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[Illustration: THE DISOBEDIENT BOY. _Page 95_]
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE.
[Illustration: OLD JONAS. _Page 140._]
_THOMAS NELSON AND SONS_,
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE;
OR,
_STORIES ILLUSTRATING THE PROVERBS_.
BY
A. L. O. E.,
AUTHOR OF “THE SILVER CASKET”, “THE ROBBERS’ CAVE,” ETC., ETC.
WITH THIRTY-NINE ENGRAVINGS
London:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1887
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Preface.
Dear young friends (perhaps I may rather welcome some amongst you as
_old_ friends), I would once more gather you around me to listen to my
simple stories. I have in each one endeavoured to exemplify some truth
taught by the wise King Solomon, in the Book of Proverbs. Perhaps the
holy words, which I trust that many of you have already learned to love,
may be more forcibly imprinted on your minds, and you may apply them
more to your own conduct, when you see them illustrated by tales
describing such events as may happen to yourselves.
May the Giver of all good gifts make the choice of Solomon also yours;
may you, each and all, be endowed with that wisdom from on high which is
_more precious than rubies_; and may you find, as you proceed onward to
that better home to which Heavenly Wisdom would guide you, that _her
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace_.
A. L. O. E.
Contents.
I. THE TWO SONS, 9
II. THE PRISONER RELEASED, 21
III. THE MOTHER’S RETURN, 34
IV. THE FRIEND IN NEED, 43
V. FORBIDDEN GROUND, 62
VI. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE, 76
VII. THE GREAT PLAGUE, 89
VIII. THE GREEN VELVET DRESS, 99
IX. FALSE FRIENDS, 115
X. COURAGE AND CANDOUR, 129
XI. THE SAILOR’S RESOLVE, 146
XII. THE GIPSIES, 158
XIII. FRIENDS IN NEED, 173
XIV. THE OLD PAUPER, 190
XV. THE BEAUTIFUL VILLA, 203
List of Illustrations.
THE DISOBEDIENT BOY, _Frontispiece_
OLD JONAS, _Vignette_
THE FROZEN LAKE, 10
HARRY TENDING HIS MOTHER, 13
DR. MERTON AND PAUL, 16
THE FUNERAL, 18
MARIA AND MARY, 35
WATCHING FOR MOTHER, 38
GOING TO CHURCH, 44
ON A VISIT, 45
OLD WILL AYLMER, 46
SEEKING THE LORD, 57
LITTLE JOSEPH, 63
THE STREET STALL, 65
THE LAWN, 68
MRS. GRAHAM AND JOSEPH, 73
LUCY AND PRISCILLA, 78
THE TEACHER’S STORY, 92
THE PLAGUE IN LONDON, 94
JENNY IN THE STORM, 101
THE MESSAGE, 103
ALIE WATCHING THE CAT, 135
“POOR TABBY!” 136
ALIE AND THE GIPSY GIRL, 161
THE GIPSIES, 163
THE GIPSY’S APPROACH, 169
THE GREEN LANE, 174
THE OLD PAUPER, 191
MRS. WARNER AND JESSY, 206
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE.
CHAPTER I.
THE TWO SONS.
“A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man despiseth his
mother.”—PROV. xv. 20.
It was a clear, cold morning in December. Not a cloud was in the sky,
and the sun shone brightly, gilding the long icicles that hung from the
eaves, and gleaming on the frozen surface of the lake, as though he
would have melted them by his kindly smile. But the cold was too intense
for that; there was no softening of the ice; no drop hung like a tear
from the glittering icicles. Alas! that we should ever find in life
hearts colder and harder still, that even kindness fails to melt!
Many persons were skating over the lake—sometimes darting forward with
the swiftness of the wind, then making graceful curves to the right or
the left, and forming strange figures on the ice. And there were many
boys also enjoying themselves as much, although in a different
way—sliding along the slippery surface, and making the air ring with
their merry laughter.
[Illustration: THE FROZEN LAKE.]
One of the gayest of these last was a rosy-cheeked boy, who looked as
though care or sorrow had never traced a line on his face. He had just
made a very long slide, and stood flushed with the exercise to watch his
companions follow him on the glistening line, when Dr. Merton, a medical
man, who was taking his morning walk, and had come to the lake to see
the skating, lightly touched the boy on the shoulder.
