Books: The Home Mission
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T.S. Arthur >> The Home Mission
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But mere negative evils, so to speak, are not the worst that beset a
young man who unwisely chooses a public hotel as a place for
boarding. He is much more exposed to temptations there than in a
private boarding-house, or at home. Men of licentious habits, in
most cases, select hotels as boarding-places; and such rarely
scruple to offer to the ardent minds of young men, with whom they
happen to fall in company, those allurements that are most likely to
lead them away from virtue. And, besides this, there being no
evening home-circle in a hotel, a young man who is not engaged
earnestly in some pursuit that occupies his hours of leisure from
business has nothing to keep him there, but is forced to seek for
something to interest his mind elsewhere, and is, in consequence,
more open to temptation.
Home is man's true place. Every man should have a home. Here his
first duties lie, and here he finds the strength by which he is able
successfully to combat in life's temptations. Happy is that young
man who is still blessed with a home--who has his mother's counsel
and the pure love of sisters to strengthen and cheer him amid life's
opening combats.
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE ON THE PATH OF A MONEY-LENDER.
MR. EDGAR was a money-lender, and scrupled not in exacting the
highest "street rates" of interest that could be obtained. If good
paper were offered, and he could buy it from the needy seeker of
cash at two or even three per cent. a month, he did not hesitate
about the transaction on any scruples of justice between man and
man. Below one per cent. a month, he rarely made loans. He had
nothing to do with the question, as to whether the holder of bills
could afford the sacrifice. The circle of his thoughts went not
beyond gain to himself.
Few days closed with Mr. Edgar that he was not able to count up
gains as high as from thirty to one hundred dollars: not acquired in
trade--not coming back to him as the reward of productive
industry--but the simple accumulation of large clippings from the
anticipated reward of others' industry. Always with a good balance
in bank, he had but to sign his name to a check, and the slight
effort was repaid by a gain of from ten to fifty dollars, according
to the size and time of the note he had agreed to discount. A shrewd
man, and well acquainted with the business standing of all around
him, Mr. Edgar rarely made mistakes in money transactions. There was
always plenty of good paper offering, and he never touched any thing
regarded as doubtful.
Was Mr. Edgar a happy man? Ah! that is a home question. But we
answer frankly, no. During his office hours, while his love of gain
was active--while good customers were coming and going, and good
operations being effected--his mind was in a pleasurable glow. But,
at other times, he suffered greatly from a pressure on his feelings,
the cause of which he did not clearly understand. Wealth he had
always regarded as the greatest good in life. And now he not only
had wealth, but the income therefrom was a great deal more than he
had any desire to spend. And yet he was not happy--no, not even in
the thought of his large possessions. Only in the mental activity
through which more was obtained, did he really find satisfaction;
but this state was only of short duration.
Positive unhappiness, Mr. Edgar often experienced. Occasional
losses, careful and shrewd as he always was, were inevitable. These
fretted him greatly. To lose a thousand dollars, instead of gaining,
as was pleasantly believed, some sixty or seventy, was a shower of
cold water upon his ardent love of accumulation: and he shivered
painfully under the infliction. The importunities of friends who
needed money, and to whom it was unsafe to lend it, were also a
source of no small annoyance. And, moreover, there was little of the
heart's warm sunshine at home. As Mr. Edgar had thought more of
laying up wealth for his children than giving them the true riches
of intellect and heart, ill weeds had sprung up in their minds. He
had not loved them with an unselfish love, and he received not a
higher affection than he had bestowed. Their prominent thought, in
regard to him, seemed ever to be the obtaining of some concession to
their real or imaginary wants; and, if denied these, they reacted
upon him in anger, sullenness, or complaint.
Oh, no! Mr. Edgar was not happy. Few gleams of sunshine lay across
his path. Life to him, in his own bitter words, uttered after some
keen disappointment, had "proved a failure." And yet he continued
eager for gain; would cut as deep, exact as much from those who had
need of his money in their business, as ever. The measure of per
centage was the measure of his satisfaction.
One day a gentleman said to him--
"Mr. Edgar, I advised a young mechanic who has been in business for
a short time, and who has to take notes for his work, to call on you
for the purpose of getting them cashed. He has no credit in bank,
and is, therefore, compelled to go upon the street for money. Most
of his work is taken by one of the safest houses in the city; his
paper is, therefore, as good as any in market. Deal as moderately
with him as you can. He knows little about these matters, or where
to go for the accommodation he needs."
