OLD Mr. Cleveland sat by his comfortable fireside one cold winter'snight. He was a widower, and lived alone on his plantation; that isto say, he was the only white person there; for of negroes, bothfield hands and house servants, he had enough and to spare. He was aqueer old man, this Mr. Cleveland; a man of kind, good feelings, butof eccentric impulses, and blunt and startling manners. You mustalways let him do everything in his own odd way; just attempt todictate to him, or even to suggest a certain course, and you wouldbe sure to defeat your wisest designs. He seemed at times possessedby a spirit of opposition, and would often turn right round andoppose a course he had just been vehemently advocating, only becausesome one else had ventured openly and warmly to approve it.
The night, as I have said, was bitter cold, and would have donehonour to a northern latitude, and in addition to this, a violentstorm was coming on. The wind blew in fitful gusts, howling andsighing among the huge trees with which the house was surrounded,and then dying away with a melancholy, dirge-like moan. The old treerubbed their leafless branches against the window panes, and thefowls which had roosted there for the night, were fain to clap theirwings, and make prodigious efforts to preserve their equilibrium.Mr. Cleveland grew moody and restless, threw down the book in whichhe had been reading, kicked one of the andirons till he made thewhole blazing fabric tumble down, and finally called, in animpatient tone, his boy Tom.
Tom soon popped his head in at the door, and said, "Yer's me, sir."
"Yer's me, indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Cleveland, "what sort of a way isthis to build a fire?"
"I rispec you is bin kick um, sir," said Tom.
"Hey? What? Well! suppose I did bin kick um, if it had been properlymade, it would not have tumbled down. Fix it this minute, sir!"
"I is gwine to fix um now, sir," said Tom, fumbling at the fire.
"Well! fix it, sir, without having so much to say about it; you hadbetter do more, and say less," said Mr. Cleveland.
"Yes, sir," answered Tom.
"You will keep answering me when there is no occasion!" exclaimedMr. Cleveland; "I just wish I had my stick here, I'd crack the sideof your head with it."
"Yer's de stick, sir," said Tom, handing the walking cane out of thecorner.
"Put it down, this instant, sir," said Mr. Cleveland; "how dare youtouch my stick without my leave?"
"I bin tink you bin say you bin want um, sir," said Tom.
"You had better tink about your work, sir, and stop answering me,sir, or I'll find a way to make you," said Mr. Cleveland. "Bring insome more light wood, and make the fire, and shut in the windowshutters. Do you hear me, sir?"
"Yes, sir," replied Tom.
"Well, why don't you answer, if you hear, then? How am I to knowwhen you hear me, if you don't answer?" said Mr. Cleveland.
"I bin tink you bin tell me for no answer you, sir," said Tom.
"I said when there was no occasion, boy; that's what I said,"exclaimed Mr. Cleveland, reaching for his stick."
"Yes, sir," said Tom, as he went grinning out of the room.
Mr. Cleveland was, in the main, a very kind master, though somewhathasty and impatient. Tom and he were for ever sparring, yet neithercould have done without the other; and there was something comicalabout Tom's disposition which well suited his master's eccentric andchangeable moods. Tom evidently served as a kind of safety valve forhis master's nervous system, and many an explosion of superfluousexcitability he had to bear.
On the night in question, Mr. Cleveland was particularly out ofsorts. The truth is, he was naturally a generous, warm-hearted man,but in consequence of early disappointment, had lived a solitarylife, and was really suffering for the want of objects of affection.His feelings, unsatisfied, unemployed, yet morbidly sensitive, werebecoming soured, and his untenanted heart often ached for want ofsympathy.
He rose and took several diagonal turns across the room. At lengthhe opened a window, and looked out upon the stormy night. "Whatconfounded weather!" he muttered to himself, "it makes a man feellike blowing his brains out! There are no two ways about it, I'mtired of life. What have I to live for? If I were to die to-morrow,who would shed a tear?"
Then whispered conscience, "It is thine own fault. A man need notfeel alone because there are none in the world who bear his name, orshare his blood. All men are thy brethren. Thou art one of the greathuman family, and what hast thou done to relieve the poor andsuffering around thee? Will not thy Master say to thee at the lastday, 'I was an hungered, and you gave me no meat; I was thirsty, andyou gave me no drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me not in;naked, and you clothed me not; sick, and in prison, and you visitedme not. Inasmuch as you did it not to one of the least of these mybrethren, you did it not to me.'"
