appearance, and shabbily dressed, called at the house of a clergyman in
the city of New York. His countenance, though haggard, bore the marks of
intelligence. The young man said he had been at his church the previous
evening, and was desirous of having some conversation with the minister.
He was requested to open his mind freely. He said he was the son of a
deacon of a Congregational church in Connecticut. His father was a man
of property and influence, and he himself had always moved in the most
respectable society. He had come to New York in order to become
acquainted with business, and prepare himself for an active and useful
life. But he soon found himself surrounded with new temptations,
without the restraining influences of home and friends. He fell into
bad company. His vicious associates led him to the theatre, and when his
passions were excited by what he saw, and stimulated by intoxicating
liquors, he was persuaded to visit places of infamy and crime. These
indulgences called for more money than he could honestly obtain; but his
appetites, once excited, could not be easily restrained; and he had
recourse to his employer's money drawer to supply the deficiency. He
eased his conscience, in this act, and deceived himself, with the hope
of repaying it before he was detected. But in this he was mistaken. He
was detected, tried, found guilty, and sentenced to the penitentiary for
six months. He had now been out of prison a week, during which time he
had been wandering about the city, ashamed to be seen or known. He had
come to ask advice. The clergyman advised him by all means to go home to
his father; assuring him that it was his only hope, for if he remained
in the city, he would fall into the company of his old associates and be
ruined. With the deepest agony, he exclaimed, "How can I ever return to
my father's house? How can I ever meet him or the virtuous companions of
my youth? No! No! I am fallen--disgraced! I have been a felon, and in
prison! No, I would rather die a vagabond in the street, than to see
the face of my father, or the faces of the young people, who were my
associates in the days when I felt myself as good as they." He was yet
unhumbled. He was yet unwilling, like the prodigal, to return to his
father's house. However, after much persuasion, he promised that the
next morning he would set off for home. But he had not the moral courage
to fulfil his purpose. He was ashamed to arise and go to his father. He
continued to roam about the streets, and was again detected in stealing.
This anecdote shows not only the danger of bad company, but the peril of
young men who go from the country to the city to engage in business.
They had better remain at home, unless their principles are firmly
established upon the foundation of true religion. There is nothing to be
gained in the city that is worth the exposure of morals and character.
_Bad Books._
Books are company; and the company of bad books is as dangerous as the
company of bad boys or bad men. Goldsmith, who was a novel-writer of
some note, writing to his brother about the education of a nephew, says,
"_Above all things never let your nephew touch a novel or a romance_."
An opinion given in such a manner must have been an honest opinion. And,
as he knew the character of novels, and had no nice scruples on the
subject of religion, his opinion ought to have great weight.
_An Example for boys._
A boy in London, in destitute circumstances, was put out as an
apprentice to a mechanic. It is the business of the youngest apprentice
to do all the errands and drudgery of the establishment, and frequently
of his master's family also. He was often sent by the workmen and older
apprentices, to procure intoxicating liquors for them; of which all of
them partook, except himself, because, as they said, it did them good.
But because he refused to drink he was made an object of ridicule among
them. They said he had not sufficient _manhood_ to drink rum. But he had
sufficient manhood to _refuse to drink rum_; and it requires much more
to refuse than to drink.
Nothing can be more false than the idea that it is courageous and manly
to fall in with the habits and practices of those with whom we are
obliged to associate. It is a sign of _cowardice_ rather than of
_courage_. The _sheep_ is the most timid of animals. But if a man is
driving a flock of sheep, and one of them gets frightened and turns out
of the way, all the rest will follow, no matter if it is over the
railing of a bridge into a river. The boy that drinks or swears or plays
truant, or breaks the Sabbath, because his companions do, is as
courageous as--_a sheep!_
While the workmen and apprentices were revelling over their rum, and
insulting and misusing this boy, he often retired and vented his grief
in tears. But a few years changed the aspect of things. As they grew up,
and entered upon the world for themselves, all the older apprentices
fell into habits of dissipation, and finally sunk into the drunkard's
grave. But the little boy, at whose abstinence they used to scoff, grew
up a sober and respectable man, engaged in business for himself, and a
few years ago, was worth a hundred thousand dollars, and had in his
employ one hundred and ninety men, none of whom used ardent spirits. All
this came from his having courage to say NO, to those who held the
poisoned cup to his lips.
_Poison._
A little boy, four years old, wandered from his home, one day, in the
town of Turin, N. Y., to a field where some men were at work. There he
found a bottle of spirits, of which he drank freely. When found, he was
lying on the ground, unable to speak. He was carried home to his mother,
and the Doctor was sent for; but he could do nothing for the poor boy.
He remained stupid till evening, and then died. The rum had poisoned
him. Not a great while before this, his father was drowned in a fit of
intoxication. "Touch not, taste not, handle not."
_"Am I to blame, Mother?"_
A lad in Philadelphia, some years ago, joined the Temperance Society.
The father and mother, who were what are called _moderate_ drinkers,
were displeased with him. The boy said nothing for sometime, but bore
patiently the chidings of his mother. At length, he undertook to
vindicate his conduct: "Am I to blame, mother? Sister Mary has married a
drunken husband, who abuses her every day. Sister Susan's husband was
intemperate, and has gone off, and left her, and you are obliged to take
her home, and take care of her children. Brother James comes home drunk
almost every night. And because I have joined the cold water company,
and you are likely to have one sober person in the family, you are
scolding at me! Am I to blame?"
_How it happened._
There was a young man in college, one of the brightest, who was greatly
beloved for his personal attractions, frankness, good nature, and
generosity. But he was occasionally found flushed with wine, and then he
was turbulent and ungovernable. At length, in one of these fits of
excitement, he committed a misdemeanor for which he was expelled from
college. Soon after this, he became very dissipated, abandoned his
studies, and finally became a sot. People wondered how such a lovely
young man could fall into such ruinous courses. A young lady, conversing
about him, said she remembered that, when he was a little boy, just
beginning to study Latin, she saw his mother bring him a loaf of cake
and a glass of wine for a lunch. She then thought that perhaps he would
become a drunkard, and so it turned out. Beware of the first glass.
GOING TO THE THEATRE.
William R. was a young man of good habits--a lovely youth, "the only son
of his mother, and she was a widow." He was sent from the country, where
he had been brought up, to the city of New York, where he was employed
as a clerk. Hearing much of the _Theatre_, and seeing it puffed in the
newspapers, he thought he would _go once_, just out of curiosity, to see
what was done there. But, he was so fascinated with what he heard and
saw there, that he went again; just as some birds are so charmed with
the gaze of the serpent, as to run straight into his mouth! There
William fell into evil company, who enticed him away to the haunts of
infamy. Intoxicated with these things, he continued to frequent the
theatre until the expense was more than his earnings. He then began to
steal money from his employer. He was detected and fled. After some
time, his friends, hoping he had learned something from experience, sent
him to another city. For a time he seemed to be thoroughly reformed. But
evil habits once acquired are not easily overcome. He soon fell into the
same round of folly and sin, till he lost his character and his
employment, and in his despair, committed suicide!
Here, again, my readers will see that TOTAL ABSTINENCE is the only safe
rule. This boy's ruin was the consequence of going to the theatre _just
once_. If he had resisted an idle curiosity in the beginning, he would
have been saved. There are some things that we ought not to desire to
see. Among these, are the things that are done at theatres and other
places of amusement and pleasure, which abound in cities. It is
dangerous to look upon them. It is like looking down from a giddy height
upon a rapid current of water. It turns the head, the foothold is
endangered, and the life put in jeopardy.
