in New
England, and just at the entrance of a rustic bridge,
there is a favourite resting-place for loiterers of all
ages. One of a line of logs that have been laid
down to enable passengers at high water to reach
the bridge dry-shod, affords an inviting seat under
the drooping limbs of some tali sycamores. There
the old sit down to rest their weary limbs, and
read with pensive eye the fond histories that mem-
ory has written over the haunts of their secluded
lives. There, too, the young pause in their sports,
and hardly know why their eyes follow with such
delight the silvery little stream that steals away
from them, kissing the jutting points of the green
meadows, and winding and doubling its course as
if, like a pleased child, it would, by any pretext,
lengthen its stay ; nor, certainly, why no island
that water bounds will ever look so beautiful to
them as that little speck of one above the bridge,
10 THE POOK. RICH MAN.
with its burden of willows, elders, and clematis ; of
a summer evening, their every leaf lit with the
firefly's lamp ; nor why their eye glances from
the white houses of the village street,- glimmering-
through the trees, and far away over the orchards
and waving grain of the uplands, and past the wavy
line of hills that bound the horizon on one side,
to fix on .the bald gray peaks of that mountain wall
whose Indian story the poet has consecrated.
Time will solve to them this why.
Under those sycamores, on a certain afternoon
many years past, sat Charlotte May, a pale, sickly-
looking girl, talking with Harry Aikin ; and beside
them Susan May, whose ruddy cheek, laughing eye,
and stocky little person presented an almost pain-
ful contrast to her stricken sister. Charlotte was
examining with a very pleased countenance a new
little Bible, bound in red morocco. " Did Mr.
Reed give you your choice of the prizes, Harry ?"
she asked.
" Oh, no ; Mr. Reed is too much afraid of exci-
ting our emulation, or rivalry, as he calls it, for
that. He would not even call the books he gave
us prizes ; but he just told us what virtue, or rath-
er quality, we had been most distinguished for."
" I guess I know what yours was, Harry," said
Susan May, looking up from weaving a wreath of
nightshade that grew about them.
" What do you guess, Susy ?"
" Why, kindness to everybody !"
" No, not that."
" Well, then, loving everybody."
Harry laughed and shook his head. " No, nor
that, Susy ;" and, opening to the first unprinted page
SCHOOL-DAYS. 11
of ihe Bible, he pointed to the following testimony,
in his master's autograph. Charlotte read it
aloud : " It gives me great pleasure to record here
the diligence and success of my esteemed pupil,
Harry Aikin, and still more to testify to his strict
practice of the golden rule of this book, Do unto
others as ye would they should do unto you."
" There, there ! I knew I guessed right. You
know you couldn't do so if you didn't love every-
body ; could he, Lottie ?"
*' You were not very far from right, Susan," re-
plied her sister ; " for I am sure Harry could not
do so much to make everybody happy if he did not
love almost everybody."
" No, indeed, I do not ; at least, I feel a great
difference. Do you think, for instance, I love
Morris Finley or Paulina Clark as well as I love
you and Susan 1 No, not by a sea-full. But, then,
it is very true, as mother used to tell me, if you
want to love people, or almost love them, just do
them a kindness, think how you can set about to
make them happier, and the love, or something
that will answer the purpose, will be pretty sure
to come."
" It will," said Charlotte, with a faint smile ;
" otherwise how could we live up to the rule of
this book ; and certainly God never gave us a law
that we could not obey if we would. 0, Harry,
I am so glad you got the Bible instead of any of
the other books, for' I know you will love it, and
study it, and live after it."
" I will try, Lottie."
" But, then, Harry, it seems to me those that
are well, and strong, and at ease, can never value
12 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
that book as those do who are always sick, and
suffering pain."
It was the rarest thing in the world for Charlotte
to allude to her peculiar trials. Harry looked sad,
and little Susan, who had the most marvellous fac-
ulty of seeing a bright side to every thing, said, ia
a tender voice, and putting her arm round her sis-
ter's neck,
" Then, Lottie, there is some comfort in being
sick, is not there ?"
4< There is, Susan ; there is comfort when you
cannot eat, nor sleep, nor walk abroad in the pure
air, nor look out upon this beautiful world ; when
neither doctors' skill nor friends' love can lessen
one pang, it is then comfort it is life to the dead y
Susan, to read in this blessed book of God's good-
ness and compassions ; to sit, as it were, at the
feet of Jesus, and learn from him who brought life
and immortality to light ; that there is a world
where there is no more sickness nor pain where
all tears are wiped away."
There was a pause, first broken by Susan ask-
ing if those that were well and happy did not love
to read the Bible too.
" Oh, yes, indeed," replied Harry ; " I remember
mother used to say she read the Bible for every
thing to make her wiser, and better, and happier.
I believe seeing mother so happy over it has
made me like it more."
" I should think so," said Susan ; " I am sure I
should not love to read any thing that did not make
me happy but here comes Morris ; what book
did you get, Morris ?"
" Bewick's History of Birds."
SCHOOL-DAYS. 13
" Oh, full of pictures how lovely !" exclaimed
Susan, running over the leaves ; " did Paulina
Clark get a book, Morris ?"
" Yes, and she has changed it at Hutchinson's
store for a pink silk handkerchief."
" How could she 1 I am sorry !" said Charlotte.
" It's just like her !" said Susan ; and then, re-
turning Morris's book, she added, " after all, I had
rather have Harry's Bible."
" The more goose you, then my book cost
twice as much as his Bible."
" Did it ?" Susan was rather crestfallen.
"To be sure it did, and, what is more, I can
sell it for twice as much."
" Ah, then I've caught you, sir ; Harry would
not sell his Bible for any sum, so by your own
rule Harry's is worth the most !"
Morris was somewhat disconcerted. He re-
sumed, in a lowered tone, " Maybe I should not
sell it just for the dollar and a half ; but, then, when
one knows the value of money, one does not like
to have so much lying idle. Money shoul(J work,
as father says. If you could reckon interest and
compound interest as well as I can, Miss Susan,
I guess you would not like to have your money
lying idle on a book-shelf!"
" I don't know what kind of interest compound
interest is, Morris ; but I know the interest I take
in a pleasant book is better than a handful of
money, and if I only had the dollar and a half I
would give it to you in a minute for that book."
{' ' Only had /' Ah, there's the rub ! you people
that despise money never get it, and that is what
father always says"
B
14 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" ' Despise it /' " repeated Susan, sighing as she
knelt on the log between Harry and her sister, and
bound over Charlotte's pale forehead the wreath
of ominous nightshade. " ' Despise money,' Morris,
I would do any thing in the world to get enough
to take Lottie down to that wonderful New- York
doctor ; but there's one comfort, Lottie," she added,
brightening, " he might not cure you, and then we
should feel worse than ever."
" What doctor is Sue speaking of ?" asked
Harry, looking up eagerly from his Bible.
Charlotte explained that a cousin living in New-
York had written to her of a physician in the
city, who had been particularly successful in
treating diseases of the spine. Her cousin had
urged Charlotte's coming to the city, and had
kindly offered to receive the poor invalid at her
house. " Father," she said, " talks of our going,
but I do not think we can make it out, so I don't
allow myself to think of it much ; and when mur-
muring thoughts rise, I remember how many rich
people there are who travel the world over, and
consult all the doctors, and are nothing bettered ;
and so I put a little patience-salve on the aching
place, and that, as Susy would say, is a great com-
fort when you can't get any thing else."
" Yes when you can't," replied Harry, fixing
his eyes compassionately on Charlotte's face,
where, though the cheek was pale, and the eye
sunken, the health of the soul was apparent. " But
can't there be some way contrived ?"
" We are trying our best at contrivance, Harry.
Father, you know, never has any thing ahead ; but
he offered himself to let out old Jock by the day, and
SCHOOL-DAYS. 15
save all he earns towards the journey ; that will be
something. I have three dollars left of the last I ever
earned, and dear little Susy has given me five dol-
lars, which aunt Mary sent to buy her a cloak."
" And how much will the journey cost, Char-
lotte ?"
" Father says his last journey down to Barnsta-
ble cost him but ten dollars besides the provision
and fodder he carried in the wagon. New- York
is not as far as Barnstable ; but horse-keeping there
is terrible, and I dare not think what the doctor's
bill may be."
" Oh," thought Harry, " if I were only rich ! if
I were only worth fifty dollars !" Money he had
none, but he ran over in his mind all his converti-
ble property. " There's Bounce (his dog) ; Squire
Allen offered me three dollars for Bounce I
thought I would not sell him for a hundred, but he
shall have him and I have been offered two dol-
lars for Sprite and Jumper (two black squirrels he
had tamed with infinite pains) ; and what else have
I ?" He ran over his little possessions, his wear-
ing apparel, article by article ; he had no superflui-
ty sundry little keepsakes, but they were out of the
class of money-value articles his Bible, it was
new and pretty, and would certainly bring a dollar.
He looked at it lovingly, and was obliged again to
look at Charlotte before he mentally added it to
the list. He resolved on his benevolent traffic,
and was just saying, " To-morrow, Charlotte,! think
I shall have something to add to your store," when
Morris, who had taken a seat at some distance, and
seemed much absorbed, started up, exclaiming,
" Yes, in five years, at compound interest, I
16 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
shall have two dollars and a fraction won't that
be a nest-egg, Harry Aikin ?"
A tear in Charlotte's eye had already replied to
Harry, but any reply to Morris was cut off by the
appearance of Charlotte's father, Philip May, com
ing down the road. Philip was a most inoffen-
sive, kind-hearted creature ; and, though rather an
unproductive labourer in worldly matters, he had,
by dint of harming no one, and serving every one
rather better than himself, kept bright the links of
human brotherhood, and made them felt, too, for his
general appellation was " Uncle Phil." As " Uncle
Phil" approached, it was apparent that the calm
current of his feelings had been ruffled. Little
Susan, her father's pet, with the unerring eye of a
loving child, was the first to perceive this. " What's
the matter, father ?" she asked.
"Oh, dreadful bad news ! I don't know how
you'll stand it, Charlotte" the girls were breath-
less- " poor Jock is gone !"
" Gone, sir ! how gone ? what do you mean ?"
" Clean gone ! drownded /"
" Drowned ! oh, dear, how sorry I am !" and
14 poor Jock !" was exclaimed and reiterated, while
Uncle Phil turned away to hide certain convulsive
twitches of his muscles.
" But it's some comfort, any how," said Susan,
the first to recover herself, " that he was so old he
must have died of his own accord before long."
" And that comfort you would have had if it had
been me instead of Jock, Susan."
" Oh, father !"
"I did not mean nothing, child ; I'm sure I
think it is kind of providential to have a lively dis-
SCHOOL-DAYS. 17
position, that's always rising over the top of every
trouble. But then it's so inconvenient to lose
Jock just now, when he's arning money for us ;
and how in natur am I ever to get Charlotte to
New- York without him ?"
" Don't think of that now, father ; how did the
accident happen ?"
" Ah, that's the onluckiest of all ; it beats all
that Sam should be so careless. You know I let
Jock out to Sam Glover to plough his meadow
you said, Charlotte, Jock looked too low in flesh for
hard work ; I wish 1 had taken your warning ! Well,
you see, when Sam went to dinner, he tied Jock close
by the river, and somehow the poor critter backed
down the bank into the river, and fell on his back,
and he was tied in such a fashion he could not
move one way or the other, and the water running
into his nostrils, and ears, and mouth and when
Sam came back from dinner it was all over with
him."
" Then," said Morris, " it was wholly owing to
Sam Glover's carelessness ?"
" To be sure, there was no need on't ; if it had
been me, I should have calculated to tie the horse
so that if he did back into the river he could have
helped himself out."
" Better have tied him where there was no dan-
ger of such an accident, Uncle Phil." Uncle Phil
was right in his calculations. What were acci-
dents to other men, made up the current of events
to him. " But," proceeded Morris, " you can cer-
tainly make Sam pay for the horse ?" Uncle Phil
made no reply. " You mean to get it out of him,
don't you, Uncle Phil ?"
18 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" I kind o' hate to Sam ain't rich."
" No but he is not poor. I heard him say to
father, when he was talking of buying the mountain
farm, that he had two hundred dollars clear of the
world."
" He did not, did he ?"
" He certainly did, and I don't see why you
should make him a present of your horse."
" Nor do I see, father, why you should not be
just to yourself," said Charlotte.
" Well, well, I calculate to do what's fair, all
round but Sam felt bad, I tell you ! and I did not
want to bear down on him ; but when I've got the
mind of the street, I'll do something about speaking
to him."
Charlotte mentally determined to keep her
father up to this resolution, the most energetic that
could be expected from him ; and all lamenting the
fate of poor Jock, the parties separated and pro-
ceeded homeward.
CHAPTER II.
"UNCLE PHIL"
WE have rathe*r unceremoniously presented
some of the humble inhabitants of Essex to our
readers. A few more preparatory words to en-
sure a better acquaintance. Philip May was bred
a hatter. His trade and patrimony (amounting to
"UNCLE PHIL." 19
a few hundred dollars) would have ensured inde-
pendence to most of his countrymen ; but Philip
lacked their characteristics energy and sound
judgment, and all the prospering go-ahead quali-
ties that abound with them. But, lacking these,
a most kind Providence had given him a disposi-
tion that made him content without them, and
quite independent of their results. His horizon
was bounded by the present hour he literally
took no thought for the morrow. He married early,
and in this turning point of life Heaven seemed
to have taken special care of him. Never was a
wife better calculated by vigour, firmness, and in-
dustry, to counteract the destructive tendencies of
a shiftless husband. Nor was she, like some dri-
ving wives, a thorn in her quiet, loving husband's
side. While she cured all the evils that could
be cured in her condition, she endured the incura-
ble with cheerfulness a marvellous lightener of
the burdens of life !
Before his marriage Philip built a house, the
cost of which far exceeding his means, he finished
but one end of it, and the rest was left for the rains
to enter, and the winds to whistle through, till he
took his wife's counsel, sold his house, paid his
debts, and bought a snug little dwelling far more
comfortable than their " shingle palace" in its best
state.
But, before they arrived at this stage in the
journey of life, both good and evil had chanced to
them. Their firstborn, Ellen, ran into an open
cistern, the surface of which was just on a level
with the platform before the house : so it had re-
mained a year after the active child began to run
20 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
about ; and, to its mother's reiterated requests and
warnings, Philip always answered " Now that's
just what I am going about next week." When
his only child was drowned in this seeming water-
trap was certainly no time to reproach Philip, and
he who never reproached any one could not be ex-
pected to make himself an exception. He merely
said, " It was a wonderful providence Ellen was
drowned that day, for the very next he calculated
to put a kerb to the cistern but it was meant so
to be he always felt Ellen was not long for this
world !" Their next child was our friend Charlotte ;
and she, like her drowned sister, was born with
one of the best mortal gifts a sound constitution,
which, watched over by her wise and vigilant
mother, promised a long life of physical comfort.
But these prospects were sadly reversed when
her father, having one day taken her out in his
wagon, left her holding the reins " while he just
stepped to speak to a neighbour." While he was
speaking, the horse took fright, Charlotte was
thrown out, and received an injury that imbittered
her whole life. Philip was really grieved by this
accident. He said " It seemed somehow as if it
was so to be, for he had no thought of taking Char-
lotte out that day till he met her in his way."
His next mishap was the burning of his work-
shop, in which, on one gusty day, he left a blazing
fire. A consequence so natural seemed very strange
to Uncle Phil, who said "It was most ^accounta-
ble, for he had often left it just so, and it had nev-
er burnt up before !" This incident gave a new
turn to Philip's life. He abandoned his trade, and
really loving, or, as he said; " aiming" to suit every
21
body, he was glad to be rid of incessant complaints
of want of punctuality, bad materials, and bad work,
and became what most imbeciles become sooner
or later, a Jack at all trades. In a community like
that at Essex, where labourers in every depart-
ment are few, and work plenty, even the universal
Jack need not starve ; and Uncle Phil, if unskilful
and slack, was always good-natured, and seldom so
much engrossed by one employment that he could
not leave it for another. But, though rather an
unprofitable labourer, Uncle Phil had no vices.
He was temperate and frugal in his habits, and
a striking illustration of how far these virtues alone
will sustain a man even in worldly matters. His
small supplies were so well managed by his wife,
that no want was felt by his family during her life.
That valuable life was prematurely ended. Soon
after the birth of her last baby, Uncle Phil was
called up in the night by some cattle having entered
his garden through his rickety fence. His bed-
room door opened upon the yard ; he left it open ;
it was a damp, chilling night. Mrs. May, being
her own nurse, had fallen asleep exhausted. She
awoke in an ague that proved the prelude to a
fatal illness ; and Uncle Phil, being no curious tra-
cer of effects to causes, took no note of the open
door, and the damp night, and replied to the con-
dolence of his friends that " Miss May was too
good a wife for him the only wonder was Provi-
dence had spared her so long." More gifted peo-
ple than honest Uncle Phil deposite quietly at the
door of Providence the natural consequences of
their own carelessness.
The baby soon followed its mother, and Philip
22 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
May was left with but two children Charlotte, at
the time of her mother's death, thirteen, and Susan,
nine. They had been so far admirably trained by
their mother, and were imbued with her character,
seeming only to resemble their father in hearts
running over with the milk of human kindness, un-
less Susan's all-conquering cheerfulness was de-
rived from her father's ever-acquiescing patience.
His was a passive virtue hers an active princi-
ple. If any one unacquainted with the condition
of life in New-England should imagine that the
Mays had suffered the evils of real poverty, they
must allow us to set them right. In all our wide-
spread country there is very little necessary pov-
erty. In New-England none that is not the result
of vice or disease. If the moral and physical laws
of the Creator were obeyed, the first of these
causes would be at an end, and the second would
scarcely exist.* Industry and frugality are won-
derful multipliers of small means. Philip May
brought in but little, but that little was well admin-
istered. His house was clean his garden pro-
ductive (the girls kept it wed) his furniture care-
fully preserved his family comfortably clad, and
his girls schooled. No wonder Uncle Phil never
dreamed he was a poor man !
Henry Aikin was the youngest of twelve chil-
dren. His father was a farmer all his property,
real and personal, might have amounted to some
* We have heard a gentleman who, in virtue of the office he
holds as minister at large, is devoted to succouring the poor,
state, that even in this city (New -York), he had known very few
cases of suffering from poverty that might not be traced directly
or indirectly to vice.
"UNCLE PHIL." 23
five or six thousand dollars, and on this he had his
dozen children to feed and clothe, and fit to fill
honourable places in society to be farmers, me-
chanics, doctors, ministers, and so on. In such a
family, well regulated, there are excellent lessons
in the economy of human life, and well learned
were they by the Aikins, and afterward well ap-
plied.
Morris Finley was the son of the only man in
Essex who had not any regular business. He
was what our rustics call a schemer and a jockey ;
in a larger sphere he would have been a specula-
tor. Money, not as a means, but as an end, seem-
ed to him the chief good ; and he had always a
plan for getting a little more of it than his neigh-
bours. He was keen-sighted and quick-witted ; of
course he often succeeded, but sometimes failed ;
and, distrusted and disliked through life, at the end
of it he was not richer in worldly goods than his
neighbours, and poor indeed was he in all other
respects. He had, however, infused his ruling
passion into his son Morris, and he, being better
educated than his father, and regularly trained to
business, had a far better chance of ultimate suc-
cess.
24 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
CHAPTER III.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
A WINTER had passed away, and one of our un-
genial springs, always unkind to invalids, was
wearing to the last days of May. Charlotte's dis-
ease was aggravated by long confinement, and as
she sat toiling over an old coat of her father's, her
eye turned sadly towards the cold sky and the
thinly-clad boughs of the trees that were rustling
against the window, and that, like her, seemed
pining for warmth and sunshine. " Will summer
ever come ?" she thought ; and then, suppressing a
sigh of impatience, she added, " but I don't mean
to murmur." At this moment Susan bounded into
the room, her cheek flushed with pleasure.
" Good news, good news !" she cried, clapping
her hands ; " H'arry has got home !"
" Has he ?"
" Why, Lottie, you don't seem a bit joyful !"
The tears came to Charlotte's eyes. " I have
got to be a poor creature indeed," she said, " when
the news of Harry's getting home does not make
me joyful."
" Oh, but Lottie, it's only because you did not
sleep last night : take a little of your mixture and
lie down, and by the time Harry gets up here he
told me he should come right up you will look
glad ; I am sure you feel so now."
A FRIEND IN NEED. 25
' i do, Susy : Essex never seems Essex when
Barry is out of it."
' No, I am sure it does not ; but, then, if he did
not go away, we should not have the joy of his
coming home." Susan was the first to see the
compensation.
" I hope," said Charlotte, after a short pause,
" that Harry will not go away again on this busi-
ness ; he may be getting money, but then he
should have been at school the past winter. You
know what Doctor Allen used to say to mother
1 Education is the best capital for a young man to
begin with.' I am afraid Harry has caught some
of Morris Finley's notions."
" Oh, no, no, Charlotte ! they are as different
as day and night. I am sure, if Harry is eager to
get money, it's because he has some good use for
it, and not, like Morris, just for the money's sake."
" I hope it is so, but even then I do not like this
travelling about ; I am afraid he will get an unset-
tled disposition."
" Why, Charlotte, it is not so very pleasant trav
elling about in freezing winter weather, and deep
muddy spring roads, peddling books."
The subject of their discussion broke it off by
his entrance ; and, after mutual kind greetings were
over, he sat down by Charlotte with a face that
plainly indicated he had something to say, and
knew not how to begin.
" Have you had good luck, Harry ?" asked Char-
lotte.
" Very !" The very was most emphatic.
" Well, I hope it won't turn your head."
C
26 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" I don't know," he replied, with a smile ; " it
feels very light just now, and my heart too."
Charlotte looked grave.
" No one would think," said Susan, " that Char-
lotte was glad to see you, Harry ; but sh^ is, for
we both love you just as well as 'if you w*re a
brother having none that's natural, you know.
But poor Lottie is worse than ever this spring,
and nothing seems to do her any good ; and I have
been trying to persuade her to send round a sub-
scription-paper to get money to go to New-York ;
maybe she'll consent now you have come to ask
her."
" That's the very thing," said Harry, " I want
to speak to her about."
" Oh, don't, Harry ; if our friends and neigh-
bours were to think of it themselves, I would ac-
cept the money thankfully, but I cannot ask for it."
" You need not, Charlotte you need not but
you will take it from a brother, as Susy almost
calls me, won't you ?"
He hastily took from his pocketbook five ten-
dollar notes, and put them on Charlotte's lap.
"Harry!" Charlotte feebly articulated.
" Oh, Harry, Harry !" shouted Susan, throwing
her arms round his neck in a transport of joy, and
then starting back and slightly blushing ; " did I
not tell you so, Lottie ?" she said.
Charlotte smiled through her tears. " Not pre-
cisely so, Susy, for who could have expected this ?
But I might have known it was not for the money,
as you did say, but for what the money would
bring, that Harry was working."
" And what could money bring so good as bet-
A FRIEND IN NEED. 27
ter health for you, Charlotte ? Your suffering is the
only thing that ever makes me unhappy ; and so,
after all, it is selfishness in me."
Happy would it be for our race if there were
more such selfishness as Harry Aikin's. The
benevolent principle is, after all, the true alchymy
that converts the lead to gold.
The preceding fall, and shortly before the scene
described at the bridge, an acquaintance and very
good friend of Harry's, a bookseller in the shire
town of their county, had applied to Harry to be
his agent in peddling books, and had offered him
a tempting per centage on his sales. Harry, then
but fourteen, was rather young for such a business ;
but the good bookseller had good reason to rely on
his fidelity and (Discretion, and hoped much from
his modest and very pleasing address. Harry
communicated the offer to his parents. They told
him to decide for himself ; that whatever money
he earned should be his ; but that, as he was to go
to a trade the following spring, and the intervening
winter being the only time he had for further school-
education, they advised him to forego the booksel-
ler's offer. Harry could think of plenty of eligible
appropriations for any sum he might earn ; but, af-
ter a little reflection, nothing that even fifty dollars
could buy weighed in the scales against six
months' good instruction ; and, thanking his pa-
rents for their liberality to him, he decided on the
school. This decision occurred on the very day
of poor Jock's untimely death, and was reversed
by that event, and the consequent overthrow of
Charlotte May's project. He immediately con-
ceived the design of effecting her journey to New-
28 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
York by the result of his labour ; and, communica
ting his purpose to his two confidential friends, his
parents (most happy are those children who make
their parents the depositaries of their secrets), he
received their consent and approbation. They
were consistent Christians, and thought that active
goodness enriched their child far more than money,
or even than education, which they held to be next
best to virtue. The contract was made with the
bookseller, and the fifty dollars, an immense sum to
him that .earned it, and to her who received it, esti-
mated by the painstaking of the one, and the reliet
and gratitude of the other, were appropriated to the
expenses of the New- York journey.
Those who travel the world over seeking pleas-
ures that have ceased to please ; going, as some
one has said, from places where no one regrets
them, to places where no one expects them, can
hardly conceive of the riches of a poor person, who,
having fifty dollars to spend on the luxury of a
journey, feels the worth of every sixpence ex-
pended in a return of either advantage or enjoy-
ment.
If any of my readers have chanced to hear a
gentleman curse his tailor, who has sent home, at
the last moment, some new exquisite articles of
apparel for a journey, when they were found to be
a hair's breadth too tight or too loose ; or if they
have assisted at the perplexed deliberations of a
fine lady as to the colour and material of her new
dresses and new hat, and have witnessed her
vexations with dressmakers and milliners, we
invite them to peep into the dwelling of our young
friends, and witness the actual happiness resulting
A FRIEND IN NEED 29
from the successful expedients and infinite inge-
nuity of the poor.
The practicability of the long-wished-for journey
had been announced to Uncle Phil, and they were
entering upon deliberations about the outfit, when
their father, beginning, as need was, at the crown
of his head, exclaimed, " I declare, gals, I never
told you my bad luck about my tother hat. I laid
it down by the door just for a minute last Sab-
bath, and our plaguy pup run off with it into a
mud-puddleit was the worse for wear before,
and it looks like all natur now."
44 Let us look at it, father," said Susan ; " there
are not many people that know you in New- York,
and maybe we can smooth it up and make it do."
The hat was brought, and examined, and heads
mournfully shaken over it ; no domestic smoothing-
up process would make it decent, and decency was
to be attained. Suddenly, Charlotte remembered
that during her only well week that spring, she
had bound some hats for Mr. Ellis, the hatter, and
Susan was despatched to ascertain if her earnings
amounted to enough to pay for the re-dressing of
her father's hat. Iris could scarcely have returned
quicker than did Susan ; indeed, her little divinity-
ship seldom went on such pleasant errands. " Ev-
erybody in the world is kind to us," said Susan,
as she re-entered, breathless. " Mr. Ellis has sent
full pay for your work, Lottie, and says he'll dress
father's hat over for nothing. I'm so glad, for now
you can get a new riband for your bonnet."
44 After all the necessafies are provided."
44 Anybody but you, Lottie, would call that a
necessary. Do look at this old dud all frayed
C2
THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
out. It has been turned, and died, and sponged,
and now it is not fit to wear in Essex what will
they say to it in New-York?"
" We'll see, Susy, how we come out. Father's
Sunday coat must be turned." The coat was
turned, and the girls were delighted to see it look
almost as well as new ; and even Susan was satis-
fied to pay the hat-money to Sally Fen, the tai-
loress.
A long deliberation followed upon father's nether
garments, and they came to the conclusion they
were quite too bad to be worn where father was
not known and respected. And, to get new ones,
Charlotte must give up buying a new cloak, and
make her old one do. There is a lively pleasure
in this making do that the rich know not of; the
cloak was turned, rebound, and new-collared, and
Susan said, " Considering what a pretty colour it
was, and how natural Charlotte looked in it, she
did not know but what she liked it better than a
new one." And now, after Charlotte had bleached
and remodelled her five-year old Dunstable, her
dress was in order for the expedition all but the
riband, on which Susan's mind was still intent.
" Not but just ninepence left," said she to Char-
lotte, after the last little debt for the outfit was
paid. " Ninepence won't buy the riband, that's
certain, though Mr. Turner is selling off so cheap.
Why can't you break into the fifty dollars ; I do
hate to have you seen in New- York with that old
riband, Lottie."
" But I must, Susan for I told Harry I would
not touch the fifty dollars till we started."
<f Well, give me the ninepence, then." Susan's
A FRIEND IN NEED. 31
face brightened. She had resolved, as a last re-
sort, to invest in the riband a certain precious quar-
ter of a dollar which Harry had given her ages
and ages ago, and which she had ever since worn
as a locket. She left her sister abruptly ; and, as
she slid the coin from the riband, " Dear little
locket," said she, " I suppose you will seem to
other folks just like any other quarter, and they
will just pass you from hand to hand without
thinking at all about you how foolish I am !" she
dashed a tear from her eye " Sha'n't I love Harry
just as well, and won't he love me just as well,
and shaVt I think of him more than ever now he
has been so kind to Lottie, without having this to
put me in mind of him ?" This point settled to
her own satisfaction, she turned as usual to the
bright side. " How lucky Mr. Turner is selling
off I wonder what colour I had best get Char-
lotte would like brown, it's so durable but she
looks so pretty in pink. It takes off her pale look,
and casts such a rosy shadow on her cheek. But
I am afraid she will think pink too gay for her."
