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_ _OF_ all the fallacies accepted by men as truths, there is none more
widely prevalent, nor more fatal to happiness, than that which
assumes the measure of possession to be the measure of enjoyment.
All over the world, the strife for accumulation goes on; every one
seeking to increase his flocks and herds--his lands and houses--or
his gold and merchandise--and ever in the weary, restless,
unsatisfied present, tightening with one hand the grasp on worldly
goods, and reaching out for new accessions with the other.
In dispensation, not in possession, lies the secret of enjoyment; a
fact which nature illustrates in a thousand ways, and to which every
man's experience gives affirmation. "Very good doctrine for the idle
and thriftless," said Mr. Henry Steel, a gentleman of large wealth,
in answer to a friend, who had advanced the truth we have expressed
above.
"As good doctrine for them as for you," was replied. "Possession
must come before dispensation. It is not the receiver but the
dispenser who gets the higher blessing."
The rich man shrugged his shoulders, and looked slightly annoyed, as
one upon whom a distasteful theme was intruded.
"I hear that kind of talk every Sunday," he said, almost
impatiently. "But I know what it is worth. Preaching is as much a
business as anything else; and this cant about its being more
blessed to give than to receive is a part of the capital in trade of
your men of black coats and white neck-ties. I understand it all,
Mr. Erwin."
"You talk lighter than is your wont on so grave a theme," answered
the friend. "What you speak of as 'cant,' and the preacher's
'capital in trade'--'it is more blessed to give than to receive, are
the recorded words of him who never spake as man spake. If his
words, must they not be true?"
"Perhaps I did speak lightly," was returned. "But indeed, Mr. Erwin,
I cannot help feeling that in all these efforts to make rich men
believe that their only way to happiness is through a distribution
of their estates, a large element of covetousness exists."
"That may be. But, to-day you are worth over a quarter of million of
dollars. I remember when fifty thousand, all told, limited the
extent of your possessions, and I think you were happier than I find
you to-day. How was it, my friend?"
"As to that," was unhesitatingly replied, "I had more true enjoyment
in life when I was simply a clerk with a salary of four hundred
dollars a year, than I have known at any time since."
"A remarkable confession," said the friend.
"Yet true, nevertheless."
"In all these years of strife with fortune--in all these years of
unremitted gain--has there been any great and worthy end in your
mind? Any purpose beyond the acquirement of wealth?"
Mr. Steel's brows contracted. He looked at his friend for a moment
like one half surprised, and then glanced thoughtfully down at the
floor.
"Gain, and only gain," said Mr. Erwin. "Not your history alone, nor
mine alone. It is the history of millions. Gathering, gathering, but
never of free choice, dispensing. Still, under Providence, the
dispensation goes on; and what we hoard, in due time another
distributes. Men accumulate gold like water in great reservoirs;
accumulate it for themselves, and refuse to lay conduits. Often they
pour in their gold until the banks fail under excessive pressure,
and the rich treasure escapes to flow back among the people. Often
secret conduits are laid, and refreshing and fertilizing currents,
unknown to the selfish owner, flow steadily out, while he toils with
renewed and anxious labors to keep the repository full. Oftener, the
great magazine of accumulated gold and silver, which he never found
time to enjoy, is rifled by others at his death. He was the toiler
and the accumulator--the slave who only produced. Miners,
pearl-divers, gold-washers are we, my friend; but what we gather we
fail to possess in that true sense of possession which involves
delight and satisfaction. For us the toil, for others the benefit."
"A flattering picture certainly!" was responded by Mr. Steel, with
the manner of one on whose mind an unpleasant conviction was forcing
itself.
"Is it not true to the life? Death holds out to us his unwelcome
hand, and we must leave all. The key of our treasure-house is given,
to another."
"Yet, is he not bound by our will?" said Mr. Steel. "As we have
ordered, must not he dispense?"
"Why not dispense with our own hands, and with our own eyes see the
fruit thereof? Why not, in some small measure, at least prove if it
be indeed, more blessed to give than to receive? Let us talk plainly
to each other--we are friends. I know that in your will is a bequest
of five thousand dollars to a certain charitable institution, that,
even in its limited way, is doing much good. I speak now of only
this single item. In my will, following your example and suggestion,
is a similar bequest of one thousand dollars. You are forty-five and
I am forty-seven. How long do we expect to live?"
"Life is uncertain."