_The Passion for Gaming._
The following anecdote shows the strength of this passion, when once it
has gained the ascendancy:
A colored man employed as a fireman on board a steamboat, between
Cincinnati and New Orleans, lost all his money, at play with his
companions. He then staked his clothing, which he also lost. Having
nothing more, he laid down his free papers and _staked himself_. Losing
this time, also, he was actually sold by the winner to a slave dealer.
What a power must this passion have over a man, when he will play at the
hazard of his own liberty, which most men esteem dearer than life! Young
man, if you once contract this habit, you will have no power to restrain
it. You will gratify the passion at the hazard of every thing. My mother
used to relate an anecdote of some young men, who retired to a garret to
play at cards, where they would not be seen. There was an open cask of
powder in the room, and they had stuck a lighted candle into the powder,
which served the purpose of a candlestick. The man at whose house they
were, coming to the loft for some purpose, observed them a few moments
before the candle had burned down to the powder, and creeping softly so
as not to alarm them, snatched away the candle. In a few moments more
they would have been blown to atoms.
The only security against gambling is similar to that against
intemperance: TOTAL ABSTINENCE FROM GAMES OF CHANCE. If you never learn
any play that can be used in gaming, you will be safe from the snare.
But with the knowledge of such games, you will scarcely escape its
seductions.
_Danger of Playing for amusement._
There was a family, consisting of the father and mother, two sons, and
one daughter, who lived in Tennessee. The father and mother used to play
cards with the children for amusement. The sons went to college, and the
father's business required him to be much of the time from home. On one
occasion, while the sons were at home, during vacation, the father wrote
a letter requesting the eldest son to bring him five thousand dollars.
The young man was accordingly despatched with the money. He went on
board a steamboat, where he met a company of gamblers, in the garb of
gentlemen, who professed to be only playing for amusement. To this he
had been accustomed, from his childhood, at his father's house, and
thought no harm of it. He was solicited to play, and consented. After
playing a few moments, they agreed to bet one dollar on the game. He
lost, and then doubled his bet, and went on so, till soon he had lost
what little money he had about him. He became much excited, went to his
state-room and drew out a large package of bills, and returned to the
table, where very soon he had lost twelve hundred dollars. He now came
to the place where he was to leave the steamboat and go to his father;
but he was so intoxicated with the excitement of the gaming table, that
he went on. He played on, and continued to lose. Several of the more
respectable passengers tried to get him away. But the passion for gaming
had taken such possession of his heart, that he was held to the spot,
till his package of five thousand dollars was all in the hands of three
hardened gamblers. Two of them afterwards won from him his watch and his
diamond breast pin, and left him without money enough to buy a meal of
victuals.
About ten days after he left, his mother received a letter from his
father, saying that he had heard nothing from him. She immediately took
her younger son and went in pursuit of him. But, the only intelligence
they could gain concerning him was, that he had been ruined by a company
of gamblers. The father immediately started for New-Orleans, in search
of his son, but hearing nothing from him, he, in despair, took to
drinking, and returned, after two years' absence,--"his frame worn--his
cheek pale--his eyes wild and fevered--his lips parched--his hopes
crushed--his very life only the motion of excitement and passion--his
very soul shattered--his property mortgaged." In a short time he went
again in pursuit of his son, but returned home, heart-broken, and died
of _delirium tremens_, the drunkard's disease. The daughter and the
other son, both became maniacs. Thus was a whole family ruined, in
consequence of the foolish habit of playing cards for amusement. If that
young man had never learned to play cards, he would, in all probability,
have gone on his way, and reached his father in safety, with the money.
And, if he had been firmly principled against playing, his answer, "I
_never play_," would have stopped all solicitation. I travelled on those
Western waters, when I was a young man, at a time when gambling was
carried on every hour of the day, and almost the live-long night; and
yet I was never solicited to play. And why not, as well as this young
man? Because, (1.) I did not know how to play; (2.) I felt a great
aversion to it, and did not hesitate to show it; and (3.) I made myself
known as a _religious man_. These three things will always be sufficient
to defend a young man against the most wily gamesters in the world.
The case I have related, is only one among hundreds that might be
stated, in which the ruin of many a promising young man has been
accomplished, by alluring him to play cards for amusement, and then
gradually leading him on to stake first small sums, which he is
permitted to win, and then he is persuaded to go on, till he has not a
farthing left. There is a set of men, in all parts of the country, who
make a business of gambling, and league together to draw in unwary youth
and strip them of all they possess, and of more, if they can lay their
hands upon money not their own.
Beware, then, how you excite a passion for gaming, by playing for
amusement. I am afraid of _all games_; but, especially, all games of
chance. I think there is a strong tendency in them all to excite a
passion for gaming, which will not be satisfied without something more
stimulating than mere amusement. If I see a boy rolling marbles, or a
young man shuffling cards, I think he is in the high road to ruin.
Marbles is a dirty play. It treads on the heels of low company and
gambling. We frequently hear boys crying out, with all the braggardism
of a practiced gambler, "_I'll bet_" so and so. But all betting is
gambling. "TOUCH NOT, TASTE NOT, HANDLE NOT."
CHAPTER V.
INDUSTRY, LABOR, &c.
Early discipline, in laborious and useful occupations, is indispensable
to the formation of a good character. If God had designed that we should
live at ease, without exertion, he would have furnished every thing to
our hand, without any effort of our own. In his holy word he has taught
us the necessity of helping ourselves, requiring us to labor six days
for one of rest, and ordaining that, "if any would not work, neither
should he eat." The same lesson he taught an untutored Indian, by the
voice of Nature.
_A lesson from the Birds and Fishes._
Rev. Mr. Heckewelder, a Moravian Missionary, remarked to an Indian, whom
he saw busily employed fencing his cornfield, that he must be very fond
of working, as he had never seen him idling away his time as was common
with the Indians. "My friend," replied the Indian "the fishes in the
water, and the birds in the air have taught me to work. When I was a
young man, I loitered about, doing nothing, just like the other Indians,
who say that working is only for whites and negroes, but that the
Indians were made to hunt the deer, and catch the beaver, otter, and
other animals. But one day while I was hunting, I came to the banks of
the Susquehannah, and sat down near the water's edge to rest awhile.
There I was forcibly struck at seeing with what industry the sun-fish
heaped small stones together to make secure places for their spawn; and
all this labor they did with their mouth and body, without hands.
Presently a little bird, not far from me, raised a song, and while I was
looking to see the little songster, its mate, with as much grass as it
could hold in its bill, passed close by me, and flew into the bush,
where I perceived them, both together, busily employed in building their
nest, and singing as their work went on. I entirely forgot my hunting,
to contemplate the objects that were before me. I saw the birds in the
air and the fishes in the water working diligently and cheerfully, and
all this without hands. I thought it was strange and I became lost in
wonder. I looked at myself, and saw two long arms, provided with hands
and fingers, and with joints that might be opened and shut at pleasure.
I could, when I pleased, take up any thing with these hands, hold it
fast, or let it loose, and carry it along with me. When I walked, I
observed that I had a strong body, capable of bearing fatigue, and
supported by two stout legs, with which I could climb to the top of the
highest mountains, and descend at pleasure into the valleys."
"And is it possible," said I, "that a being so wonderfully formed as I
am, was created to live in idleness; while the birds, which have no
hands, and nothing but their little bills to help them, work with
cheerfulness, and without being told to do so? Has then the great
Creator given me all these limbs for no purpose? It cannot be: I will
try to go to work. I did so, and went away from the village to a spot of
good land, where I built a cabin, enclosed ground, sowed corn, and
raised cattle. Ever since that time, I have enjoyed a good appetite and
sound sleep. While others spend their nights in dancing, and are
suffering with hunger, I live in plenty. I keep horses, cows, hogs, and
fowls. I am happy. See, my friend, the birds and fishes have brought me
to reflection, and taught me to work!"
