HUMAN PRUDENCE.
“It’s my opinion, Mr. Carlton, that every man who remains poor through
life, or who, once possessing wealth, loses it, has only himself to
blame. I am out of all patience with these constant failures that
occur in the mercantile community, and set them all down to sad
mismanagement, or utter incapacity for business; and I am equally
out of patience with the unceasing murmurs of those who have not the
means of supplying their wants. The fault, in both cases, is with the
individual, and no where else.”
“The fault may be, and doubtless is, to some extent, in the individual,
but I am satisfied that you are in error in the broad ground you take,
Mr. Townsend. Above and beyond man’s will and action, is a Power that
rules events. Human prudence is not every thing in fact, it is nothing,
when it comes in opposition to the designs of Providence.”
“Your profession, as a minister, naturally leads you to such
conclusions,” replied the merchant. “But, as a man of business and
close observation of men and things, I am satisfied that, in the
ordinary pursuits of life, Providence interferes but little; and that
all, or nearly all, of success or failure is chargeable to man’s own
efficient or inefficient action.”
“I will grant that it is chargeable to his ends, and to his actions, so
far as they are influenced by his ends. But that the mere possession of
mercantile ability, and the means of engaging in trade, will give a man
wealth and its permanent enjoyments, I seriously doubt.”
“I am not sure, Mr. Carlton, that I understand what you mean by the
first sentence of your last remark.”
“About a man’s ends influencing his external condition?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, that a man’s end in seeking wealth may be of such a nature,
that, after attaining what he has sought, the loss thereof may be
necessary as a reaction upon that end, in order that it may be changed
into one less useful and soul-destroying. The Divine Providence, which,
I believe, governs in the most intimate things of every man’s life, has
sole reference to what is spiritual and eternal, and so disposes of
things, external and worldly, as to make them subserve man’s highest
and best interests. I believe, therefore, that if it is best for man’s
eternal state that he should be poor, and have to struggle hard to
obtain mere food and clothing, that he will remain poor in spite of a
lifelong effort to get rich. And I also believe, that with one tenth of
his effort, another may accumulate a large fortune, who is no better,
perhaps not so good a man, but whose hereditary evils are of a nature
to be best reacted upon in a state of prosperity.”
“Very much like fatalism, all that,” said the merchant. “What use is
there in a man’s striving at all?”
“It is any thing but fatalism, Mr. Townsend. And as no man can know
the true quality of his internal life, nor what external condition will
best react upon it, he is not left to the choice of that condition.
Necessity, or a love of gain, causes him to enter into some business or
profession, and according to the pressing nature of his necessities,
or his desire for wealth, is the earnestness with which he struggles
for success. As is best for him, so is the result. To him who needs
the disappointments, anxieties, and sad discouragements that attend
poverty and reverses of fortune, these come; and to him whose external
interests will be best promoted by success, success is given. In all
this, human prudence is actually nothing, though human prudence is the
natural agent by which the Divine Providence works.”
“All that sounds very well, Mr. Carlton, but I don’t believe it. My
doctrine is, and always has been, that every man who will use the right
means, can get rich; and if he will manage his affairs, afterwards,
with common prudence, may retain what he has acquired. I certainly,
am not afraid of the loss of property. But, may be, I am one of your
favored ones, whose spiritual interests are best promoted by a state of
prosperity.”
“That, of course, is not for you nor I to know, at present,” returned
the minister, speaking seriously. “The time may come when you will see
the whole subject in a different light, and think, perhaps, as I do
now.”
“Then you prophesy that I will become a broken merchant?”
“No, I prophesy no such thing. Judging from appearances, I should
say that few men were less likely to become poor. Still, Riches have
Wings, and your possessions may take flight one day, as well as another
man’s. Mr. Barker, a few years ago, stood as far above the dangers of a
reverse as you now do.”
“And would have stood there until to-day, but for his own folly. Look
what a mistake he made! How any man, of his age and experience, could
suffer himself to be tempted into such a mad investment of property, is
to me inconceivable. He deserved to fail.”
“Heretofore he had always been prudent and far-seeing in all his
operations?”
