CHAPTER II. TOUCHING MYSELF AND TEN THOUSAND POUNDS.
Although my ancestor was much too wise to refuse to look back upon hisorigin in a worldly point of view, he never threw his retrospectiveglances so far as to reach the sublime mystery of his moral existence;and while his thoughts might be said to be ever on the stretch to attainglimpses into the future, they were by far too earthly to extend beyondany other settling day than those which were regulated by the ordinancesof the stock exchange. With him, to be born was but the commencement ofa speculation, and to die was to determine the general balance of profitand loss. A man who had so rarely meditated on the grave changes ofmortality, therefore, was consequently so much the less prepared to gazeupon the visible solemnities of a death-bed. Although he had never trulyloved my mother, for love was a sentiment much too pure and elevatedfor one whose imagination dwelt habitually on the beauties of thestock-books, he had ever been kind to her, and of late he was evenmuch disposed, as has already been stated, to contribute as much toher temporal comforts as comported with his pursuits and habits. Onthe other hand, the quiet temperament of my mother required some moreexciting cause than the affections of her husband, to quicken thosegerms of deep, placid, womanly love, that certainly lay dormant in herheart, like seed withering with the ungenial cold of winter. The lastmeeting of such a pair was not likely to be attended with any violentoutpourings of grief.
My ancestor, notwithstanding, was deeply struck with the physicalchanges in the appearance of his wife.
"Thou art much emaciated, Betsey," he said, taking her hand kindly,after a long and solemn pause; "much more so than I had thought, orcould have believed! Dost nurse give thee comforting soups and generousnourishment?"
My mother smiled the ghastly smile of death; but waved her hand, withloathing, at his suggestion.
"All this is now too late, Mr. Goldencalf," she answered, speaking witha distinctness and an energy for which she had long been reserving herstrength. "Food and raiment are no longer among my wants."
"Well, well, Betsey, one that is in want of neither food nor raiment,cannot be said to be in great suffering, after all; and I am glad thatthou art so much at ease. Dr. Etherington tells me thou art far frombeing well bodily, however, and I am come expressly to see if I canorder anything that will help to make thee more easy."
"Mr. Goldencalf, you can. My wants for this life are nearly over;a short hour or two will remove me beyond the world, its cares, itsvanities, its--" My poor mother probably meant to add, its heartlessnessor its selfishness; but she rebuked herself, and paused: "By the mercyof our blessed Redeemer, and through the benevolent agency of thisexcellent man," she resumed, glancing her eye upwards at first withholy reverence, and then at the divine with meek gratitude, "I quit youwithout alarm, and were it not for one thing, I might say without care."
"And what is there to distress thee, in particular, Betsey?" asked myfather, blowing his nose, and speaking with unusual tenderness; "if itbe in my power to set thy heart at ease on this, or on any other point,name it, and I will give orders to have it immediately performed. Thouhast been a good pious woman, and canst have little to reproach thyselfwith."
My mother looked earnestly and wistfully at her husband. Never beforehad he betrayed so strong an interest in her happiness, and had it not,alas! been too late, this glimmering of kindness might have lighted thematrimonial torch into a brighter flame than had ever yet glowed uponthe past.
"Mr. Goldencalf, we have an only son--"
"We have, Betsey, and it may gladden thee to hear that the physicianthinks the boy more likely to live than either of his poor brothers andsisters."
I cannot explain the holy and mysterious principle of maternal naturethat caused my mother to clasp her hands, to raise her eyes to heaven,and, while a gleam flitted athwart her glassy eyes and wan cheeks, tomurmur her thanks to God for the boon. She was herself hastening awayto the eternal bliss of the pure of mind and the redeemed, and herimagination, quiet and simple as it was, had drawn pictures in which sheand her departed babes were standing before the throne of the Most High,chanting his glory, and shining amid the stars--and yet was she nowrejoicing that the last and the most cherished of all her offspringswas likely to be left exposed to the evils, the vices, nay, to theenormities, of the state of being that she herself so willinglyresigned.