If any of my young friends, who read this book, think it a hardship to
work, I hope they will go into the fields, and like this untutored
Indian, learn lessons from the creatures whom God has made. There they
will find the little ants busy in rearing their habitation; the mole in
raising his hill; the birds in building their nests; and the little busy
bee, in sucking honey from every flower. Yet all these little creatures
appear happy and contented with their lot. If God made them to be happy,
as we suppose he did, why did he not make them to live an idle, inactive
life? Evidently because activity is necessary to enjoyment. If you would
be happy, then, you must be active. Laziness, or idleness, will
certainly make you discontented, wretched, and miserable.
As I was one day walking in one of those beautiful avenues that lead out
of the village of Saratoga Springs, my attention was arrested by two of
those insects, which children call by the homely name of
"_grand-father-long-legs_." They were laboriously occupied in rolling a
round ball, of the size of a walnut, covered with a glutinous substance,
dried hard in the sun. I could not be so cruel as to break it in pieces,
to gratify my curiosity; but I suppose it must have contained some
treasure that was dear to them--probably their eggs. They would labor
and tug, with their long arms, to roll it up an ascent; and if it rolled
back again, they would patiently return, and roll it up, showing an
example of perseverance well worthy of imitation.
Thus God has made all things to be active. All nature, animate and
inanimate, calls man to labor. If old ocean did not ebb and flow, and
roll its waves, it would stagnate, and become so noxious that no animal
could live on the face of the earth. If the earth did not pursue its
laborious course around its axis, one half of its inhabitants would be
shrouded in perpetual night, while the other half would be scorched to
death with the ever-accumulating intensity of the sun's rays. Can you
find any thing, in all the vast creation of God, that is idle? The
sluggard, of all God's works, stands alone--_idle_! He resembles the
stagnant pool, whose impure waters, filled with the loathsome creatures,
and all manner of filth, saturate the atmosphere with pestilential
vapors, and spread around it disease and death. But, the active,
industrious man, resembles the running brook, whose waters are kept
limpid and clear by their unceasing flow.
"_Business first, and then Pleasure_."
A man who is very rich now, was very poor when he was a boy. When asked
how he got his riches, he replied, "My father taught me never to play
till all my work for the day was finished, and never to spend money till
I had earned it. If I had but half an hour's work to do in a day, I must
do that the first thing, _and in half an hour_. After this was done, I
was allowed to play; and I could then play with much more pleasure than
if I had the thought of an unfinished task before my mind. I early
formed the habit of doing every thing in its time, and it soon became
perfectly easy to do so. It is to this habit that I now owe my
prosperity." Let every boy who reads this, go and do likewise, and he
will meet a similar reward.
_Industry_.
A gentleman in England had an estate which was worth about a thousand
dollars a year. For a while, he kept his farm in his own hands; but at
length, he found himself so much in debt that he was obliged to sell one
half of his place, to pay up. The rest, he let to a farmer for
twenty-one years. Towards the end of that time, the farmer on coming to
pay his rent, asked him whether he would sell his farm. The gentleman
was surprised that the farmer should be able to make him an offer for
his place. "Pray tell me," said he, "how it happens, that, while I could
not live upon twice as much land, for which I paid no rent, you are
regularly paying me five hundred dollars a year for your farm, and able
in a few years to purchase it?" "The reason is plain," answered the
farmer: "You sat still, and said '_Go_.' I got up and said, '_Come_.'
You lay in bed, and enjoyed your ease. I rose in the morning, and minded
my business."
This anecdote shows the folly of those young men, who set up for
gentlemen, and despise labor and useful employment. Though they may
begin with a good capital, they will soon run down, if they depend upon
others to do their business. If they have nothing, they will certainly
gain nothing. Laziness, poverty, and rags, will go together.
CHAPTER VI.
TRUE GREATNESS.
_True Greatness does not consist in feeling above others_.
Fools think themselves _great_, in proportion to the show they can make;
but it would take a great heap of copper coins to make as much value as
a very little piece of gold; and an empty tin kettle will make more
sound than a golden vessel filled with the choicest delicacies.
When Mr. Jefferson was President of the United States, he was passing a
stream on horseback, in Virginia. A beggar approaching it at the same
time, asked him to help him over. The President let him get behind him
on the horse and ride over. When they had got over, the beggar
discovered that he had left his bundle; and Mr. Jefferson went back
again and brought it over. This was true greatness. A man can never be
too great to do a kindness to the humblest individual in the world.
_True Greatness lies not in being too proud to wait on one's self._
Chief Justice Marshall was in the habit of going to market himself, and
carrying home his purchases. Frequently he would be seen returning at
sunrise, with poultry in one hand and vegetables in the other. On one of
these occasions, a fashionable young man from the North, who had removed
to Richmond, was swearing violently because he could find no one to
carry home his turkey. Marshall stepped up, and asking him where he
lived, said "That is my way, and I will take it for you." When they came
to his house, the young man inquired, "What shall I pay you?" "O,
nothing," said the Chief Justice, "you are welcome, it was on my way,
and no trouble." "Who is that polite old gentleman, who brought home my
turkey for me?" inquired the young man of a by-stander. "That," replied
he, "is John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States." "Why did he
bring home my turkey?" "To give you a severe reprimand, and teach you to
attend to your own business," was the reply. True greatness never feels
above doing any thing that is useful; but especially, the truly great
man will never feel above helping himself. His own independence of
character depends on his being able to help himself. Dr. Franklin, when
he first established himself in business, in Philadelphia, wheeled home
the paper which he purchased for his printing office, upon a
wheel-barrow, with his own hands.
_True Greatness does not make a man difficult about his own
accommodations._
At a time when the court was sitting in Buffalo, N. Y., and all the
public houses were full, there came to the principal hotel a starched up
little Frenchman, and called for lodgings. He was shown into a small,
but well-furnished room, which was the only one in the house that was
vacant. He thought himself insulted; and with much warmth said, "Me
gem'man--me no sleep here!" A little while afterwards Chancellor Kent,
the highest judicial officer in the state, called for lodgings. The
landlord told him he was full, excepting one little room, which he did
not like to offer to such a man as he. But the Chancellor wished to see
it; and on being shown into it, said, "O, this will do very well--it is
a fine room." Which do you think was the greater of these two men? A
small mind makes much ado about little things.
_True Greatness does not consist in being in the fashion._
When Dr. Franklin was received at the French Court as American Minister,
he felt some scruples of conscience about complying with their fashions
of dress. "He hoped," he said to the Minister, "that as he was a very
plain man, and represented a plain republican people, the king would
indulge his desire to appear in the court in his usual dress.
Independent of this, the season of the year," said he, "renders the
change from yarn stockings to fine silk somewhat dangerous." The French
Minister made him a bow, but said that fashion was too sacred a thing
for him to meddle with, but he would do him the honor to mention it to
his majesty. The king smiled and returned word that Dr. Franklin was at
liberty to appear at court in any dress that he pleased. In spite of
that delicate respect for foreigners for which the French are so
remarkable, the courtiers could not help staring at first at Dr.
Franklin's Quaker dress. But it soon appeared as though he had been
introduced upon this splendid theatre only to demonstrate that great
genius, like beauty, "needs not the aid of ornament."
CHAPTER VII.
ADVANTAGES OF HONESTY.
_Colbert._
Go the world over, and you will find that "honesty is the best policy."
Jean Baptiste Colbert was born at Rheims, in France, in the year 1617,
of poor parents. When a boy, he was apprenticed to M. Certain, a woollen
draper. Young Colbert was very fond of books, and spent his leisure in
reading. He had indeed a taste above his station. But his mind was so
much on what he read, that he was sometimes absent-minded and
forgetful. M. Certain, who thought of nothing but of selling cloth,
would ridicule him, and tell him he would never make any thing. One day
he sent him and the porter with four rolls of cloth, to the hotel of M.
