Charity.—Shopping.—The distressed Stationer.—Mischievous Consequences of
delaying Payment.
As they walked in search of a shop, they both determined to purchase
pocket-books; but their friend desired them not to spend all their money
at once, as they would meet many objects of charity in the numerous
streets of the metropolis. I do not wish you, she continued, to relieve
every beggar that you casually meet; yet should any one attract your
attention, obey the impulse of your heart, which will lead you to pay
them for exercising your compassion, and do not suffer the whispers of
selfishness, that they may be impostors, to deter you. However, I would
have you give but a trifle when you are not certain the distress is real,
and reckon it given for pleasure. I for my part would rather be deceived
five hundred times, than doubt once without reason.
They stopped at a small shop, Mrs. Mason always sought out such; for,
said she, I may help those who perhaps want assistance; bargains I never
seek, for I wish every one to receive the just value for their goods.
In the shop which they chanced to enter, they did not find the kind of
pocket-book that they had previously fixed on, and therefore wished
precipitately to leave it; but were detained by their more considerate
friend. While they had been turning over the trinkets, the countenance
of the woman, who served them, caught her eye, and she observed her eager
manner of recommending the books. You have given much unnecessary
trouble, said she, to the mistress of the shop; the books are better, and
more expensive than you intended to purchase, but I will make up the
deficiency. A beam of pleasure enlivened the woman’s swollen eyes; and
Mrs. Mason, in the mild accents of compassion, said, if it is not an
impertinent question, will you tell me from what cause your visible
distress arises? perhaps I may have it in my power to relieve you.—The
woman burst into tears.—Indeed, Madam, you have already relieved me; for
the money you have laid out will enable me to procure some food for my
poor little grandchildren, and to send a meal to their poor father, who
is now confined for debt, though a more honest man never breathed. Ah!
Madam, I little thought I should come to this—Yesterday his wife died,
poor soul! I really believe things going so cross broke her heart. He
has been in jail these five months; I could not manage the shop, or buy
what was proper to keep up the credit of it, so business has been
continually falling off; yet, if his debts were paid, he would now be
here, and we should have money in our pockets. And what renders it more
provoking, the people who owe us most are very rich. It is true, they
live in such a very high style, and keep such a number of horses and
servants, that they are often in want of money, and when they have it,
they mostly have some freak in their heads, and do not think of paying
poor trades-people. At first we were afraid to ask for payment lest we
should lose their custom, and so it proved; when we did venture, forced
by necessity, they sent to other shops, without discharging our demand.
And, my dear Madam, this is not all my grief; my son, before his
misfortunes, was one of the most sober, industrious young men in London;
but now he is not like the same man. He had nothing to do in the jail,
and to drive away care he learned to drink; he said it was a comfort to
forget himself, and he would add an oath—I never heard him swear till
then. I took pains when he was a child to teach him his prayers, and he
rewarded me by being a dutiful son. The case is quite altered now—he
seems to have lost all natural affection—he heeds not his mother’s
tears.—Her sobs almost suffocated her, as she strove to go on—He will
bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave—and yet I pity my poor boy,
he is shut up with such a number of profligate wretches, who laugh at
what is right. Every farthing I send him he spends in liquor, and used
to make his poor wife pawn her clothes to buy him drink—she was happy to
die, it was well for her not to live to hear the babe she gave suck to
despise her!
A passion of tears relieved the sufferer, and she called her
grandchildren; these innocent babes, said she, I shall not be able to
keep them, they must go to the workhouse. If the quality did but know
what they make us poor industrious people suffer—surely they would be
more considerate.
Mrs. Mason gave her something to supply her present wants, and promised
to call on her again before she left town.
They walked silently down two or three streets; I hope you have learned
to think, my dear girls, said Mrs. Mason, and that your hearts have felt
the emotions of compassion; need I make any comments on the situation of
the poor woman we have just left. You perceive that those who neglect to
pay their debts, do more harm than they imagine; perhaps, indeed, some of
these very people do, what is called, a noble action, give away a large
sum, and are termed generous; nay, very probably, weep at a tragedy, or
when reading an affecting tale. They then boast of their
sensibility—when, alas! neglecting the foundation of all virtue,
_justice_, they have occasioned exquisite distress;—led a poor wretch
into vice; heaped misery on helpless infancy, and drawn tears from the
aged widow.