When Markham the younger had prepared himself for a painful and distressing meeting with his mother, he was agreeably disappointed to find her so very calm and composed; and it also gave him satisfaction to hear that the state of affairs was not quite so bad as from his father’s letter he had been led to imagine. A composition indeed had been offered, or rather proposed; for as yet the poor man had merely ascertained his inability to meet all the claims upon him, and he had found himself in a reduced state, but he hardly knew how much or how little he was reduced. Mrs. Markham, who was a woman of business and of good understanding, and who, though not gratuitously and curiously interfering, had examined and investigated the pecuniary difficulties, gave to her son a more particular statement than his father’s nervous and agitated frame of mind would allow him to do. From this statement it appeared that the sum required to meet the exigencies of the case was altogether within the compass of the young man’s power. This thought dispersed much of the uneasiness which he had felt at first receiving the painful intelligence. Not entirely however was his mind freed from perplexity; for he had doubts and fears concerning his father’s willingness to accept relief from such quarter. Nor was it altogether without some disagreeable feelings that the young man contemplated the loss of the first-fruits of his professional success. On the other hand, it was a high gratification to him that it was in his power to avert a heavy affliction from those parents to whom he owed so much.
Some very profound philosophers, who are a great deal wiser than we are or ever wish to be, are of opinion that mankind are not under very great obligations to parents, and that parents having a pleasure in doing the best they can for their offspring, and feeling a satisfaction in making all manner of sacrifices for their children, have their reward and motive in the very acts themselves, and therefore deserve no very particular thanks or expressions of gratitude. For whatsoever any one finds pleasure in doing, has not the character of virtue, or the power of binding or leading another to gratitude. So to illustrate this philosophy, we may state the matter thus. If a benefactor can truly say to the object of his benevolence or benefaction, “I thoroughly hate, and most cordially detest you; and I have not any pleasure, but rather a great deal of pain, in doing you any kind offices; and it would give me much greater satisfaction to see you starve, than to be conscious that you are enjoying any of the blessings of life;”--then the benefaction is most truly disinterested, and the recipient is bound to be truly grateful. Though we must acknowledge ourselves puzzled to know where to find such disinterested goodness; therefore, in the mean time, we will patiently put up with such benevolence as the world supplies us with; and we will explain away and apologise for any feelings of gratitude which we may entertain towards benefactors and friends, by saying, that our gratitude is not exercised towards them because they deserve it, but because we like it, and it is exceedingly pleasant to ourselves to think and speak handsomely of those who have been the means of doing us good.