"It is at home that the ruin of a soul begins."
"At home!" We hear the response in tones of pained surprise or
indignant denial from many voices. "It is a hard saying and cruel."
"It may hurt like a blow many sad hearts; but if it be true--what
then?"
"It is not true! I can point to you a dozen cases within my own range
of observation to disprove the assertion--to young men who have gone
astray in spite of the careful training and good example of religious
homes--in spite of all the best of mothers and the wisest of fathers
could do."
Yes, we hear such things said every day; but feel certain there is an
error somewhere, a defect in your observation. Were you in the homes
of these young men from the beginning? Did you observe the personal
bearing of their parents toward them--know their walk and
conversation? If nay, then you are not competent, with your instances,
to disprove our assertion.
A small error at the beginning of a series of calculations in applied
mechanics may lead to a great disaster; the slightest variation from a
right line at the beginning will throw a projectile hundreds of yards
away from its object. It is in the little things at home, the almost
unnoticed departures from order and good government, the neglects
arising from parental self-indulgence, the weakness of love that fails
to nip a fault in the bud; and many other things that might be
instanced, which turn the young feet into ways of life that, as the
years go by, lead farther and farther from safety and happiness.
The Bible, experience, and reason all declare that the future of a
child depends upon his early training. If this is bad, the chances are
nearly all against him.
"But," we hear it said, "children raised under the worst influences
often make good and useful men."
The cases are exceptional, and stand out in strong contrast to the
general rule. And so we go back to what was declared in the beginning,
that the ruin of a soul begins at home. How many instances crowd upon
the memory! Let us take a few at this time for their lesson and their
warning.
Not long ago, in one of our principal cities, an almost broken-hearted
mother parted from her son in the courthouse, and was taken fainting
to her home, while he was thrust into a van and conveyed to prison.
His crime was stealing. Society held up its hands in pity and
amazement, for the young man's father and mother were highly
respectable people, and good church members, as the saying is. The
father's business reputation stood high. People said of him: "His word
is as good as his bond." And yet his son was a condemned thief. He had
stolen from his employer.
Did the ruin in this case begin at home?--Yes! It was at home the son
learned to be dishonest, and he learned it from his mother! Let us
rehearse a few of the lessons, in precept and example, that were given
to the boy. We begin when he was just five years of age. The boy,
Karl, was standing near his mother, Mrs. Omdorff, one day, when he
heard her say to his aunt: "Barker has cheated himself. Here are four
yards of ribbon, instead of three. I asked for three yards, and paid
for only three; but this measures full four yards."
The boy listened and waited for what was to come next. He loved his
mother, and trusted in her.
"What are you going to do about it?" inquired the aunt.
"Keep it, of course," answered Mrs. Omdorff; "Barker will never be the
wiser. He makes enough out of us, dear knows." And she rolled the
ribbon about her fingers.
Karl was a little surprised. It did not seem like his mother, nor in
accordance with what she had often said to him about truth and
honesty, but he had faith in her, and was sure that she could do
nothing wrong. His Aunt Ruth, of whom he was very fond, and who had
great influence over him, was a weak woman in some respects, and much
more inclined to take the current of other's opinions than to give
herself the trouble of opposition. Her innate sense of honor was a
little disturbed at her sister's views of the case; but she failed to
say the right words which were in her thoughts, and which, if spoken,
might have helped the boy to see what was just and right.
A day or two afterward, Karl heard his mother say: "I saved a car
ticket this morning."
"How?" inquired her sister.
"The conductor forgot to ask for it."
"Why didn't you give it to him, mamma?" asked Karl.
"It was his business to look after his passengers," replied Mrs.
Omdorff, who felt rather uncomfortable at this question from her
little boy. "It will teach him a lesson."
Karl thought a moment, and then said: "But he won't know anything
about it."
"Oh, you're too sharp!" exclaimed his mother, with a laugh. "I wasn't
talking to you, anyhow."
"Little pitchers have big ears," said Aunt Ruth, echoing her sister's
laugh.
And so the matter was pushed aside, neither mother nor aunt imagining
that the bright and beautiful boy they both loved so tenderly had
received a lesson in dishonesty not soon to be forgotten.
"I do believe," said Mrs. Omdorff, not long afterward, as she sat
counting over some money, "that Poole has given me the wrong change."
Karl was in the room and heard her remark.
"Let me see," she added, going over the money again. "Two and a half,
three, four and three-quarters. It's a fact; I gave him a ten-dollar
bill, and here are four and three-quarters change."
"What did the goods amount to?" asked her sister.
"There were eleven yards of muslin at eighteen; that's a dollar and
ninety-eight cents. Two yards of silk at a dollar and a half, and an
eighth of a yard of velvet one dollar--making just five dollars and
ninety-eight cents. If it had come to six dollars, my right change
would have been four; but he has given me four and three-quarters."
Then, in a tone of satisfaction, she added: "I'm that much richer, you
see, Ruth."
Her sister smiled, but did not utter the disapproval that was in her
heart. Karl listened and took all in. A little while afterward Mrs.
Omdorff got up and rang the bell, saying, as she did so, with a short
gurgling laugh, that seemed ashamed of itself: "I guess we'll have a
little ice-cream--at Poole's expense."
Aunt Ruth shook her finger, and said feebly: "Oh, that's too bad!" But
Karl was not able to see whether she approved or disapproved. The
ice-cream was sent for, and enjoyed by the child. While the sweet
taste was yet on his tongue, he heard his mother say: "I'm very much
obliged to Poole for his treat--it's delicious."