"It is of our boy that I wish now to speak, Mr. Goldencalf," replied mymother, when her secret devotion was ended. "The child will have need ofinstruction and care; in short, of both mother and father."
"Betsey, thou forgettest that he will still have the latter."
"You are much wrapped up in your business, Mr. Goldencalf, and are not,in other respects, qualified to educate a boy born to the curse and tothe temptations of immense riches."
My excellent ancestor looked as if he thought his dying consort had insooth finally taken leave of her senses.
"There are public schools, Betsey; I promise thee the child shall not beforgotten: I will have him well taught, though it cost me a thousand ayear!"
His wife reached forth her emaciated hand to that of my father, andpressed the latter with as much force as a dying mother could use. Fora fleet moment she even appeared to have gotten rid of her latestcare. But the knowledge of character that had been acquired by the hardexperience of thirty years, was not to be unsettled by the gratitude ofa moment.
"I wish, Mr. Goldencalf," she anxiously resumed, "to receive your solemnpromise to commit the education of our boy to Dr. Etherington--you knowhis worth, and must have full confidence in such a man."
"Nothing would give me greater satisfaction, my dear Betsey; and if Dr.Etherington will consent to receive him, I will send Jack to his housethis very evening; for, to own the truth, I am but little qualified totake charge of a child under a year old. A hundred a year, more or less,shall not spoil so good a bargain."
The divine was a gentleman, and he looked grave at this speech, though,meeting the anxious eyes of my mother, his own lost their displeasure ina glance of reassurance and pity.
"The charges of his education will be easily settled, Mr. Goldencalf,"added my mother; "but the Doctor has consented with difficulty to takethe responsibility of my poor babe, and that only under two conditions."
The stock-dealer required an explanation with his eyes.
"One is, that the child shall be left solely to his own care, afterhe has reached his fourth year; and the other is, that you make anendowment for the support of two poor scholars, at one of the principalschools."
As my mother got out the last words, she fell back on her pillow, whenceher interest in the subject had enabled her to lift her head a little,and she fairly gasped for breath, in the intensity of her anxiety tohear the answer. My ancestor contracted his brow, like one who saw itwas a subject that required reflection.
"Thou dost not know perhaps, Betsey, that these endowments swallow up agreat deal of money--a great deal--and often very uselessly."
"Ten thousand pounds is the sum that has been agreed upon between Mrs.Goldencalf and me," steadily remarked the Doctor, who, in my soul, Ibelieve had hoped that his condition would be rejected, having yieldedto the importunities of a dying woman, rather than to his own sense ofthat which might be either very desirable or very useful.
"Ten thousand pounds!"
My mother could not speak, though she succeeded in making an imploringsign of assent.
"Ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money, my dear Betsey--a verygreat deal!"
The color of my mother changed to the hue of death, and by her breathingshe appeared to be in the agony.
"Well, well, Betsey," said my father a little hastily, for he wasfrightened at her pallid countenance and extreme distress, "haveit thine own way--the money, yes, yes--it shall be given as thouwishest--now set thy kind heart at rest."
The revulsion of feeling was too great for one whose system had beenwound up to a state of excitement like that which had sustained mymother, who, an hour before, had seeme
d scarcely able to speak. Sheextended her hand toward her husband, smiled benignantly in his face,whispered the word "Thanks," and then, losing all her powers of body,sank into the last sleep, as tranquilly as the infant drops its headon the bosom of the nurse. This was, after all, a sudden, and, in onesense, an unexpected death: all who witnessed it were struck with awe.My father gazed for a whole minute intently on the placid featuresof his wife, and left the room in silence. He was followed by Dr.Etherington, who accompanied him to the private apartment where theyhad first met that night, neither uttering a syllable until both wereseated.
"She was a good woman, Dr. Etherington!" said the widowed man, shakinghis foot with agitation.
