Evening at Home 79
In a chamber of a house in an obscure part of the town a gang of
clippers and coiners were detected by the officers of justice. A poor
lame fellow, who lived in the adjoining room, was brought along with the
rest for examination. “Well,” said one of the justices, “and who are
you?”
“Please your worship, I am a poor man who have lost the use of my limbs
these seven years.”
“And how have you been supported all that time?”
“Why, sir, I might have starved long ago, as I have no settlement in
these parts, and the masters for whom I worked would do nothing for me,
but a very good gentleman has been so kind as to give me five shillings
a week for these six years.”
“Ay! you were lucky, indeed, to light upon such a kind gentleman. Pray,
what is his name?”
“I don’t know it, your worship.”
“No!—that’s very strange, that you should not know the name of the
person who keeps you from starving. But where does he live?”
“Indeed, sir, I don’t know that neither. I know nothing at all of him
but the good he does me.”
“Why, how came you at first to be acquainted with him?”
“I had just been turned out of the hospital incurable, and was thinking
that nothing remained for me but begging and starving in the streets,
when the gentleman came up to my poor lodging (God knows how he found
it) and gave me a guinea to buy some necessaries, and told me, if I
would do what little I could to maintain myself, he would take care that
I should not want. And ever since, either he or his man has brought me a
crown every week.”
“This story, my friend, will hardly pass. But tell me what trade you
worked at before you lost the use of your limbs?”
“Plating and gilding, your worship.”
“O! ho! Then you understand working in metals! You must be kept till you
give a more probable account of yourself.”
The poor man in vain protested that every word he had said was true, and
offered to bring proof of his honesty and sobriety from his neighbours;
he was ordered to a place of confinement till further examination. The
constable was taking him thither, when by good fortune he chanced to spy
his benefactor crossing the street just before him. He called aloud, and
requested him to stop; and then in a piteous tone relating his story,
entreated him to go back with them to the justice, and bear witness in
his behalf. This could not be refused. They were admitted into a crowded
hall, when the constable told the cause of his return. All eyes were
turned upon the gentleman, who was desired to give his name. “It is
Mortimer,” said he. He then, in a few words, mentioned, that having some
years ago come to the knowledge of the poor man’s character and
distress, he had since taken care of him.
“’Tis enough, sir,” said a gentleman at the board; “I have the honour of
being a neighbour of yours, but I did not before know _what_ a neighbour
I had.” Mr. Mortimer bowed and retired. The poor fellow was discharged.
Two maiden sisters, daughters of a very worthy tradesman, whom
misfortunes had reduced to poverty, and who died of a broken heart, were
for several years supported by an annuity of forty pounds each, which
came from an unknown quarter. The mode in which they received it was,
that twice a year, at night, a person knocked at the door of their
lodging, which was upon a second floor, and delivered into the hands of
one of them a parcel containing two twenty-pound bank-notes, with a
paper on which was written, “To be continued—no inquiry!” Though this
injunction prevented them from taking any steps to detect their
benefactor, yet many were the conjectures which, between themselves,
they made on this subject, but without attaining to the least
probability. One night, about the time that the above-related events
happened, the person, who came as usual to deliver the notes, on hastily
turning round to retire, fell from the top of the stairs to the bottom.
