Good-Hearted People
There are two classes in the world: one acts from impulse, and theother from reason; one consults the heart, and the other the head.Persons belonging to the former class are very much liked by themajority of those who come in contact with them: while those of thelatter class make many enemies in their course through life. Still,the world owes as much to the latter as to the former--perhaps agreat deal more.Mr. Archibald May belonged to the former class; he was known as agood-hearted man. He uttered the word "no" with great difficulty;and was never known to have deliberately said that to another whichhe knew would hurt his feelings. If any one about him acted wrong,he could not find it in his heart to wound him by calling hisattention to the fact. On one occasion, a clerk was detected inpurloining money; but it was all hushed up, and when Mr. Maydismissed him, he gave him a certificate of good character."How could you do so?" asked a neighbor, to whom he mentioned thefact."How could I help doing it? The young man had a chance of getting agood place. It would have been cruel in me to have refused to aidhim. A character was required, and I could do no less than give it.Poor, silly fellow! I am sure I wish him well. I always liked him.""Suppose he robs his present employer?""He won't do that, I'm certain. He is too much ashamed of hisconduct while in my store. It is a lesson to him. And, at any rate,I do not think a man should be hunted down for a single fault.""No: of course not. But, when you endorse a man's character, youlead others to place confidence in him; a confidence that may bebetrayed under very aggravated circumstances.""Better that many suffer, than that one innocent man should becondemned and cast off.""But there is no question about guilt or innocence. It was fullyproved that this young man robbed you.""Suppose it was. No doubt the temptation was very strong. I don'tbelieve he will ever be guilty of such a thing again.""You have the best evidence in the world that he will, in the factthat he has taken your money.""O no, not at all. It doesn't follow, by any means, that a faultlike this will be repeated. He was terribly mortified about it. Thathas cured him, I am certain.""I wouldn't trust to it.""You are too uncharitable," replied Mr. May. "For my part, I alwayslook upon the best side of a man's character. There is good in everyone. Some have their weaknesses--some are even led astray at times;but none are altogether bad. If a man falls, help him up, and starthim once more fair in the world--who can say that he will againtrip? Not I. The fact is, we are too hard with each other. If youbrand your fellow with infamy for one little act of indiscretion,or, say crime, what hope is there for him.""You go rather too far, Mr. May," the neighbor said, "in yourcondemnation of the world. No doubt there are many who are reallyuncharitable in their denunciations of their fellow man for a singlefault. But, on the other side, I am inclined to think, that thereare just as many who are equally uncharitable, in loosely passingby, out of spurious kindness, what should mark a man with justsuspicion, and cause a withholding of confidence. Look at the casenow before us. You feel unwilling to keep a young man about you,because he has betrayed your trust, and yet, out of kind feelings,you give him a good character, and enable him to get a situationwhere he may seriously wrong an unsuspecting man.""But I am sure he will not do so.""But what is your guarantee?""The impression that my act has evidently made upon him. If I had,besides hushing up the whole matter, kept him still in my store, hemight again have been tempted. But the comparatively lightpunishment of dismissing him with a good character, will prove asalutary check upon him.""Don't you believe it.""I will believe it, until I see evidence to the contrary. You aretoo suspicious--too uncharitable, my good friend. I am alwaysinclined to think the best of every one. Give the poor fellowanother chance for his life, say I.""I hope it may all turn out right.""I am sure it will," returned Mr. May. "Many and many a young man isdriven to ruin by having all confidence withdrawn from him, afterhis first error. Depend upon it, such a course is not right.""I perfectly agree with you, Mr. May, that we should not utterlycondemn and cast off a man for a single fault. But, it is one thingto bear with a fault, and encourage a failing brother man to bettercourses, and another to give an individual whom we know to bedishonest, a certificate of good character.""Yes, but I am not so sure the young man we are speaking about isdishonest.""Didn't he rob you?""Don't say rob. That is too hard a word. He