3. CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH THE YOUNG MAN JONATHAN ARGUES SEVERAL CASES OF CONSCIENCE,

WHICH ARE RECOMMENDED TO BE BROUGHT BEFORE YEARLY MEETING.

My nephew Jonathan had no great love for poor Abel; and he did not tell

me his story without passing sundry sarcasms on him, as well as myself,

for bestowing so much confidence on the poor unfortunate man. I rebuked

the youth for his freedom and uncharitableness, and remembering what

Abel had told me of his own idle and trifling course of life, I felt

impelled by the new spirit of virtue that possessed me to take him

to task; which I did in the following manner; and it is wondrous how

completely and how soon (for I was yet lying on my back, groaning with

my unhealed wounds and bruises) my spirit assumed and acted upon all

that was peculiar in the nature of Zachariah Longstraw.

"Nevvy Jonathan," said I, "the uncharitableness of thy spirit afflicts

me. Trouble not thyself to censure the worthy Abel Snipe; but think

how thou shalt amend thine own crying faults. It has been said to me,

Jonathan, my son, and verily I fear it is true, that thou squeakest

upon flutes, and that thou makest profane noises with fiddles; and,

furthermore, that thou runnest after, and dost buy, the vanity of

pictures, and triest thy hand at painting the same."

"I do," said Jonathan; "and I find nothing against them in the

Scripture."

"Verily," said I, "but dost thou find nothing against them in thine own

spirit?"

"Not a whit," said Jonathan; "my heart says _love them_, and my head

approves the counsel. Where's the harm in these things? I know thee

don't say they are in themselves sinful."

"Verily, no," said I; "but they are indirectly so; for, being wholly

useless, the time bestowed upon them is time lost and wasted; and that,

nevvy Jonathan, I think thee will allow to be sinful."

"Not I," said Jonathan, stoutly; "I don't believe the wasting of time

to be any such heinous matter as thee supposes; had it been so, man

would not have been made to waste a third of his existence in slumber.

But granting this, for the sake of argument, I deny thy premises,

uncle Zachariah. The time bestowed upon these things is not wasted.

Heaven has given to nine men out of ten a capacity to enjoy both music

and painting; it has done more--it has set an example of both before

our eyes, and thus laid the foundation of the divine arts in Nature.

What is the world around us but a great concert-hall, echoing with the

music of bird and beast, of wind, water, and foliage? what but a great

gallery of pictures, painted by the hand of Providence? Nature is a

painter--Nature is a musician; and her sons can do nothing better

than follow her example. But were Nature neither, it is not the less

evident that these arts are lawful and sinless. They can be proved so,

uncle Zachariah, upon thine own system of philanthropy; for they add

to the happiness of our existence, and they do so without corrupting

our morals or injuring our neighbours. I say, uncle," quoth Jonathan,

who had pronounced this defence with much enthusiasm, and now concluded

with a grin of triumph, "I have thee there dead as a herring!"

"Verily," said I, more pleased than offended at the young man's

ingenuity, for my spirit yearned over him the more at every word, "thee

has a talent for argument, which I would thee would cultivate; for then

thee could get into the Assembly, and finally, perhaps, into Congress,

and do much good to thy fellow-men, by reforming divers crying abuses."

"Verily," said he, "the first thing I should reform would be thy

philanthropy."

"Don't be funny, nevvy," said I, "for I have not done with thee. Thee

was dancing last night, in the house of the vain man Ebenezer Wild."

"I was," said Jonathan; "I was shaking my legs; and I can't see the

harm of it, for the flies do the same thing all day long."

"Verily, thee should remember that a reasonable being, that hath a

brain, should rather exercise that than his heels."

"I grant thee," said Jonathan; "but thee knows brains are not so

abundant as heels; and thee should expect the mass of people to conduct

according to their endowments."

"Jonathan," said I, "if thee thinks to make me laugh, thee is mistaken.

Of a verity I will not be rigid with thee; but, verily, I must speak to

thee of what I hold thy faults. Thou hast a vain and eager hankering

after the society of giddy women."

"I have!" said Jonathan, with great fervour. "Heaven made women to be

loved, and I love them--especially Ellen Wild!"

"Sure," said I, "I have heard that name?"

"Sure," said Jonathan, "it would be odd if thee had not; for thee knows

her well--thine old friend Ebenezer's daughter."

"A giddy girl, Jonathan, I fear me; a giddy girl!"

"As giddy as the dev--that is, as giddy as a goose," said Jonathan.

"What!" said I; "thee meant something worse! Verily, I have heard thee

uses bad language, Jonathan."

"By jingo!" said the youth, indignantly, "there is no end to the

slanders people will say of one. _I_ use bad language? By jingo!"

"Why, thee is at it now," said I; "let thy yea be yea, and thy nay nay;

for all beyond is profanity or folly. But thee will allow, Jonathan,

that when thee is among the people of the world, thee uses the language

thereof, forgetting the language of simplicity and sobriety, which

would best become thy lips?"

"Ay; there I plead guilty, and with good reason too," said Jonathan.

"When I was a boy, thee had thoughts of making me a merchant, and thee

compelled me to study French and German. Now, when I meet a Frenchman

or a German unacquainted with the English tongue, in what language does

thee suppose I address him?"

"Why, French or German, to be sure."

"Verily, I do," said the youth; "and when I get among the people of the

world, I speak to them in the language of the world; for, poor ignorant

creatures, they don't understand Quaker. Moreover, uncle, does thee

know Ellen Wild is of opinion we Friends don't speak good grammar? Now

she and I spent a whole hour the other evening, trying to parse '_thee

is_,' '_thee does_,' '_thee loves_,' and so on, and we could not work

them according to Murray. I say, uncle, does thee know of any command

in Scripture to speak bad grammar?"

"No," said I; "but it is not forbidden; and the phrases mentioned, thou

knowest, have crept into our speech as corruptions, and are only used

for conversational purposes."

"Truly," said Jonathan, "and the language of the world is used for

conversational purposes also. I say, uncle Zachariah, _that_ now's a

clincher!"

"I won't quarrel with thee on this account, Jonathan. But how comes it

thou wert seen in that wicked place, the theatre?"

"By jingo!" said he, "Snipe has been blabbing there too!"

"What!" said I, "does thou strive to conceal it?"

"Yea," said Jonathan; "for when we do our good deeds, we should do them

in secret. Uncle Zachariah, I went to the theatre in charity."

"Thee did," said I, charmed more than I can express at the thought of

the young man's virtue.

"Yes, uncle," said the youth; "and great need have the actors of

charity; for a poorer set of fellows I think I never saw got together."

And here the rogue fell a laughing in my face: "And so thee need not

distress thyself; for I sha'n't go there again until they get a better

company. But, uncle Zachariah, thee has exhorted me enough for one

time, and it is my turn now. So do thou be conformable, and answer my

questions; for, I can tell thee, I have a fault to find with thee.

According to thine own system of philanthropy, it is thy duty to make

thy fellow-creatures happy. Now I ask thee whether thou dost not

think it thy duty to make me, thy loving nephew, happy, as well as a

stranger?"

"Verily," said I, "I do."

"Why then," said Jonathan, "there is a short way of doing it. Uncle

Zachariah, I want to be married. Ellen and I have talked the matter

over, and she says she'll have me. Now, uncle, thee did once talk of

giving me a counting-house, and ten or twenty thousand dollars, as the

case might be, to begin a commission business; and Mr. Wild talked

of doing as much in the way of dowry to Ellen. And now I say, uncle

Zachariah, as the shipwrecked sailor did when he prayed among the

breakers, if thee means to help me, now's the time."

"What!" said I, "have I so much property?"

"Thee is joking," said the youth; "thee is a rich man, and thee knows

thee can afford it. But thee must do it soon, or it may be too late;

for, I can tell thee, folks begin to talk of thy philanthropy, and say

thou art flinging away so much money that presently thou wilt have

nothing left to give me. Mr. Wild is of this mind, and he has hinted

some things to me very plainly. In a word, uncle, if thee does not

permit me to marry Ellen soon, he will break the match. And so, if thee

will make me a happy man--"

"I will," said I, with uncommon fervour; "thee shall marry the maiden,

and I will straightway see what I can do for thee. Verily, what is

wealth but the dross of the earth, unless used to purchase happiness

for those that are worthy."

At these words Jonathan leaped for joy, seized my hand and kissed it,

vowed I was "his dear old dad, for all I was only his uncle," and ran

from the room--doubtless to impart the happy tidings to his mistress.

4. CHAPTER IV.

CONTAINING LITTLE OR NOTHING SAVE APOSTROPHES, EXHORTATIONS, AND

QUARRELS.

How happy was I, to think I had conferred happiness upon another! how

agreeable my sensations! how delightful the approbation of my own

heart! How much I rejoiced that my soul had at last found a habitation

equal to its wishes! an abode of peace! a dwelling of content! "If I am

Zachariah Longstraw," said I to myself, "I will show myself worthy of

the name; I will spend his money in the great cause of philanthropy; I

will make the afflicted smile; I will win the blessings of the poor;

I will do more good than even Zachariah Longstraw himself: yea, of a

surety, I will devote myself to a life of virtue!"

While I was making these virtuous resolutions, the faithful Abel Snipe

came to my bedside, and told me there were divers suffering creatures,

widows with nine small children, widowers with fourteen, sick old

women, and starving old men, in great need of relief; and so affecting

was the picture he drew of their griefs, that the tears rolled from my

eyes, and I bade him, if there was any money he could honestly lay his

hands on, carry comfort to them all.

"Verily," said he, "I have just collected the quarter's rent of the

house in Market-street; and it will be enough, and more."

"Relieve the poor afflicted creatures, then.. And hark thee, Abel

Snipe, does thee consider me a rich man? If so, let me know where I

can find twenty thousand dollars to set up the young man Jonathan in

business, and marry him to the maiden Ellen Wild."

"Alas!" said Abel Snipe; "of a verity, the young man is in a hurry; and

alas! for, of a verity, if thee takes away at this time such a great

sum from thee possessions, thee will cut off the right hand of thee

charity."

