I have abridged the following truthful story from the above work, which
book I recommend to the perusal of all lovers of moral and entertaining
literature.
_The Summons._--The experienced physician knows, from the sound of the
door bell, whether it is the representative of wealth or penury who is
outside at the bell-pull.
The doctor opened the door to the _timid_ summons.
"Will you please come and see my mother?" asked a little delicate and
thinly-dressed girl. "She has been very ill for nearly a year, and I'm
afraid she's going to die." The poor little heart was swelling with grief.
Almost ashamed as I donned my heavy coat, for the night was bitter cold,
and the shivering little girl pattered after me with her well-worn shoes
and scanty dress, I hurried along to the abode of poverty.
_The Tenement._--The faint rays of a candle issuing from an upper window
of one of those wretched wooden buildings, guided us to the invalid's
tenement, and as we approached the house the little girl ran ahead of me,
and stood shivering in the doorway, while I carefully walked up the
rickety steps.
Poor as the tenement was, its cleanliness was noticeable, from the fact
that it was isolated from the loathsome Irish neighbors, whose superior
means and brutal habits allowed them to occupy the lower and more
accessible apartments almost in common with the swine which are fed from
their very doorsteps.
_The Invalid._--A violent paroxysm of coughing had just seized the lady,
and I waited some moments before I could observe her features. She had
surely seen better days. There were about her and the little apartment
evidences of refinement, from her own tidy person to the little sweet
rosebush in full bloom, and the faultless white board, and the scanty,
though snowy curtains that shaded the attic window, which produced a
melancholy effect upon me, which was not lessened when good breeding
required me to address my patient.
[Illustration: CALL AT THE TENEMENT.]
Her countenance had evidently been beautiful; an immense mass of auburn
hair, such as Titian loved to paint, yet shaded her brow; the eyes were
large and lustrous; the nose was slightly aquiline, the lips thin; and
every feature bespoke the woman of a highly refined and intellectual
nature. When her gaze met mine for an instant, I felt that pity was
misplaced in the emotions which swelled my heart, for the lofty dignity,
almost _hauteur_, in that look, would have become an empress in reduced
circumstances.
"Go, dearest, to your little bed, and close the door, my love," she said,
turning to the child.
The girl lingered an instant. I stood between the dying mother and her
child. I turned aside whilst their lips met in that holy kiss that a dying
mother only can give, ay, and a prayer that she alone can breathe.
When the little creature had withdrawn, by a narrow door scarcely
distinguishable from the rest of the rough, whitewashed boards that
divided her little closet from the main room, the mother turned her
earnest gaze upon me, and said,--
"I have troubled you, doctor, not with the view of taxing your kindness to
any extent, but to ask how long I may yet linger,"--placing her hand on
her wasted bosom,--"depending for every service upon that little fragile
creature, for whom alone I have, I fear, a selfish desire to live."
I could not answer immediately. My heart was too full. I had recognized
the dreadful malady at a glance. She was far gone with consumption.
"I have a duty to perform, connected with her, that depends upon your
answer--one that I have selfishly, alas! too long deferred."
* * * * *
As I arose to take my departure, she requested me to open the door to the
little chamber. I did so, and there lay the poor, pale child, with her
clothes unremoved. Merciful God! an infant watching its dying mother, a
refined, delicate and intellectual woman, the wife of an educated
physician, in a wretched tenement, surrounded by palaces!
_How they lived._--O, my God, what a discovery was made on my next visit,
the following morning! Then I saw what had before excited my curiosity,
viz., the manner in which my patient contrived to support herself and
child, for I was quite sure that she would never condescend to beg.
[Illustration: THE WIDOW AT WORK.]
I had observed, during my visit the previous evening, a very large
package, tied up in commercial form, and by its side a large square board.
The widow was now sitting up in bed, propped up with some coarse straw
pillows, her cheeks burning with hectic, and the square board resting upon
a couple of cross-pieces to keep it from her wasted limbs, and she and the
child were at work putting up soda and seidlitz powders. Several dozen
boxes had been filled during the morning, placed in envelopes, and
labelled.
"'Tis the lot of humanity to labor," she said, when I had detected her at
the task which taxed the last mite of her remaining strength, and I stood
horrified looking on; "and why should I be exempt?" she asked, actually
smiling gracefully.
I removed the board, but allowed the girl to resume her work by the little
table near, saying that her remark was applicable only to those able to
labor. She assured me that their contracted circumstances had "compelled
her to make this exhibition of her industry."
_Her History._--Twelve years before, this beautiful and refined lady had
left a home of wealth and affluence to share the fortunes of her husband,
Dr. ----, who was worthy of all the love that a pure and affectionate
woman could bestow. He struggled on manfully and hopefully against
misfortune until two years ago....
