MY friend Peyton was what is called a "fine, generous fellow." Hevalued money only as a means of obtaining what he desired, and wasalways ready to spend it with an acquaintance for mutualgratification. Of course, he was a general favourite. Every onespoke well of him, and few hesitated to give his ears the benefit oftheir good opinion. I was first introduced to him when he was in theneighbourhood of twenty-two years of age. Peyton was then a clerk inthe receipt of six hundred dollars a year. He grasped my hand withan air of frankness and sincerity, that at once installed him in mygood opinion. A little pleasure excursion was upon the tapis, and heinsisted upon my joining it. I readily consented. There were five ofus, and the expense to each, if borne mutually, would have beensomething like one dollar. Peyton managed every thing, even topaying the bills; and when I offered to repay him my proportion, hesaid--
"No, no!"--pushing back my hand--"nonsense!"
"Yes; but I must insist upon meeting my share of the expense."
"Not a word more. The bill's settled, and you needn't trouble yourhead about it," was his reply; and he seemed half offended when Istill urged upon him to take my portion of the cost.
"What a fine, generous fellow Peyton is!" said one of the party tome, as we met on the next day.
"Did he also refuse to let you share in the expense of ourexcursion?" I asked.
"After what he said to you, I was afraid of offending him byproposing to do so."
"He certainly is generous--but, I think, to a fault, if I saw a fairspecimen of his generosity yesterday."
"We should be just, as well as generous."
"I never heard that he was not just."
"Nor I. But I think he was not just to himself. And I believe itwill be found to appear in the end, that, if we are not just toourselves, we will, somewhere in life, prove unjust to others. Ithink that his salary is not over twelve dollars a week. If he borethe whole expense of our pleasure excursion, it cost him within afraction of half his earnings for a week. Had we all shared alike,it would not have been a serious matter to either of us."
"Oh! as to that, it is no very serious matter to him. He will neverthink of it."
"But, if he does so very frequently, he may feel it sooner orlater," I replied.
"I'm sure I don't know any thing about that," was returned. "He is agenerous fellow, and I cannot but like him. Indeed, every one likeshim."
A few evenings afterwards I met Peyton again.
"Come, let us have some oysters," said he.
I did not object. We went to an oyster-house, and ate and drank asmuch as our appetites craved. He paid the bill!
Same days afterwards, I fell in with him again, and, in order toretaliate a little, invited him to go and get some refreshments withme. He consented. When I put my hand in my pocket to pay for them,his hand went into his. But I was too quick for him. He seemeduneasy about it. He could feel pleased while giving, but itevidently worried him to be the recipient.
From that time, for some years, I was intimate with the young man. Ifound that he set no true value upon money. He spent it freely withevery one; and every one spoke well of him. "What a generous,whole-souled fellow he is!" or, "What a noble heart he has!" werethe expressions constantly made in regard to him. While "Meanfellow!" "Miserly dog!" and other such epithets, were unsparinglyused in speaking of a quiet, thoughtful young man, named Merwin, whowas clerk with him in the same store. Merwin appeared to set anundue value upon money. He rarely indulged himself in any way, andit was with difficulty that he could ever be induced to join in anypleasures that involved expense. But I always observed that when hedid so, he was exact about paying his proportion.
About two years after my acquaintance with Peyton began, an incidentlet me deeper into the character and quality of his generosity. Icalled one day at the house of a poor widow woman who washed for me,to ask her to do up some clothes, extra to the usual weekly washing.I thought she looked as if she were in trouble about something, andsaid so to her.
"It's very hard, at best," she replied, "for a poor woman, withthree or four children to provide for, to get along--especially if,like me, she has to depend upon washing and ironing for a living.But when so many neglect to pay her regularly"--
"Neglect to pay their washerwoman!" I said, in a tone of surprise,interrupting her.
"Oh, yes. Many do that!"
"Who?"
"Dashing young men, who spend their money freely, are too apt toneglect these little matters, as they call them."
