The Home Circle | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 26, 1882

The Home Circle.

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY.

In speaking of a person's faults, Pray don't forget your own; Remember those in house of glass Should never throw a stone. If you have nothing else to do But talk of those who sin, 'Tis better we commence at home, And from that point begin. We have no right to judge a man Until he's fairly tried; Should we not like his company, We know the world is wide. Some may have faults—and who has none, The old as well as young? We may perhaps, for aught we know, Have fifty to their one.

The Young Merchant's Ordeal.

"ARTHUR," said Mrs. Leeman, addressing her young husband, "it seems to me that Mr. Sharping is getting ahead of you in business." "Ah!" muttered the young man, looking up from his paper. "Yes," continued his wife. "He has just moved into a large house, and I expect we shall be invited to the opening party." "And you are not contented here, Sarah?" asked Mr. Leeman, with a slight tinge of disappointment in his tone. "Oh, yes, I am contented; but then I should like to have you look as well, that is, to appear as well—as William Sharping does. You are as well acquainted in the town, and you are as generally respected. Your store is as well situated, and you seem to possess all the advantages you could wish. I wish you could keep up with Sharping."

Arthur Leeman was a young merchant located in a large and flourishing village, where he had been in business nearly two years. He had been brought up by virtuous parents, and his ideas of justice and honesty were founded upon deep moral principles. Shortly before he entered into business for himself he married a beautiful girl, whom he had long and ardently loved, and who had, in turn, reciprocated that love. He had received from her two thousand dollars, which sum had gone a great way toward purchasing his stock in trade. He rented a small cottage—a neat, retired abode—and here he settled down, with every prospect of continued happiness; and this happiness he had a right to expect, for his wife was mild and gentle, loving and true, and ever regardful of his welfare. His expenses he carefully kept behind his income, and, as might be expected, had made but little domestic show. His comforts were all solid, based upon the single idea of "content." William Sharping also kept a store in the village. He had commenced about the same time that Arthur did, but he seemed to have made more money, for he spent more money in his living, and, as has already been intimated, he was on the point of making a still greater show of accumulating wealth. Sharping's wife was an intimate friend of Sarah Leeman, and hence the latter felt more sensibly the contrast between her own and her neighbor's outward circumstances. In a few evenings, William Sharping opened his house for the reception of visitors, and, of course, Arthur and Sarah were invited. Arthur Leeman was wonder-struck by the appearance of his friend's domestic equipment. The furniture was rich and costly, and the carpets were all the very finest material. Large mirrors hung upon the walls, golden lamps adorned the marble mantel, and sumptuous ottomans and sofas offered their temptations to the weary. "What a splendid house they've got, haven't they?" remarked one of the guests to Sarah Leeman. "Yes," replied Sarah. And as she spoke she thought her interlocutor was drawing a comparison between her own and Mrs. Sharping's domestic establishment. Sarah heard, on all hands, praises of the things on all sides of her, and she wondered why her own husband could not do all this as well as Mr. Sharping. She let the spirit of envy into her bosom before she was aware of it, and from that moment she became unhappy. She took no more pleasure in viewing the costly articles about her, and at an early hour she drew her husband away from the company and begged him to go home. When she reached her own snug little room, she forgot all the happiness she had enjoyed there. She only thought of the contrast between that and Mrs. Sharping's superb parlors. "I'm sure I don't see why we may not make as good an appearance as Sharping," she murmured, after she and her husband had become seated. "I can hardly afford it now, Sarah," returned Arthur. "But why not, as well as William Sharping?" "Because Sharping has more money. He makes more than I do."

