pocket-book that they had previously fixed on, and therefore wished
precipitately to leave it; but were detained by their more considerate
friend. While they had been turning over the trinkets, the countenance
of the woman who served them caught her eye, and she observed her eager
manner of recommending the books. You have given much unnecessary
trouble, said she, to the mistress of the shop; the books are better,
and more expensive than you intended to purchase, but I will make up the
deficiency. A beam of pleasure enlivened the woman’s swollen eyes; and
Mrs. Mason, in the mild accents of compassion, said, if it is not an
impertinent question, will you tell me from what cause your visible
distress arises? perhaps I may have it in my power to relieve you.—The
woman burst into tears.—Indeed, Madam, you have already relieved me; for
the money you have laid out will enable me to procure some food for my
poor little grandchildren, and to send a meal to their poor father, who
is now confined for debt, though a more honest man never breathed. Ah!
Madam, I little thought I should come to this—Yesterday his wife died,
poor soul! I really believe things going so cross broke her heart. He
has been in jail these five months; I could not manage the shop, or buy
what was proper to keep up the credit of it, so business has been
continually falling off; yet, if his debts were paid, he would now be
here, and we should have money in our pockets. And what renders it more
provoking, the people who owe us most are very rich. It is true, they
live in such a very high style, and keep such a number of horses and
servants, that they are often in want of money; and when they have it,
they mostly have some freak in their heads, and do not think of paying
poor trades-people. At first we were afraid to ask for payment lest we
should lose their custom, and so it proved; when we did venture, forced
by necessity, they sent to other shops, without discharging our demand.
And, my dear Madam, this is not all my grief; my son, before his
misfortunes, was one of the most sober, industrious young men in London;
but now he is not like the same man. He had nothing to do in the jail,
and to drive away care he learned to drink; he said it was a comfort to
forget himself, and he would add an oath—I never heard him swear till
then. I took pains when he was a child to teach him his prayers, and he
rewarded me by being a dutiful son. The case is quite altered now; he
seems to have lost all natural affection—he heeds not his mother’s
tears.—Her sobs almost suffocated her, as she strove to go on—He will
bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave—and yet I pity my poor boy,
he is shut up with such a number of profligate wretches, who laugh at
what is right. Every farthing I send him he spends in liquor, and used
to make his poor wife pawn her clothes to buy him drink—she was happy to
die; it was well for her not to live to hear the babe she gave suck to
despise her!
A passion of tears relieved the sufferer, and she called her
grandchildren—These innocent babes, said she, I shall not be able to
keep them, they must go to the workhouse. If the quality did but know
what they make us poor industrious people suffer, surely they would be
more considerate.
Mrs. Mason gave her something to supply her present wants, and promised
to call on her again before she left town.
They walked silently down two or three streets—I hope you have learned
to think, my dear girls, said Mrs. Mason, and that your hearts have felt
the emotions of compassion; need I make any comments on the situation of
the poor woman we have just left. You perceive that those who neglect to
pay their debts do more harm than they imagine; perhaps, indeed, some of
these very people do, what is called, a noble action, give away a large
sum, and are termed generous; nay, very probably, weep at a tragedy, or
when reading an affecting tale. They then boast of their
sensibility—when, alas! neglecting the foundation of all virtue,
_justice_, they have occasioned exquisite distress; led a poor wretch
into vice; heaped misery on helpless infancy, and drawn tears from the
aged widow.
CHAP. XXIV.
_Visit to a poor Family in London.—Idleness the Parent of
Vice.—Prodigality and Generosity incompatible.—The Pleasures of
Benevolence.—True and false Motives for saving._
After the impression which the story, and the sight of the family had
made, was a little worn off, Caroline begged leave to buy one toy, and
then another, till her money was quite gone. When Mrs. Mason found it
was all expended, she looked round for an object in distress; a poor
woman soon presented herself, and her meagre countenance gave weight to
her tale.—A babe, as meagre, hung at her breast, which did not seem to
contain sufficient moisture to wet its parched lips.
On enquiry they found that she lodged in a neighbouring garret. Her
husband had been out of employment a long time, and was now sick. The
master who had formerly given him work lost gradually great part of his
business; for his best customers were grown so fond of foreign articles,
that his goods grew old in the warehouse. Consequently a number of hands
were dismissed, who not immediately finding employment elsewhere, were
reduced to the most extreme distress. The truth of this account a
reputable shopkeeper attested; and he added that many of the unhappy
creatures, who die unpitied at the gallows, were first led into vice by
accidental idleness.