And thereupon the benevolent creature, after showing me, which it was

easy to do, that, with the mere revenue of the sum demanded, if kept

in our own hands, we could carry smiles and rejoicing into at least a

hundred families every year, exhorted me not to forget that I was the

friend of the afflicted, nor to faint in the good work of philanthropy.

Jonathan was a very young man, he said--only twenty-five--happy in

his youth, happy in his affections, happy in the certain prospect

he enjoyed of sooner or later arriving at the fullest felicity.

Why should he not then consent, like us, to forego for a while his

selfish desires, contribute his portion to the wants of the poor,

and, by labouring a few years in their cause, approve himself worthy

of fortune? How much better that he should endure a fancied ill, than

that a hundred afflicted families should be given up to actual want? He

contended that the young man's request was untimely and selfish, and

that I would only harden his heart, while breaking a thousand others,

if I granted it. In short, he said so many things, and painted so many

affecting pictures of the miseries of my fellow-creatures, and the

beauties of charity, that my mind was quite changed on the subject, and

I perceived it was my duty to resist the young man's wishes.

This change, on the morrow (being the first day that I was able to sit

up), I explained to Jonathan, exhorting him, with a feeling enthusiasm,

to tear all narrow, selfish feelings from his heart, and embark with

me, like a virtuous youth, in the great enterprise of philanthropy.

He fell into a passion, told me my philanthropy was a fudge, and Abel

Snipe a rogue and hypocrite; vowed I had a greater regard for knaves

and paupers than for my own flesh and blood, and was flinging away my

money only to encourage vice and beggary. It was in vain I sought to

pacify the indignant youth. An evil spirit seized upon him. He did

nothing for three days but scold, reproach, and complain. He abused

the faithful Abel to his face, calling him a fox, viper, cormorant,

harpy, and I know not what beside; all which Abel endured with patience

and resignation, for he was of a meek and humble spirit. Nay, not

content with this, he proceeded on the third day to greater lengths,

and did very intemperately fall upon the said Abel Snipe, tweaking

him by the nose and ears, until the poor man yelled with pain--and

even endeavoured to kick him out of the house; after which, being

censured for the same, and I siding with Abel, as justice demanded, in

the controversy, his resentment grew to such a pitch that he left the

house, declaring he would live with me no longer, but leave me to ruin

myself at my leisure.

This was an occurrence that caused me much pain, for verily I had an

exceeding great love for the young man, and I perceived that he was

treating me with ingratitude. I was, however, greatly comforted by the

increased zeal and affection of the ever-faithful Abel; who, coming to

me with tears in his eyes, declared that he could not bear the thought

of being a cause of dissension between me and my nephew, and therefore

besought me that I would discard him from my presence, when I could

again live happily with my Jonathan.

I resisted, while duly appreciating the good man's friendship; and,

fortunately, there needed no such sacrifice on my part; for, on the

eleventh day, Jonathan returned of his own accord, and, confessing his

folly, and entreating Abel's forgiveness, as well as mine, was restored

again to favour. His return itself was grateful to my feelings; but

the reader may judge how great was my rapture, when Jonathan avowed

a change in his sentiments on the subject of philanthropy, and

declared that the spirit at last moved him to think of his suffering

fellow-creatures. He entreated to be conducted to the abodes of

affliction, and there the conversion was completed. He became a changed

man, and in a few days was almost as zealous an alms-giver as myself. I

took him to my arms, and said--

"Now, Jonathan, thee is a man in whom I no longer fear the seductions

of the flesh. Thee shall marry the maid Ellen, and be set up in

business."

"Nay," said Jonathan; "not so. I am yet but as a youth in years, and

the time sufficeth for all things. Let not the whirl of business and

the joy of the honey-moon disturb the virtue that is yet young and

frail in my bosom. Of a verity, Ellen Wild will wait till the fall; and

if she don't, and my heart should be broken, verily I shall then be

better enabled to sympathize with the wretched."

Such was the lofty, though new-born virtue of my Jonathan!

But of that, as well as our works of benevolence, I shall speak in the

following chapters.

5. CHAPTER V.

WHICH IS SHORT AND MORAL, AND CAN THEREFORE BE SKIPPED.

I have already said that the mere presence of the philanthropic

feeling, now infused into my spirit, filled me with happiness, even

while I lay upon my back, aching with wounds and bruises. It may be

inferred, therefore, that my soul was ecstasy itself, when, restored at

last to health and strength, I stalked into the air, dispensing charity

with both hands.

Of a verity, it was--at least, for a time; and I will say, that,

during the first month of my new existence, I experienced a thousand

agreeable sensations, such as had never occurred to me in my whole life

before. And here let me observe, that, if what I have to add shall

show that there are offsets of inconvenience and tribulation even

to the satisfaction of the benevolent, I do not design to throw any

discredit on the virtue of benevolence itself; which I truly regard

as one of the divinest of endowments, angelic in its nature, and

blessed in its effects, when practised with discretion; and amiable,

if not lovely, even in its folly. I believe, indeed, that if Heaven

looks with peculiar indulgence on the errors of any man, it is in

the case of him who has the softest judgment for the errors, and the

readiest reparation for the miseries, of his fellows. What I wish to

be understood is, that man is an unthankful animal, and of such rare

inconsistency of temper, that he seldom foregoes an opportunity to

punish the virtue which he so loudly applauds.

I was now a philanthropist, and I will say (which I think I may do

without shame, the merit being less attributable to me than to that

worthy deceased personage whose body I inhabited), that a truer,

purer, or more zealous one never walked the earth. I should fill a

book as big as a family Bible, were I to record all the good things

I did or attempted, while a tenant in Zachariah Longstraw's body.

All my feelings and desires were swallowed up in one great passion

of philanthropy; universal benevolence was the maxim I engraved upon

my heart; I had no thought but to relieve the distresses, meliorate

the condition, and advance the happiness of my species. My generosity

extended equally to individuals and communities; I toiled alike in the

service of the beggar and the million, putting bread into the mouth of

the one, and infusing moral principles into the breasts of the others.

In a word, I was, as I have called myself already, a philanthropist;

and if my virtue was somewhat excessive in degree, it proceeded from

the sincerest promptings of spirit.

6. CHAPTER VI.

AN INCONVENIENCE OF BEING IN ANOTHER MAN'S BODY, WHEN CALLED UPON TO

GIVE EVIDENCE AS TO ONE'S OWN EXIT.

It may be supposed that the treatment I (for, of a verity, I myself

came in for some share of the hard usage that killed the true

Zachariah) had received from the base and brutal John Smith, must

have cooled my regard for him, if it did not affect my feelings of

philanthropy in general. I confess that I did regard that personage

with sentiments of disgust and indignation; but, nevertheless, I was

very loath to appear against him when summoned (as I was, soon after

leaving my sick-bed) to give evidence on the charges preferred against

him. These were two in number, and afforded matter for as many separate

endictments. In the first--and, verily, I was startled when I heard

it--John Smith was charged with the murder of Abram Skinner; in the

second, with an assault, with intent to kill, upon myself--that is, my

second self, Zachariah Longstraw--and also with robbery.

Now, if the reader will reflect a moment upon the relation in which I

stood to these charges, he will allow that the necessity of testifying

on them reduced me to a quandary. In the first place, I knew very well

that Mr. John Smith, rogue and assassin as he was, had _not_ killed

Abram Skinner, but that I had finished that unhappy gentleman myself;

and I knew also, in the second, that my admitting this fact would,

without doing Mr. John Smith any good, produce a decided inconvenience

to myself:--not that there was any fear I should be arraigned for

murder, but because nobody would believe me. I remembered how my

telling the truth to my friend John Darling, the deputy attorney, in

regard to my first transformation, had caused him to believe me mad;

and I foresaw that telling the truth on the present occasion would

reduce me to the same predicament, and perhaps the Friends' mad-house

into the bargain.

There was the same difficulty in relation to the second charge,

accompanied by another still greater; for, whereas John Smith was

there only accused of assault with intent to kill, he had in reality

committed a murder; which if I had affirmed, as I must have done had I

affirmed any thing at all, I should have been a living contradiction of

my own testimony, and thus considered madder than ever.

The truth is, I was in a dilemma, out of which the truth could not

extract me; and the more I thought the matter over, the greater was

my embarrassment. A feeling of integrity within me (for Zachariah

Longstraw was a man of conscience) urged me to speak the truth; while

common sense showed me how much worse than useless truth would be in

such an extraordinary conjuncture.

I received a visit from the prosecuting attorney, who very naturally

expected a clear and satisfactory account of Mr. John Smith's doings on

the night of the murder; and the difficulty I had with him (that is,

the attorney) gave me a foretaste of what I was to expect when summoned

into the witness's box in court. I remember that the gentleman, after

plying me with many questions, to which he got that sort of replies

invidiously termed "Quaker answers," flew into a huff, and threatened

me with what would be the consequence if I should prove backward in

court. And, sure enough, his prediction was verified; for, not giving a

straight answer to any one question when the trial came on, I received

divers reprimands from the court, and was finally committed for a

contempt to prison; where I lay two or three days, until called into

court again to give evidence on the second endictment, Mr. John Smith

having been found not guilty on the first. This was owing in part,

I presume, to the testimony of several surgeons, who deposed that

there were no marks of violence upon Abram Skinner's body; although

the evidence of the watchman, who had seen him alive through the

window, and afterward found John Smith burying his dead body in the

same hole with myself, went rather hard with him. I say the acquittal

was perhaps owing in part to the testimony of the surgeons; though

much of it might be attributed to the marvellous humanity that reigns

in the criminal courts of the city of Brotherly Love, to the great

benefit and encouragement of that proscribed and injured class of men,

namely--murderers.

I made little better work of the second attempt at witnessing; but,

as I have matters of much greater importance to demand my attention,

and the reader can easily infer what I did and what I did not affirm,

I must beg to despatch the second trial by relating that I was packed

off a second time to prison for contempt, but that the evidence of the

watchman, and my late wounds and bruises, were esteemed sufficient

to secure the prisoner's conviction; and accordingly John Smith was

convicted, and accommodated with lodgings in the penitentiary for the

fourth time.