"I can't see how he can do that. He must have one secret in trade that you do not possess. O, I wish that we could keep up with them! People will see that Sharping is more prosperous and they will think him more of a business man than you are; and if he once takes the lead in trade, he will not only be sure to keep it up, but also to gain on his competitors. You know how people like to trade at flourishing places!" Arthur Leeman began to think there was some force to his wife's argument. He too, began to lose sight of the sweet "content" he had for two years been enjoying, and in the stead thereof, he was looking for what the world calls "plenty." He might at first have argued more with his wife, but he remembered it was her money that had helped materially to set him up in business, and he feared to touch a cord that might vibrate upon that point. He did not know the full character of his wife—he did not know how holy and pure was the soil in her soul that had thus given life to a few noxious weeds. Had he fully known that her present envy was but an exotic, just sprung into life by thoughtless transplanting, he might have sought more earnestly to pluck it out; but he gave heed to her words, and his own soul became the abode of discontent. Before Arthur Leeman retired that night he told his wife he would exert himself to outstrip his neighbor. A few evenings after that as Arthur was returning home from his business, he had occasion to pass his neighbor's store, and as he saw a light gleaming through the chinks in the shutters, he thought he would enter. Sharping was there alone, and he had just closed his ledger. "Ha, Leeman, how are you? How's business?" cried Sharping with an air of a man who is well pleased with himself. "O, so, so," returned Arthur, reaching over the counter to shake hands. "I've done capitally, to-day," resumed Sharping. "A profit of fifty-eight dollars and thirty-three cents." "Not clear net profit?" said Arthur, opening his eyes. "Yes—clear profit. Ha, ha, ha!" And as the young merchant thus laughed to himself, he leaped over the counter and rubbed his hands exultingly. "But I don't see how you did it," uttered Arthur, in a tone of nervous wistfulness. "Ha, ha, ha! What fools there are in this world, Leeman. Just look here," rattled the successful merchant, as he leaped over his counter and pulled a piece of goods from one of the shelves. "There—what do you call that?" Leeman carefully examined the article with the air of one who understands his business. "It's made to look like the finest of silk," he said, "but the great body of the cloth is cotton. I never saw anything like it before, he continued, as he drew out a thread and ran it between the nails of his thumb and forefinger, thereby stripping off the flossy silky covering from a stout thread of cotton. "No; it's a new thing. I got it in New York. Sold a piece this afternoon—fifteen yards for nine shillings a yard. Ha, ha, ha!" "Nine shillings!" repeated Arthur, in renewed surprise. "Why, the stuff is not worth seventy-five cents." "Bless your body, I only paid forty-two cents for it. Got it at auction. It's a new thing. Only think—off fifteen yards I made a profit of sixteen dollars and twenty cents. "But the one to whom you sold it must have thought it all silk."

"Of course she did. You don't think she'd have paid that price if she did not? But mind, I tell you this in confidence. You are one of the trade, you know, and of course up to such things." Arthur Leeman was not "up to such things," but then he had not manly independence enough to say so. A new idea was working its way darkly through his mind. "You didn't, of course, tell her it was really silk—pure silk?" he said half carelessly. "O, no," said Sharping, with a knowing nod. "Let me alone for that. She wanted something rich for a dress—I took down that—'There,' said I, 'look at that—just what you want—splendid article—just examine it for yourself.' 'What do you ask?' said she. 'Two dollars,' said I. 'Too high,' she said. 'But my dear madam, look at it —I must make myself whole.' She begged, and I groaned about selling below cost. But at last she hit upon nine shillings. 'Ruinous,' said I; 'but if you won't mention it—if you'll promise not to tell of it—why, seeing it's you—you may take it.' She promised, and—took it. Ha, ha, ha!" "Sixteen dollars and twenty cents," muttered Arthur, aloud. "Ay, a good round profit," added Sharping. "But then we must do it. Must live, you know; and we might as well have their money as anybody. They've got it to spare, else they wouldn't spend it. When Leeman returned to his home he fancied he had learned something. He had, in fact, learned how William Sharping made his money, and half of that night he lay awake and thought of it. The next morning he walked very slowly towards his store. He was still thinking of what he had learned the night before, and he was trying hard to silence the "still small voice" that was whispering to his soul. "It's only business, after all," he said to himself. "I may as well get a living as other folks." It was with these words upon his lips that he entered his store. His clerk was there, and the place was clean and neat. He had been in the store half an hour, and at the end of that time his clerk asked him if he was unwell. "Unwell! What put that in your head, Henry?" "Oh—I thought you looked flushed—feverish. I didn't know but that you might have caught cold. "No, no, I am well." Arthur Leeman turned away, and wondered if he had been showing all his feelings. Somehow the store did not seem so cheerful to him as usual. The neatly arranged shelves and boxes, and the choice goods, did not look so inviting as was their wont. During the first part of the day he sold some common articles, such as calicoes, lawns, threads, etc., but it did not occur to him that even here he might have overreached a single customer. He did not think of getting twelve and a half cents for some of his six penny prints. Sharping did it, but Leeman was not yet initiated. At length an opportunity was afforded for Arthur to try his newly discovered plan of business. Toward night a middle-aged gentleman entered the store and expressed a wish to purchase some cloth for a pair of pants. He was a stranger, having but a few days before moved into the village. "I should like a piece that is good—all wool—thick and firm," he said, as Arthur led the way to the cloth counter. The gentleman looked over the goods, and at length his eye hit upon a piece of dark, mixed doeskin. It felt firm and thick, and was in truth a handsome piece. "How is that?" asked Arthur. "I think it will suit me. It seems to be firm and good. Not quite so soft as clear wool generally is." "It is an excellent cloth—a few days' wear will soften it," said the young merchant, trying to appear candid. "What is it a yard?" Now the cloth cost Arthur just thirty-seven and a half cents per yard, and he had intended to sell it for forty-two, and he placed his private mark upon it accordingly. It was just half cotton. "One dollar," said he.

