RELIGION.--Religious knowledge--the Sabbath--early piety
recommended--uncertainty of life. 124
ANECDOTES FOR BOYS.
CHAPTER I.
THE BOY MAKES THE MAN.
A man's character is formed early in life. There may be some exceptions.
In some instances, very great changes take place after a person has
grown to manhood. But, even in such cases, many of the early habits of
thought, feeling, and action still remain. And sometimes, we are
disappointed in the favorable appearances of early life. Not
unfrequently the promising boy, in youth or early manhood, runs a rapid
race downward in the road to ruin. All the promising appearances failed,
because they were not formed upon religious principle and a change of
heart. But, as a general rule, show me the _boy_, and I will show you
the _man_. The following cases afford illustrations of this principle.
_Benedict Arnold._
I suppose all my readers have heard of Benedict Arnold, the traitor; and
of his attempt to betray his country into the hands of the British,
during the Revolutionary War. His name is a by-word in the mouth of
every lover of liberty in the land. But there are few that know how he
came to be such a character. When we come to learn his early history we
feel no more surprise. His father was an intemperate man; and at an
early age, Benedict was placed with an apothecary, in Norwich,
Connecticut, his native town. His master soon discovered in him the most
offensive traits of character. He seemed to be entirely destitute of
moral principle, and even of conscience. He added to a passionate love
of mischief a cruel disposition and a violent, ungovernable temper. He
had no sympathy with any thing that was good. His boyish pleasures were
of the criminal and unfeeling cast. He would rob the nests of birds, and
mangle and maim the young ones, that he might be diverted by their
mother's cries. He would throw broken pieces of glass into the street,
where the children passed barefooted, that they might hurt their feet.
He would persuade the little boys to come round the door of his shop,
and then beat them with a horse-whip. All this showed a malicious
disposition, and great hardness of heart. He hated instruction and
despised reproof; and his master could not instil into his mind any
religious or moral principles, nor make any good impression upon his
heart.
Before Benedict had reached his sixteenth year, he twice enlisted as a
soldier and was brought back by his friends. He repaid his mother's
kindness with baseness and ingratitude; so that, between the
intemperance and wretchedness of the father, and the cruelty and
depravity of the son, she died of a broken heart. When he grew up, the
same character followed him. We need not be surprised, then, that, in
the most critical period of his country's history, he betrayed his
trust. He was a General in the American Army, in the Revolutionary War;
and by his extravagance, and his overbearing behavior, he brought upon
himself a reprimand from the American Congress. His temper, naturally
impetuous, had never been controlled, and he could not bear reproof. He
was bent on revenge; and to accomplish it, he entered into a
negotiation, through Major Andre, to deliver up West Point, of which he
had the command, to the enemy. If the plot had not been discovered and
prevented it would have been a very great calamity to our country. It
might have turned the scale against us. I have some personal reason to
feel indignant at the traitor, besides what arises from the love of
country; for my father was on picket guard at West Point, the night in
which it was to have been delivered up, and would have been the first
man killed. If Arnold had been caught, he would have closed his career
on the gallows; but, as it was, he escaped, and a more worthy man
suffered. He received, as the reward of his treachery, the appointment
of Brigadier General in the British Army, and ten thousand pounds
sterling. But his name will go down with the history of his country, to
the latest generation, black with infamy. He was a bad boy, and he made
a bad man. And, as Solomon has said, "The name of the wicked shall rot."
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
A single incident, in the history of _George Washington as a boy_,
furnishes a clew to the character of _George Washington as a man_. I
refer to the well known story of the new hatchet and the cherry-tree,
with his refusing to tell a lie; which I need not repeat, because it is
preserved in the books that are read in our common schools, and embalmed
in the memory of the rising generation. This incident shows that he had
already in his bosom a deep-seated principle of stern integrity, which
no temptation could shake. This was the leading feature in his character
when he became a man. We have evidence, also, from other incidents which
have been related of his early life, that strong, deep-seated, filial
piety, was one of the prominent elements of his youthful character. He
had learned, in early life, to honor and obey his parents; and this
taught him to love and reverence his country, instead of making himself
a despot, as most successful generals do. But, at the bottom of all, was
the religious element. Religious principle controlled his conduct both
in private and public life.
GOVERNOR RITNER.
_Joseph Ritner_, who was for some time a member of the legislature of
Pennsylvania, and afterwards Governor of that state, was once a bound
boy to Jacob Myers, an independent farmer, who brought him up. While he
was governor, there was a celebration of the fourth of July, at which
Mr. Myers gave the following toast:--"JOSEPH RITNER--he was always a
_good boy_, and has still grown better; every thing he did, he always
did _well_; he made a good _farmer_, and a good legislator; and he makes
a _very good governor_." All this man's greatness was the result of his
being a _good boy_.
ROGER SHERMAN.
_Roger Sherman_, in his public life, always acted so strictly from his
own convictions of what was right, that Fisher Ames used to say, if he
happened to be out of his seat in Congress when a subject was discussed,
and came in when the question was about to be taken, he always felt safe
in voting as Mr. Sherman did, "_for he always voted right_." This was
Mr. Sherman's character everywhere. But, if we inquire how it came to be
such we must go back to his early life.
Mr. Sherman's character was formed upon the principles of the Bible.
And, when he was an apprentice, instead of joining in the rude and
vulgar conversation, so common among the class to which he then
belonged, he would sit at his work with a book before him, devoting
every moment to study, that his eyes could be spared from the
occupation in which he was engaged. When he was twenty-one years of age
he made a profession of religion. He was as familiar with theology as he
was with politics and law. He read the Bible more than any other book.
Always, when he went to Congress, he would purchase a copy of the Bible,
at the commencement of the session, to read every day; and when he went
home, he would present it to one of his children. Mr. Macon, of Georgia,
said of him, that he had more common sense than any man he ever knew.
Mr. Jefferson, one day, as he was pointing out to a friend the
distinguished men in Congress, said of him, "That is Mr. Sherman, a man
who _never said a foolish thing in his life_." Mr. Sherman was a
self-educated man, a shoemaker, _and a Christian_. He was brought up,
after the old New-England fashion, in a pious Connecticut family. _And,
as was the boy, so was the man._ If you would be a good man, you must be
a good boy. If you would be a wise man you must be a studious boy. If
you would have an excellent character, it must be formed after the model
delineated in the Holy Bible. The basis must be a change of heart. The
superstructure must be laid up on the principles of God's word.
CHAPTER II.
FILIAL PIETY.
By _Filial Piety_, I mean the exercise of those feelings of reverence,
submission, and love; and the faithful and conscientious discharge of
those duties, which children owe their parents.
The first duty which man owes, is to _God_; the second, to his
_Parents_. They are his appointed guardians, in the season of
helplessness and inexperience. God has entrusted him to their care; and
in return for that care, he requires _honor and obedience_. A child
cannot be pious toward God without being pious toward his parents. The
_corner stone_ of a good character must be laid in piety towards God;
the rest of the foundation, in piety towards Parents. Show me the boy
that honors his parents, and I will show you the man that will obey the
laws of his country, and make a good citizen. Show me the boy that is
disobedient to his parents, and turbulent and ungovernable at home, and
I will show you the man that will set at naught the laws of his country,
and be ready to every evil work. When a boy ceases to respect his father
or to love his mother, and becomes tired of home and its sacred
endearments, there is very little hope of him.
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
When George Washington was about fourteen years of age, he wanted to
join the Navy. Accordingly, all the arrangements were made for him, in
company with several of his young companions, to go on board a man of
war. When the time arrived, he went into the sitting-room, to take leave
of his mother. He found her in tears. He threw his arms about her neck
and kissed her, and was about bidding her "farewell;" but seeing her so
much afflicted, he suddenly relinquished his purpose. The boat which was
taking officers, men, and baggage, from the shore to the ship, went back
and forth, in his sight. At length it came ashore for the last time. A
signal flag was raised to show that all was ready. George was standing,
viewing all these movements. Several of his companions now entered the
boat, and as they approached the ship, signal guns were fired; and soon
after, the sails rose majestically, one after another. George could no
longer bear the sight, but entered the room where his mother sat.