“No man more so.”
“But, when it became necessary for his higher and better interests that
he should sustain reverses, he lost his prudence, and his mind was no
longer far-seeing. Depend upon it. Mr. Townsend, the hand of Providence
is in all this! I have seen Mr. Barker frequently since the great
change that has taken place in his circumstances. He is not the man
that he was. His whole character has softened.”
“He must be very miserable.”
“To me he seems quite as happy, as before.”
“Impossible!”
“No. The wind is tempered to the shorn lamb. He who sends reverses
and afflictions for our good, gives strength and patience to bear
them. I have seen many families reduced from affluence to poverty, Mr.
Townsend, and in but few instances have I seen individuals made more
wretched thereby.”
“That to me is inconceivable,” said the merchant. “I cannot credit it.”
“At first, there was great anguish of mind. The very life seemed about
to be extinguished. But, when all the wild elements that had come
into strife and confusion, had subsided, there came a great calm. The
natural life was yet sustained. Its bread and its water were still
sure. There was a feeling of confidence that all things necessary for
health, comfort, and usefulness, would still be given, if sought for
in a right spirit. Poverty, Mr. Townsend, is no curse, nor is wealth a
blessing, abstractly considered. They bless or curse according to the
effect they produce upon our minds. The happiest man I ever saw, was a
poor man, so far as this world’s goods were concerned. He was a good
man.”
There was something in the words of the minister that impressed itself
upon the mind of Mr. Townsend, notwithstanding his efforts to put no
value upon what he said. Frequently, afterwards, certain expressions
and positions assumed, would arise in his thought and produce a feeling
of uneasiness. His confidence in human prudence, though still strong,
had been slightly impaired.
Mr. Carlton was the minister of a wealthy and fashionable congregation,
to whom his talents made him acceptable. Not infrequently did he give
offence by his plainness of speech and conscientious discharge of the
duties of his office; but his talents kept him in his position. Mr.
Townsend was a wealthy merchant, and a member, for appearance sake, of
his church. As to religion, he did not possess a very large share. His
god was Mammon.
The occasion of the conversation just given, was the failure of a
substantial member of the church, for whose misfortunes Mr. Townsend,
as might be inferred, felt little sympathy; and less, perhaps, from
the fact that he was to be the loser of a few thousands of dollars by
the disaster. The minister was on a visit to the house of Mr. Townsend,
in the presence of whose family the conversation took place.
“How I do despise this cant--I can call it by no better name,” said the
merchant, after the minister had left. “I am surprised to hear it from
a man of Mr. Carlton’s talents. He might talk such stuff as this to me
until doomsday, and I would not believe it.”
Mr. Townsend had a son and two daughters. The latter, Eveline and
Eunice, were present during the conversation with the minister, and
noticed the remarks of their father, after Mr. Carlton left. Some
time afterward, when they were alone, Eunice, the younger of the two
daughters, said, with unusual sobriety of manner, “Father treated what
Mr. Carlton said very lightly; don’t you think so?”
“Indeed, I don’t know,” was the thoughtless reply of Eveline, who was
noticing the effect of a costly diamond breast-pin with which her
brother had, a day or two before, presented her. “Mr. Carlton has a
strange way of talking, sometimes. I suppose he would--there! isn’t
that brilliant, Eunie? If brother John could only see the effect! I’m a
thousand times obliged to him. Isn’t it splendid, Eunie?”
“It is, indeed, Evie. But what were you going to say about Mr. Carlton?”
“Dear knows! I forget now. John must have given at least five hundred
dollars for this pin, don’t you think he did?”
“I am sure I don’t know. I never think about how much a thing costs.”
“Jane Loming’s is admired by every body; but the diamonds in this are
twice the size of those in hers, and it contains two to one. Just look
how purely the light is sent back from the very bosom of each lucid
gem. Could any thing be more brilliant! How I love gold and diamonds!
They are nature’s highest and loveliest achievements.”
