Words for the Wise | Page 3

old debts through great labour and self-denial, that
must continue for years, and imagine how differently you would think
and feel from what you do now. Nay, more; let the debt be owed to
those who are worth their thousands and tens of a thousands, and who
are in the enjoyment of every luxury and comfort they could desire,
while you go on paying them what you owe, by over-exertion and the
denial to yourself and family of all those little luxuries and recreations
which both so much need, and then say how deeply dyed would be that
dishonesty which would cause you, in a moment of darker and deeper

discouragement than usual, to throw the crushing weight from your
shoulders, and resolve to bear it no longer? You must leave a man some
hope in life if you would keep him active and industrious in his
sphere."
Mr. Petron said nothing in reply to this; but he looked sober. His friend
soon after left.
The merchant, as the reader may infer from his own acknowledgment,
was one of those men whose tendency to regard only their own
interests has become so confirmed a habit, that they can see nothing
beyond the narrow circle of self. Upon debtors he had never looked
with a particle of sympathy; and had, in all cases, exacted his own as
rigidly as if his debtor had not been a creature of human wants and
feelings. What had just been said, however, awakened a new thought in
his mind; and, as he reflected upon the subject, he saw that there was
some reason in what had been said, and felt half ashamed of his
allusion to the interest of the tailor's fifty-dollar debt.
Not long after, a person came into his store, and from some cause
mentioned the name of Moale.
"He's an honest man--that I am ready to say of him," remarked Mr.
Petron.
"Honest, but very poor," was replied.
"He's doing well now, I believe," said the merchant.
"He's managing to keep soul and body together, and hardly that."
"He's paying off his old debts."
"I know he is; but I blame him for injuring his health and wronging his
family, in order to pay a few hundred dollars to men a thousand times
better off in the world than he is. He brought me twenty dollars on an
old debt yesterday, but I wouldn't touch it. His misfortunes had long
ago cancelled the obligation in my eyes. God forbid! that with enough
to spare, I should take the bread out of the mouths of a poor man's
children."
"Is he so very poor?" asked Mr. Petron, surprised and rebuked at what
he heard.
"He has a family of six children to feed, clothe, and educate; and he has
it to do by his unassisted labour. Since he was broken up in business
some years ago, he has had great difficulties to contend with, and only
by pinching himself and family, and depriving both of nearly every

comfort, has he been able to reduce the old claims that have been
standing against him. But he has shortened his own life ten years
thereby, and has deprived his children of the benefits of education,
except in an extremely limited degree--wrongs that are irreparable. I
honour his stern integrity of character, but think that he has carried his
ideas of honesty too far. God gave him these children, and they have
claims upon him for earthly comforts and blessings to the extent of his
ability to provide. His misfortunes he could not prevent, and they were
sent as much for the chastisement of those who lost by him as they
were for his own. If, subsequently, his greatest exertion was not
sufficient to provide more than ordinary comforts for the family still
dependent upon him, his first duty was to see that they did not want. If
he could not pay his old debts without injury to his health or wrong to
his family, he was under no obligation to pay them; for it is clear, that
no claims upon us are so imperative as to require us to wrong others in
order to satisfy them."
Here was another new doctrine for the ears of the merchant--doctrine
strange, as well as new. He did not feel quite so comfortable as before
about the recovered debt of fifty dollars. The money still lay upon his
desk. He had not yet entered it upon his cash-book, and he felt now less
inclined to do so than ever. The claims of humanity, in the abstract,
pressed themselves upon him for consideration, and he saw that they
were not to be lightly thrust aside.
In order to pay the fifty dollars, which had been long due to the
merchant, Mr. Moale