"Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust do
corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal.
"But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor
rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.
"For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."--ST.
MATT. vi. 19, 20, 21.
"How can we reward the little boy who has so honestly brought me the
bracelet I lost at church yesterday?" said Mrs. Sidney to her only son
Charles, who was now passing the Midsummer vacation with his widowed
mother, at a pretty cottage in Devonshire, which had been the home of his
early years.
"I do not think people should be rewarded for common honesty," said
Charles; "and the clasp contained such an excellent likeness of papa,
whom every one in the village knew, that it would have been unsafe as
well as dishonest for him not to have delivered it up."
"I am sorry to find, Charles," said Mrs. Sidney, "that school has not
weakened those selfish feelings which have so often caused me pain. You
seem to me to think that every trifling gift I bestow upon another is
robbing you; and, worse than all, I find you constantly wresting phrases
from their real meaning to answer your own purposes. Thus, I agree with
you that people should not look upon common honesty as anything beyond a
simple duty which they would be culpable _not_ to perform. But I am as
well assured that honesty, even in this world, meets with its reward, as
I am that it is our duty, when we find the poor and uneducated
distinguished by this quality, to show our sense of it, and so make
ourselves the instruments of this earthly reward, by every means in our
power. I addressed you, Charles, on the subject, because I fondly hoped
it would give you pleasure to offer some assistance in the matter;
besides which, I thought that you might be more likely to hit upon
something which in a pleasing manner would be of service to a boy of your
own age--although only a cottager's child--than I could be. I am
disappointed in this expectation, however, and can think of no other plan
than giving him a small present in money, with some of your old clothes;
he is, if anything, less than you, so there is very little doubt of the
latter being of use to him."
Now it happened that the honest little boy, who was named Thomas Bennett,
had stood in the hall the whole time, and thus overheard the
conversation. I am sure that you cannot wonder that he remembered it,
with feelings far removed from love or gratitude to Charles Sidney.
Any one who observed Charles Sidney, while his mamma examined his
wardrobe to find what clothes she might choose to spare, would have been
shocked at perceiving the selfish expression of his countenance.
It seemed absolute pain for him to part even with articles which, he
having quite outgrown them, were utterly useless to him, and which very
likely the moths would soon have destroyed: for to accumulate and keep
made the rule of his life. You may imagine what a serious trouble this
unhappy disposition of her son was to Mrs. Sidney, who felt perhaps the
more from contrasting his character with that of an elder brother, who
had died from a lingering illness about two years previously, and who had
been equally distinguished for a generous nature, which had sometimes led
him to the opposite extreme of improvidence.
Indeed, poor Frank had been known to debar himself of necessary comforts
for the sake of assisting others. His pocket money was given away within
an hour of its being received; his books were often torn or lost, from
being indiscriminately lent; and the cold he caught, which led to his
fatal illness, had been occasioned by his leaving a warm upper coat,
which he had been accustomed to wear, to add to the bed covering of a
poor sick child, whom he had gone out one cold winter's day to visit.
Now, though it was impossible for any one to help dearly loving so
amiable and generous a character as Frank, his parents had found it
necessary gently to reprove his exceeding and indiscriminate generosity,
by pointing out to him that it was even wrong when it tended to injure
his own health, or to encroach on the rights of others. On such
occasions Mr. and Mrs. Sidney had explained to him that their income was
limited, so that their acts of benevolence must consist less in absolute
gifts of money (alas! some persons think there is no other way of doing
good), than in the bestowal of time and advice on the poor, and a degree
of judgment in the distribution of what they had to give, which would
make that little of its greatest service.
Charles had often been present at these conversations, and the allusions
Mrs. Sidney made to his fault of wresting phrases from their real
meaning, had reference to the evil manner in which he applied these
warnings to himself--so unnecessary for one of his character: warnings
which nothing but the indiscriminate profusion of Frank could have
tempted Mr. and Mrs. Sidney to utter. I mention these circumstances
because I am afraid we are all too much inclined to find excuses for our
faults; to do which, we generally apply maxims suitable only to the
opposite extreme of our own failings. And this was precisely the case
with the little selfish miser. The death of Mr. Sidney, which had
occurred suddenly, had followed quickly upon that of Frank; but, amid all
the widow's affliction, she never forgot the sorrow that Charles's
selfish disposition occasioned her. There was no longer even the shadow
of an excuse for parsimony, as the inheritance which would have been
divided between the two brothers would now devolve on the only son.
