Fourscore years ago there was a good ferryman named Cornelius, who
rowed people between New York and Brooklyn. He had neither wife nor
child, nor any one to think of except himself. It was, therefore, his
custom, when he had earned enough in a day for his own wants, to put
the rest aside, and bestow it upon sick or blind or maimed persons,
lest they should come to the workhouse. And the sick and the blind and
the maimed gathered around him, and waited by the water’s edge, until
Cornelius’s day’s work should be over.
This went on until one of the little sooty imps who are always in
mischief came to hear of it, and told the principal devil in charge of
the United States, whose name is Politicianus.
“Dear me,” said the Devil, “this will never do. I will see to it
immediately.”
And he went off to Cornelius, and caught him in the act of giving two
dimes to a blind beggar.
“How foolish you are!” he said; “what waste of money is this! If you
saved it up, you would by-and-by be able to build an hospital for all
the beggars in New York.”
“It would be a long time before there was enough,” objected Cornelius.
“Not at all,” said the Devil, “if you let me invest your money for
you.” And he showed Cornelius the plan of a most splendid hospital, and
across the front of it was inscribed in letters of gold, _Cornelius
Diabolodorus_. And Cornelius was persuaded, and that evening he gave
nothing to the poor. And the poor had come to think that Cornelius’s
money was their own, and abused him as though he had robbed them. And
Cornelius drove them away: and his heart was hardened against them from
that day forth.
But the Devil kept his promise to Cornelius, and put him up to all the
good things in Wall Street, and he soon had enough to build ten
hospitals. But the more he had to build with, the less he wanted to
build. And by-and-by the Devil called upon him, and found him
contemplating two pictures. One of them showed the finest hospital you
can imagine, full of neat, clean rooms, in one of which sat Cornelius
himself, wearing a dress with a number and badge, and sipping
arrowroot. The other showed fine houses, and opera-boxes, and
fast-trotting horses, and dry champagne, and ladies who dance in
ballets, and paintings by the great masters. Cornelius thrust the
pictures away, and the Devil did not ask to see them, nor was it
needful that he should, for he had painted them himself.
“O dear Mr. Devil,” said Cornelius, “I am so glad that you have called,
for I wanted to speak to you. It strikes me that there is a great
defect in the plan which you have been so good as to draw for me.”
“What is that?” asked the Devil.
“There is no place for black men,” said Cornelius. “And you know white
men will never let them come into the same hospital.”
And the Devil, to do him justice, talked very reasonably to Cornelius,
and represented to him that there were very few black men in New York,
and that these had very vigorous constitutions. But Cornelius was
inflamed with enthusiasm, and frantic with philanthropy, and he vowed
that he would not give a cent to an hospital that had not a wing for
black men as big as all the rest of the building. And the Devil had to
take his plan back, and come again in a year and a day. And when he did
come back, Cornelius asked him if he did not think it would be a most
excellent thing if all the Irishmen in New York could be shut up in an
hospital or elsewhere; and he could not deny it. So he had to take his
plan back again. And next year it was the turn of the Chinese, and then
of the Red Indians, and then of the dogs and cats. And then Cornelius
thought that he ought to provide room for all the people who had been
ruined by his speculations, and the Devil thought so too, but doubted
whether Cornelius would be able to afford it. And at last Cornelius
said:
“Methinks I have been very foolish in wishing to build an hospital at
all while I am living. Surely it would be better that I should enjoy my
money myself during my life, and leave the residue for the lawyers to
divide after my death.”
“You are quite right,” said the Devil; “that is exactly what I should
do if I were you.”
So Cornelius put the plans behind a shelf in his counting-house, and
the mice ate them. And he went on prospering and growing rich, until
the Devil became envious of him, and insisted on changing places with
him. So Cornelius went below, and the Devil came and dwelt in New York,
where he still is.