RICH WITHOUT MONEY.
Let others plead for pensions; I can be rich without money, by
endeavoring to be superior to everything poor. I would have my
services to my country unstained by any interested motive.--LORD
COLLINGWOOD.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay.
GOLDSMITH.
Pennilessness is not poverty, and ownership is not possession; to be
without is not always to lack, and to reach is not to attain; sunlight
is for all eyes that look up, and color for those who choose.--HELEN
HUNT.
I ought not to allow any man, because he has broad lands, to feel that
he is rich in my presence. I ought to make him feel that I can do
without his riches, that I cannot be bought,--neither by comfort,
neither by pride,--and although I be utterly penniless, and receiving
bread from him, that he is the poor man beside me.--EMERSON.
To be content with what we possess is the greatest and most secure of
riches.--CICERO.
There is no riches above a sound body and no joy above the joy of the
heart.--ECCLESIASTES.
Where, thy true treasure? Gold says, "Not in me;"
And "Not in me," the Diamond. Gold is poor;
India's insolvent: seek it in thyself.
YOUNG.
He is richest who is content with the least, for content is the wealth
of nature.--SOCRATES.
A great heart in a little house is of all things here below that which
has ever touched me most.--LACORDAIRE.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head,
Nor decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content;
A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.
SHAKESPEAKE.
Many a man is rich without money. Thousands of men with nothing in
their pockets, and thousands without even a pocket, are rich.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: RALPH WALDO EMERSON]
"The Sage of Concord."
"I revere the person who is riches: so I cannot think of him as alone,
or poor, or exiled, or unhappy."
* * * * * *
A man born with a good, sound constitution, a good stomach, a good
heart and good limbs, and a pretty good headpiece, is rich.
Good bones are better than gold, tough muscles than silver, and nerves
that carry energy to every function are better than houses and land.
"Heart-life, soul-life, hope, joy, and love, are true riches," said
Beecher.
Why should I scramble and struggle to get possession of a little
portion of this earth? This is my world now; why should I envy others
its mere legal possession? It belongs to him who can see it, enjoy it.
I need not envy the so-called owners of estates in Boston and New York.
They are merely taking care of my property and keeping it in excellent
condition for me. For a few pennies for railroad fare whenever I wish
I can see and possess the best of it all. It has cost me no effort, it
gives me no care; yet the green grass, the shrubbery, and the statues
on the lawns, the finer sculptures and the paintings within, are always
ready for me whenever I feel a desire to look upon them. I do not wish
to carry them home with me, for I could not give them half the care
they now receive; besides, it would take too much of my valuable time,
and I should be worrying continually lest they be spoiled or stolen. I
have much of the wealth of the world now. It is all prepared for me
without any pains on my part. All around me are working hard to get
things that will please me, and competing to see who can give them the
cheapest. The little I pay for the use of libraries, railroads,
galleries, parks, is less than it would cost to care for the least of
all I use. Life and landscape are mine, the stars and flowers, the sea
and air, the birds and trees. What more do I want? All the ages have
been working for me; all mankind are my servants. I am only required
to feed and clothe myself, an easy task in this land of opportunity.
A millionaire pays thousands of pounds for a gallery of paintings, and
some poor boy or girl comes in, with open mind and poetic fancy, and
carries away a treasure of beauty which the owner never saw. A
collector bought at public auction in London, for one hundred and
fifty-seven guineas, an autograph of Shakespeare; but for nothing a
schoolboy can read and absorb the riches of "Hamlet."
Why should I waste my abilities pursuing this will-o'-the-wisp
"Enough," which is ever a little more than one has, and which none of
the panting millions ever yet overtook in his mad chase? Is there no
desirable thing left in this world but gold, luxury, and ease?
"Want is a growing giant whom the coat of Have was never large enough
to cover." "A man may as soon fill a chest with grace, or a vessel
with virtue," says Phillips Brooks, "as a heart with wealth."
Shall we seek happiness through the sense of taste or of touch? Shall
we idolize our stomachs and our backs? Have we no higher missions, no
nobler destinies? Shall we "disgrace the fair day by a pusillanimous
preference of our bread to our freedom"?