Cenani, a French banker, who wished to buy hangings for a country house
which he had purchased. The pieces were marked 1, 2, 3, and 4; and as
Colbert left the house, M. Certain told him that No. 1 was marked three
crowns a yard; No. 2, six crowns; No. 3, eight crowns; and No. 4,
fifteen crowns. The banker selected No. 3, and asked the young man how
much it was a yard. Colbert replied, "fifteen crowns." The porter
grinned, but seeing the mistake was on the side of his master he said
nothing. There were thirty yards in the piece, and the money was counted
out, four hundred and fifty crowns.
When Colbert returned, M. Certain said, "you have made no mistake, I
hope." "I don't think I have," replied Colbert. "But I think you have,"
said the porter. "Do you think so, Moline? Do you think so?" cried the
old man, throwing down the cloth and examining the tickets. "But,
indeed, I might have expected this; the little rascal could not do
otherwise. But I warn you, if you have made a mistake, you shall go to
M. Cenani to ask of him the surplus money; and if he refuses to give it,
you shall pay it out of your wages. No. 3 is wanting. No. 3 was
worth--it was worth six crowns; no, eight crowns. I am quite puzzled."
"Eight crowns! Eight crowns! are you sure of that?" cried Colbert.
"Perhaps you would like to make out that it was I who made the mistake.
I tell you No. 3, was worth eight crowns. I am half dead with fear. I
will lay a wager that he sold it for six." "On the contrary," replied
Colbert, "stupid creature that I am, I sold it for fifteen." "Fifteen!
Fifteen!" cried M. Certain. "You are a fine boy, a good boy, Baptiste.
You will one day be an honor to all your family. Fifteen!--I could cry
with joy! Fifteen crowns for a piece of cloth not worth six! Two hundred
and ten crowns profit! O happy day!" "How," said Colbert, "would you
take advantage?" "O, perhaps you want to go shares. Certainly I agree to
let you have something."
"I cannot agree to any such thing," said Colbert. "I will go to the
gentleman I have treated so badly, and beg of him to excuse me, and
return him the money he overpaid me." So saying, he bounded out of the
door, leaving his master in a rage of disappointment. In a few moments,
he was at the hotel of M. Cenani. It was with great difficulty that he
was admitted to his presence, and then he was ordered away. But he
persisted in speaking; and after apologizing for his mistake, he
returned the money. The banker asked him if he knew that he was no judge
of cloth. Colbert assured him that it was not worth more than eight
crowns. "And you might easily have kept this money for yourself." "I
never thought of that, sir," replied the young man. "But, if you had
thought of it?" inquired the banker. "It was quite impossible, sir, that
such an idea could come into my head. I should as soon have thought of
carrying off all that you have here." "Suppose I should make you a
present of this money that you have returned to me with such admirable
integrity?" "What right have I to it? And why should you give it to me?
I would not take it, sir." "You are a fine fellow and an honest fellow,"
said the banker, and inquired his name. The conversation was suddenly
broke off by the arrival of the banker's carriage. As young Colbert went
out, he was seized by the collar, by his enraged master, who abused him
in the most frantic manner, and dismissed him from his service.
The young man went home; but his parents were affrighted to see him at
that time, fearing some disaster had happened to him. After hearing his
story, however, they heartily approved his conduct, and rejoiced that
they had such a son.
It was but a little while, however, before M. Cenani arrived, and,
praising the nobleness and integrity of the boy, proposed to his parents
to take him to Paris and put him in his banking house, where he might
make a fortune; which was readily agreed to. Young Colbert soon found
himself in a new world. But, denying himself the brilliant attractions
with which the city abounded, he gave himself diligently to his
business, as clerk in the banking house. His diligence and faithfulness
gained for him the esteem of his employers. He soon mastered the
business. No accounts baffled him. And, on arriving at manhood, he
became a thorough financier. The most important duties were now
entrusted to him; and he soon became the travelling agent of the bank;
which enabled him also to gratify his taste for the arts and sciences.
He made the tour of the French provinces, making commerce his study, and
devising means to render it flourishing. In 1648, he was introduced at
Court, where his rare merit and conscientiousness in all affairs gained
him great esteem. He was created Marquis of Croissy, and afterwards
became Prime Minister. In this capacity, he was eminently useful to
France. He improved the roads; encouraged trade; founded a chamber of
commerce; colonized India and Canada; established naval schools; built
ships; introduced manufactures; encouraged the fine arts. One cannot go
even a small distance in Paris, even at this day, without finding a
trace of the great Colbert. The Observatory, the beautiful gardens of
the Tuilleries and Rue St. Dennis, the Hotel of Invalids, and many other
things of like nature which adorn and do honor to the city, owe their
existence to him. He also raised up his father's family from great
poverty to wealth and honor.
Colbert's first step to distinction was an act of honor and honesty
which deprived him of the means of earning his daily bread. If there was
ever a case, which, to human appearance, would seem to contradict the
old proverb, and show that honesty was not the best policy, one would
think his was such a case. But the event proved its truth. And to this
single trait in his character may be traced all his greatness. His
honesty and integrity made him faithful to his employers. This raised
him in their esteem, and contributed to strengthen and confirm this
trait of character. This he carried into public life; and his honesty
there led him to regard the public benefit as paramount to private
interest. The whole of this story may be found in Chambers' Miscellany,
published by Gould, Kendall and Lincoln.
Would you be _great_? Honesty and integrity of character lie at the
foundation of all true greatness. You must cultivate sincerity, honesty,
and fair dealing in early youth, if you would lay the foundation of
future greatness.
_Two opposite examples_.
Two boys were passing an orchard on their way from school, in which
there were some plum trees, full of nice fruit. "Come, Thomas," said
Henry, "let us jump over and get some plums. Nobody will see us. We can
scud along through the tall corn, and come out on the other side."
Thomas replied, "It is wrong. I don't like to try it. I would rather not
have the plums than steal them, and I will run along home." "You are a
coward," said Henry. "I always knew you was a coward; and if you don't
want any plums, you may go without them. But I shall have some very
quick." Just as Henry was climbing the wall, the owner of the field rose
up from the other side. Henry jumped back and ran off as fast as his
legs could carry him. Thomas had no reason to be afraid, and he walked
along as if nothing had happened. The owner, who had heard the
conversation between the two boys, then asked Thomas to step over and
help himself to as many plums as he wanted.
This story teaches two lessons: (1.) It shows the advantages of
_honesty_. An honest person is not afraid to look others in the face;
and honesty, in the end, always turns out more to one's advantage than
dishonesty. (2.) It teaches wherein true courage consists: It is, in
being _afraid to do wrong_. Henry called Thomas a coward, because he was
afraid to do wrong; but he himself sneaked away like a whipped spaniel,
the moment he saw any danger. Henry was the coward. He had neither the
courage to resist temptation nor to face danger.
_Fruits of dishonesty_.
A young man from the State of Maine, of good abilities, went to
Washington city, where he was admitted as a member of the bar, to
practice law, with fine prospects. He was respected in society, and was
a leader in the choir, in one of the churches in the city. But, in an
evil hour, he discovered that there was a considerable amount of money
in the Treasury, which had been allowed to claimants, but which had
never been called for, and was not likely to be. The young man, thinking
he should not be likely to be detected, forged drafts, and obtained
money to the amount of several thousand dollars. But, it was not long
before his sin found him out. He was detected, found guilty, and sent to
the state's prison.
CHAPTER VIII.
PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE.
SECTION I.--READING.
He that reads to be amused, will be like him that eats to gratify his
appetite--an _epicure_. But he who reads to obtain useful information,
and to improve his mind, will be like him who eats to sustain
nature--_strong and healthy_. The former will be satisfied with nothing
but dainties--the latter will prefer plain strong food.
