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 UH^HBHiH 
 
THE 
 
 CHILD AT HOME; 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES OF FILIAL DUTY FA- 
 MILIARLY ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 1/ 
 
 BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE MOTHER AT HOME," "JOSEPHINE," "MARIA ANTOINETTE. 
 
 "KINGS AND QUEENS," "NAPOLEON," ETC. 
 
 VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED 
 
 2$nt|) numerous 25njjrabmss. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 329 Sl 331 PEARL STREET, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. A 1 
 
 185 , N*'2~, 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The Mother at Home, and its companion and 
 counterpart, the Child at Home, were written sim- 
 ply with the view of affording to mothers in the 
 common walks of life, plain and simple instruction 
 in respect to the right discharge of their maternal 
 duties, and, at the same time, some practical aid in 
 leading the minds of their children to proper views 
 of their obligations to God, to their parents, and to 
 one another. Although one of the volumes is ad- 
 dressed nominally to the mother, and the other to 
 the child, they are in fact each intended for both 
 mothers and children. If a parent reads and ex- 
 plains the Mother at Home to her children, they 
 will derive great benefit from the exercise, as they 
 will thus be taught to realize something of the nature 
 and the weight of the responsibilities, the duties, 
 and the cares which such a trust as that which is 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 committed to a mother necessarily brings. They 
 will thus the more readily acquiesce in the measures 
 adopted for their good, and submit to the authority 
 which ought to be exercised over them ; and they 
 may be expected also to imbibe, in some degree, the 
 Christian spirit which the book inculcates. On the 
 other hand, the Child at Home is intended quite as 
 much to afford to mothers a practical exemplifica- 
 tion of the spirit and manner by which their instruc- 
 tions to their children should be characterized, as to 
 act directly upon the children themselves ; and its ■ 
 effect even in this last point of view will be greatly 
 enhanced, if the mother, instead of giving her chil- 
 dren the book, should read it to them herself, or 
 allow them to read it aloud to her, chapter by chap- 
 ter, at some calm and silent hour, in the evening or 
 upon the Sabbath, when the hearts of the listeners 
 may be open to salutary impressions, and when the 
 instructions of the printed page may be accompanied 
 by the kind and familiar explanations of the living 
 teacher. 
 
 The volumes thus, though under different names, 
 aim at one and the same end, and are intended as 
 the counterparts and companions of each other. 
 
r R E F A C E . Vll 
 
 They regard the family as one, — and in explaining 
 and enforcing the relative duties of parents and chil- 
 dren, they are intended to exert upon the two 
 classes for which they are designed, a common and 
 simultaneous influence. 
 
 Since the original publication of these works, 
 they have been translated into many different lan- 
 guages, and have been circulated very extensively 
 throughout the Christian world. The favor with 
 which they have thus been regarded has led to the 
 republication of them at this time in a new and 
 greatly improved form. The works have been care- 
 fully revised, and much enlarged, and the various 
 scenes and incidents described in them are illustrated 
 with numerous engravings, which, it is hoped, will 
 aid in making them attractive both to parents and 
 children. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ■*-++ 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. — Responsibility, 11 
 
 II. — Deception, 37 
 
 III. — Obedience, 58 
 
 IV. — Gratitude, 94 
 
 V. — Conscientiousness, 115 
 
 VI. — Religious Truth, 139 
 
 VII.— The Savior, . . . . . .169 
 
 VIII. — Every-day Duty, 205 
 
 IX.— Study, 240 
 
 X. — Traits of Character, 264 
 
 XL — Traits of Character — continued, . . 285 
 XII. — Conclusion, 307 
 
ENGRAVINGS 
 
 The Court, . 
 The Pirates, 
 The Cell, 
 The Stolen Visit 
 The Cake, 
 The Party, 
 The Prison, . 
 Casabianca, 
 Watchful Care, 
 Helplessness, 
 The Robbery, 
 The VorAGE, 
 The Lost Child, 
 Child Found, 
 Coasting, 
 The Letter, 
 The Greenlander 
 The Play-ground, 
 The Duel, 
 The Handcartman, 
 The Sailor Boy, 
 The Orchard, . 
 The Gun, 
 Mischief, . 
 Leaving Home, 
 The Hotel, 
 
 PAGE 
 11 
 
 22 
 25 
 
 41 
 52 
 63 
 68 
 79 
 100 
 106 
 129 
 140 
 160 
 163 
 174 
 190 
 193 
 216 
 223 
 255 
 261 
 265 
 276 
 296 
 308 
 315 
 

 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 RESPONSIBILITY. 
 
 In large cities there are so many persons 
 guilty of crimes, that it is necessary to have a 
 court in session every day to try those who 
 are accused of breaking the laws. This court 
 
12 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 is called the Police Court. If you should go 
 into the room where it is held, you would see 
 the officers bringing in, one after another, mis- 
 erable and wicked creatures to be tried ; and 
 after the officers had stated and proved the 
 crimes charged against them, the judge would 
 command them to be led away to prison. In 
 going away, they would look so wretched that 
 you would be shocked in seeing them. 
 
 One morning a poor woman came into the 
 Police Court in Boston. Her eyes were red 
 with weeping, and she seemed to be borne 
 down with sorrow. Behind her followed two 
 men, leading in her daughter. 
 
 " Here, sir," said a man to the judge, " is a 
 girl who conducts so badly that her mother can 
 not live with her, and she must be sent to the 
 House of Correction. " 
 
 " My good woman," said the judge, " what is 
 it that your daughter does which renders it so 
 uncomfortable to live with her ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir," she replied, " it is hard for a mother 
 to accuse her own daughter, and to be the 
 means of sending her to the prison. But she 
 conducts in such a manner as to destroy all the 
 peace of my life. She has such a temper, that 
 she sometimes threatens to kill me, and she 
 does every thing to make my life wretched." 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 13 
 
 The unhappy woman could say no more. 
 Her heart seemed bursting with grief, and she 
 wept aloud. The heart of the judge was 
 moved with pity, and the bystanders could 
 hardly refrain from weeping with this afflicted 
 mother. But there stood the hard-hearted 
 girl, unmoved. She looked upon the sorrows 
 of her parent in sullen silence. She was so 
 hardened in sin, that she seemed perfectly in- 
 sensible to pity or affection. And yet she was 
 miserable. Her countenance showed that pas- 
 sion and malignity filled her heart, and that the 
 thought of the prison, to which she knew she 
 must go, filled her with rage. 
 
 The judge turned from the afflicted mother, 
 the sounds of whose sobs filled the room, and, 
 asking a few questions of the witnesses, who 
 testified to the daughter's ingratitude and cru- 
 elty, ordered her to be led away to the House 
 of Correction. The officers of justice took 
 her by the arm, and conducted her to her 
 gloomy cell. Her lonely and sorrowing mother 
 went weeping home to her abode of penury 
 and desolation. Her own daughter was the 
 viper which had stung her bosom. Her own 
 child was the wretch who was filling her heart 
 with sorrow. 
 
 And while I now write, this guilty daughter 
 
14 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 is occupying the gloomy cell of the prison., and 
 this widowed mother is in her silent dwelling, 
 in loneliness and grief! And oh, if you, who 
 read these pages, could see that mother and 
 that daughter now, you might form some feeble 
 idea of the consequences of disobedience ; you 
 might see how unutterable is the sorrow which 
 a wicked child may bring upon herself and 
 upon her parents. It is not easy, in this case, 
 to judge which is the most unhappy, the mother 
 or the child. The mother is broken-hearted at 
 home. She is alone and friendless. All her 
 hopes are most cruelly destroyed. She loved 
 her daughter, and hoped that she would live 
 to be her friend and comfort. But instead of 
 that, she became her curse, and is bringing her 
 mother's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. And 
 then look at the daughter — guilty and aban- 
 doned — oh, who can tell how miserable she 
 must be ! 
 
 Such is the grief which children may bring 
 upon themselves and their parents. You prob- 
 ably have never thought of this very much. I 
 write this book that you may think of it, and 
 that you may, by obedience and affection, make 
 your parents happy, and be happy yourselves. 
 
 This wicked girl was once a playful child, 
 innocent and happy. Her mother looked upon 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 15 
 
 her with most ardent love, and hoped that her 
 dear daughter would live to be her companion 
 and friend. At first she ventured to disobey- 
 in some trifling thing. She still loved her 
 mother, and would have been struck with hor- 
 ror at the thought of being guilty of the crimes 
 which she afterward committed. But she 
 went on from bad to worse, every day growing 
 more disobedient, until she made her poor 
 mother so miserable that she almost wished to 
 die, and till she became so miserable herself, 
 that life must have been a burden. You think, 
 perhaps, that you never shall be so unkind and 
 wicked as she finally became. But if you 
 begin as she began, by trifling disobedience, 
 and little acts of unkindness, you may soon be 
 as wicked as she, and make your parents as 
 unhappy as is her poor broken-hearted mother. 
 
 Persons never become so very wicked all at 
 once. They go on from step to step, in disobe- 
 dience and ingratitude, till they lose all feeling, 
 and can see their parents weep, and even die 
 in their grief, without a tear. 
 
 Perhaps, one pleasant day, this mother sent 
 her little daughter to school. She took her 
 books, and walked along, admiring the beautiful 
 sunshine, and the green and pleasant fields. 
 She stopped one moment to gather a flower, 
 
16 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 again to pursue a butterfly, and again to listen 
 to a little robin, pouring out its clear notes 
 upon the bough of some lofty tree. It seemed 
 so pleasant to be playing in the fields, that she 
 was unwilling to go promptly to school. She 
 thought it would not be very wrong to play a 
 little while. Thus she commenced. The next 
 day she ventured to chase the butterflies farther, 
 and to rove more extensively through the fields 
 in search of flowers. And as she played by the 
 pebbles in the clear brook of rippling water, she 
 forgot how fast the time was passing. And 
 when she afterward hastened to school, and was 
 asked why she was so late, to conceal her fault 
 she was guilty of falsehood, and said that her 
 mother wanted her at home. Thus she ad- 
 vanced rapidly in crime. Her lessons were 
 neglected. She loved the fields better than her 
 book, and would often spend the whole morning 
 idle, under the shade of some tree, when her 
 mother thought her safe in school. Having 
 thus become a truant and a deceiver, she was 
 prepared for any crimes. Good children would 
 not associate with her, and consequently she 
 had to choose the worst for her companions and 
 her friends. She learned wicked language ; she 
 was rude and vulgar in her manners ; she in- 
 dulged ungovernable passion ; and at last grew 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 17 
 
 so bad, that when her family afterward removed 
 to the city, the House of Correction became her 
 ignominious home. And there she is now, 
 guilty and wretched. And her poor mother, in 
 her solitary dwelling, is weeping over her daugh- 
 ter's disgrace. Who can comfort such a moth- 
 er ? Where is there any earthly joy to which 
 she can look ? 
 
 Children generally do not think how much 
 the happiness of their parents depends upon 
 their conduct. But you now see how very un- 
 happy you can make them. And is there a 
 child who reads this book, who would be will- 
 ing to be the cause of sorrow to his father and 
 his mother ? After all that they have done for 
 you, in taking care of you when an infant, in 
 watching over you when sick, in giving you 
 clothes to wear, and food to eat, can you be so 
 ungrateful as to make them unhappy ? You 
 have all read the story of the kind man, who 
 found a viper lying upon the ground almost 
 dead with cold. He took it up and placed it in 
 his bosom to warm it, and to save its life. And 
 what did that viper do? He killed his bene- 
 factor ! Vile, vile reptile ! Yes ! as soon as 
 he was warm and well, he stung the bosom of 
 his kind preserver, and killed him. 
 
 But that ch ; ld is a worse viper who, by his 
 
18 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 ingratitude, will sting the bosom of his father 
 or mother ; who by disobedience and unkind- 
 ness, will destroy their peace, and thus dread- 
 fully repay them for all their love and care. 
 God will not forget the sins of such a child. 
 His eye will follow you to see your sin, and his 
 arm will reach you to punish. He has said, 
 Honor your father and your mother. And the 
 child who does not do this, must meet with the 
 displeasure of God, and must be forever shut 
 out from heaven. Oh, how miserable must this 
 wicked girl now be, locked up in the gloomy 
 prison ! But how much more miserable will 
 she be when God calls her to account for all her 
 sins ! — when, in the presence of all the angels, 
 the whole of her conduct is brought to light, 
 and God says to her, " Depart from me, ye 
 cursed !" As she goes away from the presence 
 of the Lord, to the gloomy prisons of eternal 
 despair, she will then feel a degree of remorse 
 which I can not describe to you. It is painful 
 to think of it. Ah, wretched, wretched girl ! 
 Little are you aware of the woes which you 
 are preparing for yourself. I hope that no child 
 who reads these pages will ever feel these woes. 
 You have just read that it is in your power 
 to make your parents very unhappy ; and you 
 have seen how unhappy one wicked girl made 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 19 
 
 her poor mother. I might tell you many such 
 melancholy stories, all of which would be true. 
 A few years ago there was a boy who began 
 to be disobedient to his parents in little things. 
 But every day he grew worse, — more disobe- 
 dient, more willful, and more troublesome. He 
 would run away from school, and thus he grew 
 up in ignorance. He associated with bad boys, 
 and learned to swear and to lie, and to steal. 
 He became so bad that his parents could do 
 nothing with him. Every body who knew him, 
 said, " That boy is preparing for the gallows." 
 He was the pest of the neighborhood. 
 
 At last he ran away from home, without let- 
 ting his parents know that he was going. He 
 had heard of the sea, and thought it would be a 
 very pleasant thing to be a sailor. But noth- 
 ing is pleasant to the wicked. When he came 
 to the sea-shore, where there were a large num- 
 ber of ships, it was some time before any cap- 
 tain would employ him, because he knew noth- 
 ing about a ship or the sea. There was no one 
 there who was his friend, or who pitied him, 
 and he sat down and cried bitterly, wishing that 
 he was at home again, but ashamed to go back. 
 At last a sea captain came along, and hired him 
 to go on a distant voyage ; and as he knew 
 nothing about the rigging of a vessel, he was 
 
20 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 ordered to do the most servile work on board. 
 He swept the decks and the cabin, and helped 
 the cook, and was the servant of all. He had 
 the poorest food to eat he ever ate in his life. 
 And when night came, and he was so tired that 
 he could hardly stand, he had no soft bed upon 
 which to lie, but could only wrap a blanket 
 around him, and throw himself down anywhere 
 to get a little sleep. 
 
 This unhappy boy had acquired so sour a 
 disposition, and was so disobliging, that all the 
 sailors disliked him. and would do every thing 
 they could to tease him. When there was a 
 storm, and he was pale with fear, and the ves- 
 sel was rocking in the wind, and pitching over 
 the waves, they would make him climb the 
 mast, and laugh to see how terrified he was, as 
 the mast reeled to and fro, and the wind almost 
 blew him into the raging ocean. Often did 
 this poor boy get into some obscure part of the 
 ship, and weep as he thought of the home he 
 had forsaken. He thought of his father and 
 mother, how kind they had been to him, and 
 how unkind and ungrateful he had been to them, 
 and how unhappy he had made them by his 
 misconduct. But these feelings soon wore 
 away. Familiarity with sea-life gave him 
 courage, and he became inured to its hardships. 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 21 
 
 Constant intercourse with the most profligate 
 and abandoned, gave strength and inveteracy 
 to his sinful habits ; and before the voyage had 
 terminated, he was reckless of danger, and as 
 hardened and unfeeling as the most depraved 
 on board the ship. This boy commenced with 
 disobedience in little things, and grew worse 
 and worse, till he forsook his father and his 
 mother, and was prepared for the surrender of 
 every virtuous principle, and the commission 
 of any crime. But the eye of God was upon 
 him, following him wherever he went, and 
 marking all his iniquities. An hour of retribu- 
 tion was approaching. It is not necessary for 
 me to trace out to you his continued steps of 
 progress in sin. When on shore, he passed his 
 time in haunts of dissipation. And several 
 years rolled on in this way, he himself grow- 
 ing more and more hardened, and his aged pa- 
 rents, in their loneliness, weeping over the ruin 
 of their guilty and wandering son. 
 
 One day an armed vessel sailed into one of 
 the principal ports of the United States, ac- 
 companied by another, which had been cap- 
 tured. When they arrived at the wharf, it 
 was found that the vessel taken was a pirate. 
 Multitudes flocked down upon the wharf to see 
 the pirates as they should be led off to the 
 
22 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 prison, there to await their trial. Soon they 
 were brought out of the ship, with their hands 
 
 THE PIRATES. 
 
 astened together with chains, and led through 
 the streets. Ashamed to meet the looks of 
 honest men, and terrified with the certainty of 
 condemnation and execution, they walked along 
 with downcast eyes and trembling limbs. 
 Among the number was seen the unhappy and 
 guilty boy, now grown to be a young man, 
 whose history we are relating. He was locked 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 23 
 
 up in the dismal dungeon of a prison. The 
 day of trial came. Pale and trembling, he was 
 brought before the judge. He was clearly 
 proved guilty, and sentenced to be hung. Again 
 he was carried back to his prison, there to re- 
 main till the hour for his execution should ar- 
 rive. News was sent to his already broken- 
 hearted parents, that their son had been 
 condemned as a pirate, and was soon to be 
 hung. The tidings were almost too much for 
 them to endure. In an agony of feeling which 
 can not be described, they wept together. 
 They thought of the hours of their child's in- 
 fancy, when they watched over him in sickness, 
 and soothed him to sleep. They thought how 
 happy they felt when they saw the innocent 
 smile play upon his childish cheek. They 
 thought of the joy they then anticipated in his 
 opening years, and of the comfort which they 
 hoped he would be to them in their declining 
 days. And now to think of him, a hardened 
 criminal, in the murderer's cell ! — Oh, it was 
 too much, too much for them to bear. It 
 seemed as though their hearts would burst. 
 Little did they think, when, with so much af- 
 fection they caressed their infant child, that he 
 would be the curse of their life, embittering all 
 their days, and bringing down their gray hairs 
 
24 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 with sorrow to the grave. Little did they think, 
 that his first trifling acts of disobedience would 
 lead on to such a career of misery and of crime. 
 But the son was sentenced to die, and the pen- 
 alty of the law could not be avoided. His own 
 remorse and his parents' tears could be of no 
 avail. Agonizing as it would be to their feel- 
 ings, they felt that they must go and see their 
 son before he should die. 
 
 What a hard alternative it was that was pre- 
 sented to these heart-broken parents ! It was a 
 dreadful thing to leave him alone in his cell, and 
 it would he a dreadful thing to go to see him. 
 They, however, decided to go. 
 
 One morning, a gray-headed man, and an 
 aged and infirm woman, were seen walking 
 along, with faltering footsteps, through the street 
 which led to the prison. It was the heart- 
 broken father and mother of this unnatural 
 child. When they came in sight of the gloomy 
 granite walls and iron-grated windows of this 
 dreary abode, they could hardly proceed, so 
 overwhelming were the feelings which pressed 
 upon their minds. When arrived at the door 
 of the prison, the aged father, supporting upon 
 his arm the weeping and almost fainting mother, 
 told the jailer who they were, and requested 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 
 
 25 
 
 permission to see 
 their son. Even 
 the jailer, accus- 
 tomed as he was 
 to scenes of suffer- 
 ing, could not wit- 
 ness this exhibition 
 of parental grief 
 without being mov- 
 ed to tears. He led 
 the parents through 
 the stone galleries 
 of the prison, till 
 they came to the 
 
 THE CELL. 
 
 iron door of the cell in which their son was 
 confined. As he turned the key with all his 
 strength, the heavy bolt flew back, and he 
 opened the door of the cell. Oh, what a sight 
 for a father and a mother to gaze upon ! There 
 was just enough light in this gloomy abode to 
 show them their son, sitting in the corner on 
 the stone floor, pale and emaciated, and loaded 
 with chains. The moment the father beheld 
 the pallid features of his long-absent soji, he 
 raised his hands in the agony of his feelings, 
 and fell fainting at his feet. The mother burst 
 into loud exclamations of grief, as she clasped 
 her son, guilty and wretched as he was, to her 
 
26 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 bosom. Oh, who can describe this scene ! 
 Who can conceive the anguish which wrung 
 the hearts of these afflicted parents ! And it 
 was their own boy, whom they had loved and 
 cherished, who had brought all this woe upon 
 them. 
 
 I can not describe to you the scene which 
 ensued. Even the very jailer could not bear 
 it, and he wept aloud. At last he was compel- 
 led to tear the parents away ; and it was agon- 
 izing indeed to leave their son in such a situa- 
 tion, soon to be led to an ignominious death. 
 They would gladly have stayed and died with 
 their guilty child. But it was necessary that 
 they should depart ; and, the jailer having closed 
 the door and turned the massive bolt, they left 
 the unhappy criminal in his cell. Oh, what 
 would he have given, again to be innocent and 
 free ! The parents returned to their home, to 
 weep by day and by night, and to have the 
 image of their guilty son disturbing every mo- 
 ment of peace, and preventing the possibility 
 of joy. The day of execution soon arrived, and 
 their son was led to the gallows, and lanched 
 into eternity. And, crimsoned with guilt, he 
 went to the bar of God, there to answer for all 
 the crimes of which he had been guilty, and for 
 all the woes that he had caused. 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 27 
 
 You see, then, how great are your responsi- 
 bilities as a child. You have thought, perhaps, 
 that you have no power over your parents, and 
 that you are not accountable for the sorrow 
 which your conduct may cause them. Think 
 you that God will hold this child guiltless for all 
 the sorrow which he caused his father and his 
 mother ? And think you that God will hold 
 any child guiltless, who shall, by his misconduct, 
 make his parents unhappy ? No. You must 
 answer to God for every thing that you do, 
 which gives your parents pain. And there is 
 no sin greater in the sight of God than that of 
 an ungrateful child. I have shown you, in the 
 two illustrations which you have just read, how 
 much the happiness of your parents depends 
 upon your conduct. Every day you are pro- 
 moting their joy or their sorrow. And every 
 act of disobedience, or of ingratitude, however 
 trifling it may appear to you, is, in the eyes of 
 your Maker, a sin which can not pass unnoticed. 
 
 Do you ask, Why does God consider the in- 
 gratitude of children as a sin of peculiar aggra- 
 vation ? I reply, Because you are under pecu- 
 liar obligation to love and obey your parents. 
 They have loved you when you could not love 
 them. They have taken care of you when you 
 could not reward them. They have passed 
 
28 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 sleepless nights in listening to your cries, and 
 weary days in watching over you, when you 
 could neither express thanks nor feel grateful. 
 And after they have done all this, is it a small 
 sin for you to disobey them and make them un- 
 happy ? 
 
 And indeed you can do nothing to make 
 yourself so unhappy as to indulge in disobe- 
 dience, and to cherish a spirit of ingratitude. 
 You never see a child who does this, happy. 
 Look at him at home, and you will find that in- 
 stead of being light-hearted and cheerful, he is 
 sullen and morose. He sits down by the fireside 
 in a winter evening, but the evening fireside af- 
 fords no joy to him. He knows that his parents 
 are grieved at his conduct. He loves nobody, 
 and feels that nobody loves him. There he sits, 
 silent and sad, making himself miserable by his 
 own misconduct. The disobedient boy or girl 
 is always unhappy. You know how different 
 the dispositions of children are. Some are al- 
 ways pleasant and obliging, and you love their 
 company. They seem happy when they are 
 with you, and they make you happy. Now you 
 will almost always find that such children are 
 obedient to their parents. They are happy at 
 home, as well as abroad. God has in almost 
 every case connected enjoyment with duty, and 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 29 
 
 sorrow with sin. But in no case is this con- 
 nection more intimate, than in the duty which 
 children owe their parents. And to every child 
 who reads this book, I would say, If you wish 
 to be happy, you must be good. Always re- 
 member this. Let no temptation induce you 
 for a moment to disobey. The more ardently 
 you love your parents, the more ardently will 
 they love you. But if you are ungrateful and 
 disobedient, childhood will pass away in sorrow ; 
 all the virtuous will dislike you, and you will 
 have no friends worth possessing. When you 
 arrive at mature age, and enter upon the active 
 duty of life, you will have acquired those feel- 
 ings which will deprive you of the affection of 
 your fellow-beings, and you will probably go 
 through the world unbeloved and unrespected. 
 Can you be willing so to live ? 
 
 The following account, written by one who, 
 many years after her mother's death, visited 
 her grave, forcibly describes the feelings which 
 the remembrance of the most trifling act of 
 ingratitude will, under such circumstances, 
 awaken. 
 
 " It was thirteen years since my mother's 
 death, when, after a long absence from my na- 
 tive village, I stood beside the sacred mound, 
 beneath which I had seen her buried. Since 
 
30 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 that mournful period, a great change had come 
 over me. My childish years had passed away, 
 and with them my youthful character. The 
 world was altered too ; and as I stood at mv 
 mother's grave, I could hardly realize that I 
 was the same thoughtless, happy creature, 
 whose cheeks she so often kissed in an excess 
 of tenderness. But the varied events of thir- 
 teen years had not effaced the remembrance 
 of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I had 
 seen her but yesterday — as the blessed sound 
 of her well-remembered voice was in my ear. 
 The gay dreams of my infancy and childhood 
 were brought back so distinctly to my mind, 
 that, had it not been for one bitter recollection, 
 the tears that I shed would have been gentle 
 and refreshing. The circumstance may seem 
 a trifling one, but the thought of it now pains 
 my heart, and I relate it, in order that those 
 children who have parents to love them may 
 learn to value them as they ought. 
 
 " My mother had been ill a long time, and I 
 became so accustomed to her pale face and 
 weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, 
 as children usually are. At first, it is true, I 
 sobbed violently ; but when, day after day, I 
 returned from school, and found her the same, 
 I began to believe that she would always be 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 31 
 
 spared to me. But they told me she would 
 die. 
 
 " One day, when I had lost my place in the 
 class, and had done my work wrong side out- 
 ward, I came home discouraged and fretful. I 
 went to my mother's chamber. She was paler 
 than usual, but she met me with the same affec- 
 tionate smile that always welcomed my return. 
 Alas, when I look back through the lapse of 
 thirteen years, I think my heart must have been 
 of stone not to have been melted by it. She 
 requested me to go down stairs and bring her a 
 glass of water. I pettishly asked why she did 
 not call a domestic to do it. With a look of 
 mild reproach, which I shall never forget, if I 
 live to be a hundred years old, she said, ' And 
 will not my daughter bring a glass of water for 
 her poor sick mother ?' 
 
 "I went and brought her the water, but I did 
 not do it kindly. Instead of smiling and kissing 
 her, as I was wont to do, I set the glass down 
 very quickly, and left the room. After playing 
 about a short time, I went to bed without bid- 
 ding my mother good night. But when alone 
 in my room, in darkness and in silence, I re- 
 membered how pale she looked, and how her 
 voice trembled when she said, ■ Will not my 
 daughter bring a glass of water for her poor 
 
32 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 sick mother?' I could not sleep. I stole into 
 her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had sunk 
 into an easy slumber, and they told me that I 
 must not waken her. I did not tell any one 
 what troubled me, but stole back to my bed, re- 
 solved to rise early in the morning, and tell her 
 how sorry I was for my conduct. 
 
 " The sun was shining bright when I awoke ; 
 and, hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my 
 mother's chamber. She was dead ! She never 
 spoke more — never smiled upon me again — and 
 when I touched the hand that used to rest upon 
 my head in blessing, it was so cold that it made 
 me shudder. I bowed down by her side, and 
 sobbed in the bitterness of my heart. I thought 
 then that I might well wish to die, and be buried 
 with her ; and, old as I now am, I would give 
 worlds, were they mine to give, could my moth- 
 er but have lived to tell me that she forgave my 
 childish ingratitude. But I can not call her 
 back ; and when I stand by her grave, and 
 whenever I think of her manifold kindness, the 
 memory of that reproachful look which she 
 gave me will bite like a serpent and sting like 
 an adder." 
 
 And when your mother dies, do you not 
 think that you will feel remorse for every un- 
 kind word that you have uttered, and for every 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 33 
 
 act of ingratitude ? Your beloved parents must 
 soon die. You will probably be led into their 
 darkened chamber, to see them lying pale and 
 helpless on their dying bed. Oh, how will you 
 feel in that solemn hour ! All your past life 
 will come to your mind, and you will think that 
 you would give worlds, if you could blot out 
 the remembrance of past ingratitude. You will 
 think that, if your father or mother should only 
 get well, you would never do any thing to grieve 
 them again. But the hour for them to die must 
 come. You may weep as though your heart 
 would break, but it will not recall the past, and 
 it will not delay their death. They must die ; 
 and you will probably gaze upon their cold and 
 lifeless countenances in the coffin. You will 
 follow them to the grave, and see them buried 
 forever from your sight. Oh, how unhappy 
 you will feel, if you then have to reflect upon 
 your misconduct ! The tears that you will shed 
 over their graves will be the more bitter, be- 
 cause you will feel that, perhaps, your own mis- 
 conduct hastened their death. 
 ; But perhaps you will die before your parents 
 do. If you go into the grave-yard, you will see 
 the graves of many children. You know that 
 the young are liable to die, as well as the old. 
 And what must be the feelings of the dying 
 C 
 
34 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 child, who knows that he is going to appear be- 
 fore God in judgment, and yet feels conscious 
 that he has been unkind to his parents ! Oh, 
 such a child must fear to go into the presence 
 of his Maker. He must know that God will 
 never receive into heaven children who have 
 been so wicked. I have seen manv children 
 die. And I have seen some, who had been 
 very amiable and pleasant all their lives, when 
 they came to die, feel grieved that they had not 
 been more careful to make their parents happy. 
 I knew one affectionate little girl, who was 
 loved by all who knew her. She very seldom 
 did any thing which was displeasing to her pa- 
 rents. But one day she was taken sick. The 
 physician was called ; but she grew worse and 
 worse. Her parents watched over her with 
 anxiety and tears, but still her fever raged, and 
 death drew nearer. At last all hopes of her re- 
 covery were over, and it was known that she 
 must die. Then did this little girl, when she 
 felt that she must leave her parents forever, 
 mourn that she had ever done any thing to give 
 them pain. The most trifling act of disobe- 
 dience, and the least unkindness of which she 
 had ever been guilty, then came fresh into her 
 mind, and she could not die in peace till she had 
 called her father and her mother to her bedside, 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 35 
 
 and implored their forgiveness. If so obliging 
 and affectionate a little girl as this felt so deeply 
 in view of the past, when called upon to die, 
 how agonizing must be the feelings which will 
 crowd upon the heart of the wicked and diso- 
 bedient child who has filled her parents' heart 
 with sorrow ! 
 
 But you must also remember that there is a 
 day of judgment to come. You must appear 
 before God to answer for everything you have 
 done or thought while in this world. Oh, how 
 will the ungrateful child then feel ! Heaven 
 will be before him, in all its beauty and bliss, 
 but he can not enter. 
 
 " Those holy gates forever bar 
 Pollution, sin, and shame." 
 
 He has, by his ingratitude, made a home on 
 earth unhappy, and God will not permit him to 
 destroy the happiness of the homes in heaven. 
 
 He will see all the angels in their holiness 
 and their joy, but he can not be permitted to 
 join that blessed throng. With his ungrateful 
 heart he would but destroy their enjoyment. 
 The frown of God must be upon him, and he 
 must depart to that wretched world where all 
 the wicked are assembled. There he must live 
 
36 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 in sorrows which have no end. Oh, children, 
 how great are your responsibilities ! The hap- 
 piness of your parents depends upon your con- 
 duct. And your ingratitude may fill your lives 
 with sorrow, and your eternity with woe. Will 
 you not, then, read this book with care, and 
 pray that God will aid you to obey its direc- 
 tions, that your homes on earth may be joyful, 
 and that you may be prepared for happier homes 
 beyond the stars ? 
 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 DECEPTION 
 
 Probably nearly all who read this book have 
 heard the story of George Washington and his 
 hatchet. 
 
 George, when a little boy, had received from 
 his father a hatchet, and, much pleased with his 
 present, he walked around the house trying its 
 keen edge upon every thing which came within 
 his reach. At last he came to a favorite pear- 
 tree of his father's, and began, with great dex- 
 terity, to try his skill in felling trees. After 
 hacking upon the bark until he had completely 
 spoiled the tree, he became tired, and went into 
 the house. Before long, his father, passing by, 
 beheld his beautiful tree entirely ruined ; and, 
 entering the house, he earnestly asked who had 
 been guilty of the act. For a moment George 
 trembled and hesitated. He was strongly 
 tempted to deny that he knew any thing about 
 it. But summoning all his courage, he replied, 
 " Father, I can not tell a lie. I cut it with my 
 
38 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 hatchet." His father clasped him in his arms, 
 and said, " My dear boy, I would rather lose a 
 thousand trees than have my son a liar." 
 
 This little anecdote shows that George Wash- 
 ington, when a boy, was too brave and noble to 
 tell a lie. He had rather be punished than be 
 so mean and degraded as to utter a falsehood. 
 He did wrong to cut the pear-tree, though, per- 
 haps, he did not know the extent of the injury 
 that he was doing. But had he denied that he 
 did it, he would have been a cowardly and dis- 
 graceful liar. His father would have been 
 ashamed of him, and would never have known 
 when to believe him. If little George Wash- 
 ington had told a lie then, it is by no means im- 
 probable that he would have gone on from false- 
 hood to falsehood, till every body would have 
 despised him. And he would thus have become 
 a disgrace to his parents and friends, instead of 
 a blessing to his country and the world. No 
 bo}', who has any degree of that noble spirit 
 1 which George Washington had, will tell a lie. It 
 is one of the most degrading of sins. There is 
 no one who does not regard a liar with contempt. 
 
 Almost always, when a lie is told, two sins 
 are committed. The first is, the child has done 
 something which he knows to be wrong. And 
 the second is, that he has not courage enough 
 
DECEPTION. 
 
 to admit it, and tells a lie to hide his fault. 
 And, therefore, when a child tells a lie, you 
 may always know that that child is a coward. 
 George Washington was a brave man. When 
 duty called him, he feared not to meet danger 
 and death. He would march to the mouth of 
 the cannon in the hour of battle ; he would ride 
 through the field when bullets were flying in 
 every direction, and strewing the ground with 
 the dead, and not a nerve would tremble. Now, 
 we see that George Washington was brave when 
 a boy, as well as when a man. He scorned to 
 tell a lie, and, like a noble-hearted boy as he 
 was, he honestly avowed the truth. Every 
 body admires courage, and every body despises 
 cowardice. The liar, whether he be a boy or 
 a man, is looked upon with contempt. 
 
 Cases will occur in which you will be strongly 
 tempted to say that which is false. But if you 
 yield to the temptation, how can you help de- 
 spising yourself? A little girl once came into 
 the house and told her mother something which 
 was very improbable. Those who were sitting 
 in the room with her mother did not believe her, 
 for they did not know the character of the little 
 girl. But the mother replied at once, " I have 
 no doubt that it is true, for I never knew my 
 daughter to tell a lie." Is there not something 
 
40 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 noble in having a character like this ? Must 
 not that girl have felt happy in the conscious- 
 ness of thus possessing her mother's entire con- 
 fidence ? Oh, how different must have been 
 her feelings from those of the child whose word 
 can not be believed, and who is regarded by 
 every one with suspicion ! Shame, shame on 
 the child who has not magnanimity enough to 
 tell the truth. 
 
 God will not allow such sins to go unpun- 
 ished. Even in this world the consequences 
 are generally felt. God has given every person 
 a conscience, which approves that which is 
 right, and condemns that which is wrong. 
 When we do any thing wrong, our consciences 
 punish us for it, and we are unhappy. When 
 we do any thing that is right, the approval of 
 conscience is a reward. Every day you feel 
 the power of this conscience approving or con- 
 demning what you do. Sometimes a person 
 thinks that if he does wrong, and it is not found 
 out, he will escape punishment. But it is not 
 so. He will be punished whether it is found 
 out or not. Conscience will punish him if no 
 one else does. 
 
 There was once a boy whose father sent him 
 to ride a few miles, on an errand, and direct- 
 ed him particularly not to stop by the way. It 
 
DECEPTION. 
 
 41 
 
 was a beautiful and sunny morning in the 
 spring ; and as the boy rode along by the green 
 fields, and heard the singing of the birds as they 
 flew from tree to tree, he felt as light-hearted 
 and happy as they. After doing his errand, 
 however, as he was returning by the house 
 where two of his friends and playmates lived, 
 he thought he could not resist the temptation 
 just to call a moment to see them. He thought 
 that there would be no great harm if he merely 
 stopped a minute or two, and his parents would 
 
 "Ni 
 
 THE STOLEN VISIT. 
 
42 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 never know it. Here commenced his sin. He 
 stopped, and was led to remain longer and long- 
 er, till he found that he had passed two hours 
 there in play. Then, with a troubled con- 
 science, he mounted his horse, and set his face 
 toward home. The fields looked as green, and 
 the skies as bright and cloudless, as when he 
 rode along in the morning ; but, oh, how differ- 
 ent were his feelings ! Then he was innocent 
 and happy ; now he was guilty and wretched. 
 He tried to feel easy, but he could not ; con- 
 science reproached him with his sin. He rode 
 sadly along, thinking what excuse he should 
 make to his parents for his long absence, when 
 at length he saw his father, at a distance, com- 
 ing to meet him. His father, fearing that some 
 accident had happened, had left home in search 
 of his son. The boy trembled and turned pale 
 as he saw his father approaching, and hesitated 
 whether he had better confess the truth at once, 
 and ask forgiveness, or endeavor to hide the 
 crime with a lie. Oh, how much better it 
 would have been for him if he had acknowl- 
 edged the truth ! How much sooner would he 
 have been restored to peace ! But one sin al- 
 most always leads to another. When this kind 
 father met his son with a smile, the boy said, 
 " Father, I lost the road, and it took me some 
 
DECEPTION. 43 
 
 time to get back again, and that is the reason 
 why I have been gone so long." 
 
 His father had never known his son to be 
 guilty of falsehood before, and was so happy to 
 find him safe, that he did not doubt that what 
 he said was true. But, oh, how guilty, and 
 ashamed, and wretched, did the boy himself 
 feel, as he rode along ! His peace of mind was 
 destroyed. A heavy weight of conscious guilt 
 pressed upon his heart. He went home and re- 
 peated the lie to his mother. It is always thus 
 when we turn from the path of duty ; we know 
 not how widely we shall wander. Having com- 
 mitted one fault, he told a lie to conceal it, and 
 then added sin to sin, by repeating and persisting 
 in his falsehood. What a change had one short 
 half-day produced in the character and the hap- 
 piness of this child ! His parent had not yet 
 detected him in his sin, but he was not, on that 
 account, free from punishment. Conscience was 
 at work, telling him that he was degraded and 
 guilty. His look of innocence and his light- 
 ness of heart had left him. He was ashamed 
 to look his father or mother in the face. He 
 tried to appear easy and happy, but he was un- 
 easy and miserable. A heavy load of conscious 
 guilt rested upon him, which destroyed all his 
 peace. 
 
44 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 When he retired to bed that night, he feared 
 the dark. It was long before he could quiet 
 his troubled spirit with sleep. And when he 
 awoke in the morning, the consciousness of his 
 guilt had not forsaken him. There it remained 
 fixed deep in his heart, and would allow him no 
 peace. He was guilty, and of course wretched. 
 The first thought which occurred to him, on 
 waking, was the lie of the preceding day. He 
 could not forget it. He was afraid to go into 
 the room where his parents were, lest they 
 should discover, by his appearance, that he had 
 been doing something wrong. And though, as 
 weeks passed away, the acuteness of his feel- 
 ings in some degree abated, he was all the time 
 disquieted and unhappy. He was continually 
 fearing that something would occur which 
 should lead to his detection. 
 
 Thus things went on for several weeks, till, 
 one day, the gentleman at whose house he 
 stopped, called at his father's on business. So. 
 soon as this boy saw him come into the house, 
 his heart beat violently, and he turned pale with 
 the fear that something would be said that 
 would bring the whole truth to light. The gen- 
 tleman, after conversing a few moments with* 
 his father, turned to the boy, and said, 
 
 " Well, how did you get home the other 
 
DECEPTION. 45 
 
 day ? My boys had a very pleasant visit from 
 you." 
 
 Can you imagine how the boy felt ? You 
 could almost have heard his heart beat. The 
 blood rushed into his face, and he could not 
 speak ; and he dared not raise his eyes from 
 the floor. 
 
 The gentleman then turned to his parents, 
 and said, " You must let your son come up 
 again and see my boys. They were quite dis- 
 appointed when he was there a few weeks ago, 
 for he only stayed about two hours, and they 
 hoped he had come to spend the whole day 
 with them." 
 
 Thus the whole truth was brought out. And 
 how do you suppose that boy felt? He had 
 disobeyed his parents; told a lie to conceal it ; 
 had for weeks suffered the pangs of a guilty 
 conscience ; and now the whole truth was dis- 
 covered. He stood before his parents over- 
 whelmed with shame, convicted of disobe- 
 dience, and mean, degrading falsehood. 
 
 This boy was all the time suffering the con- 
 sequences of his sin. For many days he was 
 enduring the reproaches of conscience, while 
 the knowledge of his crime was confined to his 
 own bosom. How bitterly did he suffer for the 
 short period of forbidden pleasure which he 
 
40 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 had enjoyed ! The way of the transgressor is 
 always hard. Every child who does wrong 
 must, to a greater or less degree, feel the same 
 sorrows. This guilty child, overwhelmed with 
 confusion and disgrace, burst into tears, and 
 implored his parents' forgiveness. But he was 
 told by his parents that he had sinned, not only 
 against them, but against God. The humble 
 child went to God in penitence and in prayer. 
 He made a full confession of all to his parents, 
 and obtained their forgiveness ; and it was not 
 till then that peace of mind was restored. 
 
 Will not the child who reads this account 
 take warning from it ? Whenever you have 
 done wrong, you had better confess it at once. 
 Falsehood will but increase your sin, and ag- 
 gravate your sorrow. Whenever you are 
 tempted to say that which is untrue, look for- 
 ward to the consequences. Think how much 
 sorrow, and shame, and sin, you will bring 
 upon yourself. Think of the reproaches of 
 conscience ; for you may depend upon it, that 
 those reproaches are not easily borne. 
 
