The tree will not only lie as it falls, but it will also fall as
it leans; that is, we shall go after what we are inclined to--is
not that so?--which makes it all in all to us what the bent of
our mind is.
Twenty years ago there were two boys in my Sabbath-school class,
bright, lively fellows, who interested me very much; only one
of them made me sometimes feel anxious. I often found him out
evenings in company with young rowdies. When I asked him how
it happened, he used to say he was only out on an errand; the
boys spoke to him, and he could not help speaking, he was sure.
Perhaps that was so, still it made me uneasy. I once said to
his mother: “Is not Willie out of nights too much?” “Willie out
nights! Oh, no; Willie does not go out nights.”
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* * * * *
The other boy, whose name was Arthur, I never met among the
rowdies. His evenings, I am sure, were spent at home. I always
found him studying his lessons, or reading with his sisters, or
amusing himself at home.
That was twenty years ago. Both boys had begun to show which way
they were leaning, and how their tastes inclined them. Twenty
years will show it plainer.
The other day I heard of Willie. Somebody met him in Chicago.
“What is he?” I asked.
“A good-for-nothing, certainly, if not worse,” was the answer;
“a shabby, idle, drinking fellow, whom nobody wants to employ.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it--sorry, but not surprized. I wonder
where Arthur is!”
“Arthur! Why, didn’t you know, he has just been taken into
partnership with that old firm with which he served his time?
They could not spare him, so they had to take him in.”
“Good!” I said. “It is just what I should have expected. He
learned right.”--_Young Folks._
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