Thus passed the life of Mr. Bolton. Dollar was added to dollar,
house to house, and field to field. Yet he was never satisfied with
gaining; for the little he had, looked so small compared with the
wealth of the world, after the whole of which his heart really
panted, as to appear at times actually insignificant. Thus, as he
grew older, he set a value upon what he had, as the means of gaining
more, and in his parting with money, did so at the expense of a
daily increasing reluctance.

In the beginning of life, Mr. Bolton possessed a few generous
feelings, the remains of early and innocent states stored up in
childhood. His mother, a true woman, perceiving the strong selfish
and accumulative bent of his character, had sought in every possible
way to implant in his mind feelings of benevolence and regard for
others. One mode of doing this had been to introduce him into scenes
that appealed to his sympathies. She often took him with her to see
poor or sick persons, and so interested him in them as to create a
desire in his mind to afford relief. So soon as she perceived this
desire awakened, she devised some mode of bringing it into activity,
so that he might feel the delights which spring from a consciousness
of having done good to another.

But so strong was the lad's hereditary love of self, that she ever
found difficulty in inducing him to sacrifice what he already
considered his own, in the effort to procure blessings for others,
no matter how greatly they stood in need. If urged to spend a
sixpence of his own for such a purpose, he would generally reply:

"But you've got a great many more sixpences than I have, mother: why