A SECRET CHARACTER UNVEILED.
At a small house in a court in London, there resided for many years, a person beyond the middle age of life, whose family consisted of one male and one female servant, both of long standing. He was of grave and somewhat pensive aspect. His dress was perfectly plain and never varied. He wore his own gray hair, and his general appearance resembled that of a Quaker, though without the peculiarities of that sect. He was not known to his neighbours but by sight. They frequently observed him go out and come in, almost always on foot, even in the worst weather. He did not appear to keep any company, and his mode of life seemed to be very uniform. He paid ready money to the few tradespeople with whom he dealt, and never made any one call a second time for dues and taxes. In some charitable collections that were set on foot in the parish, he gave as much as was expected from him, and no more. He returned the salutation of the hat to those who gave it him, but never exceeded a word or two in conversation with his neighbours. His religion and political sentiments were entirely unknown. The general notion about him was, either that he was a reduced gentleman, obliged to live privately, or one concerned in some private money transactions, and bent upon hoarding a fortune. His name, from the parish-books, appeared to beMortimer.
After he had thus lived a long time, a train of accidental circumstances occurred within a short space, which fully displayed his character.
In a blind alley at some little distance, there lived a poor widow who had several children, the eldest a beautiful girl of eighteen. The woman was very industrious, and supported her family by taking in work in which her children assisted. It happened that some of them, and at length herself, fell ill of a fever, which continued so long as to reduce them to great distress. She was obliged to part with many things for a present subsistence; and, on their recovery, a half-year’s rent being due which she was unable to pay, the landlord threatened to seize the remainder of her goods, and turn her and her children into the street. He intimated, however, that it might be in the power of the eldest daughter to settle accounts with him in a less difficult manner; but hishints were treated with virtuous disdain. The girl had a faithful lover, a journeyman-carpenter, who, during the illness of the family, contributed half his wages to their support, and now by promises endeavoured to mollify the landlord, but in vain. He was coming disconsolately one night after work to pay his usual visit to the distressed family, when he observed Mr. Mortimer, whom he knew, having worked at his house, stealing upstairs to the widow’s lodging. The suspicion natural to a lover led him to follow. He saw him open the door, and he entered unperceived after him. Mr. Mortimer walked into the room where were all the poor family; the mother and eldest daughter weeping over the rest. They showed much surprise at his approach, and still more, when, going up to the widow, he put a purse of guineas into her hand, and immediately turned about and went away. “What angel from heaven,” cried the poor woman, “has brought me this? Run after him, daughter, and thank him on your knees!” She ran, but he was got almost down stairs. “I know him,” cried the journeyman-carpenter, making his appearance, “’t is Mr. Mortimer.”
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 knowwhata 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 whohad 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. And running out, he went up, grasped him eagerly by the hand, and poured out the most affectionate wishes for his welfare.
Mr. Mortimer now stoodcompletely detected.
The world, however, was not satisfied with the general knowledge of his goodness and benevolence. Curiosity was at work to discover his connexions, habits, property, employment; in short, the whole personal history of the man. One only friend, to whom he intrusted all the secrets of his heart and life, thought fit, after he was removed from this mortal state, to gratify the world in this particular.
Mr. Mortimer was a younger son of a respectable family in the country, and came to London at an early age, to be educated for commercial life. In this he succeeded so well, that after going through the different stages of clerk, partner, and principal, he found himself possessed of a considerable fortune. For sometime he made that use of his wealth which personswho live within the bounds of what is called decency think permitted to them. But the common pleasures of the world palled daily more and more upon his taste. He found a void which could only be filled by reading and contemplation. He grew fond of taking enlarged views of mankind, their several conditions, characters, and destinations. He compared the higher classes with the lower, the instructed with the ignorant; above all, he examinedhimself, and inquired into the great purpose for which he was brought into the world. In order to augment his sphere of knowledge, he resolved to visit foreign countries; and having no family encumbrances, he drew his affairs into a small compass, relinquished business, and went abroad. During a course of some years, he was a wanderer through most countries of Europe, travelling chiefly on foot, avoiding common routes, and mingling with the mass of the people.
He saw, abroad as well as at home, a great deal of misery; he saw wretchedness everywhere close in the train of splendour—indigence by the side of prodigality—baseness under the foot of authority. He lamented the evils of the world; but whatever might be their original source, he saw that man had within himself the power of remedying many of them. In exercising this power, all duty, all virtue seemed to consist. “This, then,” said he, “must be the proper business of every man in this life. It is thenmine; and how shall I best perform it?”
Full of these meditations, he returned; and convinced that the great inequality of rank and property is one principal cause (though a necessary one) of the ills of life, he resolved, as much as it lay in his power, to counteract it. “How few things,” thought he, “are necessary to my external comfort! Wholesome food, warm clothing, clean lodging, a little waiting upon, and a few books. This is all that even selfishness asks of me. Whose, then, is the superfluity?”
That he might at once get rid of the craving and burdensome demands whichopinionimposes, he took a house in a part of the town where his name was unknown; and of all his former acquaintance, he only reserved one or two congenial friends. He selected out of the number of his former domestics one of each sex, steady and confidential, whose lives he made as comfortable as his own. After all the expenses of his frugal, but not scanty mode of living were discharged, there remained two thirds of his income, which he never failed to bestow in secret charity. He chose that his charities should be secret, not only as being utterly averse to all ostentation, but also to avoid those importunities which might lead hisbounty to unworthy objects. He would himself know the real circumstances of every case; and it was the chief employment of his time, by hunting into obscure corners, and searching out the private history of the indigent classes of the community, to obtain exact information of the existence of misery, and the proper modes of relieving it. He neglected no kinds of distress, but it was his great delight to relieve virtuous poverty, and alleviate those keen wounds of fortune which she inflicts on those who have once participated in some share of her smiles. Hence the sums which he bestowed were often so considerable as at once to retrieve the affairs of the sufferer, nor did he think it right to withdraw his sustaining hand as long as its support was needful.
With respect to his opinions on other subjects, his enlarged acquaintance with men and books effectually preserved him from bigotry. He well knew in what points mankind agreed, and in what they differed, and he attached much superior importance to the former.
So he lived—so he died! injuring none—benefiting many—bearing with pious resignation the evils that fell to his own lot—continually endeavouring to alleviate those of others—and hoping to behold a state in which all evil shall be abolished.
Providence, or the Shipwreck, p.377.EVENING XXXI.
Providence, or the Shipwreck, p.377.EVENING XXXI.
Providence, or the Shipwreck, p.377.EVENING XXXI.