A Knight of the Nineteenth Century

by Edward Payson Roe

There was unspeakable comfort in the last assurance, for it now seemed that he could hope to find a refuge only in places where "no questions were asked."

With difficulty the weary youth reached the house, and by paying a small extra sum was able to obtain a wretched little room to himself; but never did storm-tossed and endangered sailors enter a harbor's quiet waters with a greater sense of relief than did Haldane as he crept up into this squalid nook, which would at least give him a little respite from the world's terrible scorn.

What a priceless gift for the unhappy, the unfortunate—yes, and for the guilty—is sleep! Many seem to think of the body only as a clog, impeding mental action—as a weight, chaining the spirit down. Were the mind, in its activity, independent of the body—were the wounded spirit unable to forget its pain—could the guilty conscience sting incessantly—then the chief human industry would come to be the erection of asylums for the insane. But by an unfathomable mystery the tireless regal spirit has been blended with the flesh and blood of its servant, the body. In heaven, where there is neither sin nor pain, even the body becomes spiritual; but on earth, where it so often happens, as in the case of poor Haldane, that to think and to remember is torture, it is a blessed thing that the body, formed from the earth, often becomes heavy as earth, and rests upon the spirit for a few hours at least, like the clods with which we fill the grave.

The morning of the following day was quite well advanced when Haldane awoke from his long oblivion, and, after regaining consciousness, he lay a full hour longer trying to realize his situation, and to think of some plan by which he might best recover his lost position. As he recalled all that had occurred he began to understand the extreme difficulty of his task, and he even queried whether it were possible for him to succeed. If the respectable would not even give him shelter, how could he hope that they would employ and trust him?

After he had partaken of quite a hearty breakfast, however, his fortunes began to wear a less forbidding aspect. Endowed with youth, health, and, as he believed, with more than usual ability, he felt that there was scarcely occasion for despair. Some one would employ him—some one would give him another chance. He would take any respectable work that would give him a foothold, and by some vague, fortunate means, which the imagination of the young always supplies, he would achieve success that would obliterate the memory of the past. Therefore, with flashes of hope in his heart, he started out to seek his fortune, and commenced applying at the various stores and offices of the city.

So far from giving any encouragement, people were much surprised that he had the assurance to ask to be employed and trusted again. The majority dismissed him coldly and curtly. A few mongrel natures, true to themselves, gave a snarling refusal. Then there were jovial spirits who must have their jest, even though the sensitive subject of it was tortured thereby—men who enjoyed quizzing Haldane before sending him on, as much as the old inquisitors relished a little recreation with hot pincers and thumb-screws. There were also conscientious people, whose worldly prudence prevented them from giving employment to one so damaged in character, and yet who felt constrained to give some good advice. To this, it must be confessed, Haldane listened with very poor grace, thus extending the impression that he was a rather hopeless subject.

"Good God!" he exclaimed, interrupting an old gentleman who was indulging in some platitudes to the effect that the "way of the transgressor is hard"—"I would rather black your boots than listen to such talk. What I want is work—a chance to live honestly. What's the use of telling a fellow not to go to the devil, and then practically send him to the devil?"

The old gentleman was somewhat shocked and offended, and coldly intimated that he had no need of the young man's services.

A few spoke kindly and seemed truly sorry for him, but they either had no employment to give, or, on business principles, felt that they could not introduce among their other assistants one under bonds to appear and be tried for a State-prison offence that was already the same as proved.

After receiving rebuffs, and often what he regarded as insults, for hours, the young man's hope began to fail him utterly. His face grew pale and haggard, not only from fatigue, but from that which tells disastrously almost as soon upon the body as upon the mind—discouragement. He saw that he had not yet fully realized the consequences of his folly. The deep and seemingly implacable resentment of society was a continued surprise. He was not conscious of being a monster of wickedness, and it seemed to him that after his bitter experience he would rather starve than again touch what was not his own.