There are two classes in the world: one acts from impulse, and the other from reason; one consults the heart, and the other the head. Persons belonging to the former class are very much liked by the majority of those who come in contact with them: while those of the latter class make many enemies in their course through life. Still, the world owes as much to the latter as to the former–perhaps a great deal more.
Mr. Archibald May belonged to the former class; he was known as a good-hearted man. He uttered the word “no” with great difficulty; and was never known to have deliberately said that to another which he knew would hurt his feelings. If any one about him acted wrong, he could not find it in his heart to wound him by calling his attention to the fact. On one occasion, a clerk was detected in purloining money; but it was all hushed up, and when Mr. May dismissed him, he gave him a certificate of good character.
“How could you do so?” asked a neighbor, to whom he mentioned the fact.
“How could I help doing it? The young man had a chance of getting a good place. It would have been cruel in me to have refused to aid him. A character was required, and I could do no less than give it. Poor, silly fellow! I am sure I wish him well. I always liked him.”
“Suppose he robs his present employer?”
“He won’t do that, I’m certain. He is too much ashamed of his conduct while in my store. It is a lesson to him. And, at any rate, I do not think a man should be hunted down for a single fault.”
“No: of course not. But, when you endorse a man’s character, you lead others to place confidence in him; a confidence that may be betrayed under very aggravated circumstances.”
“Better that many suffer, than that one innocent man should be condemned and cast off.”
“But there is no question about guilt or innocence. It was fully proved that this young man robbed you.”
“Suppose it was. No doubt the temptation was very strong. I don’t believe he will ever be guilty of such a thing again.”
“You have the best evidence in the world that he will, in the fact that he has taken your money.”
“O no, not at all. It doesn’t follow, by any means, that a fault like this will be repeated. He was terribly mortified about it. That has cured him, I am certain.”
“I wouldn’t trust to it.”
“You are too uncharitable,” replied Mr. May. “For my part, I always look upon the best side of a man’s character. There is good in every one. Some have their weaknesses–some are even led astray at times; but none are altogether bad. If a man falls, help him up, and start him once more fair in the world–who can say that he will again trip? Not I. The fact is, we are too hard with each other. If you brand your fellow with infamy for one little act of indiscretion, or, say crime, what hope is there for him.”
“You go rather too far, Mr. May,” the neighbor said, “in your condemnation of the world. No doubt there are many who are really uncharitable in their denunciations of their fellow man for a single fault. But, on the other side, I am inclined to think, that there are just as many who are equally uncharitable, in loosely passing by, out of spurious kindness, what should mark a man with just suspicion, and cause a withholding of confidence. Look at the case now before us. You feel unwilling to keep a young man about you, because he has betrayed your trust, and yet, out of kind feelings, you give him a good character, and enable him to get a situation where he may seriously wrong an unsuspecting man.”
“But I am sure he will not do so.”
“But what is your guarantee?”
“The impression that my act has evidently made upon him. If I had, besides hushing up the whole matter, kept him still in my store, he might again have been tempted. But the comparatively light punishment of dismissing him with a good character, will prove a salutary check upon him.”
“Don’t you believe it.”
“I will believe it, until I see evidence to the contrary. You are too suspicious–too uncharitable, my good friend. I am always inclined to think the best of every one. Give the poor fellow another chance for his life, say I.”
“I hope it may all turn out right.”
“I am sure it will,” returned Mr. May. “Many and many a young man is driven to ruin by having all confidence withdrawn from him, after his first error. Depend upon it, such a course is not right.”
“I perfectly agree with you, Mr. May, that we should not utterly condemn and cast off a man for a single fault. But, it is one thing to bear with a fault, and encourage a failing brother man to better courses, and another to give an individual whom we know to be dishonest, a certificate of good character.”
“Yes, but I am not so sure the young man we are speaking about is dishonest.”
“Didn’t he rob you?”
“Don’t say rob. That is too hard a word. He did take a little from me; but it wasn’t much, and there were peculiar circumstances.”
“Are you sure that under other peculiar circumstances, he would not have taken much more from you?”
“I don’t believe he would.”
“I wouldn’t trust him.”
“You are too suspicious–too uncharitable, as I have already said. I can’t be so. I always try to think the best of every one.”
Finding that it was no use to talk, the neighbor said but little more on the subject.
About a year afterwards the young man’s new employer, who, on the faith of Mr. May’s recommendation, had placed great confidence in him, discovered that he had been robbed of several thousand dollars. The robbery was clearly traced to this clerk, who was arrested, tried, and sentenced to three years imprisonment in the Penitentiary.
“It seems that all your charity was lost on that young scoundrel, Blake,” said the individual whose conversation with Mr. May has just been given.
“Poor fellow!” was the pitying reply. “I am most grievously disappointed in him. I never believed that he would turn out so badly.”
“You might have known it after he had swindled you. A man who will steal a sheep, needs only to be assured of impunity, to rob the mail. The principle is the same. A rogue is a rogue, whether it be for a pin or a pound.”
“Well, well–people differ in these matters. I never look at the worst side only. How could Dayton find it in his heart to send that poor fellow to the State Prison! I wouldn’t have done it, if he had taken all I possess. It was downright vindictiveness in him.”
“It was simple justice. He could not have done otherwise. Blake had not only wronged him, but he had violated the laws and to the laws he was bound to give him up.”
“Give up a poor, erring young man, to the stern, unbending, unfeeling laws! No one is bound to do that. It is cruel, and no one is under the necessity of being cruel.”
“It is simply just, Mr. May, as I view it. And, further, really more just to give up the culprit to the law he has knowingly and wilfully violated, than to let him escape its penalties.”
Mr. May shook his head.
“I certainly cannot see the charity of locking up a young man for three or four years in prison, and utterly and forever disgracing him.”
“It is great evil to steal?” said the neighbor.
“O, certainly–a great sin.”
“And the law made for its punishment is just?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Do you think that it really injuries a thief to lock him up in prison, and prevent him from trespassing on the property of his neighbors?”
“That I suppose depends upon circumstances. If
