Books: Home Lights and Shadows
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T. S. Arthur >> Home Lights and Shadows
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How powerless the father's words died upon the air. The motions of
John Thomas were not quickened in the slightest degree. Like a
soulless automaton passed he out into the passage and up the stairs;
while the impatient Mr. Belknap could with difficulty restrain an
impulse to follow after, and hasten the sulky boy's movements with
blows. He controlled himself, however, and resumed the perusal of
his newspaper. Five, ten minutes passed, and John Thomas had not yet
appeared to do the errand upon which his father designed to send
him. Suddenly Mr. Belknap dropped his paper, and going hastily to
the bottom of the stairs, called out:
"You John! John Thomas!"
"Sir!" came a provokingly indifferent voice from one of the
chambers.
"Did n't I tell you to hurry--say?"
"I can't find my jacket."
"You don't want to find it. Where did you lay it when you took it
off last night?"
"I don't know. I forget."
"If you're not down here, with your jacket on, in one minute, I'll
warm your shoulders well for you."
Mr. Belknap was quite in earnest in this threat, a fact plainly
enough apparent to John Thomas in the tone of his father's voice.
Not just wishing to have matters proceed to this extremity, the boy
opened a closet, and, singularly enough, there hung his jacket in
full view. At the expiration of the minute, he was standing before
his disturbed father, with his jacket on, and buttoned up to the
chin.
"Where's your hat?" now asked Mr. Belknap.
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, find it, then."
"I've looked everywhere."
"Look again. There! What is that on the hat rack, just under my
coat?"
The boy answered not, but walked moodily to the rack, and took his
hat therefrom.
"Ready at last. I declare I'm out of all patience with your slow
movements and sulky manner. What do you stand there for, knitting
your brows and pouting your lips? Straighten out your face, sir! I
won't have a boy of mine put on such a countenance."
The lad, thus angrily and insultingly rated, made a feeble effort to
throw a few rays of sunshine into his face. But, the effort died
fruitless. All was too dark, sullen, and rebellious within his
bosom.
"See here." Mr. Belknap still spoke in that peculiar tone of command
which always stifles self-respect in the one to whom it is
addressed.
"Do you go down to Leslie's and tell him to send me a good claw
hammer and three pounds of eightpenny nails. And go quickly."
The boy turned off without a word of reply, and was slowly moving
away, when his father said, sharply:
"Look here, sir!"
John Thomas paused and looked back.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did I tell you to do?"
"Go get a claw hammer and three pounds of eightpenny nails."
"Very well. Why did n't you indicate, in some way, that you heard
me? Have n't I already this morning read you a lecture about this
very thing? Now, go quickly. I'm in a hurry."
For all this impatience and authority on the part of Mr. Belknap,
John Thomas moved away at a snail's pace; and as the former in a
state of considerable irritability, gazed after the boy, he felt
strongly tempted to call him back, and give him a good flogging in
order that he might clearly comprehend the fact of his being in
earnest. But as this flogging was an unpleasant kind of business,
and had, on all previous occasions, been succeeded by a repentant
and self-accusing state, Mr. Belknap restrained his indignant
impulses.
"If that stubborn, incorrigible boy returns in half an hour, it will
be a wonder," muttered Mr. Belknap, as he came back into the
sitting-room. "I wish I knew what to do with him. There is no
respect or obedience in him. I never saw such a boy. He knows that
I'm in a hurry; and yet he goes creeping along like a tortoise, and
ten chances to one, if he does n't forget his errand altogether
before he is halfway to Leslie's. What is to be done with him, Aunt
Mary?"
Mr. Belknap turned, as he spoke to an elderly lady, with a mild,
open face, and clear blue eyes, from which goodness looked forth as
an angel. She was a valued relative, who was paying him a brief
visit.
Aunt Mary let her knitting rest in her lap, and turned her mild,
thoughtful eyes upon the speaker.
"What is to be done with that boy, Aunt Mary?" Mr. Belknap repeated
his words. "I've tried everything with him; but he remains
incorrigible."
"Have you tried--"
Aunt Mary paused, and seemed half in doubt whether it were best to
give utterance to what was in her mind.
"Tried what?" asked Mr. Belknap.
"May I speak plainly?" said Aunt Mary.
"To me? Why yes! The plainer the better."
"Have you tried a kind, affectionate, unimpassioned manner with the
boy? Since I have been here, I notice that you speak to him in a
cold, indifferent, or authoritative tone. Under such treatment, some
natures, that soften quickly in the sunshine of affection, grow hard
and stubborn."
