ten cents. Just hand over the money, for I’m in a hurry to buy my
firecrackers,” said Ned hurriedly.
The deacon was out, but Frank had made purchases for him before, so the
dime spun across to Ned, who was off like a shot. Just then Mrs.
Sinclair appeared.
“I want a nice trout for my dinner to-morrow. This one will do; how much
is it?” she asked as she carefully examined it.
“A quarter, ma’am,” and the fish was transferred to the lady’s basket
and the silver piece to the money drawer.
But here Frank paused.
He thought to himself: “Ten cents was very cheap for that fish. If I
tell the deacon it cost fifteen cents he’ll be satisfied, and I shall
have five cents to invest in firecrackers.”
The deacon was pleased with Frank’s bargain, and when the market was
closed each went his way for the night.
But the nickel buried in Frank’s pocket burned like a coal. He could eat
no supper, and was cross and unhappy. At last he could stand it no
longer, but, walking rapidly, tapped at the door of Deacon Hepworth’s
cottage.
The old man was seated at a table, reading the Bible. Frank’s heart
almost failed him, but he told the story and with tears of sorrow laid
the coin in the deacon’s hand.
Turning over the leaves of the Bible, the old man read:
“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper, but whoso confesseth and
forsaketh them shall have mercy.”
“You have forgiveness, Frank,” he said. “Now go home and confess to the
Lord, and remember you must forsake as well as confess. Here, you may
keep this coin as long as you live to remind you of your first
temptation.”
LXI.
[Illustration: A MONUMENT TO A BLACK MAN]
In the city of Columbus, Georgia, there was erected in the year 1904 a
monument to the memory of a colored man named Bragg Smith. Mr. Smith
lost his life in the autumn of 1903 in an effort to save the life of the
city engineer of Columbus, who had been buried under an excavation in
the street. A large crowd of colored men was at work digging deep
trenches in which were to be placed pipes for running water about the
city. In some way the sides of the narrow trench had not been properly
supported by planks or otherwise, and by-and-by a great stretch of dirt
caved in. Unfortunately the city engineer, a white man, was caught
underneath the falling dirt. Bragg Smith did not stop to say: “Oh, it’s
a white man; let him die!” but at once jumped down into the ditch and
tried to pull the white man from under the heavy dirt. It was while he
was engaged in this work that the dirt fell from both sides a second
time, and Bragg Smith, in his effort to save the life of the white man,
lost his own life. The Bible says: “Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man will lay down his life for a friend.”
The city council at its first regular meeting after the accident voted
to erect a suitable monument to the memory of Mr. Smith. The monument
was dedicated in April, 1904. The monument is of Vermont and Georgia
marbles, and bears on one side this inscription:
“Erected by the City of Columbus to mark the last resting place of Bragg
Smith, who died on September 30, 1903, in the heroic but fruitless
effort to save the life of the city engineer.”
On the other side appears this quotation from Alexander Pope:
“Honor and fame from no conditions rise;
Act well your part; there all the honor lies.”
LXII.
THE BAD BOY—WHO HE IS.
My dear children, I am happy to say that all boys who are called bad
boys are not bad boys. There is quite a difference between a bad boy and
a merely mischievous boy. A boy is not necessarily bad because he makes
unearthly noises about the house, or now and then twists the cat’s tail
just to hear her mew, or muddies his clothes in an effort to catch
crawfish. He is not bad just because he likes to “play fantastic” on the
fourth day of July. So many people complain of their boys being bad when
they are only mischievous—that is to say, when they are only full of
life. Some people think that a good boy is one that has a pale face and
looks sickly; one that wears a sanctimonious look and moves along
through the world as though he were afraid to put one foot in front of
the other. That isn’t my kind of a boy. I do not think that kind of a
fellow is a boy at all—he is ’most a girl! A boy who never enjoys a romp
in the woods, who never climbs the apple tree before or after the apples
are ripe, who never plays ball, who will not shoot marbles, etc.—this
sort of a boy usually dies young, or he grows up to be a “male woman.” I
mean by that, that he grows up to be a man who acts like a woman; and
that kind of man is hardly fit for anything.
[Illustration: “PLAY FANTASTIC” ON THE FOURTH OF JULY.]
