GENEROSITY AND JUSTICE.
Several days passed away, and little Effie was watching every opportunity for making applications of the truth her mother had taught her, but yet, (such is the deceitfulness of the human heart,) she still considered herself out of danger. If any little boys or girls who may perchance read this story, are as confident as Effie, we only ask them to watch over their thoughts and actions for as long a time as she did, and see if they do not discover their mistake. One day Mrs Maurice went to make a call on a lady of her acquaintance, and as Harry was engaged with his father, she allowed Effie to accompany her. It was a beautiful parlour into which they were ushered, and Mrs Town received them with due politeness. They were scarce seated when the servant announced another visitor, and a lady with whom Mrs Maurice was very well acquainted entered, and immediately stated the object of her call—to obtain subscriptions for a charitable society.
'I am tired of these societies,' said Mrs Town, 'do not you think, Mrs Maurice, that individual charity is preferable?'
'Undoubtedly, in many instances, but societies have done much good, and I am therefore disposed to countenance them.'
'But don't you think,' said Mrs Town, 'that a person is very apt to think by being a member of a society she is freed from individual responsibility?'
'There may be such people,' was the reply, 'and undoubtedly are, but they are those who give merely because they are expected to do so, and this is the easiest mode of cheating the world and themselves that could be devised.'
'Well,' replied Mrs Town, 'I have always made it a point never to place my name on a subscription list, so I shall be obliged to decline. I hope,' she said to the disappointed lady, who had been advised to call upon her because she was rich, 'I hope you will meet with better success elsewhere.'
'I hope I shall,' the lady could scarce forbear saying, as Mrs Town curtsied gracefully in answer to her embarrassed nod, but she soon calmed her excited feelings and passed on.
'Poor Mrs D.!' said Mrs Town. 'This must be very unpleasant business. I can't see what could induce a lady of her respectability to engage in it.'
'I know of no one who could perform the task better,' said Mrs Maurice.
'Certainly not, but—' Mrs Town paused, and then added, hesitatingly, 'it seems a little too much like begging.'
'It surely is begging,' said Mrs Maurice, with much animation, 'begging for the poor, the weak, the desolate, the unfriended—these have claims upon those who to-morrow may be in their places—and more, Mrs Town, it is begging for our brethren, our sisters—these have claims upon us that cannot be waived—but above all, it is begging for the King of kings, Him who hesitated not to give His own Son for us, and His claims cover all others. Not only our gold and silver are His, but ourselves.'
'Oh, my dear Mrs Maurice, I would not have you to suppose that I object to giving—by no means—it is only from an ostentatious display of charity that I shrink—this is a duty that should be exercised in private, a—' Mrs Town was interrupted in the midst of her vindication by a servant who entered and placed a note in her hand, which she folded closer and was about putting in her pocket—'Please, ma'am,' said the servant, 'she wishes you to read it now, and say if you can see her.'
Mrs Town glanced at the note and coloured slightly, but she had been too long accustomed to concealing her feelings for a stronger manifestation. 'Tell her to come to-morrow,' said she.
The servant was gone a moment and again returned, 'Please, ma'am,' said he, 'the woman won't go away, she says she will see you, for her husband is sick, and her children starving, and she must have her pay.' Mrs Town started from her seat: this was a strange comment upon her beautiful theory of individual charity. Mrs Maurice retired as soon as possible, and as she passed through the hall she saw a miserably-clad woman with a face extremely haggard and care-worn, whom she supposed to be the person claiming—not charity, but justice, of Mrs Town. Effie saw that her mother's face was unusually clouded, and she did not venture to comment upon the past scene, but she said to her brother as soon as they were alone, 'I am glad we are not rich like Mrs Town, Harry, lest we should make a god of our money.'
Mrs Maurice did not, however, neglect at a suitable time to fix upon Effie's mind the impression she had received from the scene at Mrs Town's. 'Remember, my child,' she said, 'if you should ever live to become a woman, that justice should be preferred to generosity, and never talk of giving while some poor person may be suffering for that which is her just due.'
'Mother,' said Harry, 'Elisha Otis told me to-day that his father thinks people who talk so much of giving, are all hypocrites.'
'People who make a great noise about any good act which they perform appear somewhat pharisaical, but we have no right to condemn them upon that score alone, for it often proceeds from a great desire to do good. You know we are very apt to talk of that which most occupies our thoughts, Harry. But where did Elisha Otis's father get such notions of charitable people?'
'That is what I was going to tell you about, mother. You know how much Deacon Brown, gives—he heads all the subscription papers, and I heard father say the other day that he was a great help to the church; but Mr Otis says that he is never willing to pay people that work for him their full price, and then they have to wait, and dun, and dun, before they can get anything.'
'I am sorry to hear this, my son, very sorry.'
'Isn't it true mother?'
'It is true that Deacon Brown in some instances has seemed more generous than just, and this case is very good to illustrate what I before said; but Mr Otis makes it appear much worse than it is.'
'Then he don't cheat his workmen, mother?'
'No; but, by procrastination, thoughtlessness, or even perhaps the desire which business men may have to make a good bargain, he may do wrong, and so lay himself open to all these remarks. Bad qualities, you know, shew much plainer in a good man than a bad one, and are almost always made to appear worse than they really are. But let this be a warning to you, my boy—remember that good (not great) actions seldom cover faults, but faults obscure the lustre of many good actions, and destroy the usefulness of thousands of really good and pious people.'