My own incarceration was of no long duration. My contumacy, as it

was called, was considered extraordinary; but it was generally

thought to be owing to a mistaken humanity, and a perverted, Quixotic

conscientiousness, such as are common enough among persons of the

persuasion I then belonged to. This, and perhaps the circumstance that

I was yet in feeble health (for the trial, as I said, took place soon

after I left my bed), caused me to be treated with lenity; and in a few

days I was liberated.

All this, I beg the reader to understand, happened before the

reconciliation with my nephew Jonathan, and, of course, before I had

well begun my career of philanthropy. Of that career, of some of my

deeds of goodness, and of the consequences they produced, I shall now

speak.

7. CHAPTER VII.

THE SORROWS OF A PHILANTHROPIST.

My benevolence was of a two-fold character, being both theoretic and

practical. In the latter sense, is to be regarded the relief which I

granted with my own hands to such suffering persons as I could lay them

on; and there was no way in which I did not personally relieve some one

wretch or other. By the former, I understand a thousand schemes which

I devised and framed, to enlist the sympathies of communities, and so

relieve the afflicted in a mass; besides a thousand others which were

designed to bestow upon the poor and vicious that virtuous knowledge

and those virtuous principles, which are better than alms of gold and

silver. I instituted some half a dozen charitable societies, to supply

fuel, clothing, food, and employment to the suffering poor; as well as

others to exhort them to economy, industry, prudence, fortitude, and

so forth. I formed societies even among themselves, classing divers

isolated creatures into bands, who wrought in common, and disposed of

their wares, either in a shop kept for the purpose, or at fairs. I

established schools to keep the children of the poor out of mischief,

and one in particular I supported solely from my own, that is to say,

Zachariah Longstraw's pocket.

I bestowed much of my regards upon the poor wretches in prison, doing

all that I was permitted to effect a reformation in their habits and

feelings; and I took uncommon pains to scatter light and sentiments of

a civilized character among the worthy representatives of the Green

Island, who make up so large a portion of our suffering population.

And let it not be supposed that I neglected that other class of poor

creatures, called negroes, whom, although allowed the name, and most

of the privileges of freemen, their white brethren refuse to take to

their bosoms, merely because they have black faces, woolly heads, and

an ill savour of body. For myself, verily, if they were not comely in

my sight, nor agreeable to my nostrils, I said, "Heaven hath made them

so;" and although my nephew Jonathan insisted that Heaven had done the

same thing with other animals, and that, upon my principles, men should

be as affectionate with pigs and badgers as they were with cats and

lap-dogs, I perceived that they were my brethern, and that it became me

to conquer the prejudices lying only in my eyes and nostrils. I girded

my loins to the work, and verily, I prevailed over the weakness of the

old Adam. Of a verity, I was the African's friend.

But, oh! the wickedness of the world, and the ingratitude thereof! The

heart of man is even as the soil of the earth, which, the more it is

stirred up by cultivation, the more barren and worthless it becomes. It

is as the fields of the Ancient Dominion, where, if a man soweth barley

and corn, he shall reap a harvest of Jamestown weed, poke-berries, and

scrub pines. It is as the bulldog that one feedeth with beef and other

wholesome viands, who, the moment he has done his dinner, snaps, for

his dessert, at the feeder's heel. It is as the tender flowers, which,

in the winter-time, a man taketh from the cold, to warm, by night,

in his chamber, and which smother him with foul air before morning.

Verily, it was my lot to find, even as my nephew Jonathan had once

foolishly contended, that even philanthropy is not secure from the

sting of unthankfulness--that benevolence is, in one sense, the great

parent of ingratitude--since it begets it. For a period of full seven

months (for so long did I remain in Zachariah's body, after recoving my

health), I laboured to do good to my fellows, and, verily, I laboured

with might and main. Yet, had I toiled with the same energy to injure

and oppress, I almost doubt whether I should have been rewarded with

more manifold outpourings of wrath and fury. Verily, as I said before,

the world is a wicked world, and I begin to doubt whether man can make

it better.

One of the first mishaps that befell me was of the following nature.

Stepping one morning into the mayor's office, which was a favourite

haunt with me, seeing that misery doth there greatly abound, I fell

upon a man whom the magistrate was about to commit to jail, for being

drunk and beating his wife and children, he being unable to pay the

fine imposed upon him, and to find surety for his future good behaviour.

The spirit stirred within me as I beheld the contrite looks of the

culprit, and I said to myself--"While he lies in jail, his poor wife

and his infants may perish with hunger." I paid the fine, and, though

the mayor did very broadly hint to me that a little punishment would do

the man good, and his wife too, seeing that he was a barbarous fellow,

I offered myself for his security, and thus sent him back to his

rejoicing family. I said to myself--"This very night will I witness

the happiness I have created." I went accordingly to the man's house,

where I found the wicked fellow raving with drink, and beating his

wife as before, his children screaming with terror, and the neighbours

crying out for a constable. I did but say a word of reprehension to

him, when the brutish ingrate, leaving his rib, fell foul of myself,

mauling me cruelly; and I believe he would have beaten me to death, had

I not been rescued by the timely appearance of a constable. "Thee sees

the end of thy humanity!" said the mayor, when I entered his office

the next morning, that my black eye and bruised visage might testify

against the ungrateful man; "thee will not object to my committing the

fellow now?"

"Nay," said I; "it is drunkenness that has made the poor man mad.

Therefore lock him up in prison until his madness hath departed."

"I will," said the mayor; "and thee will have the goodness to pay over

to the clerk the hundred dollars in which thee bound thyself that the

rascal should keep the peace."

"Verily," said I, "it is not just I should pay the money; for the

beating was upon my own body."

"Truly," said the mayor, "and so it was; and therefore it is the harder

that thee should have to pay it. But pay it thee must, the man having

broken the peace as much in beating thee, as if it had been any other

citizen of the commonwealth."

And so much satisfaction I had for befriending the sot; the charity,

which did more harm than good even to the man's poor family, since it

exposed them a second time to his fury, costing me, without counting

the fine paid on the first day, a sore beating and one hundred dollars.

My next misadventure was the being cheated in a very aggravated way by

a poor man to whom I loaned money, without exacting bond or voucher,

the same being loaned to re-establish him in a gainful business, which

had been interrupted by an unfortunate accident. For, having prospered

in his business, and I requiring that he should now repay the money,

that I might devote it to the service of others, he very impudently

averred that he had never had any thing of me, except advice and a good

word of recommendation here and there; swore that he never paid away or

received a cent without giving or taking a receipt; defied me to prove

my claim; and concluded his baseness by threatening to kick me out of

his workshop.

These instances of ingratitude were followed by others of a still

deeper die, and so numerous, that I can mention only a few of them.

Walking one day to that infant school which I had established, to

keep children out of mischief while their hard-working parents were

at their daily labours, I perceived the urchins standing at the door,

pelting the passers-by with mud. Reproving them for this misconduct,

the graceless vagabonds did speedily turn their battery upon myself;

and, not content to plaster and bespatter me with mud-balls from head

to foot, they fell upon me, and, being very numerous, did actually roll

me about in a gutter, where was a deep slough, so that I had nearly

perished with suffocation, being sorely bruised into the bargain. To

crown all, having expelled from my school the ringleaders in this

marvellous outbreaking of precocious ingratitude, I was visited by

their parents, all of them abusing me for my tyrannical usage of their

children (although, of a truth, the tyranny was all on the side of the

juveniles), and impudently demanding that I should pay them for their

boys' time, at the rate of twenty-five cents a week each, for as many

weeks as I had had them at school. Of a surety, some people are very

unreasonable.

It was also my misfortune to offend divers tailors and shopkeepers,

by benevolently taking part in the efforts of their poor unfortunate

needle-women to obtain better wages; and one day, in the streets, these

angry men did hustle me, and tear a tail from my coat. But I consoled

myself for this violence, by thinking of the gratitude of the poor

creatures I was defending; when, making my way, the following evening,

to their place of assembly, I was set upon by the whole crew, for that

I did hint, that, as their difficulties did chiefly proceed from their

numbers, there being more hands at the business of sewing than were

required, they would greatly benefit themselves, and the community

too, by going, two thirds of them at least, into service, there being

ever a great want of domestics in our respectable families. I say, I

did but hint this reasonable and undeniable truth, together with a

friendly remark upon the exposed state of their morals, when there

arose such a storm among them as was never perhaps witnessed by any

other human being. "Hear the old hunks!" said one: "he wants to make

niggur servants of us! _us_, that is freeborn American girls!"--"Yes,

ladies!" said another, "and he is insinivating we are no better nor we

should be!"--"Turn the old rip out!" said a third; and "Turn him out!"

cried the other three hundred and fifty there present. Of a verity,

they did assail me with both tongue and nail, testifying such vigour of

spirit and strength of arm, that, were I a philanthropist now, which

I fortunately am not, and were I moved to consult their interests as

before, I should endeavour to form them into a regiment of soldiers,

not doubting that they would, at any moment, prevail over twice their

numbers of male fighting men. Of a verity, I say, they did violently

pull me about, thrusting me at last from the apartment: and their

ingratitude was a sore wound to my spirit.

8. CHAPTER VIII.

THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.

Another evil that befell me about the same time, was equally

afflicting. A negro-man that had fled from bondage in a neighbouring

state, being sharply hunted, and about to be captured by the person

that called him his property, I carried him to my house, and there

concealed him for three days and mights, until his master had departed;

"For," said I, "of a surety, slavery is a bitter pill, and one that

cures neither the rheumatism nor the ague; and, therefore, why should

my brother Pompey be compelled to swallow it?" My brother Pompey,

having eaten, drunk, and slept at my expense for the three days

mentioned, disappeared on the morning of the fourth before daylight,

carrying with him twenty-seven pounds of silver, in spoons, teapots,

and other vessels, the three watches belonging to myself, my nephew,

and Abel Snipe, as well as Jonathan's best coat and trousers. Verily,

I was confounded at the fellow's ingratitude, and the loss of my

valuables, all of which, however, though broken up, it was my good

fortune to recover, together with the three watches. The thief himself,

being taken, was clapped into jail for a while, and then surrendered

to his master, and carried back to bondage; and this stirring up the

choler of the free Africans in town, they did naught but cry out upon

me as the author of his misfortune, surrounding my house with a mob,

and proceeding to the length of even burning it down. At least, the

house taking fire, and manifestly by the act of an incendiary, it was

charged by my friends upon these raging foolish people, though I was

never able to prove it upon any one in particular. As my good fortune

would have it, Abel Snipe had taken out a policy of ensurance, so that

I recovered the money from the company; but not without going to law,

the company averring that my humanity rendered me careless.

