Chapter I: HAD been thinking how strange a thing it was that I disliked so many (2)

A CERTAIN man who prided himself upon his infidel opinions desired to employ a watchman around his house during the night. This it was no more than prudent for him to do, as he was very rich, keeping up an expensive establishment and known often to have a large amount of money about his person.

Many came to apply for the position he wanted filled, some of whom he dismissed at a glance, some after a brief interview; but others appeared well qualified for the place. Of these, three came equally well recommended, and he determined to make his choice from among them. He therefore took them apart separately, and after inquiring more particularly into their former occupations and history wrote down the places of their residence, and also, without letting them know it, a careful description of their dress and appearance. As soon as they were gone he called three of his servants to him and said:

“You know I am looking for a man as night-watchman; I think he can be found among those who have just left, and I want you to assist me in making a selection. To-morrow will be Sunday. Be up, all of you, bright and early, and one go and stand near the lodging-place of each of these men. Watch them when they come out in the morning, keep near them all day, and come here at night and report what you have seen.”

The servants, promising obedience, retired, and the next night, according to orders, returned to their master.

“And what have you to tell about your man?” he said to the first who appeared.

“He spent the day in the country,” replied the servant.

“Sensible fellow!” said his master. “And did you go with him?”

“Indeed I did—got off at the same station, took dinner at the same table, and came back in the same train.”

“And how did he behave himself?”

“Like a sensible fellow, sir, as you called him. He had a friend with him, and they just smoked their cigars and lay about in the shade all day; took a glass of beer now and then—nothing more. I believe he’s the very man that would suit you.” Here the second servant came in.

“And what have you to say?” asked his master.

“My man,” replied the servant, “went to the tavern.”

“He’s none the worse for that, if he didn’t take too much after he got there.”

“And he didn’t; only three glasses—I counted them—between breakfast and dinner.”

“Little enough!”

“You’d have thought so if you had only seen how his friends pressed him, a dozen times, to take more.”

“But he wouldn’t?”

“They couldn’t make him. He’s just the man for a watchman, I’m sure.” The third servant now appeared.

“And where did your man go?” asked his master.

“To church,” replied the servant.

“Did you follow him?”

“You told me to, and I did, and sat in the pew right behind him.” At this the other men laughed.

“Well, did he gape around at his neighbors, and then fall asleep, like the rest of the hypocrites who go there?”

“No; I must tell you the truth.”

“Let’s have it, then.”

“I watched him and never took my eyes off him, and I tell you he’s in earnest.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s among them that believe there’s a God, and have made up their mind to serve him.”

“That’ll do,” said the master. “You have made your report, and now you may go.”

The next night there was a new watchman around the rich infidel’s house. It was he who went to church on a Sunday.

* * * * *

When they must commit themselves, or their substance, to another’s keeping, both good men and bad men want good men to serve them.

SINGLE AND DOUBLE.

A FARMER who owned a lazy horse was riding him barebacked one day, when the beast began to complain of his load, saying:

“Such a heavy man as you ought to ride in a wagon and have a pair instead of one poor overworked horse to carry him.”

The farmer made no reply, but jogged on quietly. Presently he came up with one of his neighbors afoot. The farmer slackened his pace and the man walked beside him in the road, the two talking together about their corn, and oats, and clover. They had not gone far before the farmer noticed a limp in his neighbor’s gait.

“What is the matter?” said he.

“A sharp peg in my boot,” replied the other, “seems to object to my walking.”

“Then you’d better get up and ride behind me,” said the farmer.

“That I will,” said the man—“gladly; and thank you.”

As he clambered on to the horse from the top of a fence beside which his friend had stopped, the animal said to himself:

“Ah! I did not know when I was well off. Willingly now would I carry my master alone, but another behind him almost breaks my back. Never again will I complain of my load until I have asked myself how I should feel if it were suddenly made twice as heavy.”

* * * * *

When real discomforts come, we look back and wonder how we could have fretted under those which were only imaginary.

THE BOASTFUL FLY.

A FLY that had lodged on a crumbling wall, seeing other flies swarming around it, began to boast about their numbers, saying:

“Look at us! Multitudes in this little space! We are everywhere—in the garden among the flowers, in the field amid the clover, in the woods darting in and out of the sunbeams that fall between the branches.”