The blood mounted to the cheeks and brow of Mr. Belknap.
"Forgive me, if I have spoken too plainly," said Aunt Mary.
Mr. Belknap did not make any response for some time, but sat, with
his eyes upon the floor, in hurried self-examination.
"No, Aunt Mary, not too plainly," said he, as he looked at her with
a sobered face. "I needed that suggestion, and thank you for having
made it."
"Mrs. Howitt has a line which beautifully expresses what I mean,"
said Aunt Mary, in her gentle, earnest way. "It is
'For love hath readier will than fear.'
Ah, if we could all comprehend the wonderful power of love! It is
the fire that melts; while fear only smites, the strokes hardening,
or breaking its unsightly fragments. John Thomas has many good
qualities, that ought to be made as active as possible. These, like
goodly flowers growing in a carefully tilled garden, will absorb the
latent vitality in his mind, and thus leave nothing from which
inherent evil tendencies can draw nutrition."
Aunt Mary said no more, and Mr. Belknap's thoughts were soon too
busy with a new train of ideas, to leave him in any mood for
conversation.
Time moved steadily on. Nearly half an hour had elapsed, in which
period John Thomas might have gone twice to Leslie's store, and
returned; yet he was still absent. Mr. Belknap was particularly in
want of the hammer and nails, and the delay chafed him very
considerably; the more particularly, as it evidenced the
indifference of his son in respect to his wishes and commands.
Sometimes he would yield to a momentary blinding flush of anger, and
resolve to punish the boy severely the moment he could get his hands
on him. But quickly would come in Aunt Mary's suggestion, and he
would again resolve to try the power of kind words. He was also a
good deal strengthened in his purposes, by the fact that Aunt Mary's
eyes would be upon him at the return of John Thomas. After her
suggestion, and his acknowledgment of its value, it would hardly do
for him to let passion so rule him as to act in open violation of
what was right. To wrong his son by unwise treatment, when he
professed to desire only his good.
The fact is, Mr. Belknap had already made the discovery, that if he
would govern his boy, he must first govern himself. This was not an
easy task. Yet he felt that it must be done.
"There comes that boy now," said he, as he glanced forth, and saw
John Thomas coming homeward at a very deliberate pace. There was
more of impatience in his tone of voice than he wished to betray to
Aunt Mary, who let her beautiful, angel-like eyes rest for a moment
or two, penetratingly, upon him. The balancing power of that look
was needed; and it performed its work.
Soon after, the loitering boy came in. He had a package of nails in
his hand, which he reached, half indifferently, to his father.
"The hammer!" John started with a half frightened air.
"Indeed, father, I forgot all about it!" said he, looking up with a
flushed countenance, in which genuine regret was plainly visible.
"I'm sorry," said Mr. Belknap, in a disappointed, but not angry or
rebuking voice. "I've been waiting a long time for you to come back,
and now I must go to the store without nailing up that trellice for
your mother's honeysuckle and wisteria, as I promised."
The boy looked at his father a moment or two with an air of
bewilderment and surprise; then he said, earnestly:
"Just wait a little longer. I'll run down to the store and get it
for you in a minute. I'm very sorry that I forgot it."
"Run along, then," said Mr. Belknap, kindly.
How fleetly the lad bounded away! His father gazed after him with an
emotion of surprise, not unmixed with pleasure.
"Yes--yes," he murmured, half aloud, "Mrs. Howitt never uttered a
wiser saying. 'For love hath readier will than fear.'"
Quicker than even Aunt Mary, whose faith in kind words was very
strong, had expected, John came in with the hammer, a bright glow on
his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes that strongly contrasted with
the utter want of interest displayed in his manner a little while
before.
"Thank you, my son," said Mr. Belknap, as he took the hammer; "I
could not have asked a prompter service."
He spoke very kindly, and in a voice of approval. "And now, John,"
he added, with the manner of one who requests, rather than commands,
"if you will go over to Frank Wilson's, and tell him to come over
and work for two or three days in our garden, you will oblige me
very much. I was going to call there as I went to the store this
morning; but it is too late now."
"O, I'll go, father--I'll go," replied the boy, quickly and
cheerfully. "I'll run right over at once."
"Do, if you please," said Mr. Belknap, now speaking from an impulse
of real kindness, for a thorough change had come over his feelings.
A grateful look was cast, by John Thomas, into his father's face,
and then he was off to do his errand. Mr. Belknap saw, and
understood the meaning of that look.