“Paul Fane, is your mother better to-day?”
“Oh, she’s well enough—that’s to say, she’s always ailing,” replied the
boy carelessly, still keeping his eye upon the sliders.
“Did she sleep better last night?”
“Oh, really, why I don’t exactly know. I’ve not seen her yet this
morning.”
“Not seen her!” repeated Dr. Merton in surprise.
“Oh, sir, I knew that she’d be worrying me about my coming here upon the
ice. She’s so fidgety and frightened—she treats one like a child, and is
always fancying that there is danger when there is none;” and the boy
turned down his lip with a contemptuous expression.
“I should say that you are in danger now,” said Dr. Merton, very
gravely.
“How so? the ice is thick enough to roast an ox upon,” replied Paul,
striking it with his heel.
“In danger of the anger of that great Being who hath said, _Honour thy
father and thy mother_—in danger of much future pain and regret, when
the time for obeying that command shall be lost to you for ever.”
Paul’s cheek grew redder at these words. He felt half inclined to make
an insolent reply; but there was something in the doctor’s manner which
awed even his proud and unruly spirit.
“Where is your brother Harry?” inquired Dr. Merton.
“Oh, I suppose at home,” replied Paul bluffly, glad of any change in the
conversation; and still more glad was he when the gentleman turned away,
and left him to pursue his amusement.
And where was Harry on that bright, cheerful morning, while his brother
was enjoying himself upon the ice? In a little, dull, close room, with a
peevish invalid, the sunshine mostly shut out by the dark blinds, while
the sound of merry voices from without contrasted with the gloomy
stillness within. Harry glided about with a quiet step, trimmed the
fire, set on the kettle, prepared the gruel for his mother, and carried
it gently to the side of her bed. He arranged the pillows comfortably
for the sufferer, and tended her even as she had tended him in the days
of his helpless infancy. The fretfulness of the sick woman never moved
his patience. He remembered how often, when he was a babe, his cry had
broken her rest and disturbed her comfort. How could he do enough for
her who had given him life, and watched over him and loved him long,
long before he had been able even to make the small return of a grateful
look? Oh! what a holy thing is filial obedience! God commands it, God
has blessed it, and He will bless it for ever. He that disobeys or
neglects a parent is planting thorns for his own pillow, and they are
thorns that shall one day pierce him even to the soul.
[Illustration: HARRY TENDING HIS MOTHER.]
“Where is Paul?” said Mrs. Fane with uneasiness. “I am always anxious
about that dear boy. I do trust that he has not ventured upon the ice.”
“I believe, mother, that the ice has been considered safe, quite safe,
for the last three days.”
“You know nothing about the matter,” cried the fretful invalid. “I had a
cousin drowned once in that lake when every one said that there was no
danger. I have forbidden you both a thousand times to go near the ice;”
and she gave her son a look of displeasure, as though he had been the
one to break her command.
“Will you not take your gruel now?” said Harry, again drawing her
attention to it, and placing yet closer to her that which he had so
carefully made.
“I do not like it—it’s cold—it’s full of lumps; you never do anything
well!”
“I must try and improve,” said her son, struggling to look cheerful, but
feeling the task rather hard. “If you will not take this, shall I get
you a little tea?”
Mrs. Fane assented with a discontented air, and Harry instantly
proceeded to make some; while all the time that he was thus engaged his
poor mother continued in a tone of anxiety and sorrow to express her
fears for her elder son.
“Are you more comfortable now, dear mother?” said Harry, after she had
partaken of her nice cup of tea. Her only reply was a moan. “Can I do
anything else for you?—yes, I see; the top of that blind hangs loose,
and the light comes in on your eyes; I will set it right in a minute!”
and he jumped lightly on a chair to reach it.
His mother followed him with her eyes—her deep, sunken eyes. Gradually
the moisture gathered in them, as she looked at her dutiful son; for,
fretful and unreasonable towards him as illness might sometimes make
her, she yet dearly loved him, and felt his value. When he returned to
her side, these eyes were still fixed upon him; she feebly pressed his
hand, and murmured, “You are my comfort, Harry!”
