“Neighbour,” said the Quaker, “thee might be disposed to think that I had forgotten thee, seeing that thy letter did not receive an immediate answer: but I was willing to see thy other creditors to know how they stood inclined towards thee. So yesterday we had a meeting.”
“A meeting of my creditors!” exclaimed Mr. Markham, with great emphasis of grief; “Oh God! that I should ever come to this!”
“Thee will come to something worse, neighbour Markham, if thee don’t leave off taking the name of the Lord in vain,” replied Mr. Wiggins; “but thee is impatient; thee will not listen. I tell thee that there has been a meeting of thy creditors, and they are sorry for thy misfortunes, and they are disposed to assist thee. They respect thy integrity; but they would not have thee take the name of the Lord in vain. It is a sad thing, neighbour, to want money; but it is worse to want patience: thee will never get rich by putting thyself in a passion. But thy creditors will not trouble thee at present. They besought me to tell thee that they would wait thy own time.”
At this information Mr. Markham shook his head mournfully. There are those who when in trouble are exceeding sceptical as to good tidings, and are slow to believe what pretends to promise them good. Poor Mr. Markham was of that description. He hardly liked to have the pathos of his deep sorrow interrupted or interfered with. But his son Horatio was a man of more words and somewhat less formality. He readily expressed his thanks to the principal creditor, but at the same time added,
“I trust, sir, there will be no necessity for any long forbearance; had my father stated all the particulars to me before he wrote to his creditors, I believe there would not have been found any occasion for the step which he has now taken. I will be answerable—”
Here Mr. Wiggins interrupted the young barrister. “Young man, be not in too great haste to part with thy money; thee has not been in possession of it long enough to know its weight.” Then turning to the elder Markham, he said, “Neighbour Markham, thee shall go on with thy business, and if thee needs any supply, thy credit is good with me yet. Let thy son keep that which he has earned. Farewell.”
Not a word that could be said, nor any entreaties whatever were effectual to detain the strange Mr. Wiggins a moment after he had said farewell. It seemed to him a matter of conscience to depart as soon as he had uttered the word which indicated the intention of going.
The spirits of the elder Markham were not cheered by that visit which was designed to remove an oppressive weight of sorrow from his mind. The very consideration that there had been any thing like a necessity for proposing a composition weighed very deeply upon him, and produced serious illness.
Markham, whose intention it had been to make a short visit to his native place, now found himself powerfully and indeed irresistibly detained. It was not indeed absolutely necessary for him to be in town at this time; and had even his professional occupations urged his attendance, it is more than probable that their importunity would have been disregarded: for it is not likely that his father’s commercial perplexities should have commanded his sympathies more strongly than an actual sickness.
Our English proverbs are not frequently to our taste; for many of them want point, not a few are destitute of truth, and most of those which are correct are cold common-place truisms. There is, however, one which occurs at the present juncture, not indeed very graceful in its expression or profound in its observation, but having in its meaning and application a moral lesson which cannot be too frequently or too earnestly inculcated on the misery-loving and ever-grumbling people of this most highly-favored land. The proverb to which our allusion points is as follows, “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.” Certainly it was not pleasant to the father of Horatio Markham to be so situated that he must be within a little of bankruptcy. Certainly it was not pleasant to the young man to find that his professional success should in its earliest stages be destined to repair the ravages which untoward circumstances had made in his father’s property. Certainly it was very painful to see that after this calamity had been partially healed, or at least palliated, his poor father had so taken to heart the unexpected affliction, as to suffer from its influences a severe bodily illness. Certainly it was mortifying to the young man who was looking upwards in society, and was in the way of what is called making his fortune, to have this sudden and unforeseen blight coming over his fair hopes. Certainly also there was something sorrowful to his soul in the consideration that at the very moment in which there seemed a probability that his attachment to Clara might be honorably avowed, he should be called away from scenes of hope and brightness and opulence, to a house of fear, of gloom, of poverty.