"And do young men, for whom you work, really neglect to pay you?"
"Some do. There are at least fifteen dollars now owed to me, and Idon't know which way to turn to get my last month's rent for mylandlord, who has been after me three times this week already. Mr.Peyton owes me ten dollars, and I can't"--
"Mr. Peyton? It can't be possible!"
"Yes, it is, though. He used to be one of the most punctual youngmen I washed for. But, of late, he never has any money."
"He's a very generous-hearted young man."
"Yes, I know he is," she replied. "But something is wrong with him.He looks worried whenever I ask him for money; and sometimes speaksas if half angry with me for troubling him. There's Mr. Merwin--Iwish all were like him. I have never yet taken home his clothes,that I didn't find the money waiting for me, exact to a cent. Hecounts every piece when he lays out his washing for me, and knowsexactly what it will come to: and then, if he happens to be out, thechange is always left with the chambermaid. It's a pleasure to doany thing for him."
"He isn't liked generally as well as Mr. Peyton is," said I.
"Isn't he? It's strange!" the poor woman returned, innocently.
On the very next day, I saw Peyton riding out with an acquaintancein a buggy.
"Who paid for your ride, yesterday?" I said to the latter, with whomI was quite familiar, when next we met.
"Oh, Peyton, of course. He always pays, you know. He's a fine,generous fellow. I wish there were more like him."
"That you might ride out for nothing a little oftener, hey?"
My friend coloured slightly.
"No, not that," said he. "But you know there is so much selfishnessin the world; we hardly ever meet a man who is willing to make theslightest sacrifice for the good of others."
"True. And I suppose it is this very selfishness that makes us sowarmly admire a man like Mr. Peyton, who is willing to gratify us athis own charge. It's a pleasant thing to ride out and see thecountry, but we are apt to think twice about the costs before we actonce. But if some friend will only stand the expense, how generousand whole-souled we think him! It is the same in every thing else.We like the enjoyments, but can't afford the expense; and he is agenerous, fine-hearted fellow, who will squander his money in orderto gratify us. Isn't that it, my friend?" said I, slapping him onthe shoulder.
He looked half convinced, and a little sheepish, to use anexpressive Saxonism.
On the evening succeeding this day, Peyton sat alone in his room,his head leaning upon his hand, and his brow contracted. There was atap at his door. "Come in." A poorly-clad, middle-aged womanentered. It was his washerwoman.
The lines on the young man's brow became deeper.
"Can't you let me have some money, Mr. Peyton? My landlord ispressing hard for his rent, and I cannot pay him until you pay me."
"Really, Mrs. Lee, it is impossible just now; I am entirely out ofmoney. But my salary will be due in three weeks, and then I will payyou up the whole. You must make your landlord wait until that time.I am very sorry to put you to this trouble. But it will never happenagain."
The young man really did feel sorry, and expressed it in his face aswell as in the tone of his voice.
"Can't you let me have one or two dollars, Mr. Peyton? I am entirelyout of money."
"It is impossible--I haven't a shilling left. But try and wait threeweeks, and then it will all come to you in a lump, and do you agreat deal more good than if you had it a dollar at a time."
Mrs. Lee retired slowly, and with a disappointed air. The young mansighed heavily as she closed the door after her. He had been toogenerous, and now he could not be just. The buggy in which he haddriven out with his friend on that day had cost him his last twodollars--a sum which would have lightened the heart of his poorwasherwoman.
"The fact is, my salary is too small," said he, rising and walkingabout his room uneasily. "It is not enough to support me. If theaccount were fully made up, tailor's bill, bootmaker's bill, andall, I dare say I should find myself at least three hundred dollarsin debt."
Merwin received the same salary that he did, and was just threehundred dollars ahead. He dressed as well, owed no man a dollar, andwas far happier. It is true, he was not called a "fine, generousfellow," by persons who took good care of their own money, whilethey were very willing to enjoy the good things of life at afriend's expense. But he did not mind this. The want of such areputation did not disturb his mind very seriously.