And the words as he spoke them, struck startlingly upon his own ear. "You may cut me off three yards," said the man; and Arthur hid his face as he did the work. After the cloth was done up, the gentleman paid for it, three dollars—it was nearly two dollars more than it cost—a clear profit of almost two hundred per cent. Arthur Leeman had always made it a practice to be sociable with those with whom he traded. It was a five dollar bill the gentleman tendered in payment, and as he passed it over he remarked:— "I suppose that is the lowest you will take." "It is the lowest I ought to take," said Arthur, trying to hide his tremulousness, for he had done something he knew to be wrong. "Very well," said the stranger; "I always wish to pay a full living price to every one with whom I deal, always trusting," he added with a smile, "that I shall be treated honestly in return." He took his change and left the store. Arthur took down his blotter and thought to enter the sale he had just made; but he hesitated. Those pages were all fair and honest. He dared not place there the first record of the first dishonest act he had done! Oh, how he wished that his customer had not come! How he wished he could recall the thing he had done! But it was too late. He had tried the experiment. "Why what's the matter, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Leeman, as her husband drew back from the supper table that evening; you look unhappy." "And I am unhappy; Sarah," faintly replied Arthur, for he had determined to tell his wife his bitter experiences. "What is it?" anxiously uttered the half-frightened wife, moving to her husband's side, and placing her arm around his neck. "Sit down, sit down, Sarah, and I will tell you." The woman sat down, but still kept her arm around her husband's neck. "Sarah," he said, with a painful effort, "I have done that to-day which I never did before in my life. I have been dishonest! I have lied and cheated!" "Lied! You—my husband—cheated!" Oh, no, no, no, Arthur!" "Yes—a man came into my store—he was a stranger—a new-comer in town. He trusted to my honesty, and I—lied to him, and cheated him. Oh, Sarah I wish I had not done it." "But you did not do it—you could not." "Listen to me, my wife. I thought I would try to make money as fast as William Sharping does. Last evening I was in his store, and I discovered his secret. If I disclose it to you, you will not tell of it?" Sarah promised, and then Arthur related to her all that had passed. He told her of Sharping's mode of dealing, and described his own experience that afternoon. "I have been dishonest, and I am unhappy," he said in conclusion. "I do not feel the same man that I did before, for there is one man in the world toward whom I have done wrong, and I should not dare to look him in the face." For some time Sarah was silent. At length she raised her lips to her husband's face and kissed him. "Forgive me," she whispered, "for it was I who did this wrong. Oh, forgive me, Arthur, I was blind—foolish. I was envious. Oh, I would rather live in the meanest rags of penury and want than to live on the wages of my husband's dishonesty! I shall never be envious again. I shall never again think of bartering sweet content for my neighbor's plenty. It was I who wronged you. Forgive me!" It was a scene of mutual forgiveness that followed, and that night both husband and wife prayed that they might not heed the voice of the tempter again. On the next morning the first person who came into the store after Arthur arrived was the man to whom the cloth had been sold the day before. The young merchant felt a sudden trembling coming into his limbs, and the worst fears sprang into his mind. He feared that his wickedness had been detected, and that he should not have it in his power to make a free restitution. But he was mistaken. The gentleman had only come for some stuff for linings and facings to the pants he was going to have made. Arthur's heart leaped again, for he should have the opportunity he had hoped for.

"Ah, sir," he said after the article just called for had been rolled up, "I fear there was a small mistake made yesterday, and I am glad you called, for I wish it rectified." "I was not aware of any," returned the stranger wondering. "Step this way, sir." Arthur led the way to the counter where the sale of the day before had been made, and laying his hand upon the piece of cloth from which he had cut three yards he continued:— "You took a pattern from this piece?" "Yes, sir." "And paid me one dollar per yard?" "Yes, sir." "Well, sir,—I was very nervous—very uncomfortable at the time, and I made a sad mistake. I should have asked you but forty-two cents per yard for it; it is part cotton. You may return it and take another piece, or I will pay back the difference, just as you please." He chose to keep the cloth, and Arthur paid him back one dollar and seventy-four cents. He was very thankful for the restitution thus made, and he remained a long time and chatted with the merchant, often making a remark upon the charm which he always experienced when doing business with one in whom he could confide. He proved afterwards to be not only a good customer, but a valuable friend to the young merchant. That night Arthur Leeman was happy; and his sweet wife was never happier in her life, for she had learned the real value of the blessing she possessed, and she had gained once more the treasure she had well nigh thrown from her—the sweetest treasure of life—content. Time sped on. Arthur Leeman remained strict in his integrity. One by one, customers of William Sharping dropped into his store. They had learned the real character of the dishonest merchant, and they fled from his counter. In course of time Sharping was deeply in debt. His great house was put up for sale. Arthur Leeman bought it, and when he paid for it he had the sweet, holy satisfaction that every dollar of the purchase money had been honestly earned by fair and virtuous dealing.