Here a humming-bird lighted in a trumpet-vine that grew over the wall. Said the fly:

“You are a traveller, sir, I hear, and have been to other countries. Pray, have you ever been in any place where there are no flies?”

“Never,” said the humming-bird.

“Oh that I had your strong wings,” cried the fly, “to carry me where I could see the flies that live far away as well as those that live here! But you have seen them; maybe, now, you can guess how many flies there are?”

“Impossible!” said the bird. “You cannot be counted. Why, all the bluebirds and blackbirds, the humming-birds, and birds of every kind, put together, are as nothing compared with you!”

“We are the people,” continued the boastful fly, raising its tiny voice—“not so big as some others, we’ll admit, but look at our numbers: myriads upon myriads!”

“Great in numbers, it is true,” said a mossy stone in the wall, “but one thing you’ve forgotten.”

“What is that?” asked the fly.

“That midsummer is already past, and in a few short weeks the green will have faded from the fields, and frost will cover the ground; and then, though we look diligently for you, not one of all your myriads shall be found.”

* * * * *

That which seems great in the light of the present, when looked at in the light of the future shrinks into nothingness.

THE MENDED BOOTS.

A MAN who had a pair of boots that needed mending carried them to the cobbler’s and dropped them beside his bench, saying, “They’ll do any time to-day; send them home as soon as they are finished,” and without waiting for an answer departed.

While the cobbler was examining the boots and preparing to go to work on them, another man, with a badly-worn pair in his hand, came into the shop, and said:

“I want you to mend these at once; I’ll send for them in the evening.”

At this the cobbler let the first pair fall upon the floor, saying to himself: “As he will send, I must be sure and have them ready.”

And, going to work on them, he kept at it until they were done. In the evening the man’s little son called, and carried them away with him.

The next day, after breakfast, as he sat down on his bench, the cobbler said:

“Now I must get at the other pair, that was left first.”

But just as he was putting the last into one of them, a man entered the shop with a quick step and handed him a pair of shoes that were almost worn to pieces:

“I must have these, without fail, in the morning,” he cried, “and will call for them myself. On no account disappoint me.”

The cobbler at once dropped the boot that was in his lap, and, seeming to have caught the man’s ardor, thrust the last into one of his shoes and continued to work diligently until evening, and so finished them.

In the morning the man appeared, with as rapid a step as ever, and, finding his shoes done, paid for them, and was quickly gone.

A little while after this, as the cobbler sat calmly reading his newspaper, the man who left the first pair strolled into the shop.

“As I happen to be passing,” he said, “I’ll just take my boots with me.” But, seeing a confused look on the cobbler’s face, he added:

“Of course they’re ready; you know they were to be done the day before yesterday.”

Then, looking on the floor, he saw them lying exactly where he had left them.

“I’ve been so very bu—busy,” stammered the cobbler, “that I haven’t got ’em quite finished yet.”

“‘Quite finished’!” exclaimed the man. “Why, you haven’t touched them!”

“But I’m going to begin this minute,” said the cobbler, “and you shall have them to-morrow, for certain.”

* * * * *

He who is the least urgent is apt to be the last served.

THE CRIPPLE AND HIS STAFF.

A POOR cripple who had to go on foot to the hospital (where only he could be cured) cut a staff to help him in walking. It was the best he could get from the woods that grew by the way, and was just like those that other cripples used on that same road.

For a time, as long as the road was smooth, the staff seemed to be all that he needed; but when he came to an uneven place, he found that it did not answer. It was too short, though as long as that sort of wood grew, and it was too rough, hurting his hand as he leaned upon it. Beside this, it did not take a firm hold on the ground, but slipped from under him, giving him many falls.

After one of these falls, while he was lying prostrate and hardly able to rise, a man came to him with a pair of crutches in his hand. The man raised him up from the ground, put the crutches under his arms, and showed him how to walk with them.

And now the poor cripple was overjoyed to find that he could walk with comparative ease and with perfect safety. Yet he kept the staff that he had cut for himself, carrying it, thrust under his girdle, across his back, behind him.

He walked leaning on his crutches for a considerable distance and over a good deal of rough ground, and then came to another smooth spot.

