A London merchant engaged in Mediterranean commerce, had successfully
prosecuted his business, and amassed what all merchants desire, an
ample fortune. His, indeed, was a princely one. He had purchased a
large and beautiful estate in the country, and had built and furnished
a splendid mansion in town, on the Surrey side of the river, and now
that he was verging towards sixty, he concluded to retire and enjoy
the remnant of his life in peaceful leisure.
He negotiated for the sale of his abundance-making business, and sold
it for another fortune. He then retired. He was a bachelor. He had his
halls, his parlors, dining-rooms, and drawing-rooms, his library and
cabinets of curiosities. The floors were covered with the most mosaic
specimens of Brussels and Turkey carpetings, the furniture was of the
most complete and exquisite selections, the walls were adorned with
splendid mirrors and with classic paintings, and fine linen decorated
all.
Carriages, horses, grooms, and servants were at his command. Books,
pictures, and engravings were at hand to interest him. The daily and
the weekly papers, and the periodicals, brought to his table all the
news of the great world, and his friends and his acquaintances paid
him homage. How happy must the man be who has all this!
_He_ was not happy. He had no aim, no motive. The zest with which he
read the papers when he was a merchant, he had lost now he had ceased
to be engaged in commerce. A storm, a fleet, a pestilence along the
Mediterranean shores, was full of interest to him before, because he
had investments there. Now, they were of no consequence to him. The
views and aims of government were watched by him before with searching
scrutiny, because his destiny was bound up with theirs. The
parliamentary debates were of the greatest consequence before, as
indicating British policy; but that to him now ceased to be an object
of importance. His fortune was achieved, his course was run, his
destiny fulfilled.
Soon, every thing and place appeared to him one uniform and universal
blank. His beautiful apartments were unused, his carriage and horses
unemployed, his books unread, his papers unopened, his meals untasted,
and his clothes unworn. He had lost all enjoyment of life, and
contemplated suicide.
Saturday night arrived, and he resolved on Sunday morning early,
before the busy populace were stirring, he would make his way to
Waterloo bridge and jump into the river, or tumble off.
At three o'clock, he set out on his final expedition, and had nearly
reached the bridge, the shadows of the night protecting him from
observation, when a figure stood before him. Amazed at being seen by
any one, he turned out of the path, when the figure crouching low
before him, revealed a tattered, miserable man, baring his head in
abjectness.
"What are you doing here?" inquired the retired merchant.
"I have a wife and family, whom I can't help from starving, and I am
afraid to go and see them. Last night I knew they would be turned into
the streets," replied the man.
"Take that," replied the merchant, giving him his purse, with gold and
silver in it--thinking to himself, "how much more useful this will be
to him, than in my pockets in the water."
"God bless you, sir--God bless you, sir," exclaimed the man several
times, kneeling before the astonished merchant.
"Stop," said the merchant, "do not overwhelm me so with your
thanksgivings--but tell me where you live."
"In Lambeth, sir."
"Then why are you _here_ this morning?" said the merchant.
"I do not like to tell you," said the man. "I am ashamed to tell a
gentleman like you."
"Why so?" replied the merchant.
"Well, sir," replied the man, "as I had not a single penny, and did
not know how to get one, I came here to drown myself, although I knew
't was wicked!"
The merchant was astonished and appalled, and after a long silence,
said, "Sir, I am overwhelmed with wealth, and yet I am so miserable
that I came here this morning for the same purpose as yourself.
There's something more in this than I can understand at present. Let
me go with you to see your family."
The man made every excuse to hinder the merchant, but he would go.
"Have you lost your character?" said the merchant.
"No, sir," replied the man, "but I am so miserably poor and
wretched--and, for anything I know, my wife and children may be
turned into the street."
"Why are you out of work and pay?" resumed the merchant.
"I used to groom the horses of the stage-coaches," said the man, "but
since the railroads are come up the coaches are put down, and many
men, like me, have no employment."
They plodded on their way, two miles of brick and mortar piled on
either side. At last they came to a third-rate house, when a rough,
common-looking woman opened the door and shutter. As soon as she saw
the man, she let loose her tongue upon him for all the villainy in the
world, but something which passed from his hand to hers hushed her in
an instant; and observing the merchant, she courtesied to him civilly.
The man ran up-stairs, leaving the merchant and woman together, which
gave the former an opportunity to make inquiries. Having satisfied
himself that want was the crime of the family, he told the woman who
he was, promised to see her paid, and induced her to set on and cook a
breakfast for the family, and supply them with any thing which they
needed.
The man returned, and the merchant went up-stairs to see, for the
first time, the wretched family in rags, dirt, and misery. He
comforted them with hope of better days, and bidding the man take a
hasty meal below, took him with him, and helped with his own hands to
load a cart with bed, bedding, clothes, furniture, and food for the
family.
The man was gone, and the merchant for the first moment, reflected on
all that had passed. He was relieved of his misery by doing something
for another, and out of mere selfishness he resolved on doing good to
others, to prevent the necessity for drowning himself.
He employed the man in his stable, removed the family near, and placed
them in a cottage, sending the children to school. Soon he sought out
misery to relieve, and was led to consider the cause of all
misery--sin. He turned to God and found him, and sought to turn his
fellow sinners.
He aided every good word and work, and was the humble teller of his
own humbling story. He had been a merchantman seeking goodly pearls,
and having found the pearl of great price, he went and sold all that
he had, and bought it; and the retired earthly merchant became an
active heavenly merchant.
"Better the valley with peace and love
Than the desolate heights some souls attain;
Lonely is life on the hills above
The valley lands and the sunny plain.
What is fame to love? Can it satisfy
The longing and lonely hearts of men?
On the heights they must hunger and starve and die,
Come back to the valley of peace again!"