Thus weighing utility and sobriety against taste
and becomingness, Susan entered the shop, and
walking up to the counter, espied in a glass case
a pink and brown plaid riband. Her own taste
was gratified, and Charlotte's economy and pref-
erence of modest colours would be satisfied
in short, it was (all women will understand me)
just the thing. She was satisfied, delighted, and,
had not the master of the shop kept her waiting
five minutes, she would have forgotten the inesti-
mable value of that " quarter," that in addition to
the ninepence must be paid. But in five minute*
32 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
the feelings go through many changes ; and, when
Mr. Fuller said, " Here is your riband, Susan
May !" Susan was standing with her back to the
countermand looking at the "quarter" as if she
were studying it. She had on a deep sun-bonnet ;
as she raised her head it fell back and disclosed a
tear on her cheek, and disclosed it, too, to Harry
Aikin, who had come in unobserved, and was
standing before her. She hastily threw down the
money it rolled on to the floor he picked it up
he recognised it, and at once understood the whole.
Susan left the shop first, and we believe few ladies,
though they may have spent hundreds in the splen-
did shops of Broadway, have had half the pleasure
from their purchases that Susan May had from the
acquisition of this two yards of plaid riband. We
ask, which was richest (in the true sense of the
word), the buyer of Cashmire shawls and blonde
capes, or our little friend Susan ? And when Harry,
overtaking her before she reached her own door-
step, restored the precious " quarter," she was not
conscious of an ungratified wish. Had they been a
little older, there might have been some shyness,
some blushes and stammerings ; but now, Susan
frankly told him her reluctance to part with it, her
joy in getting it back again ; and, suspending it by
its accustomed riband, she wore it ever after a
little nearer the heart than before !
Charlotte's last obstacle to leaving home was re-
lieved by an invitation from Harry's mother to Su-
san, to pass the time of her sister's absence with
her. " How thoughtful of Mrs. Aikin !" said Char-
lotte, after she had gratefully accepted the invita-
tion. If there were more of this thoughtfulness, if
A POOR MAN'S JOURNEY. 33
persons were more zealous to employ the means
of little kindnesses to their fellow-creatures, if
they considered them as members of their own
family, really brothers and sisters, how many bur-
dens would be lightened, what a harvest of smiles
we should have on faces now sour and steril.
CHAPTER IV.
A POOR MAN'S JOURNEY.
IT was a lovely morning in June when Uncle
Phil set forth for New-York with his invalid
daughter. Ineffable happiness shone through his
honest face, and there was a slight flush of hope
and expectation on Charlotte's usually pale and
tranquil countenance as she half rebuked Susan's
last sanguine expression
' You will come home as well as I am, I know
you will, Lottie !"
" Not well oh, no, Susy, but better, I expect
I mean, I hope."
" Better, then, if you are, that is to say, a great
deal better I shall be satisfied, shaVt you, Harry ?"
" I shall be satisfied that it was best for her to
go, if she is any better."
"I trust we shall all be satisfied with God's
will, whatever it may be," said Charlotte, turn-
ing her eye full of gratitude upon Harry. Har-
ry arranged her cushions as nobody else could
34 THE I*t)OR RICH MAN, ETC.
to support her weak back ; Susan disposed her
cloak so that Charlotte could draw it around her if
the air proved too fresh ; and then, taking her wil-
low basket in her hand, the last words were spo-
ken, and they set forth. Uncle Phil was in the
happiest of his happy humours. He commended
the wagon " it was just like sitting at home in a
rocking-chair it is kind o' lucky that you are
lame, Lottie, or maybe Mrs. Sibley would not have
offered to loan us her wagon. I was dreadful
fraid we should have to go down the North River.
I tell you, Lottie, when I crossed over it once, I
was a most scared to death the water went swash,
swash there was nothing but a plank between
me and etarnity ; and I thought in my heart I should
have gone down, and nobody would ever have
heard of me again. I wonder folks can be so
foolish as to go on water when they can travel on
solid land but I suppose some do !"
" It is pleasanter," said Charlotte, " to travel at
this season where you can see the beautiful fruits
of the earth, as we do now, on all sides of us."
Uncle Phil replied and talked on without disturbing
his daughter's quiet and meditation. They travell-
ed slowly, but he was never impatient, and she
never wearied, for she was an observer and lover
of nature. The earth was clothed with its richest
green was all green, but of infinitely varied teints.
The young corn was shooting forth the winter
wheat already waved over many a fertile hillside
the gardens were newly made, and clean, and
full of promise flowers, in this month of then
abundance, perfumed the woods, and decked the.
gardens and courtyards, and where nothing else
A POOR MAN'S JOURNEY. 35
grew, there were lilachs and pionies in plenty.
The young lambs were frolicking in the fields-
the chickens peeping about the barnyards; and
birds, thousands of them, singing at their work.
Our travellers were descending a mountain
where their view extended over an immense tract
of country, for the most part richly cultivated.
" I declare," exclaimed Uncle Phil, " how much
land there is in the world, and I don't own a foot
on't, only our little half-acre lot it don't seem
hardly right." Uncle Phil was no agrarian, and
he immediately added, " But, after all, I guess I
am better off without it it would be a dreadful
care."
" Contentment with godliness is great gain,"
said Charlotte.
" You've hit the nail on the head, Lottie ; I don't
know who should be contented if I ain't I al-
ways have enough, and everybody is friendly to
me and you and Susan are worth a mint of money
to me. For all what I said about the land, I really
think I have got my full share."
" We can all have our share in the beauties of
God's earth without owning, as you say, a foot of
it," rejoined Charlotte. "We must feel it is our
father's. I am sure the richest man in the world
cannot take more pleasure in looking at a beautiful
prospect than I do or in breathing this sweet,
sweet air. It seems to me, father, as if every thing
I look upon was ready to burst forth in a hymn of
praise and there 'is enough in my heart to make
verses of if I only knew how."
" That's the mystery, Lottie, how they do it
36 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
I can make one line, but I can never get a fellow
to it."
u Well, father, as Susy would say, it's a comfort
to have the feeling, though you can't express it."
Charlotte was right. It is a great comfort and
happiness to have the feeling, and happy would it
be if those who live in the country were more sen-
sible to the beauties of nature ; if they could see
something in the glorious forest besides "good
wood and timber lots" something in the green val-
ley besides a " warm soil" something in a water-
fall besides a " mill-privilege." There is a suscepti-
bility in every human heart to the ever-present and
abounding beauties of nature ; and whose fault is
it that this taste is not awakened and directed? If
the poet and the painter cannot bring down their
arts to the level of the poor, are there none to be
God's interpreters to them to teach them to read
the great book of nature ?
The labouring classes ought not to lose the
pleasures that, in the country, are before them
from dawn to twilightpleasures that might coun-
terbalance, and often do, the profits of the mer-
chant, pent in his city counting-house ; and all the
honours the lawyer earns between the court-rooms
and his office. We only wish that more was made
of the privilege of country life ; that the farmer's
wife would steal some moments from her cares
to point out to her children the beauties of nature,
whether amid the hills and valleys of our inland
country, or on the sublime shores of the ocean.
Over the city, too, hangs the vault of heaven
" thick inlaid" with the witnesses of God's power
and goodness his altars are everywhere.
CHARLOTTE'S RETURN. 37
The rich man who " lives at home at ease," and
goes irritated and fretting through the country be-
cause he misses at the taverns the luxuries of his
own house who finds the tea bad and coffee worse
the food ill cooked and table ill served no mat-
tresses, no silver forks who is obliged to endure
the vulgarity of a common parlour and, in spite of
the inward charing, give a civil answer to whatev-
er questions may be put to him, cannot conceive of
the luxuries our travellers enjoyed at the simplest
inn.
Uncle Phil found out the little histories of all the
wayfarers he met, and frankly told his own. Char-
lotte's pale sweet face attracted general sympathy.
Country people have time for little by-the-way
kindnesses ; and the landlady, and her daughters,
and her domestics inquired into Charlotte's malady,
suggested remedies, and described similar cases.
The open-hearted communicativeness of our
people is often laughed at ; but is it not a sign of a
blameless life and social spirit 1
CHAPTER V.
CHARLOTTE'S RETURN.
' ON the very day she had appointed before leav-
ing home, Charlotte, by dint of arranging for her
father, giving him now a hint and now an impulse,
returned there. Susan had opened, swept, and
D
38 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
garnished the house with plenty of laurels and
roses, and Mrs. Aikin and some other kind matrons
had sent in a store of provisions, so that Susan
spread her tea-table with the abundance and varie^
ty that characterize the evening meal in New-
England.
Fresh biscuit and cookies, cherry-pie, smoked
beef, stewed currants, peppergrass, cheese, and
radishes, were on the table the tea-kettle hissing
a welcome over the fire, and Susan and Harry
standing at the door and gazing at a turn in the
road, where, between two branching elms that im-
bowered it, appeared Uncle Phil's wagon, and Char-
lotte was soon folded in the arms of her loving sis-
ter, and receiving a welcome nowise less joyful
from Harry.
" I declare," said Uncle Phil, after the first sal-
utations were passed, surveying the table with
ineffable satisfaction, "you've set out what I call
a tea, Susy. You beat 'em all in York they live
dreadful poor down there. To be sure, your Aunt
Betsey lives in a brick house, and has a sight of
furniture, and a gimcrack of a timepiece on her
mantelpiece (it don't go half so true as our old
wooden one), and high plated candlesticks, and
such knick-knacks ; yet she has all her bread to
buy by the loaf, and the milk is sky-blue ; as to
cream, I don't believe they ever heard on't. Cakes
and pies are scarce, I tell you. I don't believe
peppergrass has come there yet, for I never saw a
spear of it on the table, nor a speck of cheese.
But the worst of all is the water. Poor Jock
would have choked before he would have drank
a drop of it; and they live in such a dust and
CHARLOTTE'S RETURN. 39
hurra, I tho't when we drove in it was gineral
training ; but they carried on so every day ; and
then there is such a stifled-up feeling I did pity
'em."
Persons capable of more accurate comparison
than Uncle Phil, may well pity those who, when
summer is in its beauty, are shut up within the
walls of a city, deprived of the greatest of all lux-
uries, which even the poorest country people en-
joy sweet air, ample space, pure water, and
quiet only broken by pleasant sounds.
And often, too, have we felt a pity for the citi-
zen similar to Uncle Phil's, when we have com-
pared the tea-table of those we call poor in the
country with the uninviting evening meal of the
affluent in town. " Ah, father," replied Susan,
" you must remember we don't set out such a table
very often here. I am sure I never could if we
had not such kind neighbours ; but, when they
are kind, it don't seem to me to make much differ-
ence whether you are rich or poor."
Susan's simple remark had an important bearing
on that great subject of inequality of condition,
which puzzles the philosopher, and sometimes dis-
turbs the Christian. But did not our happy little
friend suggest a solution to the riddle ? Has not
Providence made this inequality the necessary
result of the human condition, and is not the true
agrarian principle to be found in the voluntary
exercise of those virtues that produce an inter-
change of benevolent offices ? If there were a per-
fect community of goods, where would be the op-
portunity for the exercise of the virtues, of justice,
and mercy, humility, fidelity, and gratitude? If
40 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
the rights of the poor of all classes were univer
sally acknowledged, if intellectual and moral edu-
cation were what they should be, the deaf would
hear, and the blind would see ; and the rich man
would no longer look with fear upon the poor man,
nor the poor man with envy on the rich. This
true millennium is on its way. " Blessed are those
who wait !"
Our friends were soon seated at their tempting
tea-table, where Susan tried to busy herself with
her duties, but her eyes continually rested on her
sister's pale face, and it was all she could do to
repress her tears and speak cheerfully when she
saw plain indications that Charlotte had not reaped
the advantage from her journey that they had too
sanguinely expected. She perceived that Char-
lotte, instead of tasting the delicacies prepared foi
her, declined them all, even the warm biscuit and
cherry-pie, and the radishes too, which she partic-
ularly liked, and made her meal of a cracker she
took from her bag, and a glass of water. Susan
dared not trust her voice to ask questions ; Char-
lotte made no explanations ; Harry's eyes followed
Susan's, but he was silent ; and Uncle Phil, too
happy at getting home to observe the feelings of
the parties, merely murmured once when Charlotte
refused the cake, " Them New- York doctors are
dum notional !"
When the tea was over, Susan could bear it no
longer; and the tears streaming from her eyes, she
said, " Oh, Lottie, 'tis a comfort to get you home.,
though you an't cured." The ice was now broken
and Charlotte, much refreshed by her simple meal,
proceeded to relate the circumstances of her jour
CHARLOTTE'S RETURN. 41
ney ; but, as her narrative was prolonged by di-
gressions, and broken by the comments of her
eager listeners, we shall give its purport briefly.
The pleasure of the journey, and the hope of a
cure from the far-famed New- York doctor, wrought
wonders on Charlotte's feeble frame ; and when
she arrived at her aunt's, she felt more strength
and ease than she had experienced for years ; and,
but for certain sharp twinges, she said she should
have saved Harry's money and not consulted the
doctor. The doctor, however, was summoned, and
seemed at once inspired with an interest for his
humble patient that was hardly to be expected from
a man at the head of his profession, and whose
attendance was sought at every moment by the
,first in the land. But Dr. was no common
man, and was a most rare physician. He studied
the mind as well as the body; he endeavoured to
comprehend their delicate relations and bearings
upon each other, and in his profession he minis-
tered to both. He was a religious man in princi-
ple, and earnestly so in feeling ; and, by getting
into the hearts of his patients into the inner tem-
ple, by addressing them as religious beings, by
rousing their faith and fortitude, or their submis-
sion arid patience, " he was sure," as Charlotte
said, to find a medicine that would do them good,
if all drugs failed ; and, if the case was curable,
his prescriptions operated like the old woman's
herb, that ** with a blessing always cured."
After an examination, he ascertained Charlotte's
malady to a certainty, and that it was incurable ;
but he did not shock her by at once telling her
this. He visited her repeatedly, talked patiently
D2
42 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
over that subject so interesting to all valetudina*
rians, the long history of her sickness. Thus, by
degrees, he learned what he was studying the
constitution of her mind. He found she was judi-
cious, rational, self-denying, steadfast, humble, and
patient ; and he then proceeded to give his advice,
not with the promise of curing her, but with the
well-grounded expectation of protracting her life,
and rendering it comparatively comfortable to her-
self and useful to others. After having gradually
prepared her for his opinion, he told it, and found, as
he expectedj that her mind was soon made up to the
defeat of her hopes, and to the certainty of endu-
ring through life a very painful disease ; and not
merely because it was an inevitable calamity, for
when she could trust her voice to speak, she said,
" I can yet say, sir, God's will be done ! but I
am so sorry for Susy's and Harry's disappointment !"
" I am very sorry too," said the kind doctor,
wiping his eyes ; " but it is better for them, as
well as for you, that you should all know the real
state of the case."
" Oh, yes, sir, far better ; for I know it is much
easier to endure when we are certain there is no
help for us."
" Your case is not so bad as that, my child ; I
said there was no cure ; there is help t if you will
strictly adhere to the directions I give you ; but it
will be time enough for that to-morrow. I now
leave you to rest, and to seek help and consolation
where, I am sure, from your prompt submission,
you are in the habit of going for it."
" I am, sir, and it never fails me."
" And it never will, my child. Happy is it for
CHARLOTTE'S RETURN. 43
doctors and patients, when they are both in habits
of dependance on the Great Physician."
The next day Charlotte met the doctor with a
peaceful smile on her face. The flush of hope
had faded from her cheek, but the sweet light of
resignation was there.
" You have been to the unfailing source of
strength and peace, my child," said the doctor,
' and now sit down, and we will talk over what is
best for the future. You have been, as you have
told me, all your life in the habit of taking medi-
cines from various doctors now a sirup is rec-
ommended, now a mixture ; now these pills, and
now those ; now some new foreign medicine, and
now an Indian doctor's nostrums ; and, worse than
all, every* now and then a course of medicine.
Henceforth take no more of it, of any sort ; it has
no more tendency to remove your disease than it
would have to restore your leg if it had been sawn
off and thrown away. Medicines, drugs, my child,
are all poisons. We are. obliged to give them to
arrest the progress of acute diseases ; but, in chron-
ic diseases, instead of curing, they obstruct and
clog the efforts of nature, and confound her opera-
tions. They debilitate the stomach, and produce a
thousand of what you call 'bad feelings,' evils often
worse than the malady they are employed to cure.
I'll tell you a secret, my child ; the older we doctors
grow, the less medicine we give ; and, though the
world is slow to get wisdom, drugs are much less
in fashion than when I was a young man. Don't
be persuaded to try this and try that ; each dose
may do you harm, and cannot possibly do you any
good* Poor people do not know what an advan
44 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
tage they have over the rich, in not being able to call
the doctor for every finger-ache, or to keep a well-
furnished medicine-chest in their houses. I am no
wizard, but I can usually tell by the looks of the
family whether there are plenty of labelled vials in
the cupboard. The poor have many facilities for
health over the rich ; I speak of the comparatively
poor thank God, there are few in our country that
would be called poor in other lands few who can-
not obtain healthful food, and plenty of it. They
are not, like the rich, tempted to excess by various
and delicately-cooked dishes ; but, then, from igno-
rance or carelessness, they do not properly pre-
pare their food ; you have heard the old proverb,
my child its meaning is too true ' the Lord sends
meats, but the devil sends cooks.' The poor
man's flour is as wholesome as the rich man's, but
his wife makes her bread carelessly, and it is sour
or heavy, or eaten hot, and about as digestible as
brick-bats. A poor woman, for want of a little
forethought and arrangement, gets her work into a
snarl ; meal-time is at hand her husband coming
in from his work children hungry she makes a
little short-cake, or claps down before the fire in a
spider some half-risen dough is it not so ?"
" Dear me ! yes, sir but how should you know
it?"
" A physician sees every mode of life, and
learns much in his profession by observing them.
Such bread as I have described, I have seen ac-
companied with cucumbers, Dutch cheese, fried
cakes, and messes of meat done up in grease.
Half the fine gentlemen and nervous ladies in our
city would have been thrown into fits or fevers
CHARLOTTE'S RETURN. 45
by one such meal. The poor are saved by the
invigorating effect of labour in the open air when
they are saved but sickness and death often ensue.
"Among all our benevolent societies, i wish there
was one for teaching the poor the arts of health
to begin with cooking well plain food. Why, if
our poor knew how to manage their means of
health and comfort, they might live as if they
were in paradise. A sound mind in a sound body
will make almost a paradise even of this rough-
going world.'.'
" I should think so, sir," said Charlotte, with a
sigh ; " but," she added, modestly, " I hope, doc-
tor, you do not think we live at home in the way
you have described ?"
" Oh no, my child, certainly not, by no means."
"Indeed, we do not, sir; though I was only
thirteen, and my little sister, our Susy, nine, when
mother died, she had taught us to make her good
bread. I mixed it, and Susy, a strong child, kneaded
it : we always calculate to have light bread and
good butter. We always have meat, for father
thinks he can't do without it three times a day.
Susy is a hearty eater, too my appetite is poor,
but our neighbours are very considerate, and I'm
seldom without pie, or cake, or preserves, or some-
thing relishing. You smile, sir I don't wish to
have you think we live daintily I don't know
how it is in cities, but country people are thought-
ful of one another, and any one out of health has
such things sent in."
" Pies, cakes, and preserves?"
" Yes, sir ; things that taste pleasant, and are
kind of nourishing."
46 THE POOR RICH MAN ETC.
" Nourishing to the disease, my poor child, not
to the patient. Pies, cakes, and sweetmeats are
only fit for the healthy, and for those who can
labour, or exercise, a name that, as somebody says,
the rich give to their labour. No ; if you mean tro
enjoy all the comfort your case admits of, you
must discard these nice things.
61 I can, sir, if it is duty."
" I do not doubt, my child, that you both can and
will do whatever you believe to be duty, and I
must have great confidence in those whom I be-
lieve able to subdue their appetites to perfect obe-
dience in these matters. You will make it a re-
ligious duty most persons are enslaved by their
appetites, because they do not bring their reli-
gion to bear upon such a small matter as eat-
ing or not eating a bit of pie. The light of the
sun is as essential to the hut as to the palace ; so
religion is as necessary to help us through small
duties as great ; it is easier to suffer martyrdom
with its help, than to make a temperate meal with-
out it. But there is no need of all this preaching
to you, my child ; you, I am sure, will cheerfully
do whatever is necessary to preserve the faculties
of your mind and body."
" I calculate to try to do what is about right,
sir."
" And that is the best possible calculation, and
will lead to the very best result. There is nothing
for me to do but to tell you how, in my opinion,
you can best do your duty to your body a poor
infirm casket it is, but it contains an immortal
treasure, and must therefore be taken good care
of."
"CHARLOTTE'S RETURN. 47
It is not necessary to give the doctors direc-
tions, in regard to Charlotte's food, in detail. Her
diet was to consist of plain food, plainly dressed ;
and when he finished, Charlotte said, with a smile,
" As to eating, sir, I shall be as well off as if I
were the richest lady in the land, for I can easily
get the food you think convenient for me."
" As well off, arid far better, my dear child ; I
have many rich patients to whom I make the same
prescription ; but, surrounded as they are by tempt-
ing luxuries, they are for ever transgressing and
suffering they do not enough take to heart the
wise saying, that they that do the things that
please the Lord shall receive of the fruit of the
tree of immortality. But, Miss Charlotte, there are
other matters besides eating to which you must be
attentive ; gentle and regular exercise you must
have riding will not suit you."
" That's a real mercy, sir ; for, since father has
lost his horse, I have no way to ride."
" You have a little house-keeping, what the
women call stirring about, to do sweeping, wash-
ing dishes, setting tables, and so on ?"
" Yes, sir, but I have let our Susy do it; and,
when I was able, taken in sewing, because that
brought us in a little money."
" You must not sit at your needle ; none but the
strong can bear that. Your little hardy sister
must take that part."
" Well, that is a comfort, as Susy would herself
say, for I want her to learn the tailoress' trade,
and Miss Sally Baker had agreed to teach her for
the rent of our back room."
" By all means," said the doctor, entering with
48 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
the most benevolent interest into Charlotte's plans,
" let Miss Sally have the back room; then Susy
will be handy to call upon to do the heavier work,
for you must not lift, or do any thing that requires
strength but I have observed that you women-
folk can keep yourselves busy about what we
men can't describe, nor even comprehend. Your
housework is a source of contentment a rich lady
of my acquaintance says she envies her servants
who have kitchen-work to go to in all their troubles."
" I never thought of that, sir ; but it does lighten
the heart to stir about, and it is a pleasure to make
the most of a little, and have things orderly and
comfortable."
" Oh yes, my child ; the world is full of these
small provisions for our happiness if we had but
eyes to see them and hearts to feel them. But
let me proceed to my prescriptions. You must
wear flannel drawers and a flannel waistcoat with
sleeves all the year round. This to an invalid is,
in our varying climate, essential, for in no other
way can the skin be kept of a warm and regular
temperature.* Can you procure the flannel, my
child?"
" I think I can, sir ; Susy and I calculated to
get us new woollen gowns next winter, but I guess
we can make the old ones do."
" That's right, my dear. If I could only per-
suade those who can't afford to get every thing, to
dispense with new outside garments, and furnish
themselves with plenty of flannel, I would promise
* A friend of mine proposes that New-England artists should
paint the goddess of health with flannel drawers in Her hand.
CHARLOTTE'S RETURN. 49
to save them half their doctors' bills." The doc-
tor then proceeded to a prescription which, at first,
seemed very extraordinary to Charlotte ; but he
urged it so strenuously, and told her that he knew it
from experience to be of the first importance in pre-
serving the health of the healthy, and strengthen-
ing the invalid, that she resolved, whatever trouble
it might cost her, to follow strictly his advice.
This advice was, that she should every day bathe
her whole person in cold water, and rub her skin
till it was dry and warm. He knew she had not
conveniences for bathing, but this might be effected
with a tub, or even a basin of water, and a sponge.
Charlotte afterward^ and after long experience,
acknowledged that this simple prescription had
done her more good than all the medicine she had
ever taken. Finally, the doctor charged her not
to wear at night the garments she wore in the
day ; not to make up her bed till it was thoroughly
aired ; not to be afraid of fresh air ; to let plenty
of it into the house ; and especially, if at any time
she was so much indisposed as to be confined to
her bed, to have tl^e air of her room constantly
changed. He said people suffered more from
inattention to cleanliness and fresh air, than from
any necessary physical evils. " I cannot," he said,
in conclusion, " but observe the goodness of Provi-
dence in making those things which are essential
to health accessible to all ; I mean, to all the native
population of our country ; for they can have all
that I have prescribed for you, Miss Charlotte ;
abundance of simple, nourishing food, warm gar-
ments, plenty of clean water, and pure air; the
E
50 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
two last articles, more valuable than all the gold
of Peru, are sadly undervalued and neglected."
At first it must be confessed that Charlotte was
disappointed that the doctor prescribed no medi-
cine, no plaster, nothing from which she might ex-
pect sudden relief ; but she soon looked calmly
and submissively at the case as it was, and receiv-
ed most thankfully the prospect of alleviation.
Dr. inspired her with entire confidence ; and
afterward, in relating the story to Susan and Harry
of her long interviews with him, she said it seem-
ed to her mysterious he took such an interest in
her. To them it did not, nor could it to any one
who knew the sweetly patient sufferer, nor to any
one who knew Dr. , and knew that he valued
his profession chiefly as enlarging his means of
doing moral and physical good to his fellow-crea-
tures.
" And only think," said Charlotte, in conclusion,
taking from her trunk a note which she had wrap-
ped in her handkerchief, that it might get no spot
or blemish on it, "only think, after all, after his
coming to see me six times, and staying as long as
if he had been a common doctor, and had not any
other patient, only think of his sending me this bil-
let at last."
In justice to Charlotte, we shall first give her
note to the doctor, as we think it marks the digni-
ty, integrity, and simplicity of her character.
" HONOURED SIR As father and I have conclu-
ded to leave to-morrow, will be much obliged if
you will send in your bill this afternoon, if conve-
nient. As, from all that's passed, sir, you may con-
CHARLOTTE S RETURN. 51
elude that I ain't in circumstances to pay down, I
would make bold to say that you need not scruple,
as I have a large sum of money by me, given to
me by my best friend, father and Susan excepted.
Father sends his respectful duty to you, sir, and I
mine, with many thanks ; but neither money nor
thanks can pay your kindness ; and daily, respected
sir, shall I ease my heart by remembering you in
my prayers at the throne of grace, where we must
all appear alike poor and needy, but where may
yon ever come with a sure foundation of hope,
through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
*<I remain, sir, your faithful friend and well-
wisher, CHARLOTTE MAY."
To which note the doctor replied
" MY GOOD FRIEND CHARLOTTE I shall preface
my answer to your note with letting you a little
into my professional affairs. I do not make it a rule
to attend the poor gratuitously, for many reasons ;
but principally because I have observed that what
is got for nothing is seldom valued. I only take
care to charge thein according to their ability to
pay. You, my child, are an exception to most of
my patients you have given me a lesson of meek
and cheerful submission that is inestimable I am
your debtor, not you mine. Besides, strictly, I
have no doctor's account against you. I have pre-
scribed no medicine, and given you no advice that
any man of sense and experience might not have
given ; therefore, my good girl, I have no claim on
that ' large sum of money? which, God bless your
* best friend' for having given you. But forget
52 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC-
not, my friend, your promise to remember me in
your prayers ; I have much faith in the ' prayers
of saints.' My parting regards to your good fa-
ther, and please deliver the accompanying parcels
as directed. They are from my son and daughter,
who hastily join me in esteem for you and yours.
God bless you, my dear child.
" Your sincere friend,
One parcel was directed " To Miss Charlotte
May's sister Susy" and the other, " To Miss Char-
lotte May's ' best friend, father and Susy except-
ed.' " The contents of Susan's parcel proved to be
material for a nice winter dress (which, on meas-
urement, turned out an abundance for two) ; and
Harry's that capital manual for Americans, Selec-
tions from the Works of Franklin. Those who
have returned from a journey with love-tokens in
the trunk for the dear ones at home, can sympa-
thize in the pleasure and gratitude of our humble
friends.
One word more, and the affair of the journey is
finished. Twenty dollars were left of Harry's gift
after all the expenses of the journey were paid. It
cannot be doubted that, as Charlotte said, " fifty
dollars is a great sum" in the hands of the frugal
poor. Charlotte offered him the balance as of
course his ; and, when he declined it, insisted, till
he, a little hurt, said
" Why, Lottie, I should feel just as bad as they
would in old times, if they had taken back a gift
they had laid on the Lord's altar ; but I'll take the
money to father to put out for you."
SHOWERS AND SUNSHINE. 53
This was agreed on ; and, being fortunately in-
vested, it amounted in a few years to a hundred
dollars ; the income from it was seven a year,
and this little surn gave to our frugal and liberal
Charlotte more of the real enjoyment of property
than is often derived from productive thousands.
She had the luxury of giving, and the tranquillizing
feeling that she had something in reserve for a wet
day.