Sir William Jones rose to great eminence. When he was a mere child, he
was very inquisitive. His mother was a superior woman of great
intelligence, and he would apply to her for the information which he
desired; but her constant reply was, "READ AND YOU WILL KNOW." This gave
him a passion for books, which was one of the principal means of making
him what he was. But, it is not every one who _reads_ that will become
wise.
_Robert Hall_.
This great man, when he was a boy about six years of age, was sent to a
boarding school, where he spent the week, coming home Saturday and
returning Monday. When he went away on Monday morning, he would take
with him two or three books from his father's library to read at the
intervals between the school hours. The books he selected, were not
those of mere amusement, but such as required deep and serious thought.
Before he was nine years old, he had read over and over again, with the
deepest interest, _Edwards on the Affections_, _Edwards on the Will_,
_and Butler's Analogy_.
[Illustration]
SECTION II.--LOVE OF LEARNING ENCOURAGED.
There are many young persons, who have an ardent thirst for knowledge,
and a strong desire to obtain an education; but their circumstances in
life seem to forbid the attempt. There are many examples, which afford
them encouragement to make the attempt. A large proportion of the men
who have risen to the highest distinction, have struggled against the
same difficulties which they have to encounter; and, when they see what
has been done by others, they will perceive that it can be done by
themselves.
_Sir Isaac Newton_.
When Sir Isaac Newton was a boy he was employed in servile labor.
Sometimes he was sent to open the gates for the men that were driving
the cattle to market. At other times, he carried corn to market, or
attended the sheep. One day his uncle found him in a hay-loft, working
out a mathematical problem, and he was sent to school. There he
discovered his great and various talents. At the age of eighteen he was
sent to the University at Cambridge, England, where he soon
distinguished himself.
_Benjamin West_.
West, the celebrated painter, early manifested a genius for this art.
His first attempt was made with pens, and red and black ink, upon a
portrait of his sister's child, lying in the cradle. For a long time he
had no pencil. Having been told that they were made of camel's hair, he
pulled hairs out of the tail of a cat, of which he made his first brush.
_Other eminent Persons_.
Dr. Franklin was the son of a tallow-chandler, and served an
apprenticeship to a printer; Rev. Dr. Scott, author of the Commentary,
was employed in the most laborious work on a farm; William Gifford, one
of the most celebrated literary men of his age, was an apprentice to a
shoemaker, and wrought out his problems in algebra on a piece of
sole-leather, with the point of an awl.
SECTION III.--DISLIKE OF STUDY.
LATIN AND LABOR.
John Adams, the second President of the United States, used to relate
the following anecdote:
"When I was a boy, I had to study the Latin grammar; but it was dull,
and I hated it. My father was anxious to send me to college, and
therefore I studied the grammar, till I could bear it no longer; and
going to my father, I told him I did not like study, and asked for some
other employment. It was opposing his wishes, and he was quick in his
answer. 'Well, John, if Latin grammar does not suit you, you may try
ditching; perhaps that will; my meadow yonder needs a ditch, and you may
put by Latin and try that.'
"This seemed a delightful change, and to the meadow I went. But I soon
found ditching harder than Latin, and the first forenoon was the longest
I ever experienced. That day I ate the bread of Labor, and glad was I
when night came on. That night I made some comparison between Latin
grammar and ditching, but said not a word about it. I dug next forenoon,
and wanted to return to Latin at dinner; but it was humiliating, and I
could not do it. At night, toil conquered pride; and though it was one
of the severest trials I ever had in my life, I told my father that, if
he chose, I would go back to Latin grammar. He was glad of it; and if I
have since gained any distinction it has been owing to the two days
labor in that abominable ditch."
Boys may learn several important lessons from this story. It shows how
little they oftentimes appreciate their privileges. Those who are kept
at study frequently think it a hardship needlessly imposed on them. But
they must do something; and if set to ditching, would they like that any
better? The opportunity of pursuing a liberal course of study is what
few enjoy; and they are ungrateful who drag themselves to it as to an
intolerable task. You may also learn from this anecdote, how much better
your parents are qualified to judge of these things than yourselves. If
John Adams had continued his ditching instead of his Latin, his name
would not probably have been known to us. But, in following the path
marked out by his judicious parent, he rose to the highest honors which
the country affords.
CHAPTER IX.
MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS.
SECTION I.--FICKLENESS.
_Hunting Squirrels_.
John Alsop was about fifteen years old, when his father, who had just
moved into a new settlement, was clearing land. One day the father and a
neighbor were engaged in building a _log fence_; which was made of the
trunks of the trees that were cleared off the lands. First, they laid
the fence one log high, with the ends of each length passing a little
way by each other. Notches were cut in the ends, and a block was laid
crosswise, where the ends lapped, and then another tier was laid on the
cross pieces, till the fence was high enough. To roll up the top logs,
they would lay long poles, called _skids_, one end on the top of the
logs, and the other on the ground, and roll up the logs on these. But,
as the logs were very heavy, they were obliged to stop several times to
rest, or to get a new hold; and it was John's business, when they
stopped, to put a block the under side of the log, above the skids, to
keep it from rolling back. Having given a hard lift, and tugging with
all his might, the father called out, "There, Johnny, put under your
block quick." John started nimbly, and snatched up his block, when
suddenly the loud chirp of a squirrel struck his ear. Instantly, down
went his block, and away he ran after the squirrel, leaving his father
and the other man to hold the log till he came back.
This anecdote gives you John's character. He was too fickle to follow
any one object or pursuit long enough to accomplish any thing. Thirty
years after this, a gentleman who had known him in his youthful days,
inquired about him of one of his neighbors, who related this anecdote,
and added, "_he has been running after squirrels ever since_." He never
was steady and persevering in pursuit of any thing. When he was a young
man, he could never make up his mind decidedly what employment to
follow. He would try one, and get tired of it, and take another; but
followed no business long enough to get well acquainted with it. When he
had a family, and found it necessary to make exertion, he was busy
early and late, but to little purpose. He moved from one place to
another; and "a rolling stone gathers no moss." He very often changed
his employment, and by that means lost all the advantage of past
experience. Now, he was a farmer, then a trader, then a post-rider, then
a deputy sheriff, then a mechanic, without having learned his trade. By
the time he had got fairly started in a new business, he would hear or
think of something else, and before any body thought of it, he would
change his business. In this way he wasted his money, and kept his
family poor, and neglected his children's education. He was always
_hunting the squirrel_.
Now, boys, don't hunt the squirrel. Whatever you begin, stick to it till
it is finished--done, and well done. If you always follow this rule
faithfully, you cannot fail of being somebody and doing something. But,
if you go through life hunting the squirrel, when you die, nobody can
tell what you have done, and the world will be neither wiser nor better
for your having lived in it.
SECTION II.--INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER.
There is a certain kind of Independence of Character, which is
indispensable to success in any undertaking. I do not mean a proud,
self-confident spirit, which despises advice, and makes one self-willed
and headstrong. This is _obstinacy_. But true independence is that sort
of self-confidence and resolution which leads one to go forward in what
he has to do, with decision and energy, without leaning upon others.
Without this, a man will gain to himself that unenviable distinction
described by the homely but expressive term _shiftless_. The following
description, from Mrs. S. C. Hall's "_Sketches of Irish Character_,"*
furnishes an admirable illustration of the results of a want of
independence of character:--
* See Frontispiece.
