In the snug, cozy barroom of the "Farmers' Inn," at Madisonville, sat
six young men. It was a cold, bleak evening in December; and the wind
that howled and drove without, drifting the snow and rattling the
shutters, gave to the blazing fire and steaming kettle additional
charms and comforts. There was Peter Hobbs, a youth of five and
twenty, who seemed to be the leader, _par excellence_, of the party.
He was a good-natured, intelligent, frank-looking man, and was really
a noble-hearted citizen. Then there was John Fulton, a youth of the
same age, who worked with Hobbs, both being journeyman carpenters.
Samuel Green was a machinist; Walter Mason, a tin worker; Lyman Drake,
a cabinet maker; and William Robinson, a clerk. They ranged, in age,
from twenty-three to twenty-eight, and were really industrious youths,
receiving good wages, and maintaining good characters for honesty,
sobriety, and general good behavior. Yet they were looked upon by some
as ungodly youths, and given over to perdition. True, they belonged to
no church; and, amid the various conflicting creeds by which they were
surrounded, they had not yet settled down upon any one in particular,
believing that there was good in all of them, and evil among the
members of each.
On the present occasion, they were all of them smoking, and the empty
mugs which stood upon the table near them, showed pretty conclusively
that they had been drinking something besides water. The subject of
the cold winter had been disposed of; the quality of the warm ale and
cigars had been thoroughly discussed, and at length the conversation
turned upon the missionary meeting, which had been held in the town on
the previous Sabbath.
"I don't know but this missionary business is all right," said Sam
Green, knocking the ashes from his cigar with his little finger, "but
at the same time, I don't believe in it. Them Hindoos and South Sea
Islanders may be savage and ignorant, by our scale of measuring folks;
but that is no reason why we folks should send all our money off
there, while our own folks are starving at home."
"Did you put anything into the box?" asked Lyman Drake.
"No, I didn't. When they shoved it into my face, I told 'em I'd left
all my money at home--and so I had."
"You're about right, Sam," said Bill Robinson. "But I did more than
you did. When the box was handed to me, I spoke right out, so that
everybody around me heard. I told the old deacon if he'd take up a
subscription to help the poor in our town, I'd put in something."
"What did he say to that?"
"Why--he said, 'Souls are of more consequence than bodies.' So I just
said back that I guessed he'd find it hard work to save a soul out of
a starving body. But you see that isn't the thing. They won't try to
save the souls, or the bodies either, of their own townfolks. Now when
Squire Truman came here to settle, they tried quick enough to save his
soul. Ye see his body was already salted down with ten thousand
dollars, so his soul was worth something to 'em. Why don't they try to
save poor old Israel Trask's soul, and his wife's too?"
"Wasn't there a committee of the church that visited old Israel last
month?" queried Drake.
"Yes--there was," answered Sam, giving his cigar an indignant shake;
"and what did they do? They went there--four on 'em--and found the
old folks suffering for want of food and clothing. They tried to make
the old man believe their religion was the only true one in the world,
but he would not. So they gave him three tracts and a little cheap
book, and then went away. That's what they did. Afore I'd give a cent
to such chaps to send off to feed their missionaries in Baugwang and
Slapflam Islands, I'd throw it into the fire."
"But these missionaries are honest people, and do some good," remarked
Peter Hobbs, who had not before spoken on the subject.
"Of course they do," responded Sam. "But wouldn't it look better of
'em to begin some of their charities at home? I judge of a man's order
by the way his own shop looks, and not by the way he may fuss around
on another man's premises. And just so with those philanthropists. I'd
rather see how much their religion does toward keeping the Gentiles of
their own town, than to go away off to the other end of the earth to
look for the fruits of their Christianity. Them's my sentiments."
"And mine too," uttered Walter Mason, who had just thrown away the
stump of one cigar, and was about lighting another. "Just think; they
collected, last Sunday, to send off to the Hindoos, over two hundred
dollars. Now, that would have made half the poor families in this
town--and I don't know but all--comfortable for the winter. There
was Mr. Netherly--worth forty thousand dollars--he put in a
ten-dollar bill. It was a great, new bill, and he opened it, and held
it up, and even turned it round, so't everybody could see it before he
let it drop. Then at the end, when the box was carried up into the
pulpit, the deacon whispered to the minister; and the minister got up,
and, said, taking hold of the corner of the rich man's bill: 'Here is
ten dollars from one brother. Let that brother be assured that his
deed is remembered of him in heaven.' Yes, that's what was said; and
Mr. Netherly held up his head, bowed very low, and then looked around
at the rest of the congregation, as much as to say, '_that's me_.' Now
I know of another thing that I guess'll be remembered in heaven,
alongside of this one. Last week, poor old Trask--Uncle
Israel--called at Netherly's with some baskets. You know the old man
gets out stuff in the summer, and then in the winter makes it up.