They ascended the dark stairs, scarcely able to bear the bad smells that
flew from every part of a small house, that contained in each room a
family, occupied in such an anxious manner to obtain the necessaries of
life, that its comforts never engaged their thoughts. The precarious
meal was snatched, and the stomach did not turn, though, the cloth, on
which it was laid, was dyed in dirt. When to-morrow’s bread is
uncertain, who thinks of cleanliness? Thus does despair encrease the
misery, and consequent disease aggravate the horrors of poverty!
They followed the woman into a low garret, that was never visited by the
chearful rays of the son. A man, with a sallow complexion, and long
beard, sat shivering over a few cinders in the bottom of a broken grate,
and two more children were on the ground, half naked, near him,
breathing the same noxious air. The gaiety natural to their age did not
animate their eyes, half sunk in their sockets; and, instead of smiles,
premature wrinkles had found a place in their lengthened visages. Life
was nipped in the bud; shut up just as it began to unfold itself. “A
frost, a killing frost,” had destroyed the parent’s hopes: they seemed
to come into the world only to crawl half formed—to suffer, and to die.
Mrs. Mason desired the girls to relieve the family; Caroline hung down
her head abashed—wishing the paltry ornaments, which she had
thoughtlessly bought, at the bottom of the sea. Mary, meanwhile, proud
of the new privilege, emptied her purse; and Caroline, in a supplicating
tone, entreated Mrs. Mason to allow her to give her neck handkerchief to
the little infant.
Mrs. Mason desired the woman to call on her the next day; and they left
the family cheered by their bounty.
Caroline expected the reproof that soon proceeded from the mouth of her
true friend. I am glad that this accident has occurred, to prove to you
that prodigality and generosity are incompatible. Œconomy and
self-denial are necessary in every station, to enable us to be generous,
and to act conformably to the rules of justice.
Mary may this night enjoy peaceful slumbers; idle fancies, foolishly
indulged, will not float in her brain; she may, before she closes her
eyes, thank God, for allowing her to be His instrument of mercy. Will
the trifles that you have purchased afford you such heart-felt delight,
Caroline?
Selfish people save, to gratify their own caprices and appetites; the
benevolent curb both, to give scope to the nobler feelings of the human
heart. When we squander money idly, we defraud the poor, and deprive our
own souls of their most exalted food. If you wish to be useful, govern
your desires, and wait not till distress obtrudes itself—search it out.
In the country it is not always attended with such shocking
circumstances as at present; but in large cities, many garrets contain
families, similar to those we have seen this afternoon. The money spent
in indulging the vain wishes of idleness, and a childish fondness for
pretty things not regulated by reason, would relieve the misery that my
soul shrinks back from contemplating.
CHAP. XXV.
_Mrs. Mason’s farewell Advice to her young Friends._
The day before Mrs. Mason was to leave her pupils, she took a hand of
each, and pressing them tenderly in her own, tears started into her
eyes—I tremble for you, my dear girls, for you must now practise by
yourselves some of the virtues which I have been endeavouring to
inculcate: and I shall anxiously wait for the summer, to see what
progress you have made by yourselves.
We have conversed on several very important subjects; pray do not forget
the conclusions I have drawn.
I now, as my last present, give you a book, in which I have written the
subjects that we have discussed. Recur frequently to it, for the stories
illustrating the instruction it contains, you will not feel in such a
great degree the want of my personal advice. Some of the reasoning you
may not thoroughly comprehend, but, as your understandings ripen, you
will feel its full force.
Avoid anger; exercise compassion; and love truth. Recollect, that from
religion your chief comfort must spring, and never neglect the duty of
prayer. Learn from experience the comfort that arises from making known
your wants and sorrows to the wisest and best of Beings, in whose hands
are the issues, not only of this life, but of that which is to come.
Your father will allow you a certain stipend; you have already _felt_
the pleasure of doing good; ever recollect that the wild pursuits of
fancy must be conquered, to enable you to gratify benevolent wishes, and
that you must practise œconomy in trifles to have it in your power to be
generous on great occasions. And the good you intend to do, do quickly;
for know, that a trifling duty neglected is a great fault, and the
present time only is at your command.
You are now candidates for my friendship, and on your advancement in
virtue my regard will in future depend. Write often to me, I will
punctually answer your letters; but let me have the genuine sentiments
of your hearts. In expressions of affection and respect, do not deviate
from truth to gain what you wish for, or to turn a period prettily.
Adieu! when you think of your friend, observe her precepts; and let the
recollection of my affection give additional weight to the truths which
I have endeavoured to instill; and, to reward my care, let me hear that
you love and practise virtue.
_FINIS._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.