Here a desire seized him to try his staff again. But why should he want to do this? In the first place, he had forgotten in that short space of time the falls it had before given him. Then it seemed as if the staff would be lighter and more easily handled than the crutches. But perhaps the chief reason was that he would not appear so great a cripple with the staff as with the crutches; for above all things else the cripple desires to appear not a cripple, and to seem to walk as if nothing were the matter with him.

So he tried his staff again, and for a time got along quite well.

While he was walking at his best, hardly limping, as he thought, a man came to him saying:

“How well you walk! That staff is just the thing for you. But you don’t need the crutches; why do you cumber yourself with them?”

With this the man took hold of the crutches to take them from him, but the cripple would not let go of them. The man stood and reasoned a while with him; but when he found it was of no use, he turned away, disgusted, saying, as he left him:

“Any way, you are a fool, to keep both.”

The cripple had not gone much farther, leaning on his staff, when he came to some more rough ground, where he floundered about for a while and then fell to the earth, striking his head and bringing the blood. Then he was glad that he had not parted with the crutches. He drew them out from behind him, put them under his arms, and proceeded on his way.

Now we should think that he would never trust to his staff again. But it was not so. He hardly ever came to a smooth place that he did not draw it forth and walk with it, till he learned again, by sad experience, that it would not support him; so that this was, in fact, the history of his going—toiling along with his staff and falling, and then betaking himself to his crutches once more.

At last he came to the foot of the hill on the top of which was the hospital. But the ascent of that hill! he was terrified as he looked at it. It was covered with rocks and rolling stones, and beside its steep path was a yawning chasm. He stood gazing at it for a moment, and then, as if realizing for the first time his actual needs, he drew forth his staff and cast it from him as far as his strength would send it.

Now, he had not known himself what a weight that staff had been to him, for no sooner was he rid of it than it seemed to him almost as if he had wings. Then, resting wholly on his crutches, he addressed himself to his last labor. And, truly, those who looked after him saw that he made that most difficult ascent (up to the place where he knew there was a Physician who would heal him) as if it were the easiest part of his journey.

THE SEARCH.

A MAN had a never-failing spring in his grounds, the water from which he brought through pipes to his house. There it was used for drinking, cooking, washing, and all domestic purposes. After a time, however, the family became aware that, from some cause, the water was tainted. They were loth to acknowledge this, but it was so evident that all their wishes to the contrary could not deceive them.

The first thing the man did was to go to the spring and examine it. No water could look purer. He dipped a cupful from the surface, and drank it without detecting any unpleasant taste. What was next to be done? He had heard of a filter for sale at the village store. It would cost several dollars, but the doctor’s bill might come to a great deal more. There was no help for it: the filter was bought and placed where every drop from the spring passed through it before being used at the house. Reluctant indeed were the man and his family, after such an expense, still to recognize, without being able to detect the cause of, the impurity.

But one course was left, and that was to take up and examine every foot of pipe through which the water ran. This required a whole day’s labor. Nevertheless, it was done. No dead toads or frogs were found in it, so it was carefully cleaned and laid back in its place. The water was turned on again, and, although there was in reality no reason to look for an improvement, the family felt disappointed when it became evident, after all this additional trouble, that the disagreeable taste remained.

The man sat silent all the evening after his hard day’s work, discouraged, but still trying to devise some means of prosecuting his search. The next morning he rose up bright and early, and without saying a word to any one put his long post-spade over his shoulder and walked out to the spring. There, beginning a little way back from its edge, he began to dig. Finding nothing but good top-soil, with clay underneath, he pursued his labors until he had gone almost the whole way around it. Then he came suddenly upon a dark spot in the earth. He dug into it still deeper; the odor that arose from it revealed its nature: it was a mass of decay. He uncovered it to the spring’s side, and found that it cropped out there at the very spot where his pipe opened into the water. At last the cause of all his trouble was revealed.

It was no small task to dam back the rising tide, so that the foul matter could be removed and replaced with pure earth. But, now that he could see where to direct his efforts, this was a simple matter, requiring only persevering labor, which was willingly bestowed; and so in due time the work was well and thoroughly done and the object attained. And the man and his family continued ever afterward to enjoy the pure water of the spring.

* * * * *

As long as we allow the source to remain impure, we will try in vain to purify that which issues from it.

THE SWALLOWS AND THE WINDMILL.