Charles knew this: he knew that he was provided with a sufficient fortune
to finish his education admirably, to send him to college, and start him
in a profession. But this made no difference in his disposition; he
continued to hoard money and books, and everything that came in his way,
as if each individual article were the last he ever could expect to have.
It so happened that Charles had several cousins, the children of a
younger brother of Mr. Sidney, and whose characters formed a strong
contrast to his own. Their father had been a clergyman, and though they
had been bereaved of him when very young, they had never forgotten the
lessons of piety he had bequeathed to them.
The two Mrs. Sidneys were also sisters, and having married two brothers,
the families seemed as it were doubly cemented.
Now Mr. William Sidney, the younger brother, having five children,
between whom his fortune was divided, these cousins had each just one-
fifth of Charles's expectations, and, of course, Mrs. William Sidney was
obliged to limit many of their present indulgences in due proportion to
her income.
And yet I need scarcely tell you that William, the eldest son, who was
about the same age as Charles, and his younger brothers and sisters, were
a thousand times happier than their cousin; and, even with their limited
means, did more good to others in a month than Charles did in a year.
In the first place, they were kind and generous to each other. A book, a
toy, any source of gratification that was opened to one, was always made
the property of the whole family; so that a present or kindness to one of
these children, was like bestowing it on five. Then the little girls,
Fanny and Lucy, were so clever and industrious, that they would make
clothes for the poor, either by purchasing coarse but warm materials with
their own money, or from cast off frocks of their own, which their mamma
gave them permission so to employ. Like all those who think more of
other persons than themselves, and who are constantly enjoying the
pleasure of doing good, they were light-hearted and happy; while their
cousin Charles, who thought of nothing but his own selfish interests, was
three days out of the four in bad spirits and bad temper.
"How I should like to rummage out that closet," said William one day to
his cousin, when he had chanced to have a peep into his receptacle for
what he had hoarded.
"Would you, indeed," replied Charles, "I can tell you there is nothing
there which would be of the least use to you."
"That is good," returned William, with a hearty laugh; "not that I want
anything you have stowed away, but if it could be of no use to me, what
use is it to you? answer me that, Charles!"
"I tell you there is nothing there but old childish toys and baby books,
things that I have not looked at for years."
"Then why don't you turn them out, and give them to some children, or let
the little creatures have a scramble for them? It would be capital fun,
that it would. Suppose you were to give them to the young Bennetts; I
told them the other day I would beg some of your old toys for them. It
would be such a pleasure, I am sure, to make them a present. Poor
children, you know, have seldom anything of the kind."
"How you talk!"
"How I talk!" continued William, "to be sure; besides, I hate waste, and
it is just as much waste to shut things up which might be of use, as it
would be to burn them; more, I think, for if they make firewood, that is
proving of some use. Now don't be such a miser, Charles, do turn them
out."
"I shall do no such thing!" exclaimed Charles, in an angry tone, "and as
for your extravagance, it is quite shocking; I wonder what you think is
to become of you when you are a man."
"I tell you what I expect," replied William, throwing some apples from
his pocket out of window to a poor child who was passing; "what I expect
is, to have to work very hard for my living, and, as I am the eldest, I
look upon it that I ought to do something for mamma, and the girls into
the bargain. But for all that I hope I shall never turn a miserly screw.
Why, when God gives us health, food, clothing, and lodging, don't you
think that hoarding and hoarding, instead of dispensing the blessings,
and performing such acts of kindness as may be in our power to bestow, is
like doubting God's goodness and mercy for the future?"
"One would think you were preaching," said Charles, with a sneer.