This was a strong and direct appeal, and it was not without itseffect. Then muttered Mr. Cleveland to himself again, "Well, how canI help it? It has not been for want of inclination. Heaven knows Iam always ready to put my hand in my pocket whenever people call onme for charity. How can I help it if the poor and suffering do notmake their wants known to me?"
Then again spake Conscience: "Thou art trying to deceive thyself,but thou canst not deceive nor silence me. Thou hast known of theexistence of suffering, and thine indolence has prevented thee fromgoing abroad to relieve it. Did thy Master thus? Did he not goabout to do good? Did he not sit down to meat with publicans andsinners? Can you stand here, and look out upon such a night as this,and not think of those who are exposed to its bitterness? Can thyhuman heart beat only for itself when thou thinkest of the thousandmiseries crying to Heaven for relief? Resolve, now, before thy headtouches its comfortable pillow, that with the morning's dawn thouwilt resolutely set about thy work; or, rather, thy Master's work."
"It is very hard," still muttered Mr. Cleveland to himself, "thatthese thoughts will continually intrude themselves upon me. Theygive me no peace of my life. Stifle them as I may, they come withtenfold force. People have no business to be poor. I was poor once,and nobody gave charity to me. I had to help myself up in the worldas well as I could. I hate poor people; I hate unfortunate people;in fact, confound it! I hate the world and everybody in it."
Then answered once again the still, small voice: "For shame, Mr.Cleveland, for shame! You will ruin your soul if you thus darken thelight within. You know better than all this, and you are sinningagainst yourself. You want to be happy; well, you may be so. Thereis a wide field of duty open before you; enter, in God's name, andgo to work like a man. What you say about having helped yourself, isperfectly true, and you deserve all credit for it. But remember thatthe majority of the poor are entirely destitute of your advantages.You had the foundation rightly laid. A thousand circumstances inyour early life conspired to render you energetic and self-relying.You had the right sort of education, and Providence also helped totrain you. Besides, once more I ask you, did your Master stop toinquire how human misery was brought about before he relieved it?Away with this unmanly, selfish policy! Follow thy generousimpulses, follow out the yearnings of thy heart, without which younever can have peace; above, all, follow Christ."
Mr. Cleveland shut the window, heaved a deep sigh, and took severalmore turns across the room. "I believe it is all true," at length hesaid, "and I have been a confounded fool. I'll turn about, and leada different life, so help me Heaven! I have wealth, and not a chicknor a child to spend it on, nor to leave it to when I die, and soI'll spend it in doing good, if I can only find out the best way;that's the trouble. But never mind, I'll be my own executor." He nowrang the bell for Tom.
Tom immediately appeared, with his usual "Yer's me, sir."
"Tom," said Mr. Cleveland, "put me in mind in the morning, to send aload of wood to old Mrs. Peters."
"Yes, sir," said Tom, "an' you better sen' some bacon, 'cause I binyerry (hear) little Mas Jack Peter say him ain't bin hab no meat foreat sence I do' know de day when. I rispec dey drudder hab de meatsted o' de wood, 'cause dey can pick up wood nuf all about."
"You mind your own business, sir," said Mr. Cleveland, "I'll sendjust what I please. How long is it since I came to you for advice?Confound the fellow!" he muttered aside, "I meant to send the womansome meat, and now if I do it, that impudent fellow will think I doit because he advised it. Any how, I'll not send bacon, I'll sendbeef or mutton."
Just at this moment, there was a knock at the door, and Tom, goingto open it, admitted Dick, the coachman.
"What do you want, Dick, at this time of night?" inquired hismaster.
"Dere's a man down stays, sir," replied Dick, "and he seem to be ingreat 'fliction. He says dey is campin' out 'bout half a mile below,sir, and de trees is fallin' so bad he is 'fraid dey will all bekilled. He ask you if you kin let dem stay in one of de out-housestell to-morrow."
"Camping out such a night as this?" exclaimed Mr. Cleveland, "theLord have pity on them! How many are there of them, Dick?"
"He, an' his wife, and six little children, sir," answered Dick.
"No negroes?" inquired his master.
"Not a nigger, sir," said Dick. "I ain't like poor buckrah, no how,sir, but I 'spect you best take dese people in, lest dey might dieright in our woods."
Tom, knowing his master's dislike of advice, and fearing that Dickhad taken the surest method to shut them out, now chimed in, andsaid, "Massa, ef I bin you, I no would tek dem in none 't all."