In the three great "Banquets" of Plato, Xenophon, and Plutarch the food
is not even mentioned.
What does your money say to you: what message does it bring to you?
Does it say to you, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die"?
Does it bring a message of comfort, of education, of culture, of
travel, of books, of an opportunity to help your fellow-man, or is the
message "More land, more thousands and millions"? What message does it
bring you? Clothes for the naked, bread for the starving, schools for
the ignorant, hospitals for the sick, asylums for the orphans, or of
more for yourself and none for others? Is it a message of generosity
or of meanness, breadth or narrowness? Does it speak to you of
character? Does it mean a broader manhood, a larger aim, a nobler
ambition, or does it cry "More, more, more"?
Are you an animal loaded with ingots, or a man filled with a purpose?
He is rich whose mind is rich, whose thought enriches the intellect of
the world. It is a sad sight to see a soul which thirsts not for truth
or beauty or the good.
A sailor on a sinking vessel in the Caribbean Sea eagerly filled his
pockets with Spanish dollars from a barrel on board while his
companions, about to leave in the only boat, begged him to seek safety
with them. But he could not leave the bright metal which he had so
longed for and idolized, and was prevented from reaching shore by his
very riches, when the vessel went down.
"Who is the richest of men," asked Socrates? "He who is content with
the least, for contentment is nature's riches."
In More's "Utopia" gold was despised. Criminals were forced to wear
heavy chains of it, and to have rings of it in their ears; it was put
to the vilest uses to keep up the scorn of it. Bad characters were
compelled to wear gold head-bands. Diamonds and pearls were used to
decorate infants, so that the youth would discard and despise them.
"Ah, if the rich were as rich as the poor fancy riches!" exclaims
Emerson.
Many a rich man has died in the poorhouse.
In excavating Pompeii a skeleton was found with the fingers clenched
round a quantity of gold. A man of business in the town of Hull,
England, when dying, pulled a bag of money from under his pillow, which
he held between his clenched fingers with a grasp so firm as scarcely
to relax under the agonies of death.
Oh! blind and wanting wit to choose,
Who house the chaff and burn the grain;
Who hug the wealth ye cannot use,
And lack the riches all may gain.
WILLIAM WATSON.
Poverty is the want of much, avarice the want of everything.
A poor man was met by a stranger while scoffing at the wealthy for not
enjoying themselves. The stranger gave him a purse, in which he was
always to find a ducat. As fast as he took one out another was to drop
in, but he was not to begin to spend his fortune until he had thrown
away the purse. He takes ducat after ducat out, but continually
procrastinates and puts off the hour of enjoyment until he has got "a
little more," and dies at last counting his millions.
A beggar was once met by Fortune, who promised to fill his wallet with
gold, as much as he might please, on condition that whatever touched
the ground should turn at once to dust. The beggar opens his wallet,
asks for more and yet more, until the bag bursts. The gold falls to
the ground, and all is lost.
When the steamer Central America was about to sink, the stewardess,
having collected all the gold she could from the staterooms, and tied
it in her apron, jumped for the last boat leaving the steamer. She
missed her aim and fell into the water, the gold carrying her down head
first.
In the year 1843 a rich miser lived in Padua, who was so mean and
sordid that he would never give a cent to any person or object, and he
was so afraid of the banks that he would not deposit with them, but
would sit up nights with sword and pistol by him to guard his idol
hoard. When his health gave way from anxiety and watching he built an
underground treasure-chamber, so arranged that if any burglar ever
entered, he would step upon a spring which would precipitate him into a
subterranean river, where he could neither escape nor be heard. One
night the miser went to his chest to see that all was right, when his
foot touched the spring of the trap, and he was hurled into the deep,
hidden stream.
"One would think," said Boswell, "that the proprietor of all this
(Keddlestone, the seat of Lord Scarsfield) must be happy." "Nay, sir,"
said Johnson, "all this excludes but one evil, poverty."
John Duncan, the illegitimate child of a Scottish weaver, was ignorant,
near-sighted, bent, a miserable apology for a human being, and at last
a pauper. If he went upon the street he would sometimes be stoned by
other boys. The farmer, for whom he watched cattle, was cruel to him,
and after a rainy day would send him cold and wet to sleep on a
miserable bed in a dark outhouse. Here he would empty the water from
his shoes, and wring out his wet clothes and sleep as best he might.
