• £ - : v ii iF. ■■■■ e 3 .;•. 4Ma ®fje Htbrarp of tfje XHnitierSitp of i^ortfj Carolina Cnbotoeb bp 3Tlje Stale cttc anb $?)ilantf)ropic £§>octette£ UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROUNA SckooJ of Library Science This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE CENTS a day thereafter. It was taken out on the day indicated below: Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/clementortruestoOOamer 0L1U] NT CLEMENT: OR, TRUE STORIES ABOUT CONSCIENCE BY THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION OV AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION. AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION: , 1121 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1846, by the American Sunday-eehool Union, in the clerk's office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. CLEMENT; TRUE STORIES ABOUT CONSCIENCE. Clement is a little boy, whom I love for the sake of his good fa- ther and mother. They are kind and dear friends of mine; and as they, and all his brothers and sis- ters, are far, far away from him, 1 like to go and see him sometimes, and then to write and tell them all I can about him. The first time I saw Clement, he was at the house of the ladies into whose hearts God had put it to watch over him as carefully and 1* 5 6 CLEMENT. tenderly as if he had been their own little son. Of course, he looked at me as a stranger; hut we soon seemed to know each other, after talking about his father and mother, and other things interesting to us both. Ever since that time, he has always looked pleased to see me, and has liked to seat himself on my lap, and to tell me of the letters that he receives from his dear parents, and of much besides, such as little boys and girls generally find it plea- sant to speak of, to those who really love them, and are interested about them. But the last time I went to see Clement, as soon, almost, as he came into the room to me, I thought he * did not look so bright and cheerful CLEMENT. 7 as usual ; and though I could not find out any reason for it, it seemed to me, as we talked together, that his face looked quite as different from what I had before seen it, as a cloudy sky does from a bright one. This cloud on Clement's brow did not look at all pleasant ; and I wondered what had brought it there. I thought he might have a little headache, or be tired, 01 have some other uncomfortable feeling, not worth complaining about ; and so I said nothing about u to him : only I felt sorry for him, poor little boy ! at the time ; and I remembered it afterwards, and had uot therefore quite such a pleasant recollection of that visit as of some others which I had paid him. 1 do 8 CLEMENT. not recollect that I suspected, id the least, the true cause of the clouded brow. I wonder whether you do, as you read now about him, and observe the whole title of this little book. It was not till some weeks after this, that the kind lady who takes care of Clement came to call on me. He was not with her ; but of course I asked after him ; and she told me he was well, and good, and happy — which are the three things we best like to be told, about our friends. I then mentioned what had struck me the last day I had seen him. " Oh," she answered directly. " Clement was not happy then. He had not been at all a good boy the CLEMENT. 9 few days before; and he did not know but I might tell you so ; but at any rate he could not feel com- fortably" I dare say you can easily guess what was my first feeling on hearing this; it was, that I was very sorry my dear Clement had not been a good boy : but perhaps you could hardly guess my se- cond ; which was, that I was glad, very glad, he had felt that at that time he could not be comfortable. Shall I tell you why I felt glad of this ? It was because it proved to me that Clement had a con- science, awake and watchful, to point out to him the difference be- tween right and wrong; and this is a real blessing to any of us, even 12 CLEMENT. ment, you would almost rather they should not have interrupted you so ; but afterwards you have been glad and thankful that they helped to keep you, in this way, from either doing the thing you ought not, or leaving undone the thing you ought to have done. Now just such a friend, if you really wish it, you may have al- ways at your side, to whisper to you, (unheard by any one but your- self,) not only of things to be done or not done, and words to be spoken or not spoken ; but of thoughts and feelings, too, that may be passing through your mind, unseen and unheard by the dearest of those around you, and that may in some way or other " belong to your CLEMENT. 