Chapter L: S. Leary, (1)

Died at Harper’s Ferry, Va., Oct. 20, 1859.
Aged 24 years.

These colored citizens of Oberlin,
The Heroic Associates of the Immortal
JOHN BROWN,
Gave their lives for the Slave.
Et nunc servitudo etiam mortua est, laus Deo.

In 1876, Frederick Douglass, who was once an associate and intimate friend of John Brown, lectured at Oberlin College. Among other things, Mr. Douglass said that Shields Green, who had once been a student of Oberlin College, was residing in the Douglass family shortly before the raid on Harper’s Ferry. At the call of Brown, Green went with Douglass to an appointed spot near the borders of Virginia. There John Brown confided to them the details of his plans, including the capture of Harper’s Ferry. Mr. Douglass objected to the plans as unwise and hazardous, and, finding entreaty unavailing, he withdrew from the enterprise. Shields Green, nevertheless, followed his old commander. When John Brown was finally surrounded, Green and one other companion were in the mountains on some errand. When they returned, they saw at a glance that the rescue of Brown was impossible. Green’s companion counseled flight, and did himself escape, but Shields Green—the former Oberlin student—replied that he preferred to “go down and die with the old man,” meaning John Brown.

And he did.

There is scarcely a more touching incident than this in all our national history.

L.
AIMING AT SOMETHING.

It is true, boys and girls, that it is what you hit, not what you aim at, that counts; but, nevertheless, it is a very important thing to take the right aim. The man who aims deliberately at the center of the target stands a better chance, a hundred to one, than the man who shoots without taking aim. So, in life, that boy or girl who has a purpose—who is aiming at something—will be more successful than those boys and girls who have no plans and who aim at nothing.

It is not sufficient, in the moral world, to aim at something, but every boy and girl should aim at the best things. The best and highest things in this world are the unseen things, the eternal things, the things that will last forever. Money is a good thing, but there is something higher than money. A high position in the business or professional or political world, is a good thing, but there is something higher and better than office and position. Character is the grandest, the highest and best thing in this world. We include in this one little word “character” a world of things. Honor, uprightness, speaking the truth, dealing fairly with people, being willing to help the lowly and unfortunate, paying your debts promptly, these things, and many other things like them, are included in the one word “character.” And these are the things that are worth while in this world. These are the things that every boy and girl should aim at. It may not be possible for every boy and girl to become a millionaire; it may not be possible for every boy and girl to fill high offices in this world, or succeed in large business enterprises; but one thing is certain: every boy can be a good and true boy, every girl can be a noble and beautiful girl. Beautiful as to conduct, as to words and deeds, I mean. Good boys are the fathers of good men. Pure girls are the mothers of pure women. For, what, after all, is a boy? And what is a girl? What is a man? What is a woman? I will tell you. A boy is a little man—that’s all; and a man is a grown-up boy. A girl is a little woman—that’s all; and a woman is a grown-up girl.

It is important, then, that boys and girls should aim at the right things, the good, the true and noble things early in life. What boys and girls aim at, in nine cases out of ten, they will reach as men and women. And to help you in taking the proper aim early in life, I am going to give you something to aim at. Let every boy and girl make this little motto his rule of life:

Know something—know it well;
Do something—do it well;—
And be Somebody!

LI.
“THE BLACK SHEEP” OF THE REYNOLDS FAMILY.

Will Reynolds was “the black sheep” of the Reynolds family. He knew it and felt it, because he had been frequently slighted and treated with contempt by his relatives. The only person who never lost faith in him was his mother. She always felt that there was something good in her wayward son, and often said that it would show itself some day. But Will’s mother died in the early stages of his backslidings. Will’s father married the second time, and the boy, finding it impossible to get along with his stepmother, left home. He went from bad to worse. Being arrested on the charge of drunkenness and vagrancy, he sent to his two brothers, who were prosperous brokers in D. St., asking them to pay his fine. Word came back that they would not interfere in his behalf. His brothers sent word that he had brought the trouble upon himself and he must get out of it the best way he could. Will was sent to the Work House for six months. And nobody’s hand was raised to help him.

While he was serving his time, his only sister, a young woman not yet grown, died. He knew nothing of it until about a month after it occurred, and then he read the account in an old newspaper which he had borrowed from a fellow prisoner. The news of his sister’s death deeply affected him. His sentence was shortened by one month on account of his good behaviour. The first thing he did, on coming to the city, was to visit the family lot in Myrtle Hill Cemetery. He carried with him some wild flowers and green leaves, being too poor to purchase a floral offering from the dealers in such things. With uncovered head, he knelt and placed these tokens of respect on the graves of his mother and sister. This done, he stood in silence for a moment, and then wept like a little child. While riveted to the spot, he made a solemn vow that he would quit the old life and make a man of himself. “It’s in me,” he said to himself, “and I’m going to prove it.”

