My friend Peyton was what is called a "fine, generous fellow." He
valued money only as a means of obtaining what he desired, and was
always ready to spend it with an acquaintance for mutual
gratification. Of course, he was a general favorite. Every one spoke
well of him, and few hesitated to give his ears the benefit of their
good opinion. I was first introduced to him when he was in the
neighborhood of twenty-two years of age. Peyton was then a clerk in
the receipt of six hundred dollars a year. He grasped my hand with an
air of frankness and sincerity, that at once installed him in my good
opinion. A little pleasure excursion was upon the tapis, and he
insisted on my joining it. I readily consented. There were five of us,
and the expense to each, if borne mutually, would have been something
like one dollar. Peyton managed everything, even to paying the bills;
and when I offered to pay him my proportion, he said:--
"No, no!"--pushing back my hand--"nonsense!"
"Yes; but I must insist upon meeting my share of the expense."
"Not a word more. The bill's settled, and you needn't trouble your
head about it," was his reply; and he seemed half offended when I
still urged upon him to take my portion of the cost.
"What a fine, generous fellow Peyton is!" said one of the party to me,
as we met the next day.
"Did he also refuse to let you share in the expense of our excursion?"
I asked.
"After what he said to you, I was afraid of offending him by proposing
to do so."
"He certainly is generous--but, I think, to a fault, if I saw a fair
specimen of his generosity yesterday."
"We should be just, as well as generous."
"I never heard that he was not just."
"Nor I. But I think he was not just to himself. And I believe it will
be found to appear in the end, that, if we are not just to ourselves,
we will, somewhere in life, prove unjust to others. I think that his
salary is not over twelve dollars a week. If he bore the whole expense
of our pleasure excursion, it cost him within a fraction of half his
earnings for a week. Had we all shared alike, it would not have been a
serious matter to any of us."
"Oh! as to that, it is no very serious matter to him. He will never
think of it."
"But, if he does so very frequently, he may _feel_ it sooner or
later," I replied.
"I'm sure I don't know anything about that," was returned. "He is a
generous fellow, and I cannot but like him. Indeed, every one likes
him."
Some days afterwards I fell in with Peyton again, and, in order to
retaliate a little, invited him to go and get some refreshments with
me. He consented. When I put my hand in my pocket to pay for them, his
hand went into his. But I was too quick for him. He seemed uneasy
about it. He could feel pleased while giving, but it evidently worried
him to be the recipient.
From that time, for some years, I was intimate with the young man. I
found that he set no true value upon money. He spent it freely with
every one; and every one spoke well of him. "What a generous,
whole-souled fellow he is!" or, "What a noble heart he has!" were the
expressions constantly made in regard to him. While "Mean, stingy
fellow!" and other such epithets, were unsparingly used in speaking of
a quiet, thoughtful young man, named Merwin, who was clerk with him in
the same store. Merwin appeared to set a due value upon time and
money. He rarely indulged himself in any way, and it was with
difficulty that he could ever be induced to join in any pleasures that
involved much expense. But I always observed that when he did so, he
was exact about paying his proportion.
About two years after my acquaintance with Peyton began, an incident
let me deeper into the character and quality of his generosity. I
called one day at the house of a poor widow woman who washed for me,
to ask her to do up some clothes, extra to the usual weekly washing. I
thought she looked as if she were in trouble about something, and said
so to her.
"It's very hard, at best," she replied, "for a poor woman, with four
children to provide for, to get along, if she has to depend upon
washing and ironing for a living. But when so many neglect to pay her
regularly"--
"Neglect to pay their washerwoman!" I said, in a tone of surprise,
interrupting her.
"Oh, yes. Many do that!"
"Who?"
"Dashing young men, who spend their money freely, are too apt to
neglect these little matters, as they call them."
"And do young men for whom you work really neglect to pay you?"
"Some do. There are at least fifteen dollars now owed to me, and I
don't know which way to turn to get my last month's rent for my
landlord, who has been after it three times this week already. Mr.
Peyton owes me ten dollars and I can't"--
"Mr. Peyton? It can't be possible!"