"Is he an industrious and prudent young man?" inquired Mr. Edgar,
caution and cupidity at once excited.
"He is."
"What's his name?"
"Blakewell."
"Oh, I know him. Very well; send him along, and if his paper is
good, I'll discount it."
"You'll find it first-rate," said the gentleman.
"How much shall I charge him?" This was Mr. Edgar's first thought,
so soon as he was alone. Even as he asked himself the question, the
young mechanic entered.
"You take good paper, sometimes?" said the latter, in a hesitating
manner.
The countenance of Mr. Edgar became, instantly, very grave.
"Sometimes I do," he answered, with assumed indifference.
"I have a note of Leyden & Co.'s that I wish discounted," said
Blakewell.
"For how much?"
"Three hundred dollars--six months;" and he handed Mr. Edgar the
note.
"I don't like over four months' notes," remarked the money-lender,
coldly. Then he asked, "What rate of interest do you expect to pay?"
"Whatever is usual. Of course, I wish to get it done as low as
possible. My profits are not large, and every dollar I pay in
discounts is so much taken from the growth of my business and the
comfort of my family."
"You have a family?"
"Yes, sir. A wife and four children."
Mr. Edgar mused for a moment or two. An unselfish thought was
struggling to get into his mind.
"What have you usually paid on this paper?" he asked.
"The last I had discounted cost me one and a half per cent. a
month."
"Notes of this kind are rarely marketable below that rate," said Mr.
Edgar. He had thought of exacting two per cent. "If you will leave
the note, and call round in half an hour, I will see what can be
done."
"Very well," returned the mechanic. "Be as moderate with me as you
can."
For the half hour that went by during the young man's absence, Mr.
Edgar walked the floor of his counting-room, trying to come to some
decision in regard to the note. Love of gain demanded two per cent.
a month, while a feeble voice, scarcely heard so far away did it
seem, pleaded for a generous regard to the young man's necessities.
The conflict taking place in his mind was a new one for the
money-lender. In no instance before had he experienced any
hesitation on the score of a large discount. Love of gain continued
clamorous for two per cent. on the note; yet, ever and anon, the low
voice stole, in pleading accents, to his ears.
"I'll do it for one and a half," said Mr. Edgar, yielding slightly
to the claim of humanity, urged by the voice, that seemed to be
coming nearer.
Love of gain, after slight opposition, was satisfied.
But the low, penetrating voice asked for something better still.
"Weakness! Folly!" exclaimed Mr. Edgar. "I'd better make him a
present of the money at once."
It availed nothing. The voice could not be hushed.
"One per cent! He couldn't get it done as low as that in the city."
"He is a poor young man, and has a wife and four little children,"
said the voice. "Even the abstraction of legal interest from his
hard earnings is defect enough; to lose twice that sum, will make a
heavy draught on his profits, which, under the present competition
in trade, are not large. He is honest and industrious, and by his
useful labour is aiding the social well-being. Is it right for you
to get his reward?--to take his profits, and add them to your
already rich accumulations?"
Mr. Edgar did not like these home questions, and tried to stop his
ears, so that the voice could not find an entrance. But he tried in
vain.
"Bank rates on this note," continued the inward voice, "would not
much exceed nine dollars. Even this is a large sum for a poor man to
lose. Double the rate of interest, and the loss becomes an injury to
his business, or the cause of seriously abridging his home comforts.
And how much will nine dollars contribute to your happiness? Not so
much as a jot or a tittle. You are unable, now, to spend your
income."
The young mechanic entered at this favourable moment. The
money-lender pointed to a chair; then turned to his desk, and filled
up, hurriedly, a check. Blakewell glanced at the amount thereof as
it was handed to him, and an instant flush of surprise came into his
face.
"Haven't you made a mistake, Mr. Edgar?" said he.
"In what respect?"
"The note was for three hundred dollars, six months; and you have
given me a check for two hundred and ninety dollars, forty-three
cents."
"I've charged you bank interest," said Mr. Edgar, with a feeling of
pleasure at his heart so new, that it sent a glow along every nerve
and fibre of his being.
"Bank interest! I did not expect this, sir," replied the young man,
visibly moved. "For less than one and a half per cent. a month, I
have not been able to obtain money. One per cent, I would have paid
you cheerfully. Eighteen dollars saved! How much good that sum will
do me! I could not have saved it--or, I might say, have received
it--more opportunely. This is a kindness for which I shall ever
remember you gratefully."