13 peace." This friend, need I tell you, is called " Conscience ;" and it is a friend, not only to help you while you are a child, and know so little, that you need some one every day and every hour to show you the way you should take ; but a friend to be your helper all your life long, however old, or however wise, or however good you may grow. You know what a great and good man the apostle Paul was ; but do you know what he said about hi* conscience ? When wicked men who hated him because he loved Jesus, accused him falsely, and wished to punish him unjustly, he felt, (as he writes in one of his epis- tles or letters to the church at Co- 1 4 CLEMENT. rinth,) that with him it was " a very small thing to he judged of man's judgment;" hut he said, (as you will find it written in the 24th chapter of the book of Acts,) "Here- in do I exercise myself, to have al- ways a conscience void of offence toward God and toward men :" in other words, " This is the thing I am always diligently striving after, — not to let my o\vn conscience have any thing to accuse me of, either against God or against men." And so " exercising himself," he went on serving God, and doing good to men, through evil report and good report, as a faithful servant and sol- dier of Jesus Christ, unto his life's end. So you see even that holy apostle wished to have the same CLEMENT. 15 friend always near him, that spoke, as I have told you, to little Cle- ment ; only it was to keep the apostle happy, hy keeping him from sin, while it was to make Clement for a time unhappy, by reminding him of sin. Do not you wish your conscience may he more and more like that of the apostle ? Then listen attentively to all it says to you, and do directly all it bids you ; and it will " grow with your growth, and strengthen with your strength," and be one of your greatest blessings so long as you live. My visit to Clement made me think very much about all this, and wish to say something to other little boys or girls that might help them 16 CLEMENT. to make the right use of the friend, conscience, which God has, in his mercy, sent to have its home in their hosoms. And do you know, that just while I was so thinking about it, I paid a visit to another dear little boy, whose conscience, I found, was making him afraid, too, and of whom I will tell you. Reginald's mother is a friend of mine, whom I love much, and often go to see ; and when I do so, he is almost sure to come and give me a kiss, and have something or other to tell me about ; often bringing me the account his mother keeps of his behaviour from day to day, from which I can soon see whether or not he has been " exercising himself" to keep his u conscience CLEMENT. 1? void of offence. " This summer Reginald and his mother were away from home for some time, so that I was longer than usual with- out seeing them ; and the first visit I paid them after they came hack, I expected him to run and meet me, and that he would be glad to see me again. Instead of this, though I heard his voice in the next room, and some one telling him I was with his mother, he did not come near us. I waited a mi- nute or two, and then went to the door to call him. But no, he did not wish to see me, and so ran out directly at another door. His mo- ther then began to tell me why this was ; but do you know, almost before she had said a word, the 1 8 CLEMENT. thought of Clement came into my mind, and I felt nearly sure that conscience was reminding Reginald of something set down in his book which made him ashamed to show it to me, and afraid I should ask to see it. Poor Reginald ! I felt sor- ry for him, as I had done before for Clement. But there was another thought, a very solemn one, that his fear of my seeing the book brought to my mind; and it was this, — there is a day coming, when f? the judgment shall be set, and the books shall be opened ;" and even though we should say to the moun- tains and rocks, "Fall on us, and hide us from the face of Him that sitteth on the throne," it will be impossible for us to escape: we CLEMENT. 19 must stand before the Judge of quick and dead, to be judged by him, out of his book, for the things we have done in the body. Have you ever felt afraid or ashamed that a kind earthly friend should know any thing you have been doing wrong ? Think, then, of the eye of your best, your hea- venly Friend, always upon you ; and of the account he keeps in his book of all you do, and say, and think, and feel, every day and all day ; yes, even of the " idle word," and the "thought of foolishness," which he calls sin, though we may forget them as soon as they are past. You may say, " Why is he so strict to mark what is done amiss ?" or, as David said, " If thou, 20 CLEMENT. Lord, shouldest mark iniquity. O Lord, who shall stand ?" And this is just the point we must come to. No one, not the holiest person that ever lived upon earth, could stand before him, in that great and terri- ble day, as " void of offence," and so be accounted just and righteous in his sight : and there can be no repentance, no prayer for pardon heard then. All that has been left standing in the judgment-book till that day, must be read before men and angels, to the everlasting shame of those who never thought of it before. What, then, must we do now, that we may then with joy appear before the Judge's face. We cannot, indeed, any of us, by our ut- CLEMENT. 