CHAPTER III. THE HOME OF THE MISER.

 

 

The miser tottering and old

Takes up his eye-glass—old Opinion And thinks he sees the paving gold Has cracks enough for finger hold Along the streets of heaven's dominion. Emma Rood Tuttle.

 

A FEW days after this conversation, the Sage said to them: "I am to take a distant journey, and, on the way, if you will go with me, we will call on a selfish, miserly group who will interest you."

 

On their expressing their delight at this new experience, they at once took their departure, and soon paused before a group of beings clothed in rags. It were better to call them beings, for they merely existed without the high and noble aspirations which elevate man to the angels.

 

"I say, Morton," spoke one, "'twas no small job when I discovered that rich old mine of silver, from which the Incas derived their wealth. You had better go with me, and gather money that tells, than forever be picking up grains of sand."

 

The one addressed looked up; his glassy eyes seemed to light with fire; his nervous hand clutched the bag which contained his untold treasures.

 

"Ah! have you a mine of silver, and I only a bag of gold? Oh! how poor am I; I must work harder—must be up earlier and more diligent. Oh! poor me!" and the wretch groaned in very agony at the thought of his poverty, of which, had his sack contained real gold, be would have had abundance, even could he have used it. But he had no desire or occasion for its use. He was in a sphere where material wealth was of no value. For a moment he paused, then commenced to gather glittering grains, and place them in his sack already heavy beyond his power to carry, and hence obliging him to remain and guard it. The first speaker intently watched him for a long time, then burst into a loud laugh.

 

"Why, fool," said he, "you are laboring under an hallucination; that is nothing but sand. Empty out the contents of your sack, and not keep it shut up from its true office of supporting vegetation. It is worthless, and you are a bankrupt, worth more for the rag-mill than anything else."

 

Then he laughed again, in which the others joined; some proposing to rob him of his mighty treasure; others jeering and scorning him, which made the poor victim of inordinate love of gain creep away, cursing in his bitterness.

 

"You, Wintle, need not put on such airs," said one, whose grey eye and iron visage proclaimed him an earthly tenant of Wall Street; "I mistrust your intentions, and suspect that you are not the wealthiest one among us."

 

"Wealthy! Wealthy, did you say? Not the wealthiest one among you, with all the untold riches of my newly discovered mine?"

 

"Yes, I said wealthy," replied the man of Wall Street, with a cold sneer. "You say you have done nothing but search for this mine for the last ten years. I fancy you would be worth little if it were gone."

 

"Not a farthing." "A total bankrupt?" "Yes."

 

"Well, I used to search a great deal for mines. I spent the first twenty years of my life here searching; and after being deluded many times, I came to the conclusion that there were other methods of securing a fortune, sooner and easier, and with far more safety. I said, after being deluded, I have been many times, and almost every one I ever heard speak of thus employing their time has been disappointed, their mines of precious metal turning out but some worthless mineral.

 

"Where is this mine of yours located?" "On the western slope of the Andes."

 

"Does a large tree grow close by—a pine tree, whose head is reared high above its neighbors?

 

"All true."

 

"What mark is there upon this tree?"

 

"Long since it appeared to have been hewn on the north side." "Well, then, it is the mine I discovered long ago."

 

"Did you? Well, then, it is rich enough for us both, for it contains more ore than you ever dreamed of."

 

"Why, how generous you are, and so well acquainted with the contents of this wonderful mine!"

 

"Truly I am acquainted with its contents. Wilder, the mineralogist, after a severe test, pronounced it silver."

 

"I do not blame you for being deceived. Many a poor fellow has been disappointed by that mine. Wilder! why, he knows nothing of his business; he is a pretender, and cannot tell silver from lead. You should have come to me. You saw nothing but the silver-colored mica of the granite!"

 

"Are you sure of what you say?" asked he, with fearful earnestness. "I am. I once had the substance tested, and it proved valueless."

 

"Curses on my lot forever! Am I foiled again, and my ten years lost?" Then he wrung his hands in agony fearful to behold.

 

"You should not take it so hard; you have plenty of time, and you had better give up this search after mines, and take up an honest calling."

 

"Give up? Never! never! I will search the world over, and will become as rich as any of your lordling crew;" saying which, be rushed away, fully determined on a new search, and in a far different wood than that in which be joined the group.

 

"What a fool! I can play high game better than he, yet I don't have to discover mines. I gave that up because fools will do it for me. I guessed a little, and got the remaining description from him, and persuaded him I knew all about it. He fully believes Wilder an ignoramus! Now I'll send one of my men to him to make the purchase; and as he thinks it worthless, if he receives anything for it he will think he is making a speculation. Yes, it is all mine, and worth more than New York City! I falsified a little— made him feel bad; but what is that to such treasure?

 

An angel looked down from the upper spheres, and as its pure soul saw this moral degradation, whispered in sorrow:—

 

"What! is it nothing that you have lied?—nothing that you defrauded your fellow, and crushed your soul into a dollar?—nothing that you play the hypocrite and deceiver? No; you belong to the church; attend every Sunday, and read your long prayers under the high steeple. The blood of enslaved souls has made you rich. You are called to that church by the tones of a bell cast from the solidified tears of women and children crushed by your avarice Nothing that you make property of your church, and refuse the poor man, whom you have made poor, a seat! All this nothing! But remember the great God enters not under the shadow of that steeple, and will not listen to your fine-toned bell, but shuts down your prayers within the ceiling. The righteous Judge goes into the

attic where you have driven the children of the soil, and patiently hears their prayers, and gives comfort to their souls. He tells them of the bright day coming, when all their wrongs will have ended. Slowly and silently, but surely and irresistibly, it approaches. Ah, foolish man! how much better are you with a million than with a thousand? Every dollar you accumulate more than a sufficiency is so much loss from your soul. You enjoy accumulation. Soon that path shall be closed, and from whence, then, shall come enjoyment to such a dwarfed and, contracted being? Are you more of a man for riches? Nay, less and less, dollar by dollar. Turn to the light, for angels weep for their erring brothers on earth."

 

A dark cloud closed down and concealed them and their errors from the angels' view. False to each other, they delighted in inflicting pain, and to aggrandize themselves on the ruin of others; forever striving, yet ever disappointed and unsatisfied. Will they ever escape the hell of their own selfishness? Is there hope for their emancipation from the bondage of desires? The spirit has the power of self-elevation, and however degraded may be redeemed.

 

A little boy reared in a luxurious home was stolen away by gypsies and was forced to lead their vagabond life. A waif thrown on his own resources, he was sent out as a chimney-sweep, and clothed in rags and blackened by soot he was a pitiable object. One day he swept a tall chimney; soon he came to a grate, and passed into a room. He gazed around on the beautiful paintings on the wall, the soft carpet, the bed with its lace curtains, and to the bewildered child it seemed as though he had entered Paradise. There was a strangely familiar appearance, as though he had once been there in a dream. He could not remember, nor had he quite forgotten. Tears started to his eyes, and worn out with his hard labor, he flung himself on the snow-white bed and wept himself to sleep. The lady of the house entered the room after a time, and saw the poor sweep lying in unconscious slumber. She gazed intently at the pinched face, begrimed and furrowed by tears. There was faintly recalled the image of her child, who had been lost and mourned as dead. She drew closer, and her mother's heart knew its own. She clasped the boy in her arms and awoke him by calling his own name, and kissed his cheeks while in the eagerness of her recognition. Beneath the rags and grime she saw her darling child returned in answer to her prayers.