It was the beginning of vacation when Mr. Davis, a friend of my
father, came to see us, and asked to let me go home with him. I was
much pleased with the thought of going out of town. The journey was
delightful, and when we reached Mr. Davis' house everything looked as
if I were going to have a fine time. Fred Davis, a boy about my own
age, took me cordially by the hand, and all the family soon seemed
like old friends. "This is going to be a vacation worth having," I
said to myself several times during the evening, as we all played
games, told riddles, and laughed and chatted merrily as could be.
At last Mrs. Davis said it was almost bedtime. Then I expected family
prayers, but we were very soon directed to our chambers. How strange
it seemed to me, for I had never before been in a household without
the family altar. "Come," said Fred, "mother says you and I are going
to be bedfellows," and I followed him up two pair of stairs to a nice
little chamber which he called his room; and he opened a drawer and
showed me a box, and boat, and knives, and powder-horn, and all his
treasures, and told me a world of new things about what the boys did
there. He undressed first and jumped into bed. I was much longer about
it, for a new set of thoughts began to rise in my mind.
When my mother put my portmanteau into my hand, just before the coach
started, she said tenderly, in a low tone, "Remember, Robert, that you
are a Christian boy." I knew very well what that meant, and I had now
just come to a point of time when her words were to be minded. At home
I was taught the duties of a Christian child; abroad I must not
neglect them, and one of these was evening prayer. From a very little
boy I had been in the habit of kneeling and asking the forgiveness of
God, for Jesus' sake, acknowledging his mercies, and seeking his
protection and blessing.
"Why don't you come to bed, Robert?" cried Fred. "What are you sitting
there for?" I was afraid to pray, and afraid not to pray. It seemed
that I could not kneel down and pray before Fred. What would he say?
Would he not laugh? The fear of Fred made me a coward. Yet I could not
lie down on a prayerless bed. If I needed the protection of my
heavenly Father at home, how much more abroad. I wished many wishes;
that I had slept alone, that Fred would go to sleep, or something
else, I hardly knew what. But Fred would not go to sleep.
Perhaps struggles like these take place in the bosom of every one when
he leaves home and begins to act for himself, and on his decision may
depend his character for time, and for eternity. With me the struggle
was severe. At last, to Fred's cry, "Come, boy, come to bed," I
mustered courage to say, "I will kneel down and pray first; that is
always my custom." "Pray?" said Fred, turning himself over on his
pillow, and saying no more. His propriety of conduct made me ashamed.
Here I had long been afraid of him, and yet when he knew my wishes he
was quiet and left me to myself. How thankful I was that duty and
conscience triumphed.
That settled my future course. It gave me strength for time to come. I
believe that the decision of the "Christian boy," by God's blessing,
made me the Christian man; for in after years I was thrown amid trials
and temptations which must have drawn me away from God and from
virtue, had it not been for my settled habit of secret prayer.
Let every boy who has pious parents, read and think about this. You
have been trained in Christian duties and principles. When you go from
home do not leave them behind you. Carry them with you and stand by
them, and then in weakness and temptation, by God's help, they will
stand by you. Take a manly stand on the side of your God and Saviour,
of your father's God. It is by abandoning their Christian birthright
that so many boys go astray, and grow up to be young men dishonoring
parents, without hope and without God in the world.
Yes, we are boys, always playing with tongue or with pen,
And I sometimes have asked, shall we ever be men?
Will we always be youthful, and laughing and gay,
Till the last dear companions drop smiling away?
Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray,
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May.
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of thy children, the boys.
--_Oliver Wendell Holmes._