DISCLOSURES.
My young friend, did you ever master a hard lesson, after a great
effort? And do you remember how you felt, after the achievement?
Perhaps it was a difficult sum; and when you began, you did not see
how you could possibly work your way through it. But you persevered,
and covered your slate with long columns of figures, until at length
you arrived at the correct answer, and you felt something like the
philosopher of old, who exclaimed, after solving a difficulty,
_Eureka_,—I have found it! And now, having conquered this sum, you felt
just like attacking a still harder one, the next day. You _knew_ you
could do it, because you did the other; and you took hold of it, with a
determination to work it out—and you _did_ work it out, did you not?
Perhaps there was another boy in your class, who attempted to do the
same thing. But before he had put forth half the effort required, he
got tired of the sum, and gave up the attempt. The next day the teacher
tried to encourage him to make another attempt, but the boy _knew_ he
could not do the sum,—he had tried once, and it was of no use to try
again. So the teacher was obliged to turn him back into simple addition
and multiplication, and he will probably never get much beyond those
departments of arithmetic.
It is precisely the same with everything else that we attempt to do.
Suppose, instead of a difficult sum, it was a fault, or temptation,
that these two lads tried to master. One of them persevered until he
conquered the difficulty, and the result was, his virtuous principles
were strengthened, and he was prepared to resist still greater
temptations, or to subdue greater faults. His motto is, “_I can_.” The
other boy would not make the necessary effort, and gave up the attempt
after a poor, feeble trial. The consequence was, he not only fell into
bad habits, but lost his self-reliance, by degrees, until the notion
got into his head that it was of no use for him to try to do right. “_I
can’t_” is his motto.
The lesson to be drawn from this is a very important one, as you will
see from the history of Clinton. That you may have a clear idea of it,
let me state it thus:—
EVERY TEMPTATION RESISTED, WILL GIVE YOU GREATER CONFIDENCE IN YOUR
ABILITY TO OVERCOME NEW TEMPTATIONS. EVERY TEMPTATION YIELDED TO, WILL
IMPAIR YOUR SELF-RELIANCE, AND PREPARE THE WAY FOR YET GREATER FAULTS.
Clinton soon found that he had made a great mistake, in aiding Jerry
to escape the consequences of his truancy. True, the deception was not
discovered; but the very success of the plan encouraged Jerry to repeat
the experiment, and Clinton now found it less easy to refuse to write
an excuse than at first. His sin was, therefore, repeated again and
again, until Jerry felt at perfect liberty to absent himself as often
as he pleased, knowing that Clinton would furnish him with the written
excuse, which the teacher now required in all cases of absence. To be
sure, Clinton objected, and scolded, and threatened; but Jerry cared
little for this, so long as he was sure to yield to his desires in the
end. If ever a more convincing argument than usual was needed, the
hard-hearted boy would secure his end by hinting at an exposure of
Clinton’s-share in his past truancies. Thus did Clinton find himself
fast in the net of this bad associate; and thus, through the influence
of one false step, did he continue to do wrong, against his conscience,
and even against his own wishes.
The people of Brookdale frequently held social parties, at their
houses, in the long winter evenings, which were usually attended by
all the neighborhood. They were not favorably situated for maintaining
the lectures and other entertainments which are common in large towns,
and these social gatherings were a substitute for them. At one of
these parties, Mrs. Preston happened to meet Master Eaton, and after
a few words on unimportant matters, she inquired how Jerry got along
at school. Mr. Eaton could not give a very favorable report either of
Jerry’s behavior or scholarship. He did not wish to pain Mrs. Preston,
at such a time, by telling her exactly how things stood; and so he
thought he would evade a direct reply to her question, by turning her
attention to a point where he supposed she herself was at fault.
“Why,” he remarked, “he is absent so often that it is hard to tell
whether he really does make any progress. I find that scholars never
get along very well unless they are pretty regular in their attendance.”
“But what do you mean?” inquired Mrs. Preston; “I thought he attended
school regularly.”
“O,” replied Mr. Eaton, “parents are hardly ever conscious of the
bad effects of absences upon the scholar. They think it of little
consequence if their children are kept at home two or three times a
week, but it is just this little irregularity in attendance that often
prevents their learning anything.”