"Yes, it is though. He used to be one of the most punctual young men
for whom I washed. But lately he never has any money."
"He's a very generous-hearted young man."
"Yes, I know he is," she replied. "But something is wrong with him. He
looks worried whenever I ask him for money; and sometimes speaks as if
half angry with me for troubling him. There's Mr. Merwin--I wish all
were like him. I have never yet taken home his clothes, that I didn't
find the money waiting for me, exact to a cent. He counts every piece
when he lays out his washing for me, and knows exactly what it will
come to; and then, if he happens to be out, the change is always left
with the chambermaid. It's a pleasure to do anything for him."
"He isn't liked generally so well as Mr. Peyton is," said I.
"Isn't he? It's strange!" the poor woman returned, innocently.
On the very next day, I saw Peyton riding out with an acquaintance in
a buggy.
"Who paid for your ride yesterday?" I said to the latter, with whom I
was quite familiar, when next we met.
"Oh, Peyton, of course. He always pays, you know. He's a fine,
generous fellow. I wish there were more like him."
"That you might ride out for nothing a little oftener, hey?"
My friend colored slightly.
"No, not that," said he. "But you know there is so much selfishness in
the world; we hardly ever meet a man who is willing to make the
slightest sacrifice for the good of others."
"True. And I suppose it is this very selfishness that makes us so
warmly admire a man like Mr. Peyton, who is willing to gratify us at
his own charge. It's a pleasant thing to ride out and see the country,
but we are apt to think twice about the cost before we act once. But
if some friend will only stand the expense, how generous and
whole-souled we think him! It is the same in everything else. We like
the enjoyment, but can't afford the expense; and he is a generous,
fine-hearted fellow, who will squander his money in order to gratify
us. Isn't that it, my friend?"
He looked half convinced, and a little sheepish, to use an expressive
Saxonism.
On the evening succeeding this day, Peyton sat alone in his room, his
head leaning upon his hand, and his brow contracted. There was a tap
at his door. "Come in." A poorly clad, middle-aged woman entered. It
was his washerwoman.
The lines on the young man's brow became deeper.
"Can't you let me have some money, Mr. Peyton? My landlord is pressing
hard for his rent, and I cannot pay him until you pay me."
"Really, Mrs. Lee, it is quite impossible just now. I am entirely out
of money. But my salary will be due in three weeks, and then I will
pay you up the whole. You must make your landlord wait until that
time. I am very sorry to put you to this trouble. But it will never
happen again."
The young man really did feel sorry, and expressed it in his face as
well as in the tone of his voice.
"Can't you let me have one or two dollars, Mr. Peyton? I am entirely
out of money."
"It is impossible--I haven't a shilling left. But try to wait three
weeks, and then it will all come to you in a lump, and do you a great
deal more good than if you had it a dollar at a time."
Mrs. Lee retired slowly, and with a disappointed air. The young man
sighed heavily as she closed the door after her. He had been too
generous, and now he could not be just. The buggy in which he had
driven out with his friend on that day had cost him his last two
dollars--a sum which would have lightened the heart of his poor
washerwoman.
"The fact is, my salary is too small," said he, rising and walking
about his room uneasily. "It is not enough to support me. If the
account were fully made up, tailor's bill, bootmaker's bill, and all,
I dare say I should find myself at least three hundred dollars in
debt."
Merwin received the same salary that he did, and was just three
hundred dollars ahead. He dressed as well, owed no man a dollar, and
was far happier. It is true, he was not called a "fine, generous
fellow," by persons who took good care of their own money, while they
were very willing to enjoy the good things of life at a friend's
expense. But he did not mind this. The want of such a reputation did
not disturb his mind very seriously.
After Mrs. Lee had been gone half an hour, Peyton's door was flung
suddenly open. A young man, bounding in, with extended hand came
bustling up to him.
"Ah, Peyton, my fine fellow! How are you? how are you?" And he shook
Peyton's hand quite vigorously.
"Hearty!--and how are you, Freeman?"
"Oh, gay as a lark. I have come to ask a favor of you."
"Name it."
"I want fifty dollars."
Peyton shrugged his shoulders.