did take a little fromme; but it wasn't much, and there were peculiar circumstances.""Are you sure that under other peculiar circumstances, he would nothave taken much more from you?""I don't believe he would.""I wouldn't trust him.""You are too suspicious--too uncharitable, as I have already said. Ican't be so. I always try to think the best of every one."Finding that it was no use to talk, the neighbor said but littlemore on the subject.About a year afterwards the young man's new employer, who, on thefaith of Mr. May's recommendation, had placed great confidence inhim, discovered that he had been robbed of several thousand dollars.The robbery was clearly traced to this clerk, who was arrested,tried, and sentenced to three years imprisonment in thePenitentiary."It seems that all your charity was lost on that young scoundrel,Blake," said the individual whose conversation with Mr. May has justbeen given."Poor fellow!" was the pitying reply. "I am most grievouslydisappointed in him. I never believed that he would turn out sobadly.""You might have known it after he had swindled you. A man who willsteal a sheep, needs only to be assured of impunity, to rob themail. The principle is the same. A rogue is a rogue, whether it befor a pin or a pound.""Well, well--people differ in these matters. I never look at theworst side only. How could Dayton find it in his heart to send thatpoor fellow to the State Prison! I wouldn't have done it, if he hadtaken all I possess. It was downright vindictiveness in him.""It was simple justice. He could not have done otherwise. Blake hadnot only wronged him, but he had violated the laws and to the lawshe was bound to give him up.""Give up a poor, erring young man, to the stern, unbending,unfeeling laws! No one is bound to do that. It is cruel, and no oneis under the necessity of being cruel.""It is simply just, Mr. May, as I view it. And, further, really morejust to give up the culprit to the law he has knowingly and wilfullyviolated, than to let him escape its penalties."Mr. May shook his head."I certainly cannot see the charity of locking up a young man forthree or four years in prison, and utterly and forever disgracinghim.""It is great evil to steal?" said the neighbor."O, certainly--a great sin.""And the law made for its punishment is just?""Yes, I suppose so.""Do you think that it really injuries a thief to lock him up inprison, and prevent him from trespassing on the property of hisneighbors?""That I suppose depends upon circumstances. If----""No, but my friend, we must fix the principle yea or nay. The lawthat punishes theft is a good law--you admit that--very well. If thelaw is good. it must be because its effect is good. A thief, will,under such law, he really more benefitted by feeling its force thanin escaping the penalty annexed to its infringement. No distinctioncan or ought to be made. The man who, in, a sane mind, deliberatelytakes the property of another, should be punished by the law whichforbids stealing. It will have at least one good effect, if noneothers and that will be to make him less willing to run similarrisk, and thus leave to his neighbor the peaceable possession of hisgoods.""Punishment, if ever administered, should look to the good of theoffender. But, what good disgracing and imprisoning a young man whohas all along borne a fair character, is going to have, is more thanI can tell. Blake won't be able to hold up his head amongrespectable people when his term has expired.""And will, in consequence, lose his power of injuring the honest andunsuspecting. He will be viewed in his own true light, and be castoff as unworthy by a community whose confidence he has mostshamefully abused.""And so you will give an erring brother no chance for his life?""O yes. Every chance. But it would not be kindness to wink at hiserrors and leave him free to continue in the practice of them, tohis own and others' injury. Having forfeited his right to theconfidence of this community by trespassing upon it, let him pay thepenalty of that trespass. It will be to him, doubtless, a salutarylesson. A few years of confinement in a prison will give him timefor reflection and repentance; whereas, impunity in an evil coursecould only have strengthened his evil purposes. When he has paid thejust penalty of his crime, let him go into another part of thecountry, and among strangers live a virtuous life, the sure rewardof which is peace."Mr. May shook his head negatively, at these remarks."No one errs on the side of kindness," he said, "while too many, byan opposite course, drive to ruin those whom leniency might havesaved."A short time after the occurrence of this little interview, Mr. May,on returning home one evening, found