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

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

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"The ring is solid gold?" said the man, when he came for it.

"That was the contract," replied Mr. Grant, with a half-offended
air, at the intimation conveyed in the tone of voice, that all might
not be as agreed upon.

"Excuse me," remarked the man, apologetically; "but I am very
particular about this matter, and would throw the ring into the
street rather than use it, if not of solid gold."

"Gold rings are not given away," muttered Grant to himself, as the
man left the shop.

Some days after this transaction, a man named Harrison, who belonged
to the church of which Grant was a member, met him, when this little
conversation took place.

"I sent you a customer last week," said Mr. Harrison.

Ah! I'm very much obliged to you."

"A gentleman who wanted a gold ring. He asked me to give him the
name of a jeweller upon whom he could depend. The ring, he said,
must be solid, for a particular reason; and, as he was a stranger,
he did not know who was to be trusted. I told him I would guaranty
you for an honest man. That if you undertook to manufacture any
article for him, he might rely upon its being done according to
agreement."

While Harrison was uttering this undeserved compliment, it was with
the utmost difficulty that Mr. Grant. could keep the tell-tale blood
from rushing to his face.

"He showed me the ring," continued Mr. Harrison. "It is a very
handsome one."

"Was he satisfied with it?" asked Mr. Grant.

"Not fully."

"Why so?"

"He was afraid it might not be solid. In fact, so anxious was he on
this point, that he took the ring to your neighbour, over the way,
to get his opinion about it."

As Mr. Harrison said this, Grant was conscious that a betrayal of
the truth was on his countenance.

"And, of course, Martin said the ring was not solid."

"No, he did not exactly say that. I went with the gentleman, at his
request. Martin weighed the ring, and, after doing so, simply stated
that gold of the quality of which the ring was made was worth a
certain price per pennyweight. By multiplying the number of
pennyweights contained in the ring with the price mentioned, he
showed that you either lost one dollar on the ring, or filled the
centre with some baser metal."

"Well?" The blood had, by this time, risen to the very brow of the
jeweller.

"'Cut the ring,' said my friend. It was done, and, to my
mortification and astonishment, it proved to be even as he had said.
The ring was not solid!"

For some moments, Mr. Grant hung his head in painful confusion.
Then, looking up, he said--

"It was his own fault."

"How so?" was inquired.

"He would not pay the price for a solid ring, and I could not give
him my work for nothing."

"Did you ask him a fair price?"

"Yes; and he answered, that my neighbour over the way had offered to
make him a solid ring, for just one dollar less. I knew exactly what
kind of a ring Martin could and would furnish for that money, and
made him one just like it. I gave him his money's worth, and a
little over. He was not cheated."

"But he was deceived. How you could have done such a thing, brother
Grant, is more than I can understand."

"I had to do it in self-defence; and this very Martin, who has been
so ready to expose the little deception, made the act necessary."

"I'm sorry you should have done so. It was wrong," said Mr.
Harrison.

"I'm ready to acknowledge that. But it's too late, now, to repair
the error. I wish I'd had nothing to do with the matter."

"So do I," remarked Harrison.

This fretted the mind of Grant, and he replied, rather impatiently--

"Hereafter, I hope you'll send all customers of this kind to Martin.
Dear knows, I don't want them!"

"I shall certainly be careful in this matter," coldly replied
Harrison, and bowing formally, as he spoke, turned away, and left
Grant in no very pleasant frame of mind. From that time there was a
coldness between the two church members.

When Grant went to church on the next Sabbath, he noticed, as he
approached the meeting-house door, Harrison standing in close
conversation with one or two prominent members. As he approached,
they looked toward him in a certain way that he did not like, and
then, separating, entered the house before he came up. It was too
evident that Harrison had been communicating the incident of the
ring. But Grant was not surprised; he had expected nothing less.
Still, he felt that his brother member had not done towards him in
the matter as he would have liked himself done by. On entering the
church, half a dozen persons turned and looked at him earnestly;
while two or three whispered together, glancing towards him every
now and then, and thus showing that he was the subject of
conversation. As to the theme of discourse between them, his mind
was in no doubt. The gold ring! Yes, that was it.

But little edified by the sermon was Mr. Grant on that morning; and,
when the services were ended, he went quickly from the church, and
took his way homeward without stopping, as on former occasions, to
shake hands and pass a few words with friends and brethren.