 And is it pleasant to have the reputation of 
 a liar? When persons are detected in one 
 falsehood, they can not be believed when they 
 speak the truth. No person can place any 
 more confidence in them till a long time of 
 
DECEPTION. 47 
 
 penitence has elapsed in which they have had 
 an opportunity to manifest their amendment. 
 The little boy, whose case we have above 
 alluded to, was sincerely penitent for his sin. 
 He resolved that he never would tell another 
 lie. But since he had deceived his parents 
 once, their confidence in him was necessarily 
 for a time destroyed. They could judge of the 
 reality of his penitence only by his future con- 
 duct. One day he was sent to a store to pur- 
 chase some small articles for his mother. In 
 his haste, he forgot to stop for the few cents of 
 change which he ought to have received. Upon 
 his return home, his mother inquired for the 
 change. He had not thought about it before, 
 and very frankly told her that he had forgotten 
 it entirely. How did his mother know that he 
 was telling the truth ? She had already de- 
 tected him in one falsehood, and she feared that 
 he was now telling her another. " I hope, my 
 dear son," she said, " you are not again deceiv- 
 ing me." The boy was perfectly honest this 
 time, and his parents had never before dis- 
 trusted his word. It almost broke his heart to 
 be thus suspected, but he felt that it was just, 
 and he went to his chamber and wept bitterly. 
 These are the necessary consequences of 
 falsehood. A liar can never be believed. It 
 
48 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 matters not whether he tells truth or falsehood, 
 no one can trust his word. If you are ever 
 tempted to tell a lie therefore, first ask yourself 
 whether you are willing to have it said that 
 nobody can trust your word. The liar is al- 
 ways known to be such. A person may pos- 
 sibly tell a lie which shall not be detected, but 
 almost always something happens which brings 
 it to light. The boy who stopped to play when 
 on an errand two miles from his father's house, 
 thought that his falsehood would never be dis- 
 covered. But he was detected, and over- 
 whelmed with shame. 
 
 It is impossible for a person who is in the 
 habit of uttering untruths to escape detection. 
 Your character for truth or falsehood will be 
 known. And what can be more humiliating 
 and degrading than to have the name of a liar ? 
 It is so considered in all nations and with all 
 people. It is considered one of the meanest 
 and most cowardly vices of which one can be 
 guilty. The liar is always a coward. He tells 
 lies, because he is afraid to tell the truth. 
 
 And how do you suppose the liar must feel 
 when he comes to die ? It is a solemn hour. 
 Perhaps many of the children who read this 
 book have never seen a person die? I have 
 seen many. I have seen children of all ages 
 
DECEPTION. 49 
 
 dressed in the shroud and placed in the coffin. 
 I might write pages in describing to you such 
 scenes. One day I went to see a girl about ten 
 years of age, who was very sick. When I 
 went into the room, she was lying upon a little 
 cot-bed, her lips parched with fever, and her; 
 face pale and emaciated with suffering. Her 
 mother was standing by her bedside, weeping 
 as though her heart would break. Other 
 friends were standing around, looking in vain 
 for something to do to relieve the little sufferer. 
 I went and took her by the hand, and found 
 that she was dying. She raised her languid 
 eyes to me, but could not speak. Her breath- 
 ing grew fainter and fainter. Her arms and 
 limbs grew cold. We could only look mourn- 
 fully on and see the advances of death, without 
 being able to do any thing to stop its progress. 
 At last she ceased to breathe. Her spirit as- 
 cended to God to be judged, and her body re- 
 mained upon the bed, a cold and lifeless corpse. 
 All children are exposed to death ; and when 
 you least expect it, you may be called to lie 
 upon a bed of sickness, and go down to the 
 grave. There is nothing to give one joy in 
 such an hour, but a belief that our sins are for- 
 given, and that we are going to the heavenly 
 home. But how must a child feel in such an 
 D 
 
50 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 hour, when reflecting upon falsehoods which 
 are recorded in God's book of remembrance! 
 Death is terrible to the impenitent sinner ; but 
 it is a messenger of love and of mercy to those 
 who are prepared to die. If you have been 
 guilty of a falsehood, you can not die in peace 
 till you have repented and obtained forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 There was once a little girl who died when 
 she was eleven years of age. She loved the 
 Savior ; and when she was told that she could 
 not live, she was very happy. She said that she 
 was happy to die, and go home and be with her 
 Savior and the angels in heaven. But there 
 was one thing, which, for a time, weighed 
 heavily upon her mind. A year or two before 
 she felt interested in religion she had told what 
 she considered an untruth to her aunt; and 
 she could not die in peace, till she had seen 
 that aunt, confessed her sin, and asked forgive- 
 ness. Her aunt was sent for, though she was 
 many miles distant. When her aunt came, the 
 sick little girl, with sorrow for her fault, made 
 confession, and asked forgiveness. "Aunt," 
 said she, " I have prayed to God, and hope that 
 he has forgiven me ; and I can not die in peace 
 till I have obtained your forgiveness." If any 
 child who reads this book is tempted to deceive 
 
DECEPTION. 51 
 
 his parents or his friends, I hope he will remem- 
 ber that he must soon die, and think how he will 
 feel in that solemn hour. 
 
 But, perhaps, you think that the falsehood of 
 which this girl was guilty was one of peculiar 
 aggravation. It was simply this : she was one* 
 day playing in the room with several little chil- 
 dren, and was making them laugh very loud. 
 Her aunt said, " My dear, you must not make 
 them laugh so loud." 
 
 And she replied, " It is not I, aunt, who makes 
 them laugh." 
 
 This was the falsehood she uttered. And 
 though her aunt did not know that it was false, 
 the little girl did, and God in heaven did. And 
 when she came to die, though it was a year or 
 two after, her soul was troubled, and the con- 
 sciousness of her sin destroyed her peace. A 
 lie is, in the sight of God, a dreadful sin, be it 
 ever so trifling in our estimation. When we 
 are just ready to leave the world, and to appear 
 before God in judgment, the convictions of a 
 guilty conscience will press upon the heart like 
 a heavy burden. 
 
 There are many ways of being guilty of 
 falsehood without uttering the lie direct in 
 words. Whenever you try to deceive your 
 parents, in doing that which you know they 
 
52 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 disapprove, you do, in reality, tell a lie. Con- 
 science reproves you for falsehood. Once, when 
 
 I was in company, 
 as the plate of cake 
 was passed round, 
 a little boy, who 
 sat by the side of 
 his mother, took a 
 much larger piece 
 than he knew she 
 would allow him to 
 have. She hap- 
 pened, for the mo- 
 ment, to be looking 
 away, and he broke 
 a small piece off, 
 lap with his hand- 
 
 •lHiS UAKE. 
 
 and covered the rest in his 
 kerchief. When his mother looked, she saw 
 the small piece, and supposed that he had taken 
 no more. He intended to deceive her. His 
 mother has never found out what he did. But 
 God saw him, and frowned upon him, as he 
 committed this sin. And do you not think that 
 the boy has already suffered for it ? Must he 
 not feel mean and degraded whenever he thinks 
 that, merely to get a piece of cake, he would 
 deceive his kind mother ? If that boy had any 
 honorable or generous feeling remaining in his 
 
DECEPTION. 53 
 
 bosom, he would feel reproached and unhappy 
 whenever he thought of his meanness. If he 
 was already dead to shame, it would show that 
 he had by previous deceit acquired this charac- 
 ter. And can any one love or esteem a child 
 who has become so degraded ? And can a 
 child, who is neither beloved nor respected, be 
 happy ? No ! You may depend upon it, that 
 when you see a person guilty of such deceit, he 
 does in some way or other, even in this world, 
 suffer a severe penalty. A frank and open- 
 hearted child is the only happy child. De- 
 ception, however skillfully it may be prac- 
 ticed, is disgraceful, and insures sorrow and 
 contempt. If you would have the approbation 
 of your own conscience, and the approval of 
 friends, never do that which you shall desire to 
 have concealed. Always be open as the day. 
 Be above deceit, and then you will have nothing 
 to fear. There is something delightful in the 
 magnanimity of a perfectly sincere and honest 
 child. No person can look upon such a one 
 without affection. If you have such a charac- 
 ter you are sure of friends, and your prospects 
 of earthly usefulness and happiness are bright. 
 But we must not forget that there is a day of 
 most solemn judgment near at hand. When 
 you die, your body will be wrapped in the 
 
54 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 shroud, and placed in the coffin, and buried in 
 the grave ; and there it will remain and mold- 
 er to the dust, while the snows of unnumbered 
 winters, and the tempests of unnumbered sum- 
 mers, shall rest upon the cold earth which cov- 
 ers you. 
 
 But your spirit will not be there. Far away, 
 beyond the cloudless skies, and blazing suns, 
 and twinkling stars, it will have gone to judg- 
 ment. How awful must be the scene which 
 will open before you, as you enter the eternal 
 world ! You will see the throne of God : how 
 bright, how glorious, will it burst upon your 
 sight! You will see God the Savior seated 
 upon that majestic throne. Angels, in numbers 
 more than can be counted, will fill the universe 
 with their glittering wings, and their rapturous 
 songs. 
 
 Oh, what a scene to behold ! And then you 
 will stand in the presence of this countless 
 throng to answer for every thing you have done 
 while you lived. Every action and every 
 thought of your life will then be fresh in your 
 mind. You know it is written in the Bible, 
 "God will bring every work into judgment, 
 with every secret thing, whether it be good or 
 whether it be evil." How must the child then 
 feel who has been guilty of falsehood and de- 
 
DECEPTION. 55 
 
 ception, and has it then all brought to light ! 
 No liar can enter the kingdom of heaven. Oh, 
 how dreadful must be the confusion and shame 
 with which the deceitful child will then be over- 
 whelmed ! The angels will all see your sin 
 and your disgrace. And do you think they 
 will wish to have a liar enter heaven, to be as- 
 sociated with them ? No ! They must turn 
 from you with great displeasure. The Savior 
 will look upon you in displeasure too. Con- 
 science will rend your soul. And you must 
 hear the awful sentence, " Depart from me, into 
 everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his 
 angels." 
 
 Oh, it is a dreadful thing to practice deceit. 
 It will shut you from heaven. It will confine 
 you in eternal woe. Though you should escape 
 detection as long as you live; though you 
 should die, and your falsehood not be discov- 
 ered, the time will soon come when it will all 
 be brought to light, and when the whole uni- 
 verse of men and of angels will be witnesses 
 of your shame. If any child who reads this 
 feels condemned for past deceptions, oh, be- 
 ware, and do not postpone repentance till the 
 day of judgment shall arrive. Go at once to 
 those whom you have deceived, and make con- 
 fession, and implore forgiveness. Then go to 
 
56 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 your Savior, fall upon your knees before him; 
 pray that he will pardon you, and promise to 
 sin no more. If your prayer is offered in sin- 
 cerity, and your resolution remains unbroken, 
 the Savior will forgive you; and when the 
 trump of the archangel shall summon you to 
 judgment, he will give you a home in heaven. 
 The tear of sincere penitence our kind Savior 
 is ever ready to accept. 
 
 If you are ever tempted to deceive, O, re- 
 member, that your deception must soon be 
 known. It is utterly impossible that it should 
 long remain undetected. When the day of 
 judgment arrives, your heart will be open to 
 the view of the universe, and every thought 
 will be publicly known. How much safer then 
 is it to be sincere and honest ! Strive to pre- 
 serve your heart free from guile. Then you 
 will have peace of conscience. You will fear 
 no detection. You can lie down at night in 
 peace. You can awake in the morning with 
 joy. Trusting in the Savior for acceptance, 
 you can die happy. And when the morning 
 of the resurrection dawns upon you, your heart 
 will be filled with a joy which earth's sunniest 
 mornings and brightest skies never could afford. 
 The Savior will smile upon you. Angels will 
 welcome you to heaven. You will rove, in in- 
 
DECEPTION. 57 
 
 expressible delight, through the green pastures 
 of that blissful abode. You will lie down by 
 the still waters where there is sweet repose 
 forever. Oh, what an hour of bliss must that 
 be, when the child, saved from sin and sorrow, 
 
 " Has reached the shore 
 Where tempests- never beat nor billows roar !" 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 OB EDIENCE 
 
 In the chapters which you have now read, I 
 have endeavored to show you how much your 
 own happiness, and that of your parents, de- 
 pend upon your conduct. And I trust that 
 every child who has read what I have written 
 thus far, has resolved to do all in his power to 
 promote the happiness of those who have been 
 so kind to him. But you will find that it is a 
 very different thing to resolve to do your duty, 
 from what it is to perform your resolutions 
 when the hour of temptation comes. It re- 
 quires courage and firmness to do right, when 
 you are surrounded by those who urge you to 
 do wrong. Temptations to do wrong will be 
 continually arising ; and, unless you have the 
 resolution to brave ridicule, and to refuse soli- 
 citation, you will be continually led into trouble. 
 
 I knew a young man who was ruined en- 
 tirely, because he had not courage enough to 
 say no. He was, when a boy, very amiable in 
 
OBEDIENCE. 59 
 
 his disposition, and did not wish to make any 
 person unhappy ; but he had no mind of his 
 own, and could be led about by his associates 
 into almost any difficulties, or any sins. If, in 
 a clear moonlight winter evening, his father 
 gave him leave to go out of doors, and slide 
 down the hill for half an hour, he would resolve 
 to be obedient and return home at the time ap- 
 pointed. But if there were other boys there 
 to try to persuade him to remain longer, he had 
 not the courage to refuse them. And thus he 
 would disobey his kind parents because he had 
 not courage to do his duty, He began in this 
 way, and so he continued. One day, a bad 
 boy asked him to go into a store, and drink 
 some brandy. He knew that it was wrong, 
 and did not wish to go. But he feared that, if 
 he did not consent, he would be laughed at ; 
 and so he went. Having thus yielded to this 
 temptation, he was less prepared for tempta- 
 tion again. He went to the bottle with one 
 and another, till at last he became intemperate, 
 and would stagger through the streets. He fell 
 into the company of gamblers, because he could 
 not refuse their solicitations. He thus became 
 a gambler himself, and went on from step to 
 step, never having resolution to say no, till he 
 ruined himself, and planted within him the seeds 
 
60 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 of disease, which hurried him to a premature 
 grave. He died the miserable victim of his own 
 irresolution. 
 
 Thousands have been thus ruined. They 
 are amiable in disposition, and in general mean 
 well, but have not courage to do their duty. 
 They fear that others will laugh at them. Now, 
 unless you are sufficiently brave not to care if 
 others do laugh at you ; unless you have suffi- 
 cient courage to say no, when others tempt you 
 to do wrong, you will be always in difficulty : 
 such a person never can be happy or respected. 
 You must not expect it will be always easy to 
 do your duty. At times it will require a great 
 mental struggle, and call into exercise all the 
 resolution that you possess. It is best that it 
 should be so, that you may acquire firmness of 
 character and strength of integrity. 
 
 Near a school-house in the country, there 
 was an apple-tree. One summer it was covered 
 with hard, sour, and green apples, and the little 
 girls who went to that school could hardly re- 
 sist the temptation of eating those apples, 
 though they knew that there was danger of its 
 making them sick. One girl, who went to that 
 school, was expressly forbidden by her mother 
 from eating them. But when all her playmates 
 were around her, with the apples in their hands, 
 
OBEDIENCE. Gl 
 
 urging her to eat them, and telling her that her 
 mother never would know it, she wickedly 
 yielded to their solicitation. She felt guilty, as, 
 in disobedience to her mother's commands, she 
 ate the forbidden fruit. But she tried to ap- 
 pease her conscience by thinking that it could 
 do no harm. 
 
 Having thus commenced disobedience, she 
 could every day eat more freely, and with less 
 reluctance. At last she was taken sick. Her 
 mother asked her if she had been eating any 
 of the green apples at school. Here came an- 
 other temptation to sin. When we once com- 
 mence doing wrong, it is impossible to tell where 
 we shall stop. She was afraid to acknowledge 
 to her mother her disobedience ; and to hide 
 the fault she told a lie. She declared that she 
 had not eaten any of the apples. Unhappy 
 girl ! she had first disobeyed her mother, and 
 then told a lie to conceal her sin. 
 
 Temptations will be continually coming upon 
 you, which you will find it hard to resist. But 
 if you once yield, you have entered that down- 
 ward path which leads continually to greater 
 and greater sins, and finally to sorrow and 
 shame. How much wiser would it have been 
 in the little girl, whose story we have just re- 
 lated, if she had in the first instance resolutely 
 
THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 refused to disobey her mother's command! 
 How much happier would she have been, when 
 retiring to sleep at night, if she had the joy of 
 an approving conscience, and could with a 
 grateful heart, ask the blessing of God ! The 
 only path of safety and happiness is implicit 
 obedience. If in the slightest particular, you 
 yield to temptation, and do that which you know 
 to be wrong, you will not know when or where 
 to stop. To hide one crime, you will be guilty 
 of another ; and thus you will draw down upon 
 yourself the frown of your Maker, and expose 
 yourself to sorrow for time and eternity. 
 
 And think not that these temptations to do 
 wrong will be few or feeble. Hardly a day will 
 pass in which you will not be tempted, either 
 through indolence to neglect your duty, or to 
 do that which you know your parents will dis- 
 approve. A few years ago, two little boys went 
 to pass the afternoon and evening at the house 
 of one of their playmates, who had a party, to 
 celebrate his birth-day. Their parents told 
 them to come home at eight o'clock in the eve- 
 ning. It was a beautiful afternoon, late in the 
 autumn, as the large party of boys assembled at 
 the house of their friend. Numerous barns and 
 sheds were attached to the house, and a beauti- 
 ful grove of beech and of oak surrounded it, 
 
OBEDIENCE. 
 
 affording a most delightful place for all kinds of 
 sport. Never did boys have a more happy 
 
 THE TARTY. 
 
 time. They climbed the trees, and swung upon 
 the limbs. And as they jumped upon the new- 
 made hay in the barns, they made the walls 
 ring with their joyous shouts. Happiness 
 seemed, for the time, to fill every heart. They 
 continued their sports till the sun had gone down 
 behind the hills, and the last ray of twilight had 
 disappeared. When it became too dark for 
 
G4 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 out-door play, they went into the house, and 
 commenced new plays in the brightly-lighted 
 parlor. As they were in the midst of the ex- 
 citing game of " blind man's buff," some one 
 entered the room, and requested them all to 
 take their seats, for apples and nuts were to be 
 brought in. Just as the door was opened by 
 the servant bringing in the waiter loaded with 
 apples and nuts, the clock struck eight. The 
 boys, who had been directed to leave at that 
 hour, felt very much troubled. They knew not 
 what to do. The temptation to stay was al- 
 most too strong to be resisted. The older 
 brother of the two whispered to one of the boys 
 at his side, that he must go. Immediately there 
 was an uproar all over the room, each one ex- 
 claiming against it. 
 
 " Why," said one, " my mother told me that 
 I might stay till nine." 
 
 " My mother," said another, " did not say any 
 thing about my coming home ; she will let me 
 stay as long as I please." I 
 
 " / would not be tied to my mother's apron 
 string," said a rude boy, in a distant part of the 
 room. 
 
 A timid boy, who lived in the next house to 
 the one in which these two boys lived, came up, 
 and said, with a very imploring countenance 
 
OBEDIENCE. 65 
 
 and voice, " I am going home at half-past eight. 
 Now do stay a little while longer, and then we 
 will go home together. I don't dare to go alone, 
 it is so dark." 
 
 And even the lady of the house where they 
 were visiting, came to them and said, " I do not j 
 think that your mother will have any objection 
 to your staying a few minutes longer, to eat an 
 apple and a few nuts. I would have sent them 
 in earlier, if I had known that you wished to 
 
 g°-" 
 
 Now, what could these poor boys do ? How 
 
 could they summon resolution to resist so much 
 entreaty ? For a moment they hesitated, and 
 almost yielded to the temptation. But virtue 
 wavered only for a moment. They immedi- 
 ately mustered all their courage, and said, " We 
 must go." Hastily bidding their playmates all 
 good night, they got their hats as quick as they 
 could, for fear, if they delayed, they should yield 
 to the temptation, — and left the house. They 
 stopped not a moment to look back upon the 
 brightly-shining windows, and happy group of i 
 boys within, but, taking hold of each other's 
 hands, ran as fast as they could on their way 
 home. When they arrived at home, their father 
 and mother met them with a smile. And when 
 their parents learned under what strong temp- 
 
THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 tations they had been to disobey, and that they 
 had triumphed over these temptations, they 
 looked upon their children with feelings of grati- 
 fication, which amply repaid them for all their 
 trial. And when these boys went to bed that 
 night, they felt that they had done their duty, 
 and that they had given their parents pleasure ; 
 and these thoughts gave them vastly more 
 happiness than they could have enjoyed if they 
 had remained with their playmates beyond the 
 hour which their parents had permitted. This 
 was a noble proof of their determination to do 
 their duty. 
 
 And, considering their youth and inexpe- 
 rience, and the circumstances of the temptation, 
 it was one of the severest trials to which such 
 boys could be exposed. Probably, in all their 
 after-life, they would not be under stronger 
 temptations to swerve from duty. Now, every 
 child will often be exposed to similar tempta- 
 tions. And if your resolution be not strong, you 
 will yield. And if you once begin to yield, you 
 will never know where to stop ; but, in all 
 probability, will go on from step to step till you 
 are forever lost to virtue and to happiness. 
 
 But perhaps some child, who reads this, 
 thinks I make too serious a matter of so slight 
 a thing. You say, It oan not make much dif r 
 
OBEDIENCE. 67 
 
 ference whether I come home half an hour ear- 
 lier or later. But you are mistaken here. It 
 does make a great difference. For if your pa- 
 rents in such a case had directed you to come 
 home at eight, remaining longer would have 
 been disobeying them ; and do you think thati 
 God can look upon the disobedience of a child 
 as a trifling sin ? Is it a trifle to refuse to obey 
 parents who have loved you, and watched over 
 you for months and for years ; who have taken 
 care of you in sickness, and endeavored to re- 
 lieve you when in pain ; who have given you 
 clothes to wear, and food to eat, and have done 
 all in their power to make you happy ? It is 
 inexcusable ingratitude. It is a great sin. 
 
 But perhaps you ask, What positive harm 
 does it do ? It shows your parents that their 
 child is unwilling to obey them ; and is there 
 no harm in that ? It makes your parents un- 
 happy ; and is there no harm in that ? It 
 tempts you to disobey in other things ; and is 
 there no harm in that ? It is entering upon 
 that career of sin which led the girl, whom we 
 have, in the first chapter, described to you, to 
 the house of correction, and the wretched boy 
 to the gallows. Oh, beware how you think it 
 is a little thing to disobey j^our parents ! Their 
 happiness is in a great degree in your hands ; 
 
68 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 and every thing which you knowingly do that 
 disturbs their happiness in the least degree, is 
 sin in the sight of God ; and you must answer 
 for it at his bar. 
 
 If you go into any state prison, you will see 
 a large number of men working in silence and 
 in gloom. They are dressed in clothes of con- 
 trasted colors, that, in case of escape, they may 
 be easily detected. But the constant presence 
 of vigilant keepers, and the high walls of stone, 
 guarded by an armed sentry, render escape al- 
 most impossible. There many of these guilty 
 
 men remain, month 
 after month, and 
 year after year, in 
 friendlessness, and 
 in silence, and in 
 sorrow. They are 
 in confinement and 
 disgrace. At night, 
 they are marched 
 to their solitary 
 cells, there to pass 
 the weary hours, 
 with no friend to 
 converse with, and 
 no joy to cheer them. They are left, in dark- 
 less and in solitude, to their own gloomy re- 
 
 THE PRISON. 
 
OBEDIENCE. 69 
 
 flections. And, oh! how many bitter tears 
 must be shed in the midnight darkness of those 
 cells ! How many an unhappy criminal would 
 give worlds, if he had them to give, that he 
 might again be innocent and free ! 
 
 You will see sometimes in prisons many who 
 are young — almost children. If you go around 
 from cell to cell, and inquire how these wretched 
 persons commenced their course of sin, very 
 many will tell you that it was with disobedience 
 to parents. You will find prisoners there, 
 whose parents are most affectionate and kind. 
 They have endeavored to make their children 
 virtuous and happy. But, oh ! how cruelly 
 have their hopes been blasted ! A disobedient 
 son has gone from step to step in crime, till he 
 has brought himself to the gloomy cell of the 
 prison, and has broken his parents' hearts by 
 his disobedience. 
 
 The chaplain of a state prison once made 
 the following interesting statement. It shows 
 the nature of progress in crime. 
 
 " A few weeks since, I addressed the congre- 
 gation to which I minister, on the importance 
 of a strict attention to what are usually denom- 
 inated little things; and remarked, that it is 
 the want of attention to these little things, 
 
70 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 which not unfrequently throws a disastrous in- 
 fluence over the whole course of subsequent 
 life. I also remarked, that a large proportion 
 of the events and transactions, which go to 
 make up the lives of most men, are, as they are 
 usually estimated, comparatively unimportant 
 and trivial ; and yet, that all these events and 
 transactions contribute, in a greater or less de- 
 gree, to the formation of character ; and that 
 on moral character are suspended, essentially, 
 our usefulness and happiness in time, and our 
 well-being in eternity. 
 
 " I then remarked, that I could not doubt, 
 but, on sober reflection, many of that assembly 
 would find that they owed the complexion of a 
 great portion of their lives, and their unhappy 
 situation as tenants of the state prison, to some 
 event or transaction comparatively trivial, and 
 of which, at the time, they thought very little. 
 I requested them to make the examination, and 
 see whether the remark I had made was not 
 correct. 
 
 " This was on the Sabbath. The next morn- 
 ing, one of the prisoners, an interesting young 
 man, came to me, and observed, that he should 
 be glad to have some conversation with me, 
 whenever I should find it convenient. Accord- 
 ingly, in the afternoon of the same day, I sent 
 
OBEDIENCE. 71 
 
 for him. On his being seated, and my request- 
 ing him to state freely what he wished to say, 
 he said that he wished to let me know how pe- 
 culiarly appropriate to his case were the obser- 
 vations I had made the previous day, on the 
 influence of little things ; and if I would permit' 
 him, he would give me a brief sketch of his his- 
 tory ; and, particularly, of the transaction which 
 almost in childhood had given a disastrous color- 
 ing to the whole period of his youth, and, in the 
 result, had brought him to be an occupant of 
 his present dreadful abode. 
 
 " It appears, from the sketch which he gave, 
 that he was about ten years of age when his 
 father moved from a distant part of the state to 
 a town in the vicinity of Boston. In this town 
 was a respectable boarding-school, not a great 
 distance from the residence of his father ; and 
 to this school he was sent. Having always 
 lived in the country, he had seen very few of 
 those novelties, and parades, and shows, which 
 are so common in and near the city ; and it is 
 not wonderful that when they occurred, he 
 should, like most children, feel a strong desire 
 to witness them. 
 
 " Before he had been long at school, he heard 
 that there was to be a ' Cattle Show' at 
 Brighton. He had never seen a Cattle Show. 
 
72 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 He presumed it must be a very- 
 spectacle, and felt a very strong desire to attend 
 it. This desire, on the morning of the first day 
 of the show, he expressed to his father, and was 
 told that it would be a very improper place for 
 him to go to, unless attended by some suitable 
 person to watch over and take care of him ; and 
 that such was the business of the father, that he 
 could not accompany him, and, of course, his 
 desire could not be gratified. He was sorely 
 disappointed, but resolved not to give up, with- 
 out further effort, an object on which his heart 
 was so much set. 
 
 " The next morning he beset his father again 
 on the subject. His father seemed anxious to 
 have his son gratified, but told him that he could 
 by no means consent to have him go to such a 
 place without suitable company ; and, though 
 his business was urgent, he would try to go in 
 the afternoon ; and, if he did, he would call at 
 the school-house, and take him with him. This 
 was all that he could promise. 
 
 " But here was an uncertainty, an if which 
 very illy accorded with the eager curiosity of 
 the son. Accordingly, he resolved that he 
 would go at all hazards. He doubted much 
 whether his father would go, and if he did not, 
 he concluded he might, without much difficulty, 
 
OBEDIENCE. 73 
 
 go himself, and conceal it from his father. 
 Having formed his determination and laid his 
 plan, he went, before leaving home in the morn- 
 ing, to his father's desk, and took a little money 
 to spend on the occasion ; and, instead of going 
 to school, went to Brighton. Contrary, how- * 
 ever, to his expectations and hopes, his father, 
 for the sake of gratifying him, concluded to go 
 to the show, and, on his way, called for his son. 
 But no son was to be found. The teacher said 
 that the boy had not been at school that day. 
 
 11 The father went to the Cattle Show, and 
 during the afternoon saw the son there, but 
 took care that the son should not discover him. 
 After the return of both at evening, the father 
 inquired of the son whether he had attended 
 school that day. His reply was that he had. 
 My youthful readers will perceive how readily 
 and naturally one fault leads to another. But 
 the son was soon satisfied from further ques- 
 tions, and from the manner of his father, that 
 he knew where he had been ; and he confessed 
 the whole. 
 
 " The father told him that he should feel him- 
 self bound in duty to acquaint his teacher with 
 the affair, and to request him to call him to ac- 
 count for absenting himself thus from the school 
 
74 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 without permission, and to inflict such punish- 
 ment on him as might be thought proper. 
 
 " He was accordingly sent to school, and, in 
 his view, disgraced in the estimation of his 
 teacher and of his school-fellows ; and he re- 
 solved not to submit to it for any great length 
 of time. A few days after this, he left home, 
 under pretense of going to school, and ran 
 away. He traveled on, until he reached the 
 town from which his father had removed, and 
 had been absent for several weeks before his pa- 
 rents ascertained what had become of him. 
 He was, however, discovered, and brought back 
 to his home. 
 
 " Some time after this, he was sent to an- 
 other school in a neighboring town ; but not 
 being altogether pleased, he resolved, as he had 
 run away once, that he would try the experiment 
 again ; and this he did. He had been absent 
 six months before his parents ascertained what 
 had become of him. He had changed his 
 name ; but getting into some difficulty, in con- 
 sequence of which he must go to jail, unless he 
 could find friends, he was constrained to tell his 
 name, and who were his parents ; and in this 
 way his good father, whom he had so much 
 abused, learning his son's condition, came for- 
 
 
OBEDIENCE. 75 
 
 ward to his aid, and saved him from confine- 
 ment in a prison. 
 
 " But I should make this story much too long, 
 were I to detail all the particulars of his subse- 
 quent life until he became a tenant of the state 
 prison. Suffice it to say, that he went on 
 from one mis-step to another, until he entered 
 upon that career of crime which terminated as 
 before stated. 
 
 " And now, to what do you think this unhappy 
 young man ascribes his wanderings from home, 
 and virtue, and happiness, and the forlorn con- 
 dition in which he now finds himself? Why, 
 simply, to the trivial circumstance of his leaving 
 school one day, without his father's consent, for 
 the purpose of going to a cattle show ! And what 
 do you think he says of it now ? 'I feel/ said 
 he, ' that all I have suffered, and still suffer, is 
 the righteous chastisement of heaven. I de- 
 serve it all, for my wicked disobedience both to 
 my earthly and my heavenly Father; and I 
 wish,' said he, further, i that you would make 
 such use of my case as you shall think best cal- 
 culated to instruct and benefit the young/ 
 
 " And now," continues the chaplain, " I have 
 drawn up this sketch — and I can assure you it 
 is no fictitious one — for your perusal. You 
 here see what has been the result of a single act 
 
76 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 of disobedience to a parent ; what it has already 
 cost this unhappy man to gratify, in an unlawful 
 way, his youthful curiosity even in a single in- 
 stance. 
 
 " May He, who giveth wisdom to all who ask 
 it, lead and guide you safely through the jour- 
 ney of life, and cause that even this humble 
 sketch shall serve to strengthen you in virtue, 
 and to deter you from the paths of the De- 
 stroyer." 
 
 Can any child read this narrative without 
 trembling at the thought of disobedience, even 
 in the most trifling affair ? If you once diso- 
 bey your parents, it is impossible to tell to what 
 it will lead. Crime follows in the steps of 
 crime, till the career is closed by irretriev- 
 able disgrace and eternal ruin. The conse- 
 quences reach far, far beyond the grave. They 
 affect our interests and our happiness in that 
 eternal world to which we are all rapidly going. 
 Yes ; the child who utters one falsehood, or is 
 guilty of one act of disobedience, may, in con- 
 sequence of that one yielding to temptation, be 
 hurried on from crime to crime, till his soul is 
 ruined, and he is shut up, by the command of 
 God, in those awful dungeons of endless despair 
 prepared for the devil and his angels. 
 
 
OBEDIENCE. 77 
 
 And how ungrateful is disobedience ! A no- 
 ble-hearted boy would deny himself almost any 
 pleasure ; he would meet almost any danger ; 
 he would endure almost any suffering, before 
 he would, in the most trifling particular, diso- 
 bey parents who had been so kind, and had en- 
 dured so much to make him happy. How dif- 
 ferent is such a child from one who is so ungrate- 
 ful that he will disobey his parents merely that 
 he may play a few moments longer, or that he 
 may avoid some trifling work that he does not 
 wish to perform ! There is a magnanimity in 
 a child who feels so grateful for his parents' 
 love that he will repay them by all the affection 
 and obedience in his power, which attracts the 
 respect and affection of all who know him. 
 
 Suppose you see a boy walking before his 
 mother. The boy's father is dead ; he has 
 been killed in battle. You see the orphan 
 boy carrying upon his shoulder his father's 
 sword and cap. You look at his poor mother. 
 She is Weeping, for her husband is dead. She 
 is returning in sorrow to her lonely house. She 
 has no friend but her dear boy. How ardently 
 does she love him ! All her hopes of earthly 
 happiness are depending upon his obedience 
 and affection. She loves her boy so well, that 
 she would be willing to die, to make him happy. 
 
78 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 She will work night and day, while he is young, 
 to supply him with clothes and with food. And 
 all she asks and hopes is, that her boy will be 
 affectionate, and obedient, and good. 
 
 And, oh ! how ungrateful and cruel will he 
 be, if he neglect that mother, and by his unkind- 
 ness cause her to weep ! But you see that he 
 looks like a noble-hearted boy. His counte- 
 nance seems to say, " Dear mother ; if ever I 
 grow up to be a man, you shall never want, if 
 I can help it." Oh, who can help loving the 
 boy who loves his mother ! 
 
 There was a boy about* thirteen years old, 
 whose name was Casabianca. His father was 
 the commander of a ship of war called the Ori- 
 ent. This boy accompanied his father to the 
 seas. His ship was once engaged in a terrible 
 battle near the river Nile. In the midst of the 
 thunders of the battle, while the shot were fly- 
 ing thickly around, and strewing the decks with 
 blood, this brave boy stood by the side of his 
 father, faithfully discharging the duties which 
 were assigned to him. At last his father placed 
 him in a particular part of the ship, to perform 
 some service there, and told him to remain at 
 his post till he should call him away. As the 
 father went to some distant part of the ship to 
 notice the progress of the battle, a ball from the 
 
OBEDIENCE. 
 
 79 
 
 enemy's vessel laid him dead upon the deck. 
 But the son, unconscious of his father's death, 
 and faithful to the trust reposed in him, re- 
 mained in his post, waiting for his father's or- 
 ders. The battle raged dreadfully around him. 
 
 CA8ABIANCA. 
 
 The blood of the slain flowed at his feet. The 
 ship took fire, and the threatening flames drew 
 nearer and nearer. Still this noble-hearted 
 boy would not disobey his father. In the face 
 of blood, and balls, and fire, he stood firm and 
 
80 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 obedient. The sailors began to desert the burn- 
 ing and sinking ship, and the boy cried out, 
 " Father, may I go ?" But no voice of permis- 
 sion could come from the mangled body of his 
 lifeless father. And the boy, not knowing that 
 he was dead, would rather die than disobey. 
 And there that boy stood, at his post, till every 
 man had deserted the ship ; and he stood and 
 perished in the flames. O, what a boy was 
 that! Every body who ever heard of him 
 thinks that he was one of the noblest boys that 
 ever was born. Rather than disobey his father, 
 he would die in the flames. This account has 
 been written in poetry; and, as the children 
 who read this book, may like to see it, I will 
 present it to them here : — 
 
 CASABIANCA. 
 
 The boy stood on the burning deck, 
 
 Whence all but him had fled ; 
 The flame that lit the battle's wreck, 
 
 Shone round him o'er the dead. 
 
 Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 
 
 As born to rule the storm ; 
 A creature of heroic blood, 
 
 A proud, though childlike form. 
 
 The flames rolled on ; he would not go, 
 Without his father's word ; 
 
OBEDIENCE. 81 
 
 That father, faint in death below, 
 His voice no longer heard. 
 
 He called aloud — " Say, father, say. 
 
 " If yet my task is done." 
 He knew not that the chieftain lay 
 
 Unconscious of his son. 
 
 " Speak, father," once again he cried, 
 
 If I may yet be gone." 
 And — but the booming shots replied, 
 
 And fast the flames rolled on. 
 
 Upon his brow he felt their breath, 
 
 And in his waving hair ; 
 And looked from that lone post of death, 
 
 In still, yet brave despair ; 
 
 And shouted but once more aloud, 
 
 " My father, must I stay ?" 
 While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 
 
 The wreathing fires made way. 
 
 They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, 
 
 They caught the flag on high, 
 And streamed above the gallant child, 
 
 Like banners in the sky. 
 
 Then came a burst of thunder sound — 
 
 The boy — oh ! where was he ? 
 Ask of the winds that far around 
 
 With fragments strewed the sea. 
 
 With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, 
 That well had borne their part, 
 
 F 
 
82 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 But the noblest thing that perished there, 
 Was that young, faithful heart. 
 
 O, who would not love to have such a child 
 as that ! Is not such a boy more noble than 
 one who will disobey his parents merely that 
 he may have a little play, or that he may avoid 
 some unpleasant duty ? The brave little Casa- 
 bianca would rather die than disobey. He 
 loved his father. He had confidence in him. 
 And even when death was staring him in the 
 face, when 
 
 " The flames rolled on, he would not go, 
 Without his father's word." 
 
 I have known some bad boys who thought it 
 looked brave to care nothing for the wishes of 
 their parents. But do you think that Casabianca 
 was a coward ? No ; the boy who is truly 
 brave, and has a noble spirit, will obey his pa- 
 rents. If others urge him to act differently, he 
 will dare to tell them that he means to do his 
 duty ; and if they laugh at him, he will let them 
 laugh, and show them, by his conduct, that he 
 does not care for the sneers of bad boys. The 
 fact is, that, in almost all cases, disobedient 
 boys are mean, and cowardly, and contemptible. 
 They have not one particle of the spirit of the 
 
OBEDIENCE. 83 
 
 noble Casabianca. And when these disobedient 
 boys grow up to be men, they do not command 
 influence or respect. 
 
 If you would be useful and happy when you 
 arrive at mature years, you must be affectionate 
 and obedient as a child. It is invariably true 
 that the path of duty is the path of peace. The 
 child who has established principles of firm in- 
 tegrity — who has that undaunted resolution 
 which can face opposition and brave ridicule — 
 bids fair to rise to eminence in usefulness and 
 respect. These qualities, which shed so lovely 
 a charm over childhood, will go with you into 
 maturer life ; they will give stability to your 
 character, and command respect. And those 
 faults of childhood which render one hesitating, 
 and weak, and cowardly, will, in all probability, 
 continue through your whole earthly existence. 
 The man is but the grown-up child, possessing 
 generally the same traits of character in every 
 period of life. How important it is then that, 
 in early youth, you should acquire the habit of 
 triumphing over temptation, and of resolutely 
 discharging all your duties ! 
 
 It is important for you to remember that 
 obedience requires of you, not only to do as you 
 are bidden, but to do it with cheerfulness and 
 alacrity. Suppose, as you are sitting at the 
 
84 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 table in a pleasant evening, the customary hour 
 for you to retire to rest arrives. You are, per- 
 haps, engaged in reading some very interesting 
 book, and do not feel at all sleepy. You ask 
 permission to sit up a little longer. But your 
 mother tells you that the time for you to go to 
 bed has come, and she prefers that you should 
 be regular in your habits. You think it is hard 
 that you can not be indulged in your wishes, 
 and, with sullen looks, shut your book, and, 
 taking a light, in ill-humor go to your chamber. 
 
 Now, this is not obedience. As you retire 
 to your chamber, the displeasure of God follows 
 you. Your sin of disobedience is so great that 
 you can not even pray before you fall asleep. 
 It is impossible for a person to pray when out 
 of humor. You may repeat the words of 
 prayer, but you can not offer acceptable prayer 
 to the Lord. And as you lie down upon your 
 bed, and the darkness of night is around you, 
 your offended Maker regards you as an un- 
 grateful and disobedient child. And all the 
 night long his eye is upon your heart, and the 
 knowledge of your sin is in his mind. 
 
 Obedience belongs to the heart, as well as to 
 the outward conduct. It is necessary that you 
 should fulfill the wishes of your parents with a 
 spirit of affection and cheerfulness. You should 
 
OBEDIENCE. 85 
 
 feel that they know what is best, and, instead 
 of being sullen and displeased because they do 
 not think fit to indulge you in all your wishes, 
 you should, with a pleasant countenance and a 
 willing heart yield to their requirements. 
 
 You do not know how much pleasure it af- 
 fords your parents to see you happy. They 
 are willing to make almost any sacrifice for 
 your good. And they never have more heart- 
 felt enjoyment themselves than when they see 
 their children virtuous, contented, and happy. 
 When they refuse to gratify any of your de- 
 sires, it is not because they do not wish to see 
 you happy, but because they see that your hap- 
 piness will be best promoted by refusing your 
 request. They have lived longer in the world 
 than you, and know better than you the dan- 
 gers by which you are surrounded. Deeply in- 
 terested in your book, you desire to sit up later 
 than usual, and think it would make you happy. 
 But your mother, who is older and wiser, knows 
 that the way to make children healthy and hap- 
 py, is to have them in the regular habit of re- 
 tiring early at night. And when you ask to sit 
 up later than usual, she loves you too well to 
 permit it. You think she is cruel, when, in 
 fact, she is kind. If she were an unkind mother, 
 and cared nothing about your happiness, she 
 
86 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 would say, " O yes ; you may sit up as long 
 as you please. I do not care any thing about 
 it." 
 
