Books: Lessons in Life, For All Who Will Read Them

T >> T.S. Arthur >> Lessons in Life, For All Who Will Read Them

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

"What is your name, my dear?" she asked one day, in a feeble voice,
looking up into her face.

A warm flush came over the cheeks of Ellen; her eyes dropped to the
floor. She hesitated for several moments; then she replied in a low
voice--"Ellen."

Mrs. Linden looked at her earnestly, but said nothing in reply.

"Who is this nurse you have been so kind to procure for me?" Mrs.
Linden said to her friend, a few days subsequently. She had gained
much in a short time.

"She is a stranger to me. I never saw her before she came and said
that she had heard that there was a sick lady here who wished a
nurse."

"She did?"

"Yes."

"She must be an angel in disguise, then."

"So I should think," returned her friend. "I have never met a
lovelier person. Her face is sweetness itself; her manners are full
of ease and grace, and her heart seems a deep well of love to all."

"Who can she be? Where did she come from? I feel toward her as if
she were my own child."

"But she is only a nurse," said her friend. "Do not forget that, nor
your station in society."

Mrs. Linden shook her head and murmured--"I have never found one
like her in the highest places; no, not even in my own children.
Station in society! Ah! my friend, that delusion has passed."

As Mrs. Linden recovered more and more, Ellen remained with her,
waiting only for a good opportunity to make herself known. She did
not wish to do this until she was sure that she had awakened a
feeling of affection in her mother's bosom.

Mrs. Linden had been sitting up for two or three days, so far had
she recovered, and yet Ellen did not feel that it was safe to
venture a full declaration of the truth.

Up to this time, neither William nor his wife had visited her, nor
sent to inquire about her. This fact Mrs. Linden knew, for she had
asked about it particularly. The name of Charles was never
mentioned.

In order to try its effect, Ellen said to her--"You are better now,
Mrs. Linden, and will be well in a little while. You do not need me
any longer. I will leave you to-morrow."

"Leave me!" ejaculated Mrs. Linden. "Oh, no, Ellen, you must not
leave me; I cannot do without you. You must stay with me always."

"You would soon tire of such a one as I am."

"Never, my good girl, never! You shall always remain with me. You
shall be--not my nurse, but my child."

Mrs. Linden's voice trembled.

Ellen could hardly help throwing herself at her feet, and declaring
that she was really her child; but she controlled herself, and
replied--"That cannot be, madam; I have other duties to perform."

"You have? What? To whom?"

"To my husband and children."

"Gracious heaven! what do you mean? Who are you?"

"One who loved you before she ever saw you. One who loves you now."

"Speak, child! oh, speak!" exclaimed Mrs. Linden, turning suddenly
pale, and grasping hold of Ellen with both her hands. "Who are you?
What interest have you in me? Speak!"

"Do you love me?" asked Ellen, in a husky whisper.

"Love you! You have forced me to love you; but speak out. Who are
you?"

"Your daughter," was faintly replied.

"Who?"

"The wife of one who has never ceased to love you; the wife of
Charles Linden."

Mrs. Linden seemed paralyzed for some moments at this declaration.
Her face became pale--her eye fell to the floor--she sat like one in
a dream.

"Dear mother!" plead the anxious wife, sinking on her knees, "will
you not forgive your son? Will you not forgive me that I loved him
so well? If you knew how much we love you--how anxious we are to
make you happy, you would instantly relent."

"My child! Oh, can it be true?" This was said in a choking voice by
Mrs. Linden, as she threw her arms around Ellen and held her to her
bosom. In a few moments she withdrew herself, and fixed her eyes
long and earnestly upon Ellen's face.

"Ah! what a loving heart have I wronged!" she murmured, putting her
hand upon the brow of her new-found child, tenderly. Then she drew
her again almost convulsively to her bosom.

All that was passing within was heard without, for Charles and his
sister were at the door: they entered at this moment.

"My mother!" exclaimed Charles, springing towards her.

"My son--my dear son! God bless you, and this dear child, who has
watched for days and nights like an angel about my pillow."

The mother and son were in each other's arms in a moment. All was
forgiven.

From that hour, the proud woman of the world saw with a purified
vision. From that hour, she knew the worth of a pure heart.

SMITH AND JONES; OR, THE TOWN LOT.

