THE whole purpose of Mr. Bolton's life had been the accumulation of
property, with an end to his own gratification. To part with a dollar
was therefore ever felt as the giving up of a prospective good; and it
acted as the abridgment of present happiness. Appeals to Mr. Bolton's
benevolence had never been very successful; and, in giving, he had not
experienced the blessing which belongs of right to good deeds. The
absolute selfishness of his feelings wronged him of what was justly his
due.
Thus passed the life of Mr. Bolton. Dollar was added to dollar, house
to house, and field to field. Yet he was never satisfied with gaining;
for the little he had, looked so small compared with the wealth of the
world, after the whole of which his heart really panted, as to appear
at times actually insignificant. Thus, as he grew older, he set a value
upon what he had, as the means of gaining more, and in his parting with
money, did so at the expense of a daily increasing reluctance.
In the beginning of life, Mr. Bolton possessed a few generous feelings,
the remains of early and innocent states stored up in childhood. His
mother, a true woman, perceiving the strong selfish and accumulative
bent of his character, had sought in every possible way to implant in
his mind feelings of benevolence and regard for others. One mode of
doing this had been to introduce him into scenes that appealed to his
sympathies. She often took him with her to see poor or sick persons,
and so interested him in them as to create a desire in his mind to
afford relief. So soon as she perceived this desire awakened, she
devised some mode of bringing it into activity, so that he might feel
the delights which spring from a consciousness of having done good to
another.
But so strong was the lad's hereditary love of self, that she ever
found difficulty in inducing him to sacrifice what he already
considered his own, in the effort to procure blessings for others, no
matter how greatly they stood in need. If urged to spend a sixpence of
his own for such a purpose, he would generally reply:
"But you've got a great many more sixpences than I have, mother: why
don't you spend them?"
To this, Mrs. Bolton would answer as appropriately as possible; but she
found but poor success in her efforts, which were never relaxed.
In early manhood, as Mr. Bolton began to come in actual contact with
the world, the remains of early states of innocence and sympathy with
others came back, as we have intimated, upon him, and he acted, in many
instances, with a generous disregard of self. But as he bent his mind
more and more earnestly to the accumulation of money, these feelings
had less and less influence over him. And as dollar after dollar was
added to his store, his interest in the welfare of others grew less and
less active. Early friendships were gradually forgotten, and the first
natural desire to see early friends prosperous like himself, gradually
died out. "Every man for himself," became the leading principle of his
life; and he acted upon it on all occasions. In taking a pew in church
and regularly attending worship every Sabbath, he was governed by the
idea that it was respectable to do so, and gave a man a standing in
society, that reacted favourably upon his worldly interests. In putting
his name to a subscription paper, a thing not always to be avoided,
even by him, a business view of the matter was invariably taken, and
the satisfaction of mind experienced on the occasion arose from the
reflection that the act would benefit him in the long run. As to the
minor charities, in the doing of which the left hand has no
acquaintance with the deeds of the right hand, Mr. Bolton never
indulged in them. If his left hand had known the doings of his right
hand in matters of this kind, said hand would not have been much wiser
for the knowledge.
Thus life went on; and Mr. Bolton was ever busy in gathering in his
golden harvest; so busy, that he had no time for any thing else, not
even to enjoy what he possessed. At last, he was sixty years old, and
his wealth extended to many hundreds of thousands of dollars. But he
was farther from being satisfied than ever, and less happy than at any
former period in his life.
One cause of unhappiness arose from the fact that, as a rich man, he
was constantly annoyed with applications to do a rich man's part in the
charities of the day. And to these applications it was impossible
always to turn a deaf ear. Give he must sometimes, and giving always
left a pain behind, because the gift came not from a spirit of
benevolence. There were other and various causes of unhappiness, all of
which combining, made Mr. Bolton, as old age came stealing upon him,
about as miserable as a man could well be. Money, in his eyes the
greatest good, had not brought the peace of mind to which he had looked
forward, and the days came and went without a smile. His children had
grown up and passed into the world, and were, as he had been at their
ages, so all-absorbed by the love of gain, as to have little love to
spare for any thing else.