CHAPTER VL
SHOWERS AND SUNSHINE.
WE pass over several years in the annals of our
young friends. The current of their lives had flow-
ed smoothly on. Charlotte, living in rigid obedience
to the laws of health, as laid down and expounded
by Dr. , and to the laws of heaven, as applied
by her faithful conscience, had enjoyed a degree
of health and comfort that she had not anticipated.
Susan, at nineteen, was an accomplished tailoress ;
and, what is most rare, her health and sunny cheer-
fulness had been in nowise impaired by her con-
finement to her needle. She was a singular union
of sweet temper and efficiency; and the only
seamstress we ever heard of, that, for year after
year, so far resisted the effects of sedentary em-
ployment as to sing at her work.
" What is the reason, Susan May," said an ac-
quaintance to her, " that you arc always so well
E 2
64 THE POOR RICH MAN, 'ETC.
and light-hearted ? Poor Sally Baker did not do as
much work as you, and yet the doctors said it was
sitting so steadily that brought on her dyspepsy ;
and only see Jane Mills, she is a sight to behold !
and nothing but sewing, the doctors say."
" Nothing but sewing, they may say, Adeline ,
Sally Baker used to sit in her little stove-room
from morning till night, and never let in any fresh
air any more than if it were poison : poor Jane did
get a little walk when she went to her place in the
morning, but she was always behindhand with her
work ; never could say no, and would set up half
the night to oblige her customers ; and, after all,
was tormented to death with reproaches for broken
promises ; and then, when her appetite failed, she
used to live on pies, and cakes, and such trash.
As Lottie's doctor told her, God has written laws
in our constitutions, and if we break them we must
pay for it."
" But how do you manage, Susan your cheeks
are as fresh as roses ?"
" I began, Adeline, with an excellent constitu-
tion ; and Lottie, knowing the value of health,
watched over it. She made me follow her New-
York doctor's rules about washing myself."
"Washing yourself! I should like to know if
everybody don't wash themselves ; I am sure
Sally Baker, and Jane Mills too, were neat as
pinks."
" So they were, Adeline ; but few even of neat
people know the importance of daily bathing the
whole person, arid rubbing it smartly with a coarse
cloth."
" That ? s what I call superstition*"
SHOWERS AND SUNSHINE. 55
" You may call it what you please, Adeline ; but
I believe that, and changing my clothes, airing the
bed, and the house, and room, have kept my cheeks,
as you say, fresh as roses. Lottie never lets me sit
more than two hours at a time at my needle ; she
calls me to do a chore, or run of an errand. She
will not let me pass one day, rain or shine, without
exercise in the open air. Neither cold, wet, nor
heat hurts me. As to my lightheartedness, Adeline,
that's natural to me ; but Lottie has helped to
keep that up too, by taking care that I don't get
fretted at by my customers. She never would let
me make a promise that I was not sure of perform-
ing. I often get my work done beforehand, and I
take pains to fit and please, and somehow I think
our Essex folks are easy to please ; and smiles
beget smiles, you know if they are pleased, I am.
And then it's such a heart-comfort to keep the
family together, now father is getting old and
feeble."
" After all, Susan, I guess," said her visiter, with
an ominous contraction of the lips, " you'll not
always be so lighthearted."
" Maybe not ; but I don't believe in borrowing
trouble."
" It may come without borrowing they say it's
a bad sign to feel too well."
" I don't believe in signs, Adeline."
" You may they say everybody believes proph-
ecy after it comes to pass."
" Do you mean any thing in particular ?" asked
Susan, struck more by her companion's tone than
her words ; " if you do, pray speak out."
" Have you seen Paulina Clark ?"
86 tHE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" Paulina Clark ! is she in Essex ?"
" Yes ; her mother's husband is dead, and thr.y
have come back here to live ; and they say the
old man left the widow a fortune ; and Paulina is
dressed as if it was true^ all in fine bombasin,
and a crape veil down to her feet, and a black bead
bag, and every thing answerable ; though you
know she did not scruple to say she hated the old
man while he was alive."
" I am sorry she behaves so unbecomingly ; she
was always fond of outside show, Paulina ; but I re-
member Harry used to say that was natural, she
was so handsome."
" Don't you think it strange, Susan, that some
people can be so taken up with beauty?"
" Oh, I don't know ; I like to look at every thing
that is beautiful."
" But should you think that such a person as
Harry Aikin would put beauty before every thing?"
" I don't think he does," replied Susan, keeping
her eyes steadfastly to her work, and slightly
blushing.
" Well, I don't know whether it is the beauty or
the fortune ; but it must be one or the other, or
both for I am sure, in other respects, you are
far enough before Paulina Clark ; and everybody
thought Harry was paying attention to you before
he left Essex."
" Harry was always like a brother to Charlotte
and me," replied Susan, her voice a little trem-
ulous.
" Like a brother to Charlotte he might have
been ; but he was more like something else to
you, and everybody thought so "
SHOWERS AND SUNSHINE. 57
" Everybody don't know every thing," rejoined
Susan, her eyes still riveted to her work, and her
heart throbbing so that it seemed to her her com-
panion must hear it,
" Well, now," continued the persevering gossip,
" Susan May, be candid, and own, if you should
hear that Harry Aikin was going to marry Paulina
Clark, should not you feel as if he had deceived
you ?"
" No," replied Susan, now speaking firmly, and
looking her companion full in the face ; "if all the
world, arid Charlotte, thought Harry paid me par-
ticular attention and if I sometimes had thought
so too, and if he marries Paulina Clark to-morrow,
I should think we were all mistaken, and Harry
true-hearted."
" Well, you'll be put to the trial, for Paulina as
good as owned to me her expectations ; but I am
sorry for your disappointment, for you can't but say
'tis a disappointment." Susan said nothing, and
her tormentor proceeded. " It's nothing new nor
strange ; them that has not any interest* must ex-
pect to be slighted ; and I have often heard that
when young men get to New- York, all they think
of is making money, and getting a wife that will
make a show with it ; and you say yourself that
Harry thought Paulina a beauty."
Susan made no reply, and Adeline, having suc-
ceeded in making her uncomfortable, began to feel
very much so herself, from the effect of Susan's
quiet dignity ; and, much to Susan's satisfaction,
she cut short her visit and disappeared. When
* Interest is, in rustic sense, property.
58 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
Charlotte entered a few moments after, she found
Susan's work had dropped on the floor, and she
was leaning her head on the chair and sobbing.
This was a strange sight ; for, let the clouds be
ever so heavy, there was always a glimmering of
blue sky where Susan was.
Inquiries and explanations followed. Susan's
heart was turned inside out ; not a thought, feeling,
prostrate hope, or piercing regret, was concealed
from Charlotte, who, though in a more subdued
manner, was scarcely less grieved than Susan.
When they could talk calmly about it, Susan
said, li Come what will, I never shall blame Harry
in the least. You know how many times he has
said we were just like sisters to him ; and it was
perfectly natural, when he went to live in New-
York, he should like people that had New- York
ways."
" But, Susan, it does seem to me strange that
Harry should ever fancy Paulina ; she has not his
ways of thinking, or acting, or feeling."
" Oh, Lottie, Paulina is handsome they say
the best of men are carried away with beauty."
" Not Harry, 1 am sure ; and, besides, I have
heard him say I never told you, because I did
not want to flatter you but I heard him say, when
we went to hear Squire Willard's fourth of July
oration the day Paulina wore that new pink satin
bonnet and somebody said Squire Willard nevei
took his eyes from her all the time he was speak-
ing"
" What did Harry say, Charlotte ?"
" Harry whispered to me, and said he liked
your looks a thousand times better than Paulina's.'
SHOWERS AND SUNSHINE. 59
" Did he ? did he ? he would not say so now !"
" Maybe not. I shall always think, if he had
not gone to New- York, that would have come to
pass that we expected ; but I believe, Susy, it is
very hard to keep from being worldly-minded in a
city. When I was in New-York, as I have often
told you, the chief conversation was about dress
and making money. Oh how I did long to hear fc
something about something profitable. You know
I never was in favour of Harry's going there I
never liked his going into partnership with Morris
Finley he'd better have sat over his lapstone the
rest of his life."
"But, Lottie, you forget the weakness in his
breast."
" I do that was a good reason for giving up his
trade, but not for going to New- York."
" Yes, but you forget what flattering prospects
he had ; and," she added, with a sigh, " after his
parents' death, he had not much to keep him here ;
and, having all his portion of the estate in money,
he thought it would enable him to carry on busi-
ness to the greatest advantage in New- York. He
explained all this to our satisfaction then."
" Yes ; and when he told us about his plans, and
seemed to be in such a hurry to get ahead, I was
sure he was hinting at sharing with you, though
he did not seem to think it best to speak out."
" I thought so too, Lottie ; but I know I was
very much to blame for setting my heart that way,
when I had no more reason ; and then, his always
writing and sending something by every opportu-
nity to be sure, the letters were directed to you,
but somehow they always seemed written to me}
60 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
and then he was sure to send some present that he
knew I should like better than any thing else in
the world ; but it's now a long, long time since we
have heard from him, and yet we never suspected
any thing."
" No, Susy, because we never in our lives sus-
pected Harry could do any but the right thing. It
will be very hard to make up our minds to see him
Paulina's husband."
" Harry Paulina's husband ! Oh, it's awful to
think of ! But, if she were only worthy of him if
she could make him happy, I could be as happy,
I was going to say, but that would not be true
but I could be contented for myself and thankful
for him."
Both sisters were silent for a few moments, when
Charlotte said
" If we can't have things right in this world, we
can have right feelings ; let us kneel down and
pray together, Susan."
" Oh, yes, Lottie, that is always a comfort."
The sisters knelt, locked in each other's arms.
Charlotte was the organ of both their hearts, and
most earnestly did she pray that they might walk
together in integrity and thankfulness in whatsoev-
er path it should please the Almighty to mark out
for them, even were it through a solitary wilder-
ness ; that they might remember that their Lord
and Master did not promise his followers their por-
tion in this world ; that they might humbly and
faithfully do the duty appointed them, and not re-
pine because they could not choose what that duty
should be.
She poured foith aa earnest petition for their
SHOWERS AND SUNSHINE. 61
best friend ; that he might be directed aright ; that
he might be delivered from the many evils and
temptations that surrounded him ; and that she with
whom his heart was knit might have the grace as
well as the gifts of God.
When their heart-service was over, Susan said
she felt as if a load were taken from her. " He,"
she said to Charlotte, "who commanded us to
pray for our enemies, certainly knew what was in
us : how differently we feel towards any one we
earnestly pray for !"
From this time there was no apparent change
in the sisters, except that Susan pursued her la-
bours with even more than usual avidity, and
sometimes a remark would escape from her that
showed the course of her thoughts ; such as, " I
am sure, Charlotte, of having enough to do in this
world, and that's a real comfort ; for one can't be
very unhappy while there is enough to do."
That Adeline's prophecy was verified, was ob-
vious ; a portion of her lightheartedness was
gone, and even Uncle Phil remarked that " she
did not sing as she used to ;" he " wished she
would ; he had rather hear her than a bird. " Mean-
while Charlotte watched her with a blending of the
sister's sympathy, and the mother's tenderness ;
and daily, as she saw that Susan's resolution was
carrying her serenely through the storm, did she
offer her humble thanksgiving to Him who she
knew was the source of her strength and peace.
F
62 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC
CHAPTER VII.
LOVE-LETTERS.
THREE weeks passed away, and nothing more
was heard of Adeline's news, save that once, when
Paulina, in Susan's presence, was bantered about
the house of " Finley and Aikin," she tittered and
bridled her head, and had all the airs of a spoiled
girl who is rallied about her lover ; and save that,
when Paulina, after a month's mourning, doffed her
crape bonnet and veil, and put. on a pink hat with
artificial flowers, the premature transition was im-
puted to an approaching wedding, and not to the
obvious and perfectly sufficient cause the pretty
girl's extravagant love of dress.
At last Uncle Phil brought home that rare bles-
sing to our simple friends, a letter, from the post-
office.
" Here's something for you, gals," said he, " as
scarce as gold now-a-days a letter from Harry."
" Oh, better than gold !" said Charlotte, holding
out her hand.
" No, no, it's Susy's this time ; why don't you
jump, Susy ?"
Susan moved slowly, and took it with a trem-
bling hand. Her fears, she thought, now were to
become certainty.
" What are you afraid of, child ?" continued her
father ; " there can't be any bad news in it, 'cause
LOVE-LETTERS. 63
it's got a red wafer ; and besides, Harry writ it
himself. Give it to me no, I have broken my
spectacles you read it, Lottie."
" Yes, so do, Lottie," said Susan ; " I want to
see if my iron is hot."
" That beats the Dutch," said Uncle Phil ; " if
I had twenty irons in the fire I should let them
burn to hear news from Harry."
Poor Susan ! we hope our readers will excuse
her for giving a false gloss once in her life. " I
can bear any thing," so she thought, " if I am alone
with Lottie, and she first sees it." Her sister soon
followed her with the open letter.
" Bad news, Susy," she said, " but not what we
expected."
*' Then it can't be very bad," exclaimed Susan,
the clouds vanishing from her face ; she seized
the letter, and read as follows :
" MY DEAR SUSAN It is a long time since I
have written to you ; but I have been in much per-
plexity and anxiety, and have been waiting to see
daylight. We have failed, Finley and I, as might
have been expected ; neither of us having any ex-
perience in the business we undertook. As sooa
as I found we could not meet our notes, I made a
thorough examination into our affairs, and found we
could just pay our debts and no more. So to-morrow
we close the concern. I have many times regret-
ted I did not take Charlotte's advice, and not enter
into a business for which I was not qualified. I
would now gladly return to my trade, but confine-
ment to business, and anxiety, have had an unfa-
vourable effect on my health, and I am more
64 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
than ever troubled with that old pain in my breast.
I sometimes think, Susan, a sight of your sunny
face would cure me ; that and all good things I
trust will come ; in the meantime, patience. In
prosperity and adversity, my heart ever turns to-
wards my dear Essex friends, who must believe me
their friend and brother,
"HARRY AIKIN."
" I never did fully believe it !" exclaimed Susan,
as she closed the letter.
" Believe what ?"
Susan blushed. " You know what, Lottie."
Charlotte smiled. " Are you not sorry for Harry's
failure ]" she asked.
" Oh, yes sorry ? No no, I am not sorry for
any thing just at this moment," and Susan covered
her face, and wept for joy. Then, dashing off her
tears, she read the letter over again. " After all,"
she said, " for any thing he writes here, he may
be going to marry Paulina ; but I know he is not."
Susan's happy faith was well founded. Harry's
letter gave no details, for he never wrote his own
praises, even indirectly. " Not he that commend-
eth himself is approved."
When, at the close of their second year's part-
nership, he ascertained the unfavourable condition
of their affairs, he insisted on making them known
at once to their creditors, that they might suffer the
least possible inconvenience from the failure of
punctual payment. Morris Finley remonstrated.
He saw, or affected to see, flattering prospects
ahead ; and at last, when Harry absolutely refused
to go on, Morris insisted on making a compromise
LOVE-LETTERS. 65
with their creditors. He adduced case upon case
where this had been done in similar circumstances,
and a pretty penny saved, and no reputation lost,
Harry would not listen to his proposition. He
said, the frequency of such proceedings was an
argument in his mind against them. He would
not add his mite to sully the mercantile reputation
of his country ; and that if, by the arrangement
Finley proposed, he did not lose his good name, he
should lose his self-respect, which was still dearei
to him. The inflexibly honest man is unmanage-
able, and Finley was at last compelled to yield.
They stopped in time to pay every penny of their
debts, and retain' the respect of their creditors;
and Harry began the world anew, with fresh vig-
our, springing from a conscience void of offence.
Morris profited by Harry's firmness. One of their
creditors, struck by the honesty of the firm, and
giving the parties equal credit for it, offered Finley
an employment which, as he afterward said, was
the first rung of the ladder on which he mounted
to fortune.
Some months passed away, and Paulina contin-
ued to be a belle in Essex, and flattered by young
men of every degree. The report of her engage-
ment to Harry was found to have arisen from the
devotions of his partner, Morris Finley, to her.
These devotions Were abated by a third marriage
of Paulina's mother, by which she put into the
hands of a young spendthrift some fifteen thousand
dollars, received from her last doting and deluded
husband. Paulina seemed at first much affected
by Finley 's desertion ; but, after a while, she turn-
ed to other lovers ; and, when her mother's young
F2
66 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
husband deserted and left her penniless, both
mother and daughter returned to New-York and
opened a milliner's shop : the mother soon after
died. It was said that Paulina removed to Phila-
delphia ; but, though unfavourable reports reached
Essex concerning her, nothing was certainly
known.
In the meantime, save two or three short letters
by private opportunities (for our friends could not
afford the luxury of post intercourse), the sisters
heard nothing from Harry till the following letter
arrived.
/
" DEAR SUSAN My prospects, since the break-
up last spring, are much improved ; but particulars
in my next. All I want to know is, whether you
will share my lot with me ? Pray write by return
of post, and believe me now, as you well know I
have ever been, though I never put it into words
before, your friend and true lover,
"HARRY AIKIN.
" P. S. I know, dear Susan, you are not a per-
son to take or refuse a husband for any thing sep-
arate from himself ; but I may mislead you by what
I said above. I am still what the world calls a
poor man particulars in my next."
Susan's first sensations on reading Harry's let-
ter were those of perfect and unlimited happiness.
" I always felt," she said to Charlotte, " as if I
knew he loved me ; and now I wonder I let Ade-
line's story trouble me for one moment."
Again and again the sisters read over Harry's
letter ; Charlotte seeming, in her own quiet way,
LOVE-LETTERS. 67
scarcely less happy than Susan. Early in the
evening Charlotte went to her own room. Uncle
Phil made it a rule to go to bed when the fowls
went to roost (there was no faint resemblance in
their degree of intellectual life), and Susan was
left in possession of their little sitting-room to pour
out her overflowing heart in a letter to Harry. It
was a letter befitting the frank and feeling creature
who wrote it ; and such a letter as any lover
would be enraptured to receive. When she went
to her room, Charlotte was not in bed, but just
rising from her knees ; she smiled as she turned
towards Susan, and Susan saw that her cheeks
were wet with tears.
" Why, what's the matter, Lottie !" she asked.
" I have been trying, Susy, to get courage to look
into the future." Her voice faltered as she ad-
ded, " The time is coming when we must separate."
" Oh, Lottie, I never thought of that ! how could
I be so selfish!" All the castles she had been
building in the air fell at once to the ground. Her
first impulse was to say " No, I will never leave
you, Lottie."
But she had just written a promise to Harry to
be his ; and she was silent, and quite as sorrowful
as Charlotte at the conviction that, for the first time
in their lives, their interests were divided. Hour
after hour she was restless and thoughtful ; at last
she came to a conclusion, sad enough in some of
its aspects, but it tranquillized her. She nestled
up to her sister, put her arm over her, and fell
asleep, repeating to herself, " It's a comfort, any
how, to resolve to do right." Well may reflection
be called an angel, when it suggests duties, and
08 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
calls into action principles strong enough to meet
them. Before Susan closed her letter, she made
the following addition :
" P. S. DEAR HARRY I wrote this letter last
evening, and shall send it ; for why should I, if I
could, conceal my real feelings from you ? Since
we were playfellows at school, I have loved you
best, and you only, Harry ; for the time to come, I
must love you only as a brother. Oh, how strange
it is, that the black and the white threads are al-
ways twisted together in human life. Last evening
I was so happy writing this letter; but, when I
went into the bedroom, Lottie's face was covered
with tears; and she spoke of our separation, and
all flashed upon me at once. What could she and
father do without me ? They do now their full
part towards keeping the family together, but they
can neither of them bring in any thing, and they
would be obliged to look to the town for support.
Is not that awful to think of ? So you see, dear
Harry , I cannot leave them our path is plain, and,
as dear Lottie would say, may we have grace to
walk therein. It is very dark now, Harry; but, if
we only try to do right, the day will soon break,
and grow brighter and brighter. Please don't say
one word to persuade me off my resolution, for we
are weak creatures at best, and we should stand
together, and strengthen and uphold one another*
Above all, don't say a word about my reasons to
father and Lottie ; and believe me, dear Harry, not
a bit less your affectionate friend because I can't
forsake them.
" SUSAN MAY*"
LOVE-LETTERS. 69
By return of post came the following answer
from Harry :
"DEAREST SUSAN Forsake * father and Lot-
tie !' that you never shall. When I wrote my last,
it was only to get that blessed little word yes from
you, for I must make sure of my title before I laid
out the future. One thing only I am a little hurt
at. Could you think I could leave out Charlotte in
my plans 1 a dear sister, counsellor, and friend
she has ever been to me and your good father,
who so much needs some one to care for him ? Ah,
Susan, I have had my reflections too ; and I think
our path is plain before us, and, with good resolu-
tion on our part, and Charlotte's prayers to help us,
we shall have grace to walk therein. But I must
tell you all, and then look for your final answer.
" When I invested my patrimony in the shoe
concern with Finley, I expected soon to be in a
situation to offer you my hand, and begin house-
keeping in New-York with four members to the
family, for never once have I thought of dividing
you from your father and Lottie. I did not tell you
my hopes and plans, because I feared I should not
after that have patience to wait as long as prudence
required. One thing I am sure of, dear Susan,
from my own experience that a virtuous love is
the greatest earthly security a young man can have
against the temptations and dangers that beset him.
I am sure my affection for you has made me dili-
gent in business, frugal, earnest in my pursuits, and
patient in my disappointments. If I had felt (which,
thank God, I never did) any inclination to forbidden
pleasures; to dangerous company, to dissipation of
70 THE POOR IllCH MAN, ETC.
any sort, the thought of you would have been a
shield to me. Knowing you and Charlotte so well,
and the memory of my excellent mother, have
given me a reverence for female virtue a belief
in the power and beauty of goodness in a woman
and to this, Susan, love naturally follows that
pure love that is ordained by God to lead to the
holy institution of marriage. But what are my
thoughts running to ? Don't laugh at me, and I
will go back to my business statements.
" When I began business I took lodgings at a
carman's. He is a good friend of mine, and with
him I could live at a small expense in a quiet fam-
ily. I have avoided living or associating with
those who had more means than I, for that leads to
expense. I have never spent a shilling on super-
fluities, for which I have now much reason to be
thankful ; for, even if I had escaped that dreadful
load, unpaid debts, I might, like many other young
men, have acquired habits of expense on the credit
of future gains. The gains may not come the
habits remain, like so many tormentors. When I
was asked by a friend to go to an oyster-house, or
the theatre, or the circus, or to take a bottle of por-
ter, or drink a glass of whiskey, I declined. I
knew, if I did it for my friend's sake this time, I
might do it for my own the next. I had my treats
vmy pleasant thoughts of the time when I should
have a table of my own, and faces round it that I
loved. It is sure we can't have every thing in this
world, and the thing is to make up our mind what
we must have, and what we can do without. You
can guess my must have.
" When I found Finley and I were going behind-
LOVE-LETTERS. 71
hand, I determined to stop short, and not, as many
do, put off the evil day, plunging deeper and deeper,
making enemies, and making plenty of work for
repentance. When our affairs were settled up I
had a hundred dollars in my pocket, and no one to
look me in the face and say I owed him a shilling,
or had wronged him of one. The next thing was
to determine on what business I should follow,
You know my breast was much weakened by sit*
ting over my lapstone when I was growing fast.
It is a bad trade to put a growing boy to. I could
not return to it. A farm in one of the free western
states seemed to me the happiest lot in the world
for a poor man ; but there were hardships in the
beginning, and, though you and I would not have
minded them, your father and Lottie could not have
stood them. A farm at Essex I dared not think of;
a man must have some capital and knowledge,
practice and skill, to go ahead in New-England on
a farm, and I had none of these. While I was de
liberating, ray good friend Mr. Loomis, the carman,
determined to move to Ohio. He advised me to
take up his business, and offered to sell me his
horse and cart on very reasonable terms, and to
recommend me to his employers. There were
many reasons to decide me to take his advice. I
find exercise in the open air the best medicine for
the pain in my breast. Carting is a sure and reg-
ular business. I have observed that the carmen in
this city, those whose carts are never seen standing
before groceries, are a healthy, cheerful-looking
class of men. They go slowly but surely ahead.
They can generally manage to take their meals
with their families, and to spend all their evenings
72 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
at home a great point to a man who loves home
faces and home pleasures as I do. Some persons
think it is going down a step to go from shop-keep-
ing to carting ; but you and I, Susan, have our own
notions about going up and down, and both think it
is what is in a man, and not what is out of him,
that humbles or exalts him. Some think that most
genteel which brings them nearest to being idle
gentlemen ; but, when I am driving through Broad-
way on my cart, do you think I would change
places with those slim-looking young men I see
parading up and down the street, looking like tai-
lors' walking advertisements bringing nothing to
pass doing nothing with the time God gives them
in this world, arid gives them for what ? Oh, it
would take a minister to answer that.
" I might have gone into trade of some kind, but
I have not health to be shut up behind a counter ;
and besides, in my opinion, a shop is a fitting place
for women only, they being (don't be affronted,
Susy) the weaker sex. You see now how my case
stands. I have no debts. I have good health for
the business I have chosen, industry, and a faculty
I may boast. So I think I may marry in this bles-
sed country of ours, where there is sure employ-
ment, and a man is certain of getting his earnings.
Besides, dear Susan, if any thing happens to me,
you have your trade to depend upon. Give my
best love to Charlotte, and tell her, besides being
a main comfort, she will be a real help to us ; for
while she is doing the light work, your needle will
be making money. If your father has any scru-
ples about coming, pray tell him the rent of his
Essex place will pay for the rent of a room her*
LOVE-LETTERS. 73
and save us from near neighbours we may not like.
Am I not calculating, Susan ? But is it not better
to calculate beforehand than to grumble afterward t
I am sure I am right, so far as I can, to secure in-
dependence to your father and Charlotte ; and if,
after all, they must take something from us, those
who are so generous in giving will be also gener-
ous in receiving, and they will not grudge us the
best part, it being more blessed to give than to re
ceive.
" There is one thing I can scarcely bear the
thoughts of taking you all from that pleasant little
spot in Essex, where you have riches for the eye
that all the money in New-York cannot buy in the
city plenty of sweet air and pure water ;* and
your garden, and your little courtyard, with its
rose-bushes, morning-glories, pionies, and marvels
of Peru. But, after all, dear Susan, there are feel-
ings worth giving up the very best of outward
things for ; and if we secure affection, and kind-
ness, and so forth, we sha'n't have made a bad bar-
gain of it, shall we 1 We may be what the world
calls poor, and miscals, in my estimation. Let
us begin, in the fear and love of God, with a de-
termination to do our duty rich in love for one
another, and at peace with all men ; and if worst
comes to worst, why, that will be outside poverty.
I do not fear it, do you ? Answer this without iail
by return of post. Much duty and love to your
* Has any one ever calculated the amount of wealth and
comfort to be produced to the labouring classes by the intro^
duction of pure water into the city of New-York ? Health and
cleanliness are sources of wealth, and of comfort inappreci*
able.
G
74 THE POOR RrCH MAN, ETC.
(my?) father and Charlotte, and believe me, till
death, your friend and lover,
" HARRY AIKIN.
" P. S. I was so taken up with one subject that
I forgot to mention that Finley was married last
evening to a Miss Nichols. Her father entered
into speculation last winter, and is said to be rich.
Finley says he never gave Paulina Clark reason to
expect to marry him ; perhaps not in words ; but,
the old proverb is, ' actions speak loudest.' To my
mind, a man who attends to a girl, and then quits
her, adds hypocrisy to falsehood. I foresaw how
this matter would end when I heard that Paulina's
mother had made that third marriage. Finley
would have liked a handsome wife, but he must
have a rich one. He has set out in the world for
what he calls the main chance ; I have my main
chance too, and that depends on you. Poor Pauli-
na ! But I'll not tell bad news (which may not be
true) in this letter. H. A."
Morris Finley and Harry Aikin had begun life
with objects diametrically opposite, and were des-
tined to illustrate that saying, as true now as when,
ages ago, it was first uttered: " There is that
maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing there is that
maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches "
A PEEP INTO THE POOR RICH MAN S HOUSE. 75
CHAPTER VIII.
A PEEP INTO THE POOR RICH MAN'S HOUSE,
As our readers may have anticipated, Susan at
once entered into Harry's views ; and, in a short
time, she and her family were transferred to a part
of a small house in Broome-street, in New- York.
One room served as kitchen, parlour, and bed-
room. It was furnished only with articles of the
first necessity. There was a snug little bedroom
for Uncle Phil, which he said suited him exactly ;
and a comfortable, good-sized one for Charlotte,
with a neat rag carpet on it, " because Lottie suf-
fered with cold feet ;" and a fireplace in it, " for
Lottie must have a fire when she had sick turns ;"
and two windows, " for all Lottie's living was fresh
air ;" and the only bureau and the only rocking-
chair were in Charlotte's room, because, as she
said, " Susy had always some good reason at hand
for giving her the best of every thing."
Our friends were undeniably what the world
calls poor. But they had affection, intelligence,
temperance, contentment, and godliness. Were
they poor ? We shall see. In the meantime, let
us see if there is not some misuse of terms in this
world. Morris Finley had " got in on the world."
