GENEROSITY AND JUSTICE.
Several days passed away, and little Effie was watching every
opportunity for making applications of the truth her mother had taught
her, but yet, (such is the deceitfulness of the human heart,) she still
considered herself out of danger. If any little boys or girls who may
perchance read this story, are as confident as Effie, we only ask them
to watch over their thoughts and actions for as long a time as she did,
and see if they do not discover their mistake. One day Mrs Maurice went
to make a call on a lady of her acquaintance, and as Harry was engaged
with his father, she allowed Effie to accompany her. It was a beautiful
parlour into which they were ushered, and Mrs Town received them with
due politeness. They were scarce seated when the servant announced
another visitor, and a lady with whom Mrs Maurice was very well
acquainted entered, and immediately stated the object of her call--to
obtain subscriptions for a charitable society.
'I am tired of these societies,' said Mrs Town, 'do not you think, Mrs
Maurice, that individual charity is preferable?'
'Undoubtedly, in many instances, but societies have done much good, and
I am therefore disposed to countenance them.'
'But don't you think,' said Mrs Town, 'that a person is very apt to
think by being a member of a society she is freed from individual
responsibility?'
'There may be such people,' was the reply, 'and undoubtedly are, but
they are those who give merely because they are expected to do so, and
this is the easiest mode of cheating the world and themselves that could
be devised.'
'Well,' replied Mrs Town, 'I have always made it a point never to place
my name on a subscription list, so I shall be obliged to decline. I
hope,' she said to the disappointed lady, who had been advised to call
upon her because she was rich, 'I hope you will meet with better success
elsewhere.'
'I hope I shall,' the lady could scarce forbear saying, as Mrs Town
curtsied gracefully in answer to her embarrassed nod, but she soon
calmed her excited feelings and passed on.
'Poor Mrs D.!' said Mrs Town. 'This must be very unpleasant business. I
can't see what could induce a lady of her respectability to engage in
it.'
'I know of no one who could perform the task better,' said Mrs Maurice.
'Certainly not, but--' Mrs Town paused, and then added, hesitatingly,
'it seems a little too much like begging.'
'It surely is begging,' said Mrs Maurice, with much animation, 'begging
for the poor, the weak, the desolate, the unfriended--these have claims
upon those who to-morrow may be in their places--and more, Mrs Town, it
is begging for our brethren, our sisters--these have claims upon us that
cannot be waived--but above all, it is begging for the King of kings,
Him who hesitated not to give His own Son for us, and His claims cover
all others. Not only our gold and silver are His, but ourselves.'
'Oh, my dear Mrs Maurice, I would not have you to suppose that I object
to _giving_--by no means--it is only from an ostentatious display of
charity that I shrink--this is a duty that should be exercised in
private, a--' Mrs Town was interrupted in the midst of her vindication
by a servant who entered and placed a note in her hand, which she folded
closer and was about putting in her pocket--'Please, ma'am,' said the
servant, 'she wishes you to read it now, and say if you can see her.'
Mrs Town glanced at the note and coloured slightly, but she had been too
long accustomed to concealing her feelings for a stronger manifestation.
'Tell her to come to-morrow,' said she.
The servant was gone a moment and again returned, 'Please, ma'am,' said
he, 'the woman won't go away, she says she _will_ see you, for her
husband is sick, and her children starving, and she must have her
_pay_.' Mrs Town started from her seat: this was a strange comment upon
her beautiful theory of individual charity. Mrs Maurice retired as soon
as possible, and as she passed through the hall she saw a miserably-clad
woman with a face extremely haggard and care-worn, whom she supposed to
be the person claiming--not _charity_, but _justice_, of Mrs Town. Effie
saw that her mother's face was unusually clouded, and she did not
venture to comment upon the past scene, but she said to her brother as
soon as they were alone, 'I am glad we are not rich like Mrs Town,
Harry, lest we should make a _god_ of our money.'
Mrs Maurice did not, however, neglect at a suitable time to fix upon
Effie's mind the impression she had received from the scene at Mrs
Town's. 'Remember, my child,' she said, 'if you should ever live to
become a woman, that _justice_ should be preferred to _generosity_, and
never talk of _giving_ while some poor person may be suffering for that
which is her just due.'
'Mother,' said Harry, 'Elisha Otis told me to-day that his father thinks
people who talk so much of giving, are all hypocrites.'
'People who make a great noise about any good act which they perform
appear somewhat pharisaical, but we have no right to condemn them upon
that score _alone_, for it often proceeds from a great desire to do
good. You know we are very apt to talk of that which most occupies our
thoughts, Harry. But where did Elisha Otis's father get such notions of
charitable people?'
'That is what I was going to tell you about, mother. You know how much
Deacon Brown, gives--he heads all the subscription papers, and I heard
father say the other day that he was a great help to the church; but Mr
Otis says that he is never willing to pay people that work for him their
full price, and then they have to wait, and dun, and dun, before they
can get anything.'
'I am sorry to hear this, my son, very sorry.'
'Isn't it true mother?'
'It is true that Deacon Brown in some instances has seemed more generous
than just, and this case is very good to illustrate what I before said;
but Mr Otis makes it appear much worse than it is.'
'Then he don't cheat his workmen, mother?'
'No; but, by procrastination, thoughtlessness, or even perhaps the
desire which business men may have to make a good bargain, he may do
wrong, and so lay himself open to all these remarks. Bad qualities, you
know, shew much plainer in a good man than a bad one, and are almost
always made to appear worse than they really are. But let this be a
warning to you, my boy--remember that _good_ (not _great_) actions
seldom cover faults, but faults obscure the lustre of many good actions,
and destroy the usefulness of thousands of really good and pious
people.'