Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

Reader! have you ever experienced a like fate at a pleasant party? If not, thrice_happy_individual, picture to yourself your feelings at going to hear Jenny Lind, and finding yourself obliged to return home as there is not a seat left; or going to the Chiswick fête in sunshine and leaving it in torrents of rain; or finding on your arrival at Greenwich, that the wit of your dinner-party is detained in his rooms by a bad influenza. The English heiress thought herself " a catch," and had been imbued with the idea that every man must immediately throw himself at her feet and worship her-fire at Cupid through Plutus, in short-and, consequently, led the conversation. The heiress informed Devereux that Miss Smith, of Grosvenor Square (a lady whose name, except as the ubiquity class of Smiths, he had never heard of), was going to marry Mr. Brown, of the Oaks (a gentleman whom he did not know existed and cared still less). She further informed him they were a very handsome couple, suited as to tastes and tempers; then followed the usual epitome of their genealogy, their fortunes, their ways, their means, the lady's trousseau, the gentleman's hair, and their intended wedding-tour to Baden Baden. Devereux having expressed his hypocritical sorrow at not having the pleasure of their acquaintance, the young lady inforined him of the state of the health of her favourite King Charles's spaniel, little Bijou, and her piping bullfinch. So in a fit of disgust, much to the sorrow and wounded pride of the heiress, Devereux turned to his neighbour-who up to this time had not spoken a word, but ate of every dish almost to repletion that was handed round to him-and inquired, "if he liked the idea of soldiering?"

"Didn't he, that was all," and his face brightened up; but whether at the idea of soldiering or of a blanc-mange that was just handed to him we are not at liberty to say. "Sir John had given him a swordwith his name on it-presented by Sir John-Sir John was Sir John Barleycorn-of Bristol-third cousin to his mamma-(a good help of jelly)-made a great fortune. He had employed Sir John's bootmaker, Hobbs, of Bristol, and Sir John's tailor, Snipcoat, of the Minories, London."

Then followed the usual "ours." "Our" colonel, "our" mess, "our" shell-jackets, "our" chakoes," "our" practicle, none of which, by-theby, had the young gentleman as yet ever seen.

He

On the arrival of Mrs. Macgillicuddy's party at the castle the Fates were still unpropitious to Devereux. The ball was just in its zenith, and he had the mortification of seeing the newly-appointed "native" ensign engage Ada for the first waltz, and a tepid timid young gentleman of eighteen-who had had a previous engagement for the last three days-for the next polka, and then to behold, as a sort of climax, the heiress eyeing him as an original New Zealander would a fine fat white man. had, therefore, nothing-under the rules of civilised society-left him, but to ask the heiress to waltz, much to his disgust; for at this time he was a very Timon. The band began again, and then Devereux found himself (happy man!) the partner of Ada Macgillicuddy for the next-"waltz that loveth the lady's waist." The last notes of the Olga floated through the arched and re-echoing rooms when Devereux led Ada to a retired seat, away from observation, constraint, and suffocation, and then and thereapart from the gay and volatile crowd-poured into her ears those generous and sacred impulses of thought and passion.

March.-VOL. LXXXV. NO. CCCXXXIX.

X

"I never, never can be yours," replied Ada, as her snow-white bosom heaved in strong emotions. I know I have led you on-have given you false hopes-but, alas! did you know all you would pity rather than censure me. I love another."

"Another!" was the only word Devereux could ejaculate, as fury, jealousy, madness, rankled in his breast.

"Oh! have you the common feelings of humanity? have you the tender conscience attributed to man? Know, then, my fate. To-night I am to be sacrificed, and you alone can save me. I-have friendship for you, but not-not-love. To-morrow my brother will ask your intentions-save me, oh! save me. Tell my brother you hate me say -say--you-can't-can't-love me. For pity's sake spare me; and if my prayers can avail aught for your future salvation, rest assured they shall be daily offered up in your behalf."

But her emotions were too strong for further endurance; her blood fled from her lovely cheeks, her breath flickered, her eyes closed, and she fell senseless into the arms of Devereux.

"I hope Miss Macgillicuddy is not really ill ?" said Mrs. Fairclough to our exemplary mamma. "Oh, I am so sorry (The old crocodile! food for scandal for a month)-the heat, I presume. I would not have had it happened for all the diamonds in Christendom. Poor Ada! But come let us away to supper, for I hear the plates are silent, as the folks say-come!" "Nothing, I can assure you," said Mrs. Macgillicuddy.

"Be Jasus! perhaps it was the spurs caused Miss Macgillicuddy to faint," suggested a regular Milesian.

