Harvey Newcomb

CHAPTER III. SOCIAL VIRTUES AND VICES. Section I.--Brotherly Affection. Sergeant Glanville. C

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.

M

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.

A

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

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.

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.

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.

“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.