After Mrs. Lee had been gone half an hour, Peyton's door was flungsuddenly open. A young man, bounding in, with extended hand camebustling up to him.
"Ah, Peyton, my fine fellow! How are you? how are you?" And he shookPeyton's hand quite vigorously.
"Hearty!--and how are you, Freeman?"
"Oh, gay as a lark. I have come to ask a favour of you."
"Name it."
"I want fifty dollars."
Peyton shrugged his shoulders.
"I must have it, my boy! I never yet knew you to desert a friend,and I don't believe you will do so now."
"Suppose I haven't fifty dollars?"
"You can borrow it for me. I only want it for a few days. You shallhave it back on next Monday. Try for me--there's a generous fellow!"
"There's a generous fellow," was irresistible. It came home toPeyton in the right place. He forgot poor Mrs. Lee, his unpaidtailor's bill, and sundry other troublesome accounts.
"If I can get an advance of fifty dollars on my salary to-morrow,you shall have it."
"Thank you! thank you! I knew I shouldn't have to ask twice when Icalled upon Henry Peyton. It always does me good to grasp the handof such a man as you are."
On the next day, an advance of fifty dollars was asked and obtained.This sum was loaned as promised. In two weeks, the individual whoborrowed it was in New Orleans, from whence he had the best ofreasons for not wishing to return to the north. Of course, thegenerous Henry Peyton lost his money.
An increase of salary to a thousand dollars only made him lesscareful of his money. Before, he lived as freely as if his incomehad been one-third above what it was; now, he increased his expensesin a like ratio. It was a pleasure to him to spend his money--notfor himself alone, but among his friends.
It is no cause of wonder, that in being so generous to some, he wasforced to be unjust to others. He was still behindhand with his poorold washer-woman--owed for boarding, clothes, hats, boots, and adozen other matters--and was, in consequence, a good deal harassedwith duns. Still, he was called by some of his old cronies, "a fine,generous fellow." A few were rather colder in their expressions. Hehad borrowed money from them, and did not offer to return it; and hewas such a generous-minded young man, that they felt a delicacyabout calling his attention to it.
"Can you raise a couple of thousand dollars?" was asked of him by afriend, when he was twenty-seven years old. "If you can, I know afirst-rate chance to get into business."
"Indeed! What is the nature of it?"
The friend told him all he knew, and he was satisfied that a betteroffering might never present itself. But two thousand dollars wereindispensable.
"Can't you borrow it?" suggested the friend.
"I will try."
"Try your best. You will never again have such an opportunity."
Peyton did try, but in vain. Those who could lend it to himconsidered him "too good-hearted a fellow" to trust with money; andhe was forced to see that tide, which if he could have taken it atthe flood, would have led him on to fortune, slowly and steadilyrecede.
To Merwin the same offer was made. He had fifteen hundred dollarslaid by, and easily procured the balance. No one was afraid to trusthim with money.
"What a fool I have been!" was the mental exclamation of Peyton,when he learned that his fellow-clerk had been able, with his ownearnings, on a salary no larger than his own, to save enough toembrace the golden opportunity which he was forced to pass by. "Theycall Merwin mean and selfish--and I am called a generousfellow. That means, he has acted like a wise man, and I like afool, I suppose. I know him better than they do. He is neither meannor selfish, but careful and prudent, as I ought to have been. Hismother is poor, and so is mine. Ah, me!" and the thought of hismother caused him to clasp both hands against his forehead. "Ibelieve two dollars of his salary have been sent weekly to his poormother. But I have never helped mine a single cent. There is themean man, and here is the generous one. Fool! fool! wretch! He hasfifteen hundred dollars ahead, after having sent his mother onehundred dollars a year for five or six years, and I am over fivehundred dollars in debt. A fine, generous fellow, truly!"
The mind of Peyton was, as it should be, disturbed to its verycentre. His eyes were fairly opened, and he saw just where he stood,and what he was worth as a generous man.