"Well, never mind if I am; it was only yesterday I was reading one of
dear papa's sermons, in which he quotes one of the most beautiful
chapters in the New Testament, the 12th of St. Luke, in which our Saviour
speaks of the ravens, which 'God feedeth,' though 'they neither sow nor
reap;' and of the 'lilies, how they grow.' And HE emphatically says,
'Seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of
doubtful mind. For all these things do the nations of the world seek
after; and your Father knoweth ye have need of all these things. But
rather seek ye the kingdom of God, _and all these things shall be added
unto you_.'"
"Besides," continued William, after a slight pause, "it seems to me that
nature is constantly repeating the lesson which Scripture teaches us. See
how, year after year, the blades of wheat spring up, and the fruits of
the earth ripen, as if to warn us that we should distribute the good
things God provides us with, and wholly trust that he will continue to
send us all things that are needful."
"Pray did you find that in the sermon, also?" asked Charles.
"Perhaps I did."
"Did it say anything about the ten talents--where we are told that unto
every one that hath shall be given, but from him that hath not shall be
taken away even that which he hath?" replied Charles, with an air of
triumph.
"Do you understand the text you have quoted?" asked William, mildly.
"I suppose so, I should think it rather taught people to increase their
stores than anything else."
"Then let me tell you that you are quite wrong, for that was a text I
used to hear papa explain very often, that it should never be applied to
worldly possessions. But those who pray for, and seek by every means to
acquire, heavenly grace will surely find it bestowed on them; while those
who neglect to cultivate the spirit of religion will as surely find any
feelings of piety they may once have experienced in like manner depart
from them. Every human being has the power, more or less, of doing good:
and his means and opportunities are also among the 'talents' with which
he is intrusted, and for which he must account at last."
"Have you done preaching?" yawned the little miser.
"Yes, for I am afraid you are beyond my teaching." And so the cousins
parted.
Charles sat musing for a little while. "How happy William seems!"
thought he; "and yet I dare say at this moment he has not half-a-crown he
can call his own. It is very fine of him, indeed, to talk of turning out
the closet, he who has got nothing to keep."
And so reasoned the selfish boy, amusing himself with gazing upon a shelf
full of baby toys he could take no pleasure in using, but yet which he
had not the heart to give away; and then he jingled a money-box, which
was heavy enough to tell there were many, many coins inside, and yet he
drew from his pocket a shilling, which he slipped through the narrow
chink, thus adding to his useless store.
Oh! sad it is to believe that no thought of gratitude to the Almighty for
the blessings with which he was surrounded; no prayer for guidance from
on high rose in his heart; no thought of the duty of cultivating the
"talents" which had fallen to his share.
Two or three years passed away, and notwithstanding the exhortations of
Mrs. Sidney, and the bright examples of his cousins, no amendment was
perceived in the character of Charles. Most persons who act improperly,
as I have said before, endeavour to find an excuse for their conduct, and
he formed no exception to the rule. His apology for his parsimony was,
that he was saving every pound he could accumulate to help pay for his
college education when he should be sent thither. A poor, shallow
excuse, for his mother often assured him how little he needed such mean
precaution, and entreated him to spend his money with proper liberality.
Mrs. Sidney so often shed tears on his account, that no one in the house
was much surprised to see her weeping on one important occasion.
Charles was at this time about fifteen, when, entering his mother's
morning room somewhat suddenly, he found her in tears, with an open
letter in her hand, which Charles in a moment remarked had a black border
and a black seal.
"What is the matter, mamma?" said he "is any one we know dead?"
"Yes, Charles," she replied; "I am sorry to say three relations, whom,
though you may have heard of, you have never seen, have been suddenly
removed from this world by the upsetting of a boat in which they had gone
on a pleasure excursion."
"Not Lord Sereton and his sons?" exclaimed Charles, clasping his hands,
while an expression of anything but sorrow passed over his countenance.
"Yes, Charles," replied Mrs. Sidney, after a moment's pause, "I am sorry
to say they are no more."
"Sorry, mamma," shrieked the youth, in a voice of gaiety that,
considering the circumstances, was horrible. "_Sorry_, mamma, why then I
. . . I . . . am . . ."