“In the mineral kingdom,” said Eunice, in her gentle way. “But gold and
diamonds I love not half so well as I do flowers, nor are they half so
beautiful. There is your glittering diamond. There is a flower not only
far more beautiful, but with a spirit of perfume in its heart. And when
I look into your eyes, sister, how dim and cold appear the inanimate
gems that sparkle on your bosom. There are lovelier things in nature,
Evie, than gold and diamonds.”
“You are a strange girl, Eunie,” returned Eveline, playfully. “I don’t
know what to make of you, sometimes.”
“I don’t know what there is strange about me, sister,” said Eunice.
“Have I not said the truth? Is not a flower a lovelier and more
excellent thing than a brilliant stone, which, because it is the purest
and rarest substance in the mineral kingdom, is prized the highest, but
is still only a stone?”
“Would you give a diamond for a flower, Eunie? Tell me that, dear.”
“No, because diamonds have a certain value as property, and are
rarer than flowers. Flowers spring up every where. With a few seeds
and a little earth, or with the fiftieth part of the price of a
moderate-sized diamond, I can have them at my will. But, give me a
little bouquet of sweet flowers, and I will enjoy it more, and love it
better, than all the jewels in my casket.”
“I verily believe you would, Eunie. It’s like you. And sometimes I half
wish that I, too, could find delight in these simple things; that I
could love a flower as you do. Flowers are beautiful, and please me at
first sight; but I soon grow weary of them, while you will cherish even
a half-opened bud, and love it while a leaf retains its beauty and
perfume. But, to change the subject, how are you going to dress at Mrs.
Glover’s, next week?”
“I havn’t thought about that, yet. What do _you_ mean to wear?”
“This diamond breast-pin, of course.”
“No doubt of that,” said Eunice, smiling.
“And you will go, as likely as not, without an ornament, except a
flower in your hair.”
“Not quite so plain as that, Evie. You know I don’t dislike
ornament--only the unharmonious profusion of it in which--”
“I indulge, Eunie.”
“A simpler style of dress and ornament would doubtless become you
better,” said Eunice, again smiling. “That, you know, I have always
said.”
“Yes, and I have always said that a little more of both would make in
you a wonderful improvement.”
“Perhaps they might. We are all apt to run into extremes; though I
think the extreme of plainness is better than its opposite.”
“I don’t know. All extremes are bad.”
“Even the extreme of gay dressing?”
“Certainly. But you know, sister, that I don’t plead guilty to that
folly. I have attained the happy medium in dress.”
“So you say. Well, if yours be the happy medium, Evie, a stage-dancer’s
must be the extreme.”
“That’s your opinion, and I won’t quarrel with you about it. But it’s
time, Eunie, that we were selecting our dresses, be they gay or plain.”
“So it is; but it won’t take me long to make a choice. How would I look
in a white muslin, with just a little satin trimming?”
“Nonsense, Eunie! White muslin with satin trimming, indeed!”
“I don’t know any thing more beautiful or becoming than white.”
“Don’t you, indeed! Perhaps I might suggest something?”
“Not for me, Evie,” returned Eunice, good-humoredly. “It will be best
for each of us to consult her own taste; and if we do run a little into
opposite extremes, it will be no very serious matter.”
Eveline could not but agree with this and so the good-natured contest
ended.
The leading traits of character that marked the two sisters, appear,
to some extent, in this conversation. Eveline was a gay, high-spirited
girl, who was fond of pleasure, and enjoyed, sometimes, even to excess,
the privileges afforded by her position; while Eunice was retiring and
thoughtful, and took more delight in doing some useful thing, than in
dress or fashionable company. But, opposite as were their dispositions,
they were tenderly affectionate towards each other, and had been so
from childhood.
At the time our story opens, Eveline was twenty, and Eunice in the
nineteenth year of her age. For nearly a year, Eveline had been
receiving the attentions of a young man named Henry Pascal, son of a
wealthy merchant and friend of her father. Pascal was in Europe, where
he had been spending some months, and was in familiar correspondence
with Eveline. Although no regular engagement had been made, yet it
was pretty well understood, in both families, that a marriage between
the young couple would take place. Eunice had no acknowledged lover,
although many had looked upon her pure young face with loving eyes.