A PAIR of swallows, while looking for a barn in which to build, came across a windmill, with its sails furled and its great wheel standing motionless.

“What sort of a place is this?” they said. “Surely no better can be found for our home. We’ll let other swallows go into the old tumble-down barns around, but this beautiful tower we will secure for ourselves.”

Then, flying below the dome-like roof of the mill, they discovered a small window, just under the eaves, with a pane of glass broken out, through which they darted, and soon picked out a spot under a rafter inside for their nest. At once they went to work building it. A pond near by supplied them with mud. Working up little balls of this with their bills, they carried them into the mill and fastened them against the rafter they had chosen. In this way, adding little by little, as a bricklayer builds up a house, they built up the walls of their nest. Then they brought grass to line the inside, coiling it around nicely that it might be smooth and even. Last of all, above the grass, they made a bed of soft feathers.

Now, it happened, the very next night after all this was finished, that a strong wind sprang up, and the next morning early the miller appeared and went into his mill. Presently he came out again, and, standing on the ground, under the great wheel, began to unfurl the sails on each of its four arms, one after the other. As soon as this was done, loosening its fastenings he let the wheel go; and the wind, filling the sails, began to turn it around—at first slowly, but gradually faster and faster, until it was running at full speed.

The swallows, that were taking a holiday after their labors, and flying about joyously up in the air, looked down surprised at what was going on. But their surprise was turned to dismay when they found that the wheel was revolving directly in front of the little window through which they gained entrance into the mill. They flew from side to side, hour after hour, hoping the wheel would stop; but it never once rested through the day or the night, and continued to go until another morning appeared. Then, wearied out and in despair, they lodged on a fence near by.

Here another swallow, that had her home in a neighboring barn, saw them perched with drooping wings. Lighting beside them, she asked what was the matter.

“‘Matter’!” cried they. “We are ruined. The man in yonder mill tied up his horrid wheel just long enough for us to build our nest under his roof, and then set it going. Look at it! Were we inside, we could never get out; and now that we are out, we can never get in. So cruelly have we been deceived!”

“You have been deceived, my friends, that is true,” replied the other, gently, “but not by the miller: you have deceived yourselves. What does he care for swallows? It was your place to inquire how the building was used, before making your nest in it. Instead of doing this, you took the risk, and so have lost your labor. But do not despair as though all had been lost. If you will be satisfied to lodge like other swallows, and will come to our barn, across yonder field, there is plenty of room left over the haymow, and time enough too, for you to build another nest; and there you may yet rear your brood in peace and content.”

* * * * *

When we take for granted what we ought to prove by careful research, we are apt to be disappointed in the result; especially is caution needed when, leaving the old beaten track, we venture to mark out a new path for ourselves.

THE MEDICINE-MAN.

A MAN who lived in an unhealthy region of country supported himself by preparing and selling a medicine which acted as an antidote to the malarial or other poison prevailing there. This poison was taken into the system through the air the people breathed, the water they drank, and the food they ate. The entire population was suffering from it. Unless its effects were arrested, they became in the end fatal. The medicine, however, was a certain cure. Nature had evidently provided it as a remedy for a people otherwise incurably smitten, and the man who made a business of preparing it put it up in such quantities that there was an abundant supply within the reach of all by whom it was needed.

But here was a curious thing: The man himself neglected to take of the medicine. This was not because he had escaped the prevailing infection. Signs of it in his own person were evident enough to his friends, and some of them who had been cured through his means took occasion to speak with him on the subject. Said one of them:

“No one knows better than yourself the value of this remedy. And though it be not always pleasant to take, and requires some self-denial while using, what is this to the risk of one’s life?”

To this reasonable appeal the man at first made no answer; but when further pressed, he replied as follows:

“Am I doing any harm, that I should be thus annoyed and interfered with? Is it not better that I should deal out this medicine than poison to the people?”

“It is indeed,” said his friend. “You are doing no harm, but good, to others, but are not resisting the harm that is being done to yourself.”

“That is a personal matter,” said the man, “with which nobody else has anything to do. I can attend to my own health, and have no wish that another should prescribe for me.”

So they could do no more, but had to stand by and see the fatal malady increasing upon him.