21 most trying, " keep our conscience void of past offence" toward the heart-searching God : but he tells us, in his holy word, that our con- science may be purified by the blood of his Son, and sanctified by his Holy Spirit; and though it would be impossible to make you understand now half that is meant by such words, which encourage and comfort us w r hen our sins would otherwise fill us with dread, yet there is much in them that you can both understand and re- member, and that may help to prepare you to " stand faultless be- fore the presence of his glory, w T ith exceeding joy." You know, I suppose, that pre- 22 CLEMENT. cious text, "The blood of Jesm Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin." So when commence brings sin to your remembrance, the first thing you have to do, is not to think how you can manage to hide it, but to go and confess it to God, asking him to blot it out of his book with the blood of Jesus ; and then to give you the help of his Holy Spirit in time to come, to show you what is wrong, and strengthen you to strive against it. When you have done this, in truth and sincerity, you will perhaps be surprised to find of how much less consequence it will seem to you, whether any one else knows of your sin or not. Indeed, I expect you will feel that what is still wanting. CLEMENT. 23 before your conscience is " void of offence" again, is to go and own it likewise to whoever you may have offended on earth, and ask their forgiveness also. It is in this way, whether we are young or old, that we are to look to have our " con- sciences purged from dead works, to serve the living God." And now here I really must tell you another little true story — not of any one I have known myself, but of a very good man, now gone to heaven, whose life I have read ; for it seems exactly fitted to show you how a child may feel as to what I have just been saying to you. Samuel Kilpin's father and mo- ther kept a shop; and one day, when he was about seven years 24 CLEMENT. old, they went out, and trusted him to take care of all that was in it, believing him to be a faithful, trust-worthy little boy. And so he was in general ; but we none of us know how weak we may be till a temptation comes to try us, nor how much need we have to pray that God would keep us always listening to the voice of conscience, 66 lest Satan should gain an advan- tage over us." While little Samuel was left in charge, a man passed with pretty little white toy-lambs to sell, for a penny each. Samuel had not a penny of his own ; but he thought he should like very much to have one of these pretty playthings; and so he went to a drawer in the shop, and took a CLEMENT. U5 penny that was not his, to buy a lamb. When his mother came home, and saw the lamb, she asked how he paid for it ; and he made her believe that he had done so honestly. The lamb was put safe- ly on the chimney-piece, for Sa muel, and any one else who looked that way, to admire it; and so several persons did ; but the sight of it made him as miserable as if it could have spoken, and said to* him, " Thou shalt not steal ; thou shalt not lie." At last, in sad distress, he went out into a hay-loft, where he could be quite alone, and there confessed his sin before God, with tears and groans, begging mercy and pardon for Jesus' sake. He then felt comforted, and even joy- 26 CLEMENT. ful, thinking the text might be meant for him, " Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven." He re- turned to his mother, told her all, and burned the lamb, which could never have given him any pleasure ; while, he says, " she wept over her young penitent." I have read many other true stories, that show the comfort and happiness, even to a little boy or girl,K)f what the hymn calls — " A conscience as the noon-day clear ;" that is, one that, by the grace of God's Holy Spirit, is so kept, that it brings no dark clouds with it, because it does not accuse, but ex- cuse. But none of these come to my mind just now. I only remember what we rpad of old CLEMENT. 