_OF_ all the fallacies accepted by men as truths, there is none more
widely prevalent, nor more fatal to happiness, than that which assumes
the measure of possession to be the measure of enjoyment. All over the
world, the strife for accumulation goes on; every one seeking to
increase his flocks and herds--his lands and houses--or his gold and
merchandise--and ever in the weary, restless, unsatisfied present,
tightening with one hand the grasp on worldly goods, and reaching out
for new accessions with the other.
In dispensation, not in possession, lies the secret of enjoyment; a
fact which nature illustrates in a thousand ways, and to which every
man's experience gives affirmation. "Very good doctrine for the idle
and thriftless," said Mr. Henry Steel, a gentleman of large wealth, in
answer to a friend, who had advanced the truth we have expressed above.
"As good doctrine for them as for you," was replied. "Possession must
come before dispensation. It is not the receiver but the dispenser who
gets the higher blessing."
The rich man shrugged his shoulders, and looked slightly annoyed, as
one upon whom a distasteful theme was intruded.
"I hear that kind of talk every Sunday," he said, almost impatiently.
"But I know what it is worth. Preaching is as much a business as
anything else; and this cant about its being more blessed to give than
to receive is a part of the capital in trade of your men of black coats
and white neck-ties. I understand it all, Mr. Erwin."
"You talk lighter than is your wont on so grave a theme," answered the
friend. "What you speak of as 'cant,' and the preacher's 'capital in
trade'--'it is more blessed to give than to receive, are the recorded
words of him who never spake as man spake. If his words, must they not
be true?"
"Perhaps I did speak lightly," was returned. "But indeed, Mr. Erwin, I
cannot help feeling that in all these efforts to make rich men believe
that their only way to happiness is through a distribution of their
estates, a large element of covetousness exists."
"That may be. But, to-day you are worth over a quarter of million of
dollars. I remember when fifty thousand, all told, limited the extent
of your possessions, and I think you were happier than I find you
to-day. How was it, my friend?"
"As to that," was unhesitatingly replied, "I had more true enjoyment in
life when I was simply a clerk with a salary of four hundred dollars a
year, than I have known at any time since."
"A remarkable confession," said the friend.
"Yet true, nevertheless."
"In all these years of strife with fortune--in all these years of
unremitted gain--has there been any great and worthy end in your mind?
Any purpose beyond the acquirement of wealth?"
Mr. Steel's brows contracted. He looked at his friend for a moment like
one half surprised, and then glanced thoughtfully down at the floor.
"Gain, and only gain," said Mr. Erwin. "Not your history alone, nor
mine alone. It is the history of millions. Gathering, gathering, but
never of free choice, dispensing. Still, under Providence, the
dispensation goes on; and what we hoard, in due time another
distributes. Men accumulate gold like water in great reservoirs;
accumulate it for themselves, and refuse to lay conduits. Often they
pour in their gold until the banks fail under excessive pressure, and
the rich treasure escapes to flow back among the people. Often secret
conduits are laid, and refreshing and fertilizing currents, unknown to
the selfish owner, flow steadily out, while he toils with renewed and
anxious labors to keep the repository full. Oftener, the great magazine
of accumulated gold and silver, which he never found time to enjoy, is
rifled by others at his death. He was the toiler and the
accumulator--the slave who only produced. Miners, pearl-divers,
gold-washers are we, my friend; but what we gather we fail to possess
in that true sense of possession which involves delight and
satisfaction. For us the toil, for others the benefit."
"A flattering picture certainly!" was responded by Mr. Steel, with the
manner of one on whose mind an unpleasant conviction was forcing itself.
"Is it not true to the life? Death holds out to us his unwelcome hand,
and we must leave all. The key of our treasure-house is given, to
another."
"Yet, is he not bound by our will?" said Mr. Steel. "As we have
ordered, must not he dispense?"
"Why not dispense with our own hands, and with our own eyes see the
fruit thereof? Why not, in some small measure, at least prove if it be
indeed, more blessed to give than to receive? Let us talk plainly to
each other--we are friends. I know that in your will is a bequest of
five thousand dollars to a certain charitable institution, that, even
in its limited way, is doing much good. I speak now of only this single
item. In my will, following your example and suggestion, is a similar
bequest of one thousand dollars. You are forty-five and I am
forty-seven. How long do we expect to live?"
"Life is uncertain."