But the boy had a desire to learn to read, and when, a little later, he
was put to weaving, he persuaded a schoolgirl, twelve years old, to
teach him. He was sixteen when he learned the alphabet, after which
his progress was quite rapid. He was very fond of plants, and worked
overtime for several months to earn five shillings to buy a book on
botany. He became a good botanist, and such was his interest in the
study that at the age of eighty he walked twelve miles to obtain a new
specimen. A man whom he met became interested at finding such a
well-stored mind in such a miserable body, poorly clad, and published
an account of his career. Many readers sent him money, but he saved
it, and left it in his will to found eight scholarships and offer
prizes for the encouragement of the study of natural science by the
poor. His small but valuable library was left for a similar use.
Franklin said money never made a man happy yet; there is nothing in its
nature to produce happiness. The more a man has, the more he wants.
Instead of filling a vacuum, it makes one. A great bank account can
never make a man rich. It is the mind that makes the body rich. No
man is rich, however much money or land he may possess, who has a poor
heart. If that is poor, he is poor indeed, though he own and rule
kingdoms. He is rich or poor according to what he is, not according to
what he has.
Who would not choose to be a millionaire of deeds with a Lincoln, a
Grant, a Florence Nightingale, a Childs; a millionaire of ideas with
Emerson, with Lowell, with Shakespeare, with Wordsworth; a millionaire
of statesmanship with a Gladstone, a Bright, a Sumner, a Washington?
Some men are rich in health, in constant cheerfulness, in a mercurial
temperament which floats them over troubles and trials enough to sink a
shipload of ordinary men. Others are rich in disposition, family, and
friends. There are some men so amiable that everybody loves them; some
so cheerful that they carry an atmosphere of jollity about them. Some
are rich in integrity and character.
One of the first great lessons of life is to learn the true estimate of
values. As the youth starts out in his career, all sorts of wares will
be imposed upon him, and all kinds of temptations will be used to
induce him to buy. His success will depend very largely upon his
ability to estimate properly, not the apparent but the real value of
everything presented to him. Vulgar Wealth will flaunt her banner
before his eyes, and claim supremacy over everything else. A thousand
different schemes will be thrust into his face with their claims for
superiority. Every occupation and vocation will present its charms in
turn, and offer its inducements. The youth who would succeed must not
allow himself to be deceived by appearances, but must place the
emphasis of life where it belongs.
No man, it is said, can read the works of John Ruskin without learning
that his sources of pleasure are well-nigh infinite. There is not a
flower, nor a cloud, nor a tree, nor a mountain, nor a star; not a bird
that fans the air, nor a creature that walks the earth; not a glimpse
of sea or sky or meadow-greenery; not a work of worthy art in the
domains of painting, sculpture, poetry, and architecture; not a thought
of God as the Great Spirit presiding over and informing all things,
that is not to him a source of the sweetest pleasure. The whole world
of matter and of spirit and the long record of human art are open to
him as the never-failing fountains of his delight. In these pure
realms he seeks his daily food and has his daily life.
There is now and then a man who sees beauty and true riches everywhere,
and "worships the splendor of God which he sees bursting through each
chink and cranny."
Phillips Brooks, Thoreau, Garrison, Emerson, Beecher, Agassiz, were
rich without money. They saw the splendor in the flower, the glory in
the grass, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in
everything. They knew that the man who owns the landscape is seldom
the one who pays the taxes on it. They sucked in power and wealth at
first hands from the meadows, fields, and flowers, birds, brooks,
mountains, and forest, as the bee sucks honey from the flowers. Every
natural object seemed to bring them a special message from the great
Author of the beautiful. To these rare souls every natural object was
touched with power and beauty; and their thirsty souls drank it in as a
traveler on a desert drinks in the god-sent water of the oasis. To
extract power and real wealth from men and things seemed to be their
mission, and to pour it out again in refreshing showers upon a thirsty
humanity. They believed that man's most important food does not enter
by the mouth. They knew that man could not live by estates, dollars,
and bread alone, and that if he could he would only be an animal. They
believed that the higher life demands a higher food. They believed in
man's unlimited power of expansion, and that this growth demands a more
highly organized food product than that which merely sustains animal
life. They saw a finer nutriment in the landscape, in the meadows,
than could be ground into flour, and which escaped the loaf. They felt
a sentiment in natural objects which pointed upward, ever upward to the
Author, and which was capable of feeding and expanding the higher life
until it should grow into a finer sympathy and fellowship with the
Author of the beautiful. They believed that the Creation thunders the
ten commandments, and that all Nature is tugging at the terms of every
contract to make it just. They could feel this finer sentiment, this
soul lifter, this man inspirer, in the growing grain, in the waving
corn, in the golden harvest. They saw it reflected in every brook, in
every star, in every flower, in every dewdrop. They believed that
Nature together with human nature were man's great schoolmasters, that
if rightly used they would carve his rough life into beauty and touch
his rude manner with grace.