27 Socrates, one of the wisest and best of the ancient Grecian philoso- phers, as they were called, (that is, lovers of learning ;) who ; when some of his fellow-countrymen condemned him to be put to death, though he had done nothing at all to deserve it, took the cup of poison (which they said he should drink) calmly in his hand, and as one of his friends standing by began, with tears, to complain that such a good old man should die innocent, inter rupted him, saying, " What ! would you have me die guilty?" He felt at that moment-— though Socrates, alas ! had not the Bible, as we have, to teach him about conscience — that it was less dreadful to be ac- cused, or punished, or even put to 28 CLEMENT. death, when he knew he was inno- cent, than it would have been to have lived and yet felt himself guilty. And now, dear children, I have come to the end of my true stories about conscience ; and I only wish you to listen attentively to the lit- tle I have further to say to you about conscience itself. I wish to charge you to keep in mind, that it is of the greatest possible conse- quence you should never turn a deaf ear to the voice of conscience, lest, finding you not inclined to lis- ten, your friend should speak less and less, and at la?t leave you un- disturbed, to " eat of the fruit of your own way, and be filled with your own devices." You little CLEMENT. 29 know how awful that would be. Strange as it may seem, what we call a tender conscience — that is, one that is easily made uncomfort- able by the thought of doing wrong — is the one to keep you happiest, as well as safest. For the ways of God are the ways of pleasantness • and peace, while it is an evil and a bitter thing to sin against him, whether or not we find it so at the time we do the wrong thing. If not listened to till the sin has been committed, it will becmoe an ac- cusing conscience, to fill us with shame when the pleasures of sin are all over Such was Samuei Kilpin's. But it was far better that it should keep his sin, as it did, constantly before him, till he 30 CLEMENT. had confessed and forsaken it For sometimes, when people have determined not to attend to what conscience has said to them, it has at last quite left off trying to lead them to repentance for the past, or watchfulness for the fu- ture, and so hecome first a slum- bering, and at last a hardened con- science. I have read of a poor wretched man who, thus setting at nought all the counsels and reproofs of conscience, went on from bad to worse, till at last he was tempted to commit the awful sin of mur- der. No one saw it, no one knew it, no one suspected it. Years pass- ed away, and it seemed almost for- gotten. But conscience awoke CLEMENT. 31 from her slumber, and ho found indeed that " Her voice was terrible, though soft ;" so terrible that he could get no peace day or night, alone or in company. At last he could en- dure it no longer. He determined to go himself, and confess his crime to the officers of justice, and bear the punishment of his iniquity. He did so, and he died the fearful death of a murderer. I cannot tell you whether this poor miserable man found mercy with God, who saw his sin, and saw also his misery because of it. We can only hope he did, and leave it among God's "secret things.' But there are those 32 CLEMENT. whose consciences, once lulled to sleep, wake no more till a dying moment, nor even till they stand before the bar of God, their Judge, who will then " set all their most secret sins in the light of hi? countenance," and then " there re- maineth no more sacrifice for sin." To such, conscience must live ever after, to be to them as " the worm that never dieth," and "the fire that is never quenched." Dear children, these are solemn, most solemn thoughts; are they not ? I do not wish to make you sad with them. I only wish you should learn so to treat the messen ger from God, (as I have heard conscience called,) as that you may CLEMENT. 33 find it, not your accuser, not your terror, but your kind and faithful and precious friend. Do not wish to silence it. Do not bid it be quiet, even though it should come to you with the sort of message it bore to Clement, to Reginald, or to Samuel Kilpin. Wish and strive and pray that it may rather speak as it did to the holy apostle. Only listen attentively and rea- dily to its gentle voice, from the very first of your being able to un- derstand it ; and then, though you may be humbled by its words of needful warning, or of faithful re- proof, it will never be a tormentor, and rarely an accuser : its home in your bosom will be a peaceful 34 CLEMENT. place ; and, by the blessing of Gud the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, it will surely " do you good, and not evil, all the days of your life." There is a hymn about con- science, that I learned when I was a little girl, and that every year since I have learned the truth of, more and more. It is one that all little boys and girls would do well to learn and to recollect ; and with it, therefore, I will end all I have to say at present about con science : — When a foolish thought within Tries to take us in a snare, Conscience tells as, " It is sin/ And entreats us to beware CLEMENT. 