MR. RAWLINES' VISION

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 6, 1881

MR. RAWLINES' VISION.

NEW YEAR'S EVE, and a bitterly cold one too. Mr. Rawlines sat in his library in a great easy chair, with his slippered feet stretched out in front of a blazing fire. The book cases reached from floor to ceiling, filled with rare and costly bound volumes, and an astral lamp shed a soft light upon the busts of great men and their marble pedestals. Warm, crimson-lined curtains shut out the wintry scene; within all was luxurious warmth and comfort.

Mrs. Rawlines and her daughter (en route for a party) looked in to say "good night" to the master of the house, and to say that he needn't sit up for them. He followed them to the carriage, put them in, then returned to his comfortable seat with a shiver, as the wind swept into the hall before he could close the door. Two or three account books lay on a chair beside him, and taking them up, he ran his eye over the figures with evident satisfaction.

"Pretty well for one year, I think," he said to himself. "And if that last speculation turns out well, I shall have cleared nearly double the amount I made last year. At this rate I shall soon be able to quit Blank street entirely." He closed the books and leaned his head back in the chair. "Yes, a good year's work," he muttered half aloud.

"You call it a good year's work, do you?" exclaimed a voice at his side. Turning he beheld a tall woman scantily clad, holding a babe in her arms, while a little child clung to her skirts. "Yes, I should think you might," she continued, "and here I stand, with these children, starving, utterly helpless, without a roof to cover me.

"Well, my good woman, how can I help that?" he asked, a little uneasily.

"How can you help it? You have brought me to this state. As long as I had strength, I managed to keep body and soul together, and a roof, bad as it was, over me. Then sickness came, the rent of the miserable room was due, I begged the agent you employ to grant me a little time. His answer was: Have the rent the next time I come, or out you go into the street.

"I went to your office last week to see if you would be more merciful. You sent word 'you could not be bothered, your agent attended to those affairs.' To-night we have been turned out beggars, and homeless."

"I knew nothing of this," began Mr. Rawlines.

"It is your business to know," interrupted the woman, fiercely. "The property is yours. It is your place to see that your tenants are justly treated." "No," as he made a movement toward his purse, "I have not come here to ask anything of you. But remember, man, that those treasures will not last forever. The lives of the widow and the fatherless will be demanded of you." Her voice sank, and with a great sob she glided from the room. On the threshold she passed a young man who entered the room and stood before the astonished master.

"Who are you?" asked Mr. Rawlines, half rising, then sinking back into the cushioned depths of his easy chair.

"Who am I? Your memory is short it seems," said the new-comer with a bitter laugh. "A month ago you advertised for a clerk. I happened to see the notice, and applied at once for the situation. I was the first applicant. No sumptuous breakfast detained me that morning; a crust and a drink of water had sufficed for me. You asked for my references from former employer. Fresh from college where I had worked my way, I had no experience, but would have served you faithfully and well for the merest pittance. You told me to call again. I did come again and again, but each time was refused admittance into your sanctum, and at last learned that the place had been given to some one else. It was only a slender hope at best, still when even that was taken from me, I felt that now there was nothing and no one to look to. A little help at that time would have saved me. Now would you like to know what you have driven me to?" He stooped down and whispered a few words in Mr. Rawlines' ear. The latter started and drew back.

"Ah," continued the young man with a scornful smile. "You tremble, I see, and well you may. It is n't pleasant to listen to, is it? 'A good year's work,' I think you said? How will you answer for one day's work? You count your year's work by figures which represent dollars and cents. I count your work by figures too, but they represent the number of widows and orphans, young and old, ground down by you and your agents, while you are rolling in wealth. You're not the only one, I know, but that's no excuse for you. Well, I won't trouble you any longer. Good-night," and the loud banging of the hall door followed.

Mr. Rawlines sat up and looked around, then glanced at the clock. It was only half an hour that he had been asleep, and John the footman was parleying with some one in the hall.

Mr. Rawlines wiped his forehead, saying: "Only a dream after all, I'm thankful. John," as the servant entered, "who is it?"

"It's the young man as was here this mornin', sir, and he says he must see you."

"Very well, let him in," replied the gentleman.

A young man entered hastily, and with an eager expression. "I've ventured to call this evening about the vacant place," he began.

"Ah, yes," returned Mr. Rawlines, "what salary do you expect?"

"I have a little sister dependent upon me for the support, but I am willing to work for very little."

"Suppose we say five hundred for the first year," said the other, mindful of his dream.

"That is more than I expected," returned the young man. "I will try to deserve your confidence, sir. You don't know what you have saved me from, I felt so desperate to-night. But now with such a prospect I have no fear. It will be good news for Mattie, poor child; I will come early to-morrow."

"Yes, and stay, here is a little money in advance, I dare say you will need it."

The youth drew back a little proudly, with a slight flush on his cheek. "Thank you, sir. I do need it, but I would rather wait until I have earned it."

"Tut-tut, don't be so proud, boy," said Mr. Rawlines kindly, "I would not do it in every case. But I think you can be trusted."

"Thank you for your good opinion. I hope I may merit it. Good night."

Mr. Rawlines sat down again with a thoughtful air. "I don't believe I would have given him the situation if it hadn't been for that horrid dream. That tenement house of mine too, I must look to it. Smith always has the money somehow, and I've never troubled my head about it. I must see after matters myself a little more."

And he did see after matters himself after this. Hitherto he had been so engrossed in business that he had not found time to do anything good, beyond occasionally contributing to some charitable object when his companions in Blank street did so too.

But now he had awakened to the true state of things, and when another New-year's eve came round, it beheld him planning several buildings for the poor, helping deserving young men who needed assistance at some trying moment, and encouraging the downcast, struggling creatures in his daily path. His wife and daughter were astonished at the change, but soon they, too, became interested in the good work. This year the bank account was not so large, but Mr. Rawlines could now honestly say: "It is a good year's work," remembering that "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me."—Advocate and Guardian.