In a town that shall be nameless, but which was situate somewhere or
other in the West of England, there lived some years since--no matter
how many--a young man, called Job Vivian, who practised as a surgeon,
apothecary, and so forth. He was about two or three and twenty years of
age when he first commenced his professional career in this place, and
very shortly afterwards he married the girl of his affections, to whom
he had been sincerely attached from his very boyhood; and as they were
both exceedingly good-looking--in fact, she was beautiful--they of
course made what the world terms an imprudent marriage. But Job himself
thought very differently, and amidst all the cares and vicissitudes that
attended several years of his wedded life, he never passed a day without
breathing a prayer of thankfulness to Heaven for having blessed him with
so excellent a helpmate. But though rich in domestic comforts, all the
rest of Job's affairs, for a long time, went on unprosperously. He
certainly acquired sufficient practice in the course of a few years to
occupy a great portion of his time, by night as well as by day, but then
it was not what is termed a paying practice. In fact, nearly the whole
of his business was either amongst the poorer classes, who couldn't pay,
the dishonest, who wouldn't, or the thoughtless and dilatory, who, if
they did so, took a very long time about it. In spite, therefore, of all
his labour and assiduity, the actual amount he received from his
practice fell short of his yearly expenditure, which obliged him to dip
into his small independent property, consisting of a few houses in an
obscure part of the town; which, as he became every year more heavily
involved, he was erelong compelled to mortgage so deeply, that what
between some of his tenants running away without paying their rent, the
costs of repairs, and money to be paid for interest, a very small
portion of the annual proceeds ever reached Job's pockets; and at last,
to complete the whole, a virulent fever broke out in the very midst of
this precious property, of so obstinate and dangerous a kind, as for
some months to defy the skill of all the medical men of the place,
nearly depopulating the whole neighbourhood, which in consequence became
all but deserted.
Just at this critical time poor Job Vivian received a notice from his
mortgagee--a rich old timber merchant, who lived and carried on his
business in the same town with him--to pay off his mortgage; which he
being unable to do, or to obtain any body to advance the required amount
on the security of property which had then become so depreciated in
value, the sordid worshipper of mammon, though rolling in wealth, and
not spending one-tenth part of his income, and with neither wife nor
children to provide for, nor a soul on earth he cared a straw for, was
resolved, as he was technically pleased to term it, to sell up the
doctor forthwith; to accomplish which he commenced an action of
ejectment to recover the possession of the premises, though Job had
voluntarily offered to give them up to him, and also an action of
covenant for non-payment of the mortgage money, whilst at the same time
he filed his bill in Chancery to foreclose the mortgage; which combined
forces, legal and equitable, proved so awful a floorer to a sinking man,
that, in order to get clear of them, he was glad at the very outset, not
only to give up all claim to the property, but even to consent to pay
L100 out of his own pocket for the costs said to have been incurred in
thus depriving him of his possessions.
These costs proved an unceasing millstone about the unfortunate doctor's
neck. In order to pay them, he had been obliged to leave more just
demands undischarged; and thus he became involved in difficulties he
strove in vain to extricate himself from. Yet in spite of all this, Job
and his good little wife were a far happier couple than most of their
richer neighbours. The constant hope that things would soon begin to
take a more prosperous turn, reconciled them to their present
perplexities; there was but one drawback they considered to render their
bliss complete; and Job used to say, that he had never met with an
instance of a man who hadn't a drawback to perfect happiness in some
shape or other and that, take it for all in all, they had, thank God, a
pretty fair allowance of the world's comforts.
"So we have, my dear Job," said his pretty little wife Jessie, in reply
to a remark of this kind he had been just then making--"and only think
how far happier we are than most of the people around us. Only think of
Mr Belasco, who, with all his money and fine estates, is so unhappy,
that his family are in constant dread of his destroying himself."