"Yet often prolonged to sixty, seventy, or even eighty years. Take
sixty-five as the mean. Not for twenty years, then, will this
institution receive the benefit of your good intention. It costs, I
think, about fifty dollars a year to support each orphan child. Only
a small number can be taken, for want of liberal means. Applicants
are refused admission almost every day. Three hundred dollars, the
interest on five thousand, at six per cent., would pay for six
children. Take five years as the average time each would remain in
the institution, and we have thirty poor, neglected little ones,
taken from the street, and educated for usefulness. Thirty human
souls rescued, it may be, from hell, and saved, finally, in heaven.
And all this good might be accomplished before your eyes. You might,
if you chose, see it in progress, and comprehending its great
significance, experience a degree of pleasure, such as fills the
hearts of angels. I have made up my mind what to do."
"What?"
"Erase the item of one thousand dollars from my will."
"What then?"
"Call it two thousand, and invest it at once for the use of this
charity. No, twenty years shall stand between my purpose and its
execution. I will have the satisfaction of knowing that good is done
in my lifetime. In this case, at least, I will be my own dispenser."
Love of money was a strong element in the heart of Mr. Steel. The
richer he grew, the more absorbing became his desire for riches. It
was comparatively an easy thing to write out charitable bequests in
a will--to give money for good uses when no longer able to hold
possession thereof; but to lessen his valued treasure by taking
anything therefrom for others in the present time, was a thing the
very suggestion of which startled into life a host of opposing
reasons. He did not respond immediately, although his heart moved
him to utterance. The force of his friend's argument was, however,
conclusive. He saw the whole subject in a new light. After a brief
but hard struggle with himself, he answered:
"And I shall follow in your footsteps, my friend. I never thought of
the lost time you mention, of the thirty children unblessed by the
good act I purposed doing. Can I leave them to vice, to suffering,
to crime, and yet be innocent? Will not their souls be required at
my hands, now that God shows me their condition? I feel the pressure
of a responsibility scarcely thought of an hour ago. You have turned
the current of my thoughts in a new direction."
"And what is better still," answered Mr. Erwin, your purposes also."
"My purposes also," was the reply.
A week afterwards the friends met again.
"Ah," said Mr. Erwin, as he took the hand of Mr. Steel, "I see a new
light in your face. Something has taken off from your heart that
dead, dull weight of which you complained when I was last here. I
don't know when I have seen so cheerful an expression on your
countenance."
"Perhaps your eyes were dull before." Mr. Steel's smile was so
all-pervading that it lit up every old wrinkle and care-line in his
face.
"I was at the school yesterday," said Mr. Erwin, in a meaning way.
"Were you?" The light lay stronger on the speaker's countenance.
"Yes. A little while after you were there."
Mr. Steel took a deep breath, as if his heart had commenced beating
more rapidly.
"I have not seen a happier man than the superintendent for a score
of weeks. If you had invested the ten thousand dollars for his
individual benefit, he could not have been half so well pleased."
"He seems like an excellent man, and one whose heart is in his
work," said Mr. Steel.
"He had, already, taken in ten poor little boys and girls on the
strength of your liberal donation. Ten children lifted out of want
and suffering, and placed under Christian guardianship! Just think
of it. My heart gave a leap for joy when he told me. It was well
done, my friend--well done!"
"And what of your good purpose, Mr. Erwin?" asked the other.
"Two little girls--babes almost," replied Mr. Erwin, in a lower
voice, that almost trembled with feeling, "were brought to me. As I
looked at them, the superintendent said: 'I heard of them two days
ago. Their wretched mother had just died, and, in dying, had given
them to a vicious companion. Hunger, cold, debasement, suffering,
crime, were in the way before them; and but for your timely aid, I
should have had no power to intervene. But, you gave the means of
rescue, and here they are, innocent as yet, and out of danger from
the wolf.' In all my life, my friend, there has not been given a
moment of sincerer pleasure."
For some time Mr. Steel sat musing.
"This is a new experience," he said, at length. "Something outside
of the common order of things. I have made hundreds of investments
in my time, but none that paid me down so large an interest. A poor
speculation it seemed. You almost dragged me into it; but, I see
that it will yield unfailing dividends of pleasure."
"We have turned a leaf in the book of life," his friend made answer,
"and on the new page which now lies before us, we find it written,
that in wise dispensation, not in mere getting and hoarding, lies
the secret of happiness. The lake must have an outlet, and give
forth its crystal waters in full measure, if it would keep them pure
and wholesome, or, as the Dead Sea, it will be full of bitterness,
and hold no life in its bosom." _
Read next: CHAPTER IX. WAS IT MURDER, OR SUICIDE?
Read previous: CHAPTER VII. GOOD GROUND.
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