EVERY man has some little defect of character, some easily-besetting
sin that is always overtaking him, unless he be ever on the alert. My
friend, Paul Burgess, was a man of considerable force of mind; whatever
he undertook was carried through with much energy of purpose. But his
leading defect was a tendency to inertia in small matters. It required
an adequate motive to put the machinery of his mind in operation. Some
men never let a day pass without carefully seeing after every thing,
little or great, that ought to be done. They cannot rest until the
day's work is fully completed. But it was very different with Paul. If
the principal business transactions of the day were rightly performed,
he was satisfied to let things of less consideration lie over until
another time. From this cause it occurred that every few weeks there
was an accumulation of things necessary to be done, so great that their
aggregate calls upon his attention roused him to action, and then every
thing was reduced to order with an energy, promptness, and internal
satisfaction that made him wonder at himself for ever having neglected
these minor interests so long. On these occasions, a firm resolution
was always made never again to let a day come to its close without
every thing being done that the day called for. It usually happened
that the first hour did not pass after the forming of this resolution
without seeing its violation--so strong was the power of habit growing
out of an original defect in the mind.
Every consequence in life is the natural result of some cause, and upon
the character of the cause always depends the nature of the
consequence. An orderly cause never produces a disorderly consequence,
and the converse of this is equally true. Every defect of character
that we have, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant it may
be, if suffered to flow down into our actions, produces an evil result.
The man who puts off the doing of a thing until to-morrow that ought to
be done to-day, injures his own interest or the interest of others.
This may not always clearly show itself, but the fact is nevertheless
true. Sometimes the consequences of even the smallest neglect are felt
most deeply.
My friend Paul had a very familiar saying when reminded by any one of
something that ought to have been previously done. "I was just going to
do it," or "I am just going to do it," dropped from his tongue
half-a-dozen times in a day.
"I wish you would have my bill ready by three o'clock," said a customer
to him, dropping in one morning.
"Very well, it shall be made out," replied Paul.
The customer turned and walked hurriedly away. He evidently had a good
deal of business to do, and but a small time to do it in.
Precisely at three, the man called, and found the merchant reading the
afternoon paper.
"Is my bill made out?" he asked.
"I am just going to do it," answered Paul, handing the paper towards
his customer. "Look over the news for a few moments while I draw it
off; it won't take me long."
"I am sorry," replied the customer, "for I cannot wait. I have three or
four more accounts to settle, and the boat leaves in an hour. Send me
the bill by mail, and I will remit you the amount. Good-by"--offering
his hand--"I hope to see you again in the fall."
Paul took the extended hand of his customer, and shook it warmly. In
the next moment he was standing alone, his ledger open before him, and
his eye resting upon an account, the payment of which was of some
importance to him just at that time. Disappointed and dissatisfied with
himself, he closed the ledger heavily and left the desk, instead of
making out the account and mailing it. On the next day, the want of
just the amount of money he would have received from his customer kept
him on the street two hours. It was three weeks before he made out the
account and sent it on. A month elapsed, but no remittance came. He
dropped his customer a line, and received for answer that when last in
the city he had bought more goods than he intended, and consequently
paid away all his cash; business had not yet begun to stir, and thus
far what little he had sold had been for credit, but that he hoped soon
to make him a remittance. The next news Paul had of his customer was
that he had failed.
It was said of him that when a young man he became quite enamoured of a
reigning belle, who to great beauty added many far more essential
prerequisites in a good wife, not the least of which in the eye of Paul
was a handsome fortune left her by a distant relative. To this young
lady he paid very marked attentions for some time, but he did not stand
alone in the number of her admirers. Several others were as much
interested in gaining her favourable regard as he was.