his wife in much apparenttrouble."Has anything gone wrong, Ella?" he asked."Would you have believed it?" was Mrs. May's quick and excitedanswer. "I caught Jane in my drawer to-day, with a ten dollar billin her hand which she had just taken out of my pocket book, that wasstill open.""Why, Ella!""It is too true! I charged it at once upon her, and she burst intotears, and owned that she was going to take the money and keep it.""That accounts, then, for the frequency with which you have missedsmall sums of money for several months past.""Yes. That is all plain enough now. But what shall we do? I cannotthink of keeping Jane any longer.""Perhaps she will never attempt such a thing again, now that she hasbeen discovered.""I cannot trust her. I should never feel safe a moment. To have athief about the house! Oh, no, That would never answer. She willhave to go.""Well, Ella, you will have to do what you think best; but youmustn't be too hard on the poor creature. You mustn't think ofexposing her, and thus blasting her character. It might drive her toruin.""But, is it right for me, knowing what she is, to let her go quietlyinto another family? It is a serious matter, husband.""I don't know that you have anything to do with that. The safestthing, in my opinion, is for you to talk seriously to Jane, and warnher of the consequences of acts such as she has been guilty of. Andthen let her go, trusting that she will reform""But there is another fault that I have discovered within a week ortwo past. A fault that I suspected, but was not sure about. It is avery bad one.""What is that, Ella?""I do not think she is kind to the baby.""What?""I have good reason for believing that she is not kind to our dearlittle babe. I partly suspected this for some time. More than once Ihave came suddenly upon her, and found our sweet pet sobbing as ifhis heart would break. The expression in Jane's face I could notexactly understand. Light has gradually broken in upon me, and now Iam satisfied that she has abused him shamefully.""Ella?""It is too true. Since my suspicions were fully aroused, I haveasked Hannah about it, and she, unwillingly, has confirmed my ownimpressions.""Unwillingly! It was her duty to have let you know this voluntarily.Treat my little angel Charley unkindly! The wretch! She doesn'tremain in this house a day longer.""So I have fully determined. I am afraid that Jane has a wretcheddisposition. It is bad enough to steal, but to ill-treat a helpless,innocent babe, is fiend-like."Jane was accordingly dismissed."Poor creature!" said Mrs. May, after Jane had left the house; "Ifeel sorry for her. She is, after all, the worst enemy to herself. Idon't know what will become of her.""She'll get a place somewhere.""Yes, I suppose so. But, I hope she won't refer to me for hercharacter. I don't know what I should say, if she did.""If I couldn't say any good, I wouldn't say any harm, Ella. It'srather a serious matter to break down the character of a poor girl.""I know it is; for that is all they have to depend upon. I shallhave to smooth it over some how, I suppose.""Yes: put the best face you can upon it. I have no doubt but shewill do better in another place."On the next day, sure enough, a lady called to ask about thecharacter of Jane."How long has she been with you?" was one of the first questionsasked."About six months," replied Mrs. May."In the capacity of nurse, I think she told me?""Yes. She was my nurse.""Was she faithful?"This was a trying question. But it had to be answered promptly, andit was so answered."Yes, I think I may call her quite a faithful nurse. She neverrefused to carry my little boy out; and always kept him very clean.""She kept him nice, did she? Well, that is a recommendation. And Iwant somebody who will not be above taking my baby into the street.But how is her temper?""A little warm sometimes. But then, you know, perfection is not tobe attained any where.""No, that is very true. You think her a very good nurse?""Yes, quite equal to the general run.""I thank you very kindly," said the lady rising. "I hope I shallfind, in Jane, a nurse to my liking.""I certainly hope so," replied Mrs. May, as she attended her to thedoor."What do you think?" said Mrs. May to her husband, when he returnedin the evening.