"Yes--yes--yes,--" thus he talked with himself as he took his way to
the store,--"Aunt Mary and Mrs. Howitt are right. Love hath a
readier will. I ought to have learned this lesson earlier. Ah! how
much that is deformed in this self-willed boy, might now be growing
in beauty."
HELPING THE POOR.
"I'M on a begging expedition," said Mr. Jonas, as he came bustling
into the counting-room of a fellow merchant named Prescott. "And, as
you are a benevolent man, I hope to get at least five dollars here
in aid of a family in extremely indigent circumstances. My wife
heard of them yesterday; and the little that was learned, has
strongly excited our sympathies. So I am out on a mission for
supplies. I want to raise enough to buy them a ton of coal, a barrel
of flour, a bag of potatoes, and a small lot of groceries."
"Do you know anything of the family for which you propose this
charity?" inquired Mr. Prescott, with a slight coldness of manner.
"I only know that they are in want and that it is the first duty of
humanity to relieve them," said Mr. Jonas, quite warmly.
"I will not question your inference," said Mr. Prescott. "To relieve
the wants of our suffering fellow creatures is an unquestionable
duty. But there is another important consideration connected with
poverty and its demands upon us."
"What is that pray?" inquired Mr. Jonas, who felt considerably
fretted by so unexpected a damper to his benevolent enthusiasm.
"How it shall be done," answered Mr. Prescott, calmly.
"If a man is hungry, give him bread; if he is naked, clothe him,"
said Mr. Jonas. "There is no room for doubt or question here. This
family I learn, are suffering for all the necessaries of life, and I
can clearly see the duty to supply their wants."
"Of how many does the family consist?" asked Mr. Prescott.
"There is a man and his wife and three or four children."
"Is the man sober and industrious?"
"I don't know anything about him. I've had no time to make
inquiries. I only know that hunger and cold are in his dwelling, or,
at least were in his dwelling yesterday."
"Then you have already furnished relief?"
"Temporary relief. I shouldn't have slept last night, after what I
heard, without just sending them a bushel of coal, and a basket of
provisions."
"For which I honor your kindness of heart, Mr. Jonas. So far you
acted right. But, I am by no means so well assured of the wisdom and
humanity of your present action in the case. The true way to help
the poor, is to put it into their power to help themselves. The mere
bestowal of alms is, in most cases an injury; either encouraging
idleness and vice, or weakening self-respect and virtuous
self-dependence. There is innate strength in every one; let us seek
to develop this strength in the prostrate, rather than hold them up
by a temporary application of our own powers, to fall again,
inevitably, when the sustaining hand is removed. This, depend upon
it, is not true benevolence. Every one has ability to serve the
common good, and society renders back sustenance for bodily life as
the reward of this service."
"But, suppose a man cannot get work," said Mr. Jonas. "How is he to
serve society, for the sake of a reward?"
"True charity will provide employment for him rather than bestow
alms."
"But, if there is no employment to be had Mr. Prescott?"
"You make a very extreme case. For all who are willing to work, in
this country, there is employment."
"I'm by no means ready to admit this assertion."
"Well, we'll not deal in general propositions; because anything can
be assumed or denied. Let us come direct to the case in point, and
thus determine our duty towards the family whose needs we are
considering. Which will be best for them? To help them in the way
you propose, or to encourage them to help themselves?"
"All I know about them at present," replied Mr. Jonas, who was
beginning to feel considerably worried, "is, that they are suffering
for the common necessaries of life. It is all very well to tell a
man to help himself, but, if his arm be paralyzed, or he have no key
to open the provision shop, he will soon starve under that system of
benevolence. Feed and clothe a man first, and then set him to work
to help himself. He will have life in his heart and strength in his
hands."
"This sounds all very fair, Mr. Jonas; and yet, there is not so much
true charity involved there as appears on the surface. It will avail
little, however, for us to debate the matter now. Your time and mine
are both of too much value during business hours for useless
discussion. I cannot give, understandingly, in the present case, and
so must disappoint your expectations in this quarter."
"Good morning, then," said Mr. Jonas, bowing rather coldly.
"Good morning," pleasantly responded Mr. Prescott, as his visitor
turned and left his store.
"All a mean excuse for not giving," said Mr. Jonas, to himself, as
he walked rather hurriedly away. "I don't believe much in the
benevolence of your men who are so particular about the whys and
wherefores--so afraid to give a dollar to a poor, starving fellow
creature, lest the act encourage vice or idleness."
