University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
In which the young man Jonathan argues several cases of conscience,
which are recommended to be brought before Yearly Meeting.

My nephew Jonathan had no great love for poor
Abel; and he did not tell me his story without passing
sundry sarcasms on him, as well as myself, for
bestowing so much confidence on the poor unfortunate
man. I rebuked the youth for his freedom
and uncharitableness, and remembering what Abel
had told me of his own idle and trifling course of
life, I felt impelled by the new spirit of virtue that
possessed me to take him to task; which I did in
the following manner; and it is wondrous how
completely and how soon (for I was yet lying on
my back, groaning with my unhealed wounds and
bruises) my spirit assumed and acted upon all that
was peculiar in the nature of Zachariah Longstraw.

“Nevvy Jonathan,” said I, “the uncharitableness
of thy spirit afflicts me. Trouble not thyself to
censure the worthy Abel Snipe; but think how
thou shalt amend thine own crying faults. It has
been said to me, Jonathan, my son, and verily I
fear it is true, that thou squeakest upon flutes, and
that thou makest profane noises with fiddles; and,
furthermore, that thou runnest after, and dost buy,

the vanity of pictures, and triest thy hand at painting
the same.”

“I do,” said Jonathan; “and I find nothing
against them in the Scripture.”

“Verily,” said I, “but dost thou find nothing
against them in thine own spirit?”

“Not a whit,” said Jonathan; “my heart says
love them, and my head approves the counsel.
Where's the harm in these things? I know thee
don't say they are in themselves sinful.”

“Verily, no,” said I; “but they are indirectly
so; for, being wholly useless, the time bestowed
upon them is time lost and wasted; and that, nevvy
Jonathan, I think thee will allow to be sinful.”

“Not I,” said Jonathan, stoutly; “I don't believe
the wasting of time to be any such heinous
matter as thee supposes; had it been so, man
would not have been made to waste a third of his
existence in slumber. But granting this, for the
sake of argument, I deny thy premises, uncle
Zachariah. The time bestowed upon these things
is not wasted. Heaven has given to nine men out
of ten a capacity to enjoy both music and painting;
it has done more—it has set an example of
both before our eyes, and thus laid the foundation
of the divine arts in Nature. What is the world
around us but a great concert-hall, echoing with
the music of bird and beast, of wind, water, and
foliage? what but a great gallery of pictures, painted
by the hand of Providence? Nature is a painter—
Nature is a musician; and her sons can do

nothing better than follow her example. But were
Nature neither, it is not the less evident that these
arts are lawful and sinless. They can be proved
so, uncle Zachariah, upon thine own system of philanthropy;
for they add to the happiness of our existence,
and they do so without corrupting our
morals or injuring our neighbours. I say, uncle,”
quoth Jonathan, who had pronounced this defence
with much enthusiasm, and now concluded with a
grin of triumph, “I have thee there dead as a herring!”

“Verily,” said I, more pleased than offended at
the young man's ingenuity, for my spirit yearned
over him the more at every word, “thee has a talent
for argument, which I would thee would cultivate;
for then thee could get into the Assembly,
and finally, perhaps, into Congress, and do much
good to thy fellow-men, by reforming divers crying
abuses.”

“Verily,” said he, “the first thing I should reform
would be thy philanthropy.”

“Don't be funny, nevvy,” said I, “for I have not
done with thee. Thee was dancing last night, in
the house of the vain man Ebenezer Wild.”

“I was,” said Jonathan; “I was shaking my
legs; and I can't see the harm of it, for the flies
do the same thing all day long.”

“Verily, thee should remember that a reasonable
being, that hath a brain, should rather exercise that
than his heels.”

“I grant thee,” said Jonathan; “but thee knows

brains are not so abundant as heels; and thee should
expect the mass of people to conduct according to
their endowments.”

“Jonathan,” said I, “if thee thinks to make me
laugh, thee is mistaken. Of a verity I will not be
rigid with thee; but, verily, I must speak to thee
of what I hold thy faults. Thou hast a vain and
eager hankering after the society of giddy women.”

“I have!” said Jonathan, with great fervour.
“Heaven made women to be loved, and I love
them—especially Ellen Wild!”

“Sure,” said I, “I have heard that name?”

“Sure,” said Jonathan, “it would be odd if thee
had not; for thee knows her well—thine old friend
Ebenezer's daughter.”