"And poor Sir Charles Deacon," interposed Job, "a man so devotedly fond
of good eating and drinking as he is, and yet to be compelled to live on
less than even workhouse allowance for fear of the gout--and then that
silly Lord Muddeford, who's fretting himself to death because ministers
wouldn't make him an earl--Mrs Bundy, with her two thousand a-year,
making herself miserable because the Grandisons, and my Lord and Lady
Muddeford, and one or two others of the grand folks, every one of whom
she dislikes, won't visit her. Then the squire at Mortland is troubled
with a son that no gentleman will be seen speaking to; and the rich
rector of"----Job nodded his head, but didn't say where--"has a
tipsy-getting wife--and poor Squire Taylor's wife stark mad--Mr Gribbs
also, with his fine unencumbered property, has two idiot children, and
another deaf and dumb, and the other--the only sane child he has, is
little better than a fool. Then the Hoblers are rendered miserable by
the disobedience and misconduct of their worthless children; and the
Dobsons are making themselves wretched because they've no such creatures
to trouble themselves about. The only man of property I can name in the
whole country round who seems free from care, is our fox-hunting squire
at Abbot's Beacon, who really does enter into the life of the sport, has
plenty of money to carry it on with, and has besides one of the nicest
places I think I ever saw."
"But then," interposed Job's better half, "his wife, every body says,
doesn't care a fig for him."
"Then a fig for all his happiness," said Job; "I wouldn't change places
with him for ten thousand times ten thousand his wealth and possessions,
and a dukedom thrown into the bargain;" and Job told the truth too, and
kissed his wife by way of confirmation; for he couldn't help it for the
very life of him, Job couldn't.
"And then only to consider," said Mrs Job Vivian, as she smilingly
adjusted her hair--and very nice hair she had, and kept it very nicely
too, though her goodman had just then tumbled it pretty
considerably--"only think what two lovely children we have; every one
who sees them is struck with their remarkable beauty." This was
perfectly true, by the way, notwithstanding the observation proceeded
from a mother's lips.
"And so good, too, my dear Jessie," continued Job; "I wonder," he
proudly said, "if any father in the land, besides myself, can truly
boast of children who have had the use of their tongues so long, and who
yet, amidst all their chattering and prattling, have never told a
falsehood--so that, amidst all the cares that Providence has been
pleased to allot us, we never can be thankful enough for the actual
blessings we enjoy."
"We never can, indeed," said Jessie. And thus, in thankfulness for the
actual comforts they possessed, they forgot all the troubles that
surrounded them, and, happily, were ignorant of how heavily they would
soon begin to press upon them.
And now, we must state here, that, although generally unfortunate in his
worldly undertakings, a young colt, which the young doctor had himself
reared, seemed to form an exception to the almost general rule, for he
turned out a most splendid horse; and as his owner's patients were
distributed far and wide over a country in which an excellent pack of
hounds was kept; and Job himself, not only fond of the sport, but also a
good rider, who could get with skill and judgment across a country, his
colt, even at four years' old, became the first-rate hunter of the
neighbourhood; so much so, indeed, that a rich country squire one
day--and that at the very close of the hunting season--witnessing his
gallant exploits in the field, was so pleased with the horse, that he
offered Job L150 for him.
Now, Job thought his limited circumstances would never justify his
riding a horse worth L150; yet he was so much attached to the animal he
had reared, that, greatly as he then wanted money, he felt grieved at
the idea of parting with him, and, at the instant of the offer, he could
not in fact make up his mind to do. Promising, therefore, to give an
answer in the course of a day or two, he returned home, by no means a
happier man in the consciousness of the increased value of his steed;
nor could he muster sufficient courage to tell his wife, who was almost
as fond of the horse as he himself was, of the liberal price that had
been offered for him. But the comfortable way in which Jessie had gotten
every thing ready for him against his return, dispelled a great portion
of his sadness; and her cheerful looks and conversation, added to the
pleasing pranks of his little children, had all but chased away the
remainder, when he received a summons to attend a sick patient, living
at least three miles away, in the country.
