"_TRIPPED_ again!"
"Who?"
"Brantley."
"Poor fellow! He has a hard time of it. Is he all the way down?"
"I presume so. When he begins to fall, he usually gets to the bottom of
the ladder."
It was true; Brantley had tripped again; and was down. He had been
climbing bravely for three or four years, and was well up the ladder of
prosperity, when in his eagerness to make two rundles of the ladder at
a step instead of one, he missed his footing and fell to the bottom. My
first knowledge of the fact came through the conversation just
recorded. From all I could hear, Brantley's failure was a serious one.
I knew him to be honorable and conscientious, and to have a great deal
of sensitive pride.
A few days afterwards, while passing the pleasant home where Brantley
had been residing, I saw a bill up, giving notice that the house was
for sale. A few days later I met him on the street. He did not see me.
His eyes were on the pavement; he looked pale and careworn; he walked
slowly, and was in deep thought.
"He is of tougher material than most men, if the heart is not all taken
out of him," I said in speaking of him to a mutual friend.
"And he _is_ of tougher material," was answered, "that is, of finer
material. Brantley is not one of your common men."
"Still, there must be something wrong about him. Some defect of
judgment. He is a good climber; but not sure-footed. Or, it may be that
beyond a certain height his head grows dizzy."
"If one gets too eager in any pursuit, he is almost sure to make false
steps. I think Brantley became too eager. The steadily widening
prospect as he went up, up, up, caused his pulses to move at a quicker
rate."
"Too eager, and less scrupulous," I suggested.
"His honor is unstained," said the friend, with some warmth.
"In the degree that a man grows eager in pursuit, he is apt to grow
blind to things collateral, and less concerned about the principles
involved."
"In some cases that may be true, but is hardly probable in the case of
Brantley. I do not believe that he has swerved from integrity in
anything."
"It is my belief," I answered, "that if he had not swerved, he would
not have fallen. I may be wrong, but cannot help the impression."
"Brantley is an honest man. I will maintain that in the face of every
one," was replied.
"Honest as the world regards honesty. But there are higher than legal
standards. What A and B may consider fair, C may regard as
questionable. He has his own standard; and if he falls below that in
his dealings with men, he departs from his integrity."
"I have nothing to say for Brantley under that view of the subject,"
said the friend. "If he has special standards of morality, and does not
live up to them, the matter is between himself and his own conscience.
We, on the outside, are not his judges."
It so happened that I met Brantley a short time afterwards. The
circumstances were favorable, and our interview unreserved. He had sold
his house, and a large part of the handsome furniture it contained, and
was living in a humbler dwelling. I referred to his changed condition,
and spoke of it with regret.
"There is no gratuitous evil," he remarked. "I have long been satisfied
on that head. If we lose on one hand, we gain on another. And my
experience in life leads me to this conclusion, that the loss is
generally in lower things, and the gain in higher."
I looked into his face, yet bearing the marks of recent trial and
suffering, and saw in it the morning dawn.
"Has it been so with you?" I asked.
"Yes; and it has always been so," he answered, without hesitation. "It
is painful to be under the surgeon's knife," he added. "We shrink back,
shivering, at the sight of his instruments. The flesh is agonized. But
when all is over, and the greedy tumor, or wasting cancer, that was
threatening life, is gone, we rejoice and are glad."
He sighed, and looked sober for a little while, as thought went back,
and memory gave too vivid a realization of what had been, and then
resumed:
"I can see now, that what seemed to me, and is still regarded by others
as a great misfortune, was the best thing that could have taken place.
I have lost, but I have gained; and the gain is greater than the loss.
It has always been so. Out of every trouble or disaster that has
befallen me in life, I have come with a deep conviction that my feet
stumbled because they were turning into paths that would lead my soul
astray. However much I may love myself and the world, however much I
may seek my own, below all and above all is the conviction that time is
fleeting, and life here but as a span, that if I compass the whole
world, and lose my own soul, I have made a fearful exchange. There are
a great many things regarded by business men as allowable. They are so
common in trade, that scarcely one man in a score questions their
morality; so common, that I have often found myself drifting into their
practice, and abandoning for a time the higher principles in whose
guidance there alone is safety. Misfortune seems to have dogged my
steps; but in this pause of my life--in this state of calmness--I can
see that misfortune is my good; for, not until my feet were turning
into ways that lead to death, did I stumble and fall."
