To be happy in old age—­at a time when men should leave for ever the toil, anxiety, and worry of money-making—­they must, during youth and middle life, have kept their minds healthily active.  They must familiarize themselves with knowledge, and take an interest in all that has been done, and is doing, to make the world wiser and better from age to age.  There is enough leisure in most men’s lives to enable them to interest themselves in biography and history.  They may also acquire considerable knowledge of science, or of some ennobling pursuit different from that by which money is made.  Mere amusement will not do.  No man can grow happy upon amusement.  The mere man of pleasure is a miserable creature,—­especially in old age.  The mere drudge in business is little better.  Whereas the study of literature, philosophy, and science is full of tranquil pleasure, down to the end of life.  If the rich old man has no enjoyment apart from money-making, his old age becomes miserable.  He goes on grinding and grinding in the same rut, perhaps growing richer and richer.  What matters it?  He cannot eat his gold.  He cannot spend it.  His money, instead of being beneficial to him, becomes a curse.  He is the slave of avarice, the meanest of sins.  He is spoken of as a despicable creature.  He becomes base, even in his own estimation.

What a miserable end was that of the rich man who, when dying, found no comfort save in plunging his hands into a pile of new sovereigns, which had been brought to him from the bank.  As the world faded from him, he still clutched them; handled and fondled them one by one,—­and then he passed away,—­his last effort being to finger his gold!  Elwes the miser died shrieking, “I will keep my money!—­nobody shall deprive me of my property!” A ghastly and humiliating spectacle!

Rich men are more punished for their excess of economy, than poor men are for their want of it.  They become miserly, think themselves daily growing poorer, and die the deaths of beggars.  We have known several instances.  One of the richest merchants in London, after living for some time in penury, went down into the country, to the parish where he was born, and applied to the overseers for poor’s relief.  Though possessing millions, he was horror-struck by the fear of becoming poor.  Relief was granted him, and he positively died the death of a pauper.  One of the richest merchants in the North died in the receipt of poor’s relief.  Of course, all that the parish authorities had doled out to these poor-rich men was duly repaid by their executors.

And what did these rich persons leave behind them?  Only the reputation that they had died rich men.  But riches do not constitute any claim to distinction.  It is only the vulgar who admire riches as riches.  Money is a drug in the market.  Some of the most wealthy men living are mere nobodies.  Many of them are comparatively ignorant.  They are of no moral or social account.  A short time since, a list was published of two hundred and twenty-four English millionaires.  Some were known as screws; some were “smart men” in regard to speculations; some were large navvies, coal-miners, and manufacturers; some were almost unknown beyond their own local circle; some were very poor creatures; very few were men of distinction.  All that one could say of them was, that they died rich men.