35 If in something we transgress, And are tempted to deny, Conscience says, " Your fault confess ; Do not dare to tell a lie.' In the morning, when we rise, And would fain omit to pray, "Child, consider," conscience cries ; " Should not God be sought to-day ? When, within his holy walls, Far abroad our thoughts we send. Conscience often loudly calls, And entreats us to attend. When our angry passions rise, Tempting to revenge an ill, ** Now subdue it," conscience cries ; * Do command your temper still.' Thus, without our will or choice. This good monitor within, With a secret, gentle voice, Warns us to beware of sin. 36 CLEMENT. But if we should disregard, While this friendly voice would call Conscience soon will grow so hard That it will not speak at all. THE END. THE LITTLE TE-TOTALLER; OB, TRUE LIBERTY. FOB THE AMEBIC AN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNIOK, kW KSYI8ED BY THE COMM.TTEE OF PUBLICATION. AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 1123 CHESTNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA. En , >red accoriing to act of Congress, In the year 1844, by Herman Cope, Treasurer, in trust for the American Sunday- school Union, in the clerk's office of tje District Court of tha Hftf tern District of Pennsylvania. THE LITTLE TE-TOTALLER. "Father," cried little Harry Mills, (coming in apparently in a state of great excitement,) " I have been trying all the afternoon to get John Carey to join the total absti- nence society, and I have brought up all the reasons I could think of, to bring him to do it, but he says he never will; and to every thing I say he has the same answer, that " his father says he is not going to sign away his liberty by putting his name to any such paper, and he means to do as his father does." 1* 5 6 THE TE-TOTALLER. "Does John appear to pay as much regard to his father's opinion in every thing else, Harry?" asked Mr. Mills. " No, father, indeed he does not. He disobeys him when ever he can get a chance, and he seems to enjoy nothing so much as doing the very things that his father has ordered him not to do. And when I speak to him about it, and ask him how he can behave so, he says, ' Well, Harry, if my father ever spoke to me as kindly as your father does to you, I should love to mind him. But now-a-days he is always so cross, and scolds me, and knocks me about so, that I do not care whether I mind him or not, and indeed I TH*. TE-TOTAL.LER. 7 never mean to mind him, except when I cannot help myself.' " " Oh, then," said Mr. Mills, " we see the effect of neighbour Carey's not being willing to 'sign away his liberty,' as he calls it. I am afraid he has already given himself in to the power of a merciless tyrant, and that he will find it a hard matter, even if he wishes it, ever to get his freedom again." " Oh, I know what you mean, father. Mr. Carey spei^s every evening at the tavern, and John is oeginning to like to lounge about such places too, and he is getting m with a set of very bad boys, who think it manly to drink and smoke and chew tobacco, and John is try- 8 THE TE-TO TALLER. mg to learn to do such things too, though 1 know it has made him dreadfullj sick every time. And this is the reason why I have tried so hard to get him to join the tem perance society. He thinks a great deal of you, father, because you always speak so kindly to him, an# 1 think any thing you might say would have a great deal of in- fluence upon him. I asked him to come here to-night to help me put together my new dissected map, and I think if you would talk to him then you could soon get him to join the society." ^ I certainly will, my son, and earnestly hope that with God's help We may he able to save this poor THE TE-TOTALLER. 9 boy, who seems already to be taking the first steps in the road to ruin." That evening John came, (as Harry expected,) to see the dis- sected map. Harry had asked him to come, to get him out of the way of the wicked boys, with whom he had become intimate, for he was determined to treat him with kind- ness and attention, and not to give him up so long as he thought there was any hope of kim. After they had been playing a while together, Mr, Mills went into the room where they were, and sitting down at the table with them, he began to talk in a kind and fatherly manner to John. " Harry tells me, John," said he, 10 THE TE-TOTALL.ER. '• that he has heen trying to induce you to join the total abstinence society, hut has so far been unsuc- cessful. Now, my boy, I want you to talk to me just as you would to Harry or any other of the boys, and tell me