"Here's a poor fellow who had a hard fate, Hopkins," said the
benevolent man, thoughtfully. "It is as good as a sermon on charity
to read that letter."
The trunk-maker begged to hear it.
"Well, poor journeyman as I be, I was never yet in so bad a way as
that, sir."
"And never will be, I hope; but this was a poet, Hopkins--and that's
but an indifferent trade to live by. I'll tell you what, my good friend,"
said the doctor, suddenly, "that letter is worth keeping, and you may
paste it in the trunk I'll send round this afternoon--put it in the lid,
where it can be read."
The trunk was sent, and the letter actually pasted in it as part of the
new lining. Dr. H-----, who, as we have observed, was rather
eccentric in his ways, had a son about to commence his career as a
soldier; and the worthy man thought the letter might teach the youth
a useful lesson of moderation and temperance, by showing him every
time he opened his trunk, the extreme of want to which his fellow
beings were occasionally reduced. What success followed the plan
we cannot say. The trunk, however, shared the young soldier's
wandering life; it carried the cornet's uniform to America; it was
besieged in Boston; and it made part of the besieging baggage at
Charleston. It was not destined, however, to remain in the new
world, but followed its owner to the East Indies, carrying on this
second voyage, a lieutenant's commission.
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