Observing that his countenance bore a strong expression of grief, she
said, "I fear, my son, that you have repented your determination to stay
at home and make me happy." "My dear mother," he replied, placing his
arms round her neck, and giving vent to his feelings in a gush of tears,
"I did strongly wish to go; but I could not endure being on board the
ship, and know that you were unhappy." He was young, ardent, and
ambitious, and had doubtless anticipated, with great delight, the
pleasure he should have, in sailing to different places, on board a man
of war; and, although the expectation of pleasure which boys sometimes
indulge, in the prospect of a sea-faring life are delusive; yet, it was
a noble generosity to sacrifice all the high hopes he had cherished, to
the feelings of his mother.
_Obey God rather than man._
As a general thing, it is the duty of children to obey their parents;
but, when a parent commands what is wrong, the child should not obey. A
poor woman told her son to cut down a large pear tree, which stood in
the garden of the cottage where they lived, for firewood, as they were
suffering from cold. The boy made no answer. His mother repeated her
command; but he still hesitated, and said, "Mother, I ought to obey you,
but I must first obey God. The tree is not ours. It belongs to our
landlord; and you know that God says, 'Thou shalt not steal.' I hope you
will not make me cut it down." She yielded, for the time; but after
suffering from cold a day or two longer, she told him he must cut down
the tree. He then said to her, "Mother; God has often helped us, and
supplied our wants when we have been in trouble. Let us wait till this
time to-morrow. Then, if we do not find some relief, though I am sure it
will be wrong, yet if you make me do it, I will cut the tree in
obedience to your command." To this she agreed. The boy retired to his
closet, and prayed earnestly that God would help them, and save him from
being compelled to break his law. The next morning, he went out and
found a man whose wagon had broken down under a heavy load of coal. He
told the man his case, who agreed to let him carry away the coal, and
they might pay for it, if they were able, when he called for it. But he
never called. It is _always safe to do right_.
_A son's love._
A man in Sweden was condemned to suffer death for some offences
committed while he held a public office. He had a son, about eighteen
years of age; who, as soon as he heard of it, hastened to the judge and
begged that he might be allowed to suffer instead of his father. The
judge wrote to the king about it; who was so affected by it that he sent
orders to grant the father a free pardon, and confer upon the son a
title of honor. This, however, the son refused to receive. "Of what
avail," said he, "could the most exalted title be to me, humbled as my
family already is in the dust?" The king wept, when he heard of it, and
sent for the young man to his court.
_Filial piety rewarded._
Frederick, king of Prussia, one day rung his bell, and nobody answering,
opened the door and found his page fast asleep. Seeing a letter in his
pocket, he took it out and read it, and found it was a letter from his
mother, thanking him for having sent a part of his wages to relieve her
wants. The king was so much pleased that he slipped a bag full of
ducats into the young man's pocket, along with the letter.
_Filial Tenderness._
A young man, newly admitted to the military school in France, would eat
nothing but bread and soup, and drink nothing but water. He was reproved
for his singularity; but still he would not change. He was finally
threatened with being sent home, if he persisted. "You will not, I hope,
be displeased with me," said he to the Principal of the institution;
"but I could not bring myself to enjoy what I think a luxury, while I
reflect that my dear father and mother are in the utmost indigence. They
could afford themselves and me no better food than the coarsest of
bread, and of that but very little. Here I have excellent soup, and as
much fine wheat bread as I choose. I look upon this to be very good
living; and the recollection of the situation in which I left my
parents, would not permit me to indulge myself by eating any thing
else."
_Filial impiety punished._
God has promised long life and prosperity to the child that honors his
parents. Of course, this promise is not meant to be _absolute_; for
many die before they have an opportunity of obeying the command, and
others are taken away for wise reasons. But, as a general principle, the
promise is verified. On the contrary, the word of God declares, "The eye
that mocketh at his father, and scorneth to obey his mother, the ravens
of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it;"
meaning that God will visit with sore punishment those that despise and
ill-treat their parents. Boys, when they begin to approach manhood, are
very apt to think themselves wiser than their parents, and to be restive
and turbulent under restraint. Two young men in England, the sons of
pious and wealthy parents, wanted the family carriage to ride out and
seek their pleasure on the holy Sabbath. This being repeatedly refused,
they resolved to resent it; and accordingly went off with the
determination to go to sea. Their father sent word to Rev. Mr. Griffin,
of Portsea, requesting him to find them, and try to persuade them to
return. He did so; and among other things, urged the feelings of their
parents; who, after watching over them with so much care and tender
anxiety, must now see all their hopes blasted. This touched the heart of
the younger, and he consented to return; but the elder was obstinate.
The carriage, he said, had been refused, he had made up his mind to go
to sea, and to sea he would go. Mr. Griffin then requested the young man
to go with him to his house, and he would get him a ship that he might
go out as a man and a gentleman. This he declined, giving as a reason,
that it would make his parents _feel_ to have it said that their son
went out as a common sailor; as a common sailor, therefore, he would go.
"Is that your disposition?" said Mr. Griffin; "then, young man, go; and
while I say, God go with you, be sure your sin will find you out, and
for it God will bring you into judgment." The younger son was restored
to his parents, while all traces of the elder were lost, and he was
mourned for as for one dead.
After a considerable time, a sailor called on Mr. Griffin, and informed
him that there was a young man on board one of the ships in the harbor,
under sentence of death, who wanted to see him. What was his
astonishment, on finding the young man, who had gone to sea to be
revenged on his parents for refusing him a sinful indulgence, a
prisoner, manacled and guarded! "I have sent for you," said the young
man, "to take my last farewell of you in this world, and to bless you
for your efforts to restore me to a sense of my duty. Would to God that
I had taken your advice; but it is now to late. My sin _has_ found me
out, and for it God _has_ brought me into judgment." Mr. Griffin spent
some time with the young man in conversation and prayer; and then
hastened to London, to see if he could not get him pardoned. But, when
he arrived there, the warrant had already been sent for the young man's
execution. He returned home, and arrived on the morning that the young
man was to be executed. Within a few minutes after his arrival came a
pardon, with which he hastened to the ship, where he met the young man's
father, in the greatest agony, as he was returning from taking, as he
supposed, his last farewell of his son. Mr. Griffin entered the vessel
at the moment when the prisoner, pinioned for execution, was advancing
towards the fatal spot. In a few moments, he was restored to the
embrace, of his father. Thus he suffered shame and ignominy, and the
agonies of death, as a punishment for his disobedience to his parents;
though, in consequence of his penitence, his life was spared.
_Think how you will feel when your parents are gone._
A young man was lamenting the death of a most affectionate parent. His
companions, to console him, said that he had always behaved to the
deceased with tenderness, duty, and respect. "So I thought," he replied,
"while my parent was living; but now I recollect with pain and sorrow,
many instances of disobedience and neglect, for which, alas, it is too
late to make any atonement." If you would avoid this bitter reflection,
ask yourself, when disposed to do any thing that will grieve your
parents, "With what feelings shall I think of this, when they are dead
and gone?"
_Benefit of Obedience._
A boy wishing, one afternoon, to go with some other boys, on a sailing
excursion, asked permission of his mother, which was not granted. After
a severe struggle in his mind between inclination and duty, he gave up
his anticipated pleasure, and remained at home. The other boys went. A
sudden flaw of wind capsized their boat, and two of them were drowned.