I had once met her husband. It was under the following circumstances. A
child had been run over, and much injured. I was called, but found, on my
arrival, that this young doctor had been before me, and done all that was
required; but the gentleman whose duty it was said if I would attend the
case he would pay all charges, and the young physician, on learning this
fact on the next visit, retired in my favor. That evening I called at his
office, and insisted upon his accepting one half of the fees which I knew
I should receive. He hesitatingly accepted, after much persuasion on my
part; and I remember that it was my impression at the time that he was
excessively proud.
Now, the poor wife informed me that, at the time, their means were
entirely exhausted, and when he came home that evening with a large basket
of necessaries, and some little delicacies to which they had long been
unaccustomed, and upon her expressing her astonishment, he _sat down and
wept like a child_.
"Great God," he cried, in agony of soul, "why did I take you from your
father's house, where you had plenty? What a reward for devoting the
flower of life to such a profession! To hear a wife, and the mother of my
child, expressing astonishment and joy at the unwonted sight of the very
necessaries of life!"
It was only when the note-books and manuscripts of this truly meritorious
and unfortunate young man fell into my hands, that I discovered what a
loss his family and the profession had sustained.
He was too proud to ask assistance. Even in his fatal sickness, he
continued, until a late period, to decline medical treatment, rather than
expose his poverty to his brethren. Finally he became known to Dr. ----,
who devoted his time and purse to him until he died. That season Dr.
---- died also.
After his death, the lady with her child had removed to these miserable
quarters. The needle, and coloring of prints, had sustained them both for
a year, when, finding it impossible, with her failing health, to earn a
living at that employment, she resumed the one by which her noble husband
had been compelled to eke out his miserable income,--putting up seidlitz
powders,--in order to sustain them.
Often, she told me, had she sat by his side till late in the night reading
to him, whilst he plied his fingers industriously at this employment, so
utterly repulsive to an intellectual man; and when she would beg him to
retire, he would often cheerfully obey the summons to an all-night visit
to some wretched and dishonest Irishman--who could not get the service of
a more knowing (pecuniarily) physician without an advanced fee--in the
remote hope of obtaining a few dollars, which his refinement taught these
wretchedly dishonest people they had only to refuse, as they almost
invariably do, in order to escape entirely the obligation! This is the
gratitude (!) of which we have spoken before. It was whilst attending one
of these miserable people that he imbibed the fatal disease which swept
him from the earth, and left his poor wife and child to struggle on alone
in their cheerless journey.
It is needless to say that from the time of the visits of the benevolent
physician, the widow wanted for nothing that earth could bestow, to the
day of her death, which soon occurred; else she would have died at her
task!
_The Unnatural Father._--On the fifth day, evening, a man entered my
office and inquired for me. He was plainly dressed in black, and possessed
one of those hard, immovable countenances which admit of no particular
definition.
"I received a letter from you relative to my daughter."
This was said in such a perfectly business-like manner, without the least
emotion, that I was shocked, and my countenance must have expressed my
astonishment, for he immediately added,--
"A sad business, my dear sir. Well, well, I will not detain you. The
corpse is here?"
"No, sir. I will accompany you to the late abode of your daughter." I was
glad that she had not been removed; I thought it might do his moral nature
some good to see the condition to which his unnatural conduct had brought
her.
[Illustration: THE PHYSICIAN AND THE FATHER.]
Not a muscle of his countenance changed, as we ascended the wretched
steps. The watcher admitted us to the poor, low room, and handing him a
letter from my pocket, I said, "These are your daughter's last words to
you, which she intrusted to my keeping for you. I will not intrude upon
your privacy, but will await you at my office;" and bowing, I retired,
leaving him beside the corpse of his neglected child.
In less than fifteen minutes he returned, and, without any allusion to the
event, thanked me for my attentions, declining a chair, saying,--
"You will please make out your bill. I wish to be ready to start early in
the morning, and take the corpse with me." He inquired for the address of
an undertaker, and the present abode of _her_ child!
I stood speechless! He was an anomaly. I measured him with my eyes; he
cast his own for an instant to the floor, and then said,--
"My business habits, I fear, shock you, sir. I have been in a hurry all my
life. I have never had time to think. I owe you an apology, sir--pardon
me."
I thought of the future fate of the poor child, and I must acknowledge I
hypocritically, for once in my adult life, took the _hand of the man I
totally despised_, as I asked him mildly if his daughter had not requested
to be buried by the side of her husband, whom she loved so well.
"No, sir," he sharply replied; "his name was not mentioned in the letter;
very properly too. I had no respect for him, sir, none whatever; nor
should I have acceded to such, had she made the request."