“you must not suppose my wants can be measured by yours. Your farm supplies you with the materials of life, and you get them at a cheap rate.”
“I give for them what you give,” said Howard, “time,—and a little more,—I give manual labor; you know I belong to the working class. In this money-making day, men despise small gains, and yet my own experience tells me they are sufficient for happiness. Great wealth can add but little to our enjoyments; domestic happiness, you will allow, is cheaply bought, as far as money is concerned, and riches cannot add a great deal to our corporeal enjoyment. The pleasures of sense are wisely limited to narrow boundaries; the epicure has no prolonged gratification in eating; though he may wish for the throat of the crane, he cannot obtain it; neither does he enjoy his expensive delicacies more than the day-laborer does his simple fare. Of all the sources of happiness in this world, overgrown wealth has the least that is real; and from my own observation, I should think it the most unproductive source of satisfaction to the possessor. I have heard of many very
wealthy men that have tormented themselves with the fear of coming to actual want, but I never heard of one man in moderate circumstances that was afflicted with this monomania.”
“You talk like a philosopher,” said Mr. Draper, laughing, “who means to live all his life in his tub. However, I assure you that I do not intend always to pursue this course of hurry and business; in a very short time, I expect to agree with you that I am rich enough; now, my only desire is to hasten that period, that I may devote myself to my family.”
“Is it possible,” said Howard, “that this incessant toil is to purchase a blessing which is already within your grasp! At least I hope you mean to devote yourself to your family now, for a few days.”
“I regret to say,” said Mr. Draper, “that I must be off early to-morrow morning. But I am thinking, as my wife and children enjoy the country so much, that it is an object for me to purchase a snug little place where
they may pass the summer. Do you know of any such near you?”
“Clyde Farm is up for sale,” replied Howard.
“I should like to ride over and see it,” said Mr. Draper, musing.
“Not this morning,” said Howard.