Well, he went there, and asked Netherly if he wouldn't buy a basket.
No; he didn't want one. Then the old man told him how he and his poor
old wife were suffering, and he asked him if he couldn't help him in
some way; and what do you think Netherly said?--Why, he said that he
had to pay taxes to help support a poorhouse, and told Uncle Israel
that he'd find help there, if he'd only apply to the selectmen! Now
what d'ye think of that, eh?"
"Why," returned Sam, "I think if he's got an account in heaven, he'll
find a balance against him, when he comes to settle up."
"So he will," responded three or four of the others.
For some moments after this, the party smoked in silence. Peter Hobbs
had been pondering very deeply upon something, and at length he spoke:
"Now look here, boys," he said, throwing his half-smoked cigar into
the fire, "there's a good deal of truth in what's been said--in fact,
it's all true; but, before we blame others, we ought to do something
ourselves. Now I'm ready to form a regular benevolent society. Let us
six go at the work, and see what we can do toward alleviating some of
the distress about us. What say you?"
The other five looked on in wonder.
"But," said Sam, "how are we to do it? We arn't among the favored
ones. We weren't born with silver spoons in our mouths."
"I should like to do it," added Drake, "but what's the use? We
couldn't do much any way--not enough to amount to anything."
And so the others expressed their opinions in like manner. They all
"would like," but "where was the money to come from?"
"Listen," said Peter; and they all turned toward him with real
deference, for they knew he never wore a cloak over his heart, and
that when he spoke in earnest, his meaning had depth to it. "Now I
have formed a plan. There is old Uncle Israel and his wife; then there
is the widow Manley, with four little children, suffering for want of
the actual necessaries of life; and then there is Mrs. Williams--she
is very poor. Her son Philip, who is her mainstay, was sick all the
summer and fall, and is sick now; so the woman got nothing from her
little patch of land, and is now absolutely reduced to beggary, with
herself and sick son to support. Now let us take these three cases in
hand, and support them."
"But how?" asked three or four voices, anxiously, for they really and
fully sympathized with the noble plan.
"I'll tell you," resumed Peter. "Here, Tim," he called, turning to the
bar-keeper, "what's our bill?"
"Let's see," responded the worthy, coming up. "There's two cigars
apiece, three cents each--that's thirty-six. Then the ale--three
pints--eighteen cents; and wine--three gills--that's eighteen
more--makes just thirty-six more; and twice thirty-six
is--is--seventy-two--seventy-two cents in all."
"Come, boys," said Peter, "let's pay an equal share to-night. Let's
give him ninepence apiece."
So the "boys" paid up, and after Tim had gone, Peter resumed:
"Now see what we've spent to-night for nothing. I'll begin with you,
Sam. How much do you suppose you spend each day for cigars and ale?
Now reckon fairly."
"Let's see," was Sam's response after gazing into the face of his
interlocutor until he had fairly got hold of the idea. "I certainly
average four--no, five cigars a day, and I suppose they average three
cents apiece. Then comes my ale--but I could not tell how much that
amounts to, for I don't drink it regularly, but perhaps six cents a
day."
"That's just twenty-one cents a day, utterly wasted," said Peter; "and
I'll own up to wasting twenty-five cents a day. How is it with you,
John?"
"I'll say twenty-five."
"And you, Walter?"
"Just about the same."
"Lyman?"
"The same."
"Bill?"
"The same."
"Now look at it. Here we are, a little worse than wasting about a
dollar and a half a day. But let us put our loss at a shilling
each--"
"No, no," cried Sam, who saw through the whole plan. "Let's give
honest measure. I'll own up to the twenty-five. Let's go the whole, if
any."
"Very well," returned Peter; "then let us commence and pledge
ourselves not to smoke, or drink ale, for one month from this date.
Every night we will lay away a quarter of a dollar, and at the end of
the week we'll put our savings all together, and then go on our
mission. What say you?"
With one voice the other five joined in the plan. The novelty of the
thing may have pleased them; but the real incentives lay deeper down
in the natural goodness of their hearts. There was no written pledge,
but they took a more speedy method. Peter laid his hand upon the
table, and said:
"Here's my hand, pledged to the work."
"And mine too," cried Sam, laying his broad palm atop of Peter's.
"And mine," "and mine," "and mine," chimed the rest, placing their
hands atop of the other until the six right hands lay upon the table
in a pyramid.
"This is Tuesday," resumed Peter. "Will we meet next Saturday?"
"Yes," answered Sam, "and call it a week. Let's throw in two days."
And so the week was begun.
On the next day, as Sam Green sat atop of his bench after dinner, he
felt rather lost without his cigar, and for awhile he argued the
question with himself, whether it wouldn't be just as well for him to
put an extra quarter into his box and have his cigars as usual. But he
remembered his pledge. He looked forward to Saturday, when he should
find himself an ambassador of mercy to the sick and needy--and his
resolution grew strong again. That was his last real hesitation,
though it must be confessed he had some trials and hankerings.
