BURIED UNDER A MOUNTAIN OF GOLD.
By W. A. Montgomery
YEARS ago, while on a visit to New York City, I was invited to dine with one of her millionaire citizens. Next to me at the table sat an old friend, a very rich man, president of one of our Southern railroads. He seemed unusually sad. All at once, laying down his knife and fork, he turned to me, and said, "I am the most miserable man the sun shines on to-day." I expressed my surprise, as he had "more than heart could wish," and was both a successful and a popular man. "Yes," he said, "that is all true, but let me explain. When I began life I began poor. I worked hard, but I was happy. I belonged to the church, enjoyed my religion, and life was a delight to me. But, alas! in an evil hour I resolved to be rich. I engaged in mining speculations, and became rich beyond my highest expectations. I heaped up a mountain of gold, but was buried beneath it. Naturally, I want to keep it for my children, and I find this harder to do than it was to accumulate it. It seems constantly trying to slip away. Consequently it has reduced me to a slavery more galling than that of the Roman galleys. I know no rest, no Sundays, but day and night from year's end to year's end I toil on. I am miserable. It is killing me. It will not be long till you hear of my death, and you can say I died of a broken heart, because my foolish desire to be rich succeeded." It was not more than a year afterward when the telegraphic wires flashed the news of his death. Time rolled on. Several years afterward, one day, as I was taking the train to go to Mississippi to hold some meetings, I noticed a ragged stranger at the brakes. I asked the conductor who he was. He replied, "He is the son of our former president." "What," I said, "I thought he left his family rich." "He did," said the conductor, "but the boys were dissipated and have squandered it all. We have given this one this place as brakeman because of his father, but it is doubtful if we can keep him, he is so trifling." Had my friend been deceived by riches? Alas, yes. Riches proved to be a deadly snare to that man.—W. A. Montgomery.