 Now, is it obedience, when your kind mother 
 is doing all in her power to make you happy, 
 for you to look sullen and morose ? Is it hon- 
 oring your father and your mother, for you to 
 look offended and speak unkindly, because they 
 wish you to do that which they know to be for 
 your welfare? The truly grateful child will 
 endeavor, always, with a pleasant countenance, 
 and a peaceful heart, to yi ild ready obedience 
 to his parents' wishes. He will never murmur 
 or complain. Such a child can retire to bed at 
 night contented and happy. He can sincerely 
 thank God for all his goodness, and pray for 
 that protection which God is ever ready to 
 grant to those who love him. 
 
 There is hardly any subject in regard to 
 which children more frequently complain, than 
 of the unwillingness of their parents to indulge 
 them in evening plays out of doors, and evening 
 visits. An active boy, whose heart is full of 
 fun and frolic, is sitting quietly by the fireside, 
 in a pleasant winter evening. Every now and 
 then he hears the loud shouts and joyful laugh 
 of some twenty of his companions, who are 
 making the moonlight air ring with their merri- 
 
OBEDIENCE. 87 
 
 ment. Occasionally, a troop of them go rushing 
 by the windows, in the impetuosity of their 
 sports. The ardent little fellow by the fireside 
 can hardly contain himself. He longs to unite 
 his voice in the shout, and try his strength in 
 the chase. He nestles restlessly in his chair ; 
 he walks across the room, and peeps through 
 the curtains. As he sees the dark forms of the 
 boys clustered together in merry groups, or 
 scattered in their plays, he feels as though he 
 were a prisoner. And even though he be a 
 good boy, and obedient to his parents, he can 
 hardly understand why it is that they deprive 
 him of this pleasure. 
 
 I recollect well that I used to feel thus when 
 I was a boy, and I suppose other boys feel so. 
 But now I see the reason for these prohibitions. 
 Those night plays led the boys into bad habits. 
 All kinds of boys met together, and some would 
 use indecent and profane language, which de- 
 praved the hearts and corrupted the morals of 
 the rest. The boys who were thus spending 
 their evenings, were misimproving their time, 
 and acquiring a disrelish for the purifying and 
 peaceful enjoyments of home. 
 
 You sometimes see men who appear to care 
 nothing about their families. They spend their 
 evenings away from home with the idle and the 
 
88 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 dissolute. Such men are miserable and de- 
 spised. Their families are forsaken and unhap- 
 py. Why do these men do so? Because, 
 when they were boys, they spent their evenings 
 aw r ay from home, playing in the streets. Thus 
 home lost all its charms, virtue was banished 
 from their bosoms, and life was robbed of its 
 joy. I wish every boy who reads this would 
 think of these reasons, and see if they are not 
 sufficient. Your kind parents do not allow you 
 to go out in the evenings and play in the 
 streets. 
 
 1. Because you will acquire bad habits. You 
 will grow rude and vulgar in manners, and ac- 
 quire a relish for pleasures which w T ill destroy 
 your usefulness and your happiness. 
 
 2. You will always find in such scenes bad 
 boys, and must hear much indecent and profane 
 language, which will corrupt your heart. 
 
 3. You will lose all fondness for the enjoy- 
 ment of home, and will be in great danger of 
 growing up a dissipated and a worthless man. 
 
 Now, are not these reasons sufficient to in- 
 duce your parents to guard you against such 
 temptations ? But perhaps you say, Other pa- 
 rents let their children go out and play as much 
 as they please every evening. How grateful, 
 then, ought you to be, that you have parents 
 
OBEDIENCE. 89 
 
 who are so kind and faithful that they will pre- 
 serve you from these occasions of sin and sor- 
 row ! They love you too well to be willing to 
 see you preparing for an unhappy and profitless 
 life. 
 
 It not unfrequently is the case that a girl has 
 young associates, who are in the habit of walk- 
 ing without protectors in the evening twilight. 
 On the evening of some lovely summer's day, 
 as the whole western sky is blazing with the 
 golden hue of sunset, her companions call at 
 her door, to invite her to accompany them upon 
 an excursion of pleasure. She runs to her pa- 
 rents with her heart bounding with joy, in an- 
 ticipation of the walk. They inquire into the 
 plans of the party, and find that it will be im- 
 possible for them to return from their contem- 
 plated expedition before the darkness of the 
 evening shall come. As affectionate and faith- 
 ful parents, they feel that it is not proper or 
 safe for them to trust their little daughter in 
 such a situation. They, consequently, can not 
 consent that she should go. She is disappointed 
 in the extreme, and as she sees her friends de- 
 parting, social and happy, she retires to her 
 chamber and weeps. 
 
 The disappointment to her is in fact a very 
 severe one, and she can hardly help feeling that 
 
90 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 her parents are cruel, to deprive her of so much 
 anticipated pleasure. Her companions go away 
 with the same feelings. They make many se- 
 vere remarks, and really think that this little 
 girl's parents are unkind. Perhaps they have 
 a pleasant walk, and all return home in safety ; 
 and for many days they talk together at school 
 of the delightful enjoyments of that evening. 
 And this increases the impression on the mind 
 of the girl who was not allowed to join them, 
 that it was unkind in her parents not to let her 
 
 go- 
 But, perhaps, on the other hand, as they are 
 
 returning, the party meet a drunken man, who 
 staggers in among them. Terrified, they scat- 
 ter and run. One, in endeavoring to climb 
 over a fence, spoils her gown. Another, flee- 
 ing in the dark, falls, and sadly bruises her face. 
 Another, with loss of bonnet, and with dis- 
 heveled hair, gains the door of her home. And 
 thus is this party, commenced with high ex- 
 pectations of joy, terminated with fright and 
 tears. The parents of the little girl who re- 
 mained at home, knew that they were exposed 
 to all this ; and they loved their daughter too 
 well to allow her to be placed in such a situa- 
 tion. Was it not kind in them ? 
 
 Perhaps, as they were returning, the party 
 
OBEDIENCE. 91 
 
 met some twenty or more of the rudest boys 
 of the village, in the midst of their most excit- 
 ing sports. Here are Emma, Maria, and Su- 
 san, with their party of timid girls, who must 
 force their way through this crowd of turbulent 
 and noisy boys. It is already dark. Some of 
 the most unmannerly and wicked boys of the 
 village are there assembled. They are highly 
 excited with their sports. And the moment 
 they catch a view of the party of girls, they 
 raise a shout, and rush in among them reckless 
 and thoughtless. The parents of the little girl 
 who stayed at home, knew that she would be 
 exposed to such scenes; and as they loved 
 their daughter, they could not consent that she 
 should go. Was it not kind ? 
 
 A few young girls once went on such an 
 evening walk, intending to return before it was 
 dark. But in the height of their enjoyment 
 they forgot how rapidly time was passing, and 
 twilight was leaving them. But, at last, when 
 they found how far they were from home, and 
 how dark it was growing, they became quite 
 alarmed, and hastened homeward. They, how- 
 ever, got along very well while they were all 
 together. But when it became necessary for 
 them to separate, to go to their respective 
 
92 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 homes, and several of them had to go alone in 
 the darkness, they felt quite terrified. 
 
 It was necessary for one of the party after 
 she had left all her companions, to go nearly a 
 quarter of a mile. She set out upon the run, 
 her heart beating with fear. She had not pro- 
 ceeded far, however, before she heard the loud 
 shouts of a mob of young men and boys, 
 directly in the street through which she must 
 pass. As she drew nearer, the shouts and 
 laughter grew louder and more appalling. She 
 hesitated. But what could she do ? She must 
 go on. Trembling, she endeavored to glide 
 through the crowd, when a great brutal boy, 
 with a horrid mask on his face and a " jack- 
 o'-lantern" in his hand, came up before her. He 
 threw the glare of the light upon her counte- 
 nance, and stared her full in the face. " Here 
 is my wife," said he, and tried to draw her arm 
 into his. A loud shout from the multitude of 
 boys echoed through the darkened air. Hardly 
 knowing what she did, she pressed through the 
 crowd, and, breathless with fright, arrived at 
 her home. And I will assure you she did not 
 wish to take any more evening walks without a 
 protector. From that time afterward she was 
 careful to be under her father's roof before it 
 was dark. 
 
OBEDIENCE. 93 
 
 Now can you think that your father or 
 mother are unkind, because they are unwilling 
 to have you placed in such a situation ? And 
 when they are doing all that they can to make 
 you happy, ought you not to be grateful, and 
 by a cheerful countenance, and ready obedience, 
 to try to reward them for their love ? 
 
 It is the duty of all children to keep in mind 
 that their parents know what is best. And 
 when they refuse to gratify your wishes, you 
 should remember that their object is to do you 
 good. That obedience which is prompt and 
 cheerful, is the only obedience which is ac- 
 ceptable to them, or well-pleasing to God. A 
 great many cases will occur in which you will 
 wish to do that which your parents will not ap- 
 prove. If you do not, in such cases, pleasantly 
 and readily yield to their wishes, you are un- 
 grateful and disobedient. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GRATITUDE. 
 
 It is the duty of children to be grateful to 
 their parents, for the long-continued kindness 
 which their parents have shown them. 
 
 It is especially the duty of a child to be 
 grateful to his mother. Your mother has done 
 a great deal, and suffered a great deal for you. 
 She has watched over you and taken care of 
 you a great many years. You ought to repay 
 her for this with gratitude. 
 
 It is not enough, therefore, that children 
 should obey their parents' expressed commands. 
 You ought to try to do every thing which you 
 think will give them pleasure, whether they tell 
 you to do it or not. Good children will seek 
 for opportunities to make their parents happy. 
 A little girl, for instance, has some work to do. 
 She knows that if she does it well and quick, 
 it will gratify her mother. Now, if she be a 
 good girl, she will not wait for her mother's or- 
 ders, but will, of her own accord, improve her 
 
GRATITUDE. 95 
 
 time, that she may exhibit the work to her 
 mother sooner and more nicely done than she 
 expected. 
 
 Perhaps her mother is sick. Her affectionate 
 daughter will not wait for her mother to ex- 
 press her wishes. She will try to anticipate 
 them. She will walk softly around the cham- 
 ber, arranging every thing in cheerful order. 
 She will adjust the clothes of the bed, that her 
 mother may lie as comfortably as possible. And 
 she will watch all her mother's movements, that 
 she may learn what things she needs before she 
 asks for them. Such will be the conduct of an 
 affectionate and obedient child. 
 
 I was once called to see a poor woman who 
 was very sick. She was a widow, and in 
 poverty. Her only companion and only earthly 
 reliance was her daughter. As I entered the 
 humble dwelling of this poor woman, I saw her 
 bolstered up in the bed, with her pale counte- 
 nance emaciated with pain, and every thing 
 about the room proclaiming the most abject 
 poverty. Her daughter sat sewing at the head 
 of the bed, watching every want of her mother, 
 and active with her needle. The perfect neat- 
 ness of the room told how faithful was the 
 daughter in the discharge of her painful and 
 arduous duties. But her own slender form and 
 
96 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 consumptive countenance showed that by toil 
 and watching she was almost worn out herself. 
 This noble girl, by night and by day, with un- 
 wearied attention, endeavored to alleviate the 
 pains of her afflicted parent. I could not look 
 upon her but with admiration, in seeing the de- 
 votedness with which she watched every move- 
 ment of her mother. 
 
 How many wealthy parents would give all 
 they possess, to be blessed with such a child ! 
 For months this devoted girl had watched 
 around her mother by night and by day, with a 
 care which seemed never to be weary. You 
 could see by the movement of her eye, and by 
 the expression of her countenance, how full her 
 heart was of sympathy. She did not wait for 
 her mother to tell her what to do, but was upon 
 the watch all the time to find out what would 
 be a comfort to her. This is true obedience. 
 It is that obedience which God in heaven ap- 
 proves and loves. 
 
 I called often upon this poor widow, and al- 
 ways with increasing admiration of this de- 
 voted child. One morning, as I entered the 
 room, I saw the mother lying upon the bed on 
 the floor, with her head in the lap of her daugh- 
 ter. She was breathing short and heavy in the 
 struggles of death. The tears were rolling 
 
GRATITUDE. 97 
 
 down the pale cheeks of her daughter, as she 
 pressed her hand upon the brow of her dying 
 mother. The hour of death had just arrived, 
 and the poor mother, in the triumphs of Chris- 
 tian faith, with faint and faltering accents, was 
 imploring God's blessing upon her dear daughter. 
 It was a most affecting farewell. The mother, 
 while thus expressing her gratitude to God for 
 the kindness of her beloved child, breathed her 
 last. And angels must have looked upon that 
 humble abode, and upon that affecting scene, 
 with emotions of pleasure, which could hardly 
 be exceeded by any thing else which the world 
 could present. 
 
 O that all children would feel the gratitude 
 which this girl felt for a mother's early love ! 
 Then would the world be divested of half its sor- 
 rows and of half its sins. This is the kind of obe- 
 dience which every child should cultivate. You 
 should not only do whatever your parents tell 
 you to do, with cheerfulness and alacrity, but you 
 should be obedient to their wishes. You should 
 be watchful for opportunities to give them 
 pleasure. You should, at all times, and under 
 all circumstances, do every thing in your power 
 to relieve them from anxiety, and to make them 
 happy. Then can you hope for the approba- 
 tion of God, and vour heart will be filled with 
 
98 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 a joy which the ungrateful child can never feel. 
 You can reflect with pleasure upon your con- 
 duct. When „your parents are in the grave, 
 you will feel no remorse of conscience harrow- 
 ing your soul for your past unkindness. And 
 when you die yourselves you can anticipate a 
 happy meeting with your parents, in that heav- 
 enly home, where sin and sorrow, and sickness 
 and death, can never come. 
 
 God has, in almost every case, connected 
 suffering with sin. And there are related many 
 cases in which he has, in this world, most sig- 
 nally punished ungrateful children. I read, a 
 short time since, an account of an old man, 
 who had a drunken and brutal son. This son 
 would abuse his aged father without mercy. 
 One day, he, in a passion, knocked him flat 
 upon the floor, and, seizing him by his gray 
 hairs, dragged him across the room to the 
 threshold of the door, to cast him out. The 
 old man, with his tremulous voice, cried out to 
 his unnatural son, " It is enough — it is enough. 
 God is just. When I was young, I dragged my 
 own father in the same way ; and now God is 
 giving me the punishment I deserve." 
 
 Sometimes you will see a son who will not 
 be obedient to his mother. He will have his 
 own way, regardless of his mother's feelings. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
GRAT1TUD2. 99 
 
 He has grown up to be a stout and stubborn 
 boy, and now the ungrateful wretch will, by his 
 misconduct, break the heart of that very mother, 
 who, for months and years, watched over him 
 with a care which knew no weariness. I call 
 him a wretch, for I can hardly conceive of more 
 enormous iniquity. That boy, or that young 
 man, who does not treat his affectionate mother 
 with kindness and respect, is worse than I can 
 find language to describe. 
 
 Perhaps you say, your mother is at times un- 
 reasonable. Perhaps she is so. But what of 
 that ? You have been unreasonable ten thou- 
 sand times, and she has borne with you and 
 loved you. And even if your mother be at 
 times unreasonable in her requirements, I ask 
 with what propriety you find fault with it. Is 
 she to bear with all your cries in infancy, and 
 all your fretfulness in childhood, and all your 
 ingratitude and wants till you arrive at years 
 of discretion, and then, because she wishes you 
 to do some little thing which does not exactly 
 meet your views, are you to turn upon her like 
 a viper and sting her to the heart ? 
 
 The time was, when you were a little infant, 
 and then your mother brought paleness to her 
 own cheek, and weakness to her own frame, 
 that she might give you support. You were 
 
100 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 sick, and in the cold winter night she would sit 
 lonely by the fire, denying herself rest that she 
 might lull her babe to sleep. You would cry 
 
 ^- 
 
 WATCHFUL CAKE. 
 
 with pain, and hour after hour she would walk 
 the floor, carrying you in her arms, till her 
 strength failed and her limbs would hardly sup- 
 port her, through excess of weariness. The 
 bright sun and the cloudless sky would invite 
 her to go out for health and enjoyment, but she 
 would deny herself the pleasure, and stay at 
 
GRATITUDE. 101 
 
 home to take care of you, her helpless babe. 
 Her friends would solicit her to indulge in the 
 pleasures of the social evening party, but she 
 would refuse for your sake, and, in the solitude 
 of her chamber, she would pass weeks and 
 months watching all your wants. 
 
 Thus have years passed away in which you 
 have received nothing but kindness from her 
 hands ; and can you be so hard-hearted, so un- 
 grateful, as now to give her one moment of un- 
 necessary pain ? If she have faults, can you 
 not bear with them, w T hen she has so long borne 
 with you ? Oh, if you knew but the hundredth 
 part of what she has suffered and endured for 
 your sake, you could not, could not, be such a 
 wretch as to requite her with ingratitude. 
 
 A boy who has one particle of generosity 
 glowing in his bosom, will cling to his mother 
 with an affection which life alone can extin- 
 guish. He will never allow her to have a single 
 want which he can prevent. And when he 
 grows to be a man, he will give her the warm- 
 est seat by his fireside, and the choicest food 
 upon his table. If necessary, he will deprive 
 himself of comforts, that he may cheer her de- 
 clining years. He will prove by actions which 
 can not be misunderstood, that he feels a grati- 
 tude for a mother's love, which shall never, 
 
102 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 never leave him. And when she goes down to 
 the grave in death, he will bedew her grave with 
 the honorable tears of manly feeling. The son 
 who does not feel thus, is unworthy of a moth- 
 er's love ; the frown of his offended Maker must 
 be upon him, and he must render to Him an 
 awful account for his ungrateful conduct. 
 
 It is, if possible, stranger still, that any daugh- 
 ter can forget a mother's care. You are al- 
 ways at home. You see your mother's solici- 
 tude. You are familiar with her heart. If you 
 ever treat your mother with unkindness, re- 
 member that the time may come when your 
 own heart will be broken by the misconduct of 
 those who will be as dear to you as your moth- 
 er's children are to her. And you may ask 
 yourself whether you would be pleased with an 
 exhibition of ungrateful feeling from a child 
 whom you had loved and cherished with the 
 tenderest care. God may reward you, even in 
 this world, according to your deeds. And if 
 he does not, he certainly will in the world to 
 come. A day of judgment is at hand, and the 
 ungrateful child has as fearful an account to 
 render as any one who will stand at that bar. 
 
 I have just spoken to you of the grateful girl 
 who took such good care of her poor sick 
 mother. When that good girl dies, and meets 
 
GRATITUDE. 103 
 
 her mother in heaven, what a happy meeting 
 it will be ! With how much joy will she reflect 
 upon her dutifulness as a child ! And as they 
 dwell together again in the celestial mansions, 
 sorrow and sighing will forever flee away. If 
 you wish to be happy here or hereafter, honor 
 your father and your mother. Let love's pure 
 flame burn in your heart and animate your life. 
 Be brave, and fear not to do your duty. Be 
 magnanimous, and do more for your parents 
 than they require or expect. Resolve that you 
 will do every thing in your power to make 
 them happy, and you will be blest as a child, 
 and useful and respected in your maturer years. 
 Oh, how lovely is that son or daughter who has 
 a grateful heart, and who will rather die than 
 give a mother sorrow ! Such a one is not only 
 loved by all upon earth, but by the angels above 
 and by our Father in heaven. 
 
 It may assist you a little to estimate your 
 obligations to your parents, to inquire what 
 would become of you if your parents should re- 
 fuse to take care of you any longer. You, at 
 times, perhaps, feel unwilling to obey them : 
 suppose they should say, 
 
 " Very well, my child, if you are unwilling to 
 obey us, you may go away from home, and take 
 care of yourself. We can not be at the trouble 
 
104 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 and expense of taking care of you unless you 
 feel some gratitude." 
 
 " Well," perhaps you would say, " let me 
 have my cloak and bonnet, and I will go imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " Your cloak and bonnet I" your mother 
 would reply. " The cloak and bonnet are not 
 yours, but your father's. He bought them and 
 paid for them. Why do you call them yours ?" 
 
 You might possibly reply, after thinking a 
 moment, " They are mine because you gave 
 them to me." 
 
 " No, my child," your mother would say, 
 " we have only let you have them to wear. 
 You never have paid for them. You have not 
 even paid us for the use of them. We wish to 
 keep them for those of our children who are 
 grateful for our kindness. Even the clothes 
 you now have on are not yours. We will, 
 however, give them to you; and now suppose 
 you should go, and see how you can get along 
 in taking care of yourself." 
 
 You rise to leave the house without any bon- 
 net or cloak. But your mother says, "Stop 
 one moment. Is there not an account to be 
 settled before you leave ? We have now 
 clothed and fed you for ten years. The trouble 
 and expense, at the least calculation, amount to 
 
GRATITUDE. 105 
 
 two dollars a-week. Indeed, I do not suppose 
 that you could have got any one else to have 
 taken you so cheap. Your board, for ten years, 
 at two dollars a-week, amounts to one thousand 
 and forty dollars. Are you under no obligation 
 to us for all this trouble and expense ?" 
 
 You hang down your head and do not know 
 what to say. What can you say ? You have 
 no money. You can not pay them. 
 
 Your mother, after waiting a moment for an 
 answer, continues, " In many cases, when a 
 person does not pay what is justly due, he is 
 sent to jail. We, however, will be particularly 
 kind to you, and wait awhile. Perhaps you 
 can, by working for fifteen or twenty years, and 
 by being very economical, earn enough to pay 
 us. But let me see ; the interest of the money 
 will be over sixty dollars a year. Oh, no ! it is 
 out of the question. You probably could not 
 earn enough to pay us in your whole life. We 
 never shall be paid for the time, expense, and 
 care, we have devoted to our ungrateful daugh- 
 ter. We hoped she would love us, and obey 
 us, and thus repay. But it seems she prefers to 
 be ungrateful and disobedient. Good-bye." 
 
 You open the door and go out. It is cold 
 and windy. Shivering with the cold, and with- 
 out money, you are at once a beggar, and must 
 
106 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 perish in the streets, unless some one takes 
 pity on you. 
 
 You go, perhaps, to the house of a friend, 
 and ask if they will allow you to live with 
 them. 
 
 They at once reply, " We have so many chil- 
 dren of our own, that we can not afford to take 
 you, unless you will pay for your board and 
 clothing." 
 
 You go again out into the street, cold, hun- 
 gry, and friendless. 
 The darkness of 
 the night is com- 
 ing on ; you have 
 no money to pur- 
 chase a supper, or 
 a night's lodging. 
 Unless you can get 
 some employment, 
 or find some one 
 who will pity you, 
 you must lie down 
 upon the hard 
 ground, and perish 
 
 HELPLESSNESS 
 
 with hunger and with cold. 
 
 Perhaps some benevolent man sees you as he 
 is going home in the evening, and takes you to 
 the overseers of the poor, and says, " Here is a 
 
GRATITUDE. 107 
 
 little vagrant girl I found in the streets. We 
 must send the poor little thing to the poor-house, 
 or she will starve to death." 
 
 You are carried to the poor-house. There 
 you find a very different home from your 
 father's. You are dressed in the coarsest gar- 
 ments. You have the meanest food, and are 
 compelled to be obedient, and to do the most 
 servile work. 
 
 Now, suppose, while you are in the poor- 
 house, some kind gentleman and lady should 
 come and say, " We will take this little girl, and 
 give her food and clothes for nothing. We will 
 take her into our own parlor, and give her a 
 chair by our own pleasant fireside. We will 
 buy every thing for her that she needs. We 
 will hire persons to teach her. We will do 
 every thing in our power to make her happy, 
 and will not ask for any thing from her in re- 
 turn." 
 
 What should you think of such kindness ? 
 And what should you think of yourself, if you 
 could go to their parlor, and receive their 
 bounty, and yet be ungrateful and disobedient ? 
 Would not a child who could thus requite such 
 love, be deserving of universal detestation ? 
 But all this your parents are doing, and for 
 years have been doing for you. They pay for 
 
108 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 the fire that warms you ; for the house that shel- 
 ters you ; for the clothes that cover you ; for 
 the food that supports you ! They watch over 
 your bed in sickness, and provide for your in- 
 struction and enjoyment when in health ! Your 
 parents do all this without money and without 
 price. Now, whenever you feel ill-humored, or 
 disposed to murmur at any of their require- 
 ments, just look a moment and see how the ac- 
 count stands. Inquire what would be the con- 
 sequence, if they should refuse to take care of 
 you. 
 
 The child who does not feel grateful for all 
 this kindness, must be more unfeeling than the 
 brutes. How can you refrain from doing every 
 thing in your power to make those happy who 
 have loved you so long, and have conferred 
 upon you so many favors ! If you have any 
 thing noble or generous in your nature, it must 
 be excited by a parent's love. 
 
 We sometimes see a child who receives all 
 these favors from her parents as though they 
 were her due. She appears to have no con- 
 sciousness of obligation ; no heart of gratitude. 
 Such a child is a disgrace to human nature. 
 Even the very fowls of the air, and cattle of the 
 fields, love their parents. They put to shame 
 the ungrateful child. 
 
GRATITUDE. 109 
 
 You can form no conception of that devoted- 
 ness of love which your mother cherishes for 
 you. She is willing to suffer almost every thing 
 to save you from pain. She will, to protect 
 you, face death in its most terrific form. An 
 English gentleman tells the following affecting 
 story, to show how ardently a mother loves her 
 child. 
 
 " I was once going, in my gig, up the hill in 
 the village of Frankford, near Philadelphia, when 
 a little girl about two years old, who had toddled 
 away from a small house, was lying basking in 
 the sun, in the middle of the road. About two 
 hundred yards before I got to the child, the 
 teams of three wagons, five big horses in each, 
 the drivers of which had stopped to drink at a 
 tavern at the brow of the hill, started off, and 
 came nearly abreast, galloping down the road. 
 I got my gig off the road as speedily as I could, 
 but expected to see the poor child crushed to 
 death. A young man, a journeyman carpenter, 
 who was shingling a shed by the roadside, see- 
 ing the child, and seeing the danger, though a 
 stranger to the parents, jumped from the top of 
 the shed, ran into the road, and snatched up the 
 child from just before the hoof of the leading 
 horse. The horse's leg knocked him down ; 
 but he, catching the child by its clothes, drew 
 
110 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 it out of the way of the other horses, and saved 
 himself by rolling back with surprising agility. 
 The mother of the child, seeing the teams com- 
 ing, and the dreadful danger of the child, had 
 come out from the house, and, rushing forward, 
 would have thrown herself directly under the 
 feet of the horses, if the carpenter had not in- 
 terposed and pushed her back just as he seized 
 the child. The mother grasped her child as 
 soon as it was within her reach, and clasping it 
 in her arms, uttered a shriek, such as I never 
 heard before or since ; and then she dropped 
 down as if perfectly dead. By the application 
 of the usual means, she was restored, however, 
 in a little while, and I, being about to depart, 
 asked the carpenter if he were a married man, 
 and whether he were a relation of the parents 
 of the child. He said he was neither. ' Well, 
 then,' said I, ■ you merit the gratitude of every 
 father and mother in the world, and I will show 
 you mine by giving you what I have/ — pulling 
 out the nine or ten dollars which I had in my 
 pocket. ' No, I thank you, sir,' said he, ' I have 
 only done what it was my duty to do/ 
 
 " Bravery, disinterestedness, and maternal 
 affection surpassing these it is impossible to 
 imagine. The mother was going directly in 
 among the feet of these powerful and wild 
 
GRATITUDE. Ill 
 
 horses, and among the wheels of the wagons. 
 She had no thought for herself; no feeling of 
 fear for her own life ; her shriek was the sound 
 of inexpressible joy, joy too great for her to 
 support herself under." 
 
 Now, can you conceive a more ungrateful 
 wretch, than that boy would be, if he should 
 grow up, not to love or obey his mother ? She 
 was willing to die for him. She was willing to 
 run directly under the feet of the horses, that 
 she might save his life. And if he has one par- 
 ticle of generosity in his bosom, he will do every 
 thing in his power to make her happy. 
 
 But your mother loves you as well as did that 
 mother love her child. She is as willing to 
 expose herself to danger and to death. And 
 can you ever bear the thought of causing grief 
 to her whose love is so strong ; whose kindness 
 is so great ? It appears to me that the gener- 
 ous-hearted boy, who thinks of these things, 
 must resolve to be his mother's joy and bless- 
 ing- 
 
 A few years ago a child was lost in one of 
 those vast plains in the west, called prairies. A 
 gentleman who was engaged in the search for 
 the child, thus describes the scene. It forcibly 
 shows the strength of a mother's love. 
 
 "In the year 1821 I was stationed on the 
 
112 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 Mad River circuit. You know there are ex- 
 tensive prairies in that part of the state. In 
 places, there are no dwellings within miles of 
 each other ; and animals of prey are often seen 
 there. One evening, late in autumn, a few of 
 the neighbors were assembled around me, in one 
 of those solitary dwellings, and we had got well 
 engaged in the worship of God, when it was 
 announced that the child of a widow was lost 
 in the prairie. It was cold ; the wind blew ; 
 and some rain was falling. The poor woman 
 was in agony, and our meeting was broken up. 
 All prepared to go in search of the lost child. 
 The company understood the business better 
 than I did, for they had been bred in those ex- 
 tensive barrens ; and occurrences like the pres- 
 ent are, probably, not unfrequent among them. 
 " They equipped themselves with lanterns and 
 torches, for it was quite dark ; and tin horns, to 
 give signals to different parts of the company, 
 when they should become widely separated. For 
 my part, I thought duty required that I should 
 take charge of the unhappy mother. She was 
 nearly frantic ; and as time permitted her to 
 view her widowed and" childless condition, and 
 the circumstances of the probable death of her 
 child, her misery seemed to double upon her. 
 She took my arm ; the company divided into 
 
GRATITUDE. 113 
 
 parties; and, taking different directions, we 
 commenced the search. The understanding 
 was, that, when the child should be found, a 
 certain sound of the horn should be made, and 
 that all who should hear it should repeat the 
 signal. In this way all the company would re- , 
 ceive the information. 
 
 " The prospect of finding a lost child in those 
 extensive prairies, would, at any time, be suffi- 
 ciently discouraging. The difficulty must be 
 greatly increased by a dark, rainy night. We 
 traveled many miles, and to a late hour. At 
 length we became satisfied that further search 
 would be unavailing; and all but the mother 
 determined to return home. It was an idea she 
 could not, for a moment, endure. She would 
 hear of nothing but further search. Her 
 strength, at last, began to fail her, and I pre- 
 vailed on her to return to her abode. As she 
 turned her face from further search, and gave 
 up her child as lost, her misery was almost too 
 great for endurance. 'My child,' said she, 
 ' has been devoured by a wild beast ; his little 
 limbs have been torn asunder ; and his blood 
 been drunk by the hideous monster,' — and the 
 idea was agony. As she clung to my arm, it 
 seemed as if her heart-strings would break, 
 
 H 
 
114 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 At times I had almost to support her in my 
 arms, to prevent her falling to the earth. 
 
 "As we proceeded on our way back, I 
 thought I heard, at a great distance, the sound 
 of a horn. We stopped and listened ; it was 
 repeated. It was the concerted signal. The 
 child was found. And what were the feelings 
 of the mother !" Language can not describe 
 them. Such is the strength of maternal affec- 
 tion. 
 
 And can a child be so hard-hearted as not to 
 love a mother ? Is there any thing which can 
 be more ungrateful than to grieve one who 
 loves you so ardently, and who has done so 
 much for you ? 
 
 If there be any crime which in the sight of 
 God is greater than all others, it appears to me 
 it must be an unkind and ungrateful treatment 
 of parents. If the spirit of a demon dwells in 
 any human breast, it must be in that breast 
 which is thankless for parental favors, and 
 which can requite that love, which watched 
 over our infancy and protected our helpless 
 years, with ingratitude and disrespect. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 
 
 Some time ago, a clergyman was conversing 
 with me, in my study, and he took up a book, 
 called an Encyclopedia. Turning over the 
 pages, he happened to come to the name of 
 Levi Parsons. Perhaps the young reader 
 knows that Levi Parsons was one of the most 
 distinguished missionaries of the American 
 Board. He went to Jerusalem, and preached 
 the gospel there. He then went to Alexandria, 
 in Egypt, where he died a very happy death. 
 
 Said the gentleman, as he read the name, 
 Levi Parsons, " I used to know him very well. 
 When he was a boy about ten years old, we 
 went to Leicester Academy together. I can 
 remember perfectly how he then looked, and 
 how he used to be dressed. When we left 
 school, for a great many years I heard nothing 
 about him. I could not learn whether he was 
 living or dead. At last, when I had grown up 
 to manhood, and was settled in the ministry, in 
 
116 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 the interior of the state of New York, one day 
 a gentleman called upon me, as an agent of the 
 American Board, and wished to present the 
 cause of missions to my congregation. He in- 
 troduced himself as Mr. Parsons. 
 
 " In the course of conversation, it occurred 
 to me that he might be the same person whom 
 I had known as a little boy in Leicester Acad- 
 emy." 
 
 " Did you ever go to Leicester Academy ?" 
 said I. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " nearly fifteen years ago, 
 I was there a short time." 
 
 "I knew you then," said the gentleman, 
 " very well ; and if you had looked now as you 
 then did, I should have known you at once. I 
 have often felt very desirous to know what had 
 become of you, and have made many inquiries, 
 but could never learn where you were." 
 
 " Why," said Mr. Parsons, " did you feel so 
 much interest in me ?" 
 
 " Because," said the gentleman, " you were 
 then the most conscientious boy I ever knew, 
 and I felt greatly interested to know what kind 
 of a man such a boy would make." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Parsons, " if I am a Chris- 
 tian now, I think I was then. I am not aware 
 of any important change in my character, since 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 117 
 
 that time. And though I had not then a sus- 
 picion that I was a Christian, so far as I can 
 judge, if I am now governed by Christian mo- 
 tives, I then was." 
 
 This anecdote interested me very much, be- 
 cause it came in confirmation of my whole ex- 
 perience, that the conscientious boy is a Chris- 
 tian. 
 
 I never knew a boy or a girl who was con- 
 scientious, who seemed really desirous of doing 
 that which was right, who did not, in mature 
 years, give evidence of piety, and become an 
 active and useful Christian. In fact, there can 
 scarcely be better evidence of the piety of a 
 child, or of a man, than conscientiousness. If 
 a boy is sincerely desirous of doing that which 
 his conscience tells him to be duty ; if this be 
 his habitual frame of mind, exhibited at home 
 and at school, with parents, with teachers, with 
 playmates, we want no better evidence, nay, 
 we want no other evidence, that he is a child 
 of God. With this disposition he will pray for 
 guidance ; he will read the Bible with a humble 
 and teachable spirit, and, conscious of his 
 many failings, he will be penitent for sin, and 
 seek the aid of the Holy Spirit to resist temp- 
 tation. 
 
 Does any boy ask, How am I to serve the 
 
118 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 Savior? I reply, Be conscientious. Do you 
 ask, How am I to secure God's favor in this 
 world, and happiness in the world to come ? I 
 reply, Be conscientious. Let it be your settled 
 principle always to try to do that which you 
 think to be right. 
 
 Sometimes young persons think they wish to 
 be Christians, and to be prepared to die, and 
 yet are perplexed to know just what they ought 
 to do to become Christians. 
 
 The very first direction to be given is, in all 
 things — conscientiously try to do that which is 
 right. 
 
 1. In obedience to your parents. Conscience 
 tells you always pleasantly and immediately to 
 obey them. It not only tells you to do what 
 they command you to do, but to do whatever 
 you think they would like to have you do. 
 Even if you obey them, but yet do it reluct- 
 antly, with unsubmissive feelings, and a frown 
 upon your face, conscience at once tells you 
 that you are doing wrong. 
 
 I have heard conscience compared with the 
 bell on the railroad locomotive. You know 
 that when the cars approach what is called a 
 railroad crossing, they ring the bell, to give 
 warning of the danger. So when you are 
 doing or about to do any thing that is wrong, 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 119 
 
 conscience rings the bell. You all hear its 
 warning. Can any of you look back upon any 
 act of disobedience or unkindness to your 
 parents ? Did not conscience ring the bell ? 
 Did you not feel within you that you were 
 doing wrong ? 
 
 2. Conscience will tell you, in the second 
 place, how to act in all your plays with broth- 
 ers and sisters and companions. When you 
 are pleasant and obliging, and do that which is 
 right, you are happy, for conscience approves. 
 If you do this with the desire of pleasing God, 
 you are manifesting a Christian spirit. When 
 you are disobliging, and ill-humored, and unjust, 
 you are unhappy, for conscience condemns. 
 
 A little girl once went to bed at night, and 
 about an hour afterward her mother heard her 
 sobbing. She went up stairs, and inquired the 
 cause. The child sobbed still more violently, 
 and told her mother she could not go to sleep, 
 she felt so unhappy. Her mother inquired 
 what made her so unhappy. It was some time 
 before she could summon resolution to explain 
 the cause of her distress ; the cause was that 
 she had that day told her a lie ; she had told 
 her mother that she did not strike her sister, 
 which she did. Her mother talked with her a 
 little while, and afterward prayed with her^ 
 
120 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 that God would forgive her sin ; the girl then 
 fell quietly asleep. 
 
 Now, why was it that this child was so un- 
 happy ? It was because conscience was ring- 
 ing the bell — thus warning her that she was in 
 danger — that she must not go to sleep till she 
 had confessed her sin, and asked forgiveness. 
 And why was it that, after having confessed 
 her sin, she could so quietly fall asleep? It 
 was because conscience was then pacified. 
 How kind is it in God to give us such a guide, 
 to tell us every day what to do, and what not 
 to do! 
 
 Obey this inward voice, and it will be every 
 hour a faithful friend, and will guide you safely 
 and surely, to heaven. It will tell you what is 
 right, in all your plays and in all your studies — 
 at home — at school — on the Sabbath. When 
 you read the Bible, read of a Savior's dying 
 love, of the Holy Spirit sent to help you, con- 
 science will tell you with what spirit to receive 
 such instructions, and how to obey them. 
 
 Show me a boy who is thus conscientious, 
 who tries to please his parents, and make his 
 brothers and sisters and companions good and 
 happy, and I have hardly a doubt that, that child 
 is a Christian. This is the way for you to come 
 to the Savior. Because conscientiously doing 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 121 
 
 your duty, implies penitence for doing wrong. 
 This is having a new heart. For the only sat- 
 isfactory evidence which can be given that you 
 have a new heart is, that you endeavor to please 
 your Maker. 
 
 I presume that this is one of the principal 
 causes of the happiness of the angels in heaven. 
 They all endeavor to do right, and thus their 
 consciences and hearts are always at peace. 
 Consequently they always feel happy. And in 
 the thronged streets of the New Jerusalem, and 
 by the still waters and green pastures of that 
 celestial world, and where they spread their 
 wings in the wide expanse of the highest heav- 
 ens, they exult and rejoice in perfect holiness 
 and love. 
 
 You must ere long die. You may die soon. 
 Are you prepared ? Suppose you were now to 
 die, and to appear before God in judgment. 
 Do you think that it would then appear that 
 you had always conscientiously endeavored to 
 do right ? Do you think that angels would 
 wish to have you come and live with them ? 
 
 This conscientious desire to do every thing 
 that is pleasing to God, is the evidence of a 
 "new heart." God says to us that we must 
 have a new heart, and promises, in answer to 
 our prayers, to give us one. Now, the only 
 
122 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 evidence we can have that our hearts are 
 changed, is from the feelings that we cherish. 
 
 The boy who is self-willed, who is disobedient, 
 who is idle, has certainly the old heart of unbe- 
 lief. He is unrenewed. And until he has been 
 born again, he can never enter heaven. If he 
 should die in this state, he must perish for- 
 ever. 
 
 The boy who earnestly desires to know what 
 his duty is, and tries to do it ; who prays sin- 
 cerely to God every morning and every even- 
 ing, that he may be delivered from temptation, 
 and be made holy; who studies diligently in 
 school, because he thinks it will please God ; 
 who is respectful to his instructor, kind to his 
 playmates, obedient to his parents, because he 
 conscientiously desires to do his duty — that boy 
 has a new heart ; that boy has been born again ; 
 that boy is a Christian. 
 
 I have known many children who, I had no 
 doubt, were Christians, though they never knew 
 the time when their hearts were changed. 
 
 If I am to judge whether a boy is a Chris- 
 tian, I wish to see how he conducts himself 
 when playing a game of ball, or sliding down 
 hill. 
 
 Does he bear an insult patiently ? Does he 
 try to make peace on the play-ground ? Does 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 123 
 
 he, in the employments and the pleasures of his 
 boyhood, endeavor in all things to do that which 
 his conscience tells him is right ? These are 
 the evidences of piety. They are among the 
 strongest evidences which can be afforded. No 
 other evidences are of any avail without these. 
 
 If you wish to know whether an apple-tree 
 is a good one, the only way is to taste of one 
 of its apples. You judge of the tree by its 
 fruits. Just so the Savior says it is with the 
 heart. The only way in which you can tell 
 whether it is changed or unchanged, renewed or 
 unrenewed, is by its fruits. 
 
 Just so it is with men. The only evidence 
 we can have that any one is a Christian, is by 
 his conduct. If a man loves to pray, loves to 
 read his Bible, loves the Sabbath ; if he tries to 
 induce his fellow-men to repent of sin, and turn 
 to God ; if, in all his intercourse with his fellow- 
 men, he endeavors to be upright, and obliging, 
 and benevolent ; if, as he contemplates a world 
 lost in sin, he manifests a deep interest in send- 
 ing the gospel to every nation and tribe, — we 
 judge him to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. We 
 think his works show that his heart is right. 
 And we think that, for the sake of the Savior, 
 who has died for sinners, all his sins are for- 
 given. 
 
124 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 If, on the other hand, we see a man who is 
 prayerless ; who has no prayers in his family ; 
 who does not seem to love the Bible ; who mani- 
 fests little or no interest in the spiritual welfare 
 of sinners, — we judge at once that that man is 
 not a Christian. No matter what he may pro- 
 fess. His conduct shows that his heart is un- 
 changed. By their fruits shall ye know them, 
 says Christ. 
 