It was like looking at a man standing in the water, breast-deep, with the vessel sinking under him, and he, after handing all the rest into the lifeboat, turning a deaf ear when they begged him to come too, and be saved.

* * * * *

Leading another into the right path does not excuse me for continuing in the wrong one. Neither can his reaching the goal help me to get there while I walk in a different way.

THE EAGLE AND THE WREN.

A WREN that came into a mountainous region where mining was carried on, having found a deserted pit, made her nest in a hole in its side. One hot summer day an eagle lodged on the branch of a pine tree that stood near the pit, and spied the little wren coming up out of its mouth. Said the eagle:

“So you are not satisfied with getting down on to the ground? You must burrow under it to make your nest! Well, every creature finds its own proper level; but can you see so far as that lofty crag on the top of yonder mountain? There, up among the clouds, is where I sit with my young, looking down on you little birds that dare not fly to the height of our home.”

The wren, overawed by the eagle’s voice, made no answer, but flew down into the pit again.

The day grew hotter and hotter; the birds through the woods ceased singing and the insects chirping; all nature seemed oppressed by the heat. In the afternoon a small black cloud appeared in the west. It rose rapidly, and soon spread over the whole sky. Then there was a strange sound heard in the distance. It grew louder and nearer. As it approached, tall forest trees bent over and snapped asunder, and great branches, and heavy stones even, were seen flying through the air. It lasted but a moment, and then all was still again.

Now, the wren, hidden in the hole in the pit’s side, had not heard the noise of the storm; but, coming up soon afterward to hunt for a worm, she was dismayed at the scene of desolation that met her eye. Great trunks of trees, and rocks, were strewn over the earth, while among them lay prostrate the eagle and her young. The young ones were dead, and their mother, with a broken wing, in her effort to rise, was vainly beating the ground.

“Alas!” cried the wren, “what has wrought such sad ruin? And how is it that I have escaped, when a strong eagle has been cast down?”

“Ah!” replied the eagle, “had I been a wren with a lowly nest, like you, instead of a proud eagle with her nest built on high, the tornado, which you did not even hear, would have left me and mine, too, unharmed.”

* * * * *

Persons who fill lofty stations are subject to dangers which others know not of, and many a time, when no one suspects it, would be glad to change places with those who envy them.

THE TWO SAPLINGS.

TWO slender saplings were planted on the same day—one before the house of a rich man, and the other at a poor man’s door.

The summer passed, and winter came. Then, as the rich man saw his young tree tossed to and fro by the storm, he was afraid it would be broken; so he went to it and built a fence around it and spread a roof over it. But the poor man, because he had to labor out in the storm himself, never thought of sheltering his tree.

Season followed after season; the rich man was still nursing his tree, and, as it grew, building his fence up higher and higher. But the poor man’s tree was left to the sunshine, the wind, and the rain.

And now long years have gone; youth has fled, and age has come. The rich man can no longer keep up his watchful care, nor the poor man go forth to his labor. But, as they sit resting at their doors at the close of the day, the poor man sees, towering above him, a strong oak in its prime, spreading its protecting branches over his roof; while the rich man sees a weak and unhealthy trunk that is already decaying at the root, and destined hardly to outlast himself.

* * * * *

Parents who shield their children from the hardships which they ought to bear in youth, unfit them for the hardships which they must bear in maturer years.

THE COG-WHEEL.

A SMALL cog-wheel in the upper part of a great printing-press came to the conclusion that it was not turned by the steam-engine, but turned of its own accord. Having taken up this notion, in a little while it brought itself to believe that it drove the whole press.

“It is easy to see,” it said, “that the other wheels keep time with my movements, going slow when I go slow, and fast when I run at greater speed. From this it is plain that I give motion to the whole, and that all the work of the press depends upon me.”

Then it began to boast about that work.

“Look,” it said, “at that great sheet of white paper. It is laid on my feed-board blank and meaningless, but comes out from under my cylinder covered with the clearest print. It is a newspaper, which is distributed by tens of thousands over the land. At other times I print books. Some are learned ones, for scholars to read; some are children’s books filled with pictures, and of these last I assert that nothing made of paper and ink can be more beautiful. But it is all my work, neither could it possibly be done without me, as I will now prove by holding back for a moment the entire press.”