Slowly he turned away from the sacred place. He went directly to the offices of his brothers. He had been furnished with a new suit of clothes, according to custom, upon leaving prison, and so made quite a decent appearance. He found his oldest brother, John B. Reynolds, seated at a desk in the front office. He entered at once and said,—

“Well, John, I suppose sister is dead?”

“How dare you,” exclaimed John, rising to his feet,—“how dare you to speak of Annie as your sister, you jailbird, you miserable convict! Get out of here this minute! Leave this room at once, and never set foot in it again!”

There was fire in the man’s eye as he spoke. Will attempted to speak, but was not permitted. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he left the room. He had gone to tell of his new determination and ask for another chance, and this was the reception which he met. On his way down the steps, he came face to face with his other brother, Thomas Reynolds. Thomas tried to pass without speaking, but Will intercepted him.

“Tom,” he said, “I’m your brother still. I’m not asking help now; I only came to tell you that I’m going to do better. I thought you would be glad to hear it.”

“I want to hear nothing from you,” said Thomas. “You’ve disgraced us forever, and you can go your way; we don’t want anything to do with you; we don’t want to see you again!”

Will went forth into the street weeping.

* * * * *

Thirty years have come and gone since Will was driven away from the offices of his brothers. What changes have these years worked?

Soon after leaving prison Will was a constant visitor at the Railroad Men’s Branch of the Y. M. C. A. Through the Secretary of the Association, he soon secured a place as a day laborer in the machine shops of the Big Bend Railroad. After securing regular employment, he went to live in the Y. M. C. A. building. At the close of his first year’s service with the railroad, he was promoted from a common laborer and made an apprentice. After four or five years, he had learned the trade and was receiving the daily wages of a machinist. After twelve years with the company, he was made the Master Machinist. At the end of fifteen years’ service, he was made Superintendent of Construction. Five years later he was made a Division Superintendent. At the expiration of more than twenty-five years of faithful service, Will Reynolds was able to write after his name, “General Manager of the Big Bend Railroad.” He had, also, been married for several years, and was the father of five children.

Will’s father and brothers lost sight of him for nearly twelve years, or until the papers announced his appointment as Master Machinist of the Big Bend Railroad. They suddenly awoke to find that their conclusions that he had probably long since died a drunkard’s death, or had gone off as a tramp and had been killed, or was again serving a sentence in prison somewhere—were wrong.

The same week that Will was made Superintendent of Construction of the Big Bend Railroad, the newspapers spread all over the country the news that Col. Oliver P. Reynolds had committed suicide. According to their way, the newspapers gave all the sickening details of the tragedy, together with the whole family history. They said that Col. Reynolds had been driven to suicide by his wife. They said that she was much younger than he; that she was extravagant; that she was a leader in gay society; they told how, on her account, Col. Reynolds had driven his son away from home fifteen years before; they declared that the old man’s life had been a hell to him; and that his wife had brought him almost to the verge of bankruptcy, and, in order to escape facing open disgrace, he had murdered himself.

When Will heard of his father’s death, he hastened at once to the city, but was denied admission to the family residence, and had to attend the funeral in the little church around the corner not as a member of the family but merely as an outsider.

We are not concerned in this story with the fate of Will’s stepmother. But, as to Will’s brothers,—well, the crash came eight or ten years after the death of Col. Reynolds, or a short while before Will became the General Manager of the Big Bend Railroad. John B. Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds, members of the firm of John B. Reynolds & Bro., had been arrested and placed in the Tombs, charged with misappropriating $175,000 of trust funds. Again the family history was rehearsed in the newspapers. The papers did not fail to recall the suicide of Col. Reynolds, nor did they fail to tell how these two brothers had earlier in life turned their backs on a younger brother.

Will read the papers, and, saying to his wife, “Well, Mary, perhaps they’ll be glad to see me this trip,” he went immediately to offer his services to his brothers.

He had prophesied correctly. John and Thomas were very glad to see him. They had no friends among those high in financial circles because they had for many years conducted their business in such a way that business men had no confidence in them. They had no credit and could get nobody to go on their bonds. Will took in the situation at a glance. He had been thoughtful enough to bring along with him the leading attorney of the Big Bend Railroad, and he put matters straightway into his hands. Bail was arranged, the brothers were released, and the lawyer then turned his attention to the prosecutors. It was discovered that almost half of the amount stolen was the property of Simon B. Nesmith, President of the Big Bend Railroad. When Will Reynolds and the lawyer found that their own superior officer had been so heavily hit by John B. Reynolds & Bro., they came near fainting. Fortunately Nesmith when he heard the whole story agreed not to prosecute, and not only said that he would be satisfied with any settlement that the Railroad’s Attorney might arrange but also volunteered to see the others concerned and use his influence in having them do likewise.

In a short time matters were adjusted, and John Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds were saved from prison. But they lost all their earthly possessions and their brother, “the black sheep” of the family, had to secure them for the sum of $40,000 besides.