About this time, Mr. Bolton, having made one or two losing operations,
determined to retire from business, invest all his money in real estate
and other securities, and let the management of these investments
constitute his future employment. In this new occupation he found so
little to do in comparison with his former busy life, that the change
proved adverse, so far as his repose of mind was concerned.
It happened, about this time, that Mr. Bolton had occasion to go some
twenty miles into the country. On returning home, and when within a few
miles of the city, his carriage was overset, and he had the misfortune
to fracture a limb. This occurred near a pleasant little farm-house
that stood a few hundred yards from the road; the owner of which,
seeing the accident, ran to the overturned carriage and assisted to
extricate the injured man. Seeing how badly he was hurt, he had him
removed to his house, and then, taking a horse, rode off two miles for
a physician. In the mean time, the driver of Mr. Bolton's carriage was
despatched to the city for some of his family and his own physician.
The country doctor and the one from the city arrived about the same
time. On making a careful examination as to the nature of Mr. Bolton's
injuries, it was found that his right leg, above the knee, was broken,
and that one of his ankles was dislocated. He was suffering great pain,
and was much exhausted. As quickly as it could be done, the bone was
set, and the dislocation reduced. By this time it was nightfall, and
too late to think seriously of returning home before morning. The
moment Mr. Gray, the farmer, saw the thoughts of the injured man and
his friends directed towards the city, he promptly invited them to
remain in his house all night, and as much longer as the nature of Mr.
Bolton's injuries might require. This invitation was thankfully
accepted.
During the night, Mr. Bolton suffered a great deal of pain, and in the
morning, when the physicians arrived, it was found that his injured
limb was much inflamed. Of course, a removal to the city was out of the
question. The doctors declared that the attempt would be made at the
risk of his life. Farmer Gray said that such a thing must not be
thought of until the patient was fully able to bear the journey; and
the farmer's wife as earnestly remonstrated against any attempt at
having the injured man disturbed until it could be perfectly safe to do
so. Both tendered the hospitalities of their humble home with so much
sincerity, that Mr. Bolton felt that he could accept of them with
perfect freedom.
It was a whole month ere the old gentleman was in a condition to bear
the journey to town; and not once in the whole of that time had Mr. and
Mrs. Gray seemed weary of his presence, nor once relaxed in their
efforts to make him comfortable. As Mr. Bolton was about leaving, he
tendered the farmer, with many expressions of gratitude for the
kindness he had received, a hundred-dollar bill, as some small
compensation for the trouble and expense he had occasioned him and his
family. But Mr. Gray declined the offer, saying, as he did so:
"I have only done what common humanity required, Mr. Bolton; and were I
to receive money, all the pleasure I now experience would be gone."
It was in vain that Mr. Bolton urged the farmer's acceptance of some
remuneration. Mr. Gray was firm in declining to the last. All that
could be done was to send Mrs. Gray a handsome present from the city;
but this did not entirely relieve the mind of Mr. Bolton from the sense
of obligation under which the disinterested kindness of the farmer had
laid him; and thoughts of this tended to soften his feelings, and to
awaken, in a small measure, the human sympathies which had so long
slumbered in his bosom.
Several months passed before Mr. Bolton was able to go out, and then he
resumed his old employment of looking after his rents, and seeking for
new and safe investments that promised some better returns than he was
yet receiving.
One day, a broker, who was in the habit of doing business for Mr.
Bolton, said to him:
"If you want to buy a small, well-cultivated farm, at about half what
it is worth, I think I know where you can get one."
"Do you?"
"Yes. Three years ago it was bought for three thousand dollars, and
seven hundred paid down in cash. Only eight hundred dollars have since
been paid on it; and as the time for which the mortgage was to remain
has now expired, a foreclosure is about to take place. By a little
management, I am satisfied that I can get you the farm for the balance
due on the mortgage."
"That is, for fifteen hundred dollars?"
"Yes."
"Is the farm worth that? Will it be a good investment?"
"It is in the highest state of cultivation. The owner has spent too
much money upon it. This, with the loss of his entire crop of wheat,
rye, corn, oats, and hay, last year, has crippled him, and made it
impossible to pay off the mortgage."
"How came he to meet with this loss?"
"His barn was struck by lightning."
"That was unfortunate."
"The farm will command, at the lowest, two hundred and fifty dollars
rent; and by forcing a sale just at this time, it can be had for
fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars--half its real value."
