Evenings at Home; Or, The Juvenile Budget Opened

by John Aikin; Mrs. Barbauld

“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 know what a 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 who had 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.