But there are some bad boys, I am sorry to say—really bad boys, bad in
heart and in deed. I have seen some on the chain gangs; I have seen some
hanging around the street corners—especially on Sundays, with no clean
clothes on; I have seen them smoking cigarettes—and a cigarette is
something which no manly boy will use; I have seen them in saloons,
drinking, playing pool and playing cards; I have sometimes seen them
shooting dice in the street for money. There are probably one thousand
boys in the jails, reformatories and in the penitentiaries in the single
state of Georgia. To form anything like an adequate estimate of the
total number of bad boys in the South we must add to the above number
the boys imprisoned in the other states; and, also, that much larger
number who have never been imprisoned because they happen never to have
been arrested, or who have been arrested and have had their fines paid
in money; and, finally, we must add those who have already served their
time and are again at large. So, you see, there are many thousands and
thousands of bad boys in the world, and they are very easily found. Are
you a bad boy or a good boy? Isn’t it better to be a good boy than to be
a bad boy?
LXIII.
THE BAD BOY—HOW TO HELP HIM.
[Illustration: THE BAD BOY]
Almost anybody can make something out of a boy who is naturally good,
but it takes one of very Christlike power and patience to make anything
out of a really bad boy. Yet all boys may be reclaimed, reformed, saved;
at least so I believe. And the first step in making a good man out of a
bad boy has to do with the boy’s body. The Holy Bible tells us that our
bodies are the temples—the dwelling places—of the Holy Ghost, and every
boy, and every teacher of every boy, in the home or day school or Sunday
school, should give more time and attention to the body in order to make
it a fit place for such a holy being. It is as true now as of old that
plenty of soap and water will exert a wholesome influence in making bad
boys good. Some one has said that cleanliness is next to godliness, and
somebody has added that soap is a means of grace. A boy who is taught to
bathe regularly and who is taught to keep his clothing neat and clean at
all times will in that way learn the great lesson of self-respect
quicker than in any other way; and, in my judgment, the shortest way to
the purification of a boy’s habits, a boy’s morals, a boy’s character,
is to teach him first to keep his body pure. Keep it pure not only by
baths and clean clothes, but keep it pure and sweet by keeping it free
from whiskey and tobacco in every form. Exercise, regular, and
systematic exercise, whether as work or play, will go a great way
towards keeping the body clean and healthy. Every boy is mistaken, every
parent is mistaken, who thinks that labor is unworthy, or that any kind
of honest work is degrading. The body needs to be kept alive and
vigorous by the frequent use of all its parts, and there is no better
way to keep the body vigorous than by doing some kind of work—work that
requires the use of the hands and legs and muscles, work that stimulates
the blood and makes it flow freely through the body.
Another step in the process of making a good man out of a bad boy has to
do with the mind. The body grows not alone by exercise, but the body
grows by what we put into it: the food we eat and the water we drink,
etc. We might say, I think, that the body grows on what it feeds on. It
is the same way with the mind: the mind grows on what it feeds on. If we
feed our minds on obscene pictures, on bad books, on vulgar stories,
told by ourselves or our associates, we cannot expect to have minds that
are keenly alive and active for good. Our thoughts control us, boys and
girls, whether we understand the process by which they control or not.
Our thoughts control us. If our thoughts are pure and sweet and noble,
we will be pure and sweet and noble. If our thoughts are impure, vile
and ignoble, we will be impure, vile and ignoble. Our thoughts rule us.
So every boy should guard well his thoughts; every boy should guard well
what he puts into his mind. Every boy’s mind feeds on what he puts into
it, and every boy’s mind grows on what it feeds. It goes without saying,
then, that a boy should not read “blood and thunder” detective stories,
stories about the “James Brothers” and other outlaws and bandits; nor
should a boy read filthy so-called “love stories.” All such literature
should be shunned, as a boy would shun deadly poison. A boy who desires
to become a good man should read only those things which will give him
confidence in himself that he can and may become a good man—good for the
service of God and the service of his fellow-men. Bad company must also
be left behind if a bad boy wants to become a good boy. Those boys who
tell smutty jokes and stories should not be allowed to associate with
that boy whose eyes have been opened and who wants to feed his mind on
good and wholesome food. Character, boys, in its last analysis depends
chiefly on three things: Heredity, environment and will. Now you cannot
do much to change your inherited tendencies—the tendencies you receive
from mother and father at birth, but you can do much in offsetting, in
overcoming these tendencies. You can also do much with the aid of a
generous and enlightened public to change your surroundings if they
happen to be bad. I confess that your mothers and fathers, your teachers
and pastors ought to do much more in this regard than you; but if they
will not exert themselves to get you out of evil surroundings, then, as
you value your own life and time and possibilities, by the help of God,
try to get out yourselves. The will is very largely influenced by your
surroundings. Hence you can see the importance of having good books and
good associates.