"Yes, _you_ are Lord Sereton now."
"And shall I have all the money, mamma, and the houses, and that
beautiful park which I once went to see, and the carriages, and the
horses, and the--the--all the beautiful things? Oh, yes, I shall, I know
I shall. I am so glad--I am so happy. Lord Sereton was only papa's
third cousin, I know, but I am the next heir."
"And do you feel no shock"--said Mrs. Sidney, rising and laying her hand
on her son's shoulder, while she spoke almost with a shudder;--"do you
feel no shock at the awful sudden deaths of three estimable
individuals--no compassion for the bereaved widow and mother? and, beyond
all, do you not feel deeply conscious of the additional responsibilities
and the heavy duties which become yours with this accession of wealth and
rank? Oh, Charles, it is hard for a mother to wish such a thing for a
son, yet, unless the Most High would change your heart, I could pray that
this wealth might not be yours. Oh, my son, let me beseech you to humble
yourself before His throne, and ask His grace and assistance."
But Charles, or as we may now call him, the young Lord Sereton, at no
time rendered anything but lip service to his God. It is easy enough to
do this, though such prayers never mount to heaven, but fall back to the
earth from which they spring. Prayers, to be acceptable to God, must
arise from a devout frame of mind, and be accompanied by a diligent
endeavour to acquire that grace for which we ask, while by our actions we
must show the sincerity of our hearts. "That ye cannot serve two
masters," was fully illustrated in his case; and he, the slave of Mammon,
was lured on with the vain expectation that his new wealth would bring
happiness!
Of course, during the minority of the young lord, the guardians whom the
law appointed took care of his property and estates; but, boy as he was,
large sums of money were still at his disposal, and he was old enough to
have considerable influence with those who had legal authority over his
fortune. His treasures, however, were a sort of "enchanted wealth,"
which, as he used it, or rather did not use it, was as valueless as a bag
of gold to the thirsty traveller in the desert, who cannot procure with
it a glass of water; and certainly happiness, according to Charles's
plan, was as completely out of his reach.
As he rode or walked over his estates, no face was there which lighted up
with grateful pleasure, as would have been the case at the approach of a
generous and kind young landlord; no, he was miserable himself, because
he never attempted to make others happy. Tutors were to a certain degree
forced upon him by his guardians, or I really believe he would have
neglected to pursue those studies which he before followed, much more as
the means of acquiring future wealth, than for love of themselves.
And so time passed on, Mrs. Sidney often spending a week or month at her
sister's pretty cottage, where, surrounded by the kind-hearted generous
family, she could not but contrast that happy home with the splendid
misery of Sereton Hall; an abode rendered melancholy to her by its young
owner's selfish and avaricious nature.
It had been the custom for many generations, on the coming of age of the
lord or heir of Sereton Hall, to have a general feasting and merry-making
among the tenantry; an ox was roasted whole, and such rural festivities
were observed as I dare say you have often heard described, if you have
not witnessed them.
When his birthday drew near, it was with great difficulty that the young
lord could be persuaded to adhere to the old-fashioned custom; calling it
waste, profusion, and using many other words which belong to a miser's
vocabulary.
At last, however, he yielded to his friends' advice, chiefly, it is very
probable, because they represented to him that if he made himself more
unpopular than he already was, the people on his estate might find some
serious manner of showing their dislike.
The eventful day arrived. A glorious morning dawned, which _should_ have
been ushered in by the ringing of bells, but unfortunately there was so
much difficulty in finding any one willing to perform this office in
honour of the grinding, hard-hearted young landlord, that Charles had
nearly finished a somewhat late breakfast before a feeble peal fell on
his ear. Soon afterwards he had an interview, by appointment, with his
guardians and trustees, in which they resigned all the papers connected
with the estates.
The young miser, however, had taken care long ago to make himself
acquainted with the exact state of his finances, so that he had very
little to learn, and the business was soon transacted.
