MAKING A PURCHASE--FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
The owner of these eleven acres had been for some months in the furnace
of pecuniary affliction. He was going the way of nine-tenths of all the
business flesh within the circle of my acquaintance. As a purchaser I
did not seek him, nor to his representative did myself or my wife let
fall a single word indicating that we were pleased with the property.
When fifteen hundred dollars were named as the price, I did indulge in
some expression of surprise, thinking it was quite enough. Discovering
subsequently that the owner was an old city acquaintance, I dropped in
one morning to see him, and for an hour we talked over the times, the
markets, the savage rates demanded for money, and how the spring
business was likely to turn out. On real estate I was mute as a mouse,
except giving it as my decided opinion that some holders were asking
greater prices than they would be likely to realize.
This side-thrust brought my friend out. He mentioned his house and
eleven acres, and eagerly inquired if I did not know of some one who
would buy. With as much indifference as I could assume, I asked his
terms. He told me with great frankness that he was compelled to sell,
and that his need of money was so great, that he might possibly do so
whether the debtor got any thing or not. He urged me to find him a
purchaser, and finally gave me the refusal of the place for a few days.
Now, the plain truth was, that my anxiety to buy was quite as great as
his was to sell. During the next week we met several times, when he
invariably inquired as to the prospect of a purchaser. But I had no
encouragement to offer. When I thought I had fought shy long enough, I
surprised him by saying that I knew of a purchaser who was ready to take
the property at a thousand dollars. He sat down and indulged in some
figuring, then for a few moments was silent, then inquired if the offer
was a cash one, and when the money could be had. I replied, the moment
his deed was ready for delivery.
It was evident that the offer of instant payment determined him to sell
at so low a price--cash was every thing. Opening his desk, he took out a
deed for the property, ready to execute whenever the grantee’s name, the
date and the consideration should have been inserted, handed it to me,
and said he accepted the offer, only let him have the money as quickly
as possible.
I confess to both exultation and surprise. I had secured an unmistakable
bargain. The ready-made deed surprised me, but it showed the owner’s
necessities, and that he had been prepared to let the property go at the
first decent offer. The natural selfishness of human nature has since
induced me to believe that I could have bought for even less, had I not
been so precipitate. His searches and brief of title were also ready: a
single day or two was enough to bring them up--he had been determined
to sell.
The transaction seemed to involve a succession of surprises. His turn
for a new one came when he found that I had inserted my wife’s name in
the deed. So, paying him his thousand dollars, I returned with the deed
to my wife, telling her that she had now a home of her own; that, come
what might, the property was hers; that the laws of New Jersey secured
it to her, and that no subsequent destitution of mine could wrest it
from her. This little act of consideration was as gratifying a surprise
to her as any that either buyer or seller had experienced. If rejoiced
at my having secured the place, it gave to it a new interest in her
estimation, and fixed and made permanent the attachment she had
spontaneously acquired for it. Her gratification only served to increase
my own.
It is thus that small acts of kindness make life pleasant and desirable.
Every dark object is made light by them, and many scalding tears of
sorrow are thus easily brushed away. When the heart is sad, and
despondency sits at the entrance of the soul, a little kindness drives
despair away, and makes the path cheerful and pleasant. Who then will
refuse a kind act? It costs the giver nothing--just as this did; but it
is invaluable to the receiver. No broader acres, no more stately
mansion, whether in town or country, could now tempt my wife to leave
this humble refuge. Here she has been ever happy, and here, I doubt not,
she will end her earthly career.
In a week the house was vacated and cleansed, and we were in full
possession. My wife was satisfied, my children were delighted, and I had
realized the dream of twenty years! One strong fact forced itself on my
attention the first night I passed under my new roof. The drain of three
hundred dollars per annum into the pocket of my city landlord had been
stopped. My family received as safe a shelter for the interest of a
thousand dollars, as he had given them for the interest of five
thousand! The feeling of relief from this unappeasable demand was
indescribable. Curiously enough, my wife voluntarily suggested that the
same feeling of relief had been presented to her. But in addition to
this huge equivalent for the investment of a thousand dollars, there was
that which might be hereafter realized from the cultivation of eleven
acres of land.
This lodgment was effected on the first of April, 1855. When all our
household fixings had been snugly arranged, and I took my first walk
over my little plantation, on a soft and balmy morning, my feeling of
contentment seemed to be perfect. I knew that I was not rich, but it was
certain that I was not poor. In contrasting my condition with that of
others, both higher and lower upon fortune’s ladder, I found a thousand
causes for congratulation, but none for regret. With all his wealth,
Rothschild must be satisfied with the same sky that was spread over me.
He cannot order a private sunrise, that he may enjoy it with a select
circle of friends, nor add a single glory to the gorgeous spectacle of
the setting sun. The millionaire could not have more than his share of
the pure atmosphere that I was breathing, while the poorest of all men
could have as much. God only can give all these, and to many of the poor
he has thus given. All that is most valuable can be had for nothing.
They come as presents from the hand of an indulgent Father, and neither
air nor sky, nor beauty, genius, health, or strength, can be bought or
sold. Whatever may be one’s condition in life, the great art is to learn
to be content and happy, indulging in no feverish longings for what we
have not, but satisfied and thankful for what we have.