"Yet often prolonged to sixty, seventy, or even eighty years. Take
sixty-five as the mean. Not for twenty years, then, will this
institution receive the benefit of your good intention. It costs, I
think, about fifty dollars a year to support each orphan child. Only a
small number can be taken, for want of liberal means. Applicants are
refused admission almost every day. Three hundred dollars, the interest
on five thousand, at six per cent., would pay for six children. Take
five years as the average time each would remain in the institution,
and we have thirty poor, neglected little ones, taken from the street,
and educated for usefulness. Thirty human souls rescued, it may be,
from hell, and saved, finally, in heaven. And all this good might be
accomplished before your eyes. You might, if you chose, see it in
progress, and comprehending its great significance, experience a degree
of pleasure, such as fills the hearts of angels. I have made up my mind
what to do."
"What?"
"Erase the item of one thousand dollars from my will."
"What then?"
"Call it two thousand, and invest it at once for the use of this
charity. No, twenty years shall stand between my purpose and its
execution. I will have the satisfaction of knowing that good is done in
my lifetime. In this case, at least, I will be my own dispenser."
Love of money was a strong element in the heart of Mr. Steel. The
richer he grew, the more absorbing became his desire for riches. It was
comparatively an easy thing to write out charitable bequests in a
will--to give money for good uses when no longer able to hold
possession thereof; but to lessen his valued treasure by taking
anything therefrom for others in the present time, was a thing the very
suggestion of which startled into life a host of opposing reasons. He
did not respond immediately, although his heart moved him to utterance.
The force of his friend's argument was, however, conclusive. He saw the
whole subject in a new light. After a brief but hard struggle with
himself, he answered:
"And I shall follow in your footsteps, my friend. I never thought of
the lost time you mention, of the thirty children unblessed by the good
act I purposed doing. Can I leave them to vice, to suffering, to crime,
and yet be innocent? Will not their souls be required at my hands, now
that God shows me their condition? I feel the pressure of a
responsibility scarcely thought of an hour ago. You have turned the
current of my thoughts in a new direction."
"And what is better still," answered Mr. Erwin, "your purposes also."
"My purposes also," was the reply.
A week afterwards the friends met again.
"Ah," said Mr. Erwin, as he took the hand of Mr. Steel, "I see a new
light in your face. Something has taken off from your heart that dead,
dull weight of which you complained when I was last here. I don't know
when I have seen so cheerful an expression on your countenance."
"Perhaps your eyes were dull before." Mr. Steel's smile was so
all-pervading that it lit up every old wrinkle and care-line in his
face.
"I was at the school yesterday," said Mr. Erwin, in a meaning way.
"Were you?" The light lay stronger on the speaker's countenance.
"Yes. A little while after you were there."
Mr. Steel took a deep breath, as if his heart had commenced beating
more rapidly.
"I have not seen a happier man than the superintendent for a score of
weeks. If you had invested the ten thousand dollars for his individual
benefit, he could not have been half so well pleased."
"He seems like an excellent man, and one whose heart is in his work,"
said Mr. Steel.
"He had, already, taken in ten poor little boys and girls on the
strength of your liberal donation. Ten children lifted out of want and
suffering, and placed under Christian guardianship! Just think of it.
My heart gave a leap for joy when he told me. It was well done, my
friend--well done!"
"And what of your good purpose, Mr. Erwin?" asked the other.
"Two little girls--babes almost," replied Mr. Erwin, in a lower voice,
that almost trembled with feeling, "were brought to me. As I looked at
them, the superintendent said: 'I heard of them two days ago. Their
wretched mother had just died, and, in dying, had given them to a
vicious companion. Hunger, cold, debasement, suffering, crime, were in
the way before them; and but for your timely aid, I should have had no
power to intervene. But, you gave the means of rescue, and here they
are, innocent as yet, and out of danger from the wolf.' In all my life,
my friend, there has not been given a moment of sincerer pleasure."
For some time Mr. Steel sat musing.
"This is a new experience," he said, at length. "Something outside of
the common order of things. I have made hundreds of investments in my
time, but none that paid me down so large an interest. A poor
speculation it seemed. You almost dragged me into it; but, I see that
it will yield unfailing dividends of pleasure."
"We have turned a leaf in the book of life," his friend made answer,
"and on the new page which now lies before us, we find it written, that
in wise dispensation, not in mere getting and hoarding, lies the secret
of happiness. The lake must have an outlet, and give forth its crystal
waters in full measure, if it would keep them pure and wholesome, or,
as the Dead Sea, it will be full of bitterness, and hold no life in its
bosom."