Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 1848. Various
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think of going to Heaven!" exclaimed one of the most ardent of the company, his voice warming with indignation. "Are you a heathen?"
"I am one who is patiently striving to fill my allotted place in life," replied the old man, as calmly as before.
"And have you no hopes beyond the grave?" asked the last speaker.
"If I live right here, all will be right there." The old man pointed upward. "I have no anxieties about the future – no impatience – no ardent longings to pass away and be at rest, as some of you have said. I already enjoy as much of Heaven as I am prepared to enjoy, and this is all that I can expect throughout eternity. You all, my friends, seem to think that men come into Heaven when they die. You look ahead to death with pleasure, because then you think you will enter the happy state you anticipate – or rather place; for it is clear you regard Heaven as a place full of delights, prepared for those who may be fitted to become inhabitants thereof. But in this you are mistaken. If you do not enter Heaven before you die, you will never do so afterward. If Heaven be not formed within you, you will never find it out of you – you will never come into it."
These remarks offended the company, and they spoke harshly to the old man, who made no reply, but arose and retired, with a sorrowful expression on his face. He went forth and resumed his daily occupations, and pursued them diligently. Those who had been assembled with him, also went forth – one to his farm, another to his merchandize, each one forgetting all he had thought about Heaven and its felicities, and only anxious to serve natural life and get gain. Heaven was above the world to them, and, therefore, while in the world, they could only act upon the principle that governed the world; and prepare for Heaven by pious acts on the Sabbath. There was no other way to do, they believed – to attempt to bring religion down into life would only, in their view, desecrate it, and expose it to ridicule and contempt.
The old man, to whom allusion has been made, kept a store for the sale of various useful articles; those of the pious company who needed these articles as commodities of trade, or for their own use, bought of him, because they believed that he would sell them only what was of good quality. One of the most ardent of these came into the old man's store one day, holding a small package in his hand; his eye was restless, his lip compressed, and he seemed struggling to keep down a feeling of excitement.
"Look at that," he said, speaking with some sternness, as he threw the package on the old man's counter.
The package was taken up, opened, and examined.
"Well?" said the old man, after he had made the examination, looking up with a steady eye and a calm expression of countenance.
"Well? Don't you see what is the matter?"
"I see that this article is a damaged one," was replied.
"And yet you sold it to me for good." The tone in which this was said implied a belief that there had been an intention of wrong.
A flush warmed the pale cheek of the old man at this remark. He examined the sample before him more carefully, and then opened a barrel of the same commodity and compared its contents with the sample. They agreed. The sample from which he had bought and by which he had sold was next examined – this was in good condition and of the best quality.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the visitor with an air of triumph.
"Of what?" the old man asked.
"That you sold me a bad article for a good one."
"Intentionally?"
"You are the best judge. That lies with God and your own conscience."
"Be kind enough to return every barrel you purchased of me, and get your money."
There was a rebuke in the way this was said, which was keenly felt. An effort was made to soften the aspersion tacitly cast upon the old man's integrity, but it was received without notice.
In due time the damaged article was brought back, and the money which had been paid for it returned.
"You will not lose, I hope?" said the merchant, with affected sympathy.
"I shall lose what I paid for the article."
"Why not return it, as I have done?"
"The man from whom I purchased is neither honest nor responsible, as I have recently learned. He left the city last week in no very creditable manner, and no one expects to see him back again."
"That is hard; but I really don't think you ought to lose."
"The article is not merchantable. Loss is, therefore, inevitable."
"You can, of course, sell at some price."
"Would it be right to sell, at any price, an article known to be useless – nay, worse than useless, positively injurious to any one who might use it?"
"If any one should see proper to buy from you the whole lot, knowing that it was injured, you would certainly sell. For instance, if I were to offer you two cents a pound for what I bought from you at six cents, would you not take me at my offer?"
"Will you buy at that price?"
"Yes. I will give you two cents."
"What would you do with it?"
"Sell it again. What did you suppose I would do with it? Throw it in the street?"
"To whom would you sell?"
"I'd find a purchaser."
"At an advance?"
"A trifle."
The inquiries of the old man created a suspicion that he wished to know who was to be the second purchaser, in order that he might go to him and get a better price than was offered. This was the cause of the brief answers given to his questions. He clearly comprehended what was passing in the other's mind, but took no notice of it.
"For what purpose would the individual who purchased from you buy?" he pursued.
"To sell again."
"At a further advance, of course?"
"Certainly."
"And to some one, in all probability, who would be deceived into purchasing a worthless article."
"As likely as not; but with that I have no concern. I sell it for what it is, and ask only what it is worth."
"Is it worth anything?"
"Why – yes – I can't say – no." The first words were uttered with hesitation; the last one with a decided emphasis. "But then it has a market value, as every article has."
"I cannot sell it to you, my friend," said the old man firmly.
"Why not?" I am sure you can't do better."
"I am not willing to become a party in wronging my neighbors. That is the reason. The article has no real value, and it would be wrong for me to take even a farthing per pound for it. You might sell it at an advance, and the purchaser from you at a still further advance, but some one would be cheated in the end, for the article never could be used."
"But the loss would be divided. It isn't right that one man should bear all. In the end it would be distributed amongst a good many, and the loss fall lightly upon each."
The good old man shook his head. "My friend," he said, laying his hand gently upon his arm – "Not very long since I heard you indulging the most ardent anticipations of Heaven. You expected to get there one of these days. Is it by acts of over-reaching your neighbor that you expect to merit Heaven? Will becoming a party to wrong make you more fitted for the company of angels who seek the good of others, and love others more than themselves? I fear you are deceiving yourself. All who come into Heaven love God: and I would ask with one of the apostles, 'If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?' You have much yet to learn, my friend. Of that true religion by which Heaven is formed in man, you have not yet learned the bare rudiments."
There was a calm earnestness in the manner of the old man, and an impressiveness in the tone of his voice, that completely subdued his auditor. He felt rebuked and humbled, and went away more serious than he