"Shane Thurlough, 'as dacent a boy,' and Shane's wife, as 'clane-skinned
a girl,' as any in the world. There is Shane, an active, handsome
looking fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kicking a
hole in the wall with his brogue, and picking up all the large gravel
within his reach, to pelt the ducks with. Let us speak to him. 'Good
morning Shane.' 'Och! the bright bames of heaven on ye every day! and
kindly welcome, my lady; and won't ye step in and rest--its powerful
hot, and a beautiful summer, sure,--the Lord be praised!' 'Thank you,
Shane. I thought you were going to cut the hay-field to-day; if a heavy
shower comes, it will be spoiled; it has been fit for the scythe these
two days.' 'Sure, it's all owing to that thief o' the world, Tom Parrel,
my lady. Didn't he promise me the loan of his scythe; and by the same
token I was to pay him for it; and _depinding_ on that, I didn't buy
one, which I have been threatening to do for the last two years.' 'But
why don't you go to Carrick and purchase one?' 'To Carrick. Och, 'tis a
good step to Carrick, and my toes are on the ground, (saving your
presence,) for I _depinded_ on Tim Jarvis to tell Andy Cappler, the
brogue-maker, to do my shoes; and, bad luck to him, the spalpeen, he
forgot it.' 'Where's your pretty wife, Shane?' 'She's in all the wo o'
the world, ma'am, dear. And she puts the blame of it on me, though I'm
not in the fault this time, any how. The child's taken the small pox,
and she _depinded_ on me to tell the doctor to cut it for the cow-pox,
and I _depinded_ on Kitty Cackle, the limmer, to tell the doctor's own
man, and thought she would not forget it, becase the boy's her bachelor;
but out o' sight out o' mind--the never a word she tould him about it,
and the babby's got it nataral, and the woman's in heart trouble, (to
say nothing o' myself;) and its the first and all.'
"'I am very sorry, indeed, for you have got a much better wife than most
men!' 'That's a true word, my lady, only she's fidgety-like sometimes,
and says I don't hit the nail on the head quick enough; and she takes a
dale more trouble than she need about mony a thing.'
"'I do not think I ever saw Ellen's wheel without flax before, Shane?'
'Bad 'cess to the wheel!--I got it this morning about that too. I
_depinded_ on John Williams to bring the flax from O'Flaharty's this day
week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have brought it myself,
and I close to the spot. But where's the good? says I; sure, he'll bring
it next time.'
"'I suppose, Shane, you will soon move into the new cottage at Churn
Hill? I passed it to-day, and it looked so cheerful; and when you get
there, you must take Ellen's advice, and _depind_ solely on yourself.'
'Och! ma'am dear, don't mention it; sure it's that makes me so down in
the mouth this very minit. Sure I saw that born blackguard, Jack Waddy,
and he comes in here, quite innocent-like--'Shane, you've an eye to
squire's new lodge,' says he. 'Maybe I have,' says I. 'I'm yer man,'
says he. 'How so,' says I. 'Sure I'm as good as married to my lady's
maid,' said he; 'and I'll spake to the squire for you my own self.' 'The
blessing be about you,' says I, quite grateful--and we took a strong cup
on the strength of it--and _depinding_ on him, I thought all safe; and
what d'ye think, my lady? Why, himself stalks into the place--talked the
squire over, to be sure--and without so much as "by your lave," sates
himself and his new wife on the lase in the house; and I may go
whistle.' 'It was a great pity, Shane, that you did not go yourself to
Mr. Churn.' 'That's a true word for you, ma'am dear; but it's hard if a
poor man can't have a frind to _depind_ on.'"
If you want any thing well done, you must see to it yourself. If you
want it half done, leave it to servants. If you want it neglected,
impose it upon your friend, to save yourself the trouble.
SECTION III.--CONTENTMENT.
The true secret of happiness lies in a _contented mind_. If we would be
happy, we must be satisfied with our lot as it is. There is no condition
in which there is not something unpleasant. If we seek for perfection,
we may roam the wide world over, and never find it; but, if we learn to
bear patiently what we cannot help, almost any situation in life will be
tolerable. Every one, however, is disposed to think his troubles the
worst of all. The following story shows that no situation is exempt from
trouble.
_The old black sheep_.
A gentleman in England was passing by where a large flock of sheep were
feeding; and seeing the shepherd sitting by the road-side, preparing to
eat his dinner, he stopped his horse, and began to converse with him.
"Well, shepherd," he said, "you look cheerful and contented, and I dare
say, have very few cares to vex you. I, who am a man of large property,
cannot but look at such men as you with a kind of envy." "Why, sir,"
replied the shepherd, "'tis true, I have not trouble like yours; and I
could do well enough, was it not for that _black_ ewe that you see
yonder among my flock. I have often begged my master to kill or sell
her; but he won't, though she is the plague of my life; for no sooner do
I sit down at my book or take up my wallet to get my dinner, but away
she sets off over the down, and the rest follow her; so that I have many
a weary step after them. There! you see she's off, and they are all
after her!" "Ah, my friend," said the gentleman, "I see every man has a
black ewe in his flock, to plague him, as well as I."
_Hunting after contentment_.
A man had a number of houses, and would move from one to another,
because he could be contented but a little while in a place. A person
asked him why he moved so often, and he said he was _hunting after
contentment_. But _content_ is never found by _seeking_.
CHAPTER X.
RELIGION.
SECTION I.--RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE.
THE WILL.
Knowledge is acquired not only by _reading_, but by _thinking_ of what
we read.
A minister in Ireland met a boy going to school, and asked him what book
it was which he had under his arm. "It is a _will_, sir," said the boy.
"What will?" inquired the minister. "The last will and testament that
Jesus Christ left to me, and to all who desire to obtain a title in the
property therein bequeathed." "What did Christ leave you in that will?"
"A kingdom, sir." "Where does that kingdom lie?" "It is the kingdom of
heaven, sir." "And do you expect to reign as a king there?" "Yes, sir;
as joint-heir with Christ." "And will not every person get there as
well as you?" "No, sir; none can get there but those who found their
title to that kingdom upon the ground of the will." This boy was not
only a _reader_ but a _thinker_. The minister told him to take care of a
book of such value, and to mind the provisions of the will.
_A Little Reasoner_.
A little boy asked his mother how many gods there were. A younger
brother answered, "Why, one to be sure." "But how do you know that?"
inquired the other. "Because," answered the younger, "God fills every
place so that there is no room for any other."
_A Wise Answer_.
A boy six years old was offered an orange, if he would tell where God
was. "Tell me," said the boy, "where he _is not_, and I will give you
two."
_A Bad Bargain_.
A Sabbath School teacher was talking to his class about that passage in
Proverbs, which says, "Buy the truth and sell it not." "He who buys the
truth," said he, "makes a good bargain. Can any of you recollect any
instance of a _bad bargain_, mentioned in Scripture?" "I do," replied
one of his scholars:--"Esau made a bad bargain, when he sold his
birth-right for a mess of pottage." Another said, "Judas made a bad
bargain, when he sold his Lord for thirty pieces of silver." A third
observed, "Our Lord tells us that he makes a bad bargain, who, to gain
the whole world, loses his own soul." Alas! how many such bad bargains
are made every day!
_Simple Faith_.
A missionary in Africa asked a little boy if he was a sinner. The boy
replied by asking if he knew any one who was not. The missionary then
asked him who could save him from his sins. He replied, "Christ." "What
has Christ done to save sinners?" "He has died on the cross." "Do you
believe Jesus Christ will save you?" "Yes." "Why do you believe it?" "I
_feel_ it; and not only so, but I consider that, since he has died, and
sent his servants the missionaries from such a far country to publish
salvation, it would be very strange if, after all, he should reject a
sinner." It would be so indeed, with respect to all that come to Him;
for he has said, "Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out."
_Proof that there is a God_.