He had so far secured his main chance, that he
was engaged in profitable business. He lived in
76 THE POOR RICK MAN, ETC.
a good house, fashionably furnished ; and his wife,
like the wives of other flourishing young mer-
chants, dressed in expensive materials, made in
the latest fashion. Neither Morris nor his wife
was vicious. They were only selfish and osten-
tatious, with unfurnished minds, and hearts as
empty as their purses were full.
" Husband," said Mrs. Finley to her partner,
who had just come home from Wall-street to din-
ner, his mind engrossed with some unaccounta
ble rise in the stocks. " Husband, mother has been
here."
" Well, what of that ?"
" She has given up her house."
" What of that ?"
" Why, you know what of that as well as I do ;
she does not know what she is to do next."
We must premise that Finley's father-in-law
nad made some unfortunate, as well as fortunate
speculations ; had died, and left his wife and an
unmarried daughter penniless.
" I am sure I cannot say what she is to do next,"
replied Finley ; " she is lucky to have one daugh-
ter well provided for. What does she propose ?"
" She did not propose any thing. She sat and .
cried the whole morning."
" Of course she cannot expect to have a home
here."
" Of course not. I told her, said I, ' Mother, if
I were to ask husband to invite you here, we could
not accommodate you, for we have not a room to
spare : you know we must eat in the basement, to
keep the parlours in order for company ; and in the
second story there is only the nursery and our bed-
A PEEP INTO THE POOR RICH MANS HOUSE. ^
chamber ; and one of the third-story rooms we
must keep for a spare room ; and, when Sabina Jane
gets to be a little older, she must have the back up-
per chamber ; and so,' said I, * mother, you see, it
husband were perfectly willing, it is impossible.' "
" She could not have expected it."
" Oh, no, she did not ; but, then, a mother is a
mother, you know, and I did not wish to hurt her
feelings."
" I presume, my dear, Helen Maria can get a
place as governess or teacher in a school ; I heard
her say she had attended to music and painting,
and French, and so on, at Mrs. 's school, for
the last six years."
" So she has, husband ; but, bless you ! you
know how girls learn things at school, and she
never expected to have to teach."
" Expect or not expect, I'd get my money's
worth out of these schools. I saw, on your fa-
ther's books, three hundred dollars a year paid for
Helen Maria's schooling for the last six years, and
this is what it has come to. Can't she teach ge-
ography, or arithmetic, or some of them useful
branches ?"
" No, she never was fond of the useful branch-
es ; she had quite a pretty taste for music and
painting, but then people are required to understand
them so well to teach them. No, I don't see as
Helen Maria can earn any thing but by embroi-
dering muslin ; she does that beautifully ; and if
there was only a place where work might be sold
without it being known where it came from, she
might earn considerable, and no one be the wiser
for it."
78 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" Nonsense, \vife ! We have not yet got above
our relations' working for their living, though you
may not be obliged to. Why can't your mother
take a boarding-house, and then Helen Maria
might assist her ?"
" Oh ! Helen Maria can't do any kind of house-
work ; besides, she is delicate, you know. Now
mother was brought up to it ; and when I proposed
a boarding-house, she said if she had any security
to offer for her rent "
" Ah ! there's the rub ! I hope she don't expect
me to offer ; for you know, my dear, I make it an
invariable rule never to endorse, but in the way of
business, for those who endorse for me."
" What is to be done, husband, if she can't get
into any way of supporting herself? She must
live, you know."
" And I must support her, hey ?"
" No, I did not say that ; but we can't let her
suffer. What would people say ? there are always
enough to talk, you know."
" Yes, yes : well, I suppose I must advance the
first quarter's rent, or something towards it. Oh!
a thought strikes me ; I know a house that will
just suit, belonging to some old maid or widow, or
somebody that lives up the country. The man that
has the care of it ain't particular about security.
I'll make the bargain for her save her at least a
hundred dollars. That's just as good to her as if
I took the money out of my purse and put it into
hers. I am glad to do your mother a good turn
now and then in this way. I ain't one that holds
to shirking poor relations."
" Nor I, I am sure, and I told mother so ;
A PEEP INTO THE POOR RICH MAN's HOUSE. 79
but I told her not to look to you ; for, says I,
mother, you know we have a very expensive fami-
ly, and there are certain things we must have,
and husband says he will always keep on the safe
side."
" Yes, trust Morris Finley for that. Folks that
mean to go ahead in the world must avoid unne-
cessary expenses. Has the man been here about
the curtains 1"
" Yes ; and I find the fawn, with blue borders,
cost, for each window, twenty dollars more than
the others."
" Bless my soul ! how is that ?"
" The fixtures are very showy and expensive
I don't make a point of those but the blue and
fawn is such a lovely contrast* and such a match
for my carpet. If there's any thing I do care about,
it's a match."
" But the price, wife, is enormous."
" But it is not more than Mrs. Johnson Smith
gave for hers."
" Are you sure of that ?"
" Positive ; Miss Saltus told me so, and Miss
Saltus made them up. I should not depend on
what Mrs. Johnson Smith said, for she always
makes it out that her things cost more than any-
body else's ; but I can rely on Miss Saltus."
" Well, if that's the case, take the blue and
fawn. I hope I can afford what Johnson Smith
can ; but mind and make your bargain with thai
Saltus woman beforehand ; work is slack just now,
and she can't afford to lie by with that old blind
mother on her hands. Get your work done as
Well and as cheap as you can ; for, remember, we
80 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
must avoid all unnecessary expenses. But what
keeps the dinner, my dear?"
" I am sure I don't know, my dear ; I have been
out making visits all the morning. Servants are
good for nothing now-a-days always trifling away
their time."
" What ails Sabina Jane ? seems to me she does
nothing but bawl."
Mrs. Finley opened the door to inquire, and in
rushed a pale little girl, with a bit of plum-cake in
her hand.
" Take care, Judy," said the mother, picking up
the crumbs the child profusely scattered ; " you
should not let Sabina Jane come into the parlour
it's no place for children."
" She would come, ma'am."
" Oh, Sabina Jane, my darling, go back to the
nursery, that's a good child."
" I won't, I won't !"
Mrs. Finley, in alow voice to the nurse " Coax
her, Judy tell her you'll take her out to walk."
" I can't take her out, ma'am my foot is lame."
" Oh, only just tell her so, to pacify her. Stop,
Sabina Jane, and listen to mother ; Sabina Jane
shall go out walking in Broadway, and have on her
pretty velvet cap, and her cloak, all trimmed with
pink there, that's a good girl ! now she'll go with
Judy. Get out her things, Judy make her look
like a little beauty !"
The little dupe returned to the nursery, and in
two minutes was bawling louder than ever, having
been quieted just that time by her mother's pre-
cious lesson in lying and vanity.
A PEEP INTO THE RICH POOR MAN'S HOUSE. 81
CHAPTER IX.
A PEEP INTO THE RICH POOR MAN'S HOUSE.
SEVEN years had not passed over without those
precious accumulations to Aikin that constitute the
poor man's wealth ; for, save a conscience void of
offence, there is no treasure comparable to healthy,
bright, well-trained children. <)ur friend Harry
and his wife had kept the even tenour of their way
no uncommon event had happened to them ; but,
as the river of life glides through a varied country,
the aspect of their's now varied from what it was
when we last saw them.
The floor of the room was partly covered with a
carpet, and the part visible as cTean as hands
could make it. It was summer, and the blinds
were closed, admitting only light enough to enable
the persons within to carry on their occupations.
Uncle Phil is sitting by the half-opened window,
with a year-old baby on his lap, telling over on its
toes that charming lyric, " this pig went to market,
and that pig stayed at home" Aunt Lottie was
preparing a pot of wholesome soup, which, like a
judicious housewife, having boiled the day before,
she was freeing from every particle of fat a little
girl, six years old, was tacking worsted binding to-
gether for Venitian blinds, whereby she got from
a manufacturer (working only at odd intervals)
82 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
half a dollar per week ; and at the same time
teaching a sister, something more than two years
younger, the multiplication-table Susan Aikin sat
by, her vigilant eye seeing every thing, and her
kind voice interposing, as often as the wants or
claims of the children rendered her interference
necessary. Her most difficult duty seemed to be
to keep in due order a restless, noisy little fellow,
William, the twin brother of her eldest girl, whom
she was teaching to write, while at the same time
she was tailoring and instructing in her art a young
girl, who had just set the last stitch in a vest of the
most costly material, and was holding it up for in-
spection ; a slight anxiety, till she heard the ap-
proving word, tempering her conscious success.
Susan scrutinized every part of it, every seam, but-
ton-hole, and button ; and then said
" There's not a fault in it I could not do one
better myself, Agnes."
Agnes burst into tears ; Anne looked up from
her work inquiringly; little Mary exclaimed,
" Such a big girl cry !" Willie said, " She is not
really crying ;" and the baby stretched out its
neck, and put up its lips to offer a kiss of consola-
tion, which Agnes took, smiling through her tears,
and saying, " Oh, I'm only crying because your
mother has been so good to me !"
" Well," shouted Willie, " that's a funny thing
to cry for !"
" That was not all, Willie," said his mother ;
" Agnes cries because she has been good herself."
" That's funnier yet ; we never cry only when
we are naughty."
Mrs. Aikin solved the riddle, and so will we
A PEEP INTO THE RICH POOR MAN S HOUSE. 83
Agnes was the eldest child of a worthy and very
poor neighbour of Mrs. Aikin. Her father had
been disabled for some months, by falling froyw *
building, and had recently died ; her mother had
lost her health from over-exertion. Agnes had an
idiot sister, and two brothers too young to render
the family any assistance. Mrs. Aikin, foreseeing
the distress of the family after they should have
exhausted the father's earnings, and knowing that
Agnes was a diligent and good girl, and had been
well taught plain sewing in a public school, offered
to instruct her in making vests, a very profitable
business to those who are skilled in it, and can
command work from the first merchant tailors.
There were some obstacles in the way : Agnes
could only be spared from home at odd intervals,
and often only at times very inconvenient to Susan
Aikin ; but who, as Susan said, would ever do any
good in this world if they made mountains of mole-
hills ? Those who saw her multiplied cares, her
bee-like industry, would rather have said she
made molehills of mountains. She always re-
ceived Agnes with a smile, always found a quiet
corner for her, and made leisure to attend to her.
Agnes, seeing the efforts and sacrifices her kind
friend made for her, set the right value upon the
good she was obtaining, and performed her part
with fidelity.
Many complaints are made of the low rates of
women's wages some just, no doubt ; but, for the
most part, they are paid according to their capaci-
ty. A well-qualified seamstress, tailoress, or mil-
liner, can, except in very rare cases, obtain certain
employment and good pay: a half-taught and
84 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
careless worker must take her chance for slop-
work, at low wages. Susan Aikin could at all
times command work from the most respectable
houses, was sure of the highest wages, and inci-
dental favours that she knew how to turn to ac-
count. " Now, Agnes, my child," she had said on
the day previous to this on which we have intro-
duced her young friend, " here is a trial vest for
you ; I have got leave from my employers to put
it into your hands ; you must set every stitch in
it ; and, if it is done to their satisfaction, you are to
have as much of their best work as you can do,
which is as good as a promise of six dollars a
week to you a sure support for your poor mother,
and helpless sister, and little brothers. Better, my
child, to trust to diligent, skilful hands, than to
widows' societies, and assistance societies, and so
on ; leave those for such as can get nothing better,
while we use the means of independence that
Providence has given us."
" But if I should fail, Mrs. Aikin ?"
" Why, then there is one comfort left, we can
try again ; but you will ,not fail."
Thus stimulated and encouraged, Agnes set to
work, and, as has been seen, accomplished her task,
and no wonder that she shed tears of joy when it
was done. Which, we would ask, was happiest
which richest ; he who paid fifteen dollars for the
vest, or she who earned the dollar by making it,
and thereby cheered the hearts of the desolate, and
brought comfort and light to a dreary home ? or,
which is happiest richest. ; she -who is lapped in
luxury, and is every day seeking some new and
expensive pleasure, or those who, like our friend
A PEEP INTO THE RICH POOR MAN ? S HOUSE. 85
Mrs. Aikin, in some obscure place, are using their
faculties and seizing their opportunities of doing
good, never to be known and praised by the world,
but certainly recorded in the book of life ?
While the vest was passing round to be exam-
ined and praised by Aunt Lottie, Uncle Phil, and
all, for their joys were in common in this little
family, Aikin entered, and had his share in the
general pleasure ; but his brow soon clouded.
Children are quick readers of faces they love.
" What is the matter, father ?" asked Willie ;
" is that ugly pain in your breast come again ?"
" No, something worse, Willie ; a pain in my
heart."
" What is the matter ?" asked Susan, anxiously.
Every eye now turned to Aikin.
" It's poor M'Elroy's troubles again. He called
me in as I was passing. There lay his wife on
the floor, dead drunk. Returning from the grocer's,
she slipped down the cellar stairs, and is so black
and bruised, her head so swollen, you would not
know her. The children were crying, and he
wringing his hands and saying, ' I can bear it no
longer.' He, every week of his life, earns more
than I do, and this bad woman wastes it. This
comes of marrying a poor, ignorant, ill-brought-up
girl, who had nothing but a pretty face to recom-
mend her. M'Elroy says his children are going
to destruction. She makes them play truant, sends
them out begging, puts lies into their mouths,
and, last and worse than all, gives them rum to
drink."
" Dear me ! dear me !" exclaimed Susan, " what
can be done for them ?"
H
86 THE POOR RICK MAN, ETC.
"He says but one thing he must turn her
adrift ; he has forgiven and forgiven till he is tired
of it,"
" Ah, there is but one Being that is never tired
of forgiving!"
" The poor fellow has been very patient, though;
but he says, for his children's sake, he must break
up ; they are going to ruin. He has engaged
places for them all but little Sam ; no one is wil-
ling to take him for the price M'Elroy can pay."
" Not willing to take Sam, father !" interrupted
Mary ; " I should think they would be willingest
of all to take Sam."
"Why, Mary?"
" Because he wants taking care of most."
" Ah, Mary, that's a rule few go by. It's no
joke," continued Aikin to his wife, " for the poor
fellow to board out himself and four children, for
there's not one of them yet old enough to earn his
own living."
" Sam's a bright boy," said Uncle Phil.
" And a poor, sickly little fellow, that's been cru-
elly neglected," said Aunt Lottie.
" It would be a comfort to see if care and man-
agement would not cure him," said Susan Aikin.
" M'Elroy can pay half a dollar a week, which
I think will pay for all the poor little fellow can
consume in his present state," said Aikin.
" It is an opportunity," said Susan, seeming to
think aloud.
" What did you say, Susan ?" asked her hus-
band.
" Nothing ; I was only thinking it was an op-
portunity." Her husband smiled. " Well," she
A PEEP INTO THE RICH POOR MAN*S HOUSE. 87
added, " I am superstitious about that : the oppor-
tunities are given, and it is our business to improve
them, and it always makes me feel bad when I
have let one slip by: the same never offers twice."
" Speak out plain, wife : what do you mean V 9
It was now Susan's turn to smile. " You know
what I mean, Harry. It would not be right for us
to run into any expense for a neighbour's child,
but care and kindness we can give they cost us
nothing. Lottie is the best of doctors, and I think,
among us, we could cure up little Sam ; and that
would be a comfort."
" But," asked her husband, " are you not afraid
to bring a child that has been in the hands of that
bad woman among our children ?"
" No, our children all pull one way ; and if they
see any thing wrong we shall know, for they are
true and open as the day. Poor little Sam has not
been sent into the streets like the other children ;
and, if he has caught some of their bad habits,
surely they may be cured in one so young. We
have no money to give away, husband ; but of such
as we have we can give, and hope for the Lord's
blessing upon the gift."
The whole family, old and young, were of
Susan's mind. The little boy was brought into the
shelter of their fold ; and soon, under the kind and
judicious management of Lottie and Susan, his
unstrung, weak, dropsical figure, was braced to
health and activity ; his eye brightened, and his
sallow cheek changed to the natural hue of child-
hood. Good principles and good habits were im-
planted, and good feeling cherished ; and he who
must have perished in a miserable childhood, or
88 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
have dragged on a mischievous, or, at best, a worth-
less existence, held up his head in after life among-
his fellows, a prosperous, useful, and respected
citizen.
Truly did Susan Aikin say, " God gives the
opportunity ;" and well did she improve it '
CHAPTER X.
THE RICH POOR MAN'S CHARITIES.
YEARS to the thirteenth of their marriage glided
on without any marked change in the condition of
the Aikins. Industry, frugality, skill, and sound
judgment, saved them from dependance and wants.
But they had a large family to supply ; two unpro-
ductive members, as we were about to designate
Uncle Phil and Charlotte, but this would be injustice
to them. Charlotte's thoughtfulness, and her doing
the light chores, saved Susan many an hour, which
she turned to account at her trade ; and Uncle Phil's
skill in baby-tending proved also a great economy of
the mother's time. There are certain persons in
this world that are most happily adapted to the
miscellaneous office of baby-tending. They are
your people that don't care about bringing any thing
to pass indisposed to great exertions certainly,
but not positively lazy ; easy-tempered and kind-
hearted, such as prefer the one-horse chaise travel-
ling to the locomotion of a railroad such was our
RICH POOR MAN'S CHARITIES. 89
good Uncle Phil. But with all Aikin's diligence,
and all his wife's efficiency, their inevitable expenses
exhausted their income, save that a small sum was
husbanded each year as a provision in case of sud-
den calamity. We confess that our friends re-
mained poor, in the common acceptation of the
word ; but whether those were really so who had
few desires ungratified who were enjoying the
essential blessings of life who were giving their
children, in the home school, the very best educa-
tion, and whose humble habitation was the abode
of health and contentment, we leave for those to
decide who have felt that these goods riches can-
not buy.
William, the eldest boy, was one morning stand-
ing by his father's cart in Pearl-street, when his
attention was attracted by a poor man, who, in
coming out of the door of a warehouse, staggered,
and, catching by the iron railing, sunk down on the
step. Half a dozen boys gathered about him, one
crying, " He's top-heavy !" Another, " Try it again,
old fellow !" " Drunken rascal !" muttered a gen-
tleman, passing along.
" I am not drunk," faintly replied the old. man.
" What is the matter, sir ?" asked William, draw-
ing near, as the other boys, perceiving their mistake
slunk away.
" I am starved, child !"
William looked round for his father he was ii
the warehouse and the boy ran into an oyster-
cellar, and expending his only shilling, returned
with a bit of bread and a saucer of hot oysters,
which the poor man devoured as if he were indeed
starving. Then lifting his grateful eye to William,
H2
90 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
and meeting his earnest and pitiful glance, he
burst into tears. At this moment Aikin appeared,
and William whispered to him what had occurred.
Aikin recognised the man as a person he had fre-
quently met during the preceding week inquiring
for work ; he put a few questions in a friendly
tone, that inspired the stranger with confidence ;
and, in return, he told him that he had been a poor
English curate that many years ago his youngest
daughter had married imprudently and come to
America that the last he had heard of her was
four years before, when he received a hasty, ille-
gible scrawl, in which she informed him that she
was a widow, and had embarked on board the ship
. from which she then wrote to return to him that
her child exhibiting symptoms of varioloid, she was
ordered off the ship, and knew not what was to be-
come of her. The father, after waiting till, as he
said, he could live and wait no longer, had con-
verted his little property into money, and come
with an elder daughter in search of the lost one.
He had arrived here at the beginning of the in-
clement season he had obtained no intelligence
of his child his eldest daughter, whose efficien-
cy and fortitude he mainly relied on, took a cold,
with which she languished through the winter, and
had died two weeks before. His health was broken,
his heart gone, and his little stock of money expend-
ed to the last farthing. Hunger had driven him
forth to seek employment to support a life that had
become a burden to him, but employment he could
not find : and, " when I sunk down here," he con-
cluded, " I was glad the time of release had come ;
THE RICH POOR MAN'S CHARITIES. 91
but when that little fellow spoke kindly to me, I
felt as if Providence had not forsaken me."
Aikin listened to the story, and was silent.
" What do you mean to do about him ?" whisper-
ed William, rightly interpreting his father's per-
plexity.
" I hardly know, Willie."" Oh," thought he,
" if Mr. Beckwith were only in town he has
money, and time, and a heart for every one's
need !"
After a moment's consideration, he determined
to go into the warehouse, not so much to apply to
its proprietor, Morris Finley, for aid, as to consult
with some gentlemen as to what aid had best be
extended to the stranger. One suggested the hos-
pital. JJThere was no reason for taking him there,
as he had no disease. The almshouse was pro-
posed by another. Aikin replied, that a trifling
present succour might save him from the degrada-
tion of public charity, and in a short time he might
earn his own support. Finley, after rummaging
his pockets, said he had no change ; and then ad-
ded, probably in reply to the contemptuous expres-
sion of Aikin's face, that there was no knowing
but the man was an impostor, and, besides, he made
it a rule never to give to strangers.
" It is a good time to make acquaintance with
a stranger," said Aikin, " when he is dying of star-
vation." Finley turned on his heel, and busied
himself in giving directions to his clerks, who but
half concealed the smile of satisfaction which hov-
ered on their lips at the " good rub," as they called
it, their master had got from Aikin. A gentleman
standing by gave Aikin five dollars, saying, " Yo\i
Q2 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
have good judgment employ this as you think
best for the poor man : I have money, but no time,
to give."
And what time has a New-York merchant, who
is making his thousands and tens of thousands,
engrossed as he is with projects and calculations,
and beset by the hopes and fears that accompany
the accumulation of riches, and their possible
loss what time has he for the claims of human
brotherhood ? what time to obey the injunction,
"Bear ye one another's burdens?" what time to
imitate his Divine Master in going about doing
good ? what time to seek the lost, raise the fall-
en, strengthen the weak, among his brethren the
children of one Father travellers to one home ?
He may find time for a passing alms, but for pro-
tection, for advice, for patient sympathy, for those
effective charities that his knowledge, station, and
influence put within his power, he has no time.
For what consideration does he cede this irre-
deemable treasure, time ? And when conscience
shall ask, " When thou wert conceiving schemes
of unlimited wealth, examining invoices, and
counting gains, where was thy brother . ? " will he not
wish to have been the rich poor man who, in the
name of Jesus, stretched forth his hand to that
neglected brother ?
When Aikin returned to the steps, he commu-
nicated the merchant's bounty to the stranger, and
added, " If you will get on to my cart, and go to
my house, my wife and I will try to make you
comfortable for the present, and look out for em-
ployment for you against you get your strength."
The stranger could not speak. His face, as he
THE RICH POOR MAN'S CHARITIES. 93
feebly moved towards the cart, expressed more
than words could.
" Where can he sleep, father ?" whispered Will-
iam, anticipating some little home perplexities.
" I don't know, my son ; but mother will con-
trive."
" Oh, so she will mother always does contrive
every thing for everybody."
Most, most happy are those children who have
William's confidence in the willing, active benevo-
lence of their parents. The Aikins had hit on the
right and only sure mode of teaching goodness.
" Who upon 'arth has Harry Aikin brought home
with him?" exclaimed Uncle Phil, who, as Aikin's
cart halted before the door, sat at the window, as
usual, tfrotting the baby on his knee. Susan Aikin
was busy at her needle, and did not look up till
Anne exclaimed
" It's some poor gentleman, mother !"
She then rose, and seeing her husband aiding
the stranger, and William standing with the door
wide open, his kind heart shining through his
bright face, she opened the inner door, drew Char-
lotte's rocking-chair to the fire, threw a dry stick
into the stove, and received the stranger with that
expression of cheerful, sincere hospitality, which
what is called high breeding only imitates.
" Sarvent, sir," said Uncle Phil, who would have
been nowise disconcerted if Aikin had brought
home a regiment. " Make your manners, Phil."
Little Phil crowed out his welcome, while Aunt
Lottie warmed a cup of her particularly nice gruel,
a cordial she saw the poor man wanted.
Aikin took his wife aside to explain the stran-
94 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
gers condition and wants ; this done, " I knew,
Susan," he said, " it would be a comfort to you to
do what you could for the poor man."
" Indeed is it, Harry, and no great trouble ei-
ther ; for you know we have plenty of beds and
bedding, and, now poor old Mr. Smith is gone, they
can spare us our cot, and I can make him up a nice
comfortable bed in father's room ; nothing ever
puts father out."
" Nor father's daughter, I think ; and that is why
I am sometimes afraid I shall impose on you."
" Impose on me, Harry ! in giving me an oppor-
tunity to do a kindness ! That is our chief com-
fort."
There are certain persons who do services for
their fellow-creatures as some children learn les-
sons as a task prescribed by authority. This
was not Susan's way. She never separated the
idea of duty from the deep abiding happiness that
resulted from its performance.
AN ORPHAN GIRL, 95
CHAPTER XL
AN ORPHAN GIRL.
MR. BARLOW (Barlow was the stranger's name)
soon revived under the influence of the Aikins
hospitalities. As he himself expressed it, kind-
ness was the medicine he wanted ; and every day
he felt its healing power.
" I am not two shillings out of pocket in a week
for the poor man," said Aikin ; u and I think, Su-
san, we take as much pleasure in seeing him re-
freshed at our table, as the rich do in their dinner-
parties. To tell the truth, Susan, though I suppose
no one but you would believe it, I never did wish
to change conditions with them."
" Nor I, I am sure ; they must have a great deal
of trouble. I often pity them. Not but that I am
willing to take trouble, but then it must be for
something to be got out of it."
This remark of Susan's led her husband to sug-
gest a project which, after various emendations
from her, was soon after carried into effect. They,
like all good parents, rich or poor, were steadfastly
intent on the advancement of their children. It
has been already seen how much our friends were
benefited by their early education the common
and paramount blessing of New-England. They
felt their children to be the gift of God, and, being
religious and reasoning beings, they fully realized
96 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
their responsibility to Him for the use and im-
provement of this best of his gifts. They were
sufficiently acquainted with the condition, laws,
institutions, and capabilities of their country, to
know how to train their children to profit by them,
and, when they became men and women, to reflect
honour on them. They sent them to school ; but
they well knew that schools could do but a small
part towards their education. Home was the
school in which they were to be taught, from the
first year of their existence, by day and by night,
in sickness and in health, and their parents were
to set them the copies which they were to follow.
Besides instruction in virtues and manners, which,
if not learned at home, are learned nowhere, they
improved every opportunity of adding to their
knowledge. Henry Aikin often devoted a leisure
moment to looking over a book-stall, where valua-
ble second-hand books are frequently to be ob-
tained at low prices. He had lately purchased a
work on natural history, with good plates, and he
now proposed that Mr. Barlow, who was well ac-
quainted with the subject, should give the children
some instruction upon it ; which, with the aid of
the books, might be made very attractive to them.
Susan suggested, that it was a pity such an oppor-
tunity should be confined to their children, and
mentioned two or three worthy families whose
children might be included. This led to an exten-
sion of the plan ; and it was finally concluded to
propose a social meeting, to be held successively
at the different families included. Mr. Barlow waa
to give a sort of lecture, and, after that was over,
the evening was to be passed socially. " If we
AN ORPHAN GIRL. 97
only had that little back room," said Susan, " we
should want for nothing." The little back room
was an apartment in a back building, with an en-
trance from the landing of the first flight of stairs.
It was neatly finished, had a communication of its
own with the yard, and a closet, large enough for
a bed, attached to it. The Aikins had long wished
to add it to their narrow accommodations, and more
than ever recently, for it had been rented to a
woman who, from her extreme shyness, her being
visited only occasionally by a person who called
himself her husband, and her having a little girl
dressed in tawdry and shabby finery, they deemed
a very undesirable neighbour. Uncle Phil, who
was the kindest-hearted gossip in the world, but
still a gossip, retained his country propensity to
know all about his neighbours' affairs. He was
much puzzled by the tenant of the back parlour,
and day after day repeated to Charlotte and Susan,
" Who can that woman be ? I can't get sight of
her face under that dum deep bonnet and veil ;
but her walk looks natural, and always puts me in
mind of some of our Essex folks."
" That's odd, Lottie," said Susan ; " don't you
remember my telling you one day, when she was
calling her little girl, that her voice sounded natu-
ral ?"
" Yes ; but she can't be any one we ever knew."
" I am sure I hope not."
"I hope not, too," said Uncle Phil, "but I do
feel for the little girl ; she looks so wishful after
our children, and she's pretty spoken."
" I feel for her, too," said Susan, " but I must
know something more about her before I should
I
98 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
feel it to be right to let the children associate with
her."
Uncle Phil was determined, as far as in him
lay, to remove this objection, and to make the
most of the first ^opportunity of rinding out some-
thing about the little stranger ; so, the first mild
sunny day, he stationed himself at the street door,
with the baby in his arms, sure that the little girl,
who frequently passed in and out, would be at-
tracted by the natural affinities of childhood. She
soon appeared, with a pitcher in her hand, on her
way to the pump. She would have been extreme-
ly pretty, but that she wanted the foundation of all
childhood's beauty health. Her eye was sunk-
en ; her cheeks pale, and lips blue ; and she
looked peaked and cold. Her dress was thin and
shabby. She had a soiled silk frock ; slippers
down at the heel ; a faded silk bonnet, with arti-
ficial flowers ; a carnelian necklace and ear-rings .
and a ragged French shawl. A sad contrast was
she to Anne and Ruth Aikin, who, in their school-
dress, with a pail between them, were preceding
her at the pump. They were* dressed in factory
frocks, and aprons with pockets ; gingham hoods ;
warm gray cloaks ; calf-skin shoes, and nice wool-
len stockings, of Aunt Lottie's knitting. On they
ran, chattering and giggling, while the little shiv-
ering stranger lagged alone behind them. " I
know very well, Mary," said Anne, in reply to
something from her sister, " mother don't like us
to keep company with girls she don't know; but,
then, I know mother would not object to our just
speaking kindly to her : I'll tell mother about it.