"I must have it, my boy? I never yet knew you to desert a friend, and
I don't believe you will do so now."
"Suppose I haven't fifty dollars?"
"You can borrow it for me. I only want it for a few days. You shall
have it back on next Monday. Try for me--there's a generous fellow!"
"There's a generous fellow," was irresistible. It came home to Peyton
in the right place. He forgot poor Mrs. Lee, his unpaid tailor's bill,
and sundry other troublesome accounts.
"If I can get an advance of fifty dollars on my salary to-morrow, you
shall have it."
"Thank you! thank you! I knew I shouldn't have to ask twice when I
called upon Henry Peyton. It always does me good to grasp the hand of
such a man as you are."
On the next day, an advance of fifty dollars was asked and obtained.
This sum was lent as promised. In two weeks, the individual who
borrowed it was in New Orleans, from whence he had the best of reasons
for not wishing to return to the North. Of course, the generous Henry
Peyton lost his money.
An increase of salary to a thousand dollars only made him less careful
of his money. Before, he lived as freely as if his income had been
one-third above what it was; now, he increased his expenses in like
ratio. It was a pleasure to him to spend his money--not for himself
alone, but among his friends.
It is no cause of wonder, that in being so generous to some, he was
forced to be unjust to others. He was still behindhand with his poor
washerwoman--owed for boarding, clothes, hats, boots, and a dozen
other matters--and was, in consequence, a good deal harassed with
duns. Still, he was called by some of his old cronies, "a fine,
generous fellow." A few were rather colder in their expressions. He
had borrowed money from them, and did not offer to return it, and he
was such a generous-minded young man, that they felt a delicacy about
calling his attention to it.
"Can you raise two thousand dollars?" was asked of him by a friend,
when he was twenty-seven years old. "If you can, I know a first-rate
chance to get into business."
"Indeed! What is the nature of it?"
The friend told him all he knew, and he was satisfied that a better
offering might never present itself. But two thousand dollars were
indispensable.
"Can't you borrow it?" suggested the friend.
"I will try."
"Try your best. You will never again have such an opportunity."
Peyton did try, but in vain. Those who could lend it to him considered
him "too good-hearted a fellow" to trust with money; and he was forced
to see that tide, which if he could have taken it at the flood, would
have led him on to fortune, slowly and steadily recede.
To Merwin the same offer was made. He had fifteen hundred dollars laid
by, and easily procured the balance. No one was afraid to trust him
with money.
"What a fool I have been!" was the mental exclamation of Peyton, when
he learned that his fellow-clerk had been able, with his own earnings,
on a salary no larger than his own, to save enough to embrace the
golden opportunity which he was forced to pass by. "They call Merwin
_mean_ and _selfish_--and I am called a _generous fellow_. That
means, he has acted like a wise man, and I like a fool, I suppose. I
know him better than they do. He is neither mean nor selfish, but
careful and prudent, as I ought to have been. His mother is poor, and
so is mine. Ah, me!" and the thought of his mother caused him to clasp
both hands against his forehead. "I believe two dollars of his salary
have been sent weekly to his poor mother. But I have never helped mine
a single cent. There is the mean man, and here is the generous one.
Fool! fool! wretch! He has fifteen hundred dollars ahead, after having
sent his mother one hundred dollars a year for five or six years, and
I am over five hundred dollars in debt. A fine, generous fellow,
truly!"
The mind of Peyton was, as it should be, disturbed to its very center.
His eyes were fairly opened, and he saw just where he stood, and what
he was worth as a generous man.
"They have flattered my weakness," said he, bitterly, "to eat and
drink and ride at my expense. It was very easy to say, 'how
free-hearted he is,' so that I could hear them. A cheap way of
enjoying the good things of life, verily! But the end of all this has
come. One year from to-day, if I live, I will owe no man a dollar. My
kind old mother, whom I have so long neglected, shall hear from me at
once--ten dollars every month I dedicate to her. Come what will,
nothing shall touch that. This agreement with myself I solemnly enter
into in the sight of Heaven, and nothing shall tempt me to violate
it."
"Are you going to ride out this afternoon, Peyton?" inquired a young
friend, breaking in upon him at this moment.
