When I was a child, seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled
my pockets with coppers. I went directly toward a shop where they sold
toys for children; and, being charmed with the sound of a whistle that
I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered him
all my money for it.
I then returned home, and went whistling all over the house, much
pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers,
and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me
I had given four times as much for it as it was worth.
This put me in mind of what good things I might have bought with the
rest of the money; and they laughed at me so much for my folly that I
cried with vexation.
This, however, was afterward of use to me, the impression continuing
on my mind; so that often, when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary
thing, I said to myself, “Don’t give too much for the whistle;” and so
I saved my money.
As I grew up, went into the world, and observed the actions of men,
I thought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for their
whistles.
When I saw any one too ambitious of the favor of the great, wasting
his time in attendance on public dinners, sacrificing his repose, his
liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to retain it, I said to
myself, “This man gives too much for his whistle.”
When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in
politics, neglecting his own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect,
“He pays, indeed,” said I, “too much for his whistle.”
If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfortable living,
all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his
fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of
accumulating wealth, “Poor man,” said I, “you do indeed pay too much
for your whistle.”
When I met a man of pleasure, sacrificing the improvement of his mind,
or of his fortune, to mere bodily comfort, “Mistaken man,” said I, “you
are providing pain for yourself, instead of pleasure: you give too much
for your whistle.”
If I saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine horses, all
above his fortune, for which he contracted debts, and ended his career
in prison, “Alas!” said I, “he has paid dear, very dear, for his
whistle.”
In short, I believed that a great part of the miseries of mankind were
brought upon them by the false estimates they had made of the value of
things, and by their giving too much for their whistles.