 Some persons have thought that it is very 
 difficult to understand what is meant by a 
 " change of heart." But it seems to me that, 
 as to all practical purposes, it is very simple and 
 plain. 
 
 We use the word heart, in this connection, 
 just as it is used in poetry and romance, the 
 world over ; just as it is used by savage tribes 
 and by civilized nations. 
 
 " My husband has given me every thing but 
 his heart," said a lady, mourning over the cold- 
 ness and want of affection which her husband 
 manifested. Is not her meaning very plain ? 
 She sits alone by the winter's fire, as he is ab- 
 sent in the gay revel, and she prays, " Turn his 
 heart, O God, from his mirthful associates, and 
 fix it upon his family and upon thee." Can any 
 one misunderstand such language ? 
 
 The Sandwich Islanders invariably allude to 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 125 
 
 the days of their idolatry, as the time of dark 
 hearts, and speak with gratitude of the new heart 
 which God has given them. 
 
 A short time ago, an Indian chief was ad- 
 dressing a band of his brother warriors around 
 their council-fire, in the wilderness, west of the 
 Rocky Mountains. The circumstances were 
 these. This chief had been, for many years, 
 one of the most relentless foes of the white 
 man. He had left no means untried to fan into 
 fury the fierce passions of the much injured 
 red man, and he often raised the storm of war 
 upon the scattered settlers on our borders. He 
 had been induced by the United States com- 
 missioners, who were endeavoring to effect a 
 treaty with his tribe, to visit the President at 
 Washington. He was received by the Pres- 
 ident with great attention, was loaded with 
 presents, and was assured that the United States 
 government would do all in its power to live in 
 peace with his tribe, and to promote its welfare. 
 This unexpected kindness completely won the 
 warrior's heart. He returned on his pathless 
 way, along the mighty rivers, and across the 
 lakes and mountains of the western world, to 
 meet his tribe in their hunting-grounds. 
 
 The fierce " braves" lighted their council-fire, 
 and gathered around it, to welcome the return 
 
126 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 of their chieftain. He stood in the center of 
 the ring to address them. Every form was 
 motionless, and every eye fixed to hear his 
 words. 
 
 Said he, " I have been to Washington. I saw 
 our great father. I went with the heart of an 
 Indian. 1 hated the white man. Our great 
 father took me by the hand. He spoke kindly 
 to me. He promised love to my tribe. He 
 took away my Indian's heart, and gave me a 
 new heart. Ever since then I have had a white 
 mans heart." 
 
 How appropriate ! how plain ! Could he 
 have used language more expressive ? Is it 
 not the most concise and intelligible declara- 
 tion of the change from hostility to affection ? 
 Is it not the very language the Bible uses — 
 which God declares to be so plain, that he that 
 runneth may read, and that the wayfaring man, 
 though uninstructed, need not err therein? 
 
 The change of heart, which the Bible en- 
 joins, as to its practical evidences and results, is 
 by no means of a mysterious or unintelligible 
 nature. It is difficult to conceive of any thing 
 more simple. 
 
 Here is a boy who neglects prayer. He does 
 not love to pray, or to think of God. He is 
 disobedient to his parents, often quarrels with 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 127 
 
 his playmates, and is every day doing many 
 things which he knows to be wrong. He does 
 not repent of this conduct. He does not ask 
 God's forgiveness for it. Now he has mani- 
 festly the heart of an impenitent sinner; the 
 heart of one unreconciled to God, and he must 
 have a " new heart," or he can never be re- 
 ceived to heaven. There is not an angel in 
 heaven who would not be unwilling that such 
 a person should be admitted into those happy 
 realms. 
 
 Here is another boy who is conscientious in 
 all he does and says. He prays every morning 
 and every evening that God will take care of 
 him and preserve him from sin. He loves the 
 Savior. He is a peacemaker on the play- 
 ground. He is diligent in improving his time, 
 that he may become a useful man. He is very 
 attentive to his parents, and does all that he 
 can to make them happy. This boy is a Chris- 
 tian. He has a new heart. God loves him. 
 Angels love him. When he dies, all the angels 
 in heaven will welcome him to their joys. 
 
 Do you ask, How am I to get this new heart ? 
 You are to get it by praying to God for a heart 
 to love him, and by cherishing these feelings of 
 dependence and affection. And when you find 
 that you are truly conscientious, that you do 
 
128 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 love to serve your Maker, that you are really 
 penitent whenever you do any thing wrong, 
 you may " hope" that you are a Christian. 
 
 Conscience will warn you when you are 
 going to do wrong, and she will punish you 
 with reproaches and stings afterward, if you 
 do not heed her warnings. Sometimes con- 
 science slumbers a long time, and then suddenly 
 awakens from her sleep, and torments the soul 
 with the remembrance of past sins. 
 
 Many cases of this kind occur among men 
 guilty of great crimes. The following true story 
 illustrates this : — 
 
 A jeweller in England, a man of good char- 
 acter and considerable wealth, having occasion, 
 in the way of his business, to travel to some 
 distance from the place of his abode, took along 
 with him a servant, in order to take care of his 
 portmanteau. He had with him some of his 
 best jewels, and a large sum of money. The 
 ♦ servant knew that his master had these things, 
 and determined to rob him. At length, when 
 in a solitary place in a wood, the servant, 
 watching his opportunity, at a moment when 
 his master had dismounted in the road, took a 
 pistol from his master's saddle, and shot him 
 dead on the spot. He then rifled him of his 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 
 
 129 
 
 THE fiOBBEBI, 
 
 jewels and money, and, hanging a large stone 
 to his neck, threw him into the nearest canal. 
 
 With his booty the servant made off to a dis- 
 tant part of the country, where he had reason 
 to believe that neither he nor his master was 
 known. There he began to trade in a small 
 way at first, that his obscurity might screen 
 him from observation, and in the course of sev- 
 eral years seemed to rise, by the natural prog- 
 ress of business, into wealth and considera- 
 I 
 
130 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 tion ; so that his good fortune appeared at once 
 the effect and reward of industry and virtue. 
 In fact, he counterfeited the appearance of in- 
 dustry and virtue so well, that he grew into 
 great credit, married into a good family, and by 
 laying out his hidden stores discreetly, as he 
 saw occasion, and joining to all a universal af- 
 fability, he was admitted to a share in the gov- 
 ernment of the town, and rose from one post to 
 another, till at length he was chosen chief ma- 
 gistrate. In this office he maintained a fair 
 character, and continued to fill it with no small 
 applause, both as a governor and a judge ; till 
 one day, as he sat on the bench with some of 
 his brethren, he himself presiding, a criminal 
 was brought before him who was accused of 
 murdering his master. The evidence came out 
 full ; the jury brought in the verdict that the 
 prisoner was guilty; and the whole assembly 
 waited the sentence of the presiding judge. 
 
 In the mean while, the judge himself mani- 
 fested an unusual disorder and agitation of 
 mind, and his color often changed ; at length 
 he arose from his seat, and, coming down from 
 the bench, placed himself just by the unfortu- 
 nate man at the bar. " You see before you," 
 said he, addressing himself to those who had sat 
 on the bench with him, " a striking instance of 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 131 
 
 the just retaliation of Heaven, which, this day, 
 after thirty years' concealment, presents to you 
 a greater criminal than the man just now found 
 guilty." He then proceeded to make an ample 
 confession of his guilt, and of all its aggrava- 
 tions. " Nor can I feel," continued he, " any 
 relief from the agonies of an awakened con- 
 science, but by requiring that justice be forth- 
 with done against me in the most public and 
 solemn manner." We may easily suppose the 
 amazement of the whole assembly, and espe- 
 cially of his fellow-judges. However, they 
 proceeded, upon this confession, to pass sen- 
 tence upon him ; and he died with all the 
 symptoms of a penitent mind. 
 
 Such is the power of conscience. But what 
 is conscience ? It is not easy to define this 
 wonderful faculty. It has been called the voice 
 of God in the soul. But though it may not be 
 easily defined, there is not a word in the Eng- 
 lish language, which is more perfectly and im- 
 pressively intelligible than conscience. There 
 is something within, which gives us pleasure 
 when we do that which we think to be right, 
 and pain when we do that which we consider 
 wrong. Conscience is both judge and execu- 
 tioner. She decides upon the right or the 
 
132 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 wrong of actions, and accordingly applies the 
 reward or the scourge. 
 
 God has given to each one of us this guide. 
 And I earnestly desire that all the readers of 
 this book may be inspired with a sense of the 
 value of conscience, and with the determination 
 to be very careful in obeying all its decisions. 
 
 Endeavor to obtain an enlightened con- 
 science. Like every other faculty of the mind, 
 or affection of the heart, conscience is suscept- 
 ible of great improvement. By cultivation, it 
 becomes very sensitive and accurate, and gives 
 warning of the least approach of danger. It 
 becomes the sensitive barometer of the soul, 
 pointing with its unerring finger to approaching 
 storms, unrevealed to the eye. It is, indeed, 
 sometimes the case, that when the mind is not 
 sufficiently instructed to explain why a particular 
 act is sinful, conscience, more enlightened and 
 discriminating, warns us of danger. We often 
 see a very young child, almost instinctively 
 avoiding that which is wrong, even when the 
 child is by no means able to explain why the 
 particular act is wrong. Often too we see, al- 
 most in infancy, evidences of conscious guilt. 
 
 Reflect too upon the happy effects of scrupu- 
 lously obeying the voice of conscience. Con- 
 science thus obeyed is the sure guide to tran- 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 133 
 
 quillity and joy. You sometimes see a person 
 who appears to be above the temptation of do- 
 ing any thing that is wrong. She is, as it were, 
 instinctively kind, disinterested, and obliging. 
 As she advances in years, she gains the victory 
 over nearly all the infirmities of human nature. 
 Each victory makes the succeeding temptation 
 weaker, and increases the power of resistance. 
 The soul becomes tranquil and happy, and 
 Satan, discomfited and put to flight year after 
 year, is discouraged with his unsuccessful efforts, 
 and withdraws in despair. 
 
 You, my young reader, have probably at 
 times experienced something of this yourself. 
 When you have been for a season unusually 
 faithful in prayer, watchful over your own heart, 
 and conscientious in duty, how serene have been 
 your feelings ! how easy has it seemed to rise 
 above those temptations, which at other times 
 have appeared almost irresistible ! The fear 
 of others loses its dominion over you. Passion 
 is subdued. Ambition, selfishness, vanity, the 
 love of ease, the love of pleasure, — all are van- 
 quished, and you experience the full enjoyment 
 of the promise, " Thou wilt keep him in perfect 
 peace, whose mind is stayed on thee." 
 
 We do not make sufficient effort for moral 
 improvement. We ought to be continually 
 
134 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 aiming at higher elevation in perfection of char- 
 acter. As the passion-flower recoils at a touch, 
 so should our refined and sensitive consciences 
 recoil at the least approach of evil. It is not 
 enough that our hearts yield to the remorseful 
 reproaches of conscience when deeply wounded ; 
 we should cherish such delicacy and tender- 
 ness, that the faintest whisperings of this inward 
 monitor, may be thankfully heard and heeded. 
 Beware how you parley with temptation. Be- 
 ware how you indulge in any dalliance with 
 sin. Beware how you disregard the mildest ad- 
 monitions of this faithful guide. The first step 
 may be a short one, but it is the entrance upon 
 a long road of wretchedness and ruin. You 
 may deem the act a trifling one, so trifling that 
 it can hardly be called a sin ; but when you 
 once commence in wrong-doing, you know not 
 where to stop. 
 
 You should resolve that you will not allow 
 yourself, on any occasion, to do that which you 
 think to be wrong. Let the consequences be 
 what they may, determine in the fear of God 
 that you will do that, and that only, which you 
 think to be right. Thus only can you have a 
 conscience void of offense. Thus only can 
 you come to the Savior, and be accepted of 
 him. Thus only can you be happy in this world, 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 135 
 
 or be preparing for happiness in the world to 
 come. 
 
 What, my reader, is the state of your con- 
 science ? Is it tender and highly cultivated ? 
 Are you carefully obeying all its teachings ? 
 Perhaps you have not sincerely repented of sin, 
 and surrendered yourself to the Savior. If so, 
 surely conscience can not be silent ; its re- 
 proaches must be loud and long. Does not con- 
 science at times lift up against you the loudest 
 thunders of her indignant remonstrance ? Does 
 she not reproach you with the disregard of a 
 Savior's love, with slighting the warnings and 
 disobeying the commands of your heavenly 
 Father ? Can you be willing to continue in 
 doing this great wrong, this great violence to 
 conscience ? 
 
 It is impossible to be happy even in this life, 
 without an approving conscience. There are 
 few persons who have entered upon life with 
 more favorable prospects for earthly happiness 
 than Wilberforce. Every thing which life 
 could present to fascinate, was spread before 
 him, and was within his reach. But the want 
 of an approving conscience marred every joy. 
 " Often," he says, " while in the full enjoyment 
 of all that this world could bestow, my con- 
 science told me that in the true sense of the 
 
130 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 word I was not a Christian. I laughed, I sang, 
 I was apparently gay and happy ; but the 
 thought would steal over me, ' What madness 
 is all this, to continue easy in a state in which 
 a sudden call out of the world would consign 
 me to everlasting misery, and that when eternal 
 happiness is within my grasp !' " 
 
 Commence immediately a conscientious life. 
 Do not say that you will wait for a more con- 
 venient season. A season more convenient 
 than the present will probably never come. 
 
 The life of most persons is made up of resolu- 
 tions formed only to be broken. We resolve, 
 and re-resolve, and yet live the same. Con- 
 science urges us to the performance of some 
 particular duty ; to be more watchful over our 
 tempers ; to be more attentive to our parents 
 and friends ; to be more devoted to God. We 
 resolve that we will amend, and yet continue 
 to yield to temptation. Thus life too frequently 
 glides away filled with broken resolutions and 
 unavailing regrets. Each night finds the mind 
 disquieted with the consciousness of duties neg- 
 lected during the day. And when we lie down 
 upon a dying bed, and look back upon the days 
 and the years which are gone, it is with lamen- 
 tation that our good resolutions have been so 
 continually broken. How many have bitterly 
 
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 137 
 
 exclaimed in the hour of death, " O how differ- 
 ently would I live, if I were to pass through life 
 again !" 
 
 How unwise is it to spend life in such a 
 manner as to bring so much distress and an- 
 guish upon the soul at its close ; especialiy, as 
 by so doing we deprive ourselves during the 
 whole course of life, of all substantial peace and 
 happiness. 
 
 It is not necessary to live so. There are 
 many who are continually making progress in 
 moral excellence, whose " path is as the shining 
 light, growing brighter and brighter unto the 
 perfect day." As years glide on, they ascend 
 higher and higher into the serene and cloudless 
 regions of religious joy. Carefully attending to 
 the voice of conscience, they gain conquests 
 over their passions, their appetites, and the in- 
 firmities of their corrupt nature, and find even 
 in this life that perfect peace, which God will 
 give those whose minds are stayed on him. 
 
 These, my young reader, are the plain prin- 
 ciples of the Bible. This is the path, which 
 God has pointed out, to happiness and to heav- 
 en. If you will endeavor, conscientiously and 
 perseveringly, to obey the directions which are 
 here presented to you, you will be shielded from 
 many dangers and many sorrows. Your days 
 
138 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 here on earth will probably glide away in tran- 
 quillity and peace ; and when the hour arrives 
 for you to lie down upon the bed of death, you 
 can look back upon the past with some degree 
 of satisfaction, and onward to the future with 
 well-founded anticipations of acceptance at 
 God's bar ; and, having sweetly fallen asleep in 
 Jesus, you will awake in heaven. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 
 
 In this chapter I shall consider the subject 
 of religious truth. That you may understand 
 your duties, it is important that you should first 
 understand your own character in the sight of 
 God. I can, perhaps, make this plain to you by 
 the following illustration : 
 
 A few years since a ship sailed from England 
 to explore the Northern Ocean. As it was a 
 voyage of no common danger to face the storms 
 and the tempests of those icy seas, a crew of 
 experienced seamen were obtained, and placed 
 under the guidance of a commander of long- 
 tried skill. As the ship sailed from an English 
 port, in pleasant weather and with favorable 
 breezes, all was harmony on board, and every 
 man was obedient to the lawful commander. 
 As weeks passed away, and the ship pressed 
 forward on the wide waste of waters, there 
 were occasional acts of neglect of duty among 
 the crew. Still the commander retained his 
 
140 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 authority. No one ventured to refuse to be in 
 subjection to him. But as the ship advanced 
 farther and farther into those unexplored re- 
 gions, new toils and dangers came upon the 
 
 men. The cold 
 blasts of those win- 
 try regions chilled 
 their limbs. Moun- 
 tains of ice, dashed 
 about by the tem- 
 pests, threatened 
 destruction to the 
 ship and the crew. 
 On every side as 
 far as the eye could 
 reach, a dreary 
 view of chilling 
 waves and of float- 
 ing ice warned them of dangers, from which no 
 earthly power could extricate them. The ship 
 was far away from home, and in regions which 
 had been seldom, if ever, seen by mortal eyes. 
 The boldest were at times appalled by the dan- 
 gers, both seen and unseen, which were clus- 
 tering around them. 
 
 Under these circumstances the spirit of re- 
 volt broke out among that ship's crew. They 
 resolved that they would no longer be in sub- 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 141 
 
 jection to their commander. They rose togeth- 
 er in rebellion ; deprived him of his authority, 
 and took the control of the ship into their own 
 hands. They then placed their captain in an 
 open boat, and throwing in to him a few arti- 
 cles of provision, they turned him adrift upon 
 that wide and cheerless ocean, and he never 
 was heard of more. Appointing one of their 
 number commander, they turned the ship in a 
 different direction, and regulated all its move- 
 ments by their own pleasure. After this re- 
 volt, things went on in respect to the internal 
 affairs of the ship, pretty much as before. The 
 men had deprived their lavrful commander of 
 his authority, and had elevated another to occu- 
 py his place. A stranger would, perhaps, have 
 perceived no material difference, after this 
 change, in the conduct of the crew. The pres- 
 ervation of their own lives rendered it neces- 
 sary that the established rules of naval disci- 
 pline should be observed. By night the watches 
 were regularly set and relieved as before. The 
 helmsman performed his accustomed duty, 
 and the sails were spread to the winds, or furled 
 in the tempest, as occasion required. But still 
 they were all guilty of mutiny. They had re- 
 fused to submit to their lawful commander. 
 Consequently, by the laws of their country, 
 
142 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 they were all afterward, when taken, con- 
 demned to be hung. The faithful discharge 
 of the necessary duties of each day after their 
 revolt, did not in the least free them from guilt. 
 The crime of which they were guilty, and for 
 which they deserved the severest punishment, 
 was rebellion against the authority which was 
 rightfully over them. 
 
 Now, our situation, as sinners in this world, 
 is very similar to that of this rebellious crew. 
 The Bible tells us that we have said in our 
 hearts that " we will not have God to reign 
 over us." Instead of living in entire obedience 
 to him, we have chosen to serve ourselves. 
 The accusation which God has against us, is 
 not that we occasionally transgress his laws, 
 but that we refuse to regard him, at all times 
 and under all circumstances, as our ruler. 
 Sometimes children think that if they do not 
 tell lies, and if they obey their parents, it is all 
 that God requires of them. This, however, is 
 by no means the case. God requires of us not 
 only to do our duty to our parents, and to those 
 around us, but also to love him with our most 
 ardent affection, and to endeavor at all times to 
 do that which will be pleasing to him. While 
 the mutinous seamen had command of the ship, 
 they might have been kind to one another ; 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 143 
 
 they might have watched over the sick with 
 unwearied care and attention. They might 
 have conformed to the rules of naval discipline 
 with the utmost fidelity, seeing that every rope 
 was properly adjusted, and that cleanliness and 
 order pervaded every department. But not- 
 withstanding all this, the guilt of their rebellion 
 and mutiny remained unchanged. They had 
 refused obedience to their commander, and for 
 this they were exposed to the penalty of that 
 law which doomed them to death. 
 
 It is the same with us. We may be kind to 
 one another ; we may be free from guile ; we 
 may be faithful in the discharge of the ordinary 
 duties of life ; yet, if we are not in subjection to 
 God, we are justly exposed to the penalty of his 
 law. What would have been thought of one 
 of those mutinous seamen, if, when brought be- 
 fore the bar of his country, he had pleaded in 
 his defense, that, after the revolt, he had been 
 faithful to his new commander ? Would any 
 person have regarded that as an extenuation 
 of his sin ? No ! He would at once have been 
 led to the scaffold. And the public voice would 
 have said unanimously, that he suffered justly 
 for his crime. 
 
 Let us imagine that one of the mutineers in 
 
144 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 a court of justice, when on his trial, had urged 
 the following excuses to the judge. 
 
 Judge. — You have been accused of mutiny, 
 and are found guilty ; and now what have you 
 to say why sentence of death should not be 
 pronounced against you ? 
 
 Criminal. — It is true that I helped to place 
 the captain in the boat and to send him adrift ; 
 but then I was no worse than the others. I did 
 only as the rest did. 
 
 Judge. — The fact that others were equally 
 guilty, is no excuse for you. You are to be 
 judged by your own conduct. 
 
 Criminal. — It is very unjust that I should be 
 punished, for I was one of the most industrious 
 and hard-working men on board the ship. No 
 one can say that they ever saw me idle, or that 
 I ever refused to perform any duty, however 
 dangerous. 
 
 Judge. — You are not on trial for idleness, but 
 for refusing obedience to your commander. 
 
 Criminal. — I was a very moral man. No 
 one ever heard me use a profane word ; and 
 in my conduct and actions, I was civil to all my 
 shipmates. 
 
 Judge. — You are not accused of profanity, 
 or of impoliteness. The charge for which you 
 are arraigned, is that you rebelled against the 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 145 
 
 lawful authority. Of this you have been proved 
 to be guilty ; and for this I must now proceed 
 to pass the penalty of the law. 
 
 Criminal. — But I was a very benevolent 
 man. One night one of my shipmates was 
 sick, and I watched all the night long at his 
 hammock. And after we placed the captain 
 in the boat, and pushed him away, I threw in a 
 bag of biscuit, that he might have some food. 
 
 Judge. — If your benevolence had shown 
 itself in defending your commander, and in 
 obedience to his authority, you might now be 
 rewarded; but you are guilty of mutiny, and 
 must be hung. 
 
 Criminal. — There was no man on board the 
 ship more useful than I was. And after we 
 had turned the captain adrift, we must all have 
 perished if it had not been for me, for no one 
 else understood navigation. I have a good 
 education, and did every thing I could to in- 
 struct my shipmates, and to make them skillful 
 seamen. 
 
 Judge. — You are then the most guilty of the 
 whole rebellious crew. You knew your duty 
 better than the rest, and are more inexcusable 
 in not being faithful. It appears by your own 
 confession, that your education was good ; that 
 your influence was extensive ; and that you 
 K 
 
146 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 had been taught those duties which man owes 
 his fellow-man. This does not extenuate, but 
 increases your guilt. Many of your shipmates 
 were ignorant, and were confirmed in their re- 
 bellion by your example. They had never 
 been taught those moral and social duties which 
 had been impressed upon your mind. That 
 you could have been so ungrateful, so treacher- 
 ous, so cruel as to engage in this revolt, justly 
 exposes you to the severest penalty of the law. 
 I therefore proceed to pronounce upon you the 
 sentence which your crimes deserve. You 
 will be led from this place to the deepest and 
 strongest dungeon of the prison ; there to be 
 confined till you are led to the gallows, and 
 there to be hung by the neck till you are dead ; 
 and may God have mercy upon your soul. 
 
 Now, who would not declare that such a 
 sentence would be just ? And who does not 
 see the absurdity of the excuses which the 
 guilty man offered ? 
 
 So it is with us all in respect to our rebellion 
 against God. The charge which God brings 
 against us, is, that we have refused to obey 
 him. For this we deserve that penalty which 
 God has threatened against rebellion. If we 
 love our parents ever so ardently, it will not 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 147 
 
 save us, unless we also love God. If we are 
 ever so kind to those around us, it will not se- 
 cure God's approbation, unless we are also 
 obedient to him. If our conduct is so correct 
 that no one can accuse us of what is called an 
 immoral act, it will be of no avail, unless we 
 are also living with faith in the promises of 
 God, and with persevering efforts to do his 
 will. And we shall be as foolish as was the 
 guilty mutineer, if we expect that any such 
 excuses will save us from the penalty of his 
 law. 
 
 We can not, by any fidelity in the discharge 
 of the common duties of life, atone for the 
 neglect to love and serve our Maker. We 
 have broken away from his authority. We 
 follow our own inclinations, and are obedient to 
 the directions of others, rather than to those of 
 our Maker. 
 
 God expects the child in the morning to ac- 
 knowledge his dependence upon his Maker, and 
 to pray for assistance to do that which is right, 
 during all the hours of the day. And he ex- 
 pects you, when the evening comes, to thank 
 him for all his goodness, and solemnly to prom- 
 ise, all your days, to be obedient to his authority. 
 You must not only love your parents, but you 
 must also love your God. You must try to 
 
148 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 have your words and your thoughts pure, and 
 all your conduct holy. Now, when you look 
 back upon your past lives, and when you ex- 
 amine your present feelings, do you not see that 
 you have not obeyed God in all your ways ? 
 Not only have you had wicked thoughts, and 
 at times been disobedient to your parents, but 
 you have not made it the great object of your 
 life to serve your Maker. 
 
 God now desires to have you obedient to 
 him. He loves you, and wishes to see you 
 happy. He has for this purpose sent his Son 
 into the world to die for your sins, and to lead 
 you to piety and peace. The Savior now asks 
 you to repent of sin and love him, that, when 
 you die, you may be received to heaven, and 
 be happy forever. You perhaps remember the 
 passage of Scripture found in Rev. iii. 2, " Be- 
 hold, I stand at the door, and knock ; if any 
 man hear my voice, and open the door, I will 
 come in to him and sup with him, and he with 
 me." By this the Savior expresses his desire 
 that we should receive him to our hearts. 
 
 One of the most affecting scenes described by 
 the pen of one of the most eloquent of writers, 
 is that of an aged father driven from his home 
 by ungrateful and hard-hearted children. The 
 broken-hearted man is represented as standing 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 14"9 
 
 by the door of his own house, in a dark and 
 tempestuous night, with his gray locks stream- 
 ing in the wind, and his head exposed to the full 
 fury of the storm. There he stands, drenched 
 with the rain and shivering with the cold. But 
 the door is barred, and the shutters are closed. 
 His daughters hear the trembling voice of their 
 aged parent, but refuse him admission. Their 
 flinty hearts remain unmoved. The darkness 
 increases ; the tempest rages ; the rain falls in 
 torrents, and the wind howls most fearfully. 
 The voice of their father grows feebler and 
 feebler, as the storm spends its fury upon him. 
 But nothing can touch the sympathies of his 
 unnatural children. They will not open the 
 door to him. At last, grief, and the pangs of 
 disappointed hope, break the father's heart. He 
 looks at the black and lowering clouds above 
 him, and, in the phrensy of his distracted mind, 
 invites the increasing fury of the storm. And 
 still those wretched children refuse to receive 
 him to their fireside, but leave him to wander in 
 the darkness and the cold. 
 
 The representation of this scene, as described 
 by the pen of Shakspeare, has brought tears 
 into many eyes. The tragedy of King Lear 
 and his wretched daughters is known through- 
 out the civilized world. What heart is not in- 
 
150 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 dignant at such treatment ? Who does not 
 abhor the conduct of these unnatural children ? 
 
 Our blessed Savior represents himself as 
 taking a similar attitude before the hearts of his 
 children. He has presented himself at the door 
 of your heart, and can you refuse him admis- 
 sion ? " Behold," says he, " I stand at the door 
 and knock." But we, with a hardness of heart 
 which has triumphed over greater blessings, 
 and is consequently more inexcusable than that 
 of the daughters of King Lear, refuse to love 
 him, and to receive him as our friend. He en- 
 treats admission. He asks to enter and be with 
 you and you with him, that you may be happy. 
 And there he has stood for days, and months, 
 and years, and you receive him not. Could we 
 see our own conduct in the light in which we 
 behold the conduct of others, we should be con- 
 founded with the sense of our guilt. 
 
 Is there a child who reads this book, who has 
 not at times felt the importance of loving the 
 Savior ? When you felt these serious impres- 
 sions, Christ was pleading for admission to your 
 heart. You have, perhaps, been sick, and feared 
 that you were about to die. And, oh, how 
 ardently did you then wish that the Savior were 
 your friend ! Perhaps you have seen a brother 
 or a sister die : you wept over your companion, 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 151 
 
 as her cheek daily grew more pale, and she drew 
 nearer and nearer to death. And when she 
 ceased to breathe, and her limbs were cold and 
 lifeless, you wept as though your heart would 
 break. 
 
 And when you saw her placed in the coffin 
 and carried to the grave, how earnestly did you 
 desire to be prepared to die yourself! Oh, how 
 did the world seem then to you! This was 
 the way the Savior took to reach your heart. 
 When on earth, he said, " Suffer little children 
 to come unto me, and forbid them not." And 
 now he endeavors, in many ways, to induce you 
 to turn to him. Sometimes he makes you 
 happy, that his goodness may excite your love. 
 When he sees that in happiness you are most 
 prone to forget him, he sends sorrow and trouble, 
 under which your spirits sink, and this world 
 appears gloomy, and you are led to look for- 
 ward to a happier one to come. And does it 
 not seem very ungrateful that you should resist 
 all this kindness and care, and continue to re- 
 fuse to submit yourself to him ? You think the 
 daughters of King Lear were very cruel. In- 
 deed they were ; but not so cruel as you. Their 
 father had been kind to them, but not so kind 
 as your Savior has been to you. He stood long 
 at the door and knocked, but not so long as the 
 
152 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 Savior has stood at the door of your heart. It 
 is in vain that we look to find an instance of 
 ingratitude equal to that manifested by the sin- 
 ner who rejects the Savior. And it is, indeed, 
 melancholy to think, that any child can be so 
 hard-hearted. 
 
 It is strange that any person can resist the 
 love which God has manifested for us. He 
 has sent angels with messages of mercy, and 
 invitations to his home in heaven. He sent his 
 Son to die that we might be saved from ever- 
 lasting sorrow. He has provided a world of 
 beauty and of glory, far surpassing any thing 
 we can conceive, to which he invites us, and 
 where he will make us happy forever. And we 
 are informed that all the angels in heaven are 
 so much interested in our welfare, that " there 
 is joy in the presence of the angels of God over 
 one sinner that repenteth." It is indeed won- 
 derful that the holy and happy angels above 
 should feel so deep an interest in our concerns. 
 But, oh, how surpassingly strange it is, that we 
 feel so little for ourselves ! 
 
 It is kind in God that he will not let the 
 wicked enter heaven. He loves his holy chil- 
 dren there too well, to allow the wicked to enter 
 and trouble them, and destroy their peace. 
 There was a little girl once, who had a party 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 153 
 
 of her companions to spend the evening with 
 her. They were all playing very happily in the 
 parlor, when a drunken man happened to go 
 by. As he heard their voices, he came stag- 
 gering up to the door, and tried to get in. All 
 the girls were very much frightened, for fear 
 the degraded wretch would get into the parlor. 
 But the gentleman of the house told them not 
 to be frightened. He assured them that the 
 man should not come in, and though it was a 
 cold winter's night, he went out and drove him 
 away. Now, was not this gentleman kind thus 
 to protect these children ? 
 
 Suppose a wicked man, or a lost spirit, should 
 go to the gates of heaven and attempt to enter 
 there. Do you suppose that God would let him 
 in ? Would not God be as kind to the angels 
 as an earthly father to his earthly children ? 
 Every angel in heaven would cry to God for 
 protection, if they should see the wicked ap- 
 proaching that happy world. And God shows 
 his love, by declaring that the wicked shall 
 never enter there. 
 
 " Those holy gates forever bar, 
 Pollution, sin, and shame ; 
 None shall obtain admittance there, 
 But followers of the Lamb." 
 
 It is not because God is unkind and cruel 
 
154 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 that he shuts up the wicked in the world of woe. 
 He does this because he loves his children, and, 
 like a kind father, determines to protect them 
 from oppression and sorrow. Pure joy glows 
 in the bosoms of the blest. Love unites them 
 all, as they swell their songs, and take their 
 flight. In their home, the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and the weary are forever at rest. 
 
 A few years since, there was a certain family 
 which was united and happy. The father and 
 mother looked upon the children who surround- 
 ed their fireside, and beheld them all virtuous in 
 their conduct, and affectionate toward one an- 
 other. Their evening sports went on harmo- 
 niously, and those children were preparing, in 
 their beloved home, for future virtue and use- 
 fulness. But, at last, one of the sons became 
 dissipated. He went on from step to step in 
 vice, till he became a degraded wretch. His 
 father and mother wept over his sins, and did 
 every thing in their power to reclaim him. All 
 was in vain. Every day he grew worse. His 
 brothers and sisters found all the happiness of 
 their home destroyed by his wickedness. The 
 family was disgraced by him, and they were all 
 in sorrow and tears. 
 
 One evening he was brought home so intox- 
 icated that he was apparently lifeless. His poor 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 155 
 
 broken-hearted mother saw him conveyed in 
 this disgraceful condition to his bed. At anoth- 
 er time, when his parents were absent, he came 
 home, in the evening, in a state of intoxication 
 bordering on phrensy. He raved about the 
 house like a madman. He swore the most 
 shocking oaths. Enraged with one of his sisters, 
 he seized a chair, and would have struck her, 
 perhaps, a fatal blow, if she had not escaped by 
 flight. The parents of this child felt that such 
 things could no longer be permitted, and told 
 him that, if there was not an immediate refor- 
 mation in his conduct, they should forbid him 
 to enter their house. But entreaties and warn- 
 ings were alike in vain. He continued his dis- 
 graceful career. His father, perceiving that 
 amendment was hopeless, and that the son, by 
 remaining at home, was imbittering every mo- 
 ment of the family, and loading them with dis- 
 grace, sent his son to sea, and told him never 
 to return till he could come back improved in 
 character. To protect his remaining children, 
 it was necessary for him to send the dissolute 
 one away. 
 
 Now, was this father cruel, in thus endeav- 
 oring to promote the peace and the happiness 
 of his family ? Was it unkind in him to resolve 
 to make his virtuous children happy, by exclu- 
 
15G THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 ding the vicious and the degraded ? No ! 
 Every one sees that this is the dictate of pa- 
 rental love. If he had been a cruel father — if 
 he had had no regard for his children, he would 
 have allowed this abandoned son to have re- 
 mained, and conducted as he pleased. He would 
 have made no effort to protect his children, and 
 to promote their joy. 
 
 And is it not kind of our heavenly Father to 
 resolve that those who will not obey his laws 
 shall be forever excluded from heaven ? He 
 loves his virtuous and obedient children, and 
 will make them perfectly happy. He never will 
 permit the wicked to mar their joys and degrade 
 their home. If God were an unkind being, he 
 would let the wicked go to heaven. He would 
 have no prison to detain them. He would leave 
 the good unprotected and exposed to abuse from 
 the bad. But God is love. He never thus will 
 abandon his children. He has provided a strong 
 prison, with dungeons deep and dark, where he 
 will hold the wicked, so that they can not es- 
 cape. The angels in heaven have nothing to 
 fear from wicked men, or wicked angels. God 
 will protect his children from all harm. 
 
 Our Father in heaven is now inviting all of 
 us to repent of our sins, and to cultivate a taste 
 for the joys of heaven. He wishes to take us 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 157 
 
 to his own happy home, and make us loved 
 members of his own affectionate family. And 
 every angel in heaven rejoices, when he sees 
 the humblest child repent of sin and turn to God. 
 But if we will not be obedient to his laws ; if 
 we will not cultivate in our hearts those feelings 
 of fervent love which glow and burn in the 
 angel's bosom ; if we will not here on earth 
 learn the language of prayer and praise, God 
 assures us that we never can be admitted to 
 mingle with his happy family above. 
 
 The angels are happy to welcome a returning 
 wanderer. But if they should see an unsub- 
 dued spirit directing his flight toward heaven, 
 they all would pray to God that he might not 
 be permitted to enter, to throw discord into 
 their songs, and sorrow into their hearts. God 
 is love. He will keep heaven pure and happy. 
 All who will be obedient to him, he will gladly 
 elevate to walk the streets of the New Jerusa- 
 lem, and to inhabit the mansions which he has 
 built for them ; but the wicked he will forever 
 exclude. 
 
 Those who will not submit to his authority 
 must be shut out forever. If we do not yield 
 to the warnings and entreaties which now come 
 to us from God, we must hear the sentence, 
 "Depart from me." — " I know you not." God 
 
158 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 uses all the means which he deems proper to 
 reclaim us ; and when he finds that we are in- 
 corrigible, then does he close upon us the doors 
 of our prison, that we never may escape. 
 
 If God did not regard the happiness of his 
 children, he would break these laws ; he would 
 destroy this prison ; he would turn all its guilty 
 inmates loose upon the universe, to wander to 
 and fro at their pleasure. But, blessed be God, 
 he is lov& ; and the brightness and glory of heav- 
 en never can be marred by the entrance of 
 sin. In hell's dreary abyss, the wretched out- 
 cast from heaven will find their secure and eter- 
 nal abiding-place. And now do you wish to 
 have your home with the virtuous and happy 
 in heaven, or with the vicious and miserable in 
 the world of woe ? Now is the time to decide. 
 God, in this world, makes use of all those means 
 which he thinks calculated to affect your feel- 
 ings and to incline you to his service. You 
 now hear of the love of Jesus, and feel the striv- 
 ings of the Holy Spirit. You are surrounded 
 by many who love the Savior, and enjoy all the 
 precious privileges of the Bible and the Sab- 
 bath. God speaks to you in afflictions and en- 
 joyments, and trys ways without number to re- 
 claim you to himself. If you can resist all this, 
 your case is hopeless. In the world of woe 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 159 
 
 there will be no one to plead with you the won- 
 ders of a Savior's love. You will feel no striv- 
 ings of the Spirit. No Christian friends will 
 surround you with their sympathies and their 
 prayers. The Sabbath will no longer dawn upon 
 you, and the Bible will no longer entreat you to 
 turn to the Lord. If you can resist all the mo- 
 tives to repentance which this life affords, you 
 are proof against all the means which God sees 
 fit to adopt. If you die impenitent, you will 
 forever remain impenitent, and go on unre- 
 strained in passion and woe. 
 
 The word of God has declared that, at the 
 day of judgment our doom will be fixed forever. 
 The wicked shall then go into everlasting pun- 
 '.shment, and the righteous to life eternal. The 
 bars of the sinner's prison will never be broken. 
 The glories of the saints' abode will never be 
 sullied. 
 
 A few years since, a child was lost in the 
 woods. He was out with his brothers and sis- 
 ters gathering berries, and accidentally was 
 separated from them and lost. The children, 
 after looking in vain for some time in search 
 of the little wanderer, returned just in the dusk 
 of the evening, to inform their parents that their 
 brother was lost, and could not be found. The 
 woods at that time were infested with bears. 
 
160 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 The darkness of a cloudy night was rapidly 
 coming on, and the alarmed father, gathering a 
 few of his neighbors, hastened in search of the 
 lost child. 
 
 The mother remained at home, almost dis- 
 tracted with anxiety and terror. As the clouds 
 gathered and the darkness increased, the father 
 
 and the neighbors, 
 with highly-excited 
 fears, traversed the 
 woods in all direc- 
 tions, and raised 
 loud shouts to at- 
 tract the attention 
 of the child. But 
 their search was in 
 vain. They could 
 find no traces of 
 the wanderer ; and 
 as they stood under 
 the boughs of the 
 lofty trees, and listened, that if possible they 
 might hear his feeble voice, no sound was borne 
 to their ears but the melancholy moaning of the 
 wind as it swept through the thick branches of 
 the forest. 
 
 The gathering clouds threatened an approach- 
 ing storm, and the deep darkness of the night 
 
 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 161 
 
 had already enveloped them. It is difficult to 
 conceive what were the feelings of that father. 
 And who could imagine how deep the agony 
 which filled the bosom of that mother as she 
 heard the wind, and beheld the darkness in 
 which her child was wandering ! 
 
 The search continued in vain till nine 
 o'clock in the evening. Then one of the party 
 was sent back to the village to collect the in- 
 habitants for a more extensive search. The 
 bell rung the alarm, and the cry of fire re- 
 sounded through the streets. It was, however, 
 ascertained that it was not fire which caused 
 the alarm, but that the bell tolled the more sol- 
 emn tidings of a lost child. Every heart sym- 
 pathized in the sorrows of the distracted pa- 
 rents. Soon great multitudes of people were 
 seen ascending the hill upon the declivity of 
 which the village was situated, to aid in the 
 search. Ere long the rain began to fall, but no 
 tidings came back to the village of the lost 
 child. Hardly an eye was that night closed in 
 sleep, and there was not a mother who did not 
 feel for the agonized parents. The night 
 passed away, and the morning dawned, and yet 
 no tidings came. At last those engaged in the 
 search met together and held a consultation. 
 They made arrangements for a more minute 
 
162 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 and extended search, and agreed that in case 
 the child was found, a gun should be fired to 
 give a signal to the rest of the party. As the 
 sun arose, the clouds were dispelled, and the 
 whole landscape glittered in the rays of the 
 bright morning. But that village was deserted 
 and still. The stores were closed, and business 
 was hushed. Mothers were walking the streets 
 with sympathizing countenances and anxious 
 hearts. There was but one thought there — 
 What has become of the lost child ? All the 
 affections and interest of the community were 
 flowing in one deep and broad channel toward 
 the little wanderer. 
 
 In the meantime the people continued their 
 search in the forest. They explored every 
 thicket ; they examined every chasm among 
 the rocks ; they shouted, they listened, but all 
 was in vain. Thus the night was passed. 
 