The next person upon whom Mr. Jonas called, happened to be very much
of Mr. Prescott's way of thinking; and the next chanced to know
something about the family for whom he was soliciting aid. "A lazy,
vagabond set!" exclaimed the individual, when Mr. Jonas mentioned
his errand, "who would rather want than work. They may starve before
I give them a shilling."
"Is this true?" asked Mr. Jonas, in surprise.
"Certainly it is. I've had their case stated before. In fact, I went
through the sleet and rain one bitter cold night to take them
provisions, so strongly had my sympathies in regard to them been
excited. Let them go to work."
"But can the man get work?" inquired Mr. Jonas.
"Other poor men, who have families dependent on them, can get work.
Where there's a will there's a way. Downright laziness is the
disease in this case, and the best cure for which is a little
wholesome starvation. So, take my advice, and leave this excellent
remedy to work out a cure."
Mr. Jonas went back to his store in rather a vexed state of mind.
All his fine feelings of benevolence were stifled. He was angry with
the indigent family, and angry with himself for being "the fool to
meddle with any business but his own."
"Catch me on such an errand again," said he, indignantly. "I'll
never seek to do a good turn again as long as I live."
Just as he was saying this, his neighbor Prescott came into his
store.
"Where does the poor family live, of whom you were speaking to me?"
he inquired.
"O, don't ask me about them!" exclaimed Mr. Jonas. "I've just found
them out. They're a lazy, vagabond set."
"You are certain of that?"
"Morally certain. Mr. Caddy says he knows them like a book, and
they'd rather want than work. With him, I think a little wholesome
starvation will do them good."
Notwithstanding this rather discouraging testimony, Mr. Prescott
made a memorandum of the street and number of the house in which the
family lived, remarking as he did so:
"I have just heard where the services of an able-bodied man are
wanted. Perhaps Gardiner, as you call him, may be glad to obtain the
situation."
"He won't work; that's the character I have received of him,"
replied Mr. Jonas, whose mind was very much roused against the man.
The pendulum of his impulses had swung, from a light touch, to the
other extreme.
"A dollar earned, is worth two received in charity," said Mr.
Prescott; "because the dollar earned corresponds to service
rendered, and the man feels that it is his own--that he has an
undoubted right to its possession. It elevates his moral character,
inspires self-respect, and prompts to new efforts. Mere alms-giving
is demoralizing for the opposite reason. It blunts the moral
feelings, lowers the self-respect, and fosters inactivity and
idleness, opening the way for vice to come in and sweep away all the
foundations of integrity. Now, true charity to the poor is for us to
help them to help themselves. Since you left me a short time ago, I
have been thinking, rather hastily, over the matter; and the fact of
hearing about the place for an able-bodied man, as I just mentioned,
has led me to call around and suggest your making interest therefor
in behalf of Gardiner. Helping him in this way will be true
benevolence."
"It's no use," replied Mr. Jonas, in a positive tone of voice. "He's
an idle good-for-nothing fellow, and I'll have nothing to do with
him."
Mr. Prescott urged the matter no farther, for he saw that to do so
would be useless. On his way home, on leaving his store, he called
to see Gardiner. He found, in two small, meagerly furnished rooms, a
man, his wife, and three children. Everything about them indicated
extreme poverty; and, worse than this, lack of cleanliness and
industry. The woman and children had a look of health, but the man
was evidently the subject of some wasting disease. His form was
light, his face thin and rather pale, and his languid eyes deeply
sunken. He was very far from being the able-bodied man Mr. Prescott
had expected to find. As the latter stepped into the miserable room
where they were gathered, the light of expectation, mingled with the
shadows of mute suffering, came into their countenances. Mr.
Prescott was a close observer, and saw, at a glance, the assumed
sympathy-exciting face of the mendicant in each.
"You look rather poor here," said he, as he took a chair, which the
woman dusted with her dirty apron before handing it to him.
"Indeed, sir, and we are miserably off," replied the woman, in a
half whining tone. "John, there, hasn't done a stroke of work now
for three months; and--"
"Why not!" interrupted Mr. Prescott.
"My health is very poor," said the man. "I suffer much from pain in
my side and back, and am so weak most of the time, that I can hardly
creep about."
"That is bad, certainly," replied Mr. Prescott, "very bad." And as
he spoke, he turned his eyes to the woman's face, and then scanned
the children very closely.
"Is that boy of yours doing anything?" he inquired.
"No, sir," replied the mother. "He's too young to be of any
account."
"He's thirteen, if my eyes do not deceive me."
"Just a little over thirteen."