How he now rejoiced that he had not yielded to the suggestions of these
gentlemen,--who within the last two or three years had thought fit to
consult the young lord on such matters,--when they had proposed lowering
the rent of a poor farmer, or remitting, it might be, some arrears when
crops had failed, or some unforeseen misfortune happened; not yet was the
time come for the recollections of such misdeeds to torture his mind with
all the writhings of remorse. Not yet, for in the morning of that day he
only revelled in thoughts of his vast wealth, and dreams of future
aggrandizement.
Presently his mother entered the room, accompanied by his cousin William;
they came to offer their congratulations, with, on Mrs. Sidney's part, a
hope that, now her son was really in the possession of enormous wealth,
some impulse of generosity and benevolence would spring up in his heart.
Accordingly she it was who took the opportunity of offering a petition:
nothing less than that he would spare a certain sum of money for his
cousin William's college expenses.
Poor William! he trembled while he listened, for on the chance of his
cousin's acquiescence rested the probability of his advancement in life,
and the means of assisting his brothers and sisters.
But the face of the young lord grew clouded, and though it would seem
that he dared not look up when he spoke, he said, resolutely, "I have no
money to spare for any such purpose."
"Oh, Charles!" exclaimed Mrs. Sidney, "I know that you have hundreds and
thousands of pounds at your disposal; again, again, I warn you that your
sin is great. In the sight of God you are but the steward of this vast
property, and to Him will you have to render an account of its disposal.
My son, my son, while there is time, oh! change this heart of stone;" and
overcome by her bitter feelings she burst into tears.
"My hundreds and thousands of pounds," returned Lord Sereton, without
appearing in the least degree moved, "are wanted to pay for an estate
which is contiguous to my present property, and which I am determined on
having. By joining them together, I shall increase the value of each."
"Is it you, then," exclaimed Mrs. Sidney, with an expression of horror in
her countenance, "is it you then, who have been bidding so cruelly
against the former owner? that good man who, having been compelled from
unforeseen misfortunes to sell his inheritance in early life, has worked
indefatigably for thirty years to win back the house of his fathers, and
preserve the honour of the family. He was your father's friend too."
"What have I to do with friendship that existed before I was born?" said
the unfeeling youth, sulkily; "I _will_ have the estate, I tell you."
"Hush--hush," murmured the mother, and her words seemed almost prophetic,
"it is God that WILLS, not man; and even now I think HE does not will
this cruelty."
"Aunt, let us go," said William, "I am as grateful to you as if your
mission had been successful."
"Let me call _you_ son:" exclaimed Mrs. Sidney, taking William's hand
with affection; "I will no longer own that selfish and cruel child."
And to this pass had the hardening heart, and the growing covetousness of
Charles Sidney brought him: to be disowned by his mother on his one-and-
twentieth birthday, at the moment of his earthly pride, and of his
acquiring princely possessions!
Yet now, even at this eleventh hour, a merciful God might have pardoned
and protected him.
The feasting and attempted merry-making went off heavily. There was no
spirit of love, or reverence, or gratitude, to warm the hearts of the
tenantry, or make their lips eloquent; and not a few were glad when the
day was drawing to a close.
Towards evening, the young lord mounted his horse, and rode in the
direction of the much admired neighbouring estate. Wishing to examine
some particular spots minutely, and to revel in the contemplation of the
whole without being disturbed, he was not even accompanied by a groom.
The sun was going down in all its glory, casting tall shadows of the
trees across the road, when it peeped from the clouds of crimson and gold
that encircled it. The young lord came to a field dotted with the
graceful wheat-sheaves, for it was harvest time, and knowing that if he
rode across it, he should be saved half a mile of road, he determined to
do so. Two men were lounging at the gate through which he passed. One
of them was Thomas Bennett, whom circumstances had induced to become a
labourer on the estate, and he it was who remarked, "He'll be thrown,
that's my opinion; those fine-paced gentlemen's horses are not used to
make their own roads across a corn field."
"Then why don't you warn my lord?" said the other.
"Warn him!" replied Bennett, who it must be owned, had grown up a violent
tempered vindictive man; "you have not lived long in these parts, or you
would have known better than ask that question. If it were Master
William, now, I should make free to seize the bridle--but as for my lord
there--why, I have known him man and boy, and I'll answer for it, no one
has love enough towards him to warn him from any danger." And so saying
they both walked rapidly away.
