The Pride of Riches

The moth looks like such a harmless creature. In its pearly white color it hovers about without sound at twilight, or in our dark rooms and especially in our closets where our woolen clothes are kept. It is not impertinent like the robust flies of the summer. It does not have the sting of a mosquito. It does not sound in our ears the shrill notes of the cricket. It does not nibble and gnaw like the mouse and rat, nor, as roaches do, indecently overrun our food. It is most fair, silent, and apparently harmless. Yet every housewife springs after it with electric haste. It is a dreaded pest, not for what it is but for what it does. Once a garment is moth-eaten, it is almost impossible to repair it.

How true this is in the case of the proud rich.

Once one begins to suffer the sickness of pride of riches, the cure is very difficult. Let us beware, for, once the moths have done their work upon us, there is hardly any hope. Let us remember, also, that the moth does its work secretly, without our realizing it; so does the pride of riches. We may be proud of the things we wear and possess without ever realizing it. How stealthily the moths work; pride of the soul even more so.