Activate Javascript or update your browser for the full Digital Library experience.
Next Page
OCR
i
i
WUMBER 49.
~~ OLMSTEAD & CO., PUBLISHERS.
THE LAST PENNY.
Thomas Claire, a son of St. Crispin, was a clever
sort of a man; though not very well off in the
world. He was industrious, but, as his abilities
were small, his reward was: proportioned thereto.
“: Industrioug though he was, the amount earned
{ proved so small that his frugal wife always found it
} insufficient for an adequate supply of the wants of
the family, which consisted of her husband, herself
and three children. It cannot be denied, however,
° that if Thomas had cared less about his pipe and
mug of ale, the supply of bread would have been
more liberal. This self-indulgence cost from two
te three shillings every week, a sum that would
have purchased many cowforts for the needy family.
“The oldest of Claire’s children, a girl ten years
of age, had been sickly from her birth. She was a
gentle, loving child, the favorite of all in the house,
and more especially of her father.’ Little Lizzy
would come up into the garret where Claire worked,
and sit with him sometimes for hours, talking ina
strain that caused him to wonder; and sometimes,
when she did not feel as well as usual, lying upon
the floor and fixing upon him her large, bright eyes
for salmost as longa period. Lizzy never was so
contented as when she was with her father; and he
never worked so cheerfully as when she was near
him.
Gradually, as month after month went by, Lizzy
wasted away. Her cheeks became paler and paler,
her eyes larger and brighter, and such weakness
fell upon her slender limbs that they could with dif-
ficulty sustain her weight. She was no longer able
to clamber up the steep stairs into the garret or loft
where her father worked; yet she was there as
often as ‘before. Claire had made for her a little
bed, raised a short space from the floor, and here
she lay, talking to him or looking at him as of old.
He rarely went up or down the garret stairs without
having Lizzy in his arms. Usually her head was
lying upon his shoulder.
And thus the time went on, Claire, for all the
love he felt for his sick child—for all the regard he
entertained for his family—indulging in bis beer
and tobacco as usual, and thus consuming, weekly,
a portion of their little income that would have
brought to his children many a comfort. No one
but himself had any luxuries. Not even for Lizzy’s
weak appetite were dainties procured. It was as
much as the mother could do, out of the weekly
pittance she received, to get enough coarse food for
the table, and cover the nakedness of her family.
To supply the pipe and mug of Claire from two
to three shillings a week were required. This sum
he usually retained out of his earnings, and gave
the balance, whether large or small, to his frugal
wife. No matter what his income happened to be,
the amount necessary to obtain these articles was
rigidly deducted, and as certainly expended. With-
out his beer, Claire really imagined that he would
not have strength sufficient to go through with his
weekly toil—how his wife managed to get along
without even her regular cup of good tea, it had
never occurred to him to ask—and not to have had
va pipe to smoke in the evening, or after each meal,
would have been a deprivation beyond his ability to
endure. So, the two or three shillings went regu-
larly in the old way. When the sixpences and pen-
nies congregated in goodly numbers in the shoe-
‘maker's 's pocket his visits to the ale-house were often
repeated, and his extra pipe smoked more “fre-
quently. But, as his allowance for the week di-
minished, and it required some searching in the ca-
_pacious pockets, where they hid themselves away, to
find the straggling coins, Claire found it necessary
to put some check upon his appetite. And. so it
went on, week after week, and month after month.
The beer was drunk and the pipe smoked as usual,
while the whole family bent under the weight of
poverty that was laid upon them.
Weaker and weaker grew little Lizzy. » From the
‘coarse food ‘that was daily set before her her weak
: stomach turned, and she hardly took sufficient nour-
jshment to keep life in her attenuated frame.
: ‘Poor child !” said the mother, one morning, “she
-cannot live if she doesn’t eat. But coarse bread,
“and potatoes, and buttermilk go against her weak
“stomach, Ah mel? it we only had a little that the
‘ waste.” ‘
vevthere is a curse in ‘poverty ” ‘replied Claire,
* with a bitterness that was unusual to him, as he
turned his eyes upon his child, who had pushed
away the food that had been placed before her, and
was looking at it with ao expression of disappoint
ment on h«r wan face. ‘A curse in poverty!” he
THE LAST PENNY.
nourishing food, while the children of the rich have]
every luxury 2”
In the mind of Claire there was usually a dead
calm.
potatoes and butter milk, or whatever came before
him, and working steadily through the bours al-
lotted to labor, his hopes or feurs in life rarely ex-
citing him to an expression of discontent. But he
loved Lizzy better than any earthly thing, and to
see her turn with loathing from her coarse food, the
best he was able to procure for her, aroused his
sluggish nature into rebellion against his lot. But
he saw no remedy.