Saying which, the wheel turned a little on its side, thus hindering the one next to it. But just at that moment the pressman, stepping up and seeing some derangement in its movement, stopped the press. Then, calling to a boy, who was covered with printer’s ink from head to foot,

“Run quickly,” he said, “to the store-room and bring me another cog-wheel.”

No sooner had the boy brought it than the pressman, slipping off the old wheel, put the new one in its place.

“Take this,” he said, handing the old one to the boy, “and throw it on the scrap-heap.”

In another moment the press was running again at full speed.

* * * * *

Because some good work prospers in our hands we presently think ourselves the author of it, forgetting that we are only instruments appointed to carry it on, and that there are many others who are ready, if need be, to take our place.

THE PLOUGH AND THE MOWING-MACHINE.

A FARMER, having bought a new mowing-machine, brought it home and put it in the barn where his plough was housed, waiting for the opening of spring.

When the mower, in its bright paint and glossy varnish, saw the soiled and toil-worn plough, it said, with a scornful look:

“Why am I placed in such low company?”

“You think yourself better than I am,” said the plough, “but where would you be without me? If I did not first turn up the soil for the planting, you would never be wanted for the mowing. You only finish where I have begun, and on my work your very existence depends.”

* * * * *

We sometimes look down on those who are not only our equals in usefulness, but whose honest labor has helped to make us better off than themselves.

FAT AND LEAN.

A STRONG fat ox stood with his eyes half shut, chewing the cud, while his driver heaped up a heavy load of stone on the cart he was yoked to.

A neighbor, who chanced to be riding by on a fast but very lean horse, stopped to speak to the man. The horse, on being held in, began to paw the ground, as if impatient to go on, then, looking around scornfully at the ox, said:

“What do you stand there chewing the cud for now?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” asked the ox. “What harm does it do?”

“When I’m in harness,” replied the horse, “I like to work, and not go to sleep.”

“I have to do my share of work,” said the ox; “there’s no doubt about that. If you’ll wait till I get the word, you’ll see how I pull. When I come to a heavy hill, I stop chewing the cud; but as soon as I come to a level place, I begin again. For even while I’m at work I take all the comfort I can.”

“‘Comfort’!” exclaimed the horse. “Is that your aim? Mine is to pass every other team on the road.”

“Ah, well!” said the ox, “that sounds very fine,
But just look at your ribs, and then look at mine!”

* * * * *

He who cannot be happy as long as he sees another more fortunate or successful than himself, whatever else he may gain, will never know peace and content.

HALF EMPTY AND QUITE FULL.

IN a quiet, lonely spot, beside a mountain-road, a half barrel stood partly sunk in the ground. A small wooden trough resting on its rim led the water from a spring that was hidden a little way back in the woods. The water was for ever running into it, yet the half barrel was never full. Its hoops were loosened, its joints opened, and much of the pure stream that it received escaped, trickling down its sides and sinking into the earth. But while it was never full, except perhaps once or twice in a summer, when there fell such a flood of rain as overcame all its leaks and openings, neither was it ever quite empty; for, although it was a poor leaky vessel at best, it had never quite fallen to pieces.

A few miles beyond this spot, on that mountain-road, stood what looked to be the other half of the same barrel. A trough exactly similar to the first led a stream of water into it, but this half barrel, compact and tight, was always full to the brim ready to spare some of its refreshing contents to the tired traveller, who, after he had quenched his own thirst, unreined his horse and allowed him to sink his mouth deeply into it and drink.

* * * * *

Some men, retaining their gracious gifts, are ever ready to impart to those who need; while others, suffering the loss of theirs, are ever in need themselves.

THE SNAKE.

A BEAUTIFUL and harmless little garter-snake was gliding across the road, when a man who happened to be passing seized a club and struck it a crushing blow. As it writhed in agony it turned to its assailant and said:

“Why do you kill me?”

“Do you suppose,” replied the man, “I will let anything in the form of a snake live, when I know there are venomous copperheads in this very woods?”

“And are there no men,” asked the snake, “that are revengeful and dangerous, and would you destroy all men for their sake?”

* * * * *

Let us not be prejudiced against a whole family for the faults of one member of it, or be unable to see any merit in a thing because it is not wholly free from defect.

RICH AND POOR.

