Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 50

"He cannot wait a moment," answered the servant;--"he wishes you to put on your hat and coat, and go with him."

"Where?"

"He did not say."

This was a strange interruption,--strange that a man, a stranger, in fact, should call for me to go out with him on such a night; but I mustered courage, and went out to meet him. I don't know what induced me so readily to grant his request; but out I went, hatted, coated and booted. As I approached, I heard the falling of steps, and the voice of the coachman requesting me to hurry. Reaching the carriage, I looked in and beheld Jotham Jenks. In I jumped, and before I was seated the carriage was moving.

The whip snapped, the wheels whirled round, and we pa.s.sed through the lighted streets with almost incredible speed. I ventured to make an inquiry, and the reply was,

"You are doing a good deed. My name is Jotham Jenks. Ask no questions now."

Thus was a veto put upon the movements of my tongue for the time being. I, however, recognized the voice of Mr. Jenks; and though I knew but little respecting him, I judged from his appearance that he was a quiet, unoffending man; and such I afterwards found him.

For thirty minutes the horses raced along, causing the water, ice and snow, to take to themselves wings and fly upon pedestrians, windows, and sundry other animate and inanimate objects of creation.

For myself, I began to experience some misgiving, for thus exposing myself to what, I did not know.

At length the carriage turned down a dark, narrow street, leading to one of the wharves, upon which we finally found ourselves. The driver jumped from his seat, opened the carriage-door, threw down the steps, and we got out.

Matters had reached a crisis. Was I to be thrown into the water? The a.s.surance of my companion that I was doing a good deed seemed to disfavor this supposition, as what possible good could that do myself or any one else? Yet, for what was I taken from a warm room, on such a cold, dismal, dark night, and hurried to the wharf?

"Now," said I to the stranger, "I must know the meaning of all this,--the why and the wherefore."

He took my hand in his. It was quite dark. I could not see, yet I could tell by his voice that he wept, as he said,

"In a berth in the cabin of that vessel lies a young man, far from his home, among strangers,--sick, perhaps dying. No relative, other than those of the great brotherhood of. mankind, is near to minister to his wants, or to speak comfort to his troubled heart. He had been here about two days, when I was informed of his situation by a friend who came in the same vessel. I have brought you here that you might listen to his statements, and a.s.sist me in a.s.sisting him.

There is much of romance in his narrative, and, as you are preparing a volume of life-sketches, as found in town and country, I have thought that what falls from his lips might fill a few pages with interest and profit to your readers."

I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. My suspicions and fears were all allayed; I asked no more questions, but followed my friend as he pa.s.sed to the vessel, and descended the narrow stairway to the cabin.

A small lamp hung from the ceiling, and shed a sort of gloomy light around. I had been in chambers of sickness, but never in a room where more neatness was discernible, or more sufficiency for its tenant, than in the cabin in which I then was. A sailor boy seated by a berth indicated to me the spot where the sick man lay. We were informed that he had just fallen into a sleep, and we were careful not to awake him.

But, notwithstanding all our care, our movements awoke him. He gazed around as one often does after a deep sleep; but a consciousness of his situation, and a recognition of my companion, soon dispelled his vacant looks, and his features were illumed with as expressive a smile as it has ever been my fortune to behold.

I was introduced to the invalid, and soon we were as familiar as old acquaintances. His name was Egbert Lawrence, and his age I should judge from appearances to be about twenty-five.

"It is possible that my dear, good friend, Mr. Jenks, has given you some account of my circ.u.mstances," he remarked, addressing me.

I replied that he had not, any further than to state that he was friendless. He started, as I said this, and exclaimed,

"Friendless! His own modesty, that sure mark of true merit, induced him to say that; but, dear sir, I have a friend in him, greater than in any other on earth now. I had a friend, but, alas! she's gone."

I corrected his impression; remarked that I only intended to convey the fact that he was in a strange country, among a strange people, and that Mr. Jenks had told me he was worthy of a.s.sistance, and that a sketch of his life would interest me.

"Then you would like to hear of my past, would you?"

"Most certainly," I replied; "and should consider it a favor should you consent to give it to me."

To this he at once consented.

"I was born in the west of England," he began, "and can well remember what a charming little village it was in which I pa.s.sed my earliest days. My mother was a woman of the finest sensibilities,--too fine, in fact, for the rough winds of this world.

Her heart beat too strongly in sympathy with the poor and oppressed, the weary-footed and troubled ones, to live among and not have the weight of their sorrows and cares bear also upon her, and gradually wear out the earth tenement of her spirit.

"As far as a fine, sensitive feeling was hers, so far it was mine. I inherited it. But I would not flatter myself so much as to say that I, in like manner, partook of her heavenly, loving nature, or that I in any of her n.o.ble traits was worthy of being her son.

"Many times have I been the bearer of her secret charities. Many times have I heard the poor bless the unknown hand that placed bounties at their door. Many times have I seen my mother weep while I told her of what I heard the recipients of her benevolence tell their neighbors, and the many conjectures in their minds as to who the donor could be. And, O, there was joy sparkling in her eyes when I told her of what I had seen and heard! The grateful poor, concluding, after all their surmising, that, as they could not tell for a certainty who it was who gave them food and clothing, they would kneel down and thank G.o.d; for, said they, in their honest, simple manner, He knows. The benevolent hand cannot hide itself from his presence, or escape his reward.

"My father was quite a different person. How it was they met and loved, I could not for a long time determine. But one evening my mother told me all about it, and said he was not the man of her choice, but of her parents' choice; and that she had never loved him with that deep and earnest love that alone can bind two hearts in one embrace. But she said she had endeavored to do her duty towards him. Good woman! I knew that. 'T was her very nature to do that. 'T was a law of her being, and she could not evade it.

