MAMMON, AND CONTENTMENT.
Ay, safe enough: and the murderer went to bed. To bed? No.
He tumbled about the clothes, to make it seem that he had lain there:
but he dared neither lie down, nor shut his eyes. Then, the darkness
terrified him: the out-door darkness he could have borne, and Mrs.
Quarles's chamber always had a night-lamp burning: but the darkness of
his own room, of his own thoughts, pressed him all around, as with a
thick, murky, suffocating vapour. So, he stood close by the window,
watching the day-break.
As for sleep, never more did wholesome sleep rëvisit that atrocious
mind: laudanum, an ever-increasing dose of merciless laudanum, that was
the only power which ever seemed to soothe him. For a horrid vision
always accompanied him now: go where he might, do what he would, from
that black morning to eternity, he went a haunted man--a scared,
sleepless, horror-stricken wretch. That livid face with goggling eyes,
stuck to him like a shadow; he always felt its presence, and sometimes,
also, could perceive it as if bodily peeping over his shoulder, next his
cheek; it dogged him by day, and was his incubus by night; and often he
would start and wrestle, for the desperate grasp of the dying appeared
to be clutching at his throat: so, in his ghostly fears, and bloody
conscience, he had girded round his neck a piece of thin sheet-iron in
his cravat, which he wore continually as armour against those clammy
fingers: no wonder that he held his head so stiff.
O Gold--accursed Mammon! is this the state of those who love thee
deepest? is this their joy, who desire thee with all their heart and
soul--who serve thee with all their might--who toil for thee--plot for
thee--live for thee--dare for thee--die for thee? Hast thou no better
bliss to give thy martyrs--no choicer comfort for thy most consistent
worshippers, no fairer fate for those, whose waking thoughts, and
dreaming hopes, and intricate schemes, and desperate deeds, were only
aimed at gold, more gold? God of this world, if such be thy rewards, let
me ever escape them! idol of the knave, false deity of the fool, if this
be thy blessing on thy votaries--come, curse me, Mammon, curse thou me!
For, "The love of money is the root of all evil." It groweth up a
little plant of coveting; presently the leaves get rank, the branches
spread, and feed on petty thefts; then in their early season come the
blossoms, black designs, plots, involved and undeveloped yet, of foul
conspiracies, extortions on the weak, rich robbings of the wealthy, the
threatened slander, the rewarded lie, malice, perjury, sacrilege; then
speedily cometh on the climax, the consummate flower, dark-red murder:
and the fruit bearing in itself the seeds that never die, is righteous,
wrathful condemnation.
Dyed with all manner of iniquity, tinged with many colours like the
Mohawk in his woods, goeth forth in a morning the covetous soul. His
cheek is white with envy, his brow black with jealous rage, his livid
lips are full of lust, his thievish hands spotted over with the crimson
drops of murder. "The poison of asps is under his lips; and his feet are
swift to shed blood: destruction and misery are in his ways; and there
is no fear of God before his eyes."
O, ye thousands--the covetous of this world's good--behold at what a
fire ye do warm yourselves! dread it: even now, ye have imagined many
deaths, whereby your gains may be the greater; ye have caught, in
wishful fancy, many a parting sigh; ye have closed, in a heartless
revery, many a glazing eye--yea, of those your very nearest, whom your
hopes have done to death: and are ye guiltless? God and conscience be
your judges!
Even now ye have compassed many frauds, connived at many meannesses,
trodden down the good, and set the bad on high--all for gold--hard gold;
and are ye the honest--the upright? Speak out manfully your excuse, if
you can find one, ye respectables of merchandise, ye traders, bartering
all for cash, ye Scribes, ye Pharisees, hypocrites, all honourable men.
Even now, your dreams are full of money-bags; your cares are how to add
superfluity to wealth; ye fawn upon the rich, ye scorn the poor, ye pine
and toil both night and day for gold, more gold; and are ye happy?
Answer me, ye covetous ones.
Yet are there righteous gains, God's blessing upon labour: yet is there
rightful hope to get those righteous gains. Who can condemn the poor
man's care, though Faith should make his load the lighter? And who will
extenuate the rich man's coveting, whose appetite grows with what it
feeds on? "Having food and raiment, be therewith content;" that is the
golden mean; to that is limited the philosophy of worldliness: the man
must live, by labour and its earnings; but having wherewithal for him
and his temperately, let him tie the mill-stone of anxiety to the wing
of Faith, and speed that burden to his God.
If Wealth come, beware of him, the smooth false friend: there is
treachery in his proffered hand, his tongue is eloquent to tempt, lust
of many harms is lurking in his eye, he hath a hollow heart; use him
cautiously.
If Penury assail, fight against him stoutly, the gaunt grim foe: the
curse of Cain is on his brow, toiling vainly; he creepeth with the worm
by day, to raven with the wolf by night: diseases battle by his side,
and crime followeth his footsteps. Therefore fight against him boldly,
and be of a good courage, for there are many with thee; not alone the
doled alms, the casual aids dropped from compassion, or wrung out by
importunity; these be only temporary helps, and indulgence in them
pampers the improvident; but look thou to a better host of strong
allies, of resolute defenders; turn again to meet thy duties, needy one:
no man ever starved, who even faintly tried to do them. Look to thy God,
O sinner! use reason wisely; cherish honour; shrink not from toil,
though somewhile unrewarded; preserve frank bearing with thy fellows;
and in spite of all thy sins--forgiven; all thy follies--flung away; all
the trickeries of this world--scorned; all competitions--disregarded;
all suspicions--trodden under foot; thou neediest and raggedest of
labourers' labourers--Enough shall be thy portion, ere a week hath
passed away.
Well did Agur-the-Wise counsel Ithiel and Ucal his disciples, when he
uttered in their ears before his God, this prayerful admonition, "Two
things have I required of Thee; deny me them not before I die: remove
far from me vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches: feed me
with food convenient for me. Lest I be full, and deny Thee, saying, Who
is the Lord? or lest I be poor, and steal, and dishonour the name of the
Lord my God."