TWO men were neighbors—one rich, the other poor—and both of them had children of whom they were fond. The children of the rich man received many costly presents of such things as young people prize, but the children of the poor man had only their food and clothing, and that of the plainest sort.

Years passed by. Both families grew up like young trees in an orchard, and in due season began to display the fruits of their training, when the rich man, meeting his poor neighbor one day, said to him:

“I have been watching your children, and I notice they appear to feel as though they could never see enough of you or do enough for you. It is not so with mine. I wonder if you can tell the secret of this difference?”

“Perhaps it lies here,” replied the poor man: “As I am unable to draw my children to me by what I can give them, I have to try and accomplish it by what I can do for them. To this end I am careful about four things—viz.: To be as sparing as I can of my censure when they do wrong; to be as liberal as I can of my praise when they do right; to take an interest in whatever interests them; and to let them see that I deny myself to supply their needs as far as I can.”

“I see,” replied the rich man, “wherein our plans have differed: you have worked for what I have tried to buy. I gave of my money, you of what costs more—forbearance, consideration, and love. So I have been shut out of my children’s hearts, while you have gained an entrance into yours. I thank you for the lesson you have taught me, and purpose, though I begin late, to profit by it.”

* * * * *

We cannot buy affection at any price, or retain it by the mere tie of kindred, however close. We must secure it in each case by deserving it, and hold it by continuing to deserve it from day to day.

THE HAWK AND THE CHICKEN.

A HAWK, as it soared on high, seeing a young chicken in the field below, rapidly descended, and seized it in his talons.

“Alas!” said the chicken, “I have no power to struggle, or any hope of saving myself by resisting you in any way. But I pray you listen to me. I am yet young, hardly grown, and am just beginning to enjoy roaming through the fields by myself. Do not cut off my days. I beg you out of pity to spare my life.”

“What you say may be all true,” said the hawk. “I don’t pretend to know whether it is, or is not; all I do know is that I am hungry, and that you are the only food provided for me. I can’t go into any reasonings behind that.”

Saying which, he dug his talons deeper into the flesh of his victim, and, carrying it off, devoured it on a neighboring tree.

At this a horse that was feeding in the meadow below, and had heard the birds speaking, said to himself:

“As I don’t wear feathers or fly with wings, I won’t presume to judge those who do. But, as for me, I know it is my duty to earn my living by honest labor and let other people alone.”

* * * * *

What may be lawful for others who are living under different conditions from ourselves, affords us no excuse for ever departing from the strict course of mercy and justice.

THE SERVANT’S MONEY.

A CERTAIN king sent a message to one of his servants who lived in a distant part of his kingdom, bidding the servant come to him, and promising that henceforth all his wants should be supplied in the king’s palace.

The servant, overjoyed at the message, prepared at once to obey it; but, being a poor man who through long years of saving and pinching had come to set great store by small possessions, it went very hard with him to leave behind such things as he could call his own—the little house he lived in, with the plot of ground around it, and the few rude implements with which he tilled the soil. As it was impossible, however, to take them with him, he sold them for what he could get (which was not much); and then, packing up his clothes in divers parcels and hiding his little store of money among them, he started on his journey.

The first part of this, which led through well-tilled fields and among people whom he knew, was very pleasant. Many who were his friends came out, as he passed by, to meet him, begging him to stop and rest a while in their houses. And when it happened to be toward evening, he went in and supped and lodged with them.

But after leaving this part of the country he came to a bleak and lonely region abounding in rocks and caves. Here, as he was pressing on, hoping to get through it safely, some robbers rushed out from their hiding-place upon him. Hastily looking through the bundles with which he was loaded, and finding they were made up of old worn-out clothes, they refused to take them. But, in making the search, they spied his money, and, seizing it, quickly disappeared.

When the poor man saw them hurrying away with his treasure—which, small as it was, represented his lifelong labors—his grief overcame him, and he sat down and wept. But, presently recovering himself, he said:

“Shall I stay here crying in this wilderness, when I am sent for by the king?”

Then he rose up from the ground, and pursued his way without further interruption, though with a heavy heart and faltering step, until he came to the gates of the king’s palace. There he found many others assembled from different parts of the kingdom, who had also come at the king’s command—some of them poor like himself, some rich; and they all waited for the day when the gates should open.