But whatever you do, boys, do not forget Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God,
who takes away the sin of the world. The highest part of your nature is
your spiritual nature, and, while you are building up the body and
building up the mind, do not forget to build up your soul. If others
will not assist you in this greater matter you can help yourselves. The
Master said: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid
them not.”
LXIV.
THOMAS GREENE BETHUNE.
(“Blind Tom.”)
I suppose there is not a little colored girl or boy in America who has
not heard of the wonderful “Blind Tom,” one of the greatest musicians of
the world. I wish that every boy and girl might have seen him and heard
him give one of his remarkable performances with the piano. I had that
high favor and privilege myself. During his life on the stage, or for
more than forty years, “Blind Tom” was seen probably by more people in
the world than any one living being. His stage career was closed
somewhere in 1900. I do not know whether he is living at present or not.
If he is still alive, and he probably is, he is very nearly sixty years
old. Everywhere, in this country and Europe, those who observed him most
closely, and attempted to understand him, pronounced him a living
miracle, unparalleled, incomprehensible, such as had not been seen
before in the world, and probably never would be seen again.
Thomas Greene Bethune, better known to the public as “Blind Tom,” was
born within a few miles of the city of Columbus, Georgia, on the
twenty-fifth day of May, 1849. He was of pure negro blood, and was born
blind. He was little less than four years old when a piano was brought
to the house of his master, for he was born a slave. As long as any one
was playing he was contented to stay in the yard and dance and caper to
the music. Sometimes he was permitted to indulge his curiosity by being
allowed to run his fingers over the keys. One night the parlor and piano
had been left open. Before day the young ladies of the family awoke and
were astounded to hear Blind Tom playing one of their pieces. The family
gathered around him to witness and wonder at his performance, which they
said was marvellously strange. Notwithstanding that this was his first
known effort at a tune, he played with both hands and used the black as
well as the white keys. Pretty soon he was allowed free access to the
piano, and began to play off-hand everything he heard. As young as he
was, he soon mastered all of that and began composing for himself. The
record of his public life is too long for me to give, but that Blind Tom
was known and honored around the world is known to everybody.
But feeling that every colored boy and girl should be justly proud of
Blind Tom’s record, I will give some words from the book of Hon. James
M. Trotter, himself a colored man. His book is called “Music and Some
Highly Musical People.” He says:
“Blind Tom is unquestionably the most wonderful musician the world has
ever known. He is an absolute master in the comprehension and retention
of all sound. You may sit down to the pianoforte and strike any note or
chord or discord, or a great number of them, and he will at once give
their proper names, and, taking your place, reproduce them. Complete
master of the pianoforte keyboard, he calls to his melodious uses, with
most consummate ease, all of its resources that are known to skillful
performers, as well as constantly discovers and applies those that are
new. Under his magnetic touch this instrument may become, at his will, a
music box, a hand organ, a harp, or a bagpipe, a “Scotch fiddle,” a
church organ, a guitar, or a banjo; it may imitate the “stump speaker”
as he delivers his glowing harangue; or, being brought back to its
legitimate tones, it may be made to sing two melodies at once, while the
performer, with his voice, delivers a third, all three in different time
and keys, all in perfect tune and time, and each one easily
distinguishable from the other! He remembers and plays fully seven
thousand pieces. Some persons, it is true, have had the temerity to say
that Blind Tom is an idiot. Out with the idea! Who ever heard of an
idiot possessing such power of memory, such fineness of musical
sensibility, such order, such method, as he displays? Let us call him
the embodiment of music, the soul of music, and there let our
investigations rest, for all else is vain speculation. No one lives, or,
so far as we know, has ever lived, that can at all be compared with
him.”
