Thus life went on; and Mr. Bolton was ever busy in gathering in his
golden harvest; so busy, that he had no time for any thing else, not
even to enjoy what he possessed. At last, he was sixty years old,
and his wealth extended to many hundreds of thousands of dollars.
But he was farther from being satisfied than ever, and less happy
than at any former period in his life.

One cause of unhappiness arose from the fact that, as a rich man, he
was constantly annoyed with applications to do a rich man's part in
the charities of the day. And to these applications it was
impossible always to turn a deaf ear. Give he must sometimes, and
giving always left a pain behind, because the gift came not from a
spirit of benevolence. There were other and various causes of
unhappiness, all of which combining, made Mr. Bolton, as old age
came stealing upon him, about as miserable as a man could well be.
Money, in his eyes the greatest good, had not brought the peace of
mind to which he had looked forward, and the days came and went
without a smile. His children had grown up and passed into the
world, and were, as he had been at their ages, so all-absorbed by
the love of gain, as to have little love to spare for any thing
else.

About this time, Mr. Bolton, having made one or two losing
operations, determined to retire from business, invest all his money
in real estate and other securities, and let the management of these
investments constitute his future employment. In this new occupation
he found so little to do in comparison with his former busy life,
that the change proved adverse, so far as his repose of mind was
concerned.