A New Pleasure
THE whole purpose of Mr. Bolton's life had been the accumulation of
property, with an end to his own gratification. To part with a
dollar was therefore ever felt as the giving up of a prospective
good; and it acted as the abridgment of present happiness. Appeals
to Mr. Bolton's benevolence had never been very successful; and, in
giving, he had not experienced the blessing which belongs of right
to good deeds. The absolute selfishness of his feelings wronged him
of what was justly his due.
Thus passed the life of Mr. Bolton. Dollar was added to dollar,
house to house, and field to field. Yet he was never satisfied with
gaining; for the little he had, looked so small compared with the
wealth of the world, after the whole of which his heart really
panted, as to appear at times actually insignificant. Thus, as he
grew older, he set a value upon what he had, as the means of gaining
more, and in his parting with money, did so at the expense of a
daily increasing reluctance.
In the beginning of life, Mr. Bolton possessed a few generous
feelings, the remains of early and innocent states stored up in
childhood. His mother, a true woman, perceiving the strong selfish
and accumulative bent of his character, had sought in every possible
way to implant in his mind feelings of benevolence and regard for
others. One mode of doing this had been to introduce him into scenes
that appealed to his sympathies. She often took him with her to see
poor or sick persons, and so interested him in them as to create a
desire in his mind to afford relief. So soon as she perceived this
desire awakened, she devised some mode of bringing it into activity,
so that he might feel the delights which spring from a consciousness
of having done good to another.
But so strong was the lad's hereditary love of self, that she ever
found difficulty in inducing him to sacrifice what he already
considered his own, in the effort to procure blessings for others,
no matter how greatly they stood in need. If urged to spend a
sixpence of his own for such a purpose, he would generally reply:
"But you've got a great many more sixpences than I have, mother: why
don't you spend them?"
To this, Mrs. Bolton would answer as appropriately as possible; but
she found but poor success in her efforts, which were never relaxed.
In early manhood, as Mr. Bolton began to come in actual contact with
the world, the remains of early states of innocence and sympathy
with others came back, as we have intimated, upon him, and he acted,
in many instances, with a generous disregard of self. But as he bent
his mind more and more earnestly to the accumulation of money, these
feelings had less and less influence over him. And as dollar after
dollar was added to his store, his interest in the welfare of others
grew less and less active. Early friendships were gradually
forgotten, and the first natural desire to see early friends
prosperous like himself, gradually died out. "Every man for
himself," became the leading principle of his life; and he acted
upon it on all occasions. In taking a pew in church and regularly
attending worship every Sabbath, he was governed by the idea that it
was respectable to do so, and gave a man a standing in society, that
reacted favourably upon his worldly interests. In putting his name
to a subscription paper, a thing not always to be avoided, even by
him, a business view of the matter was invariably taken, and the
satisfaction of mind experienced on the occasion arose from the
reflection that the act would benefit him in the long run. As to the
minor charities, in the doing of which the left hand has no
acquaintance with the deeds of the right hand, Mr. Bolton never
indulged in them. If his left hand had known the doings of his right
hand in matters of this kind, said hand would not have been much
wiser for the knowledge.
Thus life went on; and Mr. Bolton was ever busy in gathering in his
golden harvest; so busy, that he had no time for any thing else, not
even to enjoy what he possessed. At last, he was sixty years old,
and his wealth extended to many hundreds of thousands of dollars.
But he was farther from being satisfied than ever, and less happy
than at any former period in his life.
One cause of unhappiness arose from the fact that, as a rich man, he
was constantly annoyed with applications to do a rich man's part in
the charities of the day. And to these applications it was
impossible always to turn a deaf ear. Give he must sometimes, and
giving always left a pain behind, because the gift came not from a
spirit of benevolence. There were other and various causes of
unhappiness, all of which combining, made Mr. Bolton, as old age
came stealing upon him, about as miserable as a man could well be.
Money, in his eyes the greatest good, had not brought the peace of
mind to which he had looked forward, and the days came and went
without a smile. His children had grown up and passed into the
world, and were, as he had been at their ages, so all-absorbed by
the love of gain, as to have little love to spare for any thing
else.