It had been the custom of several leading members of the church to
drop in occasionally, during the week, and chat with Grant for ten
minutes or half an hour. But the time from Sunday to Sunday was
passed without a single call from any one of them. The reason for
this was no mystery to the jeweller's mind.

"I don't see that I've been guilty of such a terrible crime," said
he to himself, feeling a little indignant on the subject. "The man
got his money's worth; and, moreover, was served perfectly right.
Did he suppose that he was going to get fine gold for the price of
solder? If so, he found himself mistaken. As for Harrison, he's made
himself remarkably busy about the matter. I would not trust him in a
similar case. But it is so pleasant to discourse on evil in our
neighbour. So very pleasant! The good he does is left to find its
own way to the light as best it can; but let him commit a mistake or
make a single false step, and it is preached from house-top."

When Grant and Harrison met, there was a mutual reserve and
coldness.

"He is conscious, I am aware, of his wrong dealing," said the latter
to himself, "and therefore shuns me."

"He is aware that he has tried to injure me," said the former, "and
cannot, therefore, meet me as of old."

Two or three weeks passed before the friends who used to drop in to
see him almost every day showed themselves in his shop, and then
there was a too evident change of manner. They appeared distant and
reserved, and he met them with a like exterior. His pride was
touched.

"Just as they like," he said to himself. "I can get on without them.
I presume, if all our hearts were laid open, mine would be found
quite as good as theirs. As for Perkins and Marvel, they needn't set
themselves up over me. I think I know them. Men who cut as close as
they do in dealing, generally cut a little from the side that
doesn't belong to them."

Perkins and Marvel, here alluded to, had long been on friendly terms
with Mr. Grant--visiting at his shop--for the purpose of a little
friendly chit-chat--every few days. But a coldness now took place,
and, in a few weeks, they ceased their friendly calls.

In various other ways was Mr. Grant conscious of a reaction upon
himself of his improper conduct. Hundreds of times did he mentally
regret the weakness and love of gain which had prompted him to so
far lose sight of what was just and honourable as to deceive a
customer. So painful was his sense of mortification, that, for a
time, he omitted to attend church on Sunday. Not only was he
satisfied that every one in the congregation knew about the ring,
but he could clearly perceive a change in the manner of his most
intimate acquaintances who were members of the church.

Grant was not a man entirely sold to selfishness. He was not a
deliberate wrong-doer, hiding his evil purposes and acts under a
hypocritical exterior. He had conscience, and, at times, its voice
was loud and distinct. He was, therefore, troubled about the ring as
a fact indicating the state of his affections; as well as troubled
about the condemnatory judgment of his brethren. There were
fluctuations of state, of course, as there are with all of us.
Sometimes he was in a state of humiliation on account of the evil he
had done, and sometimes in a state of indignation at Harrison for
having, been so eager to publish his fault from the house-top.

Gradually, however, the ever-recurring new purposes and interests
which come to all in passing through life, threw the past with its
influences into the shade, and the returns of states of
mortification on account of the ring were less and less frequent.
Mr. Grant resumed his attendance at church, and mingled, as of old,
with his brethren; though in a rather more subdued and less
confident spirit. That affair of the ring could not be entirely
forgotten.

In due course of time, the minister on the station had to leave, and
a new one was appointed by the conference to take his place. The
Rev. Mr. C--arrived early in the week, and during the period that
elapsed between that and the Sabbath, visited a good deal among the
brethren. During that time, an evening was spent at Mr. Harrison's,
but no one brought him around to introduce him to Mr. Grant. The
jeweller felt this, and in his mind, in searching about for reasons,
rested, very naturally, upon the affair of the gold ring, and he did
not doubt but the occurrence had been fully related to Mr. C--.

Under this feeling, Mr. Grant went to church. His first sight of the
new preacher was when he arose in the pulpit to give out the hymn.
His countenance did not make a very favourable impression, but his
voice, when he commenced reading the hymn, had a tone and a
modulation that were pleasing. The subject of the discourse which
followed was practical, and had reference to a man's conduct towards
his fellow-man in the common affairs of life. From general
propositions, the minister, after entering upon his sermon, came
down to things particular. He dwelt upon the love of dominion so
deeply rooted in the human heart, and showed, in various ways, how
it was exercised by individuals in all the grades of common society.