 About nine in the morning the signal-gun 
 was fired, which announced that the child was 
 found; and for a moment how dreadful was 
 the suspense ! Was it found a mangled corpse, 
 or was it alive and well ? Soon a joyful shout 
 proclaimed the safety of the child. The shout 
 was borne from tongue to tongue, till the whole 
 forest rung again with the joyous acclamations 
 of the multitude. A commissioned messenger 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 
 
 163 
 
 CHILD FOUND. 
 
 rapidly bore the ti- 
 dings to the dis- 
 tracted mother. 
 A procession was 
 immediately form- 
 ed by those engag- 
 ed in the search. 
 The child was 
 placed upon a plat- 
 form, hastily con- 
 structed from the 
 boughs of trees, 
 and borne in tri- 
 umph at the head 
 
 of the procession. When they arrived at the 
 brow of the hill, they rested for a moment, and 
 proclaimed their success with three loud and 
 animated cheers. The procession then moved 
 on, till they arrived in front of the dwelling 
 where the parents of the child resided. The 
 mother, who stood at the door, with streaming 
 eyes and throbbing heart, could no longer re- 
 strain herself or her feelings. She rushed into 
 the street, clasped her child to her bosom, and 
 wept aloud. Every eye was suffused with 
 tears, and for a moment all were silent. But 
 suddenly some one gave a signal for a shout. 
 One loud, and long, and happy note of joy rose 
 
164 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 from the assembled multitude, and they then 
 dispersed to their business and their homes. 
 
 This is a true story, and there was more joy 
 over the one child that was found than over the 
 ninety and nine that went not astray. Like- 
 wise there is joy in the presence of the an- 
 gels of God over one sinner that repenteth. 
 But still this is a feeble representation of the 
 love of our Father in heaven for us, and of the 
 joy with which the angels welcome the return- 
 ing wanderer. The mother can not feel for her 
 child that is lost as God feels for the unhappy 
 wanderers in the paths of sin. The child was 
 exposed to a few hours of suffering ; the sinner 
 to eternal despair. The child was in danger 
 of being torn by the claws and the teeth of the 
 bear — a pang which would have endured but 
 for a moment ; but the sinner must feel the rav- 
 ages of the never-dying worm, must be exposed 
 to the fury of the inextinguishable flame. Oh, 
 if a mother can feel so much, what must be the 
 feelings of our Father in heaven ! If man can 
 feel so deep a sympathy, what must be the 
 emotions which glow in the bosoms of angels ! 
 
 Many parables are introduced in the Bible to 
 illustrate this feeling on the part of God. He 
 compares himself with the kind shepherd, who, 
 finding that one little lamb had strayed from 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 165 
 
 the flock, left the ninety and nine and went in 
 search of the lost one. He illustrates this feel- 
 ing by that of the woman who had lost a piece 
 of silver, and immediately lighted a candle and 
 swept the house diligently, till she found it. In 
 like manner, we are informed, that it is not the 
 will of our Father who is in heaven, that one 
 of his little ones should perish. He has mani- 
 fested the most astonishing love and kindness 
 that he might make us happy. 
 
 But what greater proof of love can we have 
 than that which God has shown to us in the 
 gift of his Son ! That you might be saved 
 from sin and ceaseless woe, Jesus came and died. 
 He came to the world, and placed himself in 
 poverty, and was overwhelmed with sorrow, 
 that he might induce you to accept salvation, 
 and to be happy forever in heaven. The 
 Savior was born in a stable. When an infant, 
 his life was sought. His parents were com- 
 pelled to flee out of the country, that they might 
 save him from a violent death. As he grew 
 up, he was friendless and forsaken. He went 
 about from town to town, and from village to 
 village, doing good to all. He visited the sick, 
 and healed them. He went to the poor and the 
 afflicted, and comforted them. He took little 
 children in his arms, and blessed them. He 
 
166 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 injured no one. and endeavored to do good lo 
 all. And yet he was persecuted, and insulted, 
 and abused. Again and again he was com- 
 pelled to flee for his life. They took up stones 
 to stone him. They hired false witnesses to 
 accuse him. At last his enemies determined to 
 kill him. 
 
 They took him by night, as he was in a gar- 
 den praying. A cruel multitude came and 
 seized him by force, and carried him into a 
 large hall. They then surrounded him, and 
 heaped upon him all manner of insult and 
 abuse. They mocked him. They collected 
 some thorns, and made a crown, which they 
 forced upon his head, pressing the sharp thorns 
 into his flesh, till the blood flowed down upon 
 his hair and his cheeks. And after thus pass- 
 ing the whole night, he was led out to the hill 
 of Calvary, tottering beneath the heavy burden 
 of the cross, which he was compelled to bear 
 upon his own shoulders, and to which he was to 
 be nailed. When they arrived at the place of 
 crucifixion, they drove the nails through his 
 hands and his feet. The cross was then fixed 
 in the ground, and the Savior, thus cruelly sus- 
 pended, was exposed to the loud and contemp- 
 tuous shouts of an insulting mob. The morn- 
 ing air was filled with their loud execrations. 
 
RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 167 
 
 A soldier came and thrust a spear deep into his 
 side. To quench his burning thirst, they gave 
 him vinegar, mixed with gall. 
 
 Thus did our Savior die. He endured all 
 his sufferings, from the cradle to the grave, that 
 he might save sinners. And when, while en- 
 during the agony of the cross, he cried out, " My 
 God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?" 
 he was then suffering those sorrows which you 
 must otherwise have suffered. If it had not 
 been for our Savior's sorrows and death, there 
 would have been no help for any sinner. You 
 never could have entered heaven. You must 
 forever have endured the penalty of that law 
 which saith, " The soul that sinneth, it shall 
 die." Was there ever such love as this ? And, 
 oh, must not that child's heart be hard, who will 
 not love such a Savior, and who will not do all 
 in his power to prove his gratitude by a holy 
 and an obedient life ? Christ so loves you, that 
 he was willing to die the most cruel of deaths, 
 that he might make you happy. He is now in 
 heaven, preparing mansions of glory for all 
 those who will accept him as their Savior, and 
 obey his law. And where is the child who does 
 not wish to have this Savior for his friend, and 
 to have a home in heaven ? 
 
 The Holy Spirit is promised to aid you in all 
 
168 THE CHILD AT H 
 
 your efforts to resist sin. If, when the power 
 of temptation is strong, you will look to him for 
 aid, he will give you strength to resist. Thus 
 is duty made easy. God loves you. Angels 
 desire that you should come to heaven. Jesus 
 has died to save you. The Holy Spirit is ready 
 to aid you in every Christian effort, and to lead 
 you on, victorious over sin. How unreasona- 
 ble, then, and how ungrateful it is for any child, 
 to refuse to love God. and to prepare to enter 
 the angels' home ! There you can be happy. 
 Xo night is there. Xo sickness or sorrow can 
 ever reach you there. Glory will fill your eye. 
 Joy will fill your heart. You will be an angel 
 yourself, and shine in all the purity and in all 
 the bliss of the angels' happy home. 
 
CHAPTER YIL 
 
 THE SAVIOR. 
 
 In the last chapter I endeavored to show in 
 what our sin against God principally consists ; 
 and also the interest which God feels in our 
 happiness, and the sacrifice which he has made 
 to lead us to penitence and to heaven. I shall 
 consider in this chapter more particularly how 
 God has opened the way of salvation for us 
 through the Savior. 
 
 Probably no child reads this book who is not 
 conscious of sin. You feel not only that you 
 do not love God as you ought, but that some- 
 itimes you are ungrateful or disobedient to your 
 parents ; sometimes you get irritated against 
 your brother or your sister, or you indulge in 
 other feelings, which you know to be wrong. 
 Now, the first thing which God requires of you 
 is, that you should be penitent for all your sins. 
 At the close of the day, you go to your cham- 
 ber for sleep. Perhaps your mother goes with 
 you, and hears you repeat a prayer of gratitude 
 
170 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 to God for his kindness. But after she has left 
 the chamber, and you are alone in the dark- 
 ness, you recall to mind the events of the day, 
 asking yourself what you have done that is 
 wrong. Perhaps you were idle at school, or 
 unkind to a playmate, or disobedient to your 
 parents. Now, if you go to sleep without sin- 
 cere repentance, and a firm resolution to try 
 for the future to avoid such sin, the frown of 
 God will be upon you during all the hours of 
 the night. You ought, every evening before 
 you go to sleep, to think of your conduct during 
 the day, and to express to God your sincere 
 sorrow for every thing' which you have done 
 which is displeasing to him, and humbly implore 
 the pardon of your sins through Jesus Christ. 
 A child who does this God loves. Such a one 
 he will readily forgive. 
 
 But remember that it is not enough simply 
 to say that you are penitent. You must really 
 feel penitent. And you must resolve to be 
 more watchful in future, and to guard against 
 the sin over which you mourn. 
 
 You have, for instance, spoken unkindly, 
 during the day, to your brother. At night, you 
 feel that you have done wrong, and that God 
 is displeased. Now, if you are sincerely peni- 
 tent, and ask God's forgiveness, you will pray 
 
THE SAVIOR. 171 
 
 that you may not again be guilty of the same 
 fault. And when you awake in the morning, 
 you will be watchful over yourself, that you 
 may be kind and obliging. You will perhaps 
 go to your brother, and say, " I did wrong in 
 speaking unkindly to you yesterday, and I am 
 sorry for it. I will endeavor never again to do 
 so." At any rate, if you are really penitent, 
 you will pray to God for forgiveness, and most 
 sincerely resolve never willingly to be guilty 
 of the same sin again. 
 
 But you must also remember that, by the law 
 of God, sin can never pass unpunished. God 
 has said, " The soul that sinneth, it shall die." 
 And when you do any thing that is wrong, and 
 afterward repent of it, God forgives you, be- 
 cause the Savior has borne the suffering which 
 you deserve. This is what is meant by that 
 passage of Scripture, " He was wounded for 
 our transgressions, and bruised for our iniqui- 
 ties." Our Father in heaven loved us so much 
 that he gave his own Son to die in our stead. 
 And now he says that he is ready to forgive, if 
 we will repent, and believe in his Son who has 
 suffered and died to save us. And ought we 
 not to love so kind a Savior ? 
 
 You can not expect at present precisely and 
 fully to understand every thing connected with 
 
172 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 the sufferings and death of Christ, and the moral 
 effect which they produce. In fact, it is inti- 
 mated in the Bible, that even the angels in 
 heaven find this subject one capable of tasking 
 all their powers. You can understand, how- 
 ever, that Christ suffered and died in order that 
 you might be forgiven. It would not be safe in 
 any government to forgive sin merely on the 
 penitence of the sinner. Civil government can 
 not do this safely ; a family government can 
 not do it safely. It is often the case, when a 
 man is condemned to death for a crime that he 
 has committed, that his dearest friends, some- 
 times his wife and children, make the most af- 
 fecting appeals to the chief magistrate of the 
 state, to grant him pardon. But it will not do. 
 The governor, if he knows his duty, will be 
 firm, however painful it may be, in allowing 
 the law to take its course : for he has to con- 
 sider not merely the wishes of the unhappy 
 criminal and his friends, but the safety and 
 happiness of the whole community. 
 
 And so the governor of the universe must 
 consider, not merely his own benevolent feel- 
 ings toward the sinner, but the safety and the 
 holiness of all his creatures : and he could not 
 have forgiven our sins, unless he had planned a 
 way by which we might safely be forgiven. 
 
THE SAVIOR. 173 
 
 This way he did devise, to sustain law and pro- 
 tect holiness, and yet to let us go free from the 
 punishment due to our sins. Jesus died for us. 
 He bore our sins. By his stripes we are healed. 
 And shall we not be grateful ? 
 
 It is thus that God has provided a way 
 for our escape from the penalty of his law. 
 You have read, " God so loved the world, 
 that he gave his only begotten Son, that who- 
 soever believeth in him should not perish, but 
 have everlasting life." Was it not kind in God 
 to give his Son to suffer, that we might be saved 
 from punishment ? God has plainly given his 
 law. And he has said, the soul that sinneth, it 
 shall die. And he has said, that his word is so 
 sacred, that, though heaven and earth should 
 pass away, his word shall not pass away. We 
 have all broken God's law, and deserve the pun- 
 ishment which it threatens. But our indulgent 
 Father in heaven is looking upon us in loving- 
 kindness and in tender mercy. He pities us, 
 and he has given his own Son to bear the pun- 
 ishment which we deserve. Oh, was there ever 
 proof of greater love ? 
 
 And how ardently should we love that Sa- 
 vior, who is nearer and dearer than a brother, 
 who has left heaven and all its joys, and come 
 to the world, and suffered and died, that we 
 
174 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 might be happy ! God expects that we shah 
 love him ; that we shall receive him as our 
 Savior, and whenever we do wrong, that we 
 shall ask forgiveness for his sake. And when a 
 child thinks of the sorrows which his sins have 
 caused the Savior, it appears to me that he must 
 love that Savior with the most ardent affection. 
 It was the law of a certain town that the 
 boys should not slide down hill in the streets.* 
 
 If any were found 
 
 doing so, they were 
 to be fined, and if 
 the money was not 
 paid, they were to 
 jj| be sent to jail. Now 
 a certain boy, the 
 son of a poor man, 
 broke the law, and 
 was taken up by an 
 officer. They car- 
 ried him into court, 
 the fact was fully 
 proved against him, 
 
 * To those children who live where it seldom or never 
 snows, I ought to say in this note, that, in New England, it is 
 a very common amusement to slide down the hills on sleds or 
 boards, in the winter evenings, when the roads are icy and 
 smooth. In some places this is dangerous to passengers, and 
 then it is forbidden by law. 
 
 COASTTNG. 
 
THE SAVIOR. 175 
 
 and he was sentenced to pay the fine. He had 
 no money, and his father, who stood by, was 
 poor, and found it hard work to supply the 
 wants of the family. The money must be paid, 
 however, or the poor boy must go to jail. The 
 father thought that he could earn it in the eve- 
 nings, and he promised, accordingly, to pay the 
 money if they would let his son go free. 
 
 Evening after evening, then, he went out to 
 his work, while the boy was allowed to remain 
 by the comfortable fire, at home. After a while 
 the money was earned and paid, and then the 
 boy felt relieved and safe again. 
 
 Now, suppose that this boy, instead of being 
 grateful to the father, who had thus suffered and 
 toiled for him, should treat him with coldness 
 and unkindness. Suppose that he should con- 
 tinually do things to give him pain, and always 
 be reluctant to do the slightest thing to oblige 
 him. Who would not despise so ungrateful a 
 boy? 
 
 And do you think that that child who will 
 grieve the Savior with continued sin, who will 
 not love him, who will not try to obey him, can 
 have one spark of noble, of generous feeling in 
 his bosom ? Would any person, of real mag- 
 nanimity, disregard a friend who had done so 
 much as the Savior has done for us ? God re- 
 
176 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 quires of us, that while we feel penitent for our 
 sins, we should feel grateful to that Savior who 
 has redeemed us by his blood. And when 
 Jesus Christ says, " Come unto me, all ye that 
 labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you 
 rest," this is what he means. We must love 
 Christ. We must regard him as the friend who 
 has, by his own sufferings, saved us from the 
 penalty of God's law. And it is dishonorable 
 and base for us to refuse to love him, or for us 
 to do any thing which will displease him. 
 
 This kind Savior is now looking upon you with 
 affection. He has gone to heaven to prepare a 
 place for you, and there he wishes to receive 
 you, and to make you happy forever. His eye 
 is upon your heart every day, and every hour. 
 He never forgets you. Wherever you go, he 
 follows you. He shields you from harm. He 
 supplies all your wants. He surrounds you 
 with blessings. And now, all that he asks for 
 all these favors is your love; not that you may 
 do good to him, but that he may do still more 
 good to you. He wishes to take you, holy and 
 happy, to the green pastures and the still waters 
 of heaven. 
 
 Can any child refuse to love this Savior ? 
 Oh, go to him at once, and pray that he will re- 
 ceive you, and write your name among the 
 
THE SAVIOR. 177 
 
 number of his friends. Then will he soon re- 
 ceive you to his own blissful abode. 
 
 Fair distant land ! could mortal eyes 
 
 But half its charms explore, 
 How would our spirits long to rise, 
 
 And dwell on earth no more ! 
 
 No cloud those distant regions know, 
 
 Realms ever bright and fair ! 
 For sin, the source of mortal woe, 
 
 Can never enter there." 
 
 It is not only thus a source of safety for us 
 in another world, to be the friend of the Savior, 
 but it is an unspeakable means of comfort and 
 enjoyment in this. It will be a great happiness 
 to you in all the early years of life to be devoted 
 to your Savior while you are young. 
 
 Besides nothing can be more irrational and 
 dangerous than the disposition, which so many 
 young persons have, to neglect attention to re- 
 ligion, thinking that there will be time enough, 
 when they are older, to secure God's favor. But 
 how unwise is this, when you know not that 
 you will live another week ! There is no one 
 who will read this page who can not repeat the 
 names of many children younger than them- 
 selves, who have died. How 7 many diseases 
 are there continually seizing the young, and 
 
 M 
 
178 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 hurrying them to the grave ! Whatever may- 
 be the age of any one who reads these pages, 
 while you are reading them, there are many 
 hundreds of persons of your age lying on a 
 dying bed. Are you a girl of eleven years of 
 age ? Go with me to this chamber, where a 
 little girl is dying. It is not an imaginary scene : 
 it is reality. 
 
 The curtains are drawn, that the dazzling 
 light of the sun may not pain the little patient's 
 fading eye. She will never see the sun, nor 
 the green fields, nor the white snow-clad earth 
 again. It is with difficulty that she breathes ; 
 and her father has taken her from her bed, and 
 holds her wasted form, wrapped in a blanket, 
 in his lap by the fire. Her little brother and 
 sister are whispering, and walking softly about 
 the room, frightened to see her look so pale and 
 thin. Her mother is dropping some medicine 
 from a phial, and tries to conceal her face ; for 
 she is weeping. The physician is there, and 
 says, 
 
 " Julia, my dear," — for that is the name of 
 the little girl, — " I ought to tell you the truth ; 
 but I am sorry to say, that I think it impossible 
 that you should get well again. I fear that you 
 can live but a day or two longer." 
 
 Julia is a Christian, a happy Christian ajad 
 
THE SAVIOR. 179 
 
 she looks up in her father's face, and smiling 
 faintly, says, 
 
 " Pray for me ; pray that the Savior may 
 come now. I want to kiss you all, for I am 
 going to die." 
 
 Her pastor is also in the room, and inquires, 
 
 " Are you willing to die, Julia ?" 
 
 " O yes !" she replies, with a mild and cheer- 
 ful voice. 
 
 All in the room are so affected that with diffi- 
 culty they restrain their tears. 
 
 " Do not cry," says Julia ; " why will you ? 
 I feel so happy that I can not cry." 
 
 And now hear her soft, sweet voice, mingling 
 with her father's as she sings, 
 
 ■ Fare you well ! I must be gone ; 
 
 I have no home nor stay with you ; 
 I take my staff, and travel on, 
 
 Till I a better world can view, 
 I'll march to Canaan's land ; 
 
 I'll land on Canaan's shore, 
 Where pleasures never end, 
 
 And troubles come no more. 
 Fare you well, fare you well, fare you well, 
 My loving friends, farewell." 
 
 And then see Julia die, as peacefully and as 
 happily as though she were going to sleep. 
 She has loved the Savior while a child : she 
 
180 THE CHILD AT HOME, 
 
 has prepared for death by penitence and prayer ; 
 and when the hour for her to die comes, even 
 in her childhood, she looks forward with delight 
 to a home in heaven. 
 
 Now this is not an imaginary scene. It is 
 one which I myself witnessed but a few years 
 since. Such scenes are now frequently occur- 
 ring. And will you, my young reader, think, 
 that because you are young, it is not necessary 
 for you to attend to religion ? 
 
 More young persons die than aged persons ; 
 more boys and girls than men and women; 
 and consequently nothing can be more impor- 
 tant than that you should immediately make 
 your peace with God. Then you will be pre- 
 pared to die at any time, as happily as Julia 
 died. And if sudden disease throws you into 
 delirium, and you die without knowing that 
 you are dangerously sick, as is most frequently 
 the case with children, you will wake up in 
 heaven, finding angels smiling around you, call- 
 ing you their dear and new-born sister; and 
 all the joy and the beauty of that blessed world 
 will be yours forever. When one thinks of 
 that happy world, of the love of God, of the 
 smiles of the Savior, of the welcome of the 
 angels, of all the happiness with which God has 
 filled it, — happiness to which there can be no 
 
THE SAVIOR. 181 
 
 end, one can not help congratulating a child 
 who goes, like Julia, early to her home. 
 
 But if, on the other hand, you neglect re- 
 ligion, and are suddenly taken sick, and sud- 
 denly die, what will become of you? The 
 thought is too painful, too awful to dwell upon. 
 Exclusion from heaven; banishment from the 
 presence of God, with none to love you ; sur- 
 rounded by all the wicked of this world, and by 
 fallen spirits, — the Bible assures you that you 
 will pass ages which know no end in weeping 
 and wailing, in lamentation and despair. Is it 
 not, then, of the utmost importance, that you 
 should immediately seek to make the Savior 
 your friend ? Can any thing be more worthy 
 of your earnest, and persevering, and immedi- 
 ate prayers ? 
 
 There is another reason why you should 
 without any delay consecrate your heart and 
 life to God. It is because you can not be re- 
 ally happy in this world till you do this. There 
 is nothing which promotes our earthly happiness 
 so much as sincere piety. The principal cause 
 of our unhappiness in this world is to be found 
 in our own characters, in our unrestrained pas- 
 sions, in our ungoverned tempers, in those feel- 
 ings of ambition, vanity, and pride, which we 
 have long cherished, and consequently find it 
 
182 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 very difficult to subdue. Now Jesus, if we 
 make him our friend, will help us gain the vic- 
 tory over these sins ; and the sooner we com- 
 mence this work, the less we have to struggle 
 against, and the easier it is. And when, by 
 the grace of God, all these wrong feelings are 
 subdued, we have a tranquil state of heart, 
 which is the purest enjoyment we can experi- 
 ence in this life. 
 
 An observing person can generally discover 
 a sincerely pious child by the peaceful and joy- 
 ful countenance she has. She is so much in 
 the habit of loving God, and all her acquaint- 
 ances, of being kind, and of making others happy, 
 that the features of her countenance become 
 molded into the expression of the most benig- 
 nant and amiable feelings. 
 
 A very distinguished man once wrote to his 
 young daughter that it was in her power to 
 make herself beautiful. He said that, by culti- 
 vating a kind, and pleasant, and cheerful spirit, 
 at all times, by doing all in her power to pro- 
 mote the happiness of those around her, her 
 features would unavoidably assume that aspect 
 of cheerfulness and of inward enjoyment, that 
 expression of an amiable and affectionate dis- 
 position, which constitutes by far the most de- 
 sirable kind Of beauty ; and it is indeed so. 
 
THE SAVIOR. 183 
 
 There is no countenance so pleasant to look 
 upon, so desirable to possess, as that which is 
 animated by the expression of a warm and gen- 
 erous heart. This excites interest in every be- 
 holder, is the best letter of introduction to 
 strangers one can possess, and almost infallibly 
 secures the kindness of all one meets. 
 
 But this is a digression. I was speaking of 
 the importance of being early prepared to die. 
 Consider how much is put at hazard by delay. 
 Have you ever thought what is meant by im- 
 mortality ? You have often heard that you 
 are immortal ; that, after the body dies, the soul 
 will live forever. Go in imagination beyond 
 the moon, and sun, and the distant stars, which 
 twinkle in the deep, blue heavens ; enter that 
 heavenly world of indescribable glory, where 
 angels dwell, where the golden city shines, and 
 the still waters flow through the green pastures 
 of God's peculiar abode ; the^e the Christian 
 soul will live and rejoice forever. Can your 
 mind grasp the thought ? Time without any 
 end ! Ages upon ages will glide away, and 
 you will never be sick, never be sorrowful, 
 never die. If you will really reflect upon this 
 idea, make your mind familiar with it, you can 
 hardly refrain from making it your constant 
 endeavor and prayer, that you may be prepared 
 
184 THE CHILD AT HChME. 
 
 to enter that celestial world. As life is short at 
 the longest — as it is always uncertain — nothing 
 can be more important than immediate prepara- 
 tion for death, that we may thus at any moment 
 safely enter upon our immortal state. 
 
 And then, again, it is much more easy to be- 
 come a Christian, while you are young, than 
 when you have grown older. You have fewer 
 gay and thoughtless associates to tempt you 
 to continue in sin ; then your habits are not 
 fixed, and they are more easily changed ; your 
 feelings are more tender, and more susceptible 
 of gratitude for all a Savior's kindness and love. 
 How often do you now, as you hear of heaven 
 and its rapturous, never-ending joys, feel the 
 glow of intense desire to be welcomed to that 
 celestial world ! And when you hear how the 
 Savior has loved you, and that he has died to 
 redeem you, at times you can hardly refrain 
 from weeping as you think of his goodness. 
 If you harden your heart now, and live without 
 prayer and without loving and obeying God, 
 soon all these feelings will disappear ; you will 
 become thoughtless and cold-hearted, and prob- 
 ably ere long you will lie down to die, exclaim- 
 ing, with the bitterest lamentations, " The har- 
 vest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not 
 saved ' 
 
THE SAVIOR. 185 
 
 Yes, young reader ! If you ever intend to 
 become a Christian, now is the time ; it is in 
 the day of your youth that you are most ear- 
 nestly called upon to give your affections to 
 your Creator. The Savior, who, when on 
 earth, said, " Suffer little children to come unto 
 me, and forbid them not," is now ready to re- 
 ceive you to his arms, and fold you to his bosom ; 
 all the angels in heaven will welcome you to 
 their love ; and when they see that you have 
 chosen God as your father and your friend, and 
 that you have resolved to do every thing in 
 your power to please him, they will all look 
 down upon you, and love you, as their young 
 earthly brother or sister, and they will fly to 
 meet you with smiling faces, and welcoming 
 songs, and affectionate hearts, whenever God 
 takes you home ; and your Heavenly Father, 
 who is now saying to you, "My son or my 
 daughter, give me thy heart," will then joyfully 
 say, " My child was dead, but is alive again, 
 was lost, but now is found." 
 
 But suppose you go on in life, as many chil- 
 dren do, thinking but little of God and of the 
 Savior ; as you grow older, you become more 
 hardened in sin : yielding to the temptations 
 of gayety, giddiness, and thoughtlessness, you 
 soon have but little desire to please God, and 
 
186 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 but little fear of displeasing him ; your inward 
 sins of vanity, ambition, irritability, and selfish- 
 ness, unsubdued, and indeed hardly checked, 
 grow daily stronger and more unyielding • the 
 Savior mourns over you as an ungrateful child 
 whom he can not love, and whom he never can 
 receive to the happy mansions he has gone to 
 prepare for those that obey him. 
 
 The thought will often occur to your mind, 
 and will overwhelm you with anxiety and un- 
 happiness, that you are living in sin, and that 
 you must be forever excluded from heaven. 
 Days of sickness will come, and in your cham- 
 ber of loneliness, and silence, and pain, you will 
 reflect upon the past with sorrow, and look for- 
 ward to the future with dread ; hours of depres- 
 sion will come, when your earthly prospects 
 will seem clouded, every thing of a transient 
 nature unsatisfying and worthless, and yet you 
 will have no solid consolations of religion to 
 cheer your spirit in its despondency ; and finally 
 there will come the hour of death. 
 
 Think how it will be with you in that hour. 
 You lie in your chamber at midnight, in the 
 full possession of all your powers, and feel that 
 you are dying. Weeping friends stand silent 
 at your bedside, watching each breath, expect- 
 ing every moment you will breathe your last ; 
 
THE SAVIOR. 187 
 
 your mind retraces the months and the years 
 of your past life, and dwells upon all its sinful- 
 ness. " O, how uselessly have I lived !" you 
 exclaim in anguish of spirit ; " how neglectful 
 of God and of my own soul ! and now I am 
 dying, and the sentence of condemnation is 
 already pronounced — 'Cast ye the unprofitable 
 servant into outer darkness.' O that I had 
 heeded the warnings of conscience and of 
 God's word ; but I have grieved away the 
 Spirit, and now I am going through the dark 
 valley, of the shadow of death, alone and com- 
 fortless. O that I had never been born." 
 
 The window-curtain at your bedside is 
 drawn, and with languid eye you look out into 
 the deep and cloudless heavens. The moon is 
 there bright and undimmed, as she moves along 
 in her magnificent pathway ; and far, far be- 
 yond, in the depths of immensity, the glimmer- 
 ing stars send their feeble rays into your dying 
 chamber. " Before another hour is gone," you 
 say to yourself, " my soul will have passed be- 
 yond, far beyond those distant worlds, to hear 
 its doom at the throne of God, to receive its 
 condemnation for a misspent life. How raptur- 
 ous would be this moment, if I were only dying 
 the death of the righteous ! Angels would then 
 accompany me in my blissful flight beyond the 
 
188 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 pathway of those rolling worlds, and long be- 
 fore the morning sun shines upon my friends 
 here on earth, I should be rejoicing with angels 
 and archangels in the never-ending morning of 
 a glorious eternity. But now how dreadful a 
 doom awaits me ! How justly am I con- 
 demned !" A few more moments pass away in 
 anguish of spirit, and the struggle is over ; your 
 lifeless body remains on earth, to return to the 
 dust from whence it was made, and your spirit 
 returns to receive its final doom from God, who 
 gave it. 
 
 Now, do not think that all this is merely a 
 fancy sketch. The time is very near when you 
 will die ; the years which seem now so long to 
 you, are swiftly passing, and will soon be for- 
 ever gone. And when you die, of what value 
 will all things else be, compared with piety ? 
 This is the " one thing needful," which we are 
 first to seek, and to attain which we must be 
 willing to sacrifice every thing else. 
 
 God is our Father ; we are indebted to him 
 for every blessing we receive. It is our conse- 
 quent duty to love him, with the whole heart, 
 and soul, and mind, and strength, and to do all 
 that we can to please him. Instead of this, we 
 have all neglected God, and been very ungrate- 
 ful for his kindness. God has declared that sin 
 
THE SAVIOB. 189 
 
 shall not pass unpunished ; we must, therefore, 
 be punished by banishment from heaven for 
 our sins, unless God can devise some way by 
 which he can save us, and yet keep his word : 
 such a way God has devised. " God so loved 
 the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, 
 that whosoever believeth in him should not 
 perish, but have everlasting life." Jesus Christ, 
 the Son of God, came " to seek and to save the 
 lost :" ' he was wounded for our transgressions ? 
 and bruised for our iniquities," and has borne 
 our sins in his body on the tree ;" " he hath re- 
 deemed us to God by his blood," and now the 
 way is made plain for our salvation. If we re- 
 pent of sin, trust in this Savior, and make it our 
 great endeavor, hereafter, to abstain from sin, 
 and to please God in all we say, and think, and 
 do, God will forgive us for Christ's sake. This 
 is the gospel plan of salvation ; this is the mean- 
 ing of the passage — " Other foundation can no 
 man lay than is laid, which is Jesus Christ." 
 
 Do you ask what is meant by forgiving us 
 for Jesus Christ's sake ? Perhaps, in addition 
 to what has already been said, I can explain the 
 subject still further by the following illustration : 
 
 A lady once sent her daughter Sarah to a 
 boarding-school at some distance from home, 
 where she would be almost entirely among 
 
190 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 strangers. In the town to which Sarah was 
 going, there was a lady residing, who had for 
 many years been an ardent friend of her 
 mother : they had loved each other from child- 
 hood. Sarah's mother wrote the following let- 
 ter to this lady, and gave it to Sarah to hand 
 her when she should arrive at that town : — 
 
 " My Dear Friend, 
 
 " This letter will introduce to you my little 
 daughter Sarah. She is to pass a few months 
 
THE SAVIOR. 191 
 
 attending school in your neighborhood. I feel 
 much solicitude respecting her, for she is quite 
 young to go so far from home. I know that 
 you will, my dear friend, for my sake, feel in- 
 terested in the welfare of my darling daughter. 
 Any kindness you can show her, I shall con- 
 sider an additional evidence of your love for 
 me. 
 
 As soon as the lady read this letter, she took 
 Sarah in her arms, and kissed her, saying, " My 
 dear child, I love your mother so much, that 
 for her sake I must love you ;" and during all 
 the time that Sarah remained in the place, she 
 treated her with the utmost kindness and atten- 
 tion. There were many other children in that 
 school, as far from home as Sarah was, and 
 many, perhaps, in mind and manners more in- 
 teresting than Sarah was ; but Sarah's mother 
 was the very dear friend of this lady, and for 
 her mother s sake she did all she could to pro- 
 mote her happiness. Sarah must therefore 
 have felt, that it was not in consequence of 
 any merits of her own, that she was treated 
 with such favor, but in consequence of her 
 mother s merits. 
 
 Now, this is the way in which God's favor is 
 secured for the repenting sinner. We have all 
 
1D2 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 sinned against God, and incurred his displeas- 
 ure. We have no merits of our own. Christ, 
 the beloved Son of God, has come to this world, 
 and, by many years of sorrow and of suffering, 
 and finally by dying on the cross, has made 
 atonement for our sins. God was so unwilling 
 to see us, unworthy as we are, perish in our 
 sins, that he provided for us this Savior. " God 
 so loved the world that he gave his only-begot- 
 ten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should 
 not perish, but have everlasting life/' And 
 now, if we repent of all our sins, and pray that 
 God will, for Christ's sake, forgive us, we are 
 assured that our sins shall all be forgiven. We 
 are forgiven for Christ's sake. God receives us 
 to heaven not in consequence of our own 
 merits, but in consequence of the merits of 
 Christ. It is thus, as the Bible expresses it, 
 that God " magnifies his law, and makes it 
 honorable," and yet saves those who have 
 broken it. 
 
 This is the plan which God, in infinite wis- 
 dom and love, has adopted for the salvation of 
 a lost world. He saw this plan to be the best 
 that could be adopted, and the fact is mentioned 
 in the Bible as one of the most extraordinary 
 that has ever occurred in the whole govern- 
 ment of God, that he should have manifested so 
 
THE SAVIOR. 
 
 193 
 
 much affection for rebels against him, as to 
 have secured their salvation at such a sacrifice. 
 
 It is this story of redeeming love, which is the 
 great power of God unto salvation. This it is 
 that Paul meant, when he said, " I am deter- 
 mined to know nothing among you save Jesus 
 Christ and him crucified." It is this story of 
 God's love in giving his Son to suffer, and to 
 die for us, which, more than all things else, 
 softens the stubborn heart, and brings us back 
 in contrition and gratitude to God. The poor 
 Green lander, wrap- 
 ped in furs, and 
 shivering with cold 
 in his ice hut, as 
 he has heard this af- 
 fecting story from 
 the lips of mission- 
 aries has felt all 
 the fountains of 
 contrition and grat- 
 itude moving with- 
 in him, and with an 
 overflowing heart 
 has cried out, "O 
 God be merciful to me a sinner." 
 
 This it is which has led Tahiti and Hawai to 
 throw away their idols, and which has adorned 
 
 N 
 
 THE GBEENLANDER. 
 
194 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 those tropical islands with Christian villages 
 and praying families ; and even the wild Indian 
 hunter, in the gloomy ravines of the Rocky 
 Mountains, turns aside from the pursuit of the 
 buffalo and the bear, to listen to this wonderful 
 story of a Savior's love ; and, as he listens, he 
 weeps, and his heart melts, and he becomes a 
 man of peace and prayer. He gives up his 
 wandering life, and settles in a humble home, 
 cultivating his garden and his field : he leads 
 his little children to school, and commends them 
 in morning and evening prayer to God. It is 
 the doctrine of the cross of Christ — Christ and 
 him crucified, — w T hich is now fast sending piety 
 and peace unto all the habitations of cruelty. 
 
 And can you, my young reader, harden your 
 heart against this affecting story ? When God, 
 your heavenly Father, has so loved you, that 
 he gave his Son to die to redeem you, can you 
 withhold your heart from him ? When Jesus 
 Christ left the glory that he had with the Father 
 before the world was, the joys of heaven, and 
 the adoration of angels, and came to this world 
 to suffer and to die the cruel death of the cross, 
 that he might atone for your sins and prepare 
 the way for your entrance into heaven, can you 
 be ungrateful to him ? The daughters of the 
 poor heathen are turning to him. The children 
 
THE SAVIOR. 195 
 
 born in the forest, wild as the wolf or the bear, 
 are becoming the gentle disciples of the Savior, 
 colored girls of India, and of Africa, who have 
 never heard a father's prayers, and have never 
 been taught by a pious mother to love the Lord, 
 have heard from the missionaries what God has 
 done to save them ; and they are giving their 
 hearts to the Savior. And can you be willing 
 to remain ungrateful to this Savior, to whom 
 the heathen children of Asia, and Africa, and 
 the islands of the sea, are giving their hearts 
 and devoting their lives ? 
 
 When the day of judgment comes, you will 
 see many of them on the right hand of God, in 
 peace and happiness. The Savior will look 
 upon them with love ; the angels of God will 
 gather around them, and welcome them to 
 heaven. The golden gates of the celestial city 
 will be thrown open, and, as the Savior says to 
 them, " Come, ye blessed of my Father," they 
 will enter that happy world with songs and 
 everlasting joy upon their heads. And can you 
 be willing to be found in the left-hand throng ; 
 to have the Savior frown upon you as having 
 rejected his love ; to have all the good angels 
 avoid you, as an ungrateful sinner against their 
 Father, and then to hear the awful doom — " De- 
 
196 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 part, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared 
 for the devil and his angels ?" 
 
 And should this be your final doom, as you 
 depart into the gloom of the world of woe, 
 how bitterly will you reflect upon your mis- 
 spent life ! " I have had the Bible,'' you would 
 say, " and the Sabbath, and Christian books ; I 
 have been taught to pray, and have been en- 
 treated by pious friends, and Sabbath-school 
 teachers, and faithful preachers of the gospel, to 
 obey the Savior, and prepare for the day of 
 judgment ; but I neglected all their entreaties ; 
 and now I am lost forever." 
 
 As I write these lines, feeling deeply their 
 truth, as I look forward to the day of judgment, 
 and think that your condition and feelings may 
 be, then, such as I have now described, I know 
 not how, with sufficient earnestness, to entreat 
 you to make immediate preparation to meet your 
 God. It was in view of this anguish of your 
 spirit — anguish which in the world of woe can 
 never cease — that our blessed Savior's sympa- 
 thies were so deeply moved that he not only was 
 willing to send his Spirit to strive with you, 
 but even left himself the joys of heaven, and 
 suffered and died, that he might save your soul. 
 Think not, then, that any importunity can be 
 too earnest ; think not that any one can feel 
 
THE SAVIOR. 197 
 
 too deeply upon this all-important subject. 
 Compared with the salvation of the soul, every 
 thing else dwindles into insignificance. 
 
 And God has promised you, if you will sin- 
 cerely ask it, the assistance of his Holy Spirit 
 to enable you to triumph over all your sins. In 
 temptation, the Spirit, if sought for, will come 
 to your aid. In the hour of weakness, the Holy 
 Spirit will make you strong. When in doubt 
 and perplexity respecting duty, wisdom from on 
 high will be given in answer to your prayers, to 
 make the path of duty plain. 
 
 And now, are you not ready and willing to 
 consecrate your heart to the Savior ? Can you 
 not deliberately, prayerfully, and forever make 
 the surrender of your heart to him, resolving, 
 every day, as long as you live, to abstain from 
 every thing you think to be wrong, and to do 
 every thing your conscience tells you to be 
 right ? If so, enter solemnly into the following 
 covenant, after having offered sincerely and fer- 
 vently the prayer : 
 
 " O Lord God, my Heavenly Father ! Thou 
 hast made me, and I am indebted to thee for 
 every blessing of my life. I ought always to 
 have loved thee, and to have obeyed thee. But, 
 instead of this, I have been very ungrateful for 
 
198 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 all thy goodness, and have often done that 
 which I knew to be wrong. I have no claim 
 upon thy mercy ; but thou hast been so kind, 
 notwithstanding my ingratitude and sin, as to 
 give thy Son to die to save me. And I now, 
 relying upon the merits of Jesus Christ my Sa- 
 vior, pray that thou wilt, for his sake, forgive 
 my sins. I will endeavor, O God, with thy as- 
 sistance, hereafter to live a holy life. Wilt thou 
 now enable me to make the entire consecration 
 of my heart to thee, and ever to keep the cove- 
 nant vows I now make." 
 
 COVENANT. 
 
 " Heavenly Father ! I do now solemnly 
 promise, and call all the angels in heaven to 
 witness and record my promise, that I will en- 
 deavor ever hereafter to do every thing I think 
 will be pleasing in thy sight. I will strive to 
 abstain from every thing which my conscience, 
 as enlightened by thy Word, tells me to be 
 wrong. Here, Lord, I promise that I will try 
 constantly to have all my thoughts holy, my 
 conversation pure, my actions right. I do here 
 make the most entire and solemn consecration 
 of myself, my mind, my heart, my all to thee. 
 Conscious of my entire dependence upon the 
 
THE SAVIOR. 199 
 
 Holy Spirit to enable me to keep my resolu- 
 tions, and yet convinced that divine assistance 
 will be afforded me according to my wants, I 
 make this my solemn and irrevocable vow. I 
 do it deliberately, understandingly, and with 
 the full conviction that its violation will render 
 me utterly inexcusable in the great day of trial. 
 O, blessed Savior, come to the aid of thy frail 
 and sinful child. Holy, Holy Spirit, make my 
 heart thy temple ; sanctify me wholly ; present 
 me faultless before God's throne. Father in 
 heaven, wilt thou condescend to hear these my 
 solemn vows, and help me, for Jesus Christ's 
 sake, to keep them forever." 
 
 Now, are you willing to enter into such a 
 covenant with your Maker ? Can you read 
 the preceding prayer, and offer it to God as 
 your own, and then copy off the covenant, add- 
 ing to it such thoughts as may occur to you as 
 appropriate, sign your name to it, and thus 
 commence a new life of entire devotedness to 
 God? 
 
