May was left with but two children—Charlotte, at the time of her mother's death, thirteen, and Susan, nine. They had been so far admirably trained by their mother, and were imbued with her character, seeming only to resemble their father in hearts running over with the milk of human kindness, unless Susan's all-conquering cheerfulness was derived from her father's ever-acquiescing patience. His was a passive virtue—hers an active principle. If any one unacquainted with the condition of life in New-England should imagine that the Mays had suffered the evils of real poverty, they must allow us to set them right. In all our widespread country there is very little necessary poverty. In New-England none that is not the result of vice or disease. If the moral and physical laws of the Creator were obeyed, the first of these causes would be at an end, and the second would scarcely exist.[1] Industry and frugality are wonderful multipliers of small means. Philip May brought in but little, but that little was well administered. His house was clean—his garden productive (the girls kept it wed)—his furniture carefully preserved—his family comfortably clad, and his girls schooled. No wonder Uncle Phil never dreamed he was a poor man!
Henry Aikin was the youngest of twelve children. His father was a farmer—all his property, real and personal, might have amounted to some
- ↑ We have heard a gentleman who, in virtue of the office he holds as minister at large, is devoted to succouring the poor, state, that even in this city (New-York), he had known very few cases of suffering from poverty that might not be traced directly or indirectly to vice.