"A more deeply-rooted evil than this," he went on to say, "is theft.
We all inherit, in a greater or less degree, the desire to possess
our neighbour's goods; and, with the earliest development of the
mind, comes the activity of that desire. It is seen in the child
when he appropriates the plaything of another child, and in the
so-called good and honest citizen when, in bargaining, he secures an
advantage at the expense of his brother."

Descending, gradually, to the introduction of particular forms of
overreaching as practised in trade, all of which Mr. C--designated
as instances of theft, he finally brought forward an instance so
nearly resembling the one in which Mr. Grant had been engaged, that
the latter felt himself, as has been seen, particularly pointed out,
and left the church at the close of the service in a state of
excitement and indignation. To have that old matter, about which he
had already suffered enough, "raked over," as he said, "and exposed
to light again," was a little more than he was disposed to submit to
with patience. As has been seen, he did not conceal what was in his
mind.

On Monday, a brother-member of the church dropped in to see the
jeweller.

"How did you like Mr. C--?" was the natural inquiry.

"Not at all," replied Mr. Grant, in a positive tone.

"You didn't? Why, I was delighted with him! What is your objection?"

"He was personal in his discourse."

"I perceived nothing personal."

"Though I did, and of the grossest kind."

"How was it possible for a stranger like Mr. C--to be personal? He
knows nothing of the characters or conduct of individuals here."

"Strangers generally have quick ears, and there are always plenty of
news-venders to fill them. He's been with the Harrisons, and we all
know what they are."

"To whom did he refer?" was asked.

"He referred to me."

"To you?"

"Certainly he did. And I don't like it at all. That's not the way to
preach the gospel. This running off with one side of a story, and,
taking all for granted, holding a man up to public odium, is not, as
I conceive, following in the footsteps of our Great Master."

"I'm sorry you should have taken up such an impression," was replied
to this. "I cannot believe that Mr. C--really intended to hold you
up to public odium. He couldn't have meant to designate you."

"He must have meant me. Don't I know?"

So another and another objection was made to Mr. C--on the same
ground; and before the week was out, it was pretty widely known that
the new preacher had indulged in reprehensible personalities. Some
said this was an error in the preacher; others, that he was highly
blamable; while others affirmed that there must be some mistake
about the matter.

On the following Sunday, Mr. Grant was absent from his usual place
in the church. It would do him no good to sit under the ministry of
Mr. C--.

During the week that followed, two of the official members called
upon the jeweller to make inquiries about the alleged personalities.
Grant was, by this time, pretty sore on the subject, and when
allusion was made to it, he gave his opinion of the preacher in no
very choice language.

"In what did this personality consist?" asked one of the visitors.

"It's hardly necessary to ask that question," replied Grant.

"It is for me. No one, whom I have yet seen, has been able to give
me any information on the subject."

"If you ask Mr. C--, he will enlighten you."

"I have already done so."

"You have?"

"Yes."

"What was his reply?"

"That he is innocent of the personality laid to his charge."

"Did you mention my name?"

"I did."

"Well?"

"He had not even heard of you as a member of the church here."

"I can hardly credit that, after what he said."

"You will, at least, give him the chance of vindication. He is now
at my house, and has expressed a wish to see you."

"I don't know that any good will grow out of seeing him," said Mr.
Grant, who felt but little inclined to meet the preacher.

"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mr. Grant. You have made a
complaint against Mr. C--, and when he wishes to confer with you
on the subject, you decline, under the assumption that no good can
arise from it. This is not right; and I hope you will think better
of it."

"Perhaps it isn't right; but so it is. At present, I do not wish to
see him. I may feel differently to-morrow."

"Shall we call upon-you in the morning?"

"If you please to do so."

"Very well."

And the two official members departed.

No sooner were they gone, than Mr. Grant put or his hat and left his
shop. He went direct to the store of Mr. Harrison.

"You are just the man I was thinking about," said the latter, as the
jeweller entered. "What is all this trouble about you and Mr. C--?
I hear some rumour of it at every turn."

"That is just what I have come to see you about."

"Very well; what can I do in the matter? Mr. C--, you allege, has
held you up in the congregation to public odium?"

"I do."

"In what way?"

"Strange that you should ask the question."

"Why so? What have I to do with it?"