"This really is very provoking," said Job; "and the worst part of the
business is, that I can do no good whatever--the poor creature is too
far gone in consumption for the skill of the whole faculty put together
to save her life; and, bless me, my poor Selim has not only carried me
miles and miles over the road to-day, but, like an inconsiderate
blockhead, I must gallop him after the hounds, across the country. But
there, I suppose, I must go; I ought not to stay away from doing an act
of charity, because I am certain not to be paid, or perhaps even thanked
for my pains. Had it been a rich patient, I should have started readily
enough, and so I will now for my poor one. But as Selim has had
something more than a fair day's work of it, I must even make a walk of
it, and be thankful I've such a good pair of legs to carry me."
Job had a very good pair of legs, and the consciousness of this gave him
very great satisfaction; and so, having talked himself into a good
humour, and into the mind for his work, and fearing lest pondering too
long over the matter might induce him to change his resolution, he
caught up his hat, and at once prepared to make a start of it; but, in
his haste, he tripped over two or three steps of the stair, and falling
down the remainder, sprained his ankle so badly, as to render his
walking impracticable. Determined, however, not to abandon a duty he had
made up his mind to perform, and having no other horse at his command,
Selim was again saddled, who, even with only an hour's rest and
grooming, looked nearly as fresh as if he had not been out of his stable
for the day. Never was a man more pleased with a horse than Job was with
the noble animal he then bestrode, and deeply did he regret the urgent
necessity which compelled him to part with him. "Had it not been for
that old miserly fellow in there, I might still have kept my poor
Selim," said Job to himself, as he rode by a large mansion at the verge
of the town; "that L100," continued Job, "he obliged me to pay him or
his attorney, for taking away the remnant of my little property, is the
cause of those very embarrassments which compel me to sell this dear
good horse of mine."
Just as he had so said, an incident occurred which stopped his further
remarks; but, before we mention what this incident was, we must state
what was occurring within this said house at the time Job was in the act
of riding past it.
The proprietor and occupant of this mansion--one of the best in the
place--was, as our readers may have already suspected, the selfsame old
timber merchant who had dealt so hardly with our friend Job, by taking
advantage of a temporary depreciation in the value of his mortgaged
property to acquire the absolute ownership--well knowing, that, in a
very short time, the premises would fetch at least three times the
amount of what he had advanced upon them; in fact, he sold them for more
than four times that sum in less than six months afterwards: but that is
not the matter we have now to deal with. We must therefore introduce our
readers into one of the front rooms of this mansion, in which its
master, (an elderly person, with the love of money--Satan's sure
mark--deeply stamped upon his ungainly countenance,) was closeted with
his attorney; the latter of whom was in the act of taking the necessary
instructions for making the rich man's will--a kind of job the intended
testator by no means relished, and which no power on earth, save the
intense hatred he bore to the persons upon whom his property would
otherwise devolve, could have forced him to take in hand.
"'Tis a bitter thing, Mr Grapple," said the monied man, addressing
himself to the attorney, "a bitter thing to give away what one's been
the best part of one's life trying to get together; and not only to
receive nothing in return, but even to have to pay a lawyer for taking
it away."
"But I'm sure, my good friend, you'll hardly begrudge my two guineas for
this," observed the lawyer--"only think what a capital business I made
in getting you into all Job Vivian's property."
"Well, but you got a hundred pounds for your trouble, didn't you?"
observed the timber-merchant impatiently.
"Yes, my dear sir; but none of that came out of your own pocket,"
interposed the attorney.
"And didn't you promise nothing ever should?" rejoined the old man;
"but never mind--business is business--and, when upon business, stick to
the business you're on, that's my rule; so now to proceed--but mind, I
say, them two guineas includes the paper."
"Oh yes, paper of course!" replied the man of law, "and nothing to pay
for stamps; and this will enable you to dispose of every penny of your
money; and, my dear sir, consider--only for one moment consider your
charities--how they'll make all the folks stare some day or other!"
"Ay, ay, you're right," said the client, a faint smile for the first
time that day enlivening his iron features. "Folks will stare indeed;
and, besides, 'tis well know'd--indeed the Scripturs says, that charity
do cover a multitude of sins."