ONCE upon a time, it happened that the men who governed in the
municipal affairs of a certain growing town in the West, resolved,
in grave deliberation assembled, to purchase a five-acre lot at the
north end of the city--recently incorporated--and have it improved
for a park or public square. Now, it also happened, that all the
saleable ground lying north of the city was owned by a man named
Smith--a shrewd, wide-awake individual, whose motto was,

"Every man for himself," with an occasional addition about a certain
gentleman in black taking "the hindmost."

Smith, it may be mentioned, was secretly at the bottom of this
scheme for a public square, and had himself suggested the matter to
an influential member of the council; not that he was moved by what
is denominated public spirit--no; the spring of action in the case
was merely "private spirit," or a regard for his own good. If the
council decided upon a public square, he was the man from whom the
ground would have to be bought; and he was the man who could get his
own price therefor.

As we have said, the park was decided upon, and a committee of two
appointed, whose business it was to see Smith and arrange with him
for the purchase of a suitable lot of ground. In due form the
committee called upon the landholder, who was fully prepared for the
interview.

"You are the owner of those lots at the north end?" said the
spokesman of the committee.

"I am," replied Smith, with becoming gravity.

"Will you sell a portion of ground, say five acres, to the city?"

"For what purpose?" Smith knew very well for what purpose the land
was wanted.

"We have decided to set apart about five acres of ground, and
improve it as a kind of park, or public promenade."

"Have you, indeed? Well, I like that," said Smith, with animation.
"It shows the right kind of public spirit."

"We have, moreover, decided that the best location will be at the
north end of the town."

"Decidedly my own opinion," returned Smith.

"Will you sell us the required acres?" asked one of the councilmen.

"That will depend somewhat upon where you wish to locate the park."

The particular location was named.

"The very spot," replied Smith, promptly, "upon which I have decided
to erect four rows of dwellings."

"But it is too far out for that," was naturally objected.

"Oh, no. Not a rod. The city is rapidly growing in that direction. I
have only to put up the dwellings referred to, and dozens will be
anxious to purchase lots, and build all around them. Won't the
ground to the left of that you speak of answer as well?"

But the committee replied in the negative. The lot they had
mentioned was the one decided upon as most suited for the purpose,
and they were not prepared to think of any other location.

All this Smith understood very well. He was not only willing, but
anxious for the city to purchase the lot they were negotiating for.
All he wanted was to get a good round price for the same--say four
or five times the real value. So he feigned indifference, and threw
difficulties in the way.

A few years previous to this time, Smith had purchased a
considerable tract of land at the north of the then flourishing
village, at fifty dollars an acre. Its present value was about three
hundred dollars an acre.

After a good deal of talk on both sides, Smith finally agreed to
sell the particular lot pitched upon. The next thing was to arrange
as to price.

"At what do you hold this ground per acre?"

It was some time before Smith answered this question. His eyes were
cast upon the floor, and earnestly did he enter into debate with
himself as to the value he should place upon the lot. At first, he
thought of five hundred dollars per acre. But his cupidity soon
tempted him to advance on that sum, although, a month before, he
would have caught at such an offer. Then he advanced to six, to
seven, and to eight hundred. And still he felt undecided.

"I can get my own price," said he to himself. "The city has to pay,
and I might just as well get a large sum as a small one."

"For what price will you sell?" The question was repeated.

"I must have a good price."

"We are willing to pay what is fair and right."

"Of course. No doubt you have fixed a limit to which you will go."

"Not exactly that," said one of the gentlemen.

"Are you prepared to make an offer?"

"We are prepared to hear your price, and to make a report thereon,"
was replied.

"That's a very valuable lot of ground," said Smith.

"Name your price," returned one of the committee men, a little
impatiently.

Thus brought up to the point, Smith, after thinking hurriedly for a
few moments, said--

"One thousand dollars an acre."

Both the men shook their heads in a very positive way. Smith said
that it was the lowest he would take; and so the conference ended.

At the next meeting of the city councils, a report on the town lot
was made, and the extraordinary demand of Smith canvassed. It was
unanimously decided not to make the proposed purchase.

When this decision reached the landholder, he was considerably
disappointed. He wanted money badly, and would have "jumped at" two
thousand dollars for the five-acre lot, if satisfied that it would
bring no more. But, when the city came forward as a purchaser, his
cupidity was subjected to a very strong temptation. He believed that
he could get five thousand dollars as easily as two; and quieted his
conscience by the salvo--"An article is always worth what it will
bring."