“But you are mistaken, Mr. Eaton,” said Mrs. Preston; “I have not kept
Jerry at home half a day this winter.”
“He always brings an excuse from you, when absent,” added Mr. Eaton.
“An excuse from me!” said Mrs. Preston, with an air of astonishment;
“why, I have not written an excuse for him this term, and I did not
know that he had ever been absent.”
Master Eaton was now as much astonished as was Mrs. Preston. Both had
made an unpleasant discovery. It was evident that Jerry was a worse boy
than either of them had supposed. He had played the rogue with a high
hand. After some further conversation, it was agreed that Mrs. Preston
should say nothing at present respecting Jerry’s misconduct, but leave
the teacher to investigate the affair.
The next morning, on searching his desk, Master Eaton found several
of Jerry’s old notes of excuse, which had been accepted, and thrown
aside. His first object was to find out who wrote them, for he knew
that Jerry could not have done it. At first, he thought the writing was
the work of a female hand; but among the girls who attended school,
there was not one whom he could suspect of such conduct. Besides, he
knew that Jerry was not very popular, with the girls, who regarded him
as a rude, rough boy, and shunned his company as much as possible. He
then took the writing-books of the male scholars, and examined each one
carefully, by itself, comparing the penmanship with that of the notes.
The conclusion to which he came was, that there were only three male
scholars who could possibly have written the notes. Two of these were
young men, nearly grown up, who apparently held very little intercourse
with Jerry; the other was Clinton, an intimate acquaintance of Jerry,
but a boy whose conduct at school had always been unexceptionable.
Surely, none of these could have had a hand in the mischief. At least,
so thought Master Eaton.
Several days elapsed, and the teacher made no progress in his
investigations. At last, Jerry’s seat was vacant, for one entire day,
for he now seldom took less than a day at a time, when he played
truant. The next morning, he appeared with a note, as usual, which
the master read, and put in his desk, without making any remark. Mr.
Eaton had noticed that Clinton and Jerry came to school together,
that morning, and as he glanced at Clinton, after reading the note,
he observed that the latter turned his eye quickly away, and dropped
his head, as if afraid to meet the gaze of his teacher. This led Mr.
Eaton to watch him more closely, and it was with the deepest pain that
he detected an uneasy, anxious appearance in his manners, which he had
never before observed. In the course of the forenoon, he stopped a few
moments at Clinton’s seat, and conversed familiarly with him about his
lessons; but there was a constraint and want of frankness in the boy’s
appearance that only served to deepen the master’s painful suspicion.
The truth was, Clinton went to school, that morning, with a vague
foreboding that his guilt was about to be brought to light. By some
mysterious process, which I cannot explain, a secret impression of
approaching evil sometimes weighs heavily upon the mind, without any
known cause. This was the case with Clinton, that morning, and the
glance which his teacher cast toward him, after reading Jerry’s excuse,
sent the conviction to his heart that he was discovered. How easily
does guilt betray itself!
School was dismissed as usual, at noon, and again assembled in the
afternoon. The master had intended to detain Clinton after school in
the forenoon; but the intermission was so short, that he concluded to
defer the investigation until afternoon. Just before dismissing the
scholars, at night, he went to Clinton’s seat, and in a low tone of
voice which no one else heard, requested him to remain after school.
Clinton turned red, and then pale, at this unusual request, made in so
unusual a manner. After the scholars had all passed out, and the doors
were shut, Mr. Eaton called Clinton up to his desk, and taking Jerry’s
excuse from the drawer, held it up, and asked him if he knew anything
about it.
It was a terrible moment for the unhappy boy. He felt that his guilt
had already betrayed itself, and exposure, shame, and punishment
were now inevitable. His tongue refused to speak, and after vainly
struggling with his emotions a few moments, his pent-up feelings found
an outlet in an outburst of tears. His legs trembled beneath him; and
throwing himself upon a bench near by, he buried his face in his hands
and sobbed bitterly.
Mr. Eaton did not repeat his question—it was already answered. He saw,
however, that there was penitence as well as guilt, in the youth before
him, and when he spoke to him, it was in a kind and soothing tone.