John B. Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds came to their senses. It was their time to cry now. Amidst great sobs they said,——

“We treated you wrongly, brother Will; we ought to have helped you many years ago; we are so sorry we didn’t; and it was such a small matter, too.”

But Will said,——

“Don’t talk about the past: I’m your brother still. Go and do as I did. Start over and make men of yourselves—you’ll have enough time. That’s all I ask.”

LII.
THE HOLY BIBLE.

I heard a minister say the other day that a mother had not necessarily done much for her boy because she had bought him a nice Bible and put it in his trunk, when he was about to leave home to seek his fortune in the world. I think it wrong for anybody—minister or what not—to indulge in such loose and flippant talk. The effect is bad—always bad, and no hair splitting, and no higher criticism, and no curiously ingenious explanations can mend the matter. As for me, give me the old-fashioned mother who sends her son out into the world with a Bible in his trunk, and give me the old-fashioned boy who reads that Bible every night with tears in his eyes, as he thinks of the old folks at home and of their simple lives devoted to Jesus Christ. Give me the man, woman or child, whose hands touch the Bible reverently, instead of slinging it about as a dictionary or some common dime novel. Give me the plain old fellow who quickly takes leave of that circle in which critics are proceeding to ably explain away certain chapters of the Bible.

As for me, I want no new theories about the Bible—no new versions—no new criticisms. No man has a right to weaken the faith of others. No man has a right to knock away the staff that supports the crippled wayfarer. And no man has a right to tell an aged mother that it does no good to give her boy a Bible unless he can suggest a better substitute. Destroy the old-fashioned idea concerning the Bible, and we shall have a nation of infidels defying God, defying the law, and repeating the licentiousness and horrors of the French Revolution. We should make the Bible first in all things. Make the Bible first in the family, in the Sunday-school and church, make it first in state and society, and we shall have a Republic that will grow brighter and brighter as the years come and go, and then we “shall go out with joy, and be lead forth with peace: and the mountains and the hills shall break forth before us into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”

LIII.
ANDREW CARNEGIE’S ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN.

One of the bravest and truest friends of humanity that I know of is Andrew Carnegie, the great iron king. He has retired from business now, and is spending his time in giving away his money for the good of his fellow men. In addition to smaller gifts, he has given to the city of New York $5,200,000 for libraries for all the people. He has given $10,000,000 to Universities in Scotland, his native country, and he has also founded the “Carnegie Institution,” of Washington, D. C., with the liberal sum of $10,000,000. Every colored boy and girl in America has a special reason for thanking Mr. Carnegie for his splendid gifts to Tuskegee and Wilberforce and other colored schools. In addition to the $600,000 given toward Tuskegee’s endowment fund, he has given Tuskegee and Wilberforce library buildings, costing about $20,000 each. The words of such a humanitarian and philanthropist should carry weight everywhere, and should be studied by all. Among other things, Mr. Carnegie says, in speaking to young men:

“Do not make riches, but usefulness, your first aim, and let your chief pride be that your daily occupation is in the line of progress and development; that your work, in whatever capacity it may be, is useful work, honestly conducted, and as such ennobles your life.

“Whatever your salary be, save a little; live within your means. The man who saves a little from his income has given the surest indication of the very qualities that every employer is seeking for.

“The great successes of life are made by concentration. Do not think you have done your full duty when you have performed the work assigned you. You will never rise if you only do this.

“You hear a good deal about poverty nowadays, and the cry goes up to abolish poverty, but it will be the saddest day of civilization when poverty is no longer with us. It is from the soil of poverty that all the virtues spring. Without poverty, where will your inventor, your artist, your philanthropist come from?

“There are three classes of young men in the world. One starts out to be a millionaire. Another seeks reputation, perhaps at the cannon’s mouth. A third young man, who will be successful, is he who starts out in life with self-respect and who is true to himself and his fellow-men. He cannot fail to win.”

LIV.
DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE GENTLEMEN.

1. The essential part of good breeding is the practical desire to afford pleasure and to avoid giving pain. Any boy possessing this desire requires only opportunity and observation to become a little gentleman.

2. Never be guilty of what are called practical jokes; that is to say, never place a pin in a chair so that somebody may come along and sit on the pin’s point; never pull back a chair when a person is about to sit down, and in that way cause such a person to fall on the floor. No little gentleman will play such tricks.

3. Whenever a lady enters a room, it is proper for boys to rise, if they are seated, but you must never offer a lady a chair from which you have just risen, if there is another chair in the room.

4. Never engage in conversation while a person is singing. It is an insult not only to the singer but to the company.

5. Always take off your hat when assisting a lady to or from a carriage.

6. If in a public place, you pass and re-pass persons of your acquaintance, it is only necessary to salute them on the first occasion.

7. Do not wear anything that is so conspicuous as to attract attention; and, particularly, avoid the ruffian style.

8. Do not lose your temper. Particularly if you are playing innocent games for amusement and happen to lose; avoid the exhibition of anxiety or vexation at lack of success.