About this time, Mr. Bolton, having made one or two losing
operations, determined to retire from business, invest all his money
in real estate and other securities, and let the management of these
investments constitute his future employment. In this new occupation
he found so little to do in comparison with his former busy life,
that the change proved adverse, so far as his repose of mind was
concerned.
It happened, about this time, that Mr. Bolton had occasion to go
some twenty miles into the country. On returning home, and when
within a few miles of the city, his carriage was overset, and he had
the misfortune to fracture a limb. This occurred near a pleasant
little farm-house that stood a few hundred yards from the road; the
owner of which, seeing the accident, ran to the overturned carriage
and assisted to extricate the injured man. Seeing how badly he was
hurt, he had him removed to his house, and then, taking a horse,
rode off two miles for a physician. In the mean time, the driver of
Mr. Bolton's carriage was despatched to the city for some of his
family and his own physician. The country doctor and the one from
the city arrived about the same time. On making a careful
examination as to the nature of Mr. Bolton's injuries, it was found
that his right leg, above the knee, was broken, and that one of his
ankles was dislocated. He was suffering great pain, and was much
exhausted. As quickly as it could be done, the bone was set, and the
dislocation reduced. By this time it was nightfall, and too late to
think seriously of returning home before morning. The moment Mr.
Gray, the farmer, saw the thoughts of the injured man and his
friends directed towards the city, he promptly invited them to
remain in his house all night, and as much longer as the nature of
Mr. Bolton's injuries might require. This invitation was thankfully
accepted.
During the night, Mr. Bolton suffered a great deal of pain, and in
the morning, when the physicians arrived, it was found that his
injured limb was much inflamed. Of course, a removal to the city was
out of the question. The doctors declared that the attempt would be
made at the risk of his life. Farmer Gray said that such a thing
must not be thought of until the patient was fully able to bear the
journey; and the farmer's wife as earnestly remonstrated against any
attempt at having the injured man disturbed until it could be
perfectly safe to do so. Both tendered the hospitalities of their
humble home with so much sincerity, that Mr. Bolton felt that he
could accept of them with perfect freedom.
It was a whole month ere the old gentleman was in a condition to
bear the journey to town; and not once in the whole of that time had
Mr. and Mrs. Gray seemed weary of his presence, nor once relaxed in
their efforts to make him comfortable. As Mr. Bolton was about
leaving, he tendered the farmer, with many expressions of gratitude
for the kindness he had received, a hundred-dollar bill, as some
small compensation for the trouble and expense he had occasioned him
and his family. But Mr. Gray declined the offer, saying, as he did
so:
"I have only done what common humanity required, Mr. Bolton; and
were I to receive money, all the pleasure I now experience would be
gone."
It was in vain that Mr. Bolton urged the farmer's acceptance of some
remuneration. Mr. Gray was firm in declining to the last. All that
could be done was to send Mrs. Gray a handsome present from the
city; but this did not entirely relieve the mind of Mr. Bolton from
the sense of obligation under which the disinterested kindness of
the farmer had laid him; and thoughts of this tended to soften his
feelings, and to awaken, in a small measure, the human sympathies
which had so long slumbered in his bosom.
Several months passed before Mr. Bolton was able to go out, and then
he resumed his old employment of looking after his rents, and
seeking for new and safe investments that promised some better
returns than he was yet receiving.
One day, a broker, who was in the habit of doing business for Mr.
Bolton, said to him:
"If you want to buy a small, well-cultivated farm, at about half
what it is worth, I think I know where you can get one."
"Do you?"
"Yes. Three years ago it was bought for three thousand dollars, and
seven hundred paid down in cash. Only eight hundred dollars have
since been paid on it; and as the time for which the mortgage was to
remain has now expired, a foreclosure is about to take place. By a
little management, I am satisfied that I can get you the farm for
the balance due on the mortgage."
"That is, for fifteen hundred dollars?"
"Yes."
"Is the farm worth that? Will it be a good investment?"
"It is in the highest state of cultivation. The owner has spent too
much money upon it. This, with the loss of his entire crop of wheat,
rye, corn, oats, and hay, last year, has crippled him, and made it
impossible to pay off the mortgage."
"How came he to meet with this loss?"
"His barn was struck by lightning."
"That was unfortunate."
"The farm will command, at the lowest, two hundred and fifty dollars
rent; and by forcing a sale just at this time, it can be had for
fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars--half its real value."