plainly your reasons for not wishing to join, and then I will give you the reasons why I think it very important that you should do so. I talk with men every day of my life who ate opposed to tem- perance societies ; and they speak out and tell me their objections to them, and we each talk for our own side. Now, John, do not be afraid to do so too, but tell me candidly what are your reasons for not wish- ing to join this society ?" THE TE-TOTAI^LER. 11 * Why, sir, I have not thought much about it," answered John ; " and I have not many reasons to give, except that I do not see the use of it. I have heard father and Mr. Green and Mr. Smith talk about it, and they say they never mean to sign away their liberty by putting their names to a paper saying that they will never drink any thing. They say they never mean to be drunkards, and that they can give up drinking when they like, without binding themselves by a pledge !" " Oh !" said Mr. Mills, shaking his head, " if this were true ! But the difficulty is, a man that once begins to drink cannot stop when he chooses, but instead of ' signing 12 THE TE-TOTALLER, away his liberty' by simply pledg ing himself to abstain from intoxi- cating drinks, he gives himself up, body and soul, to the worst bondage a man can be under. There is not a slave on earth so degraded, or who has so completely lost his liberty, as the man who has allowed the love of strong drink to get the mastery of him. I have seen many a man, John, who was not going to ' sign away his liberty,' (for this is a very favourite phrase with those who are not willing to give up drinking,) and who ' never intended to be a drunkard,' who would be amazed to be told that his friends already looked upon him as a lost man. Why, my boys, I have been THE TEETOTALLER. 13 in the court-room all day, to-day, engaged in the trial of a man for the murder of his own little son, under the most brutal and aggravated circumstances. I cannot bear to tell the dreadful tale ; and the evidence I was obliged to listen to to-day made my blood freeze with horror. This much I will tell you. The man took his little boy one day, and for some trifling offence began to beat him, and he beat him till he w r as tired and the little boy covered with Mood, and then he sent him out to his aunt's, (the man's sister who lived with him,) and told him to have the blood washed off and come back to him. Then he locked him in a room and left him enough 2 14 THE TE-TOTAELER. to eat and drink to revive him a little, and the next day at the same hour returned to the poor little suf- ferer, and treated him in the same brutal manner, till, at the end of *he sixth or seventh day, the little boy died. " i What a cruel wretch !' you will be ready to exclaim, and yet, boys, you will be as much surprised as I was to hear that, from the testimony of those who lived about him, he appears to have borne a very fair character, ' a little surly, at times,' his neighbours said, but on the whole kind and obliging ; they had never seen him intoxi- cated, and never had an idea that he . was in the habit of drinking; ardent THE TE-TOTAEEER. 15 spirits. The man himself, when asked to join a temperance society t said he was not going to ; sign away his liberty,' and 'he never meant to be a drunkard !' But though he was never seen actually intoxicated, you see he drank enough to take away his reason, and make a per- fect brute of him. And so madden- ing was the influence of the poison upon a naturally high temper, that it appeared by the testimony of a woman who lived w T ith him, that if, when under the excitement of strong drink, he had no other crea- ture to abuse, he would go out and beat his horses, who were tied in their stalls, till he was perfectly ex- hausted. This man began to be;** 16 THE TE-TOTALLEit. his little boy when under the in- fluence of liquor ; he did not know what he was doing, and would be shocked if told, when in his sober senses, that he would be guilty of such a horrible crime. But the evil spirit had possession of him, and he was no longer his own master ; he did not go any morning into the room where his unoffending and suffering little boy was crouched in silent terror, and begin his brutal work, till he had first taken away his reason, and made a perfect mad- man of himself, by putting the bottle to his lips. This man will go to prison and to death. And what think you, John ? In which ?vay would he have been most likely THE TE-TOTALLER. 