Is it strange that the boy's perception of right and wrong should be
obscured? or that, in a day or two afterward, he should come in from
the street with an orange in his hand, and, on being questioned about
it, reply: "A woman let it drop from her basket, and I picked it up.
She didn't see it drop, mamma."
"But why didn't you call after her?" asked Aunt Ruth.
"'Cause I didn't want to," answered the child. "She dropped it. I
didn't knock it off."
Mrs. Omdorff was not satisfied with the conduct of her child; and yet
she was amused at what she called his cuteness, and laughed instead of
reproving him for an act that was in spirit a theft.
So the child's education for crime was begun--his ruin initiated. The
low moral sense of his mother was perpetually showing itself in some
disregard for others' rights. A mistake made in her favor was never
voluntarily corrected, and her pleasure at any gain of this kind was
rarely concealed. "He cheated himself," was a favorite saying, heard
by Karl almost every week; and as he grew older he understood its
meaning more clearly.
Mr. Omdorff was a man of higher integrity than his wife and just in
dealing to the smallest fraction. "Foolish about little things--more
nice than wise," as she often said, when he disapproved of her way of
doing things, as was sometimes the case. Mrs. Omdorff had learned to
be guarded in her speech when he was at home; and so he remained in
ignorance of the fatal perversions going on in the mind of his child.
As the boy grew up his father's supervision became more direct. He was
careful about his associates, and never permitted him to be away from
home without knowing where and with whom he was. He knew but too well
the danger of evil association; and guarded his boy with jealous
solicitude.
Alas! he dreamed not of the evil influences at home; never imagined
that the mother was destroying in her son that nice sense of honor
without which no one is safe; nor that she had taught him to disregard
the rights of others, to take mean advantages, and to appropriate what
did not belong to him whenever it could be done with absolute
certainty of concealment.
We do not mean to say that such were the direct and purposed teachings
of his mother. She would have been horror stricken at the mere
suggestion. But she had so taught him by example. In heart she was not
honest; and in many of her transactions she was as much a thief as if
she had robbed a till. Retaining what belongs to another, simply
because it has come into our hands by mistake, is as much a theft in
its spirit as purposed stealing; and the fine lady who keeps the
change to which she is not entitled, or the yard of ribbon measured to
her in error, is just as criminal, as the sneak-thief who gets into
her hall through a neglected door and steals her husband's overcoat.
The real quality of an act lies in the intent.
Is it any wonder that amid such home influences the boy did not show,
as he advanced toward maturity, a high sense of honor? That he should
be mean and selfish and dishonest in little things? "As the twig is
bent the tree is inclined." Evil seed will produce evil fruit.
Society punished and execrated the unhappy young man, and pitied his
wretched mother, little dreaming that by her hand his prison doors had
been opened.
Another instance of the baneful influence that may exist at home is to
be found in the ruin of a young man who recently died in one of the
lowest and vilest haunts of the city. He had been well educated, and
grew to manhood with a fine sense of honor. His mother was a woman of
rare culture, and beloved by every one in the circle where she moved.
All the moral sentiments of her son had been carefully fostered and
developed, and when he reached manhood no one showed a fairer promise.
But it was not long before a shadow fell across his life. He had
learned one thing at home that was destined to work his ruin--he had
learned to love the taste of wine.
His father belonged to a class of men who considered wine drinking a
mark of good breeding. He knew all about wines, and had a weak vanity
in being thought a connoisseur. If he had a friend to dinner, he would
bring out two or three kinds, and discuss them through half the meal.
He called the men who were ranging themselves against the terrible
evil of intemperance, and seeking to stay its baleful course, "poor
fanatics." He talked of pure wines and liquors as harmless, and gave
them to his son at suitable times and occasions, _moderately_; only
guarding him by warnings against excess.
But these warnings went for nothing as appetite increased. At twelve
years of age the boy was content with a single glass of light wine at
his dinner; at eighteen he wanted two glasses, and at twenty-one
three. By this time he had acquired convivial habits, and often drank
freely with other young men of his age. His mother was the first to
take the alarm; but his father was slow to believe that his son was in
danger. The sad truth broke upon him at last in a painful humiliation.
At a large party in his own house the young man became so badly
intoxicated that he had to be removed from the company.
From that unhappy period wine was banished from the father's table.
But it was too late! The work of ruin had progressed too far. At
twenty-seven the wretched young man died, as we have said, in one of
the lowest and vilest dens of the city.
We could give many instances like this. Here, at home, is the chief
source of that wide-spread ruin by intemperance, that is every year
robbing society of thousands of young men, who, by education, culture,
and social standing are fitted for useful and honorable positions.
They are ruined at home. Not in one case in ten does a young man
acquire the taste for drink in a saloon or tavern, but at home--if
not in his own home, in that of some friend. We fear that the drinking
saloons men set up in their drawing-rooms, and to which they invite
the young and old of both sexes, do more to deprave the taste and lead
to intemperance than all the licensed taverns in the land. It is here
that the appetite is formed and fostered--here that the
apprenticeship to drunkenness is served. Year by year the sons of our
wealthiest and most intelligent and influential citizens are tempted
and led astray by the drinking customs of society--ruined at home.
How few of the sons of successful men rise to the level their fathers
have gained. How many, alas! sink so far below this level that the
eyes ache to look down upon them!