"What do you mean, sir?" exclaimed Mr. Cleveland; "you surely mustbe taking leave of your senses. Dick, you'll have to give that boyof yours a thrashing. I'll not stand his insolence much longer.Don't stand there, grinning at me, sir."
"No, sir," snickered Tom, skulking behind Dick, who was his father.
"Let the man come up here, Dick," said Mr. Cleveland.
When the traveller made his appearance, Mr. Cleveland was startledat his wan and wo-begone appearance. "Sit down, my man," said he.
"I thank you, sir," replied the stranger, "but I must be back assoon as possible to my family. Can you grant us a night's lodging,sir?"
"Certainly, sir," replied Mr. Cleveland; "have you any means ofgetting your family hither? I am told you have six little ones."
"They must walk, sir," replied the stranger, "for our only horse hasbeen killed by a falling tree; but I have not a word to say. Itmight have been my wife or one of my little ones, and, poor as I am,I can spare none of them."
Mr. Cleveland, whose feelings were at this time in an usuallysoftened state, got up, and walked rapidly to the book-case toconceal his emotion, dashed away a tear, and muttered to himself, aswas his wont, "'Tis confoundedly affecting, that's a fact." Thenturning to the stranger, who was in the act of leaving the room, hesaid, "If you will wait a few moments I will have my carriage got;your wife and little ones must not walk on such a night as this."
"God bless you, sir!" said the stranger, in a trembling voice; "butI am too uneasy to stay a moment longer."
"Well, go on," said Mr. Cleveland, "and the carriage shall comeafter you, and I will go in it myself." The stranger brushed hishand across his eyes, and left the room without speaking a word;while Dick and Tom exchanged glances of surprise at their master'suncommon fit of philanthropy; Tom feeling fully assured that the"poor buckrahs," as he termed them, owed their good fortune to hisseasonable interference.
The carriage was soon in readiness, and Mr. Cleveland rode in it tothe spot. He found the family all gathered around the dead horse,and lamenting over it; while the father, having just arrived, wasexpatiating upon his kind reception by Mr. Cleveland. It took themsome little time to stow themselves away in the carriage, and Mr.Cleveland actually carried two sturdy children on his knees. Yes,there he was, riding through the dreadful storm, in danger everymoment from the trees which were falling all around him, with aninfant in its mother's arms squalling with all its might, and aheavy boy on each knee, and squeezed almost to death into thebargain--for there were nine in the carriage--and yet feeling sohappy! ay, far happier than he had felt for many a long day. Truly,charity brings its own reward.
When they arrived at Mr. Cleveland's house, instead of being stowedaway in an out-building, as the poor man had modestly requested,they were comfortably provided for beneath his own roof. That night,as he laid his head upon his pillow, he could not help feelingsurprised at his sudden accession of happiness. "Well, I will goon," he soliloquized; "I will pursue the path I have this nighttaken, and if I always feel as I do now, I am a new man, and willnever again talk about blowing my brains out." He slept that nightthe sleep of peace, and rose in the morning with a light heart andbuoyant spirits.
His first care was to take the father of the family aside, andgather from him the story of his misfortunes. It was a long andmournful tale, and Mr. Cleveland was obliged, more than once, topretend a sudden call out of the room, that he might hide hisemotion. And the tale was by no means told in vain. True to his newresolutions, Mr. Cleveland thankfully accepted the work whichProvidence had given him to do, and the family of emigrants, to thisday, mention the name of Cleveland with tears of gratitude and love,and, when they implore God's mercy for themselves, never forget toinvoke, for their kind benefactor, Heaven's choicest blessings. Noris that the only family whose hearts glow at the mention of Mr.Cleveland's name. Far and wide his name is known, and honoured, andbeloved.
And Mr. Cleveland has found out the real secret of happiness. It istrue that he and Tom still have their squabbles, for Tom is really aprovoking fellow, and Mr. Cleveland is, and always will be, aneccentric, impulsive man, but his heart, which, when we firstintroduced him to our readers, was far from being right with God, orwith his fellow-men, is now the dwelling-place of love and kindness,and the experience of every day contributes to strengthen the newprinciples he has imbibed, and to confirm him in the right.
Reader! art thou sad or solitary? I can offer thee a certain curefor all thy woes. Contemplate the life of Him who spake as never manspake. Follow him through all those years of toil and suffering. Seehim wherever called by the sorrows of his human brethren, andwitness his deeds of mercy and his offices of love, and then--"gothou and do likewise."
THE END.
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