And so with the rest, they had some moments of doubt and mental
warfare with appetite and habit, but conquered, and were true.
Saturday came, and the six youths left their work at noon, having done
more than enough overwork to make up for the loss of the half day.
"Must have a time once in awhile, eh?" said Sam's boss, as the young
man pointed to the work he had done, and informed him that he should
not work the rest of the day.
"Some sort of a time," replied Sam.
"Very well, but you're too good a fellow to go very deep into
dissipation."
"I'll be up bright in the morning, sir;" and with this he left.
The new Benevolent Society met at Walter Mason's tin-shop. Each took
out his money and they had in all nine dollars, it being in thirty-six
silver quarters.
"Now," says Peter, "let's visit the three families we have taken under
our charge. We'll go together, and expend the money as we see it is
most needed. Let us go to Uncle Israel's first."
So off they went to Uncle Israel Trask's. The old couple lived in a
small hut at the edge of the village, which was reached by a narrow
lane, and here the six philanthrophists found the old lady, who was
now in her eightieth year, suffering with a severe attack of the
rheumatism, while the old man sat crouched over the fire, shivering
with cold.
"Good day, good day, Uncle Israel."
"Aha, good day, boys, good day," cried the old man, trying to smile.
"Can ye find seats? Sit down somewhere and make yourselves at home.
But ye see it's a poor home that old Israel can offer ye to-day."
"But how are you getting along?" asked Peter, after the party had
found seats.
"Ah, God a'mercy, I won't complain, for he is taking meself and Molly
home fast. Only cold and hunger are not kind helpmates, Mr. Hobbs, ye
ken that, eh?"
"Right well, Uncle Israel. And we have come to help you. Do you want
any medicine?"
"Nay, nay, the old 'ooman's got a' the medicine laid up we want. It's
only the food an' heat we need. I can't wade through the drifting snow
as I could once."
"Suppose we send you a dollar's worth of other things, such as butter,
flour, potatoes and the like--could you live a week on it?"
[Illustration: Pure Religion Is Visiting the Fatherless and Widows in
Their Affliction.]
"Ah, yes, yes, boys, meself and Molly'd live a long, long while on
that. But ye'll not do it for us."
"Yes, we will."
"Ah, it's too much."
"No, no," cried Sam, "we've got to do it, Uncle Israel, for we six
have sworn to help you through the winter. So spunk up."
"D'ye mean that?" uttered the old man, clasping his thin, tremulous
hands.
"We do," they all answered, and then Sam added, "and while one of us
lives, you shall not suffer the want of what one of us can give."
A moment the old man bowed his snow-white head, and then while the big
tears streamed down his face, he raised his eyes and murmured:--
"Oh! God's blessin' be on ye, ye noble boys. If me heart was gold, an'
I could take it out an' give it ye--for it's yours all, all your
own!"
In a little while the six went away, promising to send or come back
soon, and even after they had reached the yard they could hear the
voices of Israel and his wife, both raised to God in blessings upon
their heads.
"I say, Sam," said Peter, "this is better than cigars and ale."
"Don't say a word now," replied Sam, "for my heart's full, and I can't
bear any more."
Next, they drove through the biting wind and snow to the humble cot of
Widow Manley. They found her in the only habitable room of her
dwelling, sitting by a fire of chips and fagots, with a babe asleep in
her lap, and engaged in sewing a coarse frock. Three other children
were crouched by the fire, the eldest not yet eight years old.
Mr. Manley had been one of the many unfortunates who are swept off by
rum, and in the prime of early manhood he had gone, leaving a young
wife with four children in absolute penury.
"Ah, good day, Mrs. Manley."
The woman would have arisen, but Sam Green placed his hand upon her
shoulders to keep her down.
"We have come," said Peter, seeing that she was anxious and fearful,
"to see how you get along, and see if we can help you."
"Help me, sir?" uttered the widow with amazement.
"Yes; now tell us plainly how you are situated."
The woman was silent for a few moments, but at length she seemed to
regain her self-control, and replied:--
"Ah, gentlemen, it is all comprised in three short words: Hunger,
cold, and nakedness!"
"And if we will supply you with food and fuel for a week, can you
manage to get along until that time without more clothing?"
"Oh--h--yes--sirs. But what is it? Who can help us? Who can care
for the--"
"We can, we will," cried the energetic Sam, not so good to plan as
Peter, but good at execution. "We six have pledged ourselves to see
you safe through the winter. So cheer up and take hope, for neither
you nor your children shall suffer while we can help it."
The widow's hands were clasped and her eyes wandered vacantly from one
to the other of her strange visitors. She saw tears of goodness in
their eyes, and her own soul's flood burst forth.