"To be sure they do; and then only think of the name you'll leave behind
to be handed down to posterity. Such munificent bequests nobody
hereabouts ever heard of before."
"There's a satisfaction in all you say, I confess," observed the
intended donor of all these good gifts; "and who can then say I wasn't
the man to consider the wants of the poor? I always did consider the
poor." So he did, an old scoundrel, and much misery the unhappy
creatures endured in consequence.
"And then," resumed Mr Grapple, "only consider again the tablets in
which all your pious bequests will be stuck up in letters of gold, just
under the church organ, where they will be read and wondered at, not
only by all the townsfolk for hundreds of years to come, but also by all
the strangers that pass through and come to look at the church."
"Very satisfactory that--very!" said the intended testator; "but are you
still sure I can't give my land as well as my money in charities?"
"Only by deed indented, and enrolled within six months after execution,
and to take effect immediately," replied the attorney.
"By which you mean, I suppose, that I must give it out and out, slap
bang all at once, and pass it right away in the same way as if I sold it
outright?"
Lawyer Grapple replied in the affirmative; at which information his
client got very red in the face, and exclaimed, with considerable
warmth--"Before I do that, I'd see all the charities in ----" he didn't
say where; and, checking himself suddenly, continued, in a milder
tone--"That is, I could hardly be expected to make so great a sacrifice
as that in my lifetime; so, as I can't dispose of my lands in the way I
wish, I'll tie 'em up from being made away with as long as I can: for
having neither wife, chick, nor child, nor any one living soul as I care
a single farthing about, it's no pleasure to me to leave it to any body;
but howsomever, as relations is in some shape, as the saying is, after a
manner a part of one's own self, I suppose I'd better leave it to one of
they."
"Your nephew who resides in Mortimer Street, is, I believe, your
heir-at-law?" suggested Mr Grapple.
"He be blowed!" retorted the timber-merchant, petulantly; "he gave me
the cut t'other day in Lunnun streets, for which I cuts he off with a
shilling. Me make he my heir!--see he doubly hanged first, and wouldn't
do it then."
The attorney next mentioned another nephew, who had been a major in the
East India Company's service, and was then resident at Southampton.
"He!" vociferated the uncle, "a proud blockhead; I heerd of his goings
on. He, the son of a hack writer in a lawyer's office! he to be the one,
of all others, to be proposing that all the lawyers and doctors should
be excluded from the public balls! I've a-heerd of his goings on. He
have my property! Why, he'd blush to own who gid it to him. He have it!
No; I'd rather an earthquake swallowed up every acre of it, before a
shovel-full should come to his share."
"Then your other nephew at Exeter?" observed the attorney.
"Dead and buried, and so purvided for," said the timber-merchant.
"I beg your pardon, sir--I had for the moment forgotten that
circumstance; but there's his brother, Mr Montague Potts Beverley, of
Burton Crescent?"
"Wuss and wuss," interrupted the testy old man. "Me give any thing to an
ungrateful dog like that? Why, I actelly lent he money on nothing but
personal security, to set him up in business; and the devil of a
ha-penny could I ever screw out of him beyond principal and legal
interest at five per cent; and, now he's made his forten, he's ashamed
of the name that made it for him--a mean-spirited, henpecked booby, that
cast his name to the dogs to please a silly wife's vanity. He have my
property! I rather calculate not! And so, having disposed of all they, I
think I'll leave my estates to some of brother Thomas's sons. Now,
Grapple, mind me; this is how I'll have it go. In the first place,
intail it on my nephew Thomas, that's the tailor in Regent Street, who,
they says, is worth some thousands already; so what I intends to give
him, will come in nicely;--failing he and his issue, then intail it on
Bill--you knows Bill--he comes here sometimes--travels for a house in
the button line;--failing he and his issue, then upon Bob the letenant
in the navy; he's at sea now, though I be hanged if I know the name of
the ship he belongs to."
Mr Grapple observed that this was unimportant, and then asked if he
should insert the names of any other persons.
