The weekly Shasta courier. [volume] (Shasta, Calif.) 1872-190?, 1873-05-31
A Martyr to Leisure.


raphy, thus describes one of his father S
partners in business:
A man of letters, educated to every
classic attainment, and the inheritor OF
princely fortune, this gentleman had
been able to crafty, at a wish, his cul-
tivated tastes. His marriage was fort
innate, and his children grew up around
him with the fairest promise. He had
handsome town house in fashiona-
BILE square in London, and country
seat six or eight miles off in the midst
of one of those magnificent English
parks-the ideal of stately rural ele-
gance-with its trinity kept lawn and
its wide-spreading chase, dotted over
with clumps of noble old trees, where
the deer sought refuge from the noon
day heat, and lair at nightfall.
Its owner had travelled over Europe
and brought back, as mementos of his
journey, paintings and statuary by some
of the best masters, ancient and mod
ern, with which to adorn his favorite
retreat. The house itself, in which l
spent some happy days. with its rich
marble columns and balustrades, was a
fine specimen of the purest Palladian
manner, where all that luxurious refine
ment could devise had been unsparing-
ly lavished.
There my father-during brief in
terval in his own public life of inces-
SAINT hustle found his friend, with no
occupation more pressing than to pour
over the treasures of his library, and
no graver care than to superintend the
riches of conservatory where wealth
had brought together, from half the
world, its choicest plants and flowers.
They spent some days of undisturbed
quiet; not an incident beyond the con-
versation of sedate and Intellectual
family circle and the arrival and de-
parture of friend or two to break the
complete repose.
Delightful, my father thought it, in
contrast with the busy turmoil he had
left; and one day he said to his host,
"Ive been thinking that if l ever met
a man who has nothing to desire, you
must be he. You have health, cultiva-
ton, a charming family. You have
gathered round you every comfort wealth
can give, the choicest of all that nature
and art can supply. Are you not COM
pletely happy"
70 hnr cold n xunr,Id
he forget the sad, unexpected reply:
"Happy! All, Mr.. Owen, committed
one fatal error in my youth, and dearly
have l paid for it! l started in life
without an object, almost without an
ambition. My temperament disposed
me to ease, and l INDUCED in it. l said
to myself, Il have all that l see others
contending for; why should l strug-
gle?' / knew not the curse that lights
on those who have never to struggle for
anything. l ought to have created for
myself some definite pursuit, literary,
scientific, artistic, political, no matter
what, so there was something to labor
for and to overcome. Then l might
have been happy"
My father suggested that he was
scarcely past the prime of life, and
that in hundred ways he might still
benefit others, while occupying himself.
"Come and spend month or two with
me at Braxfeld,' he added. "You have
larger share in the Lanark mills than
any of my partners. See for yourself
what has been done for the work-people
there and for their children; and give
me the benefit of your suggestions and
your aid"
sit is too late, was the reply. "The
power is gone. Habits are become
chains. You can work and do good;
but for e in all the profitless years
gone by l seek vainly for something to
remember with pride, or even to dwell
on with satisfaction. l have thrown
away a life. l feel, sometimes, as if
there were nothing remaining to me
worth living for
And neither then, nor at any future
time, did this strange martyr to leisure
visit the establishment in which he had
invested hundred and fifty thousand
dollars.-Ahantic Monthly.