“Can’t we get something a little better for Lizzy ?”
said he, as he pushed his plate aside, his appetite
for once gone before his meal was half eaten.
“Not unless you can earn more,” replied the
wife. ‘Cut, and carve, and manage as I will, it’s ae
much as I can do to get common food.”
Claire pushed himself back from the table, and
without saying a word more, went up to his shop in
the gurret, and sat down to work. There was a
troubled and despondent feeling about his heart.
He did not light his pipe as usual, for»he had
smoked up the last of his tobacco on the evening
before.’ But he had a penny left, and with that, as
soon as he had finished mending a pair of boots and
taken them home, he meant to get a new supply of!
the fragrant weed. The boots had only half an
hour’s work on them. But a few stitches had been
taken by the cobbler, when he heard the feeble
yoice of Lizzy calling to him from the bottom of
the stairs. That voice never came unregarded to
his ears, Ie laid aside his work and went down
for his patient child, and as he took her light form
in his arms and bore her up into his little work-
shop, he felt that he pressed against his heart the
dearest thing to him in life. And with this feeling
came the bitter certainty that soon she would -pass
away and be no more seen. Thomas Claire did
not often indulge in external manifestations of feel-
ing; but now, as he held Lizzy in his arms, he bent
down his face and kissed her cheek tenderly. A
light, like a gleam of sunshine, fell suddenly upon
the pale countenance of the child, while a faint, but
loving smile played about her lips. Her father
kissed her again, and then laid her upon the little
bed that was always ready for her, and once more
resumed his work.
Claire’s mind had been ‘awakened from its usual
leaden quiet. The wants of his failing child aroused
it into disturbed activity. Thought beat, for a
while, like a caged bird, against the bars of neces-
sity, and then fluttered back into panting imbecility,
At last the boots were done, and with his thoughts
now more occupied with the supply of tobacco he
was to obtain than with anything else, Claire started
to take thom home. ~ As he walked along he passed
‘a fruit shop, and the thought of Lizzy came into hia
mind,
repeated. fWhy should my child die for want of
eo .
things !" he said to himself, “they would be food
and medicine both to the dear child. But,” he
added with a sigh, “we are poor !—we are poor!
He plodded on from day to day, eating his: Suet dainties are not for the children of poverty,”
E © paase d along until he came to the ale-house
wheré he intended to get his penny worth of tobacco,
For the first time a thought of self denial entered
his mind, as he stood by the door, with bis hand in
his pocket, feeling for his solitary copper.
“This would buy Lizzy an orange.” he said to
himself. “But then,” was quickly added, “I would
have no tobacco to-day nor to-morrow, for I won't
be paid for these boots before Saturday, when Bar- a
ton gets his wages.”
Then came a long, hesitating pause. There was
before the mind of Claire the image of the faint
and feeble child with the refreshing orange to her
lips; and there was also the image of himself un-
cheered for two days by his pipe. But could he for
a moment hesitate, if he really loved that sick
child? is asked. Yes, he could hesitate, and yet
love the little sufferer; for to one of his order of
mind and habits of acting and feeling, a self-indul-
gence like that of his pipe, or a regular draught of
beer, becomes so much like second nature that it is
as it were a part of the very life; and to give it up
costs more than a light effort,
The penny was between his fingers, and he took
a single step towards the alehouse door; but so
vividly came back the image of little Lizzy that he
stopped suddenly. The conflict, even though the
spending of a single penny was concerned, now be=
came severe ; love for the child plead earnestly, and
as earnestly plead the old habit, that seemed as if it
would take no denial.
It was his last penny that was between the cob-
bler’s fingers. Had there been two pennies in his
pocket all difficulty would immediately have van:
ished. Having thought of the orange, he would
have bought it with one of them, and supplied his
pipe with the other. But, as affairs now stood, he
must utterly deny himself or else deny his child.
For minutes the question was debated.
“T will see as I come back,” said Claire, at last
starting on his errand, and thus, for the time, mak-
ing a sort of a compromise, As he walked along,
the argument still went on in his mind. The more
his thoughts acted in this new channel, the more
light came into the cobbler'’s mind, at all times
rather dark and dull. Certain discriminations,
nevet before thought of, were made; and certain
convictions forced themselves upon him.