"They have flattered my weakness," said he, bitterly, "to eat anddrink and ride at my expense. It was easy to say, 'how free-heartedhe is,' so that I could hear them. A cheap way of enjoying the goodthings of life, verily! But the end has come to all this. I am justtwenty-seven years old to-day; in five years more I shall bethirty-two. My salary is one thousand dollars. I pay one hundred andfifty dollars a year for boarding; one hundred and fifty more shallclothe me and furnish all my spending-money, which shall be preciouslittle. One year from to-day, if I live, I will owe no man a dollar.My kind old mother, whom I have so long neglected, shall hear fromme at once--ten dollars every month I dedicate to her. Come whatwill, nothing shall touch that. After I am clear of debt, I willsave all above my necessary expenses, until I get one or twothousand dollars ahead, which shall be in five years. Then I willlook out for a golden opportunity, such as Mervin has found. Thisagreement with myself I solemnly enter into in the sight of heaven,and nothing shall tempt me to violate it."
"Are you going to ride out this afternoon, Peyton?" inquired a youngfriend, breaking in upon him at this moment.
"Yes, if you'll hire the buggy," was promptly returned.
"I can't afford that."
"Nor I either. How much is your salary?"
"Only a thousand."
"Just what mine is. If you can't, I am sure I cannot."
"Of course, you ought to be the best judge. I knew you rode outalmost every afternoon, and liked company."
"Yes, I have done so; but that's past. I have been a 'fine, generousfellow,' long enough to get in debt and mar my prospects for life,perhaps; but I am going to assume a new character. No doubt the veryones who have had so many rides, oyster suppers, and theatre ticketsat my expense, will all at once discover that I am as mean andselfish as Mervin; but it's no great odds. I only wish I had been astruly noble and generous in the right quarters as he has been."
"You are in a strange humour to-day."
"I am in a changed humour. That it is so very strange, I do notsee--unless for me to think wisely is strange, and perhaps it is."
"Well, all I have to say is, that I, for one, do not blame you, evenif I do lose a fine ride into the country now and then," was thefrank response.
Peyton went to work in the matter of reform in right good earnest,but he found it hard work; old habits and inclinations were verystrong. Still he had some strength of mind, and he brought this intoas vigorous exercise as it was possible for him to do, mainly withsuccess, but sometimes with gentle lapses into self-indulgence.
His mother lived in a neighbouring town, and was in humblecircumstances. She supported herself by keeping a shop for the saleof various little articles. The old lady sat behind her counter, oneafternoon, sewing, and thinking of her only son.
"Ah, me!" she sighed, letting her hands fall wearily in her lap, "Ithought Henry would have done something for himself long beforethis; but he is a wild, free-hearted boy, and I suppose spends everything as he goes along, just as his father did. I'm afraid he willnever do any thing for himself. It is a long time since he wrotehome. Ah, me!"
And the mother lifted her work again, and strained her dimmed eyesover it.
"Here's a letter for you at last, Mother Peyton," said thewell-known voice of the postman, breaking in upon her just at thismoment. "That boy of yours don't write home as often as he used to."
"A letter from Henry! Oh, that is pleasant! Dear boy! he doesn'tforget his mother."
"No, one would think not," muttered the postman, as he walked away,"considering how often he writes to her."
With trembling hands, Mrs. Peyton broke the seal; a bank-billcrumpled in her fingers as she opened the letter. A portion of itscontents was:
"DEAR MOTHER--I have had some very serious thoughts of late about myway of living. You know I never liked to be considered mean; thisled me to be, what seemed to everybody, very generous. Everybody waspleased to eat, and drink, and ride at my expense; but no one seemedinclined to let me do the same at his expense. I have been getting agood salary for six or seven years, and, for a part of that time, asmuch as a thousand dollars. I am ashamed to say that I have not afarthing laid by; nay, what is worse, I owe a good many littlebills. But, dear mother, I think I have come fairly to my senses. Ihave come to a resolution not to spend a dollar foolishly; thus farI have been able to keep my promise to myself, and, by the help ofheaven, I mean to keep it to the end. My first thought, on seeing myfolly, was of my shameful disregard to my mother's condition. Inthis letter are ten dollars. Every month you will receive from me alike sum--more, if you need it. As soon as I can lay by a couple ofthousand dollars, I will look around for some means of entering intobusiness, and, as soon after as possible, make provision for you,that your last days may be spent in ease and comfort."