The boy, when he heard of it, was much affected, and said to his mother,
"_After this I shall always do as you say._"
_Reward of Disobedience._
Another boy was charged by his father, as he was going away, to be gone
a few days, not to go on the pond. Saturday, being his holiday, he asked
permission of his mother to go a skating. She told him he might skate
about in the fields and by the sides of the road, on such patches of ice
as he could find; "but," said she, "be sure you do not go on the pond."
He went out; and contrary to the strict charges he had received from his
parents, he went on the pond. He thought there was no danger; for the
ice was a foot thick. But there was a place that had been cut open to
get ice, where he and his companions fell in, and he was drowned!
Some years ago, a boy in Woburn, named William Wheat, came to a terrible
end in consequence of disobedience to his parents. Three Sabbaths before
his death, he left the Sabbath School, and went to a public house--a
place where no boy should go, on any day, unless sent on business. The
next Sabbath, his teacher reproved him, and he was very angry, and
declared it was the last time he should ever enter the Sabbath School;
which proved true. The next Sabbath, he did not go; and the following
Wednesday, he got an old gun barrel, which his parents had repeatedly
forbidden him to meddle with, and charging it with powder, applied a
lucifer match, to "fire off his _cannon_," as he called it. The gun
burst and killed him instantly. Here was a boy of a turbulent
ungovernable disposition, despising the authority of his parents and the
law of God. He only came to the end to which the road, in which he
walked, naturally leads.
Boys should never attempt to set up their own judgment against that of
their parents. When a parent denies the requests of his children, he
does it, not to deprive them of pleasure, but because he sees a good
reason for it. If the child submits, he will one day see that his
parents had a good reason, although he could not then perceive it. Let
this reflection silence all murmuring: "_My father and mother know
better than I._" The truth of this is clearly proved in the foregoing
cases.
_Conscientious Obedience._
Some children obey their parents because it is right, and because they
love them. This is true, conscientious obedience--the obedience of the
heart. And those who render to their parents this kind of obedience,
will be just as careful to obey them, when out of their sight, as in
their presence; and they will be careful not to _evade_ their commands.
They only want to know the wishes of their parents, promptly to obey
them.
The shouts of half a dozen children were heard from the piazza of one of
the large boarding houses at Saratoga Springs--"O yes; that's capital!
so we will! Come on now! there's William Hale! Come on, William, we're
going to have a ride on the Circular Railway. Come with us?" "Yes, if my
mother is willing. I will run and ask her," replied William. "O, O! so
you must run and ask your _ma_. Great baby, run along to your ma! Ain't
you ashamed? I didn't ask my mother." "Nor I." "Nor I," added half a
dozen voices. "Be a man, William," cried the first voice,--"come along
with us, if you don't want to be called a coward as long as you live.
Don't you see we are all waiting?"
William was standing with one foot advanced, and his hand firmly
clenched, in the midst of the group, with flushed brow, flashing eye,
compressed lip, and changing cheek, all showing how the epithet _coward_
rankled in his breast. It was doubted, for a moment, whether he would
have the true bravery to be called a coward rather than do wrong. But,
with a voice trembling with emotion, he replied, "I _will not_ go
without I ask my mother; and I am no coward either. I promised her I
would not go from the house without permission, and I _should_ be a
base coward, if I were to tell her a wicked lie."
In the evening, William was walking in the parlor, among the crowd, with
his mother, a Southern lady, of gentle, polished manners, who looked
with pride on her graceful boy, whose fine face was fairly radiant with
animation and intelligence. Well might she be proud of such a son, who
could dare to do right, when all were tempting him to do wrong.
_Cheerful Obedience, Sullen Obedience, and Disobedience._
When children are away from home, they are bound to obey those to whose
care their parents have entrusted them. Three boys, Robert, George, and
Alfred, went to spend a week with a gentleman, who took them to be
agreeable, well-behaved boys. There was a great pond near his house,
with a flood-gate, where the water ran out. It was cold weather, and the
pond was frozen over; but the gentleman knew that the ice was very thin
near the flood-gate. The first morning after they came, he told them
they might go and slide on the pond, if they would not go near the
flood-gate. Soon after they were gone, he followed them to see that they
were safe. When he got there, he found Robert sliding in the very place
where he had told him not to go. This was disobedience outright. George
was walking sullenly by the side of the pond, not so much as sliding at
all, because he had been forbidden to venture on the dangerous part.
This was _sullen obedience_; which is, in reality, no obedience at all,
because it comes not from the heart. But Alfred was cheerfully enjoying
himself, in a capital long slide, upon a safe part of the pond. This was
true obedience. Suddenly, the ice broke where Robert was sliding, he
immediately went under water, and it was with difficulty that his life
was saved. The gentleman concluded that Alfred was a lad of integrity,
but that his two brothers were not to be trusted. Obedience secured him
happiness, and the confidence of the kind gentleman with whom he was
staying; while the others deprived themselves of enjoyment, lost the
gentleman's confidence, and one of them nearly lost his life; and yet,
to slide on the dangerous part of the pond would have added nothing to
their enjoyment. They desired it from mere wilfulness, _because it was
forbidden_. This disposition indulged, will always lead boys into
difficulty; and if they cherish it while boys, it will go with them
through life, and keep them always "_in hot water_."
CHAPTER III.
SOCIAL VIRTUES AND VICES.
SECTION I.--BROTHERLY AFFECTION.
_Sergeant Glanville._
Customs vary in different countries. In England, when a man dies without
making a will, his property goes to his eldest son. Mr. Glanville, who
lived in the days of Charles II., had an eldest son, who was incurably
vicious; and seeing no hope of reforming him, the father gave his
property to his second son. When Mr. Sergeant Glanville died, and his
eldest son learned what was done, he became greatly dejected, and in a
short time his character underwent an entire change. When his brother
perceived this, he invited him and a party of his friends to a feast.
After several dishes had been served, he ordered one, covered up, to be
set before his brother; which on being opened, was found to contain the
writings that conveyed to him the estate. This, he remarked was what he
was sure his father would have done, had he lived to witness the happy
change which they saw.
_Generosity of an elder brother._
Mr. H----, an ingenious artist, for want of employment, was reduced to
great distress, and applied to his elder brother, who was in good
circumstances, and begged some little hovel to live in, and some
provision for his support. His brother was melted to tears: "You, my
dear brother," said he, "you live in a hovel! You are a man; you are an
honor to the family. I am nothing. You shall take this house and estate,
and I will be your guest, if you please." The two brothers lived thus
affectionately together, as if it had been common property, till the
death of the elder put the artist in possession of the whole. How happy
every family of brothers would be, if they would thus share with each
other all they have! It would save all disputing about _mine_ and
_thine_. Every one would be equally pleased that his brother was
enjoying any thing, as if he had it himself.
SECTION II.--THE GOLDEN RULE.
GENEROUS BLACKSMITH.
Mr. Wilson, passing late one evening by a blacksmith's shop, and hearing
the sound of the hammer much later than usual, stepped in to inquire the
cause. The man told him that one of his neighbors had just been burned
out, and had lost every thing; and he had undertaken to work an hour
earlier in the morning and an hour later at night to help him.
"This is kind, in you," said Mr. Wilson; "for I suppose your neighbor
will never be able to pay you again."
"I do not expect it," replied the blacksmith; "but if I were in his
situation, and he in mine, I am sure he would do as much for me."
The next morning, Mr. Wilson called and offered to lend the blacksmith
fifty dollars without interest, so that he might be able to buy his
iron cheaper. But the man refused to take it, but told Mr. Wilson that,
if he would lend it to the man whose house was burned down, it would go
far towards helping him rebuild his cottage. To this, Mr. Wilson
consented, and had the pleasure of making two men happy.
_Michael Verin._
Michael Verin, a Florentine youth, was always foremost; and his
compositions being more correct than those of any other boy in school,
he always obtained the first prize. One of his school-fellows, named
Belvicino, studied hard night and day, but could never get the prize.