Bennett's words were indeed true, for scarcely had the young lord
proceeded a hundred yards, when the horse, unused to such uneven ground,
stumbled and fell, throwing his unhappy master. Nor was this all, for
Charles had remained entangled in the stirrup: he was dragged along the
stubble a considerable distance, with a broken arm and fearful bruises,
till, stunned by a kick from the horse, he became insensible. Probably
the saddle-girth at the same moment gave way and released him, for the
unconscious animal trotted home, and was discovered with disordered
trappings at the park gates.
It was evident some accident had happened, and servants were sent out in
all directions. The first conscious perception Charles had was of waking
to excruciating agony, and finding himself supported on men's shoulders
along the road. No doubt every one believed him still insensible, or,
much as he was disliked, they would not have been so cruel as to reproach
him in his hour of agony. He had not strength to speak, but he could not
avoid hearing.
"He can't get over it; he'll never see another sunset," said one.
"Well, any way we can't have a harder master, that's some comfort!"
exclaimed another.
"Oh! Master William _is_ a real right down lord," cried a third eagerly,
"he won't rack-rent the tenants, and grind down the poor. Why, he saved
us and our little ones from the workhouse last winter, though he is
poor--that is quite poor for a gentleman--I well know."
"Then hurrah! for the new lord!" said the second speaker, throwing his
hat in the air; "and I think they should pension the horse, that has
given him to us, with the free run of the park all his life, instead of
shooting him, as some one talked of doing."
"For shame, it is wicked to rejoice over the fallen," said a woman in the
crowd, and in the next moment the sound of a pistol was heard proclaiming
that the horse had paid his penalty for the accident, and would never
throw another rider!
And now for a moment, before these pages close, let us contemplate the
death-bed of the selfish and avaricious young lord, who in the three
stages of ease, affluence, and luxury--and as boy, youth, and man,--had
only laid up his "treasures on earth."
But they could not assuage one torturing pain, or prolong his life for a
second!
Far more than bodily pangs, oh! harder to endure a thousand times, were
the stings of conscience which now assailed him. In dark array rose all
the scenes of suffering he might have relieved, and had not; he saw
himself again the selfish child, the covetous youth, the grasping
landlord, and the unrelenting man. The events of that same day were even
yet more fresh in his memory. Had he but listened to his cousin's wants,
instead of his own selfish plans, might he not have lived?--was it not
one last opportunity of amendment offered by a merciful God, ere He swept
him from the earth, and called him to give a strict account of his
stewardship?
And it was that cousin, who would now have all his wealth, to whom he had
denied in the morning so small a portion.
The anguish of the sufferer's mind was to be read upon his despairing
countenance, and as his weeping mother, now, indeed, with pardon on her
lips, bent over him, he murmured: "Lost, lost, there is no hope for me."
"There is always hope for the truly penitent," replied Mrs. Sidney,
through her tears--"hope in a Saviour--hope in our Maker's mercy."
The dying man turned upon his pillow, for a few minutes he was silent,
though it is believed he joined in the fervent prayers which arose from
the lips of his mother and cousin; and let us hope, though tardy his
repentance, it was accepted. It was evident he was sinking fast, and
before sunrise he expired.
Almost his last words were, "William, yes, William will atone with the
money for the wrong I have done. Yet he does not seem so glad as I was
when I became a lord!"
It was all over, and William, the next heir, was indeed the lord of that
wide domain, and of his cousin's accumulated riches; but _his_ first act
was a fervent prayer for divine assistance. Knowing, as he did, that at
no time is it more needed than, as our Litany beautifully expresses it,
"in all time of our wealth."
That he did make amends for his cousin's avarice by a wise as well as
generous use of his wealth, my young readers will readily believe; and
William, Lord Sereton, was as much beloved as his cousin had been
disliked. And Mrs. Sidney, grieving as she did, notwithstanding his
faults, for the loss of her only child, found no small consolation in the
affection of that family, whom his death had raised from many cares to
rank and affluence.