Little girl," raising her voice, " we've filled our
AN ORPHAN GIRL. 99
pail hold up your pitcher, and I'll pump that full."
The courtesies of childhood have more expression
than form. The stranger held up the pitcher till
the water ran over it, and followed the little girls
back with a lighter step. As she reached the
door-step, an impatient voice called, " Juliet ! Ju-
liet !" She ran up the stairs, set her pitcher with-
in the door, and eagerly returned, apparently in
the hope of again seeing the little Aikins ; but they
had gone in, and no one was at the door but Uncle
Phil and the baby. " So, your name is Juliet, is
it ?" he asked, eagerly seizing on a starting-point
wO begin his acquaintance.
" Yes, sir," replied Juliet, gently taking the hand
;he baby had stretched to snatch her ear-ring.
" Juliet what r pursued Uncle Phil.
" Juliet Smith, sir."
" Smith ?" ejaculated Uncle Phil, disappointed
at hearing a name that afforded no clew.
" Yes, Smith at least mother's name is Smith."
" Then yours is, sartin."
" No, it is not, sir she is not my real mother."
" Is not ? do tell ! what is your real mother's
name T
" My own mother is dead, sir."
" Well, what was her name, child ?"
" I don't know, sir ; take care, baby, don't pull
ray ear so."
" Be done, Phil poor little captain, he never
sees such notions our gals don't wear them. But
did you never ask your own mother's name ?"
" Yes, sir ; and she says she'll tell me all about
.er one of these days."
" Are you sure she is dead ?"
100 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" Sure, sir ! I saw her buried up in the ground."
The tears poured down the child's cheeks.
" I declare," said Uncle Phil, brushing his hand
across his own eyes, and then drawing Juliet close
to him " is that person you call mother kind to
you T he asked.
" Sir ! almost always she is sometimes she is
dreadful sleepy and sometimes she she don't feel
well and then she gets angry very easy."
" Was your own mother kind to you ?"
" My own mother ! indeed, indeed she was
always."
" Poor little child ! I feel for you. How long
since she died ?"
" I don't know ; I know it was winter-time, and
we had not any wood, when Mrs. Smith came into
our room but it was not last winter and I don't
know when it was."
" Was this woman up stairs any kin to you ?"
" No, she did not even know mother before that
time she was angry about something when she
came in ; but, when she saw how sick mother was,
and that I was lying close to her to warm her, for
I told you we had not any wood, sir, she seemed
very sorry for mother, and she cried and mother
sent me out of the room and she took care of
mother almost all the time till she died it was not
long, though for I remember there was a bit of
the loaf of bread she brought lying by mother when
she died. Now I am afraid she is getting sick
just as mother was, for she coughs all night."
Before Uncle Phil had time for any more inter-
rogatories, Juliet was again called, and he went
AN ORPHAN GIRL. 101
into his daughter's room to enjoy the next best
pleasure to hearing news, viz. telling it.
" So, you see," he said, concluding his story,
" it was not strange I felt a kind of yearning to-
wards that poor child ; and since she's turned to
be an orphan-like, neglected little body, I hope,
gals (to Charlotte and Mrs. Aikin), you'll take her
by the hand."
Never were persons more ready to listen ^to
such counsel. Mrs. Aikin had forbidden all inter-
course with the forlorn little stranger, but the case
now assumed a new aspect ; and, when Aikin came
home to dinner, their duty to the child was dis-
cussed in a committee of the whole family ; Uncle
Phil, as was his wont, spoke first. His thoughts
were all on the surface, and, as soft substances ea-
sily melt, they naturally ran into words.
" It's my firm opinion," he said, " that this Miss
Smith is not a great deal better than she should be
I always suspect your people that ain't sociable
and open-hearted ; and what kind of a husband is
that she's got, that comes slinking in, his face
buried in the cape of his cioak ? They'll jusc bring
up that child and she's a capital child, I tell you
to destruction. I feel as if you ought to do
something about it."
" What can we do, Susan ?" said Aikin, appeal-
ing to his wife.
" I don't know ; but, as father says, I feel as if
it would be a comfort to do something."
" I have two pairs of nice warm stockings that
would about fit her," said Aunt Lottie, " and our
children are supplied for the winter."
" Oh, mother !" said Anne, " mayn't she have
12
102 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
one of my warm frocks ? I can do with one, and
she looks so shivery !"
" And, father," said William, " if you will only
give her the rest, I will give her my four shillings
towards a pair of good shoes. I saw her coming
in the other day, with her feet so wet and cold
that she could not help crying."
" Mother," said little Ruth, " can't you and
Aunt Lottie cdntrive her such a petticoat as you
made for me, of old pieces, with cotton quilted
between them ? you may take my patchwork for
the lining."
" My friends," said Mr. Barlow, who sat listen-
ing with extreme interest to these promptings of
the heart, " may I put in my mite ? Cannot the
little girl come into our evening class ? She may
gain something from my instructions, and she can-
not fail to profit by intercourse with your children."
The Aikins most cheerfully acquiesced in this
suggestion. " The warm garments," Susan said,
" would only be a present comfort, but a good done
to her mind would be lasting ; and she feared no
evil to arise to her children while their intercourse
with the little stranger was under her own eye."
Blessed are those families who call within their
fold some of the wandering lambs of the flock !
One more point was to be gained. The insupera-
ble obstacle to conferring a benefit often arises
from the party to be benefited. Mrs. Aikin was
desirous to see Juliet's present protector. Some
curiosity, we do not deny, she felt to see, face to
face, the person whose gait and voice had struck
her father and herself as familiar; but she was
mainly anxious to ascertain the child's condition
AN ORPHAN GIRL. 103
and prospects. She therefore intercepted Julifit
in the entry, and asked her to tell her mother she
wished to speak with her. Juliet returned imme-
diately, saying, " Her mother was too busy."
" Come down, then, Juliet, and let me know as
soon as she is at leisure." Juliet smiled, bowed
her head assentingly, and was seen no more that
day. The next, a similar effort was baffled by a
like evasion. On the third, Mrs. Aikin went her-
self to the door, knocked, and, after some bustle,
Juliet opened a crack, just enough to show her
face, which was died with blushes, as she said,
" Mother says she don't wish at any time to see
strangers."
" Then let the door remain ajar, Juliet, while I
speak to her." She concisely communicated her
plan, and requested that Juliet might regularly at-
tend with the class. When she had finished,
" Oh, please please, ma'am," said Juliet, " wait
one minute !"
Again the door was shut, and there were earnest
whisperings within ; the latch was then lifted, and
Juliet most joyfully cried " I may come, I may
come !"
There is one thing more delightful than to make
a child happy the expectation that the happiness
will lead to permanent good
104 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
CHAPTER XII.
" SOCIETY" AT THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE.
f
"Be ye given to hospitality."
ALL the preliminaries were arranged, and the
time arrived for the first sociable, as the parties had
agreed to call their meeting. They all belonged,
according to the common classification, to the
lower orders shame to us that we do not abjure
terms inappropriate to our country. Our humble
friends, having no help, were obliged to make con-
siderable efforts to effect their meetings ; but when
persons set about in earnest to obtain a moder-
ate good, they will find, or make a way, to com-
pass the means. Aunt Lottie was always at home
to see to the youngest children there was a care-
taking old grandmother in one family another
had a kind " Cousin Sally" ready to lend a hand
and one good mother " would manage any way
rather than lose such a privilege for her children."
So, at six o'clock, the prescribed time, the members
of the sociable, numbering thirty, parents and chil-
dren included, assembled at the Aikins'. Their
room had the air of comfort that tidiness and ju-
diciou arrangement can give to the commonest
apartment. The bed (it must be remembered the
Aikins were yet obliged to make one room serve
for kitchen, bedroom, and parlour), the bed was
made up as nicely as a shaking Quaker's, and cov-
" SOCIETY" AT THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE. 105
red by a patchwork quilt the work and pride of
the little Aikins, and the admiration of the matrons.
A substantial rag carpet was spread over the mid-
dle of the floor. The stove, a mournful substitute
for the cheerful, open fireplace of the olden time,
was black and shining as stove could be. Uncle
Phil's cushioned chair, and Aunt Lottie's stuffed
one, stood on either side of the stove. The win-
dow-ledges were filled with the prettiest screens
plants, Aunt Lottie's charge the stoutest in pots,
and the nurslings in well-patched teapots and mugs.
A Connecticut clock (bless the economical artists
that have placed within the reach of every poor man
this domestic friend and faithful monitor) stood on
the mantel-piece. A curtain was drawn aside from
two book-shelves, filled with excellent books; the
most conspicuous were a Bible, a Hymn-book, the
Pilgrim's Progress, a Compend of Universal Histo-
ry, History of America, the American Revolution, a
Life of Washington, and a Constitution of the Uni-
ted States, bound up with Washington's Farewell
Address. Underneath these shelves was a pine
table, with a pile of books, slates, and writing-
books, two clearly-burning lamps on it, and a
chair for Mr. Barlow and benches for the children
beside it. A smaller table was placed in the mid-
dle of the room ; and on it, bright as burnished
gold, two brass candlesticks, which Susan had in-
herited from her grandmother, and which proudly
bore two good mould candles of her thrifty grand-
child's running. On another table, under the glass,
was 3 waiter, with a nice napkin, which covered a
simple treat of biscuits and butter, cakes, nuts, and
apples ; and on the stove a pot of cocoa.
106 THE fOOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" We none of us," Harry Aikin had said, when
arranging the sociables with his friends," spend a
penny at the dram-shop, so we may well afford
a little family cheer at home, where wives and chil-
dren can partake with us ; and thus the good things
God gives us may be used to nourish our affections.''
May not this be esteemed a mode of obedience to
the Christian law eating and drinking to the glory
of God 1
Our details may be tiresome ; but do they not
show that, in this country, real comforts, and even
the best pleasures of life hospitality, liberality,
and charity can be attained by the poor, if intel*
ligent and managing? that they are not compelled,
even the less-favoured portions of them, to exhaust
life in painful efforts to keep soul and body togeth-
er? but that, by exertion and contrivance, they
may cultivate their own and their children's minds
and hearts, and advance them in that upward
course open to all. Let others glory in the
countries of luxuries and the arts ; let us thank
God that ours is filled with blessings for the poor
man.
Mr. Barlow selected the horse and the cow, as
the most useful animals to man, for the subjects of
his first lecture. He was a sincerely and earnest-
ly religious man ; and he believed ignorance to be
the most fruitful source of irreligion, and that, the
more the mind was awakened to the wonders of
creation, the more it understood of the wisdom and
benevolence of the contrivances of the Creator,
the more certainly would it reject the bad seed of
infidelity that is sowed at broadcast with such
cruel industry,
"SOCIETY" AT THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE. 107
The children, at first, thought they knew every
thing to be known about horses and cows ; some
of their parents thought so too, and looked up to
the clock, secretly hoping the lecture would not
last long ; but while Mr. Barlow described, in the
simplest possible terms, the structure of these ani-
mals the provisions for their own enjoyment, and
their adaptation to the wants of man, while he
told particulars of their history and habits in differ-
ent countries, and related some authentic anec
dotes of them the clock struck seven, and the
pointer was approaching to eight when he finished,
He was saluted with the most unequivocal of all
compliments to speakers, of, " Oh, how short l' r
and, " Please, Mr. Barlow, go on." He thanked
the audience for their attention; said he would
put off going on till the next meeting, when he ex-r
pected the children would show him their books,
with the best drawings they could make of a horse
and a cow, and as much of his lecture as they
could remember, neatly written down. The chil-
dren then formed into little knots, some playing at
jack-straws and some at checkers. The treat was
served, and Sam M'Elroy (now a sturdy boy, ap-
prenticed to a farmer on Long Island) proposed to
his companions that they should pick out nuts for
the girls. While this boyish gallantry was being
executed, " Do you really believe, William Aikin,"
said John Miner, " all Mr. Barlow said about
horses ? I know very well they are so made as
to be strong, and fleet, and spry ; but do you really
believe a horse has thoughts and feelings? I think
it's just of a piece with a fairy story."
" That's because, John, you are not acquainted
108 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC
with horses. I am sure father's horse knows more
than some men, and feels more, too. When I go
into the stable, he turns his head and gives me a
look that all but says, ' How d'ye do, Will ?' and
he will lay his head against me just as our baby
does ; that must be feeling, John : he don't do so
to a stranger. He knows, as well as I do, the
places he is in the habit of stopping at ; arid if you
could see how impatient he is to get home to his
stable at night, you would own he had hope or
expectation, and there must be thought for that
thought of the rest and food that's coming. I don't
know the truth of what Mr. Barlow says about the
superior intelligence of horses in Asia, where they
are treated like companions and friends ; but I be-
lieve it, for, as far as I have seen, whatever thinks
and feels is the better for being well treated."
"That's true, I believe, William," said Sam
M'Elroy ; " Mr. Birt has a little heifer among his
cows that is the crossest, snarlingest thing you
ever saw : not one of the boys or men either can
milk her, but she'll stand as patient as a lamb to
Nannie Smith. I told you about Nannie : she is
the girl that is so kind to everybody ; and she al-
ways speaks softly to the heifer, and pats her, and
strokes her, and the men kick her and beat her."
" Well, then, Sam," resumed John Miner, " I
suppose you think cows have feelings ?"
" Cows have feelings ! to be sure I do. You
should see a cow meet her calf after they have
been apart a day ; and you should hear her moan-
ings when the calf is taken away from her.
Ah," added the poor boy, sighing, as some pain-
ful recollections pressed on him, " cows have a
great deal more feeling than some mothers."
" SOCIETY" AT THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE. 109
" Well," said John Miner, after a little reflec-
tion, " I don't know but Mr. Barlow and you are
right, boys. Any how, I hope I never shall abuse
an animal as I have seen some people. I think
don't you, William? people would be a great deal
better if they knew about things."
" Yes, I do, John ; and I was thinking almost
the, very same thing when Mr. Barlow was ex-
plaining to us some parts of the anatomy of the
horse and cow. I thought, when God had seemed
to take such pains to contrive them, so that they
might enjoy their lives, it was a horrid shame for
men to beat, and kick, and maim God's wonderful
work."
" And did not you think," asked Sam, " that
part of it was good where he spoke of men beat-
ing horses and swearing at the same time call*
ing on God, as it were, to witness their abuse of
his creatures 1 I guess, if they only stopped to
think a minute, they would not do so."
" There is great use," replied William, " as Aunt
Lottie always says, in thinking beforehand, and
beginning right. Now, would it not be a good
plan for us to draw up a paper, and sign it, re-
solving always to be kind and thoughtful for ani-
mals ?" The boys readily agreed to the proposi-
tion. They retired to the writing-table. William
wrote the resolution. They all signed it, and left
it in his safe keeping ; and many a dumb creature
has since profited by it.
Little Ruth Aikin had drawn her stool clofse to
Mr. Barlow, and was picking out nuts for him,
while Juliet was paring his apple.
" That was a funny story you told, sir," said
K
110 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
Ruth, " about a cow being mother to a baby, out
in the new country ; did she really lie down for
the poor little thing to suckle her, and low when
she was creeping towards her ?"
" Why, yes, Anne," answered Juliet, anticipating
Mr. Barlow's reply ; " and don't you remember how
she licked over the baby's head and face, just as
she would have done her calf's 1 I think such a
mother is the best if you lose your real one."
" Why, Juliet, how funny !"
" You would not think I felt funny," whispered
Juliet to Ruth, with the confidence natural to child-
hood, " if you knew I had not eaten any thing to-
day but a bunch of raisins, and they tasted hor-
ribly."
" Raisins taste horribly that can't be," replied
Ruth, who had not tasted them above twice in her
life.
" They did and so does cake very often to me,
when we have not any thing else. Mother, as I
call her, sometimes sleeps all day, and she forgets
we have not any thing to eat."
" Do eat some biscuits, Juliet."
" I can't I am not hungry ; I hardly ever am
hungry now-a-days."
" How strange, when you have raisins and cake,
and I don't get any thing but a bit of dry bread for
supper ; but I'm so hungry it always tastes good."
Poor Juliet, while little Ruth was plump and
rosy on her dry bread, was suffering the cruel ef-
fects of irregular and improper food.
Not one of the company enjoyed the sociable
more than Uncle Phil ; to be sure, he took a long
sound nap during Mr. Barlow's lecture ; but, when
" SOCIETY ' AT THE POOR MAN S HOUSE. Ill
that was over, he endorsed every word of it, aver-
ring that horses and cows were knowing critters
and remarking with delightful complacency " It's
a great privilege for the young folks to meet togeth-
er with them that's seen life, and knows as much
as we do."
" Why, yes," said Caleb Miner, whose rugged fea-
tures expressed a general discontent, " it's a kind
of a privilege, to be sure, and thanks to you, Aikin,
for thinking of it ; a poor man, and a poor man's
children, have but few privileges in this life ; work,
work, and no play ; while the rich have nothing
to do but enjoy themselves."
" Enjoy themselves if they can, and work too,"
replied Henry Aikin, with a smile. " I often drive
home at nightfall with a light heart, for my work
is done, my wages earned and paid ; and I leave
the merchants who employ me standing over their
desks, their brows drawn up to a knot with care
and anxiety ; and there they stay till seven, eight,
or nine o'clock, looking over puzzling accounts,
calculating gains or losses, as the case may be. If
there are such rich men as you speak of, Miner, they
are beyond my knowledge. I don't know that you
join in it ; but, I must say, I think there is a useless
and senseless outcry against rich men. It comes
from the unobserving, ignorant, and unreflecting.
We must remember that, in our country, there are
no fixed classes ; the poor family of this generation
is the rich family of the next ; and, more than that,
the poor of to-day are the rich of to-morrow, and
the rich of to-day the poor of to-morrow. The
prizes are open to all, and they fall without favour.
Our ricb people, too, are, many of them, among the
THE POOR KICK MAN, ETC.
very best persons in society. I know some such
there is Mr. Beckwith, he has ten talents, and a
faithful steward is he ; he and his whole family are
an honour and blessing to their country doing in
every way all the good they can. Such a rich man
as Morris Finley I despise, or rather pity, as much
as you or any man can ; but, pray, do not let us
envy him his ricnes they are something quite in-
dependent of himself ; and, can a man be really
poorer than he is a poor mind, a poor heart that
is the poverty to shun. As to rich men being at
their ea&e, Miner, every new acquisition brings a
new want a new responsibility."
" But, Aikin, Aikin now, candidly, would you
not be willing to take their wants and responsibili-
ties with their purses ?"
" I cannot say, Miner ; money is the represent-
ative of power the means of extended usefulness ;
and we all have dreams of the wonderful good we
should do if we had these means in our hands.
But this I do know, that, till we are conscious of
employing, and employing well, the means we have,
we ought not to crave more. But let us look at
the matter in the right point of view. We are all
children of one family all are to live here a few
years some in one station, and some in another.
We are all of us, from the highest to the lowest,
labourers in our Father's field ; and as we sow, so
shall we reap. If we labour rightly, those words
of truth and immense import will sound in our ears
like a promise, and not like a threat. We shall
work at our posts like faithful children, not like
tasked slaves ; and shall be sure of the riches that
perish not in the using. As to all other riches, it
" SOCIETY" AT THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE. 113
is not worth our while to covet or envy them ; ex-
cept in some rare cases, we have all, in this coun-
try, gifts and means enough. As to property, I am
the poorest man of you all."
"Yes, yes, Aikin; but youVe every thing else
what is the little advantage we have in property,
compared to your education, and so forth ?"
This argument Aikin could not sincerely gain-
say ; but, anxious to impart some of his sentiments
to his friends, he proceeded
" Among us working-men, property is a sign of
industry, ingenuity, temperance, and frugality ;
therefore, I am anxious to make what excuse I can
for being so much poorer than the rest of you.
You know I began with a broken-down constitu-
tion, and have never been able to perform half the
labour of a sound man ; but I have taken care of
what strength I had 1 selected a healthy business
I have been strictly temperate, not only in drink-
ing, but in eating and this, with always a clean,
cheerful home to come to, has made me a stouter
man at forty than I was at three-and-tvventy. In
the meantime, I have seen many a lawyer grow-
ing rich, and, just when he has laid up much goods,
falling a prey to disease contracted sitting at an
office table, performing labour that some of us might
fancy no labour at all ; but which is proved, by its
effects, to be much harder than our work. Mer-
chants, too, whom I remember, bright and blooming,
have gone on laying up their thousands and tens of
thousands going from fagging in their counting-
houses to feasting like kings ; and, at forty-five or
fifty, look at them they have houses, and lands,
and coaches, to be sure, but do they enjoy them?
K2
114 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
There is John Marlow, of the house of Marlow,
Minter, & Co. why, he would give half his foi>
tune to be able to eat those nuts you are eating,
Miner, and go to bed and sleep as you will after
them. Look at Morris Finley his face looks to
me like an account-book, written over with dollars
and cents, as if he had coined his soul into them.
And there is Robson, of the house of Robson & Co.
I remembe-r his hair as black, glossy, and thick
as your John's, and his colour as pure red and
white ; now, he has a scratch on the top of his
head his eyes buried in unwholesome fat his
skin mottled, and he lives between his counting-
house and Broadway, in continual dread of an ap-
oplexy. How juany Pearl-street merchants over
five-and-thirty are dyspeptics ?"
" But, mercy on us, Aikin! you don't suppose
money is infected with dyspepsy ?"
" No ; but I do suppose that those who make it
an end, and not a means, pay the penalty of their
folly. I do suppose that the labour and anxiety of
mind attending the accumulation and care of it,
and the animal indulgences it procures, are a very
common means of destroying the health. Now,
Miner, have we not a greater chance for health,
which we all allow to be the first of earthly bles-
sings, than the rich? Then, we have some ad-
vantages for the education of our children which
they cannot get. You may say, necessity is a
rough schoolmaster, but his lessons are best taught.
The rich cannot buy books, or hire masters, that
will teach their children as thoroughly as ours are
taught by circumstances, industry, ingenuity, fru-
gality, and self-denial. Besides, are not our little
"SOCIETY'* AT THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE. 115
flocks mutual assistance and mutual kindness so-
cieties r
" They are, that's true they are ; and though.
I must own mine ain't brought up like yours, and
they do have their little sprees and flashes, yet
they are open-handed to one another, and take
part with one another in their pleasures, and troub-
les, and battles, and so on. But go on, Aikin ; I
feel as if I were growing richer every sentence
you utter."
Before Aikin could proceed, a hand-bell rung
loudly and impatiently, the well-known signal for
poor little Juliet. The children gathered around
her to express their unwillingness to part with her,
and William Aikin, in his eagerness, stumbled
over Miner's foot, which was in rather an obtru-
sive position. " Oh, Mr. Miner, I beg your par-
don," said the little fellow.
" There, now," said Miner, " that puts me in mind
of what I am often grumbling at ; your children
are an exception ; but how, in the name of nature,
are our children to learn manners in our rough and
tumble way of living ? Can you figure that out ?"
" Why, Miner, manners, for the most part, are
only the signs of qualities. If a child has a kind
and gentle disposition, he will have the out-
ward sign ; if he have the principle that teach-
es him to maintain his own rights, and not en-
croach on those of others, he will have dignity
and deference, which I take to be qualities of the
best manners. As to forms of expression, such as
my boy used when he stumbled over your foot,
they are easily taught : this I call women's work.
They are naturally more mannerly than we.
116 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
There are, to be sure, certain forms that are in use
by what are called the ' polite world' that we can
know nothing of; but they are not essential to the
spirit of good manners. Ours, I believe, is the only
country where those who compose the lower
classes have the power and the means of good
manners ; for here there is no sense of degrada-
tion from the necessity of labour. Here, if we
will, the poorest of us can get education enough
for our children to make them feel the dignity of
their nature arid destiny, and to make them realize
the real equality of rights on which the institutions
of the country are based. Self-respect is the real
basis of good manners. It makes my blood boil to
see the manners of the low-born who come here
from the old countries their servility, their mean-
ness, their crouching to their superiors when they
expect a favour, and their impertinence, and dis-
obligingness, and downright insolence, when the
power is in their own hands. They are like horses
used to being guided and driven, and know no
more than they would how, without harness, reins,
and blinders, to do their duty."*
* While writing this page, a circumstance has come to my
knowledge that, illustrates my theory of the effect of condition
upon manners. Our streets, since the last snow-storm, even
the side-walks, are almost impassable with masses of snow and
ice. M., a distinguished exile, and his wife, who earn an hon-
ourable living by imparting the accomplishments of their more
fortunate days, were returning from their lessons. The hack-
ney-coach had disappointed them. M., deprived of one leg,
found it impossible to use his crutches on the ice. They stopped
at the corner of a street. The packed omnibuses passed them.
Private sleighs, from which, as they drew up to turn the corner,
they heard expressions of compassion, also, like the Levite,
passed on. Two labouring men offered their aid : one carried
M 's crutches, the other all but carried him to his own door
"SOCIETY" AT THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE. 117
" You say, Harry," interposed Mrs. Aikin, " that
it is women's work to teach manners to the chil-
dren; but, don't you think they learn them mostly
from example ?"
" Certainly I do ; manners, as well as every
thing else. Man is called an imitative animal
You can tell by the actions of a child a year old
what sort of people it has lived with. If parents
are civil and kind to one another, if children
never hear from them profane or coarse language,
they will as naturally grow up well-behaved as that
candle took the form of the mould it was run in."
" But," said Miner, who was willing to shift off
the consequences of some of his short-comings up-
on inevitable chances, " suppose you do set a bright
example at home, you can't shut your children up
there they've got to go out, and go to school, and
hear and see every thing under the sun."
" Yes, Mr. Miner," replied Susan Aikin, " but
it's surprising, if they are taken care of at home,
how little any thing out of doors seems to harm
them."
" I tell you what, Miner," said Uncle Phil, glad
of an opportunity to cut in, " what our folks call
taking care is a pretty considerable chore, it's
doing a little here, and doing a little there, and al-
ways doing."
" Wife !" called out Miner to his helpmate, who
had just given her child a cuff for treading on her
toe, " wife, I depend on your remembering all
when they both respectfully took their leave, declining the
compensation (a most liberal one) which M. offered, accustomed
to countries where the services of the poor have always their
money value.
118 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
this : you know TV e a dreadful poor memory; and
I want you to tell it over to the children."
Poor Miner, in spite of all Henry Aikin's hints,
continued in the common error of expecting to
effect that by precept which is the work of exam-
ple, patiently repeated, day after day, and year
after year.
The conversation then took a more miscellane-
ous turn. The women talked over their domestic
affairs, and the men ran upon politics, showing
themselves sufficiently enlightened, and as disin-
terested as we wish all politicians were. At half
past nine they separated, cheerful, and, we trust,
profited ; and, as they heard the carriages rum-
bling along the streets that were then conveying
the earliest of our fashionables to their crowded
parties, we think our humble friends had no reason
to contrast their social pleasures unfavourably with
those of the rich, but that they might feel that
their meeting together, as Uncle Phil said. " in this
neighbourly way, was a privilege.'.
CHAPTER XIII
" SOCIETY" AT THE RICH MAN'S HOME.
" The labour of the foolish wearieth every one of them."
WE change the scene to a fine new house, in a
fashionable quarter of the city: Mrs Finley alights
from her own carriage, and meets her daughter at
the door, her face full of something she had to
119
communicate. " Oh, mamma," she exclaimed,
" who was that that came into Morrison's thread
and needle store just as you passed ? a lady with
an ermine boa, you bowed to her."
" Mrs. Kingson. Why, Sabina Jane ?"
" The lady that was with her asked her, when
they got into the shop, who she bowed to ? She
said, ' That Mrs. Finley that left her card at my
house !' ' Does she keep a carriage V asked the
other lady ; and then she took up her eye-glass-
and looked after you, and said, so everybody might
have heard her in the shop, i Liveries ! and a coat
of arms ! no wonder we are a laughing-stock to
foreigners.' "
" Well," answered the perturbed and perplexed
mother, " I do wonder what is the harm of liveries ?
It is next to impossible to find a servant that is
willing to wear them ; that's a proof they are gen-
teel ; and then, as to the coat of arms, I am sure
the man that made the harness said it was the
latest pattern he had in his shop. That coach,"
she continued, " has been nothing but a plague to
me. Your father is always fretting about the ex-
pense, and complaining that the coachman cheats
him ; and John will do * nothing but drive the
horses ; and everybody that has a coachman in
livery has a footman, and your father thinks the
waiter can turn into a footman when I want one,
but he don't know how inconvenient that is. No-
body knows, but them that has them, the trials of
keeping a carriage."*
* One of these incidental trials was met by a ready ingenui
ty that deserves a more enduring preservation than we can
give it. A gentleman told his coachman to bring him a pitcher
of fresh water from the pump. " I can't, sir."** Why not 2"
120 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" Then, mamma, why do you keep one ?"
