THE BEGGAR;
A FRAGMENT IN IMITATION OF STERNE.
**** “We are poor ourselves!” exclaimed the lady of the house, “and have therefore nothing to give.” Wretched being! methinks you receive none other alms from many people of fashion!
“He has had the assurance to come to my door twice to-day. He might have known at the first denial, that a repetition would not make him a whit the better off.”
“It might have been that when he came the second time he expected your ladyship was better disposed to give,” said a gentleman present.—“Perchance he imagined the human heart could not remain so insensible to the woes of others,” thought I, and it had nearly reached my lips, but prudence bade it go no farther.
She again began to ring in my ears a long string of invectives against the poorer class of people, when I hastily took my leave. “For what purpose did Heaven form the rich with such unfeeling hearts?” asked my friend. “That they might be set up as a mark to others; and teach them the danger of riches.”
The man was a few paces before us.
“Surely the lady finds, ere this, that we despise her contracted soul,” said my companion. “You are mistaken in that point,” said I; “this is not the only time I have been a witness of her narrow-mindedness. I dined there some days since, with several other visitors: before the cloth was removed, I heard a slight rap at the door---no one attended to it---it seemed to foretell the approach of poverty—”
“What were the servants doing?” interrupted my friend.
“Their mistress had enjoined it upon them to attend to none but fashionable knocks!”
“Pray what are her fashionable knocks?”
“That I never learned. She has, no doubt, instructed her menials on that head.”
“But go on with your story. I despise from my soul her baseness.”
The man was a few paces before us.
“I sat opposite the entrance. In a few minutes an emaciated figure, cloathed meanly, but her dress clean, and adjusted in as neat a manner as possible, walked feebly along, until she reached the room-door; and then necessity compelled her to seek support from the posts. I could not behold the sight unmoved---”
We had now reached the beggar. We stopped. He held out his hat. I threw in something; my friend did the same. “May Heaven forever prosper your honours!” uttered the pauper. “Amen!” We both responded, and passed on.
“If I had her riches what a deal of good would I do with it! The poor should not depart empty from my door.”
“And perhaps,” said I, “if you had double the wealth she is possessed of, your disposition would be similar to hers.”
New-York, Sept. 1, 1796.
L. B.