This grieved him so much that he pined away and grew sick. Verin was
strongly attached to Belvicino; and, discovering the cause of his
illness, he determined to remove it. The next composition day, he made
several faults in his Greek version. Belvicino's was judged the best,
and he took the prize. This so delighted him that he quickly recovered
his health and spirits. But he would never have known to whom he was
indebted for his success, had not the preceptor pressed Verin to tell
him why he had made such palpable faults in his composition.
SECTION III.--GRATITUDE AND BENEVOLENCE.
PLANTING TREES.
An old man was busily employed in planting and grafting an apple tree.
Some one passing by, rudely accosted him with the inquiry, "Why do _you_
plant trees, who cannot hope to eat the fruit of them?" The old man
raised himself up, and leaning on his spade, replied, "Some one planted
trees before I was born, and I have eaten the fruit; I now plant for
others, that the memorial of my gratitude may exist when I am dead and
gone." It is a very narrow, selfish feeling that confines our views
within the circle of our own private interests. If man had been made to
live for himself alone, we may justly conclude that every one would have
been made by himself, and his bounds marked out, so that he might live
alone. But since God has made us to live in society, he designs that we
should be helpful to each other. The truly ingenuous, benevolent mind,
takes more pleasure in an act which will confer blessings upon others,
than in one that terminates on himself. The selfish man wraps himself in
his cloak, and cares not for the sufferings of others, so that he keeps
warm himself. This old man, however, remembered how much he was indebted
to those who had lived before him, and resolved to pay his debts. If we
would look around us, we should find ourselves indebted to others, on
every side, for the comforts which we now enjoy--first to God, and under
him, to those whom he has employed as his agents to give them to us.
Ought we not, then, to strive in some measure to repay these
obligations, by doing something to promote the happiness and well-being
of others? Who gave us the Gospel? The missionaries, who preached the
gospel to our Saxon ancestors, and the Reformers, who opened the
treasures of God's word, when they were hid under the rubbish of Popish
superstition. Ought we not, then, in return for this, to send the
blessed gospel to those who are now destitute? Who gave us our civil and
religious liberties? Our fathers who braved the ocean and the wilderness
to establish it, and the sword of the mother country to maintain it.
Ought we not, then, to transmit this precious boon to our posterity? And
so in whatever direction we look, we shall find some blessing for which
we are indebted to the noble generosity, public spirit, or christian
benevolence of others. Let us return the blessing, with interest, into
the bosom of others. Dr. Franklin, having done a favor to some one, and
being pressed with thanks, requested the person whom he had obliged to
embrace the first opportunity of doing a kindness to some other person,
and request him to pass it round, as all mankind are friends and
brothers. A greater than he has said, "It is more blessed to give than
to receive."
_Thomas Cromwell._
Francis Frescobald, a rich Florentine merchant, had become noted for his
liberality to the needy and destitute. A young Englishman, named Thomas
Cromwell, the son of a poor man, had gone into Italy with the French
army, where he found himself in a destitute condition. Hearing of the
liberality of Frescobald, he applied to him for aid; who, having
inquired into his circumstances, took him to his house, clothed him
genteelly, and kept him till he had recovered his strength. He then gave
him a good horse, with sixteen ducats of gold in his pockets; with
which, after expressing his gratitude to his benefactor, he made his way
home. After his arrival in England, he was taken into the service of
Cardinal Wolsey, who was then the favorite of King Henry VIII., and his
Prime Minister. After the death of the Cardinal, Cromwell became the
King's favorite; who made him a baron, a viscount, Earl of Essex, and
finally, lord chancellor of England.
Frescobald the rich Florentine merchant, by repeated losses both at sea
and on the land, was now reduced to poverty. Some English merchants,
however, were owing him fifteen thousand ducats, and he came to England
to collect the money. The lord chancellor, as he was riding to court,
met him in the street, and immediately alighted and embraced him; and
without waiting for his old friend to recognize him, invited him to dine
with him. Frescobald, after recollecting himself, concluded it must be
the young Englishman whom he had assisted, and therefore complied with
the invitation. When the chancellor returned from court, with a number
of the nobility, he introduced them to the merchant, and related the
story of the assistance he had received from him in a time of need.
After the company were gone, Cromwell inquired of Frescobald what had
brought him to England, who related to him his misfortunes. "I am sorry
for them," said he; "and I will make them as easy to you as I can. But,
because men ought to be just before they are kind, it is fit I should
repay the debt I owe you." Then leading him to a closet, he took out
sixteen ducats and gave them to Frescobald, saying, "My friend, here is
the money you lent me at Florence, with ten pieces you laid out for my
apparel, and ten more you paid out for my horse; but, considering that
you are a merchant, and might have made some advantage by this money in
the way of trade, take these four bags, in every one of which are four
hundred ducats, and enjoy them as free gifts of your friend." These
Frescobald would have refused, but Cromwell forced them upon him. He
then took the names of his debtors and the sums they owed, and sent his
servant to demand their payment in fifteen days. In a short time, the
entire sum was paid. During this time Frescobald lodged at Cromwell's
house; and the latter would have persuaded him to remain in England; but
he chose to return to Florence. Here is a fine illustration of that
passage of Scripture, which says, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, for
thou shalt find it after many days."
_Lending to the Lord_.
Solomon says, "He that hath pity on the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and
that which he hath given will he pay him again." The following anecdote
affords a very striking illustration of the truth of this passage:
In the year 1797, as Mr. M.---- was travelling among the mountains in
Vermont he was overtaken by a thunder shower, and sought shelter in a
small house, on the borders of a great forest. On entering the house and
finding no one but a woman and her infant he apologized, and asked the
privilege of stopping till the shower was over. The woman said she was
glad to have him come in, for she was always terrified by thunder. The
gentleman told her she need not be terrified at thunder, if she only
trusted in God. After conversing with her some time on this subject, he
inquired whether she had any neighbors, who were religious. She told him
she had neighbors about two miles off, but whether they were religious
or not, she could not tell. She heard that they had preaching there once
a fortnight, but she never attended their meetings. She appeared to be
extremely ignorant on the subject of religion. The rain had now passed
over, and all nature smiled. The traveller, as he was about to leave,
thanked the woman for her kindness, and expressed to her his earnest
desire for the salvation of her soul, and besought her to read the Bible
daily, and give diligent heed to its instructions. But she, with tears
in her eyes, confessed that she had no Bible. They had never been able,
she said, to buy one. "Could you read one if you had it?" he inquired.
She said she could, and would be very glad of the privilege. "Poor
woman," said he, "I do heartily pity you: farewell."
As the traveller was preparing to go, he thought to himself, "This woman
is in very great want of a Bible. O that I had one to give her! But I
have not. As for money to buy one, I have none to spare. I have no more
than will be absolutely necessary for my expenses home. I must go: but
if I leave this woman without the means to procure the word of God, she
may perish for lack of knowledge. What shall I do?" These passages of
Scripture then came to his mind, "He that hath pity on the poor lendeth
to the Lord." "Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it
after many days." He said in his heart, "I will trust in the Lord." He
took a dollar from his purse, went back and gave it to the woman,
telling her to buy a Bible with it. She promised to do so, and said she
knew where one could be obtained.