A week or two went by, and Smith was about calling upon one of the
members of the council, to say that, if the city really wanted the
lot, he would sell at their price, leaving it with the council to
act justly and generously, when a friend said to him--

"I hear that the council had the subject of a public square under
consideration again this morning."

"Indeed!" Smith was visibly excited, though he tried to appear calm.

"Yes; and I also hear that they have decided to pay the extravagant
price you asked for a lot of ground at the north end of the city."

"A thousand dollars an acre?"

"Yes."

"Its real value, and not a cent more," said Smith.

"People differ about that. However, you are lucky," the friend
replied. "The city is able to pay."

"So I think. And I mean they shall pay."

Before the committee to whom the matter was given in charge had time
to call upon Smith and close with him for the lot, that gentleman
had concluded in his own mind that it would be just as easy to get
twelve hundred dollars an acre as a thousand. It was plain that the
council were bent upon having the ground, and would pay a round sum
for it. It was just the spot for a public square; and the city must
become the owner. So, when he was called upon by the gentlemen, and
they said to him--

"We are authorized to pay you your price," he promptly answered--

"The offer is no longer open. You declined it when it was made. My
price for that property is now twelve hundred dollars an acre."

The men offered remonstrance; but it was of no avail. Smith believed
that he could get six thousand dollars for the ground as easily as
five thousand. The city must have the lot, and would pay almost any
price.

"I hardly think it right, Mr. Smith," said one of his visitors, "for
you to take such an advantage. This square is for the public good."

"Let the public pay, then," was the unhesitating answer. "The public
is able enough."

"The location of this park at the north end of the city will greatly
improve the value of your other property."

This Smith understood very well. But he replied--

"I'm not so sure of that. I have some very strong doubts on the
subject. It's my opinion that the buildings I contemplated erecting
will be far more to my advantage. Be that as it may, however, I am
decided in selling for nothing less than six thousand dollars."

"We are only authorized to pay five thousand," replied the
committee. "If you agree to take that sum, we will close the bargain
on the spot."

Five thousand dollars was a large sum of money, and Smith felt
strongly tempted to close in with the liberal offer. But six
thousand loomed up before his imagination still more temptingly.

"I can get it," said he to himself; "and the property is worth what
it will bring."

So he positively refused to sell it at a thousand dollars per acre.

"At twelve hundred, you will sell?" remarked one of the committee,
as they were about retiring.

"Yes. I will take twelve hundred the acre. That is the lowest rate;
and I am not anxious, even at that price. I can do quite as well by
keeping it in my own possession. But, as you seem so bent on having
it, I will not stand in your way. When will the council meet again?"

"Not until next week."

"Very well. If they then accept my offer, all will be right. But,
understand me; if they do not accept, the offer no longer remains
open. It is a matter of no moment to me which way the thing goes."

It was a matter of moment to Smith, for all this assertion--a matter
of very great moment. He had several thousand dollars to pay in the
course of the next few months on land purchases, and no way to meet
the payments, except by mortgages or sales of property; and it may
naturally be concluded that he suffered considerable uneasiness
during the time which passed until the next meeting of the council.

Of course, the grasping disposition shown by Smith became the town
talk; and people said a good many hard things of him. Little,
however, did he care, so that he secured six thousand dollars for a
lot not worth more than two thousand.

Among other residents and property-holders in the town, was a
simple-minded, true-hearted, honest man, named Jones. His father had
left him a large farm, a goodly portion of which, in process of
time, came to be included in the limits of the new city; and he
found a much more profitable employment in selling building lots
than in tilling the soil. The property of Mr. Jones lay at the west
side of the town.

Now, when Mr. Jones heard of the exorbitant demand made by Smith for
a five-acre lot, his honest heart throbbed with a feeling of
indignation.

"I couldn't have believed it of him," said he. "Six thousand
dollars! Preposterous! Why, I would give the city a lot of twice the
size, and do it with pleasure."

"You would?" said a member of the council, who happened to hear this
remark.

"Certainly, I would."

"You are really in earnest?"

"Undoubtedly. Go and select a public square from any of my
unappropriated land on the west side of the city, and I will pass
you the title, as a free gift, to-morrow, and feel pleasure in doing
so."

"That is public spirit," said the councilman.

"Call it what you will. I am pleased in making the offer."