The lady shrieked out, and running down, found the man lying senseless
and bloody. Help was procured, and he was taken up to their lodging. A
surgeon was immediately sent for, who, by bleeding and other means,
restored him to his senses. As soon as the man recovered his speech, he
requested to be taken to his master’s. “Who is your master?” cried the
surgeon; “Mr. Mortimer, of —— Court.”—“What!” exclaimed the elder of the
ladies, “Mr. Mortimer, my poor father’s greatest creditor—is it he to
whom we have been so long indebted for everything?” The man laid his
finger on his lips, and she was silent, but not a word had escaped the
surgeon. The servant was sent away in a coach, the surgeon accompanying
him. They arrived at Mr. Mortimer’s, where, after the confusion
occasioned by the accident had subsided, the surgeon found that the face
of both master and man were familiar to him. “I am sure I am not
mistaken,” said he, “you are the gentleman who so charitably took care
of the poor fellow that had such a bad broken leg in this neighbourhood,
and paid me for my attendance.” Mr. Mortimer assented. “Here is a double
discovery,” said the surgeon to himself; and on taking his leave,
“Permit me to assure you, sir,” he cried, “that I venerate you beyond
any other human being!”—At the corner of the court where Mr. Mortimer
resided was a shoemaker’s shop, kept by a man who had a wife and five
children. He was one of the most industrious creatures breathing, and
with great exertions was just able to maintain decently his family, of
whom he was extremely fond. A younger brother of his had come up out of
the country, and obtained a place in a public office, for which it was
necessary to give security; and he had prevailed upon his brother to
enter into a joint bond with him for two hundred pounds. The brother
fell into vicious courses, and at length absconded with all the money he
was intrusted with. The shoemaker was now called upon to pay the
forfeiture of his bond, which, on account of bad debts, and having been
lately drained of all his ready money to pay for leather, he was unable
to do; and, in consequence, was sent to jail. The distress this brought
upon the family was aggravated by the condition of his wife, who was
near lying-in; and their mutual affection was turned into a source of
the bitterest grief. He had been about six weeks in prison, without any
prospect of release, all his friends and relations having been in vain
tried, when, one evening, the keeper who had treated him with much
compassion, came up to his room with pleasure in his countenance, and
said, “You are free.” The poor man could at first scarcely believe him,
but finding him persist in the truth of it, he almost fainted away
through surprise and joy. When he was sufficiently recovered to reflect
on the matter, he was quite bewildered in conjecturing how it had been
brought about. He could only learn, that a discharge of the debt bad
been sent to the jail, and all the fees and expenses there paid by a
person whose name was unknown, but whose face they were well acquainted
with, as he had several times been on the same errand there before. “O!”
cried the shoemaker, “that I could but know my benefactor!” He hastened
home, where his unexpected appearance almost overwhelmed his poor
family. On talking over the business with his wife, he learned that Mr.
Mortimer’s servant had a few days before been at the shop, and had been
very particular in inquiring the cause and place of his confinement.
This occasioned a strong suspicion, for Mr. Mortimer’s character now
came to be talked of; and soon after it was changed into certainty by a
visit from the keeper of the prison, who acquainted the shoemaker, that
they had now discovered who his benefactor and that of so many others
was; one of their people having chanced to be at the sessions-house when
Mr. Mortimer appeared there in behalf of the lame man taken up on
suspicion, and having recognised him to be the same person. The
shoemaker was overjoyed at this intelligence, but was still at a loss to
know in what manner he ought to express his gratitude. He was afraid of
offending, by doing it in a public manner, as it had evidently been Mr.
Mortimer’s intention to remain concealed; yet it was necessary that his
heart should have some vent for its emotions. He took his wife and
children, and went to Mr. Mortimer’s house, desiring to speak with him.
Being admitted into the study, the poor man began a speech which he had
prepared; but instead of going on, he burst into a fit of crying, fell
on his knees, seizing one hand of his benefactor, while his wife did the
same on the other side, and kissing them with the utmost fervency, both
in a broken voice implored endless blessings on his head. The children
fell on their knees, too, and held up their little hands. Mr. Mortimer
was moved and remained awhile silent; at length, recollecting himself,
“Too much! too much!” he cried, “Go home, go home, my good people! God
bless you all!” and thus dismissed them.
An old clergyman from the country came up to town on business about this
time, and paid a visit to an intimate friend of the same profession.
After some mutual greetings and inquiries, “Ah! my good friend,” said
the country clergyman, “our parish has undergone a blessed alteration
since you knew it! The principal estate was sold some years ago to a
gentleman in London, who is one of those few that are never wearied in
well-doing. He built, in the first place, half a score neat cottages,
where all the industrious poor who are past labour are comfortably
maintained at his expense. He endowed a free school for all the children
of the parish without exception, where they are taught to read and
write, and some of the poorest are clothed. Every winter he orders the
baker to deliver twice a week a large loaf at the house of each cottager
during the hard weather. He has frequently remitted his rents to poor
tenants in bad seasons; and, in short, I should never have done were I
to enumerate all his deeds of charity. I myself have in various ways
been much indebted to him, and I am well informed that he contributes
largely to the support of an aged dissenting minister in the parish. But
what is singular, he is very shy of being seen, nor do we know anything
of his rank and profession, or his town residence; nay, I believe we
should not have learned his name, had not the purchase necessarily made
it public. It is Mortimer.”
“Why,” said his friend, “I have a parishioner of that name; and from
what I have lately heard of him, I suspect him to be the man.”
“Could not I get a sight of him?” replied the first.
“Probably you may,” said the other; and presently, seeing him cross the
court, he pointed him out.
“Ah! that is the blessed man!” exclaimed the old clergyman in a rapture.
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