A converted Greenlander, conversing with a missionary concerning his
former state, said that, before he had ever heard about God or Jesus
Christ, he used to have such reflections as these: A boat does not grow
into existence of itself, but must be made by the labor and ingenuity of
man. But the meanest bird has far more skill displayed in its structure
than the best boat, and no man can make a bird. But there is far more
art shown in the formation of man than in any other creature. Who was it
that made him? I thought perhaps he proceeded from his parents, and they
from their parents; but some must have been the first parents--whence
did they come? Common report informs me that they grew out of the earth;
but if so, why do not men now grow out of the earth? And from whence did
this same earth, the sea, the sun, the moon, and the stars, arise into
existence? Certainly, there must be some Being, who made all these
things--a Being that always was, and can never cease to be. He must be
inexpressibly more mighty, knowing, and wise, than the wisest man. He
must be very good too; for every thing that is made is good, useful,
and necessary for us. Ah! did I but know him, how would I love him and
honor him! But who has seen him? Who has conversed with him?
This poor heathen, groping in the dark, was led to the same train of
reasoning to prove the existence of God that is used by the learned
Christian philosopher; thus proving the truth of that passage in
Rom. i. 20:--"The invisible things of God, from the creation of the
world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made,
even his eternal power and Godhead."
_How to prove the Bible true_.
At one of the South Sea Islands, which had been converted from
heathenism by the labors of the English Missionaries, they were holding
the annual meeting of their Missionary Society. A British vessel
arrived, and the officers and crew attended the meeting. A native took
the chair, and native speakers addressed the meeting, with great effect.
Every thing was done in good order; and the speeches were interpreted by
the missionaries to the Englishmen present from the ship. But some of
them said the natives were mere parrots, and only repeated what the
missionaries had taught them. Others said that was impossible. After a
warm dispute, they agreed to submit it to Mr. Williams, the missionary;
who declined deciding the question, but told them if they would visit
him in the afternoon, he would collect ten or twelve natives, whom they
might ask any questions they pleased. They came, and about fifteen
natives were present, but without knowing the object of the meeting.
The first question asked was, "Do you believe the Bible to be the word
of God?" They were startled. They had never heard such a question
stated before. A doubt had never entered their minds. After a moment's
pause, one of them replied, "Most certainly we do; undoubtedly we do."
"Why do you believe it?" they were again asked. "Can you give any reason
for believing the Bible to be the word of God?" He answered: "Why, look
at the power with which it has been attended, in the utter overthrow of
all that we have been addicted to from time immemorial. What else could
have abolished that system of idolatry, which had so long prevailed
among us? No human arguments could have induced us to abandon that false
system."
The same questions were put to another, who replied, "I believe the
Bible to be the word of God, on account of the pure system of religion
which it contains. We had a system of religion before; but look how dark
and black that system was compared with the bright system of salvation
revealed in the word of God! Here we learn that we are sinners, and that
God gave Jesus Christ to die for us; and by that goodness salvation is
given to us. Now, what but the wisdom of God could have produced such a
system as this presented to us in the word of God? And this doctrine
leads to purity."
Another made the following singular reply, which is worthy of a learned
philosopher: "When I look at myself, I find I have got hinges all over
my body. I have hinges to my legs, hinges to my jaws, hinges to my feet.
If I want to take hold of any thing, there are hinges to my hands to do
it with. If my heart thinks, and I want to speak, I have got hinges to
my jaws. If I want to walk, I have hinges to my feet. Now here is
wisdom, in adapting my body to the various functions which it has to
discharge. And I find that the wisdom which made the Bible exactly fits
with this wisdom which has made my body; consequently I believe the
Bible to be the word of God."
The argument, in this last answer, is the same as that which proves the
existence of God: the perfect adaptation of all the works of nature to
their design, shows them to have been the work of a Supreme
Intelligence. The perfect adaptation of the Bible to the condition,
wants, and necessities of man, proves it to be of divine origin. The
Bible just suits the design for which it professes to have been given.
It gives us just that information and instruction, which we should
expect a revelation from heaven to give. It gives a rational account of
the origin of all things; of the object of man's existence, and of his
relations and duties to God. It explains how man came to be in his
present fallen, wretched condition, and makes provision for his
restoration to the favor of God. It provides for a radical reformation
of character; gives a perfect code of morals, and takes hold on the
heart, and inspires a devotional spirit. Human wisdom could not have
produced such a book; but if it could, _good_ men would not have been
guilty of imposing a work of their own upon mankind, as a revelation
from heaven; and _bad_ men would not have made a book to condemn
themselves, as the Bible condemns all wickedness. We must, then,
conclude, that the Bible is a divine book.
[Illustration]
SECTION II.--THE SABBATH.
_Nothing lost by keeping the Sabbath_.
A pious sailor, on board the steamboat Helen McGreggor, in 1830, was
ordered by the Captain to assist in handling freight on the Sabbath;
which he objected to do, because he wished to keep the Sabbath. "We have
no Sabbaths here at the West," the Captain replied. "Very well," said
the sailor, "wherever I am, I am determined to keep the Sabbath." After
a few more words, the Captain settled with him, and he left the boat. He
was soon offered higher wages, if he would come back; but he refused. In
a few days, he shipped at New Orleans for Europe. The first newspaper he
took up on his arrival contained an account of the terrible disaster
which happened to this boat soon after he left it. On the morning of the
24th of February, 1830, she burst her boiler at Memphis, Tenn., and
nearly one hundred lives were lost. This dreadful disaster he had
escaped, by adhering, at all hazards, to his determination, wherever he
was, to keep the Sabbath.
When George III. was repairing his palace, he found among the workmen a
pious man, with whom he often held serious conversations. One Monday
morning, when the king went to view the works, this man was missing. He
inquired the reason. At first, the other workmen were unwilling to tell.
But the king insisted on knowing; when they confessed that they had
returned Sabbath morning, to complete a piece of work which they could
not finish on Saturday, and that this man had been turned out of his
employment because he refused to come. "Call him back immediately," said
the king. "The man who refused doing his ordinary work on the Lord's day
is the man for me. Let him be sent for." He was restored to his place;
and always afterwards, the king showed him particular favor. Here was a
strong temptation to break the Sabbath, for the man's employment
depended on it. But he found it both safe and profitable to keep the
Sabbath.
_A wise answer_.
A wicked man said to his son, who attended the Sabbath School, "carry
this parcel to such a place." "It is the Sabbath," said the boy. "Put it
in your pocket," said the father. "God can see into my pocket," the
little boy answered.
_Danger of breaking the Sabbath_.
It is believed that more sad accidents happen to young persons, while
seeking their pleasure on God's Holy Day, than by any other means. A
great proportion of the cases of drowning, among boys, occur on the
Sabbath. One fine summer's morning, two sprightly young lads started for
the Sabbath School; but they were met on the way by some rude boys, who
persuaded them to go and play with them by the side of the river. They
hesitated for some time, instead of resolutely saying "No," to the first
temptation. When they yielded, it was with troubled consciences, for
they were well instructed at home. They played about the river for some
time, when one of them, venturing too near, fell into the water, which
was deep. His companions were too much frightened to give him any
assistance, and he was carried away by the rapid current and drowned.
Thus were these two boys punished for their disobedience to God and
their parents.
_But one Sabbath in the week_.
A person being invited to go on an excursion for pleasure, on the Holy
Sabbath, replied, "I should like an excursion very well; but I have but
one Sabbath in the week, and I can't spare that." This expresses an
important truth in an impressive manner. When we have but one day in the
week exclusively devoted to the concerns of eternity, while six are
devoted to the affairs of time, can we spare that one day for pleasure?
It is the best of the seven. It is worth more than all the rest. If
rightly employed, it will bring us a richer return. What we can earn in
the six days is perishable; but the fruits of a well-spent Sabbath will
endure for ever. The Sabbath, when properly spent, is the day for the
highest kind of enjoyment. If, therefore, you would seek pleasure, you
can better afford to take any other day in the week for it, than to take
the holy Sabbath.