"My father was a rough, coa.r.s.e-minded man. He held an office under the government, and, from being accustomed to the exercise of some little authority without doors, became habituated to a morose, ill-natured manner of words and behavior within our home. I remember how I changed my tone of voice, and my mode of action, when at night he came home. With my mother I talked and laughed, and played merrily in her presence, and rather liked to have her look on my sports; but when my father came I never smiled. I sat up on my chair in one corner as stiff and upright as the elm-tree, in front of our house. I never played in his presence. I seldom heard a kind word from him. My mother used to call me 'Berty, my dear,' when she wished me; but my father always shouted, sternly, 'Egbert, come here, sir!' and I would tremblingly respond, 'Sir.'

"Few persons seemed to love him; those who did, did so with an eye to business. It was policy in them to flatter the man who could favor them pecuniarily, and they hesitated not to do so. One time, when my father's vote and influence were worth five thousand pounds to his party, and he exhibited symptoms of withholding them, he had rich presents sent him, and every night some half a dozen or more would call in and sit and talk with him, and tell him how admirably all the schemes he had started for the good of the town had succeeded, and in all manner of ways would flatter the old gentleman, so that he would be quite pleasant all the next day. At this time handsome carriages came to take him to ride, and gentlemen proposed an afternoon's shooting or fis.h.i.+ng, or sport of some kind, and my father always accepted and was always delighted. The simple man, he couldn't see through the gauze bags they were drawing over his head! lie did not notice the nets With which they were entangling his feet. When election came, he gave his vote, and did not keep back his influence.

"My father was not benevolent to any great degree. He gave, it is true. He gave to missionary societies, to education and tract societies, and his name was always found printed in their monthly reports; but he never gave, as my mother did, to the poor around us, unseen, unknown. Not even he knew of my mother's charitable acts; but all the town knew of his, and he was looked upon by the great ma.s.s of public mind to be the most benevolent. But it was not so.

Far from it. One s.h.i.+lling from my mother, given with the heart, with sympathy, given for the sake of doing good, not for the sake of popularity, was a greater gift than a hundred pounds from my father's hand, given as he always gave it.

"I attended school but little. My mother wished me to have a good education, but my father said if I could 'figure' well it was enough. I was taken from school and put in a store,--a place which I abhorred. I was put there to sell tape, and pins, and thread, and yarn; and I was kept behind the counter from early morn until late at night.

"I had one brother, but his mind was nothing like mine. He partook of my father's nature. We seldom agreed upon any matter, and I always chose to be alone rather than with him. I do not think I was wrong in this, for our minds were of different casts. Neither of us made our minds or our dispositions. There was, therefore, no blame upon any one, if, on account of the difference in our mental organizations, our affinities led us apart. It was a perfectly natural result of a natural cause.

"I will not weary you with more detail of my life to-night; but to-morrow, if you have any interest in what I have begun to tell you, I will tell you more."

I had noticed that he began to be exhausted with his effort, and was about to propose that a future time be allotted to what more he chose to relate.

I a.s.sured him of an increased interest in him, and suggested removing him to a good boarding-house. He at first declined, but upon further urging he accepted, and, having seen that all his wants were for that night attended to, we left; with the understanding that a carriage should convey him to more commodious quarters on the morrow, if the weather permitted.

I had no fears of my companion as we rode up the wharf and drove through the streets, the storm beating down furiously around us. I reached my home, and Mr. Jenks thanked me for my kindness in blindly following him, and I in return thanked him for the pleasant adventure to which he had introduced me.

CHAPTER II.

The next morning the weather was clear and the air invigorating, as is often the case after a severe storm. With my neighbor Jenks I procured a good home for the wanderer, and in a short time he was located in it.

I was soon seated by his side, and he continued his narrative.

"I told you last evening of my parents, and of my entrance upon business life. About that time a great sorrow visited me. My mother was taken sick, rapidly declined, and in a fortnight left this state of existence. Beyond this world it seemed all dark to me then; but now it is brighter there than here, and there is no uncertainty in my mind respecting that coming state.

"I have not told you she died. She did not die. There is no such word as death in my vocabulary. She did not sleep even. She pa.s.sed from a crumbling, falling building into an enduring and beautiful temple, not made with hands. But to me, then, as I have told you, it was all dark; and it was not a wonder that I was sad, and that it was indeed a heavy sorrow that rested on my spirit. Even with the faith that she had, the thought of being left with a man such as my father was would have made me sad. You will wonder, perhaps, that I had not learned from such a mother as mine a clearer faith than that which possessed my mind at the time of her departure; but I had not.

It was impossible for me to accept a truth with that amount of evidence which satisfied her mind, and I doubted, at times, a future existence. But I do not doubt it now. I have had proof,--abundant proof; and, O, the joy that fills my soul is unfathomable.

"My father now became more tyrannical than ever, and everything tended to destroy whatever there was of my mother's disposition in my character. But nothing could force it from me. I was sensitive as ever to the remarks and the looks of all with whom I came in contact, and the severe and unmerited reprimands of my father almost crushed me.

"Several years pa.s.sed by. I wasted them in a retail store. It was, however, not a complete loss to me, for there I formed an acquaintance with a young lady, the daughter of a poor collier. Our friends.h.i.+p ripened to mutual love, and we were happy only when in each other's presence. Our interviews were frequent, and unknown to any one but ourselves for a long time. At length my father became acquainted with the facts. He called me to his room one night, and scolded me, threatened to disinherit me, and treated me as though I had been guilty of the most heinous crime.