“Clinton,” he said, “I have kept school here three winters, and this
is the first time I have ever had to call you to account for a fault.
You have always behaved well; if you have done wrong now, I think you
must have been led astray by some great temptation. I accidentally
discovered, a few days ago, that these notes did not come from Jerry’s
mother, and I determined to trace them to their source. I judge from
your conduct that you wrote them. If so, I want you to make a clean
confession of the affair. If you have really had a hand in this matter,
you should consider yourself fortunate that you have been detected,
before it went any farther. I have long known Jerry Preston to be a
very bad boy, but you are so unlike him that I did not suspect he was
leading you on to ruin. Come, wipe your eyes, and tell me the whole
history of this matter.”
“Will you promise me one thing?” said Clinton, speaking with
considerable difficulty amid his sobs and tears.
“I cannot promise you anything until I know what it is,” replied Mr.
Eaton. “What is the promise you refer to?”
“I am willing to tell _you_ the whole story,” added Clinton, “but I
don’t want any body else to hear of it.”
“I cannot promise you that,” remarked Mr. Eaton, “for there may be
good reasons why the affair should not be kept secret. I will agree,
however, to keep it private, provided I think I can properly do so.”
Clinton now proceeded to relate all the circumstances connected with
the forged excuses, just as they occurred. He described his fears, his
struggles with conscience, the threats of Jerry to run away, and the
artifice by which the latter obtained possession of the first note.
Nothing was kept back, and as Mr. Eaton listened to the disclosures
thus frankly made, and read the sorrow and repentance of Clinton in his
looks and tones, he was satisfied that a true account had been given.
Clinton himself felt as though a terrible burden had been rolled from
his heart, after he had concluded his confession. He breathed freer
than he had for several days previous.
After Clinton had concluded his confession, Master Eaton sat in silence
several moments, apparently engaged in deep thought. At length he
spoke:—
“This is sad business, Clinton,—sad business. You have been guilty of a
series of forgeries, in repeatedly signing another person’s name. You
have also aided and encouraged a bad boy in his evil ways, and are to
some extent responsible for his wickedness.”
Clinton commenced crying afresh.
“But,” continued the teacher, “there are some extenuating
circumstances in the case, which I shall take into consideration. I
cannot see as a public exposure of your wrong-doing before the school
would be of any benefit to yourself or to others, and I shall spare you
that mortification, provided your general conduct continues good. And
as to the punishment that the case demands, I will consult with your
father before concluding upon it.”
“O no,” exclaimed Clinton, “don’t tell _him_ about it. Punish me in any
way you please, and I’ll promise never to offend again, if you wont let
father know anything about it.”
Mr. Eaton’s reply was decided, but kindly expressed. “Clinton,” he
said, “I have always considered you a youth of good habits, but the
disclosures you have just made show that your character has a weak
side. You are too easily influenced by others. You can’t say _no_, when
a great temptation presents itself. In my opinion, you have just had a
narrow escape from ruin; for who can tell into what evil Jerry would
have soon led you, if the spell had not been accidentally broken? Now
your father is ignorant of all this. He has no idea, probably, of the
dangers to which you are exposed; but he ought to know the facts in
the case, and I should not feel as though I had been faithful to my
trust, were I to hush up a matter of so great importance to his and
your welfare. No, I cannot think of doing it. The better way would be
for you to go to him and confess the whole truth, yourself. If you are
really sorry for what you have done, as I suppose you are, you ought to
be willing to do this. What do you say to the proposal?”
“If you think I ought to, I will do it,” replied Clinton, somewhat
reluctantly; “but I would rather he would not know it.”
“My advice is,” said Mr. Eaton, “that you go home and confess the whole
affair to your father to night. If you do so, I shall consider that my
duty has been discharged, so far as you are concerned; and shall leave
the matter of punishment entirely with your father.”
With these words Mr. Eaton bade his pupil good-night, and both departed
for their homes. On his way home, Clinton encountered Jerry, who,
suspecting the cause of his detention, had loitered on the road,
waiting to learn the truth. Clinton told him they were discovered,
but declined giving him any information, or entering into any farther
conversation on the subject; and he hurried home, leaving Jerry not a
little perplexed at his unusual conduct.