The traveller set out, and when night came he took lodgings at a private
house. He had a little change left, but as he had two days more to
travel, he thought he would make his supper on a cold morsel, which he
had with him. But, when the family came to the table, he was urged to
take a seat with them, and invited to ask a blessing. He now began to
feel himself among friends, and at liberty to speak of divine things;
and the family seemed gratified in listening to his conversation. In the
morning, he offered to pay for his lodging, but the people would take
nothing. He travelled on, till late in the morning, when, finding no
hotel, he stopped at a private house for breakfast. While waiting, he
lost no time to recommend Christ to the family. When ready to depart,
the mistress of the house would take nothing for his breakfast, or the
oats, which his horse had eaten. And so he went on, asking for and
receiving refreshment when he wanted it, and offering to pay for it, as
any other traveller would do; but no one would take any thing, although
they did not know but he had plenty of money. "What does this mean?"
said he to himself. "I was never treated in this manner on a journey
before." He recollected the dollar he had given the poor woman, and the
passage of Scripture, which induced him to do it, and said, "I have been
well paid. It is indeed safe lending to the Lord." On the second day
after he left the cottage in the wilderness, he arrived safely at home,
having been at no expense on the way. The Lord has the control of all
events. The hearts of all men are in his hands. It was He who inclined
the hearts of the people to be kind and hospitable to his servant, and
to ask no pay for what they gave him.
About a year and a half after this, a stranger called at Mr. M.'s house,
and asked for some refreshment. In the course of their conversation, Mr.
M. asked the stranger whether the people in those parts where he lived
paid much attention to religion.
"Not much," he replied; "but in a town twenty or thirty miles distant,
there has been a powerful revival. The commencement of it was very
extraordinary. The first person that was awakened and brought to
repentance, was a poor woman, who lived in a very retired place. She
told her friends and neighbors that a stranger was driven into her house
by a thunder storm, and talked to her so seriously, that she began,
while listening to his discourse to feel concerned about her soul. The
gentleman was much affected, when he found she had no Bible; and after
he had left the house to go on his journey, returned again, and gave her
a dollar to buy one; and charged her to get it soon, and read it
diligently. She did so; and it had been the means, as she believed, of
her salvation. The neighbors wondered at this; and it was the means of
awakening them to a deep concern for the salvation of their souls. As
many as thirty or forty are rejoicing in God their Savior." Mr. M. who
had listened to this narrative, with his heart swelling more and more
with wonder, gratitude, and joy, could refrain no longer; but with hands
and eyes raised to heaven, exclaimed, "My God, thou hast paid me again!"
When we lend to the Lord, he always pays us with "good measure, pressed
down and running over."
_An Indian story_.
In the early settlement of this country a strange Indian arrived at an
inn in Litchfield, Connecticut, and asked for something to eat; at the
same time saying that, as he had been unsuccessful in hunting, he had
nothing to pay. The woman who kept the inn, not only refused his
reasonable request, but called him hard names. But a man who sat by,
seeing that the Indian was suffering for want of food, told her to give
him what he wanted at his expense. When the Indian had finished his
supper, he thanked the man, and assured him that he should be faithfully
recompensed, whenever it was in his power.
Some years after this, the man had occasion to go from Litchfield to
Albany, where he was taken prisoner by the Indians, and carried to
Canada. Some of them proposed that he should be put to death; but an old
woman demanded that he should be given to her, that she might adopt him
in place of a son, who had been killed in the war. This was done, and he
passed the winter in her family. The next summer, while he was at work
alone in the woods, a strange Indian came and asked him to go to a
certain place on a given day, which he agreed to do; though he had some
fears that mischief was intended. His fears increased, and his promise
was broken. But the Indian came again and renewed the request. The man
made another engagement, and kept his word. On reaching the spot, he
found the Indian provided with ammunition, two muskets, and two
knapsacks. He was ordered to take one of each; which he did, and
followed his conductor. In the day time, they shot the game that came
in their way, and at night, they kindled a fire and slept by it. But
the Indian observed a mysterious silence as to the object of their
expedition. After travelling in this manner many days, they came to the
top of a mountain, from which they saw a number of houses in the midst
of a cultivated country. The Indian asked him if he knew the ground, and
he eagerly answered, "_It is Litchfield?_" The Indian then recalled to
his mind the scene at the inn, and bidding him farewell, exclaimed, "_I
am that Indian!_ Now I pray you go home."
_Example of Disinterested Benevolence._
A traveller in Asia Minor, in a time of distressing drought, found a
vase of water under a little shed by the road-side, for the refreshment
of the weary traveller. A man in the neighborhood was in the habit of
bringing the water from a considerable distance, and filling the vase
every morning, and then going to his work. He could have had no motive
to do this, but a kind regard to the comfort of weary travellers, for he
was never there to receive their thanks, much less their money. This was
benevolence.
SECTION IV.--MANNERS.
POLITENESS.
Rev. Dr. Witherspoon, President of New-Jersey College, once gave out
_Politeness_, to a division of one of his classes, as a subject for
composition. The young gentlemen were delighted with it; and when the
time came for reading, some of them expatiated upon it largely,
learnedly, and politely. After they had all read, they waited for the
President to sum up their observations, and then state his own views.
But, he told them, he should only give them a short definition, which
they might always remember. "POLITENESS," said he, "IS REAL KINDNESS,
KINDLY EXPRESSED." This is the sum and substance of all true politeness;
and if my readers will put it in practice, they will be surprised to see
how every body will be charmed with their manners.
_Good Breeding_.
Gassendi was a youth of such extraordinary abilities and attainments as
to command universal admiration; but in his manners he was generally
silent, never ostentatiously obtruding upon others his own knowledge. He
was never in a hurry to give his opinion before he knew that of the
persons who were conversing with him. He was never fond of displaying
himself.
I knew a young man whose behavior was directly the opposite of
Gassendi's: a _compound of ignorance_, _self-conceit_, _and impudence_.
He was forward to talk in all companies. His opinion, on all subjects,
was _cheap_--a gift that went a-begging. He could tell the farmer how to
till the soil; the mechanic how to use his tools; the merchant, how to
make his gains; the doctor, how to cure his patient; the minister, how
to preach; and the cook, how to bake her bread. He wanted only a _pair
of long ears_ to complete his character.
SECTION V.--OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD.
A BLACK BOY
Some boys are mean enough to ridicule others for natural defects, for
which they are not to blame; and it is a very common thing to consider
the color of the skin as a mark of inferiority. But even if it were so,
it would be no ground of reproach, for it is the color which God gave.
Mr. Southey, the poet, relates that, when he was a small boy, there was
a black boy in the neighborhood, who was called _Jim Dick_. Southey and
a number of his play fellows, as they were collected together one
evening at their sports, began to torment the poor black boy, calling
him "_nigger_," "_blackamoor_," and other nicknames. The poor fellow was
very much grieved, and soon left them. Soon after, these boy's had an
appointment to go a skating, and on that day Southey broke his skates.
After all his rude treatment of poor Jim, he was mean enough to go and
ask him to lend his skates. "O yes, John," Jim replied, "you may have
them and welcome." When he went to return them, he found Jim sitting in
the kitchen reading his Bible. As Southey handed Dick his skates, the
latter looked at him with tears in his eyes, and said, "John, don't ever
call me blackamoor again," and immediately left the room. Southey burst
into tears, and from that time resolved never again to abuse a poor
black--a resolution which I hope every one of my readers will make and
never break. But, if you will follow the example of this poor colored
boy, and return good for evil, you will always find it the best
retaliation you can make for an injury.
_The converted soldier._
A soldier in the East Indies, a stout, lion-looking, lion-hearted man,
had been a noted prizefighter, and a terror to those who knew him. With
one blow he could level a strong man to the ground. That man sauntered
into the mission chapel, heard the gospel, and was alarmed. He returned
again and again, and at last, light broke in upon his mind, and he
became a new creature. The change in his character was marked and
decided. The lion was changed into a lamb. Two months afterwards, in the
mess-room, some of those who had been afraid of him before began to
ridicule him. One of them said, "I'll put it to the test whether he is a
Christian or not;" and taking a basin of hot soup, he threw it into his
bosom. The whole company gazed in breathless silence, expecting that the
lion would start up, and murder him on the spot. But after he had torn
open his waistcoat, and wiped his scalded breast, he calmly turned round
and said, "This is what I must expect: If I become a Christian, I must
suffer persecution." His comrades were filled with astonishment. This
was overcoming evil with good. If the reader will follow this man's
example, he will save himself a world of difficulty.