Grasping the money-lender's hand, he shook it warmly; then turned
and hurried away.
Only one previous transaction had that day been made by Mr. Edgar.
In that transaction, his gain was fifty dollars, and much pleasure
had it given him. But the delight experienced was not to be compared
with what he now felt. It was to him a new experience in life--a
realization of that beautiful truth, "It is more blessed to give
than to receive."
Once or twice during the day, as Mr. Edgar dwelt on the little
circumstance, his natural love of gain caused regret for the loss of
money involved in the transaction to enter his mind. How cold,
moody, and uncomfortable he instantly became! Self-love was seeking
to rob the money-lender of the just reward of a good deed. But the
voice which had prompted the generous act was heard, clear and
sweet, and again his heart beat to a gladder measure.
Evening was closing in on the day following. It was late in
December, and winter had commenced in real earnest. Snow had fallen
for some hours. Now, however, the sky was clear, but the air keen
and frosty. The day, to Mr. Edgar, was one in which more than the
usual number of "good transactions" had been made. On one perfectly
safe note he had been able to charge as high as three per cent. per
month. Full of pleasurable excitement had his mind been while thus
gathering in gain, but now, the excitement being over, he was
oppressed. From whence the pressure came, he did not know. A cloud
usually fell upon his spirits with the closing day; and there was
not sunshine enough at home to chase it from his sky.
As Mr. Edgar walked along, with his eyes upon the pavement, his name
was called. Looking up, he saw, standing at the open door of a small
house, the mechanic he had befriended on the day before.
"Step in here just one moment," said the young man. The request was
made in a way that left Mr. Edgar no alternative but compliance. So
he entered the humble dwelling. He found himself in a small,
unlighted room, adjoining one in which a lamp was burning, and in
which was a young woman, plainly but neatly dressed, and four
children, the youngest lying in a cradle. The woman held in her hand
a warm Bay State shawl, which, after examining a few moments, with a
pleased expression of countenance, she threw over her shoulders, and
glanced at herself in a looking-glass. The oldest of the children, a
boy, was trying on a new overcoat; and his sister, two years
younger, had a white muff and a warm woollen shawl, in which her
attention was completely absorbed. A smaller child had a new cap,
and he was the most pleased of any.
"Oh, isn't father good to buy us all these? and we wanted them so
much," said the oldest of the children. "Yesterday morning, when I
told him how cold I was going to school, he said he was sorry, but
that I must try and do without a coat this winter, for he hadn't
money enough to get us all we wanted. How did he get more money,
mother?"
"To a kind gentleman, who helped your father, we are indebted for
these needed comforts," replied the mother.
"He must be a good man," said the boy. "What's his name?"
"His name is Mr. Edgar."
"I will ask God to bless him to-night when I say my prayers,"
innocently spoke out the youngest of the three children.
"What does all this mean?" asked the money-lender, as he hastily
retired from the room he had entered.
"If you had charged me one per cent. on my note, this scene would
never have occurred," answered the mechanic. "With the sum you
generously saved me, I was able to buy these comforts. My heart
blesses you for the deed; and if the good wishes of my happy family
can throw sunshine across your path, it will be full of brightness."
Too much affected to reply, Mr. Edgar returned the warm pressure of
the hand which had grasped his, and glided away.
A gleam of sunshine had indeed fallen along the pathway of the
money-lender. Home had a brighter look as he passed his own
threshold. He felt kinder and more cheerful; and kindness and
cheerfulness flowed back to him from all the inmates of his
dwelling. He half wondered at the changed aspect worn by every
thing. His dreams that night were not of losses, fires, and the
wreck of dearly-cherished hopes, but of the humble home made glad by
his generous kindness. Again the happy mother, the pleased children,
and the grateful father, were before him, and his own heart leaped
with a new delight.
"It was a small act--a very light sacrifice on my part," said Mr.
Edgar to himself, as he walked, in a musing mood, toward his office
on the next morning. "And yet of how much real happiness has it been
the occasion! So much that a portion thereof has flowed back upon my
own heart."
"A good act is twice blessed." It seemed as if the words were spoken
aloud, so distinctly and so suddenly were they presented to the mind
of Mr. Edgar.
Ah, if he will only heed that suggestion, made by some pure spirit,
brought near to him by the stirring of good affections in his mind!
In it lies the secret of true happiness. Let him but act therefrom,
and the sunshine will never be absent from his pathway.
