Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/200

 CHARITY'S SECRET.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE SECOND LIFE," ETC., ETC.

"THE quality of mercy is twice blessed. It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes," said Portia. I would like to add my experience as a corollary to that; to fit the beautiful, ancient truth into a modern setting, as I have seen diamonds foiled by cheap enamel. Perhaps most of the lady readers of "Peterson" can match my story with a like one of their own; but if not, it may save them a pang or two of disheartenment in the beginning of their charitable career; for now-a-days the outside work of women of moderate means, like myself, lies very much in the same fields, and between soldiers' widows and thriftless Irish, I fancy they will find in the courts below Lombard street harder missions than was Portia's to the court of Venice, and will be more apt to lose pounds of flesh in them than to save them.

But to my story.

There was a great fire in Second street the winter after we were married. It began, I remember, in a factory in which they burned bituminous coal, for when we were wakened by the throbbing of the engines in the street below, the night air was choking with oily soot, and the heavy waves of smoke, black, and filled with fiery sparks, were ebbing over the sky westward, shutting out the blue silence into which my husband and I had looked but a few hours ago, and in which the calm beauty of the Pleiades and " Arcturus, with his sons," wrote the same great poem which the old prophets heard.

It was just before dawn. I was alone in the house with the two servants, George having been called out to a patient in the early part of the night-one of his first cases, by-the-way, in the city. I was not yet used to the solid blocks of building in Philadelphia- it was but two months since we had left a country village of Delaware; the flames seemed to me to be gaining ground toward our dwelling, step by step.

"They're tiniment houses, mim," said the cook, who was out on the flat, while I stood at the window. " God be marciful to thim poor Bowls this bitter night." Ann was one of the " Kerry Irish," as little and black as their crows. But she had a gentle, kindly voice, as excellent a thing in cooks as in Cordelia. I chose her for it, in fact.

Of course, I was troubled about the homeless wretches in Second street; but I could not forget that we ourselves had but the furniture which we had bought with uncle John's legacy, and that it was not insured ; beyond that we depended on George's practice for our daily bread and butter.

When morning and George came, therefore, I felt worn and haggard enough, and entertained him over his breakfast, which he was eating with a relish, with my terrors.

"I knew the fire was near us," he said. "But I could not leave the child, and I knew you would be taken care of," in a lower tone.

Dr. Brettler was one of the most reticent of men; but I had been his wife long enough to know that Jung Stilling, nor our own pastor, Passavant, never surpassed him in the strength of his simple faith. Doubtless, he had prayed for baby and me; and then knew he would find his threshold unharmed, as surely as if he had seen the sign above the door, over which the Angel of Death had command to pass.

"Where was the fire?" he asked of Ann, who knew the localities better than I. "Tenement houses!" he exclaimed, when she had named the squares. I noticed that he changed color and pushed away his plate, immediately after drawing his boots toward him again.

"What is it, George?"

"We must go round and see what is to be done. Wrap yourself up well, Lou."

I ran upstairs with my heart full. I did so thank God for my husband that morning! it was so easy to do good with such a leader. For me, like most young girls, I always had been goodnaturedly anxious to help to lift the burden of ignorance and poverty in the world ; and just here, despite all the popular cant about the indifference of the rich, and those classes who are comfortably provided for in life, to the suffering I must say that I have never seen such indifference. It may serve to point a moral, and adorn a magazine tale, to picture the jeweled lady sweeping by the virtuous, starving beggar; but the chances are that if the wearer of the jewels once recognized the real virtue, and the real starvation apart from their counterfeits, the beggar would be spoiled with indulgence