I caused another dwelling to be built; and, in building it, received

another strong and inconvenient proof, not merely of man's ingratitude,

but of his natural hostility to the charity which benefits his

neighbours. I bought my marble out of the prison, in order to encourage

industry among the prisoners, and thus lighten the load of taxation on

the community at large. This being known, the marble-cutters fell into

wrath, denounced me as the friend of villany and the enemy of honest

industry; and being joined by the shoemakers, who had put me down in

their character-book as a patron to none but prison-workmen, and by

divers other mechanics that had some grudge of the same kind, they

seized upon me, as I stood surveying my rising mansion, and bedaubed

me from head to foot with thick whitewash, painting in great black

letters, on the broad of my back, the following words, namely--"THE

ROGUE'S FRIEND;" which caused me, after I had escaped from their hands,

to be hooted at by boys and men along the street, and to be bitten by a

great cur-dog, that was amazed at my appearance.

Another misfortune, still more distressing, befell me one day, as I

walked among the western suburbs, seeking whom I might relieve. I

espied a company of men surrounding a ring, made with stakes and ropes,

in which two wretched creatures were stripping off their garments, with

the intention to do battle upon one another with their fists. These

were gentlemen of the fancy, as it is called; though imagination can

paint nothing of a more grossly animal and brutish character, afar

from all that is fanciful, than that very class that calls itself of

the fancy. I was shocked that the poor creatures should, in their

ignorance, agree to maul and beat one another, for the amusement of

a mob; and I was concerned that a mob, containing so many rational

beings, should be willing to harry on two such silly fellows to harm

each other for their pastime. I stepped among them, therefore, and

addressed them, exhorting them to peace and harmony; and this producing

but little effect on them, I upbraided them with breaking the laws,

both human and divine, and assured them I would go hunt up the police,

to prevent the mischief they meditated. Alas! how ungratefully they

used me! There was a man at a distance who was heating a great pot of

tar, to pay the bottom of a canal-boat; and just a moment before, a

carter had stopped to look on the affray, leaving on the roadside his

cart, on which, among other articles of domestic furniture, was an old

feather-bed, lying on the top of all. The devil had surely brought

these things upon the ground, that his sinful children, the gentlemen

of the fancy, might be at no loss how to testify their hatred of

humanity. The very combatants themselves were the first to seize me,

and cry out, "Tar and feather the old Bother'em! Douse down the bed,

and dab the pot off the fire." And "Daub him well!" they cried, all the

while that their wretched companions, drowning the cries I made for

assistance, with savage yells of rage and merriment, covered me from

head to foot with the nasty pitch, and then, tearing the bed to pieces,

emptied its contents over my reeking body. Then, having feathered me

all over, and so transformed me that I looked more like an ostrich than

a human being, they tied me to a post, where I was forced to remain,

looking upon the fight that immediately ensued between the champions. A

horrid sight it was; but I was so devoured with shame and indignation,

that I should have cared little had they dashed each other's brains

out. So much I endured for exhorting men to live together in peace and

amity.

The very beasts seemed to conspire to treat me with ingratitude.

My first effort in their cause was an attempt I made one day, on

the tow-path near the Water-Works, to protect a poor broken-down

barge-horse, which the driver was cruelly beating. My interference

cost me a dip in the basin, the man, who was both savage and strong,

pitching me in headlong, and (what I deemed still more provoking) a

kick from the horse, who let fly at me with his heels, merely because

mine, as they were tripped into the air, came in contact with his

hind-quarters; so that I was both lamed and half drowned for my charity.

In the same way, I was scratched half to death, and much more savagely

than I had been before by the needle-women, by a cat that I took out

of a dog's mouth,--without counting upon a nip that I had from the cur

also. And, to end this small catalogue of animal ingratitude, I may

say, that, within a fortnight after, I was served in the same way by a

rat that I strove to liberate from the fangs of my own gray tabby; for,

while Tabby was clawing at my fingers, the rat took me by the thumb;

and between them I was near perishing with lockjaw, the weather being

uncommonly hot, and the time midsummer.

There were a thousand other mischances of a like nature which befell

me, but which I have not leisure to describe, nor even to enumerate.

Some few of them, however, I think proper to record; but, to save

space, I will clap them into a short list, along with those already

mentioned, where they may be examined at a glance, and where, in that

glance, the reader may perceive what are sometimes the rewards of

philanthropy.

I. Beaten by a drunkard whom I had taken out of

prison, and bailed to keep the peace.

II. Mulcted out of $100 surety-money, because

my gentleman broke the peace by beating me.

III. Driven, and almost kicked, out of a man's

workshop, because I asked payment of a loan

made without bond or voucher.

IV. My nose pulled by a merchant to whom I

had (out of charity to the latter, who was

unfortunate) recommended a customer, who

swindled him.

V. Rolled in the mud by the boys of my own

charity-school, whom I had exhorted not to daub

the passers-by.

VI. Abused by their parents for not paying them

25 cents per week for the time I had the boys

at school.

VII. Hustled by tailors, slop-shopkeepers, and

others, for taking part with the needle-women

in a strike.

VIII. Scolded, scratched, and tumbled down

stairs by the needle-women, for advising them

to go into domestic service, and take care of

their morals.

IX. Robbed by a fugitive slave whom I had

concealed three days and nights in my house

from his master.

X. House burnt down by the free blacks (or so

it was suspected) for putting the thief as

aforesaid into jail, so that his master got him.

XI. Whitewashed and libelled on my own back by

the stonecutters, for buying wrought marble out

of the prison.

XII. Tarred and feathered by a gang of the

fancy, whom I exhorted at the ring to peace and

amity.

XIII. Scalded at my own house (which I had

converted, at a season of suffering, into a

gratis soup-house), and with my own soup, by a

beggar, because there was too little meat and

too much salt in it.

XIV. Soused in the canal by a boat-driver, for

rebuking his cruelty to an old barge-horse.

XV. Kicked by the horse for taking his part.

XVI. Scratched by a cat, for taking her out of

a dog's mouth: _item_, bitten by the dog.

XVII. Bitten by a rat, which I rescued from a

cat: item, scratched by the cat.

XVIII. Gored by a cow for helping her calf out

of the mire: _item_, the calf splashed me all

over with mud.

XIX. Beaten about the ears with a half-skinned

eel, by a fishwoman, whom I reproved for

skinning it alive.

Such were some of the unhappy circumstances that rewarded a seven

months' life of philanthropy. But there were others to follow still

more discouraging and afflicting.

CHAPTER IX.

CONTAINING A DIFFICULTY.

It is a common belief among those who are more religious than wise,

that a man never catches a cold going to church of a wet Sunday, or

being baptized in midwinter. I am myself of opinion, the belief of

such good people to the contrary notwithstanding, that many devout

persons, by wading to church in the slush, or washing out their sins

in snow-water, have gone to heaven much sooner than they expected. In

the same way, and on the same principle of distrusting all miraculous

interposition of Heaven in cases where human reason is sufficient

for our protection, I have my doubts in the truth of another maxim

of great acceptation in the world,--namely, "that a man never grows

poor by giving." I believe, indeed, that the charity of a discreet and

truly conscientious man never injures his fortune, but may, in many

instances, actually tend to its increase; since the love of benevolence

may stimulate him to new labours of acquisition, that he may have the

greater means of doing good. But I am also of opinion, and I think it

may be demonstrated by a good accountant, that a man who has a revenue

of a thousand a year, and bestows fifteen hundred in charity, will, in

due course of time, find himself as poor as his pensioners. When a man

hath a goose with golden eggs, whatever he may do with the eggs, he

should take great care of the goose.

The reader may infer from these remarks, that my philanthropy was as

little profitable to my pocket as it proved to my person; and such

indeed was the truth. I am of opinion I should myself, in a very few

years, have consumed the whole estate of Zachariah Longstraw, ample as

it was, in works of charity. How much faster it went with my nephew and

my friend Abel to assist me, may be imagined. My nephew became a very

dragon of charity, and dispensed my money upon such objects of pity as

he could find (for he soon began to practise the profession upon what

Abel called his own _hook_), with a zeal little short of fury; so that,

to supply his demands, I was sometimes obliged even to stint myself.

Had Abel Snipe been equally profuse, there is no saying how soon I

might have found myself at the end of my estate. But Abel Snipe was a

jewel; his charity was great, but his conscientiousness was greater; he

had ever a watchful eye to my good; and his solicitude to husband and

improve my means kept his benevolence within the bounds of discretion.

But, notwithstanding all his care, Abel perceived that our philanthropy

was beginning to eat holes into my possessions; and coming to me one

day with a long face, he assured me, that, unless some means were

devised to increase my income, we should soon find ourselves driven to

resort to the capital.

"Verily, and of a truth," said I, not a whit frighted at this

communication, "and why should that chill us in the good work, Abel

Snipe? Of a surety, all that I possess, is it not the property of the

poor?"

"Verily," said Abel, "verily and yea; but if we betake us to the

capital, verily, it will happen that sooner or later it shall be

consumed, and nothing left to us wherewithal to befriend the afflicted.

I say to thee, Zachariah, thy wealth is, as thou sayest, the property

of the poor; and it becomes thee, as a true and faithful servant

thereof, to see that it be not wasted, but, on the contrary, husbanded

with care and foresight, and put out to profit, so that the single

talent may become two, and peradventure three; whereby the poor, as

aforesaid, shall be twice, and, it may be, thrice benefited."

