University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
Containing little or nothing save apostrophes, exhortations, and
quarrels.

How happy was I, to think I had conferred happiness
upon another! how agreeable my sensations!
how delightful the approbation of my own heart!
How much I rejoiced that my soul had at last found
a habitation equal to its wishes! an abode of peace!
a dwelling of content! “If I am Zachariah Longstraw,”
said I to myself, “I will show myself worthy
of the name; I will spend his money in the
great cause of philanthropy; I will make the afflicted
smile; I will win the blessings of the poor;
I will do more good than even Zachariah Longstraw
himself: yea, of a surety, I will devote myself
to a life of virtue!”

While I was making these virtuous resolutions,
the faithful Abel Snipe came to my bedside, and told
me there were divers suffering creatures, widows
with nine small children, widowers with fourteen,
sick old women, and starving old men, in great
need of relief; and so affecting was the picture he
drew of their griefs, that the tears rolled from my
eyes, and I bade him, if there was any money he
could honestly lay his hands on, carry comfort to
them all.

“Verily,” said he, “I have just collected the

quarter's rent of the house in Market-street; and
it will be enough, and more.”

“Relieve the poor afflicted creatures, then.. And
hark thee, Abel Snipe, does thee consider me a
rich man? If so, let me know where I can find
twenty thousand dollars to set up the young man
Jonathan in business, and marry him to the maiden
Ellen Wild.”

“Alas!” said Abel Snipe; “of a verity, the
young man is in a hurry; and alas! for, of a verity,
if thee takes away at this time such a great
sum from thee possessions, thee will cut off the
right hand of thee charity.”

And thereupon the benevolent creature, after
showing me, which it was easy to do, that, with the
mere revenue of the sum demanded, if kept in our
own hands, we could carry smiles and rejoicing into
at least a hundred families every year, exhorted
me not to forget that I was the friend of the afflicted,
nor to faint in the good work of philanthropy.
Jonathan was a very young man, he said—only
twenty-five—happy in his youth, happy in his affections,
happy in the certain prospect he enjoyed
of sooner or later arriving at the fullest felicity.
Why should he not then consent, like us, to forego
for a while his selfish desires, contribute his portion
to the wants of the poor, and, by labouring a
few years in their cause, approve himself worthy
of fortune? How much better that he should endure
a fancied ill, than that a hundred afflicted
families should be given up to actual want? He

contended that the young man's request was untimely
and selfish, and that I would only harden
his heart, while breaking a thousand others, if I
granted it. In short, he said so many things, and
painted so many affecting pictures of the miseries
of my fellow-creatures, and the beauties of charity,
that my mind was quite changed on the subject,
and I perceived it was my duty to resist the young
man's wishes.

This change, on the morrow (being the first day
that I was able to sit up), I explained to Jonathan,
exhorting him, with a feeling enthusiasm, to tear
all narrow, selfish feelings from his heart, and
embark with me, like a virtuous youth, in the great
enterprise of philanthropy. He fell into a passion,
told me my philanthropy was a fudge, and Abel
Snipe a rogue and hypocrite; vowed I had a greater
regard for knaves and paupers than for my own
flesh and blood, and was flinging away my money
only to encourage vice and beggary. It was in
vain I sought to pacify the indignant youth. An
evil spirit seized upon him. He did nothing
for three days but scold, reproach, and complain.
He abused the faithful Abel to his face, calling him
a fox, viper, cormorant, harpy, and I know not
what beside; all which Abel endured with patience
and resignation, for he was of a meek and
humble spirit. Nay, not content with this, he proceeded
on the third day to greater lengths, and did
very intemperately fall upon the said Abel Snipe,
tweaking him by the nose and ears, until the poor

man yelled with pain—and even endeavoured to
kick him out of the house; after which, being censured
for the same, and I siding with Abel, as justice
demanded, in the controversy, his resentment
grew to such a pitch that he left the house, declaring
he would live with me no longer, but leave
me to ruin myself at my leisure.

This was an occurrence that caused me much
pain, for verily I had an exceeding great love for the
young man, and I perceived that he was treating
me with ingratitude. I was, however, greatly
comforted by the increased zeal and affection of
the ever-faithful Abel; who, coming to me with
tears in his eyes, declared that he could not bear
the thought of being a cause of dissension between
me and my nephew, and therefore besought
me that I would discard him from my presence,
when I could again live happily with my Jonathan.

I resisted, while duly appreciating the good
man's friendship; and, fortunately, there needed
no such sacrifice on my part; for, on the eleventh
day, Jonathan returned of his own accord, and,
confessing his folly, and entreating Abel's forgiveness,
as well as mine, was restored again to favour.
His return itself was grateful to my feelings; but
the reader may judge how great was my rapture,
when Jonathan avowed a change in his sentiments
on the subject of philanthropy, and declared that
the spirit at last moved him to think of his suffering
fellow-creatures. He entreated to be conducted
to the abodes of affliction, and there the

conversion was completed. He became a changed
man, and in a few days was almost as zealous an
alms-giver as myself. I took him to my arms, and
said—

“Now, Jonathan, thee is a man in whom I no
longer fear the seductions of the flesh. Thee shall
marry the maid Ellen, and be set up in business.”

“Nay,” said Jonathan; “not so. I am yet but
as a youth in years, and the time sufficeth for all
things. Let not the whirl of business and the joy
of the honey-moon disturb the virtue that is yet
young and frail in my bosom. Of a verity, Ellen
Wild will wait till the fall; and if she don't, and
my heart should be broken, verily I shall then be
better enabled to sympathize with the wretched.”

Such was the lofty, though new-born virtue of
my Jonathan!

But of that, as well as our works of benevolence,
I shall speak in the following chapters.