"I don't know, really, or very much care whether you does or not,"
replied the timber-merchant. "My late brother Charles," he continued,
"left three sons; but what's become of they all, or whether they be dead
or alive, any of them, I can hardly tell, nor does it very much signify;
for they were a set of extravagant, low-lived, drunken fellows, every
one of them, and not very likely to mend either."
"Then, perhaps you'd rather your heirs at-law should take?" remarked the
attorney.
"No, I'll be hanged if I should!" answered the vender of deals and
mahogany; "so put in all brother Charles's sons, one after t'other, in
the same manner as they before--let me see, what's their names? Oh,
George first, then Robert, and then Richard, and that's the whole of
they."
"I believe, sir," said the attorney, "before I can do so, I must beg the
favour of a candle, for it's growing so dark I am unable to see what I
write."
"Then come nigher to the winder," said the testator, pushing forward the
table in that direction--"Hallo!" he exclaimed, "what can all this yer
row and bustle be about outside?"--and, looking into the street, he
discovered poor Selim lying prostrate in the middle of the road, from
whence some persons were raising up Job himself, who was stunned and
bleeding from the violence of his fall. A young lad had accidentally
driven his hoop between the horse's legs, which threw the unlucky animal
with such violence to the ground as to fracture one of its fore-legs,
and inflict several other dreadful injuries, far beyond all power or
hope of cure. But the man of wealth contemplated the passing scene with
that species of complacent satisfaction, with which men like-minded with
himself are ever found to regard the misfortunes of others, when they
themselves can by no possibility be prejudiced thereby. This selfish old
villain, therefore, instead of evincing any sympathy, was highly amused
at what was going on, and every now and then passed some remark or other
indicative of those feelings, of which the following, amongst others,
afford a pretty fair specimen:--
"Well," he said, "pride they say must have a fall, and a fine fall we've
had here to be sure. Well, who'd a-thought it? But what I say is, that
for a man that can't pay his way as he goes--and his twenty shillings in
the pound whenever he's called upon for it--what I mean to say is, if a
fellow like he will ride so fine a horse, why, it serves him parfectly
right if he gets his neck broke. Oh, then, I see your neck ar'n't broke
this time, after all! Getting better, b'aint you?--pity, isn't it? Oh
dear! what can the matter be? I'll be hanged if he isn't a-crying like a
babbey that's broke his pretty toy. Ay, my master, cry your eyes out,
stamp and whop your head--'twont mend matters, I promise ye. Clear case
of total loss, and no insurance to look to, eh! And that's the chap as
had the himpudence but t'other day to call me a hard-hearted old
blackguard, and that before our whole board of guardians, too--just
because I proposed doctoring the paupers by tender, and that the lowest
tender should carry the day--a plan that would hactelly have saved the
parish pounds and pounds; and he--that blubbering fellow
there--hactelly, as I was a-saying, called me a hard-hearted old
blackguard for proposing it. Oh! I see; here comes Timson the butcher,
what next then? Oh! just as I expected--it's a done job with my nag, I
see. Steady, John Donnithorne, and hold down his head. Come, Timson, my
good man--come, bear a hand, and whip the knife into the throat of
un--skilfully done, wasn't it, doctor? Oh dear! can't bear the sight;
too much for the doctor's nerves. Ay--well, that's a good one--that's
right; turn away your head and pipe your eye, my dear, I dare say it
will do ye good. It does me, I know--he! he! he! Hallo! what have we
here--is it a horse or is it a jackass? Well, I'm sure here's a
come-down with a vengeance--a broken-knee'd, spavined jade of a pony,
that's hardly fit for carrion. Oh! it's yours, Master Sweep, I s'pose.
Ay, that's the kind of nag the doctor ought to ride; clap on the saddle,
my boys--that's your sort; just as it should be. No, you can't look that
way, can't ye? Well, then, mount and be off with ye--that's right; off
you goes, and if you gets back again without a shy-off, it's a pity."
And the hard-hearted old sinner laughed to that degree, that the tears
ran down in streams over his deeply-furrowed countenance.