SECTION III.--EARLY PIETY RECOMMENDED.
A man eighty-seven years of age, meeting another aged man not quite as
old as himself, the other inquired of him how long he had been
interested in religion. "Fifty years," was the old man's reply. "Well,
have you ever regretted that you began so young to devote yourself to
God?" "O no," said he; and the tears trickled down his cheeks. "I weep
when I think of the sins of my youth."
Another man between sixty and seventy years of age, said, "I hope I
became a disciple of the Lord when I was seventeen;" and he burst into a
flood of tears as he added, "and there is nothing which causes me so
much distress as to think of those seventeen years--some of the very
best portion of my life,--which I devoted to sin and the world."
This was the experience of David, who, in his old age, prayed, "Remember
not, O Lord the sins of my youth." And it will be the reader's
experience, should he ever be brought to a knowledge of the truth, after
giving the flower of his days to the service of sin and Satan.
[Illustration]
_Danger of delay_.
A---- M---- was an impenitent youth. His friend, who had just embraced
the Saviour, in the ardor of his first love, besought him to turn to the
Lord. He acknowledged the great importance of the things which were
urged upon his attention; and said that, long before, the Spirit of God
had called upon him, and he was "almost persuaded to be a Christian."
Once he stood almost on the threshhold of heaven. "But now," said he, "I
am fallen, fallen--O how far! I know that I am not a Christian now. I am
a great sinner. I have quenched the Holy Spirit. If I should die as I
am, I know I shall be eternally lost, for I believe the Bible. You may
think, because I am so careless now, I shall die unconverted. But no, I
have more thoughts about death than many suppose. _I mean to repent
before I die_, and become a Christian. I cannot think of dying as I now
am; but you need not be concerned about me, _for I mean to repent yet_."
Not many days afterwards, he was crossing a river, with a number of
others, for the purpose of spending the day in amusement. The skiff
upset, and they were plunged into the water. All the rest of the company
but A---- (who was the best swimmer among them), reached the shore. He
was heard, as he struggled towards the bank, to utter a fearful oath,
calling upon God to damn his soul. God took him at his word. He sunk to
rise no more--a fearful warning on those who presume on future
repentance!
SECTION IV.--UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE.
"Go to now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into
such a city, and continue there a year, and buy, and sell, and
get gain:
"Whereas ye know not what _shall be_ on the morrow. For what is
your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time
and then vanisheth away.
"For that ye _ought_ to say, if the Lord will, we shall live,
and do this, or that."--JAMES iv. 13, 14, 15.
On Friday, the Editor of the New-York Commercial Advertiser, met a Mr.
Storrs in the street and requested from him an account of an Indian
adventure which he had heard him relate. Mr. Storrs replied, "I am going
to New Haven in the morning. I will write it there and bring it down for
you on Monday. You shall have it on Monday." These were his last words.
On Monday he was buried. Such is the uncertainty of all human
calculations! Let the business of the day be done to-day; for no one is
sure of to-morrow. Especially let the great business of life always be
done, and then sudden death need not be dreaded.
_Sudden death of an impenitent sinner_.
On a cold day in the middle of winter, a carriage drove up to a
minister's house and he was summoned to attend the death-bed of a young
man, who, in the midst of life and health had been just struck down by a
violent kick from a horse, and was not expected to live more than a few
hours. The blow had broken his skull bone, and cut out a piece as large
as the palm of his hand, presenting a ghastly and horrible sight.
When the minister arrived, he found him just recovering his senses. The
physician came soon after, and decided that there was no hope of saving
his life. The minister, after saying a few words, and engaging in
prayer, proposed to retire for a short time, to give the young man a
little rest. "No, no," he exclaimed, "do not leave me for a moment. I
have but a short time to live, and I dare not die as I am. O what shall
I do? Tell me quickly before the light of reason forsakes me."
"James," said the minister, "there is but one way in which a sinner can
be saved, and that is, by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ;--whether an
hour only, or years be allowed you, the only way for you to secure
salvation is, by casting yourself unreservedly into the Saviour's hand.
Only his blood can save you; and you are welcome now, this moment. All
things are ready--come now."
The young man, with a look of anguish, replied, "Do you remember, sir,
when I was putting up some shelves in your study, eight months ago, that
you asked me to stop, while you talked with me about religion, and
prayed for me? It was then that I felt that I was a sinner, and after
going home, I endeavored to pray for myself, and determined that I would
seek religion. Two or three days, these feelings continued; when,
unhappily for me, I took up a book, which I had commenced reading before
our conversation, and though conscience remonstrated, I went on and
finished it. My feelings were much enlisted in the story, but when I got
through I had no disposition to pray; and my anxiety about religion was
gone. I resumed novel-reading, of which I had been very fond, and
compromised with my conscience, by resolving that at the end of one year
I would throw all such books aside, and seek the salvation of my soul.
Only two thirds of that year are gone, and here I am dying! Fool, fool
that I was, to sell my soul for a novel--to prefer the excitement of an
idle tale to the joys of religion."
The minister begged him, whatever had been his past folly and guilt, to
look to Christ for the forgiveness of all. But while he was speaking,
the young man's reason began to fail. In a short time he was delirious.
"Fool, fool!" he would exclaim, at intervals, and this was all he said.
In this state of mind, death overtook him, four months before the period
arrived, to which he had put off attention to the concerns of his
soul--a sad warning to those who defer this first and great concern!
_Sudden Death of a Christian_.
William G. was a young man in vigorous health and of ardent temperament,
with great energy of character. His office was that of a brakeman upon
the Railroad. A long line of freight cars had been delayed a few minutes
behind the time, and must hasten to reach the turnout in season for the
passenger train, which was expected to pass in a few moments. Two cars
were to be detached; which, by a dexterous movement, could be done
without entirely stopping the train. The moment the engine is slackened,
the cars behind will gain a little upon those in front, when the
connecting pin can be removed, and the hinder cars detached. This the
young man had often done before, and he sprang forward with alacrity to
perform it now. But, in the path lay a pebble, so small as to escape
notice, and yet large enough, as he stepped rapidly backwards, to throw
him prostrate on the track, while the heavy-laden cars passed on over
his body. It was the work of an instant, but it was done. There lay,
mangled and writhing, the young man, who, not one moment before, was
buoyant, healthful, full of enterprise and hope. There was no hope of
his life. With one arm extended, the only unbroken limb in his body, he
speaks: "I must die--I know it--I must die, but thank God I am ready to
die. Yes, I am willing to die, if it is God's will. And yet, I should
like to live. My poor mother--who will take care of her? My poor
sisters--and oh, my _poor dear Mary!_ Send for them--send for them. Send
now. I must see them once more. I have much to say to them. Oh, my God,
thy will be done!" They came, and there was such a burst of grief as is
seldom witnessed. Yet, amid all this, he was calm. Not a groan, not a
murmur had escaped him through the long hours of bodily suffering which
he had endured, and not a murmur nor a groan did he suffer now, when the
heart-strings were broken. He spoke calmly and clearly to them all,
gave them counsel, bade each a tender farewell; then closed his eyes,
and sunk into the sleep of death. What would this scene have been
without the Christian hope? This young man had anchored his hope firm
upon the Rock of Ages. It had supported him in the busy scenes of life.
It now sustained him in the sudden hour of trial, when the pains of
death seized upon him without warning. "LET ME DIE THE DEATH OF THE
RIGHTEOUS, AND LET MY LAST END BE LIKE HIS!"
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|Transcriber's Note: |
| |
|Variations in chapter and section heads between the Contents and|
|the body of the text have been retained as they appear in the |
|original publication. |
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