"A great deal," said Grant, his brows falling as he spoke.

"I must plead innocence until shown my guilt. So far, I have not
even been able to learn in what the allusion to yourself consisted."

"_You_ have not?"

"No."

Grant stood, tightly compressing his lips, for some moments. He then
said:

"You remember that affair of the gold ring?"

"Very well."

"You mentioned this to C--."

"No. Nor to a living soul since the occurrence of the fact."

"What?"

"Nothing on that subject has ever passed my lips. I believed that
you saw and repented of your error, and in honour and in conscience
refrained from even the remotest allusion to the subject."

"How, then, did Mr. C--become cognisant of the fact?"

"If cognisant all, it was from another source than the one you
supposed."

"I never mentioned it. You were the only one to whom the
circumstance was communicated. How, then, could the matter have
gotten abroad?"

"I don't believe a single member of the congregation ever heard of
it."

"Oh, yes, they have. These has been a marked change in the manner of
very many towards me. So apparent was this at one time, that I
absented myself from church, rather than encounter it."

"All your imagination, brother Grant, and nothing else. I believe
that I mingle as freely with the congregation as any one, and I know
that I never heard a breath against you. At present, every one is at
a loss to know in what way Mr. C--pointed you out; he is equally
in the dark."

"I was sure he meant me. It was so plain," said Mr. Grant, his
countenance falling, and his manner becoming subdued.

"There was nothing of the kind, you may depend upon it," replied Mr.
Harrison.

"And you never spoke of it?"

"Never!"

"A guilty conscience, it is said, needs no accuser. The likeness to me
was so strong, that I really thought the picture was sketched from
myself as the original. Ah, me!"

"Had you not better call on Mr. C--?" asked Harrison.

"No, no. See him for me, if you please, and tell him that I am
convinced of my error in supposing he pointed me out in the
congregation. As to the particular allusion that I felt to be
offensive, I hope you will still keep your own counsel. I did wrong,
under temptation, and have suffered and repented in consequence. It
can do no good to bring the matter to light now."

"None at all. I will not speak of it."

Nor did he. Many and various were the suggestions and suppositions
of the congregation touching the nature of the preacher's personal
allusion to the jeweller, and some dozen of little gossiping stories
got into circulation; but the truth did not find its way to the
light. And not until the day on which he was leaving the station for
a new field of labour, did the preacher himself understand the
matter; and then he had it from Mr. Grant's own lips.

FOR THE FUN OF IT.

"JUST look at them young lovers," said Harry Mears, glancing from
his companion to a young man and maiden, who, for the moment
unconscious that they were in the midst of a large company, were
leaning towards each other, and looking into each other's faces in
rather a remarkable manner. "Isn't it ridiculous? I thought Fisher
had more sense than to do so. As to Clara Grant, she always was a
little weak."

The friend looked at the couple an smiled. "It is ridiculous,
certainly," he remarked. "Why havn't they sense enough to keep these
little love-passages for private occasions?"

"Clara, with all her silliness used to be a right pleasant
companion," said Mears. "But since this love affair between her and
Fisher, she has become intolerably dull and uninteresting. She
doesn't care a fig for anybody but him, and really appears to think
it a task to be even polite to an old acquaintance. I don't think
she has cause to be quite so elated with her conquest as this comes
to; nor to feel that, in possessing the love of a man like Fisher,
she is independent of the world, and may show off the indifference
she feels to every one. Fisher is clever enough, but he is neither a
Socrates nor a saint."

"He will suit her very well, I imagine."

"Yes; they will make a passable Darby and Joan, no doubt. Still, it
always vexes me to see people, who pretend to any sense, acting in
this way."

"I think it is more her fault than his."

"So do I. She has shown a disposition to bill and coo from the
first. At Mangum's party, last week, she made me sick. I tried to
get her hand for a dance, but no. Close to the side of Fisher she
adhered, like a fixture, and could hardly force her lips into a
smile for any one else. The gipsy! I'd punish her for all this, if I
could just hit upon a good plan for doing it."

"Let me see," remarked the friend, dropping his head into a
thoughtful position, "can't we devise a scheme for worrying her a
little? She is certainly a fair subject. It would be fine sport."

"Yes, it would."

"She evidently thinks Fisher perfection."

