Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1858-05-13

Getting Rich.

Yes they are getting rich. The princely
mansion, the sumptuous decorations and gor-
geous apparel, all proclaim that fortune is
heaping her gifts upon them with a lavished
hand. But is the step more buoyant upon
the velvet carpets than in the days of yore,
when the smooth, white cottage floor, resoun.
ded from morn till eve with merry footballs?
Hath the voice deeper joy in its music tones
within the lofty, gilded walls, than in the
vine clad arbors of the home of auld lang
syne? Does the heart beat more rapturously
meath the silken garb, than its wont when
the simple toilet graced the form? Look at
the man who call these magnificent possessions
his own. Mark the careworn, anxious ex-
preston of his features; these, and his bow.
ed form tell not of the weight Of years, for
he hath felt frosts of many winters-but they
speak in unmistakable language of weary
toilsome days and sleepless, nights, with an
all-absorbing passion feeding upon the ener-
gies, the aspirations, even the very life of
his being.
He needs not the voice of friendship and
love nor even the innocent prattle of child
hood; he is deaf to all save the clinking of
gold. He sees not the thousand expressions
of beauty and grandeur which nature is
ever exhibiting, for nought but bank notes
comes within the scope of his vision.-His
heart knows not the joys of social intercourse
feel not the sweet, genial influences of
bone and lisa stranger to the pure, holy joy
that springs from communion with the great
Supreme; for he hath buided wall of gold
about his heart and what good thing can en-
ter there? The only real joy he experiences
is when memory, withher magic wand, opens
the portals of the past and reveals the quiet
home and happy family, basking in love, un-
burdended with Injuries and cares, unfetter-
ed by fashion and famine of the heart.
The wife, once enjoying all that an angel
might covet, in the paradise of her little home
with the rose of health on her cheek, and
the light of love in her eye and wreath Of
smiles on her lips that gladdened those around
her, now moves with stately tired, pale cheek
and languid eye, through her gorgeous apart
ments. Even the presence of the chosen one
of her heart, and the pledges of their early
love send no extatic thrill to her BOSOM
Every finer feeling of her nature is crushed
and with golden letters she is bound to an
alter of senseless, heartless forms. The silent
tear that sometimes trembles on her cheek
and the sigh escaping her compressed lips
tell that memory ha opened her precious
stores, and methinks she is ready to acknowl-
edge that her golden visions Of happiness
were but empty bubbles.
And look at those innocent little ones, trans
formed to mere automatons, enjoying none o.
the dear delights designed for them by nature
every joyous, loving impulseencased in gold
and being dragged to an early and ignomini
Gus grave by relentless fashion!
God haze mercy on the rich
0, vain mortals why seek ye for happi
ness in the gilded trapping Of cath, whose
sweetest born is but the scorpions sting, save
when you make your wealth subserve thu
greatest good of yourselves and those arounc
you? o, come to the inezhaustess fount
of truth and goodness, and there taste unend
ing joys, that are subject neither to the chang
es Of time or fortune. clay up for your
selves treasures in heaven, were moth nor rus
doth corrupt, and thieves do not break
through and steal.'