“About a month,” said my informant, “after our father died, the sons met together, and, after some general remarks, our elder brother, the administrator, produced this package, of whose existence we were already apprized; read the superscription; and asked what course should be taken, in regard to it. Another brother, a few years younger than the eldest, a man of strong, impulsive temperament, unable, at the moment, to express his feeling, by words, while he brushed the tears from his eyes with one hand, by a spasmodic jerk of the other, towards the fireplace, indicated his wish to have the package put into the flames. It was suggested, by another of our number, that it might be well, first, to make a list of the debtors’ names, and of the dates, and amounts, that we might be enabled, as the intended discharge was for all, to inform such as might offer payment, that their debts were forgiven. On the following day, we again assembled—the list had been prepared—and all the notes, due-bills, and accounts, whose amount, including interest, exceeded thirty-two thousand dollars, were committed to the flames.”
“It was about four months after our father’s death,” continued my informant, “in the month of June, that, as I was sitting in my eldest brother’s counting-room, waiting for an opportunity to speak with him, there came in a hard-favored, little, old man, who looked as if time and rough weather had been to windward of him, for seventy years. He asked if my brother was not the executor. He replied, that he was administrator, as our father died intestate. ‘Well,’ said the stranger, ‘I’ve come up from the Cape, to pay a debt I owed the old gentleman.’ My brother,” continued my informant, “requested him to take a seat, being, at the moment, engaged with other persons, at the desk.”
“The old man sat down, and, putting on his glasses, drew out a very ancient, leather pocket-book, and began to count over his money. When he had done—and there was quite a parcel of bank notes—as he sat, waiting his turn, slowly twisting his thumbs, with his old gray, meditative eyes upon the floor, he sighed; and I knew the money, as the phrase runs, came hard—and secretly wished the old man’s name might be found, upon the forgiven list. My brother was soon at leisure, and asked him the common questions—his name, &c. The original debt was four hundred and forty dollars—it had stood a long time, and, with the interest, amounted to a sum, between seven and eight hundred. My brother went to his desk, and, after examining the forgiven list attentively, a sudden smile lighted up his countenance, and told me the truth, at a glance—the old man’s name was there! My brother quietly took a chair, by his side, and a conversation ensued, between them, which I never shall forget.—‘Your note is outlawed,’ said my brother; ‘it was dated twelve years ago, payable in two years; there is no witness, and no interest has ever been paid; you are not bound to pay this note, we cannot recover the amount.’ ‘Sir,’ said the old man, ‘I wish to pay it. It is the only heavy debt I have in the world. It may be outlawed here, but I have no child, and my old woman and I hope we have made our peace with God, and wish to do so with man. I should like to pay it’—and he laid his bank notes before my brother, requesting him to count them over. ‘I cannot take this money,’ said my brother. The old man became alarmed. ‘I have cast simple interest, for twelve years and a little over,’ said the old man. ‘I will pay you compound interest, if you say so. The debt ought to have been paid, long ago, but your father, sir, was very indulgent—he knew I’d been unlucky, and told me not to worry about it.’
“My brother then set the whole matter plainly before him, and, taking the bank bills, returned them to the pocket book, telling him, that, although our father left no formal will, he had recommended to his children, to destroy certain notes, due-bills, and other evidences of debt, and release those, who might be legally bound to pay them. For a moment the worthy old man appeared to be stupefied. After he had collected himself, and wiped a few tears from his eyes, he stated, that, from the time he had heard of our father’s death, he had raked, and scraped, and pinched and spared, to get the money together, for the payment of this debt.—‘About ten days ago,’ said he, ‘I had made up the sum, within twenty dollars. My wife knew how much the payment of this debt lay upon my spirits, and advised me to sell a cow, and make up the difference, and get the heavy burden off my spirits. I did so—and now, what will my old woman say! I must get back to the Cape, and tell her this good news. She’ll probably say over the very words she said, when she put her hand on my shoulder as we parted—I have never yet seen the righteous man forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.’ After a hearty shake of the hand, and a blessing upon our old father’s memory, he went upon his way rejoicing.
“After a short silence—taking his pencil and making a cast—‘there,’ said my brother, ‘your part of the amount would be so much—contrive a plan to convey to me your share of the pleasure, derived from this operation, and the money is at your service.’”
Such is the simple tale, which I have told, as it was told to me.
No. LVI.
“Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them; otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in Heaven. Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do, in the synagogues, and in the streets, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, they have their reward. But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth. That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father, which seeth in secret, himself shall reward thee openly.”
This ancient word—alms—according to its derivative import, comprehends not only those oboli, which are given to the wandering poor, but all bestowments, great and small, in the blessed cause of charity.