"God bless the dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Peyton, dropping theletter, while the tears gushed from her eyes. The happy mother weptlong for joy. With her trembling hand she wrote a reply, and urgedhim, by the tenderest and most sacred considerations, to keep to hisgood resolutions.
At the end of a year Peyton examined his affairs, and found himselffreed from debt; but there were nearly one hundred dollars for whichhe could not account. He puzzled over it for one or two evenings,and made out over fifty dollars spent foolishly.
"No doubt the rest of it will have to be passed to that account,"said he, at last, half angry with himself. "I'll have to watchcloser than this. At the end of the next year, I'll not be in doubtabout where a hundred dollars have gone."
It was but rarely, now, that you would hear the name of Peytonmentioned. Before, everybody said he was a "fine, generous fellow;"everybody praised him. Now he seemed to be forgotten, or esteemed ofno consideration. He felt this; but he had started to accomplish acertain end, and he had sufficient strength of mind not to be drivenfrom his course.
"Have you seen Peyton of late?" I asked, some two years after thischange in his habits. I spoke to one of his old intimate associates.
"No, not for a month of Sundays," was his lightly-spoken reply."What a remarkable change has passed over him! Once, he used to be afine, generous fellow--his heart was in his hand; but now he is aspenurious as a miser, and even more selfish: he will neither givenor take. If you happen to be walking with him, and, after waitingas long as decency will permit to be asked to step in somewhere forrefreshments, you propose something, he meets you with--'No, I thankyou, I am not dry,' or hungry, as the case may be. It's downrightsavage, it is!"
"This is a specimen of the way in which the world estimates men,"said I to myself, after separating from the individual whocomplained thus of Peyton. "The world is wonderfully impartial inits judgment of men's conduct!"
At the end of five years from the time Peyton reformed his loosehabits, he had saved up and placed out at interest the sum of twothousand dollars; and this, after having sent to his mother,regularly, ten dollars every month during the whole period. The factthat he had saved so much was not suspected by any. It was supposedthat he had laid up some money, but no one thought he had over fouror five hundred dollars.
"I wish you had about three thousand dollars," said Merwin to him,one day. Merwin's business had turned out well. In five years, hehad cleared over twenty thousand dollars.
"Why?" asked Peyton.
"I know a first-rate chance for you."
"Indeed. Where?"
"There is a very good business that has been fairly established, andis now languishing for want of a little capital. The man who hasmade it will take a partner if he can bring in three thousanddollars, which would make the whole concern easy, perfectly safe,and sure of success."
"It's more than I have," returned Peyton, in a voice that wasslightly sad.
"So I supposed," Merwin said.
"Although such needn't have been the case, if I had acted as wiselyas you through life."
"It's never too late to mend our ways, you know."
"True. But a year mis-spent, is a whole year lost. No matter howhard we strive, we can never make it up. To the day of our death,there will be one year deficient in the sum of life's account."
"A just remark, no doubt. How much would every man save, if he wouldtake good care not only of his years, but of his weeks and days! Thesum of life is made up of small aggregations."
"And so the sum of a man's fortune. A dollar mis-spent is a dollarlost, and never can be regained. You say that it will require threethousand dollars to admit a partner into the business of which youjust spoke?"
"Yes. Nothing less will do."
"I have but two thousand."
"Have you so much, Peyton?" said Merwin, with a brightening face.
"I have."
"Right glad am I to hear it. I only wish that I could furnish youwith a thousand more. But it is out of my power entirely. Ourbusiness requires the use of every dollar we have; and it would notbe just to my partner to draw out so large a sum for the purpose ofassisting a friend in whom he can feel no interest."