"It would be a good investment at that."
"Capital. I would advise you to secure it."
After making some brief inquiries as to its location, the quality of
the land, the improvements, etc., Mr. Bolton told the broker, in
whom he had great confidence, that he might buy the property for
him, if he could obtain it for any thing below two thousand dollars.
This the broker said he could easily do, as the business of
foreclosure was in his own hands.
In due time, Mr. Bolton was informed by his agent in the matter,
that a sale under the mortgage had taken place, and that, by means
of the little management proposed, he had succeeded in keeping away
all competition in bidding. The land, stock, farming implements, and
all, had been knocked down at a price that just covered the
encumbrance on the estate, and were the property of Mr. Bolton, at
half their real value.
"That was a good speculation," said the gray-headed money-lover,
when his agent informed him of what he had been doing.
"First-rate," replied the broker. "The farm is worth every cent of
three thousand dollars. Poor Gray! I can't help feeling sorry for
him. But it's his luck. He valued his farm at three thousand five
hundred dollars. A week ago he counted himself worth two thousand
dollars, clean. Now he isn't worth a copper. Fifteen hundred dollars
and three or four years' labour thrown away into the bargain. But
it's his luck! So the world goes. He must try again. It will all go
in his lifetime."
"Gray? Is that the man's name?" inquired Mr. Bolton. His voice was
changed.
"Yes. I thought I had mentioned his name."
"I didn't remark it, if you did. It's the farm adjoining Harvey's,
on the north?"
"Yes."
"I have had it in my mind, all along, that it was the one on the
south."
"No."
"When did you see Mr. Gray?"
"He was here about half an hour ago."
"How does he feel about the matter?"
"He takes it hard, of course. Any man would. But it's his luck, and
he must submit. It's no use crying over disappointments and losses,
in this world."
Mr. Bolton mused for a long time.
"I'll see you again to-morrow," he said, at length. "Let every thing
remain as it is until then."
The man who had been for so many years sold, as it were, to
selfishness, found himself checked at last by the thought of
another. While just in the act of grasping a money advantage, the
interest of another arose up, and made him pause.
"If it had been any one else," said he to himself, as he walked
slowly homeward, "all would have been plain sailing. But--but"--
The sentence was not finished.
"It won't do to turn HIM away," was at length uttered. "He shall
have the farm at a very moderate rent."
Still, these concessions of selfishness did not relieve the mind of
Mr. Bolton, nor make him feel more willing to meet the man who had
done him so groat a kindness, and in such a disinterested spirit.
All that day, and for a portion of the night that followed, Mr.
Bolton continued to think over the difficulty in which he found
himself placed; and the more he thought, the less willing did he
feel to take the great advantage of the poor farmer at first
contemplated. After falling asleep, his mind continued occupied with
the same subject, and in the dreams that came to him, he lived over
a portion of the past.
He was again a helpless invalid, and the kind farmer and his
excellent wife were ministering, as before, to his comfort. His
heart was full of grateful feelings. Then a change came suddenly. He
stood the spectator of a widely-spread ruin which had fallen upon
the excellent Mr. Gray and his family. A fierce tempest was sweeping
over his fields, and levelling all-houses, trees, and grain--in ruin
to the earth. A word spoken by him would have saved all; he felt
this: but he did not speak the word. The look of reproach suddenly
cast upon him by the farmer so stung him that he awoke; and from
that time until the day dawned, he lay pondering on the course of
conduct he had best pursue.
The advantage of the purchase he had made was so great, that Mr.
Bolton thought of relinquishing it with great reluctance. On the
other hand, his obligation to the farmer was of such a nature, that
he must, in clinging to his bargain, forfeit his self-respect, and
must suffer a keen sense of mortification, if not dishonour, at any
time that he happened to meet Mr. Gray face to face. Finally, after
a long struggle, continued through several days, he resolved to
forego the good he had attempted to grasp.
How many years since this man had done a generous action! since he
had relinquished a selfish and sordid purpose out of regard to
another's well-being! And now it had cost him a desperate struggle;
but after the trial was past, his mind became tranquil, and he could
think of what he was about to do with an emotion of pleasure that
was new in his experience. Immediately on this resolution being
formed, Mr. Bolton called upon his agent. His first inquiry was:
"When did you see Gray?"
