Alonzo Fitz, and Other Stories

  ABOUT MAGNANIMOUS-INCIDENT LITERATURE

  All my life, from boyhood up, I have had the habit of reading a certainset of anecdotes, written in the quaint vein of The World's ingeniousFabulist, for the lesson they taught me and the pleasure they gave me.They lay always convenient to my hand, and whenever I thought meanly ofmy kind I turned to them, and they banished that sentiment; wheneverI felt myself to be selfish, sordid, and ignoble I turned to them, andthey told me what to do to win back my self-respect. Many times I wishedthat the charming anecdotes had not stopped with their happy climaxes,but had continued the pleasing history of the several benefactors andbeneficiaries. This wish rose in my breast so persistently that at lastI determined to satisfy it by seeking out the sequels of those anecdotesmyself. So I set about it, and after great labor and tedious researchaccomplished my task. I will lay the result before you, giving you eachanecdote in its turn, and following it with its sequel as I gathered itthrough my investigations.

  THE GRATEFUL POODLE

  One day a benevolent physician (who had read the books) having found astray poodle suffering from a broken leg, conveyed the poor creatureto his home, and after setting and bandaging the injured limb gave thelittle outcast its liberty again, and thought no more about the matter.But how great was his surprise, upon opening his door one morning, somedays later, to find the grateful poodle patiently waiting there, and inits company another stray dog, one of whose legs, by some accident, hadbeen broken. The kind physician at once relieved the distressed animal,nor did he forget to admire the inscrutable goodness and mercy of God,who had been willing to use so humble an instrument as the poor outcastpoodle for the inculcating of, etc., etc., etc.

  SEQUEL

  The next morning the benevolent physician found the two dogs,beaming with gratitude, waiting at his door, and with them two otherdogs-cripples. The cripples were speedily healed, and the four wenttheir way, leaving the benevolent physician more overcome by piouswonder than ever. The day passed, the morning came. There at the doorsat now the four reconstructed dogs, and with them four others requiringreconstruction. This day also passed, and another morning came; and nowsixteen dogs, eight of them newly crippled, occupied the sidewalk, andthe people were going around. By noon the broken legs were all set, butthe pious wonder in the good physician's breast was beginning to getmixed with involuntary profanity. The sun rose once more, and exhibitedthirty-two dogs, sixteen of them with broken legs, occupying thesidewalk and half of the street; the human spectators took up the restof the room. The cries of the wounded, the songs of the healed brutes,and the comments of the onlooking citizens made great and inspiringcheer, but traffic was interrupted in that street. The good physicianhired a couple of assistant surgeons and got through his benevolentwork before dark, first taking the precaution to cancel hischurch membership, so that he might express himself with the latitudewhich the case required.

  But some things have their limits. When once more the morning dawned,and the good physician looked out upon a massed and far-reachingmultitude of clamorous and beseeching dogs, he said, "I might as wellacknowledge it, I have been fooled by the books; they only tell thepretty part of the story, and then stop. Fetch me the shotgun; thisthing has gone along far enough."

  He issued forth with his weapon, and chanced to step upon the tail ofthe original poodle, who promptly bit him in the leg. Now the great andgood work which this poodle had been engaged in had engendered in himsuch a mighty and augmenting enthusiasm as to turn his weak head at lastand drive him mad. A month later, when the benevolent physician lay inthe death-throes of hydrophobia, he called his weeping friends abouthim, and said:--

  "Beware of the books. They tell but half of the story. Whenever a poorwretch asks you for help, and you feel a doubt as to what result mayflow from your benevolence, give yourself the benefit of the doubt andkill the applicant."

  And so saying he turned his face to the wall and gave up the ghost.

  THE BENEVOLENT AUTHOR

  A poor and young literary beginner had tried in vain to get hismanuscripts accepted. At last, when the horrors of starvation werestaring him in the face, he laid his sad case before a celebratedauthor, beseeching his counsel and assistance. This generous manimmediately put aside his own matters and proceeded to peruse one ofthe despised manuscripts. Having completed his kindly task, he shook thepoor young man cordially by the hand, saying, "I perceive merit inthis; come again to me on Monday." At the time specified, the celebratedauthor, with a sweet smile, but saying nothing, spread open amagazine which was damp from the press. What was the poor young man'sastonishment to discover upon the printed page his own article. "Howcan I ever," said he, falling upon his knees and bursting into tears,"testify my gratitude for this noble conduct!"

  The celebrated author was the renowned Snodgrass; the poor youngbeginner thus rescued from obscurity and starvation was the afterwardequally renowned Snagsby. Let this pleasing incident admonish us to turna charitable ear to all beginners that need help.

  SEQUEL

  The next week Snagsby was back with five rejected manuscripts. Thecelebrated author was a little surprised, because in the books theyoung struggler had needed but one lift, apparently. However, he plowedthrough these papers, removing unnecessary flowers and digging up someacres of adjective-stumps, and then succeeded in getting two of thearticles accepted.

  A week or so drifted by, and the grateful Snagsby arrived with anothercargo. The celebrated author had felt a mighty glow of satisfactionwithin himself the first time he had successfully befriended the pooryoung struggler, and had compared himself with the generous people inthe books with high gratification; but he was beginning to suspect nowthat he had struck upon something fresh in the noble-episode line.His enthusiasm took a chill. Still, he could not bear to repulse thisstruggling young author, who clung to him with such pretty simplicityand trustfulness.