_The forgiving school boy._
In a school in Ireland, one boy struck another; and when he was about to
be punished, the injured boy earnestly begged for his pardon. The master
inquired why he wished to prevent so deserved a punishment; to which he
replied, that he had read in the New-Testament that Jesus Christ said we
should forgive our enemies; "and I forgive him, and beg he may not be
punished for my sake."
SECTION VI.--USE OF THE TONGUE.
ADVANTAGES OF SPEAKING THE TRUTH.
It is a great advantage to any one to have the confidence of others, so
far that his word will always be taken for the exact truth. This
confidence is to be acquired only by always speaking the truth; and
especially, by adhering so closely to the fact that people will not only
believe that we mean to speak the truth, but that they will feel
confident that we have neither mistaken the facts, nor added any
coloring, nor kept back any thing, to make it appear different from the
reality. The following story shows how great an advantage one may derive
from having this confidence in his strict veracity established:
_Petrarch_, the celebrated Italian poet, by his strict regard for truth,
secured the unbounded confidence of Cardinal Colonna, in whose family
he resided. A violent quarrel broke out among the Cardinal's numerous
family of servants, which ended in a fight. The Cardinal, in order to
investigate the affair, and punish the offenders, assembled all his
people and put them under oath to tell the whole truth. Everyone took
the oath, not excepting the bishop of Luna, the Cardinal's own brother.
Petrarch, in his turn, presented himself, but the Cardinal closed the
book, saying, "As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient." Our
readers will perceive how great an advantage it will be to them to have
always such a strict regard to the exact truth, that their word will be
considered as good as an oath.
_Remember the bright side._
When Peter the Great heard any one speaking ill of another, he would
inquire, "Is there not a _fair side_, also, to the character of the
person of whom you are speaking? Come, tell me what _good_ qualities you
have remarked about him." If, in speaking of others, we should look
always at the _fair side_, and see what good things we can say of them,
it would make us feel better towards them; it would be doing them a
service instead of an injury; it would tend to make _peace_, rather than
foment strife.
SECTION VII.--PUNCTUALITY.
EXAMPLE OF WASHINGTON.
When Washington appointed the hour of twelve to meet Congress, he never
failed to be passing the door of the hall while the clock was striking
twelve. His dinner hour was four o'clock. If his guests were not there
at the time, he never waited for them. New members of Congress, who were
invited to dine with him, would frequently come in when dinner was half
over; and he would say to them, "Gentlemen, we are punctual here. My
cook never asks whether the company has arrived, but whether the hour
has." In 1799, when on a visit to Boston, he appointed eight o'clock in
the morning as the hour when he would set out for Salem. While the Old
South clock was striking eight, he was mounting his horse. The company
of cavalry, who had volunteered to escort him, was parading in Tremont
street, and did not overtake him till he had reached Charles River
Bridge. On their arrival, the General said, "Major, I thought you had
been too long in my family not to know when it was eight o'clock."
_Samuel Wesley, Esq._
Samuel Wesley, Esq., was one of the greatest musicians of his age. His
musical powers were developed while he was a child, and excited the
greatest admiration. But he was as great a lover of regular habits as of
song. No company or persuasion could keep him up beyond his regular time
for going to bed. For this reason, he could seldom be persuaded to go to
a concert in the night. The moment the clock struck eight, away ran
Samuel, in the midst of his most favorite amusement. Once he rose up
from the first part of the _Messiah_, saying, "Come, mamma, let us go
home, or I shan't be in bed by eight." When some friends talked of
carrying him to the queen, and his father asked him if he was willing to
go, he replied, "Yes, with all my heart; but I won't stay beyond eight."
This was a wise resolution; for children are sadly injured, by being
kept up late at night.
_Five minutes too late._
The following amusing sketch, though perhaps fictitious, gives a pretty
faithful picture of many a man's life:
"When a child, I was scolded for being too late at school; when a boy, I
was cuffed and kicked for being too late at my work; and when a man, I
was turned away for being behind my time on a particular occasion when
my services were wanted.
"My uncle Jonathan was well to do in the world, and as his nephews were
his nearest relations, we had reason to expect that his property would
come among us. He had, however, one peculiarity, which effectually shut
his door against me. He never was five minutes too late in an
appointment in his life, and thought most contemptuously of those who
were. I really believe that I was a bit of a favorite with him until my
unfortunate failing justly offended him.
"He had occasion to go a journey, and I was directed to be with him at
seven in the morning, to carry his portmanteau to the coach. Alas! I was
"Five minutes too late," and he had left the house.
"Knowing his particularity, I hurried after him, and running till I
could scarcely stand, arrived at one end of the street just in time to
see the coach go off with my uncle at the other. Dearly did I pay for
being "Five minutes too late."
"My Uncle did not return for a month, and certainly showed more
forbearance toward me than he was ever known to do on a similar
occasion; for in a letter he stated, that if I could be punctual, he
should wish me to meet him on his return, to take charge of his
portmanteau, and thereby make some amends for my misconduct. Off I set,
but knowing that coaches frequently arrive a quarter of an hour after
their set time, I thought a minute or two could be of no consequence.
The coach unfortunately, was "horridly exact," and once more I was after
my time, just "Five minutes too late."
"My Uncle Jonathan never forgave me, fully believing that I had done it
on purpose to get rid of the trouble of carrying his portmanteau. Years
rolled away, and I was not so much as permitted to enter the door of my
Uncle Jonathan.
"Time, however, heals many a sore, and while it ruffles many a smooth
brow, smooths many a ruffled temper. My Uncle Jonathan so far relented,
that when about to make his will, he sent to me to call upon him
exactly at ten o'clock. Determined to be in time, I set off, allowing
myself some minutes to spare and pulling out my watch at the door, found
that for once in my life I had kept my appointment to the second. The
servant, to my surprise, told me, that my Uncle Jonathan had ordered the
door to be shut in my face for being behind my time. It was then I found
out my watch was too slow, and that I was exactly "Five minutes too
late."
"Had I been earlier on that occasion I might have been provided for, but
now I am a poor man, and a poor man I am likely to remain. However, good
may arise from my giving this short account of my foolish habit, as it
may possibly convince some of the value of punctuality, and dispose them
to avoid the manifold evils of being "Five minutes too late.""
Few young persons are sensible of the importance of punctuality, because
they are not aware of the value of time. But time is money; and to rob a
man of his time, by obliging him to wait beyond the appointed hour to
meet your engagement with him, is equivalent to robbing him of so much
money as he could have earned in the lost time. The _habit_ of
punctuality must be acquired early. Be punctual in the family and
school, and you will be a punctual man.
SECTION VIII.--CONTENTION.
DANGER OF CONTENTION.
Quarrelling generally arises from selfishness and anger. Selfishness is
grasping. It respects not the rights of others. It will yield none of
its own. The selfish person is therefore continually coming in conflict
with others; and, as impediments are thrown in the way of his
gratification, his passions are roused. Anger is a species of insanity.
When one yields to his passions, he loses self-control. He takes an
enemy into his bosom, and suffers himself to be nosed about by him at
will. No one can tell what dreadful thing he may do when once he gives a
loose rein to his passions.