9. In all your associations, keep constantly in view the old adage, “too much familiarity breeds contempt.”

LV.
THE LETTER OF THE LAW.

It was a bright and balmy afternoon in spring. Mrs. Anderson, in keeping with the practice of neighborly kindness which was in vogue in the Berkshire village, had sent a large plate of ice-cream across the street to Mrs. Van Ingen’s. The cream was quite toothsome, and little Annie Van Ingen, “six years old, going on seven,” felt when the plate had been emptied that she would like to have some more.

With tears in her eyes she confided her wish to her mother. The maternal explanation, “My darling, mama didn’t make any cream to-day,” failed to satisfy Annie.

“Well, where did you get that we had?” she asked.

“Mrs. Anderson was kind enough to send it to us,” answered the patient mother.

“I’m going over there and ask her for some more,” abruptly interposed little Annie.

“No, no, no, my precious;” said Mrs. Van Ingen, “you mustn’t think of doing such a thing. Mama doesn’t want the neighbors to know that her little Annie is a beggar.”

For reply Annie’s tears flowed fast and faster. Finally, seeing that nothing else would avail, to pacify Annie, Mrs. Van Ingen said,——

“I’ll tell you what to do, dearie; you go over to Mrs. Anderson’s and tell her that you’ve come to play awhile with her little girl. Now, be careful, don’t ask her for any cream, but I’m sure she’ll offer you some before you come back.”

The crying stopped immediately, and pretty soon Annie went tripping across the street to play with Mrs. Anderson’s little girl.

Mrs. Anderson met her at the door and kissed her affectionately.

“I wanted some more cream,” volunteered little Annie; “the cream you sent mama was very nice, and I wanted some more. Mama told me not to ask you for any more, but she said that if I would come over here and play with Bessie you would give me some more before I went back home. So, I have come over to play with Bessie.”

And, having relieved her mind of its burden, little Annie, with perfect delight and joyous innocence, ran hastily up the stairs to the nursery in search of Bessie.

LVI.
THE BEST BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.

According to some of the most thoughtful people who have lived in this world, a good way to deal with children in regard to the books that they are to read is to give them the freedom of a library which contains a few thousand of the best books in the world, and let them browse at will. This was originally, I think, Charles Lamb’s idea. Charles Lamb was a lovable man who wrote readable books for children. But this statement of Lamb implies, of course, the possession of a good library. Unfortunately many of my readers will not be found among those who live in homes which are well-stocked with books. That is one reason why it seems wise to make one or two suggestions as to the best books for children to read. If you cannot have all of the best books in the world, it is important that you should have at least a few of the best books in the world; and I shall name a few which I believe every boy and girl in America ought to know something about.

For children between the ages of six and twelve, I should put at the head of my list Daniel Defoe’s “Robinson Crusoe,” a good edition of the “Arabian Nights,” and Hans Andersen’s fairy tales. In addition to these I would get Hawthorne’s “Wonder Book,” Andrew Lang’s “Fairy Book” and some book full of absurd fun like Lear’s “Nonsense Book” or “Alice in Wonderland.” We must not forget Joel Chandler Harris’s “Uncle Remus,” for it ought to have a place in every collection of children’s best books. Kipling’s “Jungle Book” is good, and so is Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress.” “Tom Brown at Rugby,” Lamb’s Shakespeare Tales, and Ruskin’s “King of the Golden River” must not be overlooked. John Burrough’s “Birds and Beasts” might as well end the list, since I haven’t room to give all the best books for children.

But whatever else you do, boys and girls, if you wish to widen your spiritual horizons, do not close the windows on the emotional and imaginative side by neglecting poetry. Somebody has said that “There is in every one of us a poet whom the man has outlived.” “Verse and Prose for Beginners” by Horace E. Scudder is a delightful book to have, and another book of poems called the “Children’s Garland.”

The best books for a child are the books that widen his world. A man or woman in middle life or old age who loves poetry and great pictures and statues, who is familiar with Shakespeare, who has a sense of humor and a love of nature, knows a deal about the joy of living and is full of resources. No one can ever have these resources and that joy who has not had them from early childhood.

LVII.
THE RIGHT TO PLAY.

The right to play is one of the divine rights of men and women, of boys and girls, and is just as essential to the peace, happiness and prosperity of the world as is the right to pray. Never be afraid or ashamed, my young friends, of honest, vigorous, healthy play. Dominoes, lawn tennis, baseball, football, ping-pong, golf, foot-racing, leaping and jumping, boxing and wrestling, pole-vaulting, punching the bag, swinging dumb-bells or Indian clubs, and a hundred other things are perfectly sane and wholesome amusements for old or young. To refrain from all forms of amusements is just as destructive of happiness and injurious to character as is the other extreme of indulging too freely in pleasures and pastimes. Puritan austerity and unrestrained excess are alike to be condemned. But a certain amount of play—play of the right kind and within proper limits—is a divine right of young people. Young people must have fun and relaxation, and, if they do not find it in their own homes, it will be sought in other and perhaps dangerous places.