Now, let it not be supposed that Mr. Jones was shrewdly calculating
the advantage which would result to him from having a park at the
west side of the city. No such thought had yet entered his mind. He
spoke from the impulse of a generous feeling.

Time passed on, and the session-day of the council came round--a day
to which Smith had looked forward with no ordinary feelings of
interest, that were touched, at times, by the coldness of doubt and
the agitation of uncertainty. Several times he had more than half
repented of his refusal to accept the liberal offer of five thousand
dollars, and of having fixed so positively upon six thousand as the
"lowest figure."

The morning of the day passed, and Smith began to grow uneasy. He
did not venture to seek for information as to the doings of the
council, for that would be to expose the anxiety he felt in the
result of their deliberations. Slowly the afternoon wore away, and
it so happened that Smith did not meet any one of the councilmen;
nor did he even know whether the council was still in session or
not. As to making allusion to the subject of his anxious interest to
any one, that was carefully avoided; for he knew that his exorbitant
demand was the town talk--and he wished to affect the most perfect
indifference on the subject.

The day closed, and not a whisper about the town-lot had come to the
ears of Mr. Smith. What could it mean? Had his offer to sell at six
thousand been rejected? The very thought caused his heart to grow
heavy in his bosom. Six, seven, eight o'clock came, and still it was
all dark with Mr. Smith. He could bear the suspense no longer, and
so determined to call upon his neighbour Wilson, who was a member of
the council, and learn from him what had been done.

So he called on Mr. Wilson.

"Ah, friend Smith," said the latter, "how are you, this evening?"

"Well, I thank you," returned Smith, feeling a certain oppression of
the chest. "How are you?"

"Oh, very well."

Here, then, was a pause. After which, Smith said--

"About that ground of mine? What did you do?"

"Nothing," replied Wilson, coldly.

"Nothing, did you say?" Smith's voice was a little husky.

"No. You declined our offer;--or, rather, the high price fixed by
yourself upon the land."

"You refused to buy it at five thousand when it was offered," said
Smith.

"I know we did, because your demand was exorbitant."

"Oh, no, not at all," returned Smith, quickly.

"In that we only differ," said Wilson. "However, the council has
decided not to pay you the price you ask."

"Unanimously?"

"There was not a dissenting voice."

Smith began to feel more and more uncomfortable.

"I might take something less," he ventured to say, in a low,
hesitating voice.

"It is too late now," was Mr. Wilson's prompt reply.

"Too late! How so?"

"We have procured a lot."

"Mr. Wilson!" Poor Smith started to his feet in chagrin and
astonishment.

"Yes; we have taken one of Jones's lots, on the west side of the
city. A beautiful ten-acre lot."

"You have!" Smith was actually pale.

"We have; and the title-deeds are now being made out."

It was some time before Smith had sufficiently recovered from the
stunning effect of this unlooked-for intelligence, to make the
inquiry--

"And pray how much did Jones ask for his ten-acre lot?"

"He presented it to the city as a gift," replied the councilman.

"A gift! What folly!"

"No, not folly--but true worldly wisdom; though I believe Jones did
not think of advantage to himself when he generously made the offer.
He is worth twenty thousand dollars more to-day than he was
yesterday, in the simple advanced value of his land for
building-lots. And I know of no man in this town whose good fortune
affects me with more pleasure."

Smith stole back to his home with a mountain of disappointment on
his heart. In his cupidity, he had entirely overreached himself, and
he saw that the consequences were to react upon all his future
prosperity. The public square at the west end of the town would draw
improvements in that direction all the while increasing the wealth
of Mr. Jones, while lots in the north end would remain at present
prices, or, it might be, take a downward range.

And so it proved. In ten years, Jones was the richest man in the
town, while half of Smith's property had been sold for taxes. The
five-acre lot passed from his hands, under the hammer, in the
foreclosure of a mortgage, for one thousand dollars!

Thus it is that inordinate selfishness and cupidity overreach
themselves; while the liberal man deviseth liberal things, and is
sustained thereby.

HE MUST HAVE MEANT ME.

"HOW do you like our new preacher?" was asked by one member of
another, as they walked home from church.

"Only so so," was replied.

"He cuts close," remarked the first speaker.

"Yes, a little too close."

"I don't know about that. I like to see the truth brought home to
the heart and conscience."

"So do I. But I object to personality."

