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.
CHAPTER V.
WHICH IS SHORT AND MORAL, AND CAN THEREFORE BE SKIPPED
I have already said that the mere presence of the philanthropic feeling, now infused into my spirit, filled me with happiness, even while I lay upon my back, aching with wounds and bruises. It may be inferred, therefore, that my soul was ecstasy itself, when, restored at last to health and strength, I stalked into the air, dispensing charity with both hands.
Of a verity, it was – at least, for a time; and I will say, that, during the first month of my new existence, I experienced a thousand agreeable sensations, such as had never occurred to me in my whole life before. And here let me observe, that, if what I have to add shall show that there are offsets of inconvenience and tribulation even to the satisfaction of the benevolent, I do not design to throw any discredit on the virtue of benevolence itself; which I truly regard as one of the divinest of endowments, angelic in its nature, and blessed in its effects, when practised with discretion; and amiable, if not lovely, even in its folly. I believe, indeed, that if Heaven looks with peculiar indulgence on the errors of any man, it is in the case of him who has the softest judgment for the errors, and the readiest reparation for the miseries, of his fellows. What I wish to be understood is, that man is an unthankful animal, and of such rare inconsistency of temper, that he seldom foregoes an opportunity to punish the virtue which he so loudly applauds.
I was now a philanthropist, and I will say (which I think I may do without shame, the merit being less attributable to me than to that worthy deceased personage whose body I inhabited), that a truer, purer, or more zealous one never walked the earth. I should fill a book as big as a family Bible, were I to record all the good things I did or attempted, while a tenant in Zachariah Longstraw's body. All my feelings and desires were swallowed up in one great passion of philanthropy; universal benevolence was the maxim I engraved upon my heart; I had no thought but to relieve the distresses, meliorate the condition, and advance the happiness of my species. My generosity extended equally to individuals and communities; I toiled alike in the service of the beggar and the million, putting bread into the mouth of the one, and infusing moral principles into the breasts of the others. In a word, I was, as I have called myself already, a philanthropist; and if my virtue was somewhat excessive in degree, it proceeded from the sincerest promptings of spirit.
CHAPTER VI.
AN INCONVENIENCE OF BEING IN ANOTHER MAN'S BODY, WHEN CALLED UPON TO GIVE EVIDENCE AS TO ONE'S OWN EXIT
It may be supposed that the treatment I (for, of a verity, I myself came in for some share of the hard usage that killed the true Zachariah) had received from the base and brutal John Smith, must have cooled my regard for him, if it did not affect my feelings of philanthropy in general. I confess that I did regard that personage with sentiments of disgust and indignation; but, nevertheless, I was very loath to appear against him when summoned (as I was, soon after leaving my sick-bed) to give evidence on the charges preferred against him. These were two in number, and afforded matter for as many separate endictments. In the first – and, verily, I was startled when I heard it – John Smith was charged with the murder of Abram Skinner; in the second, with an assault, with intent to kill, upon myself – that is, my second self, Zachariah Longstraw – and also with robbery.
Now, if the reader will reflect a moment upon the relation in which I stood to these charges, he will allow that the necessity of testifying on them reduced me to a quandary. In the first place, I knew very well that Mr. John Smith, rogue and assassin as he was, had not killed Abram Skinner, but that I had finished that unhappy gentleman myself; and I knew also, in the second, that my admitting this fact would, without doing Mr. John Smith any good, produce a decided inconvenience to myself: – not that there was any fear I should be arraigned for murder, but because nobody would believe me. I remembered how my telling the truth to my friend John Darling, the deputy attorney, in regard to my first transformation, had caused him to believe me mad; and I foresaw that telling the truth on the present occasion would reduce me to the same predicament, and perhaps the Friends' mad-house into the bargain.
There was the same difficulty in relation to the second charge, accompanied by another still greater; for, whereas John Smith was there only accused of assault with intent to kill, he had in reality committed a murder; which if I had affirmed, as I must have done had I affirmed any thing at all, I should have been a living contradiction of my own testimony, and thus considered madder than ever.
The truth is, I was in a dilemma, out of which the truth could not extract me; and the more I thought the matter over, the greater was my embarrassment. A feeling of integrity within me (for Zachariah Longstraw was a man of conscience) urged me to speak the truth; while common sense showed me how much worse than useless truth would be in such an extraordinary conjuncture.
I received a visit from the prosecuting attorney, who very naturally expected a clear and satisfactory account of Mr. John Smith's doings on the night of the murder; and the difficulty I had with him (that is, the attorney) gave me a foretaste of what I was to expect when summoned into the witness's box in court. I remember that the gentleman, after plying me with many questions, to which he got that sort of replies invidiously termed "Quaker answers," flew into a huff, and threatened me with what would be the consequence if I should prove backward in court. And, sure enough, his prediction was verified; for, not giving a straight answer to any one question when the trial came on, I received divers reprimands from the court, and was finally committed for a contempt to prison; where I lay two or three days, until called into court again to give evidence on the second endictment, Mr. John Smith having been found not guilty on the first. This was owing in part, I presume, to the testimony of several surgeons, who deposed that there were no marks of violence upon Abram Skinner's body; although the evidence of the watchman, who had seen him alive through the window, and afterward found John Smith burying his dead body in the same hole with myself, went rather hard with him. I say the acquittal was perhaps owing in part to the testimony of the surgeons; though much of it might be attributed to the marvellous humanity that reigns in the criminal courts of the city of Brotherly Love, to the great benefit and encouragement of that proscribed and injured class of men, namely – murderers.