"More servants wait on man than he'll take notice of." But if he would
enjoy Nature he must come to it from a higher level than the yardstick.
He must bring a spirit as grand and sublime as that by which the thing
itself exists.
We all live on far lower levels than we need to do. We linger in the
misty and oppressive valleys, when we might be climbing the sunlit
hills. God puts into our hands the Book of Life, bright on every page
with open secrets, and we suffer it to drop out of our hands unread.
Emerson says, "We have come into a world which is a living poem.
Everything is as I am." Nature provides for us a perpetual festival;
she is bright to the bright, comforting to those who will accept
comfort. We cannot conceive how a universe could possibly be created
which could devise more efficient methods or greater opportunities for
the delight, the happiness, and the real wealth of human beings than
the one we live in.
The human body is packed full of marvelous devices, of wonderful
contrivances, of infinite possibilities for the happiness and riches of
the individual. No physiologist nor scientist has ever yet been able
to point out a single improvement, even in the minutest detail, in the
structure of the human body. No inventor has ever yet been able to
suggest an improvement in this human mechanism. No chemist has ever
been able to suggest a superior combination in any one of the elements
which make up the human structure. One of the first things to do in
life is to learn the natural wealth of our surroundings, instead of
bemoaning our lot, for, no matter where we are placed, there is
infinitely more about us than we can ever understand, than we can ever
exhaust the meaning of.
"Thank Heaven there are still some Matthew Arnolds who prefer the
heavenly sweetness of light to the Eden of riches." Arnold left only a
few thousand dollars, but yet was he not one of the richest of men?
What the world wants is young men who will amass golden thoughts,
golden wisdom, golden deeds, not mere golden dollars; young men who
prefer to have thought-capital, character-capital, to cash-capital. He
who estimates his money the highest values himself the least. "I
revere the person," says Emerson, "who is riches; so that I cannot
think of him as alone, or poor, or exiled, or unhappy."
Raphael was rich without money. All doors opened to him, and he was
more than welcome everywhere. His sweet spirit radiated sunshine
wherever he went.
Henry Wilson was rich without money. So scrupulous had he been not to
make his exalted position a means of worldly gain, that when this
Natick cobbler, the sworn friend of the oppressed, whose one question
as to measures or acts was ever "Is it right; will it do good?" came to
be inaugurated as Vice-President of the country, he was obliged to
borrow of his fellow-senator, Charles Sumner, one hundred dollars to
meet the necessary expenses of the occasion.
Mozart, the great composer of the "Requiem," left barely enough money
to bury him, but he has made the world richer.
A rich mind and noble spirit will cast a radiance of beauty over the
humblest home, which the upholsterer and decorator can never approach.
Who would not prefer to be a millionaire of character, of contentment,
rather than possess nothing but the vulgar coins of a Croesus? Whoever
uplifts civilization is rich though he die penniless, and future
generations will erect his monument.
Are we tender, loving, self-denying, and honest, trying to fashion our
frail life after that of the model man of Nazareth? Then, though our
pockets are often empty, we have an inheritance which is as
overwhelmingly precious as it is eternally incorruptible.
An Asiatic traveler tells us that one day he found the bodies of two
men laid upon the desert sand beside the carcass of a camel. They had
evidently died from thirst, and yet around the waist of each was a
large store of jewels of different kinds, which they had doubtless been
crossing the desert to sell in the markets of Persia.