"The beginning of strife is as the letting out of waters." When you open
a little drain to a pond of water, it runs slowly at first, in a very
small stream; but the body of water above rushes into the channel and
wears it deeper, and that increases the pressure and widens it still
more, till presently the whole body comes pouring forth in an
irresistible torrent. One dry season, in the summer, a man in Vermont,
who owned a mill, on a small stream near a large pond, found his water
failing, so that his mill was likely to stop. To prevent this, he
collected together a few of the neighbors, and dug a little trench from
the pond to the stream that carried his mill. At first it ran very
slowly and quietly along, till it began to wear away the channel, and to
turn the force of the body of water in the pond in that direction, when
it increased violently, tore away the banks, and poured the whole
contents of the pond into the little stream, carried off the mill, and
rushed on with impetuous fury through the valley, sweeping away fences,
bridges, barns, houses, and every thing that came in its way.
At a place called _Brag Corner_, in the State of Maine, a small stream
falls into the Sandy river, on which a superior grist-mill was erected a
few years since. The stream not affording water enough, a pond
containing fifty or one hundred acres, having no outlet, and lying two
hundred feet above the level where the mill stood, was connected with
the stream that carried the mill by an artificial canal. The water of
the pond began to gully away the gravel over which it was made to run,
and having formed a regular channel, defied all human control, and, in
the space of six hours, cut a ravine seventy feet deep, and let out the
whole pond, sweeping away the mill, foundation and all, and carrying
away a house and blacksmith's shop, which stood near, not giving the
owner time to save any thing of consequence from his house.
Such, Solomon says, is strife. When you begin to quarrel, you know not
where it will end. It not unfrequently terminates in the death of one of
the parties, as in the following case: A boy about eleven years of age,
son of Mr. Philip Petty, of Westport, R. I., took his father's gun, as
he said, to go a gunning. His elder brother attempted to take it from
him. A quarrel ensued, between the two brothers, and in the course of
the scuffle, the gun went off and lodged the contents in the younger
one's bowels. He lingered a few hours in great agony and died. How must
the other one feel, to think that the quarrel, which he began, led to
the death of his brother. How much safer to take Solomon's advice, and
"leave off contention before it be meddled with."
_Danger of Indulging anger._
Frederick Jones was the son of a rich manufacturer. His father being
engrossed in business, the children were left to the care of their
mother, who, being a weak woman, did not restrain them as she ought.
There were four, but three of them died; and Frederick being left the
only child, was indulged still more. At a very early age he showed his
angry temper; and he became such a little tyrant that the very dogs and
cats about the house were afraid of him. Once, when he was three years
old, he insisted that he would have the silver tea-urn, to drag about
the room by a string for his coach. And, because his mother refused to
let him do so, he seized her cap and tore it from her head.
When Frederick was ten years old, he went into the kitchen, where the
servants used to let him do as he pleased for fear of his dreadful
temper; for they called him "_Mamma's pet lion_." He had not been long
there before he upset the table, knocked down the shovel and tongs, and
broke several plates. Not satisfied with this, he collected all the tin
things in the middle of the floor, and began battering them with the
tongs. The cook, not being very well pleased with this destruction,
undertook to lead him out of the kitchen. But the little fury, by
shrieking and scratching, got free, and seizing a fork, he threw it at
the cook, which struck her in the eye and put it out. Thus, by the
foolish anger of this little boy, a poor woman lost the sight of her eye
entirely. This shows the danger of indulging angry passions; for no one
knows what a dreadful deed he may commit in a fit of anger. It shows
also the danger of throwing things at others. It is a very dangerous
practice, and sometimes leads to the loss of life.
A little while after this, Frederick was playing at the front door of
the house, when a boy passing on the other side of the street, called
out, "Hallo, Master Fred., have you put any more people's eyes out
lately?" This was enough to make him angry. He immediately picked up a
large stone, and chasing the boy some distance, threw it at him with all
his might. The boy was out of the way of the stone, but it struck a
large bull-dog, which, naturally enough, concluded that he was unjustly
attacked, and turning upon Frederick, gave him a severe bite in the leg,
and tossed him into the gutter. Frederick roared aloud with pain and
rage, and had to be carried home to his bed, where he lay for several
weeks. But nobody pitied him. The people who heard of it, knowing his
temper, thought the dog had done a praiseworthy act.
After this, Frederick's father sent him to a boarding school, about
twenty miles from home, to a very strict master. Here he was in
continual broils with his school-fellows. There was scarcely a boy in
the school with whom he did not have a fight. But generally he came off
with a bleeding nose or a black eye, because his passions took away his
strength, and the other boys were an overmatch for him. His schoolmates
generally did not like to fight; but this angry boy would fly at them
for the most trifling thing, and force them to defend themselves.
Frederick's father died before he was twenty years of age; and as he
loved amusement better than business, he sold the manufactory, and
travelled in Europe; where he was very dissipated, and fought two duels,
in both of which he was wounded. During his absence, his mother had
become a good woman; and on his return, he found her company
disagreeable. She entreated him to break off his evil courses. But this
only made him angry. To get rid of her reproofs, he left her and went to
one of the Western States. There, while he was engaged at a public
house, with some of his wicked companions, talking politics, one of
them called him a liar, and he drew out his dirk and stabbed him to the
heart. He ran away from the place, but the image of the murdered man
haunted him day and night, and made him wretched. He gave himself up to
intoxication, and at the age of twenty-three years, fell into a
drunkard's grave, some time after his mother had died of a broken heart
on his account. All this came upon Frederick, in consequence of not
restraining his passions while a boy. His violent, ungovernable temper
might have been subdued, when he was a child; but by indulgence it
increased in strength, till it became perfectly unmanageable.
_Be kind to your sister._
The following affecting story, which is given in the language of the
brother himself, will admonish every boy who reads it, to be kind to his
sisters, and especially to avoid blows on the head, as it is probable
the blow given this little girl by her brother was the cause of her
death. What a shame for a brother to strike his sister!
"One morning in my early life, I remember to have been playing with my
younger sister, not then three years old. It was one of those bright
mornings in spring, that bring joy and life to the heart, and diffuse
gladness and animation through all the tribes of living creatures. Our
feelings were in perfect harmony with the universal gladness of nature.
Even now I seem to hear the merry laugh of my little sister, as she
followed me through the winding alleys of the garden, her cheek suffused
with the glow of health and animation, and her waving hair floating in
the wind.
"She was an only sister, the sole companion of all my childish sports.
We were constantly together; and my young heart went out to hers, with
all the affection, all the fondness, of which childhood is capable.
Nothing afforded me enjoyment in which she did not participate; no
amusement was sought which we could not share together.
"That morning we had prolonged our play till near the hour of breakfast,
with undiminished ardor, when at some slight provocation, my impetuous
nature broke forth, and in my anger, I _struck_ my little sister a blow
with my hand. She turned to me with an appealing look, and the large
tears came into her eyes. Her heart was too full to allow her to speak,
and shame made me silent. At that moment the breakfast bell summoned us
away, and we returned to the house without exchanging a word. The
excitement of play was over, and as she sat beside my mother at
breakfast, I perceived by occasional stolen glances at her that she was
pale and sad. A tear seemed ready to start in her eye, which her little
self-possession could scarcely repress. It was only when my mother
inquired if she was ill, that she endeavored to eat. I was ashamed and
grieved, and inwardly resolved to embrace the first opportunity when we
were alone, to throw my arms round her neck and entreat her forgiveness.
"When breakfast was ended, my mother retired with her into her own room,
directing me in the meantime to sit down to my lesson. I seated myself
by the window, and ran over my lesson, but did not learn it. My thoughts
were perpetually recurring to the scene in the garden and at table. It
was long before my mother returned, and when she did, it was with an
agitated look, and hurried step, to tell me that my poor Ellen was very
ill. I asked eagerly if I might go to her, but was not permitted, lest I
should disturb her. A physician was called and every means used for her
recovery, but to no purpose. The disease, which was in her head,
constantly increased in violence, and she became delirious. It was not
until evening that I was permitted to see her. She was a little
recovered from the severity of her pain, and lay with her eyes closed,
and her little hand resting on the pillow beneath her head. How I longed
to tell her the sorrow I felt for my unkindness to her in the morning
and how much I had suffered for it during the day. But I was forbidden
to speak to her, and was soon taken out of the room. During that night
and the day following, she continued to grow worse. I saw her several
times, but she was always insensible of my presence. Once indeed, she
showed some signs of consciousness, and asked for me; but immediately
relapsed into her former state.