"It would be a good investment at that."
"Capital. I would advise you to secure it."
After making some brief inquiries as to its location, the quality of
the land, the improvements, etc., Mr. Bolton told the broker, in whom
he had great confidence, that he might buy the property for him, if he
could obtain it for any thing below two thousand dollars. This the
broker said he could easily do, as the business of foreclosure was in
his own hands.
In due time, Mr. Bolton was informed by his agent in the matter, that a
sale under the mortgage had taken place, and that, by means of the
little management proposed, he had succeeded in keeping away all
competition in bidding. The land, stock, farming implements, and all,
had been knocked down at a price that just covered the encumbrance on
the estate, and were the property of Mr. Bolton, at half their real
value.
"That was a good speculation," said the gray-headed money-lover, when
his agent informed him of what he had been doing.
"First-rate," replied the broker. "The farm is worth every cent of
three thousand dollars. Poor Gray! I can't help feeling sorry for him.
But it's his luck. He valued his farm at three thousand five hundred
dollars. A week ago he counted himself worth two thousand dollars,
clean. Now he isn't worth a copper. Fifteen hundred dollars and three
or four years' labour thrown away into the bargain. But it's his luck!
So the world goes. He must try again. It will all go in his lifetime."
"Gray? Is that the man's name?" inquired Mr. Bolton. His voice was
changed.
"Yes. I thought I had mentioned his name."
"I didn't remark it, if you did. It's the farm adjoining Harvey's, on
the north?"
"Yes."
"I have had it in my mind, all along, that it was the one on the south."
"No."
"When did you see Mr. Gray?"
"He was here about half an hour ago."
"How does he feel about the matter?"
"He takes it hard, of course. Any man would. But it's his luck, and he
must submit. It's no use crying over disappointments and losses, in
this world."
Mr. Bolton mused for a long time.
"I'll see you again to-morrow," he said, at length. "Let every thing
remain as it is until then."
The man who had been for so many years sold, as it were, to
selfishness, found himself checked at last by the thought of another.
While just in the act of grasping a money advantage, the interest of
another arose up, and made him pause.
"If it had been any one else," said he to himself, as he walked slowly
homeward, "all would have been plain sailing. But--but"--
The sentence was not finished.
"It won't do to turn HIM away," was at length uttered. "He shall have
the farm at a very moderate rent."
Still, these concessions of selfishness did not relieve the mind of Mr.
Bolton, nor make him feel more willing to meet the man who had done him
so groat a kindness, and in such a disinterested spirit.
All that day, and for a portion of the night that followed, Mr. Bolton
continued to think over the difficulty in which he found himself
placed; and the more he thought, the less willing did he feel to take
the great advantage of the poor farmer at first contemplated. After
falling asleep, his mind continued occupied with the same subject, and
in the dreams that came to him, he lived over a portion of the past.
He was again a helpless invalid, and the kind farmer and his excellent
wife were ministering, as before, to his comfort. His heart was full of
grateful feelings. Then a change came suddenly. He stood the spectator
of a widely-spread ruin which had fallen upon the excellent Mr. Gray
and his family. A fierce tempest was sweeping over his fields, and
levelling all-houses, trees, and grain--in ruin to the earth. A word
spoken by him would have saved all; he felt this: but he did not speak
the word. The look of reproach suddenly cast upon him by the farmer so
stung him that he awoke; and from that time until the day dawned, he
lay pondering on the course of conduct he had best pursue.
The advantage of the purchase he had made was so great, that Mr. Bolton
thought of relinquishing it with great reluctance. On the other hand,
his obligation to the farmer was of such a nature, that he must, in
clinging to his bargain, forfeit his self-respect, and must suffer a
keen sense of mortification, if not dishonour, at any time that he
happened to meet Mr. Gray face to face. Finally, after a long struggle,
continued through several days, he resolved to forego the good he had
attempted to grasp.
How many years since this man had done a generous action! since he had
relinquished a selfish and sordid purpose out of regard to another's
well-being! And now it had cost him a desperate struggle; but after the
trial was past, his mind became tranquil, and he could think of what he
was about to do with an emotion of pleasure that was new in his
experience. Immediately on this resolution being formed, Mr. Bolton
called upon his agent. His first inquiry was:
"When did you see Gray?"