 This is the way to commence a Christian 
 life. This is the change in character to which 
 the Bible alludes when it says of the Christian, 
 " Old things have passed away, and all things 
 have become new." This is the meaning of 
 
200 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 our Savior's declaration, " Whosoever he be of 
 you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he can 
 not be my disciple." This is the " strait gate 
 and the narrow way which leads to everlasting 
 life," and it is indeed true " that few there be 
 that find it." Are you willing to enter in at 
 the strait gate ? This is the point of separation 
 between the regenerate and the unregenerate. 
 This is the test by which we are to try our 
 hearts and ascertain whether they are yet 
 changed into the image of Christ, or are still 
 unrenewed. It is this act of self-surrender, 
 sincerely formed and perseveringly kept, which 
 constitutes one a Christian. 
 
 If you will go to God, and thus, in contrition 
 and love, devote yourself to him, he will be in- 
 deed your Father, and he will regard you as his 
 beloved child. If you are not willing to do this, 
 nothing else you can do will he be willing to 
 receive as a substitute. He will look upon you 
 as a rebel against him, refusing to submit to his 
 authority. While in this state of estrangement 
 from him, nothing you do will be acceptable in 
 his sight ; the frown of his displeasure will fol- 
 low you wherever you go. 
 
 Here, then, is the question for you to decide ; 
 and upov> its decision is suspended your eternal 
 destiny. it is a point of duty so plain and 
 
THE SAVIOR. 201 
 
 simple that the youngest child can understand 
 it. It is simply saying yes, or no, to the clearly- 
 revealed, well-known will of God. If you say 
 yes, and endure to the end in living according 
 to that declaration, you are a Christian, and all 
 the angels of heaven love you as their sister ; 
 and soon they will welcome you with the 
 warmest acclamations to their happy, celestial 
 home. If you say no, be it ever so faintly, so 
 silently, — nay, more, if fearing to say no, you 
 say nothing, and simply decline saying yes, — 
 the decision is recorded in the book of God 
 against you. There is written in the book of 
 judgment opposite to your name, This child 
 refuses to submit to God. 
 
 It is by no means improbable that many who 
 read this chapter, will, at its close, come to a 
 decision in favor or against the service of God, 
 which will be final. The emotions you are 
 now cherishing are perhaps those which are to 
 decide your destiny. The struggle with which 
 your bosom is probably agitated while reading 
 these lines, will soon subside into the peace and 
 the joy of entire submission to God, or into aw- 
 ful insensibility and spiritual death. Indeed this 
 may be, in the providence of God, the last 
 warning which will ever be addressed to you ; 
 the path of duty being made plain — the alter- 
 
202 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 native of accepting or rejecting the Savior be- 
 ing fairly presented — your present choice may 
 be the one which God will regard as final, and 
 he may soon take you to the eternal world to 
 abide the consequences. 
 
 Many children who read this book will die 
 before another year shall pass away ; and why 
 may not you, who are now reading it, be one 
 of those who will not live another year ? You 
 must therefore decide the question of consecra- 
 ting your heart to God, in view of an early ap- 
 pearance at his bar. You may be called, with- 
 in a few weeks, to answer to him for the choice 
 you now make. Nothing can be more solemn 
 and awful than the thought, that should you de- 
 cline now giving your heart to the Savior, you 
 may, within a few weeks, be in your grave, and 
 your soul reaping the recompense of reward in 
 an unchanging eternity of sorrow. 
 
 On the other hand, no thought can be more 
 animating and delightful, than that you may 
 now, if you have not done it before, secure 
 your salvation. The Lord is waiting to be 
 gracious ; the Savior is ready to welcome you. 
 If you now, like Joshua of old, resolve, " as for 
 me, I will serve the Lord," and if this decision 
 is made under a sense of your dependence 
 upon the Holy Spirit, then is your salvation 
 
THE SAVIOR. 203 
 
 secured ; then, let death come when it may, it 
 will be a welcome messenger to introduce you 
 to joys such as your heart never has conceived. 
 Whatever may be the vicissitudes of your 
 earthly lot, the Lord will lead you safely through 
 every scene of life, and finally welcome you 
 with his parental blessing, to that world where 
 there shall be no more painful struggle against 
 temptation and sin. 
 
 Let me, then, entreat you, as you value your 
 everlasting happiness, to read again the prece- 
 ding prayer and covenant, and inquire of your- 
 self, if you can sincerely offer that prayer and 
 adopt that covenant. Reflect deeply upon it ; 
 count the cost ; reflect upon the reward of obe- 
 dience, the penalty of disobedience ; then go to 
 your chamber, fall upon your knees before God, 
 and in the most fervent prayer your lips can 
 utter, implore his forgiveness for the past, and 
 his aid for the future. Then, with pen and pa- 
 per, copy the covenant, with such additions as 
 you may choose to make, sign your name to it, 
 and upon your knees offer it most solemnly to 
 God, as your final and inviolable vow. And, 
 each succeeding day, read the covenant over, 
 with many prayers that you may be reminded 
 of your vows, and quickened to duty. 
 
 This is the way to commence a Christian 
 
204 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 life. It is, however, but the commencement. 
 It is a good and happy beginning, and, if you 
 persevere in this course, it will lead to a most 
 glorious ending. But you must not forget that 
 the declaration of the Bible is, " He that endu- 
 reth to the end, the same shall be saved." Per- 
 severance must be your motto. He only is the 
 true saint who perseveres. Perfect holiness 
 must be the great object of our desires. Like 
 Paul, you must not feel that you have already 
 attained all that is necessary ; but, " forgetting 
 those things which are behind, and reaching 
 forth unto those things which are before, you 
 must press toward the mark for the prize of the 
 high calling of God in Christ Jesus." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 EVEK.Y-DAY DUTY. 
 
 It is very frequently the case that a young 
 person becomes much interested in religion, 
 and, for a time, is faithful in prayer, and con- 
 scientious in the discharge of every known 
 duty. Thus he continues for a few months 
 manifesting the gentleness, the amability, and 
 the tenderness of conscience of the young 
 Christian. He is so affectionate and obedient to 
 the wishes of his parents, so kind and yielding 
 to his brothers and sisters, that home becomes 
 a scene of new and unusual enjoyment. He 
 is so diligent in his studies at school, and so 
 careful to exert a good influence in preserving 
 order and peace, that his teacher is highly grat- 
 ified with the change. His own countenance 
 beams with serenity, and at once tells, to all 
 who see him, that he is more happy than he 
 ever was before. After persevering in this new 
 course of life, and enjoying this happy frame of 
 mind, for a few months, gradually he neglects 
 
200 tiii: child at home. 
 
 prayer, ceases to watch over his conduct, and, 
 before he is even aware of it himself, becomes 
 sadly insensible to all religious obligations. 
 
 Such changes are not unfrequent with per- 
 sons of mature age ; but they are so very 
 common with the young, that is not consid- 
 ered prudent to receive young persons to the 
 church of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, 
 until they have for a year or two manifested 
 the spirit of a Christian. Christian principle 
 must be enduring. If we would have our sins 
 forgiven, and be received to heaven, we must, 
 as long as we live, try to become more and 
 more holy. We must feel that we have never 
 attained to that perfection of character which 
 God requires, but must, day after day, and year 
 after year, endeavor to acquire more humility, 
 gentleness, and loveliness of character, and to 
 have more intimate communion with God. 
 
 I wish in this chapter to guide the reader to 
 the every-day duties of the Christian. I wish 
 to show how you should manifest the spirit of 
 Christ, in the midst of all the peculiar tempta- 
 tions, and enjoyments, and trials of childhood. 
 
 In my school-boy days, if I rightly remember, 
 I thought it would be much easier to lead a 
 Christian life when I became a man. I thought 
 it must be far more difficult to be a consistent 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 207 
 
 disciple of the Savior, in the midst of all the 
 temptations of youth, and surrounded by play- 
 mates at school, than it would be when I grew 
 up to manhood, and had the character and reso- 
 lution of mature years. But this, though a 
 common feeling, is a very great mistake. The 
 trials and temptations of youth and manhood 
 are different in kind, but not very different in 
 degree. On many accounts, the temptations 
 of mature life are far the most severe. A man 
 has cares and troubles which the young can 
 hardly imagine. His time and his thoughts are 
 greatly occupied by the pressure of his business. 
 He has a family to support, and often is worn 
 down with toil and care. Then, again, his 
 habits are all formed, and are not so easily 
 changed. It is also very difficult for him to 
 break away from the associates with whom he 
 has been familiar for perhaps many years. 
 
 The young, on the contrary, have hardly any 
 of these obstacles to encounter. Before their 
 habits of feeling and action are formed, they 
 can, with comparative ease, enter the narrow 
 way which leads to life. If you ever intend to 
 become a Christian, now is, by far, the best time. 
 You can more easily commence a Christian 
 life now, than at any other period. 
 
 And what is it to be a Christian? It is just 
 
208 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 to do right ; to do right to God, and right to 
 your fellow-creatures. God made you. God 
 gives you all your blessings and enjoyments. 
 God wishes soon to take you from this world, 
 to be forever happy with him in heaven. It is 
 right that you should love God, and do every 
 thing you can to please him. Instead of this, 
 you have been ungrateful for all his favors, and 
 have often done that which you knew to be 
 wrong. It is now right that you should be very 
 penitent for having thus sinned against your 
 best benefactor. Unless you are thus penitent 
 you greatly increase your sin. Every day, 
 every hour of impenitency adds to your guilt, 
 and deepens the displeasure of God. 
 
 God has given to us his written laws — writ- 
 ten in the Bible, and confirmed by an enlight- 
 ened conscience. He has thus told us what we 
 must do, and what we must not do. These 
 laws are probably, in their spirit, the same with 
 those which are proclaimed throughout all God's 
 empire. He in infinite wisdom, has seen it to 
 be necessary to attach to the violation of this 
 law the penalty of endless destruction. You 
 have broken this law. We have all done so, 
 and incurred the dreadful penalty. God tells 
 us, in the Bible, that he has devised a plan by 
 which he can save us, and yet uphold the 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 209 
 
 dignity of his broken law. He has given his 
 Son Jesus Christ to die in our stead, " to be 
 wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for 
 our iniquities." For reasons satisfactory to 
 God, — no matter whether we can understand 
 them or not, — he sees it to be necessary, for the 
 dignity and stability of his moral government, 
 that sin should not pass unpunished. He there- 
 fore gave his Son, to bear the burden of our 
 sins. And now, if we are ever saved, we must 
 not only repent of sin, but we must trust in this 
 Savior, who has died for us. We must cherish 
 the feelings which are necessarily connected 
 with the cordial admission that Christ has borne 
 our sins in his own body on the tree ; the feel- 
 ings of humility and contrition, in view of our 
 own un worthiness ; the feelings of gratitude and 
 of ardent love, which ought to glow in our 
 bosoms, in view of our redemption from eternal 
 punishment, by the voluntary sufferings and 
 death of our Savior Jesus Christ. 
 
 This is the Bible plan of salvation. Some 
 think that they can appreciate its beauty, its 
 excellency, its necessity ; others think that they 
 can not see why it should be necessary for God 
 to adopt a measure so wonderful. But it is no 
 matter whether we can appreciate the necessity 
 of this arrangement or not. This is the plan 
 o 
 
210 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 which God has adopted. This is the scheme 
 of salvation taught in the New Testament, and 
 there is salvation in none other. And this plan 
 is found to be practically so adapted to the 
 wants and the weakness of the human mind, 
 that from generation to generation, among all 
 nations, the most savage as well as the most 
 enlightened, it has afforded solace to the afflicted 
 and support to the dying. 
 
 You must come to God, therefore, penitent 
 for your sins, and trusting in this Savior. This 
 is what is called the foundation of Christian 
 character ; and it is in reference to this, that it 
 is written in the Bible, " Other foundation can 
 no man lay than is laid, which is Jesus Christ." 
 But the question arises, How are you to man- 
 ifest, in daily life, the spirit of the Christian ? 
 It certainly is not by assuming solemnity of 
 countenance, and discarding the associates and 
 the appropriate joys of childhood. I know not 
 why you may not enjoy a game of ball as well, 
 if you are governed by Christian principle, as 
 you could if you were living without any re- 
 gard to your Maker. Nay, it is certain that 
 sincere piety will give a new relish to all your 
 best enjoyments. 
 
 There is, in fact, nothing which can con- 
 tribute so much to any one's happiness as heart- 
 
EVElfY-DAY DUTY. 211 
 
 felt religion. It enables one to enjoy the storm 
 and the sunshine. It adds new charms to the 
 summer morning, and new attractions to the 
 winter evening. It matters not whether we 
 are old or young, whether we are rich or poor : 
 whether we are learned or unlearned, — sincere 
 love to God not only enables us more highly to 
 enjoy every thing really valuable, but contrib- 
 utes more than every thing else combined to 
 make us happy. Look into the Christian fam- 
 ily, where the pure spirit of devotion reigns, and 
 where the feelings of all are controlled by a 
 constant desire to please God. You can not 
 find, in all the ranks of the gay and the worldly, 
 so happy a home. 
 
 Have you, my reader, ever at any time en- 
 deavored to serve God ? Have you ever, for a 
 season, had the feeling that your sins were for- 
 given, and that God was looking upon you with 
 parental kindness ? Did not the thought make 
 you happy ? Were you not more happy then 
 than ever before ? And if you have now lost 
 those feelings, are you not now almost con- 
 stantly oppressed with uneasiness and dissatis- 
 faction ? Can you now enjoy your daily sports 
 with as much heartfelt satisfaction as you could 
 then ? Do you go to bed at night, or awake in 
 the morning, with as contented and joyful a 
 
212 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 heart ? No ! It is impossible. And I am con- 
 fident that your friends will say that even your 
 countenance shows that you are less happy than 
 you then were. 
 
 If now any child wishes to live a daily life 
 of humble and consistent piety, I would recom- 
 mend to him to pursue some such course as the 
 following. 
 
 When you awake in the morning, before you 
 leave your chamber, you sincerely thank God 
 for his kind care of you during the night, and 
 pray that he will protect you from danger, and 
 temptation, and sin during the day. Kneeling 
 at your bedside, you offer some such prayer as 
 the following : 
 
 " O God, my Heavenly Father, I thank thee 
 that thou hast preserved my life through an- 
 other night, and that I again see the light of the 
 morning. I shall be exposed to many tempta- 
 tions this day ; and I beseech thee to enable me 
 to abstain from every sin, and to cherish those 
 feelings, and to manifest that spirit, which will 
 be pleasing to thee. 
 
 " May I make my parents happy by con- 
 stantly doing that which will please them. May 
 I, by a kind and obliging disposition, contribute 
 to the enjoyment of my brothers and sisters. 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 213 
 
 And especially, O God, I pray that thou wilt 
 enable me to improve my time at school ; that 
 my precious privileges may not be wasted ; 
 that I may make rapid improvement in my 
 studies, and prepare for a useful life. 
 
 " Be with me, Heavenly Father, all the day, t 
 that I may not think a wicked thought, that I 
 may not speak an improper word, that I may 
 not do a wrong thing. As I look back upon 
 my past life, I see that I have spent many days 
 unmindful of thee. I have thus incurred the 
 penalty thou hast justly .threatened against sin- 
 ners. O God, how can I be sufficiently grate- 
 ful that thy son has died to save me ? I desire 
 to trust in him, and I pray that thou wilt, for 
 his sake, forgive me. 
 
 " Hear, I entreat thee, and answer this my 
 morning prayer. I offer it to thee in the name 
 of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ ; and the 
 praise shall ever be given to Father, Son, and 
 Holy Ghost. Amen." 
 
 You now go from your chamber. Is not 
 your heart comparatively at peace ? Does not 
 even your countenance show the serenity of 
 your mind ? As you sit down at the breakfast- 
 table, do you not feel happy, and are you not 
 immediately conscious that your parents, and 
 
214 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 your brothers and sisters, regard you with un- 
 usual affection ? 
 
 There is something in this state of mind 
 which not only makes the possessor happy, but 
 almost resistlessly attracts the love of all with 
 whom he associates. The spirit of kindness 
 which reigns in his heart, the desire which he 
 manifests to make all around him happy, se- 
 cures to him, in return, kindness and good-will. 
 During all the forenoon, the influence of your 
 morning prayer continues, giving quietness to 
 your own heart, and promoting the happiness 
 and the peace of the family. Your carefulness 
 to avoid irritation, your willingness to yield 
 your own wishes to gratify the desires of your 
 brothers and sisters, secures to those around 
 you a vast amount of happiness. You join 
 them in all their amusements, and with a grate- 
 ful heart enjoy the pleasures which God thus 
 gives you. 
 
 The hour for school arrives. It is with you 
 a matter of conscience, of Christian duty, to be 
 at your seat in proper season. As you walk 
 along to school, you offer a silent but earnest 
 prayer to God, that he will enable you to pur- 
 sue your studies with diligence and success. 
 You implore his aid to enable you to resist all 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 215 
 
 the temptations to which you may be exposed, 
 in the school-room or on the play-ground. 
 
 The influence of this prayer, even though 
 it be but little more in your mind than the 
 serious thought of your need of watchfulness 
 and care, secures your mind from wandering* 
 thoughts, and prepares you for close application 
 to study. You can now enjoy intellectual 
 effort. The perplexing sum in arithmetic be- 
 comes less puzzling, from the ease with which 
 you apply to it all the undivided energies of 
 your mind. And you even turn over the leaves 
 of your Latin dictionary, or your Greek lexi- 
 con, with pleasurable emotions. The school- 
 room is transformed from a place of irksome 
 restraint to a scene of active enjoyment. Your 
 teacher becomes, at once, one of your most 
 beloved benefactors and friends. 
 
 Recess comes. You are with the foremost 
 on the play-ground. You have studied with 
 close application, and have now a relish for a 
 few moments of play. A dispute arises be- 
 tween two of the boys. You good-naturedly 
 allay the rising strife, and make peace. A ball 
 is accidentally thrown to a distance, and a little 
 contention is arising as to whose duty it is to 
 go for it. You at once settle the dispute by 
 laughingly running yourself and getting the ball. 
 
210 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 You are playing some game in which sides 
 are chosen, and there is one boy too many. He 
 can not be chosen by either party without 
 making uneven sides. As he stands looking 
 on upon the game, and wishing that he could 
 join in the sport, you, after playing a little 
 while, call out to him to take your place, and 
 let you rest. 
 
 One of your schoolmates is lame, and unable 
 to join in the sports of the play-ground. He 
 sits alone upon a rock, looking upon the games 
 
 THE PLAY-GBOUND. 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 217 
 
 of his more athletic companions, and sighs to 
 think of the calamity, by which he is debarred 
 from such enjoyments. The other boys, care- 
 less and unreflecting, manifest but little sym- 
 pathy for his lonely condition. You think of 
 him. You strive to cultivate in your heart 
 feelings of interest in his behalf. No matter 
 whether he be an agreeable or a disagreeable 
 boy, you remember your Savior, who was kind 
 even to the unthankful and the evil. While 
 others are playing, you go and sit by him, even 
 though it be a serious sacrifice to you to lose 
 your share in the game. 
 
 These are the peculiar opportunities God 
 presents to you, that you may manifest the 
 spirit of the Christian. And it is doubtful 
 whether the man, surrounded with all the cares 
 of busy life, has a better opportunity to serve 
 his Maker by making others happy, and by set- 
 ting the example of Christian conduct, than 
 such occasions as these afford to you. You 
 may thus make the school-room and the play- 
 ground promotive of the most precious moral 
 discipline. You may thus be training yourself 
 for a very happy and a very useful life, by cul- 
 tivating those virtues which will cause others 
 to love you, and which will give you influence. 
 You may thus, by your example, be inducing 
 
218 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 many of your young associates to cherish the 
 feelings and to exhibit the spirit which the 
 gospel requires. 
 
 It is a very mistaken notion, often entertained 
 by young persons, that they can not do much 
 good, because there is no active business of re- 
 ligion in which they can engage. In your 
 daily studies ; in your daily sports ; in all your 
 daily intercourse with your associates, you may 
 be effectually serving your Maker, and securing 
 his approbation. The piety of a child is as 
 pleasing in his sight as the piety of a man, and 
 it may be as useful. Some incident of appa- 
 rently a very trifling nature, in the sports of the 
 play-ground, may produce an impression upon 
 an associate's mind, which shall be as lasting as 
 life, and which shall in fact not only decide his 
 character, but shall be the stimulus to the most 
 heroic deeds. 
 
 Thus you pass the busy hours of the day, at 
 home and at school, watching over yourself, 
 endeavoring to regulate every thought, and 
 word, and action, by God's holy law. Occa- 
 sionally, you are called, for Christ's sake, to en- 
 dure reproach. For instance, a boy treats you 
 with rudeness and insult. He is of a malicious 
 disposition, and seems inclined to quarrel with 
 you. Others accuse you of cowardice, for pa- 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 219 
 
 tiently bearing his ill-treatment, and by taunts 
 and jeers endeavor to provoke you to retaliate. 
 It requires great decision of character, great 
 firmness and moral courage, and even strong 
 Christian principle, to overcome such a tempta- 
 tion. Men have their temptations. They are 
 different in kind from those of boys, but I think 
 not greater in degree. It may be as difficult 
 for you to resist such a temptation as this, — 
 that is, it may require as much strength of 
 Christian principle, as to resist any temptation, 
 to which you will afterward be exposed in man- 
 hood. And if you yield to this temptation, it 
 weakens your power of resistance. Whenever 
 any new trial comes, you more easily fall. 
 
 God allows you to be exposed to such trials, 
 as a part of your probation, — as discipline for 
 your mental and moral powers. And when 
 you are striving to resist all allurements to sin, 
 to obtain the entire mastery over your passions, 
 you are as much serving God and answering 
 the great end of your being, as you can be, in 
 any of the apparently more important business 
 of life. The trial which it is necessary for you 
 to encounter in obeying God are by no means 
 small. God does not intend that they shall be 
 small. He knows just how severe they are. 
 And he exposes you to them, because he sees it 
 
220 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 to be best for the formation of your character 
 for eternity, that you should learn to be morally 
 courageous, and that you should show your 
 resolution to serve him, though encountering 
 strong opposition. Thus you must learn in 
 youth to dare to do your duty. You must learn 
 not to be afraid of the ridicule of the wicked. 
 You must learn, calmly, quietly, and good- 
 humoredly, to do that which is right, and to re- 
 fuse to do that which is wrong, whatever others 
 may say. And if you do not learn this in 
 youth, you probably never will learn it. You 
 will be a fickle, inconstant man, unworthy of 
 confidence or respect. 
 
 There is hardly any courage of more difficult 
 attainment, than that which enables one to dare 
 to do right. And there is certainly no quality 
 of mind more indispensable to a useful and 
 happy life. It is the want of this moral courage 
 which leads so many persons to the ruin of in- 
 temperance, and to death by duelling. 
 
 A young man is invited by his companions 
 to join them in some plan of pleasure which 
 his conscience condemns. He knows that it is 
 wrong to consent. But he dares not decline. 
 He is invited again. He fears that he will be 
 ridiculed if he refuses. He is urged a third 
 time ; and again he complies, because he has 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 221 
 
 not the courage to refuse. Thus he becomes 
 the slave of other persons. He fears to do what 
 he thinks to be right, and from the apprehen- 
 sion of ridicule, becomes the servant of anoth- 
 er's will to do his bidding. Is it not ignoble 
 and disgraceful to yield to such cowardice ?. 
 One who acts thus, as he goes on through life, 
 has his character formed by others. He has 
 not strength of mind to break away from dissi- 
 pated associates. He has no resolution to re- 
 sist the temptations with which they beset him, 
 till at last he lies down in an early grave. I have 
 seen many a youth, of the fairest promise, thus 
 ruined forever, for want of that moral courage 
 which dares to do right. I could give you the 
 history of not a few, who, when boys, were 
 most amiable in disposition, and of active 
 minds, who might now have been among the 
 most influential of the community, but who, 
 from want of this decision of character, yielded 
 to one temptation after another, till they went 
 down in disgrace and sorrow to the grave. 
 
 See this man, challenged by some unprinci- 
 pled wretch to fight a duel. He is a husband 
 and a father. His wife and his children are at 
 home. They are dependent upon him for sup- 
 port, for almost every earthly joy. He is bound 
 by the most solemn obligations to take care of 
 
222 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 them, and not to leave them, deprived of his 
 support. 
 
 He receives from some worthless enemy of 
 holiness and of happiness, a challenge to fight a 
 duel. He sits in his chamber, with his pen in 
 hand, meditating respecting the answer which 
 he shall return. He thinks, " What would my 
 poor wife, what would my dear children say, if 
 they knew what I am contemplating ? If I am 
 killed, my wife has no earthly protector ! How 
 can she alone support the children ? How 
 wretched must they be, when the tidings reach 
 them that I am dead — killed in a duel ! Have 
 I any right thus to expose them to all this 
 wretchedness ? How many days of sorrow, 
 and nights of weeping, must my family endure 
 if I am thus taken from them ! 
 
 " And how can I answer to God for appearing 
 thus unbidden in his presence ? for thus aban- 
 doning the most sacred duties of life, and leav- 
 ing my helpless family to the inheritance of 
 years of sorrow ?" 
 
 Then again, he thinks, " If I decline this 
 challenge, I shall be called a coward. Many 
 will ridicule me." He is afraid to do right, lest 
 he should encounter the scoffs of the dissolute. 
 If he had more moral courage, he would tri- 
 umph over such fears But from early boy- 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 
 
 223 
 
 hood he has been acting according to the opin- 
 ions of others, not his own. And now he is the 
 slave of the worthless — so entirely their slave, 
 that his character, his life, and the happiness of 
 his family, are entirely in their hands. Instead 
 of exercising manly fearlessness and decision, 
 and determining to do what his conscience tells 
 him to be right, 
 though the whole 
 world should join 
 in the chorus of 
 ridicule, with a 
 mean and coward- 
 ly spirit, he surren- 
 ders himself to the 
 circumstances in 
 which he finds him- 
 self entangled. 
 
 He accepts the 
 challenge. He is 
 soon found upon the 
 
 field, with the instrument of death in his nand. 
 A ball enters his body from his opponent's gun, 
 and he falls dead upon the ground. There he 
 lies, the victim of moral cowardice. He was 
 afraid to do that which he knew to be right. 
 Ae had not sufficient strength of principle and 
 boldness of heart to brave the reproach of those 
 
 TEE DUEL. 
 
224 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 who are totally unworthy of regard. His wife 
 is a widow. Her heart is broken with anguish. 
 Years of lamentation are her lot. His children 
 are fatherless. The guide of their youth is ta- 
 ken from them, and they are left to encounter 
 the temptations of life, and to struggle against 
 its hardships with no father to guide and help 
 them. 
 
 Many have thus perished, for want of acquir- 
 ing this moral courage in boyhood. They have 
 yielded, in the school-room and on the play- 
 ground, to the importunities of those who 
 would entice them to do wrong. Every time 
 they yield, weakens their power of future re- 
 sistance ; and thus they grow up with no de- 
 cision of character, ever ready to fall before the 
 least breath of temptation. 
 
 You should ever remember this, when soli- 
 cited to do that which your conscience disap- 
 proves. By yielding to the temptation thus 
 presented, you not only commit a great sin at 
 the time, but you expose yourselves to future 
 consequences of the most terrible nature. You 
 prepare the way for a rapid descent to ruin. 
 You begin to slide down the hill, and it will be 
 very hard to stop. 
 
 Reflect, then, whenever tempted to the least 
 wrong-doing, that consequences of the most 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 225 
 
 momentous importance may be suspended on 
 your decision. Every triumph over tempta- 
 tion enables you to triumph the next time more 
 easily. Your resolution is fortified, your char- 
 acter is matured by the trial. One victory of 
 this kind in boyhood, may give you a strength 
 and firmness of purpose, which shall be an in- 
 valuable blessing to you through your whole 
 life, and indeed through your whole immortal 
 existence. 
 
 These are the ways in which you are to man- 
 ifest the character of a Christian. This is the 
 discipline by which God is training you for the 
 society of angels, and for brighter worlds above. 
 Every day you will have your trials, many, and 
 perhaps severe ones. If you meet them with a 
 right spirit, and, by looking to God for help, 
 triumph over them, they will prove your rich- 
 est blessings. If, on the contrary, you yield, 
 and fall before them, day after day, you will be 
 growing more weak in mind and heart, till you 
 are lost, not only to usefulness and happiness in 
 this life, but also in that to come. 
 
 As you pass along through the hours of the 
 day, then, be careful to act continually under 
 the influence of Christian principle, in all that 
 you do. And when the day is over, and you 
 lie in darkness and silence upon your bed, re- 
 
226 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 fleeting upon the scenes of the day, endeavor- 
 ing to recall each thought, and word, and deed, 
 you will take great pleasure in the retrospection. 
 You will, however, probably, every night, find 
 very much for which you must implore the di- 
 vine forgiveness. In your self-examination you 
 ask yourself such questions as the following : — 
 
 1. " Was I faithful and sincere in my prayers 
 this morning ? 
 
 2. " Have I been all the day affectionate and 
 obedient to my father and my mother ? 
 
 3. " Have I done all that I could, by being 
 kind and obliging, to make my brothers and 
 sisters happy, and to make every thing in the 
 family peaceful and pleasant ? 
 
 4. " Have I improved my time at school to 
 the utmost of my power, in studying with dili- 
 gence, and in trying to promote quietness and 
 good order ? 
 
 5. " Have I resisted all the risings of passion 
 avoiding every feeling of irritation or of anger 
 of envy or vanity ? 
 
 6. " Have I been conscientious in doing every 
 thing that I thought to be right, and in avoiding 
 every thing that my conscience told me to be 
 wrong ? 
 
 7. " Has it been my prevailing desire this day 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 227 
 
 to please my Maker ? Has this been the motive 
 which I have regarded as more important than 
 all others ?" 
 
 Even if you were able, at the close of every 
 day, to answer all these questions in the affirma-, 
 tive, you would then be entitled to no special 
 credit ; for you would only have done what you 
 ought to have done. You would merely have 
 done that which it would have been utterly in- 
 excusable for you to have neglected. And yet 
 the thought that you have been in some meas- 
 ure faithful in duty, will give you great peace 
 and satisfaction. 
 
 As you now look back upon your past life, at 
 the close of how many days do you suppose you 
 could have returned an affirmative answer to 
 the above questions ? Has there ever been a 
 single day, during your life, at the close of which 
 you could say, I have this day committed no 
 wrong, and done all my duty ? If there has not 
 been one such day, how great a sinner are you 
 in God's sight ! Ought you not deeply to feel 
 your sin ? Ought you not earnestly to pray for 
 forgiveness ? And ought you not to feel very 
 grateful to that Savior who has died to atone 
 for your sins, who has borne the penalty of them 
 in his own body on the tree ? 
 
228 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 You will thus feel every night, if you are 
 faithful in self-examination. Instead of being 
 puffed up with spiritual pride, in view of your 
 own fancied righteousness ; instead of offering 
 the prayer of the Pharisee, '• O God, I thank thee 
 that I am not as others are," you will be humble 
 and penitent, and your evening prayer will be, 
 " O God, be merciful to me a sinner." 
 
 Suppose after this self-examination, and be- 
 fore falling to sleep, you offer such a prayer as 
 the following : 
 
 "Heavenly Father, I thank thee that thou 
 hast preserved my life another day, and that, 
 surrounded with so many comforts, I lie down 
 to sleep this night. My sins, this day, have 
 been many. In thought, in word, and in deed, 
 I have done much, that is wrong. Thine eye 
 has been upon me all the day. Thou hast seen 
 how I have employed each hour, and hast known 
 every thought of my heart. For all the sup- 
 port thou hast this day afforded me in resisting 
 temptation, I would offer to thee my gratitude ; 
 and for the sake of the Savior, who hath died 
 for sinners such as I am, I entreat thee to for- 
 give all my offenses. I thank thee, O God, that 
 thou hast provided a way, by which, though a 
 sinner, I may be saved from my sins. May I 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 229 
 
 be duly penitent, and more carefully try to do 
 all thy will. 
 
 " Wilt thou now take care of me this night. 
 And when I awake in the morning, wilt thou 
 prepare me to live a more holy life another day. 
 Be with me, my Father and my Friend, as long 
 as I shall live, and when thou dost remove me 
 from the world, O, take me to dwell with thee 
 forever ; and thine shall be the glory, Father, 
 Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen." 
 
 These emotions are soothing to the soul. If 
 they are the sincere and deeply-seated feelings 
 of your heart, they will afford you tranquillity 
 and joy. Let others say that religion causes 
 melancholy ; you will find that your religion is 
 the source of your purest joys. Every year it 
 will diminish your exposure to sorrow, by giv- 
 ing you a more perfect triumph over all trouble- 
 some passions, and rendering you less liable to 
 fall before temptation. As you pass through 
 the scenes of youth, and enter upon the toils 
 and cares of manhood, you will be fortified, by 
 established principles, for all the scenes through 
 which you may be called to pass. And when, 
 in old age, should your life be spared so long, 
 you lie down upon your bed to die, you will 
 look foward to eternity, with a calm and peace- 
 
230 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 ful spirit, which will be of more value to you 
 than countless worlds. 
 
 This is religion. A transient feeling of peni- 
 tence is not piety. A few days or weeks of 
 watchfulness and prayer do not constitute the 
 Christian life. " He that endureth to the end 
 shall be saved," says God. If you would be 
 the friend of God, you must decide to be his 
 forever. You must resolve, and persevere in 
 your resolution, to live in watchfulness, and 
 penitence, and prayer, till God shall remove you 
 to another world. This is the way to be saved. 
 This is the narrow path which leads to life. 
 How true is the assertion of the Bible, as ex- 
 pressed by the poet ! — 
 
 " Broad is the road that leads to death, 
 And thousands walk together there ; 
 While Wisdom shows a narrow path, 
 With here and there a traveler." 
 
 And can you entertain any doubt whether 
 this be the happiest mode of life ? God loves 
 to see his children happy ; and probably the 
 reason why he has, in his Word, so earnestly 
 enforced the necessity of living in this way is, 
 that he sees that this, and this only, can pro- 
 mote your best enjoyment. These are those 
 ways of wisdom which are declared to be pleas- 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 231 
 
 antness, and those paths which we are assured 
 are peace. 
 
 Can I appeal to the experience of any read- 
 er ? Have you not invariably found that when 
 you most earnestly endeavored to serve God, 
 by a prayerful and conscientious life, that you 
 were the most happy ? And is it not the testi- 
 mony of good men in all ages of the world, that 
 they have found the service of God a delight ? 
 that in his service they have experienced joys 
 which they never could find while neglecting 
 him ? 
 
 It is strange that any persons can think that 
 any one can be a Christian, can be in any way 
 pleasing God, who does not live as I have above 
 described. But it can not be denied that there 
 are many persons who seem to think that a life 
 of prayer and watchfulness over one's heart, is 
 not necessary to prepare for heaven. Such 
 persons invariably have no relish for spiritual 
 duties. They take no pleasure in prayer, or 
 in any heartfelt communion with God. Almost 
 entirely neglecting their Maker themselves, and 
 merely falling in with the general arrangements 
 of society around them, as to moral conduct 
 and external acts of worship, they strive to 
 quiet conscience, by adopting the principle, that 
 
232 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 prayer, and penitence, and faith in Christ are 
 not essential to salvation. 
 
 It is very strange that any one with the Bible 
 in hand — I ought rather to say within his reach, 
 for such persons are seldom seen reading the 
 Bible — can venture to express such an opinion 
 as this, even though there be the strong motive 
 of excusing one's self for the neglect of duty, 
 and quieting the compunctions of conscience. 
 Indeed it would seem that the common sense 
 of any one must show that God ought to be 
 loved, — that he ought to be the object of the 
 warmest affections of the heart ; and that we all 
 ought to be doing every thing in our power to 
 make others happy, and to be growing holy 
 ourselves. 
 
 The person who adopts not this mode of 
 life, whether he be a man or a boy, is an im- 
 penitent sinner in the sight of God. He is en- 
 tirely unprepared to appear before the judg- 
 ment-seat of Christ. And if he is deceiving 
 himself with the expectation that God will over- 
 look his sins, and receive him from his prayer- 
 less life on earth, to happiness in heaven, he 
 will soon find his dreadful error. There are 
 those, God tells us, who will exclaim, " The har- 
 vest is past, the summer is ended, and we are 
 not saved." 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 233 
 
 Do not, then, allow yourself to be deceived 
 and betrayed by such opinions. Do not imitate 
 the example of a prayerless and irreligious 
 world. Do not follow the thronging crowds 
 which press along the broad way which leads to 
 ruin. Do not imagine that there is any way by 
 which you can be saved, but by repentance for 
 sin, and faith in our Lord and Savior Jesus 
 Christ. 
 
 I have said that there are many who seem to 
 think that they are Christians, while living in 
 the almost entire neglect of their Maker. And 
 still I am inclined to think, that there are very 
 few in Christian lands who really do think so. 
 There is almost always a feverish excitability 
 about such persons, whenever they speak upon 
 the subject of religion, which shows that they 
 are ill at ease. And though they may make very 
 confident assertions, and do all in their power 
 to beguile others into the same sentiments, they 
 seldom in life manifest the composure of settled 
 faith, or in death exemplify the assurance of the 
 undoubting Christian. 
 
 Do not allow your immortal hopes to be 
 wrecked upon this shallow rock. It is indeed 
 so shallow, that it ought not to deceive any in- 
 telligent mind. Love your Maker — cherish for 
 him, by meditation and daily secret prayer, the 
 
234 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 most sincere and ardent affection. Be grateful 
 to your Savior. Be not ashamed to own his 
 name ; to avow, before friend and foe, that you 
 wish to be his disciple. Daily examine your 
 own heart and conduct, that you may be peni- 
 tent for sin, and know the peculiar temptations 
 by which you are most endangered. Pray to 
 God for daily assistance to overcome tempta- 
 tion. And endeavor in every way, as long as 
 you live, to cultivate every virtue, and to do 
 all the good in your power, by making others 
 better and happier. Let these be the unchang- 
 ing principles by which you will govern your 
 life. Then you will have a reason for the hope 
 that is within you. Your anticipation of heav- 
 en will be founded upon a reasonable support, 
 worthy the reliance of a rational mind. And 
 if others are disposed to trust themselves in the 
 "broad way," thinking it will lead them to 
 heaven, pity them, and pray for them, and do 
 all you can to convince them of their error, but 
 do not, O, do not follow them. 
 
 I have seen many of these infatuated men on 
 the bed of dangerous sickness, and in the hour 
 of death. I have heard their unavailing lamen- 
 tations over a misspent life, and witnessed the 
 anguish with which they contemplated their ap- 
 pearance before God's bar in judgment. It is 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 235 
 
 true that such persons often die in great insen- 
 sibility; the thoughtlessness and unconcern 
 which have attended them through life reign, 
 in undiminished power, in the hour of death. 
 But not unfrequently they die in the extremest 
 depths of horror and despair. The spirit suffers 
 more than the body, in the hour of departure. 
 The gloom of the world of woe seems to come 
 up and settle around the dying bed. 
 
 If you would die the death of the righteous, 
 you must live the life of the righteous. If you 
 would be acknowledged by the Savior before 
 our Father who is in heaven, you must be ready 
 to acknowledge and serve him here on earth. 
 Even though surrounded by temptations, like 
 those which beset Daniel in the court of Bel- 
 shazzar, or threatened with a terrible death, as 
 he was, in the den of lions, you must, like him, 
 faithfully and perseveringly worship and serve 
 God. Then you may have his tranquil spirit, 
 and death can have for you no terrors. 
 
 But you are not to imagine that, if you are a 
 Christian, you will therefore, in this life, be al- 
 ways happy. Man is born to sorrow. This is 
 a world of trial. No one enters it without ex- 
 periencing sorrow. Whether you are a Chris- 
 tian or not, you must endure sickness and pain. 
 Your dearest friends must die. You can hardly 
 
 
236 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 escape many hours of anxiety, and may, from 
 mental or physical causes, occasionally suffer 
 from depression of spirits. 
 
 But if you are sincerely a Christian, there 
 are very many sorrows to which others are ex- 
 posed, from which you are shielded. The sor- 
 rows of unrestrained passions you, in a great 
 degree, escape. God preserves you, by your 
 Christian principles, from falling into the woes 
 of dissipation, into which those who are not 
 Christians are ever in the greatest danger of 
 falling. You have a far more calm and tran- 
 quil spirit than you could have without the sup- 
 ports and consolations of piety. And, above 
 all, when sorrow does come ; when, by a re- 
 verse of fortune, property flies away ; or when 
 sickness enters your dwelling, and your friends 
 die ; or when you are called upon to lie upon a 
 dying bed — you have sources of comfort and 
 of joy which the irreligious man can never 
 know. 
 
 It is in the world to come that you are to 
 reap the full enjoyment of serving God. There, 
 in brighter spheres, among the suns and sys- 
 tems with which God has strewed infinity, 
 with a perfectly holy heart, with angels for 
 your associates, and with God's glory all 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 237 
 
 around, you will rejoice in unbounded and eter- 
 nal joy. 
 
 But here is your state of trial and discipline. 
 You can find no path through life in which you 
 will not meet many sorrows. Be prepared, 
 then, for these troubles. Know that they are 
 your necessary lot. Try to make them the 
 means of your spiritual improvement. Then 
 you may learn the meaning of the poet — 
 
 " Heaven's favors here are trials, not rewards, 
 A call to duty, not release from care." 
 
 Afflictions fall upon all — the penitent and the 
 impenitent, the sinner and the saint. But while 
 those who are regardless of God are growing 
 harder in heart and more wicked under their 
 trials, and while they have no consolation to 
 support them in adversity, the disciples of the 
 Savior are deriving the most precious advan- 
 tages from all their sorrows ; their hearts are 
 growing better by the discipline, and they are 
 fast preparing for endless joy in heaven. 
 
 With whom, my young reader, will you cast 
 your lot ? You find many motives urging you 
 to be a Christian. The Spirit of God, with its 
 still, small voice, probably often strives with you 
 to lead you back to your heavenly Father's 
 
 
238 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 service. A faithful conscience often tells you 
 your duty. The voice of the gospel preacher, 
 the instructions of the Sabbath-school, the sa- 
 cred silence of God's holy day, the mournful 
 tones of the funeral bell, often remind you of 
 the world to which you are going, and solicit 
 you to prepare for its awful scenes. These are 
 the means which God is ever using to lead you 
 to him. 
 