" Don't ask such silly questions, Sabina Jane."
A servant entered. " Mrs. Finley, here are the
notes that have come in since you went out." Mrs.
Finley took them eagerly. She had sent out in-
vitations for a party, and she was anxious to know
who had accepted and who refused. The first she
opened was from the teacher of her only son Ar-
thur William, informing her that Master Arthur was
behind-hand in all his studies, and that, unless his
lessons were superintended at home, he feared he
must dismiss the boy, as the reputation of his
school depended on the progress of his scholars.
" This is too bad," said Mrs. Finley ; " I won-
der what we pay him for but to teach ? Mr. Bel-
tarn always said Arthur was a prodigy when he
went to his school."
" But, mamma, you said Arthur could not read
when he had been to Mr. Beltam's two years."
" What's that to the purpose, miss ? Mr. Bel-
tarn never sent in any complaints. I will not
make myself a slave to looking after your lessons
at home ; I have not health for it : besides, your
father and I never studied Latin, and French, and
philosophy, and them things."
" I wonder what you did study, mother ?"
" For shame, Sabina Jane ! I am sure your
father understands every kind of arithmetic."
" Does he, mother ? I did not know he under-
stood any thing."
" 'Tis not my business." " What the deuse is your business ?"
" Taking care of the carriage, sir." " Bring up the carriage,
then." The carriage came : " John" (to the waiter), " get into
the carriage, and bring me a pitcher of fresh water from the
pump."
" SOCIETY" AT THE RICH MAN'S HOUSE. 121
It was difficult to decide whether this was said
with simplicity or impertinence. Unfortunate, in-
deed, are those children who, with their acquisi-
tions, acquire a contempt for their parents' igno-
rance. The next note opened was a polite notice
to Mrs. Finley, from Mademoiselle A , that a
box of newly-arrived Parisian millinery would be
opened for her patrons' inspection the next morn-
ing. " Very attentive in Mademoiselle !" said
Mrs. Finley, when unfortunately the pleasure of
being a patron was checked by one of the usual
penalties for such distinctions. A bill had dropped
from within the note, which the little girl handed
to her mother, reading the amount, $57 45. "How
very provoking !" exclaimed Mrs. Finley ; " she
might better have sent it at any other time : your
father frets so about the expenses for the party.
I am sure they are necessary; but 1 can't ask him
for the money to pay Mademoiselle now, that's
certain ; so, throw the bill in the fire, Sabina Jane ;
and, when Mademoiselle sends for the money, I
tan say I haven't got the bill."
" Yes, mamma, and you can say it must have
dropped out ; it did drop, you know."
" That's well thought of, Sabina Jane, and no
lie either." Thus did this poor child receive from
her weak mother a lesson in fraud, lying, and hy-
pocrisy. Mrs. Finley proceeded in the examina-
tion of her notes. " ' Mrs. Dilhurst accepts,' &c.
Oh, I knew she would accept ; I wonder when
she ever refused 1 ' Mrs. Kingson regrets an en-
gagement,' <fec. What a shame it is for people
to lie so ! She cannot have an engagement a fort-
night ahead!" We have not space to give the
L
122 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
various returns Mrs. Finley then read and re-
ceived in the course of the day. She had made
a great effort to assemble a party of fashionable
people : she had, to use the current word, cut
those of her acquaintance that might be suspected
of vulgarity ; and she had left her cards at the
houses of those who had been all their lives, and
their parents before them, in the best society.
She was sure Mrs. Kingson, at whose request she
had repeatedly subscribed to societies, would ac-
cept ; and, if Mrs. Kingson accepted, the Misses
would, and then the Raron de would,
and then the success of her party was secured.
Presuming upon all this, no expense had been
spared : the Kendall band had been engaged ; and
the party was to be as brilliant as music, lights,
china, glass, and the luxuries of the season could
make it. Finley, whose vanity was his next
strongest passion to his cupidity, had been lavish
of his money. Every thing his wife asked for he
had granted, with one single reservation : he had
stood at bay at a pate de foie gras,* which his
wife maintained to be essential. " What, thirty
dollars," he said, " for what was nothing, after all,
but a pie of geese's livers ! no, he could not go
that !" and Mrs. Morris Finley, more prudent than
some wives, never urged when morally certain of
urging in vain.
* As we hope to have readers who never heard of a pott de
foie gras, we inform them that it is an eatable not very rare at
evening parties. It is a pie imported from France, and cost-
ing, if we are correctly informed, from twenty to fifty dollars.
An unnatural enlargement of the liver of geese is produced by
confining the bird, and subjecting it to artificial heat. We hard-
ly know which most to admire, the mercy of the ingenious gas-
tronomist who devised this luxury, or the taste of its consumers
" SOCIETY" AT THE RICH MAN'S HOUSE. 123
Poor Mrs. Finley, with every luxury that money
could buy, felt deeply mortified at the absence of
that which money could not buy. There is a cer-
tain aristocracy in our city that is most carefully
guarded. It is said that the barriers here may be
as easily passed as the fences that enclose our
fields, so mildly contrasting with the thorny hedges
of the aristocracy of the parent land. But it is
not so. All that we would ask is, that the terms
of admission might be settled on the right ground. t
However, we leave this to be arranged by the par-
ties concerned, and proceed to the facts in the
case of Mrs. Morris Finley. Her husband cared
nothing about the matter ; but that it should appear
Morris Finley was among the first good society
(so called), he looked upon as a part of his mon-
ey's worth a fair return for his expenditure, and
therefore he had his full part in his wife's mortifi-
cation, when, after ^11 her pushing, her arts and
trucklings, her shirking this old acquaintance and
cutting that relation, their empty places were not
filled by bright names in the fashionable world.
Two or three, stars wandered from their sphere
into Mrs. Finley's orbit ; some from motives ari-
sing from a business-relation with Finley, and
others from good-nature peculiar to the individu-
als. But these few lights only served to show the
general darkness. Such vain ambition as the Fin-
leys' might be cured, if comments like the follow-
ing were overheard.
" Mrs. Kingson, do you mean to accept Mrs.
Finley's invitation 1"
" No, my dear."
" Why, aunt ? they say it is to be something
quite superb."
124 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" So much the worse. Did she not let her poor
mother toil away her life in a second-rate board-
ing-house 1 and she will not employ her worthy
cousins who sew for me, because they are her
cousins. No, I'll have nothing to do with such
people as the Finleys."
" Mamma, do you mean to go to the Finleys' ?"
" No, indeed ; it was too impertinent of the
woman to ask me. I never saw her except at
Saratoga."
" Mrs. Smith, are you going to the Finleys' ?"
" No ; they are too ignorant and vulgar."
" But you visit the Fitzroys ?"
" My dear, you forget ; Fitzroy is a junior part-
ner of Mr. Smith."
" Oh, is he ?"
" Mrs. Brown, do you go to the Finleys' T
" No, I will not, when I can help it, visit the
merely rich."
These reasons, and a hundred similar, were of
course not alleged to Mrs. Finley, but veiled in
the conventional " regrets," " previous engage-
ments," &c. &c. So Mrs. Morris Finley gave
her party to those for whom she did not think it
worth the trouble ; nor did her husband deem it
worth the expense. The house was turned topsy-
turvy, the servants overworked, the children made
ill by surfeiting, and no one happy or grateful ;
the invited regarded Mrs. Finley with contempt,
and the left out with resentment.
Which, we would ask, was the richest man, es-
timated by the hospitality exercised and enjoyed,
Henry Aikin, or Morris Finley ?
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT "FORGOT." 125
CHAPTER XIV.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT " FORGOT."
FEW things are more gratifying to a benevolent
person than to know that a charity has proved ef-
fective ; and to the Aikins,to whom charities were
luxuries which their straitened circumstances for-
bade them often to indulge in, it was a happiness
hardly to be estimated by those who have it in
their power to give away every day. Little Juliet
had appeared from the first a gentle-tempered, lov-
ing, and interesting child ; but nothing could be
more desultory than her habits, nor more discour-
aging than her condition. She had, as she said,
been taught to read by her real mother ; but, in her
present protectress's various removings, her books
had been lost, and her little learning forgotten, so
that she could not form a letter, and she even read
stumblingly.
She was, at first, a constant hinderance to the
little Aikins, and a constant trial of their mother's
inexhaustible patience. Her ear was caught by
every passing sound in the street, and her eye by
every occurrence in the apartment. But she was
most grateful for the kindness extended to her, and
most desirous to profit by it. Habits in children
are, like young plants, of rapid growth, and in a
few weeks Juliet's character underwent a transfor-
L2
126 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
mation similar to that of her dress, where substan-
tial, neat, warm, and lasting garments had been
substituted for dirty finery.
Mrs. Aikin was not one of those selfish parents
who make it a sort of duty to cast aside what-
ever can possibly interfere with the advancement
of their own offspring. She was willing to take
something from their abundant portion to give to
this little orphan in the human family. She some-
times feared Juliet might exhaust Mr. Barlow's
patience ; but he seemed rather to pity her igno-
rance and carelessness than to be irritated by
them. He was drawn to her by some resem-
blance in their fate. Both seemed dropped links
from the chain of humanity ; both to have been
the objects of the intervention of Providence, and
both to have been cast upon the same charity.
In speaking of Juliet to Mrs. Aikin, Mr. Barlow
adverted to the reasons for the interest he felt in
the child ; and " yet," he said, " this is not all ; her
look, when she suddenly turns her eye, or that im-
ploring expression when she fears she has dis-
pleased me, put me so in mind of one that's gone :
her voice, too, when she speaks low, Mistress
Aikin, it makes my heart throb, and the perspira-
tion stand in the hollow of my hand."
" You have not gained your strength yet," re-
plied Mrs. Aikin, " and a little matter affects you."
" It is not a little matter, my good friend ; I have
thought there was a possibility but that is foolish,
and I will not talk about it. It will cost me much
to part from her, as well as the rest of you ; but
now there is no reason I should encumber you any
longer, for the old rule does not always hold good
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT " FORGOT." 127
* where there's room in the heart there's room in
the house.' "
We have omitted to mention, that Aikin had ob-
tained the place of assistant teacher in a classical
school for Mr. Barlow.
" I know, sir," replied Susan, " that you can
now get much more comfort elsewhere than we
can give you ; but a grief and loss it will be to us
to part with you. I have been looking forward to
your taking the little back room, for Juliet told me
to-day and, poor child, she was crying when she
said it that her mother was about to move."
" Juliet going too ?" exclaimed the children,
" that is too bad."
A bustling step in the entry was heard, and im-
mediately after an imperative voice at Mrs. Smith's
door, calling out " Open the door I say I must
speak with you." The door opened, and Juliet's
voice was heard in reply, but so low that not
a word could be distinguished. The response
was sufficiently audible " Don't cry, child I'm
not going to hurt you, but I must speak with your
mother. The house is not mine," continued the
stranger, now evidently addressing Mrs. Smith ;
" and I have no authority to grant indulgences.
You are behind-hand for the last three weeks, and
if you don't pay Saturday, you must clear out
good day, ma'am."
An opportunity was now offered, as the landlord's
agent repassed the door, to speak for the room for
Mr. Barlow ; but he and all the rest were absorb-
ed in their interest for little Juliet, whose soft foot-
steps were soon heard on the stairs. Anne sprang
to the door, and opening it, asked Juliet to come in.
128 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC*
" She will not," said Anne, as Juliet went out at
the street door ; " she blushed as red as fire, and
seemed to have something under her cloak what
can it mean ?"
Mrs. Aikin guessed what it meant ; for, more
than once, she had observed Juliet going out on
secret expeditions ; and once, when she had look-
ed her full hi the face, the poor child's downcast
eye and burning cheek betrayed her secret to Mrs.
Aikin. Truth is stamped with innocence on the
soul ; there they blend, or are effaced together.
Now, Mrs. Aikin thought, she must no longer
scruple to interfere ; and, when Juliet returned, she
went into the entry, and closing the door after her,
jsaid
" What have you there, Juliet ?"
" She told me not to tell, ma'am."
" You need not, my child, I know what it is."
The fumes of the gin had already betrayed the se-
cret. " Does she take this stuff every day, Juliet ?"
" No, Mrs. Aikin, not now, since she has such a
fever and cough she only takes it when she feels
awfully. My own mother never took it, though she
had dreadful feelings, too."
While Juliet spoke, she seemed in a flutter of
impatience and timidity all eye and ear as if
expecting a summons ; or, what was still worse,
fearing a suspicion of betraying the miserable
woman's secret. In the meantime, Susan Aikin
was considering what she had best do. That Mrs.
Smith's disease must be aggravated, and her death
hastened, by the means she took for present relief,
was certain ; and Susan was not of a temper to
fold her hands and say " It is no business of mine"
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT "FORGOT." 129
when she could help a fellow- creature, it was
her business.
" Leave the mug here, Juliet," she said, " and
tell your mother I wish to speak with her."
" Oh, I dare not, Mrs. Aikin she'll be so angry
with me ; she does not mind speaking with other
people, but she seems to hate to see any of your
family. I'm sure I don't know what the reason is
there I hear her pray let me go !" and Juliet
seized the mug, which Mrs. Aikin had set on the
stair, and disappeared.
In a few moments Mrs. Aikin followed her and
tapped at the door ; Juliet opened it, and stood
aghast, while Mrs. Aikin said " Mrs. Smith, I
know you are sick, and in trouble let me come
in, and see if something cannot be done for you."
The door, evidently at a sign from within, was
closed in Mrs. Aikin's face ; but, through the crev-
ices, Mrs. Aikin heard a voice that seemed familiar
to her, half scolding and half crying.
She again tapped at the door, and Juliet opened
it a crack, and said, in a voice whose tremulous soft-
ness contrasted with the rudeness of her words
" She says, ma'am, she won't be bothered."
" Well, Juliet, I'll go away now, She may feel
differently by-and-by." *
Mrs. Aikin's persevering kindness and forbear-
ance touched the heart of the miserable woman ;
but the fumes of the liquor were mounting to her
brain, and she drew the bed-clothes over her head
and fell into a heavy sleep, from which she was
awakened late in the evening by the stealthy en-
trance of a man, who brought her a note from her
nominal husband. This threw her into violent
130 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
hysterics, during which the man disappeared ; anet
Juliet, who, wearied and hungry, had fallen asleep
across the foot of the bed, awakened. She was
terrified by Mrs. Smith's apparent unconsciousness
and convulsive sobs, and she, obeying her first
impulse, ran down to the Aikins. Harry and his
wife, without any false scruples, went to Mrs.
Smith's apartment, bidding Juliet to remain with
Aunt Lottie. They found Mrs. Smith in hysterics,
partly the effect of the gin, and partly of a sudden
distress which had been communicated to her by
the open letter she held in her clinched hand. A
filthy lace cap stuck on the side of her head ; her
hair hung over her face ; a tattered French cape
and a soiled silk gown served to make more dis-
gusting, but not to hide, the rags and dirt beneath
them.
Our friends had scarcely seen the woman when
they exchanged significant glances, for they both
recognised in the wretched person before them,
in spite of the dropsical cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and
sharpened features, the playmate of their child-
hood the beauty of their youthful days, Paulina
Clark ! Grieved and shocked were they : but they
thought only of administering aid ; and this being
most judiciously done, Paulina soon after opened
her eyes, and, recognising her old acquaintances,
a new burst of emotion and a violent shrieking
ensued.
No disease is so completely under the control
of moral treatment as hysterics.* Harry Aikin's
* Much is said about the march of mind, and one of the les-
ser proofs of it may be admitted in the diminution of this dis-
ease of hysteria, the prevalence and awful supremacy of which
will be remembered by all who can look back for twenty or
thirty years.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT " FORGOT." 131
energetic voice, and his wife's gentle, calm man-
ner, soon subdued the spasm and restored their pa-
tient to a degree of rationality.
" Oh ! I know you, Susan ; and you, too, Harry
Aikin !" she said.
" And we know you, Paulina," replied Susan ;
" and would be glad to do any thing we can for
you."
The kindness of Susan's tone brought a flood of
tears from Paulina. This seemed to relieve her,
and she said, in her natural voice
" But you don't know, you don't know " her ut-
terance was choked.
"We don't know" said Susan, "but we can
guess."
" And can you speak so kindly to me ?"
" There is no reason we should not be kind to
you ; kindness is what you want, and we have to
give, so it may be a comfort to us both."
" Oh ! indeed, I do waiat it," said Paulina, re-
curring to her present and pressing troubles. " See
here, Harry Aikin," she added, picking up the note
she had dropped ; " do you advise me what to do ;
this comes from my hus " She hesitated: she
felt this was no time for deception, and she added,
" from him I called my husband."
Aikin read the note, which was as follows :
'^1 am blown, and must make a voyage up the
river to Lockport save yourself the police dogs
are on the scent -look to the black trunk."
" You must tell me the truth, Paulina, or I can
be of no service to you. How long have you lived
with this man ?"
" Six months."
132 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" How long have you known him ?"
" The same time, Harry Aikin," she replied,
without raising her eyes ; for, with the companions
of her innocent days, came the feeling of shame.
" Do you know what he is taken up for ?"
" I don't ; but I guess for passing counterfeit
bills."
" Have you been concerned with him ? Answer
truly, Paulina."
" Well he has given me money to spend, and
told me to ask no questions, and he would tell me
no lies. I never knew a true note from a false
one."
" Did you not believe you were passing counter
feit money?"
" I did not know that I was, and that is the most
I can say, Harry Aikin ; but, as true as I live, I
have pawned my ear-rings and my finger-rings
rather than offer this money, and I did not use it
till I had nothing more the pawnbrokers would
take ; that is the truth, Harry. I have not long
to live, I am sure I have not. Take pity on me,
Harry Aikin, and save me from finishing my
wretched life in the state prison ! Susan ! Susan !
beg him ! Oh ! think of old times in Essex !"
" Be sure, be sure, Paulina, Harry will do all
he can for you."
" Yes, that I will ; no time must be lost : kay
with her, Susan, till I return."
" You ain't going to inform against me ?" said
the miserable woman, springing after him ; but,
before he could reply, she shrunk back, self-con-
demned, and burst into tears.
" It's so long," she said, " since I have had any
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT "FORGOT." l33
vhing to do with anybody I could believe in ! I am
a poor creature, Susan ! I can remember the time
when I felt above you ; and now it seems too much
for you to speak to such as me !"
It seemed a great relief to her to confess her
faults ; to retrace the past, and, looking through
the dark way she had trodden, to catch now and
then a glimpse of her early days. With a sprink'
ling of kind words from Susan, she went on as
follows :
" Oh, Susan Aikin, you tha^ have an honest
husband, and good children, and are content to be
poor, you don't know the feelings of the fallen.
Don't you think it's some excuse for me that I had
such a poor bringing up ? The first I can remem-
ber was my mother talking about my pretty eyes,
and so on, and curling my hair ; and the main
thing was to get me handsome outside-things ;
how I used to despise 'your clothes and Lottie's ;
it was all, all of a piece. Mother said she could
not afford to send me to the subscription-school ;
but, when that dancing-school was set up in Essex,
I was sent to that. Do you remember I begged
Uncle Phil to let you go, but he would not hear to
it : he said l you danced about your work, and you
danced to school, and that was the dancing for
poor folks.' "
" Father was right," said Susan, with a smile at
the characteristic reply she had forgotten.
" Yes, he was indeed right. Uncle Phil was
always reckoned simple-minded ; but I have known
all sorts of people, and I can tell you, Susan, that
those who set their minds to do the right thing, be
they ever so simple, go straight fcead while
M
134 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
your bright folks slump on the right hand and on
the left. But where was I oh, looking back a
dreary prospect ! I grew up a poor, ignorant,
thoughtless, vain thing but, Susan, I was not
hard-hearted ; even then, had I got into good hands
had I married a solid man, and had children to
take care of, I should have been, not such a wife
and mother as you are, but I might have been a
decent woman and that was what I had secret
cravings to be, even when I had a carriage at my
command, and elegant rooms and furniture."
" Poor Paulina !"
" Yes, Susan, most to be pitied then ; for then
I was most blinded to all good ; I can see it now,
even from these depths. You know mother mar-
ried a rich old man, what we thought rich, and we
moved to New- York ; I had always lots of young
men after me ; I lived at the theatre, and the public
balls, and such places, and cared for nothing but
dress and flattery. Morris Finley courted me I
always liked him and if I had married him then
but there's no use in looking back ; I wonder
if his conscience would be easy if he could see me
the poor ruined wretch I am now. Hark ! what
noise is that ?"
" It's only my children and Juliet, playing."
" Poor Juliet ! do you think Harry will get me
clear, Susan ?"
" I hope so ; but had you not better compose
yourself, and try to get a little sleep ?"
" Sleep ! I cannot. If you knew what a relief
it is to me to unburden my heart to have a good
person willing to sit down by me as you do. As I
was saying, when my stepfather died, and we had
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT "FORGOT." 135
nothing left, and Morris Finley felt he was going
ahead in the world, he left me. We went to Es-
sex, and then came back to New- York ; mother set
up the milliner's business temptation was on every
side ; and no wonder that such a poor weak crea-
ture as I fell. There was nothing to bind me to
virtue. My mother, poor soul, died ; and her
death set me to thinking ; and then, if a hand had
been stretched out to me in kindness, it would
have saved me ; but the good set their faces against
the bad they do, Susan I mean common good
folks. You cannot tell what it is to have the eye
of your fellow-creature look on you with scorn, or
turned from you as if you were too vile to look
upon : I have felt this, and I went from bad to
worse."
" Why did not you come to us, Paulina ? We
would have done what we could for you."
" I was afraid to, Susan ; I did not suppose there
was anybody on earth good enough to pity me,
because I was wicked ; and, for that, most needed
their pity."
" Then, Paulina, you must have concluded
there were no true followers of Him who came to
seek and save those that were lost?"
" Maybe I have my own evil courses, in part, to
thank for such thoughts, Susan ; but, then, is it not
strange that human creatures don't make more
allowance for one another ? They say sick folks
feel for sick folks. Sin is the worst of sickness,
and are there any quite free from it ?"
" You are right, Paulina ; the strong should
uphold the weak the well should look after the
eick."
136 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" That's what I mean, Susan, and I believe you
are so very good you practise it; but it is not
strange I dreaded to see your face ; and all that
Juliet told me of you and your children, bringing
up to be a blessing and honour to the land, made
me more and more ashamed of myself. Thank
God, I never had a child. I do love Juliet you
see I am not fit to take .care of her but I did not
always tyrannise over her not when "
" Not when you were yourself, Paulina." Pau-
lina nodded assent : she had not courage in words
to confess her intemperance. " Juliet was true to
you," continued Susan ; " she seems grateful for
your kindness to her."
" Does she does Juliet feel grateful to me?"
" She does, Paulina ; and that ought to be a
comfort to you."
" It is it is ; thank God, there is one creature
on earth the better for my having lived ! My
life ! Oh God, forgive me ! poor Juliet when I
arn gone, Susan, you will see to her, won't you?"
" I will do the best I can."
" Thank you, Susan ; then I shall die easy as
to her. I have done but little, though I never
quite lost sight of my promise to her poor dying
mother."
" Who was her mother, Paulina ?"
" No one that you ever heard of. She called
her name Maria Brown. I never saw her till she
was near her death. The night before she died I
sat behind her, and held her up while she wrote a
few lines, and, taking a miniature from her neck,
sealed them up together. She was so weak she
fainted then, and when she came to she said she
RICH MAN'S CHARITIES. 137
would direct the packet the next day, and tell me
what to do with it. I slept by her ; but, dear me !
I had taken some hot gin-and-water for I was
troubled with a cold stomach and I slept sound
and late, and when I waked she was dead and
cold. Poor little Juliet ! I never shall forget how
she lay with her arms round her mother's neck
till they sent a coffin from the almshouse ; it
seemed as if the child were glued there."
" Did you not open the packet, Paulina ?"
" Yes ; but no names were mentioned. Her
letter was to her father, but it was only signed
with initials."
" Were they M. B.?" eagerly asked Susan, as a
faint hope dawned upon her.
" M. B. B. no, I am pretty sure it was not B. :
it might have been B. L. ; I think it was L."
" You have preserved the packet ?"
" I did, carefully ; but in our last move it was
stolen or lost !"
CHAPTER XV.
THE RICH MANS CHARITIES.
"Many a house is full where the mind is unfurnished and
the heart is empty ; and no hovel of mere penury ought ever tD
be so sad as that house." DEWEY.
IT was near ten o'clock when Henry Aikin, in
pursuance of his benevolent designs for Paulina,
rung at Morris Finley's door, and told the servant,
M2
138 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
in reply to his saying Mr. Finley was dressing for
a party, that he had pressing business, and must
speak with him. The servant left Aikin in the
entry, and, entering the drawing-room, pushed the
door to after him, but not so close as to prevent
Aikin hearing the following dialogue :
" There's somebody, ma'am, in the entry, wants
to speak with Mr. Finley."
" Why did not you tell him he was not at home?"
" Because he is, ma'am."
" Pshaw, Tom, you know he is going out imme-
diately, and it's all the same thing. Do you know
who it is ?"
" No, ma'am."
" Is it a gentleman ?"
" He speaks like one, ma'am."
" You certainly know, Tom is he a gentle-
man, or only a man?"
" He is dressed like a man, ma'am."
" Tom, you must get over tormenting me this
way : I've told you a hundred times the distinc-
tion." Tom smiled. He evidently had in his
mind something like the old distinction of the
poet, though he could not, or dared not, express it
" Worth makes the man the want of it, the fellow."
" Well, well," added Mrs. Finley, " show him
in, and tell Mr. Finley."
Aikin entered with that air of blended modesty
and independence that characterized him ; cer-
tainly with no look of inferiority, for he felt none ;
and, as Mrs. Finley's eye fell on his fine counte-
nance, hers relaxed, and she was in the dilemma,
for a moment, of not knowing whether to class
THE RICH MAN'S CHARITIES. 139
him with the somebody 's or nolodys; but her glance
descended to the plain and coarse garments of our
friend in time to change a ha.lf-made courtesy to a
salutation befitting an inferior. " Sit down," she
said, waving her hand to the nearest chair.
Aikin took the offered seat, and awaited, with
what patience he could, the forthcoming of the
master of the splendid mansion, observing what
was before him with a feeling, not of envy or
covetousness, but with deep joy and thankfulness
for the virtue and true happiness of his humble
home. Miss Sabina Jane Finley, now a young
lady of twelve years, after surveying Aikin from
top to toe, said to her mother, in a suppressed but
audible voice, " Gentleman /"
Mrs. Finley seemed to have what she, no doubt,
thought a truly genteel unconsciousness of " the
man's" presence. She was very richly dressed
for a ball ; but, as is a common case with poor
human nature, she was transferring the fault of her
faded and time-stricken face to her milliner. " I
declare, Sabina Jane," she said, surveying herself
in the mirror, " I never will get another cap of
Thompson these flowers are blue as the heavens."
" You selected them yourself, mamma."
" To be sure I did ; but how could I tell how
they would look in the evening ?"
" Why don't you wear your new French cap,
mamma ?"
" Don't be a fool, child have not I worn that
twice already? Pull down that blonde over my
shoulder how it whoops ! This is the second
time Smetz has served me this way. This gown
sets like fury. I never go out but I have some
140 tHE 00& RICH MAtf, ETC.
trial that spoils all my pleasure. Don't let me sed
you prink so, miss," turning to her daughter, and
pulling from her head a dress cap, that she was
trying on and arranging with all the airs and
graces of a fine lady ; " I have told you a thousand
times, Sabina Jane," she continued, " not to be
fond of dress ! Well, Tom, what is wanted now ?"
" That French gentleman, ma'am, what teached
Miss Sabina Jane, is to call early for his money ;
and if you'd please to give it to me to-night "
" I can't attend to it to-night tell him to call
again."
" He has called again and again, ma'am ; and
he says his wife is sick and he looks so distress-
ed-like."
" I have not the money by me to-night, Tom."
" Shall I ask Mr. Finley for it, ma'am ?"
" No, Torn."
The image of the imhappy foreigner haunted
Tom's imagination ; and, after lingering for a mo-
ment with the door in his hand, he said " Maybe
rna'am don't remember Mr. Finley gave out the
money for Mr. Felix."
Mrs. Finley did remember Well that she had re-
ceived the money, and had spent it that very af-
ternoon for a most tempting piece of French em-
broidery " a love of a pocket handkerchief," that
cost only thirty dollars ! the price of poor Mon-
sieur Felix's labour for two quarters, with an indo-
lent and neglected child. " Shut the door, Tom,"
she said ; " I can't be bothered about this money
now ; tell Mr. Felix to call after breakfast." Tom
despaired and withdrew. " How impertinent Tom
THE RICH MAN'S CHARITIES. 141
is getting," added Mrs. Finley ; " but this is the
way of all the servants in this country."
The housemaid now entered, and announced
that Miss Rosa (a three-year old girl) had been
throwing up the custard, and pie, and raisins, and
so on, that she ate at dinner.