The man who has no money is poor, but one who has nothing but money is
poorer than he. He only is rich who can enjoy without owning; he who
is covetous is poor though he have millions. There are riches of
intellect, and no man with an intellectual taste can be called poor.
He who has so little knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by
changing anything but his own disposition will waste his life in
fruitless efforts, and multiply the griefs which he purposes to remove.
He is rich as well as brave who can face poverty and misfortune with
cheerfulness and courage.
We can so educate the will power that it will focus the thoughts upon
the bright side of things, and upon objects which elevate the soul,
thus forming a habit of happiness and goodness which will make us rich.
The habit of making the best of everything and of always looking on the
bright side of everything is a fortune in itself.
He is rich who values a good name above gold. Among the ancient Greeks
and Romans honor was more sought after than wealth. Rome was imperial
Rome no more when the imperial purple became an article of traffic.
This is the evil of trade, as well as of partisan politics. As Emerson
remarks, it would put everything into market,--talent, beauty, virtue,
and man himself.
Diogenes was captured by pirates and sold as a slave. His purchaser
released him, and gave him charge of his household and of the education
of his children. He despised wealth and affectation, and lived in a
tub. "Do you want anything?" asked Alexander the Great, forcibly
impressed by the abounding cheerfulness of the philosopher under such
circumstances. "Yes," replied Diogenes, "I want you to stand out of my
sunshine and not to take from me what you cannot give me." "Were I not
Alexander," exclaimed the great conqueror, "I would be Diogenes."
Brave and honest men do not work for gold. They work for love, for
honor, for character. When Socrates suffered death rather than abandon
his views of right morality, when Las Casas endeavored to mitigate the
tortures of the poor Indians, they had no thought of money or country.
They worked for the elevation of all that thought, and for the relief
of all that suffered.
"I don't want such things," said Epictetus to the rich Roman orator who
was making light of his contempt for money-wealth; "and besides," said
the stoic, "you are poorer than I am, after all. You have silver
vessels, but earthenware reasons, principles, appetites. My mind to me
a kingdom is, and it furnishes me with abundant and happy occupation in
lieu of your restless idleness. All your possessions seem small to
you; mine seem great to me. Your desire is insatiate, mine is
satisfied."
"Do you know, sir," said a devotee of Mammon to John Bright, "that I am
worth a million sterling?" "Yes," said the irritated but calm-spirited
respondent, "I do; and I know that it is all you are worth."
A bankrupt merchant, returning home one night, said to his noble wife,
"My dear, I am ruined; everything we have is in the hands of the
sheriff." After a few moments of silence the wife looked into his face
and asked, "Will the sheriff sell you?" "Oh, no." "Will the sheriff
sell me?" "Oh, no." "Then do not say we have lost everything. All
that is most valuable remains to us,--manhood, womanhood, childhood.
We have lost but the results of our skill and industry. We can make
another fortune if our hearts and hands are left us."
What power can poverty have over a home where loving hearts are beating
with a consciousness of untold riches of head and heart?
Paul was never so great as when he occupied a prison cell; and Jesus
Christ reached the height of his success when, smitten, spat upon,
tormented, and crucified, He cried in agony, and yet with triumphant
satisfaction, "It is finished."
"Character before wealth," was the motto of Amos Lawrence, who had
inscribed on his pocket-book, "What shall it profit a man, if he shall
gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"
If you make a fortune let every dollar of it be clean. You do not want
to see in it drunkards reel, orphans weep, widows moan. Your riches
must not make others poorer and more wretched.
Alexander the Great wandered to the gates of Paradise, and knocked for
entrance. "Who knocks?" demanded the guardian angel. "Alexander."
"Who is Alexander?" "Alexander,--the Alexander,--Alexander the
Great,--the conqueror of the world." "We know him not," replied the
angel; "this is the Lord's gate; only the righteous enter here."
Don't start out in life with a false standard; a truly great man makes
official position and money and houses and estates look so tawdry, so
mean and poor, that we feel like sinking out of sight with our cheap
laurels and gold. _Millions look trifling beside character_.