"Thou speakest the words of sense and seriousness," said I, struck by

the new view of the case. "But how shall this happy object be effected?

What shall we do, Abel Snipe, to make the one talent three, and thereby

increase our means of doing good?"

"Thee nephew Jonathan," said Abel Snipe, with a look of devout joy, "is

now a changed man, a man of seriousness and virtue, a scorner of vain

things, and a giver of alms--a man whom we can trust. I say to thee,

Zachariah, thee shall establish thee nephew in a gainful business, and

he shall make money; thee shall give him what is thee property for

his capital, remaining theeself but as a sleeping partner: and thus

it shall happen that thee capital shall be turned over three times a

year, producing, on each occasion, dividends three times as great as

now accrue from thy investments: and thus, Zachariah (and verily it

is pleasant to think upon), where thee now has a thousand dollars of

revenue, thee shall then have nine; and where thee now relieves nine

afflicted persons, thee shall there-upon relieve nine times nine, which

is eighty-one."

I need not assure the reader that this proposition of Abel's fastened

mightily upon my imagination, and that I was eager to embrace it; and

Jonathan coming in at the moment, I repeated the conversation to him,

assuring him that, if he thought himself able, with Abel's assistance,

to undertake such a business, he should have my money to begin upon

instanter, and marry the maiden Ellen into the bargain.

"Nay, verily," said Jonathan, "I will not marry, and I will not do

this thing whereof thee speaks. Uncle Zachariah, thee may think me

light of mind thus to speak of Ellen Wild, who is much lighter; but,

of a surety, I find the spirit moves me to regard her as one not to be

regarded any longer. In the matter of the money-making, I say, let Abel

Snipe be thy merchant, or whatsoever it may be thee has determined on;

for Abel Snipe is a good business man, and he knows how to make money.

He shall have my advice and assistance, as far as may be in my power.

But, truly, my thoughts now run in the paths of the unfortunate; and

thither let my footsteps follow also."

To this proposal the faithful Abel, with tears in his eyes (for he

was moved that Jonathan should express such confidence in him at

last), demurred, averring that it would be better, and more seemly,

for Jonathan himself to undertake the affair, he, Abel Snipe, giving

help and counsel, according to his humble ability. Jonathan objected

as before, and again declared that Abel, and Abel alone, was, as he

expressed it, "the man for my money." In short, the two young men,

now the best friends in the world, contested the matter, each arguing

so warmly in favour of the other, that it was plain the thing could

never be determined without my casting vote, which I, seeing that

Jonathan was positive, and bent upon a life of virtue, gave in Abel's

favour, and it was resolved accordingly that Abel should be made the

money-maker.

10. CHAPTER X.

IN WHAT MANNER MR. ZACHARIAH LONGSTRAW DETERMINED TO IMPROVE HIS

FORTUNE.

And now, the question occurring to me, I demanded into what kind of

business we should enter.

"That," said Jonathan, "is a question more easily made than answered,

seeing that there are so many ways of making money in this wicked

world, that an honest man can scarce tell which to choose among them;"

and then proceeded with great gravity to indicate divers callings,

which he pronounced the most gainful in the world, and all or any of

which, he thought, Abel could easily turn his hand to.

The first he advised was quackery--the making and vending of nostrums

to cure all manner of diseases, including corns and the toothache;

which was a business that had the merit of requiring no previous study

or education, a tinker or cobbler being just as fit to follow it as

a man that had read Paracelsus; and which, besides, as was evident

from the speed with which its professors in general stepped from the

kitchen-pot to the carriage, was the quickest way of making a fortune

that could be imagined. I should have thought the young man was joking

(for he had that vice in him to the last), had it not been for the

fervour with which he pointed out the advantages of the vocation. A

great recommendation, he averred, was, that it required no capital

beyond a few hundred dollars, to be laid out in bottles and logwood,

or some other colouring material. Pump-water, he said, was cheap; and

as for the other sovereign ingredient, it was furnished by the buyer

himself. "Yes!" said Jonathan, "faith is furnished by the buyer, who

pays us for the privilege of swallowing it; we sell men their own

conceits, bottled up with green, red, and brown water; and thereby we

make them their own doctors. Who then can say the calling of the quack

is not honest--nay, even philanthropic? He is a public benefactor--a

friend even of physicians; for he frees them from the painful necessity

of killing, by making men their own executioners."

And thus he went on until I cut him short by averring, that the whole

business was little better than wholesale cheating and murder. He then

recommended we should make Abel a tailor, solemnly declaring that,

next to quackery, tailoring, which was a quackery of another sort, was

the most profitable trade that could be followed; the mere gain from

cabbaging, considering that an ingenious tailor got at least one inch

of cloth out of every armhole, without counting the nails cribbed from

other parts of a coat, being immense, and his profits, seeing that he

lost nothing by a bad customer that he did not charge to a good one, as

certain and immutable as the laws of the Medes and Persians.

In short, my nephew Jonathan was in the mood for expatiating on the

merits of all money-making vocations; in which I should follow him,

were I not urged by the exigencies arising from limited time and space

to adhere to my story. He made divers recommendations, none of which I

thought of weight; and upon Abel, who had heard him with gravity and

attention, I was at last forced to call for advice and assistance. It

was his opinion, and he advised accordingly, that all the money I could

raise should be thrown into the stock-market, where, being applied to

purchase and sale in the usual way, he had no doubt it could be made

to yield a revenue of at least twenty per cent., and perhaps twice as

much; and this proposal, strange as it may seem to the reader, after

the experience Abram Skinner had given me in such matters, I did, after

sundry doubts and hesitations, finally agree to.

"Verily," said I, "this is a gainful business, friend Abel; but, of a

surety, neither honest nor humane, seeing that it is practised at the

expense of the ignorant, and often the needy."

"Verily, no," said Abel Snipe, with fervour; "it shall be at the

expense of the rich and niggardly--the man that is a miser and

uncharitable--the broker and the gambler--the bull and the bear. Our

dealings shall not be with the poor and ignorant man that dabbleth

in stocks; but him will we charitably pluck from the grasp of the

covetous, and thus protect, while drawing from the covetous man those

alms of benevolence which he would never himself apply to the use of

the afflicted."

"Verily," said I, pleased with the idea, "if we can make the covetous

man charitable, it will be a good thing; and if we can protect the

foolish ignorant person from his grasp, it will be still better. But,

of a surety, Abel Snipe, this business will be as gambling?"

"Yea, and verily," said Abel Snipe, "it is as gambling when a gambler

follows it; but in the hands of an honest man it is an honest

profession. Is not money, bagged up in stocks and other investments, as

merchandise? and, as merchandise, shall it not be lawfully bought and

sold?"

"And moreover," said Jonathan, with equal earnestness, "if it be no

better than cheating and swindling, this same buying and selling, are

we not embarking in it out of charity? Verily, uncle Zachariah, in

such a case as this, the end sanctifies the means. Behold what is the

crying evil arising from money that is chartered in stocks, whether it

be in banks, rail-roads, loans, or otherwise. This is money that is

not taxed for charitable purposes; it is money appropriated solely to

the purposes of gain. Why is it that a private man should be taxed to

support the poor, and a bank, that has greater facilities for making

money, be not taxed for the purpose at all? Verily, uncle Zachariah,

we will do what the commonwealth should be doing; we will impose a tax

upon the gains of chartered money, and distribute the proceeds among

the needy."

To make short work of the matter, I will not pursue our debate further,

but merely state that I was soon brought to consider Abel Snipe's

scheme the best, honestest, and most philanthropic in the world, and

to agree that he should open an office as a stock-broker, turning a

penny or two in that way, while making much more by buying and selling

on his own account. To this I was brought, in a great measure, by

the representations and arguments of Jonathan, among which I esteem

as still worthy of consideration that which stands above expressed

in his own words. I am still of opinion that a tax, and a round one,

should be imposed upon the profits of all banks and other money-making

corporations, the same to be specifically appropriated to hospitals,

and other charitable foundations, and perhaps also to public schools.

In this way evil might be made productive of good, and our avarice

rendered the parent of benevolence and knowledge. Of a verity, my

philanthropy is not yet got out of me!

The aforementioned arrangement was made at an early period of my new

existence, that is to say, at the close of spring; and the faithful

Abel soon began to render a good account of his stewardship, by handing

me over divers handsome sums of money, the profits of his speculations,

which Jonathan and myself disbursed with rival enthusiasm. The

experiment was continued in a prosperous manner until the month of

September, when there happened a catastrophe not less unexpected than

calamitous.

11. CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH A CATASTROPHE BEGINS.

The various mischances and afflictions, as narrated in the preceding

chapter, which rewarded my virtue, had begun to affect my mind with

sundry pangs of melancholy and misgiving. I perceived that the world

_was_ ungrateful, and I had my doubts whether it was a whit the better

for my goodness. These doubts and this persuasion were confirmed by

the experience of each succeeding day; and by the month of September

as aforesaid, I found myself becoming just as miserable a man as I

had ever been before, and perhaps more so, being pierced not merely

with the ingratitude of those I had befriended, but convinced that the

unworthiness of man was a thing man was determined to persevere in.

It was at the moment of my greatest distress, that the catastrophe

alluded to before happened; and this was nothing less than the

sudden bankruptcy of Abel Snipe, whereby I was reduced in a moment

from affluence to destitution; and what made the calamity still more

painful, was a conviction forced upon me by my own reflections, as

well as the representations of others, that the failure could not have

happened without a fraudulent design on the part of the fiduciary.

It is true, this worthy gentleman was the first to inform me of his

mishap, which he did with tears in his eyes, and with divers outbreaks

of self-accusation and despair; he declared that his imprudence had

ruined me, his benefactor, and implored me, his benefactor, to knock

him on the head with a poker I had begun to embrace in my agitation;

but how he had effected such a catastrophe I could not bring him

clearly to explain. The only answers I could get from him were,

"Speculation, speculation--bad speculation!--ruined my benefactor!

might as well have murdered thee!" and so on; and having given vent to

some dozen or more of such frantic interjections, he ran out of the

house.