"She was a good woman, Mr. Goldencalf."
"And a good wife, Dr. Etherington."
"I have always believed her to be a good wife, sir."
"Faithful, obedient, and frugal."
"Three qualities that are of much practical use in the affairs of thisworld."
"I shall never marry again, sir."
The divine bowed.
"Nay, I never could find such another match!"
Again the divine inclined his head, though the assent was accompanied byslight smile.
"Well, she has left me an heir."
"And brought something that he might inherit," observed the Doctor,dryly.
My ancestor looked up inquiringly at his companion, but apparently mostof the sarcasm was thrown away,
"I resign the child to your care, Dr. Etherington, conformably to thedying request of my beloved Betsey."
"I accept the charge, Mr. Goldencalf, comformably to my promise to thedeceased; but you will remember that there was a condition coupled withthat promise which must be faithfully and promptly fulfilled."
My ancestor was too much accustomed to respect the punctilios of trade,whose code admits of frauds only in certain categories, which aresufficiently explained in its conventional rules of honor; a sort ofspecified morality, that is bottomed more on the convenience of itsvotaries than on the general law of right. He respected the letter ofhis promise while his soul yearned to avoid its spirit; and his witswere already actively seeking the means of doing that which he so muchdesired.
"I did make a promise to poor Betsey, certainly," he answered, in theway of one who pondered, "and it was a promise, too, made under verysolemn circumstances."
"The promises made to the dead are doubly binding; since, by theirdeparture to the world of spirits, it may be said they leave theperformance to the exclusive superintendence of the Being who cannotlie."
My ancestor quailed; his whole frame shuddered, and his purpose wasshaken.
"Poor Betsey left you as her representative in this case, however,Doctor," he observed, after the delay of more than a minute, casting hiseyes wistfully towards the divine.
"In one sense, she certainly did, sir."
"And a representative with full powers is legally a principal undera different name. I think this matter might be arranged to our mutualsatisfaction, Dr. Etherington, and the intention of poor Betsey mostcompletely executed; she, poor woman, knew little of business, as wasbest for her sex; and when women undertake affairs of magnitude, theyare very apt to make awkward work of it."
"So that the intention of the deceased be completely fulfilled, you willnot find me exacting, Mr. Goldencalf."
"I thought as much--I knew there could be no difficulty between twomen of sense, who were met with honest views to settle a matter of thisnature. The intention of poor Betsey, Doctor, was to place herchild under your care, with the expectation--and I do not deny itsjustice--that the boy would receive more benefit from your knowledgethan he possibly could from mine."
Dr. Etherington was too honest to deny these premises, and too polite toadmit them without an inclination of acknowledgment.
"As we are quite of the same mind, good sir, concerning thepreliminaries," continued my ancestor, "we will enter a little nearerinto the details. It appears to me to be no more than strict justice,that he who does the work should receive the reward. This is a principlein which I have been educated, Dr. Etherington; it is one in which Icould wish to have my son educated; and it is one on which I hope alwaysto practise."
Another inclination of the body conveyed the silent assent of thedivine.
"Now, poor Betsey, Heaven bless her!--for she was a meek and tranquilcompanion, and richly deserves to be rewarded in a future state--but,poor Betsey had little knowledge of business. She fancied that, inbestowing these ten thousand pounds on a charity, she was acting well;whereas she was in fact committing injustice. If you are to have thetrouble and care of bringing up little Jack, who but you should reap thereward?"
"I shall expect, Mr. Goldencalf, that you will furnish the means toprovide for the child's wants."
"Of that, sir, it is unnecessary to speak," interrupted my ancestor,both promptly and proudly. "I am a wary man, and a prudent man, and amone who knows the value of money, I trust; but I am no miser, to stintmy own flesh and blood. Jack shall never want for anything, while itis in my power to give it. I am by no means as rich, sir, as theneighborhood supposes; but then I am no beggar. I dare say, if all myassets were fairly counted, it might be found that I am worth a plum."