ENGAGED AT SIXTEEN.
"MRS. LEE is quite fortunate with her daughters," remarked a visitor
to Mrs. Wyman, whose oldest child, a well grown girl of fifteen, was
sitting by.
"Yes; Kate and Harriet went off in good time. She has only Fanny
left."
"Who is to be married this winter."
"Fanny?"
"She is engaged to Henry Florence."
"Indeed! And she is only just turned of sixteen. How fortunate,
truly! Some people have their daughters on their hands until they
are two or three-and-twenty, when the chances for good matches are
very low. _I_ was only sixteen when _I_ was married."
"Certainly; and then I had rejected two or three young men. There is
nothing like early marriages, depend upon it, Mrs. Clayton. They
always turn out the best. The most desirable young men take their
pick of the youngest girls, and leave the older ones for second-rate
claimants."
"Do you hear that, Anna?" Mrs. Clayton said, laughing, as she turned
to Mrs. Wyman's daughter. "I hope you will not remain a moment later
than your mother did upon the maiden list."
Anna blushed slightly, but did not reply. What had been said,
however, made its impression on her mind. She felt that to be
engaged early was a matter greatly to be desired.
"My mother was married at sixteen, and here am I fifteen, and
without a lover." So thought Anna, as she paused over the page of a
new novel, some hours after she had listened to the conversation
that passed between her mother and Mrs. Clayton, and mused of love
and matrimony.
From that time, Anna Wyman was another girl. The sweet simplicity of
manner, the unconscious innocence peculiar to her age, gradually
vanished. Her eye, that was so clear and soft with the light of
girlhood's pleasant fancies, grew earnest and restless, and, at
times, intensely bright. The whole expression of her countenance was
new. It was no longer a placid sky, with scarce a cloud floating in
its quiet depths, but changeful as April, with its tears and smiles
blending in strange beauty. Her heart, that had long beat
tranquilly, would now bound at a thought, and send the bright
crimson to her cheek--would flutter at the sight of the very
individual whom she, a short time before, would meet without a
single wave ruffling the surface of her feelings. The woman had
suddenly displaced the girl; a sisterly regard, that pure affection
which an innocent maiden's heart has for all around her had expired
on the altar where was kindling up the deep passion called _love_.
And yet Anna Wyman had not reached her sixteenth year.
All at once, she became restless, capricious, unhappy. She had been
at school up to this period, but now insisted that she was too old
for that; her mother seconded this view of the matter, and her
father, a man of pretty good sense, had to yield.
"We must give Anna a party now," said Mrs. Wyman, after their
daughter had left school.
"Why so?" asked the father.
"Oh--because it is time that she was beginning to come out."
"Come out, how?"
"You are stupid, man. Come out in the list of young ladies. Go into
company."
"But she is a mere child, yet--not sixteen."
"Not sixteen! And how old was _I_, pray, when you married me?"
The husband did not reply.
"How old was I, Mr. Wyman?"
"About sixteen, I believe."
"Well; and was I a mere child?"
"You were rather young to marry, at least," Mr. Wyman ventured to
say. This remark was made rather too feelingly.
"Too young to marry!" ejaculated the wife, in a tone of surprise and
indignation--"too young to marry; and my husband to say so, too! Mr.
Wyman, do you mean to intimate--do you mean to say?--Mr. Wyman, what
do you mean by that remark?"
"Oh, nothing at all," soothingly replied the husband; "only that
I"--
"What?"
"That I don't, as a general thing, approve of very early marriages.
The character of a young lady is not formed before twenty-one or
two; nor has she gained that experience and knowledge of the world
that will enable her to choose with wisdom."
"You don't pretend to say that my character was not formed at
sixteen?" This was accompanied by a threatening look.
Whatever his thoughts were, Mr. Wyman took good care not to express
them. He merely said--
"I believe, Margaret, that I haven't volunteered any allusion to
you."
"Yes, but you don't approve of early marriages."
"True."
"Well, didn't I marry at sixteen? And isn't your opinion a
reflection upon your wife?"
"Circumstances alter cases," smilingly returned Mr. Wyman. "Few
women at sixteen were like you. Very certainly your daughter is
not."
"There I differ with you, Mr. Wyman. I believe our Anna would make
as good a wife now as I did at sixteen. She is as much of a woman in
appearance; her mind is more matured, and her education advanced far
beyond what mine was. She deserves a good husband, and must have one
before the lapse of another year."