--"That Jane had the assurance to send a lady here toinquire about her character.""She is a pretty cool piece of goods, I should say. But, I supposeshe trusted to your known kind feelings, not to expose her.""No doubt that was the reason. But, I can tell her that I wasstrongly tempted to speak out the plain truth. Indeed, I couldhardly contain myself when the lady told me that she wanted her tonurse a little infant. I thought of dear Charley, and how she hadneglected and abused him--the wretched creature! But I restrainedmyself, and gave her as good a character as I could.""That was right. We should not let our indignant feelings govern usin matters of this kind. We can never err on the side of kindness.""No, I am sure we cannot."Mrs. Campbell, the lady who had called upon Mrs. May, felt quitecertain that, in obtaining Jane for a nurse, she had been fortunate.She gave, confidently, to her care, a babe seven months old. Atfirst, from a mother's natural instinct, she kept her eye upon Jane;but every thing going on right, she soon ceased to observe herclosely. This was noted by the nurse, who began to breathe with morefreedom. Up to this time, the child placed in her charge hadreceived the kindest attentions. Now, however, her naturalindifference led her to neglect him in various little ways,unnoticed by the mother, but felt by the infant. Temptations werealso thrown in her way by the thoughtless exposure of money andjewelry. Mrs. Campbell supposed, of course, that she was honest, orshe would have been notified of the fact by Mrs. May, of whom shehad inquired Jane's character; and, therefore, never thought ofbeing on her guard in this respect. Occasionally he could not helpthinking that there ought to be more money in her purse than therewas. But she did not suffer this thought to rise into a suspicion ofunfair dealing against any one. The loss of a costly breast pin, thegift of a mother long since passed into the invisible world, nextworried her mind; but, even this did not cause her to suspect thatany thing was wrong with her nurse.This the time passed on, many little losses of money and valuedarticles disturbing and troubling the mind of Mrs. Campbell, untilit became necessary to wean her babe. This duty was assigned toJane, who took the infant to sleep with her. On the first night, itcried for several hours--in fact, did not permit Jane to get morethan a few minutes sleep at a time all night. Her patience was triedseverely. Sometimes she would hold the distressed child with angryviolence to her bosom, while it screamed with renewed energy; andthen, finding that it still continued to cry, toss it from her uponthe bed, and let it lie, still screaming, until fear lest its mothershould be tempted to come to her distressed babe, would cause heragain to take it to her arms. A hard time had that poor child of iton that first night of its most painful experience in the world. Itwas scolded, shaken, and even whipped by the unfeeling nurse, until,at last, worn out nature yielded, and sleep threw its protectingmantle over the wearied babe."How did you get along with Henry?" was the mother's eager question,as she entered Jane's room soon after daylight."O very well, ma'am," returned Jane."I heard him cry dreadfully in the night. Several times I thought Iwould come in and take him.""Yes, ma'am, he did scream once or twice very hard; but he soon gaveup, and has long slept as soundly as you now see him.""Dear little fellow!" murmured the mother in a trembling voice. Shestooped down and kissed him tenderly--tears were in her eyes.On the next night, Henry screamed again for several hours. Jane, hadshe felt an affection for the child, and, from that affection beenled to soothe it with tenderness, might easily have lulled it intoquiet; but her ill-nature disturbed the child. After worrying withit a long time, she threw it from her with violence, exclaiming asshe did so--"I'll fix you to-morrow night! There'll be no more of this. Theyneedn't think I'm going to worry out my life for their cross-grainedbrat."She stopped. For the babe had suddenly ceased crying. Lifting it up,quickly, she perceived, by the light of the lamp, that its face wasvery white, and its lips blue. In alarm, she picked it up and sprangfrom the bed. A little water thrown into its face, soon revived it.But the child did not cry again, and soon fell away into sleep. Fora long time Jane sat partly up in bed, leaning over on her arm, andlooking into little Henry's face. He breathed freely, and seemed tobe as well as ever. She did not wake until morning. When she did,she found the mother bending over her, and gazing earnestly downinto the face of her sleeping babe. The incident that had occurredin the night glanced through her mind, and caused her to rise up andlook anxiously at the child. Its sweet, placid face, at oncereassured her."He slept better last night," remarked Mrs. Campbell."O, yes. He didn't cry any at all, hardly.""Heaven bless him!" murmured the mother, bending over and kissinghim softly.On the next morning, when she awoke, Mrs. Campbell felt a strangeuneasiness about her child. Without waiting to dress herself, shewent