 On the other hand, there are many tempta- 
 tions, seducing you to postpone repentance and 
 neglect God. The natural heart feels a strong 
 repugnance to the duties of self-examination 
 and persevering, secret prayer. Thoughtless 
 associates stand in the way of the surrender of 
 your hearts and lives to God. You fear singu- 
 larity. You are apprehensive of ridicule. In- 
 dolence suggests to you to remain contentedly 
 as you are, without engaging in the struggle 
 against sin. 
 
 Thus you, very probably, halt between two 
 opinions. Like the Israelites of old, you hesi- 
 tate in choosing whom you will serve. How 
 immense are the consequences depending upon 
 the decision ! — no less than eternal holiness and 
 happiness, or endless sin and misery. The Bi- 
 ble declares that good angels and lost spirits 
 watch the progress of the struggle, which is, 
 
EVERY-DAY DUTY. 239 
 
 perhaps, now agitating your mind. The devil, 
 as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom 
 he may devour ; and there is joy in the pres- 
 ence of the angels of God over one sinner that 
 repenteth. 
 
 Choose the Lord for your portion ; conse- 
 crate your all to his service, and you will be in- 
 deed happy. You will have consolation in 
 life's troubles, support in the hour of death, and 
 eternal happiness in heaven. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 INDUSTRY. 
 
 Many young persons seem to think it is not 
 of much consequence if they do not improve 
 their time well when in youth, for they can 
 make it up by diligence when they are older. 
 They think it is disgraceful for men and women 
 to be idle, but that there can be no harm for 
 persons who are young to spend their time in 
 any manner they please. 
 
 George Jones thought so. He was twelve 
 years old. He went to an academy to prepare 
 to enter college. His father was at great ex- 
 pense in obtaining books for him, clothing him, 
 and paying his tuition. But George was idle. 
 The preceptor of the academy would often tell 
 him that if he did not study diligently when 
 young, he would never succeed well. But 
 George thought of nothing but present pleasure. 
 Often would he go to school without having 
 made any preparation for his morning lesson ; 
 and when called to recite with his class, he 
 
INDUSTRY. 241 
 
 would stammer, and hesitate, and make such 
 blunders, that the rest of his class could not 
 help laughing at him. He was one of the poor- 
 est scholars in school, because he was one of 
 the most idle. 
 
 When the recess came, and all the boys ran 
 out of the academy, upon the play-ground, idle 
 George would come moping along in a very 
 slow and idle manner. Instead of studying dil- 
 igently while in school, he was indolent and 
 usually half asleep. And then when the proper 
 time for play came, he had no relish for it. 
 
 I recollect very well that, when tossing up 
 for a game of ball, we used to choose every body 
 on the play-ground before we chose George. 
 And if there were enough to play without him, 
 we used to leave him out. Thus was he un- 
 happy in school and out of school. There is 
 nothing which makes a person enjoy play so 
 well as to study hard. When recess was over, 
 and the rest of the boys returned fresh and vig- 
 orous to their studies, George might be seen 
 lagging and moping along to his seat. Some- 
 times he would be asleep in school, sometimes 
 he would pass his time in catching flies and 
 penning them up in little holes, which he cut in 
 his seat. And sometimes, when the preceptor's 
 a 
 
242 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 back was turned, he would throw a paper ball 
 across the room. 
 
 When the class was called up to recite, 
 George would come drowsily along, looking 
 ashamed of himself, as though he were going to 
 be punished. The rest of the class stepped up 
 to the recitation with alacrity, and appeared 
 happy and contented. When it came George's 
 turn to recite, he would be so long, and make 
 such blunders, that all most heartily wished him 
 out of the class. 
 
 At last George went with his class to enter 
 college. Though he passed a very poor exam- 
 ination, he was admitted with the rest, for those 
 who examined him thought it was possible that 
 the reason why he did not answer the questions 
 better was that he was frightened. Now came 
 hard times for poor George. In college there 
 is not much mercy shown to bad scholars ; and 
 George had neglected his studies so long that 
 he could not now keep up with his class, let 
 him try ever so hard. 
 
 He could without much difficulty get along 
 in the academy, where there were only two or 
 three boys of his own class to laugh at him. 
 But now he had to go into a large recitation- 
 room, filled with students from all parts of the 
 country. In the presence of all these he must 
 
INDUSTRY. 243 
 
 rise and recite to the professor. Poor fellow ! 
 He paid dear for his idleness. You would 
 have pitied him, if you could have seen him 
 trembling in his seat, every moment expecting 
 to be called upon to recite. And when he was 
 called upon, he could not recite at all. Some- 
 times he would make such ludicrous blunders, 
 that the whole class would burst into a laugh. 
 Such are the applauses idleness gets. He was 
 wretched, of course. He had been idle so long, 
 that he hardly knew how to apply his mind to 
 study. All the good scholars avoided him ; 
 they were ashamed to be seen in his company. 
 He became discouraged, and gradually grew 
 dissipated. 
 
 The government of the college soon were 
 compelled to suspend him. He returned in a 
 few months, but did no better ; and his father 
 was then advised to take him away from col- 
 lege. He left college, despised by every one. 
 A few months ago I met him in New York, a 
 poor wanderer, without money or friends. Such 
 are the wages of idleness. I hope every reader 
 will, from this history, take warning, and 
 "stamp improvement on the wings of time." 
 
 This story of George Jones, which is a true 
 one, shows how sinful and ruinous it is to be 
 idle. Every child who would do his duty, must 
 
244 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 guard against this sin. But as I have given 
 you one story, which shows the sad effects of 
 indolence, I will now present you with another, 
 more pleasing, which shows the rewards of in- 
 dustry. 
 
 Charles Bullard was a classmate of George. 
 Charles was about of the same age with George, 
 and did not possess naturally superior talents. 
 Indeed, I doubt whether he was equal to him, 
 in natural powers of mind. But Charles was a 
 hard student. When quite young, he was al- 
 ways careful to be diligent in school. Some- 
 times, when there was a very hard lesson, in- 
 stead of going out in the recess to play, he 
 would stay in to study. He had resolved that 
 his first object should be to get his lesson well, 
 and then he could play with a good conscience. 
 
 He loved play as well as any body, and was 
 one of the best players on the ground ; I hardly 
 ever saw any boy catch a ball better than he 
 could. When playing any game every one 
 was glad to get Charles on his side. 
 
 I have said that Charles would sometimes 
 stay in at recess. This, however, was very 
 seldom ; it was only when the lesson was very 
 hard indeed. Generally he was among the 
 first upon the play-ground, and he was also 
 among the first to go into school, when called 
 
INDUSTRY. 245 
 
 in. Hard study gave him a relish for play, and 
 play again gave him a relish for hard study ; 
 so he was happy both in school and out. The 
 preceptor could not help liking him, for he al- 
 ways had his lessons well committed, and never 
 gave his teacher any trouble. 
 
 When he went to enter college, the precep- 
 tor gave him a good recommendation. He was 
 able to answer all the questions which were put 
 to him when he was examined. He had studied 
 so well when he was in the academy, and was 
 so thoroughly prepared for college, that he found 
 it very easy to keep up with his class, and had 
 much time for reading interesting books. But 
 he would always first get his lesson well, before 
 he did any thing else, and would review it just 
 before recitation. When called upon to recite, 
 he rose tranquil and happy, and very seldom 
 made any mistake. The government of the 
 college had a high opinion of him, and he was 
 respected by all the students. 
 
 There was in the college a society made up 
 of all of the best scholars. Charles was chosen 
 a member of that society. It was the custom 
 to choose some one of the society to deliver a 
 public address every year. This honor was 
 conferred on Charles ; and he had studied so 
 diligently, and read so much, that he delivered 
 
246 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 an address, which was very interesting to all 
 who heard it. At last he graduated, as it is 
 called ; that is, he finished his collegiate course, 
 and received his degree. It was known by all 
 that he was a good scholar, and by all he was 
 respected. His father and mother, brothers and 
 sisters, came, commencement day, to hear him 
 speak. They all felt gratified, and loved Charles 
 more than ever. Many situations of usefulness 
 and profit were opened to him, for Charles was 
 now a man, intelligent, and universally re- 
 spected. He is now a useful and a happy man. 
 He has a cheerful home, and is esteemed by all 
 who know him. 
 
 Such are the rewards of industry. How 
 strange is it, that any persons should be willing 
 to live in idleness, when it will certainly make 
 them unhappy ! The idle boy is almost invari- 
 ably poor and miserable ; the industrious boy is 
 happy and prospered. 
 
 But perhaps some child who reads this, asks, 
 " Does God notice children in school ?" He 
 certainly does. And if you are not diligent in 
 the improvement of your time, it is one of the 
 surest of evidences that your heart is not right 
 w 7 ith God. You are placed in this world to im- 
 prove your time. In youth you must be pre- 
 paring for future usefulness. And if you do 
 
INDUSTRY. 247 
 
 not improve the advantages you enjoy, you sin 
 against your Maker. 
 
 " With books, or work, or healthful play, 
 Let your first years be past, 
 That you may give, for every day, 
 Some good account at last." 
 
 When boys are told that their success in fu- 
 ture life depends almost entirely upon the im- 
 provement they make in school, they do not 
 really believe it. They do not, at once, see the 
 connection between the studies they are pursu- 
 ing, and their prosperity in any business, in 
 which they may afterward engage. But you 
 may depend upon it, that the only way in which 
 you can become respected and useful as men, 
 is to be studious as boys. If you are idle in 
 school, thinking only of your ball, and your 
 hoop, and your kite ; if you thus waste your 
 school-boy years in indolence and in play, when 
 you become a man you will be ignorant and 
 weak-minded. You will not be respected by 
 your fellow-men. In all probability, you will 
 not be successful in any business in which you 
 may engage, and you will live and die in pov- 
 erty and obscurity. 
 
 Your parents have lived long enough in the 
 world to know this. They have seen what be- 
 
248 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 comes of idle school-boys. Some of them be- 
 come poor sailors, without home or friends. 
 They wander over the ocean, living in the dis- 
 mal forecastle of a ship, exposed to driving 
 storms and drenching rains, till they die, and 
 the deep ocean becomes their grave. They 
 can not rise to take command of a ship, and 
 thus acquire property so as to obtain a future 
 home on land, because they are so ignorant, 
 and have been so long accustomed to habits of 
 idleness. And thus they live and die, poor, 
 friendless, comfortless sailors. Others remain 
 at home ; but they have no influence over their 
 fellow-men. They are not respected. In all 
 probability, they live in poverty, and at last die, 
 with few to mourn their loss. 
 
 Your parents see this, and that you may 
 not thus live and die, they purchase books for 
 you, and obtain a teacher, and send you to 
 school. And every day you pass in diligent 
 study tends to promote your usefulness and 
 your happiness through the whole of your fu- 
 ture life. It gives manliness and energy to 
 your mind, and it prepares you successfully 
 to grasp all the great concerns of the business 
 world. If, on the other hand, you neglect these 
 privileges, and spend your time in idleness, you 
 incur a loss which vou never can retrieve ; 
 
STUDY. 249 
 
 you darken your prospects for happiness through 
 all the years of your manhood ; you will be less 
 respected, and successful, and influential as a 
 man. 
 
 Henry and Carlos are studying geography. 
 Henry is deeply interested in the study. He 
 reads of Europe, of Asia, of Africa, of Amer- 
 ica. He learns where the lion roars, and where 
 the orange and the cocoa-nut grow. He learns 
 where the Arab gallops over the desert of sand, 
 on his beautiful and light-footed horse. He 
 learns where cities of civilization rise in their 
 splendor ; where wealth and refinement spread 
 their richest charms, and where the savage 
 prowls through the forest, and makes the soli- 
 tudes of the wilderness echo with his shouts. 
 His mind is strengthened by these instructions. 
 He loves to let his imagination roam at will, 
 among the majestic mountains, and along the 
 vast rivers of this wonderful world. He be- 
 comes thus, more of a man — less of a boy. His 
 increasing intelligence shines in his face. His 
 instructor, his parents, and all his friends re- 
 gard him with affection and esteem. And his 
 own consciousness that he is making intellect- 
 ual advances, animates him and makes him 
 happy. 
 
 But Carlos is passing his time in indolence, 
 
250 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 an idle, mischievous boy. He has neglected 
 his studies so long, that his very countenance 
 looks dull and stupid. He feels guilty and de- 
 graded, and is ashamed to look any one frankly 
 in the face. At one time, you may see him in 
 school, nodding on his bench, half asleep. By- 
 and-by he wakes up, and with his knife begins 
 to carve out a fly-cage in his bench, or is fool- 
 ishly employed in making paper balls to throw 
 about the room. 
 
 Carlos's father wishes to get him into busi- 
 ness, and he goes to a merchant in the city to 
 see if he will take him into his store, as a clerk. 
 It is a fine situation. The young man who ob- 
 tains it, and is faithful, has the prospect of be- 
 ing, in a few years, a partner in the firm, with 
 the opportunity of securing to himself all that 
 is comfortable in life — of taking a high stand in 
 society— of being a man of usefulness, and in- 
 fluence, and respectability. 
 
 The merchant replies to Carlos's father, " I 
 will make inquiries respecting your son, and if 
 I find him to be such a boy as we want, I shall 
 be very happy to take him." 
 
 He then goes to Carlos's teacher and says to 
 him, " I have had an application from Carlos's 
 father to take his son into my store, as a clerk. 
 I want an active, intelligent, industrious boy, 
 
STUDY. 251 
 
 and if you can recommend Carlos to me as 
 such a lad, I shall be glad to take him." 
 
 " Why, sir," says the teacher, " I am sorry to 
 say any thing against any one of my pupils, but 
 I can not conscientiously recommend Carlos. 
 The fact is, he will not do for you at all. He 
 is a very dull and unfaithful boy. I have done 
 every thing in my power to stimulate him to 
 study, but it is all in vain. He is idle and mis- 
 chievous, and unless there is soon a thorough 
 change in his character, I fear that he will never 
 be good for any thing. 
 
 " But there is Henry ; he is a boy of very 
 unusual promise. If you can get him, sir, you 
 will have one in whose fidelity and industry 
 you can place implicit reliance. There is not 
 a more diligent and intelligent lad in my 
 school." 
 
 " Can he write a good hand ?" inquires the 
 merchant. 
 
 "Very good indeed," replies the teacher; 
 " he has been very careful about his writing, 
 and has made wonderful improvement. Stop 
 a moment, and I will show you his writing- 
 book." 
 
 " Does he know much about arithmetic ?" 
 inquires the merchant. " We want a boy that 
 is pretty quick at figures." 
 
252 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 " Yes," replies the teacher, " he is an excel- 
 lent scholar in arithmetic. He has gone through 
 the double rule of three, and, for a boy of his 
 age, I do not know of any one who understands 
 arithmetic better." 
 
 " Well, how is he," continues the merchant, 
 "in geography? We have transactions with 
 almost all parts of the world, and it is very 
 desirable that the boy we take, should know 
 something about the various places with which 
 we are connected." 
 
 " He is at the head of his class in that study," 
 replies the teacher. 
 
 "He is just the boy we want, then," said the 
 merchant. " But I wish that Carlos would do, 
 for his father first applied for the situation. 
 But you think he will not answer, do you ?" 
 
 " I am confident he would not," replies the 
 teacher. " I am sorry to say so, but it is out of 
 the question. Why, here is his writing-book. 
 Just look at it. See the blots and scrawls. 
 And as to arithmetic, he actually does not know 
 the multiplication-table. And in geography, 
 and particularly in spelling, he is very backward 
 indeed." 
 
 " Well, I am sorry for him," says the mer- 
 chant. " These idle boys little know how they 
 
STUDY. 253 
 
 are ruining themselves." He then goes home, 
 and writes the following note to Carlos's father : 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " I find, upon inquiry, that your son 
 will not answer our purpose. I regret very 
 much, on his account, that it is so ; but we must 
 have a boy who writes a good hand, who can 
 spell correctly, and who thoroughly understands 
 arithmetic and geography. As Carlos is par- 
 ticularly deficient in all these respects, he can 
 be of no service whatever in our store. 
 
 " Yours respectfully, 
 
 " B. M. 
 
 "Boston, Jaa 1, 1851." 
 
 The merchant then calls upon Henry's father 
 and says to him, 
 
 " I have come to inquire if we can get your 
 son to be a clerk in our store. We want a 
 good boy, and are disposed to do well by him. 
 There are enough boys to be had, such as they 
 are ; but I have been to the school, and have 
 received such an account of Henry that I am 
 satisfied that he is just such a boy as we need." 
 
 The father replies, " There is no situation I 
 can think of, that I should prefer for my son, to 
 that you now offer him. But I feel rather re- 
 
254 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 luctant to take him from school just now. He 
 is very much interested in his studies, and is, I 
 believe, making rapid progress. And yet the 
 situation which you offer him is so very de- 
 sirable a one, that I feel much hesitation in de- 
 clining it." 
 
 " We find no difficulty," continues the mer- 
 chant, " in getting a boy. There are hundreds 
 to be had. But a really good boy is one of the 
 most scarce articles in the market. I am satis- 
 fied that your son Henry will make a first-rate 
 man. He is the very person we want. And 
 though there are many gentlemen who would 
 be glad to put their sons into our store without 
 any compensation, we will give your son his 
 board. And I will take special pains that he 
 may have some time for his studies. In a few 
 years I shall wish to retire from active business, 
 and if Henry continues faithful, as I doubt not 
 he will, we shall be very glad then to take him 
 in as a partner." 
 
 Henry goes into the store an active, re- 
 spected, happy boy. Carlos continues to mope 
 and doze over his books at school, eating apples 
 behind his desk, cutting fly-cages, and throwing 
 paper balls. 
 
 A few years pass away, and Henry becomes 
 an honorable and influential merchant. He 
 
STUDY. 
 
 255 
 
 sees a ragged handcartman in the street, and 
 gives him a shilling to carry a package of goods 
 to the wharf. The voice of the handcartman 
 sounds familiar to him, and as he looks him in 
 
 THE HANDCARTMAN. 
 
 the face, he detects the features of idle, lazy- 
 Carlos. 
 
 This is the tendency of idleness and industry, 
 the world over. He who is neglecting his stud- 
 ies at school, is putting a clog upon himself 
 which will fetter him as long as he lives. 
 
256 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 Every day that he is idle, every hour in which 
 he is indolent, is exerting an influence to retard 
 his prosperity through the whole of his life. It 
 matters not in what business he may afterward 
 engage — the idle school- boy will always have 
 occasion, in manhood, to regret his wasted 
 time. 
 
 If you are idle in your youth and afterward 
 enter one of the learned professions, as a clergy- 
 man, a lawyer, a physician, you can never re- 
 gain the hours lost in school. You will always 
 be less respected and less successful than you 
 otherwise would have been. If you become a 
 merchant, you will have a weaker mind, and a 
 more feeble judgment. Your standing in the 
 mercantile community will be lower than it 
 would have been, had you improved the period 
 of your youth. If you become a farmer, you 
 will find yourself less qualified to understand 
 and appreciate improvements made in agricul- 
 tural science ; your land will be more poorly 
 tilled, and your influence over the schools and 
 in the general business of the town will be di- 
 minished in consequence of the misimprove- 
 ment of your school-boy days. 
 
 Youth is the time for study. We have then 
 nothing else to do but to learn. But in after- 
 life there are ten thousand cares and duties 
 
STUDY. 5257 
 
 pressing upon us, which render it almost impos- 
 sible to repair the injury of a neglected educa- 
 tion. If you, therefore, would be a useful man, 
 you must be a studious boy. If you would be 
 successful and happy in the business of life, you 
 must improve your time in school. 
 
 Consider for a moment the consequence of 
 neglecting the one study of arithmetic. Every 
 day, perhaps, in after-life, you will have money 
 becoming due to you or from you, requiring a 
 payment to be made. Even in your own pri- 
 vate concerns, your accounts will be much in- 
 volved, and it will require no inconsiderable 
 expertness at figures to do justice to others and 
 save yourself from loss. Every load of wood 
 that you buy ; every pound of flour, or sugar, 
 or meat you purchase, will put to the test your 
 powers as an arithmetician. If you enter into 
 employment in a store, or in a bank ; in a stage- 
 office, or at a railroad station ; if you become 
 a mechanic or a farmer : whatever in a word 
 your occupation may be, you will continually 
 have occasion for a skillful use of figures. And 
 if you do not now, every day, study diligently 
 in school, and try to become a good scholar, 
 you will have cause to regret it as long as you 
 live. 
 
 And so it is with every other study that you 
 p 
 
258 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 pursue at school — with writing, reading, spell- 
 ing, geography, and grammar. Are you willing, 
 when you become a man, to write such a mis- 
 erable hand, that hardly any one can read it, 
 and that the person to whom you write shall 
 laugh at your ignorance, as he finds half the 
 words misspelled ? Are you willing to be so 
 ignorant of grammar, that, when you talk with 
 well-instructed men, they shall see that you are 
 a poor ignorant creature, and do not know how 
 to talk, even in your own language ? Are you 
 willing to be so ignorant of geography, as to 
 know almost nothing about this world in which 
 you dwell, and to expose yourself to the ridicule 
 of doing something as preposterous as sending 
 a cargo of skates to the West Indies, or warm- 
 ing pans to Ceylon, or furs to the North- West 
 coast ? 
 
 And do not think that it will require less self- 
 denial hereafter, to resist indolence and the 
 love of play, than it now does. If you now ac- 
 quire habits of idleness, it will be almost impos- 
 sible to overcome them. Your future success 
 in life depends very much upon the habits of 
 study you now acquire. 
 
 And besides, the time you can have for con- 
 stant study is very rapidly passing away. Soon 
 your time will be all occupied by business, and 
 
STUDY. 259 
 
 your mind filled with the perplexities and cares 
 of life. When you awake in the morning, you 
 must go immediately to the toil of the day. 
 And you will return home at night, so exhausted 
 with labor, that it will be almost impossible for 
 you to apply your mind to study. If you are 
 ever to know any thing about arithmetic, gram- 
 mar, writing, and geography, now is your time 
 to learn. If you do not wish to be an ignorant 
 man — so ignorant that you can have no influ- 
 ence over your fellow-men — so ignorant as to 
 have all situations of profit and respectability 
 shut against you, you must diligently improve 
 your time now. 
 
 Again, I beg you to consider, what business 
 can an ignorant man do ? He can dig clams ; 
 he can shovel mud from the docks, or dig rail- 
 roads and canals ; he can be a common sailor, 
 clothed in rags and daubed with tar, and spend 
 his life in the dirty forecastle of a ship. 
 
 Are you willing to live so, with no refined 
 friends, with no pleasant home, and cheerful 
 fireside ? Are you willing to live a ragged and 
 houseless wanderer, with none to love you, or 
 care for you? But so, in all probability, you 
 must live, if you pass your youth in idleness. 
 There is no post of respectability, or of profit, 
 to which vou can attain without education. If 
 
260 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 you would be the captain of a ship, or a clerk 
 in a counting-room, or an engineer upon a rail- 
 road, or a skillful mechanic, or a respectable 
 farmer, you must have learning. And the bet- 
 ter your education, the better you will be pre- 
 pared to discharge any of these duties. 
 
 About twenty years ago, there was a boy in 
 school, whose name I will call Harlo. He was 
 twelve years old. He had naturally a good 
 mind, and might have made a good scholar. 
 But he was idle in the extreme. Sometimes 
 you would see him asleep in school, and some- 
 times in mischief, trying to disturb the studies 
 of others. If you looked into his desk, you 
 would find it all in disorder, and the bottom 
 covered with acorn shells. He would spend 
 more time in school in catching flies, and cut- 
 ting out cages for them, than in all his studies. 
 His instructor did every thing in his power to 
 induce him to study, but all in vain. 
 
 This idle boy used to say, that he cared noth- 
 ing about his books, for he intended to be a 
 sailor, and it was not necessary for a sailor to 
 be a scholar. 
 
 A few years passed rapidly away, and the 
 time came for him to leave school. He had 
 learned nothing. In fact, he had done w r orse 
 than learn nothing, for he had acquired such 
 
STUDY. 
 
 261 
 
 habits of idleness, and thus had so enfeebled 
 the energies of his mind, that it would be hardly 
 possible for him in after-life to change them. 
 
 His father, seeing that he was throwing away 
 his time, and that he was deriving no possible 
 advantage from going to school, took him away, 
 and obtained a situation for him as a cabin-boy, 
 on board a coasting vessel. Here poor Harlo 
 had hard times. He had to sweep the cabin, 
 and be a waiter for the cook, and run at the 
 bidding of every 
 sailor on board. 
 He had the poor- 
 est food to eat, and 
 the unfeeling sailors 
 would often drive 
 him about, accom- 
 panied with oaths 
 and blows. They 
 would make him 
 climb the shrouds, 
 and, when he was 
 almost terrified to 
 death, with fear of THE SAILOR - BOY - 
 
 falling from the giddy height, they would shake 
 the shrouds, and shout, in cruel and boisterous 
 laughter, at his terror. 
 
 Poor Harlo had no bed to sleep upon. 
 
 mm 
 
262 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 When night came, he wrapped himself in an 
 old blanket, and lay down in his berth in the 
 close and smoky cabin. Frequently, as he 
 thought of home and contrasted the comforts 
 which he enjoyed there with his present hard 
 lot, he cried himself to sleep. But there poor 
 Harlo was. There seemed to be no help for 
 him. He could not get into any other business, 
 because he was so ignorant. After going to 
 sea several years, as a common sailor, and find- 
 ing that he had not enough education to rise 
 from that low condition, he thought that he 
 would go to school again, and study arithmetic 
 and navigation. He was then more than 
 twenty years old, a full-grown man. But he 
 found that he had so long indulged himself in 
 indolence, that he could not apply his mind ; 
 and, after a month or two of unavailing effort, 
 he gave up in despair, and returned to face the 
 storms and tempests of the ocean, " before the 
 mast." O, how bitterly did he lament that he 
 did not improve his school-boy days! for in 
 that case he might have become the captain of 
 a ship, instead of being a poor sailor, and might 
 have acquired property so as to have a pleasant 
 home on shore. But now he must probably 
 work hard, and be poor till he dies, and then 
 be buried in the ocean. 
 
 
STUDY. 263 
 
 Thus His being idle during the few years he 
 went to school, is the occasion of poverty and 
 sorrow during his whole life. 
 
 You, my young reader, are now enjoying the 
 rich privileges of your school-boy days. Your 
 parents or friends are making great efforts to 
 give you the best advantages, that you may be 
 well instructed, and thus be prepared for future 
 usefulness and happiness. Your teachers are 
 doing every thing in their power, to secure your 
 progress in your studies. You sometimes speak 
 unkindly of your teachers, and think they deal 
 hardly with you, because they insist upon your 
 studying diligently and committing your les- 
 sons well. They do this because they love you, 
 and wish to see you hereafter respected and 
 happy. They know that if you are idle now, 
 it will be a terrible calamity to you till you die. 
 
 You should ever remember too that your teach- 
 er is one of your best friends and benefactors. 
 You should always speak of him with respect 
 and affection. And if you will resolve to im- 
 prove diligently your time, to resist the temp- 
 tation which idle boys will hold out to you, your 
 hours will glide away pleasantly in school, you 
 will daily increase in knowledge, and as long as 
 you live, you will rejoice that you were a stu- 
 dious school-boy. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 
 
 Let us now consider some of the particular 
 traits of character that good children ought to 
 endeavor to acquire. 
 
 1. Forgiveness. — We say in the Lord's Prayer, 
 Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. 
 We thus pray that God will exercise the same 
 kind of forgiveness toward us, which we exer- 
 cise toward others. Consequently, if we are 
 unforgiving or revengeful, we pray that God 
 will treat us in the same way when we appear 
 before him in judgment. Thus God teaches 
 the necessity of cultivating a forbearing and a 
 forgiving spirit. We must do this or we can 
 not be Christians. 
 
 When I was a boy, there was another little 
 boy who went to the same school with me, who 
 was a professed Christian. He seemed to love 
 the Savior, and to try in all things to abstain 
 from sin. Some of the bad boys were in the 
 habit of ridiculing him, and of doing every tiling 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 
 
 265 
 
 they could to tease him, because he would not 
 join with them in mischief. Near the school- 
 house there was a small orchard ; and the 
 scholars would, without the leave of the owner, 
 take the apples. One day a party of boys were 
 going into the orchard for fruit, and called upon 
 this pious boy to accompany them. 
 
 THE ORCHARD. 
 
 " Come, Henry," said one of them to him, 
 let us go and get some apples." 
 
266 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 " The apples are not ours," he fearlessly re- 
 plied, " and I do not think it right to steal." 
 
 "You are a coward, and afraid to go," the 
 other replied. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Henry, " to do wrong, 
 and you ought to be ; but I am not afraid to do 
 right." 
 
 This wicked boy was exceedingly irritated at 
 this rebuke, and called Henry all manner of 
 names, and endeavored to hold him up to the 
 ridicule of the whole school. 
 
 Henry bore it very patiently, though it was 
 hard to be endured, for the boy who ridiculed 
 him had a great deal of influence and talent. 
 
 Some days after this the boys were going 
 a-fishing. Henry had a beautiful fishing-rod, 
 which his father had bought for him. 
 
 George — for by that name I shall call the boy 
 who abused Henry — was very desirous of bor- 
 rowing this fishing-rod, and yet was ashamed 
 to ask for it. At last, however, he summoned 
 courage, and called out to Henry upon the play- 
 ground — 
 
 ; ' Henry, will you lend me your rod to go 
 a-fishing ?" 
 
 " O yes," said Henry ; " if you will go home 
 with me, I will get it for you now." 
 
 Poor George felt ashamed enough for what 
 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER 267 
 
 he had done. But he went home with Henry 
 to get the rod. 
 
 They went up into the barn together, and 
 when Henry had taken his fishing-tackle from 
 the place in which he kept it, he said to George, 
 " I have a new line in the house, which father 
 bought me the other day ; you may have that 
 too, if you want it." George could hardly hold 
 up his head, he felt so ashamed. However, 
 Henry went and got the new line, and placed it 
 upon the rod, and gave them into George's hand. 
 
 A few days after this, George told me about 
 it. " Why," said he, " I never felt so ashamed 
 in my life. And one thing is certain, I will 
 never call Henry hard names again." 
 
 Now, who does not admire the conduct of 
 Henry in this affair ? This forgiving spirit is 
 what God requires. The child who would be 
 the friend of God, must possess this spirit. 
 You must always be ready to forgive. You 
 must never indulge in the feelings of revenge. 
 You must never desire to injure another, how 
 much soever you may feel that others have in- 
 jured you. The spirit of the Christian is a for- 
 giving spirit. 
 
 2. Doing Good. God also requires of his 
 friends that they shall ever be employed doing 
 
268 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 good, as they have opportunity. The Christian 
 child will do all in his power to make those 
 happy who are about him. He will disregard 
 himself that he may promote the happiness of 
 others. He will be obliging to all. 
 
 This world is not your home. You are to 
 remain here but a few years, and then go to 
 that home of joy or woe, which you never, 
 never will leave. God expects you to be use- 
 ful here. " How can I do any good ?" do you 
 say ? Why, in many ways. You can make 
 your parents happy ; that is doing good. You 
 can make your brothers and sisters happy ; that 
 is doing good. You can try to make your 
 brothers and sisters more obedient to their 
 parents; that is doing good. You can set a 
 good example at school; that is doing good. 
 If you see your companions doing any thing 
 that is wrong, you can try to dissuade them. 
 You can speak to your friend upon the Savior's 
 goodness, and endeavor to excite in his heart 
 the feelings which are in yours. Thus you 
 may be exerting a good influence upon all 
 around you. Your life will not be spent in 
 vain. God will smile upon you, and give joy 
 in a dying hour. 
 
 3. Cheerfulness. Some children appear to 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 269 
 
 think that if they are Christians, they can not 
 be so happy as they may be if they are not 
 Christians. They think that to love God, and 
 to pray, and to do their duty, is gloomy work. 
 But God tells us that none can be happy but 
 those who love him. And every one who has 
 repented of sin, and loves the Savior, says that 
 there is more happiness in this mode of life than 
 in any other. We may indeed be happy a little 
 while without piety. But misfortunes and sor- 
 rows will come. Your hopes of pleasure will 
 be disappointed. You will be called to weep ; 
 to suffer pain ; to die. And there is nothing 
 but religion which can give you a happy life 
 and a peaceful death. It is that you may be 
 happy, not unhappy, that God wishes you to be 
 a Christian. 
 
 It is true that at times it requires a very great 
 struggle to take a decided stand as a Christian. 
 The proud heart is reluctant to yield. The 
 worldly spirit clings to worldly pleasure. It re- 
 quires bravery and resolution to meet the ob- 
 stacles which will be thrown in your way. You ■ 
 may be opposed. You may be ridiculed. But, 
 notwithstanding all this, the only way to insure 
 happiness is to love and serve your Maker. 
 Many children know that they ought to love 
 God, and wish that they had resolution to do 
 
270 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 their duty. But they are afraid of the ridicule 
 of their companions. Henry, who would not 
 rob the orchard, was a brave boy. He knew 
 that the others would laugh at him. But what 
 did he care for that ? He determined to do his 
 duty without being frightened if others did 
 laugh. And the consciousness of doing his 
 duty afforded him much greater enjoyment than 
 he could possibly have received from eating the 
 stolen fruit. 
 
 Others of the boys went and robbed the or- 
 chard, because they had not courage to refuse 
 to do as their companions did. They knew 
 that it was wrong, but they were afraid of be- 
 ing laughed at. But which is the most easy to 
 be borne, the ridicule of the wicked, or a con- 
 demning conscience, and the displeasure of 
 God ? It is so with all the duties of the Chris- 
 tian. If you will conscientiously do that which 
 God approves, he will give you peace of mind, 
 and prepare you for eternal joy. 
 
 One of the most eminent and useful of the 
 English clergymen was led, when a child, by 
 the following interesting circumstance, to sur- 
 render himself to the Savior. When a little 
 boy, he was, like other children, playful and 
 thoughtless. He thought, perhaps, that he 
 would wait until he was old, before he became 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 271 
 
 a Christian. His father was a pious man, and 
 frequently conversed with him about heaven, 
 and urged him to prepare to die. 
 
 On the evening of his birth-day, when he was 
 ten years of age, his father took him affection- 
 ately by the hand, and reminding him of the , 
 .scenes through which he had already passed, 
 urged him to commence that evening a life of 
 piety. He told him of the love of Jesus. He 
 told him of the danger of delay. And he 
 showed him that he must perish forever unless 
 he speedily trusted in the Savior, and gave his 
 life to his service. As this child thought of a 
 dying hour, and of a Savior's love, his heart 
 was full of feeling, and the tears gushed into 
 his eyes. He felt that it was time for him to 
 choose whether he would live for God or for 
 the world. He resolved that he would no 
 longer delay. 
 
 His father and mother then retired to their 
 chamber to pray for their child, and this child 
 also went to his chamber to pray for himself. 
 Sincerely he gave himself to the Savior. 
 Earnestly he implored forgiveness, and most 
 fervently entreated God to aid him to keep his 
 resolutions and to refrain from sin. And do 
 you think that child was not happy, as, in the 
 silence of his chamber, he surrendered himself 
 
272 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 to God ? It was undoubtedly the hour of the 
 purest enjoyment he ever had experienced. 
 Angels looked with joy upon that evening scene, 
 and hovered with delight and love around that 
 penitent child. The prayers of the parent and 
 the child ascended as grateful incense to the 
 throne, and were accepted. 
 
 From that hour, this boy went on in the path 
 which leads to usefulness, and peace, and 
 heaven. He spent his life in doing good. A 
 short time since, he died a veteran soldier of 
 the cross, and is now undoubtedly amid the 
 glories of heaven, surrounded by hundreds, who 
 have been, by his instrumentality, led to those 
 green fields and loved mansions. Oh, what a 
 rapturous meeting must that have been, when 
 the parents of this child pressed forward from 
 the angel throng, to welcome him, as, with tri- 
 umphant wing, he entered heaven ! And, oh, 
 how happy must they now be, in that home of 
 songs and everlasting joy ! 
 
 It is thus that piety promotes our enjoyment. 
 It promotes our happiness at all times. It takes 
 away the fear of death, and deprives every sor- 
 row of half its bitterness. Death is the most 
 gloomy thought that can enter the minds of 
 those who are not Christians. But the pious 
 child can be happy even when dying. I was 
 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 273 
 
 once called to see a boy who was very danger- 
 ously sick, and expected soon to die. I expect- 
 ed to have found him sorrowful. But, instead 
 of that, a happy smile was on his countenance, 
 which showed that joy was in his heart. He 
 sat in bed, leaning upon his pillow, with a hymn- 
 book in his hand, which he was reading. His 
 cheeks were thin and pale, from his long sick- 
 ness, while at the same time, he appeared con- 
 tented and happy. After conversing with him 
 a little while, I said, 
 
 "Do you think you shall ever get well 
 again ?" 
 
 " No, sir," he cheerfully replied, " the doctor 
 says I may perhaps live a few weeks, but that 
 he should not be surprised if 1 should die at any 
 time." 
 
 " Are you willing to die ?" I said. 
 
 " O yes, sir," he answered ; " sometimes I feel 
 sad about leaving father and mother. But then 
 I think I shall be free from sin in heaven, and 
 shall be with the Savior. And I hope that 
 father and mother will soon come to heaven, 
 and I shall be with them then. I am sometimes 
 afraid that I am too impatient to go." 
 
 " What makes you think," I asked, "that you 
 are prepared to die ?" 
 
 He hesitated a moment, and then said, 
 
274 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 " Because Jesus Christ has said, Whosoever 
 cometh to me I will in no wise cast out. I do 
 think that I love the Savior, and I wish to go 
 to him, and to be made holy." 
 
 While talking with him, I heard some boys 
 laughing and playing under the window. But 
 this sick boy looked up to me and said, " Oh, 
 how much more happy am I now, than I used 
 to be when well and out at play, not thinking 
 of God or heaven ! There is not a boy in the 
 street so happy as I." 
 
 This boy had for some time been endeavor- 
 ing to do his duty as a Christian. His conduct 
 showed that he loved the Savior. And when 
 sickness came, and death was near, he was hap- 
 py. But, oh, how sad must that child feel, who 
 is dying in unrepented sin ! We all must cer- 
 tainly soon die, and there is nothing to make us 
 happy in death but piety. 
 
 But when the Christian child goes to heaven, 
 how happy must he be ! He rises above the 
 clouds, and the blue sky, and the twinkling 
 stars, till he enters the home of God and the an- 
 gels. There he becomes an angel himself. God 
 is his approving Father. Angels are his be- 
 loved friends. You often, in a clear evening, 
 look up upon the distant stars, and wonder who 
 inhabits them. You think, if you had the wings 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 275 
 
 of an eagle, you would love to fly up there, and 
 make a visit. Now, it is not improbable that 
 the Christian, in heaven, can pass from star to 
 star, as you can go from house to house in your 
 own neighborhood. The very thought is en- 
 rapturing. 
 
 If every hour of our lives were spent in sor- 
 row, it would be nothing, compared with the 
 joys which God has promised his friends at his 
 right hand. When we think of the green pas- 
 tures of heaven ; of the still waters of that hap- 
 py world ; when we think of mingling with the 
 angels in their flight ; of uniting our voices 
 with theirs in songs of praise ; of gazing upon 
 all the glories and sharing all the rapture of the 
 heavenly world — O, how tame do the joys of 
 earth appear ! 
 
 4. Be mindful of the uncertainty of life. 
 Some children think that they can put off be- 
 coming Christians till a dying hour, and then 
 repent and be saved. Even if you could do 
 this, it would be at the loss of much usefulness 
 and much happiness. But the fact is, you are 
 never certain of a moment of life. You are 
 little aware of the dangers to which you are 
 continually exposed. 
 
 " The rising morning can't assure, 
 That we shall end the day ; 
 
276 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 For death stands ready at the door, 
 To snatch our lives away." 
 
 We are reminded of the uncertainty of life, 
 by the accidents which are every day occur- 
 ring. Often, when we least suspect it, we are 
 in the most imminent hazard of our lives. 
 When I was a boy, I one day went a-gunning. 
 I was to call for another boy, who lived at a 
 little distance from my father's. Having load- 
 ed my gun with a heavy charge of pigeon-shot, 
 and put in a new flint, which would strike out 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 277 
 
 a brilliant shower of sparks, I carefully primed 
 the gun, and set out upon my expedition. 
 When I arrived at the house of the boy who 
 was to go with me, I leaned the gun against 
 the side of the house, and waited a few mo- 
 ments for him to get ready. About a rod from 
 the door, where I was waiting, there was an- 
 other house. A little girl stood upon the win- 
 dow-seat, looking out of the window. Another 
 boy came along, and, taking up the gun, not 
 knowing that it was loaded and primed, took 
 deliberate aim at the face of the girl, and pulled 
 the trigger. But God, in mercy, caused the 
 gun to miss fire. Had it gone off, the girl would 
 have been killed. I never can think of the dan- 
 ger she was in, even now, without trembling. 
 
 The girl did not see the boy take aim at her, 
 and does not now know how narrow was her 
 escape from death. She little supposed that, 
 when standing in perfect health by the window 
 in her own father's house, she was in danger of 
 dropping down dead upon the floor. We are 
 all continually exposed to such dangers, and 
 when we least suspect it, may be in the greatest 
 peril. Is it not, then, folly to delay preparation 
 for death ? You may die within one hour. 
 You may not have one moment of warning al- 
 lowed you. 
 
278 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 A few years ago, a boy was riding in the 
 stage. It was a pleasant summer's day. The 
 horses were trotting rapidly along by fields, and 
 bridges, and orchards, and houses. The boy 
 stood at the coach-window with a happy heart, 
 and looked upon the green fields and pleasant 
 dwellings ; upon the poultry in the farm-yards, 
 and the cattle upon the hills. He had not the 
 least idea that he should die that day. But 
 while he was looking out of the window, the 
 iron rim of the wheel broke, and struck him 
 upon the forehead. The poor boy lay senseless 
 for a few days, and then died. 
 
 There are a thousand ways by which life 
 may be suddenly extinguished, and yet how 
 seldom are they thought of by children ! They 
 almost always entirely forget the danger of early 
 death, and postpone to a future day making 
 their peace with God. And how little do those 
 who read this book think that they may die 
 suddenly! Many children when they go to bed 
 at night, say the prayer, 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep, 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to take." 
 