"Personality!"

"Yes; I object to personality."

So does every one. Was Mr. C--personal?"

"I think so."

"That's hardly possible. He only arrived last week, and has not yet
had time to become familiar with facts in the life of any one here.
Moreover, a personal allusion in a first sermon, by a stranger, is
something so out of place and indelicate, that I cannot for a moment
believe that your inference is correct."

"While I have the best of reasons for believing that I complain of
him justly. He's been long enough here to visit a certain family,
fond of tittle-tattle, that I could name."

"The Harrisons?"

"Yes."

"I hope you are mistaken."

"No; I am not mistaken. C--was personal, and distinctly so. And
the Harrisons are at the bottom of the matter. To say the least, he
has acted in very bad taste. Charity should have prompted him to
wait until he could have heard both sides of the story."

"I agree with you, fully, if your allegation be correct. But I must
hope that you are in error."

"No. I have the best of reasons for what I allege."

"To whom did the personality apply?"

"To myself, if the truth must be spoken."

"Is it possible?"

"Yes--to myself."

"That places the matter in rather a serious light, Mr. Grant."

"It does. And I think I have reason to complain."

"You ought to be certain about this matter."

"I'm certain enough. When a man treads on your toe, you are likely
to know it."

'It is barely possible that Mr. C--did not intend to designate
you, or any one, in what he said."

"He _must_ have meant me," replied Mr. Grant, with emphasis. "He
couldn't have said what he did, unless he had been informed of
certain things that have happened in this town. Had he not visited
the Harrisons, I might have doubted. But that fact places the thing
beyond a question."

"In what did the personality consist?"

"Did you not observe it?"

"No."

"Indeed!"

"I perceived no allusion to any one."

"There are plenty of others, no doubt, who did. I don't care to
speak of it just now. But you'll hear about it. I noticed three or
four turn and look at me while he was speaking. It will be a
pleasant piece of gossip; but if Mr. C--doesn't take care, I'll
make this place too hot to hold him. I'm not the one to be set up as
a target for any whipper-snapper to fire at."

"Don't get excited, friend Grant. Wait awhile. I still think there
is some mistake."

"I beg your pardon; there is no mistake about it. He meant me. Don't
I know? Can't I tell when a man points his finger at me in a public
assembly?"

In his opinion, Mr. Grant was still further confirmed, ere he
reached his home, by the peculiar way in which sundry members of the
congregation looked at him. Of course, he was considerably disturbed
on the subject; and felt a reasonable share of indignation. In the
evening, he declined attending worship as an indication of his
feelings on the subject; and he doubted not that the new preacher
would note his absence and understand the cause.

About a year prior to this time, Mr. Grant, who was a manufacturing
jeweller, was called upon by a gentleman, who desired him to make a
solid gold wedding-ring. It was to be of the finest quality that
could be worked, and to be unusually heavy. When the price was
mentioned, the gentleman objected to it as high.

"Your neighbour, over the way," said the gentleman, "will make it
for a dollar less than you ask."

"Not of solid gold," replied Mr. Grant.

"Oh, yes. I would have no other."

Mr. Grant knew that the ring could not be made of fine, solid gold,
for the price his neighbour had agreed to take. And he knew, also,
that in manufacturing it, his neighbour, if he took the order, would
fill up the centre of the ring with solder--a common practice. On
the spur of the moment, he determined to do the same thing, and
therefore replied--

"Well, I suppose I must work as low as he does."

"The ring must be of solid gold, remember. I will have no other."

"That's understood, of course," replied the jeweller; adding to
himself, "as solid as any one makes them."

The ring was manufactured at a reasonable profit, and the man got
the full worth of his money; but not of solid gold. Silver solder
composed the centre. But as the baser metal could not be detected by
simple inspection or weighing, Mr. Grant felt secure in the cheat he
had practised; and, quieted his conscience by assuming that he had
given a full equivalent for the money received.

"He's just as well off as he would have been if he had gone to my
neighbour over the way, as he called him," said he to himself, in
the effort to quiet certain unpleasant sensations. "To suppose that
he was going to get a solid ring at such a price! Does he think we
jewellers steal our gold? Men will be humbugged, and there is no
help for it."

Yet, for all this, Mr. Grant could not cast out the unpleasant
feeling. He had done a thing so clearly wrong, that no attempt at
self-justification gave his mind its former calmness.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11