" Dear me ! poor thing !" exclaimed the mother,
" what a weak stomach she has ! Does Nancy
want me to come up and see her ?"
" Nancy is out, ma'am."
"Out yet ? I don't know how she could think
of going out at all, when she told me at tea-time
that Rosa was feverish. I thought there was one
faithful servant in the world, but now I give up."
Mrs. Finley went to look after her child, while Ai-
kin was making his own mental comments on the
reasonableness of a parent, who expected more
fidelity from a hireling for paltry wages, than she
practised herself, with all the stimulants of the
responsibilities and happiness of a mother. For-
tunately, for he had become very impatient, he was
not left long to ponder on this inconsistency. Fin-
ley came in, dressed and perfumed for the party.
" Ah, Harry Aikin," he said, after a momentary
surprise, " is it you how are you ?"
" Well, thank you, Morris."
" What impudence," thought Miss Sabina Jane,
" for that man to call my papa Morris !"
" I have some private business with you," added
Aikin, glancing at the young lady.
" Sabina Jane," said Finley, " tell your mamma
the carriage is waiting these fellows charge so
abominably for waiting." This last remark was
evidently a hint to Aikin to be brief.
142 THE poort RICH MAN, ETC.
But Aikin wanted no such spur. He commn*
fcicated concisely Paulina's condition and wants i
and, knowing that Fiiiley's conscience was of the
sluggish order, he tried to rouse it by recalling
vividly to his remembrance the past the days of
Paulina's innocence and beauty, and Finley's de*
votion to her. But Finley slurred it over like a
long-forgotten dream, that would not afford the
slightest basis for a claim upon his charity.
" She is in a shocking condition, to be sure,
Aikin," he said ; " but, then, I make it an invaria-
ble rule never to give but to those that I know to
be worthy."
" There is much to be done for our fellow-crea
tures, Finley, besides giving gifts to the worthy."
" Oh, I know that ; and I subscribe liberally to
several of our institutions."
" But will you do nothing towards encouraging
this poor, homeless, friendless creature to repent*
ance and reformation ?"
" Pshaw ! Aikin, they never reform."
" If that is true, a part of the sin must lie at our
doors, who afford them no helps. But there is no
time to discuss this : Paulina, I fear, will not be
able to prove her sincerity. She has, it seems to
me, but little while to live ; if I can save her from
the police, I shall try hard to keep her where she
is, that her little remnant of life may be spent with
her old friends, who will care for her body and
soul."
" Oh, well, if you really think she is going to
make a die of it, I am willing to give you some*
thing for her."
Finley took out his pocketbook, and after, aa
THE RICH MAN'S CHARITIES. 143
Aikin could not but suspect, looking for a smaller
sum, he gave him a five-dollar note, with the air
of one who is conferring an astounding obligation.
Aikin expressed neither surprise nor gratitude ;
but, quietly putting up the note, he said, " You
know, Finley, money is not the most important
thing I had to ask. I want you to go to the po-
lice-office with me. You are a great merchant,
and your name is well known in the city ; I am
nobody, and it may be necessary for me to get my
statement endorsed. Come, it is not five minutes'
walk for you."
" Why, bless you, man, don't you see I'm going
out ! there's my wife coming down stairs now."
"Let her go in the carriage you can follow
her."
" Oh ! that's impossible she would not go alone
into a party for the world."
" Can she not wait till your return ?"
" No ; it is not reasonable to ask it it's late
now and and "
" Good night ; I have wasted my time here,"
said Aikin, cutting short Finley's excuses, and
leaving him trying to silence his conscience by
dwelling on the five dollars he had given by fret-
ting at the deused folly of going out when people
were tired and wanted to go to bed and by joining
in his wife's vituperation against Nancy and all
her tribe.
144 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
CHAPTER XVI.
ANOTHER RICH MERCHANT'S HOT73E.
" I WILL go straight to Mr. Beckwith's," thought
Aikin, as he left Finley's ; " it is late, to be sure,
but never too late nor too early with him to do a
kind act." Mr. Beckwith was one of a very rich
firm, who employed Aikin as their carman. He
rung at the door, and was admitted by Jacob, a col-
oured man, who had grown gray in Mr. Beckwith's
service.
" Walk in, sir," said he, civilly, leading the way
to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Beckwith, with
her cloak on, was sitting beside her eldest daugh-
ter, warming her feet, while her two eldest sons
sat at the table drawing. As Aikin entered, Mrs.
Beckwith saluted him civilly, as she would any
other stranger ; and, while one of the young men
rose to set a chair for him, she made some cour-
teous remarks upon the weather and walking ; and
then, after Jacob had returned, and said Mr. Beck-
with would be down directly, she resumed the
conversation with her daughter, which Aikin's en-
trance had interrupted.
" Did you find Madame Felix very ill, mother 7 "
asked the young lady.
" Very ill, Susan, and wanting every thing : no
wood, no comforts of any sort. The poor man
has money due to him, but he says he cannot get it.*
ANOTHER RICH MERCHANT'S HOUSE. 145
" Why didn't he let us know their condition
sooner ?"
" Ah, Susan, it's very hard for such a man to*
beg."
" But it should not be called begging, should it,
mother? If, as you and father say, we are all
children of one family, when one wants what an-
other has to spare, I do not see why the one
should not ask, or the other should think it such a
mighty favour to give."
" You have the right feeling about it, my dear ;
but the difficulty is to reconcile the charities of
life with the spirit of independence and self-reli*
ance which is so necessary to industry and exer-
tion : but where is Louisa ?"
" She is sitting with mammy: her head has been
much worse since you went out, and Louisa will
not leave her."
" I am glad of it : many a night has mammy sat;
by your bedsides, patiently watching over you.
But, Kate," added the mother, for the first time
espying a child of eight years watching the prog-
ress of her brothers' drawing, "how happens it
you are up yet ?"
" Oh, mother, we have had such a funny time,
planning houses !"
" Planning houses f what do you mean ?"
An explanation followed, by which it appeared
that Mr. Beckwith contemplated building a block
of houses, to rent to those who could afford to pay
only a low rent. The houses were to contain
every convenience and comfort compatible with a
reasonable per centage on the money invested.
Mr. Beckwith had set his children to drawing
N
146 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
plans for these houses, not so much to test their
skill in draughting as their knowledge of the wants
of the poor, and their zeal for their accommoda-
tion. Kate amused herself with relating the vari-
ous failures and successes of the boys how one
had left out the chimneys and the other the win-
dows to all which Aikin listened with eager
interest, notwithstanding the pressing nature of
his business.
Not so much time had passed as has been occu-
pied in relating this scene, when Mr. Beckwith ap-
peared, and, after speaking to Aikin, turned to his
wife, saying, " My dear, this is my friend Aikin,
of whom you have often heard me speak." Mrs.
Beck with' s countenance lighted up with that ex-
pression so common when a person is first intro-
duced to a stranger for whom favourable impres-
sions are entertained. Aikin, modest man that he
was, was gratified with this involuntary tribute.
How many opportunities of strengthening the
bonds of human brotherhood by a friendly look, or
a kind word, are passed by and lost for ever!
" Lo ! is not a word better than a gift ? but both are
with a gracious man." Aikin communicated his
business to Mr. Beckwith, and without any delay
they were on their way to the police-office, where
Aikin told as much of Paulina's story to Mr.
Justice H as he deemed necessary for the
purposes of justice ; and the said justice being
more moved than was his wont by Aikin's appeal
in Paulina's behalf, and authorized by the assu-
rance of so substantial a person as Beckwith, of
the great firm of B. B. and Co., in his reliance
on Aikin's testimony; and, moreover, having al-
ANOTHER RICH MERCHANT'S HOUSE. 147
ready appeased the demands of justice by the
detection and apprehension of the gang associated
with Smith, vouchsafed to assure Aikin that, pro-
vided the black trunk was forthcoming in the morn-
ing, no proceedings should be instituted against
Paulina.
" Good night, Mr. Beckwith," said Aikin, as he
parted from his friend at the corner of the street
" I am obliged to you."
" Oh, no, no, Aikin I am the person obliged ;
for I go to bed the happier for having done you
this service."
Aikin was a reflecting man and, as he walked
hurriedly home, eager to relieve Paulina of a part
of her miserable burden, he made many reflections
upon the different scenes he had witnessed that
evening at his own home in Paulina's room
at Morris Finley's and at Mr. Beckwith's ; and
he was confirmed in his previous conclusion, that
riches consist not in the abundance of possessions,
nor poverty in their scantiness ; that the mind is
the treasure-house ; and, finally, that Paulina,
though poor indeed, was not much poorer than
Morris Finley and his wife.
148 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
CHAPTER XVII.
A CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE,
THE next day, after Aikin had finished his
morning devotions this good man never ventured
upon the business, temptations, and trials of the
day, without first committing himself and his
household to Him who " heareth those that call
on him" Juliet was observed to rise from her
knees and rest her head on the back of the chair,
go as to screen her face, while her bosom heaved
and her tears fell on the floor. The children,
quick to see and to sympathize, gathered round
her ; one said, " Do you feel sick, Juliet ?" an^
other, " What is the matter, Juliet ?" and little
Ruth, who was fresh from a moral lesson she had
received from her Aunt Lottie, the amount of which
was, that sin, in all its modifications, was the thing
to be cried for in this world, Ruth asked, " Have
you been naughty, Juliet ?" Still Juliet did not re-
ply, till Mrs. Aikin drew her towards her, and, set-
ling her on her lap, said " Tell me, Juliet, what
troubles you ?"
" Oh, ma'am," she answered, " I know, by Mr.
Aikin's prayer, that my mother, as I call her, is
going to die, and then I shall have to go away from
you all and I shall be all alone in the world."
The children cast an imploring glance at their
mother, which said, a^ plain as words could express
A CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE. 149
it "Pray tell her that our home shall be her
home our friends her friends." The elder chil-
dren knew it belonged to their parents, and not to
them, to give such an assurance ; but the younger
ones thought only of the quickest way to solace
the poor child ; and Ruth, putting her cheek to Ju-
liet's, whispered " Mother will be your mother,
and, if you want an aunt, you shall have a part of
my Aunt Lottie."
Little Phil, the youngling of the flo*ck and grand-
father's pet, echoed Ruth's meaning, shouting
" And if you want a danfather, you shall have a
piece of my danfather !" How certain it is that
children will imbibe the qualities of the moral at-
mosphere in which they live. Parents, remem-
bering this, should trust more to their examples, and
expect less from their precepts. Tears fell from
Mrs. Aikin's eyes tears from the fountain of those
feelings " that have less of earth in them than
heaven ;" " My good little children," she said,
"we will try not to disappoint you wipe away
your tears, Juliet think of another thing Mr. Ai-
kin said in his prayer ' God is the father of the
fatherless ;' be sure, therefore, you cannot be alone
in the world."
" Come here, Juliet," said Mr. Barlow ; and Ju-
liet turned to him with a brightened face, verifying
the wise man's saying, that, " as the dew assuageth
the heat, so is a kind word." " You and I, Juli-
et," continued the good man, " have been led into
the same fold, and, please God, we will not separ-
ate again. Will you live with me and be my lit-
tle housekeeper or room-keeper ? I have now,"
he added, turning, as if in explanation, to Susau
N 2
160 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
Aikin, " enough for us both ; say, Juliet, will you
go and live with me ?"
Juliet hung hex head ; the children looked as if
they were afraid she would say yes.
" Ah," added Mr. Barlow, in a tone of disap*
pointment, " I thought you loved me, Juliet."
" So I do, sir ; but but it's so pleasant living
here."
William Aikin, whose expressions were as im*
pulsive as his feelings, clapped his hands, and the
children all manifested, some in one way, some in
another, their delight.
" Juliet is right," said Mr. Barlow, in a low torte,
to Harry Aikin ; " it is so pleasant living here, that,
when I go away, I shall have that dismal feeling
Juliet so dreads, that feeling of being alone. Oh,
how many times have I wished the goodness and
happiness in your family could be known. It
would be a lesson to many a proud rich man to
many a discontented poor one."
" That's just what I say, Mr. Barlow," said Un-
cle Phil, rubbing his hands ; " I tell you our folks
are samples* and the whole secret of it is, that ev-
ery one does their best -that is to say, lives up to
their light, and if anybody can do any better than
that, I should like to know how ; but come, the
breakfast is cooling while we are sarmonizing, as
it were."
The breakfast was despatched ; Aikin went to
his daily business ; Aunt Lottie and Juliet to nur-
sing Paulina ; Uncle Phil to a stroll in the sun-
shine with little Phil ; Mr. Barlow, it being Satur-
day and a holyday, sat down in a comer with a
book ; and Mrs. Aikin was setting all " to rights"
A CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE. 151
in that quiet, efficient way where every stroke
tells, and marks the expert housewife.
" Did you learn any thing of poor little Juliet's
parentage from the woman above "?" asked Mr.
Barlow at the first convenient opportunity. Mrs.
Aikin related all she had learned ; nothing could
well be more unsatisfactory. Even Susan Aikin,
whose bright, healthy moral vision always per-
ceived the first streak of daylight, could see noth-
ing " cdmforting" in it. As she finished, Mr. Bar-
low heaved a sigh, and then said, " You might have
thought my proposal to take Juliet very strange."
" Oh, no, sir ; I am sure it is qui'te natural to feel
as if you wanted to stretch a wing over the poor
child ; but but the thing is, a girl wants women
to look after her ; and I have concluded, when Pau-
lina is gone, to take Juliet into our family."
" What, Mrs. Aikin, with all your children ?"
" Yes, sir ; when one is used to have the care
of a good many, an addition does not seem to make
any difference.* We always have a little some-
thing to spare and Juliet, poor child, might ba
fed from the crumbs that fall from the table."
" But then there are other expenses besides
her food."
" Yes, sir ; I have considered that, and determin-
ed, as long as my health is spared, to work one
hour extra every night ; what I can thus earn wil)
certainly cover all Juliet's expenses to us so, I see
my way quite clear ; it is a comfort, sir, not to lose
the opportunity."
* An argument similar to this we have often heard used by
one whose sheltering charities seem only to be limited by the
wants of those that come within her sphere.
152 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" And blessed are those who seek such comforts
dear Mrs. Aikin. But this poor woman will she
be willing to leave Juliet with you ?"
" She will be glad to. Her only desire now
seems to be, for the little time that remains, to do
right. Oh, Mr. Barlow, I believe there are many
people in wicked courses who would turn from
them if they only had some true friend. I wish
Paulina to stay here the little time she has to live,
so does my husband ; but he will not run in debt,
not even to help the distressed, which is a great
temptation. It takes more than one would think
to keep such a family as ours in necessaries ; and,
through the blessing of kind Providence upon our
exertions, we have always had those, and some
luxuries too."
"What luxuries?" asked Mr. Barlow, with a
smile.
" A good warm fire all day* and a fire for Lot-
tie's room whenever she wants it ; plenty of books
for the children, and a share in a library for our-
selves and the pleasure of going to bed every Sat-
urday night without owing a shilling, and a little
something in the Savings' Bank against a wet day ,
and and " Susan hesitated, for really she could
not remember any thing else that did not come
within the large class of necessaries. Mr. Barlow
finished her list
" And a shelter and food at your table for a friend-
less stranger. Mrs. Aikin, if I could help you to
put your kind wishes into operation for this poor
woman, it would be a real pleasure to me. I can
* A little poor boy specified this to me as one of the exclusive
privileges of the rich-
A CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE. 153
let the room I have taken in Crosby-street, and pay
the rent of hers, if you will permit me to be a
boarder in your family, and retain my place in your
father's room till this woman has no longer occa-
sion for hers."
" You are very kind, sir ; but there is back rent
to be paid. However, we will talk it over when
my husband comes, and contrive the best we can."
The dialogue of our friends was interrupted by
the appearance of a gentleman who announced
himself as Mr. Beckwith, and Susan being sum-
moned to Paulina's room, he was left with Mr.
Barlow. After a little playful talk with the sweet-
tempered chubby children, Mr. Beckwith, feeling
his way with that delicacy that marks the man
who does not exclude the poor from the courtesies
used among equals in fortune, made some remarks
about Aikin, and the aspect of the family, that led
Mr. Barlow to tell a portion of his own story, and to
relate the Aikins' succouring charities to Juliet,
and their kindness to the poor outcast Paulina.
He spoke of their exemplary performance of their
domestic duties, and of the advancement of their
children in knowledge and virtue. "A country
may well boast its equality," he said, in conclusion,
"that has such families as this in it. I never
should have credited what goes on beneath this
humble roof if I had not witnessed it. Here are
the genuine fruits of Christianity, and such fruit
as could only come to perfection in a land where
the government and institutions are based on the
gospel principle of equal rights and equal privi-
leges to all."
" You are an Englishman, Mr. Barlow. Do
154 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
you think, setting aside the greater compensation
our working-men get than yours, they are happier?"
" That is setting aside a vast deal, sir. This N
superior compensation represents the comforts of
life, the means of education. What could Aikic
have been in my country with his shattered health,
his children, and helpless father-in-law, and inva-
lid sister ? These independent dependants would
have been tenants of the almshouse Aikin him-
self, most probably, there, and his children sup-
ported by the parish. When I see, sir, that a man
so conditioned can bring up a family as he does, in
such a city as this his boys to be intelligent and
independent citizens, and his daughters to be re-
spectable, well-informed wives and mothers, I
must think this, sir, the happiest country in the
world for the labouring man."
" I believe you are right ; but we do not make
the most of our privileges. There is no telling
what a nation, with our institutions, might become,
if the domestic virtues were better understood and
practised by the labouring classes, if their found-
ation were laid in religion, and children were
brought up from their cradles to be temperate and
true, and industrious and frugal, if every oppor-
tunity were seized for improving them in knowl-
edge, and in the practice of the soul-preserving
virtues. The rich here can make no separa-
ting lines which the poor cannot pass. It is the
poor who fence themselves in with ignorance, and
press themselves down with shiftlessness and
vice. If there were more such families as this,
the rich would feel less exultation in their wealth,
the poor that there was no degradation in their
A CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE. 155
poverty. The rich would get rid of their pride,
the poor of their jealousy ; and we should ad-
mit, not theoretically and in our prayers, but prac-
tically, that we are children of one family, and
that the happiness and advancement of one is the
happiness and advancement of all. I am fortu-
nate," added Mr. Beckwith, in conclusion, " to
have found you here, sir. Here is a trifling sum
for the poor woman up stairs ; it will, I hope,
enable your friends to do what they wish for her
a far greater benefaction than any money I can
give." Mrs. Aikin entered just in time to make
her acknowledgments, and she made them as if
the kindness were done to herself. Mr. Beckwith
changed the subject. " This house must be small
for your family, Mrs. Aikin 1"
" Yes, sir, but we contrive to make it do."
" What is your rent 1"
" For the whole, sir, one hundred and fifty dol-
lars."
" For the whole house, excepting that poor
woman's room?"
" I wish it were, sir, but there are two rooms in
the garret rented to different persons the best at
six, the other four shillings a week : then there
is a good room on this floor that rents at seventy-
five dollars a year ; and the family in the cellar
pay a dollar a week. Paulina's room is twenty
shillings a week."
" And pray, Mrs. Aikin, what accommodations
do you get for your hundred and fifty dollars ?"
" There is this room you see what it is, sir
a pot of paint and a pail of whitewash, always
ready, keep it decent. My husband made this,"
156 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
she said, opening a closet, where every thing was
stowed as neatly and compactly as honey in a
hive ; " we could not do with an open dresser in
a room where we ate and slept ; and here," open-
ing a door into a little dark room, "here is a
comfortable place for the children." Comfortable
it was, though dark and small, by virtue of the
most exact order and cleanliness. " Then, sir,
we have the whole of the second floor, which gives
us a large comfortable room for my sister, another
for father, and a little room for the children. We
make out very well, sir."
" I know, Mrs. Aikin, there is a great virtue in
this making out, but you must suffer inconvenience
when you have sickness in the family V
11 Why, sir," she replied, with a smile, " we
take care not to get sick often ; but, when we have
needed a room for sickness, father has turned in
with the boys ; father has such a contented dis-
position, nothing puts him out. Harry I mean
my husband, sir says such a disposition as fa-
ther's is meat, drink, and lodging."
" Pardon my making so many inquiries, Mrs.
Aikin ; believe me, it is not from idle curiosity.
By what contrivance do you" (turning his eye to
Mr. Barlow) " get a spare room ?"
" A spare room, sir, is a blessing I never expect
to have ; but father has a sociable disposition, so
we call his the spare room, and put a friend there
when we have occasion."
Mr. Beckwith was reminded of a certain system
of philosophy which teaches that there is no mate-
rial world no actual houses, furniture, &c., that
these things are only shadows of ideas. "Ah,"
A CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE: 157
thought he, " my friends here are really richer
than many that live in four-story houses." Having
an important purpose in his inquiries, he went on.
" Do you not, Mrs. Aikin, experience serious in-
convenience from having so many families under
one roof?" i
" We do, sir. I have often thought the time
must come when landlords would feel more for
poor people, and be more considerate who they
put together. It is so difficult to keep children
from bad company, poor things they are not par-
ticular, you know, sir. This is the only thing that
has ever really worried me about our situation : I
ean contrive to get along with little troubles."
" And what are the little troubles ?"
" Why, sir, it is something of a trial not to have
a decent steps, entry, and stairs. We have no
place to store wood, so we cannot buy it in sum*
mer, which would be a great saving to us. Then,
the cistern is leaky, and not half large enough to
furnish water to half the tenants ; and, if we set
tubs under the front spout, there is always some
one to dispute our right ; so we have given up
rain-water, and make pump-water do : since then,
every one in the house offers us a portion of their
rain-water ; so, as my husband says, * The peace
principle is the best policy.' "
Mr. Beckwith, after making a calculation, ex-
claimed, " Four hundred and sixty-nine dollars is
paid for the rent of this house. The whole property
is not worth four thousand five hundred. But so it
is all over the city ; the poor pay rents out of all pro-
portion to the rich. With the very poor and vicious
this is inevitable -they are transient tenants, and
O
158 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
their pay uncertain. But the industrious and hon-
est should not be obliged to endure such evils as
you suffer, Mrs. Aikin. I trust the attention of
capitalists will be attracted to this subject. Ask
your husband to come to my house this evening.
I am glad to have begun an acquaintance with you,
Mrs. Aikin. It shall not be my fault if it end here."
Mr. Beckwith went his way, and, meditating on
the power of the domestic virtues to enrich a home,
and multiply the good things of this life, he re-
peated, mentally, those words of which he thought
he had witnessed the illustration :
" And seek not what ye shall eat and what ye
shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind. For
all these things do the nations of the world seek
after, and your father knoweth that ye have need
of these things. But rather seek ye the kingdom
of God, and all these things shall be added unto
you/'
LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE. 159
CHAPTER XVIII.
LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE.
ON the morning of Mr. Beckwith's call, another
and very different visiter knocked at Mrs. Aikin's
door, and inquired " If there was not a woman, or
creater, or something of that sort, by the name of
Smith, living there." Mrs. Aikin boded no good,
and, fearful Paulina would overhear the inquiry,
she bade the man enter, answering him affirma-
tively while she closed the door.
" You need not be so private, mistress ; I am
none of her acquaintance, I can tell you, only as
she under-rented two rooms of me, and went away
owing me."
When the stranger entered, Juliet was reading
to Mr. Barlow. She pressed his arm, whispering,
" I know that man. He is horrid cross."
" Don't tremble so, my child, he'll not hurt you."
" Oh, I ain't afraid of him now but I used to
be,"
This was said while Mrs. Aikin was communi-
cating to the man the small likelihood that he
would get his debt.
" I don't expect much," replied the man, " of the
like of her, but I've got something that will bring
something more." He took from his pocket a
handkerchief, and, unrolling it, proceeded : " After
that woman left my house, she missed a packet,
160 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
and came back and made a terrible rummaging ;
but another tenant had moved in with a heap of
litter, and nothing could be found of the packet.
Since t'other tenant has packed off 'twixt two days,
and we found this stowed away in the closet."
He took out a small locket and a letter.
"That locket was my mother's!" exclaimed
Juliet.
" Was, child ? but it's mine now. I don't be-
lieve," continued the man, supposing of course that
Mrs. Smith was Juliet's mother, "that it ever did
belong to your mother ; but you shall judge, good
woman," to Mrs. Aikin. " Here is the letter the
locket was in the letter." He began reading.
"'My dear' something, I can't tell that word;
it may be father, and it may be mother ; but never
mind, it goes on : l On the bed of death, and with
my poor little girl beside me ' "
" Oh, it was my own mother that wrote it !"
screamed Juliet ; " don't let him read it !"
Forgetting her fears, she sprang forward and
snatched it, repeating, with an imploring look to
Mr. Barlow and Mrs. Aikin, " It is mine ! it was
my own mother wrote it !"
Mrs. Aikin soothed her, and Mr. Barlow drew
her to him, whispering an assurance that she
should keep it.
" What the deuse ails you, child ?" asked the
man ; " you are welcome to the letter, though I
guess it will make you all kind o' qualmish to read
it. The locket I'll keep myself the casing, I
mean ; the picture won't sell for any thing, though
I think it's a pretty, comely-looking person. What
do you think, neighbour?" holding it up to Mr,
LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE. 161
Barlow. Mr. Barlow cast his eye on the locket :
he recognised an old likeness of himself ; a sud-
den paleness overspread his face ; he took the let-
ter from Juliet's hand, to him unresisting ; his eye
glanced rapidly over it : the blood rushed again to
his cheeks, coloured deeply his pale forehead, and
again retreated. He threw his arms around Juliet,
laid his head on hers, and sobbed out, " My child !
Mary ! Mary ! my child !"
Mrs. Aikin guessed the meaning of all this.
She dismissed the man with the assurance that he
should be paid the small sum due to him, and then
left Mr. Barlow to compose himself, and give to
Juliet the joyful explanation of what seemed to
her a riddle.
When she returned she found them calm, and as
happy as they could be ; their joy tempered by the
following sad letter :
Letter from Juliet's mother.
" MY DEAR FATHER: On the bed of death,
and with my little girl, who will soon be an or-
phan, beside me, I write this. My hand is stiff,
and a racking cough interrupts me. I can write
but a few lines at a time. Till last week I hoped
to get well, consumption is so flattering.
*' Dear father, I never told you any thing but
truth about my situation in America ; but I could
not bear to distress you and sister with the whole
truth. You could not help me, so I tried to suffer
patiently ; and I never felt alone, for when we
have no human friend nor help, then it is we feel
God to be near. Ronald turned out what I might
have expected when he persuaded me to marry
02
162 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
him against your will and consent. He was al-
ways headstrong poor Ronald ! We lived com-
fortably in Canada for a while. Oh ! what pleas-
ure I took in being saving, and making his pay
hold out. An ensign's pay is small, father ; and,
for a while after Juliet was born, he seemed to feel
what it was to be a father, and what he owed to
the child God had given him, and it seemed hap-
piness enough for him to be with us. Then I wrote
you often, and you know all about that time, father !
How soon it passed ! Bad people drew him away
from me, and bad people and hard drinking harden-
ed his heart ; and often and often, when I have gone
to meet .him in the damp night, wild with fear that
something had happened to him, and waited hours
and hours, he has come, and ; but, poor Ron-
ald ! I can't bear to bring up his sins now ! But,
oh ! my poor little child, how she has suffered for
his faults ! There were times when the sight of
her brought him to a momentary penitence ; but
he had no true joy in her. I have seen what bitter
drops conscience has poured into the sweet foun-
tain of parental love. I have seen him when the
tones of innocence and the look of love were cut-
ting reproaches to him. Poor Ronald !"
" I suffered, father, in many ways when, and
where, and how, there is no use in telling now.
I found patience a great help, and in the darkest
times I could pray for my poor husband. Had he
but turned to the right path, I would have wel-
comed poverty, sickness, hardship of any sort ; but
LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE. 163
the wounded spirit that cometh from the sin of
those we love, who can bear ?"
" Ronald failed in military duty, and lost his
commission, and changed his name to Brown.
We came to New-York. This was a dark time,
father. I was sometimes, for weeks, alone with
my child. He came to me to die. I remembered
Him who forgiveth liberally, and upbraideth not.
I watched him, day and night, till he died. May
I not hope for him ? but, alas ! alas ! his life was
a continual violation of God's laws. Towards the
last his mind was gone. Poor Ronald !"
" I went to the British consul. He was very
kind to me ; and from some English people, with
true English hearts, he got money enough to send
me and Juliet home to you. I was on board the
ship when, as I wrote to you, symptoms of the
varioloid appeared. I was sent off. Juliet and I
both had the disease. My disappointment aggra-
vated it with me. I was left low. I have worked
a little since, and sometimes hoped to earn money
to go home to you. I had spent, in my sickness,
all that was given to me. I have written but once,
hoping always to have something better to write.
But it's all over now ! Don't mourn about it,
father nor you, dear sister, it is God's will, and
never never has it seemed hard to me to bend to
his will. When poor Ronald went astray from
His will- that I felt to be hard."
164 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
"My little girl I have laid her in His arms
who bade little children come unto Him. She is
now His ; and, indeed indeed, my heart is not
troubled about her."