Enter Jonathan the very next moment. The sight of him renewed my grief;

he, poor youth, was ruined as well as myself, yet not wholly; for,

as good luck would have it, I had, a week or two before, after long

cogitation on the subject, resolved to marry him to the maid Ellen

Wild, and so secure his happiness more certainly than, it appeared

to me, it could be secured by a life of philanthropy. To effect this

desirable purpose I bestowed upon him the only property which I had

not thought fit to put into Abel Snipe's hands, being the new house I

was then building, promising also to add a sum of money, as soon as it

could be conveniently withdrawn from the concern. He received the gift

and the promise with much joy and gratitude, but betrayed surprising

indifference on the score of matrimony, saying that he was in no great

hurry, and in fact giving me to understand that there was a difference

between him and the maiden.

"Jonathan," said I, as soon as I saw him, "thee is a ruined young man.

Abel has broken."

"All to smash!" said Jonathan; "I know all about it. Horrible pickle

we're in. But I say, uncle, if thee can borrow twenty thousand dollars,

we can save friend Abel yet."

"Does thee say so?" said I; "is it true?"

"Verily," said Jonathan, "I have looked over the demands, and twenty

thousand dollars by nine o'clock to-morrow will make all straight. But

where will thee get twenty thousand dollars?"

"Where?" said I, fairly dancing for joy. "It was but two days since

that thy friend Ebenezer Wild did offer me exactly the sum of twenty

thousand dollars for the new house as it stood, not knowing I had

conveyed it to thee, until I told him the same, as a reason why I could

not take such a handsome offer."

"Well," said Jonathan, opening his eyes, "what then?"

"Surely," said I, "if he would give twenty thousand then, he will give

twenty thousand now. And so, Jonathan--"

"And so," said Jonathan, "thee wants me to sell the house, does thee?

and give thee back the money? Uncle Zachariah, thee should be a little

more reasonable. Thee must remember that the house is _mine_; and as

it seems to be all I am ever to get, why, uncle, thee must excuse me,

but--I have no notion of parting with it."

If Jonathan had picked up the poker and served me the turn Abel Snipe

had so piteously entreated me to serve him--that is, knocked me on the

head, I could not have been more shocked and horror-struck than I was

by these words.

"What, Jonathan," said I, "does thee refuse to save me from ruin--_me_,

who have been a father to thee, and given thee all that thou hast?"

"No," said Jonathan, coolly, "I am not so bad as that; but as this

house is all I have, I can't think of running too much risk with it.

Suppose thee borrows that twenty thousand dollars that Ebenezer Wild

has so handy: he is thy friend as well as mine. Or suppose thee tries

some of thy other friends. Thee has often loaned to them, and not often

borrowed. Sure thee has many friends who can spare money better than I

can."

"Oh, thou ungrateful young man!" said I.

"Don't go to call me hard names," said the perfidious and unfeeling

youth; "for, if thee comes to that, uncle Zachariah, I can tell thee,

_thee_ is the ungrateful man--though not a young one. Haven't I been

as a son to thee for eighteen long years? haven't I humoured all thy

foolish old notions, even to the point of giving alms, talking about

virtue and philanthropy, and so on? haven't I given up Ellen Wild to

please thee? And hasn't thee, after all my pains, choused me out of

the portion I had a right to expect of thee, except a poor beggarly

unfinished house, only worth twenty thousand dollars? Yes, thee

has, uncle Zachariah, thee can't deny it. Don't thee talk to me of

ingratitude."

"Thou art a viper," said I.

"If I am," said Jonathan in a huff, "I won't stay to be trodden on."

And with that, the heartless creature, tossing up his head like an

emperor, stalked out of the house, leaving me petrified by the enormity

of his baseness.

12. CHAPTER XII.

IN WHICH THE CATASTROPHE IS CONTINUED.

I was, indeed, so shocked, so overwhelmed, by ingratitude coming

from such a quarter, that it was some time before I could recover

myself sufficiently to think of the steps necessary to be taken for

my preservation. I remembered, however, that he, even _he_, my thrice

unfeeling nephew, had recommended me to borrow of my friends what would

be enough to retrieve my affairs from ruin. I ran from the house, not

doubting that I could easily raise the sum. Fifty paces distant was my

new house--that is, Jonathan's. My old friend Ebenezer, the father of

the maid Ellen, was standing before it, looking up to the carpenters,

who were nailing the shingles on the roof.

"Ebenezer," said I, "thee is my friend--does thee know I am on the

brink of ruin?"

"Very sorry," said Ebenezer--"all the town-talk; looked for nothing

better. Perhaps thee will sell the house--pho! I forgot; thee gave it

to Jonathan."

"Ebenezer Wild," said I, "if thee is my friend, lend me that twenty

thousand dollars. It will save me from ruin."

"Really, Mr. Longstraw," said Ebenezer Wild, (who was no Quaker, though

his father had been before him), "I am surprised a reasonable man

should make such a request. I have told you twenty times you would ruin

yourself by your cursed philanthropy--can't consent to be ruined with

you. Pity you, Mr. Longstraw--awfully swindled; wonder you could trust

such a knave as Abel Snipe--sorry to hear matters look so black for

Jonathan--thought better of him--quite unnatural to be defrauded by

one's own flesh and blood."

What Ebenezer meant by his concluding remarks I did not, at that

moment, understand. But I comprehended them well enough when I had run

to five or six other friends, rich men like him, all of whom treated

my request to borrow with as little respect, while all wound up their

commonplace condolings by assuring me, first, that Abel Snipe had

swindled me; and, secondly, that there was much reason to believe my

nephew Jonathan had done the same thing.

Reader, this is a very wicked world we live in. My philanthropy did not

make me, as philanthropy often does, selfish with my friends. I felt as

much pleasure in obliging one who happened to be in a difficulty, with

a loan of any sum within my reach, as in relieving actual distress. Of

twelve different persons whom I now sought in my dilemma, I had in this

manner, at different times, obliged no less than eleven; of not one

of whom could I now borrow a dollar. Every man pitied my misfortune,

every one inveighed with becoming severity against the villany of those

by whom I was ruined, but every one was astonished that a reasonable

man like me should expect another reasonable man to part with his

money. In short, it was evident that my friends loved borrowing better

than lending; and I left the door of the twelfth with the agreeable

conviction on my spirit, that human nature was of the nature of a

stone, I being the only man of the thousand million in the world that

had actually a heart in my bosom.

This consideration was racking enough; but it made a small part of my

distress. Every man had charged my friend, honest Abel Snipe, with

having swindled me, as Ebenezer Wild had charged before; and every one,

in like manner, swore that my nephew Jonathan had borne a part in the

nefarious transaction. This seemed to me incredible enough; but when

I remembered Jonathan's late behaviour, his unexpected defection, his

hard, unfeeling, nay, his treacherous selfishness, I felt prepared to

believe almost any wickedness that might be said of him.

I ran to Abel's office, resolved to sift the affair to the bottom. The

work was already done to my hands; I found the office full of people,

some of whom were officers of the police, who had seized upon books and

papers, and (awful to be said!) the body of Abel Snipe; and all raging

with vociferation and confusion, except the latter worthy, who looked

as if astounded out of his senses. "It's a clear case of swindling,"

cried a dozen voices as I entered, "a design to defraud--fraud from

beginning to end; flagrant, scandalous, scoundrelly swindling--, nay,

_worse_ than swindling--it is a conspiracy! Jonathan has confessed

it--been going on this three months;--Jonathan has confessed it!"

Jonathan had confessed it! confessed what? Why, confessed, as every one

gave me to understand, and confessed in the hands of justice (for it

seems he had been arrested), that he and Abel Snipe had entered into a

conspiracy to defraud me of my property, which had been carried on from

the moment that the latter was established in business, and was now

completed by a long-designed bankruptcy.

Let the reader imagine my feelings at this disclosure of ingratitude

and villany so monstrous.

My best friend--a man whom I had wrested from the extremity of poverty

and disgrace, and my only relative--a youth whom I had adopted and

reared as my son, who was my heir at law, and the living partner, as

I may say, in all my possessions--had leagued together feloniously to

deprive me of what I never denied them the privilege to share,--to rob,

to fleece, to reduce me to beggary.

Words cannot paint my grief. I crept away from the scene of confusion,

ashamed of my manhood, ashamed even of my philanthropy. I reached the

door of my house; it was just dusk; a poor man standing at the door

implored my charity for a miserable creature, as he called himself. "Go

to the devil!" said I.

"You are Zachariah Longstraw?" said another man, tapping me on the

shoulder. "I am," said I, supposing he was a beggar like the other;

"and you may go to the devil too."

"Very much obliged to you," said the man; "but you're my prisoner; and

so come along, if you please." And with that he took me by the arm, and

began to march me down the street.

13. CHAPTER XIII.

THE DÉNOUEMENT OF THE DRAMA.

Why I was arrested, and at whose instance, I knew not; I was too

downcast and spirit-broken to inquire. I had, doubtless, divers small

debts due to persons with whom I was accustomed to deal; and it seemed

to me natural enough, as all men were ungrateful rascals, that all

such persons, now that I was known to be penniless, should fall upon

me without shame or mercy, demanding their dues. I say I thought such

a consummation was natural enough, and I asked no questions of my

captor. I let my head drop upon my bosom, and, without resisting or

remonstrating, and looking neither to the right nor the left, suffered

him to conduct me whither he would.

Our progress was rapid, our journey short; in a few moments I found

myself led into a house, and ushered into a lighted apartment.

I looked up, to see into what alderman's hands I had fallen. The reader

may judge of my surprise, amounting almost to consternation, when I

beheld myself in an elegant saloon, brilliantly lighted, and surrounded

by a dozen or more gayly-dressed people of both sexes, among whom was

my friend Ebenezer Wild, and two or three others whose countenances

seemed familiar, but whom, in my surprise and confusion, I did not

immediately recognise.

