University of Virginia Library

SO MANY CALLS.
A SKETCH.

It was a brisk, clear evening in the latter part
of December, when Mr. A— returned from his
counting-house to the comforts of a bright coal fire
and warm arm-chair in his parlour at home. He
changed his heavy boots for slippers, drew around
him the folds of his evening gown, and then, lounging
back in the chair, looked up to the ceiling and
about with an air of satisfaction. Still there was a
cloud on his brow: what could be the matter with
Mr. A—? To tell the truth, he had that afternoon
received in his counting-room the agent of
one of the principal religious charities of the day,
and had been warmly urged to double his last
year's subscription, and the urging had been pressed
by statements and arguments to which he did
not know well how to reply. “People think,” soliloquized
he to himself, “that I am made of money,
I believe; this is the fourth object this year for
which I have been requested to double my subscription,
and this year has been one of heavy family
expenses—building and fitting up this house—
carpets, curtains—no end to the new things to be

bought—I really do not see how I am to give a cent
more in charity; then there are the bills for the
girls and the boys—they all say that they must have
twice as much now as before we came into this
house: wonder if I did right in building it?” And
Mr. A— glanced up and down the ceiling, and
around on the costly furniture, and looked into the
fire in silence. He was tired, harassed, and drowsy;
his head began to swim, and his eyes closed—
he was asleep. In his sleep he thought he heard a
tap at the door; he opened it, and there stood a
plain, poor-looking man, who, in a voice singularly
low and sweet, asked for a few moments' conversation
with him. Mr. A— asked him into the
parlour, and drew him a chair near the fire. The
stranger looked attentively around, and then, turning
to Mr. A—, presented him with a paper.
“It is your last year's subscription to Missions,”
said he; “you know all of the wants of that cause
that can be told you; I called to see if you had
anything more to add to it.”

This was said in the same low and quiet voice
as before; but, for some reason unaccountable to
himself, Mr. A — was more embarrassed by the
plain, poor, unpretending man, than he had been in
the presence of any one before. He was for some
moments silent before he could reply at all, and
then, in a hurried and embarrassed manner, he began

the same excuses which had appeared so satisfactory
to him the afternoon before—the hardness
of the times, the difficulty of collecting money,
family expenses, &c.

The stranger quietly surveyed the spacious
apartment, with its many elegances and luxuries,
and without any comment took from the merchant
the paper he had given, but immediately presented
him with another.

“This is your subscription to the Tract Society:
have you anything to add to it; you know how
much it has been doing, and how much more it
now desires to do, if Christians would only furnish
means: do you not feel called upon to add something
to it?”

Mr. A— was very uneasy under this appeal,
but there was something in the mild manner of the
stranger that restrained him; but he answered that,
although he regretted it exceedingly, his circumstances
were such that he could not this year conveniently
add to any of his charities.

The stranger received back the paper without
any reply, but immediately presented in its place
the subscription to the Bible Society, and in a few
clear and forcible words, reminded him of its well-known
claims, and again requested him to add
something to his donations. Mr. A— became
impatient.

“Have I not said,” he replied, “that I can do
nothing more for any charity than I did last year?
There seems to be no end to the calls upon us in
these days. At first there were only three or four
objects presented, and the sums required were moderate;
now the objects increase every day; all call
upon us for money, and all, after we give once
want us to double and treble our subscriptions:
there is no end to the thing; we may as well stop
in one place as another.”

The stranger took back the paper, rose, and, fixing
his eye on his companion, said in a voice that
thrilled to his soul,

“One year ago to-night you thought that your
daughter lay dying; you could not sleep for agony:
upon whom did you call all that night?”

The merchant started and looked up; there
seemed a change to have passed over the whole
form of his visiter, whose eye was fixed on him with
a calm, intense, penetrating expression, that awed
and subdued him; he drew back, covered his face,
and made no reply.

“Five years ago,” said the stranger, “when you
lay at the brink of the grave, and thought that if
you died then you should leave a family of helpless
children entirely unprovided for, do you remember
how you prayed? who saved you then?”

The stranger paused for an answer, but there

was a dead silence. The merchant only bent forward
as one entirely overcome, and rested his head
on the seat before him.

The stranger drew yet nearer, and said, in a still
lower and more impressive tone, “Do you remember,
fifteen years since, that time when you felt
yourself so lost, so helpless, so hopeless; when you
spent days and nights in prayer; when you thought
you would give the whole world for one hour's assurance
that your sins were forgiven you?—who
listened to you then?”

“It was my God and Saviour!” said the merchant,
with a sudden burst of remorseful feeling;
“oh, yes, it was he.”

“And has He ever complained of being called on
too often,” inquired the stranger, in a voice of reproachful
sweetness; “say,” he added, “are you
willing to begin this night, and ask no more of Him,
if he, from this night, will ask no more from you?”

“Oh, never, never!” said the merchant, throwing
himself at his feet; but, as he spake these words,
the figure seemed to vanish, and he awoke with his
whole soul stirred within him.

`Oh, my Saviour! what have I been saying?
what have I been doing?” he exclaimed. “Take
all, take everything! what is all that I have to
what thou hast done for me!”