For myself, I believe that anybody is an enemy to young people who desires to repress and crush out the naturally buoyant spirits of childhood and youth, and he is a benefactor of humanity who makes it a part of his business to see that proper places of amusement are provided for the young people. Aside from the physical advantages of play, there are moral advantages also. A man who helps to keep his body in good condition by regular exercise is, in that way, beyond a doubt, adding to the number of his days; that is to say, he will live longer than the man who doesn’t play. But beyond and above that, he is a happier man while he lives; he gets more joy and satisfaction out of life than the other fellow. Sane and healthy play tends to blot out the remembrance of cares and hardship; it gives our minds something else to think about. But young people must be careful not to become absorbed in these things. I believe in play; I believe in pleasure, in fun. But when I see young people, or old people for that matter, devoting all their time to wheeling, footballing, card parties, the giddy whirl of the dance, the bacchanalian hilarity of the dram shop, and so on, I am forced to say that things which may be right when taken in moderation, and as a relief from the overtaxing burdens of life, are wrong when they become the chief object for which one lives.

LVIII.
A CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

A forsaken little kitten wandered up and down the street on the day before Christmas. It had no home; it had no name; it had no ribbon around its neck; and it had no saucer of nice milk in one corner.

It began to grow dark, and colder too, and the stars came peeping out, and the first flakes of a real Christmas snowstorm began floating down through the air. The kitten mewed a trembling little mew, which told as plainly as it could that it was very hungry, and it fluffed out its fur to keep itself warm.

Now, somewhere along that street, up on top of a house (hiding behind a chimney where he couldn’t be seen), was Santa Claus, getting everything in shape before starting on his evening round. When old Santa saw that lonesome little kitten strolling around he smiled—yes, old Santa Claus smiled. He smiled because he knew that two blocks up the street a little girl was standing with her nose pressed against the window, looking out into the deepening night.

He had seen her as he went by. And he had also seen the poor little supper laid out for two on the table, and heard her say to her mother, in a quavering voice:

“Not even one present, mamma—not the teeniest little one!”

“No, Susie,” her mother had answered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything for my little girl this year, but—you know there wasn’t any money dear.” And there was a tremble in her mother’s voice too.

Susie wiped away the tears, and turned to look out of the window.

“Perhaps,” she said to herself; “perhaps Santa Claus has something for me after all!”

Now, the sad, really dreadful part about it was that Santa Claus didn’t have one single thing for Susie in his pack. Perhaps it was because she had moved into that house since last Christmas, or perhaps for once old Santa had made a mistake. Anyway he was just saying to himself: “Why, bless me, what shall I do about it?” when he caught sight of that shivering little kitten.

“The very thing,” he thought. “I’ll give them to each other!” and he chuckled till his reindeer looked around to see what was the matter.

And what happened next? Well, that kitten never knew really. It only seemed as if there was a sudden rush and jingle of bells, which frightened it so that it flew up the street as fast as its four little legs could carry it, until it saw a small friendly face at a window, and rushed up some steps nearby. Then a door opened, and two soft little arms picked it up gently from the cold snow and a voice cried:

“Oh, mamma, see the poor little kitten—it’s so cold—oh, we’ll keep it, won’t we, mamma! The poor little thing. Do you think it would drink milk?”

Would it drink milk? What a question to ask about a little kitten. While the little kitten was nearly choking itself trying to drink a saucerful of milk and purr at the same time there was a jingle of bells outside, and Susie said:

“Mamma, I hear old Santa’s bells, and, of course, this is the present he brought.”

LIX.
DRINKING AND SMOKING.

There is food for reflection in a saying of somebody who lived a great many years ago, ’way back in 1878. Here it is:

“Our government land costs one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre, and good whiskey two dollars a bottle. How many men die landless who during their lives have swallowed whole townships—trees and all?”

Alongside of this statement might go this other one, which is equally true:

“The young man who smokes three five-cent cigars a day—and many young men use double the quantity at double the price—puffs away enough money in the course of ten years to give anyone a handsome start in business, or to provide anyone a comfortable home.”

From a purely business standpoint, not to say anything about religion or morals—from a purely business standpoint young people drink too much and smoke too much. Every five cents spent for beer is five cents thrown away. Every ten cents spent for whiskey is a total loss. It would bring far better returns if it were put into a savings bank and laid away for a rainy day. As for smoking, it is a silly, senseless, expensive habit. It literally burns money up. The following figures show the expense of smoking two cigars a day at five cents each from the age of twenty to the end of each period of five years up to the age of seventy, 6 per cent compound interest semi-annually being reckoned upon the money:

Two Cigars a Day at 5 Cents each. From the age of: No. Years. Principal. Prin. & Int. 20 to 25 years 5 $ 182.50 $ 209.21 20 to 30 〃 10 365.00 490.39 20 to 35 〃 15 574.50 868.25 20 to 40 〃 20 730.00 1,376.07 20 to 45 〃 25 912.50 2,058.44 20 to 50 〃 30 1,095.00 3,094.99 20 to 55 〃 35 1,277.50 4,367.46 20 to 60 〃 40 1,460.00 6,078.73 20 to 65 〃 45 1,642.50 8,378.52 20 to 70 〃 50 1,825.00 11,469.25

Boys, I am glad to be able to put these figures down where you can see them, and study them for yourselves. I want you to reflect upon them. It is not what you make, but it is what you save that makes you rich. If you ever expect to be even well-to-do men, not to speak of being rich men, you must begin early to learn and practice the habit of saving your money. If you will learn to leave out of your expenses the bills for whiskey and tobacco it will not be hard for you to see then how you can also save by cutting down your expenses for trifles, such as knickknacks, candy, red lemonade, peanuts, etc. First in importance among public institutions, next to the church and the school house, I place the savings bank. No matter what your occupation, no matter what your salary, it is possible for every young person to save something out of his earnings, however small they may be. But if this habit of saving is not acquired in early life it will be very hard to learn it later. Saving is not the miser’s habit necessarily, nor is it the spirit of avarice and parsimony. It is prudence and forethought. Money is a good thing. It is the love of money—not money—that is the root of all evil.

LX.
THE NICKEL THAT BURNED IN FRANK’S POCKET.

Deacon Hepworth kept a little fish market.

“Do you want a boy to help you?” asked Frank Shaw one day.

“Can you give good weight to my customers and take good care of my pennies?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Frank.

Forthwith he took his place in the little store, weighed the fish and kept the room in order.

“A whole day for fun, fireworks and noise to-morrow!” exclaimed Frank, as he buttoned his white apron about him the day before the Fourth of July. A great trout was thrown down on the counter by Ned Tant, one of Frank’s playmates.

“Here’s a royal trout, Frank. I caught it myself. You may have it for ten cents. Just hand over the money, for I’m in a hurry to buy my firecrackers,” said Ned hurriedly.

The deacon was out, but Frank had made purchases for him before, so the dime spun across to Ned, who was off like a shot. Just then Mrs. Sinclair appeared.

“I want a nice trout for my dinner to-morrow. This one will do; how much is it?” she asked as she carefully examined it.

“A quarter, ma’am,” and the fish was transferred to the lady’s basket and the silver piece to the money drawer.

But here Frank paused.

He thought to himself: “Ten cents was very cheap for that fish. If I tell the deacon it cost fifteen cents he’ll be satisfied, and I shall have five cents to invest in firecrackers.”

The deacon was pleased with Frank’s bargain, and when the market was closed each went his way for the night.

But the nickel buried in Frank’s pocket burned like a coal. He could eat no supper, and was cross and unhappy. At last he could stand it no longer, but, walking rapidly, tapped at the door of Deacon Hepworth’s cottage.

The old man was seated at a table, reading the Bible. Frank’s heart almost failed him, but he told the story and with tears of sorrow laid the coin in the deacon’s hand.

Turning over the leaves of the Bible, the old man read:

“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper, but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.”

“You have forgiveness, Frank,” he said. “Now go home and confess to the Lord, and remember you must forsake as well as confess. Here, you may keep this coin as long as you live to remind you of your first temptation.”

LXI.

In the city of Columbus, Georgia, there was erected in the year 1904 a monument to the memory of a colored man named Bragg Smith. Mr. Smith lost his life in the autumn of 1903 in an effort to save the life of the city engineer of Columbus, who had been buried under an excavation in the street. A large crowd of colored men was at work digging deep trenches in which were to be placed pipes for running water about the city. In some way the sides of the narrow trench had not been properly supported by planks or otherwise, and by-and-by a great stretch of dirt caved in. Unfortunately the city engineer, a white man, was caught underneath the falling dirt. Bragg Smith did not stop to say: “Oh, it’s a white man; let him die!” but at once jumped down into the ditch and tried to pull the white man from under the heavy dirt. It was while he was engaged in this work that the dirt fell from both sides a second time, and Bragg Smith, in his effort to save the life of the white man, lost his own life. The Bible says: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man will lay down his life for a friend.”

The city council at its first regular meeting after the accident voted to erect a suitable monument to the memory of Mr. Smith. The monument was dedicated in April, 1904. The monument is of Vermont and Georgia marbles, and bears on one side this inscription:

“Erected by the City of Columbus to mark the last resting place of Bragg Smith, who died on September 30, 1903, in the heroic but fruitless effort to save the life of the city engineer.”

On the other side appears this quotation from Alexander Pope:

“Honor and fame from no conditions rise;
Act well your part; there all the honor lies.”

