Peter Crisp's Spectacles.
Peter Crisp had something the matter with his eyes; he needed spectacles to help him to see. But this was no uncommon misfortune; hundreds of people, who do ten good hours' work every day of their lives, use glasses and cannot get along without them. No; the chief trouble in Peter's case was not in wanting glasses; it was in the particular sort of glasses that he used. He had several pairs, which he always kept on hand, nobody knew exactly where; they seemed to be hidden somewhere about the head of his bed, for he often got them on before he was up in the morning. One pair was what I should call smoked glasses, such as persons use in looking at the sun; they do very well for that purpose, preventing the bright rays from hurting the eyes. But Peter did not put them on to look at the sun with; he looked at everything through them. And as this made everything look dark and ugly, he was made to feel accordingly. “I could iron these collars better myself!” he exclaimed one morning as he was dressing, after getting up with those glasses on. And a few minutes later, “Not a pin in the cushion as usual!” and presently again, “Who has taken my comb and brush?” Had any of the children chanced to come into the room about that time, it would have been worse for them. When he sat down to breakfast there was a deep wrinkle between his eyes, caused by the weight of his glasses upon his brow. “That Polly Ann never did make a good cup of coffee in her life,” he remarked. “My dear,” turning to his wife, “I do wish you would take the trouble to go down once—just once, only once—and show her how.” Mrs. Crisp ventured to say in a low voice that she went down every morning. Peter had no reply to make to this, but he puckered his lips as if he had been taking quinine, frowned yet more severely and pushed the cup away from him. After his cheerful breakfast he put on his hat to go to the store, but turned back from the front door and came to the foot of the stairs, when he stood calling out in a loud voice that he really felt ashamed of the black around the door-knob and bell handle. In the street a few moments afterward, a gentleman joined him, to whom he was as pleasant as possible. But when he got into the counting-room, it was plain he had the smoked glasses on still. Not one person about the concern worked as he should, he said—none of them were worth a cent. It used to be different when he was a boy. Then he went out with a look of general disgust. As soon as he was gone the bookkeeper was cross to the clerk, and the clerk scolded the boy, and the boy went out and abused the porter. A few mornings after that, Peter had on what might be called his blue glasses. He was in milder frame, but low in spirits. He was sorry to see the chamber carpet wearing out, for he did not know where another one would come from. At breakfast he watched all the children taking butter and took scarcely any himself. He begged Mrs. Crisp to put less sugar in his coffee. The frown was gone from his face, but a more dejected look had come in its place. Spying a hole in the toe of his boy's shoe, he took a long breath; and hearing that the dressmaker was engaged a day next week for his daughters, he sighed aloud. Walking down the street, he looked as if he had lost a near relative, and at the store all day he felt like one on the eve of breaking. He had one more pair of glasses, the color of which could never be distinctly made out; they seemed more of a mud-color than anything else. He did not wear them so often as either of the others, but when he did they had a very singular effect. It was thought by many that they befogged him, rather than helped him to see; for after putting them on of a morning he would get up and dress hardly speaking a word. At breakfast he would say nothing, and not seem to want any body else to; consequently the whole family would sit and munch in silence; then he would rise from the table and walk out of the front door as if he was dumb; and although it was a relief when he had gone and made matters something better, still a chilling influence remained behind him the whole morning. Peter had been wearing these glasses a good many years, when it occurred to him one day that things never looked very cheerful in his eyes, that he was never very happy, and that perhaps his spectacles had something to do with it. “I wish I could get another and a better pair,” said he. Then he remembered that his neighbor, Samuel Seabright, had to wear glasses also, but he always appeared to see well and to have a pleasant face. Meeting him the next morning, he said— “Neighbor, if it is not making too free, may I ask where you get your spectacles?” “Certainly,” replied Samuel. “I am glad to tell you. They are good ones, and I wish every man with poor eyes had a pair like them.” “I would be willing to pay a good price for a pair,” said Peter. “That is not needful,” replied Samuel; “they are the cheapest glasses you can get.” “Pray tell me where I can find them,” said Peter. “I get mine,” said Samuel, “by the help of a certain physician whose house you pass every day; and if you are truly anxious to get them, I know he will tell you how you can get a pair for the asking.” “I don't want them in charity,” replied Peter. “Then you cannot have them,” said Samuel. “Well,” replied Peter, in a humbler voice, “I'll take them for nothing, or I'll pay a big price for them, for I want them above all things.” “Ah,” said Samuel, “that sounds more like getting them. You go to him and tell him how you feel, and he will tend to your case.” Then Peter did as he was told. The doctor looked at his eyes, and said that the disease in them was one which kept him from seeing the good things about him; all he could see was the evil. “And those glasses you have been wearing,” he continued, “have only made them worse, till there is danger of your getting beyond cure.” “And is there no hope for me?” asked Peter. “Oh yes,” replied the doctor, “if you will follow the directions.” “I will do so,” said Peter. “In the first, then,” he continued, “you must wear those glasses no more. Throw them away or put them in the fire, so that you will never see them again.” “I promise to do so,” replied Peter. “In the next place, when you are given a new pair,” continued the doctor, “you must always walk in the way which they show you to be right.” “I will try not to depart from it,” said Peter. At this there came an invisible hand that took off his old smoked glasses and put on new ones, made of pure crystal, which let the light through just as it came down from the sky. But oh, what a change they made to Peter! He went home, and as soon as he entered the door his house seemed like another place to him; it seemed filled with blessings. “Is it possible,” he exclaimed, “that those glasses have kept me from seeing all these before?” The next morning when he got up he told his wife what had befallen him and how he felt in consequence. “But,” said she, with a loving smile, “how about those badly-ironed collars, and the pins, and the weak coffee?” “Oh,” he cried, “how could I ever let such trifles trouble me?” “And then,” she continued, “here is the carpet wearing out, and the boys' shoes and the girls' dresses.” “As for them,” he said, “we will hope to get more when they are gone. But even if we should not have half of our present comforts and indulgence, with you, my dearest, and our precious children about me, I trust I may feel too rich ever again to utter one complaining word.” So the sunshine came into Peter Crisp's house, and he and all his family led a happier life because of his new glasses, which were, a thankful heart.