I made little better work of the second attempt at witnessing; but, as I have matters of much greater importance to demand my attention, and the reader can easily infer what I did and what I did not affirm, I must beg to despatch the second trial by relating that I was packed off a second time to prison for contempt, but that the evidence of the watchman, and my late wounds and bruises, were esteemed sufficient to secure the prisoner's conviction; and accordingly John Smith was convicted, and accommodated with lodgings in the penitentiary for the fourth time.
My own incarceration was of no long duration. My contumacy, as it was called, was considered extraordinary; but it was generally thought to be owing to a mistaken humanity, and a perverted, Quixotic conscientiousness, such as are common enough among persons of the persuasion I then belonged to. This, and perhaps the circumstance that I was yet in feeble health (for the trial, as I said, took place soon after I left my bed), caused me to be treated with lenity; and in a few days I was liberated.
All this, I beg the reader to understand, happened before the reconciliation with my nephew Jonathan, and, of course, before I had well begun my career of philanthropy. Of that career, of some of my deeds of goodness, and of the consequences they produced, I shall now speak.
CHAPTER VII.
THE SORROWS OF A PHILANTHROPIST
My benevolence was of a two-fold character, being both theoretic and practical. In the latter sense, is to be regarded the relief which I granted with my own hands to such suffering persons as I could lay them on; and there was no way in which I did not personally relieve some one wretch or other. By the former, I understand a thousand schemes which I devised and framed, to enlist the sympathies of communities, and so relieve the afflicted in a mass; besides a thousand others which were designed to bestow upon the poor and vicious that virtuous knowledge and those virtuous principles, which are better than alms of gold and silver. I instituted some half a dozen charitable societies, to supply fuel, clothing, food, and employment to the suffering poor; as well as others to exhort them to economy, industry, prudence, fortitude, and so forth. I formed societies even among themselves, classing divers isolated creatures into bands, who wrought in common, and disposed of their wares, either in a shop kept for the purpose, or at fairs. I established schools to keep the children of the poor out of mischief, and one in particular I supported solely from my own, that is to say, Zachariah Longstraw's pocket.
I bestowed much of my regards upon the poor wretches in prison, doing all that I was permitted to effect a reformation in their habits and feelings; and I took uncommon pains to scatter light and sentiments of a civilized character among the worthy representatives of the Green Island, who make up so large a portion of our suffering population.
And let it not be supposed that I neglected that other class of poor creatures, called negroes, whom, although allowed the name, and most of the privileges of freemen, their white brethren refuse to take to their bosoms, merely because they have black faces, woolly heads, and an ill savour of body. For myself, verily, if they were not comely in my sight, nor agreeable to my nostrils, I said, "Heaven hath made them so;" and although my nephew Jonathan insisted that Heaven had done the same thing with other animals, and that, upon my principles, men should be as affectionate with pigs and badgers as they were with cats and lap-dogs, I perceived that they were my brethern, and that it became me to conquer the prejudices lying only in my eyes and nostrils. I girded my loins to the work, and verily, I prevailed over the weakness of the old Adam. Of a verity, I was the African's friend.
But, oh! the wickedness of the world, and the ingratitude thereof! The heart of man is even as the soil of the earth, which, the more it is stirred up by cultivation, the more barren and worthless it becomes. It is as the fields of the Ancient Dominion, where, if a man soweth barley and corn, he shall reap a harvest of Jamestown weed, poke-berries, and scrub pines. It is as the bulldog that one feedeth with beef and other wholesome viands, who, the moment he has done his dinner, snaps, for his dessert, at the feeder's heel. It is as the tender flowers, which, in the winter-time, a man taketh from the cold, to warm, by night, in his chamber, and which smother him with foul air before morning. Verily, it was my lot to find, even as my nephew Jonathan had once foolishly contended, that even philanthropy is not secure from the sting of unthankfulness – that benevolence is, in one sense, the great parent of ingratitude – since it begets it. For a period of full seven months (for so long did I remain in Zachariah's body, after recoving my health), I laboured to do good to my fellows, and, verily, I laboured with might and main. Yet, had I toiled with the same energy to injure and oppress, I almost doubt whether I should have been rewarded with more manifold outpourings of wrath and fury. Verily, as I said before, the world is a wicked world, and I begin to doubt whether man can make it better.