And there was another Eye beholding with love that obedient and dutiful
child! He who was once subject to an earthly parent, who cared for her
even amid the agonies of the Cross—He looked approvingly down upon the
true-hearted boy, who was filling the post assigned him by his Lord—who
was letting his light shine in his home!
The red sun was setting before Paul returned; for, heedless of the fears
to which his absence might give rise, he had taken his noonday meal with
a neighbour. It was not that he did not really love his fond mother, but
he loved himself a great deal more. He had never chosen to consider
obedience as a sacred duty, and irreverence towards a parent as a sin.
He never dreamed of sacrificing his will to hers; and a smile or a kiss
to his mother, when he had been more than usually selfish or rude, had
hitherto been sufficient to quiet the boy’s conscience, and, as he said,
“make all right between them.” But wounds are not so easily healed, a
parent’s claims are not so easily set aside, and the hour had now come
when Paul was to feel the thorns which he had planted for himself.
[Illustration: DR. MERTON AND PAUL.]
“I shall have a precious scold from mother,” muttered the boy half
aloud, as he approached the door, “for going on the ice, and staying out
all day. I should like to know what is the use of a holiday, if I am not
to spend it as I like? I would rather be in school than moping away my
time at home like Harry! I wish that I were old enough to go and enlist,
and be out of hearing of mother’s endless chiding!”
“You will never hear it again,” said the solemn voice of one just
quitting the door as Paul came up to it. He started to see Dr. Merton.
“What is the matter?” cried Paul, a strange feeling of fear and awe
coming over his heart.
“Your poor mother, about two hours ago, was taken with an alarming fit—I
dare hardly give hopes that she will see the morning!”
Paul stayed to hear no more, but rushed into the house. One of the
neighbours was there, who had kindly offered to stay that night to help
Harry to nurse his dying parent. The young boy was now praying beside
her bed—praying for his mother on earth to his Father in heaven!
Paul went up to the bed, cold, trembling with his emotions. He gazed in
anguish on the altered features of one whose love he had so ill repaid.
Mrs. Fane lay unconscious of all that passed—unconscious of the bitter
tears shed by her sons. She no longer could rejoice in the affection of
the one, or be stung by the neglect of the other. Oh! what would not
Paul have given, as he hung over her now, for one forgiving look from
those closed eyes! What would he not have given to have heard those pale
lips speak, even though it had been but to chide! But his grief and his
fears now came too late—his mother never spoke again!
In a few days both the boys stood by the open grave, and no one who had
seen the sorrow of both, without being aware of the former circumstances
of their lives, would have known what different recollections filled
their hearts—like poison in the bleeding wound of one, soothing balm in
that of his brother! “My last act towards my mother was that of
disobedience—her last feeling towards me was of displeasure and pain! I
clouded, perhaps I shortened her life; and the anger of my God is upon
me!” Such were the thoughts of Paul—his agonizing thoughts—as he heard
the earth fall on the coffin of her who had loved him best upon earth.
But not for untold wealth would Harry have exchanged the remembrance of
his parent’s last fond look, her last sweet words to him. “Harry, you
are my comfort!” sounded in his ears as though an angel had repeated it
to the mourner.
[Illustration: THE FUNERAL.]
And not then alone, but when time had softened his sorrow—yes, even
through the long course of his honoured, useful life, if care weighed on
his heart, he thought of those words, and they lightened his burden of
care; when joy elated his spirit, they yet brightened that joy—his
mother’s blessing seemed for ever resting upon him! _Honour thy father
and mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy
God giveth thee. A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man
despiseth his mother._
He makes his mother sad,
The proud, unruly child,
Who will not brook
Her warning look,
Nor hear her counsels mild.
He makes his mother sad,
Who, in his thoughtless mirth,
Can e’er forget
His mighty debt
To her who gave him birth.
He makes his mother sad,
Who turns from Wisdom’s way;
Whose stubborn will,
Rebelling still,
Refuses to obey.
He makes his mother sad—
And sad his lot must prove:
A mother’s fears,
A mother’s tears,
Are marked by God above!
Oh! who so sad as he
Who o’er a parent’s grave
Too late repents,
Too late laments
The bitter pain he gave.
May we ne’er know such grief,
Nor cause one feeling sad;
Let our delight
Be to requite,
And make our parents glad.
[Illustration: [man in cemetery]]