A friend of Professor Agassiz, an eminent practical man, once expressed
his wonder that a man of such abilities should remain contented with
such a moderate income as he received. "I have enough," was Agassiz's
reply. "I have no time to waste in making money. Life is not
sufficiently long to enable a man to get rich and do his duty to his
fellow-men at the same time."
How were the thousands of business men who lost every dollar they had
in the Chicago fire enabled to go into business at once, some into
wholesale business, without money? Their record was their bank
account. The commercial agencies said they were square men; that they
had always paid one hundred cents on a dollar; that they had paid
promptly, and that they were industrious and dealt honorably with all
men. This record was as good as a bank account. _They drew on their
character_. Character was the coin which enabled penniless men to buy
thousands of dollars' worth of goods. Their integrity did not burn up
with their stores. The best part of them was beyond the reach of fire
and could not be burned.
What are the toil-sweated productions of wealth piled up in vast
profusion around a Girard, or a Rothschild, when weighed against the
stores of wisdom, the treasures of knowledge, and the strength, beauty,
and glory with which victorious virtue has enriched and adorned a great
multitude of minds during the march of a hundred generations?
"Lord, how many things are in the world of which Diogenes hath no
need!" exclaimed the stoic, as he wandered among the miscellaneous
articles at a country fair.
"There are treasures laid up in the heart--treasures of charity, piety,
temperance, and soberness. These treasures a man takes with him beyond
death when he leaves this world." (Buddhist Scriptures.)
Is it any wonder that our children start out with wrong ideals of life,
with wrong ideas of what constitutes success? The child is "urged to
get on," to "rise in the world," to "make money." The youth is
constantly told that nothing succeeds like success. False standards
are everywhere set up for him, and then the boy is blamed if he makes a
failure.
It is all very well to urge youth on to success, but the great mass of
mankind can never reach or even approximate the goal constantly
preached to them, nor can we all be rich. One of the great lessons to
teach in this century of sharp competition and the survival of the
fittest is how to be rich without money, and to learn how to do without
success, according to the popular standard.
Gold cannot make the miser rich, nor can the want of it make the beggar
poor.
In the poem, "The Changed Cross," a weary woman is represented as
dreaming that she was led to a place where many crosses lay, crosses of
divers shapes and sizes. The most beautiful one was set in jewels of
gold. It was so tiny and exquisite that she changed her own plain
cross for it, thinking she was fortunate in finding one so much lighter
and lovelier. But soon her back began to ache under the glittering
burden, and she changed it for another cross very beautiful and
entwined with flowers. But she soon found that underneath the flowers
were piercing thorns which tore her flesh. At last she came to a very
plain cross without jewels, without carving, and with only the word,
"Love," inscribed upon it. She took this one up and it proved the
easiest and best of all. She was amazed, however, to find that it was
her old cross which she had discarded. It is easy to see the jewels
and the flowers in other people's crosses, but the thorns and heavy
weight are known only to the bearers. How easy other people's burdens
seem to us compared with our own. We do not appreciate the secret
burdens which almost crush the heart, nor the years of weary waiting
for delayed success--the aching hearts longing for sympathy, the hidden
poverty, the suppressed emotion in other lives.
William Pitt, the great Commoner, considered money as dirt beneath his
feet compared with the public interest and public esteem. His hands
were clean.
The object for which we strive tells the story of our lives. Men and
women should be judged by the happiness they create in those around
them. Noble deeds always enrich, but millions of mere money may
impoverish. _Character is perpetual wealth_, and by the side of him
who possesses it the millionaire who has it not seems a pauper.
Compared with it, what are houses and lands, stocks and bonds? "It is
better that great souls should live in small habitations than that
abject slaves should burrow in great houses." Plain living, rich
thought, and grand effort are real riches.
Invest in yourself, and you will never be poor. Floods cannot carry
your wealth away, fire cannot burn it, rust cannot consume it.
"If a man empties his purse into his head," says Franklin, "no man can
take it from him. An investment in knowledge always pays the best
interest."
"There is a cunning juggle in riches. I observe," says Emerson, "that
they take somewhat for everything they give. I look bigger, but I am
less, I have more clothes, but am not so warm; more armor, but less
courage; more books, but less wit."
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'T is only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.
TENNYSON.