Rich enough : $b a tale of the timesLee, Hannah Farnham Sawyer
General
Rich enough : $b a tale of the times
Lee, Hannah Farnham Sawyer
Conduct of life -- Fiction; Saving and investment -- Fiction; Simplicity -- Fiction; Wealth -- Religious aspects -- Fiction
"No one can look forward to that time more earnestly than I do," said Mr.
Draper. "Every wise man will fix upon a certain sum, that his reason and
experience tell him will be sufficient for his expenditures; and then he
ought to retire from business, and hazard no more.--Now, Howard, as I
must hurry through dinner, we may as well improve our time. I promised
to aid you in the disposition of your surplus money. As you have a dread
of adventure, and do not like to run any risk, I will take it myself, and
give you compound interest."
Howard expressed his thanks. "You owe me none; it will be a matter of
convenience to me to have the use of this additional money. I only feel
some compunction in deriving that profit from it which you might yourself
reap. However, as I take the risk, and you take none, it is according to
your own plan;--and now I must be off; I have already overrun my time,"
said he, looking at his watch. "If possible, I shall be at home early,
but it is a busy season; two East India cargoes have just arrived, and
several consignments of cotton from the south; all are pressing upon us."
"My brother," said Howard, as he disappeared, "is the same active,
enterprising man he always was. I rejoice to hear, however, that he has
set some limits to his desire for wealth."
"Our desires grow proportionably to our increase of wealth, I believe,"
said Mrs. Draper. "When we began life, your brother said, if he was ever
worth a hundred thousand dollars, he would retire from business; he now
allows himself to be worth much more than that amount, and yet you
perceive our homestead becomes too valuable for our own use, because it
can be converted to money. All this, however, would be nothing, if I did
not see this eager pursuit of gain robbing him of the pleasures of
domestic life, of the recreation every father ought to allow himself to
receive from the innocent conversation and sports of his children. He
cannot spare time for travel--to become acquainted with the beautiful
views of our own country. To you, who knew him, as I did, full of high
and noble perceptions, this is a melancholy change."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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