But while they were waiting for this what was his surprise to see the poor draw forth their pence, and the rich their silver and gold, and throw them away! For they had been told they would have no need of them within the gates, and that until they had parted with them they could not enter. So they all cast their money from them, whether it was little or much, and it lay scattered over the ground, with none to gather it. Neither was the servant any poorer than the richest of them, though he had been robbed of all. Then he said to himself, “How foolish was I to set such store by, and grieve so much after, what was of no real value!”

And after that, with nothing except the garments that they wore (and even these had been given them), he and all who waited with him entered joyfully into the palace-gates.

* * * * *

It is of little account what we lose by the way if we keep that which alone has any value at the end of our journey.

FUTURE GREATNESS.

TWO young colts, each by the side of its mother, were at pasture in adjoining fields. The mother of one, coming to the dividing fence, and putting her head over it, said to her neighbor:

“Just look at the color of my colt! Was there ever a lovelier bay? Before another spring has passed over his head I expect to see him in the stable of some millionaire. You know what a rage there is among rich men for fast horses. Now, look at the points in my colt—his long, clean limbs, his deer-like shape, his full eye and broad nostril. I am as certain of his speed as if he had just been around the track and I heard the time-keeper calling out:

“‘Two minutes ten and a half seconds!’”

“I have been looking at your colt,” replied the other, “and admit he promises well; but what do you think of the little roan on this side the fence? Now, I wouldn’t care to have him in a millionaire’s stable, or put him there, if I could, by a wish. Those rich men think of nobody but themselves, and keep fine horses only to swell their own importance. Then they are speculators, to a man; there’s no telling how long they’ll keep their money. Let that go, and their horses go with it, to the jockey and the race-course, to be abused and betted on and driven to death.

“No; I would rather see my colt in the hands of some grand, rich lady—the gem of her stable, her daily companion and pet. And is he not made for it? Look at his round, short body, so plump and easily kept; his strong, arched neck, and his beautiful thick mane and tail. And mark my words: it won’t be long before all that I predict about him comes true. In fact, I think I know who the lady is already. She drives by here in her barouche with liveried coachman and footman, each with a bouquet in his buttonhole, and as she passes I can see her looking over the fence.”

Here we will imagine that several years have suddenly vanished, and we are again visiting the fields where the above interview took place. One of them is being ploughed, and a stout roan horse is stepping briskly in front of the furrow; the other field its owner is clearing of stones, and a young bay is hauling out a heavy cart-load of them. Both horses are strong and willing helpers on the farm, earning an honest living, valued and well cared for by their masters, and far better off than they would be if left to the heedless servants of the fashionable lady or the proud millionaire.

* * * * *

What weakness and folly do we often show in the secret expectations we cherish concerning those who are to come after us! And how well it is for them that the shaping of their destinies is not in our hands!

THE OLD MAN’S WATCH.

AN old man and a young one were walking together over a rough and hilly road. Said the old man:

“Though I detain you by being unable to keep up with your rapid step, yet, in spite of this feeble frame, I am feeling in spirit as young as you. Perhaps you can hardly believe this?”

“I can believe it if you say so,” replied the young man, “but confess that when I look at your snowy locks and your bent form, I cannot understand it.”

“Stop a moment,” said the old man, drawing out his watch and exposing its works to view. “You see that, like myself, this watch has seen its best days. Its case shows wear, and so do its works. These little cog-wheels do not fit into each other as closely as they once did, and they are growing farther apart, by wear, every day. But now look at the mainspring, where it lies, here, coiled up by itself. It shows no wear. The same power and elasticity it has had all along remain in it still.”

“I see,” replied the other; and, becoming so interested in the watch as to forget it was being used only as an illustration, he continued: “Why do you not have the rest of the works repaired?”

“Your question is natural,” said the old man. “So I might have these worn-out works repaired, but not this worn-out body. Neither do I desire it. It will soon have done its work and lasted out its appointed time here. But in another state of being the immortal part—the mainspring, so to speak—will live on, clothed with a new body as immortal as itself. It is this that still remains as vigorous as ever, and makes me feel, in spirit, as young as yourself.”

* * * * *

As we advance in years we are conscious of that within us which does not grow old, but which, having learned that this world cannot satisfy, grows weary of it, and peers anxiously into the next.

THE TEACHER.