LXII.
THE BAD BOY—WHO HE IS.

My dear children, I am happy to say that all boys who are called bad boys are not bad boys. There is quite a difference between a bad boy and a merely mischievous boy. A boy is not necessarily bad because he makes unearthly noises about the house, or now and then twists the cat’s tail just to hear her mew, or muddies his clothes in an effort to catch crawfish. He is not bad just because he likes to “play fantastic” on the fourth day of July. So many people complain of their boys being bad when they are only mischievous—that is to say, when they are only full of life. Some people think that a good boy is one that has a pale face and looks sickly; one that wears a sanctimonious look and moves along through the world as though he were afraid to put one foot in front of the other. That isn’t my kind of a boy. I do not think that kind of a fellow is a boy at all—he is ’most a girl! A boy who never enjoys a romp in the woods, who never climbs the apple tree before or after the apples are ripe, who never plays ball, who will not shoot marbles, etc.—this sort of a boy usually dies young, or he grows up to be a “male woman.” I mean by that, that he grows up to be a man who acts like a woman; and that kind of man is hardly fit for anything.

But there are some bad boys, I am sorry to say—really bad boys, bad in heart and in deed. I have seen some on the chain gangs; I have seen some hanging around the street corners—especially on Sundays, with no clean clothes on; I have seen them smoking cigarettes—and a cigarette is something which no manly boy will use; I have seen them in saloons, drinking, playing pool and playing cards; I have sometimes seen them shooting dice in the street for money. There are probably one thousand boys in the jails, reformatories and in the penitentiaries in the single state of Georgia. To form anything like an adequate estimate of the total number of bad boys in the South we must add to the above number the boys imprisoned in the other states; and, also, that much larger number who have never been imprisoned because they happen never to have been arrested, or who have been arrested and have had their fines paid in money; and, finally, we must add those who have already served their time and are again at large. So, you see, there are many thousands and thousands of bad boys in the world, and they are very easily found. Are you a bad boy or a good boy? Isn’t it better to be a good boy than to be a bad boy?

LXIII.
THE BAD BOY—HOW TO HELP HIM.

Almost anybody can make something out of a boy who is naturally good, but it takes one of very Christlike power and patience to make anything out of a really bad boy. Yet all boys may be reclaimed, reformed, saved; at least so I believe. And the first step in making a good man out of a bad boy has to do with the boy’s body. The Holy Bible tells us that our bodies are the temples—the dwelling places—of the Holy Ghost, and every boy, and every teacher of every boy, in the home or day school or Sunday school, should give more time and attention to the body in order to make it a fit place for such a holy being. It is as true now as of old that plenty of soap and water will exert a wholesome influence in making bad boys good. Some one has said that cleanliness is next to godliness, and somebody has added that soap is a means of grace. A boy who is taught to bathe regularly and who is taught to keep his clothing neat and clean at all times will in that way learn the great lesson of self-respect quicker than in any other way; and, in my judgment, the shortest way to the purification of a boy’s habits, a boy’s morals, a boy’s character, is to teach him first to keep his body pure. Keep it pure not only by baths and clean clothes, but keep it pure and sweet by keeping it free from whiskey and tobacco in every form. Exercise, regular, and systematic exercise, whether as work or play, will go a great way towards keeping the body clean and healthy. Every boy is mistaken, every parent is mistaken, who thinks that labor is unworthy, or that any kind of honest work is degrading. The body needs to be kept alive and vigorous by the frequent use of all its parts, and there is no better way to keep the body vigorous than by doing some kind of work—work that requires the use of the hands and legs and muscles, work that stimulates the blood and makes it flow freely through the body.

Another step in the process of making a good man out of a bad boy has to do with the mind. The body grows not alone by exercise, but the body grows by what we put into it: the food we eat and the water we drink, etc. We might say, I think, that the body grows on what it feeds on. It is the same way with the mind: the mind grows on what it feeds on. If we feed our minds on obscene pictures, on bad books, on vulgar stories, told by ourselves or our associates, we cannot expect to have minds that are keenly alive and active for good. Our thoughts control us, boys and girls, whether we understand the process by which they control or not. Our thoughts control us. If our thoughts are pure and sweet and noble, we will be pure and sweet and noble. If our thoughts are impure, vile and ignoble, we will be impure, vile and ignoble. Our thoughts rule us. So every boy should guard well his thoughts; every boy should guard well what he puts into his mind. Every boy’s mind feeds on what he puts into it, and every boy’s mind grows on what it feeds. It goes without saying, then, that a boy should not read “blood and thunder” detective stories, stories about the “James Brothers” and other outlaws and bandits; nor should a boy read filthy so-called “love stories.” All such literature should be shunned, as a boy would shun deadly poison. A boy who desires to become a good man should read only those things which will give him confidence in himself that he can and may become a good man—good for the service of God and the service of his fellow-men. Bad company must also be left behind if a bad boy wants to become a good boy. Those boys who tell smutty jokes and stories should not be allowed to associate with that boy whose eyes have been opened and who wants to feed his mind on good and wholesome food. Character, boys, in its last analysis depends chiefly on three things: Heredity, environment and will. Now you cannot do much to change your inherited tendencies—the tendencies you receive from mother and father at birth, but you can do much in offsetting, in overcoming these tendencies. You can also do much with the aid of a generous and enlightened public to change your surroundings if they happen to be bad. I confess that your mothers and fathers, your teachers and pastors ought to do much more in this regard than you; but if they will not exert themselves to get you out of evil surroundings, then, as you value your own life and time and possibilities, by the help of God, try to get out yourselves. The will is very largely influenced by your surroundings. Hence you can see the importance of having good books and good associates.