"The previous owner of your farm?"
"Yes."
"Not since the sale. You told me to let every thing remain as it
was."
"Hasn't he called?"
"No."
"The loss of his farm must be felt as a great misfortune."
"No doubt of that. Every man feels his losses as misfortunes. But we
all have to take the good and the bad in life together. It's his
luck, and he must put up with it."
"I wonder if he hasn't other property?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Oh, yes. I know exactly what he was worth. He had been overseer for
Elbertson for several years, and while there, managed to save seven
hundred dollars, with which he paid down the cash required in
purchasing his farm. Since then, he has been paying off the mortgage
that remained on the property, and but for the burning of his barn,
might have prevented a result that has been so disastrous to
himself. But it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. In every
loss, somebody gains; and the turn of the die has been in your
favour this time."
Mr. Bolton did not appear to feel as much satisfaction at this view
of the case as the broker anticipated; and seeing this, he changed
the subject, by asking some question about the consummation of the
sale under the mortgage.
"I'll see you about that to-morrow," said Mr. Bolton.
"Very well," was replied.
After some more conversation, Mr. Bolton left the office of his
agent.
For years, farmer Gray had been toiling late and early, to become
the full owner of his beautiful farm. Its value had much increased
since it had come into his possession, and he looked forward with
pleasure to the time when it would be his own beyond all doubt. But
the loss of an entire year's crop, through the burning of his barn,
deeply tried and dispirited him. From this grievous disappointment,
his spirits were beginning to rise, when the sudden foreclosure of
the mortgage and hurried sale of his farm crushed all his hopes to
the earth.
Who the real purchaser of his farm was, Mr. Gray did not know, for
the broker had bought in his own name. So bewildered was the farmer
by the suddenly-occurring disaster, that, for several days
subsequent to the sale, he remained almost totally paralyzed in
mind. No plans were laid for the future, nor even those ordinary
steps for the present taken, that common prudence would suggest; he
wandered about the farm, or sat at home, dreamily musing upon what
seemed the utter ruin of all his best hopes in life. While in this
state, he was surprised by a visit from Mr. Bolton. The old
gentleman, in taking him by the hand, said--"What's the matter, my
friend? You appear in trouble."
"And I am in trouble," was unhesitatingly answered.
"Not so deep but that you may get out of it again, I hope?"
Mr. Gray shook his head in a desponding way.
"What _is_ the trouble?" Mr. Bolton inquired.
"I have lost my farm."
"Oh, no!"
"It is too true; it has been sold for a mortgage of fifteen hundred
dollars. Though I have already paid more than that sum on account of
the purchase, it only brought enough to pay the encumbrance, and I
am ruined."
The farmer was deeply disturbed, and Mr. Bolton's feelings were much
interested.
"Don't be so troubled, my good friend," said the old gentleman. "You
rendered me a service in the time of need, and it is now in my power
to return it. The farm is still yours. I hold the mortgage, and you
need not fear another foreclosure."
Some moments passed after this announcement before Mr. Gray's mind
became clear, and his entire self-possession returned; then grasping
the hand of Mr. Bolton, he thanked him with all the eloquence a
grateful heart inspires. It was the happiest moment the old merchant
had seen for years. The mere possession of a thousand or two of
dollars seemed as nothing to the pleasure he felt at having
performed a good action; or, rather, at having refrained from doing
an evil one.
As he rode back to the city, reflecting upon what he had done, and
recalling the delight shown by Mr. Gray and his kind partner, who
had attended him so carefully while he lay a sufferer beneath their
roof, his heart swelled in his bosom with a new and happy emotion.
Having once permitted himself to regard another with an unselfish
interest, that interest continued; it seemed as if he could not do
enough for the farmer in the way of aiding him to develop the
resources of his little property. In this he did not merely stop at
suggestions, but tendered something more substantial and available.
Nor did the feelings awakened in his mind run all in this direction;
occasions enough offered for him to be generous to others, and to
refrain from oppression for the sake of gain. Many of these were
embraced, and Mr. Bolton, in realizing the fact that it is sometimes
more blessed to give than to receive, found in the latter years of
his life a NEW PLEASURE--the pleasure of benevolence.
-THE END-
T.S. Arthur's short story: A New Pleasure
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