 I used to say this prayer, when a child, every 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 279 
 
 night before I went to sleep. But I did nol 
 know then, as well as I do now, that I might die 
 before the morning. Almost every night some 
 children go to bed well, and before morning are 
 dead. It is, therefore, very dangerous to delay 
 repentance. Love the Savior immediately, and 
 prepare to die, and it will be of but little con- 
 sequence when you die, for you will go to heav- 
 en and be happy forever. 
 
 But we must not forget that a most terrible 
 doom awaits those who will not serve their 
 Maker. It matters not how much we may be 
 beloved by our friends; how r amiable maybe 
 our feelings. This alone will not save us. We 
 must repent of sin, and love the Savior, who 
 has suffered for us. We must pass our lives 
 in usefulness and prayer, or, when the day of 
 judgment comes, we shall hear the sentence, 
 "Depart from me, for I know you not." It is 
 indeed a fearful thing to refuse affection and 
 obedience to our Father in heaven. He will 
 receive none into his happy family above, but 
 those who love him. He will have no angry, 
 disagreeable spirits there. He will receive none 
 but the penitent, and the humble, and the grate- 
 ful, to that pure and peaceful home. Who does 
 not wish to go to heaven ! O, then, now begin 
 to do your duty, and earnestly pray that God 
 
280 THE CHILI) AT HOME. 
 
 will forgive your sins, and give you a heart to 
 love and obey him. 
 
 These thoughts must be often in your mind 
 it is true, but still if you have really given your 
 heart to God, they will not make you gloomy. 
 You must not allow them to make you gloomy, 
 for if your peace is made with God all will surely 
 be well with you in the end, and you may there- 
 fore be cheerful and happy every day. 
 
 5. Be amiable and kind. Every child must 
 observe how much more happy and beloved 
 some children appear to be than others. There 
 are some children you always love to be with. 
 They are happy themselves, and they make you 
 happy. There are others whose society you 
 always avoid. The very expression of their 
 countenances produces unpleasant feelings. 
 They seem to have no friends. 
 
 No person can be happy without friends. 
 The heart is formed for love, and can not be 
 happy without the opportunity of giving and re- 
 ceiving affection. 
 
 " It's not in titles, nor in rank, 
 It's not in wealth like London bank, 
 
 To make us truly blest. 
 If happiness have not her seat 
 
 And center in the breast, 
 "We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
 
 But never can be blest." 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 281 
 
 But you can not be an object of affection from 
 others, unless you feel affection for them in your 
 turn. You can not find others to love you, unless 
 you will also love them. Love is only to be ob- 
 tained by giving love in return. Hence the 
 importance of cultivating a kind and obliging 
 disposition. You can not be happy without it. 
 I have sometimes heard a girl say, 
 
 11 I know that I am very unpopular at school. " 
 Now, this is generally saying that she is very 
 disobliging and unamiable in her disposition. 
 If your companions do not love you, it is prob- 
 ably your own fault. They can not help loving 
 you if you will be kind and friendly. If you 
 are not loved, it is good evidence that you do 
 not deserve to be loved. It is true that a sense 
 of duty may at times render it necessary for 
 you to do that which is displeasing to your com- 
 panions. But if it is seen that you have a noble 
 spirit; that you are above selfishness ; that you 
 are willing to make sacrifices of your own per- 
 sonal convenience to promote the happiness of 
 your associates, you will never be in want of 
 friends. You must not regard it as your mis- 
 fortune that others do not love you, but your 
 fault. It is not beauty, it is not wealth, that 
 will give you friends. Your heart must glow 
 with kindness if you would attract to yourself 
 
282 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 the esteem and affection of those by whom you 
 are surrounded. 
 
 You are little aware how much the happiness 
 of your whole life depends upon your cultiva- 
 ting an affectionate and obliging disposition. 
 If you will adopt the resolution that you will 
 confer favors whenever you have an opportu- 
 nity, you will certainly be surrounded by ar- 
 dent friends. Begin upon this principle in 
 childhood, and act upon it through life, and you 
 will make yourself happy, and promote the hap- 
 piness of all within your influence. 
 
 You go to school, for example, in a cold win- 
 ter morning. A bright fire is blazing upon the 
 hearth, which is surrounded with boys strug- 
 gling to get near it to warm themselves. After 
 you get partly warmed, another schoolmate 
 comes in suffering with the cold. 
 
 " Here, James," you pleasantly call out to 
 him, " I am warm ; you may have my place." 
 
 As you slip one side to allow him to take 
 your place at the fire, will he not feel that you 
 are kind? The worst boy in the world can 
 not help admiring such generosity. And even 
 though he be so ungrateful as not to return the 
 favor, you may depend upon it that he will be 
 your friend, as far as he is capable of friend- 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 283 
 
 ship. If you will habitually act upon this prin- 
 ciple, you will never want for friends. 
 
 Suppose some day you are out with your 
 companions playing ball. After you have been 
 playing for some time, another boy comes to 
 the ground. He can not be chosen on either 
 side ; for there is no one to match him. 
 
 " Henry," you say, " you may take my place 
 a little while, and I will rest." 
 
 You throw yourself down upon the grass, 
 while Henry, fresh and vigorous, takes your bat, 
 and engages in the game. He knows that you 
 gave up to accommodate him. And how can 
 he help liking you for it? The fact is, that 
 neither man nor child can cultivate such a 
 spirit of generosity and kindness, without awa- 
 kening affection and esteem. Look and see who 
 of your companions have the most friends, and 
 you will find that they are those who have this 
 noble spirit ; who are willing to deny them- 
 selves, that they may make their associates 
 happy. This is not peculiar to childhood, but 
 is the same in all periods of life. There is but 
 one way to make friends, and that is by being 
 friendly to others. 
 
 Perhaps some child who reads this, feels con- 
 scious of being disliked, and yet desires to have 
 the affection of companions. You ask me 
 
284 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 what you shall do. I will tell you what. I 
 will give you an infallible recipe. Do all in 
 your power to make others happy. Be willing 
 to make sacrifices of your own convenience, that 
 you may promote the happiness of others. This 
 is the way to make friends, and the only way. 
 When you are playing with your brothers and 
 sisters at home, be always ready to give them 
 more than their share of privilege and enjoy- 
 ment. Manifest an obliging disposition, and 
 they can not but regard you with affection. In 
 all your intercourse with others, at home or 
 abroad, let these feelings influence you, and 
 you will receive the rich reward of devoted 
 friends. 
 
 The very exercise of these feelings brings 
 enjoyment. The benevolent man is a cheerful 
 man. His family is happy. His home is the 
 abode of the purest earthly joy. These feel- 
 ings are worth cultivating, for they bring with 
 them their own reward. Benevolence is the 
 spirit of heaven. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TRAITS OF CHARACTER CONTINUED. 
 
 There are several other traits of character, 
 besides those pointed out in the last chapter, to 
 which it is important to direct the reader's at- 
 tention. 
 
 1. Be good-natured. Persons of ardent dis- 
 positions often find it exceedingly difficult to 
 control themselves when vexed. Some little 
 occurrence irritates them, and they speak has- 
 tily and angrily. Offended with a companion, 
 they will do things to give pain, instead of pleas- 
 ure. You must have your temper under con- 
 trol if you would exercise a friendly disposition. 
 A bad temper is an infirmity, which, if not re- 
 strained, will be continually growing worse and 
 worse. 
 
 There was a man, a few years since, tried 
 for murder. When a boy, he gave loose to his 
 passions. The least opposition would rouse his 
 anger, and he made no efforts to subdue him- 
 self. He had no one who could love him. If 
 
286 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 he was playing with others, he would every mo- 
 ment be getting irritated. As he grew older, 
 his passions increased, and he became so ill- 
 natured that every one avoided him. One day 
 as he was talking with another man, he be- 
 came so enraged at some little provocation, 
 that he seized a club, and with one blow laid the 
 man lifeless at his feet. But while in prison 
 the fury of a malignant and ungoverned spirit 
 increased to such a degree that he became a 
 maniac. It seemed as if the very fires of the 
 world of woe were burning in his heart. 
 Loaded with chains, and immured in a dark 
 dungeon, he was doomed to pass the miserable 
 remnant of his guilty life in wretchedness and 
 despair, the victim of his ungovernable passion. 
 
 This is a very unusual case. But nothing is 
 more common than for a child to destroy his 
 own peace, and to make his brothers and sisters 
 continually unhappy by indulging in a peevish 
 and irritable spirit. Nothing is more common 
 than for a child to cherish this disposition until 
 he becomes a man, and then by his peevishness 
 and fault-finding, he destroys the happiness of 
 all who are near him. His home is the scene 
 of discord. His family are made wretched. 
 
 An amiable disposition makes its possessor 
 happy. And if you would have such a disposi- 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 287 
 
 tion, you must learn to control yourself. If 
 others injure you, obey the gospel rule, and do 
 them good in return. If they revile you, speak 
 kindly to them. It is far better to suffer injury 
 than to inflict injury. If you will endeavor in 
 childhood in this way to control your passions, 
 to be always mild, and forbearing, and forgiving, 
 you will disarm opposition, and, in many cases, 
 convert enemies to friends. You will be be- 
 loved by those around you, and when you have 
 a home of your own, your cheerful and obliging 
 spirit will make it a happy home. 
 
 One thing you may be sure of. There can 
 be no real happiness when there is not an 
 amiable disposition. You can not more surely 
 make yourself wretched, than by indulging in 
 an irritable spirit. Love is the feeling which 
 fills every angel's bosom ; and it is the feeling 
 which should fill every human heart. It is love 
 which will raise us to the angel's throne. It is 
 malice which will sink us to the demon's dun- 
 geon. I hope that every child who reads this, 
 will be persuaded, by these remarks, immedi- 
 ately to commence the government of his tem- 
 per. Resolve that you never will be angry. If 
 your brother or your sister does any thing 
 which has a tendency to provoke you, restrain 
 your feelings, and speak mildly and softly. Let 
 
288 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 no provocation draw from you an angry or an 
 unkind word. If you will commence in this 
 way, and persevere, you will soon get that con- 
 trol over yourself that will contribute greatly to 
 your happiness. Your friends will increase, 
 and you will be prepared for far more extensive 
 usefulness in the world. 
 
 And is there not something noble in being 
 able to be always good-natured, calm, and 
 pleasant ? I once saw two men conversing in 
 the streets. One became very unreasonably 
 enraged with the other. In the fury of his 
 anger, he appeared like a madman. He ad- 
 dressed the other in language the most abusive 
 and insulting. The gentleman whom he thus 
 abused, with a pleasant countenance and a calm 
 voice, said to him, " Now, my friend, you will 
 be sorry for all this when your passion is over. 
 This language does me no harm, and can do 
 you no good.'' 
 
 Now is it not really magnanimous to have 
 such a spirit ? Every person who witnessed 
 this interview despised the angry man, and re- 
 spected the one who was so calm and self-pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 2. Humility. Humility is another very im- 
 portant trait of character, which should be cul- 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 289 
 
 tivated in early life. What can be more dis- 
 gusting than the ridiculous airs of a vain child ? 
 Sometimes you will see a foolish girl tossing her 
 head about, and walking with a mincing step, 
 which shows you at once that she is excessively 
 vain. She thinks that others are admiring her, 
 when the fact is, they are laughing at her ri- 
 diculous airs, and despising her. Every one 
 speaks of her as a very simple, vain girl. 
 
 Vanity is a sure sign of weakness of mind ; 
 and if you indulge in so contemptible a passion, 
 you will surely be the subject of ridicule and 
 contempt. 
 
 A young lady was once passing an afternoon 
 at the house of a friend. As she, with one or two 
 gentlemen and ladies, was walking in the gar- 
 den, she began to make a display of her fancied 
 learning. She would look at a flower, and with 
 great self-sufficiency talk of its botanical char- 
 acteristics. She thought that the company 
 were all wondering at the extent of her knowl- 
 edge, when they were all laughing at her, as a 
 self-conceited girl who had not sense enough to 
 keep herself from appearing ridiculous. The 
 gentlemen were casting glances at each other, 
 and slyly laughing as she uttered one learned 
 word after another, with an affected air of fa- 
 miliarity with scientific terms. 
 
 T 
 
290 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 During the walk, she took occasion to bring 
 in all the little that she knew, and at one time 
 ventured to quote Latin for their edification. 
 She thought she had produced quite an impres- 
 sion upon their minds. And, in truth, she had. 
 She had fixed indelibly the impression that she 
 was an insufferably weak and self-conceited 
 girl. She made herself the laughing-stock of 
 the whole company. The moment that she 
 was gone, there was one general burst of laugh- 
 ter. And not one of those gentlemen or ladies 
 could ever think of that vain girl afterward, 
 without emotions of contempt. 
 
 This is the invariable effect of vanity. You 
 can not so disguise it, but that it will be de- 
 tected, and cover you with disgrace. There is 
 no foible more common than this, and there is 
 none more supremely ridiculous. 
 
 One boy happens to have rich parents, and 
 he acts as if he supposed that there was some 
 virtue in his father's money which pertained to 
 him. He goes to school and struts about, as 
 though he were lord of the play-ground. Now, 
 every body who sees this, says, it is a proof that 
 the boy has not much mind. He is a simple 
 boy. If he had good sense he would perceive 
 that others of his playmates, in many qualities 
 surpassed him, and that it became him to be 
 
TRAITS OP CHARACTER. 291 
 
 humble and unostentatious. The mind that is 
 truly great is humble. 
 
 We dislike vanity wherever it appears. Go 
 into a school-room, and look around upon the 
 appearance of the various pupils assembled 
 there. You will perhaps see one girl, with* 
 head inclined toward one shoulder, and with a 
 simpering countenance, trying to look pretty. 
 You speak to her. Instead of receiviug a plain, 
 kind, honest answer, she replies with voice, and 
 language, and attitude full of affectation. She 
 thinks that she is exciting your admiration. 
 But. on the contrary, she is exciting disgust 
 and loathing. 
 
 You see another girl, whose frank and open 
 countenance proclaims a sincere and honest 
 heart. All her movements are natural. She 
 manifests no desire to attract attention. The 
 idea of her own superiority seems not to enter 
 her mind. As, in the recess, she walks about 
 the school-room, you can detect no airs of self- 
 conceit. She is kind and attentive to all her 
 associates. You ask her some question. She 
 answers you with modesty and without osten- 
 tation. Now, this girl, without any effort to 
 attract admiration, is beloved and admired. 
 Every one sees at once that she is a girl of good 
 sense. She knows too much to be vain. She 
 
292 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 will never want for friends. This is the kind 
 of character which insures usefulness and hap- 
 piness. 
 
 A little girl who had rich parents, and was 
 handsome in personal appearance, was very 
 vain of her beauty and of her father's wealth. 
 She disgusted all her school-mates by her con- 
 ceit. And though she seemed to think that 
 every one ought to admire her, she was beloved 
 by none. She at last left school, a vain, con- 
 ceited girl. A young man, who was so simple 
 as to fall in love with this piece of pride and 
 affectation, at length married her. For a few 
 years, the property which she received from 
 her father supported them. But soon her father 
 died, and her husband grew dissipated, and be- 
 fore long their property was all squandered. 
 
 She had no friends to whom she could look 
 for assistance, and she and her husband were 
 every month sinking deeper and deeper in pov- 
 erty. Her husband fell into bad habits, and at 
 i last became a perfect sot, and staggered through 
 the streets in the lowest state of degradation. 
 At length he died, and she was left with one or 
 two small children, and without any means of 
 support. In a most miserable hovel this poor 
 woman was compelled to take up her residence. 
 By this time her pride had experienced a fall 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 293 
 
 She no longer exhibited the airs of a vain girl, 
 but was an afflicted and helpless woman. 
 
 The sorrow and disgrace into which she was 
 plunged by the intemperance and death of her 
 husband, preyed so deeply upon her feelings as 
 to destroy her health, and in this condition she- 
 was carried to the poor-house. There she lin- 
 gered out the last few years of her sad earthly 
 existence. What a termination of life for a 
 vain and haughty girl ! And what a lesson is 
 this to all, to be humble and unassuming ! You 
 may be in health to-day, and in sickness to- 
 morrow. This year you may be rich, and have 
 need of nothing, and the next year you may be 
 in the most abject poverty. Your early home 
 may be one of luxury and elegance, and in your 
 dying hour you may be in the poor-house, with- 
 out a friend to watch at your bedside. Is it 
 not, then, the height of folly to indulge in 
 vanity ? 
 
 If any child will look around upon his own 
 companions, he will see that those are most be- 
 loved and respected who have no disposition to 
 claim superiority over their associates. How 
 pleasant is it to be in company with those who 
 are conciliating and unassuming ! But how 
 much is every one disgusted with the presence 
 of those who assume airs of importance, and 
 
294 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 are continually saying, by their conduct, that 
 they think themselves deserving particular at- 
 tention ! Xo one regrets to see such self-con- 
 ceit humbled. When such persons meet with 
 misfortune, no one appears to regret it, no one 
 sympathizes with them. 
 
 You must guard against this contemptible 
 vice, if you would be useful, or respected, or 
 happy. If you would avoid exciting disgust, 
 avoid vanity. If you do not wish to be the 
 laughing-stock of all your acquaintance, do not 
 let them detect in you consequential airs. If 
 you would not be an object of hatred and dis- 
 like, beware how you indulge feelings of fancied 
 superiority. Be plain, and sincere, and honest- 
 hearted. Disgrace not yourself by affectation 
 and pride. Let all your words and all your ac- 
 tions show that you think no more highly of 
 yourself than you ought to think. Then will 
 others love you. They will rejoice at your 
 prosperity. And they will be glad to see you 
 rising in the world, in usefulness and esteem. 
 
 3. Moral Courage. Moral courage is a trait 
 of character of the utmost importance to be pos- 
 sessed. A man was once challenged to fight a 
 duel. As he thought of his own condition if he 
 should kill his adversary, and of his widowed 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 295 
 
 wife and orphan children, if he should be shot 
 himself — as he thought of his appearance before 
 the bar of God to answer for the atrocious sin, 
 he shrunk from accepting the challenge. But 
 when he thought of the ridicule to which he 
 would be exposed if he declined ; that others 
 would call him a coward, and point at him the 
 finger of scorn, he was afraid to refuse. He 
 was such a coward that he did not dare to meet 
 the ridicule of contemptible men. He had so 
 little moral courage, that he had rather become 
 a murderer, or expose himself to be shot, than 
 boldly to disregard the opinions and the sneers 
 of the unprincipled and base. It is this want of 
 moral courage which very frequently leads per- 
 sons to the commission of crimes. 
 
 There is nothing so hard to be borne as 
 ridicule. It requires a bold heart to be ready 
 to do one's duty, unmoved by the sneers of 
 others. How often does a child do that which 
 he knows to be wrong, because he is afraid 
 that others will call him a coward if he does 
 right ! 
 
 The following example shows that a boy 
 may do wrong simply because he is too great a 
 coward to do right. 
 
 One cold winter's day, three boys were pass- 
 ing by a school-house. The oldest was a mis- 
 
2yo 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 uiacEise 
 
 chievous fellow, al- 
 ways in trouble 
 himself, and try- 
 ing to get others 
 into trouble. The 
 youngest, whose 
 name w r as George, 
 was a very amia- 
 ble boy, who wish- 
 ed to do right, but 
 was very deficient 
 in moral courage. 
 We will call the 
 oldest Henry, and 
 the other of the three James. The following 
 dialogue passed between them. 
 
 Henry. — What fun it would be to throw a 
 snow-ball against the school-room door, and 
 make the teacher and scholars all jump ! 
 
 James. — You would jump if you should. If 
 the teacher did not catch you, he would tell 
 your father, and you would get a whipping then, 
 that would make you jump higher than the 
 scholars, I think. 
 
 Henry. — Why, we could get so far off, before 
 the teacher could come to the door, that he 
 could not tell who we are. Here is a snow- 
 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 297 
 
 ball as hard as ice, and George had as lief 
 throw it against that door as not. 
 
 James. — Give it to him and see. He would 
 not dare to throw it against the door. 
 
 Henry. — Do you think George is a coward ? 
 You don't know him as well as I do. Here, 
 George, take this snow-ball, and show James 
 that you are not such a coward as he thinks 
 you to be. 
 
 George. — I am not afraid to throw it. But I 
 do not wish to. I do not see that it will do 
 any good, or that there will be any fun in it. 
 
 James. — There, I told you he would not dare 
 to throw it. 
 
 Henry. — Why, George, are you turning cow- 
 ard ? I thought you did not fear any thing. 
 We shall have to call you chicken-hearted. 
 Come, save your credit, and throw it. I know 
 you are not afraid to. 
 
 George. — Well, I am not afraid to. Give 
 me the snow-ball. I had as lief throw it as 
 not. 
 
 George took the snow-ball and threw it 
 against the door ; and the boys ran. Henry 
 was laughing as heartily as he could to think 
 what a fool he had made of George. George 
 afterward got punished for his folly, as he richly 
 deserved. He was such a coward that he was 
 
298 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 afraid of being called a coward. He did not 
 dare to refuse to do as Henry told him to do, for 
 fear that he would be laughed at. If he had 
 been really a brave boy., he would have said, 
 
 " Henry, do you suppose that I am such a 
 fool as to throw that snow-ball just because you 
 wish to have me do it ? You may throw your 
 own snow-balls, if you please." 
 
 Henry would perhaps, in this case, have tried 
 to laugh at him. He would have called him a 
 coward, hoping in this way to induce him to 
 obey his wishes. But George would have re- 
 plied, 
 
 " Do you think that I care for your laughing ? 
 I do not think it is right to throw a snow- ball 
 against the school-room door. And I will not 
 do that which I think to be wrong if the whole 
 town join with you in laughing." 
 
 This would have been real moral courage. 
 Henry would have seen at once, that it would 
 do no good to laugh at a boy who had so bold 
 a heart. And you must have this fearlessness 
 of spirit, or you will be continually involved in 
 trouble, and will deserve and receive contempt. 
 
 I once knew a man who had so little inde- 
 pendence, that he hardly dared express an 
 opinion different from that of those who for 
 the time being happened to be with him. When 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 299 
 
 he was talking upon politics, he would agree 
 with the persons with whom he happened to be 
 conversing, no matter what their views, or what 
 their party. He was equally fickle and unde- 
 cided upon the subject of religion, differing 
 from none, and agreeing with all. The conse- 
 quence was, that he had the confidence of none 
 and the contempt of all. He sunk into merited 
 disgrace in the estimation of the whole com- 
 munity. 
 
 You must have an opinion of your own. 
 And you must be ready, frankly and modestly, 
 to express it, when occasion requires, without 
 being intimidated by fear of censure. You 
 can neither command respect nor be useful 
 without it. 
 
 In things which concern your own personal 
 convenience merely, you should be as yielding 
 as the air. But where duty is concerned, you 
 should be as firm and as unyielding as the rock. 
 Be ever ready to sacrifice your own comfort to 
 promote the comfort of others. Be concilia- 
 ting and obliging in all your feelings and ac- 
 tions. Show that you are ready to do every 
 thing in your power to make those around you 
 happy. Let no one have occasion to say that 
 you are stubborn and unaccommodating. 
 
 But, on the other hand, where duty is in- 
 
300 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 volved, let nothing tempt you to do wrong. 
 Be bold enough to dare to do right, whatever 
 may be the consequences. If others laugh at 
 your scruples, let them laugh as long as they 
 please. And let them see that you are not to 
 be frightened by their sneers. Your courage 
 will often be tried. There will be occasions in 
 which it will require a severe struggle to pre- 
 serve your integrity. But ever remember that 
 if you would do any good in the world, you 
 must possess this moral courage. It is the want 
 of this that leaves thousands to live in a way 
 which their consciences reprove, and to die in 
 despair. Unless you possess this trait of char- 
 acter, to some considerable degree, it can hard- 
 ly be expected that you will ever become a 
 Christian. You must learn to act for yourself, 
 unintimidated by the censure, and unmoved by 
 the flattery of others. 
 
 4. Pure language. Boys can not be too care- 
 ful to avoid in early life forming bad habits in 
 respect to their language. Nothing is more un- 
 gentlemanly than profaneness or indelicacy in 
 speech. 
 
 When the American army were at their 
 winter quarters in New Jersey, during the 
 revolutionary war, General Washington one 
 day invited his officers to dine with him. The 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 301 
 
 use of profane language was then very common 
 in the army. One of the guests uttered at the 
 table a profane expression. Washington sud- 
 denly laid upon the table his knife and fork, in 
 such a way as to attract the attention of every 
 guest, and, raising his hands, exclaimed, "I.. 
 really thought that I had invited none but gen- 
 tlemen to dine with me." The reproof was 
 deeply felt, and exerted a very powerful influ- 
 ence in checking that vulgar and despicable 
 vice. 
 
 How low and degrading is the vice of profane 
 swearing! It is the language of pirates, of 
 drunkards, of all the loathsome and the vile. 
 The use of it always degrades one in the esti- 
 mation of every person whose good opinion is 
 worth having. 
 
 And how solemn is the thought that every 
 sinful word is recorded in the book of God's 
 remembrance ! The day of judgment is fast 
 approaching. For every idle word an account 
 must be rendered to God. And no one in 
 Christian lands can plead ignorance of his 
 command, " Swear not at all." 
 
 Sometimes, as I have heard boys in the 
 streets uttering the most awful oaths, it has al- 
 most made me tremble. I have thought, God 
 heard that oath. He will never forget it. That 
 
302 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 boy must yet answer for the dreadful sin, at the 
 judgment-seat, in the presence of all angels and 
 all men. O, how bitterly will he then lament, 
 that he ever indulged in such sinful practices ! 
 And as he hears the doom, " Depart, ye cursed, 
 into everlasting fire," how agonizing will be his 
 reproaches of himself, for disobeying God's 
 known commands ! 
 
 There is hardly any practice into which a boy 
 can fall, so utterly ruinous to him, as the use of 
 profane language. It seems to destroy all the 
 fine sensibilities, all the best affections, all mag- 
 nanimous feelings. Such a boy always looks 
 mean and ashamed. He knows that he is do- 
 ing something which is wrong, something which 
 he is afraid to have his friends know, and con- 
 sequently he loses all that frankness and ingen- 
 uousness which is the great charm of a virtuous 
 youth. 
 
 This vice seems to lead to every other. It 
 so deadens conscience, and makes one so reck- 
 less of every thing that is delicate and high- 
 minded, that the profane boy is almost sure to 
 grow up a profligate man. He will superadd 
 all other vices to this ; and drinking, and gam- 
 bling, and every species of dissipation, will fill 
 up the awful catalogue of his crimes. 
 
 The influence of this wicked practice is so 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 
 
 destructive of every thing estimable in charac- 
 ter, that I think a boy who is in the habit of 
 profaneness should be expelled from school 
 without a moment's hesitancy. He ought to 
 be banished from the play-ground, and from the 
 society of every virtuous boy. God looks upon 
 him with displeasure. And he is contaminating 
 every one who associates with him. 
 
 I remember very well the first oath which 
 was uttered by an early friend of mine, in his 
 boyish days. He trembled after he had uttered 
 it, and I was shocked beyond measure. It was 
 not, however, his last oath. Having thus com- 
 menced, he soon acquired the habit, and before 
 long he could utter the most awful impreca- 
 tions, with the volubility and hardihood of a 
 pirate. 
 
 Other sins, as usual, followed in the train of 
 this low vice, and in a few years he was, to all 
 appearance, irretrievably ruined. 
 
 O, beware of the use of profane language, 
 and of every sinful, idle, indelicate word. Re- 
 member that God hears every thing you say, 
 and you can not give utterance to a sinful or 
 an impure word without destroying the delicacy 
 of your feelings, and paving the way for your 
 descent to ruin. 
 
 There is often conversation, among boys, of 
 
304 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 an indelicate nature ; conversation which you 
 would be very unwilling that your father or 
 mother should hear. Without great care you 
 will in early life get your mind so poisoned and 
 corrupted in this way, that it will be a calamity 
 to you as long as you live. You will, during 
 all the years of your manhood, have cause to 
 mourn that such impure words and thoughts 
 ever entered your mind. There is hardly any 
 thing I have written in this book which I deem 
 so important to your welfare and happiness as 
 a caution upon this subject. You can not be 
 too careful to avoid all such words and thoughts. 
 I do entreat you, with the utmost earnestness, 
 never to utter a word or an idea, which you 
 would not be willing to repeat to your parents. 
 You can now form no conception of the dread- 
 ful consequences of having an impure mind. 
 It would be a far less calamity for you to lose 
 a foot, or a hand, or an eye, than to lose delicacy 
 and purity of mind. 
 
 When I think of the temptations to which 
 you are exposed, in this respect ; when I think 
 of the bad boys, with corrupt hearts, you must 
 inevitably meet, and the conversation you must 
 almost unavoidably hear, I know not how, with 
 sufficient earnestness, to warn you of your dan- 
 ger. If you are ever present where there is 
 
TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 305 
 
 conversation of this nature, escape if you pos- 
 sibly can. Resolve that you will not listen to 
 that which conscience tells you to be wrong. 
 Your conscience will be very faithful upon this 
 subject. It warns loudly and earnestly when- 
 ever you approach the region of impropriety. 
 If you allow yourself in this sin, you will not do 
 it ignorantly, and you will suffer for it as long 
 as you live. Many a Christian has been una- 
 ble, even to a dying hour, to efface from his 
 mind the corrupt impressions left there by im- 
 pure boys. 
 
 If you have any associate addicted to impro- 
 prieties of this kind, avoid him as you would 
 the plague. Resolve that you will, at all haz- 
 ards, break away from such influences. Let no 
 temptation, be it ever so powerful, induce you 
 to allow yourself in any sin of this kind. Ask 
 yourself, when exposed to any language of an 
 improper kind, Should I be willing to repeat 
 this conversation to our assembled family, at 
 the supper table ? Do not listen to any stories, 
 do not permit any conversation in your hear- 
 ing, which has any indelicate allusions. 
 
 I have thus, in this and in the preceding 
 chapters, enumerated the traits of character 
 which a Christian child ought to endeavor to 
 
306 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 acquire. One who conscientiously and per- 
 severingly aims at acquiring them, will be con- 
 tinually advancing in all that is excellent and 
 praiseworthy ; and in the exercise of the ami- 
 able, gentle, humble, pure, and holy spirit, which 
 the gospel enjoins, will be a blessing to himself 
 and to all who know him. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 CONCLUSION, 
 
 The counsels which this volume contains 
 are intended to guide you in your duties while 
 you remain under the parental roof. The years 
 of your childhood are passing rapidly away, and 
 they will soon be gone forever. 
 
 If you follow the counsels and injunctions 
 which have been given you in the preceding 
 chapters, the years of your childhood will pass 
 happily. Your parents, brothers and sisters 
 will love you. All who know you will regard 
 you with a kind and friendly interest. You 
 will feel an inward peace and satisfaction that 
 will be a constant joy and blessing. Thus the 
 years of your childhood will glide smoothly 
 and peacefully away. 
 
 But soon you must leave parents, brothers, 
 and sisters, and enter upon the duties and cares 
 of life almost alone. How affecting will be the 
 hour, when your footsteps turn from your father's 
 dwelling, from your mother's care, to seek a 
 
308 
 
 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 LEAVING HOME 
 
 new home among 
 strangers ! You 
 now can not con- 
 ceive the feelings 
 which will press 
 upon you as your 
 father takes your 
 hand to bid you the 
 parting farewell, 
 and your mother 
 endeavors to hide 
 her tears, as you 
 depart from her 
 watchful eye, to 
 meet the temptations and sorrows of life. Your 
 heart will then be full. Tears will fill your 
 eyes. Emotion will choke your voice. 
 
 You will then reflect upon all the scenes of 
 your childhood with feelings which you never 
 had before. Every unkind word that you have 
 uttered to your parents — every unkind look 
 that you have given them, will cause you the 
 sincerest sorrow. If you have any generous 
 feeling remaining in your bosom, you will long 
 to fall upon your knees and ask your parents' 
 forgiveness for every pang that you may have 
 caused their hearts. 
 
 The hour when you leave your home, and all 
 
CONCLUSION. 309 
 
 its joys, will be such an hour as you never have 
 passed before. The feelings which will then 
 oppress your heart, will remain with you for 
 weeks and months. You will often, in the pen- 
 sive hour of evening, sit down and weep, as 
 you think of parents and home far away. Oh, ^ 
 how cold will seem the love of others, compared 
 with a mother's love ! How often will your 
 thoughts fondly return to joys which have for- 
 ever fled ! Again and again will you think 
 over the years that are past. Every recollec- 
 tion of affection and obedience will awaken joy 
 in your heart. Every remembrance of ingrat- 
 itude will awaken repentance and remorse. 
 
 O, then, think now of the time when you 
 must bid father and mother, brothers and sis- 
 ters, farewell. Think of the time when you 
 must leave the fireside around which you have 
 spent so many pleasant evenings, and go out 
 into the wide world, with no other dependence 
 than the character which you have formed at 
 home. If this character be good, if you possess 
 amiable and obliging and generous feelings, you 
 may soon possess a home of your own, when 
 the joys of your childhood will in some degree 
 be renewed. And if you will pass your days 
 in the service of God, imitating the character 
 of the Savior, and cherishing the feelings of pen- 
 
310 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 itence and love which the Bible requires, you 
 will soon be in that happy home which is never 
 to be forsaken. There, are joys from which 
 you never will be separated. There, are friends, 
 angels in dignity, and spotless in purity, in 
 whose loved society you will find joys such as 
 you never experienced while on earth. 
 
 Once when a son was leaving the roof of a pi- 
 ous father, to go out into the wide world to meet 
 its temptations, and to battle with its storms, 
 his heart was oppressed with the many emo- 
 tions which were struggling there. The day 
 had come in which he was to leave the fireside 
 of so many enjoyments ; the friends endeared 
 to him by so many associations — so many acts 
 of kindness. He was to bid adieu to his moth- 
 er, that loved, loved benefactor, who had pro- 
 tected him in sickness, and rejoiced with him in 
 health. He was to leave a father's protection, 
 to go forth and act without an adviser, and rely 
 upon his own unaided judgment. He w T as to 
 bid farewell to brothers and sisters, no more to 
 see them but as an occasional visitor at his pa- 
 ternal home. Oh, how cold and desolate did 
 the wide world appear ! How did he hesitate 
 from lanching forth to meet its tempests and its 
 storms ! 
 
 But the hour had come for him to go ; and 
 
CONCLUSION. 311 
 
 he must suppress his emotions, and triumph 
 over his reluctance. He went from room to 
 room, looking, as for the last time, upon those 
 scenes, to which imagination would so often re- 
 cur, and where it would love to linger. The 
 well-packed trunk was in the entry, waiting the 
 arrival of the stage. Brothers and sisters were 
 moving about, hardly knowing whether to smile 
 or to weep. The father sat at the window, 
 humming a mournful air, as he was watching 
 the approach of the stage which was to bear 
 his son away to take his place far from home, 
 in the busy crowd of a bustling world. The 
 mother, with all the indescribable emotions of a 
 mother's heart, was placing in a small bundle a 
 few little comforts such as none but a mother 
 could think of, and, with most generous resolu- 
 tion, endeavoring to preserve a cheerful coun- 
 tenance, that, as far as possible, she might pre- 
 serve her son from unnecessary pain in the hour 
 of departure. 
 
 " Here, my son," said she, " is a pair of stock- 
 ings, which will be soft and warm for your 
 feet. I have run the heels for you, for I am 
 afraid you will not find any one who will quite 
 fill a mother's place." 
 
 The poor boy was overflowing with emotion, 
 
312 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 and did not dare to trust his voice with an at- 
 tempt to reply. 
 
 " I have put a little piece of cake here, for 
 you may be hungry on the road, and I will put 
 it in the top of the bundle, so that you can get 
 it without any difficulty. And in this needle- 
 book I have put up a few needles and some 
 thread, for you may at times want some little 
 stitch taken, and you will have no mother or 
 sister to go to." 
 
 The departing son could make no reply. He 
 could restrain his emotion only by silence. At 
 last the rumbling of the wheels of the stage was 
 heard, and the four horses were reined up at the 
 door. The boy endeavored, by activity, in see- 
 ing his trunk and other baggage properly placed, 
 to gain sufficient fortitude to enable him to artic- 
 ulate his farewell. He, however, strove in vain. 
 He took his mother's hand. The tear glistened 
 for a moment in her eye, and then silently rolled 
 down her cheek. He struggled with all his en- 
 ergy to say good-bye, but he could not. In un- 
 broken silence he shook her hand, and then in 
 silence received the adieus of brothers and sis- 
 ters, as one after another took the hand of their 
 departing companion. He then took the warm 
 hand of his warm-hearted father. His father 
 attempted to smile, but it was the struggling 
 
CONCLUSION. 313 
 
 smile of feelings which would rather have 
 vented themselves in tears. For a moment he 
 said not a word, but retained the hand of his 
 son, as he accompanied him out of the door to 
 the stage. After a moment's silence, pressing 
 his hand, he said, " My son, you are now leav- 
 ing us ; you may forget your father and your 
 mother, your brothers and your sisters, but, oh, 
 do not forget your God !" 
 
 The stage door closed upon the boy. The 
 crack of the driver's whip was heard, and the 
 rumbling wheels bore him rapidly away from 
 all the privileges and all the happiness of his 
 early home. His feelings, so long restrained, 
 now gave way, and, sinking back upon his seat, 
 he enveloped himself in his cloak, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Hour after hour the stage rolled on. Pas- 
 sengers entered and left ; but the boy — perhaps 
 I ought rather to call him the young man — was 
 almost insensible to every thing that passed. 
 He sat, in sadness and in silence, in the corner 
 of the stage, thinking of the loved home he had 
 left. Memory ran back through all the years 
 of his childhood, lingering here and there, with 
 pain, upon an act of disobedience, and recalling 
 an occasional word of unkindness. All his life 
 seemed to be passing in review before him, from 
 
314 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 the first years of his conscious existence, to the 
 hour of his departure from his home. Then 
 would the parting words of his father ring in his 
 ears. He had always heard the morning and 
 evening prayer. He had always witnessed the 
 power of religion exemplified in all the duties 
 of life. And the undoubted sincerity of a 
 father's language, confirmed as it had been by 
 years of corresponding practice, produced an 
 impression upon his mind too powerful ever to 
 be effaced — " My son, you may forget father 
 and mother, you may forget brothers and sis- 
 ters, but, oh, do not forget your God." The 
 words rung in his ears. They entered his 
 heart. Again and again his thoughts ran back 
 through the years he had already passed, and 
 the reviving recollections brought fresh floods 
 of tears. But still his thoughts ran on to his 
 father's parting words, " Forget not your God." 
 He resolved that in whatever circumstances 
 he might afterwards be placed, he would never, 
 never forget them. 
 
 It was midnight before the stage stopped, to 
 give him a little rest. He was then more than 
 a hundred miles from home. But still his fa- 
 ther's words were ringing in his ears. He was 
 conducted up several flights of stairs to a cham- 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 315 
 
 THE HOTEL. 
 
 ber in a crowded hotel. After a short prayer, 
 he threw himself upon the bed, and endeavored 
 to obtain a little sleep. But his excited imag- 
 ination, even in his dreams, went back to the 
 home he had left. Again he was seated by the 
 fireside. Again he heard the soothing tones of 
 his kind mother's voice, and sat by his father's 
 side. In the vagaries of his dream, he again 
 went through the scene of parting, and wept in 
 his sleep as he bade adieu to brothers and sis- 
 
316 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 ters, and heard a father's parting advice, " Oh, 
 my son, forget not your God." 
 
 But little refreshment could be derived from 
 such sleep. And indeed he had been less than 
 an hour upon his bed, before some one knocked 
 at the door, and placed a lamp in his room, say- 
 ing, " It is time to get up, sir ; the stage is al- 
 most ready to go." He hastily rose from his 
 bed, and after imploring a blessing upon him- 
 self, and fervently commending to God his far- 
 distant friends, now quietly sleeping in that 
 happy home which he had left forever, he 
 hastened down stairs, and soon again was rap- 
 idly borne on by the fleet horses of the mail- 
 coach. 
 
 It was a clear autumnal morning. The stars 
 shone brightly in the sky, and the thoughts of 
 the lonely wanderer were irresistibly carried to 
 that home beyond the stars, and to that God 
 whom his father had so affectingly entreated 
 him not to forget. He succeeded, however, in 
 getting a few moments of troubled sleep, as the 
 stage rolled on ; but his thoughts were still re- 
 verting, whether asleep or awake, to the home 
 left far behind. Just as the sun was going 
 down by the western hills, at the close of the 
 day, he alighted from the stage, in the village 
 
CONCLUSION. 317 
 
 of strangers, in which he was to find his new 
 home. 
 
 There was not an individual in this place 
 that he had ever seen before. Many a pensive 
 evening did he pass, thinking of absent friends. 
 Many a lonely walk did he take, while his 
 thoughts were far away among the scenes of 
 his childhood. And when the winter evenings 
 came, with the cheerful blaze of the fireside, 
 often did he think, with a sigh, of the loved and 
 happy group encircling his father's fireside, and 
 sharing those joys he had left forever. 
 
 But a father's parting words did not leave his 
 mind. There they remained. And they, in 
 connection with other events, rendered effect- 
 ual by the Spirit of God, induced him to en- 
 deavor to consecrate his life to his Maker's 
 service. In the hopes of again meeting belov- 
 ed parents and friends in that home, which 
 gilds the paradise above, he found that solace 
 which could nowhere else be obtained, and was 
 enabled to go on in the discharge of the duties 
 of life, with serenity and peace. 
 
 Reader, you must soon leave your home, and 
 leave it forever. The privileges and the joys 
 you are now partaking, will soon pass away. 
 And when you have gone forth into the wide 
 world, and feel the want of a father's care, and 
 
318 THE CHILD AT HOME. 
 
 of a mother's love, then will all the scenes you 
 have passed through, return freshly to your 
 mind, and the remembrance of every unkind 
 word, or look, or thought, will give you pain. 
 Try, then, to be an affectionate and obedient 
 child. Cultivate those virtues which will pre- 
 pare you for usefulness and happiness in your 
 maturer years, and above all, make it your ob- 
 ject to prepare for that happy home above, 
 where sickness can never enter, and sorrow 
 can never come.