  Well, the upshot of it all was that the celebrated author presentlyfound himself permanently freighted with the poor young beginner. Allhis mild efforts to unload this cargo went for nothing. He had to givedaily counsel, daily encouragement; he had to keep on procuringmagazine acceptances, and then revamping the manuscripts to make thempresentable. When the young aspirant got a start at last, he rode intosudden fame by describing the celebrated author's private life with sucha caustic humor and such minuteness of blistering detail that the booksold a prodigious edition, and broke the celebrated author's heart withmortification. With his latest gasp he said, "Alas, the books deceivedme; they do not tell the whole story. Beware of the strugglingyoung author, my friends. Whom God sees fit to starve, let not manpresumptuously rescue to his own undoing."

  THE GRATEFUL HUSBAND

  One day a lady was driving through the principal street of a great citywith her little boy, when the horses took fright and dashed madly away,hurling the coachman from his box and leaving the occupants of thecarnage paralyzed with terror. But a brave youth who was driving agrocery-wagon threw himself before the plunging animals, and succeededin arresting their flight at the peril of his own.--[This is probably amisprint.--M. T.]--The grateful lady took his number, and upon arrivingat her home she related the heroic act to her husband (who had read thebooks), who listened with streaming eyes to the moving recital, and who,after returning thanks, in conjunction with his restored loved ones, toHim who suffereth not even a sparrow to fall to the ground unnoticed,sent for the brave young person, and, placing a check for five hundreddollars in his hand, said, "Take this as a reward for your noble act,William Ferguson, and if ever you shall need a friend, remember thatThompson McSpadden has a grateful heart." Let us learn from this that agood deed cannot fail to benefit the doer, however humble he may be.

  SEQUEL

  William Ferguson called the next week and asked Mr. McSpadden to use hisinfluence to get him a higher emplo
yment, he feeling capable ofbetter things than driving a grocer's wagon. Mr. McSpadden got him anunder-clerkship at a good salary.

  Presently William Ferguson's mother fell sick, and William--Well, tocut the story short, Mr. McSpadden consented to take her into his house.Before long she yearned for the society of her younger children; so Maryand Julia were admitted also, and little Jimmy, their brother. Jimmy hada pocket knife, and he wandered into the drawing-room with it oneday, alone, and reduced ten thousand dollars' worth of furniture to anindeterminable value in rather less than three-quarters of an hour. Aday or two later he fell down-stairs and broke his neck, and seventeenof his family's relatives came to the house to attend the funeral. Thismade them acquainted, and they kept the kitchen occupied after that, andlikewise kept the McSpaddens busy hunting up situations of various sortsfor them, and hunting up more when they wore these out. The old womandrank a good deal and swore a good deal; but the grateful McSpaddensknew it was their duty to reform her, considering what her son had donefor them, so they clave nobly to their generous task. William cameoften and got decreasing sums of money, and asked for higher andmore lucrative employments--which the grateful McSpadden more or lesspromptly procured for him. McSpadden consented also, after some demur,to fit William for college; but when the first vacation came and thehero requested to be sent to Europe for his health, the persecutedMcSpadden rose against the tyrant and revolted. He plainly and squarelyrefused. William Ferguson's mother was so astounded that she let hergin-bottle drop, and her profane lips refused to do their office. Whenshe recovered she said in a half-gasp, "Is this your gratitude? Wherewould your wife and boy be now, but for my son?"

  William said, "Is this your gratitude? Did I save your wife's life ornot? Tell me that!"

  Seven relations swarmed in from the kitchen and each said, "And this ishis gratitude!"

  William's sisters stared, bewildered, and said, "And this is hisgrat--" but were interrupted by their mother, who burst into tears andexclaimed,

  "To think that my sainted little Jimmy threw away his life in theservice of such a reptile!"

  Then the pluck of the revolutionary McSpadden rose to the occasion, andhe replied with fervor, "Out of my house, the whole beggarly tribeof you! I was beguiled by the books, but shall never be beguiledagain--once is sufficient for me." And turning to William he shouted,"Yes, you did save my wife's life, and the next man that does it shalldie in his tracks!"

  Not being a clergyman, I place my text at the end of my sermon insteadof at the beginning. Here it is, from Mr. Noah Brooks's Recollections ofPresident Lincoln in "Scribners Monthly":

  J. H. Hackett, in his part of Falstaff, was an actor who gave Mr. Lincoln great delight. With his usual desire to signify to others his sense of obligation, Mr. Lincoln wrote a genial little note to the actor expressing his pleasure at witnessing his performance. Mr. Hackett, in reply, sent a book of some sort; perhaps it was one of his own authorship. He also wrote several notes to the President. One night, quite late, when the episode had passed out of my mind, I went to the White House in answer to a message. Passing into the President's office, I noticed, to my surprise, Hackett sitting in the anteroom as if waiting for an audience. The President asked me if any one was outside. On being told, he said, half sadly, "Oh, I can't see him, I can't see him; I was in hopes he had gone away." Then he added, "Now this just illustrates the difficulty of having pleasant friends and acquaintances in this place. You know how I liked Hackett as an actor, and how I wrote to tell him so. He sent me that book, and there I thought the matter would end. He is a master of his place in the profession, I suppose, and well fixed in it; but just because we had a little friendly correspondence, such as any two men might have, he wants something. What do you suppose he wants?" I could not guess, and Mr. Lincoln added, "well, he wants to be consul to London. Oh, dear!"

  I will observe, in conclusion, that the William Ferguson incidentoccurred, and within my personal knowledge--though I have changed thenature of the details, to keep William from recognizing himself in it.

  All the readers of this article have in some sweet and gushing hour oftheir lives played the role of Magnanimous-Incident hero. I wish I knewhow many there are among them who are willing to talk about that episodeand like to be reminded of the consequences that flowed from it.