LXV.
NOT FIT TO KNOW.
[Illustration: “FRANCES.”]
Susan and Mamie and Lillian and Marjorie were always close friends. They
usually went together and played together and it was very unusual to see
one of them without the others. At school they always made it a rule to
lunch together and play together. One day at recess they were standing
in a little group all by themselves when Frances joined them.
“What are you talking about, girls?” asked Frances in cheerful tones.
“I’m telling them a secret,” said Susie, “and we will let you know, too,
Frances, if you’ll promise not to tell any one.”
“I’ll promise you not to tell anybody but my mother,” said Frances, “for
I have made it a rule to tell my mother everything.”
“No; you can’t even tell your mother,” answered Susie; “you must not
tell any one in the world.”
“Well, then, I refuse to hear it,” said Frances, as she walked away,
“for what I can’t tell my mother is not fit for me to know.”
Don’t you think Frances was right, girls? I think so. As soon as little
boys and girls begin to listen to words and stories which they would be
ashamed to repeat to their mothers they are on the road to temptation,
and nobody can tell how soon they will reach the end, which is always
disgrace and death.
I wish all the boys and girls who will read this book would make the
reply of Frances their motto: “What I cannot tell my mother is not fit
to know.” Stick to this rule through thick and thin, and you will avoid
many of the snares and pitfalls by which many of your companions and
playmates sink into shame and sin. Don’t read a note that you would be
afraid to have your mother read. Don’t look at a picture that you would
be ashamed to have your mother see. Don’t speak any word, and don’t
allow any to be spoken to you, that you would not like to have your
mother hear. A girl’s best friend is her mother. A boy’s best friend is
his mother. And, boys and girls, be very sure that if a thing isn’t fit
for your mothers to know it isn’t fit for you to know.
LXVI.
THE RIGHT WAY.
Henry Oliphant always considered himself lucky whenever he was able to
get a ride on the street cars without paying for it, or get a glass of
soda water or be admitted to some public place, where an admission fee
was charged, without paying the price. He was bragging one day to some
of his boy friends that he had not paid anything to witness the school
exhibition the night before. Frank Sewall was brave enough to chide him
for having done so. Frank was a plain-spoken boy, and Henry didn’t like
what Frank had said. He thought what he had done was all right, while
Frank had said that it was all wrong. Anyhow, Henry decided to get his
father’s opinion on the matter.
“Father,” he said, when night had come, “I got in the hall last night
for nothing.”
“How was that?”
“I just walked by the doorkeeper and he didn’t ask me for any money.”
“Did the doorkeeper see you?”
“Well, father, that was his business; he was put there for that purpose;
he ought to have seen me.”
“But I asked you, Henry, whether the doorkeeper saw you. I want you to
answer that question.”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Do you think he saw you?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, Henry, if he had seen you, don’t you think he would have asked
you for your money or a ticket?”
[Illustration: “FATHER,” HE SAID, WHEN NIGHT HAD COME, “I GOT IN THE
HALL LAST NIGHT FOR NOTHING.”]
“I guess so, father; but he didn’t ask me for anything.”
“Well, now, Henry, you know that a charge of ten cents was made at the
door, and that no one had a right to enter who had not paid the ten
cents. You did go in without paying. Now, whether the doorkeeper saw you
or not, do you think that that was quite honest on your part? Was that
the right way for you to act?”
“Well, I would have paid him if he asked me. I wasn’t the doorkeeper.”
“I guess the man who stole our wood last week would have paid me if I
had seen him and asked him; but we called that stealing.”
“But, father, I did not take anything from the doorkeeper.”
“Who gave you the money with which to pay your admission?”
“Mother.”
“Where is that money now?”
“I have it; but I didn’t take it from the doorkeeper.”
“But you kept it from him, Henry. It belongs to the doorkeeper. He gave
you its value. My son, the right way is, whenever you buy anything,
whether it be a ride or a glass of soda water or permission to see a
concert, whenever you buy anything you ought to pay for it. If you don’t
you are no better than a common robber. You must go to-day and give Mr.
Hall that ten cents.”
LXVII.
KEEPING FRIENDSHIP IN REPAIR.