"How can you talk so, Margaret? For my part, I do not wish to see
her married for at least five years."
"Preposterous! I wouldn't give a cent for a marriage that takes
place after seventeen or eighteen. They are always indifferent
affairs, and rarely ever turn out well. The earlier the better,
depend upon it. First love and first lover, is my motto."
"Well, Margaret, I suppose you will have these matters your own way;
but I don't agree with you for all."
"Anna must have a party."
"You can do as you like."
"But you must assent to it."
"How can I do that, if I don't approve?"
"But you must approve."
And Mrs. Wyman persevered until she made him approve--at least do so
apparently. And so a party was given to Anna, at which she was
introduced to several dashing young men, whose attentions almost
turned her young head. In two weeks she had a confidante, a young
lady named Clara Spenser, not much older than herself. The progress
already made by Anna in love matters will appear in the following
conversation held in secret with Clara.
"Did you say Mr. Carpenter had been to see you since the party?"
asked Clara.
"Yes, indeed," was the animated reply.
"He's a love of a man!--the very one of all others that I would set
my cap for, if there was any hope. But you will, no doubt, carry him
off."
Anna coloured to the temples, half with confusion and half with
delight.
"He used to pay attention to Jane Sherman, I'm told."
"Yes; but you've cut her out entirely. Didn't you notice how unhappy
she seemed at the party whenever he was with you?"
"No; was she?"
"Oh, yes; everybody noticed it. But you can carry off all of her
beaux; she's a mere drab of a girl. And, besides, she's getting on
the old maids' list; I'm told she's more than twenty."
"She is?"
"It's true."
"Oh, dear; there's no fear of her then. If I were to go over sixteen
before I married, I should be frightened to death."
"Suppose Carpenter offers himself?"
"I hope he won't just yet."
"Why?"
"I want two or three strings to my bow. It would be dangerous to
reject one unless I had another in my eye."
"Reject? Nonsense! Why should you reject an offer?"
"My mother had three offers before she was sixteen, and rejected two
of them."
"Was she married so early?"
"Oh, yes; she was a wife at sixteen, and I'm not going to be a day
later, if possible. I'd like to decline _three_ offers and get
married into the bargain before a year passes. Wouldn't that be
admirable? It would be something to boast of all my life."
Pretty well advanced!--the reader no doubt exclaims; and so our
young lady certainly was. When a very young girl gets into love
matters, she "does them up," as the saying is, quite fast; she
doesn't mince matters at all. A maiden of twenty is cooler, more
thoughtful, and more cautious. She thinks a good deal, and is very
careful how she lets any one--even her confidante, if she should
happen to have one, (which is doubtful)--know much beyond her mere
external thoughts. Four or five years make a good deal of difference
in these things. But this need hardly have been said.
"You are going to Mrs. Ashton's on Wednesday evening, of course?"
said Clara Spenser to Anna, on visiting her one morning, some weeks
after the introduction to Carpenter had taken place.
"Oh, certainly; their soirees, I'm told, are elegant affairs."
"Indeed they are; I've been to two of them. Fine music, pleasant
company, and so much freedom of intercourse--oh, they are
delightful!"
"Did you ever see Mr. Carpenter there?"
"Oh, yes; he always attends."
"I shall enjoy myself highly."
"That you will--the young men are so attentive."
Wednesday night soon came round, and Anna was permitted to go,
unattended by either of her parents, to the so-called soiree at Mrs.
Ashton's. As she had hoped and believed, Carpenter was there. His
attentions to her were constant and flattering; he poured many
compliments into her ears, talking to her all the time in a low,
musical tone. Anna's heart fluttered in her bosom with pleasure; she
felt that she had made a conquest. But the fact of bringing so
charming a young man to her feet, and that so speedily, quickened
her pride, and made it seem the easiest thing in the world to be
able to reject three lovers and yet be engaged, or even married, at
sixteen.
Besides Carpenter, there was another present who saw attractions
about Anna Wyman. He wore a moustache, and made quite a dashing
appearance. In the language of many young ladies, who admired him,
he was an elegant-looking young man--just the one to be proud of as
a beau. His name was Elliott.
As soon as he could get access to the ear of the young and
inexperienced girl, he charmed it with a deeper charm than Carpenter
had been able to impart. She felt almost like one within a magic
circle. His eye fascinated her, and his voice murmured in her ear
like low, sweet music.
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