"Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you grow up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you."
This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his condition; and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny persevered; young as he was, he understood the necessity. But how often, during the four weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of the Sat.u.r.day night he had spent at home come up before his mental vision! The fresh loaf of rye bread, baked in honour of his arrival, and eaten for supper, with maple mola.s.ses--the very mola.s.ses he had helped to boil on shares with Farmer Thrifty"s boys in the spring. What a feast they had! Then the long evening afterwards, when the blaze of the hickory fires righted up the timbers of the old cabin with a mellow glow, and mother looked so cheerful and smiled so kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and light. And how even father had helped to pop corn in the iron pot.
Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample opportunity to draw comparisons, for he often thought his master cared more for his cattle than he did for him, and it is quite probable he did; for while they were warmly housed he was needlessly exposed, and his comfort utterly disregarded. If there was brush to cut, or fence to make, or any out-door labour to perform, a wet, cold, or windy day was sure to be selected, while in _fine weather_ the wood was required to be chopped, and, generally speaking, all the work that could be done under shelter.
Yet we dare say Farmer Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this, or the advantage he would himself derive by arranging it otherwise.
John Cole had been living out perhaps a year. He had not grown much in this period; his frame had always been slight, and his sunken cheeks and wasted limbs spoke of the hard usage and suffering of his present situation. The family had many delicacies for themselves, but the _work boy_ they knew never was used to such things, and they were indifferent, as to what his fare chanced to be. He generally managed to satisfy the cravings of hunger on the coa.r.s.e food given him, but that was all. About this time it happened that the farmer was digging a ditch, and as he was afraid winter would set in before it was completed, Johnny and himself were at work upon it early and late, notwithstanding the wind whistled, and it was so cold they could hardly handle the tools. While thus employed, it chanced that they got wet to the skin with a drizzling rain, and on returning to the house the farmer changed his clothes, drank some hot mulled cider, and spent the remainder of the evening in his high-backed chair before a comfortable fire; while the boy was sent to grease a wagon in an open shed, and at night crept to his straw pallet, shaking as though in an ague fit. The next morning he was in a high fever, and with many a "wonder of what had got into him," but without one word of sympathy, or any other manifestation of good-will, he was sent home to his mother. Late in the evening of the same day a compa.s.sionate physician was surprised to see a woman enter his office; her garments wet and travel-stained, and, with streaming eyes, she besought him to come and see her son.
"My Johnny, my Johnny, sir!" she cried, "he has been raving wild all day, and we are afraid he will die."
Mistaking the cause of the good man"s hesitation, she added, with a fresh burst of grief, "Oh! I will work my fingers to the bone to pay you, sir, if you will only come. We live in the Gap."
A few inquiries were all that was necessary to learn the state of the case. The benevolent doctor took the woman in his vehicle, and proceeded, over a mountainous road of six miles, to see his patient. But vain was the help of man! Johnny continued delirious; it was work, work, always at work; and pitiful was it to hear his complaints of being cold and tired, while his heart-broken parent hung over him, and denied herself the necessaries of life to minister to his wants. After being ill about a fortnight, he awoke one evening apparently free from fever.
His expression was natural, but he seemed so weak he could not speak.
His mother, with a heart overflowing with joy at the change she imagined favourable, bent over him. With a great effort he placed his arms about her neck; she kissed his pale lips; a smile of strange meaning pa.s.sed over his face, and ere she could unwind that loving clasp her little Johnny was no more. He had gone where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest; but her hopes were blasted; her house was left unto her desolate; and as she watched, through the long hours of night, beside the dead body, it was to our Father who art in Heaven her anguished heart poured itself out in prayer. Think of this, ye rich! who morning and evening breathe the same pet.i.tion by your own hearthstones.
Think of it, ye who have authority to oppress! Do not deprive the poor man or woman of the "ewe lamb" that is their sole possession; and remember that He whose ear is ever open to the cry of the distressed, has power to avenge their cause.
THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR.
"CIRc.u.mSTANCES made me what I am," said a condemned criminal to a benevolent man who visited him in prison. "I was driven by necessity to steal."
"Not so," replied the keeper, who was standing by. "Rather say, that your own character made the circ.u.mstances by which you were surrounded.