"O God bless you--bless you always."
"And we shall have something good to eat, mamma, and something to make
us warm?" asked the eldest girl, clasping her mother's knees.
"Yes, yes, you shall," exclaimed Drake, catching the child and kissing
her clean, pale face. "You shall have it before supper time, too."
The widow gradually realized the whole object of her visitors, and she
tried to express her gratitude in words, but they failed her, and
streaming tears had to tell the tale of thanks.
After this our society went to see Widow Williams. Hers was a neat
cot, but they found suffering painful enough inside. Philip, a youth
of about their own age, sat in a large stuffed chair, looking pale and
thin, and wasted away almost to a skeleton, and his great blue eyes
peered at them wonderingly as they entered. The mother, too, looked
careworn and sick, and the dry, hacking cough that sounded in her
throat told how much she needed proper food and care.
The youths made their business known as before, and with about the
same result. The widow and her son could hardly realize that such a
blessing had dawned upon them, but when they did realize it their joy
and gratitude knew no bounds.
"Look here," said Sam Green, as soon as they had reached the road, "it
strikes me that we are just about a week behind hand. We ought to have
commenced this work just one week earlier than we did, for our nine
dollars won't quite bring matters all up square to the present time.
But if they were square now, they'd keep so with our weekly
allowance."
"You're right, Sam," said Fulton, gleefully.
"Then let's commence back two weeks, eh?"
"I think so," said Peter.
And all the rest said so, too. So they had eighteen dollars instead of
nine.
First, our party went and bought three half cords of wood, which they
sent at once to their respective destinations, and they agreed that
when the other matters were attended to they would go and work it up.
Then they went to the stores and purchased such articles of provisions
and comfort as they could agree were best adapted to meet the wants of
their charges, and, having done this, they separated into three
parties of two each, so as to have each family provided for with as
little delay as possible. Besides carrying provisions enough to last a
week, they left with each about a dollar in change.
When the poor people saw the promised blessing--when they thus met
the fruition of their newly raised hopes, their joy was almost
painful. The noble youths were blessed over and over again.
The wood was sawed and split, and put under cover, and then the
society returned to the village, as happy as happy could be. On the
next day, they went to the church and heard how many heathen had been
converted to the peculiar _isms_ of the preachers; and on the day
following that, they commenced another week of their newly found
_Christianity_.
"Sam," said the owner of the machine-shop, "what were you and the rest
of your party doing last Saturday afternoon?"
"Converting the _heathen_," answered Sam.
His employer was a church member, and in for foreign missions, and
moreover had often tried to induce Sam into the mysteries.
It was some time before Sam would tell the secret, but his boss became
so earnest that he at length told the whole story. For awhile the
employer gazed upon his journeyman with wonder, but gradually, as a
sense of the fact came over him, he hung his head.
"Sam," he said at length, earnestly, and with a tear in his eye, "let
me join your society."
"But how'll you raise the money?" inquired Sam.
"Money?" echoed the boss. "Look at my bank-book."
"Ah, but that won't answer. You must save the money by depriving
yourself of some superfluity, or luxury you now enjoy."
"Is that the rule?"
"It is most rigidly. Our cigars and ale furnish us."
"And won't you smoke again?"
"Never, while within the reach of my influence there's a human being
in want!"
"Then I'll throw away my tobacco and beer; may I join at that?"
"I'll propose you."
And the master machinist was proposed and admitted.
Another week passed away, and the new Christians went again on their
mission, and there were more tears of joy, more prayers, and more
blessings. Mr. Boothby, the machinist, had gained a new ray of light
on the subject of Christian missions.
At length it became known that the poor families of Madisonville had
found friends. People were wonder-struck when they discovered how
happy and joyous these once miserable wretches had become; and more
still when, one Sunday they saw Uncle Israel and his wife, and Mrs.
Manley with her two elder children, enter the church.
Of course the truth leaked out, and we can imagine where the public
eye of sympathy and appreciation was turned. Before a month was out,
more than fifty people had engaged indirectly in the work, by placing
money, food, and clothing in the hands of the original six, for them
to distribute as they deemed proper.
But there was one rule to which the "society" adhered. They would not
receive a cent in money which was not the result of a cutting off of
some superfluity, and thus they showed to the people how simple and
easy in its work is true charity, and also how many professed
Christians not only lose sight of duty, but really lose the greatest
joy of Christian life.
It was a glorious day for Madisonville when those six young mechanics
met in the village barroom and concocted the plan for their society.
And the good has worked in two ways. The members find themselves
happier, healthier, and stronger, for having given up their pipes and
cups; and the poor unfortunate ones of the town are once again basking
in the sunlight of peace, content, and plenty.
How very many professed Christian churches there are in our land which
would be benefited by following the example of the six noble youths
who still stand at the head of the _Madisonville Benevolent Society_.