"On the morning of the third day, I rose at an early hour, and repaired
to the sick room. My mother was sitting by the bed. As I entered, she
drew me to her, and for some time was silent, while the tears flowed
fast down her face. I first learned that my sweet sister was dead, as my
mother drew aside the curtain that concealed her from me. I felt as
though my heart would break. The remembrance of her affection for me,
and my last unkind deed, revived in my mind; and burying my face in the
folds of the curtain, I wept long and bitterly.
"I saw her laid in the coffin, and lowered into the grave. I almost
wished to lie down there with her, if so I might see once more her smile
and hear my forgiveness in her sweet voice.
"Years have passed away and I am now a man--but never does the
recollection of this incident of my early life fail to awaken bitter
feelings of grief and remorse. And never do I see my young friends
exchanging looks or words of anger, without thinking of my last pastime
with my own loved Ellen."
_Teazing and being teazed._
Some children take great delight in teazing. The way to avoid such
annoyances is, to take no notice of them. Respect yourself too much to
be disturbed by those who disregard the common courtesies of life. If
they find they cannot teaze you, they will cease to make the attempt.
The late Dr. Bowditch (a man who attained to great eminence, as a man of
learning and science), was the son of a poor sailor. His parents were so
poor that he was obliged to wear his summer clothes to school, during
the whole winter. His schoolmates would sometimes laugh at him, because
he wore such thin clothes. But they could never make him angry, or
disturb his equanimity. All the notice he took of their jeers was, to
laugh at them for thinking that he was unable to bear the cold. If you
follow his example, you will never suffer much from being teazed.
CHAPTER IV.
BAD COMPANY AND BAD HABITS.
Do you remember what Solomon says about bad company? "Enter not into the
path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. For they sleep
not except they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away,
unless they cause some to fall."
Mr. Green, the Reformed Gambler, relates that, at the age of sixteen, he
was laboring industriously, in the city of Cincinnati, and saving his
wages. But he became acquainted with a bad set of boys, who visited a
ten-pin alley. In his leisure hours, instead of spending his time in
reading and treasuring up useful knowledge, he would frequent this den
of iniquity; and Sabbath days, instead of going to meeting, he would go
with the same set of boys to a place of amusement and sin, a little way
out of the city. In a short time, this evil company had erased every
tender affection from his bosom. On one of these misspent Sabbaths, he
fell in with a rough set of lawless boys, and got into a fight with
them, and was seen thus engaged by the city marshal.
The next morning, a stranger, whom he met at his boarding house,
inquired of him respecting the different places of amusement in the
city, and he took him to the ten-pin alley, where he was in the habit of
going. While they were there, engaged in bowling, a man came staggering
in, to all appearance, half drunk. He pulled out three thimbles, and
tried to find some one to play with him for drink. This is a swindler's
game, through which he picks the pockets of fools, by persuading them to
bet that they can tell under which of three thimbles he places a ball.
It is all a cheat. The landlord played and won, and the man appeared
very angry; but this was only a bait, to blind the eyes of the young
men, and induce them to bet. They were caught; and they lost what money
they had, Mr. Green two dollars, and the stranger, twenty-five. They
tried in vain to get back their money. At length, the man who was with
Green went to the Mayor's office, and related the story; and the city
marshal, having seen Green the day before engaged in a fight, suspected
that he was leagued with the gamblers, and had him arrested; and though
no proof was brought against him, he was fined and sent to jail. There
he was kept for several months, in company with counterfeiters,
murderers, highwaymen, and gamblers, whose principal amusement was
card-playing; when he was discharged penniless, in rags, and with a bad
character. This was the commencement of his career of vice, his
reformation from which is the next thing to a miracle. All this came
upon him in consequence of keeping bad company. Learn from it to avoid
evil company and _betting_. The boy that suffers himself to _bet_ the
smallest amount, has already entered the downhill road of the gambler's
career. And there is no evil that can be named but he may be drawn into,
who begins to keep bad company. You might as well expect to go into
_lazarhouse_, without being infected, as to go into bad company, and not
fall into evil habits.
_Profaneness._
Perhaps there is no bad company to which boys are more exposed than the
_profane_; and none which is more corrupting. Young people insensibly
fall into the habits of those with whom they associate. If they hear
them interlard their conversation with by-words and oaths, they will be
strongly tempted to do the same. They will begin, perhaps, with by-words
and little oaths, which show a disposition to be profane, without
courage to carry it out. But they will not long stop here. They will
soon overcome the chidings of conscience, and then they can be as
foul-mouthed as any of their companions. This vice hardens the heart,
and prepares it for every other; for he who despises God will despise
man. He who takes the name of God in vain, will not hesitate to break
all his commandments. Profaneness is one of the meanest of all vices. It
involves every thing that is little and mean. It is treating with the
utmost indignity our Greatest Benefactor. It is a kind of gratuitous
wickedness; for there is no motive for it but a disposition to do evil.
The profane boy is a dangerous companion. He will lead you into you know
not what mischief and difficulty. The only way is to avoid him, as you
would a black snake, or a person that has the small pox. If you go with
him, he will, most likely, lead you to ruin.
_Washington's opinion of profaneness_.
No _gentleman_ will use profane language. It is an outrage upon good
manners. No one can be called a gentleman, who is guilty of it. It is a
vice that has always been held in detestation by the great and the good.
General Washington would never allow it in his army. In 1757, while a
colonel, at Fort Cumberland, when he was a young man, he issued an
order, expressing his "great displeasure," at the prevalence of profane
cursing and swearing, and threatening those who were guilty of it with
severe punishment. The day after he took the command of the
Revolutionary army he issued a similar order. In August, 1776, he issued
another order against this vice, in which he speaks of it as "a vice so
_mean and low_, without any temptation, that every man of sense and
character detests and despises it." He also strictly forbade gaming and
drunkenness.
_Howard's opinion of Swearers_.
Howard, the Philanthropist, standing in the street, heard some dreadful
oaths and curses from a public house opposite. Having occasion to go
across, he first buttoned up his pocket, saying to a by-stander, "I
always do this, when I hear men swear, as I think that any one who can
take God's name in vain, can also steal, or do any thing else that is
bad."
God has set a mark upon this vice. He not unfrequently punishes it, by
directly answering the prayer that is profanely uttered. J. H. was a
notorious swearer. He had a singular habit of calling on God to curse
his eyes. After some years, this awful imprecation was verified. He was
afflicted with a disease in his eyes, which terminated in total
blindness. This so affected his general system, that he gradually sunk
under it, and went to give up his account. A number of similar cases,
some of them still more awful, you will find in the tract entitled, "The
Swearer's Prayer."
_Playing Truant_.
Playing truant when sent to school, is almost always the means of
getting into bad company; and bad company leads to ruin. A boy thirteen
years old, was brought before the police court in Boston, charged with
stealing a gold pen from a lawyer's office. He had been in the habit of
coming into the offices, in the building, and selling apples. The
gentleman from whom he stole the pen had furnished him money to fill his
basket; and he returned his kindness by stealing his pen, which was
worth three dollars. His mother appeared before the court, and plead
earnestly for her boy, saving that he was a good boy to her, except
that he _played truant from school_. He then got into the company of a
gang of boys, who peddle apples,--a thievish set,--and of them he also
learned to steal. He was sent to the House of Reformation; which is a
prison for boys, where they are kept at work and study, but not allowed
their liberty.
_Ruin of a Deacon's son._