17 to ; sign away his liberty;' by putting his name to the temperance pledge, and continuing an affectionate fa- ther and respected neighbour, or by giving himself up, body and soul, to be the slave of intemperance, and being shut up in prison, to be brought out only for execution? " I could go on, my boys, for days and days, giving you one instance after another of the brutalizing effect of the use of ardent spirits. Do we ever see a newspaper that has not some accounts of horrid murders, or other dreadful deeds committed while the persons were maddened by strong drink ? And these men are not all of them the brutes you would suppose them to 2* 18 THE TE-TOTALEER. be, from merely reading the ac- counts of their crimes. Many of them, when in their senses, are kind and affectionate, and would shrink with horror from the bare mention of the deeds they are left to commit when the fiend Intemperance has them under his control, and in many cases their suffering from remorse is far greater than that caused by the fear of punishment. So you see, John, what it is to be- come so addicted to this habit, that you will have no longer power to resist its influence. Be wise, my boy, in time, and, while you have the power to do so, preserve your liberty by putting your name to the total abstinence pledge THE TE-TOTALLER. 19 "Thus far I have spoken prin- cipally of the good or injury done to yourself by signing or not sign- ing this pledge, but I would say one word to you upon the influence you may have upon others. You have influence, John, and so have we all, and are exercising it for good or eyil every hour of our lives. Many will be emboldened by your example to go on in the way of ruin if you continue in it, or if you turn now and show that you are deter- mined to come out on the side of temperance, you will be surprised to see how many will go with you or follow you in this wise step. " Your father tells me, John, that he intends to give you a college 20 THE TE-TOTALEER. education. I always tremble for a young man when I See him going to college, or entering into business, where he will be thrown among other young men, and I think it is some safeguard to be a member of a temperance society. I have known young men go to college, who w r ould have no objections (if urged at any time to do so) to putting their names to a temper- ance pledge; but not having this safeguard, they were very easily laughed out of any objections they might make to joining their gay companions in drinking and riot- ing : w r hile, if they had been able (when urged to drink) to speak up boldly, and as if they gloried in THE TE-T0 TALLER. 21 the declaration, and say, ; I thank you, but I am a member of the temperance society!' no more at- tempts would have been made to induce them to join the revellers " I do not think that a party of young men could be found any- where in these days, who would dare to urge another to drink, or attempt to laugh him out of his determination, after he had boldly made such a declaration as that. They would feel it to be rather a reproach to themselves, and respect him the more. " But I have seen these young men, of whom I was speaking, after being a term or two in college, begin to get up in the morning 22 THE TE-TOTALLER. with Hushed cheeks and blood- shot eyes, while an anxious inothe? wondered, without suspecting the cause, what sad change had come over her son. I have read in his face the story of the last night's folly and crime ; and I have read farther : I have looked ahead, and not very far either, and have seen the gray hairs of that mother brought with sorrow to the grave, and that young nun ending his days in disgrace and infamy, in- stead of being, as he might have been, an ornament to society and a blessing to the world. " " Here, Harry," cried John, " give me your paper ; I will put my name to it. and I will try my best to gei THE TE-TOTALLER. 23 all the boys I know to join, and perhaps father will too. I wish you would be so kind as to talk to my father, Mr. Mills ; for though I shall never forget all that you have said to me this evening, yet I cannot say it to him as you can. I thank you. sir ; and I thank you, Harry. And I feel that the efforts you have both made for me will, perhaps, be the means of saving me from dying the death of a drunkard/' " There is another thing I would gladly save you from, John. And here I would speak to my Harry as well as you. By joining the temperance society, you may be kept from the commission of some great sins, and escape some terrible 24 THE TE-T0TAEI,ER. evils in this life, but it can do no- thing for you in the world to come. Nothing but a hope in Jesus can save you from eternal death ! By taking the temperance pledge, you may be freed from the evils of in- temperance ; but by taking the yoke of Christ upon you, you become free from the i bondage of sin and death,' and are brought into the ' glorious liberty of his gospel.' Give your hearts to him then, my boys, and you will know by happy experience what is that 'liberty wherewith Christ maketh free.' " THE END. *■*: mm W^- «