Captain Devereux rushed frantically to his barrack-room after seeing Ada carefully borne to her mother's chariot. His first thought was suicide. His second to cast his eyes upon a volume of Coleridge's works that lay open on his table, and by chance the following lines caught his viewby a sudden impulse, he gathered his scattered, angry thoughts, and rivetting his attention read

Think first what you ARE ! call to mind what you WERE!

I gave you innocence, I gave you hope,

Gave health and genius, and an ample scope;
Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair?

Make out the inven'try-inspect-compare-
Then die if die you dare-

His fever of excitement had passed-his madness had vanished. As he read the concluding lines he dashed the pistol he held on the floor -his better nature triumphed, he was himself again, and with a dogged determination he threw himself into an arm chair to ruminate upon the event. As each circumstance, arose before him he could not help feeling-whether he quite acknowledged it to himself is another question that he was in a ludicrous position, a case of Hibernior Hibernis. He was in love with the girl; he appreciated her simplicity, her virtues, her modesty,-he had proposed to her-his pride and vanity had been humbled by her rejection of his heart and wealth, and how was he about to reward that refusal? why by immolating himself, by making it appear to the world he had rejected her, by which means he immediately metamorphosed himself into a human target for the practice of an enraged

brother.

What was his reward?

Not the fair lady's hand. Oh, no! merely the handing it over to a more favoured suitor.

But presently his rage subsided, and as he pursued his mental investigation, his feelings took a better turn.

"Yes," he continued thinking, "though, in this instance, I have acted honourably-as a man-how oft for the mere éclat of the affair, for the mere brag at the mess-table, have I not endeavoured to sow the germs of love in the affections of an innocent, confiding girl. Have not I watched them and seen them take root, and spring into maturity? Have not I oft inwardly smiled, with disdainful, flattered mien, though I have slurred it over with a conventional rouge-as I saw the object of my supposed affections give an anxious look for me as I entered the ball-room? And have not I oft watched her delighted sparkling eye as I approached her, and her view caught my form? Have not I oft lured on the girl with false hopes, false expectations? Was I acting honourably, justly, and like a gentleman? And because it was the bravado conversation of a regiment-because I followed in the footsteps of others--because others followed in my footsteps, was that any salvo to my conscience? NO-surely is it written retribution cometh.' This is my retribution for past sins, and truly, most truly, does the felon often suffer for a lamb and escape for a steer.'

6

Devereux penned a note that night to a brother officer, Captain O'Driscoll, requesting, in the usual strain, his services of "a friend," should they be required, and then tumbled into his camp-bedstead, to mingle dreams of duelling and love, duty and women, hunting and suicide.

BEGGARS AND ALMSGIVERS.

The horse-leech hath two daughters, crying, “Give, give.”—Proverbs.

Oh, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal.

SHAKSPEARE.

RIGHT and fitting is it that we should all be charitable, for charity covereth a multitude of sins: but still more right and fitting is it to understand that charity does not cover the sin of its own abuse, the most mischievous form of which is an indiscriminate almsgiving to street beggars. That offence is not one of the multitude that are pardonable; it is irremissible. True and judicious benevolence is twice blessed. "It blesseth him that gives and him that takes;" but this false and undistinguishing bounty is more than doubly injurious, the hydra-headed mistake being equally detrimental to the donor, to the receiver, and to those from whom it is withheld, since it is an indisputable, though generally forgotten fact, that every shilling given away to idle vagabonds is so much taken away from honest industry. It has been calculated, upon trustworthy data, that a million and a half sterling are in this manner annually wasted! Of the seeds of demoralisation, debauchery, and crime thus sown broadcast over the whole soil of England we will speak presently; but, good heavens! only to think of the innumerable blessings

which such an enormous sum, if judiciously, instead of mischievously, disbursed, would confer upon our distressed and deserving fellow-creatures! What hospitals, alms-houses, and beneficent institutions would it build or endow! what thousands of unemployed labourers and artisans would it transport to shores where they would find instant occupation, and secure ultimate competency! what misery would it alleviate or prevent in these over-peopled islands! what prosperity would it infuse into those colonies which cannot avail themselves of their natural wealth from want of capital and of hands to develope it!

"Plausible declamation!" methinks I hear the reader exclaim-" this is the old cry of the hard-hearted political economists. Surely, when we see a fellow-creature in distress you would not prohibit the exercise of our sweetest Christian duty-that of succouring him; you would not have us pass on the other side, like the priest and the Levite, instead of following the example of the good Samaritan."

