“I do not wish it, sir, as a gift,” she said “only as a loan. In a year
or two I will be able to repay it.”
“My dear madam,” was my reply, “had I the ability most gladly would I
meet your wishes. But, I assure you I have not. A thousand dollars taken
from my business would destroy it.”
A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up from the breast of the
stranger, and her head dropped low upon her bosom. She seemed to have
fully expected the relief for which she applied; and to be stricken to
the earth by my words! We were both unhappy.
“May I presume to ask your name, madam?” said I, after a pause.
“It would do no good to mention it,” she replied, mournfully. “It
has cost me a painful effort to come to you; and now that my hope has
proved, alas! in vain, I must beg the privilege of still remaining a
stranger.”
She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall and dignified. Dropping
me a slight courtesy, she was turning to go away, when I said,
“But, madam, even if I have not the ability to grant your request, I may
still have it in my power to aid you in this matter. I am ready to do
all I can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your husband will be
found numbers to step forward and join in affording you the assistance
so much desired, when they are made aware of your present extremity.”
The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my words were felt as a
mockery or an insult, and turning from me, again walked from the room
with a firm step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed into the
street, and I was left standing alone. To this day I have remained in
ignorance of her identity. Cheerfully would I have aided her to the
extent of my ability to do so. Her story touched my feelings and
awakened my liveliest sympathies, and if, on learning her name and
making proper inquiries into her circumstances, I had found all to be
as she had stated, I would have felt it a duty to interest myself in her
behalf, and have contributed in aid of the desired end to the extent of
my ability. But she came to me under the false idea that I had but to
put my hand in my pocket, or write a check upon the bank, and lo! a
thousand dollars were forthcoming. And because I did not do this,
she believed me unfeeling, selfish, and turned from me mortified,
disappointed, and despairing.
I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. On the very next
morning I received a letter from an artist, in which he spoke of the
extremity of his circumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple of
pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not resist his appeal. The
pictures did not strike me as possessing much artistic value.
“What do you ask for them?” I inquired.
“I refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But I am compelled to part
with them now, and you shall have them for eighty.”
I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and therefore shook my head.
But, as he looked disappointed, I offered to take one of the pictures at
forty dollars. To this he agreed. I paid the money, and the picture was
sent home. Some days afterward, I was showing it to a friend.
“What did you pay for it?” he asked.
“Forty dollars,” I replied.
The friend smiled strangely.
“What's the matter?” said I.
“He offered it to me for twenty-five.”
“That picture?”
“Yes.”
“He asked me eighty for this and another, and said he had refused a
hundred for the pair.”
“He lied though. He thought, as you were well off, that he must ask you
a good stiff price, or you wouldn't buy.”
“The scoundrel!”
“He got ahead of you, certainly.”
“But it's the last time,” said I, angrily.
And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed in which my fame as a
wealthy citizen did not subject me to some kind of experiment from
people in want of money. If I employed a porter for any service and
asked what was to pay, after the work was done, ten chances to one that
he didn't touch his hat and reply,
“Anything that you please, sir,” in the hope that I, being a rich man,
would be ashamed to offer him less than about four times his regular
price. Poor people in abundance called upon me for aid; and all sorts of
applications to give or lend money met me at every turn. And when I, in
self-defence, begged off as politely as possible, hints gentle or broad,
according to the characters or feelings of those who came, touching the
hardening and perverting influence of wealth, were thrown out for my
especial edification.
And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but myself doubts the fact
that I am worth from seventy to a hundred thousand dollars, and I
am, therefore, considered allowable game for all who are too idle or
prodigal to succeed in the world; or as Nature's almoner to all who are
suffering from misfortunes.
Soon after the publication to which I have alluded was foisted upon our
community as a veritable document, I found myself a secular dignitary
in the church militant. Previously I had been only a pew-holder, and an
unambitious attendant upon the Sabbath ministrations of the Rev. Mr----.
But a new field suddenly opened before me; I was a man of weight and
influence, and must be used for what I was worth. It is no joke, I can
assure the reader, when I tell them that the way my pocket suffered was
truly alarming. I don't know, but I have seriously thought, sometimes,
that if I hadn't kicked loose from my dignity, I would have been
gazetted as a bankrupt long before this time.
Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman or deacon, I will not
say which, I met the Rev. Mr----, and the way he talked to me about the
earth being the “Lord's and the fullness thereof;” about our having the
poor always with us; about the duties of charity, and the laying up of
treasure in heaven, made me ashamed to go to church for a month to come.
I really began to fear that I was a doomed man and that the reputation
of being a “wealthy citizen” was going to sink me into everlasting
perdition. But I am getting over that feeling now. My cash-book, ledger,
and bill-book set me right again; and I can button up my coat and
draw my purse-strings, when guided by the dictates of my own judgment,
without a fear of the threatened final consequences before my eyes.
Still, I am the subject of perpetual annoyance from all sorts of people,
who will persist in believing that I am made of money; and many of these
approach me in, such a way as to put it almost entirely out of my
power to say “no.” They come with appeals for small amounts, as loans,
donations to particular charities, or as the price of articles that I do
not want, but which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, since
I have obtained my present unenviable reputation, it hasn't cost me a
cent less than two thousand, in money given away, loaned never to be
returned, and in the purchase of things that I never would have thought
of buying.
And, with all this, I have made more enemies than I ever before had in
my life, and estranged half of my friends and acquaintances.
Seriously, I have it in contemplation to “break” one of these days,
in order to satisfy the world that I am not a rich man. I see no other
effectual remedy for present grievances.
“WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE.”
DESPAIR not of the better part
That lies in human kind--
A gleam of light still flickereth
In e'en the darkest mind;
The savage with his club of war,
The sage so mild and good,
Are linked in firm, eternal bonds
Of common brotherhood.
Despair not! Oh despair not, then,
For through this world so wide,
No nature is so demon-like,
But there's an angel side.
The huge rough stones from out the mine,
Unsightly and unfair,
Have veins of purest metal hid
Beneath the surface there;
Few rocks so bare but to their heights
Some tiny moss-plant clings,
And round the peaks, so desolate,
The sea-bird sits and sings.
Believe me, too, that rugged souls,
Beneath their rudeness hide
Much that is beautiful and good--
We've all our angel side.
In all there is an inner depth--
A far off, secret way,
Where, through dim windows of the soul,
God sends His smiling ray;
In every human heart there is
A faithful sounding chord,
That may be struck, unknown to us,
By some sweet loving word;
The wayward heart in vain may try
Its softer thoughts to hide,
Some unexpected tone reveals
It has its angel side.
Despised, and low, and trodden down,
Dark with the shade of sin:
Deciphering not those halo lights
Which God hath lit within;
Groping about in utmost night,
Poor prisoned souls there are,
Who guess not what life's meaning is,
Nor dream of heaven afar;
Oh! that some gentle hand of love
Their stumbling steps would guide,
And show them that, amidst it all,
Life has its angel side.
Brutal, and mean, and dark enough,
God knows, some natures are,
But He, compassionate, comes near--
And shall we stand afar?
Our cruse of oil will not grow less,
If shared with hearty hand,
And words of peace and looks of love
Few natures can withstand.
Love is the mighty conqueror--
Love is the beauteous guide--
Love, with her beaming eye, can see
We've all our angel side.