“Wh at ipe of tobacco to a healthy man,
compared with an orange to a sick child?” uttered
half aloud, marked at last the final conclusion of
his mind; and as this was sald, the penny, which
was still in his fingers, was thrust determinedly into
his pocket.
Ashe returned home, Claire bought the orange,
and in the act experienced a new pleasure. By a
“mf we could afford her some of these nice
. 2
kind of necessity he had worked on, daily, for his
"22 SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON.
family, upon which was expended nearly all his ;
earnings; and the whole matter came so much as a
thing of course, that it was no subject of conscious
thought, and produced no emotion of delight or
pain. But the giving up of the tobacco for the sake
of his little Lizzy was an act of self-denial entirely
out of the ordinary course, and it brought with it
its own sweet reward.
When Claire got back to his home, Lizzy was ly-
ing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for his re-
turn. He lifted her, as usual, in arms, and car-
ried her up to his shop. After placing her upon
the rude couch he had prepared for her, he sat
down upon bis bench, and as he looked upon the
white, shrunken face of his dear child, and met the
fixed, sad gaze of her large, earnest eyes, a more
than usual tenderness came over his feelings. Then
without a word, he took the orange from his pocket,
and gave it into her hand.
Instantly there came over Lizzy’s face a deep flush
of surprise and pleasure. A smile trembled around
her wan lips, and an unusual light glittered in her
eyes. Eagerly she placed the fruit to her mouth and
drank its refreshing juice, while every part of her
body seemed quivering with a sense of delight.
“Ie it good, ‘dear ?” at length asked the father,
who sat looking on with a new feeling at bis heart. ,
The child did not answer in words; but words
could not bave expressed her sense of pleasure 80
eloquently as the smile that lit up and made beauti-
ful every feature of her face.
While the orange was yet at the lips of Lizzy
Mrs. Claire came up into the shop for some purpose.
“An orange!” she exclaiined, with surprise,
“Where did that come from ?*
“O mother, it is so good!” said the child, taking
from her lips the portion that yet remained, and
looking at it with a happy face,
“Where in the world did thats come from,
Thomas?” asked the mother,
“Tbonght it with my last penzy,” replied Claire.
“1 thought it would taste good to her.”
“But you had no tobacco.”
“Til do without that until to-morrow,”
Claire.
replied
“It was kind in you to deny yourself for Lizzy’s
ke.” :
This was said in an approving voice, and added
nother pleasurable emotion to those he was already
feeling. The mother sat down, and fora few mo-
ments enjoyed the sight of her sick child, as with
unabated eagerness she continued to extract the
refreshing juice from the fruit. When she went
lown-stairs and resumed her household duties, ter
heart beat more lightly in her bosom than it had
beaten for a long time.
Not once through that whole -day did Thomas
Claire feel the want of his pipe; for the thought of
the orange kept his mind in so pleasant a state that
& mere sensual desire like that for a whiff of tobacco
ad no power over him.
Thinking of the orange of course brought other
thoughts; and before the day closed, Claire had
made a calculation of how much his beer and tobacco
money would amount to in ayear. The sum aston-
ished him. He paid rent for the little house in
which he lived, four pounds sterling a year, which
he always thought a large sum. But his beer and
tobacco cost nearly seven pounds! He went over
and over the calculation a dozen times, in doubt of
the first estimate, but it always came out the same.
Then he began to go over in his mind the many
comforts seven pounds per annum would give to his
family ; and particularly how many little luxuries
might be procured for Lizzy, whose delicate appe-
tite turned from the coarse food that was daily set
befure her.
But to give up the beer and tobacco im toto,
when it was thought of seriously, appeared impossi-
ble. How could he do without them!
On that evening the customer whose boots he
had taken home in the morning called in, unex-
pectedly, and paid for them. Claire retained a six-
pence of the money, and: gave the balance to his
wife. With this sixpence.in his pocket he went out
for a mug of beer and some tobacco to replenish his
pipe.. He stayed some time—longer than he usually
took for such.an errand.
When he came back. he had three oranges ia bis
pocket; and in his hands were two fresh buna and
acup of sweet new milk. No beer had passed bis
lips, and his pipe was yet unsupplied. He had
passed through another long conflict with his old
appetites ; but love for bis child came off, as before,
the conqueror.
Lins, who drooped about all, day, dying down