"Are you not too hard in self-judgment?" I said.
"No," he answered. "The case stands just here. You know, I presume, the
immediate cause of my recent failure in business."
"A sudden decline in stocks."
The color deepened on his cheeks.
"Yes; that is the cause. Now, years ago, I settled it clearly with my
own conscience that stock speculation was wrong; that it was only
another name for gambling, in which, instead of rendering service to
the community, your gains were, in nearly all cases, measured by
another's loss. Departing from this just principle of action, I was
tempted to invest a large sum of money in a rising stock, that I was
sure would continue to advance until it reached a point where, in
selling I could realize a net gain of ten thousand dollars. I was doing
well. I was putting by from two to three thousand dollars every year,
and was in a fair way to get rich. But, as money began to accumulate, I
grew more and more eager in its acquirement, and less concerned about
the principles underlying every action, until I passed into a temporary
state of moral blindness. I was less scrupulous about securing large
advantages in trade, and would take the lion's share, if opportunity
offered, without a moment's hesitation. So, not content with doing well
in a safe path, I must step aside, and try my strength at climbing more
rapidly, even though danger threatened on the left and on the right;
even though I dragged others down in my hot and perilous scramble
upwards. I lost my footing--I stumbled--I fell, crashing down to the
very bottom of the hill, half way up which I had gone so safely ere the
greedy fiend took possession of me."
"And have not been really hurt by the fall," I remarked.
"I have suffered pain--terrible pain; for I am of a sensitive nature,"
he replied. "But in the convulsions of agony, nothing but the outside
shell of a false life has been torn away. The real man is unharmed. And
now that the bitter disappointment and sadness that attend humiliation
are over, I can say that my gain is greater than my loss. I would
rather grope in the vale of poverty all my life, and keep my conscience
clean, than stand high up among the mountains of prosperity with a
taint thereon.
"God knows best," he added, after a pause, speaking in a more subdued
tone. "And I recognize the hand of His good providence in this wreck of
my worldly hopes. To gain riches at the sacrifice of just principles is
to gather up dirt and throw away goodly pearls."
"How is it with your family?" I asked. "They must feel the change
severely."
"They did feel it. But the pain is over with them also. Poor weak human
nature! My girls were active and industrious at home, and diligent at
school, while my circumstances were limited. But, as money grew more
plentiful, and I gave them a larger house to live in, and richer
clothes to wear, they wearied of their useful employments, and
neglected their studies. Pride grew apace, and vanity walked hand in
hand with pride. They were less considerate of one another, and less
loving to their parents. If I attempted to restrain their fondness for
dress, or check their extravagance, they grew sullen, or used unfilial
language. Like their father, they could not bear prosperity. But all is
changed now. Misfortune has restored them to a better state of mind.
They emulate each other in service at home; their minds dwell on useful
things; they are tender of their mother and considerate of their
father. Home is a sweeter place to us all than it has been for a long
time."
"And so what the world calls misfortune has proved a blessing."
"Yes. In permitting my feet to stumble; in letting me fall from the
height I had obtained, God dealt with me and mine in infinite love. We
give false names to things. We call that good which only represents
good, which is of the heart and life, and not in external possessions.
He has taken from me the effigy that He may give me the good itself."
"If all men could find like you," I said, "a sweet kernel at the centre
of misfortune's bitter nut."
"All men may find it if they will," he answered, "for the sweet kernel
is there."
How few find it! Nay, reader, if you say this, your observation is at
fault. God's providences with men are not like blind chances, but full
of wisdom and love. In the darkness of sorrow and adversity a light
shines on the path that was not illumined before. When the sun of
worldly prosperity goes down, a thousand stars are set in the
firmament. In the stillness that follows, God speaks to the soul and is
heard.