A maiden, beautiful as the morning, and smiling as if her little heart

was dancing out of her eyes, ran from the throng, and seized me by the

hands, crying,--

"Now, uncle Zachariah, thee shall pay me what thee owes me, or be

turned over to some other creditor!"

I looked upon her in astonishment, and began to fancy I was in a dream.

"What!" said my friend Ebenezer, "don't you know my little Ellen?" And

thereupon he added other expressions, but what they were I retain no

remembrance of, my wits being utterly amazed and confounded.

To make my confusion still greater, the door suddenly opened, and in

rushed my nephew Jonathan, dressed, like a dandy of the first water,

in a blue cloth coat with shining buttons, white trousers, and satin

waistcoat, and exclaiming "Bravo!" and "Victoria!" as if a very demon

of joy and exultation possessed him. As soon as he beheld me he ran

forward, snatched one of my hands from the maiden, and, dropping on his

knees, cried, with a comical look of contrition,--

"Forgive me all my sins, uncle Zachariah, and I'll behave better for

the future."

"Oh thou ungrateful wretch!" said I, "how canst thou look me in the

face, having ruined me?"

"Don't say so!" cried Ellen Wild; "you don't know how Jonathan has

saved you."

"The deuse he don't!" said Jonathan, jumping up; "why then we've got

the play all wrong. I say, uncle, don't look so solemn and wrathful.

You are no more ruined than I am, and you are out of the clutches of

the harpy!"

"Haven't I been swindled?" said I.

"Unutterably!" said Jonathan; "but, as the swindler has been swindled

also, there's no great harm done. Uncle Zachariah, a'n't you satisfied

Abel Snipe is a rascal?"

"I am," said I; "but what shall I say of thee?"

"That I have broken the spell the villain cast over your senses," said

Jonathan, "and so saved you from the ruin your confidence invited him

to attempt. Uncle Zachariah, you think I am as bad as Abel. Now listen

to my story. I knew that Abel Snipe was a rogue and hypocrite, but

could not make you believe it; I saw that he was daily fleecing you

of sums of money under pretence of giving to the poor; that he was

artfully goading and inflaming your benevolence into a passion, nay,

into a _monomania_ (for, uncle, everybody said you were mad), for his

own base purposes; and that, sooner or later, he would strip you of

every thing. This I could not make you believe; I resolved you should

see it. I turned hypocrite myself, and began to fleece you ten times

harder than Abel. The rogue was alarmed; he perceived I was ousting him

from his employment--that I had greater facilities for cheating (having

more of your affection) than himself. His alarm, added to another

feeling which you shall hear all about, brought him into the trap from

which cautiousness at first secured him. I convinced him I was as great

a rogue as himself, and he then agreed with me--yes, uncle, formally

agreed--to join in a plan to strip you of fortune. We arranged the

whole scheme from beginning to end--the business, the speculations, the

bankruptcy. Abel was to play Sir Smash--his reputation could stand it.

The sums received from you were to be handed over to me, and accounted

for as lost in bad speculations; to make which appear straight, his

books were filled with fictitious sales and purchases, very ingeniously

got up. After the grand crash we were to make a division of the

plunder, he being content, honest man, to receive one fourth, of which

he considered himself secure enough as long as I had any value for

good name or fear of the penitentiary. Now you may wonder how such a

cautious rogue could be so easily gulled. Here stands the fairy," said

Jonathan, pointing to the maid Ellen, "who dazzled the eyes of his

wisdom. Yes, uncle, would you believe it? the impudent, the audacious

fellow had the vanity to think he had found favour in her eyes, at a

time when I had lost favour in those of her father. You must know we

had a coolness--that is, father Wild and I; it was about you--that

confounded philanthropy--but we'll say nothing of that. I used to

communicate with Ellen by letter, and Abel was often my Ganymede. Now,

you must know, Ellen is a coquette--'

"Fy, Jonathan!" said the damsel; "it was all that vicious Abel's

presumption and folly. Because I was glad to see him, and treated him

well, just because he brought me letters--oh, the monster! I soon saw

what was running in his head!"

"Yes," said Jonathan, "Ellen's a much smarter girl than people suppose

her."

"Oh! you great Quaker bear!" said the maiden.

"Well," continued Jonathan, "she boasted her conquest, and then I saw

I had the ogre by the nose. It was this put me upon turning swindler;

I had a talk with father Wild, who approved my plan, and Ellen agreed

to cultivate Abel's good opinion as far as a smile or two. We affected

to quarrel; I began to coquet with another, abusing poor Ellen to Abel

as hard as I could, until he was persuaded the breach between us was

incurable. Ellen gave him a smile--her papa became condescending. In a

word, the rascal thought nothing was wanting to make him the happiest

man in the world, save the one full fourth of his patron's estate, and

as much more as he could cheat me of. Here was the rock upon which Abel

split, and split he has; he is now safe. The moment matters came to

a crisis, which was this afternoon, I ran to a magistrate--my friend

Jones there" (pointing to an elderly gentleman who had entered with

him), "and made confession of our roguery; deposed the whole matter;

accused myself and Abel of conspiracy to defraud, and so forth, and so

forth; and was admitted to the honourable privileges of evidence for

the commonwealth, and allowed to walk about on bail, while my rascally

colleague takes up his lodgings in prison. There's the whole story; I

have exposed Snipe's rogueries, and secured his conviction; and, what

is equally agreeable, I have saved your property. Here, uncle--you

called me a viper--I only wanted to make you believe I could be

ungrateful, as well as others. By-the-way, that was a plan of father

Wild's, to have your friends refuse to assist you; they were let into

the secret, and I recommended you to apply to them. Here, uncle, you'll

see what a viper I am," he continued, a little impetuously; "here are

the deeds for the house; here is a roll of bank-notes I cheated you

of, to play the philanthropist; you will be surprised at the amount,

but I _did_ spend some, I confess, for there are wretches who deserve

our charity. And here, and here, and here you have the property out of

which Abel and I conspired to cheat you--at least, the chief part of

it; the rest we will soon get possession of, having laid the villain in

limbo. Here, uncle Zachariah, take them, and be as philanthropic as you

please; we have no fear of you, now your familiar is tied up; take your

property, and much good may it do you. As for me, I am content to take

Ellen--that is, if you have no objection."

This was a turn of circumstances that confounded me more than ever;

and, verily, I knew not whether I was standing on my head or feet. I

stood staring Jonathan in the face, without saying a word, until the

youth was seized with the idea that the surprise of the thing had

turned my wits; at which, being alarmed, he took me again by the hand,

and said, with the tears in his eyes,--

"Oh, my dear uncle! do consider it is nothing more than a joke, and

that I never meant to offend thee."

"No," said I, "thee did not. Therefore thee shall have it all, and thee

shall marry the maiden."

And with that, being seized with uncommon generosity, or perhaps not

well knowing what I did, I put into his hands the conveyance of the

house, the bank-bills, and other papers which he had given me but a

moment before, and turned to leave the house.

"Stay, uncle--I am just going to be married," said he; and "Stay,

Zachariah!" said a dozen others; when some one suddenly calling

out, "Let him go; he is afraid of being turned out of meeting if he

witnesses the ceremony," I was suffered to obey the impulses of the

spirit within me, and walk out of the house; which I did without

exactly knowing what I was doing.

To tell the honest truth--as, indeed, I have been trying to do all

along--I was in a kind of maze and bewilderment of mind, which the

first shock of ruin had produced, and which Jonathan's story rather

increased than diminished. The effect of this was divided in my brain

with the impression of the various proofs of ingratitude and baseness

to which the day had given birth, the latter, however, being greatly

preponderant. Of one feeling only I had entire consciousness, and that

was a hearty disgust of philanthropy, coupled with a sense of shame at

having been so basely cheated as I seemed to have been on all sides. I

had been cheated out of my senses, as the saying is; and the only cure

for me was to be cheated into them again; which was not an agreeable

reflection, the whole affair being a reproach on my good sense.

On the whole, I felt very melancholy and lugubrious, and began to

have my thoughts of leaving Zachariah Longstraw's body at the first

convenient opportunity. The great difficulty was, however, to find a

tenement in which I might promise myself content, the disappointment I

had experienced in my present adventure having filled me with doubts

as to the reality of any human happiness. "At least," said I to myself

"I will henceforth look before I leap. I will cast mine eyes about me,

I will gird up my loins and look abroad into the human family, and

peradventure I shall find some man whose body is worth reanimating.

Yea, verily, I will next time be certain I am not putting my soul, as

the pickpocket did his hand, into a sack of fish-hooks."

With this resolution on my mind I walked towards my house, and was just

about to pass the door, when an adventure befell me which knocked the

aforesaid resolution entirely on the head. But before I relate it my

conscience impels me to make one remark, which I beg the reader, if he

be a man of fortune and blood, to peruse, without excusing himself on

the score of its dulness.

14. CHAPTER XIV.

A REMARK, IN WHICH THE AUTHOR APPEARS AS A POLITICIAN, AND ABUSES BOTH

PARTIES.

There are other persons besides Zachariah the philanthropist, who

have experienced the ingratitude of the poor; and, truth to say, if

we can believe the accounts of those who profess to have the best

means of judging, there is more of it among that class of beings in

the United States than in any other Christian land. If it be so, let

not the reader wonder at its existence. It springs, like a thousand

other evils of a worse, because of a political complexion, from that

constitution of society which, notwithstanding its being in opposition

to all the interests of the land and the character of our institutions,

is founded in, and perpetuated by, the folly of the richer classes. It

lies, not in the _natural_ enmity supposed to exist between the rich

and the poor, but in the unnatural hatred provoked in the bosoms of

the one by the offensive pride and arrogance of the other. The poor

man in America feels himself, in a political view, as he really is,

the equal of the millionaire; but this very consciousness of equality

adds double bitterness to the sense of actual inferiority, which the

richer and more fortunate usually do their best, as far as manners

and deportment are concerned, to keep alive. Why should the folly of

a feudal aristocracy prevail under the shadow of a purely democratic

government? It is to the stupid pride, the insensate effort at pomp and

ostentation, the unconcealed contempt of labour, the determination,

manifested in a thousand ways, and always as unfeelingly as absurdly,

to keep the "base mechanical" aware of the gulf between him and his

betters--in a word, to the puerile vanity and stolid pride of the

genteel and refined, that we owe the exasperation of those classes in

whose hands lie the reins of power, and who will use them for good or

bad purposes, according as they are kept in a good or bad humour. It

is to these things we trace, besides the general demoralization ever

resulting from passions long encouraged, besides the unwilling and

unthankful reception of benefits coming from the hands of the detested,

all those political evils which demagoguism, agrarianism, mobocracism,

and all other _isms_ of a vulgar stamp, have brought upon the land.