One of the first mishaps that befell me was of the following nature. Stepping one morning into the mayor's office, which was a favourite haunt with me, seeing that misery doth there greatly abound, I fell upon a man whom the magistrate was about to commit to jail, for being drunk and beating his wife and children, he being unable to pay the fine imposed upon him, and to find surety for his future good behaviour.
The spirit stirred within me as I beheld the contrite looks of the culprit, and I said to myself – "While he lies in jail, his poor wife and his infants may perish with hunger." I paid the fine, and, though the mayor did very broadly hint to me that a little punishment would do the man good, and his wife too, seeing that he was a barbarous fellow, I offered myself for his security, and thus sent him back to his rejoicing family. I said to myself – "This very night will I witness the happiness I have created." I went accordingly to the man's house, where I found the wicked fellow raving with drink, and beating his wife as before, his children screaming with terror, and the neighbours crying out for a constable. I did but say a word of reprehension to him, when the brutish ingrate, leaving his rib, fell foul of myself, mauling me cruelly; and I believe he would have beaten me to death, had I not been rescued by the timely appearance of a constable. "Thee sees the end of thy humanity!" said the mayor, when I entered his office the next morning, that my black eye and bruised visage might testify against the ungrateful man; "thee will not object to my committing the fellow now?"
"Nay," said I; "it is drunkenness that has made the poor man mad. Therefore lock him up in prison until his madness hath departed."
"I will," said the mayor; "and thee will have the goodness to pay over to the clerk the hundred dollars in which thee bound thyself that the rascal should keep the peace."
"Verily," said I, "it is not just I should pay the money; for the beating was upon my own body."
"Truly," said the mayor, "and so it was; and therefore it is the harder that thee should have to pay it. But pay it thee must, the man having broken the peace as much in beating thee, as if it had been any other citizen of the commonwealth."
And so much satisfaction I had for befriending the sot; the charity, which did more harm than good even to the man's poor family, since it exposed them a second time to his fury, costing me, without counting the fine paid on the first day, a sore beating and one hundred dollars.
My next misadventure was the being cheated in a very aggravated way by a poor man to whom I loaned money, without exacting bond or voucher, the same being loaned to re-establish him in a gainful business, which had been interrupted by an unfortunate accident. For, having prospered in his business, and I requiring that he should now repay the money, that I might devote it to the service of others, he very impudently averred that he had never had any thing of me, except advice and a good word of recommendation here and there; swore that he never paid away or received a cent without giving or taking a receipt; defied me to prove my claim; and concluded his baseness by threatening to kick me out of his workshop.
These instances of ingratitude were followed by others of a still deeper die, and so numerous, that I can mention only a few of them.
Walking one day to that infant school which I had established, to keep children out of mischief while their hard-working parents were at their daily labours, I perceived the urchins standing at the door, pelting the passers-by with mud. Reproving them for this misconduct, the graceless vagabonds did speedily turn their battery upon myself; and, not content to plaster and bespatter me with mud-balls from head to foot, they fell upon me, and, being very numerous, did actually roll me about in a gutter, where was a deep slough, so that I had nearly perished with suffocation, being sorely bruised into the bargain. To crown all, having expelled from my school the ringleaders in this marvellous outbreaking of precocious ingratitude, I was visited by their parents, all of them abusing me for my tyrannical usage of their children (although, of a truth, the tyranny was all on the side of the juveniles), and impudently demanding that I should pay them for their boys' time, at the rate of twenty-five cents a week each, for as many weeks as I had had them at school. Of a surety, some people are very unreasonable.
It was also my misfortune to offend divers tailors and shopkeepers, by benevolently taking part in the efforts of their poor unfortunate needle-women to obtain better wages; and one day, in the streets, these angry men did hustle me, and tear a tail from my coat. But I consoled myself for this violence, by thinking of the gratitude of the poor creatures I was defending; when, making my way, the following evening, to their place of assembly, I was set upon by the whole crew, for that I did hint, that, as their difficulties did chiefly proceed from their numbers, there being more hands at the business of sewing than were required, they would greatly benefit themselves, and the community too, by going, two thirds of them at least, into service, there being ever a great want of domestics in our respectable families. I say, I did but hint this reasonable and undeniable truth, together with a friendly remark upon the exposed state of their morals, when there arose such a storm among them as was never perhaps witnessed by any other human being. "Hear the old hunks!" said one: "he wants to make niggur servants of us! us, that is freeborn American girls!" – "Yes, ladies!" said another, "and he is insinivating we are no better nor we should be!" – "Turn the old rip out!" said a third; and "Turn him out!" cried the other three hundred and fifty there present. Of a verity, they did assail me with both tongue and nail, testifying such vigour of spirit and strength of arm, that, were I a philanthropist now, which I fortunately am not, and were I moved to consult their interests as before, I should endeavour to form them into a regiment of soldiers, not doubting that they would, at any moment, prevail over twice their numbers of male fighting men. Of a verity, I say, they did violently pull me about, thrusting me at last from the apartment: and their ingratitude was a sore wound to my spirit.