But whatever you do, boys, do not forget Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. The highest part of your nature is your spiritual nature, and, while you are building up the body and building up the mind, do not forget to build up your soul. If others will not assist you in this greater matter you can help yourselves. The Master said: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not.”

LXIV.
THOMAS GREENE BETHUNE.

(“Blind Tom.”)

I suppose there is not a little colored girl or boy in America who has not heard of the wonderful “Blind Tom,” one of the greatest musicians of the world. I wish that every boy and girl might have seen him and heard him give one of his remarkable performances with the piano. I had that high favor and privilege myself. During his life on the stage, or for more than forty years, “Blind Tom” was seen probably by more people in the world than any one living being. His stage career was closed somewhere in 1900. I do not know whether he is living at present or not. If he is still alive, and he probably is, he is very nearly sixty years old. Everywhere, in this country and Europe, those who observed him most closely, and attempted to understand him, pronounced him a living miracle, unparalleled, incomprehensible, such as had not been seen before in the world, and probably never would be seen again.

Thomas Greene Bethune, better known to the public as “Blind Tom,” was born within a few miles of the city of Columbus, Georgia, on the twenty-fifth day of May, 1849. He was of pure negro blood, and was born blind. He was little less than four years old when a piano was brought to the house of his master, for he was born a slave. As long as any one was playing he was contented to stay in the yard and dance and caper to the music. Sometimes he was permitted to indulge his curiosity by being allowed to run his fingers over the keys. One night the parlor and piano had been left open. Before day the young ladies of the family awoke and were astounded to hear Blind Tom playing one of their pieces. The family gathered around him to witness and wonder at his performance, which they said was marvellously strange. Notwithstanding that this was his first known effort at a tune, he played with both hands and used the black as well as the white keys. Pretty soon he was allowed free access to the piano, and began to play off-hand everything he heard. As young as he was, he soon mastered all of that and began composing for himself. The record of his public life is too long for me to give, but that Blind Tom was known and honored around the world is known to everybody.

But feeling that every colored boy and girl should be justly proud of Blind Tom’s record, I will give some words from the book of Hon. James M. Trotter, himself a colored man. His book is called “Music and Some Highly Musical People.” He says:

“Blind Tom is unquestionably the most wonderful musician the world has ever known. He is an absolute master in the comprehension and retention of all sound. You may sit down to the pianoforte and strike any note or chord or discord, or a great number of them, and he will at once give their proper names, and, taking your place, reproduce them. Complete master of the pianoforte keyboard, he calls to his melodious uses, with most consummate ease, all of its resources that are known to skillful performers, as well as constantly discovers and applies those that are new. Under his magnetic touch this instrument may become, at his will, a music box, a hand organ, a harp, or a bagpipe, a “Scotch fiddle,” a church organ, a guitar, or a banjo; it may imitate the “stump speaker” as he delivers his glowing harangue; or, being brought back to its legitimate tones, it may be made to sing two melodies at once, while the performer, with his voice, delivers a third, all three in different time and keys, all in perfect tune and time, and each one easily distinguishable from the other! He remembers and plays fully seven thousand pieces. Some persons, it is true, have had the temerity to say that Blind Tom is an idiot. Out with the idea! Who ever heard of an idiot possessing such power of memory, such fineness of musical sensibility, such order, such method, as he displays? Let us call him the embodiment of music, the soul of music, and there let our investigations rest, for all else is vain speculation. No one lives, or, so far as we know, has ever lived, that can at all be compared with him.”

LXV.
NOT FIT TO KNOW.

Susan and Mamie and Lillian and Marjorie were always close friends. They usually went together and played together and it was very unusual to see one of them without the others. At school they always made it a rule to lunch together and play together. One day at recess they were standing in a little group all by themselves when Frances joined them.

“What are you talking about, girls?” asked Frances in cheerful tones.

“I’m telling them a secret,” said Susie, “and we will let you know, too, Frances, if you’ll promise not to tell any one.”

“I’ll promise you not to tell anybody but my mother,” said Frances, “for I have made it a rule to tell my mother everything.”

“No; you can’t even tell your mother,” answered Susie; “you must not tell any one in the world.”

“Well, then, I refuse to hear it,” said Frances, as she walked away, “for what I can’t tell my mother is not fit for me to know.”

Don’t you think Frances was right, girls? I think so. As soon as little boys and girls begin to listen to words and stories which they would be ashamed to repeat to their mothers they are on the road to temptation, and nobody can tell how soon they will reach the end, which is always disgrace and death.