There is pride in the poor, as well as the rich: the wise man and the

patriot will take care not to offend it.

Reader, if thou art a rich man, and despisest thy neighbour, remember

that he has a thousand friends of his class where thou hast one of

thine, and that he can beat thee at the elections. If thou art a

gentleman, remember that thy cobbler is another, or thinks himself

so--which is all the same thing in America. At all events, remember

_this_--namely, that the poor man will find no fault with thy wealth,

if thou findest none with his poverty.

15. CHAPTER XV.

AN UNCOMMON ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE AUTHOR.

I said that, just as I arrived at the door of my dwelling, an adventure

befell me; and truly, it was such an extraordinary one as has happened

to no other individual in the land since the days of the unfortunate

William Morgan. As I passed towards the door, a man whose countenance I

could not see, for it was more than two hours after nightfall, and who

seemed to have been lying in wait on the stoop, suddenly started up,

exclaiming, in accents highly nasal, and somewhat dolorous,

"Well! I guess, if there's no offence, there's no mistake. I rather

estimate that you're Mr. Zachariah Longstraw?"

"Well, friend! and what is that _thy_ business?" said I, in no amiable

tone.

"Well, not above more than's partickilar," said the stranger; "but

I've heern tell much on your goodness, and I'm in rather a bit of the

darnedest pickle jist now, with a sick wife and nine small children,

the oldest only six years old, that ever you heerd tell on. And so, I

rather estimated--"

"Thee may estimate theeself to the devil," said I. "How can the oldest

child of nine be only six years old?"

"Oh, darn it," said the fellow, "there was three on 'em twins. But if

you'll jest step round to my wife, she'll tell you all about it. Always

heern you was a great andyfist, or what-d'-ye-call-it."

"Then thee has heard a great lie," said I, "and so thee may go about

thee business, for I'll give thee nothing."

"Well now, do tell!" said the man, with a tone of surprise that

conveyed a part of the emotion to myself, particularly when, by way

of pointing his discourse with the broadest note of admiration, he

suddenly clapped a foot to my heels, and laid me sprawling on the broad

of my back.

My astonishment and wrath may well be imagined; but they were nothing

to the terror that beset me, when, recovering a little from the

stunning effects of the fall, I opened my mouth to cry aloud, and found

it instantly stuffed full of handkerchiefs, or some such soft material,

which the pretended beggar took that opportunity to gag me with. The

next moment I felt myself whipped up from the ground and borne aloft,

like a corpse, on the shoulders of two men, who trudged along at a

rapid pace, and apparently with the greatest unconcern possible; for

some of the people in the street hearing my groans, which were the only

sounds I could make, and demanding what was the matter, were answered

by my cool captors, "Oh, nothing more than's partickilar--only a poor

mad gentleman that broke hospital; guess he won't do it again. Raving

mad, and hollers a gag out. I say, Sam, hold fast to his legs, and

don't let him jump; for I rather estimate, if he gets loose, he'll kill

some on these here people."

The villain! I had begun to hope my moans and struggles, which I made

for the purpose as loud and furious as I could, having no other way of

calling for help, would cause some of the persons collected to arrest

the rogues, and inquire into the matter a little more closely; but no

sooner had the villain expressed his fears of the mischief I might do,

than all inquiries ceased, and a horrible scraping and rattling of feet

told me that assistance and curiosity had scampered off together.

In three minutes more I found myself clapped into a little covered,

or rather _boxed_ wagon, such as is used by travelling tinmen, and

held fast by one of the rogues, while the other seized upon the reins,

and whipping up a little nag that was geared to it, we began to roll

through the streets at a round gait, and with such a rattle of wheels

and patty-pans, that there was little hope of making myself heard, had

I possessed the voice even of an oyster-man. My companion took this

opportunity to secure my wrists in a pair of wooden handcuffs, and

to lock my feet in a sort of stocks, secured against the side of the

wagon. Then, overhauling the handkerchiefs, and arranging them more to

his liking, though not a whit more to mine, he opened his mouth and

spoke, saying,

"Now, uncle Longlegs, I estimate we'll be comfortable. So keep easy;

or, if you _will_ grunt, just grunt in tune, and see what sort of a

bass you'll make to Old Hundred."

With that the rascal, after pitching his voice so as to accommodate

mine as much as possible, began to sing a song; of which all that I

recollect is, that it related the joys of a travelling tinman--tricks,

rogueries, and all;--that it began somewhat in the following fashion;--

"When I was a driving along Down East,

I met old Deacon Dobbs on his beast;

The beast was fat, and the man was thin--

'I'll cheat Deacon Dobbs,' says I, 'to the skin,--'"

that it was as long and soporific as a state constitution, or a

governor's message--that it was actually sung to a psalm-tune, or

something like it--and that, during the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth,

and half of the fourteenth stanza, the little wagon rolled leisurely

over a long and hollow-sounding bridge, which I had no doubt was one of

the wooden Rialtos of the Schuylkill--having passed which, the driver

whipped up, and away we went at a speed of at least six miles an hour.

16. CHAPTER XVI.

IN WHICH SHEPPARD LEE TAKES A JOURNEY, AND DISCOVERS THE SECRET OBJECT

OF HIS CAPTORS.

Verily, reader, the thing was to me as an amazement and a marvel, and

the wonder thereof filled my spirit with anguish and perturbation.

But if I was dismayed at my seizure and abduction, at my involuntary

journey, prolonged through the space of a whole night, how much greater

was my alarm to find it continued for five days and nights longer,

during which I was never allowed to speak or breathe the fresh air,

except when my captors halted to rest and eat, which they did at

irregular intervals, and always in solitary places among woods and

thickets. It was in vain that I demanded by what authority they treated

me with such violence, what purpose they had in view, and whither

they were conducting me. The rogues assured me they were very honest

fellows, who made their living according to law, and had no design to

harm me; and as to what they designed doing with me, _that_, they said,

I should know all in good time; recommending me, in the meanwhile,

to take things patiently. I studied their appearance well. They were

common-looking personages, with a vulgar shrewdness of visage, and

would have been readily taken for Yankee pedlers of the nutmeg and

side-saddle order--that is, of the inferior branch of that adventurous

class--as indeed they were. There was nothing of the cut-throat about

them whatever, and I soon ceased to feel any apprehension of their

doing me a personal injury. But what did the villains mean? what was

their object in carrying me off? what did they design doing with me?

To these questions, which I asked myself and them in vain, I had, on

the sixth day of my captivity, an answer; and verily it was one that

filled me with horror and astonishment. Oh! the wickedness of man!

the covetousness, the depravity, the audacity! the enterprise and

originality thereof!

During the first three days of my captivity, my roguish captors had

taken great pains to conceal me from, and to prevent any noises I might

make from being heard by, any persons they met on the road. On the

fourth day they relaxed somewhat from their severity; on the fifth they

unbound my arms; and on the sixth they even removed the gag from my

mouth, assuring me, however, that it should be replaced if I attempted

any outcries, and giving me, moreover, to understand, that I was now

in a land where outcries would be of no service to me whatever; and,

indeed, I had soon the most mournful proof that, in this particular,

they spoke nothing but the truth.

The evening before, I heard, while passing by a farmhouse, a great

sawing of fiddles and strumming of banjoes, with a shuffling of feet,

as of people engaged in a dance, while a voice, which I knew, by its

undoubted Congo tang, could be none but a negro's, sang, in concert

with the fiddles,--

"Ole Vaginnee! nebber ti--ah!

Kick'm up, Juba, a leetle high--ah,--"

or something to that effect. And, while I was marvelling what could

make a negro in Pennsylvania chant the praises of Virginia, having

rolled a little further on, I heard, far in the distance, while our

little nag stopped to drink from a brook, the sound of many voices,

which I knew also were those of negroes. They were labourers husking

corn in the light of the moon, and singing as they laboured; and,

verily, there was something uncommonly agreeable in the tones, now

swelling, now dying in the distance, as many or fewer voices joined

in the song. There was a pleasing wildness in the music; but it was

to me still more enchanting, as showing the light-heartedness of the

singers. "Verily," said I, forgetting my woes in a sudden impulse of

philanthropy, "the negro that is free is a happy being"--not doubting

that I was still in Pennsylvania.

But oh, how grievously this conceit was dispersed on the following

morning! I was roused out of sleep by the sound of voices and clanking

of chains, and looking from the door of my prison, which my conductors

had left open to give me air, I spied, just at the tail of the cart, a

long train of negroes, men, women, and children, of whom some of the

males were chained together, the children riding for the most part in

covered wagons, while two white men on horseback, armed with great

whips and pistols, rode before and behind, keeping the whole procession

in order.

"What!" said I, filled with virtuous indignation, and thrusting my head

from the cart so as to address the foremost rider, "what does thee

mean, friend? Are these people slaves or freemen? and why dost thou

conduct them thus in chains through the free state of Pennsylvania?"

"Pennsylvanee!" cried the man, with a stare; "I reckon we're fifty

miles south of Mason's and Dixon's, and fast enough in old Virginnee."

"Virginia!" said I, seized with dismay. Before I could add any thing

farther, one of my captors, jumping from the front of the cart, where

he had been riding with the other, clapped to the door of the box,

swearing at me for an old fool, who could not keep myself out of

mischief.

"Hillo, stranger!" I heard the horseman cry to my jailer, "what white

man's that you've got locked up thaw?"

"Oh, darn it," was the answer, "it's an old fellow of the north, jist

as mad as the dickens."