"Yes, if you'll hire the buggy," was promptly returned.
"I can't afford that."
"Nor I either. How much is your salary?"
"Only a thousand."
"Just what mine is. If you can't, I am sure I cannot."
"Of course, you ought to be the best judge. I knew you rode out often,
and liked company."
"Yes, I have done so; but that's past. I've been a 'fine, generous
fellow' long enough to get into debt and mar my prospects for life,
perhaps; but I am going to assume a new character. No doubt the very
ones who have had so many rides, oyster suppers, and theater tickets
at my expense, will all at once discover that I am as mean and selfish
as Merwin, who has refrained from not only injurious, expensive
indulgences, but even denied himself many innocent pleasures to save
time and money for better purposes. I now wish I had been as truly
noble and generous in the right direction as he has been."
Peyton went to work in the matter of reform in right good earnest, but
he found it hard work; old habits and inclinations were very strong.
Still he had some strength of mind, and he brought this into as
vigorous exercise as it was possible for him to do, mainly with
success, but sometimes with gentle lapses into self-indulgence.
His mother lived in a neighboring town, and was in humble
circumstances. She supported herself by keeping a shop for the sale of
various little articles. The old lady sat behind her counter, one
afternoon, sewing, and thinking of her only son.
"Ah, me!" she sighed, "I thought Henry would have done something for
himself long before this; but he is a wild, free-hearted boy, and
spends everything as he goes."
"Here's a letter for you at last, Mrs. Peyton," said the well-known
voice of the postman, breaking in upon her just at this moment.
With trembling hands, Mrs. Peyton broke the seal; a bank-bill crumpled
in her fingers as she opened the letter. A portion of its contents
read:--
"Dear Mother: I have had some very serious thoughts of late about my
way of living. You know I never liked to be considered mean; this led
me to be, what seemed to everybody, very generous. Everybody was
pleased to eat, and drink, and ride at my expense; but no one seemed
inclined to let me do the same at his expense. I have been getting a
good salary for six or seven years, and for a part of that time, as
much as a thousand dollars. I am ashamed to say that I have not a
farthing laid by; nay, what is worse, I owe a good many little bills.
But, dear mother, I think I have come fairly to my senses. I have come
to a resolution not to spend a dollar foolishly; thus far I have been
able to keep my promise to myself, and, by the help of Heaven, I mean
to keep it to the end. My first thought, on seeing my folly, was of my
shameful disregard to my mother's condition. In this letter are ten
dollars. Every month you will receive from me a like sum--more, if
you need it. As soon as I can lay by a sufficient amount, I will look
around for some means of entering into business, and, as soon after as
possible, make provision for you, that your last days may be spent in
ease and comfort."
"God bless the dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Peyton, dropping the letter,
while the tears gushed from her eyes. The happy mother wept long for
joy. With her trembling hand she wrote a reply, and urged him, by the
tenderest and most sacred considerations, to keep to his good
resolutions.
At the end of a year Peyton examined his affairs and found himself
freed from debt; but for nearly one hundred dollars of his wages he
could not account. He puzzled over it for two or three evenings, and
made out over fifty dollars spent foolishly.
"No doubt the rest will have to be passed to that account," said he at
last, half angry with himself. "I'll have to watch closer than this.
At the end of the next year, I'll not be in doubt about where one
hundred dollars have gone."
It was but rarely, now, that you would hear the name of Peyton
mentioned. Before, everybody said he was a "fine, generous fellow;"
everybody praised him. Now, he seemed to be forgotten, or esteemed of
little consideration. He felt this; but he had started to accomplish a
certain end, and he had sufficient strength of mind not to be driven
from his course.
In a few years he entered into business and succeeded beyond his
expectations. He provided a home for his mother, and no one who saw
her during the remaining ten years of her life would have called her
unhappy.
I know Peyton still. He is not now, by general reputation, "a fine,
generous fellow." But he is a good and respected citizen, and was a
good son while his mother lived with him. He has won the means of
really benefiting others, and few are more willing than he is to do
it, when it can be done in the right way. He is still "generous"--but
wisely so.