"No, of course not. I neither ask nor expect it. I will wait alittle longer. Something else will offer."
"But nothing so really advantageous as this. Let me see. I think Imight get you five hundred dollars, if you could borrow as muchmore."
"That I cannot do. I never asked a favour of any one in my life."
"Though you have dispensed thousands."
"Foolishly perhaps. But no matter. I will wait."
A week afterward, Peyton, who dismissed all thought of embracing theproposed offer of going in business, paid a visit to his mother. Hehad not seen her for a year. She was still cheerful, active, andretained her usual good health.
"I think it time you gave up this shop, mother," said he to her."You are too old now to be working so closely. I've got somethingsaved up for a rainy day, in case any thing should go wrong with mefor a time. You will give up this shop, won't you?"
"No, Henry; not yet. I am still able to help myself, and so long asI am able, I wish to do it. If you have saved any thing, you hadbetter keep it until an opportunity for going into business offers."
"Such a chance has just presented itself. But I hadn't capitalenough."
"How much have you saved?"
"Two thousand dollars."
"So much? How much is required?"
"Three thousand dollars."
"And you have but two?"
"That is all--though a friend did offer to get me five hundred more.But twenty-five hundred is not sufficient. There must be threethousand."
Mrs. Peyton made no reply. She sat a few minutes, and then arose andwent up-stairs. In about ten minutes she came down, and approachingher son, with a warm glow of pleasure upon her face, placed a smallroll in his hands, saying as she did so--
"There is all you need, my son. The money you sent me so regularlyfor the last five years, I have kept untouched for some such momentas this. I did not feel that I needed it. Take it back, and startfairly in the world. In a few more years I may need rest, as lifedraws nearer to a close. Then I trust you will be in circumstancesso good that I needn't feel myself a burden to you."
"A burden? Dear mother! Do not speak of ever being a burden to me,"said the young man, embracing his parent with tearful emotion."No--no," and he pushed back her hand; "I cannot take that money. Itis yours. I will not risk in business the little treasure you havesaved up so carefully. I may not succeed. No--no!" and he stillpushed back his mother's hand--"it is of no use--I cannot--I willnot take it!"
The roll of money fell to the floor.
"It is yours, Henry, not mine," urged the mother. "I did not standin need of it."
"Your son owed you much more than that. He was wrong that he did notdouble the amount to you, in order to make up for former years ofneglect. No--no--I tell you, mother, I cannot take your money.Nothing would tempt me to do it. I will wait a little longer. Otheropportunities will soon offer."
It was in vain that Mrs. Peyton urged her son, until her distress ofmind became so great that he was almost forced to receive the moneyshe pushed upon him--although, in doing so, it was with theintention of leaving it behind him when he returned to the city. Butthe deep satisfaction evinced by his mother, on his consenting totake it, was of a kind that he did not feel it would be right forhim to do violence to. When he did return to the city, he could notfind it in his heart to leave the money, just six hundred dollars,on the table in the little room where he slept, as he had at firstresolved to do. He took it with him; but with the intention ofinvesting it for her in some safe security.
When he again met Merwin, he was urged so strongly to make an effortto raise the capital requisite to become a partner in the businessthat had been named to him, that after some severe struggles withhimself, he at last consented to use the money he had brought homewith him. His friend loaned him four hundred dollars to make up therequired sum.
The business succeeded beyond his expectations. In a few years hewas able to marry, and live in a very comfortable style. He wouldhear none of the objections urged by his mother against living withhim, but shut up her shop in spite of her remonstrances, and broughther to the city. No one who saw her during the remaining ten yearsof her life would have called her unhappy.
I know Peyton still. He is not now, by general reputation, "a fine,generous fellow." But he is a good citizen, a good husband, and agood father; and was a good son while his mother lived with him. Hehas won the means of really benefiting others, and few are morewilling than he is to do it, when it can be done in the right way.He is "generous" still--but wisely so.
THE END.
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