My dear madam or miss (for the tribe of beggar-fatteners are generally old women in trousers, or petticoat-wearers of all ages) let me implore you "to clear your minds of cant," and not to pervert the lessons of Scripture. Instead of imitating, you reverse the conduct of the good Samaritan, who having first ascertained that the wretched object before him was really in want of assistance, bound up his wounds, poured in oil and wine, set him on his own beast, took care of him, brought him to an inn, left money with the host for his present support, and promised to be answerable for his future expenses. This is Christian duty, this is Christian charity; but what is yours? In order to get rid of the uneasy sensation occasioned by a morbid compassion, in order that you may lay the false but flattering unction to your soul, of having performed a duty, you stop not, you give yourself no trouble, you make no inquiry whatever, but drop your mite into the hat of a mendicant, who, in nine cases out of ten, is an arrant rogue and impostor; after which you walk complacently onwards, inwardly thanking God, perhaps, that you are not like the hardhearted wayfarers who pass on the other side.

If there be not much virtue, there is a good deal of economy in all this. It is a cheap and easy method of discharging, or rather of evading, a moral obligation, of awakening self-satisfaction, and of persuading ourselves that we have put out our money at most usurious interest, as we recall the scriptural assurance, that he who giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord. Of these habitual alms-givers, the patrons and pamperers of mendicity and mendacity, very few, I suspect, are subscribers to those really charitable institutions, whose funds, administered by discreet inquisitors, are never withheld from the really necessitous, never lavished upon impostors. No; though they cannot refuse assistance to the feigned distress that they see, they have no sympathy with that which is unseen. Out of sight out of mind. The visible is felt, and the beholders, to relieve themselves from the pain of a refusal, relieve the beggar; the invisible is unfelt, and therefore unthought of. So far from being dictated by any high principle or Christian duty, such alms-giving springs from the wish to get rid of a disagreeable impression, or, in plainer language, from mere selfishness.

"But surely, surely," objects a tender-hearted mother, "you will not blame me for the trifle I gave this cold morning to a poor half-clad woman, with beautiful twins sleeping in her lap ?" My dear madam, I

respect its motive, but cannot approve the deed. Those babies were no more hers than yours. They were hired at so much per diem, the beauty having enhanced the price because it generally wins, though heaven knows why, an additional donation from such soft dupes as yourself. Ever interesting, ever beautiful, is the healthful sleep of infancy; but those poor victims were simply stupified with Daffy's Elixir, or some cheap opiate. The money you gave may possibly be expended in the further purchase of similar poison; the dose will be repeated and strengthened until the wretched victims sleep to wake no more; and thus, to the extent of your misdirected charity, have you been an accomplice in the crime of infanticide! Had you and others given less encouragement to imposition, by yielding less blindly to your feelings-in other words, had you been less selfish, these poor victims, restored to their real mother, might have lived to bless your refusal of aid to the counterfeit parent who would have poisoned them.

upon

your

"Nay, nay, this is an overcharged picture," interposes some gentlevoiced damsel; "you will not, you cannot condemn me for relieving a wretched female, standing with her naked feet the frozen pavement. In such a case of suffering there can be no deception." Your pardon, benevolent but mistaken young lady! Let me invite attention to a curious and well-known fact in mendicant policy. Never do you see a beggar without shoes and stockings in warm weather. Oh, no! it would not then excite any compassion; but with the first frost, off go those coverings, like the leaves of the ash, and as the sailor, or pretended sailor-mendicant, is supported by the leg he has lost, so do these impostors obtain constant supplies of new shoes and stockings by going without their old ones, and get what they want by pretending to want what they have. These articles, when given, may be put upon the feet with much appearance of gratitude and gladness, but they are only worn for one single walk, viz.: from the donor's door to that of the pawnbroker. "But it is so very painful to see a fellow-creature exposed, without protection, to the inclemency of the weather."

Granted: it is painful, and to get rid of this sensation you give money or clothes to a cheating vagabond. Call not this by the sacred and muchabused name of Charity. It is nothing in the world but selfishness.

Allow me to tell you an apposite anecdote. A widow whose heart was "open as day to melting charity," but whose means were exceedingly narrow, happened to be passing over Vauxhall Bridge, when a sturdy beggar accosted her in the established whine, imploring "a little trifle just to buy a morsel of bread."

"I am very sorry that I have no halfpence," said the wayfarer, walking reluctantly onwards, whereupon the applicant clasped his hands together, cast his eyes upward, and exclaimed hoarsely—

"Then by heaven! I will carry my desperate purpose into execution!"

Smitten with compunction and alarm, the good woman hurried back, gave the man a shilling, and not doubting that he had intended to throw himself into the river, began to read him a mild lecture on the duty of resignation, and the enormity of self-destruction.

"Lord bless you, ma'am! I was'nt a thinking of no such thing," replied the fellow, with a smile.

"What, then, was the desperate purpose to which you alluded?"

« VorigeDoorgaan »