"Mary Waldegrave resides, at present, at Abingdon. She will rejoice, as
I do, to see one who, as her brother's friend, is entitled to her
affection. Doubt not but that she will listen with impartiality and
candour to all that you can urge in defence of your title to this money. Her decision will not be precipitate, but it will be generous and just,
and founded on such reasons that, even if it be adverse to your wishes,
you will be compelled to approve it?" "I can entertain no doubt," he answered, "as to the equity of my claim. The coincidences you mention are sufficient to convince me that this sum
was received upon my bill; but this conviction must necessarily be
confined to myself. No one but I can be conscious to the truth of my own
story. The evidence on which I build my faith, in this case, is that of
my own memory and senses; but this evidence cannot make itself
conspicuous to you. You have nothing but my bare assertion, in addition
to some probabilities flowing from the conduct of Waldegrave. What facts
may exist to corroborate my claim, which you have forgotten, or which
you may think proper to conceal, I cannot judge. I know not what is
passing in the secret of your hearts; I am unacquainted with the
character of this lady and with yours. I have nothing on which to build
surmises and suspicions of your integrity, and nothing to generate
unusual confidence. The frailty of your virtue and the strength of your
temptations I know not. However she decides in this case, and whatever
opinion I shall form as to the reasonableness of her decision, it will
not become me either to upbraid her, or to nourish discontentment and
repinings. "I know that my claim has no legal support; that, if this money be
resigned to me, it will be the impulse of spontaneous justice, and not
the coercion of law, to which I am indebted for it. Since, therefore,
the justice of my claim is to be measured not by law, but by simple
equity, I will candidly acknowledge that, as yet, it is uncertain
whether I ought to receive, even should Miss Waldegrave be willing to
give it. I know my own necessities and schemes, and in what degree this
money would be subservient to these; but I know not the views and wants
of others, and cannot estimate the usefulness of this money to them. However I decide upon your conduct in withholding or retaining it, I
shall make suitable allowance for my imperfect knowledge of your motives
and wants, as well as for your unavoidable ignorance of mine. "I have related my sufferings from shipwreck and poverty, not to bias
your judgment or engage your pity, but merely because the impulse to
relate them chanced to awake; because my heart is softened by the
remembrance of Waldegrave, who has been my only friend, and by the sight
of one whom he loved. "I told you that my father lived in Chetasco. He is now aged, and I am
his only child. I should have rejoiced in being able to relieve his gray
hairs from labour to which his failing strength cannot be equal. This
was one of my inducements in coming to America. Another was, to prepare
the way for a woman whom I married in Europe and who is now awaiting
intelligence from me in London. Her poverty is not less than my own, and
by marrying against the wishes of her kindred she has bereaved herself
of all support but that of her husband. Whether I shall be able to
rescue her from indigence, whether I shall alleviate the poverty of my
father, or increase it by burdening his scanty friends by my own
maintenance as well as his, the future alone can determine. "I confess that my stock of patience and hope has never been large, and
that my misfortunes have nearly exhausted it. The flower of my years has
been consumed in struggling with adversity, and my constitution has
received a shock, from sickness and mistreatment in Portugal, which I
cannot expect long to survive. But I make you sad," he continued. "I
have said all that I meant to say in this interview. I am impatient to
see my father, and night has already come. I have some miles yet to ride
to his cottage, and over a rough road. I will shortly visit you again,
and talk to you at greater leisure on these and other topics. At present
I leave you." I was unwilling to part so abruptly with this guest, and entreated him
to prolong his visit; but he would not be prevailed upon. Repeating his
promise of shortly seeing me again, he mounted his horse and
disappeared. I looked after him with affecting and complex emotions. I
reviewed the incidents of this unexpected and extraordinary interview,
as if it had existed in a dream. An hour had passed, and this stranger
had alighted among us as from the clouds, to draw the veil from those
obscurities which had bewildered us so long, to make visible a new train
of disastrous consequences flowing from the untimely death of thy
brother, and to blast that scheme of happiness on which thou and I had
so fondly meditated. But what wilt thou think of this new-born claim? The story, hadst thou
observed the features and guise of the relater, would have won thy
implicit credit. His countenance exhibited deep traces of the
afflictions he had endured, and the fortitude which he had exercised. He
was sallow and emaciated, but his countenance was full of seriousness
and dignity. A sort of ruggedness of brow, the token of great mental
exertion and varied experience, argued a premature old age. What a mournful tale! Is such the lot of those who wander from their
rustic homes in search of fortune? Our countrymen are prone to
enterprise, and are scattered over every sea and every land in pursuit
of that wealth which will not screen them from disease and infirmity,
which is missed much oftener than found, and which, when gained, by no
means compensates them for the hardships and vicissitudes endured in the
pursuit. But what if the truth of these pretensions be admitted? The money must
be restored to its right owner. I know that, whatever inconveniences may
follow the deed, thou wilt not hesitate to act justly. Affluence and
dignity, however valuable, may be purchased too dear. Honesty will not
take away its keenness from the winter blast, its ignominy and
unwholesomeness from servile labour, or strip of its charms the life of
elegance and leisure; but these, unaccompanied with self-reproach, are
less deplorable than wealth and honour the possession of which is marred
by our own disapprobation. I know the bitterness of this sacrifice. I know the impatience with
which your poverty has formerly been borne; how much your early
education is at war with that degradation and obscurity to which your
youth has been condemned; how earnestly your wishes panted after a state
which might exempt you from dependence upon daily labour and on the
caprices of others, and might secure to you leisure to cultivate and
indulge your love of knowledge and your social and beneficent
affections.