G.o.d never places upon any creature the necessity of breaking his commandments. You stole, because, in heart, you were a thief."
The benevolent man reproved the keeper for what he called harsh words.
He believed that, alone, by the force of external circ.u.mstances, men were made criminals. That, if society were differently arranged, there would be little or no crime in the world. And so he made interest for the criminal, and, in the end, secured his release from prison. Nor did his benevolence stop here. He took the man into his service, and intrusted to him his money and his goods.
"I will remove from him all temptation to steal," said he, "by a liberal supply of his wants."
"Have you a wife?" he asked of the man, when he took him from prison.
"No," was replied.
"Nor any one but yourself to support?"
"I am alone in the world."
"You have received a good education; and can serve me as a clerk. I therefore take you into my employment, at a fair salary. Will five hundred dollars be enough?"
"It will be an abundance," said the man, with evident surprise at an offer so unexpectedly liberal.
"Very well. That will place you above temptation."
"And I will be innocent and happy. You are my benefactor. You have saved me."
"I believe it," said the man of benevolence.
And so he intrusted his goods and his money to the man he had reformed by placing him in different circ.u.mstances.
But it is in the heart of man that evil lies; and from the heart"s impulses spring all our actions. That must cease to be a bitter fountain before it can send forth sweet water. The thief was a thief still. Not a month elapsed ere he was devising the means to enable him to get from his kind, but mistaken friend, more than the liberal sum for which he had agreed to serve him. He coveted his neighbour"s goods whenever his eyes fell upon them; and restlessly sought to acquire their possession.
In order to make more sure the attainment of his ends, he affected sentiments of morality, and even went so far as to cover his purposes by a show of religion. And thus he was able to deceive and rob his kind friend.
Time went on; and the thief, apparently reformed by a change of relation to society, continued in his post of responsibility. How it was, the benefactor could not make out; but his affairs gradually became less prosperous. He made investigations into his business, but was unable to find anything wrong.
"Are you aware that your clerk is a purchaser of property to a considerable extent?" said a mercantile friend to him one day.
"My clerk! It cannot be. His income is only five hundred dollars a year."
"He bought a piece of property for five thousand last week."
"Impossible!"
"I know it to be true. Are you aware that he was once a convict in the State"s Prison?"
"Oh yes. I took him from prison myself, and gave him a chance for his life. I do not believe in hunting men down for a single crime, the result of circ.u.mstances rather than a bad heart."
"A truly honest man, let me tell you," replied the merchant, "will be honest in any and all circ.u.mstances. And a rogue will be a rogue, place him where you will. The evil is radical, and must be cured radically.
Your reformed thief has robbed you, without doubt."
"I have reason to fear that he has been most ungrateful," replied the kind-hearted man, who, with the harmlessness of the dove, did not unite the wisdom of the serpent.
And so it proved. His clerk had robbed him of over twenty thousand dollars in less than five years, and so sapped the foundations of his prosperity, that he recovered with great difficulty.
"You told me, when in prison," said the wronged merchant to his clerk, "that circ.u.mstances made you what you were. This you cannot say now."
"I can," was the reply. "Circ.u.mstances made me poor, and I desired to be rich. The means of attaining wealth were placed in my hands, and I used them. Is it strange that I should have done so? It is this social inequality that makes crime. Your own doctrine, and I subscribe to it fully."
"Ungrateful wretch!" said the merchant, indignantly, "it is the evil of your own heart that prompts to crime. You would be a thief and a robber if you possessed millions."
And he again handed him over to the law, and let the prison walls protect society from his depredations.
No, it is not true that in external circ.u.mstances lie the origins of evil. G.o.d tempts no man by these. In the very extremes of poverty we see examples of honesty; and among the wealthiest, find those who covet their neighbour"s goods, and gain dishonest possession thereof.
Reformers must seek to elevate the personal character, if they would regenerate society. To accomplish the desired good by a different external arrangement, is hopeless; for in the heart of man lies the evil,--there is the fountain from which flow forth the bitter and blighting waters of crime.
JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON.
"AND you will really send Reuben to cut down that clump of pines?"