I am sending in gifts to the men at Sheffield, wealth of various kinds,
in small instalments—but in secure forms. Five bits of opal; the market
value of one, just paid to Mr. Wright, of Great Russell Street, £3; a
beryl, of unusual shape, ditto, £2; a group of emeralds, from the mine
of Holy Faith of Bogota, and two pieces of moss gold,—market value £2
10s.,—just paid to Mr. Tennant. Also, the first volume of the Sheffield
Library; an English Bible of the thirteenth century,—market value
£50,—just paid to Mr. Ellis. I tell these prices only to secure the
men’s attention, because I am not sure what acceptant capacity they
have for them. When once they recognize the things themselves to be
wealth,—when they can see the opals, know the wonderfulness of the
beryl, enjoy the loveliness of the golden fibres, read the
illuminations of the Bible page,—they will not ask what the cost, nor
consider what they can get for them. I don’t believe they will think
even of lending their Bible out on usury.
I have no subscriptions, or other progress of the Society, to announce
this month.