softly over to the room where Jane slept. It was only a littleafter day-light. She found both the child and nurse asleep. Therewas something in the atmosphere of the room that oppressed herlungs, and something peculiar in its odor. Without disturbing Jane,she stood for several minutes looking into the face of Henry.Something about it troubled her. It was not so calm as usual, norhad his skin that white transparency so peculiar to a babe."Jane," she at length said, laying her hand upon the nurse.Jane roused up."How did Henry get along last night, Jane?""Very well, indeed, ma'am; he did not cry at all.""Do you think he looks well?"Jane turned her eyes to the face of the child, and regarded it forsome time."O, yes, ma'am, he looks very well; he has been sleeping sound allnight."Thus assured, Mrs. Campbell regarded Henry for a few minutes longer,and then left the room. But her heart was not at ease. There was aweight upon it, and it labored in its office heavily."Still asleep," she said, about an hour after, coming into Jane'sroom. "It is not usual for him to sleep so long in the morning."Jane turned away from the penetrating glance of the mother, andremarked, indifferently:"He has been worried out for the last two nights. That is thereason, I suppose."Mrs. Campbell said no more, but lifted the child in her arms, andcarried it to her own chamber. There she endeavored to awaken it,but, to her alarm, she found that it still slept heavily in spite ofall her efforts.Running down into the parlor with it, where her husband sat readingthe morning papers, she exclaimed:"Oh, Henry! I'm afraid that Jane has been giving this childsomething to make him sleep. See! I cannot awake him. Something iswrong, depend upon it!"Mr. Campbell took the babe and endeavored to arouse him, but withouteffect."Call her down here," he then said, in a quick, resolute voice.Jane was called down."What have you given this child?" asked Mr. Campbell, peremptorily."Nothing," was the positive answer. "What could I have given him?""Call the waiter."Jane left the room, and in a moment after the waiter entered."Go for Doctor B---- as fast as you can, and say to him I must seehim immediately."The waiter left the house in great haste. In about twenty minutesDr. B---- arrived."Is there any thing wrong about this child?" Mr. Campbell asked,placing little Henry in the doctor's arms."There is," was replied, after the lapse of about half a minute."What have you been giving it.""Nothing. But we are afraid the nurse has.""Somebody has been giving it a powerful anodyne, that is certain.This is no natural sleep. Where is the nurse? let me see her."Jane was sent for, but word was soon brought that she was not to befound. She had, in fact, bundled up her clothes, and hastily andquietly left the house. This confirmed the worst fears of bothparents and physician. But, if any doubt remained, a vial oflaudanum and a spoon, found in the washstand drawer in Jane's room,dispelled it.Then most prompt and active treatment was resorted to by DoctorB---- in the hope of saving the child. But his anxious efforts werein vain. The deadly narcotic had taken entire possession of thewhole system; had, in fact, usurped the seat of life, and waspoisoning its very fountain. At day dawn on the next morning theflickering lamp went out, and the sad parents looked their last lookupon their living child."I have heard most dreadful news," Mrs. May said to her husband, onhis return home that day."You have! What is it?""Jane has poisoned Mrs. Campbell's child!""Ella!" and Mr. May started from his chair."It is true. She had it to wean, and gave it such a dose oflaudanum, that it died.""Dreadful! What have they done with her?""She can't be found, I am told.""You recommended her to Mrs. Campbell.""Yes. But I didn't believe she was wicked enough for that.""Though it is true she ill-treated little Charley, and we knew it. Idon't see how you can ever forgive yourself. I am sure that I don'tfeel like ever again looking Mr. Campbell in the face.""But, Mr. May, you know very well that you didn't want me to say anything against Jane to hurt her character.""True. And it is hard to injure a poor fellow creature by blazoningher faults about. But I had no idea that Jane was such a wretch!""We knew that she would steal, and that she was unkind to children;and yet, we agreed to recommend her to Mrs. Campbell.""But it was purely out of kind feelings for the girl, Ella.""Yes. But is that genuine kindness? Is it real charity? I fear not."Mr. May was silent. The questions probed him to the quick. Let everyone who is good-hearted in the sense that Mr. May was, ask seriouslythe same questions.
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