I sometimes think that boys and girls, and even old people, are often
careless in the matter of their friendships—not careless in the matter
of selecting friends, though I am sure there is room for improvement
along that line—but careless in trying to keep the good friendships we
have already formed. We ought to keep our friendships in repair. Perhaps
you think that our friendships are not things which need to be kept in
repair. How foolish it is to think so! Does a garden need to be weeded?
Does an old fence need to be kept in repair? Do we paint our houses only
once in a century? What about the musician—does he not need to keep in
practice? Supposing that you never kept your muscles in repair by
constant use or exercise—how long would you be strong or healthy? And do
you think that your friendships, because they are in a way
intangible—you cannot see them, handle them or taste them—do you think
that they grow and thrive of their own accord, and, therefore, do not
need to be kept in repair? Slights, snubs, angry words, unpleasant
conduct, long-continued lack of association, long-continued lack of
familiar intercourse, and coldness, even where the meetings are
periodic—these things, boys and girls, will kill the warmest friendship
and choke the tenderest love. So we ought to be careful to keep our
friendships in repair. If we had no friends in this world, no playmates
and companions, no kindred spirits into whose keenest sorrows and
highest joys we entered with deep and full sympathy, and who did not
enter into our sorrows and joys in the same way—if we had no friends in
this world, with all of its wealth and splendor, we should not desire to
live very much longer. But to have friends and to be friendly goes a
long way towards making the world a beautiful and blessed place to live
in.
[Illustration: THE TWO PATHS.]
How, then, may we keep our friends? Easy enough—by cultivating them; and
we cannot keep them in any other way. We should take time to be
friendly. Little notes, little presents, little visits, little social
entertainments, little kindnesses—these things, and things like them, go
a great way in cementing our friendships, in tying people to us, as it
were, with hooks of steel. We should not neglect these means of keeping
our friendships in repair. Always give your friends a cordial welcome in
your homes, and at your little children’s parties; let them feel, make
them feel, that their coming adds to your pleasure without increasing
your burdens. Don’t be selfish and narrow; be broad-minded and liberal.
Keep your friendships in repair, and then see if you do not find your
horizon broadened, your life sweetened, and the weary weight of this sad
old world lightened.
LXVIII.
LITTLE ANNIE’S CHRISTMAS.
Christmas morning came.
Daylight was just peeping into the room.
Poor little Annie, the cripple, awoke and turned her eyes towards the
corner where she had hung her stocking the night before.
Surely, she thought, as she watched it, there could not be very much in
it, because it didn’t seem to be any larger than it was when she had
hung it up. After awhile she crept slowly to where it was.
She did not take her crutches, for fear she would disturb her mother,
who slept in the same bed with her. It was hard for her to move around
without her crutches, but she persevered and finally she reached her
stocking.
[Illustration: “SHE PUT OUT HER THIN LITTLE HAND AND FELT IT.”]
She put out her thin little hand and felt it. Yes, there was something
in it! Then she put her hand inside and took out something which seemed
round and soft. She took it out and looked at it. It was a little cake.
Poor little Annie smiled, and put her hand back into the stocking. This
time she found something which was done up in paper. She opened the
paper and found a whole dozen of gumdrops. How brightly her little eyes
flashed! She was only six years old and she had never had so much candy
at one time in all her life.
By-and-by her mother awoke. She raised her head and saw Annie’s happy
face. “Poor girl,” she thought, “how happy I would have been to have
bought something else for her, but I wasn’t able. I hope she will be
happy with what she has.”
“See, mother,” cried Annie, “I have twelve gumdrops and a cake. We will
eat half of the gumdrops to-day and save the other half for to-morrow.
You’ll eat three and I will eat three.”
“No, Annie,” said her mother, “you must eat every one by yourself.”
Annie smiled, but did not say anything.
Little Annie’s mother was a widow, and she was very, very poor; there
were many times when they had only a little dry bread and water for the
day’s food. For this bright Christmas season there were many things
besides food which she would like to have bought for her poor little
crippled child; but she did not have any money to pay for playthings or
toys.
After breakfast on this Christmas day Johnny Ray came to see them. He
brought with him a good thick shawl for Annie’s mother and four pairs of
warm stockings which his mother had sent for Annie, and, also, a large
package of nice candy.
Little Annie’s mother cried for joy.