" Thank you, dear father, for long ago sending
me your forgiveness for what you were so kind as
to call my ' only disobedience.' I think it is easy
for the good to forgive. As I draw near home, I
am always with you in my dreams. I see the
white cottage and the hedge ; and last night you
and sister kissed me."
" There is a woman here kind to me. I shall
leave a request to the British consul to send Juliet
to you. God has given me his peace, father.
Don't you and sister mourn for me. Let Juliet
take my place. Farewell ! once more I kiss
you and sister. " Your M. B."
Death came sooner than Mary expected; and
ner child, instead of being placed in the consul's
hands, was apparently left with no other depend-
ance than the uncertain charities of a worthless
woman. But He who never forsakes the orphan
committed to him had, as Mr. Barlow expressed
it, led this lost lamb into the right fold. He
steeped Mary's letter in his tears tears of natural
A DEATH-BED. 165
sorrow for her sufferings, and of gratitude that a
husband's unfaithfulness, that poverty and sick-
ness, had all been God's ministers to bring her to
heaven.
CHAPTER XIX.
A DEATH-BED.
A PROFITABLE lesson in the economy of numan
life might have been learned in the dying Paulina's
apartment. Her last excess, her last draught of
gin, taken in an excited and feverish state, had
accelerated her disease. She had a raging fever,
and her cough was attended by spasms that, at
each recurrence, threatened her with instant death.
Charlotte, after in vain searching for some com-
fortable garments among the relics of Paulina's
evil days after turning over stained silk dresses,
tattered gauzes, yellow blonde laces, and tangled
artificial flowers, had furnished from her own
stores clean apparel suitable for a sick woman.
" Oh, Lottie, please," said Paulina, pointing to
the various articles of old finery that hung about
the room, or over the sides of her broken band-
boxes, " please put them all out of my sight they
seem like so many witnesses against me they
taunt me for my sin and folly. How good this
clean snug cap feels how kind it is of you to
lend me these things !"
166 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
" I have plenty, Paulina ; we always calculate
to have a good store of necessaries. Susan and I
think, if we don't want them, they will come in play
for somebody and, with a little industry and fore-
cast, they are easily got. You can buy a dozen
such caps as that of mine for the half of what one
of yours cost, Paulina."
" I can't help that now," retorted Paulina, pet-
tishly ; " I did not mean to speak so," she added,
after a moment's pause " but oh, Lottie, every
thing stings me."
" And I am sure," said the gentle Charlotte, " I
did not mean to hurt your feelings ; but I did not
know but you might think it strange such a poor
person as I should boast of abundance."
"You poor, Lottie ! you poor ! oh, I can tell
you what it is to be poor. To be without any
worldly possessions is not to be poor, for you have
a treasure laid up in heaven. To be what the
world calls friendless is not to be poor, for you
have God and conscience for friends. But to be
as I am, memory tormenting ! without hope to
have no inward peace no store of pleasant
thoughts of good done ! Oh, this is poverty. Pov-
erty is nothing outside, Lottie."
For a moment, Paulina's mind would seem to
have more even than its natural strength and clear-
ness : but such bright intervals were short, and
succeeded by hours when she seemed to be heav-
ily sleeping away her existence ; and Charlotte
would long to see her awaken to a consciousness
of her ebbing life, and employing the little time
that remained in preparation for her departure.
But, alas for those who leave their preparation for
A DEATH-BED. 167
the death-bed ! who defer to a few suffering hoars
the work for which life is given !
" "Who would have thought, Lottie," said Susan,
as the sisters sat together, watching Paulina's
troubled sleep, "that you would have lived to
nurse her on her death-bed ! It is teaching to look
at you and then at her."
Arid, as Susan said, it was " teaching." It taught
that, if the laws of nature, which are the laws of
God, are obeyed, the frailest, most delicate con-
stitution may be preserved ; and that the most vig-
orous health must be destroyed by a violation of
those laws. Charlotte, by strict temperance, by
regular exercise, by prudence and thoughtfulness,
had preserved the little remnant of health left by
the cruel accident she had endured in her child-
hood. But, what was far better, by the religious
performance of her duties by contentment, both
with the gifts and the denials of Providence by
forgetting herself, and remembering everybody
else by loving, and (a most sure consequence)
being loved in turn she had preserved that sweet
serenity of spirit that shone through her pale face,
and all those faculties in active operation, that,
slender and fragile as she was, made her the com-
fort of her family ; the dear Aunt Lottie of the
home she blessed.
Fifteen years before Paulina was the picture of
health, and in possession of the virtues (or rather
accidents) which are usually found with a sound
and vigorous constitution. She was good-humour-
ed, bright, courageous, and kind-hearted. But,
alas ! she was brought up by an ignorant mother,
in ignorance and the excessive love of pleas-
168 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
lire. She was pretty, and she was flattered at
home and abroad. That love of dress which per-
vades all classes of women, which grows with
their growth and strengthens with their strength,
which is cherished by the conversation of their
own sex and the flattery of the other, which de-
grades the rich and ruins so many poor girls, was
one of the most efficient causes of Paulina's de-
struction.*
" Do you remember," continued Susan, " how
clear and full her eye was 1 and now how sunken,
and those yellow, dropsical-looking bags about it j
and her cheeks, I remember father used to say they
looked like rare-ripes ; dear me ! how the bones
stick out now where the fair round flesh was ; and
how like old tripe it looks where she has had the
paint on ; and her lips, what a bright cherry-red
pair they were : dear ! dear ! how blue they are ;
and see her neck and arms, Lottie, that were so
plump and white, now how shrivelled and skinny
they look. Dear Lottie," she added, " I can't help
saying it, as I turn my eye from Paulina to you ;
you seem like a temple in, which the spirit of God
dwelleth. Oh ! what a comfort it is to have
cherished, and not abused, God's good gifts !"
* A gentleman, whose uncommon sagacity and rare benevo-
lence have had an ample field of observation and employment
in the office which he for a long while held, of superintendent
of the House of Refuge in this city, has said that he believed
the love of dress was a most efficient cause of the degrada-
tion and misery of the young females of the city. If this is so,
should not the reforma'tion begin among the educated and re-
flecting ? Among those who can afford indulgence ? How can
a lady, whose presses are teeming with French millinery and
embroidery, enjoin simplicity and economy on her domestics ?
But this is a subject that demands a volume ; or, rather, that
demands examples instead of precepts.
A DEATH-BED. 169
" Hush ! Susan, she is waking !" and poor Pau-
lina awoke from a troubled dream, coughing and
gasping. " Oh !" said she, as soon as she could
speak, " I thought I was dead and in misery, but
I am still living ; and, Lottie, does not the Bible
say I have almost forgotten all I knew about the
Bible but does it not say there is hope for the
living ?"
" Yes, Paulina ; if they repent of their evil
deeds, and turn to the Lord, there is with him
plenteous redemption."
" Does it say so ?" a suffocating fit of cough-
ing interrupted her. " My mind," she continued,
when she could get her breath, " My mind is so
confused, I have so given up my thoughts to folly
and sin, that I can r t even think good thoughts ;
how can I repent? I am so sleepy " and, as she
yet spoke, the words died away on her lips, and a
heavy sleep came over her, from which she start-
ed as from a nightmare.
" I have done one good thing," she said : " I
was good to Juliet !"
" That should comfort you !" said Susan, seizing,
as eagerly as a drowning man catches at a straw,
at Paulina's single consoling recollection.
" But, Susan, I was not kind as you would have
been such as I can't be so. I did keep my evil
life out of her sight ; I have ahvays paid something
extra, that she might have a little room to herself."
" That was considerate, Paulina."
" Do you think so, Lottie ? Dear me ! if I had
only realized how soon it would come to this, I
should have lived so differently ! My God ! but
*he other day we were playing together in Essex,
P
170 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
and now ! Do you think me very, very near
death ?" she added, rightly interpreting the expres-
sion of her friends' faces.
" You cannot have long to live," replied Char-
lotte, in a voice of the tenderest pity.
" Then why don't you send for a minister ?"
" We will, if you wish it, Paulina."
" I do, I do pray be quick !" Susan went to
the door and despatched a messenger, while Pau-
lina looked eagerly after her ; but, when Susan re-
turned to the bed, the poor creature shook her head
and said, with the awful solemnity of deep convic-
tion " What good can he do me ? It lieth be-
tween me and my Maker /" Her lips then murmur-
ed a low, broken prayer ; suddenly stopping, she
implored Lottie to pray for her. " I cannot pray,"
she said ; " don't let me go to sleep, Susan." Su-
san chafed her temples and hands, while Charlotte
knelt and besought pardon for the dying woman, as
a confiding child asks favours from a parent she
supremely loves. Her prayer expressed her faith
in the compassions of God, as revealed by his son ;
her face shone with love and mercy, from her soul,
his faint image. But poor Paulina was past all
comfort. When Charlotte finished, she said, faint-
ly " Say it again, Lottie, I could not hear you.
Come nearer, I don't see you ! Give me air ! did
mother speak ! no, I mean the minister ! has he
come ? tell Juliet no, not that thank you, Su-
san my God ! it's so sudden ! help me, Lot-
tie !" And thus, uttering at intervals broken sen-
tences, more and more incoherent, she continued
almost unconscious of the ministrations of her
A DEATH-BED. 171
friends, till she sunk into a lethargy which ended
in death.
The sisters wept over her such tears as angels
might shed. " I remember," said Susan, " almost
crying my eyes out when mother died ; I have
often cried, Lottie, to see you patiently bearing
cruel pain, and I cried till my tears seemed all
spent when my angel baby died but I never shed
^uch bitter tears as these ; there is no sight in this
world so sad as the death-bed of the sinner !
But, Lottie, don't you think we were some comfort
to her?"
Two days after, as Aikin and his family, accord-
ing to the village custom of his native place,
were following the remains of Paulina to their last
abode, they were intercepted by a long train of
funeral carnages. In the first, in deep weeds, was
Morris Finley, following the body of his only son
William Arthur. The boy had died suddenly, and,
according to the common saying, of a " most mys-
terious disease." Such mysteries are easily solv-
ed if we would honestly look at the truth. The
boy's stomach had been vitiated from infancy by
all sorts of delicacies and luxuries, permitted by
his foolish mother. The instrument, strained to its
utmost and a slight accident a trifling excess,
destroyed him.
We need not conjecture the reflections of Mor-
ris Finley on this occasion, when, for a little while
at least, he must have felt his wealth mocking him
with its emptiness.
172 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
CHAPTER XX.
THE CONCLUSION.
IT was early in the October following the win-
ter of Paulina's death that Mr. Aikin said, one fine
day, to his children, " Come, if mother says yes,
we'll all go down and see the new house."
As mother always said " yes" when any reason-
able pleasure was offered to the children, hats and
shawls were half on before the little monosyllable
was fairly uttered. " Come, danfather, I tant half
see it if you don't see it," said little Phil ; and,
" Come, Aunt Lottie, we sha'n't call it seeing it if
you don't see it," said the rest of the children ;
and, " You and Juliet must go, Mr. Barlow," said
Aikin, " and tell us how you like your new quar-
ters ;" and so, illustrating the truth that governed
this family, that the good and happiness of one
was the good and happiness of all, they set forth.
" Don't you an^ Juliet walk so fast," called out
little Phil to his eager brother William, " I tant
hardly hold danfather up, he stumbles so !"
" Phil is the most thoughtful and careful child
you ever had, Susan ; I tell you, he takes after
me." '
Susan, dutiful daughter as she was, could not
but smile at the particular virtues her father had
selected to fix the resemblance on, as she replied,
" I wish he may grow up half as good, father."
THE CONCLUSION. 173
u Aunt Lottie," said little Ruth, " don't Mr.
Beckwith getting this house done so soon for
father put you in mind of Mr. Barlow's story about
Aladdin's lamp ?"
" I never take much notice of such stories,
Ruth but it puts me in mind of those words in the
Bible, ' The liberal man deviseth liberal things ;
and the good that he purposeth, that he doeth
quickly.' "
" I never knew anybody like you, Aunt Lottie ;
you always remember something in the Bible that
seems to suit."
" Because, dear, I read the Bible more than all
other books, and there is something in it fitting all
occasions."
" I love to read the Bible with you, Aunt Lottie,
for it seems as if "
"As if what?" said Ruth.
" I know what is in my mind, but I don't know as
I can express it. When our schoolmistress reads
it to us, it seems as if she read it because she
thought she ought to ; but you seem to read it be-
cause you love it."
None should attempt to impart religious senti-
ments to children who do not feel them. " The
letter killeth, the spirit giveth life."
" Where shall we begin first," said Harry Aikin,
" at the kitchen or parlour ?"
" Parlour ! are we going to have a parlour ?
Oh, that's what mother has been making the new
carpet for !"
" Well, here it is, you see, with nice blinds, and
a good grate, and all finished off neatly, so that
you will have good reason for keeping every thing
174 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
in order; and here is a place for books" (he
opened the doors) "bless me, it is half full
already !" The children crowded round, and eager-
ly took down the books, and found them to be pres-
ents from each member of the Beckwith family
to each member of the Aikins, down to " Cobwebs
to catch Flies," and " Mother Goose's Melodies,"
for little Phil. The last grandfather averred to be
nothing new-fangled, and about the divertingest
book that was ever writ for children. To confess
the truth, Uncle Phil's chief lore was derived from
these immortal lyrics.
We wish that some of our friends whom, in
splendid mansions, we have heard fretting and re-
pining because they had not this elegance here,
and that improvement there, could have heard the
exclamations and seen the sparkling eyes of our
humble friends as they surveyed their new tene-
ment. " How nice," exclaimed Anne, " this par-
lour will be for our ' sociables !' it will seem
like a sociable every evening, with only our own
family."
" So it will, Anne," cried Uncle Phil, rubbing
his hands, " I declare it's as pleasant ena'most
as the old house in Essex." Uncle Phil's eye
caught the smile on his daughter's lips : " I know,
gals" he added, " that was kind o' shattered when
we left, and this is snugger and more fixed up ; but,
after all, it has not that look"
." You are quite right, father," replied Susan ;
and, as she spoke, the loving matron's eye turned
to her husband : " there is nothing can have that
look that our first love has."
" This little bedroom is next to Mr. Barlow's
THE CONCLUSION. 175
room, and just big enough for a single bed this
must be for Juliet," decided one voice, and echoed
many others, as they passed out of the back room
into a small apartment fitted up with presses and
drawers, and ventilated and lighted by glazed
panels above the doors. On the second floor were
three rooms, in the largest a Franklin ; and Mrs.
Aikin, remembering Mr. Beckwith had made in-
quiries as to what mode of warming her room
Charlotte preferred, at once assigned this to her.
" To be sure this is Aunt Lottie's," said little Ruth;
" there is the very picture, Aunt Lottie, you was
explaining to me at the print-shop window when
Mrs. Beckwith stopped to speak to us."
" ' Christ healing the sick' is the right picture
for your room, Lottie," said her sister.
" Oh, Mrs. Beckwith is too good," said the grate-
ful Lottie.
" Mrs. Beckwith is very good, but nothing in the
world is too good for you, Aunt Lottie;" and, "No,
indeed !" and, " No, indeed !" was echoed by the
children.
We must not detain our readers with further
particulars ; suffice it to say, the rooms were well
ventilated ; presses and drawers abounded ; the
kitchen had every convenience to facilitate order
and lighten labour ; there was a pump, that sup-
plied water from a copious cistern a drain a
large pantry, and close cupboards, &c. <fcc. ; and
all the conveniences, from garret to cellar, produ-
cing such an amount of comfort to a worthy family,
did not, as Mr. Beckwith demonstrated by his ac-
counts, cost so much as many a single article of
ornamental furniture, nor twice as much as a
176 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC
single pocket-handkerchief, or embroidered cape,
sold daily by Mr. Stewart to the ladies of our city !
In the evening, at their own dwelling, the house
naturally was the subject of conversation. " How
very lucky," said Uncle Phil, " that Mr. Beckwith
happened to build a house that suits us to a T !"
"It is not luck, father," said Harry Aikin," when
things suit precisely. Mr. Beckwith has studied
the condition and wants of the labouring classes.
He tells me, the attention of many rich men has
been turned to the miserable tenements of the
poorer classes ; and he says, they believe the want
of comfort and convenience about them to be a
great evil to society they think the intemperance
of many men may be traced to this cause. To say
nothing of the crowds huddled together in filthy
unwholesome alleys, even the better houses of the
poor are discouraging to the women : they get
wearied out with their necessary work, and no
strength and time left to clean a house that always
wants cleaning. The poor husband has been
.working hard all day; comes home at night to a
filthy, dark, cold room his wife cross, or half sick
and dumpish, and crying children no wonder he
goes out to the corner grocery, that looks so light
and cheerful !"
" Then, after all, father, it's the woman, and not
the house, that drives him off?"
" Ah, Will, the poor wife is disheartened ; we
are weak creatures, my son, and need help on ev-
ery side."
" I am sure you and mother have not had so
many helps."
" Have not we 1 I'll tell you some of my helps,
THE CONCLUSION. 177
Will : I had a good education, I do not mean as
to learning, that is only one part of it ; I was taught
to use my faculties. But, first, and best of all,
I early learned to seek the favour of God, and
the approval of conscience. I have always had a
cheerful home, a clean room to come to, clean chil-
dren, and a nice wife. Your mother has perform-
ed her duties, great and small ; as to the small, she
never has failed a day since we were married to
put on her t'other gown at evening, and a clean
cap with a riband bow, most always of blue, the
colour she knows I like best. Her trade has help-
ed us through many a hard-rubbing day ; and it
has given me peace of mind, for I know, if I were
taken from you, she could and would support you
without running to any widows' societies or assist-
ance societies. As to other helps, here has been
your good grandfather setting us examples of kind-
ness, and tending each of you as you came along ;
and your dear Aunt Lottie always a blessed help."
" Ah, yes ! such a comfort !" interposed Susan.
" And then, Heaven-directed, came Mr. Barlow
to give you better instruction ; and, finally, Mr.
Beck with to help us to a house, and take nothing
from our independence ; for he says the rent,
which does not exceed more than that we now
pay, will yield him eight per cent, for the money
he has invested. He says he can afford the house
lower to me than to some others, for he is sure
of being punctually paid ; and sure you will not
mutilate and deface, as most children do, shaving
the doors with penknives, breaking windows, and
destroying every way. So, you see, that virtue,
and good habits, and manners (which are the les-
178 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC
er virtues), are not only in the highest sense treas-
ures, they are money to you. In the labouring
class, property is a sign of good morals. In this
country nobody sinks into deep poverty slumps
through^ as your grandfather says, except by some
vice, directly or indirectly. There are, perhaps,
a few exceptions; I have known one, and but
one. Come here, Ruth ; is my sermon tiring
you ?"
" No, indeed, father, I always like your preach-
ing ; but I was thinking."
" Of what, Ruth ?"
" That the scholars at our school don't know Mr.
Beckwith ; if they did, they 'would not call rich
people so hateful."
" Children are excellent judges."
" But, father, their folks tell them."
" Observe for yourselves, my children, and don't
trust to what others tell you. If you make good
use of your bodily eyes, and the eyes of your mind,
you will see that Providence has bound the rich
and the poor by one chain. Their interests are
the same ; the prosperity of one is the prosperity
of all. The fountains are with the rich, but they
are no better than a stagnant pool till they flow in
streams to the labouring people. The enterprise
and success of the merchant give us employ^
ment and rich rewards for our labour. We are
dependant on them, but they are quite as depend-
ant on us. If there were none of these hateful
rich people, Ruth, who, think you, would build hos-
pitals, and provide asylums for orphans, and for
the deaf and dumb, and the blind ?"
" I never thought of that, father !"
THE CONCLUSION. 179
" There are many older than you, my child, who
come to wrong conclusions for want of thinking."
" Now, Harry Aikin," said Uncle Phil, who (as
our readers may be) was getting tired and sleepy,
" I don't see the use of so much thinking ; think-
ing is dreadful puzzling work, I tell you ! The
whole of it is, you must just do your duty thorough-
ly, and then you'll be contented in this world, and
happy in the next ; and poverty or riches won't
make a straw's difference either way."
" But 'tis a comfort, father," said Susan, "to the
poor, to feel that there is nothing low in poverty
to remember that the greatest, wisest, and best Be-
ing that ever appeared on earth had no part nor
lot in the riches of this world ; and that, for our
sakes, he became poor."
" To be sure it is, Susy to be sure it is."
NOTE.
THE writer of the preceding pages would not be
supposed to want a due respect for the art of medi-
cine ; that it sometimes cures and sometimes alle-
viates, there can be no doubt ; but, does not the
patient often resort to it, and resort to it in vain,
when, if he had studied and obeyed the laws of
physiology, he would not have needed the aid it
cannot give.
The laws of Him who made us are perfect. " It
is a very different thing to comply blindly with the
directions which come to us simply on the authority
of a man like ourselves, and to comply intelligently
with those which claim our obedience on the author"
ity of the Creator"
The suggestions made in this volume, on the
use of ablutions," ventilation, flannel, &c., for the
preservation of health, are derived from the admi-
rable and popular work of Andrew Combe on
Physiology, and from an observation of the benefit
derived from the actual application of his rules.
We give a few brief extracts from his work, and
wish that the whole, in a more popular form, were
in every habitation in our land.
" Taking," says Mr. Combe, " even the lowest
estimate of Lavoisier, we find the skin endowed
NOTE. 181
with the important charge of removing from the
system about twenty ounces of waste matter every
twenty-four hours." " Insensible perspiration re-
moves from the skin, without trouble and without
consciousness, a large quantity of useless materi-
als ; and, at the same time, keeps the skin soft and
moist, and thereby fits it for the performance of its
functions as the organ of external sense." " Where
the perspiration is brought to 'the surface of the
skin, and confined there, either by injudicious
clothing, or by want of cleanliness, there is much
reason to suppose that its residual parts are again
absorbed, and act on the system as a poison of
greater or less power, according to its quantity and
degree of concentration, thereby producing fever,
inflammation, and even death itself." Mr. Combe
proceeds to adduce many facts to support the the-
ory that diseases are taken in through the skin,
and therefrom infers the necessity of guarding it.
" Brocchi ascribes the immunity (from the effects
of malaria) of the sheep and cattle which pasture
night and day in the Campagna to the protection af-
forded them by their wool." " Similar means
have been found effectual in preserving the health
of labourers digging and excavating drains and ca-
nals in marshy grounds, where, previous to the
employment of these precautions, the mortality
from fever was very considerable."
" The insensible perspiration being composed of
a large quantity of water, which passes off in the
form of vapour, and is not seen, and of various salts
and animal matter, a portion of which remains ad-
herent to the skin, the removal of this residue by
Q
182 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
washing becomes an indispensable condition of
health."
In youth and health, " cold bathing and lighter
clothing may be resorted to with a rational pros-
pect of advantage ; but when,yrom a weak constitu-
tion or unusual susceptibility, the skin is not endow-
ed with sufficient vitality to originate the necessary
reaction which alone renders these safe and proper
when they produce an abiding sense of chillness,
however slight in degree we may rest assured that
mischief will inevitably follow at a greater or shorter
distance of time"
" Many youths, particularly females, and those
whose occupations are sedentary, pass days,
weeks, and months without experiencing the
pleasing glow and warmth of a healthy skin, and
are habitually complaining of chillness on the sur-
face, cold feet, and other symptoms of deficient
cutaneous circulation. Their suffering, unfortu-
nately, does not stop here ; for the unequal dis-
tribution of the blood oppresses the internal or-
gans ; and too often, by insensible degrees, lays
the foundation of tubercles in the lungs, and other
maladies, which show themselves only when
arrived at an incurable stage." " All who value
health, and have common sense and resolution,
will take warning from signs like these, and never
rest till the equilibrium be restored. For this pur-
pose, warm clothing, exercise in the open air, spon-
ging with vinegar and water, regular friction with a
flesh-brush or hair glove, and great cleanliness, are
excellently adapted."
" The Creator has made exercise essential as
a means of health ; and, if we neglect this, and seek
NOTE. 183
it in clothing alone, it is at the risk, or rather cer-
tainty, of weakening the body, relaxing the sur-
face," &c. &c. " Many good constitutions are
thus ruined, and many nervous and pulmonary
complaints brought on to imbitter existence."
" Flannel, from being a bad conductor of heat,
prevents that of the animal economy from being
quickly dissipated, and protects the body in a con-
siderable degree from the influence of sudden ex-
ternal changes. From its presenting a rough and
uneven, though a soft, surface to the skin, every
movement of the body in labour or exercise gives,
by the consequent friction, a gentle stimulus to the
cutaneous vessels and nerves, which assists their
action, and maintains their functions in health ;
and being, at the same time, of a loose and porous
texture, flannel is capable of absorbing the cuta-
neous exhalations to a larger extent than any other
material in common use."
" It is during the sudden changes from heat to
cold, so common in autumn, before the frame has
got inured to the reduction of temperature, that
protection is most wanted, and flannel is most
useful."
" The exhalation from the skin being so con-
stant and extensive, its bad effects when confined
suggest another rule of conduct, viz. that of fre-
quently changing and airing the clothes, so as to
free them from every impurity. It is an excellent
plan to wear two sets of flannels, each being worn
and aired by turns, on alternate days." " A prac-
tice common in Italy merits universal adoption.
Instead of beds being made up in the morning the
moment they are vacated, and while still saturated
184 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
with the nocturnal exhalations which, before morn-
ing, became sensible, even to smell, in a bedroom,
the bedclothes were thrown over the backs of
chairs, the mattresses shaken up, and the windows
thrown open for the greater part of the day, so as
to secure a thorough and cleansing ventilation."
" The opposite practice, carried to extremes in
the dwellings of the poor, where three or four
beds are often huddled up, with all their impuri-
ties, in a small room, is a fruitful source of fever
and bad health, even where ventilation during the
day, and nourishment, are not deficient."
" In eastern and warm countries, where perspi-
ration is very copious, ablution and bathing have
assumed the importance of religious observances."
" The warm, tepid, cold, or shower bath, as a
means of preserving health, ought to be in as com-
mon use as a change of apparel, for it is equally a
measure of necessary cleanliness." " Our conti-
nental neighbours consider the bath as a necessary
of life."
We hope the following remarks, which Mr,
Combe quotes from Stuart, the traveller, will be
taken as a wholesome admonition, not as an un-
kind censure :
" The practice of travellers washing at the
doors, or in the porticoes or stoops/or at the wells
of taverns and hotels, once a day, is most prejudi-
cial to health; the ablution of the body, which
ought never to be neglected, at least twice a day,
being inconsistent with it. I found it more diffi-
cult, in travelling in the United States, to procure
a liberal supply of water, at all times of the day,
in my bedchamber, than any other necessary. A
NOTE. 185
supply for washing the hands and face once a day
seems all that is thought requisite"
" For general use, the tepid, or warm bath,
seems to me much more suitable than the cold
bath, especially in winter, for those who are not
robust and full of animal heat." " For those not
rbbust, daily sppnging of the body with cold water
and vinegar, or salt water, is the best substitute
for the c'old bath, and may be resorted to with
safety, especially when care is taken to excite in
the surface, by subsequent friction with the flesh-
brush or hair glove, the healthy glow of reaction."
" A person in sound health may take a bath at
any time, except immediately after meals." " As
a general rule, active exertion ought to be avoided
for an hour or two after using the warm or tepid
bath." " If the bath cannot be had at all places,
soap and water may be obtained everywhere, and
leave no apology for neglecting the skin ; or, if the
constitution be delicate, water and vinegar, or
water and salt. A rough and rather coarse towel
is a very useful auxiliary. Few of those who have
steadiness enough to keep up the action of the
skin by the above means, and to avoid strong ex-
citing causes, will ever suffer from colds, sore
throats, or similar complaints." " If one tenth of
the persevering attention and labour bestowed to
so much purpose in rubbing down and currying
the skins of horses, were bestowed on the human
race in keeping themselves in good condition, and
a little attention were paid to diet and clothing,
colds, nervous diseases, and stomach complaints
would cease to form so large a catalogue in human
miseries."
Q2
186 THE POOR RICH MAN, ETC.
We wish we could enrich our little book with
farther extracts, but we must conclude with again
earnestly recommending Dr. Combe's work, " The
Principles of Physiology, applied to the Preserva-
tion of Health," as one of the most important foi
the family library.
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original and selected. 8vo. With Portraits.
The Book of Nature. By John Mason Good,
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Essays on the Principles of Morality, and on the
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Jonathan Dymond. With a Preface by the Rev. George Bush,
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A Dictionary of the Holy Bible. Containing an
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The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson
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Poems by William Cullen Bryant. New Edition,
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Sallust's Jugurthine War and Conspiracy of Cat-
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Select Orations of Cicero, with an English Com-
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A Life of George Washington. In Latin Prose.
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Initia Latina, or the Rudiments of the I atin Tongue.
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Miniature Lexicon of the English Language. By
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A Year in Spain. By a Young American. In 3
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Spain Revisited. By the Author of " A Year in
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The Letters of the British Spy. By William Wirt,
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Directions for Invigorating and Prolonging Life ;
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Paris and the Parisians in 1835. By Frances
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Traits of the Tea-Party ; being a Memoir of George
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Letters from the zEgean. By James Emerson,
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History of the Reformed Religion in France. By
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Constantinople and its Environs. In a Series o*
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The Tourist, or Pocket Manual for Travellers on
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