# Original Stories from Real Life/Chapter 23

CHAP. XXIII.
Charity.—Shopping.—The diſtreſſed Stationer.—Miſchievous Conſequences of delaying Payment.
AS they walked in ſearch of a ſhop, they both determined to purchaſe pocket-books; but their friend deſired them not to ſpend all their money at once, as they would meet many objects of charity in the numerous ſtreets of the metropolis. I do not wiſh you, ſhe continued, to relieve every beggar that you caſually meet; yet ſhould any one attract your attention, obey the impulſe of your heart, which will lead you to pay them for exerciſing your compaſſion, and do not ſuffer the whiſpers of ſelfiſhneſs, that they may be impoſtors, to deter you. However, I would have you give but a trifle when you are not certain the diſtreſs is real, and reckon it given for pleaſure. I for my part would rather be ​deceived five hundred times, than doubt once without reaſon.
They ſtopped at a ſmall ſhop, Mrs. Maſon always ſought out ſuch; for, ſaid ſhe, I may help thoſe who perhaps want aſſiſtance; bargains I never ſeek, for I wiſh every one to receive the juſt value for their goods.
In the ſhop which they chanced to enter, they did not find the kind of pocket-book that they had previouſly fixed on, and therefore wiſhed precipitately to leave it; but were detained by their more conſiderate friend. While they had been turning over the trinkets, the countenance of the woman who ſerved them caught her eye, and ſhe obſerved her eager manner of recommending the books. You have given much unneceſſary trouble, ſaid ſhe, to the miſtreſs of the ſhop; the books are better, and more expenſive than you intended to purchaſe, but I will make up the deficiency. A beam of pleaſure enlivened the woman’s ſwollen eyes; and Mrs. Maſon, in the mild accents of compaſſion, ſaid, if it is not an ​impertinent queſtion, will you tell me from what cauſe your viſible diſtreſs ariſes? perhaps I may have it in my power to relieve you.—The woman burſt into tears.—Indeed, Madam, you have already relieved me; for the money you have laid out will enable me to procure ſome food for my poor little grandchildren, and to ſend a meal to their poor father, who is now confined for debt, though a more honeſt man never breathed. Ah! Madam, I little thought I ſhould come to this—Yeſterday his wife died, poor ſoul! I really believe things going ſo croſs broke her heart. He has been in jail theſe five months; I could not manage the ſhop, or buy what was proper to keep up the credit of it, ſo buſineſs has been continually falling off; yet, if his debts were paid, he would now be here, and we ſhould have money in our pockets. And what renders it more provoking, the people who owe us moſt are very rich. It is true, they live in ſuch a very high ſtyle, and keep ſuch a number of horſes and ſervants, that they are often in want of money; ​and when they have it, they moſtly have ſome freak in their heads, and do not think of paying poor trades-people. At firſt we were afraid to aſk for payment leſt we ſhould loſe their cuſtom, and ſo it proved; when we did venture, forced by neceſſity, they ſent to other ſhops, without diſcharging our demand.
And, my dear Madam, this is not all my grief; my ſon, before his miſfortunes, was one of the most ſober, induſtrious young men in London; but now he is not like the ſame man. He had nothing to do in the jail, and to drive away care he learned to drink; he ſaid it was a comfort to forget himſelf, and he would add an oath—I never heard him ſwear till then. I took pains when he was a child to teach him his prayers, and he rewarded me by being a dutiful ſon. The caſe is quite altered now; he ſeems to have loſt all natural affection—he heeds not his mother's tears.—Her ſobs almoſt ſuffocated her, as ſhe ſtrove to go on—He will bring my grey hairs with ſorrow to the grave—and yet I pity my poor ​boy, he is ſhut up with ſuch a number of profligate wretches, who laugh at what is right. Every farthing I ſend him he ſpends in liquor, and uſed to make his poor wife pawn her clothes to buy him drink—ſhe was happy to die; it was well for her not to live to hear the babe ſhe gave ſuck to deſpise her!
A paſſion of tears relieved the ſufferer, and ſhe called her grandchildren—Theſe innocent babes, ſaid ſhe, I ſhall not be able to keep them, they muſt go to the workhouſe. If the quality did but know what they make us poor induſtrious people ſuffer, ſurely they would be more conſiderate.
Mrs. Maſon gave her ſomething to ſupply her preſent wants, and promiſed to call on her again before ſhe left town.
They walked ſilently down two or three ſtreets—I hope you have learned to think, my dear girls, said Mrs. Maſon, and that your hearts have felt the emotions of compaſſion; need I make any comments on the ſituation of the poor woman we have juſt left. You perceive that thoſe who ​neglect to pay their debts do more harm than they imagine; perhaps, indeed, ſome of theſe very people do, what is called, a noble action, give away a large ſum, and are termed generous; nay, very probably, weep at a tragedy, or when reading an affecting tale. They then boaſt of their ſenſibility—when, alas! neglecting the foundation of all virtue, juſtice, they have occaſioned exquiſite diſtreſs; led a poor wretch into vice; heaped miſery on helpleſs infancy, and drawn tears from the aged widow.