"The previous owner of your farm?"
"Yes."
"Not since the sale. You told me to let every thing remain as it was."
"Hasn't he called?"
"No."
"The loss of his farm must be felt as a great misfortune."
"No doubt of that. Every man feels his losses as misfortunes. But we
all have to take the good and the bad in life together. It's his luck,
and he must put up with it."
"I wonder if he hasn't other property?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Oh, yes. I know exactly what he was worth. He had been overseer for
Elbertson for several years, and while there, managed to save seven
hundred dollars, with which he paid down the cash required in
purchasing his farm. Since then, he has been paying off the mortgage
that remained on the property, and but for the burning of his barn,
might have prevented a result that has been so disastrous to himself.
But it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. In every loss,
somebody gains; and the turn of the die has been in your favour this
time."
Mr. Bolton did not appear to feel as much satisfaction at this view of
the case as the broker anticipated; and seeing this, he changed the
subject, by asking some question about the consummation of the sale
under the mortgage.
"I'll see you about that to-morrow," said Mr. Bolton.
"Very well," was replied.
After some more conversation, Mr. Bolton left the office of his agent.
For years, farmer Gray had been toiling late and early, to become the
full owner of his beautiful farm. Its value had much increased since it
had come into his possession, and he looked forward with pleasure to
the time when it would be his own beyond all doubt. But the loss of an
entire year's crop, through the burning of his barn, deeply tried and
dispirited him. From this grievous disappointment, his spirits were
beginning to rise, when the sudden foreclosure of the mortgage and
hurried sale of his farm crushed all his hopes to the earth.
Who the real purchaser of his farm was, Mr. Gray did not know, for the
broker had bought in his own name. So bewildered was the farmer by the
suddenly-occurring disaster, that, for several days subsequent to the
sale, he remained almost totally paralyzed in mind. No plans were laid
for the future, nor even those ordinary steps for the present taken,
that common prudence would suggest; he wandered about the farm, or sat
at home, dreamily musing upon what seemed the utter ruin of all his
best hopes in life. While in this state, he was surprised by a visit
from Mr. Bolton. The old gentleman, in taking him by the hand,
said--"What's the matter, my friend? You appear in trouble."
"And I am in trouble," was unhesitatingly answered.
"Not so deep but that you may get out of it again, I hope?"
Mr. Gray shook his head in a desponding way.
"What _is_ the trouble?" Mr. Bolton inquired.
"I have lost my farm."
"Oh, no!"
"It is too true; it has been sold for a mortgage of fifteen hundred
dollars. Though I have already paid more than that sum on account of
the purchase, it only brought enough to pay the encumbrance, and I am
ruined."
The farmer was deeply disturbed, and Mr. Bolton's feelings were much
interested.
"Don't be so troubled, my good friend," said the old gentleman. "You
rendered me a service in the time of need, and it is now in my power to
return it. The farm is still yours. I hold the mortgage, and you need
not fear another foreclosure."
Some moments passed after this announcement before Mr. Gray's mind
became clear, and his entire self-possession returned; then grasping
the hand of Mr. Bolton, he thanked him with all the eloquence a
grateful heart inspires. It was the happiest moment the old merchant
had seen for years. The mere possession of a thousand or two of dollars
seemed as nothing to the pleasure he felt at having performed a good
action; or, rather, at having refrained from doing an evil one.
As he rode back to the city, reflecting upon what he had done, and
recalling the delight shown by Mr. Gray and his kind partner, who had
attended him so carefully while he lay a sufferer beneath their roof,
his heart swelled in his bosom with a new and happy emotion.
Having once permitted himself to regard another with an unselfish
interest, that interest continued; it seemed as if he could not do
enough for the farmer in the way of aiding him to develop the resources
of his little property. In this he did not merely stop at suggestions,
but tendered something more substantial and available. Nor did the
feelings awakened in his mind run all in this direction; occasions
enough offered for him to be generous to others, and to refrain from
oppression for the sake of gain. Many of these were embraced, and Mr.
Bolton, in realizing the fact that it is sometimes more blessed to give
than to receive, found in the latter years of his life a NEW
PLEASURE--the pleasure of benevolence.