"Does he go to school?"
"No sir. He has no clothes fit to be seen in at school."
"Bad--bad," said Mr. Prescott, "very bad. The boy might be earning
two dollars a week; instead of which he is growing up in idleness,
which surely leads to vice."
Gardiner looked slightly confused at this remark, and his wife,
evidently, did not feel very comfortable under the steady, observant
eyes that were on her.
"You seem to be in good health," said Mr. Prescott, looking at the
woman.
"Yes sir, thank God! And if it wasn't for that, I don't know what we
should all have done. Everything has fallen upon me since John,
there, has been ailing."
Mr. Prescott glanced around the room, and then remarked, a little
pleasantly:
"I don't see that you make the best use of your health and
strength."
The woman understood him, for the color came instantly to her face.
"There is no excuse for dirt and disorder," said the visitor, more
seriously. "I once called to see a poor widow, in such a state of
low health that she had to lie in bed nearly half of every day. She
had two small children, and supported herself and them by fine
embroidery, at which she worked nearly all the time. I never saw a
neater room in my life than hers, and her children, though in very
plain and patched clothing, were perfectly clean. How different is
all here; and yet, when I entered, you all sat idly amid this
disorder, and--shall I speak plainly--filth."
The woman, on whose face the color had deepened while Mr. Prescott
spoke, now rose up quickly, and commenced bustling about the room,
which, in a few moments, looked far less in disorder. That she felt
his rebuke, the visiter regarded as a good sign.
"Now," said he, as the woman resumed her seat, "let me give you the
best maxim for the poor in the English language; one that, if lived
by, will soon extinguish poverty, or make it a very light
thing,--'God helps those who help themselves.' To be very plain with
you, it is clear to my eyes, that you do not try to help yourselves;
such being the case, you need not expect gratuitous help from God.
Last evening you received some coal and a basket of provisions from
a kind-hearted man, who promised more efficient aid to-day. You have
not yet heard from him, and what is more, will not hear from him.
Some one, to whom he applied for a contribution happened to know
more about you than he did, and broadly pronounced you a set of idle
vagabonds. Just think of bearing such a character! He dropped the
matter at once, and you will get nothing from him. I am one of those
upon whom he called. Now, if you are all disposed to help
yourselves, I will try to stand your friend. If not, I shall have
nothing to do with you. I speak plainly; it is better; there will be
less danger of apprehension. That oldest boy of yours must go to
work and earn something. And your daughter can work about the house
for you very well, while you go out to wash, or scrub, and thus earn
a dollar or two, or three, every week. There will be no danger of
starvation on this income, and you will then eat your bread in
independence. Mr. Gardiner can help some, I do not in the least
doubt."
And Mr. Prescott looked inquiringly at the man.
"If I was only able-bodied," said Gardiner, in a half reluctant tone
and manner.
"But you are not. Still, there are many things you may do. If by a
little exertion you can earn the small sum of two or three dollars a
week, it will be far better--even for your health--than idleness.
Two dollars earned every week by your wife, two by your boy, and
three by yourself, would make seven dollars a week; and if I am not
very much mistaken, you don't see half that sum in a week now."
"Indeed, sir, and you speak the truth there," said the woman.
"Very well. It's plain, then, that work is better than idleness."
"But we can't get work." The woman fell back upon this strong
assertion.
"Don't believe a word of it. I can tell you how to earn half a
dollar a day for the next four or five days at least. So there's a
beginning for you. Put yourself in the way of useful employment, and
you will have no difficulty beyond."
"What kind of work, sir?" inquired the woman.
"We are about moving into a new house, and my wife commences the
work of having it cleaned to-morrow morning. She wants another
assistant. Will you come?"
The woman asked the number of his residence, and promised to accept
the offer of work.
"Very well. So far so good," said Mr. Prescott, cheerfully, as he
arose. "You shall be paid at the close of each day's work; and that
will give you the pleasure of eating your own bread--a real
pleasure, you may depend upon it; for a loaf of bread earned is
sweeter than the richest food bestowed by charity, and far better
for the health."
"But about the boy, sir?" said Gardiner, whose mind was becoming
active with more independent thoughts.
"All in good time," said Mr. Prescott smiling. "Rome was not built
in a day, you know. First let us secure a beginning. If your wife
goes to-morrow, I shall think her in earnest; as willing to help
herself, and, therefore, worthy to be helped. All the rest will come
in due order. But you may rest assured, that, if she does not come
to work, it is the end of the matter as far as I am concerned. So
good evening to you."
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