“A giddy girl, Jonathan, I fear me; a giddy girl!”

“As giddy as the dev—that is, as giddy as a
goose,” said Jonathan.

“What!” said I; “thee meant something worse!
Verily, I have heard thee uses bad language, Jonathan.”

“By jingo!” said the youth, indignantly, “there
is no end to the slanders people will say of one. I
use bad language? By jingo!”

“Why, thee is at it now,” said I; “let thy yea
be yea, and thy nay nay; for all beyond is profanity
or folly. But thee will allow, Jonathan, that
when thee is among the people of the world, thee
uses the language thereof, forgetting the language
of simplicity and sobriety, which would best become
thy lips?”

“Ay; there I plead guilty, and with good reason
too,” said Jonathan. “When I was a boy, thee
had thoughts of making me a merchant, and thee
compelled me to study French and German. Now,
when I meet a Frenchman or a German unacquainted
with the English tongue, in what language
does thee suppose I address him?”

“Why, French or German, to be sure.”

“Verily, I do,” said the youth; “and when I
get among the people of the world, I speak to
them in the language of the world; for, poor ignorant
creatures, they don't understand Quaker.
Moreover, uncle, does thee know Ellen Wild is of
opinion we Friends don't speak good grammar?
Now she and I spent a whole hour the other evening,
trying to parse `thee is,' `thee does,' `thee
loves,' and so on, and we could not work them according
to Murray. I say, uncle, does thee know
of any command in Scripture to speak bad grammar?”

“No,” said I; “but it is not forbidden; and the
phrases mentioned, thou knowest, have crept into
our speech as corruptions, and are only used for
conversational purposes.”

“Truly,” said Jonathan, “and the language of
the world is used for conversational purposes also.
I say, uncle Zachariah, that now's a clincher!”

“I won't quarrel with thee on this account, Jonathan.
But how comes it thou wert seen in that
wicked place, the theatre?”

“By jingo!” said he, “Snipe has been blabbing
there too!”

“What!” said I, “does thou strive to conceal
it?”

“Yea,” said Jonathan; “for when we do our
good deeds, we should do them in secret. Uncle
Zachariah, I went to the theatre in charity.”

“Thee did,” said I, charmed more than I can express
at the thought of the young man's virtue.

“Yes, uncle,” said the youth; “and great need
have the actors of charity; for a poorer set of fellows
I think I never saw got together.” And here
the rogue fell a laughing in my face: “And so
thee need not distress thyself; for I sha'n't go there
again until they get a better company. But, uncle
Zachariah, thee has exhorted me enough for one
time, and it is my turn now. So do thou be conformable,
and answer my questions; for, I can tell
thee, I have a fault to find with thee. According
to thine own system of philanthropy, it is thy duty
to make thy fellow-creatures happy. Now I ask
thee whether thou dost not think it thy duty to
make me, thy loving nephew, happy, as well as a
stranger?”

“Verily,” said I, “I do.”

“Why then,” said Jonathan, “there is a short
way of doing it. Uncle Zachariah, I want to be
married. Ellen and I have talked the matter over,
and she says she'll have me. Now, uncle, thee did
once talk of giving me a counting-house, and ten
or twenty thousand dollars, as the case might be, to

begin a commission business; and Mr. Wild talked
of doing as much in the way of dowry to Ellen.
And now I say, uncle Zachariah, as the shipwrecked
sailor did when he prayed among the breakers,
if thee means to help me, now's the time.”

“What!” said I, “have I so much property?”

“Thee is joking,” said the youth; “thee is a
rich man, and thee knows thee can afford it. But
thee must do it soon, or it may be too late; for, I
can tell thee, folks begin to talk of thy philanthropy,
and say thou art flinging away so much money
that presently thou wilt have nothing left to give
me. Mr. Wild is of this mind, and he has hinted
some things to me very plainly. In a word, uncle,
if thee does not permit me to marry Ellen soon, he
will break the match. And so, if thee will make
me a happy man—”

“I will,” said I, with uncommon fervour; “thee
shall marry the maiden, and I will straightway see
what I can do for thee. Verily, what is wealth
but the dross of the earth, unless used to purchase
happiness for those that are worthy.”

At these words Jonathan leaped for joy, seized
my hand and kissed it, vowed I was “his dear old
dad, for all I was only his uncle,” and ran from the
room—doubtless to impart the happy tidings to his
mistress.