"Oh, yes! There never was such a man before! She actually said to
Caroline Lee, who was trying to jest with her a little, that Fisher
was one of the most pure-minded, honourable young men living."

"Oh, dear."

"It is a fact."

"Was she serious?"

"Yes, indeed! Serious as the grave. Caroline was laughing to me
about it. Nearly every one notices the silliness of her conduct, and
the weakness she displays in forever talking about and praising
him."

"I would like to run him down a little when she could overhear me,
just for the fun of the thing."

"So would I. Capital! That will do, exactly. We must watch an
opportunity, and if we can get within earshot of her, any time that
she is by herself, we must abuse Fisher right and left, without
appearing to notice that she is listening to what we say, or,
indeed, anywhere near us."

"Right! That's the very thing. It will be capital fun."

Thus, the thoughtless young men, meddling themselves in a matter
that did not concern them, determined upon a very questionable piece
of folly. All that they said of the lovers was exaggeration. It was
true that they did show rather more preference for each other in
company than just accorded with good taste; but this, while it
provoked a smile from the many, irritated only the few.

Clara Grant, notwithstanding the light manner in which the two young
men had spoken of her, was a girl of good sense, good principles,
and deep feeling, She had been several times addressed by young men
before Fisher offered his hand; but, with all their attractions,
there were defects about them, which her habits of close observation
enabled her to see, that caused her to repel their advances, and in
two instances to decline apparently very advantageous offers of
marriage. In the integrity of Fisher's character, she had the most
unbounded confidence; and she really believed, as she had said to
Caroline Lee and others, that he was one of the purest-minded, most
honourable young men living.

Judge, then, with what feelings she overheard, about half an hour
after the plan to disturb her peace had been formed, the following
conversation between Mears and his companion, carried on in low
tones and in a confidential manner. She was sitting close to one
side of the folding-doors that communicated between the parlours,
and they were in the adjoining room, concealed from her by the
half-partition, yet so close that every word they uttered was
distinctly heard. Her attention was first arrested by hearing one of
them say--

"If she knew Fisher as well as I do."

To which the other responded--

"Yes; or as well as I do. But, poor girl! it isn't expected that she
is to know every thing about young men who visit her. It is better
that she should not."

"Still, I am rather surprised that common report should not have
given her more information about Fisher than she seems to possess."

"So am I. But she'll know him better one of these days."

"I'll warrant you that! Perhaps to her sorrow; though I hope things
will turn out differently from what they now promise. Don't you
think he is pretty well done with his wild oats?"

"Possibly. But time will tell."

"Yes, time proves all things."

Some one joining the young men at this point of their conversation,
the subject was changed. Greatly amused at what they had done, they
little thought how sad the effects of their unguarded words would
be.

Five minutes afterwards, the young man named Mears, curious to see
how Clara had been affected by what he knew she must have heard,
moved to another part of the room, in order to observe her without
attracting her attention. But she had left the place where she was
sitting. His eye ranged around the room, but she was nowhere to be
seen.

"I'm afraid we've hurt Clara more than we intended," he said,
rejoining his friend. "She has vanished."

"Ah! Where's Fisher?"

"He's at the other end of the room."

"We didn't say any thing against the young man."

"Not in particular. We made no specifications. There was nothing
that she could take hold of."

"No, of course not. But I wonder what is going to be the upshot of
the matter?"

"Nothing very serious, I apprehend."

"No. I suppose she will go home and cry her eyes half out, and then
conclude that, whatever Fisher may have been, he's perfection now.
It's a first-rate joke, isn't it?"

Clara Grant had not only left the parlours, but soon after quietly
left the house, and alone returned to her home. When her lover,
shortly afterwards, searched through the rooms for her, she was
nowhere to be seen.

"Where is Clara?" he asked of one and another. The answer was--

"I saw her here a moment since."

But it was soon very apparent that she was nowhere in the rooms now.
Fisher moved about uneasy for half an hour. Still, not seeing her,
he became anxious lest a sudden illness had caused her to retire
from the company. More particular inquiries were made of the lady
who had given the entertainment. She immediately ascertained for him
that Clara was not in the house. One of the servants reported that a
lady had gone away alone half an hour before. Fisher did not remain
a single moment after receiving this intelligence, but went direct
to the house of Clara's aunt, with whom she lived, and there
ascertained that she had come home and retired to her room without
seeing any of the family.

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