"You are said to have received a much larger sum than that with the lateMrs. Goldencalf," the divine observed, not without reproof in his voice.
"Ah, dear sir, I need not tell you what vulgar rumor is--but I shall notundermine my own credit; and we will change the subject. My object,Dr. Etherington, was merely to do justice. Poor Betsey desired that tenthousand pounds might be given to found a scholarship or two: now, whathave these scholars done, or what are they likely to do, for me ormine? The case is different with you, sir; you will have trouble--muchtrouble, I make no doubt; and it is proper that you should have asufficient compensation. I was about to propose, therefore, that youshould consent to receive my check for three, or four, or even for fivethousand pounds," continued my ancestor, raising the offer as he saw thefrown on the brow of the Doctor deepen. "Yes, sir, I will even say thelatter sum, which possibly will not be too much for your trouble andcare; and we will forget the womanish plan of poor Betsey in relation tothe two scholarships and the charity. Five thousand pounds down, Doctor,for yourself, and the subject of the charity forgotten forever."
When my father had thus distinctly put his proposition, he awaited itseffect with the confidence of a man who had long dealt with cupidity.For a novelty, his calculation failed. The face of Dr. Etheringtonflushed, then paled, and finally settled into a look of melancholyreprehension. He arose and paced the room for several minutes insilence; during which time his companion believed he was debating withhimself on the chances of obtaining a higher bid for his consent, whenhe suddenly stopped and addressed my ancestor in a mild but steady tone.
"I feel it to be a duty, Mr. Goldencalf," he said, "to admonish you ofthe precipice over which you hang. The love of money, which is the rootof all evil, which caused Judas to betray even his Saviour and God,has taken deep root in your soul. You are no longer young, and althoughstill proud in your strength and prosperity, are much nearer to yourgreat account than you may be willing to believe. It is not an hoursince you witnessed the departure of a penitent soul for the presence ofher God; since you heard the dying request from her lips; and since, insuch a presence and in such a scene, you gave a pledge to respect herwishes, and, now, with the accursed spirit of gain upper-most, you wouldtrifle with these most sacred obligations, in order to keep a littleworthless gold in a hand that is already full to overflowing. Fancy thatthe pure spirit of thy confiding and single-minded wife were presentat this conversation; fancy it mourning over thy weakness and violatedfaith--nay, I know not that such is not the fact; for there is no reasonto believe that the happy spirits are not permitted to watch near, andmourn over us, until we are released from this mass of sin and depravityin which we dwell--and, then, reflect what must be her sorrow at hearinghow soon her parting request is forgotten,
how useless has beenthe example of her holy end, how rooted and fearful are thine owninfirmities!"
My father was more rebuked by the manner than by the words of thedivine. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to shut out the viewof his wife's spirit; turned, drew his writing materials nearer, wrote acheck for the ten thousand pounds, and handed it to the Doctor with thesubdued air of a corrected boy.
"Jack shall be at your disposal, good sir," he said, as the paper wasdelivered, "whenever it may be your pleasure to send for him."
They parted in silence; the divine too much displeased, and my ancestortoo much grieved, to indulge in words of ceremony.
When my father found himself alone, he gazed furtively about the room,to assure himself that the rebuking spirit of his wife had not takena shape less questionable than air, and then, he mused for at least anhour, very painfully, on all the principal occurrences of the night. Itis said that occupation is a certain solace for grief, and so it provedto be in the present case; for luckily my father had made up that veryday his private account of the sum total of his fortune. Sitting down,therefore, to the agreeable task, he went through the simple process ofsubtracting from it the amount for which he had just drawn, and, findingthat he was still master of seven hundred and eighty-two thousand threehundred and eleven pounds odd shillings and even pence, he found a verynatural consolation for the magnitude of the sum he had just given away,by comparing it with the magnitude of that which was left.